Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

51°45'39.96"N -1°15'12.24"W
Oxford University,
United Kingdom

With a start, Hermione pulled her head up off coarse, aged paper as a loud crack sounded.
The startled student looked out only to see a willow branch whipping through the pattering rain and onto the windows. As she took a deep breath, attempting to relax her body after her fright, a forgotten headache made its presence known once more. It was the kind of headache that surfaced only after days of silent, heavy sadness and long, red-eyed nights in the only place she could distract herself.

She’d recently found out that the girl she's been in love with for the past two years, who was also one of her closest friends, had just gotten together with someone else. Someone that her friend, in turn, had been in love with for three years.
All this was discovered right after Hermione finally confessed her feelings, and thus, she’s been hiding out in her favourite place - the University Library.

Now, don’t go thinking she’s just hiding from The-Actual-Love-of-Her-Life-AKA-Best-Friend and her new girlfriend; no, more significantly she’s hiding from the sickeningly concerned looks on the faces of her friends and family who knew of her feelings and witnessed the disaster they had resulted in. So far this strategy has been working splendidly for her.

She was currently sitting slouched over a large mahogany desk illuminated by a small, green reading lantern, in one of the alcoves at the Bodleian Library. The high-arched window behind her, with wrought-iron bars across the glass, encircled by intricately carved stone and the silent darkness of the alcove constructed a place outside of time, which sheltered its inhabitants from all outside things.

Hermione often came to this very spot whenever plagued by cruel thoughts, seeking comfort within the protective membrane of truths and untruths, beauty and ugliness forever printed upon paper. She supposed she sought after these notions because of how permanent and unwavering they were, because they had already been expressed and written, and however hard some may try to unmake them, they were the thoughts of people long dead.

She glanced at the old, wooden mantel clock on top of a nearby shelf and was surprised to see the time was 11:45 PM; much later than she had expected. Hermione occasionally bribed the head librarian so that she could stay and study after hours, which typically entailed about one extra hour or so. The bribe in question consisted primarily of pandering compliments and incessant whining.
She was currently using her privileged time studying for her first-year paper on perspectives on human evolution, which had ushered Hermione into a rabbit hole of Diffusionism; and subsequently led to her falling asleep on top of centuries-old books by prominent German Diffusionists.
Banishing any thoughts of Kulturkreise from her mind, for the time being, she began gathering up her things in a bag and stood up, dreading returning home to a reheated dinner and another sleepless night.

Just as she was putting on her coat, she saw something moving in the corner of her eye. She turned, looking out at the bookshelves but unable to see anything out of the ordinary. Though she was reasonably sure she was alone in the library, she couldn’t be sure considering she didn’t have an ideal view of the place from her cramped nook between bookshelves.

It was probably just a shadow from outside the wi-

A bang.
A book?

With hesitant steps, she moved out from the bookshelves, bag over one shoulder. Hermione strained her ears, hoping to- no, dreading, she’d hear something, that someone was lurking within some shadowed corner of the library. Well, someone other than her that is.

Could it be the librarian? No, he said he was leaving at 10 PM. A janitor? But they only come in every other day and they were here yesterday; weren’t they?

She took another wavering step, then, rounding a shelf with her fingers trailing the furrowed wood, whether it was for a sense of direction in the dark or for steadying her shaking hands she could not say. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, could hear the blood rushing in her ears, praying that whatever was in here with her couldn’t hear it as well.

Hermione stared into the open emptiness of the large reading room. The lengths of the room were occupied with dark wooden columns supporting small balconies, every space on the walls was filled with books, the middle of the rectangular room held a row of five large desks, leading up to the large, imposing windows from which pale moonlight shone through.The light cast distorted shadows across the room, creating an eerie effect in the already frightening silence.

A cold shiver ran up her spine as she saw, just beyond the desks between two bookshelves, what appeared to be the bowed, shadowed shape of a person. It looked as if they were bent over, searching for something.
Muted sounds of fabric against wood sounded as the silhouetted figure shuffled about.

