Handsome Stranger
Hermione turned homeward with a sigh of exhaustion. She tucked her documents away and pulled out her book to distract her from the ache in her feet. She would have to stop soon for food, something good and cheap, as well as to rest them. No matter how exhausted she was she couldn’t lose sight of the reality.
She would be free if she just kept going. She walked for an hour before stopping to grab food and travel the last stretch back to the estate. Her shoulder twinged with tension and she rolled it to try and work out the knot.
Just a little more, she pleaded and stretched as best she could with her eyes on her book and bread between her teeth. When the tension was manageable, she drew her cloak around her to hide her pack from sight, traded the book for her notebook and walked. She flipped through her lists. Though she had crossed out pages of items, it seemed that she had always more tasks to add to it. Most of them had to do with fully rehabilitating the estate.
She’d woken up in the library a little stuffy from the dust, relaxed from the softness of the cushions, but with the startling realization that the house had not be used in the last three years and would more than likely need updating. Things would need replacing in the case of burglary and of course the land would need to be cultivated. She thanked her lucky stars that she would have magic on her side, otherwise it would be an insurmountable task for just one person.
New training wand, she added to the list absently. Tester bottles.
She jotted down the list of ingredients and supplies she’d need to buy or find on the estate when a song caught her attention.
“For Surtse, we fight on.
My heart is Surtse.
For Surtse, we fight on.
For peace, for king and love--
For Surtse, we fight on.”
She smiled at the deep voice singing the song and turned to find the singer. He was a tall broad shouldered man with a jaw covered in rough dark stubble. With a head of shoulder length hair and armor, he bore the mark of a mage on his gauntlet. His eyes were a dark color but bright with happiness as he sang carefree into the breeze. His companion was about the same height, thinner with a bow on his back and barely dragging his feet along behind him. The singer had a staff wrapped in cloth on his back, a sword on his waist.
“Tell me again why we did not take a horse?” The singer’s companion near whined.
“The injured needed them,” The singer replied and began to whistle.
“I meant why we have not hired a horse since.”
He laughed, loud and handsome in the summer air, “I wanted to return the same way I left--on my own feet.”
“I'm sure your mother is not happy about it.”
“I also secretly dread her scorning.”
His companion laughed and Hermione smiled, watching the people greet them, give thanks and offer them things. People clapped and cheered seeing them. Kids rushed to them asking them questions and they answered. If Hermione knew any better, she'd say it was a purely political move to reassure the people that yes, the war was finally over and the mages and soldiers were coming home at last and for good. It gave them hope and a sense of peace that Surtse had never really known.
For some it was too little too late, but for most it was reason for grand celebrations. For Hermione, it just meant a shift in the workforce available and the demand. People would need medicine, sleeping drafts and things for the remnants of war. Hence she had to get back to the estate to get the greenhouse at the least in order. She had to pay off her date and get back to revitalizing her estate to supply those things and more.
She turned then, tearing her eyes away from the handsome stranger and continued down the road to take a path through the forest. It was the fastest route to the heart of Surtse: Kula. She could make it by sundown if she didn't stop.
Vladimir watched Viktor wave the people of the small hamlet goodbye, ruffle a child's hair and walk on into the forest. While the people had given then food to travel with, Viktor had forgone the offer of a horse. Kula was less than an hour away.
Love, Vladimir thought with a smile. Yes, everything he loved was in Kula waiting for him, probably fretting with that adorable habit of wringing his hands and worrying his lip.
I’m on my way home, Vladimir thought fondly, remembering the letter he’d sent ahead.
He fully intended to fulfill every promise in that letter and groaned, wishing his feet didn’t hurt as badly as they did otherwise he’d be running.
“So close,”he said. “I can taste the feasts to be had in your honor.”
“Our honor,” Viktor said. “I was not alone in entering the castle. And I am sure that you are tasting something else at the moment.”
Vladimir shoved him earning his laugh. “If he heard you speaking that way he’d be red as a tomato.”
Viktor shrugged, “Am I wrong?”
“No, but you were the one to duel him and nearly lose your life for it.” Vladimir said nodding to the staff on Viktor’s back.
Never mind that no one else had been able to get near it without freaking out. The defeat of Voldemort and the honor of the act full rested on Viktor’s shoulders whether he liked it or not.
He shrugged and Vladimir observed him. The younger man didn’t look at him. Though he whistled a happy tune, his eyes betrayed him. There was so little joy there that it made Vladimir’s heart hurt. He saw sadness, despair and--
“You are frightened.”
“Of course I am!” Viktor scoffed, throwing up his hands. “If it wasn't bad enough, now even my standard issue will not make me just another person! A war hero on top of everything else. Fame is not the reason I went to war, Vlad’.”
