STORY NOTES:
I hope you enjoy this long action/adventure/mystery/romance that has been in my mind for a while. I have many chapters already written, and will probably post 1-2 per week. The chapters will alternate between following Hermione's and Draco's points of view. Hermione and Draco follow separate paths that intersect periodically until about halfway through the story, when they converge.
This fic is long. (I'm a sucker for a slow burn.) Part of my goal for the story is to really sink into these characters and figure out what series of events might actually make them fall in love, with almost 10 years separating them from the events of the original series. I'm having tons of fun writing it, and I hope you'll have fun reading it, too. If you like a full cast of characters, deep friendships, magical lore, twists, turns, and pining—this story is for you.
Thank you for reading, and please leave a comment if you can!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters from the Harry Potter series that have inspired this story.
Further Disclaimer: I do not support or agree with the harmful transphobic views of the author of the Harry Potter series. I consider fan fiction as a form of rebellion.
Warnings: This story will eventually include some violence, but nothing beyond canon-typical violence in the Harry Potter series. It will eventually include some mature scenes. A sexually explicit version of this fanfic is being posted concurrently on AO3 under the same penname.
Goodreads: Please don't post my stories Goodreads. I write for fun only.
SHADOWS OF THE EARTH
sagapow
Chapter 1: Hermione
I Don't Believe in Fairies
"Children know such a lot now. Soon they don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says 'I don't believe in fairies' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead." — J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Outskirts of Lower Chicksgrove
Hermione Granger was utterly unqualified to argue with a fairy queen.
It did not matter that she was the newly minted Deputy Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It did not matter that she had faced down Death Eaters, dementors, and the Dark Lord Voldemort himself in her youth—none of them had ever accused her of "blindly frolicking through life like a wayward buttercup."
And yet, there she stood in a grassy knoll surrounded by one hundred floating, pastel-skinned fairies who were all uniquely flamboyant but shared one common characteristic: They hated her.
"We have no time for useless romps, foolhardy witch!" Queen Helia scolded. The three-foot-tall winged being fluttered at Hermione's eye level. They were a study of contrasts: pure gold eyes facing Hermione's brown; pure gold hair facing Hermione's brown; pure gold multi-tiered frock facing Hermione's robes of … well, she had not intentionally worn brown that day.
Queen Helia pierced Hermione with a look of weary disappointment that made her feel like she was eleven again, and said, "The planets are imbalanced this cycle of seasons! Do not tell me your kin are blind to the shifting of the stars?"
At the queen's words, her attendants chittered and moved in unison. They fluttered their shimmering wings and ominously lifted from the ground, chanting in unison—"The witch is blind! Blind! Blind!"—and began to fly in a circle with Hermione and Queen Helia at its center.
Hermione raised her hands, trying to block the small hurricane of dust and flower petals stirred up by their furious wings. Her hair whipped around her face, and she regretted, not for the first time, her decision to oversee Beings rather than Pests or Beasts when Octavia had promoted her six months ago.
But she did not have time for regrets. It was the day before the Vernal Equinox and last year these fairies had caused chaos in the village of Lower Chicksgrove, Derbyshire. The hybrid Muggle-Wizard community had been set upon by mutant wildflowers that grew through storefronts and—in eight horrifying instances—out of people's ears. It had taken five Aurors, two healers, and the entire Obliviator squad to set everything to rights.
Hermione was not about to let that fiasco happen again.
"Your Majesty," Hermione ventured, forcing politeness into her tone. "The Ministry only wants to protect the people in the village nearby. Some of them do not know of magic. If you can guarantee any celebrations tomorrow will remain away from the village, I will happily leave."
For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought she saw something like amusement in Queen Helia's face, but it quickly twisted back into scorn. Hermione swallowed her pride and remembered the department's protocols. She lowered herself into a curtsy—a deep, deliberate bow that she hoped conveyed respect and urgency.
Twirling the ends of her silken hair around a forefinger, Queen Helia said nothing. Hermione brought her hands to her temple and discretely attempted to smooth down her wild mane.
