The forest was large, and always had been; if there was ever a time that it had been a small cluster of young trees, as most forests are at a point, no one ever saw it. It was a generally unoccupied area – there were nearly never many humans there, although there wasn't usually anyone around to witness the lack of population. It was a lovely place, really, full of trees and bushes and plants of all classifications, and the foliage in autumn was always glorious. People did come, sometimes, but it was mostly outdoorsy types - the hikers, the campers, and the ever-enthusiastic mountain climbers.
But if you were ever to come at night, you would certainly see no one. The campers would all be at the state-established campgrounds, and anyone else would be gone. You'd be alone, and you would probably get lost, as the forest at night is quite easy to get lost in. It has a fleeting, transient atmosphere to it, like the way you feel when you forget what you were going to say yet the words are right on the tip of your frustrated tongue. You might wander around, trying to find your way to a campground, or a road, or at least another person, and it would be rather otherworldly until you did find one of these things and all was normal again and you weren't lost anymore.
But it wasn't only coincidence that one would be prone to getting lost in this forest, and chance could not explain away the oddness of the place. It was different. Something else was here, something not of the world of planes and cars and computers and technology, separate from the bustling centers of communication and civilization, something magical. Anyone could feel it, tickling at the back of their minds, but no one could place it, and that was as it should be. There were wizards in this forest.
These were the survivors of an invisible war, one fought without bombs and guns and planes, but equally dangerous and far more complicated. Undetected by those outside the conflict, the war had raged for several years. It had been won, by the enemy, but for a few, it dragged relentlessly on. These were the rebellion, the resistance against the reigning Dark Lord Voldemort. There must have been others, spread across Europe, but communication was entirely impossible and for all intents and purposes this group was alone.
Young Mr. Harry Potter was the leader of the band, with his second-in-commands Ms. Hermione Granger and Mr. Ron Weasley and various other comrades-in-arms. There were fourteen in total, generally healthy, but clearly weary of this world and the burden it had put upon their shoulders. They knew all too well the dastardly implications of their ever being caught, and it showed in Neville's nervous movements and Remus' too-watchful eye, often trained on something invisible in the distance. They held on to hope, though, and continued on their mission without questioning its possibility, waiting for the day they would end it (and yes, our ragtag cast of characters still had faith that they would win).
The New Order (for that was what they were called) had come to the forest as a matter of chance. They had just barely escaped a skirmish with Death Eaters, and were running blind, with no premeditated plan. This was something none of them liked to do, but under those circumstances it proved inevitable. The forest had originally been a quick spot for one night's impromptu camp, but everyone was afraid that they had been followed, and did not want to breach the safe borderline of trees for fear of being captured immediately. So a day turned into a week, and a week turned into two, and the Order found itself staying in one place longer than they were accustomed to. After all, what were they really accomplishing, if they carried on with their previous course of action? There had been victories, yes, but small ones, nothing that had truly changed anything in the grand scheme of things. The group needed a plan, a real plan, something more than a quick shoot-and-run to pick off a few Death Eaters. They needed a way to infiltrate, to decimate, to make a real difference, and to do that they needed to throw off the Scent.
The Scent was a spell that functioned as a tracking device of sorts, much like the Trace that had once been used to track the magical doings of underage witches and wizards. Whenever a wizard child was born in any hospital or home, even Muggle ones, the Scent was placed on them. There were Death Eater operatives in every hospital, and all midwives were monitored to ensure they performed their duties to Voldemort's standards. All wearers of the Dark Mark could pick up the Scent, so in the rare circumstance that a child did fall through the cracks, that child would be accosted and have the Scent administered the moment the child was registered anywhere. It was placed on all adults as well, those who had been born before Voldemort's reign began. Death Eaters could locate anyone they wanted to. It was a nearly foolproof system, or so everyone thought.
On one particular occasion, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were on their regular one to three AM watch shift, on a night that had proven unremarkable as usual. Harry checked the wards. Steady, as usual. Hermione checked the dark magic gauges - low, as usual. One of them mentioned how tired they were, as usual. Hermione, desperate to liven things up a bit, suggested they take a walk in the forest a ways, check that all was in order. Her companion refused, pleading fatigue.
"Well, I'll go alone, then," Hermione said, unperturbed. She stood up from the half-rotten log they had been sitting on and started towards the fir trees at the edge of camp.
"Be careful, and come right back inside the wards if you see anything!" Harry called after her.
"I know, Harry, I know," she replied over her shoulder, and stepped out of camp and into the woods.
