Disclamer, A/N:
Gryf: This was a pretty long chapter, comparatively.
Cloe: Actually yeah, seventeen in word if your using the page layout, and thirty-two in word if you are using the online layout.
Gryf: Yup.
Gryf: This Chapter was fun to write.
Cloe: ::darkly:: Oh I'm sure you had a ball putting in all those "Hon"'s and "Duh"'s. She's a *Malfoy* for gods sake, she doesn't talk like an american teenager.
Gryf: ~grumbles~ Well in a lot of ways she looks like an american teenager...
Cloe: I don't care, she's not an american teenager. Its almost getting to the point where I think we need a brit-beta.
Gryf: Otherwise known as you, for now.
Cloe: Granted I am the closest thing we have to a Brit-beta, but I'm lacking a certain something, like I don't know perhaps the fact I'm not British.
Gryf: ~sticks tongue out~ Well I'm an immature midwesterner obviously, so go on with the A/N.
Cloe: But I digress. Or perhaps not. ::sigh:: You are not immature altho with that tongue sticking outness, you sure are fitting the part at the moment. But now I digress, in this chapter we finally pick up the pace.
Gryf: ~nods and sticks tongue back in~
Cloe: But don't celebrate yet because we slow down and meander off somewhere looking for bunny rabbits.
Gryf: Hee hee.
Cloe: How many chapters are we up to now Gryf?
Gryf: Actually typed on my computer or posted?
Gryf: I'm typing what would be chapter 17 on FF.Net.
Cloe: But chapter sixteen in her files because she refuses to change them.
Gryf: And why should I? The prologue is in its proper place.
Gryf: I've got to go momentarily, like now, so let's get this over with.
Cloe: Blah blah blah, not ours, kick peter for me, blah blah blah.
Gryf: Everything that you recognize probably isn't ours, anything else, like Circe, is ours.
Cloe: Oh and Andrew if your reading this, hi.
Gryf: ~gets kicked out by irritating not-so-little brother~
********************
Guardian Angel from Hell
Chapter Ten, Trepidation, Sublimation, and Denial (It's not just a river in Egypt)
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Gryffith and Cloe
********************
Chapter Ten
Hogsmeade cheered Harry and Ron up considerably. Everyone had such good spirits that it was difficult for the pair to stay upset, even considering that Hermione had flatly refused to come down to Hogsmeade with them, plainly preferring the solitude of the library. At one end of the town, in spite of green and golden leaves raining from above, the Creevey brothers had set up what looked like almost a professional photo shoot. Colin had purchased a larger, bulkier camera along with some other equipment that could manipulate color, proportions, and anything they liked. Dennis, the younger brother, was the one in charge of operating that machinery while Colin arranged people against a plain white screen, which could be manipulated later. A long line appeared as if by magic, mostly of couples wanting to get their picture's taken together, and Ron's jaw jutted out furiously when he saw Ginny and Seamus poking each other while in line. Harry tried to pull Ron away, but nevertheless the pair sidled up to the giggling couple.
As Harry tried to get Ron into an arm lock and Ginny tried to hide Seamus behind her, the two other boys glared daggers at each other.
"What the bloody hell are you trying to pull?" Ron demanded.
Seamus rolled his eyes, "And why the bloody hell shouldn't I?"
Ginny elbowed him hard in the ribs, "This is my choice, Ron. What, do you think you can stop me?"
"Yes!" Ron tried to stomp on Harry's feet.
Ginny hit her older brother in the face, not the typical female slap but a nice, tight, perfectly aimed uppercut at eye, throwing his head back with the force. "That," she murmured sweetly, "Is what you would do if Percy told you not to talk to Hermione because she would bewitch you with her female charm."
"Ha! Hermione have female charm? She's a brick, but she's not a prostitute," Seamus chortled. Harry let go of Ron and slammed his fist into the Irish boy's gut personally.
"Boys, boys! You're ruining the day!" Ginny whined, pulling Seamus upright and shoving Harry and Ron away.
Ron raised an eyebrow at Harry, "What prompted that?"
"What prompted you to interrupt your sister?" Harry countered.
The redhead shut up and agreed to go to the Three Broomsticks to get some ice. He turned around once to double check on Ginny and realized his mistake; his little sister was flirting with Colin while Dennis was fumbling with his equipment as he attempted to do all the preparations without tearing his eyes from the older girl's face.
Harry yanked on his arm and hauled him into the Three Broomsticks and hailed Rosmerta.
The waitress sailed over and clucked when she saw the way Ron's eye was already swelling and changing color. "Well, that's quite a shiner ya got there, chap! Who did ya in?"
Ron's cheeks burned and Harry snickered, "Oh, it was a really big bully, wasn't it Ron?"
Rosmerta eyed the redhead, who towered over her by at least a foot and a half, "A bigger bully than this'n? Him I wanna see!"
Parvati and Lavender, strolling by the threesome on their way out, heard the last phrase. "Want to see what?" Lavender asked.
Parvati looked closer at Ron and hissed, "Oooh, how'd you get that, Ron?"
Lavender's eyes darted from Ron to Harry and back again, "Have the famous duo actually been fighting?"
Ron stared at the floor, "Is there some ice that I can use?"
The waitress chuckled, "Who done it, Ronnieboy?"
"THE ICE!!!" Ron refused to look up.
Harry squeezed his friend's arm sympathetically, "Yeah, we were fighting. We-"
But just then Padma, dragging another Ravenclaw fellow behind her, caught sight of her twin sister and ran over to her, "Parvati! Did you hear? Did you see?" Padma glanced inside the bar, absorbing the people standing around her sister, "Oooh, there they are!" She exclaimed, pointing at Ron and Harry. Ron groaned.
Padma turned to her sister excitedly, "You know the line to get a picture outside? Well, his sister," she jerked her head at Ron, "Was standing with one of the boys in your house and Ron here got upset and yelled at the guy. So his little sister goes up and punches him in the face!"
Rosmerta hoots delightedly and goes off to get a bag of ice.
After collecting the ice, Harry herded his friend away from the bar and the gossips and decided to go to Zonko's to restock; Ron seemed bent on following his older brothers' footsteps as pranksters. Inside, there didn't appear to be many people shopping at the moment, but a short brunette with a pigtail caught the boys' eyes. Ron quickly bridged the gap between them and grabbed Circe's arm roughly and swung her around. His eyes met fawn-colored, scared, innocent eyes, the eyes of a doe before she is shot, and those eyes gawked at him, terrified, until the limp lips hastily pursed and widened into an impudent smirk. The painted lids, decorated with lavender eyeliner and mascara, lowered coyly and her upturned face glared at him sweetly while she tore her arm from his grasp.
"What the hell did you do to your hair!" Ron gingerly fingered the tip of her wet-looking chestnut brown ponytail.
"I dyed it, stupid," was the curt reply.
Harry joined the pair and eyed Circe curiously, "What are you doing here? I thought you were only coming to Hogsmeade to check up on your time."
Circe batted the air lazily, as if the idea were a tangible thing that could be swatted aside, "I'll get to that later, in case the Headmaster Sergeant wants me back immediately. Don't you think I could have left Hogwarts before and contacted her? It's not that long a walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade."
"Well, why haven't you?"
"To have some fun, of course. I figured that since I was here I'd find out what Zonko's has to offer before the twins get really big. In my time, all the major stuff carries the Weasley logo."
Ron grinned, "That's great! I always knew they'd make it big. What kind of stuff do they come out with?"
"Well, they gave my a complete set of hair products on the house, so I just sampled a few in the prefects bathroom and the dungeons. Well, I didn't use them personally, I found other…er…victims," Circe grinned maliciously, distressing the boys slightly. Without acknowledging the change in their expressions, Circe went on, "But what those Weasleys are really good at are fake wands. I have a complete set. These wands are so much better than the…prehistoric crud they have now. You see, Fred was always sick of his mum knowing that it was a fake wand when he wouldn't test it out himself, so he put in a sample spell on the wand that you could use without a hitch. Everything else on the wand is booby-trapped. Harry, could I see your wand for a sec?"
Harry clutched it warily, "Why?"
Circe rolled her eyes, "Because you're an ass. But if I can't see it…it's phoenix feather core, holly, 11 inches, right?"
"Yesss…"
Without another word, the girl opened up the huge purse at her side and pulled out a brown leather cylinder labeled "Holly" in gold calligraphy and fished among the wands for one that matched Harry's. Smirking triumphantly, she pulled it out and handed it to Harry, who immediately took it and scrutinized the wands carefully, and finding only a single nick in the tip of the fake one as the difference.
Harry handed it back thoughtfully, "What is the sample spell? Is it always the same?"
