Hermione woke the next morning, the images of lying on the beach with Harry still implanted in her mind and a thought of soon they would be together. She could smell his musky scent and feel his hair between her fingers and the warmth of his lips on hers. She wished this was over and could take him by force if need be, but she knew he would gladly give himself to her.
She stretched in her bed, cat-like and slowly rose for the day. Her clothes were still on the small bench at the foot of her bed. The basin on the far side of the room had recently been filled while she slept. She sat up and thought over the plan for the day, she had nothing planned. She packed her rucksack with all her personal things and placed her want on top, the crossed the room to the wash basin. She washed as she had every morning and dressed in the fresh gown that was laid out, and prepared for another day.
She picked up her bay, and stood at the doorway. She heard familiar voices down the stairs and smiled as she descended to join them in a good meal. Her dream of Harry had her in a relaxed mood, and she failed to notice her first steps on the stairs, the third one that always squeaked. It vanished taking with it the surrounding building, only to be replaced with the void.
She fell, again into the abyss. The same sensations as she had four days earlier. But where to now? She rationalized she must be going somewhere or sometime other than the fifteenth century, otherwise she could have remained. The fall through the blackness wasn't marred with streaks or blossoms of light like the last time. This time there was nothing, no light and no sound. The fall seemed to last an eternity; she held that rucksack as if it were her last link to Harry. She thought of it's contents, a change of clothes, her new journal, some pictures Roland sketched of her and Sir James, and a few bits of fruit, in case she had a pang of hunger.
She held tight to her rucksack and reached into it for her wand, hoping to shed some light, but it was not there. She remembered packing her bag and laid her wand on top of the bag, but when she picked up her bag and left, her wand fell and was left on the bed, forgotten. She never expected to see it again; it was her wand and now it was lost.
She held her eyes shut for what seemed like hours or days, to the point of losing all conscious thought. When she managed to open her eyes, she lay in a grassy field much like the one where Sir James found here, this time the field was surrounded with trees and a brook that meandered into the distance. She couldn't see anyone else, as she cautiously looked the area over before sitting up.
She blew out a breath through her teeth, and wondered what now. She slowly stood in that field of green as a gentle breeze warmed her. In the distance she could make out a solitary figure, he looked so familiar. He sat on a chair carved from a stump of a tree, a table sat next to the tree chair; it was carved from a single slab of granite. He held a delicate cup in his hand as he sipped his tea. She watched him from the distance, being careful not to make a sound.
"Please Hermione, come join an old man. Come, sit." He motioned to her, and a second chair appeared opposite his from the table. A second cup appeared, steam still escaping the cup into the air, filling the clearing with its aroma. Next to the cup sat a plate of biscuits, and other treats she loved as a girl.
"I'm certain you have questions, and I think you deserve some answers. Come and sit."
She walked through the trees into the small clearing. He came into view, and he seemed so familiar. His hair and beard were snow white, both extended half the length of his body, He wore an ancient smile, and his blue eyes twinkled in the rising sun's rays. He looked almost exactly like Albus Dumbledore, except his nose wasn't long and crooked, and he wasn't as thin as she remembered. He was wearing long robes, and a periwinkle blue cloak that swept the ground, and high-backed boots, with laces up the top. The very top of his boots folded down over the laces looking like socks that wanted to slip to his ankles. She also noted this man was not wearing glasses, nor did he appear to be as old as Albus.
"Who am I? That would be your first question. And why did I bring you here, which would be your second. Is that about the size of our introductions?"
"No, first if you meant harm you could have done so many times. And since you haven't I would believe you are some benevolent deity that is amusing himself with my life. No, my first question is not for me. Is Harry okay?"
"Yes he is, although I expected that to be your third question. You have continued to amaze me, but then if everything happened the way one thinks it should then where's the surprise? Please sit, we have much to discuss."
She cautiously sat, eyed the items on the table but pushed her grumbling stomach to the back of her mind. He knew her, and she assumed he was the cause of all this confusion and trauma.
"Please, eat, I know you are hungry, I believe it's been," he shut his eyes and started counting, running out of fingers quickly, "around eight or nine hundred of your years since you eat last."
Stunned she looked slack-jawed, and pondered his statement. "Did you say eight or nine hundred years?"
"I believe so, but to you that was last night."
"Is that forward or back?" she still tried to feel out his intentions with simple questions.
"Back, I think. Yes, back. I think this is the era of Arthur and his knights. He's been off on another of his quests for some time now, but he's completely forgotten all I've taught him."
