Season of the Goddess
.:OOO:.
Author's Notes: As promised, here is the next chapter!
I hope you enjoy this chapter. I will be focusing on world building and the druids for a bit so we won't be going to Hogwarts and seeing James and the Marauders until a little bit later. Apologies in advance to my impatient readers but I need you to trust the process. ;)
Let me know what you think!
.:OOO:.
Chapter One
Elaindale, summer
Hermione devoted most of her time to acclimating to her new(ish) life with the druids.
It had been over a month now since her arrival in Elaindale. Though 'arrival' wasn't exactly the best word to describe Hermione's peculiar circumstances. She had been living there since the day she was born – or, well, reborn – and it was her memories from the future that had just 'arrived', only now surfacing at an age when children's brains were large enough to retain their long-term memories.
At four and a half years old, it seemed that her brain was now just the right size to accommodate allof her previous memories and consciousness. It explained why she knew things and people she hadn't previously known or met before — yet another disconcerting thing about all this.
The experience was a strange mix of familiarity and novelty. The child inside her knew everything about being a druid by heart, the hows and the what-comes-afters. But now, with a more mature perspective, Hermione found herself marvelling at the druids' way of life.
The druids were thought to have died out centuries ago. Some sceptics had even speculated that they'd never truly existed. Their way of life were believed to be far too fanciful and improbable to stand up to the tides of modernity. And why shouldn't they? No one had seen head nor hide of them since and anyone in the modern world who claimed to be one were considered a fraud or a quack.
Yet here she was living with an entire enclave of them.
It didn't take Hermione long to get into a routine. Unsurprisingly, it was vastly different from how she remembered growing up in London.
Like most days and much like the majority of the enclave, Hermione rose at first light every morning in a circular hut they called her roundhouse. It was no bigger than the size of her old childhood bedroom, with a thatched roof made of straw and heather and walls made of stone. Across her cot, the embers of what had been a hearty fire the night before smouldered in a small stone fireplace. She had little else in the way of furniture save for a nightstand, a wooden table just adjacent to the fireplace and a carved chest made out of rosewood at the foot of her bed that housed her dresses and tunics. A top her chest were a couple of dolls made of cloth and straw, a series of wooden animals, and other amusing knick knacks.
Hermione stretched her arms up and yawned. She took a short moment to bask in the silence of the morning before she set her fur covers away and slipped into her woollen slippers. She almost always woke up alone in the still and tranquil morning light of her tiny home. Of course, that didn't last for very long. Nona her nursemaid – her nursemaid! – always came bustling in every morning with breakfast and cheer in tow.
Nona was a constant presence in Hermione's new life. Before her consciousness had caught up with her de-aged body, Nona had even helped her wash up and get dressed. Hermione had been utterly mortified when she'd found out and had since refused the matron's help.
Galvanised by the thought, Hermione hurriedly shuffled towards the nightstand beside her cot and picked up the pewter pitcher nearly the size of her entire torso. She was determined to be as independent as she could be in her current state. Awkwardly, she poured water into her clay basin before washing up, brushing her teeth and getting dressed. She was in the process of disentangling a comb from her unruly hair when the door burst open with a lively bang.
"Fair fortune and favour, Eirianwen!" Nonacame through the door with a wide, cheerful smile. "The sun is past the horizon and it's time to start the day!"
"Bore da*, Nona," Hermione responded with a smile in Old Welsh*, a language she could now, apparently, speak and understand. She watched the matron sweep into her dwelling and place a tray laden with food on the table, as energetic as ever.
Nona turned to her and swept her with an approving look. "My, look at you, all dressed up already!" she exclaimed in the high, cheerful voice adults often used to praise their children. "You're such a big girl now, Eirianwen!"
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, if only because she knew Nona didn't really mean to talk down to her. In all fairness, to everyone in Elaindale, she was just a four-year-old child. Nona knew no different. In fact, Nona had been nothing but supportive and encouraging of Hermione's sudden independence.
"Now, come break your fast." Nona unloaded the tray, happily laying out a bowl of gooseberries, a loaf of bread and a plate of cheese. "You're not going to grow if you don't eat!"
