Draco was coughing, which was what inevitably woke him up. He opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at his surroundings.
He was in the middle of a dense rainforest. Sweat coated him all over. His pale blonde hair, which had grown a fair bit since he'd left England, fell into his eyes. His arms and legs were bound to a chair with, from the looks of it, devil's snare. It made sense, seeing as very little light from the sun could reach the forest floor. Most of it was blocked, or at the very least, obscured by the canopy of trees above him.
An earth-shattering sound, like that of the crushing of hundreds of twigs and leaves combined with the squelching of mud, sounded out from behind him.
It would be idiotic to call out for help. The only people around him would be those who had brought him here.
"Bloody… Granger," he hissed between breaths as he attempted to struggle free of his bonds. Of course, that only made things worse. The Devil's Snare tightened itself around his legs. "Alright, alright," he conceded to the plant's actions.
Another sound, identical to the last, rang out. Only closer. Then again, and again. Its pace quickening after each one.
The sudden realization that the sound was footsteps hid Draco, and suddenly, he didn't really care about the plants around his ankles and wrists. He wriggled and squirmed, further cutting off circulation to those ever-so-important parts of his body.
The footsteps sped up until finally, Draco could smell something. It was obviously large if it could crash through the forest like that.
He froze, his eyes glued to the sky, as first a whisker, then a nose, then the mouth. Full of sharp teeth and… tusks?
It continued to move above him, finally being forced to sidestep the chair. Its long mane glittered with orange magic. Then, scaring the ever-living shit out of Draco, it bounded ahead. A giant leap through the sky in which it twisted mid-air, and skidded through the mud in front of him.
It was a giant cat with distinct markings on and around its face. Its amber eyes weren't so easy to spot thanks to its dilated pupils. Its mane was brown in colour, and like its face, only magic seemed to flow through it. Its slender body continued as normal until the tail. It was unbelievably long with virbant pink displays up until the end. Like flower petals, almost. It flicked back and forth gracefully.
Draco didn't really know what this was. It was definitely foreign. A given, considering the rainforest he found himself in.
Draco felt an uncomfortable warm pressure around his inner legs. The great cat sniffed the air in apparent interest.
"Draco Malfoy wetting himself… Tut tut," a woman's voice said calmly from his right. Draco swiveled his head to look at her. She was incredibly plain with very few remarkable features. Her hair was brown, that was about all that mattered. Her face was littered with light scarrings, like that of Professor Lupin.
So, she was a werewolf. That, Draco was almost certain. "That's not my name," said Draco, defiantly.
"No, sorry. By blood, you are a Black. That doesn't change much, unfortunately," the woman smirked and crouched to be at eye level with him. "I am going to ask you some questions, Malfoy, is that alright with you?"
"Questions about what?"
"Lord Voldemort. What he's doing, where he's hiding, why he's in Belgium-"
"I don't know," Draco interrupted. "I don't know… any of those things… Belgium? Why the hell would he be in Belgium?" he added out of genuine curiosity.
"You aren't an amazing liar," the woman sighed and patted his shoulder. "Your father is in line with him. Your mother is missing, and-"
"My mother is missing?" Draco asked, pulling against his restraints unknowingly. The Devil's Snare tightened their bonds and he let out a hiss of pain.
The woman seemed somewhat surprised by his reaction. "Is it not true that your mother's magic was rewritten at Potter Manor?"
"Yes, but-"
"Where did she go after that?" the woman raised a single eyebrow.
"I don't know," Draco sighed.
"Why?"
"Because I left,"
"Why did you leave?" the woman replied immediately to each of his own responses.
Draco threw his head back in annoyance. The giant cat with its flowery tail had started purring. It was much less of a threat now that it was essentially enjoying the show. "Why do you care?"
"Answer the question,"
"I left because I didn't want to see her, and I didn't want to-"
"Enough, Scamander," a cool, and wonderfully familiar voice interrupted Draco.
The woman stood up and looked at something behind Draco, supposedly the man who'd spoken.
Snape revealed himself, walking slowly and deliberately around into Draco's view. "Hello," he greeted with the closest thing to a smile Draco had come to expect.
"Hi," he replied with a sigh of relief.
Snape's black eyes bored into Draco's for a moment. He was sure he could feel something, like a feather at the back of his head. He tried to reach around and scratch it, but his hands once again were restricted even further by his natural bindings.
"Mungdungus Fletcher, Really? The only hope for a dying family is selling muggle drugs for a lowlife English criminal?" Snape scoffed. "You can untie him. He's learned his lesson,"
The woman, Scamander, rolled her eyes and waved her wand. The Devil's Snare around his wrists and ankles slackened and receded into the earth. Draco rubbed at his wounds and stood up.
"Where the hell are we?" he asked Snape, choosing to ignore Scamander for now.
"Paris," he replied, simply. He turned on the spot and started walking in a seemingly random direction. Draco quickly followed after him.
"What the-"
"It's a family extension charm," Scamander explained. "Alyssa, by the way. Alyssa Scamander," she offered her hand.
Draco awkwardly took it and shook mid-stride. "Pleasure to meet you," he mumbled sarcastically.
