Three
Sagitta
Harry and Ginny's handfasting is as expected: intimate and elegant.
They stand at the altar, framed by flowers in full bloom.
The very picture of flourishing young love.
It radiates in their eyes, more valuable than any gold or precious stone.
Light pours from Viscount Weasley's wand as he chants the spells. The ties glow in a beautiful display of magic that weaves intricate strands with no end or beginning. When it fades, it is done. The couple kiss for so long Father clears his throat and Mother nudges him because it does not matter.
They are now man and wife.
The couple gives Ginny's dowry away during their walk through the town in their wedding clothes. Two Galleons to each person standing on the street, waving flowers and cheering in celebration.
There is enough for the entire town. It is most generous. Two month's wages for some, more for those who have children with them. Life-saving for the most dire.
The twinkle in her parents' eyes tells her this is their solution to the tax levy problem.
Hermione walks between her parents, holding each of their hands as they follow behind the bride and groom who hand out Galleons to all. She is happy her brother still values community; he has not changed in that regard.
They fly on hippogriffs back to the Potter Estate, where the guests await to begin the wedding feast. Despite being nobles, they are modest, but today they celebrate a new addition to their family with cheese and bread, oxen and mutton, capons and boars head, fish and waterfowl. Wine they have saved for years is consumed without restraint.
An excellent night is had by all.
Hermione allows herself the evening to relax.
More than half of the wedding guests are from Ginny's side: all six of her brothers are in attendance, along with their wives and families. The Potter family is small, with no other living relatives. The rest of their guests are childhood friends Hermione likes well enough.
This is the first time Hermione has seen Percy since her refusal. She hopes to quickly move past the awkwardness of the encounter. "How are the palace libraries?"
"Vast, easy to hide in." Percy straightens his shoulders, polite yet distant. "There are few in power who care about the information and history found in the written word. My days pass in peace so long as I keep out of the sightline of Queen Millicent."
It sounds dangerous, not at all worth the life he dreams of outside his family's shadow.
"Let us not speak of troubling topics tonight." His contemplative look softens, then he offers his hand. "Dance with me, Lady Hermione."
She places her hand in his. "Only if you stop being so formal."
"As you wish."
They dance twice on a floor covered with lilies and roses. The sweet fragrance rises with each coordinated step. When they shift to other partners, his smile makes Hermione feel as though they are on better footing. Their friendship may be on the path to being renewed.
Spirits brightened, Hermione dances with others and drinks more wine than she has ever allowed herself to indulge in.
She is light on her feet, smiling and enjoying the night.
It feels good.
And then a silver orb appears. An official communication.
Everything stops.
It hovers in front of Harry, and his grin melts away.
The king has returned early to a coup led by the queen. Come now.
The orb's message sobers Hermione instantly.
Harry pulls out his wand, kisses Ginny in apology, and leaves on the back of Buckbeak.
Gossip always outpaces the official news.
Word travels fast in the night.
There is no trial. No audience. No attention.
Only whispers tell the tale after her defeat in a duel with the king.
Queen Millicent is given the Dementor's Kiss for treason.
Rumours claim that even as her soul was sucked from her body, she did not plead for her life. She held her head high with no regrets, and used her energy to spit on the king, then curse his name with her final breath.
The next part of the story varies depending on who is whispering in the shadows.
Where it happened, how, and who was present are not constants, but everything else remains steadfast in each retelling: the Bulstrode family, who benefited heavily from the late queen's power, begged to take her body away to live the rest of her days as a shell. But King Draco denied the request and made them watch as he beheaded her before burning her in a pit of dragon fire.
Then he turned his wrath on them, stripping the entire Bulstrode line of both titles and wands, and banishing them to Azkaban, the frigid island of the forgotten.
The stories do not grant Hermione peace, only a foreboding feeling of impending calamity.
When Harry returns over a month later, the entire kingdom is still reeling—not from sadness at the death of the queen, but from the swift and brutal justice.
