A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.
— Jean De La Fontaine
Fortuitus
Chapter One: Dark Clouds
By Jonah
Gray rain clouds swirled over the busy village of Hogsmeade, halting any last-minute shopping and driving civilians to find shelter. Bothered old women walked into the village shops, muttering their distaste for the planet's ludicrous weather, while children dragged their parents towards the nearest candy shop, all of them escaping the hail that fell without much warning.
Madam Rosmerta welcomed the incoming people — customers — with a warm smile while magicking her shop so it would accommodate more. They all piled in gratefully, easily filling up the pub right down to its tiniest corners. Soon everyone settled down, and friendly chatter broke out as the rain continued outside. No one even noticed the three people in the back, hidden away in the farthest corner on the farthest booth, their heads bent and voices low.
Though why would they be noticed? There was nothing at all peculiar about the two men and woman — they blended in perfectly with the rest of the customers. They all wore the classic Christmas colors and drank the customary hot cocoa. No one in the entire shop even bothered to spare a glance their way, not even when one of the men suddenly burst into laughter.
"I can hardly see the humor in this," said the other man, glaring heated eyes to the first man who was struggling to control his laughter.
"That's always been your problem," retorted the first man, grinning, "not mine."
Before the other man could reply, the woman held up a gloved hand, silencing them both. "Save it," she said, her tone harsh. "This is not the time nor place." She looked around them casually before leaning in. Both men quickly followed suit, their attitudes taking a drastic turn for the serious.
"He said it would begin soon," she whispered.
One of the men, the one who laughed, gawked at her. "Already?" he asked, his face twisting in confusion. "But it's only been a month — "
"He said we've waited long enough," the woman replied, "and that the time is right."
"When exactly?" the other man asked.
"Soon," was all she said.
"But we can't," the first man said. "We can't possibly… There's just too many in the way."
"Do either of you want to be the one to tell him that?" the woman asked. Both men stiffened and shook their heads. "No," they answered softly.
Draco woke up drenched in sweat. His eyes darted around the room as images of a dream quickly faded away. He sat up, cradling his head with his hands as he fought to keep his breathing even. It had been over a month of so since he'd woken up in a state like this, and part of him wondered for any connection. Idly, his eyes landed on the calendar just above his table, to the date with a large red circle marked around it. He closed his eyes. Or maybe it was just nerves.
It had been in the beginning of December when Ginny had asked him to have Christmas dinner with her family (his mother included, of course). Her eyes were so pleading that Draco just couldn't resist. Ginny, of course, knew he was reluctant, but she was happy he accepted. This would be Draco's first time to actually meet her family in a formal manner, and he was pretty sure half, if not all, weren't quite as happy about it as he was. Sure, the parents were easy enough; they were both in total awe and gratitude to Draco when word got to them at how he had given up his life for her. But the brothers… Well, that was a whole 'nother Quidditch match.
He got up from bed, ignoring the immediate chill that clung to his skin as he made his way to the bathroom that separated his room from his mother's. He hovered over the sink, looking into the mirror at the man he'd grown to be in the last month. Dark circles wrung his stormy eyes, souvenirs from the countless nights he'd spent awake, nightmares of his past too fresh for comfort. He traced the scar he had made on his right wrist, another lovely souvenir from his past 'adventure'. His stomach churned, the way it usually did whenever he thought about what happened that October. He tried not to do it so much, for it always left him feeling ill.
Though who was he to control what his own mind was thinking?
He dressed as comfortably as he could and left a note on the dining table for his mother before leaving the little London flat. He didn't Apparate til he reached Wizarding London, but even then there was still a bit of traveling to do before reaching his final destination. The boat he rode on creaked and swayed against the ocean's currents, evidence of winter in the harsh December winds.
"I rarely get any passengers," said the captain merrily. He was an odd sort of man named Normy and wore a bright yellow raincoat. He smiled at Draco, his gold tooth twinkling in the candlelight.
"Really," said Draco dully, showing no interest in having a conversation with the man. Sure enough, he was the only one on the boat, and the old man cackled heartily.
