Curiouser and Curiouser
A bus, a stadium, a motel, and Merlin knows what else; the denizens of Neptune are so limited in their thinking that Hermione almost takes care of the bombs on principle. However, she has first hand knowledge of what happens when someone who should die does not. So while there are probably no Dark Lords in the making here in Neptune, she decides to leave the bomb, instead focusing on repairing Veronica's memories.
First and foremost, she needs supplies. She does not have the time or the inclination to brew, particularly the more complex potions like Polyjuice.
Unfamiliar with the wizarding area of Neptune, Hermione sends Luna a patronus at a time she knows her friend will be alone. Luna's work as a Magizoologist has taken her all over the globe, and she'd be the most likely to know where Hermione should begin. Plus, if she asked Harry and Ron to investigate they'd probably alert the Daily Prophet. Those boys wouldn't know subtly if she bashed them over the head with it.
Which is how, while Veronica plants cameras with Keith Mars in a Chinese supermarket, Hermione finds herself standing on the boardwalk staring longingly at Zip's Ice Cream shop. The shop is outfitted in the typical manner of a classic ice cream shoppe, respectably appointed with a blue and white striped awning and elegant signage.
So, of course, the magical entry to Wizarding Neptune is across the way, in the ice cream shop that looks like the Weasley twins took a turn at decorating. The sign proclaims Amy's Ice Cream in a kooky font and Hermione's surprised the cartoon cow family atop the roof isn't animated. The entire structure is aqua with neon trim, all bright colors and wild decorations that seem to shout 'look at me; nothing to see here'.
In her experience, while the Americans lack the British fondness for Victorian frippery, they make up for it in their ostentatious architecture. With a sigh, she enters the shop. As instructed by Luna, she walks with purpose, striding through the store, confidence evident in every step of her new combat boots. In her opinion the shoes are incongruous with her tasteful khaki shorts, but at least she's not dressed like a street walker anymore. Luna recommended she go as herself, so against her better judgement she is sans polyjuice for this outing.
Ignoring the scant patrons, she moves around the counter and goes directly through the entrance to the employee backroom. Passing the vending machines and bright blue plastic tables and chairs, she walks straight through the magenta wall at the back of the room and emerges in a forest filled with heart-stoppingly large sequoia trees.
Her breath catches as the feeling of being small—almost insignificant—in the grand scheme of the world. It's a different kind of magic. She's not sure she likes it.
She turns her attention to the winding dirt path in front of her and follows its meandering curves, stopping before an enormous tree with a knight bus-sized tunnel carved into its center.
Looking up, she confirms that the wooden sign with ornate gold letters spells out Orenda Woods. Just under that, in small script, is the inscription: The ground on which we stand is sacred ground. It is the magic of our ancestors. To gain one must give, for in giving we receive.
Shrugging, Hermione transfigures her clothing into blue silk robes reminiscent of the Beauxbatons uniform and crosses through the large opening.
Hermione halts immediately when she reaches the other side to stare down. She wiggles her toes as if that will force her brain to make sense of her sudden lack of footwear. Why Luna would tell her to wear boots if they were just going to disappear is beyond comprehension, but she has long stopped expending mental energy on her friend's quirks. Besides, Luna would most likely consider a lack of footwear an insignificant detail.
She takes a hesitant step forward, and is pleased to find that, despite the visual evidence of pebbles and leaves, the ground's texture is reminiscent of a plush carpet. Further down the road, a bustling village comes into view. Rather than traditional buildings, storefronts are carved into the massive trunks lining a dirt path. The very second her feet touch the start of that path, comprehension hits.
The magic is in the ground.
It shimmers up from below into the air, a golden glow that lights the entire village. The magic is in her, flowing through her body, and with it comes the innate confidence that any spell she tries would be more powerful than any other before it. Her fingers itch to cast, but she is here for more important things.
Hermione manages to stay on task even when faced with the library. It takes herculean effort, especially considering that it is housed in a hollowed out sequoia, it's lattice windows ensconced in what look to be natural tears in the bark facade. Within she can just make out hundreds...thousands...millions of books...
She catches herself straying and course-corrects to the Rose Apothecary, as instructed by Luna. A twisting green vine frames the door, winding around carved roses that manage to be as thin as tissue paper and, when Hermione brushes one on her way through the door, as sturdy as the wood they're sculpted from.
Crossing the threshold, Hermione is amused to find it's bigger on the inside. One of the benefits of magic, the efficient use of space. The apothecary is wider than a quidditch field, with scores of oddly shaped bottles displayed in that deliberately haphazard way that is both attractive and organized.