Hermione was not afraid of the forest. They say you can get used to anything, and that, she found, was unquestionably true. She had spent enough night under the cover of trees that she ceased to notice all that revisited others as night terrors, and she felt no reflex to glance over her shoulder or listen for the sounds of potential monsters lurking. Hermione liked sense, and after all, what is the sense in being afraid of the dark when the dark is what you are invariably chasing?
So she trampled on through the brush, lost in her thoughts - nothing particularly important, just considering whether it would be a good idea to light up her wand and see if she could manage to scrounge up any mushrooms or small game that would be fit for eating - and so did not notice, for all her defense training, the large branch in her path. With an exclamation she tripped over it and fell to the spongy loam below. When she opened her eyes, she could have sworn she saw someone, another human, lying about thirty feet away behind a bush that she could only now see because she was at ground level, but then it was gone.
Immediately on guard, Hermione put up a shield and whispered, "Lumos!" She scanned the area and at first saw nothing, but then caught sight of a figure out of her peripheral vision. She spun round and cried, "Stupefy!" but missed. However, it proved irrelevant. They had already been unconscious. Hermione dashed over to identify the person, expecting a Voldemort sympathizer - she could not think why else someone would be all the way out here on an unseasonably cold winter night.
She peered down at the prone form at her feet, lowering her wand tip to their face, and the features were brought into sharp relief. Hermione gasped as she realized that it was a young girl, probably about seven years her junior, and wearing Muggle clothes. Death Eaters never dressed as Muggles, and any reason a Muggle girl would be here, now, couldn't be good. Hermione's heart went out to her, but she caught herself, still wary - one never knew what Voldemort might try next.
Hermione resolved to bring the girl back to camp, heal her if she was injured, and find out where she had come from and what her story was. She carried the stranger the short distance back, alternating between watching the girl to make sure she was safe but unconscious and glancing over her shoulder, no desire to encounter enemies tonight.
Harry was standing a few feet from where she'd left him, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the newspaper he was perusing. When he saw them coming, he immediately started and bounded over, shocked.
"Hermione! Are you all right? Who attacked you? You shouldn't have gone!" he exclaimed.
"Relax, Harry, I wasn't attacked. But I found her, and I have no idea who she is or how she got here," Hermione replied, indicating the girl at her feet.
They moved her into Hermione's tent, which she shared with Remus, Ginny, and Sirius, and laid her down on one of the cots. After some water was poured into her mouth, the girl's eyelids fluttered open. She blinked for a moment, confused, and then tried to get up from the bed, looking frightened.
"Don't worry, we won't hurt you," Hermione placated her, and she disorientedly sunk back down onto the blankets. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Harry Potter. I found you in the woods and brought you back to our camp. You were unconscious, but it doesn't look like you were hit with anything too nasty," She said, ignoring the girl's apparent Muggle-ness - she would find out soon enough anyway.
"All right then, now that you're up, can you tell us what your name is?" Harry asked.
"Sophie," the girl replied, "And are you wizards too, then?" sounding both cautious and a bit sarcastic.
"Yes. Don't panic, I know it may seem strange at first, but it sounds like you already know some, so-"
"Of course you're wizards, aren't you! This whole situation has been completely believable! First I find out I'm a witch but some dictator doesn't want me to know, and then I wake up in the middle of the woods to find some freaks in masks torturing my parents, and said freaks knock me out and leave me to be eaten by god knows what! And then I drag myself a little ways, only to hit my head on a rock and end up unconscious again and be taken here! What the hell is next?" Sophie let out a little laugh, sounding somewhat hysterical. Hermione handled the situation admirably, despite being surprised to learn of the girl's magical abilities.
"Don't worry, we'll explain everything to you. Those people in masks were Death Eaters, servants of the dictator you mentioned, Voldemort. Harry and I are members of the resistance against him. You're safe with us. Am I correct in assuming that your parents are non-magical?"
"Yes, I'm the only one," Sophie affirmed.
"Voldemort, the bigot, hates people like your parents and you - and me. I'm Muggleborn, too. Now, how did you find out you were - "
"Oh no. Hermione." Harry said in a dead voice.
"What?" She said, exasperated at being interrupted.
"Hermione - if the Death Eaters attacked Sophie, they're in these woods, close by. They'll pick up the Scent."
"You're right," Hermione gasped in fear. "How could I have been so stupid? But wait - the wards - they can't track us through them - but we should be careful just the same - "
"But Sophie isn't keyed into the wards, is she? Her Scent won't be hidden," Harry said.
