SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Title: An Inevitable Fate
Chapter Twenty Three: Dead or Alive?
Author: KissThis
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Rating: R - maybe later...if I feel like it.
Pairing: Making their way back into the same vicinity
Setting: 6th year in Hogwarts.
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Disclaimer: Maybe J.K. Rowling will give me Harry Potter for a present? I can always hope...
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A/N: I hope this chapter explains things a bit more for you guys -- just in case I don't get everything worded right: Kylee Rookwood was part of the trap Postvorta warned our heroes about in chapter seventeen. If you didn't notice, in the first sentence of her description, Kylee "scratched her itching wrist"...clue? The Dark Mark, maybe? I think so...
"WORMTAIL!" A grating voice barked.
A cowering and pitiful creature darted out of the shadows as his master bade him. "Yes, my Lord?" It sniveled.
"Have you found the girl yet?" Voldemort hissed. The flames in the hearth popped and crackled, reaching fiery tendrils out across soot covered flagstones.
The man -- Wormtail -- whimpered and flattened himself against the stone floor in submission. His grubby face was pressed in terror against the cold slate with eyes squeezed shut; for no man was given such a high honor as to look straight into the Dark Lord's face.
"Forgive me, your most loyal servant, my Lord. She seems to have completely disappeared -- none have been able to find her." He crooned.
"That's not the news I wanted to hear, Wormtail!" The heavily robed figure hissed angrily.
"Please, Master--"
The miserable wretch's pleas were cut off by a malice-lined word that sent the man's body into pain-filled spasms and convulsions.
"Your idiotic foul-ups are unacceptable, Wormtail. First you allow my prey to get word of the trap I so carefully laid. Then you allow her to disappear to plot my defeat alive and unhindered!?"
Voldemort rose from his dark and shadowed throne before the haunting fireplace and stalked eerily toward his writhing minion. "Ever since I brought you back into my service your actions have been far from satisfactory."
Even with a spell filling his every cell with pain, all Wormtail felt as Voldemort's haunting red eyes were turned on him was pure, tangible, unquenchable fear. Voldemort raised his wand again -- undoubtedly to finally end his servant's life -- when a knock on the door stayed his hand.
"Lord Voldemort!" A feminine voice spoke loudly from the other side. "Urgent news!"
------------------ 12:47 AM ------------------
"Seamus?"
The boy jumped at the sudden voice in the darkness. He scrambled to snuff the small orb of light floating within the hangings of his bed.
"Y-Yeah?"
The person in the bed next to him rolled over and looked at him through sleepy eyes. It was Ron. "What are you still doing up?"
Seamus muttered a spell in his thick Irish accent and all the parchments strewn across his bed lifted into the air and rolled themselves up. "I couldn't sleep." He conceded, stashing the papers safely beneath his bed.
A heavy sigh from Ron, "You too?"
"Ever since--" Seamus stopped abruptly; biting his tongue.
Ron's darkened face was visible even through the weak light of the moon streaming in through the skylight. All the windows were uncharacteristically darkened. Ron's eyes closed and he had to clear his throat before he opened them again and spoke.
"Who knew Hermione was our cure for a good night's sleep?" He jibbed weakly.
Seamus could only muster a lopsided sort of half-smile. He knew better than to continue down the path their current conversation was taking -- for both their sakes. Seamus hesitated a moment, then asked, "Do you mind if I keep a light on? There's something I wanted to finish tonight, and I don't think Sleep will have me yet."
Ron shifted under his bed sheets and the old wooden frame of his bed squeaked softly in protest. "Knock yourself out." he said, and rolled over.
Seamus leaned over his bed and grabbed a parchment off the top of the pile and dropped it onto his lap. Unrolling it as quietly as possible he stretched it out on a thin wooden board and summoned up a small light. For a time there was only the sound of Seamus incessant quill scratching against the parchment. Then it stopped.
"Ron," he whispered. "You still awake, mate?"
There was a long pause and then the large lump of blankets atop Ron's bed shifted. Squeak. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm awake."
Seamus laid down his quill. "Do you--" He hesitated. "Do you think Hermione is still alive? Harry too?" He added.
"I have to believe that they're both still alive." Ron answered truthfully.
"Why?"
"Because I haven't let myself think of what I'd do if I lost them."
Poor Ron. Seamus thought. Everyone knows he fancied Hermione -- except probably Hermione herself -- and Harry was like a brother to him. There isn't one good memory that doesn't have those three in it.
