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Authors note: Hi! I've been working really hard on this and I hope you all like it! My beta abandoned me, so I'm looking for a new one. If you wish to beta this, email me. Anyway, read and enjoy!
Presumptions and Truth
Chapter 1: The Prophecy
Minerva McGonagall gazed around at her unfamiliar view of the headmaster's office. Never before had she seen the office from his seat behind the desk. Had circumstances been any different she may have felt empowered by sitting in the same seat that had born so many of England's greatest wizards, but as it was this just augmented her grief. The office was devoid of any warmth it had previously held. Fawks had gone missing, and there was an empty space on the desk where the bowl of lemon drops used to be. McGonagall had thought it would be an insult to his memory to keep the candy, and so she had had it removed.
A familiar tapping on the window drew her attention away from her thoughts. She turned to see her owl impatiently rapping the window. Sighing, McGonagall rose to let in the owl. It unceremoniously dropped a rolled up newspaper on the desk and flew to its perch in the corner.
The news reported in the Daily Prophet had steadily become worse and worse after the headmaster's death. Diagon Ally had been attacked numerous times by Death Eaters, turning the once bright shopping centre into a street blackened by ashes and the ruins of fire. In these darker times, it was mandated that all aurors and ministry officials keep a fidelius charm on their residences, but unfortunately spies were common and fideliuses often exposed. The death toll was rapidly climbing, but times ahead only looked bleaker. All of the light side's remaining hope came to reside on the shoulders of a boy who was simply that, a boy, and much of their wisdom and knowledge had died with Dumbledore.
Again, McGonagall sighed. She had no idea how she would be able to run a school in times such as these. When she had ever needed advise she had turned to Dumbledore, but now he was gone. Gone.
"Hmm. Aren't you in a tight fix," voiced a portrait of one of Hogwarts' previous headmasters.
McGonagall pursed her lips before replying, "Why yes. It would seem so." When she had originally been reminded of the portraits everything had seemed better. She would be able to talk to Dumbledore and ask him of what he knew and what he would do. Though even this hope was smashed when she learned that during a raid of Diagon Alley his portrait had been torn while it was in the framer's shop.
To keep her mind from her more depressing thoughts, McGonagall set about preparing for Hogwarts' opening the following day. She had delayed the opening by two weeks, but refused the minister's request to cancel the school year, claiming that this generation would need the benefits of the school just as much as past generations if not more so. With this thought in mind she resumed her work, grimly noting that the student body had reduced by almost a third.
OoO0oOo0O
"I'm not going back!" Harry yelled, his face red in rage.
Remus briefly closed his eyes before replying, "Harry—"
"What, Remus? I'm legally an adult. I can do whatever I want. And I'm not going back, as nice and safe as it may be. I'm not going back until I've found all of those horcruxes and defeated Voldemort!"
Hermione threw up her hands. "Oh, Harry! You've made absolutely no progress! What makes you think that you will make any more any time soon?—"
"Hermione…" Harry's eyes flashed at the mention of his progress, which admittedly had been lacking.
"No, Harry," Hermione snapped. "I'm sick and tired of this!" She took a breath, calming down before she continued. "Voldemort knows you you're looking for his horcruxes, and his supporters have been attacking you more and more. Hogwarts is safe for you, even without… without," she said, visibly faltering, "Dumbledore. Harry, I know this is important to you. I really do. I know you want to avenge all that he has done, to prevent the massacres from continuing, but at what price to yourself? You can't help us if you're dead, Harry."
"She's right, Harry," Mad Eye Moody confirmed, "And besides, you'll need all the training you can get for your inevitable battle with Voldemort."
Harry sat down on the chair behind him and rested his head in his hand. He remained silent for a long moment before saying, "I hear you, but, please, let me alone for a while to think."
"Alright, mate," Ron replied in his first statement since the beginning of the talk. Moody, Remus, Molly Weasley, and Hermione all complied by standing and leaving the room.
Harry, left to his own thoughts, unknowingly touched his scar, which had started to burn more frequently and with a greater intensity. He attributed this to Voldemort's growing power and influence, though Hermione had said on more than one occasion that it was probably because Voldemort was trying to hurt him. Harry simply ignored her, preferring to believe that Voldemort still wasn't totally aware of the full extent of his connection to Harry, as unlikely as that may be. It was just nice to at least believe that he held some advantage.
