Chapter 3 - Liar
The Fates did not wait for the figure's answer. They raised their arms as one, feeling for the shadowy strings that connected him to their claws. They found them and expertly tugged them, ready to reel them into their dark cloaks.
A string snapped.
Age no longer held sway over the mortal. She shrieked and fell to the ground, bowing to her equal.
Innocence's broke seconds later. She said nothing but sank down, acknowledging the newcomer.
Passion and Cruelty fought for control over this woman, man, mortal. The hooded figure stood rigid, using his fury to repel the Fates. Together, they're strings tore and they prostrated themselves upon the ground.
"I am no mortal," the figure said, voice void of any emotion.
"We see and feel and hear that," they answered.
"I am not your equal."
They hesitated this time. They could not cast strings over each other, but they, even if they could, they would not be able rid themselves of them like this man did. They were the Fates, supreme masters of Life. But he...he was their better.
"Lord..." they whispered.
The man smiled in his black hood. "I am called Snake."
The daylight was weak, slanting through the white blinds. It barely illuminated blue walls, a wood dresser, bookshelves, a bed. One had to look carefully to see the figure twisted in the white and red sheets, sweat knotting her hair to the pillow. Her face was invisible; no one could see the blue rings around her sunken eyes, the expression of pain and grief frozen forever. She was deeply asleep, her breathing slow and rattling, never-changing.
"She's been like that for days."
"I'm just glad you thought to call us. I'll do all I can to help her recover."
"I think it's just the shock, that's all."
"That's probably all it is. Grief can do incredible things. Now, Mr. Granger, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a few minutes. If this works and she wakes, I'll call."
He paused at the doorway, looking mistrustfully at the doctor. She knew it was hard for him to go; he had trusted strangers with his wife, and she had died. The door clicked shut, and she sighed.
"Oh, Hermione," Professor McGonagall said sadly. She brushed the hair from the girl's eyes and examined her briefly. She was starving, thin after four days without food. She knew she could do little if Hermione was determined to stay asleep, if she found dreams the only tonic for pain. So many had died that way, caught in the web of avoidance.
She drew her wand and slipped into Hermione's dream.
Hermione felt her wrist catch behind her, pulling her away from the heartbeat. The voices faded above her, whispering on into some fogged future. Before her, in the present, Professor McGonagall stood stern.
"You have to come back, Hermione."
She said nothing, only turned away to follow Malfoy and Wormtail.
"If you don't leave this place, if you stay dreaming, you won't survive. You can't live like this forever."
"I know. But I'm not ready to come back."
"Your body is. Your mind can adjust, but your body needs the presence of consciousness in order to keep living. If you don't want to be trapped in this world forever, you have to come back with me."
"I don't want to."
"People need you back there. Ron and Harry need you, Hogwarts needs you. The Order needs you. Your family needs you." McGonagall looked past the dullness of Hermione's eyes. "If you die too, your father won't be able to keep living. You're the only thing he has left."
She stopped kicking and looked down into the river. She floated in blood, in death and in life. She had an easy choice: die in forgetfulness or live in pain.
"Better to live than to die. Now."
When Hermione opened her eyes, her first feeling was of hunger. Her head ached and her body grumbled, and her mind was still blessedly detached. Professor McGonagall bent over her, smiling, and called for her father.
"I'll leave you now," she whispered to Hermione. "The time turner is about to run out, and I have another class to teach. I would recommend you catch up on homework before you come back, but do try to get to Hogwarts soon." With a loud pop, she disappeared.
"Hermione!" Mr. Granger exclaimed with relief. "You're awake." He stopped halfway to the bed and looked around for Professor McGonagall. "Where'd the doctor go? I never paid her."
"Doctor?" she asked, puzzled.
"Yes, the doctor. I finally called a firm I had seen advertised in the paper a couple of days back, and they sent someone over. The slogan was something like, You've got questions? We've got remedies! (Works for all minor afflictions including coma-like sleeping, suicide dreaming, and incurable cases of grief.) It sounded like it fit, so I called the number.""Oh, her cell phone rang to treat another case, so she had to run. She'll probably come by to pick up the check later," she murmured, though she found it amusing that her father, a dentist, fell for a line like that.
He sat down on the bed, suddenly awkward. "If you want to talk — "
"Could I have something to eat?" she interrupted. The death slapped her for the first time since her awakening, and she found herself glad for the lapse in memory, brief as it was.
"O-of course. I'll go down to get it." He stood and waited by the door rather hopefully, as if she'd change her mind and want to talk after all. When she said nothing, he left again, leaving only blackness in his wake.
Over the next week, Hermione slowly recovered. By Tuesday, she was downstairs, looking out the window to the dull routine of Muggle life; by Wednesday, she was practicing magic. Her large pile of homework slowly dwindled, until she was only completing each night's. Her father never stayed in the room when she drew her wand, but seemed oddly disapproving of the entire business. Friday night, over dinner, she announced she was ready to return to Hogwarts.
