Three: Rule of Three

XV

There was a principle in writing called the rule of three. It suggested that a trio of entities, such as events or characters, is far more humorous, satisfying, or effective than if they came in consequence of any other number.

Surprises then, Hermione would suggest, fell into the same pattern of recompense. Furthermore, as one currently living through this rule of three, Hermione Granger could adequently say she found nothing of it humorous, satisfying or effective, despite what literary professor's might preach.

In fact, she found it all the more tedious and tiring.

If Hermione were to believe in an almighty god, some grey haired, bearded man sat upon high who scribbled out the fates of infinate souls to a plot only he could see, an author of her life and billions more, then Hermione's present was consumed with this principle for nothing more than a sick joke and his lack of originality.

And that was only taking into account the last seventy-two hours.

First, there was the discovery that there was a whole new bloody world over the otherside of the Veil. That itself hadn't been an easy pill to swallow. Secondly, there was the sight of real life, fire breathing dragons in the sky. Something no Witch or Wizard had seen in millennia before Visenya's surprise at the Battle of Hogwarts. Now, now, as Hermione sat hunched in a corridor under the cover of the invisibility cloak next to her partner in not-quite-crime-more-blood-heist, watching a precession parading into the black bellied walls of a foriegn castle to what appeared to be a dining hall-

Well, sometimes Ron's rather crude wit really hit the nail on the head.

"Fuckin' hell, 'Mione... it's a room full of Visenyas."

Now that is a surprise.

XVI

They keep to the edges of the feasting hall, near the pillars and corners and nooks of darkness that could cover a slip up, and under silencing charms so heavy Hermione can feel them tingle her tongue they watch the people of this castle gather around the platters of gold and silver. Roast pork and lamb shanks, the wine and the berries and the salads like trenches over enemy lines.

"There's crowned Visenya, there's drunk Visenya, there's Lovegood-Visenya and scoundrel Visenya near what looks like a princess Visenya and-... oh, look at that! there's a pirate Visenya!"

Hermione lashes out as far as the cramped cloak allowed her to, using the back of her hand to hit Ron's arm with a slap that must of stung by his hissed ouch.

"Shush, you imbecile. Silencing charms only work if we don't draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. Who knows if these people know magic or not and can... oh, you're right! He does look a bit like a pirate, doesn't he? It's all the leather and the eye patch, I think-"

Hermione shakes her head so hard the candlelight around her blurs in yellow and orange and red, bouncing off heads of white, white, white.

"Off point. I thought it was going to be difficult finding Visenya's parents but..."

But clearly it was one of these fine, albino looking fellows.

It's not the first time Hermione has ever seen someone who looks a bit like Visenya, of course. Lovegoods and Malfoys come close, but always fell just shy of uncanny. The blond was never quite silver enough, the graceful sweep of a cheekbone not quite sharp enough, the length of a limb not quite elegant enough, or cheek as dimpled enough, or eye as lilac enough-

Never enough.

Like someone who'd never seen Visenya had been tasked with capturing her in paper and pen from a bullet point list of features, like those medieval painters of yore who made funny caricatures of lions and mice who appeared more animal with human faces.

Eerie.

"Now I'm thinking it's going to be hard to choose which ones it could be."

There seemed to be a King of sorts, given the crown on his head, a very ill King by the looks of it, who'd come a marching over the bridge in a caravan of black and red with even more white haired people, two boys, the drunk and the pirate, and a young woman who had the same misty-eyed glaze as Lovegood and Trelawny. They came with others, a ginger spiced woman in green and a man with a funny badge on his greener breast, and boys who ran back and forth carrying supplies of a visit.

Then there were the ones of this castle, a woman and a man, the ones Ron called princess and scoundrel, both equally looking their epithets with pearled hair ornaments and sword strapped belt. Two dark haired boys and another two equally pale, both very young and one still at mother's chest.