"Merlin?"
"Some call me that, yes, but my name is actually Myrddin ." He chuckled.
She sat there, thinking nothing could surprise her after her last trip, but here she sat having tea with Merlin. Her body language spoke volumes to the elderly figure. He smiled at her and continued.
"When you were first told that you were a witch, you were not shocked or surprised as most are…"
"I was relieved. Everything that happened made sense."
"Yes, and now you'll see how it all fits." He stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts and another sip of his tea. "Please have some tea, I believe you'll find it delightful, I've grown a soft spot for Twinings Lady Grey since my last visit to London, the deep gold colour gives the delicate citrus scent a refreshing Character. I find it refreshing for an export of China. Or you can have any other blend you wish. As for an explanation, I must start at the beginning. Your instructions for your abilities began at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore…"
Hermione opened her mouth to pose the first interruption when he raised his hand to stop the inevitable questions.
"Please, let me get through this in a relatively ordered fashion, should I skip around too much, it may befuddle my thoughts."
She closed her mouth, nodded slightly and picked up the cup of tea and a biscuit from the plate. She was slightly impressed that although the cup had been sitting unattended for a while, it was the perfect temperature and the plate refilled itself. She took a cautious first sip, and then remembered why she shied away from this particular flavour. She managed to force that sip down and tried to erase the memory of the tea with the biscuit.
"I arrived here with three companions; they have all long since passed into the spirit. We came here from a distant land to observe and learn, but instead found ourselves teaching. We had intended to remain here a short while, but when our transportation had to return, we were effectively marooned here. We discovered later that a war began at home that destroyed any record of our journey here. It was many years after the Battle of Ruusan that we learned of the war, and with the depletion of resources, there was no way to send a ship to retrieve us."
"I've never heard of Ruusan, where is it?"
"You don't need to worry about it; it is long gone, completely destroyed by Lord Kaan and his Brotherhood of Darkness. There, Lord Kaan came into conflict with a member of the Brotherhood called Bane who was opposed to Kaan's basic battle tactics, causing an internal rift that was used by the Army of Light. Lord Hoth's forces attacked and were on the verge of victory when Bane and Kaan re-joined forces to strike a blow that nearly defeated us. It was the result of a tactical error on Kaan's part that caused his downfall, and only Bane survived. The remaining members of our order reformed and resumed their role as guardians and protectors, the resulting Reformed Republic eventually lost track of us."
"We agreed to stay here and live and learn your ways. We also began to share with a few of your people our knowledge and abilities. Our code did not allow us to form attachments, but my three companions all became involved with the local folk after a few hundred of your years had passed. One, a likable fellow from Falleen was the newest of our group to have completed the trials. He kept a journal of his training and his journeys, recording all he could. Studious fellow, but I think you know the type." He winked and she caught his meaning.
"He discovered shortly after we arrived that he had the uncanny ability to talk to certain reptilian residents. Snakes mostly, but he also understood certain Dragon dialects. Over the years he found another person here that could also speak to snakes, but nothing else. That formed an attachment and Sorcath took it upon himself to train him in out ways."
"Salazar Slytherin?" she asked, obviously missing one point.
"Actually his grand father. He passed this knowledge down to his son and his son's son with Sorcath's help, the man you know as Salazar Slytherin."
"So this Sorcath gave Slytherin his ability to speak to snakes?"
"No, I may have confused you, he, or actually his grand-father was trained by Sorcath because they could speak a common language."
"And what of the other two?"
"Wolfgar and Aurellia were two of the best friends I had, we were as close as you, Harry, and Ron are. I truly miss them. Wolfgar and I began our training together and Aurellia a short time later. She was exquisite to watch in a duel, poetry in motion. She was quite beautiful and sparked many a jealous squabble. We all had taken vows to remain celibate, as part of our code. And because of that vow we can control our aging slowing it to near immortality, using a… well, a force that allows us to control our surroundings, what you call magic. But should we break that vow, we age at the rate of our chosen mate. So, we generally treat a commitment of that nature very seriously. Wolfgar and Aurellia both succumbed to the simplest and most complex of human emotions and fell in love with two people they met here."
"But what does that have to do with Hogwarts? And I still don't see where this helps my problems."
"In time, it will be clear. More tea? Or maybe something a bit more substantial?" A plate of sandwiches appeared on the table, with an ice cold Butterbeer.
