~ All There Ever Was ~
Author: Bachy A
E-Mail: screenwriter7@msn.com
Website: www.remnant-archive.0catch.com
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...neither do I own J.K. Rowling. I don't own Warner Brothers – basically, I own nothing even closely related to Harry Potter. This story is meant to be pure fiction created by me using the characters of this series.
SPOILERS: None! Yay!
WARNINGS: Some really dramatic stuff. It might scare some people, it might offend others, and I apologize, but hey, drama's what we're all about, right?!?
UPDATES: I've realized that the last two chapters or so are just dancing around...so I've decided that we need to move forward.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 6: Ascension
A quiet, gray morning descended on the Muggle area known as Lower Westoria. All around, families were grudgingly getting out of bed, preparing as best they could for the day that lay ahead.
At number 12, East Tillet Road, John Dalinns sat down at his breakfast table and opened the daily post. Above him, he heard the movements of his wife, no doubt trying to get their son to take a bath.
At first, nothing of interest leapt out of the pages at John. Bits and pieces of meaningless information drifted to his eyes, but without any real recognition.
It was when he had a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth, with some jargon about the queen's latest fashion foray into London crossing his brain, that he felt it.
At first, he thought it was an earthquake. It took him only a moment to realize that this tiny suburb laid nowhere near a fault line.
He rose to his feet, slowly, his heart beating just a little faster. The shaking beneath his feet was growing...
...and suddenly, ever so suddenly, the sky had gone from a pasty gray to a dark shade of burgundy.
Terror lining his eyes, John Dalinns stepped towards the window that overlooked East Tillet Road. He felt glued to the spot as he watched what was unfolding outside.
In his heart, he knew that he should do something...Run upstairs, grab his wife and son, run as fast as they could and not look back...but in that moment, his body failed him.
A blinding white flash overtook everything, and in that instant, with what little consciousness he had left, he wondered who was screaming...
...and then, nothing...
~
A small, yet persistent beeping was what woke Hermione Granger from her troubled sleep. At first, she had been convinced that it had been part of her dream, but when she rolled over, she realized that the sound was emanating from the tiny, Muggle alarm clock that she kept by her bed.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear them, and looked more closely at the clock. When finally she saw it clearly, she gasped.
She was late. For the first time in her professional career as Mistress of Magic, she was late.
She leaped out of her bed and rushed for the restroom. Unbelievable, she thought, simply unbelievable.
As she started to brusquely comb her hair, she tried to recall what exactly, if anything at all, could make her oversleep like that.
And then...she remembered. A small clatter rang as her hairbrush hit the floor.
Harry...Harry Potter...
That name sounded so foreign to her now, as though she were hearing it for the first time. As though she had not heard it once during the past decade...
She shook herself. This was no time to be reliving painful dreams. There was work to be done.
~
Five minutes later, Hermione was dressed, having done her best to look presentable. She trotted down the stairs of her flat and was grabbing her attaché case when she stopped.
Ron's head was floating in her fireplace. Green flame danced out from behind the dismembered cranium.
"Ron, what are you...?" she began, confused. It was quite unorthodox to use the Floo Network to connect to the Mistress' private residence.
A terse nod cut her off.
"Hermione," he said, sternly but without any recognition of anger at her being late, "you need to get over here right away. We've got a situation."
And before she could inquire further, Ron's head disappeared with a small pop.
Confused as to why he couldn't tell her what was wrong, she grabbed her traveling cloak from the coat rack. Swiftly putting it on, she apparated from her home.
~
The instant that she appeared in her office, Hermione could tell something was gravely wrong. Shouting rang through the halls; sounds of pandemonium were rampant everywhere.
Quickly putting her things away, Hermione stepped into the hallway. An enormous group of people stood gathered, all craning to see something in front of them.
She strode forward, commanding silence from Ministry officials as she passed. She reached the front of the crowd, where Ron stood, talking with Ryan Johnson and Elena Robinson. Their conversation stopped as Hermione came to the front.
"What's going on?" she asked, her eyes never leaving Ron's.
Ron glanced down, as if the words he needed were too far away for use.
"We had something happen in a Muggle residential area early this morning..."
Robinson stepped forward, holding a very large piece of parchment. On it was imprinted a map.
