What is One Picture Worth?

Chapter One

Temper and Time




A hundred little scarlet dragons erupted and roared and spewed golden and sparkly flames into the air, before the shrieks and shouts came, and then there was laughter, as Fred and George received a jinx from their newest sister-in-law; they cowered on the grass of the Burrow’s garden, what seemed to be like a hundred turtledoves cooing and letting fly over their heads.

“Hermione! This isn’t nice—blech!� cried Fred, gagging on dove-poo.

“That will teach you not to give a fright to over-emotional brides, not when they’re leaving for their honeymoon and are currently hugging their parents and in-laws!� Hermione shouted back, though she was smiling, tears glistening in her eyes. She turned to hug her mother, Ginny (who was bent over double, convulsed, holding on to Harry) and then Molly again. After they had squeezed each other enough, only then did she turn to banish the doves, and scourgified her twin brothers-in-law.

After fastidiously dusting their white tailcoats, they flew at her, to Ron’s consternation. “Mum! They’re touching Hermione! Get off, you gits—We’re off, then, before they do anything worse.� Ron looked green.

Hermione just smiled at her husband, easing his nerves. He smiled back. They only sensed Molly herding away the twins, who looked like they’d jump on either of newly-weds again. Ron brought out an ancient giant key, their wedding present from Ernie Macmillan and his fiancée Hannah Abbott.

“You ready?� Ron whispered.

“Are you ready? You’re not fainting on me, are you?� Hermione laughed, trying to rub color into Ron’s cheeks with her hands. Harry was sniggering.

“Shut up, Harry,� Ron snapped, not looking away from those warm brown eyes.

A second later, they both disappeared from the Burrow, whisked away by the portkey. Even as the world seemed to whirl and swirl about them, their wedding clothes a blur, they never lost sight of each other’s eyes, nor lost hold of each other’s hands.

When it was over, their feet landed steadily on soft moss, and they looked up to see, beyond the foliage of the little copse of trees in which they have arrived, a charming little chateau, its gray stone reflecting the sunset, so that it glowed rose and gold instead. Like a castle from a fairy tale, Hermione thought, knowing how cliché that was, and not caring a thing. She sighed blissfully.

“Wow. All ours for the time being. Ernie deserves some firewhiskey when I see him again.�

He spoke low, as if afraid of stirring the delicate magic the landscape before them held. And then he turned to his bride, her eyes doing that trick of sparkling again, which made him wonder if she had put diamonds there. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. He couldn’t believe that as she stood there—gazing around in her inquisitive way, same old Hermione—she was his wife. His.

To make it real, to make it sweet, he bent down and kissed her.



ΩΩΩ



“…are very sorry for disturbing you, and we sincerely beg your forgiveness for this untimely intrusion. It’s just it is very urgent that you come to the meeting. We have done all we could but have now come to the point when we could no longer proceed without you. The sponsor, Ron, he wants you here, and would not hear of excuses, even when we told him you have just gotten married. He says you can return in a jiffy, as he’s on a second honeymoon with his own wife as well—�

“Oh f—Merlin, Hermione!�

“What is that Howler talking about?� Hermione hissed, stunning it venomously.

Ron was still cursing under his breath, wrenching open the letter that preceded the Howler. Everything that the Howler had announced so far had been hastily written in the letter, plus another begging pardon from their coach for sending the Howler in the first place, for fear of his silent letter being ignored.

“I have to go, Hermione.�

�What?�

The temperature in the brocaded room dropped considerably, in spite of the roaring fire the house-elves had maintained in the cavernous fireplace.

“This is from my coach. The team sponsor wants my opinion about the new beaters we’re replacing Fred and George with, since they paid to ditch their contract.�

“You can do that when we return from our trip.� They were spending a week here in Ernie’s family’s old estate in Cornwall, and then they would go to Italy, to visit Rome and Venice, and then they were off to Palawan in the Philippines, one of the most beautiful beaches and reefs in the world. Just a month. Can’t they leave them both alone for just one month?

“The sponsor also up and left his wife mid-honeymoon, looks like. I’m missing most of the season’s opening games, this is the least I could do. I am captain after all,� Ron said meekly, covering Hermione’s bare shoulder with the damask silk quilt. She recoiled from his touch with a glare.

“How revealing about your dear sponsor’s character, isn’t it? He begged to be excused from our wedding because of his second honeymoon, but now he’s left his wife for Quidditch! Damn wizards! And why did you have to let Fred and George in the team in the first place? You knew they wouldn’t stay. It’s their inventions they’re more committed to. You, of all people, should know that.�

“They were good, Hermione. They were good.�

She just sniffed, retreating as far away from him as she could in the king-size bed.

“Are you going?�

“Will you let me?�

She didn’t answer. He still had to ask that? Merlin. With another huff, she turned her back to him and burrowed deep under the covers, swallowing tears.



ΩΩΩ



The birds woke her up the next morning, as well as the soft tinkle of china. She opened her eyes and looked beside her. Incredible. He had left.

“Lukin is sorry if Lukin woke you, miss. Did you sleep well?� whispered the house-elf, bowing by the dumbwaiter glittering in the early morning light seeping in through the still-drawn curtains.

“Where’s Ron?� Hermione asked, still hoping.

“Master left before dawn, miss. He said he’ll be back in a flash and to take care of you. He said he was awfully sorry, and he asked Lukin to bring you tea to make you feel better.�

“That’s pathetic. I’ll kill him when he gets back—I’m sorry, Lukin.� Hermione felt her face going warm with embarrassment for the elf. “Thank you for the tea. I’m just…well, he shouldn’t have left me, don’t you think?�

“Lukin is sorry, miss. And master did look just as furious as miss when he left a few hours ago.�

Hermione accepted the tea Lukin poured for her and sipped. Her hand shook. She replaced the delicate little cup in her side table before she broke it. Lukin looked at the floor while Hermione wiped her angry tears with the quilt.

“Miss? Lukin will leave you now. You just pull the cord there by your bed or say my name if you need me. Maybe miss would like it to take a walk in the gardens after your breakfast. And the moor is beautiful, the heather’s in bloom.�

“Yes, thank you, Lukin,� Hermione mumbled.

Harry and Ginny and Molly would flay Ron alive if she wrote to them now. She sank back down in the bed and sulked for a while. How could he!

When her stomach alerted her to the rising morning, she opened the silver domes covering her breakfast and…ate. She couldn’t help herself, the kippers looked so good, and the buns so golden and moist, the eggs so fluffy, and the fruit glinted in their sweet glaze. She only every now and then choked at the fact that she was having breakfast on her first wedded morning alone.

Her anger at Ron mounted up. It was his fault she was in this state right now and already regaining about three quarters of the weight she had tried to shed for her wedding.

Guilty and needing to shed some frustrating furious energy, she left the bed and walked along the windows, pulling open all the drapes in the enormous room by hand.

She paused at every window, because of the view. The heather were splashes of color in the vast verdure beyond the Macmillans’ tended shrubbery and trained trees. Almost without realizing it, she was dressed and out of the castle.

Some of the gardens were walled in, and most of them were still just waking up for spring. Hermione breathed in the rich smell of the earth and made her way to the conservatory, where the magical flowers’ mingled scents made her heady. She rushed back out into the fresh air with a small rueful laugh.

There was a path made by curving hedges to the gates opening out to Bodmin Moor. Hermione followed the path and came upon a great stone fountain, like that one in the Ministry’s Atrium, although this one perhaps depicted the very first Macmillans and their children. She didn’t stoop to read the names carved on the stone, because the moor beyond was too delicious to make wait any longer.

To her surprise, she saw another castle jutting out of a green hillock to the east. It might well be the Rashleigh estate. Ernie had been going on and on about how he had kept it all those years that they were practically neighbors with the Time-turner inventor, although he’d never met the man. William Rashleigh would be close to being a century old now, if he was still alive.

Hermione walked leisurely along the little dirt road, occasionally startling sheep and moorland horses grazing. They flicked their ears at her, assessed the tourist, and then went back to their occupation. Bees were also buzzing about, whizzing past in a blur of brown, like tiny Chocolate frogs intent on escape.

“Oh, nice try, Ronald Weasley, I’ll never forgive you,� Hermione muttered, glaring at the owl winging its way toward her with a rather large parcel. Hermione turned her back to it and waited. In no time, the owl landed by her feet, gently setting the square package on the ground and began hooting at her to untie it from his legs.

“What is that? You can take it right back to him, because I’m not taking it. How dare he think he can just send me something to make up for leaving me in the middle of our first night?� And she stomped off. The poor owl gave an impatient cry and followed her to the gates.

Hermione stopped there as well, because huge vehicles drove slowly past. She had only seen them in demolition sites, those trucks with heavy cannon-like balls. What on earth were they doing here?

The owl hooted again, so imploringly Hermione took pity. “Fine. I’m letting you free. But that does not mean I forgive him. This thing could rot here for all I care.� With a last hoot, the owl flew off, leaving the brown package by the foot of the wrought-iron gates. Hermione turned her eyes away from it, lest she be overcome by curiosity, and went back to the castle, her morning soured by Ron’s contemptibly inadequate stab at reconciliation, and those demolition trucks, completely out-of-place in this serene setting. Why were ugly things following her on her honeymoon? She harrumphed.



ΩΩΩ



By the time lunch came and Ron still wasn’t back, Hermione had lost her fury and only wanted to cry. Lukin and the other house-elves kept themselves scarce, understanding that she will not be comforted by the comforts they could offer. They just drew her a bath and then left her alone.

It didn’t help that it rained, dimming the landscape with fog, leaving Hermione with no view to distract her from her misery.

So she sat in the drawing room, staring at the book open in her lap but not reading it. Tears still clogged her throat. She slept it off, deep in the armchair, imagining it was Ron’s arms she was snuggling in.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to the mellow light of the candelabra. It was evening, and that might be Lukin knocking to announce supper.

“Oh Merlin!� she suddenly screamed.

Lukin had only time to enter the room, alarmed, before Hermione was out of the manor and running in the downpour. Two female house-elves dithered whether to follow her with a cloak or not. Lukin made them wait, saying Mistress Hermione is the most able witch they’d ever known, she’d know what to do.

Lukin could never have been further from the truth. At that moment, Hermione had made it to the gates, her wand lit, and had snatched up the parcel from the ground, ripping off the sodden wrapper, only to give a strangled cry.

She could recognize the portrait. It was copied from a photograph taken by Ginny, of her and Ron cuddling by the lake at Hogwarts, shortly after the war. Ron was leaning against the beech tree, with her in front of him, his arms around her. But instead of their haphazard sweaters and jeans, they wore their wedding clothes: Ron in his immaculate tails, Hermione in her cream satin and silk sheath. Their faces were gilded by the sunset sparkling on the lake. And only the water was moving, teased by the slight breeze.

She could recognize the beauty and Ron’s thoughtfulness in the gift, though the paint had run. The picture had been ruined by the rain.

She couldn’t tell afterwards whether it was her tears or the rain she was swatting off her face as she ran. She just ran.

Twice, she slid on the slush as she made her way to the hillock. But she was heartened by a light in one of its lower windows. She trudged on, cradling the painting against herself, sheltering it as much as she could without ruining it further. She cursed her pride and temper. If it had been her office who called her, wouldn’t she have gone? Wouldn’t Ron have understood?

“No, he’d be furious, more furious than me,� she thought fondly.

She stopped walking. Macmillan Grange looked so far away. Had she walked that fast? She faced front again and bent down to her knees, catching her breath. With a prayer that her ungodly sprint would not be in vain, she continued toward the door of the Rashleigh estate, cursing the trucks in the shadows as she did so.

What shrubbery that remained were choked with wild honeysuckle and other weeds. Moss had crept up and made dark shapes on the mansion walls. Hermione kept her eyes on the one window where a light glowed, ignoring the others, which were dark and deep and gloomy, like eyes watching her.

“Nox,� she breathed, turning off her wandlight as she reached the immense double-doors. There was a heavy tarnished brass knocker, but before she had even raised her hand to lift it, the right leaf of the door creaked loudly open. Hermione just stopped herself from jumping out of her soaked skin.

“I saw your wandlight. Are you a witch?� came the rasp.

Hermione looked up at the tall old man, his pince-nez in danger of slipping off the end of his aristocratic nose. He stooped upon his cane, and he peered at Hermione with such blatant disconcerting wonder she had to summon all her Gryffindor sinew not to turn the opposite direction and bolt.

“Good evening, sir. I’m—I’m looking for Mr William Rashleigh, if he could be bothered?�

“Come in and out of the rain, gentle lady,� the old man bowed, and for a minute Hermione feared he’d topple right over. But he righted himself on his cane, and opened the door wider. As he did, and with many groanings from the giant hinges, torches blazed to life in the foyer, revealing the grandness of the castle to Hermione, covered though it was with perhaps centuries’ worth of dust.

The old man (was it Rashleigh himself?) steered her past the great sweeping staircase to an arch to the right. Here, the furniture was covered in bolts of white cloth. Hermione followed her host past the hulking and low and curved shapes, feeling a foreboding. The place held an air of loneliness and…neglect. Sad neglect, like a garden forgotten.

