Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists
Disclaimer: I can only hope to attain the creative brilliance of J. K Rowling.
AN: This story is AU after OOTP.
Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave
They proceeded up the stone stairs behind both Lord Gryffindor and Aetheryd, who had joined them just outside the doors to the Hall. Harry wondered briefly how much Gryffindor's son had overheard, but then he was once again distracted by Hermione's blatant lie.
Why did you say that? Harry said. There was no response, just a blank, white silence from Hermione's mind. How the hell does she do that? He thought to himself, not caring if she picked up on it, and half-hoping that she did. HERMIONE! He said again, thinking it with blistering force.
She slammed the door in his face.
He blinked, startled, and nearly tripped up the next two stairs, saved from falling only by her arm around his. She had shut him out of her mind. She hadn't done that deliberately and intentionally during the entire time that this bond had existed between them. The warm, comforting presence of her mind coexisting with his was gone, and he felt bereft, abandoned, rejected…for just a moment.
Then he got angry.
By the time they had traversed a long corridor, lined with tapestries and artwork - and the odd storage case of armor and weaponry here and there - and reached the door to the guest chambers, Harry had worked himself up into a towering temper.
By the time they had entered the suite and the heavy wooden door had closed decisively behind them, he was spoiling for a fight.
"What the hell did you do that for?" he shouted, deciding that - unless she plugged her ears - a verbal approach would be more effective.
"You were yelling at me. I didn't have to listen to that," Hermione answered primly, and her self-righteousness annoyed Harry further.
"I was asking a legitimate question!" Harry retorted, incensed.
"You were shouting a legitimate question," Hermione corrected him.
"I didn't shout until you ignored my question!"
Hermione pondered this for a moment, and then opened her mouth and said only, "Oh. What was your question?" Harry waited for an apology, but none was forthcoming. He was irritated, but the curiosity was overwhelming.
"Why did you tell Gryffindor that I was your husband?"
"Is the idea so repulsive to you?" she non-answered.
"Of course it isn't!" Harry retorted, not about to fall into that trap. "Will you stop being such a girl, and just answer me? I know you had some kind of reason!"
"I didn't want them to separate us!" She blurted suddenly, and then looked oddly embarrassed.
"You don't trust him?" Harry asked, in an incredulous way.
"No, I - I don't," Hermione admitted hesitantly.
"But he's - he's Godric Gryffindor - it's our House," Harry pointed out, and Hermione shrugged in an "I know" sort of way.
"He's still just a human being, like everyone else. He's not infallible, just because he's legend in our time," she said, with a little note of accusation in her tone.
"I wasn't - " Harry began defensively, but came to an ungainly halt.
"He's hiding something from us, I can tell. It may not be anything important, but one can't be too careful in a situation like this."
"Did you read that in a guidebook for Time Travel?" Harry snarked, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. Hermione glared at him.
"Actually I did. I picked up a book on Time Travel in the library last term for - "
"A bit of light reading?" Harry interrupted, his eyes twinkling a little, as his anger ebbed slightly. "I reckon you were right," he said, his eyes tripping around the room, taking in the long narrow windows, stone walls, and gigantic fireplace. It was quite similar to Avalon, and he wondered again exactly how old that castle was. "In a place like this, we shouldn't be separated."
"We should also watch what we say," Hermione reminded him, in a school-teacherish way. "We don't want to give too much away." Harry was silent, and Hermione sat down next to him, and nudged his foot with hers. "That last thing you thought? Preventing Slytherin from helping create Hogwarts? Harry, you almost said something out loud about it."
"So? At least Gryffindor would have fair warning."
"Have you thought about what could happen? If Slytherin doesn't help start the school? What if it doesn't last a thousand years? What if your parents never meet and fall in love? What if - ?"
