A/N and Disclaimer:
Cloe: ::is snickering over some odd thing::
Gryf: What's so funny?
Cloe: Huh? Oh I dunno, my life, the conspiracy to drive me insane that was thought up by Gods?
Cloe: Mmmmm, ::is trying not to drool over cute guys on TV::
Gryf: Get a hold on yourself
Gryf: Sorry this damn chapter took so long to get out
Gryf: Truth be told, I hate school
Gryf: ~looks at the drooling Cloe and shakes head~
Cloe: I'm not dooling. I said 'trying not to' I never said I failed at it. Anyway its all Gryff's fault this chapter isn't out yet.
Gryf: ~sticks out tongue~ Is it my fault that you refuse to beta these things?
Cloe: Yes. We have lots of Writer friends, ask them. I need some Slash. Mmm ::goes to oogle the guys again::
Gryf: Okay...um...yeah...
Gryf: Characters you recognize don't belong to us, Circe belongs to Cloe
Gryf: And the German guy you'll meet is all mine.
Gryf: Circe goes under the influence and practically freezes her tits off
Cloe: Oh so cultured. Way to be eloquent there.
Gryf: That said, the next chapter will be out soon, I'm even done editing it, just need to write it out
Gryf: Hey, you weren't exactly saying anything!
Gryf: ~takes a 2x4 and wacks Cloe over the head with it~
Gryf: ~leaves~
Cloe: ::dodges it:: Hey!
Cloe: ::drags her back by the scruff of her collar::
Gryf: ~grumbles~
Cloe: Anyway. Yes we are still here. No we are not dead. And no it will not be another month till the next part is out.... it'll be longer. Ha just kidding.
Gryf: Ha ha haaa...yeah...bad joke
Cloe: ::sticks her tongue out::
Gryf: ~sticks tongue out right back at her~
Cloe: Yeah. Okay. I think we've put on enough of a show tonight, so lets wrap this puppy up. Gryf: Okay...um...how bout a poll?
Gryf: People, in reviews, guess who Ginny likes
Cloe: Yeah and if you do we'll add your name in the next AN
Gryf: Don't cheat and look back at the second chapter, because that answer is wrong
Cloe: Er yeah. What she said.
Gryf: ~smirks~
Gryf: Are we done yet?
Cloe: Yes we are done. Back to searching for fics for me and you to.... whatever you do.
Gryf: ~smirks~ Read more fics than you do
Cloe: How would you know?
Cloe: Hell thats all I do, all day, everyday. 24/7/365.
Gryf: ~grins~
Cloe: Anyway we are done that's it, shut up, good bye, cease speaking, yeah.
******************
Guardian Angel from Hell
Chapter Twelve, Wait, what was this one about? I forgot.
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Gryffith and Cloe
******************
Chapter Twelve
Circe brushed away the large fluffy snowflakes accumulating on her hair, eyebrows, and lashes. Her butt shifted numbly on her broom; flying all day had frozen and numbed her entire body, especially as the invisibility cloak offered no warmth or shields from the biting wind whatsoever. Taking a refreshing dip in the prefect's bathroom that Dumbledore had restored right before going out in this weather was not a good idea; now frost rimed her skin and hair and coated the blood that oozed out of her cracked lips. Her eyes strained for sight of Hedwig, and her lips clumsily cursed whoever had had the stupidity to buy a white owl, as seeing white against gray sky and white clouds changed from merely difficult to impossible. Before, sending a message to Sirius and then following the messenger had seemed to be genius, but then the blizzard had started and worsened, steadily decreasing her visibility.
Circe's quick and agile broom, her Zephyr, was a play thing for the howling, maddened winds. Gusts of wind snatched control from Circe and then battered her resistance with barrage after barrage of sleet and hail, taking the girl on a frantic, freezing roller coaster ride. After a series of stomach-roiling spins that left a barely conscious Circe clinging miserably to her broom, the winds suddenly stopped and let the girl on the broom, limp from cold and exhaustion, hurtle from the sky towards the glistening whiteness below.
* * *
Ron rattled the manacles that chained him to the cell wall, irritated by the injustice and resigned by the boredom that goes hand in hand with the passing hours. He sighed, "Why does McGonagall have to be so blind? Isn't it obvious that we didn't do it?"
"No, Ron, it isn't. We were out after curfew, and that is pretty incriminating, considering. Not to mention the fact that none of our records are perfectly clean," Hermione replied imperturbably.
"It's still not fair. And why did Filch have to put me in chains and not you?"
Hermione looked up from her cell across the hall and could easily see her friend, separated as they were by only a gate of lead pipes, a hallway, and another gate, "Oh stop it, Ron. It's your own fault that you were put in chains," she waved her unencumbered arms for emphasis.
Harry snorted, wishing that he could see Hermione as well, but the wall dividing them was solid stone and cement. "Yeah, what kind of idiot taunts Filch for being a squib as an argument for mistreatment?"
"Hey! It's not my fault he took our wands away."
"That is not a relevant excuse, Ron," Hermione scolded. "And how do you know that Filch is a squib anyway?"
Ron started speaking pompously, but Harry cut him off, "I told him, and I really shouldn't have."
"Ah well," Hermione leaned against the wall, "Circe was right about you when she called you a hothead."
"Don't talk to me about her," Ron snapped.
"Well aren't we full of ourselves! This isn't about you, you know. Just because you're heartbroken doesn't mean you have to be churlish about it," Hermione snapped.