Although, she would really appreciate it if Nona — and the rest of the enclave, for that matter — would stop babying her soon. Just because she understood why they treated her like she was a child didn't mean it didn't make it painfully awkward for her.
Hermione sighed but clambered up the chair in front of the table nonetheless.
Oblivious to her charge's consternation, Nona turned to set the dwelling in order. A snap of her fingers and the bed was made; a casual wave of a hand made moisture appear out of thin air on top of the grate, dousing out last night's remaining embers; and a twirl of a finger drained the water from her basin, all while Nona chattered away about how it was going to be a wonderful, busy day and how the hunters had left early this morning. No spells, no flourishes.
Hermione was left to eat her breakfast, listening with only half an ear and silently marvelling at the ease with which her nursemaid performed wandless magic. It still amazed her that none of the them used wands, at all.
While her own skill for wandless magic had been nothing to scoff at – Hermione liked to think she'd been quite proficient at it in comparison to her peers – the ways in which the druids utilised magic was enthralling. Indeed, if there was one thing she looked forward to growing up in this strange, hidden, insular community, it was that she would learn to wield magic at its most raw and primal.
Motivated by the thought, as the thought of learning often did, Hermione quickly finished off her bowl of gooseberries and washed it all down with a glass of milk. "I'm done!" She announced as she hopped off her chair. She looked up at the matron eagerly. "May I go to lessons now, Nona?"
The older woman glanced back at the remains of her food to check if she had eaten enough. "Is that all you're eating?" Shetutted at the half-eaten loaf of bread and some slices of cheese left on her plate. "How will you ever grow strong if you don't eat all your food?"
"But I can't eat any more, Nona," Hermione protested. And it was true, too. It didn't take much for Hermione to feel satisfied in her child's body. But Nona also had an annoying habit of overfeeding her – a likely result of having raised three sons to adulthood already.
"Take two more bites of your cheese, at least," Nona said compromisingly.
"But Nona—"
"Two more bites."
Gritting her teeth at such treatment, Hermione reluctantly reached for the cheese. Good Godric, this was utterly humiliating. Once her cheese quota was reached under Nona's watchful eye, Hermione returned her own pleading eyes to her minder. "Now, may I go, please?"
The matron made a soft noise of dissatisfaction but nodded her acquiesce. "I supposed you can. Run along, Eirianwen." She started clearing up Hermione's plates. "But be sure to come back for dinner. You'll be joining Bryne at the bluff to pick some herbs this afternoon. Don't be late."
"I won't!" Hermione answered and all but sprinted for the door. "See you later, Nona!"
She was half was through the threshold when Nona's parting words reached her.
"And don't let the Tylwythn* distract you on your way again!"
Outside, Hermione breathed in the fresh morning air in, taking in the thick, electrifying scent of nature and magic. Invigorated, she hastily made her way up the familiar path she took for her morning lessons, treading over well-worn paths and skipping over overgrown roots.
While London was a big, bustling metropolis carved out of concrete and steel, Elaindale remained tethered to nature. Magic was so thick here she could sense it with every breath. Where the city was sprawling and growing, constantly rising, with skyscrapers and modern buildings cropping up higher and higher, the main druid village encompassed a few hillforts with huts and roundhouses littered all over the terrain. Hermione's own dwelling was deeply ensconced in the woods, just at the foot of one of Elaindale's numerous rolling hills. There were no other huts within the immediate vicinity around her; nothing but the forest to engulf her tiny abode.
Elaindale was truly unlike any place Hermione had ever been nor seen. An enchanted wood hidden from the rest of the mundane and magical worlds, it was home to the Great Goddess Druantia, and it was – for a lack of better word – paradise. It was a mystical and vibrant place, where the trees were old, enormous and alive; where the wind breathed and sung; where the earth rolled and murmured. Magic radiated everywhere in Elaindale, so dense and utterly wild. She could feel it pulse against her skin and taste it in her tongue.
Hermione gazed out at the view of the rest of Elaindale stretched out below her, the horizon vast and blue, the landscape lush and rolling. She was struck with unabashed awe. She'd seen the same view nearly everyday since her (re)birth, but it had only been recently that she'd actually seen it with new eyes.
It was like stepping into a different world — whimsical, artless, and archaic all at once. It was a place that could only exist in dreams, in fairytales, in long ago myths.
