La Troisieme

LA TROISIEME

Ron and Hermione had a quarrel the following day.

Concerned with Hermione's erratic behavior, he scheduled an appointment with the psychiatric ward of St. Mungo's without consulting her. Upon notice of said appointment, she was instantly resentful and upset. Perhaps at the idea of him going behind her back, perhaps at his premature suspicion that she was going mad. Angry, hurtful words were exchanged in their heated argument, the least of which was Ron's insinuation that she was being a thoughtless and negligent mother. It left them both feeling decidedly sour.

Never once in their five years of marriage had Hermione felt such a rift between the two of them. Finally, in the interest of preserving their relationship, she gave in and went to St. Mungo's. Delighted at a compromise in his favor, Ron held her hand lovingly the entire time there. But his joy was short-lived. No matter how many examinations they performed, the Healers could not find anything wrong. One Healer even looked inside her ears in case an angry Glumbumble had crawled in there. In the end, they pronounced her perfectly fine both physically and mentally, albeit slightly stressed from the ordeal. They sent her home with a recommendation of rest and an overpriced bottle of Calming Draught.

At Ron's fervent insistence, Hermione took a few days off from work to lounge around the house. He spouted all week about excessive stress from work and fussed even more than usual. Hermione relished the daytime when he was away at work; she took these hours to study up on magical objects. Stacks of heavy volumes from the Ministry's library covered their dining table.

Despite remembering only bits of her outburst, she was sure that it had something to do with the puzzle ring pieces and the dreams she had after putting them on. Ron claimed that she had acted as if possessed. Thinking back to the first piece, Hermione thought that she'd been unusually attached to Ron that night.

In her literature search, she'd only found a few relevant items, but none of them seemed to fit her situation. There were ghosts who were trapped in possessions they died carrying--seemed feasible, but how could one ghost be trapped in two rings? There were Himitsu enchantments, originating from Japanese wizards, designed to reveal an experience to only one individual--Hermione thought it ridiculous for Snape to ever feel the need to reveal his teenage angst to her. And then there were Horcruxes--she shuddered at the thought.

Could they be Horcruxes?

Snape would never make a Horcrux--would he?

The first piece certainly was not. She hadn't bothered to have anyone check the second piece for dark magic, but was confident that it was no different from the first; it felt the same: plain, devoid of the dark vortex-like thumping heartbeat Voldemort's Horcruxes had possessed. But maybe Snape's soul would be different, the back of her mind nagged. There was only one way to find out, and she was not about to put the rings back on.

Hermione racked her mind for information regarding Horcruxes and remembered that their creation required ripping one's soul. Remembering the lanky rejected boy from her dream, Hermione felt determined that such a sad and emotional person could not ever grow to commit such horrible, blood-curdling magic and still remain sane. If only she could recall what her second dream had been; one case was simply not enough to go on. Unable to analyze things any further, Hermione put the matter aside.

Today was the last day of her week-long leave, and she stood before her wardrobe picking out robes for the next day. To her annoyance, all of her robes were either missing buttons around the stomach and refused to be repaired (she suspected they'd burst off) or were far too small. Her belly seemed to have swelled exponentially in her days at home. It simply wouldn't do. No one in the office was going to take her seriously if she went to work looking a mess.

Grabbing her purse, she headed to Madam Malkin's to purchase some larger summer robes.

Diagon Alley was fairly quiet during the weekday morning with only a few patrons ambling down its tortuous length. Hermione expected no wait in seeing the seamstress, but was shocked to see the store packed with witches. "Just my luck," she sighed along with a little curse.

When she entered, a slim, pretty girl seated her by the left wall next to a tall, blonde witch who was looking the other way. "Madam Malkin will be just a moment," the girl said sweetly.

"Just a moment, my arse," Hermione muttered under her breath.

The comment caused the tall witch beside her to turn and look at her with a frown. Hermione very nearly jumped from recognition. It was Narcissa Malfoy, looking every bit imposing and judgmental as her reputation led on. The older woman regarded Hermione with her heavy-lidded eyes, and the sight seemed to deepen the lines in her aristocratic face. She looked down with a deliberate air that told she knew Hermione's identity as well.

The two witches sat next to each other in silence, both stiff with discomfort.

Hermione fidgeted with her collar every few seconds as if it were too hot in the room. Unlike her, Narcissa was absolutely still, only a twitch of her lips betrayed her disgust at having to sit next to such a dismal person. Hermione thought that the only reason she was not dramatically stalking out of the shop was that she'd already invested too much time waiting.

