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 Sixteen
"There has to be something," Luna states.
"We're not even sure if it's true, I could be wrong."
Quiet, Hermione watches the witches discuss the theory. Watching Luna so passionately try to decipher a way to save Hermione. If she could be saved through will alone, Hermione could leave this pub a free woman. It is not the case. Her fate rests in the hands of a wizard who knows her only as Lestrange's servant.
Does she need to make funeral arrangements? She wonders if they'll be anything to find, or if they will throw her body into a pit. She never really wondered, maybe they burn them?
"Stop!" Luna snaps turning to Hermione. "Please, stop thinking like that."
"Sorry," Hermione replies noticing tears on the witch's cheek. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I know… I just. I need a minute."
Swallowing, Hermione watches the witch leave the table, should she follow Luna. She wanted a minute alone, but does she truly mean that or is she hoping Hermione will follow?
"Give her a second," McGonagall instructs. "It is hard, to know someone you care for is going to die."
"I don't understand," Hermione whispers confused.
"You don't understand the fear of losing someone?"
"No, I understand the fear," Hermione acknowledges. "I just don't know why she cares?"
Sighing, Hermione picks at the food, not hungry, just needing something to focus on. It doesn't make sense, not for Luna to behave the way she does. There's no need for it.
"I'm replaceable," Hermione continues staring after the witch. "She should know this; another will take my place."
"Hermione, let me ask you this," McGonagall chooses her words carefully. "Roles reversed; would you not miss Luna?"
"Of course, it would be unbearable."
"Then why would she not miss you?"
"Because I'm a Red Kite. Luna is Luna. There's only one Luna."
Biting her lip, McGonagall takes a deep breath, those green eyes studying Hermione as though a foreign object. She can see the headmistress choosing her words, and thinking through her thoughts.
"If Luna was a Red Kite and you were not?"
"It's not possible," Hermione replies.
"Hypothetically, if Luna were a Red Kite and you were not."
"I'm sorry Headmistress, it's not something I can imagine."
"I see," tapping her fingers, McGonagall mules over her next words. "May you humour me for a second."
"Of course."
"That wasn't an instruction," McGonagall replies hesitantly.
"I understand, please continue."
Fingers tap, and an emotion passes across the witch's face so quickly that Hermione wonders if she imagined it. She doesn't know the headmistress well, but if she were to guess. She would say McGonagall was agitated. It makes Hermione wonder if she has done something to upset the witch.
"To you, you are Hermione Granger Red Kite? Correct?" McGonagall states the obvious.
"Yes," Hermione answers.
"You are proud of that status, I see that,"
"Very proud,"
"To serve Lady Lestrange."
"A great honour."
"Despite the fact, your days are numbered."
"An unforeseen side effect, but I am proud nonetheless. I worked hard for this position."
A small smile graces the headmistress's lips, acknowledgement, perhaps a hint of respect a foreign emotion Hermione cannot place.
"From Luna's perspective, however, you are Hermione."
"Red…"
"No, just Hermione." McGonagall interrupts. "To Luna, you are just Hermione. To Luna, there is only one Hermione."
Just Hermione. Swallowing, Hermione struggles to process the thought. It doesn't make sense, she's a Red Kite. Is Luna not proud of her status, does she not care?
"I don't understand," Hermione answers honestly.
"I don't expect you would," McGonagall replies with no judgement in her voice, just tired, calm eyes regarding Hermione with sympathy. "Being a Red Kite is an identity it is everything you work towards and everything you have become. To you, there is only Red Kite Granger. But what of Hermione. The girl behind the Red Kite, the young witch born to muggles. What of her feelings, what about Hermione?"
"You speak with words of treason," Hermione whispers.
"Do I?"
"Muggleborns don't have feelings." She bites the words.
"Now, we both know this is a lie." McGonagall answers.
"Stop."
"Since a child, you have been instructed, taught, reprimanded, told how to perform. How to think to a degree where it all has become second nature. To become the perfect servant, to please, to follow rules obey and remain silent."
"Stop." Hermione orders, pushing back into her chair.
"What about Hermione? Where is she? To repress your inner thoughts, it's not natural. I have seen these actions drive servants mad, they become lost. The reason you don't want to listen to this is that it goes against everything you have been taught. You are going to dissociate from yourself. One day Hermione is going to want to be free."
"You speak as though Hermione is a different person to me," Hermione states confused, her mind throbbing.
"Servants have lost hours, days over this. They find themselves in situations without knowing how they got there. They lose control as though an out-of-body experience. It's as though two people inherit one body. You need to accept you can both be Hermione and Hermione Red Kite. Because it is possible to be both, it is possible to know. If you die, you will be missed, and yes, they will replace the role of Red Kite. But you, you are not replaceable. Do you understand?"
