The eyes moved and danced in the dark, watching her. The voice echoed again, a cold, hollow sound carried on the wind,
"We can see you!" A single pair of eyes separated from the others and hovered right in front of her. Hermione stood bolt upright, coming fully awake again. She shook her head, reaching out to the wall beside her to steady herself. Her stomach was doing summersaults, 'Damn it, get a grip Granger,' she scolded herself. She balled her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Rubbing her eyes, she swallowed against the lump in her throat, trying to force herself to calm down. 'Not easy when you're going insane!' she growled under her breath at the thought, 'Stop it Granger, it isn't helping. Calm the fuck down girl, focus, occupy yourself.' Looking around, she saw that the corridor was deserted. The tapestries and dusty suits of armour offered little in the way of a distraction for her. She yawned and checked her watch, it was just before 3, 'Any minute now…' The bell sounded, signalling the end of class, the sound pounded insider her head, 'Is that getting louder?' Shutting her eyes against the sound, she ground her teeth until the bell stopped, 'Finally!' The not so quiet murmur of relief floated out to her through the door of the Transfiguration classroom as the students inside started to gather up their things to leave, the sound lifted her spirits slightly, but not much.
The door opened and out they came, second years…or were they third years? She shook her head, unable to answer her own question. The junior students were all starting to look the same to her. Out of the door and down the corridor they bustled, laughing and smiling as they went. Friday afternoon always brought this kind of merriment and general good feelings to the school. Another week was over and the students had a weekend of relaxation ahead to look forward to. She smiled as she watched the last of them disappear beyond the end of the hallway. A slight coughing noise behind her pricked up her ears and she turned. Her smile faded as she saw Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway of her classroom. The Professor was watching her with a stern expression.
Professor McGonagall beckoned her forward and entered the room without a word. Hermione felt a cold lump form in her stomach as she stepped forward. Why did McGonagall want to see her? Was she in trouble for something?
Entering the classroom she was greeted by the sight of flying parchment. The Professor was marching between the desks, waving her wand with careful precision, sending reference books and miscellaneous bits of flotsam and clutter left by the class flying to land neatly on the shelves that lined the side walls or in the bins in the corners. Professor McGonagall was always a stickler for neatness, maybe the mess that the last class had left was the reason for her apparent bad mood. By the time she reached her desk, the room was spotless. Still unsure of what to expect, Hermione followed her, stopping about five feet short of the desk. The Professor stood with her back to her, sorting through some papers for a moment before standing upright and turning round,
"Ms Granger, thank you for being here on time. I hope I didn't drag you away from anything important?" Hermione shrugged slightly, 'Oh nothing much, fighting to stay awake, praying I'm not going insane – the usual,' the caustic nature of the thought surprised Hermione, worse still the fact that she had almost said it aloud!
"No, just reading Professor," she tried to sound fresh and chipper, "you know me," McGonagall frowned for a moment, then nodded,
"Yes, I do know you Ms Granger, that is why I wanted us to have a little chat," now Hermione was really confused, this wasn't like Professor McGonagall,
"What do you want to talk about Professor?" The Professor moved her hand to indicate the rolled up parchment she held,
"This," she said simply. Hermione turned her head to the side and squinted at the parchment, she could just about make out her name written on it. 'What?' she was about to ask, but then she recognised it,
"Is that…my essay Professor?" McGonagall nodded,
"Yes, if you choose call it that. Personally, I think gibberish is a better word for it…" Hermione's mouth dropped open. She felt the colour drain from her face. Gibberish? Her work was…gibberish? No teacher had ever used that word, or any other like it to describe her work in the past. It took a couple of seconds before she was able to speak,
"What?" was all she could force out of her mouth, she wasn't able to stop the waver in her voice. The Professor's face remained stoic,
"Let me illustrate my point Ms Granger," she unrolled the parchment and scanned it for a moment before she started reading, "'Animal to animal transformations are by far the most complex and difficult for a student to master. But, if the sheer complexity of the transformation is the sole point of consideration, then of course we must accept that animal to insect transformations are the most difficult.'" She paused and looked at Hermione, "Do you want me to continue?" Hermione shook her head, not really to answer the Professor's question, but because she was trying to remember writing the passage that she had just read,
"I wrote that?" she said, then blushed as she realised that she had said it aloud, Professor McGonagall nodded,
"You did, I could scarcely believe it when I read it, but it is your work," she unrolled the parchment further. Hermione watched in horror as she scanned the page, the expression of pure dissatisfaction never stirring from her face, "Contradictions, repetitions and unnecessary waffle throughout. I would have expected such a standard from Ronald Weasley, or perhaps Neville Longbottom on a good day," she lowered the essay and sighed, "but not from you Ms Granger," she turned and walked around to sit behind her desk, "For five years now you have been an excellent student, certainly the top of your class. Perhaps, if I may be so bold," she paused to make eye contact for a moment, "the brightest person I have ever had the pleasure of teaching in all my years here," McGonagall looked at the essay again for a moment, the look of disappointment on her face nearly crushed Hermione on the spot. She shook her head, "This isn't the first time that I have been confronted by a bad essay from a good student. Ordinarily I wouldn't give it more than a moment's consideration. I would simply grade the work on its own merit and leave it at that. But in your case…I feel I need to make an exception," she paused and rested on her elbows. Hermione tried to say something, anything. She felt the urgent need to explain herself. On the third attempt she managed,
"I…I'm sorry Professor," McGonagall frowned,
"Sorry for what?"