She laughed and shook her head. She whistled a low, consistent sound, and the beast started following them.
"That's Zoë," Alyssa continued, pointing to the giant cat. Its tail clattered against the trees. "She can run at a hundred miles an hour so… don't piss her off. You won't outrun her."
"What is she?" Draco asked.
"A Zouwu," Snape replied, this time. "They're native to China… hence the extension charm being themed around a rain forest,"
Draco couldn't help but marvel at the magic around him. Knowing that it was not a true forest, but instead, a magical creation made it all the more interesting. He could see light ahead; a clearing of some sort was coming.
A come it did. A vast field with mud tracks and small ponds extended out in front of them. A large, American-style farm home sat in the center.
That wasn't what caught his attention, however.
It was the many magical creatures, the dummies, the obstacle courses, and the dozens upon dozens of people milling about that had him stopping abruptly and gaping.
Snape had predicted this reaction and was already waiting for him beside Alyssa.
"What is this?" Draco asked as he watched a young girl flourish her wand, sending one of the dummies flailing about on the ground.
"This is the beginning of the new world, Draco," Snape stared off fondly at the many witches, wizards, and beasts.
"What?" Draco asked, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes.
Alyssa chuckled quietly, smiling down at Draco's shocked appearance. "Welcome to the Rebellion, Mr. Black,"
Regretfully Uncaring
Chapter 40: Dying Embers
Draco gaped at Alyssa. "Rebellion against what?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she set out for the house at the center, her hands tucked into the pockets of her shorts. Zoë padded after her.
"Have you had any communication with your mother at all in the last few days?" Snape asked quietly. Making sure Alyssa was well out of earshot.
Draco shook his head, still focused on the training grounds in front of him.
Snape sighed and arched his back, stretching. "Follow me, please," he hastily walked towards the farmhouse, whipping his arm around to check the time on his watch.
A large, horse-like creature with leathery skin and bat-like wings was flying above. Its oddly demonic features were focused on a young boy running through a field carrying an uncooked steak on a stick.
Draco thought that Snape was on his way to follow Alyssa into the house, but just as they would have joined the path that led to its steps, he turned to a different path, leading instead to a small cabin.
One of many, Draco realized, as they came around the house and were greeted with an uninterrupted view of the rest of the training ground. At least a dozen cabins were all laid out around a large courtyard.
Snape hauled the door to one of the cabins open and waited for Draco to catch up. "In," he commanded. Draco bowed his head to fit through the small doorway and was greeted by yet another magically expanded space. It was the size of a church with bookshelves covering each wall from the floor to the ceiling.
Snape gestured in invitation to one of two chairs placed in the center of the room. A small firepit lay in the middle with blue fire that emitted no smoke.
Draco sat, and Snape did the same opposite him.
"I will let you ask your questions now. I will respond if I can and to the best of my ability," said Snape in that same, quiet drawl.
"What is this place… really," Draco asked, emphasizing the latter point.
Snape sat back in his chair and knitted his fingers together. "It's Headquarters for the New World. It is located in Paris, France. Don't ask me for the address, I don't know it."
"Scamander said it's a rebellion. What are we rebelling against?" Draco asked, his heart beating a little faster. This was the question he really wanted to be answered.
"I am not allowed to disclose that information," Snape said. He didn't seem to care that he was letting Draco down.
"Who says you can't tell me that?" Draco demanded.
"The Raven," Snape replied as if this explained everything.
"The who?"
Snape scratched at his left wrist, which no longer carried a dark mark. "They are who command us. They are who we answer to,"
Draco nodded, accepting the information at face value. "This... organization. Is it working against the Dark Lord?" he asked hesitantly.
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "Yes… and no,"
Draco sighed at Snape's lack of cooperation. "Who's in it?" he asked after a long pause.
"Plenty of people,"
"Any I'd know?" Draco snapped back. He was growing impatient.
"Let's see," Snape said, sitting forward, twiddling his thumbs, "Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas… the Creevey boys, even though the younger one isn't all that involved. Penelope Clearwater…"
Draco pursed his lips and slouched his shoulders. "So no one I'm particularly friendly with,"
Snape laughed. He actually laughed. "No, fortunately not."
"Fortunately?"
"Yes, Draco… fortunately," Snape used his arms to push himself out of his chair. "You are surrounded by dozens of witches and wizards who see you as the enemy. Who think differently from you. Who have been raised in less fortunate circumstances than you," he crouched down and used his wand to prod the dying embers of the fire, causing it to roar back to life. "This is an opportunity most don't receive,"
"An opportunity?" Draco scoffed. "What? To have my head chopped off and hung as an ornament? Fed to that werewolf girl?"
Snape shook his head. "You know, I was once told by someone I cared for very much, that I'd expended all my chances. That I'd dug a hole too deep to crawl out of," he stood from the fire and walked around the pit, standing over Draco. "Do not make the same mistake,"
"I already have," Draco muttered, folding his arms over his chest and avoiding Snape's stare.
"No, you haven't. You're lazy and arrogant." Snape paced in front of him, "You have come to terms with the fact that you failed but you cannot pluck up the courage to do the right thing. You are not cursed; you are not less fortunate than others. You're lazy!"
