I'm almost sure a lot of you have already figured things out. Read the AN at the bottom when you're done, please. Just a bit of info. Not essential to the story, of course, but I'm obsessive… sorry. ^_^
Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Fourteen - Speaking the Language
In which Hermione learns how to read.
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Hermione learned how to read while she was at work.
She was sitting in her work station puzzling over certain judicial precedents when she heard Lysander's echo in her head once more.
Read the book.
Frowning, she had tried to ignore it, but it persisted, and finally, frustrated that no amount of work was shutting the voice up, she dipped into her work bag and opened the Nauta Oira.
The pages came alive with words and she could understand everything.
That same sense of fear that first took her when she discovered the power came over her again, but this time, she was better prepared. Not by much, but by enough to keep herself together.
It wasn't a very thick book; almost like a hard-bound pamphlet, but it was a thesis about a decimated race, persecuted because they were feared; hunted because of exaggerated tales told.
Hermione remembered another thesis that made theories about those exaggerated tales.
The legend was about a race of sentient beings that were so beautiful, so majestic, that muggle and wizard alike deferred to them for leadership and guidance. They were angel-like in their appearance. They were benevolent, and they were the ideal muggles and wizards aspired to become, but as the centuries wore on and the wizards that once admired them learned envy and fear. Tales-no better than lies-were told about them, about wizard and muggle babies taken from their cradles, and children taken from their rooms, eaten as sacrifices to prolong lives and preserve youth. The tales were spun, grown more horrible at each telling, until the fear became palpable and the genocide began. Their angels were angels no more; they had been named demons and creatures of evil. They were run out of their homes, grown-up and children alike, to die as miscreants. They were executed and tortured through dark magical means; destroyed for the color of their skin, hair and eyes. None must be left alive, and it was written than none survived.
But some did survive, and what little was left of the dying race strived to live through the centuries undetected, because the "demon-taint" their race was faulted with remained.
There were rumors of their continued existence, of course. In the last five hundred or so years, there were sightings of them, and by then, wizards had better learned the virtue of life, if not benevolence. But in spite of the changed attitudes of wizards, the race remained in hiding. It was not difficult, anyway. These "demons" were magical folks in themselves. Though they needed no wands to manipulate it, it was easy to pretend they needed a stick of wood to make magic work.
Hermione kept this legend in mind as she read through the Nauta Oira: To try and regenerate the race, or at least to keep it alive, the race took on rationing its magic through familiars. This was a common enough theory. Witches and Wizards kept familiars in any form of animal their magic required. Familiars were magical vessels which their owners could tap into as a spare source. Kind of like keeping a spare tire in the trunk of one's car in case the car blew one of the four it was running on.
The decimated race valued familiars in particular because the amount of magic they could contain in their familiar dictated the length of their lives. Their familiars acted not just as vessels but as generators that can actually reproduce power from what it was initially given, like a tree that produced fruits season after season.
Because of this peculiar trait, the dying race had prolonged life spans, but some remained longer than others. The dark legends surrounding their violent past was not without basis. While familiars were expected to be animals, some preferred more powerful sources: people.
While the keeping of human familiars in itself was not forbidden, the very idea of it, especially within the more modern ideals of man, was dark and disturbing.
The dynamics of familiarism were set within certain limits. Muggles couldn't be kept as familiars. They lacked the inherent magic to be useful as familiars to Lysander's kind. Only demons, real demons, had use for muggles as familiars, but Lysander's people could not utilize muggles the way demons could.
These angel-like creatures could make their own kind their familiars. Ideally, they married, fell in love and agreed to be each other's familiars. It made sense; it was romantic; it was practically the only way to go, but they cannot force each other after the fact. They could only be bound of their own free will; no tricks; no deceit; no power in the world could force them to become familiars of each other if they didn't desire it. They can even revoke their familiarship as easy as they can take anything back. There was no conflict pertaining to familiarship within the same race.
Wizards could be made into familiars. Wizards were prime familiars, and the "shinier" they were, the more power they had to offer. By shinier, it meant that the wizard was more accomplished, perhaps beautiful; of a special renown; intellectual, or maybe excelling in sports.
Hermione's frown deepened at what she read next.
Wizards could be compelled to be familiars under certain circumstances. The keeping of a Wizard familiar was tolerated, so long as the wizard was willing. It was expressly forbidden to force a wizard outright, but it didn't mean it couldn't be done. There was a process that involved trickery; the trapping of a wizard or witch's aura. When the trap was sprung, the binding process would begin, and forced or not, it was next to impossible to escape the clutches of the spell.
And here, Hermione felt her stomach drop.
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Hermione shut herself in the ministry bathroom stall and retched. It was all she could do not to go mad.
As she emptied the contents of her stomach in the toilet bowl, all she could think of was: "What have I done? What's going to happen to me? What will I do? Oh, bugger!"
She felt sick to the core of her. And the worse part of it was she had brought it all upon herself.