It left her breathless.
A soft wind blew. Hermione closed her eyes as she felt magic caress her skin. She let out a contended sigh and turned back from the edge that overlooked the woods. It was uncanny how she felt so at home in a place that seemed so unfamiliar.
Hermione walked down the incline, towards a gurgling brook. Once there, she paused to examine her youthful face in the crystal clear water with a critical eye, taking in the roundness to her cheeks, the small frame of her shoulders. Her limbs were thin, almost twig-like in its fragility, and her ankles were no different. Her hair was long; the longest she'd ever worn it, unbound brown curls falling just above her square childish hips. It was a wild living thing that she doubted even three bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment could tame. A pity, really, since she'd had just gotten her hair to calm down. Her eyes were big and bright brown, an awareness in them that she had to admit was out of place above the apples of her cheeks.
It had been a disconcerting experience, to look at herself and feel like a total stranger to her own appearance, to look at herself and realise with sudden clarity that she had to literally relive her childhood once again.
Hermione had seen pictures of herself as a child, but to confirm that though she did indeed look exactly as she did when she was four, albeit with hair a little longer and wilder — a fact that was a tad worrying — it was an entirely different experience to see her four-year-old self in the mirror through the eyes of a nineteen-year-old.
Hermione turned away from her reflection, a part of her still disturbed. She had already finished throwing a huge benny over her new appearance, and the Great Goddess had graciously given her all the time she'd needed to come to grips with being not-quite-five again. As well she should, considering she had been the one to do this to her!
Druantia. Mother.
Her early memories of this life told her she was Mother.
She was Hermione's Mother. Of sorts.
Druantia was the mother of all living things. Druantia was Magic. Or at least, its vessel.
But…
But Hermione was just a bit different, wasn't she?
After waking up to find the goddess with her that sunny day a month ago, she had told her of who Hermione actually was and how she came to be there.
Hermione climbed over a cluster of large rocks and towards a lazing willow tree, its leaves languishing in the wind. It tittered at her approach, its boughs creaking ever so slightly.
According to Druantia, though she was a child born from Elizabeth and Oberon Granger, every bit their flesh and blood, Hermione had always, always been born for magic, not just from it, as was the case with many magicalfolk. She had been conceived, and as preposterous as it had sounded, to ascend in the most archaic cycle of the earth and magic. She was – the Mother Goddess had pronounced with implacable conviction – the next Druantia. And when she, the Great Goddess, would finally meet her dawn, Hermione would rise in the rebirth, for even magic had a cycle, and not even actual goddesses were truly immortal.
It had admittedly been a lot to take in.
Meandering past a field of wild flowers, a small frown tugged at the corners of Hermione's lips. She looked up at the wide blue sky above her, not a cloud in sight. The trees surrounding her were as enormous and as tall as skyscrapers.
As Drunatia had told it, the future that Hermione would have known was no more. The world would have collapsed in on itself just before the end of the year 1999, when all living things perished. Druantia had, in every sense of the word, died and the earth's magic with her. Without Hermione to ascend on its rebirth, the cycle of Magic was brought to a halt. Every enchanted forest, every trunk, branch and stalk infected died off when the magic flowing within them became too corrupted, scorching the plants, dark and lifeless from the inside out.
Enchanted Forests.
The oceans, lakes, gulfs, and streams would have soon followed, poison flowing in the water like a malicious current, driving many of its magical inhabitants out of their habitats. Without their natural ecosystem to turn to, magical creatures and even mundane animals would be rendered helpless to the corrupted flow of magic. Soon after, magicalfolk across the world would fall victim to an incurable disease that no master healer could identify, much less create a cure for.
Natural Disaster.
By the turn of the 21st century, muggles would drop in huge numbers, dying from disease and plague. Natural disasters would savage cities: wildfires, devastating earthquakes, superstorms and tsunamis, until finally, all that would be left of the earth was a giant, scorched black relic, lifeless.
There would be no magic left in the world after Druantia's death. When Magic died, so did the earth and so did everyone in it.
As a last resort, Druantia had used up the last vestiges of her powers before her demise to reach into herself, to a time when the earth was just a little bit younger, to the magic that was ever ageless, so ever-present that it knew no time, to try and circumvent a future that only had death and no rebirth in its wake; an earth that had no cycle, only destruction, not just for herself but for the entire world.
