[ Hermione has somewhat recovered from the battle now, the weight of what had happened at Caer Scima still a solid one on her shoulders. Her hair has grown back a little, thanks to a bit of magic, and things are beginning to get fixed around her, but it doesn't feel the same. All the trust she had in people feels like it's wilted and faded away and she isn't entirely sure what direction to turn or what to do.
The first thing is, of course, to make sure that other places are safe, just like she promised Waver. It's far too easy to apparate over and go through to check all the places she can before she gets in contact with him to let him know it's safe and arrange a moment to talk. He doesn't know where her house is, not many people do, so instead she goes down the pathway they had met on last time, Padfoot walking along at her side.
She knows that Waver knows about her involvement with the sigils, she knows that he's close to Harry just like she knows that he'll know who exactly was behind the one that the High King had used. Her panic rushes through her and she breathes out, forcing herself to act calm as she settles to wait. Padfoot nuzzles at her hand and she breaths out, relaxing before she smiles softly. At least she has him to make sure that she isn't panicking herself into insanity. ]
[Waver had learned a little of the Barrel's fate through the words of others. Alice had been wise enough to use the building as a field hospital, and so it had been spared any sort of destruction. That was a blessing in and of itself, knowing that the place hadn't just survived but been put to the best possible use in light of the conflict.
It had also given him an idea, based on a conversation with Thrall. Handing the reins of the place over to him would enable a better information flow, the building would be in good hands, and the Barrel's mission could continue in its original home, even if the name was to be different. A matter of paperwork now, plain and simple.
But first, Hermione. He wanted to get her perspective on telling those who had evacuated the village to come back home, ultimately. The sigil matter was secondary, if only because Waver suspected that she was raking herself over coals for what had happened. It'd be hard not to.
So, when he approaches her on the path, it's with good cheer, his red coat buttoned up, the rest of him trying to hide in the scarf. It's bitterly cold, and he has no love for the weather right now.]
[ Things have been changing and Hermione is getting worried; the start of things getting worse seems to have begun properly and she's scared that she might end up doing more harm than good, doing more damage than she might have done if she were doing anything else. She's a Sorceress of Caer Glaem, she's a witch and she is smart and powerful but even she has her limits and she thinks she might be about to meet them.
At least there's one thing she can focus on; the magic.
She's poured over Dorian's notes, learned the runes and the magic, she's spent time in Redgate and she's found out all the more thanks to Kaldur and the information he had given her. She's prepared to start things that, maybe, she should have done a long time ago but something tells her that it might not be a good idea to do it alone -- it's not a good idea to not have support, not with everything going on, and magic wise? The first person that comes to mind is Dorian Gray.
She asks a faerie to send him a message before she goes, the Tome she had been given as a boon sitting in front of her, nervous making her a little cautious. What she is asking is a lot, even for their tentative and rather wonderful friendship, and she's determined to be careful with it. ]
[Dorian arrives promptly. He would never be late for a missive from Hermione. Although things are quieter in these months, in the light of all that has come before, Dorian cannot fool himself into believing that the war will not become hot again, will not become worse. Violence is coming to them all.
All the more reason to stand by his friends.
When he steps into the workroom, his smile softens at the way she holds herself. It is clear he isn't the only one marred by dark thoughts of dark hours.] Miss Granger? [He matches his voice to his smile and approaches her.] I received your message. But tell me, how do you fare?
[ their arrival is heralded by a whoosh of green fire on the hearth and rizhao tearing through the rooms, calling out for hermione. "miney! miney, where are you?"
mako's following, of course, with a box of seedlings carefully balanced in his arms. ]
[ The month opens with Hermione moving some things from her townhouse to the White Citedel; it takes a few trips, even with her beaded back, with rugs and blankets she wants to use to make her rooms her own being carried with levitation magic. She is always accompanied by Padfoot (the Second) and on her final trip she brings a cat with her, who stalks around the halls before he crawls into her room.
As the month goes on, however, Hermione can be found rushing around the Citadel, popping in and out with information for anyone that might want help dealing with the frost that's overtaken the Drabworld. She can't offer much, but anyone that ask can benefit from an everlasting flame that can be used to defrost people, as well as a hand to teleport over to where the worst damage is, if asked.
Any other times, Hermione can be found in the library, in the outskirts of the Citadel or wandering around Nimh Gleanne! ]
[ Throughout the month Hermione will be again travelling through the Citadel, Nimh Gleanne and the outskirts of Caer Glaem, though she will spend the final days in Redgate, keeping an eye on any aid and caravans that come through. She begins to make it known that she is officially a Marquis of the Citadel, formalising herself as Hermione Granger, Marchioness of the White Citadel and Sorceress and Protectress of Caer Glaem.