A loud bang once again filled the otherwise dead-silent room.

“Gods dammit!”, a hoarse voice cursed. Hermione jumped at the sudden noise.

The movement caused her to knock into a nearby chair, which, to her horror, made a loud scraping sound against the stone floor. The figure whipped around, peering into the darkness where Hermione was hiding behind a bookshelf. There was a beat of heavy silence, and Hermione suspected the figure was presently straining eyes and ears, peering into the darkness.

“Who’s there?”, the gravelly - female? - voice barked. Hermione pressed a hand against her mouth, hoping to stifle her breathing, the other hand against her furiously beating heart.

Something metallic clicked in the air.

Was that a gun? she thought, her eyes widening in horror.

“By the Unholy Seven, Harry, I swear if that is you I will not hesitate to shoot you!"

Oh. Fantastic. At least I know for sure it really was a gun, then.

“Come out here or I’ll start firing like a drunken sailor on homecoming!”

“Wait! Please I- I- I’m coming out!” Hermione shouted, oncoming tears stuck in her throat. She willed her body to move but it was as if it was filled to the brim with lead, preventing her from whatever danger was waiting for her.
With shaky legs, she eventually made her way out, hands up beside her head in what she hoped was a non-threatening stance. She could now make out the owner of the voice.

She was an old woman standing at about 5 feet, with black and grey curly hair reaching just above the shoulders. She had dark brown eyes set in a slightly round face that would have been a very grandmotherly one had it not been for the sharp cheekbones and unrelenting scowl. She was wearing a tailored black suit with a black velvet vest encasing a starch-white shirt underneath.

Hermione thought her appearance quite odd, with the juxtaposition of her short stature and eyes set in an icy glower, the sharp, expensive-looking suit and the frizzy, unruly hair.
The old woman held the silvery, carved-ivory handled pistol in a comfortable and secure grip, feet planted in a well-practised position. Whoever this woman was, it was clear she was confident in her abilities with the weapon.
Hermione placed herself with one of the desks between her and the woman as if it would somehow protect her from the raging lunatic with a gun in front of her.

“And just who might you be? Who sent you?”

Hermione now noticed a slight Scottish lilt to the woman's words. At the prolonged, confused silence on Hermione’s half, the woman once again barked at her,
“Well? Speak up, girl!”

“I-I-”, Hermione stuttered.

“Cat got your tongue? Tell me what I want to know if you value your kneecaps at all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I- I was just in here working on a paper, and then I- then you showed up and I went to see what the bustling was about…”, Hermione exclaimed frantically, in a rush to get the words out before the woman lost her patience.

The woman's narrowed eyes flitted quickly across Hermione’s face as if considering her words. Then, ostensibly having decided Hermione did not pose a threat, clicked the safety back on her gun and holstered it inside her jacket.

“Well then, you have my apologies for disturbing you”, the madwoman said in a sarcastic tone, accompanied by a slight bow and lazy flourish of her hand.
“I’ll just be on my way. You may return to your studies.”

And with that brisk farewell, the woman turned to leave, circling the table and leaving behind the flabbergasted student.
Hermione stood, dumbfounded before she regained her wits and started towards the old woman.

As she rushed forward and began walking beside her, the elder woman turned slightly and glanced at her with a flat expression.

“What? Are you not going to explain why you’re in the library, after hours, sneaking about?”, the younger woman sputtered.
The stranger furrowed her brow, finally looking at Hermione.

“Asks the girl sneaking about in the library after hours”, the woman replied dryly.

“Well, I- you know what I mean! And why the hell do you have a gun? How did you even get in here!” The keen-eyed woman raised an eyebrow.

“A lot of questions for someone who was just a few minutes ago hiding behind bookshelves. Listen, I have some business to attend to here in town and this was the most direct Rift. Now, excuse me while I go on about my way.” She turned to leave again but Hermione was not satisfied.

She ran up to the old woman, walking beside her. “Hiding?” she exclaimed with a huff. When the strange woman didn’t reply, or even acknowledge Hermione, she felt herself growing frustrated.

