… Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Through thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou" I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Chapter Eight: The Mistress' Raven
For many years then, in a dark desolate nesting beneath the rooftops of Azkaban prison, there lingered a black-birch raven with its perfect ebony feathered body, and bright intense yellow eyes that stood out in the darkness of its desolate dwellings. For fifteen years it watched over its mistress who dwelled also within the prison and its cold stonewalls, its ghastly conditions, which she endured for the longest time. It was curious that this beautiful creature had lived so long, not even loosing one bit of usefulness it held when the mistress first made him her servant. A blurry memory she held in the past when she had first come to her husband's house and had been appalled by the curious death of all the owls she had brought to the dreadful place. But then she uncovered this creature's existence in her midst when she found out that this raven had been the cause of her messenger's demises. At first she had planned to kill this nuisance but then tried to prove if she could find it useful. The mistress was clever; she tried, in every way to use everything to her advantage. It was a wise way of living, selfish, but wise.
Her pet, this mysterious reliable creature devoted to her, had watched her all those years since she kept him and it still watched her, even in her seclusion, for it believed that his mistress would be free again someday, just as it was free to fly. But throughout the years she was imprisoned, her pet fashioned itself imprisoned as well as it watched over her, never leaving her, staying ever devoted.
There were the days when its mistress was free, before her capture when she supposedly lost her emanating glory. The days when she had been her carefree self, being the charming and deadly woman she was, when she had succumbed to power, her first and true love. Yes power, something the mistress loved dearly, something that kept her alive all those long years of supposed punishment. Those days she of then recalled, those days when she was a drifter through eternity, a spy among other hearts, and as she had become all these things, she had enjoyed every single moment of it. It was there along with her… being her emissary, her own spy, even her confidant. It's loyalty to her was endless and as she secluded herself within the walls of her cell it somehow knew that it was one of the many that believed that as though she looked dead and hopeless in her dwellings; there was still the life and spirit she had once displayed, waiting to be awakened… once again.
One stormy night in the month of October, in the midst of the prison, she manipulated her destiny as she broke away from the coils and bonds, which held her to her captivity. Her mind and body answered to a call, a careful whisper to her senses, which told her that she was needed. She escaped her imprisonment with all of them, all her master's minions, and throughout it all, her most devoted servant was there to witness it all, and along with her commit her devious escape.
Yet there was the subtle irony of it all, when all those minions, and her were returned back to their desolate dwellings, the prison Azkaban. Now she had attempted escape again, on her own… now she was free, she alone was free. What better way to take advantage of her freedom but to cast herself in the way she had always been. An assassin…
Harry bolted up in bed in an instant as he breathed in slow puffs. A stream of frantic visions ran briskly in front of his eyes even though they were wide open. He reached out slowly and grasped the air in the darkness he was seeing as if he was trying to grasp a bit of reality, a sort of variation from the surreal dream state from which he had just awaken from.
The dream. He could still recall his dream after a few seconds where in his mind flickered visualizations of a stormy night and a tall stone structure he had never seen before… An immense castle with various spires sticking out to the heavens. But there was something else, something he could not make sense of. The most lucid vision his dream held was the sight of a hooded figure, heading towards the enormous fort. Harry rubbed his forehead hardly; his scar was aching again. Was the hooded figure in his dream Voldemort? Where was he? Was it possible that this castle was his hide away?
Just then his read rang with the voices he had recalled to hear in his dream. A haven, where that of your own blood dwells, where you find yourself… said a voice, a scathing and hateful voice that he could not recognize, but he was certain he had heard before. If it was Voldemort, he could probably determine his whereabouts, and tell Remus. No, that would not end it, he thought. Dumbledore had told him clearly enough; it was his task to get rid of Voldemort, no one else's.
Harry let out a groan as his scar seared in an intensity once more. It was becoming hard to think with the increasing pain in his forehead, but he knew he had to grasp the meaning of his dream.
Voldemort could be hiding somewhere, in a castle, a tall structure surely. But where? Harry wondered for a moment if it could actually be Voldemort. There was a chance that it was not; perhaps, it was something he wanted Harry to see. Yet it did not make any sense; the Dark Lord's visions often involved something wanting, persuasive. What could this mean? Harry recalled the visions of his dream. A tall fort surrounded with tall spires… and the figure storming thorough the hills towards the tall structure. Who was the hooded figure he had seen? Harry was sure that he had something to do with the Dark Lord, or it was possible that it could be Voldemort himself. He had to know whom he had seen.
"Bella…"
Bellatrix Lestrange smiled amusedly at the sight of Lucius Malfoy sitting before her with an expression of mild shock. She bent her head forward letting a few strands of her black hair falling to her face, sticking to her white skin, which was wet with the pouring rain. Her thin lips were set in a derisive smile, which glorified her sharp features. It seemed a marvel to Lucius that she should retain such an air of modishness when she had just come from a horrid place as Azkaban.
"Lucius," she started, her smile widening. "You say my name with such passion, should I be flattered," she said in a patronizing tone. Lucius Malfoy stood up from his chair and looked at her tall form before him, regarding him with all the more attention than required. She was back, there, with him… finally.
"Passion Bellatrix, in the most innocent sense," said Lucius returning her smile. It had been four months since he had last seen her, yet she was the same. It seemed as if she had not been back to Azkaban at all, for she retained the elegant, dark beauty she had almost lost in isolation for so many years.
She laughed shrilly, and then looked back into his dark silvery eyes. "Innocence, how dare you incorporate innocence in our conversation Lucius… and further more, refer it to myself… and worse, to you," she said and then pushing him away mockingly. Lucius mused, she was right. After all, all they had ever known together in the past had been guilty pleasures. Innocence could never portray either of them. "You cheated Lucius, you had me mad for company. I didn't think that it would take my murder of those rubbish mudbloods to catch your attention. You owe me four months of company,"
Lucius Malfoy smirked. "Perhaps, you know me better than to merely expect me to provide you with companionship. Don't think I haven't forgotten the sort of greedy woman you are" he replied teasingly as he stepped towards her again and ran a long finger through the length of her slender jaw line. "And what lustful thoughts you always have running through your head," Her smile widened in satisfaction.
"You are indeed clever, my Lord Malfoy. Well, now, will you not even attempt to ask me how I did it?" asked Bellatrix as she pulled off her wet cloak and let it fall carelessly to the floor.
"Come now Bella, we are children no more, the means of which you had satisfied your killer instinct does not matter no longer for you are here, are you not? You shall now be devoted, to the purpose of our lord," said Lucius as he observed her rugged garments, her plain black coat hanging over her shoulders and underneath, a plain black shapeless robe, which extended until her feet. "Where have you come form?" he asked her.
Bellatrix smirked; she started pacing around him and then towards his desk where she peered over his work. "You know where I've come form, Lucius, don't ask silly questions,"
Lucius rolled his eyes as he turned around to face her. "I was asking if you had returned to the Lestrange house, and perhaps changed into a more fitting attire, honestly," he said. Bellatrix pouted at him as she propped herself on top of Lucius desk. "A more fitting attire?" asked Bellatrix putting on a guiltless face. "I didn't think we needed to dress at all for this occasion," she said playfully. Lucius smirked and then sat back down on his chair carefully observing the woman sitting before him. He had never considered taking his own wife's sister as his mistress, considering as well that she was married herself, yet consideration was not an object. That kind of occurrence was spontaneous, even before Bellatrix was married to Rodolphus Lestrange, a very good friend of his, he already began to see the character in her which Narcissa only had fragments of. Yet, his wife had her own bursts of temperament, they were all that way, the Black sisters, with the exemption of course of foolish little Andromeda. But he never blamed Narcissa for being his wife, if he had ever desired Bellatrix Black more than her sister; was it not only right for him to blame himself for not asking her in her first place. After all, a Malfoy never regrets.
But things were as they were, he did not ask her not because he did not want to, but because it was only right that he did not own her, for he knew, she never belonged to anybody. Not even her husband. Lucius could never tolerate that sort of independence. Never… He had chosen the right wife… and he had chosen the right mistress…
"That, is a most inappropriate thing to say, in this case," said a light voice from the door with a tone of pure distaste. Lucius turned back around and saw the lucid form of his wife standing at the doorway and sending a blank stare at the both of them. Her hair was gleaming in the torchlight of the hallway in which she had come from, and more eminently, her eyes were more vividly azure than usual. He was certain of the envious mood he had put her in; he almost regretted his carelessness.
"And so it is," said Lucius as his wife leant off the doorframe and took a step into the room.
Bellatrix looked up as well, and smiled at the sight of her sister. She was acting as if nothing had been said; her impassiveness was another thing Lucius admired.
"I was jesting, you know that Narcissa," said Bellatrix amusedly as she lifted herself off the table and approached the doorway to greet her sister. Lucius grimaced; it was times like these when he was thankful that they were sisters, perhaps least likely to tear each other apart. Or perhaps more…
Narcissa smiled bitterly as her sister approached her. "Yes well, I may know better than to believe you," she said waving off her sister's embrace. Bellatrix frowned. " A joke Bellatrix, as you know," she said mockingly.