"What about you, Seamus?" Ron asked turning over to face him. "You think they're alive, don't you?"
Seamus sighed, "My heart tells me Hermione and Harry are alive; probably on their way to the castle right now. But...my mind keeps saying that Hermione wouldn't just disappear without telling anyone -- that she would have sent word."
"Well, Hermione and Harry aren't exactly inconspicuous right now. They're the bad guys' main targets. Hermione's smart -- she'll keep them out of Voldemort's sight, she'll keep them safe."
"They're alive?"
"They're alive." Ron said firmly.
The boys shared an understanding smile then Ron turned away and settled back into his blankets. Seamus, too, moved to go to bed; packing up his parchment and quill. He had just banished the orb of light when Ron hissed for him to be silent. Seamus froze halfway through lifting up his covers.
"What is it?" he whispered back.
"Do you feel that?
Seamus gave him a puzzled look. "Feel what?"
Ron ignored his question and pushed aside his covers. Jumping out of bed he walked over to the window and flung the curtains open. Curious, Seamus climbed out of bed as well and moved to look over Ron's shoulder.
"Oh God..."
A thick, charcoal black spiral of smoke was rising up from the horizon into the midnight blue sky. All the stars across the horizon were blocked by an impenetrable haze, turning the night sky into a haunting and empty tapestry.
"What was the target?"
"It looks like London -- or somewhere near it." Ron said quickly, "I need to talk to Dumbledore; find out what's going on."
------------------ 1:30 AM ------------------
Draco ran into Dumbledore's crowded office followed closely by Ron. Most of the Order that had been flooed in through the office fireplace were wearing various states of bedclothes, though the urgency of the situation dimmed any sense of modesty. Only a few looked up at their entrance, and those who did turned quickly back to what they had previously been doing. Dumbledore ushered them quickly into the room.
"You're both here. Good, good." he murmured.
"We met in the hallway," Draco hurried into the center of the room and accepted the Headmaster's offer of hot tea. He downed the scalding cup in one gulp and returned the china piece to the silver tray. "What do we know?"
Dumbledore's hawk-like blue eyes blinked sharply behind the thin wire frames and glass lenses of his spectacles. "It was the Ministry building."
"You're kidding?" Ron exclaimed in shock.
"I only wish I were, Mister Weasley. We're fortunate though; the blast was contained to a very small area."
"Blast?" Draco prodded. "A destruction spell?"
"That's just it..." Dumbledore admitted, scratching his beard. "We sent a patrol out to the area immediately after the explosion, but they've reported no unusual magical signatures. There's no traces of any destructive type spell."
"Well, what caused the explosion then?" Ron queried.
"Your father, Mr. Weasley, believes it was caused by a muggle device. He reports that such a blast is not unlike that produced by a weapon they call a 'bomb'."
"A bomb? So muggles are involved -- terrorists perhaps?" Draco suggested.
"A plausible theory," Dumbledore conceded. "But I doubt muggles were responsible for this incident."
"Why not, sir?" Draco prompted. "The muggles are waging a war against terrorism -- it's highly possible that the Ministry was caught in the crossfire."
"That's just it. This attack was too focused and deliberate to be considered some random attack on a London building." Dumbledore explained. "No...someone deliberately placed that bomb -- if indeed that was the weapon used, as Arthur surmises -- and that someone was a wizard."
Ron spoke up finally, "Were there any casualties?" He asked quietly.
"We're gathering that information now -- hopefully the attack was unsuccessful." Dumbledore smiled grimly.
"Sir?" Draco asked softly. "Wasn't Hermione headed for the Ministry of Magic building?"
Ron made a gagging sound behind him and was hunched over as if about to be sick. "Oh God!" he whispered.
"Yes, she was." Dumbledore replied.
Draco couldn't breathe. It felt as if a hand had reached straight through his skin and grabbed a hold of his throat only to slowly squeeze the breath from him. Was she dead? Lights danced across his eyes and the edges of his vision were turning black.
"She was scheduled to leave for Beauxbatons yesterday." Dumbledore continued.
"Then she's alright!" Ron exclaimed, "She wasn't there when the blast–"
"Shut up." Draco interrupted harshly. "Beauxbatons emptied two days ago, you idiot. She wouldn't have gone on to an empty school."
Ron was genuinely at a loss, "Then where would she have gone?"
"She wouldn't have gone anywhere."
