Bright emerald green flames erupted as high as the fireplace's ceiling, illuminating the dimly lit room with its warmth. Out of the flames marched dozens of wizards, all dressed in black, dusty robes and pointy hoods. The wizards gathered in a semi-circle around the fireplace, bowing their heads as the last one stepped out, ceasing the flames behind him. The Wizard removed his hood, revealing his golden hair. Ariana Dumbledore had risen from her seat and was now standing before the ravishing man, bowing her head as a sign of respect as well. Grindelwald smiled.
"Dear, Ariana," he spoke, using his bony index finger to raise her chin. "You have proved yourself to be more valuable than your brother."
Ariana's smile broadened. The wizards had risen now, standing tall and proud before their master, eyes locked on him as he paced, hands behind his back, the Elder Wand held tight on his fingers.
"We have discussed this plan for the previous week," he began, his Bulgarian accent deeper with each syllable. "Since my old friend Albus has decided not to join us in our quest, " He stopped, his back facing them as he stared out the window and to the castle up the hill. "By all means," He turned to face them once more, the shadows of the room adorning his face as he spoke, the moon casting its light on his hair, giving him a harsh look. "Use the necessary strength."
The wizards let out an eerie laugh, wands casting spells left and right as they marched out the room and downstairs. Ariana growled at them, snatching the wand of a man closer to her, who had cast the Reductor Curse on a picture frame. "OUT." She bellowed, brown eyes in narrowed slits.
The Wizard, though well-built, cowered at her demanding figure, following the rest of Grindelwald's army down the spiral stairs. She stared down at the frame in her hands, her slim fingers caressing the broken shards of the glass. Behind it, in black and white, a woman could be seen, smiling at the camera, a baby held carefully in her arms as she rocked back and forth on an old chair. Kendra Dumbledore, her mother, had jet black hair which she tended to wear in a high bun, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. During a fit when she was fourteen years old, Ariana caused a magical explosion that killed her mother. Her older brother Albus then became her guardian. But they had different ways to see the world. She preferred Aberforth, their older brother, over him. Aberforth always found a way to calm her down in her periods of range. But not that day, for he wasn't home. He was with Albus.
She dropped the frame on the table with a loud thud, quickly averting her gaze away from it. Gellert was standing by the door frame, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. She threw him a bright smile, descending down the stairs, her heels tapping against the wood as she went. The bar they were located at was called Hog's Head, owned by Aberforth Dumbledore himself. She reached the end of the stairs, looking around with a blank expression as the Wizards kept shooting spells back and forth, destroying the place, fighting over drinks and duelling each other.
The area was small, very dirty, and dark, and the bay windows were so encrusted with filth that they could barely see through them. The place was filled with rough wooden tables with stubs of candles sitting upon their surfaces. The stone floor of the place was so dirty that it looked as though there was not a floor at all, but instead that the building was simply built on open ground.
"Drink away, my friends" said Grindelwald, a look of satisfaction plastered upon his pale face. "Enjoy yourselves tonight... for tomorrow," the room fell silent, all sharp faces turned to glance at their master. "We fight."
They all shouted in unison, raising their wands in the air and shooting spells toward the ceiling, causing the chandeliers to break in pieces, falling to the ground. The sound was deafening. Further down the room, a tall wizard was holding Aberforth against him, his wand placed against his neck with a firm grip. Ariana made a straight line toward them, lifting her wand at the wizard.
"Expelliarmus!", both the man's wand and himself, flew in the air, dropping somewhere in the chaos that was the room. Aberforth gave Ariana a cold look, before rushing toward the door, but she was quicker.
"Incarcerous!" Thin ropes shot from her wand toward him, and next moment, the older Dumbledore was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged. "Not so fast, my dear brother."
"My own sister," Aberforth spat, a hint of disdain in his voice. "So this is what you've become? A pawn in his game? A traitor to your own family? After all I've done for you..."
His shoulder-length hair was greasy and slowly turning grey, his bright blue eyes held tears on them, though he refused to let them fall. Ariana's eyes narrowed.
"Always been a bloody coward little sis, haven' you?" He said, putting on a brave face as she twisted her wand on her hand. "Well I was always there, was I not? To calm your silly fits, to get the filthy Muggles away from you, the ones who would mock you, remember?"
When Ariana was six years old, she was attacked by three Muggle boys. They'd seen her practicing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn't control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw, scared them. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn't show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop her from doing it. Ariana shuddered at the memory, being engulfed by a familiar wave of rage.
"Let me help you, Ariana." He pleaded, eyes tender and voice low. "Let me be here, for you."
"Like you were there when I needed you most?" She snarled. "When I killed our mother." Aberforth looked down. "When I watched her burst to flames in that explosion?" He glanced back at her with what looked like pity in his eyes. "My explosion." She hissed.
