Season of the Goddess
.xOoOx.
Author's Notes:
Hi! Welcome to my new story, Season of the Goddess! This is a story I've been meaning to write for years now, and I hope it will come together as well as I am hoping it would. However, I must warn you that is fic is an exploration piece and written purely for the fun of it, so it will not stick to specific themes or facts on subjects such as paganism or any other concepts that require close scrutiny. Having said that, please keep in mind that I've handpicked information that works with the story and I've even made up a few others, so if you're the type who likes their fiction as close to accurately factual as possible, this might not be for you.
The fic is Hermione-centric, and though the pairing, as the story is planned out now, is a Jamione, I should warn you that it could turn into a multi or a triad in the future, depending on how things go. I will give everyone fair warning should the original pairing deviate to accommodate more people involved, but I would like to give you all a head's up first, just in case it does happen. So far though, it's highly unlikely.
The story currently has four chapters written, two still unedited, but I will endeavour to update bi-monthly. I have another story coming out soon (next week, if all goes as planned), so my updates should come out alternately with this one.
So! Now that you've made it this far into my babble, I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it! Reviews are always welcome, really don't hold back! ;)
.xOoOx.
One
The Will-o'-the-Wisp
.xOoOx.
Hogwarts, 6 June 1995
"Today we acknowledge a really terrible loss. Cedric Diggory was as you all know, exceptionally hard-working, infinitely fair-minded and most importantly a fierce, fierce friend. Now I think therefore you have the right to know exactly how he died. You see, Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort. The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this, but not to do so I think would be an insult to his memory."*
Headmaster Dumbledore's speech echoed throughout the Great Hall with a solemnity that reverberated through every soul present. The unexpected death of Cedric Diggory at the Triwizard Tournament was a tragedy that loomed over Hogwarts like a dark foreboding cloud. Sorrow clung onto every stone and battlement of the castle as fear and dread weaved through them like cold spectres.
Hermione, like all the others, felt the grief of losing a fellow student to death. It sat heavy on her — on everyone's — shoulders. For all her brilliance, it was difficult for her to wrap her head around the idea that someone — someone like Cedric Diggory, so young, so vivacious, and so full of life— was dead, just like that. She had not known him, had not once spoken a word to him, but she felt staggering disbelief at the news of his passing. His murder.
Death was inevitable.
Coldness crept through her bones. The despondency she felt around the castle was depressing her further, suffocating her until all she could only literally manage shallow breaths. She felt dazed and so tired.
So very, very tired, a voice seemed to echo in her head through the haze of exhaustion.
"Hermione?" a soft voice called out, permeating through the bone-deep exhaustion she felt.
Hermione turned her head to look at Lavender sitting at the Gryffindor table across from her, her vision starting to fade around the edges. "Hmm?"
"Are you all right?" The girl asked, concern writ across her already dejected features, her usually vibrant blond hair limp and lacklustre. "You look ill."
"I…" Hermione began, mustering all her strength to answer. She was just exhausted, she wanted to say. Just —
And then she fainted.
.xOoOx.
Hogwarts, 4 May 1998
It was over. Voldemort was dead. The war was won.
Hermione sat on a cool patch of grass by the Great Lake, letting the cool morning breeze waft through her face. She had risen with the sun and she basked in the peace that surrounded her, hearing nothing but the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the wind rustling against the leaves. She had needed to get away from the castle, from the rubble, the grieving. They'd lost so many people, so many good friends and family. So many casualties to a war that had begun because of the senseless ambition of a power-hungry man.
Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Lavender… Her parents…
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head at the stray thought.
No, her parents weren't dead. They were safe, but they were gone from her, living a life without her, with no memory of her. Soon, she would find them and she would restore their memories. If she could. Maybe.
Another gust of wind blew through the trees and ruffled her unbound hair, and in the stillness of the morning, she heard it.
My child…
Hermione sat up straight at the sound she thought she heard a whisper so soft, it could have just been a whistle of the wind. She looked around her, scanning the lake's edge and the grounds surrounding her. There was no one else in sight, the castle just a hulking grey ruin behind her.
She shook her head again. Was she hearing things? She must be.
It's the stress, she thought, just as she saw something flash at the corner of her eye. Something white and brilliant.
Hermione stood, the reflexes she'd gained from the war springing into action and for a split second, she thought she saw someone wearing robes of white standing against the trunk of a leafless tree a few metres away. When she got fully to her feet, however, she saw nothing there.