The flush of the toilet was like a death-knell to her existence.
Hermione cursed the day she met Lysander Athanasius.
She retched some more, disgusted with herself, the entire situation and the thought that Lysander can keep her alive for half-a-millenia so that he could use her like a battery that would make him coffee, or tie his shoelaces, or walk his dogs…
Bugger all to hell!
More retching. She had nothing more to barf. It hurt to turn her stomach inside out and it wasn't helping the ache in her head, either.
Flush.
With nothing left to heave, she leaned back on the stall door and pounded her head against it, punishing herself for her stupidity; her vanity; her spectacularly bad luck.
She survived Voldemort just so some schmuck in an expensive suit can keep her as a magical slave for the next five hundred years; because really, that's how long one can stretch the warranty on a Witch Familiar.
Harry was not going to be pleased.
Hermione weighed her options.
She could either resist the Final Binding and feel excruciating, mind crippling pain, or she could dutifully prepare herself; participate in the ritual and let the transition be comfortably lovely. Either way, she was screwed. Lysander would have her and she could-well-continue to be screwed in the next five hundred years.
Great options.
I can kill him, I suppose.
She groaned. Again, great options.
The ritual of the Final Binding was best undertaken during a Waxing Moon. Hermione thought about it. That would be a week from now.
She pounded her head back again. "Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!"
There was a knock on her stall door and the voice of a woman came through. "Oy, you there. Are you alright?"
Hermione sighed. "Yes, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? I can get a Medi-witch here in a flash if you need one."
"It's fine. I just ate something bad, is all."
"Umm… is that you Hermione?"
Wonderful, she sighed. I've been recognized.
Reluctantly, she got up and opened the door.
Can it get any worse?
It was Gail.
Hermione groaned and went to the sink, splashing her face with cold water. "You will not tell Harry you found me like this."
Gail frowned. "I won't… were you just sick in there?"
"Sort of." She wondered if there was such a thing as "sort of retching your intestines."
"Oh dear, are you pregnant?"
Hermione frowned. "Of course not. That was stress and I just needed to get it out of my system. It's out, so now I'd really appreciate it if you kept this between us."
"Good God, are they working you that hard at the WizCOF?"
"Yes."
"You know, if you're feeling under the weather, you might want to tell your bosses to let you off early, just this once."
Hermione would have done just that, but if it meant going home and doing nothing, she'd rather stay at work and puke her guts out. At least in the Ministry, she would have more things to occupy herself with, like staving off nosy auror partners.
She sighed, taking a paper towel and wiping her face with it. "I'm going back to the office. I think maybe the crisis has passed, anyway." Not by a long shot. "I'll see you around, Gail."
Gail nodded and Hermione could feel the woman's eyes on her as she left.
Hermione walked back to the hole in the wall and found Heartcomb waving to a pile of owls.
"They're yours," he said, and looking up, he frowned. "You look peaky. Have you been letting vampires bite you again?"
"Among other things," Hermione muttered, taking her pile of owls.
She took them to her work station and flipped through them. They were mostly work related and she sorted them into organized folders. But then there was one from Hogwarts.
Hermione felt her heart thump. Maybe McGonagall had found something out.
After reading the letter, some of her optimism waned as it contained information she already knew. That the Waxing moon was prime for certain rituals; that the "gift exchange" was usually undertaken to begin binding enchantments, etc., etc.
There was a note at the bottom. McGonagall pointed out that the theory of Lysander's species was reinforced by the fact that he came from a clan of weapons smiths and warriors, as it was the primary means of income for those of his kind back then. The owning of land was characteristic to his kind as well, though not always in such a grand scale as that of the Athanasius clan.
She was about to toss the letter aside, out of sheer frustration, when something farther down the scroll caught her eye.
It was a list of references; places where she might find more information regarding ancient rituals pertaining to waxing moons and gift-exchanges. There was one in the Norse lands, where Lysander's species were rumored to originate. There was one in Ireland, where Lysadner's kind were known to have flocked, but there was one right in London, and she had a key to it.
The Library of Ancient Runes.
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Hermione asked Heartcomb if she could leave for the day because it seemed the vampire that bit her took more than she had been prepared to give.
Heartcomb let her go, recommending blood-replenishing potions.
Hermione hurried out of the ministry and apparated outside the Library of Ancient Runes. She hoped to Merlin Lysander wouldn't show up unexpected, like he did the last time and she wondered if the key she was using had anything to do with it.
Finding a secluded spot in a nearby park, Hermione examined the key with every magical tester she could think of.
She smiled triumphant when she discovered the trigger spell for the summons. Now she only needed to remove it. She needed a spell breaker and she vaguely recalled one from her many books, she just needed to know the exact type and parameters. She made sure that the removal of the trigger wouldn't inadvertently trigger the summons anyway and was glad to discover that the spells on the key weren't all that complex. This might be easier than she though.
She brought out her wand.
