Author's Notes: Evil cliffhangers and threats about cliffhangers aside, I really hope you guys are enjoying where this fic is going. We're into the action now, ladies and gents. Not much more else to say, except enjoy! Here's to hoping I can get it done before June 21st.
(Odds: 1000000000000000000000000:1) v_v
***
It was well past midnight when Ron and Hermione finally returned to Hogwarts, and, to Ron's surprise, when they entered the dark and empty castle, Albus Dumbledore was waiting for them. He stood by a flickering torch hanging on the wall, a piece of very smooth, white paper clutched in his wrinkled hands. The torch cast his shadow, enormous and rather menacing, on the wall. Yet the great shadow was bent with age, just like its owner.
"Professor Weasley," said Dumbledore gravely, nodding his head ever so slightly in greeting. "May I have a word?"
"I'm going to bed," Hermione announced flatly.
"Okay, goodnight," replied Ron absently, walking towards Dumbledore with concern etched all over his face. He heard Hermione turn around with a soft swish of her periwinkle robes, and listened to the sound of her heels clicking on the marble tile of the Entrance Hall as she walked away. Once the footsteps had faded, Ron quickly demanded, "What is it?"
"I have received a letter from the Muggle Prime Minister," Dumbledore said solemnly, "informing me that he has ordered all public schools throughout Britain to be closed due to the current epidemic."
Ron stared. "Is that really necessary?" he asked incredulously.
"Of course not; the effects of the Scroll of Malady cannot be transferred from one sick Muggle to another. The sickness is not contagious, in the literal sense. But the Prime Minister does not know that."
"Ah."
"This letter," Dumbledore continued, glancing down at the Muggle-made paper, "also advises me to have Hogwarts closed for the remainder of the year, for our own students' safety."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "But…but that's ridiculous! You're not actually going to, are you?"
Dumbledore sighed, but said firmly, "Ron, this school has only closed once before, and that was with the most terrible Dark wizard of our time in its midst. No, I will not close Hogwarts. The Prime Minister fails to realize the…selectivity of the epidemic which he currently has on his hands."
"So the school stays open," Ron said in relief.
"But the Muggle students must be sent home."
"What?" Ron burst out. "But you just said yourself, it's not contagious! There's no reason to send them all home! It's not as if they'll be spreading it to other students! You just said that the Prime Minister doesn't even have a clue what's really going on – "
"But his advice is wise, Ron," Dumbledore interrupted. "If you were a Muggle parent, would you not be suspicious if all Muggle public schools were closed down, and your son or daughter was not sent home from Hogwarts? More importantly, if your child was to become sick for an extended period of time, would you not want them at home, instead of in the care of a stranger?"
Ron was silent for a moment. He had never thought of this in terms of parents and children…mostly he had been driven by the thought of Hermione, always Hermione. He tried to bring himself back to the present conversation with Dumbledore.
"But there's no real threat – " he tried.
"This is true," Dumbledore allowed, "as long as the other scrolls remain safely tucked away here. But the Muggle students must be sent home nonetheless. As for Hogwarts actually closing…I would not allow it, but the School Governors are not quite as enlightened as you and I. They do not know about the scrolls; they believe, as the Prime Minister does, that this is merely a Muggle illness, and I'm afraid that they have more power than I in matters such as these. They are lenient for now, but if in the near future they wish for the school to be closed…I may have to comply."
"You can't let them, Headmaster," Ron begged, "They'd close the school for nothing! Hermione and Diana and Harry and I…we're so close." Without pausing for breath, Ron let it all pour out in a flood of words. "We suspect that the Dark Hand is being lead by Dameon Stark and Draco Malfoy, whose grandfathers were involved during the First Great War…and Hermione thinks she's found a way to reverse or destroy the Scroll of Malady and its effects, just don't send the students home yet, don't cause panic here yet…" Ron trailed off, realizing that he'd practically just confessed everything to Dumbledore. He silently cursed. Perhaps he'd take a leaf out of Dobby's book and start smashing his head against things whenever he let something slip. Maybe it would help silence his big mouth.
Dumbledore, however, did not seem at all surprised. Calmly, he only said, "Yes, Alastor and I are aware of your research."
Ron blinked stupidly. "You are?"