"Yep, days get rather boring with no one to sail," he said. He peered at Draco through one eye. "What brings you here, of all places, and on this very day even?" When Draco didn't answer, the man just chuckled. "Private sort of man, I see," he said, sounding amused (though Draco was sure it didn't take much for the man to get amused). "Why, I was just like you in my younger years," the man began, when Draco interrupted him.
"Is that it?" he asked, pointing at a mass of land in the horizon.
"Nope," said Normy, turning the boat slightly to the right. "That there's the Shetland Islands. No, we still got a bit of sailing to do before we reach the place." He chuckled lightly again, fortunately missing the pained look on Draco's face. "As I was saying," Normy started again, "I remember when I was just 50 years old, barely into my prime, and there was this hot little number named Candy. She was some piece of work, and I'll never forget what she told me that one night…"
Draco peered out of the boat's window, tuning Normy's trip down memory lane out. He watched as the waves crashed against the boat's old surface, idly wondering if he could be any more bored. He'd gotten to counting how many waves hit his side of the boat, and he was all the way up to 247 when Normy gave a loud cry of "Whoohoo!"
Draco looked away from the waves and up to the horizon to see a black shadow looming a short distance before them. Before he knew it, the boat made contact with the tiny island's shore. Normy gave him a large grin of triumph as Draco stood from his seat. "We made it, mate."
Draco gave him a curt nod before stepping unto the sand. He took a deep breath as he took in the large fortress standing before him. An old, rickety sign was swinging in the wind to his right, it's white letters standing out against the darkness of the island.
"Welcome to Azkaban Fortress," it read. There was a happy face painted underneath it, flashing Draco a devilish sort of grin.
Since Voldemort's downfall (the first time around), the Ministry removed all of the Dementors from the prison — especially since Voldemort had planned on using them for his own army. The prison was much more humane (for all those human right's activists constantly bothering the Minister about it), and visiting was even allowed.
Not that anyone ever did.
A large creature that was either a troll-like man or a man-like troll stood between him and the gates, parchment in one hand and a large axe in the other. "Name?" it boomed, raising a hairy eyebrow at Draco.
"Er, Draco Malfoy," he replied, then added, "I've got Ministry privilege." Since his little 'save the world' thing last October, the Ministry had been greatly generous towards him, and he, for one, planned to milk it for all it was worth.
The man-troll or troll-man gave a loud grunt after looking at his parchment, then stepped aside to let Draco through. The gates opened slowly, the loud creaking sounds proof that they had not been opened much. Draco strode in, shivering beneath his cloak as the wind whipped around him. He made a steady beeline for the cell he had in mind, completely ignoring the stares and calls the other prisoners were giving him as he walked past when he finally reached the farthest cell on the west wing. He stood frozen before it, his face giving away the surprise he felt from seeing the person inside. Slowly, the person turned her head to stare back at him, dark hazel eyes meeting stormy gray.
"Hello Pansy," Draco said softly. Pansy did not answer, though he knew she heard him. She was sitting inside a simple four-wall cell, three out of the four walls being solid stone. A thick wall of glass was all that stood between them, and while there were no openings, air, light, and sound still passed through it.
Pansy held Draco's gaze, without moving an inch. She was leaning against the right wall, her knees drawn up to her chest while she hugged herself. She wore the customary Azkaban robes — a dark red color that looked so much like that lipstick she used to wear. There was a moment of silence as the two regarded one another, when Blaise finally spoke, her voice as smooth as it had been a month ago. "Why are you here?" she asked him simply.
Draco did not know if how to answer, for he wasn't quite sure of it himself. Up til the little October incident, Pansy had been a rather good friend of his. She had been his best friend since they were little tykes, and were practically inseperable when they attended Hogwarts. She was quite good to talk with then, when she wasn't all over him, and he sympathized with her when she had become an orphan after the War. And as nasty as she was to him last they met, he just couldn't find it in his heart to stay mad at her. She was lost, just like he was; it was only unfortunate that she'd been found by the wrong sort.
"Happy Christmas," he said, unsure of what else he could say.
Pansy looked at him for a moment, before giving a loud, derisive snort. "Excuse me?" she asked, turning so she could look at him fully. "You come all the way here to wish me a Happy Christmas?" Venom and anger were all over her words, but Draco remained immune to it all.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
"Because," he said softly, "no one else will."
