I just wanna say that Part I (and all of Part II but that's all just draft so it's easy to fix) was written before Crimes of Grindelwald, and I've been trying to adapt to that new information as I edit/flesh this out to be ready for posting. So any weird inconsistencies just fell through the cracks.
4-25-22: I'm going to mostly ignore Secrets of Dumbledore because like I said above, this was first written before CoG. If something makes sense to put in the story I will, though!
Chapter Ten
September 1941
"УмницаI! Seven years is too long."
As soon as Hermione had seen his dark hair and aristocratic features she'd taken off at a dead sprint across the main street of Derbent and jumped into his strong arms. He'd lifted her off the ground and spun her around for good measure, squeezing tightly.
"Mitri, I'm so glad to see you!"
They broke apart, and Dimitri held her by her shoulders, glancing her over with a critical eye. "You've lost weight, come with me."
Dimitri led her to a nearby cafe known for its blini and coffee, as expected it was utterly packed with magicfolk. Loud and public. Hermione glanced at Dimitri with appreciation as he led her to a visible booth with several families dining around them.
Once the server had taken their orders Hermione put up a wandless muffliato and Dimitri leveled her with his business look. The one she'd seen whenever he corrected her form or got a new piece of information for a case he was working on. Like an eagle that had locked eyes on its prey just before diving.
"I was glad to hear you wanted to meet, your letters have been infrequent the last few years."
"I've been a bit preoccupied," Hermione explained, "but I could have tried to keep in touch more often. I do apologize."
He waved a hand with a small shake of the head. "Nonsense, you don't owe me anything. I'm just glad to see you are well, I've been worried, and from your last correspondence I have a feeling there was a reason for me to be."
"Grindelwald is trying to recruit me." Hermione deadpanned.
Dimitri huffed with an eye roll and gave her a slight smile. "Of course he is, he's not a fool. You're a bit of a trifecta."
Almost choking on her coffee, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Pardon, I'm what now?"
"A trifecta, УмницаI. Magically powerful. Frighteningly intelligent. Dangerously capable. Sprinkle in a little of that untouchable mystery and any regime would be lucky to count you among them."
"I won't join them," she huffed, letting herself fall back against her chair, "standing on the throats of muggles as tyrannical slave owners doesn't appeal to me. It shouldn't appeal to anyone; but this is the world we live in."
Dimitri shrugged, fingers twirling the napkin that held his cutlery together on the table. "You can always do what I did, start working with his adversaries and eventually he'll stop sending people after you. It's only a good solution if his adversaries win, mind you. You'll have to weigh your options."
Hermione had already known this, of course. But Grindelwald's adversary was Albus Dumbledore, and she no longer fully trusted the man. She knew Dumbledore was a good man, a great one, even. But she never had been able to get over how he'd manipulated Hogwarts students into open warfare with a madman.
Not only that, but she'd vowed to avoid the man at all cost. He'd been just barely an adult when she'd been struck into the past, just a few years younger than she had been but it never crossed her mind to seek him out.
"If you've come to me for my opinion, I'll tell you with certainty that Grendelwald will not win. I'd advise you against joining him."
"Of course he won't win, he's radical and bold to the point of arrogance. You don't win anything by being flamboyant." Which was why Voldemort had almost won the first war, most hadn't known he was coming until he'd already won over the aristocracy and most of the Ministry. "The problem is that I'm not overly fond of the other option either." Hermione said, a headache beginning to throb at her temples.
He laid his hand on the table in front of him, palm up. She placed her hand in his and his fingers gently clenched hers, eyes dropping from her face to observe her hand.
"The first day I met you, you stepped into a dark alley fraught with danger in a forigen land and you didn't even fully grasp the language yet. You became an ally when I was overwhelmed and close to losing my fight, if not my life, and you didn't even know me," he raised her hand up and placed a reverent kiss to her knuckles, "but you fought with me. For me. You know, I haven't liked you being gone for so long. I worried." He placed his other hand over hers, encasing it in between his. "I think, if anyone can come up with a third option, it would be you."
October 1941
So much changed from the cold rainy night she'd woken in a field not far from York. It had been forty two long years that lead up to where Hermione stood today, hovering around a forest treeline that thinned and emptied into a field of wildflowers.
