CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR:
Hermione and Fleur didn't fall asleep until long past midnight. They talked about many things together that night, about their dreams for the future, about their hopes, their fears, what they loved, what they disliked. They giggled, they snorted, Fleur actually hit her with a pillow at one point, which made them both laugh, and Hermione eventually fell asleep holding the hand of her first real friend that didn't come with an expiration date that had always lurked at the back of her mind.
They woke up late the next morning, unsurprisingly, and Fleur laughed at Hermione's half-hearted attempts to tame her hair without magic before she just gave up and used magic to half-way coax the chaotic curls into looping braids, adding her favourite bells. Then Fleur just looked impressed.
"That was wandless magic," she said, astounded.
"Loki taught me," Hermione admitted. "My hair is... sort of impossible."
"Yes..." Fleur's voice trailed off, and she looked thoughtful as they both dressed for the day, Hermione in one of the dresses Eris had given her– a cream-coloured toga-style dress with a pearly sheen that shimmered like moving waves– and Fleur in a lovely pastel yellow sundress that flared out at the waist, before they headed to the kitchen to get breakfast.
Hermione was delighted by the sweet and fluffy breakfast foods available– Loki would definitely have approved of a pancakes, pikelets and crepes, as well as the steaming scones, waffles, and crumpets, as well as an assortment of jams, honeys, butters, preserves, nutty spreads, syrups, fresh slices of fruit, and creams, all arranged on the centre bench, apparently left waiting for them. She had no shame in happily gorging herself on the sweet pastries as Fleur looked on, seeming impressed, and perhaps slightly inspired.
Afterwards, they went for a walk, at Fleur's prompting, out on the expansive grounds of the Delacour's property. Hermione wasn't at all surprised when the French girl started to ask her questions about Loki. She would have been more surprised if Fleur didn't have any questions at all– Loki was a god, after all. She spoke mostly about her prayers and offerings and her altar with its altar stones, which led on to a discussion about meeting Loki's children, as well as about some of her experiences with Loki over the years. Eventually, after a couple of hours, Fleur's questions subsided into a thoughtful silence and they returned to the house for lunch.
Apolline and Gabrielle joined them for lunch, after which Gabrielle convinced them to change out of their dresses and into (in Hermione's case a pair of borrowed) riding jodhpurs to join her in spending the afternoon horse riding. Or rather, Abraxan riding, as the Delacours had a stable of the rather impressive magical equines on their property, which Hermione had briefly seen the day before when Fleur had shown her around the property.
The Abraxans were remarkably elegant creatures, considering their immense size. As horses closer to the size of elephants then regular equines, they had hooves the size of dinnerplates, brilliant palamino coats and magnificent high, arching feathered wings. The Delacours' Abraxans had coats varying in shade from the classic palamino newly-minted galleon colouring, to the darker sooty golds, with manes and tails ranging from thick, rich creams to pale, snowy whites that matched their wings, with gold laced through the barbs of the covert feathers.
Tiny, little, petite Gabrielle was a comical sight perched on the back of her Abraxan mare, Madeleine. Madeleine was clearly a gentle giant, however, and an absolute sweetheart as Gabrielle urged the mare to take to the clear blue skies.
"Hello handsome," Hermione greeted Fleur's Abraxan, a stunning stallion by the name of Beau, stroking the Abraxan's velvety nose as Beau bent his large, graceful head to nuzzle at her hands.
'Did you bring any treats?' the stallion nickered hopefully.
"I'm afraid not, but we can fetch some for you after the ride," Hermione promised, and Beau snorted in surprise, his head jerking back slightly.
'You understand me?' He whinnied, and Hermione smiled at him, nodding.
"I do speak Beast-tongue, it was a gift from my patron, Loki, God of–"
'Do you speak of Loki-God, who is Sleipnir-Sire, who is Mate-Of-Arion?' Beau interrupted her, and Hermione blinked, then nodded.
"Yes, that's him, I'm his priestess," she agreed, and Beau bowed his head.
'Priestess of Loki-God, you are welcome.' He told her, and she beamed.
"Thank you, Beau!"
Fleur, who had been watching with fascination, spoke up. "Can you really understand him?" she asked, and Hermione nodded.
"Because Jörmungandr mostly stays serpent-shaped, Loki gave me knowledge of what he calls 'Beast-tongue'," she explained. "It lets me understand animals."
Fleur nodded, before sudden horror flashed across her face. "Wait, does that mean all animals are–?"