"Who's heartbroken? Doesn't the fact that she took off with Harry's invisibility cloak right after a serious break-in mean anything to you?" Ron demanded.
"Circumstantial evidence!" she retorted.
"Why are you defending her, Herm?" Harry piped up, futilely trying to stop the fight.
Hermione sighed, thinking of the horoscope, of Circe's promise to save Harry, of Circe's obvious resentment for Draco, of her guess at Harry's true feelings. Hermione almost forgot Circe as she remembered that… even if she loved Harry and he reciprocated the feelings, if that was possible, she couldn't indulge…this year of all years she had to have her head clear…
"She's defending her just to spite me!" Ron spat.
"Don't draw conclusions, Ron. There's only circumstantial evidence against Circe!" Hermione glared daggers across the hall.
"So? It's enough isn't it?"
"It's enough, isn't it?" Hermione mocked, "So it's enough to convict Circe with circumstantial evidence while it is completely unfair for the school to hold us on the same amount of equally incriminating evidence. Hypocrite!"
"She's a Malfoy!" Ron spat.
"You're a Weasley! So what? Who cares?" she asked.
"Who cares?!" Ron repeated furiously, his face livid, "The Malfoys are legendary for connections to the dark arts! She's no different!"
"And how would you know that? Are you this new expert on emotions and personalities? How come I never heard of it before?" Hermione asked sarcastically. Harry winced; she could be as biting as any Malfoy. For some adverse reason he admired her for it.
"Oh? And do you know something I don't? What proof do you have that she's not evil!" Ron demanded.
Hermione sat down, "Motives," she said simply. "She is quite in earnest about wanting to save Harry's life."
"Then why did she raid the school?" Ron challenged
"How do you know she did?" Hermione countered, ginger brown eyes blazing.
"How do we know she didn't?" Ron counter-countered.
"Quit being so immature, Ron," Hermione scolded. "Look at the facts. She dyes her hair. She pulls pranks…and I believe she idolizes your twin brothers? Now, would Draco idolize any Weasley? Would Draco dye his hair?"
"If Daddy Malfoy told him to, yes," Ron retorted.
Hermione sighed, "That's probably why Draco is so bad in the first place. If Draco was raised…by your mother for example, do you think he would still be in Slytherin? I mean, even if he is a Malfoy, he's still human. If he wasn't under his father's thumb, he'd probably in Gryffindor. I mean, thinking objectively, Draco is actually pretty hot."
Harry's eyes bulged. Draco Malfoy hot? Circe was cute, but Draco? He shuddered.
"BLASPHEMY!" Ron hollered.
"Just because you're a guy doesn't mean you have to be a biased, pedantic idiot. Draco would be different if he wasn't a Malfoy. And Circe, unlike Draco, is fighting it. She is trying to be anything but Malfoy! She's in Gryffindor! She's trying to save Harry's life!" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.
A jingling echoed in the hallway and a female voice chirped, "I agree with the first part, but what's all this about Malfoy?"
Harry jumped up and tried to look sideways through the bars. "Ginny? What are you doing here?"
Ginny smiled and jingled the keys again, "What else? The burglar was caught, so you guys are home free."
Ron tried to see his sister's face, "She was? Where is she?"
"She? Who said it was a she? Ron, are you having an affair that I don't know about?" Ginny teased. Harry frowned.
"Shut up," Ron muttered sulkily as both girls smirked at him.
* * *
Circe, unaware of the argument concerning her sincerity happening several hundred miles away, groaned. She must have blacked out when she had crashed through the blanket of snow-covered tree branches because she didn't remember hitting the ground. The contents from her bag lay scattered all over the crunchy two feet thick mantle of snow, but she let them stay there for the moment since the wind had stopped. Grumbling to herself, she sat up, shivering, and forced to the front of her mind the survival techniques her maternal grandfather had forced all his grandchildren to learn. First she had to find a way to warm herself and prevent frostbite. Doggedly she gathered branches and, using a number of ineffectual spells, lit the pile into a crackling blaze. Once she had that going Circe huddled beside it and wondered dolefully what she would do now. She had lost Hedwig and was completely lost herself. She must have crossed the English Channel by now, if the length of the ride was any proof, but Circe sighed; she could be anywhere from the plains of Normandy to Switzerland. Even as she considered her situation, she felt disgusted and ashamed of her feeble attempts at the fire.
Determined to redeem herself, Circe decided to practice the spells that she knew of the Dark Arts. The extent of her knowledge pleased her. She had made better use of the times Grandfather Malfoy had locked his grandchildren in his book-filled attic than either of her brothers, even ambitious Lazarus. Either way she lifted her wand and pointed it at the sky, chanting, "Morsmordre!"
The Dark Mark shimmered into existence, immense and inexorable and imposing, but for all the cryptic and malicious details of the initial conjuring, Circe lost control. At first glance an ignorant passerby might have admired the impressive green snake protruding from the skull's mouth; Circe could feel the waves of sinister magic like the heat from an enormous oven; but then the conjuration morphed into a peach-colored octopus tentacle with yellow suckers while the skull itself shone blue and lavender. The moonlight left a golden sheen that reminded Circe of an iridescent Muggle nail polish. Before the not so Dark Mark could deform any further, the entire fiasco popped like a paper bag and faded out, the end of a spectacular fireworks display with the dying embers hovering on the wind.
