"The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed. The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures. Whose charms were broken if revealed."
Charlotte Brontë
IV
Stepping out of the emerald flames, Hermione found herself in the warm and inviting Potter's shack, a place that held a flood of nostalgic memories. It was here, in this cozy haven, that she sought solace after her world was shattered by the horrors of the Second World War's aftermath.
Having lost both her brave parents to the clutches of Nazi fanatics, Hermione's heart still ached with the pain of their sacrifice. Her father William, a respected physician who had fought against the Germans as part of the Resistance, and her mother Hélène, a compassionate nurse, had dedicated their lives to helping others. But tragedy struck on a dark Christmas evening when explosions and screams shattered the peacefulness of their townhouse in the quaint village of Barbizon, near Paris.
Barely escaping the engulfing flames, Hermione was forced to flee to London, a city where she had no kin and faced the grim prospect of an orphanage. However, fate intervened, and the Potters embraced her as their own, providing her with a new home and a new brother in Harry, their only son and her dearest friend.
Bound by their shared love for magic and thirst for knowledge, they became inseparable at Hogwarts. Even after the tragic loss of James, Harry's father, who fell victim to Grindelwald's followers during a raid, their bond remained unbreakable, transforming them into a tightly knit family.
"Mione, my dear, you're finally here!" Lily, Harry's mother, greeted Hermione with a warm and loving embrace as she emerged from the kitchen. "Come, join me for lunch. I've prepared your favorite dish, shepherd's pie."
Hermione's face lit up with a grateful smile as she followed Lily into the dining room, where the enticing aroma of the meal filled the air. Expressing her gratitude for Lily's hospitality, the younger witch engaged in lively conversation, sharing stories about her work as an Unspeakable. Lily listened with genuine interest and admiration, their laughter echoing through the room as they reminisced about the mischievous adventures of her and Harry's childhood.
After the satisfying meal, Hermione joined Lily in the library, a cozy sanctuary adorned with shelves overflowing with books of all genres. The older woman, too, was a voracious reader and a brilliant scholar who had pursued her passion for Magical Theory, completing her master's degree following her husband's untimely demise. She possessed a rare intellect that Hermione deeply respected, making her the one person who could potentially unravel the mystery behind the cursed artifacts discovered in Little Hangleton.
With great care, Hermione retrieved the heavily warded box from her beaded handbag and gingerly placed it on the table, her gaze fixed on Lily with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. "Do you have any inkling of what these might be?" she asked, pointing to the diary and the ring nestled within the box.
Lily delicately picked up the ring, her eyes scrutinizing its intricate details. "I agree with Bill," she began, her voice tinged with caution. "This seems like the aftermath of a dark ritual gone awry. The cracked stone and unstable magic make it potentially perilous to handle."
Her finger traced the symbol etched onto the ring's surface. "Do you recognize this?"
Hermione shook her head, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. "No, what does it mean?"
Lily lowered her voice, glancing around the room as if guarding against prying ears. "It's the symbol of the Deathly Hallows," she whispered.
The witch's curiosity was instantly piqued. "What are the Deathly Hallows?" she inquired, her eyes fixed on Harry's mother.
A bittersweet smile graced Lily's lips as she rose from her seat, making her way to the bookshelves lining the opposite side of the room. A warm fire crackled in the nearby fireplace, casting a comforting glow.
The woman perused the rows of books until her fingers found what they sought: an aged tome with a faded blue cover bearing the title, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Returning to the desk, Lily opened the book to the tale of the Three Brothers, her voice imbued with a sense of significance.
"This is a story that James' father used to share with him during his childhood. It tells the tale of three wizards who outwitted Death and were granted three gifts in return. Listen closely, Mione. Perhaps it will shed light on the mysteries of the ring." Clearing her throat, Lily began to recount the story of the three Peverell brothers.
