Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Once upon a time in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late. For she had seen that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 21^st year. If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return, by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn… to love a beast?"

***

{Three days after the Battle of Hogwarts- 1998}

Bellatrix didn’t know how she’d gotten to where she was. Or why her body hurt so badly, or why it was so difficult to walk and breathe. In one hand, she held a silver rose. Her other hand, of which her fingers were gnarled and throbbing, held the top of a wooden staff. Snow fell from the sky in nearly blinding sheets of white and she had to use ‘protego’ just to manage through the storm. Somehow she’d ended up back at Malfoy Manor. Most peculiar… As she had been battling Molly Weasley only moments ago. The damn redheaded fool with her entitled smile! Bellatrix shuttered against a gust of icy wind as she lifted a serpent-headed knocker and banged it loudly against the door. The storm deepened and she hissed through her teeth as she rasped her fist on the wood. Finally, the door cracked open.

Standing in front of her was a hauntingly familiar face. A tall, handsome boy towered over her with a faraway look in his silver eyes. His white hair draped over his brow line and only deepened the premature lines on his face. He stared right through her as if he didn’t know her- even though she was someone he had interacted with all his life in one way or another. Bella shifted uncomfortably as her bones ached from cold. She motioned toward him to let her in, but he made no move to do so.

“Draco! Stand aside.”

“I will not,” he replied in a slightly stunned voice as his father’s cocky smile graced his face. “Allow a beggar woman into Malfoy Manor?”

“Beggar?!” Bellatrix screeched as her breath rattled in her chest. “Where is Cissy? Where’s your mother?” She demanded- still furious with her sister for having lied to The Dark Lord about Harry Potter. I’ll make her pay for her treachery yet! Just wait! “I’ll have her know right away that you spoke to me with such negative regard…”

“No beggars allowed.” Draco went to close the door, but Bella dropped her staff and caught his arm with her hand. She stared at him with deranged, wild, crazy eyes as she bared her gnarly, cracked teeth at him. She wanted to hurt him. To use Crucio or Sectumsempra or another spell that would potentially bring him harm. After all he had done! Failing to kill Dumbledore, not helping me when we were attacked here a few weeks ago, just being a miserable disappointment overall…

But the words that Bella wanted to say would not come. Her memories faltered. Her mind seemed to reel. Suddenly, she truly didn’t remember anything. Not her name or where she’d come from, how she got here, or how she knew this tragic, arrogant, hateful boy. Her pupils widened as she dug her fingernails into his skin. Draco tried to pull his arm out of her grasp, but she only tightened her grip. Something pulled from deep inside of her and she suddenly felt compelled to speak words she didn’t understand.

“Please, my prince, may I seek shelter from the storm?” The voice that came from her lips did not belong to her. She moved her other hand involuntarily and offered him the silver rose. “I have not much gold, but perhaps this? A gift?”

“A gift?!” Draco sneered as he yanked his hand away. The jolt from his grasp unbalanced her and Bella spilled onto the slick, icy steps at his feet. She felt something unfamiliar welling inside of her. In place of her own manic anger, there was something else. Something deeper. She lifted her head to him and smiled in a sad kind of way.

“A prince who does not help those less fortunate than him is no prince. He is a monster. A wretch. A… a beast.”

“Leave,” Draco said coldly as he turned on his heels. “And do not come back to the manor again.”

“Wait, my prince!” she cried but he was already nearly closing the door. Her hand, no longer gnarled or ancient, reached out and grasped his ankle. Draco spun to kick her away and froze in his tracks. Lying on the Manor’s steps was a beautiful, if not wicked looking woman, with long, dark, curly hair and wide brown eyes. She had ashen skin and pale lips with soft scars across her flesh and odd tattoos scrawled across her body. The prince fell to his knees in awe of her- this woman who was lovely, dark, and terrifying. For now she was a nearly familiar presence where a stranger just had stood. Tears sprang from his eyes as he groveled before her.

“My lady, forgive me. I-I was wrong not to show you grace.”

“Grace?!” Bella shrieked as she pulled to her feet and drew herself up to her full height. From inside her shawl, she drew a twisted, branch-like wand and pointed it at him. “Grace you have been given and grace you have denied. And now there shall be none of it for you, my prince,” she sneered. “For beauty, you see, and kindness do not come from one’s appearance. It resides within. There is a darkness in you, Draco Malfoy. A sinister flame that will be stoked until it rages into an inferno… or a fire so small that a candle wick could hold it. Your fate now lies outside your own hands.”

“Wh-What do you mean?” the boy whimpered as he shakily got to his feet. Just then, two more people entered the room. One was a man, tall and gaunt, with white hair and pale eyes. The other was a small-framed woman with long, blonde hair and a familiar face. Bellatrix paid them no mind, lost in her anger at the prince’s piousness. She flicked her wrist at him.

“From this day, henceforth, you shall be Draco no longer. But the beast that you are inside.” Something unspeakably hot burned the prince from the inside out. He felt as if his bones were snapping underneath his skin. He crashed to the floor, howling in anguish as his mother and father rushed to his side. He started clawing wildly at his arms and scratched away his flesh to reveal shining snake scales. Narcissa screamed in horror as she saw him tearing away ribbons of his skin to unearth the unholy plating underneath. She stared up at the witch with tears rolling down her face.

“Please! Please, I beg of you… mercy. Mercy for my only son!”

“Mercy?” echoed Bellatrix as she shifted her wand over to Narcissa. “I can show you mercy. More grace than your spawn has ever shown anyone. May you forget he is yours at all.” A hazy look entered Narcissa’s pale blue eyes. Lucius was right behind her- his silvery gaze distant and lost. They both sat there, on their knees, stunned and silent as Draco screamed in pain. Bellatrix watched with an amused look on her face as the human flesh was torn away.

“What have you done to me? What have you done!” Draco looked down at his hands. Or… what had once been his hands. Now his body was plated in serpent scales and from his nailbeds grew long, obsidian claws. He ran those unfamiliar paws over his head and gasped when he felt nothing but smooth laminae on the pads of his cool, rough fingers. He touched his mouth and felt a rough lip and fang teeth. He staggered backwards on his hands and knees as Bella approached him again, her wand firmly held in her grasp. She kicked the silver rose over to him and Draco took it with trembling, bloodied hands.

“It was enchanted, stupid boy,” she told him harshly. “Had you only accepted it- it would have granted your heart’s desire. Now it is a curse. A reminder. It will bloom constantly until your twenty-first birthday. On that day, if you have not given your heart to someone else- and have them give it in return… then the curse will hold forever. And you shall always be the beast, and all those you govern shall suffer. Your blood is cursed blood.” The younger, more beautiful Bellatrix was gone. She was once more an old hag with a bent back, gnarled fingers, and trembling breath. Her staff flew back into her hand as she leaned in very close to his face and her hot, unpleasant breath scorched his scaly flesh. She held his silver eyes with a steady smile. “Now, Draco,” she whispered. “They will see you as you truly are.”

“Wait! Wait!” The prince tried to scramble to his feet but slipped in the shredded remains of his former self. He watched, helpless, as she turned away from him and closed the door. As soon as the latch slid back into place, an eerie gray smoke rolled through the castle like thunder. Draco’s eyes stretched wide in horror as he saw his mother and father dissolve into the mist- leaving behind only a candelabra and a feather duster. The force of the spell sent him reeling against the cold, stone floor as darkness overtook him.

***

As she walked back through the snow, Bellatrix began to fade. Step by step, she was less and less of a tangible thing and more and more just a translucent figure amongst the winter-kissed briars. And then, her staff and wand fell into the glittery sheets of white and she was nothing. Nothing at all. The shard of Bellatrix’ spirit that was trapped inside the storybook manifested itself inside the palm of the serpent prince- taking the shape of a black handled mirror. The world outside them shifted. Land pulled, tugged, warped, and groaned. Buildings moved and landscapes rearranged.

Malfoy Manor stood dark, stoic, and silent somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest- lodged there by dark magic unknowingly of Bellatrix’s design. Dozens of souls who didn’t usually reside inside the halls of Lucius and Narcissa would soon wake to find themselves imprisoned by Bella’s curse. And as the days and weeks and months drew on, slowly- bit by bit- they would begin to forget who they truly were. Their names, their houses, and their identities would all fall to ruin. In a year’s time, they wouldn’t remember how they’d come to be what they were; not even Draco Malfoy. From the moment those silver serpent eyes opened, he would be only the Prince of the Castle. The Beast. The Wretch…

The Snake.

Chapter Text

Three years later…

{December 28^th, 2001}

Cold wind whipped at Charlie’s face as he made his way across a barren field. He glanced up at the graying sky as it began to snow and he shook his head. He pulled his dragonskin gloves out of the pocket of his coat and kept on across the endless field. He followed a footworn path out of the wasteland where Hogsmeade Village had once stood. He looked around in every direction, turned on his heels, and disappeared with a loud ‘crack’. He appeared again inside his childhood living room and felt instantly comforted by the warmth of familiar, tangible things. He removed his dragonskin gloves and laid them on the coffee table as he turned to face the others in the room.

“Thank you, everyone, for agreeing to meet me here on such short notice…” In front of him were over a dozen people from countless walks of life. There were wizards from Durmstrang Institute, witches from Beauxbatons, and countless others. One woman, dressed heavily in thick fur coats, towered over everyone else in the room and her hands trembled as she sipped from a teacup that looked nearly microscopic in her giant hands. Charlie met the gaze of a middle-aged man with long, white hair and a distant look in his dreamy eyes.

“Any news from our correspondents, Xenophilius?” he asked him as he placed his chilly hands closer to the fire that was burning brightly in the hearth. Xenophilius sighed and shook his head.

“No, nothing.”

“Madam Maxime?” he addressed the large woman and she gave him a disheartened look.

“No, nothing,” she told him in a heavy, musky voice that was laced in a French accent.

“Has there been any word from anyone?!” Charlie demanded and a small hand lifted into the air. From the back of the crowd came a beautiful woman with flowing silver hair. Charlie instantly smiled when he was greeted by his greatest ally in their efforts- Apolline Delacour. He wrapped his arms around the half-Veela as she hugged him tightly.

“From Ilvermorny…” She reached inside her velvety green robes and pulled out a letter. She placed it in Charlie’s hands and he read over it with a hunger blazing in his amber eyes.

“This is… wonderful!” Charlie laughed as he turned to address the others in the room. “They’ve sent us a list of spells we can use to try and find them!”

“Every spell they’ve ever given us has been unfruitful, Charlie,” this was from an old woman dressed in deep, burgundy colored clothing. She peered at him through thick-framed bifocals. “Every damn thing we have ever tried has failed!”

“We cannot give up hope, Augusta!” Maxime nearly sobbed over her tea. “We will find them!”

“It still doesn’t make any sense… we’ve been looking and looking and looking for years. And it’s gone- all gone. The school, the grounds, the Forbidden Forest, Hogsmeade, and…”

“Malfoy Manor,” Charlie interrupted Xenophilius with a grave nod of his head. “But entire properties don’t just up and vanish. People don’t just disappear.”

“If my Luna could have come home to me, she would have by now!” he wailed and a woman next to him- Arabella Figg- patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“I’m not giving up on Harry,” said a voice from the back. The speaker pushed through the crowd and everyone around the room silenced. He was a large, burly man with a mop of shaggy blond hair and determined blue eyes. He held Charlie’s gaze evenly. “I’m not giving up on my cousin.”

“I know you’re not, Dudley,” the Weasley said with a smile. This was his second greatest ally in the search to find their lost family. He extended the letter and Dudley took it from him. He turned to face the eager crowd as he cleared his throat to read.

“Dear Mister and Missus Delacour, we, of course, have heard all about the peculiar disappearance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the mysterious vanishment of anyone on the grounds. Our deepest apologies for your loss. We hope the following hexes, charms, or spells may assist in your search. Good luck to you… and then it’s a list of things I don’t understand.”

“Well that’s because you’re a muggle,” Charlie teased as he took back the letter. He lifted his head and saw the looks of doubt on many of their faces. Charlie sighed and ran a hand through his thick, red hair. “They wouldn’t give up on us! My entire bloody family is out there somewhere and I’m going to find them. I don’t need your help to do so… but I’d like to have it.”

Maxime nodded first and slowly, everyone else did too.

“So what’s our first move, Charlie?” Miss Figg asked as she dabbed at the end of her nose with a handkerchief.

“Some of these spells are complex. I’ll need a lot of different ingredients…” He tapped the paper with his wand. “Geminio.” The letter duplicated in Charlie’s hands and he began to pass them around the room. “Take a few copies! Don’t be afraid to get extras of the things on here. It’s going to take a lot of practice.”

“What can I do to help, Charlie?” Dudley asked as the Weasley tapped the paper again and its feverish duplicating ceased. Brown eyes met blue hues and Charlie nodded to him.

“Keep up the morale, Dudders, m’boy. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

…

{May 7^th, 2002}

“Are you sure about this?” Augusta murmured as Charlie finished writing the letter he was planning to send off. He read over it again, ignoring her nervous fidgeting as the ink dried on the paper.

Hello to anyone whom this might reach. My name is Charles Weasley and I am looking for my family. Three years ago, an entire school of people vanished without warning. We are trying to find them. We won’t give up. Please… if you’re out there, let us know. Somehow. Some way. We are waiting for you.

He let her read it and she nodded stiffly. “It sounds good, but Charlie…”

Still ignoring her, he took the letter back, rolled the paper up into a tiny scroll, and dunked it into a bottle of absolutely disgusting smelling orange liquid. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist as Augusta crossed the room and placed a gnarled, veiny hand on his shoulder.

“Charlie…”

“Augusta, if you’re trying to talk me out of this, just give it a rest. I know it seems complicated, but the professors at Ilvermorny swear by this spell…”

“And they swore by the other eighteen we tried as well!” she argued sharply. Charlie didn’t answer her- he just kept his eyes locked on the hands inside his watch as they ticked by. Wait exactly one minute, then remove the contents from the potion. 57, 58, 59, 60… He plucked the letter from inside the vial- amazed that all of the orange liquid had soaked into the parchment- but left it entirely untouched and looking as it had when he submerged it. “And everyone knows that Ilvermorny is the least academically gifted of all the magical schools, Charlie,” Augusta kept right on as if she hadn’t even heard him or noticed his silent protests. He shifted around the room and headed over to a large enclosure by the door where a single gray barn owl was asleep upon a branch.

