Disclaimer: I do not own anything in relation to Walt Disney, Studio Ghibli, or J. K. Rowling's world of Harry Potter. This is merely fanfiction.
Author Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorite/followed, you all really do make my day. I understand that this story may not appeal to all Fleurmione fans since it's set in a different world other than that of Harry Potter, so I thank everyone who's given the story a chance.
II – The Ninety Year Old Young Girl
"Hermione!"
Reluctantly brought out of her thoughts, the brunette turned to see a familiar face rushing down the hall towards her, the other woman's blonde hair ruffled and eyes betraying the worry hidden behind her calm demeanor. Collision would have been imminent had the blonde not abruptly stopped and grabbed her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. The worry was apparent now in all her features, though, after a brief inspection, she seemed to relax.
"Luna…" Hermione found herself at a loss for words. So much had happened in such a short time, things she felt should've been a dream. But the reality of the events that had only transpired minutes before began to weigh heavily, the gravity of the situations coming to light. It weighed down, trapping the words in her throat and all she could find herself able to do was look at her friend in a lost way.
"What's going on? Someone told me you floated down onto the balcony!" Her words served to cement that gravity. Heavier it grew, weighing her down and she felt herself slipping, drowning in that disbelief as she sank to her knees. Her hands still gripped on to Luna's and her stomach sank as her heart soared thinking back to those blue filled eyes. They haunted her and her intuition suspected that today would not be the last time she saw them.
"So that did happen? It wasn't a dream?" She found her voice, but it did not sound like her own – hollowed and distant. She looked up towards Luna, who had knelt down beside her, suddenly remembering where she was again. The worry had returned to her eyes.
The two women spent the next hour in conversation, Hermione mostly detailing her journey as Luna listened intently, her eyes growing wide at vital parts. She appreciated the other girl's silence as she contemplated her own words, still unbelieving of the lucky misfortune she had encountered on such a seemingly normal day.
"She must've been a witch then!" Luna exclaimed at the end of it all, looking at Hermione with a mixture of astonishment and reserve. Hermione understood the hesitation in her voice, of the implications it meant to have run into a witch in the heart of the city. It was an unheard of occurrence these days.
With the militia mobilization and the sudden appearance of a notorious witch within the city walls, not to mention whatever those blob men were, Hermione had an unsettling feeling that something was stirring within the country. Still, even if she had met the notorious Howl…
"But she was so kind to me. She rescued me, Luna." Again, her voice seemed not her own, distantly thoughtful. She could almost see the anxiety in Luna's gaze as she stared off into the distance, her thoughts once again returning to the mysterious Howl. Fleur. That was her name, or at least what she had said her name was. Hermione had barely registered a sigh escaping her lips as Luna's voice broke the silence.
"Of course she did, she was trying to steal your heart," she contemplated quietly, her eyes downcast to her knees. "You are so lucky, Hermione. If that witch really had been Howl, she would've eaten it."
No matter Luna's assumption, Hermione knew the witch to be Howl. What a strange alias, she considered briefly, wondering how the beautiful woman had acquired such a moniker. Fleur was…beautiful…and she was not.
"No she wouldn't, Howl does that to beautiful girls," the whisper mirrored its ensuing sigh and no words could describe the sinking sensation of her heart the left her lips. Had that been the reason the woman had been so kind to her? Had her intentions been out of pity? Could she really be that lacking in beauty that even the relentless Howl had taken sympathy? She laughed inwardly at herself.
"Don't give me that!" Luna quickly chastised her, however, softening her tone almost instantly, continued. "You need to be more careful, it's dangerous out there. Even the witch of the waste is back on the prowl." She seemed to consider the looming dangers just like Hermione had moments ago. Something strange was at work, the appearance of witches and battleships and soldiers were evidence of that. She turned to Hermione after no reply had been given. "Are you listening?"
"Huh?" Hermione had indeed lost herself in her own thoughts yet again, her eyes glistened over and staring at nothing. She turned to find Luna staring at her with a quizzical expression a few inches away from her face. If truth were to be told, she hadn't been paying much attention to what the younger woman had just told her.
"Ahh," the blond woman sighed almost crossly, closing her eyes in resignation. Hermione took this as good a sign as any to leave Luna back to her work. It was becoming late anyway and the last thing she wanted was to find herself in another precarious situation. Darkness would be approaching soon and she wished to be back in the safety of her own home before dusk.
"I better get going, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay," she stood, giving Luna the most reassuring smile she could muster, however, she could not help the fears of the forthcoming trip homeward from resurfacing from within her.
"Hermione, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in that book shop?"