Then there were the others, decked in sea blues and foam whites, though their skin sat closer to Hermione's than Visenya's in hue, their dreads still held a hoary bite. Women and men and children and-

A room full of Visenyas.

What had this poor world done to deserve that?

XVII

"We need to figure out whose blood we need. A mother or father would work best with the potion, but even a cousin is better than nothing."

They must all be related somehow, Hermione thinks as she and Ron shuffle as close to the dining table as they dared. There's no other explanation for the close proximities of Visenya's likeness splattered across the room in strangers faces.

Her cheekbones with Mr. Rogue. Her nose and lips on the smile of the Armoured Princess. Her jawline in the shadow of an ill King, the thin neck of a girl who surely sees what others can't or won't, that 'fuck with me and find out" air that hung heavy around the blond one-eyed wonder.

There's pieces of Hermione's dear friend all around her, everywhere she looks, but that is the problem. They are only pieces, and that never tells you the full picture.

"I've got an idea."

it's never really good when Ron has a plan, but Hermione can't do much more than recognize the cool wash of magic falling, the silencing charm whipped off both their forms, before the ginger prick was doing what he'd learned best from Visenya.

Going off half cocked.

"OI, DAMON!"

Hermione's first thought is that Ron still hasn't pronounced the name right, struggling on drawing out the a with an e. Although she thinks it might have been better than the assured butchering he would have done with the name Rhaenyra.

Her second thought is a little more troubling, as she watches, with dawning horror, that without the charm wrapped around them safely Ron's shout echoes in the long hall, drawing first the attention of Mr. Rogue, and then the rest of the table of possible relatives. One by one by one they turn towards them, a tsunami of silver and purple and the odd dark haired glint.

Her third thought of 'oh shite' bleeds into action, as she slams up her own silencing charm and whirls on her grinning, freckled friend.

"Are you insane?!"

They don't know who these people are, if they could be dangerous, the Muggle weaponry everywhere says yes they most definitely are, if they would care at all about Visenya, if she lived or died, if they hadn't abondoned her to begin with and-

Ron is chuckling as he grabs her hand under the cover of the invisibility cloak, as he drags her across the hall, weaving through the imposing pillars like they're playing a game of tag, keeping out of reach of Mr. Rogue and the few others who had clearly heard a shout but could not spot the source, drawing swords and drawing closer to where they had only moments ago been.

They find nothing but confusion and shadows.

"It worked, didn't it? Damon's the one who looked over first. Now we just have to wait until the confusion dies down and they've finished stuffing their faces, wait by the door of the hall, and nab him as he comes out. Preferably alone."

Well... they do know who Daemon is now, Hermione supposed. Which was one step closer to their goal, and ergo, getting back home.

"Don't do that again."

Ron's grin widens at the not-really-admonishment. He was terrible. Positively terrible-

But he had his moments.

"Now we just have to get his blood. Can't be that hard, right?

XVIII

The thing is, Hermione would admit, it would be quite simple to get this Daemon's blood under normal circumstances. A knockout spell, a slicing hex, the glass vial in her pocket, and it would all be over in two minutes max.

Yet these were not normal circumstances.

Nothing about this is normal.

They were possibly in a pre-industrial world, where magic could be unknown despite the dragons in the sky, unsure whether these people were friends or foes, if they would willingly give someone their blood-

Hermione is not about to place Visenya's life on the scales of a strangers kindness. Better they steal the blood and ensure Visenya's survival, keeping their existance as unknown as possible, than to risk outing themselves, face a Witch burning, and possibly fail their friend who in turn had never failed them despite the price she had to pay unto herself.

Forgiveness, as Visenya so liked telling Hermione, could be asked for later.

So they followed this man out the hall in the twilight hours of a setting sun when the feast was cleared away by too many servants to count, followed him through castle walls and garden beds, up towers and down cellars and not once, not ever, was he alone.

