I dont own any Harry Potter characters
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There was little light remaining; indeed, the sun had descended behind the horizon several hours previously, leaving only the moon to lead the way through the grounds. In retrospect, the young lady could well have ignited her wand tip if she wished to have a clear path, but in previous experience, she had found that wrong-doers who had managed to remain outside the castle after the caretaker had locked the door, were too aware of any approaching light to allow themselves to be caught. Perhaps, if she had chosen to light her wand on her rounds, she might have noticed the figure at the base of Gryffindor Tower, and may not have yelped in shock at the loud, croaky groan that rose from what appeared, in the dim light, to be a mere heap of luxurious silk. When in fact the heap of clothing moved, a hand shooting from the cavernous sleeves to grasp the wandering Head Girls ankle, she could not help but emit a loud, piercing shriek, drawing her wand and pointing it at her assailant with a still hand, though her voice betrayed the gripping shock and horror that had overcome her.
"I... I'm warning you... let go... I have a wand and... I'm not... not afraid to... to use it..."
Another groan, and the hand on her ankle relinquished its grip, falling to the floor with a dull thud. A rough, gravelly voice sounded, as though the speaker had been outside for far too long a time. "Am I dead? Are you... the guardian?"
Hermione Granger blinked rapidly, in disbelief, then shook her head in the negative. Only on realizing that he could not see her did she speak up. "No... no you're not dead... you're perfectly alive... and I'm not any kind of guardian." She found herself edging forwards, despite inner warnings that told her she should run to McGonnagall and Dumbledore instantly.
"Where am I?" The man rasped, struggling to lift his weight up on his arms. They shook with the effort, straining muscles hollered at him, pleading for him to stop. He fell forwards, collapsing onto the cold, compact ground, a soft grunt of pain escaping his lips.
Dropping to her knees, Hermione turned the man over, biting back a whimper of shock at the congealing blood that clogged the dirt-filled cuts on his face. "You're at Hogwarts," she mumbled, brushing a dark lock of hair back from the slash located across his eyebrow.
"Hogwarts..." he deliberated in a soft undertone. "Hogwarts..." he was silent a moment, then; "why am I alive?"
Hermione faltered, swallowing a lump in her throat. "The... the same reason everyone else is I suppose." She pointing her wand at his wound, waving it soundlessly, the dirt vanishing and the red, bleeding gash healing, to become a simple red line. "Why would you not be?" Repeating the same spell on various inflictions, she awaited his answer, wondering who he was, and how he had come to be within Hogwarts grounds; he was no teacher, too old to be a student, and the wards that surrounded the school were practically inpenetrable. A brief doubt, a wondering of how Dark the wizard be in order to get here, passed through her mind, but she dispelled it. After all, if he were attempting to break into the castle unnoticed, he'd have killed her by now.
He waved a hand, a gasp of pain and effort escaping his mouth, as he tried to speak.
"Alright!" Hermione said hurriedly. "Don't say anything just... just let me get help... I'll be right back..." As she stood to leave, his hand caught her wrist and a shuddering, rasping breath reached her ears.
"No! Don't go... I don't... this place... I'm not... stay!"
Desperation and neediness clung to each syllable. Hermione shivered, then nodded, raising her wand and speaking "Expecto patronum!" Three silver otters shot from her wand, floundering towards the nearest windows and disappearing through them as though they were non-existant. Kneeling down, she surveyed the man through watchful eyes, her teeth indenting her lip lightly as she thought of something to say.
"Who... who are you?" She queried, looking at his dark, medium length hair, and the would-be handsome face, were it not covered in blood and dirt where she had not quite managed to clean it. She noted a slight scar on his neck, but she looked away from it and waited for him to reply.
He was shivering, teeth chattering, as he attempted to reply. "Go... G...G..."
