"Sir, he may live; I saw him beat the surges under him, and ride upon their backs; he trod the water, whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted the surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd himself with his good arms in lusty stroke to the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve him; I not doubt he came alive to land."
--- Francisco, Act II, Scene I, The Tempest
THE TEMPEST
--- O Captain, My Captain! ---
The surface of the sea tossed and turned, waves crashing with impounding force upon the cliff rocks. Grandfather could hear them roar behind him, and he was certainly grateful he wasn't in the water.
A wave rocked against the yacht, throwing spray everywhere. That, mixing with the fresh, falling rain, succeeded in drenching him to the skin.
Though seeing as how dry I'm keeping up here, I don't know if it would matter much whether I'm above sea-level or below.
He turned again to the path his sons had taken less than an hour ago, and swore. Just like scolding housewives, all three otters lifted their heads and grumbled at him.
"What?" he snapped, rounding on them. "I'm allowed to call my idiotic excuses for sons whatever I want! Especially when they're not here to defend themselves."
Ceres just snorted at him, then settled her head on Juno's rump and closed her eyes. Muttering under his breath, Grandfather turned away and glared, instead, at the churning water.
Think they know everything, damned otters…I can curse if I want to…
The drizzling rain began to fall harder, making it decidedly more difficult to see through the darkness. His fingers fumbled as they reached into his long coat and pulled out his pocket watch.
He cursed again, this time at the numbers, and started pacing the length of the deck.
"Bloody morons…should've been here half an hour ago… 'We won't be gone long' my limpid arse…" he grumbled.
He paced some more.
"Prob'ly sitting by the Shylocks' fire drinkin' rum, while I'm here freezing my buttocks off…"
It didn't take long for his enormous strides to cover the whole of the deck, so he turned around and walked back to the stern, pulling out the flask of firewhisky Hector had given him.
"Damn good stuff this is, lad," he said, taking a swig. His face crinkled at the spicy taste, then he put it back in his pocket and continued cursing his sons.
"Bloody wankers…Nothin' more than a hallydoo for their old man, the dolts…"
He stopped at the bow, turned around, and walked back to the stern, stepping over his snoozing gals.
"…I've half a mind to go after 'em…"
Back to the bow again.
"Stupid…sodding…smarmy…snarky gits!"
It was just as he was heading back to the stern for the third time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white flash, and a loud splash came to his ears a moment later. He jerked his head around, eyes searching, but could see nothing through the closing darkness. The only sound was of the waves crashing against the rocks…and a faint shout…
Grandfather shook his head and turned away. He strode to the cockpit, switched on the floodlights, and went back out to look again.
There, bobbing on the waves, was Will's jacket.
Panic filled him. Grandfather didn't even stop to think, his training taking over. With lightning speed, he stripped himself of his coat, hat, and cane, kicking off his Wellies. He grabbed the life saver and threw it out as far as its rope would allow.
"GIRLS!" he roared. "TO ME!"
With the otters not far behind him, he leapt the railing and dove into the sea.
I'm really getting too old for this, he thought as waves closed around his head and the water engulfed him.
David felt numb. A vague silence surrounded him, flowing into his being. There was no sound or feeling…just a white darkness reverberating throughout the versatile abyss of his mind.
All around him the rain fell harder, but he didn't feel it; all he could do was stare through the darkness…
A figure appeared in his line of vision, and a face sneered down at him. "Finally put in your place, Muggle?"
A foot connected with his face, and David knew no more.
Nott chuckled at the man's still form and walked over to the fallen Rosier. Just off the path, Malfoy and Bones were scuffling on the forest floor, leaving the path to the village free to anyone who wished to take it.
"Get up, you oaf," Nott sneered, kicking at the Death Eater's side. "While you were busy sleeping, I took care of the two Muggles. Where's your contribution to the Dark Lord?"
Rosier stirred and groaned. He blinked, then stood up, dark curls falling into his pallid face. "Where's the brat, then?"
"You let her run off with our wands! She ran off towards the village. Care to go shut her up before she gets there?"
Evan Rosier looked over at the darkened path, and thoughts of a little girl all alone, waiting for him to find her, pierced his mind.
He grinned. "Gladly."
The moment he dove into the water, Grandfather felt the familiar rousing of mingled excitement and safety. The water closed off all oxygen, the storm still surged above him, he was delving into the very depths of the sea…and yet, Grandfather felt an enormous sense of peace settle over him.
It was just him and the sea. He was back where he belonged. Everything he had experienced before ---- even the pain from the death of his wife ---- all of that just didn't matter.
He was going to go find his son.
He felt a fast moving current behind him, and three familiar outlines swam past, disappearing into the obscurity before him.
