Chapter Six
Life with the mark
Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breathe?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life!
I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please
**Avril Lavigne's Anything but Ordinary
The Hospital Wing was still as the grave. The thin white curtains revealed the misty fog of oncoming dawn. Not even a whispering breeze disturbed the eerie silence.
Suddenly and without warning, movement broke the spell of unmoving peace. The figure was panting and, reaching an upright position, let out a heartfelt groan. Dull eyes hidden behind unruly red tangles spoke of the pain that reached into the very depths of the soul.
Grace was in every possible explanation and thought of pain. Her bones, her muscles, her heart and her spirit throbbed with excruciating pain. She flexed her fingers with a wince then raised her left arm.
Her eyes were drawn with morbid curiosity to the Mark. There it was, grinning at her. There it was, forever burned into her flesh, her spirit, her being. The devil's brand, marking her as one of his.
The pain had dulled to an ache. Her mind awakened, and she quickly hid her arm, her cheeks burning as if someone had spotted it already. With some urging, she got her legs functioning and swung them off the bed. After a few tries they supported her weight, and she felt all the better for it. However, her head was so full she thought it would burst, and she decided she had never in her life desired a morning run as she did now.
Once her muscles stopped protesting and started moving, she felt relief flooding her frame. She jogged to her dorm, tiptoeing to her trunk so as not to waken the others who were sleeping soundly.
After digging around in her trunk Grace produced a small bottle of foundation. She located her wand and muttered the strengthening charm. She started to apply it, but after a suspicious look at her classmates she locked herself in the bathroom before revealing the Mark in all its dark glory once again.
Her arm sufficiently covered, Grace changed into running clothes and grabbed her bag, taking the familiar route downstairs and trying to convince herself it was just another morning.
Only the earliest of the boys were there, seeing as the sun had just risen. She only stopped for a moment. She didn't want to stop at all, but to do otherwise would have been dangerous. Besides, a growing Death Eater needs her breakfast.
After a trifle of flirting, an orange and a glass of water, Grace smiled at the boys (who, by this time, were all assembled) and began her run. The moment she felt the familiar morning breeze on her cheeks and the warm pull of her muscles she calmed down and was ready to face the day.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
James Potter was without an appetite that morning. As a matter of fact, he felt rather as if last night's feast were going to return. He hadn't seen Grace since the kiss yesterday afternoon.
The kiss. What had he been thinking? How could he have possibly put their friendship in jeopardy like that? And where the hell did she learn to kiss like THAT?
He gritted his teeth. It was going to be a long day.
Aforementioned loss of appetite caused James to reach the conclusion that attending breakfast would be counterproductive. He therefore made straight for the library, as the seemingly forgotten tradition dictated. He took out his Transfiguration book, but stared at it miserably instead of actually reading the words imprinted there.
Everything in James's life had been flipped upside down ever since Angel had taken into her head to have a fling with Flint. She was never around anymore and now James, being the idiot that he was, went and kissed Grace, who had been acting strangely anyway. Great, just peachy keen. He let out a miniature growl in frustration.
"James?" a soft voice interrupted his reverie. He looked up to see Angel looking down at him curiously.
"What?" he snapped, rather more loudly than intended. A look of concern flickered across her visage, and James cursed himself for a fool.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly, sitting next to him and taking one of his hands in hers.
"Nothing's wrong, I just..." James let the sentence trail, hoping Angel wouldn't ask for any more than that. She said nothing, but her imploring liquid silver eyes held affectionate and concerned curiosity. "I just can't believe I kissed her! And I can't believe she won't talk to me! And I can't believe-"
"Shh," she whispered. "It's okay, I understand." James looked around, his cheeks flushed as he noticed a pair of second years looking at him curiously.
"I'm acting like such an idiot," he muttered.
"Let's go for a walk," Angel suggested sympathetically. He nodded miserably in response. They slowly descended the steps. Angel uneasily suggested stopping to get some toast, an idea James promptly vetoed. He was still feeling a bit queasy.
Angel's sympathetic presence just made James feel all the worse. He knew she had taken time away from her beloved Flint, and the sickness the felt from the idea with Angel and the Flint, along with the hidden pleasure that he was doing his part to keep them apart made him feel all the guiltier. Especially seeing as at the moment it was more about not wanting to think about any happy couple than any danger to Angel's heart that made James happy they were not together at the moment. They walked in silence as James pondered over his emotions, staring at the floor. It was Angel who opened the heavy oak doors, and therefore it was Angel who gasped first. This caused James to look up and he felt his eyes widen with surprise.
It seemed that half of the male population of Hogwarts was sitting there on the steps. After a moment James realized that there were thirty-five at most, but this left him none-the-less shocked. What in the world could possibly draw so many teenaged boys to one spot?
"Hey, Brentson," James said, recognizing the third year Gryffindor seated near the door. The boy turned around, and James watched his face pale in horror.
"P...Po...Potter," he stuttered. One of his friends turned around and a similar look of terror came into his face.
"You guys!" The second boy shrieked, his voice cracking, "It's James Potter!"
About half of the guys turned around. Their eyes showed several reactions, from fright to surprise to indifference, these emotions going from youngest to oldest as a trend.
"About time you got here Potter," Henry Holiday, a Slytherin in seventh year, called back to him.
"What are you talking about?" James snapped, highly annoyed.
"Well, you see..." Brentson started, trying not to stutter. However, he was almost immediately drowned out by a tall, well-built sixth or seventh year in the front of the pack that James didn't even recognize.
"There she is!" he was shouting at the top of his lungs, pointing to the right. James felt his brow furrow. Who was 'she' exactly? He turned his confused eyes to where the kid was pointing, and suddenly felt as if he had be punched in the solar plexus.
'She' was Grace, his very own Grace Weasley. Her locks of fire, which he secretly treasured, were pulled back into a ponytail that swung with her steps. She was jogging at a pretty good pace, her shirt pulled up to show a few inches of pale skin, and James couldn't help but notice where most of the boys were looking. He felt a surge of nausea within him.
"Hey Grace!" the boy he didn't recognize called with a wave. Grace smiled and blew him a kiss. The nausea fled in fear of the raging anger coursing through James's frame.
"Grace, what the hell are you doing?!" he roared before he could help himself. Grace looked up in surprise, noticing him for the first time. She stopped in mere shock.
Grace silently cursed her best friends. She had finally cleared her mind and was just about ready to go onto her normal day. What the hell did they want? Why did they always have to complicate these harmless little things?
Fuming, she took a slow pace up to the steps. She stood on the very bottom, not wanting to inconvenience her boys, looking up at James with an eyebrow raised in defiance of his gritted teeth. "Do you have a problem, James?"
"Yes I do!" he shouted. Angel flinched at his voice, but Grace held her ground. "What are you doing out here, and what's with the...the bloody show?"
"Show?" she snorted. "Please, it's not a big deal."
"It's not a big-" he began.
"Potter, we've been out here for over a month," Henry Holiday drawled.
"A MONTH!" James shrieked, his eyes widening even more.
"I've been running every morning," Grace explained. "Not that you've noticed," she added venomously.
"Why didn't you tell me?" James asked, trying to be angry in front of his peers but coming off as as miserable as he really was.
"You don't own me, James," she replied. "It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything."
Grace regretted the words as soon as they had left her mouth. The hurt and reproach in his eyes were like a bomb going off in her heart as she suddenly remembered the kiss. THE kiss! How could she have possibly forgotten...?
As if to answer this question, her Mark prickled. She glanced down at her arm, but nothing could be seen. Her heart was pounding at a million miles a minute. She couldn't think. She needed to focus her energy.
"Damn it, Henry," she snapped suddenly, breaking the spell of silence. "Give me my bloody thermos."
"You must be a Dark Witch, to guess every damn time," he grinned. James watched in shock and unreasonable jealousy as Holiday tossed an unfamiliar brick red thermos to Grace, who caught it and took a long draught, then reached for her bag, snuggled comfortably between Cory Creevey and Terry Chesney. She pulled out a white towel and draped it around her shoulders. James watched the entire scene, trying to find words but not coming up with anything.
"Sorry, but its time for my shower," Grace said. The boys groaned as a whole.
"But Grace," Chesney whined, "You've two cool down laps to go, at least!"
"At least!" Creevey echoed.
"Too bad," Grace replied. "Catch you later," she said, passing through the throng and passing by James and Angel without a second glance. The boys split up and followed her example, talking among themselves. Before James had collected his wits, he and Angel were all alone on the steps. James didn't know what to do, and turned to Angel angrily.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded snappishly.