"Uh-huh, yeah, right, it's always the same? What kind of idiots do you think the Weasleys are? As soon as these things got popular, everyone memorized what the sample spells were. Tarantellegra used to be the spell for holly, but now it can be changed. The owner can decide. Well, this is about the first set that came out, so it can't be changed very easily. It would take weeks to change mine successfully. When I left they were working on a prototype that could change sample spells in an hour."
"…What kind of relationship do you have with my brothers? I mean, you're a Malfoy and all," Ron rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.
Circe smirked in an elusive reply and turned to face Harry, "Anything else you'd like to know about these things?"
"What happens when you use a spell besides the sample spell? I mean, is it different from now?"
"That depends," she mumbled, and put the wands away. "Most wands just do a tickling charm or transfigure into a frog or something, but when these wands get onto the black market, they could do anything from turning you into a rat to the killing curse."
Ron felt confused by her suddenly disdainful attitude, her snapped and mirthless words, so he gently rubbed her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. His hand dropped when the girl stiffened involuntarily and began to tremble, confusing, even alarming Ron. She smiled weakly at him, apologizing to the boys as she turned and fled the shop abruptly.
Circe made her way impatiently through the streets of Hogsmeade, unwilling to stay among these crowds, so she beelined to the shrieking shack, around which she and Bixby had often played. Bixby…Ron and Harry seemed repulsed by her surname, but Bixby had never held it against her. Much the opposite, he had either forgotten, or when he did remember he seemed to think of himself as her defender from her family. She appreciated the gesture, but if he really knew what went on in the Malfoy household, he'd make sure she'd never have to go home again. Bixby…great wizards how she suddenly wanted to get back to her own time.
She reached the shrieking shack and promptly began looking around for the tree she and Bixby had often used to climb to the shack's roof. Walking around to the spot, she found the silver birch, but in this time it was closer to a sapling than the full-fledged tree she remembered. The bottom branches proved sturdy as the girl clumsily ascended, encumbered by her purse, but higher up the thin, leaf covered branches could barely support her weight. She resented the urge for such a familiar haunt, but her jaw jutted contrarily and she stubbornly prepared herself for the leap, no matter how flippant the whim.
After heaving her purse to the roof, Circe took a deep breath, a crouching position, a running leap, and lastly amassed a painful collection of scrapes from the unforgiving shingles. Standing up shakily, Circe grinned to herself and sat down, her back supported by a gable. Her hands fished out the little computer notebook, flipped it open, and hit the appropriate buttons with practiced ease. All that left her to do was to stare at the screen until it all loaded.
The girl held her breath as the rectangle sitting on her lap began to crackle and lighten, and at last begin to separate into colors, shapes, and at last facial features. The face that stared back at her frowned at the sight of her and immediately turned away yelling something that sounded oddly like Lord Demetri, but that had to be wrong because the only person named Demetri at the school had been put in Azkaban that summer.
"Who is it?" a smooth voice barked, causing Circe's heart to freeze and her head to spin. She knew that voice, how could she not when it's owner, Demetri Maury, had wrapped her in his coils and isolated her from all but the dark arts and himself. Suppressed scenes blinded her; Bixby trying to break his hold on her, Demetri almost killing Bixby in a wizard's dual, Demetri trying to use her as a hostage to force Father back into the dark arts, and at last the suave, silver tongued college student being arrested. Yet anger saved her composure as it twisted her mouth into an anticipating smirk and her eyes into the narrowed shape of arrowheads.
A moment after he first spoke, her ex-boyfriend slid into view and Circe noted smugly the tired rings under his eyes, the sunken cheeks, and the cuts on his chin and cheeks from a badly used razor. Probably understandable if facial hair had completely taken over his face in Azkaban, but she took delight in the knowledge and the edge it gave her. "Who in the name of sages are you?" he snapped, after trying to identify her for a minute.
The brunette arched an eyebrow, "Your stay in Azkaban must have addled your wits if you don't remember me, "Lord" Demetri."
His eyes darkened, but still his tongue only stuttered and babbled, so the girl removed her contact lenses and then winked at him. Tawny brown eyes bulged, enraged, at her silvery irises. At last he opened his mouth to intelligently enter the cold, calculatingly polite game of the age-old conversation, "Circe Malfoy, of course I remember you! How could I forget? Betrayal is fairly difficult to forget, my dear."
Anger seeped into his voice, breaking rule number one, as emotion made one vulnerable. The only sentiment safe to let through was planned sarcasm and condescension, and they both knew it. "You're losing you're touch. Now, be a dear and tell me why in the name of wizardry Azkaban let such a desirable guest leave and why you're in this particular time."
"Azkaban has no control over my comings and goings, my dear. And if you haven't figured out the reasons by now, then you, not me, are losing more than just your touch."
"And you're losing everything if you can't even hold a razor steady," she replied calmly.
Demetri ran his fingers through his vanilla and chocolate curls, the result of a popular fashion trend of bleaching, and Circe cheered inside when she recognized his discreet acknowledgment of discomfort, although he probably didn't realize that he had such a habit.
"Let me explain it to you, Malfoy," he said at last, "Things are going to change. Lord Greythorne is going to do the dark arts a big favor by letting them keep the lord of this generation while disposing of your precious Potter boy. Granger will probably have to be disposed of then, taking your beloved time college with her, and Weasley can then be converted, giving us a very favorable potential Minister of Magic. And there's nothing you can do about it."
"Don't bet on it," she examined her finger nails, relieved to be able to break the eye contact, "None of this is over until the Dark Lord croaks. And, as you very well know about the future, nothing is written in stone and even then stone can be broken," the girl forced herself to yawn in contempt
"Malfoy, don't throw empty proverbs at me, I know that you excel at the academics. But for all that bookwork, it doesn't say anything for your skill at the practical."
"And your grasp of the academics is about the equivalent of one plus three equals four. Don't scorn that of which you have no comprehension. And as to my skill, you can expect to be shown a sample of what I can do," she menaced casually.
Panic threatened to bubble over when the warning had aroused only a feral, anticipating smile, and so her thumb instantly slammed into the off button, yet while the screen blanked immediately his last words, "I can't wait," lingered in her mind ominously. Shaking, her hands put the computer notebook away before her mind could react emotionally at all. And when it did, terror clamped over her brain in cold chills and blocked all rational thought.
In a hysterical attempt to escape whatever panic he had left in her head, she stood up and tried to escape physically from the place, springing onto the tree out of habit. But the young limb snapped, dropping her like a stone onto the pebbly ground, and twisting her ankle in a few tree roots.
"Dammit!" the girl yanked her foot out and pulled out her wand. Carefully picturing her broom, she muttered, "Accio."
Nothing happened. "ACCIO!"
Swearing vividly, Circe stormed, or limped rather, painfully away from the village to Hogwarts.
***
Hermione chewed absently on the end of her thick brown braid as she browsed through the dusty volume in the otherwise empty library. The types of magical insects in the world had amazing variety, so to augment her studies Hermione decided to research a few. So far her notes didn't number very much:
"The most beautiful was a furred butterfly, Lepidoptera Pyrexia, whose entire body seemed to be covered with crushed velvet, with a wingspan of five feet and wings like a sunset. The common names for this insect are Psyche's Petals, Iris's Gifts, and Starfire. Native to Greece, this butterfly migrates every year to the banks of the Amazon River in South America to lay eggs. In Greece, it is poached for its wings to make clothing and drapery. In South America its eggs have occasionally been consumed by indigenous Muggles as a hallucinogen drug. However, as the eggs are laid exclusively on mushrooms in the area, the drug has been connected to the mushroom rather than the eggs.
The rarest and most difficult to find was the beaded damselfly, Diptera Nacre, as it had a life-span of three centuries and it hibernated for 270 of those 300 years. What made it interesting was that the older it got, the more emeralds, rubies, amethysts, etc. embedded themselves in it's body, making it an idealistic dream for poachers.
Technically not a lethal insect, the most troublesome beetle to witches and wizards at least, is a similar to a ladybug in shape and proportions. This beetle, categorized Coleoptera Serebro and commonly called an Acid Beetle, has a silver outer set of wings, used purely for protection. Native to southern Germany, it comes out at winter where it can use its wings as camouflage against the snow. The danger comes in when magic is used, as the beetle is attracted to the usage of magic and bites the witch or wizard who has the most magic about him or her. The venom that the beetle secretes is acidic, and when in the bloodstream of witch or wizard, corrodes any and all magic near him or her in a painful, burning process. Although the venom is not poisonous, its effects have driven many to suicide because of the inability to touch magic."
