Chapter Text
Red hair whipped past Hermione in the tight staircase, a suitcase rapidly following the witch as she descended.
"You're NOT going!" Desmond yelled, chasing after his sister.
"Yes , I AM!" Lucy roared. "This is my last chance!"
Ciaran raced past Hermione, following the pair. "It's not safe!" He snapped. "You don't know what they're like."
"I don't care! I'm going!"
"You wouldn't last a week!" Ciaran cried.
Lucy turned, pushing past her brother to shove the pureblood in the chest. "How dare you," she seethed.
"He's right," Desmond stated coldly.
Lucy turned to her brother, ears steaming. "Excuse me?"
Desmond swallowed, stumbling slightly. "You can't go to Hogwarts. You'll be in danger."
"YOU said yourself, there are two other Muggleborns there!"
"Yes , but THEY are boys, not girls, and certainly not ones as pretty as you!" Ciaran interjected.
The twins wore matching expressions of horror.
"Gross," Desmond muttered, screwing his face up in disgust.
Lucy's voice shook with rage. "I'm not some dark artifact you can hide away with the rest of your father's things!"
"What are we hiding?"
The trio straightened instantly at the arrival of Mr O'Broin.
"Father," Ciaran coughed. "Luc-"
"Sir, please. I want to go to Hogwarts," she grasped his hands tightly. "It would only be for a year and then I'll be of age. I'm strong, I can-"
"No," he replied calmly, leaving no room for discussion.
Lucy blinked back tears. "But-"
"He said no Lucy!" Desmond yelled.
The suitcase levitating behind the witch exploded, raining paper and shredded clothes down.
"Is my blood really that much of a burden to you?" She roared. "Am I so repugnant that you have to keep me locked away?"
Mr O'Broin rushed to the girl, cupping her face. "Of course not," he soothed, wiping her tears. "You are so very, very dear to me."
That only seemed to make Lucy cry harder. "But why?" She sobbed.
Mr O'Broin took her hand, leading her to a small sitting room off the main corridor. He sat down on a large recliner and patted the seat next to him, gesturing for her to sit.
Lucy wiped her eyes and begrudgingly sat next to him.
"There is nothing Hogwarts can teach you that you haven't already been taught," he began. "In fact, there is nothing further even I myself can teach you here."
The witch hiccuped. "Then why-"
"Your blood is a factor, yes," he continued gently. "But that is not my concern."
"Is it because I am a woman?"
Mr O'Broin laughed. "Hecate no, my child."
"Then what?"
"Ciaran, go get the book," he called.
Ciaran nodded solemnly before disappearing down the hall. Desmond took it as his cue to leave.
"The potion can wait, Desmond, you need to hear this too," Mr O'Broin chastised.
Desmond groaned and pressed his head against the doorway.
Hermione felt some semblance of sympathy, she knew what it was like to get held up from an exciting project. However, this felt important, as if she teetered on the edge of something, she just didn't know what.
The answer came as a small red book.
Ciaran entered the room with it cupped within his hands. His steps were careful, as if he held something delicate. Something precious.
Desmond straightened, a muscle in his jaw flexed.
With great care, the son passed his book to his father.
"This is why," Mr O'Broin murmured, holding the book towards Lucy.
Lucy reached for it tentatively. "I- I don't understand."
"In this house, knowledge is-"
"Gold. Yes , we know," Desmond muttered.
Usually , Desmond seemed enamoured by the older wizard, but this book had him on edge. It was as if its very existence irritated him.
"Precisely," Mr O'Broin exclaimed, ignoring the boy's tone. "We harvest it, we wield it, but above all else , we must protect it. For without knowledge we are lost. What separates us from beasts is nothing more than the safekeeping of our history, and ensuring that it is passed on to the next generation."
Lucy frowned. "The Wizarding British population has grown to one thousand now, as a collective there are more than enough people to pass-"
"Do you know how many wizarding families own a copy of this book?" Mr O'Broin asked.
"I don't know, all of them?"
Mr O'Broin looked to Desmond again to answer. However this time, he didn't. Instead , he stared at the far wall, tapping his foot impatiently.
Undeterred, Mr O'Broin continued. "Four. The Zhào family, the Fayek family, the Basov family and us, the O'Broin's."