"Miss Granger!" Professor Minerva McGonagall's shrill voice echoed through the cold night air, and he was prevented from answering her. The clipping sound of shoes on the concrete ground became louder, and suddenly, the tartan dressing gown and famously tightly bunned hair appeared suddenly, preceding the large, sparkling blue hat of Albus Dumbledore, who seemed as serene and calm as ever he was. "What on earth is going on?"
"Professor," Hermione breathed, her voice filled with relief. "I don't know who he is, and he says he doesn't know why he's here... he's got cuts and... well... I didn't know what else to do."
Perhaps it was the look of complete helplessness that covered the usually competent Head Girl's face that convinced the Head of Gryffindor house of the situation, but the harsh, shrill tone suddenly disbanded from the Professor's voice and she looked briefly at the man, before into Hermione's eyes. "Miss Granger, perhaps it would be best for you to go back to your common room..."
Hermione nodded, her brown hair blowing lightly in the wind. As she went to leave, Professor Dumbledore stepped forward, blue eyes twinkling as ever in the minimal light, fingertips touching as he surveyed her over his half-mooned spectacles. "Perhaps not, Professor. Indeed, I think it would be appropriate for Miss Granger to accompany us up to the Hospital Wing. She will, after all, require something for shock, and I'm sure our guest could do with the company."
The desire to argue was forced back. She knew full well that there would be no question as to whether she would visit the Hospital Wing if Professor Dumbledore himself had suggested it. Nodding her head in slight inclination, she waited for the Professors as they levitated the strange man from the floor. Only as he rose did she notice the flower that fell from his clothing, landing lightly on the floor with no sound. Without conscious thought, she knelt to pick it up, her brow creasing slightly as she wondered over the flowers origin. She had never seen such a flower before, and although she was no Herbologist or gardener, it was a rareity to find something she had never heard of. Following the puppeted figure and her two Professors, she ran her fingers over the stem of the lily absently, the plant refreshingly cool against her fingers. There was a strange silence as they walked up to the Hospital Wing, and Hermione toyed with the flower gently, caressing the soft petals and smelling it carefully. Although they reached the quiet, clean ward within minutes, it felt a much longer stretch of time as she watched her two Professors walking with their heads together, talking in hushed voices that resulted in her being unable to hear them. Occasionally, her eyes would drift to the figure of the strange man, held in an unearthly position as he floated along, and she would shudder involuntarily at his unexplained appearance, his apparent shock at being alive, and his worryingly endearing need for her company.
"Miss Granger!" Madame Pomfreys voice spoke up sharply, as though it were not the first time that she had called. "Come over here and let me check you over."
"Honestly Madame Pomfrey, I'm fine. I should really be on my rounds and..." she was silenced as the nurse steered her to a nearby bed, pushing a vial of potion forcefully into her spare hand.
"I shall be the one to decide that. Now you, be quiet and drink that potion. You won't be going anywhere this evening." She turned away, bustling over to the far side of the ward, where the stranger had been lain on a bed. Hermione watched as the nurse performed frantic healing and cleaning spells on areas of his body that Hermione had missed - his ankles, his knees, even his chest. A blush crept across the Head Girls cheeks as she wondered why the man's privacy was being so blatantly disregarded. All the while, her two Professors spoke quietly, glancing at the man warily. Only when Madame Pomfrey had finished and covered the man again, taking a heavy pile of colourful silks to her own quarters, where, Hermione assumed she would clean them, did Professor Dumbledore step forwards, his eyes carefully surveying the figure on the bed. His long blue robes glittered slightly in the vague candlelight, and his soft voice was lowered to be almost inaudible. Hermione attempted to strain her ears, without appearing to be eavesdropping, by leaning over to the jug of water on her bedside table, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and pouring herself a glass. After placing it gingerly on the table again, she unstoppered the potion vial and pinched her nose against the acrid smell. "1, 2, 3," she muttered, then threw it down her throat, swallowing instantly in an attempt to avoid the taste as much as was possible. She drank from the water glass greedily, attempting to rid her throat of the burning sensation. As she drank, the conversation between her Professor's and the stranger reached her ears, and she listened intently.