Bellatrix breathed in slowly and decided to let her sister off for then. She walked casually into the room with Narcissa who had a serious eye on her husband. "Why, I have never expected infidelity of my Lord Malfoy, Bellatrix, not even of you," said Narcissa in a voice dripping with sarcasm. Lucius observed his wife with a careful eye before turning back to his desk sealing the last letter in his hand.
Bellatrix raised her eyebrow at her sister's comment before turning towards the door.
"Well, this is a wonderful family gathering, but alas, I must away for the moment. I shall be dressing, for I don't think your Lord Malfoy enjoys my informal attire," she said stiffly as she turned halfway back to address her sister and her husband. "You need not worry yourselves, I shall make my presence scarce in the preponderance of the time as not to arouse suspicion,"
Narcissa moved over to her husband's side as Bellatrix approached the entrance of the drawing room. Lucius looked up at her calmly and instantly recognized the wild streak of envy in her eyes, something of course she would not admit to if ever he pointed it out. She then called upon her sister just before she exited the hall.
"Bellatrix, before you go…" she turned back to her husband with eagerness. "There is something Lucius wishes you to do for him," Bellatrix looked back with a curious eye. Lucius held the same inquisitive stance. "A favor if you may,"
"Which is?" asked Bellatrix.
"What are you trying to do?" hissed Lucius as his wife and sister looked upon him. Narcissa smiled as she turned back to her sister.
"He wishes you to help him, fit in the last piece of the puzzle,"
The October sky ran with deep orange and red streaks as the sun commenced its decent into the west. The bright warmly colored leaves rustled loudly as the wind blew with greater intensity as the hour grew later, and on the bright leafy hills of the west Brentenoux field there, laughter could be heard. Laughter of three intimately connected friends, giggling and rolling around in the piles of leaves acting like children of six, when they were adults of sixteen. Being happy, for reasons not mainly concerning good fortune, not it was far from that, perhaps they were merely thankful. They were thankful of the time they had together, time they still had to share.
Harry looked up from the pile of dried leaves that Hermione had so purposefully pushed him in, and took time to adjust his glasses looking up just in time to see her and Ron approaching him with another gathering of leaves. "Oh no," he exclaimed as he stood up just in time to make a quick dash before they reached him.
As there remained a shower of sun colored leaves in the air, the lively naïve laughter of the three of them rang throughout the air. It was a remarkable experience, a sort of carefree fun that only came in occasions for them. Something that was regretfully starting to become seldom, though they were grateful, it was something that still existed. A joy so intense that was brought by something as simple as friendship… Perhaps, though they knew their bond to be strong, they never did know how lucky they really were, and maybe, they never would.
"Harry you're sitting on my foot," said Ron as he stuck his head out of the pilling that had started to form on his face. Harry immediately shifted out of his spot with a slight laugh.
"Sorry mate, you know, you look like part of the ground when you sit like that," said Harry indicating Ron's fiery hair and rosy complexion, which seemed camouflaged with the red and orange leaf coated ground. Hermione laughed out loud at Harry's comment and eventually the three of them found themselves laughing loudly once more.
"Think you're being funny Potter?" said Ron as he took another shot at Harry who ducked in time.
Hermione grabbed a handful of withered foliage an aimed it at Harry as well who in turn attacked her with his own gatherings. She laughed all the way was Harry chased her and then running back to where Ron was sitting with leaves in his hair, she threw a bunch on him as well.
"Harry James Potter," said Hermione as she turned with a wide smile to her pursuer. Harry looked at her with as wide a smile, "Among all the Quidditch players I've known… you are positively," she stopped to laugh for a moment. Harry stopped and then moved in to tackle her; he pushed her to the soft ground and then laughed as well. He held himself over her for a moment and the when he was caught off guard, she turned him over so that she was the one over him. Hermione grasped a few more leaves from the ground and then threw it over the both of them. "The only one who takes most fondness to the ground," she said finally. Harry smiled as Hermione lay down beside her. Ron was approaching them with a wide smile; he looked at the sight of the both of them sprawled on the ground laughing. He took a deep breath before sitting back down on the ground beside Harry.
Hermione leant on her side and sat up as Harry did. The three of them were facing the descending sun as it started to sink back down into the West Mountains of Les Avaloires; it was a sight to behold. Hermione never knew that it would probably be the last of the sunsets the three of them would have the pleasure of watching while they were still at France.
"I wish it would always be like this," said Hermione not taking her eyes off the glorious radiating lights of the twilight. "Always carefree, never having anything to do with fighting, and evil,"
Ron nodded, "Never having to do with plots and schemes," Harry smiled.
"Never having to bleed, hurt and cry," added Hermione in a more serious tone. She glanced at Harry momentarily and observed his smile slowly disappearing.
"Never having to loose the people we love," said Harry sullenly. Hermione and Ron turned to him.
"Yes, Harry… never again having to loose anyone again," said Hermione softly as she turned back to the glorious view. She felt for Harry, in the deepest sense. But she never knew how to comfort him, not because she didn't know him, but simply because… she never really knew how he really felt. She had never been deprived of anything in her life, not like him, not of parents, not of freedom, not of love… especially love, something perhaps, something that Harry probably craved more than anything from the people around him, except from his friends; her and Ron. Something she had always thought of to be so limitless, but something he had never really felt in extremity.
"Harry," said Hermione softly facing him. "Why do you think Lupin didn't want you to know?" she finished as he glanced at her for a moment and then turned away.
"I don't know…" he replied lightly bringing up his knees to his chest and positioning his elbow on top of them. "But, maybe… he had a pretty good reason, for not telling me…"
Ron patted Harry on the back and smiled at his best friend. "Harry, would it really make any difference?" Harry bent his head solemnly in obvious contemplation.
"If I knew where my parents were buried?" he said in a far off voice as if he was asking himself the same thing at that very moment. There was a short silence before Harry spoke. He had never really thought of it till then, and when he had asked anyone anything, it was really with purpose. Harry remembered how Lupin tried to deny him that information easily when they met him in Carrouges the day before. "I… I don't think that it's the right time Harry," Harry found it rather inappropriate that he chose that time of all times to ask someone that very question, a time when he was miles away from Hogwarts, from England for that matter, he hadn't known why it had taken him six years to think of that very question. But then, when he had finally asked it, Lupin had refused to tell him. He did not have very high hopes that when he would ask, he would know at once but, at that very moment in the tavern, he had wanted to argue and bite back and say "Sirius would have told me," but thought against it, he swallowed immediately holding back a bitter sob, Sirius wasn't there to tell him anything anymore…
"I don't know Ron," he answered finally.
Hermione eyed him with sympathy, though she was thankful that he did not look at her knowing that he did not want anybody to ever feel sorry for him. "Harry, don't worry about it. I'm sure Lupin didn't want you to go chasing after some things that would not really matter…"
Harry nodded slowly, admitting to himself just as much. Hermione was right, if he ever did get to see his parent's graves, nothing he could say could ever really bring them back. Harry smiled sadly to himself; perhaps he was just wielding himself on the fantasy that he would feel closer to them. He knew Lupin feared his recklessness, the possibility that Harry might go looking for the place where his parents were buried was great; he had to admit that to himself. Maybe, Remus was right, maybe, it was not the right time.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I had a dream last night," continued Harry suddenly remembering. Ron and her looked back at him again in an urgency as he spoke those words.
"What was it about?" asked Ron curiously.
Harry looked deep in concentration, recalling the visions in an empathic manner "I saw a castle, a dark castle," the sight flashed briskly before his eyes as if he was there, "From the view of a distant hill. There was this hooded person running, running to the fort, through the rain. I don't know why, but there was this bird following him, flying through the stormy weather,"
Hermione crinkled her nose as she thought about what he had just said. "A castle? What did it look like?"
Harry recalled again. "It was vast, from where I saw… There were so many spires sticking our from the main obstructions enclosing the structure… And it was dark, gloomy," Harry shook his head as he thought about it.
Hermione was slightly bothered by how Harry had mentioned the dreary appearance of the structure in his dream. She creased her forehead as she always did when she was trying to remember something. She remembered a book she had read: Salient Structures, A Comprehensive Collection of Wizard Architecture in England. She made a mental note to herself to seek out that book later.
"That person, who was heading towards the castle. Do you think he was… You-Know Who?" said Ron weakly. "This isn't… it isn't real is it?"
"Either Voldemort's playing a trick on me, or it's real… I thought it was Voldemort as well," said Harry. "It isn't that, It the dream, I could hear this voice, calling. He was saying something about a haven or something like that," Harry closed his eyes as he tried to remember what the voice had said, "A haven, a place where your own blood dwells, over and over again. But, I knew the voice, I've heard it before, I'm sure of it … I just don't know who…" Harry stopped to look at Hermione's surprised face. She looked at him with wide eyes…
"Harry, if this person was indeed the Dark Lord, what would those words mean," said Hermione.
"A place where your own blood dwells," repeated Harry.
"Could it mean, a family home?" suggested Hermione.
Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Voldemort hasn't any living relatives, does he?"
