Chapter 14
Hermione's polite reply betrayed none of the simmering feelings within. She sat straight-backed at the dining table, features schooled into impassivity. Only the quick dart of her eyes towards him hinted at their shared memories.
Draco took his seat with a cordial nod. "I hope you slept well."
"Quite, thank you. And you, sir?"
"Also well, Miss Granger."
A strained propriety filled the dining room as tea was served, both hyperaware of the charged undercurrent between them. Sideways glances and rose-dusted cheeks hinted at untold memories, while polite conversation skirted around the obvious.
Tension mounted in the silence, measured out by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. Hermione kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, though she could feel the weight of Draco's stare upon her. A flush threatened to bloom, betraying the raced pace of her heart.
Yet she willed herself to remain poised and in control.
This could go no further - their paths were meant to diverge here.
She had a mission to uphold, and her true life at stake.
The rapid patter of footsteps heralded Mrs. Fitz's arrival. Her kindly face appeared around the door, a few wisps of black hair escaping her usually tidy bun.
"I have a Miss Ginny Weasley at the door, says she's your sister. She's accompanied by Mr. Potter and they've come to fetch you, darling," Mrs. Fitz announced with a warm smile towards Hermione.
At Mrs. Fitz's announcement, Draco's face remained impassive, though his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "Please show them to the west drawing room. We will be down presently," he instructed evenly.
"Right away, sir," Mrs. Fitz bobbed a curtsy and hurried out.
Alone again, the air grew taut with unspoken words. Hermione slowly rose, her silk skirts rustling softly as she followed.
"Oh Mione! We've been absolutely distraught with worry for you," Ginny exclaimed, enveloping Hermione in a fierce embrace. Hermione caught a hint of Ginny's daisy perfume as her friend's fiery red tresses tickled her cheek. Ginny's brown eyes roved the room expectantly as she pulled back. "Wherever is this Cousin Hyacinth described so vividly in the letter?"
Before Hermione could respond, Draco interjected smoothly, "You just missed her I'm afraid. She was called away north for her sister's wedding."
"Oh of course, weddings are lovely," Ginny said brightly, looping her arm through Hermione's.
Harry cast Draco a pointed look, a twinkle of amusement glimmering behind his spectacles.
"So Malfoy, how fared your time in Cornwall?"
Draco blinked, momentarily discomposed. "I beg your pardon?"
"The letter mentioned you were in Cornwall," Harry said casually, though his eyes still glimmered with unspoken meaning.
"Ah yes, I had some business matters to attend to there," Draco recovered smoothly, his eyes flashing warningly at his friend.
"I see. And were these affairs managed satisfactorily?"
At this, Draco tensed ever so slightly and elbowed Harry in the ribs - a discreet but pointed warning. Harry suppressed a chuckle with effort.
"Quite satisfactory indeed," Draco replied after a moment's pause, his voice low as his eyes lingered on Hermione's lips for a second too long before meeting her gaze.
Sensing the mounting tension, she stepped in, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Thank you again sincerely for everything, Mr. Malfoy, but we really must be going."
"Of course, Miss Granger. Safe travels to you both." Draco's tone was formally polite, yet his stormy gaze remained on her face.
Hermione froze, heart leaping into her throat as Mrs. Fitz hurried towards her, the telltale pink gown draped over her arm.
"Wait! I found this on the parlor floor, dear. Please keep it, the color suits you beautifully. Consider it a gift," the housekeeper said kindly as she held out the gown.
Cheeks burning, Hermione fumbled for an explanation.
"Oh, you are too generous, but I couldn't possibly..."
Before she could react, Ginny's voice piped up curiously, "How did your dress end up there?"
Panic threatened to choke Hermione, but Mrs. Fitz smoothly interjected, "Oh, the gown must have slipped from my arms when I was helping Miss Granger prepare it for tailoring. Isn't that right, dear?"
Relief swept over Hermione at the graceful intervention.
"Yes, of course!" she supplied hastily.
"How careless of me to misplace it. Thank you again, Mrs. Fitz, for gifting me the gown."
"Not to worry dear, I'll see that its properly stored for the journey," Mrs. Fitz said reassuringly. Then she added pointedly, "That stunning midnight gown you wore to the Parkinson's ball is already safely tucked away in the carriage as well."
Ginny glanced between them quizzically, but held her tongue.
As they turned to depart, Mrs. Fitz subtly winked at Hermione in solidarity and discretion.
She kept her flushed face down, grateful for the housekeeper's perceptiveness and empathy. With that simple gesture, Mrs. Fitz acknowledged traces of a secret encounter still lingering even as Hermione left it all behind.
