The city of Pentos buzzed with whispers about The Wandering Flame. They spoke of her healing touch, her quiet strength, and the uncanny way she seemed to radiate power, like an ember waiting to ignite. These stories had reached Illyrio Mopatis, a man whose interests often aligned with intrigue and profit, and now they occupied a seat at his lavish dining table.
The private hall of Illyrio Mopatis' grand manse was an opulent display of excess. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of Valyrian splendor, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic incense and roasted meats. Luxury oosed from its very walls. It was a palace meant to impress and intimidate. Melisandre moved through its corridors with the confidence of one who was never out of place, her crimson robes trailing behind her like flowing embers.
She had come to speak with Illyrio, knowing full well the merchant prince would have something to say about Hermione Misagaenys. Illyrio himself reclined on a cushioned divan, his vast frame draped in silks that strained against his girth. A goblet of spiced wine rested in one hand, and a knowing smile played on his lips as he regarded his guest.
She had not expected, however, to find Sirius Misagaenys already there.
Seated across from Illyrio in the sumptuous drawing room, Sirius Misagaenys looked out of place. His extravagant robes were well-worn, and his piercing gray eyes carried a defiance that did not suit Illyrio's cushioned elegance.
Melisandre stood before him, a striking contrast to her surroundings. Her crimson robes seemed to draw the firelight from every brazier, her ruby pendant glowing with its own light. She was calm, her hands folded, her piercing gaze fixed on Illyrio.
"Forgive the interruption," she said, her voice smooth and commanding. "But it seems I have arrived at an opportune moment."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lady of Light?" Illyrio asked, his tone oozing with courtesy and intrigue.
"The work of the fire extends beyond the flames you see. I come to speak of a woman." Melisandre's lips curved into a faint smile.
"A woman?" Illyrio's eyes twinkled with curiosity. "There are many women in Pentos, my lady. What makes this one so… worthy of your attention?"
"She is a flame hidden in plain sight," Melisandre said, voice smooth and certain. "Hermione Misagaenys. A name foreign to these lands, but one you will soon hear on many tongues."
Illyrio's brow arched in interest. "The healer," he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Yes, I've heard whispers This healer who has captured the hearts of Pentos... She's been garnering many a quaint title. Tell me, why is she of interest to you?"
"She does not yet know the extent of her power," Melisandre replied. "But the fire knows her. She heals the sick, mends what is broken, and inspires those who have nothing left to believe in. It is not by accident that she has come to Pentos."
Illyrio chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound.
"Ah, so you mean to claim her as one of your fire-gods' chosen? A figure for which the servants can use to claim their freedom? A useful ally, no doubt. But what does this have to do with me?"
"I know her," Sirius snapped, his voice firm. "She's not some mystic or chosen flame. She's Hermione, my daughter. She's been through enough without being turned into some city's savior."
Melisandre's eyes flicked between the two men, lingering briefly on Sirius.
"You are the one she mourns," she said, her tone a mixture of curiosity and certainty.
"The one who was lost to her."
"And you're the one filling her head with fire and prophecy," Sirius countered, his hand twitching. "What are you doing here?"
Melisandre met his gaze without flinching.
"I am here because she is more than you realize. The fire has shown me her path, and it is entwined with yours. I am meant to guide her to you."
Illyrio chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement.
As they talked it became clear to Sirius that Hermione's arrival in Pentos had stirred something deeper than the kindness of strangers. Illyrio, ever the opportunist, saw in her the traits of Valyrian nobility– traits that were revered even centuries after the Doom. Her healing, her magic, her command over people's hearts: all of it marked her as something extraordinary.
"You underestimate the power of perception. The people see what they want to see– a Valyrian princess come to heal their woes."
"She's not a princess." Sirius frowned.
"And yet, somehow, the Valyrian features are unmistakable," Illyrio replied smoothly, gesturing with his goblet.
"The curls of her hair, the cleverness in her eyes. Her talent for magic. If she were not of Valyrian descent, the gods themselves would have to be responsible for such a wonder."