"Then you understand the implications of the situation, Mister Malfoy." Dumbledore said gravely. Draco nodded. "Without a place to continue on to, it is highly likely that Miss Hermione stayed on at the Ministry while she formed another plan of action. It is the Order's belief that she was the target of the attack."
With each heavy word Draco felt as if a knife was stabbing into him. He wanted to escape from the pain, from the bitter reality, but found he was unable to tear himself away.
"We have our best people down there – we'll receive word the moment they find anything. As I said, hopefully the attack was unsuccessful. If you'll excuse me I must hold conference with Professor Snape."
"I'll take over from here, Albus." Lupin said walking up to the trio. The headmaster nodded his thanks and moved off to where Snape and two others were waiting.
"Hope..." Ron murmured. He seemed to still be thinking about their previous conversation. "Hope wouldn't let Hermione die, would She?"
Draco's head shot up – the Weasel actually had a point.
Lupin's lips pursed. "As you know, in Hope's current state She cannot exist within our world without a body to inhabit. During this time of darkness, people no longer believe in the light of Hope or the chance of their salvation. So, She grows weaker...until She can no longer maintain her position in the hearts of others. It has happened before; the Christian's Jesus Christ was also Hope's vessel. History shows that Hope will do everything in her power to keep Hermione, her host, alive."
"But Jesus was crucified." Draco reminded him.
"Ah, yes. But in dying, Hope was restored; for he rose again." Lupin explained.
"Do you think..."
"That that is the case with Hermione? No...for I feel no hope now at the thought of her death. But as to every situation there is more than one side. Two things gnaw at me and fill my heart with doubt; the first being that no one can stop the Fates once they decide a person's life is over. If now is Hermione's time, then nothing will change that."
"The Fates?" Ron questioned. "What do three Greek women from myth have to do with Hermione?"
Lupin smiled patiently. "They are no myth. Like the tale of Pandora's Box, the Fates were turned from truth into a legend; a story told to children when no explanation for death can be found. Even those from where the myth was real; now see it as little more than an old wife's tale."
He paused in his narrative to pour himself a cup of tea, now only lukewarm. Professor Lupin never ceased to cause Draco wonderment. Even after several members of the Order had fought with the Ministry to revoke the anti-werewolf acts, and Lupin had landed a secure job as an ambassador to the wizarding schools for the Ministry he never let his newfound wealth get to him. His robes were still tattered and torn, with more patches than a quilt and looking as if three robes had been sewn into one.
Draco could never understand why he didn't use the money he had to improve his state of attire. The money couldn't just be sitting around, could it? And what would he spend it on if not himself. Professor Lupin was certainly an interesting character.
Ron and Draco both sat down in chairs that they pulled from in front of Dumbledore's desk and waited for Lupin to continue.
"As their name suggests, the Fates were goddesses who supervised fate in Greek mythology. The ancient Greeks referred to these goddesses collectively as Moirai."
"The Fates are three sisters: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropus. They sing in unison with the music of the Sirens, or so it is said. Lachesis sings of the things that were, Clotho of those that are, and Atropus about the things that will be. They are most honored among the gods because they are just and fair. They give men at their birth their share of evil and good, and they punish the transgressions of both men and of gods."
"So they were real?"
"Were…and are." Lupin answered. "They are goddesses, immortal, and so they cannot die, at least by conventional methods. They have existed for countless ages and will continue to live on unto the ending of this world."
Draco was silent for a moment, "Go on, Professor."
Lupin smiled. "The Fates came to be identified as a crone, a mother, and a maiden – representing each phase in existence - who handled the threads of human life. One of these threads was allocated to every person, and each goddess took her turn in manipulating this thread. Clotho selected the thread, Lachesis measured it, and Atropus cut this thread to signify the end of a person's life.
"Fate means mainly death and all circumstances leading to death, given that it does not seem to be any strict predetermination of happenings, except the unavoidable departure from this world, which is the ultimate and inescapable destiny of all living beings. This is why the Moirai have been called mighty, compelling, or overwhelming; and what they have spun concerning the limits of life is conclusive and final in all cases. And although it appears that a man may die before his time, it does not seem likely that he could go on living beyond the time allotted to him by these three sisters, or violate in any way what is meant to be his own personal fate."
"For example, there are many times in one's life when they are given the choice to either die...or live – near death experiences, one might call them. It is not a simple choice. Some may wish to die, others to weak to carry on. For if the person wishes to live, they must FIGHT for it. This may be one of those occurrences, and if so then Hermione is most certainly still alive. She's a fighter and she feels a strong sense of duty to her new status in life. However, if she has reached her time to die…then there is nothing anyone can do to save her."