Pansy stared at him then, her face blank. Then it twisted with pain as his words hit home. She yelled suddenly and jumped up from her place to run to the wall that separated them, only to slam her fist against it. She screamed at him, banging her fist again and again as tears fell from her eyes.
"How dare you!" she screamed, her nails digging into the glass's surface. "How dare you come here!" She sobbed against the glass as Draco looked on, never moving from his place. When her tears had subsided, she looked up through her bangs to give him an icy glare. "You," she said through gritted teeth. "You think you can just show up and things would be just fine? You're the reason I'm here!"
"No," said Draco. "I'm not."
Pansy glared at him, her chest heaving from the shaky breaths she took. Slowly, her features softened into an empty stare. "That's a lovely cloak," she said randomly. Draco looked down at the black cloak his mother had gotten him a few weeks ago. He wondered where she was getting at.
"New?" she asked.
"Yes," he said cautiously.
Pansy smirked. "Where're you headed off to after this, hmm?" she asked. "A nice big dinner, I suppose. Yes, dinner and presents and hot cocoa with that wench." She spat the last word hatefully, her emotional mask slipping.
"She's not a wench," said Draco firmly.
Pansy scoffed. She scooted closer against the glass, to the point where her whole body pressed against it. "Are you happy, Draco?"
Draco frowned, taken aback by her randomness. "What?" he asked.
"Are you happy?" she repeated.
Draco blinked, boggled by her blunt question. "I-I…" Then his eyes widened, reality hitting him hard. Pansy grinned, her eyes glinting with madness.
He wasn't.
"I'm not surprised. People like us weren't made to be happy like that," Pansy told him as-a-matter-of-factly. "No matter how perfect your life may be, you will never be happy. And do you want to know why?"
Draco didn't answer her, afraid because he really did.
"Because all those moments, all those loving words — they're not for you," she seethed. "You're not supposed to have a hero's life, because you were never supposed to be a hero. You were born a bad guy, Draco. And you can't run away from yourself."
Draco stared at her, his fingers feeling numb in the depths of his pockets. Pansy only continued to stare into his eyes, her own probing his in hopes to get into his mind. A few moments of silence passed as the two remained motionless. Then a loud gong rang four times throughout the fortress, telling him he was running late.
"Good-bye Pansy," he said, and without another word he began his walk back to the awaiting boat, never once looking back.
"Lovely time?" Normy asked as Draco boarded, and chuckled when he didn't answer. Draco spent the whole boat-ride back silent, his eyes rooted to the waves once again. He reached his flat just before five o'clock, where his mother was already dressed and waiting for him.
"Goodness, I was afraid you wouldn't make it back in time," she sighed in relief, holding up the little note he gave her which read, "Went for a walk".
He gave her a mirthless smile. "You look beautiful," he said honestly.
Narcissa blushed at his comment, raising a delicate hand to her cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I didn't know what to wear…" She had put on a lovely cream-colored dress robes, highlighting her ivory skin and platinum hair. It was nothing compared to her fancier dress robes, but she still looked like a goddess to Draco. She noticed the tension hovering around him, and frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he told her, trying his best to smile.
Narcissa gave him her own warm smile. "Nerves?" she asked. He nodded, lying. She gave a soft chuckle and hugged him. "Don't worry, they'll love you." Draco gave her a doubtful smile, which she shrugged at. "Well, they'll try to, at least. Now come on, we mustn't be late." She began to drag him out of the flat, but Draco remained rooted to the ground.
"Mother," he whined (he had a tendency to do so whenever his mother was concerned, mostly because she always fell for it), "it's a minute Apparation away once we get to Wizarding London."
Narcissa only continued to pull him away. "I don't care," she told him, immune to her son's protests. "I will not risk us being late — it's bad manners." Draco made an over-dramatic sigh as he allowed himself to be dragged by his mother.
As it turned out, it was a good thing they left so early, for the last-minute Christmas shoppers were flooding both Muggle and Wizarding London. It took a while for them to finally get a chance to Apparate. They'd arrived on the secluded clearing just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, just a few feet away from the… er, house. Draco had to remember that he was sort of seeing one of the occupants of the house because the comments were just fighting to get out of his mouth. He knocked on the front door gently, almost afraid of knocking the whole house down if he knocked too hard. There was a muffles of sounds on the other side (it sounded like three, no four, locks being undone), before the door finally opened to reveal Arthur Weasley, wearing robes of dark chocolate and a big smile.
