Deus Ex Machina

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER, PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU GO ANY FURTHER!

Issues in this chapter include: fire, the death of a child, becoming an orphan.



Some more quotes:



It is folly to punish your neighbour by fire when you live next door.

Publilius Syrus (~100 BC)



If our house be on fire, without inquiring whether it was fired from within or without, we must try to extinguish it.

Thomas Jefferson (1743 - 1826)





And my personal favourite of the moment: "Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana." Read into that as you will, there are a couple of contexts in it.

Groucho Marx (1890 - 1977)



In answer to reviews:



werewolfhime You know, I have to keep telling myself ‘not until Monday, not until Monday, not until Monday.’ All the time because I keep thinking I’ll post a bit more to keep it moving – but then I realise things still need tweaking a little bit! I’ve actually had the first two chapters written since early June – but I still changed a few little bits here and there the moments before I clicked the ‘post’ button! Have patience! Have patience or I’ll tell Snape you’re stalking him! I will, I’ll tell him if you don’t behave missus!



Anon Its not easy to be a native speaker either! My dictionary and I are good friends! Lol! Scythe is a VERY good word – it looks all dangerous, like the tool! But I can see why it doesn’t crop up in conversations… most people would use a combine harvester these days! With Voldie destroying the world I can imagine Death’s working overtime – but I think that picking up people with a combine harvester and parcelling them up into nice even-sized cubes for transport down the styx is going a bit far…



Warnings are very important, and people forget that sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will ALWAYS hurt someone. The pen is mightier than the sword for a reason. I just don’t want to upset anyone!



I don’t think I can ACTUALLY write anything much darker! I don’t have it in me!



I was thinking, ‘what would Utopia actually look like (the place, I know what I look like, lol)’ and what I came up with is what’s described. I thought also that something so natural would be a wonderful contrast to the polluted and poisoned Earth.



I have moments with poetry! I’m quite good at it, but it’s my Dad who’s the master! Dad comes up with some brilliant poems! He wrote a poem about a colleague (Lenny) he works with who went out to get the sandwiches at lunch (wearing a really silly bobble hat his missus had knitted him because of the bad weather), and he mixed up someone’s (Steve’s) bacon sandwich with a sausage one… well, Steve, who had the sausage sarnie ended up really ill (completely unrelated illness) – but as a joke he blamed Lenny for his illness and the sausage sandwich. Lenny’s REALLY gullable and became really upset because he was convinced it was his fault for mixing up the sandwich order! Lol!



Dad wrote a poem that is STILL pinned above the sandwich order form on their noticeboard! Lol!



“It takes a man of bravery,

Of great courage, it’s said;

To take the sausage slipper’s helmet,

And shove it on his head!



… and there’s about 5 middle verses about the sandwich and the silly hat, then the last verse…



“And Steve was awful poorly,

It really was a farce!

When Lenny brings a sausage sarnie,

Steve says ‘shove it up your ar*e’!”



(Copyright of Bryan Fisher. I don’t own it, he does. But he’s my Daddy so he doesn’t mind!) Since then, I think there’s been 3 revised poems as other people have ended up with the wrong sarnies! Dad’s the poet, not me, I pale in comparison! Lol! He’s written some crackers over the years! He helped me with my GCSE music song lyrics – got an A for that piece of music!



Nope, it’s Mother Nature you’re dealing with. Persephone was just a bit of a fling.

I think Charon’s had enough work to do! Poor bloke needs some time off! Lol.



HermoineMalfoyFan Hope there’s no serious issues with technology!



Voracious Reader you know, I had to copy and paste your name, I’m having one of those days when I can’t write my OWN name without spelling it wrong!



Ah ha! Someone else is thinking along my train of thought! I thought Mother Nature might just jump in and sort things out!



Don’t apologise! We live in countries of free speech! Express yourself how you like! I just associate ‘train wrecks’ with REALLY bad stuff! Its only people expressing themselves in the form of flames that are going to be deleted; though, touch wood, I won’t have any.



Maddie50 Glad you’re on board!



