50 kilometers west of Aberdeen - Uninhabitable zone
October 9, 2006
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his sleep – the sofa so small his legs dangled off the side. He longed for his massive bed back home in Hogsmeade and turned over in his failing quest to find comfort. Squinting an eye open and noticing the rising sun, he let out a harsh exhale and got up.
After their uncomfortable conversation the night before, Hermione had found a few pieces of clothing that would potentially fit Draco. While he informed her there was no way in hell he would wear any of it, she just shrugged and left him – letting him know she needed to check on her research and would bring him dinner.
He was apoplectic when he learned she expected him to sleep on the sofa! Of course, she didn't seem to care, just apologized and went into her room, locking the door. He considered leaving but, judging by the scenery visible through the windows, they truly were in the middle of nowhere. He attempted to enter the room Hermione had spent most of the day in – where he suspected she had locked away his wand. But the door wouldn't budge.
Giving up, he had taken a closer look at his surroundings. The paintings all seemed – well boring was the right word. Impersonal. The small photo only showed a man and a woman along with a young girl – at some nondescript location. The girl looked similar to Hermione and he wondered if perhaps this was her family?
He had looked at the book collection – the first shelf contained many words he was unfamiliar with. He grabbed a book, 'Applied Quantum Physics'. He could read it – the writing was familiar but the words were strung together in a way that was utterly nonsensical. The book itself was covered in scribbles, he assumed by Hermione herself, as well as bits of sticky notes with small arrows sticking out every way. Frowning, he had placed it back on the shelf and returned to the couch, contemplating his current predicament for hours before exhaustion overtook him.
This morning, he returned to the bookshelves, hoping he could find something to help pass the time. He had finally recognized something out of the corner of his eye when he heard Hermione…singing?
"What?" he griped instinctually at her. She gave him a soft smile and pulled something off of her head. Now he realized that someone or something was speaking out of the wretched device. It was unsettling and he looked at it warily.
"Morning Draco! You're up early. I've started coffee – don't mind me, just finishing my morning workout. Grab yourself breakfast if you're hungry!" And she pulled some weird devices from a closet and returned to her room. In and out like a sharp gust of wind – leaving only Draco's continued fascination – confusion – in her wake.
He went into the kitchen and thought about a mug, but nothing happened. He frowned and tried again, still unable to use even the simplest of magic. Frustrated, and now determined to drink coffee, he located the cabinet with the mugs and grabbed one.
Coffee in hand, he felt a small sense of accomplishment as he returned to the couch. He took a sip and immediately blanched, overwhelmed by the bitterness. Unwilling to return to the kitchen in search of cream and sugar, he continued taking small sips, wincing at the flavor but appreciative of the soothing aroma. Feeling a little more himself – well as much as he could in this place – he returned to the bookshelf, looking to the bottom right corner where he'd seen a familiar book.
Why does she have that? he thought as his fingertips quaked in anger. He grabbed the book, gently of course. "The Pureblood Manifesto." He read the cover out loud, frowning at the additional words on the page, '#1 bestseller!' 'a history of the wizarding elite' 'by the Dark Lord'. The cover itself showed the Dark Mark, artistically drawn, and the words Pureblood made to look as if the letters were themselves bleeding.
Holding it carefully, he gently opened the book and was horrified by the incessant scribbles that covered the bent pages. Paragraphs were circled, a small piece of paper stuck out – 'Origin of the bloody mary myth?' Each page he thumbed through looked similar – covered in scribbles and notes. He was now breathless, eyes watering, utterly out of his element.
"Oh! You found a book. Sorry – I should have mentioned last night – feel free to read what you like. I'm sure you're–" she froze, finally seeing his panic. "Is everything OK?" She frowned, her words laced with concern.
"Why?" was all he got out, his eyes darting from the book to her, his chest heaving.
"I'm sorry – you're going to have to elaborate on that. Why what? There are too many variables for me to guess in this instance." Hermione responded deliberately, her head completing a familiar tilt to the left.
"Why do you have this book? You – !" he spat at her.
Hermione frowned for only a moment before shrugging. "It's a book – a very popular one at that."
"I know what it is!" he exclaimed gruffly. "I don't understand," he finished softly, trying to stop the watering in his eyes.
Hermione nodded. "This," she pointed to the book, "was published maybe eight years ago? My understanding is that Voldemort published it to try and sway more of the magical population to his enclave. I'm unaware if it was successful. You're familiar with it?"