"Shut up!" Draco spat, standing from his chair too.
Snape smirked, prodding Draco in the chest, forcing him to take a step back. "Ah. There's the spark. You're so quick to defend yourself yet so sluggish to change yourself. Interesting tactic,"
Snape whirled around, his cape slapping Draco's body. "I am giving you the same assignment I was given when I was recruited."
Draco rolled his eyes and collapsed back into his chair.
"You are going to read…" Snape flicked his wand, drawing a glowing outline of roughly twenty books. "Every single one of these,"
Draco swallowed. He'd done worse before. He again stood from his seat and walked to the wall Snape was highlighting. "These are all muggle books," Draco observed.
Snape nodded. "You will read every single one, and I'll know if you skim. I'll know if you cheat,"
Draco ran a finger down the spine of Pride and Prejudice. By Jane Austin.
"Do I have your word?" Snape asked with a raised eyebrow.
Draco glared at his godfather. "Are these all non-fiction?"
"No. Most of it is fiction. Muggles write stories influenced by events and behaviours of the real world. Just like us," Snape pointed at one of the books. "Some of these are classics. Some are more modern,"
"So, it's all fiction?" Draco whined.
Snape hit him in the stomach with the back of his hand. "Don't complain. I said most. Not all," he reached up and pulled a thick volume from the shelf. "This is non-fiction. Alyssa is American, so most of the non-fiction related things you'll find here will cover the civil rights movement," Snape seemed to find this quite amusing.
He stalked away from Draco, towards the door. "Once you've read all of those, you can join the rest in training."
Draco slammed the book he was holding back on the shelf. A great plume of dust sprouted from his motions. "I don't want to be a part of your… secret society!" he screeched. "I'll be perfectly happy with a memory charm and a jolly good farewell,"
"No," Snape sneered. "I know you may not be used to hearing that, despite your recent experiences on the streets, but I'm telling you no,"
Draco huffed. No matter what he did, no matter how far he ran, he would always be judged thanks to the way his parents had raised him.
"Do you have any idea of the value of the-"
"Opportunity I'm being given?" Draco finished for him, mimicking his dower tone. "Yes, I am, and I don't care."
Snape hummed in disapproval. "Read those books,"
"I won't,"
"You will," Snape cried over his shoulder, as he turned away from Draco and headed towards the exit. "Having nothing to do all day will get to you after a while."
Then, the door slammed shut, and Draco was left with an open library.
It didn't take long for him to stop testing the door. Or for him to give up on smashing the windows. He paced in silence for what felt like hours. He had no real way to judge the time besides the sun sinking towards the horizon. Eventually, he tried pulling a book off the shelf.
Not any of those highlighted by Snape, but one from literally anywhere else in the Library.
He couldn't grab them. His hand was met with an invisible barrier to all the books save the nearly twenty in Snape's section.
Still refusing to read them, he counted them. There were sixteen in total. It would take him months to finish them all.
"What the fuck are you thinking," he muttered under his breath. Snape had started his disapproval streak way back in September of the previous year. It was like a switch had been flicked the moment Potter made that perfect potion.
Draco didn't want to work for anyone. He didn't want to fight for anyone. Maybe it was cowardice, laziness, arrogance, or something in between, but he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't play Snape's game. He'd had himself adopted into another family so he could stay out of this fight.
"The New World," Draco scoffed, "What a load of rubbish,"
He sat in one of the chairs and watched the flames dance. He really had nothing to do. He assumed someone would come with food and water, but that wasn't necessarily a given.
He stretched on the chair like a cat, his feet almost touching the fire. "FUCK!" he yelled. His voice echoed off the walls.
He got up and stalked to Snape's bookshelf. Reached forward at random and tossed it on the chair.
"Passing the time," he said to himself as he opened the weathered paperback roughly.
"CROUCH!" Voldemort bellowed as he blasted the doors open to The Riddle House. He was breathing heavily. A man he'd thought locked in a tower was out, and far more powerful than he'd expected.
The entire left side of his face burned. For the first time in decades, he could feel pain from a wound. Blood was oozing all around his head, and his left eye was sealed shut.
He strode through into the sitting room and found Crouch leaning against the mantelpiece of the fireplace, his eyes reflecting the dying embers. Bellatrix and Lucius were there too, sitting ramrod straight.
"Hello Master," Crouch greeted without turning to see Voldemort. "It's been a while,"
Voldemort flicked his wand at Crouch, sending him sprawling to the hardwood floor. "What did you do to the girl?"
Crouch panted through clenched teeth. His face smashed against the floor making it difficult to speak. "What do you mean?"
Voldemort stepped on Crouch's head, pressing the man's handsome face deeper into the floor. "Why is she lying six feet underground, is what I mean,"
"It isn't her!" Bellatrix shouted, jumping to her feet and rushing over. "The body isn't hers,"
Voldemort slowly turned to face one of his most trusted servants. He was still breathing quite heavily as he took his foot off Crouch's face. "Get up," he ordered. "All of you, explain yourselves."
