"A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."
Jean de La Fontaine
III
Hermione had been having some really weird dreams for a while now. They were the kind that stuck in your head and wouldn't let go. They wrapped around her consciousness, stubbornly opaque and unyielding, sapping her energy until she was nothing but a shell of her usual self. Her once pristine notes were now just part of the detritus that littered her apartment, forgotten in the haze that clouded her mind.
Her apartment was a total mess, with books and papers everywhere, like a mini tornado had passed through. Surrounded by the disarray of her living space, Hermione was poring over a dusty old book on soulmates. The text swam before her, offering no comfort or enlightenment.
She was trying to make sense of a book about soulmates, but it wasn't helping at all. That's when Abigail walked in and saw Hermione muttering to herself in frustration. With a quirk of her brow, Abigail asked, "Oi, Mione, what's going on? You look like you're about to hurl that book out the window."
Hermione was holding onto the book for dear life. "It's this bloody book, Abby! It's a load of hippogriff dung—acting like soulmates are just a bunch of codswallop and completely snubbing the real deal about animology!"
Abigail, who always had her head in the clouds, said in her dreamy voice, "Don't worry, Hermione. Sometimes the things we're looking for can't be found in a book. The heart's mysteries are a bit trickier than that."
Hermione wasn't convinced. "That's the problem, Abby! There's got to be something more about soulmates than what this book is saying!"
They bickered back and forth, Abigail tossing around her divination mumbo jumbo, but Hermione stood firm as a troll in a dungeon.
As the clock was ticking down to class time, Hermione slammed the book shut and huffed, "We need to get going, Abby. Maybe Professor Hawthorn has got something less mind-numbing than this tripe."
Abigail flashed her a grin and with that, they left Hermione's messy place, ready to face whatever the day had in store.
Unlike the typical Metaphysics classes that delved into crystal balls and tea leaves, Professor Hawthorne's approach was rooted in the ancient texts and lore that spanned across various magical cultures.
As Hermione settled into her seat, she observed Artemisia Hawthorne—a figure of wisdom with a presence that seemed to command the very essence of the room. The professor began the lesson with a captivating introduction:
"Soulmates, a concept as old as time, often relegated to the whims of fate and fortune-telling. Still, today we shall explore the theory of soulmates through a different lens—one that is not reliant on Divination, but rather on the interconnectedness of magical essences."
The class listened intently as Professor Hawthorne continued, her words weaving through the complexities of the subject:
"The theory we'll discuss posits that every witch and wizard carries a unique magical signature—a distinct pattern of magical energy that resonates at a frequency akin to a fingerprint. It is this signature that may harmonize with another's, creating a bond that transcends the physical realm."
A hand shot up from the middle of the classroom, and a student asked, "Professor, does this mean that soulmates are predetermined by their magical signatures?"
Professor Hawthorne nodded thoughtfully before replying, "An excellent question. It is not so much predestination as it is compatibility. Imagine two separate melodies that, when played together, form a perfect harmony. This is the essence of a soulmate connection—two individuals whose magical energies complement and enhance each other."
Another student chimed in, "But Professor, how can we identify or find our soulmate if it's not through Divination?"
"With study and understanding," Professor Hawthorne answered. "One must become attuned to their own magical essence and recognize the subtle pull towards another. It is a journey of self-discovery and awareness, not a prediction to be passively awaited."
The discussion evolved as students shared their thoughts, some skeptical, others intrigued by the possibility of such connections existing beyond the realm of prophecy and prediction. Hermione listened, formulating her own questions and theories.
As the class drew to a close, Hermione approached Professor Hawthorne, eager to delve deeper into the topic. "Professor, if soulmates are connected by their magical essences, does that mean the bond is unbreakable?"
Professor Hawthorne regarded Hermione with a knowing smile. "Unbreakable? No. Strong, yes. Like any bond, it requires nurturing and mutual understanding. It is not the absence of challenges but the ability to face them together that truly defines the strength of a soulmate bond."
Hermione left the class deep in thought, the concept of soulmates swirling in her mind, a theory not of chance but of choice and connection. It was a perspective she had not considered before, and it intrigued her greatly.
The witch glanced at the inscriptions etched upon her arm, a series of runes that had appeared overnight, mysterious and compelling. "I need to head to the library," she informed Abigail, her mind already racing with the possibilities of what the runes might signify.
With a sense of purpose, Hermione approached the towering wrought-iron gate that barred the entrance to the restricted section. She withdrew a small, silver key and inserted it into the lock. The gate creaked open, revealing rows upon rows of shelves that stretched into the dimly lit depths of the room.
The restricted section was a stark contrast to the rest of the library. Here, the books were bound in leather that had aged to various shades of brown and black, their spines embossed with gold and silver warding runes that shimmered in the flickering candlelight. Some volumes were chained to their shelves, whispering of secrets too dangerous for the uninitiated.
Hermione treaded softly, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that lined the floor. She passed by tomes that spoke of dark arts and forbidden spells, but her focus remained unwavering. She was searching for a particular book—one that held the key to understanding the inscriptions on her arm.