That's it, girls…swim and show me the way…
His measured strokes brought him deeper and deeper into the water, but it was so murky and dark Grandfather could barely see a foot in front of him.
Will…where are you?
He pushed onward, becoming desperate now. Will had been underwater for more than a minute. If he didn't find him soon —
Grandfather shook his head, not daring to think what would happen. He pushed himself harder, swimming with all of his might against the underwater currents that were pulling and pushing, tugging and shoving.
Deeper and deeper…his eyes searching all around him…he couldn't see anything, he couldn't hear anything…he frantically scanned the water for the smallest sign as to where his son had gone…
There! To his left, he saw Juno swimming towards him. She looped him then went back the way she came. Grandfather followed her, faster than he had ever gone before…he couldn't lose her again, not this time. His breath was beginning to run out…he didn't have much time…
He had done this before…many, many years ago, when the sea was tossing and turning just like tonight…his heart quickened, remembering…
Back when he was captain of the HMS Asteria, when they were en route to Le Havre. He had taken his wife and two boys with him…they were going to have a two-week vacation while the Asteria was in dock…
But on their way across the English Channel, the seas got rough. All passengers were ordered down below, but it wasn't long before the notorious captain John Granger got the call: his son had fallen overboard.
Grandfather surged ahead…he wasn't going to make it…his muscles were screaming in protest, but he had to find his son, he had to find Will…
On that day, thirty years ago, he had dived into the sea and saved his son. But Grandfather didn't think that the gods would be so merciful again.
At Number Sixteen, Prosper Street, all was dark and silent. To any passing neighbour, it might seem as if any occupants inside were asleep. They might stop on the sidewalk and look up at it curiously, from the well-kept lawn fringed with rosebushes, to the whitewashed siding set underneath a green-shingled roof. Then, of course, they would just shrug at it and keep walking, forgetting about it almost immediately.
Because, to any passing neighbour, it would just seem as if this was a quaint little house with nothing abnormal going on in it whatsoever.
But that is where they would be wrong.
Inside of Number Sixteen, Prosper Street a single candle burned, away from the sheltered windows and locked door. Its light shone on two people, very much awake, one involuntarily sitting in a chair, the other standing before her, a smug grin on his face.
It was then that he lowered his hood. Cordelia gasped –- she'd recognized his long, pale face immediately. "It's you! You were the one at the market-place, with Hector, the one who --- who----"
The man gave a deep, mocking bow, his black robes sweeping the ground and face lit with a wicked glow. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "Antonin Dolohov, at your most humble service. But of course I know who you are…Jane Cordelia Granger, daughter of the late chef, Clement Snowe, mother formerly of France; two sisters, one older and one younger, and both sworn off by their mother which leaves you, Jane Cordelia Granger, as the only inheritor of your mother's fortune. Am I right?"
Cordelia stared at him. Her voice shook. "How did you know all that?"
"Oh, believe me, Cordelia, I have my ways. Just like I know, for example, that your fool of a husband is not here, leaving you very much alone…" He broke off, staring at the mantle, where the photo of a grinning birthday girl sat. "Ah! But how could I forget? Your charming daughter…what did you call her again? Oh yes…Neenie!"
She stiffened as he smashed the glass of the frame, pulled the photo out, and pocketed it.
He strolled back over to her, a smug look on his face. "Now, where should we begin, I wonder…Delia, darling?"
Before Cordelia could stop herself, she slapped him across his leering face. "Don't you ever call me that!" she shrieked.
Dolohov looked at her, a mask of fury in his eyes. He raised his wand and magic ropes sprang out of nowhere, binding Cordelia's arms to the chair. She struggled, but the more she tried, the tighter they got.
"Now," Dolohov said, his voice a deadly calm. "Let's get this straight, shall we? You have something I want."
"Oh, really?" Cordelia said sarcastically, her fear dissipating the moment he used David's pet name for her. "And what might that be, I wonder? It couldn't possibly be money, could it?"
Dolohov gave a short laugh that held no mirth in it whatsoever. "You think I want your money? Is that it? No, Cordelia…what I want cannot be given that easily. I have to…draw it out, so to speak. And that's where you come in."
He stood in front of her, daunting amid the lightning flashes outside. The rain drummed harder against the windowpanes and they vibrated with every rumble of thunder.
"What…do you want?" she asked carefully.
He studied her a long time before answering. "I want a memory."
Out of all the things she expected him to answer her with…needless to say, this was not one of them. "A memory?"
He smirked at the confusion in her voice. "Of course you wouldn't know what I'm talking about…I didn't expect you to, really. Here, let me put me this in simplified terms for you." He conjured a chair and sat down in front of her. "Throughout a person's life, he experiences things. If he learns anything at all from his experiences, that information is stored in his brain for him to use whenever it is needed. Those, my dear, are what we call memories."