"Not that we know of," said Hermione. Indeed if he had, he didn't think the Dark Lord would fancy the company of his father's family, after all they were dead, and he hated them. No; his mother perhaps. Hermione wondered if Voldemort had ever tried to find the family of his mother. "Harry, I wonder if this person, the one you saw heading to the castle isn't Voldemort at all,'
"But who else?" asked Ron, Harry turned to look straight ahead to the skies with a serious look.
"We have to think… Voldemort can't have any family, or even think of seeking shelter with them if he had. Not that he would lower himself and seek for help,"
Hermione mused for a moment and then looked back at Harry who was staring into the distance. "It has to be a servant,"
"A servant on the run no doubt," added Ron.
Hermione nodded and then looked up,
"Voldemort has only three servants at hand now," she said looking at the boys. "Pettigrew, who would have no reason to be out, even on the Dark Lord's orders. Not that he would ever trust him personally with an important task. Lucius Malfoy who is clearly avoiding scandal to clear his name from the occurrences in June and… one left,"
"Bellatrix, Belatrix Lestrange." finished Harry.
Harry turned to Hermione with a serious eye.
Hermione exited the encasement of the stairway and slid into the dimness of their living quarters. She pulled off the warm blue scarf from her neck and pulled off her mittens before she took a seat on one of the leather couches. Looking up at the dark dusky ambiance of the sky starting to light up above her with stars, she remembered her afternoon out in the fields with Harry and Ron with a peaceful air of thinking. Hermione looked up suddenly in the dimness of the room as the sound of a door opening from above was heard. She stood up quickly as she caught sight of the two figures standing by the balcony and rushed towards the study.
"Draco darling, are you quite sure you would not prefer the night spent in my room?" said an acrid voice from the balcony. Hermione stood in the darkness of the study unable to close the door with the risk that she might be heard. She caught sight of Blaise Zabini descending the length of the long staircase with Malfoy cooing sickeningly over him like a lost puppy with a white hand fondling his collar playfully.
"Not tonight," he said flatly as they reached the den. Blaise pouted as the let go of his collar.
"Well, perhaps another time, it is a Sunday after all… I'll let you off this time," she said brushing her lips over his cheek.
Hermione turned around immediately at the sight of them through the slight space in the open door, and scolded herself inwardly for thinking the sight disturbing in the senses it should not have been. She stood in her place not wanting to arise the attention of the couple in the den but found it very hard to restrain herself from shutting the door forcefully behind her on the both of them. Her heart was beating in trepidation, but she was uneasily wondering to herself if it was because she was in fear of discovery or if was for some other entirely different reason.
"Oh how very thoughtful of you," said Draco as he turned away from her pacing slowly in the opposite direction. Blaise immediately came towards him from behind and seized his waist pressing herself on his back. He was about to react when he heard the slightest sound of shifting coming from the door before him. Draco curiously observed the slightly open door and was sure that from that distance, one could have a very good view of him and Blaise. He smirked, having an idea of who was inside the study room. He immediately turned around and took delicate hold of his girlfriend's face, eventually bending down to capture her lips in a hungry ravenous kiss. Blaise' eyes went wide, and then she shut them to relinquish the feeling of having him kiss her in such a manner which probably was never endured by any other girl on campus. Boy was she wrong.
"Darling…" breathed Blaise as he broke the kiss and looked into his eyes. "That was—" Draco held a finger to her lips to silence her. He took quick strides towards the door and laid a light grasp on the doorknob. Blaise looked at him curiously.
Hermione turned away once more at the sight of Blaise and Malfoy sharing a desirous kiss. She bit her lip as her back was to the door experiencing an unexplainable emotion that she forced herself to interpret as mere disgust that the couple would choose the den of their quarters to share such sensual moments for she refused to pass off her misgivings as jealousy, no… jealous of Malfoy, she exhaled raggedly; was not envious; she was not.
"I think we have an audience, my love," said Draco in a manner that looked to Blaise that he was speaking to the door. Hermione froze at those words; he had seen her. It was impossible to move away then, for her steps would be heard and it would be obvious that she was stepping away from the door. She turned around just as Draco pushed the door open and looked at her with a most malicious leer.
She stared blankly at him.
"So, it's you," said Blaise spitefully at the sight of her. "Tell me, haven't you ever heard of privacy Granger," she added vehemently.
Draco's smirk did not leave his face as he looked at her hatefully. Hermione looked from him to Blaise.
"I shall not think so Blaise, for this is a common room. Not a private place at all," said Hermione stiffly as she stepped out of the room and pushed past Draco, and headed for the staircase hurriedly. She tried to avoid his piercing gaze, his weapons of judgment.
Blaise laughed haughtily as Hermione reached the foot. "Hearing that from you mudblood, I think not," she said. Draco turned to her with a smile.
"Hurry along darling, I think you've had your fun," drawled Draco in a voice that made Hermione want to scream with disgust. Blaise pouted once more but turned around and exited the den of their quarters. As Hermione climbed the staircase halfway, she heard Draco's arrogant brogue once more.
"Oh, is mudblood Granger jealous?" he said. Hermione stopped and turned back around to see him at the bottom stairway looking at her with an extremely arrogant smirk.
"Of you!" she exclaimed. Malfoy smirked at her tone, she sounded like a raving housewife.
"Hah!" she laughed bitterly as she pushed the door of her room open "I would never fall for you, even if you were the last piece of scum on earth!" she said with conviction. "You wish Malfoy… you wish,"
Draco continued up the stairs until he reached her. Hermione stood and looked up at him boldly with an intensely hateful glare directed right at him. "No, I don't. Your mudblood affections are the least I could wish for," he replied. Hermione turned away from him and opted to reach her room immediately when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back forcing her to look at him. Though the pressure of his grip on her arm put her in great discomfort, she looked at him without a flinch and with an eye of utter hate.
"You vile wicked despicable little piece of rubbish, that's all you have against me, isn't it. Well I would never choose to be a pureblood if it meant sharing something in common with you!" she said hatefully. Malfoy's smirk widened at her audacity.
"Is that so?" he said.
"I hate you," she hissed as she struggled out of his firm grip on her arm.
Malfoy's smirk widened. "Believe me Granger, I've never felt so commonly with you,"
"Get away from me you bastard!" she screeched and pulled her arm from his grip.
"Fine!" he said back as he stepped backwards with a bitter look directed at her. "You're not worth anything, you sullied little mudblood!"
"Why should I listen to anything you say!" she screamed.
She entered her room and slammed her door as strongly as she could.
Hermione leaned against the back of her door holding her hand in a fist. She bit her lip intensely willing herself to hold back any tear that may be threatening to fall down her face. He is not worth my grief, she though determinedly to herself. Yet, as she thought those very words, she felt the strangest feelings of fear and uncertainty. Hermione slid down the door and sat herself on the floor. For some reason, she could not bid herself forget the moment she had caught in the den, she refused to think that it bothered her, ever in the slightest. But the determination in feeling that way was beginning to fade the more she thought about it. Strangely, as she thought about the sickening sight of Malfoy snogging Blaise, she did not feel the guilt of stealing their privacy, but rather the violation of something stolen from her. She remembered Parvati's words at the first dinner they had in the French Castle "Blaise is going out with Malfoy,". Hadn't she expected it? It was in a couple's nature to share intimate moments with one another even if they were Slytherins, after all Lavender and Ron had more public snogging sessions than anyone she knew, but why? Why did it bother her so much? It was not as if it mattered, did it? Blaise did deserve Malfoy, they were perfect for each other.
Hermione beat her fist on the wooden floor violently. No… it didn't matter, it wasn't supposed to matter. Nothing was supposed to matter between them. Nothing was supposed to exist. How could she even think, just for one moment that there would ever be? How could she ever justify his actions to her, and her friends? No, he was just as she had always though him be have been, an evil arrogant bastard. She tried so desperately to embed those very thoughts in her mind, forcing herself to forget the night out in the rain…
Hermione looked up at the intricate woodwork of the ceiling of her room, determinedly thinking that she would not let Malfoy ruin her day. Her wonderful Sunday afternoon shared in the company of her two best friends. Hermione groaned with intense exasperation. For it was too late, she knew that he already had.
At that very moment, she though with vindictive intensity that she had never hated anyone more fiercely for making her regret anything she thought shoddily about them.
Lucius turned to his wife seriously. "That, is your son's task," he hissed at her as she stepped suddenly away from him with her heavy white boots clapping against the stone floor of the large drawing room, the long train of her turquoise robe trailing being her. She turned back to her husband.
"If you want your sinister ploy to commence soon…" she cut off turning to Bellatrix who stood at the door with a placid look. "You shall seek the help of my sister," she finished in a determined tone.
Lucius stood up and regarded his wife with a solemnity that she had hardly ever seen on him before. "You wish to help your son out of the precarious situation he has found himself in. Narcissa, he will provide me with the information I need, or he will suffer," Narcissa turned around and faced her husband with dignity. Her blue eyes darkened in intensity. Lucius was beginning to recognize the potency in his wife that she had almost never displayed.
