She woke suddenly to soundless dark.
For several moments, she lay there unseeing. Gradually, she realised the silence was not absolute – she could hear the quiet sounds of sleep, gentle snores and breaths that lay beneath the silence in her dorm. The darkness solved itself into shapes and forms: the lines of her four-poster bed, the folds of the curtains, the rise and fall of her own chest beneath the covers.
The sun had not yet risen but her mind was clear and there were no traces of sleep to blink away.
She found herself moving, shifting the duvet and swinging her legs to the side of the bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet. She pulled on her shoes and her robes and wrapped her arms around herself as she moved quietly to the door.
Walking downstairs into the common room, she whispered a warming charm. The lanterns were all snuffed out, the fireplace cold. Hermione trailed a hand over the furniture, guiding herself to the exit.
Carefully, so as to not wake the Fat Lady, she gently closed the portrait door.
Here, in the hallways of the Castle, there was a little more light. The sconces were unlit but still they glowed like embers.
Never in her five years at Hogwarts had she walked through the Castle alone at pre-dawn hours. Midnight hours, yes. But never at this time, when there were no patrols, no chance of running into a professor or the caretaker, no giggles coming from hidden alcoves behind tapestries in obscure corridors.
For the first time, she truly felt alone.
Outside, the sky was dark with a slight tinge of bluish grey at the edges of the horizon. The snow was soft and thick, up to her calves. It had fallen during the night and distorted the familiar landscape into a series of lumpy formless shapes. The sound of softly crunching snow under her boots filled her with a quiet pleasure.
Her jar of bluebell flames followed her, lighting the way, as she walked into the Forbidden Forest.
Her breath came out in white wisps although she did not feel the cold under her warming charm. She hesitated as she stepped into the thicket of trees. The last time she had been in the Forest, they had been chased out by something terrifying, something unseen. Professor Volanthen had told them that the wards had been breached. Who or what had breached them, she had never found out.
Still, she felt no fear. It was odd, even though her heart was pumping and her hands trembled slightly, there was a strange comfort.
Hermione pressed her palm to a nearby tree trunk and gasped as she felt a rush of something warm, electrifying her fingertips.
So. She hadn't imagined it.
She was filled with a steady sense of anticipation as she moved deeper into the Forest. The snow thinned out and her boots struggled to find purchase on the frozen soil. It was dark, so dark. She relied on her jar of flames to guide her to the path she had taken with Riddle during their first detention.
Wand in her right hand, she let her other hand brush against the tree trunks, pushing aside branches, gripping on to them at times as she manoeuvred along the twisting path.
Eventually, she came to a small clearing. A large boulder sat in the middle and there was a light dusting of snow on top of it.
Pausing, Hermione wondered what she was doing here.
The Forest had been calling to her in her dreams ever since she had passed out in the infirmary. Ever since she had cast that arcane shield. Ancient forbidden magic, Riddle had called it.
But why was it forbidden? What was the price?
Her hand trembled as she reached out and placed a palm on the rock.
It was achingly cold, almost burning. But there was no rush of warmth, no electrifying energy. Disappointed, Hermione pulled her hand back and shoved it into the pockets of her robe, clenching and unclenching her numb fingers.
What on earth was she doing here? Had she gone mad?
She tipped her head back to look at the sky. It was beginning to lighten as dawn steadily approached. The Forest was so quiet, which was unusual if one thought about it. Surely there were small animals or insects about, nature was never that quiet.
Looking back at the boulder, which was almost as tall as herself, her eyes widened.
Where she had pressed her palm, there was now a glowing handprint. She reached out again and lay her hand over it. It matched perfectly, it was hers.
"You are the first in many a century."
Hermione jumped so hard she felt she had momentarily lifted herself out of her skin. Whirling round, she looked for the voice but there was no one there.
Slowly, something stirred at the edges of the clearing. She stepped closer, her heart pounding. A figure unwound itself from the branches of one of the trees and slithered down. It had been so camouflaged and there was little wonder as to how – its skin was like cracked bark, its hair a twisting mess of vines and dark leaves.
"How– who are you?" Hermione whispered, stumbling backwards.
The creature continued to step forward and its skin shimmered, the texture of the bark falling away, revealing an ageless woman with white hair and robes. Her eyes were like gold orbs without pupils.
"I am merely a messenger." Her voice was like the wind, it carried across the rapidly closing distance, brushing over her senses, making her skin tingle.
"From whom? Why are you here? Why–why am I here?"
"I was once like you, young and mortal. Foolish and greedy, I knew not of the magic I wielded."
"Please–" Hermione didn't know what she was pleading for. That she hadn't meant to do it, that she meant no harm, she didn't want to be punished. This has to be a dream, she thought desperately.
The woman paused when she stood before Hermione, who now had her back pressed up against the boulder, clutching her wand. Somehow, not a single spell came to mind.
Cool fingers touched her cheek and brushed aside a wayward curl. The woman smiled wistfully. "What is your name?"