Restless, Hermione plans to leave Harry and Ginny to walk to the town and meet the elves who are to deliver the grain to the baker—a trip Father usually takes. She is surprised when the pair joins her.
"You do not have to come," Hermione assures them. "Rest. Enjoy all the days you have missed as newlyweds."
"I would like to." Harry smiles. "I thought perhaps we might visit your students, too. I have heard many stories and I wish to meet them while I am home. Perhaps we can also celebrate all the birthdays I have missed, including this last one."
"Ginny, reason with your husband."
"I cannot because I agree. Come. Let us make a day of it."
They all make the trip, with Ginny between them, arms looped through both of theirs. Hermione casts a wary eye over her shoulder at the barrels of grain that follow, hovering off the ground.
Hermione knows charms: how to ignite and extinguish candlelight, how to break the dirt beneath her hands, how to summon orbs of light to read under the cover of darkness. All practical spells to defend herself if needed. But it is nothing like what Harry is able to do with his wand.
The power he carries runs off of him in waves. His magic makes him confident. Calmer. Her brother has more than learned to fight and survive, he has learned to control his magic and thrive.
It is extraordinary.
During the walk, Harry tells of his arrival during the coup. "The battle within the palace was evenly matched, but at the first sign of the changing tide, those fighting for the queen began to flee."
Hermione cannot fathom the chaos, the innocent blood spilled, the lives lost. It sounds worse than she realised when Harry continues.
"It took us the next fortnight to hunt down every conspirator following Queen Millicent's execution. We learned how deep the treachery went from their memories, tried them all in a court presided over by the King's Council, and executed them all after a guilty verdict."
"Why does none of this seem surprising to you?" Hermione finally asks.
"It was a surprise—not the coup but that it happened as soon as the king arrived."
Ginny gasps. "Wait. You mean—"
"The king has known for years that Queen Millicent was plotting against him."
"Yet he did nothing?"
"We have been busy with warfare. It is a higher priority than the late queen's actions."
"To the king, perhaps." Hermione's anger sparks. "But to the thousands who have fallen victim to her cruelty, who have starved because of her oppressive greed, who have died because they dared to speak for what is just and—"
"Hermione," Harry says patiently, "there is much you do not know. There is much I cannot tell, either, but the queen was not always this person. Time and hatred poisoned her. The king has his faults in this, he knows, but defeating the Carrows finally gave him time to return home to handle the situation."
"I wonder." Hermione taps her chin. "Were you present for the queen's interrogation?"
"Yes. She confessed with and without Veritaserum. However…" His brows furrow as if struck by a memory. "I do recall her memories of some of the conspirators being wiped."
"Convenient, which means there are more that you all did not catch."
"That is exactly what the king said."
Something else that makes little sense? "Why did the king return to the palace knowing there would be a coup?"
"Sometimes you must become the bait in your own trap," Harry says. "Draco delayed his return with a flying tour of the kingdom alone. Easy to believe he was arriving alone when word was I was getting married. The rest of the knights hid in the towns around the castle, within the palace disguised as workers, and in the forests—all in communication, all prepared to defend at his dragon's call. It was a wise decision, even if it did not yield all the answers we were looking for."
"You speak highly of the king." Hermione cannot ignore the almost friendly regard in which her brother refers to the man who rules over them all.
"I know him better now than when I first met him. He was horrid. Arrogant, elitist, and often cruel to those beneath him. But also angry and terrified in ways I did not yet understand. I was there when his mother died, and what we all learned is she was the last strand that held his father's sanity together. Without her…"
Hermione looks down in understanding.
"How did it change?" Ginny asks quietly. "Between you and the king, I mean."
"Not all at once. I nearly killed him a few times during our training, and not all by accident either." Harry chuckles ruefully but then his smile dims. "The day his father died, Dra…never mind."
