Warnings: Ravenclaws getting into theories which inconveniently become more practical than theoretical at a terribly inopportune time, as they often do in reality.Enjoy,Vine
The dripping water from seeping aquifers plops to the ground and sizzles in the dim torchlight as we walk down the corridor behind the portrait. We march in single file: Ron taking up the lead with me following him, Draco behind me and Narcissa at the end. This order is unspoken but fortunate, perhaps intentional. Ron can speak for us and Narcissa can ward all of us if we meet less than friendly others.
What others might we meet? Will we be greeted by Professor Snape? Or will it be the Carrows? Will Narcissa be able to talk her way out of this again if we run into danger? How will they respond to seeing two dead people walking around? Maybe we can glamour ourselves and claim to be ghosts. Will the DA accept that Draco and Narcissa mean them no harm? I'm so glad we got that mark off of him.
We continue to walk for a long while down the never-ending corridor. I'm fine with the long walk; I'm in no rush to see the school that was once my home in the state it's in now. I wonder if this is how Muggles feel going back to a home that's been destroyed by some disaster: to enter a place that was supposed to be sacred only to see it mangled and dismembered; taken over by forces out of their control. At least in the magical world, we have a chance to fix the damage. The Muggles would have to build again from scratch.
We finally reach a door that looks exactly like the back of a picture frame. All the moisture of the corridor vanishes around the perfectly dry brown paper wrapping and hanging steel wire.
"Stay back until I call for you. Here goes nothing," Ron says on a deep inhale.
He peeks his head across the portrait hole. Friendly faces must be on the other side because he steps through, calling out to whoever is within.
"Oi! Wands down, spell-happy bastards! It's me!"
A chorus of "Ron!" and "You've come!" meets my ears from inside. I give a sigh of relief as I hear Neville and Parvati's voices in the chaos. Remembering Harry's instructions to let him know where we entered from, I take out my galleon to send the message "Stag". Once "here" is returned, I charm "Hog's Head portrait" onto the coin. He replies "coming soon," but doesn't say when 'soon' is supposed to be.
"I'm offended you lot are so surprised! Did you think I was going to run for the high country?" Ron chastises "I even brought friends!"
"Friends?" comes a male voice that sounds like Dean.
"Yeah, so keep those wands down and don't hex the ferret. Come on in, Luna!"
I open the portrait to see many of my classmates-turned-soldiers. Dean and Seamus and Neville, Padma, Parvati, and Cho, Lee and Ginny and several younger students I've never met. The room has turned itself into a comfortable green meadow, picnic tables filled with baskets of food situated along the perimeter with a plethora of colourful hammocks hanging from a thin row of trees behind them. In the corners are little alcoves of giant mushrooms shaded by bell-shaped flowers the size of umbrellas.
"Hello everyone," I greet "It's been some time. Glad to see you're all still alive."
Several of them tackle me in a hug as Ron rushes to the entryway for Draco and Narcissa to step through.
"Malfoy!" Neville shouts, requiring me to shoot up a protego as a stunning spell flies towards Draco.
"Oi! I said wands down!" Ron yells in Neville's face, shoving him back into Seamus.
"It's Malfoy!" Neville argues.
"No, arsehole, it's Granger," Ron corrects, once again yelling and puffing like a particularly flustered red-bird.
"S-sorry 'Mione," Neville says to Draco, who for his part grants him an unapologetic sneer.
I make brief eye contact with Neville who looks around confused.
"He's not Hermione, he's my husband. We took Hermione's name," I inform him.
He blinks in stunned silence, jerking his head back as if he's been doused with cold water.
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" he quietly asks no one in particular.
I refuse to stay here defending my choices when we have a mission to complete. Ron seems to be in agreement.
"Alright, you beautiful bunch of tossers and misfits," he shouts above the murmuring chaos "as much as I'd love to stand around talking about the newest additions to the DA all night, we have a job to do. Lady Malfoy and Draco are on our side; that's all you need to know. Now that bit of business is sorted, who has any information about trinkets Rowena Ravenclaw might have owned?"
We spend the next twenty minutes or so discussing Ravenclaw's lost diadem, what it looks like, and all the can'ts of the pursuit - how long it's been lost, who lost it and where - before we get to the truly important bit.
"Well, if the bloody thing is lost, how are we supposed to find it?" Ron asks red-faced and flustered.
It's amazing how narrow people's imaginations can be when they are standing in a room which will grant all of their heart's desires.
