Disclaimer: Not mine.
Prophecy taken word for word from The Order of the Phoenix.
Author's Notes: Thanks for all the great reviews! Sorry this chapter has come a bit late. I've been really busy with school and everything, plus I've been updating a new fic – Nemessos – please read and review it! It's not bad! Haha. Ok, end pimping.
To answer a question that caught my eye…
frenchpiment: Thanks for your review! Yes, I intend to continue on with this fic till the very end. Also, while it does seem that quite a substantial number of the Death Eaters have been offed, I'm going with the premise that Voldemort has quite a sizeable army on his hands. Some of his key lieutanents (Bellatrix) have been killed and he has suffered a setback at Godric's Hollow, but he is in no way backed against a corner.
Chapter 17: Prophecy Revealed
The days following the battle melted away till it was once again deep winter. Winds howled across the Scottish hills and snow swirled in the air, seemingly dancing in their delight to be once again let loose on the world as Hermione sat motionless, staring out into the grounds from the window seat of one of Hogwart's numerous towers.
She'd been unable to sleep, and, rather than tossing and turning the night away, had decided to come up here to sit and think.
She'd always loved the beauty of this place. Not just the castle too, but the rolling hills and secret valleys that had come to characterize what Hogwarts was all about. Magic.
Indeed, there was magic out in those ancient hills; something old, thrilling, free, elemental; even more so than the magic being performed here within these walls. The magic that was out there…well, what we did would probably seem like child's play to them, wouldn't it? She mused silently.
The lands were dark, and not much could be seen of them but the vague outlines, but she could sense them. Sense them calling out to her, speaking to her.
But it was a comforting presence, for they too understood the threat that Voldemort posed for them. They too saw the rivers of blood running in between the valleys, like a deep cut slashed across the skin.
They had to stop him.
But did she really believe they could beat him?
Saturday's defeat of Bellatrix certainly gave much hope and cheer to the embattled occupants of Hogwarts.
And while victory was becoming more and more tangible every day, while she believed in it, hoped for it, could almost taste it…she still had absolutely no idea how they were supposed to get around to it. How could they get around what the prophecy had predicted?
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"
Draco had claimed that it was all a load of hogwash. And while she tended to agree with him, she was not so sure. Before Harry's death, he had confided in her about the time when he'd actually seen Trelawney give a true prediction. Majority of what she usually said in class was rubbish of course, but when she did give a true prophecy, it was, according to Harry, incredibly scary and all too real. Her voice would…change. And after that she'd had no recollection of what she'd said before.
She sighed and drew her legs closer to her body for warmth. She had no idea what to do now. Every time she went back to the prophecy, she couldn't seem to find anything of use. She believed in it, in victory...but the means to get there seemed to be getting more and more vague with each passing day.
Well, she consoled herself, at least everyone in the castle was doing okay. They had found Zacharias Smith cowering in an abandoned room after the whole ordeal was over. He had lost quite a bit of blood, but under Madam Pomfrey's ministrations, he was now doing just fine. Neville too had been amazing. After two weeks in the Infirmary recovering from his injuries, both mental and physical, he was now up and about, helping out the running of the castle in every way possible. She did realize that he seemed to be dealing with his grief by throwing himself whole-heartedly in the fight against Voldemort, and she told herself to keep an eye out for him in case he overworked himself.
To be honest though she admired him. He might not have been as powerful as Harry, or as smart as Hermione, or even as foolhardy as Ron; but his bravery and courage beat them all time after time. Sure, they were the ones who had all those crazy adventures, and Harry was the one who had stood up to Voldemort time and time again. But Neville had always been the most afraid of all of them. But he still quelled his fear…and still he kept getting up, over and over again to fight alongside them.
"A sickle for your thoughts?" a voice behind her said dryly.
"Well it would be a sickle," replied Hermione, turning around. "But for you, Young Master Malfoy I think I should charge a galleon, shouldn't I?" she grinned slyly at him, eyes twinkling.
"We've not been together two weeks and already you're demanding money from me. Figures." He grumbled. "And by the way, the money's locked up in Gringotts till I'm twenty-one and the Mansion is in shambles. I am unfortunately quite destitute right now."
She eased into his embrace and he murmured softly against her skin. "Just what are you doing here on a cold night like this?"
"Just thinking." She replied evasively.
His left eyebrow quirked, "About the prophecy?"
"Well, yeah." Admitted Hermione sheepishly.
"You know you can't keep thinking about this at all times of the day you know. Some times of the day you should devote to thinking about me!" he said half-jokingly.
"And why should I do that, Malfoy?"
"Because I think about you all the time." He whispered. And as she turned to look at him wonderingly she could see that it was true. Part of it excited her, but the other part made her a little frightened. What if she had never returned his feelings? Would he have stalked her forever, even if she was with someone else? And what if Voldemort offered to him what he could not have had otherwise? Would he have accepted, despite his hatred of him for killing his mother? There was still so much of Draco she did not know about. She really hoped he was in this fight for the right reasons.
"Come to back bed Hermione."
Her eyes sparkled, and she teased, "Don't tell me you can't sleep without my being there?"
"But I really can't" he whined petulantly. "If I don't hear your breathing I get all cranky and wound up too tight. And then I can't sleep."
"Alright then Draco." She gave him a maternal smile at his adorable pouting expression. "Let's go back to our beds."
