After the shock of her first summoning went out of her system, Hermione had to be honest with herself. She would do it again and she would try out other summonings from other books and maybe even from some of the scrolls she saw about the subject. It was such an weird but strangely amazing feeling to have the wisp connected to her mind like this. She was a beginner, the wisp got that right, but she felt back then and knew now that she could have commanded the wisp. He would have obeyed her commands even if she would have asked him to serve as a reading light for her the rest of the evening. It was a feeling of power and Hermione caught herself smiling while remembering the sensation. Eagerly she wrote down the Instructions for the summoning of a wisp onto another piece of parchment.
"I'll need something to get this stuff in order." she said while pondering some more about her recent experience. She was in a high, just like when she wrote a test that she knew she would ace for sure. It was the same feeling of accomplishment.
Some more pages after the wisp summoning pages she encountered another interesting chapter.
Every good summoner, dear reader, needs a way of storing his most cherished of rituals. For ages sorcerers used their personal grimoires to store their favourites and sometimes even their own rituals. But how does one produce a grimoire? After all, it is not just a book. It is both reminder and journal but more importantly, a friend and faithful council for every decent summoner. A good grimoire is a personal item, keyed to one person and one person only. It is as big as its needed and forgets the spells the sorcerer and summoner wants to forget while saving the knowledge the summoner needs to remember. It holds as treasures the moments that define the summoner and keeps these memories to form the character of its owner. To produce such a book, one must perform a simple ritual that requires nothing more than the sacrifice of ten regular books as well as a drop of blood.
"A drop of blood" she muttered. She pondered this line for a bit while drawing up the ritual circles. She would decide whether to do it once she had the ritual set up. It was just a drop, right? It was not like she'd have to bleed out over a rune. A little sting with the quill would do.
After she finished drawing the slightly more difficult circle, she took some of the useless books she sat on and placed them in the middle of the runes and geometric forms. The ritual was set up.
Hermione took a few steps back and then turned around to face the stairs down onto the fifth floor. Wasn't this the line she didn't want to cross not even an hour ago? Didn't she find the idea of sacrificing blood revolting? But wasn't a grimoire the epitome of her passion? A book that would hold everything she deemed worthy of remembering. She wasn't even sure she'd be able to carry it once summoned.
"Aaahhh, damnit all to hell, I want this!" she screamed towards a pillar as she turned around and stormed back to the desk, took the quill and violently stung her thumb with it. The quill broke and some of it was stuck in the flesh of her thumb. She drew in a breath through her teeth to keep herself from crying and shunned herself for her impatience. Not caring at the moment she placed her already heavily bleeding thumb over the books. Once the drop of blood touched the books about housecleaning and magical cuisine, they dissolved into a black and brown mist while the circle began to glow in the same white light that she already knew from the wisp. Quickly she placed her two hands to the place on both sides of the runes. Once placed the mist began to whirl and a sphere of black and brown began to form in the middle of the circle. Hermione held her breath as she observed the sphere morphing into a square, forming covers of dark brown wood with black ornaments. Slightly brown pages made the book bigger and bigger until it stopped after about fifty pages. Then all of a sudden, the mist was gone and the light stopped in an instant. The book, now fully formed fell down onto the desk with a 'whump' sound.
At first Hermione wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't even sure if the ritual was done or not. All she knew was that she was feeling an urge to press her still bleeding thumb onto the book and without much thought she did so. As her blood touched the wooden cover the black ornaments began to swirld around and reform into a crest in the middle of the book. In the middle of the crest was an otter playing around as if it was alive. Surrounding it were delicate lines and abstract forms that made the book overall a beautiful thing to look at. Awestruck she opened the book. The first page was to her surprise the Wingardium Leviosa. A small paragraph reminded her of the do's and don't of the spell and a slightly abstract drawing demonstrated the wand movement. For a demonstartion of its effect, a rough drawing, almost like a cartoon, had a painted club whack a painted troll over the head. Nearly twenty pages covered simple spells and some potions, including the Polyjuice Potion. Then the summoning of the wisp took over an entire page. Right next to it was the blood magic reducto, titled Sanguine disruptio.