"Professor?"
"What are you sorry for, Ms Granger? This is your work…your essay…your grade. You have no reason to apologise to me,"
"But…I thought…"
"Thought what, Ms Granger?" the Professor paused, her expression softened for a moment, "Thought I'd be angry with you?" Hermione was lost, for once a teacher had asked her a question that she really couldn't answer. Feeling tears threaten to overtake her, she held her breath, not trusting herself to keep it together if she tried to answer. Professor McGonagall shook her head, "No, I'm not angry with you. This," she scanned the essay yet again, "isn't the worst essay I've received in my time. Truth be told, it isn't even the worst of the essays submitted for this assignment. If anything, it falls in the middle of the bunch. Had any other student submitted it…" she paused and frowned slightly in thought and then she shook her head and stood up, "This is difficult. I…I am not sure how best to say this, I normally prefer to avoid these kinds of discussions with students but…"
"But what…Professor?" the waver was still in her voice, she shut her mouth and chewed on the side of her tongue in a last ditch effort to stop herself from breaking down, McGonagall's expression changed, for a moment Hermione thought that the Professor might start to cry,
"Are you alright Ms…Hermione?" Hermione blinked slowly, the question stumped her. She rattled her head as hard as she could, trying to shake her thoughts back into motion,
"I'm…fine Professor," McGonagall frowned,
"Are you quite sure?" Hermione nodded,
"Yes, really…I…just have a lot on my mind I guess," the Professor nodded,
"I know you do," she said quietly. Hermione panicked, she knew? What did she know?
"W…what?"
"You think I wouldn't notice the change in you Hermione?" Hermione's mind raced, what was the Professor trying to say?
"I don't understand Professor," McGonagall sighed,
"I tried to convince Professor Dumbledore that he was wrong, that you and your friends had enough to worry about as it was and that knowledge of…current events in the war would only serve to make matters worse for you," she lifted a hand to her brow, "he of course didn't listen and now…look where we are," the lump in Hermione's throat shrank again, she let out a silent sigh of relief. The Professor thought that the briefings on the war were what were bothering her, she didn't know about the dreams. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves then realised that the Professor was still talking, "You have enough to cope with dealing with your studies. You have no need to be burdened with matters that do not concern you," she turned to face Hermione, "I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore, somehow I'll make him see sense," 'Talk to Dumbledore? See sense?' Hermione panicked again, McGonagall was going to try and make Dumbledore stop informing her about the war! 'No!' the thought detonated inside her head, shattering any other thoughts. It took a moment for her to steady herself. Professor McGonagall was looking at her, her expression was somewhere between surprise and annoyance,
"No what Ms Granger?" the Professor raised an eyebrow and stared at her. Hermione felt herself blush, she had said that thought aloud?
"Erm, no…I don't want you to talk to Professor Dumbledore Professor,"
"I know you don't want me to Ms Granger, but surely you of all people will realise that I should. You are exhausted! I can see it in your face. But even if I couldn't, there are other signs. In the last few weeks, you have been late for class on no less than five occasions, your attention during classes wavers constantly and you seem to be less and less prepared for the lessons, certainly less than is normal for you. And now your work is clearly starting to suffer as well. This situation is absolutely unacceptable. You have no need to be worrying about the war, not while you're here. This is a school, you are here to learn,"
"I know that but…"
"But nothing, you must learn your limits Hermione. You are not a member of The Order, as such its business is not your business. As your teacher I cannot stand back and allow it to affect your work as much as it clearly has. And as…" she paused, "as your friend, I cannot allow it to affect you as much as it has," the Professors voice was really quiet as she finished speaking. Hermione shut her eyes, blinking away the first of the tears. The Professor's concern touched her a great deal, but she was wrong, the Order briefings weren't to blame for her exhaustion, in fact she could barely remember the details of the last two. She took another deep breath, she could hardly remember any details of the last fortnight at all. Days blurred together, nights were spent tossing and turning, drifting from one nightmare to another. She looked up at the Professor's face, fighting down the wave of emotion,
"No, please Professor, I'm alright…really. You don't have to say anything to the Headmaster,"
"You're alright?" she shook her head, "don't lie to me Hermione, I have already told you that I know you are not alright. You're…" Hermione spoke before the realisation that she was interrupting a teacher hit her,
"Exhausted I know, but its nothing, I just haven't been sleeping well lately," the Professor opened her mouth to say something, but Hermione cut her off again, "It isn't the briefings that have been troubling me Professor, honestly," she put as much effort into keeping her voice level as she could, the Professor frowned,
"Alright then, what has been troubling you?" Hermione opened her mouth to answer, she had been about to tell the Professor the truth but she stopped. Her mouth clicked shut. How could she tell Professor McGonagall, the most serious and logical person she knew that the reason that she was falling to pieces was that she couldn't stop having nightmares and hearing voices? She shook her head,
"It's nothing," seeing the look on the Professor's face, she added, "really, its silly,"
"How about you let me decide what's silly?" Hermione thought fast, she had never been good at lying, and lying to teachers always seemed even harder somehow. She bit her lip, 'Damn it, where's Harry when I need him?' then it hit her,
"Well, it's just…"
"Yes?"