Absorbed in her studies as Hermione was, even she could not avoid noticing the rush of air as an invisible something swept into the library and stopped in front of one of the shelves. Several books floated off the shelves and disappeared, swallowed up into what Hermione recognized to be the invisibility cloak. The invisible someone plopped down at the table opposite Hermione without seeming to know that anyone outside of the cloak existed. A pile of books manifested on the table and then disembodied hands took the top one and laid it open on the table, the fingers skimming through it.
The brunette shut the tome she had been glancing at and stood about a little more than foot away from where she knew whoever was in the cloak had to be. "Need any help, Harry?"
The hands stopped cold, then went on tracing words down the page and then turning to a new page, as voice, female, replied dryly, "Do these hand's look like Harry's, or does he usually get a manicure at Hogwarts that the history books didn't care to mention?"
"Malfoy."
One of the hands rose and took off the hood, then undid the clasp and let the cloak slide down between Circe's now-visible body and the back of the chair. "Brilliant deduction, Granger. Now shove off and let me try to find a way to save your boyfriend."
Hermione shifted her weight, spreading her legs slightly and then she put her fists on her hips, arms akimbo, "Wh-what did you just say? I don't have a boyfriend!"
"Well then you pop the question first, babe, cause Harry's not gonna do it for you, if he hasn't gotten it over with already," Circe popped her gum complacently.
"Harry is-what did you mean by finding a way to save him?"
"Exactly what I said, brainiac. In my time, Harry is dead, killed in, oh…what's today's date?"
"The 10th of October…but-"
"Harry dies is a little more than 5 months. At least, that's how it is in my time. I wasn't planning on changing it, but some idiots from my time, and one idiot in particular, I'd know, I used to date him, have barged in and plan on killing your boyfriend, you, converting Ron, and keeping Voldy alive, or something along those lines. What I do know is that somehow they're barricading this time period and I cant get out until they let me out, and that's never gonna happen. So I need to find a way to end it all."
"You mean that you knew Harry was going to die and you didn't tell us!?"
"I wasn't planning the past, you would have done the same thing. Trust me on that one. Anyway, I plan to change the past now, so I'm telling you. Happy?"
Hermione grumbled a bit, but practicality overruled selfish sulking, "Um…what do you have in mind? What are the options?"
Circe snapped her gum again, "There's suicide."
"Suicide? But you shouldn't-"
"Shouldn't what? That's the attitude that tips many people over the edge. But I was just naming an option. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" Circe smirked.
Rolling her eyes at the girl's flippant attitude, Hermione looked down at the book, "So…Malfoy, what are you trying to look up?" She tipped the front cover off the table and peer through the shadows at the title. "Why would you want this? 'Recent Persecutors of the Dark Arts'? What will that do?"
Circe scowled, "I've been trying to look for aurors that I could find and bring here, but this stupid book hasn't been updated in like 20 years."
The other girl rolled her eyes, "Next time try asking. Harry might know, but I know that Sirius would. I mean he's practically an auror himself. And then the professors would surely know, especially Dumbledore and Snape."
Gray eyes stared into the distance, "I don't like depending on others or asking things from others. I don't have any use for anyone but myself."
"You really are a bitch, do you know that?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Nevermind," Hermione dug a pad of paper from her book bag; muggle paper could be much more convenient than wizard scrolls. Ripping off the top page, she took a quill and wrote in her precise, tiny script "Things to do" on the top of the fresh page. As the seventh year made neat, delicate bullets, Circe marveled at how little that Hermione's handwriting would change over the decades until she would become her college professor. Hermione began a list starting with the word aurors, and then looked up, pen poised, and asked, "Anything else?"
"I um…Demetri said something about a Greythorne character…I guess he or she would be born by now… it might be worth looking into."
Hermione jotted down the Greythorne bit, then asked, "Did you know that you would be coming to this year? I mean, did you know this Greythorne thing would happen?"
"No, it was only supposed to be an ordinary exam. There was no warning whatsoever…oh no…maybe…it can't…but if it is I'm going to scream."
"What?"
Circe laughed, "My horoscope. I just read it for fun…now it's all coming back word for word. That's how creepy it is, and I didn't even want to memorize it!"
"Well, how does it go?"
"Very soon you will be pressed for time by an unexpected and unpredictable event. You will relive dead memories from before your birth and force others to revive them, but the doors will shut and lock behind you, leaving only one way out. The path will be virulent and lethal, and you may need another face to achieve your ends. A Leo will thank you, a Pisces will love you, a Scorpio will hate you, and beware the stony fang. And that's it. And it's right, at least most of it."
Hermione sighed with contempt, "And how is that?"
"Oh yes, the skeptic, I know how you act grown-up. You give Tiglah such a hard time because of her mother. Not that I'm complaining; Tiglah's a self-centered bitch. You know, her mother was at Bix's party…do you know a Lavender Kurt?"
"Kurt? The only Lavender I know is Lavender Brown, and she is the worst gossip in the school, next to the Patils."
"Brown? Oh, of course, Kurt is her married name. Brown would be her maiden name."
"And what would Lavender have to do with this?"
"She wrote the bloody thing!"
"Well excuse me! But I wouldn't advise talking to her about it. First off, I've already said she's the worst gossip in the school and she is. Second, she hasn't even written it yet!"
"Whatever, but I-" she began, but stopped when the boys trooped into the library. Harry grinned at Hermione and the girl only stopped beaming back when she saw Circe winking lewdly at her.
Ron raised an eyebrow, wincing as it disturbed his now very colorful eye, "You two working together? Has Hell frozen over? Who's helping with whose homework?"
Hermione rushed over to him, "Ha, ha, very funny, now what happened to your eye?"
Harry snickered, "Ginny popped him a good one when he tried to tell her who's boss."
Circe grinned, "I always said I admired Ginny Weasley!"
Ron glared at her reclining figure and started to advance, when Madame Pince came into view and tut-tutted a warning. The redhead straightened and retreated, "I'm going to the old transfiguration room, we can talk there? You guys coming?"
Harry nodded, and Ron stormed out of the library. Circe watched him go, and then eased onto her feet, wincing every time she had to move her right leg. Harry looked concerned, "What'd you do?"
"I jumped off the roof. I purposely broke my ankle! This just happened, okay?"
"No need to get upset, can we get a look at it?" Harry started moving closer.
Still grumbling, Circe lifted her foot onto the chair and pulled up her robes and pant leg. Hermione hissed sympathetically when she saw it; the only thing keeping the ankle from swelling to the size of a grapefruit was her black leather boot, and the seams were already straining. Circe put her leg down and tossed Hermione the little notebook, "You guys go on, I'll follow at my own pace. Better not keep the hothead waiting."
Harry shrugged and left. Hermione ignored an encouraging wink from Circe and followed. Out in the hall, Harry glanced down at the notebook, "What were you and Circe working on? Was she not able to go home?"
"Well…pretty much. There are some…complications…Harry, I don't want to talk about it right now."
Harry stopped and stared her down, "What can you talk about with Malfoy but not with me?"
"She came to the library and I was in the library, I asked if I could help, and it's her problem not mine. It-"
"It has something to do with me, doesn't it," Harry finished for her, stating the obvious.
"Harry-"
"I know you too well. What is it?"
"You're not going to die!"
He looked at her in surprise, then nodded, "Of course not. At least not for a few years, I hope.
"Harry, you don't get it. Malfoy said-"
Before she could get any further a grating voice called out from an open doorway to their left, "Potter! Granger! You're wanted in here!"
Hermione automatically started backing up, but the man, whom neither Hermione nor Harry recognized, was agitatedly tapping a wand against his chocolate brown palm and neither of the students had their wands drawn. A very pale Dean Thomas peeked out from inside the room, and the man barked at him to get back in the room. Cautiously Harry steered Hermione into the room, very much aware of that wand slapping against the man's palm again, and again, and again, and again. As soon as they were fully inside the room, the man blocked the doorway behind them and slammed the door loudly.
Ron leaned against one of the desks, toying brusquely with his wand, until the uneven rhythm of limping footsteps echoed in the hall. By the time he had stoop up to help whoever it was, Circe had already entered, shrugged off the cloak and was turning to close the door.
"Stop, don't close it!" he exclaimed anxiously.
"Why, claustrophobic? I admit, this room might seem claustrophobic to a big ox like you."
"Stupid! That door locks automatically and it can only be opened from the outside!"
"That's what the Alohomora spell is for, dimwit."
"Well, excuse me, wiseass, but these rooms used to be used for detentions, where the teacher would leave the student in here for hours, and even with a wand they couldn't get out. Know why? Because this room has a magical seal!"
"So I'm a wiseass? At least I'm wise. You're just an ass," but Circe left the door carefully ajar anyway and looked around the room, "Why aren't Harry and Hermione here?"
"I was about to ask you the same question."
"You mean they haven't come? You haven't seen them? If Demetri has-"
Click.