“Watchin!� the old man called, and a house-elf appeared, who squeaked in surprise at the sight of Hermione. “We have a guest. Give her a warm dressing gown and—�

“Oh, no, please, I can dry myself sufficiently, thank you.� Hermione did so, waving her wand over her body. When she was done, she looked from the old man to the elf and back. “I just would like to see Mr Rashleigh. I’m Hermione Granger—Weasley. Hermione Weasley. And I wish to ask for Mr Rashleigh’s help.�

“Hermione? Your name is Hermione?� the old man asked, staring more unnervingly than ever.

“Yes,� Hermione answered wearily. No doubt he would ask next about the battle.

In that, she was mistaken. The old man just stared. “Interesting. Interesting. And with that hair…� he mumbled, shaking his head with an expression of disbelief.

“Can I offer you tea, then, Hermione?� On hearing that, the elf—Watchin—scampered off without waiting for her answer.

“Forgive me, sir, but are you Mr Rashleigh?�

“Oh, yes, pardon me. It is just, I have not talked with anyone in many years, save Watchin and myself, so you have to excuse my complete lack of knowledge in sociability.�

By now, they had descended a staircase and entered a room that looked like a room indeed. Lived in, at least, as proven by the absence of dust clouds rising on the carpet underfoot and the silence of the door when it was pushed open. Sconces and candelabra gave the room cheerful light, and the walls were lined with books and some shelves were piled with parchment rolls with golden tassels.

It wasn’t quite what Hermione had expected. But she could hear a constant ticking even as they moved through the halls and rooms, as if a hundred or a thousand clocks were just outside every wall, or comprising it.

“Sit down, my dear. Ah, here’s Watchin with the tea. Relieve Miss Hermione of her things.�

Hermione allowed the elf to take her shrug and the picture.

“I wanted to show that to you. And ask if you could help me,� Hermione said, her eyes on her tea as she raised it to her lips. Please help me.

For once, Mr Rashleigh stopped staring at her and turned his eyes to the portrait.

“A beautiful work. Is this your husband?�

“Yes. We’d just gotten married yesterday.� Was it yesterday? Her happiest day? And now, only several hours later, it was her most miserable day?

“Where is he now? Wouldn’t he be looking for you? You looked as if you were running from the devil himself, you know. I hope we don’t have another one again so soon?�

“Oh no, sir. Well, he—he got called off to work. He’s the captain of a Quidditch team, see. And well, we had a fight over his leaving. Well, I was mad. I left that picture outside after the owl delivered it...�

“I see.�

After several moments of staring at her, he got up from his chair and took a battered black book from one of the shelves. He perused it for so long Hermione feared he must have forgotten she was there. She kept quiet, though, and ate when Watchin set the table with dinner. All through it, Mr Rashleigh stayed by the shelf, his silver brows knit in concentration, reading.

It seemed Watchin knew better than to disturb his master, because when Hermione opened her mouth to speak, intending to voice her intention to leave, the elf frantically shushed her, waving his little fingers between his lips.

Hermione bit her lip and stayed in her seat.

Just when she was nodding off to sleep, she heard him.

“It is feasible, yes. We could do it,� he was whispering to himself.

Yes, there were two Mr Rashleighs in the room now, identical from the balding pate down to the odd buttons on their roquelaures.

“Mr Rashleigh?� Hermione called tentatively, testing if she was really awake.

They both turned around. The other one came to her in three long strides in which he didn’t use his cane. It stood abandoned by the stack of shelves. His gray eyes blazed—with malice or joy, Hermione couldn’t tell. His smile made even more lines appear on his face.

“My dear, what is one picture worth?� he asked breathlessly.

“A—a lot, I suppose.� Hermione stood up. She didn’t like the way he towered over her. He had also taken hold of her hand. Hermione didn’t desist, but held her wand ready inside her pocket with her free hand, and kept her eyes between the two Rashleighs. “I know Ron will be very hurt if he knew I ruined this picture he commissioned for me. It might ruin our whole life, it will haunt me. Please help me, sir. I need to just go back and Impervius it or something—�

“Well said!� He bared his crooked old teeth in another overenthusiastic smile. He studied her face again and then began pulling her by her wrist.

“Where are you taking me?� Hermione asked, trying and failing to stand her ground from the old man, who seemed to have lost all feebleness all of a sudden. She turned to look at the other Rashleigh just in time to see him disappear, having turned a little golden hourglass tied around his neck.

The Rashleigh holding her, meanwhile, lifted one of the heavy tomes lying horizontal on the shelves. Suddenly, the room grew dark. But before Hermione had time to say ‘Lumos’, torches blazed around them again, illuminating a wholly different room, this one capacious and lofty, free of bookshelves and any clutter, save for one giant hourglass, its contents fluid fire, suspended in a giant ring of gold and platinum glinting in the flickering light of the torches and the silvery glow from the moon through the giant glass cinquefoil overhead.

“When you destroyed the many Time-turners in the Ministry stock—what, five years ago, was it?—they informed me. They wanted to make more, but I declined. I told them I don’t have any time-turners left myself, but I lied. I have this.� Here, he plucked the time-turner he had on under his collar and showed it to Hermione.

“Oh, well, can I borrow it, then, sir?�

“No. You will use this one.� He pointed to the giant hourglass. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“Do you know how hard it is to restore a painting? Oh, a torn canvas and broken frame is simple enough, but the paints, the colors, the oils, the very life of the picture, once diluted, is a puzzle with many lost pieces,� Mr Rashleigh said. Hermione stared at him. He stood suddenly straight and he was leaping around the giant hourglass, adjusting and tweaking and twisting knobs, as if he was twenty.

“I’m very lonely, Hermione. I have long wished to change all that.�

“I’ve seen the trucks and all those equipment outside. Are you going to destroy this castle and live somewhere else?�

“Destroy this castle!� He paused in his ministrations on the hourglass and really scared Hermione with his expression. His eyes looked as if they were preparing to leave his head. “What do you mean?�

“The—the trucks outside. Demolition equipment.�

He fell silent. “I didn’t see them, nor hear them. That blasted portrait!�

“Sir, please. I will leave now if I am bothering you. Please forget the—�

“No, no, it’s not you. You will understand presently. Sit down.�

There was no place to sit, there was only the chair attached to the circle around the hourglass. Hermione lowered herself in its edge, ready to leap up in the least threat.

“You have experience with Time-travel, my dear?�

“I’m in the records; I used one in my third year, to help me go to my extra classes—�

“Perfect. I am old, Hermione, will you do me a favor?�

He had become more and more agitated; his hobnails hammered the stone floor with a frantic rhythm as he marched back and forth before Hermione, who just raised her eyebrows at him kindly, not committing herself with words.

Rashleigh gave her a wan smile and waved his wand, conjuring a portrait, which propped itself against the hourglass’ round frame.

“I wish to discover this portrait’s significance. I feel in my bones that it is the key to my happiness. Before I die, I want to see the face of this woman, whether it is tender or mocking. I spend almost all of my time now up at the garret where she resides, just looking at her face and willing it to reveal itself.�

Hermione stared. It was a Muggle painting. The picture was still only tacked to the canvas frame, but it was beautiful, if it weren’t for its wickedly splotched state. The face looked like it had been splashed with alcohol or kerosene; the paint had dripped and was almost completely dissolved, but the woman’s dress and body had intricate detail and movement as she sat in the grass—a loving work, that much was obvious. But why was it destroyed? Perhaps because it was done by a Muggle? Were the Rashleighs snobs?

At that moment, another Rashleigh appeared beside them. This time, Hermione did shriek. The tension had gone to her nerves. Both old men apologized profusely.

“What now?� the original Rashleigh asked the other.

“The journal, how could you forget to give it to her, idiot?�

“Mr Rashleigh,� Hermione said weakly, clutching her chest. “Don’t you think this is overdoing it a bit? Do you always travel this much?�

“Well, I’m old anyway, and I know about my tinkering, so I don’t mind my other selves. Still, I could only travel so far. There are still many things I would have loved to undo or do, but couldn’t. Time is a fickle friend, after all.�

“But you could do it for me, Hermione,� the other Rashleigh said, before disappearing again with a turn of his pendant.

Here, Hermione stood from the chair and drew her wand.

Mr Rashleigh looked almost childishly petulant. “My dear, this portrait for your portrait, aren’t we equals?�

“But—alright, when was this portrait destroyed? What should I do?� She sat back down. Darn Ron and that owl and her! Darn her!

Mr Rashleigh’s face lightened again, the smile returned; though Hermione wished otherwise, he looked slightly insane in that smile. Still, she had her wand. She should do well. She could do a lot so that she won’t be seen.

The old man had conjured another object, this time a large book bound in black leather, which he placed in Hermione’s lap. It was heavy, and it smelled very old.

“You’ll need that. As we were kindly reminded awhile ago. Thank you so much, my dear.� Mr Rashleigh looked up from what he was tinkering with on the other side of the hourglass to smile at Hermione.

“How much time am I going to cross?�

“The time of the journal and the portrait, this is why they are there by you. Three turns should do it.�

Hermione took a deep breath, all nerves and fear when she first heard those words eight years ago returning to her. “Three turns." She swallowed. "And this giant time-turner has how much time in one turn? And why are its contents different?�

Mr Rashleigh looked at the swirling red mass at the bottom bulb, his expression unreadable, but unpleasant, as if he was surveying something dear to him, but dreadful. “Isn’t time like flames? It is both friend and foe. One choice, one deed, right or wrong, could turn it from one to the other or vice-versa. Not a very eloquent way to put it, but there you are. In vain I have tried to perfect it. But it would not do. This is not a time-turner, but a Century-Crosser, though it only has ninety years in one turn instead of a round one hundred.�

Hermione jumped up. But it was only her imagination, or perhaps the sensation of having been turned back, bodily, through that much time.

The hourglass had already turned.

And in the great old ballroom of the Rashleigh Manor, Hermione Granger-Weasley had already disappeared.


Author’s Note: I didn’t know if Jan’s (MagicalMaeve) ‘Bodmin Moor’ is fictional or not, so I checked it on Encarta, and discovered it very real in Cornwall. I don’t know either whether Ernie is from there, but please allow me that one license. As well as for this really big one of attributing the Time-turner to William Rashleigh. I did look around, but no name of a wizard or a witch had been appended to this little trinket.

Thank you for reading! Tell me if I did well or not. ^_^

What is One Picture Worth

Chapter Two

Seasons are Made for Change




Hermione didn’t open her eyes. She held still for several long moments, willing whatever that happened to disappear and call off the joke before she opened her eyes and accepted it as reality.

She lay on her back, her hands splayed on the floor, and she could tell it was still the same stone floor of the room she had been in before…before—No, she won’t admit that even to herself. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t believe her stupidity.

“Merlin, Morgana, Circe! Oh my god, oh no, I can’t believe this!�

Hermione’s eyes flew open at those words. She regretted it.

“Oh, you’re alright, thank goodness,� her other self said, only to contradict her professed relief by pulling at her hair.

Hermione sat up and looked around, unwilling to panic yet. She was in the same room, or hall—now she could see it properly in its real grandeur. The…the Century-Crosser—(Merlin!) was not here. Instead, there was only the shiniest expanse of marble floor, and on the walls, portraits, landscapes and murals, which just reminded her all the more of why and how she was here. She returned her other self’s wince.

“Why are there two of us here? Was there a problem with the...Century-Crosser?� the other Hermione asked.

“I think you were sent here before being given this journal. Mr Rashleigh went back in time to give it to me.�

“Alright, let’s read it.�

“Shouldn’t we hide first? What if someone walks in on us?� Hermione asked, and at the same time, she was conscious of how weird it was consulting with her self. They also stared at each other a lot. It was with satisfaction that she noted she had plucked her eyebrows just perfectly and that her skin shone like cream in the morning light. Morning. Great.

“My—our—Disillusionment Charm,� the other Hermione said, taking out her wand and rapping her at the top of the head with it. She did the same to her.
This was Hermione’s own invention. She tweaked the spell so that the one who Disillusioned you can still see you. It had been convenient loads of times.

“Whose journal is this anyway?�

“Hermione Rashleigh?�

“So that’s why he seemed assured sending us here. I’ll wager she also has brown hair like me—us.�

“Look! ‘Cicely Prewett, the prettiest and sweetest friend I’ve had so far, is a witch. I can’t believe it, but it is true. I feel safe writing about it here because, who will believe me anyway? I laugh at imagining how Leon’s face would look if ever he came upon this entry, he’s always snooping upon my diary, though I forgive him, now that I have suspicion that he snoops for love of Cicely. Oh, wouldn’t I just love her to be my sister! But I digress. Cicely is a witch. She showed me her wand. That was sweet. They use wands! Long fingers with ghastly nails are now banished from my imagination. And our friendship is sound as ever. At first, I was astonished and shocked, I thought she was only about to tell me she has feelings for Leontes as well when she told me she has something to confess! But, Cicely had always been sweet and gentle that if she says she’s a demoness I would only have been momentarily alarmed….’�

“Thank you, but I could have read it myself, you know.�

Hermione’s incredulous look was replaced by a scowl. The other Hermione just impatiently waved her nearer, pointing at another passage in the journal.

‘November 4th, 1730

‘Papa is being obtuse and Mama isn’t helping with her fussing over my cold. I shall go to London for the season. And Cicely will take me, if Leontes will not…………………………………………………………………………….’