Desperate for information, Hermione wants to push but the haunted gleam in his eyes makes her stop. She and Ginny exchange worried looks at the darkness that befalls him.
But then like a storm, it passes with a forced smile. "I suppose another benefit is his familiar. Neither he nor I would be alive today were it not for his dragon saving us from Fiendfyre during the latest battle. We went back to save Sir Crabbe and Sir Goyle when they fell through the floor."
Ginny gasps. "You did not tell me about this."
"I did not want you to fret."
She swats him in the arm. "I do not care. I wish to know everything, good and bad. Remember that the next time you are called back to the battlefield."
"I agree." Hermione looks at her brother. "We should do better with corresponding. I wish to know the world you get to see, just as you wish to know the world you have left behind."
Harry is quiet for several moments, adjusting his glasses. "Sometimes it is difficult to speak about it, about my life in service to the crown. The knights are my family, too. We were brought together, we fought together, and we took each loss personally. Sir Crabbe being the latest. The king is a knight, too. I have fought by his side in a war you do not agree with. I have taken lives. I—"
"You were acting on orders." Ginny soothes the place she just struck him.
"I was, but I know the king and what we all face well enough to give my loyalty unquestioned."
"Spoken like a true knight," Hermione teases to lighten the mood.
"I am but my loyalty is not bound by duty, blindness, or complacency. The king is a man, just as I am. We are now strangers in our own lands. In some ways, he is as unprepared to rule as I was to be a knight."
"But you were trained and given the tools needed to fight. You learned."
"As will he."
The delivery is quick.
While Harry counts the Sickles from the baker, she and Ginny buy four loaves of fresh sweet bread and make their way to the orphanage to deliver the treat to the children.
As well as introduce Harry to the brood.
Every exposure is a learning opportunity to the children; they have not seen much of the world.
He talks to the group about being a knight, about the wand he carries, and gives them a highly abridged tale of the war he has been fighting.
He crosses wooden swords, recites one verses all, his rallying battle cry, before he is tackled at the legs by Emilia. The whole scene makes the ever-serious Minerva laugh out loud. He runs and plays on brooms, happy and free while she and Ginny look on, their arms linked.
On their way back hours later, Harry tells Hermione of their plans now that they are married.
"Ginny and I are to spend spring and summer at Court." He gives his worried wife a reassuring smile then looks at Hermione. "Perhaps you might visit, Hermione. You would be welcomed as a Duke's daughter, a Lady, and my sister."
"The Court will see me as nothing more than their adopted daughter of common birth."
"You are more than that. Father is bequeathing half of everything to you upon his death, including the title of Duchess."
"What?" Hermione did not know this. "Why would he—"
"He wants you taken care of, should anything happen to him, or even me. Mother, too. And he knows you will care for the people in the duchy." Harry lays a hand on her arm to draw her from her spiralling thoughts. "Ask him for yourself. Or not. I just think you should come to Court and see what life is all about. Mother and Father hate it. You might, as well, but I am sure it will be an interesting tale to bring home to your students."
Hermione's mission is to show them as many facets of life as she can. "I will think about it."
"Do not decide now, but I am set to leave in a fortnight. The Royal Counsel will be selecting his new queen from the noble families, as you know. The king wants us present." Harry looks at her. "As always, you are exempt."
The status of her parents excludes her from the selection pool for an unfortunate arranged marriage to a temperamental and brutal king.
Nothing about this upsets her. It is a blessing.
The next queen does not survive a fortnight before she, too, dies by the king's hand.
"It was a merciful act." Harry—a man who has seen war and death and violence—returns home the morning after the ordeal clearly shaken. There are burns on his hands, and the tips of his fingers are as black as his clothes. "Queen Katie could not be saved from the enchanted necklace."
When the king woke moments before the dagger she was wielding plunged into his chest, her eyes aglow, the necklace began to scorch the new queen's skin. The Royal elves called for the knights and Harry tried to rip it off. His hands are burned in service to another.