“What’s your name?” Hermione asked curiously, trying another approach.

The woman glanced at her, then, with a sigh replied, “Soledad.”
“And what business did you say you had?” she continued in what she hoped was a light tone. Although her furrowed brow and head tilted to the side might serve as a giveaway to her growing curiosity.

Hermione had always had trouble letting questions go unanswered, mysteries go unsolved. She had yet to decide if this was a strength or a weakness of hers, however.
The woman, - Soledad - clearly annoyed but having accepted the continuation of this conversation, replied,
“I never specified. But, since I suspect you won’t leave me until I’ve answered your questions,”- Hermione nodded excitedly- “I’m here to see an old friend, a professor at this university.”

Feeling she’d started to make some headway, Hermione pressed on, “What department does he work at?”, “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added with a shrug.

Soledad, seemingly defeated, answered curtly, “The Physics department.”

“Oh? I might know him, what’s his name?” Hermione continued, looking ahead.

“Professor Byron, Theoretical Physics.” This promptly turned Hermione's head.

“Byron? I know him! He’s actually my Godfather,” she exclaimed.
Soledad stopped her unwieldy gait at this revelation. She eyed Hermione with a curious look, a hint of surprise written on her face before she once again adopted a flat expression, topped off with a scowl.

Edward Byron was her father’s oldest, most trusted friend, making him the obvious candidate when her parents got the fervent idea that they had to make sure someone would take care of her in the event of their sudden demise.
Which was a good idea, she supposed, if they had not waited until she was 16 years old and a bit past the age of actually needing a godparent. Her father worked at the university as well, as a history professor.

The two women had now exited the library, headed in a direction unknown to Hermione. It seemed as if Soledad wasn’t going to be very forthcoming for a while, perhaps lost in thought, reading from her expression.

They stepped out into the courtyard of the Bodleian, the rain continued its unrelenting assault cutting through the deep black of the night, reflecting the few lights that were shining in distant windows. The wind was mercilessly whipping and pulling at Hermione’s hair, casting it in her eyes. It seemed Soledad was having no such issues, as, by some untold miracle, her shoulder-length curls were staying fixed in their place.
As they were making their way to the far end of the courtyard, Hermione came face-to-face with one of the statues whose names she’d never bothered to learn and found the deathly still visage of the drowning man to be an ominous sight in an already frightful night. She hurried on.

They were nearing the edge of Radcliffe Square, Hermione noted distractedly. The night sky was devoid of any stars. Tall black lanterns were casting stretched, misshapen, shadows across the Square.

November had only recently arrived, carrying with it a coldness eager to seep through the skin and claw at the bones. Hermione briefly wondered if Soledad was cold, wearing only a thin jacket and no coat.

Soledad made for the entrance of the Radcliffe Camera, climbing up the steps to the doors, Hermione trailing behind. When she came to the last step, standing next to the older woman, Hermione wondered what was next, why they were even here, and, of course, why Hermione was suddenly following this stranger around, when to her surprise, Soledad pulled out a key from around her neck.

The round, ornate stone building at the centre of the Square, named after the physician and Oxford alumnus John Radcliffe, was strikingly illuminated against the night sky. Originally built in the 18th century to house the Radcliffe Science Library, it was now a part of the Bodleian Library and served as a reading hall.
How this Soledad had a key to it, Hermione hadn’t a clue.

The woman finally turned to look up at her, brow furrowed. “What was your name, lass?”, she asked quietly after a beat of silence.

“Oh, Hermione Granger,” she paused, then added, “ma’am.” At this, the woman adopted a pensive expression reminiscent of a cat, narrowed, yet focused, brown eyes which bore into Hermione’s own.

She wondered at the strange expressions the woman seemed to react to Hermione’s words with. Remembering the surprised look on Soledad’s face when she’d mentioned Edward Byron was her Godfather, she finally decided she wanted to know exactly what her connection to him was, and why she reacted the way she did to Hermione’s name.
As her thoughts spun too rapidly in her mind for her to keep track, one thought spilt out:

“Who are you, exactly?”