“That’s a lot of ellipses. I think she is hinting that there’s more to this entry. She’s perhaps too skittish to risk being found out, hence, she didn’t write it down.�

The other Hermione nodded. “And this is the last entry. This is where we come in. This escape to London. Oh, my.�

“Oh and Hermione Rashleigh is a Muggle. Why would Cicely take her? The Prewetts are purebloods. Surely, they would be with our people in London?�

They both held in their gasps just then, as the doors at the end of the hall swung open. A girl looked in, in visage she was a perfect third of the two Hermiones, her brown hair in a big coif that was like a dome over her head. Locks of curls fell on her bare shoulders. Her white chest was also revealed by the low neck of her gown, which billowed from the ridiculously small waist in a ridiculously large bell. It swung about her as she walked in and whirled around. And then, with a giggle, she rushed to the doors at the other end of the hall.

The two Hermione’s, under the Disillusionment Charm, followed.

The hall connected to the other they had left was just as big, though this one held an ornate long table that could seat at least thirty. Matching ornate chairs lined the table. On one such chair was seated a young man with the same shade of hair as Hermione Rashleigh. But his eyes were blue instead of hazel, blue eyes which glowed like a light as it looked intently on the canvas he was holding before him.

“My dear brother, if it was Cicely walked in, I wonder if you would ignore her as much.�

The young man’s head jerked up at the mention of Cicely’s name. Hermione Rashleigh laughed.

“I think this is Leontes,� Hermione’s other self whispered. Hermione frantically shushed her, and earned a glare.

“You call her Cicely all the time, have you no shame? She is your superior not just in age,� the young man said, running a hand through his hair. He wore a blue waistcoat embroidered with silver and a full tie of cream lace bloomed at his neck. He touched it and Hermione Rashleigh yelped at the smudge of green his fingers left there.

“We’re friends, Leon,� she said, ruffling the cravat expertly to hide the stain. “And she’s only two years older than I. Don’t be so hideously puritanical.� She laughed again when her brother grimaced at her choice of words. “I wager you call her Cicely, too.�

Leontes blushed so fiercely that his sister quieted and the two Hermiones exchanged looks. With a sniff, he picked at a spot on his canvas. “Why am I even enduring your wild tongue? I thought you were breakfasting with Miss Prewett.�

“You’re right, do you not have eyes? Do I look like I’m remaining here in this empty cave?� And the girl turned fancifully, showing off her golden gown and matching ankle boots. “Cicely and I will just go for a stroll, since the MacMillans are come early and the whole family’s having breakfast now together.�

“Walking?�

“Don’t even try to stop me. These shoes are sturdy enough, however dainty they look. And the walks between here and the Grange are quite clean.�

“What? No, no, not that. I’ve no objection to your shoes. Can I come with you? I—I won’t exactly accompany you; just let me look at you both. I’ve a picture in mind.�

“Indeed? You’re always welcome, brother mine.�

“Do stop grinning like an imp. Please leave me for now. I can’t concentrate with you babbling in the same room.�

“Is that our quarry? Come on, let’s look,� Hermione whispered. They inched toward William’s back, careful not to make the slightest sound on the gleaming wooden floor. Hermione Rashleigh had flounced out. But then she flew back in and kissed her brother, her hoop skirt hitting the two other Hermiones in the shins.

When the whirlwind had gone, they let out their breath and moved closer to face the canvas.

No, it was only a landscape. The moor. Leontes shifted to take a draft from the goblet beside him. And they saw the tiniest silhouette of a woman sitting among the blooms of the heather.



ΩΩΩ



“I’m beginning to think it’s fortunate there are two of us here, you know. One of us can keep an eye on Leontes, the other on Cicely. Our other Hermione is obviously the one whose place we’ll take.�

The other Hermione nodded, pacing. “Do you know any spells to change our clothes?�

“If you don’t, I don’t.�

“There’s no call for being snappy.�

“Are you forgetting I’m—we’re—newly married? And that my—our—husband must be losing his mind looking for me—us—right now?�

“Are you forgetting you have traveled time before? This is just the same as that. Though two centuries overboard. We’ll go back. We’ll just have to make our way to it. And it doesn’t help griping. Calm down.�

Hermione took a deep fortifying breath. “Thank you, you’re right.� She looked in on the door of Hermione Rashleigh’s sitting room. The girl was grumbling to herself in front of her mirror, fixing a ‘buffont’ over her chest, pushed to it by her mother, who had looked in a moment ago and was scandalized at her daughter’s daring to walk out with her chest bare after her cold. The buffont was a large diaphanous scarf. It was rather pretty, Hermione thought. She couldn’t understand why Hermione Rashleigh grumbled. It was swathed around the neck and shoulders, puffed out at the front.

“I’m almost sure she will go to London with Cicely, just as we’re sure the portrait we’re saving is Cicely’s. But we have to watch them first because we don’t know the plan. Then one of us can take Hermione’s place and go with Cicely.�

“Why is Cicely Prewett with the Macmillans? Maybe they intermarried?�

“Sounded like it.�

“I wonder why Ron never told me—us—that they’re related to Ernie.�

The two Hermione’s giggled softly.



ΩΩΩ



“I’ve been wondering when my own mother will let me start wearing the contouche! How well you look in it, Cicely.�

“Clementine brought it for me.�

“And how are your sister and her husband, Miss Prewett?� Leontes asked.

“They’re very well, I thank you. They have brought gifts for your family, too. They are just now resting, though they hope to have the honor of calling on you later.�

“We will be delighted.�

The two Hermiones have followed the Rashleigh brother and sister to the gates of MacMillan Grange, where they were met by a rather beautiful young woman with strawberry blond hair and eyes so blue and so pale. It was no wonder Leontes was smitten. And it was no wonder his sister teased. He only had the courage to look at her when she was preoccupied with the ribbon that held her draped ensemble. When she looked up, he would suddenly turn his head as if a bird had shrieked somewhere.

“Ladies, you best take that walk now before we get cold here.�

Cicely gave a demure nod and smile and took Hermione’s hand. Leontes stood and just watched them for several seconds, before he almost ran to catch up, though they hadn’t gone far with those skirts. The two Hermiones followed.

“I’m sorry for startling you, ladies. I was just wondering, Miss Prewett, if I would see you later when your sister and brother calls.�

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m afraid not.� Cicely answered too quickly, plucking at her lace cuffs.

“Even if I entreat you to come?�

“Please don’t. I’m sorry.� Those cuffs were in danger of being ripped off now.

“Why won’t you come, my dear?� Hermione asked, looking between their flushed faces and looking alarmed.

“You know I’m going to London, Hermione. I’m…packing. Yes, packing.�

“You are intent on going?� Leontes asked.

This time, Cicely met his eyes. “There is no reason why I should not, is there?�

He nodded, bowed slightly, and left.

“Oh! Cicely, please tell me what just happened!� Hermione cried, taking both of Cicely’s gloved hands.

“Nothing, nothing, my dear. Please forgive me, but your brother and I have some misunderstandings. We’ll resolve them, don’t worry. Just not now.�

Hermione looked fretful. Cicely shook her hands. “Listen, the ribbon is ready. You have to be there at eight this evening, are you ready?�

Hermione’s face transformed to glee. “Oh! Yes, I’m all packed as well and—�

“No, no, dear, you don’t have to bring anything—�

“You’re jesting, Cicely! London and not bring anything?�

“Are you forgetting my wand?�

“Oh my! You mean—oh goodness, I’ll just have to see what you’ll do then.�

They were walking now and Hermione was almost skipping. The two Hermione Grangers behind her disapproved such childish behavior, but Cicely seemed charmed, because she smiled and looked like a nymph in her ecru gown, walking in the gardens clothed in the reds and golds of autumn.



ΩΩΩ



While Earnest and Clementine Macmillan held court downstairs, Hermione Rashleigh dressed. And so did the two Hermione Grangers shadowing her. They had thought it best to do it with H. Rashleigh, so that they would know how.

Everything they touched was also Disillusioned, so it was not a problem when they picked clothes from H. Rashleigh’s open wardrobe. What she was wearing she had already laid out on the bed.

The two Hermiones each hunted a corset, a bodice, stockings, petticoats, a gown and ruffles. Aside from shoes. They had leisure choosing from H. Rashleigh’s collection of knee-high boots. And they rejoiced when the shoes were in their size.

“This has to be tight, breathe in,� Hermione whispered to her other self, lacing her corset at the back. Soon, she was the one grumbling when it was her corset being pulled.

And then they slipped on their gowns, exchanging dreamy looks at the feel of chiffon and silk and lace. But then they realized they had to stop moving. Their sleeve ruffles rustled too much. And when they wore their farthingales over their petticoats, they honestly considered levitating themselves to still be able to follow Hermione Rashleigh.

Hermione One was in yellow and in that round coif, H. Rashleigh’s favorite colour and hairstyle. She was to follow H. Rashleigh and afterward stay with Cicely.

Hermione Two was in periwinkle blue, reminiscent of her first dress robes. When Hermione One sends her a certain otter, she would lift the Disillusionment charm and take the place of H. Rashleigh in the house, to keep a very keen eye on Leontes. Both Hermiones had a copy of the journal as reference against familial and fraternal blunders.




ΩΩΩ



The whalebone was surprisingly light, Hermione found it easier than she had expected to walk and even speed-walk in her large skirt. H. Rashleigh wasn’t in a hurry. She had told her parents and attendant that she was only going out for a walk in the gardens. Hermione followed her with her wand out, prepared to hinder anyone who might hinder them.

They reached and exited the Rashleigh gates without incident. Instead of going toward the Macmillan Grange, however, H. Rashleigh turned left, heading to the little wood at the edge of the moor between the two neighboring estates.

When they arrived, Hermione noticed the ribbon attached to one tree. It pointed inward, toward the trees. Before she could wonder about this, there was a telltale POP of someone Apparating. Hermione flung out her wand hand. But it was only Cicely.

“What happened to you? You look…deflated!� H. Rashleigh giggled. Cicely joined her. Hermione smiled herself, because Cicely had apparently forgone her farthingale. Her skirt flowed down from her waist in great billowy folds like a hot-air balloon without air.

“Remove yours as well, my dear. And then I will shrink it and place it in our décolletage. Farthingales aren’t safe for portkeying.�

“Portkeying?� H. Rashleigh asked, already hoisting up her skirt to remove her whalebone.

“They’re newly invented. Floo is too grimy, carpets are too windy and ruins coifs, long-distance apparition is tiring, so we now have Portkeys. They’re all the rage, but Papa wouldn’t tell me the incantation. I got it from Chris and Cal instead.�

H. Rashleigh had been nodding vaguely, but on thos last words, she brightened with comprehension. “Oh, Chrisanty and Caledon, aren’t they coming then if this is from them?�

“They’ll be flayed alive when Papa finds out I wheedled the incantation from them,� Cicely grinned, pointing her wand at the bell-frame and shrinking it. True to her word, she then tucked it between H. Rashleigh’s breasts. “Now, here is our portkey.�

She brought out a brown boot lacing.

“What would it do?� H. Rashleigh asked. Hermione was now so close by them their skirts joined each other on the ground. She pointed her wand to the right, thought about her wedding day, and fired her Patronus. She had told it not to show itself until several yards off. When it shone through the gloom, Cicely jumped and ran to look at it. In several swift wand movements, H. Rashleigh was Stunned, the Disillusionment charm was placed on her, Hermione swapped their clothes and then Confunded the girl on the ground for good measure, so that she would just go home when she woke up.

When Cicely returned, she asked, “What was it?�

“I think I just saw a corporeal Patronus. Or perhaps it was only Cal and Chris and their tricks.� She shrugged, holding out the boot lace again. “This will take us to London. Portus.�

Hermione faked astonishment as the lacing glowed. Cicely smiled. “Now we touch it. This will be my first time as well, so just hold on, dear.�

Hermione nodded, her stomach clenching. She only liked a portkey when it transported her to her honeymoon.

They landed on their backsides in the wooden floor of a cozy sitting room. Cicely looked stunned. And she looked even more amazed when her ‘Muggle’ friend spoke.

“You said Floo was too grimy, carpets too windy. This is too undignified, isn’t it?�



Author’s Note: I don’t want to reveal my source just yet, but a contouche is that wide over-dress hung loose from the shoulders and gathered or fastened around the waist with bows of ribbon. It’s like… a modern-day peignoir, I know you can now imagine it, and lace corsets are worn under it to adorn the chest in contrasting colors to the contouche. It was in fashion from 1720 to 1730. The farthingale was reinstated at the same period.

What is One Picture Worth?

Chapter Three

Lost time…




London~



Cicely suppressed a giggle and nodded at Hermione, catching her breath. Hermione thought she could see vestiges of Molly in this young woman.

They got up from the floor with some difficulty, owing to the bolts of brocade pooled and tangled around their legs. And then they had to tiptoe through the room to the couch. “My Aunt Bones sleeps early, we mustn’t wake her, or she’ll be really cross,� Cicely whispered.

“This is your aunt’s house?� Hermione whispered back, looking around the room. There was nothing extraordinary, not even a moving portrait. And she expected ‘Aunt Bones’ was a witch.

“Yes, it is—�

“Where in London are we?�

“King’s Square.�

Hermione nodded, hiding her impression. From what she remembered of London history, they were not just in the affluent West End, but in one of London’s most fashionable residence squares of the time.