According to the story, three brothers crossed a river and met Death, who was angry that they had escaped his grasp. He pretended to congratulate them and offered them each a gift. The eldest asked for a powerful wand, the second for a stone that could revive the dead, and the third for a cloak that made him invisible. Death gave them what they wanted, but he was cunning. He hoped to reclaim them soon. The eldest brother was killed by someone who wanted his wand, the second brother killed himself after seeing his dead lover as a ghost, and the third brother lived a long and happy life, until he gave his cloak to his son and greeted Death as an old friend.
After she finished reading, Hermione furrowed her brow, a look of confusion on her face. "What does that fairy tale have to do with the ring?" she inquired. "Is it supposed to be the stone that can bring back the dead?"
Lily shook her head and gestured towards the symbol engraved on the ring. It depicted a circle with a line and a triangle inside it. "This is the sign of the Deathly Hallows, Mione," she explained. "The circle represents the stone, the line represents the wand, and the triangle represents the cloak. They're believed to be the most powerful objects in the wizarding world. Whoever possesses all three becomes the master of death."
A shiver ran down Granger's spine as she processed this information. She couldn't help but ask, "But that's just a legend, right? It's not real."
Mrs Potter's gaze drifted off into the distance, lost in memories. Her voice carried a hint of sorrow as she replied, "It doesn't matter if it's real or not. What matters is that some people believe it and are willing to do anything to obtain them. Like Grindelwald and his followers. They killed my James, thinking his cloak was one of the hallows."
Hermione gasped, her heart going out to Lily. She reached out to offer a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I didn't know. That's horrible."
The older woman returned the hug, her body trembling slightly. "It's alright, my dear. You couldn't have known. It's been a long time since then. I've learned to live with the pain. But I still miss him every day."
They released each other from the embrace, Lily wiping away her tears. With determination, she suggested, "Let's move on to the next object, shall we? Maybe we can find something useful." She picked up the leather-bound diary, examining it closely. When she saw the name on the cover, her expression turned to a frown. It read, Tom Marvolo Riddle. "I know this name," she exclaimed. "He was a student at Hogwarts when I was there. He was in Slytherin, but he was different from the others. He was a muggleborn, like me."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "A muggleborn in Slytherin? How did that happen?"
Lily shrugged, a hint of edginess in her voice. "I don't know. Maybe the Sorting Hat saw something in him that we didn't. He was very clever and charming, but also very secretive and ambitious. He had a group of followers who did his bidding. They were all purebloods, of course. They despised me and the other muggleborns. They called us mudbloods and hexed us whenever they had the chance. I remember one time, as the Head Girl, I witnessed Evan Rosier and Rastaban Lestrange, Rodolphus' brother, attacking him in the corridor. They were shouting at him, calling him a traitor. I intervened and stopped them, but they were furious. They claimed he was worse than a mudblood, that he was a monster."
Curiosity burned within Hermione as she inquired, "What did they mean by that? What did he do?"
The older witch shook her head, her expression filled with uncertainty. "I don't know, Mione. I never found out. He was a fifth year at the time, and I didn't pay much attention to him. But I remember one day, there was chaos in the Slytherin common room. I was patrolling when I heard screams and cries, and I rushed to see what was happening. I saw a disheveled Rosier cradling the lifeless body of his sister Druella. She had been bitten by a snake and was bleeding profusely. Evan muttered something about Riddle, claiming he was the culprit, that he could control the snakes, that he possessed a dark power unlike anyone else. But no one believed him. They said he was delusional, trying to blame Riddle for his own mistake. They hailed Riddle as a hero, saying he had saved the school from a dark threat, earning a special service award from the Headmaster himself."
A chill ran down Granger's spine as she absorbed this information. She couldn't help but ask, "What dark threat? What did he save the school from?"
Lily sighed, her voice filled with lingering curiosity. "I don't know. No one ever told me. It remained an unsolved mystery. But I've always wondered if there was more to Riddle than met the eye. If he was hiding something dark and dangerous."
Then she eagerly opened the diary and carefully examined its pages. "Wow, this notebook is really fancy. Just look at the beautiful binding and high-quality paper. It's definitely not something a poor orphan would possess. It must have been given to him as a gift," she remarked.