"You've been gone for a long time, My Lord," said Lucius, joining the trio as Crouch got to his feet.
"Do not speak to me, Lucius," Voldemort growled. "You two," he pointed to the others, "explain."
"The girl escaped," said Crouch nasally as he wiped at his bloodied nose. "Only a few hours after you'd left. I've never seen… or felt anything like it,"
"How could she have escaped? She couldn't use her wand, and the enchantments prevented magic in the first place," Voldemort interjected.
Crouch shook his head. "She transfigured the enchantments,"
"That's not possible,"
"YES… it is," Crouch took a deep breath to control his anger. "I don't know how… but she took the magic of the wards, she took the magic of her bindings, and transfigured it like it was… paper, or… a chair, or something,"
Voldemort's jaw slackened at the news. He knew she was powerful, but this was something else. "And Wormtail? He was meant to guard them,"
"Dead," Bellatrix cackled. "Not much of a loss, really,"
"It is a loss, you deranged fool," Voldemort snapped. "He is the ultimate moral weapon against Potter. Even if he's the reason his parents are dead… he would still hesitate," there was a long pause as Bellatrix took a step back in shame. "What happened to him?"
"The girl killed him," said Crouch.
"How?"
Crouch's face was suddenly drained of colour.
"What did she do?" Voldemort asked, his interest piqued.
"She drained him of all fluids. Took every ounce of water from his body to create an electrical storm. I don't even… I don't know how…"
Voldemort gaze unfocused as he thought of the implications. "Clearly you repaired the manor?"
Crouch nodded. "Took fucking forever though,"
"Why didn't you do anything to stop her? If you saw this whole thing?" Voldemort asked, rounding on Crouch again.
"I couldn't,"
"What do you mean you couldn't?"
"I couldn't move," Crouch confessed in annoyance. Like that fact still bothered him. "I was frozen in place… and…"
Voldemort nodded, beginning to grasp the raw power Ginevra had displayed. "And Potter? What of him?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Gone with her. We almost caught them a few weeks after their escape. They'd engaged the taboo," Bellatrix supplied.
"Taboo?" Voldemort asked in surprise. "I heard of your Azkaban breakout… and your takeover of the Ministry has been effective but subtle,"
Crouch straightened his shoulders and smirked at Bellatrix. It was he who had earned the praise this time around.
"Thank you, my Lord," Crouch bowed.
"Bella, Lucius… leave us," Voldemort commanded. "I'd like to discuss strategy alone,"
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes in Crouch's direction. Like she was trying to figure him out. Lucius bowed out without complaint, followed shortly by the other.
Voldemort noted Bellatrix's attitude with quiet disdain. Competition was good. It drove people to be better. Infighting, on the other hand, was quite the detriment.
"Sit," Voldemort instructed. Crouch obeyed. "You've painted yourself as the new dark lord… good. That will… throw them off the scent,"
"If they used their brains for a single moment, they'd understand that me, a convicted death eater, would never support the mudbloods… but the general population does not seem to use their brains," Crouch whispered.
Voldemort chuckled. "You're right, but that does not mean that Dumbledore is fooled.
"He was fooled by Snape," Crouch pointed out.
Voldemort waved him off. "Snape has removed his dark mark. I suspect he ran off to inform Dumbledore of my return,"
Crouch frowned, evidently wondering how a dark mark could be removed.
"He had his magic rewritten; I believe. Anyway, I'd like to assume command of my Ministry," Voldemort raised an eyebrow, challenging Crouch to fight back.
"Your Ministry?" Crouch asked. "Who was it who freed every criminal from Azkaban? Who was it who implemented new laws and new infrastructure in mere weeks? Who was it who accomplished everything you've tried and failed at earning? It was me," Crouch pointed to himself, bearing his teeth. "I raised a private army. I rounded up mudbloods from across the country. I'm the one who has masterminded this takeover so don't you dare take credit for something you weren't even here for,"
"Your takeover?" Voldemort asked with a smirk. "I told you to do all those things. Maybe not in the order or the manner in which you did them, but they were my ideas. My orders. You didn't have a shred of independence. Not a shred."
Crouch shot to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger at Voldemort. "We stand on the grounds of MY ACHIEVEMENT!" he roared. "NOT YOURS! MINE."
Voldemort slapped Crouch across the face with the back of his hand. "I think you need a reminder of who's really in charge," he whispered, his voice cold and menacing. "You think I did not know of Ginevra's escape? I practically planned it."
Crouch's shocked eyes found their way to Voldemort's. "You… you were surprised by the body,"
Voldemort nodded. "You're right… you're so very right, Barty," he laughed as the man squirmed uncomfortably from his father's name. "Because she wasn't meant to die, so you'd understand why that had me a bit upset,"
Crouch nodded vigorously.
"What I needed to know was how she escaped. What she did to accomplish it, and what the body was. That was the true meaning of my question so don't… don't you dare-"
"Don't act like you know everything!" Crouch shouted. "You didn't know about the taboo! You don't know the inner workings of… bloody… anything!"
"True," Voldemort conceded, "But I know more than you think. Now, I'll ask again… I would like control over my Ministry. Thicknesse can play Minister, but it's time we bring this on full lockdown. Execute the mudbloods, I'm sick of giving them trials."