There was a subtle, mischievous edge to Dumbledore's next words. "Contrary to popular belief, Alastor and I do notice when several files and books disappear from our personal libraries."
Ron inwardly groaned and mentally slapped himself. He'd physically slap Harry later. Leave it to Harry to obtrusively take things from Moody's office. As if Mad-Eye wouldn't notice.
"But that is beside the point," Dumbledore said dismissively, rolling up the strange white letter from the Prime Minister. "How exactly did you arrive at the conclusion that Mr. Stark and Mr. Malfoy are leading the Dark Hand? And you say that Hermione has made some sort of discovery?"
"Well, not really…just a theory," Ron explained, feeling rather foolish. Dumbledore listened patiently as Ron recounted everything he'd already told Harry and Diana earlier that evening. When he finished, Dumbledore stood very still and very silent for a moment, looking contemplative.
"I do not doubt that, perhaps, Hermione is on the right track," he said slowly, "although I will have to look into her theory further. As for young Rowan's predictions…I feel that, although she may not have yet realized the full extent of her gifts, she may very well be the most talented Seer Hogwarts has seen in many a year. I myself have taken a particular interest in her gifts. Several tests which I had her take in order for her to do her Apprenticeship seemed to reveal a talent for not only Seeing into the future, but also into the past and even objectively at the present; a very rare talent indeed. I do not doubt her visions…and yet, as Diana pointed out, they won't always hold up in a court of law."
The old man paused momentarily, a wrinkled hand rising to stroke his snow-white beard. "And yet something bothers me…Rowan's inability to See anything pertaining directly to the scrolls; her frustration with predicting the future lately, despite the relative ease with which she's done it before. I find it very odd."
Dumbledore lapsed into silence, sinking into his own thoughts. After a few moments, Ron was convinced that the aged Headmaster had forgotten he was there, and coughed loudly. Dumbledore's blue eyes, crinkled and ancient, raised to meet Ron's. "I suggest you get some sleep, Professor," he advised. "Sadly, I lack the gifts that our young friend Miss Richardson has, but I still fancy myself an honourary Seer, if you will. And I have a feeling in these old bones that tomorrow shall be a very eventful day."
These words echoing in his head, Ron gave a little nod of his head to Dumbledore, and headed up the stairs towards his bedroom. He had, however, no intention of sleeping.
***
A blast of icy air slapped Ron in the face as he opened his bedroom window. It was a refreshing change from the rest of the castle, which for some reason felt stuffy and hot tonight, the air heavy and thick with silence as the inhabitants of the school slept, blissfully unaware that anything was amiss, or that some of them could be sent home at any time.
Ron leaned his arm against the window frame, over his head, closing his eyes against the cold air as it rushed into the room. His head was much clearer now, and he could think. Ron carefully separated the many thoughts swirling around in his mind, giving each a moment of pensiveness.
Harry. He considered sending a letter to Harry to demand what had happened after they had left the banquet, and then decided against it. If Harry was in the midst of a conference with Moody, the last thing he needed was an owl flying into the room. Especially a Moody who was aware that Harry had been carrying on behind his back.
Hogwarts closing. The school could not close. It would only serve to create suspicion and panic…and they were so close to getting the Dark Hand, to destroying the Scroll of Malady. If they closed Hogwarts, it would be for nothing.
The students. Wasn't Hogwarts the best place for them, despite what the Prime Minister had suggested? Eccentric or not, at least Madam Pomfrey was a trained nurse. In her care, perhaps they would show some improvement…Ron shook his head and quickly dismissed that hope. All of the sick Muggle children who had gone home for Christmas holidays had not come back, had not wanted to come back. And his classes - Ron knew he had been neglecting the Defense Against the Dark Arts students. He'd given them one too many 'pointless busy work' assignments lately. He silently scolded himself; what was the purpose of keeping the school open if he wasn't teaching the students anything?
Hermione. Ron tried to replay the past few weeks in his mind; he hadn't exactly been paying as much attention to her lately, caught up in his fervent research. Why was he doing all of this, if not mainly for Hermione? Of course, he wanted to help the victims of the scrolls…but it was the thought of Hermione which drove him and made him so passionate about it.