"Hermione Granger. I am a fifth year at this school."
"School?" The woman's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Is your school responsible for the banishment of my centaurs?"
Hermione swallowed. The forest was large and ancient – only a part of it was within the school grounds. The rest of it was uncharted and was once part of the Caledonian Forest, deep in the Scottish Highlands. The centaurs came and went as they pleased but recently, the Ministry had warned them from straying too close to school grounds.
"No," she said weakly. "I found a book detailing rituals and spells and I used one of them to protect myself. Was it old magic? I didn't know there was a cost to using it – please, what is the cost?"
"By Circe, whatever do you mean?" The woman's golden eyes bore into her own, as if she was seeing the depths of her.
"Um- I'm not sure what–"
"What is this cost you speak of?"
"I-I- well, the cost of wielding old magic–"
"My dear, do you really think you wielded old magic? You, a girl barely out of the cradle, a practitioner of the Arcane Arts? Do you really think, by stumbling upon this book, you encountered something that has been lost for hundreds of years?"
Hermione opened and shut her mouth silently, stunned. The Arcane Arts? Eventually, she found the courage to speak again. "I cast a shield from the book, it took away my vitality as a price for using it. So it wasn't forbidden? It wasn't old magic?"
"I know of that spell. Forbidden, yes. Old magic, no."
Hermione fell silent. "So there isn't a cost to using old magic? The Arcane Arts, as you said?"
"I never said there isn't a cost–"
"But you just said–"
"–I said that you didn't wield old magic. There is no cost for you to pay at this point in time. The truth is more complex." The woman sighed and shut her golden eyes briefly. "I did not expect to have to relay this message to someone as inexperienced as you are. You seem to have stumbled upon this by accident."
A memory surfaced in Hermione's mind, of the vines that had coiled around an irate Tom Riddle before they slithered back into the floor of the Potions classroom. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, to ask more questions, but was stopped by a flick of the woman's wrist. Her teeth clacked together as her jaw shut.
"I will answer your questions. Sit down."
A nearby tree bent itself at the trunk, swooping its long branches down so that they brushed along the forest floor. The branches re-arranged themselves, parting and twisting until they formed two rough seats. The woman sat gracefully on one of the seats, motioning for Hermione to do the same.
Hermione stared for a long moment before she complied.
"The spell you used is forbidden but is not, as I have said, old magic. It is part of an ancient form of the Dark Arts." Hermione gasped. The woman continued, "The Dark Arts was long ago considered a stepping stone to the Arcane Arts. There is a cost to practising both types of magic. The Arcane Arts was practised thousands of years ago, a time before mine, when wizards had closer relations with magical creatures and did not view them as inferior." The woman's nostrils flared briefly. "However, unlike the Dark Arts, only a handful were ever able to achieve true mastery. The rest succumbed to temptation and greed. They transformed over time, until they no longer belonged in the wizarding world … their minds becoming twisted and alien."
The woman bowed her head as she said softly, "I am one of them."
The light of her eyes had dimmed and she continued in the same tone. "Those that mastered it chose to keep the Arcane Arts a secret when they realised what was happening to those that were unworthy. Slowly, knowledge of the Arcane Arts died out, along with any recollection of the name. Witches and wizards that had fallen prey to it became creatures of myth and legend, some too terrifying to behold."
A silence fell between them, as Hermione struggled to keep her questions at bay. She shifted uncomfortably until the woman sighed and released her jaw.
"Very well. Ask what you must."
There was so much to say, Hermione's lips trembled from the effort of ordering her thoughts. Why did she feel the forest call to her? What had she done that day in Potions? What is Arcane magic? What can you do with it? There had been a creature in the forest a few weeks ago, a malevolent presence that had stalked them. Did she know about it? And finally, what was the message she had come to give her, and why?
The words spilled out, pleading and frustrated, into the cold air. Hermione fought a blush as the woman remained impassive in the face of her obvious tumult.
At long last, she replied. "You have an affinity for Arcane magic. I would strongly advise that this does not mean you are invulnerable to temptation."
"An affinity?"
"Some aspects of magic are innate. They exist in us before we even learn to pick up a wand. Has there been any type of magic that comes easily to you? Without having to think, without having to form a spell?"
"I- yes." Hermione's eyes widened. "Fire," she breathed. "I have always been able to conjure blue flames, even without a wand."
The woman nodded. "The Arcane Arts is vastly misunderstood. With time and patience, you will learn. For now, it is sufficient to say this: controlling the elements of fire, earth, water and air is a fundamental tenet of the Arcane Arts. It goes far further than that but elemental magic is a strong foundation and one of the key ways in which the Arcane Arts differs from other branches of magic. Dark magic may utilise the elements, say Fiendfyre, but the purpose is purely destructive and its use is difficult or uncontrolled. We can get into the why later," she added as Hermione once again tried to interrupt. "As you lay dying from the consequences of the shield spell, paying the price for your use of Dark magic without foresight, the part of you that has a connection to old magic reached out and the Forest answered. The Forest answered because it is an ancient repository of old magic, the trees here are descendants of the first trees in Scotland from 7000 BC."