He started, the fork clattering to his plate. "Already?"
"It's been almost two weeks. I need to go back, catch up. You want me to do well, don't you?"
"Of course I do, but - well, Hermione - I mean —" he stammered, then sighed. "Look, don't you think that going back isn't the best idea? You could stay here, go to the academy across the boulevard, lead a normal life. One that isn't so dangerous."
"Da, it would be dangerous. Don't you understand that V-Voldemort — mum's murderer — isn't just after wizards? He wants to kill everyone; slaughtering Muggles is his entertainment. I need to go back even if it's only to learn to defend myself and to keep you from getting hurt. It's safer for me at Hogwarts than it is here."
"I don't like it."
"I know, but I need to. I couldn't stay here even if it wasn't so important for me to go back. Magic is normal for me now."
He sighed. "Can you wait until Sunday?"
"I think I could do that."
Saturday night, her trunk was re-packed and waiting to be transported back to her dormitory at Hogwarts. She lay on her back, looking blankly at the ceiling and making lists in her head, something she had learned to do in order to avoid thinking thoughts she couldn't bear to think of. Crookshanks was curled fiercely on top of her, ready to return to his usual haunts as soon as he could.
The springs squeaked as Mr. Granger sat next to her. She immediately closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep and praying he left her alone. She had no choice, however, except to fake annoyance as he shook her shoulder, startling her from an unreal sleep. He said nothing, but held out his fist.
She sat up slowly, and reached out her hand to take the gift hidden inside his fingers. A braided ring dropped into her palm.
"Her wedding ring. She would have wanted you to have it, I think. It's all I could think of to give to you, before you leave again."
"Thank you," she breathed, slipping it on her middle finger. She stroked it softly, remembering the times when her mother used to take it off her ring finger and let her play with it when she was little, making up her future husband and dream dentist practice. Impulsively, she leaned over and hugged her father. "Thank you," she repeated.
He smiled. "You're going to miss the ceremony," he said.
"I know. I would have like to have been here for that. You're sure she wanted to be cremated?"
"That's what she always told me. She wanted her ashes scattered in that copse in the park — you know, that one where she used to go and paint her watercolors. So we can still visit her, and it's easier than walking to the cemetery." He looked away, grief threatening to overwhelm him. A few minutes later, he said good night in a constricted voice.
Hermione fell asleep to the familiar sound of his weeping.
The doorbell rang. Hermione, sitting silently next to her father, slowly moved towards the door, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the idea of returning to society. Mr. Argus Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts, stood before her, toting a very flowery duffle bag and looking foul.
"Where's the trunk?" he asked, pushing past her. Hermione pointed, taking a deep breath.
"You sure you want to go back so soon?" Mr. Granger asked for the thousandth time that afternoon. "I don't mind keeping you here; it's not a problem."
Filch straightened from where he had been bending over the trunk and chuckled darkly. "Oh, she's going back alright. Headmaster's orders. I came all this way to get her, and I ain't going back without her. Isn't part of my job, failing."
Hermione shrugged. "I'll be fine. The teachers will understand; I'll be cut some slack."
Filch dragged the trunk over to her, and reached inside the bag to pull out a very feminine, feathered pink hat. He indicated she put it on her head, then followed suit with a second hat pulled from the bag — a pinstriped sailor's cap.
"Right then. These are the portkeys. Should be activated in about twenty seconds." He looked meaningfully at Mr. Granger who looked just as blankly back. "Go on. Say goodbye. She'll be leaving in fifteen seconds for the rest of the year!"
"Oh, right."
They embraced awkwardly, not at all put at ease by Filch's disgusted glares and mumbled countdown.
"Write, okay?"
Hermione nodded.
"Ten seconds!"
"Let me know how the cremation goes."
"Will do. Don't commit suicide."
"Da!"
"Five seconds!" Filch screeched.
"I was just—"
"Four!"
"—kidding!"
"Three!"
"Can't a man—"
"Two!"
"—make a joke?"
"Leggo, leggo! Activating—"
"Da, I love—"
"NOW!"
Her gut was wrenched forward, and she swirled away, Filch and her trunk glumly following. A moment later, she landed in Dumbledore's office and promptly fell over on the word "you."
"Here you go, sir," Filch said smugly, passing over the duffle bag and hat.
"Thank you, Argus. That will be all." Dumbledore looked kindly over at Hermione kneeling on his floor. "Take a seat, Hermione."
She shakily stood up, and seated herself in front of him.
"I'm glad that you decided to return to us so soon, Hermione. We all thought it would be another week, at least. Is everything settled at home?"
"Yes. Well, no." She did not go on.
"I see. But you were ready?"
"I couldn't take it. She was everywhere."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and rocked back in his chair. "You have to be careful of that, Hermione," he finally said. "Sometimes, running away from the consequences helps — but only for a time. It will catch up to you, and then you have to face what happened and either accept it or let it break you. I find that the possibility of one breaking is just increased the longer you run."