Both teens stopped the argument at the sound of the door shutting and the deadbolt sliding into place. Circe rammed herself into the door, forgetting the pain in her ankle. Ron on the other hand glared at the poltergeist in the garish purple turban, "PEEVES!!!" he bellowed, "UNLOCK THAT DOOR!"
"Are ikkle students trapped? Tee-hee lookee at the big and brave loudmouth!" the phantom cackled in a whiny nasal voice.
"PEEVES!!!"
"Hee! Big bad seventh year wants out! I'll let you cool off, yes I will! Ta-ta!" the little man stuck out his tongue and waggled his fingers behind his ears as he sunk down through the floor.
But the girl didn't seem to notice the exchange; she was too busy heaving herself at the door breathlessly, chest heaving, and panting out what to Ron sounded like a slew of swears, curses and oaths, broken by occasional names.
The redhead watched the girl, obviously in a hysterical state, for a few dumbfounded seconds before he lost his temper. He yelled her name a few times, followed by a few derogatory titles, but to no effect. Losing control for a few minutes he let a few long strides bring him within reach of her, then his hand lunged and clamped down around her arm like a vice and in the same motion dragged her backwards and slamming her into the wall perpendicular to the door, "What the hell do you know! Who is Demetri! What have you done to Harry and Hermione! What have you done! You little ass, WHAT IN ALL HELLS DO YOU KNOW THAT I DON'T!!!"
Instinctively Ron braced himself for a fierce retaliatory tongue-lashing, and he probably deserved it too, but all the girl could did was heave empty sobs, tremble convulsively, and in spite of instability the shivers gave her, she raised her free arm over her face protectively, curling in on herself as much as she could. He thudded her shoulder into the wall again, frustrated, "ANSWER ME, MALFOY!!!"
Still she held her position, not being able to speak at all between every breath that she had to labor to bring in and heave out. At last he let go, letting her body slump to the floor. He watched her for a few moments, suddenly contrite, and then dug a small bottle of water from his book bag. He knelt beside her and straightened her back to make breathing easier. Holding the bottle to her lips, he crooned, "Come on, drink up, it'll help. Easy does it, come on, get it down. There you go, slowly, don't choke, yeah, it's okay, calm down, it's all right, it's all right. I'm sorry about that, it's all right now, yeah, the water's good, just calm down."
Circe swallowed, and finally got her breathing under control. Pushing the bottle away and wiping away the dribbles and spills with her sleeve, she sat up straighter staring at the opposite wall. Gradually her eyes fell on her throbbing ankle and she bent forward to examine it. Ron's eyes followed her motions and exclaimed at the way her calf muscle bulged over the top of her boot, "When did that happen?"
"I fell off the shrieking shack after my little chat with Demetri," She muttered as she unlaced the boot.
Her crawled in front of her and held the boot so that she could ease her foot out, "Quite a fall. And your little dance with the door sure didn't help any."
"Hmph. There's more important things than a swollen ankle."
"Stupid stoic. But you mean Harry and Hermione?"
Circe leaned back against the wall and sighed, "Exactly. I guess… the Dark Wizards mean to kill them I think."
"Them? I thought it was only Harry they wanted dead."
Circe kicked him with her good leg, "In my time, Hermione invents the means to travel through time and the Dark Wizards don't want anyone but themselves to have that knowledge. If the inventor is dead before she even invents the stuff, then their work is easy."
"But-are they in danger now? We have to do something-"
Circe kicked again and slapped her hand on the stone floor, "Oh shut up. Hotheads like you never stop to think. Listen to me. Demetri knows time just as well as I do, and if I know anything, then the Dark Wizards won't make a move until the night when Harry originally dies. The people from my time won't involve themselves more than they have to."
"When's that? Do you remember?"
"How could I forget? You and your brothers hold a parade for him every year. Most of the kids my age consider it a waste of time and energy to hold such a gala thing for a dead guy, but we do a get a holiday on his death day, March 15. Don't worry, we've got a few months."
"Then where's Harry and Hermione?"
"Well," the girl smirked and winked eloquently, "Given that Harry is obviously smitten with her and given my teasing Hermione about it, I'm hoping that they've found corner of the castle and turned it into Smooch City."
Ron snorted, "I hope so to, but I doubt it. Sometimes I think he's more scared of her than smitten."
Circe sighed, thinking of her own relationship with Bixby and herself, "Sounds like someone else I know."
The redhead didn't understand why she suddenly looked so depressed, but as he couldn't think of anything to say, he rested his chin on his drawn-up knee and simply watched her small, white, fidgeting hands. Seconds passed like water through a sift, quickly enough, but leaving the sift and everything else undisturbed except for the growing puddle underneath. At least he dropped a figurative stone in the figurative puddle, "Who is this Demetri fellow?"
"Demetri Maury. A favorite of the Dark Wizards."
"No really."
"I used to date him."
"Nice judgment."
"I didn't have a choice. The imperious curse doesn't exactly give you one, does it?"
"Must have been awful."
"No, it was the best thing on Earth. Of course it was awful. Demetri's a git who is constantly trying to prove he's better than everybody else."
Ron watched her hands some more, noting little white scratches from her escapade on the shrieking shack, at least that was where he assumed she got them. He bit his cheek, then asked, "Why do you hyperventilate whenever someone touches you?"
Circe considered for a moment. "Well," she paused, "I once tried to explain to Bix, but he's the oldest, and he just wouldn't understand."
"I've got five older brothers. If it's being the butt of everything that goes on between them, then I'm pretty sure I'll understand."
"Well, yeah, that's pretty much it. Nobody but Father, Grandfather, and Cane dares to lay a hand on me, and then it's only to show me what's what, at least in their minds. Grandfather likes doing it too much, though. Well, Lazarus isn't afraid, he just prefers curses, like Mother does."
"Your mum curses you?"
"Who else? Father prizes Lazarus and Cane like prize pit bulls. He has no use for a rebel like me. He keeps me out of the press as much as possible; for all the world knows he has only two kids, not three."
"So now you're afraid of everyone? Isn't that kind of dumb?"
"Since no one except my family ever bothers to touch me, I don't think so."
Ron squirmed and then sat back on his heels thoughtfully, unfortunately not coming up with a reply.
This time it was Circe who broke the silence, "Where did you learn to calm someone down like that?"
"The twins used to torment Ginny endlessly. More times than I can count she would cry and then not be able to stop. She wouldn't tell mum, so I had to help her. Fred and George never had that sort of problem with me, so I had to deal with her." Ron shrugged and glanced out the window behind Circe. "Looks like it's going to be a gorgeous sunset."
"I can't see it from here."
"Then move. Autumn sunsets are breathtaking."
"I don't feel like getting up."
"You just don't want to admit that your ankle hurts."
"It doesn't."
"Liar."
"Name-caller."
"Is your ankle the reason that you're not moving?"
"What if it is?"
Not answering, Ron grunted to his feet and bent over her, hands poised a few inches from her back and knees, "Do you trust me?"
"I trust no one," she responded calmly.
"Stoic," he muttered and began to back off.
Her slight hand grasped his wrist, "But I'm not afraid of you."
He grinned and slipped his hands under her and the feeling of fingers creeping along the small of her back and across her hamstrings sent ambrosial chills down her spine. She sucked in her breath and held it when her body left the floor, but the ride didn't last long as Ron merely turned and deposited her on the edge of a desk, her legs dangling. The arm supporting her knees departed and she waited for the arm supporting her shoulders to follow suit, but instead it slid down to rest on her waist. She covered his hand with hers, confused, then smiled, and leaned against his torso. They watched the sunlight, first canary yellow, then ochre, orange, crimson, and ultimately magenta, play upon a fiery carpet of yellowing leaves. The grand finale, the agonizingly vivid disk disappearing completely beneath the horizon and luring all daylight down after it, left the pair feeling strangely bereft, wanting and unsatisfied. They remained that way, until the only light in the room came whimsically from the flickering stars outside and showing inside only vague, generally blue silhouettes.
Circe heaved a sigh into the onerous silence, then stiffened as Ron's arm slithered out from behind her. She relaxed a little when she realized that the movement had been only him shifting so that he stood in front of her, facing her. When he didn't move any more, she stroked his cheek tentatively, feeling a slight stubble even so young…Bixby never liked to shave much either. She could see some light reflecting off his eyes, though she couldn't figure out where from, but she could see her convex reflection in those golden black irises. Then her reflection came closer, the pale-lashed lids lowered over the inky pupils, and his lips pressed against hers, timidly; she responded in kind, not restrained by any uncertainty that held him back. Her fingers rushing forward through his hair, in her thumb she could feel the sudden jump of his pulse in his temple, and she could feel him stepping, moving forward, coming closer… Bixby…she had wanted to do this with Bixby…never had…Ron….