Lucy looked down at the unassuming text. "Why only four?" She asked.
"Because it is prohibited," Desmond muttered. "If anyone knew we had this, we would all be killed."
Lucy turned her head sharply to Ciaran, who nodded in agreement.
The witch didn't seem angry about being kept in the dark, which was surprising to Hermione. She'd have thought the girl would have been furious, especially seeing as her brother knew of the texts' secrecy.
"You promised me you wouldn't tell her," Desmond said darkly. "She was safe as long as she didn't know. She can't be charged if she didn't know that what she was practising was illegal."
"I don't think it matters anymore, Des," Ciaran sighed. "Things are changing. The laws won't protect anyone, least of all a Muggle-born witch."
Lucy looked between the three men with narrowed eyes. "I don't understand, I thought this was the Wizarding religion. I hear people in the shop quote these verses all the time!"
"They have not managed to ban voices yet, but soon Her very name will be forbidden," Mr O'Broin replied. "It is already taboo."
She stared down at the crime in her hands. "Why?"
"Because people fear things they do not understand," Ciaran whispered.
Mr O'Broin nodded. "Because of the power it holds."
Desmond stared at the book in disgust, whispering under his breath so quietly that no one in the room could hear it.
No one except Hermione.
"Because people will believe anything but the truth."
Hermione moved with the pull of time. Couches morphed into ruins. Lamplight into sunlight.
Hermione stood in the ruins of a blackened village. Vines coated the buildings, swallowing burnt timber and crumbling stone. Nature had begun to reclaim what man had stolen.
Desmond and Lucy stood at a collapsing doorway, the remnants of their childhood home.
Ciaran kept his distance, allowing the pair their moment to grieve. Hermione came to stand beside him, giving the siblings their privacy. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to . They were long gone and this was just a memory, one she didn't even know was real.
But she knew grief. Real or not, it was woven into every inch of this hallowed land.
Lucy pointed her wand at the doorway and particles of light danced around them. The vines thickened, flowers bursting forth until every inch of their home was encased in colour.
Desmond joined her, enticing the blooms to grow larger, more vibrant, more alive.
When they were done, they clasped their palms together and took a moment of silence. It was a beautiful memorial, one Hermione couldn't help but think Susan and Harry deserved.
Desmond began walking back to Ciaran, pulling Lucy along with him.
"Aren't we going to the square?" She asked, gesturing to the town's centre .
"No," Desmond snapped.
"But-" Lucy hesitated. "But what about the others? We always pay our respects to everyone."
Desmond glanced at Ciaran, guilt flashing across his features. "They don't deserve it."
Hermione thought about the young woman in the portrait, about all the other women that followed, and couldn't help but agree.
Protests died on Lucy's lips when she realised what Desmond meant, and she didn't utter a word as the trio climbed the grassy hill.
Hermione watched them go, wondering if this was the moment she would return to reality.
Instead, the familiar sensation pulled her through time and she found herself once again in another dimly lit room.
Desmond's clothes were wrinkled, his hair was unkempt and a patchy stubble coated his jaw. It looked as if he hadn't changed from the memorial, however many days ago that had been.
"The offering is tonight," Ciaran said softly.
Desmond did not look up from his stack of scrolls and ink. "I'm busy."
Ciaran sighed. "You don't want to anger them, Des."
"The feeling is mutual," he snorted as he reached for another tomb.
Ciaran slammed his fist down on the book. "You'll find no answers for what happened in that book," he snapped. "It was inevitable. It was divinity. We do not question their will."
"I don't believe in your gods," Desmond spat. "Science will tell me, it always does."
"And Magic?" Ciaran challenged.
"What good is Magic if it cannot return the dead?"
"What good is knowing how the plague happened?" Ciaran shouted. "Every year you search for answers and every year you fail. There is NO answer! Nothing you do will change what happened."
Desmond gave him a small, sad smile. "Ah, but at least I could prevent it from happening again."
"And if you can't?"
Pained brown eyes met a pleading blue.
"Tell your father I'm not coming," Desmond stated.
He turned back to his books. Ciaran returned back to his father.
Hermione returned back to the pull of time.
"Ugh, this place is always so filthy," Ciaran gagged, wiping his fingers down the dirtied glass in the familiar cluttered shop.
