The Burning Pen

The Ring

by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

CHAPTER 8

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 8 ~ Hermione Settles In

Hermione walked through the tall grasses until they fell away to lower brush and grasses, then a rough dirt road. She headed for the village, Raucous flying ahead, alighting on the ground now and then to pick up and/or swallow something interesting. The witch had to walk some distance before the dirt road turned to cobblestones and the first small houses were seen. People stood on porches watching her pass with suspicious, narrow-eyed curiosity. Hermione waved but no one returned her greeting, they just watched her pass silently and whispered among themselves about the strangely dressed stranger with the black bird.

They seemed like simple folk, dressed in coarse clothing for the most part, their yards neat and clean, animals penned in the back yards, and large gardens. Clothing hung on clotheslines, flapping in the breeze. Hermione walked in silence under their gaze, trudging toward the main part of the village. She stopped and took off her pack. She took out her water bottle and took a nice long drink. It was refreshingly cold, part of the charm. Raucous flapped up and Hermione poured some water in her cupped hand several times to allow him to drink as well. Then she returned the bottle to her pack, hoisted it on her back and took off walking again.

She came to the town. It had several shops. A fishing supply shop, a furniture shop, a kind of open food market, a fabric shop, a second hand store, a bank, and an inn were the ones she could identify. She couldn’t read the language on the roughly painted signs so she figured her translation charm was in effect. She was very glad Professor Flitwick had thought to give it to her. The citizens of the town walked past her slowly, looking at her curiously, though no one approached her. Hermione looked about. Her amber eyes fell on the inn. That was as good a place to start as any. Innkeepers usually provided information to their guests. Hermione would get a room and hopefully glean some details about where she was.

She walked towards the inn, up the three short steps and through the door. She saw a bar and a room full of tables and chairs for the patrons. She smelled something wonderful that made her mouth water. There was also a counter with an open book lying on it. She walked up to it and peered down at the book. There was writing in it but she couldn’t understand it. Most likely the book was a guest log. A metal triangle hung over the book, and a striker lay beside the tome. Hermione looked at the striker and the triangle for a moment, then picked up the striker and tapped the triangle. It rang rather loudly. It had to be magically amplified.

“I’m coming!” a voice called from the back of the inn.

Petra wiped her face with a cloth, then smoothed her brown hair and removed her apron. She took a deep breath, put on her innkeeper smile and walked from the kitchen to the front where Hermione stood by the counter.

“Good afternoon,” Petra said, walking past Hermione and turning, then sliding behind the counter. “I am Petra, the innkeeper here.”

Afternoon? It was just morning at Hogwarts little more than an hour ago. She must be in another time zone.

“Good afternoon, Petra. My name is Hermione,” Hermione said, “I’d like a room please.”

“Fine, Miss. How long will you be staying?” Petra asked, trying not to stare at Hermione. She didn’t look like anyone from the island.

Hermione’s brow wrinkled. She didn’t know how long she would be…where ever she was.

“A week,” she told Petra. The innkeeper smiled and pushed the book toward her. Hermione signed her name. The innkeeper squinted at her signature, perplexed.

“You’re not from these parts,” Petra said, her smile fading a little.

“No, I’m not,” Hermione said.

Petra looked at her.

“That will be twenty Croupkas, in advance. Sorry but you are a stranger, so I must insist on full payment.”

Croupkas? What the hell were Croupkas?

“You don’t take galleons?” Hermione asked.

“What are galleons?” Petra asked, her brow furrowed as Hermione took off her pack and drew out her moneybag. She opened it and shook out the contents into her hand without looking at the coins, then held them out to Petra.

“These are galleons,” Hermione said, thinking she would not be able to get a room after all.

“Hm. Around here, we call these Croupkas,” Petra said, taking the money out of her hand. Hermione looked at the strange fluted coins the moneybag had provided. Amazing. Obviously the moneybag produced not only the right amount of coins, but also the right type. It could be the moneybag was set to this exchange because of the purpose it was to be used for. Whatever the reason for the right coinage, Hermione was intensely grateful.