Gryf: This was a pretty long chapter, comparatively.
Cloe: Actually yeah, seventeen in word if your using the page layout, and thirty-two in word if you are using the online layout.
Gryf: Yup.
Gryf: This Chapter was fun to write.
Cloe: ::darkly:: Oh I'm sure you had a ball putting in all those "Hon"'s and "Duh"'s. She's a *Malfoy* for gods sake, she doesn't talk like an american teenager.
Gryf: ~grumbles~ Well in a lot of ways she looks like an american teenager...
Cloe: I don't care, she's not an american teenager. Its almost getting to the point where I think we need a brit-beta.
Gryf: Otherwise known as you, for now.
Cloe: Granted I am the closest thing we have to a Brit-beta, but I'm lacking a certain something, like I don't know perhaps the fact I'm not British.
Gryf: ~sticks tongue out~ Well I'm an immature midwesterner obviously, so go on with the A/N.
Cloe: But I digress. Or perhaps not. ::sigh:: You are not immature altho with that tongue sticking outness, you sure are fitting the part at the moment. But now I digress, in this chapter we finally pick up the pace.
Gryf: ~nods and sticks tongue back in~
Cloe: But don't celebrate yet because we slow down and meander off somewhere looking for bunny rabbits.
Gryf: Hee hee.
Cloe: How many chapters are we up to now Gryf?
Gryf: Actually typed on my computer or posted?
Gryf: I'm typing what would be chapter 17 on FF.Net.
Cloe: But chapter sixteen in her files because she refuses to change them.
Gryf: And why should I? The prologue is in its proper place.
Gryf: I've got to go momentarily, like now, so let's get this over with.
Cloe: Blah blah blah, not ours, kick peter for me, blah blah blah.
Gryf: Everything that you recognize probably isn't ours, anything else, like Circe, is ours.
Cloe: Oh and Andrew if your reading this, hi.
Gryf: ~gets kicked out by irritating not-so-little brother~
********************
Guardian Angel from Hell
Chapter Ten, Trepidation, Sublimation, and Denial (It's not just a river in Egypt)
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Gryffith and Cloe
********************
Chapter Ten
Hogsmeade cheered Harry and Ron up considerably. Everyone had such good spirits that it was difficult for the pair to stay upset, even considering that Hermione had flatly refused to come down to Hogsmeade with them, plainly preferring the solitude of the library. At one end of the town, in spite of green and golden leaves raining from above, the Creevey brothers had set up what looked like almost a professional photo shoot. Colin had purchased a larger, bulkier camera along with some other equipment that could manipulate color, proportions, and anything they liked. Dennis, the younger brother, was the one in charge of operating that machinery while Colin arranged people against a plain white screen, which could be manipulated later. A long line appeared as if by magic, mostly of couples wanting to get their picture's taken together, and Ron's jaw jutted out furiously when he saw Ginny and Seamus poking each other while in line. Harry tried to pull Ron away, but nevertheless the pair sidled up to the giggling couple.
As Harry tried to get Ron into an arm lock and Ginny tried to hide Seamus behind her, the two other boys glared daggers at each other.
"What the bloody hell are you trying to pull?" Ron demanded.
Seamus rolled his eyes, "And why the bloody hell shouldn't I?"
Ginny elbowed him hard in the ribs, "This is my choice, Ron. What, do you think you can stop me?"
"Yes!" Ron tried to stomp on Harry's feet.
Ginny hit her older brother in the face, not the typical female slap but a nice, tight, perfectly aimed uppercut at eye, throwing his head back with the force. "That," she murmured sweetly, "Is what you would do if Percy told you not to talk to Hermione because she would bewitch you with her female charm."
"Ha! Hermione have female charm? She's a brick, but she's not a prostitute," Seamus chortled. Harry let go of Ron and slammed his fist into the Irish boy's gut personally.
"Boys, boys! You're ruining the day!" Ginny whined, pulling Seamus upright and shoving Harry and Ron away.
Ron raised an eyebrow at Harry, "What prompted that?"
"What prompted you to interrupt your sister?" Harry countered.
The redhead shut up and agreed to go to the Three Broomsticks to get some ice. He turned around once to double check on Ginny and realized his mistake; his little sister was flirting with Colin while Dennis was fumbling with his equipment as he attempted to do all the preparations without tearing his eyes from the older girl's face.
Harry yanked on his arm and hauled him into the Three Broomsticks and hailed Rosmerta.
The waitress sailed over and clucked when she saw the way Ron's eye was already swelling and changing color. "Well, that's quite a shiner ya got there, chap! Who did ya in?"
Ron's cheeks burned and Harry snickered, "Oh, it was a really big bully, wasn't it Ron?"
Rosmerta eyed the redhead, who towered over her by at least a foot and a half, "A bigger bully than this'n? Him I wanna see!"
Parvati and Lavender, strolling by the threesome on their way out, heard the last phrase. "Want to see what?" Lavender asked.
Parvati looked closer at Ron and hissed, "Oooh, how'd you get that, Ron?"
Lavender's eyes darted from Ron to Harry and back again, "Have the famous duo actually been fighting?"
Ron stared at the floor, "Is there some ice that I can use?"
The waitress chuckled, "Who done it, Ronnieboy?"
"THE ICE!!!" Ron refused to look up.
Harry squeezed his friend's arm sympathetically, "Yeah, we were fighting. We-"
But just then Padma, dragging another Ravenclaw fellow behind her, caught sight of her twin sister and ran over to her, "Parvati! Did you hear? Did you see?" Padma glanced inside the bar, absorbing the people standing around her sister, "Oooh, there they are!" She exclaimed, pointing at Ron and Harry. Ron groaned.
Padma turned to her sister excitedly, "You know the line to get a picture outside? Well, his sister," she jerked her head at Ron, "Was standing with one of the boys in your house and Ron here got upset and yelled at the guy. So his little sister goes up and punches him in the face!"
Rosmerta hoots delightedly and goes off to get a bag of ice.
After collecting the ice, Harry herded his friend away from the bar and the gossips and decided to go to Zonko's to restock; Ron seemed bent on following his older brothers' footsteps as pranksters. Inside, there didn't appear to be many people shopping at the moment, but a short brunette with a pigtail caught the boys' eyes. Ron quickly bridged the gap between them and grabbed Circe's arm roughly and swung her around. His eyes met fawn-colored, scared, innocent eyes, the eyes of a doe before she is shot, and those eyes gawked at him, terrified, until the limp lips hastily pursed and widened into an impudent smirk. The painted lids, decorated with lavender eyeliner and mascara, lowered coyly and her upturned face glared at him sweetly while she tore her arm from his grasp.
"What the hell did you do to your hair!" Ron gingerly fingered the tip of her wet-looking chestnut brown ponytail.
"I dyed it, stupid," was the curt reply.
Harry joined the pair and eyed Circe curiously, "What are you doing here? I thought you were only coming to Hogsmeade to check up on your time."
Circe batted the air lazily, as if the idea were a tangible thing that could be swatted aside, "I'll get to that later, in case the Headmaster Sergeant wants me back immediately. Don't you think I could have left Hogwarts before and contacted her? It's not that long a walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade."
"Well, why haven't you?"
"To have some fun, of course. I figured that since I was here I'd find out what Zonko's has to offer before the twins get really big. In my time, all the major stuff carries the Weasley logo."
Ron grinned, "That's great! I always knew they'd make it big. What kind of stuff do they come out with?"
"Well, they gave my a complete set of hair products on the house, so I just sampled a few in the prefects bathroom and the dungeons. Well, I didn't use them personally, I found other…er…victims," Circe grinned maliciously, distressing the boys slightly. Without acknowledging the change in their expressions, Circe went on, "But what those Weasleys are really good at are fake wands. I have a complete set. These wands are so much better than the…prehistoric crud they have now. You see, Fred was always sick of his mum knowing that it was a fake wand when he wouldn't test it out himself, so he put in a sample spell on the wand that you could use without a hitch. Everything else on the wand is booby-trapped. Harry, could I see your wand for a sec?"
Harry clutched it warily, "Why?"
Circe rolled her eyes, "Because you're an ass. But if I can't see it…it's phoenix feather core, holly, 11 inches, right?"
"Yesss…"
Without another word, the girl opened up the huge purse at her side and pulled out a brown leather cylinder labeled "Holly" in gold calligraphy and fished among the wands for one that matched Harry's. Smirking triumphantly, she pulled it out and handed it to Harry, who immediately took it and scrutinized the wands carefully, and finding only a single nick in the tip of the fake one as the difference.
Harry handed it back thoughtfully, "What is the sample spell? Is it always the same?"