"It's just that…Harry and I, or no, Ron and I…well we sort of had a fight,"
"A fight?" Hermione nodded,
"Yes, we had a row and now we aren't speaking,"
"What did you row about?" her mind raced, what to tell and what to hide?
"Well…like I said it was silly. Really we just started shouting at one another and kept going. Now…well its kind of awkward being around them," she trailed off, having no further inspiration. She looked at the floor but could still feel the Professor's stare,
"I see, and that is the reason you haven't been sleeping? And why your essay was of such a poor standard?" the lump came back when she thought about her essay,
"Yes Professor, but I promise it won't happen again," the Professor didn't speak, she just looked hard at her for several seconds. Hermione got the distinct impression that she didn't believe her. But what could she do? The lie was told, she had committed the sin and now she had to stick with it to the end. After a pause, Professor McGonagall nodded,
"Fair enough then, if that is what is bothering you," her face and her tone darkened, "I must say that I find it hard to believe that you would allow something so petty and small to affect you so severely but," she shook her head, "I suppose it is an explanation," she turned to walk back to her desk, "Well then, that should be all," she paused before she sat down, "You can go," her tone was flat, Hermione was more certain than ever that she didn't believe a word of her explanation. The guilt of lying to her weighed heavily on her. The thought that she had somehow hurt the Professor's feelings made it even worse, she felt bad, wanted to explain, to come clean but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Her hands started to shake again as she turned round to leave. She got to the door, feeling the effort of every last step before the Professor spoke again and stopped her,
"Ms Granger," slowly, she turned round,
"Yes Professor?"
"These are difficult and stressful times for all of us, worse if we try to carry the burden alone. I would like to know…I would like you to know that…if you ever need to talk, to share whatever you wish to share…I am always willing to listen. Will you remember that?" Hermione felt as it the wind had been sucked out of her lungs, she wanted to answer, tried to, but in the end all she could manage was a tiny nod. The Professor returned the nod and Hermione left. She managed to walk to the end of the corridor before she felt herself start to break down again. She accelerated and ran as fast as she could back to Gryffindor, desperately avoiding any contact with the people she passed.
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Etean scanned the page again, gaining no new information at the fifth reading. Not that he really expected to but he needed to be thorough. He dropped the file and picked up another, smirking slightly when he saw the glaring red stamp on the cover,
'Classified – Eyes Only for Ministry Officials, Level 4 or Higher.'
"Classified by the Ministry," his voice echoed around the empty training room, "Right!" he flipped the file open and studied it's contents. A nearly pointless exercise, the Ministry files on the Death Eaters were nowhere near as comprehensive as those maintained by the Circle, but, as was often the case with such things, most of the additional information was hearsay and supposition. The two sets of information represented two different view points on the subject. Comparing and contrasting the two allowed him to filter out the rumours and guesswork to get to the truth. His eyes settled on the heading,
'Nott, Theodore M.'
Etean scanned the first page, ignoring irrelevancies such as Nott Senior's date of birth and educational qualifications etc, they were of no use to him. He shuffled the pages, jumping to the first, and most recent of the Auror reports on him,
'Report on Death Eater Activity Date: 3rd October 967 P.E.
Report Filed by: Shakelbolt, K, Auror in Good Standing, ref no: 971086
The encounter I detail began as a response by Shakelbolt, K (author) and Goodhall, W (Auror in Good Standing, ref no: 993445) to reported Death Eater activity in Leeds…'
Etean skipped the boring red tape nonsense that always filled the headers of such reports – long winded and designed to make the author sound cleverer than he or she really was. He sighed, Aurors were clever, they couldn't do their job if they weren't, but they all seemed to desire to sound even smarter when they wrote their reports. Sometimes it was to disguise the fact that the Auror in question was doing less work than he was supposed to be, sometimes it was simple ego boosting. A skim reading of the first page told him that this Kingsley Shakelbolt was of the latter variety, talented but long winded. The first three paragraphs were crammed full of irrelevant, poetic nonsense. Eventually, towards the bottom of the page, he started to detect some fragments of the information he was seeking. The report was of the most recent incident involving Theodore Nott's father. He and Belatrix Lestrange had been seen sneaking into a muggle apartment block. The Aurors had responded in force, sending five men to take on the two Death Eaters. There was a clash…and they had escaped! Etean paused to shake his head. Even outnumbering their opponents with better than two to one odds didn't give the Ministry Aurors a victory? Were the Death Eaters that good or were they just lucky?