Ron backed away from the window and stretched, staring at the sky. The full moon was bright and provided enough light in the bedroom without having to light the torches. The stars seemed to leap out at him, as they always did on clear, cold nights such as these. He remembered, vaguely, Hermione telling him once that some stars in the night sky no longer existed. They had exploded, perhaps hundreds of years ago, but their light took so long to reach Earth that they could still see them. Ron continued staring at the sky, at stars perhaps long dead, looking into the past. Like Rowan. And like Rowan, he was unable to see into the future, because the light of the stars took so long to reach Earth…
Surprised at himself, Ron shook his head to clear it before he could become philosophical or something. Perhaps he would go visit Hermione, check up on her and all. She had been acting a tad…odd at the banquet, now that he thought of it. And her face…it had been as pale as a ghost's outside.
Ron suddenly felt a chill of something dark and dreadful wash over him. Her face had been deathly pale, in fact. And she had been shivering. The realization hit Ron like a ton of bricks.
If Hermione had become sick, and he hadn't even noticed, he would never forgive himself.
That was when a movement outside his window, on the grounds, caught his eye. Ron leaned forward until his head was sticking out of the window, into the cold night. Furrowing his eyebrows, Ron squinted to be able to see.
His window faced the front of the castle; the lake, the rolling grounds, and the gamekeeper's house were in the distance, as well as the long path leading to the enormous Hogwarts gates. The flash of movement Ron had caught had been on that path. He strained his eyes, watching it. There was indeed something there. And that something seemed to be a person; a tiny figure in light blue, nearly swallowed up by the blackness of the night.
The full moon suddenly burst out from behind a cloud and the moonlight illuminated the tiny figure. It was most definitely female, and she was carrying something. Ron frowned; whatever she was carrying had to be very heavy, because the woman was walking rather strangely, as if every step was a struggle. Every now and then she would stop, as if fighting with herself, and then drag herself on. Ron backed away from the window, preparing to go down and find out what exactly was happening. He briefly glanced back at the woman, whose brown hair got caught up in the wind and swirled around her shoulders.
Ron's heart stopped beating. It was Hermione.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his mind made all the connections in rapid-fire succession: There was a full moon. The chamber sheltering the scrolls only appeared on the full moon. They'd left Hermione alone briefly. And right after that she had been acting strangely at the banquet. She'd left him as soon as they'd returned. Hermione was now struggling with herself outside, and she was obviously not in control.
Ron had been trained to recognize the Imperius curse, and Hermione was displaying all the signs. In that brief second where time seemed to slow, Ron felt white-hot fury boiling within him.
They were using Hermione as their puppet.
Time returned to normal speed, and Ron snapped out of it, his heart resuming its beating at triple it's previous pace. He didn't know where Hermione was going or what exactly she was doing, but he had to act fast, or else both Hermione and the Scrolls of Scuro could be in serious danger. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart thudding painfully against his rib cage, Ron looked wildly around his room for something, anything. His gaze landed on his Firebolt TX.
Ron's hand shot out, and the broom flew across the room to him, as if obeying his very thoughts. The Firebolt did not slow down; instead Ron recklessly hopped onto the broom as it approached him, firmly grasping the slick wood. The broom shot out of his window like a rocket, and Ron quickly yanked the handle down.
He vertically plunged downwards, nearly scraping the castle wall as he did so, the ground rising to meet him faster and faster. Had it been any other situation, Ron would have been astonished at the speed and grace of the broom; but right now, his only thought was to get to Hermione. At the last second, just as the very tip of the broom scraped the damp grass, Ron pulled upwards and shot off like a rocket towards Hermione, the cold air whistling in his ears and causing his hair to blow wildly into his eyes.
Ron urged the broom on desperately as the pale blue figure slowly drew closer to him. He was zooming down the path at a speed unimaginable to him, and Hermione was moving very slowly; but the path stretched across the great expanse of the lawns, and she was still only a speck on the dirt path.
Faster, Ron begged mentally, faster…
He didn't know what he planned to do. He only knew that he had to get to Hermione and the scrolls, and snap her out of it. As he got even closer, he could see that she was trying valiantly to fight it, but in vain; few people could break out of Imperius, Harry and Moody being the only people Ron had met who could do it. Ron knew that if he was placed under it himself, he would be completely lost. Ron's grip tightened on the broom.