"Uh-huh, yeah, right, it's always the same? What kind of idiots do you think the Weasleys are? As soon as these things got popular, everyone memorized what the sample spells were. Tarantellegra used to be the spell for holly, but now it can be changed. The owner can decide. Well, this is about the first set that came out, so it can't be changed very easily. It would take weeks to change mine successfully. When I left they were working on a prototype that could change sample spells in an hour."
"…What kind of relationship do you have with my brothers? I mean, you're a Malfoy and all," Ron rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.
Circe smirked in an elusive reply and turned to face Harry, "Anything else you'd like to know about these things?"
"What happens when you use a spell besides the sample spell? I mean, is it different from now?"
"That depends," she mumbled, and put the wands away. "Most wands just do a tickling charm or transfigure into a frog or something, but when these wands get onto the black market, they could do anything from turning you into a rat to the killing curse."
Ron felt confused by her suddenly disdainful attitude, her snapped and mirthless words, so he gently rubbed her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. His hand dropped when the girl stiffened involuntarily and began to tremble, confusing, even alarming Ron. She smiled weakly at him, apologizing to the boys as she turned and fled the shop abruptly.
Circe made her way impatiently through the streets of Hogsmeade, unwilling to stay among these crowds, so she beelined to the shrieking shack, around which she and Bixby had often played. Bixby…Ron and Harry seemed repulsed by her surname, but Bixby had never held it against her. Much the opposite, he had either forgotten, or when he did remember he seemed to think of himself as her defender from her family. She appreciated the gesture, but if he really knew what went on in the Malfoy household, he'd make sure she'd never have to go home again. Bixby…great wizards how she suddenly wanted to get back to her own time.
She reached the shrieking shack and promptly began looking around for the tree she and Bixby had often used to climb to the shack's roof. Walking around to the spot, she found the silver birch, but in this time it was closer to a sapling than the full-fledged tree she remembered. The bottom branches proved sturdy as the girl clumsily ascended, encumbered by her purse, but higher up the thin, leaf covered branches could barely support her weight. She resented the urge for such a familiar haunt, but her jaw jutted contrarily and she stubbornly prepared herself for the leap, no matter how flippant the whim.
After heaving her purse to the roof, Circe took a deep breath, a crouching position, a running leap, and lastly amassed a painful collection of scrapes from the unforgiving shingles. Standing up shakily, Circe grinned to herself and sat down, her back supported by a gable. Her hands fished out the little computer notebook, flipped it open, and hit the appropriate buttons with practiced ease. All that left her to do was to stare at the screen until it all loaded.
The girl held her breath as the rectangle sitting on her lap began to crackle and lighten, and at last begin to separate into colors, shapes, and at last facial features. The face that stared back at her frowned at the sight of her and immediately turned away yelling something that sounded oddly like Lord Demetri, but that had to be wrong because the only person named Demetri at the school had been put in Azkaban that summer.
"Who is it?" a smooth voice barked, causing Circe's heart to freeze and her head to spin. She knew that voice, how could she not when it's owner, Demetri Maury, had wrapped her in his coils and isolated her from all but the dark arts and himself. Suppressed scenes blinded her; Bixby trying to break his hold on her, Demetri almost killing Bixby in a wizard's dual, Demetri trying to use her as a hostage to force Father back into the dark arts, and at last the suave, silver tongued college student being arrested. Yet anger saved her composure as it twisted her mouth into an anticipating smirk and her eyes into the narrowed shape of arrowheads.
A moment after he first spoke, her ex-boyfriend slid into view and Circe noted smugly the tired rings under his eyes, the sunken cheeks, and the cuts on his chin and cheeks from a badly used razor. Probably understandable if facial hair had completely taken over his face in Azkaban, but she took delight in the knowledge and the edge it gave her. "Who in the name of sages are you?" he snapped, after trying to identify her for a minute.
The brunette arched an eyebrow, "Your stay in Azkaban must have addled your wits if you don't remember me, "Lord" Demetri."
His eyes darkened, but still his tongue only stuttered and babbled, so the girl removed her contact lenses and then winked at him. Tawny brown eyes bulged, enraged, at her silvery irises. At last he opened his mouth to intelligently enter the cold, calculatingly polite game of the age-old conversation, "Circe Malfoy, of course I remember you! How could I forget? Betrayal is fairly difficult to forget, my dear."
Anger seeped into his voice, breaking rule number one, as emotion made one vulnerable. The only sentiment safe to let through was planned sarcasm and condescension, and they both knew it. "You're losing you're touch. Now, be a dear and tell me why in the name of wizardry Azkaban let such a desirable guest leave and why you're in this particular time."
"Azkaban has no control over my comings and goings, my dear. And if you haven't figured out the reasons by now, then you, not me, are losing more than just your touch."
"And you're losing everything if you can't even hold a razor steady," she replied calmly.
Demetri ran his fingers through his vanilla and chocolate curls, the result of a popular fashion trend of bleaching, and Circe cheered inside when she recognized his discreet acknowledgment of discomfort, although he probably didn't realize that he had such a habit.
"Let me explain it to you, Malfoy," he said at last, "Things are going to change. Lord Greythorne is going to do the dark arts a big favor by letting them keep the lord of this generation while disposing of your precious Potter boy. Granger will probably have to be disposed of then, taking your beloved time college with her, and Weasley can then be converted, giving us a very favorable potential Minister of Magic. And there's nothing you can do about it."
"Don't bet on it," she examined her finger nails, relieved to be able to break the eye contact, "None of this is over until the Dark Lord croaks. And, as you very well know about the future, nothing is written in stone and even then stone can be broken," the girl forced herself to yawn in contempt
"Malfoy, don't throw empty proverbs at me, I know that you excel at the academics. But for all that bookwork, it doesn't say anything for your skill at the practical."
"And your grasp of the academics is about the equivalent of one plus three equals four. Don't scorn that of which you have no comprehension. And as to my skill, you can expect to be shown a sample of what I can do," she menaced casually.
Panic threatened to bubble over when the warning had aroused only a feral, anticipating smile, and so her thumb instantly slammed into the off button, yet while the screen blanked immediately his last words, "I can't wait," lingered in her mind ominously. Shaking, her hands put the computer notebook away before her mind could react emotionally at all. And when it did, terror clamped over her brain in cold chills and blocked all rational thought.
In a hysterical attempt to escape whatever panic he had left in her head, she stood up and tried to escape physically from the place, springing onto the tree out of habit. But the young limb snapped, dropping her like a stone onto the pebbly ground, and twisting her ankle in a few tree roots.
"Dammit!" the girl yanked her foot out and pulled out her wand. Carefully picturing her broom, she muttered, "Accio."
Nothing happened. "ACCIO!"
Swearing vividly, Circe stormed, or limped rather, painfully away from the village to Hogwarts.
***
Hermione chewed absently on the end of her thick brown braid as she browsed through the dusty volume in the otherwise empty library. The types of magical insects in the world had amazing variety, so to augment her studies Hermione decided to research a few. So far her notes didn't number very much:
"The most beautiful was a furred butterfly, Lepidoptera Pyrexia, whose entire body seemed to be covered with crushed velvet, with a wingspan of five feet and wings like a sunset. The common names for this insect are Psyche's Petals, Iris's Gifts, and Starfire. Native to Greece, this butterfly migrates every year to the banks of the Amazon River in South America to lay eggs. In Greece, it is poached for its wings to make clothing and drapery. In South America its eggs have occasionally been consumed by indigenous Muggles as a hallucinogen drug. However, as the eggs are laid exclusively on mushrooms in the area, the drug has been connected to the mushroom rather than the eggs.
The rarest and most difficult to find was the beaded damselfly, Diptera Nacre, as it had a life-span of three centuries and it hibernated for 270 of those 300 years. What made it interesting was that the older it got, the more emeralds, rubies, amethysts, etc. embedded themselves in it's body, making it an idealistic dream for poachers.
Technically not a lethal insect, the most troublesome beetle to witches and wizards at least, is a similar to a ladybug in shape and proportions. This beetle, categorized Coleoptera Serebro and commonly called an Acid Beetle, has a silver outer set of wings, used purely for protection. Native to southern Germany, it comes out at winter where it can use its wings as camouflage against the snow. The danger comes in when magic is used, as the beetle is attracted to the usage of magic and bites the witch or wizard who has the most magic about him or her. The venom that the beetle secretes is acidic, and when in the bloodstream of witch or wizard, corrodes any and all magic near him or her in a painful, burning process. Although the venom is not poisonous, its effects have driven many to suicide because of the inability to touch magic."
Absorbed in her studies as Hermione was, even she could not avoid noticing the rush of air as an invisible something swept into the library and stopped in front of one of the shelves. Several books floated off the shelves and disappeared, swallowed up into what Hermione recognized to be the invisibility cloak. The invisible someone plopped down at the table opposite Hermione without seeming to know that anyone outside of the cloak existed. A pile of books manifested on the table and then disembodied hands took the top one and laid it open on the table, the fingers skimming through it.
