Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

Chapter One: Shadows of the Past

Hermione looked wistfully out of the little oriel in her living room one evening in late November. Another autumn was ended; winter was setting in with a vengeance. How quickly the autumns passed now! Her garden was all sparkle and snow by the dim white light of the winter moon, enveloping her like a charm with its peace and quiet and dignity. The pale fires of the Milky Way burned brightly against the soft velvet darkness of the night and Vega of the Lyre glittered alluringly above a dark willow that stood guard by the gates of her garden. The young moon hung on the tip of a silver birch, as though trying to pour her loveliness into the little garden. Night draped a cloak of fine white mist over her dark shoulders like foams of illusion, letting it cling to the waves, which were not quite frozen in spite of a week of snow, and were lapping the rocky shores gently, making soft, crooning little sobs.

Hermione loved her garden, first planted a century ago by a young poet for his bride. It was an old, old garden, tended by hands now long dead and loved by hearts that were now ashes. How many things had happened in that old garden? How many troths had been plighted . . . or hearts broken? How many women had walked its winding, flower-bordered paths and wept among its ferny beds and loved the roses and flowers and trees as she loved them? What stories it could tell if only it could speak!

She was alone in the house. She loved the quiet solitude, and was glad to be alone with the night - particularly this cold, calm night with its remote, passionless winter beauty. The serenity of the dusk quieted her stormy mood.

A tapping at the window caused her to look up. It was one of the company barn owls. Sighing, she stood and pulled open the screen. The bird dropped a missive in her hand and perched itself on the ledge, waiting patiently for her to answer.

Looking down, she saw that it was from her boss, Anna Knowles. Hermione worked for the Weasley Research Institute (WRI), owned by the man who had once been her best friend. But she avoided all contact with Ron, immersing herself in her work and then going straight home. She might as well have not known him.

In truth, she didn't. Not anymore. She'd given up all contact with Ron and Harry years ago. She had wanted to get away from it all. She could not bear to remember all the suffering her friendship had brought the ones she had loved. She could not forgive herself for what had happened during the war.

So she had left it all behind. She'd left a note for Ron and Harry, and walked away. She'd gone to America, where the National Institute of Research for Magical Maladies (NIRMM) had hired her some eight years ago. But not a month after she began work, the WRI loaned her for what, in the beginning, they had said would be a year. The year had become two, and then three. When she'd gone to the NIRMM to complain, they'd told her she'd either stay with WRI or she was fired. She had been furious, nearly walking out on the job when Anna had persuaded her to stay. They needed her, she said. They were researching a cure for Chandler's Disease, and who but the eminent Dr. Granger could help them achieve that goal?

So Hermione had stayed, albeit reluctantly. Fortunately, WRI was huge, covering nearly thirty square acres, including fifteen departments and a factory. Which meant that she did not need to have any kind of contact with its owner.

For seven years now, she had worked slavishly, testing, experimenting, researching. They were so close to a cure now. If they could find it, then WRI would have a sure foothold in the scientific and industrial world.

Wondering what Anna had to tell her, she broke the WRI seal and opened the letter, which had been written on the back of an old report. Hermione grinned. Anna was the messiest woman on earth, and she could never find a clean sheet of paper to write on.

In her characteristically large block letters, Anna had written:

HERMIONE - I REALIZE IT'S LATE, BUT AN EMERGENCY HAS ARISEN HERE AT THE RESEARCH DEPARTMENT. THE MINISTRY HAS ASKED FOR AN EXPERIENCED SCIENTIST TO ACCOMPANY ONE OF ITS AURORS ON A TOP SECRET MISSION. KNOWING YOUR PAST EXPERIENCE AS A JUNIOR AUROR, I RECOMMENDED YOU. IF YOU ARE WILLING, OWL ME AND GET HERE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN. PLEASE TRY. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WITH THE EXPERTISE NECESSARY. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT. - ANNA

Hermione read the note three times over. Then she Summoned a quill to her, and wrote two words at the bottom.

I'm coming.

Rolling the note back up and handing it to the owl, which took flight instantly, she hurried to her bedroom and threw on a crisp red suit. Running a brush quickly through her hair, she stuffed her wand into her pocket, and Apparated to her office.

***

"Thank God you're here." Dr. Anna Knowles - poised, sharp, beautiful - stood from her desk and came around the mountain of books and papers to give Hermione a hug. Her blond hair was pulled in a tight bun at the nape of her neck; her lips were painted very red. She was Hermione's best friend as well as boss. "I'm so glad you're willing to do it."

"Tell me what's going on," said Hermione, as they sat down on the sofa and Anna handed her a cup of hot tea.

"It's a top secret operation, so I only know the basic facts. They're tracking down an internationally wanted criminal, and they need some scientific expertise, as well as someone who has basic knowledge of detective work and can work alongside an Auror."

Anna stood, smoothing down her peacock blue suit, her long earrings swinging. Anna was famous for her earrings. They were always immense and she never wore the same ones twice. Today they looked like torn watercolor paper dusted with diamonds. For a fleeting moment, Hermione wondered if Anna had to exercise her neck muscles to keep her head held so high when she wore those gargantuan earrings. Slightly amused, she banished the irreverent thought quickly and returned her attention to the task at hand.

"I knew you were a Junior Auror during the war," continued Anna, "so I chose you. You're highly competent, you think fast, you know a thing or two about Aurors. You were the perfect candidate."

She beckoned for Hermione to follow her. Hermione, pushing several books off the table to make room for her cup of tea, did so.

"What are the facts of the case?" asked Hermione, as Anna led her down the corridor. Their heels echoed loudly as they walked.

"I don't know. You'll have to ask Mr. Potter."

Hermione stopped short. She had impeccable timing, as Anna, too, had paused, to open the door of the waiting room.

"Mr. who?" demanded Hermione.

She was afraid she already knew the answer.

Anna swung open the door and pushed Hermione in.

"Potter, of course. Harry Potter."

***

Hermione had never known that apparently the waiting room in the research building was too small. But it was. The walls seemed to close in on her; the ceiling pressed down and the ground slanted up. There was no breathing space.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the sofa. Thus far, she had avoided looking at the man she knew was sitting in one of the chairs, pretending not to see the hand he held out.

"Mr. Potter," said Anna, her voice crisp, cool, concise. Nothing could intimidate Anna. Not even The Boy Who Lived. In fact, if Harry donned a miniskirt and tank top and recited nursery rhymes, Anna probably would have still used that calm, steady voice of hers. Anna was afraid of nothing and no one.

She took his hand and shook it firmly. "I gather you used to know Dr. Granger."

"Yes, we used to be . . . acquainted." His voice was devoid of emotion. Hermione could have hit him. Acquainted!

"Well, I'll leave you to discuss your business with Dr. Granger." Anna stood, and with a crisp nod, walked out again, her heels clicking sharply on the ground. The door shut with awful finality behind her.

Hermione swallowed. The moment lengthened to a taut tenseness. "Nice - nice to see you again, Harry," she faltered, not looking at him.

"But you haven't seen me, Hermione," Harry's voice pointed out, dryly. "Only my shoes."

Hermione flushed. "Oh! Don't be a cad."

She lifted her head to glare at him, and met his laughing green eyes.

Oh, he hadn't changed . . . he hadn't changed at all. Still boyish and lighthearted and irreverent. A scapegrace to his very bones.

He was grinning at her. Hermione couldn't help it.

She burst into tears.