When the harp music begins Hermione spends a lot of time in the library, researching what it might mean and what effect it is having on people - and if she's a little more snappish and frustrated then she blames it on the rush of everything happening all at once, the music in her ears a distant din before she puts the pieces together; she's had experience with dreams before and focusing on her own to find and destroy the harp isn't easy, but she works on it as much as she can.
The opening of the training ground in Caer Glaem has Hermione working on her archery and her knife wielding, normally in a corner to herself where she won't bother anyone with the fact that she's really not as good as she would like to be. Sometimes, though, a large white lioness can be found curled around the area of Caer Glaem itself, large wings folded around her body as she moves, practising her control. If you see the lioness flying it's probably a little wonkly, not altogether perfected just yet. ]
[ As soon as the lockets go down, there are signs and posters plastered around Caer Glaem and the outside areas of the White Citadel, advertising the following; Dorian Gray and Hermione Granger's new business, Artefacta, selling communication devices, potions and magical enchantments for anyone in need.
When the swans migrate into the main body of the Drabworld Hermione will go out to try and take down a few herself - she can be found doing it in lioness form, mostly, letting her larger hands and claws do the work for her - it's less messy, at least, especially when they turn into gold and leave her free to shove them into an enchanted bag. Anyone that needs help with their own attempts to gather swans need only ask for her and she'll come.
During time where she isn't brewing or making compasses, Hermione can be found in her usual haunts - around Caer Glaem, the Citadel (mostly the libraries) and in the Greenwoods - or, if you're around, she can be found wandering around Nimh Gleanne with Padfoot at her side, who is always happy to run ahead and lick at the hands of strangers. ]
[ After preparing posters with information of contact, Hermione has sent her own message to Dorian through the compasses, asking him to meet her outside Caer Glaem so that she can transport him over to Nimh Gleanne without too much hassle. There's no way he'd be able to enter Haven without her at his side anyway and, so, she takes his hand as soon as they've said their hellos and apparates him into the middle of her lounge, motioning towards the staircase as she starts to walk and talk.
Sometimes she forgets that not everyone is used to apparation. ]
I'll give you some Floo Powder so that you can come here whenever you like. Since the enchantments on this house mean only I can tell people about it you won't be able to spread the word, but I trust you enough to come and go and maybe use Haven to sleep, when you'd like. There are cots upstairs and there's plenty of tea in the kitchen.
[ Thanks to Waver. Ignoring the room opposite her lab, lined with metal rods and a door that locks from the outside, Hermione stands with a bright smile and motions him towards the warm room, cauldrons still on the flame. ]
[ It would be a lie to say that she wasn't nervous; the idea of coming into political power wasn't something that Hermione had been at all prepared for, despite knowing, absently, that she would be called upon to help June at some point - the idea of actually leading people, soldiers, men, all kinds that would turn to her for orders and regulation... It was vastly different from being Head Girl at Hogwarts.
She doesn't think she can dock house points for unruliness here.
As soon as she hears from Lancelot that Anne is going to be her second she makes contact with her, inviting her for tea and talk in her rooms. The rooms themselves seem far too grand for Hermione, who sits at a small table shifting uncomfortably until one of the guards at the door announces that Anne has arrived - and then she darts up, rushing over to greet her at the door. ]
It's been a long hot summer and Harry's spent most of it in the north learning how magic works in this world. Hogwarts wasn't poor preparation, not really, but it's a different style of magic and, correspondingly, a different style of learning. Fewer essays, some lecture, and a lot of private or tutored study. He's completed his first, big project and to celebrate, he's sent a message to Hermione.
And so, one night at the end of July, a small barn owl taps on her window bearing a message that reads: "Surprise? (Don't smack me too hard.)"
[Whether Hermione comes or not, Gilgamesh is prepared for the evening. He's wearing all of her gifts, with the bag dutifully set in the corner, the magical cloak clipped into place by the lion's broach and the enchanted dagger strapped to his waist with taut leather. Draped in the finest silks the Citadel can offer, he admires himself before the mirror, handsome figure that he is.
A small box sits on his bureau, and he grins at it, wondering what will come of tonight. Subtly, he sent word to the servants to look after the girl with extra kindness today, offering her the best food from the table and the best sweets for dessert. Only the kindest touch to aid her with whatever she needed and a gold coin tipped to each cook and every handmaiden to assure a cheery smile. Indeed, Hermione has done so well she's even made the tyrant King generous, and if she listens she'll hear his name spoken with fondness about the Citadel... and most especially their names mingled together with affection.