The brunette shut the tome she had been glancing at and stood about a little more than foot away from where she knew whoever was in the cloak had to be. "Need any help, Harry?"
The hands stopped cold, then went on tracing words down the page and then turning to a new page, as voice, female, replied dryly, "Do these hand's look like Harry's, or does he usually get a manicure at Hogwarts that the history books didn't care to mention?"
"Malfoy."
One of the hands rose and took off the hood, then undid the clasp and let the cloak slide down between Circe's now-visible body and the back of the chair. "Brilliant deduction, Granger. Now shove off and let me try to find a way to save your boyfriend."
Hermione shifted her weight, spreading her legs slightly and then she put her fists on her hips, arms akimbo, "Wh-what did you just say? I don't have a boyfriend!"
"Well then you pop the question first, babe, cause Harry's not gonna do it for you, if he hasn't gotten it over with already," Circe popped her gum complacently.
"Harry is-what did you mean by finding a way to save him?"
"Exactly what I said, brainiac. In my time, Harry is dead, killed in, oh…what's today's date?"
"The 10th of October…but-"
"Harry dies is a little more than 5 months. At least, that's how it is in my time. I wasn't planning on changing it, but some idiots from my time, and one idiot in particular, I'd know, I used to date him, have barged in and plan on killing your boyfriend, you, converting Ron, and keeping Voldy alive, or something along those lines. What I do know is that somehow they're barricading this time period and I cant get out until they let me out, and that's never gonna happen. So I need to find a way to end it all."
"You mean that you knew Harry was going to die and you didn't tell us!?"
"I wasn't planning the past, you would have done the same thing. Trust me on that one. Anyway, I plan to change the past now, so I'm telling you. Happy?"
Hermione grumbled a bit, but practicality overruled selfish sulking, "Um…what do you have in mind? What are the options?"
Circe snapped her gum again, "There's suicide."
"Suicide? But you shouldn't-"
"Shouldn't what? That's the attitude that tips many people over the edge. But I was just naming an option. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" Circe smirked.
Rolling her eyes at the girl's flippant attitude, Hermione looked down at the book, "So…Malfoy, what are you trying to look up?" She tipped the front cover off the table and peer through the shadows at the title. "Why would you want this? 'Recent Persecutors of the Dark Arts'? What will that do?"
Circe scowled, "I've been trying to look for aurors that I could find and bring here, but this stupid book hasn't been updated in like 20 years."
The other girl rolled her eyes, "Next time try asking. Harry might know, but I know that Sirius would. I mean he's practically an auror himself. And then the professors would surely know, especially Dumbledore and Snape."
Gray eyes stared into the distance, "I don't like depending on others or asking things from others. I don't have any use for anyone but myself."
"You really are a bitch, do you know that?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Nevermind," Hermione dug a pad of paper from her book bag; muggle paper could be much more convenient than wizard scrolls. Ripping off the top page, she took a quill and wrote in her precise, tiny script "Things to do" on the top of the fresh page. As the seventh year made neat, delicate bullets, Circe marveled at how little that Hermione's handwriting would change over the decades until she would become her college professor. Hermione began a list starting with the word aurors, and then looked up, pen poised, and asked, "Anything else?"
"I um…Demetri said something about a Greythorne character…I guess he or she would be born by now… it might be worth looking into."
Hermione jotted down the Greythorne bit, then asked, "Did you know that you would be coming to this year? I mean, did you know this Greythorne thing would happen?"
"No, it was only supposed to be an ordinary exam. There was no warning whatsoever…oh no…maybe…it can't…but if it is I'm going to scream."
"What?"
Circe laughed, "My horoscope. I just read it for fun…now it's all coming back word for word. That's how creepy it is, and I didn't even want to memorize it!"
"Well, how does it go?"
"Very soon you will be pressed for time by an unexpected and unpredictable event. You will relive dead memories from before your birth and force others to revive them, but the doors will shut and lock behind you, leaving only one way out. The path will be virulent and lethal, and you may need another face to achieve your ends. A Leo will thank you, a Pisces will love you, a Scorpio will hate you, and beware the stony fang. And that's it. And it's right, at least most of it."
Hermione sighed with contempt, "And how is that?"
"Oh yes, the skeptic, I know how you act grown-up. You give Tiglah such a hard time because of her mother. Not that I'm complaining; Tiglah's a self-centered bitch. You know, her mother was at Bix's party…do you know a Lavender Kurt?"
"Kurt? The only Lavender I know is Lavender Brown, and she is the worst gossip in the school, next to the Patils."
"Brown? Oh, of course, Kurt is her married name. Brown would be her maiden name."
"And what would Lavender have to do with this?"
"She wrote the bloody thing!"
"Well excuse me! But I wouldn't advise talking to her about it. First off, I've already said she's the worst gossip in the school and she is. Second, she hasn't even written it yet!"
"Whatever, but I-" she began, but stopped when the boys trooped into the library. Harry grinned at Hermione and the girl only stopped beaming back when she saw Circe winking lewdly at her.
Ron raised an eyebrow, wincing as it disturbed his now very colorful eye, "You two working together? Has Hell frozen over? Who's helping with whose homework?"
Hermione rushed over to him, "Ha, ha, very funny, now what happened to your eye?"
Harry snickered, "Ginny popped him a good one when he tried to tell her who's boss."
Circe grinned, "I always said I admired Ginny Weasley!"
Ron glared at her reclining figure and started to advance, when Madame Pince came into view and tut-tutted a warning. The redhead straightened and retreated, "I'm going to the old transfiguration room, we can talk there? You guys coming?"
Harry nodded, and Ron stormed out of the library. Circe watched him go, and then eased onto her feet, wincing every time she had to move her right leg. Harry looked concerned, "What'd you do?"
"I jumped off the roof. I purposely broke my ankle! This just happened, okay?"
"No need to get upset, can we get a look at it?" Harry started moving closer.
Still grumbling, Circe lifted her foot onto the chair and pulled up her robes and pant leg. Hermione hissed sympathetically when she saw it; the only thing keeping the ankle from swelling to the size of a grapefruit was her black leather boot, and the seams were already straining. Circe put her leg down and tossed Hermione the little notebook, "You guys go on, I'll follow at my own pace. Better not keep the hothead waiting."
Harry shrugged and left. Hermione ignored an encouraging wink from Circe and followed. Out in the hall, Harry glanced down at the notebook, "What were you and Circe working on? Was she not able to go home?"
"Well…pretty much. There are some…complications…Harry, I don't want to talk about it right now."
Harry stopped and stared her down, "What can you talk about with Malfoy but not with me?"
"She came to the library and I was in the library, I asked if I could help, and it's her problem not mine. It-"
"It has something to do with me, doesn't it," Harry finished for her, stating the obvious.
"Harry-"
"I know you too well. What is it?"
"You're not going to die!"
He looked at her in surprise, then nodded, "Of course not. At least not for a few years, I hope.
"Harry, you don't get it. Malfoy said-"
Before she could get any further a grating voice called out from an open doorway to their left, "Potter! Granger! You're wanted in here!"
Hermione automatically started backing up, but the man, whom neither Hermione nor Harry recognized, was agitatedly tapping a wand against his chocolate brown palm and neither of the students had their wands drawn. A very pale Dean Thomas peeked out from inside the room, and the man barked at him to get back in the room. Cautiously Harry steered Hermione into the room, very much aware of that wand slapping against the man's palm again, and again, and again, and again. As soon as they were fully inside the room, the man blocked the doorway behind them and slammed the door loudly.
Ron leaned against one of the desks, toying brusquely with his wand, until the uneven rhythm of limping footsteps echoed in the hall. By the time he had stoop up to help whoever it was, Circe had already entered, shrugged off the cloak and was turning to close the door.
"Stop, don't close it!" he exclaimed anxiously.
"Why, claustrophobic? I admit, this room might seem claustrophobic to a big ox like you."
"Stupid! That door locks automatically and it can only be opened from the outside!"
"That's what the Alohomora spell is for, dimwit."
"Well, excuse me, wiseass, but these rooms used to be used for detentions, where the teacher would leave the student in here for hours, and even with a wand they couldn't get out. Know why? Because this room has a magical seal!"
"So I'm a wiseass? At least I'm wise. You're just an ass," but Circe left the door carefully ajar anyway and looked around the room, "Why aren't Harry and Hermione here?"
"I was about to ask you the same question."
"You mean they haven't come? You haven't seen them? If Demetri has-"
Click.
