Chapter Twenty-One: The P, P, and the P's.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
OOOO
"Where is she?" Cordelia Granger demanded as she appeared from the fireplace in a puff of green flames. "Where is my granddaughter at?" Bryony Granger stood, quite shaken, by the sofa. They marched wordlessly, side-by-side, into the kitchen where Hugo Granger sat with his daughter. A strong, firm arm wrapped protectively around the quavering girl's shoulders.
"Grandmother," Hermione rocketed upwards unsteadily. Eyes red, fingers wringing viciously about before her in a violent plating. Cordelia tampered down the feeling of horrified concern for the girl's wellbeing. An emotion that could only be described as grandmotherly, and not something she commonly experienced. Hugo pulled his daughter back down into her seat as Bryony grabbed a steaming kettle off the stovetop. The muggle woman poured with shaky hands causing tea to slosh into the mugs spread across the table. With a flick of her wand Cordelia took charge. Causing the kettle to pour elegantly on its own and the puddles of liquid to evaporate. Guiding Bryony by the elbow into a seat, the Morrigan Head settled a cracked, ancient medicine bag down in front of her kin.
"Tell me every detail of what occurred," She purred dangerously, manicured hands settled on both hips.
"There was… Something on the air," Bryony stuttered, licking her lips, "Something not quite right in the house." She peered at her husband as though unsure of herself. Like what happened could only have been imagined. "Hugh and I went to Hermione's bedroom. She- She was glowing silver and standing in a trance. Her hair- What is going on Cordelia?"
Finally the witch eyed her granddaughter carefully. A bit pale, yes, but who in the room was not? Hair still bushy and at her shoulders due to the Fiendfyre incident in the Chamber of Secrets. Only now instead of the typical brown it was whiter than ash. "What did you see?"
Hermione's fingers curled tightly into fists. Her hair crackling into a frizzled mass of silver fire as sparks were emitted from both palms. Hugo shifted subconsciously away from the descending spirals of fiery particles. "The Cairn…" She mumbled slightly unfocused, then her brown eyes peered at her grandmother's matching set, "It wants me to find it. To replace Anne."
Cordelia felt her blood grow cold. Frostier than ice. Then it melted into thick spurts of lava. Anger ripping tempestuously throughout her body like a cyclone. "Very well. You need to open the bag now, girl. Then we must begin studying Occlumency this weekend."
"Occlumency?" Hugo asked carefully.
"Mind Magic. Used to order one's mind. My cousin, Anne, and all of the Seers in our family line all needed to learn to use it. Otherwise the visions consume you." A hand, bad habit never completely dealt with, ran across Cordelia's face agitatedly. "I do not understand. Exposing you to the heirloom last summer should have awoken any latent talent instantly. For it to manifest nearly one year later is unprecedented…" She trailed off, noting how Hermione tensed in response. Almost as if the little twit had a theory as to precisely why her abilities had remained dormant for so long. Deciding to unearth any hidden information during their coming Occlumency lessons Cordelia simply pushed the bag further towards Hermione.
"Her hair will stay this way permanently. The Mark of the Crow, they call it. I can always cast a glamour tomorrow morning." She absentmindedly answered Bryony's question. "Your magic is still out of control?"
Hermione shook her head, "I-I th-thought it had se-settled. The-."
"The vision?" Cordelia stated more than asked. "Anne said that that thing showed her golden promises. A world with no imperfection. I promise we will not judge you. No matter what you tell us. The more honest you are the less influence the Cairn can exert."
"At first sh-she prom-promise-d, good th-things." The thirteen-year-old
"She? Anne never mentioned the Cairn having a definite gender. Unless that bitch lied…"
"What Cairn?" Her parents exploded in the background only to be ignored.
"It was Anne." Hermione's voice finally regained its edge as she stood firmly to both feet. "Anne is the one who I saw. She was so sweet. So glad to finally see that a new Morrigan Seer had been awoken. Promised that if I came to her everything I dream of changing in the Wizarding World would come true. There was something dark… Evil behind her. The sort of evil that makes you want to vomit." Those eyes closed as she swayed in place. "I told her no. Anne knew everything. My deepest secrets. Showed me awful things." Snapping out of it the muggleborn wasted no time wrenching open the cursed medicine bag. Unsurprisingly it was subject to a mild Undetectable-Extension Charm. Books, candles, crystal balls, models of planets, dried bags of herbs, cannisters, and a myriad of other items were neatly organized inside.
"The family lore. Passed down to all of the Morrigan Seers since a bit before Cliodna's time. Forget about any of your side projects. Between the Flamels and Occlumency I expect this to occupy your spare time," Cordelia's voice was firm. The blonde woman rested both of her palms against the table. Then she slipped into the seat. Mentally steeling herself for the angry onslaught that would soon come from her son and his wife.
OOOO
"It is going to rain today." Hermione craned her neck to the left, peering out the kitchen window at the sunny sky. "Bring your coat to the office, dad." Silence ensued as her father likely peered behind her back with surprise. Turning, the muggleborn rubbed her elbows in an attempt to shake off the shivers that came along with such strange, unhelpful premonitions. Only three days had passed since her first vision. Since then she wondered if being a witch was quite what others cracked it up to be. Uncontrollable visions and magical outbursts were starting to leave Hermione feeling a tad bit insane.
