The Parting of the Twain: 15
Disclaimer: If you're new to this – why haven't you read the other chapters? Go back, go back I charge you! – then you won't know that we have to put a disclaimer on every fanfic we write. So… J.K. Rowling owns all characters, locations, and rights. I own the other world, Professor Lingualus, Madam Clavier and this plot. "The Source of Magic" is taken from Piers Anthony's Xanth series and mythology in general. And something from Oliver.
A/N: I'm two years older than when I began writing this. It's not really suitable for the same audience, but hopefully you've all grown up with me. The rating is 15.
Chapter 14: Accept Reality
It was Dumbledore, yes, but not the Dumbledore Padma and George knew. Gone were the twinkly, warm eyes, the arresting smile and the wise expression. In their place, stood a stranger with a neatly trimmed beard, a shallow gaze and a thin wand clutched in his right hand, poised above their heads, ready to fire.
"So you've made it," he said calmly. "At last." Padma's body swayed and George automatically stretched his arm out to steady her. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Well, well, at last – and together. I couldn't have hoped for much more." George sharply drew his arm back to his side. Dumbledore chuckled and took a seat in one of the green velvet chairs. "How much do you know?" he asked, taking out a cigarette. Padma plucked up her courage.
"Enough to know you're not to be trusted." Damn. She had meant it to sound confident and suave. What had escaped her was a terrified little squeak.
Dumbledore laughed cruelly, cupped his hand and lit his cigarette. "My dear, opinions do not matter. Your opinion matters the least. You are a mere pawn. You're not even a real person."
Oddly enough, Padma didn't feel shocked. It was as though truth, a long-lost cousin, had been restored to her. Her gaze did not falter, and though she continued to stare at Dumbledore, he was losing his intimidation over her. She was looking through him, into the bleak, hollow reality of her situation.
"Yes," whispered Dumbledore, softly, as though reading her mind. "You knew it inside all along, really. And you did too Fred – or George, whatever you choose to call yourself. Neither is your real name after all."
"Shut your mouth," snarled George. "My parents named me George – you wouldn't know because you had nothing to do with it."
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "No my boy, I named you. I created you. I created this entire world. I rule it." He paused, wondering whether this was a good time to give the game away. "It began with James Potter a long time ago – with the Order of the Phoenix… Potter thwarted my plans… I was furious of course, but I wasn't just furious. I was disappointed. Potter had so much potential, he could have gone so far… I so wished it had all been different…" Padma looked at George nervously. This seemed like a good time to escape except she didn't know how. There was no window to climb out of and he was blocking the way to the door. Dumbledore had them right where he wanted, and he was drawing the time out to suit himself. "Yes, different. And then it struck me. It could have all been different. I could make it different. What if James followed me?"
"So you cloned him?" asked George quietly.
Dumbledore's eyes glinted. "Oh no – I did something much more superior than that. I personified his evil." Padma was completely lost but George seemed to be on track.
"James Potter was not evil," growled George.
"Evil, that's such a… pathetic word, don't you think?" asked Dumbledore carelessly.
"That's something only evil people would say," retorted George.
Dumbledore sighed and chose to ignore him. "James Potter was not 'evil' – that is true. He had evil in him and he chose not to use it. But that's not to say he hadn't thought about it. How many times did he taunt Lily Evans before falling for her? How many times did he plot to kill Severus Snape? And how many times did he consider turning to the Great Arts, to me, to save Lily and Harry?"
Padma was about to retort but George said "Well that's only natural."
Padma turned to him in disbelief. He shrugged. "I'm not saying he would do them… but dark times make people desperate."
"But you're right," continued Dumbledore, enjoying the gulf he was drawing out between them. "Good has been taught to us, moulded into our society. Evil, as you call it, is natural, instinctive, primal, what cowards dream of doing, the foolhardy set out to do and a select few accomplish… the people who died fighting against the Great Arts were the cowards."
"Liar," hissed Padma.
"Informer," amended Dumbledore. "After Harry stopped me I took the evil from James and rebuilt his double… I took the evil from the whole of that world and rebuilt it, Harry, Hogwarts, even the muggle world is more corrupt here. But I had to put some evil back into it, so that they would finish it for me. I put two doubles back into the world."
