[Disclaimer: What JK created, I don't own.]
Author's Note
Yes, you have seen most of this before – I'm sort of playing around with some stuff at the moment, but I wanted to get rid of pretty much everything after chapter six. I didn't like much of it. So here we go.
On A Crooked Path
Chapter Seven: And So The Plot Thickens
By Adele Elisabeth
"Going home so soon?" Jean raised an eyebrow. "Normally you stay all summer."
"Yes, well." William sighed. "A cousin of mine is getting married soon, and we have to go."
"Surely that won't take all the holiday." His friend – his best friend – protested.
"'Course not, but Mother doesn't want to leave for the wedding and then come back here for what's left of the holidays."
"You better write this time. You seem to have this habit of forgetting all about your friends when they're not right in your face."
"Hey! Aryssa stole my owl! It wasn't my fault!" William protested, but trailed off at Jean's irrepressible grin. "You live to bait me."
"So what if I do? You make it so easy."
"I'll see you next summer," William laughed, turning away.
He never did.
That had been so long ago, he'd thought he'd forgotten it. Evidently not.
Jean Everly and William Davis had been best of friends. They'd met when they were eleven – William had expressed a wish to learn French, so his mother bought a house in France and they went every summer.
From that first meeting, all those many years ago now, they became best friends. Meeting up every summer for…seven years? He wasn't sure. Seven, perhaps.
But then that night…and William didn't go back to France. William didn't ever leave Hogwarts.
It had been an accident, apparently, a tragic accident.
The memories were aged, but not so much he couldn't remember…no, William wasn't that far gone. Perhaps just a little gone. He was still here, though, wasn't he?
Arrgh. Sometimes he confused himself.
What he had to wonder at was why he was even thinking of any of this now. It was so long ago. It didn't matter. It really didn't. Jean was probably—
Okay, Jean was dead too now, and Jean's daughter wasn't aware that William ever knew him, but still.
And everybody else he'd known…living their lives in happy obliviousness. Didn't matter to them that William was a ghost, and a ghost with problems at that. They probably didn't even remember him.
Except maybe—
No. Not going there. Not on his afterlife was he bringing up those memories, even in the privacy of his own head, with nobody else around. There were somethings you could live (ummm…) without. That was one of them.
~*~
Somewhere in England, the subject of William's repression was obliviously buying flowers. One white rose, one red rose, and, on a whim, a bright purple one, a high-lighter green one, and a soft, blushing pink one. And, lastly – but certainly not least. Ly – one that shimmered every colour of the rainbow.
It was good to be a wizard, Hugh Paquette mused as he strolled out of the florist's, and it was even better to be Hugh.
A few hours later, he was making his yearly visit to the Davis home, with it's garden that doubled as family cemetery and had for many, many years. Winding his way through the older headstones to a newer one – one of the few kept clean and tidy – he put his roses down on the white marble.
William Robert Davis
1953-1970,
unknown and forgotten to some he may be,
but the earth that enshrouds him is sacred to me*
Hugh could still remember the startled cry, followed by the sickening crack…Jason's eyes widening with horror as he realised what he had inadvertently done…
That wasn't how it was supposed to be. It wasn't. But…it's what had happened.
So Hugh came here every year – at different times, often, but every year all the same – and left his flowers. At first he'd spoken…as if Will could hear him. He'd apologised so many times it didn't even sound like a real word to him anymore. Just a jumble of sounds, thrown together any old how and handed over to a person who couldn't hear him, couldn't forgive.
Not that Hugh thought Will should forgive him, in any case…
But still. It would be nice to have the option.
In other words, it'd be nice if Will wasn't dead. Clearly.
However, that wasn't the case. That ship had sailed. Crashed.
That was a really crappy metaphor, he decided.
*This is taken from an actual headstone, with the she and her switched to he and him. Just so you know. I thought it was sweet.
~*~
Helena watched her ghostly companion. In the short time that they'd known each other, it had become pretty easy to read William. But today was different. Today he was completely…unknown. Which was odd, and she was fairly sure she didn't like it. At all. Because William was her constant. In Hogwarts, he'd become who and what she relied on. While the rest of her life had shifted and changed and dragged her along with it, this new part had just…been there. A part of her life like he'd always been there, even though she knew he hadn't.
It was slightly odd. But it was the way things were and she wouldn't like it much if things changed. In fact, she wouldn't like it at all.
She didn't like it now that something was wrong and she didn't know what.
Something was going on…something was brewing…that much she knew for sure. Not only that, but a war had begun. Her father – one of it's casualties.
So why was she so worried about a man who was already dead? Who she'd known for a comparatively short time?
Because it was easier, that's why. And because he worried about her, though he'd known her for such a short time. He considered her family, for reasons that he hadn't chosen to share.
Helena sighed.
This uncertainty was not enjoyable. The fact those Gryffindors kept pestering her, trailing along behind her with their suspicious looks and curious eyes and questions, always their questions…not to mention that Slytherin girl, Morag Snape.