"I am very much aware of the healing you have just undergone. I shall ask only a few questions, and pray that you shall permit me the answers." Professor Dumbledore may have recieved a nod in assent, or a violent hand gesture, or no recognition at all. Hermione did not dare to look, but waited as the conversation drew on.
"Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, what is your name, and how do you explain your, frankly unexpected, arrival at my school?"
There was incoherent mumbling, and Professor McGonagall uttered an irritated 'tsk' sound, tapping her slippered foot on the cold floor.
After repeating the question, Dumbledore leant down nearer to the mans lips, then shook his head. "Minerva, perhaps you would be so kind as to ask Poppy for a strengthening solution for our guest?"
McGonagall nodded, walking briskly from the room. Although Hermione did not look at her remaining Professor, she was certain that he was watching her. As if to confirm her thoughts, the blue eyed, kindly old man said, quite gently, and quietly, considering the distance between them. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, it would be best for you to join us, and save both myself and our mysterious guest the trouble of speaking deliberately louder. And, of course, to save your young ears the strain that comes with eager listening." Hermione turned her head to look at her Headmaster, an ashamed flush covering her cheeks and turning her pink with embarassment.
"I'm sorry Professor. I'll leave if it's inconvenient."
His blue eyes twinkled with light amusement and he shook his head, his hair and beard moving briefly. "My dear girl, it is more than my life's worth to allow you to leave. Poppy would sooner have my head for supper than allow a student she has proclaimed to stay overnight leave her ever watchful presence." He indicated with a bony hand to the strange man, smiling at her. "Come. I'm sure our mysterious guest would appreciate the company."
Smiling in spite of herself, Hermione stood and walked over to the mans bed, holding her water glass in her hand and looking at the headmaster with a slight frown creasing her forehead. He continued to smile sweetly, and inclined his head politely, just as Professor McGonnagall returned, a purple vial clasped between her slender fingers. At a nod from Dumbledore, she proceeded forwards, placing the bottle to the mans lips and tipping it gently. He swallowed it down, and Hermione found it of slight interest that he were so trusting of a woman he had never met to give him a potion. Nevertheless, she seated herself on the nearest spare bed, watching as Dumbledore ran his long fingers over the bottom rails of the hospital bed, the same smile still covering the serene, calmly wisened old face, with no hint of worry or unease.
"Now, perhaps you will permit me the knowledge of how you came to be in the grounds of my school?"
The man stared at Dumbledore, as though it were an absurd question, and said, quite softly. "I jumped."
Hermione's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. McGonnagall stared, flabbergasted, at Dumbledore, who nodded with seeming understanding, as though anyone could understand how easy it was to penetrate a powerful range of protective spells with a single jump. "And your name?" He asked, his hands on top of each other, blue eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Godric Gryffindor." The man said simply.
Hermione stared disbelievingly, just as McGonnagall dropped the vial she had continued to grasp. It crashed to the floor and splintered, but she did nothing to repair it or clean it up. Madame Pomfrey, who had been busily cleaning nearby sheets in, Hermione suspected, an attempt to hear the conversation, let out a loud gasp of disbelief and turned around with a look of befuddlement on her features.
Yet, as usual, Dumbledore seemed to remain unaffected, and he bobbed his head in an up and down motion of understanding, smiling as ever, eyes still twinkling. "Alas, Poppy, I believe he may well be delirious. Give him a sleeping draught, and I shall return in the morning. Miss Granger, if you would return to your bed?"
Nodding blankly, Hermione returned to her bed, shaking her head as she lay back on the pillows and frowning to herself.
As she rolled onto her side, her eyes fell on the flower beside the bed and she frowned slightly, before closing her eyes to the inevitable sleep that was to come.
