The maze
Hermione (age 11)
Summer had flown by in a blur of shared moments: reading beneath the trees, enjoying Mippy's delicious meals, and countless chess matches. Hermione had devoured "Hogwarts: A History" three times already, the book had become her constant companion. Arys, meanwhile, often sketched in his leather-bound journal, he was a very talented artist.
To their surprise, Lucius had started providing them with an allowance, which they spent almost entirely on books from Flourish and Blotts. They weren't able to venture into Diagon Alley themselves, but Mippy was happy to pick up books for them whenever they asked.
Arys, with his soft spot for animals, was currently nursing an abandoned fox cub named Ruby back to health. Hermione had resigned herself to her inability to conquer swimming. With the weather turning colder, she'd have to wait until spring to resume her floundering attempts. Arys had been endlessly patient, but swimming simply wasn't her forte. Chess, however, was a different story. She now consistently bested Arys, but he didn't seem to care. He didn't have a competitive bone in his body.
As the leaves began to fall, a sense of dread crept over her. Soon, Arys would be consumed by his studies.
Arys had been tutored rigorously since childhood, his education mirroring her own at the Oxford Home. But now, at twelve, he was embarking on a new chapter, delving into the magical arts: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and more. Hermione, bound by her blood status, would remain excluded from this world.
"I promise I'll teach you everything I learn," Arys vowed one night, their shared bed illuminated by candlelight, Ruby curled at their feet. "Every day, after lessons, we'll practice in the garden."
His words offered a glimmer of hope in the encroaching darkness of autumn.
Hermione nodded, forcing a smile.
"I have something for you," he said, releasing her hand and shifting in the bed. He retrieved a small package from the bedside table.
She unwrapped it and gasped. Inside was a framed drawing of herself, Arys, Mippy, and Dolly. A family portrait.
"You drew this?" she whispered, her voice filled with wonder.
"Yes."
"Arys... I don't know what to say. Thank you." Her fingers traced the faces in the drawing, a warmth spreading through her chest.
She placed the frame on the table and turned back to him, taking his hand in hers. She squeezed three times—their secret code for "I love you."
"I'll cherish it always," she promised.
Arys's smile was soft, his eyes heavy with sleep. "Happy birthday, Hermione."
Their hands remained intertwined as they drifted off to sleep, a sense of peace settling over them.
****
Hermione awoke to a cold, empty bed. Arys sat across the room, his gaze distant, the pale morning light casting an ethereal glow on his drawn features.
"Arys?" she whispered, careful not to startle him.
He flinched but didn't turn.
"Arys, what's wrong? Come back to bed."
He remained unresponsive.
Finally, he sighed, wiping his trembling hands on his pajamas.
She slipped out of bed, approaching him cautiously. She curled into his side, seeking his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently, squeezing his hand three times. His body relaxed slightly.
"You were lost," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "In the dark. You were so scared... screaming my name, but I couldn't find you. There was a tree... with white bark... and it was bleeding."
"It was just a nightmare, Arys," she soothed, gently tilting his chin up. His eyes, usually so vibrant, were glazed with unshed tears. "I'm fine. Look at me."
She drew him close, pressing her cheek to his. "It wasn't real, Arys," she whispered.
A shudder wracked his body, and he buried his face in her neck. They stayed that way for a long time, silently watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues of orange and gold.
The next day, Professor Dankworth arrived. A close associate of Lucius and a devoted Death Eater, his distaste for the cottage—or perhaps Hermione—was evident in his wrinkled nose. He ushered Arys towards the study, leaving Hermione alone. Arys looked defeated, his new wand hanging limply at his side. With a final, apologetic glance in her direction, he disappeared behind the closed door.
She spent the afternoon in the garden, swinging listlessly, tears sliding down her cheeks as she watched the ripples on the pond. The day stretched before her, empty and lonely.
****
Christmas morning arrived, a few months later, and Hermione and Arys awoke and scrambled downstairs. A towering tree, nearly reaching the rafters, adorned with floating candles and enchanted ornaments, graced their living room. Magical snow drifted down from the ceiling, dissolving before it touched the floor. Shimmering tinsel, evergreen branches, and festive holly adorned every surface, and a miniature Hogwarts Express chugged along its track, emitting the occasional cheerful whistle.
Laughter filled the air as they exchanged gifts, each presenting the other with a book. Arys had chosen "A Midsummer Night's Dream" by William Shakespeare, a "Muggle author," he explained. Hermione, in turn, had gifted him "Animagus: A Guide to Transfiguration," which he seemed to love.