"Happy Christmas!" he shouted, laughing merrily. "Come on in," he said, ushering them inside with his hand. They hadn't gotten even two steps inside when they were bombarded with an equally merry Molly Weasley.
"Oh Narcissa!" she said, hugging her tightly. "You look lovely!" Molly, herself, wore a lovely beige satin dress robe, that Draco suspected she was able to buy from the twins' booming sales. He turned away, biting deeply into his tongue, only to stare into a pair of icy blue eyes.
"Ferret," Ron said coldly.
"Weasel," Draco replied just as icily. There was a moment of steady glaring spent between them before someone cleared their throat.
"Happy Christmas," Hermione greeted, placing a firm hand on Ron's arm (probably to hold him back).
Draco blinked, turning to her in surprise. He hadn't even noticed her standing beside Ron. "H-Happy Christmas," he said back, slightly shaken. A certain shiny gem on a certain finger of Hermione's caught Draco's eye, but far be it for him to care about the Weasel's personal life.
Suddenly there was a girlish shriek from atop the stairs, and everyone turned to see Ginny running after Fred — or was it George? — waving her hairbrush around. "Come back here!" she shouted, chasing one of the twins as she swung her hand around.
"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Molly shouted suddenly, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Immediately, Ginny and Fred/George stopped, flushed and their heads held low. "We have company!" she scolded.
Ginny turned to her mother, pointing an accusing finger at Fred/George. "George stole my pin!" she said, completely oblivious to the scene she was making.
Molly turned to George, eyes narrowed. "George…," she began threateningly, and George reluctantly chucked Ginny the said pin. She caught it with ease and stuck her tongue out at him before heading back into her room. George begrudgingly headed down the stairs, his shoulders slumped in boredom. Draco turned back to Ron and Hermione, who only looked as amused and confused as he did.
The front door swung open then (Arthur apparently forgot about his locks), and in walked Sirius, Remus, and Harry. "Happy Christmas!" they all shouted, and immediately hugs and small talk were administered. Draco chose to keep his distance from the hug-fest, vaguely watching as one of the twins tried to give Remus a Christmas cookie. He jumped when he felt two arms snake their way around him, and turned to see Ginny smiling up at him.
"Happy Christmas," she said, hugging him tightly.
He returned her hug, happy to be near her warmth. "Happy Christmas," he said back. He held her at arm's length after the hug to get a good look at her. She was wearing dress robes of emerald which looked striking when put against her red hair, which she let fall into curls over her shoulders. A shiny silver dragon pin was placed directly over her heart — the same pin she had nearly beaten George over the head with a hairbrush for, and the same pin he had given her a few weeks ago. "You're beautiful," he told her honestly, and she blushed.
"Thanks," she said. "You don't look so bad yourself. I must say you look like some sort of fallen angel." Indeed, as a striking contrast to his mother's cream robes, he wore his usual black. The only other color on his robes were the silver trimmings.
"That's me." He bent down to give her cheek a light peck, which Ginny welcomed happily. They hadn't exactly truly kissed yet — neither one of them felt it was right just yet. Especially when they hadn't even established just what 'they' were.
There was a loud "squawk!" before bowls of laughter rang throughout the house, and Draco turned just in time to see a brown chicken flapping its wings madly where Remus had been before it charged towards the twins, nipping at their heels. The laughter only grew as everyone watched the twins run away from the aggravated chicken.
"So is this a usual thing for you guys?" Draco asked.
"Pretty much," Ginny answered. "Come on," she said, tugging on his hand. "Before all the good seats are taken."
Dinner consisted of five courses Molly had cooked herself, and before long everyone was leaning back against their seat and patting their bellies approvingly. As everyone slowly recovered from the hearty meal, an odd conversation over old Muggle superstitions (and how wizards really were part of the blame) began around the table.
"All I'm saying is that Muggles are just plain paranoid," said Ron.