Now how Magic had been corrupted in the first place and why Hermione had never been able to ascend in the first timeline, she didn't know.
Hermione's frown deepen into a scowled at the thought. Her steps morphed into unconscious, angry stomps as she recalled how Druantia had dissuaded her from asking more questions, uncaring if the dirt and mud she was kicking up stained her embroidered dress.
"All will be revealed in due time," she had said with a benevolent smile. "Have patience, little elain."
That had been over two weeks ago, when Hermione had thought she was ready to have more of her questions answered. She hadn't seen the woman since! She huffed in irritation. She hated it when she didn't have all the answers.
Poof!
A will-o'-the-wisp popped into existence right in front of her.
Hermione stopped in her tracks abruptly and blinked down at the single wisp bobbing in the air. It swirled around her in a dizzing happy greeting, effectively drawing her out of the irritable mood she had worked herself into. It drew a reluctant chuckle from her as it left a ticklish trail of warmth on her skin.
"Hullo," she greeted the wisp with a small smile, once again surprised at how natural it felt to speak to sentient silver-blue fireballs. It was an uncanny ability she now possessed that not only extended to the wisps but to all living creatures and to plant life. She'd felt rather silly at first, speaking to them out loud and getting no verbal response, but there was no denying that she could communicate with them. And out of all the beings Hermione had found herself acquainted with since her rebirth in Elaindale, it was the will-o'-the-wisps that she had the most connection to.
The Child of the Wisps, the druids called her, their voices reverent and awed.
From what she had gathered from Nona and from her own scattered childhood memories, she had no biological family in Elaindale. She had, quite literally, just appeared one day.
On an early autumn evening, all the wisps of the woods had gathered and danced and, in a brilliant explosion of white light that had engulfed the entire wood, a newborn baby appeared amidst the leaves and foliage.
It had all sounded so unbelievable and fantastical if Druantia hadn't confirmed that it was exactly what had happened. It had been the wisps that had brought her here from the future. So essentially, they were her family, her constant companions.
Hermione had at first found it strange that she was left to stay on her own, a veritable orphan, but she had quickly gathered that she was never truly alone. Nona lived just a stone's throw away with her husband, and when Nona was away, it was the wisps, the Tylwyth Bwystfil*, and even the very trees that watched over her. Fortunately, she quite enjoyed their company. Otherwise, she would have found it quite daunting. Best of all, she didn't have to pretend so much among them.
"I'm on my way to Coeden Wybodaeth for my lessons." Hermione started forward again, knowing the wisp would follow after her. "I'm going to try and convince Meistr* Deri to take me up to the upper levels today. I've already learned all the runes, after all."
The little wisp twirled around in a short spiral, flaring brightly for two beats of a second.
Hermione huffed. "I know I've been badgering him everyday for a week, but I can't keep studying with the rest of the other children any longer. Honestly, it's gotten too tedious!"
And it was. Much like the all the other children under seven, she was given the opportunity to learn her runes and alphabets, numbers and sciences with a scholar. After having had her memories return to her, it obviously hadn't taken Hermione long to familiarise herself with the Ogham alphabet and druidic runes. Now she was eager to get her hands on more…substantial texts that actually contained prudent information. The childish, whimsical stories given to her could only keep her interested for so long.
Not that Meistr Deri, conventional and by-the-book, had ever considered humouring her.
Hermione pouted at the thought. Well, she was nothing if not persistent. She fully intended to badger him about it today as well.
"Eirianwen*!"
Hermione started out of her thoughts, blinking out of her reverie. She turned towards the path that would have led her towards the village to see a little girl barreling towards her with a wide, infectious grin.
"Eirianwen! Wait for me!"
Olwen, Hermione's inner child supplied in recognition. Friend.
Smiling ruefully at the sight, Hermione waited for Olwen to catch up and watched in amusement when she skidded to a halt in front of her. "Hullo, Olwen," she greeted. "Are you all right?"