Her eyes raised to the sky, tears slipping down her face like hot trails of regret, Hermione tried to breathe. Her chest was so tight, body almost weightless as her legs gave out. She crumbled to the hard ground, great sobs wracking her body.
One hand braced against the earth so she wasn't flat against the ground while the other clutched at her heaving chest. Her breath came in large gasps.
Hermione did her best not to look at the bodies all around her, but she could see them in her mind even with her eyes closed. The smell of charred flesh and body excrement was overwhelming.
Can murder be rationalized? She had wondered that before, when she'd killed four men for torturing a small boy in Warsaw.
That act had left lingering trauma, mostly plaguing her when she tried to rest, but she justified it. They'd been child torturers, murderers, and she'd given them their reckoning.
But her mind kept asking if the two that hadn't participated in beating the young boy were the kind of Nazis that had been drafted against their will to save their families. Draco Malloy came to mind, and how mercy had been extended to him because he'd joined Voldemort ignorantly, a rodent caught in the coils of a viper.
And what was worse? That she regrets killing the two men who hadn't actually participated in the torture? Or that she did not regret murdering the two that had.
Hermione wretched on the ground in front of her and shakily tried to stand, falling to her knees for her efforts.
Or is was it worse that she'd snapped again, here, when she saw twenty Nazi soldiers beating and murdering a procession of Jewish forced labor victims while they dug what Hermione assumed were meant to be a mass grave? It had likely been for them as soon as they finished digging.
She had stumbled upon the scene while observing Treblinka, about a kilometer north of the field she was in now. She waited, disillusioned under a tree, and observed with rising rage as a Jewish man with one arm struggled to dig, the soldiers making fun of his disability, mocking how he tried to hold a shovel and yanking on his empty sleeve until he fell over.
The rage built and throbbed in her chest as the soldiers pointed their gun at the disabled man's feet, while he struggled to right himself, and shot off a few rounds. Their laughter rang with jubilant glee as they told him to dance for them.
The other workers kept their heads down, and who could blame them for trying to keep attention from themselves? Standing up for each other or speaking out of turn would get you killed.
Hermione hadn't even realized she'd been gathering magic in her palms until she'd raised her arms and called the largest stream of lightning she'd ever done before and struck the soldiers that taunted the disabled man.
The others, the victims Hermione rescued, had screamed and shrunk back. They were mostly hiding in the small pits they'd dug, clutching each other in fear that it would be them next. It didn't seem like any of them had noticed her, but Hermione guaranteed that at least a few had.
The sharp crack of apparition warned her of the arrival of some of her kind. She briefly wondered if they were aurors, here to cart her off to prison.
"Well now, honey, not to be rude or anything but I think you've seen better days."
Well, at least it wasn't an Auror. Queenie's arm snaked down and wrapped around Hermione, helping her up.
"You're not wrong." Hermione managed a self deprecating smile as she leaned up against the woman.
"He wants to talk to you, that's why I'm here. Well, why we are here." Queenie gestured to several magicfolk who were vanishing singed bodies. "We're gonna take care of this and cover your tracks."
"Obliviate the living, don't kill them. There's a train two kilometers from here that will take them to safety." Hermione implored, clutching Queenie's arm and latching on.
With a stiff nod, the blonde turned her head towards her cohorts. "Obliviate them, then take them to that train she mentioned."
The others gathered made their way towards the frightened victims and Queenie clutched Hermione's arm with the free one that wasn't already in Hermione's freeze hold. Their eyes met and Queenie smiled in a way that told Hermione that the woman understood. "They'll do it, they're supposed to listen to me."
"Thank you."
"Ah, none of that now." Queenie smiled, releasing Hermione's arm and palming her cheek with a worried frown. "You're so emotional you're dropping your occlumency shields, honey. You ought to get that together before we go see him."
"Why tell me?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "He's your boss."
Queenie looked around to check if the others had wandered far enough away. Seeing that everyone was at least out of the field she lowered her voice. "Why help the helpless No-Maj's if they're just vermin you'd rather leave alive only to tend the farmlands, Mia Gardner?"
Hermione put it together pretty quickly. Queenie wasn't at all what she portrayed herself to be. With a sharp nod and a few deep breaths, Hermione pulled herself together. As soon as she'd gathered herself she loosened her death grip on the other woman's arm.
"Well then, time to go see the boss."
He was everything Hermione had expected him to be.
