The room was deafeningly silent.
The kind of silence that was powerful. The nothingness created a pulsation, bouncing off the threadbare walls, echoing in the still room until a wave of shivers created goose bumps on flesh. There was a tangible tension in the room radiating off every person's body like a personal furnace, but no one uttered a single, tiny syllable. Breaths were being held in an attempt to continue fostering the silence, because for some unspoken, yet mutual, reason the maintained quiet atmosphere was almost spiritual and unbreakable. Unable to stand it any longer, Minerva McGonagall was the first to tilt her head up slowly and sadly to match Dumbledore's heartbroken gaze.
"What does this mean, Albus?" It came out as barely a whisper, yet it cut through the room and the silence like a shattering glass, jarring and unpleasant. The other bodies in the room shifted softly, not yet daring or able to speak. Everyone in the room knew the answer to the question, McGonagall included; it was silly for her to ask. She did not query to hear a real reply or instigate a conversation, more to soften the ever-growing rigidity of the group. After a few more painfully uncommunicative seconds, Dumbledore slowly squeezed his eyes shut and rested both his palms heavily onto his sturdy, mahogany desk. He remained stationary in that position for a few more seconds, and then suddenly reopened his eyes, allowing a solitary tear to carve its way down the right side of his weathered face. Everyone stared in mute horror as they witnessed the slow descent of the tear, catching subtlety on ancient wrinkles until it gathered into a fat, wavery droplet on his chin.
And then, quite suddenly, it fell.
This was the very crumbling of Dumbledore's composure. For, who, in their right mind could hold themselves together when everything they ever believed to be true was swept out from beneath them like a cruel joke? Everything that they had been working towards, preparing, teaching...living...Everything that they had cried over together, bled over, killed over.
"Everything..." Dumbledore's voice cracked and he paused. The very sight of him in this state was unnerving for all his colleagues in the room. Albus Dumbledore was a leader. Albus Dumbledore was a hero- he was the one man the Dark Lord was afraid of. Albus Dumbledore was not allowed to be afraid or unsure or wrong.
He cleared his throat in a futile attempt to hold himself together, and began with a different approach.
"It is painfully obvious that we have not been farther from the truth in this grave matter. We have projected Harry Potter into this cold reality on false pretenses, on misleading and incorrect information. We have lost countless Order members and brave citizens due to this blatant mistake. We must rectify it, and start anew. We cannot let this mistake be the reason we lose this war- not this!" Dumbledore's voice rose and he slammed his fist onto the table he was leaning on, causing a few people to jump. "Due to this new, and God help us, accurate information, I believe it is clear who must finish this task..." he trailed off as everyone broke the silence in murmurs.
"I feel before we make any official decisions we all really must take some time to sort everything out as best we c-" Professor Sprout, nervously wringing her hands together spoke before Snape cut her off deliberately.
"There is no time for us to sit in our rooms, comfortably weighing the sides of a question we all know the answer to. It would be foolish and unnecessary. I say we decide now and inform the students- excuse me, former students, of their new-found duty in life." Snape finished icily. The other professors eyed him warily, knowing he was probably right, but the way he chose to go about matters was downright abrasive most of the time.
"Shall we take a vote of hands?" Professor Sprout offered, looking around the room at all her fellow colleagues. No one answered, still partially in shock from the news.
"For telling them now," Dumbledore's voice boomed in the small office, and he appeared to have reestablished himself, the friendly twinkle in his eyes replaced with a fiery determination. Everyone was abruptly reminded why he was feared by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Four hands slowly snaked their way into the air.
"I believe you have been outvoted, my dear." Dumbledore spoke gently and smiled sadly at Professor Sprout. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears at any moment. Snape had just plucked a tissue for her and was waving it at her with an expression of dissatisfaction when she whisked past him carelessly and ignored his gesture.