Couldn't they see she had enough to deal with without their interfering selves muddying the waters?
~*~
"Cassandra." The name was spoken tersely, and as if saying it was physically unpleasant.
"Hello, Jean. What, no hugs, no kisses? Don't you love me anymore?" Cassandra mocked her ex-husband, sitting down on the edge of his desk.
"What do you want?" Jean chose to ignore her malicious, mocking banter.
Helena watched, trapped in a corner of the study. She wanted to warn her father, wanted to scream and rage at this terrible, terrible woman, but she found she could not speak, and she could not move. All she could do, was watch.
"What do I want? Simple, really. Helena."
Helena gasped, but neither her mother nor her father could hear her, no more than they could see her.
"You can't have her." Jean stood up, but Cassandra didn't move.
"If you don't give her to me nicely, I'll get you out of my way and take her anyway."
"She'll never--"
"She'll never what, Jean? All her little life, she's been brought up to believe Mummy's dead, and that she's an only child. I wonder how she'd feel if she found out you'd been lying to her all her life."
"Don't be stupid, Cassandra. She's not going to betray everything she stands for because I didn't tell her that her mother is pure evil."
Helena wanted to nod along with her father. In his place, she'd have done the same thing.
"Pure evil? Darling, you flatter me."
"Get out of my house." Jean bit out harshly.
"I rather like it, here, Jean. After all, it was my house, too, once upon a time."
"A long time ago. You are no longer welcome here."
"You loved me, Jean Everly. True, you didn't know that I was a Death Eater, but you loved me. I was different, I was 'eccentric', and I was your wife. Don't tell me that was all another of your lies?"
"You're the one with a penchant for lying, Cassandra."
"I do wish you'd call me Cassie again. I used to love the way you said my name."
"Is there a point to this?"
"Yes, Jean. It's time to say goodbye. Properly." She slipped off of the edge of the table, and walked around to stand in front of Jean. Very slowly, almost solemnly, she reached up on her tiptoe and kissed him. He was ramrod straight and unmoving, at least to begin with. Helena watched in silent horror as her father's defenses crumbled and he finally relaxed into this murderess's embrace.
He hadn't a second to react or a chance to notice the poisoned dagger that went down his side.
She turned him around, and pushed him back onto the desk, standing above him, smirking maliciously down at him.
"Poison, my love. It won't kill you, but it will incapacitate you. You'll be able to feel, but you won't be able to move yourself, or cry out." She said all this, very cheerfully, as she unbuttoned his shirt. "Takes most of the fun out of torture -- no screaming -- but I can make sacrifices. Don't want anybody coming along to investigate, now, do I?"
Jean's eyes roamed the room, looking anywhere but at Cassandra. He looked...a mixture of things. Surprise was not one of them. He was resigned to his fate, yes, but the idea of Cassandra getting her hands on Helena was more than he could bear.
Then his eyes met the horrified, terrified eyes of his daughter.
Shock went through both of them. Helena didn't understand how he could see her, he didn't understand how she could possibly be there. He could tell she couldn't move herself, and when she tried to speak to him, no sound came out. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Cassandra was confused. Why was Jean staring into the corner? She decided to ignore it, and continued talking in that chatty, friendly tone, as she began to torture him. He'd be dead by morning, and she'd be long gone.
Jean's eyes never left Helena's.
When finally the hateful woman was gone, there was blood everywhere. He wasn't dead yet, but there was no hope for him. The Dark Mark was burned into his chest and...god, there was so much blood...
Helena rushed forward, finally able to move, and dragged him as gently as she could off of the desk, holding him close to her, him collapsed on the floor, not more for this world, and her clinging helplessly to him as she cried, and cried, and cried, sitting on the floor, getting covered in his blood and just crying.
"Papa," she whispered, as his eyes closed, and Jean Daniel Everly died in the arms of his distraught daughter.
Helena sat there for a long time, holding him, alternately crying hopelessly and trying to shake him awake.
When she heard the footsteps at the door -- her own footsteps, she realised with a start -- she looked up, and then...her vision swam, the world spun, and she was...
...collapsed in front of her bed, in Hogwarts.
"Just a dream, Everly, it was just a--"
Helena screamed when she saw that she was covered in blood.
~*~
Helena had more or less recovered when she was seated in Dumbledore's office. Her grandmother had been unable to come, so Adrian, her cousin, had been sent, and he stood protectively behind her, hands on her shoulders.
"Necromancy, Miss Everly, is very powerful magic." Dumbledore began, piercing blue eyes fixed on her. "What you have described, and the evidence we have seen for ourselves--" The blood, of course, "--shows that this was no ordinary dream. You have experienced a type of Necromancy-related astrally-projected time-travel. You saw the events as they happened, were actually there. You could not change them, but you were there."