The next day, Arys's lessons resumed, and Hermione, determined not to wallow in solitude, ventured out. Clutching her new book, she wandered aimlessly, seeking a quiet reading nook. Bundled against the winter chill, her boots crunched on the frost-kissed ground. Finally, she discovered a willow tree with a welcoming bench beneath its branches, further from the cottage than she'd ever dared to go before. She curled up, wrapped in a blanket, and lost herself in Shakespeare's words.
". . .For aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth."
—Spoken by Lysander in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Closing the book with a satisfied sigh, she gazed towards the horizon. The sun was beginning its descent, it was time to head back.
As she gathered her belongings, a chilling whisper cut through the tranquil air. "Hermione..."
She froze mid-stride, the hairs on her neck standing on end. The voice seemed to surround her, carried on the wind.
Heart pounding, she crept towards the sound, her footsteps muffled by the fallen leaves. A towering hedge rose before her, and she followed its curve until she reached a large, imposing iron gate. It stood slightly ajar, an invitation she couldn't resist.
She stepped into a maze. She followed a path that wound through dense, towering hedges that blocked out the fading sunlight. A sense of unease prickled her skin, and she turned to retrace her steps. But the gate had vanished, leaving only an unbroken wall of greenery. She was trapped.
The sun dipped lower, shadows deepening, and a thick fog began to creep in, obscuring the path ahead. Her breath hitched in her throat, her fingers tightening around the straps of her bag. A shiver wracked through her body.
A fleeting movement caught her eye, a shadow flitting through the fog. She whirled around, fists raised, but there was nothing there. The air crackled with an unseen energy, and a tingling sensation prickled her feet.
"Who's there?!" she shouted into the growing darkness.
"Hermione..." The wind whispered her name again, the voice seeming to come from all directions.
Then, a chorus of voices screamed, "MUDBLOOD!!!"
The hateful word pierced the silence, sending a wave of terror through her. She bolted, her legs pumping, her lungs burning with each icy breath. Something pursued her, its presence a dark weight at her heels. She didn't dare look back. A sinister magic, far different from the gentle energy of the garden, snaked around her, clinging to her limbs, seeping into her very being. It was foul, suffocating.
She rounded a corner, bursting into a large, empty courtyard. In its center stood a solitary white tree, its bark oozing a crimson liquid. Blood.
Terror clawed at her throat. "ARYS!!!" she screamed, her voice a desperate plea. "MIPPY!"
She scrambled up the nearest wall, her fingers digging into the cold stone, but it repelled her, sending her crashing back to the ground with a sickening thud. Pain lanced through her body, her vision blurred, the maze twisting and warping around her. She staggered to her feet, her legs weak, her resolve faltering.
Through the swirling fog, she saw a figure standing beneath an archway, still as a statue. Was this how it would all end?
She thought of Arys. She couldn't abandon him in this world, he needed her. The thought fueled her with a desperate rage. Her palms tingled, and a surge of power coursed through her. Sparks erupted from her fingertips, her blood burning with defiance.
The fog cleared, revealing a shock of stark blonde hair. Shock replaced terror as she thought she recognized the man standing before her, his cold silver eyes gleaming in the dim light.
Lucius?
She took a hesitant step forward, and then—
An icy wave of relief crashed over her, extinguishing her magic, as the figure stepped into the moonlight and recognition set in.
"ARYS!" she screamed, her voice a raw, primal cry of joy.
She sprinted towards him, her legs barely able to keep up with the desperate urgency of her heart, until she collided with his solid form. Sobs wracked her body as she clung to him, relief washing over her in waves. "You found me," she choked out, burying her face in his neck. "Thank you, thank you..."
Arys's arms hung limp for a moment, then gradually tightened around her. Eventually, under the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear, her trembling began to subside.
She pulled back, tears streaming down her face. "Arys, we have to get out of here. The maze is playing tricks on me... it's made your hair and eyes to look like Lucius's..."
Arys stared at her, his expression etched with confusion.
"Arys, did you hear me? We need to leave, now!"
His eyes darted around, concern clouding his features. He felt warm, safe, but something was undeniably off.
She stepped back, their hands still linked. She squeezed his hand three times. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he didn't return the gesture.
A feather-light touch brushed against the edges of her mind.
Who are you? The soft words echoed in her mind.