"Aurellia met this man, a tall fellow, quite a powerful man in his own right. He was what was you would call in that era, a Knight. He had set his goals on becoming a member of Arthur's Round Table, but then he and Aurellia settled down to live a quiet and peaceful life. They had a strong son that, in time, learned the ways of his mother and joined came to me to further his training. I taught him well, and he gladly took his mother's place in our circle of four. Sorcath's pupils began to excel and they, sought an easier path, one where power can be gained quickly, but at a price. When Salazar discovered the source of his knowledge, he sought out Sorcath and after a struggle, murdered him, and covered up the evidence."
"So, let me work this out, you said this Sorcath was murdered by Slytherin, I assume before he helped found Hogwarts. That was in 993AD, and you said that I travelled back to Arthurian time, or around 600AD."
"Yes, you are quite sharp, when we started our chat that was four hundred years ago. I need to bring you back slowly to a certain point."
"Hermia's trial?"
"Cleaver. Yes, you have some unfinished business then. And before you ask, I sent your wand back to Ollivander's to wait for you to buy it when you were eleven, you won't need it to finish your tasks. As you've noticed, you have shared, to some degree, Harry's skills without a wand. Now, Aurellia's son and Salazar, along with two others joined together and built Hogwarts. I don't have to detail all those facts now, do I?"
"No. I know that history quite well. But you said Aurellia's son helped build Hogwarts? There were two wizards and two witches that began the school, one was Slytherin, so was the other Godric Griffindor?"
"Yes, Godric was Aurellia's son and I was as fond of that boy as if he were my own son. I loved him as much as Arthur, but you know how both ended. Arthur died on the battlefield, and his sword was returned to Avalon. Godric died in his bed, after a long and fruitful life. And as to his wish, I buried him in a grave known only to myself. The one everyone believes to be his is actually empty, but there is a great flat stone near the lake that contains a slit in the centre. Do you know it?"
"Yes, it was one of Harry's favourite spots to relax and think when we were students."
"That stone marks his grave and it was the very stone that held Excalibur for Arthur."
She sat back at this revelation. One of Harry's favourite spots was an unmarked grave.
"So where does any of this tie into Harry and me?"
"Harry always wanted to know his family history, and as you may have noticed, he has very strong ties with his family, even those that have rejected him. You met one ancestor, a knight that came to your aid, who, I'm afraid to say will have been killed before we return to his time."
"Sir James? Harry's ancestor? But he isn't a wizard. His name was…" she sucked in a breath at that realization. "Evans. He was Lily's ancestor."
"Yes. And your help forced him to view wizards differently. He tried to defend one of us shortly after you left and a dark wizard slew him. There was nothing you could have done, but followed his fate, that is one reason I summoned you here now. He died trying to protect a wizard family he met through the Weasleys, and that sacrifice was not ignored by his son. You set into motion his son's life long quest to covertly help our kind."
"And that quest will be passed down each generation, so that's where Harry gets his 'people saving thing'."
"Apparently so." He paused, and sat looking thoughtful. His next topic would be difficult to discuss. "Mrs. Potter, Hermione. First, and foremost I'm terribly sorry, but I can't interfere with people's lives. I'm still not allowed even after the Order's demise. I have to apologize profoundly for your recent loss, and what had happened with Malfoy's curse. I never expected you to sacrifice your youth to motherhood so soon and never anticipated that repercussion. There were certain events I knew all too well, and planed for them. You have something I gave you on your birth, a teddy bear."
"What about the bear?" She asked sharply, the mood shift in both obvious to the other.
"That was a time-portkey. It was set for you to return when you held it the day you buried two close family members. I knew your parents' fate and unfortunately planned for that inevitable event, and I have spent many a pleasant chat with them since they passed. Please don't be upset or angry. I had no way to foresee their funeral would be held off until much later by Harry. And the fact he held it in Godric's Hollow was in of itself a gesture of his love for you. And I had not anticipated the efforts you took to have Harry's children. That accident… I grieved with you, and felt the loss for two innocent lives too. But they did not die in vain, when you held that object, you came back to the point you were needed."
"So you KNEW all this and let it happen anyway?"
"Please understand I cannot change what is to be, nor can I change the past. I can leave clues and hints so others like yourself can change your own future, but I can't. Except in your case, I had to do something, since your family's fate was a direct result of other's like me meddling. I only expected you to help save Hermia, but going into the Chamber on your own, and altering the manuscript was sheer genius. That worked better for Harry than my plan to have Albus intervene when he was attacked in Godric's Hollow, since that would have alerted Riddle we knew what he planned. So, as it were, your two unborn children gave their lives to help save you and Harry. If you had returned here as I planned, there is a very strong possibility Harry would not have defeated Riddle and would have been killed, and possibly yourself too."