He read on,
'Believing that Lestrange, B. was incapacitated, I focussed my attention on Nott, T. He had managed to elude both Reinhart, M. and Ormonde, P., and had taken a Muggle girl (name not disclosed) hostage, using her as a shield to prevent us from attacking him - a disgraceful show of cowardice in my opinion, for him to use an innocent girl like that. I pray to Merlin's memory for the day that such acts of barbarism are nothing but a distant, unpleasant memory…'
Etean let out a slight laugh, Shakelbolt was a dreamer. Acts of 'barbarism' like that were the result of human nature, and that wouldn't ever change. Death Eaters or no Death Eaters, there would always be people in the world willing and able to hurt others for their own gain. He sighed. Still it was an insight into Nott's character, a clue to the puzzle that was Theodore Nott Senior. The remainder of the report mirrored the details as laid out in the Circle file. The Aurors had made the mistake of turning their back on Belatrix Lestrange, believing her to be unconscious and therefore safe, they had been wrong. She had managed to surprise and overpower two of them before the rest had figured out what was going on. The ensuing battle had left two Aurors in critical condition and the unfortunate Muggle girl dead.
Etean dropped the report and the file and sat back, letting his mind flow. He had assimilated all the new information of value that the files included, now he had to figure out where it fitted into the bigger puzzle. The situation laid itself out before his watching mind. 'Start at the beginning Etean, work it through,' he repeated to himself. The beginning? Well the point of initial interest at least was when Theo Nott Junior had offered what he called an alliance, a mutually beneficial arrangement whereby he would gain favour in the eyes of Voldemort by bringing him the loyalty and service of Lord Etean and in turn Etean would gain the 'security' of being on Voldemort's side and 'out of his path'.
The offer seemed, on the surface to be genuine, certainly Nott had gone out of his way over the last couple of weeks to make it seem that way. Subtle gestures and quiet reminders, all designed to make Etean see the value of the proposition. And that was the problem - his eagerness. Nott was exposing himself, openly admitting that he served, or was willing to serve Voldemort. In so doing, he was taking a serious risk. If Dumbledore or any one of a dozen other people in Hogwarts that sprang to mind were to find out, then expulsion was the very best thing Nott could hope for. Etean bit his lip, Nott knew this, he had to, and yet he had taken the risk and shown his hand to Etean.
Etean understood Nott's reasons, but not his motivation. Nott wanted to be the one to bring the Lord Etean over to Voldemort's side and in so doing, reap the benefits that Voldemort's favour would bring. The question was why. Etean dismissed the obvious answers, greed, lust for power, purely because they were obvious. Nott wasn't stupid enough to be acting merely out of greed, or out of any sycophantic desire to serve Voldemort, he was too scared for that to be true. He was gambling, and the thought of Etean turning him down, of coming out of this empty handed terrified him. Why was he so afraid? And what exactly was he afraid of? Those were the key questions Etean needed to answer now. Answer them and the rest would start to make sense. If he could figure out the cause of Nott's fear, then he would know how to handle him, how to turn this situation to his advantage.
He looked back down at the file on the table, Nott Senior was the key. He was Nott's only real link to the Death Eaters. He was where Nott's fear started, part of it even if he wasn't the cause. He had trained his son to be an Occlumence, maybe he had done more, perhaps he was responsible for his son's actions. Etean shook his head, supposition was only as good as the guess it boiled down to. How much could he hope to learn from reading reports? They were merely summations of events from an observer's point of view, a series of opinions about the meaning and cause of Nott Seniors actions. None of it was concrete, none of it definite. Etean sighed, his head was starting to hurt. Almost without thinking, he conjured his potion and took a draught. As his head settled, he felt a familiar tug on his mind followed by a disturbance in the Ether. Someone was trying to contact him, he could guess who it was.
Sitting forward, he set the goblet down and waved his hand over the desk, whispering the incantation under his breath. The communication bowl appeared. With only a moment's pause, he reached down and disturbed the water,
"Yes," he said quietly. After a moment, Poliakov's face appeared in the water,
"Hello Boy," Etean nodded,
"Evening Old Man, I was wondering what was missing from my evening," he put on a deliberately false smile, "now I know," Poliakov smiled back, with slightly more genuine emotion behind it,
"Very funny Boy, I must admit that my life has been quieter these past weeks, minus your effervescent wit," now Etean laughed,
"Quiet? I doubt that your life has been anything but quiet of late," he paused then snapped his fingers, "but oh yes, I forgot. You like politics don't you? So of course you've been enjoying yourself," Poliakov rolled his eyes and grumbled something that didn't transmit very well,
"It's a little late in the day for you to start insulting me don't you think?" Etean shrugged,
"Ok then, no insults," his tone became serious, "How are the negotiations going?"