"What if it's better?" Harry said, turning on her ferociously. "What if it is a school where anyone can learn magic, without any prejudice against their blood status? What if - what if…" he trailed off suddenly, his eyes alight with a strange fire, as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "If we - if we … got rid of Salazar Slytherin, then Voldemort could never be born. If we - we - we could stop all of this before it ever started, convince Gryffindor of what is at risk, make sure he starts the school, and then we get rid of that snake, end his line now!" Color had risen in his cheeks and green flame flickered in his eyes.
"Harry, we can't! Do you realize what we could alter irreversibly? When we got back, it might be to a future that we couldn't even recognize, or had no place in!"
"But wouldn't it be worth it if we - ?"
"No!" Hermione was shaking her head, real fear in her dark eyes. "No, we couldn't do it. It's too dangerous, too unpredictable. What if killing Slytherin meant someone worse would rise up as a Dark Lord?"
"We've already altered enough just by being here," Harry countered, stubbornly.
"No, I don't think so," Hermione argued. "Only Lord Gryffindor knows who we are. And he's a canny enough wizard to realize the possibilities and consequences. If no one else knows, then we could get out of here, without upsetting the balance of things too much."
"Which begs the question: how do we get out of here? And if we're here for some `purpose', then how do we fulfill that without altering the future? Surely our purpose here is to alter the future in some way," Harry said, still sounding a little sulky and defensive.
"It probably is…but maybe we're meant to alter the future that hasn't happened yet," Hermione thought aloud.
"Which means…" Harry prodded.
"Maybe we came here so you could find the way to defeat Voldemort."
There was a long silence, broken by nothing but the crackle of the fire in the grate.
"That's a pretty fair leap, Hermione," Harry finally said.
"The last few days haven't been anything but fair leaps," Hermione pointed out quietly. Harry heaved a sigh, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands.
"Why can't - just every now and then - my life be uncomplicated?" he asked, rhetorically. Hermione cocked her head to one side, and regarded him compassionately.
"That wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" she asked lightly, a smile curving her lips upward subtly.
"Who sent us here?" Harry said, thrusting himself up to his feet suddenly, in a jerky movement borne of pure frustration. "What are we supposed to do? And how are we supposed to know what that is?" His eyes were beseeching, as he glanced back at her, still sitting on the edge of the rather lumpy mattress.
"I don't have answers, Harry," she answered apologetically. "I wish I did." He looked at her longingly, and came back toward the bed, to sit next to her again.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said finally, breaking another lengthy silence.
"I'm sorry that I left," she responded, referring to her closing off her mind.
"Don't do it again…please," he asked. "Even when you're mad at me…I'd rather know about it." She shook her head, and in her eyes shone all the reverence of a benediction.
"I won't," she whispered solemnly. She felt her heartbeat accelerate as a light flared brightly in his green eyes, and his gaze dropped deliberately to her mouth.
"So," he said, in a deceptively casual voice, leaning toward her in an almost imperceptible way that made her stomach clench with anticipation and longing. "Husband and wife, huh?" His lips were only millimeters away from hers.
"Harry," she said his name in the most interesting way. Was it in protest or pleading? "Don't think that this means - " A smile curled his mouth - it was so close to hers - and she felt her stomach liquefy and drop into her shoes.
"Too late," he interrupted, speaking in a throaty whisper. Hermione felt like she was on fire and melting all at the same time, and by the shining look in his eyes, she could tell that he knew and felt everything that she was realizing and feeling too.
"You certainly," she swallowed, "can turn on the charm when you want t - mmff." What she had been going to say was cut off suddenly and quite pleasurably, when his lips covered hers. She wound her arms around his neck, as he deepened the kiss, and they had just begun to ever so slightly lean toward the horizontal surface of the bed, when a knock sounded on the door. Harry smothered a curse in her hair, and Hermione tried not to laugh.
"Why does that keep happening?" he asked rhetorically.
"It's probably time for dinner," Hermione pointed out, practically. "We supposed to be `refreshing ourselves'."