Surely he is not so bad, they say, for he adores her so.
Gilgamesh awaits her in his chambers, fiddling with his earrings and content to play at vanity until she arrives.]
The Greenwood was beautiful in the afternoon light, sunshine flickering through the trees, leaving a casting shadow of brightness on the ground under her feet. The paths were familiar to her now, the journey from one end to the other still fresh even from the year before, and her footsteps are light as she walks. Christmas has come and gone, now, and while things aren't particularly warm, Hermione still draped in the sigil cloak that Dorian had given her barely a few weeks before. It's warm and she adores it more than she had imagined, the sigil of the Lioness a familiar and comforting, a constant reminder of him.
Her arm is linked in his as they make their way back from the midst of the forestry, her smile softening a little as she leans against him.
"You know, it feels a little strange coming back here. It's been almost a year since I ended up traipsing through these forests after bandits and it looks so much better." And it does. The Jabberwock hadn't done too much damage on the areas like this, deep in the forest where the trees were stick thick, but even now they seemed to be full of life and bustling again. It really was like magic was a part of the land around them, her smile softening.
It's only when they approach the finely stepped path that leads out towards Caer Glaem that Hermione stops. Something doesn't feel right and she hesitates, her hand gripping Dorian's before she steps forward and draws her wand, hand tight around the white.
[ Another full moon, another night that Hermione spends entirely awake, sitting in her basement and watching over the wolf. Padfoot and Godric are in there with him in lieu of Hermione, not wanting to turn into a lioness, still afraid of what it might mean to go back into a form that had caused such death from her own anger. It's easier for her to let the dogs in with him for now, let them move to press close and playful with Remus during the night after his careful dose of Wolfsbane and the magic of her boon.
It's early morning when she finally dozes off, exhaustion overcoming her, and she entirely forgets that she hasn't taken her dose of Dreamless Sleep.
The nightmare comes without her wishing for it. It's slow, the phasing in and out of Dorian's face, dead and gone and covered in her own bloody handprints, her fingers brushing over her friend, her hands shaken and unsure, his body dropping in front of her. Then there's the pounding of blood in her ears, the woman laughing, echoing, here and there, like there are a dozen of her, fingers twitching as she screams, shouts at her, turns; her jaw clamps around the neck of the murderer, tearing, ripping, destroying her, clawing her to shreds as punishment for daring to hurt her friend --
when Hermione wakes up she's screaming, sobbing in terror, the echo of it loud in the nearly empty basement, a shuddering noise that overcomes her. She can't stop, body twisting as she lurches, trying to fight back but losing herself, unable. ]
[ The house is quiet and empty, the rooms free of dust - Hermione has gone through, carefully, gathering things and tidying them away, dusting here and there and cleaning in other places, shooing pets out from under her feet and trying to be, for all intents and purposes, a very good housekeeper. Spring cleaning has come early and it's not entirely for her own benefit; this time it's for Nico, for her desire to make him a good, perfect Christmas.
Now, though, she's pacing, staring at the space in the lounge where she had left room for a tree, Crookshanks moving into the spot and settling there with a purr. She can hear Godric bounding around upstairs and she shifts, crossing her arms before she scolds herself for being silly. Nico is her brother, the closest she's had to a younger one in her time here, and he even calls her sis. He's not going to care if it's perfect or not.
... Still. She moves a chair closer to the fire and purses her lips, nodding. ]
Printed out from the Station’s computers are blueprints for a greenhouse, and a typed note that simply reads Gilgamesh was an architect. Use this information accordingly.
Hermione paces her rooms, smoothing a hand down her shirt and jeans as she hesitates, looking here and there. She knows that the guards won't announce Dorian, he'll just be allowed in (as per her orders, only people she names are allowed to come in without having the request put forward first) and she's nervous, on edge, unsure about what to expect with him now. It hadn't been too long since their almost falling out, since the moment that she had seen his soul, and she was suffering for it.
It's not just that she was worried that she would miss the old Dorian, the one she had known for so long, but it was the fear that he would leave her again, an ache in the depth of her heart that made her want to swallow her tongue and keep herself silent. Hermione doesn't want to say something that might go on to upset him or make him feel more uncomfortable around her than he already does.
Finally, she forces herself to sit down, reheating the tea with a quick muttered spell and moving to put out the things they'd need; some freshly made bits of toast and crumpets, her hand brushing over the metal tray before she breathes out.
"Stop being an idiot, Hermione Granger. It's just tea."
