CHAPTER SEVEN
Hermione's life in Fraserburgh had lifted such a weight off her shoulders. It wasn't a paradise, though she sometimes privately thought of it as such. As someone who'd lived in London all her life, day to day life in a small fishing town was a jarring change.
There was no school, for one– homeschooling had certainly been something that took time to adjust to, though she did enjoy helping explain the lessons to Leana and Angus, sometimes even Jeanie and Alex too. The family barely used the car, not that there was any real need in such a small town; everywhere she went, Hermione had to go on foot. The meals were often simple, easy to cook large quantities for a lower cost, with most of the ingredients often coming from the garden or the ocean (she was getting so very sick of fish), nothing like the fancy dinners her mother liked to make or order in. There was no bookshop or library to waste away hours in, not that she had any hours to waste– Aunt Iona did not believe in idle hands.
She'd never been expected to help out around the house in London, only to keep her room neat; here, she and the other children were given a list of chores each day, ranging from scrubbing floors to cleaning the chicken coops, from weeding the garden to mending rips and tears in clothes– in the few short months she'd spent in Fraserburgh, she'd been more physically active then in her seven years in London.
So it wasn't a paradise, no, but Hermione loved it anyway. She loved the wildness and freedom of the other children, who ran around barefoot and dived fully dressed into the ocean without care. She loved the independence that came with being able to roam around town without needing adults to supervise. She was even growing to love the smell of the ocean breeze; salty, a hint of seaweed and, when the boats were coming in, fish.
But most of all, she loved her cousins. The Macleods were all so welcoming to her, a stark difference from some of her other cousins in Fraserburgh, the ones from Helen and Iona's brothers who thought she was strange and saw her as an 'outsider' and were always telling her that she didn't belong, that she should go back to London.
Hermione knew that the fact she generally preferred books over the company of people confused other children and that her intelligence was also well above that of others her age. It set her apart, isolating her from her age group, but while the Macleod children didn't quite understood either, they were still as protective of her as if she were their sister; it was a special brand of childish logic, that they were allowed to playfully tease her but if anybody else dared try then they'd rain hellfire down on them– and that almost wasn't even an exaggeration.
Hermione would sometimes bring a book down to the wharf to read while the others played and swam, usually the ones in English so she didn't have to bring a translator too, though she was getting much better at her Gaelic with Uncle Arran's lessons. The other children didn't understand why she'd want to read instead of play and, like always, some of them were cruel about it, calling her a 'freak' amongst many other choice words– it certainly wasn't anything she hadn't heard before, nothing she wasn't accustomed to. What was different, however, was that now other children rose up in her defence– and it wasn't just the Macleod children either.
With the help of Jeanie, Leana, Angus and Alex, children around her age with both actual social skills and a willingness to teach them to her, Hermione had managed to do something she'd never done before– she'd made friends, realfriends. Friends who chased down the one boy who'd snatched her book from her and grabbed her precious copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' right back off him. Friends who threw handfuls of stinking seaweed and rotting fish-guts at anyone who dared call her names (which Hermione honestly thought had to be worse then raining down hellfire, because they reeked). Friends who laughed with her and played with her and told her she was brilliant and thought she was weird, yes, but that it wasn't a bad thing.
Hermione felt like she was glowing and when she went to bed each night, she never failed to give thanks to her god for the wonderful opportunity he had given her. He hadn't just avenged Ness, giving her poor, brave sister the justice she'd never received when she was still alive, even though that was all Hermione had asked of him– Loki had saved her from drowning in her grief, throwing her a lifeline that she'd used to kick and claw her way back to wanting to wake up each morning. He'd given her a whole new purpose by giving her the books to teach her about her magic. He'd challenged her, giving her the translator dictionaries so she could pave her own way in the world, not rely on short-cuts. Most of all, he'd given her the courage to face each new day and think 'I want to be here.'