"It was too late. The king tried to scour her mind in her final moments to determine who had given her the necklace, but found she had put it on freely thinking it would give her the strength to kill him."
Ginny looks on in worry as Hermione blends a paste for his burns and wraps his fingers in cloth before helping him into gloves. "Do not take the cloth off until morning. Your burns will be healed."
"Thank you." He rises. "Vasades has taught you much in my absence."
"She has."
While Hermione cleans up, Harry guides his wife to the other side of the room to apologise for delaying their honeymoon. He is due to return to the palace post-haste to meet with the king.
"I do not care about our travels," Ginny whispers fiercely. "Only your safe return."
"I love you."
Ginny closes her eyes as their foreheads touch. "And I, you."
Hermione gives the leftover salve to her brother as he prepares to leave.
"My fingers feel better." He flexes his hand inside his armoured glove but accepts the tin.
"It is not for you." She feels odd putting words to an act that should be natural. "Share it with anyone who might have similar burns."
Harry cannot disguise his surprise. "I will see that it is used."
There is no gossip when the next selected queen does not make it to her wedding due to her involvement in yet another attempt on the king's life.
This time, the weapon of choice was poison.
A hush falls over the kingdom as winter blankets the land in snow.
The nobility is left unsettled. Another family is stripped of everything.
The amount of chaos within the palace signals disorder.
Instability.
For good reason, people begin to wonder if this will affect them. After all, everything does.
More than armies and King Draco, a kingdom is only as strong as its people, only as united as the loyalty of its subjects. The continued assassination attempts put King Draco's ability to rule into question.
The next month is filled with silence from the castle.
No news. No official decree. Not even a sighting of the king.
By the time the cold wanes, Harry has neither returned nor written.
Ginny takes long walks with Mother, who tries to ease her mind. She brews with Hermione to keep busy, but is so quiet she agrees to play games she hates. Her attempts are met with a decline.
As silence and tension spread to all parts of the kingdom, Hermione continues her tasks, delivers everything promised, and teaches her lessons with each different group of students.
But even they start to ask questions she cannot answer.
Each night, Hermione sits with her parents, her hand clasped in Mother's while Father reads aloud from a book of their choosing. Sometimes they suffer through her attempts to play the Chalumeau—her desire to play as many instruments as Mother is almost as insatiable as her thirst for knowledge. But she is not talented. Ginny is no better but Hermione's mistakes and clumsiness make her smother a smile.
It will do.
At the end of the second month with no word, Hermione walks to the forest's edge to seek Vasades' council. She is in need of it now more than ever.
Yet still, she is not there.
A wrongness sits in the stilted silence between the trees. A chill sends Hermione home.
It feels like a warning.
Hermione is in bed when she hears Harry's arrival.
She pulls on a cloak to greet him, but finds her parents, Harry, and Ginny gathered in the foyer dimly lit by candles. The room is heavy with apprehension. It is not directed at Harry, but at her.
"What has happened?"
"Come," Mother says and Hermione obeys. There is something strange in her green eyes. Sadness. Worry. "You must prepare."
"For what?" Hermione is confused.
"We will need to teach you the ways of Court as quickly as possible." She seems uncommonly frazzled. "Perhaps, we have time to fit you for new gown or lace or—"
"Mother, please answer me." Hermione's heart is racing faster and faster.
"I am to return to Court with you," Harry says as if that is enough of an explanation. "The king is to choose his own bride."
"I have always been excluded. I am adopted, my birth parents—"
"You are not exempt," Father says. "Not this time."
Like a flower, Mother's silence blooms with each passing day since Hermione's summoning.
Alive yet coloured by the things she does not say, half-formed sentences starve for a conclusion her mother cannot vocalise. But Hermione's mind paints what she cannot conceal. Emotions are the watercolours and life is the canvas on which she works.
The morning she is set to leave, red fear, purple nostalgia, and blue sorrow drip on her canvas during their walk at dawn. Their impending separation is something Hermione has reservations about as well, but she feels there is something missing.