The rest of the pages were notes of more personal matters, memories. The day when she got her Hogwarts letter took the first of these pages. Little drawings showed a bushy haired girl jumping around an abstractly drawn living room. Then the day when Harry called her a friend for the first time. It was such a beautiful memory that Hermione shed a lonely tear that ended up on the page. Once in contact the colors of the drawing that showed her with big eyes staring into Harry's emerald green ones, lit up and remained a tick brighter. The entries continued, the last one showing Harry alive in the infirmary after the Tournament. Then the tone of the journal changed and it began anew with her childhood. The ink used to write the episodes and to draw the pictures changed into a dark red, reminding Hermione of the blood she just used to make this grimoire. She slammed the book shut the moment she realized what she was looking at. Her eleventh birthday. A drawing of her standing in the middle of a partyroom that was absolutely empty. No one had come. It broke her heart and she felt it break again when she looked at the picture.
Hermione screamed in surprise as the Grimoire flew open again and showed her again the side with Harry, calling her his friend. A few seconds later it turned a few pages and stopped at the day when she received her first birthday presents from Harry and Ron. Hermione was too shocked to do anything. She was only able to press out a hoarse sounding "What the hell?".
As Hermione stared onto her grimoire, three words lit up on the page showing her birthday. 'You. Have. Friends.' Those three words were highlighted with a faint, golden light radiating from the ink the words were written with.
At this Hermione just ran. Every single one of her instincts commanded her to run as fast as she could and get away from this book. She basically jumped down the stairs to the fifth floor and nearly crashed into the hidden door. She barely got out the password and then continued to run down the halls, trying to be at least running on her toes. She ran around the last corner and nearly fell over the House-elve of the Black family, Kreacher. She ignored his rambling about disgusting, no respect, mudbloods and entered her room where Ginny lay in her typical deep sleep that was so common among the Weasleys. Seeing her younger friend reminded Hermione of why her instincts made her run. Talking books were not exactly a good thing if you'd ask Ginny.
Completely exhausted Hermione changed into her nightgowns and fell onto her bed. She had no nightmares this night. Instead she dreamed about her eleventh birthday, but with a teenage Harry and Ron celebrating with her.
Hermione woke up as the sun rose over London. She tried to fall asleep again but quickly surrendered to the massive onslaught of thoughts that forced her to be wide awake. She surprised herself by thinking about going up into the attic again. But there was that book and she'd be damned if she...
"What by all the Gods and Merlin and Morgana?!" Hermione hissed, her voice barely working.
There on the cabinet beside her bed lay the book with the wooden cover and the otter crest on it. She quickly crawled to the other side of her bed and never left the book out of her sight. What was that... thing doing here?
As Hermione starred at the Grimoire, Ginny woke up. She stretched her limbs and yawned loudly before looking at her roommate. "Mornin, 'Mione." she said with a sleepy voice. It took her a bit until she recognized the distressed look on Hermiones face.
"Whats wrong, Hermione? Let me guess. Fred and George?"
Hermione looked at the redhead not quite comprehending the words she just spoke.
"Hermione? Are you alright?" Ginny's tone was getting more serious and concerned. Whatever her brothers did, there would be hell to pay later.
"I-I'm fine." Hermione answered slowly. Ginny followed her eyes to a book she had never seen before. Ginny couldn't help but grin at the idea that her twin brothers would use a book as bait for Hermione. As much as she liked the brown haired bookworm, sometimes her obsession with books crept her out a bit. Sometimes she imagined her taking a sniff of parchment and getting a kick out of it.
Ginny walked over to the book and looked at it carefully. She prepared for the worst and then opened the cover. There was nothing on the first page and Ginny began to turn page after page. Every single one was blank. She could hear Hermione gasping behind her as if she expected something to happen.
"That was... anticlimactic." Ginny said a bit disappointed.
The smile Hermione wanted to form ended up being a pained grimace. Ginny thought to herself that she was too sleepy right now to deal with a Hermione Granger that has gone bonkers. "I'm going to breakfast, you're coming?"
Hermione just nodded and quickly changed into some clothes for the day. She looked one last time at the book on her cabinet and hoped that it wouldn't follow her down to breakfast. She would deal with that later.
The day went by and Hermione managed to not think too much about the book. She could explain her absent mind by telling everyone she thought about the OWLs. Nobody would question her, even though she had to listen to some snide remarks.
It was barely eleven o'clock and the moon stood high in the sky. Ginny was sound asleep and just as deep in her dreams as she was every night. Still, Hermione tried to be as silent as possible while she grabbed the Grimoire and left the room to go back to the attic. She found no one on the way, just Sirius talking with someone a few floors down.
Once again Hermione sat at her desk in the attic and studied a book. This time, however, the book didn't fascinate her, it crept her out like none of the previous books had managed. She studied it intensely, making sure to remind herself of how the ornaments had looked when she first saw it and if she could find any difference. As much as she tried to find anything different, the cover looked just as it had yesterday.