"Us," said George. It wasn't a question.
"If we're so evil," demanded Padma. "Why aren't we – why aren't we – in Slytherin?" It was a poor ending but she could not think of anything else.
"But remember – the hat wanted to put you there… it's where you belong. You're my representatives. You're my number 1s."
Draco burst out laughing. George and Padma turned around sharply. They had almost forgotten he and Pansy were there. "Sorry," stuttered Draco between his laughs. "But it's just so funny – sounds like a muggle track I heard a while ago – and a cheap one at that… you're, you're my number one… I'd do anything for you…"
Padma turned to George in astonishment. "Oh my God," she said quietly. "We are so not meant to be in this world."
"But who are you?" asked George. "Are you Dumbledore or – or him?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "This is merely a form I assume – I could take anyone's shape … my magic is that powerful. I could be this…" His body began to disintegrate into white smoke. He formed a new shape with black hair and dark skin. "Uncle Ali!" exclaimed Padma.
"Mr. Bashir," said George coldly.
"Or this," said Padma's uncle and he reformed as Madam Pomfrey. Then he became Dumbledore again.
"Then who – what – in hell are you?" demanded George.
"I am a Source of Magic," replied Dumbledore calmly. Padma and George exchanged glances. "I've heard of that…" said Pansy slowly. Of course she would have. "It was in one of Ptomely's tomes, wasn't it?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Care to enlighten us any time soon?" asked George.
"The Source of Magicks are supposedly where wizards and witches gain their craft from," replied Pansy. "That's where the word sorcerer comes from. Some worship them as Gods."
"How disgusting," said Padma, who was a firm believer in one God.
"Them?" asked George. "How many are there?"
"Two," replied Source of Magic.
"Let me guess," said Padma witheringly. "One that's good and one that's evil?"
The Source of Magic nodded.
"And you are the evil one?" she snorted.
"There is no good and evil," he said exasperated. "There is just power and those too weak to use it."
"Oh bloody hell!" moaned Padma, who was now not frightened, just pissed off. "You're like a stuck record – I'm sure you've already said that one to Harry and I bet you didn't even make it up anyway. You know what you need? One of those thick Hollywood American Muggle accents that do a 'Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer'".
She had expiated his patience. "And you need a taste of pain!"
With that, Padma felt her skin begin to burn. It was as though she had been transported to seventh hell – the invisible flames licking every part of her body. It was pain that she had thought was impossible to experience without dying and she cried out, in complete agony, praying that he would have enough mercy to relent, to let her bathe in earth's cool, soothing fire…
Anything. Anything but this.
Anything?
Yes, yes! Anything!
And so the fire melted.
For a split second, she felt utterly at peace, as though her bruised soul was being massaged. Then the massage felt more rough, more vigorous. Hard claws dug into her essence, terrifying and thrilling her at the same time. Someone was holding her, and forcing her to look up at the images that were in front of her. She saw Parvati looking at her and spitting, her parents burning every photo that they owned of her while she stood atop the bonfire, Mandy and Lisa dragging her down, shutting her in a coffin, burying her alive… You-know-who bringing out his wand and cursing her whilst an assistant, hidden behind his master, laughed. And still the massage went on, rougher, coarser, but still invigorating, rousing. She knew she should not be doing this, but she couldn't stop herself. The caressing hands slid down her, touching her in ways she did not know existed. She felt her soul's carrier, her body, gasping for breath in utter ecstasy. She felt violated and reborn at the same time. The images in front of her moved in quicker succession and the massage as well grew more sensual and petrifying. All her worst fears were in front of her. It was almost as though this were a Dementor's kiss, except that she did not feel cold or sick. She felt flushed, shocked at how she was responding to such action. She let out a moan as her soul reached its zenith – but whether it was a sigh of elation or a primitive groan she was not sure. Then, just as she began believing that this, watching nightmares overlap each other at the same time as feeling pure pleasure, could possibly be a good thing, she realised what had been done to her.
