Plague

Summery: A strange sickness has settled over the Wizarding World. Healers everywhere are trying to combat it, but to no avail. The wizarding population is slowly dying, and with no cure for the epidemic, things are slowly going south. Those healthy enough to work instead protest against the Ministry, who cannot and will not help them.

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Tiffany LaFleur is attending her sixth year. With half of her classmates sick and her parents dead, Tiffany finds that she's never been more lonely. Until she meets Kieran, leader of a strange cult, that is. Initiated into the Order of the Eclipsed Souls, Tiffany strives to be complete, but a single secret kept her could be enough to destroy everything she's ever loved...

Warnings: gore (I guess...)

Sickness is mankind's greatest defect

-Georg C. Litchenburg

Chapter One

The End of Summer

Damian Crossley, Minister for Magic, sat alone in a darkened room. On the desk in front of him, lit by the light of a single candle, was the newest treaty delivered to him by the public. He stared at it in baffled astonishment, wondering what on earth he ought to do. He read them through.

Step down from minister... Donate all ministry funding to the research effort... Close down St. Holland's for poor healthcare...

"Barkin!" he yelled, and a small, pudgy-faced man with curly dark hair and a bald spot atop his head appeared at the door. "Tell the public that their latest treaty has been disregarded, and that the Ministry has their best interests at heart." Barkin sucked in a breath.

"Sir, they're not going to like that..." he said uneasily. "I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news..."

"Then get that Scorpius Malfoy to do it," Crossley snapped back. Barkin nodded hastily and backed out of the room.

Crossley sighed, massaging his short and stubby fingers, the pale skin marred with inkblots. His bald head was hidden by a rather large top hat, and the usual stubble on his jaw had turned into a wispy beard. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and wondered when it would end. The death, the sickness, the rioting, all of it.

He had been in his suite at the ministry for days on end now, hiding from the rioters outside. The public was furious, angered by the lack of progress made. The recently opened hospital St. Holland's had received devastating criticism, and the Ministry was blamed for the lack of funding in the research effort.

He looked at the photo frame on the desk. Did the public not know that he felt their pain, he wondered, staring at it. The picture in the frame was of Crossley himself, as well as his wife and two young daughters. All three of them were dead now, claimed by the sickness that had him locked away in that room.

"Times are tough for all of us," he muttered to himself, turning over the frame so he couldn't see the photo. "I just wish they'd understand..."

Coughing woke Tiffany from her light sleep. She glanced through the gloom in the darkened dormitory, looking for the source of the sound. She found it at once, in the next bed over.

Kai was a small, scrawny girl of eleven, and even in the darkness Tiffany could see her bright red hair. Kai moaned in her sleep and rolled over, leaving that hair behind.

Feeling cold, Tiffany sat up in bed and stared at the young girl. Kai's usually olive skin had gone almost green, a sickly pale colour that made her look already dead. Her leaps were beginning to turn blue, stained with a tiny amount of crimson blood. She twitched in her sleep restlessly, despite normally being rock-like when asleep.

It mean only one thing: the sickness had gotten her.

Shivering from the cold in the room, Tiffany swung her legs over the bed and made her way over towards the door. It was kept open at night, and so she only had to push it to create a gap large enough to slip through. On the other side of the landing was the boys' dormitory, and in the middle, opposite the stairs, was the staff corridor.

Tiffany entered the corridor without a sound. She had always been good at sneaking around in the dead of night, since her parents had been overprotective and had never let her go to parties with her muggle friends. Being purebloods, they didn't understand just how clever muggles really were. They could open locks without either keys or magic, they could dance without charmed shoes, and they didn't feel the need to wear ballgowns every other weekend.

She knocked lightly on the night matron's door before pushing it open. "Ma'am?" she called into the quiet. A snort cut off abruptly as the night matron- a plump, motherly woman named Agatha Jones- sat up in bed, scrabbling at the sheets. A moment later she spotted Tiffany and calmed down a great deal.

"Good heavens', child, you frightened me! Is something the matter?" Tiffany nodded.

"Kai's sick, ma'am. Kai Colette?" Agatha paled a great deal but nodded.

