***
As the long, tiresome bus ride wore on, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny's tempers began to rise. Ron angrily snapped at Harry for forgetting sandwiches, only to sheepishly take it back a moment later. Harry didn't hold it against him; so much was riding on this trip, and nothing was certain... Now, Harry felt quite unsure whether his guess about Mrs. Weasley had even a grain of truth. He anxiously wrung his cold, clammy hands. If he was wrong, how would Ron and Ginny feel?
"She'll be there," said Ginny, falteringly. But she seemed to be talking to herself more than anyone else, trying to breathe life into her now feeble hopes. As Ron wrapped a warm arm around his sister's back, he thought ruefully how vastly the mood had changed from just a little while ago.
They had long since finished the diary; nearly two hours ago they had closed the book after reading the last few sentences. "I love him. Around Arthur all the pain goes away. I cannot see the cottage, or the look on Johnston's face ... all I see is him. The despair, black as night, fades away. And it is dawn." Even Ron grudgingly admitted that it was very sweet, after much poking from Hermione.
"So that's why Mrs. Weasley was able to lead a normal, loving life. Her knight in shining armor!" Hermione sighed dreamily. "If only all men were like that," she said acidly, sending an angry glare at Ron, who seemed not to notice. Ginny, catching the glance, stifled a grin. Harry, smelling a fight brewing, quickly changed the topic, but as they grew closer to Llanberris their fears began to catch up.
And now they were nearly there. Hermione, to the annoyance of the others, nervously reviewed the plan once more. "All right -- remember, we might have to search a bit to find the cottage, if it's even still there. Once we find it, we go inside. Ron and Ginny, if your mum is the only one inside, you say your speech. If she really was kidnapped, we'll have to be more careful."
"Yes, Hermione, we know," said Ron exasperatingly, "you've only gone over it a thou-" But Ron didn't get to finish his sentence; he was interrupted by a loud shout from Ernie.
"Llanberris! The next stop is Llanberris! 'Urry up!" And with a mutual gulp, the four got off the bus, staring around a town they knew practically nothing about.
"Well," said Hermione practically, "we had better start looking. She could be anywhere!" The others agreed, and they broke up into two groups. "I think the family should stick together this time, don't you?" she suggested. Not wanting to argue, Ginny and Ron walked off.
Once the two redheads were out of earshot, Hermione turned to Harry, her face screwed up in worry.
"Harry, I'm just not sure we'll find her! The odds are insane ... we must be mad to even attempt it!"
Harry nodded slowly, his ebony hair dancing in the wind. Hermione had just put into words what he had been thinking all along. But his next words surprised him. "I'm sure we are, Hermione. But you know that while there is a chance, no matter how small, of finding her, we should go for it. For Ron."
"I know, I know..." she sighed deeply, "it's just that sometimes it feels so hopeless. I doubt we'll ever find--" Hermione stopped speaking suddenly, staring at their surroundings. In Harry and she's wanderings, they had stumbled upon a faint dirt path, winding up a towering mountain. Hermione sucked in her breath slowly. This could be it, she thought faintly, the chance they had been waiting for!
"You don't think..." croaked Harry, gone momentarily hoarse. It was crazy -- they were chasing phantoms, nothing more. And yet... "I see footprints!" he whispered, struggling to keep his joy in check.
Hermione stooped to take a closer look. She reached out a trembling hand to touch the dirt at their feet. "I'd say about ten people passed, from the looks of it. Ron! Ginny!" she called suddenly. As they arrived, breathless, Hermione showed them the trampled dirt. Like the dark earth that is touched by the brilliant first rays of light each morning, Ron and Ginny's faces lit up with happiness.
"Hurry up! What are you waiting for?" And with that, he enthusiastically charged up the steep, winding path.
The four fit teenagers didn't have as much of a problem hiking up the trail as Mr. Weasley had. As Ron half walked, half ran, he carefully sidestepped the stones that jutted out of the dirt trail, traps to those who let their minds wander. Hermione learned this the hard way, after trying to get a good look at the picturesque scenery and sprawling onto her face.
"Well, you did get a good look at the ground. Beautiful, isn't it?" teased Ron as he held out his hand to pull the fallen warrior up.