"It just didn't seem right to...intrude," Angel explained unhappily. "I'm sorry, James."
"No," he looked to the sky in frustration, "No, its not your fault."
"We're going to be late for Transfiguration," she squeaked. With a sigh he followed her inside and headed to class, his mind a whirlwind and his heart numb.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Professor...I just can't buy it. Voldemort is dead, we both know that, and it's impossible that he's risen again."
"That's what we said twenty years ago," Dumbledore reminded the Minister. "You and I both know that Voldemort's actions are unpredictable, Harry. We should have dealt with the possibility of a return several years ago."
The Minister of Magic-that is Harry Potter-was meeting with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to discuss the startling discovery of the Dark Mark at Lemon Lane. Harry had, of course, brought his closest advisors...his closest friends, in other words. Ron and Rayven Weasley and Draco Malfoy made up Harry's official Council of Advisors, but Hermione and Ginny were also present, along with Snape and McGonagall with Dumbledore. Dumbledore's suggestion of the latest development being the return of Voldemort had stunned them all into a momentary silence.
"Balderdash," Hermione snorted, "I saw the fiend die with my own eyes."
"Exactly," Harry nodded at his wife. "It's impossible. Don't you agree, Ron?"
Ron directed a concentrated stare at the handsome mahogany table, a frown fixed firmly in place. The idea of Voldemort returning terrified him...but Harry had not seen the great lengths the Dark Lord took to insure immortality. Several of Ron's murders had involved this obsession, and he was sure he didn't know all the desperate steps Voldemort had taken. The return of Lord Voldemort was a definite possibility...possibly probable.
"Ron?" Harry repeated.
"I..." Ron struggled to admit his conclusions aloud. It would make them too real. He swallowed hardly before continuing. "You've never seen him in action, Harry, not his plots. I...I agree with Dumbledore. We should have prepared for this. Voldemort certainly did."
"Really, Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall looked scandalized. "Albus! The Minister is right, it is impossible-"
"No, professor, excuse my interruption, but I'm afraid its not impossible," Draco said quietly, but his calm demeanor did not hide his fear from Ron. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "It's a very real possibility. I can't logic it out right now, seeing as I don't know how he could have worked a way around the Dagger of Certain Death, but he was quite paranoid about death. I wouldn't be surprised to learn he worked around the mortal system."
"This is ridiculous-" Hermione began.
"Draco, I see your point, but do you really think-" Ginny was saying.
"I tell you, Ron and Draco are right!" Rayven said in a shrill voice. "You people just don't understand-"
"I?!" Harry shouted in fury, "I don't understand the Dark Lord's wrath?!"
"Harry, calm down, you shouldn't-"
"I just don't see-"
"Look at it from a-"
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore shouted, and his command was immediately obeyed. "Now," he continued in a demure tone, "Let us all sit and think rationally. Are there any possibilities we've overlooked?"
"Perhaps some of the remaining Death Eaters are stirring up trouble," Hermione suggested, "We haven't caught them all."
"True," Draco countered, "But we have the leaders. Ron and Rayven can confirm that for me." It was a quiet and calculated reminder of the three's efforts to prevent the very thing happening around them.
"Draco...I hear what you're saying, but Hermione has a point," Harry said uncomfortably, trying to avoid the stares directed at him. "No one has offered a more logical possibility-"
"Then allow me," Severus interrupted quietly. Harry jumped, turning to face his old Potions master, whose presence he had completely forgotten. "We are working on the premise that Lord Voldemort is dead. However, we have no proof of that assumption."
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snapped, "I saw him die! Ron and Rayven-"
"Ah," Severus whispered, his eyes gleaming. "Rayven. She is the key isn't she? Rayven was pierced by the dagger as well. Yet she lived."
"We've been through this, Severus," McGonagall replied, sounding confused. "She was pregnant, remember?"
"Were we not just discussing Voldemort's attempts at immortality? For Merlin's sake, listen to us. The answer is so obvious. The Dark Lord has a child."
This pronouncement was met with utter silence. The words hit Ron like a tidal wave, engulfing him. How could they not have seen this?
"But...but..." Ginny stuttered, "But why did he appear to die? Rayven was only unconscious for a few hours. I can't believe that he would wait sixteen years to make his move."
"Rayven's unborn daughter depended on her for life and willed her to live," Severus replied. "Remember that the spell of the dagger is based upon love. However if the child had rejected him...the traces of the bond would still be present, and his immortality charms would keep his soul, if not his body, intact."
"Are you suggesting that he is possessing his heir?" Draco asked incredulously.
"If Lucius were killed with the dagger your bond would be enough to keep only his spirit on this earth, and he would be able to possess only you. It's a complicated procedure, possession of another body, but we know Voldemort would stop at nothing, and there are enough free Death Eaters to assist him. It is possible."
"In that case," Dumbledore said in a voice that made him sound even older than he was. "In that case, we are dealing with the return of the Dark Lord and another rise for power." He closed his eyes, looking weary, "God help us."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was quiet. Too quiet. It had been a week since Grace had taken the Mark and she still hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Dark Lord or any of his associates. Not that Grace was hopping up and down in hopes of murder or anything, but the anxiety was annoying.
Grace suddenly had the vision of herself sitting in charms class and Flitwick asking the class who wanted to be the murderer of the week as she thrust her hand in the air and practically jumped up screaming "Me! Me! Oh, please, pick me Professor!"
Or not.
She was actually in Binns's class, and life could not have been more boring. Even with the apprehensive aftermath of the kiss, James discovering the boys, and all that, the strange quiet and mysterious lack of event refused to be quenched. James decided to pretend as if he had never seen her boys, and it didn't mean anything to him anyway.
Grace was mightily confused about this. He had kissed her, then blown up when she had flirted with other guys, and now he wanted to pretend like everything was exactly the way it always had been. True, she hadn't exactly responded in a positive manner...but what was she supposed to do? That particular day had been...inconvenient to say the least. James had always had horrible timing. She supposed it was all for the best in the long run, because she couldn't play the espionage game as if she had something to lose, as she had learned that night.
The bell finally interrupted the monotonous drone Binns was famous for as well as Grace's increasingly morbid thoughts. She picked up her books and followed her friends to the common room without comment, still caught up in her own mind.
Angel cast her a strange look, and Grace struggled to smile back. Her poor friends, they were concerned, she knew, but there was nothing she could do but pretend she didn't need their comfort, no matter how bad she wanted it. They wasted their free hour before dinner meant for study to play gobstones. It was on the way down to the Great Hall, passing the Transfiguration corridor, that she felt it.
The pain was so intense, so concentrated in a single spot, that she cried aloud. It wasn't very loud, but it was certainly loud enough to attract attention from James and Angel. "What's wrong?" one or the other cried, but Grace's eyes were closed and her brain so frazzled that she couldn't tell one from the other.
"Nothing," she managed, prying her eyes open and forcing a smile, her arm still burning. "I banged my toe is all," she prayed her famous klutziness would quench their curiosity. "Actually, guys, I think I'm feeling a bit sick. I'm going to ask Madame Pomfrey if she has anything I can take."
"Do you want us to bring something back for you?" Angel inquired.
"Uh, sure!" Grace said, practically stuttering, "I'll, er, see you then," she had just enough sense to run in the direction of the hospital wing and not the doors, but at the first opportunity she ran down a secret passage and out into the crisp November air.
The pain in her arm was blazing now, like a white-fire had started in her veins. She sprinted to the edge of the forest, and Apparated the moment she was off school grounds.
The pain disappeared immediately, and Grace had rarely felt such relief. She was in a wide clearing, the sunset blazing to her left. With a start, she realized Damian Flint was staring at her.
"What are YOU doing here?" he sneered. His presence shocked her into reality, and she immediately set up Occlumency walls in her mind before answering.
"I was summoned, obviously," was the reply, which almost met his for contempt. They might have gone on bickering all day if Voldemort had not arrived on the scene.
Once again, he was completely covered in black, not even a glint of eyes to betray the presence of a living thing inside the cloak. His servants were immediately silent and still.
"You are wondering why I have summoned you both?" the Dark Lord whispered. "I need to...run an experiment." He paused, but no one said anything. Questioning Voldemort was a big no-no. "I want Miss Weasley to kill the oaf Rubeus Hagrid, and I want Mr. Flint to see how many anti-black magic spells, alarms and so forth are activated. I trust that you will not get yourselves caught."