"Reconligo," she said, thinking of the accompanying password that would recover the spell-breaker book she put in magical storage.
The book appeared and fell on her lap. She flipped through the pages, cross referenced and found the spell she needed to break the trigger spell in the key.
"Dearmare arcessitu!" she whispered, waving her wand and tapping the key. The key trembled for a bit before settling.
She could only hope the breaker worked, and there was only one way to find out.
After returning her reference book to magical storage with a "Repositum!" she went to the library and tried the key. The library opened itself to her.
As she walked in, she was met once more by Lord Mac a'Bhaird and she happily told him she would like to see the books in the upper floors.
"Ready to take on the challenge of deciphering the strange runes, my lady?" asked Lord Mac a'Bhaird.
She smiled and nodded. If her suspicions were correct, she would be able to read what was up there.
Hermione apparated to the upper floors and Lord Mac a'Bhaird met her there.
"I'd like to familiarize myself with very old rituals. Binding rituals, actually," she said.
Lord Mac a'Bhaird nodded. "I'd suggest you go to aisle four, then. But be warned. The books have been catalogued based on academic theory, not certainty. A lot of the runes in these books are unreadable, and while we've had the best scholars catalogue and classify them, we have little way of knowing if they've done so correctly."
That, Hermione thought, made things a bit daunting. It meant what she was looking for could actually be anywhere in the upper levels.
Well, you have a week left yet to prepare, Granger.
It wasn't enough, but it would have to do.
"Thank you Lord Mac a'Bhaird. You have been a great help. I can manage from here."
The ghost bowed and left her to her work.
Hermione began to scan the shelves and she found that the books were relatively organized. It was quite possible that some literate had actually ventured to arrange the books.
Probably another reluctant familiar trying to find a loophole, she thought bitterly.
She sifted through the books, finding a lot of binding rituals pertaining to waxing moons and gift-exchanges.
Minutes turned to hours, and by the time the clock struck eight in the evening, she had learned a lot, but hadn't exactly found what she needed.
She found a rather interesting Familiar spell when the familiar was an animal. While the wizarding world had several basic spells for binding an animal as your familiar, this was curious in that she could be connected to her familiar's thoughts when she wanted to.
Hermione seriously thought about performing it on Crookshanks, and hopefully, she would gain insight into the ritual Lysander wanted her to do for him. She might be able to use that insight to find a way to break the binding.
The more she thought about the idea, the more plausible the idea seemed. She noticed that all of the binding rituals had similar characteristics, and sometimes, it was only the incantation that changed. If she gained first-hand insight on any of the binding rituals, she could very well suppose that the binding ritual Lysander would use on her followed similar patterns.
Knowledge was power, after all.
After a few moments of thought, she sighed and closed the book in front of her. She knew she had to go home. Harry didn't know where she was, and Gail could have let slip their episode in the bathroom, which meant Harry might be having kittens now.
Hermione made a copy of the binding ritual for animal familiars and resolved to do her ritual the following day. If it meant she had to take the day off getting the materials ready, then so be it.
Now, she just needed a spell to make her seem sick enough to stay in. If she was going to do this, she didn't want anyone knowing about it just yet.
Yes, not yet.
I don't want to worry Harry.
Oh, but won't he want to know?
Of course he will! But what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?
Right…
She frowned a bit. She still had reservations about all this secret keeping. She had always trusted Harry, but now… there was just that nudge that made her need to keep it…
An idea suddenly hit her and she knew exactly what she had to do to stay home the next day.
I know just the thing! It's perfect: consistent with the bathroom episode if Gail told, or ever tells, on me. Hooray for Fred and George!
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"Ron, you are so dead!" Harry growled, holding up Hermione's hair as she heaved into the toilet. It was midnight, and she had woken up the whole house.
Well, all for the sake of drama, she thought as her stomach recoiled.
She groaned miserably for effect.
Ron looked terribly guilty, and anxious, but he was never too quick with his apologies. "It was Chinese! I bought it from our favorite Chinese place! We've been eating the stuff forever!"
"Well, it was bad!" Harry cried. "And now Hermione's sick like anything! We're never going to order Chinese from that place again!"
She retched. Her moans became less for show and more real than she would've liked. Fred and George's Puking Pastilles from the Skiving Snackbox were lethal in upped doses; but it promised that the effects would be nullified if you took the exact same dose of the accompanying antidote. In the meantime, it was dead uncomfortable and exhausting.
"Oh, Merlin, please kill me now…" she groaned, meaning it. The things she would do to be left alone in the house for an entire day…
She doubled over again and felt Harry rubbing her back as he held her hair off her face.
"I don't know why she was the only one affected," said Ron, as if it was her fault. "We both ate the dumpling."
"It's because you've got the constitution of a steam-roller, Ron," Harry said, reaching for a towel and running it under cold water. He gave the wet towel to her. "Here, love, try this."
