A/n: If only, you all knew what was coming. As you may notice some chapter are arriving quicker than others. Mostly because I'm impatient, secondly, because all are you are being so kind. Thirdly, some chapters are needed together. I feel it is only fair to say this now. Hold on to your seats, we're heading down the rabbit hole.
Warning for this chapter: Mentions of suicide, attempted suicide. Please read responsibly.
Warning for every chapter: Slavery. Dubious consent. Violence. Mentions of rape. Death. Assault. General gore warnings. Please read responsibly.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters and no money has been made from this.
Enjoy...
Chapter Eight
31st October
Dear Hermione,
By now you would have realised, that death is coming for you. I am hoping, you are reading this letter after you have experienced the vision. If not, then this will make little sense, but I hope to explain it with the limited knowledge I have. I foresaw my death, but three months ago. With each day, I feel heavier, as though Death itself is leaning upon me. My mentor foresaw their death, they were not so forthcoming with information.
It is my understanding as a Red Kite, our time is limited. Perhaps this is by design, perhaps we are just cursed. No Red Kite survives much past eight years. It is knowledge passed between the few of us.
Hermione. I am so sorry to put you in such a position. I desired to have you as the next Red Kite, I forced my mistress to agree to it. Lady Lestrange thought you too young, I overruled her. For that, I am so sorry, I have given you a death sentence. Please forgive.
Knowing one, death is a horrid burden to bear, it may make you reckless, and it may make the whole situation hopeless. Please do not despair, it is not to be feared. It is a relief, to be freed from the bodies we are bound to.
I digress.
As a youngster, I studied potions and transfiguration. They were my speciality, useful to my Lady when she needed a Red Kite. Behind closed doors, I trained in magic we are banned from using. Dark Arts. You will find the books on the shelf near the pensive. Read them. It gave me an insight worth more than a hanging could ever take from me.
I became more entuned to my magic, to my ability. It is why I believe I was drawn to you, there was something about you. You had such frizzy, untamed hair back then, despite your shyness, your urge to learn led you to many issues. It makes me laugh, remembering you reprimanding our mistress for pronouncing a spell incorrectly. You were just a child. I have never seen our mistress so stumped, so quiet.
There was a pull I felt towards you, something I could not quite place. I was new to the role of Red Kite, new to the power we inherit. The knowledge we gain from accepting such a responsibility.
Hermione. There is something more than the manor we manage. Something greater beyond our comprehension. I saw something. I saw another world. So very similar to this one, but so very different. A world one could dream of a world where I went to Hogwarts, as did yourself. I fell in love with a pureblood. A world not defined by blood. You probably think me mad, sometimes I feel as though I am. This world, I wished to see it more, thrice I have seen it, touched gold so to speak. A mystical world that haunts me to this day.
I have five days left. Death is circling, he grows closer. I can feel his breath upon the nape of my neck. I don't think you're ready to become Red Kite, but I must push you. You must take my position.
Do you remember? The old rumour of the man in the mirror? Light one candle and stand in front of the broken mirror at midnight on a full moon. A man will appear, distressed, shouting. Do you remember it? A stupid rumour.
I tried it.
The night of the full moon, I had left you to tend to our mistress, a trial I suppose to see if she would tolerate you. It went better than I thought. In the dead of night, I played the game. How could I not? Death had already set its eyes on me; it was worth seeing if the rumour is true.
I saw him. He seemed so distressed, so real. Shouting, he was beaten, bruised, clothes a screw as though he'd been in a war. Screaming, I don't think he was shouting at me though. No. I think shouting at someone else. It's as though he saw me, he stopped. The shouting ceased, he seemed confused to see me. Happy almost.
Time. Is. Wrong. He kept repeating the words. Time is wrong. Then he was gone. In a blink, the candle blew out. It was me with a broken mirror. To this time, I think, I imagined it. Tomorrow I will investigate further. How could time be wrong? I had no clock, was it a two-way mirror? Perhaps he was from another country, perhaps another continent. I had no clock in the mirror, how would he know if the time is wrong? It makes little sense.
None of this makes any sense.
Anyway, I write this letter to reassure you. Perhaps, I have made things worse. I had hoped to share my knowledge, to share it with you. I wrote this letter one last message, use my office, it is yours now. The books are yours. I hope you have a longer life than I, seven years as Red Kite seems almost pitiful. I hope your reign is longer. Regardless, you must overrule our mistress, and train someone to replace you. Time is sensitive.
I know your extensive knowledge, perhaps you might understand what the man in the mirror meant. Perhaps he was never real. Regardless, it is something that intrigues me. Maybe someone else has seen him. I write this tonight; I fear I may forget if I don't write it today.
