Without a second thought, Hermione rushed to the owlery to send a letter to Colin, hoping he could shed some light on the situation.
The journey was a blur, and her thoughts were consumed with the photograph. She hadn't spoken to Colin in years, and she wasn't even sure if the letter would reach him, but she had to try. As she handed the letter to the owl, she couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. She needed answers.
Returning home, she frantically searched through The Alchemist Cauldron, meticulously examining every page in search of clues. Her stomach twisted in knots as she failed to discover any sign of tampering or evidence that anyone had perused the book before her. Feeling defeated, she threw the journal on the table and shifted her attention to her wardrobe. With a sense of purpose, she rummaged through her winter clothes and procured a worn shoebox from the back. Retrieving her handgun, she hefted it in her hand, feeling the weight and assessing its readiness – she knew she couldn't take any chances.
The Ministry of Magic was next.
Apparating to Russia was out of the question, and she didn't want to risk using too much magic. In the end, she chose to travel by floo, although it would be a long and dizzying journey. Arriving in the fireplace of a dingy pub almost five minutes later, she stumbled out, taking a moment to steady herself before setting off outside.
The familiar path to Oxris Alley was almost unrecognizable, with the snow-covered buildings and narrow alleys. She pulled out her wand to cast a warming charm on herself, the cold biting at her fingertips even through her many layers. She followed the winding path, the snow crunching underfoot as she went. The alley was similar to Diagon Alley but had a distinct Russian flair. The shops were tightly packed together, each adorned with wreaths and twinkling lights. She passed by a quaint tea shop, where the warm glow from the windows invited her in for a cup of hot tea, but she had a more pressing matter at hand.
As she approached the red brick archway marking the exit, she noticed a group of children gathered around a large ice-skating rink. It was larger than any quidditch pitch she had ever seen, and the children were laughing and skating in circles, their cheeks rosy from the cold. Beyond the rink, several individuals were carving ice sculptures of Ded Moroz, the Russian version of Santa Claus, complete with his long white beard and blue robes. The sculptures were impressive, and Hermione almost paused to admire the intricate details.
Hermione felt the magic shift tangibly as she passed through the exit and continued walking through the snow-covered Muggle street, barely making out the figures of the few passersby in the heavy snowfall. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her face, grateful for the clothing she had donned before leaving her house. The snow seemed to fall harder the further she walked, and she was momentarily tempted to use her wand to cast a snow-repelling charm.
Turning a corner, she spotted the familiar wooden sign of The Black Labyrinth, tucked away from the view of Muggles. It was as if the building had blended in seamlessly with the surrounding architecture, visible only to those who knew where to look. To the Muggles, it was simply not there – overlooked and ignored. She had stayed here before when she helped Ginny and Harry move after their wedding.
As she stepped through the revolving door into the lobby, Hermione was immediately enveloped in warmth and the smell of burning logs from the fireplace. A bubbling fountain of Catherine the Great caught Hermione's attention, the empress that abolished the death penalty for witchcraft, and she marveled at the intricate enchantments that must have gone into its creation. Beyond the fountain was a witch named Kira who greeted her, and directed her to her room: seventeenth floor, the ninth door on the right.
Hermione sat down on her bed, feeling groggy as she rubbed her eyes. She stretched her limbs, feeling stiff from the long journey and the effects of the poison still coursing through her body. She surveyed the room, her eyes darting from one corner to another, scanning with her wand for any signs of wards. Satisfied that the room was secure, she let out a deep breath and reached for her potion vial. The tonic, a restorative potion, would help to counteract the effects of the poison that had been administered to her by Dolohov's kiss.
She unscrewed the cap of the vial and drank the contents, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her body. She could feel her strength returning, the poison slowly losing its grip on her magic. She hoped the potion would be enough to sustain her magic during the rest of her journey.
Hermione glanced at the clock on the nightstand, it blinked eight in the morning, and her heart sank as she realized how much time had passed since she had arrived. She had been exhausted, more than she had realized, and had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
As she got out of bed, she felt more energetic but hungry, and she decided to head downstairs to the dining hall, which was full of patrons. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and tobacco, and the walls were lined with potion bottles and fluttering Cornish Pixies.
As Hermione made her way to the bar, a wizard caught her eye. He twirled his wand between his fingers, and perched on his shoulder was a Fwooper, its mouth opening and closing in an attempt to sing. However, its Silencing charm kept it quiet. The wizard paused when he noticed Hermione approaching. She gave him a polite half-smile before placing an order for a drink and a small plate of food with the bartender. Despite the Fwooper's attempts to capture her attention, Hermione ignored the creature and the wizard.