She'd never understood the devout chaplain at her old school, had never understood why she should pray in mass. It wasn't that she didn't believe in the Judeo-Christian God, she honestly had no strong opinions about the possibility of the God's existence either way, but she'd always thought that if the Judeo-Christian God did exist, why would He ever pay attention to a single individual in a planet full of them? And why would someone devote their lives to Him, knowing they'd never get any sort of answer from Him, that they'd never receive any sign or proof of His existence?
Hermione was more inclined to believe in what she could see. She'd only believed there had to be magic in the world, because the laws of science hadn't explained why she'd been able to do the things she had.
Her belief that pagans could exist, however, had been somewhat of an anomaly in that respect- she'd believed that pagan gods could exist not because of evidence, but because she had been desperate and grief-addled and needed something to believe in, some reason to hope.
Which, Hermione supposed, answered her previous questions. Her old chaplain had believed in his God because he needed a reason to hope. To believe in something bigger, something grander, that there was a purpose to existence.
If Hermione as she was now was faced with the question of 'are pagan gods real?' even with the memory of her... well, her magic, she'd still have said no. But after Ness's death she'd immersed herself so deeply in Greek tragedies and old mythology, while simultaneously starving herself, depriving herself of sleep and tumbling freely down the rabbit-hole that was depression, that anything felt possible. In that irrational, unstable state, combined with her desperation and the unexplainable happenings of That Night, well... it was little wonder the helpless, grieving child that she'd been had latched onto the idea of a deity able to deliver the justice she craved and believed with all her heart and soul because she had so desperately needed it to be real.
But against all the odds, and despite the fact she'd been more then just a touch out of her mind at that point in time (to the extent where her parents definitely should have sent her to see a child psychiatrist or at least a grief counsellor) her crazy had paid off. She'd actually, unbelievably been right. Loki did exist and he had answered her prayers. He had heard her petition for justice (and vengeance) and had delivered for her, and for Ness, what she'd craved so desperately that she'd probably have sold her soul for it, had the opportunity arisen.
Loki had saved her life by saving her from herself. The least she could do was keep her word- she had pledged her devoutness to him in return for her vengeance and she had no desire to go back on the promise she'd made. She would never forget all that Loki had done for her and every day she would give her thanks to him. He was her god and that would never change.
When she was older, she would build him a proper altar and she'd buy him all the best quality chocolate and confectionary she could afford. And until then, she would pray at her make-shift altar and do her best to find offerings for him that he might like.
::
Nearly half a year after she'd first arrived at Fraserburgh, a circumstance of pure chance turned Hermione's life entirely upside a second time– and the ripples in destiny caused by the choices made in the aftermath would reach further then anyone could have ever imagined.
Hermione had been swimming with Jeanie, Leana, Angus and Alex when it happened. She and Angus were further from the wharf then the others- Angus thought he'd spotted a clam and a funny-colored rock had caught Hermione's eye. She'd continued to remain diligent about setting out offerings for Loki at least once every week or two, along with her daily prayers. A rarity in sweets meant that she tried to make do in other, slightly more unconventional ways yet the way her offerings were always gone when she woke up, leaving in their place a tell-tale warmth tingling in her chest, gave her the motivation to keep trying to find or create offerings for her god.
Leana, Jeanie and Ina had all seen her altar by this point as sharing a small room between them lead to little privacy, but they all believed it was about Ness– it wasn't a complete lie, but it was certainly twisting the truth enough to make her feel guilty. Ina and Jeanie, the older two, found her habit of leaving 'gifts' on the foot of her bunk to be strange, not that they ever said anything bad about it, likely out of respect for her method of grieving (they also never said anything about how the 'gifts' seemed to disappear, but Hermione privately thought that was most Loki's influence). Leana, however, was too young to realise it was a bit of an odd thing to do and she thought it was great fun 'finding presents for Ness'. She'd even made a sort of game in helping point out things that might be fitting.
The funny-colored rock Hermione had spotted in the water while swimming that day was beautiful one. It looked purple almost, and speckled. The water was over two and a half meters deep as far out as she was, but Hermione thought Loki would like it– he liked colorful things, she'd discovered; the tingling warmth in her chest always lasted longer after she left out something bright for him.