"She could very well claim the lineage of Old Valyria." Illyrio said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "The people already believe it. The flame-haired healer of a distant land… It is a compelling story."
"It's not a story," Sirius said sharply. "And it's not your decision to make."
Melisandre, however, had a different perspective.
"The people see what they need to see," she said. "Hermione Misagaenys is a flame that cannot be hidden. Whether she claims it or not, the people will see her as their princess."
"And what about what she wants?" Sirius shot back.
Melisandre stepped closer, her presence magnetic. "What she wants is to help. To heal. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. This path will give her the means to do so. The fire has shown me glimpses of her path. There are forces converging around her– forces she does not yet understand. You, Illyrio, are a man who knows how to shape such forces."
"What would you have me do?" Illyrio tilted his head, his expression turning calculating.
"Watch her," Melisandre said simply. "Provide her with what she needs, but do not interfere. She must walk her path without the brunt weight of politics or schemes.
Guided by Melisandre's words, the next morning Sirius left Illyrio's manse and went to find Hermione. He found her in the courtyard of the inn, surrounded by a crowd of people seeking her aid. She knelt beside a child with a swollen ankle, her wand in hand, muttering an incantation as golden light flowed from its tip. The crowd murmured in awe, their reverence palpable.
Sirius watched for a moment, his heart heavy with a mixture of pride and grief. This was the same Hermione he had known– the girl with a fierce drive to make things right, for every downtrodden creature she came across– but she had become something more. The people looked at her as though she were a queen, and in a way she carried herself like one.
When she finally noticed him, her face lit up with a mixture of shock and joy.
"Sirius?" she whispered, rising to her feet.
"It's me, kitten," he said, his voice rough with emotion, the old nickname falling from his lips like a lifeline. "I've been looking for you."
Hermione sprang to her feet and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
"Sirius! I thought you were–" Her voice cracked, and she couldn't finish. Tears streamed down her face, and her hands clutched at his robes as though afraid he might vanish again.
"I know," Sirius murmured, holding her tightly. "I know, kitten. I'm here now."
They stood there for a long moment, neither willing to let go. Hermione pulled back just enough to look at him, her tear-streaked face a mixture of disbelief and relief.
"How are you here? How did you survive?"
Sirius smiled faintly. "Long story. But for now, I need to know– you're alright? Harry? Ron?
"They're fine," she said quickly, wiping her eyes. "But Sirius, It's been so hard. I didn't know what to do. I've been trying to help people, but I've done things–" She broke off, her voice trembling.
Sirius cupped her face in his hands, his expression softening.
"You've done more than anyone could ask, Hermione. I've been hearing about you all over the city– 'The Wandering Flame', they call you. I'm surprised, you've never been a fan of nicknames, let alone titles. You've made quite the impression."
Hermione's face flushed. "That's… not exactly by choice."
As they settled onto a low bench by the stables, Sirius hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.
"Hermione, there's something I need to tell you. When I saw you, that night at the festival… I– I claimed you as my daughter."
Hermione blinked at him. "You what?"
"It was the only way to get anyone to take me seriously," Sirius admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "Illyrio Mopatis is a hard man to press, and saying I was looking for a lost daughter– well, it seemed the quickest way to get help."
Hermione stared at him, torn between exasperation and affection. "Sirius, you could have just said you were my godfather."
"Wouldn't have had the same weight, there are men in high places who don't like much when a woman steps out of their perceived roles. It was the only way that I could make sure you were protected." Sirius said with a shrug. "Besides, you are like a daughter to me. Always have been."
Hermione let out a watery laugh, swiping at her eyes again. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're stuck with me," he said, pulling her into another hug.
"How did you end up here, Hermione?" He asked at last, his voice low. "Pentos isn't exactly the next stop after Hogwarts."
Hermione hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of the teacup. She had known this question would come eventually, but now that it had, she found it difficult to put everything into words.
