This is a new fanfic for the Bellamioneland New Years Tales Event. Will be updated weekly! Enjoy xx
-xXx-
Everything hurts. Her head has a rather large bump on it, her palms are grazed, and her back aches at the bottom every time she moves. Physically, Hermione will heal. Mentally? She's not so sure.
She knows what the doctor wants her to say. Knows what will get her released from hospital and back into the world outside. Frustration bubbles up, prickling her skin. Why should she have to deny something that she knows is real? Is this what mental illness is? Being so sure that something has happened, something that everyone else tells her is impossible.
It sounds impossible, that's the thing, but Hermione does not believe that she is having hallucinations. It's too real. She can still feel the gentle hum and the tingling in her palms, a sensation that is present even now as she rubs her palms on the sheets.
Hermione scowls at the wall when the doctor pulls a chair close to the bed, clipboard perched on his knee as he stares at her over the top of his vari-focal glasses. He clears his throat pointedly, waiting for her to turn and face him before he starts talking again.
"Now, I'd like you to take several deep breaths, nice and slowly, and then tell me again what happened."
She sighs. Hermione has explained this to him twice already, three times if you count the statement she made to the police, which he was in the room for.
"I'm not going to suddenly change my mind. I know what I saw," she tells him tiredly.
He smiles patiently, the pen in his hand tapping absently against his thigh. "Please indulge me, Ms Granger. From the beginning, if you will."
"I was mugged."
"The full account, if possible," he requests softly, his hands stilling and coming to rest gently in his lap.
She sighs again. "They dragged me into the alley and demanded I hand over my phone and my bag. They got a little rough when I refused, but then I saw one of them had a knife tucked up his sleeve so I did as they said. "
"And then?"
She shrugs helplessly. She's tried to put it into words, but she's not entirely what she saw, either. She's always prided herself on her analytical mind, and logically, what she saw is impossible. How to describe it to someone else when she doesn't understand it herself?
"One of them reached out to grab me, and I tried to push him away. I didn't even make contact," she recalls, brow furrowing. "One moment they were all standing in front of me, and I was on the floor, backed up against the building at the end of the alleyway. And… and then they were gone."
"Gone?" he echoes, and now his pen is tapping against his lip as he observes her thoughtfully. "And do you know where they went?"
Pursing her lips, Hermione glares at him. "I've told you this," she tells him. "They were pushed right back out of the alley."
"And how do you think that this occurred?" he probes further, as if he is hearing it for the first time. It angers her.
Hermione keeps silent, knowing how she sounds. Her statement earlier had been met with everything ranging from a derisive snort, to outright disbelief.
The doctor makes a show of checking his notes. "An 'invisible force' that came from your hands, is that right?"
His expression is schooled into a well-practised neutral mask. He waits her out, waiting for her to deny or confirm his statement, both of them aware of the simple words that will seal her coffin. She shakes her head, eyes flicking to the door where a nurse is standing like a sentry guard.
Hermione tries to take a deep breath, the sound of her own heartbeat thundering through her ears, blocking out all other sounds. She can see the doctor moving his lips, no sound reaching her though they are only a few feet apart.
The rational part of her brain knows what this is. It's not the first time she's had a panic attack, after all. Still, as she tries to control her breathing, inhaling to the count of four, holding it, and then exhaling, she wonders if she will actually manage to escape the system this time. This is not the first unexplainable thing that has happened to her, and nor is it the first time that her mental health has been called into question.
The nurse edges closer, a syringe in her hand that she is not even trying to hide.
"I know what I saw," Hermione grits out breathlessly, hands fisting into the rough cotton sheets. She's sitting cross legged, face now turned towards a television that is older than she is, a window to her right that beckons her to the outside world. "I don't know what else to tell you."
The doctor is unable to hide his grimace this time. "I believe that's what you think you saw Ms Granger, but you have to understand that your account of what happened is a cause for worry." He checks his notes, scribbling away furiously. "I was concerned that you had a head injury, but your scans are clear. You have mild bruising, but not a concussion. Certainly not something that would explain this… confusion."
"For the last time, I know what I saw," Hermione snaps at the doctor, crossing her arms over her chest. The action hurts, even with the concoction of heavy pain meds they have her on.