Appreciating the convenience, Hermione shakes out a cloth basket from a stack near the front door and immediately heads for the Dreamless Sleep and Pepper Up potions. She adds a Draught of Peace as well. It's mildly addictive, and probably unwise, but desperate times and all that. Every new turn brings her to entirely new levels of agitation and she must do something.
Securing the basket strap to her wrist, she continues her shopping and is relieved to see that American wizards are progressive enough to sell Polyjuice over the counter. She'll have to check it, of course. It is not prudent to be too trusting, but if it's half as good as her own brew, it will do.
Reaching for a bottle on the display, she raps against an invisible shield.
Frowning, she scans the table for a sign. 'Please see the manager,' or 'say this charm,' anything other than standing around like an idiot would do.
"Hermione Granger."
At the sound of her name, in a British accent, her hands flex out—ready to slap or wave—and she whirls around. Recognition hits and she falls back a step, bumping into the table behind her.
Hoping he didn't notice, she straightens up quickly and narrows her eyes suspiciously. Auburn hair, pleasing face, intelligent eyes: "Terry Boot."
"Good to see you!" He beams back at her and she lets her guard down slightly.
Do they hug?
They barely know each other, him being a Ravenclaw and all, but they studied together. He supported Harry, even when other students were skeptical of Harry teaching Dumbledore's Army. After the Death Eaters took over Hogwarts in their seventh year she'd heard from Ginny that Terry opposed the Carrows at every turn; often to his own detriment. And they fought in the final battle together. Lost the innocence of childhood together. Lost that purity that comes from only seeing the dead in caskets or memories.
Terry envelopes her in a friendly embrace and after a moment she returns it with sincerity. They hug.
Pulling back, he gestures towards the back room. Grateful for a familiar face, and the chance to talk to an actual person, she nods and follows his lead.
Behind a shimmering blue curtain is a small circular space. Glancing around at the trappings with internal mirth, Hermione settles into a deep bronze leather couch, places her basket on the floor next to her, and tries to hide her toes in the pile of a midnight blue rug.
"The shoes threw me as well." Terry pulls up the bottom of his robe to show a pair of trousers that look to have extended spats attached, shielding the top of his foot, but leaving the soles bare.
Fascinating.
He clears his throat.
Caught staring, she grins back up at him as he sits, and she changes the subject from feet. "How long have you been in America?"
"I'm still in Britain, have a shop in Diagon and two in the states. I have an international license to apparate back and forth, but I live in Ottery St Catchpole now, right near—"
"Luna."
"Just a few kilometers down the road," he confirms and flicks his wand, causing a tea cart to roll to their side. "Care for a cuppa?"
"Shall I pour?" Her tone must have been a shade too eager, because Terry laughs.
"Dying to try the magic, are you? Have at it. But, a tip? Wandless fell out of fashion years ago here. The wizards in America much prefer wands, because—"
She waves her hand. What the wizards in America prefer doesn't concern her. She's here for the muggles. And one wizard in particular, who will surely suffer before she's through.
The teapot over-pours and tea spills down the sides of the cart and onto the lovely carpet. She immediately corrects it, careful to keep her hand movements to a minimum and concentrate less on the request of her magic.
Once it's all sorted, she settles back on the sofa and casually crosses one leg over the other. Her bare foot comes into view and she pops her foot back down and crosses her ankles instead.
"—because, it helps to damn the strength of the spell." Terry finishes dryly. "You get used to it," he adds, not unkindly.
She gives him a sheepish look and takes a sip of her tea. "What a nice surprise, running into you here."
"Didn't Luna tell you I'd be here?"
"No, she said—"
'Boot will help you navigate the village. Start at Rose Apothecary.'
"Actually, yes. Yes, she did." She laughs a little and shakes her head at his furrowed brow. "Never mind. What do I need to 'navigate' this place?"
"Be right back."
Content to enjoy her tea while he rummages around the room, Hermione examines the intricate embellishments on her cup. A delicate gold line connects sets of stars, forming a constellation, then fades away to trace the next. It matches the night sky in Neptune for this date exactly.
"Does it mirror the sky wherever the tea service resides?" Looking up, she finds him staring at her. "What?" She doesn't know what he's thinking, but the scrutiny makes her blush. Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she casts a silent (very low level) sticking charm to keep it there.
He smiles a little and diverts her attention by handing her a map. "This is what you'll need."
"Lovely." But a bit useless. The village isn't big enough for her to get lost and she can see the signs above the shops well enough. She moves to pocket it, but he stops her.
"Tell the map what you want, Hermione."
Curious, she vanishes her tea cup and holds the map with both hands, giving it her full attention. "I would like Polyjuice...please."