LadyVoldemort87 Death, definitely death. Unfortunately, in one of my more ditzy moments, I had the image of Anita Blake’s version of “Death” and that gave me the giggles because I had the ‘flame thrower incident’ in my mind at the time. Ooops. Lol. (I don’t own Anita Blake, not making any money, no copyright infringement).



The little girl is Mother Nature – but going through all 4 seasons. I don’t know where I got that idea from, but it struck me as a really powerful metaphor. I think that you can AK yourself; it just requires even stronger emotion than if you were AKing someone else. In this case – Hermione’s emotion was utter despair.



Chapter one was written mid-insomnia and turned out a LOT darker than I’d planned! I went to the farthest extreme I could possibly imagine! No, it doesn’t stay dark – there’s a nasty bit in the middle, but the chapter in question arrives at the aftermath of the nastiness – rather than watching from the beginning. Made me cry to be honest – but it was needed for plot development.



There’s some really silly stuff to come that had me rolling around on the floor, and some stuff that just made me chuckle like a maniac! Lol! There are a few ‘awwwww’ moments and a few moments that had me smirking away to myself.



Heidi191976 More on the way!



winters Interesting idea? Really? I thought I was quite mad to tackle this plot bunny into submission! Lol!



What’s a lemon pound cake?



My weakness… oooh, there’s lots of them! Lol! My biggest weakness is tea, be it English Breakfast Tea or Earl Grey. I don’t think I can be classified as human on a morning until there’s a cup of really string tea gone down! I think I get through about 5 cups on an average day – and that will get larger on a bad day! I’m also a bugger for chocolate – but it has to be dark chocolate, the minimum cocoa solids I’ll eat is 55%; I like the 85% stuff!



I’m a bit funny with fruit (though I’ll drink fruit juice by the litre); perfume often makes me sneeze, I’m a tee-totaller – so scratch the wine; and I’ve got the most gorgeous man in the world already! Lol! Keep Wormtail away from me! Lol!



Have a glass for me, duckie!



Returning from the River Styx… good, but doesn’t quite encompass the entire tale – only the beginning. Nice idea though!



meankitty69 More on the way!



Ink I like potential – because potential can go in so many directions!



Virgin Lucius is actually modelled completely on my fiancé – and the chapter where he and Hermione lose their ‘V plates’ is practically a transcript of our first time, with the more amusing bits of the 2nd and 3rd time thrown in! lol! Professional authors always tell budding authors to ‘write what you know’ and if I’m going to make that particular chapter accurate – then I’m going to base it completely on real life! Lol! I must admit that when we first set out on our sexual adventure, we were both a comedy of errors! Lol! I’m soooooo glad my other half doesn’t read what I write! Lol!



Updates are every Monday afternoon for me, as soon as I get home from my Monday morning lecture.



Carha I don’t actually take pleasure in leaving you begging for a week – but I need a week to write the next chapter. I don’t have the time to just sit down and write a chapter in one go – they [the chapters] are written in dribs and drabs when I take a break from uni work, three 4’000 word essays and two 1’500 word essays! Not to mention I’m already into my revision for January’s exams! You have the choice of waiting a week and getting a polished 99.9% perfect chapter or getting chapters at about 30% every other day. Personally, I’m heading for the former.



However, updates are going live on Monday afternoons (GMT).





So, keep reading ladies and gents! REMEMBER THE WARNINGS AT THE START OF THE CHAPTER BEFORE YOU READ ON!!!!!!









***





TWO: Taking Her Role in Greater Plans.



Hermione gasped as she woke, once again breathing in foul-tasting smog; coughing and choking in the burning air. She could not see an inch in front of her as she continued to fight for breath. The skin of her arms and legs was blistered and weeping with lymph; her long hair was singed in places and small patches of her clothes had melted holes in them due to falling, red-hot smouldering embers.



It was a symphony of destruction: the crackling of flames was accompanied by the constant sound of glass shattering; the shouts of panicking men were enhanced by the creaking of falling timber. The sprinkling whoosh of water from wands had a backing track of hissing steam as the cold water met with the heat of the flames. Men and women shouted orders to each other in an attempt to coordinate their efforts in dampening the blaze. Somewhere, there was a solo voice: an elf screamed and the screams fell into a diminuendo before they were no more.