She's right, Harry thought dejectedly. I really haven't made much progress. Bloody horcruxes…
Harry's thoughts drifted back to what Hermione had said. It replayed over and over in his mind: "You can't help us if you're dead, Harry. You can't help us if you're dead, Harry…." It made sense, much more than he was willing to admit, but after minutes of trying to come up with more excuses and rationalizations, Harry realized that it was hopeless; Hermione's argument was the better one.
Well bloody fine. I'll go back to Hogwarts. It's just one more year. Anyway, having me at Hogwarts will probably put some of the Order members in less danger. With this last valiant thought Harry left the study and moved into the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place where the others were crowded around the table talking in hushed whispers. As soon as they saw him the talking stopped.
Harry sat down in one of the chairs. Noticing that they were all looking at him expectantly he said, "I don't want to put any of you lot in danger by staying here."
Remus gave a short nod of acceptance, but Hermione could barely bite back her smile.
Mrs. Weasley jumped to her feat. "Well, dear, in that case we better get to packing you then. After all, the train does leave tomorrow."
Harry quietly groaned, but after swallowing his pride, nodded and proceeded to follow Mrs. Weasley out of the room.
OoO0oOo0O
McGonagall waited in her office for her next meeting with one of Hogwarts' teachers. Though she was determined that Hogwarts remain a haven for the normalcy absent during this war, she knew that changes would have to be made to the curriculums in order to better prepare the students for the desperate war ahead. She had just met with Karston Savage who was to be the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher. McGonagall had decided that the school needed an auror to teach this class and Savage had seemed like a good choice. He had grumbled at first about being taken off the field but both McGonagall and Rufus Scrimgeour thought it would be for the best.
McGonagall's eyes darted to the door as she heard a knock. "Come in!" She called.
Professor Trelawney entered looking rather spooky and a tad dishevelled.
"Hmm… Sybill. I trust your summer has been… interesting."
"Quite so. I studied with one of the great masters of our time, a seer named Delphinious Ortone. I perfected the reading of tealeaves. Alas, did you know that there are six types of grims, all predicting different types of death?"
"No, Sybill," McGonagall replied pursing her lips together, "I did not know."
"Hmm. Well then, you wished to speak to me, Minerva?"
"Yes." McGonagall took off her glasses and carefully whipped them before replacing them atop their perch on her nose. "I have received complaints by parents. They are not impressed by what you are teaching. Now I know how much some of the students value your class, so I am allowing you the chance to appeal."
"What? Cancel my teaching? What I teach is of the utmost importance here at Hogwarts!"
"We are in war, Sybill, a terrible war. I do not want the students to be unprepared."
"Humph. And what do you care for complaints?"
"Well… frankly I can't say I don't agree."
"Minerva, be warned," Professor Trelawney said in a shaky, misty voice that almost hid her anger. "You do not want to do this! I foresee—"
"Oh, Sybill! Come! You do have visions, I know. The headmaster—err, Dumbledore—told me. But, Sybill, they don't come enough, they aren't controlled, and most importantly they are not being taught to the students. Therefore I am forced to either change your curriculum extensively or cancel it."
"Minerva!" Professor Trelawney began before abruptly stopping. She was staring blankly ahead into space and had the look of one possessed.
"Sybill?" Minerva asked worriedly. "I know this may be difficult, but it—"
"A challenge appears," Trelawney rasped, "to her that first sees thestrals in the middle of the month… to her that relies on wit and reason… In times of desperation call forth the sands of time, so she may know the pieces of his soul… foretelling her future in a tale of the past…" Trelawney blinked confusedly before her eyes settled with anger on the new headmistress. "Well, fine then. I'm leaving."
"Wait, Sybill!" Minerva called weakly as Trelawney turned and left out the door. Finally she cradled her head in her hands and said, "Oh dear." Of course she immediately wrote the prophecy down, as it was still fresh in her mind. Some of it made sense, but who was the "she" that the prophecy referred to?
OoO0oOo0O
Meanwhile, back at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter had just finished packing. At the moment he was sitting on his trunk attempting to close it.
Hermione walked into his room and sat on his bed. With a small flick of her wand Harry's trunk had closed and latched. After looking down in amazement, Harry smiled and moved to sit next to Hermione. "So, one last year," he said.
"Yeah. I didn't think it would come so soon, but, well…"
"Yeah."