He nodded his head, relaxing slightly. "Of course – my father helped conduct research for it. We study it," he explained. "I just – I don't understand why he would let muggles have it."
Hermione simply shrugged. "Magicals and non-magicals are pretty intertwined in most of the WEA."
"The what? I thought we were in Scotland?"
"Well," Hermione started slowly, "we are – but the UK no longer exists, so to speak – we're in the Western European Alliance – a conglomerate of countries, governed by a magical and non-magical parliamentary body. Protected by the Corps." She stood proudly
"I still don't understand." Draco shook his head, eyes turning back towards the book.
"If it helps, my understanding is the continued popularity of this book has been very lucrative for your people." She shrugged.
"They're – popular?" he asked, the word feeling like sand on his tongue.
"Oh – very much so! It's a fascinating book – a lot of nonsense, historical inaccuracies and a lack of any understanding of basic human biology, but it provides a very unique point of view of magical history," Hermione explained brightly.
"Historical inaccuracies!" Draco responded under his breath. "This," he gestured towards the book almost reverently, "is not 'fascinating'." He used air quotes as he snarled the words. "You're a foolish woman if you think you – could ever comprehend the Manifesto." He held his nose up, daring her to argue.
"Ah," she started, "of course. Non-magicals are – what did he call them?" She snapped her fingers a few times before pointing at Draco. "That's right – an 'inferior species – less pleasant than a dog but of similar utility. Any intelligence or semblance of such indicates the muggle is but a puppet of a witch – or an otherwise supernatural oddity'." She finished with a triumphant smile. "Is that truly what you think? Am I a dog to you? Or have I been bewitched?"
"I don't understand you," he said honestly.
"Well – we're stuck with each other for nearly three more weeks so you have that much time to figure it out." She smiled as he sunk into the couch, the conversation overwhelming.
"Three weeks?" he asked, his face a horrified mask.
"Yes. I spoke with my Captain yesterday and gave him an update. They'll make sure there's space for you on the next supply run out here," she explained.
"Then what?" He seemed to be a never-ending fountain of questions. Hermione found the childlike quality endearing.
"Well, I would assume that's up to you. I'm sure if you asked they would be happy to drop you back off with your people," she answered. "Of course, it would seem odd that you would trek out in the woods, presumably to find something else, only to return; but I don't really know you now, do I?" Her smirk stretched to her eyes.
"Will I be taken prisoner?" he asked, suddenly concerned, eyes darting around the room.
"I wouldn't think so." Her eyebrows furrowed, head again tilted in a position Draco had come to realize meant she was puzzling something. "Why would you think that?"
"I mean – we're enemies aren't we?" he let out, clearly exasperated.
"Are we? I mean, I imagine I may be your enemy, but I don't really feel malicious intent towards you." She shrugged.
Draco was getting sick of her nonchalance. "But – we won! You all had to retreat!"
Hermione actually laughed at this. "Won what?! A 50 kilometer stretch of northern Scotland?" She shook her head and grabbed another book – a larger one this time. Thumbing through it, she opened it up and showed him a map. "This," she pointed to it, "is the world."
His forehead wrinkled but he nodded in understanding.
"OK, this," she circled a small part of it, "is the WEA – the Western European Alliance."
His breath started quickening again.
"And this," she took a pen out and placed a dot towards the upper left portion of the WEA, "is your enclave."
He tried to find a way to refute her, other than spouting a series of profanities, but found himself speechless as she continued, this time her tone more kind. "No one won. When the world learned about magic – it went insane. In the end, your people said they would leave everyone alone for an old castle and some land. That's all," she finished.
This was impossible – how could the world be so – large.
"Do you remember life before the Event?" she asked.
He considered this – he'd been nine when it happened. He recalled living in a big house but rarely left. "I don't know what I thought." His voice was quiet as he tried to reconcile the two worlds – the one he had been raised knowing, whose history was written here in this book, and the one this – woman claimed knowledge of.
He was still staring at the map, eyes glaring at that tiny dot when a soft alarm went off. "Apologies Draco – I must check an experiment. I left a breakfast sandwich out on the kitchen counter for you." And without further ado, she was locked behind that second door.
It was well over two hours later that she finally returned. Draco couldn't help but notice her hair, a dull brown color, had appeared to multiply in volume. She huffed, blowing a piece purposefully out of her eye in annoyance, before pulling it back with a hair tie and shaking her head as if to shake something clear.