The queen released a melodic sigh, gesturing lazily with her hand. Hermione steeled herself as the attendants, who had continued circling like a glittering tornado, froze in midair. With another flick of her wrist, Queen Helia summoned a nearby dandelion to grow impossibly large, the yellow bloom unfurling to the size of a small throne. She perched atop it with an elegant flutter of her wings, her movement as effortless as the breeze.
"Your ignorance unrelenting, little witch," Queen Helia jeered, voice laced with irritation. "And your physical form …" The queen's nose wrinkled. "Is extremely upsetting."
Hermione's stomach sank. She should have brought backup.
She would have, too, if Daniel Kirkpatrick hadn't dunked himself head-first into a tank of Grindylows the day prior, leaving him catatonic in St. Mungo's. But he had, and Hermione was there alone.
Kirkpatrick wouldn't have been much help, anyway, with the amount of avoidable accidents he stumbled into. He had also once attempted to assign a Chimaera complaint to the Small and Non-Threatening Magical Creatures Committee, citing its "adorable" tail. Hermione believed he simply had not read the complaint. Then again—could he read at all?
"Rosalea!" Queen Helia called, startling Hermione from her musings. A vibrant fairy with magenta hair, blush-pink skin, and a dress woven from rose petals flitted forward.
"Yes, my queen?" Rosalea's voice was like wind chimes.
"Fix this," the queen commanded with a dismissive wave toward Hermione. "I cannot bear it any longer."
Hermione barely had time to process the insult before five fairies, each as colorful as Rosalea, descended upon her in a whirlwind. Their tiny hands moved with blinding speed, tugging at her hair, robes, and even her face. Hermione's vision blurred as she felt her feet knocked out from under her, her body spinning in a vortex of pastel chaos.
When the storm subsided, Hermione staggered upright, disoriented and clutching at her wand. Laughter like the tinkling of jingle bells filled the meadow. Blinking rapidly, Hermione noticed the fairies hovering around her, their faces alight with glee. Even Queen Helia looked pleased.
"Delightful! What an improvement," she declared, clapping her hands. "Thank you, Rosalea."
Hermione looked down at herself and gasped. Her once-plain brown robes were now a brilliant sunshine yellow, closely tailored to her torso and trimmed with intricate gold embroidery. Her skin—all her skin—shimmered as though dusted with crushed diamonds, each movement catching the light. She reached up to her hair; it was woven into an impossibly long plait down her back. When she pulled it over her shoulder, she saw it was decorated with hundreds of tiny wood-sorrel blossoms.
"Your Majesty," Hermione sputtered. "I am only here to ensure the safety of the villagers. This—is unnecessary."
Queen Helia rose gracefully from the dandelion throne, her wings beating softly. "Necessity is unnecessary. It brings us joy to spread beauty through these lands, little witch."
"Joy! Joy! Joy!" the fairies chanted, resuming their circular flight around Hermione.
"Now," Queen Helia declared, floating higher as the oversized dandelion shrank to its standard size. "We must away!" The herd ceased circling at their queen's directive and began fluttering toward a nearby copse of trees.
"Your majesty, please!" Hermione called, her voice rising in desperation. "Will you avoid the human village tomorrow?"
Queen Helia gave her a look of exasperation. "Did you not listen, little witch? The Earth's shadow itself creeps across the celestial glow. We must keep to nature, lest such darkness seeps into our meadows."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but the fairies had already begun congregating, forming a sparkling, rainbow-colored cloud. They rose into the air, their bright light so blinding that Hermione needed to shield her eyes.
"Look to the moon, little witch!" Queen Helia's voice rang out as the fairies disappeared into the wood. "Do not let the darkness into your soul."
And then they were gone.
Hermione stood in the center of the meadow: glittering, gobsmacked—and furious.
"What?"
