Disclaimer: Mine? I wish.

A/N: Well, this chapter has just been a string of disasters (writing it, I mean). I'm going to list my excuses even if it only makes me feel less guilty, so you guys will just have to suffer through my complaints: mild case of writer's block, end of the advisory (projects just PILED on us, no slack at all), no internet/phone service for a WEEK, and a corrupted file. Basically, that boils down to: I would have been only a week late, except that life was too hard on me. Sorry, folks. I've started the next chapter though, so the wait shouldn't be nearly as long as last time.

Now, take a read and finally get some answers, eh?

Last Time -

"I know, I know, Granger," he sighed. "I meant we have to stop this—this thing from taking control. No matter how hard we try to eliminate all its opportunities, it designs a way to throw us together." He stopped; she looked at him blankly. "We need to learn how to second-guess it." Her brown eyes were still wide and open to suggestion. They weren't blank, he saw now. They were laughing at him – she was playing with him. He felt his cheeks flush in anger. She was forcing him to admit he had been wrong. If there was one thing he never did, it was to go back on his word. He was swiftly decisive, but he never regretted his mistakes. But then, he rationalized, times of caution require change. This fall is necessary, unavoidable.

He tore his eyes away from hers and set them instead on his hands. "I think," he said, his words measured and weighted, "that we have no choice but to work together."

Chapter 9 - Possibilities

Passion stared into the glittering depths of the flames, transparent smoke rising to her veil and resting idly about the edges. Her puppets had faded, no longer tangible under wrinkled fingers. Where they had hung from her sharp cords, there remained only two silhouettes, shadows tangled in a contortion of dark pleasure and the parallel disgust for the mud of mindless sexuality.

She leered unseen, enviously pleased with their swiftly dissipating forms and all they represented: The cries of mercy, echoing deep in the abyss of human existence. The tortured pain of undeserved and unrealized and unyielding love. The realization that the flesh is not like that of the gods, but as simple and undignified as the crawling animal the human is.

It was not her place to taste this organic delight, to revel in her creation. Her task was only to plant the seeds of need in each fleshy body that escaped from the womb, to feed it until it bloomed. The shadows, engulfed by the famished fire, had felt the black roots settle in their guts, prepared to send out virgin blossoms.

She had only to wait, and watch the spectacle that would follow. Behind her, Cruelty crouched, malicious eyes resting hungrily on the place where she would fulfill her part, cast long ago by those who created life and its purpose.

Professor Nockford stood silently at the door, imposing presence escorting the two inside her classroom. She leaned against the doorframe, wise eyes dissecting the two before her: one exasperated, and one disdainful. Both were resigned to the labor of withstanding the other's company; both were eager, though for different and selfish reasons.

"You have not been honest with me," she said. It was stated as an observation, nothing more. The boy, Malfoy, bristled as if admonishment had been the words' intent, but said nothing. It was the girl, Granger, who spoke, rational words reaching to reassure the professor.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I really am. You see, just at the times of the displacement, it didn't occur to us to come to you," she lied evenly. "We panicked. There was no logic to our decision, we were just grasping at straws."

"Of course," Professor Nockford replied, sarcasm so delicately veiled that Hermione almost mistook it for belief. Her eyes swept the room once before she turned to the door. "I'm going to leave the two of you to work without disturbance. I expect a full report of you findings – that is, if there are any to be found." She shut the door softly behind her.

Silence rang throughout the room, eloquent as the words that might have been spoken if the two had had the courage. Hermione looked despairingly down into the cracked palms of her hands; Malfoy extended languidly into the space around him, aware in the discomfort of her presence. They sat like this, a quiet test of stillness, for inestimable moments. It was broken by the swift and startling motion of rustling paper and stretching fingers.

Hermione squared the edges of several scraps of paper sharply on the desk in front of her. "Well," she said assertively, "let's get this over with."

"Please," Malfoy drawled.

"I made a list of possibilities last night," she continued, unheeding. "I couldn't think of much. I was hoping that maybe you could add some things; you know far more about the Dark Arts than I do, and this is right up your aisle." Malfoy shifted in his chair. "So, my first thought was that it was some sort of truth potion."

Malfoy looked at her. Hermione stared quite seriously back; any distaste or dislike was masked by a professional detachment. "A truth potion," he repeated. "Meaning, it surrenders us to our most honest feelings?"

Hermione reddened a little, but shrugged affirmatively. "That was my thought, yes."