"Th-Thanks, Harry," she muttered, taking the towel and using it to wipe her face with. Her stomach spasmed again, but she managed to hold it in a bit. "Cor, this is almost as bad as getting cursed by Dolohov…"
The look of horror blossoming on Harry's face alerted her to the fact that she might have gone a bit overboard with her descriptions.
"It's an exaggeration, Harry," she muttered. "Nothing to be alarmed about."
Harry did look awfully relieved. "Ron, fetch some tea for her, will you?"
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Ron left to do it, muttering something about being a replacement House Elf.
It turned out Gail hadn't told Harry about the bathroom incident, which Hermione thought was decent of her, but all things considered, so long as Harry didn't do something silly like stay home to take care of her, she would have the house all to herself the next day; or at least long enough for her to gather certain ritual materials.
She could perform the ritual while they were out, too. This particular ritual wasn't time specific, which was fortunate. She'd hate to have to formulate a load of bullcrap just to get Harry and Ron out of the house at night.
That aside, she was feeling rather wasted right now. I think I can stop retching in a while…
She hugged her middle. It was really beginning to hurt. "I think I'll be able to go to work tomorrow, anyway…"
Predictably, Harry objected. "No, you're staying home to recuperate. I don't care what your bosses say. You're really sick right now."
She shot him a petulant look but he remained stern.
One more obligatory protest on her part was required and she gave it, telling him she was feeling better now, but as if rehearsed, she retched again. The timing was excellent.
"Like you were saying?" he muttered.
"Alright," she spat out. "Maybe I can't, tomorrow, but I'll not have you fussing over me the entire day, Potter. If you so much as check up on me, I'll go to work even if it means I'll be barfing all over the ministry. Deal?"
He smirked, pleased enough with his success. "Deal."
Perfect. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go pull out my intestines."
Hermione bent over the toilet again to empty her gut.
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The following morning had Harry tucking her into bed with way too many pillows and healing potions. He had a list telling her when to take the potions and at what time. It was all very endearing, and given the true nature of her health, she felt a bit like jumping him and telling him she was well enough to shag. But of course, she had to pretend that she hardly had the pep to pick up a book.
She may have overdone it a bit, as Harry seemed to hover before leaving for work. Ron had already left, having no patience for Harry's fussing.
Harry looked worriedly at her from the foot of her bed. "Maybe I should skive work…"
"No!" she yelled too abruptly for someone who was supposed to be too sick to react to anything at all. She hastily covered-up her lapse. "You can't skive auror duties! It's not like skiving history class at Hogwarts. Auror duties are important, and your being there may spell the difference between a Death Eater being caught or getting away!"
Harry sighed. "You're right, of course, but you look so ill, Hermione… I just don't want to leave you alone…"
She waved his concerns away. "I'll be just fine. See here, I'm eating this kidney pie, and yum! It's delicious! Now, I wouldn't have an appetite if I was very sick, now would I?"
He smiled slightly. "Alright then, I'll go. But I'll be back as early as I can."
She nodded.
He gave her a kiss and he was gone.
The moment she heard Harry apparate, she jumped out of bed and grabbed the list of things she would need.
Among the more basic materials were spell chalk, candles, an Athame or ritual knife, and a cauldron. She had those in storage. The more exotic materials she would have to get from a few muggle markets and Knockturn Alley.
She went out to the muggle markets first gathering fresh herbs for the ritual. When she ventured to Knockturn Alley for the various dragon ingredients and stolen hair of unicorn, she had to wear a robe to cover her face with. There were too many people there who might recognize her.
She had to get a scrying mirror too, which was something they should have had at Grimmauld Place, but since nobody in the house put much stock on divination (or perhaps they'd had quite enough of prophesies), none of them had ever bothered to buy one.
By the time she was done with shopping, it was lunch time, and she had to hurry home to prepare her ingredients.
There were potions to be made with the stolen hair of unicorn and other ingredients, and until she had the potion made, she couldn't be entirely sure that the hair was indeed, stolen. She took comfort in the fact that no self-respecting unicorn would let anyone take hair from them willingly for commercial use.
It took her at least two hours to complete the silver-mercury potion, and she was confident it would work, as the description of a successfully mixed Binding Elixir matched that of the one she had in her pot.
The instructions explained that when she had her familiar handy and it was time for them both to ingest the potion, her dose would smell like her animal's favorite scents while the animal's dose would smell like hers. This part of the process served a double purpose, as a properly chosen animal wouldn't mind any scent pertaining to the human, mainly because it was the kind of presence-sense an animal relied on to recognize a human they trusted, and a human they didn't. The instructions didn't say anything about the human's reaction to the animal's favorite scents, which could only mean two things: One, it was assumed that a human has the maturity (or the willpower) to ingest the potion whatever its smell, and two, the animal did the choosing in the binding, because according to the instructions, the animal couldn't be forced to take the potion.
This was a very interesting insight to Hermione. It could mean that while she could be forced to be Lysander's familiar, there was an aspect pertaining to her own choice. How she can exploit this, she didn't know yet. She hoped she could find the answers.