Finally, she found it: "Grimoire of the Runekeeper: Dark Symbols and Their Powers." The book was large and imposing, its cover adorned with a labyrinth of intricate designs. Hermione hefted it onto a nearby reading table and began to leaf through the pages, each turn bringing her closer to the truth she sought.
The silence of her study was soon interrupted by a familiar drawl. "What's got you so absorbed, Granger? Looking for a spell to fix your hair?" Draco Malfoy sneered, leaning against the bookshelf with feigned nonchalance.
Ignoring his jibe, Hermione held out her arm, revealing the runes. "I'm trying to decipher these inscriptions. They're not just any runes; they're a mix of Proto-Sinaitic and Elder Futhark."
Draco's eyes narrowed with curiosity as he stepped closer, his demeanor shifting. "Let me see," he said, his voice losing its edge as he examined the markings. "Inguz, Eiwaz, Thurisaz... You've got quite the combination there."
Together, they delved into the books, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in the face of ancient mysteries. They discovered that Inguz represented potential and growth, a rune deeply connected to the god Freyr, symbolizing true love and harmony. Eiwaz, on the other hand, was a rune of defense and endurance, often associated with the world tree, Yggdrasil, embodying strength and immortality. Thurisaz was a rune of conflict and opposition, linked to Thor and the giants of Norse mythology, embodying the complexities of aggression and the struggles against unconscious forces.
"The meanings of these runes... they could be interpreted as aspects of a soulmate bond," Hermione mused aloud, her voice tinged with wonder. "Inguz for the potential of the bond, Eiwaz for its enduring strength, and Thurisaz for the conflicts that it must withstand."
Draco's expression darkened at the mention of soulmates. "Soulmates? Don't be ridiculous, Granger. And even if such things existed, I would never be a soulmate to a mudblood," he spat out the last word with venom, his face twisted in anger.
He stormed off, leaving Hermione alone with the open books and the unanswered question of how he knew she had been thinking of soulmates. The runes on her arm seemed to pulse with a newfound significance, a message from the past that intertwined with her present, yet its full meaning remained just out of reach.
A week had passed since Hermione's unsettling encounter with Draco Malfoy in the library, and he had since kept his distance, avoiding her as if she were afflicted with some contagious curse. Hermione's energy had been waning day by day, a weariness creeping into her bones that made even the simplest of tasks feel Herculean. She found herself struggling to maintain the strength to attend her classes.
On this particular night, Hermione stood alone in the dimly lit laboratory, the only sounds being the gentle bubbling of potions and the occasional hoot from a distant owl. She was meticulously brewing a *Lucidus Somnium Elixir, a concoction renowned for its ability to clarify dreams and reveal their true meanings. The potion promised a heightened state of awareness within the dreamer's subconscious, allowing them to navigate the murky waters of their dreams with unprecedented clarity.
The essence of moonseed had already been added, casting the potion in a soft, ethereal purple glow. Hermione reached for the silvermist, counting out the precise number of drops required, when the echo of heavy footsteps broke the silence. She tensed, recognizing the intrusion of an unexpected visitor. It was late, and she had secured special permission to use the laboratory at this hour. To her dismay, the figure emerging from the shadows was none other than Draco Malfoy.
Draco sauntered over with his usual air of arrogance, a smirk playing on his lips. "Granger, you should have used the crushed petals of the dream's whisper, not silvermist," he chided, his voice dripping with condescension.
Hermione shot him a dismissive glance. "The flower you suggest is toxic, Malfoy. It would negate the effects of the moonseed," she retorted, her patience wearing thin.
He let out a sarcastic chuckle, waving off her comment. "It doesn't matter. That potion won't help you anyway."
"And why is that?" Hermione demanded, her curiosity piqued despite her irritation.
Draco's smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Because no potion can unveil the hidden truths of one's dreams if the dreamer isn't ready to face the truth."
Hermione's anger flared. "Are you implying I'm afraid of the truth?"
"I'm saying I've been having the same dreams as you, Granger. But instead of being Mercy Magnus, I see everything through the eyes of Tristan Sayre," Draco confessed, his voice laced with frustration.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "How could you lie to me all this time?"
Without a word, Draco rolled up his sleeve, revealing his arm where the Dark Mark should have been. Instead, there were the same runes that had appeared on Hermione's arm. "I can't accept a mudblood soulmate," he spat out, his voice cracking with emotion.
Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. "I can't believe I could ever fall in love with someone as arrogant and prejudiced as you, no matter how many lives or reincarnations."
Draco's gaze softened as he witnessed her tears, a silent understanding passing between them. Without another word, Hermione turned on her heel and apparated away, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and sorrow.
In her haste and emotional turmoil, Hermione made a critical error. She apparated directly into the middle of a street, and before she could react, the glaring headlights of an oncoming car blinded her. She heard a scream—whether it was her own or someone else's, she couldn't tell—and then darkness enveloped her as consciousness slipped away.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, the harsh glare of fluorescent lights greeting her as they cast a sterile glow across the white room. A sense of déjà vu washed over her; the hospital wing had become an all-too-familiar sight. Yet, this time, the situation felt graver, a searing pain coursing through her body with even the slightest attempt at movement. Her involuntary cry of distress must have echoed beyond the walls, for soon after, the door swung open, revealing an unexpected visitor.
