Beauty From Pain

Chapter Thirty-Four

The cottage was exactly what she had expected.

The interior was awash in creams and whites, the most beautifully arranged furniture and a plethora of windows to let in the last of the evening's sunlight. There was a distinctly feminine touch to the place which lent truth to Blaise's mentioning that it was owned by his mother. She must have decorated it as well, and Hermione begrudgingly admitted the witch had taste. The room she had landed in spoke of wealth but with a subtly the she could appreciate. If she ever gave up on Virago, she could see herself living in a place like this. Perhaps with a bit more color.

She left the room she hand portkeyed into - which she assumed was a sitting room - and entered a sun room. The walls were made of large windows and led up into a pyramid skylight. The room appeared to be entirely glass and continued the white theme from the previous room but with splashes of black here and there. Plants bloomed in all four corners, and Hermione thought the room was only a few more potted plants away from being a greenhouse. Large double doors - also made of glass, of course - led out into the garden beyond.

Hermione sat on one of the white sofas and pulled a pillow into her arms, allowing herself a moment to cringe at the horrible black and cream design on it. Perhaps Blaise's mother only had somewhat impeccable taste. A set of wind chimes outside began to clink in the breeze, and she became distinctly aware of how quiet the cottage was.

She was alone in a stranger's cottage in Ireland. She hadn't told anyone where she was or what she was doing, given no warning and certainly not owled Ginny and Luna like she had promised.

"What the fuck is wrong with me," she whispered and buried her face in the pillow. This behavior was so unlike her. She was always the meticulous one, the planner and plotter who made sure all the details were in order before setting out on any kind of adventure. But here she was, neck deep in unknown territory and without a single resource or connection to help her. All for the sake of her best friend and the idiot she was dating. "They're both idiots," she said to herself, "and so am I."

Idiot or not, she needed a plan before the sun fully set and she was left to wonder Ireland in the dark. She had only studied selkies for a short period of time during her years at Hogwarts, mostly for more advanced understanding in the magical uses of selkie skin and why it had been mostly outlawed as a potions ingredient during the development of —

"Focus." She squeezed the pillow a bit tighter and stared out at the garden around her without really seeing it. "Selkie skin used to be harvested off the coasts of Galway until the outlawing of harvesting in seventeen..." She sat up straighter. There had been a small passage in Advanced Potions Making in regards to aquatic environment-based ingredient harvesting. Something about selkies migrating after the harvesting of their skins was outlawed, and a witch who helped develop a town for them, a safe haven similar to other small wizarding towns.

There was no hope of her remembering the name. It had been a small island of little importance at the time, and she had been too focused on the potions information to care about the selkie migrations. She cursed herself for letting information slip through her fingers and considered finding a bookstore in search of a copy of Advanced Potions Making.

It would take too long, she decided, dismissing the idea completely. She was already wasting too much time sitting on the damned couch staring at the plants.

Shoving the pillow aside, Hermione stepped through the glass doors that led out into the garden and tried to find her way to the street. If this was a magical house - which, given the size of the interior in relation to the apparent size of the house, it most definitely was - then it must be within a magical street or town. The Zabinis would never deign to live among muggles.