"It started with the Department of Mysteries," She began, her voice quiet. "After… After we lost you, I couldn't let it go. The veil. I needed to know if there was a way to bring you back, or at least understand what it was."
"Hermione," Sirius choked out, "You shouldn't have, this place, it isn't meant for people like us.. Like you. It's a hard and unforgiving place."
"After everything that Harry's been through, I just– I needed to give him something. Anything! Sirius, it was already brutal. The things that I've been through. Even just to get here. It broke us, Sirius. The start of it all was losing you and I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn't stop thinking about what was on the other side."
She took a deep breath and continued. "After the war, I joined the Department of Mysteries. I became one of the Unspeakables, working on the Veil. They didn't trust me at first– not with something so volatile– but I proved myself. I studied its history, its magic, everything. Eventually… I figured out how to cross it."
Sirius stared at her, his jaw tight. "You crossed the Veil?"
"It wasn't easy. It required old blood magic, in a ritual that was very specific. And needed a lot of preparation. But it worked. I stepped through and found myself here, in this world."
"You crossed dimensions for me? Hermione, that's insane!" Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his disbelief evident.
"Of course it's insane!" She snapped, her voice trembling. "But I didn't know what else to do. And I don't regret it, Sirius. Not if it meant finding you."
He softened at her words, leaning back in his chair.
"What was it like? Your ritual with the Veil, I mean. What did you see?"
"It's hard to describe…" Hermione hesitated, "It was like stepping into a place that wasn't a place– light and shadow, warmth and cold, all at once. And voices. So many voices, whispering things I couldn't understand. It was terrifying and beautiful and genuinely overwhelming."
"And it brought you here," Sirius said, his tone thoughtful. "To a world of bygone dragons and sorcery."
"Yes," she said quietly. "But the journey wasn't perfect. I think.. The magic of the Veil didn't just pull me here. It changed me, Sirius. The people here think I have some kind of connection to Valyrian blood because of how I arrived. The things that I've done since I've arrived. They see me as something I'm not."
Sirius leaned forward again, his expression softening.
"Now tell me about Harry, and Ron? What about them?"
"I don't know how they're doing now. But before I left, they were moving on with their lives. Ron was dating Lavender, Harry had entered into the Auror program. I left them letters alluding to my research, but you know with the Gaias I wasn't able to tell them much. Harry was very upset, he didn't want to risk losing anyone else."
Sirius winced, guilt flickering across his face. "I can imagine. That boy's already lost too much."
"I thought I was doing the right thing," Hermione said, her voice cracking. "But now I wonder if I was just being selfish. I wanted answers. I wanted you. And I left them behind for it."
Sirius reached across the table and placed a hand over hers.
"Kitten, you did what you thought was right. And you're here now, alive and making a difference. That's more than what most witches can say."
Hermione gave him a watery smile, grateful for his understanding.
"I've been trying to help people here, Sirius. But every day, I wonder if I should've stayed in the Wizarding World– helped rebuild after the war."
"You've done enough rebuilding," Sirius said firmly. "Now it's time to figure out what you want, not what you owe. "
"Sirius," she said hesitantly, "there's something else. I was given something… remarkable."
His brow furrowed. "What is it?"
Hermione reached into her beaded bag and pulled out one of the bundles wrapped in thick wool. She unwrapped it slowly, revealing a sparkling pearlescent egg, shot through with veins of black.
"Dragon eggs," she whispered. "I found them when I first arrived in Old Valyria. I was guided by a spirit named Daenys, urged to take her name and them and travel to Pentos… I guess it was to find you, but she didn't know who you were besides the name that she gifted you. I couldn't leave them."
"Hermione, do you have any idea what this means?" Sirius's jaw dropped.
Hermione nodded, "I just hope I haven't made things worse by coming here." Though doubt lingered in her eyes.
"Worse?" Sirius smirked. "Kitten, we're in a world where people think we're royal, and you've got dragons on the way. Sounds like you're doing just fine to me."
For the first time in months, Hermione laughed– a real, heartfelt laugh that warmed her from the inside out.