"A situation you have forced upon him," she said emphasizing ever word. Lucius approached her threateningly finding her impassive still at his hostile action. At times he would have preferred to see his wife broken, yet he knew that there were much more advantages to her being a woman of determined character; a perfect match for him. He could clearly see from where his son had acquired his intolerable stubbornness.
"It is his destiny," hissed Lucius. "It is only right,"
Narcissa observed the hard features of her husband and feared that she was beginning to arouse his anger. She had not meant to put Lucius in such a mood, but he had aroused hers first by observing her sister with much more attention that she deserved. She knew she was being shallow but her envy had prevailed over her. She could have accepted bearing witness to a flirtatious act between her husband and another woman with no relation to herself, but certainly not to her own sister. Narcissa Malfoy would never admit to feeling jealousy in the slightest sense, yet, it was a human weakness one could never really overcome, and she knew it.
"You've spoken about destiny… but though you wish Draco to fulfill it, you push him away from it by refusing him your confidence, as if you're afraid he cannot do the task. You act as if he is not your son," she said.
"He does not need my confidence, I have taught him just as much. Confidence is an emotional reason, a sign of weakness! I will not render my son pitiable by contributing to the fact that he is being as unhelpful as it is!" said Lucius.
"Then you will tell him, for once in your life that you are—"
"Never, I am not going to lower myself to the praise of my own son!" Lucius thundered vehemently as Narcissa argued with him. "Not until he deserves it,"
"No, not until he accepts the task of being the Dark Lord's—"
Lucius cut her off, "You will not speak of this here," he hissed.
"Stop it, the both of you," said Bellatrix from the door. Narcissa looked at her with a smile of satisfaction. She went on "I think a little help from Aunty Bella won't hurt Draco, Lucius. It is your son's stubbornness, which is your problem, the obstinacy of his will, which refuses submission to you. Do you not think it a fit asset for our lord's future accomplice? Seriously, it is not something to trouble yourself about Lucius, for his defiance better exists when he faces the destiny you want so desperately to befall him," Narcissa's smile widened, her sister had fallen right into her trap. Perhaps Lucius would realize the rapidity of events that would commence from then on. But hopefully, he would not perceive the austere manner in which she was cunningly trying to save her son but moreover in the same way helping her husband's cause. "I will merely obtain what you want of your son, something he might not willingly give you,"
"How do you know he will be cooperative, even to you?" asked Lucius.
Bellatrix smiled, "That will not be important," she said.
Lucius Malfoy looked from Bellatrix to his wife. It was one of those moments when one could really perceive of their blood ties, he felt slightly annoyed but momentarily he kept to himself. He would let Narcissa have her way on that occasion soliloquizing silently that it would be the only occasion that he would have it.
"Let's hope you are both right," he said as he took his pimp cane off its leverage and tucked it snugly under his cloak. "For your sakes," he finished as he disapparated from the room.
Narcissa stepped towards her sister and as she crossed her at the edge of the room, she looked at her. "Tell me Bella do you still keep that bird around?" she asked. Bellatrix raised her eyebrow at her sister as she silently contemplated where this conversation was going.
"Rodrom? Certainly," answered Bellatrix impassively.
"Put your animal to purpose sister, it might be of some help," said Narcissa as she walked out of the hall. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow as she mussed for a moment.
After a few moments, the black haired woman then looked up in urgency as if realizing something. "Not a bad idea at all, my dear sister…"
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though it's answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or breast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore,"
Almost taking down the staircase with his heavy dash down it, Draco immediately swore after Hermione had slammed the door of her room to him. He curled his hands into firm fists with the greatest effort of forbearance, in hopes that his anger would be contained. It had always been in his nature to degrade Hermione Granger with her common dirty bloodline. It had been his to think of her as one of the lowest pieces of scum the wizarding world had… In the process of degrading her, he was supposed to enjoy seeing the humiliation, the anger and the insulted look on her face. After all he had always felt that way…
The fact that he had began to feel an undeniable twang of guilt every time he got into a row with her was infuriating to him; it was as if he was feeling degraded himself. It was like; he had grown less vehement and willful about his philosophy. Draco tightened his fist as he thought of it; there was a correction. It was his father's philosophy.
But even so, it was undeniable that no matter how much hate he had for his father, there was nothing that could make the distinguishing marks between the Malfoy father and son. But did it mean, that if Draco refused to accept a part of his father as a part of himself as well, that he would prove himself entirely different? Draco snorted, that would be impossible. What was a trait of his father was not a trait of him alone, Lucius teachings still held some value in his thinking no matter how he thought of his father.
Draco would never accept being degraded by someone lower than him as Hermione Granger was… He was still a pureblood, born in to the most prestigious wizarding families in England, and she, she was muggleborn. There was nothing more to be said.
He determined to set his mind to those exact thoughts… yet; somewhere along the line… there was that familiar pang of contradiction that spoke through his line of thought.
"So, how was yesterday Ron?" said Lavender cheerfully as she and Ron crossed the bright sunlit hallway. They were heading to the Grand Dinning hall for the morning breakfast. Ron stifled a yawn before answering.
"Fud… It was really fun," said Ron smiled as he recalled how the trio had spent their afternoon the day before, watching the sun set on the Avaloires mountain ranges, frolicking in the fallen leaves. His smile widened as he remembered how he had seen Harry actually happy again, of course it was because he saw Hermione happy as well.
Lavender grinned. "I'd expect there would be progress by now?" she said, extremely unsatisfied by his answer.
Ron looked uncertainly at her. "Progress? What's that supposed to mean?"
Lavender rolled her eyes. "With Harry of course, has he told her yet?" she persisted.
Ron shook his head. "You expect Harry to even make an effort? I don't think so, It'll be a long time till then," They turned the corner as Lavender frowned slightly.
"Yes, I guess you're right. I'll wager, that no matter how smitten Harry is, it'll take time," she nodded. "Do you think Hermione fells the same?"
Ron looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "I'm not sure, but if ever Harry does tell her, I don't think she'll have any reason to refuse… do you?"
"No, not really. Harry's perfect for her, but I think, with Hermione's attitude, it'll take her a long time to realize that Harry's actually beginning to think of her as more than a friend," Lavender shook her head as if she was regretful that their anticipated romance won't be happening any sooner.
"Do you think it'll happen any sooner if we… you know, gave them a little help?" said Ron, a mischievous smile tugging on his lips. Lavender pondered on the idea for a moment but she knew better.
"No Ron," she said a little bit warningly. "If ever it's meant to happen, it will. In time…"
Hermione placed her palm to her head as she closed her eyes, trying to ward off the headache she had been suffering all evening. Harry, who was walking beside her, turned to her, his bright green eyes full of worry.
"Is everything all right Hermione?" he asked. Hermione turned to him and nodded, not wanting to rouse his concern any more than she already had.
"Yes, I'm just a little tired," she said softly. They were entering the Grand Dinning Hall for breakfast, which was filled as always with lively conversations, warming laughter. Harry put his hand on Hermione's shoulder making her turn to him. They stopped at the wide door attracting the curiosity of several students who were whispering as they passed the Gryffindor pair.
"Are you quite sure Hermione?" persisted Harry, ignoring the fuss around them. Hermione nodded with a smile.
"It's nothing really, I drank a little headache drought just now. I think it just needs a little time to wear," she said as she continued on the long table where all the Gryffindors sat. Harry followed behind her. At the middle of the table were Ron and Lavender waving at them with wide smiles.
"I think we're in for the morning gossip," said Harry. Hermione laughed softly as they took their seats. Immediately, Parvati and Lavender lunged into a boisterous talk about how Mandy Broklehurst broke up with Terry Boot for Orla Querkie.
"I mean, long blonde hair and all for that," exclaimed Lavender eying Orla with a pondering eye. The shy-looking brown haired girl looked curiously lonely at the edge of the table where the Ravenclaws sat. Hermione felt a sudden pity for the simple girl; perhaps it was only further proof that beauty was only skin deep. But Hermione hated to argue with Lavender and Parvati they made their points quite clearly when they spoke.
"I can't understand him," she continued.
"You should, you know. You used to date him," said Parvati who immediately put her had to her mouth realizing she had said the wrong thing. She looked at Lavender who looked a bit grave but made an effort so smile. Ron beside her cleared his throat slightly as he stopped eating.
"Not successfully though," she told Parvati, emphasizing every word, making sure Ron heard. "Anyway, Hermione, how's your project doing?"
Hermione smiled, observing her slick switch of topic. But then her amusement diminished as she remembered Lavender's question about their project. Honestly, their project was fine; for now, yet, it was her recent disagreement with Malfoy that worried her. She knew of course that they wouldn't be doing half as fast if he hadn't done most of the charting.
"Fine," she said plainly. "Though I'm not sure if we're going to finish in time,"
Lavender nodded pushing herself to be interested. "How far have you gone?"
Hermione thought for a moment. "Eighteen scrolls," she said finally. Almost all the people around her looked at her with a shocked expression.
"Blimey, Eighteen scrolls?" exclaimed Ron. Hermione nodded.
"I know, it's a little on the needy side. But I'm sure we're going to get much more work done in a few days," said Hermione.