Petra handed Hermione a great rusty key on a large ring. It had strange markings on it.

“You have room seven on the second floor,” Petra said, looking at Hermione curiously.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, looking at the markings with a furrowed brow. “Um, Petra, I don’t read your language.”

The innkeeper looked at her, her brown eyes narrowing a bit.

“How is it you can speak out language, yet not read it?” Petra asked her.

“I have a translator charm. It translates what I hear and what I say,” Hermione replied.

By the look on Petra’s face, Hermione could tell the woman didn’t know what she was talking about. Hermione removed the necklace and set it down on the counter.

“Can you understand me?” she asked Petra.

The woman’s eyes grew wide when Hermione spoke. She said something in a heavy accent that Hermione could not begin to understand. Hermione gestured for Petra to put the necklace on. The innkeeper looked at it for a moment, then dropped it on her neck.

“Now can you understand me?” Hermione asked her.

Petra looked startled. “Yes, yes I can. What a strange thing! It does magic! We have no things that do magic here on the island. Only we do magic.”

Petra removed the necklace and handed it back to Hermione, who put it back on.

“Surely you have wands, don’t you?” Hermione asked the innkeeper.

“Wands? What are wands?” Petra asked her. This stranger was strange. Magical items? She had never heard of such a thing.

Hermione fast understood she was far, far from home.

“A wand is a wooden stick that has a magical core, made of a dragon heartstring, a phoenix feather or some other magical item. It is used to make magic work. Focus it,” she explained.

“No. We have no wands here. We do magic ourselves,” she said. To show Hermione what she meant, she pointed to the closest table to them and wriggled her fingers. The table rose off the floor, turned over and settled back into place.

Hermione watched with her mouth open. The woman had said no spell. Or the witch rather.

“Amazing. Wandless magic.” Hermione breathed.

“You cannot do this?” Petra asked her.

Hermione shook her head.

“Without a wand, I can’t do any magic. There are some who can, but I’m not one of them,” Hermione replied.

“May I see this wand?” Petra asked curious. A stick that did magic sounded fascinating.

“No. I don’t have a wand with me. I am traveling without magic,” Hermione replied.

Petra furrowed her brow at Hermione. She was going to see the Snapes and had no magic to protect herself? This sounded like a very foolish thing to the witch. She wanted to know more about the stranger. She seemed very nice, despite her oddness.

“Why don’t I have Peter show you to your room, you can put your things away, and come down to have some fish stew and a cold drink. I can tell you about our island and our people,” Petra said to the witch with a smile.

“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione smiled back.

“Peter! Peter, come out here. You are needed!” Petra called to the back of the inn. The boy walked out rather shyly. Hermione recognized him immediately.

“So your name is Peter,” Hermione said, smiling at him. “You left kind of quickly.”

Peter looked at his mother, who shook her head slightly.

“I…I had to go,” Peter said, looking at the ground, “I..I had chores to do.”

Hermione knew the little boy wasn’t telling the truth, but she would find out what was really going on from his mother. She was sure.

“That’s all right. I’m glad to see you again. You can show me Runty,” Hermione said smiling at the boy.

“Yes!” he agreed brightly. Hermione picked up her pack, and showed Peter her key.

“Can you take me to my room?” she asked him.

Peter looked at the key studiously.

“Yes. That is room number seven. Follow me…” he looked at his mother who raised an eyebrow. “Please,” he added. His mother smiled at him.

“Such a gentleman,” she grinned at him. He grinned back and walked to the stairwell, Hermione following. Just then something black streaked through the inn and landed on Hermione’s shoulder. Petra let out a little shriek as she looked at the black raven.

“It’s all right, mama, that’s Raucous. The bird I told you about,” Peter said, smiling up at the bird. Raucous cawed a greeting at the stout woman.

“He is very large. Does he bite?” Petra asked, not sure if she wanted Raucous staying at the inn.

Raucous was about to clip his beak at Petra nastily for effect when Hermione said “Raucous,” in a tone that clearly said don’t do it. So he fluttered his wings at the innkeeper politely.