It was something that Vladimir who basked and flourished in the spotlight, with attention of the caliber Viktor was dreading wouldn’t understand. Was it so wrong for someone to speak to him like another person and not an object to be won or some animal to capture?
Vladimir shook his head ,”I am missing something. You are rich, you live in the capital, and now you are being heralded as saviour of the free wizarding and muggle world and you are unhappy?”
Viktor groaned. It wasn’t that he was unhappy, it was that he was tired of being treated like a thing to be won instead of a person. No one wanted to know him. They saw his face and said he was handsome sometimes. They saw his title and said they must have him for politics, but never did anyone see Viktor except for his men and that hardly did anything for him. And now, they would see his deeds in the war. They wouldn’t ever see him.
He would rather be alone than be with one of those fools or with someone whom he could never talk with, it was a problem that had snuck up on him with the king’s illness. He knew already that his brothers had arrived home before the war had really been over, some having never left home choosing to take jobs in court instead to help run the kingdom. It was apart of the nobles attempt to pull together in the time of crisis.
From what he’d heard, they’d mostly been helping the nobles make laws as the king’s health failed and curried favor with the nobles. They weren’t adhering to the heart of Surtse and while he had little to no power to do anything about it, it burned him to no end.
He’d been out on the battlefield risking his life for peace while they were helping to make war in the very kingdom Viktor and his men could have died for. Everyone thought the king would die before announcing his heir. Viktor thought differently. The old man had shown such resilience even in his sickness.
“Look.”
Viktor looked up to see a woman walking through the forest ahead of them with a book in one hand and her other hand gripping something. Skin darker than rich earth and hair like tangled vines, she was preoccupied with the book in her hand. They could hear her speaking, but not the words. The cloak she wore swished around her and revealed flashed of the satchel across her shoulders. It was heavy with books, large tomes that stretched the satchel to its limit with each step, yet did not break it.
“She must be heading to the capital as well. Perhaps she is a physician?”
Viktor swallowed and watched her as she stopped and extended her hand pointing it at a thatch of dead earth and stone. She spoke something with such conviction that the seedlings sprouted up through the ground, curling and blossoming into a brilliant blue flower.
“She's a witch,” Vladimir said with a grin.
It was always a relief to see another magic-user. Revilitiling barren ground meant she was at least well attuned to her magic. Earth magic was notoriously hard to master.
“An earth mage perhaps?” Vladimir asked as they approached her and she plucked the flower to examine it.
“Excuse me, miss,” Vladimir called out to her.
The trees rustled and all the hair at the nape of Viktor’s neck stood up.
Viktor drew his sword and raised his hand. “Get down!”
Vladimir dove away from the burst of light as bandits descended upon the woman. She ducked out of the way and and rammed her elbow into one of their faces as Viktor’s blast hit several of them. He lifted his sword to meet a downward swing and throw the man back.
“Knights always have the best money and that little strumpet will sell for a nice price so far away from the coast--”
The woman stopped moving and raised her hand. VIktor heard something in the wind, felt something rush from beneath her feet and around the clearing. For a moment, the world was silent. The only warning any of them got was the sound of the earth moving aside to let the rapid growth break through. One thick root grew unruly, trapping the ankles of bandits, vines wrapped around their wrists, binding them fast as she stood, dusted off her clothes, picking up her book and glaring at the bandits.
“You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, attacking an innocent woman in the woods. Why if I were a lesser woman I'd knock you out and let these two knights take you to the king!”
“Wh-What?” One of them stammered as she regarded them carefully.
“No, no. Jail with the state of the capital is too good for the likes of you.”
Vladimir’s eyes widened at her words. He and Viktor shared a glance before continuing to listen to her. If her voice wasn’t lovely, the authority and raw power she spoke with was alluring in and of itself. She was definitely a witch, he could hear it in her voice, the lilt of magic escaping with every breath.
“Instead, I'm going to curse you,” she said with a smile and waved her hand, hand alight and bright lights settling over the small group.
“All done,” she said cheerily. “Now if you don't want these two strapping men to cart you off, I'd suggest you run. Run as fast as you can.”
They took one glance at the two knights and turned to take her advice. She was sure she’d never seen a bandit move that fast. Shaking her head, she sighed, opened her book, and walked on.
“Wait, Miss.”
“Yes?” she asked, stopping but not raising her head to look at Viktor.
“You're a mage?”
“Oh, no, nothing so titled. I am, however, a witch.”
“What did you curse them with?”
“Oh, to never steal from Surtse’s people. It's more a contagion, they'll pass it off to everyone they meet. I think my employer will be quite happy.”
“Quite so.” he said with an incredulous laugh.