When the carriage pulled away, she risked one final glance back at Draco's imposing figure. Their shared memories would remain an unspoken secret, preserved only in veiled recollections and knowing looks.
Some stories were best left untold.
The carriage jostled down the rutted road, passing through dappled patches of sunlight and shadow. Hermione sat across from Ginny, half-listening as her friend chattered brightly about the events of the past week.
It all seemed so trivial now to Hermione.
Since arriving at Malfoy Manor, her world had shifted on its axis in ways she was still struggling to grasp.
Ginny's lilting voice broke through her reverie.
"What happened to your plan of going back home that night? Did you change your mind?"
Hermione hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to Draco's moonlit gaze and his careful sketches tracing her form.
"After my fall, I lost consciousness," she said slowly, choosing her words with care. "And in any case, attempting the journey with an injury would have been unwise. It seems the enchantment on the gown failed."
Not an outright lie, yet it skirted the full truth of her transformation. She could never share how momentarily connecting with Draco had unlocked something within herself, showing her unknown depths and pleasures.
Yet, something in her mind told her it was wrong.
She knew deep down it was never meant to happen - this wasn't her time.
Ginny looked at her curiously. "But I thought it was enchanted."
At Ginny's confusion about the gown, she murmured. "Yes, it seems to require some ritual or incantation to activate its magic." She exhaled heavily with the weight of her dilemma.
How could she undo this temporal twist?
She pondered the storybooks she'd read as a girl, tales of those lost in time being drawn back by the strongest pull - the true love waiting for them, a mystical mission, even a greater purpose.
Hermione shut her eyes, picturing her friends, her life in the future.
She would find a way.
Until then, she must blend in here, leaving as small a footprint as possible.
Her encounter with Draco, however cherished, could go no further.
With bittersweet longing, she tucked away those memories like pressed flowers. She had been awakened, transformed even fleetingly. Now she must use that wisdom to find her rightful place again, no matter how difficult the path ahead seemed.
She was still Hermione Granger, and she would stay true to who she was meant to become.
Ginny gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, we'll solve this puzzle together."
Hermione nodded, pushing down her doubts.
The Weasleys welcomed Hermione home with a deluge of warm hugs and concerned questions, overwhelming but comforting in their familiarity. The boys peppered her with inquiries about Malfoy Manor's lavish riches, while Mrs. Weasley pressed for details on the legitimacy of Cousin Hyacinth's presence.
After the excitement died down, the family was simply content to be together again, gathered cozily in the drawing room. Mrs. Weasley smiled over her intricate knitting.
"Viktor Krum came calling yesterday, dear. He was asking after you - said it was quite important."
Hermione blinked in surprise at the mention of Viktor, having scarcely thought of him amidst all that had transpired. A flare of anger went through her recalling Draco's insinuations about his intentions.
"How kind of him to check in," she murmured vaguely, her thoughts distant from Viktor.
From his sprawl in the armchair and arms behind his head, Fred flashed a roguish grin.
"Mark my words, next he'll be asking to court you proper."
Hermione nearly choked on her biscuit. "What? Whyever would you think that?"
Fred laughed knowingly. "Come now, it's plain as day he fancies you. The way he looks at you, how often he calls."
Mrs. Weasley perked up from her knitting, clasping her hands in delight. "Imagine it, my dear! Viktor escorting you through Belvedere Gardens, or taking tea at the Oriental..."
Her fantasies were cut short by Ron's dramatic groan. "Really Mother, must you indulge in such flights of fancy?" He affected a scholarly tone. "No gentleman of sound mind and genuine intentions would dare take a lady to Belvedere Park."
Hermione suppressed a smirk as the Weasley banter continued, their familiar warmth enveloping her like a cozy blanket.
"Fred is taking a properly chaperoned Miss Johnson to the gardens," Ginny scoffed, eyes glinting impishly. "Meanwhile you've made no progress in securing a suitable lady yourself, Bilius."
"Oi! Don't you dare call me that, Molly," Ron exploded out of his seat in protest.
"Don't you take that tone with me, boy!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, head snapping up from her knitting as her hand descended to deliver a swift smack to the back of Ron's head.
"No, Mother, I meant it for Ginny!" Ron protested, ducking away with a dramatic groan and throwing a scowling look at his snickering sister.
Hermione's thoughts churned as she sat among the familiar chaos of the Weasley home. She struggled to reconcile her heated encounter with Draco against their lifelong enmity in every reality she knew.
What strange forces had drawn them together?
She pondered his stormy gaze that seemed to pierce her very soul, leaving her defenses shattered.
Logically, she and Draco should despise each other. Yet logic had failed her in those feverish moments.