"Of course not, Master," Damian replied. Grace couldn't say anything, her full will at that point was bent on blocking her mind. She knew she was being tested, but what Voldemort failed to realize was that he had simply shocked her mind into a blank state. Kill Hagrid? She couldn't do that! He was a friend of the family, a friend of Harry and Hermione's and he was one of the sweetest...she gritted her teeth and refused to think about Hagrid in Voldemort's presence. He would know, and she could not allow that to happen.
"Go," he commanded, and they bowed and Apparated to the Shrieking Shack. They didn't bother to remove the masks. Grace had always found them stifling, but now she found that cowardly sense of security in the knowledge that her face was hidden in its evil.
"We'll wait another hour," Damian said, "The castle will be quiet by then." Grace nodded, unable to speak.
Looking back years later, Grace knew that the wait was the worst of the entire ordeal. She kept imagining herself killing Hagrid, except in these morbid visions he always saw her face and cried "why?!" She imagined getting caught, the look on her father's face, the look on Severus's face...
Hagrid had no right to die. And if he didn't deserve to live, she certainly didn't. Suicidal tendencies made themselves heard for the first time in Grace Weasley's life. The coward's way out, she had always considered it. Now it was starting to make perfect sense. She even started planning the small note she would slip into Angel's backpack, the potion she would brew, preferably the most painful she could find. She wanted to feel pain.
She knew she wouldn't though. She was grasping for straws in her mind, reasons to live. Her family and friends seem so far away now they hardly counted as reasons for existence. Besides, if they knew why she was contemplating the end of her life they certainly would just wish for her to go through with the plan. It was thoughts of Severus and Aunt Ginny that kept her will for life intact. It was her mission, her efforts to stop Voldemort. He may have taken me, she thought, and he may be taking Hagrid, but he will not win. Not while I am living.
"It's time," Damian's abrupt statement made her literally jump out of her thoughts. She nodded, got to her feet (she didn't remember sitting down) and swallowed hard. This was it. Her first official assassination as a Death Eater.
It was almost too easy. Even though they were completely in Death Eater dress the castle's alarms were not activated because they were students, and Hogwarts of course recognized this. Through the windows of Hagrid's hut they could see light dancing merrily from the fire. She felt her heart speed and her throat constrict, and she closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. This was it.
They opened the door silently. Hagrid's back was to the fire. It was perfect. All she had to do was say the words and run like fury and it would be over. No fuss. Nothing. She raised her wand. She hesitated.
Damian looked at her questioningly. Hagrid continued fumbling over the fire, but that couldn't go on indefinitely. And still, she hesitated. She tried to make the words come out, but nothing was happening. They were stuck in her throat, chained by the shredded remains of her rigid morals.
"Weasley," he hissed, so quietly Grace could barely hear him, but obviously years of working in the forest had given Hagrid excellent hearing. He turned around and his eyes widened.
"What do ye think ye're-"
"Avada Kedavra!" Grace cried without thinking, and felt her limbs stiffen with horror as she saw her curse collide with the great man and topple him, his eyes staring wide at her. Her moment of paralyzed fear was brief, because the alarms screaming around her reminded her of the vitality of moving.
She was running faster than she could ever remember moving before, and she could hear Damian muttering next to her as they fled. She didn't try to interpret his words, she didn't turn around, and she didn't think about what she had just done. She simply ran like fury.
The moment she crossed the boundaries of the grounds she Apparated without thinking, basic instinct and adrenaline taking her magical abilities to new heights. Her mind took her to a small park near the ministry building, a place her parents had often Apparated to according to Severus. She was still sprinting when she arrived with a pop. She came to an abrupt stop, nearly collapsing, panting for breath.
It wasn't until her blood stopped singing in her ears and her heart stopped pounding nearly out of her chest that the realization of what she had done hit Grace. She stood perfectly still, unable to move and in a state of such self-disgust she felt like vomiting right then and there. It took her a few moments to gather enough wits and courage to enter the Ministry building. Bill's office had never seemed so far away.
He was bent over his desk when she found him, reading a book of some kind. On other days she might have teasingly mentioned trashy romance novels, but not tonight. He looked up when he heard her entire, his face changing from curious to apprehensive sympathy in seconds.
"Sit, Grace, sit," he said gently, approaching her and guiding her steps to the empty chair. She followed him without response, as if she were a sleep-walking child. Oh how she wished it was all a horrific child's nightmare!
"What happened?" he asked, taking out a notepad, ink and quill. She opened her mouth to tell him, but froze when she saw his poised pen. She couldn't handle the thought of her crime, her sin, her murder going on record. She stared blankly, at a loss for words. "Grace?" he tried again, in his gentle, comforting voice.
"I...I..." she stuttered. "I was summoned."
"Yes," he nodded, writing carefully. He nodded encouragingly for her to continue.
"And I...I was summoned with Damian Flint," she continued.
"The boy who trained you," Bill nodded. "Yes, we'll catch him the moment we have evidence for the court, which we'll gather on your information of course," he smiled. "And then?"
"And then..." her voice cracked. She swallowed and began again, "We were sent to...to test the alarms by...by..."
"By what, Grace?" he asked, still gentle, still comforting. Her eyes narrowed. She was not a child. She did not need comfort. She needed to be yelled at, to be damned, to be told she was the worst person living. She needed to feel pain, to feel rejection, to feel anything but this empty whirlwind of nothing in her heart.
"I killed Hagrid!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Okay? I killed him! Right there, in cold blood, in his own hut! Did you hear me? I KILLED RUBEUS HAGRID!" She was screaming, her face turning red from the effort. She didn't realize until it was too late that tears were pouring down her face. She screamed the last words, the damning confession of murder, before collapsing in a heap of unbearable sobs and a misery so profound she couldn't even feel it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She was the first one awake by habit. The castle was silent. Grace was freezing cold, despite the blankets. It was a cold that was internal, and could never be warmed.
She crawled out of bed, not so much as blinking when her feet touched the cold stone floor. She softly walked over to the window and sat watching the bleak, gray light of approaching dawn. They sky was black, the stars hidden by thick dark clouds. That was how Grace felt right then, surrounded by darkness and only a bleak, unpromising future ahead. She saw no sunrise coming for her.
She knew the boys would be down there waiting for her as if it were any other day. Grace felt her stomach give an unpleasant turn. It was not just the other day. It was the first day Grace would have to live with murder on her conscious. A day she never dreamed would come to her. Her mind kept replaying the scene over and over...the look on Hagrid's face...the shadows dancing through the cabin...the sound of her own voice. Cold and hard, calling out the words that would bring the man to his final resting place...
Grace stood and ran into the bathroom, vomiting violently. She flushed the toilet and sank down onto the cold stone floor, shaking. After a few moments spent working solely on breathing, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled into the shower.
The water was boiling hot, turning her skin red in minutes. However, no matter how hot the water was it did nothing for the cold, dead hole in her soul, or cold, dead Hagrid. Nothing, nothing, nothing. With a cry of frustration she grabbed the nearest bottle of shampoo and flung it at the mirror, hearing it thud but not break. She glared angrily. She wanted something to break, to shatter, to end. Just like Hagrid.
She was out of the shower and dressed, and the sun was rising, but the brilliance was hidden by the thick storm clouds surrounding the castle. Grace sat on her bed and stared moodily at the floor until she heard Diana stirring. With that, she stood and fled down to the common room.
Eventually she was forced to meet with society again, but at least she had had a few hours to compose herself. By the time James and Angel emerged she was able to give them a smile and a cheerful good morning. She walked down to breakfast with a light step, even though her entire body was filled with heavy dread of the announcement she knew breakfast would bring.
It was worse than she had expected. The teachers were huddled in a corner when they entered the Great Hall. Grace did not hear a word Dumbledore said as he stood and addressed the students, his face grave and his voice deep with melancholy. The shocked looks of her classmates were distorted, as if she were seeing them through a pane of foggy glass. Classes were canceled, and Grace made her way to the common room silently, as did everyone else. Just act like everyone else, she told herself, and everything will be okay.
The common room had never been so crowded or so silent. There was not even the cheerful crackling of a fire to break the raging quiet. Grace was struck with a powerful feeling of claustrophobia. She stood abruptly and left. No one followed her.
She found a deserted corner of the Library and tried to cry. She wanted nothing more than to let all her emotions be washed away in a flood of tears. However, it was as if she had already cried all she ever could, and her tear ducts had dried completely, leaving her emotionless. She tried to read, but the letters on the page made no sense, the words jumbling in her mind to form a stream of meaningless babble. Eventually she found she was just staring into space, unable to move or think or breathe.