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It was as the first rays of sun crept through the window that Godric awoke, his body slightly sore, yet by no means broken, as had been his original plan. It took him several seconds to recognize the room he had awoken him, and it was only as his eyes fell on the sleeping girl on the opposite side of the room that he had any recollection whatsoever. He took in the beds lined against the walls, the bedside tables, the jugs of water and glasses, glistening in the morning sunlight. He took in the windows, through which he could see only grass and trees. Hogwarts, the girl had said. How very peculiar his Hogwarts now seemed. Indeed, he could not recall any such room as this. Surely they would not have been discovered over night. And yet, he remembered the peculiar clothing that the four people had worn, and wondered where on earth they had procured such ridiculous outfits. What was that old man doing wearing that bright blue sack of clothing, and that pointy hat that glittered to the point of blinding him? And that old woman, in her silly red, brown and white cloak? It was absurd. He had never seen anything like it. And the girl... why, he had never seen anything quite so revealing outside of his bedroom! That strange white shirt she had worn, that seemed to cling to her figure like... well... like nothing he had ever seen a woman wear. And the view of her breasts was far too obvious. It was indecent for women to walk around parading their goods, which only their husbands and lovers were allowed to see! A crude thought crossed his mind. Perhaps the old man were her husband? A shudder shook his body. The thought was a horrible, disturbing one. He reached for the water beside his bed, drinking it slowly and tentatively. He was confident that they would not poison him, after all, they had given him a strengthening potion, but he still waited several seconds between each sip, just in case.
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Hermione awoke, blinking against the bright light of the sun as it filtered through the panes of glass and rubbing her eyes to get rid of the last remnants of sleep. Standing, she reached for the hairbrush beside the bed, running it through the tangled mess with a groan of annoyance. Only when she heard a cough from the bed on the opposite side of the room did she remember that she was not the only patient. Without truely considering it, Hermione approached his bed, looking at him carefully for the first time, wondering vaguely how she had disregarded his good looks so easily the previous night. His black hair fell to his ears, his fringe almost covering the dark brown eyes that regarded her as she approached him, a sense of assessment and scrutiny in their depths. His face was handsome, with a strong jaw, a slightly crooked nose, and thin, manly lips. His neck was strong, and what she could see of his chest was well muscled. The arms that lay across the sheets sported large muscles, and his hands were large and rough looking. She approached him with a small frown and sat on the bed beside his once more. His eyes followed her, though he did not move his neck.
"Your eyes are like the sun." He said quietly. The graininess of his voice was gone now, there was no residual irritation of the gravelly, throaty noise, only a very soft, deep, almost factual voice. "A rising light on a sweet summers morning."
Hermione blushed, taken aback slightly, saying nothing.
"Is there a noble man enough, to gaze into them?" She met him once more with silence. He looked at the sheets of his bed, speaking once more. "Is the sparkled man, the blue robed one... your husband?"
She shook her head vigorously. "NO! No... no... no... he's my head master. I'm a student here..." She blushed crimson, and the man supressed a smirk.
"Do you... well... do you remember who you are yet?" She asked impishly, fiddling with the hem of her white blouse to avoid looking at him.
The man smiled, though it was almost bitter and resentful. "I am whom I claimed to be last night." He said softly.
Hermione shook her head as if to clear it. "But.. you can't be Godric Gryffindor!" She almost laughed at him, but restrained, carrying on. "He died! Hundreds of years ago! The name died out!"
Godric frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Hundreds of years ago? How could that be possible? You realize who founded this school, I assume?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know who founded this school. Yes, he was one of them! But that was hundreds of years ago! You can't be him! He's..."
His neck snapped round so fast that it clicked, but he ignored it. "The school wasn't founded hundreds of years ago!" He insisted. "I was there for crying out loud! It's logically impossible to be here if that were true!"
"Which is why it can't be true!" She told him. "There's no way you could be here if it were!"
"But it is true." He said quietly. "Perhaps it is you, not I, who is delirious and imagining things."
"I am not the one who was found on the ground with injuries to my head!" Hermione argued.