She hadn't been kissed by a dementor; she had been raped by one.
You-know-who's assistant came forward and took hold of her – or perhaps he had been the one who had been the dementor all along – and shook her arms. She screamed loudly, realising what had been taken from her, and in such a cheated way as made her sickeningly enjoy herself. Her scream seemed to last an age, and when she saw who the dementor was, the bastard who had robbed her of her innocence, she screamed even louder.
"Padma, Padma! Calm down," he said.
Padma broke out of his hold, and backed away from him. She was shivering. There was no pleasure now, only shame at what she had allowed herself to do, and horror at who had done it to her. "Get the hell away from me, you bastard," she hissed.
He actually had the nerve to look confused. "Padma, it's me, George," he said. "What's the matter?"
She kept walking away from him until her back hit the wall. "How could you?" she whispered, sliding to the floor and dissolving into tears. "How could you?"
George shook his head in disbelief and then turned back to You-know-who, who had somehow changed into Dumbledore. "What the hell have you done to her?" he shouted.
Padma drew her legs up to her chest and clutched them. She was stone cold. Pansy, who had appeared from somewhere, came over and tried to put a comforting arm round her, but Padma flinched and moved away. No-one, no – one, would ever touch her again. Dumbledore and George were having some sort of argument. She seemed to have gone deaf – George was yelling at him and kept pointing to her, Dumbledore was laughing but retorting back.
Then Dumbledore held his hand up for silence and swished his wand. Within an instant, a mirror appeared in the room, next to him. Padma wasn't sure what was going on. She could only think of two things; that she wanted to see Parvati very, very badly, and that she never wanted to see George Weasley again.
Pansy gingerly nudged her again, then forcibly helped her to her feet and led her over to the mirror. George was looking at her earnestly, but Padma refused to look at him. Compared with George, Dumbledore was a saint. She stared up at him, her teeth still chattering, her legs still weak.
"Padma," said Dumbledore, in a gentle voice. "I have to ask you something."
"Don't listen to him Padma!" interrupted George urgently. She ignored him.
"Padma, George wants to leave here," Dumbledore continued kindly. "He wants you to go with him." Padma folded her arms across her chest and looked at the ground. "Now, I have to ask you," Dumbledore continued slowly, "whether you would like to go with him or stay here, with your friends Draco and Pansy."
"Go home, Padma!" shouted Draco. "You don't belong here!" Dumbledore waved his wand at him and for some reason he became silent.
"Draco doesn't know what he's saying, Padma," smiled Dumbledore benevolently. "This is your home. Don't you want to stay here, with Ammi and Abbu?"
"Padma," pleaded George, "Your parents aren't real in this world. They're at home with Parvati."
"Shut up!" hissed Padma, without looking at him. "What the hell would you know about it?"
"Padma, look at me," said George quietly. But she couldn't. Not yet. It was too soon after the liberty he had taken with her. George continued anyway. "I would never do anything to hurt you. I don't know what he's done to you, but I swear…"
"He didn't do anything to me," she said, her eyes brimming with tears again, the world becoming misty. "You – you…" She couldn't bring herself to finish.
"It's ok, Padma, you don't have to explain anything to him," soothed Dumbledore.
"Shut it," snapped George. "Padma, I'm sorry but we don't have time for this. Just tell the bastard you want to go home and we'll settle it later."
Padma clenched her fingers into fists, seething with anger. Settle it later. He may as well have been talking about a bill. She saw that he had always treated her that way. A fifteen year old job that had to be taken care of. To think she had become friends with him, trusted him, fallen in love with him… made her feel violently sick.
Bravely, she turned her face to look at him. "I have no intention of going anywhere with you ever again."
George's jaw fell slightly open. "What – what do you mean?" he stuttered.
"Just that," she said Her legs were still shaking, but she was gradually learning to stand. "You've stolen everything from me, George Weasley. You took my identity, my friends, my family and then, for cheap thrills, you took the one thing I had left."