Circe, seeing not the splendor but only the embarrassing failure, grimaced and concentrated on the skill that she knew she could always fall back on: transfiguration. By merely pointing her wand, she changed a heap of snowballs into a giant hot water bottle that she could lay on and meshed dead leaves from the branches into coarse blankets. She was about to change an oversized tree into a shelter when a stinging sensation invaded her neck. The pain spread throughout her body like a burning acid in her veins, settling as throbbing infernos in her ankle and wand arm and as torrents of liquid flame flooding through her blood vessels. Whenever her skin touched magical or enchanted items, including the ensorcelled blankets, it first tingled, then numbed and deadened.
After the few seconds in which all this occurred, Circe leapt up, clawing at the pain. "What the bloody hell is going on!?" she cried, whipping her head around in case an enemy be near by. The magical items in her many pants pockets started to burn through the cloth, or at least that's how it felt. In a desperate attempt to rid herself of the agony, Circe hopped and clawed her way out of her pants, taking off her footwear along with it. Immediately she began slapping at the rest of her body, futilely trying to somehow squash the pain.
Slapping at her neck, her had landed on a smooth lump on her neck. With a horrified cry she ripped it off and found herself face to face with a hemispheric beetle, fully two inches in diameter, with silver outer wings sprinkled with black, white, and gold specks. Olive green ooze dripped from a hole, positioned slightly below a point from which two antennae wiggled spasmodically, and sizzled in the snow. Circe realized aversely that a proboscis or a nozzle must still be in her neck. So she sent the fingers of her other hand to probe around and pulled out a shiny black tube about the size and shape of a needle, the tip of which was coated with a blend of red and green liquid.
"SHIT!" Circe threw the proboscis to the ground and began hopping around again, eventually glanced her now bare and unprotected toes on some of the objects from her purse. Looking down she glared at a pack of glass jars used to house specimens. Eyebrows rising, Circe crouched down and unscrewed the lid from one jar with fingers made clumsy from pain, immediately flung the beetle into the jar, and screwed it on again tightly.
Circe now rummaged through her scattered possessions, pain mincing her every movement, looking for something to extinguish or at least lessen the pain. Her fingers stumbled upon a small bag…the mushrooms. The fungi were cut up finely, dotted with little pearly balls the size of a needlepoint and dusted with some type of white powder…but Circe couldn't remember if the friend of her grandfather's, an addicted drug-dealer, had laced the mushrooms with LSD, PCP, or some other type of drug, and even if the fungi were laced, Circe couldn't care less, as long as they did away with the pain. Throwing all these concerns to the wind, Circe crammed the fungi plants into her mouth and chewed eagerly. Relishing the prospect of painlessness, Circe swallowed impatiently, but even before the fungi was completely through her esophagus Circe felt an elating head rush as whatever drug it was took effect.
Sensations of power and invincibility tingled down her arms, the pain drowning in pure euphoria. The night sky visible above the tree branches glowed in reds and oranges and yellows, and greens and purples…Circe basked in the glory of herself and her world. The freezing, biting snow couldn't touch her, the burning pain couldn't touch her, and nothing could hold her down! She turned around and the trees that had been behind her…there were no trees! There were huge, marble Ionic pillars planted in billowing white pillows to honor her! Surrounding her were these giant pillars supporting green velvet curtains and white lace, all for her! She ruled the world! Circe ran nimbly between all of these columns as though she could run through them, over them, beneath them, as if they weren't even there. Then…red trickled over her vision and one of the pillars morphed in front of her eyes, like a marble statue taking the polyjuice potion, into a giant Ron…no it was Bixby! No…was it Ron with a ponytail?…they looked so much alike…Circe shrieked as all the other pillars erupted, spurting tongues of gold and crimson flames turbulently swelling larger and larger, spurting and gushing out to her. The heat intensified, breaking Circe into a burning sweat. In an effort to cool herself off Circe tore off her cloak, her shirt, every strip of clothing she wore. The redhead's face, complete with those gold-flecked brown eyes, freckles, prominent nose, sturdy jawbone, and frowning furrowed eyebrows, glared down at her, emitting growls and disappointed sighs.
"What have you done? What are you doing? Why did you leave me? Where did you go?" The Weasley's lips shuffled uncoordinated with the words, but Circe felt the pleading in them, the condemnation, the pity, the entreaty.
She tried to back away from the face but the palisades of flames caged her in, the fingers of glowing orange seizing her arms, yanking her here and there…pillars morphed into Father, white disdain, Lazarus, dark menace, Cane, looming intimidation, Mother, bleak protocol, Grandfather, evil incarnate, Harry Potter, disappointed confusion, Hermione Granger, furious censure, Professor Granger, saddened frustration, Professor Lupin, distraught injury, and worst of all Professor Dumbledore, quiet judgment.
Circe whirled around, trying to run from their glowers but thwarted at every corner by another face, first Professor Granger, then Lazarus, and then back to Ron/Bixby again. Hugging his legs, as she only came up to his knees, Circe bawled and sobbed up to the colossal man…or boy…Ron or Bixby???
A distant, detached part of Circe's mind watched her mortify herself this way, but her body no longer responded to or even acknowledged that part so that part could not prevent Circe from wailing, "I didn't mean to leave you! I love you! Why do you hate me?!!! I hate you! I didn't mean to leave you…!"