Something her mother knows but does not tell.
Something they all know, but she…
Hermione struggles to reach the thought, tries to grasp…
But it is gone.
Like sand between her fingers.
It leaves her feeling empty, twisted, longing for something to fill the silence—perhaps the clang of metal meeting metal, laughter and energy—anything to pierce the mood.
But since Mother cannot, Hermione decides she must. "Shall we spar once more before I go?"
The breeze catches her mother's red hair. "No."
Disappointment deflates Hermione, but she is determined. "I will be home in a fortnight with much to tell you of Court. I will likely return with your understanding of why you hate it so. And you will laugh at your own intense sorrow at seeing me go."
Mother looks at her, really looks at her, but her gaze is unreadable. Soft yet heavy with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. She stops walking and catches Hermione's hand, bringing her to stand before her, the sun on her back. Only then does Mother's smile turn genuine.
It is a relief.
"You are everything I did not expect but also everything I wanted you to be. Stubborn and courageous, strong and intelligent, but most of all fair and kind." Her lips quirk in a hint of amusement Hermione has missed during dress fittings and emergency lessons on Court etiquette. "I want nothing more than to hide you away, to protect you. It is instinct for me to want to keep you to myself, but Vasades was right. You cannot fly if I clip your wings before you learn to use them."
"I would not be who I am without your example."
"And you have much to learn without me." Her face turns serious. "Your loneliest place is not of this world, it is within you." They are the same height but she feels small when her mother's hand caresses her cheek. Hermione leans into her touch. "You must go into the darkness to understand your light."
"Is—is this what Vasades told you?"
"When she left you with us, yes." Mother brings their foreheads together. "I will miss you."
"You speak as if you will never see me again."
"I will see you… soon."
Wiltshire looks nicer than Hermione expects.
At least from above.
Harry guides Buckbeak to their destination while his Thestral follows.
Anticipation builds to its peak when the wards welcome them warmly after they fly between two stone pillars. She holds onto her brother a little tighter. It makes him turn his head quickly before steering Buckbeak along for the scenic view.
Patches of forests give way to farmland. The houses are few and far between until they reach the edge of the castle town where hundreds of homes are tightly organised in rows on the outskirts. The homes slowly get larger and more spaced out as they approach the palace walls. Likely where the rich live.
All streets lead to the centre of Wiltshire.
It is a large, open space where many gather today.
There is nothing Hermione wants more than to get her fill exploring the sprawling town from within. She is eager to experience the culture and discover this place.
But there is only one destination in their travel plans, and they are here.
The castle.
Now that they are close, it is her final focus. Light stone walls and unused green land separate the castle from the town. It stands taller and is larger and wider than any structure she has ever seen, with plenty of towers and courtyards tucked within its walls.
The stunning architectural feat is only made more impressive when Buckbeak flies around the back. The castle's rear entrance is built into the small cliff that overlooks a vast lake. The grassy beach at the bottom of the cliff is a surprise, as is the isthmus that leads to a large peninsula of open space with trees and barns.
It is where Buckbeak lands gracefully and trots until he stops.
The breeze makes Hermione feel as if she is still in the air.
Only when Harry helps her off the saddle does she fix her cloak and look around.
It is a stark contrast to the castle town. Thestrals roam freely, as do horses, domesticated wyverns, and other flying beasts. There is a young stablehand, Dennis Creevey, Harry tells her, who is excited to see Harry. After they talk, the boy bows reverently to Buckbeak.
Not a moment passes before the gesture is returned.
He reaches into his bag and offers Buckbeak his favourite—ferret—before the young boy leads him away by the reins and towards the other hippogriffs, who begin to take notice of his presence. He tosses up a second ferret, which is snapped out of the air in spectacular fashion.
Hermione smiles and turns to Harry. "There are no wards that I can feel. How do they keep all the animals here?"