The other materials for the ritual weren't as complicated, as dragon parts in the raw were powerful enough to act as catalysts. She merely had to cut the dry pieces and make them manageable for the ritual.
The instructions for the dragon mix had a portion pertaining to astral vision, which Hermione had read about in theory, but hadn't quite ventured to practice. Until now, she never considered it as more than the taking of Wizard hallucinogens, which was exactly what she thought it was: drugs. And while she was still a bit iffy about taking anything of the sort, she knew it was essential for her to try. It would involve the prepared dragon parts: She would mix dry ingredients of dragon in a boiling cup of dragon bile, add some of her own blood and reduce the mixture while she inhaled the fumes. After which she would have to consume some of the flakes of dragon hide. It was definitely dodgy potion-making, but she was determined to see the entire thing through. She only hoped that by the time Harry got home, the effects of the "dragon drug" would be gone.
Considering the hour, she felt that she didn't have much time left to complete the ritual. Harry said he would try to be home early. Knowing Harry, that could mean between four to six. She couldn't risk it. It was already two after noon. She still had to make sure she could read the incantations for the ritual.
She figured the perfect place to perform the ritual would be on the roof. The trouble, she realized, with spell chalk, was that it couldn't be scourgified. It could, however, be removed by a good dose of soap and water. If she had to scrub anything, better the roof where she wouldn't have to worry about wiping up the flood.
With a peg and a string, she drew two perfect, overlapping circles. Carefully, she wrote the runes around them. When she was satisfied with the results, she went to look for Crookshanks.
She went straight to Crookshank's usual haunts, calling on him gently, as her finicky pet didn't like to be summoned like a common dog.
Crookshanks padded into the receiving room from the viewing chamber with a soft mew.
"There you are," said Hermione, crouching down on her knees.
Like a proper human, Crookshanks sat in front of his mistress, stretching his front and hind quarters fitfully before he set his orange fluffy tail winding around his feet. He looked up, waiting for what she had to say.
"Crookshanks," she said. "I'm in trouble, and I really, really need your help to figure out how to get out of it."
He stared for a moment, unresponsive, before turning his head to look at the side table holding pictures of her, Harry and Ron. He gave a loud meow.
While Hermione didn't exactly speak cat, she knew Crookshanks to be unusually intelligent, and she could only assume Crookshanks was telling her what she thought he was telling her.
"I can't let Harry or Ron know about it yet," she said. "Not until I'm sure it won't put them in danger. I got into this situation because I didn't know what I was doing. Until I can be certain, I don't want to unwittingly drag them into this. I'll tell them when I have it all figured out. In the meantime, it's just you and me."
Crookshanks hissed at her.
Hermione wasn't sure what that meant. Was Crookshanks insisting? "You have to trust me on this."
He hissed again.
She frowned. "I made a mistake, you see, so this time, I want to be more careful. You're the only one I can rely on right now."
Crookshanks pranced towards her and began rubbing himself around her hips. Hermione smiled and petted him. He really was the dearest pet ever.
"I need you to be my familiar, Crookshanks," she said. "It's mostly just so I can experience this binding ritual and learn things from it, but of course, the effects of it will be permanent on us both. But really, it won't be so bad. According to the book, we'll be able to communicate somehow when we're bound, and we'll have certain new powers because of it. I don't think there's really anything wrong with that, as I think I have a lot to offer you on that respect and you have a lot to offer me. Also, it will extend your life span. D'you fancy living to a hundred years, poppet?"
Crookshanks didn't stop lavishing her with affection, meowing and purring.
Hermione's smile widened. "You're the best, Crookshanks. Come on. I have to perform the ritual up in the roof."
She got to her feet, walking to the stairs. She wanted to see if Crookshanks would follow. He did without hesitation. When they got to the stairs, she picked Crookshanks up and carried him the rest of the way.
At the roof, she let Crookshanks down and he immediately began prancing around the circles she drew on the floor.
Hermione got her things prepared. She set up a second cauldron (Harry's) in her circle and poured in the entire contents of a small covered cup. It was the dragon's bile. She put the cup in her handy garbage bin. Next, she placed the scrying mirror over the interlacing arcs of the two circles and set the athame beside her cauldron. She took the cauldron of mixed binding potion, ladling some in a potion cup and a milk saucer. She put the milk saucer in Crookshank's circle and the potion cup in hers. Carefully, she placed the candles in the proper directional points.
She stepped into her circle and instructed Crookshanks to step into his.
Like a behaved participant, Crookshanks settled in his spot and watched her with avid curiosity.
"This is going to take a while, so you have to be patient, alright?" she said.
Crookshanks made no move to complain.
She opened her parchment and set it down where she could read it. She breathed in and out, focusing herself, before she lit the candles with a wave of her wand.
They came to life.