Crouch coughed and nodded. "I'll… I'll get right on it," he got to his feet and strode towards the exit.
"Oh, and Barty," Voldemort called, "Enlist the dementors. They tend to… stamp out any sparks of revolution, rebellion… Station them around the Ministry and let them breed. We'll need more eventually,"
Crouch shivered but nodded all the same.
Voldemort let out a long breath watching Crouch leave. Grindelwald was on his mind. He wouldn't let an old fool keep him from power. He'd worked for too long and lost too much to fail now.
Monday, September 18th, two days after the funeral.
"We have a guest joining us for the… foreseeable future," Lupin smiled at his class. Warning bells immediately went off in Ron's head as the smile once again didn't reach his eyes. "Dolores Umbridge. She comes from the Ministry and will be evaluating mine, as well as many others' teaching processes. Now, again, it should be stated that she will not be replacing me, only guiding me. I'd like you all to please welcome, on her first day here, Professor Umbridge," Lupin started clapping politely as the short, toadlike woman walked down the aisle between desks and up to the front of the class. She was smiling a wide grin and nodding to all the students who were clapping.
"Yes, Mr. Lupin makes a wonderful point," Umbridge purred. Ron immediately noticed that she didn't refer to Lupin as a professor. "I am not here to teach you. Merely to guide you."
Daphne was picking at her fingernails beside Ron, averting her eyes from Umbridge's gaze.
"Now, I will sit to the side, and… Mr. Lupin, please," she waved her arm in a great swooping gesture, "teach."
Lupin bowed his head and smiled before turning to the class. "Now, I want all of you to close those books for today, and put your desks to the side of the class,"
Everyone seemed cheered by this apparent practical lesson and did as told.
"No, Mr. Finnigan, leave the chairs behind," Lupin instructed, "The chairs are a part of the lesson,"
Everyone who had been putting the chairs aside with the desks quickly undid their actions and eventually, everyone came to stand in the center of the class.
"Right," Lupin clapped his hands, "Today we will be learning-"
"Hem hem," Umbridge coughed.
Ron frowned at the sound.
"Right, today we will be-"
"Hem hem," Umbridge cleared her throat again.
"Sorry, can I offer you a tissue or something?" Lupin smiled pleasantly at the short witch.
Umbridge shook her head. "Oh, no, please I just had a few questions,"
"Ah," Lupin nodded, "You can just tap my shoulder if you need to grab my attention faster,"
Umbridge grimaced as if the thought of touching Lupin in any capacity was revolting. "No, no, that's quite alright. I just wanted to get a few things straight," she flipped through her clipboard. "You're a registered werewolf?"
Lupin sighed and sat back on his desk. The entire class watched with bated breath. "Yes, I am, it was well documented in The Prophet over the summer."
"And what… inspired you to become a teacher?" Umbridge asked pleasantly.
Lupin cleared his own throat. "I don't see how this has anything to do with my lesson,"
"I just want a bit of a background, if that's alright with you," Umbridge explained.
Lupin nodded to her and thought for a moment. "I ran a sort of club," his eyes shot to Ron's for a moment, "I learned spells and then… taught them to others," he again threw a glance to Ron, this time it lingered for an obvious moment. Ron stood straighter and paid more attention to what Lupin was saying. "My friends told me I'd make a good teacher, so here we are,"
Umbridge wrote it all down, her eyes never leaving the clipboard. "Excellent… now, I'd like to ask what made you think it was alright for you to… teach students with a condition such as yours,"
Lupin smacked his lips uncomfortably. "Because I am a person, like everyone else in this room," he deadpanned in a way that made it quite clear that this was something he'd explained before. "And like everyone else in this room, I deserve a chance to do whatever I wish,"
Umbridge's smile stretched even further across her plump face. "How charming," she let out an oddly girlish giggle, "Except it was quite illegal to teach as a werewolf when you first joined the post,"
Lupin swallowed. "I'm aware, but Dumbledore knew I was safe, and he knew how to ensure the other's safety,"
Umbridge wrote all that down. "So, you'd say it was the Headmaster who is to blame for purposefully endangering students? Interesting,"
"That isn't what I said, and a provided memory could prove that in a court of law," Lupin said, the kindness had been dispelled from his voice. "May I continue with my lesson?"
Umbridge nodded and scribbled something away onto her clipboard.
"Right," Lupin began for the third time, "Today we will be playing around with transfiguration in battle,"
Everyone seemed excited by the prospect. Everyone except for Umbridge, and Daphne.
"Pair up!" Lupin instructed, waving his wand, causing the room to brighten tenfold.
Ron made a beeline for Neville, but Daphne grabbed his arm. "Partners?" she asked, averting eye contact.
Ron shook out of her grip. "Have you got no friends?" he asked, irritated. He then saw Neville pair up with Seamus and groaned. "Fine. We can partner up,"
They took a chair and lined themselves up across from each other.
"This is something very few can master, but those who do," Lupin paused and again made direct eye contact with Ron. "Will be a far more formidable opponent. Now, who can turn these chairs into water?"