Faster…
Hermione was at the gates. They slowly opened to admit her to the outside world, to the place that was not protected by Hogwarts' shielding magic. As Ron got even closer, he saw Hermione bend down. Her hands, which were clutching a fairly large, golden box, hovered over something on the road. Ron was almost there…he could see the muscles in Hermione's neck muscles twitch as she attempted to weakly fight back, to regain control of herself.
Ron watched in panic as her fingers began to relax, the ornate box slipping from her grip. He was only feet away. Ron abandoned all regard for his personal safety and leaped off the broom, hurling himself forward towards Hermione just as the box slipped from her grasp.
Ron collided with her, grunting as he strained to turn himself around in midair so that he would fall on the road and Hermione would fall on top of him. Ron winced as his back scraped on the gravel of the road and as the back of his neck was ripped open by countless rough, gravel pebbles. Hermione fell on top of him, very stiff and rigid. Ron's heart turned to stone for a split second, but then Hermione rolled off of him and started breathing rapidly, her eyes wide and bloodshot.
Wincing in pain, Ron tried to sit up on the road as Hermione shakily moved towards him. Ron fiercely drew her to him, holding her tightly, pressing her pale, cold cheek against his own. Hermione choked out a sob and wrapped her arms around Ron's neck as he rocked her back and forth, holding her in his arms. Ron breathed deeply in relief; she was safe, and she was herself. The force of their collision must have knocked her out of it. Ron closed his eyes and buried his face in her tangled hair, weak with relief.
It was only then that he remembered the ornate box, and what its contents must have been. The back of Ron's neck stung, and he felt warm blood dripping down his back, but he managed to scramble upwards, gently pulling Hermione up with him. Ron's eyes frantically searched the road for whatever Hermione had dropped the Scrolls of Scuro into, but the golden box holding them was gone.
"Log…it was a h-hollow…log," Hermione choked out. "P-Portkey…they're g-gone…I'm…I'm so s-sorry, Ron…"
"No…" Ron whispered, frozen in fear.
"It was m-my dream," Hermione sobbed, her eyes wild and panicked. "It was my d-dream…they were here, Ron, they were in Hogwarts…I can't r-remember what happened. We were at…at the banquet, and then I was h-here…I couldn't s-stop myself and then I was going into a chamber I-I'd never seen before and he was t-telling me to give them to him…I couldn't stop…I couldn't stop…" she dissolved into tears, her body shaking with.
Ron felt his insides turn to ice, and his breath catch in his throat. He couldn't move for a moment, and then, in a trance, he slowly reached for Hermione and held her to him. He stared into space, his eyes round with fear. He was bloody, exhausted, and weak. But even his exhaustion didn't prevent him from slipping into a state of frenzied panic. The scrolls were gone. All five of them could have been in Dameon Stark and Draco Malfoy's hands right then. Ron had no idea what was required to do to use them…but if the Dark Hand had all five, the Muggles were done for. The stakes were suddenly so much higher. This was no longer an illness they were battling – there was the possibility of death, destruction, chaos…
There was the possibility of an ancient magic wiping out all of Muggle civilization.
Ron couldn't move, act, or think any longer. Numb with fear, or possibly pain, or both, his grip only tightened on a sobbing Hermione. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice was urging him to do something; time had just become critical, he knew. But Ron could only stand there, holding Hermione, wishing Harry was there. Harry would know what to do. Ron shut his eyes against the cold wind, his wrist burning painfully, probably jaggedly torn open by the same gravel he'd scraped his back on. He needed his partner. He needed Harry.
A soft pop behind them caused Ron's eyes to fly open and Hermione to abruptly stop sobbing, clutching Ron fearfully. Ron managed to turn around, only to see a black-cloaked figure remove his hood and stare at them, and then slowly survey the scene before him in perplexed bewilderment.
"Harry?" Ron croaked. It was a question, but Ron was more relieved than puzzled to see his best friend there.
"You called me," Harry replied in confusion, lifting his right wrist, where the mark of the Auror was burning brightly.
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I'm so the Queen of Evil Cliffies. But I feel horrible, I really do. Yet I warned you. The next few chapters – all evil cliffies. The shame. v_v
But, back due to popular demand…A REVIEW SONG!!! That's right everyone, the review song is back and better than ever. I hope you've all seen Moulin Rouge…
Your Song/"Your Fic"
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