After settling at a table in the corner, Hermione cast a translation charm to listen in on the various conversations taking place in the bar. She leaned back in her chair, waiting patiently for something to catch her interest, her attention focused solely on the ebb and flow of the magical chatter around her.
"…the Ministry needs to do something about the goblin rebellions," one patron grumbled a table away from her, while the other argued that peaceful negotiations were the way forward.
"…boils passing over, I tell ya." A creature spoke in a gurgling, slurpy voice that seemed to emanate from within its amorphous form, while oozing a blob of purple onto the table. "It's been a rough week in the marsh. Boils the size of toads, bursting and oozing like a festering stew." As it continued to share its concerns about the plight of its home
Her eyes landed on the wizard with the Fwooper, who seemed to be engrossed in a book.
"…the stars will align," a woman spoke, her eyes glittering. "As the moon enters its waxing gibbous phase, it will align with Jupiter and Saturn in a cosmic dance," she continued, her fingers tracing imaginary patterns in the air. "This alignment will create a vortex of energy, a conduit for witches and wizards to tap into and amplify their spells." She took a swig of her mead and smiled knowingly, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "It's all about timing and intention," she said. "During the peak of the alignment, when the moon is at its fullest, and Jupiter and Saturn are in perfect alignment, we can perform our spells with focused intention, and the cosmic energy will magnify our magic."
Hermione leaned forward, trying to catch every word of the woman's story about energy alignment. She was intrigued by the idea of aligning her energy with the cosmic forces, and she wanted to hear more. However, her concentration was shattered when a group of rowdy travelers burst into the establishment, laughing and shouting loudly. Their noisy entrance disrupted her focus, and Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation with the distraction in the background.
"…but sisters, it's not just about the timing. It's also about aligning one's energy with cosmic energy. Meditate, ground yourself, and connect with the elements. Feel the power coursing through your veins, and– "
Moments later, a house elf appeared with Hermione's meal and drink - "One plate of Rassolnik for the Miss and a Dusty Twig" – but when she looked up, she realized the women had already left the table. What ruddy timing!
Hermione ate her meal, taking the time to entertain the possibilities of what the star alignment could bring. Draco had spoken about it, and although the last time she had heard his voice was almost a month ago, his words were still crystal clear in her mind. During the connection, it was two days away. What did that mean to reality? Did she still have time? She wished the women had stayed long enough for her to learn more.
Leaving a few coins on the table, she stepped back into the cold afternoon, pointing her wand at the picture and apparating to the coordinates on the back. After the spinning lessened, she was dropped into a forest illuminated by the last of the sun's rays. Hermione didn't think it was possible, but the air was crisper from where she had just left, fogging the air before her.
It was quiet and still around her, the only sounds from her footsteps crunching in the snow and the occasional creaking of tree branches in the bitter wind. She knew it was late and didn't want to stay in the tundra long; she searched for any signs of life or danger but found nothing. Still, her instincts told her to be on guard. According to the scratches on the trees, bears reigned the area, maybe even a Yeti, but she didn't recall them traveling this far north.
Hermione's spell let her know it was not a magical forest, but that didn't mean danger wasn't there. Still, she continued over the uneven ground, where knobby roots poked through the frozen, snow-covered ground. She couldn't help but think how different this was from the lush greenery of the Scottish foothills she knew so well. She cast a few detection spells to see if anything was hiding beyond the trees but came up empty. She was alone.
She knew she had to move quickly and cautiously; the wilderness was unforgiving, and her body was tense, weary from the poison, and playing detective was difficult if she wasn't sure what she was looking for. The sun had since set, and the moon shone brightly above, casting an eerie blue light over the landscape. Climbing a semi-steep hill, she discovered a frozen creek. A fire spell melted the snow allowing her to take a sip from the icy water, realizing then how thirsty she was, possibly from the deliciously seasoned stew she ate at the pub.
She listened for any noises beyond the woods.
There was something in the forest that she couldn't put her finger on. It was as if the air around her was charged with a sense of anticipation and impending danger that prickled in the back of her neck. She hadn't come across any animal tracks besides the broken bark. Even the sounds of birds were nonexistent.
Taking another sip, she cast a warming charm and the gun in her holster to prevent it from freezing, and through her reservations, she pressed on.