"Shh, she will hear you," Lucy hushed, gesturing towards the counter.
Ciaran rolled his eyes. "Who cares?"
"And the bezoar too please-"
Desmond continued to haggle with the shopkeeper as a black mass scuttled across the floor.
"Gods, is that a rat!?" Ciaran shrieked.
Before the unfortunate creature could make its escape, a blur of white and ginger hair pounced, snatching the rodent with its mouth.
The rat's screams died with a sickening crunch.
"Good kitty," Lucy cooed, bending down to give the shopkeeper's cat a well-earned scratch behind her ears.
Ciaran frowned with distaste "That thing has fleas."
"Shh, she will hear you!" Lucy snapped.
"Who?" Ciaran hissed, glancing at Desmond and the old woman. "The cat?"
Desmond counted his sickles as she placed his purchase into a wooden crate. "One bezoar aged in ale, the new edition of-"
A crash sounded outside the window.
"Grab him!"
Shouts echoed from the street as a scuffle escalated.
"What's going on?" Desmond exclaimed, rushing to the window.
"Unhand me!" A man cried.
Lucy, Ciaran and the shopkeeper joined Desmond at the window.
The small, frail woman was remarkably agile as she climbed onto a stack of books and peered over Ciaran's large frame.
Lucy gasped. "Is that-"
There was another loud thud as a man outside was tackled to the ground. "May Her wrath unleash upon you, you vile-"
"No," Ciaran breathed.
Hermione could feel his body tense from behind as the crumpled form of Mr Hogan came into view.
"Take the heretic!" A wizard in dark robes shouted.
Passersby watched helplessly as several men grabbed the old wizard by his arms and pulled him to his feet. Blood dripped onto the cobblestones below, creating a trail as they dragged him away.
Mr Hogan spat at one's feet. "You fools-"
A loud crack rang out as one of the men slammed his fist into the old man's temple.
"Go," Ciaran urged, his voice laced with terror as he pushed Lucy away from the window.
"You cannot silence Her word!" Mr Hogan screamed. "She is watching. She is-"
There was a flash of light and a beat of silence before screams rose from the panicked shoppers.
"Let's go!" Ciaran roared. "NOW!"
Lucy reached for her brother as he stood frozen by the window. "Des? Des!"
Desmond did not react, he simply stared in frozen, abject horror.
"We have to go!"
But Desmond wasn't looking out the window. Instead, he had his back to the carnage.
Hermione followed his line of sight.
"What is it?" Lucy cried, shaking her brother to wake him from his frozen state.
Desmond stared at the centre of the shop floor. At the white and ginger cat enjoying her meal. At the-
"The rat , " Desmond whispered.
Hermione looked between the wizard and the rat's carcass, trying to see what he saw.
"Des!" Ciaran screamed as he slammed his fist on the shop's open door. "Hurry up!"
"Excuse me, you still need to pay!" The old woman cried.
"Put it on the tab!" Lucy snarled.
She and Ciaran grabbed Desmond, pulling him out of the store.
The scene collapsed.
Hermione wasn't sure how long she floated in the darkness. This next memory took time to form, as if it wanted to get each detail perfect.
She could sense the grief before she saw it .
Gradually, the darkness faded, revealing Desmond's hunched form.
It was the same cluttered workstation, the same assortment of scrolls and texts. The same subtle glow from a single candlelight.
And yet, there was a shift.
Lucy and Ciaran stood on either side of Desmond, staring down at the dissected animal on the cutting board.
Mittens weaved between six pairs of legs, as if to comfort them.
"Rats," Desmond breathed.
Lucy dipped her head, gesturing for her brother to elaborate.
"It was the rats, the ones that came in on Father's ship," Desmond explained softly.
The pair shared a look over his shoulders, as if they couldn't believe he had finally done it.
Desmond had figured out the cause of the Black Death.
He chuckled bitterly. "Well, the fleas actually."
Desmond held up a small brown fleck to the candlelight. "This tiny little… insect . It jumped from rodent to rodent, ship to shore, parents to children."
Lucy swallowed. "Des-"
His voice broke. " This is what killed our family."
Desmond gestured to the unassuming creatures in front of him. A single dissected rat and several dead fleas.
"These are the Black Death."