Fairy magic was inconveniently persistent. After an hour of failed attempts, Hermione determined that the glittery tone of her skin was impervious to cleansing, scouring, vanishing, glamours, human transfiguration, and manual scrubbing. Academically, Hermione knew that the fairies drew their power from the sun and the effects would likely fade over the rest of the day, but it posed a unique problem. Hermione had work to do and—thanks to Queen Helia—Aurors to requisition for the next day. Despite the fairies' claim that the herd would keep to nature, whatever that meant, Hermione was not one to trust anything that turned her shinier than a disco ball on a whim.
"Ridiculous tiny rainbow menaces!" Hermione cursed to herself. She imagined flinging Queen Helia into the sun with a particularly strong Ventus Charm—and that brought her anger some relief.
With a grunt, Hermione heaved her unwieldy plait back over her shoulder and shrugged off her blinding gold-flecked robes. As always, Hermione was grateful to have the thing that had been her constant companion for many years. Reaching into the beaded bag that hung low at her right hip, Hermione summoned a set of plain black robes into her hands.
She slid her arms through the sleeves of the robes and buttoned them. Luckily, her black trousers and white blouse were unaffected by the fairies' magic, so if she kept the hood down and the sleeves clutched tightly, she might reach her office without making a scene.
The fates were kind that day, and it was quiet in the Atrium. Hermione made it down to Level Four without running into anyone curious about a hooded figure with a Ministry badge, but as she approached the door to her office, someone called her name.
"Hermione Granger! Is that you? Come in here a moment." It was the sharp-edged voice of her boss, Department Head Octavia Randall.
Hermione cursed under her breath. She pivoted toward the heavy double doors partially open down the hallway. When she reached them, Hermione ducked her head and hovered outside.
"Yes, Octavia?" Hermione asked.
She heard rustling inside the office but did not lift her head.
"Hermione, you look like a dementor, what are you doing? Get in here," Octavia scolded.
Sighing, Hermione crossed into the office and closed the doors in one quick motion, keeping her face concealed
"I had an incident with the central meadowland fairies," Hermione said, and then she pulled down her hood and turned around.
Octavia Randall was a rail-thin woman with gray hair cropped almost to her skull. Her dark eyes bore into Hermione's as she leaned back in the chair behind her mahogany desk. With an eagle's feather quill held aloft in one hand, Octavia snorted and then sat forward to continue signing a sheet of parchment.
"Queen Helia?" Octavia questioned before setting down the quill. Hermione murmured her agreement, and Octavia continued, "You wore your regular robes, didn't you? The queen is offended by neutrals."
"That's beside the point," Hermione grumbled, resolving to expand her wardrobe beyond the usual grey, brown, and black. "I think it would be wise to send a few Aurors to Lower Chicksgrove tomorrow," she continued. "Queen Helia was vague when I questioned her, and I don't trust the herd to remain away from Muggles on the Equinox tomorrow."
"Very well," Octavia agreed. "You and Auror Potter can work it out together. Two or three should be fine."
Hermione inclined her head. She and Harry worked together fairly often. Hermione acted as the unofficial liaison between Magical Creatures and the Department for Magical Law Enforcement due in part to her close relationship with Harry, who was one of the most senior Aurors, and due to her role as a reserve member of the Auror force.
"There's something I'd like to discuss since you're here," Octavia continued. "Have a seat and try not to…glisten so much." The older woman squinted her eyes.
Hermione huffed in exasperation and sat in one of the padded leather chairs.
"I had a floo call this morning with my counterpart in Serbia, Aleksandr Sabo," Octavia began. "We've worked together a few times over the years and keep each other generally informed." Octavia leaned her elbows on her desk. "He called to tell me of some unusual werewolf activity around the shared borders of Serbia, Romania, and Bulgaria."
"What—attacks?" Hermione asked, alarmed.
"No attacks, but they are concerned," Octavia replied. "There were numerous sightings around the last full moon unconnected to any known packs. And they were moving around unusually close to Muggle areas."
Hermione's eyebrows raised in concern. "There's a chance it could be nothing. A rogue pack in migration from Turkey, maybe. The magical government there isn't very communicative."
"Perhaps," Octavia said. "But if word gets out to the local press, it may not bode well for us."
"You think this could affect our legislation?" Hermione asked. "I thought the vote was mostly secure after we got Warlock Allard on board with the revised sanctuary plans."