It wasn't often that a wizard with such advanced spell knowledge wasn't ranked. In Surtse, it was required those of wizarding lineages be tested and trained. Through that training, they were given wizarding rank. It was the kind of system designed to keep the magical populace and keep wizards in check from abusing muggles. He knew other countries didn't have such things in place. Perhaps she wasn’t native to Surtse?
She glanced over the top of her book for a moment. He still couldn’t see her face, though she had seen his. All he had to go one was the rich, warm brown of her skin and the sound of her voice and he had a feeling that she was keeping it that way for a reason.
“Well, thank you for your help and safe journey.”
He blinked as she headed off, but rushed to catch up with her, cutting her off. She stopped, but still didn’t raise her head from her book. Vladimir watched from a distance, intrigued at the dark skinned woman who looked like she hailed from the coast of Espirit.
“What do they call you?”
“Nevermind what they call me,” she said her eyes on her book. “Welcome home, sir knights.”
“A warm welcome indeed,” he said looking at her clothing. They were rather nice but not so nice to be noble which make her harder to figure out . She wore no mark of any wizarding family, nor guild.
Who was she?
She walked around him and forced him to turn around to catch up. She paid him no heed except to ask if he intended to follow her all the way home. There’s amusement in her voice that made him blush even as his mind was dizzy with the sound of her voice.
Siren, he thought. Perhaps she was descended from that class of wizards? They weren’t common to Espirit, but they also weren’t common to any wizarding kingdom as they’d retreated to the sea mists at the beginning of the Blood Wars.
That can’t be possible, he thought. A magical bloodline like that wouldn’t show itself so strongly now unless her most recent siren relation was at most a generation or two before her.
“Perhaps we could see each other again?” Viktor said as they neared the city borders and she began to turn east.
“Perhaps, but I warn you, sir knight, I am quite busy.”
He smiled, “I'll chance it. My name is--”
She vanished at the chiming of the capital’s bells.
“Apparation?” Vladimir said. “Wow.”
It made her all the more intriguing and all the more obvious that she was more than likely not of Surtse.
“Yes. And I still didn't manage to get her name.”
Nor what her face looked like.
Gods help him.
*
“Four thousand, eight hundred, fifty-six galleons, three-hundred sickle, and twelve knuts.”
Severus looked up as she set the payment on the table and raised only one eyebrow. He pulled his sleeves up and opened the bag carefully. The coins tinkled against one another as he began to weigh them out. Hermione waited until he gave her the receipt of her payment to tally up her books with his and get her stamp of office before leaving.
“Have a great day, Mage Snape.”
Severus placed the money in his enchanted safe and continued on with his work, shaking his head. Narcissa was in over her head with Hermione. He’d known that from the moment she pulled out years of paperwork and records during the reconciliation hearing.
She will learn, Severus thought, sitting back in his chair. After all, the window of opportunity for Narcissa claiming anything from her late husband’s estate to cover her former husband’s debts was shrinking faster than she realized if Hermione continued to bring in payments the way she did..
Hermione was the daughter of a merchant. Cunning, strategic, charming--he bet she'd have her debt paid in full long before the day it was considered due.
Merlin help you, Narcissa. For Ms. Granger will not.
*
“So how much did you manage this month, Granger? A few sickles?”
Hermione turned to see Draco sneering down his nose at her as usual. Apparently, he was back to following her around again.
“If you have questions about my debt to your family, please direct them to your family’s accountant.”
Draco flushed as she turned away and headed back into town. He doesn’t ask Severus about it, but waits until Narcissa comes home shrieking in frustration. Apparently, how much ever Hermione managed to scrape together in the last month had been enough to piss her off again.
The bit of reconnaissance he’d managed hadn’t proved useful to Narcissa.
He would just have to try harder.
*
Hermione arrived at the estate, got out of her work clothes and into her field clothes before grabbing her tool box and her training wand. She was exhausted, but if she wanted to keep the pace she set for her repayment, then she needed to get outside in the field and work.
She closed the back door behind her and trudged out beyond the backyard, clearing up the stone path that led to the old greenhouse.
When her parents were alive, it had been used for flowers and her mother’s experimentation, but if she expanded it, she’d have more working space and a chance to grow more ingredients for potions. Once she’d expanded it a significant amount, she left the materials to build the gardening boxes in the greenhouse and headed out into the fields to practice casting her growth charms.
They were necessary for her wizarding assessment and getting a real wizarding license, not the functional one she had that allowed her to study for school and own a training wand. It would mean she’d get a real focusing object, not a training wand. It meant access to the magical library.
It meant more and more meant a faster repayment.
She walked down the rows, envigorating plants and weeding for hours before dragging herself to the old gazebo. It was old, dusty, but familiar and comfortable enough to lay her head down.
She promised herself five minute, just fine before she would scrape together breakfast and head out for the day.
Just five--
She woke up to the sound of the rooster crowing in her ear several hours later.