"Padma, what…"
"You know perfectly well what!" she interrupted. She would not cry. He would not see her cry. "I had a wonderful life – parents who loved me, a sister who was my best friend, two of the best friends in the world and I was happy. That all changed the day I met you. I wish I never had. I wish I'd never sat down at that bloody table on the second day of term…"
"Padma," interrupted George desperately. "Don't you think I've lost things too? But it's not our fault – he's doing it all."
"…I always wondered how to define evil, what it looked like. Now I know. What you did… killed my – my childhood, that was evil!"
"For God's sake, it was only a kiss!" he said.
"It was not only a kiss! Go home you fucking liar, go home!" she screamed.
Dumbledore took over. "I think it's pretty clear where Miss Patil wants to stay. I suggest you leave her alone now. You've done quite enough."
"Don't imagine for one minute, that I'm going to let you keep her prisoner here!" George growled.
Dumbledore sighed. "My dear boy, I am not keeping her prisoner at all. If Padma wishes to return with you I shall, of course, let her. However that does not seem to be the case, does it Padma?"
Padma shook her head. "There now, George, you see? I think it's about time you were off home."
George sank to his knees. "Padma, please… This isn't just about us. It never was. We're not all like Harry - but we can all make a difference. You have a choice now… Come home."
"Now Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "Your way home is quite simple. All you have to do is look in the mirror, concentrate until you see home and then the glass should break. Step right through it. Have a safe journey."
George took one final look at Padma. "Come home. For Parvati."
"What are you talking about?" snapped Dumbledore impatiently, dragging George to his feet. Something in his tone, for the first time, struck Padma as inconsistent. As George was taken to the mirror and Dumbledore returned to her, she found herself thinking of Parvati. What would she have done, faced in the same position? Would she have made the same choice?
George looked into the mirror, his brow furrowing. "Home…home…" he muttered.
"Would you like anything my dear?" Dumbledore asked her. "A glass of water, perhaps?"
"I should like to see my sister," she said.
"Hmm? Who?"
It was as though she woke up.
George lifted his fist to the mirror, clenching it tight… "Wait," Padma called out. Dumbledore started. "What? What on earth is the matter?" George turned to face her, keenly.
"I – I want to see him bleed," said Padma quietly. George's face fell.
Dumbledore laughed. "But of course you do my dear," he said. "But come now, we can't be greedy… don't you think you've made him bleed enough for today?"
"Please, sir," she said quietly, "I want some more."
George looked up at her, confused. Then slowly, without Dumbledore seeing, he winked at her.
"Very well, Padma," said Dumbledore. "You can bash him about a bit before he leaves us. I'm sure he won't fight back. He never could resist you."
Padma winced, but nevertheless walked smoothly over to George. He turned to face her, backed up against the mirror. She did not look at him, but instead over his shoulder, into her reflection. She was surrounded by Ammi, Abbu, Uncle Bashir, Mandy, Lisa, Hermione, Harry, Ron… and there at the front of them all, standing beside her, holding her hand was Parvati. Parvati nodded and smiled at her. She knew she had made the right choice.
Silently she clenched hold of George's shoulder's, pulled him towards herself…
"No!" cried Dumbledore suddenly. Padma smashed George back against the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. "No!" she heard Dumbledore cry. But it was too late. She and George were falling through the mirror, falling deeper and deeper…
Thud.
They had landed in the kitchen of The Burrow, in the same place as they had left it. She was also lying on top of him, so she scrambled to her feet.
"Oww," moaned George. "Did you have to do it so hard?" He massaged his head, relieved to find it was not bleeding. He got to his feet, grinned and moved towards her. She took a step back. "Hey, hey," he said, the grin vanishing. "It's over." He tried to put an arm round her but she flinched.
"You're right," she said. "It is over."
George shook his head. "I thought…"
"I still meant what I said," Padma continued. "I know you – you can't have done it, but I can't trust you anymore." She moved towards the door. "Goodbye George." He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, but she was gone.
Parvati was waiting for her. Padma flung her arms around her. "God Padma," gasped Parvati, "what the hell made you so perky?"
"I'm – I'm not perky," she said. "I think I need to go to hospital." Parvati looked concerned. "What happened? George didn't – didn't try anything, did he?"
"No," said Padma quickly. "Nothing like that. I just feel faint, that's all."