Parvati took a sip of cherry juice before countering Hermione's statement. "Needy, I do hope Hermione that you're aware that the minimum is twenty scrolls and not, twenty thousand,"
Hermione nodded. "Of course I am… but as you've said, it is the minimum," Lavender started to laugh.
"Hermione, I will never understand you," she said, chorusing the entire group to laugh along with her. Hermione could not suppress a smile.
"Oh dear, look what the cat brought in…" exclaimed Blaise as she steered Draco's attention to the door of the Grand Dinning Hall that morning. Draco looked up and raised his eyebrow rather grudgingly at the sight of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger speaking to each other at the door. As he could see, they were attracting more attention that they expected, drawing in the stares of most students that were passing by. Draco suddenly felt a presumptuous urge to slit Harry's throat. The entire group, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Baddock, Nott and Zabini looked up at the view Blaise was pointing out.
"Oh, look, scar-head's got a girlfriend," said Goyle beside him as he took a bite out of the cherry-raisin soufflé on his plate, apparently not having the etiquette to use any utensils. Crabbe beside him laughed, or rather grunted along with him.
"And I haven't the heart to say he's got a drop of taste," said Malcolm Baddock across from Malfoy. Draco forced a smirk as he observed Potter and Granger. He was rather forcing down the impulse to scream with fury at that moment.
"That's what he deserves of course, nothing but a filthy little mudblood to his tastes," sneered Draco growing more annoyed by the second. Blaise thought she heard a harsh hint of something else in Draco's tone but dismissed it quickly as her imagination. She laughed lightly, for a moment there she had thought of it as envy.
"It seems as the Gryffindor couple of the year have finally decided to date out in the open, how positively… disgusting," screeched Pansy in the most languid manner as she forked her langoustine lobster splayed on her plate. The Slytherin bunch stifled giggles at Pansy's comment.
"Look on the bright side," started Theodore Nott, "If Granger really does marry Potter, at the least she won't be spending her life dirt poor like if she would marry Weasley… but I don't think being dirt poor would be so bad… if being dead with Potter is an option,"
Blaise sneered as well as the bunch of them eyed Potter and Granger walking towards the Gryffindor table. "I wonder where will they be spending their honeymoon," she drawled in a sharp yet playful tone, resting her smooth chin on her palm. Draco turned away from the view of the Gryffindor pair deciding he grew sick just by watching them. Draco leered vilely.
"Probably in their graves when I get through with them," he said. Blaise raised her eyebrow at his statement.
"What was that darling?" Perhaps she hadn't heard him right, no, she had definitely heard him.
"I mean of course, when he gets through with them," Draco replied calmly.
The Slytherin group chorused with contained laughter at Draco's statement, knowing of course what Potter would soon befall. It would not be long, and for once, as he turned his hateful glare at the Gryffindors, Harry laughing with Hermione and Weasley, he thought that there was never any moment that he had wanted to see Harry Potter suffer more than then.
There was a room in the Malfoy Manor that appealed most to Bellatrix Lestrange. A room so delicately panelled with dark birch panes, smoothened to perfection, and crafted with marvellous intricate designs of gold and silver, even more magnificent than the crafting of Buckingham. This room, always draped with fine black silk curtains fringed with Silver embroidery, always classically furnished with façonnier quality fixtures, always quiet, solemn… and dark, just like she liked it. It was a room that Narcissa kept for occasions when Bellatrix would come and visit, a room that Lucius made sure that was maintained, even when Bellatrix halted her visits to the manor. The room where she now dwelled, for the time being, sitting languidly in her four-poster bed, draped with black silken veils as if waiting for something.
As her restlessness grew, she decided that she needed a little air. She stood up from the bed and pushed the curtains away. She walked over to a long black curtain which hung from the ceiling to the stone floor and restively pulled open the plush chord of the curtains, which covered the archway to the wide stone balcony. She stepped outside into the crisp air of midnight in a cat-like manner, securing the silence of her chambers. Looking up at the dark cloudy night sky, she realized slowly that then, she felt all the more unregimented than she had been in the entire four months that she had been free from Azkaban. But she had to admit that her freedom was not at its peak. How could it, when she only could reveal herself on a listless dim and foggy night. To leave the manor only to return to the dim hideaway she and her master had shared for the longest time. She was unable to restrain her need for freedom any longer, and the Dark Lord reminded her of another place she could be safe. The Dark Lord had been right, as he had always been to her from the first moment she had served him. Suddenly, those same words returned to her, "A haven… from where your own blood dwells, where you will find yourself… boundless for this time," It was a passage from a book she had read to herself.
She looked down on her left forearm and raised it to the weak light of the candle burning in the chamber behind her and saw it, it was there, as it always was… The symbol of her devotion to the cause of the dark, the symbol of her principles, her belief… The Dark Mark. She had always resented having been branded in the beginning, especially with a hideous mark such as this mark, which tarnished the beauty of her white skin. But she was then a child, naïve and insecure. She did not know the significance the dark mark held then, now she was a woman, now, she knew what it meant. It meant so many things, loyalty, belief, betrayal, limitless meanings.
Bellatrix had been many things as a child, a dark beauty at the age of eleven, never knowing repulsiveness in her life. She was a Black after all; all Black women held the same dark ominous beauty the pureblooded family had a contingent gene that certainly contributed to their legacy. Even Andromeda, Bellatrix had to admit had that same beauty; something she most foolishly wasted by severing her blood ties to them. And of course, Narcissa, who had made the most fortunate marriage of the three, though set apart by her angel features had proven utmost loyalty to their family. Growing up, she had learned that the truth was not always associated with good, and that evil was not always a road to failure, that people who reaped failure from evil were fools. These were things she learned from experience and of course, from the man she worshiped, the Dark Lord. Closing her heavy-lidded eyes, she recalled a night seventeen years before when the dark lord had asked her what loneliness meant for her. She replied that 'loneliness is the tormentor of the soul, or rather the tormentor of the weak soul. One who is strong does not allow loneliness to plague him, even though he is really alone,' She remembered how the Dark Lord had been pleased at her answer, he replied with a Latin phrase that put her at ease. Vere Dictas... Which meant, Well said.
Yes, Bellatrix was increasingly proud of her legacy even of what her life had turned out to be. Even though the haunting memories of what had befallen her for the past fifteen years seemed a bother each night she went to bed, it couldn't quite blandish the pride she had in being a most loyal minion of what was to be, in her opinion and of many others; the greatest sorcerer of all time.
But for a fleeting moment, she wondered how could she deem herself so loyal when her loyalty to her own sister faltered? For a moment it seemed as if she was beginning to doubt herself, but then, she thought, it was not she to be doubtful. The thought reminded her of her task, she had after all promised Narcissa that she would definitely do her this favor, not that she had a choice. She would do it, in further proof of her loyalty.
She reached out to the dark heavens and extended her hand as if sealing the purpose for the night. In the distance, a sharp crow was heard, and then followed the heavy flapping of wings. A large black bird had appeared on the horizon and was heading towards the manor at top speed. It closed in within seconds and circled around the area a few times. With one last crow, it descended onto the stone balcony of the middle spire, finally perching itself onto her delicate outstretched fingers.
Bellatrix lowered her arm with the black raven perched on it. "Dear dear sister, what will you think of next…" she soliloquized.
Tossing over a number of scrolls, which were lined with various charts and tables, Draco leaned back on the black leather couch stretching his arms with a mild yawn. He glanced down at the charts and grimaced, noticing that he had not written down much difference from the last time he had handled his work. He was distracted; he knew he was. But he refused to think that his distraction had come from the specific scene he had seen that very morning at breakfast. He had not scene his group all day, nor did he want to. His lingering annoyance of Granger was still there, and it had grown even rasher when he had caught sight of her that morning… with Potter. They were displaying themselves so openly that he had the sudden urge to beat Potter's face in at that very moment. But he couldn't, because by doing so he would be admitting something that was unacceptable. It was that he was what he had accused Granger to be during their last argument. That he was jealous.
Draco curled his hands into fists at the very thought. He did not know if he was mad at himself of at Granger. At himself for even thinking those thoughts, and at Granger… she had to blame her for something. Maybe for being appealing in a way that only he could understand. Draco swore, Granger was not appealing… not to him of all people. Not to him.
There was a sound of the circular staircase ascending and at it, Draco straightened out immediately and bent over the table turning back to the charts and grabbing a quill. As the sound of the staircase came to a halt, Draco perceived slow footsteps stepping out of the encasement then drawing to a halt. A few moments passed and there was not a sound of anyone coming into the room. He suddenly realized who had come into the den of their room. He looked up slowly with a cold and passive face, not surprised at all to find Hermione standing at the top of the stairs looking curiously at him holding a few books in her hand.
"Speak of the devil," he said making sure that his words were audible. Hermione, who reacted to his cold voice, seemed to take the phrase as a wake-up call to reality. She quickly moved into the room eying his work, which was laid out on the glass table in the middle of the room.
"Talking to yourself Malfoy," she snapped as she continued walking into the room trying to keep her curiosity of his work at bay. Draco looked up at her raising his eyebrows. He tossed his quill back on the table, knowing there was no reason to pretend he was accomplishing something while in her presence.