“Wake up, Archimedes. Time for an adventure.” The owl opened first one eye, then the other. It stared at the paper in Charlie’s hand for a moment and blinked heavily. It let out a soft hoot then turned its head the other way. “Archimedes Allan Weasley!” Charlie snapped. At the use of its full name, the owl turned to face him again with an even more unsavory expression on its face. “Don’t you look at me like that,” he scolded and it just inched a little closer to the far side of its enclosure. Charlie sighed and placed a hand on his hips in exasperation. “Honestly, Archimedes! If you do this for me, as soon as you get back, I’ll… I’ll feed you fresh rats for the next month.” That seemed to catch the owl’s interest and it perked right up. “I’ll catch them myself. I’ll give them to you while they’re still warm…”

“Are you reasoning with an owl?” Augusta seemed absolutely aghast. She threw her hands up in the air and turned away from the scene in front of her. “Merlin, help us all if this is the man we’ve put our faith in.”

“There’s no harm in being kind to animals,” Charlie called over his shoulder, smiling as Archimedes finally conceded and scuttled off the branch into his master’s open palm. Charlie made a kissy face at the bird and it knocked its beak against his lips. “And besides, he loves fresh rats. If he’d been in the house with Scabbers- Peter Pettigrew would have been dead years ago.”

“Peter Pettigrew,” spat Augusta as she turned back around just in time to see Charlie placing the rolled up piece of parchment in Archimedes’ ready claw. Whatever else she was going to say was lost as Charlie gave the bird’s beak a boop with his nose.

“Now Archimedes, listen carefully to me. This letter is enchanted. It demands to be taken to wherever our missing family is. I don’t know where that is going to force you to go, or where it will take you to… but it might be sometime before we see each other again. Please, be careful. You’re my dearest friend you know.” The owl chirred and rubbed his head against Charlie’s own. Then Archimedes leaped from his palm and spread his beautiful wings. He hooted over his shoulder at Charlie as he soared through the open window and off into the night.

Charlie exhaled all the air in his lungs and nodded his head. “Come on, Augusta. There’s nothing we can do now but wait. Thank you for agreeing to stay with me for a few days… I hate being here by myself.”

Something uncharacteristically soft spread across the old woman’s face. She patted Charlie’s shoulder gently and offered him a small, sad smile. “The Burrow is your family’s home… it must be horrible without your family in it.”

Charlie nodded as the words stuck in his throat. He peered across the living room at the Weasley Family Clock that was still stuck up on the wall. All of the golden hands were doing what they had been doing since that fateful day back in 1998- shifting constantly between ‘Mortal Peril’ and ‘Lost’. Everyone but Charlie- his was tucked safely into the ‘Home’ portion. He stared at the clock for a long time until Augusta tapped his shoulder.

“Come on, Charlie Weasley. Time for bed.” As she swooped him under her arm, Charlie almost felt tears coming to his eyes.

A few years ago, it would have been his mother doing this. Trying to calm my nerves, telling me not to worry so much, ushering me up the stairs toward my room… A terrible hitch caught in Charlie’s throat and he had to swallow it down hard just not to cry. But it isn’t my room anymore. It’s Percy’s room. And Percy’s gone… just like all the others… Lost in his thoughts and with his eyes glazy, Charlie only halfway murmured a ‘goodnight’ to Augusta before he disappeared inside the room that once belonged to his prat of a little brother. Augusta watched him go with a sad, tired understanding in her eyes as she headed for the quarters that had formerly belonged to Ginevra Weasley.

Unbeknownst to the witch and wizard, no more had they retired to their rooms, did Archimedes come gliding back in the Burrow. This time, he entered through a cracked window on the upper floor in Ron’s old room- which was now used as Charlie’s study. Archimedes had a determined look on his face as he fluttered across the desk. Papers were strewn all about, and there was constant evidence of Charlie’s aggravation and disheartenment- both in empty Butterbeer bottles and broken things scattered across the floor. Archimedes paid no mind to the rubbish under his claws or the smell of liquor from the empty bottles. He had his eyes locked on the bookshelf- on one single, particular thing.

Three years ago when Charlie Weasley got the letter from Augusta of what was being called ‘The Vanishing of Hogwarts’, he’d been at the Burrow. The war was freshly won and he had come back after the Battle of Hogwarts to collect a few things for his family. He’d only just seen them the morning prior and didn’t understand what Augusta Longbottom had meant when she said ‘the entire school is gone!’ Then he showed up and saw exactly what she meant. It was all… gone. And his entire family with it. The next few days were spent in a frenzy, as it wasn’t just the school, staff, and students who had vanished. It was also all of Hogsmeade Village as well as Malfoy Manor. Charlie himself led the search parties upon all three grounds and found only a single bit of evidence. An odd object. A peculiar find. Something that had no business laying in the grass upon the land where Malfoy Manor once stood…

Archimedes’ eyes glowed orange like the potion that hexed the paper in his claws as he hovered in front of the bookshelf. With his beak, he plucked a single novel from the rows and rows of others and it clattered to the floor. Beauty and the Beast. It was small and thin- a muggle children’s book. When Charlie originally picked it up from the sodden earth, he nearly threw it away but something, something told him to keep it. And he did. Now Archimedes landed beside it and used his beak to nudge the book open. He stared down at the colorful, illustrated pages and unclenched his claw. The scroll fell from his grasp and rolled into the nook between the pages. An orange light beamed up from the letter and it vanished against the words that the owl didn’t understand. Satisfied to have concluded his quest so quickly, Archimedes left the study- eager to head off into the night in search of warm, fresh rats.

…

Charlie’s letter floated down, down, down forever through an endless sea of nothing until it was picked up by the wind. The breeze carried it faithfully through a town that looked like Hogsmeade and landed steadily on the steps of an outlying cottage on the edge of a schoolyard. A giant man, who was sitting outside enjoying the nighttime air, glanced over when the parchment met the stone.

He picked it up, unfolded it, then began to read. But Charlie’s words were gone. Yes, the letter itself had been permitted into the story… but the things he wrote were changed. Just like everything else in this world- nothing was as simple as it seemed. In place of a heartfelt plea to find his family, Hagrid found an invitation to an invention convention in the town over for the following day. With a wide smile broadening on his face, the huge man lumbered back inside- eager to tell his daughter of the amazing opportunity that had fallen- almost quite literally- into his lap.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke with a jump. She wasn’t sure why she always started her day in a bit of a confused manner- but every day it was the same. Wake. Confusion. Then a kind of settled understanding. And finally… a sense of normalcy. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, yawned, and stretched. She smiled as an ugly, fluffy mass of orange fur uncurled from between her pillows and padded over to her. The pumpkin-colored creature let out a sound that was almost like a meow as she patted it between the ears. Then she hummed to herself as she pushed to her feet and strode over to her vanity. She collected a silver hairbrush from the desk and began to run it through her mane of thick, curly hair. She immediately decided it wasn’t going to go down easily and pulled the gingery strands back into a bushy ponytail instead.

“’Ermione, dear!” came the cry from her father as he called to her from the garden. “Ar’ya awake?”

“Yes!” she returned with a playful roll of her eyes. She made her way over to the cracked window and leaned against the pane. She peered down and smiled brightly as a warm face tilted upward at her. Her father, Hagrid, was a brutishly large, kind man with untamed, wiry black hair and soft eyes that were as dark as damp earth. He waved up to her from where he was tending to their Mandrakes. “Good morning, Papa,” she said with a beaming smile as Crookshanks- the orange monstrosity- wound himself around her feet.

“When you’re up and at em, fetch some things from in town for me?”

“Yes, father,” she replied with a laugh as she tucked back into the room. Hermione found her clothes in the same place she always did- folded neatly on the back of her wingchair.

She dressed quickly in a comfortable outfit that wouldn’t hinder her daily tasks. Her undergarments were white and loose fitting, and she decided on actual socks instead of stockings. She layered a dusty blue pinafore overtop and tied a blue denim belt around her waist- of which there was a piece of fabric with a pocket sewn on. She tucked a towel into her belt, drew up one side of her dress, and folded it over so that she would have more movement around her feet. Hermione picked up Crookshanks, gave him a kiss, tossed him playfully back onto the bed, then slipped on a pair of ankle-high boots that didn’t even cover her woolen socks. She bade the ugly creature farewell, snagged a book from her vanity, then headed from the room. Hermione met her father out in the garden and he smiled at her and pulled her into a tight hug. He smelled of rich soil, plants, and sunshine.

“My lovely little girl,” he said in a voice that was nearly choked with emotion. “How ‘ave you grown up so fast on me?...”

“Papa, you tell me that every day,” she chuckled as she stepped back from him. Despite it not being too hot outside, Hagrid was already sweating and his hands had a nervous tremble to them. She smiled up at the giant man and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you anxious about today?”

“Well, it’s my first time out of town since we moved here when ya were just a baby,” he told her honestly. “But an inventor’s convention? I can’t miss it! Like I told ya this mornin’, the letter practically fell into my lap. I’d be an idiot to not at least look into it.”

“What will you be taking?” she asked him fondly as the two began to stroll side by side among the countless herbs and plants.

“The woodchopper of course! And some of the music boxes ya made. I figure they ‘ave to like at least one of those things, eh?”

“Oh, I think that’s a beautiful idea!” Hermione told him as she gave an excited little hop. “Will you take the music box I painted to look like a Mandrake?”

“Of course I’m takin’ that one! It’s my favorite.” As they neared the end of the garden, Hagrid turned his head down to look at her. He smiled softly and extended a little bottle from inside his pocket. “Take this to Mr. Lupin would ya? I heard him howlin’ somethin’ awful the other night. I know he ought to not be feelin’ too good.”

“Yes, Papa.” She took it from him and tucked it into the pocket she’d sewn on the inside of her pinafore near her heart. She wrapped her arms around Hagrid, though she was only able to reach about a quarter of his belly. He smiled and patted her shoulder gently. “I love you.”

“I love ya too, ‘Ermione. Now off with ya. I gotta get packing!...”

She pulled away from him with a smile and took off in a skip. She headed away from their cottage on the school grounds and toward Hogsmeade Village. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a fan of Hogsmeade… Because, being honest, it’s the only interesting thing about where we live… But it just seemed like everyone inside of it was so incredibly compliant with whatever roles they had to play. Zonko’s ran their joke shop, The Three Broomsticks had amazing Butterbeer, Stitches and Draughts had everything, Madam Puddifoot’s was the place to be if you wanted tea, and of course Hermione’s favorite place in the village was Tomes and Scrolls- a bookstore of sorts. And yet…

Hermione slowed her skipping and fell into a walk as her boots clicked against the cobblestone path. She could already read the Hogsmeade Village sign and she knew as soon as she crossed the threshold into the town, it would come alive with people in their usual patterns. She ran her fingers along the book in her pocket and shook her head. “A little town- it’s a quiet village,” she murmured to herself. “Every day, like the one before. Little town, full of little people. Waking up to say…” She stepped under the sign and it was like a switch was flipped. Doors and windows all banged open as Hogsmeade breathed into life.

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!” Came a familiar greeting and she turned to see the owner of The Three Broomsticks flipping over her ‘open’ sign. Hermione rolled her eyes at Madam Rosmerta, but waved at her anyway.

“Good morning!” She called and the busty barkeep shook her head at her. Hermione dug around inside her pocket and extended some sickles to Madam Rosmerta. “A loaf of pumpernickel, please.”

“Baked it fresh for you this morning.” As if she knew she’d be coming for it, Rosmerta dipped back inside and grabbed a paper bag. She handed it to Hermione as she placed the coins in her palm. “Say hello to your father for me.”

“I will!” Hermione called over her shoulder as she headed across town to make her way toward Tomes and Scrolls. Madam Rosmerta has her tray like always. The same old bread and rolls to sell. Every morning just the same, since the morning that we came, to this poor, provincial town…

“Good morning, Hermione!” greeted a cheery man with wisps of graying red hair clinging to either side of his head. He looked quite dirty and was holding a newly plotted Mandrake in his hands. One of Neville’s, surely.

“Good morning, Monsieur Weasley,” she told him with honest warmth on her face. Of all the residents of the town, Arthur was one of the only ones she could stomach properly (though some of his sons were okay… not all, but some). She was just about to say more to him when a very tired looking man caught her eye as he was coming out of The Magic Neep. He was tall and pale with heavy scars across his face, throat, and hands. He had sandy colored hair that was streaked with silver. His maroon sweater was tattered and his trousers torn. He was leaning heavily on a cane, but despite how exhausted he looked, his hazel eyes were soft and kind as he neared the pair.

“You look lovely today,” he said in a warm, genuine voice. “And good morning, Arthur! How goes the repair shop?”

“Quite well, quite well indeed! I’m working on a clock currently that doesn’t tell time, but instead will switch in between whatever place you visit or state you’re in. Imagine not having to wonder where your housemate is ever again. Just look at the clock and, ah ha ha! At work.” He clapped the newcomer gently on the back and waved goodbye to Hermione as he turned on his heels. “I’m off to it then. But damn, I seem to have forgotten something… can’t remember what it is for the life of me…” Arthur muttered to himself until he was out of their sight. The scarred man smiled politely at Hermione and she dipped her head to him.

“You look… tired, Monsieur Lupin,” she told him as gently as she could. She pulled the little bottle from aside her breast. She extended it to him and he took it with a shaky, bruised hand. She lowered her voice. “Papa said it will help with the body aches. We heard you the other night. Are you?...”

“Fine, quite fine,” he replied with a great deal of mirth on his face as he tucked the little phial inside his pocket. “But much like our good friend Arthur, I’ve lost something again. But as hard as I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and I’ve tried!... I can’t remember for the life of me what it is…” He shook his head a little. “And I’m just sore, as usual. Tell Hagrid he has my thanks. As do you.” The weathered man took Hermione’s hand and lifted it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles softly and someone scoffed at the notion nearby.

“Careful. Dogs bite, y’know,” grumbled Argus Filch- the owner of the local asylum. Lupin flinched and dropped Hermione’s hand. Her eyes softened at him, but he just nodded at her kindly and turned away.

“Mr. Lupin!...”

“Come visit me anytime. The shack gets lonely. I’d love to hear one of your stories…” With his head down low, Lupin headed toward the Hogsmeade sign. Many moved out of his way to let him pass as if they were afraid to get too close to him. Hermione watched him go with sad eyes. Honestly, all because he’s a werewolf… he’s just the sweetest thing… and why do they have to keep him shut away from everyone else in that terrible place? He’s not a monster…

Everyone knew the stories. Remus Lupin had been all but shunned by the rest of Hogsmeade for as long as anyone could remember. He was forced to live on the outskirts of the village, tucked away in a rickety old shack that had no external doors or windows. He had to enter it from a secret tunnel- of which nobody knew the location. (That wasn’t true entirely, Hermione knew where it was and so did her father. Hagrid had a tender spot in his heart for the damned, rejected, and unloved.) He stayed in his house alone most of the time, but every now and then the townspeople would dare one another to get close to it and they would hear him muttering to himself about having lost something, some type of creature called a Padfoot, and of course, during full moons… Nobody had ever stayed by the Shrieking Shack once the sun went down on a cycle night.