Another gust of cool wind blew by, and if she listened hard enough, she would have heard the soft words they carried.
Goodbye…
As Hermione stood there, bewildered and alert, she couldn't understand the tightness she felt in her chest… Nor the reason for the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
.xOoOx.
The British Ministry of Magic, June 1999
The dull buzz of the people bustling around the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures was a noise that Hermione hardly noticed anymore. The constant flurry of people and rustling of flying paper memos were nothing but white noise the young witch. Hermione was able to concentrate on the documents she was proofreading before submitting them to the Head of the Department, Gethsemane Prickle, with an ease that belied how utterly bored she was. It was an extremely tedious job and it certainly wasn't very challenging, but it paid for her food and rent while she prepared for her NEWTS, especially when she'd opted to skip her last year of Hogwarts.
Just then, the door to the department burst open, and a flurry of harried Ministry employees and people in a variety of coloured robes filed in, rushing to the Prickle's office with an urgency that was usually only seen within the Auror Department.
Hermione glanced up from her work in befuddlement, her tedium induced reverie breaking like a fragile bubble. Nothing significantly exciting ever happened within the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, usually just a disgruntled centaur or other here and there on the rarest of days. The sudden burst of activity was nothing short of an anomaly.
Then a parade of a surprising mix of magical creatures traipsed in, from centaurs to merrows, hags and, from the trail of mesmerised men that followed after a duo of extremely attractive women in shimmering gossamer robes, veelas.
Her eyebrows rose at the sudden cacophony and she shared a puzzled glance with Luna, who was sitting at the desk beside her, her large tri-horned glasses adorned with tiny carrots hanging at the corners sitting askew on the bridge of her nose.
"What in the world…" Hermione murmured, unable to take her eyes off of the unusual brigade that had scattered about their office. She could see that she wasn't the only one shell-shocked by the procession. Her co-workers' mouths were left agape while those who didn't work at the department peered in, equally dumbfounded. Never, in all the history of Wizarding Britain (that Hermione could remember reading about) had any of these magical creatures — willingly, at least — set foot in its hallowed halls. It was, to say the least, disconcerting.
"Perhaps they all have Wrackspurts in their ears. The warm summer weather does make them go a little mad," Luna's sing-song voice supplied, her own eyes planted on the scene, though she seemed to be taking the entire fiasco more gracefully than others.
Hermione cast her fellow intern a side-long glance but didn't say a word in opposition otherwise. She loved her friend, truly she did. She just needed to remind herself of why sometimes.
"'Fraid Wrackspurts aren't the cause of this debacle, Lovegood," a soft masculine voice spoke up, and Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Matthew Palmer, one of the investigators of creature-related incidents, approach their tables with a slow caution she supposed he used while out on the field, his bright blue gaze fixed firmly on the party of magical creatures crowding in front of the Head's office. "It's worse than that. Much worse."
Curious, as was her nature, Hermione couldn't help but ask, "What is it, then? Why do you suppose they're here?"
Palmer spared her a curt glance, before placing the newspaper he'd been clutching flat on her desk, the headline blazing in big, bold letters. "This."
A Natural Disaster: Enchanted Forests Dying
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Tutshill, June 1999
A bright white light shining behind her eyelids roused her from her slumber, warm and penetrating, chasing away the shadows of a dream she could now barely remember. Hermione moaned, her senses waking reluctantly as she shifted in bed. With effort, she opened her bleary eyes, squinting against the white brightness that filtered into her room. She peered around her, befuddled. What—?
Her room was dimly lit, the silver light emanating from her door chasing away the darkness that it could reach, the shadows hugging the walls and corners. Through sleep-heavy eyes, Hermione turned to its source in confusion before promptly shooting out of bed at what she saw.
What on earth!
There, floating in thin air by her doorway was a single sphere of light, bobbing lazily, as if waiting for her.
Hermione's mind churned to life, sleep long forgotten.
A will-o'-the-wisp…
More confused now than ever, Hermione slid her legs to the floor, the hem of her nightgown slipping down her thighs as she stood. She reached for her wand sitting on her nightstand and took a step forward instinctively, pausing when reason took over. What on earth could a Will-o'-the-wisp be doing here, in her flat? Will-o'-wisps are only usually found in marshes or bogs, not in small wizarding homes in the middle of Tutshill.
"H-hello?" she said for a lack of words to say. How did one interact with sentient yet mischievous little clumps of air?
Behind her, she heard Crookshanks stir from the foot of her bed before he lept down after his mistress and stalked towards the floating speck of light, head tilted to the side in curiosity.