"Miss Weasley?"
"Professor," she replied blankly, trying to smile.
"Severus, remember?" he replied, sitting next to her. She nodded. They sat in silence for a few more moments. Grace didn't know what to make of his presence. She didn't know what to make of anything.
"Grace, you cannot blame this on yourself," he said quietly after a time.
"You know perfectly well that I can," she snapped. He sighed.
"Yes, I suppose I do," he replied. "But you cannot stop living, or fighting. You must go on," She looked at him. His face was impassive as ever, his eyes dark and enigmatic. His aura was cold and unforgiving. She found more comfort in him than anyone else.
"Yes, Severus," she whispered. He nodded, and then left without another word. Grace turned her face to the window and felt a tear creep down her cheek.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Snape was late to the meeting. No one noticed. Harry's face was ashen, Hermione's eyes were blank. Ron looked furious and Draco was silent. Rayven was sympathetic and unsure. Grave sadness cloaked Dumbledore, while a passionate, angry bitterness cloaked McGonagall. Ginny and Severus, however, looked merely subdued, as if it had been expected. Sad, but expected.
"It was a Death Eater, then?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the silence. McGonagall nodded in response.
"That still doesn't necessarily mean it was Voldemort-" Harry began.
"Bullshit, Harry!" Ron interrupted angrily. "That's bullshit and we both know it."
"Don't turn into Fudge, Harry," Rayven pleaded, almost whispering in her desperation, "There is no other reasonable explanation. Remember what Severus said about an heir--"
"Fine," Harry replied wearily, closing his eyes as if he had just lost a battle. "Let's continue on the premise that Voldemort has returned, taking possession of an heir. Now what do we do?"
As a collective group, they looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore's eyes rested on Severus.
"I will admit I was unprepared," Dumbledore replied, since the question was obviously meant for him, "However, certain...preventive steps have been taken since the attack at Lemon Lane. As for what to do now...discover the identity of the heir, I suppose. He or she could be a willing or unwilling participant in the return. And after that we..." he trailed off, his eyes downcast, "We will fight, just as we did before. That is all we can do."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grace was fully intending to attend Hagrid's funeral. She felt like shit, and the guilt was bearing down on her chest like a heavy stone. However, she deserved it, all of it. The funeral would just make her feel worse, but she wanted to feel the pain. She needed the pain.
The castle was full of whispers and frightened looks. The funeral was less than an hour away. Grace, James, and Angel were in the common room, silent and miserable. Angel was crying softly. Grace's full will was bent on acting normal and fighting the numbness that had descended upon her. She couldn't feel anything except the heavy guilt inside of her. However, luckily for her, James and Angel accepted this as sadness. Grace glanced at the clock, deciding it was time for them to be descending to the funeral.
The mark on her arm seared painfully and suddenly. Grace bit her lip angrily. Perfect timing, as usual.
"I..." she began, trying to think of what to say. Her two best friends looked at her with surprised and innocent eyes, confused as to why she had suddenly broken their silence. "I just can't handle it, I can't go to the funeral, I can't, I..." she couldn't stand their eyes. She knew Angel's wide pools of liquid silver were sympathetic and sad, not angry. She knew James's emerald orbs were confused and melancholy, not accusing, but she saw the accusations there anyway. She fled, running from the common room, her pain at their imagined accusations more painful even than the Mark burning on her arm.
She ran to the Forest, forcing her friends from her mind and building Occlumency walls as she ran. By the time she had Apparated to her master's presence, her consciousness was sufficiently guarded from his prying eyes.
"Yes, Master?" she inquired, bowing deeply. Yet again, not even a hint as to his appearance.
"Hagrid is dead," he stated. "Very good, child."
"Anything to please you," she replied, bowing again. He appeared pleased with her response.
"I just wanted to inform you that you have been very helpful and shall be rewarded," he continued, "The information you gathered, with Mr. Flint has reported, will be used for an attack on Hogwarts soon. I trust that you will keep that old fool Dumbledore distracted?"
"Of course, my Lord," she replied, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. He smiled, and she repressed the urge to shiver.
"Excellent. You are dismissed."
She bowed again and Apparated straight to the Ministry. It was crowded, of course, seeing as it was the middle of the afternoon. She pulled out her wand and whispered a Distracting Charm, lest she meet any stray members of her family or their friends. With the charm she reached Bill's office without incident. She warned him of Voldemort's plan of attack. She felt positively useless, seeing as she had no dates or times, but Bill seemed pleased with her.
"Go on back, kid," he said, when she had finished, "You've had a tough week. First is always the hardest."
Grace nodded, and did as he suggested. She snuck back into the castle and up to her dorm. She was asleep in minutes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ginny was in a damnably uncomfortable position. She had access to one of the Death Eaters, and now she was in possession of very valuable information. However, she was given the task of telling Harry what he needed to know without revealing the source. She was in for a very awkward conversation.
Hagrid's funeral yesterday had been an equally uncomfortable affair. Her heart when out to Grace, trying to imagine what this must be like for her. However, it was not the first time she had been in the position of grieving for a person's death as well as the person's murderer. She shuddered remembering Percy's funeral, and the knowledge of Ron's involvement and Draco's uttering of the words that killed him.
Ginny shoved the thought from her mind. It always pained her, knowing that her husband had killed her brother.
She knocked gently on Harry's door, and was greeted with a gentle "come in!" Ginny never bothered with the receptionist. She was, after all, practically family.
Harry didn't look as cheerful as he had sounded. His face was pale and longer than she remembered. She could see the wrinkles around his eyes more than ever now, and the gray seeping into his sable hair. He saw her and smiled, although she could see it didn't reach his heart. She smiled back.
"Good afternoon, Ginny," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him as he rose. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Soda? Coffee?"
"No thanks," she replied, waving him back down, "I can only stay for a moment. I came to talk about the Death Eater attacks."
"Oh," he replied, sighing. "Yes, of course. What about them?"
"I have..." she cleared her throat, overcoming her unease. "I have information from a reliable informant telling me that the Death Eaters are planning an attack on the school."
"Hogwarts?" Harry replied, his eyes wide behind his thicker-than-ever glasses, his eyebrows raising into his hair (still as plentiful and messy as ever). That seems rather...bold, don't you think?"
"Well, yes," she admitted, trying not to blush. "But I believe this particular informant. Never lied before," she explained, carefully avoiding a pronoun.
"How is it that you already have informants in the Circle?" Harry asked in a would-be casual voice. Ginny laughed.
"It's my job, Harry," she reminded him, "And I didn't say in the Circle, did I? Connected with the Circle, of course," she explained. It was a tricky game, and they both knew how to play it well. Not technically lying or telling the truth, their conversation was like a game of chess, or even a well-rehearsed ballet. Every step was carefully planned and thought over in advance, producing a seemingly effortless and natural result.
"And what do you suggest I should do about it?" Harry asked.
"Just place a few Aurors down there to be prepared. Just in case, you know. It can't hurt anyway, can it?" she pointed out reasonably. Harry studied her for a minute, and Ginny held her breath, waiting.
"Alright, Gin," he conceded. "I'll send five Aurors, two on watch at a time. Will that work for you?"
"Thank you so much, Harry," she breathed in relief. "You won't regret it."
"I hope not," he replied. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Ginny claimed she needed to return to work. Harry looked around his office for a moment, thinking about what had made him believe her.
But he knew. He remembered, as if yesterday, the look on Ben Miner's face when Parvati Patil was found dead, and Rayven brought in for the attempted murder of Dean and Angelina Thomas. He did not want to be the man wearing that look.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Angel was eating at the Slytherin table on the last Friday in November. Tom had his hand on her knee, which made her feel safe. She was daintily sipping her pumpkin juice when the mail arrived.
She wasn't paying much attention until she heard the shipsers starting all around her. People were pointing and gesturing wildly at the front page of the Daily Prophet. She frowned.
"Tom, what's going on?" she asked.
"I don't know," he replied, "Hold on," Standing, he approached one of the younger Slytherins who idolized him and asked to borrow their paper. She watched carefully as his eyes scanned the front page and widened.
"What is it?" she demanded as he returned to his place next to her.
"Here," he replied, frowning. She took the paper he offered, and gasped in surprise as she read the headline: Aurors Capture Seven Death Eaters Attempting to Attack Hogwarts.
Across the room, Grace read the headline and felt her heart lighten. She looked up and met Severus's eyes over the top of the Daily Prophet he was holding. She smiled for the first time in several days.
She was making a difference.
Life with the mark
Is it enough to love?
Is it enough to breathe?