Queenie had apparated Hermione into a room with large glass windows and stone walls. The room looked oddly like a smaller, furnished version of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. There was a softly cackling fire off to the side of the couch she was seated on, a teapot hovering over her shoulder to refill her cup whenever she took a sip.
When he'd walked in, she'd made to get up. However you thought about Grindelwald, whether you admired him or hated him, he was still a great and powerful wizard that commanded respect. If she wanted to get out of here with her life she'd need to play his game as best as she could without joining him.
"Please, remain sitting." He said with a slight nod of acknowledgement as she strode over to seat himself in the lounge chair across from her, one leg crossing over the other. A tea cup materialized in his hand as the teapot by her shoulder hovered over to him to fill it. He was the perfect picture of calm elegance. "I understand you had a rather powerful bout of accidental elemental magic in Poland an hour ago. You killed seven muggles and traumatized fourteen additional."
The tone he'd used to deliver the news wasn't accusatory, the look in his eye and the inflections of his voice… he was impressed.
Hermione realized it wouldn't do to tell him that though the burst of magic wasn't exactly premeditated, it wasn't entirely accidental either.
He continued without her response, bichromatic eyes roving over her as if looking for an opening to do whatever it was he was planning. "Not to worry, the auror's won't find magic involved at all, we've taken care of that for you."
"You'll want something from me for that, I imagine."
His gaze sharpened as their eyes met and Hermione had a sinking feeling she just gave him exactly the opening he'd been looking for.
"I would never presume to ask anything of you, Miss Gardner. We do want the same things. To see the world without the suffering of the innocent. This muggle war, it wraps them in a sea of dead bodies and pain. All they do, all the hurt they've created… borne of nothing more than power lust."
He stood, striding past her to look out the large glass windows. The sun streamed through and cast its rays over him. The effect made him look like some kind of ethereal being. She supposed he might have orchestrated it thus so he'd look like a divine entity, a savior, his words a balm to her soul, seducing her to his side as one of his many followers.
"Then you understand why I am doing all I can."
He glanced back at her with a smile. "Yes, I've seen that you fight for the freedom of the enslaved. The safety and healing of the lost and wounded. Human beings are like that, we want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery. Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped them into misery and bloodshed."
"It is not your fault you lose yourself to this fight, for you have a good heart, a noble heart, Mia Gardner."
He strode back over to her and outstretched his hand. She hesitantly placed her hand in his and he lifted it to his lips, bowing slightly. "You are welcome among us, when you're ready to fight for the good of humanity."
He'd left the room with as little ceremony as he'd entered with. The lack of his presence seemed to suck the life out of the room as he went and Hermione took just a moment to steady herself and take a deep breath.
She'd truly thought he'd summoned her to give her a life or death choice.
Not that she was fooled for a moment that he was actually giving her a choice. He'd left it at an invitation, and Hermione knew enough about Grindelwald to realize he expected her to come to him of her own volition. That was another main difference between him and Voldemort.
Grindlewald didn't need to torture his followers into submission.
"Are you ready to go, honey, or would you like more tea?" Queenie's voice shook Hermione from her thoughts as the woman re-entered the room. The blonde had a small, almost sad smile on her face.
Hermione swallowed thickly and did her best to ease whatever Queenie was worried about. She concentrated hard and lowered her occlumency shields just a small fraction. 'Don't worry for me, Queenie. I am not afraid.' Queenie's smile widened just a smidgen and she gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"I think I'd rather go home, if you don't mind. I have a lot on my mind. I apologize for not being able to spend much time with you."
"Oh that's fine," Queenie said, bouncing up to Hermione and looping their arms together, "we're friends now, after all. I'll come over for tea sometime."
'I'd like that.' Hermione thought sincerely as Queenie apparated them both out.
July 1942
For months the Nazi soldiers had been rounding up those still alive in the Ghetto and sent them off to forced labor camps. Seven thousand were rounded up shortly after and the Nazi's transported them via train to a kill camp called Treblinka.
Hermione knew she couldn't help them all but could not stop herself from trying anyways. She met the train on its route and with some strategic movements of the rails she was able to knock the train off its balance and let it de-rail. Many were able to escape to a nearby Russian checkpoint. She had made sure to derail the train close enough for them to make it.
That done, she'd apparated away to a field approximately seventeen kilometers away where they were under immediate spell fire. Judging by the robes, she assumed it was a group of Auror's locked in battle against Grindelwald's forces.