"Sorry, Granger, but your dream isn't going to come true. There is no possible way I hold any desire for you."

"There are plenty of types of potions," she said, voice expressionless. "Who knows — somebody could have mixed a love potion in with our drinks, then followed it with a mild truth serum. Oh, I know that love potions never work — I've never held with them, anyway — but there could be all kinds of effects when the two mixed. And we were doing truth potions the first time it happened, remember?"

"There is no way that somebody could have slipped the potion in with your drink, then run across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table and put it in my glass without looking extremely suspicious," Malfoy said flatly. Hermione clutched the paper firmly, unwilling to be convinced. He sighed and looked away, eyes scanning the room for an irregularity. "Look, I know it isn't truth serum. I've had one. I know what it feels like, and that wasn't it."

Hermione knew better than to interrupt. She fastened her eyes on his profile instead, watching the words drip reluctantly off his tongue and roll the long path to her waiting ears.

"My father is what a lot of people say he his, and is a lot of things they don't say," he said, hesitation shattering every word. "I've lived with him for sixteen years, and I've never been able to understand him. I've always thought that your motives design who you are, shape you future — if there is such a thing. But his reasons are so different, so obscure, I've never been able to spread his thoughts before me, and know them before even he does. There aren't many that I can't do that two: he's one, Dumbledore's another."

He rubbed his hands through his hair, traced the grooves of graffiti on the tabletop. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this." Hermione smiled. She knew. Malfoy continued, "What I do know is that my father is strict — painfully so. He lives for rules and destroys those that break them.

"I was about four. Back then, there was no Dark Lord, and it was just a time when I was allowed to grow up. It's funny, I look back now and think of it as peace, but then I thought of nothing except my father's wand and his cane. I used to beg to go to Diagon Alley with him — he went there quite a lot on some Ministry business or another — if only to walk next to him and feel just a corner of his power. One time, the three of us, including my mum, went together, as a family for one of the few times I can remember. We had stopped by some Quidditch store, I think, and I saw a model broom that was meant to teach little kids how to fly. You know, small, compact, safe — hardly two feet long. I begged and cried and screamed for it, but my father refused to buy it for me. Indulgence is something he finds vulgar for everyone but himself.

"My mum argued a bit for me, but it didn't work. She's never really been more than decoration for my father — never really meant anything to him, you know? But she adores him. Anyways, it came to the point that I got so angry I shrunk the broom, by accident of course. It was the first magic I ever did. I stuck it in my father's pocket, and we left.

"My father exploded when he found it. Threw things, threatened to hit me and my mum, and because I was so small and frightened, I blamed it on my mum. I mean, how could I have shrunk it, at that age? She took the punishment without a word. A single word. He must have become suspicious, because he eventually force-fed me a truth serum. He asked me all kinds of questions, exposed all of my deepest fears, just to teach me a lesson." Malfoy fell silent, wrapped thickly in the folds of memory and pain. His hand on the table suddenly pressed deep into the surface, knuckles white as he gripped the edge.

Hermione thought she could guess what had happened afterwards. He had been beaten, and the knowledge of his terrors and humiliations were trapped eternally in the sharp grip of his father's mind. They were used against him, a leash around his throat that had to be jerked every once and awhile in reminder. "Malfoy," she said, hesitant to bring him out of his childhood anguish, "you didn't tell me how it felt."

He jerked his head around to look at her, eyes unfocused and forgetful of their purpose. They settled on her expectant face, spun comfort from a glimmer of warmth deep in her expression. He drew himself up, face contorting as he adopted his familiar mask of contempt. "Don't be so goddamn condescending," he spat. Hermione looked away, mouth puckering at the edges as she grasped the corners of a moment fast receding. "Look, it wasn't like it was between us. When my father fed me the truth potion, I could hear what I said and I saw what was happening, but I never thought. I never said to myself, 'I shouldn't be saying this.' Any self-oriented thoughts were detached or erased. Make sense?"

In answer, her quill crossed off the item on the list. "Next, I had the Imperius Curse."

"No."

"It was a longshot," she agreed, voice over-bright. She remembered the blank space, the place between her mind and Professor Moody's as he cast the spell. When she was in the hands of the Controller, however, she was trapped in the darkness of her own skull; she remembered right from wrong.

She frowned and looked down at her neat lips, pursing her lips. "There's no way Voldemort could have developed some sort of variation, is there?" she asked, feeling slightly better at Malfoy's flinch as she named the Dark Lord. "Made a couple of adjustments so it works over long distance? So the spell didn't have to be cast within sight of the victim?"