He was either with guards, the woman Hermione suspected was his sister or perhaps neice, everyone around here looked so alike, with the black haired boys or the blond haired babies, with a King or with a cook. Now Hermione and Ron could take them out. They could take them all out if they wanted to. Two wands were better than ten swords, as Merlin once said. Which really meant don't pick a fight with a Wizard or Witch.

But that wasn't very inconspicuous, was it?

A fall and a hit to the head could be explained away for Daemon as a clumsy mistake. Five people being knocked out at the exact same time in the exact same place was not so easy to brush under a rug if they were stumbled across or when they inevitably woke up and spotted the mess themselves.

So they waited, and waited, and waited.

And Hermione realized where Visenya might have gotten her charm from. This Daemon was quite the popular man. It seemed every Tom, Dick and Harry wished to speak to him this evening. Even when he slipped out onto a balcony of a grand hall for a breath of fresh air and a goblet of wine in silence, as Hermione and Ron doggedly trailed after him, the former slipping her wand free thinking this was it, their chance, she did not have the time to finish the spell on the cusp of her voice before he was joined by another.

Again.

XIV

"Brother."

The man with the blood they are after greets without turning to the newcomer, eyes to the sky and the shadows still flying through the clouds.

"Daemon."

The ill King greets back, and it is because of him that Hermione and Ron back off, hunkering down in a corner to wait out their conversation.

He is not well this man in a crown. A possibly once handsome face worn thin and ghastly sick. He has lines before his time, and bruises the same shade of hemlock underneath his hazy eyes, and he looks, already, dead in his own body.

Who knows if he would survive a Stupify, and Hermione is not here to commit regicide.

She'd leave all that revolutionary nonsense to Visenya.

"I spoke to the Lord Nero."

Hermione watches, because all she can do right now is watch, as Daemon downs his cup in one.

"Is that it then?"

He gripes around a gulp Hermione watches travel bitterly down a pale throat, using the sleeve of his fine doublet to wipe a drip of wine from his lip as he turns to his, according to what Hermione's heard, brother.

"You've come to salt my wounds? The loss of a daughter not enough for you? You just have to get a jab in?"

The King does not take the accusation lightly or kindly.

"Do you think me such a cad? We have had our disagreements, Daemon, for that I will not dispute, but to think I do not grieve the loss of my granddaughter is low even for you."

Granddaughter? Hermione thinks with more than a touch of bewilderment. Didn't he mean niece? If this really was Daemon, and if Daemon really was Visenya's father which the potion in her pocket would shortly prove or disprove, then wouldn't that make this man her uncle?

You can't be an uncle and a grandfather, can you?

"Then give me the men I requested. We shall march through that gate that sits below and take my daughter back by force if necessary. Bring her home to where she belongs."

The King's answer is as small as it is sad.

"You understand I cannot allow that."

Just as small and sad as Daemon's is livid.

"Why?"

He demands, pushing off from the stone railing he was leaning against, prowling for his crowned brother who's illness wears heavy on his shoulders.

As heavy as his crown.

"I did not realize your sickness had stripped you of your balls too."

And there was Visenya's crassness.

The King rolls with the blow, shaking his head regretfully.

"Lord Nero told me all. Visenya's blood is the key to our ancestors door. Only she can open and close it. She is not here, Daemon, and I yet love you and my men enough not to send you all to your death-"

"Her blood is my blood!"

Daemon cuts in with a bark that does more than bite. It strips a man down to his bones.

"It is our blood. It will work if we try. I refuse to sit here moontide after moontide doing nothing as my daughter fights for her life. While your hag of a wife and bastard of a hand titters into their tea, delighted-"

Brothers it seemed, no matter the world you walked in, fell into heated arguements like no others could.