Hermione had been considering heading back from the tundra, as the plummeting temperatures were starting to seep through her warming charms and her detection spells were faltering. But then something in the distance caught her eye: the shape of a small, weather-beaten hut. It was nestled in a clearing among the trees, and smoke was rising from the chimney – the only sign of life she had encountered in the desolate wilderness.
As Hermione drew closer, she could make out the details of the hut. It was constructed of animal leather and boned with moss and mud to keep out the cold. The roof was a cluster of branches, a thin layer of snow covering it like a blanket. A small campfire was kindling outside next to roughly carved stone steps that led to a door.
Hermione kept still for several minutes to acknowledge any sounds around her, vanishing her footprints as far as she could, and proceeded to inch closer when she was sure there were no dangers ahead.
As she warmed herself at the glowing coals of the dying fire and listened for any movements along the perimeter, she felt a pull of magic radiating from the small shack in front of her. It was so strong it was almost unmistakable. The magic filled the air around her, pulling her closer and crackling like static until it tickled the hairs of her arms.
Hermione hesitated, hand hovering over the wooden door. She wondered who lived there and if it was the elf Viktor had spoken about. Would he be unfavorable to her visit? The wards did not seem hostile but almost…inviting.
Smoky air of woodwork and spices wafted through the air as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the small room before her. There was a fireplace on one wall, a cauldron bubbling away over the flames above hung a bouquet of dried herbs. A small child sized pile of linen outlined a bed on the floor against the other wall, covered in furs for warmth. And in the corner was a table full of potion bottles and elf wine.
Hermione went to examine them, eying the vials and ingredients on the table, the room confirmed her suspicion that it belonged to the magical creature, but he was nowhere in sight. She opted to leave before he returned and deemed her to be intruding in his home.
Hermione almost dropped one of the bottles she picked up by a howl from outside. It was distinct but far away, but still a sign that she had overstayed her welcome. Silencing her shoes, she gradually emerged from the hut, wand aloft and listening for movement. When none was there, she tried to apparate, but something blocked it. Panicked, Hermione Disillusioned herself.
Glancing through the tall and twisted trees, she saw the illuminated outline of the moon. It wasn't full, which lessened her anxiety but only a little. Still with her hand clenched around her wand, she backtracked her steps through the forest.
Until another howl emerged through the trees making Hermione freeze in her tracks. It sounded far away. She knew wolves were in the area, but this sounded bigger. Angrier. Again, she tried apparating, but it failed. She kept on her course and was almost past the creek, when she heard a low, guttural growl coming from somewhere to her left. Louder and closer. She turned from her path to see the sharp elongated shadow of a werewolf striding through the trees straight toward her. Hermione's heart raced as she backed away slowly, her disillusion and charmed footfalls giving her little comfort.
It stood still, sniffing the air.
Hermione kept her wand pointed at the creature, which was advantageous considering its distance from her. Her spells wouldn't be enough. Covering her breath with her left elbow while retreating slowly, her foot caught on a root making her stumble. The sound of her fall echoed through the forest and her heart as she knew she had been discovered.
The werewolf burst through the trees, its eyes glowing in the moonlight. Hermione tried to stand, but one of her legs felt weak and unsteady, and her magic was faint. She lay on her side, panic rising as her wand only sputtered faint sparks alerting the werewolf even more of her location. She desperately needed another tonic.
Throwing her wand aside, Hermione pulled out her gun as the creature was almost upon her, its nostrils flaring and jaws snapping hungrily. She cocked the gun, ready to fire, but bright red lights filled the area around her—stunning the creature.
She watched two figures run past her as she hesitantly lowered her weapon, her breath coming in ragged breaths.
"Oi, you all right there?" Hermione twisted her body in the snow towards the voice, gun redrawn, her hand shaking slightly from the adrenaline. She saw a man in a plum-colored robe and a traditional ushanka approaching her with raised hands. He wore leather chest armor with a silver emblem that depicted a howling werewolf in the center - it was the Werewolf Capture Unit.
"Who are you?" Hermione did not lower her weapon.
"Are you lost? I can help you to the nearest town." He slowly inched his hand toward his sleeve, where his wand was hidden. Realizing her mistake, her appearance must have screamed Muggle.
Hermione aimed her gun at his chest. "Drop your hands! Don't make me shoot!" Hermione warned. "I'm not Muggle." She moved into a kneeling position and freed her face from her hat and scarf, and the wizard recognized her immediately.
"What the bloody blazes are you doing out here? Especially so close to a full moon. This place is swarmin' with werewolves." He reached out his hand, which she gladly took.