She put down her wand and tried not to let the uncertainty of its loss overcome her focused determination. The spell expressly said that her hands must not be burdened, so it meant she wasn't allowed to hold a wand. She wasn't sure if it would work at all without the wand, but she had to put her faith in the magic.
She began the incantation in the ancient language of Lysander's kind:
"Im man tri rinde ilya athan
Ne suule fanyare ar talan
Wilya, uur, linque ar kemi nauta
Sirima lindele en fea anna."
She let the words settle in the embrace of the circle, absorbing the meaning of uttered syllables:
I cleanse through circles all around
By spirits of the sky and ground
Air, fire, water and bound earth
Flowing song of spirit's worth
And then she felt it; the stirring of magic she so often felt when she let loose a spell from her wand, only this time it felt enhanced, like it actually had density. It pressed on her then settled all around her in the circle. There was heat, wind, and a slight condensation.
Crookshanks flicked his tail, turned in a circle then settled back down, embracing himself with his tail.
Hermione felt somewhat elated. It seemed to have worked!
Following instructions, she lit the fires under Harry's cauldron and put in the dried dragon ingredients to cook with the bile. Taking the athame, she pricked her finger and massaged the wound to let the few drops of blood fall into the mixture. Soon enough the bile was boiling and Hermione leaned over to take a whiff of the fumes. The instructions said she had to take as much as the fumes as she could.
It didn't smell bad, though she could feel the fumes traveling up her nostrils. She could see Crookshanks sniffing some, but he turned away after a while.
Hermione began to feel a slight headiness overcoming her.
Oh, goodness, here we go: Hallucinogenic effects.
It didn't take long for the bile to evaporate, and using her wand, she levitated a flake of dragon skin from the reduced mixture. It was a bit difficult to target since her vision was seriously swimming.
She blinked several times before she took the flake and ate it. It tasted like dried mint, but that hadn't exactly occurred to her as her vision suddenly took on a very eerie turn. Everything turned black and gray; dark and dull, but her surroundings were not entirely devoid of color. Tendrils and ribbons of all shades were wriggling out of Crookshanks. It didn't seem to bother the cat-kneazle at all. She could only suppose it was the visualization of his aura. It made sense. As a few birds flew by, she could make out colors from them, though not as strong as Crookshank's.
She looked at herself and she saw that her aura was gold and green, and that there was something very odd about her tendrils. Her tendrils were extended at a certain point, reaching out to another line of aura from an unknown source. The alien aura came from some distant being beyond Grimmauld Place. It was purple, and while her aura and the other weren't permanently connected, they were reaching out to one another; feeding a bit on each other.
It bothered her that she could see Lysander's aura, because that was all it could be, really. They weren't bound yet, as he said, but they were already connecting.
She scowled but decided she couldn't let her irritation detract her from her goals.
"Are you ready, Crookshanks?" she asked.
Crookshanks sat motionless.
She nodded and spoke the next enchantment, touching her fingers to her cup of potion. Amazingly, Crookshanks padded his paw lightly on his saucer. She read the ancient language, speaking it carefully to make no mistakes. The translation of it came easily enough, to her.
"Shade to you and shadow me
Bound by soul through magic's key
Dark made safe, tied souls made twain
Nature's laws spun true by reign
Give thy oath, carrier of worth
Chained until the Earth's reversed."
The words swam in her head, flowed to her shoulders, down her arms and through her fingers. As she let her mind comprehend the words, the potion began to glow.
Just as the instructions said, she began to smell a hint of cooked chicken liver and baking cookies. It was the strangest thing; that Crookshank's favorite smells were cooked food. Then again, it would have been horrible if the potion began to smell like rats, or doxies, for that matter.
She took the cup and drank the potion down while Crookshanks lapped his potion up. She wondered what her scents smelled like to Crookshanks and hoped hers was as pleasing to him.
The milk saucer was emptied and Crookshanks rose, licking his lips.
Hermione watched as their auras began to drift to one another towards the scrying mirror. It was a little freaky, and Hermione saw her aura drawing back in response to her feelings. But after a while, she let it go.
She happened to notice her aura taking bits of Lysander's, but it didn't seem like Lysander's aura was responding much else to the ritual.
Her aura and Crookshank's met over the mirror and Hermione realized she can manipulate both auras while it was held within the mirror. The auras were being drawn to one another, but she could push hers in one direction and push Crookshank's in another. Some of their tendrils would meet and bind, but Hermione found she could separate them again even after those tendrils seemed to fuse.
She stored this information away for later processing and let the auras join completely. The tendrils became one big ribbon, adhering to one another. She could still see the difference between her aura and Crookshanks, and she could see where they were joined, but she assumed that as time wore on, the lines would be less apparent.
It was then she realized that a flood of strange, oddly patterned thoughts began to peter into her mind about food and hunting and cold comfort and relaxing warmth. She saw tiny places and soft surfaces, familiar laps and lots of different ankles. She felt like she needed to preen, and then she felt the need to share a rat with Hedwig and Pig. And finally, she felt unadulterated hate for Tonks because she once stepped on her tail.
