Authors Note: This is the first half of what I had originally planned as the third and last chapter of „Justly deserved holidays". It's not as long as the first two chapters, but the second half (new 4th chapter) will arrive shortly and compensate for that. I would like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story until now, I hope you like the direction I take with it starting with the events in this chapter.
Part 1
Justly deserved holidays
Chapter 3
Hermione had a hard time curbing her anticipation, while Charles, Miriam and herself walked down the Boulevard St. Michelle towards the Palais du Luxembourg. All she could do was stop herself from jumping up and down in joy. Soon they would enter the wizarding world in Paris, and if her magical travel guide was any indication, they would visit a location at least as impressive as Diagon Alley.
Only a few minutes had gone bye when they reached the high wall surrounding the wide gardens of the Palais and she began to count her steps. The guide said that the enchanted entrance to the centre of wizarding France was positioned at a point exactly a hundred feet along the wall, of course invisible to the countless muggles passing it every hour. "98, 99, 100! Here we are!" she cried in excitement.
Her mom and dad smiled understandingly, accustomed to their little girls regular storms of enthusiasm when it came to magic. In front of them was a seemingly normal section of the wall, but before they could ask about the entrance, Hermione went forward and touched its surface with her right hand. The stone facade in front of their eyes glimmered shortly and a large door appeared. It was nearly ten feet high, made of ancient looking and very massive oak planks, and the solid iron mountings wouldn't have been out of place at the gate of a 13th century stronghold.
Taking a step back, Hermione pulled out a piece of parchment covered with her neat script, and read it for a moment in concentration. "It's important to pronounce the password exactly, or it wont open." she explained. "That's why I have the current one written down in phonetics." She smiled brightly. "I think most French wizards and witches would be appalled if they knew that the gateway to Diagon Alley is a dingy old pub like the Leaky Cauldron. The ministry here is quite proud of their system of yearly rotating passwords. It's not just announced either, you have to solve a complicated riddle they publish in the magical newspapers and travel guides to get it."
Facing the door again, she spoke in a loud and clear voice. "Mundus vult decepi" and the gate opened with a resounding clang. When she looked over her shoulder to check her parents reaction to this display of verbal magic, she caught sight of an unusual air distortion some meters behind them, but when she squinted her eyes to get a better look at that strange field of glittering colors the phenomenon was gone. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned around again and took her first step into magical France.
Entering, the Grangers found themselves in a small chamber- the floor and walls were covered by the same very old oak wood that gave the entrance door its sturdy appearance. Even Hermione was baffled when she couldn't see another exit to the room. Where was the famous "coer de magique" of France? The only furnishing in the space was a small table with a handsome black haired man in a curious red robe sitting behind it. "Welcome to the Place de Nostradamus!" he greeted them in perfect English. "You are the first British guests o come this way for a few days. I'm Pierre, may I offer you my assistance?"
Hermione smiled and walked up to the information table, her parents following in her wake. "Good day to you!" the young witch greeted cordially. "We would like to visit the Place, but first, would you mind if I ask how you knew that we're British?" The man grinned delightedly. "A young witch fast on the uptake, I like that." he complimented. "To answer your question, we have an observation charm on the gate. It's there to make sure that no muggleborns under the age of eleven -who might discover the entrance by chance- can slip in with legitimate visitors like you." Hermione nodded her understanding. "Would old Tom in his chaotic pub be up to that task?" she wondered.
"If you want to purchase some of Frances high quality magical products" Pierre continued "I would advise you to buy one of our "Amulettes de Babylon"." He bent down to his right side, fumbled with something for a moment, and came up with a small pendant in his hand. It seemed to be made of white marble and one side was covered by complex, carved in runes.
"It's not expensive -just eight Galleons- and enables you to understand and read French, regardless of your mother language. Everyone you talk to will hear you speak in our beautiful tongue- it works on muggles too. We guarantee six months of constant use before the charms begin to wear off." To say that she was astonished would have been an understatement. "I didn't even know that something like that is possible! Now I have just to persuade mom and dad!"
Turning around, she gave her father her best beseeching look. "I think that would be really helpful dad. I could use it not only here, but with the French muggles too! Please, lets get one of those!" Charles gave his wife a short questioning glance, but when Miriam just shrugged, he nodded and took out a pouch with the wizarding currency left over from their last trip to Diagon Alley. He counted out the required number of gold coins and handed them to the guardian of the gate. In her eagerness, Hermione nearly ripped the medallion from the young mans hands. She slipped it over her head and tucked it under her sweater, before she addressed Pierre again, to her parents astonishment and her own near ecstasy in unaccented French. "Thank you for your help, have a nice day!" He gave her another of his rather charming smiles. "It was a pleasure young Miss, I wish you and your parents an enjoyable stay." He tapped his wand against a worn spot on the table, and another heavy door appeared at the opposite side of the room.