She sat back and tried to understand how every detail in her life seemed to be planned and designed, and how she altered her and Harry's destiny, possibly for the better, but at a cost that would remain her secret until she lay to rest with Harry for the last time.
"All I considered was that if Riddle found the real spell, then what Harry did to him would have happened to Harry as a baby instead."
"Possibly, Riddle was smart and clever, but he might not have been able to see that spell for the power it truly held, or had the skill to perform it. I do know he was inpatient and would not have spent the effort to practice it until it was as easy as breathing. And there was one more piece of the puzzle he lacked, the undying love you have given and continue to give Harry. As cliché as it sounds, the love you share with him is ultimately far more powerful than any force on this or any other world."
She sat in silence as she tried to fully understand the circular pattern, if she had come back to this time sooner, the manuscript would have been unaltered. Riddle may have killed Harry and they never would have shared this life. Also Jason and Janet would not have been conceived, nor would they have died. She might not have swayed Sir James to befriend wizards and offer himself as he had. And his family may never have lingered in the fringe of the wizarding world to have Lily meet James, and ultimately have Harry.
"I think I am beginning to understand. My children died for us. And had they not died, I wouldn't have returned to alter the manuscript and Harry might have died and they might not have been conceived, and everything I know would have changed."
"Essentially, yes. You and your life have become a focal point to the future, as you can see, there was more to this 'lost witch' legend then you expected. You and Harry have been successful in defeating the dark forces of your world, but there is no guarantee it will remain so forever. There must be a balance between good and evil, but for now the evil here is dormant in your world. With that thought, also remember that evil can never truly die in all worlds."
"You understand, now I'm certain, the true power of Divination? The lessons they tried to teach were quite inadequate."
"I've begun to understand, Harry's prophecy was spot on, it told us what had to be done, but not how."
"Yes, exactly. A good prophecy can be a clue what has to happen; your help showed him how to fulfil his. And to that point, there's one of your own. I don't believe you've discussed it with him yet."
"No." she paused and looked away. "After I realized that one part meant people would be hurt, I didn't want to tell him."
"But, most of it was not bad, it showed you your future with him."
"Can you answer a question? The last part, it foretold Malfoy's curse. Will we ever have a family?"
He leaned back and pondered the question. "Yes," he finally stated. "Yes, I can answer that question."
"And?" she asked impatiently.
"And, that is not for me to answer, if you are to have his children then you and you alone have to find that solution. It's there for you; all you have to do is work it out. I will not say that it is impossible, but it is entirely up to you."
He watched her carefully as she tried to understand the ramifications of all she had been told. And that the possibility of a family still existed, somehow.
"One last thing," he reached into his pocket and retrieved a sheet of weathered parchment. "I would like you to have this. Keep it with you; it will reveal any such prophecies that may exist for the holder. You may find it will come in handy."
"But, it's blank?"
"We, yes. That simply means there are no prophecies here for or about you. But, should you hand it to, say Hermia, one that was raised about her before she was born will appear. That will lead to the events you are well aware of. Keep it safe, it's the only one of its kind."
She held it and it remained blank, since Hermia has not been put on trial, the 'Lost Witch' prophecy has not been made. She sat and sipped the still cold butterbeer, and pondered his revelations. But there were many unanswered questions.
"You mentioned an order, and that you and the others were left here, are there others in your order or are you the last?"
"There are others in your existence that are descended from Wolfgar and Aurellia, and beyond that, I am the last of my order. There is another that had studied under the last greatest master of his time, and he has become the master in turn teaching others; he will send one of his own to come and request your help one day."
"Now, I think it is time for you to gather yourself, we are almost at the correct point in time for you to help Hermia one more time. You know what you must do; Hermia has already been arrested, and has been on trial. You know who is involved and what may happen if you tamper with the past any more. After you have rescued her and she is safe, you will be sent home to Harry, but you will not remember any of these events nor will you remember our meeting. You will simply know that all you have done and sacrificed was worth the pain and you will not dwell on it anymore, I want you to continue with your life with Harry. Make him happy and loved until it is time for him to join those that have gone before him."
"How will I get back? Are you at least going to give me a warning so I can prepare?"