"Very well. Give them my good wishes and love." she spoke quickly, and then bustled out of the office, letting the door slam on her way out. A small sob was heard on the other side of the door as she descended the spiraling staircase. The other teachers stood quietly for a few more moments, unsure of whether to stay or leave. All were very well ready to abandon the awkward situation, but once again, no one was willing to take the initial plunge. Minerva McGonagall inhaled sharply through her nose and smoothed her hair out of habit. She made the first step towards the door, and the others followed suit, except for Severus Snape. As soon as the others had left and closed the door solidly behind them, Severus spoke.
"We are certain He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has heard the new prophecy?" Snape asked, pouring himself a glass of whisky, his hands abnormally unsteady. Dumbledore sighed deeply while he removed his glasses and pressed his hands to his face, slowly massaging the corners of his eyes closest to the bridge of his nose.
"Only a fraction of it. But enough to make rash decisions to protect himself." Dumbledore answered, situating his glasses back on his nose and making his way slowly over to his familiar, round pensieve. He gently touched the tip of his wand to his temple and drew out a long, thin, wispy memory to add to the already swirling basin. "Enough for him to want to kill Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy more than anything else in the world..."
….
Pansy Parkinson was stretched luxuriously by her pool, wearing only the bottoms of her black bikini and fully intent on soaking up as much sun as possible. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and shone under the summer sun. Oversized sunglasses sat regally on the bridge of her nose, and she had an expression of extreme satisfaction on her face. She had absolutely no idea Draco was standing behind her, arms crossed, smirking infamously and enjoying the view immensely. Draco always knew she was semi-pretty if she kept her mouth shut. And to someone like Draco Malfoy, that was all that mattered, for he never planned on falling in love with someone of substance. His selection was limited, and sadly, Pansy was as good as it got as far as young, rich, Purebloods went. Suddenly, Pansy sighed in contentment, shifting her body slightly to get more sun, causing her youthfully young breasts to bounce playfully and catch Draco's attention again. Draco stripped off his shirt in one quick motion, leaving him in dark khaki-colored cargo shorts that rode low on his hips. It was far too hot to mess with formal robes, and besides, no one was around to chastise him for his casual attire. Pansy noticed none of this, her eyes still hidden behind oversized sunglasses. Walking with a slight bounce in his step, Draco made his way over to the deepest end of the pool, balanced himself, and dove in causing a gigantic splash.
Pansy bolted straight out of her chair, screamed, and reached desperately for her towel. Her sunglasses slipped off her face, shattering the lenses on the marble under her feet, but none of that mattered to her.
"Fuck!" She managed to blurt out, after realizing who had scared her. "If my father were here..." she began to patronize.
"But he's not here, now is he, Pans?" Draco interrupted, smirking at her knowingly, and Pansy's visibly tense frame relaxed slightly. She took a deep, calming breath before answering.
"No, Draco, he's not here. He's in Tuscany on business with Mother. Won't be back until early next week." she ended her sentence and the right corner of her mouth twitched slightly upward. Draco lay on his back in the water with his arms resting behind his head lazily. Draco had to refrain from snorting at this. Business. Business with the Dark Lord or business with the Tuscan mistress while the Mrs. was preoccupied with the scenery and wine?
"How very interesting. What is a girl like you going to do for four days without the parents?" he questioned, his voice dropping so that it was almost a growl. Pansy dropped the towel slowly and without inhibition. She sauntered over to the edge of the pool closest to Draco. He repositioned himself so that he was standing in the water. They had only been on their official summer holiday for a week, but already Pansy was thoroughly tanned. Girls like Pansy didn't waste any time striving for perfection. Tan was 'in' this season, so Pansy had jumped on the bandwagon early. She tossed her long, shiny hair swiftly into a bun on top of her head as she slipped daintily into the water. As she maneuvered closer to Draco he noticed her overwhelming pink lip gloss lavishly spread over her quasi-full lips and the rest of her face masked under many layers of powder and rouge. Natural beauty was never a possession of Pansy's, so as long as Draco didn't have to see what she looked like first thing in the morning, he didn't really care.