[ Hermione hasn't, admittedly, spent a lot of time in and out of the rooms of the rest of the Council; she's been busy doing her own work, working hard to try and make and do things for the Seelie cause as much as she can while remaining somewhat neutral. The last few months have been harder, though, and she has been drawing into herself a little more, each movement she makes careful and steady. She has lost so much in the span of a year that she isn't sure what to do but try to aggressively protect as many other people as she possibly can.
That is what brings her to Kayneth's rooms, hovering outside for a few moments with a little box in her hand, the metal inside of it familiar; her magic had imbued it with power and protection, as well as a means to communicate, and she's careful as she lifts a hand to knock.
She likes Kayneth and she's closer to him than she is others on the council itself so she's looking forward to spending a little time with him, chatting and finally handing over the gift she has. They might even be able to talk about books. ]
"So . . ." Dorian scratches the back of his neck. He glances down. Then he glances back up again. "Do both of these need a happy memory?"
He begins to think it was a mistake. Train in the use of his shard: yes, it seemed like a good idea. It seemed useful to know how to activate it, if he had it in there. To have that strength and agility to support him, to be less hindered, less limited by humanity. And when Hermione also suggested some of his magical training, it did not seem strange to add that in as well. But now that he is here, before her, faced with the prospect of performing these feats . . .
Let's just say Dorian Gray hasn't had performance anxiety in a long time, but the day has come.
[It's a relatively quiet day at the Citadel. Most are out and about enjoying the spring weather, jousting in the courtyard or getting some last minute construction done on various walls and spires. Most aren't twiddling their thumbs away indoors, but neither Hermione nor Gilgamesh fall under the category of most.
Gilgamesh has spent most of his day packing. Servants could do it, he's sure, yet he waves them off whenever they offer, glance at him with concerned expressions. He packs it all in that magical bag she gave him, and smiles when his fingers touch the gifts she gave him. He hadn't lied in at least one sense. He'd fallen for her potential, for the promise in those words I definitely can whenever he challenged her to try something new.
But lessons were far away from here, or so seemed that way. He does accept the servants' offer to make tea. He's no good at that sort of thing. He's no good at the kindness of domesticity, even as he seeks to extend it.
Gilgamesh sets his bag in the corner and takes to the halls on four legs. He takes the familiar path to Hermione's room and, finding the door ajar, nudges it open a bit.
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SPRING (2701)
early march. nimh gleanne.
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It had also given him an idea, based on a conversation with Thrall. Handing the reins of the place over to him would enable a better information flow, the building would be in good hands, and the Barrel's mission could continue in its original home, even if the name was to be different. A matter of paperwork now, plain and simple.
But first, Hermione. He wanted to get her perspective on telling those who had evacuated the village to come back home, ultimately. The sigil matter was secondary, if only because Waver suspected that she was raking herself over coals for what had happened. It'd be hard not to.
So, when he approaches her on the path, it's with good cheer, his red coat buttoned up, the rest of him trying to hide in the scarf. It's bitterly cold, and he has no love for the weather right now.]
Hey.
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early may. caer glaem (research room).
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All the more reason to stand by his friends.
When he steps into the workroom, his smile softens at the way she holds herself. It is clear he isn't the only one marred by dark thoughts of dark hours.] Miss Granger? [He matches his voice to his smile and approaches her.] I received your message. But tell me, how do you fare?
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may. townhouse.
mako's following, of course, with a box of seedlings carefully balanced in his arms. ]
Try not to run headfirst into anything, silly.
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MARCH ( all of month ).
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APRIL ( first two weeks ).
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after her panic post; early April
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MAY ( all of month ).
early May, Caer Glaem
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late may ( nimh gleanne / haven ).
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white citadel ( her rooms ).
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SUMMER (2701)
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And so, one night at the end of July, a small barn owl taps on her window bearing a message that reads:
"Surprise? (Don't smack me too hard.)"
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AUTUMN (2701)
WINTER (2701/02)
christmas 2701, white citadel
A small box sits on his bureau, and he grins at it, wondering what will come of tonight. Subtly, he sent word to the servants to look after the girl with extra kindness today, offering her the best food from the table and the best sweets for dessert. Only the kindest touch to aid her with whatever she needed and a gold coin tipped to each cook and every handmaiden to assure a cheery smile. Indeed, Hermione has done so well she's even made the tyrant King generous, and if she listens she'll hear his name spoken with fondness about the Citadel... and most especially their names mingled together with affection.
Surely he is not so bad, they say, for he adores her so.
Gilgamesh awaits her in his chambers, fiddling with his earrings and content to play at vanity until she arrives.]