Hermione smiled grudgingly, but was loath to begin running again. "Please, can't we just stop a minute and look around?" The others agreed, trying not to show they appreciated the rest. The four sat on the dusty road and looked out over the outstretched landscape.
Hermione had been right to stare; it was beautiful. From their perch a little way up the trail, the hills seemed to rise and fall like emerald green waves, blanketed with a soft bed of grass. Bluer than the clearest sapphire, the cloudless sky caressed the green earth. Sparse patches of lavender flowers dotted the hills, like freckles on a Weasley face. Milky white sheep could be seen on faraway hilltops, dancing in places where humans could hardly walk.
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed lengthily, drawing it out. She took a deep breath of the cool mountain air, feeling it pour into her lungs, cleansing, and exhaled again, feeling the calmest she'd been since Voldemort's rebirth.
"I feel it -- the poem. Don't you?" The others knew what Hermione meant. There was a beauty to the place which made it feel almost like a bathing of the soul, scrubbing away the dirt and residue of worry and fear. They felt free as the faraway sheep, without a care in the world. Their faces turned upwards to the sky, the four teens who had aged far more than their years suggested wanted to be -- just be -- and revel in the glorious sunlight.
It was Ron who first realized that they couldn't. There were other deeds to be done, no matter how hard it was to tear their eyes away from the dazzlingly blue sky. The mission was the save Mrs. Weasley; everything else would have to wait. Slowly, the four rose and bid good-bye to the mountain.
After a few minutes of walking at their renewed pace, Ginny thought she heard strains of men's voices. Chalking it up as a trick of the ears, they continued to walk. But in another couple of minutes, Ron, Hermione, and Harry had to admit the sounds were real. An unnaturally loud shout piercing the air quickly sobered the teenagers. They knew that they had reached the end of the line. Either Mrs. Weasley was there, or she wasn't. The moment of truth.
"Wands out. We don't know what we might be facing," breathed Hermione as they approached, the voices becoming ever louder. The four quietly crept up the end of the path to a clearing, the soft crinkling of grass and occasion snap of a twig the only sounds. Out of the open space came a manic laugh that chilled them to the depths of their souls. There was no humor in that laugh, and they all knew it. More cautious than ever, they crawled the last few feet and hid behind a bush, little caring for the sharp points of the leaves.
What they saw when they looked out shocked them. Not only was Mrs. Weasley there, surprise enough to a skeptical Hermione, but Mr. Weasley was there as well. Hadn't he been the one to tell them to stay put while he went to talk to the Ministry? Well, thought Hermione wryly, he had gone to the Ministry. Ten full bodied, strong men stood clumped together, just next to a small cottage. It was puzzling, to be sure.
Ron cared not for puzzles -- he wanted answers. Who was that elderly man restraining his mother, and why weren't the Ministry workers trying to help? Just as he was about to turn to the others, eyes full of questions, the man spoke.
"You're not going anywhere," he said darkly. As Ron heard those terrible words leave the man's lips, he knew a rescue would soon be on its way.
***
Feeling her freedom held back by her father's cruel arms, Molly shivered. The warm summer breezes of the days before seemed to have fled for safer parts. Molly longingly wished she could. Without the roaring wind whipping around her face, the air felt oddly oppressive. Almost too calm. Like the calm before a storm, just waiting for the fury to be released. She shivered.
"Stop moving," growled Mr. Douglass, shoving his elbow further into her stomach. The only thing that stopped Molly from trying to attack her father was a sudden rustling in the bushes. There was no wind. Quickly thinking that the rustling might be her rescue, Molly tried to distract her wily father.
"Dad," she spat out, nearly choking on the word, "we're all dying to know how you managed to set fire to the Company building. It was a nearly flawless plan, which I'm sure might interest the men here." Molly's frightened voice sounded loud, cutting through the silence.
Mr. Douglass laughed, shaking Molly as well as himself. "Now, really, my darling daughter," he scoffed, "did you expect a confession?" He chortled again. "Well, one isn't coming. Ever so sorry to disappoint, but you know full well that you played a large part in that plan."
Molly's voice was deadly calm. "I was barely eleven, Dad. I wasn't responsible for my actions. I did it out of loyalty to you and Mum ... loyalty which still haunts me. You brainwashed me, Dad, and you know it."