Instead of deliberating, Hermione began healing men who were in the robes of official Auror's.
She'd moved on from the collapsed lung of one Auror to an Auror with blood running down his face from a head wound. Some of the more lucid Auror's questioned her, how she got there, what she was doing but she ignored them, said she was in the area and if they wanted to live they'd shut up and let her help.
Curses were flying all around her and Hermione was barely able to shield herself and her patients from the spell fire. In the middle of healing some of the enemy had closed in and she found herself having to return fire to keep herself alive.
She was in a bit of a pinch, most of the offensive magic she utilized these days were of a darker nature and in front of these Auror's she needed to keep the magic clean, or at least gray. All of her work over the years would be for naught if she got arrested trying to do a good deed.
Would put another spin on 'no good deed goes unpunished' though.
Just as she downed a man with ragged teeth that reeked of rotting onions and firewhiskey, she looked up hoping for a quick reprieve so she could go back to healing the Aurors.
Oh, Hermione thought, bloody hell.
A much younger Albus Dumbledore crested through the forest treeline and into the field, magic meeting with another fighter. The vortex the attacks created sapped life from the grass and wildflowers around them, leaving them dull and decayed as though there hadn't been a drop of rain all year.
Hermione nearly panicked at the thought of being so close to him, knowing that if he knew the truth about her he would no doubt be after her, to collect her for whatever schemes he was willing to move pawns across the chess board for. Or to kill her, she wasn't sure which she would prefer. Then again, the man he was fighting was Grindelwald himself and he'd already expressed interest in cultivating her.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald were, she hoped, preoccupied enough that they may not notice her, nestled deep into the group of wounded.
With all the offensive forces now trained on Dumbledore and away from the downed Aurors, Hermione was able to focus her attention solely on getting the fighters back on their feet.
The battle was intense, Hermione was doing her best to ignore it. Half of her brain completely focused on the ruptured femoral artery on the Auror she was working on, the dark curse around it pulsed with power as it rapidly decayed the leg. His muted screams reminded her to stay focused. The other half of her brain was reminding her this was the first time she'd been a part of a fight of this scale with magic involved since the Battle of Hogwarts and was in a repetition of what the fuck what the fuck what the fucking fuck have you gotten yourself into now, Granger?
It was either a few minutes after he'd arrived or the battlefield or hours later, she couldn't tell. She did know that she'd managed to heal every one of the Aurors that had fallen, and the surge of pride she'd had at the realization was quickly smashed when, with an intricate flourish of his wand, Dumbledore called forth what amounted to a bloody tsunami from the nearby river. The Aurors and all of Grindelwald's forces scattered.
The fight was over, it was still a couple years from Dumbledore defeating the dark wizard, but they'd won this battle at least.
Or, rather, they'd fought the enemy off for now.
Hermione was resuscitating an Auror who'd drowned in the mess when she felt Dumbledore approaching them.
The Auror sputtered and coughed up the water, Hermione turned him and rubbed his back to help him push the liquid from his system and regain his breath.
"Thank you, ma'am." He expressed and Hermione wasn't at all surprised to hear the English accent, but she was a little nostalgic. It was the first time she'd heard one in forty years. The man turned a little and saw who was behind her. "Dumbledore. Good to see you."
She looked up and did her best to slam up occlumency shields before she met his eyes. Hermione could feel his probe, but ignored it. She quickly stood, removing the dirt and grass from her clothing with a quick flick of her wand, ignoring the hand Dumbledore had stretched out to help her.
"Moody, glad to see you well." Dumbledore said to the Auror, then turned his gaze back to Hermione. She only had a second to realize she might have just rescued Mad-Eye's father before Dumbledore was addressing her. "You've done well with the Aurors. How long have you been a healer?"
"Since I was out of Ilvermorny," she said in her perfect imitation of a New York accent. She turned to survey the area, checking for any lingering Auror's that may need medical attention as he continued to speak to her.
"Ah, I haven't met someone from across the pond in a few years. Does the war bring you here?"
He seemed to be making casual conversation, but Hermione knew the future Dumbledore, and she remembered how he used her and her friends. How he tested them as eleven year olds up until he'd manipulated the entire war even from beyond the grave with plans he'd set into motion years before he died. In short, Hermione had little trust for Albus Dumbledore, and everything he said had dual meaning.