"You do my Alicent a disservice, and I will not hear you disgrace her or her father's name, even in your grief-"

"Oh, please, brother. Spare me your pride. This caution in rescuing my daughter has the Hightower stench all over it. They fear what would happen if she returns, do they not? If what Lord Nero speaks is true, which we all know at this point it is, mine and Rhaenyra's daughter is special. She has the magic of old, which we Targaryens have lost-"

"Perhaps with due reason we have lost those ungodly gifts, Daemon. The things Lord Nero speaks of, a girl capable of turning skin to scale-"

For a moment the discussion bleeds to white noise in Hermione's ears, her thoughts treacle slow. They must be speaking of Visenya. There is no other they could be speaking of. Yet... how did they know Visenya? How did they know she was capable of turning into-

Who was this Lord Nero who knows what he possibly can't?

"Cowards."

Daemon curses abruptly.

"You are all cowards."

The King does not back down.

"Visenya's blood is key. Lord Nero told us thus. Only she can come and go through the arch. I let you leave through this gate and it will not be a doorway for you. It will only be death. See this for what it is or do not, I say no because I love you."

"You say no because that Hightower bitch has you down on your knees for her quim-"

"He's not lying, Daemon."

It's a familiar voice that comes from the bay of the balcony behind Hermione and Ron. As she turns, Hermione catches the familiar face attached to it, and the white noise blares defeaningly in her head.

He's older now, standing there sipping from his own gilt cup of wine on the cusp of a gilded hall. There's grey peppered in his black curls, now long enough to skim his shoulder blades, grey that matches the grey of his eyes.

"Only Visenya can transverse the Veil."

The man takes a single step out onto the balcony, out between two bickering brothers, and his gait is the same, slinking and smooth, but he's put on weight, a healthy gain, no longer drawn thin by years of Dementor attacks and being on the run.

"We can only wait to see if Visenya finds her own way home."

The man, the man Hermione can't quite get herself to name right then, reaches out for the younger, irate brother, laying a friendly hand on a tense shoulder, the sleeve of his own doublet rolling up in the movement-

A peak of an Azkaban tattoo.

XX

Ron sucked in a hot-shocked breath, Hermione snaps out of her surprise, and it hits her like a wet fish to the face.

Threes. It always comes in Three.

Three journeys through the Veil.

Visenya's first as a babe.

Their second with the dying friend.

The third-

The third that came between.

Hermione didn't know she was moving until Ron's fingers snagged in the cuff of her robes, pulling her back, hissing beneath the silencing charm.

"It might not be him."

Ron urges, still lost in his own throws of shock.

"Vis showed me that Muggle show once. The one about that Twilight Zone? It could be like that. Maybe this world has a McGonagall too. A body swopped Snape. Maybe we're all here, somewhere. Who knows? It's not him. It can't be. We watched him die."

Lord Nero.

Nero was Italian for Black.

The Blacks had Roman roots.

Lord Nero knows Visenya. Knows her better than a stranger should.

There was another who had been the one to teach her how to unlock Animagus magic-

Daemon shirks off the Lords hand, just as Hermione, despite Ron's protests, shirks off the invisibility cloak.

She knows immediately, as the three turn to the suddenly appearing one, that this is not the Twilight Zone. This is not a case of Dopplegangers or Polyjuice. There's silver-hot recognition in Lord Nero's widening eyes, widening grin.

"Little Granger... that really you, love?"

She nearly laughs. She nearly cries. She nearly runs over there and bats the smiling man around his head like a pissed off cat attacking a ball of yarn.

It had been years since she'd been called little Granger by this very man back in Grimmauld Place. So long she'd almost forgotten the sweet sound of it.

The name comes hurtling out of her then, like a tube of toothpaste squeezed in a fist. Messy and fresh.

"Sirius?"

Sirius does laugh, loud and alive, and Hermione does run over the short distance, forgetting the now bewildered brothers, runs and begins beating small fists against the older Wizards quaking chest.

"You bastard! We thought you were dead!"

XXI

He grabs her fists and ceases her blows in a gentle grip that reminds Hermione of better days, hot chocolates late at night with the Marauder spinning tales of youth and exploits, and not once does the smile fall from Sirius's face.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, love. Oh, aye, look at that! The Weasley boy too!"

