La Deuxieme

LA DEUXIEME

Having no repeat experiences of her strange dream, many weeks passed before Hermione thought of the ring again. In the interim, she had managed to convince Ron to ease up on his over-mothering and was back to working regular hours in the Ministry’s Legislation Office. On the weekends, they’d even begun to purchase furniture for the nursery. All in all, she was rather happy with life.

The dream of a young distraught Snape lingered in the back of her mind, but it was overshadowed by more pressing matters regarding her first unborn. Right as she hit six months, Hermione began to notice that the house was beginning to exude the distinct scent of chicken soup. She sniffed all around trying to uncover its source only to learn, upon questioning Ron, that it was none other than herself. Small, but nerve-grating issues like this occupied her these days.

After a difficult meeting one day, she decided to go shopping at Diagon Alley. To her disappointment, the shops were full of fascinating and novel items, but none of them seemed to warrant her parting from her gold. The new book release list was an especially tremendous letdown. Not a hour had gone by before Hermione found herself at the end of the cobblestone street empty-handed.

However, just when she was about to head home, a sparkle from the junk shop at the alley's end caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes and took long strides to the dingy window. Her heart fluttered when she was close enough to see the shining object sitting behind cloudy glass. It was an angular silver ring identical to the one she had stashed away in her jewelry chest.

Reflecting the light of warm, afternoon sun, its tiny jewel was almost lavender.

An obsessive impulse gripped Hermione’s heart, and she felt a burning need to obtain the ring. Without hesitation, Hermione pushed open the heavy wooden door to the shop. A string of abalone shells jingled when she entered, and an ugly witch with a large boil on her forehead emerged from behind the counter. She gave Hermione a greedy smile, revealing yellow, uneven teeth.

“Um, excuse me,” Hermione said tentatively.

The junk store owner gripped the glass counter in anticipation. Rows and rows of strange objects around the walls seemed to lean in toward them.

“Is the ring in the window for sale?”

The ugly witch nodded slowly and summoned the ring with her bony fingers. Using a dirty cloth, she rubbed the silver and set it down in front of Hermione with a clatter. “Five galleons. Goblin made!” The ring clearly was not.

“I’ll take it,” Hermione replied, all too eagerly. It being overpriced and not Goblin made were the least of her concerns. She stared at the ring hungrily and itched to put it on. Handing over the gold with zeal, she reached for the loop, entranced by its similarity to the one she knew.

“Madam, can I interest you in other jewelry?” the shop keeper rasped, disrupting her customer’s train of thought.

Hermione shook her head quickly. Before she turned to leave the dark and unkempt store with her purchase, the young witch suddenly asked, “How did this ring come into your possession?”

“An elderly witch, sad looking, bless her, pawned it many many years ago. Does Madam have the other the pieces?”

Eyes narrowing, Hermione gave a quizzical look. “The pieces?”

“’Tis a puzzle ring, broken into four, by the looks of it.” The ugly witch scratched her balding temple.

Hermione put her elbows on the counter to bring herself down to the height of the shopkeeper. Where were the other pieces? She clutched the ring in her palm tightly and inquired, “Do these puzzle rings have any properties?”

“Only if you enchant it. It’s just a ring.”

With this new information, Hermione rushed home, impatient to put the two pieces together.

Once she arrived home, she ran up the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her and pried the jewelry chest open, frantically pulling open every box. Finally, she dug the ring out of a corner container and held it up to her new purchase; her arms shook with anxious prospect. Pressing the two together, she saw that they were not identical but enantiomers. The mirroring pair fitted against each other with a gaping space in between, just big enough for two more rings.

Just as she had done with the first ring, Hermione slid the second ring onto her right ring finger. This ring fit exactly the same as its reflection had. There were no doubts that they were sisters. Slowly and thoughtfully, she turned the ring around her finger with her thumb, admiring the way its stone was tinged with glistening silver light. A hot sensation shot up her arm from the ring and Hermione wrenched it off, unsettled.

“I made dinner, Hermione!” Ron called proudly from below.

Hermione rolled her eyes and groaned. The last time Ron cooked, she had to secretly feed most of the dreadful plate to Crookshanks. Carefully placing the pair of rings into the topmost box, she closed the chest, effectively shutting away any further thoughts on the subject.

That night, Hermione had another dream. The sound of hazy newspaper rustles and loud breaking porcelain jerked her into consciousness, drenched in sweat and feeling ill. The contents of the dream were elusive, and she remembered nothing once she was fully awake, save for the nausea and rush of blood from her pounding heart. Hermione suspected that the dream had been about him again. No matter how hard she tried, her mind refused to settle back into sleep, and she found herself compulsively organizing dishes in the kitchen by dim candle light.

All the clinking of delicate china woke Ron, and he stumbled downstairs upon finding the bed empty.

“Hermione, what are you doing awake? It’s the middle of the night,” he murmured, still half-asleep.

The kitchen was a mess with dishes and glasses sitting everywhere; some were even floating in midair. Hermione was pacing back and forth, tapping her wand against her leg in agitation. “They won’t fit,” she hissed. “They won’t fit!”

“Merlin, Hermione. Come back to bed; we’ll put them back in the morning together,” Ron said bleary-eyed and bewildered by the state of the kitchen. His wife was looking extremely angry and rather possessed. Rubbing his forehead, he thought about what could be the matter.

“You don’t understand!” Hermione yelled, eyes wild and furious.

Ron stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Get out!” she roared before hurling a plate in his direction. Instinct taking over, Ron jumped behind the staircase.

The plate shattered against the banister in a rain of reflective white shards.

A young wizard with long greasy hair sits at the Leaky Cauldron. Seemingly without intention, he rubs one of his forearms periodically as he sips coffee. The man is engrossed in reading a copy of the Daily Prophet, looking purposely disinterested and occasionally sneering at a headline.

The wizard throws the paper forcefully down on the counter. He grits his teeth as clenched fingers reach around the coffee mug. Unable to contain his fury, he screams and smashes the mug against the pub’s wall.