"Oh, no, no, no," Hermione interrupted, rushing to reassure her. "Believe me, I had the same thought, but Loki assured me that it's only animals with long-term exposure to magic, or magical creatures, that develop a much greater intelligence, as opposed to the average animal who is barely aware of anything outside of the instincts they're born with. He promised me that I've never eaten anything with enough intelligence to hold a conversation, or even be capable of having any kind of sense of self, but... well, I'll admit to having less of a taste for meat in the time since."
"I don't blame you," Fleur said, with a light shudder, still looking disturbed.
"You two! What are you waiting for? Why are you still on the ground?" Gabrielle called out suddenly, and Fleur and Hermione traded amused looks at the small child's impatience with them before Fleur carried over the magically ascending stool that Gabrielle had used to reach Madeleine's saddle and they carefully balanced on it together as it floated up so they could reach Beau's saddle.
The leather of the saddle was a rich, buttery brown leather and Hermione straddled it carefully from her position behind Fleur, anxiously wrapping her arms around the French girl's waist. She couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, as the last time she'd been on a horse– or at least a horse-shaped creature– things hadn't gone quite so well. The Nökken really wasn't an experience she remembered fondly.
She shouldn't have worried, though. Beau's stride was confident and his gait rhythmic as he spread his impressive wingspan out wide, took several powerful strides forwards with his head held high, then leaped up, his powerful hind-legs coiling then thrusting forcefully against the ground, launching him into the air as his wings beat down with explosive force.
Hermione gasped, her head tilting back, eyes closing as she experienced the rush of the wind in her face, the drop of her stomach as they dipped and rose, the sound of the wing beats in her ears. "Are you okay, Hermione?" Fleur called out, and Hermione realised she was still gripping tightly onto her friend. Hermione opened her eyes and saw that Fleur had twisted around and was looking anxiously back at her, reins held lightly in her slender hands. Hermione couldn't help it– she beamed.
"Fleur," she said, breathlessly, "I think I'm in love with flying!"
And Fleur tipped back her head and laughed, the sound silvery and beautiful.
::
It was later that evening, after a full afternoon of flying with Beau and Madeleine and dinner with Apolline and Claude, that Fleur faced her, a determined look on her beautiful face.
"I want to do a ritual with you," the French witch declared, the look on her face challenging Hermione to refuse her.
"What?" Hermione asked, startled, and Fleur's cheeks turned pink, but she forged on regardless, still determined.
"I want to give my thanks to Loki, for bringing you into my life. I... I can't explain, what it's meant to me, Hermione. How you've changed everything for me. You've given me friendship and confidence and– and it's like I said, last night; if it wasn't for your god, I never would have met you in that bookshop that day. I want to thank Loki that I did. And... I've been listening to you talk about him. To what it means to you, to be able to pray to him, to give your offerings, your thanks. It appeals to me," Fleur admitted. "The chaos, it appeals to me, the justice, the mischief, the fire– it all appeals to me. I want to learn about your faith, to... to learn if it's possible for it to perhaps become my faith to. If it's possible for me to... to belong," she finished quietly.
"I honestly don't know what to say," Hermione admitted, after a brief, shocked pause. "I've never... I've never really thought about including anybody else in my worship." She'd never thought of ever holding a position like Morgana's, as some sort of High Priestess of Loki. She'd always just seen herself as a lower-case priestess.
But Loki was all about the misfits, the outsiders, the ones who felt they didn't belong. "Right," She said decisively. "How good are you at sneaking around your house, without waking up your parents?"
Fleur looked confused for a moment, then equal parts relieved and excited. "Very good," she reassured, and Hermione nodded.
"Good," she said, "because we're going to need a candle, the closest thing you've got to a copper or stone bowl, and–" here she hesitated for a moment, because this was the test, "-and we're going to need a knife." She already had a knife, of course, she never went anywhere without one anymore, but she needed to prepare Fleur for the reality of what a ritual meant.
Fleur's slender throat bobbed slightly as she swallowed, but her face was no less determined. "Maman has a small copper cauldron she sometimes uses for brewing," she said, "and small silver daggers she uses for potion ingredients. And there are candles in the kitchens."
"Perfect," Hermione said, thinking of where they could perform the ritual– the site of the blót was important, it needed to be a location where there was a connection to the god in question. She decided the closest connection she had to Loki here would have to be the patch of wilderness at the edge of the Delacour's property, where she'd noticed that the forest on the far east of the property crossed over into the Delacour's land slightly, and so it was to there that she directed to Fleur that they meet. "I'll need to set up the site for the ritual while you gather the supplies," she explained.