00000
The library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy was musty, dust covered, and deserted as usual. All was silent, except for one corner at the very back, near the restricted section of the library.
Here, one could hear the frantic scribblings of a bushy haired girl, and the soft sighs of a besotted male as he stared at her from his seat across the table, not believing that what he had wanted for so long was finally his.
The girl lifted her head and frowned at his lack of industrious activity. Suitably chastised, the male (well, boy really) jumped in his seat and resumed reading the thick tome in front of him, high spots of pink in both cheeks as he apologetically skimmed the book with increased intensity.
Her presence always distracted him however, and within five minutes he was staring at her with a hang-dog expression once again, stocking-ed feet drifting oh-so-surely and sneakily towards hers to fondle and feel.
Honestly! Hermione thought. Here she was, trying to concentrate on searching for that bloody hard to find loophole in the Prophecy, and what was Draco doing but trying to play footsie with her!
How irresponsible.
And not to mention very distracting.
She shivered involuntarily when she felt his feet go higher up her calves. He smiled knowingly, his large frame draped languidly on the chair, staring at her through half-lidded eyes.
The memory of his sensual and wild kisses from the night before hit her full force and she too began to stare dreamily at him until she finally remembered what they were here for and again resumed her reading of the book, shooting him a stern glare.
"Oh come on Hermione…surely we have time for a little…break?"
"Draco Malfoy!" she hissed. "This is not the time nor place for your…your…active imagination! We're in the library!"
"Exactly."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times before turning a bright shade of pink. "The…the library is for studying! And reading! And studying!" she spluttered.
"Granger!" he scoffed. "Don't tell me you've never snogged in the library. All that time spent with the Weasel in here and all you two have ever done was study?" His features grew incredulous when her gaping mouth confirmed this.
"Well then…now's the best time to learn eh? The stacks are the perfect place you know." He leaned forward. "So quiet, deserted…where no one can hear you scream…or moan."
She swallowed nervously as he continued drifting his fingers lazily up her arm. "Not to mention how cool and dark the stacks are. Very nice and dim. Just like a…bedroom, wouldn't you say?"
"It also has that lovely smell of books that you so enjoy. And don't deny it, I've seen you inhaling the scent of the books you read. You like that, don't you?"
She was slowly but surely leaning in towards him, leaning in so closely that she could smell his unique scent and see the small blond hairs that curled at his hairline. His soft hair was falling over his face and he gazed at her with a look that was half intense and half mischievous. He was just so…beautiful.
"Um, guys?"
The two of them jumped apart quite spectacularly, banging their knees loudly against the bottom of the table, causing it to jolt violently.
"Yes Neville?" squeaked Hermione embarrassedly. The colour was slowly returning to her cheeks and Draco laughed silently at how funny and adorable she was like this.
"Um…well I didn't mean you bother you two…"
"No it's fine. No problem at all!" she was still squeaking like a terrified mouse and Neville was looking distinctly uncomfortable at having intruded on what was obviously an intimate scene.
"It's just that…well…Madam Pomfrey has pretty much healed most of my…wounds." He shuddered slightly at the memory, but soldiered on, "But…there's this…scar…at my right eyebrow that won't stop hurting. And the scar won't go away too. It's been more than two weeks. Madam Pomfrey's tried everything but nothing seems to work, and I know it's not a big deal, it's just that it twinges quite a bit, and I was wondering if you two know anything about it and, um, you know if you could help me…"
As Draco could see that Hermione was still too flustered to do anything he interjected brusquely, "Let me see it Longbottom."
Neville lowered himself onto the chair next to Draco's and lifted his fringe for Draco to inspect. Just…there, just above his right eyebrow was a pretty nasty cut. Draco sucked in his breath. Longbottom had greatly underestimated the severity of his wound! Scar my arse! It was still weeping bits of pus!
He looked at it in disgust. "You mean it's been more than two weeks and its still not properly healed! Even with Madam Pomfrey's healing charms? Why haven't you said anything sooner, Longbottom! That's gross that is!"
"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed. He gave her a shrug. "Neville, let me see." She leaned towards him to examine his wound.
"Medicor"! she cried. She leaned in to look at it again but it was still not healed. "Condico!" Still did not work. "Redintegro!", "Reparo!"
She tried about a dozen healing charms that she knew before giving up. Sighing, she cast a cleaning charm to clean up the oozing pus so that she could look at it more clearly.
Funny. She thought. It was an odd…v-shape almost. Like a victory sign. Weird.
She leaned back in her seat and looked up at Neville oddly. "Neville, maybe if you tell use how you got this wound, we might be able to better heal it for you. Who gave it to you, for starters? Bellatrix?"
Neville gulped visibly as he tried to remember what had transpired on that unlucky day. "N-no…no it wasn't Bella – " he swallowed again, "Bellatrix. It was Voldemort."
Draco's eyebrows shot up.
"He…c-came by earlier to well…to mock at me and my parents I suppose. He um…gave me this when he hit me with his wand hand. His wand kind of…well, nicked me above the eyebrow I guess."
He turned to look at their shocked faces and asked worriedly, "It's not fatal is it?"
Hermione closed her gaping mouth with a snap and continued to stare at him, not saying a word.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…"
The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…mark him as his equal…mark him as his…
A triumphant smile slowly graced her features. "No Neville, it isn't. In fact, it's the best thing to happen to us in months…"
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Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed it! And I know I don't say this very often, but as I'm really a review whore, please review!