She recognised the room where a small gap shone in the flames through the billowing smoke; a high shelf surrounded the room, empty wine bottles arranged all around it. The walls were a slowly blackening cream, and the only surviving piece of furniture on one side of the room appeared to be a porcelain kitchen sink (fallen onto its side) and soot-covered tap protruding from the wall, it’s surrounding wooden units nothing more than smouldering charcoal.



There was a cough, another scream and choked words: “Maman! Papa! ‘Ermione!” Came a cry of a boy, his voice not yet deepened by adolescence, “Je ne peux pas voir! Où êtes-vous? Je suis effrayé! Aidez-moi!”



There was the sound of creaking timber, a crash, and then the lad’s voice stopped suddenly.



Hermione crawled across the floor to where the sound had come from; finding the ancient oak beam crushing the little boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes that reflected the fierce flames. Tears had run in rivers down his face, cleaning away some of the soot on their trail. She conjured a wandless permanent bubble charm around them before feeling at the child’s throat for a pulse… nothing. She frantically grabbed for his wrist, pressing her fingers onto the veins and arteries… nothing.



Hermione screeched, crying in despair as she once again pressed her fingers to just beneath his jaw; hoping, praying, begging for there to be something to indicate the child still lived. With an anguished scream, Hermione stroked the boy’s black hair and whispered gently into the ash-polluted locks; she held his limp hand in hers, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the back of his small hand.



Another falling beam came free from the rest of the ceiling with a loud creak and a crack, falling onto the bubble of clean air and bouncing off.



Hermione shook violently as she slowly closed the child’s eyes. She knew him, but didn’t know where from! She had some wonderful memories of picnics under the grape vines; of running around a maze holding his hand – racing two adults to find the centre; reading him bed time stories of dragons and daring deeds, and then their bed time kiss that normally had the lad squirming in annoyance as he felt himself too big for kisses.



Not knowing where the impulse came from, she kissed the boy’s sooty nose, his right cheek, his left cheek and then the centre of his forehead.



“Sleep well, Damien; and may your dreams be filled of peaceful adventures.” She whispered through her sobs. After a few moments, all of her energy dissipated as she slipped quietly back into nothingness, the flames rising higher, but not breaking through the bubble she’d created.



*****



There were voices, voices she did not recognise. They were the first things she had been aware of since passing out in the blaze.



“It is a miracle she is not more burned than she is!” a woman said.



“Indeed, but much was lost in the fire.” Replied a man.



There’d been a fire! Where? When? Where was she now? Who were these people talking? Why couldn’t she move? Hermione began to panic, but in her comatose state she achieved nothing.



“Aye, much was lost. Help me with this bandage.” Said the woman again, tugging at Hermione’s left leg. “Her parents were good people, they donated a lot to this hospital, they employed many people and were kind to their elves…And her little brother! He was only nine! Crushed to death! She found him, put a charm around them – but he was gone before she got to him.”



“Such a shame, healer Rosseau, such a shame, but one of the family lived, and we will do everything we can to bring her back to full health!”



“I read in the newspaper that a distant cousin has already tried to dispute the will of her parents and claim the estate and business! The rotten, disrespectful scoundrel!” said the woman again, the Rosseau person.



“Aye, but this one is alive and the only reason she’s not conscious is because to have her awake would be too painful, her injuries are too great for that. The healing will be slow and steady to put it all to rights again. Her lungs were so very badly damaged.” The man answered. “Pass me the Leptospermum honey and the wooden spreader – it is all I dare use to fight infection on these blisters on her legs.”



“Will the courts take her side?” the woman enquired, there was the rather un-medical sound of a jar being opened.



“I think so, this distant cousin doesn’t have any real claim on the property or money. He only disputes the will because the only surviving heir is female, still a minor and was adopted. But legally, he cannot challenge the will and win – but he’s trying nonetheless. The business will be rebuilt, but the best vineyard in magical France is lost! There will be many feel the loss of the family when their glasses are empty.”