"There are wards you cannot feel. They stretch higher than the tallest tower and extend to both ends of the lake. It does not prevent them from flying or hunting for fish, but they cannot go beyond unless they have a rider on their backs." Harry takes out his wand. "The wards also repel the wild dragons who prey on smaller creatures. There is plenty of land here, and they are all safe and cared for."
Despite his reassurance, Hermione is not inclined to leave Buckbeak until she sees him being accepted by the other hippogriffs gathered around him, bumping beaks in greeting.
"Raised by the Scamanders?"
"Yes."
Harry points his wand at her. With a spell, the colour of her gown changes from fine red to olive green. Her cloak transforms to brown.
"There is a welcome feast tonight that the king will not attend." Harry offers his arm and she takes it without question. "The selection meetings begin tomorrow, but you are on the third day out of five. Should he choose before your day, you will be free to return home."
Which is likely.
"Since I am not certain how they plan to occupy your days, I figured you might want the luxury of spending the afternoon exploring to your heart's content."
Hermione's smile grows. "I would."
Time and distance mean little. Harry still knows her best.
Wiltshire's town square is noisy, lively and full of magic as young and old alike enjoy a Market Day. Children run about, playing with magical toys, while guards patrol the streets for safety.
The only difference here versus home is the crowd and the number of vendors selling Sickle flowers, grains, seeds, animals, produce, and wares.
But there is one major difference.
The palace looms over it all.
Its shadow is a sentient presence presiding over everything.
It takes Hermione time to get her bearings, but once she does, she thinks it will be easy to become another face in the crowd. She catches a few curious people looking, not at her, but at Harry, who walks beside her with the posture and wand that identify him easily as a knight or a member of the nobility.
"Must you arm yourself?" Hermione glares at her brother. "It brings much attention to us. I cannot explore if I am escorted around like a Lady."
"You are a Lady."
"Out here, I shall be free to be whomever I wish. I will be a Lady when I enter the castle and not a second before."
"If you mean to be a pain in my arse, you are doing a fine job."
"Likewise!"
The two glare at each other before they break out in smiles, then laughter at their squabbling. It has been years but they are back to it like no time has passed. Harry pulls her into the entrance of an alley between two stores. "Do you remember where we are meeting?"
"Yes, by the North Entrance at sunset."
"Do you have enough Galleons?"
"Yes." She gives Harry a cutting look. "I also have my bezoar and Wiggenweld, as well as my quick wit and Mother's favourite dagger she gifted me to cut the throat of anyone who means harm. Anything else, Father?"
His mouth drops. "Take that back."
"I will not." She raises her chin and folds her arms across her chest.
Her brother's mock offence grows. "Father might not discourage you from freeing trapped dragons and healing dangerous beasts, but he would not allow you to explore alone."
"Fine." Hermione knows he is right. "I recant."
"Good. Be sure to keep to the crowds. There are oddities lurking about. We have had an influx of Inferi sightings and unicorn deaths. Keep clear of the deep forest."
She cannot believe how casually Harry speaks about horrors. "Oh my goodness, are—"
"We will speak more on it later. I will use this time to investigate. There are other soldiers milling about, keeping an eye out for trouble. You are safe here." Her brother rests a hand on her shoulder. "See you in two hours."
Once he is gone, Hermione heeds his warnings and remains in the crowded area. It becomes much easier to vanish. Hermione buys hemp, peppercorn, and other fruit seeds she has never seen at home—all with the plan to introduce them to the land, the town, the people.
A pale man wearing full robes and a turban bumps into her. "P-p-p-pardon me."
"It is all right." Hermione lowers her head and continues on.
After perusing the linens and cloth, allowing her fingers to graze the silk for quality, she gives advice to the man selling grains on how to improve his yield. At the Apothecary booth, run by a witch who introduces herself as Domitia, she stops to see what she has to offer and finds there is nothing available that she cannot brew for herself with the correct ingredients. When she begins to leave, Domitia dips below the curtain and comes back with a vial.