Two figures cloaked in black manifested into the little grove of trees and ogled at the blond girl, her body stripped of every scrap of clothing, breasts hard and small, her arms and legs dead white. Her body now was stumbling to the far end of the clearing, arms flailing, then stopped at a large elm tree and she hugged it, all the while wailing incoherent hard consonant sounds followed by wobbly vowels. The lankier of the two stooped to examine the paraphernalia scattered on the edge of the clearing while the stockier swiftly crossed the clearing to see to the girl. Up close, the figure could see stark white skin, in the process of freezing, the swollen feet and hands, the bright red cuts all over her body that weren't bleeding because the blood flow was so sluggish. Absently, the figure lowered the fur-lined hood, revealing the square face, shaggy straw-colored hair and clear indigo eyes of a man, or even a teenager if one were to judge by the size of the nose.
"Hey!" he approached her cautiously, not wanting to get to near the apparently psycho girl. No response whatsoever. Her face did turn toward him briefly, due to whatever mad delirium she was going through, and he gasped at the blood dribbling down her face from a jagged and dirty gash on her forehead. Maybe a rabid dog bit her? Automatically, in a parent-like fashion he grabbed her arm and twirled her around for a better look. Within seconds he was flying through the air, slamming into another tree trunk.
The other figure glanced up at the thud, "Halt!" His voices grated harshly in the dry chill air. A large tanned hand, with several black hairs growing across the back, held up the packet that still held a few fungi chunks. "Lothar, she's chemically altered right now."
Lothar, bracing himself against the tree, stood up and walked over to join the older figure. Taking the offered packet, he pinched a small chunk between his thumb and forefinger then sniffed it, "Hallucinogenic drugs. Where'd she get 'em?" Lothar reported, his words flavored by a heavy German accent.
"You're the native here, I haven't the slightest."
The blond shrugged, "Who knows. She's probably some crackhead from Amsterdam dumped here as a bad joke. She's got a nasty cut on her forehead."
"How do you figure Amsterdam?"
Lothar raised an eyebrow, "You magic folks sure aren't caught up in the world. Everything's legal in Amsterdam. Even prostitution. They sell drug samples in coffee shops. Everyone knows that."
"Every muggle, you mean. And if all "magic folks" are as ignorant as you say, then this girl must be as clueless as I am. Not only is there a large amount of magic items here, she has a remarkable resemblance to Narcissa… a woman I went to school with. If I didn't know that Draco was an only child, I'd swear that she was his twin."
"Who's Nar…er, who's this Draco fella?"
"Never mind. We need to figure out a way to sedate the girl."
"Either that or warm her up. I'd guess that all of her fingers and probably her feet are frostbitten. Another hour or so and she'll be frozen solid."
The older man shook his head in dismay, "Why did she let herself in for this? She's a witch!"
"A witch, huh? Well witches are just as human as muggles are, aren't they? And if she is a witch, would this be the one that did that dark mark thing you were talking about?" Lothar asked dubiously. The wizard started to answer, but Lothar waved his hand, "Never mind, just do some magic or whatever."
The older man lowered his hood, revealing his shaggy black hair, thick craggy eyebrows, scruffy black beard, and bottomless black eyes, contrasting severely with the whites of his eyes and his pale skin. He made a face at the other man, mimicking Lothar's bossy attitude in a tiny voice like a child, his usually intimidating features made grotesque by the infantile mockery. Nevertheless, he raised the fifteen inch ebony wand and pointed it at the girl, "Therma Mysci."
The screech the girl released, as loud as a professional yodel, panicked the wizard into fumbling for the counter spell. Even though she screamed all the more loudly when it hit her, the high agonized pitch died away and the girl dropped to her knees, then to the ground, collapsing from the pain.
"What the bloody hell went wrong?!" the wizard demanded of his wand vulnerably. Shrugging, he bent down to examine the randomly scattered items on the ground in hopes of some clues, joined shortly by Lothar, who automatically began making mental observations out of habit. The little jar containing the beetle attracted young man's attention by the frantic buzzing and clanging going on inside of it, so he picked it up to examine it, then pocketed it for later examination in deference to the girl.
"Aren't you going to help her?!" he demanded.
The wizard looked up, "I'm not in the habit of helping idiots."
"If all wizards are like you, then I'm glad I don't know them, unsympatisch Barbar," Lothar muttered and took off his cloak to wrap around the naked girl. Scooping her up in his arms, he turned to the wizard briefly, "I'm going to bring her to the cave and save her life. Please bring in her clothes and things to the cave, then I'll go into town and buy a Schlafsack-"
"A what?"
"Ein Schlafsack. A sleeping bag."
The wizard eyed the limp figure in Lothar's arms suspiciously for a few minutes, then replied thoughtfully, "No…don't bother. Let her have my bed, I need to do some traveling."
Lothar in turn narrowed his eyes, "Where are you going?"
"Eh…to visit some…friends."
Lothar muttered under his breath in German before replying, "Sure, go ahead. In that case, just pile all of the magic items up and I'll collect them-"
The wizard shoveled up the various things, using the pants as a bag, and dumped the bundle on her stomach, "Save her life if you will. If you have…problems, I will be closer than you know."
Hefting the girl, Lothar grunted affirmatively, "And that's what I'm afraid of, Herr Schwarz."
The wizard smirked at the younger man, his menacing black eyes and furrowed brow belying the benign smile. "And sometimes it is right to fear, Muggle. I'll collect what I need and be off."
Taking broad, lanky strides up through a labyrinth of giant pine trees and enormous oaks, the wizard disappeared uphill while Lothar followed more guardedly, weighted down by his burden.