Hermione watched Lupin go until he left her sight and then she headed quickly toward Tomes and Scrolls. She pulled the door open and stepped inside. All around the room were piles and piles of books of every kind stacked in messy heaps. Some were ancient, others were newer. Some were half eaten by moths and many more had dust jackets without a scratch on them. A few of them were muggle-based, she knew that, but from where she wasn’t sure. Nobody in Hogsmeade had ever left the town. Behind a pile of books, propped up on a desk that looked like it was being held up by toothpicks and pure willpower, there was a picture frame that held the sleeping image of a pale man with dark, sleek black hair. He perked up immediately when he heard Hermione enter and opened his eyes- the irises a deep brown so dark they were almost black.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer. The only bookworm in town,” he greeted with a soft, croaky voice. He picked up a pair of thick-framed glasses from somewhere in the portrait she couldn’t see and placed them upon his nose. “Hello, Hermione.”

“I’m your only customer, Phineas Nigellus,” she teased as she showed him the book she’d been reading. He shook his head at her and smiled with oddly white teeth as he motioned toward any of the unkept piles.

“All the more reason for you to be my favorite.”

She began to pilfer around, using the back of her hand to knock some of the dust off a few of the books. “Do you have anything new in?”

“Not since yesterday, no,” the portrait laughed. “Besides, you know we don’t really get many new things this way. Haven’t for years.”

“That’s what everyone seems to say,” Hermione murmured as she plucked one of her favorites from a pile she was very, very familiar with. She lifted it up toward him and Phineas laughed at her.

“That one again?!”

“It’s my favorite!” she chuckled as she hugged it close to her chest. “It’s a muggle book, but it’s so exciting. There’s sword fights and daring adventures, oh, and a prince in disguise…”

“Oh, well if you love it that well, Hermione, why don’t you keep it?” He smiled at her softly and Hermione felt tears prickle in her eyes. “The book chooses the reader, after all.”

Something about that statement tickled the back of Hermione’s brain but she couldn’t quite understand why. She nodded, beaming, and leaned over toward the portrait. She kissed his forehead and headed from the shop with a smile. She cracked the novel open as soon as she got outside and adjusted the paper bag with the bread loaf in it so that it was back by her elbow instead of against her wrist. She wasn’t even aware of the peculiar looks from everyone else as she began to head down the stone path that would lead her back out of Hogsmeade Village.

“Look, there she goes. That girl is strange- no question,” murmured some of the townsfolk in agreement to one another. “Dazed and distracted, can’t you tell?”

“Never part of any crowd, ‘cause her head’s stuck on some cloud. No denying she’s a funny girl, that…”

Hermione turned on her heels just in time to avoid running into some idiot on a thestral. No, not just any idiot on a thestral… She groaned and glanced up to see her least favorite person in the entire village. Ronald Weasley. He had a handsome face with a long nose, freckles across his cheeks, and fire for hair. And beside him, never far away, was his loyal henchman- Harry Potter. At least Longbottom isn’t with them this time. God, I cannot handle the way he dotes on every step Ronald takes… Ron winked at her and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Maybe watch where you’re going, Ronald? You nearly crushed me on that behemoth of yours.”

“Was never the intention,” came the silky reply. Nearby, a gaggle of women had gathered to fawn over Ron and it turned Hermione’s stomach. She had never cared much for Lavender, Padma, or Pavarti. She tried to walk out of his way, but he just turned his thestral so that it was blocking her path.

“I beg your pardon, but may I pass? I have a bread delivery to make to my father…”

“You’d get to the school much faster if you weren’t on foot. Perhaps a ride?” Harry suggested kindly enough, and Hermione just snarled at him.

“No thank you.” She pushed by them and headed on her way past the Hogsmeade sign. Ron growled lowly under his breath and moved to follow her, but Harry reached out a hand to stop the thestral from continuing.

“Don’t be too forward,” he warned his companion lightly. “The longer the chase- the sweeter the prize, my friend.”

Ron just watched Hermione go, her boots clicking on the stone as she delved again into the world inside the pages of her book. “Right from the moment when I met her, saw her… I said ‘she’s gorgeous’ and I fell,” Ron said to Harry in a light singing voice that made Lavender swoon sideways on her feet. “Here in town there’s only she, who is beautiful as me. So I’m making plans to woo and marry…”

“Doesn’t she have to like you first?” Harry muttered but Ron glared at him and he silenced. He gave the thestral a little prod and they turned around then disappeared into the crowd. He hopped off the horse-like creature then headed off the way Hermione had come. Harry groaned, palmed his forehead with his hand, and followed loyally after.

Hermione slowed when she neared the lonely hill that held the Shrieking Shack. She stared out at the eerie, quiet building and wondered what Lupin was doing inside of it. Pacing? Reading? Looking for whatever it is that he’s lost?... She glanced down at the book in her hands and decided that she’d enter through the tunnel under the Whomping Willow and go pay him a visit once she made it back home. She was just about to head off again when she heard two sets of footsteps rapidly approaching. She glanced over and immediately felt dread set in when Ron and Harry sidled up to her.

“Good morning, Hermione!” Ronald greeted far too cheerily. “I wanted to apologize for nearly trampling you a moment ago. Can we start our interaction over?”

“Oh.” She blinked harshly. “Apology accepted. Goodbye.” She turned on her heels and Ron looked at Harry desperately. His best friend mouthed the word ‘book’. Ron turned back around and flailed his arms a bit.

“That’s a wonderful book you have there!” he blurted out and Hermione paused in her tracks. She faced them again, her eyes wide.

“You’ve… You’ve read it?”

Ron faltered. “Oh. No. I’ve… read books though, before, I mean. All the same really aren’t they? Just words on parchment.”

The surprise on Hermione’s face melted into near malice. She rolled her eyes and spun away again. Ron turned frantically back to Harry and his companion just adjusted his glasses and motioned toward her again. Ronald took a few strides forward and grabbed Hermione by her wrist.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight?”

“Dinner?!” She spat as she yanked her hand away. Hermione faced him- nearly nose to nose with the ginger brute. “Oh, absolutely not, Ronald Weasley. I have far too much to do. My father is going out of town for an inventor’s convention, you see. And I have to tend to the cottage.”

“Oh, so maybe tomorrow then?”

“No,” Hermione said blankly as she turned on her heels with a final kind of force and stormed off. This time, Ronald didn’t follow her.

She groaned and nearly walked at a doubled pace as she headed away from Hogsmeade as quickly as possible. “Outrageous, that man… thinking that…” Her face flushed red and she shook her head. She opened her book again and read it the entire way to her house. She was rather thankful that it was summertime and that classes weren’t in session. Even though the students all stayed at Hogwarts year round (or she assumed they did, she never saw anyone come or go), they weren’t as rowdy when the term wasn’t in. And it gives Papa a break from his teachings so he has time to spend with me and working on his inventions…

By the time she made it back to Hagrid’s Hut- as the student body so lovingly called it- her father had loaded up his miraculous magic woodchopping machine and seven of her music boxes onto a wagon quite fit for a giant. He was just anchoring their adoring hippogriff, Buckbeak, into his harness when she entered through the garden again. He smiled over his shoulder at her as he placed a hat upon his head.

“For your travels. Rosmerta baked it fresh this morning,” she told him as she handed Hagrid the bag with the bread loaf inside of it. He smelled the still warm wheat and nodded.

“Perfect. Thank ya, ‘Ermione. Did ya get Remus his potion?”

“Yes. I was thinking of visiting him later once I’ve finished my chores. He seems quite down.”

“Poor man with how they treat em,” murmured Hagrid as he climbed up- quite clumsily- into the giant carriage and settled himself in. He glanced down at his daughter fondly and cupped her cheek with a massive hand. “Can I bring ya back anything? I can’t remember what the outside of this town is like…”

“A rose?” she asked simply with glittering eyes. “It’s what the princess in my book adores.”

“Then a rose it’ll be,” he told her softly. “I love ya, ‘Ermione. With all my heart.”

“I love you too, Papa. Be safe.” She smiled at him as he gave the reins a little pull and Buckbeak took off toward the worn path to Hogsmeade Village.

“See ya tomorrow!”

“See you then…” Hermione watched her father until he disappeared from her sight- much as she had done for Mr. Lupin. She had a rather odd feeling creep up her spine and shivered. She disappeared into the hut and took to her father’s chair (which was four times her size and she often used it for a bed). She opened her book and turned the page. Hermione hadn’t gotten three sentences in when there came a sudden knocking. She groaned and slammed her book shut. Hermione pushed to her feet, stormed over to the door, and threw it open. Standing in front of her was Ronald Weasley.

“What do you want?!” she snapped.

“Just to talk. Must you always be so hostile?” He extended a bouquet of flowers to her and Hermione took them with a sigh. “Can’t we just… start the conversation over?”

“Harry’s idea?” she muttered and Ron perked up a bit.

“Look, Hermione. I just wanted to tell you. I’m crazy about you. And I would be honored if you’d take my hand in marriage.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. She placed her hands on her hips. “Traditionally, a gentleman asks a girl’s father for permission…”

“Well where is Hagrid! I’ll ask him right now.”

“I told you- h-he left for the convention…”

“So I’ll come back! When will he return?”

“Tomorrow, but Ronald…” Ron moved as if to kiss her and Hermione let out a squeak. She dodged out of the way and turned against the window. “But his blessing won’t change anything.”

“Why not?” Ron asked, looking positively hurt.

“I’ll never marry you,” Hermione said blankly as she gave him a shove out of the doorway and watched, horrified and amused, as he tumbled down the steps and landed in a mixture of mud puddle… and hippogriff dung. She slammed the door and sunk down the wooden plank. She covered her mouth with her hands and lost herself in a fit of giggles. She waited for some time before she checked out the window to see if he and his little stooge were gone. She cracked open the door and stared down at the mark in the ground where Ron landed. Crookshanks wound around her feet and meowed loudly up at her.

“Oh, can you believe that?!” she sighed to her cat as she patted the monstrosity between his ears. The thought of marrying Ronald Weasley… “Can you imagine? The wife of that boorish, brainless…” She pulled the towel from her belt and wrapped it around her head to hide her bushy hair. “Madame Weasley, can’t you just see it?” She batted her eyelashes down at Crookshanks with a disgusted look on her face. “Madame Weasley, his little wife?!” She threw the towel from her head and picked up Crookshanks instead. “No sir, not me. I guarantee it. I want much more than this provincial life…” She spun with him in her arms and stared out at Hogwarts as the bright rays of sun lit the school in a shimmer of golden sparkles. Her heart ached for something, that familiar unknown that so often left a void in her chest. She nestled Crookshanks under her chin as her eyes glossed with tears of desire.

“I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell. And for once, it might be grand… to have someone understand… I want so much more than they’ve got planned…” She laughed as Crookshanks struggled in her grasp and she reluctantly sat him down. She stared off across the school grounds again and noted the Whomping Willow on the far side of the hill. Determined to make light of what had started as a truly dreadful day, Hermione raced back inside to grab a book. She snatched the one from under her pillow then headed off to visit Remus Lupin.

Chapter Text

“I’m not really sure where we’re going now, Beaky,” Hagrid said to his loyal hippogriff as they trotted along the path that skirted on the outside of the Forbidden Forest. Why was it called the Forbidden Forest anyway? Can’t imagine there’s anything too horrible in there… Hagrid stared into the woods fondly, as if he was remembering something he’d long forgotten. He shook his head and glanced down at the letter again.

Hello to anyone whom this might reach with a mind for creation and invention. My name is Chuck Weaselbee, and I am looking for my next big star. If you’re out there, if this finds you, let us know. Come to the next town over for our festival tomorrow! We are waiting for you.

“Not really any directions, huh?” Hagrid scratched the back of his neck. He tugged on the reins and Buckbeak stopped walking. The half giant stared out into the Forbidden Forest and felt an odd sense of longing. “Y’know, Beaky, I bet we could get to the next town a lot faster if we just took a shortcut through here. What’dya say?” Buckbeak lashed his tail anxiously, but Hagrid paid it no mind. He snapped the reins and they headed off the beaten path and into the darkened wood.

Thirty minutes later, the temperature had dropped considerably. A full hour in, Hagrid could see his breath and was stunned when snowflakes started falling from the darkened sky above them. “No need to be alarmed, Buckbeak,” he said to the hippogriff, who was taking slower and more calculative steps with every passing moment. “Just some snow… in… May…” He shivered and tucked tighter into his coat. “Why did you bring us this way, Beaky?...” The hippogriff glared hatefully over his shoulder at him and Hagrid cleared his throat. “Ah, can’t be much further now, I’d say…” Just then, there was a terrible scuttling noise and both the beast and its rider froze. Hagrid glanced around and saw that they were surrounded on nearly all sides by giant, ferocious looking arachnids. Acromantula!

“Go, Beaky, git!” Hagrid snapped the reins and the hippogriff took off as fast as his four feet would carry him. The spiders churred behind them and followed hungrily in pursuit with a giant female in the lead. Hagrid gasped and clutched the reins tighter as he fished around the floorboard of the carriage in search of his umbrella. One of the Acromantulas leaped from a treetop down onto Buckbeak’s shoulders and the hippogriff spooked. He flared his wings and reared backward. The carriage rocked and Hagrid was thrown from his seat. He landed in the snow with a force hard enough to draw breath from his lungs. Buckbeak sprinted off into the forest with a few spiders chasing after him. The rest of them were coming for Hagrid.

The half-giant forced himself to his feet and went thundering off the opposite direction, panting and crying out for help as the Acromantulas gained on him. Just when he thought all hope was surely lost, a black gate came into view. He hurried over to it and grabbed the wrought iron in his hands. “Please, let me in! Help!” Any other time, Hagrid might have tried to reason with these creatures. (Maybe even pet one.) But this was not the time, the place, or the environment. He pulled on the gate again, and this time it opened. As soon as he was inside, he slammed the iron shut and the spiders stopped outside of it- glaring through the bars with hatred glittering in their many beady eyes. Hagrid rubbed his shoulders and exhaled as he turned around. Instantly his mouth dropped open in awe.