When she reached him, Draco had the manifesto in his hands, reading a passage softly to himself almost as a child would a comforting passage in a favorite story. Hermione softly spoke. "You know, you can watch TV if you're bored," she suggested, pointing to the plastic box in front of them.
He gave her a pointed look. "Why would I watch a box?"
Her eye twitched in amusement but she was determined not to tease him. "I'll show you! Put that down," she glared at him until he complied, "and scoot over!" He rolled his eyes but nonetheless left some room on the sofa for her to sit.
"This," she grabbed a rectangle from underneath the coffee table, "is a remote control." She pointed the rectangle and pressed a button on it, and the plastic box – transfigured into something else!
"Is that a wand?" He grabbed the rectangle from her hand and pointed it towards the manifesto. "Wingardium Leviosa", he swished and flicked but nothing happened.
"No," she said slowly and grabbed the remote gently from him. "It's a remote control. It uses electronics to turn the TV on." She now clicked another few buttons and suddenly there were people talking on the TV.
"This just in. We're continuing to learn about yesterday's explosion at the WEA parliament meeting house. No casualties have been reported but as you can see, a number of offices in the English representative wing have been severely damaged." The shot panned to firefighters putting out the last embers of the explosion.
Hermione watched the screen in morbid curiosity until she noticed Draco oddly patting the TV. "What are you doing?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer and feeling yet again like she was babysitting a toddler.
"Where did they come from?" The box didn't seem big enough for people. It didn't make sense.
"I have a satellite dish on top of my house. The news is being broadcast from London, the broadcast is then sent to a satellite that orbits the Earth, and then the satellite beams the communication down to us. That information is sent through the different wires in the back," she got up and pointed to them, "which tell the TV what images to display."
He looked at her. Blinked once – then twice. "I have no idea what you just said."
"It's technology!" She sighed, "I understand that wizards can flick a wand to make things happen. We don't have it so easy – so we've built technology and all sorts of things to enhance our quality of life.
"Television is very popular. They don't make too many TV shows or movies these days, but you can still watch old ones and the news. It can be quite entertaining," she finished.
"Do you have anything to help me understand?" he asked, looking vulnerable.
She smiled, walking over to her overstuffed bookshelf. "Well, I'm not personally an engineer so I don't have anything that would help you with understanding how a TV works but – I have this."
She handed him a book called "Non-Magicals for Dummies." He looked at her quizzically. "Are you calling me stupid?"
She laughed, "No! It's a –," she paused thinking about how to describe it, "series of books that explain things plainly. I believe this was written by a wizard who was very curious about non-magicals."
"Why do you have it?"
"Research," she responded with a shrug.
"Why?"
"You say that a lot don't you?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, well, try waking up in a small house with a muggle and hearing words that make no sense and see how you feel!" His head now pounded.
"Ok, ok. Settle down. I didn't mean anything by it. There there." She handed him the book and walked away.
He skimmed through the book, which of course was once again filled with her chicken scratch and highlights. He eventually found a table of contents and skipped to a chapter called 'The History of the Western European Alliance (WEA).'
After two years of anarchy following the Event, a tragic murder sparked the faction leaders to declare a cease fire and begin negotiations. A conglomerate of countries in Western Europe agreed to pool their resources to create a new entity – one stronger than the sum of its parts. The Corps was created as a protecting body – a military arm made up of both magical and non-magical beings alike.
The WEA is governed by a parliamentary body that creates the laws, a policing arm of Detectives and Aurors who ensure the laws are obeyed, and a judiciary to rule when a guilty party is found. The WEA has been successful in its embrace of magic and non-magic alike and willingness to put aside factional differences.
Draco considered this more or less aligned with Hermione's brief explanation, and flipped through, finding more information on the Event.
In 1989, a catastrophic magical wave completely obliterated all human life in a two kilometer radius. The act, whose magical residue still remains, was so powerful as to ensure all of humanity had to take notice.
Draco recalled the Event only vaguely. He remembered being upset at having to leave home – but otherwise wasn't too bothered.
The existence of magic created religious upheaval across the non-magical world. Fundamentalists of many faiths joined forces – questioning magic, attempting to identify the presence or existence of a deity. But the faction who caused the most harm were the Apachs – a group of religious extremists who believed the magical shock was the apocalypse and sought a reckoning on the earth, deeming those who did not agree with them unclean.