Somebody rip my heart out
And leave me here to bleed
Is it enough to die?
Somebody save my life!
I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please
**Avril Lavigne's Anything but Ordinary
The Hospital Wing was still as the grave. The thin white curtains revealed the misty fog of oncoming dawn. Not even a whispering breeze disturbed the eerie silence.
Suddenly and without warning, movement broke the spell of unmoving peace. The figure was panting and, reaching an upright position, let out a heartfelt groan. Dull eyes hidden behind unruly red tangles spoke of the pain that reached into the very depths of the soul.
Grace was in every possible explanation and thought of pain. Her bones, her muscles, her heart and her spirit throbbed with excruciating pain. She flexed her fingers with a wince then raised her left arm.
Her eyes were drawn with morbid curiosity to the Mark. There it was, grinning at her. There it was, forever burned into her flesh, her spirit, her being. The devil's brand, marking her as one of his.
The pain had dulled to an ache. Her mind awakened, and she quickly hid her arm, her cheeks burning as if someone had spotted it already. With some urging, she got her legs functioning and swung them off the bed. After a few tries they supported her weight, and she felt all the better for it. However, her head was so full she thought it would burst, and she decided she had never in her life desired a morning run as she did now.
Once her muscles stopped protesting and started moving, she felt relief flooding her frame. She jogged to her dorm, tiptoeing to her trunk so as not to waken the others who were sleeping soundly.
After digging around in her trunk Grace produced a small bottle of foundation. She located her wand and muttered the strengthening charm. She started to apply it, but after a suspicious look at her classmates she locked herself in the bathroom before revealing the Mark in all its dark glory once again.
Her arm sufficiently covered, Grace changed into running clothes and grabbed her bag, taking the familiar route downstairs and trying to convince herself it was just another morning.
Only the earliest of the boys were there, seeing as the sun had just risen. She only stopped for a moment. She didn't want to stop at all, but to do otherwise would have been dangerous. Besides, a growing Death Eater needs her breakfast.
After a trifle of flirting, an orange and a glass of water, Grace smiled at the boys (who, by this time, were all assembled) and began her run. The moment she felt the familiar morning breeze on her cheeks and the warm pull of her muscles she calmed down and was ready to face the day.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
James Potter was without an appetite that morning. As a matter of fact, he felt rather as if last night's feast were going to return. He hadn't seen Grace since the kiss yesterday afternoon.
The kiss. What had he been thinking? How could he have possibly put their friendship in jeopardy like that? And where the hell did she learn to kiss like THAT?
He gritted his teeth. It was going to be a long day.
Aforementioned loss of appetite caused James to reach the conclusion that attending breakfast would be counterproductive. He therefore made straight for the library, as the seemingly forgotten tradition dictated. He took out his Transfiguration book, but stared at it miserably instead of actually reading the words imprinted there.
Everything in James's life had been flipped upside down ever since Angel had taken into her head to have a fling with Flint. She was never around anymore and now James, being the idiot that he was, went and kissed Grace, who had been acting strangely anyway. Great, just peachy keen. He let out a miniature growl in frustration.
"James?" a soft voice interrupted his reverie. He looked up to see Angel looking down at him curiously.
"What?" he snapped, rather more loudly than intended. A look of concern flickered across her visage, and James cursed himself for a fool.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly, sitting next to him and taking one of his hands in hers.
"Nothing's wrong, I just..." James let the sentence trail, hoping Angel wouldn't ask for any more than that. She said nothing, but her imploring liquid silver eyes held affectionate and concerned curiosity. "I just can't believe I kissed her! And I can't believe she won't talk to me! And I can't believe-"
"Shh," she whispered. "It's okay, I understand." James looked around, his cheeks flushed as he noticed a pair of second years looking at him curiously.
"I'm acting like such an idiot," he muttered.
"Let's go for a walk," Angel suggested sympathetically. He nodded miserably in response. They slowly descended the steps. Angel uneasily suggested stopping to get some toast, an idea James promptly vetoed. He was still feeling a bit queasy.
Angel's sympathetic presence just made James feel all the worse. He knew she had taken time away from her beloved Flint, and the sickness the felt from the idea with Angel and the Flint, along with the hidden pleasure that he was doing his part to keep them apart made him feel all the guiltier. Especially seeing as at the moment it was more about not wanting to think about any happy couple than any danger to Angel's heart that made James happy they were not together at the moment. They walked in silence as James pondered over his emotions, staring at the floor. It was Angel who opened the heavy oak doors, and therefore it was Angel who gasped first. This caused James to look up and he felt his eyes widen with surprise.
It seemed that half of the male population of Hogwarts was sitting there on the steps. After a moment James realized that there were thirty-five at most, but this left him none-the-less shocked. What in the world could possibly draw so many teenaged boys to one spot?
"Hey, Brentson," James said, recognizing the third year Gryffindor seated near the door. The boy turned around, and James watched his face pale in horror.
"P...Po...Potter," he stuttered. One of his friends turned around and a similar look of terror came into his face.
"You guys!" The second boy shrieked, his voice cracking, "It's James Potter!"
About half of the guys turned around. Their eyes showed several reactions, from fright to surprise to indifference, these emotions going from youngest to oldest as a trend.
"About time you got here Potter," Henry Holiday, a Slytherin in seventh year, called back to him.
"What are you talking about?" James snapped, highly annoyed.
"Well, you see..." Brentson started, trying not to stutter. However, he was almost immediately drowned out by a tall, well-built sixth or seventh year in the front of the pack that James didn't even recognize.
"There she is!" he was shouting at the top of his lungs, pointing to the right. James felt his brow furrow. Who was 'she' exactly? He turned his confused eyes to where the kid was pointing, and suddenly felt as if he had be punched in the solar plexus.
'She' was Grace, his very own Grace Weasley. Her locks of fire, which he secretly treasured, were pulled back into a ponytail that swung with her steps. She was jogging at a pretty good pace, her shirt pulled up to show a few inches of pale skin, and James couldn't help but notice where most of the boys were looking. He felt a surge of nausea within him.
"Hey Grace!" the boy he didn't recognize called with a wave. Grace smiled and blew him a kiss. The nausea fled in fear of the raging anger coursing through James's frame.
"Grace, what the hell are you doing?!" he roared before he could help himself. Grace looked up in surprise, noticing him for the first time. She stopped in mere shock.
Grace silently cursed her best friends. She had finally cleared her mind and was just about ready to go onto her normal day. What the hell did they want? Why did they always have to complicate these harmless little things?
Fuming, she took a slow pace up to the steps. She stood on the very bottom, not wanting to inconvenience her boys, looking up at James with an eyebrow raised in defiance of his gritted teeth. "Do you have a problem, James?"
"Yes I do!" he shouted. Angel flinched at his voice, but Grace held her ground. "What are you doing out here, and what's with the...the bloody show?"
"Show?" she snorted. "Please, it's not a big deal."
"It's not a big-" he began.
"Potter, we've been out here for over a month," Henry Holiday drawled.
"A MONTH!" James shrieked, his eyes widening even more.
"I've been running every morning," Grace explained. "Not that you've noticed," she added venomously.
"Why didn't you tell me?" James asked, trying to be angry in front of his peers but coming off as as miserable as he really was.
"You don't own me, James," she replied. "It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything."
Grace regretted the words as soon as they had left her mouth. The hurt and reproach in his eyes were like a bomb going off in her heart as she suddenly remembered the kiss. THE kiss! How could she have possibly forgotten...?
As if to answer this question, her Mark prickled. She glanced down at her arm, but nothing could be seen. Her heart was pounding at a million miles a minute. She couldn't think. She needed to focus her energy.
"Damn it, Henry," she snapped suddenly, breaking the spell of silence. "Give me my bloody thermos."
"You must be a Dark Witch, to guess every damn time," he grinned. James watched in shock and unreasonable jealousy as Holiday tossed an unfamiliar brick red thermos to Grace, who caught it and took a long draught, then reached for her bag, snuggled comfortably between Cory Creevey and Terry Chesney. She pulled out a white towel and draped it around her shoulders. James watched the entire scene, trying to find words but not coming up with anything.
"Sorry, but its time for my shower," Grace said. The boys groaned as a whole.
"But Grace," Chesney whined, "You've two cool down laps to go, at least!"
"At least!" Creevey echoed.
"Too bad," Grace replied. "Catch you later," she said, passing through the throng and passing by James and Angel without a second glance. The boys split up and followed her example, talking among themselves. Before James had collected his wits, he and Angel were all alone on the steps. James didn't know what to do, and turned to Angel angrily.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded snappishly.