"You should talk mudblood," he said bitterly. Hermione's head snapped up at his words, apparently her hate for the term 'mudblood' had not diminished one bit. She glared at him fiercely, she was standing in front of him, and he seemed to take great pleasure in the sight of her, intensely annoyed by the sight of him sitting so languidly before her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked in the same biting tone she had started to address him with.
Draco smirked mockingly. "May I ask Granger, how was your day? It seems you fancy attention just as Potter does. Quite obviously as you stirred up the crowd this morning." He snapped in the most acid tone she had heard him speak in. She realized that he must have been talking about how she walked into the Dinning Hall at breakfast with Harry, when most of the student population seemed to observed Harry's friendly gesture as something more that it would have meant. "Tell me Granger, how does it feel being renowned as the girlfriend of famous Harry Potter? Though I'm surprised scar-head finally found someone… And just when I thought he could sink no lower, here he comes and picks you. I guess I was wrong,"
Hermione flushed slightly at his words. He thought as shallowly as the rest of them in her opinion, for there was nothing going on with Harry and her. They were of course merely best friends.
"You're talking nonsense Malfoy," she said as she turned her heel and headed towards the staircase so that he could not chase her. "Perhaps your fickle little mind takes all things maliciously…"
"Am I," he said as he stood up, his next words were enough to make her stop. "Prove me wrong, you've been seen by the entire hall,"
Hermione took a deep breath before she turned back to meet his hateful gaze. "I beg to differ. Why is it so hard for people of your sort to keep to your own business? When people like Harry drag in attention when you know, he never meant to…"
Draco rolled his eyes at her defensive words. "And I suppose you don't mean to drag in attention just like him," he spat sarcastically. Hermione's eyes grew darker, his mouth twitched slightly at the observance of it.
"Why are my issues, such of your concern?" she asked strongly. Draco stopped for a moment and thought, these were the same words he had asked himself so many times, but was never answered. He sought to regain his senses not to arouse her curiosity but then, he realized it was too late. She was looking at him in a manner that betrayed her, with a hint of wonder and amusement, and at the same time… fear.
"Perhaps I'm merely sick of you, flaunting around with Potter and Weasel thinking that you're always right," he said. Hermione's eyes lit up with mild surprise. It had been the first time that she had perceived a note of the reason behind his hatred for Harry and her.
"Harry never insisted he was ever right about everything," she answered. She looked up at Draco who had turned away from her. "That's not the reason Malfoy, you know it's not," she added softly holding the books closer to her chest, she had a feeling that she was starting to tread on dangerous grounds, but there was no turning back now.
"What do you know?" he said vehemently turning on her.
"You're tired, of being compared to Harry so much that you' can't do anything but find anything to use against him. Correct me if I'm wrong," she said. Draco had never looked so speechless in his life. He had a sinking feeling that she had narrowed it all down in that single sentence, though he refused to admit it. "You don't know anything about Harry, Malfoy, nor me and Ron. But you're jealous of him, as you've always been,"
Draco laughed hoarsely and then returned her stubborn look. "Jealous, I'm jealous… of Harry Potter and his mudblood girlfriend… no… never," he said grudgingly. Hermione turned away from him and took the first step up the staircase. She stopped once more as he spoke once more.
"You think so very well that you can read me that easily do you Granger?" he sneered in an acrid timbre. He had clutched his hands into fists. "You're wrong, you're not as clever as you think you are,"
Hermione continued up the staircase until she reached her room and closed the door silently behind her. Draco stood there for a moment, seemingly concentrating on the spot where she had been standing on just moments before. His gaze had pictured her permanently standing there for a moment, criticizing him as though she knew. She did know, but she did not know how right she was.
Draco stood there for a few moments more, feeling as if something of his very being had been stolen from him.
Walking down the corridor leading to the library, Harry and Ron tried to ignore the loud boisterous paintings on the walls that were commenting on every one who passed in incomprehensible French.
"I don't know why they don't keep those curtains closed," said Ron as they crossed the middle of the long carpeted hallway, caved by several intricate archways and stone carved posts all though the hallway. "Those Frenchmen are horrendous,"
Harry smiled. He looked at one of the portraits of a bearded man who was looking suspiciously around him muttering "Arrêtez, arrêtez" over and over again. He had wide black and beady eyes that looked as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. Harry turned away from the paranoid portrait. "Extremely horrendous," said Harry. Ron laughed.
They were headed towards the library where Hermione said she would be at breakfast; Ron and Harry promised that they would come by her some time after they were done with their day study. "Do you think Hermione's done already?" asked Harry in a mild tone. Ron could not suppress a smile.
"Stick Hermione in a library and you'll have a harder time getting her out than forcing a bludger away from Quidditch players, with out a bat" commented Ron. They both laughed. As Hermione's best friends, Ron and Harry had gotten used to Hermione's wild study habits over the years, though at times she never failed to shock them with the occasional extremities that came with her studiousness.
As the pair reached the large arched doors of the Brentenoux library, a group of the castle staff exited with numerous wooden boxes in hand. Ron and Harry had to step aside to let the casually robed witches and wizards to pass. A finely platinum blonde haired witch turned back to Ron and Harry and smiled as she nodded, apparently thanking them for letting them pass. Ron's attention lingered on the delicate figure of the girl passing out of the hallway before snapping himself out of his momentous reverie and following Harry into the large library. They observed that the front desk was clear as they entered, Ron was silently thankful that he wouldn't have the ill pleasure of being eyed by the librarian's stern stare once again. The subtle sound of many footsteps rushing over the heavy carpeted floors of the library was still heard. The room was rather filled compared to the last time Harry and Ron had been in the Brentenoux library when Fleur had delivered Lupin's letter to Harry.
Harry and Ron headed towards the edge of the room where the long study tables were situated and spotted Hermione almost automatically who was in the process of packing all the books in her tote bag.
"Leaving so soon, It's not like you," said Harry sarcastically as Hermione saw them. She raised an eyebrow as she smiled. She had been there for the past hour and had merely scanned a few French and Latin books on Magical history in Europe. The Brentenoux library was indeed vast yet, the majority of the books were in French and Hermione did not really admire French literature that much.
"I'm rather short on decent reading material," she said. Ron laughed quietly.
"You're always short on decent reading material. It's either you've read the entire library or you already know the entire contents of every book by heart," Hermione fought down a smile as she tried to focus glaring at Ron.
Ron's smile grew wider. "Am I wrong?"
Hermione punched him playfully on the shoulder after she fastened the strap of her bag to hang on her shoulder. Harry smiled as well.
"Unfortunately," replied Hermione allowing herself to smile. "I bet you're dying to get to the dinning hall," the two boys nodded. She sighed at the same time walking forward and leading them out of the library.
"So, how has your study been getting along?" asked Hermione. Ron put on a mildly disappointed face at Hermione's sudden question, and Harry smiled slightly.
"Ron ended up almost getting horned by the Urisk, in a most inappropriate spot…" said Harry. Ron flushed a bright red. Hermione turned to him and laughed at the sight of his guilty face.
"How did you manage that?" Hermione giggled as she imagined the sight of Ron being chased by a horned Urisk standing almost half as tall as him. Ron snorted, his expression growing smugger as if he was recalling the very instance a few hours ago.
"We were done really, I just remembered that I left a few notes by the bush where we were in observance before, I just snuck back to get them back," started Ron. "Unfortunately it saw me, and chased me across the clearing,"
Harry grinned mischievously. "Love notes from Lavender, really, very important," coughed Harry nudging Ron. Hermione laughed even louder at Harry's comment.
"And a gold wizard card of Herpo the Foul, they're very hard to come by you know!" added Ron defensively blushing even more. Harry and Hermione laughed at Ron's statement.
"You risked you arse for notes from your girlfriend and a man who not only killed about a dozen Greek Wizards but also created the most foul serpent in the history of the wizarding world. You did know Herpo the Foul created the basilisk didn't you?" said Hermione humorously.
"They were inserted in my Fantastic Beasts book," he replied defensively, no longer able to suppress the grin forming on his lips as he heard Hermione's crude statement.
"So, how did you get it to stop chasing you?"
"Padma knew a time shifting charm, which froze it," replied Harry.
"I'm sure it didn't get hurt, if in any case Fleur announced last Friday in the breakfast hall that it was quite alright to defend yourself against the specimens if it was a real emergency," added Ron. Hermione nodded, that simple fact was a great relief to her as she was reminded of the severe attacks Malfoy had inflicted on the Sirens last weekend.
"Hermione, your group's not having any trouble with your creatures are you?" asked Ron curiously. Hermione did not know if she were ample to smile or frown at Ron's inquiry. She chose to smile and turn to him.
"You have no idea—"
Just as the trio turned the next corner out of the long hall, they stopped at the sight of whom they ran into. Apparently stopping as well at the sight of the trio Draco Malfoy put on a disgusted look. Blaise Zabini was hanging on his arm wearing a vehement look as well; Malcolm Badock and Pansy Parkinson were at their sides with Crabbe and Goyle at the rear. The trio did not look at all pleased to see the Slytherin group as well. Hermione's insides sunk, she had a nagging feeling that things could only get worse.