Venturing a darting glance to her right, Hermione peered at the older witch. A most peculiar pendant hung from her neck. Between the many intricate pleats of Narcissa's navy robes, only half of a silver circle was visible, but there was no mistaking the strange blue stone set onto curving corners.

It was another piece of the ring.

"Mrs. Malfoy, is it?" Hermione suddenly said, entranced by the pendant.

The stern woman jerked her head downward and swept her eyes to Hermione slowly without speaking.

"That silver ring you are wearing is most peculiar."

Narcissa looked down her nose at the brown, mousy witch and spoke with a high, pinched voice. "I am not wearing any silver rings, Ms ...Weasley."

"Around your neck, Mrs. Malfoy. Wherever did you procure it?" It took all of Hermione's self control to not grab the silver band and yank it from her slender neck.

The blonde witch clasped the silver pendant around her neck. Next to her slender fingers, it was clearly much too large to be worn. "A gift, from a friend. He did not need it anymore," she said brusquely, not wanting to continue the conversation.

"A friend?" Hermione echoed. She stared at the ring with undisguised greed; she must have the piece.

"Yes--"

"Recently?"

"No, a fair number of years ago," Narcissa drawled, both hands tightening their hold on her clutch.

"It must have been a special occasion."

"He was--" She stopped, catching herself. "I merely liked it and asked for it."

"Most fascinating," the younger witch muttered as a scheme brewed in her head.

Narcissa looked at her with piercing blue eyes. "And why should it be fascinating?"

Hermione pretended to be knocked off guard by the biting tone. She knotted her fingers in purposeful nervousness. "It's just that," the shorter witch stammered, "that is to say..."

"Yes?"

"I've seen that ring before," Hermione whispered seriously, "and I'm afraid it's a Muggle ring. My Muggle mother had one just like it."

Narcissa's face colored with an expression of horror, possibly at both the outspoken admission of Hermione and the ring's heritage. The tall witch jerked the chain from her neck in one fluid motion as if it were poison. Hermione felt her pulse quicken as she anticipated Narcissa to cast it to the floor. To her dismay, Narcissa paused while holding the chain at arms length, seemingly conflicted. She glared at Hermione, angry that her memory of a dead friend had been tarnished.

Finally, she threw the ring to ground and stormed out of the store, looking terribly insulted. Hermione quickly bent down and searched for the bit of silver. It had fallen beneath the chairs and her rotund stomach was in the way of her reaching it. Refusing to be discouraged, she got on her knees and fished the chain out from the corner.

It was hers! Hermione couldn't help but smirk devilishly. When the pregnant witch lifted her head up, the slim girl who had seated her was standing beside the chair. She was staring at Hermione strangely.

"Where is Madam Malfoy?"

"I do believe that snob thought herself too important to wait any longer," Hermione said spitefully.

The girl was quite shocked and stuttered for a minute before finally saying, "Please follow me then, she'll see you now." Hermione dumbly followed her back to see Madam Malkin. She barely registered the fitting session with her mind constantly on the ring she had just acquired.

Upon leaving the shop with her new clothes, Hermione immediately Apparated home. She headed up the stairs, oblivious to the stack of mail and a hooting owl at the kitchen window. When she reached her vanity, she threw her new clothes unceremoniously on the floor and opened the jewelry chest. Heart racing, she reached into the top box and took out the twin silver rings.

Fishing the third from her robe pocket, she wedged it between the first two. Hermione smiled deliriously; it was a perfect fit. Only a thin sliver of empty space sat between the ribbons, to be filled by the fourth and last piece.

She carefully extricated the newest piece from the other two and moved to place it on her finger. Feeling extremely cautious due to the violent incident the last one caused, she stopped. She knew it was an unwise decision, but it felt so right, so satisfying. Against her better judgement, Hermione pushed it on without another thought.

When Ron came home that afternoon, he found her sobbing uncontrollably over her vanity. She had her face buried in her palms and was rocking in despair. When Ron pulled her hands down, her face was blotchy and her breaths shallow. In a panic, he thought that something was wrong with the baby, but Hermione shook her head upon questioning. No amount of reassuring words could make her stop crying. Over and over, she muttered incoherently to herself in between choking sobs.

There was no dream this time; she did not have to sleep to see this vision. It played in her mind again and again as she wept.

"Let me see her!" a young wizard cries as a broad-shouldered Auror holds him back.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he murmurs over and over into her dark red hair.