Looming before him, dark and spire-like against the blackened sky, was a mansion unlike any he had ever seen before. High towers stood stoic and ancient, dusted with snow and mounted by marble gargoyles. Unkept gardens overflowed across a broken stone path and countless flowers of every kind lay sparkling in a field of frost. He suddenly remembered Hermione’s request and plucked a peculiar green rose from under a sheet of frozen fractals. Hagrid shivered at the unwelcome energy that radiated from the place, but he knew he had no choice but to seek refuge inside. Can’t go back out there… at least not right now. He rubbed his hands together for warmth and headed unsteadily down the cracked brick path. He came to a door with a snake’s head knocker and grabbed it in his colossal hand. He was about to lift it when he saw something shift out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to come face to face with a beautiful, radiant white peacock. Its beady black eyes glared at him with judgement. Then, it turned its head, lifted its tailfeathers, and promptly strutted away.

“Beautiful creature,” he murmured under his breath as he went to knock but found, much to his surprise, that the door was now cracked open. Hagrid raised an eyebrow and stepped inside. He looked all around in awe, amazed at the intricate, royal beauty of this place. “Hello?” he called and his voice echoed around the seemingly empty room. “T-Thank ya for having me in. I ran into some trouble on my way to the next town over…”

“A visitor! He must have gotten lost in the woods.”

“Would you shut up?!”

Hagrid spun on his feet in search of the voices- one excited and proper and one nasally and high. He instead found himself staring at a table clock and a candelabra. He lowered himself down and stared at the trinkets in front of him with wide, amazed eyes. “Never seen a clock like this…” He picked it up off the counter and admired the handywork of it. It was truly unique, with a design that made it look like it had eyes, and screws down the front that resembled buttons for a jacket. And, most amusing to him, was the fact that a secondary piece of glass toward the bottom revealed a mechanical mouse on a platform that was being chased in a circle by a black dog. “Absolutely beautiful…” He sat it back down and picked up the candlestick, which lit instantly when he took it in his hand.

He began to walk through the corridor, looking all around for the cause of the voices he’d heard earlier. “I don’t wanna overstay my welcome. I’m just cold.” He caught sight of a magnificent fireplace by a vacant, dusty dining room table. As he made his way over to it, he was faintly aware of the sound of more shuffling feet. He glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. When he turned to face the hearth again, it was alive with flame. Smiling in relief for the warmth, Hagrid seated himself a bit uncomfortably in a massive wingchair and sat down the candelabra. He rubbed his hands together and turned his palms toward the fire.

“Thank ya! I’ll just warm myself for a moment and I’ll be on m’way.”

“A spot of tea?” Came a woman’s kindly voice and Hagrid glanced around the back of the chair. An uneasy feeling began to creep up his spine as a little trolly rolled forward with a porcelain kettle and a little teacup. Reluctantly, Hagrid picked up the cup and moved to press it to his lips. No more did the glass brim touch his mouth, did he hear a little giggle like that of a young lady.

“Ah! Ha, ha, ha, ha! Oh, sir. Your beard tickles!”

“Chip, no!” Said the woman’s voice again and Hagrid bolted to his feet. He glanced around in all directions as he began to tremble. Tea splashed into his beard as he pulled the cup away. He realized then that it was actually moving in his hand. Eyes that were sculpted into the red paintjob on the porcelain stared up at him with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Hagrid’s world screeched to a stop. He gave a polite nod, placed the teacup back down on the trolly, and went sprinting for the door.

“Monsieur, wait! Wait! You’re sure to catch your death out there in the blizzard!” This voice Hagrid recognized. He heard it when he first walked in. He turned on his feet and nearly fainted on the spot to see the candelabra walking toward him with the clock he’d picked up closely at his heels. “Please, you must stay until the storm subsides…”

“No, no, no!” Chimed in the clock. “Absolutely not. Master will be furious enough as it is that we have an intruder.”

“Intruder!” Hagrid was aghast. “But someone opened the door for me!”

“Yes, well. We thought you might be a girl,” came the pleasant motherly voice again as the tea trolly rolled in. Hagrid realized this time that the thing that was speaking was the teapot itself. He shook his head in disbelief and rubbed his eyes.

“I must ‘ave hit my head when Buckbeak threw me…”

Just then there was a loud echo of barking and the tapping of wood on marble. A piano stool came racing into the room from somewhere else in the castle. It was embroidered in black silk and jumped up and down on its hind pegs, begging for Hagrid to pet it. Unable to resist the lure of a kindly creature, the half giant patted its upholstery gently.

“What a magnificent place…” he murmured as he glanced around with a shiver. “B-But, I really… really must be going…” The piano stool looked crestfallen- if it was at all possible for a piece of furniture to look dissatisfied- and it lowered itself down onto all fours again with a disappointed whine.

“Going so soon, thief?” The half-human, half-snake-like voice sucked all the warmth out of the room. All of the enchanted objects swept away from Hagrid as an unbelievable creature coiled itself down the staircase banister. The half-giant’s eyes stretched wide in fear as the beast came to tower over him. It was a horrible monster with emerald serpent scales all over its body and fangs that gleamed like bone in the light. Silver eyes glared with hatred as it reared back on powerful hind legs and flexed obsidian-like claws. “Trespasser!” it hissed. “Thief!”

“Master, please…” reasoned the candlestick, but the serpent snapped its fangs at it and the candelabra leaped backward away from its horrible maw. The creature turned its terrible gaze once again to Hagrid.

“What are you doing here?!” it snarled and the colossal man fell to his knees.

“I-I, please, sir… I got lost in the woods… I…”

“Nobody enters the Forbidden Forest! No one!” Screeched the monster and the little teacup dove behind the kettle to hide. “You came here to stare at me! To mock the beast. To steal from my garden!”

“I only took a rose, please! I-I’ll give it back. I…” Hagrid reached into his pocket to grab the flower, but the snake wrapped a long tail around his wrist and yanked him forward. The serpent’s cold eyes were filled with malice as he drew Hagrid close to him until they were face to horrible face.

“I know just what to do with thieves.”

Chapter Text

“Mr. Lupin?” Hermione called as she closed the cellar door to the Shrieking Shack. She could hear him shuffling around close by, muttering under his breath about something.

“… forgot, can’t remember… Padfoot… where is Padfoot?...”

“Mr. Lupin?” she repeated as she stepped more directly into the living quarters. The poor shed had seen better days and was in a complete state of disarray. The piano was covered in dust and Hermione wondered if he’d ever even played it. Or if he even knows how… The paint was peeling off the forsaken walls in long strips and there were claw marks gouged into the decaying floorboards. The entire dwelling smelled faintly of wet dog, blood, and misery. And then… of warm tea and honey.

Remus Lupin popped his head out from around a corner with a small smile on his ashen face. “Oh, Hermione! I wasn’t expecting you by so soon…”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she greeted warmly, smiling a bit as the former professor handed her a cup of tea. “I knocked on the cellar door, but I didn’t think you could hear me…”

“No, I was lost in my thoughts again. Look at me… not even forty years old and rambling like an old man,” he sighed with a shake of his head as he sunk into a tattered wingchair. He offered Hermione a seat upon the dusty piano bench and she took it with a smile. “I’m sorry the environment isn’t more welcoming. I… I’m not used to getting visitors…” Chagrin dyed his face an unpleasant shade of vermillion as he used his foot to push a scrap of stray fur out of her line of vision and under the ancient rug on the floor. “And no matter how much I clean this place, it always looks like its own personal ring of hell.”

“I don’t mind it. I can help you clean sometime if you’d like?” she offered brightly. “Papa makes wonderful feather dusters out of Buckbeak’s shedding. They can tidy absolutely anything.”

“I might take you up on that,” Remus replied kindly as he sipped on his tea. He shuttered a bit and tucked tighter into the chair. “So what do I owe the pleasantry of your presence today, my dear?”

“Well, I was hoping I could discuss some books with you?” She pulled a few of the stories she’d brought with her out of her dress pocket. “Being halfblood, I figured you’d know some popular muggle literature.”

“I do,” Remus said fondly as he tucked one of his legs up underneath him on the chair. “What do you have with you today?”

“Have you ever read Pride and Prejudice?”

Remus blinked at her thoughtfully as a smile spread across his sallow lips. “I believe my mother fancied that one. Oh, it’s been many years since I’ve heard anything about it… Let me see what I remember. Mister Darcy and Miss Bennet, am I correct?”

“Yes!” Hermione beamed as she extended the book to him and he took it with a nostalgic look on his face. “It’s one I started the other week. I just find it so engrossing.”

“Do you read one book at a time, or many?”

“Why do you want to know?” she teased, sticking out her tongue at him. Remus laughed and shook his head.

“Because I want to see how similar we are. I usually keep three books rotating at a time. Just in case I ever get stuck in a rut, or I lose my muse for a certain story, or… I don’t have the heart to finish a new book. I always, always, always keep one near my nightstand that I’ve read a thousand times.”

“Which one have you read a thousand times, professor?” she asked with genuine curiosity blooming across her face. The lycan’s cheeks filled with color.

“You won’t make fun of me?” he asked shakily and Hermione’s eyes softened.

“I would never!”

“Very well then…” He pulled his wand from inside his tattered robes and gave it a flick. “Accio Phantom of the Opera.” Hermione ducked as a book fluttered into the room from somewhere she couldn’t see. Remus snatched it in his hand and sighed softly as he ran his thumb over the cover. He tilted his head to her. “Ever read it?”

“No. What’s it about?” Hermione rose from the piano stool and closed the space between them. She sat on the edge of the wingchair as Remus handed the book to her.

“A man, of sorts, and a monster, I suppose… And a woman who falls in love with him anyway,” he responded as she carefully opened it, as the cover was torn and the edges of the pages were quite tattered. Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It’s in French!”

“Yes. It’s my mother’s copy. A version of the book in its original published state.”

“Mr. Lupin, I didn’t know you could read French.”

“We live in a French town… in France, Hermione. Of course I can read French.”

Something about that tugged at the back of her mind and made her eye twitch. Hermione glanced up at him and saw the lycan was watching her oddly and she wondered if he felt strange too. “Mr. Lupin…”

“You can just call me Remus.”

“Remus,” she returned softly as she closed the book carefully and sat it on her lap. “When did you come here?”

“The Shack? I’ve always lived here…”

“No, not here. I mean the town itself. When did you move to Hogsmeade? When did you start teaching at Hogwarts?”

Remus looked very confused all of a sudden and tilted his head. “I… I’ve lived here all my life, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I suppose… well, I’d have to, wouldn’t I? I don’t remember moving here.”

“So is the Shrieking Shack your parents’ house then?”

“No,” he replied with a frown. “I doubt very much my mother would have raised me in a place like this.”

“So you do remember your mother then?” she continued, almost urgently, as a dull pain started to drum behind her left eye. “Plainly?”

“Very fondly so, yes.”

“But not here?” Hermione pressed further and Remus rubbed his temple with his fingers. He looked away from her and groaned in discomfort.

“Ah, a bit of a headache coming on… My apologies. Comes with the territory of lycanthropy, I’m afraid…”

“But you know, I think it’s funny,” Hermione went on as she glanced around the room. “I don’t remember moving here either. I know Papa and I came here a few when I was very little… but I don’t recall where we came from. Or why we moved here. We just… were.”

“Yes, well. Quite strange,” Remus muttered as he pushed to his feet, his finger still on his temples. “Excuse me, Hermione. I’m going to fetch some tonic for my headache. I’m afraid it’s coming on rather fast.”

“Shall I leave you?” she asked as he headed across the room. Hermione was trying to ignore the unpleasant pain throbbing behind both her eye sockets as he glanced over his shoulder with a look of dismay on his face.

“Oh, I would really like it if you stayed a while. If that’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.” He smiled at her then disappeared. Hermione studied the wall he’d vanished behind for a moment before sighing and getting to her feet. She walked across the room, back over to the piano, and picked up her teacup from where she’d sat it on the dusty cover. She sipped from it idly as her mind began to race. It can’t be normal that he doesn’t remember anything. That I don’t. That no one does… What is it about this place?... As Remus stepped back into the living quarters, a thought occurred to her and she glanced at him softly.

“Remus, who is Padfoot?”

He stalled midstride, one foot lifted to take its next step. A jarring look crossed his face and Remus flinched, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the wall. Hermione jumped to her feet in alarm, sat down his copy of The Phantom of the Opera and her mug, then raced over to him. She wrapped an arm around him and guided Remus back over to his wingchair. She settled him into it and crouched down on the balls of her feet. She pulled one of the towels from her belt and patted his cheek softly.

“Monsieur! Are you alright?”

“Y-Yes, Hermione. I’m fine. My head is just killing me all of a sudden.”

“I’ll leave you to rest,” she said softly as she pushed back to stand. “Do you have the potion that father made for you?” He nodded slightly and she smiled at him. She leaned down and kissed his temple. “I’ll come back to visit tomorrow? If you’re feeling well enough. Perhaps we can discuss The Phantom of the Opera some more?”

“I-I’d like that very much,” Remus said softly as he curled up in the raggedy chair. “Thank you, Hermione. Say hello to your father for me. Take care.”

“You as well,” she called as she slid into the cellar and closed the door behind her. As Hermione walked down the dark passage that led beneath the Whomping Willow, a hundred thoughts raced through her mind. Remus was perfectly fine until I started asking him questions about his past… And the more I inquired, the more ill he became. There has to be something to that... and there’s the fact that my head is killing me now… What is going on here?...

“I’ll talk to Papa about it when he gets back from the convention,” she said to herself as she exited under the tree and touched the gnarled root again for good measure. Hermione stuck her hands in her pockets as she walked and ran her fingers across the books that still existed there. She realized she’d left her copy of Pride and Prejudice on Remus’ chair and she groaned in frustration of the blunder. It can wait. I’ll rest tonight and just go back to snag it tomorrow…

Hermione remained so wrapped up in her thoughts that she made it back to the Hut in record time. She was just about to open the front door when she heard a terrified whinny from the woods. She just managed to jump out of the way before Buckbeak came streaking over to her, his eyes wild as he skidded to a halt. His legs were quivering and his feathers were ruffled in fear. Instantly, a terrible sense of dread started to overwhelm her when she realized he was still hooked up the carriage… but it was without its rider. Hermione staggered back to her feet and grabbed the hippogriff’s reins.

“Beaky! Beaky, where’s Papa?!” He turned his head toward the Forbidden Forest and let out a screech. Hermione’s heart sank as she began to undo his harness. “Take me to him!” She pulled herself up onto his back and loosened the last of his trappings. Buckbeak bellowed and leaped into the air.

Hermione clutched his neck tightly as he flew over the forest, his body twitching in ill ease as he lowered himself down closer to the tree line. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she noticed a clear divide between normal woods… and a section of the forest that was covered in a fresh dusting of snow. As soon as the environment shifted, Buckbeak lifted himself a bit higher, his flanks quivering as snowflakes fell from a gray sky and dusted his pale pelt in cold, glittery crystals. Hermione exhaled harshly and realized she could see her breath. She tucked her face into Buckbeak’s neck to avoid being whipped by the icy wind. She held herself there, her mind racing and heart thundering in her chest, as the hippogriff slowly began to descend. Hermione opened her eyes at last when she felt them land on crunchy, frozen ground. She lifted her head and stared in awe at the grand, dark castle before her.