His eyes are sympathetic as he nods once, making a final note on his clipboard. "I was afraid you'd say that," he replies, and the moment he reaches for his pager, Hermione knows what is about to happen. It's not the first time she has been put under a seventy-two hour psych hold for evaluation. To be honest, she wonders whether this might actually be the safest place for her, all things considered, but once you're in it is much harder to leave. She found that out the last time.
She opens her mouth to backtrack, but before she can say a word, a woman with flowing, straight blonde hair sweeps into the room, a long black dress billowing around her legs. She dismisses the nurse with one word, her arm flicking towards the nurse curiously. "Leave," she instructs calmly and to Hermione's surprise, the nurse does exactly that.
"I don't believe that's necessary, Doctor," the newcomer informs the man, before turning her gaze to Hermione. "Time to go, Hermione. I'm sorry it took me so long and you were left with these barbaric oafs."
"What?" Hermione blurts out, looking between the blonde and her doctor.
"Keep calm and follow my lead. I don't want to Obliviate him unless absolutely necessary."
Obliviate?
Hermione startles when she hears the cool voice in her mind. The blonde had not spoken out loud, she's sure of it, yet she had heard her voice as clearly as if listening through headphones. Baffled, she keeps quiet, watching to see what will happen next.
"Chart please," the blonde demands, holding out her hand expectantly. There is a natural authority to her, one that carries the expectation that her orders will be followed.
The doctor visibly bristles as he hands it over. "Of course, Doctor…?"
"Black. Narcissa Black."
"Now, look here. You can't just walk in here and take over my patient," he says gruffly. "I was about to take her up to psych."
"Yes, yes," Narcissa replies in a bored tone. "I know exactly what you were about to do and I am telling you that it's not necessary. Now, are you going to let me discharge the patient, or are you going to make this difficult for all of us?"
Narcissa winks at Hermione when the man starts spluttering, and grins. Hermione watches curiously as the woman raises her arm, a short length of wood - is that a wand? - gripped lightly between elegant fingers.
"Obliviate," Narcissa whispers, and the doctor's face goes slack, all former hostility gone as he gazes at them both.
He shakes his head a few times as if trying to clear water from his ears. "I'm sorry, Doctor Black, was it?"
"Yes, that's right," Narcissa replies coolly, handing him a clipboard with paperwork attached. "Now, if you could just sign here, Ms Granger will be discharged from your care as previously discussed."
He frowns, but does as he is told, signing his name with a flourish and handing it back to Narcissa with a bemused smile before leaving the room without further prompting. Narcissa turns to Hermione, grinning wickedly. "Good riddance," she declares, a sigh of relief leaving her lips. "There is one good thing to be said about Lord Voldemort's Britain, less rules when it comes to muggles."
Staring at her blankly, Hermione wonders if she is meant to understand the woman's cryptic words. She pinches the soft skin on the inside of her wrist, relieved when she immediately feels pain. This is real.
She turns curious eyes back to the blonde, feeling her lips pulling up at the corners. "How did you get him to do that?"
"All in good time, Darling. Now, are you ready to leave? Where are your clothes?"
Shrugging, Hermione looks around the room, but the outfit she had arrived in is nowhere to be seen; only her phone and bag are next to the bed. When she retrieved them from the alleyway, she's not sure. Her clothes however, have completely vanished. "I don't know."
"Never mind," Narcissa replies, and then Hermione finds herself looking down the length of a wand, as Narcissa intricately waves it in front of her. The hospital gown she is wearing is transformed into jeans, hoodie and trainers, and Hermione gasps.
"How did you do that?"
"Another conversation for later. Now, it really is time for us to go," Narcissa tells her, reaching for her hand. "This might be a little confusing the first time, and it's probably best if you take a few deep breaths when we land."
She doesn't give Hermione any chance to wonder what she is talking about, as the world disappears in a spin and they are deposited in the entrance of what looks to be an old stately home. Lanterns with real flames in them illuminate the foyer, dark wood panelling on the walls reflecting the lights warmly.
Hermione rips her hand away with a scowl, bile rising to her throat as nausea makes its presence known. "What is going on? How did you do that? Where are we?"
"Deep breaths, Darling," the blonde reminds her with a warm smile. "Welcome to Black Academy, the School for Adult Witches and Wizards. Though most of us just call it 'The Academy'."
A school for witches and wizards?