******
Until next time.... (whenever that is)
Cloe: ::is snickering over some odd thing::
Gryf: What's so funny?
Cloe: Huh? Oh I dunno, my life, the conspiracy to drive me insane that was thought up by Gods?
Cloe: Mmmmm, ::is trying not to drool over cute guys on TV::
Gryf: Get a hold on yourself
Gryf: Sorry this damn chapter took so long to get out
Gryf: Truth be told, I hate school
Gryf: ~looks at the drooling Cloe and shakes head~
Cloe: I'm not dooling. I said 'trying not to' I never said I failed at it. Anyway its all Gryff's fault this chapter isn't out yet.
Gryf: ~sticks out tongue~ Is it my fault that you refuse to beta these things?
Cloe: Yes. We have lots of Writer friends, ask them. I need some Slash. Mmm ::goes to oogle the guys again::
Gryf: Okay...um...yeah...
Gryf: Characters you recognize don't belong to us, Circe belongs to Cloe
Gryf: And the German guy you'll meet is all mine.
Gryf: Circe goes under the influence and practically freezes her tits off
Cloe: Oh so cultured. Way to be eloquent there.
Gryf: That said, the next chapter will be out soon, I'm even done editing it, just need to write it out
Gryf: Hey, you weren't exactly saying anything!
Gryf: ~takes a 2x4 and wacks Cloe over the head with it~
Gryf: ~leaves~
Cloe: ::dodges it:: Hey!
Cloe: ::drags her back by the scruff of her collar::
Gryf: ~grumbles~
Cloe: Anyway. Yes we are still here. No we are not dead. And no it will not be another month till the next part is out.... it'll be longer. Ha just kidding.
Gryf: Ha ha haaa...yeah...bad joke
Cloe: ::sticks her tongue out::
Gryf: ~sticks tongue out right back at her~
Cloe: Yeah. Okay. I think we've put on enough of a show tonight, so lets wrap this puppy up. Gryf: Okay...um...how bout a poll?
Gryf: People, in reviews, guess who Ginny likes
Cloe: Yeah and if you do we'll add your name in the next AN
Gryf: Don't cheat and look back at the second chapter, because that answer is wrong
Cloe: Er yeah. What she said.
Gryf: ~smirks~
Gryf: Are we done yet?
Cloe: Yes we are done. Back to searching for fics for me and you to.... whatever you do.
Gryf: ~smirks~ Read more fics than you do
Cloe: How would you know?
Cloe: Hell thats all I do, all day, everyday. 24/7/365.
Gryf: ~grins~
Cloe: Anyway we are done that's it, shut up, good bye, cease speaking, yeah.
******************
Guardian Angel from Hell
Chapter Twelve, Wait, what was this one about? I forgot.
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Gryffith and Cloe
******************
Chapter Twelve
Circe brushed away the large fluffy snowflakes accumulating on her hair, eyebrows, and lashes. Her butt shifted numbly on her broom; flying all day had frozen and numbed her entire body, especially as the invisibility cloak offered no warmth or shields from the biting wind whatsoever. Taking a refreshing dip in the prefect's bathroom that Dumbledore had restored right before going out in this weather was not a good idea; now frost rimed her skin and hair and coated the blood that oozed out of her cracked lips. Her eyes strained for sight of Hedwig, and her lips clumsily cursed whoever had had the stupidity to buy a white owl, as seeing white against gray sky and white clouds changed from merely difficult to impossible. Before, sending a message to Sirius and then following the messenger had seemed to be genius, but then the blizzard had started and worsened, steadily decreasing her visibility.
Circe's quick and agile broom, her Zephyr, was a play thing for the howling, maddened winds. Gusts of wind snatched control from Circe and then battered her resistance with barrage after barrage of sleet and hail, taking the girl on a frantic, freezing roller coaster ride. After a series of stomach-roiling spins that left a barely conscious Circe clinging miserably to her broom, the winds suddenly stopped and let the girl on the broom, limp from cold and exhaustion, hurtle from the sky towards the glistening whiteness below.
* * *
Ron rattled the manacles that chained him to the cell wall, irritated by the injustice and resigned by the boredom that goes hand in hand with the passing hours. He sighed, "Why does McGonagall have to be so blind? Isn't it obvious that we didn't do it?"
"No, Ron, it isn't. We were out after curfew, and that is pretty incriminating, considering. Not to mention the fact that none of our records are perfectly clean," Hermione replied imperturbably.
"It's still not fair. And why did Filch have to put me in chains and not you?"
Hermione looked up from her cell across the hall and could easily see her friend, separated as they were by only a gate of lead pipes, a hallway, and another gate, "Oh stop it, Ron. It's your own fault that you were put in chains," she waved her unencumbered arms for emphasis.
Harry snorted, wishing that he could see Hermione as well, but the wall dividing them was solid stone and cement. "Yeah, what kind of idiot taunts Filch for being a squib as an argument for mistreatment?"
"Hey! It's not my fault he took our wands away."
"That is not a relevant excuse, Ron," Hermione scolded. "And how do you know that Filch is a squib anyway?"
Ron started speaking pompously, but Harry cut him off, "I told him, and I really shouldn't have."
"Ah well," Hermione leaned against the wall, "Circe was right about you when she called you a hothead."
"Don't talk to me about her," Ron snapped.
"Well aren't we full of ourselves! This isn't about you, you know. Just because you're heartbroken doesn't mean you have to be churlish about it," Hermione snapped.
