This chapter was running a bit long, so I had to split it in two. As a result, this is a bit of a filler chapter, because most of what I wanted to make happen in this chapter will actually happen in the next one…
See you next week, and I hope you enjoy this!
Word count: 2785
Chapter 5: Hogwarts (part one)
Hermione's first thought is that Hogwarts is an entirely ridiculous name for a Scottish castle that looks abandoned.
"Hogwarts?" she chokes, trying not to laugh.
Daphne huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement, and Hermione realizes that she probably isn't the first one to note on the absurdity of that name.
"We didn't choose it," she sighs. "But you have to admit, it is a good disguise. No one who hears that name would expect it to refer to some secret castle, would they?"
Hermione finds herself smiling back before she can stop it, still a little groggy. It isn't fair, how easy it is to interact with Daphne; not when the other woman was probably one of those who drugged her—because that's what to have happened, for none of them to have panicked when she collapsed like she did.
And she remembers things, too, echoes of voices that spoke as she slumbered, and those small bits of dialogue she's heard all seem to confirm her theory.
Thinking back on those moments bring back something else that she hadn't even realized she had forgotten—the terribly disconcerting feeling of being in a body not her own, the fear as instructions she can't remember were shouted at her, and that final instant, filled by an awful kind of desperation Hermione had never felt before and hopes she never will again.
Some of that must have shown on her face—or who knows, maybe Hermione paled (god knows she certainly feels horrified enough by these odds memories)—because Daphne leans in in concern, her head now blocking out the sun.
"Are you alright?"
Hermione snorts as she pushes herself out of the van. It feels insanely good to stretch out her legs—how long were they in that thing anyway?—and she allows herself to indulge in that for a few moments.
"How do you think I am?" she finally replies, crossing her arms. "I don't know where I am, I still don't know who you people are or what you do, and oh, yes, let's not forget the fact that I'm pretty sure I was drugged last night, and by one of you."
Luna's blonde head, when it pops out of the driver window, scares her half to death. "Of course, you were drugged," she says, smiling brightly, like there is nothing wrong with the idea of drugging people.
Hermione narrows her eyes, forcing her fists to stay unclenched. "Was it you?" she hisses through her teeth, before spinning on her heels and looking back into Daphne's strangely amused eyes. "Or you? Or maybe it was Remus," she finishes, and yes, it had to have been him—he was clearly the 'leader' of this little band, it'd make sense for him to have been the one.
Not that it exonerates either girl; not when they could have easily slipped Hermione something in her drink when she hadn't been looking, or played distraction so that Remus could.
Or…
"Of course not," Luna replies, and she almost sounds offended. "We would never have been able to do it—not with you staring at us like a hawk throughout dinner."
"Then who?" Hermione asks, throat tightening as she tastes the bitter beginnings of panic. She had been prepared to accept (if not approve) of her new companions having drugged her, but that's only because she can guess at their need for secrecy.
But if it wasn't them, then it means it was someone else; another player that Hermione didn't see come into play.
Daphne snorts, and Hermione turns back to her just in time to catch the end of an eyeroll. "Can't you guess?" Daphne asks, a smirk that's half-smug, half-teasing on her lips.
Mutely, Hermione shakes her head, but just as Daphne opens her mouth to answer, it hits her. "You don't mean… Ginny?" she gapes.
"Got it in one," Daphne replies. She seems lighter here, less guarded, perhaps, than she had been last night, and it makes her look younger. Kinder, too, though this teasing Hermione could do without
"And she works for you?" Hermione asks, not daring to believe her ears.
Daphne nods, but it's Luna who answers, rolling down her window completely and climbing out of it—somehow, even though Hermione has only known the girl for less than a day, it seems like a very her thing to do.
"Ginny works with us," she says, coming to stand next to Daphne, a contrast of manic energy next to Daphne's steady calm. "Sometimes—mostly she carries messages, makes sure our meeting places are safe, that kind of thing."
"And sometimes, she drugs people, too," Hermione deadpans, rolling her eyes.
"She didn't drug you, though—she drugged the water. You didn't have to drink it."
"And what would have happened if I hadn't?" Hermione asks with morbid curiosity, choosing to disregard the semantics for now.
Luna and Daphne exchange a meaningful smile, and Luna shrugs. "Well, then we would have had to drug you." She grins wildly, and Hermione shivers a little.
Trying to distract herself from Luna's creepy smile, she looks around at her surroundings. Now that she's less groggily trying to pull herself awake, she can truly see how impressive it looks.