Both teens stopped the argument at the sound of the door shutting and the deadbolt sliding into place. Circe rammed herself into the door, forgetting the pain in her ankle. Ron on the other hand glared at the poltergeist in the garish purple turban, "PEEVES!!!" he bellowed, "UNLOCK THAT DOOR!"
"Are ikkle students trapped? Tee-hee lookee at the big and brave loudmouth!" the phantom cackled in a whiny nasal voice.
"PEEVES!!!"
"Hee! Big bad seventh year wants out! I'll let you cool off, yes I will! Ta-ta!" the little man stuck out his tongue and waggled his fingers behind his ears as he sunk down through the floor.
But the girl didn't seem to notice the exchange; she was too busy heaving herself at the door breathlessly, chest heaving, and panting out what to Ron sounded like a slew of swears, curses and oaths, broken by occasional names.
The redhead watched the girl, obviously in a hysterical state, for a few dumbfounded seconds before he lost his temper. He yelled her name a few times, followed by a few derogatory titles, but to no effect. Losing control for a few minutes he let a few long strides bring him within reach of her, then his hand lunged and clamped down around her arm like a vice and in the same motion dragged her backwards and slamming her into the wall perpendicular to the door, "What the hell do you know! Who is Demetri! What have you done to Harry and Hermione! What have you done! You little ass, WHAT IN ALL HELLS DO YOU KNOW THAT I DON'T!!!"
Instinctively Ron braced himself for a fierce retaliatory tongue-lashing, and he probably deserved it too, but all the girl could did was heave empty sobs, tremble convulsively, and in spite of instability the shivers gave her, she raised her free arm over her face protectively, curling in on herself as much as she could. He thudded her shoulder into the wall again, frustrated, "ANSWER ME, MALFOY!!!"
Still she held her position, not being able to speak at all between every breath that she had to labor to bring in and heave out. At last he let go, letting her body slump to the floor. He watched her for a few moments, suddenly contrite, and then dug a small bottle of water from his book bag. He knelt beside her and straightened her back to make breathing easier. Holding the bottle to her lips, he crooned, "Come on, drink up, it'll help. Easy does it, come on, get it down. There you go, slowly, don't choke, yeah, it's okay, calm down, it's all right, it's all right. I'm sorry about that, it's all right now, yeah, the water's good, just calm down."
Circe swallowed, and finally got her breathing under control. Pushing the bottle away and wiping away the dribbles and spills with her sleeve, she sat up straighter staring at the opposite wall. Gradually her eyes fell on her throbbing ankle and she bent forward to examine it. Ron's eyes followed her motions and exclaimed at the way her calf muscle bulged over the top of her boot, "When did that happen?"
"I fell off the shrieking shack after my little chat with Demetri," She muttered as she unlaced the boot.
Her crawled in front of her and held the boot so that she could ease her foot out, "Quite a fall. And your little dance with the door sure didn't help any."
"Hmph. There's more important things than a swollen ankle."
"Stupid stoic. But you mean Harry and Hermione?"
Circe leaned back against the wall and sighed, "Exactly. I guess… the Dark Wizards mean to kill them I think."
"Them? I thought it was only Harry they wanted dead."
Circe kicked him with her good leg, "In my time, Hermione invents the means to travel through time and the Dark Wizards don't want anyone but themselves to have that knowledge. If the inventor is dead before she even invents the stuff, then their work is easy."
"But-are they in danger now? We have to do something-"
Circe kicked again and slapped her hand on the stone floor, "Oh shut up. Hotheads like you never stop to think. Listen to me. Demetri knows time just as well as I do, and if I know anything, then the Dark Wizards won't make a move until the night when Harry originally dies. The people from my time won't involve themselves more than they have to."
"When's that? Do you remember?"
"How could I forget? You and your brothers hold a parade for him every year. Most of the kids my age consider it a waste of time and energy to hold such a gala thing for a dead guy, but we do a get a holiday on his death day, March 15. Don't worry, we've got a few months."
"Then where's Harry and Hermione?"
"Well," the girl smirked and winked eloquently, "Given that Harry is obviously smitten with her and given my teasing Hermione about it, I'm hoping that they've found corner of the castle and turned it into Smooch City."
Ron snorted, "I hope so to, but I doubt it. Sometimes I think he's more scared of her than smitten."
Circe sighed, thinking of her own relationship with Bixby and herself, "Sounds like someone else I know."
The redhead didn't understand why she suddenly looked so depressed, but as he couldn't think of anything to say, he rested his chin on his drawn-up knee and simply watched her small, white, fidgeting hands. Seconds passed like water through a sift, quickly enough, but leaving the sift and everything else undisturbed except for the growing puddle underneath. At least he dropped a figurative stone in the figurative puddle, "Who is this Demetri fellow?"
"Demetri Maury. A favorite of the Dark Wizards."
"No really."
"I used to date him."
"Nice judgment."
"I didn't have a choice. The imperious curse doesn't exactly give you one, does it?"
"Must have been awful."
"No, it was the best thing on Earth. Of course it was awful. Demetri's a git who is constantly trying to prove he's better than everybody else."
Ron watched her hands some more, noting little white scratches from her escapade on the shrieking shack, at least that was where he assumed she got them. He bit his cheek, then asked, "Why do you hyperventilate whenever someone touches you?"
Circe considered for a moment. "Well," she paused, "I once tried to explain to Bix, but he's the oldest, and he just wouldn't understand."
"I've got five older brothers. If it's being the butt of everything that goes on between them, then I'm pretty sure I'll understand."
"Well, yeah, that's pretty much it. Nobody but Father, Grandfather, and Cane dares to lay a hand on me, and then it's only to show me what's what, at least in their minds. Grandfather likes doing it too much, though. Well, Lazarus isn't afraid, he just prefers curses, like Mother does."
"Your mum curses you?"
"Who else? Father prizes Lazarus and Cane like prize pit bulls. He has no use for a rebel like me. He keeps me out of the press as much as possible; for all the world knows he has only two kids, not three."
"So now you're afraid of everyone? Isn't that kind of dumb?"
"Since no one except my family ever bothers to touch me, I don't think so."
Ron squirmed and then sat back on his heels thoughtfully, unfortunately not coming up with a reply.
This time it was Circe who broke the silence, "Where did you learn to calm someone down like that?"
"The twins used to torment Ginny endlessly. More times than I can count she would cry and then not be able to stop. She wouldn't tell mum, so I had to help her. Fred and George never had that sort of problem with me, so I had to deal with her." Ron shrugged and glanced out the window behind Circe. "Looks like it's going to be a gorgeous sunset."
"I can't see it from here."
"Then move. Autumn sunsets are breathtaking."
"I don't feel like getting up."
"You just don't want to admit that your ankle hurts."
"It doesn't."
"Liar."
"Name-caller."
"Is your ankle the reason that you're not moving?"
"What if it is?"
Not answering, Ron grunted to his feet and bent over her, hands poised a few inches from her back and knees, "Do you trust me?"
"I trust no one," she responded calmly.
"Stoic," he muttered and began to back off.
Her slight hand grasped his wrist, "But I'm not afraid of you."
He grinned and slipped his hands under her and the feeling of fingers creeping along the small of her back and across her hamstrings sent ambrosial chills down her spine. She sucked in her breath and held it when her body left the floor, but the ride didn't last long as Ron merely turned and deposited her on the edge of a desk, her legs dangling. The arm supporting her knees departed and she waited for the arm supporting her shoulders to follow suit, but instead it slid down to rest on her waist. She covered his hand with hers, confused, then smiled, and leaned against his torso. They watched the sunlight, first canary yellow, then ochre, orange, crimson, and ultimately magenta, play upon a fiery carpet of yellowing leaves. The grand finale, the agonizingly vivid disk disappearing completely beneath the horizon and luring all daylight down after it, left the pair feeling strangely bereft, wanting and unsatisfied. They remained that way, until the only light in the room came whimsically from the flickering stars outside and showing inside only vague, generally blue silhouettes.
Circe heaved a sigh into the onerous silence, then stiffened as Ron's arm slithered out from behind her. She relaxed a little when she realized that the movement had been only him shifting so that he stood in front of her, facing her. When he didn't move any more, she stroked his cheek tentatively, feeling a slight stubble even so young…Bixby never liked to shave much either. She could see some light reflecting off his eyes, though she couldn't figure out where from, but she could see her convex reflection in those golden black irises. Then her reflection came closer, the pale-lashed lids lowered over the inky pupils, and his lips pressed against hers, timidly; she responded in kind, not restrained by any uncertainty that held him back. Her fingers rushing forward through his hair, in her thumb she could feel the sudden jump of his pulse in his temple, and she could feel him stepping, moving forward, coming closer… Bixby…she had wanted to do this with Bixby…never had…Ron….