"I would have felt quite refreshed if I hadn't been interrupted," Harry said grouchily, causing Hermione to laugh again, as she rose to go to the door. A servant stood there, clad in brilliant scarlet and gold, and informed them, in quite formal language, that the Lord Godric Gryffindor requested the honor of their presence in the dining hall for the evening meal.
"We'll be there shortly," Hermione said, as graciously as if she addressed servants everyday. Harry watched her with some amazement, recalling her curtsey for Lord Gryffindor earlier.
"How do you know this stuff?" he asked, incredulously, as she shut the door again.
"I read a lot," Hermione suggested, making it sound more like a question than a statement. She went to the large rough-carven wooden wardrobe, and opened it, perusing it for a moment. After a bit, she pulled out something made out of quite a bit of flowing yellow material, and slid through the small door adjacent, to what Harry assumed was a dressing room.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked, eying the wardrobe dubiously.
"Well, I can't go to a fancy dinner in jeans, now can I?" her voice rang back to him, though slightly muffled by the door.
"How are there clothes in here for us?" he said, examining some of the articles of clothing more closely. There were several pairs of rather tight breeches, as well as tunics and even boots.
"He's a wizard, Harry. What do you expect?" she snorted, and Harry felt a little foolish even for asking. He felt even more foolish when he selected some and retreated to the other side of the wardrobe, where it would be blocking the door that Hermione had gone through, to change.
They finished changing at almost the same time. Harry came around the side of the wardrobe, right as Hermione exited the dressing room, and they both stared at each other in a dumbfounded way.
"Hermione, you - you look…" Harry trailed off, unable to put into words what he was feeling, but Hermione got the gist of his thoughts, and blushed prettily. Her hair was tamed and tucked neatly under some kind of beaded cap. The yellow dress left plenty to the imagination, but it made her look so foreign and elegant and - and not Hermione that he was flummoxed.
Thanks a lot! He heard her comment dryly.
"Shall we?" he asked, turning toward the door and crooking his arm toward her. He felt, rather than saw, her eyes travel over him.
You're not so bad yourself, Potter, she teased.
Were you checking out my arse? You were, weren't you? Harry said, feeling more than a little pleased with himself.
Don't flatter yourself, she retorted, but he felt the burning warmth of embarrassment exuding from her.
Surprising even himself, he pulled her up against him in one smooth motion, and kissed her deeply, until she was leaning against him, limp and breathless.
"When we get back here tonight…" he whispered, the unspoken promise reverberating around the room.
"All right…" she gasped back, and her outright acceptance startled them both. Harry's eyes darkened with desire, and he ran one finger along her hairline, and around the curve of her jaw.
"I don't know how I'm going to make it through dinner," he admitted with chagrin.
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
Hermione was startled and slightly flustered when a servant announced their names in a ringing tone, as they entered the dining hall, giving her Harry's last name. She felt Harry's arm tighten around hers, and knew that he had not forgotten what had transpired a few moments ago in their chamber.
Lord Gryffindor stood to his feet when they entered, as did the other men at the table, including Aetheryd. There was only one other lady present, and Hermione gathered, after a few moments of conversation, that she was the wife of one of Gryffindor's knights.
The servants dispersed large goblets of deep red wine, and then began to serve the first course. Gryffindor introduced Harry as a distant cousin, and revealed no more about their background. Hermione wondered idly how many at the table were actually wizards.
They had nearly finished the first course, when the doors to the dining hall opened again, and the servant stationed nearby announced the arrival of,
"Lord Salazar Slytherin."
Hermione placed a calming hand on Harry's leg, as he visibly reacted, his head jerking towards the door abruptly, and his eyes widening. She tried to school her features into those of bland interest, as she lifted her eyes to the newcomer's approach.
"Accept my apologies for my tardiness, Godric," Slytherin said smoothly, speaking in precisely enunciated, educated tones. "Some unexpected and yet unavoidable business occurred when I meant to make my departure."