"Since nothing else interests you, perhaps Amortentia will. That is, if you are in need of love. The king seeks a queen and, despite your lack of an escort, the way you carry yourself tells me you are here as a contender."
Before Hermione can deny it, the woman gives her the vial.
Her smile grows at the same rate as Hermione's interest in the contents.
"I assure you, it will work. Ten Galleons and it is yours."
It is an astronomical price for a potion, but Hermione knows she looks like someone who can afford it.
To play along, she takes a closer, more critical look. "Is it your only?"
"It is, Milady." Her words drip with an unmistakable disdain.
Hermione grinds her teeth but does not correct her. Instead, she swirls the contents of the vial and cuts her eyes to the woman. "Amortentia is very difficult to make."
"I am very talented at what I do."
"I can see. Your other potions are of good quality, but this is something else." Hermione's sharp politeness and the way she steps closer makes the taller woman's smile fade. "Amortentia does not create love, it creates dangerous infatuation. Not only is this potion illegal, what you are trying to sell to me is little more than a mixture of sinopia and lime white. Nearly the proper colour, but still incorrect. It is missing the mother-of-pearl sheen that is impossible to replicate."
Caught, the witch lunges to snatch it back but Hermione is ready. She brings a hand to the woman's chest. The same push of magic she uses to break through dirt leaves the woman disoriented.
"There are two guards within yelling distance." Hermione pockets the vial. "And since you have so kindly reminded me of my title, I will use it to draw attention to your fake, illegal potion."
Domitia instantly turns remorseful. "Please, I beg you, do not. I have littles and—"
"My title does not mean I am an easy target, just as yours does not make you one either." Hermione places one Galleon on the wooden stall. "I feel this is more than enough compensation, yes?"
"Yes." Domitia rubs the sore part of her chest. "It is."
"Excellent." Hermione smiles and begins to leave but stops. "Oh, and should I hear any whisper of anyone else purchasing Amortentia, I will gladly give my memory of our encounter so that they may find you swiftly. If I do not, this will be the last you see of me."
The woman stares at her with wide eyes. "You mean, you will not send the guards?"
"No." She steps back and inclines her head. "The rest of your products are of good quality. You would do well to sell them instead of lies."
When she reaches the end of the vendors, there is still time to spare before she has to meet Harry.
There is but one thing left to do.
Hermione wanders, walking up one cobblestone street and then down another, over and over, observing how the people of the town live. It does not appear to be much different, just larger in scale. The homes in this part of town seem to belong to merchants but—
Hermione stops at the end of another street that leads to the forest.
She remembers what Harry said about oddities, yet her curiosity does not allow her to pass up the opportunity to venture out. As soon as she steps off the cobblestone and onto dirt, she exhales a breath she did not know she was holding.
This forest sings a different tune.
As she wanders deeper, touching each tree she passes in greeting, she learns this forest is neutral but shows signs of discontent. Magical wildlife is all around her—hints of fairy whispers and distant hinkypunk sounds.
They hide as if she is the danger.
Perhaps she is, simply because she looks like any other human in town.
Trash on the forest floor speaks of those who invade without care. When she picks up a discarded cup, she notices footprints of creatures she cannot identify, and—
Wait.
Is that water?
Hermione follows the sound and finds the river she expects.
But also something she does not.
Not only is there an unconscious man leaned against a boulder with white blond hair that contrasts the black sand on the large river's edge, there is also a very familiar black dragon drawing shallow breaths beside him.
She recognises the dragon and its rider from the meadow.
Hermione sprints to the man's side and drops to her knees.
Deathly pale, the rider's lips are slowly turning black. The stranger sweats profusely, and his eyes are moving rapidly under closed eyelids.
There is an arrow sticking out of his side.
The two arrows already on the ground and blood on his hands tell of his attempts to save himself.