“What… what is this place?” she whispered, mostly to herself. Buckbeak’s withers twitched again and he gave a shake of his head as they treaded slowly through a frozen garden of frosted flowers. Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw Hagrid’s massive shoeprints very clearly in the snow. She patted Buckbeak’s side as he crept ever closer to the looming, stoic castle. Her eyes raked over the manor, taking in the delicate details of every spire, every brick, and every gate. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so dark and dreary. How can anyone live here?... Buckbeak stopped at the foot of the stone steps, his neck feathers rising in alarm. Hermione took a deep breath and slid from his back, careful not to nick his wings on the dismount. She approached the door slowly, her breath catching in her throat when she found it cracked.

“H-Hello?” she whispered as she placed her hand on the cold wood. “Hello, is there anyone there?...” She nearly leaped out of her skin when a chirring sound from beside her alerted her to the presence of another creature. Buckbeak lashed his horse tail as a lovely white peacock landed on the porch beside her and studied her face with dark, beady eyes. After just a moment, it nodded to her in a knowing kind of way, then turned on its feet and fluttered off across the yard. Hermione watched it settle on a throng of emerald-colored roses and glared at her hatefully. She licked her as an uneasy feeling crept up her spine. She turned to the door again and gasped in surprise to find it swung wide open. She glanced from side to side, gave Buckbeak one more pat on the head, then stepped beyond the threshold.

Her eyes stretched wide at the magnificent architecture inside the castle. There was brilliant stonework on the walls, incredible wooden banisters, winding staircases, marble floors, and breathtaking light fixtures. But… As far as Hermione could tell, the place was abandoned. She shivered from the cold and rubbed her arms as she stepped deeper into the glorious, dusty manor.

“Do you see that?” came a whisper from somewhere and Hermione froze in her tracks. “My, my! It’s a girl!”

“I can see that it’s a girl! Be quiet!”

“Maybe she’s the one! The one to break the spell…”

“If you don’t shut up, Lumiere, I’ll break off one of your candles!”

“I’d like to see you try, you treacherous timepiece!”

“You wimpy wax bin!”

“Hello!” Hermione whirled on her feet, her chest heaving anxiously as she glared around in all directions. But there was no one to see. No one… She shivered from the cold and took a step toward a table by the door. She grabbed a candelabra from its surface and instantly the wicks lit with enchanted flame. She sighed thankfully for the light then gently tugged her wand from her hair... which she hadn’t remembered putting there. Hermione wrinkled her nose as she once again developed a dull ache behind her eye. She realized she’d forgotten most of what she’d learned at school, but flourished the stick in her hand anyway and found herself acting involuntarily in a manner that didn’t make any sense to her. “Homenum Revelio,” she murmured, unable to believe the words had come to her at all. A little light flicked at the end of her wand and bounced down a shadowy corridor beyond the staircase. Hermione froze when she heard an echoing cough that was immediately familiar to her. “Papa…” Shoving her wand back into her hair, she followed the little light as fast as her feet would carry her.

“Papa?” she called in a frantic voice when she heard Hagrid’s cough again. The sound immediately stopped and was replaced by the echo of heavy footsteps on stone.

“’Ermione?!” She thrust the candlestick in front of her and instantly felt tears spring into her eyes. Hagrid was scuffed up with a still-bleeding cut across his cheek and blue skin already bruising around his left eye. He had those huge, log-like fingers coiled around the bars of a cell door and he looked desperately afraid as his daughter hurried over to him and placed her trembling hand over his knuckles. “’Ermione, no! You ‘ave to get out of here!”

“You’re hurt,” she whimpered as she reached her hand through the cell and cupped his rosy, cold cheek. “Oh, you’re just like ice! Papa, what happened? Buckbeak came back without you a-and I was so afraid…”

“’Ermione, listen to me,” Hagrid cut her off in a desperately urgent and stern voice that she’d never heard from him before. His dark eyes were pleading as he gave the bars a shake. “You ‘ave to leave. You have to get back to Beaky and get out of here before he comes back.”

“Before who comes back?!” Hermione gasped, anger coursing through her when she realized the startling truth- that someone had put her father in this cell. “Who did this to you?!”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” A new, eerie, unwelcoming voice hissed. Hermione spun on her feet to see who had spoken, but something snapped against her wrist and she gasped from the sting. The candelabra tumbled from her fingers and clattered against the floor with a ringing sound that echoed through the dungeon. Now the stranger was shadowed and Hermione could only make out the gleaming silver of his eyes. She took a shaky step backward and gripped the bars of Hagrid’s cell with trembling fingers. She saw what looked like a whip flicker slightly in the dim glow of the floored candlelight.

“Who are you?!” she demanded in a voice much braver than she felt. “What have you done to my father?”

“I am the master of this castle,” snarled the stranger and Hermione noted instantly that every letter ‘s’ was elongated in a hiss. She lifted her head as the light flickered and she tried to catch a glimpse of him, but he stepped back into the darkness. “And your father is being held for trespassing. And thievery. He stole one of the roses from my garden…”

“I asked for the rose!” Hermione snapped at him as heat flushed to her cheeks. She took a step away from the cell bars as her heart hammered in her chest. “The fault is mine.”

“And yet it was his hand that plucked my rose,” snarled the stranger. “I have no sympathy for thieves. He’s my prisoner now and will rot in the dungeons for the rest of his days…”

“Please!” Hermione screamed as tears formed in her eyes. “He’s a good man, a kind man. H-He’s freezing and he’s injured. He needs care. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll…” She took a deep breath and felt something quite odd boiling up inside of her. Courage beyond anything she’d ever known and she felt, once again, as if there was something she was forgetting. Like being brave wasn’t a strange thing to her. Like it’s part of who I am… Slowly, Hermione took a step forward until she was closer to the man who was cloaked in shadow. She stared up into the darkness as Hagrid gasped behind her.

“No, ‘Ermione! Don’t you dare…”

“I’ll take my father’s place. Please just let him go.”

“No!” Hagrid roared as he shook the bars of his cell. “No, ‘Ermione! I won’t let you do this!”

“You would…” The stranger’s voice seemed surprised and Hermione hadn’t expected it. “You would do that? Be my prisoner in place of him?” She felt the tears forming on her lashes and she stubbornly wiped them away.

“Yes. If it means you would let him be free.”

“No! I won’t let you!”

“Quiet, Papa!” Hermione whimpered as she tried to get a better look at her captor. Suddenly, a hand- gloved in something like green dragon skin- reached out to her from the shadows. Hermione closed her eyes, slid her hand into his own, and they shook.

“No!” her father cried, but Hermione knew the deal was made.

“It is done,” said the stranger as he tried to pull his hand back to himself, but Hermione gripped his wrist tightly and he froze. “Your father can go free… But now you will stay here with me forever.” She barely heard him. Hermione was peering down at the fingers, cold to the touch, that were wrapped around her hand. Hermione realized, with a pang of absolute terror, that it wasn’t a glove at all. It’s his skin. Slowly, she lifted her brown eyes upward into the shadows and felt all of the color drain from her face.

“Come into the light,” she whispered and, for a moment, she didn’t think he’d heard her. But then there was a shuffling of sound. Movement. Reptilian feet stepped forward from the shadows- long, black talons scraping against the bricks. Attached to the ankles were scaly legs that disappeared into a tattered pair of black trousers. A torso above the waistline was hard, lean, and bridged with emerald snake-like plates that looked like organic armor. The arm attached to the hand she was holding was lithe, streamlined and littered with finer reptilian scales. And his face? Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He had a serpent’s face with a slitted mouth and sharp fangs that protruded from his maw. His irises were a dark, metallic silver and his pupils watched her with a predatory kind of focus. She saw something flicker behind him and realized, in horror, that the item she believed to be a whip was actually a tail. Oh my God… He’s a monster…

Hermione instinctively yanked her hand back to herself and covered her mouth in shock. The tears that were building on her lashes rolled down her face. She turned away from him and grabbed the bars that held her father. She leaned her head against them and Hagrid lowered himself down to do the same. Their skin brushed through the slots in the iron and he began to sob.

“Oh, ‘Ermione… W-What ‘ave you done?...”

The creature shifted behind her- Hermione heard his scales drag across the floor and his claws click on the bricks. The cell door opened and he grabbed Hagrid by his arm. Hermione watched, terrified, as his tail coiled around the man’s torso and he began to drag him from the dungeon. Her jaw dropped at the sheer strength of this beast. Her father was half giant and was much too heavy for one person to move on their own. But he’s hauling him like he’s nothing…

“Papa!” she cried when the shock wore off. She realized what was happening all too late. “No! Wait! I want to say goodbye! What are you doing to him! Stop it, stop!” She rushed forward to reach for him, but the creature’s head snapped around as he bared terrible, horrific fangs at her and showed a mouth full of snake’s teeth. Terrified, Hermione jumped back, slid down to the floor, dropped her face in her hands, and cried.

“No! No, ‘Ermione! Please!” Hagrid’s screams echoed all around her and she covered her ears, unable to bear the sound. She waited until they were gone from her sight, then she raced up the steps, and fled over to the nearest window. She saw the snake creature drag Hagrid to what appeared to be an abandoned carriage. He pulled the door open and threw her father in as if he weighed less than a feather. Hermione watched with tears streaming down her face as the beast called over the white peacock. He said something to it then turned away and headed quickly back toward the castle. Hermione’s eyes stretched wide in horror as the carriage sprouted spider-like legs and lifted itself up from the ground. She could hear Hagrid slamming his fists against the sides of the cab as it took off through the snowy garden with the peacock guiding its way.

“How could you?!” she sobbed when the beast entered the stony corridor again. She stormed up to him, tears running down her reddened face as she bawled up her fists in anger. “You didn’t even let me say goodbye! I’ll never see him again and you just dragged him away!”

The serpent’s eyes sharpened, but his pupils lost some of their predatory focus. He looked away from her. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?...” Hermione whispered, choking back her sobs as she took a shaky step forward. “But I thought I was your prisoner?...”

“Do you prefer the dungeon?” he hissed and she shuddered at the sound. She followed behind him, careful not to tread on his tail as they walked up the grand staircase and onto the second floor. Hermione rubbed her arms anxiously as more tears welled in her eyes. She tried to distract herself from her agony and glanced all around, once again noticing the incredible décor of the castle. There were countless picture frames mounted on the walls- many of which held family portraits of a blond man, a dark-haired woman, and a handsome boy with white hair and pale eyes. The beast seemed to notice her staring and made a growling sound. “Don’t wander. Stay with me.”

She flinched and sped up, keeping in step behind him as she decided to study the ground beneath her feet instead. Hermione wasn’t sure how long they walked in silence, or how many turns they took, but eventually her captor stopped and turned on his scaly feet to face her. She looked up at him, surprised to see the candelabra she’d dropped on the dungeon floor was magically back in his hand. The beast motioned toward a door behind him.

“Your quarters, ma’am...” his serpent tongue flickered over the ‘s’ in quarters and it made Hermione nauseous. He glared at the candlestick with a grim expression on his face then looked back to her again. “I hope you like it here, Miss?...”

“Hermione,” she said in a shaky but determined voice. She saw something odd flash in his eyes. Like understanding. Or admiration. Or recognition. He dipped his head to her.

“Hermione,” he repeated her name and rolled the word around in his mouth. He nodded and held her gaze. “The castle is your home now so you may do as you wish and go where you please. Everywhere is within your accessibility except for the west wing.”

“But what’s in the…”

“It’s forbidden!” He snarled, those snake-like teeth only an inch from her face. Hermione set her jaw, furrowed her brow, and stood her ground. I’m not afraid of you… She saw some of the anger leave his face as he withdrew and tapped on her doorknob. “If you require anything, my servants will attend to you.”

“Servants?” she asked curiously as she carefully slid by him and took the doorknob to her room in her hand. “What servants? I haven’t seen anyone here but you. I even used a spell to show me any people in the area, and the only person it revealed was my father…”

“If you require anything, my servants will attend to you,” he repeated sternly as he turned on his scaly feet and began to walk away. Hermione watched him take a few measured steps and then stop. He sighed, his shoulders sagging, as he flicked his head toward the candlestick in his hand once more. Without turning to face her, he cleared his throat. “You will join me for dinner in an hour’s time. That is a demand, Hermione, not a request.” The ‘s’ on request felt harsher and nearly deadly. All of the color drained from her face as she watched the snake-like creature hurriedly walk away from her, turn down a corridor, and disappear from her sight.

Chapter Text

{May 8^th, 2002}

“Damn!” Charlie slammed his hand down on the dining room table as Augusta won, yet another, match of wizard’s chess. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and ran his hands through his slick red hair. “You know, Ron was awfully good at this too. It was uncanny how well he could spin a chessboard.”

“I heard about his first year when he helped Harry Potter,” she snickered as she moved to reset the board. “It seems your brother missed his calling.”

Charlie’s eyes softened a bit as he thought of his youngest brother. Then his gaze unfocused as his thoughts shifted to Ginny. She was the sibling he knew the least and his heart ached a bit at the thought of never getting to know her- well, whoever she is now that she isn’t a child. He was just about to start spiraling into his thoughts again when Augusta gave his shoulder a little shake.

“Charlie? You still with me?”

“Yeah, sorry… I just…”

Just then there was a loud screeching sound as Archimedes came drifting through the open window above the sink. He landed promptly on the table- right in the middle of the chessboard. Kings, Queens, bishops, and rooks went flying in all directions as he folded his wings inward and began to clean his chest feathers. Charlie’s pupils narrowed at the bird when he noticed how round the owl’s belly looked. The wizard gave him a rough smack on the bottom and Archimedes leaped up, his tail feathers ruffling as he spun his head around to glare at his owner.

“Archimedes, you fat thing! Did you chase rats instead of going on the quest?!”

The owl, looking quite offended, shook his head- much to Augusta Longbottom’s shock.

“There’s no way you’d be back so soon! Archimedes, I’m absolutely disgusted with you!”

The owl fluffed up his feathers until he was twice his normal size. He flapped his wings and lifted into the air. He turned to Charlie, smacked his beak on his master’s face, then turned and flew out the window with an indecent amount of hooting that sounded a lot like avian profanity. Groaning in disappointment and defeat, Charlie dropped his head against the table.

“Good for nothing, lazy, gluttonous, ungrateful…”

“Helpful, highly intelligent bird,” Augusta cut off the Weasley with a shake of her head. She sighed, pushed to her feet, and patted Charlie on the back. “Well. Now what do we do?”

