Sol (Dominant) – 741 Hz – Awakening Intuition

Do you know that our soul is composed of harmony?
Leonardo da Vinci

Hermione breathed in the clear, cold Highland air, appreciating its purity after hours of London pollution, before she entered the cottage. It was cold, and she rushed to light a fire and cast a Warming Charm for good measure.

Within minutes, the Muggle thermometer in the corridor rose to show room temperature, but the cold prevailed. Maybe I’m just tired. She tidied the parchments she’d planned to work on and instead headed for bed. Tomorrow is another day.

Hermione was floating across a decidedly foreign landscape. East Anglia was as flat, but its scenery did offer more than barren fields that were only occasionally interspersed with conglomerations of identical-looking houses and the odd copse of trees. Yet something was attracting her to the setting.

“It is the energy, Miss Granger, love in its purest form, that called you here. The land is nothing to write home about except, perhaps, as a warning why monoculture is a bad idea. But the love, created, maintained, and increased multi-fold by the inhabitants of this tiny town is what has been keeping me alive thus far, combined with the love of those who look after my physical body; although I admit I’m beginning to lose strength. It has become troublesome to hold on to the physical.”

“Professor!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’ve been hearing your… calls for help, and I’ve been trying ever since to find a way to help you!” She shrugged and opened her hands and hated the sound of defeat in her voice. “I don’t know how.”

She expected a sneer or a clipped smirk at best at her admission and maybe some sarcastic remarks. What she did not expect was the smile he offered. “Trust. Trust your heart, Hermione. That is all it takes.”

He looked haggard, she noticed, but the once seemingly permanent sneer was absent, and so was the ever-engrained sarcasm. The look he cast her was a mixture of contentedness and sorrow.

“That’s all it takes?” Hermione asked, voice heavy with disbelief. “I’ve used Arithmancy for calculations, and while I’m nowhere near a solution, I think I’ve made some progress. I have managed to coax the music into playing to heal a little boy and Gilderoy Lockhart, but I still have no idea how I did it.”

His smile was bordering on a smirk. “You may have no idea how, but what matters is that you succeeded, no?” He raised his eyebrow. “You have your entire life ahead of you. Plenty of time to figure out the details. For now, allow yourself to simply be.”

Hermione awoke with a start, the last words of her former professor ringing through her mind. Allow yourself to simply be…

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A weak winter sun was slowly rising above the horizon when Lyra finally turned around to face Narcissa and Lucius. “He’s pulling through for now. I don’t know for how long, but it looks like he’s here for another day at least.”

“We’ll take it day by day, then,” Narcissa whispered, relief washing over her in such strong waves it was nearly painful. She let herself fall onto the sofa, exhausted from anguish as well as lack of sleep.

Lucius, looking as tired as she felt, plopped down next to her. “Lyra, I don’t think we can ever thank you enough.”

Lyra waved her arm dismissively. “Don’t be daft. That’s what I’m here for.” She smiled at the couple before turning to check on her patient. “He is stable for now, so I’ll go home and catch up on some sleep. Maybe you two should do the same.” With a last smile and friendly gesture, she disappeared into the fireplace.

Lucius eyed his wife. “As tired as I am, I think a bite to eat wouldn’t be amiss. Join me?”

“Yes!” Narcissa realised she hadn’t eaten since parting with Hermione the evening before. As if in agreement, her stomach growled, eliciting a laugh from Lucius.

“Come, love. Let’s find something edible in that kitchen of yours.” He pulled her up from the sofa.

Narcissa checked once more on Severus. His temperature was back to normal and his breathing shallow. “Please be well, Severus,” she whispered before turning to join Lucius for breakfast.

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Hermione smiled as she read the parchment, recognising the familiar writing.

Hermione,

You can’t expect us to believe that you’ll enjoy spending Christmas all by yourself, so we’ve decided to come and pick you up on Christmas Eve and take you to the Leaky Cauldron, and afterwards, we’ll all go to the Burrow together. Don’t worry one bit about presents, your company is all we want, and we know what you’re like when you’re in the middle of researching something.