"Nearing the end…of the beginning," Poliakov paused, Etean guessed he was suppressing a sigh, "the key points have been addressed and the arguments are underway. At this rate, the treaty will be signed on schedule, ahead of it if by some miracle the ministers actually start listening to one another," he sighed and sat back, the sheer exhaustion in his voice carried through the transmission. Etean nodded,
"I was right, you have been having fun!" Both looked at each other before they both laughed, Poliakov was the first to get himself under control,
"You don't know the half of it," his voice was light, and retained the humour of the previous moment but he really did sound tired, too tired. Etean frowned at the shimmering water,
"Trouble?" Poliakov shook his head,
"No not really, no more than usual in any case," Etean sighed and reached out, tapping the bowl with his fingers. The reflected image of Poliakov stuttered and wavered as the water rippled harder. On his end, Etean knew that Poliakov would be seeing his reflection dance in a similar pattern,
"Don't try to lie to me Old Man, remember who you're talking to," he stopped hitting the bowl and the water settled, Poliakov looked annoyed,
"I know who I'm talking to Boy. I'm talking to someone who should know better than to show such disrespect. You used to, if I recall correctly," Etean raised his hand to stroke his chin, rubbing his thumb across his ring as he did, causing it to glint in the candlelight. He saw Poliakov's eyes dart to it,
"You used to outrank me Old Man," he lowered his hand, "not anymore," he leaned forward, "So how about you stop trying to protect me and tell me what's going on? Has the Council managed to figure out what the Death Eaters are really up to?" Poliakov pursed his lips in contemplation for a moment,
"No, we haven't. Their attacks continue to proceed in a somewhat random, chaotic fashion. Our best explanation is that they are stalling, trying to keep the Ministry off guard long enough for Voldemort to complete the Ascension," Etean nodded,
"Your best explanation? Or your best guess? And what about the attacks on members?" Poliakov smiled,
"There is no definite proof that they are really targeting members at all. It is far more likely that they are acting at random, throwing a wide net of terror and chaos, and that we are merely being caught by chance,"
"You really believe that? With no proof?" Poliakov nodded,
"It does make sense, we are certainly not faring that badly on the whole, only a small number of the attacks are being directed at us. The probability analysis checks out," Etean sighed,
"Probability analysis? Great, another guess," Poliakov grumbled again before he spoke,
"You know full well that ninety percent of our decisions amount to probabilities and a certain level of assumption. You may choose to call it guesswork, but in our world nothing is ever certain, facts are rarely concrete,"
"Spare me the lecture will you?" Poliakov paused, a slight frown creased his brow,
"Ok, but the facts remain the facts, we simply don't know enough of them to be sure of anything as yet. However," he drew back and smiled, "with any luck, things are about to shift in our favour for a change," Etean frowned,
"You really think that the treaty will have that big an impact on the Death Eaters?"
"Perhaps not directly no, certainly not immediately but it will affect the Ministry and, as we sit astride this particular conflict, knowledge of how either side will act gives us the advantage," Etean nodded, remembering the endless lectures,
"We know how the tide will shift, and we will catch the wave, I remember. So, when does it go public?"
"Not until it's ready, until we're ready. I doubt if we will even have an initial draft within two weeks. The final signing won't be for some time. Still, it would be prudent for you to implement the restructuring orders that we discussed, the Etyar will need time to prepare," Etean took a deep breath, then nodded,
"Consider it done, the orders will go out tonight," he reached out to take another swig of his potion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Poliakov watching him but the old man didn't speak until he had set the goblet down,
"An attack?" Etean shut his eyes, suppressing the grimace at the foul taste of the potion, he shook his head,
"No, not for a while, just headaches. Nothing I didn't expect," he wiped his mouth and sat forward again, "Nothing I can't handle," Poliakov nodded,
"Good enough, but you should probably get some rest so I'll come right to the real point of this conversation,"
"Which would be?"
"The Librarian tells me that you have requested more files, information about the Death Eaters, why?" Etean shrugged,
"I needed to know more about them,"
"That doesn't answer my question,"
"Well it'll have to do. It's about all I have at the moment. I'm following a thread I picked up on, concerning Theodore Nott,"
"Theodore Nott? What about him? He's a mid level operative, nothing more. One of the old guard, loyal to Voldemort since before his first fall but he's nothing unique,"
"Yes he is, I'm just not entirely sure how yet,"
"Explain,"
"I can't, like I said, I'm not sure yet. I'm investigating his son, he's not what he's supposed to be. I have a hunch that it has something to do with his father so I decided to do a little digging,"
"Are you sure that's wise?" Poliakov's voice changed, it took on an aggravating, superior tone that Etean had always disliked hearing,
"Why the hell wouldn't it be?"
