Disclaimer: as per usual. I own nothing and I make no money from this
Thank you to my beta for her tireless effort!
Note: Not much action here, just plot advancement and dealing with consequences. The next chapter will be more action heavy and likely disturbing. Just a heads up lol Sorry for the long wait!
Edited a small grammatical error.
He walked through the village, his hood and scarf covering his face. Another figure in dark robes and a hooded face walked by him, silently nodding in greeting. They exchanged no words or looked at one another too carefully. Neither wanted to know who the other was, nor did they want themselves known. They were faceless for their own protection, because no one wanted a job like theirs. The) people of Diagon felt they were cursed because of what they had to do, yet it took courage to walk through the village so shortly after sunrise.
He carefully made his way around the heart of the village, glad to have such a position. It made his blood run cold to check near the parameters of the forest. That was where the bodies usually were, bloody idiots somehow walking around at night, always ended up lured to the forest. There was a powerful level of hatred in his heart for the sick, decrepit people who found themselves interested in a meeting with Them. Then he was stuck finding them come morning, haunted by sickening dreams at night only to awaken and start the whole process anew.
He reasoned that the only possible explanation for why some people of Diagon end up dying at Their hands was because they sought Them. This may only be for his own peace of mind, yet why else would any logical person disobey the laws, ignore the stories and still end up dead? Fools opening their windows and inviting Them in, leaving their own homes just to suffer a painful, sometimes slow death. It made no sense to him and he hated them for their weakness. His wife shared his sentiments. Neither wanted to consider any other possibility. That there was no stopping Them, no spells and no protection.
He couldn't help but smile a little, wretched as his job was, he at least had a wife he could trust. Very few in his line of work had families, but he had a child and wife. He never spoke to her of what he saw but he was glad that he rarely ever had anything to say. More people died natural deaths than they did from the forest beings. He was immensely grateful for this because he didn't think he could maintain his sanity otherwise.
The crisp air reminded him of the forthcoming winter. Snow had always made things harder for him, bodies hidden under huge banks of it and as it was his duty to inspect his section of the village, he had to go digging through the snow, searching for possible bodies. As his mind wandered off onto a rant on bloody winter cold and accidentally touching or stepping on corpses, he heard someone cry out, effectively cutting off his internal ramblings.
"J-J-Jesussss! Holy Christ!" Someone stammered in horror.
In a matter of seconds several hooded men arrived at the scene. One of them swiftly turned and heaved his breakfast. It was not recommended to eat before performing that particular line of work.
*****
Hermione was nervous and she had no one she could talk to. The end result was a clumsy, distracted, and utterly useless brunette trying to tidy the living room early in the morning. Her mother began losing patience.
"Hermione!" she cried, as her only child knocked a plate with her broom onto the floor. In her effort to pick up the pieces she miscalculated the distance from the wall and ended up dropping the broom which promptly knocked over some of the knickknacks her mother liked to collect. "What is wrong with you today? Is it your hand?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry mum. I think I'm just restless. I need to go out later –" she got cut off by a knock at the door.
"Wait here; I'll go see what's happening…"
Hermione frowned at her mother's retreating back before she settled onto one of the large soft couches in the corner, adjacent to the other couch. There was a sturdy, round table just in front of her and the chimney. A few shelves were along the walls, mainly holding her mother's collection of small wooden or porcelain figurines (Hermione had yet to learn the spell that turned wood to porcelain, but she didn't see great use for such a talent). It was a cozy home, but Hermione was tense.
People rarely visited one another so early. There was only one group of people expected to leave their homes at sunrise and inspect the village: The Safeguard. These unfortunate people had to check for bodies come morning. The first two hours of sunrise were allotted to the Safeguard so they could protect the minds and souls of the village from having to witness the horror of dead loved ones. The word "SAFEGUARD" was imprinted on the doors of every house by magic. When the Safeguard finally reported to the tribal members, one of them would use an incantation to make it disappear, then it would be safe to leave their homes. The people were superstitious; even when the Safeguards were finished people rarely left their houses early. When someone did travel around town that early then the cause was either joy or horror, births or deaths. She anxiously rubbed her injured hand, carefully massaging the stiff tendons and trying to ignore the pain, until her mother came back pale faced.
"Hermione… Oh Hermione… you need to see Ronald."
She felt the color drain from her own face.
"What? What's happened to him?" she asked, in a soft yet apprehensive voice.
"His brother Bill never came home last evening."
She sat there in a confused blend of relief and illness. Oh God, Ron…
*****
Usually when she arrived at the Weasley home she couldn't help but gawk at its structure. There was a high infant mortality rate in the world but the Weasleys had six living children. What used to be a small, quaint house had turned into a complex, slightly misshapen home, barely held together by nails and magic. Unfortunately, the house had just become a bit more spacious. Hermione cringed at her cruelty, wondering why such a thought had ever occurred to her.
However, she wouldn't be visiting the Weasleys at their home. For some reason there were barriers around the whole area and people had been moved to a courtyard further away. She recognized it as the Parkinson's home. There were several people there, hovering around the front lawn dressed in their best black robes and talking amongst each other. Hermione easily spotted the Weasleys, their bright orange hair standing out in stark contrast to their dark clothing. Hermione gasped when she spotted Arthur Weasley, the head of the household, busy talking to Cornelius Fudge. It was rare for the tribal members to visit people outside of their clique. Molly, Arthur's wife, stood off to the side in silence. Her expression was blank; the only sign of her pain was her red rimmed eyes, staring off into the distance… to the forest.