“Kill time, I suppose,” Charlie murmured against the table miserably. “I guess we can check the disappearance sites again…”

“Come on then, Charlie! Up and at em.” Augusta looped her arm through his own and hauled him backward out of the chair. Charlie barely even had time to mutter a yip of surprise before there was a loud ‘crack’ and the two of them were gone.

…

Charlie landed wrong on his left foot and groaned in pain as he straightened up and pushed some of his wild hair back out of his face. Augusta, who was perpetually crisp and proper, looked perfectly acceptable as always like she hadn’t (literally) just dropped out of the sky. She glanced around in all directions and the Weasley boy followed her lead. His eyes darkened when he realized they were standing where the entrance to Hogwarts used to be. He sighed and stared out across the empty field; the grassy area now overran with wild weeds and bright spring flowers.

“Looks just like it did the last time,” Charlie told her dryly with a shake of his head. Despite his unmotivated words, he began to walk alongside her as Augusta used the end of her wand to swipe left and right to clear their way. “What are you hoping to find out here? One of Neville’s shoelaces hidden in the sawgrass?”

“Anything,” she replied softly and Charlie winced, mad at himself for projecting his poor attitude onto the still grieving grandmother.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be. I understand. You’re just thinking rationally,” she replied with another swish of her wand. “But I think we had to throw rationality out the door when an entire school, town, and manor just wiped themselves off the face of the planet.”

“They’re here somewhere,” he retorted with a bit of warmth in his voice this time. “Neville’s too good and brave. He’s figuring out something right now- whatever it might be. He’ll find his way back to you, Augusta. He’d never abandon you, or his mum or dad…” Just then, Charlie’s gaze completely softened as he pulled his wand and began to mirror the older witch’s movement. “In speaking of- have you visited Frank and Alice lately?”

He saw her nod ever so slightly.

“How… how are they?”

“Alice keeps bringing me gum wrappers and saying ‘boy’ over and over again. On occasion, Frank will seem really upset that I come by myself… I think they know something is wrong. I’ve told them he’s missing, but they don’t understand…” Augusta was quiet for some time as she spun on her heels in the sea of overgrown greenery. “This is a lost cause. I say we check where Hogsmeade used to be.”

“I agree. We can meander over to the spot the Shrieking Shack once stood- investigate it a bit. See if we missed anything.” He offered his arm to Augusta and she took it pointedly. Matching stride for stride, the two of them took off through the wild field of weeds and made their way toward the vacant place where Hogsmeade Village once stood.

Once their feet found the cracked, neglected stone path that led from the school to the town, Charlie risked a slight glance at his companion and smiled softly. “So… Neville Longbottom.”

“What about him?” she asked cooly without looking at him.

“I just don’t know much about him. Much about anyone besides Harry and the lot, really. I was just… curious about him was all. Figured it might make you warm and fuzzy to talk about him a bit.”

Augusta scowled down her long, hooked nose at him as they walked along. “Neville is a Gryffindor. Subpar in most subjects, but did quite well in Herbology. Last I was informed, he wanted to learn extensively about plants and perhaps even teach…” her voice dropped a bit and Charlie side-eyed her. He noticed her eyes were glossy, but he didn’t comment on it. “He’ll be a fine professor someday. Hogwarts will be lucky to have him.”

“No girlfriend? Boyfriend? Both?”

This time, August moved to smack him on the back of the head and Charlie- who was used to this maneuver by now- ducked swiftly out of the way. He leaned back up with a mischievous grin on his face. “So it is both.”

“Neville had no time for such things! He was focused on his studies.”

“He’s still a teenaged boy, Augusta! Or was, at least, when the school went missing. I know it was roughly 6.2 billion years ago, but surely you remember what it was like to be young and filled with desire? You surely don’t believe that Neville has never had a romantic inkling in his entire life? I know you’re not that dimwitted.”

Augusta’s lips were pressed in a firm, hard line. She didn’t look at him, nor reply in any way, as they drew nearer to where Hogsmeade had once stood. Charlie took her silence with a genuine stroke of his good nature and chuckled. But then another thought came to him and some of the humor died from his eyes. He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I know he’s the last of his line.” He saw her jaw set harder, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded but Charlie knew he’d entered dangerous waters. He’d spent enough time with Augusta Longbottom that he fancied he understood her better than most people alive. He knew her longing looked like anger, and her sorrow felt like rage.

“I’m not going to stop until I bring your boy home to you. I promise.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. He thought he saw the faintest flicker of gratitude on her tired face. She nodded then patted his arm and that was as good as any grand show of thanks. The two carried on in silence until they reached the blank field where the wizarding village once stood. Charlie looked around and rubbed the back of his neck. A warm smile spread across his face as he glanced at the place where Zonko’s Joke Shop had been. In the aftermath of his family’s disappearance, he’d taken over liberty of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. However, being the leader of the H.R.B. and running his business back in Romania meant that he didn’t have a lot of time on his hands to dedicate to the shop. I hope Fred and George can forgive me for neglecting their legacy…

“Charlie?” The Weasley blinked. He realized suddenly that he’d been standing still, staring at where Zonko’s used to be as he thought about his brothers. He gave himself a little shake and glanced over at Augusta as a soft smile graced his face.

“Sorry… Got lost in my head.”

“There’s nothing here,” she told him in a soft but stern voice as she used her foot to nudge away a bit of trodden grass. “Just old memories come to haunt us. Should we head back to The Burrow?”

“We’ve come this far,” Charlie responded with a low, defeated sigh. “Might as well check the manor again.” Augusta looped her arm back through his own and they were gone with a ‘crack’.

…

“Place gives me the creeps even with the castle gone,” Charlie muttered as he walked through the vacant lot that once held Malfoy Manor. Augusta untwined her arm from his own and crossed them over her chest as she kicked away some creeping vines that snaked their way across the grounds. She looked around in every direction and only saw shadowy forest for as far as her eyes could see.

“There’s definitely a dark energy about the place.”

“Something always tickles me funny when we come here,” the younger man called as he retraced his steps back to the spot where he’d found their singular clue. A frustrating conundrum. A dead end. Where Beauty and the Beast had laid on the disturbed earth was now overgrown with unruly vines and unkept grass. Charlie crouched down on the balls of his feet and began to pluck the foliage away. “I don’t know. It’s this weird sense. This burning… like there’s something I should know.”

“Cursed place,” Augusta muttered, rubbing her arms as if she’d taken a chill. But the sun was shining and the day was warm- something that contradicted the goosebumps raising on her skin. Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed when he saw a bit of scorched earth underneath the woven chaos of grass. He waved a hand to the older witch and she walked over to him on unsteady feet. Charlie gave her his arm to help balance her and she lowered herself down into the grass beside him. Augusta’s eyes hardened as she placed her gnarled fingers on the patch of dark soil. “What in Merlin’s name?...”

“Dark magic?” Charlie asked with a raised eyebrow. Augusta nodded, her eyes cold. “What does it mean?...”

“I don’t know. It could be nothing, Charlie. The manor’s bloodlines ran thick with both Malfoy and Black heritage and traditions. It’s hard saying what kind of unholy things happened on this land…”

“No, you don’t understand,” Charlie said to her in a desperate voice. “This exact spot is where I found that book.”

“The muggle children’s story?”

“Yes!”

“But, Charlie, that doesn’t…”

“It matters. I don’t know why. But it does. It matters. That book is important and the fact that this spot is scorched… Augusta, I can’t explain it, but I just know. Please trust me.”

“I do. I do…” She placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. “Where is it now? The book?”

“At the Burrow. In Ron’s roo- in my study,” he replied quickly as his heart hammered in his chest. He closed his eyes and they were gone.

…

Charlie landed on his feet and took off running toward the house. Augusta followed as quickly on his heels as she could. He took the steps of the inner staircase two at a time until he was in the second highest room in the house. He burst through the door and hurried through the mess, shuffling through layers of papers and empty beer bottles. Augusta caught up with him just as he made his way over to the bookshelf and found Beauty and the Beast cracked open on the floor. Charlie picked up the tattered novel with a confused look on his face just as Archimedes came fluttering back in the window. The owl landed on the corner of the desk and tilted his head.

“Archimedes,” Charlie greeted his friend lightly and extended a hand to him. The bird hopped up onto his wrist and churred, their disagreement from earlier clearly forgotten as he bopped his head against his master’s chest. Charlie glanced from the owl to the book then back again. Archimedes made a chirping sound and inclined his head toward Beauty and the Beast.

“Archimedes…” Charlie repeated as he shook the book at his owl. “Did you come here? Did you knock this from the shelf?” The owl nodded and Augusta closed the space between them. She placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder again. They were both holding their breath as the owl stretched himself out across his master’s hands and knocked his beak against the book. “Archimedes… did the spell bring you here?” Charlie asked in a small, shaky voice. The owl nodded. “To this?” He showed him the book and Archimedes nodded again. Charlie glanced at Augusta and handed it to her.

The older witch cracked the novel open and her mouth twitched. She glanced up at her companion then turned the book around to face him. “Charlie… is it just me… or does this girl right here look like Hermione Granger?”

Charlie’s mouth ran dry. He stared at the open pages and noticed, very faintly, the slightest splash of a drop of orange elixir along the spine on the book. His eyes focused on the woman in the worn picture and he tilted his head to the side as he took the novel from Augusta’s hands. He stared at it for a long time with his heart pounding in his chest. He squinted, rubbed his eyes, looked away, then back again. But the picture was all the same. Thrown across a luxurious bed with emerald sheets was a hauntingly familiar woman with bushy hair, soft eyes, a heart-shaped face, and… a scar across her arm that read the word ‘mudblood’.

Chapter Text

Hermione threw herself across the four-poster bed inside her chamber and sobbed. She cried and cried and cried until she was nearly sick from the force. What felt like hours later, she eventually managed to pull herself together. She sat up in the silky emerald sheets and wiped at her sticky eyes with shaking hands. Hermione glanced around the room, trying to take in her surroundings. The space was beautiful- decorated with silver artifacts and highlighted in various shades of green. However, the room was incredibly dusty and she could tell that no one had been inside of it for quite some time.

She pushed to her feet and strode across the room to the window. Hermione peered out of it and realized she was up far too high to climb down. If only I could remember half of what I learned at Hogwarts, maybe I could use something to escape… She was lost deep in her thoughts when suddenly a sound from the hallway pulled her from her mind. She heard faint squealing and giggling and it snagged her curiosity. Hermione tiptoed over to the door and slid to her knees. She peered through the keyhole, feeling a bit too unnerved to open the door, and what she saw in the corridor nearly stole her breath away.

The candelabra that she’d seen her captor holding was suddenly alive, brushed in beautiful notes of bronze and brown. He was dancing around in a circle, holding what appeared to be a feather duster very close to his metallic body- careful not to let the fires on his hands and head touch her delicate plumage. The duster herself had wing-like arms wrapped around his neck and was giggling madly as he twirled her again and again to distantly playing piano music.

“Just so lovely, Plumette. Perfect Plumette,” he purred as he kissed the white handle of her face.

Hermione wasn’t sure why, but her cheeks flushed red as she felt like she was intruding on quite a private, intimate moment. The duster giggled and swiped at the candlestick with her bottom feathers. “Oh, Lumiere. You know I love a man who can flatter me.”

“How about a candelabra who can worship you, my dearest Plumette?”

“Oh, but I’ve been burned by you before…”

“Nothing you haven’t liked, my darling…”

“Pathetic, aren’t they?” A woman’s voice from somewhere inside the room made Hermione jump. She leapt to her feet and spun around, her eyes wide and chest heaving. But there was no one there. She flicked her wand nervously and tilted her head.

“Lumos.” Instantly the room filled with a dull grayish light that formed from the end of her wand. She waved it all around the room but still saw nothing. “Wh-Who’s there?”

“Over here, dear. The wardrobe.” Hermione turned toward the kindly voice and stood facing a large white and emerald chest of drawers with a mirrored vanity. It was just then that she noticed face-like markings on the glass that shifted into a warm smile. “Nice to make your acquaintance, my lady! Would you like a change of clothes?”

“My… what?” Hermione sunk to the floor, sitting cross-legged upon the marble as she stared at the wardrobe with a disbelieving look on her face. “Is… is everything in the castle alive?”

“Not everything, of course not,” the dresser told her kindly. “But a lot of things, yes!” There came a sound of dramatic smooching from the hallway and the wardrobe rolled her painted eyes. “Goodness, quite indecent the two of them. Can never keep their hands off each other.” But then she looked suddenly very sad- if a painted chest of drawers could look sad. “But I can’t say I don’t understand. My dearest Maestro is downstairs- you can hear him playing that beautiful music. But, you see, I am wedged so tightly between the pillars here, I cannot escape to see him. I can only hear his lovely piano… sometimes I’ll sing to him and it’s how we communicate. I miss him so dearly.”

“Were you always a wardrobe?” Hermione asked curiously and the dresser smiled a bit at her. “And your Maestro a piano?”

“Oh, no. We were people once. Just like Lumiere and Plumette. Just like everyone else in the castle- even the Prince.”

“What happened?...”

“Oh, wonderful! I see that you two are acquainted!” The breathy voice caught Hermione’s attention. She looked over her shoulder just as the candelabra came waltzing into her room with the feather duster- who now had a few singed ends of down- twirling right after him. “Welcome to our home, Hermione! I am Lumiere. This is my wife- Plumette.”

“Pleasure,” the young witch said with a soft smile as the feather duster flittered up into the air and began to knock some cobwebs off the chandelier in the middle of her room.

“Now don’t you worry about the grime. I’ll have this place all spik and span in a blink.”

“Did someone say it’s time for tea?” called a voice from outside the door.

“No!” laughed the feather duster. “I said ‘in a blink’!” Just then, a trolly came rolling in with a teakettle and teacup atop it. Warm painted eyes stared up at Hermione from the tray as the cart screeched to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, a cup of tea will do her well all the same. Pleasure to meet you, Miss! I’m Mrs. Potts. This is my daughter- Chipette. Everyone just calls her Chip.” The teacup scooted forward on its saucer and smiled up at Hermione kindly.

“Perhaps a spot of something warm before dinner?” asked Chip and something about the tenderness in her voice struck Hermione immediately as familiar. She picked up the cup and sipped from the side that didn’t have a notch out of the porcelain. Perfect Earl Grey soothed the back of her scratchy throat and eased some of the discomfort from where she’d been crying. She smiled gratefully at all her company as Plumette drifted around and dusted off the cobwebs and grime.

“I do appreciate everything you’ve done, all of you, but I won’t be going down to dinner. I would rather die than join someone like that at a table.”