"I don't think this could affect us at the moment," Octavia said cautiously. "But all it would take is one report in The Prophet to stir up significant negative sentiment in Britain. Allard is a yes for now, but remember—nothing in the Wizengamot is ever secure. Those crones are more fickle than my two-year-old grandson."
Hermione nodded. "Do you think I should set a meeting with Aberforth and Griselda? The vote is not scheduled until after the Victory Ball, but it may be a good idea for them to do the rounds over the next month."
"I can talk with them," Octavia assured her. "I want you to focus on finalizing the verbiage with the DMLE. And," she hesitated, "I need you to lead the summit with the merfolk near Cardiff next week."
"Me?" Hermione quirked her head. "I thought Priscilla was handling that?"
"Gerald called Priscilla in to help sort the paperwork for those illegal menageries," Octavia said, tiredly. She leaned back in her office chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're the only senior employee I trust with this."
"Alright," Hermione murmured. "That shouldn't be a problem. But…this ring of menageries is a real draw on our resources. There must be a way to clear the facilities without using three-quarters of the department."
As she thought about Gerald Anderson, Hermione could feel the beginning pulses of a tension headache at her temples. The other Deputy Head of their department was more than ten years her senior, and it was an ill-kept secret that he was put out that she, a twenty-seven-year-old, was placed on equal governmental footing with him. He was brash, difficult to work with, and one of the most smug wizards Hermione had ever met. For the last month, he was out of the office breaking up a string of unlicensed magical menageries, and Hemione felt the break from him was quite pleasant even though it meant Hermione was doing more than twice the usual amount of fieldwork.
"I've already spoken with Gerald about efficiency, among other things." Octavia rubbed the bridge of her nose before adding, "Oh, and don't forget to bring Kirkpatrick to Cardiff. The healers removed the kelp from his lungs and he should be back in the office tomorrow."
Hermione's eyes bugged. "What, why?" She had a brief vision of Kirkpatrick falling into the ocean, his baby-plump cheeks disappearing into the briny depths as a horde of merpeople held her back with tridents.
"Solo fieldwork isn't protocol, as you know," Octavia scolded. Hermione blushed and looked away. Octavia added, "And why do you think I hired Kirkpatrick?"
"Because his uncle is the head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and he passed at least one N.E.W.T. last year." Hermione paused. "I hope."
Octavia laughed. "The kid is fluent in Mermish."
Hermione gaped. "Really?"
"A bloody prodigy," Octavia declared.
"Oh," Hermione uttered.
"He grew up by the water and befriended some merfolk as a child. Might've even spoken Mermish before English." Octavia added, "Lucky for him, because he's a blithering idiot otherwise."
"Do you think he can read?" Hermione blurted.
Octavia replied, "If he can, he does it poorly."
Hermione nodded. "Well, that will be an interesting few days."
"Be prepared to spend longer than a few days. The Chief of the Bristol Channel is notoriously difficult," Octavia warned. A moment of silence. "Off you go, then."
Hermione rose to her feet. "Alright." She turned to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing?" The words halted Hermione before she reached the door.
"Yes?"
"Don't mention the business with Serbia to anyone, even in this department. I don't want to raise an alarm and accidentally cause what we want to avoid." Her gaze held a serious expression as she looked directly into Hermione's eyes.
"I understand," Hermione answered with a nod. "You can trust me."
"I certainly do," Octavia said. She picked up a stack of parchment and moved it to the center of her desk. "And maybe you should try a veil?"
"Ha ha," Hermione monotoned. With that, she secured her hood over her head and left the office.
Hermione and Octavia had a relationship of mutual respect ever since their first meeting—when Hermione was impressed with her knowledge of intricate policy operations, and Octavia possessed the wisdom to stop Hermione before her monologue extended past twenty minutes. Over the years their rapport had become one of the things Hermione was most proud of in her career at the Ministry. Hermione knew that the fact Octavia had taken the earliest opportunity to inform her of the werewolves in Serbia meant that Octavia was more concerned than she let on.