"Why would I have a memory that you want?" said Cordelia, choosing to ignore his sarcasm. "And what could possibly be so important that you would ask a dentist, anyway?"
"What the Dark Lord wants, he gets," he said simply.
Cordelia stared at him. "And how, exactly, are you going to proceed in getting that memory?" she asked softly.
Dolohov reached into his cloak and pulled a small, glass vial. At first Cordelia thought there was nothing in it; but then she saw that it was filled to the stopper with a clear liquid.
"With this, of course. Oh, but I know what you're thinking. A single vial holding nothing but water, you say? But my dear, this is Veritaserum. Of course, it wouldn't surprise me if you didn't know what it is…you are only Muggle, after all —"
"I know Latin, you idiot," she snapped. "It means 'truth'."
"Well, well, you do know something. I suppose Muggles aren't entirely useless after all!"
He came towards her and uncorked the bottle. When Cordelia shrank back slightly, he stopped and chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to torture the information out of you or anything. I don't have to, really. A few drops of this and you'll be telling me everything I want to know…and more!"
Cordelia had no way to stop him. He forced her mouth open and poured some down her throat — far more than just a few drops.
Her eyes watered as she swallowed. The burning liquid coursed down her esophagus, making her feel like her very insides were on fire. Everything became blurry. Dolohov kept on talking, but Cordelia couldn't understand what he was saying. She suddenly felt disconnected…like her spirit and her body weren't one any more…
Far away she heard her own voice answering him. Then she was falling away…falling away fast…
Neenie stumbled along the shadowy path, her brown eyes big and her breath coming out in short gasps. Every so often she kept looking back, but it was too dark for her to see very far.
Lightning illuminated the sky above. A fierce wind was blowing and the branches high above her creaked and groaned in protest. Hermione came to a stop in a small thicket and sat down where she was. Thunder sounded, and she gave a small whimper.
Mummy! I want my Mummy…
"Mummy?" she said tentatively. "Mummy! Where are you, Mummy?"
Her voice sounded very small and frightened inside of the very large wood. The trees loomed on every side and voices kept whispering…but no one was there.
She sniffled. She wanted Mummy, but Mummy wasn't coming. She wanted to go home, but she didn't know where home was. She wanted her kitten, she wanted Daddy, she wanted Pan to come and find her, but she was all alone.
"I's a loney!" she whispered and sniffled some more. Her lips puckered, her chin quivered, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"Mummy! Mummymummymummy! Where are you, Mummy? MUMMY!" she wailed, and buried her face in her lap.
She remembered only a week ago when there was a storm. She woke up crying and ran in to Mummy and Daddy's bed. Daddy didn't wake up, but Mummy cuddled her and sang her a song.
"Love, my queen, and may you sleep
Though thunder roars and rain clouds weep
Cuddle with your mother dear
You feel alone, but I'm right here
You may be weary, you may be sad,
But when you're brave,
Your fears behave,
And things don't turn out quite so bad
So love, my queen, and may you keep
Your courage, darling, while you sleep"
Hermione stopped sniffling, remembering. She started humming to herself as much of Mummy's song as she remembered----which wasn't much. Then those hums turned into words and those words became a song.
She sang of the rain, and the wind, and the trees. She sang of her daddy and how she missed him so very much. She sang of her home and her mummy and her garden. Of the fun day she had, and of her durling little hat perched atop her brown curls. She sang of many things, which no one could ever repeat. Most couldn't even understand her song, for only half the words she spoke were in an intelligible language.
But she understood and that's all that mattered. And it seemed to comfort her as well, for when she finished, she was almost smiling.
It was then that she heard footsteps. At once she clutched the three sticks in her hand, remembering what Pan said.
"Neenie, do you remember how to play hide-and-seek? I need you to run, Hermione. Run as fast as you can, and hide. Don't let any of these men find you, all right? You have to stay hiding until I come and find you. Do you understand?"
She peeked out and saw Evan Rosier falter on the path, looking around in the darkness.
They were playing hide-and-seek. He was just a mean old mountain troll, and she was the little queen and if he found her, he'd snatch her up and take her to his lair. But this time, she didn't have Puck to save her.
"Come out, my little pumpkin!" Rosier called. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
At once, Hermione felt herself bristle up at his words. I's not a punkin! I's a Neenie!
"I'm not going to hurt you…I just want to take you back to your daddy. Do you want to see Daddy?" Rosier asked, looking all around him for her.
Hermione perked at his words. He knew where Daddy was? She hurriedly stood up and gathered the sticks in her hand. The sticks…
Hermione hugged them tight to her chest and patted them fondly. These were special sticks; they behaved very well. She saw Pan point his stick and say something funny, and the stick did it. She bent down and kissed all three of them soundly. There.