Fleur swallowed again and nodded. "Alright." She said, and Hermione hesitated, unsure.
"Fleur," she said slowly, "you know you don't have to do this, right? You're not under any sort of obligation."
"I know that," Fleur assured her. "I promise you, Hermione, I want to do this. I do. I'm nervous," she admitted, "and I think I would be a fool not to be, but I do want this."
Remembering her own nervousness, the first time she'd performed a ritual, Hermione looked at Fleur's eyes, into her bright-blue gaze, steady and sure, and was comforted by what she saw there. "Alright," she repeated, "let's do this."
Sneaking out of the Delacour's house was easy enough, as was navigating her way across the grounds. Wrapped up in one of Fleur's warm travel cloaks over her nightgown, one of the more traditional ones that Loki had snapped up for her when she was in the past, Hermione shortened what would have been a fifteen minute walk to a five minute jog, which managed to warm her up– despite the warmth of the day, the air was cooler now and the thin, crescent moon provided little light, though it did mean that the stars shone bright in the velvety blanket of darkness. Hermione was sure it wasn't just her imagination that Lokabrenna was particularly bright this night.
There weren't many trees that actually crossed the border of the wards surrounding the Delacour property line; there was a slight, rippling sheen of magic visible where Hermione instinctively knew that to step past would be to alert the elder Delacour couple that she and Fleur were stepping out of the property's boundary. Still, with the forest at her back providing a backdrop of an endless, yawning mystery of mist, gradually thickening trees and foliage, and an air of wildness, Hermione was reminded enough of the forest containing the altar that Loki had taken her to after she'd been stabbed by Odin, slipping in and out of conscious as she had been at the time, to consider the site 'wild forest' enough to have the necessary connection to her god for the ritual.
The first time she'd performed a ritual in honour of Loki, it had been put together from a mishmash of information she'd compiled from various sources she'd found, though afterwards Loki had given her access to more sources on information detailing traditional rituals to give thanks and perform worship towards the Norse Old Gods. Now, she quickly collected stones from the area around her, summoning them with magic from the grounds and carefully arranging them into a hörgr– an altar of piled stones– which she then kneeled before. It wasn't long after that Fleur appeared, out of breath with her arms full.
"I have what you asked for," she said, dropping to her knees beside Hermione, and letting the small cauldron she was holding rest on her thighs. The cauldron, about the size of a soup bowl, was indeed made of gleaming copper, and contained within it a short, fat wax candle and a slim, sharp-looking silver blade.
"Perfect," Hermione said, and Fleur gave a shaky smile. Hermione used her magic to spark a flame, lighting the wick of the candle, then tilting it to drip enough of the hot wax onto the hörgr that when she pressed the bottom of the candle onto the top stone of the hörgr, the candle stayed fixed in place.
"The most common form of ritual worship to the Norse Old Gods," she told Fleur, still kneeling beside her, a rapt audience, "was to give them sacrifices. These were called blót, with blóta meaning "to worship with sacrifice" or "to strengthen". These sacrifices were usually animals, but human life was always and still is always the most valuable sacrifice that can be made to the gods. And tonight, in honour of Loki, to give our thanks to him, we will give a sacrifice of blood– of hlaut– to give him power."
Fleur swallowed again, but nodded, pushing up the sleeves of the nightgown she was wearing, the pale pink cloth absurdly innocent-looking against her skin considering what they were about to do.
After transferring the copper cauldron to her own lap, Hermione held out her own arm first, teeth gritted slightly as she lifted the small, silver blade. She winced as she sliced a quick line of fire across her forearm; blood welled up where the flesh was split, brilliant scarlet rivulets that ran across her skin and splattered into the cauldron. She waited until the blood had slowed to a sluggish ooze, already shivering as the air around her started to feel heavier, wilder; a hint of electricity against her skin, and she wondered if Fleur felt the change in the atmosphere yet. Cleaning the blade of blood (magical ritual or not, being the daughter of medical professionals made her wary of blood-borne diseases), she held it out to Fleur, handle-first.
Despite the anticipation and tension building around them, and they both couldn't help but giggle a little bit nervously when Fleur fumbled as she accepted the blade. Hermione was starting feel a growing panic at this point that Fleur would panic and run for her parents, but despite the anxiety Fleur seemed to feel, the part-Veela was also clearly determined as she carefully drew the blade across her own flawless skin, and tilting the precious trails of ruby into the copper cauldron. Hermione sucked in a breath as she felt the swell of magic in the air, felt it resonate through her body. Her curls were crackling, standing on end, and Fleur gasped, tilting her head back as she felt the rush of wild, ancient magic.