"Oh god," Hermione sank to the ground. "They could be here already. We have to go wake everyone."
"What's the Scent?" Sophie inquired, terrified at what she could have possibly done to put them all in danger.
"It's a tracking spell," Harry answered, speaking as he gathered some things up from around the tent. "They can track anyone, anytime, anywhere, and if we leave camp they can track us too."
"I don't have it," Sophie said simply.
"You must, everyone does. You can't escape it."
"I have done. I've never been registered, anywhere. I was born naturally, no midwife, no nothing, and have been home-schooled my whole life - my parents are very New Age. We live out in the country. How could they enchant me if they don’t know I exist? And no one can put spells on me unless I let them. They tried, in the forest, but they couldn't like they did my parents. That's why they just left me there, like a baby in ancient times, to die of exposure - suppose they didn't know how to hurt someone with their bare hands," she said bitterly.
"But that's impossible," Harry whispered.
"Go on, try. It won't work."
He tried Jelly-Legs, the Levitation Charm, Stunning, all to no effect. Wordlessly Hermione came over and went through her own arsenal. Nothing happened.
Both were shocked at this perplexing development. It certainly seemed as if Sophie really was immune to spells being performed on her. No Death Eaters had arrived, but Harry and Hermione were not completely convinced. The former went out to strengthen the wards, while the latter remained to question Sophie further.
She asked the girl how she had known she was a witch. She answered that she had done a lot of accidental magic, so much that it could not be ignored or explained away, and she and her family had learned the truth from a bookshop owner who recognized her powers. She told a brief version of her life story, very sincerely, and what she had revealed seemed more and more possible.
Hermione was almost completely believing by now, but the idea that someone could not be enchanted without their consciously allowing it was a lot to take in. Her studious personality had always had trouble with things that were not in a book or could be figured out calmly and logically. But she really, really wanted it to be true. She asked Sophie if she would agree to submit to Veritaserum. After a moment's thought she agreed. Sophie drank the potion, and her story proved to be the truth. Hermione was in ecstatic, wonderful shock. She and Harry quickly woke the entire camp, telling them about this miracle.
The New Order crowded around the table in the center of camp, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and murmuring confused queries. Hermione addressed them first, then Sophie introduced herself and told them all her tale, slightly nervously. She wanted them to like her. Some were wary, but largely accepted the newcomer, especially after they heard about the Veritaserum test. They continued to ask questions where Hermione had left off, everything from Sophie's childhood to her political standpoint. No one slept any more that night.
Hermione began to see a new ray of hope in the Order's most recent initiate. She was their golden ticket to victory - a witch, and a thumpin' good 'un, once she was trained up a bit. Sophie could go all the places they did not for fear of certain capture, and was an unknown face to the world, able to go among the masses unrecognized. She was enthusiastic about her magical education, and picked things up fast. And although she was afraid of the Death Eaters, her determination to make the wizarding world a place Muggleborns like herself could go without prosecution outweighed it. The Order went to bed each night with more anticipation for the future than they had in a long time.
Sophie was not the sole factor in ending Voldemort's regime, but played a part. She became another unknown heroine of the unofficial war, along with the other Order members, and was the one who broke down the barrier that was the Scent and let the resistance through. Her first forays were surveillance missions. She did not particularly enjoy espionage, but was somewhat successful. She, Hermione, Remus and a few others began a search for a way to disable the Scent, and they found it - or at least a way to mask it for several hours. After this catalyst, progress really kicked off. There were ups and downs, yes, but the Order's triumphs started to outweigh those of the Death Eaters. And slowly but surely, the members of the ever-growing rebellion won their war.
It would take many years, far beyond Hermione's lifetime, for prejudice to disappear, and she knew that in all likelihood it never would entirely. That was true of all prejudices, and she alone could never fully eradicate hatred. But she would continue to fight against bigotry, and to protest for the rights of every living thing, as she had since she was fourteen years old campaigning for House-Elf freedom. Hermione accepted that she could not completely heal the world, for all its injuries, but one of her wars had been won. And as life always goes on, it would go on then, and she and all the others still had plenty battles ahead of them.
A Fortuitous Encounter by Phoebus Apollo
Story Notes:
I originally wrote this as a birthday gift for my friend, Sophie (the character is not necessarily her, they merely share a name).
Chapter Endnotes: I wrote the thing about the Scent, thinking I was being original, until I reread Deathly Hallows again and realized it was pretty much the same as the Trace. Oh well.