Mr. Douglass, eyes twitching, opened his mouth to rebut. But before he could, a young, strong voice came floating out of seemingly nowhere. As the first word reached Molly's' ears, her heart seemed to stop -- her blood ran cold. The color flooded out of her face, leaving her white as the sheep who looked on. Because somehow, inexplicably, Molly knew that voice. It was hers.
"I love you, Dad," the voice whispered, yet sounding to Molly like the clash of the heavens that echoed the truth of her past. She remained silent and simply listened "I have to lie in court?" The voice, tremulous, continued on. "But Dad, didn't you always teach me that lying was wrong? Dad?"
Mimicking his daughter's face, Mr. Douglass had turned stark white at the sound. He stood stock still, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide in terror. He trembled, like a leaf in the wind.
"Stop it! Leave me alone! The past is dead! Dead!" Mr. Douglass's booming voice in her ears made Molly jump. "It wasn't my fault ... it wasn't ... leave me alone!" The last word echoed several times off of the mountains before finally dying away. Scarcely had the last echo faded when a short, yet tall, pudgy, yet muscular man stepped forward, scooping a wand off of the ground.
"There's only one way for this to end, for all of us. Let my wife go, and face me like a man." Arthur Weasley's eyes were ablaze with fury, and his jaw was set. "Duel me, and we'll see if I can't make you join those you've destroyed in the past."
There was a note of finality, of absolute resolution in his voice. Molly, shivering, tried to yell out. But she was frozen in fear, unable to scream out in her nightmare. She watched in terror as her father, face twitching and hands clenching and unclenching, slowly pulled his wand from her neck. Never removing his eyes from the face of Mr. Weasley, he released Molly. Realizing she was holding her breath, she gulped cool air. Mr. Douglass took a few steps away from his opponent's wife, the grass crunching softly under his feet.
"We bow." Steady and determined, Mr. Weasley's voice rang in the air. He would do it -- for Molly.
"We bow." Echoing him, Mr. Douglass locked eyes with his nemesis, little noticing that four more figures had joined the twelve actors in this bizarre play. Stealthily, as the two men bowed slightly, the four neared the captive Molly.
"Run!" shouted Ron, and Molly did just that, her four rescuers sprinting across the clearing to where the path forked into three.
"NO!" Mr. Douglass's roar shook the mountain, and he shook with uncontrollable fury. Quickly raising his wand hand to attack the nearest foe, he shouted, "Stupefy!"
The spell whirled past Arthur's shoulder, narrowly missing him. Forgetting all but his beloved, Arthur ran like the wind to his wife and her rescuers. Hardly breathing in their haste, the group ran swiftly up the first of the three paths.
"Quick! Duck!" yelled the Ministry investigator Eddings to the retreating figures, as another dangerous spell hurtled by Mr. Douglass nearly hit them. Old as he was, he covered ground quickly. His feet seemed hardly to touch the ground, and he reached the parting of the paths in hardly any time at all. Without a moments hesitation, Mr. Douglass leapt towards the third path.
Sighing, Eddings turned to his men. "Come on, after them!" And with a nod, the well-bred, dignified Ministry men threw caution to the wind. Soon, the padding of their footsteps on the dusty second trail had faded away. The mountain stood as it had been before. There was no hint of the drama that had just occurred, save the urgency that hung in the air. The mountain, old as the earth itself, had seen many things in his time. He knew that the final act would be played out, if only he would have patience. He didn't have long to wait.
***
It was a cool August 31st, many years earlier, as Molly Douglass crept out of the opened window of the tiny cottage. Molly's skinny, eleven year-old body squeezed through the opening, and she fell to the ground, gasping with effort. Beside her lay the suitcase which she'd stuffed with all of her clothes, food, and a considerable amount of money lifted from her parents. Standing up and hardly making a sound, Molly stared at her home for what was to be the last time in quite a while.
She sighed. The first few rays of sunlight crept over the mountain and painted the cottage a buttery yellow.
"It's now or never," she whispered to herself. Slowly turning around, she left her home and its hateful occupants. Unbidden, a picture of her parents, smiling and laughing, flew to her mind. Molly narrowed her eyes and pushed it away, continuing into the dark unknown.