/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/
When she emerged from the checkpoint, Hermione found herself at the periphery of magical Frances pulsating heart. It was almost too much to take in, too many impressions to sort at once. The Place de Nostradamus was a wide square, each side with a length of about 600 feet. Hundreds of wizards and witches could be seen, hurrying in all directions. They wore clothes in every color of the rainbow, and she felt herself reminded of the tropical fish she had seen in an aquarium once. Staying rooted to the ground in front of the door that had let her to this place of wonders, the young British witch couldn't refrain from comparing this sight with her first visit to Diagon Alley. It was at least as overwhelming, but in a dramatically different way. Where magical London's main street was a winding maze that gave the impression of a small town in its own right, wizarding Paris was one gigantic architectural unit that could easily keep up with muggle locations like Trafalgar square or St. Peter`s Square.
She could see from one end of the Place to the other and the hustle and bustle defied description. It was mostly centered on the edges of the square, where long arcades held rows of businesses like beads strung on a thread. A few landmark buildings stood out of the mass of shops and attracted her eyes. There was the Ministry of Magic, a massive building of intimidating grey granite walls and small, embrasure like windows, taking up nearly half of the Place's length on the side opposite to her position. The revolving doors in its front circled endlessly, regulating a constant stream of employees and civilians entering or leaving the political center of magical France. If she remembered the maps she had studied correctly, the ministry was on the western side of the square. She turned left to search for Gringotts, and sure enough, there was the wizarding bank, dominating the southern section with its white marble pillars and rows of customers.
Turning to her right and gazing north, she soon found an institution she envied the French magical population with all her heart. The "Bibliotheque general de magie" had no equivalent in magical Britain. It housed an edition of every single book ever written by French speaking wizards or witches, and in addition an enormous amount of works from other nations. When she'd first read about this facility, she had rubbed her eyes in disbelief. Why wasn't there such a wonderful building in her own community? Reading every book you ever wanted for an insignificant small fee was a brilliant idea! After some rereading of "Hogwarts- a history" she was quite sure that British publishing houses disagreed with her on this- in the 1870s they had fought bitterly against the proposition to include a few dozen copies of the current reading lists in the schools library. A public reading hall which made all their books accessible to anyone would've cut into their profits even more, making it unpalatable to them and their political friends.
Hermione's gaze drifted back from the "Bibliotheque de magie" and paused at the middle of the Place de Nostradamus. There, surrounded by a crowd of tourists, street vendors and beggars, shimmered the most famous sight of wizarding France, the Fontaine de vivre. Nostradamus himself had planned, erected and enchanted it and it had been here long before the square and all the houses had been built. She tore herself away from the vista and watched her parents for a moment. Miriam and Charles shared the same look of deep wonderment and their eyes roamed around in awe, just as her own had done. She cleared her throat to get their attention, and their heads swiveled back in her direction. . "It's a beautiful place, isn't it?" she asked softly and her mom and dad nodded mutely. "I've read a lot about it in the last weeks, and I think we should start with the most interesting artifact you can find here."
Without further explanation, she swung her duffel from her back and took out her Hogwarts robes. "It wont do to look like a gawking country bumpkin." she thought. "I'm a student of the most reputable magical school in Europe and I'll be seen as such." She threw the piece of cloth over her attire and fiddled with it until her golden Gryffindor badge was sitting firmly in the right place on her chest. "Come on, next stop is the "Fontain de vivre!" she called to her parents and started to walk into the square. The magical people crossing her way wore a multitude of different fashions, from obsolete muggle suits of the 40s to obscure cloaks which would've impressed even Professor Dumbledore with their eccentricity. Heading for the middle of the Place, Hermione began to explain the "Fontain de vivre's" history and significance to her mom and dad. "Nostradamus constructed it in 1560 and it has functioned without pause or maintenance on the spellwork since then. It's widely considered to be his most ambitious and wonderful work."
Her dad whistled softly, but refrained from further comment. "There is an invisible circle around it with a diameter of about 150 feet. Every person who crosses this line will become a part of the Fontain forever." Charles looked rather alarmed by this news, but his daughter just laughed at his expression. "There's nothing to worry about dad, by "becoming a part of it" I just mean that your face will be immortalized on one of the countless crystals that circulate inside of Nostradamus greatest achievement . The last estimate, taken in 1990, postulated that there are about 3 million such likenesses of visitors filling the Fontain." Miriam gasped at that stupendous number and her voice was a bit raspy when she spoke up. "I didn't know that there were so many wizards, even if you consider the 400 odd years since it was build."