Draco smirked vilely as he eyed Harry with distaste. Harry looked equally disgruntled at the sight of Malfoy standing in front of him. "Well well, if it isn't Saint Potter and his two distasteful followers," drawled Malfoy. He eyed Harry's messy hair almost immediately. "Thinking of actually running a comb through that repulsive mop of yours Potter? I do say it needs it,"
Harry grew a bit paler at Malfoy's rueful comment but chose to brush it off. "It's too bat I can't say the same for you Malfoy," retorted Harry speaking evenly. "It seems as if your hair sports too much cement on it that it's taking effect on your head. Though I would bother taking it off if I were you It's probably what's keeping your head from appearing ten times as small as it really is," Ron snorted gleefully at Harry's comment.
Malfoy looked as if he had been slapped for a moment but then regained his slick composure. "My my, Potter, learning the art of insulting?" sneered Draco.
"Too bad it doesn't suit your renowned noble, courageous, humble personality," added Blaise in the most sarcastic tone. Ron glared at her savagely with a furious blush almost matching the dark auburn of Blaise's long straight tresses.
"Nobody asked you," he said vehemently at her. Blaise laughed in a shrill high-pitched tone.
"You dare raise your voice at a lady," said Malcolm eying Ron with amusement. Draco turned to him and smirked.
"Its in his nature Baddock, Weasley can't get the upper hand in a fight unless he insults a girl, makes him feel… woo so confident," said Malfoy. Ron almost lunged at Malfoy if it were not for Harry and Hermione keeping a firm hold on his robes.
Pansy laughed at the sight of Ron being restrained by Potter and Granger, she turned to Draco "It's rather unnerving isn't it, scenes like this when Weasley can't get even close. Just because Scar-head and Mudblood are afraid to get in trouble," she commented. Draco nodded at her words not taking his steely grey gaze off Potter's darkening glare.
"Bite your tongue Parkinson," said Hermione speaking for the first time. She had been edgy all the time since they had stopped in the hallway. She couldn't believe Malfoy was starting a fight again, considering that he had the higher authority along with her. They were specifically assigned by Mc Gonnagal to restrain situations like this and not to be the root of them. They were expected to be beyond this childish behaviour. Hermione was inwardly scolding herself as well, what was she doing anyway, standing there, not even saying a word of caution of the trouble their brawl would cause? She felt Harry loosen his grip on Ron's robe as Pansy laughed again. She turned to Harry as if to ask what was he doing, but then saw that he was too busy exchanging death-glares with Malfoy. The hall was starting to crowd with their curious classmates, Seamus Dean and Neville were inching their way behind the trio now. Some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were looking on as well.
"Why should I, mudblood?" she answered. "I do hope you plan to cut out that hedge off your head, you do look horrendous did you know that?" Hermione found herself completely letting go of Ron's cloak.
"Saint Potter, don't you have anything to say. Or do you feel… oh you know… a bit faint?" snapped Malfoy rudely. Harry swore loudly at Malfoy and for a moment Draco looked impressed at the insult.
"Dear me, Potter, such language. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" he said sarcastically. "Oh, that's right she didn't… how could she, she's dead," he exclaimed vehemently. The Slytherin group choused with laughter but not long enough to enjoy it. It was apparently the last straw for Harry who lunged at Malfoy. Ron moved behind him in an effort to pull him off Draco but was met instead by Malcolm who pounced at Ron throwing a heavy punch at his jaw with his right fist.
"Oh no you don't Weasel," snarled Malcolm bringing Ron down on the ground. Pansy began screaming at the scene of Malfoy and Harry lashing out punches in front of her. As Crabbe and Goyle moved in to pry Potter off Malfoy, Blaise held out her arm at the two oafish boys and glared at them. "Leave him, he's trying to prove a point," she said Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other in confusion and moved back as Blaise directed them.
Draco lashed out blindly at Potter who was holding him to the floor by squeezing his neck tightly so he could barely breathe. Finally his clenched fist collided with Harry's cheek and he loosened his grip on Malfoy's neck giving him a bit of advantage. Harry groaned at the pain caused by Malfoy's punch to his face. Malfoy pushed Potter off him knocking him to the floor heavily. Draco retaliated by throwing a heavy punch at Harry's abdomen almost knocking the wind out of him. Harry threw a punch but only managed to hit Draco's left arm as he tried to block Harry's fist from colliding with his body. That apparently had been enough as Draco's face contorted in pain. Harry's punch would not have hurt half as bad if it had not hit his cut from the Siren encounter. Draco felt the bandage under his black sleeve beginning to come undone and the blood beginning to flow down his arm and dripping down on the stone floor. Harry spotted the blood and wondered if he had really hit Draco that hard.
Draco looked at his bloodstained hand and then looked up at Harry. "You'll pay for that Potter," he exclaimed and lurched at Harry again.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione as she caught sight of him getting knocked to the ground by Malfoy who resumed getting back at Harry as soon as he sat up. Ron was on the floor still pinned by Malcolm at her feet. "Ron!" Hermione fumbled in her robes for her wand and as she drew it out, she immediately directed it at Malcolm. "Expeliarmus!"
In a mere second, she sent Malcolm flying into the wall of the hallway. Ron looked up at Hermione as he supported himself up. "Thanks," he said briskly before turning to Harry and Draco who were still engaged in a fierce fight on the stone floor of the hallway. "Harry…" said Hermione. She directly began to raise her wand and aim it at Malfoy who was squeezing Harry's neck as Harry was gripping his. The voices in the hallway were growing stronger as all came to see what was going on.
"Don't you dare mudblood!" said a voice from across her. Blaise already had her wand raised and was directing it to Hermione glaring at her with vehemence. "I restrained them," she indicated at Crabbe and Goyle who were surveying the scene with increasingly dumbfounded faces. "Keep your noses out of this,"
Hermione returned Blaise's stern glare though she realized that the redheaded girl was right, if she hit Malfoy with a curse, she was almost sure that she would be hit by something fiercer. But Harry… Suddenly, the crowd parted as a group of the castle's staff came to the scene with Fleur at the head.
"Arrêtez, arrêtez ceci immédiatement!" she exclaimed in a heavy tone at the sight of Draco and Harry fighting on the floor, Ron leaning against the wall with his hand on his cut cheek, which had scrapped against the stone floor earlier when Malcolm sprung at him and Malcolm on the foot of the wall seemingly unconscious. "Stop this, stop this at once!" Fleur directed her long wand at the two boys who were in the process of tearing each other to shreds casting a quick spell that sent Malfoy and Harry instantly springing apart. Fleur had a look of questioning disenchantment on her pretty face as she looked down at the both of them. Draco and Harry stood up as Fleur regarded them with a snobbish look. "What is ze meaning of zis?" she turned to Harry for an explanation. Harry turned immediately to Malfoy and glared at him.
"He started it!" said Harry. Draco looked back at Harry looking offended.
"He hit me first!"
"He insulted my mother!" Harry almost started towards Draco to hit him again but was stopped by Hermione who had rushed to his side. "Don't," said Hermione holding his arm back. Draco caught sight of the gesture and did not think twice about speaking once more. He was curiously overcome with an urge to pull Hermione away from Potter.
"Take a hint from your girlfriend Potter!" sneered Draco as he clutched his arm, which was stinging painfully.
"Enough! Zis is abominable!" said Fleur, she looked disappointedly at Draco but then observed his bloodied hands. Harry as if realizing brought his hand over to his neck, which was also tainted with Draco's sticky blood from him strangling him earlier. "What iz zat?' asked Fleur motioning to Draco's injury, he tone indicating a disturbed feeling at the sight of blood.
Hermione observed the sight as well, the sight of Draco 's sleeves and hands stained with a large amount of red blood. She thought that such an injury could not have been inflicted by Harry's blows. He had not even used a wand, neither of them had. An incisement hex, Hermione thought. But no, Harry was not that brutal. Then, it came to her; it was the cut that was inflicted by the Siren in the last week. Curiously, it had not yet healed.
Draco tried to hide his hand beneath his sleeve but Fleur had already seen it, and Blaise was at his side with a horrified look in her eyes at the sight of that amount of blood on Draco.
"Nothing…" he said in a muffled and uncontrollably pained voice as he looked outside the window gritting his teeth.
"Draco!" she exclaimed handling his blood stained arm with utmost horror, then she turned on Harry who was standing across from them "You!" she hissed hatefully. "You did this to him," Harry looked startled at Blaise, and then at Malfoy's injury.
Draco knew that it was indeed Harry's fault that the bandage had broken, but he had not inflicted the wound. For a moment, he thought of what trouble Harry would be in if they had thought that he really was the one who did it, after all he thought that he had done the damage himself. But then he looked at Hermione who was behind Harry looking indignantly at him as if urging him to tell the truth. He remembered that Hermione had seen the wound; she had been the only one who had seen it.