Hermione watched him with veiled curiosity. His refined voice did not seem to fit with his appearance. He was well-dressed, in the finest of linens, and his entire being bespoke wealth. But he did not seem to walk as much as shamble, and his arms appeared to be too long for the rest of his body. His features were thick and dull-looking, and dark eyes were piercing, but hooded under heavy brows. A dark shadow of beard blurred the planes of his face.
Gryffindor stood as his latest guest approached, and Hermione was struck instantly by the marked contrast between the two men. Gryffindor was tall, especially for men of the time period, and his chest was broad and well-muscled. His hair was a shiny, chestnut brown, and flowed neatly around his shoulders. His features were not exactly handsome, but chiseled and ruddy with health.
He was coolly polite, but Hermione felt that she would have picked up on the mutual dislike, even if she hadn't heard Gryffindor's reservations about Slytherin earlier.
I always thought Slytherin must have just had a really bad artist make that statue of him in the Chamber, Harry said, obviously observing Slytherin as closely as she had been. But he really is that ugly.
He already looks like he's the product of years and years of inbreeding, Hermione agreed. He's positively simian.
Who's Simeon? Harry said, turning his attention from Slytherin to her, confusion etched on his face. Hermione cast a look of mock disparagement at him, and rolled her eyes.
S-i-m-i-a-n, she spelled for him. It means -
"I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to your new guests, Godric," Slytherin said suddenly, spearing Harry and Hermione in his gaze. Hermione flushed unwillingly, and had the uncomfortable and slightly paranoid thought that he was aware of their telepathic conversing.
"This is Lord Harry Potter, a distant relative of mine, and his wife, Hermione," Gryffindor said formally. Slytherin bowed in greeting, and Harry and Hermione both inclined their heads politely.
"The pleasure is all mine," the future Founder said, and still Hermione got the impression of insincerity. His eyes tripped over Harry and darkened slightly. Hermione's misgivings grew.
We're going to have to be very careful, Harry, she warned him. Slytherin either knows or suspects that something about us isn't right. He's going to try to find out what it is.
Maybe he just doesn't like me because I'm related to Godric Gryffindor, Harry suggested. Although you would think that going back in time a thousand years might help people stop disliking me because of my family, he added, with a pointed reference to Professor Snape.
Possibly, but I doubt it, Hermione replied crisply. And no more of this…if he's a Legilimens, then he might be able to pick up on our talking. I think Dumbledore was, at least partially.
Harry said no more, but Hermione felt his acquiescence in her mind. Slytherin was seated, and another serving of food and wine was quickly brought in.
"Lord Potter," Slytherin said immediately, sipping his wine. Hermione groaned inwardly. Slytherin obviously had no intention of leaving things alone. Harry looked up at the man, his eyebrows raised politely in inquiry, his knife pausing above his plate. Hermione could feel his nervousness buffeting her like crashing waves, and his hand in hers under the table was clammy. "In which part of the country do you normally reside?"
"The Continent," Hermione blurted, without thinking, even as Lord Gryffindor had opened his mouth to speak, and Harry threw a helpless, frantic glance toward her. Slytherin's thick brows arched in surprise, and amusement glinted in his shadowed eyes. Hermione knew he was questioning her temerity in speaking out at a table full of men, and her eyes flashed momentarily before she remembered their plight, and dropped her gaze to her plate.
"I thought I heard a tone of Normandy in your voice," Slytherin said casually, and some of the knights at the table shifted uneasily in their seats.
Oh no! Hermione thought frantically. Have I put us right in the middle of the Norman/Saxon fighting? What year is it? Harry didn't look at her, but his confusion told her that he was completely at sea.
"The Gryffindor family has long held land in Normandy, as you well know, Salazar," Gryffindor remarked blandly, skewering meat on his knife and eating it, as if it were the most important thing occurring in the room. "Now must you encroach upon my guests during their meal…even if they are related to me?" He smiled, but there was an undercurrent of warning in his tone. Hermione noticed that Aetheryd's hand was under the table, and she wondered if he gripped his weapon.