Hermione gave her mom an understanding smile. "Remember, this is one of the most well-known sights in magical Europe. If there was a list like the "Seven wonders of the world" for the global wizarding community, this monument would unquestionably be included." She saw that she had impressed even her rather cosmopolitan parents and suppressed a chuckle. "You haven' t heard halve of it! The most stunning -and some say worrying- attribute of the "Fontain de vivre" is its ability to project prophetic visions into the minds of everyone in its vicinity. No one knows..."
She was interrupted by her father grasping her shoulder rather roughly and pulling her back to him. "Now listen, young Lady!" he uttered agitatedly. "I know this is all great fun for you, but I wont have some dead wizards mysterious gadget playing around in my head!" Forcing herself to stay calm, Hermione gathered her wits, looked him straight in the eyes and replied in her most logical and persuasive tone. "There is nothing harmful about the Fontaine, and the chances of anyone here today receiving a vision are miniscule. Only 76 people in all of history reported that they were granted one, and at least half of those claims are in doubt. In addition -sorry to be blunt dad- you aren't even a wizard."
Reluctantly, Charles Granger let go of his daughter and looked around, as if to make sure that no one had seen him act like a frightened schoolboy. "Sorry darling." he muttered. "It's just that... I'm not so comfortable with all this magical stuff to just trust..." he hesitated for a second "someone with the rather doubtful reputation of Nostradamus, of all people, with my own sanity." Suppressing her impulse to huff at him, Hermione nodded her understanding and began walking again, taking up her explanation where she had been interrupted. "As I was saying, no one knows how Nostradamus enabled his work to give prophecies, but most experts support the suggestion that he somehow "transferred" his own gift of divination into it.
"In all the years since its creation, the inner workings of the Fontaine remained unexplained. Many brilliant and powerful wizards tried to understand it, the last one was Gellert Grindelwald in 1943. He must've failed in his attempts to harness its prophetic power though, because he lost the war he had started and his freedom only two years later." Interrupting her flow of words, Hermione took a look around. They were approaching the center of the square now, and she wasn't sure if they had crossed the border of the Fontains hidden field of effect. In front of them, the magical artifact was glowing in all its glory, innumerable glittering crystals forming a shining geyser rising 30 feet into the air.
Pressing through the throng of people around the monument, Hermione reached the edge of the basin from which the jet of tiny, crystallized faces emerged. Three quarters of it were filled with a swirling mass, myriads of specs reflecting the brilliant morning sunlight. Every second, tens of thousands of the miniatures were swarming up the Fontaine itself. They were much too small and circulated too rapidly to recognize any individual features. The walls of the basin were made of seamless red marble, and animated scenes from Nostradamus long, productive life played over them as if the surface of the stone was one gigantic magical painting.
"This dwarves even the charmed ceiling of Hogwarts great hall into insignificance." Hermione thought in awe. She couldn't begin to imagine the skill necessary to build something like this, the hundreds of charms and spells that must be at work here, combined to form a single, functioning whole worthy of a genius. Sensing her parents stepping up behind her, she heard their whispers of appreciation, but she wasn't able to turn away from the wonder she was beholding. "This is what magic is capable of if it's used by the greatest mind of an age." she realized, feeling more than a bit humbled.
Letting her gaze wander freely over the geyser of crystals, Hermione became aware of a rippling distortion at its base. While she observed in fascination, uncounted crystals began to move in a repeating pattern that was shaped like a rough circle. Their speed increased from second to second and she was reminded of the whirlpools that formed regularly in dangerous river rapids. The chapter that covered the Fontaine in "Magical travel: Discovering wizarding France" hadn't mentioned any phenomenon like this. She looked around to see if others had noticed, but the people left and right seemed oblivious. "They must be blind not to see this!" Hermione thought, moving her gaze back and forth between the strange occurrence and the wizards and witches surrounding her.
As the diameter of the distortion grew and the crowds didn't react at all, she became worried. Something was wrong with the monument, and she had the sinking feeling that she herself was involved. The circle of crystals was rotating ever faster, and Hermione discovered with a start that she had lost the ability to look away. Round and round it went, and she felt captivated, like she was rooted to the spot, helplessly staring at the wildly spinning crystals. "Oh Merlin, what's happening to me?" With rising panic, she registered that her field of vision was shrinking, while the light that was reaching her eyes dimmed and her arms and legs went numb. Her awareness of the outer world dwindled from a constant stream to a trickle, then to nothingness, and finally she was plunged into oblivion.
/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/
She came to with a start, involuntarily jerking like a marionette that was suddenly pulled up by its strings. Her body felt odd, like she was covered with heavy wet wool from head to toes. Opening her eyes in fearful anticipation of the unknown, Hermione found that suffocating blackness surrounded her. No sound reached her ears and the absolute silence was extremely eerie after the cacophony of the crowds. Even her nose told her nothing, there was no smell at all, not the faintest hint of the odors of the Parisian summer air she had grown accustomed to. "Whatever is going on must be connected to the strange behavior of Nostradamus Fontaine." the still working and logical part of her concluded. It was a fastly shrinking element of her mind though, because the stifling sensory depravation, combined with her anxiousness over her general situation as plaything of unknown powers were destroying her self-control rapidly.
Just when the ordeal became too much to bear another second, when the last vestiges of sanity started to give way to hysteria, the cloak of darkness around her was ripped apart with an agonizingly loud sound that rang like an explosion. The sudden return of her senses threatened to overwhelm her, but she battled the resulting nausea with all her might, clinging to the hope that she would find herself back with her parents. Success came to her eventually and Hermione began to take in what her newly cleared vision showed her- and nearly lost it again when she found herself standing on a rocky mountaintop, the sheer cliff just a few feet away from her falling off for thousands of feet. She could see other snow covered mountains in the distance, stabbing up into the blue sky like the fangs of a giant dragon.
"This isn't real, it can't be!" she chanted to herself. "I'm just dreaming, or maybe this is a vision, but I can't really be here!" Icy cold wind was blowing in her face and produced a frightening howl when it pressed along the rock faces and sharp ledges beneath her.
She nearly jumped off the cliff when a deafening thunderclap tore through the chill air behind her. The shock gave her a much needed surge of adrenalin, tearing her out of the paralyzed inaction. Hermione turned around slowly while her right hand began to frantically search for her wand, but her grasping fingers found only empty pockets. Dread filled her heart and she had to force herself to finish her slow motioned pirouette. A tall, broad- shouldered figure had appeared just ten feet away from her, clad in a simple black cape that hung around his form undisturbed by the raging gusts. A strange symbol was stitched on the cloth above his heart, a triangle filled by a circle and divided by a straight line from top to bottom. The hood of the garments disguised the strangers face in shadows and she wondered if it hid the features of Nostradamus, whose likeness she would recognize from the pictures she had seen of him.
The apparition remained motionless while Hermione stared at him in anticipation and fear. "If this is actually a vision created by the"Fontaine de vivre", this is the moment when everything will be explained." she thought, quivering in fear and expectation. But the strange figure just kept his place like a salt statue, and while she observed him rigidly in turn, the young Hogwarts student noticed that some kind of aura was starting to emanate from him, a dim green shimmer surrounding his form. She didn't know how she knew it, had never heard of a magical sense that enabled you to actually feel someone else's personality or intentions, but nevertheless, it was there.
And it wasn't pleasant or generous or even neutral, like she would've expected of a honored and wise wizard like Nostradamus. No, the emotions filtering to her through the chilly air were dark, it was as if a silent threat hung between them, a menacing presence devoid of goodwill or compassion. When she tried to clearly understand her fleeting impressions later on, she would always reach the conclusion that the unknown man was not only someone with great power, but one with enough ruthlessness to use it against everyone who stood in his way without mercy. Before she could gather the courage to brake their stalement by addressing him, the man raised his hands as if in prayer and began to speak in a deep, ringing voice that made her shiver and let goose bumps spring up all over her skin.
"Darkness and light are entwined in battle, they don't see twilight approaching, hidden in the wake of the destruction they wrought." He paused for a second and Hermione tried to decipher some meaning from his veiled words, but suddenly a searing pain in her forehead brushed all thoughts away. A branding iron pressed to her skin couldn't have caused such an agony, it felt more like a red hot nail was hammered into her skull.
To her great relief, the agony retreated as fast as it had come over her and she found herself facing the black clad enigma again. As if nothing had happened, he continued, his tone cold and mysterious. "The claw of retribution will find prey among both sides until the last hour and her final vengeance will shatter the world ." The last syllable petered out, and the ominous words echoed through Hermione's mind, heavy with a significance she couldn't fathom. "This is a prophecy?" she wondered, flabbergasted and not a little put out. "If that's all, it's no big surprise that divination is treated like a hunch-backed stepchild in most of my books." Hermione wanted to ask the man -probably Nostradamus, regardless of the strange aura- if he actually knew more than he'd said, but even as she opened her mouth, the forbidding stranger clapped his hands together with a resounding crack- and vanished.