"When you're ready to return, you'll know. Just click your heals three times and repeat 'There's no place like home.' And you'll be whisked back."
"Are you serious?" she asked sceptical at the absurd humour in it.
"I couldn't resist the opening, I was only joking, when you've completed your last task, and you'll know what that is, you'll simply wake up in your own bed with no memory of this little adventure. Now I suggest you pick up your pack, and a change of clothing would be appropriate." He waved his hand over her and her morning dress changed to the robes worn by the inquisitors of the time. She looked at him with mild confusion and some suspicion.
"Yes, we do not need a wand to use our skills, just as Harry does not require one."
"Merlin, will we meet again?"
"Yes, we will, but you won't know or remember me, for who I am, in your time I've taken a more sedate role, I will remember you, most fondly, now, take my hand."
Merlin reached for her hand and she reluctantly took his. She stood to face him, and he gave his final instructions, "To everyone there, you will be an inquisitor sent to replace one that has suddenly taken ill. Hermia has kept to her promise to you to deny the truth of who she is. You need to convince her to confess, before it is too late to save her. Your skills as a healer will be needed more now then ever and will be taken to the fringe of your abilities to save her, good luck." He kissed her hand once and she found herself standing in an empty room, her rucksack now taken to form of a satchel one would expect an inquisitor to carry, and on the top, many sheets of parchment, ink and a quill.
She looked through the parchment, and realized she was the scribe for the proceedings, and would be allowed in the torture chambers only when the questioning began. She thanked Merlin that she would not have to witness the actual suffering, and mentally prepared herself for her tasks at hand. She quickly read the notes of the prior scribe and waited to be summoned. That wait was short, but she put the time to good use.
She had been writing feverously when she had been summoned to the chamber. She followed the second inquisitor out the room where she had been waiting, through a series of corridors into a crude tunnel. This she assumed was to the dungeons of this prison. The air was stale and thick; she had to quash her reactions to the stench of bile and human wastes, and that of rotting flesh. She was led to a small table with a chair, tucked off to the side of the examination arena. She had a clear view of the table, still glistening from the blood of the last victim. She wondered if that blood was from Hermia, and what had been done this time. She remembered the tortures inflicted and they were also clearly documented in the parchments she carried.
Her curiosity was soon satisfied, when a figure was dragged in from a side door, that figure was barely recognizable as a young girl, her face was swollen from the beatings, both legs were obviously broken in several places, and had gaping wounds from the thigh to the knee. Her arms had not fared any better, her petit hands were horribly mutilated. It would take all Hermione's expertise for Hermia to be able to use her hands again, but only if she could have her released soon.
Hermione had her parchment and ink ready to begin recording anything said, and her only job was to remain silent. She watched and swallowed a gasp as Hermia's body was lashed to the table, she was allowed very little in the way of modest coverings. Most of her clothes had been stripped away to enable better application of the tools that lay on the smaller table to her side.
The guards left the room, and closed the side door behind them to wait for the grand inquisitor and Judge to arrive. Hermione took this as her only chance. She quietly rose and walked to the table under the pretence of inspecting the bindings one last time.
"Hermia," she whispered to the side of her head. "Please, if you can hear me, give me a sign. It's Hermione, I've returned as soon as I could. I'm here to help you." Hermione held back her emotions; this girl needed strength to simply survive.
She turned her head to the side, and managed to open one eye, the other swollen shut and caked over with blood and grim. Hermione couldn't tell if it still remained in its socket. Her face was pale from loss of blood and her delicate features broken and bruised. Most of her hair has been burned from her head; leaving singed marks where Hermione remembered the plaits she wore.
She opened her mouth to try and speak, but the extent of the torture was more the evident, she had many teeth snapped, leaving exposed nerves, her tongue, although it still remained, had deep cuts into the meat and marks from the tongs used to grasp it. She tried to smile, but her face was too badly swollen. All she managed was a horse whisper.
"I didn't tell." She managed to mumble.
"Please, Hermia, only you can stop this insanity, and I can help. Please tell them what they want to hear and it will be over, I can't stand to see you like this."
"Why… do… you care now?"
"You must trust me; I can't let this continue I'll stop it even if I have to expose myself."
"Why? You… left. James is dead." Each word was laboured; Hermione could tell she was near death.
"I know, I was detained by… someone of power. I can help but you must believe me. We didn't meet by accident, you are my distant relative; I am your descendant from more then 500 years in the future. I came here from my time to save you. I'm telling you because you must hang on."