"It was not my intention to disturb your family during their repast," Slytherin said silkily, but kindled anger smoldered in his gaze.
"We have not been disturbed overmuch, Lord Slytherin," Harry said glibly, finding his wit again. Something like a smirk glimmered in his green eyes, and Hermione pinched him under the table warningly. However, he merely continued to eat, and the conversation passed on to more innocuous things.
When the meal had concluded, Godric Gryffindor excused himself with apologies, citing serious business discussions to be had with the Lord Slytherin. Hermione watched them go, feeling no small amount of relief when Slytherin's calculating, penetrating gaze was removed from their vicinity.
I wish I could hear what they're going to talk about, Harry thought wistfully.
We don't know enough about this place to go skulking about, Hermione replied practically. Besides, if we got caught…
Hang on! Harry said suddenly, every fiber in his being going alert. She followed his gaze toward the doors, and saw that Aetheryd was leaving as well, having made his farewells. I'd be willing to bet that he was listening in on our conversation with Gryffindor this afternoon too. It's probably an arrangement between them…but secret, because nobody knows that Aetheryd's his son.
Harry… Hermione did not sound convinced. If we follow Aetheryd and get caught, what reason will we give? We don't have one.
We have plenty of reason, Harry argued back. You saw for yourself that Gryffindor doesn't trust Slytherin as far as he can pitch him.
There's no telling what kind of damage we could do. Dumbledore - Hermione said, starting to recall her instructions about her Time Turner third year.
Dumbledore's not here, Hermione! Harry interrupted her. There's no precedent for being sent this far back. And you said that we were here for some purpose. Maybe this is it.
We don't have enough information yet! She said insistently. There was a flare of increased concentration from him, and he said,
I've got an idea. A glimmer of the idea reached her mind, before he quickly tried to conceal it, and he stood abruptly to address the rest of the party.
"I beg your pardon," he said, his voice slightly hesitant, as he tried not to trip over the more formal phraseology. "But we've traveled quite a distance today, and will take our leave early. My… wife is fatigued."
Hermione had come to stand beside him, and had a feeling that she did not look at all fatigued, with her eyes flashing brilliantly.
Harry, what the hell are you planning to do? She demanded and he ignored her, struggling to keep his mind on the conversation, while she reprimanded him inside his head.
"How long have you been wed, milord?" one knight asked, after exchanging a knowing look with another.
Harry! Hermione demanded stridently.
"Three months," Harry blurted, throwing out the first amount of time that flew into his mind. The knight nodded.
"Such `fatigue' is common so early in a marriage," he replied, in a congenial way. Harry's face flushed.
"Quite so," he said in a strained voice, clearing his throat loudly, and causing the men in the room to laugh.
Harry, they think we're leaving because we're - we're - we're randy! Hermione's voice sounded nearly apoplectic with embarrassment.
It was true enough before dinner. Better that than why we're really leaving, don't you think? he retorted, as they moved toward the exit, arm in arm.
I don't think it's a good idea, Harry, she said, as they made their way up the staircase. Remember what happened last time? And we don't have a hospital wing to go to.
I'll be fine," he insisted, but her brow remained creased with worry.
They reached their room, and he held the door open for her, allowing her to pass in front of him.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, reading his silence as stubborn intent. He climbed up on the bed, sat cross-legged, and held his hands out to her. She took them, and sat opposite, heedless of the billowing material that she was now crushing.
"What can go wrong?" he asked lightly. Hermione could think of plenty. "No one can catch us out, because we're right here, where we're supposed to be."
"And what if Slytherin is a Legilimens?" she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.
"You think Draco hasn't had mind training?" Harry shot back, recalling their first attempt.
"Draco Malfoy is a child," Hermione retorted hotly. "This is Salazar Slytherin we're talking about."
"Look," Harry said, in a placating way that annoyed Hermione immensely. "If there's any hint of anything wrong, we'll stop. Okay?" Hermione shook her head and sighed, in a way that said that she wasn't at all pleased with this situation, but would not say anything further against it.
