"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."
William Shakespeare
II
As Hermione made her way home from the Salem Institute, the wind howled and the rain poured. She had spent the entire day in the laboratory, trying to brew the base potion for melting sulphur into mercury. The process was complex and dangerous, requiring precise measurements and careful timing. Several times, she had failed, and each failure had resulted in a loud explosion and a cloud of toxic smoke.
Soaked and shivering, the witch finally reached her apartment. She unlocked the door, and entered the dark and silent living room. On the couch, she threw her coat and bag, and headed to the bathroom. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, and sighed. Her skin was pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes.
She walked to her bedroom, and climbed into her bed. When she finally managed to fall asleep, Hermione met a young boy, his face pale, stormy grey eyes and white-blond hair. He looked a lot like Malfoy. He was surrounded by other children, who mocked and taunted him. They called him a freak, a monster. The boy held a green snake in his hands. He whispered to it in a strange language, and it obeyed him.
"Look at him, talking to his pet snake. What a weirdo!" Mary Walcott, one of the girls said, throwing a stone at him.
"Leave me alone!" he snapped, his grey eyes flashing.
"Or what? You'll make your snake bite us?" another boy, William Stoughton, said, laughing.
"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll make it bite you first!" he said, his voice cold and cruel.
The blond-haired boy raised his hand, and the snake hissed. It lunged at the girl who threw the stone, sinking its fangs into her arm. The girl screamed, and the others ran away in fear.
Hermione watched in horror, unable to move or speak. She felt a surge of pity for him, but also a sense of dread. She knew he was dangerous, and she didn't want to be near him.
But she couldn't help herself. She ran to his side, and tried to comfort him. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.
He looked at her, surprised and annoyed. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice harsh and bitter.
She smiled, hoping to calm him down. "I'm Mercy, Mercy Magnus. I'm new here. I saw what they did to you, and I wanted to help." Hermione didn't have control of what she said in the dream. It was like she was experiencing everything through the eyes of this girl, Mercy Magnus.
The boy snorted, and pushed her away. "Help? What can you do to help me? You're nothing but a half-breed. You don't belong here."
She felt a sting of hurt, and a flash of anger. "How dare you? How dare you call me that? I'm a witch. I have magic in my blood, just like you."
He laughed, a cruel and mocking sound. "A witch? You? Don't make me laugh. You're a disgrace to magic, a stain on our history. You don't know who you are, or where you come from. You're a nobody."
She felt tears in her eyes, and a fire in her heart. "I'm not a nobody. I'm a Magnus, my father is the High Warlock of Salem. He is a powerful and respected wizard, who helped many people with his magic. He is a hero, unlike you."
He sneered, and spat on the ground. "A Magnus? Ha! That mudblood's name means nothing to me. It is nothing compared to mine. I'm Tristan Sayre, a descendant of the noble Salazar Slytherin and Isolt Sayre, one of the founders of Ilvermorny. They were brilliant and cunning magicians, unlike you."
An old man, who looked like a puritan pastor, wearing a black coat, a white collar, and a tall hat, heard the commotion and came running. He saw the two children arguing and Mary Walcott passed out with the snake on the ground. He gasped, and his face turned red with fury.
"You! You did this, you evil children!" he shouted, grabbing the two kids by their collars and dragging them away.
"No! Let me go! It was her fault, she started it!" the Sayre boy protested, struggling to free himself.
"Silence! You two are a curse, a plague, a scourge on this place! You will pay for your wickedness, you will suffer for your sins!" the man said, throwing them into a dark attic.
The pastor locked the door behind him, leaving the two alone. The boy banged on the door, shouting and cursing. He cried, and he begged. But no one came to help them.
Hermione heard the door slam, and she heard herself scream. She felt a pang of guilt, and a twinge of curiosity. She wanted to help the Sayre boy, but she also wanted to know more about him. She wondered why he looked so much like Malfoy.
The witch woke up with a start, and realized that she was in her bed in her apartment. She sighed, and rubbed her eyes. Hermione tried to forget the dream, but she couldn't. It haunted her, and it drew her in.
One night, she found herself in a dimly lit courtroom, living events through the eyes of Mercy Magnus once again. The courtroom was packed with people eager to witness the fate of the accused witch. The judge, John Hathorne, a stern and pious man, sat on a high bench, looking down at the prisoner with contempt. Mercy, now a young woman with long brown hair and hazel eyes, wore a plain gray gown. She was chained to a wooden post, surrounded by guards. She looked pale and frightened, but also defiant.
John Hathorne cleared his throat and began to read the charges against her. "Mercy Magnus, you stand accused of witchcraft, consorting with the devil, causing harm to your neighbors, and corrupting the youth. Are you a witch? Did you conspire with your sister, Bridget Bishop, in dark arts?" the judge asked, his tone accusatory.