"Nothing… can help… dying…" her one eye started to close.
Hermione rubbed her hands together, causing friction and a spark. She placed her hands, one over Hermia's heart the other over her head. A warming glow began to radiate from the surroundings and that glow was focused through her body into her hands and passed into Hermia. The effect was immediate, her breathing eased and the bleeding from the many deep wounds stopped, Hermione sealed the worst from within but left the illusions of the wounds. Hermia managed to open her one good eye, and knew something happened. Hermione smiled and placed a gentle kiss on Hermia's forehead.
"I have a confession ready, there's a runescape that will protect you from further harm, but only if you sign it. Now listen carefully, their confessions force you to renounce your heritage, I can guarantee your safety only after it is signed." She looked over her shoulder; there was movement outside the torture chambers.
"It's important. You will no longer have your powers, and all your descendants will also lose any power, until I am born. I am that fulfilment of your destiny."
"Why? You… are doing… this… for yourself…" she wheezed.
"No. For my husband, without me he will die at Voldemorte's hand. I won't allow that, Merlin was the one who called me back to this time, but I wanted to help you when I first discovered your story, before I knew who you were to me. You must believe me; they're coming now, please do it." Hermione rushed back to her seat and picked up the quill. She started to jot down the specifics of the day when the door burst open.
"Here ye, all within this hollowed chamber of repentance. His Excellency the Earl and Bishop Clement Augustus Rebus is now presiding here on this, the 19th of September in the Year of Our Lord 1479. The accused, one Hermia Madison, having been brought before this inquisition on the grounds of Witchcraft, has been duly and justly interrogated and having refused to confess…"
"Confess… please stop… I… confess." She mumbled rolling her head from side to side.
"Your Excellency, how shall this be? Judgment has been rendered and she is to be found guilty."
"The sentence is…"
"Mercy." Hermione spoke from her seat.
"Stay thy tongue, wench, or join this miserable beast of the Devil."
"My lord, the Malleus Maleficarum, of which these proceedings are governed, has many passages showing mercy to the confessed, Part I, Question II clearly states:
Therefore if the devil works by means of a witch he is merely employing an instrument; and since an instrument depends upon the will of the person who employs it and does not act of its own free will, therefore the guilt of the action ought not to be laid to the charge of the witch, and in consequence she should not be punished.
"Witch, speak the truth now, have you enacted any form of sorcery of your own free will?" Hermione asked the victim.
"Nay…please have pity; I confess the devil acted in me without my consent."
"My lord, she has confessed she was not in control of herself, how can she then be punished, as the Malleus Maleficarum calls for mercy."
"Can you show this passage, scribe?"
"Yes my lord." She produced that passage and three other marked passages from Part II Question 2 section 4 and 7, and another from an unrelated body of research, dictating mercy to the confessed witch. She handed them to the judge, who, unfortunately, was unable to read the original German text.
He pretended to study the text intensely, and to cover his illiteracy nodded as he read the passages. He placed the sheets down and crossed his hands in thought. An under-judge leaned in to his side and whispered his thoughts. A few nods and after a few tense moments of shuffling paper, he gave his decision, handing the pages back to the scribe.
"Then, allow the witch to endorse her confession and remove her from this sacred place. Scribe, I applaud you for your knowledge of these proceedings, however, should you argue a judgment again, I shall have you in these chambers for your confession."
"Yes, my lord, I shall prepare these notes and release them forthwith."
"Now leave, and someone remove this wench, she has a stench of death about her."
Hermione collected her notes and skimmed the trial transcription before handing them over to the presiding judge, and without thinking she realized she had written the exact passage she discovered in her research. She also read the date, and remembered a minor detail; the Malleus Maleficarum was originally published by Catholic inquisition authorities in 1485 to 1486, six years from now. She grinned at the coincidence and left the chamber.
Hermia was handed a quill that an inquisitor pushed deep into the gash in her leg, drawing a fresh flow of blood. She managed to scribble her name over the hidden runescape Hermione added to the document, that runscape then merged with her name to become her legal mark. She was then dragged from the interrogation chamber, through the stone corridors and unceremoniously tossed to the street, her broken limbs screamed in pain with each jolt. Although Hermione managed to stabilize her for the moment, in her current condition she would die without help soon. Hermione stood in a darkened alley a few dozen meters from her ancestor and waited for the moment to act. No one stopped to help Hermia, and some spat on her as they passed.