A dizzying sensation overtook her. Magic surged through her veins, awakening something dormant within her. Her stomach lurched, her skin flushed. It was exhilarating, terrifying.
"What's happening?" she gasped.
Arys remained silent, his eyes focused.
Images flashed before her in a whirl, vivid and overwhelming. She saw herself arriving at the manor, her first encounter with Arys, their quiet moments in the garden. Memories, both cherished and painful, played out like scenes from a muggle film, her own life unfolding before her as if she were a spectator in her own story.
A specific memory surfaced, crystal clear amidst the whirlwind of images. They were lying in bed holding hands. Arys's voice, soft and vulnerable, whispered in her ear, "Promise you'll never leave me."
She saw her slightly younger self, her heart brimming with love, respond without hesitation, "I promise."
Suddenly, the magical cord between them snapped pulling her from the memory, and they both stumbled back. She fell to the ground, her gaze locking with Arys's wide, bewildered eyes.
"Arys... what was that?" she whispered, her breath visible in the cold air.
He didn't answer, just stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.
Without a word, he turned and approached the hedge, tapping it with his wand and murmuring an incantation. An archway appeared, and he stepped through, vanishing into the darkness.
She scrambled to her feet, following him through the opening. Relief washed over her as she recognized the willow tree in the distance.
"Thank Merlin..."
The maze sealed itself behind her, the hedges knitting back together with an ominous crackle.
"Arys? Let's get out of here," she called out, searching for him in the gloom.
But he was gone.
*****
Later that night, Hermione and Arys huddled together by the fire, wrapped in blankets, sipping hot cocoa. The chill from the maze still clung to her bones.
She'd recounted every detail of her harrowing experience to Arys. Though he tried to be strong, his worried features betrayed him. They concluded that the "Arys" in the maze was a hallucination. The real Arys had been searching for her, but not within the maze.
Exhausted and sore, they climbed the stairs, mugs in hand.
"I forgot my book downstairs," Arys said, pausing at his bedroom door. "I'll be right back."
She wanted to protest, to keep him close, but she swallowed her fear and entered the room alone.
A scream ripped from her throat as the door swung open. Her mug shattered on the floor, hot cocoa scalding her legs.
A boy sat on the bed, his back to her, blonde hair gleaming in the dim light with Ruby curled beside him. He seemed unfazed by her scream, he hadn't even flinched. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Arys burst into the room, skidding to a halt behind her. The window was open and an unfamiliar broom was propped against the wall.
"I must have flown over this place a hundred times," the boy said calmly, his voice sending chills down her spine, "never noticing the wards that concealed it."
He stood, tossing the framed drawing Arys had given her onto the bed. Turning, he faced them, his silver eyes piercing hers before settling on Arys. All the blood drained from Arys's face. Apart from their hair and eye color, they were identical.
"Who are you?" Arys's voice trembled.
The blonde boy paused, then spoke, his tone cold and flat. "I spoke with our father. You are my brother. My twin, in case it wasn't obvious. He has lied to us both."
"Who is your father?" Arys asked, fear creeping into his voice.
"Lucius Malfoy."
"Lucius... is my father?"
"Yes. But don't get your hopes up. He'll only disappoint you."
"And our mother?"
"She died giving birth to us. I never knew her."
Arys fell silent, swallowing hard. "How is this possible?"
"Well, Arys, when a man and a woman love each other very much..." The blonde's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"No, I mean... why? Why did he keep this a secret? Keep us a secret?"
"He hasn't kept me a secret. I'm the Malfoy heir, I attend Hogwarts, I live at the Manor. As for why... you'll have to ask him."
Arys looked devastated. She reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.
Silence hung heavy in the room. Draco's eyes lingered on their joined hands, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze.
"Try not to look so upset, brother," he said, his eyes flicking to hers. "It seems you got the better end of the bargain."
Without another word, he grabbed his broom and climbed onto the window ledge.
"What's your name?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
He didn't answer, simply launched himself into the night. They rushed to the window, watching him hover in the darkness.
"Will you be back?" Arys asked, his voice hushed. "Will Lucius allow it?"
"My father doesn't control me," the boy replied, turning his broom. "Quite the opposite, in fact."
"For what it's worth," Arys called out, "I've always wanted a brother."
"That makes one of us," the boy said coldly, then vanished into the night.
That night, she dreamt of Arys's brother. He stood in the shadows, watching her sleep, his brow furrowed, his hand rubbing his mouth. He looked like a boy grappling with a puzzle he couldn't solve.