No one raised their hands. "Shame that," Lupin smiled. "I'd have expected Professor McGonagall to have been a bit ahead of her game this year,"
"Hem hem?"
Lupin closed his eyes in annoyance, causing a good few chuckles throughout the class, and turned to Umbridge. "Yes?"
"Well, I just want to know… why Professor McGonagall would be expected to have taught them such advanced magic?"
Lupin quirked an eyebrow. "We're at war, aren't we? The muggleborns and their dark lord against the peace and security of the Ministry!" he turned on the spot and faced the class again, completely ignoring Umbridge's shocked expression. "Can anyone turn this chair into a needle?"
"Mr. Lupin, I mean no offense, but this lesson is not a part of the curriculum!" Umbridge shrieked.
Lupin held up a calming hand gesture. "There's no need to get so upset, Professor," he insisted. "If you wish me to teach in another way… guide me,"
Umbridge closed her eyes and calmed herself. "There is a full manual on what you should and should not teach, as well as how you should teach it! I expected you to have read that,"
"Right, because he's going to love teaching us dark magic and indoctrinating us into your little cult," Ron shouted, his temper getting the better of him,"
Umbridge's head whipped around so fast you could hear it pop. Her eyes bulged as they focused in on Ron. "What did you say?"
Ron saw Lupin's lips curve into a slight smile from behind the pink-dressed Professor.
"I said… any self-respecting teacher wouldn't spout out the Ministry's lies like you want him to," Ron said, further cementing himself into the hole he'd dug.
Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Daphne looking at him with a curious expression.
"Detention Mr. Weasley," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his. An odd smile crept across her visage. "One week, my office,"
Ron didn't acknowledge her. He just held her gaze to see who would look away first.
She lost, turning to face Lupin and telling him she'd like a private word in his office. The two professors left the classroom, and the students began to talk among themselves.
"You're an idiot," Daphne hissed. "A complete moron,"
Ron shook his head. He didn't care what Daphne had to say. Lupin was egging him on to say something, he was sure that's what those significant looks were for.
Now, he just needed to have detention with the toad.
"Umbridge is a complete tool," Remus groaned as he collapsed in his chair and looked up at Dumbledore, who sat across from him.
"Yes, well, there isn't much I can do to stop it," Dumbledore said with a frown. "If I openly fight, there will be no Hogwarts to come back to,"
Remus sighed. He couldn't believe everything had led up to this. "I don't know if that's such a bad thing,"
Dumbledore nodded. "If nothing else, this is a recruitment ground,"
Remus agreed, of course. He hadn't thought it would kick in so fast. Ron had understood, sort of, what he'd meant on the very first day of Umbridge's arrival. "Ron seems to have understood the assignment," he told Dumbledore, accepting the offered cup of tea with a nod in thanks.
"Did he now?" Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles.
Remus nodded. "I think it both caught Umbridge off guard and yet was exactly what she was looking for. Disruption,"
"I do hope this disruption was something that could get the other, less informed students, to think for themselves?"
Remus shrugged. "That remains to be seen,"
Dumbledore nodded. "Good. Have you heard from Sirius? He's been dreadfully quiet since the funeral,"
Remus swallowed. That funeral had been awful. He'd gone in expecting one of the worst experiences of his life, but he'd been wrong. It was the worst, by a landslide. That was counting Halloween of '81. Sirius had taken Ginny's death incredibly personally. In his eyes, it may as well have been Harry.
"Knowing Sirius now," Remus said, scratching the back of his head, "He's probably looking for Harry. I can't imagine he's fallen back into old habits," he thought back to the death of so many of their school friends. Sirius had done nothing but drink and fight.
"What of Nymphadora?" Dumbledore inquired, moving on from the surely depressing topic of whatever Sirius was up to.
Remus frowned. He hadn't heard from Tonks. Not in a long while. "I've heard nothing,"
Dumbledore tapped his uninjured hand on the table. "I'll get someone to get in contact with her,"
"Thanks,"
There was a long silence and Remus didn't quite know whether or not to break it. It seemed like Dumbledore was building the confidence to tell him something.
"As you know, the curse in my right hand is spreading," he waved his crippled black hand in front of Remus. "As I said back in… June, it must have been…" he trailed off and took a deep breath. "As I said back in June, I have until early November before I am another grave among many."
Remus nodded, that constant sense of dread that hung around every room nowadays prevailing through the silence like a knife in the dark at Dumbledore's words.
"It's September, Remus, and I feel like there are many more things left to do but I haven't got the time to do them," he readjusted his glasses and reached within a drawer, withdrawing a wad of parchment. "So, I am going to read a prophecy to you. This will make two of us alive who knows this. Can you listen to me?"
Remus sat forward and nodded.
Dumbledore cleared his throat and read. "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... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
Remus sighed. He didn't know how to convey how anticlimactic that sounded after everything that had gone on. "I knew Harry was the one to kill You-Know-Who. I've known for ages. Harry knows it too,"
"No, Harry does not know the full contents. He knows exactly what Tom Riddle knows," Dumbledore rubbed his dying hand like a man exposed to the cold. "I believe this prophecy has been misinterpreted, but before I get into that I'd like to discuss the importance of Harry's lack of… a full picture,"
Remus made a hand gesture, inviting Dumbledore to elaborate.