The tiny wisp made a small circle in the air, and Hermione didn't know how, but she instinctively knew they it wanted her to follow it. Should she?
She hesitated. Logically, she knew that will-o'-the-wisps were generally harmless sprites. Generally. They were mischievous pranksters that liked to pray on human curiosity, leading unwitting travellers into marshes, but…
Hermione bit her lip, staring at the phosphoric flame a moment longer, cautious but so infinitely curious.
The glowing orb seemed to have grown impatient and finally made the decision for her, blowing out of existence, and reappearing a few metres away, and into her living room.
Hermione huffed and tightened her grip on her wand. There was nothing for it, she had to know what was going on. Bracing herself, her war-honed instincts surging to the fore, she inched after the glowing ball of vapour, bare feet padding silently against the carpet. Crookshanks' ears twitched once before he followed close behind.
The moment she got within a few feet from her sofa, the blasted thing blew out again and reappeared in a puff of bluish silver glow by her kitchen entryway. It bobbed lazily, beckoningly, small sparks emanating at its flame's tip as if encouraging her to move along.
And the witch did, her movement slow, her senses wary. She reached her kitchen, and, as she expected, the orb disappeared again, only to reappear metres away, by the back door that led to the small garden. It circled around the doorknob, making its wishes known, and Hermione moved to acquiescence, making sure to cast a warming charm on herself, a curse and a Patronus already at the tip of her tongue should anything go awry.
She reached for the doorknob and the will-o'-the-wisp disappeared again, just before she swung the backdoor open, only to reveal more phosphoric silver lights, floating one after another in a trail that led her out into the small backdoor garden. With furrowed brows, she stepped out into the balmy summer air, a quickly cast warming charm shielding her from the gust of wind. She stepped into the smooth stone path, the smooth surface cool and biting before she followed the trail of silvery wisps, disappearing one after another the moment she was within a few feet of them, more appearing down the line, the further she went.
Behind her, Crookshanks meowed, a call, a warning, but Hermione couldn't hear him, so focused was she at following her glowing guides, mesmerised even, that she was completely unaware of how her surroundings had suddenly changed. She failed to notice that the cool stone path had given way to soft, dewy grass; failed to take note that the rose bushes and vines had given way to large tree trunks, gnarled, leafless and dark.
Finally, she reached the end of her path. There, the last wisp bobbed serenely in front of an enormous tree, possibly the largest she'd ever seen. Hermione stepped closer, looking up at the impressive structure with unveiled awe.
It was...to put simply, majestic, with its pearl white trunk and branches that spanned a diametre so wide, it would have taken fifty people to surround it fully. Its long, thick boughs reached high towards the sky, it almost seemed like it could touch the moon itself. It stood there, proud and immovable, shining in the moonlight, the moonbeams showering a silver splendour over its sturdy form.
It's a snag, Hermione thought absently, eyes transfixed.
The tree was dead, leafless and unbearing. Without warning, the realisation suddenly felt crushing, her chest feeling tight and all she felt was sorrow. Why? It was just a tree!
A tree…
Hang on! There were no trees in her garden. Much less as enormous as this!
Looking around, Hermione realised that she was no longer in her back garden. Dark tall trees surrounded her, imposing and leafless, dark and scorched black. She sucked in a breath, trying to calm the instinctive panic that rose within her. She was a witch, after all. It didn't matter where she was; she could Apparate whenever she wanted.
But it did matter.
Where was she?
Something curled up around her legs, soft and ticklish. She started with a gasp, instinctively jumping away, but when she looked down, she found herself gaping at a familiar squashed face. A welcome squashed face, in fact.
"Crooks?" Hermione bent down and scooped her familiar up to peer into his flat face, surprised and grateful to find herself with company. "You followed me."
The part-Kneazle only rumbled a deep sound in response.
Relieved, Hermione pulled Crookshanks into her chest, eyes roving the woodland they found themselves in. All she could see were tall, immovable trees whichever way she looked all around her. She was clearly in a forest. A peculiar forest with leafless trees in the middle of summer, dark scorch marks burnt along their impressive trunks.
But… "Where are we?"
Unbidden, she remembered the headlines she had read in the Daily Prophet. Enchanted Forests Dying. A Natural Disaster.
The news broke out about a week ago, and the Department for the Regulation for Magical Creatures had been in a flurry of activity. Magical creatures' habitats were being affected by their dying ecosystems and no one had any answers. No one could explain what was happening, not even the Unspeakables. At least, not officially. Hermione had a feeling there was more they were not telling the general wizarding populace, and as an intern, she wasn't privy to them.