Unable to help herself, Hermione laughs maniacally, the sound echoing around the small space. She bends over with her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. "I've finally gone crazy," she chokes out, tears now streaming down her face as she fights to pull oxygen into her lungs. "This isn't real."
"Isn't it?" Narcissa asks with an amused smile. "Tell me, Ms Granger. Do you believe in magic?"
"Like card tricks?"
Shaking her head, the blonde replies. "Real magic. Like the kind you saw at the hospital when I transfigured your clothes, and just now when I transported you here using Apparation."
"I'm pretty sure I'm losing my mind, actually," Hermione mutters. "Between this and what happened to me earlier."
"Ah, yes. I was about to get to that," Narcissa answers, walking across the hall and opening a solid wooden door that creaks ominously on its hinges. "But first of all, I'm sure you would like refreshments."
"Refreshments?" Hermione scoffs, shaking her head. "What I want is answers!"
"All in good time," Narcissa repeats her words from earlier. "Now, where is that pesky house elf?"
House elf.
House elf?! It's too much. Since Hermione woke up this morning, she has been mugged, witnessed three men be blasted down an alleyway by a force that came from her own hands, and now she is being offered refreshments by a woman who is clearly as crazy as Hermione herself is.
Exhausted, Hermione's knees give out, and her vision starts to fade. The last thing she hears before the darkness overtakes her is the blonde calling out to someone just out of sight.
"Bellatrix! A little help here, please?"
-xXx-
Hermione wakes slowly, like coming around from anaesthetic. Her body aches and her first instinct is to burrow deeper into the insanely comfortable mattress and go back to sleep. But the mattress is too comfortable, and certainly not the hard hospital bed she had spent the evening in, a thought that wakes her up further. She's a little nauseous, keeping her eyes closed until the feeling fades.
"Scrawny little thing, isn't she?" a woman whispers.
"I don't think she's been eating properly. Her hospital records state that she is malnourished amongst other things." She recognises the voice, and memories of her mystery rescuer flood back into her mind. Narcissa, a woman who apparently does magic like it's as natural as breathing.
"Are we sure it's her?" the other voice asks doubtfully. "She doesn't look like she would win a fight with a Niffler."
"Shush, Bella. Yes, I'm sure it's her. I've been following her for a while and everything about her matches. She's the one."
At this, Hermione's eyes open, and she blinks a few times and then focuses on the two women standing at the end of her bed. They could not be more different. The other woman, Bella, has long, black hair that falls in messy curls around her face, framing dark, intense eyes and pretty red lips.
"How are you feeling?" Narcissa asks kindly, stepping forwards with her wand raised. It's pure instinct that makes Hermione flinch, and then her cheeks flare with heat when she realises Narcissa is pointing at a glass next to the bed, which promptly fills with water.
"I'm fine," she replies guardedly. "Where am I? Who are you? What do you want with me? Why have you been following me?"
"I'll leave you to answer those questions," the other woman says to Narcissa with a nod, clapping her on the shoulder. "Good luck."
She smirks before leaving and Narcissa rolls her eyes. "That force of nature is my eldest sister, Bellatrix. You'll get to know her soon, I'm sure. In the meantime, I will attempt to answer your questions, but I must ask that you keep an open mind."
"Like you doctors did when I told you all what happened yesterday?" Hermione snaps, sitting up. "Or when this has happened before and I was locked up in a padded room for speaking the truth?"
"I'm not actually a doctor," Narcissa replies mildly, completely unphased by the lie she told to abduct Hermione from the hospital's care. "And I'm very interested in what happened yesterday. How about we head downstairs for some breakfast, and we can talk more over coffee?"
Despite her misgivings, coffee and something to eat does actually sound good. Hermione pivots in the bed, feet landing on the dark wooden floor that feels incredibly warm to touch, and she frowns. Someone has removed her trainers. She takes a glance down at herself, relieved to see that she is still wearing the clothes that Narcissa provided for her yesterday.
Provided. She almost laughs to herself. How exactly did Narcissa do that?
The woman in question smiles knowingly. "I know you have questions, and I promise that I will answer them. I would highly recommend eating first, if that's acceptable."
Nodding, Hermione stands up, her legs unsteady. "Food sounds good," she agrees, following Narcissa from the room. They head along a narrow hallway that leads to a grand staircase, descending elegantly to the lower floor.