Lumiere looked instantly unnerved and glanced over at Mrs. Potts. “But, mademoiselle, the master is insisting…”

“And I am insisting that I shall not go,” Hermione replied simply as she finished off her tea then sat Chipette back down on her saucer. She glanced over at the dresser and smiled softly. “I think I’ll stay in my room, if it’s all the same to you lot.”

Lumiere looked as if he might start vomiting chunks of wax all over the floor. He dipped into a low bow to Hermione then jumped up on the bottom layer of Mrs. Pott’s tea trolly. The two of them took off down the corridor and the door shut behind them.

…

The Snake paced in the drawing room, running his claws through the marred wallpaper and ruined dark wood. Of all the spaces in the house- spare for the West Wing- this one was his least favorite. He’d never been sure why. Shards of a shattered chandelier lay on the floor and the broken, dilapidated remains of once luxurious furniture were strewn across the broken pieces. His eyes traveled over to a tattered rug in the center of the floor. Something about the mat had always made him uncomfortable. Like it holds an unsavory memory…

“My prince?” The serpent lifted his head, snapped from his thoughts, as Mrs. Potts and Lumiere entered the drawing room on her trolly. He turned to them hopefully, but his flicker of rapture died out when neither the candlestick nor the teapot would meet his gaze.

“Well?”

“The girl refuses to come down,” Mrs. Potts said after a moment. “She has respectfully declined.”

“Declined?!” The Snake hissed and his servants flinched away from him. “But I gave her an order!”

“And what kind of person does it show that you are?” Mrs. Potts snapped back. “Demanding the poor girl around when she’s had such a rough go of things. She’s lost her father and her freedom in one day. Perhaps asserting yourself wasn’t the correct call.”

“If I don’t demand, she’ll never comply!” The prince argued. “Look at me, Mrs. Potts! She’s… so beautiful. And I?...” He turned away from her and dropped his head into his ready hands. “I’m a monster.”

“No, you aren’t, master,” Lumiere said gently as he placed an unlit hand on the serpent’s scaly leg. “Just… a bit rough around the edges, is all. She could still learn to love you.”

“How could anyone?” the Snake murmured and the teakettle and candelabra exchanged a worried glance. Then a determination lit in Mrs. Potts’ eyes and she lifted her pouring spout.

“Well, if you’re going to have any chance of convincing her to come down for dinner- or trust you at all- we need to refresh your social skills a bit. Straighten up for me. Stand nice and tall.” The prince did as he was bade and his height reached well over seven feet from the bottoms of his feet to the top of his head. She nodded silently as Lumiere pitched in a thought.

“Be polite! Charming. Demure. Let me see that million-galleon smile, hm?” When the Beast flashed a mouthful of jagged snake’s fangs, Lumiere flinched slightly. “Maybe not so much with your teeth showing… Just curl your lips?” He loosened the smile a bit. “Oh, much better.”

“Be gentle,” Mrs. Potts added and the prince nodded at her enthusiastically.

“Don’t forget to compliment her!” Lumiere agreed.

“Be calm.”

“Be welcoming.

“And above all else…” they said together when they noticed how annoyed the serpent was starting to look as his tail lashed from side to side. “You must control your temper!” Just then, there was a soft fluttering sound as Plumette flittered in from the corridor. She swung herself into Lumiere’s arms and the candelabra caught her with a loud, obnoxious smooch of brass against porcelain. The feather duster looked up at the prince with uncertain eyes and sighed.

“She still won’t come down.”

“What?!” Snapped the Snake and all of his previous coaching was instantly forgotten. He went slithering from the room with all the haste of a much smaller reptile but with all the lethality of what he truly was. The enchanted creatures gasped and went racing after him as he wound his way through the castle, up the stairs, and coiled himself in front of Hermione’s door. He banged his fist upon it and Plumette covered the place where her ears would be with two long, dusty feathers. “I ordered you to come down for dinner!”

“I’m not hungry!” she snapped back and he hissed in aggravation.

“It isn’t an option, Hermione! You’ll either come out or I’ll break down the bloody door!”

“Do as you please, it’s your castle!”

The retort made the prince’s reptilian pupils narrow. He glanced down at his staff and they all flinched away from him- now joined by the clock, an umbrella in a stand, and the coat rack from the front door. He gestured toward the room and Lumiere palmed his forehead with his left candlestick.

“Master, that may still be too aggressive, hm?...”

“Try to calm yourself. Just a smidge,” the clock suggested. Some of the anger fled from the serpent’s face, but when he spoke again, it was still through gritted teeth.

“But she’s being so stubborn.”

“Nothing wrong with a headstrong woman,” Lumiere commented as he lifted his hands and Plumette smacked him with her bottom feathers. “Try again, my prince.”

“Gently,” Mrs. Potts encouraged and he nodded. The serpent turned toward the door and softly placed his palm upon the wooden surface.

“Hermione,” he began in a calculated, tender voice that shook more than he meant for it to. “Will you come down to dinner?”

“No.”

The Beast stomped his clawed foot and it sent his staff reeling back against the wall.

“Sauve! Demure! Gently!” called the clock as he ducked behind the tea trolly. The prince leaned his head back, ran his hands across his scaly face, and pooled all of his concentration to the center of his mind. He straightened up and practiced a small bow as if she could see him.

“It would… give me great pleasure… if you would join me for dinner, Hermione…” he hissed through gritted teeth. His staff leaned in when silence walled up between them. “Please.”

“I said no!” Perhaps it was the snarl in her voice that did it. Either way, anger boiled over on the prince’s face as he slammed his hands against the door and it caused the entire wall to shake.

“You can’t stay in there forever! You ungrateful thing!”

“I can and I will! You can watch me! I’ll die alone in this room before I dine with you!”

“Master, please…” Lumiere took a step forward and the Beast’s head snapped over at him. He bared those snake fangs toward the candelabra and he jumped back away from the prince’s jaws.

“Then you can stay in there and starve!” he screamed as he turned his lidded gaze upon his staff. “If she doesn’t eat with me- she doesn’t eat at all!” And with that, the snake took off down the corridor, slithering across the ground before leaping upon a banister and disappearing from their sight. The enchanted creatures deflated and Plumette shook her head.

“Oh, dear… that didn’t go well at all.”

“You should have known it wouldn’t!” snapped the clock as he gave himself a shake. “The Master is far too unpredictable for such things as being ‘demure’ and ‘gentle’…”

“Bet you wouldn’t say that to his face.” Lumiere pushed the timepiece and the clock screeched at him. He shoved him back and then the two of them were slapping at each other’s trinket hands like children fighting over candy. Plumette and Mrs. Potts rolled their eyes.

“Ahem! Boys!” The two stopped wrestling at the teakettle’s call, Lumiere melting wax across the clock’s glass face. The candle pulled away from his rival and walked over to the door. He saluted Mrs. Potts with a serious expression.

“I’ll take the first watch.”

“Let me know if anything changes,” said the clock as he, the umbrella, and the coat rack headed back toward the stairs. Mrs. Potts hung her head and sighed as she pushed her trolly along in the same direction her master went.

…

In the destroyed remains of the West Wing, the prince sat in a nest of dried animal bones and shredded clothing. He shivered as cold wind blew in from the open window, but he made no move to close it or turn away from the biting air. He had his knees tucked up to his chest, the enchanted mirror in his hand, as he stared at a table closer to the balcony. Upon it was a glass cloche and underneath it, a wilting silver rose was planted in a small mound of soil. All around the flower, there were fallen, decaying petals that were crumpled and nearly black. He watched, horrified, as another floral leaf fell and landed in the dirt. The moment it made contact, the entire castle shook and groaned. The prince felt himself cool further and part of his mind disconnected. It’s happening again. I’m losing more and more of myself, of who I used to be… Whoever that was…

“Master?” Mrs. Potts’ kind voice caught the serpent off guard. He glanced over his shoulder as her trolly came wheeling slowly through the carnage of the room. He blinked gratefully as the teapot hopped onto his shoulder and placed her warm porcelain body against his chilled cheek. “You’re freezing in here, dear… you need to get somewhere warmer.”

“I wanted to be here,” he replied simply and she sighed.

“You hate this room.”

“I do. But it’s the only place I feel… like the monster I am belongs…” He turned the mirror in his hand and stared at the reflective surface- seeing first his own hideous face. He hissed through his teeth and shook his head. “Show me the girl…” The mirror shimmered and Hermione appeared before him. She was sitting on the bed in her room, braiding three pieces of fabric together as Chipette yapped on and on to her about the happenings of castle life. The wardrobe was talking too, and occasionally Hermione would answer her around the conversation she was having with the teacup.

“The master truly isn’t so bad once you get to know him. I really wish you’d just give him another chance. It’s been a long time since he’s been around anyone besides us.”

“Give him a chance?!” Hermione gasped, looking up from her braid to eye the chest of drawers with an incredulous expression on her face. “He kidnapped my father! For stealing a rose- of all things. He sent him away from me before I could even say goodbye. I’m his prisoner, if you’ve forgotten. He demanded I join him for dinner then screamed at me when I refused. Why would I want to get to know someone like that?”

“Well, sure. Anything sounds bad when you say it like that,” Chip chuckled and Hermione eyed her fondly. “We just think you should at least try…”

“I don’t want anything to do with him,” the witch said finally as she finished her braid. “I’ll keep the company of the servants. And that will just have to hold me over until forever ends.”

The prince had heard enough. He turned the mirror away from himself and sighed. He laid it down beside him and dropped his face into his hands. Mrs. Potts nuzzled his cheek comfortingly with her pouring spout. “Oh, love…”

“She’s right though, isn’t she?” he murmured through his scaled palms. “I’m a monster… Just a monster…”

…

Unable to sleep, Hermione stayed up talking to the wardrobe- who she found out was named Garderobe- and Chip way into the late hours of the night. It was sometime well after one when she heard the unmistakable sounds of Lumiere ravishing Plumette in kisses (and probably other things, as much as a candle can to a feather duster). She crawled over to the keyhole and peered out of it just in time to see the couple disappear behind a curtain as Plumette let out little trilled giggles of delight. Chipette rolled her painted eyes and made a sour face from where she sat on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Revolting, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s rather sweet,” commented the witch with a small smile. “Aren’t we all just looking for our Lumiere?...”

“Do you have anyone back in the village?” Garderobe asked curiously. Hermione thought of Ron and instantly scrunched up her nose.

“Not hardly. There’s no one in that town for me,” she murmured as her stomach growled. Hermione rubbed her arm thoughtfully and glanced over at the chest of drawers. I have a feeling they wouldn’t let me out of the room if it disobeyed direct orders. But Merlin, I’m hungry… think, Hermione. Think. “Madame,” she began after a while. “I know I’m not meant to leave the room, but I was wondering if a bath could be arranged. I’d desperately love to get clean.”

“Well, the master just said you couldn’t dine. He never said anything about hygiene. I think we can arrange for that.” The dresser gave a little shake and out popped a black nightgown and an emerald-colored robe. Hermione caught them gratefully. “Towels are in the washroom. Chip, would you show her?”

“Gladly! We’re gonna go down the hall to the right, Hermione,” the teacup whispered and the witch smiled softly to herself. She pushed to her feet and carefully opened the door. Lumiere and Plumette seemed so into one another- and whatever the hell was happening behind the curtain- that they didn’t notice the soft creaking of the door as Hermione clicked it shut. She took Chip in her hands to keep the cup from clinking against her saucer as she headed in the direction of the washroom. Once they were there, Chip wriggled out of her hands and landed neatly upon Hermione’s shoe before bouncing onto the ground. She looked up at her with those brightly painted eyes. “Now I’ll be waiting for you out here. When you’re done, how about we sneak on down to the kitchen and see what’s still hot?” she teased and Hermione beamed at her, once again struck by the notion that the little cup was very familiar to her. Something sparked in her mind and the words came out before she could stop them.

“Thanks, Gin.”

The teacup stared up at Hermione and Hermione stared down at her. An odd sensation, something akin to Déjà vu, crept into the spaces between them. Hermione tilted her head as Chip blinked her painted eyes and gave herself a little shake on her saucer.

“R-Right. Anyway. I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

“Okay…” Hermione smiled kindly and tried to ignore the fact that her head was starting to hurt. She opened the door and stepped inside the washroom- eager to end the odd moment as candles instantly lit along the walls. She looked all around and drew a deep breath, amazed once again by the stunning architecture work inside the castle. The room wasn’t overly big but was larger than anything she was used to. An obsidian clawfoot tub near one wall had the rim of a serpent and pegs like talons. She laid her robe and nightgown across the sink and carefully began to peel off the layers of her sweaty, dirty clothes. As she kicked them aside, she placed a hand on the tub and instantly the waterspouts began to pour.

Hermione tried to make sense of some of the things in the room as the tub filled up. There were pictures of various magical creatures, framed bits of written scripts she couldn’t translate, and dozens of flowerpots filled with long-dead plants. How long has it been since anyone’s been here… Hermione glanced down at the water and saw it had risen to a good level. She placed her fingers in it and sighed at the warmth that graced her skin. She sank into the tub and closed her eyes, letting the hot water climb up her body until it was under her nose. She pitched her eyebrows at the smell of rich spices, something like cinnamon with notes of oak and woodsmoke. Hermione’s hair drifted around her in damp waves of chocolate ribbons as she tilted her head back and tried to relax. Her body eased. Her mind wandered…

Her head suddenly throbbed when slices of unplaced memory scored through the darkness of the back of her eyelids. She heard herself screaming as she hid under a sink when a giant troll came barreling through the bathroom. She saw her own hands using a mirror to look around corners with her heart pounding in her chest. Then she was placing something around her neck- a trinket that looked like an hourglass. Dancing in a periwinkle blue dress with a stranger. She saw a terrible short woman wearing all pink, smiling down at her. Then she was crying. Someone had broken her heart. Is that Ronald kissing Lavender Brown?! She was screaming again. Someone was holding her down. She was in so much pain.

{“What else did you take from my vault?!”}

Hermione’s left arm burned. She bolted upward in the water when she realized she’d nodded off and her head had slipped under. She gasped for air and looked all around, confusion and worry clouding her sight as tears welled in her eyes. The bathwater clouded pink and she glanced over, shocked to see her scar was open and bleeding. I’d nearly forgotten it… She used her right hand to race over the ugly word that marred the flesh between the bend of her elbow and her wrist.

“Mudblood,” she murmured, watching curiously as a droplet of blood rolled off her arm and into the water. Another flash of pain scorched through her skull and caused spots in her vision. She saw in her mind just then, a plainly beautiful young boy with white hair and silver eyes. He was dressed in fine Quidditch gear and had malice on his face as his pale, pink lips pulled into a snarl.