Hermione raised the hood of her cloak and pulled it tight around her, hiding her face in the shadows it created. She stepped into the street and to the motionless body before her. In one swift movement, she passed her hand over the form, and uttered Mobilicorpus allowing her to easily move Hermia to the safety of the nearby alley, the stares of the people watching her were wholly ignored. Once in the safety of the alley, she held her hand on Hermia and together they vanished to the Burrow.
In the days following her rescue, Hermia's injuries began to heal under Hermione's direct care. Tilly had brewed several potions that helped the various cuts and the swelling from the bruises. She also was skilled enough to brew some Skele-Gro to help with her bones and teeth and a Blood-Replenishing Potion. The worst of the damage was to her legs and hands, but her face showed the visible scars of the torture. The Skele-Gro helped her bones knit together, but the flesh surrounding them remained tender and required more care. With each treatment beyond the potions, Hermione needed to rest between each session; she felt more of her own strength drain every day. She was afraid to tap into the surrounding energy, for fear it could affect the other magicals in the house. Hermia's face was still in need of healing, but Hermione focused her powers on the internal problems she still faced.
The many internal injuries Hermia had would have been undetected by the 'physicians' of this era, one of her kidneys had ruptured and she had an aortic tear. She also had been stabbed many in her abdomen, with hair fine needles leaving tiny punctures meant to inflict pain, but not death. Hermione also had concern for the many other points of discomfort Hermia needed to contend with nearly every minute of every day, from her shattered teeth to her now stiff but healing joints.
These were Hemione's major concerns. At one point she considered taking Hermia to an isolated part of the forest and pulling all the energy she could from the surroundings and filter them into Hermia. It would heal many of her injuries quickly, but might also leave them both unprotected and weak, but after consultation with Tilly and Patrick that plan was put aside. Modern medicine and wizard medicine was the only viable solution and with the exception to the time for her recovery, it was effective.
The only moment of relief was after the swelling and bruising in her face subsided the question of her vision was resolved, her eye, was intact although her vision through it was still blurry. In all, she still needed another week of rest but just a few more days to heal.
During one of the many times the two were alone, Hermione spent as much time reassuring Hermia her life was worth saving. It was something she needed to hear, and that Hermione was proof that her life was of value to others was reinforced every time the two women spent time alone. Hermione detailed her experiences from the time she received her letter to her wedding. She talked about Harry and his life, accomplishments and mostly, how he makes her feel whole. She left out the fact that she would not be able to bear children and the funeral that sent her here.
Hermia grew to love her descendant knowing her family's traits of caring would last through the generations. She had one memento to give Hermione, one object she had brought with her on their first journey to Ottery St Catchpole several months earlier. She left it in Tilly's care, feeling that was the only place it belonged. She handed Hermione a small painting she had been given of her mother before she died. It was the only object she had from her past. Hermione held her emotions in check, knowing Hermia needed to see joy, and not sorrow. Hermione smiled and gave her ancestor one of the last embraces they would share.
With her strength returning, and since Hermione no longer needed to use her gifts to continue to bring Hermia back to full health, she knew her task here was nearly complete. She knew she could be spirited away at any moment, and her memories would also be spirited away.
On what would be her last night Hermione finished writing in her journal and had taken the precaution to write it in a way only she or Harry could read, and held a hand drawn image of a friend, now gone. She put these and a copy of Hermia's trial in a leather pouch along with a blank sheet of parchment and the remains of Hermia's broken wand. 'Merlin must have recovered it, a memento', she thought.
Sir James had been killed only a week before Hermia's trial began, by a dark wizard that had been harming people under the knight's protection. Sir James met and drew his sword against the wizard, only to fall to the power of his wand. His eldest son Alden had, in the weeks that passed, seen fit to bury the man in the glen near their home. Alden had in the weeks since his father's murder earned his spurs to full knighthood. He was now ready to take his father's place as protector for the parish.
Sir James had left full instructions with Patrick and Tilly to acquaint Alden with their world on his death to continue his pledge of protection to any that needs it. He had not expected this request to be fulfilled this soon. When Hermione had returned with Hermia, Patrick left to fetch Alden to her side, to fill a final request from Sir James. Alden had his father's cloak and tunic and presented these to Hermione for her friendship to the man. These additional objects were important to her, for a reason she would not tell anyone, but these too were added to her collection. She wanted to give these to Harry one day, but also knew Merlin said she would not remember these events.