"I don't think so."

"I kind of doubted it. It didn't feel the same as when Moody put it on us." She scratched the words off, black ink smearing across the parchment. "Right. The next one: possession."

Malfoy leaned forward, interest caught for the first time. He had no immediate answer on his lips, just a glance that prompted Hermione to give her opinion. She breathed out; it was her turn, then, for secrets. But these were not hers to unfold, nor were they necessarily safe to divulge. Though most of the Death Eaters were aware of it, the less who knew, the better.

"Do you remember Second Year, with the Chamber of Secrets?" she began. Malfoy nodded. "Well, it's common knowledge that Ginny was possessed by Voldemort, thanks to the diary your father gave to her." Malfoy shifted his gaze to study the place where the white of the ceiling met the thick wall.

"What's not common knowledge is that Harry was under suspicion of being possessed by Voldemort last year. It's difficult to explain, but from what I've heard and guessed, it spreads from his scar — the link between him and Voldemort. Last year, this scar sometimes joined their minds, so that they saw through each other's eyes and could feel the other's emotions." Hermione paused, gaging Malfoy's reactions. His pale face remained steady and still, only the subtlest motions — there, the nearly invisible tremble high on his cheek; there, the flutter of eyelids beating a sliver more quickly than they had a moment ago — betrayed discovery. Hermione caught them — once, twice — in the browns of her eyes, and knew that perhaps he was not as closely facilitated with the ring of Death Eaters as they once had thought.

"To make a long story short," she continued, "Ginny eventually ruled out any possibility of Harry's being possessed. She said that when you are possessed, you have large lapses in memory, that there are hours unaccounted for."

"So it's not possession," Malfoy said, and melted deeper into his seat. His attention was broken, his eyes watched the lazy migration of the clouds as they descended to the horizon. There were patches of blue between them for the first time in weeks, and a January wind chased them ahead with bloated cheeks.

"There's a loophole," she said, straightening the edges of her parchment thoughtfully. Malfoy watched her hands move, glimpsing black fingers of ink stretch from the corners; her quill had slipped many times in meditation, leaving a trail of dark smears that could no longer be considered proper pictures. "I think that Ginny's exact words were, 'When Voldemort possesses you' — Voldemort, not 'when you are possessed.' She didn't say that it happened every time, not that she could know. She's only been possessed once." She set the papers down firmly, resolutely folding her hands in her lap. "I thought that maybe there's some other form of possession, sort of relaxed. Something that just nudges our bodies in the right direction, because it's too much bother too control our thoughts and memory, too."

She glanced at Malfoy. A shadow of intensity crumpled his forehead, and his eyes flickered from the present to memory and back again in many instants. His mouth silently formed her last sentences. "Wait here," he said suddenly, and bolted from his seat.

Hermione sighed and examined her stained fingers, black from cross-outs and hasty scribbles. She remembered the dull voice with which he recounted one of his greater humiliations. His mortifications had been too long trapped inside; it had merely taken a pair of listening ears to unlock them. He had not known why he trusted her above his closest friends, had faith in her not to use the knowledge against him, but the reason was simple: they shared a new humiliation, a new humbling, together. This tie, unlooked for and perhaps resented, was difficult to break.

Dust floated in streaks of sunlight, shattered by the ever-clean window panes; a spider wound thread over and under streaks of poisonous webbing; a fly, dazed by the heat spreading from a fire in the corner, spun dizzily overhead. Slumber and eternity were trapped in the brown room, just as she was caught between thought and thought. All seemed to rest on the opening of the blackened door.

It sprung aside moments later, startling her from her caged wonder. Malfoy paced through, an old book clutched triumphantly under his arm, his breathing ragged from the swift climb.

He slammed it on her desk, barely giving her time to recognize it from the alcove of the Dark texts in the Library — Myths You Thought Weren't Real: True Stories of God and Fate, she read — before opening it to a broken page.

"There," he said, pointing, "read there."

"...and with the meeting of earth and sky, four entities were born. They rule the human existence, puppet every child erupted from the womb. Their task is to weave the strings of each life together, to decide birth and death, love and pain. They design each path: the ruts and the forks and the joints as they cross. They have many guises, named and unnamed, but we would know them best as Age, Innocence, Cruelty, and Passion. Together, they form the Fates.

"It is not known where or how they work, excepting that the fire they dance through and around is their stage. In its flames, limp puppets jerk and are commanded by expert hands..."