"Why not Muggleborns?" Ciaran asked roughly.
A small laugh of hysteria shook Desmond's shoulders. "Luck. Chance. Something we carry in our blood that makes us immune." His laughter collapsed into sobs. "It doesn't matter now."
"But if you know, you could stop the next outbreak," Ciaran pressed gently.
Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kill every rat and every flea?"
"Find a cure."
Lucy cast a warning glance at Ciaran.
"I can't bottle one's birth in a potion!" Desmond snapped. "I can't make Purebloods Muggleborn."
Lucy hugged him tighter as he collapsed into another round of sobs. His cries of anguish were a testament to the years of hard work that finally gave him an answer, yet ultimately amounted to nothing.
Ciaran was right. Knowing did not change what had happened.
As if searching to find sense in a senseless tragedy, Ciaran tried to offer some words of comfort. "It would make sense that you would be immune," he began. "The Mother chooses each and every one of her magical children. And with Hecate's blessing-"
Desmond slashed his arms across the table, sending its contents crashing to the floor.
"DON'T start with this shit!" Desmond exploded. "This is not divinity! It's just-"
His voice broke. "It's just death."
Ciaran reached for his friend. "Death is-"
"Ciaran," Lucy snapped coldly. " Enough ."
With a sharp glare, Lucy sent Ciaran away. The pureblood shuffled out of the room, casting apologetic glances at the witch.
Desmond's cries echoed in the shattered space.
"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered, cradling his head to her chest.
She stroked his back as sobs wracked his broken form.
"It's ok. It's not your fault Des," she whispered pleadingly. "It wasn't our fault. We didn't cause this."
Hermione thought back to the night their father's ship arrived. To the rat that escaped onto the shore. The one that Desmond saved.
"If I'd only-"
It was already too late then. The village was doomed the moment their men returned from the sea. But a grieving man cannot see sense through his tears.
"You didn't know," Lucy shushed. "You were a child."
She cupped his face tightly between her palms. "You don't have to carry this guilt anymore. This death."
Desmond closed his eyes tightly, his cheeks glistening.
"I think I'll carry it for the rest of my life."
Hermione was yanked forwards, the force of it propelling her through large wooden doors. She fell onto a marble floor, acidic smoke coiling in her nostrils.
She cowered as men in dark robes surrounded her. A feral, instinctive fear rose within her as the men in the memory did what she had known men to do best-
Destroy .
They tore through the dining room, flipping tables and rummaging through cabinets as they went.
"We no longer practice," Mr O'Broin stated firmly, his arm cradled protectively around Lucy.
Desmond and Ciaran knelt with their hands raised as two men searched their dressing gown pockets.
"Ludicrous," the leader spat. "Your family all but leads the bitch's cult."
"Ask any of the families. We have not participated in an offering for years."
"No, you just hide away in your mansion praying to your ridiculous gods. You and your creepy kids."
"Oi!" Lucy snapped.
Mr O'Broin pulled on Lucy's nightgown, urging her to stay silent.
The man leaned over her, his lips curled in disgust. "Mudbloods," he spat.
Lucy sneered back at him.
He turned his glare to Mr O'Broin. "You disgrace your house."
The Patriarch straightened his shoulders. "I am the head of the ancient house of O'Broin. The oldest wizarding family in Europe. Power does not diminish just because one chooses not to wield it."
His voice carried a razor-sharp edge.
"Do not touch my children, do not even look at them," he warned. "Because I am owed a great deal of favours from the Wizengamot and I will call them in."
The man laughed. "They would never help a heretic."
"You forget yourself," Mr O'Broin hissed, are rare spark or anger engulfing the wizard. "I own the Wizengamot."
His declaration echoed throughout the room, the sound vibrating with power. Wands were wrenched from the intruder's hands, falling to Mr O'Broin's feet.
The manor began to vibrate, then rumble, then roar as he spoke. His words unlocked an ancient magic within the grounds.
"It was my family that founded it," he declared. "Mine that decided who deserved a seat at our table. I may sit in one chair, but our house is allotted fifty-two of those seats. The remaining one hundred and twenty-three ?" Mr O'Broin's voice rose. "I own those too. The seats and those who sit in them."
The ground began to crack and several of the men rushed out the doors.