"You'll find that such things happen when someone jumps." He murmured thoughtfully, reaching for his water. "Jumping is... dangerous."
Hermione laughed bitterly. "The only way you could obtain injuries from a jump would be if you fell a hundred feet!"
Godric swirled his water, slowly. "Does Gryffindor tower still stand in this world you claim to be hundreds of years ahead?" His voice was questioning, yet almost knowledgable.
"Yes," Hermione said, distracted, "it's always been there! The founders chose it for Gryffindor because..."
"Because it stood overlooking the rest of the grounds. Because it represented the bravery that I held dear. Because to overcome a fear of height is the first step to overcoming other fears. Because of the bravery of the lion, and the watchful eye of the eagle. Part lion. Part Eagle. The Griffin." He set his glass down, hands visibly shaking.
Hermione stared. "Have you read Hogwarts: A History?" She questioned gently.
He looked at her scornfully. "They wrote a history book about Hogwarts?"
"I'll take that as a no then, shall I?" She said sharply. Observing him, she frowned. "What does Gryffindor tower have to do with it?"
"Where was it that I was found young lady?"
A look of dawning recognition reached her eyes. "At it's base."
"And what was it that I told your persistently twinkling headmaster when he asked how I reached his school?"
"You jumped..."
He smiled, as though a student had just answered a very difficult question correctly. "Correct." He ran his hand through his hair, then frowned. "There was a flower..." he stated suddenly, sitting bolt upright in his bed. "The flower, where is it?" A flash of worry in his dark eyes, and Hermione stood.
"It's... over there. I picked it up... what does it...?"
"Give it to me." He demanded instantly, holding out his hand, eyes wrought with madness as he looked at her. "NOW!"
She jumped and scampered to the bedside table, picking up the lily and returning to his bedside. Part of her feared to place it in his outstretched hand, but she did so, summoning all of her Gryffindor courage. He drew it tightly to him, running shaking fingers over the green stem and the plants white petals.
"Excuse me but... what is it?" Hermione asked tentatively, the scholarly side of her shining through despite her reservations of fear and nervousness.
"A Hogwarts lily." He said quietly, eyes not leaving the plant for a second.
She frowned. "A what?"
He smiled, almost sour. "Did that history book about the school tell you nothing? It was this flower that gave the school it's name! The grounds are littered with them, every spring they shoot up in the grass.."
Hermione edged back. "Those flowers aren't here... are you absolutely sure you know who you are?"
He looked as though he would snap at her again, but the doors opened, and both heads turned to look at Dumbledore, dressed today in plum robes, with his silver hair and beard falling to his waist. He smiled at them both broadly as he approached, then stopped in his tracks, eyeing the white flower in Godric's hands.
"My dear Merlin..." he said softly. "A Hogwarts lily..." He shook his head slowly. "Why, they are said to be myths..."
Godric looked at him, frowning. "Myth?"
"The Hogwarts lily has not been seen since... well, since Godric Gryffindor himself died." The old man looked at the flower somberly. "How did you find it?"
The frown upon the younger mans face could not have been more pronounced. "I had a little garden," he said simply. The announcement somehow sounded insane, and coming from the lips of a man who proclaimed to have jumped from the top of Gryffindor tower and landed hundreds of years in the future, Hermione found it quite easy to think he had mental problems. "At the top of Gryffindor tower. On the flat top."
Hermione spoke without prior thought. "There isn't a flat top on Gyrffindor tower. It's turretted!"
"On the contrary Miss Granger," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "It was once an open topped turret, meaning, of course, that it was flat topped. But it has been said that Gryffindor turretted it shortly before his death. There is a trap door through which nobody can pass, and which would, I believe, lead on to the said flat top."
Hermione looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. How he came to know such things was a wonder to her. There was nothing like that in any book she had ever read.
"If the tower still stands," Godric said softly, "I believe I can show you it."
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I didnt know how to end this chapter...
Lemme know?
Mage of the Heart