They sat for a while in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"What… what do you think is going to happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's just that… this year's going to be different, what with Dumbledore and all." Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the floor. This summer had been particularly tough for the threesome, as they had been so close to the deceased headmaster.
"I just don't know, Hermione, but I'm sure that things will get better. I'll make sure of it."
"And I'm going to help you, Harry. That I can promise you."
Harry sighed in resignation. "Fine, but don't get yourself hurt."
Hermione squeezed his shoulder. "If I was going to die anytime soon I'd be dead already."
"What's all this talk of dying?" Ron asked, having just appeared in the doorway. "Last I checked you lot were still alive. Hermione, you aren't a ghost are you?"
Chuckling Hermione answered, "No, Ron."
"Well then, dinner's being served downstairs. Mum says to hurry. If I were you I'd do what she says. Merlin knows the temper on that woman."
Hermione and Harry jumped up and ran downstairs past a bemused Ron, who just shrugged, shook his head for a few moments, and ran after them shouting bitter words about how it was unfair how they got a head start. He was about to round the bend into the kitchen and could only hear the words coming from there:
"Merlin, Harry. You just missed crashing into old Tonks here--," Fred began.
"And, Hermione, you almost left skid marks on the floor," George finished, clapping both Harry and Hermione on the back.
At precisely that moment Ron came racing in. He crashed straight into George, sending George, Harry, and Hermione all pitching forward. Ron himself landed on the top of the pile.
"Oof," grumbled Harry.
From the bottom of the pile a voice that sounded a lot like George said, "Humioy, ye air i en ee ouf."
"What brother dearest?" asked Fred, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
George manoeuvred himself so that he was on the top of the pile, earning himself a few complaints and harsh words from Ron, Harry, and Hermione. He then spit something from his mouth before replying, "Oh nothing, brother. Hermione here's hair was just in my mouth."
Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Ah Ronnykins, can't take a little hair in the mouth, now can we?" teased Fred.
"Well by me I don't think I can take it either. Tastes disgusting. No offence, Hermione," said George.
At the bottom of the pile Hermione simultaneously raised her eyebrows and smiled amusedly. "None taken."
Just then Molly Weasley bustled in. "Now, now," she chided, "settle down round the table now. You will eat your dinners while they are warm."
"But, mum—," began Fred.
"What if the dinners were to—," continued George.
"You know, stay warm—"
"That is, by means—"
"Of our new dinner-stay-warm product?"
Mrs. Weasley sternly glared at the twins who simply smiled cheekily at her. After a few seconds of this the twins gave up and sat down at the table.
"Only mum can do this to us you know," George whispered to Fred.
"Quite embarrassing actually," Fred whispered back.
They whipped their heads towards Lupin as he burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" George's eyes narrowed in accusation.
"Oh you two should know better than to whisper secrets to each other with him in the room," said Hermione. "He can hear everything you're saying."
"Werewolf hearing," Lupin explained, prompting a few laughs from Tonks and Harry.
Hermione smiled but after glancing at Mrs. Weasley resigned herself to say, "Well, we best eat this up, before well…" She looked pointedly at Mrs. Weasley. The others immediately understood and began to eat. Before long dinner had been finished.
"Well, we've a big day tomorrow, Harry, Ron," said Hermione nodding to each in turn.
"Yes, err, well, thank you Mrs. Weasley. It was delicious," said Harry.
"Yes, well, goodnight," added Ron before taking a big gulp of pumpkin juice and another mouthful of bread.
OoO0oOo0O
Hermione awoke to the sound of screams from down the hall. Jumping out of bed and throwing on a robe, she immediately left to find the source of the screams. After following the moans to Harry's room, she opened the door and went inside. Harry was sitting up in bed curled forward and was clutching his forehead. His face was contorted in agony. Hermione rushed to him and leaned so that one arm was supporting her on the bed and one was placed comfortingly on the back of his head. "Harry, Harry!" she cried, tears threatening to leak from the corners of her eyes. The expression on his face visibly softened, though it still remained in a grimace.
"Hermione," he asked, "could it have been just a dream?"
"What, Harry?"
"What's going on here?" Bill Weasley had just come in along with Ron, Lupin, Moody, and other various members of the Order, all of which looked extremely worried.
"I… I had a dream, but it seemed so real."
The Order members exchanged troubled glances, fully aware of Harry's past dreams.