"Ask Hogwarts," I reply.
xoXOXox
It's a terrible inconvenience shuffling all of the members of Dumbledore's blasted Army into the chamber behind the portrait. I get half-arsed sneers and comically inadequate looks of disdain from most of them as I lift them into the dark. I close the portrait with more force than necessary when they are all sufficiently far away from me.
The four of us - Luna, Weasel, Mother, and me - duck under our invisibility cloaks and cast notice-me-not charms all along the corridor outside the Room of Hidden Things. Luna paces the length of the hall under nothing but a disillusionment as Mother stands watch at one end with the Weasel and me at the other. After my nerves have withstood more waiting than I thought possible, a door appears. Luna walks through, returning almost instantly with a silver tiara encrusted with sapphires.
Growing up in the Manor, I have been subjected to a plethora of dark artefacts, including the one recently retrieved from my body. I know well the frigid numbness of accursed jewellery and the uninhibited danger inherent of magic carpets. I've touched the hem of Death's robe against the acidic burn of Bella's cursed dagger. Therefore, I can say with utmost assuredness this crown is imbued with the darkest, vilest magic I have ever felt.
As Luna walks closer with the terrible accessory, a fit of rolling, hissing anger boils up from nowhere and the depths of my soul all at once. All I can see is Luna's doe eyes at Potter, my father dropping to his knees for the Dark Lord, my mother abandoning me in my time of need. My skin crawls trying to escape from my body as my heart pounds and hands shake with the need to cause unmitigated destruction. I call forth my Occlumency shields to fight back against the jadedness and ire forming in my basest nature knowing they will hold only for a moment against the unrelenting storm. The hate must be undone from the outside in.
Before the rage blinds me further, I shout a command towards anyone who will listen.
"Get that thing away from me! Destroy it!"
The Weasel acts quickly, pulling the sword from the string knapsack he carries on his back and swinging it at the relic. With a scream of pure torture, black blood oozes from it with the stomach-churning smell of sulfur and carrion. With its destruction the rage welling inside me dissipates all at once, leaving a gaping void of nothingness in its wake.
"What was that?" I ask Luna. If anyone should know, it's her.
She looks at me with her wide-sky eyes so full of things I wish to comprehend.
"It's what happens when a person has knowledge without compassion," she says as if that's supposed to explain anything of relevance. Perhaps it does.
"I'll tell you all about it when the party's over, mate," the Weasel sighs in exasperation. "For now, we still have a giant snake to kill. Another one." he adds, rolling his eyes.
"About that," Luna interjects, casting her gaze at the Weasel as Mother paces back and forth wishing for the previous room to return. "You may not want to kill her. She's a person - an animagus or something."
The Weasel furrows his brows and quirks his lips in an expression between confusion and disgust before resolving some conflict in his mind.
"Well, person or not, she is full of the same nasty magic as that tiara, so she's going to have to take one for the team if we're going to get rid of Old No-Nose."
A door opens on the wall for my mother who is followed by the Weasel inside. Luna continues the conversation as if her ideas have not been once again completely disregarded. The gaping hole inside begins to fill with animosity for the idiots who ignore her wisdom, as well as a swell of pride that she trusts me to not renounce her.
"Harry can talk to snakes. I think he might be able to get some information from her. Maybe we can get the magic out without killing her. Or we could catch her and have her taken away from humanity somewhere secure after You-Know-Who is defeated. Even if she turns out to be so dangerous we absolutely have to take her life, it would be worth a conversation first to see what she knows, don't you think?"
"It's never a bad idea to have more information," I reply competently, unlike my compatriot.
We slip back into the room of hidden things to retrieve the waiting imbeciles. Mother and the Weasel are already escorting the remainder of the resistance into the room, plus one. Notably, not plus two.
"Harry!" the pandering masses shriek, the Weasel's flame-haired little sister the loudest of them all.
I stalk through the small crowd to make my way to Potter. I don't wrestle with niceties and demeanour. He hasn't earned that right from me.
"Where's Hermione?" I demand knowing we'll never make it through this alive without her leadership.
"She's uh… She's… not coming," Potter says with a ghastly yellow face and a hint of defeated shame.
"Why?" I question sharply, instantly becoming impatient with his unhelpful vaguery and ill-sorted communication.
I'm cut short as a rapping comes from the inside of the portrait door which cracks a hair to reveal my Aunt Andi. My heart thrums with the beat of a thousand flying spells as the confusion turns to rage. How dare Potter drag my remaining family onto the battlefield where she doesn't belong, without our most competent defender no less?!