"Oh, really?" said Hermione dryly.
Ron's eyes snapped wide open. "Er, no, I mean other Mugg… Ah, wait…" The words died as Hermione gave him an icy look. He gave her a weak smile that she only rolled her eyes at.
"It's interesting, though," said Arthur. "They've got superstitions over just about everything."
"So do wizards," said Hermione defensively, though her tone was laced with respect.
"That we do," chuckled Sirius. "I heard of one about ravens… That if you see one flying overhead, it's a sign of good luck. But if you see more than one, then it means trouble's ahead."
"How cryptic," frowned Remus.
Sirius only shrugged. "Most superstitions are."
Soon enough, the conversation died down and the boys retreated to the clearing out back, where they spent a respectable amount of time trying to teach Remus how to play Quidditch while the girls remained warm and comfy beside the fireplace. Draco, deciding it was better that he didn't set himself up as a Bludger target, settled for sitting in the living room with the women, where Narcissa was currently examining the ring on Hermione's left ring finger.
"Oh it's beautiful," Narcissa cooed, turning Hermione's hand this way and that.
"Thank you," Hermione grinned sheepishly, her cheeks tinted red.
"Do you have a date set?" So I was right, mused Draco. He and Ginny had taken the loveseat across from the two women.
"Not yet," said Hermione. "We were thinking perhaps June."
"Ah, a spring wedding," Narcissa said, "that's a lovely time."
"Quite," said Molly, who'd walked in with a tray full of hot chocolate. "I was telling Ron it gave them a perfect amount of time to prepare. Now when his brother Bill got married, oh! He'd only proposed three months before their wanted date — it was madness!"
Beside him, Ginny yawned. "Tired?" he whispered, and she shook her head.
"Not at all," she told him. "It hasn't even reached midnight yet — I'm in for the long haul."
"Mm," he answered, his mind elsewhere. He tried his best to absorb it all. That he was, in fact, at the Weasley's — alive, even — watching his mother talk weddings with Molly and Hermione, with Ginny cuddled up against his chest. It should have made him happy, content, at least, to have all that with him. But he wasn't. Why wasn't he? Was Pansy right? Was he really not who he should be? Would he really rather be happier tormenting the Weasleys instead of dining with them?
His troubled mind must have been obvious in his face because Ginny had poked his roughly in the ribs. "What's up?" she asked him quietly — the women were still talking amiably about weddings. She looked so genuinely concerned that it hurt to look at her.
He set his gaze at the dancing firelight instead of Ginny's face. There was a ripple of giggles as Molly recanted her own wedding, and Draco felt the air around him thicken. Swiftly, he got up from his seat, leaving Ginny to prop herself up. "I think I'll take a walk," he muttered, before walking out the door.
Once outside, he let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The Weasley's front lawn proved to be relatively small compared to the large clearing out back, where Draco could hear vague sounds of cheering and cracks of the bat against an enchanted rock (their make-shift Bludger). He watched idly as dark little figures danced between the rosebushes, each sparing a second to give him a curious glance before hiding away into their little gnome-holes.
"You're awfully quiet tonight," came a voice from somewhere behind him. Ginny had wrapped a blanket around herself, and sidled up beside him to stare at the same dead rosebush he'd been looking at. "What's wrong?"
"Can't you tell?" he asked her, and she bristled.
"I can only read your feelings, not your mind," she answered shortly. "So tell me."
He shrugged lazily, his eyes never leaving the bush. "I've got a lot on my mind, is all."
"Mm-hmm," replied Ginny, urging him to continue. She frowned when he didn't. "This must be big."
He shrugged again, eyes glazed over in thought. "Am I a hero, Ginny?"
Ginny turned to him, taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"Just as I asked," he said as he turned to face her. "Am I a hero?"
Ginny frowned. "Well… You saved my life."
"That makes me a hero?"
"That makes you my hero," she said, and reached out to give his arm a gentle squeeze. "What's this about?"
He blinked once, seeming to contemplate her words, then turned away again. "Nothing."
"Yeah right," said Ginny, now genuinely concerned. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," he said with a firm voice that meant the discussion was over.