"Harry, can you tell us of this dream?" asked Moody. "Where were you?"
"At, well, at the Granger's."
Hermione paled.
"What was happening?" Moody continued.
Harry looked up frightened. Hermione noticed tear stains on his cheeks. Harry only spoke one word, and yet this word was enough to convey both the immense gravity and alarm of the situation: "Voldemort."
Hermione slumped to the ground, her eyes wide with shock. She barely flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Now Hermione," said Moody, "there may be no truth to this. Harry's dreams have been false before.
"Still," he said turning to the others, "we will need to check on it. We will send eight aurors to the Granger household. I myself will go as well." With that Moody acio-ed some flu powder and disappeared into Harry's fire place.
The members of the Order immediate crowded around Harry and began an odd mix of questioning and comforting. Harry himself simply stared down at his hands answering their questions. In the midst of the chaos no one noticed Hermione slip from the room.
OoO0oOo0O
Hermione had never thrived in crowds; she always had the most success when she was alone to her thoughts. That is why she had left Harry's crowded room: to escape.
She paced up and down the corridor, lost in thought. Her breath was consciously slow and steady. Hermione had always been a rational girl. When in trouble she meticulously weighed her options, which is what she did now.
Merlin, Merlin, oh Merlin I hope… No, Hermione, you mustn't think like this; what good will come of it all? On one side it's just a dream, a silly dream, or if not merely a distraction placed by Voldemort or, heaven forbid, a trap. But what if it's not? What if it's true?
With this thought Hermione slumped down against a wall, her breathing again becoming quick and shallow. Hermione shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose before suddenly looking up, a firm look of resolution on her face.
No, I can't continue like this. Who is it helping, who? No one. And, Hermione, if you can't handle it, well… stop, just stop. I can't take it, I can't take it. No, I'm… I'm going. I have to see the truth for myself.
Hermione shakily stood up and walked to the living room. Her mind devoid of regrets she grabbed some flu powder off of the mantle and stepped into the fireplace. She threw down the powder and called, "The Granger Household."
Hermione stepped through her own fireplace grateful that she had hooked it up to the flu network. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. This relieved Hermione. Maybe it was just a dream, she thought. Suddenly a crash was heard from upstairs. Hermione whipped out her wand and ran towards the noise. Just as she was about to enter she was blinded by a flash of green light accompanied by a woman's scream. Hermione opened her mouth to let out her own scream, but was immediately silenced by the sight of a black hooded figure standing with its back to her.
He doesn't notice me, she thought, and I will not change that. Mum—oh Mum, oh Mum—Mum would want you to live, so live.
Hermione silently crept back down the hall, downstairs, and out the kitchen door. To avoid the risk of being seen running across the open yard she decided to slip behind a dense bush into a corner of the house where she would wait until she deemed it safe. All this was decided in cool, collected manner quite removed from her actual inner turmoil and grief. And so Hermione moved as though on auto drive, trying her best to ignore the weights in her stomach and throat and the burning tears in her eyes. Not until she was safely hidden did she allow herself to cry silent, wrenching tears.
OoO0oOo0O
Hermione did not know how long she sat crying behind the bush. It had felt like days, but the reality was that it was only a few minutes. She would have gone on longer had it not been for the sound of apparition cracks. Hermione peered through the bush to see eight fully uniformed aurors and Moody moving cautiously into the house. She moved to show herself but with a start realized that she was probably not supposed to have come, and so she remained where she was, settling on simply watching the aurors and hoping that her eyes and ears had deceived her and that everything was in fact just fine.
A short while later a few aurors came out of the house whispering. Hermione strained to hear them, but it was in vain, and they soon left with a crack.
Hermione's crying had slowed to steady intervals, as her heart remained torn between hope and harsh sensibility. Finally every last ounce of her hope was mercilessly slaughtered when she saw two shrouds being brought from the house. They were loaded into carriages led by horse-like beasts that Hermione could not identify before being flown away. As soon as everyone had left, Hermione crept back into the house and over to the fireplace. She stood in it, looking out towards her empty house. The tears welled up, but as they were just threatening to pour out, Hermione called, "Twelve Grimmauld Place," and was sped away into the Order headquarters.
Author's note: So how'd you like it? I'd love to know. You know what that means… review! A big chocolate chip cookie to the first reviewer!