It was both deeper and further out then she'd usually dive, but Angus was her age and he was already ducking under the gentle little waves and kicking down to the sand where he'd spotted his clam. Taking a deep breath, Hermione dove down after him. The water dragged at her and she squinted against the stinging saltiness of it as she used the powerful kick that Jeanie had taught her, with her arms helping to propel her down.
Her lungs were burning and the pressure in her skull was bordering on painful as her fingers finally scrabbled against the surface of the rock. She clawed at the sand around it for a few moments then managed to yank it free. It was a bit larger then her clenched fist and heavier then she'd expected, but she hung onto it determinedly as she tucked her legs under her, turning in the water so she was facing the surface and could use the seabed to help push herself up.
She was about halfway to the surface when an odd movement to her left caught her attention. Her lungs felt like they were on fire but she still automatically turned to look then almost opened her mouth to scream at the sight before her squinted eyes.
It was a- a thing, terrifying and menacing in how unnatural it was. Whatever it was, it almost looked like a person, one not much older then them even, but at the same time it wasn't even close to human. Its face was too long, too narrow and too pointed. There was bristly looking fur on its legs and it seemed to have claws– claws that it had used to latch onto Angus.
Thin trails of red were rising up in the water from where Angus was struggling and Hermione starting panicking– she needed oxygen, needed it desperately, but the- the monster was moving down and away from her at a frighteningly fast speed and Hermione was afraid if she kicked up to the surface she'd lose Angus.
She felt like her lungs were burning, she felt so, so afraid, but it was Angus– he'd shoved a dead crab down the shirt of a boy who'd called her a weirdo and whenever he found anything while diving he shared it with her once Aunt Iona had cooked it up. He'd been nothing but sweet to her and Hermione wouldn't let the monster take him from her. She wouldn't let anyone she loved die if she could help it, not again.
She released the rock, letting it plunge back down to the sand as she frantically kicked forwards, pushing her legs as hard as she could- Angus hadn't been dragged too far away yet and swimming across was easier then swimming down. With desperately scrabbling hands, she managed to grab onto one of Angus's wildly kicking ankles and she hung on with a grim determination as the monster dragged them both deeper and further away from the wharf, out to sea.
Keeping at least one hand gripping tight onto him at all times, Hermione managed to claw her way up Amgus's struggling body, locking her legs tight around his waist so her hands were free. The monster let out some sort of horrible screeching noise that hurt her ears even underwater, releasing one of its clawed hands from Angus to lash out at her. White-hot pain flared along her upper arm as claws like fish-hooks caught in her flesh and ripped, but Hermione kept her mouth shut and didn't let go.
There were black spots in her vision that were slowly expanding and her head was spinning so badly she knew she had maybe half a minute at most before her body's instinctive reflexes would kick in, making her automatically inhale even when she knew she couldn't.
Horribly aware that she only had one shot at this, Hermione threw her upper body forwards, keeping her legs locked tight around Angus who the monster was still latched onto, and reached out for the odd, narrow head, managing to grasp one small hand on each side of the misshapen skull.
Eyes were a vulnerable point on any animal and Hermione shoved aside all the parts of her that wanted to be violently sick as she dug her thumbs hard into the eye-sockets of the monster without any hesitation. It instantly started to scream, releasing her and Angus both immediately as it propelled itself back, causing more damage to its eyes as the abrupt movement ripped her nails along the eye-sockets as it pulled itself free.
Hermione had a brief moment to feel triumph before her lungs seemed to burst and her body's instinctive reflexes had her automatically trying to suck in oxygen. She immediately started choking, the salt water flooding her mouth, pouring down her nose and her throat, down into her stomach and lungs. Her vision went completely white and her arms and legs refused to obey her. She could feel herself sinking down, away from the surface of the ocean despite her increasingly weak struggles for otherwise.
Her legs were still wrapped around Angus and a vague, distant part of her brain noted that he wasn't moving anymore.
Despair and desperation filled her and, in her last moments of consciousness, Hermione closed her eyes and prayed, just one word screamed in her head as loud as she could–
HELP!