"Because it's not your job, that's why. You have other things to worry about,"
"I know that, and I am worrying about them. But there is something else going on here, I'm starting to doubt that anyone here is what they appear to be,"
"I could have told you that before you went there, and did if memory serves, but you need to focus on the mission and nothing else,"
"Do me a favour and don't try and tell me how to do my job will you?" Poliakov raised his hands and waved Etean down,
"Ok, just…be careful. This is too important for any of us to make any mistakes," he paused for a moment, his voice became calmer, "How is the boy?" Etean barked out a laugh,
"How do you think? He's in pieces, damn near ready to give up," Poliakov sighed,
"I wish I could blame him, what are you doing to help him through this?"
"Nothing, there isn't anything I can do. He's too fragile right now, if I push, he could snap altogether. I'll just have to wait for him to get a handle on things himself,"
"I don't think we have time for him to wait for him," Etean shook his head,
"We don't have any other choice Old Man, the die is cast. We can't turn back now and you know it,"
"Yes," Poliakov's eyes drifted shut, "I know."
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Hermione's hand slipped off her forehead, her head shot forward. The sudden movement shocked her and brought her fully awake again. She sat up and stretched the stiffness from her neck,
'What time is it?' she asked herself, rubbing her eyes. She looked at her watch, half past two! 'Damn, will this night ever end?' She rubbed her eyes again and yawned. Turning her attention back to the book in front of her, Hermione tried to focus on the text. It wasn't easy, the words were a hazy blur, they seemed to fade from the page even as she looked at them. The faded fast, followed by the page and the desk, darkness enveloped her,
'NO!' she slammed her hand down on the tabletop, the stinging in her skin forcing her to wake up once more. She sat back and started taking slow, deep breaths, grinding her knuckles into her eyes as hard as she could, so hard that she saw stars when she took them away. 'Stay awake Granger, you have work to do,' she pinched the bridge of her nose and stifled a yawn. It was true, she had resolved herself never to disappoint a teacher again. It didn't matter what else was going on in her head, she had to pull her socks up and knuckle down to her studies. But right now, she had to stay awake, she wanted nothing more than that. She sat back, resting her head on the high back of her threadbare chair and tried to compose herself.
It was dark in the Common Room, only the one small candle on her table was illuminated. Its tiny glow caused the shadows to dance and jump across the walls. 'Too dark!' She reached out to pick up her wand, her hand trembled. She clenched a fist and gently punched the air to settle her mind. It worked, her hand steadied. She picked up her wand and turned, flicking it first at the fire, then at the candles dotted around the room. Their warm glow filled the room and her heart, making her instantly feel better, safer than she had felt a moment ago. She smiled as she looked around, her eyes moving from candle to candle, watching each tiny flame flicker and dance.
They continued to dance, she felt suddenly calm as she watched, an almost eerie peace. Then they moved! First one, then another and another until they were all moving. The peace she felt faded as quickly as it had come when she realised what they were, the eyes! They moved and danced in the air around her, watching her. Their gaze drilled into her, penetrating deep into the heart of her very soul. Her breath caught in her throat as fear gripped her. She couldn't move, she couldn't even think as they stared at her, the eyes of faces she couldn't see. The voice echoed again, a cold, hollow sound,
'We can see you,' a single pair of eyes separated from the others and hovered right in front of her,
"No!" she said, the sound of her voice waking her once more. She rubbed her face then ran her fingers through her hair, it was no good. She hadn't the strength to stay awake any longer. She closed the book with a thud and stood up, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet. She packed her books and parchment into her bag, choosing to leave it by the table, she doubted if she had the energy to carry it up the stairs.
The walk up the girls' staircase seemed to take forever, each step was harder than the last. Finally, she reached the landing. Even through the bedroom door, she could hear Lavender snoring, 'Christ how does she sleep through that racket?' She opened the door and entered, crossing in silence to her bed. Her fingers fumbled in the darkness to undo her buttons. In the end, after about five minutes she managed to get undressed and pulled on her nightdress. Her heart started to pound in her chest as she pulled back the covers, harder and harder until it started to hurt. Feeling short of breath, she rubbed her chest and sat down on the edge of the bed, listening as the pounding got louder and louder in her ears. The darkness closed in on her, she could feel it press into her, she was falling asleep, the eyes wouldn't be far behind. A light! She needed to send the darkness away. She fumbled for her wand, it should be somewhere on her locker. She found it, but her fingers were shaking so hard that she couldn't pick it up. After a moment of clumsy fumbling, it slipped away and she heard it clatter on the floor,
"Shit!" she said, then jumped, it sounded a hell of a lot louder than she had intended it to. She slid off the bed and knelt on the floor, searching for her wand. A noise behind her spun her around, a muffled rumbling. Her eyes scanned the darkened room for the source of the noise with no success. Her wand forgotten, she stood up, straining to hear the noise again, trying to tune Lavender's snores out. There it was again, outside the door.