"Sir, Papa saw me. And I was...I 'eld 'im..." Helena faltered, and Adrian looked even more grim. This wasn't fair, on anyone.
"Yes, he did. I am not an expert on Necromancer, my dear, so I cannot tell you why or how, but rest assured we will find out what has happened. I suppose this is little comfort, but at least your father did not die alone." Dumbledore's eyes softened, and he reached over to pat her hand gently. "We'll get to the bottom of all this, Helena, I promise."
Helena could do nothing but nod.
~*~
Helena's absence at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast had been noted by just about everyone.
Hermione shot a questioning look over at Morag, who responded with her patented I'll Tell You All I Know Later. Since it was a Saturday, later wouldn't be too far away.
"Where is she?" Hermione asked, without any preamble. Morag didn't mind, she'd probably do the same in Hermione's place.
Draco was silent, standing next to Morag. He'd already heard the story.
"I found her in our room, right, covered in blood, sobbing, crumpled in a heap in the corner. She didn't even acknowledge my presence or anything, just...it was scary. So I went and got Daddy, and he took her to Madam Pomfrey, who went and got Dumbledore, and then a couple of hours later I'm still sitting in the waiting room thingie in front of Dumbledore's office and this guy -- looks kind of like Helena, but not -- walks past me, goes straight on in. Haven't seen Helena since." Morag finished.
Harry, who had joined Hermione in coming to see Morag and Draco, looked shocked.
Deer in the headlights got nothin' on Hermione Granger.
~*~
Adrian sat on the floor in front of the fire in the private chambers Dumbledore had given him (with a spare room to put Helena in for the time being), Helena in his arms. He rested his cheek on her head, rocking her quietly, as sobs wracked her slender frame.
He just wished he could do something more. He hated Helena living over here in England -- he couldn't keep an eye on her the way he could when she was back home in France. He'd promised Uncle Jean he'd take care of his cousin, but some job he'd made of that.
~*~
Wizarding World In Chaos
Rita Skeeter Reporting
Last week, the wizarding world stood by in horror as Voldemort's first major attack was launched. The attack was on a small village called Little Hangleton, which is now rumored to be the birthplace and hometown of Voldemort's father.
The entire village was levelled, and there are no survivors. Bodies line the streets, and most of the buildings have been burned to the ground or otherwise destroyed. The entire area reeks of death and destruction. There are no witnesses.
The Minister of Magic, one Cornelius Fudge, has yet to issue any statements, and has so far refused to speak to the Daily Prophet. It is our humble opinion that the Minister is ineffectual at best, and a threat in his incompetence at worst. In the crisis we now face, who can we turn to, if not the Ministry? Those I have spoken to answer with one name. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Dumbledore'll see us through this crisis better than that incompent ass, Fudge," Wensleydale Grint, 45, declared vehemently. "I'd trust that man with my life -- hell, I trust him with the lives of my daughters, sending them to Hogwarts. I wouldn't trust Fudge with half a brick."
"That's right," Emma Grint, 43, agreed with her husband. "Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid for a good reason! If anyone should be in charge in these troubled times, it's him."
Virginia Graham echoed their statements. "If I had to choose between Fudge and Dumbledore? No choice at all."
So there you have it. When our lives are endangered so, can we afford a Minister such as Cornelius Fudge? What is the Ministry doing to keep us safe? From what this reporter can see, they are just scrambling and falling over each other.
Who will be the next Little Hangleton?
Who, indeed.
Morganna scowled at the 'Prophet on the table as she tried to soothe Julian, who had decided (at bloody one in the morning) that he was going to cry, endlessly, for no reason at all. She and Severus had flipped a coin to see who came at the shrieking infant's call.
Morganna was now convinced that damn coin was rigged, and the next time, she was finding one.
The fact that Skeeter's article dominated the front page wasn't helping her mood. What made it worse was that for once, that damned woman was right.
Finally. Julian was quiet again, and after a few hesitant moments, Morganna was certain he was asleep. With a sigh, she lay him back in his bassinet and went gratefully back to bed. Full-time mothering was hard, and she'd thought she'd be out of practice with babies after having 16 years between children, but thankfully, she discovered it was much like flying a broom. You just don't forget how.
"...'Ganna?"
What? Oh yes, that great sleepy lump, her husband.
"Julian's asleep now." She assured him, cuddling in close. "Go back to sleep, dear. You have a lesson in the morning."
He was already asleep. Morganna sighed again, and drifted off herself.
~*~
A mouthful of red wine was spat across the room.
"I'm sorry, I thought you said Jean was dead." Lacrimosa stood up, barely noticing the house elves that rushed to clean up her mess.
"That is what I said," Cassandra confirmed, with a faint smile. "Problem, dear girl?"
"No…no problem."
Lacrimosa's eyes burned into her former mentor's back as the darker haired woman left.
~*~
Author's Note
Ahh…finally. Not much changed except for things've been shifted around and I added that final scene. But finally things are going to start going to plan…