It doesn't appear to be half as abandoned as her earlier glances had led her to believe either. Sure, the towers—which Hermione is sure probably used to stand very tall in the landscape—are either half collapsed or in a similar state of disrepair, but the rest of the castle, though marked by the passage of time, seems sound.
Bathed in the early sunlight, it looks oddly magical.
"So, where are we anyway? Besides 'Hogwarts'," she adds, anticipating the obvious answer.
But before either Daphne or Luna can answer, a third voice interrupts, its deeper tone already somewhat familiar.
"We're in Scotland," Remus states. With a quick nod on his part, Daphne and Luna drift away from them with barely a complaint—though Daphne does frown her eyebrows at him. Their low chatter is almost immediately incomprehensible, but Hermione can't be sure if that's because she doesn't understand what they're talking about or if it's because they're already too far away.
It could also, obviously, be a mixture of both.
With a small sigh, Hermione turns back to Remus, who is looking at her with a mysterious half-smile.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me where in Scotland we are, won't you?" Hermione asks in a sigh.
Remus' smile widens, turning somewhat apologetic. "You suppose right," he shrugs. "It's not that we don't trust you, it's just that…" he trails off, and Hermione fills in the blanks.
"You don't know me," she nods. "It's fine, you know. I don't really trust you either."
Remus looks surprised by that confession. "Why not?" he asks, frowning lightly. Hermione wishes he wouldn't—it makes him look older, and sadder somehow. Like this, Hermione doesn't want to be mad at him.
"Well, for one, I don't trust you either. And for two, there's also the fact that you basically kidnapped me," she hisses.
In his defense, Remus does winces at that. "It's standard procedure when we bring new people to Hogwarts," he explains. "We can never be too careful, you see."
Hermione lets out a noncommittal hum. "You know, if you'd told me that, I probably would have understood and accepted it. But you drugged me without my knowledge, and that's not something I can or will forgive easily."
Remus sighs tiredly. "Maybe you're right. We should have warned you, and for that, I apologize. But hey?" he quips, smiling with uneasy humor. "At least this way, you didn't have to suffer through the trip, right?"
It's not 'I'm sorry', but Hermione will take it, even if that joke was in poor taste. She nods once, firmly.
"Anyway, is this when I finally get my answers?" she asks.
She thinks she could forgive quite a lot, for those answers.
Remus' smile, this time, feels more natural. "Ah, yes, of course," he replies. "Come with me, I'll give you a little tour, and then we'll go see Albus. Though," he frowns, halting in his steps, "I was wondering… Are you alright? No after-effects? Dizziness, headache, nausea, maybe?" He sounds almost ashamed to ask—as he should be—but his hazel eyes bear into Hermione's with a serene kind of intensity.
Now that he mentions it, Hermione realizes that she does have a headache. It isn't strong—she's had worse migraines from lack of sleep—but it is persistent. It almost feels like something—or someone—is trying to knock on her brain; or rather, like she was hurt once, and now the echo of that pain persists, the phantom limb of something that was never a limb at all.
"Nothing I can't handle," she replies, lips quirking up into a half-smile. "Who's Albus?" she deflects, burning with curiosity.
"If you're sure," Remus concedes doubtfully.
They start walking, slowly following the paths Daphne and Luna had started on moments earlier.
"Albus is… I guess you could say he's something like our leader." He says it with the kind of quiet awe people get when they talk about their heroes, and it only makes Hermione more curious—what is this Albus like, to inspire such admiring respect?
Hermione wants to know.
"He's the one who built this place," Remus continues, chuckling softly when Hermione sends him a shocked look. "Not built-built," he corrects, eyes twinkling with humor, "but he's the one who made sure people could live here, if they needed to. Like a refuge, if you will, for people with nowhere else to go."
Understanding hits Hermione like a wave, making her shiver. "People like me, you mean," she says, rubbing at her wrist absently. "People who have soulmates, and who are being hunted by the SRD."
Remus nods, solemn.
"Do you…?" For once, Hermione finds that her words fail her, but even so, she has to know. Has to ask, because this could truly mean that she's not as alone as she thought she was, that she's not the only one to be marked in this way.
"I did, yes. A long time ago." Remus' voice, full of pain, clearly shows that he won't be pushed any further on that matter, and Hermione regretfully forces herself to swallow back the hundreds of questions that have just popped up in her mind.
She knows she's made the right choice when Remus' shoulders unwind—she hasn't even noticed he had tensed—and the shadows lift from his eyes, even if not by much.
"But back to this place," Remus says, a change of subject Hermione readily accepts.
She's even glad for it—the way Remus' fingers keep twitching toward his wrist (no doubt trying to reach for a mark similar to the one Hermione wears) is making her slightly uneasy, and anything that can take her mind off the horrifyingly dead way Remus had said 'I did' is more than welcome.