Tail?
And then it dawned on Hermione. She was sharing Crookshank's initial flood of thoughts.
The binding ritual had worked.
It occurred to Hermione that the reason Tonks couldn't apparate into Grimmauld Place had been Crookshanks's hatred of her all along.
And Harry thought it was me! Honestly, how awful does he think I am? Humph. She would have to tell Harry about Crookshanks one of these days, just so he didn't think she was so uptight. She was still reeling from the "killed or worse expelled" factoid Harry had shared with her last Saturday.
Refocusing her thoughts, she read the instructions to the spell. It merely said that once the binding ritual was complete, all she had to do was thank the magic and close the spell.
Hermione blinked and the color in the world returned while the auras faded to invisibility.
She looked at Crookshanks, wondering. "How do you feel Crookshanks?"
Hungry.
Hermione chuckled. She resolved to feed Crookshanks some after she cleaned the circles off the roof floor. But first…
"Let's try some of this, shall we?" she said, reading the annotations on the instructions. "Let's see now… it says here I might be able to acquire some of your senses, through you. I must focus my mind's aura into yours. You should feel my presence but I can't control you, only tell you what to do. It's still up to you to follow me or not."
Hungry.
Hermione chuckled. Some compromise was required. "I promise I'll feed you after this."
Good.
Hermione concentrated, letting her aura flow. She felt that part of her that was in Crookshanks and she closed her eyes, seeing herself from Crookshank's eyes. It was almost as good as seeing from her own eyes, with colors and everything, except that objects farther behind her were somewhat blurry. Everything from within running range, however, were clear as day, and Crookshank's eyes darted from one magnified sound to another.
Crookshanks, said Hermione. Fancy a bit of a walk-around?"
More food.
Yes, Crookshanks. I'll feed you a cookie. She knew Crookshanks wouldn't be able to resist those, now that Hermione knew it was one of his favorite scents.
Crookshanks padded around the roof, checking into corners and pouncing on a few bugs that caught his attention. Hermione knew this was all for her benefit; to help her experience how it was to be a cat.
Once around the roof was enough. Hermione thanked Crookshanks and retreated back into herself.
Hermione stood, figuring that she'd have to do clean-up after she fed Crookshanks.
"Come on, then. The cookies are waiting," she said, opening the door to the house. Crookshanks darted through it and Hermione followed.
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Hermione scrubbed the roof chalk-free before cleaning up her materials to put them back in their proper places. She made sure to hide the excess potion ingredients properly, as she didn't want to explain to Harry and Ron what she was doing with Knockturn Alley merchandise.
She looked up at the clock and saw that it was almost four.
Hurriedly, she went back to her room, picked out the medical potions she should have already taken and reduced them accordingly by flushing them down the toilet. Harry would surely check if she had taken her medicines.
She cleaned up, changed into house clothes and analyzed her experiment as she scribbled her findings on parchment.
It was interesting, the auras. She could see them and manipulate them to a certain extent, even after they were bound. Of course, it occurred to her that she had to be seeing the auras to manipulate them, and it was entirely possible that after a certain period, she couldn't separate them whether she could see it or not. She would have to look around for information regarding that.
Her willingness to be bound did make the transition smooth, and it did imply that her will would be playing some role. Maybe she could find a way to bar the binding between her and Lysander, or maybe even sever the ties once they're bound.
She had consumed quite a bit of parchment when she heard the crack of Harry's apparating.
It was just about to hit five in the afternoon and she chuckled. Exciting as Harry was, he could be predictable in certain matters.
Harry found her sprawled, stomach down on her bed, writing with books all around her.
"You must be joking," he said, sitting beside her on the bed.
He caressed her head a bit and she noticed his eyes trailing to the potions on her bedside table. She stifled a laugh.
She looked up at him. "I got bored."
"At least it means you're well enough to work tomorrow."
"Yes, I am."
"What's that you're writing?"
For a moment, Hermione considered lying, but she supposed she'd done enough cover-up for a day. She smiled. "Stuff that has to do with what I researched in Hogwarts the other day. It's not ready for me to tell you about it."
He chuckled. "It's not ready or you're not ready?"
Tell…
Oh, but poor Harry will worry…
"Both." She began to fix her papers and put her writing materials aside. She rolled over on her back and smiled up at him, striking a slightly sexy pose. "I missed you."
She hoped to distract him and perhaps distract herself, too.
He grinned, his green eyes taking on an affectionate glow. "What else are you well enough for?"
She smiled, feeling that spark of naughtiness charging her nerves. "You tell me, doctor."
He leaned over, slipping his hand beneath her shirt and over her stomach. He kissed her slowly before speaking in an intimate voice. "Well, you are plenty hot."
"Mm-hmm. Is that bad?"