"Thanks, Hermione," He finally answered as she sat back down at the table. Both of her parents were somewhat stingey about Cordelia's withholding of more information. Then there was the fact that their daughter had all-but become an Augurey. "Are you excited for today?"
"Very much so," She answered cordially. Anything was better than Cordelia rooting violently through her mind. Of course, the Occlumency lessons could have been much worse. Instead of the witch, who was apparently a Legilimens on top of her other magical accomplishments, finding Hermione's darkest secrets they were still firmly locked out of sight. Residual after effect of Tom Riddle's interference, perhaps? Though Silky Voice was too prominent in her mind to have hidden all of his presence. The massive row which followed regarding her 'immense, Gryffindor-headed, idiocy,' rattled all of Pyrites' Townhouse. Still, Hermione was relieved to not have her grandmother know what actually happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Ron's death was hard enough to cope with, like an agonizing hole in her heart. She would have been unable to handle Cordelia knowing she had murdered in anything other than self-defense.
"Do you want a lift, 'Mione?" Hugo Granger enquired carefully, "You might need to wait a bit for me to leave the office tonight though…"
"Sure. Besides, don't worry about picking me up. I need to get used to making my way back and forth, after all." She downplayed the hidden concern in his voice.
"Honey," He sighed, setting his coffee down, "My mother and I are worried for you. That man with the weird ass Q-name, vol de mort, that death you witnessed, a Basilisk, Wizarding racism, a trial in July against your Defense Professor, and now Cordelia has thrust even more onto you." A shaky pause followed, "We are wondering if our family needs to leave Britain. Maybe your mum and I could try to establish a chain of practices on the continent?"
"Grandmother would never assist you financially in such an undertaking," Hermione rebutted carefully, tugging a bit of lint off of her knit, dusty-pink cardigan. "I cannot blame her. We have managed to secure much more power than you could conceive since last term ended. Lucius Malfoy has been temporarily neutered, Hogwarts is currently being subjected to much scrutiny regarding its safety standards, and I cannot grow into influence on the continent like I could here. There are established roo-."
"Regardless," Hugo snapped back, "Of influence. Your mum and I are beginning to feel very strongly that Cordelia has done more harm than good. We feel that her lying has been unacceptable in light of the truths that were revealed to us this weekend."
Hermione was no idiot. She knew that this conversation with her dad was him trying to rationalize that they could stay in Pyrites' Townhouse. The man secretly was enjoying it more than any of them could have anticipated. Likely her mother was gung-ho on fleeing for greener pastures. Whatever she gave him would be used as his argument for staying put. "Dad," She reached out to grasp his right hand into both of her own, "All of the Wizarding World is like this. Decrepit, ancient, and deeply flawed. I am quite possibly the only muggleborn to have ever wielded so much influence in magical Britain. Here I can buckle down. Trudge through all of the filth and fix things. Do you really believe I would have that opportunity in France, or Germany?" Her brown eyes peered beseechingly into his own. "I mean, Morgana's Muffin! Our basement is the beginning of the first ever rehabilitation program dedicated to supporting Free House Elves! Imagine what else I can do."
"You are saying that no matter where you go it will be just as bad? I cannot believe that the whole Wizarding World could be exactly like the British one." He tried to scoff.
"Americans hate muggles. There are still major segments of the population that abhor the idea of intermingling. Then in France many of the Death Eaters have cousins who think the same exact way they do. Except they are not in Azkaban. Durmstrang does not even allow muggleborn attendance." She sighed, "I was born the way I am. There is no going back on it, or freaking out. We have to accept that this is the way things are. For now."
"I'll talk to your mother," He agreed, "But I can make no promises." Then a sudden look flashed over his features. "Did you already research moving to other countries?"
"Yes," Hermione stood, smoothing out her black, silk pants. A ghostly, cynical smile passed over her lips, "Then I remembered I am not a quitter. These Pureblooded bigots will get as good as they give me." Sniffing indignantly, not realizing how much she resembled Cordelia in that moment, the muggleborn nodded at his plate of breakfast. "Speaking of the Elves, I need to check in with Dobby. Call for me when you are ready to leave."
Slipping out of the kitchen she moved into the depths of the Townhouse. Where once had been a sprawling catacomb of darkness, Black Magic, random crap, and one incredibly Ghoul was now a spacious home for Elves needing rescue. Cots, food, clothing, sources of warmth, light, and a myriad of other necessities. "Miss Hermione," Dobby rounded a corner, "Dob- I has been recruiting!" Their little lessons in reclaiming self-ownership through language were beginning to shine through the cracks. "Twenty-four Elfs, Miss." He led her happily into the next room. Many little creatures were swarming about accomplishing many tasks.
"Twenty-four? Already?" Hermione rounded back on her friend and partner. "How?"
"Many freed House Elfs is being stuck in awful work. Dobb-I went to offer Chimney Sweep Elfs better service, Miss." He said this whilst eyeing the other members of his species. "There is being more House Elfs in the streets. Many masters clothe their servants when they is being unwell."
"I have enough money for Healers to visit every week," Hermione hummed, "So in that case do not limit which House Elves you recruit. Then I need to decide where we can begin moving others once space here is filled." According to her Gringotts files House Pyrites owned two other properties. One being a luxurious, though likely neglected, summer home in magical America. The other a vineyard in York. "My intention with forming the EAO was to give House Elves the chance to assemble a society of their own. That means it is our responsibility to begin setting roots such as an economic and political presence."