"It just didn't seem right to...intrude," Angel explained unhappily. "I'm sorry, James."
"No," he looked to the sky in frustration, "No, its not your fault."
"We're going to be late for Transfiguration," she squeaked. With a sigh he followed her inside and headed to class, his mind a whirlwind and his heart numb.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Professor...I just can't buy it. Voldemort is dead, we both know that, and it's impossible that he's risen again."
"That's what we said twenty years ago," Dumbledore reminded the Minister. "You and I both know that Voldemort's actions are unpredictable, Harry. We should have dealt with the possibility of a return several years ago."
The Minister of Magic-that is Harry Potter-was meeting with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to discuss the startling discovery of the Dark Mark at Lemon Lane. Harry had, of course, brought his closest advisors...his closest friends, in other words. Ron and Rayven Weasley and Draco Malfoy made up Harry's official Council of Advisors, but Hermione and Ginny were also present, along with Snape and McGonagall with Dumbledore. Dumbledore's suggestion of the latest development being the return of Voldemort had stunned them all into a momentary silence.
"Balderdash," Hermione snorted, "I saw the fiend die with my own eyes."
"Exactly," Harry nodded at his wife. "It's impossible. Don't you agree, Ron?"
Ron directed a concentrated stare at the handsome mahogany table, a frown fixed firmly in place. The idea of Voldemort returning terrified him...but Harry had not seen the great lengths the Dark Lord took to insure immortality. Several of Ron's murders had involved this obsession, and he was sure he didn't know all the desperate steps Voldemort had taken. The return of Lord Voldemort was a definite possibility...possibly probable.
"Ron?" Harry repeated.
"I..." Ron struggled to admit his conclusions aloud. It would make them too real. He swallowed hardly before continuing. "You've never seen him in action, Harry, not his plots. I...I agree with Dumbledore. We should have prepared for this. Voldemort certainly did."
"Really, Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall looked scandalized. "Albus! The Minister is right, it is impossible-"
"No, professor, excuse my interruption, but I'm afraid its not impossible," Draco said quietly, but his calm demeanor did not hide his fear from Ron. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "It's a very real possibility. I can't logic it out right now, seeing as I don't know how he could have worked a way around the Dagger of Certain Death, but he was quite paranoid about death. I wouldn't be surprised to learn he worked around the mortal system."
"This is ridiculous-" Hermione began.
"Draco, I see your point, but do you really think-" Ginny was saying.
"I tell you, Ron and Draco are right!" Rayven said in a shrill voice. "You people just don't understand-"
"I?!" Harry shouted in fury, "I don't understand the Dark Lord's wrath?!"
"Harry, calm down, you shouldn't-"
"I just don't see-"
"Look at it from a-"
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore shouted, and his command was immediately obeyed. "Now," he continued in a demure tone, "Let us all sit and think rationally. Are there any possibilities we've overlooked?"
"Perhaps some of the remaining Death Eaters are stirring up trouble," Hermione suggested, "We haven't caught them all."
"True," Draco countered, "But we have the leaders. Ron and Rayven can confirm that for me." It was a quiet and calculated reminder of the three's efforts to prevent the very thing happening around them.
"Draco...I hear what you're saying, but Hermione has a point," Harry said uncomfortably, trying to avoid the stares directed at him. "No one has offered a more logical possibility-"
"Then allow me," Severus interrupted quietly. Harry jumped, turning to face his old Potions master, whose presence he had completely forgotten. "We are working on the premise that Lord Voldemort is dead. However, we have no proof of that assumption."
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snapped, "I saw him die! Ron and Rayven-"
"Ah," Severus whispered, his eyes gleaming. "Rayven. She is the key isn't she? Rayven was pierced by the dagger as well. Yet she lived."
"We've been through this, Severus," McGonagall replied, sounding confused. "She was pregnant, remember?"
"Were we not just discussing Voldemort's attempts at immortality? For Merlin's sake, listen to us. The answer is so obvious. The Dark Lord has a child."
This pronouncement was met with utter silence. The words hit Ron like a tidal wave, engulfing him. How could they not have seen this?
"But...but..." Ginny stuttered, "But why did he appear to die? Rayven was only unconscious for a few hours. I can't believe that he would wait sixteen years to make his move."
"Rayven's unborn daughter depended on her for life and willed her to live," Severus replied. "Remember that the spell of the dagger is based upon love. However if the child had rejected him...the traces of the bond would still be present, and his immortality charms would keep his soul, if not his body, intact."
"Are you suggesting that he is possessing his heir?" Draco asked incredulously.
"If Lucius were killed with the dagger your bond would be enough to keep only his spirit on this earth, and he would be able to possess only you. It's a complicated procedure, possession of another body, but we know Voldemort would stop at nothing, and there are enough free Death Eaters to assist him. It is possible."
"In that case," Dumbledore said in a voice that made him sound even older than he was. "In that case, we are dealing with the return of the Dark Lord and another rise for power." He closed his eyes, looking weary, "God help us."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was quiet. Too quiet. It had been a week since Grace had taken the Mark and she still hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Dark Lord or any of his associates. Not that Grace was hopping up and down in hopes of murder or anything, but the anxiety was annoying.
Grace suddenly had the vision of herself sitting in charms class and Flitwick asking the class who wanted to be the murderer of the week as she thrust her hand in the air and practically jumped up screaming "Me! Me! Oh, please, pick me Professor!"
Or not.
She was actually in Binns's class, and life could not have been more boring. Even with the apprehensive aftermath of the kiss, James discovering the boys, and all that, the strange quiet and mysterious lack of event refused to be quenched. James decided to pretend as if he had never seen her boys, and it didn't mean anything to him anyway.
Grace was mightily confused about this. He had kissed her, then blown up when she had flirted with other guys, and now he wanted to pretend like everything was exactly the way it always had been. True, she hadn't exactly responded in a positive manner...but what was she supposed to do? That particular day had been...inconvenient to say the least. James had always had horrible timing. She supposed it was all for the best in the long run, because she couldn't play the espionage game as if she had something to lose, as she had learned that night.
The bell finally interrupted the monotonous drone Binns was famous for as well as Grace's increasingly morbid thoughts. She picked up her books and followed her friends to the common room without comment, still caught up in her own mind.
Angel cast her a strange look, and Grace struggled to smile back. Her poor friends, they were concerned, she knew, but there was nothing she could do but pretend she didn't need their comfort, no matter how bad she wanted it. They wasted their free hour before dinner meant for study to play gobstones. It was on the way down to the Great Hall, passing the Transfiguration corridor, that she felt it.
The pain was so intense, so concentrated in a single spot, that she cried aloud. It wasn't very loud, but it was certainly loud enough to attract attention from James and Angel. "What's wrong?" one or the other cried, but Grace's eyes were closed and her brain so frazzled that she couldn't tell one from the other.
"Nothing," she managed, prying her eyes open and forcing a smile, her arm still burning. "I banged my toe is all," she prayed her famous klutziness would quench their curiosity. "Actually, guys, I think I'm feeling a bit sick. I'm going to ask Madame Pomfrey if she has anything I can take."
"Do you want us to bring something back for you?" Angel inquired.
"Uh, sure!" Grace said, practically stuttering, "I'll, er, see you then," she had just enough sense to run in the direction of the hospital wing and not the doors, but at the first opportunity she ran down a secret passage and out into the crisp November air.
The pain in her arm was blazing now, like a white-fire had started in her veins. She sprinted to the edge of the forest, and Apparated the moment she was off school grounds.
The pain disappeared immediately, and Grace had rarely felt such relief. She was in a wide clearing, the sunset blazing to her left. With a start, she realized Damian Flint was staring at her.
"What are YOU doing here?" he sneered. His presence shocked her into reality, and she immediately set up Occlumency walls in her mind before answering.
"I was summoned, obviously," was the reply, which almost met his for contempt. They might have gone on bickering all day if Voldemort had not arrived on the scene.
Once again, he was completely covered in black, not even a glint of eyes to betray the presence of a living thing inside the cloak. His servants were immediately silent and still.
"You are wondering why I have summoned you both?" the Dark Lord whispered. "I need to...run an experiment." He paused, but no one said anything. Questioning Voldemort was a big no-no. "I want Miss Weasley to kill the oaf Rubeus Hagrid, and I want Mr. Flint to see how many anti-black magic spells, alarms and so forth are activated. I trust that you will not get yourselves caught."