It was common knowledge that Bill was her favourite. He had charm, extremely good looks and great potential in magic. There was talk that the tribal members would allow him to join the small committee of wizards in charge of finding a way to transport the people of Diagon away from the forsaken woods. It was a dangerous job, experimenting with magic, and few people were chosen. Now that small number was further depleted. Hermione felt sorry for Molly, losing her beloved son, the man who would have made the Weasley name prominent.
Ginny was crying openly in her cocoon of friends. The twins, Fred and George were quietly sitting on the grass near one another, an odd sight as they were often the most rambunctious of the clan. Percy Weasley was talking to Umbridge and several other officials. Hermione finally spotted Ron and Harry sitting on the porch stairs. She hugged him tightly, unable to look at his tear streaked face.
"Oh Ron…."
He buried his face into her neck but couldn't seem to wrap his arms around her. The tremors running through his body made her uncomfortable, men weren't supposed to cry or show weakness. Seeing her beau like that disturbed her, though she knew it was stupid to expect a man not to cry after his brother was killed. He made a muffled sound into her throat.
"What?" She leaned back to look at him. His expression was strained, like he was trying to swallow something too big. He wouldn't look at her, his gaze on the earth. "What is it?" She caught Harry's eyes for but a moment before he too started staring at his feet.
"Walk with us…" Ron whispered hoarsely.
She didn't say anything, but when they got up and starting walking away from the group she followed them. They took her to a small alley between two large houses before Ron collapsed on the ground and stretched out his long legs. Harry leaned up against a wall and slid himself down next to Ron, the both of them feeling numb and empty. She was beginning to feel a bit frightened; they appeared so shocked they weren't quite in touch with reality.
"What… what happened?"
The redhead fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him. "I killed him," he faintly replied.
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"No Ron…. We killed him…" Harry added, miserably.
She gawked at them in surprise, thinking she had either misheard them or they had lost their minds. "What in blazes are you talking about?" she asked shrilly.
Ron buried his face in his hands while Harry answered: "We were drunk. Bill wanted to see… someone, before the night was over. It was late and we shouldn't have let him go… but we thought it would be alright. We went home and let him go off by himself, completely drunk… he must not have found the place in time or he got lost… I don't know…. Damn."
Hermione felt winded. She leaned up against the wall opposite the boys and sat down in a daze. They had been so very stupid. After the shock left her she felt furious. Damn? Damn the men and damn alcohol! Damn them for allowing that stupid drink, damn them for being too weak to avoid it. Damn the woods for destroying anything in their path. Damn it all! But she couldn't say anything. She already felt ashamed that she cursed in her head; her mother would have been mortified at her unladylike thoughts. It was also wrong to talk to men about their business, especially when they were doing such a good job beating themselves up about it. So Hermione kept her mouth shut.
They sat there in silence for a few moments before Hermione spoke up.
"Well… do they know that you did this?"
Ron made a pained noise. Harry still had some control over himself, his soft but monotonous voice carried through the air.
"No… but they will. We were seen all over the town, the bars… someone is going to tell them that we… we were at fault."
It would be terrible. There was punishment for this kind of stupidity, although Hermione was certain they would go easy on Ron. The normally opinionated girl sat there unable to speak.
"The… the Safeguards came to us this morning…" Ron rasped, his glassy eyes staring through Hermione. "They forbade us from leaving the house or opening the windows, did the same to the neighbors… had to be blindfolded before we left, for our sanity they said…"
Hermione waited for him to continue, to say something but before she could speak up Ron abruptly jolted to his feet and made a run for it.
"Ron! Ron, where are you going?!" She tried to chase after him but Harry's reflexes were too fast. His hand shot out and yanked her back.
"Hermione stop!" She stared at his hand, gripping her arm uncomfortably tight. He noticed immediately and dropped his hand, embarrassedly fiddling with his messy crop of hair. "I'm… I'm sorry, it's just that, he needs time alone Herm. It was terrible, what they told me, it doesn't even make sense! How did They know?" Harry trailed off cryptically.
"Harry… I don't have the energy for this." She swallowed loudly, feeling so damn tired. It was as if the day was cursed, she woke up fearful of her meeting with Aberforth then ended up hearing that Bill, whom even she admired, was dead and somehow her beau and his friend were responsible. Did she really need to hear the horror behind his death?
"Hermione, he's broken. Ron's… I've never seen him like this before. I came over and he was just sitting up against a wall with his eyes closed and mouth open, head tilted back. I swear, he looked so… strange. Something's not right with him now…"
"What the hell happened?" she whispered softly, unsure whether she was whispering because she swore or because the haunted look on Harry's face brought chills to her body.
He bit his lip nervously, fiddling with his robes. "I might as well tell you now; word will spread in an instant." Harry leaned in, his secretive actions running contrary to his words. "Bill was killed last night, but They didn't stop there." His eyes furtively looked around, as if expecting Them hidden in the shadows. "They took his… his stuff out of him…" Hermione felt nausea settle in her stomach, her vivid imagination relentlessly assaulting her. She wanted to make him stop talking. "And… and they smeared it all over the house, wrapping it around the porch. When they found him… he was dangling upside down on the roof, by his…" he struggled for the appropriate word to use around a girl, ever mindful of etiquette, "his male… private parts…"
"Oh God Harry! Please stop!" She cried out shrilly, suddenly feeling light headed.
"I'm sorry!" He cut in, red faced and horrified. "I'm so sorry."