The decor looks as though it belongs to the previous century. Dark wood panelling lines the walls, perfectly matching the floors, though there is a small strip of carpet down the centre of the hall that continues down the stairs. She notes with some curiosity the complete lack of electricity, their path lit by flickering lanterns rather than electric bulbs.
"In here." Narcissa guides her into a large dining room with a table that must seat at least twenty people. "What would you like to eat?"
"What is there?" Hermione wonders, staring at the empty place settings along each side of the table.
"Take a seat," Narcissa prompts, moving around the end of the table to sit opposite her. "Spuddle!"
Hermione recoils so quickly that her neck clicks when a small creature with huge green eyes and large ears appears as if by… as if by magic?
"Order anything you like," Narcissa tells her, smirking at her reaction. "Spuddle will procure it for you."
"Er… Just some toast please? And Marmite, if you have it?"
"Of course, Miss Hermione. Spuddle will be making it for you now."
Before she can say 'thank you' the creature disappears again, leaving Hermione to wonder if they were ever even really there.
"What… what was that?" she asks hesitantly.
"Spuddle is our house elf. They've been in the family for years."
"House elf," Hermione mutters under her breath, dropping her head into her hands, her elbows leaning on the table. "I've actually cracked, haven't I? This is some kind of hallucination? Or am I in a coma? How hard did I hit my head?" she wonders, not expecting a reply.
"Ms Granger… Hermione. You're a witch, Darling. I know it's confusing for you, but magic is real and you have it. A lot of it, actually."
Magic is real. It's not like she has been oblivious to the little stunts Narcissa has been pulling since they met, but to hear it laid out quite so casually is jarring.
"All my life," Hermione starts. "All my life people have called me crazy. I've been locked up because of this and you're telling me it's all real? That I was right?"
"I believe what you have been experiencing is bouts of accidental magic. It happens to a lot of children and young adults who have been raised by muggles and away from the wizarding world."
"Accidental magic?"
"Like repelling those men when you were in danger yesterday," Narcissa confirms, pouring them both a coffee from the carafe on the table. "If you are angry, or in danger, or feeling a multitude of strong emotions, then you can cause your magic to flare without intent."
Bellatrix comes striding into the room. "And that's something that we can help you control."
Hermione can hardly take her eyes off of the dark haired woman as she slides gracefully into a seat next to her sister.
"This is a magic school?" Hermione asks, snippets of the conversation from her arrival last night coming back to her.
"Yup," Bellatrix replies cheerfully. "And you're going to be our star student, I can tell."
"You're powerful, Hermione," Narcissa takes over. "I've read your hospital file and various police reports from over the years. They might not have taken you seriously, but if your accounts are accurate, then there is every sign that you are a very powerful witch indeed."
"You just need to learn to use it," Bellatrix adds on. "And we'll need to get you a wand. That will improve your ability to control it."
"I don't understand," Hermione spits, her anger building. "If I have had this all my life, then why am I only just finding out about it now? I'm twenty-five! Why did no one tell me? Where were you the last time I was locked up? They kept me there for months!"
She glares at both of them, not missing the silent conversation they seem to have between themselves. She knows that Narcissa is able to talk without making a sound or moving her lips. "And stop that! It's rude."
"My apologies, Hermione. There is much to tell you, but neither of us wants to overwhelm you." Narcissa seems genuine, warmth radiating from her as she smiles, and Hermione sighs.
"I'm sorry." And she is. She's feeling overwhelmed, and confused, but these people are responsible for her release and it's not them that her anger is really directed at. Hermione makes a conscious effort to calm down, inhaling slowly as her therapist has taught her. They both watch her cautiously and she's grateful that they seem to understand that she needs to take a moment to herself.
It's Bellatrix that eventually offers an explanation. "There is a school for magical children, Hogwarts, but it doesn't accept those that are not born into magical families. They used to, but much has changed over the last twenty years."
"And you, Hermione, are a unique case. You were born into a magical family, but when your parents died, you were adopted by muggles," Narcissa explains. "It's time for you to rejoin the magical world away from muggles."
"Muggles are non-magical people," Bellatrix provides helpfully.
"Wait," Hermione demands, sitting up straighter in her chair as Narcissa's words sink in. "I'm adopted?"
Narcissa freezes at her question, but Bellatrix cackles with a nonchalant shrug.
"Oops."