"House Elves is only good at cleaning and such Miss Hermione," Dobby sighed, "Dobb-I is not sure what can be done. No one wants to be paying free Elves."
"That is where you are wrong, Dobbs," She grinned, "I have been researching House Elves. Elvish wine is a topseller in the Wizarding economy. Apparently a family called the Ogdens monopolized the market by instituting large work farms centuries ago." Her hand reached down to pat his shoulder reassuringly, "The Pyrites' Vineyard is likely defunct. Though if you can get it operating the EAO could start to make a profit. Disrupt the Ogdens' grip on booze and redirect the profits into advancing Elfish autonomy." Standing back up straight the girl nodded to herself. "Then apparently House Elves make the finest fabrics of any magical species. My grandmother holds four percent of the shares in Gladrags. I am attempting to scrounge enough money from Cordelia to gather a commanding share in the company. We can take your intermediate product, use Gladrags to turn it into a final good, then sell it at ludicrous prices! Picture it! Two enterprises dominated by Elves!"
"House Elves is good at cooking too," Dobby added excitedly.
"A high class, expensive, gourmet restaurant chain," Hermione agreed, recalling Hogwarts feasts. Her eyes fell on what appeared to be a communal pen of little Elf babies. All of them being tended to by an old crone. More ideas suddenly pounded into Hermione's brain as she realized something very important. Future generations meant hope. They could be educated, molded with love. "Dobby. Do Elves have their own language, like Gobbledegook for Goblins?" She figured it would make sense given that House Elves had developed their own dialect of English.
"W-we's did." He answered, suddenly turning puce, "But Master's beat House Elves until it was forgotten. That language was how House Elves controlled their magic. After the war-."
"War?" Hermione asked. Dobby began striking himself in the head, until she forced him to stop. Tugging the little Elf into the other hall again. "I never heard of a war with House Elves before?"
"Forbidden!" Dobby hissed under his breath, "Cannot speak of it."
When he made to hit himself again Hermione relented. "Do not worry, Dobbs. Everything is alright. If you are not too busy today can you please deliver this letter to the Office of House-Elf Relocation today?" She rummaged in her purse before finding a letter written long ago at the end of her Second Year. "I want them to begin redirecting wayward Elves to us exclusively. Make sure to mention that a down payment will soon be made for any relocation fees."
"Yes Miss Hermione," He wiped at tears which were gathering in his eyes. Fluttering off to issue daily directives at the new Elves.
"This is being wrong, Miss," Wonky, one of the Pyrites' two remaining House Elves spoke in a shaky voice. "These broken, filthy, free Elves is disgracing this House."
"How do I actually know that you want to serve my bloodline for all eternity?" Hermione asked the old, female Elf sternly.
"Wonky is not understanding Miss…" The House Elf trailed off into uncertainty.
"You are bound to me, and have no choice. If you were clothed and then still decided to work for the Pyrites it would show true loyalty." Her lips pressed into a firm line, "Dobby is a free Elf. He and these other clothed House Elves are here of their own free will. Loyal to what they want. That is all I am trying to prove, Wonky. I do not care if you decide to spend your life serving a Wizarding family. Only that it is your choice to do so." Leaving the judgemental Elf to her own devices, Hermione spun on her heel. Marching back up the steps in time to find her father waiting by the door.
Flicking her now silvery, shoulder-length hair in the sunlight she hoped Pyrites' Townhouse would settle with time.
OOOO
"Remember we have Krav Maga class later tonight," Hugo pressed a kiss to his daughter's head as she hastily unbuckled, "I don't care what your grandmother says. I'll feel better knowing you are able to use muggle tricks against wizards." Hermione did not think it wise to tell him how correct he was. Less than five months ago she had been dragged by Ginny Weasley into a dingy tunnel, and only his training had saved her.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, dad," She reared over to hug him tightly before slipping out of the sleek car. Sensible, new trainers squelching against the rainy pavement Hermione tugged her cardigan tighter. Fingers wrapping around a crumpled correspondence from the Flamels that resided in her pocket. Even though the directions had been read so many times that it was unnecessary to even bring the bit of parchment along. Slipping into the throngs of people journeying about Kensington that day Hermione moved purposefully down the street until finally arriving at an old, terraced house. Identical to the others except for the fact that this one had a massive cherry tree growing in its ruinous garden.
Watching out for any overly-interested muggles she slipped beyond the creaky, rusted gate. Placing a hand firmly on the trunk of the cherry tree Hermione walked around it in a circle with closed eyes. Opening them moments later only to gasp in surprise. She was stood in the middle of a massive, grand courtyard larger than any of the ones at Hogwarts. Surrounding her in all four directions were brick walls with elegant windows, ivy, and topped with neat little Regency roofs. An unsure foot plopped forwards only for Hermione to glance nervously downwards when a crunch resounded. Instead of gravel there were crushed seashells covered the ground of the courtyard. Reminding herself that she had managed to slam a wand into Quirrell's eye during First Year the nearly fourteen-year-old witch strode forth confidently. Like any heiress of Cordelia Morrigan's ought to.
Sloping elegantly up the steps she eyed the gleaming, silver knocker which was attached to the polished brown door. Rapping it firmly Hermione waited moments until finally it creaked slowly open. Somewhat disquieted by the fact that no one stood on the other side, she entered into the Flamel residence. Listening as the door slammed behind her. Mahogany flooring spread many yards around her in the massive entry room. Portraits, vases, statues, masks, and other objects decorated the spacious walls like a museum. Passing beneath a gorgeous chandelier Hermione noted that a door of the side sat open. Moving to it she peered inside to find a stairwell constructed of more expensive hardwood.