"No."
"One day, you will. One day, you will understand."
McGonagall waves for their drinks to be replenished. The drinks floated across the room on a tray, respecting the privacy of the table. Not wishing to disrupt. Passing Hermione, a second glass of butterbeer, McGonagall sighs.
"I want you to understand, I don't say these things to confuse nor upset you. I hope you will come to understand what I have said, is in the urge to help you."
Forcing a smile, Hermione nods, unsure what else she can do. The words have done nothing but confuse her. She feels more confused since meeting with the Headmistress than she has in a very long time.
Luna returns, bringing the cold of the outside with her, sliding in next to Hermione. Two cold hands, Hermione reaches for them, not sure if she can anything to cheer the witch up. She never intentionally meant to upset Luna, perhaps she will never understand what McGonagall means.
It saddens Hermione when she feels the hands tense beneath her own. Ignoring this, Hermione rubs warmth into the hands. She could use magic, but she needs the distraction, needs to feel close to Luna. It's an apology, in the only way she can think possible. The soft smile from Luna is everything she needs to make her feel better.
They resume talking, Luna moving on to the next questions, leaving Hermione to battle with her demons. The hands now warm, Hermione cannot bring herself to let them go. Running her fingers over the hands, she draws runes with her fingertip onto the palm. Calm. Safe. Home. She traces the outline of the runes, repeatedly.
"It's an interesting theory," McGonagall acknowledges. "These diaries you purchased. Did it elaborate any further on Lily's description of what happened with the mirror?"
"No, it's ramblings more than anything, I'm struggling to understand it."
Glancing, Hermione studies the journal, the writings, screwed across the pages. Words mixed with images, madness, but she recognises something in them.
"Runes," Hermione states studying the book. "The author is mixing English with runes. Could be code."
Both witches look at the book in a new light, studying the scrambled words. Code. His speaking in some sort of code.
"Code," Luna realises.
"If you permit me, I may know someone who can help decipher this?" McGonagall asks.
"By all means." Luna agrees to pass the journal to the witch.
Sipping her drink, Hermione finally releases the witches' hands, reaching for the nibbles. Her mind has calmed, but she remains confused. She doubts she will ever understand, but she will resume her thoughts later.
"So, is it possible?" Luna asks.
"Yes," McGonagall answers with a frown. "It's possible for someone to go back in time."
"You have a time turner, how easy is it?"
"It's easy if we are talking about a few minutes, hours. But it is extremely dangerous. Your future self and past self can never meet. You need to remember every movement you ever made to ensure you don't bump into yourself." A pause. "I cannot speak to going any further back than that. It is forbidden as it is foolishly stupid. The consequences alone would be astronomical."
"Like creating a different world?" Luna asks.
"What you are suggesting, is someone went back in time, and chose a pivotal moment in history, that forever changed the future of the world."
"Is it possible?"
"I have no idea. In theory, anything is possible. The person would be trapped, however, trapped in a new world. A world they may have accidentally created, or a by-product of their actions. If and I state, the word if. It would drive them mad, if they are still alive, it would drive them mad. To have two of the same people coinciding in the same world at the same time, would be as though being pulled in two different directions. It is why the time turners are used for short jumps. Why they are forbidden, has been tested numerous times. Two of the same persons cannot survive at the same point of time for a long time."
"Do you think it's what he meant? The person in the mirror."
"Luna, I am always happy to indulge a student's interests, but on this occasion, I truly think this is just a legend."
"But Lily…"
"Died, not but a few days before the date she was meant to. I am more inclined to believe she misunderstood her visions than she died because she saw a man in a mirror."
"I don't think so, I think she saw something in the mirror, I think what she saw is the reason died."
"If that is to be believed, what do you expect happened? There were no marks on Lily, she died suddenly, most likely from a heart attack. Do you think the mirror is a passage to a different world? That it opens a door, again if so, why? Do you suspect Lily was killed?"
"No, I'm not suggesting that I'm just saying it's suspicious."
"Sometimes, the world we live in is the only world. I wish I could indulge you, say there is a much better world out there. I truly would love that to be the case, but I just don't see it." McGonagall sighs.
"But we can believe in a curse that kills Red Kites?" Luna demands.
"Curses are proven. Time travel may be proven, that said, time travel is near impossible, especially for long jumps. The number of times it would take to twist the dial, the accuracy it would take to work out, counting in every second, every minute, the hours, days, weeks, months, years, and leap years. I just don't see it being plausible. There most certainly is a pattern that comes with people dying after seeing the man in the mirror. However, perhaps these are stories passed to scare. Stories used to find a meaning to a meaningless death."