Ron has slipped from the cloak now, letting it fall forgotten to the ground, cover blown and world shook, blinking away the rising moonlight from his eyes.

"Bloody hell, mate. You been here the entire time? Visenya's going to flip her lid when she sees-"

It's the name that does it, the girl the names attached to, and suddenly Sirius is... well, serious.

Deadly serious.

"You came through the Veil?"

The old Marauder answers his own question with a self-disparaging huff.

"'Course you did. There's no other way in and out of this place. Visenya must have come through with you if you're not dead. Where is she? Did she figure it out? She didn't bleed on you, did she? She did come through, right? Or we're all stuffed."

It's all happening at once. Sirius is not making much sense, and the ill King is warding off armed guards Hermione hadn't seen approaching them with drawn swords in her wonder and shock of seeing a dead man much alive, and the man they'd been trailing all afternoon is pouncing on her, snatching her shoulders, spinning her around so he gets a good look at her face, her at his.

"You come with my daughter? Where is she? Where is she?!"

Visenya, Hermione's sluggish mind supplies. Visenya who is-

"She's dying!"

She shakes the man off, spinning on Sirius, the dire situation of what brought her here to this ghost catching up.

"Vis is dying, Sirius. Tom hit her with some sort of blood hex before she finished him off. We need blood of a close relative to save her so we came here and-"

She's rambling she knows, words bleeding into the mess of a running sentence, but there's so much to say and so little time.

"And we were going to steal this one's blood-"

She haphazardly gestures with a thumb to the man who looks ready to pick her up and shake her about if only for the secrets she holds would come tumbling out her brain.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione ignores the incredulous swipe of the blond man, attention affixed on the only one who could possibly understand what she was telling.

"But do you think he was alone for more than two seconds? No. We were just about to jump him and this crowned one when you appeared out of the blue-"

Sirius does the smart thing. He steps in, steps close, and cuts her off from the flood.

"Where's Visenya, Hermione?"

Right, yes, of course.

"She's unconscious. I hid her in a cave up the shore-"

For finally knowing where Visenya is, Sirius doesn't seem very happy.

He looks very frightened, in fact.

XXII

"The cave where the Veil is?"

Hermione licks at her abruptly dry lips.

"The cave we appeared in? Yes-"

"Fuck."

Sirius curses, and he's not the only one too. The man, who really must be Daemon by the stricken look on his face, a face turned to the darkened sky, curses as well.

"The moon has risen."

He's drawn his sword, a curious blade of metal Hermione has never seen before, and he's already making way for the balcony bay, pushing past his brother who tried to stop him but found no grip in the wake of his stony determination.

"The Cannibal will be back to nesting there if it has not roosted itself already. I must fetch Visenya before he turns his eyes to the meal delivered to his chamber."

Sirius is hot on his heel, Hermione rushing to follow, unsure why the air suddenly tasted so solemn.

"Cannibal?"

Hermione asks, only to be followed swiftly by Ron.

"What Cannibal?"

"A terrible wild dragon who uses that very cave you've hidden Visenya away in as a nest he returns to every night."

Sirius explained as he drew his wand.

"A dragon who eats other dragons."

Oh.

Oh.

Next Chapter: The Cannibal makes a short appearance, a scuffle breaks out, and Visenya finally wakes up...

A.N: Hello everyone! Thank you all for the follows and favourites and the lovely reviews. it really is a little exhilarating to realize people actually like my half-cracked stories and I don't think it will ever not be surprising or heartwarming. We're so close to a reunion now we can almost taste it, so buckle up kids, we're hitting the gas.

I'm trying to keep to a Saturday update day, for those who have been asking. I can't promise I won't mess it up, but I am trying to keep a schedule up and running lol.

Cheers for reading! Hope you liked it. -AlwaysEatTheRude21