Cicely seemed surprised of her silence. Hermione held in her instinct of covering up. Hermione Rashleigh had been childishly, annoyingly innocent and clueless. Let Cicely not see a difference. “Are you alright, my dear?�

“Yes, I’m fine, Cicely, thank you,� she raised her brows in inquiry.

“It’s just I’m astonished you aren’t bombarding me with questions about our recent ‘activity’.�

“Oh, well, I—I have too many, I suppose I’m still in shock—can—can anyone just arrive here like we did?� Hermione beamed inwardly. That was nicely done.

“No, no, my aunt has recently secured this place with wards so that only close relatives could come by portkey. The fireplace and the whole house are secured likewise for Flooing and Apparition.�

“Will you excuse me for not asking about Flooing and Apparition just yet?�

Hermione feared she had pushed her luck too far. Cicely stared at her for several moments. And then she laughed, only to clap a hand to her mouth.

“You are such a dear, Hermione,� she whispered, smiling fondly.

“I didn’t know that, Leontes always made it clear that I’m every opposite of a ‘dear’ anyone can imagine.�

Cicely giggled softly again, but it sounded distracted, and her eyes dimmed a fraction, something that didn’t escape Hermione Granger’s own.

“Cicely—�

“Oh, don’t. Please, dear. Perhaps tomorrow. I’m not prepared tonight. Follow me; I’ll take us to our room. Aunt Bones always keeps it ready, and now that Clementine is married, you will own her bed.�



ΩΩΩ



“Cicely? Clementine?�

Hermione bolted upright in her bed at the loud, shrill voice that seemed to have rocked the room. She even thought she saw the curtains tremble.

“Oh, bless me, could you be Hermione Rashleigh, then?� asked the woman standing at the doorway. Behind her, a house-elf appeared, bewitching two breakfast trays aloft.

“Yes, Aunt, Hermione Rashleigh, whom I and Clementine have told you so much about. The MacMillans’ charming neighbor. Hermione, this is my aunt, Cecilia Bones. I am named after her, and that’s fitting, as I love her to pieces,� Cicely grinned at her aunt, who rolled her eyes and waved the house-elf in.

“You’re a wicked girl, using your sweet tongue on your poor aunt to ensure that I defend you again from your father’s riding whip. I presume you have Cal and Chris to thank for arriving here without your father, his blessing, landau, or Floo powder? Because I would have heard, you know. And you Apparate quite loudly, too.�

“It’s not my fault my twin brothers never know when to stop bragging.�

Aunt Bones just rolled her eyes again, though they twinkled as if she was proud of her niece’s accomplishment. “And have you slept well, Miss Rashleigh?�

“I have, thank you, Mrs Bones.�

“Oh, call me Aunt Bones, like your friend here. We shall make much of you. Just don’t look too surprised about the things you’ll see, eh? We are having company for supper tonight. How would you like that?�

“Oh, Aunt! So soon!�

“I had no idea you’d be appearing here like a sneaky mouse, Cicely, so don’t accuse me with a ‘So soon!’�

“I shouldn’t have, when do you ever not have company? My aunt and uncle are quite sought after, Hermione, don’t be surprised if we wake up tomorrow to the sounds of what seems like legions Apparating or Flooing in the ante-room below.�

“You needn’t worry about that anymore, we have put Silencing Charms around the walls of all these rooms so as not to disturb when there’s company. And I’m glad we are having company, because I don’t intend you to go gallivanting off with your guest to Merlin knows where.�

“Oh, who are you and what have you done with my dear old Aunt?�

Hermione watched the aunt and niece chatter even as she sipped her tea. So her husband was also distantly related to the Bones, she thought wanly. How she missed him! She shook her head.

Mrs Bones had the same shade of Cicely’s hair, and it shone beneath the stiff lace cap which stood tall on her head like a ship’s sails. Her farthingale was gargantuan, and she had entered the door sideways because of it. Powdered breasts almost peaked out of her tight and low corset. But her clothes were all somber black, even the lace cascading down her wrists.

“Well, I have had enough of your noise for now, Cicely. Hermione, if you need anything, tell your friend, or one of the servants—they are house-elves, you know, and nothing to fear about them.� With a slight bow, she withdrew—sideways—from the room. Before the door latched, she poked her head back in. “If you run away and defy you dear old aunt, you will regret it, Cicely.�

Her eyes twinkled again as she said it, not in threat, either. This made Cicely gasp and clasp her hands. “She is expecting some company, I suppose.�

“Why are your aunt and uncle sought after, then?� Hermione asked, thinking that such a question was characteristic of her Rashleigh counterpart.

“Just my aunt now. My uncle died two years ago. But she doesn’t like him referred to in the past tense or excluded at all. They never had children, though they were very much in love. My uncle was a founding member of the Wizangamot—that’s our new high court. He is still remembered and his friends like doting on his wife. She is quite a lot younger than him.�

“Can we talk about your row with Leontes now?�

Cicely choked on her scone. She gulped at her tea, her eyes watering. “Don’t speak in rhymes, Hermione,� she laughed.

“Don’t hedge, Cicely.�

Cicely lost her smile. “Your brother doesn’t trust me, I hate that.�

Hermione frowned. “How do you know he doesn’t trust you?�

“Listen, dear, you should know, I—� Cicely blushed. “I love your brother, and he says he loves me. I told him I have a secret he must know in time, but he wouldn’t wait, he couldn’t wait! I don’t like being caged in suspicion, he reminds me of my father, who guards my every move as if I wouldn’t even know to breathe right for myself.�

“He’s just like his namesake, then,� Hermione muttered after several moments, not knowing what else to say.

“Yes, isn’t he,� Cicely muttered back, tugging at her wrist ruffles again (There didn’t seem to be clothing in this era devoid of ruffles, Hermione thought). Cicely looked up at her. “I thought you might enlighten me why he acts like that, this is why I waited until morning, because then I could brood over your answer the whole day instead of losing sleep last night, which would have made me cranky, and that would be rude to you and to my aunt.�

“Oh—I—I don’t know, I have no idea, perhaps he is just—afraid that this secret might tear you from him? Why are you making him wait, anyway? I could help you tell him about your witchhood.�

Cicely blinked. “It’s not my witchhood, dear. Though it does figure into the matter greatly.�




ΩΩΩ



Cornwall~



Hermione sat in the dining chamber of the Rashleigh Manor, trying not to hyperventilate. Her ‘brother’ was in the same spot they found him in yesterday (Was it only yesterday? Hermione thought again), scowling and glaring at her every other second, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She was reading H. Rashleigh’s journal, or pretending to read it. No further entries had appeared, and the others had just been helpful in Hermione’s charade. All three of the Rashleighs were oblivious that their real relation was missing.

Yes, missing. Hermione couldn’t imagine where her counterpart was. The Stunning spell would have lasted an hour at most, after which Hermione would have cast herself under the Disillusionment Charm once more to give room to H.Rashleigh. But she had not returned home. Not last night. And if she came home today, there would be trouble.

Mr Prewett had visited them during breakfast. First, to look for his daughter, second, to warn Mr Rashleigh to guard his own. Her ‘father’ took this to heart, and had told Leontes not to let Hermione out of his sight. The elder Rashleighs had gone to their various duties on the estate.

Hermione was stuck like a pixie in a snare. No diary entries to cast light on what she would do next, and there was the worry of where the real H.Rashleigh had got to. She could only hope her other self was doing better in London.

No, a better hope was to hope that she would soon wake from this nightmare and be back in Ron’s arms. She groaned.

Leontes looked up, his glare softening. “You honestly don’t know where Ci—Miss Prewett had gone, do you?�

“No, I don’t, so please stop tormenting me about it.�

“You’re the tormentor here, flipping through that book, sighing, groaning, stomping your foot, how could a man work through all that?�

“‘Work’? You call staining your cravat and cuffs and waistcoat with as many shades of color as you could ‘work’?� But Hermione noted his own worry over his lady love, and feeling the sympathy of being in the same boat, she swept her skirts aside and walked over to him.

She had held her breath, hoping against hope that this would be the portrait, but when she looked over his broad shoulder, she let out the breath in disappointment, only to suck it back in the second it took her to perceive the poignant beauty of the picture.

In it was depicted all the hues of autumn, and against the dark maroon bark of a tree leaned a girl in black, the cream white of her nape contrasting with all the yellows and reds and that black gown. Her face was not seen, just her red locks uncovered by any mantle or cap. She sat there surrounded by red and gold leaves, and her hand clutched at some of them beside her. She seemed to be looking far off in the sunset, or at her lap. Hermione couldn’t tell. The girl’s slightly bowed head looked so sad it made her want to cry.

“Why do you paint such lonely pictures, Leon? Is she in pain?�

“Yes, she was, I suppose. She never told me.�

“What? Who is this? Cicely?�

“How could you ask me who this is, foolish girl?� he snarled.

Hermione gaped at him. Leontes gaped back, apparently surprised at his own outburst. He also looked remorseful. “I—I suppose you don’t remember her anymore, Hermione?�

Hermione shook her head, almost too eagerly.

“This is Emilia. I loved her. And I also hate her.�

While Hermione digested this new piece of puzzle, Leontes tore his eyes away from the painting and walked to the window. It looked out to the north, to the moor. Hermione joined him there, opened the casements, and they both filled their lungs with the chilled air, as if they both welcomed the freezing sensation it gave their hearts and their hearts’ hurts.

Leontes then smiled at her. His blue eyes held fierce fires though. He sighed. “Let’s go to London.�



Author’s Note: For non-Britons like me, King’s Square is Soho Square. Wikipedia says it was built in the 1670’s, and was in its early years one of the most fashionable places to live in London. It remains an expensive address to this day. Of course, as this story is set in 1730, I’m not sure if I’m right until then. Please bear with me. Also, I like the thought that the Prewetts moved in Wizarding alta-sociedad. In fact, I think all purebloods did. Perhaps some fortunes just dwindled and ran out through the centuries, that’s all. And I also made a liberty about the Wizengamot. I couldn't find anything leading to when it was established, so...*shrug and grin*

What is One Picture Worth?

Chapter Four

…is never found again.




Hermione tried hard not to agonize over her predicament and admirably paid attention to their leave-taking, bidding goodbye to the MacMillans, the Prewetts and the elder Rashleighs as she and Leontes boarded the chaise. They were bound for Red Lion Square, Holburn, where Mrs Rashleigh’s brother lived as a physician. (He was also an art connoisseur, and Leontes had great friendship with him, from what H. Rashleigh had written of him in her diary.) The journey itself would take a week, with stops to change horses and rest for the night.

Caledon and Chrisanty Prewett had quite a tousle, both wanting to be the one to hand her in. The two brothers were nearly exact counterparts of Fred and George, except that they had black hair. That, paired with their pale blue eyes, would have made Hermione fluttery like a schoolgirl, if she wasn’t a little distracted by the lonely thought that she was centuries away from her husband.

“Pray visit my aunt Bones in King’s Square. We are certain Cicely is with her. And pray warn her not to come home without enough port to pacify my father, or new silk gloves for my mother,� Clementine said in a stage whisper after Hermione’s maid had finished arranging her skirts in the carriage floor. Mr Prewett scowled and vowed nothing could stop him thrashing his undutiful daughter. Leontes looked quite alarmed here, and seeing Hermione had noticed, tried to mask it by bowing to their send-off party. He climbed the chaise and sat beside her with a sigh.

“Are you warm?� he asked his ‘sister’ offhandedly as the carriage wheels trundled into motion. It was very early in the morning, and they couldn’t see past several feet out the window due to the fog still blanketing Bodmin Moor.

“I’m perfectly fine,� Hermione lied. “You’re the one who looks like you had something unpleasant for breakfast.�

“I’m fine.�

“Suppose you tell me more about Emilia.�

“No.�

“But we have time, and you can’t read without going insane in all this juggle and rattle.�

“Sleep, then. You packed all night.�

Hermione hadn’t slept much because of worrying and planning and looking for another journal that might shed light to the mystery that was Emilia, but as Mrs Rashleigh had the habit of checking on her ‘daughter’, Hermione had brought out a valise, nearly laid all the contents of her wardrobe on her bed, and told them the ruse that she was picking what to bring although Leontes insisted that she had enough clothes at Red Lion Square to last a lifetime.

“You’d be bored then,� she countered with a grin. Over the few days, Hermione had fallen into pace with bickering with Leontes. His deep affection for his sister was evident, though he always complained of exasperation.

“Are you spending this whole travel plaguing me? Because if you are, I’m trading my seat with Mr James’s and be postilion in his place.�

“And get us in a bog or off a cliff?�

Leontes changed mid-laugh to a cough. He choked. Hermione thumped his back.

“You’re incorrigible, Hermione.�

“If you want to silence me, tell me a story. Start with Emilia.�

“She’s not a story.� Leontes averted his eyes and looked straight ahead out the window.

“Of course not, Leon. That’s why I want to know about her.�

He turned to her a little bewildered. “You’re just not being tiresome, are you? You really can’t remember her?�

Hermione thought it best not to answer. She just looked at him expectantly. She had mastered this technique with Ron and Harry.