Draco Malfoy stepped inside, his footsteps measured as he approached her bedside. To Hermione's surprise, his usual sneer was absent, replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Granger," he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how are you feeling?"
Struggling to find her voice, Hermione managed a hoarse whisper. "What... what happened to me?"
Draco's expression darkened, a flicker of annoyance passing through his eyes. "You were reckless, Granger. Apparating while angry? You could have been killed."
He recounted the incident, explaining how she had materialized in the path of an oncoming car. By some stroke of luck, the driver—a squib—had recognized the signs of magical distress and brought her to the Institute for medical care rather than a muggle hospital. As Draco detailed the extent of her injuries and the blood she had lost, another figure burst into the room.
Harry Potter strode in, his face etched with worry and confusion. "Malfoy, what are you doing here?" he demanded, his gaze shifting between Hermione and her unlikely caretaker.
Draco straightened, his professional demeanor slipping back into place. "I'm the healer assigned to her case, Potter. And you are?"
Harry's temper flared, his protective instincts kicking in. "I'm her friend, and I don't think she needs you hovering around."
Hermione interjected weakly, "Harry, it's okay. He's been helping me."
The conversation escalated as Harry insisted that Hermione should never have left London, that it wasn't too late for her to return. The witch countered, her resolve firm despite her weakened state.
She nervously bit her lip and averted her gaze. Her voice trembled as she spoke, "I'm staying in Salem, Harry."
Confusion furrowed his brow and he released her hand. His voice betrayed his bewilderment, "Salem? What do you mean, you're staying in Salem?"
She glanced back at him, attempting a smile. "I've been accepted to study alchemy at the Salem Institute. It's a great opportunity, Harry."
He shook his head and leaned back, sounding skeptical, "Alchemy? Since when are you interested in alchemy?"
Leaning forward, she reached out to touch his arm. Her voice filled with passion, "Since forever. You know how much I love learning new things, especially about magic."
He pulled his arm away and crossed his arms defensively. Speaking with frustration, he questioned, "But why do you have to stay in Salem? Why can't you study in Britain?"
Sighing, she folded her hands and spoke reasonably, "Because Salem is the best place to study alchemy. It's the most prestigious school of elemental magic in the world. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I can't pass it up."
Glaring at her, he clenched his fists, his voice laced with anger, "But what about us, Mione? What about our life together? Don't you care about that?"
With tears in her eyes, she looked at him sincerely. "Of course I care, Harry. I care about you, more than anything. But I care about myself too, Harry. I need to do this, for me. I need to find out who I am, what I want, what I can do."
He looked away, wiping his eyes, and spoke with hurt, "You don't need to remain in Salem to find out who you are, Mione. You're Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of your age, the best friend I ever had, the love of my life."
Reaching out, she gently cupped his face. She pleaded, "Harry, please. Don't make this harder than it already is. I love you, Harry. I love you so much, you're my best friend. But I need to do this. I need to follow my dreams."
He pushed her hand away and stood up, desperation in his voice, "And what about my dreams, Hermione? Don't they matter to you? Don't you know that my dream is to be with you, to marry you, to have a family with you?"
She tried to stand but failed, speaking calmly, "Harry, we're too young to talk about marriage and family. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We have time. We can wait."
He pushed her away and pointed at her bitterly, "We owe it to each other to stay together, to support each other, to love each other. We belong together, Mione."
Shaking her head, she backed away, her voice firm, "Harry, stop. Stop saying that. You're making me feel like I'm betraying you. But I'm not, I'm just doing what's best for me. And what's best for you, too."
He scoffed and threw his hands up in frustration. His voice dripped with sarcasm, "How can you say that, Hermione? How can you say that leaving me is what's best for me? How can you say that breaking my heart is what's best for me? How can you say that you love me when you're doing this to me?"
Draco watched the exchange, his gaze lingering on Hermione. When Harry's insistence became too much, the wizard stepped forward. "She's an adult, Potter. She can make her own choices."
Impressed by his defense, Hermione asked for a moment alone with him. Harry's frustration boiled over. "How can you want his company over mine?"
Hermione stood her ground, and Harry's anger erupted. Draco moved to escort him out, but he resisted, a physical altercation brewing. It was then that the witch, fueled by a sudden surge of energy, unleashed a spell that sent Harry flying across the room.
As Draco approached Hermione, their hands met, and an inexplicable connection sparked between them. In his eyes, she saw the same passion that Tristan had held for Mercy. It was as if they had both awakened from a long slumber, the dream of their past lives merging with the reality of their present.
Draco pulled Hermione into an embrace, the world around them fading into insignificance. Harry's protests became distant echoes, powerless against the tide of fate that had already woven its tapestry around them. In that moment, they were no longer adversaries but two souls bound by a destiny far greater than either could have imagined.