Mercy lifted her chin and spoke in a clear voice. "I plead not guilty, Your Honor. I am not a witch, nor have I ever done anything to harm anyone. I am a faithful servant of God, and my sister was innocent too."
The judge banged his gavel and ordered silence. He then turned to the prosecutor, Samuel Sewall, a man in a black robe and a white wig, who had a pile of papers and books on his table. "Do you have any evidence to support your case, sir?"
The prosecutor nodded and smiled smugly. He picked up a book and opened it. "I have here a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, the authoritative treatise on witchcraft. It clearly states that witches are women who have made a pact with the devil and use their powers to harm others. It also provides a list of signs and symptoms that can identify a witch. I have witnesses who can testify that the prisoner exhibits all these signs and more."
He then called his first witness, Mary Walcott, a woman in a blue dress who had a bandage on her arm. She walked to the stand and swore to tell the truth. Sewall asked her to tell her story.
"I live next door to the prisoner, and I have always been suspicious of her. Magnus keeps to herself and never attends church. She has a black cat that follows her everywhere, and I have seen her talking to it as if it were a person. One day, I saw her gathering herbs in the woods, and I confronted her. I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was making medicine for her sick mother. I didn't believe her and accused her of being a witch. She got angry and cursed me, saying that I would suffer for my words. The next day, I woke up with a terrible pain in my arm, and I saw that it was swollen and red, with a strange mark on it. I went to the doctor, and he said it was a bite from a venomous snake. He said it was a miracle that I was still alive. I knew then that it was the work of the prisoner, who had sent her familiar to attack me," Mary testified.
The crowd gasped and whispered, some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads in disbelief. The judge asked the prisoner if she had anything to say in her defense.
"It is not true, Your Honor. I did not curse her, nor did I send any creature to harm her. I was indeed gathering herbs for my mother, who is very ill. I have never harmed anyone in my life. The mark on her arm is not from a snake but from a thorn. She must have pricked herself when she grabbed me," Mercy passionately defended herself.
The prosecutor scoffed and said, "That is a ridiculous claim, Your Honor." He then called his second witness, John Proctor, a wealthy farmer who was sitting in the front row, wearing a brown coat and a hat. He looked nervous and guilty as he walked to the stand and swore to tell the truth. Samuel asked him to state his involvement with the prisoner.
"She is... she was... my servant, Your Honor. I hired her to help my wife with the household chores about a year ago. She was a good and diligent worker, and I had no complaints about her. Until... until I found out that she was a witch," John confessed.
Sewall asked him how he found out. "One night, I heard a noise in the barn, and I went to check it out. I saw her there, with her cat. She was chanting something, and I was shocked and terrified, so I ran back to the house. I told my wife what I saw, and we decided to fire her the next day. We also prayed for forgiveness, for having harbored such a wicked creature in our home," John explained.
The prosecutor asked him if he had any other contact with her after that. "No, Your Honor. I never saw her again until today. I came here to testify against her and to warn others of her evil deeds. She is a witch, Your Honor, and she deserves to be punished," Proctor asserted.
The crowd cheered and applauded, some praising him for his courage and honesty, others pitying him for his misfortune. Hathorne thanked him for his testimony and asked Mercy if she had anything to say in her defense.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted as a young man burst into the room, bearing a striking resemblance to Draco. With his long blond hair and piercing gray eyes, he wore a green cloak and exuded an aura of concern. His gaze locked onto Mercy, and he hurried to her side. Determination burned in his eyes as he attempted to free her from the iron shackles that bound her to a wooden post.
"Mercy! I'm here!" Tristan called out breathlessly, his voice filled with determination.
The judge rose from his seat and ordered two men to apprehend Tristan. "Stop him! Don't let him interfere!" John commanded, his voice filled with anger.
Undeterred, Sayre fought back valiantly, defending Magnus and passionately asserting her innocence.
"Don't worry, Mercy. I won't let them harm you," he promised, his voice filled with determination.
Amidst the chaos, Mercy desperately tried to come to Tristan's aid, feeling his pain, fear, and love coursing through her. She loved him too, and she pleaded with the judge to recognize their innocence, to spare them from conviction.
"Please, Your Honor, listen to us! We're innocent!" Mercy pleaded, her voice filled with anguish and desperation.
However, their pleas seemed to go unheard. No one seemed to care or want to listen. They forcibly dragged Tristan away while a heavy blow struck the back of Mercy's head. A sharp pain seared through her, and darkness enveloped her vision. She succumbed to unconsciousness.