"Harry didn't to anything, and you know it! Tell them, tell them the truth Malfoy," she said. Harry looked at her confusedly. Draco looked at Hermione and regarded her with the casual indifference he would allow himself to display in that situation. Her eyes were wide with protest at Blaise' accusation and she looked at him almost expecting him to look at her in the same way… when he had first looked at her when they were on the train. Hermione immediately looked down as she realized that she was thinking unreasonably.
Draco observed her with all the casualness he could have managed in the situation when he was in immense pain, as that situation obviously displayed. He would have enjoyed Potter being punished for something that was barely his fault, the scene his father would surely make when he would find out. But as he looked Hermione in the eye, he saw something that only she could have had displayed so eloquently. Draco cursed himself inwardly; he couldn't believe what he was about to do, just because of her foolish taste for the truth. He tried to convince himself that it was the fact that she would protest to Mc Gonnagal when she returned the day after or to Fleur who was aware of the Siren attack if he did not tell them, her story would eventually turn out to be plausible anyway. He closed his eyes for a moment, deciding that he was tired of arguing with himself. Draco sighed wryly and then clutched his arm, which was becoming unnervingly painful by the second. "He… he didn't do it," Draco admitted, he spat out the confession as if it hurt him to say it. Harry looked shocked at Malfoy just as Blaise did.
"What are you talking about?" Blaise asked him, but did not get to hear the answer as Fleur called in some of the staff.
Fleur turned around and called a few of the staff witches and wizards to tend to Malfoy, Malcolm, Harry and Ron. "Françoise, apportent M. Malfoy, M. Baddock M. Potter en M. Weasley jusqu'à l'infirmerie" The witch who stepped forward was as Ron remembered, the witch who was back at the library, the one who had smiled at him and Harry for letting them pass. He blushed slightly at the sight of her.
Draco was about to object but then saw no way of getting out of it. He looked grudgingly at the sill of the window and was surprised to spot a large black raven perched outside on it. It's bright yellow eyes looked at him through the glass.
As he was staring back at the bird, the blonde witch called Francoise touched his shoulder and called him to follow them to the castle's infirmary. She spoke a rough English but then Draco stopped her telling her that he could speak French. He turned back to the windowsill where he had seen the raven to see that it was gone.
Pansy and Blaise followed behind the witches and wizards assisting the four injured boys and leading them out of the hall. Harry and Hermione followed after Ron who was being carried away in a floating chair after realizing that he had twisted his ankle.
The trio made sure that they were as far away from the Slytherins as possible while they walked through the long hallway.
Draco sighed heavily as he allowed himself to be carried away to the infirmary in something Fleur conjured up that resembled a French sedan chair. Malcolm was being levitated in a stretcher beside him. He closed his eyes as he frowned; he was feeling extremely ridiculous at that moment. Then he remembered the raven he had seen outside the window a few moments before. Draco could have sworn he had seen the creature before.
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore"
A dark hooded figure loomed among the high towers of the French mansion, surveying the afternoon skies with peculiar attentiveness. In the far distance it noticed the black creature flying towards the mansion. The figure looked up and seemed pleased as if something he had long been waiting for had finally come.
The black raven set its claws on the broad outstretched arm of the figure and crowed loudly. It lowered its black beak in level with the face of the hooded figure as if to whisper something. The man stopped and thought, whether he was pleased or not; it was impossible to tell. Then the hooded man turned towards the hallway, the long dark silent hallway of the French castle. He lowered his arm where the large bird was perched and stroked its black feathery plume as it crowed softly. The silver hand set on the raven's plume contrasted rather intensely in the light.
The man nodded. "Yes… indeed Rodrom, your mistress will be pleased…"
Bellatix Lestrange opened her dark colored eyes at the light of the morning, the light seeping through the heavy black curtains and light silky veils draped around the four-poster bed. She lifted her heavy eyelids and focused it on the bright silver stars hanging from the top of the canopy of her bed as if reminding her of a clear night she could never really truly see. She turned to her side and took a moment to admire the silky white strands of hair that mixed and tangled with her own ebony tresses on the satin pillow.
The black haired woman smirked as if in remembrance of the night before. She playfully wrapped a few strands of silver hair around her fingers and put them to her lips, smelling a musky fragrance trademarked only to the man who lay beside her. She tugged more forcefully a few times before he stirred.
"It's dawn Lucius," she said as he gripped her wrist tightly indicating her to let his hair free from her fingers. Bellatrix let his hair drop immediately at the rough gesture.
Lucius Malfoy opened his silver eyes as she turned over in the bed to the sight that she had seen earlier, the silver stars she loved so much, glistening in the faint morning first light. He lazily turned his head to the side to see her staring at the mobile hanging from the top of the canopy. "Your wife will be wondering," she said tonelessly.
Lucius looked away from her and directed his gaze on the canopy as well, not really seeing any significance to it, wondering why she loved stars so much. At the same time pitying her because she could not reveal herself on a clear night anymore as long as she was being sought out by the ministry.
"Narcissa would rather kill herself than seek me out for the night. She does not wish to see me now, though she knows…" Lucius closed his eyes as he though of his wife, he wondered what the sight of him and her sister in one bed would stir in her. "I will go to her when I want to, just as I do with you," Lucius regretted it right after he said it as Bellatrix sat up immediately and gathered the sheets to cover her body. Lucius sat up from the bed as well as she swung her legs off the large four-poster bed and stood up. He was about to speak words of apology but then he knew that she would only retort by mocking him for ever expressing regret so openly even to him.
Bellatrix stepped into her stiff satin slippers as she left the bed dressed only in a dark colored sheet. She smiled to herself before facing Lucius again who had opened the curtains of the bed with his wand. He turned to her with a crude expression.
"Then I am no better off than her," she laughed more to herself than to him, "But of course, it is not as if I should be… Being your wife holds only so many pleasures, does it Lucius?" Lucius tried to ignore the sourness in her voice as he pulled on his shirt, which hung, on the side of his bed. He gathered up the long robes and capes, silver clasps and belts, which Bellatrix had, frustratingly all pulled off by herself the night before. He slipped on all the heavy layers of his attire causally.
"She is content," he told her as he fastened the black leather belt around his thin waist. Somehow Bellatrix had a hard time believing it.
"No Black woman is ever content," she muttered softly. Bellatrix moved over to the curtains that covered the windows of the room, curiously looking through the dim outside. Her hand tightened as she gripped the sheet on her chest. She felt furious that she could not linger outside even for a moment if the weather was well. It was infuriating having to wait for an extremely foggy day if she wanted to get out. She would leave the manor only to apparate to the dwellings of the Dark Lord, which was equally dreary as her room in the manor.
She turned around to see Lucius buckling the snake curved buckles on the top of his long black robe. "You've been wearing black since the first day I met you…" she said absentmindedly. He looked up at her and there flickered in his eye a faint surprise, which even she was startled to see.
"I don't think anything suits me better," he replied. Nothing else seemed appropriate to say.
Bellatrix laughed shrilly. "I don't know about that, last night didn't require a dress if you don't remember… you looked as dashing, possibly even more…" she sneered. Malfoy's lips twitched at her recollection. "Yet, I think… nothing suits a Deatheater better…" she agreed eventually.
Suddenly a loud crow came from the outside of the large room. The two looked immediately to the curtained window. Lucius rushed to open the curtains slightly as Bellatrix stayed out of sight. As he pulled the ripcord open, the black raven jumped onto the wide windowsill, the curtains closed behind the bird and Bellatrix approached it.
She noticed that her pet had a roll of parchment tied to its claws. She immediately untied the note and ran her eyes over the words written with a sloppy hand. Lucius looked at her expression curiously as it began to light up intriguingly.
Bellatrix looked up at his coldly set features. "It's from the Dark Lords French Frauline," she said with a sneer. Lucius raised an eyebrow.
"Pettigrew?" said Lucius.
Bellatrix nodded amusedly.
"What does he want?"
Bellatrix handed the note to Lucius as she pulled up the sheet that was covering her body. "It seems the rat has done well with the Dark Lord's gift for him, he seems to suit being a bird master." He raised his eyebrows in curiosity as she continued. "According to him, your son has uncovered a vital detail…" Lucius looked at her for a moment wondering how Bellatrix had thought of something so ingenious that she had actually lugged out the usefulness of his uncooperative son.
"A vital detail indeed," he soliloquized before turning away from Bellatrix and heading to the door. "We must act," he said curtly.
"Lucius… you are forgetting that there is something else…" added Bellatrix as he laid his hand on the snake carved door knob. He looked back at her knowing almost immediately what she was talking about. There was another plan they had planned to pursue before this.
He gave her a most mischievous smile as an idea came to him. "Then this something, I shall leave to you," he said. Bellatrix's eyes darkened immediately as she grasped his meaning.
Lucius stepped out of the door but not before turning back to her. "Though I must insist that you make haste, a week must be sufficient for you. For you know after that, the full moon is due," The door closed behind him.
Smiling deridingly, Bellatrix turned to her pet and stroked the ebony plume affectionately as she set it out through the window. "There my precious, go find yourself a rat… though not one with a silver claw. We cannot loose that one yet I'm afraid…"
And the Raven, never fitting, still is sitting still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight over him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted— nevermore!