Crookshanks, of course, had no answer, either.
Suddenly the will-o'-the-wisp in front of her began to glow in the moonlight, pulsating a luminescent sheen of pearly silver. Hermione gasped shielding her eyes at the sudden flash, and a moment later, she found herself surrounded by the phosphoric little flames, spinning around her in an enchanting, dizzying dance. In a strange mix of awe and panic, Hermione could only marvel at the sight.
The wind started to blow one huge gust after another, an unrelenting melody to the light show she found herself in the middle of.
Crookshanks squirmed in her arms but otherwise didn't try to pull away, and Hermione could only pull him closer.
It was a wondrous thing to behold. The lights emanating from the wisps were warm, almost comforting, even when the wind had picked up so violently around them, there could have been a windstorm.
She didn't know what compelled her to do it, but before Hermione could catch herself, she was already stepping forward, her hand outstretched, reaching for the warm spinning lights around her. Crooks purred in her arms and bolstered by her familiar's calm demeanour, reached a wondering finger for a dancing flame. The moment her fingertips met its warmth, a bright light seemed to explode, a searing heat enveloping her very being though she surprisingly felt no pain.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, unable to keep them open, and before she knew it, all she saw was black.
.xOoOx.
Hogwarts, September 1975
It was amazing how, even after all these years, Hermione still caught herself in moments of disbelief, speechless at the fact that she had, in fact, travelled back in time. Twenty years back, to be exact.
In her quiet moments, like right now, walking along dewy banks of the Black Lake, letting the cool morning breeze nip against her reddened cheeks, she found herself marvelling at how surreal it was, impossible, unimaginable even. And yet, here she was, in 1975, a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a proud member of the House of Ravenclaw, starting her Fifth Year...all over again.
Although, if she were being completely technical, time-travel wouldn't be the exact term she would call her particular...existence? Because when it got down to it, it wasn't just that she had travelled back twenty years into the past that made the whole thing mind-boggling, it was that she had been whisked away to exactly twenty years before her birth.
It was, in a word, ridiculous.
But then, she supposed, when you were an heir to what was essentially viewed as a deity, then ridiculous was basically just the expected norm.
The sound of splashing water caught her attention, snapping her out of her early morning musings. Bringing herself back to the present, she turned her distracted gaze towards the centre of the Great Lake and found a giant tentacle over the water's surface, weaving in the air in a funny, friendly wave.
Little sapling, welcome back!
The Giant Squid seemed to say, and though Hermione didn't really hear it in those precise words, she fully understood what he'd said. The young witch raised her own hand, waving her hand above her head even as she sent her own greetings back to her friend.
It was a peculiar feeling, being able to communicate in a way, with animals. They never said it in precise words, or in a particular language, and yet, it wasn't what one would call telepathy, either. No, with animals, Hermione learned early on, that they used both intention and feeling to communicate. Words weren't as important to them as they were to humans, magical or otherwise.
A few more gigantic tentacles rose from the lake's depths, twisting and rolling around each other in the air in a bizarre imitation of a jig, and then the Giant Squid dove back deep underwater, leaving the lone witch standing by the shore chuckling in its wake.
It was lucky that no one was around, the hour too early for most of Hogwarts' residents. Hermione had always been a morning person, even in her previous life, and she had taken to going on early morning walks on dry, brisk days like these. It wasn't often, but she was always grateful for the reprieve it gave her when she did.
The clock tower in the courtyard chimed, the dull tolling of its bell signalling that it was time for breakfast.
Hermione took a deep breath, savouring the crisp morning breeze, savouring the silence around her before turning to head back into the castle. It wouldn't be long before Taran arrived at Ravenclaw Tower to fetch her, annoyingly prompt as he is. She'd never hear the end of it if he found out she went out of the castle walls without company.
Hermione hurried across the courtyard and through one of the doors that led into the castle halls, feet flying through the familiar cobbles. So familiar, in fact, that this would literally be the eleventh year she'd lived in its cavernous halls.
"There you are!"
Hermione took an abrupt halt, pausing mid-step and looked over her shoulder to see a boy with mussed and dishevelled copper brown hair, his expression pinched in a grimace of annoyance as he stared down at her from the last three steps of the stairs that led to the Astronomy Tower. He sighed when she turned to face him fully, her lips hiked up in a sheepish smile as he moved down towards her. "Good morning, Taran."