"Of course not, Master," Damian replied. Grace couldn't say anything, her full will at that point was bent on blocking her mind. She knew she was being tested, but what Voldemort failed to realize was that he had simply shocked her mind into a blank state. Kill Hagrid? She couldn't do that! He was a friend of the family, a friend of Harry and Hermione's and he was one of the sweetest...she gritted her teeth and refused to think about Hagrid in Voldemort's presence. He would know, and she could not allow that to happen.
"Go," he commanded, and they bowed and Apparated to the Shrieking Shack. They didn't bother to remove the masks. Grace had always found them stifling, but now she found that cowardly sense of security in the knowledge that her face was hidden in its evil.
"We'll wait another hour," Damian said, "The castle will be quiet by then." Grace nodded, unable to speak.
Looking back years later, Grace knew that the wait was the worst of the entire ordeal. She kept imagining herself killing Hagrid, except in these morbid visions he always saw her face and cried "why?!" She imagined getting caught, the look on her father's face, the look on Severus's face...
Hagrid had no right to die. And if he didn't deserve to live, she certainly didn't. Suicidal tendencies made themselves heard for the first time in Grace Weasley's life. The coward's way out, she had always considered it. Now it was starting to make perfect sense. She even started planning the small note she would slip into Angel's backpack, the potion she would brew, preferably the most painful she could find. She wanted to feel pain.
She knew she wouldn't though. She was grasping for straws in her mind, reasons to live. Her family and friends seem so far away now they hardly counted as reasons for existence. Besides, if they knew why she was contemplating the end of her life they certainly would just wish for her to go through with the plan. It was thoughts of Severus and Aunt Ginny that kept her will for life intact. It was her mission, her efforts to stop Voldemort. He may have taken me, she thought, and he may be taking Hagrid, but he will not win. Not while I am living.
"It's time," Damian's abrupt statement made her literally jump out of her thoughts. She nodded, got to her feet (she didn't remember sitting down) and swallowed hard. This was it. Her first official assassination as a Death Eater.
It was almost too easy. Even though they were completely in Death Eater dress the castle's alarms were not activated because they were students, and Hogwarts of course recognized this. Through the windows of Hagrid's hut they could see light dancing merrily from the fire. She felt her heart speed and her throat constrict, and she closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. This was it.
They opened the door silently. Hagrid's back was to the fire. It was perfect. All she had to do was say the words and run like fury and it would be over. No fuss. Nothing. She raised her wand. She hesitated.
Damian looked at her questioningly. Hagrid continued fumbling over the fire, but that couldn't go on indefinitely. And still, she hesitated. She tried to make the words come out, but nothing was happening. They were stuck in her throat, chained by the shredded remains of her rigid morals.
"Weasley," he hissed, so quietly Grace could barely hear him, but obviously years of working in the forest had given Hagrid excellent hearing. He turned around and his eyes widened.
"What do ye think ye're-"
"Avada Kedavra!" Grace cried without thinking, and felt her limbs stiffen with horror as she saw her curse collide with the great man and topple him, his eyes staring wide at her. Her moment of paralyzed fear was brief, because the alarms screaming around her reminded her of the vitality of moving.
She was running faster than she could ever remember moving before, and she could hear Damian muttering next to her as they fled. She didn't try to interpret his words, she didn't turn around, and she didn't think about what she had just done. She simply ran like fury.
The moment she crossed the boundaries of the grounds she Apparated without thinking, basic instinct and adrenaline taking her magical abilities to new heights. Her mind took her to a small park near the ministry building, a place her parents had often Apparated to according to Severus. She was still sprinting when she arrived with a pop. She came to an abrupt stop, nearly collapsing, panting for breath.
It wasn't until her blood stopped singing in her ears and her heart stopped pounding nearly out of her chest that the realization of what she had done hit Grace. She stood perfectly still, unable to move and in a state of such self-disgust she felt like vomiting right then and there. It took her a few moments to gather enough wits and courage to enter the Ministry building. Bill's office had never seemed so far away.
He was bent over his desk when she found him, reading a book of some kind. On other days she might have teasingly mentioned trashy romance novels, but not tonight. He looked up when he heard her entire, his face changing from curious to apprehensive sympathy in seconds.
"Sit, Grace, sit," he said gently, approaching her and guiding her steps to the empty chair. She followed him without response, as if she were a sleep-walking child. Oh how she wished it was all a horrific child's nightmare!
"What happened?" he asked, taking out a notepad, ink and quill. She opened her mouth to tell him, but froze when she saw his poised pen. She couldn't handle the thought of her crime, her sin, her murder going on record. She stared blankly, at a loss for words. "Grace?" he tried again, in his gentle, comforting voice.
"I...I..." she stuttered. "I was summoned."
"Yes," he nodded, writing carefully. He nodded encouragingly for her to continue.
"And I...I was summoned with Damian Flint," she continued.
"The boy who trained you," Bill nodded. "Yes, we'll catch him the moment we have evidence for the court, which we'll gather on your information of course," he smiled. "And then?"
"And then..." her voice cracked. She swallowed and began again, "We were sent to...to test the alarms by...by..."
"By what, Grace?" he asked, still gentle, still comforting. Her eyes narrowed. She was not a child. She did not need comfort. She needed to be yelled at, to be damned, to be told she was the worst person living. She needed to feel pain, to feel rejection, to feel anything but this empty whirlwind of nothing in her heart.
"I killed Hagrid!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Okay? I killed him! Right there, in cold blood, in his own hut! Did you hear me? I KILLED RUBEUS HAGRID!" She was screaming, her face turning red from the effort. She didn't realize until it was too late that tears were pouring down her face. She screamed the last words, the damning confession of murder, before collapsing in a heap of unbearable sobs and a misery so profound she couldn't even feel it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She was the first one awake by habit. The castle was silent. Grace was freezing cold, despite the blankets. It was a cold that was internal, and could never be warmed.
She crawled out of bed, not so much as blinking when her feet touched the cold stone floor. She softly walked over to the window and sat watching the bleak, gray light of approaching dawn. They sky was black, the stars hidden by thick dark clouds. That was how Grace felt right then, surrounded by darkness and only a bleak, unpromising future ahead. She saw no sunrise coming for her.
She knew the boys would be down there waiting for her as if it were any other day. Grace felt her stomach give an unpleasant turn. It was not just the other day. It was the first day Grace would have to live with murder on her conscious. A day she never dreamed would come to her. Her mind kept replaying the scene over and over...the look on Hagrid's face...the shadows dancing through the cabin...the sound of her own voice. Cold and hard, calling out the words that would bring the man to his final resting place...
Grace stood and ran into the bathroom, vomiting violently. She flushed the toilet and sank down onto the cold stone floor, shaking. After a few moments spent working solely on breathing, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled into the shower.
The water was boiling hot, turning her skin red in minutes. However, no matter how hot the water was it did nothing for the cold, dead hole in her soul, or cold, dead Hagrid. Nothing, nothing, nothing. With a cry of frustration she grabbed the nearest bottle of shampoo and flung it at the mirror, hearing it thud but not break. She glared angrily. She wanted something to break, to shatter, to end. Just like Hagrid.
She was out of the shower and dressed, and the sun was rising, but the brilliance was hidden by the thick storm clouds surrounding the castle. Grace sat on her bed and stared moodily at the floor until she heard Diana stirring. With that, she stood and fled down to the common room.
Eventually she was forced to meet with society again, but at least she had had a few hours to compose herself. By the time James and Angel emerged she was able to give them a smile and a cheerful good morning. She walked down to breakfast with a light step, even though her entire body was filled with heavy dread of the announcement she knew breakfast would bring.
It was worse than she had expected. The teachers were huddled in a corner when they entered the Great Hall. Grace did not hear a word Dumbledore said as he stood and addressed the students, his face grave and his voice deep with melancholy. The shocked looks of her classmates were distorted, as if she were seeing them through a pane of foggy glass. Classes were canceled, and Grace made her way to the common room silently, as did everyone else. Just act like everyone else, she told herself, and everything will be okay.
The common room had never been so crowded or so silent. There was not even the cheerful crackling of a fire to break the raging quiet. Grace was struck with a powerful feeling of claustrophobia. She stood abruptly and left. No one followed her.
She found a deserted corner of the Library and tried to cry. She wanted nothing more than to let all her emotions be washed away in a flood of tears. However, it was as if she had already cried all she ever could, and her tear ducts had dried completely, leaving her emotionless. She tried to read, but the letters on the page made no sense, the words jumbling in her mind to form a stream of meaningless babble. Eventually she found she was just staring into space, unable to move or think or breathe.