"Professor," Ron started. "I still don't see how you can know that these Fates still exist."
Lupin chuckled, "As surely as I know that you are you, and that I am myself. For without the Fates there would be no Time. Everything would be as it is; always the same, never changing. No one would die, and no one would ever be born. For without Time there can be no life or death."
"What was the second thing."
Lupin looked up from his tea in surprise, "What was that, Draco."
Draco's fingers clenched into fists at his sides, "You said there were two things...you've only told us one – what was the second thing."
Lupin slowly set his cup back upon its saucer, with a soft clinking sound and looked morosely at his students. "As I said, Hope will do everything she can to keep Hermione alive...I just don't know if it's in Her power to save her..."
------------------ 1:58 AM ------------------
A loud screech jolted Draco from the uneasy sleep he'd almost fallen into, and he jumped up from his chair as an exceptionally fast owl shot through the open window. It circled once to slow its velocity then came rocketing down to land on Dumbledore's outstretched arm. Draco winced as the owl's talons dug sharply into the thin material of his headmaster's bed robes, but the older man seemed unaffected.
The room waited with bated breath as Dumbledore removed the message from the owl's offered leg. Without waiting to be fed, it let out another screech and took off out the window. Dumbledore slid off the binding ribbon and unrolled the small piece of parchment. He read it aloud.
Attacker still unknown.
Device still unknown.
Casualties still unknown.
New information regarding the contained area of the explosion: It seems that the attack was directed at a certain person and/or group. High traces of a Shielding Charm have been found around the destroyed edges of the building adding to the theory that a target existed. Voldemort is no longer a suspect.
Shacklebolt, Kingsley -- 1:35 AM
"Oh, dear." Mrs. Weasley murmured.
"What suspects are left, Albus?" Diggory asked.
Dumbledore let out a weary sigh. "The Shielding Charm is the eliminator. Its very existence denies the remote possibility that it was still a muggle attack. It also proves that this was no attack by Voldemort's forces. They care nothing for others, most prominently the Ministry and Hogwarts, and wouldn't have set up such a containment spell. They survive on chaos and death; they would have reveled in the bomb's destruction."
"Who else is there?!" Tonks exclaimed in frustration.
"A third party -- 'who' is anyways guess." Fred said.
"Maybe someone who wants this war started now?" George added.
"But who?" Remus voiced. "Who would gain from an early start to the war?"
Dumbledore raised his hands high above his head and the worried voices died. "Let's not panic. We are in constant correspondence with the team at the Ministry. I am confidant that everything will sort itself out in time."
"Time's one thing we don't have, Albus." Severus' voice was firm.
Just then the fireplace exploded! Giant bursts of emerald flame leapt out of the grate; burning tendrils licking the stone frame. And out of the wild mass of writhing flames tumbled a small figure. Wrapped in a dirty and badly wrinkled tea towel, a house elf came tumbling out of the hearth. It stood up meekly and coughed several times to clear its lungs. Its wide eyes darted around the room fearfully and it looked as if it wanted nothing better to do than to disappear...or perhaps clean something.
"Give the poor creature some space." Dumbledore ordered, and the area around the house elf was immediately cleared.
Dumbledore kneeled down in front of the house elf and gave it a kind smile. The house elf relaxed marginally, and pulled from inside its ragged tea towel a hastily wrapped package and a folded note. "Master Shacklebolt, sent me with this." It squeaked in terror. "He told me it was too urgent to be sent by owl. So Gorby does what Master asks -- Gorby goes through dark hole and is set on fire! FIRE!" It wailed.
Big, fat tears rolled down Gorby's leaving warped paths through the soot and grime. He quaked and continued to look around the room for a chance to escape from the eyes boring into him.
"You were very brave, Gorby." Dumbledore soothed. "May I see that?"
He gestured to the items clutched in the house elf's hands and Gorby relinquished them gratefully. Dumbledore stood and slid the parchment into his robe pocket before deftly removing the generic brown wrapping. From within the wrapped box, Dumbledore pulled forth a human hand -- severed halfway up the forearm.
Sorry it took ages to get out, but there were several crises. First I had a break from classes so I spent the time sleeping and watching t.v., then 3 pages of the chapter magically disappeared, and then I couldn't get it to open period. But now HERE IT IS! Sorry for making you all wait.
KissThis