Hermione awoke in the Hospital Wing of Salem Institute, disoriented and groggy. The room was bathed in a soft, warm light, casting gentle shadows on the white walls. The scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed potions. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her head, causing her to wince. Her fingers instinctively reached for the source of discomfort, only to find a bandage wrapped tightly around her forehead.
Confusion clouded her thoughts as she struggled to piece together the events that had led her here. The last thing she remembered was the dimly lit courtroom, the accusations, and the desperate pleas for mercy. What had happened? Why was she in the Hospital Wing? And where was Tristan? Questions swirled in her mind like a tempestuous storm, leaving her feeling lost and vulnerable.
"Hey, Granger. How you feeling?" Draco smirks, leaning against the wall. Hermione tries to sit up, but her head hurts. She sees three weird symbols on her arm instead of the usual insult. She gasps, not believing her eyes.
"What... what's this?" she stammers, trembling. Draco's playful expression disappears, replaced by concern. He takes her arm, studying the markings closely. "Looks like blood magic, Granger. Ancient and powerful stuff. Any idea what they mean?" he asks, sounding serious.
Hermione shakes her head, fear and confusion overwhelming her. The nightmare, flashes in her mind. "I... I had this dream. I was a witch at a trial called Mercy, and she loved a man named Tristan who looked just like you. Tristan loved her and tried to free her… me. But now, it's all jumbled and doesn't make sense," she confesses, her voice breaking.
Malfoy chuckles, a cruel smirk forming on his lips. "Love, you must be even more delusional than I thought if you think I could ever love someone like you. Dreaming about me, that's a new low for you," he snickers, enjoying her vulnerability. Hermione's heart sinks at his heartless words, feeling lost and alone.
Desperate for answers, she gathers the courage to ask, "How did I end up in the Hospital Wing?" Draco's smirk fades, replaced by annoyance. "Some witch named Abigail, your so-called friend, found you unconscious after you fell down the stairs. She brought you here," he dismissively replies.
Hermione's mind races, trying to make sense of it all. The dream, the strange symbols, Draco's presence. Nothing feels coherent or real, leaving her feeling confused and out of place.
Nightmares that seemed too real to be dismissed continue to bemuse Hermione night after night. They only baffled her more, showing her scenes from a past she did not remember, and a future she did not want. With each dream, her connection to Draco grew stronger, as if an invisible thread linked the two together, pulling them closer, despite their differences.
Was that her fate, and was there a way to change it? She wondered. Abgail advised her to talk to her mother Rebecca, who was a seer. A small hut in the woods, hidden from the eyes of the muggles, was the Bishop's home. The old witch welcomed her with a warm hug and a cup of tea, as she prepared a divination with tarot cards. The deck was shuffled and three cards were laid out on the table.
"Let's see if the cards can provide some answers," she smiled, as she gestured for her to sit down. "The past, the present, and the future will guide us." Hermione looked at the cards with mistrust, wondering if they were just a random assortment of symbols with no significance. She doubted they would give her any clarity, as she was skeptical of the whole idea of divination.
The first card was The Lovers, depicting a man and a woman holding hands under a bright sun. "This card represents your past, my dear. You have experienced a deep and passionate love, one that transcends time and space. You have met your soulmate, the other half of your soul. You have been together in many lifetimes, and you have always found each other." Rebecca explained.
Hermione shook her head, refusing to believe it. "No, no, no. This is madness. This is a lie. You're lying to me." she protested. Rebecca sighed, "No, my child. I am not lying to you. I am trying to help you, to warn you," and moved on to the second card.
It was The Tower, showing a tall building struck by lightning and crumbling down. "This card represents your present. You are going through a major upheaval, a sudden and unexpected change. Your world has been shattered, and you have lost everything you cherished. You are in pain, and you feel hopeless." she continued.
The horrors of war flashed before her eyes, as she recognized the card. The night when Harry almost died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Her parents with no memories of her. Her friends forever lost. A chill ran down her spine. Rebecca reached out and held her hand, giving her a comforting squeeze. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I know how much it hurts. But you have to be strong. You have to trust the universe. There is a reason for everything, even if we don't understand it." she reassured her.
The third card caught Hermione's eye. It was The Star, showing a woman pouring water from two jugs into a pool, under a night sky full of stars. "This card represents your future. You have a bright and beautiful destiny ahead of you. You have a purpose, a mission, a calling. You are a star, and you will shine," she predicted.
A gasp escaped her lips, as Hermione asked, "How do you know all this? How can you be so sure?" Rebecca smiled, and replied, "You will find out soon enough, my child. You are on a journey, a quest. You will learn more about yourself, your past, your future. You will find your way back to your soulmate, and you will save him." The young witch looked at her, feeling torn. She wanted to run away, to deny everything, to forget everything. But she also wanted to know more, to understand more, to find a solution.