"Harry has a power within him that Tom lacks. It is not a… visible… identifiable gift, like that which Ginny Weasley possessed. No, it is far more powerful and vastly more difficult to understand. I do not have complete faith that Harry Potter will return in time for my death, so I need you to tell him this,"
Remus again refocused his attention on Dumbledore.
"It is love. Love is the concept Tom Riddle fails to understand. He can become the most powerful wizard of the age, and he still would not be able to defeat Harry. Even if he was nothing more than a young boy, no older than one,"
Remus closed his eyes and nodded. It made sense, really. Of anyone he'd known, Harry seemed to be the one person who could care without any reasonable right to do so. That was love, in a sense. It still didn't seem like enough, however. "How can you weaponize love?"
Dumbledore shook his head, his long beard swaying with him. "No, Remus, that is how Tom will look at it, once he finally figures it out. You cannot weaponize it, and those who try will fail. I do not understand it in its entirety myself, but I know this; Tom Riddle does not, and likely cannot comprehend it. There is no need to weaponize something we don't understand. It is already dangerous,"
Remus scratched behind his ear. "So, none of us really understand how this is going to work?"
"No,"
"And I am supposed to tell Harry that his greatest strength is his ability to love?"
"Precisely," Dumbledore confirmed.
Remus nodded in understanding. "I'll tell him. I give you my word,"
"And that, my friend, is a word I can trust," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll keep you informed on Nymphadora. I would have assumed she'd have contacted you…" Remus blushed, "But who knows what she's been swept up in,"
Remus wasn't done with this prophecy business. "You said you believe the prophecy to have been misinterpreted?"
Dumbledore's smile faded. "Yes. Yes, I believe it has," he stood up and walked toward one of the many windows that overlooked the grounds. "I cannot… I cannot be entirely sure, but I believe the prophecies pertaining to Miss Weasley may have affected Harry's."
Remus waited for Dumbledore to continue.
"I have no evidence, Remus," he confided, stepping away from the window and frowning. "It is just… a gut feeling of mine,"
Remus nodded in understanding. A gut feeling from Albus Dumbledore was typically a good one, no matter how unfortunate it was.
NNN
Crouch walked up onto the gravel beach of Azkaban's island. Up ahead was a dense fog. A telltale sign of a dementor presence.
He was irritated. For more than merely being humiliated. It was the fact that The Dark Lord refused to accept his failures. It was ridiculous to assume that there had been some secret plan to have the Weasley girl escape. It wasn't strategically responsible.
He grumbled to himself all through the walk to the entrance and stopped to witness the sight before him. The cold was pressing in, even though no dementor had shown itself yet.
Witches and wizards corrupted by dark magic could not perform the patronus charm. Crouch could remember the day when it stopped working. That had been a wonderful day.
Perform enough dark magic, and your patronus simply vanished. Impossible to conjure.
A dementor drifted down from the heavens. Its horrible figure glided right up to Crouch. For a moment, he thought he was going to receive the kiss.
"I have come to offer you a deal!" he cried before the dementor could lower its hood. "Free reign over England and… supplied nourishment,"
The dementor floated in silence. Taking the time to deliberate on the offer, it seemed.
"You work for the dark lord, now. You can feed and… breed freely,"
The dementor remained static.
"Show me a sign of your understanding," Crouch pleaded in irritation.
The dementor made an odd guttural clicking sound with its throat. The chilling noise echoed around the island, and eventually, it was repeated back, only not from the dementor in front of Crouch.
Hundreds of dementors exited the empty prison. They swarmed and circled the tower and Crouch. The dementor in front of him extended its hand.
Crouch hesitantly took it. He could feel the decaying flesh and heard the crack of what appeared to be bones before the dementor flew away. Its hoard following after it towards the mainland.
The Dark Lord may be a liar, but he was right about one thing.
Hope was the strongest weapon the opposition had. The death of thousands and the constant presence of dread would stamp it out.
They needed the dementors.
Ron left the Gryffindor common room with his bag resting on his shoulders as always. He made sure to take as long as possible to get to Umbridge's (hopefully) temporary office. He trudged up the steps and pushed the door open.
It creaked on its hinges. Clearly, the house elves hadn't bothered with the filth.
Most of Ron's knowledge of Umbridge came secondhand from Sirius. That man knew how to tell a story and by God he made the woman out to look worse than Voldemort.
So, it wasn't entirely fair that Ron had immediately brushed her off. Maybe Sirius really was difficult to work with.
Either way, he'd followed Remus' potential orders, and he'd disrupted the class. Now he could get his own image of the woman, and gauge how difficult it would be to get her out of the school.
He didn't care what his mother said about lying low. That wasn't what Harry would have done.
Umbridge was sitting behind her desk, which had been covered with a strange pink carpet of sorts. The walls had been painted pink, seemingly by magic, and everything around her was just so… girly.