Something raw and powerful had ignited between them, defying explanation. She recalled the thrilling danger of it, the feel of his alabaster skin under her trembling fingertips, his warm breath caressing her neck as he pulled her close. It had been intoxicating, tempting, an almost out-of-body experience of abandon.
But with distance, wisdom prevailed.
Whatever magnetic draw she and Draco had felt must have been an illusion, born of proximity and isolation. Here, ensconced in the familiar warmth of Auburndale, she saw the truth clearly.
It was over.
A foolish indiscretion never to be repeated or acknowledged.
Hermione repeated it like a mantra - she and Draco were destined for separate paths.
Hermione leaned in close to Ginny, her voice almost inaudible. "I must see Luna," she whispered urgently. "She may know how to unlock the gown's magic."
Ginny's brown eyes clouded with solemn understanding.
She gave a slight nod. "Alright."
Turning to Mrs. Weasley, Ginny swept into a polite curtsy, the rustle of her skirts breaking the hushed tension. "Mother, Hermione and I are due to call on Luna. I shall ask Mr. Greenwich to ready the carriage."
From her embroidered chair, Mrs. Weasley peered at the girls over her knitting needles in consideration. "Very well," she replied at last, "but do bring back some of Xenophilius' curious teas. They are your father's favorite."
"Of course, Mother," Ginny assured her.
Straightening gracefully, she met Hermione's eyes with quiet urgency. Together they hurried from the parlor, slippers whispering urgently over cool floors.
Outside, the waiting carriage exuded the earthy scents of worn leather and fresh hay. As it lurched into motion, Hermione gazed out the window, imprinting each rolling hill and meadow in her mind. Soon these lands could be but memories if the ritual succeeded.
Melancholy and hope dueled within her breast.
Hermione's mind was awash with bittersweet memories of her own time - hours spent reading in the Hogwarts library, mornings waking up at the Burrow hoping to catch the twins before work, watching her best friends become engaged.
She had become an observer there, watching others live their lives while she simply tried to do what felt right and normal.
Yet, it was a life of her own. It was where the laws of the universe designed for her to be.
The carriage rolled up the winding path to Crescent Hall, Luna's ancestral home. Hermione's heart quickened as she raced up the front steps behind Ginny, the skirts of their dresses rustling.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and there stood Luna in the entry hall, smiling serenely as if she had been expecting them. Her wispy blonde hair seemed to float around her head like a halo.
"Ginny, Hermione, how lovely you've come to call," she greeted them in her lilting voice.
Hermione's nerves faded slightly in the familiar comfort of Luna's presence.
Hermione could barely contain her inquisitiveness once they were settled in Luna's room. "Simply wearing the dress didn't activate its magic. There must be an incantation or wand technique to make it work. Do you know of any?"
Luna gazed at her thoughtfully.
"I'm afraid I don't. However, my mother kept extensive archives in her old room. There could be something there."
Hope flickered in Hermione's chest as she pleaded, "Please show me the archives, Luna. I desperately need to find a way home."
"Of course," Luna replied airily.
She led them to an ornate lilac door which opened to reveal a sun-drenched room with cream curtains billowing gently.
The space was pristine, almost like someone still lived there.
Floor to ceiling windows bathed the room in rainbow hues of light filtering through intricate stained glass. Hermione gasped, temporarily distracted from her urgency by the room's beauty and tranquility. She could almost feel Mrs. Lovegood's lingering presence.
The three girls moved carefully through the sunlit room, softly rummaging through Pandora's belongings for any clue about the gown.
However, Hermione felt her hope slowly dimming as time passed and nothing surfaced.
Just as despair began taking hold and the afternoon turned later, Ginny suddenly called out.
"Wait, look at this!"
She held a slender journal, its leather cover ornately tooled. Opening it gently, Hermione saw Pandora's looping script filling the pages.
With bated breath, she flipped through the journal, scanning for any mention of the gown. Cryptic notes and incantations whisked by. She was about to give up when one page caught her eye - a sketch of the gown itself, drawn in meticulous detail. And there, barely visible in faded ink below, was a sentence.
“Anima illuminata bibet profunda a Calice Galatiae et in visione sacra, discerne quae ab oculis mundanis abscondita sunt.”
Hermione's words hung mystically in the sun-warmed air as Ginny and Luna turned to her with puzzled eyes.
"What does it mean?" Ginny asked, her brow furrowing as she studied the arcane script.
Hermione traced the lettering pensively. "My Latin is rusty, but I recognize these words - 'Chalice of Galatea.'"
She read the passage again under her breath, tasting the shape of the foreign syllables. They evoked half-forgotten lessons in the Hogwarts library, poring over crumbling lexicons with Harry and Ron.