She covered many floors until finally reaching another open entryway. Feeling quite like an intruder the witch passed into a hallway. The walls here were just as heavily and chaotically decorated as the entry atrium had been. After what felt like half-an-hour of walking Hermione moved through the final doorway into the largest library that her eyes had ever witnessed. "Welcome, Hermione Granger," Came a feminine voice from over by a fireplace. Eagerly her eyes peered to drink in the sight of the Flamels. She could not help but guiltily acknowledge that Nicolas Flamel was a disappointment.
He was nearly seven-hundred-years old and he looked it too. Small, pale as a bleached bone, with thickly hooded eyes. His white hair was mitching in patches. Pernelle, however, a woman largely unmentioned by history, managed to supercede anything Hermione could have imagined. Her jet black hair was lined with iron lines of steely grey. Jade-green eyes peered impassively at her soon-to-be pupil. Thin, aristocratic, and despite her age she was so much more beautiful than any model Hermione had ever met. Then the sorceress stood to full height revealing that she was taller than most men and elegantly limbed to boot. "We are pleased to meet you." With grace Pernelle Flamel gestured for Hermione to sit. "How do you take your tea?"
"Er- Sugar, no milk, please," Hermione almost spluttered, her face growing red at the faux pas. Slipping quickly into the plush armchair she accepted the cup of tea with a 'Thank you, Madame Flamel.'
"WHAT HAPPENED TO HER HEAD!" Nicolas Flamel suddenly bellowed. Betraying that he still possessed much strength in his lungs.
"I apologize," Madame Flamel set her cup of tea down firmly on the saucer again. "My husband is testing an experiment regarding Alchemy and youth. We are settling our arrangements for the inevitable, so he decided to risk a bit of aging." A cold smile which did not reach her eyes flashed, "As motivation to ensure that he succeeds." Flicking her hand the woman wandlessly and nonverbally cast some sort of spell on her spouse. "That should clear it up. His hearing went out yesterday." The mild accent in her voice lilted.
"My first bit of wisdom for you, Miss Granger," Nicolas Flamel croaked, "Is that nothing is worth pursuing if you would not give everything you hold dear to the hunt. Neither Pernelle or I would be sitting before you here today in our ludicrously oversized home if that were not something we ourselves had learned." He did not have as much of an accent. Though Hermione suspected if she herself had lived in a place for at least a century it would be an easy thing to lose. He paused, "Now, what on earth possessed you to make such a drastic change in your appearance?"
Hermione wanted to jokingly answer, 'Tom Riddle,' only Madame Flamel managed to speak up sooner. "She is a Morrigan, darling," She spoke in a sweet tone even though those eyes still belied haunting experiences. Now they turned all of their cold intensity back her way. "I knew several of your ancestors and relatives. All of them remarkable people. Cliodna and I encountered one another during a Goblin Rebellion on the continent. She quite disliked the poor things; Sadistically so. There was Conchobhar. A young Magizoologist and Seer in South Africa. Then I met your grandmother in France when she was a girl, though I doubt that she ever recognized me as a Flamel. Even through all of her trouble in Paris I believed her side of things." The smooth legs peeking out from under her expensive, chic dress folded to the side as she regarded Hermione more directly. "Cliodna and Conchobhar had that same, silver hair you are now sporting, yet not your grandmother…"
"It happened this weekend," Hermione felt bitter that her introduction to the Flamels was now being diverted by one of her many oddities. "My grandmother says it was a delayed manifestation. The Mark of the Crow. All Morrigan Seers wind up with silver hair when shown the Lore."
"I am quite fond of Divination," Nicolas Flamel piped up suddenly, "Would you wish to explore that with me this summer?"
"We are already going to be putting the girl through enough," Pernelle contradicted swiftly.
"Not to worry, Madame Flamel. I would not mind." Hermione felt her voice contracting at the thought. What else would she learn from the Flamels. "My grandmother gave me the Morrigan Lore, but it is… Not easy to read." Much of it had been recorded by deranged madmen who were incapable of comprehending the Sight in anyway but their own. Hence, a nonsensical, unhinged mess, no matter how neatly organized, greeted her brown eyes every time she peeked at the contents.
"If you are sure," The Frenchwoman agreed cautiously, "Just remember what Nicolas told you. This will be one of the hardest academic experiences you have ever endured. We expect much of our pupils already."
"Codswallop." Nicolas dismissed in a snort, "Look at the girl. She has been sitting almost as rigidly as a beanstalk since she came here! Not to mention all that she already has managed to accomplish at Hogwarts in a year alone. I imagine everything we show her will be manageable for such a clever mind."
"Might I ask," Hermione set her saucer and teacup on the table, "Other than the Divination, what are you going to teach me?"
"You will assist me with my Alchemy projects. I find that fresh, promising, inquisitive minds discover things that have been hidden under my nose." Nicolas said this with an indulging smile, "Not to mention that I expect you to pursue your own projects as well." Hermione felt ecstatic as she turned to Pernelle.
"It is not often that I take on apprentices. The last one was well over two-centuries ago," Madame Flamel admitted. "However, there is knowledge I need to impart upon someone. Knowledge that will advance you beyond your peers if you are willing to work for it, as well as knowledge that will grow with your age and magic."