They stood awkwardly in each other's presence, neither quite able to look at the other. Hermione was too busy keeping her breakfast down to notice the problem.
"Hermione, I told you that because… well because it's weird."
She gave him an incredulous look. "How is this any weirder than what usually happens to those who walk at night?"
"Doesn't it… doesn't it strike you as odd, that they did this at the Weasley house? Rumours are already out, Bill was killed at the edge of the forest, They dragged his body to the Weasley's!"
Hermione looked up at him uncomprehendingly.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper to match Harry's. She chose her words carefully, dangerous words that made no sense to her but if true, were going to flood Diagon in a fresh current of terror. "Are you saying… They somehow knew who Bill is, that They know who the Weasley's are?"
She watched his sincere emerald eyes intently. Of the few friends she had in Diagon Harry was her closest, but that didn't make her any less reserved or suspicious. People could be very cruel and Hermione learned from a very young age that being different was a punishable offence and the only people to be trusted were people who suffered similarly. Unfortunately for Hermione, she and Luna Lovegood were the only people who stuck out like sore thumbs, and Luna was too strange for even for Hermione, so she avoided the girl. If there was anyone else like her in the village, they were much better at hiding it. Try as she might, the scars of her childhood were too deep to allow for trust, even in Harry.
She couldn't wrap her mind around it; the beings had always committed senseless killings, never attempting to leave some sort of message. Could it be possible that They knew who the people of Diagon were? Were They watching? A queasy feeling of unease settled in her stomach and her chest suddenly felt constricted. Was this some sick joke put upon her? A very sick joke… But no, looking into Harry's fearful eyes, she realized he was telling the truth. She felt guilty for thinking this might be some twisted attempt to make her out to be a fool. A man had died and his desecrated corpse was decorating his family's home. Her self-centered thoughts were going to get the best of her one day.
"Harry… They've never done anything like this before. Is it possible that this is all just some coincidence?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair and looked down the alleyway, buildings blocking his view of the Parkinson house.
"That's the problem. Fudge is already there talking to Arthur, trying to figure things out." He wrapped his arms around himself, shielding himself against the chilly wind, or perhaps against the possibilities. "The other tribal members and the Safeguard are at the house, inspecting and cleaning up…" he let out a tired breath. "The whole village will be paralyzed; we don't know what's going on."
"How many people know?"
"The Weasley's… tribal members, Ginny told me… Safeguard knows. And now you know. Everyone else is confused, they just know someone died near the Weasley place and so they needed to evacuate." He turned to face her, his eyes downcast. "Molly's blindfold was loose, she saw everything."
"Oh dear God…" she gasped. The whole point of the Safeguard was to check for deaths, protect the public, and clean up. They had failed in their main purpose, and the very mother of the victim witnessed the massacre.
Harry rubbed his face in frustration. "I don't know what I'm going to do Herm. I don't know what Ron's going to do either. I haven't even had time to swallow all this myself, too busy trying to keep him together." He slapped his hand against the wall, eyes narrowing in anger. "Why do we have to live this way? Why? Now I need to take care of Ginny too."
She watched him pace back and forth like a caged animal. Despite the circumstances, it quelled her feelings to finally hear someone speak of the pain They inflicted on the village. The silence was suffocating.
Harry paused in his movements and walked over to her, embracing her awkwardly. Her throat twitched sporadically as she tried to think of something to say but he was already speaking. His mouth was close to her ear, warm breath brushing against her skin as he spoke gently.
"I'm sorry; I know you must be upset too. You have to take care of Ron now. I don't know if he'll ever recover, but he needs you. You know how he feels about you." He released her and stepped back, looking at the ground. "I need to go back to Ginny… Then I'll try and find Ron." He appeared to struggle with himself before finally straightening his posture and walking away from the alley, leaving Hermione to herself.
She didn't know what to do or how to feel. Numbness spread through her body, making the world duller and more approachable. Her eyes watered as the cool air encompassed her. There was a tiredness in her body, a sense of exhaustion that refused to leave her. She often wondered if she was born with that sensation, but no, it had come at a young age, when she had finally learned that there were indeed monsters waiting for her in the night.
She awoke trembling, whimpering to herself in the dark. There was a monster in her room, she knew it! Or was it a bad dream? She forced herself up from her bed, past the shuttered and locked window. Mum and dad always locked it before night time but they never said why. They said when she was a big girl they would tell her why she wasn't ever supposed to open her window when it was dark.
She got up out of her bed, bare feet making no sound on the wooden floorboards. It was hard not to touch the window. Hermione wanted to know. She wanted to know everything! One day she'd be the most powerful witch in the world and maybe she would know all there was to know. Some of the other kids told her things. There was a Bad Thing in the forest that happened at night and so she wasn't allowed to look outside. But she didn't know everything. The kids didn't like talking or playing with her very much. It made her lonely but Mum said it would be alright; she'd make friends when she started school. Hermione thought school would be great; she would get to learn new things and make friends! She couldn't wait until she was big enough to know things like the adults.
Her tiny frame made it to the bedroom door quickly, her skin covered in goose bumps, feeling like she were being watched in the dark. Her messy, poufy hair flopped about as she ran from her room to her parents.
"Mum?" came her frightened whisper. She frowned at the door, recalling that her parents wouldn't be able to hear her, the spells were in effect. They told her about that. The spells were supposed to protect Hermione from Bad Things. She didn't understand what these things were but she believed in her parents. Clever girl that she was, she knew that there was nothing to be done to catch their attention, but she was still a little girl, scared of the dark and in need of her parents. She suddenly regretted her enthusiasm to have her own room. If she hadn't begged her parents she might be in the room with them now. She crouched down, back to their door, and sat on the floor vigilantly watching both ends of the hallway for the monster.