It had taken the entirety of Hermione's eight years at the Ministry to get werewolf rights legislation before the Wizengamot, and it was the first major initiative she was leading as Deputy Head. She briefly entertained the idea of moving the vote up before any catastrophes could happen, but it had taken more than a year for her to secure their current date on the legislative schedule. She shuddered at the thought of going through that bureaucracy again.
Hermione's office was a short stretch down the hallway. Inside with the doors closed, Hermione let out a weary sigh. Her employees knew not to disturb her when her doors were shut, so Hermione reasonably hoped she would be left alone in her sparkling glory. There was a tall stack of unread memos on her desk next to a cold cup of tea. Pulling her wand from its arm holster, she heated the liquid with a wave and sat down to tackle her work.
There was a meeting request from the Department of Magical Games and Sports to discuss the construction of a Quidditch pitch on land infested with nogtails, which Hermione forwarded to the Pest Advisory Board; a complaint regarding a ghost that had taken residence in a Muggle church, which Hermione assigned over to Winston Clark in the Spirit Division; a noise complaint about a kneazle in a magical home, which was a problem for domestic investigations at the DMLE—they always made that mistake at intake; finally, twelve beings-related policy proposals awaited her initial review. Hermione set these aside and put her mind to tackle the fairy problem.
Normally, she would go to Level Two to see Harry in his office. It was almost three o'clock, and Harry was usually in the building for the last few hours of the day to go through paperwork. But her skin was still glittering so brightly that in her windowless, dimly-lit office she could see it cast flickering lights on the surface of her desk.
Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out a golden coin. The charmed Galleons from their days in Dumbledore's Army were long retired, so when she and Harry began to rise in the ranks at the Ministry, Hermione made a new matching pair. It looked like a Galleon, but at the center of each side was a monogrammed "H." Hermione also made the charm work more complex so that the coins could accept longer messages and would let out a low chime when messages were sent, much like a Muggle cell phone.
I have a bit of an issue. Can you meet me in my office? -HG
A minute passed, and a chime signaled Harry's reply.
Crazy day. Talk tonight? -HP
Too late, need DMLE help tomorrow. -HG
Meeting soon. Come to my office? -HP
Hermione let out a huff of annoyance, looked down at her incandescent hands, and wrote back.
Fine, on my way. -HG
Hermione transfigured the ends of her robes into gloves, pulled a scarf out of her beaded bag to wrap around her neck, and pulled down her hood. She stuffed the policy scrolls into her purse with the plan to head straight to the apparition point once she spoke with Harry.
She left a note on her door. Out for the day. Send an owl for emergencies.
Walking with haste, she made it up two levels fairly quickly, and the lifts were busy enough that no one noticed her conspicuously covered-up form. The DMLE was a different story. Harry's office was at the center of activity for the Magical Law Enforcement division. At least three junior Aurors were milling about the mass of cubicles and information boards relating to various cases. Harry's door was half-open and the lights were on inside.
Hermione had some experience with covert activity, and the overall diligence at the Ministry had not improved since she, Harry, and Ron had broken in many years earlier. She thought with simultaneous gratitude and disappointment that it should not have been so easy for an unknown cloaked figure to slip around two major departments in the middle of the day.
Standing around the corner in an empty corridor, Hermione charmed a spare piece of parchment into a memo and sent it flying against the far wall. For a brief moment, all of the Aurors looked in the opposite direction of Harry's office, and Hermione could slip into the room unseen, closing the door quickly behind her.
The relief Hermione felt was quite brief. Turning around into the room, she realized there were multiple people in Harry's office, and none were Harry.
"Typical of the Auror Office to set a Dementor on us without cause. Do you have much experience with the Patronus Charm, Draco? I'm afraid I never quite got the hang of it."
"I'm afraid neither have I, Theodore. But I don't think we're in danger. Potter's too good for such an underhanded strategy."
The drawl of the second voice was so horribly familiar that Hermione's head jerked up, and her hood fell to her shoulders.
"What the—Granger?"
Up next: Draco Malfoy's unexpected day.