"Who's heartbroken? Doesn't the fact that she took off with Harry's invisibility cloak right after a serious break-in mean anything to you?" Ron demanded.
"Circumstantial evidence!" she retorted.
"Why are you defending her, Herm?" Harry piped up, futilely trying to stop the fight.
Hermione sighed, thinking of the horoscope, of Circe's promise to save Harry, of Circe's obvious resentment for Draco, of her guess at Harry's true feelings. Hermione almost forgot Circe as she remembered that… even if she loved Harry and he reciprocated the feelings, if that was possible, she couldn't indulge…this year of all years she had to have her head clear…
"She's defending her just to spite me!" Ron spat.
"Don't draw conclusions, Ron. There's only circumstantial evidence against Circe!" Hermione glared daggers across the hall.
"So? It's enough isn't it?"
"It's enough, isn't it?" Hermione mocked, "So it's enough to convict Circe with circumstantial evidence while it is completely unfair for the school to hold us on the same amount of equally incriminating evidence. Hypocrite!"
"She's a Malfoy!" Ron spat.
"You're a Weasley! So what? Who cares?" she asked.
"Who cares?!" Ron repeated furiously, his face livid, "The Malfoys are legendary for connections to the dark arts! She's no different!"
"And how would you know that? Are you this new expert on emotions and personalities? How come I never heard of it before?" Hermione asked sarcastically. Harry winced; she could be as biting as any Malfoy. For some adverse reason he admired her for it.
"Oh? And do you know something I don't? What proof do you have that she's not evil!" Ron demanded.
Hermione sat down, "Motives," she said simply. "She is quite in earnest about wanting to save Harry's life."
"Then why did she raid the school?" Ron challenged
"How do you know she did?" Hermione countered, ginger brown eyes blazing.
"How do we know she didn't?" Ron counter-countered.
"Quit being so immature, Ron," Hermione scolded. "Look at the facts. She dyes her hair. She pulls pranks…and I believe she idolizes your twin brothers? Now, would Draco idolize any Weasley? Would Draco dye his hair?"
"If Daddy Malfoy told him to, yes," Ron retorted.
Hermione sighed, "That's probably why Draco is so bad in the first place. If Draco was raised…by your mother for example, do you think he would still be in Slytherin? I mean, even if he is a Malfoy, he's still human. If he wasn't under his father's thumb, he'd probably in Gryffindor. I mean, thinking objectively, Draco is actually pretty hot."
Harry's eyes bulged. Draco Malfoy hot? Circe was cute, but Draco? He shuddered.
"BLASPHEMY!" Ron hollered.
"Just because you're a guy doesn't mean you have to be a biased, pedantic idiot. Draco would be different if he wasn't a Malfoy. And Circe, unlike Draco, is fighting it. She is trying to be anything but Malfoy! She's in Gryffindor! She's trying to save Harry's life!" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.
A jingling echoed in the hallway and a female voice chirped, "I agree with the first part, but what's all this about Malfoy?"
Harry jumped up and tried to look sideways through the bars. "Ginny? What are you doing here?"
Ginny smiled and jingled the keys again, "What else? The burglar was caught, so you guys are home free."
Ron tried to see his sister's face, "She was? Where is she?"
"She? Who said it was a she? Ron, are you having an affair that I don't know about?" Ginny teased. Harry frowned.
"Shut up," Ron muttered sulkily as both girls smirked at him.
* * *
Circe, unaware of the argument concerning her sincerity happening several hundred miles away, groaned. She must have blacked out when she had crashed through the blanket of snow-covered tree branches because she didn't remember hitting the ground. The contents from her bag lay scattered all over the crunchy two feet thick mantle of snow, but she let them stay there for the moment since the wind had stopped. Grumbling to herself, she sat up, shivering, and forced to the front of her mind the survival techniques her maternal grandfather had forced all his grandchildren to learn. First she had to find a way to warm herself and prevent frostbite. Doggedly she gathered branches and, using a number of ineffectual spells, lit the pile into a crackling blaze. Once she had that going Circe huddled beside it and wondered dolefully what she would do now. She had lost Hedwig and was completely lost herself. She must have crossed the English Channel by now, if the length of the ride was any proof, but Circe sighed; she could be anywhere from the plains of Normandy to Switzerland. Even as she considered her situation, she felt disgusted and ashamed of her feeble attempts at the fire.
Determined to redeem herself, Circe decided to practice the spells that she knew of the Dark Arts. The extent of her knowledge pleased her. She had made better use of the times Grandfather Malfoy had locked his grandchildren in his book-filled attic than either of her brothers, even ambitious Lazarus. Either way she lifted her wand and pointed it at the sky, chanting, "Morsmordre!"
The Dark Mark shimmered into existence, immense and inexorable and imposing, but for all the cryptic and malicious details of the initial conjuring, Circe lost control. At first glance an ignorant passerby might have admired the impressive green snake protruding from the skull's mouth; Circe could feel the waves of sinister magic like the heat from an enormous oven; but then the conjuration morphed into a peach-colored octopus tentacle with yellow suckers while the skull itself shone blue and lavender. The moonlight left a golden sheen that reminded Circe of an iridescent Muggle nail polish. Before the not so Dark Mark could deform any further, the entire fiasco popped like a paper bag and faded out, the end of a spectacular fireworks display with the dying embers hovering on the wind.