Before she reaches to pull it out, Hermione stops and inhales, just as Vasades taught her.
Something smells like death, like—
White ooze slides from his parted lips before he starts coughing and gagging.
Choking.
The pieces slide into place.
Poison.
Hermione pulls out her dagger and cuts open his tunic, expecting to find blood. But it is merely a few flesh wounds, and it is easy to pull the final arrow tip out without making him bleed further.
Tossing the arrow aside, she fumbles with her cloak, pulling out the vials of bezoar and Wiggenweld. Hands shaking, she fumbles with them both, but picks up the bezoar and feeds him one, using handfuls of river water and two drops of Wiggenweld to make sure he swallows.
It is all she can do.
Thankfully, it does not take long for the combination to work.
Colour begins to return to his cheeks, warmth seeps into his skin, and his breathing eases. She uses the damp ends of her gown to clean his mouth before moving to her second patient.
The dragon.
Hermione only knows what she has read and gathered from Ron's brother, Charlie, who tames them.
Approaching slowly, she checks for injury, and finds the culprit in the same arrows that were in its rider. They, too, are shallow wounds, likely shot from the ground while they were in the sky. When she pulls each free, the dragon's skin heals over instantly.
Human poison cannot kill a dragon, but it acts as a paralytic, slowing them down.
The beast stirs when she returns to its rider's side, resting her hand on the wound that has long since stopped bleeding. She remembers her lessons and heals him with a simple spell.
"That is better."
A long, low rumble from the dragon makes Hermione jolt. She scrambles away when its eye opens, red iris focused on her. It does not attack, so she slowly continues working under its observation.
"You can trust me. I will not harm either of you." Another two drops of Wiggenweld for the unconscious stranger should be more than enough to finish healing him from the inside. "Now we wait."
He needs rest—protection, at the very least—until he can move on his own. From his stature, and the litany of healed scars that cover his body, she can tell he is capable of protecting himself once he is well, just as he has for what looks like a lifetime.
Impulse makes Hermione brush the hair from his forehead. Her cautious fingertips linger on his cool skin.
Who are you?
He looks no older than her. Handsome in an elusive way, with hard lines and angular features, yet his hair is as deceptively soft as his skin.
Have we met before?
These questions will go unanswered as long as he remains unconscious, which sets her back into action and onto her feet, planning how she is going to find Harry and drag him here as quickly as possible.
But first she washes her hands in the river.
Hermione does not notice the dragon move until it is too late.
It does not charge, nor does it burn her alive. Still, instinctive fear makes her scream and stumble, cowering as the beast spreads its wings and lifts itself from the ground.
Even in fear, she still finds it beautiful.
Panting, Hermione shields herself from the force of wind produced by its massive wings. All she can do is watch as the dragon carefully picks up its rider with its claw and carries him into the setting skies.
Long after they vanish, she sits in stunned silence, wet and dishevelled.
"Why are you late?" Harry looks her over when she stumbles to their meeting spot. "And wet?"
Hermione has no excuses, so for the first time, she lies, "I fell in the fountain."
Clearly suspicious, Harry tries to catch her gaze, but guilt keeps her eyes averted. "Fine, I will allow you to keep your secret."
He dries her with a charm and leads the way to the palace.
But she does not know the path they take.
Instead of their surroundings, her eyes watch the sky.
Sagitta: "The Arrow" The constellation is associated with several myths. The arrow that Heracles used to strike down the eagle that Zeus sent to gnaw Prometheus' liver, the arrow that Apollo used to kill the Cyclopes, and the arrow of Eros which made Zeus fall in love with Ganymede - just to name a few.
A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, kudos, love, etc. Hope this answered a lot of lingering questions: Millicent, the relationship/history between Draco/Harry, how Hermione gets to the palace, how we're twisting canon but also now we contend with who shot Draco with that arrow and other hinted mysteries afoot. Man got 99 problems. Now the fun continues. Til next week!