The sound seemed to call to her, drawn forward by an urge to locate the source, she crossed to the door and with as deep a breath as the ache in her chest would allow her, she opened the door, ready to leap back from whatever lay beyond. Nothing! The landing was empty. She stepped out and looked around, the noise sounded again from the direction of the staircase. She moved to find it, the stairs passed in a flash and she was in the Common Room again. She stepped toward the fire and froze, she had found the source of the noise. Sitting by the entrance to the Portrait Hole sat a silver wolf. She recognised it, the same one she had chased time and time again in her dreams. She shut her eyes and shook her head, 'You're dreaming Granger, this is only a dream,' she opened her eyes, expecting to see the inside of her bedroom but the wolf was still there, staring at her. The rumbling sounded again and now she recognised it, the beast was growling at her, but she again felt no fear of it, it wouldn't hurt her. 'This is a dream,' her voice roared inside her head, she lifted her hand and slapped herself across the face as hard as she could. Still the wolf remained. She slapped herself again, and again but to no avail, she couldn't wake herself from this dream.
The wolf growled again, the sound resonated in her chest, calling to her, challenging her. She felt anger stir inside her, the beast was daring to test her? It growled again, the noise continued for longer than before, it seemed to grow louder. It took her several seconds to realise that she was growling too, answering the wolf's challenge. Then silence! For several long seconds Hermione and the wolf just stared at one another, neither moved an inch, locked in a test of strength, a test of will that neither were willing to lose.
The wolf moved first, it stood and turned, disappearing into the shadows of the Portrait Hole. Hermione felt a surge of elation at the victory, but it faded fast. As she lost sight of it, the ache in her chest doubled, nearly making her pass out. She moved, running after the beast. She had to follow it, nothing else mattered, she needed to catch the wolf, it wouldn't beat her. She pushed the Portrait open and jumped out onto the stairs. She leaned on the railing to catch her breath and scanned the stairs below her. There it was, a flash of silver movement two levels down from her. Feeling rather than hearing the growl in her throat, Hermione ran as fast as she could down the stairs after it, jumping trick steps without even realising. She hit the second floor landing and slipped, falling hard on the stone and grazing her knee.
She sat up, swallowing a series of swear words and looked around. There it was, the wolf was sitting less than five feet from her, it growled again and moved, heading down the corridor. The sound of its growl again called to Hermione, she jumped up and ran after it. It would not beat her! She sprinted after it as fast as she could, round corners, up and down stairs until she had no idea where she was or where she was going. No matter how fast she ran, it ran faster, no matter how hard she tried to catch it, it stayed ahead, out of reach. Anger gave way to frustration, frustration to desperation as she ran on, never loosing sight of her quarry. Finally, she rounded a corner and stopped, it was a dead end! The wolf was nowhere in sight, the corridor extended for less than ten feet before ending in a solid wall, there were no doors or windows, nothing to indicate where the wolf had gone. In desperation, she ran to the wall and pushed, trying to dislodge or break through it.
"No," she cried, pounding her fists against the stone. Where had it gone? What did it want? What the hell was wrong with her? The pain returned to her chest, taking her breath away as she pounded the wall again and again, sliding to her knees as tears poured from her eyes. She sat on the floor, feeling the cold stone through her thin nightdress. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. The last thing she remembered was shivering and crying.
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Draco rubbed his neck, trying to dislodge the stiffness in his muscles. Only succeeding in making the pain worse, he shut his book and stood up, walking around and rolling his head until the cramp started to fade. His fingers squeezed the leather of the book and he snarled under his breath. Whoever had written the Book of the Ascension had to have been a hell of a lot smarter than he was. He had lost count of the times he had read, then re-read the same passage over and over trying to make sense of it, only to give up and move on to the next one, with the same result.
He looked out of the window at the starless night, trying to empty his mind. He was making headway, if you could call it that. He was certain of one thing, the Ascension was not going to be pleasant, for him or for Voldemort. The final stage, the time when Etean had said Draco had to make his move would come only after hours of preparations. Before that final stage, he would have to go through literally dozens of complex, confusing and, if his imagination was even close to accurate, painful preparatory rituals and rites. He would be subjected to an agonising series of spells and hexes, most of which he couldn't even pronounce, and they were just the beginning? Reading about them, what pieces he could understand left him feeling decidedly nervous. He laughed,
"No Draco, you're terrified," he tried to make his voice sound like an imitation of Etean. To his ears he did a good enough job to make him smile. He was though, he knew it, he was terrified. How the hell could he live through all those things, all the pain and suffering and still have enough left to derail Voldemort? He couldn't do it, it wasn't possible, it just couldn't be. He shook his head and ground his teeth, it was impossible, but what good did that knowledge do him? He had no choice, no way out. Etean wouldn't believe him, he wouldn't ever accept that his plan wouldn't work.
