Hey there! I'm back with a new story which I can't take the credit for: I'm currently translating my favorite French fanfiction in colaboration with the author, angelique444. I hope you'll like it as much as I did!
Disclaimer: This story isn't mine; it's a translation from angelique444. The original title is ''Comme un château de cartes''. I don't own anything about Harry Potter; all of this (books, movies, idea, etc) is the property of JK Rowling and others. All of the characters and the places are not mine.
Summary: Ron comes back from a mission that has gone wrong. Hermione reappears after seven years of absence. Destiny will bring them back together again and force them to face what they had left behind as an unexpected surprise makes their separates ways a single one.
Like an house of cards
Chapter 1: Caraghe
Several houses were on fire. The devastation of the tiny village weighed heavily on the conscience of its habitants, all gathered in front of the disaster. They were watching as the monuments that had always been part of their lives and history burnt, their faces proud, defeated or tearful. The town hall, ageless, was in blackened pieces on the dusty ground. The library, which had contained authentic writings from the most famous wizards of the world, was no more. The steeple, still licked by the copper flames, was about to collapse. Homes that had been filled with memories, laughter and sadness had also been destroyed by the fire, adding up to the already heavy losses. Everything of value seemed to have fall under the destructive power of the Rebels. The wind was blowing strongly, scattering red sparks and snowy grey ashes all over the village, taking away the dispossessed wizards' silent screams. Clouds of suffocating smoke were rising up to the sky and escaping quickly, higher and further, towards the ocean.
Amongst the villagers, a man was standing out from the crowd, his body straight and proud, at least a head taller than his companions. Like everybody else, he was covered with soot and burns. Like everybody else, he had a sour taste in his mouth. His eyes, of the deepest blue, were emotionless; nothing, except the whitened knuckles on his clenched fists, could betray that inside a poignant rage was torturing him.
A hand was gently placed on his shoulder. So far, people had stayed away from him, distrustful, but this old man, crushed by the weight of the years, found through his sadness a little place for sympathy.
-'You did what you could. What was supposed to happen happened. We can't go back.'
Ron bent his head without looking at his interlocutor. He sighed.
-'I wish I could have avoided such a disaster. This was not supposed to happen this way.'
The old man withdrawn his hand and laid it on his cane in front of him.
-'Future doesn't hold certainties, young man. Plans are exactly like houses of cards; sometimes they stand, but sometimes, they collapse.'
The redhead ran his hand through his hair. For Merlin's beard, he was shaking. The adrenaline was wearing off now and his body was feeling the tiredness more than ever. He took a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply and breathed out the smoke slowly. His shirt was ruined; he would have to buy another one.
-'My houses are always strong', Ron replied with a grim smile. 'They never collapse.'
The old man chuckled.
-'You should never say never. Here's the proof.'
Ron finished his cigarette, crushed it on the ground and took a look around. No, his houses never collapsed.
The fire was dying now. They had managed to save a part of the village but the majority of it was still burning in front of them. The Rebels were gone, seeing that their plans had been foiled, but Ron had managed to capture three of them which were now lying on the ground several feet away. The Aurors had arrived and were taking over. He was done here.
-'There was way more than doodles in here.' said the old man, without great emotions. 'There were our ancestor's writings, the elves, and the secret of their magic... You know, Caraghe means ''holder of the secret'' in old elvish. The elves, during their decline, saw that wizards were growing in numbers and power and so decided to abandon their magic and hided it here. From that moment on, their children had no powers. They married first between themselves and then with wizards, adopting their magic. It was a great sacrifice for the good of this world, as it was too great of a secret for such a small place.'
Ron didn't reply; he knew all that, of course, since he had come here to discover this magic. However, hearing the legend from this husky, broken voice seemed to give it much more depth. The redhead shivered. This old man seemed to believe in this legend not as if it was only a myth but as if it was an unquestionable history fact.
-'Whoever got this treasure have the world's destiny in his hands.' he continued in a deep and grave tone. 'It contains too much power, a too great magic, to be controlled by wizards. No human has the strength to control it.'