She trembled at the memory; it was a big black thing with large, sharp fangs. It had been smiling at her, big teeth bared, it had leaned forward… she let out another small sound, feeling cold. She wished there were heating runes on the floor right then. Her small body was tense.
Click.
She let out a sharp yelp and jumped from the floor.
"Hermione? Hermione, sweetie what are you doing?" Centuries of evolution prevail and a mother's instinct alerts her to her child's distress.
At the sound of her mother's soothing voice she broke down sobbing, venting her fear like a toxin, purged from her system. Her mother's arms wrapped around her and held her close.
"There's – there's a monster in my room." She hiccupped.
"A monster?" She leaned down and took Hermione's hand, completely enveloping her tiny fist. The tired, hiccupping brunette snuggled under the covers next to her snoring father and alert mother.
Her mother nudged him awake.
"Mmm –" he snorted, trying to ignore the irritating attempts to wake him, but her persistence paid off.
He blinked his eyes awake drowsily. The sight of his daughter made him perk up instantly.
"What's happened?" Hermione was confused. She had never seen her dad look so scared.
"Nothing dear, Hermione woke up with a nightmare… had a dream about a monster."
"Oh."
She gave him a meaningful look, he sighed resignedly sitting up on the bed and turning to face their daughter.
"Hermione, we have something to tell you… Your first day of school is approaching, every child will know by then…"
Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath and forced that memory back into the dark recesses of her mind. How much time had she spent wishing that conversation had never happened? Far too much. It was a night of firsts. For the first time in her life she learned that there were nightmares one could never wake from. She also learned that there were truths she wished to have never known.
She collapsed against the wall, finding herself sitting on the earth and staring blankly at the wall across from her much like Ron did only minutes ago. So very tired.
Something mewed near her. She frowned at a black cat gazing back at her lazily. It looked familiar.
Aberforth Dumbledore.
Jumping to her feet she set off at a rapid pace to Aberforth's house, both mortified and worried about her meeting. The man had never set a time so Hermione had planned to arrive early, but she had been distracted. She hoped the enigmatic man would forgive her.
Diagon was bustling with people, rumours and whispers were thick in the air. It took far longer than usual for her to get to Aberforth's home because of the crowds of people cluttering the cobbled streets. Apprehension travelled by word of mouth but Hermione was no longer a part of it, too engrossed in her goal.
When she finally arrived to Aberforth's she was out of breath and hungry. Before she could raise her fist to knock on the door it opened to reveal bright blue eyes. He said nothing, just turned on his heels and retreated into his small house. She froze when something furry brushed by her foot to enter the house. The little black cat had caught up to her and sauntered after Aberforth.
The home seemed even smaller from the inside, the chaotic disarray of personal items and furniture made it difficult for Hermione to walk. There was also a strange musky smell infused in the walls. Hermione wrinkled her nose and tried not to look too closely at anything but for one traumatic moment she thought she spotted a pair of tattered male undergarments on the floor. It was disgusting and completely inappropriate to invite a young girl into a house so horribly kept, private items strewn about in the open.
Hermione found it disconcerting that such an intimidating man lived in a humble home. There were only two rooms, one she assumed was the bedroom and the other was a kitchen – dining room. He was already sitting at his compact table. She noted that the chairs were mismatched before she took a seat across from him. He didn't invite her to sit but he wasn't exactly obeying social etiquette in the first place. They sized each other up, only Aberforth was unabashedly judging her while she tried to covertly assess the situation. There was no tea at the table and no kettle rested on the stove.
It was said that Aberforth bore a striking resemblance to his famous brother, indeed, he matched the description perfectly. Powerful blue eyes, a long white beard and very tall, he seemed to radiate strength and mystique. But Hermione wasn't sure where the similarities continued. Albus was brave and beloved by the people. She knew too little of Albus Dumbledore to speak of his bravery but she was certain no one liked him. No, he wasn't likeable at all. But he still commanded respect and fear so Hermione sat politely waiting for him to speak, trying not to react too strongly to the deafening silence in the room although her high strung personality made it problematic.
Sitting under his intense inspection for so long, she began to worry that night would come and she'd be incapable of leaving and have to sleep in that hovel with this unnerving, strange man. She didn't know what upset her more, the fact that she'd be vulnerable to him or that her own already developed notoriety would grow. She chewed on her bottom lip before he finally spoke.
"I don't have any tea. I didn't have time to go to the well and get some water." She didn't comment so he continued. "Apparently Bill Weasley was taken by Them last night, there are tales throughout the village. It seems like the creatures know us."
Her face remained composed. "I know. I went to visit Ron."
"Ah yes, he's courting you. I had forgotten." She wondered why he would ever bother memorizing anything about her.
They fell back in terse silence. She had the distinct feeling that he was testing her for something.
"Are you hungry?"
She froze; the abrupt change of topic caught her off guard. "Umm, yes. I haven't eaten since I heard the news."
Hermione regretted speaking; the last thing she wanted was to try eating his food. With such a repulsive home, how appetizing could his food be? Nevertheless she didn't try to stop him when he got up and rummaged through his cupboards. The small black cat jumped onto the table and sniffed at her.
"What's his name?"