Hermione waited until Fleur's bleeding had slowed before she picked up the copper cauldron, the chant slipping automatically from her lips as she passed it around the flame three times;
"Hail the silver tongued!
Hail the defender of the broken!
Hail the hope of the lost!
Hail the harbringer of change!
Hail Loki!
May He Be Hailed!"
She was almost gasping now; it felt like she was burning, like her magic was burning, burning her from inside out, but it wasn't painful at all, it was glorious. "We dedicate this sacrifice to Loki the Unbound, Trickster God of Fire, Mischief, Lies and Chaos!" she cried out, dipping her fingers into the cauldron, coating her fingers with the blood to sprinkle it on the hörgr, where it sizzled like it was burning. "Til árs ok hrǫngl."* she murmured reverently, and Fleur repeated the words after her, just as reverent.
Acting without thinking, Hermione channelled the ritual magic as she had once before, molten-hot and crackling through her veins, reaching out to Fleur, to the sluggishly bleeding wound on her arm, and with her still-bloody fingers she traced kuanaz on creamy skin. Tiny flames licked in the wake of the blood, and along the self-inflicted wound, until all that remained was kuanaz, faint and silvery, almost invisible against Fleur's skin until she traced it with soft, reverent fingertips and the rune lit up a brilliant, burnished gold.
The candle flame suddenly flared up, the fire swelling, growing, and both girls cried out in alarm, before their cries turned to gasps as the fire formed the kuanaz symbol, blazing in the air before them before extinguishing in a cloud of ash that drifted slowly down. When it settled, Hermione noted a glint of gold and leaned forwards. Eyes widening, she reached out and picked up the golden medallion from the ashes. The coin-shaped medallion had kuanaz engraved on its face, and the meaning couldn't be clearer, to her or to Fleur.
"He accepted me," Fleur said, astonished, blinking back sudden tears.
"Of course he did," Hermione said, with a sniff of her own, leaning back so she could press the medallion into Fleur's hand. Fleur clutched onto it like a lifeline.
"He accepted me," she repeated, sounding almost numb.
"Of course he did," Hermione repeated too, before throwing her arms around Fleur and hugging her tight, ignoring the shaking in her limbs from the come-down of ritual magic, just holding her friend tight as she sobbed in relief.
::
Gabriel should be used to Hermione surprising him by this point. He really should be.
This still took him by surprise.
Hermione was in France with her part-Veela friend, a descendant of one of Eve's many monstrous children who'd had sex with a human– not that he discriminated, he'd had sex with many, many, many beings of various kinds over the years– so he hadn't been expecting to feel that shiver of power stirring within him that sung of ritual/worship/sacrifice, soaked deep with magic/power/mygrace/fire.
Still, far from displeased from the development, he gladly let the part of him that was more Loki then Gabriel surface, tilting his head back to drink in the unexpected feast, only to be hit by the true surprise, the part that he hadn't been expecting at all.
Hermione wasn't conducting the ritual alone.
There was a second soul participating in the ritual giving worship to Loki, giving sacrifice to him. A second soul, one of wildflowers and wildfire and willpower; one that was human but also not human. The part-Veela was participating in the ritual too. Hermione's French pen-pal, the one she'd been helping deliver just desserts to her vile, 'species-ist' classmates. Fleur Isabelle Delacour.
This was... an intersting development. And her offering? Her glorious soul, with all her fire, her passion, her burning need for justice and vengeance? Loki wasn't about to turn down such a willing sacrifice.
And as Loki accepted her sacrifice, accepted her offering, accepted her as his, Gabriel couldn't help but marvel slightly that, without him having even an inkling of it happening, Hermione had managed to recruit her friend to worshipping Loki so wholeheartedly, somehow finding someone who had been just as lost, lonely and broken inside as she herself had once been. He didn't know if he was more curious, shocked or proud of her. Even when he'd named her a priestess, he hadn't even considered this a possibility! She'd never expressed any sort of interest in gathering a flock!
Mineminemine, his possessive pagan half crooned as he soaked in the power the combined souls offered, almost drunk off the ritual sacrifice; both witches had such promise, such power, such beautiful souls that had faced such wear and tear, but were so far from shattered, so much stronger for the hardships they'd suffered.
Fleur's faith in Loki was like a precious, delicate bloom, its tender petals tentatively unfurling towards him, but such uncertainty was only natural. What surprised him was that while Fleur might be tentative, her faith was still real, still absolute. She had complete faith in his existence, such confidence, she was just unsure if he would accept her as one of his.