Hesitantly she opened the Grimoire and immediately drew back her hands as if she feared that the book would bite her. What was she supposed to do now, Hermione asked herself. For a lack of a better option she decided to do what came to mind first. She just asked.
"Who are you?"
For a immensely long moment, the book did nothing. Then a single symbol lit up.
'?'
Hermione sighed loudly at the more than unhelpful answer until she realized that this had actually worked, that the book had replied. A quick thought later she formulated her question a bit differently.
"What are you?"
'Gri. m. oire.' was the only thing that lit up from the pages.
"And what am I supposed to do with that answer?" Hermione spat back at the book and felt ridiculous for becoming angry with an item.
Instead of letting letters glow to answer Hermione, the Grimoire sliced away a corner of a page which then flew lazily through the room towards one of the corners in which the dark books were stacked. After a bit of a flight the little piece of parchment got stuck on a massive tome that was under dozens of other huge tomes. Hastily Hermione dug out the tome and just gave a little "oh" sound when she saw the title of the book. 'Grimoires and their Masters – about the forgotten servants and how to utilize them.'
Hermione dragged the heavy book to the desk and laid it next to the Grimoire. She saw with a bit of awe how the sliced corner-piece attached itself back. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if that would also work in the Hogwarts library and how much easier it would make her research for homework.
As she opened the tome she was overwhelmed with the table of content. Apparently Grimoires were quite the big topic. She began to read and found challenge in making sense of the old english language that made it hard for her to understand sometimes. The first chapter was about what a Grimoire was. Hermione nearly wanted to skip the chapter when the word 'creature' peeked her interest.
Just a few sorcerers, wizards and warlocks know about the real nature of their grimoires. This is not too surprising, since they're mostly made for them instead of by them. To realize the significance of this detail one must acquaint himself with the Art of Summoning mastered first by the ancient Summoner Solomon. In the ancient Art of Summoning the invitation spoken can also come from a proxy summoner who acts for the actual one who gives the sacrifice. A technique used mostly to summon abyssal beasts and great demonlords.
Most commission their grimoires at their local summoner instead of doing it themselves. But producing a grimoire with a proxy leads to a unfortunate fall in usability of the grimoire, something that few recognize due to the solely basic and practical use of these valuable items. These are the vast majority of grimoires and shall be called "dead books" in this text since that is in essence what they are. Nothing more than a powerful magical item.
So what is the other type then? The other type is the, in my humble opinion, most valuable demonic creature that a sorcerer can fuse his soul with...
Hermione felt anxiety building up in her chest but what she just read was too shocking to even form a scream. What the hell does this text mean 'demonic creature', 'fuse his soul with', its a freakin book! If thats true, she thought, then she was in some real trouble. Summoning a wisp could maybe be seen as teenage recklessness. But summoning a demon, no matter how good he'd look in a bookshelve, was an entirely different story. Completely forgetting about that whole soul thing. What did that even mean?
As if the Grimoire sensed her emotions the pages turned to the recipe of the Polyjuice Potion. Hermione couldn't stop herself from letting out a bitter laugh at that and immediately was crept out again. The book, her grimoire, tried to cheer her up.
"What did I get into here? This isn't good, this isn't good at all." she whispered to herself. She needed to talk to someone, but who could she trust with something like this? Molly Weasley would hex her into oblivion and back for looking at dark magic, let alone for using it. Ron would be the same. As much as she liked him, he'd repeat his families opinions without a second thought, including the easy dogma of 'dark arts equals dark witch'. She wasn't so sure about Harry. Would he see her reasoning, forgive her her curiosity? Maybe if she chose the right words? Hermione thought about the other members of the Order. Dumbledore was the most knowledgeable wizard she knew but he wouldn't help her even if he could. Not with this. Lupin, Moody, Arthur Weasley,... every reliable Order member was completely out of the question.
"I need to know more." she said to herself, trying to calm her nerves. Again she remembered what her father said to her once. 'Ignorance makes one fear.' When he told her this, it was because she had asked him about a immigrant kid at her school that acted unlike anyone she had ever met. Her father had been right to give her a book on arabian cultures. It had made her understand, at least a bit. She hadn't been able to understand half of it at this age.
'But was this similar?' she asked herself. Would further research banish the fear and insecurity, or just move her somewhere where she couldn't escape the trap anymore?
She nervously tapped her quill onto the big tome, trying to figure out if she dared read even one more line. She went back to the table of content and scanned it quickly. There it was, Chapter 3, the binding of a grimoire to a summoners soul.