"Her name is Asha. She was feral, but I tamed her. I think she belonged to a Bulstrode litter." He replied, cutting a loaf of bread.
"Oh… I… I'm sorry I tried to…" he shook his head at her and went back to searching.
Asha turned over onto her back and looked at her expectantly. Petting the cat's underbelly did wonders for her nervous disposition. The cat purred and nipped playfully at Hermione's fingers before Aberforth returned and shooed her off the table. He set down a plate full of sliced bread and a jar of peach jam. She worked hard to keep a straight face when he offered her a dirty spoon; it was still sticky and had a white smear.
"Oh, no thank you, the bread will be just fine." He shrugged nonchalantly and scooped a large dollop of the jam. She bit into the bread tentatively, to her surprise it was fairly fresh and had no mold. Her stomach rumbled aggressively and she found herself nearly inhaling four thick slices of it. When she finished he was looking down at her with some amusement.
"S-sorry."
"Not at all, if you're still hungry I have some more in the pantry."
Hermione shook her head. "No thank you sir, I'm well." Her eyes wandered to the window, taking in the sunlight. It was going to be sunset in a few hours. "Well… this has been… interesting… Thank you for the meal but I must-"
"Why were you at Snape's house yesterday?"
She jumped a little in her seat, surprised at his bluntness. Those commanding blue eyes sliced through her mental strongholds, her superficial sense of superiority, she was suddenly a timid young girl staring at the floor.
"Umm… I don't know…"
His eyes probed her for a moment, then they softened.
"Hermione… I have been watching you for some time now…" Her head jerked up sharply. "You have great potential. I have known this since you first started school."
"Oh. Thank you."
"I've also noticed your… preoccupation. With the forest."
Her heart thudded in her chest, far too loudly; she was sure he could hear it.
"You're not like the others Hermione, you never were. We are the same, in that regard. No one really… connects with us do they? We are outsiders in a tightly knit community."
She swallowed hard, an unpleasant feeling in her chest made it hard to breathe. What was Aberforth going to do to her? Report her to the tribal members? Or was he going to offer help?
"Hermione, what exactly do you want to do with the forest beings?" She stared at him blankly, petrified and hopeful at the same time. He was a freak, just like her, someone no one wanted to talk to or spend time with. Only Aberforth kept to himself, a recluse, no one paid attention to him. Everyone knew she was lucky to have caught Ron's attention and spend time with his friends. She had no true friends of her own. Could Aberforth Dumbledore be her friend?
She watched him closely, trying to figure him out. His dazzling eyes revealed nothing but interest in her and his posture was relaxed, but Hermione struggled to open up to him, she hardly knew him. It would hardly make sense to reveal oneself to a strange man based on an instinctive nagging in the back of her head telling her Aberforth shared a kinship with her.
"I… I don't know what you're talking about."
Aberforth observed her for a moment longer, dissecting her protective mental barriers. It was hard living with an obsession for years, saying nothing, burning with the need to know but always aware that to know would be to face the reaper. Never had anyone truly attempted to know Hermione, she was too unsettling; she was a strong young girl intimidating even to adults. Yet her defenses were fragile, never tempered by legitimate attempts to understand her. He made her incredibly uneasy prodding at her with his gaze. Thankfully, the mute interrogation didn't last long. He got up and went to what Hermione believed was his bedroom. When he returned he was carrying a frayed piece of parchment. He retook his seat across from her, carefully holding the thinning sheet between his fingers.
"I have something to show you, Hermione." His intense stare fixated on her. "After you read this, I will tell you something. Whatever it is you learn here, you must not, under any circumstances, tell anyone." He paused, pursing his lips as if struggling with his own attempts to open up to another human being. She watched him close his eyes and rebuild his wavering resolve. The parchment was placed on the table before her.
Hermione bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth as she continued to look at him, almost stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the paper. She had to fight the tremors she felt grow in her limbs, so frightened, and it was only a sheet of parchment. It was an internal battle she had only had once before: her curiosity and her cautious nature clashing. The last time her curiosity had won she had nearly jumped out of a window, running to Them. This old man made her extremely nervous, but he was offering a part of himself to her, to earn her trust. By the sound of it, it was something that could harm him.
She licked her dry lips and turned to the sheet. Hermione frowned, it was difficult to read as it was smudged and old, words were incomprehensible and a whole chunk was torn from the bottom. When she saw the author's name she gasped audibly, her eyes jumping to Aberforth's calm expression then flitting back to the paper in rapt attention. She eagerly began to read:
To whom… I, Albus Dumbledore… before death… The war is won, many were lost on both sides, we were looking… to find the Flame… the Dark Lord had claimed it but it was not on him… weeks in the forest, we could not find it. It was strange, we felt watched. I did not know at the time whether they were dangerous… We were running out of supplies, Cornelius wanted to give up. The winter was the worst of it, many people died in the cold… I refused to let it go; we needed to find the… it would have been nothing, a whole war fought over nothing. I was certain of its location… I did not then nor do I now trust Lucius… Strange things had happened in the forest, we set up camp. Men were disappearing. I needed to find out… beautiful… spoke to them… lust was our weakness…
Hermione made a noise of frustration; the next whole damn paragraph was completely useless. She skipped to the last section.