How she missed those simpler times.
"It's made of glass," Hermione murmured, the puzzle pieces clicking into place.
"The Chalice of Galatea - it's an old legend about a lost relic, vanished for centuries. It was a glass chalice, seemingly plain in design yet holding great power."
Hermione studied Luna and Ginny's faces intently as she revealed all she knew of Galatea's enchanted chalice.
"Galatea was an ancient witch who charmed the chalice before her death - imbuing it with magic to conceal secrets. When placed under direct moonlight, it reveals what is hidden."
A charged silence fell, broken only by the soft swish of the curtains in the gentle breeze.
Luna's eyes took on a faraway look as she murmured.
"Would the chalice resemble a common vase?"
"Possibly," Hermione replied, a tingle of anticipation running through her. "Its appearance remains a mystery."
As she went on detailing the intricacies of the legend, a resonant scrape of glass made her turn sharply. Luna grasped a slender vase, its facets catching prismatic rays of light from the windows. Delicate flowers peeked from within, perfuming the now moon-lit air with their sweet scent.
Realization caught in Hermione's throat.
"Luna, where did you get that vase?"
Luna's wispy voice was hushed with awe. "It was my mother's favorite. But surely it can't be..."
Hardly daring to breathe, the three drew closer, the floorboards creaking underfoot.
"Only one way to know for sure," Ginny whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. "I swear, Luna, every visit to your home holds some new enchantment!"
Hermione slowly lifted the slender vase, allowing the moonlight to spill over its crystal facets in ripples of liquid silver.
She held her breath, scarcely daring to hope as she angled it just so.
At first nothing happened.
Then, before their widening eyes, inky black liquid began rising from the vase's bottom, as if summoned forth by the lunar glow. It moved languidly, catching the light like oil on water.
"Is it working?" Ginny clutched Hermione's arm, spellbound by the hypnotic shadows swirling within the glass.
Even Luna seemed enthralled, her gaze unblinking as the vase came alive in Hermione's hands. "The chalice knows your need," she whispered. "It awakens for you."
"Please, your words are frightening!" Ginny said with a nervous laugh.
Hermione could feel the magic resonating through her fingers where they grasped the vase. It thrummed in time with her quickening heartbeat, a dormant power stirred by the rising moon. She held tight to the Chalice of Galatea, marveling at the secrets it was already unfurling before their eyes.
The obsidian potion filled the vase in hypnotic swirls.
As the final glossy drops rose to the surface, they exchanged wide-eyed looks of amazement.
Ginny slowly reached a tentative finger forward, entranced by the shimmering darkness. As her digit breached the surface, ripples blurred and distorted their reflections, sending flashes of glitter across their faces.
"What now?" she breathed, eyes wide with apprehension and awe.
Smacking her hand, Luna looked at her in shock. "What’s frightening is your digits in a concoction you don't even understand!”
Hermione peered closely at the potion, noticing each subtle shift in color and consistency with an analytic eye. But more than mere curiosity drove her actions now. A deep, constant desperation to return home compelled her toward the liquid’s depths.
Before reason could restrain her, she lifted the glass to rosy lips and drank deeply. The potion swirled down her throat, as cold and dark as the space between stars.
"Merlin's beard!" Ginny cried, horror-struck. Luna stared, face pale as chalk.
“Have you just drank that?” she asked, her face twisted in disgust.
Placing shaking hands upon her knees, Hermione held back a gag, "I believe it's taking effect." Already the room seemed to dim and distort around the edges of her vision. She scrubbed burning eyes, straining for clarity. But as her sight adjusted, all appeared tinged with shadow.
"Something is happening," she murmured.
Ginny grasped Hermione's shoulders desperately.
"Why must you always risk yourself so? Look at me, are you alright?" But Hermione could barely distinguish her friend's features through the gathering gloom.
As Hermione's eyes strained into the deepening gloom, flecks of shimmering light along the far wall caught her attention. Moving closer, she saw unfamiliar patterns dancing upon a sheer cloth draped over the window.
"Luna, I require your help. Please, could you steady it open?"
Her calm friend joined her side, gently taking up the fabric between lithe fingers. As Luna stretched the gossamer material, phantasmal lines and curves were illuminated by moonlight streaming through the aged glass.
Hermione leaned in, scrutinizing the curtain closely as if compelled by some force she couldn't explain. In the silvery light, ghostly shapes were becoming visible, woven into the fabric.
"A white candle," she whispered, almost to herself.
"The Plenilune,"
Her eyes met theirs with growing awe. In a breath, she finished: "Moonlit waters."