Circe, seeing not the splendor but only the embarrassing failure, grimaced and concentrated on the skill that she knew she could always fall back on: transfiguration. By merely pointing her wand, she changed a heap of snowballs into a giant hot water bottle that she could lay on and meshed dead leaves from the branches into coarse blankets. She was about to change an oversized tree into a shelter when a stinging sensation invaded her neck. The pain spread throughout her body like a burning acid in her veins, settling as throbbing infernos in her ankle and wand arm and as torrents of liquid flame flooding through her blood vessels. Whenever her skin touched magical or enchanted items, including the ensorcelled blankets, it first tingled, then numbed and deadened.
After the few seconds in which all this occurred, Circe leapt up, clawing at the pain. "What the bloody hell is going on!?" she cried, whipping her head around in case an enemy be near by. The magical items in her many pants pockets started to burn through the cloth, or at least that's how it felt. In a desperate attempt to rid herself of the agony, Circe hopped and clawed her way out of her pants, taking off her footwear along with it. Immediately she began slapping at the rest of her body, futilely trying to somehow squash the pain.
Slapping at her neck, her had landed on a smooth lump on her neck. With a horrified cry she ripped it off and found herself face to face with a hemispheric beetle, fully two inches in diameter, with silver outer wings sprinkled with black, white, and gold specks. Olive green ooze dripped from a hole, positioned slightly below a point from which two antennae wiggled spasmodically, and sizzled in the snow. Circe realized aversely that a proboscis or a nozzle must still be in her neck. So she sent the fingers of her other hand to probe around and pulled out a shiny black tube about the size and shape of a needle, the tip of which was coated with a blend of red and green liquid.
"SHIT!" Circe threw the proboscis to the ground and began hopping around again, eventually glanced her now bare and unprotected toes on some of the objects from her purse. Looking down she glared at a pack of glass jars used to house specimens. Eyebrows rising, Circe crouched down and unscrewed the lid from one jar with fingers made clumsy from pain, immediately flung the beetle into the jar, and screwed it on again tightly.
Circe now rummaged through her scattered possessions, pain mincing her every movement, looking for something to extinguish or at least lessen the pain. Her fingers stumbled upon a small bag…the mushrooms. The fungi were cut up finely, dotted with little pearly balls the size of a needlepoint and dusted with some type of white powder…but Circe couldn't remember if the friend of her grandfather's, an addicted drug-dealer, had laced the mushrooms with LSD, PCP, or some other type of drug, and even if the fungi were laced, Circe couldn't care less, as long as they did away with the pain. Throwing all these concerns to the wind, Circe crammed the fungi plants into her mouth and chewed eagerly. Relishing the prospect of painlessness, Circe swallowed impatiently, but even before the fungi was completely through her esophagus Circe felt an elating head rush as whatever drug it was took effect.
Sensations of power and invincibility tingled down her arms, the pain drowning in pure euphoria. The night sky visible above the tree branches glowed in reds and oranges and yellows, and greens and purples…Circe basked in the glory of herself and her world. The freezing, biting snow couldn't touch her, the burning pain couldn't touch her, and nothing could hold her down! She turned around and the trees that had been behind her…there were no trees! There were huge, marble Ionic pillars planted in billowing white pillows to honor her! Surrounding her were these giant pillars supporting green velvet curtains and white lace, all for her! She ruled the world! Circe ran nimbly between all of these columns as though she could run through them, over them, beneath them, as if they weren't even there. Then…red trickled over her vision and one of the pillars morphed in front of her eyes, like a marble statue taking the polyjuice potion, into a giant Ron…no it was Bixby! No…was it Ron with a ponytail?…they looked so much alike…Circe shrieked as all the other pillars erupted, spurting tongues of gold and crimson flames turbulently swelling larger and larger, spurting and gushing out to her. The heat intensified, breaking Circe into a burning sweat. In an effort to cool herself off Circe tore off her cloak, her shirt, every strip of clothing she wore. The redhead's face, complete with those gold-flecked brown eyes, freckles, prominent nose, sturdy jawbone, and frowning furrowed eyebrows, glared down at her, emitting growls and disappointed sighs.
"What have you done? What are you doing? Why did you leave me? Where did you go?" The Weasley's lips shuffled uncoordinated with the words, but Circe felt the pleading in them, the condemnation, the pity, the entreaty.
She tried to back away from the face but the palisades of flames caged her in, the fingers of glowing orange seizing her arms, yanking her here and there…pillars morphed into Father, white disdain, Lazarus, dark menace, Cane, looming intimidation, Mother, bleak protocol, Grandfather, evil incarnate, Harry Potter, disappointed confusion, Hermione Granger, furious censure, Professor Granger, saddened frustration, Professor Lupin, distraught injury, and worst of all Professor Dumbledore, quiet judgment.
Circe whirled around, trying to run from their glowers but thwarted at every corner by another face, first Professor Granger, then Lazarus, and then back to Ron/Bixby again. Hugging his legs, as she only came up to his knees, Circe bawled and sobbed up to the colossal man…or boy…Ron or Bixby???
A distant, detached part of Circe's mind watched her mortify herself this way, but her body no longer responded to or even acknowledged that part so that part could not prevent Circe from wailing, "I didn't mean to leave you! I love you! Why do you hate me?!!! I hate you! I didn't mean to leave you…!"