“She died three years ago. You didn’t like her because she was just Dawson’s daughter. You forget that we only came upon the Rashleigh Manor through father’s great-uncle. You and Mother and Father and your airs… But I loved her. We kept it from my father and mother.�

Hermione succeeded in acting like this wasn’t news. She just smiled and touched his brown sleeve. “I was a good confidant then, wasn’t I?�

However, Leontes spoke as if he was alone in the chaise. His voice had changed, and under the sleeve, Hermione felt his arm muscles clench. She looked down and saw his hands were fists on his knees. “She didn’t tell me she was ill. She just died without my knowing she was even dying.�

He was angry. Hermione removed her hold on his arm. He noticed this and blinked. He took a deep breath; the color that had gathered on his face diminished and he sank back on the seat as if tired.

“Do you know this secret Ci—Miss Prewett—has? If you do, would you have compassion for your brother and tell me?�

Hermione smiled. She understood. Her hand returned on his arm. “She is not ill; I can assure you of that.�

He smiled back, a pained smile that gave Hermione foreboding. He closed his eyes and slept.

Hermione chewed on her lip for several moments. At the chaise’s front end, several easels were propped on the luggage platform, encased in sheepskin. Hermione could see them through the front window, and it was all she could do not to stop the carriage right then and look through them to see if the portrait she was to save was among them. She looked at Leontes and pulled out her wand.

“Lord strike me dead!� Mr James gasped. He pulled on the reins and the team nearly sat down. Somber Londoners on their way to business stopped in their sedate gaits as if stunned and stared at the post-chaise.

Hermione pointed her wand at the glass covering the front window. A small hole appeared. Through this hole, an Obliviate spell hit Mr James squarely in his nape. He blinked, and, apparently relieved of the astonishing memory of being in Cornwall one second and being in London the next, he shook the reins with a nervous glance to his passengers, as if afraid they were annoyed about his dawdling. Hermione gave him a curt nod through the window, and turned to wake her brother, who yawned, stretched and looked out, muttering, “Oh, finally.�

After fifteen more minutes of agony, they arrived in Holburn. After the mansions in Cornwall, the houses there looked small to Hermione, but they were pretty in their quaint way, all bricks, stone and slate. They stopped before a gray and white house that was easily the largest in the square. Beside the door, there was a brass plate, but before Hermione could read it, the door opened, and like a whirlwind, a woman descended the steps and opened the carriage door.

“To think that I was thinking of you only this morning! I was just about to write! Oh, Leon, Hermione! Your uncle would be so pleased! But he had gone out, and will be gone until the morrow, I’m afraid. No matter. And what delightful sleeves you have today, my dear. Look over there, Mr Prentice is ogling your waistcoat, I always tell him you are very smart, Leon. Here, my sweet, let Lily untie your hat, you will disarrange your coif if you try it yourself.�

All this was uttered by the woman with hardly a breath in between embraces to Leon and kisses to Hermione’s cheeks. She was tall and thin, with her hair high up in a bun. She was fair from head to toe, because her hair was the palest blonde. Her gown was almost too brightly white for the eyes, but Hermione thought it fitting for the wife of a physician.

“Aunt Athena, you had better continue our welcome inside; I see Mrs Kettleburn has joined Mr Prentice in ogling us.�

Hermione nodded to agree with Leontes, and Aunt Athena waved at her neighbors before sweeping back up to her door. Lily, the servant, followed after seeing that neither brother nor sister had brought any luggage. Hermione then had the opportunity to read the brass plate. Leontes was occupied with his easels, and that was lucky, because Hermione had tried to hide her surprise but failed.

Frederick McGonagall,
Surgeon, Surgeon Instrument Maker, Chymist


ΩΩΩ



King’s Square~



The day passed remarkably well for Hermione in King’s Square. Aunt Bones allowed them to visit Diagon Alley after making them swear they’d be back for supper. Charing Cross was to the east of the square, and as punishment for portkeying without permission, Aunt Bones forbid them the use of the fireplace, and instead sent them on foot to The Leaky Cauldron with a pie recipe for Emma Dodderidge.

Outside the house, Cicely said, “We could Apparate, you know, but my aunt knew I wouldn’t subject you to that discomfort.�

Hermione relished the refreshing view of London, with chaises and sedan chairs instead of cars and trams rolling up and down the roads. They walked North instead of East, and strolled along Oxford Street until they came upon Hyde Park where the Serpentine was in construction. Though the fashionable hour was still a long way off, there were women walking here with much more gargantuan skirts than she or Cicely had ever worn, and the two of them often shared a private laugh over the thought of how these women contrived to move.

With this gallivanting, they soon tired.

Cicely suddenly pulled Hermione to a less crowded street. Just a couple of men were walking down it. When these men had turned the corner, Cicely took her wand from her décolletage and stuck out her arm.

BANG!

A violently purple stagecoach appeared in front of them. There were no horses tethered to them, though Hermione suspected there were thestrals in the harnesses instead. Hermione faked an astonished look, Cicely smiled and led her to the stagecoach’s door, which opened, revealing a long-faced young man in a glaring waistcoat—it was violently purple on one side and violently yellow on the other.

“Welcome to the Knight Coach, emergency transportation for the witch and wizard aground. I am Barnabas Prang, and I will be your conductor this—�

“Good morning to you, too, Barny. To The Leaky Cauldron, please.�

Cicely dropped some Knuts onto Barny’s pouch, and he gave them tickets. Hermione continued her look of utmost interest until Cicely held her hand and pulled her to a seat. As soon as she was settled, Hermione locked a hold on her chair, preparing for the Knight Coach’s BANG.

The BANG did come, but instead of being thrown over, there was a great heave, as if the coach suddenly took off into the air. Hermione sighed in relief, but turned the sigh into a gasp for her act.

“This thing will roam London not until two decades hence, but one Seer saw it, and made use of it. Isn’t it nice that we’re ahead of Muggles—oh, forgive me, I mean no offense, dear.�

Hermione just smilingly shrugged. “What is Muggles?� In answer, Cicely just shook her head amused, and perused the pie recipe.

It wasn’t a minute before Barny announced their stop. The Leaky Cauldron was still the same, only a lot less grubby. Emma Dodderidge looked a lot like Tom, without the baldness. Her hair was a riot of blonde curls and her breasts looked like they were a couple of white mush melons. When Cicely gave her the recipe, she clutched Cicely.

“I am simply pushed against the wall here, dear, so I would impose this upon you. Please bring this pie to my great-grandaunt. She doesn’t want to see me, you see. Something about her current ficklemood attack.�

“Oh, I would love to. I have not seen Daisy in a while. And my friend Hermione here would love to see our hospital, I’m sure.�

“Thank you, dears. When you return, I’ll have moonberry pudding waiting for you.�

Cicely just nodded and led Hermione to the great hearth. Hermione listened as she explained Flooing. She again faked shock when Cicely disappeared in the flames. Emma patted her on the back and threw the powder for her.

“Pie recipes and pies! I hope my aunt Bones doesn’t serve any pies this evening,� Cicely quipped, waving her wand over Hermione to remove the soot.

St. Mungo’s was much the same as its latter counterpart. The same orbs floated along the ceilings, and the Healers had the same green robes, only that the witches had farthingales under theirs. Cicely led her along the corridors as if she had often before visited Daisy. They paused at the second floor landing; a Healer came around the double-doors and rapped them in their heads with her wand.

“The sicknesses they deal with in this floor are contagious, so the Healer gave us a Temporary-Immunition Charm.�

“Only temporary?� Hermione asked, though she knew the answer.

“Yes, the charm doesn’t work longer than six hours on adults. They last three years on infants.�

They stopped on the Selia Hippocrata Ward. On its door, there was the same hand-written sign on stiff parchment; Healer-in-Charge: Dilys Derwent
Trainee Healer: Algernon Buffwood

As they opened the doors to the ward, a Healer with silver ringlets under her winged cap went out. “I would be chary with these ficklemood patients right now, ladies,� she said with a smile.

Daisy smiled at them likewise. Her face was draped in a spider web of wrinkles, but her eyes didn’t look as if age had touched them. She hugged them and graciously accepted the pie, and then sent it hurtling through the air when Cicely mentioned it was from Emma. It landed on another patient’s Exploding Snap tower. Crust and custard flew everywhere. Cicely and Hermione raced out the ward in a crouch, and fell to their knees outside the doors, where they were joined in their mirth by Healer Derwent, who had stayed if anything went amiss with her high-strung patients and the visitors.



ΩΩΩ



“We’re lucky to have been out, you know, as Aunt Bones tends to dither over dinner details so much until even the butcher a mile off is nervous,� Cicely whispered as they climbed the stairs to their room to dress for that evening’s company. Aunt Bones had only nodded at them when they recounted their day and then cried out when Cicely asked her if they had better dress. The woman had flown to her own room in as much speed as her skirts would allow, and then bellowed out at the girls not to tarry either.

Cicely took particular concern dressing, and exercised as much care over Hermione. They each had an elf to lace their corsets to perfection. The elves used magic, of course, and Hermione ‘oof-ed’ as all the air in her midribs was suddenly squeezed out of her.

Their stockings were of silk, and so were their hoop skirts. Their chemisette had such a profusion of lace on the sleeves, which rustled down their wrists with the illusion of being attached to their gowns. But in fact, their gown’s sleeves only reached their elbows. Cicely’s was in pale sky blue, with a red ribbon around its waist, and matching lace framing the low décolletage. Hermione’s was in gold with black trimming. Her corset was also black, matching her chemisette’s ruffles, showcasing the creamy paleness of her chest and arms.

Cicely was inspired by Healer Derwent’s ringlets, and fashioned their hair into the same style, only differing in the number and size of the curls. Hermione’s were large and many; Cicely’s were fewer and tiny.

They forewent wash-balls of rice and flour for their faces. Hermione was glad that she and Cicely were of the same mind regarding the era’s make-up. Cicely did insist on some rouge for their lips though.

When they came downstairs, the elves were congregated around the foyer, ready to take coats and cloaks. Hermione’s stomach butterflies Apparated at this point, because she was about to participate in an authentic eighteenth-century Wizarding dinner, and she wondered if there were any differences from the Muggle one, which in itself would be a revelation to her. History of Magic had long replaced English society history in her stored knowledge.

Aunt Bones, resplendent in black velvet and a red and black lace veil on her hair, led them to the drawing-room. Here they sat waiting for each guest’s announcement and entrance.

If it weren’t for their wives and the distinctive elaborate embroidery on their waistcoats (which were almost unvaryingly only dragons and hippogriffs), Hermione wouldn’t have told the men apart. They all wore the same wigs.

The Lufkins were the first to arrive. Mr Lufkin rather faded into the background; it was his wife who had the aura and the superior demeanor, despite being petite and pregnant.

“Do not tell me you have invited Lady Sanguina?� Mrs Lufkin said. “We passed her in a blood-red sedan chair, her chairmen paler than the moon I was amazed they could even move.�

“I did invite her, Artemisia, because it is such fun seeing the two of you sparring verbally,� returned Aunt Bones.

Cicely and Hermione were presented, but hardly had they dropped to curtsey when Mr and Madam Edgar Stroulger and Mr and Madam Glanmore Peakes were announced and ushered into the room.

These names were familiar to Hermione.

“…my niece, Cicely Prewett and her friend, Hermione Rashleigh. Ladies, Edgar is a talented young man who had recently been recognized for inventing the Sneakoscope. And of course, Glanmore here is—�

“—the slayer of the Sea Serpent of Cromer! My dear sir, my brothers highly admire you, though they lost a wager to me because they insisted the sea serpent was hogwash—�

“Cicely, dear.�

“It’s quite alright, Cecilia. I wish you had brought your brothers with you, Miss Prewett. And charmed to meet you, Miss Rashleigh. I hope you enjoy your evening with us tonight, though I know it would astonish more times than is proper. I was Muggleborn, you know.� Mr Peakes smiled. He was quite older than Edgar, but he looked tougher and more outgoing. Edgar was quiet and had the same dubious demeanor as Moody.

“Lady Carmilda Sanguina!� squeaked the elf-butler, in high terror rather than pompously. Hermione couldn’t contain her gasp, not when the lady suddenly appeared at her side, her lips on her neck, hissing, “I diztinguish Muggle blood that izn’t mazculine and old.�

“I’m not ‘old’, Carmilda,� said Mr Peakes lightly, pulling Lady Sanguina away from Hermione. “And look how much you scared Miss Rashleigh. Quite a faux pas unworthy of you, dear.�

“Forgive me, Miss Rashleigh,� Lady Sanguina said graciously, dropping on the couch with a sigh after returning Mrs Lufkin’s glare.

“Are you alright?� Cicely whispered to Hermione, taking her aside to the piano.

Hermione had already recovered; after all, she had faced much worse. But she pretended some shallow breaths. “She—she’s a—she looks like a—�

“She is a vampire, they say she’s been around since the late fifteenth century and that she bathes in her victims’ blood to retain her youth and beauty, but nothing to fret about; she knows not to mess with us.�

“Madam Iridisca Comstock!� announced the elf.

Hermione blinked and Cicely giggled in delight. “That’s my godmother. Doesn’t she look ravishing?�

The witch had on a flowing satin gown that held all the hues of the spectrum; the rainbows of color curved and eddied with her movements as she went about kissing the ladies. “Comstock asks to be excused, dear, something came up at the Ministry, you know how it is,� she was saying to Aunt Bones, before spotting Cicely and squealing like a girl. “My sweet child, how more beautiful you bloom every year! And who is this?�

Hermione was introduced. Madam Comstock eyed her critically for several moments and then pointed her wand at Hermione’s gown. The black trimming and ruffles turned auburn. “Better, isn’t it?�

All the ladies nodded, speechless.