Rosier decided on a different approach.
"Don't be a bad little girl now! If you don't come out now, I'm going to have to punish you…you don't like to be punished, do you?"
She scowled at him, peering through the thin branches of a holly bush. The mean man was walking around the forest floor, coming closer and closer to her hiding spot. He wasn't only looking around at hiding places below him now, though; he was looking up at the trees, trying to see if she had somehow shinnied to the tops of them.
Neenie gave a small, compressed giggle at the thought of that. The smile was wiped clean off her face, though, when Rosier jerked his head down at the sound.
Oops.
Hermione held her breath and watched him cock his head, listening. She drew her head back in and looked down at the sticks in her hand. They felt kind of funny…
She peered back through the branches, but couldn't see Rosier on the path. Perhaps he decided she wasn't there and moved on? Pulling her head back in, Hermione turned around----
"Why, hello there, dearie!" Rosier sneered.
Hermione gave a startled scream and ran until she got to the path, when she got an idea and turned around.
"You's a bad boy! Bad, bad boy!" she yelled, shaking her three new sticks at him to prove her point.
The mean man was blasted ten feet and hit the trunk of a tree. He slumped to the needle-strewn ground, knocked momentarily unconscious for the second time that night. Although this would have caused raised eyebrows and dropped jaws in most societies, the two-year-old girl didn't even flinch. That was just what happened when you were mean to people, she thought.
Rosier stirred and slowly stood up, holding onto his right arm, which was limp in its grasp. He came towards Hermione, his footing uneven. She gave a small squeak and ran----but her legs were small and chubby and she wore a dress, and in almost no time at all, she stumbled and fell. He was on her in an instant and picked her up, mostly by her hair, dodging her flailing fists and savage kicks.
"NO!" she screamed. "Nononononono!"
"Shut up, you selfish brat!" he snarled, holding onto her with his one good arm.
"I want my Mummy! I WANT MY MUMMY!" She started jabbing at his face with the wands, wanting them to hurt him, wanting them to make him put her down. "Bad boy! Lets Neenie go! Lets Neenie go, NOW!"
One of the wands made contact with his eye. He yelled in pain and dropped her. Hermione stopped screaming and looked up at him, her eyes wide. When he could see again, he reached down and tore the wands out of her grasp.
"I'm going to murder you for that, child," he said, pointing all three wands down at her. A moment later, though, he seemed to have gained control of his anger, and he picked her up again.
Hermione twisted and squirmed, yelling in his ear and pulling his hair, even going so far as to bite his shoulder. But Evan Rosier didn't drop her again; he just walked back to the clearing by the cliffs, a murderous look in his eyes, and the three stolen wands in his hand.
It was then that Grandfather saw him. Will was floating in the water, his body thin and frail, his skin almost iridescent in the aqueous light. Ceres and Iris flanked him, trying to pull his unconscious body up to the surface.
Grandfather threw himself forward with all his might. He had to get there — he had to reach his son before it was too late, before —
With one last burst of speed, Grandfather covered the distance between him and Will. He grabbed his son around the torso and started swimming upwards, with Iris and Ceres pushing him from behind.
A wave of relief washed over Grandfather, more powerful than the forces that created such a tempest on All Hallow's Eve.
He had his son now…
But deep down, Grandfather also knew that time had run out. If he didn't get Will above water soon, he was going to die…that is, if he wasn't already…
He shoved that thought aside and swam harder. The darkness was closing in on him…he couldn't breathe…his lungs were bursting, his heart was seizing up…
Grandfather kicked and kicked, his one free arm clawing at the water…
At long last, he saw a light above him — the floodlights of The Olivia. Juno had already swum to the surface and come back, her lungs full of fresh air again. She slipped her body underneath Will's arm, and Grandfather let go.
He couldn't do it…his limbs were on fire…he was almost there, but his strength was too far spent…
Iris, Ceres, and Juno surged past him, bearing Will. They were going to make it…they were almost there.
But something inside of Grandfather had given up. He had been through so much, and now…the cold grasp of the sea was far too inviting. Its opalescent fingers were closing in around him, holding him back…pulling him downward…his mouth opened and water swirled inside, filling up his nostrils and rushing down his air passage…
He was drowning.
Author's Note: And so the list of unpleasantries go on. You now know who the ever-mysterious 'Man-in-the-cowboy-hat' is and what he wants from Cordelia. You now know that Will is going to be all right---but now, no one else is. You now know that Cordelia's lullaby to Hermione was coined by yours truly, who also came up with a tune for it while writing. You now know that there are only four chapters to go after this one. And, lastly, you now know that we are one step closer to finding out---as I've said before, and it still hasn't changed---who, exactly, out of all these characters, is going to die before the story's end.
Now let's get on to reviewing, shall we?