Doesn't hurt to be polite, even if you can't see its brain. Maybe especially if you can't.
Everything on the map fades except the apothecary. The map zooms in and a floor plan of the shop comes into view with the Polyjuice display highlighted as well as two tiny, ink-black figures on a couch in the backroom. The male figure hands a bottle to the female figure holding the map.
Looking up at Terry, she's delighted to find him holding a bottle of Polyjuice out to her.
"Oh, this is wonderful!" She takes the potion from him.
"From my personal stores."
They attended NEWT level potions together. She knows his skill, so she decides to trust it with minimal testing.
"Now," Terry leans forward, eyes dancing. "Ask it for a book...on any subject."
"Any subject?" She teases, willing to play. There are so many subjects, after all, including ones that are not likely to be found in the magical world.
He nods in the affirmative and she asks the map, "I would like a book on… the history of baseball!" Then smirks. A muggle topic if she's ever heard it.
The map goes blank. Then, to her utter shock, ink starts to sketch out the town of Neptune, highlighting the public library, the library at Hearst College, and the library at Neptune High.
When she manages to tear her eyes away, Terry is smirking right back at her.
"Spelled that myself. If you tap any of the libraries, it will give you written directions."
"It's impressive, truly."
He preens under her praise as he plops a moleskin pouch in front her. "You will also need this."
Peeking inside at the sack of gold, she's already shaking her head no when he places a hand over hers.
"Hermione, you need the proper currency, and I'm not sure what you're doing here, but you don't want to draw attention to yourself by alerting the goblins, do you?"
She had dreaded going to the bank. The goblins note everything and a written record of her presence here is not ideal.
"At least let me exchange it for the coin I brought with me."
He turns her hand palm up, exposing the scar on her forearm, and while he doesn't touch it, his eyes tracing the letters feels like a caress. She says nothing. The entire wizarding world knows of the word Mudblood carved into her arm. The one that no spell could erase and she refuses to glamour.
"You owe me nothing, Hermione. You saved our lives. My life."
"Harry…"
Terry laughs roughly at her protest.
"You started Dumbledore's Army." His eyes bore into hers. "You made certain we could defend ourselves. Harry sacrificed himself for us all, and I will be forever grateful for his courage. But you…."
He drops her hand and digs in his pocket. "You took away our powerlessness. You gave us hope."
He places a coin in her still open palm and when she recognizes it, she closes her fingers around it and blinks back tears. She hadn't been expecting this, not here. Not from someone she only vaguely remembers, in a place she's never been before.
What looks to be spare change is actually the sophisticated communication device she invented to alert the D.A. as to safe meeting times. The galleon that the D.A., including Terry, continued to use for meetings, even after she and the boys had gone on the run. She still has hers in her pocket. She's just realized they probably all do. Perhaps they always will, ready to answer a call to arms at a moment's notice. Invisible scars are the hardest to heal, after all.
"Plus, both those boys would be dead without you, the brains of the Golden Trio." He dimples at her.
Rallying, she swallows back the lump in her throat, replying easily, "Merlin, did people really call us that? The Golden Trio? Were we that obnoxious?"
The dimples do not waiver when he answers. "You do realize any other student who violated the statute of secrecy and flew a car to Hogwarts would have gotten at least expelled?"
Her expression turns serious. "The very worst of fates." Then she huffs out a laugh. "To be fair, I took no part in that."
"See what happens without the brains of the operation?"
Sobering a bit, she says softly, "Terry, we were children. Children." Her voice firms. "Adolescents made to fight grown wizards. Kept deliberately blind, parrying assassination attempts with riddles and school-age spells. Shut out without the pertinent information, then expected to perform on par with the so-called adults in the room."
By the end of her speech, the words are harsh and she has to consciously calm herself. Children, made to operate in an adult world for adult stakes. Is it any wonder she has such an affinity for Logan and Veronica?
"We all simply did the best we could." She passes his galleon back.
"Well, your best, Ms. Granger, has a tendency to be exceptional." Sliding the coin into his pocket, he stands and holds out a formal elbow to her. "Come, anything you need from the apothecary is my gift to you, and then I will walk with you to the Magical Menagerie. I hear they have a new guest who has been terrorizing the customs."
Crookshanks!
"Oh, yes, please!" She jumps up to take his arm, scooping up her basket on the way.
By tacit agreement they put childish things like war and death aside, and spend the rest of the morning catching up. Terry leaves her at the door to the menagerie with his mobile number and extracts a promise from her to meet him again, in either country.