The girl braced her hands on her knees and panted for breath. "Hullo, Eirianwen!" Olwen chirped at her after a moment, her usual pin-straight white-blonde hair windswept and dishevelled. She wiped a small, pale hand across her brow. "I'm glad I caught you!" Her shining amethyst eyes landed on the wisp bobbing by Hermione's shoulder and lit up with delight. "Hullo, little wisp! Are you on your way to lessons?"
"I am." Hermione nodded, looking at the other girl who looked no older than she did with a furrow on her brow. Unlike muggle education, formal lessons were not an obligatory part of a druid child's education but it was highly encouraged by the meistrs. Children were allowed to frolic and learn anything as they pleased up until seven years of age. After that, they'd be fostered into a druid class* and that's when formal education began. How much they learned, however, depended on their mentors. Hermione had initially balked at the idea – she couldn't imagine ever living life being illiterate – and had grown concerned when Olwen hadn't gone to any of their lessons for the last three days. "Are you going to lessons today too?"
"Yes," Olwen nodded, this time with a furrow on her own brow. "I wanted to go with down to the lake to play with the river sprites but mam* said I should always go to lessons, else I'd never learn all the runes and if I don't learn my runes and letters, she wouldn't take me with her when she visits with the other enclaves."
"She's right," Hermione agreed sagely. "Nothing is more important than education, after all." She bit the inside of her cheek, unwilling to admit that the hypocrisy of situation was not lost on her. Despite how it had grated on her, she found that she, too, couldn't help but respond in the way the adults often did to little children. In truth, she had no idea how to interact with children her own current age without acting like she was so much older than they were.
Olwen, oblivious to the nuances of tone and subtlety as any other four-year-old, gave her a hesitant, unenthusiastic nod. "Yeah…" Then her shoulders slumped, a lip jutting out in a pout. "But I don't know all the runes, Eirianwen. I think all the symbols look the same!"
Hermione reached out and patted the girl on her shoulder before she urged her forward. "It's okay if you don't know all the runes yet, Olwen."
"But you already know all of them! And I always make mistakes! You're so smart!" Olwen whined, her feet actually dragging against the dirt.
Hermione, in turn, pushed at her shoulders. "That's what lessons are for. We're learning and it's okay to make mistakes when we're learning."
Olwen's face scrunched up, obviously finding the idea very distasteful, and fell back heavily against Hermione's hands, her feet digging into the ground. "But it's so hard!"
"Don't worry. I'll help you," Hermione tutted. She huffed with effort as she strained against the deadweight she was pushing against. As old as Hermione felt, her body was still that of a child's. Just what did the druids feed their children? "And then you can join with me and Bryne at the bluff later."
At the mention of frolicking in the dirt, Olwen perked up and grinned. "Okay!" She grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged. "Let's go! Let's finish lessons as fast as we can!"
Hermione sighed and allowed herself to be dragged through the forest, the little wisp trailing behind her. Life was rather simple at four, wasn't it?
.xOoOx.
Author's Notes:
[ I forgot to add this in the previous chapter!
*Eilonwy - a name based on the Welsh word eilon, which means "stag" or "deer". Not only does this name hint at her future connection with James *wink*, but in Celtic traditions, a stag symbolises the sacred and the forests.
The name Eilonwy is also a name I took from Llyod Alexander's Chronicles of the Prydain as well as Disney's The Black Cauldron because both works, especially the former, draw upon Welsh Mythology.
The significance of this name will be explained later on.]
*Bore da - good morning in Welsh
*Eirianwen - a Welsh name from the words eirian (shining or bright) and gwen (holy, white, pure). Its significance will be explained later on.
*Druantia - is a hypothetical Gallic tree goddess proposed by Robert Graves in his study The White Goddess (1948). She is known as "Queen of the Druids" and her name is believed to be derived from the Celtic word for oak trees, "drus" or "deru". [see Wikipeda, The White Goddess]
*Tylwyth Bwystfil - the Welsh celts called the fairy folk Tylwyth Teg, so this is a play of words I came up with, with the help of Google Translate. It's supposed to mean Beast Family. It refers to the animals and magical creatures.
*Elain - means fawn in Welsh. Think of this as a term of endearment.
*Meistr - means master in Welsh.
*Class - not a Welsh word, but I use this word in context of occupations, as in the warrior class, hunting class, etc.
*Mam - means mum in Welsh, but this should be obvious ;)