Well.
That just wouldn't do, would it?
A snap of his fingers and show of his power, even from as far away as he was, assured that Fleur would be left with no doubt that Loki had accepted her, and the pagan part of him preened at the flock his priestess was beginning to gather for him, the belief that she was fostering, the faith that she was spreading.
And moments later, after his little fire-show and reward, Fleur's faith was blossoming bright and strong, in full bloom under the guiding sunshine of Hermione's own faith.
::
The atmosphere in the morning was strange, but not in a bad way. There was a new closeness between her and Fleur, added depth to their friendship now, a new bond forged between them, one of faith, of blood, of priestess and acolyte, that hadn't existed before performing the ritual together.
There was also a sadness in the air at breakfast, however, with the shared knowledge between them that Hermione's stay was drawing to a close, but they both knew it far from the last time they'd see each other. Still, as Hermione packed her things, ready for her two-way-portkey to return her to Aberdeen Airport, Fleur still asked wistfully, "are you sure you wouldn't rather attend Beauxbatons? If you wrote to Madam Maxime, I'm quite sure she'd make an exception for you."
Hermione smiled sadly back at her, reaching out to grasp one of Fleur's hands with her own and squeeze. "Are you sure you don't want to attend Hogwarts?" she asked, and Fleur pulled a mock-disgusted expression that made them both laugh, before both their faces fell.
"You promise to keep writing?" Fleur sounded unexpectedly vulnerable in that moment. "You won't forget about me, when you start your new school?"
"I won't forget about you," Hermione promised. "You're my friend, Fleur, and you're an acolyte of Loki, now," she added, brushing her fingertips over the rune on Fleur's arm, which lit up gold. "I'm the priestess of your faith, I'll always be here for you, and so will Loki."
Fleur let out a shaky breath and nodded, brushing her own fingers over the brilliant, golden rune, before leaning forwards and pulling her into a tight hug. "I'm holding you to that, Hermione Granger," she said fiercely, all fire, and Hermione hugged her tightly back.
"I won't let you down." She promised.
As Hermione said her goodbyes to the rest of Fleur's family in the same foyer that she'd arrived in their house in and thanked them for letting her stay the past two nights, she was surprised to be pulled into another tight, fierce hug, this time by Apolline. "Thank you," the older woman murmured, sounding almost heartbreakingly grateful. "Take care of her for me."
"I will," Hermione made her second promise that morning, just as heartfelt the second time as the first, and Apolline's smile in response to that, as she released her and stepped back, was just as radiant as Fleur's had been.
Finally, and with great reluctance, Hermione then accepted the portkey from Claude and left France with a friendship freely forged in fire and faith.
::
She wasn't surprised to find Loki waiting for her upon her return to Fraserburgh. Her journey home had included a tense moment when she panicked that her return-portkey trip would involve her appearing in an occupied bathroom stall that she'd left from, but luck was on her side. Well, it was almost on her side– only one of her feet landed in the open toilet bowl, and Uncle Arran had only raised an eyebrow at her sopping wet sock when she met him at the pick-up zone.
Hermione couldn't help but feel nervous at his nuetral expression, but Loki had accepted Fleur, and he didn't look angry. She was pretty sure his golden eyes looked closer to amused, actually, but... she was still nervous. "She's already built an altar to me, you know," Loki told her casually, from where he was lounging against the wall. Hermione was getting a strange sense of déjà vu from the first time he'd approached her. "Just as you instructed– candles, altar stones, and offerings of lollies."
"I honestly can't tell if you're upset or not," she admitted, and Loki laughed, straightening up from the wall and grinning at her.
"Oh, I'm just wondering if she'll be the only member of the little flock you're building, or if I should start preparing for more," he said, and Hermione relaxed slightly in the face of his humour and blushed at the teasing, but found herself hesitating before immediately replying in the negative.
"I... I don't know," she confessed. "But I really do believe Fleur is genuine about her interest in my faith in you, and in wanting to learn how to build her own."
"Oh, I know she is– I wouldn't have accepted her as one of mine otherwise," Loki said, before giving her a thoughtful look. "She's your responsibility to lead now, Hermione. Lead her well, my priestess."
::
*A reminder: During their ritual sacrifices, the sacrificial priest/priestess would speak the old, traditional prayer; Til árs ok friðar, which means "for a good year and frith (peace)". Til árs ok hrǫngl, translates to for a good year and chaos.
A/N: this was the last story arc before Diagon Alley!!! Next chapter – muggleborn orientation tour! And then – off to Hogwarts at last!!!!