"I'm not really running from it," she protested. "I'm just avoiding it for awhile, until I can handle it."
"Just don't ignore it too long."
She squirmed, but said nothing. She refused to meet his eyes; the knowledge of what she'd find there — that absence — was too frightening for her to face so soon.
"I expect you want to see your friends," he said, smiling. "Go on, you'll probably find them slaving away at homework. I understand that the Gryffindors had a particularly trying Potions lesson on Friday — Professor Snape mentioned something about brewing Veritaserum on Monday and that he wouldn't trust a bunch of Sixth Years with the process until they had done 'proper researching and application' beforehand."
"Thank you, sir."
She wandered down the spiral staircase and through the halls, trying to prolong the eminent moment of pity and questions. She found herself unwilling to face the school quite yet, and instead found the worn path to the library, where she hoped to find some solitude. Time, too ample and empty in her father's house, was unmercifully short in Hogwarts' walls.
At Madame Pince's desk, she borrowed a quill and some parchment, half-thinking she would get begin her Potions essay. She hardly needed the texts supplied there for she knew plenty about Veritaserum already, but there were still facts to be checked and re-checked. She set the supplies down on a table in the corner, and lazily wandered through the rows, hand trailing in the dusted volumes.
In a dim, twisting aisle she didn't recognize, she stopped, her eyes caught on a crumbling book that sported the title Myths You Thought Weren't Real: True Stories About Gods and Fate. She found her hand reaching for it, rising limply to grasp the spine. Only when her fingers brushed it, she found a pale hand already fisted around it.
Draco Malfoy jumped, almost dropping the book, and cursed as several pages fell out. Hermione immediately dropped to pick the cracking parchment, handing them up to the boy above her.
"You're back," he said, for lack of anything better to say.
"Just now. I heard that there was an essay for Potions due, and I thought I might as well get a start on it." She stood and brushed off her robes.
"You're far away from the Potions aisle," he said suspiciously. He noticed her gaze in the book's direction, and tightened his grip, shielding the title from view. "Come on, Granger, don't play dumb with me." She looked at him blankly. "Why the hell were you spying on me?"
"Spying on you?" she repeated incredulously. "I wasn't. Do you honestly believe that I'd reach for the same book you did, therefore drawing attention to myself, when I was spying on you?"
He shrugged. "Seems like the most likely reason you'd be in a section filled with Dark texts."
She looked around her, curiosity increased. "Dark texts? Really?"
He chuckled. "Funny, Granger." Malfoy turned to leave, and called over his shoulder. "I did learn one thing about you today."
"Oh? What's that?"
"That you're a damn bad spy, and an even worse liar."
A/N: My God. That took so long to post! Amazing really, how life just keeps throwing all these little distractions at you, and completely takes away all time for fun things...such as POSTING CHAPTERS ON I tried at least one hundred times this weekend, but no... I have to go practice the violin or clean my room or eat dinner or...or...you get the picture.
Anyways, the fic should start picking up from here. I've written the next two chapters, so they should be up in a couple of weeks, life permitting. I need to edit them of course, and need to plan a couple of er...uncomfortable encounters. Give me two weeks, at most. With luck, they'll be up this weekend.
Woohoo!
Okay, thank-you's:
Ally: Hello, darling. Thank you so much for the review...those compliments made my day. It's so glorious to hear that I actually got a chapter down. Chap. 2 took a lot of will-power to post because it's so...dramatic. And the emotional tension is SUPPOSED to be so high, it was a difficult to know whether I conveyed it or not. As the author, you can't read it without being biased. Anywho, I hope that the above chapter started picking up a little bit, and won't completely turn you off. Update A Reason soon, dear!
Lorett: Thank you so, so, so much for reviewing! It was one of the highlights of my week, opening up your email and seeing all this sage advice from a respected author. (BTW, I didn't actually mean to imply in previous A/Ns that I was looking for help with the plot, just with the writing itself. Oops.) But I ADORED your review...and I am now writing a (very long) outline – I began that night, and I think it's up to three, four pages. (Funny how I didn't think of doing one; I took a Creative Writing course last semester, and learned just how important those things are. All comes clear with forty-five minutes of effort!) Hope you read again soon...I'm off to check up on Keys (how dare they close down your account? Idiots!) right this second. Kisses! (Oh, before I forget...you'll tell me if you get that problem fixed, won't you? I would love to follow in your footsteps, as would Mrs.AccioFirebolt, I'm sure.)
Slytherinswn: Your little blips of encouragement are so nice to get...I love opening up my mail box and seeing: Review Alert! with your name at the end. Warm and fuzzy feelings!
Everyone else who's reading and not reviewing: Thanks for stopping by. There's still a little button down there though, who's begging for some attention.
Kisses
to everyone!
Alison