Hermione, keep the information to those you trust most. The staff, mean well but tread carefully, they are delicate. Untrustworthy. You most likely have learnt this. Everyone seeks favour for our mistress's attention. It is best to not give them ammo so to speak. I hope she has been kind to you. I hope the life I forced upon you is worth it all.
In another life, you could be a daughter to me. You are so special; I am immensely proud to have known you. To see the witch, you have become.
With all my love,
Lily x
Clutching the letter to her chest, Hermione sobs, deep painful sobs, curled up on the floor. It's gut-wrenching she had said goodbye to Lily, sealed that part of her mind away. The closest thing she had to a sister, a mother.
She fails to move, even after the tears dry, hiccups making her body spasm. Her tears stained the letter, mixing with those left by Lily. The woman she admired, the witch she wanted to become.
31st October, the date makes Hermione cry harder. The date is forever imprinted into Hermione's memory. On the date, Lily was found dead in the hallway. She said she had five days left. Why did she die sooner than she was meant to?
It's the flicker of the light that catches Hermione's attention. Pushing to her feet, the letter held tightly in hand, Hermione moves across the room. Staring at the broken mirror pushed to the corner of the room. What did you do? Is the legend correct, did whoever Lily sees come back and kill her? Whoever is on the other side of the mirror, was it a passage.
Seven years? Lily had served seven years before she saw her vision. Hermione has only been a Red Kite for eighteen months. It's almost a sick trick. She clutches her stomach, the urge to vomit. Lily knew, knew the moment Hermione became a Red Kite she would be doomed.
Sweating, she throws the letter onto the table. She knew! A death sentence, as soon as she became a Red Kite, her life was over. The woman she trusted most, loved like a mother had led her to this path. Tears stream, painting the cold, floor as a reflection of her mind. Her distorted face smiles back at her from the mirror. Perhaps Lily was wrong, perhaps she was never going to die. Perhaps if she had never done the stupid legend she would have lived. If she wasn't so reckless, foolish.
Bombarda.
The mirror erupts into a million pieces. Chards of glass flying across the room, she barely flinches as some of the glass pelts her exposed arm. It's not enough. Will never be enough. The anger will never leave her. Maybe, she should tell Death to shove it and take her own life now.
Lifting the shard of glass, Hermione presses it against her wrist, the temptation to pull it upwards. To rip her vein open to pave the floor in all her blood. She is the master of her fate, not Lily. She is the master of her fate, not some stupid vision. Hand shaking, she flinches as the glass cuts deep.
Clink. She drops the piece of glass, blood tricking from her wrist. No. She has a responsibility to this household. No vision will force her to take her own life. Not yet. At least.
The books on the shelf call to Hermione, a whisper of teachings she can only dream off. She had come here looking for answers, for an explanation, and had not expected to receive more questions. Time is wrong? What on earth did that mean? What was the point of looking into it? A stupid legend that got Lily killed.
Rubbing her face, she checks the time, it is getting later, and her mistress will be returning shortly. She must oversee dinner preparations; she has a household to run. Angrily she pulls the door to the secret room shut. A charm in place, she will not return, not again, only her blood will open the door.
Tiredness, tugs she hopes she will not dream of her death again. Wishing tonight will be a sleepless night.
"Hermione?" Angelina whispers the words hands full with towels, she scurries toward Hermione. "What on Earth happened?"
Anger had made her foolish, she had forgotten to clean herself before leaving the room. Dried blood on her arms from the mirror pieces, the cut to her vein still bleeding. A sigh, she will have to clean the floor before going to bed.
"Do you have a spare cloth?" Hermione asks glancing back the way she came. "I need to clean this before our mistress returns."
"No, I'll get Creevy to do it. What happened?"
"I fought with a mirror," Hermione forces a smile. "I lost."
"I can see that, come on in here. Before the rest of them see the state you are in."
Shuffled through a door, Hermione plops down onto the wooden stool. Pantry, she watches Angelina vanish, the door shutting with a thud. Summoning orange juice, Hermione pours herself a small glass. Suddenly, very aware she has not eaten for some time.
"Here," Angelina announces nudging the door to the pantry open.
Setting down a large bowl of warm water, she draws her wand. The wooden stool screeched on the stoned floor. It makes them both wince, Angelina miming the word sorry as she settles down.
"You okay?" Angelina asks carefully.
"Course, why?"
She doesn't answer, her eyes remain on the jagged mark on Hermione's wrist. A very noticeable attempt. She wouldn't be the only servant to have the thought, not the only servant to take the option.