He closed his eyes, and once again, felt the sensation that he was floating away from his body, though he was still distantly aware of Hermione's hands in his. He felt the muscles in his face tighten in concentration, as he tried to find Aetheryd.
Aetheryd? He heard Hermione query.
I thought it might be… better to have… an observer's point of view, he said with effort, and he felt her relax a little at the thought that no one would be having any contact with Slytherin's mind.
He felt himself drifting around the castle, and was beginning to feel the dull origins of a headache, when he heard voices.
"Salazar, this grows tiresome," came the angry voice of Godric Gryffindor.
"You seemed perfectly willing to accept our arrangement earlier," Slytherin hissed.
"Just because you are as slippery and fork-tongued as the hideous beast you claim to honor, it does not mean that everyone is so. My family is no threat to you."
"Perhaps, perhaps not," Slytherin replied. "But some of your family is indeed a threat to you. Isn't that why you keep it such a desperate secret?"
The room swam into focus in Harry's mind, and he could see Gryffindor's fist clench tightly at his side.
"I love my son," Gryffindor countered, and Slytherin laughed. It was an unpleasant sound.
"Of course you do, Godric," he said, in a patronizing tone that held an undercurrent of amusement. "That's why you deny his very existence!" There was a loud thump, as Gryffindor brought his staff forward, and banged it down on the stone floor in clear challenge.
"You go too far, sir!" Gryffindor said, danger dripping from every syllable. Slytherin eyed him contemptuously, cool mockery clear in his eyes.
"Do not forget this, Godric," he said, in a low intense voice. "We have an arrangement. You will allow me a portion of this school, or the consequences will be of the direst kind. You say you love your son? Then I suggest you act on his behalf."
Slytherin turned suddenly, his eyes seeming to bore straight into Harry, who tried to step backwards, before realizing that he was not really there. Where was Aetheryd? Was he discovered?
Harry tried desperately to recall the feel of the mattress on which he sat, the clasp of Hermione's soft hands in his. She had not accompanied him. Where was she?
Hermione? He called out desperately. He felt blind, lost, and wondered what would happen if he could not ever regain himself.
The image of a lunging snake filled his vision suddenly, as it sprang toward him with an audible hiss, red jaws wide, fangs dripping with venom. Harry cried out, stumbled - stumbled? - backwards. He couldn't get away in time. The snake would have him.
His scar throbbed as if he'd been stabbed, and his eyes flew open, as his protesting lungs filled noisily with air. He looked around frantically, his vision cloudy, his arms groping for Hermione.
Then he saw her, perched above him - he had fallen supine on the bed - tears trailing down her face, as she shook his shoulders.
"Harry! Harry! Oh, thank Merlin!" She sniffed, her voice cracking. He tried to sit up, as his head reeled, and fatigue began to seep through every part of his body.
"What - what - " he stammered. "Where were you?" He reached cautiously up to his nose, and found only slight dampness there. He had not been gone as long this time, and Harry took the scarcity of blood as a good sign.
There was a flash of a staircase, blurring under running feet. Tapestries flew by, unheeded, on the walls. There was a clamor of voices and footfalls.
Harry clutched Hermione's sleeve urgently.
"Shit, Hermione!" he swore frantically. "He's coming. He's coming here! Now!"
TBC
Okay, I know the cliffhanger was evil, but it was a good stopping point, and continuing would have made the chapter too long.
I sort of liked this chapter. I hope you liked it too, and hopefully, this update was more timely. The wheels will really start rolling toward resolution now, and I hope that y'all will hang on and enjoy the ride.
Let me also apologize for any anachronisms in this part of the story. I'm doing my best, but I don't claim to be an expert on the 11th century. I do know that the battle where William conquered England was in 1055, and I'm trying to place the story at some point before that happened. Anyway, details like that shouldn't overly affect the plot.
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like!
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