Someone has been… I cannot leave my quarters anymore. There is no evidence that it is Lucius' doing… poisoning me… I get weaker each day… relations are strained… Still haven't found Fire… Cornelius and others are forming a group… Settling here, building houses, I told them… it's not right. There will be no mercy when they find out… No one is listening… can barely write… Aberforth…beware, they will be the death of us all –
Hermione leaned back into her chair, slouching a little and forgetting her manners as she digested the chaotic rambling on the page. She had never expected to lay her eyes on one of the ancient texts written by Albus Dumbledore himself. All documents concerning the war were cared for by the tribal members and it was forbidden to touch them without permission. Not that Hermione knew of any person who had ever even asked, let alone received, permission to read those texts. The tribal members considered such documents dangerous in the wrong hands, a fear validated by Snape.
"Well? What have you learned?" he asked softly.
It was easier to speak to him now; too shocked to overanalyze the situation or worry about herself she opened up quickly.
"I'm not sure…" she replied, but before she even spoke her mind was already working on its new problem, interpretation of the note. "It appears as if the Dark Lord… and Dumbledore – I mean Albus Dumbledore, were chasing after something. But that doesn't make sense, we've always known – or at least taught – well I mean… we've been told the war happened because the Dark Lord wanted to be the most powerful wizard in the world… trying to get more power. But the note says the war was over some object. Something called the Flame? Fire?"
He nodded slowly, catching her inquisitive look, "Ah, I'm afraid I have no idea what that is."
Hermione gave him a look of outrage. "How is that possible? You were alive during the war, I mean – how could you be there and not know what the war was about?"
"My memory is not what it used to be… and I recall the war, the Dark Lord… but as far as I know there was nothing about a Flame… I think he might not have told me about it, whatever it was must have been valuable for him and the Dark Lord to look for it."
"How can the tribal members not tell us this? How can we not be informed?!" her voice rose as her shock increased. She may not have trusted others with her emotions but she did trust the tribal members. Everyone trusted the tribal members to protect the village, to find a way out, and to keep their world functioning in the face of all odds. Why keep that information secret?
"I tried to speak to them… Crouch, Fudge and Slughorn in particular. I didn't tell them that I found this letter in my basement, hidden in the wall… Just that I remembered something about red rubies. They basically told me I was getting senile in my old age…" he said wryly, cracking his knuckles while Asha jumped back onto the table seeking attention. Hermione quickly removed the parchment before the cat could damage it.
Aberforth grumbled and tried to move the cat but she growled softly before adamantly sitting down in the middle of the table to clean herself.
"Stupid cat…" he sighed and looked back to Hermione. "I tried to break into Snape's house several times. I don't know what spells they're using but even I am incapable of entering. I think it requires the blood of a specific person and unfortunately it's difficult stabbing the townspeople for testing purposes." He added sarcastically. "However, I managed to test the tribal members and none of them are the key."
"Couldn't it be possible that the tribal members had no idea of this, that this was all something between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord?" She gave up trying to separate the two Dumbledore men, too distraught to worry about correctly distinguishing them.
"True, but then why wouldn't they be comfortable telling everyone when they found out? I don't understand how we're supposed to defeat the forest when we don't have all the information… I've read every book they would allow me to read, none of them giving me any new information. If it wasn't for that one blizzard thirty years ago that shook the wall loose, I never would have known about the letter."
There was a tinge of regret underlying his words. Hermione closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath to soothe her nerves before imperceptibly gagging when she scented one of the noxious smells in the house. So the town of Diagon had more mysteries than she had known and the powerful Aberforth Dumbledore had not been able to expose any of them. He couldn't enter Snape's home. She was a fool to think she was capable of effectively finding the counter-spells alone. She groaned to herself audibly.
"I don't know what to think…" she looked back to the paper, before paling considerably. "What is this about poison? Someone was poisoning Dumbledore? I thought the Dark Lord injured him and he died a few weeks later?"
"I know, another discrepancy."
"He barely mentions the wood creatures… or rather, what little we can read doesn't really help make sense of Them…" she trailed off in thought.
"I tried to contact Them."
Hermione looked at him blankly as if he had spoken in another language, a lunatic babbling on about inconceivable things.
"You tried to contact the tribal members again?"
"No." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to lower decibels. "I tried to contact the forest beings."
Her eyes went out of focus, blurring his form. She was stunned, completely stunned. He might as well have leant forward and claimed to have captured the sun in his fist, stored it in his bedroom and oh, would you like some more bread?
The old man got up and walked over to his window, glancing up at the silver sky and ignoring the statue-like girl in the room.
"You stand before the forest often. It affects you but you keep doing it. I know why. You're determined to know. You tease and taunt yourself far worse than the woods ever will." He turned back to her, eyes trying to refocus in the dim home. "I was never inclined to care. There was nothing about the forest that made me want to know. It was enough that I spent some time as a Safeguard, seeing the massacres. To know was to die. Horribly. I was comfortable just living. Then I read the note and nothing made sense anymore. As far as I could read, Albus had once contacted Them. And he had survived. So I thought, perhaps I could do the same. Perhaps I looked enough like him to trick Them, to talk to Them. To see the whole picture..."
Her mouth moved awkwardly, opening and closing in quick succession as the questions in her head fought for dominance but she settled for looking at him expectantly. Her hand started to throb of its own accord, as if reacting to the situation. Hermione started a little, feeling the pain in her hand for the first time all day. She glanced down at the swollen mess before returning her attention to Aberforth.
"I went out my front door one evening and stood there, waiting for Them. But no one came. Spent the whole night awake, sitting on my porch and waiting for something to happen. I had even called out to Them, telling Them my name and asking to be heard."
