Kenmare Kestrels
Beater 1
Prompts: (song) Old enough to die; Reading the lyrics made me thing about being old enough to make your own decisions, to choose your own fate even if it means choosing death. There were also themes of bravery and the repeated phrase of "one shot", as in one chance. In my story, Hermione takes that one chance to change something, to be brave, when she decides to throw herself in front of Harry. She's choosing her own fate, wherever it leads her. Also, the one shot comes in from one shot from Draco, one from Harry, and one from Goyle. Them all hitting at the same time was a once in a lifetime possibility.
Additional prompts: (color) amber, (word) simmer
A/N: Voldemort is Dead AU, Wizarding Culture and Etiquette AU
Word count: 2381
The first time Miss Hermione Granger met Miss Lavender Brown and Miss Parvati Patil, she was terrified. Doubly so when she realized they would be sharing the same room. Lavender was polite and adhered to pureblood customs. Her family was only ten years away from becoming Attributed. She was bubbly, friendly, and kind. But no matter how Hermione tried, she could only see Aspen Honeycourt, the bubbly girl who befriended her during second grade. It turned out to be a horrible prank, and ended with a broken heart, a torn book, and so much gum in Hermione's hair that her entire head had to be shaved. It certainly didn't help that Lavender and Parvatil liked to talk about wizarding fashion and spend time wondering if they would meet the person they would bond with before they left school. It was the magical version of the same gossip Aspen liked to talk about most.
Hermione learned, before school and after she got her letter, that bonding and fashion were actually quite important in her new culture. Bonding was combining one's magic with another's in a way that was nigh unbreakable. An unbinding could kill one or both of the ones involved. It could even ruin the bonds with any children that resulted from the bonding. Marriage was practically a swear word. Impermanent. Lesser. As for clothing and fashion, it could make or break a person's chances at success because not only what, but how a person dressed, revealed so much about them. But, knowing that didn't mean that Hermione knew how to talk about it, or that she enjoyed hearing about it copiously.
So Hermione hid behind her bed curtains with large books, spent her time in the library, and studied. She studied for her classwork and her etiquette and everything and anything she could get her hands on. The Hogwarts library had shelves that could expand thrice their apparent size. Hermione was sure she could die happy. Then, somehow, she found herself in friendships with Harry (Heir Potter) and Ron (Mr. Ronald Weasley) and Neville (Heir Longbottom) and she was too busy keeping them from failing their classes to worry about Miss Lavender Brown.
The end of second year changed that. It was an all out horrible year anyway. Her Grandmother had a stroke just before school and Hermione was the only one in the entire family that she'd forgotten. Even when Hermione was standing in front of her, she would not believe she was her parents' daughter. Then Harry kept having headaches and wouldn't go to Madame Pomfrey about them, even though Hermione was certain they were symptoms from some type of bond withdrawal. Poor Neville was having problems with his wand, but wouldn't go to anyone about it and Hermione wasn't sure it was her place to interfere. But even those things paled in comparison to what happened next.
Ron's wand was broken in a scuffle with Heirs Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe that started over the Chudley Cannons of all things. Malfoy's wit proved too much for Ron, and in a fit of anger he'd told Malfoy that at least his family could have more than one child, and at least they took care of their daughters. She'd never felt or seen someone's anger before, but Malfoy's magic literally covered his skin in a shimmer of blue, silver, and white, even a dark streak of black, and the air was thick with it. What left his wand wasn't even a spell, just a beam of magic, and it had sent Ron wheeling backwards, where he landed on his wand and snapped it. Harry had jumped forward to defend Ron, raising his wand, and Hermione knew that if he fired a spell, something terrible would happen, a bell would be rung that couldn't be unwrung because Heir Potter would officially be assisting Mister Weasley in the Blood Feud the Malfoys had justly called against his family line. He would become an enemy to the Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. But she didn't know any spell to stop it. So she did what any desperate, brash Muggleborn Gryffindor would do. She jumped between them.
"Stop!"