"Show me the way," she commanded, climbing out of bed. Tiffany nodded, heading back to the girls' dorm with the matron on her heels. She pushed open the door and showed Agatha to Kai's bed. The small girl was now moaning softly in her sleep.

Agatha whipped out her wand, whispering softly, "Winguardium leviousa." Kai began to float, the blanket around her shoulders slipping to the floor. Agatha then turned to Tiffany, looking grave. "Go to sleep now, girl. I'll take your friend to the infirmary. Poor dear, she'll be lucky to make it through the night."

Tiffany waited in bed until the footsteps had long since faded away. She counted the minutes out in her head, and only when she reached fifteen did she dare to climb out of bed and head downstairs. The infirmary was in the basement, and so she headed down into the dim cellar cautiously. Fifty hospital beds were crowded into the spacious space, about three of them full. Tiffany spotted Ryan Smith, who had the flu but not the sickness, and Ollie Davies, who had a chest infection. At the opposite end of the room, however, lay Kai, who tossed at turned, making loud, pitiful noises.

Tiffany crept closer to the young girl. Her sickly pale skin was now marred with painful red boils, and her bald head was red with a roaring rash. She was crying in sleep, her eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. Her fists were clenched and her whole body was tensed up. In the midst of a long wail, she cut herself off, choking and coughing. Blood began to spatter the creamy sheets, and Tiffany flinched back. When the coughing bout had ceased, she lay still, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Hesitantly, Tiffany reached out and took Kai's weak hand.

She was just about to nod off when Kai moaned loudly and her eyes fluttered open. The clear blue of her irises had become murky and unseeing, and she gripped Tiffany's hand hard. "Mamma?" she called.

"No," Tiffany said soothingly. "It's Tiffany, Tiffany LaFleur. I'm your friend. Do you remember?"

"I think so..." Kai murmured. "Tiffany, tell me about Hogwarts."

Tiffany nodded. "Alright. What do you want me to tell you?"

"The Sorting," the sick girl whispered. "I want to know about my Sorting."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Tiffany began. "The ride across the lake made your stomach churn but now you're here, you're here at Hogwarts. Professor Longbottom gave you the typical first-year speech, and the ghosts have floated past already. Now you stand there, waiting fr the doors to open. When they do, you're greeted with the magnificent sight of the great hall. The stars burn brightly above you, the candles light up the hall, and you stand in line with the other first-years. You're scared but also excited. Tonight is the first night of the rest of your life. After several names have been called, Professor Longbottom says, 'Colette, Kai'. You step forwards and sit on the stool and the Sorting Hat slips over your head. |You wrinkle your nose at the smell, but listen as he thinks aloud. Before long he opens his mouth and calls out your house..."

"What's my house?" Kai asked desperately.

"You tell me," Tiffany replied. "Where do you want to be?"

"Gryffindor," Kai whispered. "Just like my mum... Mum? Mum, is that you?" She took a shallow, rasping breath, trying to take in air but failing. She scrabbled at the edge of the bad with her nails, let out a piercing wail, and fell still. Her murky eyes stared at the ceiling, all the life gone from them. Taking a shaky breath, Tiffany reached out and shut the eyes of the young girl.

"Goodnight, Kai," she whispered. Then she stood and left the room.

The Great Hall was strangely empty, a testament to to severity of the sickness. Many students looked grief-stricken, and others pitiful. Tiffany wiped her face clean of emotion as she sat down at the Gryffindor table.

In reality, she felt lost and alone. In the spring, during the first bout of the sickness, her friend Evie had died, along with Freya and Suzie, girls in her dorm. Over the summer, both her parents had died, along with her younger brothers. As it was, she had nobody left to confide in.

The Sorting was short and sweet, as many would-be students names had been crossed off the list. The feast was quieter than ever before, and nobody spoke to Tiffany as she sat alone. It felt strange and unnatural to sit in silence and eat. Not to hear Evie's lame jokes or watch her silly antics that often got her detention was heartbreaking. In the end, she ate very little, and just wanted to go to bed.

Tomorrow will be a new day, she told herself, but she had very little faith in the sunrise anymore.