"I haven't officially decided, but I have a few novel ideas..." Pansy purred, smirking worthy of a Malfoy and wrapping her thin arms around his neck. Draco leaned forward to close the gap between them and pressed his lips roughly to hers, tasting the waxy, plastic feel of the lip gloss. He slowly forced her lips open, imagining flippantly that her lips were soft and warm and free of substance. He was never romantic with a girl, never kind and loving. It was not the Malfoy way. Instead he was rough, diligent, and removed. Malfoy's were never taught to become enraptured with a woman, to love and cherish her more than life, but instead to possess one like one may own a lamp or a clock. A woman was there to bear pureblood heirs and to succumb to the man's will and request, both sexually and physically. Thinking about this, Draco intentionally bit Pansy's lip, hard enough to draw blood. She gasped quietly, and pulled away, a thin trickle of blood staining her chin. She looked at him with confusion at first, for Draco had never hurt her before, and then with anger. Draco eyed her almost challengingly, daring her to speak of it with something other than appreciation and gratitude.
"What's happened to you, Draco?" she whispered, catching Draco off guard. Her hand deftly wiped the blood from her chin, but a reddish tinge would not leave the spot. He chose not to answer her, but instead pulled her swiftly back to him, lips inches apart. He felt her soft breath against him and the rapid heartbeat in her wrist where he held her firmly.
"Fear me," Draco breathed the command. Pansy stiffened.
"What's happened, Draco?" Pansy voice shook as she asked the question again. With lightening speed, Draco's right hand flew from the water and clenched her delicate neck right underneath her chin. Pansy's eyes were wide with horror and alarm, but she remained silent. Draco tilted her head up by applying pressure to her jaw and stared at the broken skin on her lip where he had bitten her. It was still oozing a tiny amount of blood, and had now swollen a bit. Draco's eyes then flitted over her face; she had closed her eyes and was breathing rapidly through her nose. He let go of her neck roughly and pushed her back, causing her to splash a little in the water.
Before he could say or do anything else, a large eagle owl swooped from seemingly nowhere and landed on his shoulder. Glancing at the cowering girl in front of him, Draco immediately lost any and all desire to be near her. He scooped the letter from the owl's beak and instructed it to fly off; there would be no treats for it from him. He mechanically pulled himself out of the water and moved to sit on the nearest chair to look over the letter. It was addressed to him. How odd.
"Do you even love me at all?" Pansy whispered from the pool, tears already falling down her cheeks. Her arms had crossed protectively to cover to exposed chest in the water. Draco rolled his eyes. Love? Was she fucking kidding?
"I've never loved anything, why would you be any different?" Pansy cried harder. Draco chose to ignore it.
Opening the letter, he immediately recognized the neatly slanted writing and began reading with curiosity and a small amount of hope.
Pansy had helped herself out of the pool and wrapped a towel around her torso by now, hurt by Draco's lack of care, and was making her way over to her top, her wet feet making slapping noises against the marble. She opened her mouth angrily as she passed him, fully intending to give him a piece of her mind, but was silenced by the look on his face.
"What is it, then?" she spat, still cross with him, but undeniably curious by the letter and it's effect on him. She would have to be nice if she wanted to find out what was so intriguing in the letter. Draco continued reading until the end, at which he crumpled the letter up, and threw it casually on the ground next to him. Just as Pansy was leaning down to pick it up and read for herself, Draco caused it to combust into flames with a flick of his wand. Yelping and recoiling back, Pansy practically fell back into the pool.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?" Pansy raged, using his surname to show how upset she was. Draco merely glared at her as he tugged his white polo back over his still damp chest and began walking away. "First you scare me half to death while I'm sunbathing, then you make me bleed and choke me, and then you try to catch me on fire! Are you going to treat me like this when I'm your fucking wife?"
Draco whirled around and took a few dangerous steps toward her; she recoiled immediately.
"Is there a fucking diamond on your finger?" he whispered savagely.
"No." Pansy ground out through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing in anger and fear.
"Then piss off and leave me the fuck alone until I call for you."
"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Pansy screamed after him, but she never knew if he actually heard it, because he disappeared with a quick pop.