"I'm aware. Thank you for your help – for saving me back there." Hermione made to move, brushing off the layer of snow from her tumble to find the seam of her pant ripped around her calf. She was unable to support her weight because of a bloody gash that peeked through the torn fabric.
"You better have that looked at. You a'ight, he didn't get you did he?" He looked her up as she shook her head. "You ok for a sidelong apparating?"
"I think I'll be fine. A simple healing spell will be enough. I need to get back to town anyway."
"No can do. We've shut the whol' place down. No one is getting in or out unless you have one of these." He pointed to his silver emblem.
"Lovely." Not knowing how much magic she lost during her fight, she took ahold of his arm.
"It'll be my pleasure. Stalna's the name."
"Hermione."
Once the sickening pull lessened, they stood in a camp that was swarming with people wearing the same colored robes as Stalna. Fires were lit around several tan-colored tents, and no snow was on the ground. It even felt warmer, making Hermione wonder if they were still in Russia.
Stalna brought her to the medical tent, which was bustling with activity as wizards and witches rushed to and fro, attending to needy patients. In one corner of the tent, a young witch lay on a cot, her leg wrapped in bandages and splints. She winced in pain as the healer examined her injury.
"Dragon's." Hermione nodded, understanding Stalna's words.
The healer was an elderly wizard with kind eyes and a gentle touch. He didn't ask questions as he muttered incantations and waved his wand over Hermione's leg. Slowly, the swelling in the leg subsided, but a slightly bleeding gash remained. Hermione dropped her head against her pillow, breathing a sigh of relief as the pain began to ease.
Hermione and Stalna watched an injured, torn, clothed man being brought into the tent. He supported his weight against his colleague, who was a foot shorter than him, explaining that his friend was bitten. He was lowered onto a cot next to Hermione, where she put some of her clothes into her back while rummaging for her tonic. She at least wanted to have enough magic to repair her torn pants and travel back to her hotel. Meanwhile, she watched the elderly wizard administer a potion to the infected wizard and vanishing the wounds on his arm as he had done to her just moments ago.
As they walked back outside, Stalna spoke, "Them werewolves have been causin' trouble in the nearby villages, and the Ministry of Magic sent us to capture them. You're lucky you didn't get bitten."
"Will he survive? The man that was brought in?"
"Oh, yeah, surely. Doctors got a remedy that will save his life. Might enjoy a bloody steak more frequently, but he'll be a'ight." He chuckled.
Hermione politely smiled. It must have been one of the largest werewolf and magical creature raids she had ever witnessed, and she was caught right in the middle of it.
A roar shattered the silence, followed by the sound of beating wings. The ward crackled with power as a dragon's fiery breath washed over it, but the enchantments held, deflecting the flames away from the campsite. The dragon circled overhead, its massive claws tearing through the trees as it sought a way to breach the barrier. But it held strong.
The air around them shimmered with magical energy as a group summoned a bolt of lightning, which ascended toward the dragon. It dodged the attack with ease, but it gave the wizards the opening they needed to close off the wards further. The mighty creature raged on, each blow striking true but doing little to the now reinforced wards. Eventually, the creature gave up and flew off into the night, letting out a roar that echoed the one it made upon arrival.
Hermione's heart raced with adrenaline. She hadn't seen a dragon since their escape from Gringotts, which had already been too close for comfort. This one seemed particularly angry, perhaps protecting a nearby nest during breeding season.
"Hey, Stalna, close off those fucking wards like I asked you to the first time! " A wizard yelled across the camp.
"Don't mind him, commanders' just a bit hot temper'd. Italian, you know. You'll be safe here. Stick around, will you?" He winked at her and rounded two other wizards to help him before disappearing. He seemed remarkably calm, like a docile deer just pranced through the camp and not a full grown hostile dragon.
"And you, there! Not the time for you to be fucking around either! Get in uniform and over to south command and help Lupin out. He's been hit hard. I want a full report by morning." Her ears perked at the name; unwavering, she went to the south camp. It looked the same as the others, just a bit smaller, and just as the name implied, it lay at the south point of the camp.
The inside of the tent was huge, much bigger than the outside suggested. Reminding her of the one they used at the Quidditch World Cup. Countless enchanted lamps floated effortlessly along the ceiling. At the center, a table with papers was flanked by two more tables on either side, each with five individuals surrounding it. Her heart raced as she noticed her former professor gesticulating animatedly over the table, alongside none other than Harry Potter.
I know it's short but it was getting too long! 14k + words and still not done. So, unfortunately, it will be slashed into two and I hope this little teaser will be enough until then.
Thanks for your patience.