Biding Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I also make nothing from this.

A/N - As to the question about what the Daily Wizard is - it's the country cousin, trashier form of the Daily Prophet. Tabloid-esque. Just a background chapter here - more on Hermione's new life to come - with "developments" to come as well.


Chapter 5: Renaissance

And so she set about carving out a new life for herself. She eventually apparated to Canada - where there was enough of a familiar feeling, the buildings enough like those in London, some of the rituals and traditions the same as those back home. Also, in her rationale, Canada was not the first place anyone in the wizarding community would look for her. Somehow, it was not a country that held an aura of magic and mystique. She felt that she could buy time in Canada – hide out and think things through.

She gave herself a new name. Instead of going by the rather noticeable name of Hermione Granger – her first name did rather stand out – she changed her name to Philippa Shaw. Both names had been from far-reaching branches of her family tree. Plus, Philippa was just old enough of a name to suit her. Somehow, she didn’t think a name like Brittany or Melanie would quite fit. She lived with a distant cousin – one who had been cut off from the other parts of the family due to time and distance. So, when Hermione as Philippa appeared on her doorstep as a newly-orphaned girl needing a place to stay while she went to University, few questions were asked. Hermione acted quickly. She placed a charm on the house so she could not be located there. She enrolled at University, to give her story credence. She buried herself in her schoolwork. She worked on dulling the edges of her accent – making her voice sound more of a drawl. She worked on forgetting the circumstances behind her reasons for coming to Canada. Yet, she could not quite forget.

The dreams still came to her – more bizarre and frightening than before.

In some, there were no images just a voice low and haughty repeating over and over again “I will get what is mine.”

In another, a shape was bending low over her reclining figure. She was clothed only in the sheets which were twined around her body. A ghostly hand was pushing her hair up into a mound on her pillow. That ghostly hand was brushing against her throat, passing over her bared breast, barely touching. Her dream self felt her flesh break out into gooseflesh, a cold sweat shining over her body. The skeleton hand touched her throat again, turning her head away. Then, it swiveled her head back to face it. The face descended and she could feel its breath on her face – warm and smelling strangely sweet. She could see the gleam of its teeth, the whites of its eyes, in the spare moonlight. She felt afraid, but she also felt something else. She felt strangely alive. A tongue touched its lower lip, and she thought of the fairy stories of her girlhood. The big bad wolf and red-riding hood. The better to eat you with, my dear, the wolf had said. Somehow, the figure was like the wolf and she felt certain that he would devour her. And, strangely enough, she wanted to be devoured, swallowed whole. The shape leaned into her, moving towards her lips but then suddenly changing direction. She felt a tongue rasp across her nipple and she gasped. A low chuckle echoed throughout the darkened room. The face returned to her view and the lips twisted into an amused smirk. “I’ve always been an optimist, my dear. When life gives me lemons, I make lemonade.” A cold hand brushed against her lips. Then, she saw the knife.

She tried to forget the dreams but they were insistent. She tried to forget about Hogwarts, but those memories, that life, were insistent. She found her eyes searching the newspapers, the internet, for word of Harry, for word of Professor Snape. She looked for anything that seemed out of the ordinary – strange sights in the sky, mysterious illnesses, and bizarre deaths. And for years there was nothing. The only word from Hogwarts for years was a letter that had flooed to her down a chimney at a museum. She had passed through the gift shop, readying herself to leave, when, as she turned to leave, a thin envelope shot out of the fireplace and hit her neatly on the leg. Quickly stooping to pick it up, she tucked it up her sleeve until she could find a quiet place to read it. Alone, she carefully pried the seal from the flap. Red wax with a gleaming golden impression – a Gryffindor seal. She turned the envelope in her hands, noting the how smooth the paper was beneath her touch, how light it seemed. In perfectly formed purple letters were the words:

Hermione Granger
Art Museum
Canada

She slipped the note from the envelope and slowly unfolded it.

“Dear Miss Granger,

You have proven to be rather elusive so I trust that the floo network will find you and deliver this to you, wherever you may be. I hope you are keeping well. There have been many changes in the wizarding world since you left us. You name is still heavy on the tongues of those of us here in the magical community. Though you are outside of our world, you are certainly not forgotten. While I have not stood in your shoes, I can say that I think I understand the pressure you felt and why you felt the need to run away. I can only hope that you will rejoin us someday. Young Potter is still missing, still on his mission to defeat Voldemort. Professor Snape is also still missing. He has been only slightly more elusive than you. I believe that he does know of your betrothal though. How he feels about it, I can only imagine. I must echo my sentiments of a few years ago and say that the Headmaster had planned this union long ago, long before his death, and I feel that even the circumstances of his death would not change his wishes or plans.

I trust that you are succeeding in life, at whatever you have chosen to turn your hand to. After all, you have determination and intelligence in all you do. I only wish you well.

Now for the reason for my message: For your own safety, I have placed a very special charm on you. It is the triad charm. If you should come into contact with both Young Potter and Ronald Weasley, any wards and charms you have placed on yourself will fail and Professor Snape will be able to find you, if he should so wish. All three of you must be present for it to work. You may, if you wish, reestablish contact with either Mr. Weasley or Young Potter, wherever he may be, with no threat of discovery. However, if all three of you should meet together, you could be located quite easily. I have cast this charm in the interest of fairness – you knew about your betrothal and entered into it willingly, if a bit hesitantly. Professor Snape did not know about it and had no choice. I feel that it is only sporting if he has a chance to find you and talk to you about it. He cannot find redemption if the vessel of that redemption has been taken from his grasp. I could have cast the charm and not told you, but again, that would not have been terribly sporting. I leave you,
Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts
Hogwarts
U.K.

PS – The portrait of Headmaster Dumbledore sends his kind regards.”

Hermione screwed the paper into a ball and mashed it in her hand. More meddling! Couldn’t she live her life on her own terms? She prepared to throw the letter far away. She heard a little poof! and opened her hand. A thin plume of violet smoke wafted up from her palm, where the letter had lain.