"Don't give me that." The boy narrowed his sapphire blue eyes at her, and the scowl he sent her way seemed so out of place with the yellow and black tie that he sported neatly around his neck. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?"
Sighing, Hermione answered him with an exaggerated roll her eyes. Taran Pearce had always been a tad bit too overbearing, well-meaning as he was. And he took his job far too seriously as one of her so-called protectors, but really, what could go wrong at Hogwarts, where barely anyone noticed her all these years? Coming back for her fifth year certainly wasn't going to change any of that.
"Well, mum," she sniped and smirked when he fell into step beside her, the disgusted look he gave her his only response to her quip, "not that it's any of your business—"
The boy beside her scoffed at this, though he never broke his stride because he really did think it was his business to know where she went. He was, after all, her bodyguard.
"—seeing as we've just gotten back to Hogwarts, I thought it would be nice to have a stroll around the castle grounds before classes officially began. The Giant Squid was ever so lonely!"
The look he gave her for her cheek was frosty, but Hermione could see, having known the stern Sixth Year boy long before she could remember this life, that he was taking it in good humour. He just worried about her all the time. Was this how Harry felt back when they had been in school and she had been endlessly fussing over him?
"That's all well and good, Eirianwen, but you know you're not supposed to go anywhere outside of the castle premises without me or Lucine."
"First of all, Mister Pearce, don't call me that," Hermione groused snootily, shooting the taller boy a glare of her own, an index finger coming up to punctuate her point, "and especially not at Hogwarts." A second finger followed, and her tirade went on. "Second, I can take care of myself, thank you very much. And lastly." She stopped just as they were nearing the door that led into the Great Hall, sweeping an arm at the space around them, "Hogwarts is the safest place in the entire Wizarding World."
"Not as safe as Elaindale," the boy stated matter-of-factly, his eyes glinting so ominously that Hermione was suddenly reminded of who exactly her friend was: a Druid warrior, born and raised to not only hunt for their enclave but to fight to the death. "and especially not as it should be for you."
Well. He had her there.
The young witch huffed, turning on her heel and leaving the taller student in her wake, knowing she'd been outmatched, which really wasn't often. Taran usually did, because when it came to her safety, he was right, the cocky bastard. No place was safer than Elaindale, home of the Druids and The Mother's primary seat of power; not even Hogwarts, whose barriers had been breached in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998, which was, Hermione allowed, still over two decades away.
The quirk of a smile that tugged at the corner of Taran's lips was cheek all on its own, and it was prominent even as he caught up with her but he said nothing.
The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff duo entered the Great Hall without incident, trading snarky comments and general observations along the way, heedless of the other students trudging slowly to their tables, most of them still disorientated from having to wake up early again after a long relaxing summer of sleeping in. They approached the Ravenclaw table without breaking pace, only stopping when they reached a student with pin-straight flaxen hair so long, it nearly touched the stone floor when she sat.
Hermione looked over at the girl, a greeting on her tongue, but the girl's serene, dreamy voice washed over them without preamble.
"How was the Giant Squid? Was he terribly lonely all summer?" Lucine Smethwyck asked, looking up at them with clear amethyst eyes.
Hermione chuckles, and the triumphant look she shot the Hufflepuff beside her said it all.
Taran heaved a long insufferable sigh, ran a palm down his angular visage before directing his piercing glower at the blonde student before him. "Lucine, if you knew where she was, why didn't you go with her?"
Barely anything ruffled Lucine Smethwyck, daughter of a Druid seer, and very much a capable clairvoyant on her own right. Not even the fierce displeasure of a Druid Warrior made her blink an eye and she merely shrugged in a slow graceful way that often made Hermione think of Dryads lounging in the sun. It didn't help that Lucine had fine elfin features. She drew many admiring eyes to her strange charm, but the overwhelming mix of dreamy omnipotence she radiated often intimidated many people away. "I was having a party with the dream pixies."
"Dream…" Taran faltered, then sent a prayer to the heavens above. He shook his head, longish copper brown hair held back by thin braids that ran along his temples flying, and turned to Hermione with another pointed glare. "Don't walk around without company," he pronounced curtly before marching off without another word, stomping across the Great Hall to the Hufflepuff table with an aggravated look on his face.
Hermione stifled a giggle. She honestly didn't know why he still tried so much; he knew he was never going to win against Lucine.
"So how was the Giant Squid?" Lucine still wanted to know.
.xOoOx.
*A direct quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire