At first, some wondered if the Lady could be a Fae changeling. When she shape-shifted back to her normal form, though, they were quickly put to rights.
-Sayern nar-Hazozh (The History of the Treaty), translated circa 1952
In the end, they opted not to hold the meeting without Hermione.
There were several reasons for their choice: she would freak out if they tried to do something so important without her (this was, after all, a girl who made them start their exam preparations three months beforehand); they could hardly pass the changeling off as Pallas Dhar, which would possibly offend the ambassadors even more than rescheduling the meeting entirely; they were so concerned about their friend that they could hardly focus on their schoolwork, much less long and arduous politics with a group of potentially volatile potential allies; and Hermione probably had a whole list of ideas that she had intended to bring up. With all these things in mind, they drafted a set of letters explaining that Truth's Messenger had been gravely wounded by the Spider and requesting that they reschedule for mid to late summer and hinting that this was a take it or leave it kind of deal.
Without the meeting to anticipate, the rest of spring break dragged on for those in the know. Every day, the five would stop by the Grangers' house (usually while the adults were at work. No one had any desire to be drafted into re-explaining why, exactly, Hermione was currently in an extra-dimensional hospital) to consult the changeling. Every day, the changeling's answer was the same: "She recovers but cannot yet return. She still sleeps most of the day away." It would give more details if pressed, information about what Hermione was eating (which caused a great deal of alarm among the Ravenclaw's friends. What was she thinking, eating Fae food?) and the time difference between worlds and estimates about how much longer this would take, but everyone found the changeling a wee bit creepy.
They felt very, very sorry for the Grangers. After all, they had to live with it.
The Grangers… well, they were obviously a concern. Hermione had never told them the complete truth, just the accurate but not entirely complete information about them running a political newspaper in their spare time. Until recently, the Grangers had approved, had even suggested ideas for articles. They had had no idea just how bad things were in the wizarding world.
Their daughter's near-death as she tied that month's issues onto owls' legs was a rather rude awakening.
Harry, being the leader, was forced to go back to them the day after Hermione was taken. The resultant conversation had been… exceptionally… unpleasant for him. There were tears involved, and shouts and threats and lies, and they eventually retreated to lick their wounds. They had to; there was no way that they could go on. So Harry came back that night, meek and miserable, too tired to protest. Fortunately, the Grangers were too, and they believed him when he said that no one in their group had had any idea that anyone would actually try to kill them for their actions. They believed him again when he said that they would no longer continue the VV, that they had learned their lesson about dabbling in politics as children. Oh, the guilt made him want to curl up and cry as it writhed in his gut, but he said it, and they believed him.
Some things were bigger than him.
He could not sleep that night. All he could do was curl around his pillow and gaze at the wall with sightless eyes.
Spring break passed in a haze of misery. They got their homework done, finished the next issue of Better than Binns, but could scarcely bear to write more for the Vox Veritatis. The next month's edition would be smaller than usual, noticeably so, and none of its articles would bear the name of Pallas Dhar. When Harry wasn't too unhappy to think, he noted that the lack of Dhar articles was a good thing, that it would convince Dumbledore (like he needed more convincing!) that Air really was dead.
Blaise's Dreams confirmed that Dumbledore believed himself successful. He saw the twisted phoenix crowing in triumph over the 'corpse' of a tiny owl, but the owl snuck away when its attacker wasn't looking. The phoenix kept crowing, laughing at the group of beasts—serpent, hound, wolf, raven, ram, jaguar, fox—before it. It kept laughing until the owl plunged her talons into the firebird's heart.
The Dreams gave him a grim sort of satisfaction, a satisfaction that only increased when Endymion vanished one morning. The next day, Blaise and his mother received word that the man was in France, filing for divorce. Anath's heart nearly failed her. Blaise's face, eager as it was to break into a smile, nearly failed him.
Because of Endymion's escape, though, he was by far the least gloomy when the friends and the changeling boarded the Hogwarts Express. His relatively good mood was short-lived, however, as that was when Luna Lovegood caught up with them.
Blaise had a split second to wonder if anyone had told the younger Ravenclaw about Hermione's absence before she noticed the changeling. Silvery eyes went even wider than normal, nearly bulging out of their sockets. An issue of the Quibbler fell from her slack hands.
"What happened?" Luna squeaked.
Harry groaned. "No one told you?"
"No," she whispered, still staring at the Hermione lookalike.
Harry groaned again. "Too many people here," he mumbled.
"Write it down," Daphne suggested, almost too quietly for them to hear.
"What? Are you mad?"
"Write it down, show it to Luna, and then burn it."
"Oh. Not mad, then."
"Put some parchment in the Quibbler. It'll look like you're doing the crossword." Daphne raised her voice. "Is that the newest issue, Luna?"
"Yes. Yes it is. Would you like to do the rune crossword? I know Ancient Runes is one of your favorite classes." To Luna's credit, her voice didn't quaver at all. She handed Daphne the magazine. The older girl accepted it with a murmur of thanks.
They eventually found a compartment that was otherwise empty, but no one was entirely comfortable discussing sensitive information aloud in a crowded train, so Daphne proceeded with her plan. She plucked a piece of parchment from her back, stuck it into the Quibbler's pages, and began to scribble away while Blaise regaled everyone with the story of his stepfather's escape. Well, an edited version, at least. It wouldn't do for him to boast of his own role.
But, since none of them could (or would, rather. They could have theoretically found an isolated compartment and enchanted it with spells for privacy, falling silent whenever an outsider wandered through their little chamber) discuss what they really wanted to talk about, the train ride dragged on and on. None of them would admit it, but they were still a bit leery of the changeling. If it could give them information about Hermione (which it did, telling them that she was just a bit stronger but there had been no real change), it could easily give the Fae queens intelligence on them. The six friends tried to talk about other things—the upcoming final task for the Tournament of Houses, Better than Binns, Mark's somewhat biased autobiography that had finally been published—but conversation trailed, lapsing often into awkward silence which only the changeling didn't mind.
Needless to say, they were all relieved when they finally arrived back at Hogwarts.
A whole new set of problems began then, though. Each House team had independently decided that the dinner after coming back from spring break would be a good time for a meeting, so Daphne, Luna, and the changeling were off to their respective meeting places (usually empty classes or, in the case of Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout's office). Luna kept casting wide-eyed glances at the changeling, hoping that it wouldn't mess up.
It didn't. It was quieter than Hermione would have been, but everyone else was so loud that no one but Luna noticed. The second year almost sagged with relief when no one commented on 'Hermione's' odd standoffishness.
On their way back to Ravenclaw Tower, she pulled the changeling aside for what was supposedly a bathroom break but really was an attempt to stifle her own worries. "Do you know Hermione's schedule?" she asked.
"Yes. The Lightning Speaker and his friends visited often, and they had me memorize everything I need to know to impersonate Hermione until her return. The Sorting Hat helped as well."
"Oh, goody." A frown. "Everything? What are you going to do about homework?"
"I have Hermione's handwriting, and the Lightning Speaker is familiar enough with the course materials and with Hermione's writing style to dictate to me."
Harry would be doing Hermione's homework? Luna imagined her friend's reaction to that and winced. She hoped to be very far away when the older girl found out. Australia, perhaps, or Peru. There were all sorts of interesting creatures in Australia and Peru.
"That's also good. How is she doing now?"
"She is awake."
Luna blinked. She and the others knew that Hermione had been awake on and off, but she didn't know if anyone had actually been in contact with the changeling during the Ravenclaw's brief periods of consciousness. "Do you have any way of talking with her?"
"I am afraid not."
Luna looked at the face, so familiar and yet so strange. Hermione's eyes were more human, her hair less wild, her expression more telling. The changeling seemed almost like a statue of Hermione come to life—which, in a way, it was.
No one but the full-blooded Fae knew for certain just how changelings were made. Human folktales told of them, of babies snatched in the night and replaced by constructs of bark and sap that tormented the parents. Those stories were confused, though, as sometimes they told about Fae babies or even adult Fae in baby form who were left in place of the human children. Among humans, therefore, the term 'changeling' lumped together three distinct entities: true changeling, like the one running its fingers through its hair; infant Fae whose parents passed the inevitably colicky brat off to some poor, unsuspecting mortal until the kid grew out of it; and adult shape-shifters, who must have been very, very, very bored. Thanks to this confusion of terms, any research on changelings would be more complicated than it ought to be, and Luna didn't know much about them from her Fae-blooded relatives.
What she did know, though, made her wince.
"I'm sorry."
Not-Hermione blinked at her, confused. "Have I done something wrong? Has my act not been sufficient?"
Luna shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that. I am just very sorry that I haven't been that nice to you." She stuck out her hand. "My name is Luna Lovegood. I am thirteen years old and a member of Ravenclaw House. My daddy edits the Quibbler. What's your name?"
The changeling stared at her, its—her, Luna decided, because Hermione was a girl and this one was wearing her face—expression completely dumbfounded. "I do not have a name except that of Hermione Jane Granger."
"Then you can pick one out," Luna chirped.
The changeling's brow crinkled in confusion.
"And what is your favorite color? Do you like the Grangers? Do you like Hermione's friends? Do you like being Hermione? What do you think of Hogwarts? I like Hogwarts. I think it's very pretty. Do you think so too?"
The changeling stared. Luna chattered on.
"What about this world? I know it must be very different from the Otherworld. Do you like it here? I hope so, but even if you don't, you haven't seen all of it yet. This is a big, beautiful world. You should see more of it, like Australia or Peru. Or if you don't like traveling you can read about them in the Quibbler." Luna's eyes bulged with excitement. "Oh, this issue has a lovely article on the magical properties of platypus venom. Do you know what platypuses—or platypodes, or platypi, I can never remember—are?"
Confronted with a question about fact instead of opinion, the relieved changeling shook her head.
"That's too bad," Luna decreed, "as platy…puses are wonderful. They're so fluffy and cute, but they have duckbills. Duckbills! And they lay eggs!"
"I have seen pictures of ducks," the changeling lamely volunteered.
"But have you ever seen a real duck?"
"I do not believe so, no."
Luna patted the startled changeling on her arm. "Then we shall just have to fix that, shan't we?"
The poor changeling clearly had no idea how to react to that. That was all right, though. Luna could be patient. She didn't know this changeling very well, but she already liked it—her—and what else were friends for?
When the owls from the ambassadors arrived at Founder's Isle, Sirius and Dudley were just relieved that they didn't carry Howlers. The former had received more than his share of the shrieking letters at Hogwarts; the latter had obviously never been sent an enchanted epistle, but he'd heard enough of Sirius's stories to know just how unpleasant they were. When they told Saysa about their worries, though, she gave them an odd look and asked if they really thought that highly trained politicians arranging a meeting that had to remain secret from the world at large would use a form of communication that spilled the metaphorical beans to anyone within shouting range. When she put it that way, the males couldn't help their embarrassment.
Neville-as-Alexander privately confessed to them that he'd half-expected at least one Howler himself. Dudley, at least, felt a little bit better after that.
The letters came attached to owls as diverse as the diplomats themselves, some graceful and slender, others bluff and stocky, but each message contained much the same reaction: no one appreciated the delay, and more than one pointed out that the humans had complained about that earlier, but if Truth's Messenger really was recovering from a near-fatal blow, the humans were probably justified in putting things off until summer. They would all come to the new date.
"Good," Remus said when he read the epistles. "Tyr will probably be back by then, and I'd rather have him represent us werewolves than me."
"Any news from him?" Harry asked. "Last I heard, he was in Siberia."
"Same here. That was a while ago, though. I bet he's in Alaska by now."
"Not necessarily. I've heard that Siberia has a high werewolf population."
"Yes, but he'd been in Siberia a while, right? And he wrote that word has spread through the werewolf communities that someone is coming around with the cure, so everyone ought to be ready for when he arrives. The Americas won't take him as much time."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Are you sure? I think that their werewolf populations are more scattered, just as a general rule of thumb."
"But like I said, they know to gather when they hear Tyr is in the area. In Europe, he had to hunt down stragglers who'd escaped the camps because they didn't know he even existed. Same with Australia and New Zealand. And weren't Asia and Africa pretty much all stragglers? No. He won't take long in the Americas."
"This isn't alerting the authorities, is it?" Neville worried.
"Tyr hasn't said anything," Remus replied. "Though," he added, thinking of Tonks, "it wouldn't be so bad if he could make contact with the right authorities…."
Blaise and Harry smirked.
"Yes. Well." Remus flushed. "Did anyone send you their schedules?"
"The dwarves and goblins did," Harry answered. "The veela sent a few suggested dates. I don't know if the centaurs have schedules like the others do, and we can't tell with the merfolk, but I think that they'll be open to almost anything. They were the easiest to schedule in for the original meeting."
He wished Hermione were there. She was without a doubt the most organized of the five friends. She could have read over the letters once, then come up with a date that would satisfy everybody. The whole ordeal would be over in five minutes. But Hermione was gone, lost in the lands of the Fae until her recovery.
When he got back to Hogwarts, the first thing he did was hunt down the changeling. "No news," it—or she, as Luna insisted on referring to the construct as a female. She was probably right in claiming that use of the pronoun 'it' was inaccurate and morally wrong—said. "She is exactly as she was five hours ago, though she woke briefly. It was a slightly longer period of lucidity than usual, but I have told her that the average length is growing."
Harry sighed and thanked her. He would have left then, but Luna believed that the changeling could 'benefit from discovering and embracing her individual identity' and that it was rude to merely use her as a tool for watching after their friend. Once again, Harry had to acknowledge that she was right.
"What d'you think of Hogwarts? Not Hermione, you."
"I find it agreeable, though I dislike the cold iron in the walls." The changeling gave a tiny shudder, one of the first displays of her emotions rather than what she thought Hermione should experience. "This is a fascinating world, and learning about it is an efficient use of time."
"Right." Harry wondered if this was some glimmer of individuality or if the changeling was still playing Hermione. "I've always liked learning myself, though I've obviously never minded the cold iron."
For a second, he thought that the Hermione impersonator would say something, but she thought better of it at the last second. Harry waited a moment longer, just in case she changed her mind again, but the changeling just stared at him with its—her—inscrutable brown eyes. Harry fidgeted. "Er—did you want to come with one of us on the full moon night? For the rath-binding ritual, I mean. Or we could teach you to do it."
For the first time, honest shock widened those brown eyes. The resemblance to Hermione intensified, triggering a wave of pain in Harry's gut. He swallowed once, hard.
"I am uncertain how to respond."
"That's all right," Harry assured her. "You've still got a week to decide. But you'll think about it?"
A nod, jerky and uncertain. "I will consider it."
"Good." Harry nodded his goodbye before making his way back to the Slytherin Common Room, where his House team was engaged in yet another debate about the nature of the Hogwarts Task and their optimal approach to it. As most of these debates tended to devolve into shouting matches—especially now, with the task so close—Harry ignored the drama in favor of grabbing a pair of books, some parchment, and heading for the Library.
One week later, the changeling followed Harry to his latest clearing. "Right," the boy mumbled, conscious of his audience. "I don't suppose you've seen this before on any of your other—er—assignments?"
"I have had no other assignments. I was created to impersonate Hermione, and when that task is complete, I shall return to the greenwood that bore me."
Harry was surprised by the pang that thought brought him. Was the changeling creepy? Yep. But it didn't seem fair that she had been brought to life for a single month, give or take a few days, before dying. No, not right at all. The thought made his stomach twist.
What was he supposed to say to something like that. 'Oh, I'm sorry that you were created as a tool which will be destroyed after its mission is complete'? So, rather than face the awkwardness of that conversation, he changed the subject to something more pleasant: explaining the ritual as he went through it. The changeling watched, her gaze less human than ever before as the Fae power flooded the world. Yep, definitely creepy.
Then an all-too-human expression of shock washed the otherworldliness away. Brown eyes looked up. Harry followed her gaze, groaned softly. Great, the knight. Just what he needed, another encounter with his 'allies.'
"Goodbye, Harry," the changeling murmured. "Please say goodbye to Luna for me as well."
"What?" the boy asked blankly, turning to face her.
With his face turned away, Harry missed the horseman landing, his steed slowing to a halt. He did not notice the small, slender figure holding tight to the Fae's waist.
He did notice when Hermione flung herself off the horse and enveloped him in a hug.
Okay, there should be 2-3 chapters and an epilogue before the next book, which will contain the long-awaited diplomatic meetings, Voldemort, and Tonks becoming a werewolf. And stuff. *needs ideas*
Next update: September 13.
Thank you, all my wonderful reviewers. I'm sorry I've been crap about answering you guys. Have you ever had one of those times where you're just so, so tired even though you have no good reason? Yeah, that's been the past month, and it doesn't help that I've had a few unexpected things going on. I'll try to answer everyone from this chapter and the last one on Monday and Tuesday. Until then, I bid thee all adieu!
-Antares