"I am ready," Hermione announced in her firmest, most decisive tone. She was already sick of depending on the plans Dumbledore had shared with her. Of waiting to one day face off against Voldemort with absolutely no telling just how much more powerful he was than her. Perhaps both of the Flamels could set her on a somewhat speedier path towards standing against the Dark Lord and Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Good," Pernelle nodded. She stood back up once more. "I have business to settle at the Ministry of Magic today. Nicolas will begin your studies." Her beautiful face nodded at a table behind the armchairs. "Those books are to be read by the end of the week. Preferably annotated." With a firm handshake the seven-hundred-year-old knockout left for the day.
Nicolas stared at Hermione expectantly. "We will move to my lab. I must test your current ability in Potions and Transfiguration."
OOOO
Luna Lovegood knew it was a bad idea to stray away from her father into the Finnish mountains. However, the Ravenclaw also knew that this was her only opportunity. So she readied up, tucked her wand in her clothing, and marched out early in the morning for a village reputed to be several miles away. Though she detested being forced to prance about in such plain, downright unfashionable, hiking clothes there had been little variation to pick from in the store. Besides, Luna had learned from watching Hermione and Daphne in throes of manipulation that it was necessary to appear as palatable, code for boring, as possible.
"I am doing this for a friend," She spoke to herself several hours later. Fighting violently against the urge to go hunting for White-Jawed Libenlolls at a nearby spring. That reminder truly jerked her distractible mind back into focus. The other Ravenclaws bullied her. Hermione, Daphne, and Cedric had been nothing but kind to her since she started Hogwarts. Luna would walk miles for any of them while recalling that they would likely do the same.
When the Wizarding Village peeked into view, located along a magical river long made Unplottable by the Finnish Ministry, Luna sighed in relief. She wandered into the thick of the settlement. Eyeing the houses warily. Fingers wrapped around the wand in her pocket, glad that Daphne had taught her the Shield Charm, the Pureblood witch stumbled along tiredly. In a large square within the center of the town she finally encountered an old man who spoke broken english. "Yes-yes." He nodded fervently, pointing further down the riverbank, "Phila down there. Yes-yes."
Part of Luna was relieved that the rumours actually did possess a level of veracity. However, she was thoroughly disgusted to find that 'along the riverbank' meant another mile of hiking. Still, the twelve-year-old finally arrived at a dilapidated shack that had clearly seen one too many powerful winters without sufficient repairs performed afterwards. She paused to peer distrustfully at the garden beds which grew freely with untamed dandelions. "What do you want?" Came a growling, accented voice. A heavyset woman with red hair had slammed her rickety front door open ferociously.
"Sorry!" Luna jumped, hand going to her heart, "Dandelions are well known for emitting cosmic interferences that attract the attention of Galactic Toads from Venus! They are known to be making maps in an effort to plot a war with Wizardkind!"
"What?" The Finnish witch asked contemptuously, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Luna said abashedly, remembering Cedric's warning that her knowledge of things that others did not understand usually caused discomfort. "My friend was recently stamped with something you might know as the Dark Mark…"
A hiss suddenly caused the girl to jump. "I know it well. Death Eaters," She spat at the words, "Have come here seeking removal before. To send a child to ask such a thing however…" Her blue eyes blazed indignantly.
"No, no!" Luna protested, "My friend is Hermione Granger. Perhaps the headlines have made it over here. She fought with a younger incarnation of You-Know-Who at Hogwarts, and he branded her with a Dark Mark. Although golden instead of black." Phila Herlin drew upwards to her impressively full height while eyeing Luna suspiciously. "My father and I were visiting nearby hunting for Crumple-Horned Snorcacks when I heard mention of you. Perhaps you could teach me how to remove such a mark from my friend's arm. She is muggleborn and it distresses her greatly."
"The headlines have made it over here. You are one of those children who discovered the Pressure-Manipulation Charm?" Phila asked this dismissively, though Luna, despite her unlikely appearance, was well aware of it.
"Yes," She answered indulgently, "That was us. My name is Luna Lovegood."
"Come in," The woman said shortly in response. Luna scrambled up into the house all whilst peering distrustfully at the sky in the general direction of Venus. She eyed a spectacular mess instead upon stepping into the spectacularly crammed home. Telescopes, cauldrons, books, arithmantic calculations slapdashed onto entire rolls of parchment, slates slathered with Ancient Runes, and all the messy signs of living too. "I am a researcher too. You will find that the lifestyle controls you."
"My mummy was one too," Luna said as though that made up for it. She thought it wise to not say that her mother had been a master of Household Charms too.
"In your blood then," Came the gruff answer, "I have always been able to sniff that out. My grandfather was a Russian Nymph. I can catch traces of people's futures." She tugged two chairs out before a brazier which roared in the center of the room. "Sit." Luna did so without hesitation. "From the moment I caught your scent I recognized several things. You will travel the world, under pretenses of Magizoology, but in actuality to surpass the brilliance of your spell creator mother. To make her proud. No culture will be too foreign or difficult for you to weasel into. Their secrets shall become yours. Those are truths bound to your blood."