Anger surged in Draco's gut. His mind raged and boiled as he remembered how easily Etean had manoeuvred him into this position. Piece by piece, step by step he had carefully led Draco down the path, removing his options and steering him away from the things he didn't want him to see. Looking at the chain of events, from that first day in Draco's bedroom, it was ridiculously clear. How had he missed it? How had he let himself believe, even for a second that Etean was telling him the truth, in anything?
And now he was here, and Etean was still steering him along, leading him over the cliff and dragging the rest of the world with him. The anger boiled over in him, he hurled the book across the room and roared. What the hell was Etean playing at? Draco couldn't do this, there was absolutely no way it could work, all Etean had to do was admit that and have done with it.
But no, he was Lord Etean, he could never be wrong, never make a mistake, even if it cost millions of lives. Draco balled his fists and clenched his jaw, trying to hold to his anger, he needed it, needed something to hold onto. It didn't work, the dull, empty void inside him opened up and sucked it away. Etean had led him into this, but he had followed. If he had had the intelligence to see things more clearly, then he wouldn't be in this mess, then…she would still be alive.
He shut his eyes as his mothers face appeared in his mind, the memory of their last conversation replayed in his head,
'I believe I can protect you Draco,' Damn it, what had she done? What happened to make him kill her? His mind started down the path of what ifs again, what if I hadn't told her? What if I had tried to persuade her to stay out of it? What if…
The thought evaporated as a dull pounding sound spun him around. The noise was coming from outside the door of his room, out in the corridor.
'At this time of night?' his senses extended, he reached out to sense the person on the other side of the door. A wave of fear and pain slammed into him, taking his breath away. His senses retreated, shielding him from the storm. Whoever it was they were not alright. He crossed to the door and pulled it open raising his wand to illuminate the short stairway that led to the secret door that hid him from the word. He reached the bottom,
"Honey bee," he spoke the ridiculous password that Dumbledore had told him would open the door and stood back to avoid the wall as it swung inward.
The corridor beyond the door was dark, no surprise at this hour but the light of his wand revealed,
"Hermione?" she didn't answer but it had to be her, the raging bush of unkempt auburn hair was unmistakable, though it appeared to be even more of a mess than usual. He moved over and knelt beside her, she was curled up in a ball with her head in her hands, "Hermione," he repeated, "What are you doing here?" He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. She stirred, her head raised and she looked at him. Her face seemed paler than he remembered. Through the tangled mass of her fringe, he could make out how red and swollen her eyes were. The look in her eyes, the pain he saw there filled his gut with ice, "Are you alright?" he reached up and tried to move some of the hair from her eyes. She didn't answer him, she just stared out through her bloodshot eyes. She was shaking, he wasn't sure if it was the cold or whatever had made her so upset but she was visibly rattling, with each breath he could hear her teeth chattering. Tears flowed in a steady stream from her eyes, they shone in the light of his wand as they flowed across her cheeks.
Draco reached up to wipe her face and she pulled away, gasping in fright as though she had only just seen him,
"Its OK Hermione, I won't hurt you," he reached out again and this time succeeded in touching her face. She was freezing, her skin was like ice. She continued to tremble but didn't recoil from him again. As gently as he could, he wiped the tears away as they fell. "What happened? What is it?" he asked quietly, afraid that she'd panic at any moment. She opened her mouth as if to respond but no sound came out except a quiet, guttural croak. She shut her eyes and lowered her head, a huge sob rocked her. Draco looked around, seeking help. He had no idea what was wrong with her but he knew he couldn't fix it. The Hospital Wing was nearby, Madame Pomfrey might not appreciate being woken at this hour, but what choice did he have?
He stood, taking his hand from her face. In an instant she moved, she reached up and grabbed his hand, her fingernails dug into his skin,
"Hey!" he knelt again, "It's alright, I'm just going to get the nurse, she can help you," she stared at him with absolute terror in her eyes and shook her head, never releasing his hand, "What's wrong Hermione?" he asked again and again she didn't answer. He extended his senses to contact her mind, trying to sense what was going on in her head. A deluge of chaotic images and primal emotions poured out of her mind into his, he could only hold the connection for a few seconds before it became too much to bear. He shook his head to clear it, then looked at her again. She was still shivering, he was starting to feel the cold as well, the night air was decidedly chilly. He put an arm round her, lifting her with him as he stood. They couldn't stay here, they'd freeze. He got her standing, though he was sure if he released her, she'd fall down again. Where would he bring her? She seemed to not want to go to the Hospital, and Gryffindor was miles away so there was only one place left. With a lot of effort, he half steered, half carried her out of the corridor and up the stairs.
A/N: here we go again, another update – sorry it took so long, several reasons, too many to mention.