….
Hermione twirled the modest promise ring Ron had given her around her index finger. It was shiny and silver, with a small ruby in the center. He had asked the jeweler to engrave the words Wait For Me on the inside of the slim band in an elegant scroll. Though she would never tell another soul, the cheesy message kind of made her want to gag.
"What do you say, 'Mione? I know it's kind of out of the blue, but it just feels right..." Ron trailed off, seeing the unconfident look on her face.
Surely this must have cost him nearly all his savings, Hermione privately thought. The engraving on the inside of the band made it special, unique, and therefore, non-returnable.
"Of course, this isn't making anything set completely in stone or anything..." Ron rambled on nervously, "it's just a way for other people to know that we're in a serious relationship... and that maybe, one day, we'll think about getting...you know..."
"Married?" Hermione mumbled, still eyeing the ring.
"Exactly!" Ron said excitedly, taking her words to mean she was convinced.
But what could she really say? Tell Ron she loved him dearly and the ring was an extremely nice gesture, but she didn't really think of him as "The One"? Tell him that even though she had kissed him for the first time a week before that it didn't really mean she wanted to marry him? Oh, bugger, Hermione thought. What else could she do but...
"I love it!" she managed to squeak out, throwing him an awkward smile. Ron beamed as he slipped the ring onto her ring finger.
"Oops, I guess it's a little big... I can have it fixed if you like..." Ron mumbled embarrassed. Hermione knew he couldn't afford to do any more work on the ring.
"No, Ron, it's perfect just the way it is. I told you I loved it." Hermione smiled softly at him and he leaned over to peck her quickly on the lips. She felt sick.
"Hermione, dear!" Mrs. Weasley called from the back door. "Sorry to interrupt, but you've just received an owl!"
Secretly thankful to have an excuse to abandon the awkward situation, Hermione popped up and walked briskly into the house, Ron following happily in her wake. The large eagle owl was perched on the windowsill, looking around regally.
"Hello there..." Hermione spoke softly to it as she took the letter. The owl nipped her fingers affectionately, and swooped out the window without waiting to see if she would reply. Ron clambered up the stairs, undoubtedly to spread the news that Hermione loved his ring.
Hermione took the letter, frowning slightly, and sat down at the Weasley family's large dining room table to open it as Mrs. Weasley began preparing dinner.
"Who's it from, love?" Mrs. Weasley asked brightly as she cracked an egg on the rim of a pan. Not hearing a reply from the girl in a few minutes, Mrs. Weasley turned around, her eyebrows furrowed as Hermione remained silent.
"It's from Dumbledore..." Hermione answered quietly. "He says it's an emergency and I have to fly to Hogwarts immediately?" She ended the sentence with a question, not comprehending what could possibly be so wrong. Mrs. Weasley took a seat next to Hermione and read the letter over with her. Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything for a few moments after she had finished reading it and Hermione waited for her response.
"I'll owl Arthur at the Ministry, maybe he'll have some idea what this is all about..." Mrs. Weasley got up and walked into the other room to borrow Pig. Hermione sat still re-reading the letter until she decided it was unwise to continue wasting time.
"I suppose I'll head over. Hopefully I'll be back in time for dinner." Hermione managed to smile slightly as Mrs. Weasley sent Pig out the window with a letter to Mr. Weasley.
"Alright, dear. Tell Dumbledore we all said hello and give him our love..." Mrs. Weasley embraced Hermione in a short, tight hug before letting her go. Hermione separated herself from Mrs. Weasley briefly before she felt the keen mother grab her left hand and see the promise ring hanging limply on her finger. The warm mother smiled genuinely for a brief second before pulling Hermione into another hug. "Don't break his heart..." Mrs. Weasley whispered, her voice full of compassion and love for her youngest son. Hermione felt her stomach drop.
A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm back from an extended leave of absence, and I'm really really excited about this story. I've already written the first four chapters, and I will be posting them soon. Please review, because I want to know whether or not you like it so far!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with the stories. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling except my plot line.