"It's not just a safe place that Albus built. In fact, I guess you could say that he made this place into our secret base," he says, in the amused-yet-exasperated tone of a man who doesn't quite agree with the terminology but who's heard it enough that it still stuck with him.
All of this makes him look more human than the mysterious image he tries to project, and like earlier with Daphne, Hermione finds it incredibly frustrating, how hard he's making it for her to stay angry at him.
"Let me guess, he's the one who picked the name," Hermione comments dryly, willing to table their little interlude on soulmates. For now.
(Besides, Remus essentially just said that this was a refuge for people who had soulmates—Hermione's willing to bet that he's not the only person she'll meet here who has one, and who knows? Maybe the next one will be more willing to share their experience with her.)
Remus looks startled by her question, almost missing a step. "How did you know?"
"I didn't," Hermione shrugs, playing with the hem of her shirt and occupying her eyes with staring at the highest point of the broken tower they're getting closer to. "But I can't imagine this place was actually called that before you lot settled in here, and you just said that he was the one to make this place what it is today. It makes sense that he'd have renamed it, too, don't you think?" She turns her head, staring straight into Remus' eyes, daring him to tell her that she's wrong.
Remus snorts. "Harry wasn't lying when he said you were the smartest person he knew," he whistles.
Hermione feels her cheeks heat up. "He really said that?"
"Yeah," Remus replies, lips twisting in a fond smile. "He did."
Hermione finds herself returning his smile, even if her stomach squirms a little. "I still can't believe he wouldn't tell me about any of this."
"He couldn't," Remus tells her sympathetically. "No, look, Hermione," he hastens to say, resting a calming hand on her arm when she opens her mouth to protest, "he didn't want to lie to you, that's not—he was keeping you safe, and yes, I know you don't think you needed it, but think about it from his point of view."
Remus' eyes soften, edged with a desperate sadness Hermione remembers from her brother's eyes. "You and your parents are the only family he has left," Remus explains. "After what happened with James and Lily… You know he wouldn't handle it well if something—anything—were to happen to you."
Most of Hermione's righteous anger melts away at that. It's nothing she hasn't heard already—no justification she hadn't thought of already—but somehow, it means more coming from this man who says he knew her brother, too.
"Yeah," she sighs, dragging her feet a little on the packed earth of the path they're walking on. A few stones roll free, and Hermione smiles. It reminds her of hiking trips she used to take with her parents, back when she was still a teenager. Those had always been fun.
"But still," she continues, squaring her shoulders in determination. "He knew—knows me. He should have realized that there was no fight he could take part in that I wouldn't want to join as well."
Remus looks at her knowingly, patting her arm once before retreating. "Oh, he knew. Like I said, he wanted you safe, and that's why he didn't say anything."
"And how did that work out for him again?" Hermione retorts snidely, regretting her burst of anger instantly.
"Well, you're alive, aren't you?" Remus replies steadily, raising an eyebrow at her pointedly. "So, I'd say it worked out pretty well."
Neither of them voice the fact that Harry might not be—probably isn't, even—but that fact hangs heavily between them like a dark curse.
They stop, suddenly, and Hermione realizes with no small amount of surprise that they've reached a tall wooden door that she hadn't been able to see it from the van. It is old, just like the rest of the castle, and in the same odd state of not quite disrepair.
It also looks like something straight out of a medieval book, and it makes Hermione's lips quirk up involuntarily, as her mind conjures pictures of suits of armors lining the walls inside and of gargoyles perched high on stone ledges, looking down on passersby with cruel, ugly faces.
Remus steps around her gently, allowing her to collect herself. He swipes his right hand against the wall beside the door, and the stone shifts upward, revealing a keypad lock.
And really, Hermione shouldn't be surprised—just because this place looks old doesn't mean that it can't also be modern. Besides, that wooden door looks way too heavy for any single man (or woman) to push. The two of them wouldn't manage it either—it makes sense, then, for there to be some trick to it.
"Ready?" Remus asks, lips twisted in a slightly teasing smirk. His fingers hover over the panel, and Hermione swallows heavily.
"Not really," she confesses, letting out a dry chuckle. "But I guess I don't really get the luxury of waiting to be either."
"No," Remus says in a whisper, looking almost sad, "I guess you don't."
His fingers fly over the keypad too quickly for Hermione to see the code, and a handful of seconds later, she hears a soft click, before the door in front of her starts to swing inward slowly, almost reluctantly.
And inhaling deeply, Hermione steps inside Hogwarts.