Still, his voice rose. Still, the ground shook.
"Do not assume I will not act on my power just because I have not done so before."
Mr O'Broin slashed his hand through the air as energy crackled. Windows shattered and doors flung open as a powerful force lifted the men off their feet.
"Leave my house!" He roared. "Do not come back!"
With another swipe of his hand , the rumbling stopped and the Manor fell silent.
The remaining men fell to the ground.
"Or I will wield it," Mr O'Broin hissed. "Swiftly and mercilessly."
The leader's response warped as the scene distorted. The O'Broin family began to flicker and Hermione steadied herself for the next jump.
A tug on her shoulder forced her to turn, though it wasn't by some unseen force.
It was a very real, very tangible hand.
She turned and saw Malfoy.
"Granger, what the fuck?" He hissed.
Hermione stared up at him, bewildered. "You're not supposed to be here!"
The scene continued to flicker around them as he frowned. "Speak English, Granger!" He barked.
"I am!"
A sliver of panic danced in Malfoy's grey eyes as darkness rose around them.
"Let me out," he demanded, his voice tight with panic.
Hermione felt the pull.
"I can't!" She screamed.
Malfoy grabbed her shoulders tightly. "I said let me the fuck out of here you balmy witch!"
"It's not me!"
Malfoy began to flicker in and out of view.
"Granger? Granger!"
Hermione was wretched away.
"Des? Des!"
Both Desmond and Hermione gasped as Ciaran summoned a ball of light into a navy coloured bedroom.
Desmond bolted out of bed, launching himself to his feet.
Ciaran raised a handwritten note and an open envelope with a familiar crest.
"She's gone," he choked.
Desmond snatched the letter from his hand. "What?"
Hermione didn't need to look to know, but she looked anyway.
The letter wished its recipient a Happy Seventeenth Birthday and congratulated them on their acceptance into Hogwarts as a late transfer.
The name 'Lucy O'Broin' stood out in sharp, bold letters as Desmond crumpled the envelope in his fist.
"She's GONE!"
Once again, the pull came.
This time, finally, Hermione was swallowed by darkness.
The Forest of Dean was quiet. The icy river did not gurgle, the snow did not crunch underfoot, and even the birds had ceased singing.
Hermione heard nothing but her own breath, exhales that did not steam as one should. It was these inconsistencies that told her she was no longer in a memory, but a dream.
He wasn't here yet, but she knew he'd come.
Sure enough, she felt the chill grow stronger. A reckless, irrational part of her hoped it was Malfoy. That perhaps she was just trapped in another memory. But she knew in her gut that this was a place Malfoy could never reach.
"Is this you?" Hermione sighed, gesturing to the scene around her.
"Is what me, my dear?" Non-Harry drawled.
Hermione peered back at him. She took in the body of her friend, standing with shoulders pulled too far back. A smirk that Harry had never worn. A nonchalance he never mastered. Blue eyes stared back, the only part of this stranger that seemed warm. She scowled at him, curling her lip in disgust.
"Ah, you're waking up," he mused, tilting his head. "Clever little witch."
His voice sharpened at the end, almost bitter. Was he upset that he could no longer trick her? That she could discern a dream as soon as she entered one?
Hermione turned to face him fully. "Stop summoning me. Leave me alone," she hissed.
Non-Harry frowned. "I cannot."
"Why?" Hermione growled, her agitation rising.
He stared at her oddly, gesturing with his arms outstretched as if the answer was obvious.
"Because you summoned me ."
The ground swallowed her whole.
Hermione jolted in the familiar armchair, gasping for breath. She dropped the wand in a hiss, her hands shaking as she locked eyes with Malfoy.
He stared back with an expression she knew all too well. One etched onto the faces of everyone she had ever loved. Everyone she had ever watched die.
Fear.
It looked alien on his marble face. Those snarky lips agape and drained of colour. Glaring eyes now wide, silver eroded by a stormy grey. He looked as if he had seen death. He looked at her as if she was death. As if he was only now realising, truly realising, that she would one day kill them both.
"What the fuck was that?" He croaked, his voice-
God, his voice shook. That fact alone sent another wave of panic through her.
She launched forward, grabbing his shoulders tightly. Her voice was cold.
Dark.
"What. Did. You. See?”