-'The price was very high for the finding of that parchment, 'confessed Ron, contemplating the mess he had caused. 'It was a dangerous object. It's better for everyone that it's destroyed... The fire took care of that.'
The old man flinched. He cast a suspicious look at the young man but only saw the shadow of a smile on his lips before it disappeared. His eyes then went to his holed shirt and his soot covered arms; a wound was still fresh on his left forearm.
-'You're bleeding.' He pointed out in a strange voice. 'Your arm: did you get injured?'
Ron glanced at the thick reddish line that scarred his skin. There was blood everywhere.
-'It's nothing.' he grimaced. 'a misadventure with the Rebels.'
A silence settled between them for a moment. The old man relied slightly on his cane.
-'You're something, son, really.'
Ron finally turned to him. He examined the wrinkled face, covered by large furrows. His cracked hands were resting on the head of the tiger that adorned his cane. Two amber stones acted as eyes and were reflecting the orange glow of the flames.
-'I really don't understand what you mean by that', Ron replied carefully. 'Can you please excuse me, sir, but I need to go to my superior now.'
He walked away, towards his Ministry colleagues, where he found .
-'Weasley' groaned his boss. 'I hope you have a good explanation for this failure. This mission was so simple!'
-'I planned it inadequately, I'm sorry.'
-'An inadequate planning? Inadequate planning!' He almost yelled, flushed with anger. 'Don't you understand what the Ministry just lost? This secret was precious! More precious than anything that exists on this earth!'
Ron lit another cigarette and shrugged his shoulder.
-'Maybe it was too precious. It was a dangerous weapon and I'm relieved that it's destroyed.'
's face inflated even more. His eyes seemed about to pop out of their sockets and were bloodshot. It wasn't a beautiful sight, but Ron was used to it. After all, he had worked for him for almost seven years now.
-'You can't decide such things! Your mission was to find that damn parchment and take it back to the Ministry, safe and sound!'
The young man slowly exhaled the smoke, still calm. Why fight back? Bentam often had the furious looks of a mad dog, but never bit anyone.
-'The Rebels got in the game, I couldn't save the parchment. It burned.'
burst into an evil laugher. He grabbed his employee by the arm and led him a little further, away from eavesdroppers.
-'You know as well as I do that the parchment couldn't burn. The elvish magic cannot be destroyed by fire, it's ridiculous. Find a better excuse, Weasley, because you'll soon say goodbye to your job.'
The redhead sneered.
-'That's impossible, I'm the best,' he replied, amused. 'You can't do without me.'
-'Of course I can! Don't play with me, Weasley. Count this as a warning.'
-'Listen, Bentam, I can't help it if nobody else on this fucking planet have the guts to execute your suicide missions. We both know that I am the only idiot who accept them.'
He knew his boss couldn't contradict him because it was the simple truth; nobody was stupid enough to take those kinds of missions except him. Dozens of times, he almost died. Dozens of times, he got out of it alive.
Henri Bentam took a deep breath and asked the question once again.
-'Where is the parchment?'
Ron rolled his eyes.
-'It burned, I've already told you.'
-'Don't make fun of me! The parchment COULDN'T burn!'
The young man threw his cigarette angrily on the ground and crushed it heavily.
-'So you know what that means?' retorted the redhead. 'It was a fake. The parchment doesn't exist! The habitants of this village venerated this piece of paper like if it was the most precious treasure of the earth. Some even died for it. But I've seen it burned with my own eyes. I saw it catch on fire as fast as a piece of paper would. And I'm not the only one; the Rebels also saw it. This entire mission was a waste of time and has caused the death of many wizards. So, I'll repeat it one more time: the parchment was a fake, it burnt. It flew up in the air in a cloud of ashes and smoke. Period.'
paced nervously in front of him. He cussed several times, confused.
-'But we did have trusted sources! Are you sure that the parchment hadn't been replaced?'