"Will someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on?!" I ask furiously.
"She's um… She's uh…" Potter stutters incoherently. It's painfully obvious he's drowning in overwhelm, smothered by insecurities. So much so that he can't string together a reasonably meaningful array of words.
"She's at home with Dory," Andi interjects "The baby will be born today."
This information leaves me in disconcerted silence momentarily. My cousin is delivering a child - her first child - with no healer present, without even her mother for comfort. I control my outrage to inject a modicum of respect for my aunt into my voice.
"Then what are you doing here?" I ask her.
"There's not much I can do that Hermione and my son-in-law can't handle. Your forces are down a soldier, the least I could do was to come in her stead."
The elements of this story are not cohesive. Why wouldn't Hermione fight and let Andi stay with Dory?
"Is she still ill?" I ask, my ice-cold logic creeping into my mind to kill all ostensible hope of her health not being seriously deficient after exposure to my aunt's dagger.
Andi's face falls with the most dreadful pity as she looks to Potter, who in turn studies his shoes for a moment before straightening his scrawny spine to pull the words from his bird-breadth chest.
"She's pregnant."
"Dory?"
"Hermione,"
Fuck.
I don't grant Potter the dignity of a response, instead turning to go find Luna and the Weasel. I'll process the absence of my protector and our most competent strategist as we piece together a plan in her stead. For that matter, I'll also have to process how I am to cope with this newest addition to our makeshift band of warriors, what this will mean for Hermione, and what my part will be to support her.
I find my companions seated on outlandishly sized mushrooms in the corner of the room enthralled in a three-way debate with one of the Patil sisters. Luna is speaking when I approach -
"We don't have to kill them, Ron. We can find a way to bind them so they can't call You-Know-Who. There are all sorts of ways to make them unconscious or unmoving at the very least, although keeping someone petrified for too long can be scarring."
"I don't give the tiniest piece of a fuck if they're scarred, Luna! Those bastards want to kill us! Look what they've done to Neville and Dean!" the Weasel shouts.
"In my experience, some of them are complete barbarians, Luna. They torture us for fun. You can't possibly see any use for them." Patil remarks.
I interject -
"What are you three on about?"
Luna looks up, her face lighting with the inquisitive look she gets before we do something insane in its entirety.
"Kitten! I'm so glad you're here. You would be the best person to weigh in on this."
Whatever this concern entails, I'm certain I have no desire to offer my introspection. Alas, my love has requested it and Patil's brows disgustingly land nearly on her nose at Luna's warm greeting, spurring me to want to prove her point wrong at all costs.
"Tell me," I say
"Well," the Weasel haughtily replies, assuming I will see his side of the argument "we need to round up the Death Eaters and sympathizers in the school before Snake-face gets here. We can't have those skull-faced shit-sacks fighting from behind our front lines."
I nod along in agreement as he continues -
"Your lovely, compassionate wife thinks we ought to hold them prisoner."
"Hostages can be quite valuable at times," I conclude.
"Bloody hell, mate! Listen!" the Weasel replies frustratedly, looking deep into my eyes in an attempt to persuade me. "Then we'll have to leave people behind to guard them, and make sure they don't call You-Know-Who right to us!"
He has a point. It will take resources to secure the prisoners; resources that would better serve us by fighting the Death Eaters.
Patil chimes in -
"I can't see You-Know-Who negotiating for their lives. He's not known for compromises."
She too makes a compelling argument.
"But they're people," Luna pleads, "and some of them aren't terrible, like Professor Snape,"
"Bloody hell, not this again…" the Weasel rudely laments.
"He saved my life, Ron!" The volume grows with each statement during Luna's exchange with the Weasel.
"He's letting all of this happen, Luna! Don't you see? He lets the Carrows torture the students! He allowed Umbridge to carve up Harry!"
"What was he supposed to do? You-Know-Who would have done the same to him!"
"But it doesn't make it right though, does it? He could have used that irritatingly bass-filled voice of his to say no!"
This debate can only lead in circles for eternity, so I halt it before my temper gets the better of me.
"Shut it," I lazily implore, going on to explain my stance. "The Carrows and Umbridge are scum of the foulest variety and the world would be at no loss without them as they are. Perhaps they could be rehabilitated after the war, but I wouldn't gamble my life on it by any means."
Luna glares at me.
"You were right alongside them a few months ago, Draco. Who are we to decide if they live or die?"