"Okay, let's go then," Parvati said. She took her hand.
It would, indeed be a long time before Padma trusted George again. It would be a long time before she trusted a lot of people again. However, the person she trusted most in all the worlds was standing next to her, leading her away from danger, holding her hand.
*
"He – hey!" shouted Fred, coming into the kitchen. "What's going on here? … Padma gone already?"
"Yeah," said George.
"Hard luck mate," said his brother. "So… er, nothing happen then?"
"Not really."
"Oh. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, my head's a bit sore though."
Fred laughed. "That will be the drink."
George shook his head. "No I don't think so…"
"Course it will. And there's only one way to stop that." He opened a bottle of Champagne that he had been saving. "Another drink. Just the two of us."
He poured two glasses full, while his brother sat in contemplation. "Guess we'd better start revising for N.E.W.Ts soon, eh?"
George coughed. "In the grand scheme of things, they don't really seem very important."
Fred raised his eyebrows. "The grand scheme of throwing a party?"
"Something like that," George lied. He picked up his glass. "Happy Birthday Fred," he said, clinking the glass with his brother's. Fred looked a little confused, as though there were something he was missing. "Happy Birthday George," he replied.
And they drank.
* * *
"JOHNSON, Angelina!"
Graduation day had come quicker than anticipated. All of the Seventh Year had passed, although it was rumoured that one of the Weasley's had spoken to Dumbledore and swayed his result on grounds of "personal reasons".
"JORDAN, Lee!"
Padma was, like all of the other students, present in the audience. She had not seen George since his birthday party, and luckily neither of them had much chance to dwell on it as they had been preparing for their exams. Madam Pomfrey had kept Padma in for the first few weeks after the incident – the hospital could not diagnose what was wrong with her, it insisted damage had been done. Her parents had begged Padma to tell them what had happened, but her story was always the same: someone must have spiked her drink early on in the night and the rest was a blackout. Parvati, though irritated Padma did not tell her the truth, had the compassion to back up her story.
"SPINNET, Alicia!"
Then her O.W.L.s had been upon her, which she somehow had managed to struggle through. She suspected that Dumbledore had an idea, in any case, that she would not do well. So she had not had much opportunity to speak to George, to explain what had happened that night. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she woke up shivering, having dreamt the same nightmare. She would find herself sobbing and clutching her legs to her chest. It was just as well George did not know the extent he had hurt her. She realised of course, that it hadn't been him, that it was the Source of Magic conjuring an illusion, and that it was physically impossible for her to be raped in the circumstances. It didn't help – she still felt sick.
"WEASLEY, Frederick!"
And now George was leaving. Hopefully she would never have to see him again. The Seventh Year did not take the Hogwarts express. This year, they would all be apparating in celebration of their magical licence. She didn't know whether she would have preferred him to get the train, or whether this was best. Well, it looked as though the choice had been made for her.
"WEASLEY, George."
Here he was, striding confidently onto stage, his red hair looking so silly underneath his wizard's hat. Her heart went out to him. She would miss him terribly. He accepted his scroll, and as he was leaving the stage, stopped suddenly. Padma shifted uncomfortably. She had a bad feeling that she was something to do with this.
He turned back and walked towards Professor Dumbledore. He was grinning widely. He unfolded the graduation roll in front of him and indicated his results. "Please sir," he announced loudly and looking straight at her, "I want some more."
Padma broke into a wide smile and then started laughing. She laughed so hard, even though she was the only one making a noise in the hall. George winked at her, rolled up his certificate and walked offstage. Even by the time he'd gone, Padma was still in hysterics. She knew, at that moment, that she would meet him again. He was still the only one who could make her laugh, and she never wanted to laugh without him.
"I love you George Weasley," she muttered under her breath. Was she stupid in letting him go? Should she rush out of the hall and find him? No. It was not time. Their time would come again. He would be there when she least expected it, acting as though he had never left.
And she'd wait for him. And she knew he'd wait for her. But she wasn't going to wait around for that time to come. She had a life to lead. She got to her feet and practically ran out of the hall towards the summer.