Intrigued, the witch picked up a quill and attempted to write in it, but to her surprise, the ink was repelled. "Oh, this book is enchanted! It won't allow anyone to write in it. It must have some kind of protective spell on it. Or maybe it requires a specific ritual," she said with a hint of excitement.
Curiosity piqued, Hermione inquired, "Do you believe it could involve some sort of offering?"
The older woman pondered for a moment before responding, "I'm not entirely sure. But considering that its previous owner was a Slytherin, I wouldn't be surprised if it involved blood magic. You know, the kind of ritual that utilizes your own blood as a source of power. It can bind you to contracts or curses. It's a very dangerous form of magic if you don't know what you're doing."
A surge of fear washed over Granger as she asked hesitantly, "Do you think I should give it a try?"
After careful consideration, Lily replied, "It might be the only way to unlock the diary and discover its secrets. Still, it could also be a trap, one that could cost you your life, or even worse." She gazed at her with a serious expression and said, "It's your choice, Hermione."
Granger found herself torn between her insatiable curiosity and the need for caution. She stared at the mysterious diary, contemplating the secrets it held and the potential dangers it posed. A heavy weight settled in her mind, and she felt a tightness in her chest. Finally, she gathered her courage and said, "I think I should..."
Exhausted and restless, Hermione dragged herself to her room at her apartment. She tossed and turned on her bed, unable to escape the nightmares that haunted her. Crookshanks, her loyal ginger cat, snuggled up to her and tried to soothe her with his soft purring. But the witch felt a cold shiver run down her spine, as if a pair of eyes were piercing through the darkness and staring at her. She glanced around nervously, but saw nothing but shadows.
Closing her eyes, the young witch hoped for a peaceful slumber, only to find herself abruptly transported to an unfamiliar realm. Enveloped by the darkness of a foreboding forest, she found herself surrounded by gnarled trees and unsettling sounds that echoed through the air.
A sense of dread and bewilderment washed over her, a haunting feeling that she had traversed this very place before, though the memory eluded her grasp. Determined to find an escape, she forged ahead, yet the woods seemed to stretch endlessly before her.
Suddenly, a voice pierced through the eerie silence, calling out her name with urgency. "Hermione! Hermione, where are you?" It was her mother, the tremor of fear evident in her voice. Relief surged within the witch, propelling her towards the familiar sound, yearning to find her mother's embrace once more. The longing for her presence grew immeasurable, especially after the ravages of the fire.
Emerging into a clearing, Granger's eyes fell upon a small house in the distance. It bore a striking resemblance to her childhood home, the charming townhouse nestled within the small village of Barbizon. A wave of nostalgia and melancholy washed over her, memories of the joyous moments she had shared with her parents in that very place. Her heart quickened as she sprinted towards the house, her hope anchored in the possibility of reuniting with her mother.
Stepping across the threshold, Hermione was greeted by the tantalizing scent of gingerbread wafting through the air. She followed the aroma, her senses guiding her towards the kitchen, where her mother stood, humming a familiar tune as she busily baked. The woman appeared younger and happier than ever before, a sight that brought a bittersweet smile to the witch's lips. Tears welled in her eyes, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions coursing through her.
"Hello, darling. I'm so glad you're here. Come and help me decorate the gingerbread, will you?" Her mother's voice was filled with warmth and love as she extended a piping bag and a tray of cookies towards her.
A profound sense of contentment enveloped Hermione, as if she had never left this place of cherished memories. She surveyed her surroundings, spotting her younger self sitting beside her mother, a twelve-year-old girl adorned in a Gryffindor scarf, her pride radiating from her smile.
Yet, a shockwave of confusion coursed through her being. How was this possible? Was this a recollection from the past or a mere figment of her imagination? Gazing at her younger self, she felt an inexplicable connection, a memory of the girl she once was – brimming with curiosity, ambition, and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, eager to unravel the wonders of the wizarding world.
"Mom, did you know that wizards enslave the elves?" the younger Hermione inquired, her hazel eyes wide with seriousness.
"Enslave? What do you mean, dear?" Her mother's brow furrowed, perplexed by the revelation.