French! They were French! Why was she in France? Who had died? She had no siblings! She wasn’t adopted! Her parents were long dead at the hands of… what was his name… Vol-de-something-or-other?... What was she thinking? How could she think she had no siblings! Damien was a scamp, but a lovable scamp… her parents were dentists… no, no they weren’t! They were wine brewers, they owned and ran a vineyard!



What on Earth was a dentist?



“Where will she go?” the witch asked again.



“There is a Great Aunt in England who will be her guardian until she becomes seventeen.” The man replied. “The Maison Curative will heal her until she is strong enough to travel. It will take some time, and there will be scars. Her skin is badly blistered in places – some of her clothing was melted into the wounds – that was a magical fire, not an accident, mark my words – there was unfair play in this!”



“Aye! A fire of that extent, that spreads so quickly isn’t natural! Only she and three elves got out alive – there was hardly time to raise an alarm, and aquamenti charms didn’t work until there was naught but charcoal and ash! Most unnatural! I’d place money on it being dark magic!” said the female healer, anger evident in her voice.



"We must remember that we are healers, not aurors. We cannot speculate on the origins of the fire. All we can do is heal this young witch. Pass the wet compress, we need to stop these burns drying out." Replied the man in a soothing tone.



“Of course, do forgive my outburst! Such a waste of life! At times I wish we were not under the Hippocratic oath! Sometimes I want to interfere with investigations on behalf of our patients!” said the witch in a softer, sadder tone.



Hermione had calmed enough to assimilate this information, her family were dead due to a fire, she was heir to an estate of some description, she was adopted, she was to go and live with an aunt in England, she was in France… But there were the memories of a green sky, poisoned earth that wouldn’t grow; sickness, death and fighting to survive…



… what had happened to the female who changed age? And the thin man in black with the scythe? The memory of a boy with messy black hair, green eyes and an interesting scar made her smile inwardly; there was a family of kind people with red hair… She still had no idea what a Dentist was – but the word remained branded in her mind. She was missing something, forgetting something…



Hermione could ponder no more as she slipped into the oblivion provided by another dose of opium-based healing potions fed to her via a tube in her nose.



Hermione Jane Granger ceased to be as she slowly forgot everything she’d known before.



… she fully stepped into the place of Hermione Jehanne Grangier, adopted daughter of Jean-Pierre and Athena Grangier – the owners and managers of the Beauvis vineyard and the producers of the finest red wines in the wizarding world.



Hermione dreamed of lessons at Beauxbatons; of spending time with her friends; of running through the vines after her little brother; of putting the labels on the bottles; of tea parties with the other pureblood ladies at her Mother’s side; of peeking over the Beauxbatons wall at the Boy’s Academy’s quidditch teams that could just be seen down the valley…



…All memory of Harry, Ron, and everything she once knew became dreams, replaced with the memories needed to fit this time, replaced with the memories needed to become someone else.



* * * * *



In another dimension, in another universe, in another time Hermione Grangier was not the same person; she was not even Hermione Grangier – she was Arielle Beaumont, in that other universe.



Arielle did not know the incantation for such a strong, wordless bubble charm. The weak bubble broke, the beam fell and the sixteen-year-old witch of another universe, of another time took the hand of the handsome man with the scythe, as her Brother held his other hand…



In another universe, the distant cousin inherited the vineyard, sold the charred land and gave the money to a friend he met at university, Thomas Riddle, to assist in his political campaign to remove non-purebloods from the magical world.



Thomas Riddle used this money to draw other influential wizards to him, including one seventeen-year-old Lucius Malfoy – who provided more financial assistance as well as social standing.



The charred remains of the family were buried in a pauper’s grave, unmarked, unremembered and forgotten.



And in that other universe, the word of man ended as a poisoned, withered, ruined mockery of the beauty of what it had once been, Mother nature and Death vanished from the Earth, as there was naught anymore for them to do but care for their charges in the overpopulated underworld.







A/N: translations –



Damien is screaming for help: “Mum! Dad! Hermoine! I can’t see! Where are you? I’m frightened! Help me!”



Maison curative = healing house