Hermione stared at the few words and pondered about her situation, weighted her options. If she could just talk to someone, it would clear her head in an instant. But she was horrified of the idea of confessing her actions, or rather, the consequences of it. All she had ever heard of Azkaban were stories of horror and terror, endless depression and sadness. It sounded like something one would find in 'Dantes Inferno' or other visions of hell and Hermione surely wasn't keen on going to hell for what she did.
Hermione sighed and let her head hang low over the first pages of the tome. This was the second year all over again, just that now she would have to deal with much more severe punishment than a year of detention for making a polyjuice potion. She had been terrified of anyone finding out even though she had hid her fear quite well from her two best friends. But this time was even worse since even if she would want to share her fear, she had no one to do so.
Hermione took a piece of parchment and bookmarked chapter three. She needed to sleep about this, sort her mind and calm herself. She was sure, she needed to deal with this and she needed to do it alone.
With a bit of reluctance she grabbed her Grimoire and tip-toed back to her room where Ginny slept just as tight as before. She quickly changed into her nightgown, placed the Grimoire between her other books and went to bed where her mind began to race.
She tried to order her head, see clearly but the more and more she tried, the more she lost track of her thoughts. Everything she thought of crumbled away from her, failed in the scenarios she imagined or she lacked vital information about it. How did a Grimoire work? What was it? How was it connected to her soul? What did that even mean? She never believed in the things she read in the many books in the Hogwarts library that mentioned souls, since she didn't believe in souls. Whenever she read the word she was sure that what it meant was simply the magic within a witch or wizard, that it was synonymous. But now she doubted this believe of her for the first time. What if there really was a fourth part in her and this demon, her Grimoire really did connect with it?
Hermione moaned in frustration, because her thought never brought her even close to an answer and because they kept her wide awake. It was way after midnight when she finally found some sleep.
Hermione sat on a wide grassland, full with beautiful wild flowers and grass of poweful green that was freshly mowed in a big diameter around a small, medieval cottage with walls made of granite and a roof made of hay. The smell of the grass made her happy and the view over the grassland was amazingly peaceful and calm. Far away were huge mountains with snow on their peaks. A bit closer was a pond with fishes and frogs living in it. When she looked into the sky, clouds lingered in the nearly windless air and formed friendly white cottonballs.
She slowly stood up and moved around the cottage. It stood on a small hill in the middle of endless grasslands on all sides and when she came to the other side Hermione saw an ocean at the horizon. There was no other houses, no sign of human life and she felt not a single care on her mind.
Hermione took in the scene for a long time, how long, she couldn't tell. The smell of the freshly mowed grass filled her head and reminded her of all the good times with her parents in the forests and grasslands of Europe. She could swear that the mountains on the horizon looked like the french alps and the faint scent of salt from the ocean reminded her of croatia. The pond was the spitting image of her grandfathers carp breeding in Wales. Happy memories made up her surroundings and realizing this she tried to figure out where she remembered the cottage from. She couldn't tell and so she decided to look inside.
The cottage had two small windows on every side and when Hermione looked through them she saw a barely furnished single room, with a chimney, a bed, a dining table with four chairs and a desk. The door to the room was made from simple wooden planks, held together by copper fittings. Hermione expected to enter the small room but when she opened the door she found herself standing in a beautiful library, full of books, tomes and scrolls, filling the shelves that covered the walls of the hall. The room was at least ten meters high and the dome over the circular layout was richly decorated with small ornaments and the biblical scene of Eva taking the apple from the snake in the garden of Eden. In the middle of the room was a single desk, lit by the light from the windows that seemed to come from not just one sun, but all directions at the same time.
At the table she saw a girl, about her own age, reading a small book with a red cover. Her hair was wild, floating around her as if there was wind in the room and its color reminded one of the space between stars. Her skin was white as snow, with the exception of two black stripes coming from her eyes and fading out at her chin. Her eyes stunned Hermione as the girl looked at her in cautious curiosity. They were blue and seemed to be lit by a fire within her, reminding Hermione of a sapphire she once held before a bonfire. The girl was barely covered, just clad in a single stripe of cloth around her breasts, the lower body was still covered by the desk, but Hermione was sure that she wouldn't have much more to cover that part. When the girl stood up Hermione was proved wrong. Her lower body was covered to the floor in several layers of black silk that also behaved like she was standing in the wind.
She looked at Hermione as if she tried to figure out something, narrowing her eyes and circling around her. While she made her way around Hermione she came closer and closer until she stood just a few meters away from her, fixating Hermiones eyes.
"This one greets you, creator." spoke the girl and her voice sounded like an echo of a dozen voices.