He frowned to himself in remembrance. "I actually began to suspect that They didn't even exist, if you could believe it. Even working as a Safeguard wasn't enough to assuage my suspicions. I mean, I began to think that the tribal members were doing something… something terrible. Killing their own people –" he cut himself off, shaking his head. "Never mind, I shouldn't be saying such things in front of a young girl. The point is I was afraid it was all a lie."
"So… what happened?"
"I came out the next night and waited. That time things changed. I… uhh… got these urges. Really powerful urges…"
Hermione turned scarlet, realizing what he was saying. He caught her expression and his own cheeks turned slightly pink.
"Well… I see you have some experience in this matter."
"I… I had peeked through my window once."
He looked at her sharply. "What did you see?!"
Hermione drew back, alarmed. "N-nothing, just had that… errr… the urge."
"Oh," he slumped in his seat. "I didn't see anything either. I stood there and could sense Them watching me…" To her surprise, he turned stark white. "I didn't know what They were going to do, just watching me. Then, without warning… my clothes caught fire!"
Hermione gaped at him, so it was true; They could wield the elements just as the tribal members had said.
"I had stumbled back into the house, trying to put out the fire… the urge was powerful though, I was going to burn alive, in my own house, and I didn't even know the enemy. I couldn't fight Them, Hermione I didn't even know where They were! I felt hopeless and… and deranged. The urge was so strong. I almost… I almost liked it…" he shuddered.
"How did you survive?"
"Asha bit me. It's how I met her. She jumped on my face, clawing at me. I took hold of my senses and put out the flames, rolling on the floor like a terrified dog… I could still feel Their call, but then Asha bit my finger… blasted cat almost tore my finger off…" he added with some affection in his voice before he shook his head, continuing, "and the connection died."
"So… so what do you want me to do with all this, sir? What am I supposed to do with this information?" She asked, hollowly.
"Hermione, I know the things going through your head. I can see it clearly as I myself have had to deal with them too." He nodded to the paper in her hands. "When I read that I was consumed by the need to find out, to hunt down the mystery. But whatever the circumstances, whatever the reasons, They are our enemy. Perhaps there was a time when they were manageable, more likely, my brother was going out of his mind. He had been injured by the Dark Lord, and he wrote this on his deathbed. For all we know he was delirious, but I guess I had always wanted to know what lay in the woods, hunting us, all I needed was an excuse to finally try meeting Them."
He leaned forward and took her hand. "You are a fantastic witch, I do not want you to die, falling prey to your own curiosity. I am an experienced wizard and They nearly killed me, They nearly made me want death."
His intense blue eyes bore into her painfully.
"Hermione, I have never known, in my entire life, a greater pleasure than burning alive. You should not face them, you should stay the course. Develop your skills and become someone. Do not try to fight Them yourself. I… I know that the people here are not welcoming to a powerful witch… but with my influence, I'm sure I could help you gain momentum, become a useful tool to the tribal members. You are one who could help us."
"Right. Of course." She murmured softly, her gaze shifting to the window and her face expressionless. "I need to go now."
"Yes, of course, you need rest. It's getting darker."
She walked to the front door, numb and distant from her surroundings. Aberforth said something but she couldn't hear him, wasn't even aware that she had responded. The sky looked greyer somehow and her body felt leaden. Her legs moved sluggishly along the grass. People walked by her, but this time she didn't take notice of their cruel cold shoulders. Life had changed, tinted darker and bleaker. What was once an unknown future became finite and to Hermione it seemed that the distance to the end was too great.
She no longer felt like she was the smartest witch in school who had the possibility of becoming more. In Hermione's place was a cowed little girl, wondering why she ever thought she could save Diagon from a faceless evil when she could barely keep her head upright in an old man's presence. This man couldn't defeat the forest, none of the people in the town combined could and this stupid, this naïve little girl wanted to be the heroine.
So goddamn utterly stupid, she thought to herself. Tears welled up in her eyes as she made her way home, racing against the darkening sky. Villagers were rushing past her, probably trying to get to their own houses, live their lives, and settle into their patterns. Another death, another day, close your windows, hide beneath the covers, awaken and do your chores…
Tears poured down her cheeks in steady rivulets as she neared her house by the woods. The cold chilled her bones, or was it the knowledge? The awareness that one was helpless, useless and paralyzed, stuck forever in a contradictory cycle of tragedy and ennui. Aberforth was kidding himself, thinking he could influence the tribal members that much. He was a queer man hiding in his disgusting house with a cat. No one trusted him and he had no connections. If he raised problems he would only look more unstable in the eyes of the village.
She scoffed to herself, Hermione Granger, the bizarre snob, vouched for by Aberforth Dumbledore, the cagey dangerous recluse. Oh yes, she was going to rise up the ranks.
By chance, she looked up and at that moment spotted Ron walking past her. She paused and turned to him but he didn't notice her, his vacant eyes looking at nothing. He continued walking away from her, tripping over the earth and confusedly walking to his house. It was in the wrong direction, but someone spotted him and helped him.
"Hermione, he's broken…"
Indeed, she should have been focusing on Ron, not wasting her time daydreaming about impossible feats. She vowed to stop all that nonsense; it was time she grew up. The brunette was no longer a child but a woman. A woman whose suitor was hurt and needed love, not a distracted mess and Hermione would be that woman.
She lifted her chin and walked more purposefully to her house, ignoring the woods when she came by them. Their ominous leaves continued to dance in the air, laughing at her façade but she didn't care. She would swallow her pride and her dreams because it was time to live in reality. She was no hero.