"Now as great as this chat has been, let's get you into a home, and find a way to get these beautiful brutes out of these stables and into a manse of their own, yeah?"
The move from the modest inn to Sirius' acquired manse in Pentos was anything but subtle. Word of the "Valyrian princess" and her gryphons had spread through the city, and a small crowd gathered near the inn to catch a glimpse of the small spectacle.
The gryphons, massive and regal, were not easily moved. They had taken up residence in the stables behind the inn, their presence both a blessing and a logistical nightmare. Hermione, having formed a bond with the creatures, had insisted on personally overseeing their transport.
"Can't we just let them fly to the manse?" Sirius suggested, watching with a raised eyebrow as Hermione fussed over the leather harnesses and silk-lined coverings that had been specially commissioned to protect the gryphons during the journey.
"They're not familiar with the area yet," Hermione replied, her tone patient but firm. "What if they panic or get lost? Or worse, what if someone tries to attack them? We can't risk it."
"Fine, but this better not turn into a parade." Sirius sighed, clearly unconvinced but willing to defer to her expertise.
A pair of sturdy carts, reinforced with iron and padded with straw, were brought in to transport the gryphons. The creatures were reluctant to board, their sharp eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar contraptions.
"It's alright, darling," Hermione murmured soothingly to the larger gryphon, a male with shimmering bronze feathers. She gently stroked his beak as she guided him into the cart.
"It's just for a little while. You'll like the new place–I promise."
The gryphon let out a low, rumbling coo before finally stepping into the cart. The second gryphon, a smaller female with silvery plumage, followed suit after much coaxing and a few treats Hermione had prepared.
"You've got a way with them," Sirius smirked, leaning against a post with his arms crossed. "If you ever get tired of being a princess, you'd make a hell of a beast trainer."
"I'll keep that in mind." Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile.
The journey through the city was slow and deliberate. A team of eight draft horses pulled the carts, their drivers nervously glancing back at the gryphons, who occasionally let out sharp cries that echoed through the narrow streets.
Despite Hermione's best efforts to keep the move discreet, the sight of the gryphons– and the guards Sirius had hired to protect the procession– drew a sizable crowd. Children ran alongside the carts, pointing and shouting, while merchants leaned out of their stalls to catch a glimpse of the rare creatures.
Sirius rode alongside the carts on a sleek black horse, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble.
"This is turning into a festival," he muttered to Hermione, who walked beside the lead cart.
"Better a festival than a riot," she replied, keeping a watchful eye on the gryphons.
The manse was a sprawling estate on the outskirts of Pentos, its high walls and ornate gates a stark contrast to the cramped quarters of the inn. Illyrio Mopatis had arranged the purchase on Sirius' behalf, and it showed in the lavish details– marble fountains, lush gardens, and enough rooms to house a small army. From the moment that she arrived, Sirius had been nothing short of attentive, guiding her through the layout of her new home with a mixture of humor and pride. However, one topic loomed unspoken between them: the dragon eggs.
He had seen the fire in her eyes when she mentioned them, and though he trusted her with his life, the implications of hatching dragons were monumental.
The gryphons were led to a large aviary that had been hastily constructed in the rear garden. Hermione inspected it thoroughly before allowing the creatures to enter, ensuring that it was both secure and comfortable.
"They'll need more space eventually," she said, her brow furrowed as she observed the aviary's high walls and open roof. "And we'll need to start training them for proper flight."
"Proper flight?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "What, you're going to ride them next?"
Hermione glanced at him, her expression serious
"Eventually, yes."
Sirius blinked, then laughed. "You never do anything halfway, do you?"
The rest of the move went smoothly, though the servants Hermione had brought with her from the inn were wide-eyed at the grandeur of the manse. They busied themselves unpacking crates of books, scrolls, and the many supplies Hermione had accumulated over her time in Pentos.
Sirius, ever the host, made sure the wine cellar was stocked and the kitchens were ready to provide a feast. "If we're going to live like royalty," he said with a grin, "we might as well eat like it."
