Chapter Text
At the very edge of an unnamed small town, Yorkshire, England
Current day
Light filled the room. Tiny pieces of dust floated in the air, highlighted by the sunlight streaming in through the big windows. Shelves of books covered every wall. Some of the books were half opened, some stuck away in the corner of the shelf. It seemed that the slightest movement might make it all come toppling down. On top of the book stacks were small pieces of parchment. Tiny, yet very neat and elegant handwriting filled every single inch of the papers. Old quills lay on top of the papers, some of them broken in half, as if their user had gotten frustrated in the middle of their musings. Where there weren’t books or writings, there were drawings, maps, and complex equations. Every inch was covered.
Right in front of the large window was a great mahogany desk. You could barely see the tabletop; it was littered with old coffee cups and other lost items, never to be found again. Almost empty ink bottles had fallen over and never been picked up. The ink had dried on the table, leaving intricate patterns everywhere. A thin layer of dust dressed everything, the only exception being an old photo at the very edge of the desk. It featured three young girls.
The girls in the photo were all quite pretty, but in very different ways. The youngest was sitting on a grand, green armchair in the middle of the picture. She could not have been older than five, her feet not even reaching the floor. The girl had long blond hair, and a few of the thin strands were pulled back, showing off her face. The eyes were a striking shade of blue, filled with a mix of curiosity and cautiousness. She wore a soft smile, head tilted a bit to the left. Her hands were neatly folded in her lap, resting on the white lace gown she was wearing. She looked very pristine and adorable, like a doll in a showcase of a children’s toy store.
Sitting on the floor, leaning against the armchair was a brown eyed girl with curly black hair. In stark contrast to her little sister’s calm and collected demeanor, her face was open and kind. She wore a large, honest smile which reached her eyes. Her cheeks were round, and she had dimples on both sides. She wore a similar dress to her sister, but hers was a bit longer, covering her knees. She had small golden earrings, with an intricate pattern not distinct to the viewer.
The third girl was the eldest. Unlike her siblings, she did not look towards the camera, but at the other girls. She stood slightly behind the armchair, one hand resting on its back. She looked nearly identical to the darker of her sisters, but her appearance was opposite to her sister’s warm and welcoming smile. Instead of the white gown the other two wore, she was dressed in a black robe with green and silver detailing.
There was a double glass door leading out of the study and into a hallway. The hallway was a pool of soft light cascading through the skylight, leaving no corner in darkness. Large paintings were scattered throughout the hallway and entryway, all depicting landscapes and eloquent flowers. There were no people.
On the other side of the hallway there were two other doors. The one on the right led to a small, yet cozy sitting room. Like all of the other parts of the house, the sitting room was filled with light. Similar, down-to-earth colored paintings from the hallway continued into this space. On the floor, seated next to the windows, were several large plants. They were well taken care of, glowing and growing in the warm light. In the center there were some green armchairs, arranged around a small coffee table. However, unlike the study, there were no signs of someone using this room. Except for the plants and warm red coals in the fireplace, there was no indication of anyone ever spending time there – or even existing.
The third room was a large bedroom with only one thing in the room - a large canopy bed dressed in light green curtains placed in the middle. The bed was unmade and untidy, and there were a few pillows on the floor, like someone had tossed them off the bed in the middle of a nightmare. Every other corner in the room was untouched. Leading out of the bathroom was a small bedroom equipped with a bath. There was a window open somewhere in the space. A light breeze carried in from the outside.
There was no kitchen in the house; the only thing in the entire building except for those three rooms was an outside door. There was no lock on the door, nor a proper handle. When pushed, however, it opened with ease, and led through to a beautiful garden filled with blooming roses. The garden was filled with tiny, adorable statues of bunnies and butterflies and every other small, cute creature known to mankind. The outside of the house was larger than the building itself – from here you could see the structure in its entirety. It was a small cabin-like building, straight from a postcard.
It was the perfect scene. A bystander would say that it was a fairy godmothers’ cabin, or the summer house of a princess. It felt warm and welcoming and kind and every possible good feeling that one could possibly imagine. But if you stopped and really tried to see, you would notice. All the little things that were wrong. There was a soft change in how the light flowed through the air above the cabin. If you looked closely, you could see a thin sphere surrounding the garden and house. There were never any animals in the garden, not a bird flying overhead or a mouse running through the bushes. If you watched for long enough, you saw that nothing ever changed. The plants never died, the grass never grew, and the roses never stopped blooming. It never rained and the sky never clouded over, there was never a storm. It was always perfect, like a picture frozen in time. And if you followed the stone fence around the garden, you would always find your way back to your starting point. The fence was nothing but a large, solid circle. There was no gate. You couldn’t enter or leave the garden.
On the outside it truly did look like a fairytale. But if you were ready to truly see, you would realize it was not a fairytale at all, but a prison. A spectacular, well provided, grand prison. And like in every prison, there was a prisoner in this one. No one really knew who they were or where they came from. Nobody bothered to ask. The prisoner never entered the garden - nobody had ever even seen the door open. No one had ever tried to visit the house. Sometimes you could see a woman’s figure in the window, completely dressed in white, but that was the only signal of life anyone ever saw in the house. Very soon no one paid any attention to either the woman or the house, and everyone just forgot it even existed in the first place.
Ministry of Magic, London, England
Current day
Kingsley Shacklebolt let out a very long sigh as he leaned over his desk and rested his head on his hands. Opposite to him sat a very anxious Hermione Granger. They shared a moment of silence, interrupted only with the soft sounds of Hermione shifting in her seat as she played with the hem of her robe anxiously. The Minister opened his mouth to speak and then seemed to reconsider as if he was at a loss of words. Finally, he vocalised his thoughts.
“Why would you want to do this, Hermione? And please do not refer to the lengthy report you have written. I would like an honest answer from you. As a friend, not a superior. Why are you personally interested in this?”
“Quite frankly? I don’t know. I really don’t know.” She played with her hem in an aggressive manner. Kingsley offered her an eyebrow raise, to which Hermione gave a small huff. “I’m serious, I cannot give you a reasonable explanation as to why I would want to do this. Obviously, there are a number of benefits that could come with this plan – should it work – but I have zero idea, so to speak, why I would want to put myself through this.”
“Have you discussed this with Healer Adams?”
“No, if you really must know, not that it is any of your business. No offence.”
“None taken. Listen, I must admit that it would be greatly beneficial if you could pull this off. But I’m more concerned about you personally, Hermione.”
“I’d ask why, but I’m pretty sure I could guess most of the answers.” Kingsley let out a dry chuckle. “I’m not kidding, Hermione. You would willingly be putting yourself in the same space with someone that quite literally tortured you.”
“I’m aware. Believe me, very aware.”
Kingsley didn’t answer her immediately, instead, leaning back in his chair and pondering for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I can’t let you do this, not as a supervisor or a friend. It would not be right of me. It’s what the Muggles call a suicide mission, I believe.”
“Fair enough. I expected this, anyway, given that it is most likely the right and responsible choice. Figured I’d still try it.”
Kingsley gave her a warm smile. “It really isn’t the most horrible idea, it might even work under different circumstances, but give who we are working with? No.”
Hermione thanked him and bid him goodbye, stepping into the busy hallways of the eighth floor on the ministry of magic. It had been worth a shot anyway.