Two figures cloaked in black manifested into the little grove of trees and ogled at the blond girl, her body stripped of every scrap of clothing, breasts hard and small, her arms and legs dead white. Her body now was stumbling to the far end of the clearing, arms flailing, then stopped at a large elm tree and she hugged it, all the while wailing incoherent hard consonant sounds followed by wobbly vowels. The lankier of the two stooped to examine the paraphernalia scattered on the edge of the clearing while the stockier swiftly crossed the clearing to see to the girl. Up close, the figure could see stark white skin, in the process of freezing, the swollen feet and hands, the bright red cuts all over her body that weren't bleeding because the blood flow was so sluggish. Absently, the figure lowered the fur-lined hood, revealing the square face, shaggy straw-colored hair and clear indigo eyes of a man, or even a teenager if one were to judge by the size of the nose.
"Hey!" he approached her cautiously, not wanting to get to near the apparently psycho girl. No response whatsoever. Her face did turn toward him briefly, due to whatever mad delirium she was going through, and he gasped at the blood dribbling down her face from a jagged and dirty gash on her forehead. Maybe a rabid dog bit her? Automatically, in a parent-like fashion he grabbed her arm and twirled her around for a better look. Within seconds he was flying through the air, slamming into another tree trunk.
The other figure glanced up at the thud, "Halt!" His voices grated harshly in the dry chill air. A large tanned hand, with several black hairs growing across the back, held up the packet that still held a few fungi chunks. "Lothar, she's chemically altered right now."
Lothar, bracing himself against the tree, stood up and walked over to join the older figure. Taking the offered packet, he pinched a small chunk between his thumb and forefinger then sniffed it, "Hallucinogenic drugs. Where'd she get 'em?" Lothar reported, his words flavored by a heavy German accent.
"You're the native here, I haven't the slightest."
The blond shrugged, "Who knows. She's probably some crackhead from Amsterdam dumped here as a bad joke. She's got a nasty cut on her forehead."
"How do you figure Amsterdam?"
Lothar raised an eyebrow, "You magic folks sure aren't caught up in the world. Everything's legal in Amsterdam. Even prostitution. They sell drug samples in coffee shops. Everyone knows that."
"Every muggle, you mean. And if all "magic folks" are as ignorant as you say, then this girl must be as clueless as I am. Not only is there a large amount of magic items here, she has a remarkable resemblance to Narcissa… a woman I went to school with. If I didn't know that Draco was an only child, I'd swear that she was his twin."
"Who's Nar…er, who's this Draco fella?"
"Never mind. We need to figure out a way to sedate the girl."
"Either that or warm her up. I'd guess that all of her fingers and probably her feet are frostbitten. Another hour or so and she'll be frozen solid."
The older man shook his head in dismay, "Why did she let herself in for this? She's a witch!"
"A witch, huh? Well witches are just as human as muggles are, aren't they? And if she is a witch, would this be the one that did that dark mark thing you were talking about?" Lothar asked dubiously. The wizard started to answer, but Lothar waved his hand, "Never mind, just do some magic or whatever."
The older man lowered his hood, revealing his shaggy black hair, thick craggy eyebrows, scruffy black beard, and bottomless black eyes, contrasting severely with the whites of his eyes and his pale skin. He made a face at the other man, mimicking Lothar's bossy attitude in a tiny voice like a child, his usually intimidating features made grotesque by the infantile mockery. Nevertheless, he raised the fifteen inch ebony wand and pointed it at the girl, "Therma Mysci."
The screech the girl released, as loud as a professional yodel, panicked the wizard into fumbling for the counter spell. Even though she screamed all the more loudly when it hit her, the high agonized pitch died away and the girl dropped to her knees, then to the ground, collapsing from the pain.
"What the bloody hell went wrong?!" the wizard demanded of his wand vulnerably. Shrugging, he bent down to examine the randomly scattered items on the ground in hopes of some clues, joined shortly by Lothar, who automatically began making mental observations out of habit. The little jar containing the beetle attracted young man's attention by the frantic buzzing and clanging going on inside of it, so he picked it up to examine it, then pocketed it for later examination in deference to the girl.
"Aren't you going to help her?!" he demanded.
The wizard looked up, "I'm not in the habit of helping idiots."
"If all wizards are like you, then I'm glad I don't know them, unsympatisch Barbar," Lothar muttered and took off his cloak to wrap around the naked girl. Scooping her up in his arms, he turned to the wizard briefly, "I'm going to bring her to the cave and save her life. Please bring in her clothes and things to the cave, then I'll go into town and buy a Schlafsack-"
"A what?"
"Ein Schlafsack. A sleeping bag."
The wizard eyed the limp figure in Lothar's arms suspiciously for a few minutes, then replied thoughtfully, "No…don't bother. Let her have my bed, I need to do some traveling."
Lothar in turn narrowed his eyes, "Where are you going?"
"Eh…to visit some…friends."
Lothar muttered under his breath in German before replying, "Sure, go ahead. In that case, just pile all of the magic items up and I'll collect them-"
The wizard shoveled up the various things, using the pants as a bag, and dumped the bundle on her stomach, "Save her life if you will. If you have…problems, I will be closer than you know."
Hefting the girl, Lothar grunted affirmatively, "And that's what I'm afraid of, Herr Schwarz."
The wizard smirked at the younger man, his menacing black eyes and furrowed brow belying the benign smile. "And sometimes it is right to fear, Muggle. I'll collect what I need and be off."
Taking broad, lanky strides up through a labyrinth of giant pine trees and enormous oaks, the wizard disappeared uphill while Lothar followed more guardedly, weighted down by his burden.
******
Until next time.... (whenever that is)