Luna was tense now. This was not why she had visited, after all. "But your bones. Those have changed in the last year. I can sense future love with a wild boy. Tempest of heart, mind, and path. You will face challenges with him. Then there is the soul." She suddenly whipped her wand causing all manner of objects to fly into the air towards her. "Once you were a hare. In many ways you still are. Yet in a few years circumstance shall have morphed you into a dragon." Now in the air before them many of the summoned objects began to perform complicated tasks. A pestle grinding a dried grape stem to dust. Vials pouring their contents into a large bowl which wasted no time mixing itself. "How much longer are you in Finland?" The strange woman asked.
"Two weeks, though my mother had a cousin in Sweden who I was going to ask to stay with-." She began only to be cut off.
"Good. You will study with me in that time. The Floo from here to there works very easily." The bowl floated over the heat as she spoke. Contents sizzling not that long after. "What was inflicted on your friend is incredibly Dark Magic. To manipulate its properties, total removal is likely impossible, will be a dangerous feat. Especially for one so young. We must prepare until I deem you capable of attempting it." With another nonverbal flick of her wand Phila prompted a shimmering, inky liquid into the air. "First, you must have a marking of your own. It shall grow with you and your skill."
Luna contemplated what her father would say. The usually gentle man was likely infuriated with her for leaving, a rare instance of her incurring his wrath. A magical tattoo could prove an uncontrolled variable when it came to her father's unpredictable nature. Hermione had better listen to all of her evidence regarding the existence of Blibbering Humdingers, Luna suddenly decided. "I will do it." Luna answered in her dreamy tone. Standing, at Phila's insistence, the Ravenclaw watched as the ink swirled mightily like a discus in the air. Lifting her sleeve she watched warily while the hot substance slung itself downwards. For a long time her arm was swallowed to the elbow in ink.
Then the remainder slipped upwards like an airborne serpent into the bowl again. Leaving behind a marking on her forearm that was slightly smaller than Hermione's own. Writhing against her red, agitated flesh was a dragon. With black scales, a brilliantly purple belly, and eyes whiter than wisps of clouds on a sunny day.
OOOO
Hermione slumped exhausted onto a stone bench several blocks away from the Flamel's residence. "Tsk," She hissed, having forgotten to fix her mane of hair after changing in one of Pernelle's opulent bathrooms, "Fuck you Saila Travers." An old gentleman, one of Kensington's many charming residents, shot her a dirty look. Clutching at the bruised, right side of her rib cage, the muggleborn reached quickly into her purse. Fingers grasping until finally a jar of half-used Sleakeazy was removed. Uncaring that she found herself surrounded by throngs of muggles Hermione quickly ran gobs of the stuff through her hair. She still struggled with the persistent realization that instead of frizzy brown, an ever growing mane of ashen-white hair was connected to her head. Gasping suddenly, she rubbed at her ribcage again through the silky fabric of her dress.
Making sure her heels were snapped tightly into place the witch began to march towards her next destination. The eighteen minute walk offered loads of time for mental musing which meant focusing on memories she wished to forget. Things that haunted her to the core. So instead she forced herself to worry about her many, many lessons. The Flamels had not been lying when they promised it would be the hardest time of her life. Nicolas wasted no time at all launching her right into the middle of his Alchemical research. An unfortunate thing given that he was nearly seven centuries ahead of her. Only some of it making sense thanks to her advanced classes in Potions and Transfiguration. For the first time in her life, Hermione was bitterly grateful to Snape. The arrogant arse had pushed her so fervently that it appeared she was somehow already through the NEWT curriculum for Potions.
That made all the difference. For if Hermione had been behind on more than Transfiguration Pernelle's contributions very well would have killed her. First it turned out that the elegant sorceress was well acquainted with Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. By well acquainted, Hermione meant that the woman possessed a veritable treasure trove of expertise. Apparently she had served behind the scenes in Wizarding History as a Curse Breaker, Ward Crafter, Spell Crafter, and Enchanter amongst many other things. She understood now what Nicolas meant when he claimed Pernelle was far more powerful than him. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were the higher studies that interpreted how magic functioned. Knowledge is power, after all, and a knowledge of the inner-workings of magic itself was undeniably a master stroke on one's credentials.
In addition to these horrendously informative lessons were the ones brewing behind the scenes. Cordelia still continued to tear into Hermione's most intimate thoughts while attempting to teach her Occlumency. To her credit the girl was apparently picking up on it faster than most did. Then every few evenings after Occlumency she would Floo to the Flamel's library for Divination sessions with Nicolas. He was incredibly gifted with his Sight. Able to masterfully direct all of his premonitions into crystal balls. According to him they simply needed to find a method of Sight which agreed with her magic. That was the key to practicing and manipulating the ability away so that her strange intuitions would tamper down. Her crystal ball had finally exploded that Friday which meant that they were now working with Xylomancy twigs. Each option seemingly more absurd than the last.
Now it was Sunday. Given her tenacious nature Hermione Granger was not one to be overwhelmed by time constraints. Working with the Flamels was the opportunity of a lifetime. So she gritted her teeth, buckled down, and offered to work with them on the weekends as well. Summer only lasted so long after all. In light of that day she found herself regretting such enthusiasm. Pernelle finally decided to examine Hermione's duelling abilities. In the courtyard that afternoon, after a lengthy lesson on Runes, they engaged in a no holds barred session. Not one of Hermione's spells hit the smug woman. By the end of it all she found herself a crusted puddle that needed peeling off the courtyard ground. Bruised and bloody. Realizing just how lucky she had been against Quirrell, Snakeman, Tom Riddle, and Lockhart.