"As for what happened in your classroom," she continued, "you did not consciously wield old magic, no. Your magic was still reeling in its brief connection to the Forest. The Forest simply acted on your behalf against the threat you may have faced in that moment."
"What about the creature in the woods?"
The woman's golden eyes flashed. "I know of this creature. A man by day, a wolf by the light of the full moon. He has been wandering the forests all over Europe, in search of young followers for his dark lord."
"Grindelwald?"
"Yes."
Hermione paused. "And the message?"
The woman rose from the seat. Her white hair shone in the early light of the sun which had just begun to rise. A soft golden light touched the edges of the clearing. Every leaf, every line of every tree, was gilded by it.
"What you know now must be kept a secret. There will be others like me who will find you, drawn by the call of your magic. Treat them respectfully, for although we are the fallen, we have lived long lives, alone, in penance."
And just like that, the woman dipped her chin and smiled, her eyes glimmering with something unspoken, and disappeared back into the trees.
Hermione was quiet and subdued at breakfast. James kept trying to catch her eye and Sirius kept pushing the basket of bread towards her. She started as Nuben thumped her on the back. "Hermione, where are you?"
"I'm– sorry, just didn't sleep well last night."
Claire Dubois leaned over from across the table and said in a nasty tone, "You weren't in bed when we woke up this morning."
James frowned and gave her arm a comforting squeeze.
Hermione felt so, so tired. She didn't glance up as she replied, "I couldn't sleep so I took a walk around the Lake."
Claire sniffed and turned back to her bowl of berries.
Another pair of eyes caught hers from across the Hall. The look he gave her promised retribution. Remembering yesterday's events, Hermione felt a shameful flush creep up her neck and decided she was done with breakfast and rose quickly, citing a need for a quick nap before Herbology.
She passed Professor Slughorn in the corridor and she groaned internally when he stopped her.
"Miss Granger! Good morning, my goodness you look tired." He handed her a small envelope. "The prize, as promised." He added in a conspiratorial whisper, "An impressive display yesterday, Miss Granger. However, be wary of dabbling in the Dark Arts without proper instruction. In times such as these, one might garner the wrong reputation, no matter how academic the pursuit." And with a wink, he swept away.
So he thought the vines had been Dark magic? she mused. Or perhaps that the potion had revealed an affinity for the Dark Arts. Regardless, it didn't matter. It wasn't as if her hands were clean.
She was opening the envelope and pulling out a cream-coloured card when suddenly a hand snatched it away.
"Riddle. If you don't give it back right this second …"
His expression didn't change as he read the card, holding it in the air high above her head and her grasping hands.
It was unfair that he was taller than her. She remembered in First Year when she had been much taller. He had been a small boy, thin and quiet. Even back then, she had noticed him, the way his dark eyes had glittered as he got up from the stool, the Sorting Hat whisked away for the next child.
"Well," she said, tapping her foot impatiently. "What does it say?"
"Slughorn's idea of a prize is hardly surprising."
She glared, holding out her hand. He released the card and it fluttered down, past her outstretched hand.
Hermione snatched it off the floor, grumbling.
In ornate gold script, it read:
Miss Hermione J Granger
You have been cordially invited to
the Annual Conference of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers
to be held
at Dunnottar Castle
on the 4th of January 1945.
On the other side, there was a short description of the illustrious history of the society and a list of the speakers and their achievements.
It also read that she may bring an additional attendee, limited strictly to one.
"Granger. You look like you've been dragged through a Doxy nest."
"Thanks," she said flatly.
He tutted. "I should be thanking you. How kind of you to extend your invitation to me. It'd be my pleasure."
"Riddle," she warned.
"Granger."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Do I need a reason?"
"Granger," he said again. "You owe me."
"For allowing you to conduct Legilimency on me in front of the entire class?"
His eyes flashed. "For saving your life in the infirmary."
Ah. She wondered when he'd call in that debt. She looked down briefly and saw again, peeking from under the sleeve of his robes, the now faint marks on his wrists and hands. They must be all over his body. Her handiwork. It would have been painful, couldn't he have healed it?
"I apologise for yesterday. It was an accident," she found herself saying.
"Whatever you conjured, the marks won't fade. I tried."
"I know what you're doing. Don't try and guilt me, I don't appreciate manipulation."
Riddle sighed heavily. "You're the only one who never falls for it," he muttered.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Say please."
"Granger."
She lifted an eyebrow. "For all your minions know, you're the one who put me in the infirmary."
He glared at her. "First you knee me viciously in the groin, then you go and painfully humiliate me in front of the entire class and now, now you want me to say please? If those were accidents then I shudder to think what you'd do on purpose."
Hermione knew what he was doing. But it was working. She glanced down again at the red marks on his skin. Damn him, he always knew just what to say.
"Fine. You can come with me to the stupid conference."