At this sudden question, the shorter woman merely raised an eyebrow.

“I thought I’d already given you my name”, she said with an amused look. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and a wave of her arms.

She fixed Soledad with the stern look she'd been perfecting for years.
“You know what I mean. Why do you keep reacting that way when I mention my family? And how do you know my Godfather?”

For the first time since she’d met her, Soledad's expression lost its stern scowl as she looked at Hermione with soft eyes, looking almost apologetic. Almost.

“I know Edward through your father,” Soledad said with an uncomfortable voice.

Hermione kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

“And I know your father through his father, who’s my uh- well, my brother. Jacob’s my nephew… I suppose you’d call it.” She muttered in a way that Hermione could already recognize as an uncharacteristic manner.

Hermione stood looking at her for a moment.

Huh

Chapter Text

For several moments, Hermione said nothing.

And as the seconds ticked by, Soledad seemed more and more uncomfortable, fiddling with her lapels, looking anywhere but at Hermione.
Hermione on the other hand was currently trying to play catch-up with the events unfolding.

“Uh, right. So-?” was the only thought she could give voice to. Soledad looked back at her, clearly waiting for something of actual substance to emerge from Hermione. This revelation was certainly unexpected, but Hermione couldn’t see why it would make Soledad this… nervous. It was shocking to find out you had a family member you’d never before heard of, sure, but it wasn’t exactly distressing.
She frowned, trying to sort through what an appropriate reaction would be. “Yeah, okay. Nice to meet you, I guess? Great-aunt?” she breathed out. Soledad mirrored her by letting out a long-held breath.
“Ditto! And please, Soledad is just fine,” she replied with a relieved smile. “Now that’s settled, shall we?”
And with that, she turned on her heel and placed her key within the large door’s keyhole, and with a final glance at Hermione, turned the key with a click. The heavy door slowly opened into the dark expanse, swinging on groaning hinges.

Soledad strode confidently inside, leaving Hermione standing in the windy doorframe for only a moment before following the other woman inside.
Not even a second had passed before Hermione lost sight of Soledad, dark silence pressing down around her.
She swivelled her head from side to side, shoes squeaking from their rainy walk, squinting into the large room as she felt her heart beat faster when she couldn’t see anything. Hermione continued further in, despite the growing apprehension in her chest.