Malfoy couldn't, but he did try to redirect. She'll never know whether Harry tried to stop because her back was to him. She liked to think he did. Either way, she was hit at exactly the same time by Malfoy's magic (her shoulder instead of her chest) and Harry's (a fumbled jelly leg jinx straight to the spine), and a rather impressive haymaker by a horror stricken Mister Goyle. She didn't remember screaming, but she was later told she did, before dropping unconscious and unmoving on the ground.
The thing with accidental or instinctual magic, especially when one was so young, was that it was unpredictable, wild, and, at times, terribly complex and confusing. Which meant Madame Pomfrey and the Healers who came to inspect her, knew much of what was wrong with her, but not everything, and so healing was a matter of trial and error. Mostly errors. For Hermione it was quite simple. She could hear, smell, feel, and taste, but she couldn't move or open her eyes or control her body in any way. Almost as if she'd been petrified. So she spent three months trapped inside of her own body trying not to go mad. The visitors helped.
Her first visitor after she regained consciousness was Lady Milicent Bulstrode. She was the second child of Hermione's sponsors, Lord and Lady Bulstrode, and she was also a First Year, but a Slytherin instead of a Gryffindor. The first few visits, things had been awkward between them. Then Milicent's cat, a three legged Kneazle who was missing an eye after a fight with a rather large augury, came into the room and they were able to bond over their love of ugly but utterly magnificent felines. Millie's public mask was that of a gruff and terrifying Bulstrode witch from a line of witches said to be descended from Baba Yaga herself. In private, Millie was rather sweet, her favorite treats were chocolate dipped blood pops and pepper imps, and she had a lovely singing voice. It was Millie who gripped her hand tightly and talked quietly.
"Don't worry, Mouse, I owled Mum and Dad as soon as I heard. They're on their way. I think they might even bring Grandmum. They're angry. Not at you. We have been encouraging you to be decisive, after all. Didn't think you'd decide to be a shield. There should be wards that stop raw aggressive magic and they're not there. Draco is miserable. I don't think he's ever been out of control like that. He hates Weasley and Potter even more now I reckon. I think the Malfoys will probably offer some sort of act of contrition or reparation.
But Gregory is even worse. He was weeping. They had to give him a calming draught, he was so upset he hit you. He should be, of course, but this is a bit extreme. Pansy heard Master and Madame Goyle are at a Veela healer in France for Lady Goyle's condition, so it will take a while to contact them. I'm not sure how they'll react.
I'm not certain how often they'll allow visitors, but I'll come when I can. I hope you wake up by tomorrow, but if you don't, I'll sneak Augie in to visit." Augie was Lady Aurora the Slayer of Auguries and Hunter of Mice.
Madame Pomfrey soon shooed Millie out and the treatments began.
Her next visitor was, to her genuine surprise, Draco Malfoy. She sensed someone was there for ten minutes before he spoke.
"Miss Granger," His voice was rather subdued, "I do not know if you can hear me, but I would like to assure you that your hair is both up and covered, as is your person. I… I am here to apologize. I could put some of the blame on you for jumping in front of Potter, but… but it was my lack of control that allowed your injury to occur and… and… to make you feel it was necessary in the first place."
She heard him sigh, and then the stiffness from his voice was gone, but so was the strength. He sounded small. She knew she would never hear him like this if he knew she could hear him.
"I've never hurt someone before. Not like that. Especially not a witch. It's not fair! The wretched Blood Traitor has a bruise on his bum and his wand broke, but your scream… I hope I never cause that sound ever again. So I'm very sorry, Granger. I hope you consider forgiving me when you wake. If you wake. My parents are out talking to the Bulstrodes right now trying to come to an agreement. If you were stepping in front of Weasley we'd be having a different conversation, but everyone knows you weren't. You were protecting Potter. And, entirely by accident, you protected me from him. That prat doesn't know how lucky he is. You deserve better friends, Granger."
A soft, feminine voice called out to him.
"Coming, Mother! Get better, Granger."
Hermione was still reeling from his visit and trying to make her fingers work enough to pinch herself when the smell of wild oak and plums began to fill the area.