"Yes, just an accident," Hermione replies.
"An accident? Are you sure?"
"Honestly, Ang, it's fine. I was trying to pick up the broken mirror I stumbled, my wrist went straight into the glass." Liar, liar.
A soft hum, not entirely believing not wanting to push any further. She works in silence, removing the small parts of glass embedded in Hermione's arm. They clink as they land in the bowl, the water tainted with blood.
What possessed her to do such a reckless action? To consider taking her own life. Has death truly sparked fear in Hermione, she's not sure what action to take? Shock, perhaps it's a shock that she could so easily slice her veins open. No one would have found her, not down there. She would have died alone, not to be discovered for some time. What of the house, the staff who rely upon her? It would have annoyed her mistress, and turned her into a foul mood, the staff would have received the backlash of her careless actions.
What of Luna? Would anyone have told her that Hermione had died? Would she have cared? Or would she think Hermione had left, to never return? What had she been thinking?
A sigh, escapes her lips, before she downs the last bit of orange, ignoring her pointed gaze from Angelina.
"Are you sure you're okay?" The witch asks once more. "Because it's not like I wouldn't understand, we've all had these thoughts."
"No, honestly, it was a stupid mistake," Hermione reassures.
Because it was, a stupid mistake. The urge to have some sort of control in her life, the urge to take back control. It had been overpowering, overwhelming had seen like such a good idea.
"Well, you can always talk to me," Angelina states ringing out the cloth.
"it's what we're doing now, isn't it?"
"True,"
"Although, there is one thing."
"What is it?"
"I could do with some alcohol,"
"Chocolates as well? Could you imagine?"
"Don't, it is amazing."
Rolling her shoulders, Hermione shifts in her seat, her bum numb from sitting so long. She spots the newspaper left abandoned, summoning over, she glances back to her arm. Her skin slowly knits back together as Angelina finishes her meticulous work.
"You said I should read this?" Hermione reminds the witch, flicking open the paper.
"Page seven, bottom left. It's… I don't even know what it is." Ang whispers.
Curious, Hermione flicks through the pages, pausing at some of the articles, keeping up to date with any important news. The Auror process has finished five recruits have joined the Aurors. It makes Hermione wonder if Ron Weasley made it through.
"There!" Jumping, Hermione glares at the witch leaning over her shoulder. "Sorry."
"Calm down, best be worth the excitement," Hermione mutters.
The Lost Memoirs,
On the darkest days,
She hisses my name,
Disgust lingers
Cutting apart my trust.
I am just a vessel,
A servant for her means.
To serve and obey,
Silence is my friend.
On the brightest days,
She whispers my name.
With something more than lust, it lingers,
It builds my trust.
On hopeful days I wish,
If only I were not a servant.
Bound to serve.
Bound to obey.
If my blood did not divide us.
I wish she saw me,
The real me,
Not her servant.
Her servant who bows.
The human beneath.
They say I cannot feel.
That my soul is a figment,
Perhaps it's my imagination.
But with each breath,
Life it exhales.
My heart pounds,
With each touch,
With each look.
My heart is not beating for servitude.
It beats for more than simple obedience.
Do you even see me?
Am I anything to you?
I wish you knew,
The anger that burns in my veins,
The love that has nowhere to go.
They say I cannot feel.
That my soul is a figment.
Perhaps it's my imagination.
But with each breath,
Life it exhales.
And I say to those. I feel.
Everything.
An Ode to My Service,
The Silent Soul
Shaking, Hermione drops the newspaper onto the table, numb, she feels numb. Angelina is talking, gushing about the piece. The poem, it's her poem, one of them. Written in the dead of the night, a long time ago. Luna, she had given this to Luna with a few others.
She fights back the tears, and cannot show emotion in front of Angelina. Tightening her hand into a fist, she stares at the words in black and white. Printed for the world to see. The Daily Prophet, everyone received a newspaper by them. Luna, how, why would she do this? Did she know how embarrassing it is, to have her thoughts on show to the world?
"Isn't this amazing," Angelina gushes, pacing the pantry. "This, it's in the newspaper Hermione. One of us."
"Who has seen this?" Hermione asks.
"The whole house," Angelina replies gleefully. "The world will know, we have emotions too."
The whole house has seen this, has seen her most inner thoughts on the show. Swallowing, Hermione rises to her feet, gripping the end of the table. How could Luna do this? How could she embarrass Hermione like this?
"It's amazing don't you think?" Angelina continues unaware of Hermione's inner turmoil. "Who do you think it is? Do you think it's one of us?"