"Shock," Hermione states casually.
"I'm sorry?" McGonagall questions.
"I'm not saying I believe in anything regarding the man in the mirror. I do however think, there is something to do with the legend. The way the people are all found, the full moon, broken mirrors, candles, too many coincidences to pass up. However, if I were to guess. Shock. They all died from shock. Lily, everyone who saw the man in the mirror. They died from shock."
Both witches pause considering the new information. It would answer why there were no abnormalities when it came to autopsy's no signs of injury or attack. All the victims were effectively healthy people who just dropped dead.
"Now I'm not discounting any theory, but could it be possible. That the mirror creates a bond. There is a magic that we don't understand, creatures that not all of us are aware of." A smile from Luna at her words. "It is entirely possible, that playing this game, this legend, someone inadvertently releases something. Something so shocking it caused them to die from shock. Lily may have misunderstood what the man had said, it would also explain why he always seems distressed. Perhaps he is seeing something that we are not able to see. Perhaps, he is trapped or perhaps there is no person at all. That the legend itself creates the mind to believe in all things. Could just be a boggart for all we know."
The cold has set in, and Hermione is no longer feeling comfortable in the pub, she needs to return to the manor. Before her presence is noticed. The Headmistress notices her discomfort, calling their little meeting to an end.
"We will continue this," McGonagall states. "When we have some more information."
Rising, hood in place, Hermione steps out into the cold air, enjoying the breeze on her face. Studying the small little village, watching the students with their bags of sweets happily chatting on their way back to Hogwarts. Wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione waits for Luna as she whispers with McGonagall.
"You ready?" Luna asks, slinking her arm through Hermione's.
"Yeah," Hermione agrees. "Everything okay?"
"Just thanking the Headmistress for her time."
Hermione remains unconvinced, watching the headmistress sweep back towards Hogwarts. Luna guides them in the opposite direction, away from the school, back to the real world.
Humming, scribbling on the pages, she continues copying notes over. Tapping her foot on the floor as she works dipping her quill in ink she pauses. Re-reading her notes, ensuring it all makes sense. Her mistress work, she shouldn't see these pages, they are meant to be classified. However, who is Hermione going to tell?
The balcony doors are open to the study letting in the cool air. The whole experience in Hogsmeade seems to be a memory, something of a fairy tale. The village is covered in snow, a much different temperature compared to London. The village is untouched by the outside world, with its climate.
A groan, a blotch of ink staining the page. She scrunches the paper up, throwing it onto the floor in annoyance. Rubbing her temple, she should stop, she's already written ten case notes, and the night is ending. The last few nights, she's been struggling to sleep. She should go see Luna, wants to see Luna, but seeing McGonagall. Those words, they've tainted her, like the blotch of ink on the paper. Seeping in, growing, nothing will remove it, not now.
Closing her eyes, she relieves her memories, questioning herself. Is everything she remembers a lie? Has she been lying to herself all this time, all these years? She loved Lily like an older sister, a mother, and always has, all she remembers are the most recent years. Any further back, she struggles, the memories jumbled as though a jigsaw puzzle, not clicking together.
Sighing, she turns to the little jar, she's had it here for the last few days. A constant reminder, empty. The jar is empty, a small terrarium waiting for its new inhabitant. The desk her mistress allows her to use is not as grand as her mistresses, but it's still in the same room. Jaw clenched, Hermione studies the small jar, she knows who it belongs to, and shouldn't obsess over it, but she does.
"Ah, Granger you're still working I, see?" Bellatrix announces wandering into the study.
"Just finishing the last few cases," Hermione replies not taking her eyes off the jar.
"I see it's going well," Bellatrix comments looking down at the scrunched-up paper on the floor. "Here,"
Her mistress places her glass of whiskey down, pushing it to Hermione. Summoning herself another, Bellatrix pulls out a bottle of whiskey from her desk. Pouring herself a generous amount as she pulls herself up onto the desk.
"Thank you," Hermione says softly picking up the glass.
"You look like shit," Bellatrix states. "The paper can wait; at this late hour you might as well give in."
Frowning, Hermione glances at the clock, past midnight. She nearly trips rising from her chair, not aware of the time. So engrossed in doing some work, she hadn't realised how late it had got. She should have prepared Bellatrix for bed, not doing paperwork.
"Apologies mistress," Hermione replies. "Time got away. Would you like me to assist you to bed?"
"Despite common belief," Bellatrix replies lounging on her desk, like a cat she flicks a book off the end of the table, so it crashes against the floor. "I can dress myself."