"They are forced to toil for the wizards, without wages or rights. Their masters dictate their every action, even if it entails cruelty and abuse. They are denied autonomy or the freedom to choose their own path. Treated as objects, not as living beings," the young girl passionately explained, her voice rising with conviction.
"That sounds terrible, sweetheart. Where did you learn that?" the woman asked, sounding concerned.
"From this book," she said, holding up a thick volume with a picture of a smiling woman and a group of elves on the cover.
Her mother smiled and took the book from her. She flipped through the pages, reading some of the titles and captions. She seemed disgusted by the author's disrespect for the little elves.
Her younger self laughed and said that she would never do that, that she would rather do everything herself than exploit an innocent creature. She said that she hoped to change the wizarding world for the better, to make it more fair and humane.
Hélène Granger smiled and hugged her. She said that she was lucky to have such a wonderful daughter, who cared so much about others.
Hermione felt a lump in her throat and a pang in her heart. She wished she could go back to that time, when everything was simple and happy, when she had her parents by her side.
But she knew she couldn't. She knew this was not real. Something terrible was going to happen, something that would shatter her world and take away her parents from her.
The witch heard a loud bang and saw a flash of light outside the window. She turned around and saw her father running into the house, his face covered in ash and sweat. He looked panicked and desperate, as if he had just escaped death. He saw her and her mother and yelled at them to get out, to run for their lives.
William Granger grabbed her younger self and lifted her up, carrying her towards the window. He told her to be brave and to stay calm, that he would protect her and her mother.
"Dad, what's happening?" the girl asked, her voice trembling.
"Shh, it's okay, honey. We have to get out of here. There are bad people coming. They want to hurt us," he said, his voice strained.
"Who are they? Why do they want to hurt us?" she inquired, her eyes wide with fear.
"They are followers of a bad man named Hitler. They hate people like us, who think different from them. They hate you, because you are a my daughter," he explained, his voice bitter.
"But I'm not different, dad. I'm just like you. You are the best dad in the world. I love you," she said, hugging him.
"I love you too, sweetheart. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are my little miracle. You are a witch, and you are amazing. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise," he stated, kissing her forehead.
Her father put her down and pushed her towards the window, where he had broken the glass with his elbow. He told her to climb the tree and run away, to find a safe place and wait for him.
"Dad, where are you going?" she asked, clinging to his hand.
"I have to go back, honey. I have to find your mom. She's still inside. She's trapped," he insisted, his eyes filled with worry.
"Mom? No, dad, please, don't leave me. Take me with you. I want to see mommy. I want to be with you. Please, dad, please," she begged, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry, my Mia. I can't. It's too dangerous. You have to go. You have to survive. You have to promise me that you will live," he said, his voice breaking.
"I promise, dad. I promise. But please, come back. Please, don't leave me," she cried, sobbing.
"I'll be back, honey. I'll be back soon. I'll never leave you. I'll always be with you. I love you more than anything. Remember that. Always remember that," he assured her, his voice fading.
William turned around and ran back into the house, where the flames were spreading and the smoke was thickening. He disappeared into the fire, leaving her alone and scared.
Hermione watched the scene with horror and grief, feeling as if she was reliving it all over again. She wanted to scream, to stop him, to save him. Yet she was trapped in this dream, and could do nothing.
She saw her younger self climbing down the tree, barefoot and trembling. The girl looked back at the house, hoping to see her father coming out, before running away from the fire, towards the village, where she hoped to find help.
Granger felt a surge of pity and admiration for the little one, who had survived such a terrible ordeal, who had faced such a cruel fate. She wanted to follow her. But she couldn't. She felt a hand on her shoulder, a grip on her arm.
The witch turned around and saw the face of young man with dark hair and pale skin, almost white. He looked young and handsome, but his grey eyes were cold and cruel. He smiled and said in a deep tone, "You can't die, you're mine."
Hermione was filled with a mixture of fear and disgust, as if she had been touched by a snake. She desperately tried to pull away, fight back, and scream. But then darkness enveloped her, extinguishing the light.