She looked up. "I don't see why that concerns us," she said, but his hands were already blurred as he thumbed to the next dog-eared page. Again, he pointed.

"...one of these groups is that of the Fates (for more information, refer to page two hundred and twelve). On rare occurrence, perhaps when an outside force threatens them, the Fates take a more direct route. Instead of manipulating each life from a distance, they literally control each human's actions from the inside of the body. There have been testimonies in which the victim remembers what takes place, though these are rare and far apart. Often, if a Fate steps in, she will 'modify' the memory to read as if it was the victim's will to commit the action, not an outsider's. However, for reasons beyond the mere wizard's comprehension, she will sometimes leave the memories to read in an honest fashion. Meddleworth Locket, whose story is recounted on page three thousand twenty-four, has theorized that this minimal display of magical control is designed to only 'hint our limbs to move in the right direction. Their responsibility is huge, and the Fates would most likely prefers to do as least amount of work on an individual as possible."

"That's it," Hermione said, awed. She ran her fingers over the words, amazed that they had found their answer so easily; often, problems such as these took years to solve. She underlined the name Meddleworth Locket, tempted to read her confessions, but was sure that her story would be sickeningly familiar. She met Malfoy's stare, nodding once in honest gratitude. "That leaves only one question, then. The why. Why us, Malfoy?"

"I don't know. We probably never will," Malfoy said, gently closing the book. He traced the title. He smiled once, coldly but without malice. "But we can try to find out."

"Next week, Library?" she asked, extending her hand. It hung suspended between them, a small sign of weary progress, one that threatened the shadow the old life cast on their futures. Malfoy hesitated, gaze lingering on her bitten nails and bleeding hangnails, then gingerly covered her small palm with his large one.

"Next week," he agreed, and shook on it.

The tunnel, leading straight and deep into the darkness, twisted suddenly; the corner had masked any light, little chance of its existence as there was, that threatened to break the gloom. As the three stumbled around the bend, a sudden blue glare tore at their eyes with agonizing fury, wrenching eyelids downward in hasty protection.

Slowly, the crack of light between lids melted into vision, the blue reduced to soft illumination. Hermione squinted upwards and around her; they were standing in a chamber similar to that of the Heart — an open globe, though this was much larger. She glanced at her feet and flinched. The flow of blood was incased in blue veins that laced the ground, the source of the nearly blinding light.

With the thin shields of flesh to protect her only human mind, she studied the pattern the veins wove. It was as if they were branches of a deadened tree, a white shadow stark against the dark. They crossed and wove loose knots and parted again, only to join where all leaves begin: at the trunk. Her lidded eyes followed the veins to where they must meet, where they were born.

And there, in the pool of Time it created, rested a single eye. It watched her.

A/N: You'll have to excuse me for typos, but I figured that the sooner this was out, the better. I'll go back and edit it sometime this next week. I know that there wasn't much interaction between the two besides the professional - this chapter just for the explanation. Plus, they made it pretty clear last chapter that they didn't want to remember it, and would act as if it had never happened. Don't worry, some action will start showing up next chapter, but toned way down and not through the Fates (as was illustrated in the beginning of the chapter).

Thank-you's:

Ally: Merci beaucoup, ma cherie! You make me blush WAAAY too often, love. Like I said before, I'm really glad you thought I pulled it off. No spectacular giveaway, etc. Now that May has started, I hope that the terrors of April have left you far behind. I know you've got plenty of things going on back home, so no rush, but when are you going to update? I hope life isn't too hectic, and at least you can get in SOME of the things you enjoy in-between it all, whether it's reading or writing or making lemonade. Hugs and kisses, my dear, and chin up!

Callista: You like crows better than ravens? Really? Hm, I dunno. I guess I sort of picked the raven vs. the crow just because the name sounds better, to be honest. I actually don't mind crows too much. My mom told me a story when I was little about how when she walked to school, there was this crow that stood on a branch, and croaked "Hello, hello" at everyone who passed it. Sort of illustrated on how it's not entirely mad to say that they're smart, though I once though that they were the dumbest things in the world. Not good for much, that's for sure. Anyways, SO glad you enjoyed the last chap (chills, really?). I know this ones not exactly action-packed, but it's important. It'll be awhile before it picks up to the kind of "action" we all want to see, but I'm going to try to incorporate a bit here and there. Well, interested to hear what you think!