{“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.”}

Hermione blinked hard and pressed her wrists to her pounding temples. Her skull felt as if it might crack open from all the building pressure. A name, very distant as if she’d read it in a book long ago, came to her. It made her head throb and her heart race. The scar on her arm burned as Hermione gritted her teeth when his voice echoed in her mind once more. No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood. She splashed water on herself again and again until the aching in her head subsided. When the pain finally left her, she grabbed a loofa that materialized on the water spicket and began to numbly scrub the blood and dirt from her body.

She kept her gaze fixed on the scar on her arm as some of the unsavory thoughts started to fade from her mind. By the time she’d cleaned herself, dried her body and her hair, and dressed in the nightgown and robe, nearly all the painful, jarring memories were forgotten. All but one. Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror as she dragged a silver brush through her wild chocolate hair. Just like earlier with Chip, the words fell from her mouth without her meaning to as she turned for the door.

“Who the hell is Draco Malfoy?”

Chapter Text

Ron sat in the Hog’s Head with a grim look on his face. He downed his third shot of Firewhisky, leaned his head against the back of his favorite chair, and closed his eyes. Heeled loyally to his side were his faithful friends- Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter. Harry was trimming Ron’s fingernails as Neville kneaded the arches of his feet. Harry tried very hard not to notice the absolutely adoring look on Neville’s face as he stared up at the man they both followed. Ron exhaled all the air in his lungs and kicked his feet in exasperation, accidently knocking Neville’s hands away as he did.

“What’s up with him?” Neville whispered to Harry and he swallowed hard as he tilted his head toward his companion.

“Hermione rejected his proposal.”

Neville looked as if Harry had struck him. “He proposed to her?...”

“What doesn’t she see in me?” Ron whined, having not quite heard the conversation between his friends but had understood enough to know they’d said her name. He opened his eyes and glanced down at his fellow Gryffindors. “She said she’d never marry me! Am I not good enough?”

“Ron, don’t ever say that!” Neville protested and Harry side-eyed him with enough vigor to pop his neck as his head cocked to the side. Damn, Longbottom! Be cool. “You’re the best guy in town. And… and…” He shook his head. “Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, my Ron, looking so down in the dumps…” Neville’s voice held a bit of a tune as he gave Harry a shove. Potter’s mouth hung askew as he gestured toward Ron and cleared his throat. Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back on his stool, abandoning his work on Ron’s nailbeds.

“Every guy here’d love to be you, my Ron. Even when taking your lumps,” he added dryly as he glanced around the room. Harry was aware that Fred and George, Ron’s twin older brothers, were watching the trio from the bar with an amused look on their faces. George raised an eyebrow as he took a sip from his cup of ale.

“There’s no man in town as admired as you. You’re everyone’s favorite guy,” Neville continued, abandoning the pampering of Ron’s feet as he hopped to a standing position. Ron didn’t seem to be giving him the light of day and was staring at the flickering flame in the hearth as Neville reached inside his pocket and tossed a few sickles to listening bystanders to get their attention. “Everyone’s awed and inspired by you. And it’s not very hard to see why…” Finally Ron turned to face Neville as his friend jumped up on the nearest table- much to the absolute displeasure of Aberforth. Neville glared at Harry and he admitted defeat. He slid his hands into his pockets and, stealthily, began walking around the room to hand out sickles and galleons.

“No one’s…” Neville stomped his foot on the table. “Slick as our Ron, no one’s quick as our Ron. No one’s neck’s as incredibly thick as our Ron!”

“There’s no man in town half as manly,” Harry added begrudgingly as he slapped five galleons a piece into the twins’ hands. Ever doting and infatuated, Lavender and Pavarti turned down Harry’s money to gawk over Ron of their own accord.

“Perfect- a pure paragon.”

“You can ask any Fred, George, or Percy…” Neville jeered as he pointed to each of Ron’s older brothers and all three of them held expressions of the greatest distaste. “And they’ll tell you whose team they prefer to be on. Who plays…”

“Darts like our Ron!” cried half the room as Harry finished bribing them.

“Who breaks…!”

“Hearts like our Ron!” finished the other half as Neville tossed coins at them over Ron’s head.

“Who’s much more than the sum of his parts like our Ron?” he laughed as he hopped down off the table and made his way across the room to his friend again. Ron now had a very interested look on his face as he leaned forward in his chair.

“As a specimen, yes, I’m intimidating,” he added as he flexed his arms and Percy nearly choked on his beer. Fred slapped him on the back to clear his airway as Neville clapped his hands.

“My, what a guy, that’s our Ron!” Everyone cheered.

Ron was on his feet in an instant and grabbed Neville by the shoulder. Harry placed his hands on his hips in exasperation as Ron gave his heeler a spin. “Well, I needed encouragement. Thank you, my man!”

“Well there’s no one as easy to bolster as… as… as…” Neville paused an inch from Ron’s face and his cheeks flushed red. He licked his dry lips as Ron’s bright blue eyes seared into him. “Uhm… uh…”

“Too much, Neville old pal…” Harry whispered as he grabbed his companion by the wrist and yanked him back into the crowd to continue the show.

“No one…”

“Fights like our Ron!”

“Douses lights like our Ron!”

“In a wrestling match, nobody bites like our Ron!” Neville cried as he showed off a ring of purple bruises in the shape of teeth on his arm. Harry eyed him curiously and glanced around to see if anyone else thought it was fucking weird that he had it. He locked eyes with Fred across the room and the Weasley just laughed and lifted his mug into the air.

Ron had now leaped up onto the bar top and was taking a few steps forward as if he was stalking prey. “When I hunt, I sneak up with my quiver. And beasts of the field say a prayer.”

“Yes?” Lavender panted as she leaned across the counter. “And then?”

“First I carefully aim for the liver. Then I shoot from behind.”

“Is that fair?” Pavarti asked and Ron shrugged.

“I don’t care!”

“No one hits like our Ron!” George screamed as he downed his ale.

“Matches wit like our Ron…” Percy added begrudgingly.

“In a spitting match, nobody spits like our Ron!” Neville jeered as he slid across the tavern on his knees. Harry took a seat at the bar beside his companion’s trio of brothers with a look of pure curiosity on his face as he ran his hands through his hair.

“I’m especially good at expectorating…” Ron drew in a deep breath and spat, sending a bullet of saliva across the room and into the hearth.

“Ten points for our Ron!” Everyone cheered as Fred leaned over to Harry.

“Remember the time he burped slugs for three days? Not so good at expectorating then, hmm?”

Harry’s eye twitched. Do I remember that?...

He glanced over just in time to see Ron pick up Lavender and put her on his shoulder as her face flushed with color. “When I was a lad, I ate four dozen eggs every morning to help me get large…” Much to Harry’s surprise, he slid her into his arms and lifted her up over his head like a groom carrying a bride. “And now that I’m grown I eat five dozen eggs so I’m roughly the size of a…”

“Jackass. Roughly the size of a jackass,” Percy mumbled and George slapped him on the back. Harry’s eye twitched again as he handed Aberforth a galleon and got himself a pitcher of ale. Everyone around the room started clapping and pounding their feet as Ron slid Lavender out of his grasp. He jumped off the bar top and began dancing in a steady circle with Neville.

“Well, looks like his morale is back up,” Harry muttered to himself as he began to drink. “My, what a guy…”

“Who… has…” Neville’s voice rang again as he drew his wand and he and Ron began gently shooting harmless hexes back and forth at each other. “Brains like our Ron!”

“Entertains!...”

“Like our Ron!” cried the room. Ron caught Neville off guard with a hex that landed him on his back. Longbottom looked excruciatingly in awe as his companion placed his heel on his chest.

“Who can make up these endless refrains like your Ron?!” Ron laughed and everyone cheered. “I use antlers in all of my decorating…”

“Say it again!” Neville cheered as Ron pulled him back to stand. Everyone stomped their feet. “Who’s a man among men?! Who’s a super success- don’t you know, can’t you guess? Ask his fans and his five hangers-on! There’s just one guy in town who’s got all of it down!...”

“It’s our favorite guy! Our Ron!” Sang the room and even Harry smiled and joined in at the end. The Hog’s Head erupted in chatter, song, and noise as they banged their fists on the tables and demanded more beer. Aberforth rolled his eyes and began to take their orders.

“How much money did that cost you, mate?” George asked and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Piss off, Georgie. He’s your brother. Shouldn’t you be the one building him up?”

“You don’t need us to do that. You and Longbottom do a great job of that without our help,” Fred chimed in as he paid for another mug. “Poor bloke Neville is. Basically has hearts in his eyes anytime he looks at Ronny boy too long. Surprised he can get any words out for how deep his prick’s in his mouth.”

Harry bristled defensively as he grabbed his pitcher of ale and headed back over to Ron. He was seated again in his favorite chair with Neville adoringly rubbing the heels of his feet. “… It really was a clever tune, Neville. I really liked the way you pulled in the crowd. I guess this town just brings out the best of me!”

“You do that all on your own,” Longbottom replied loyally as he leaned his head against the chair again. “Don’t dwell on Hermione too long, Ron. She’ll come around! How can she not? You’re the perfect man.”

“You’re right,” Ron said in a dreamy voice after a while as Harry pulled a stool over and sat beside him. He glanced over at his friend as he closed his eyes once more. “Where’d you scuttle off too during the musical number, Harry? I saw you all cozied up to my brothers at the bar.”

“Oh, just talking about how great you are,” Harry lied seamlessly as he sipped from the side of his pitcher. “My, what a guy, that Ron and all…”

Just then, there was a loud bang from outside the tavern and the door flew open. Rubeus Hagrid came barreling in, his eyes wide and face frostbitten. Many of the patrons jumped out of the way as he stumbled over to the bar and splayed his massive hands across its wooden surface. “Aberforth, ya’ve gotta help me! ‘Ermione! He has ‘Ermione!”

“Hermione?” Ron echoed as he pushed to his feet. Neville, Harry, and Ronald were at the half-giant’s side in an instant as Aberforth leaned over the counter to comfort the groundskeeper.

“Please! He has her locked in a dungeon!”

“Who does, Hagrid?” Ron asked with wide eyes and the colossal man turned toward him with bloodshot sclera and a weathered face.

“A monster! A beast, I tell you! A terrible serpent that’s nearly as tall as I am with ‘orrible green scales and black claws and…” The entire tavern erupted in laughter and Hagrid’s dark eyes lit with anger. “I’m not lyin’! Please, s-someone has to help me! He has ‘Ermione!”

Ron glanced over at Harry and Neville then looked back at the half giant as he continued to ramble. “There’s a castle in the Forbidden Forest and he lives there. Around the land, it’s already winter! It’s snowin’ somethin’ awful and there’s Acromantulas as big as hounds…”

“Winter!” laughed Fred with a shake of his head. “Aye, Hagrid… it’s only May!”

“Crazy old man,” George agreed as he turned back to his ale.

“I’m not lying!” Hagrid cried as he slid to his knees so quickly that it made the entire bar shake from the force. He dropped his face into his goliath hands and his shoulders shook as he wept. “Why won’t anyone listen to me?!... Oh my ‘Ermione… my s-sweet girl…”

“We’ll help you, Hagrid,” Ron said in a steady voice that made Neville and Harry cast him curious glances. The half-giant moved his hands away from his face and stared at the redhead in front of him with an unsure expression and dewy eyes.

“You… You will, Ronald?...”

“Of course! Take us, Hagrid. Show us the beast.”

…

Nearly an hour later, Hagrid, Ron, Neville, and Harry were trudging through the Forbidden Forest with the younger three having their wands outstretched for light. Neville kept glancing over his shoulder at every sound, not in the slightest bit eager to meet the giant spiders that Hagrid had described. The groundskeeper was retracing his steps, following the prints of Buckbeak’s feet in the soil as the night grew deeper and the land was cloaked in darkness. A rustling in the undergrowth made Harry jump and he flexed his wand hand.

“Hagrid, are you sure this is the way you went?...”

“Buckbeak’s hoof prints go right through here. Not much longer and you’ll see the snow.”

“Alright, well…” Ron cleared his throat to bite back his unease. “We’ve been wandering around for long enough. There is no castle out here, Hagrid. No mysterious manor wrapped in winter.”

“There is! I’m telling you, there is!” Hagrid snapped.

Ron stopped walking when he heard more scuttling in the underbrush and pressed very closely to Harry and Neville. The latter’s face flushed red when Ron’s shoulders grazed his chest. “The only enchanted castle nearby is Hogwarts, Hagrid. And it’s the other way. I’m not going to keep wandering aimlessly through the Forbidden Forest just to get eaten by Acromantula! Now you can stay in the woods if you like, that’s fine. But me and my men are going home!”

“Go on then you cowards!” Hagrid roared as he tightened his coat. “I’ll find ‘Ermione on my own then.” He turned away and began to storm off through the woods, keeping his gaze down to try and follow Buckbeak’s hoofprints. Ron waited for a moment and tilted his head.

“This doesn’t put me in good favor to ask him for Hermione’s hand, does it?” he asked and both Neville and Harry shook their heads.

“Not a great look, mate, no.”

“Perhaps we could keep going?...” Ron took a shaky step forward but then he heard a loud thump from nearby and it was the tipping point. The three Gryffindors turned on their heels and took off quickly back the way they’d come with their wands held in front of them for light.

Hagrid grumbled under his breath as he stopped by a large log. He leaned against it and began to cry. “Oh, ‘Ermione… I don’t know how to save you on my own…” The unnerving crashing sound came again and Hagrid lifted his head. He realized that, without Ron and his gang, he had no way to protect himself and instantly began to back away in the direction of the town. “Who’s there?” he called out but an eerie silence answered him. Hagrid’s heart began to pound in his chest when he became aware of the sensation of being watched. Then, dozens of beady eyes blinked at him from the darkness and he took off in a sprint toward Hogsmeade.

“Ron!” he cried as his massive footsteps shook the ground. The Acromantulas advanced on him from all sides as tears welled in his eyes. No! If I die, ‘Ermione will never get away from that monster! It can’t end like this! “Ron!” he screamed again. “Neville, ‘Arry! Help me!”

“Bombarda Maxima!” A flash of light zoomed past Hagrid’s head and an explosion from behind him sent the half giant sprawling onto the ground. He slammed against the earth with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. His ears rang and his vision was hazy as a set of hands grabbed him by his collar and shook him. “You have to help me! Stand, Hagrid! I can’t pull you!” The groundskeeper blinked and found himself looking up into panicked hazel eyes and a pale, scarred face. Remus Lupin flourished his wand as the spiders regrouped. “Bombarda Maxima!” he screamed again. The forest shook. Hagrid’s head throbbed. The last thing he saw was Remus standing protectively beside him and then the entire world went dark.