The sudden question struck Hermione as odd. She had never questioned her decision to take over the shop in her father's place once he had passed, yet neither had she ever allowed herself any consideration for where her true desires lay. She had fallen on obligation when she had failed to make the decision on what she wanted to pursue in life. Not that her stepmother had had anything to say in protest. The decision had ultimately proven beneficial to her since it allowed her to continue her life in relative leisure while Hermione worked the business.
"The shop was just so important to father and I'm his only child," she tried to defend her decision, knowing that if this had truly been the arrangement she sought, there would be no need to present justification for it. She quickly added in defeat, "I don't mind."
"I want to know what you want," the younger girl persisted, determination in her eyes and tone that made Hermione smile in fondness. She didn't want to have this conversation. She wouldn't know where to begin because she didn't know what she wanted to begin with.
"I'd better be going," she said softly, leaning in to embrace Luna gently. She had genuinely enjoyed her visit with her, but she longed to be home, and alone, to reflect on the day's events.
"It's your life, Hermione. Do something for yourself for once, will you?" Hermione heard Luna call from behind as she made her way back to the trolley station.
'Do something for myself… How am I supposed to do that if I don't even know what I want for me?' she held, appreciating the sentiment nonetheless. "Bye, Luna!"
She really did hope that nothing more awaited her along her journey back home. However, it wouldn't be until later that night that she would realize the true consequences of the day's happenings.
On the trolley Hermione could not help but gaze back at the tall buildings of central London and think back to how it felt walking among those rooftops, hand in hand with… Oh, but she oughtn't to think about her. It was no use. No matter how wonderful she thought the experience to be, she might as well accept that it was fleeting and she would probably never see the woman again. And why would she? It's not as if Fleur would actively seek her out. …Why would she?
Hermione couldn't help a sigh at the thought as she came to her destination, the streets now mostly empty of townspeople who had lined it earlier to see the soldiers marching and the royal tanks. All who were left were walking quietly to their homes before night settled around them. Quietly, she too arrived at the entrance of the bookshop and, locking the door behind her after entering, proceeded to check that everything was in order before she headed upstairs to her room.
Lighting the small kerosene lamp cast a warm glow onto the shelves and the walls of the shop, but an unsettling feeling grew in the pit of Hermione's stomach as she observed the eerie quiet amongst the shadows that hung low and long. Suddenly, the ring of a bell, the door's bell, broke the dead silence. Quickly turning to the shop entrance, Hermione nearly gasped as she saw the uncommonly tall figure of a broad-set woman loom at the doorway. Dressed in a long, black satin dress that reached the floor, the olive-skinned woman scanned the room with her dark, black eyes that lay nearly hidden under a large black hat. Her thick neck was lined in an opal necklace that matched dangling earrings. After a moment, the tall woman took a step in, her bright red lips curving into a malicious smile.
"I'm sorry, but the shop's closed now, ma'am. I could've sworn I locked that door. Must've forgotten," Hermione firmly stated after overcoming her initial shock. She could've sworn she had locked the door as she was stepping in. No matter, she needed this woman to leave.
"What a tacky little shop," she sauntered forward, gazing around slowly from left to right and then finally right at Hermione. "Yet, you're by far 'ze tackiest 'zing 'ere."
The woman's apparent rudeness struck a harsh chord within the brunette. She might've been used to her own harsh inner monologue in regards to her appearance, but never was she one to allow herself to be subjected to the abuse, verbal or otherwise, by anyone else. This woman was to be no exception! Gathering her courage, Hermione strode toward the door, willing herself to be firm for she would not give this unknown woman the satisfaction of seeing the anger in her shaking fist.
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. The door's over here, ma'am. We're closed," she insisted determinedly, holding the door open for the woman. Even though she desired nothing more than to let the door hit the woman on her way out, she would not afford herself the pleasure if it meant forfeiting her professional poise on such a wretch!
"Standing up to 'ze Witch of 'ze Waste, 'ow plucky!" The woman's laugh illuminated her evil smile and simultaneously struck Hermione's heart with dread as she realized the truth.
'Sorry, it looks like you 'ave become involved,' Fleur's voice echoed in memory as she felt her eyes go wide and her breath hitch in her throat, her whole body wrenching. The Witch of the Waste…here, after her? Had been her who had sent those blob men after Fleur and herself earlier that afternoon? But why was she here, after her? Panic caught in her chest as she managed to scream, "The Witch of the Waste!"
The wicked woman rushed at her then, a hollow laugh resounding around the walls of the shop, within the walls of Hermione's mind, growing and crushing any hopes of escape. Hermione instinctively shut her eyes and held her arms up in defense, sure that she would feel the crash of her attacker's onslaught, but as quickly as it had escalated, the echoing vanished and the night's silence returned. However, the witch was not yet gone.
"Best part of 'zat spell is you cannot tell anyone about it," she mused, her satisfaction dripping with every accented syllable. "My regards to Fleur."