Hermione Granger opened her front door, the forest a dark silhouette at her back, and walked through the threshold without any heaviness in her body. No. There was no weight to her limbs, because her body was no longer her own. It moved to the pulse of Diagon, her mind subdued, the fight snuffed out of it.
*****
Later that night, when all were safe in their homes, shielded by their magic, barricaded by fear, They stalked the village. Some on two feet, some on four, They scented Their territory, learning the map. Many more bodies in the air, the villagers, more than the usual number, had walked the streets.
When They arrived to the house, the one with the red haired, They looked for Their markings, Their little joke. It had been amusing, but She was not impressed. There was much anger, there was hate, there was no place for joking. She had been furious with Them. No more fun. Next time there would be pain.
The humans had cleaned Their joke, but the place reeked of fear and sickness, potently, deliciously. It was maddening, hunters hovering over Their prey, fangs bared but unable to draw that titillating taste, first blood. No, They were only capable of nipping, here and there, while the prey stood tall and alive. It was agonizing. But it was only a matter of time. Humans were frail and stupid. Humans made many mistakes.
The joke had died but They fell into a frenzy of joy, of bloodlust; all that fear… They could taste it, had it in Their mouths. One snapped and attacked another, a fierce roar echoed through the empty village. The game was on. The one who snapped darted toward the woods while the others chased, rabid in their hunger.
She watched Them go, lazily walking around the redhead's house. One wall, just a thick piece of wood, kept Her at bay. It was what always kept Them at bay. But She wasn't worried. She had time and patience. A skilled predator always has patience.
A/N: BrazilianHoe brought up a variety of questions/statements that dont directly make me reveal plot points. I answered her in private messages but here, for the rest of my readers and BrazilianHoe herself, a more detailed and refined version. Sorry if this sounds like an essay... If you dont want a long ass indepth analysis into the society I created in this story, please feel free to skip this to the last lil paragraph. Loooooong stuff lol
The reasons for the lack of allies (for Hermione) and the general lack of suspicion in the community are as follows: This was a long time ago, not a society that encourages standing up to authority and certainly not a time when people traded ideas freely without fear of punishment, especially when the ideas are seen as radical (indeed, these were very moralizing times, one stood up to authority and was not awarded, regardless of Hollywood movies lol). Moreover, there is a common enemy: the forest beings. That unites a small (minded hehe) community. They want to stick together as close as possible, not cause trouble. Everyone must trust one another, especially their leaders who protect/save the community (much like in wartimes, before the internet and TV, lots of propoganda encourages obedience and cohesion against a common enemy).
Individually speaking, someone like Hermione is extremely rare (highly intelligent, openminded for that era, and an assertive female). I tried to keep it realistic, in such a small population you dont get too many geniuses, leaders or revolutionaries lol This factor also plays against her because she is unique she is frightening. This plays a part in two ways: Most of what was unknown back then was feared and hated. So on top of this fact, the unknown beings are definately dangerous. Hermione is unknown because she's so intimidating and strange. Additionally, Hermione is not a leader. I never intended for her to be a leader, I was never into action movies where one person conquers the whole damn world (it's so Mary Sue lol) so she is insecure and introverted in a lot of ways.
There is a cyclical aspect to her isolation. She is feared because she is different, so people stay away. That makes her uncomfortable and hurt, she doesnt feel like she connects to the community so she further withdraws, therefore making herself more secluded and frightening to a close knit community who in turn fear her all the more.
Finally, her "feminist" beliefs. I put that in quotes because I dont believe she is a true feminist. Feminists want equality for all women, to be equal to men. Hermione is a product of this society so she is sexist in her own way: she doesnt particularly advocate equal rights for women (at least, that what I think I avoided doing lol). She is pissed off and hurt that she is limited by her sex status in the community. This is the origin for her slightly progressive views, she is different, unique, and feels entitled. Although insecure, she thinks she's special and deserves the same chances as men. Her views on women and sex are contradictory and I do this intentionally. To this day women have difficulty dealing with their sexual needs AND how to handle their own sexist feelings (we live in a sexist society so it's difficult to not in the very least, hold some subconscious sexist feelings) so she is conflicted. She is a hypocrite, mainly concerned with her own rights. For instance, she doesnt mourn McGonagall's plight (intelligent women downgraded to elementary school teacher) but mourns the possiblity of HERSELF being in such a plight. Mind you, she is progressive for that era, but Im not going to have a typical Hermione, outspoken and fighting for the little guy, because such a person is beyond the era of this story.
I will never actually state this kind of analysis within the story, because although this is from a third person perspective I limit the narrative to the mental capabilities of the characters and the universe they're in. You wont hear long psycho-socio mumbo jumbo through Hermione's thoughts at this length lol Because she wouldnt be capable of this much introspection anyway.
And there we go. Sorry for the length of this author's note. I hope I havent turned anyone off by the lack of action in this one, just didnt call for it. I have, for the most part, decided when Fleur will show up. Unless I get a major epiphany, she will appear shortly after Chapter 6! Yay! lol Thank you for reading, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter in spite of its length. Hopefully I have also tickled your fancy with the mystery I've created, I have the whole plot outlined! Please leave a review if you can, it keep my spirits up during school crap hehe Thank you! I shall get onto Walking a Mile. To see the status/updates of my stories check out my profile periodically, I let you know when I'm working on a new chapter or if I've finished and my beta is working through it. Thank you to all my previous reviewers! I shall try to respond to everyone eventually.