More determined than before to milk everything she possibly could out of that summer.
Of course, even the most stalwart study bug came to the end of their rope. She had accomplished so much in that first week alone that when Harry asked her to visit him early she agreed. The relief turned to ashes upon realizing where they were meeting. Guilt tore at her stomach. Even a group of grown men who whistled as she passed a noisy pub could not get her to stop worrying her bottom lip. In what seemed like no time Hermione Granger arrived at the entrance to an unsuspecting, small tea shop.
"Hermione Granger! Your hair?" The female shopkeep called out in a ringing voice. The few women inside of the establishment instantly looked her way. Hermione was simply happy to have remembered her Sleakeazy. In an effort to make peace with her new hair colour the witch had been embracing colors once forbidden to her. Most notably, pink. Her present dress consisted of gossamer silk which stopped neatly at the knees. A sashed belt pulled just above the waist while a silky jacket sewn into the fabric covered her shoulders and upper arms. She felt quite like a grown up, which was fitting given that she was on her way to meet Ron Weasley's family.
The best friend she had murdered in cold blood.
Wincing, she stood upright. Remembering that her induction to the Witches' League was forthcoming, and that sort tended to keep a close watch on any gossip about the smallest of things. Especially poor posture. "I need access to Madam Prewett's apartments." She slipped forth to hand her stamped invitation over to the shopkeep. The young woman's eyes widened before she moved to flick her wand at the wall. A fireplace vanished to reveal an old time elevator lift. Anticipation building Hermione stepped inside only to scoff internally at realizing that a battered, old House Elf appeared to work as the operator.
"Floor ninety-three," He breathed out creakily after she showed him the invitation as well. The metal gates slammed shut and they rushed upwards in such a violent burst that Hermione was slammed back into the elevator wall. Black shoulder bag slinging rapidly down to the tips of her fingers. Then it came to a jerking stop which almost brought her to both knees. "Your floor, Madam Granger-Pyrites," The House Elf said.
"Thank you," She smiled.
Before managing to make it that far away from the elevator she was stopped however. "Tippy hears things. Things about Madam Granger-Pyrites." His eyes were suddenly big. "Thank you, Madam." Then with a bang the contraption rocketed off leaving Hermione with a pounding, disbelieving heart. Unable to deal with that on top of everything else she stepped gingerly along the hallway towards the massive, gleaming door. Surrounding Diagon Alley were many magical dwellings and locales such as this. Hidden inside of unsuspecting, warded areas. Hermione had never had the pleasure to visit any of the entrances, other than the Leaky Cauldron, though she often wondered what would happen if the Expansion Charms were to randomly break.
Shuddering at the thought of London collapsing, the girl knocked on the door. It suddenly opened to reveal another House Elf. This one did not dare acknowledge her presence beyond collecting her purse. Moving inside Hermione found herself suddenly tackled into a hug by Harry. "Thank goodness you are here," He sighed. "Things are bad. I might need to leave tomorrow morning. Even the Dursleys are better…"
She did not deign to ask him what was wrong. The Weasley family was broken. After all, Hermione had murdered their youngest son in the Chamber of Secrets. "Don't worry. You can also come back to Pyrites' Townhouse for a few days if you need." She paused before he could lead her out of the very luxurious entry room. "Do you think it is odd we were invited here? With R-. With him gone, who has any interest in seeing us?"
Harry opened his mouth only for another voice to fill the silence. "My great-aunt Muriel has taken us in," Ginny spoke from the doorway. Hermione was stunned by how much the girl had changed in the weeks since school ended. She wore earthy-coloured, expensive robes. Banshee Silk by the looks of it unless Hermione's eyes were failing her. Then there was her hair which hung in wavy curls. Admittedly, Ginny had looked quite plain before despite all of her looks. "Mum has gone off the end. Dad works as many hours as he possibly can. Someone had to take charge." Dark circle rung the pale girl's eyes. "Ron dying almost destroyed our family."
For a long, terrifying moment Hermione felt her stomach drop with guilt. Ginny knows. There was no way she could not know. With how every single word felt like a stab at Hermione's Achilles Heel. The Memory Charm must have failed, or…. Her clever mind was at a tangled loss trying to fill in the gaps. Only for all the anxiety to be dispelled as Ginny stepped closer and enveloped her in a tight hug. Stepping back the girl led them both into the next room. A large receiving room filled with ancient statues that ought to have been in a museum. To the left a bay window showed off a gorgeous view of the Regent's Canal. On the right were more doors which likely led further into the vast apartments. "Aunt Muriel insisted on inviting you both. She is a very politically-minded woman. Keen on my staying friends with you and Harry…"
Hermione did not contradict or undermine Ginny. She knew from personal experience with Cordelia that such embarrassments needed to be handled with dignity. Of course, Hermione felt that Cordelia would never do anything in such bad taste as to scavenge for any remaining scraps of her dead nephew's politically prominent friends. They finally reached another door which Harry opened, allowing them both into a large parlor room. The walls were covered in wallpaper the colour of blood while the bay window spread into this room as well. "Ginevra!" An old woman with a beak-like nose, and with a headdress of feathers that made her resemble a flamingo, snapped. "Took you long enough girl." She peered forth through her spectacles. Hermione was shocked that the witch, who must have been a century old at least, could even see. "Mr. Potter, still in those disgraceful clothes," The woman sniffed, "And Hermione Granger. Pretty even if you are dressed like a muggle." She eyed Hermione more deeply before leaning back. "Ah, that hair! I see you are in the Morrigan way…"
Feeling deeply uncomfortable with how familiar a stranger happened to be with her heritage, the muggleborn slipped neatly into a high-backed seat. "Madam Prewett." She inclined her head regally, accepting a tumbler of Cognac from Ginny. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance. One hears so many tales in our circles, and it is ever so nice to resolve the rumours from the truth." A jibe Byron could have smiled at. Served the bitch right for making that comment about how she and Harry were dressed.