"This represents a visual key of the lower end of the Westoria district in Manchester, Mistress. It is a very large Muggle neighborhood, housing nearly 10,000 inhabitants..."
"I am familiar with Westoria, Elena. Let's move onto what exactly the problem is," said Hermione, calmly.
Robinson nodded. "Yes ma'am."
She gestured for Johnson to step forward. While Robinson held the map, he tapped a corner with his wand.
Instantly, a large chunk of the map began to burn away. After a few moments, during which the remaining pieces of charred parchment fell to the floor (and disappeared), Johnson used his wand to point at this now non-existent area.
"At approximately 7:02 AM this morning, a large flash was seen in the sky over this section of Westoria. Exactly six seconds later, it was gone."
Hermione's eyes opened a little wider.
"What do you mean, gone, Ryan?" she asked.
"Gone, Mistress. Decimated. Left in ruins..."
"We sent out a team of Aurors, disguised of course, to ascertain the damage," said Robinson. "The reported back just a few minutes ago: the damage is total."
Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand..."
"This has evidence of wizardry behind it," said Ron, now stepping forward and facing the map. "The flash, the controlled radius of damage, the fact that no one from this area of Westoria survived while every other bit of it remained untouched...not to mention the bodies..."
"What do you mean...?"
Ron reached inside his robes and pulled out a photograph. Hermione took it and glanced, seeing a team of disguised Healers bustle about the body in the center of the picture.
"The Healers reported that there is no physical damage to the victims, but they are quite dead."
"Like Avada Kedavra..." said Hermione, frowning.
"It has the same effects and end result as Avada Kedavra, but whatever this is, it has the ability to hit a large range of people within a rather confined space."
"And...well...that isn't the worst part, ma'am," said Robinson. He reached into his own robes and pulled out another photo. He handed it to Hermione.
She watched as a Healer rolled on of the bodies over, and gasped as she saw what had been seared into the man's flesh.
A skull intertwined with a snake...
...The Dark Mark...
"Voldemort," she whispered. She ignored the tiny shudders that ran through the officials.
"It doesn't make sense, Mistress. Voldemort has never been one to openly attack targets like this..."
Hermione turned away from the group and looked out of one of the many enchanted windows. For a moment, her eyes seemed to lose their focus as the weight of what had happened settled on her.
A tremendous section of Muggle territory, obliterated...and the bodies...bodies with the Dark Mark seared into their once living flesh.
Elena was right – it wasn't Voldemort's style to attack in the open, in such a fashion that would instantly bring attention from everyone in the wizarding community (not to mention a large group of non-magical people). Subtlety was his suite.
That left only one option: someone was acting, someone either in the employ of Voldemort...or someone acting on their own.
She had to forcibly remove herself from her thoughts, back into the present. She turned to her advisors, feeling their terrified stares sinking into her.
"This is what needs to be done," she began. "Damage control is our first priority. We need to wipe the memories of all Muggles within a 50 mile radius of the blast site."
She walked over to another map, this one hanging on a large wall. Blinking dots moved over it, denoting where each and every Auror was located.
"Second, I want containment," she said, pointing to dots on the map. "Bring Richards, Wilson, and Owens in from wherever they are and set up a perimeter around this area. We don't yet know why it was attacked – regardless, there must be something of some significance there. We have to ensure that nothing else gets through."
"Finally, bring everyone in. I want all MoM operatives worldwide to drop what they are doing and return here."
"M-Mistress, we can't do that," said Johnson, nervously, "Even if we..."
"I understand your concerns, Ryan," said a terse Hermione, "but it is what I want done. If Voldemort is the perpetrator behind this, we are going to need everyone."
Robinson stepped forward.
"Mistress, what if it isn't Voldemort...? If someone else is behind this..."
Hermione, nodding, said, "Yes Elena, I know. If someone else is behind this, we will be leaving a worldwide hunt of Voldemort to track him down."
She reached up to the map with her want and tapped. Slowly, more dots began to appear, each one bigger than the dots representing single Aurors.
"I want Center Cells activated – if we are going to bring our Auror fleet home, we need, just as you said Elena, protection. We can't completely abandon the track."
"Does everyone understand?"