Slyswn: Wow. That is an awesome beyond awesome name. Brilliant. Hah, it would have been interesting if you HAD put the "A" in there - made it SWAN. Hehehehe...I'm sure you've heard that a million times though. And Harry and Luna? My my, I learned BUNCHES about you this time. I've never actually read any of those. I suppose I should, shouldn't I? I sort of think that Harry and Ginny WILL end up together, but it's true that most fics with that pairing aren't the most fun. Too obvious, sort of like Pansy and Draco. I just had to use those two to figure out another way to throw our heroes together again. But it sort of adds a more humane side to Drakes, doesn't it? Right, well, I'll leave you now, my dear. Kisses!

Dani: Thank you so much, my love! That praise kept me smiling for days. Your words meant a lot to me, and I hope that you'll drop by every now and then, and tell me what you think. (First review, my story? Eeps, shivers all over!) Cheers to you!

Prin69: Wow! You reviewed every chapter! Thanks so much, dearie. It meant a lot to have someone take the time to blip a little word of encouragement for every installment. Drop me a line every now and then to let me know what you think!

Lorett: What a review! About a million pages long, I think. I believe I responded to most of what you said in an email, so I'll keep it short. (Oh, about Ron...I didn't actually name him, but he was the dragon dancing with Pansy. A dragon COMPLETELY doesn't fit Ron's personality, which is why I had him wear it - I mean, Ron never has been a good judge of character. Plus, I was originally going to do a little blip with Pansy and Ron and their reactions, but decided it took away from the rest of the chapter. Plus, that way Pansy wouldn't have gotten suspicious.) Let's see...I told you about my reasons for Draco and Pansy (they won't be playing much of a role, really, just a way to add a little humanity to Draco)...oh! But pay attention to the Fates scene at the beginning of this chapter. Verrrrry important, it is. Your suggestion of eye contact and all that is going to start being incorporated slowly, but probably not in a way that you intended. Cheers, dearie! I'll talk to you soon!

Niah (Lady Saint): First off, before I get to the actual review, I just want to tell you how much I adore your name. It's wonderful. And thank you so much for your kind words! Warmed me right up! (It's May and FREEZING here...who knows why.) I hope to hear from you as the story progresses...this chapter was a bit different from the others, and I'm curious to hear what you thought.

Mrs-Accio-Firebolt: TWO REVIEWS? I feel absolutely, positively loved. Down to my toes and right through my bones. Not to mention the review itself...wow. I don't think anyone has every said something that nice to me in my LIFE. (By the way, if you ever think of the name of that movie you mentioned, I'd be interested to know.) Cruelty's part is swiftly approaching, as you may have noticed. But remember, she has TWO tasks now, though the second may not be revealed for awhile. Now, your mention of Draco's vanity with the costume...hah. I hadn't even really thought of that. That paragraph just sort of...came. I didn't really take the time to analyze the "why." But your mention of it put it in a whole new light. Man, writing that scene was so much fun. This one kind of seemed a let-down after that. Maybe it's why I struggled with it, but I certainly realized that returning to real life is no fun. Things will be quieter for awhile, though I've got some interesting things planned. A different kind of interesting though, not so otherworldly - as much as it breaks my heart to say so. Well, hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint TOO much. I updated fast (as I could) just for you! Much love right back atcha, darlin'!

BflatMajorScale: Thank you so much, my dear! I'm THRILLED to hear you'll keep reading (looks at you pointedly). I dunno if you noticed, but the no taking part thing will slow down for awhile. Possibly forever. Except for Cruelty's half, of course. She's swiftly approaching the spotlight...Hope to hear from you soon!

Ziggy4ever: Well, I updated...Heh heh. So it might have taken me a month too long, but at least it's here now. Right? Anyways, thank you so much for the words of encouragement. It's things like that for which this whole program was created! Can't wait to hear from you!

Minty (FallingWithGhosts): Man, yet another pen name I just loved! It's absolutely gorgeous. I completely agree with the whole Head Boy/Girl fics, though there are some very good ones out there. But you're right – a wee bit overused. Actually, I am sort of writing a second fic, VERY different from this though (I won't be posting until I'm completely done with the bulk of it) – less dark. In fact it's just sort of a simple romance story, without all the extra jazz, and I'm using the Head Boy/Girl scenario. But hopefully it won't be anything like what some authors do with the whole "BOOM! In love!" approach, as you so appropriately labeled. But thank you so much for your words in regards to this story, sweets. They made me smile. Can't wait for your thoughts!