If the largeness of the trees had made her feel inconsequential, then Terry's confidence in her reminds her that she is not. That her belief that only she can see the bigger picture, that she must right the wrongs committed in Neptune, is a concept born of experience as opposed to arrogance. The very fact that Terry offers his aid, and never once asks about her mission, further solidifies her resolve.
By the time Hermione arrives back at The Grand she is laden with packages, books (she caved), and a very pissed-off cat. Crooks immediately hops out of her arms and then stalks off to places unknown. Whatever method of transportation the manageries used were clearly not to his liking.
"I still feed you, you know!" She calls out to him, and his meow back sounds suspiciously like a scoff.
Tossing her purchases onto the couch, she pulls out her wonderful map with gratitude. In her haste at the NUTT meeting she'd forgotten to place any kind of trace on Veronica.
Unfolding the paper before her, she requests, "Show me Veronica Mars, please."
The map shifts, shimmers, and draws—really, and truly impressive—and a tiny seated figure travels through the streets of Neptune. The speed and position suggest a car, but that doesn't concern her. Based on the trajectory, she can tell Veronica is on her way to Wallace's house. Hermione can apparate there easily. It's Veronica's coloring that causes her the most concern. She's gray, almost ghostly.
Maybe it's a muggle thing.
"Please show me Logan Echolls."
From the looks of it, Logan is just arriving at Wallace's house. His black color is as solid as Hermione's and Terry's were before.
Curiouser and curiouser. Hermione has never quite lost the thrill of going down the rabbit hole.
She closes the map with a snap, dissillutions, calls out a goodbye to her pouty companion, and apparates to the 90909.
Hermione arrives just in time to finagle her way in behind a distracted Veronica. She admits to herself that she is excited to chronicle the upcoming interactions. It should give her an idea of how much Veronica has changed. Wallace was family, more so than Lianne Mars, even. There should be a strong bond there.
She quietly steps through the house, but stumbles at the sight of Logan playing with baby Noah. Luckily no one hears her over their laughter. No one else registers Veronica's mutter of 'hell no', either.
Hardened workaholic that she is, even Hermione is ready to squee at the sight, so the look of genuine disgust on Veronica's face throws her. Fear she expected. Worry. Anxiety. But disgust?
True to form, Logan and Wallace tease Auntie Veronica about doting on Noah, and her reply that she only bought the baby 'one ironic tracksuit' has everyone throwing confused glances.
Hermione studies Veronica closely. The woman is utterly serious. From what Hermione remembers, Veronica was prone to favoring the youngest Fennel with a variety of gifts, but perhaps that's changed.
Shae swoops in to bring Noah up for bedtime and Hermione follows the two. While Shae bathes the baby, Hermione looks through the nursery's closet. There she finds the pint size biker jacket she remembers Veronica buying just before Logan's latest deployment. Searching the room further, she also finds the baby puka shell necklace that Veronica thought was hilarious and Logan did not. There are several "Fight Like a Girl" and "Don't Make Me Call My Auntie" type onesie's that Hermione knows must have come from Veronica as well. Atop the bookcase is a tiny bear with a shirt reading 'I Wuv U Beary Much' that Hermione is sure Veronica got a kick out of.
If the clothes and toys are here despite the fact that Veronica doesn't believe she's bought Noah anything, then that means she doesn't remember.
She needs to access Veronica's mind again.
Noah and Shae enter the room and Hermione presses herself to the wall next to the closet and waits for her opportunity to sneak back to the dining room. Shae closes the door against the music floating up the stairs and Hermione prepares for a long wait as Shae walks Noah up and down the length of the room singing softly.
Hermione lets Shae's pretty voice soothe her, resisting the urge to hum along. Lavender's green dilly dilly, Lavender's blue…
Little Noah rests her head on her mother's shoulder and is nodding off when suddenly her head pops up and she stares; right at Hermione.
Hermione snaps to attention. Looking down at herself, she confirms that her disillusionment has not faded.
Glancing up, she sees Noah is still staring at her. Checking, Hermione turns to make sure there's nothing behind her catching the child's interest. A blank wall.
When she turns back, she gives a testing wave of her hand. Noah waves back.
Feeling light headed, Hermione sinks quietly to the floor as Noah starts babbling. Shae jiggles her in the rocking chair, continuing to sing as she glides back and forth, the gentle creak of the chair accompanying the song. Noah quiets, but peeks at Hermione around the back of the chair.
Hermione waves again and when Noah opens her mouth, Hermione puts an index finger to her lips, adds a playful wink. Just a game, nothing to worry about.
Noah scrunches up her entire face and screws her eyes shut and opens them. Taking the toddler version of a wink as agreement, Hermione presses the sudden nagging ache at the back of her skull against the wall.