"Miss Weasley?"
"Professor," she replied blankly, trying to smile.
"Severus, remember?" he replied, sitting next to her. She nodded. They sat in silence for a few more moments. Grace didn't know what to make of his presence. She didn't know what to make of anything.
"Grace, you cannot blame this on yourself," he said quietly after a time.
"You know perfectly well that I can," she snapped. He sighed.
"Yes, I suppose I do," he replied. "But you cannot stop living, or fighting. You must go on," She looked at him. His face was impassive as ever, his eyes dark and enigmatic. His aura was cold and unforgiving. She found more comfort in him than anyone else.
"Yes, Severus," she whispered. He nodded, and then left without another word. Grace turned her face to the window and felt a tear creep down her cheek.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Snape was late to the meeting. No one noticed. Harry's face was ashen, Hermione's eyes were blank. Ron looked furious and Draco was silent. Rayven was sympathetic and unsure. Grave sadness cloaked Dumbledore, while a passionate, angry bitterness cloaked McGonagall. Ginny and Severus, however, looked merely subdued, as if it had been expected. Sad, but expected.
"It was a Death Eater, then?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the silence. McGonagall nodded in response.
"That still doesn't necessarily mean it was Voldemort-" Harry began.
"Bullshit, Harry!" Ron interrupted angrily. "That's bullshit and we both know it."
"Don't turn into Fudge, Harry," Rayven pleaded, almost whispering in her desperation, "There is no other reasonable explanation. Remember what Severus said about an heir--"
"Fine," Harry replied wearily, closing his eyes as if he had just lost a battle. "Let's continue on the premise that Voldemort has returned, taking possession of an heir. Now what do we do?"
As a collective group, they looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore's eyes rested on Severus.
"I will admit I was unprepared," Dumbledore replied, since the question was obviously meant for him, "However, certain...preventive steps have been taken since the attack at Lemon Lane. As for what to do now...discover the identity of the heir, I suppose. He or she could be a willing or unwilling participant in the return. And after that we..." he trailed off, his eyes downcast, "We will fight, just as we did before. That is all we can do."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Grace was fully intending to attend Hagrid's funeral. She felt like shit, and the guilt was bearing down on her chest like a heavy stone. However, she deserved it, all of it. The funeral would just make her feel worse, but she wanted to feel the pain. She needed the pain.
The castle was full of whispers and frightened looks. The funeral was less than an hour away. Grace, James, and Angel were in the common room, silent and miserable. Angel was crying softly. Grace's full will was bent on acting normal and fighting the numbness that had descended upon her. She couldn't feel anything except the heavy guilt inside of her. However, luckily for her, James and Angel accepted this as sadness. Grace glanced at the clock, deciding it was time for them to be descending to the funeral.
The mark on her arm seared painfully and suddenly. Grace bit her lip angrily. Perfect timing, as usual.
"I..." she began, trying to think of what to say. Her two best friends looked at her with surprised and innocent eyes, confused as to why she had suddenly broken their silence. "I just can't handle it, I can't go to the funeral, I can't, I..." she couldn't stand their eyes. She knew Angel's wide pools of liquid silver were sympathetic and sad, not angry. She knew James's emerald orbs were confused and melancholy, not accusing, but she saw the accusations there anyway. She fled, running from the common room, her pain at their imagined accusations more painful even than the Mark burning on her arm.
She ran to the Forest, forcing her friends from her mind and building Occlumency walls as she ran. By the time she had Apparated to her master's presence, her consciousness was sufficiently guarded from his prying eyes.
"Yes, Master?" she inquired, bowing deeply. Yet again, not even a hint as to his appearance.
"Hagrid is dead," he stated. "Very good, child."
"Anything to please you," she replied, bowing again. He appeared pleased with her response.
"I just wanted to inform you that you have been very helpful and shall be rewarded," he continued, "The information you gathered, with Mr. Flint has reported, will be used for an attack on Hogwarts soon. I trust that you will keep that old fool Dumbledore distracted?"
"Of course, my Lord," she replied, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. He smiled, and she repressed the urge to shiver.
"Excellent. You are dismissed."
She bowed again and Apparated straight to the Ministry. It was crowded, of course, seeing as it was the middle of the afternoon. She pulled out her wand and whispered a Distracting Charm, lest she meet any stray members of her family or their friends. With the charm she reached Bill's office without incident. She warned him of Voldemort's plan of attack. She felt positively useless, seeing as she had no dates or times, but Bill seemed pleased with her.
"Go on back, kid," he said, when she had finished, "You've had a tough week. First is always the hardest."
Grace nodded, and did as he suggested. She snuck back into the castle and up to her dorm. She was asleep in minutes.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ginny was in a damnably uncomfortable position. She had access to one of the Death Eaters, and now she was in possession of very valuable information. However, she was given the task of telling Harry what he needed to know without revealing the source. She was in for a very awkward conversation.
Hagrid's funeral yesterday had been an equally uncomfortable affair. Her heart when out to Grace, trying to imagine what this must be like for her. However, it was not the first time she had been in the position of grieving for a person's death as well as the person's murderer. She shuddered remembering Percy's funeral, and the knowledge of Ron's involvement and Draco's uttering of the words that killed him.
Ginny shoved the thought from her mind. It always pained her, knowing that her husband had killed her brother.
She knocked gently on Harry's door, and was greeted with a gentle "come in!" Ginny never bothered with the receptionist. She was, after all, practically family.
Harry didn't look as cheerful as he had sounded. His face was pale and longer than she remembered. She could see the wrinkles around his eyes more than ever now, and the gray seeping into his sable hair. He saw her and smiled, although she could see it didn't reach his heart. She smiled back.
"Good afternoon, Ginny," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him as he rose. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Soda? Coffee?"
"No thanks," she replied, waving him back down, "I can only stay for a moment. I came to talk about the Death Eater attacks."
"Oh," he replied, sighing. "Yes, of course. What about them?"
"I have..." she cleared her throat, overcoming her unease. "I have information from a reliable informant telling me that the Death Eaters are planning an attack on the school."
"Hogwarts?" Harry replied, his eyes wide behind his thicker-than-ever glasses, his eyebrows raising into his hair (still as plentiful and messy as ever). That seems rather...bold, don't you think?"
"Well, yes," she admitted, trying not to blush. "But I believe this particular informant. Never lied before," she explained, carefully avoiding a pronoun.
"How is it that you already have informants in the Circle?" Harry asked in a would-be casual voice. Ginny laughed.
"It's my job, Harry," she reminded him, "And I didn't say in the Circle, did I? Connected with the Circle, of course," she explained. It was a tricky game, and they both knew how to play it well. Not technically lying or telling the truth, their conversation was like a game of chess, or even a well-rehearsed ballet. Every step was carefully planned and thought over in advance, producing a seemingly effortless and natural result.
"And what do you suggest I should do about it?" Harry asked.
"Just place a few Aurors down there to be prepared. Just in case, you know. It can't hurt anyway, can it?" she pointed out reasonably. Harry studied her for a minute, and Ginny held her breath, waiting.
"Alright, Gin," he conceded. "I'll send five Aurors, two on watch at a time. Will that work for you?"
"Thank you so much, Harry," she breathed in relief. "You won't regret it."
"I hope not," he replied. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Ginny claimed she needed to return to work. Harry looked around his office for a moment, thinking about what had made him believe her.
But he knew. He remembered, as if yesterday, the look on Ben Miner's face when Parvati Patil was found dead, and Rayven brought in for the attempted murder of Dean and Angelina Thomas. He did not want to be the man wearing that look.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Angel was eating at the Slytherin table on the last Friday in November. Tom had his hand on her knee, which made her feel safe. She was daintily sipping her pumpkin juice when the mail arrived.
She wasn't paying much attention until she heard the shipsers starting all around her. People were pointing and gesturing wildly at the front page of the Daily Prophet. She frowned.
"Tom, what's going on?" she asked.
"I don't know," he replied, "Hold on," Standing, he approached one of the younger Slytherins who idolized him and asked to borrow their paper. She watched carefully as his eyes scanned the front page and widened.
"What is it?" she demanded as he returned to his place next to her.
"Here," he replied, frowning. She took the paper he offered, and gasped in surprise as she read the headline: Aurors Capture Seven Death Eaters Attempting to Attack Hogwarts.
Across the room, Grace read the headline and felt her heart lighten. She looked up and met Severus's eyes over the top of the Daily Prophet he was holding. She smiled for the first time in several days.
She was making a difference.