“Who else are you expecting, my dear Madam Bones?� Mrs Lufkin asked afterward, her eyes still on Lady Sanguina, who likewise eyed her while tracing two-inch red talons around the whalebone buttons decorating her black corset. She was the only other woman in black in the party, and Aunt Bones looked quite angelic compared to her.

“We’re waiting for just one now, dear, Lord Whithers—�

“That old loon, always ‘fashionably’ late.�

“Surely you are not referring to me?�

An old wizard had entered the room; the elf’s mouth was still open, cut off from announcing the new guest. He closed his mouth, drew in breath, and opened his mouth wide again only to be once more interrupted. “I have brought someone with me, Cecilia, the father of my granddaughter’s best friend at Hogwarts. I am quite in ecstasy over his horse drawings. And he has given me an idea we wish to share with you this evening. Do you mind, dear?�

“You expect me to rebuff when you have already brought the man? Merlin forbid such ungraciousness on my part, Stoddard. Fetch him. Shame on you for making him wait in my foyer!�

The old wizard grinned, bowed, and went out. He returned with a much younger man in tow, with black hair and a very prim expression. He smiled curtly around the party, but when his eyes reached Hermione, he blinked.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?�

“Oh, Mr McGonagall, I took her with me. I’m Cicely Prewett—�

“Yes, yes, I remember you, forgive me. And I bid you all good evening. Lord Whithers have invited me here after our talk this morning, and I felt it my duty to such a kind patron to acquiesce to his gracious invitation. I’ve never been to King’s Square before. And—�

“—he nearly convulsed when he saw this house between the Fauconberg and Carlisle houses.�

“Well, who would have thought, indeed! I understand that to your people, there are only the Carlisle and the Fauconberg on this side, Mr McGonagall?�

“Yes, madam. Whom am I addressing?�

Introductions were done by Aunt Bones and Lord Whithers. Hermione’s stomach butterflies were in a frenzy, until Cicely whispered to her, “Go and kiss your uncle!� There, the mystery was unveiled. She held on to his arm as they proceeded to the dining room. Lord Whithers escorted Aunt Bones; Cicely held onto her godmother; Lady Sanguina was good-naturedly taken by Mr Peakes on his other arm. The other two couples followed.

Hermione braced herself, taking deep calming breaths on the sly. After this dinner, she just needed to find her ‘uncle’ alone before he left to make him forget he met his niece in London, in a house magically built between two Muggle mansions.



Author’s Notes:

~The chaise is generally an enclosed four-wheeled carriage seating up to three people, and driven by a rider mounted on one of the horses (a "postilion"). The more or less standard vehicle for families which are "respectable", but not extremely wealthy. With thanks to Magical Maeve, h_vic, and red and gold for Reference help about 18th Century travel over at the forums, though I belatedly realized Hermione wouldn't suffer through a long journey when she had her wand.

~ Red Lion Square is located south of Theobald Road and named after the inn at Holburn; this square was laid out in 1684 by Nicholas Barbon on a 17 acre paddock. It was the London residence of the famous Mr. Harrison while he was constructing his clock. I chose this as location because this is the only London street where I found a historical address of surgeons. (No kidding. What an amazing website my source is!)

~ The spell I made Hermione use was a combined Portus and Apparition spell of my own invention. It enables you to Apparate with, say, your car. Hermione invented this so that she can still enjoy short drives. Of course, you and your car always appear somewhere discreet. In this story, the chaise appeared on a deserted side-street before bursting into the crowded thoroughfare. The Londoners stared because of Mr James execration and the horses’ nearly plopping down on the road.

~ Yes, the McGonagalls have a witch for a daughter, though they themselves were Muggles. Also, ‘chymist’ is not a typo. It was spelled that way in my source.


~ Dilys Derwent was a St. Mungo’s Healer from 1722-1741 prior to becoming Hogwarts head. It is accepted canon that she might have held an administrative position afterward in St. Mungo’s to be considered Hogwarts head without a teaching stint beforehand. But as this story is in 1730, I took a liberty and made her in charge of one ward in the meanwhile.

~ The Fauconberg House and the Carlisle House shared the East Side of King’s Square.
This description of the Fauconberg House was what made my germ of an idea of inserting the Bones residence between the two houses: “This house had a frontage of sixty-four feet to the square (ref. 21) and its irregular fenestration suggests that it was originally built as two houses, or was converted into one during the course of its construction.�

~ The dinner guests were from the Lexicon’s Famous Wizard Cards list. I have never played the COS game, so forgive me if I made some mistakes in description.
The following guests are ancestors to the famous witch/wizard I was inspired with:

Iridisca Comstock- to Magenta Comstock (1895-1991), JKR.com Wizard of the Month (forgot which month); she was an art enthusiast who experimented with the technique where the eyes of the portrait not only followed people around the room, but to their homes.

The Lufkins- grandparents to Artemisia Lufkin (1754-1825) (whom I declare named after her grandmother, hehe), the first witch to become Minister of Magic.

~ I will reveal my handy sources for this story only in the concluding chapter. Thanks for reading!

What is One Picture Worth?

Chapter Five

Wasted time…




King’s Square~




Hermione was almost enjoying dinner until she made the mistake of standing up after the elves had cleared the table of the miniature sugar-paste Hogwarts after dessert. Cicely stared at her in inquiry, so Hermione made the pretense of reaching for another macaroon across the table, dipped it into the chocolate-flavored liqueur, and smiled abashedly at her uncle, Cicely and Aunt Bones. The elf bowed to Hermione, indicating if she wanted any more macaroons. Hermione shook her head, and all the tasses à glaces disappeared, to be replaced by goblets of wine and sherry and snuff boxes. Aunt Bones then stood up. The ladies and the ladies only, followed her to the music room.

The harp and the white piano there played by themselves, and when the gentlemen joined them, the Stroulgers danced, Mrs Lufkin laughingly accepted Mr McGonagall, and Lord Whithers pulled Aunt Bones—or Summoned her to his side, it looked like it, because Aunt Bones rapped him a good one on the forehead with her ivory fan.

“Hermione, I need to get your uncle alone subsequently, so I could modify his memory. He had a disagreement with your father, and that is the reason why he was surprised you were here; I suppose they had not yet heard of your disappearance, or perhaps your brother’s letter concerning it had not arrived yet. This regular correspondence between your uncle and his nephew is what I am anxious about; I don’t want to be talked of between them, your uncle might—�

Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, yes, I understand. You’d want to tell Leontes your secrets yourself. I will detain my uncle so that he would be last to leave, and then you can modify his memory.� Though she had no idea what she could detain him about. He seemed a very intelligent man, and not at all intimidated by these wizards of superior rank and consequence. This endeared him to the company.

“My mother insists on throwing a pre-birth party for my child,� Mrs Lufkin had said at dinner, rolling her green eyes. “We will send you an invitation, Mr McGonagall. Bring your family, and we will make sure we smuggle your daughter and Lord Whithers’s granddaughter from Hogwarts for the evening as well.�

And true to McGonagall dignity, he had smiled and bowed and only expressed hope the girls would be advised beforehand to finish all their homework early.

“Pardon me, but I have to get this out, Lord Whithers knows I speak my mind. But you seem to have none of the country’s predominant feeling of…keeping to their ranks and class in society?�

“Oh, I know what you’re implying, my dear doctor. Don’t get too complacent, I regret to admit that there are some of us who follow this segregation code in more ways than one—�

Mrs Lufkin was interrupted by a laugh from Lady Sanguina.

“It is stupid, it not, Artemisia? What does blood matter? They all taste the same.�

Mrs Lufkin didn’t dignify this with a reply or even a look. Lady Sanguina scowled. “But, I find the Muggles are right in their own prejudice. Disparity between classes is always felt acutely. I was in one of the filthier parts of town this morning, and the haphazard houses there made me laugh, crumbling they were—�

“—And would be a perfect haunt for the likes of you? Iridisca, you had better tell Artemius about this,� Mrs Lufkin said, drinking some sherry and smiling at Lady Sanguina’s bared fangs.

Mr McGonagall cleared his throat. “I beg to note that ‘the filthier part of town’ is not the residents’ fault, my lady. They are neglected by the throne and the ministers at the moment. My daughter Juno has told us in one of her letters that they at school are thinking of having their own paper, and my daughter plans to write an essay about Muggle-London’s current state.�

Lady Sanguina thought it wiser not to retort at the approving nods this statement produced, and just cut her rare venison rather violently.

In her own way, Hermione was proud of Professor McGonagall’s Muggle ancestor, and she almost regretted not being truly a niece of his. She steeled herself to help Cicely do what was needed to be done.

Hermione used the loo, however, and everything flew out of her mind when a silver otter whooshed through one of the cinquefoils in the wall.



ΩΩΩ



Red Lion Square~



Hermione had to resort to magically refreshing her eyes the next morning so that Aunt Athena and Leontes would have nothing to question her on. She hardly slept thinking about Hermione Rashleigh and the blasted portrait that had yet to appear. After sending the Patronus to tell her other self that she was also in London with Leontes, she had sneaked onto the parlor and only discovered landscapes and horses among Leontes’s brought pictures.

“Miss?� Lily asked, poking her head through the door. She was Aunt Athena’s maid, although she also attended to the patients: of which there were currently four in the ward, two of them children. “Breakfast is ready; Mrs McGonagall and Mr Rashleigh are waiting for you in the parlour. The doctor has arrived as well. I’ll help you with your gown.�

“No—no, thank you, Lily. Please tell my aunt and my brother that I’m coming down in a moment. I’m just…shaking off sleep.�

Lily smiled at her, nodded and departed, leaving Hermione free to use her wand further on herself. She was swathed in lace and caged in her whalebone in a moment. Yesterday’s dinner and high tea had been easy. She wondered about breakfast as she descended the stairs.

When she entered the breakfast parlour, she gasped. Mr Prentice and Mrs Kettleburn and several wigged men were there, along with some young people that were undoubtedly children to the adults. Leontes was conversing with a prim gentleman with black hair; he was the only male in the party not wearing a wig for even Leontes has covered his own brown locks.

“Well!� the man said, catching sight of her. He and Leontes walked toward her and Hermione was given a one-armed slight squeeze around the shoulders. “Have you done shaking off sleep?�

Who is this person? Hermione swallowed her anxiety and just smiled and greeted them, “Good morning.�

She was saved from further comment (to her and by her) when Aunt Athena entered the room, still in white, leading a procession of half a dozen servants aside from Lily.

Hermione was steered by Leontes and the black-haired man to the mahogany sideboard. There, to Hermione’s astonishment, was a buffet of oatmeal with sweet cream, smoked herrings, sardines with mustard sauce, grilled trout with white butter sauce, cold veal pies, grilled kidneys, sausages with mashed potatoes, beef tongue with hot horseradish sauce, kippers and enough bacon to feed a hungry army. There were three kinds of fresh bread and four kinds of rolls, with a choice of spreads including butter, honey, orange marmalade, and jams made from raspberries, cherries and apples found in a three-tiered dumbwaiter standing not far off. French and Spanish brandies, fresh apple cider, tea and coffee were in a pier cabinet.

Hermione was served some of some and then she sat on the mahogany table in the center of the room, where another servant stood, waiting to be of service by refilling plates and bringing cups and goblets. The chatter was to a minimum (though Hermione had soon gathered that the man she doesn’t recognize was her uncle, Dr McGonagall) and none were addressed to Hermione except for Mrs Kettleburn’s frequent notice of her matching gown and shoes. The woman wore a commode, which, Aunt Athena whispered, was “Now outdated.�

The guests soon left, because the children were getting restless, and the good doctor had things to attend to. But Uncle Freddie remained seated, opening and rifling through his calling card case and smiling.

“I take it your dinner yesterday went splendidly?� Aunt Athena asked as the servants cleared the things in their quiet and unobtrusive way. Leontes had already propped an easel by the window, after Uncle Freddie had told him the perfect north light would disappear before noon.

“Very much,� answered the doctor. “I almost envy Juno of her world, you know.�

Leontes looked at Hermione in puzzlement. Their uncle noticed this and cleared his throat. “Your cousin has made connections we would never dream of otherwise, you see. We are invited to a party, and I think you would be delighted with it, especially you, Hermione. A dinner in Piccadilly, just think! And you might meet a kind master there, too, Leon.�

With that and a peer at his pocket watch, he left the room.

“Where does Juno go to school again, Aunt?� Leon asked.

“Hog—Howard Art School,� Aunt Athena nodded enthusiastically. “And no one seems to know about it, located somewhere in Scotland, we believe. They sent us a letter about their accepting Juno, and that was that. Not that we applied, either. The letter just came, so your uncle and I suspect they have agents who do the job of looking for talented children—�

“Do they accept only Londoners?�

“Oh no! Juno says she has a friend all the way from Ireland.�

“Then why—�

“Oh, stupid of me, dear—of course—I don’t know—I mean, we did wonder—if Juno had received a letter…why did you not—perhaps it would come still—yes, perhaps later…� Aunt Athena mumbled in between gulps of her Souchong. She choked on the unstrained leaves at the bottom of her cup, laughed, and left them rather hastily.