Officials nodded, a certain terror still plaguing each of their faces. Slowly, one by one, they each departed Hermione's presence. After a moment, only Ron was left.
She gestured for him to follow her to the Mistress' office. Once inside, she closed and locked the door. Once she had slumped into her chair, Ron could see the look on her face clearly.
He understood – she couldn't have let herself slip; she couldn't have let her Ministry officials see her break down.
But now, behind closed doors, with only her best friend in attendance, she let herself go.
"Oh God, Ron...what am I supposed to do?? I don't...I d-don't know what to do..."
Seeing his friend on the verge of collapse, Ron rushed to Hermione's side.
"Hermione, listen to me: you did exactly what you needed to do out there. They saw you being the leader that you are – you handled the situation fine."
It didn't seem like a word of his reached her ears. Panic poured from every facet of her being.
"I j-just thought that th-this would never h-happen to me, I mean when I became Mistress of M-Magic, I knew that this s-sort of thing was a pos-possibility b-because, after a-all, V-Voldemort was out in the o-open and I k-knew that if I got this o-office, I'd ha-have to d-deal with him, and I..."
Ron quickly put his hands on her shoulders, trying to exude calmness over her.
"Hermione, please, calm down."
He held her like that, for a moment, until her trembling had, for the most part, subsided. She gave a soft sob, causing Ron to lift her head, forcing her to look at him.
"Hermione, please listen to me. You need to understand something: this isn't some N.E.W.T. that you left behind at Hogwarts..."
"No, this is the real world, Ron, and the real world has consequences for all of my acti..."
Quickly, Ron's hand covered her mouth.
"Let me finish – this isn't some test where the 'fate of the world' rests solely on you. You have people all around ready to help you. This isn't a burden you have to share alone."
She slowly brought her gaze back up to his – tears were streaming down her eyes, smudging her makeup.
"We're all here to help," said Ron, absolute conviction in his voice.
That was all Hermione could take. With another sob, she fell into Ron's chest. Holding her there, slowly rubbing her back, Ron prayed that strength would come to them all.
However...in that particular moment...another thought entered his mind. He didn't know what brought it on, or why his mind didn't automatically reject it, but...
...it was in that instant that he wished he were there...he had always been the one who knew what to do...
And, as the enormity of their current situation meshed with these thoughts, Ron Weasly felt himself begin to cry, too.
~
'I never thought I'd live to see this' was the first thought to enter Norman Cohen's mind. As part of the Magical Accident Reversal Squad assigned to the Lower Westoria disaster, Cohen found himself coming to the conclusion that, indeed, life had become much more complicated.Everything here came with the stench of Voldemort – there was no way, in Cohen's mind, that anyone else could have achieved such an atrocity.
"Hey Norm, want to give us a hand, here?"
Cohen's reverie ended. He stepped over to where Robert Mulson, his immediate superior, was standing alongside other members of the Squad.
Where they stood, the epicenter of the impact crater stood. It was here, they surmised, that they weapon had struck before spreading outward.
None of it added up – they knew that Voldemort was not the type to launch this kind of attack. It didn't make any sense...
His thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as he looked to his immediate left. There was...no...
"Sir! You'd better come see this!"
He heard the rush of feet on gravel behind him.
"What is it?" he heard Mulson ask.
Cohen pointed at his feet.
A ripped cloak, it's red shade turned brown, lay underneath the piles of rubble. It would have been easy to mistake it – it had much the same appearance as the surrounding debris.
Carefully, three of the Squad members cleared away the rock and pulled the cloak free. At the clear sight of it, each member of the Squad gasped.
There was a large hole in the very center, as though something had ripped through it with incredible force. Tatters of the cloak's middle flapped in the wind.
Holding the fabric in his hands, Cohen suddenly was afraid. He didn't know what this mystery meant, but he was sure that it meant danger...and, in days where they had all grown accustomed to danger, this seemed to reach further into him than any aspect of the war had yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I'm sorry about that ending – it sucks. I've been trying to break writer's block AGAIN, so I had to just pound something out. If something better occurs to me later, I'll change it.
Just FYI: instead of thanking reviewers at the end of each chapter, I've decided to have individual thank-you's in a chapter at the end. Coolio?