“Soledad?” she called out. Only silence answered. Hermione stood still for a while, disconcerted as to how the old woman had so quickly disappeared from sight. Then she remembered the open door behind her and turned, intending to shut it. She hurried forth and pressed a hand against the door whilst looking out at the square, straining her eyes to see if there was anybody else there, fixing each shifting shadow with her dark eyes. Hermione was not afraid of the dark. Not really. She did, however, have a tendency to get lost in it, staring as she dreaded - or hoped? - she’d see... something. Something outside of her normal reality. It had always been like that for Hermione Granger.
Ever since she was a child she was always straining her imagination in order to reach beyond what she already knew, even if what her imagination conjured up was something out of a nightmare. A nightmare was still some new discovery, she figured, maybe even some tangible evidence of magic.
She’d often find several minutes had passed as she’d been caught up focusing on a dark corner of her room, or the heavy, dark shroud just beyond the edge of a forest where she was almost certain her gaze was being met. On late-night car rides, sitting low in the back of her parents’ car, driving home from some dinner party, her tired eyes would stare out at the passing trees, imagining some pale, bony hand grasping at the bark, wide, glowing eyes tracking their car.
She found certain shadows had an energy to them, a soundless vibration, or humming, that grasped at her and pulled as if she were attached to a thread or a heavy rope. A wild tide pulling at the moors of a creaking ship. And sometimes she would imagine the rope snapping.
The shadows in Radcliffe Square had such energy; and as she stood looking out from the Camera, she listened. She listened to the humming just beyond the silence, and she could swear it was being directed at her as if she were standing in a locus. A locus of what, she couldn’t say.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she slowly pushed the door closed, sounding off a loud clang, just as she felt a bony hand clasping down on her shoulder.
“Ah!” she yelped, scrambling to put her back to the door and face down whatever was behind her. Raising her fists before her, she prepared to slug whatever she faced. Just then she recognized the short figure in front of her, a scowl on her features as well as a look that could only express a profound confusion. Hermione released a breathy laugh, bringing her right fist up to her heart and bent down slightly, left hand resting on her knee. She looked up at Soledad as she regained her breath. “Bloody hell you scared me, woman! Warn me next time, Jesus Christ.”
Soledad frowned at her, “What the hell is wrong with you? I said your name before coming to check on you. You were just standing there, staring out. Thought you’d had a stroke or something.”
“I just got lost in thought… Where were you, anyway? You disappeared and didn’t answer when I called out.” Hermione said as she straightened. Rolling her eyes, Soledad turned around and started walking as she replied, “I didn’t hear. I’m an old woman, you know.” Hermione fell into step beside her.
“And how old is that exactly?” Hermione thought she saw the old woman struggling to hold back a smirk as she answered, “Lower end of eighty, I believe.” This gave Hermione pause.
Confused, she turned to look at her. “You ‘believe’? You mean you don't know?”
They rounded a desk and turned left around a bookcase, finally coming to a stop in front of an innocuous-looking door. She turned to face the older woman, who mirrored her actions.
“Yes, as I said. Do you have trouble hearing, lass? It would explain that little episode by the door, it would.” She raised a challenging eyebrow.
Now it was Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes. “No, and you know what I meant. Why are you not sure of your own age? One would think that to be a fairly simple thing to keep track of.”
Soledad turned from her, pulling out yet another chained key from her breast pocket, putting it in the, apparently locked, door and turned with a click. “Well, when one - such as myself - has much more important things to worry about, on top of spending a considerable amount of time away from, let’s say, civilisation, one tends to neglect such things.” She stepped inside, Hermione trailing her, to what was revealed to be a dark, stone staircase.
The steps looked weathered and old, worn wooden railings were set on either side of the stairway, bolted into cold and cracked stone walls. Soledad turned to face the doorway, squinting and began searching both sides for something, before, having found it, finally grasped a silvery chain hanging from the ceiling. She tugged on it, turning on a solitary light bulb - no, not solitary, Hermione noted as she saw more cobweb-covered light bulbs further down, behind Soledad, lighting the previously dark staircase in a warm, yet eerie, glow.
Soledad turned her eyes on Hermione, still standing with her back to the very steep decline. She suddenly felt quite aggravated at Soledad’s apparent carelessness.
“Could you not stand like that, please?” she requested with a grimace. Soledad grinned and took a small step back, heels coming to the very edge of the top step. “Like what?” She stuffed her hands in her trouser pockets and rocked from side to side, forwards, then back- “Stop!” Hermione quickly reached forward, grasping a cackling Soledad's upper arm and yanking her away from the stairs. As soon as Soledad was safe, Hermione punched her in the arm, and exclaimed “What the hell! Why are you laughing, you could have tripped!” Soledad's scratchy laughter died down as she looked at Hermione’s wide-eyed expression.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Georgie,” she reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, “I was only having a laugh. I didn’t know you’d be so scared...” She said, concern and quite a bit of regret evident in her features. Hermione quickly wiped away a tear she hadn’t noticed. She cleared her throat, “Yeah, sorry. My nerves have been a bit over the place lately, so I guess I overreacted.” Feeling embarrassed by the sudden care on Soledad’s face, and the emotions rising up her throat, she waved a hand towards the stairs.
“So, what is this cellar-place? What are we doing?” Thankfully, Soledad went along and let Hermione change the subject, “This is a… meeting place, of sorts. Among other things.”
Yeah, Hermione thought, ‘cause that cleared it right up, then. She certainly has a flair for the dramatic, I’ll give her that.
Soledad pulled the door closed, locking it. She turned to Hermione with a rough grin.
“So, Hermione. Ready for some madness?”