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january 2702, greenwood
Her arm is linked in his as they make their way back from the midst of the forestry, her smile softening a little as she leans against him.
"You know, it feels a little strange coming back here. It's been almost a year since I ended up traipsing through these forests after bandits and it looks so much better." And it does. The Jabberwock hadn't done too much damage on the areas like this, deep in the forest where the trees were stick thick, but even now they seemed to be full of life and bustling again. It really was like magic was a part of the land around them, her smile softening.
It's only when they approach the finely stepped path that leads out towards Caer Glaem that Hermione stops. Something doesn't feel right and she hesitates, her hand gripping Dorian's before she steps forward and draws her wand, hand tight around the white.
"Dorian... Where are the birds?"
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cw: gore for anyone reading
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february, 2702, nimh gleanne - haven townhouse. (cw: mention of gore/death)
It's early morning when she finally dozes off, exhaustion overcoming her, and she entirely forgets that she hasn't taken her dose of Dreamless Sleep.
The nightmare comes without her wishing for it. It's slow, the phasing in and out of Dorian's face, dead and gone and covered in her own bloody handprints, her fingers brushing over her friend, her hands shaken and unsure, his body dropping in front of her. Then there's the pounding of blood in her ears, the woman laughing, echoing, here and there, like there are a dozen of her, fingers twitching as she screams, shouts at her, turns; her jaw clamps around the neck of the murderer, tearing, ripping, destroying her, clawing her to shreds as punishment for daring to hurt her friend --
when Hermione wakes up she's screaming, sobbing in terror, the echo of it loud in the nearly empty basement, a shuddering noise that overcomes her. She can't stop, body twisting as she lurches, trying to fight back but losing herself, unable. ]
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christmas, haven.
Now, though, she's pacing, staring at the space in the lounge where she had left room for a tree, Crookshanks moving into the spot and settling there with a purr. She can hear Godric bounding around upstairs and she shifts, crossing her arms before she scolds herself for being silly. Nico is her brother, the closest she's had to a younger one in her time here, and he even calls her sis. He's not going to care if it's perfect or not.
... Still. She moves a chair closer to the fire and purses her lips, nodding. ]
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Yule 2701
SPRING (2702)
first week of march; the citadel.
It's not just that she was worried that she would miss the old Dorian, the one she had known for so long, but it was the fear that he would leave her again, an ache in the depth of her heart that made her want to swallow her tongue and keep herself silent. Hermione doesn't want to say something that might go on to upset him or make him feel more uncomfortable around her than he already does.
Finally, she forces herself to sit down, reheating the tea with a quick muttered spell and moving to put out the things they'd need; some freshly made bits of toast and crumpets, her hand brushing over the metal tray before she breathes out.
"Stop being an idiot, Hermione Granger. It's just tea."
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april; the citadel.
That is what brings her to Kayneth's rooms, hovering outside for a few moments with a little box in her hand, the metal inside of it familiar; her magic had imbued it with power and protection, as well as a means to communicate, and she's careful as she lifts a hand to knock.
She likes Kayneth and she's closer to him than she is others on the council itself so she's looking forward to spending a little time with him, chatting and finally handing over the gift she has. They might even be able to talk about books. ]
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MARCH TRAINING
He begins to think it was a mistake. Train in the use of his shard: yes, it seemed like a good idea. It seemed useful to know how to activate it, if he had it in there. To have that strength and agility to support him, to be less hindered, less limited by humanity. And when Hermione also suggested some of his magical training, it did not seem strange to add that in as well. But now that he is here, before her, faced with the prospect of performing these feats . . .
Let's just say Dorian Gray hasn't had performance anxiety in a long time, but the day has come.
that icon is really cute
dweeb icons
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late april 2,702; the citadel
Gilgamesh has spent most of his day packing. Servants could do it, he's sure, yet he waves them off whenever they offer, glance at him with concerned expressions. He packs it all in that magical bag she gave him, and smiles when his fingers touch the gifts she gave him. He hadn't lied in at least one sense. He'd fallen for her potential, for the promise in those words I definitely can whenever he challenged her to try something new.
But lessons were far away from here, or so seemed that way. He does accept the servants' offer to make tea. He's no good at that sort of thing. He's no good at the kindness of domesticity, even as he seeks to extend it.
Gilgamesh sets his bag in the corner and takes to the halls on four legs. He takes the familiar path to Hermione's room and, finding the door ajar, nudges it open a bit.
...oh. She's trying on armor. Well, she's fully clothed. It's fine.
Gilgamesh snuffles a little to get her attention. She's seen him like this before, so that's fine, too.]
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