“What’s your pleasure there then, brother mine?� Hermione stood and went to the easel. She was disappointed to see the galloping roan horses.

“Do their gaits and legs appear right?�

“How should I know?� Hermione said in authentic pique. She was tiring of all this, wearing corsets, wearing farthingales, wearing her hair in chignon, and being so far from Ron! “Have you ever painted me?�

“Why, I thought you swore never to ask me such a vain question!� Leontes laughed.

“What about Cicely?�

Leontes lost his pleasant demeanor. His thumb twitched in his palette. When he turned such mournful eyes to Hermione, she dearly wished she hadn’t asked the question. And when she heard his answer, she nearly swore in a way that would have made Ron proud if he could hear her.

“What is one picture worth? I could always paint her another, but who would want to render the resentful face that has replaced her beautiful and cheerful one in my memory?�



ΩΩΩ



Number Twenty-Six, Piccadilly, Mayfair~


Hermione stood with Cicely and Aunt Bones in the Lufkins’ grand hall, trying to look pleasant and excited about the unusual things around her though anticipating trouble and musing on trouble. Where was Hermione Rashleigh?

In their Patronus-delivered agreement, Hermione had told her other self that the one to arrive first at the Lufkins would send the otter again as a prompt to the other for Disillusionment. Hermione had already done so in the privacy of a water closet.

When she came out, she found Cicely outside the door, looking grim.

“The Blacks are here. They are a very old family, and such status has made them worse than snubs. They feel like royalty. I came to tell you that Mrs Lufkin has warned me not to tell that you and your uncle are Muggles. Understand that we are not ashamed of you, dear. But the Blacks can be nasty. So when he arrives, he must know as well and not be too frank about his profession.�

“We will tell him. When do you think they will arrive? Leontes is coming, isn’t he?�

“Leontes! What! Is he in town?�

“I—I don’t know, but—but he usually visits my uncle at this time of year, doesn’t he? If he is with them, my uncle would surely take him.�

Cicely nodded. “Well, I should be thankful I can steel myself now for his appearance.�

“I shouldn’t have told you of the possibility of his arriving then.�

“I wouldn’t have forgiven you then,� Cicely returned as fondly.

“Ladies, lurking in halls will not do. Descend to the merriment below, if you please. Dinner will be rung shortly,� Mrs Lufkin told them, smiling, as she passed them to use the water closet.

Hermione and Cicely climbed down the staircase arm in arm and as close as their crinolines would allow. Hermione noted with amusement that the balusters of the balconies and staircases also billowed outward to accommodate the era’s feminine fashion. In the hall, more skirts swept the floor, and if it weren’t for her complicated situation with missing girls and portraits, she would have relished the scene.

The chandeliers shed golden light over the party’s jewels, powdered wigs and white cleavages. There was lace and ruffles everywhere and behind ivory silk fans, secret messages were conveyed. The air was redolent of perfumed pipes and conservatory flowers, which bloomed not only on vases but on the ladies’ hair and gowns.

Hermione regretted missing the Blacks’ arrival, but Cicely pointed them out, three people standing together by the piano, one man and two women, their chins and noses high in the air, and barely nodding their patrician heads when greeted. A man in a long wig came near them, and to this man they turned graciously and began conversation.

“That man is a Malfoy, I presume. All of them are blondes. Or perhaps a Rosier. Come, dear, let us walk through the room. I feel as if I shall freeze here like statue if I maintain my nerves rigidly.�

Hermione smiled and they moved through the throng, whispering to each other about the gowns, Cicely adding a gossip about the one wearing it. There were a lot of Crouch ladies, several Lestranges, Boneses, Bulstrodes, Smiths, and a couple of Potters and Weasleys, of whom the Blacks and the blonde man with them were clearly talking of, sending glares.

They caught snatches of conversation but joined in none of them. However, as they reached one circle where a Weasley stood out in his uncovered brilliant red crop, Hermione stopped.

“…name is Granger, but they all left for France now. Very intelligent and sociable. Interesting though is the news that one of them stayed here. The eldest son. The family were quite in a state searching for him before leaving, but they didn’t find him. We think perhaps the pixies did another Dymphna Furmage and abducted him. But he’s a quiet, inquisitive sort of a Muggle fellow, so he might just stare at them and poke and pry until they lose their tiny minds.�

The listeners broke into laughter here. Cicely was staring at Hermione, probably wondering about her sudden interest, but any inquiry was preempted by the gong being sounded, and the butler announcing Lord Stoddard Whithers, Mr and Mrs Frederick McGonagall, and Mr Leontes Rashleigh.

Cicely paled and clutched Hermione’s arm, thereby not noticing that Hermione herself had lost some color as well.

Mr and Mrs Lufkin greeted the newly arrived guests. Shortly after, others were announced, so Lord Whithers led his company forward, all of them gazing around for familiar faces. Leontes immediately spotted the two ladies. He was with them in a heartbeat. His eyes were connected to Cicely as he walked, but when he reached them, he tore his eyes away from hers and hissed at Hermione.

“Where had you disappeared to? You gave Aunt Athena a fright—You changed!� he exclaimed involuntarily, staring down her gown. Hermione wore an auburn frock then, trimmed with gold lace, reminiscent of Gryffindor colors. Cicely wore midnight blue, also with gold frills, very becoming to her coloring.

“Now, lad, it will not do to question ladies’ vanity and its powers and charms,� Mr McGonagall said, smiling at them and bowing to Cicely. Aunt Athena seized Hermione and kissed her.

Thankfully, any further inquiry was once again forestalled, this time by the dinner bell sounding. The Blacks were given the front of the procession, and they took it as if it was only due them, without any acknowledgment whatsoever to Mr Lufkin.

Both Cicely and Hermione wanted to escape, but both of them had one of their elbows clasped by Leontes. He led them to chairs and sat between them.

Hermione was prepared now and was not surprised to see the table packed with several kinds of food. It reminded her of Hogwarts. She had just expected dining to be like a Muggle, modern one, soup first, then the next courses brought to the table…

But no. The dishes for the first course were all there now. In the center of the table was the principal meat, the veal, the ‘bombarded veal’. Around it stood the other dishes, whose names Hermione heard from her fellow diners; salmon pie, pumpkin pudding, eggs au mitoir, peach fritters. syllabub, stewed soles, quakin’ pudding, stewed beef steaks and the soup, which Mr Lufkin began to serve with the help of two house-elves.

After the soup tureens were emptied, everyone drank and toasted for the little Lufkin. And then Mr Lufkin began the carving, which prompted the others to partake of the meats. Each dish was kept warm by magic.

It was easier than Hermione was nervous about, because both Cicely and Leontes gave their full attention to eating. Leontes only spoke to either of the ladies beside him to offer them some of the food. Otherwise, Hermione’s fears of being found out calmed. The sweet and creamy syllabub added to her peace. The first course having done, the plates and table-cloth were vanished and then replaced. Fruit tarts, jellies and creams appeared.

These went on smoothly, with just some smiles exchanged between Hermione and Cicely. Mr and Mrs McGonagall were entertained by Lord Whithers and Aunt Bones. Leontes was silent, but his eyes followed Cicely when they weren’t lowered to his plate.

And then the elves changed the table cloth again for dessert. There appeared on the table delicate, exquisite little sugar-paste sculptures of nine women. Between them, bowls of ices appeared.

It was at this moment that Cicely turned upon Leontes, causing Hermione to whip her head around from staring at Erato, the muse of love poetry.

“Have you brought my picture?�

Leontes turned to her slowly. “Why, have I had the honor of drawing you, Miss Prewett? Could one even do so? Capturing the light and charm of your face is a feat worthy of Hercules, I do think.�

Cicely smiled. “You are not a coward, Mr Rashleigh. Tell me frankly, have you destroyed it or have you not?�

Hermione heard a rustle behind her at this point, distracting her from watching her ‘brother’ and ‘best friend’. The whispering nearly made her jump, and she only stopped herself from moaning at the message. Instead, she lashed out.

“What does it matter if he has?�

Cicely and Leontes both turned to Hermione, their mouths slowly gaping as her words sunk in.



Author’s Note: ~At the beginning of this chapter, Hermione’s mistake is standing up before the hostess. Traditionally, the hostess led the ladies away.

~Tasses a glaces are the dainty cups that hold dessert ices.

~The early eighteenth century also saw the rise of publication, hence, the sidenote about Juno and her peers planning to have their own paper.

~The breakfast I described here is considered ‘simple’. The ‘enough bacon to feed an army’ phrase is a direct quote from Samuel Johnson, who had written about his English breakfast. In his breakfast, there were nine servants (!), five to serve at the buffet, and four to guard the plates from being empty.

~A commode is a big dome of a hat which protected the elaborately high hairstyles of the day.

~Dymphna Furmage (1612-1698) – was abducted by pixies in Cornwall and lived in mortal fear of them henceforth (from the Lexicon FW Cards)

~The dinner dishes, except the pumpkin pudding, are directly borrowed from The Jane Austen Cookbook, the source of my as yet secret online source (hehe).

~a syllabub is popular in the eighteenth century and contained cider or wine sweetened and flavoured with nutmeg, milk and then cream. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it?

What is One Picture Worth?

Chapter Six

…is worse than no time at all.




The nervy, frosty good nights between the two girls that evening, the trip to Red Lion Square, and the departure for, and arrival back in Cornwall, were like strands of incoherent thoughts that swirled thickly and fast in a Pensieve for Hermione. And now she was in H.Rashleigh’s room, sitting dazed under the bed’s canopy, like a bird stuck in a thicket in a tempest. Lost and afraid. Yes, she was afraid. Her other self stood before her, paced, stood, paced. Hermione snarled. The other Hermione jumped and snarled back.

“You shouldn’t have said that. We’re here for that blasted portrait alone. I just want to go back to Ron. I don’t give a damn about Cicely and Leontes’s own love story! Mine is centuries away and it’s barely started!�

“I don’t know how Ron and Harry could have put up with you.�

“I am you.�

Hermione burst into tears.

“Don’t do this, there’s no time for this.� And yet after a second, their bawling rose in a chorus in the room.

A maid knocking on the room stunned them into silence. Hermione dismissed the maid, suppressing a hiccough.

“You know, I was so furious with what you said because, well, because you’re right. I—we—wouldn’t have landed in this mess if I just stopped to think that it didn’t matter if the picture was ruined. Ron would have been mad but…�

“…he never stays that way for long. We never stay that way for long.�

“Yes. Oh, Merlin.�

“Let’s take a walk outside. I want the cold. Maybe when we return—�

“—the Century Crosser is waiting in the foyer.�

“We sound like Fred and George.�

“We’re one self, not just twins.�

Hermione choked on a sob. “I miss them.�

“And Ron.� Hermione sighed.

Of one mind, they pointed their wands at each other, and they disappeared. The only sign of their presence was the door’s swinging open, and close.



ΩΩΩ



In one corner of the Rashleighs’ northern hayloft, Leontes had his court. His easels stood around as if they were listening to him, or scolding him. The light from the wide-open windows almost made the many eyes glare, so Leontes had learned not to look; he just felt. It was enough. Emilia was with him; irate, but with him.

Something stirred the chill air, and along with it came a whiff of rosewater. Leontes looked up. He jumped when he saw her there.

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you were here. I will leave now.�

“No, please stay, Cicely.�

“What for?� But she didn’t sound bitter.

“What else?�

“I told you I would never sit for you again.�

“I told you I would trust you. We break our words.� Leontes smiled wanly as Cicely perched on an upturned milk bucket.

“I killed her, Leontes.�

“What?�

A cloud passed over the windows, and the light from the weak winter sun dimmed in the hayloft.

“Emilia. I’m a witch, Leontes. Your sister knows it. Please don’t be alarmed.�

Leontes shook his head and nodded at the same time, incredulous, bewildered and impatient.

“One day, shortly after Clementine’s engagement. I wandered off alone and climbed a tree—this tree.� She pointed at the picture of the black-clad girl leaning against an oak trunk. “You and Emilia came shortly; you didn’t see me. Nor did you feel the spell that shot off my wand to her chest.

“I don’t even know what spell it was. I was just watching you, aching for her, because I could see she was utterly sad, I did not utter nor think any incantation. And then—we came back a year later and found out she’d died. Th-this is my secret, Leontes, the reason why I couldn’t bear your affection.�

Leontes shook his head. “I can only digest so much, Cicely. I don’t comprehend what you’ve said in the last minute, I couldn’t grasp the allusions and facts, if allusions and facts they are. But Emilia died of a long-borne disease of the blood. It ran in her father’s family. Where do you figure in it?�



ΩΩΩ



The two Hermiones sitting in the straw-covered floor exchanged looks, smiling at Cicely’s dazed face, in spite of the earlier words about not caring about other people’s loves and lives.

“That’s settled then. Get up, our playing audience is over. Look at all these portraits, we might get lucky still.�

One Hermione rose; the other tried to pull her back down.

“No.�

“What?�

“Are you insane? Do you realize what we almost did or what we might have already done?�

“Now I know how Ron and Harry feel sometimes.�

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave her other self’s wrist another tug. She felt like tearing her hair out. She fought to keep her voice down. “We can’t change anything at all in William Rashleigh’s life! What if it all led to his not making Time-turners? What would we have done to save Sirius?�

The cloud obscuring the sun moved past; light flooded the loft, illuminating the glowing faces of Leontes and Cicely, smiling at each other as one painted and the other sat.