Ginny frowned, backing off. She hated how distant he could be sometimes, especially when he was supposed to be sharing things with her. That's what people in love do, wasn't it? Granted, they'd only been 'seeing' each other for a little over a month but their feelings were pretty much established before then.
Well… Hers was. Draco still hadn't exactly said the words "I love you" to her, per se… But he risked his life her for, didn't he? What else could it be but love to push for something like that? And besides, there was the whole 'knowing what he felt' thing… She'd gotten pretty good at it, but damned if she wasn't even more confused by it, for what good was knowing what he felt when she doesn't know what brought it along? Or anything else about it, for that matter.
She peeked at Draco through the corner of her eyes. He was looking up at the sky now, though she could tell he was lost in thought by the way his brows were knitted together. There were times when he was so open with his feelings, especially those concerning her, but other times he could be such a mystery…
She sighed. Quite frankly, she was tired of puzzles.
"No, Moony — use the handle!" Sirius shook his head solemnly as Remus managed to do everything but what he said. Perhaps his friend was just not the Quidditch type…
"He's getting better," said Harry, who was hovering beside him. Sirius gave him a look. He shrugged defensively. "Well he is."
Sirius nodded sadly. "I guess you're right. I mean he hasn't fallen off yet, which is definitely a first for Remus…" He grimaced when a loud 'thump' filled the air. "Never mind."
"Aren't you going down there to help him?" asked Harry.
"Nah," said Sirius, squinting at the lump that was his friend. He grinned when the lump proceeded to stand up and wipe himself off. "He'll be fine."
"Mm," said Harry, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Sirius turned to him, quickly catching the sudden drop in mood from his godson. "Hey," he said. Harry turned to him, looking dazed. "Problem?"
Harry blinked, looking lost before recognition took over. "Oh! Oh no… No, none…" He trailed off, frowning.
"None, huh?" Sirius inched his broom closer to Harry so that he could nudge him with his elbow. "You want to tell me what's on your mind?"
Harry shrugged offhandedly. "It's probably nothing, really," he began, "but, I don't know… I just get this feeling that…" His brows knitted together as he frowned again.
"That?" Sirius urged. He'd been worried for a while — Harry had been acting weird lately. It seems every time Sirius looked at him, he looked troubled.
"I don't know," Harry sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair as he thought. "I've just been getting this weird feeling that… that something's up."
Sirius frowned. "What do you mean?"
He ruffled his hair again. "I don't know," he said again. "I can't really explain it but it's just this feeling that something big is about to happen. Something bad."
"You sure it's not just a full stomach?" Sirius joked.
Harry shook his head, looking deathly serious. "No… I've had it for a while now…"
Sirius' smile faded. "For how long?"
"Couple of weeks…"
Sirius shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Harry," he said, nervously scratching the back of his ear. "The normal thing to say would be that it's probably nothing… but then again, you aren't exactly normal…"
Harry smiled softly, yet his eyes looked sad. "Yeah…"
The two fell into a tense silence. Harry kept his eyes downcast, looking so whimsically sad that Sirius hurt for him. He tore his eyes to look at anything other than the younger man beside him. His gaze finally rested on the sky above him.
A sick feeling of dread overwhelmed him as he saw a large black cloud fly over, the calling sound of ravens filling his ears.
"What do you think, Inspector?"
Inspector Maguire surveyed the scene in front of him, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Nothing about it made sense. There was just no way… He bent down to rest on one knee and looked hard. There must be something he missed. He shook his head in frustration. Nothing. He stood up again, his eyes closed in concentration. Mentally, he retraced his steps, back to the call that brought them there. It was the daughter, who'd just gotten home from a party when she found her father…
Maguire sighed, opening his eyes to look at the body again. He was definitely dead, alright. There was no doubt about it. But there wasn't a scratch on him. There were no items around him and nothing seemed at all out of place. According to the girl, nothing was missing. Poison was ruled out because the victim held no symptoms of ever being intoxicated. His eyes were closed and had an expression of perfect peace.
It just made no sense. He was missing something. He knew he was. But what?
"Inspector?"
Maguire turned to his lieutenant, looking grave. "Get headquarters on the phone."
A/N II: Smash or trash? oo 'Cuz if no one likes it, then... chucks plot/story out the window