"us?" Hermione whispers.
"Servants, do you think it's one of the servants? It's not anyone in this house, their tongue would have fallen out by now. But another household? I bet it's the Nott's household, they're a weird bunch."
"No," Hermione interrupts. "Don't, don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Accuse, don't throw doubt on any house. This won't go unnoticed, there will be repercussions."
"I never thought of that." Angelina sighs. "I just, they're so brave, to do this, they've got balls."
The biggest balls, Hermione sighs. Picking up the paper, she shrinks it stuffing it in her pocket, ignoring the curious look from Angelina.
"It's best our mistress does not know we've all been gossiping." Hermione states. "She will be back soon, ensure the servants our out of her way."
"She's going to be angry."
"They are all going to be angry."
All the households will be angry, Luna has created a storm, much bigger than anyone could anticipate. She watches Angelina leave, to prewarn the staff to stay out of their mistress's way. The lady of the house is going to be very angry because the Dark Lord will be looking for those responsible. No one, no one is going to be safe from his wrath.
Summoning her cloak, she slips out the back door, apparating away. The newspaper is heavy in her pocket, hood pulled high, she casts a charm on herself. To avoid anyone from noticing, moving silently in the background. Her feet touching the cobbled street, she heads in the opposite direction of the Quibbler.
She stops the sound of shouting, swallowing at the sight of the Daily Prophet currently under siege. Aurors, Magical Law enforcement search the building interrogating the staff. She slips through the shadows, away from onlookers, pausing outside an old pottery shop. Door stiff to move, the front of the building a façade the man behind the till blind, staring into the unknown.
Grasping the portkey, Hermione vanishes, appearing in the warm stock room. The charms greeted her, allowing her entrance. Nudging the door open, Hermione steps through, to the basement. Printing press machinery around the room notes stuck to cork boards. Music chirps happily in the background, hiding her arrival.
"Luna," Hermione calls the witch's name.
Jumping, Luna falls from her stool, stopping herself mid-way, giant magnifying glasses on her face. She blinks bewildered at Hermione before a large smile breaks across her face.
She stiffens at the hug, as Luna encases her, awkwardly tapping the younger witch's back. Still not sure how to reciprocate hugs, still unsure as to why Luna insists on hugging Hermione.
"I didn't expect you so soon," Luna greets cheerfully, removing her glasses.
Pulling the paper from her pocket, Hermione places it down on the desk. Glaring at the witch, waiting for an explanation.
"You read it?" Luna asks.
"I did, and so did everyone else."
"I know, isn't it fantastic!"
"Fantastic?" Hermione repeats in disbelief.
"Yes, I honestly didn't think it would work, but it did. It's everywhere Hermione."
"How could you?" Hermione demands. "I gave it to you in confidence, I gave you the information in confidence. How could you betray my trust like that, it was for your eyes only?"
"Hermione."
"Luna, those notes are my most intimate thoughts, my feelings. Now they're out there for the world to see. To laugh at, why would you do that to me?"
"I don't see anyone laughing," Luna replies gently. "No one is laughing; besides I didn't tell you because I didn't want to get your hopes up."
"My hopes up?"
"Yes, your hopes, I wasn't sure it would work, so I thought I'd try without worrying you. And it did, Hermione I was there when the newspaper went out."
"Great, this is so embarrassing," Hermione whispers rubbing her face.
"No," Luna replies grabbing Hermione's hands. "No, it shocked them, I watched for a split second, for a second Diagon alley stopped. The world stopped for just a moment. Even now, I hear back from some houses, a shock to the system."
"Luna, they were my thoughts."
"No, they were the thoughts of every single one of you. Every single servant, every one of you. It wasn't the Elite I was watching. It was the servants, their faces Hermione. You should have seen their faces. Do you know what I saw?"
"Disgust."
"Hope. I saw hope in their faces. All this time, all of you are silent, unable to talk your mind. But this," She lifts the paper, Hermione's poem clear to see. "This was as though every single one of them had a voice, even just for a minute. What you wrote, gave them hope."
Is it possible what she wrote did bring hope to servants? She never thought anyone would be interested in her ramblings, why would they? She's just a servant, a no-one.
"On paper, you can be anyone," Luna mutters, squeezing Hermione's hand. "Have you eaten? You seem to distracted more than this."
"I have not."
"Sit, we need to catch up."
A/n: As you all know, Andromeda in my stories is usually so kind, caring. Not this time, maybe there's a redemption arc, maybe not. You will find out shortly. Maybe. Insert evil laugh.