The Apachs were responsible for most of the nuclear damage in Western Europe – ironically using black market magical items to enhance the potency of their weapons. Since the creation of the WEA, the Apachs have nearly all been apprehended and the faction is no longer active.
Hermione re-entered the room holding a tray of sandwiches and fruit. She placed it on the coffee table and waited for Draco to look at her before speaking. "Enjoying it?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
Draco shrugged, "It's fine."
She shook her head, as if amused by the whole thing and grabbed a sandwich herself. She was about to return to her lab when Draco spoke.
"You know – the Dark Lord foresaw this," he told her simply – pointing to the passage on the Apachs.
She pointedly did not roll her eyes, determined not to alienate her specim– guest. "Yes, I read the manifesto. But I thought he predicted an all out war between magicals and non-magicals?" she pointed out.
Draco shook his head. "That's not what he wrote! See here," Draco reached for the manifesto and began turning until he found the page, "I always feared we were reaching a tipping point – a moment in time where there would be no choice but to reveal the magical to the Muggle. But the magical world writ large did not take my warning seriously, and did not truly understand the Muggle threat.
"And what of our future? We stagnate, society becoming further diluted. Only my people – the Death Eaters – remain connected to the roots of all magic. Where the rest of magical society withers away." He stopped reading and looked at her expectantly.
"Draco – I still don't think you understand," she paused for a moment, "the – tragedies – following the event weren't the result of wizards, or some inherent fear. It was more of a metaphysical crisis caused by the knowledge that magic is real."
She paused to look at him, his face torn between confusion and disbelief. "Magic defies many basic laws of science – it required us to re-evaluate everything we knew. But more to the point, religions have typically depicted magic as the tool of the devil. So what does that mean, when we finally learn that magic exists, and it's all around us?
"The fundamentalists assumed we had been forsaken – that God had left long ago. The Apachs took this a step further and assumed it meant God had deemed us a failure and moved on. They sought the destruction of everything as a means to enter Heaven. Warlords and dictators filled the power vacuums. But one thing all of these people had in common?
"None of them declared 'war' on wizards. None of them sought the destruction of wizard-kind or your way of life. Even the Event – no one really blamed magicals since more of your kind died than mine anyways. It was perceived as some sort of magical fluke of the earth rather than the result of malicious intent.
"So while your 'Dark Lord' may have accurately assumed there would be trouble when magic revealed itself to the world, I think his "us versus them" analysis of the situation shows his own naivety on the matter. No offense of course," Hermione finished.
Draco was speechless. He looked at Hermione – really looked at the woman who had done nothing but perplex him for the past 24 hours. Beyond her cool and calculated demeanor, she was surprisingly soft – particularly compared to the few women he had grown up with, who were blessed with the identifying features of their parents' houses. Hermione had soft brown eyes that lit up the moment she was challenged – or the moment two conflicting beliefs made themselves present. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own. Even wrestled with a rubber band, strands sought to escape to cover the distinct scar that sat in front of her right ear.
He also realized she was strong. Beyond the simple feat of bringing him here from wherever he was passed out in the woods, her tight clothes showed toned muscle. He had felt vulnerable from the moment he realized he did not have his wand and that something had happened to his magic. But it was only now that he realized – he was no match for this small woman – and what did that mean?
She took his silence to mean he was done with the conversation and left, back to that infernal room she locked herself away in with his wand. Of all the situations he imagined himself in – all of the scenarios he worked through, he had never anticipated something like this – someone like her.
He thought back to her question – 'Am I a dog to you? Or have I been bewitched?' and tried to answer it. She certainly was not a dog – he could not help but admit she had a brain. But was it truly hers? Was she perhaps the output of an experiment, being out here alone in the middle of a wasteland?
He wasn't sure how that could be possible though. He understood the mechanics of the Imperius curse and other methods of control but could not think of anything that would quite explain her. Everything about her was contradictory to everything he thought he knew.
He found himself oddly empathetic to the Muggles – was this how they felt after the Event? He tried to reconcile the conflicting facts, his mind returning to that tiny dot on an otherwise massive map. A headache began to form and he once again lay down, massaging his temples.
He unintentionally fell asleep and had an incredibly vivid dream – his father and the Dark Lord were speaking, discussing minutiae. He woke up from the nap, momentarily comforted before remembering his surroundings.
A/N: Thanks as always to my beta - ElizColl. Appreciate any feedback/reviews/comments...