"Listen, Ginevra," The old woman chortled. "By the end of the summer you will be talking that way." She accepted her own glass of Cognac with a greedy grip.
"Where is everyone else, if you do not mind my asking?" Hermione asked in her most cordial tone. It was incredibly strange to be lacking for Weasleys for once.
"Percy will be back in time for dinner. Aunt Muriel used her con-." She bit her tongue as the old woman whipped her neck to the side to glare in that general direction. "Percy has excellent grades, was awarded the Head Boyship, and it took very little effort to convince Minister Fudge that he would make for an excellent intern this summer." An almost imperceptible nod from Muriel towards Ginny indicated that the girl had redeemed herself. "Fred and George are serving as apprentices to the Head Manufacturer of E. M. L. Potions Company-."
"The pair of them remind me too much of Fabian and Gideon. Talent by the bucketfuls, but that devious nature needs to be stamped out." Muriel sniffed, "Then I put in a word at Gringotts so that Bill could be offered a position in London. Patrick MacFusty owes me a favour, and I am sure in no time Charlie Weasley will come to his senses. This family needs to be together right now. For Molly's sake." Hermione noted in her peripheries how Ginny's hand clenched a bloodless white around her glass of Cognac. She was soon distracted by the gleam in Muriel's eyes. "You should see my Bill and Charlie. Both of them are strapping, intelligent lads. Soon they will be in need of wives…"
"Your concern is appreciated," Hermione groaned internally, "But I still am only fourteen. Besides, I have much to prove still."
"Witches working themselves to the bone when wizards are more than glad to do it. Pfshtt." Muriel Prewett flapped her hand dismissively, "You will be seventeen sooner than later. Mark my words, few men will want to marry a witch who thinks herself as powerful as Dumbledore."
"I would never think so highly of myself. Humility is a virtue." Hermione snapped back. There was something oddly comforting about her dance of insults with the bint.
"Forgive me for coming to such an erroneous conclusion. I was under the impression you were already a published researcher, and up for the Barnabas Finkley Award for Excellent Spellcasting." Her throat crinkled like a turkey's. "You would be the youngest recipient since Dumbledore." Now a predatory smile crossed her wrinkled lips, "Besides. There is a rumour that you have been apprenticing with the Flamels this summer. Would you mind resolving that rumour for us, Miss Granger-Pyrites?"
"Hermione!" Harry interrupted in shock, "Is that true." She nodded with a jerk of the chin in response to his question.
"Well, the Boy-Who-Lived finally speaks!" Muriel crowed, "I thought that a Kneazle had stolen your tongue."
"Or perhaps you connived it away by insinuating that he should marry Ginny for the umpteenth time." Came a snappish voice from the other end of the parlor room. Hermione turned to see Molly Weasley approaching. Face ashen, hair dull and lifeless, much less plump than she had been in the old pictures plastered onto the Daily Prophet's front page.
"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione stood up to both feet, gracefully setting her glass on the table. "I-." She did not know what to say. Here was Ron's mother. What could Hermione Granger say to the mother of her murder victim. Would the truth really set her free? Throat choking she was humiliated by the tear that dribbled suddenly along her cheek. "I am sorry. I have no idea what to say." Hermione was soon grabbed into another hug. Only this time it was a bone-crushing one. She let herself sink into it with greedy relish. Even her own mother had never gripped her so tightly.
Here was someone who finally seemed to understand how Hermione felt every day when she woke up. How her heart clenched every night right before she went to sleep. "You don't worry about that dearie," Molly Weasley whispered in her ear, a hand patting her back reassuringly. "And pay Aunt Muriel no mind." Then all too soon it was over as Molly sat down beside Ginny on the sofa.
"I am glad you are up for dinner, Molly," Muriel said in the most genuine tone Hermione had heard her use since arriving.
"It felt like the time," The Weasley matriarch answered stiffly. "Thank you for taking care of the children since…" She paused before eyeing Harry and Hermione again. "I-I need to thank you both. For being there. For making sure that Ginny made it out even if-if…" She breathed in deeply, eyes swimming with unshed tears. Ones which threatened to dampen the red streaks already gouged into the flesh of her face. "Harry, Hermione, I need you to know that the both of you will always have a place in this family. In my heart."
Hermione had briefly caught sight of a phrase in the Restricted Section that past year. 'Dark Magic tears at your soul until only fragments are left.' A vague warning. Something she always considered philosophical and unrealistic. However, it was certainly more than that. For sitting in the presence of Molly Weasley's motherly company left her feeling something even more painful than guilt.
She felt her very soul ripping itself to shreds.
OOOO
Yikes, that was a long chapter. Though I do love all the things Hermione gets up to in the summers. In hindsight I probably should have called this chapter 'The P, and the P,' but that would have been far less enigmatic…