"This is WAR, Luna!" the Weasel yells, thrusting his open hand in the air to gesture to some invisible presentation of his point.
"And who is running the war, Ron? Us. So it's our job to decide how to execute it. We can do it with dignity, or we can fight like them."
Silence falls over our group as bumbling murmurs continue around us. She's right. We undoubtedly hold the upper hand in this situation, if for nothing but the element of surprise and the choice to do as we will. Will we be the ones to slaughter our assailants? There would be no love lost for me, however, it would be terribly incongruent for me to argue for Godfather's preservation if I agree to kill the rest unapologetically. To those surrounding me, one life is plausibly equal to the other, and it would be difficult if not impossible to convince them otherwise. Each life means a different thing to a different person. If my life had meant nothing to Luna, I would be on the same list of disposables tonight.
"Fine," the Weasel relents, breaking the silence crossing his arms over his chest. "We'll take prisoners where we can, if we can. When this whole thing goes tits up make sure you and the ferrett bring flowers to my grave every year and I want a tin of biscuits on Yule."
"Done," Luna replies triumphantly.
"How do we want to secure them?" Patil asks "Our best chance is to have them unconscious and without their wands, bound, and caged." She stares at each of us with a cold blankness reminiscent of my father. "As an aside, I don't see how those precautions are more humane than death."
"Let them decide on death or Azkaban after the war," I say "Until then, my mother can cast containment wards around them and we can keep them under with Draught of Living Death if we can raid the potions stores. If not, we can always petrify them."
"No need to raid the stores," Luna says "We can ask the room for the Draught and it will send it to us. All we have to do is get the captives back here."
The Weasel rounds up Potter and his glorious band of outcasts to discuss the plan. We divide off in pairs to search the castle for any undesirables as more and more people begin to flow through the portrait. A hoard of gingers I recognize as the Weasel relatives approach, along with the wandmaker Ollivander and several townspeople from Hogsmeade.
"Keep up high," Potter instructs, handing each member a broom. "Stay to their backs; hidden. Their ignorance is your best advantage."
What a delicious irony, Potter discussing ignorance as if he has any authority on the matter.
xoXOXox
People can only understand death for a few moments; right after it happens, when it's directly in our faces, when we are suddenly hit with the reality that there is no turning back - no undoing the final stroke. Death is a permanent end to this temporary circumstance we call life. This is why it is so hard to get people to avoid causing death at all cost, especially when that death might result in their longevity. People inherently fear dying, because it can't be understood experientially but for the smallest window of time, then it disappears as the comprehension takes flight from our minds clean out of our ears.
When Bellatrix Lestrange died - when I killed her - the permanence solidified for only a moment, just long enough for the relief of never seeing her cause harm to another person to manifest. Then it was gone, and I was afraid all over again for everyone who might face the same fate as she did. I know killing Bellatrix saved so many others untold amounts of suffering at her hand, and quite possibly saved my life, Draco's, Hermione's, and Narcissa's. I saw her permanent eradication as the only way out in the terrifying moment as she cackled in a pool of Hermione's blood. I think it's the laughing that did it. That crazed, maniacal joy she derived from hurting my friend. It was the bloodlust I wanted to kill, but I leaned into it instead.
Now, somewhere in the quiet of my mind, I wonder if I made the right decision. Could Bellatrix have been saved, redeemed, taught to feel for other people? Would it have been worth the trouble if she had? What could she have become? Because of what I chose to do the world will never know, and the questions might haunt me forever. I won't make the same poor decision twice if I can help it.
Draco and I mount the brooms the room has provided for us, taking off under a disillusionment to capture as many Death Eaters as possible before You-Know-Who has a chance to arrive. Each team is assigned to a sector of the castle listed on Harry's map where they are to be found roaming about. Draco and I are charged with taking Ravenclaw tower as I know intimately the ins and outs of it.
We stall our broom as we approach the two-floor-high entrance to the tower. Professor Flitwick and Alecto Carrow seem to be bickering far beneath us. We descend to get perilously close to the dark witch as the bronze eagle-shaped door knocker speaks in its shrill tone -
"I live only while I fly – Earth's rough kiss my sudden death."
"A soap bubble," Professor Flitwick replies nonchalantly.
We zoom in on his coat-tails, mussing the air to the tower in the wrong direction as the heavy door booms shut behind us. We fly straight up taking all of the air in the high tower close to us as Alecto frantically scans the space around her for the cause of the disturbance.