----------

Overhead, the dim lights shone down on their path, illuminating the dust cast up by their movements. Their descent was unmarred by any sounds other than the light scuffing of feet on stone.
They were encased in stone from all directions and Hermione could feel it pressing in on them. The quiet gave her a moment to really feel; her heart pattering a fast rhythm, her breathing shaky and irregular. She was still a bit shaken from Soledad’s trick.

“Now, seeing as you’re family, I’m choosing to trust you with this, alright? You seem like a smart girl, so keep what you’ve seen quiet and don’t forget I have a gun and we’ll get along splendidly.” Soledad said with a chuckle. Although something about that chuckle didn’t seem all that lighthearted to Hermione.
As they ventured deeper and deeper, Hermione began to feel… insubstantial. Ephemeral. As if the farther down she went, the less material she felt. It needn’t be said that this was disconcerting. In a move to steady herself, Hermione reached out a hand, letting her fingertips touch and sink through the stone-
Wait. Sink through the stone?
She paused on the steps.

Turning her head to the right, her mouth parted in detached surprise; she saw, she felt, her first three fingers pressing in on the stone. The stone which, incomprehensibly, gave way to their touch, bending inwards, then enveloping her fingers to the first knuckle with an audible tear.

She stood, staring as she slowly moved her fingers as if through still waters. Distractedly, she heard Soledad's steps taper off as she finally noticed Hermione’s lack of movement. Enthralled by this disturbing physicality she stepped closer, the movement sinking her hand deeper, first to her second - then third - knuckle, palm, her wrist, forearm - a harsh grip at her elbow. Startled, Hermione turned to look at Soledad’s hard face at the same time as she was yanked back, her hand withdrawing from the wall. A surge of breath was finally granted access to her lungs once again, then another. Another. Another, until her breathing was shallow and fast and tears welled up in her eyes.
“There. You’re good. You’re good now, Hermione, alright?” Soledad’s soothing words filtered through her ears as she calmed down. The previous harsh grip at her elbow had transitioned to a comforting hold on her shoulder.
Hermione noticed she had sunk down to sit on the steps, head to her knees, the only coherent thought being - “Shit.”

A huff of laughter slipped out of her. She raised her head with a deep breath and looked up at the concerned but amused eyes of Soledad.
“Yeah, I know that feeling. I guess I forgot to tell you about the funny walls, then?”, she said with a crooked grin.
Shaking off her previous disorientation she stood up, mindful not to touch the wall again, and questioned, “What was that? Do they always do that?”
“They don’t always do that, no, and as for what it is exactly… the only way I can explain it is that this place is very… pliable, both in a physical sense and in a temporal, conceptual sense. Things are always moving here, and not always in the right direction” She flourished her hands in an airy manner as she spoke.
Hermione frowned but swallowed any further questions, sensing she wouldn't get any straight answers out of her newfound Great Aunt tonight.
The woman in question was currently staring at Hermione with raised, expectant eyebrows as if asking if she was ready to continue their journey. With a sigh and a decisive nod, Hermione started down once more.

The minutes ticked by with no apparent end in sight. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever reach their destination, and what that destination would even be. Just how deep did this pass go underground? How long had it existed beneath one of the busiest universities and tourist attractions in Great Britain?
How could I not know about this? With the amount of time I spend up in the Camera I should have noticed that door, or the fact that people are apparently using it to travel so far below the city.

From the look of the place, the ancient and indented stone steps, the withering and soft wooden handrails, the lightbulbs which seemed to be a few centuries out of their correct time, it gave Hermione the impression of an amalgamation of times past and dead.
As time wore on, the sound of their steps echoed less and less. Not that Hermione noticed right away, lost in thought as she was. But, nonetheless, their descent had reached its conclusion.
With the final step taken, they stood before a small chamber, a carved, empty archway before them. Somewhere beneath the immense press of stone, there was the faint rumbling sound of rushing water. But where they stood there was only the weighty silence and the breathing of old stone.