Hermione stole to the attic in silence, with her possessions and writings. She thought of Harry's secret trove under the loose board in his room. This home would still exist in her day, it could hold her treasures. She considered hiding them under a board too, even behind some loose bricks in the chimney. Her solution presented itself more by accident, as she put her pouch down, a special piece of jewellery slipped from under her blouse.
That sparked an idea, there was an open trunk filled with a small number of old robes, books, documents, and similar unused items. She removed the contents of her pouch and carefully looked through them one last time. She wrapped her diary pages in a rough bundle, along with all the pictures and Hermia's painting and replaced them inside the pouch. James' tunic was added before she placed the pouch in the trunk. Before she closed the lid, she scribbled a note and wrapped the broken wand in the note, placing it on the pouch. She sealed the trunk with a charm, and to maintain that charm, she opened her locket and removed two strands of hair, one a dark raven black, the other a more familiar brown, and laid them across the latches. A brief wave of her hand and her treasures were safe.
"Harry, how is she?" Luna knew the answer; he was the only one that hadn't given up. Even Ron was ready to let her go.
"What do you think? There's been no change in over four weeks. She's been like this and I can't understand why?" He never looked up from her bed; her muscles had begun shrinking from atrophy. She had lost a good amount of her body weight even though they had been forcing nutritional fluids in her. Her eyes still wouldn't remain closed. Besides her breathing and heart beat, her eyes opening of their own accord was the only physical movement from her in more then a month.
"I had another dream, she was sitting at a desk, it was in a dungeon, and she looked tired, and afraid. I kept calling her but she didn't hear me."
Luna sat on the edge of the bed, and put her arm on his shoulder. "Harry, you have to decide if this is a worthwhile life for her. She's not here. You may have to make a decision to let her go."
"NO. She said she'd be back soon; I won't just let her die. How could you even suggest a thing?"
"Please, you have to face the fact is was just a dream. You can't wish her back."
"She'll come back, I know she will. She knows how much I need her. She came back once, she'll come back again."
"She was dead for only a moment, Harry, please accept her fate."
"But she's not dead; she left her body alive so she could return. You don't believe in her, you NEVER did... GET OUT OF MY HOME!" He shoved her away, and put his head on her chest. He ran out of tears a long time ago and lost track of his pain with the lost time.
He closed his eyes, and felt sleep claim him. When he sleep, he had dreams of when they were together, but only one dream where she said she'd return. He wanted to her to say it again. He wanted to hear her voice call him again.
Harry had fallen asleep with his head lying on her chest, with her hand wrapped in his, Ron and Luna did not leave as he ordered, and they knew it was his stress that made him lash out. He had also begun losing weight, looking as malnourished as when he lived with the Dursleys. He kept his dreams alive in her and never abandoned her. He remained at her side in a constant vigil.
The room remained silent.
"Harry…"
Nothing.
"Harry… are you awake?"
"Mm hmm…"
"Harry…" she sat up feeling stiff and sore as his head slipped to her lap. She looked around and noticed the sun was beginning to rise for the new day. She gently stroked his hair and lowered her hand to his cheek, and his hand met hers with a soft touch. His hand tightened on hers, as he opened his eyes expecting to find Luna trying to wake him. Instead he found himself staring into the warmth he missed these past weeks as their eyes met.
"Moine?" he croaked out, blinking his eyes, thinking this was an illusion.
She let out a smile, as she always had when they woke; it was that smile, the image of what he had missed for weeks that made him react. He pulled his arms around her frail form, she was thinner then he remembered, and kissed her feverously. He wouldn't stop holding her and kissing her even as she started to push away. She could feel him catch his emotions, but they gave him away. His broken and repressed weeping in this shared embrace confused Hermione and her own body continued to feed misinformation.
"Harry, please stop, what's wrong? What happened?"
"You…you were... After the funerals you collapsed and slipped in a coma. Everyone thought you had died, but your body forgot to stop." He finally managed to get out.
"I remembered the crib and Janet's teddy and I vaguely remember fainting, I guess from what happened. And now I'm here. And I feel strange, stiff and sore, as if I've been tossed down several sets of stairs. Was that yesterday?"
"You've been here for nearly five weeks. You haven't moved and I was beginning to think…"
"That I was gone? No, I won't ever leave. But five weeks? I don't even remember a single dream."
"Moine, I'm certain there was a reason, maybe one day we'll understand, but now, we're together and I'm not letting you go." He resumed his amorous attacks, this time she responded, somehow feeling like she's missed his touch for weeks.