"Rather chilly in the castle today, ah Alecto?" Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice distracts her, bringing her gaze back down to ground level.
"Now," I whisper to Draco.
He casts a silent petrificus at the same time as I incant "somnium". She falls to the floor without so much as a smattering of blood. Professor Flitwick is entirely unperturbed as we fly down to disillusion the dark witch for transport.
"Well done, Luna," his squeaky voice remarks "You two need a better disillusionment charm, however. Had you ran into Snape I dare say you would have been hexed to next Tuesday. May I assist?"
He doesn't wait for my response, instead casting a far superior disillusionment over Draco and me along with the witch laying on the floor.
"There," he says, satisfied "Now why - pray tell - are you waltzing around petrifying our lovely professors, hmm?"
"You-Know-Who is on his way, professor. It's time to ready the students."
"Oh dear, it is about time for that, I suppose. I'd hoped this intrusion wouldn't happen at Hogwarts. Wouldn't want to taint the student's joyful memories…" he trails off in a ramble.
"Professor, we need to transport Carrow to the Room of Requirement." I tell him to drag him back to the topic at hand. "We will be holding all of the prisoners there."
"Quite dangerous, don't you agree? To have these hardened people so near to one another?" he questions.
"No, I don't believe so." I say "We have Narcissa Malfoy erecting their containment wards, and we'll be injecting them with Draught of Living Death to keep them subdued while the fight commences."
"Ah, what an exciting prospect!" he replies, lighting up at the opportunity for new knowledge. "Might I join you? I would so enjoy witnessing the Malfoy warding process in action. One of a kind charms, they are. Injecting, you say? That's a new method. The boy askance from you must be a Slytherin then. I couldn't see you concocting such a dastardly ploy to keep them at bay."
I can feel Draco snarling alongside me, but he doesn't speak, so I respond.
"I agreed to it, Professor. Please try not to be too ashamed of me. I figured it would be the most humane way to keep all of us safe in this poor circumstance, because if they are unconscious they can hardly suffer from their imprisonment."
"Ah, but you missed a fatal flaw in your reasoning, dear girl. You jumped straight to petrification without asking what the prisoner would prefer. That's how I knew it was you, by the by." he quips, gesturing to his head. "Always stalling the danger in its tracks, you are. Liberty and death are two sides of the same coin, you know, and unwilling imprisonment only keeps us floating somewhere in the between spaces."
"I told her that," Draco sighs.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy. How delightful to see you have come to your senses! You really should disguise your voice; it's quite distinctive you know. I've always had hope for you, and I regret this is the first time I've thought it important to tell you so." the professor states, clutching his heart in a gesture of pure elation. "You would have made an excellent Ravenclaw if not for your unfortunate upbringing. Terrible circumstances make snakes of us all, it seems. Not to worry though!" he exclaims, brightening up "Every Ravenclaw needs a Slytherin to guide us."
"Yes, well," I interject, trying once again to stifle my long-winded Professor's tangent. "Could you please do us the favour of escorting Carrow to the Room of Requirement? Not to worry, we'll alert the students and have them evacuate."
"Yes, certainly, my dear girl, I'll assist in any way possible," he confirms "You won't be asking her permission then, I assume?"
The war with myself starts anew with awful bubbles churning in my stomach as I decide on the fate of another human being. How terrible was it, that I was imperiused without my knowledge, even if it was to save my life? What if she requests death over imprisonment? What shall I do if she doesn't agree to the draught and tries to dismantle the wards? What options does one give a person in circumstances such as these?
"No, I won't." I say unsuredly. "I feel more comfortable making this decision for her until the chaos is settled."
"Ah, very well then, my girl. Always averse to risks, you are. That's birthed from fear, as it were. Never wanting to step into the unknown…"
"Thank you, Professor," I reply because he agrees, because he understands. "Will you summon Professor McGonnagal on your way out? We'll be needing her help soon."
"Indeed, dear girl, indeed." he says, levitating Alecto out of the room while summoning a Patronus at the same time. "Keep your head up, dear boy." Flitwick remarks, turning to Draco. "There is a bright, bright future waiting for you on the other side of these walls." he says in parting.
"I will," Draco confirms, no more promise needed than his solemn word.
xoXOXox
A/N: CreditsThe riddle at RC tower is from My dearest Dash is once again my beautiful beta. She has updated all of her fics recently. Action items: please check them all out at Tempest E. Dashon and thank her in the reviews.Vine