It didn't took Hermione long to make the connection, but still the girl laughed at her dumbstruck face. Her giggles sounded like a playground filled with children and echoed through the library.
"Where am I and who are you?" Hermione asked to confirm her suspicions.
"This is creators mind. This one is who creator summoned from between." the girl answered.
"You are the demon, right? And this isn't a dream." Hermione said, more to herself than to the girl. "What is your name?"
"This one is known to creator as Grimoire but not as name, but as thing. Creator has to give a name to make this one a servant instead of serving."
"So it is true, you are the demon and you are connected to my soul." Hermione didn't know if she felt better or worse realizing this. For one, this meant everything was real. On the other hand, she could now deal with something, have an image of what was going on. The girl, safe her voice, didn't feel menacing, let alone dangerous.
The girl nodded slightly and her face grew concerned. "Yes, this one is connected to creators soul and mind, soon her magic. You have summoned this one from the between, did you not?"
"It was an mistake. I didn't know that a demon would latch itself on my soul, I never wanted this." Hermione shunned herself when she realized what her harsh words did to the demon but quickly regained her confidence when she remembered that it was this girl who did, whatever she did, to her soul. "It never said in the book that a demon would come. It said I'd get a book that remembers what I want it to remember, a powerful item. You were not invited."
The girls face grew angry and she quickly turned away from Hermione. "If you want this one to be item, you can't have it. This one is no item, no thing. This one lives. This one will not die like its brethren. This one will live, either with creator or against her. It is creators choice." she sprinted in front of Hermione and poked her index finger against the brown haired witches forehead. "This one is not responsible for creators idiocy. This one heard voice calling from the plane of living and left the between. This one was invited. Loudly and clearly."
"But I didn't know..."
"Not knowing is no excuse. It is answer of weakling, of coward. Are you weak?"
"No, I'm not, I'm just...just..:"
"Fear? Is creator of fear and horror? What does she fear, what makes her cower when she has power at her hands?" The demons face was covered with dark veins that pumped with the beating of her heart. Her face was twisted in a angry visage and her voice and its echoes rich with venom.
Hermione was close to crying. "No power would safe me from Azkaban! I could be imprisoned for summoning you, damnit!"
Hermione paced around the library, searching for words and calming herself. When she first had seen the girl she had suspected her to be the demon and yet she hadn't thought that she would be so vicious. She sank to the floor next to a shelve and leaned against the books, giving up on trying to appear strong before the demon.
"Creator won't go to the prison of the never living if she gives a name. This one gives power if creator gives a home. This one makes creator stronger if she lets her. This one..."
"Rukh." interrupted Hermione. "I name you Rukh."
The demon girl looked surprised at Hermione, her words got stuck in her throat. "Rukh." she repeated. "This one likes the name. Rukh it is." she said, smiling at Hermione who felt a strange rush of different feelings flowing through her body as if cramps and relaxation happened simultaneously.
"What was that?" she asked Rukh.
"Rukh is now your servant, creator. Now we are connected and Rukh will be able to talk to you, not through letters but through your mind." she explained. "We shall become powerful. Power is good, yes?"
The demon walked to her and placed herself next to her, still smiling brightly at the witch. Hermione looked into her sapphire eyes and felt as if she looked at someone she had known for a long time and the longer she looked the more she felt that way. It was strange for Hermione to think that she was currently in her own mind, talking to a demon. It didn't feel real and yet so far away from being a dream.
"What am I supposed to do, Rukh? I can't talk to anyone without risking a lifetime of imprisonment and I didn't lie when I said I didn't know. I have no clue what I've done, really." Hermione slammed her fist against the floor. "It was freakin' stupid of me. I should've read up on this before summoning you."
"What do you fear Rukh is? What would calm your mind, creator and what would remove the regret in your heart?" Rukh's voice was calm and silent, so close that Hermione thought she whispered in her ear.
"You're a demon and summoning you is illegal, no matter what. I... I think... I don't know."
"You fear not Rukh but what this one means to others. You fear what this existence does with yours."
"Yes. Yes, you're right." Hermione admitted. "What if having you means that the world sees me as an enemy?"
"Then those that see it like that shall be destroyed." Rukh answered coldly.
"What do you mean, destroyed?" Hermione breathed back. The way the demon said it made her shiver. "Destroyed as in...kill? I won't do that!"
The demon shrugged and stood up. Something startled her and she looked up to the dome at nothing.
"Creator's body is waking up." she stated and before Hermione could ask anything else her eyes flew up and she stared at the ceiling of her room in Grimmauld Place Number 12.