"Yes, but in a very, very good way…"
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Harry pushed back the drowsiness he felt from having just made love to Hermione. It was a difficult thing; far more difficult for him as a man than it was for her as a woman, yet she was deep in her nap and he was managing to stay awake.
He pushed back some hair from her face, watching her in her sleep. He could watch her until he dozed off on his own and resolved to do that in a bit just as soon as he got a look at the papers she had been writing on earlier.
It wasn't as if he had planned on have mind-numbing sex just so he could exhaust her enough to put her to sleep. The sex had been spontaneous, however much he had thought about it while he was away from her, but seeing her asleep, peaceful and sated, he had one of his unrelenting urges to protect her.
She hadn't actually said it, but her upset last Saturday had triggered something in her to do research in Hogwarts, and then she had these books all pulled out from the shelves. She was looking for answers, and he couldn't help but be worried about why.
At least, he thought, she wasn't lying outright. She was being elusive, yes, and he just knew she was hiding something, but knowing the dynamic of her thought processes, she was keeping the truth from him, and from Ron, to protect them. He knew, because he would do exactly the same thing.
He pulled the blankets closer around her to make sure she didn't catch a chill and she shifted a bit, burying herself under the sheets.
Carefully reaching over her shoulder to her bedside table, he picked up the parchments and summoned his glasses. There was a soft, barely discernable shuffle as the scrolled parchment zipped into his hand. His glasses clicked as they snapped into his palm.
Slipping his glasses on, he read Hermione's pages and frowned. He couldn't understand a thing. She had written in some strange language he had never seen before, and while he was no master linguist, he at least had a store of general knowledge to know that this was not of any known ancient rune.
The script was slanted, and cursive, with very little spaces in between. While it didn't surprise Harry that Hermione was fluent in some ancient dead language, it surprised him that she would use it like this, as if writing in it was easier than writing in English.
Unless she knew you would do this. He sighed, shaking his head. There were drawbacks to the two of them knowing each other too well.
"Mankoi naa lle sinome…" she muttered in her sleep.
He froze and listened, but she didn't say anything more. Instead, she shifted into his embrace, nestling against his chest. She was cold.
He put his arms around her, tucking the blankets more securely as he rubbed her back. Holding her, he felt the drowsiness begin to set upon him.
"Amin ve laa er lle hanya," she breathed in the silence.
He had absolutely no idea what it meant.
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Why are you here? she wanted to ask, instead, it came out in his language. "Mankoi naa lle sinome?"
Lysander stood at the edge of her unconscious mind, present, but barred from coming any closer. She knew it was because of Harry. She knew it was because Harry was near. She burrowed deeper into Harry's presence and Lysander seemed to get pushed back farther, but his presence remained, and it irritated her.
He smirked.
Hermione frowned.
"You are speaking the language already," he said. "You have read from the book."
A growl escaped her. "Kela!"
She cursed, hating that he could compel her to speak the words.
This wretched language of his was going to drive her spare.
"WHAT are you, Lysander, exactly? Your kind-your true kind-wouldn't do this." she managed through grit teeth. "You're a monster."
"Mani amin naa uuminda," he said smoothly.
What I am matters not.
"Mani minda," he continued, "naa tanya amin naa sinome an lle faare."
What matters is that I am here because you wanted all that is.
"Lle wethrine amin."
You deceived me, she whispered. "Lle nuema amin!"
You trapped me!
"Lle faare an na wethrine," was his ready reply. "Lle faare an na nuema."
You wanted to be deceived… trapped.
The truth speared through her, and she hung on to Harry for dear life.
She brought this upon herself. She got herself into this.
She wanted out. She NEEDED out.
He chuckled. "Lle naa nuema." You are trapped.
She shook her head. "Not yet. I still have my will. My will is the key."
"Your will is weak."
"It was. Now I know, and I won't let it be weak again."
He merely smiled, her words amusing him. "You will give in. They all do."
She shook her head. "Amin ve laa er lle hanya."
I am like no one you've met.
"Neither, avarier, am I."
Unwilling one, he had called her.
She said nothing else, and with everything she had, she pushed him out of her dreams.
She succeeded, but his laughter rang in her head long before he was gone.
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A/N: The Language I used here exists in fiction. I didn't create it. I repeat, I didn't create it. I wasn't really being lazy, as I have a bunch of made-up fantasy languages ready in my hard-drive, but I wanted to use this because I'd like to "make-believe it exists". So instead of coming up with my own language, I stuck to one that's pretty well-known to all fantasy fiction fans out there. Makes it seem more… realistic.
For those of you wondering why Hermione's… being so secretive, I agree it's not normal. In fact, it's wrong. So wrong. Why do you think she's doing that? I wonder. ::winks geekily::
Also, I cut out a lot of the ancient language incantations spoken. I had them rhyming and everything, but it just… well, it all looked too much like gobbledygook (even if I really did have them in actual poems), so I just left the English translations on. I kept the language in this last exchange, though. Just so readers get the feel of Hermione being able to speak it fluently.