"Oh child," an age roughened voice sighed, "How are you going to become a New Blood if you dive in front of hot headed young wizards making fools of themselves? You do remember courting etiquette, I hope. You have to be at least fifteen. Because if you had stepped in front of a raging nundu instead of a raging pea chick, it would have been a rather impressive, but highly age inappropriate offer of bonding."
Grandmother Bulstrode. She'd never had a title besides Miss or Mrs. and she refused to answer to anything but Grandmother when someone from the family was speaking with her. She had extended that right to Hermione once the end of the year exam results came in. She came from a secondary line of Bulstrodes, as did Millicent's mother. Hermione desperately wanted to at least squeak in indignation, but her breathing wouldn't even change.
The old woman chuckled sadly, "You must be terribly ill. You didn't even squeak at me, Little Mouse. I've brought some healing sachets for you. They will help your magic flow where it needs to and bring you some healing rest. How about a little lullaby, hm?"
Hermione fell asleep to her long, lilting lullaby.
She woke again to her next visitors holding a conversation.
"She looks like she could be Bella's or Meda's daughter with those curls."
It was the voice that called Heir Malfoy away earlier. It could be no one besides his mother,
Lady Narcissa Malfoy nee Black.
"She does," a refined male voice answered. It had to be Draco's father, Lord Lucius Malfoy. "Draco mentioned that her eyes are a warm amber color. Didn't Lycoris have eyes that shade? Are they certain there isn't any Black in her?
"Yes," Lady Malfoy replied, "At least, not in the last twenty generations."
"Aloysius said she has more potential than any other Muggleborn the Bulstrodes have sponsored in the last three centuries."
"That is impressive. I do wish it had been our turn to sponsor. It would have been nice to have another witch in the house."
Even as young as she was, Hermione heard the pain of an old wound in Lady Malfoy's voice. She remembered Ron's terrible taunt and felt sick.
"I promise you, I will do everything in my power to ensure the line of Arthur Weasley ends. I will turn his children against him and ruin his name to such a degree that the Main line will disown them. I will end this Blood Feud."
"Would you forgive it, if I asked?"
Lord Malfoy drew a sharp breath but spoke instantaneously, "If you asked it of me, I would use the ancestral athame that started it to end it. I would spill my blood and proclaim it. Is that what you wish, darling?"
"No. That line does not deserve forgiveness. You are my lord-husband. Your battles are my battles. Your enemies are my enemies. I was born Black, dearest, our enemies always come to destruction."
Hermione was struck by the sheer power and emotion their quiet, private words held. Was this because they were truly bound? Or because of who they were? She felt…extremely humbled, to hear these words. And also extremely guilty. Who was she to hear this?
Lord Malfoy finally spoke again. "Enough maudlin thoughts. You have a trip to France to plan."
"I do. I hope Miss Granger appreciates the trip."
"Aloysius assured me that, if nothing else, she'll love it for the library."
"It is a lovely library," Lady Malfoy conceded, "However, the Parisian Blue Hornet Silk is exquisite."
Lord Malfoy chuckled, "So it is. Shall we, my lady-wife? I think you've arranged the flowers enough by now."
"I do hope they help," Lady Malfoy replied.
Flowers? There were flowers? How long had she been unconscious? How long since she'd been hurt?
"I am ready for my escort, Lord-Husband."
"By your word."
Their footsteps retreated and sound filled the space again. Belatedly, she realized they must have cast a silencing spell or ward. Not long after, Madame Pomfrey came in again, along with what Hermione assumed were the other healers who had been helping her. Hermione prepared herself for the pain.
Over the lingering pain, Hermione could feel her curiosity and determination simmer to life. She was going to France with the Narcissa Malfoy? Parvati and Lavender were going to turn absolutely green with envy. It seemed that she would finally be able to determine if they were truly like Aspen or not. Really, she felt like she was learning a lot from this incident as she listened to the different information being revealed while she was "sleeping". So much had changed with that single decision to jump in front of Harry and take the shot for him. Her world was already different than it was before. She couldn't wait to wake up and explore it properly.