A crack of apparition sounded and Hermione whirled around. Two men were holding up one other, who was coughing blood.
"Lay him flat," Hermione commanded, and when the Auror's paused she snapped, "immediately, unless you want to tell his family he hemorrhaged and died because you couldn't take a healer's directive."
They hastily complied.
Hermione got to work on the young Auror, the damage wasn't something she could take care of right now, he would need the hospital. She did everything she could to stabilize him.
After a few minutes, Hermione was able to use a spell to sanitize her hands and stand once more. "I've stopped this man's hemorrhaging and managed to seal his wounds and reverse most of the curses that hit him. He needs immediate transportation to whatever facility you can reach with haste."
The man groaned as if to stress her point and Albus furrowed his brows ever so slightly. He seemed to be in deep contemplation for a few more moments before he smiled comfortingly and with a flourish of robes presented an unassuming looking tea cup and handed it over to one of the Aurors.
"It will take a few minutes for the portkey to be readied. In the meantime, you never answered my question."
She knew if she tried to get out of it he'd be suspicious. So she told him what she'd come up with years ago.
"Right, sorry. Dying Auror and all, a little distracting. My mother was a No-Maj born French immigrant into New York City, I think you call them muggleborns on this side of the world? She was a nurse, and I followed in her footsteps and trained in their medicines while also training to be a healer. I've been here for a few months, helping with the No-Maj war efforts as a nurse." Mia responded curtly.
He gave her an eye twinkle and a charismatic smile. She was stricken for a moment at how much like Silas Dumbledore looked this young. She pushed the thought away violently, refusing to see any similarities. It was just creepy.
"You seem remarkably capable under duress, Miss?"
"Gardner, Mia Gardner." She offered. Mia stood and offered her hand to him, she wasn't supposed to know who he was. "And you, sir?"
His eyes twinkled, something she had found comforting as a school girl but was no longer impressed. He grasped her hand and in true fashion of the British wizarding world raised her hand to bow over it. "Albus Dumbledore."
Once again not all that impressed, Mia pulled her hand back just as he let go but was careful to avoid having him think she was pulling away because of who he was.
"A pleasure to meet you Mr. Dumbledore," she stated politely before turning to the man on the ground below them. "That was some impressive wand work out there."
"Ah, thank you. I wish I could've done more, but I'm afraid it will have to wait for another time." Dumbledore smiled, and Hermione stiffened just a bit. "Could I convince you to come back to London with us? A healer of your capacity would be useful in St. Mungo's during these perilous times Miss. Gardner," he lowered his voice considerably, "and I'm afraid Grindelwald is going to be coming after you with a vengeance."
"Oh?" Hermione questioned with a raised brow.
"It was brief, in the battle, I almost missed it but he'd glanced at you healing Auror's and fighting off some of his advancing supporters and seemed… angry. If you don't come with us to a safe place I fear he'll have you sent for in a matter of hours."
Hermione clenched her jaw, suddenly tense and unnerved. She'd hoped that Grindelwald hadn't seen her, but it had been low odds. She couldn't just let the Auror's die while she stood around uselessly, either. She'd made a choice, and the consequence would be her death when Grindelwald sent his people after her.
He'd given her ample time to come to him. She'd hoped to avoid him until his defeat in '45 but instead she'd inadvertently chosen his adversaries right in front of him. He wouldn't forgive that, and she imagined he might force Queenie to kill her. Hermione had grown to like Queenie quite a bit, and her stomach turned at the thought of what having to fight her friend for her life would do to her.
With a heavy, resigned sigh, Hermione placed her hand atop Albus Dumbledore's arm just in time for the portkey to activate.
The End of Part I
Parts of Grindelwald's conversation with Hermione were taken from Charlie Chapiln's speech in The Great Dictator. (I'm not a smooth talker myself so coming up with something seductively compelling isn't a skill) If you've never heard it, I totally suggest looking it up. The speech is about three minutes and it's phenomenal, sincere, and thought-provoking.
As for Silas looking like Dumbledore, I'd face-cast Jude Law as Silas long before he was announced to be playing Dumbledore in CoG and decided not to change it.
4/26/22: For those of you who are returning to this story give me a few days on the next one. I'm changing some things in Part II after having thought long and hard about what people had said the first time around. Longer note about this will be at the top of the next chapter. Skippable for those of y'all who are new!