"Of course, I didn't."
"Granger, stop. I know what you meant. Besides I've been distracted doing some research. Noticed the light on while heading for a refill." She jingles her glass. "What is that little jar you keep? You've had it for a year now."
Slowly, Hermione takes her seat, lifting the glass of whiskey to her lips. Staring at the jar. How does she explain it? Out of everyone though, her mistress would understand, probably the only one to ever understand the desire for revenge.
"I'm keeping it," Hermione answers. "For someone special."
A raised eyebrow, Bellatrix doesn't reply merely sips her drink studying the little jar in thought. Perhaps, she understands the reference, perhaps she thinks Hermione has truly lost her marbles.
"Mistress, may I ask you something?"
"You just did," Lestrange replies reaching for her bottle of whiskey. "But I'm in a humorous mood, so ask another."
"Who picked me?"
"You'll need to elaborate more."
"At the institute, was it Evans that chose me to work for your household?" Hermione notices the curious look on the dark witch's face, she rushes to elaborate. "It just popped into my head the other day, I know Evans said she picked me, but I cannot recall the memory."
A laugh breaches red lips, Lestrange smirking, she reclines on the desk, bemused by the conversation. A sinking feeling takes hold, is everything Hermione believed turning out to be a lie?
"Please, Evans hated you," Bellatrix chuckles. "She had reserved that Bone's girl, but ugh, I hate the family. Then you, I was discussing something with Narcissa, and you interrupted me. Not very often a servant interrupts me, especially one so young at the time. My pronunciation was wrong. I thought you to be a show-off, I did consider cursing your insolent little self. First, I asked if you knew who I was,"
A smirk crosses Bellatrix's face relieving the memory, the one memory locked away from Hermione. She remembers there being someone blonde at her selection, she had thought it to be Lily. She never realised Bellatrix had taken Narcissa with her.
"Here," Bellatrix says standing, summoning the pensive from the corner of the room, she draws the memory. "See for yourself."
Rising from her seat, Hermione moves around the desk, standing in front of the pensive. Bellatrix swans away returning to her perch on the desk, nodding for Hermione to look. Taking a deep breath, Hermione submerges herself into the pensive.
"I know who you are Lady Lestrange." Young Hermione answers as the other servants shuffle away from her. The book in her hands is exceedingly large, it almost drowns her.
"Yet, you still interrupt me. Tell me child, are you stupid or looking for a punishment?" Bellatrix sneers at the little wretched thing.
"Neither" Hermione answers, shifting the weight of the book. "However, I'd prefer, if you were to curse me. You do so correctly."
Silence, the servants shift awkwardly, the older servants those who have failed to be picked over the years, shuffle away. They are all aware of Lady Lestrange, the master of the orphanage had warned them earlier that day they were expecting Lady Lestrange. To be on their best behaviour.
It's a weird experience, standing back in the institute, the main cause for her nightmares. Staring at her younger self, a skinny, messy brown-haired girl, with large teeth. Innocent, even then, she was innocent. The cold grey walls, no toys, nothing just books. Desks for classrooms, a hall for eating in and their communal bedrooms. The books are tatty, ripped, and a lonely world.
Hermione watches as Lady Lestrange steps forward, kneeling to make herself level with young Hermione. Watching her younger self shrink under the gaze, swallow in fear. Smiling, Hermione watches her younger self refuse to back down, to run away, although she fiddles uncertain with the book in her hand.
Moving closer, Hermione puts herself in her ears reach, her eyes landing on one of the Masters of the Institute. Can see the sneer on his face, his finger tapping his wand. Pain, once Lestrange leaves, young Hermione will be in for a lot of pain for being so disobedient.
"What's your name?" Lestrange asks young Hermione.
"H.. Hermione Granger." Hermione stutters.
Plucking the book from Hermione's hands, the tome not so large in Lestrange's hand. She turns it over, studying the book with scrutiny,
"Advance charms? Does this interest you?" Lestrange asks.
"Yes," Hermione nods. "It's a bit boring though."
"Boring?"
"Yes, I've read it many times now," Hermione sighs.
"Why not chose another book?" Lestrange asks looking to the row of books.
"I've read them all, this is the only one that is any good."
"A bit advanced for you though? Isn't it?"
"No," Hermione replies insulting. "I'm quite capable of casting many of those charms, I may not be an expert, but I am confident in my abilities."
"I'm sure you are," Lestrange smirks. "What else do you class as your speciality?"
"Runes, I like runes. But…" She trails off, glancing at the master of the Institute.