The Fennels have a witch in the family. What is she supposed to do with this information?
The answer is, of course, nothing. She should do nothing. There is a Muggle-born witch or wizard in about one out of every 10,000 Muggle births. It's not so out of the ordinary. The Ilverorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has their own notification system for alerting muggle-borns, and Headmaster Fontaine runs a well ordered school. But… Hermione's own experience before McGonagle arrived at her door was not good.
The creaking stops, and Hermione watches as Shae performs a backbend sort of crab walk, managing to get Noah from the chair to the toddler bed without changing the angle of the child or jarring her. Impressive. She presses a kiss to Noah's head and quietly exits the room.
Hermione's own parents were just as caring, just as kind. It wasn't their fault that Hermione was different from the rest. That she had spent eleven years mired in insecurity and uncertainty, with no friends or answers. Years of floating books to herself and avoiding churches for fear of lightning. She wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Gently, she rises. Pausing on her way out of the door, she walks back to the bookcase and silently transfigures a stuffed unicorn into a tiny Gryffindor lion with a scarlet and yellow scarf.
She never has been good at letting things alone.
She makes it downstairs just as Logan suggests Cards Against Humanity to Veronica's obvious dismay. Hermione is sick unto death of these inconsistencies, of watching Veronica-a woman who fought and scraped to create a life she could be content in-acting like a pod person.
Anger mounting, Hermione dives into Veronica's mind prepared to gleefully wipe each and every false memory.
When she arrives in Veronica's mindscape, everything is almost as expected. Instead of its customarily empty appearance, the motel-like hallway with endless doors is crowded with uninvited guests—implanted memories—while true memories are hidden behind unmarked doors (in accordance with Veronica's natural defense system). But this time there are less people than Hermione remembers.
Keith, Lianne, and Cliff have disappeared.
Could the matter be resolving itself? It's a happy thought, but unlikely.
Even if that were the case, Logan and Jane are still there, complaining negatively about Veronica; as are Mac and Weevil in their own section of the hall. Wallace and Shae are holding baby Noah as they wander down the hall discussing Veronica's lack of normalcy.
With disgust, Hermione focuses on the false memory of Logan commiserating with Jane about Veronica and braces to perform a focused Obliviate to carve it out, when a sudden movement draws her attention. Turning, she spots the Fennel family opening a door.
Hermione's heart sinks, then slams back into her throat, racing as he closes the door behind him. Too panicked to form an actual thought, Hermione follows on shaky legs.
Once in the room, she sees Wallace and Shae sitting on their living room sofa while Noah plays with a set of blocks at their feet.
Veronica comes upon their conversation from the direction of the bathroom, hovering in the doorway.
"...normal. Unlike her," Shea mutters to Wallace.
"Best to keep Noah away from her," Wallace agrees, picking Noah up and holding her close.
Veronica's jaw tightens and the memory fades, then starts again.
Hermione's head buzzes with the new information: The memories are not disappearing, they're taking up residence, becoming ingrained.
Ingrained.
Certainly Veronica thought the memories were real before, but they would have been nagging thoughts she could brush off. Her behavior was inconsistent but excusable. But this. This means permanent. Forever. Hurtful memories that change Veronica's overall opinion of her loved ones.
How long? How long before all the implanted memories take root and Veronica goes from pod person to complete and utter asshole?
Logan only just returned from deployment. Veronica already said no to his proposal. What's next? How far could Veronica spiral? Hermione thinks back on her first day in Neptune, in the original timeline. The night she decided to step in because she'd caught a glimpse of Veronica with Leo.
Rock bottom. Veronica could hit rock bottom.
Whisking out of Veronica's brain and the Fennel home, she pops back to The Grand.
Terry was right about one thing. Hermione Granger fights back.
"Crookshanks!" Hermione plops down on the couch and unceremoniously tugs off her boots. "Stop pouting and get over here."
Crooks saunters in, and Hermione gestures towards the couch then pulls at her socks.
The contrary cat yawns and stretches leisurely, tilting his head as he observers her actions. Then he heaves a feline sigh and deigns to gracefully jump up next to her.
Hermione stops her agitated disrobing to wrap her arms around the cat. The perceptive Kneazle nuzzles her chin and gives her a comforting purr. Leaning away, she cups his chin.
"Crooks. I need you to get to know someone. Her name is Pony." She ruffles his lion-like fur neck. "I suspect you will be great friends."
Crooks bobs his head, and she gives him one last pet, then rises from the couch. Picking up her shoes and socks, she heads to her bedroom.
"I need to take a shower. I feel dirty."