Hermione could not be sure how much time had passed as she stood at the small vanity mirror in the back room, simply staring at a face that could not be hers. Old, withered hands reached up to tenderly feel cheeks that seemed too thin, a brow that was too lined, a nose that had grown too big, hair that had thinned considerably, having turned a fragile shade of white, and eyes that had seen kinder days. She stood there, gazing at the old woman in her mirror with a strange, terrified curiosity as what felt like her hands continued to roam that unfamiliar face. 'Best part of 'zat spell is you cannot tell anyone about it…'
"That's really me, isn't it?" she spoke in a cracked, foreign voice to the elderly woman in the mirror in disbelief. How could it be her? She had only turned ten and eight years this past September! But, how could the reflection not be her? She was sitting here in front of this mirror; and Hermione knew herself well enough to know her place in existence. But that face was not her own. She saw the old woman's eyes narrow, staring back at her as she remembered the witch's words. A spell. She was under a spell.
She felt the fear and anger begin to seep into her heart at the thought. Quickly, she stood up, noting the ache in her joints and spine that had not been there before. She needed to come up with a plan on how to resolve this, and quickly. A hurried look at the clock told her she had but a few hours left in the day before the morning workers would arrive at the shop, and she began to pace in anxiousness.
"I've got to stay calm. I've got to stay calm," she repeated in mantra-like whispers. "Now, there's no use panicking, Hermione. It's only a bad dream, that's all."
She continued to pace the halls, finding herself wandering to the small outdoor square that led to her adjacent apartment above the shop floor. "Just go inside and go to bed. You're going to be fine, Hermione. You're going to be fine," she resigned, beginning her climb up stairs that suddenly seemed so far and narrow to her quarters.
'I've got to stay calm,' she thought as she reached her room. Why did she feel so tired all of a sudden? She had only traveled up one flight of stairs for heaven's sake! After an hour or so of sleep she could figure out what she was to do, how she was to resolve everything. But for now she had to rest, for that old body of hers yielded no comfort in consciousness. And even as she lay down on her soft mattress, those aches never ceased, but it wasn't long before she was engulfed in night's slumber, pains and all.
Hermione was rudely, she thought, awoken several hours later by the sound of heeled footsteps traveling up the flight of stairs towards her bedroom. Immediately, she sat up, her back instantly protesting profusely, as she began to recall the night's events. She quickly looked down at her hands, regrettably noting that they were just as old and withered as they had been hours ago.
"So it wasn't just a bad dream," she sighed dejectedly to herself, looking out her window onto the pale light of early morning.
"Hermione!" The shrill call echoed through the narrow hallway outside, announcing the arrival of her stepmother who was probably wondering why Hermione was absent from her post in the shop. The oncoming rhythm of heeled boots ceased as a rapping on her door confirmed her suspicions. What to do now? She couldn't see her this way. "Hermione? Are you in there?"
"Don't come in here, I've got a bad cold!" she croaked, knowing that the thought of illness would be enough to successfully ward the woman away. Feigning concern would add a nice touch. "I don't want you to catch it."
"You sound ghastly, like some ninety year old woman!" Her stepmother's gasp upon hearing Hermione was audible even behind the thick, wooden door.
"I'll just stay in bed all day, you go on," Hermione persisted. She very much wanted to avoid contact with the older woman at all costs until she had come up with a plan on what she would do.
"Well…if you insist." Hermione smiled as she realized her ploy had had the desired effect as footsteps could be heard walking back down the hall and stairway.
The old young woman waited and listened to make sure her stepmother was indeed good and gone from the immediate vicinity before she trusted herself to shy from under the covers in her attempt to rise from bed.
"Up we go!" she slowly slid out of bed, walking over to stand at the vanity to once again inspect herself. Facing the old woman in the mirror wasn't as bad as it had been last night, she supposed. Perhaps it had been the lack of light, but here, in the morning light, she did not feel as anxious as the night before. She smiled at the reflection reassuring herself, "This isn't so bad, now is it? You're still in pretty good shape and your clothes finally suit you."
The faint sound of laughing girls downstairs in the shop, most likely in response to one of her stepmother's jokes, arose from below the floorboards. She thought back to the excuse she had given the older woman. There was no chance of her keeping up the charade for longer than a few days. She understood what she had to do, and she was torn between being scared of it and happy that it had to be done. "I can't stay here like this. I have to leave."
And with the thought she gathered her warmest dress and shawl and, with a small knapsack, proceeded down to the kitchen to gather supplies for what she would assume would be a long journey.