-'It was under constant supervision by the town guards, me and the Rebels. If someone had tried to make a switch, he wouldn't have had the time to take a step in the chamber before one of us shot him down with a spell.'
He was annoyed now. He wanted to go home, take a shower and forget all about this adventure. Things hadn't gone as he had wanted them to go, that much was true. His plan had gone wrong; he hadn't been planning on casualties. This fire, which, in the end, had become his solution, had however killed a lot of people. Even if he always had carte blanche in his missions, he wasn't used to sacrificing wizards and muggles.
-'You don't think that there's a tiny little chance that-'
-'No!' exclaimed Ron, exasperated. 'We were all wrong, from beginning to end, and now look what this has come to: many died for nothing! We should go help them instead of persisting on finding something that has never existed!'
He was tired. He wanted to go home and see his family. It had been several months since he first started planning this day and he was sick of it now.
coughed uneasily.
-'OK. Ok. We'll call some clean-up units in to fix this mess. And you, you should take a long week off before coming back to work. Even better: take two. Maybe you should think about getting a new job, you're getting old for this.'
-'I'm only 27 and I am the best. I told you: you can't do without me.'
-'Whatever, you're still taking two weeks off. Maybe I'll have a quiet mission for you until then. Now, go take care of that arm, boy, or you'll end up losing all your blood.'
On that, he took off, preventing Ron from protesting. The redhead groaned; he didn't like quiet missions. He loved to be in the heat of the moment. He loved the adrenaline rush that pumped his heart hard and pulsated through his veins. To put his life in danger had always given him an exciting thrill, as if escaping death made him stronger. As if that moment when his life was hanging by a thread was a hard drug that he could not resist. He was addicted to danger.
However, at this moment, he was happy to go home. He hadn't had any real vacations in years! He was already thinking about the good it would do him to relax in his house without any wizards trying to skin him alive. He would finally have a proper meal and a long night of undisturbed sleep. Ron took a look at his hand, covered with burns, and at his arm, where the wound glowed red. It was hurting now.
-'It's a nasty looking injury you have here, son,' the old man said, joining him. 'You should take care of it before it gets infected.'
Ron slightly smiled, but didn't answer. He was playing a dangerous game and this man, he knew it, wasn't an ordinary old guy. He needed to be careful.
-'Will it come back to us?' asked the man with a penetrating stare.
The redhead shrugged.
-'We need to let the dust settle. Again, I'm sorry, but I have to go.'
As he started to walk away, the man grabbed his arm with his cane.
-'This magic is way more powerful than anything you could imagine,' he whispered between his rotten teeth. 'Never forget that.'
-'Ehhh... Sure.'
Ron unhooked himself and quickened his pace as he headed toward the health care tent. He had a weird sensation in his stomach; behind him, the old man muttered something but he couldn't hear what he was saying.
-'Hi, come and sit on this chair, please.'
A nurse, dressed in a white wizard dress, indicated a chair with her free hand, the other holding a parchment and quill.
-'Your injury seems deep,' she added as she saw the blood on his arm. 'Cut by a piece of glass, isn't it?'
-'Yes, yes, exactly.'
She smiled at him and showed him the chair again.
-'I'll take care of you in minute.'
She slipped away behind a cloth wall, which concealed the wounded's unceasing complains. Ron shivered. He needed to go home; he hated nurses, hospitals and everything that came with it. He hated to be vulnerable, even more in front of a woman. As soon as she was out of sight, he rummaged through the many bottles and jars on the table next to him, found disinfectant pomade, clean bandages and before sixty seconds had gone by his arm had been generously coated by the greasy mixture and covered by the white linen. It had to do for now.
-'Weasley!'
Damn. Bentam. Ron didn't want to deal with his boss again so he shoved the pomade in his pocket and got out of the tent, putting on his brightest fake smile.
-'Thanks for the vacation. See you in two weeks!'
Henri Bentam tried to reach him in time, but it was too late. He opened his mouth to protest, but Ron was already disapparating, waving him goodbye.
That's it! I hope you liked it! Please, review!