/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/HG/
Without warning, Hermione's mind was thrown back into her body, and she stumbled a few feet back, gasping for air and shocked by the experience of the last few minutes. Strong hands grasped her from behind and steadied her shaking form. "Are you alright darling?" her Mom asked anxiously from beside her. After taking deep breaths for a minute, Hermione's frantically pumping heart slowed down and the whirlwind of confusion that had resulted from the vision ebbed away. She could feel her arms and legs again, could hear the crowd around her and see the monument. There it was, Nostradamus "Fontaine de vivre", gleaming innocently. Hermione stared at the font in a mixture of revulsion and curiosity until she remembered her moms question.
"I'll live, just a bout of dizziness I guess." she excused her strange behavior. "Maybe we could leave the press of all these people, and I'm sure I'll be good as new in a few minutes." Without further questions, her parents took her in their midst and led her out of the masses, directing her steps gently back to their starting point. Hermione didn't care where they took her, her mind was too busy working out what had actually happened to her and the ramifications of it.
"If this was a prophecy connected to myself it sounds rather bad. "Dark" and "Light" powers fighting, a "claw of retribution", "shattering the world"... Whatever could be meant by it?" They reached a small outdoors cafe and her parents sat her down at one of the tables, exchanging perturbed looks unnoticed by their daughter. "Maybe the "Dark" and "Light" are actually metaphors for Voldemort and those opposing him? But if that's so, I would be on the side of Harry and therefore the "light". The part about "twilight" and the "claw" doesn't make any sense!" She stopped her fevered thinking in frustration. "Perhaps it's just too recent and overpowering at the moment and I'll see clearer when I have more distance."
Hermione directed her attention to her parents and was surprised by the strain that showed on their faces. "Oh no, they must think I've gone mental by now." She pulled up a fake smile and sat up straighter in her chair. "I'm much better already, sorry if I worried you. It must be all the excitement combined with the dense crowd around the Fontaine." she explained with as much calm as she could muster. After she gave them a few more platitudes of a similar kind, her mom and dad relaxed visibly. When a waiter arrived, the Grangers ordered three cafe au laits and a helping of crepes for everyone. While they consumed the early lunch in silence, Hermione decided to postpone all analysis of the earlier incident until she was alone in her hotel room. It wouldn't do to let her parents notice that something was still amiss.
When they were ready to leave, Hermione had achieved superficial calmness again. "Let's have a walk along the shopping arcades." she proposed much more cheerfully than she felt. "Only if you're sure you feel up to it." her father admonished halfheartedly. "It's alright dad, really!" she assured him and produced a false grin before she sprang out of her chair. Soon the small family was on the way, traveling northwards along the lengthy chain of boutiques, emporiums and workshops. They halted here and there, marveling about the abundance of different products and services on offer. There were dresses with illusion charms to hide your surplus bodyweight, tool sets spelled for automated use, Hippogryph hypnotists for save air travel, towels with a sense of smell, odd artifacts without obvious use and countless other fascinating things.
Hermione felt her lost enthusiasm return in face of all those wonders. "I read they have a huge bazaar with flying carpets on this side of the Place. Can you imagine?" Charles and Miriam just smiled and nodded. "Wouldn't it be neat to have one of those? Much saver and more convenient than brooms, but they've been declared illegal at home in the early 80's, most probably due to lobbying from a broom-maker cartel..."
Hermione prattled on with her monolog while they walked, not noticing the amused but tolerant glances she got from other pedestrians. The bazaar was as impressive as described in her traveling guide, hundreds of magical carpets in all styles and sizes filled the shelves, from gigantic Persians to short and simple afghans. The proprietor was a very small and round wizard from Arabia, who stayed patient and cordial while she questioned him about Djins and the validity of One Thousand and One Nights for nearly fifteen minutes. Before they left, he presented her with a small package of honeyed dates, for which she thanked him profusely.
They had nearly reached the north- eastern corner of the square, when Hermione's gaze fell on a box of old books that was all but hidden behind a hall stand filled with second hand clothes. Stand and carton belonged to a rather dingy looking shop with a dusty showcase, but Hermione couldn't have cared less. Something about those books draw her to them like iron chippings attracted by a magnet. There was a certainty deep inside her that she was standing right in front of something important, maybe even live changing. She hurried forward, kneeled down and started to rummage through the crate, all the while ignoring the slight ache in her forehead that had begun the moment she had taken a look at the yellowed tomes.