The Hermione on her feet took one look at them and swayed.

The Hermione on her haunches tried to pull her upright but it was too late.

Like dominoes, the easels leaned and dropped onto one another, stopping only when the farthermost portrait hit the small shelf of paints and oils by the wall.

“They just fell!� Cicely cried, instantly righting the easels with her wand. Leontes stared open-mouthed.

“You really are a w-witch then?�

“Yes, dear. All the MacMillans and my family are wizards and witches as well.�

Leontes just let out a sort of strangled half-chuckle, half-gasp. But Cicely was looking the portrait which had fallen onto the paints and oils.

“Oh, no, I can’t fix this.�

Leontes blinked and joined her by the picture, which he picked up and propped against the floor and wall by their feet.

“It was not you, it was not like. Somehow, I painted you less beautiful and more ethereal than you really are. This was when I was upset about you; perhaps my hands tried a stab at making me hate and forget you. A very fruitless stab it was, too. When I finished it, it only made me ache to paint you as you are. I followed you to London, intending to see you with my sister so I could capture and store your happy face in my memory—�

“My happy face, is that all? And just in your memory?�

“You know the answer to that, Miss Prewett. Are you certain you don’t have me bespelled?�

“If you are, you wouldn’t be standing here embracing me, but sitting down in that chair trying another stab at my portrait. But as it is, I just think about Hermione’s words. I wanted to see this portrait, to see if you had vented any spite and mistrust. But what does it matter if you have, indeed? You had every right to. I was at fault.�

“No more.�



ΩΩΩ



The dimness of dusk settled on Bodmin Moor shortly after dinner, and the two Hermiones, only one of them visible, sat on H.Rashleigh’s bedroom couch, trying to look cheerful as Cicely brushed her hair at the dressing table, bubbling over her as yet secret engagement with Leontes.

“It’s all thanks to you, dear. Your outburst at the Lufkins’ certainly brought us to our senses.�

Hermione smiled; she could have sobbed heartily though.

“I wish I could lend horses to time! They say it flies when one is in love, but no, it crawls so hideously slow!�

“Invent a spell then, or some trinket so that people can play with time as they wish or need,� Hermione said in a rush.

Cicely stared at her. “My word, you spout off the most wonderful ideas lately. Whyever not?� And laughing, Cicely picked her wand and waved it at Hermione.

“This will be silly, but I only know so much of Latin…Tempus Fugitus!�

A loud groaning sound reverberated in the room, and Hermione felt the force of the spell knock her onto her other self. They stared at each other, and at Cicely, who was looking at them horrified. “No, I didn’t, no, I didn’t! I didn’t!�

She dropped her wand and brush and sprang to her feet, her hands held in front of her as if feeling for Hermione in the couch.

“But we’re right here, what is she doing?�

“The spell worked. We’re going home.�

“But we’re still here!�

Cicely was breathing in sobs now, still chanting “I didn’t, I didn’t!� She lay on the floor and cried for a few seconds, and then she pulled herself up, picked up her skirts and ran for the door.

But it opened before she reached it, and Hermione Rashleigh came in.

“Well, isn’t this the strangest business! My father and mother and brother insist I’ve been to London and only scolded me for the state of my gown, when instead I’ve been expecting them to cry all over me and squeeze me to death in relief at seeing me again! But no, not even a drop of tear from my mother. But I see, you, at least, have been grieving for me, Cicely.�

Cicely and the two Hermiones stared at the girl. And then with an anguished cry Cicely rushed to her and hugged her. Hermione Rashleigh returned the embrace, preening.

“I’m glad to see you, too, dear. But really, you must all forgive me for not being the least disturbed that I caused you all distress, because how can I be anything but happy—how can anyone be anything but positively blissful, Cicely! When they have found their love?�

“Oh, sit down,� Cicely said weakly, plopping onto the bed. “You gave me a fright. I thought I had done something dreadful to you. What happened? Tell me so I can reverse whatever it is.�

“What are you talking about, Cicely? I don’t understand you. But as to what happened to me, why I’ve been in the woods these last few days. It’s a little confused in my mind, but I got lost in there—I don’t know how. I remember waking up and seeing a ribbon pointing into the trees, so I followed it, thinking it was a plan between ourselves.� Cicely gasped. “But it is not so dreadful, dear, don’t worry. I was saved. I fell quite hopelessly into a bog, but I was saved.� Hermione Rashleigh smiled mysteriously.

The two Hermiones exchanged looks again. Cicely, apparently thinking that this was her fault, just nodded at her friend to continue, which H. Rashleigh enthusiastically did.

“Did you know there was a cabin in there? The man who found me lived there, or at least, was there for the time being. He said he was hiding from relatives who wanted to uproot him from a place where he had already taken root too deeply. It pained him. We talked about a lot of things while my broken ankle mended. And he took care of me. We parted on promises of love and constancy…� H. Rashleigh paused to giggle and pat her flushed cheeks. “He will come tomorrow to talk to my father. He’s an angel.�

By this time, the two Hermiones noticed the room flicker before them. The walls and the edges of the surfaces wavered and blurred, as if they saw it through a heat wave. They did feel warm; and they could sense a…tingling sensation spreading from their stomachs to the tips of their toes.

Cicely tried to smile at H. Rashleigh. It came out more like a grimace. No doubt she thought she had addled her friends brains completely. “What’s his name then?�

The two Hermiones only had time to hear their counterpart answer “Leonard Granger� before the room suddenly spun and darkened and the tingling sensation changed abruptly into the exploding feel of being thrown into space and air.



ΩΩΩ



When the world stilled, they opened their eyes and breathed air thick with dust. They coughed, and more eddies of the tiny dust motes swirled before their faces.

By the slats of weak light making it through the shutters of the window, they knew it was morning. And by the dust and neglect around them, they knew they were back in the Rashleigh Manor of the present. They looked at each other and smiled.

“That girl is our ancestor.�

They laughed.

“I still remember the side loggia where she went out to meet Cicely. We can easily go through there and await the arrival of Ron’s portrait.�

“I thought we’ve settled this.�

“Oh, well, centuries away, even Ron’s fury is something precious. But right now, it only induces trepidation. And on our honeymoon, too!�

“Never mind. What is one picture worth? Ginny can easily recopy that photograph, and I can just as easily commission it again to someone more intelligent to know to cast Impervius on his portraits. Ron’s put a lot of thought to it, though, and I’ll make sure to let him know I love him for that. I’m grateful I have the chance.�



ΩΩΩ



They cast Tempus Fugitus again, this time concentrating and controlling its leap to only a few hours and not almost three centuries. From the peaceful morning the second before, there was suddenly the strong rain beating down on the house.

“You go first. You disappeared first.�

It felt surreal in the least, as Hermione received a hug from her other self. And then she was alone in the room. She waited ten seconds, and then she opened the door and descended the stairs to the old ballroom.

She had taken her time walking, savoring the breath of the present air, so that when she arrived, it was just in time to see her past self disappear in the Century-Crosser’s chair.

“You didn’t save the portrait.� Mr Rashleigh said evenly.

“No.�

“Don’t expect me to help you with your own picture.�

“I don’t want it anymore.�

“Deceiving wench!�

“In what have I deceived you, sir? While trying to salvage your portrait, I only came to the realization that you can’t change your life by going back in the past. You only have the present. I suggest you make use of it and accept your own mistakes and even atone for them if you could. This is what I’ll do. I admit I’m thankful for your Time-turner, it has helped us save lives. But the time you have bottled here is useless for your happiness. You are your own steward, not some picture whose subject lived centuries ago.�

“Get out.�

Watchin came and pulled Hermione out of the huge empty hall.



ΩΩΩ



The rain had stopped and the moon preened as if she drew pleasure at how the wind had banished the clouds obscuring her reign. The demolition equipment around the manor hulked in the sad and neglected garden. But as Hermione walked down the path, she heard a car’s motor rumbling from the gates.

When it passed her, it stopped. Hermione almost gasped. For the woman who peered out of her window looked like Cicely, only in jeans and a blue cashmere.

“Hi! Were you visiting my great-uncle?�

“Um, yes. I’m Hermione Weasley, staying at the Grange.�

“Weasley, did you say? Why, we’re related. I’m Emilia Dufarge, a Rashleigh before I was married.� They shook hands.

“I’m only recently married to the Weasleys myself—�

“Hermione Granger, aren’t you? And you married Ron Weasley?�

“Yes. You read the Prophet, I see.�

Emilia laughed. “You don’t like it much, do you? I suppose you don’t like the publicity anymore. We used to hate it too, when my great-uncle’s trinket was newly invented…What’s that you have there, by the way?�

“Um, a gift from my husband—� But Emilia, who had already stepped out of her tiny car, had already taken it and held it at arms length in the bright moonlight.

“Oh my… I’m sorry. Forgive me, but I never was good at being properly detached—is this the reason why you visited my great-uncle?�

Hermione smiled. “Yes, but I changed my mind. I won’t be a coward about Ron’s anger, I’ve faced it for years anyway. And this time I’m at fault, so I’ll take it with good grace.�

“That’s sweet. But dear, if you really want to restore this, you just call me.�

Hermione almost swayed on the spot at the great wave of excitement and relief that flooded her. “You can do it?�

“Yes. It’s a surprise for my uncle, he’d been brooding over this ruined picture in the attic for ages, so I did a little research, went on some trips, pulled a lot of arms. And here I am, ready to butter him up into renovating the manor by fixing his painting.�

Hermione only had interest in what she had learned. “Can you fix this?�

“In a wink. It’s a simple enough theory of delving into the picture’s subjects and cajoling them to rearrange themselves, the color, the oils, even the canvas. It will be easy on naturals and stills, but in here, well, I know you and Ron, so—� Emilia pointed her wand at the picture and muttered some words. The smudges shifted until they were gone and only the sharp and beautiful lines of the picture remained.

“Oh Merlin, how can I repay you for this, Emilia?�

“Look at that,� Emilia was smiling at the portrait. “That’s something. Seeing it back is enough payment, Hermione. Now, about that picture of my uncle’s, that will be a bit complicated, because who would know about that girl? She lived centuries ago!�

Emilia jumped at Hermione’s squeal. “I can help you about her!�



ΩΩΩ



She felt him gently wrap an arm around her waist and she couldn’t stop the sob or her instinctive movement to wrap her own arms around him and melt into his warmth.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.�

She opened her eyes. He wiped the tears that fell from her lashes.

It was morning again, and the birds were making a very rowdy cheer outside. Hermione buried her face in Ron’s chest and shut out everything else but his presence, there beside her, holding her.

“It took me longer because…Merlin, Hermione, I could get so unlucky sometimes, you know that? Hmpf. I tried to contact the portraitist I hired to stop him from sending the picture—I knew what you might think about it. But it seems everyone’s on holiday! And then Mum cornered me and scolded me like I’m thirteen because I left for work. I wonder if she’ll ever remove my hand from that blasted clock of hers.�

Hermione giggled here. The picture of Molly berating her son never lost its humor. Ron’s chest rumbled as he joined her laughter. “She got the sponsor, too, mind you. And even flooed his wife.

“So what did you do I while I was off getting harangued by my mother?�

“Nothing. I met the neighbors.�

“Did you know, we’re related to the Rashleighs by blood? Mum only just told me, said she didn’t want us getting puffed up about it like Ernie.� Ron rolled his eyes. “We would have liked this branch of the family better than the Black branch.�

Hermione smiled. She wondered how Ron would react if she told him she’d met about a dozen of Chocolate Frog Famous Wizards and Witches.

“You’re so quiet; are you alright, Hermione? I’m really sorry for leaving you. At least our sponsor had been cured from his honeymoon busting tendencies by Mum.�

“I’m fine. I’m just glad I’m back—I mean, you’re back. And Ron?�

“Hmm?�

“I love you.�

He grinned goofily and tucked her deeper into his chest, nuzzling her hair and neck and kissing her soundly. “I love you, too.�



End





Author’s Notes: I know it isn’t necessary, but who am I to know when I’m the writer and not the reader? I hope it’s okay to tell you, dear reader, that Hermione did succeed in making William Rashleigh’s life better.

Originally, Cicely and Leontes had been joined in an unhappy marriage, causing Cicely’s estrangement from her family, which explains why Ron didn’t know that they were related to the Rashleighs at first.

After Hermione’s adventure and wise words, however, the couple married felicitously, the estrangement was cancelled, and so the connection was treasured and esteemed through the generations of Prewetts even before the honor and fame of the Time-turner business.

Emilia Dufarge is a direct descendant of Leontes and Cicely. Their happy marriage resulted in happy children, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This included William, though he’s too surly to have his own family. And because Hermione refused to fix Cicely’s ruined portrait, she didn’t remove that germ of longing in William to be able to go back in time. Also, Cicely’s knack of spell-invention was another factor.

My sources: For the dinners and the breakfast: historicfood.com, georgianindex.net and umich.edu/~ece/student_projects/food/rules.htm

For the London addresses and general culture of the era: georgianindex.net

For the fashion: englishcountrydancing.org

And of course, Wikipedia and the Harry Potter Lexicon.

And Magical Maeve for the prompt. And Tang Sweet Ponkan for my fuel. ^_^