“No. Raucous is very well behaved. He lives with me, and is housebroken,” Hermione said. “He won’t be any trouble.”

Petra nodded.

“I’ll go prepare you a bowl of fish stew,” Petra said, “If you need anything, let me know”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, following the strutting Peter up the stairs. He felt important taking their guest to her room. He had a responsibility. They walked down a hallway of doors until they came to a room with the same marking on the door that was on the key.

“Here it is, Hermione,” Peter piped.

Hermione inserted the key, jiggled it, and the door opened. The room was dark.

“Where is the light switch, Peter?” Hermione asked.

“Light switch? What is that?” Peter asked, wriggling his fingers. Two hurricane-type lamps lit up the room. Hermione looked at him astonished.

“Did you learn to do that at magic school?” she asked him.

“Do what?” he asked her, walking into the room, followed by Hermione.

“Magic. Learned to turn on the lamps,” she responded.

“That’s silly. Why would I have to go to school for that. I go for writing and numbers, but not magic. I’ve always had magic. You can’t learn it,” he said, turning the lamps higher manually.

“Well, where I come from, we have magic too, but we have to be taught how to use it. We have to learn spells,” she said, putting her backpack on the bed.

“Spells? What are they?” Peter asked, frowning a little.

“Words that make the magic work,” she replied.

Peter laughed. “Magic doesn’t work with words. It just works,” he said.

“It’s a little different where I come from,” Hermione said.

“I think I like it better here,” Peter said sagely, “sounds like too much work where you come from.”

Hermione looked at him.

“It does, doesn’t it?” she replied thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Peter agreed.

Hermione looked around the room. It was rather small. It had a full sized bed, a closet, a dresser and a dressing table. There was a loo, a basin and a small shower. There were two windows that opened on to the street outside. It was fine for her needs. She drew the shades open on the window and the room brightened. She turned down the lamps.

“Be sure you close the shades at night,” Peter said, his eyes wide.

“Why?” Hermione asked him. The boy looked uncomfortable. His mother said not to tell too much.

“It’s just better if you do,” Peter said, heading for the door. “I’ll be downstairs with mama.”

He left.

That was odd. Hermione looked out the window at the people walking in and out of shops. They all looked rather similar. Dark brown hair, ruddy complexions and brown eyes. Most were on the stocky side. A good solidly built people, probably from years of hard work. This was plainly an agricultural society. She would have never imagined the Professor’s family originating in a place like this. Her amber eyes traveled up the mountain. Unless…hm.

She looked at Raucous, who was perched on the other windowsill, looking down into the street.

“Come on, Raucous, let’s find out about this place,” she said to the bird, who flew over and landed on her shoulder. He cawed.

“Yes, you can have some of my stew,” Hermione said, smiling. Raucous fluttered his wings and held on as Hermione headed back downstairs.

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Across the street from the inn, a local wizard with a patch over one eye watched with interest as the stranger walked into Petra’s establishment. His name was Ketri. He had lost his eye in a fishing accident, but his other eye was sharp as a hawk’s. He missed very little.

His clothing was made of finer, softer fabric than most of the other citizens, though still cut the same. He could afford finer fabric. He had a generous employer.

Ketri had been told to watch for strangers, and had been doing so for the past three months, loitering around the village, and down by the beach day after day from morning till evening. His vigilance had finally paid off. Ketri looked around to make sure no one was watching him, then strolled over to the inn and stood just outside the door, listening to Petra talk to the woman. Hm. Her name was Hermione and she was a witch traveling without magic. That was a stupid thing if she was who he thought she was. The witch didn’t say why she was here though. Still, she was a stranger. The Mistress would reward him for this information.

The man walked swiftly away from the inn and toward the mountain. He had news to share.

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A/N: Well, Hermione is settled into the inn. Seems like Petra is an all right type, but wary. She’s taught her son to be wary too, it seems. That moneybag is amazing. Seems like Hermione is already spotted. Well, please review.

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