As she reached the end of the path that led away from the cottage, the soft lavender flowers begged her for the last time to stay. To resign herself to years of obedience to her terrible parents, slave to the acts they had made her do.
"No," thought Molly. She'd leave those things behind forever, and make a new life at Hogwarts. Smiling broadly, Molly stomped the tiny blossoms to a pulp.
***
The cheetah chasing after its prey has long been considered one of the fastest animals on earth.
The cheetah never met Molly Weasley. Her feet slapping against the dirt, she fairly flew up the path with Arthur and the four teens in tow. One, two, three, breathe, one, two, three. As if to an invisible drummer, Molly's feet pounded out the rhythm for the others to follow. Sweat poured down her determined face, and her companions struggled to keep up. One, two, three, breathe, one, two, three. Molly knew all depended on their getting to the top first; there was a stone pillar at the summit -- an emergency portkey for stranded fell walkers -- that they could use to safely escape. A few precious seconds might be the difference between freedom and mortal peril.
One, two, three, breathe, one, two, three. Molly led her allies around rocks as if by instinct, never breaking her magnificent stride. As Ginny at the tail side stepped the last rock, Molly thought she could see an end to the trail. With a final burst of speed that would rival the racing wind, Molly reached the top.
For a few glorious seconds it seemed as if they had reached the summit the quickest. The area appeared completely empty but for the six people, bent double and gasping for breath.
Reality soon set in. With a painful jolt in her stomach, Molly saw a hunched, lean figure step out from behind the stone pillar.
"It certainly took you long enough," he said lazily, twiddling his wand. Mr. Douglass had not lived on the mountain many years without learning the swiftest route to the top. Molly whipped her head to look down the third path, hoping beyond hopes that the Ministry men might be charging up it.
"Oh, you won't see them for quite a while," Mr. Douglass said silkily, following her glance. "Though why you'd want those spineless men is beyond me. No, dear, we're quite alone up here."
Molly blinked back hot tears. He had won, again, just as he had years before. His evil ways had yet again placed Molly into his dirty hands. Cheating had stolen him yet another life. It was the end.
"Lavender as the softest sunset," recited Ginny tremulously, suddenly stepping forward towards the scene despite the silent protests of her father, friends and brother. She swallowed and continued, with growing intensity.
"Longingly the blossoms wave to the mountains beyond.
And hope for the day when they too can join the nimble sheep
Narrowly missing the cliff as they jump
Behind the rocks old as the sky -- for
Even flowers wish to be free.
Released from guilt bending, crushing, crippling!
Removed from the hut at the base of the mount.
Instead, they wait, and guard the monsters within.
Soon the winds will change." Ginny swallowed again, and stifled a sob.
"It was you in the clearing, wasn't it?" breathed Molly, turning to face her approaching daughter. For as she listened to Ginny's words, she had heard herself in them. Ginny nodded her head slowly. "Has anyone ever told you we sound remarkably alike?" Molly smiled, and turned back to Mr. Douglass as the Ministry men finally charged up the end of the path. Suddenly cornered, wands staring him in the face, Mr. Douglass backed away.
"I've won this time, Dad. Don't you see? You're trapped." Molly stared her father in the face, triumph written all over her features. "My children never run away from me, they've come to track me down. Their friends even care enough to help. My husband is willing to die for me, and that's all I'll ever need. I've got more people around to love me than you ever had and will, more than you deserve. It's over, there's no escape from justice." She stared at Mr Douglass for an instant, waiting on his reply. But to her surprise, a slow smile spread over his face.
"Oh, but on the contrary, Molly, there is always an escape." From behind his back the gray haired Mr. Douglass pulled out his wand. "There is always an escape. And no matter what you tell yourself, you know you are to blame for broken lives." A harsh, cold laugh echoed from his lips. "You are to blame..." Still laughing maniacally, he disapperated without a trace.
"He always was good at disappearing," whispered Molly, as her husband wrapped her in a long awaited hug. And as the curtain fell, the mountain applauded.
***
A/N: Nearly all of that was written in one two hour sitting! Believe it or not, that isn't the end. Not quite. The epilogue will answer a lot of questions I'm sure everyone has. So read on, and I hope you liked this! Please review!