Looking over her shoulder, Lestrange regards the master of the institute. With a flick of her hand, she shoos the master away. Disgruntled, the master bows his head, moving out of earshot. Amazed, young Hermione marvels at the power Lady Lestrange possess.
"You were saying?" Lestrange enquires turning her attention to Hermione again.
"How did you do that?"
"Send him away?"
"Yes."
"Hmm, you'd be amazed at one I can do." Lestrange chuckles. "Now, I'm intrigued, what were you saying about runes?"
"He can't hear me?" Hermione asks glancing worriedly at the master.
"No, a pet he can't," Lestrange reassures.
"They're a bit simple," Hermione whispers.
"The masters or the books?"
"Both," Hermione mutters with a blush not meeting the dark gaze.
A laugh breaks out from Lestrange as she regards the young witch in front of her with amusement. A finger lifts Hermione's chin, forcing her to meet Bellatrix's gaze.
"Tell me, pet. Do you want to come with me?"
"I can't." Hermione shakes her head.
"No?" Bellatrix asks amused. "Why is that?"
"Susan, she's meant to go with you. It's all she talks about. ALL she talks about."
"I see," Bellatrix answers glancing at young Susan who turns away from the gaze. "What if I told you I had a library, much bigger than here."
"Really?" Hermione breathes eyes widening.
"Three floors."
"No."
"Yes." Bellatrix answers.
"Why…" Hermione trails off not finishing her thoughts.
"Why what?" Bellatrix questions.
"Bella, are you done entertaining the filth?" Narcissa interrupts, looking down coldly at Hermione. "Bones is the one you are meant to be taking."
"If I want your opinion Dear sister," Bellatrix hisses rising to her feet. "I would ask for it."
Shrinking under her Bellatrix's gaze, Narcissa falls quiet. Sighing, Bellatrix kneels back down forcing young Hermione to meet her eye. Stepping closer, Hermione frowns, why doesn't she remember this?
"Did I just scare you?" Bellatrix asks quietly, so quietly, that Hermione barely catches it. A nod, a small blush on young Hermione's face, her eyes drawn to the book in Bellatrix's hand. Comfort, books were always her comfort as a child.
"That's okay," Bellatrix sighs. "I can be scary, tell, me what were you about to ask."
"I shouldn't question."
"I won't tell if you won't." The words cause both Hermione to smile.
"Why are you asking if I want to come with you?" Young Hermione questions, shuffling, her bare feet on the cold stone. "You can just choose."
"I can, yes," Bellatrix agrees. "But where's the fun in that?"
"Can I have my book back?"
"This? No,"
Swallowing, young Hermione lowers her hand, frowning at the witch in annoyance. A smirk worked across red lips.
"What age did you come here?"
"Three," Hermione answers with annoyance.
"Still so disobedient," Bellatrix muses. "How old are you now?"
"Thirteen,"
"Hmm, what is it you want to be?"
"Minister."
Cackling, Bellatrix slaps her knees in amusement, and Hermione, folds her arms, causing her to laugh even harder. She wanted to be a minister she doesn't remember that.
"If you come with me," Lestrange says forcing back laughter. "You won't be minister, but I can let you have freedom in my library."
"Truly?"
"I will even let you choose a book, to keep. How does that sound?"
"Why?"
"Because I can," Bellatrix smirks. "What do you say?"
Hermione smirks, watching her younger self running through the options. Bellatrix waiting in amusement. It doesn't matter what young Hermione chooses; Bellatrix could just pick her regardless.
"They won't hurt me anymore?" Hermione asks glancing at the masters.
"No, I may. But you won't see this hell hole again."
"Promise?"
A pause, Bellatrix staring at young Hermione, it's not a promise she can make. Not really, she has every reason to send Hermione back should she not be good enough. Hermione watches Bellatrix struggle, staring at the young witch before unsure how to answer.
"Promise." Bellatrix agrees.
"Okay."
"Okay."
Rising to her full height, Bellatrix throws the tatty book on the floor, much to the horror of a young Hermione. Turning to the masters of the institute, she places a hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"This one."
"Lady Lestrange, are you sure?" The Master asks glaring down at young Hermione. "Her education is not yet complete. The other girl, she is much further along."
"Are you questioning me?" Bellatrix asks, eyes flashing dangerously.
"No, of course not."
"Good," Bellatrix smiles. "Then it is settled. Come along Granger, we have places to be."
Hesitantly, Hermione moves following Bellatrix and Narcissa as they turn to leave. She pauses, looking back at the masters who are frowning, noticing the hatred in Susan's eyes. A hand, calm, reassuring, presses against young Hermione's shoulder guiding her from the institute.