"I'll never get there with these legs," she huffed, too winded to do anything other than stop and sit on the small path that led up from the valley. Hungry, she carefully took out a piece of bread along with some cheese to eat as she contemplated her next move. It had been nearly seven hours since she had left her home and night would soon be arriving. The city below had already begun to glow in the distance as street lamps and homes lit up. Being old was harder than she thought it would be. "At least my teeth haven't fallen out yet. But I can still see the town, I've barely moved!"
Finishing her light meal, for her appetite waned from what it ought to be, Hermione once again stood up to continue her journey up the mountainside. The cold of the increasing elevation began to cause her joints to ache more than what she assumed was usual, making Hermione wish for support to lean on. She would've given anything for a cane at the moment. She stopped, taking a moment to look around her for anything that she could use. After a moment, she spotted a thick, long branch sticking up from a bush.
"That might make a nice walking stick!" She approached the bush cautiously, making sure no animals were currently taking up occupancy within it. Gripping it as firmly as her two old hands could manage, Hermione began to tug at the stubborn branch. When it refused to budge, she pulled even harder. "This certainly is a stubborn branch, but you're not getting the best of this old lady!"
Finally, the branch broke loose, but Hermione jumped as she found a straw-filled body attached to it, top hat and pipe included! Upon realizing what the figure was, Hermione set out a laugh, "Just a scarecrow. I was afraid you were one of those blob men!"
Yet, something struck Hermione as odd as she took a step back to gaze upon the scarecrow's figure. To her bewilderment, she found the scarecrow standing on its own. "But how are you standing on your own like that?"
The scarecrow began to jump up and down, reminding Hermione vaguely of a pogo stick. Upon further inspection, she realized that whatever, or whoever, the scarecrow's original form was, they too were probably under a curse. Anyone who had to live with a turnip for a head was definitely under a curse, she thought.
"Your head's a turnip! I've always hated turnips, ever since I was little. At least you're not upside down now. Goodbye, Turnip Head!" And with that Hermione began to continue her trek up the mountain again. Soon, the smell of fire and wood burning filled the air around Hermione who perked up at the find.
"Someone's got a fire going! Maybe there's a cabin nearby?" She pushed harder up the mountain, fighting off the windy chill that fought her with every step taken up the mountain. Soon, however, she heard the oddest thumping sound and, turning back the way she had come, found the scarecrow following her.
"Go away! Quit following me! I'm sure you have some kind of spell on you and I've had more than enough of witches and spells!" No matter how she tried to discourage the figure from following, her words fell on deaf ears, soon finding the scarecrow in her path. Just as she was about to yell a retort much harsher than her previous, a cane with a bird's head for a handle was dropped in front of her. Even though her first instinct of reluctance bid her to ignore the gift, she knew her need for it far outweighed her suspicions. "Thank you! It's perfect, just what I need."
Hermione still did not trust this new acquaintance of hers, however, and quickly devised a plan to trick the figure into leaving. She smiled, turning to Turnip Head, "If you'd like to do me one more favor, could you run off and find me a place to stay?"
After a moment of silence, Turnip Head began hopping away up the mountain. Hermione briefly considered if, in that moment of silence, the scarecrow had actually been reasoning Hermione's request and, if her suspicions were true, it suspected her ploy. Shrugging, the old woman continued on her way, chuckling to herself, "I seem to have become quite cunning in my old age."
After what seemed a significant way, although the city below stayed relatively visible in the distance, Hermione suddenly began to hear the familiar sound of light thudding against the rocky ground. Groaning to herself, she looked up to find Turnip Head once again making its way toward her. But before she could will herself to think of her next words, a loud booming sounded in the distant. Slowly, the large, ostentatious castle, if it could be called such, appeared, billowing smoke and ash into the sky. The sound of metal gears grinding pierced the air, but for Hermione, the sound pierced a much deeper place within her.
"You turnip head!" she screamed above the near deafening roar. "That's Howl's castle! That's not what I meant when I asked for a place to stay!"
As the castle hovered near them, driven my animal-like legs, Hermione spotted a doorway to its rear, her eyes growing wide with the hope of a promise of warmth against the mountain cold.
"Is that the way in? Slow down!" she shouted, making her way toward the castle's door hurriedly. She finally reached the door, grasping the handle to steady herself. To her surprise, she found the door unlocked, the warmth and light of a fire escaping from the opening.
Hermione hesitated. This was Howl's, Fleur's, enchanted castle. Would she really be able to face the witch again after everything that had happened? After a few moments, she took a breath, turning back to the scarecrow. "It's nice and warm in there, so I'm going in. I'm sure Howl won't eat the heart of a shriveled old lady. It's been a pleasure meeting you, even if you are my least favorite vegetable. Take care, turnip head!"
As much as Hermione feared for the future, she could not help but succumb to the warmth that exuded from within. It filled her, warmed her, and lured her thoughts back to the mistress of the castle and those blue eyes.