The woman walked slowly toward the dirty windows, her eyes locking on the castle ahead, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The sounds of furniture smashing against the walls, spells being cast and the content yells of the wizards faded inside her head. She was focused entirely on her target, the target that resided within those walls; though hers was different from the others.
Oblivious to their attackers just on the other side of the hill, Hogwarts' students carried with their routines as usual, attending classes and fraternizing amongst themselves. When Hermione had woken up the day after witnessing Dumbledore and Grindelwald's talk, it had taken her a moment to remember why she felt so miserable and mostly worried. Then the memory of the previous day rolled over her. Luckily for her and Tom, Dumbledore had left the room before their cloaks returned to normal, and the last she had heard from Tom was simply: "Do not share these events with anyone at the castle."
She hasn't had the chance to speak to him since that day. He has been reserved and mostly quiet (quieter than usual); he would disappear on the corridors whenever she'd call for him. Hermione had an idea where he'd been spending his time, though -the room of requirement.
Dumbledore has been just as mysterious and quiet as Tom. His classes weren't as enthusiastic as they've been and the rest of the students were starting to notice it as well, spreading rumours that something had happened between him and his sister, Ariana, who has been missing for a full week now. The day was coming to an end very quickly, and it was now time for their feast. The food was delicious, - at least that's what it appeared, since Patrick was already on his fourth plate of roast-beef. Hermione kept glancing at the staff table, her food laying untouched on her plate.
Professor Dumbledore looked to be in deep thought as his eyes were dull instead of twinkly and a visible frown was settled on his lips, where a warm smile would have been. Hermione moved her eyes along the high table, to the green and silver one. She scanned the pointy faces of all Slytherins and upon settling her brown eyes on the familiar, striking features of the pale boy who would be the reason of many deaths in an alternative future; she shuddered.
A sharp pain soured through her brain, making her feel dizzy. Hermione forced her eyes closed, wincing as she supported the weight of her head on her hands. It was all so sudden: bright white sparks of light blurred her vision and she found herself relieving previous moments in her mind, as though she was travelling back in time without physically moving. She was standing in what appeared to be a white canvas and she was the only thing the painter had drawn – everything else was empty. Then, with a sudden blow to her stomach, she felt herself being pushed by an invisible force, and the white slowly faded, being replaced by a memory.
She had seen it, that face; she had seen it somewhere: that pair of warm brown eyes and untamed hair that resembled her own; and another face appeared, smiling down at a baby in the woman's arms.
"Sleep tight, my baby" the man said, kissing the baby's forehead. "Sleep tight, my dear Hermione."
Hermione trembled, feeling empty and confused. Their faces looked so familiar yet she didn't know them, she didn't know that baby and why it had her name. Before she could move a muscle, another impact hit her square in the chest and she found herself relieving many memories at once; it was overwhelming.
"Hermione - who are you going to the ball with?" said the boy with red hair and freckles on his skin.
A girl was descending down the stairs; Hermione furrowed her eyebrows - It was her.
But she didn't look like her at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow - or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling - rather nervously, it was true - but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever;
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!" Hermione shrieked, tears pouring down her eyes as she stared at the familiar boy.
In a flash, it was all gone and Hermione was left with an extreme headache and a million thoughts running wildly in her mind. Her breath was fast and ragged once she opened her eyes; both Penelope and Patrick were staring at her, wide eyed and mouth agape.
"You alright?" pondered Penelope.
"You look like you saw a ghost." Said Patrick, leaning forward on the table to grab his fifth plate, when suddenly the food vanished.
"Something like that." Mumbled Hermione.
Patrick pouted with the annunciation that the feast was over. The Ravenclaws followed the Head Girl, Penelope, who was walking with an air of importance, her badge gleaming on her chest, toward the Ravenclaw Tower, where they would retreat for their slumber.
"Off we go, c'mon," shouted the blonde, earning some groans from third and second year students, "Must sleep well tonight, great day ahead tomorrow for our Quidditch team."
Hermione didn't feel like attending a Quidditch game at all, instead all she wanted was to go to the Room of Requirement and continue brewing her Liquid Luck. She couldn't possibly understand how anyone could go on with their lives, when a powerful Dark Wizard could attack the school at any second; but then Hermione remembered that only she and Tom knew of it. They reached the oval room, parting ways and drifting to their respective dormitories, "Night Hermione, sleep well." Penelope laid down on her bed, her face covered by the blue duvets. Hermione mimicked her actions, finding it hard to close her eyes. "Night."
She didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning as her thoughts refused to be tamed inside her head, - she wanted to know why she couldn't remember those people, why they looked oddly familiar to her. But as the sun began to rise, casting shadows around the room and illuminating her four-poster bed, Hermione finally drifted to a dreamless sleep.