Hermione, however, was less concerned with luxury. She spent her first evening at the manse checking on the gryphons and mapping out her plans for the future. Despite the comforts of her new surroundings, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far larger.
Sirius had spent the entire first day pacing the halls, thinking. Where in the manse could Hermione incubate the eggs without arousing suspicion? The library, while quiet and private, was too accessible. The kitchens were bustling with servants. After much deliberation, he decided on an old wine cellar tucked beneath the eastern wing of the manse. The cellar was rarely used, its stone walls thick and insulating, and it had only one entrance, which could be locked from the inside.
Silently, Sirius ushered the servants away from the two, leading Hermione down a winding staircase into the cool, dark cellar.
"This," he said, gesturing to the cavernous room, "is where you'll keep your secrets. No one comes here except a few trusted servants, and they'll only see what I want them to see."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she ran her hand along the stone wall. "What would they think if they heard strange noises? Or feel sudden heat?"
Sirius grinned. "You underestimate my ability to lie convincingly."
Later that evening, Sirius found Hermione in the library, poring over a stack of scrolls Melisandre had lent her on Valyrian lore. He leaned against the doorway, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.
"So, about these dragon eggs," he began, trying to sound casual.
Hermione looked up, her quill pausing mid-note. "What about them?"
"Are we… Certain this is a good idea?" he asked, sitting down across from her. "Hatching dragons isn't exactly low-profile. We're already the talk of Pentos as it is. If word gets out–"
"I know," Hermione interrupted, her tone firm. "But dragons are more than just creatures. I've been doing research on them, you know. People were able to form intense bonds with them, through the incubation period. Sometimes it feels as if I can hear their heartbeat."
Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. "And what happens when people start asking questions? When they want to know where they came from? Who controls them?"
"We keep it a secret as long as we can," Hermione said. "I trust you, Sirius. And I'm sure we can rope Melisandre in under a guise. She seems more than capable of keeping things under wraps."
Sirius sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I just want you to be safe, kitten. Dragons don't exactly scream 'subtle'".
Hermione smiled softly. "Neither do you."
The plan was simple yet meticulous. Sirius instructed the servants to keep away from the eastern wing, claiming it needed "repairs" after a fictitious flooding incident. Melisandre, with her magic, added to the illusion by performing a small, fiery ritual in the courtyard, ensuring that any lingering curiosity among the staff would dissipate into whispered rumors of "magic work."
Inside the cellar, Hermione created a makeshift nest for the eggs using ash, charred wood, and warm stones, all sourced discreetly by Sirius and a few loyal retainers. Melisandre provided enchanted braziers that maintained a steady heat, enhancing the conditions needed for incubation.
One evening, as Hermione adjusted the positioning of the eggs, Sirius joined her in the cellar. He leaned against the wall, watching her work with a mix of awe and concern.
"You know," he said, breaking the silence, "when I found you here, in this world, I don't think I put dragon midwife on my bingo card. Do you think there's still time for me to change it?"
Hermione laughed, the sound echoing softly off the stone walls. "And I didn't picture you as a wealthy Pentoshi noble. Yet here we both are."
Sirius smiled, his expression softening. "That we are."
For a moment, the two simply stood there, the faint warmth of the enchanted braziers surrounding them. Sirius finally spoke again, his voice low but steady.
"Whatever happens, Hermione, you're not doing this alone. You're one of my own, I knew it the day I first met you in the shack. Dragons or no dragons, I've got your back."
Hermione looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you Sirius. That means more than I can say."
And that's the end of this chapterrr! A little bit late, but I'm working something really good that you'll be reading eventually. How do you like it? What are your thoughts?
Also, eventually I was thinking about doing a potential crossover with Harry Potter and Starwars? I'm tossing a few ideas around, primarily with Hermione or a Fem!Harry. I do love a good ole fashion female empowerment moment if you couldn't already tell, but trying my best to not turn them into Mary Sue's?
As always leave a review!