Be ready on Christmas Eve, around five. ‘No’ is not an option.

Love,
Harry
Ron

It would be nice to see her best friends again, and Christmas at the Burrow had always been fun. “Hang on a sec, would you?” she asked the owl who perched on the backrest of a chair. The creature hooted and patiently waited while the witch grabbed a quill and ink.

Once the owl flew off with her reply, Hermione decided it was time for a day of shopping for presents. She’d go to the wizarding quarter in Inverness to find gifts for Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Molly, and maybe to Muggle London to find something for Arthur.

Hermione wrapped herself in winter clothes and Apparated from the front of her cottage straight to a quiet alley near the wizarding quarter. She smiled as the lively atmosphere engulfed her in a warm greeting. Diagon Alley might be the biggest wizarding quarter in Britain, but Inverness was by far the more sophisticated, elegant one.

She entered The Wizarding Scholar first, indulging in a selfish moment, knowing perfectly well there was nothing to be found for either Harry or Ron. But the shop had a café in its midst where she’d be able to peruse books and enjoy a cup of coffee, the ideal start to a day that might well turn into a chore.

It wasn’t her first visit, but the content of the musical section was certainly new. She found herself hard put to choose from Robert Fludd—The Life of a Wizard Genius, Alana Lohengrin’s Chasing the Music of the Spheres—Historic Occurrences, and Cicero’s Musica Universalis and its Mathematical Connection. One title elicited a snicker: Johannes Kepler—The Man who Outbrighted Fludd. The image of her former Arithmancy professor came to her mind, and she thought, Take that, Professor Vector! It might be educational.

As she stood pondering which book to purchase, it suddenly occurred to Hermione just how sparsely she’d been spending money since she’d moved to the cottage. She grabbed all four books. Sod it. I can afford it, after all!

At Quidditch for the Advanced Sportswizard, Hermione didn’t take long to find appropriate presents for Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

Once out on the street again, Hermione looked around. Her eyes fell on a window displaying dining ware and kitchen gadgets, and she slowly headed for it. Molly’s present might be easier to find than she’d anticipated. Culina Magica read the vividly purple sign above the door. Hermione’s eyes widened as she entered. It was a culinary witch’s paradise. From books about cookery and kitchen charms to self-sharpening knives, from Always-Clean-Plates to paper-thin slicers for those who liked to make their own crisps, from recipe collection parchments to never-burning-ovens, everything a witch could imagine was there, and a few things unimaginable, such as the egg-lover’s three-eggs-a-day laying hen. The bird, Hermione thought, looked more like a piece of decoration than a live animal.

In the end, she settled for a self-cleaning bamboo cutting board for Molly, herself intrigued by the magic imbued on it; ten seconds after its being used, it turned pristine again. It also came with a life-time guaranty, which would please Molly no end.

The sun was setting quickly by the time Hermione Apparated back to the cottage, and the temperature had dropped significantly. The air smelled strongly of snow, accentuated by a sharp, cutting breeze, and Hermione hurried inside.

She cast one warming charm after another as she walked through the house into the kitchen to deposit her goods on the table. Then she headed to the living room to light a fire. As soon as the fire sprang up, she added an extra log, no doubt that the ground would be covered in snow soon.

Reflecting on the day, Hermione sat down at the kitchen table to wrap her purchases. She’d reached the last one—Molly’s—when the bass rumbled. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Are you ready?” The giant had once again appeared out of nowhere and stretched his hand out in invitation. His face held a solemn expression. “If not now, it may be too late, young one.” The tone of his voice was sombre.

Hermione felt the blood leave her face. “It’s Professor Snape, isn’t it?” Upon his nod, she whispered, “I have no idea if I can do it, but I could never forgive myself if I didn’t try my best.”

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