Like, maybe Ron's idea of the whole thing was skewed because Ginny hadn't been the shining definition of femininity, but Umbridge's office looked like something a four-year-old girl would adore.
Across from her to Ron's surprise, was Neville. Who had never earned himself a real detention, barring Snape's bullshit.
"Good evening, Mr. Weasley, please take a seat,"
Ron rolled his bag off his shoulders and sat.
"Mr. Longbottom will be joining you today, but with a very different assignment," she continued. "You will be writing lines today. Mr. Longbottom will be doing the same but of a different nature. Do you understand?"
Ron was a bit confused by Umbridge's insistence on detailing both his and Neville's detentions, but he nodded all the same.
"Good," she smiled, making Ron distinctly uncomfortable. "Mr. Longbottom, I want you to write, 'I will not plant fungus in the hallways'… two hundred times,"
Ron smirked. Neville had definitely gone ahead and earned himself detention, specifically with Umbridge, just so Ron wouldn't be alone.
"Mr. Weasley, I'd like you to come over here," she got up from her armchair and directed him to a rickety desk in the corner. "I'd like you to write, 'I must not tell lies.' Is that alright with you?"
Ron felt compelled to ask, 'why' but chose to hold it in. "Yup," he said, popping the 'p'.
Umbridge's smile broadened and she pulled the chair out for him. He sat, not particularly enjoying being treated like a child, and went to use his own quill.
"No, dear, not that one," she said, giggling slightly. She put a hand on his wrist and forced him to put his own quill away. "You'll be using a special one of mine for tonight."
She handed him an ink-black quill and took a step back.
"I haven't got any ink," Ron pointed out.
Umbridge shook her head. "You won't be needing any,"
Ron was about to put the point of the quill down when he faltered. "How many times have I got to write it?"
Umbridge rubbed her hands together and looked away. "Oh, I'd say you should write for as long as it takes to sink in,"
Ron rolled his eyes and made sure she saw, before turning back to the parchment. She didn't seem bothered by his contempt. In fact, she seemed to revel in it.
He started writing out the message. The back of his hand was bothering him, but he kept going either way.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
He scratched at the back of his hand. It was ridiculously itchy.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
I must not tell lies.
Ron hissed as the dull itching of his hand turned into actual pain.
He took a look at it for the first time that night and let out a tiny gasp. Neville, who was across the room from him, gave him a curious look.
"Are you alright, dear?" Umbridge asked with a pitying expression.
Ron could do nothing but stare up at her in horror. Umbridge carefully took his hand and inspected it. Ron tried to pull away, but she held on.
"Hmm," she hummed to herself. "I don't think it's made its mark quite yet… I'd say you should keep going. Write until Mr. Longbottom is finished. Then we'll meet again tomorrow night, and see how we do there,"
Ron swallowed, clenching his jaw and refusing to break eye contact. "Yes, professor,"
He pulled his arm out of her grip and kept writing, keeping as straight a face as possible.
When the detention was finally over, thanks to Neville's increasingly rapid writing pace, Ron stuffed his bloody hand in his pocket.
"Don't get all Harry about this and say you're fine," Neville grunted, walking beside Ron through the deserted corridors.
Ron laughed at that and pulled his hand out, reaching across his body to show Neville.
"It's a blood quill. I've heard of them before," Ron explained.
Neville squirmed at the sight of the blood and looked back up at the familiar stone walls. "I take it you aren't going to tell anyone about this?"
"Not going to give her the satisfaction," Ron confirmed.
Neville sighed. "Hermione would kill you. She'd say something along the lines of-"
"I don't think it really matters what Hermione would have said, to be honest," Ron interrupted, coming up to the portrait of the fat lady and shouting the password to wake her up.
Ron didn't feel like talking. He walked up the steps to their dormitory and went straight for the bathroom. Seamus was in there brushing his teeth. His face still carried a bruise.
Ron rummaged around in the cabinets and found a bit of bandage. He wrapped it around his hand and, with the help of his teeth, tied a knot.
He strode over to his four-poster and drew the curtains, stripping down to his boxers and jumping in bed.
Things have escalated rather quickly and Umbridge had only been here for a day.
Granted, what he'd said had been rather… radical. Now he just had to test and find her limits.
He knew one thing for certain, however. Umbridge was going to be a much bigger problem than he'd thought.
Daphne was dreaming again.
As she had done for the last ten years, she dreamt of the day her mother died. She didn't know why this was the memory her mind had to focus on. She was growing tired of it.
In May, or perhaps June of the previous term. Well before Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter had gone missing, she'd had a visitor in this dream. Grindelwald, a man surely locked in his tower many miles away, had given her a cryptic message.
She'd heard a distant ticking. The ticking of a watch. The sound deepened, becoming the ticking of a clock, only for it to deepen once more, gaining a reverb.
"The Clock is ticking faster, Miss Greengrass," Grindelwald said with a wide Cheshire grin. "It is time we all chose a side... wouldn't you say? But then again, there are four sides to a compass, four rights on a watch... Two sides of a war..." his smile vanished. "History has a tendency to repeat itself," the distant ticking sound stopped, and a loud, booming chime resonated from somewhere in this strange abyss they stood in. It was deafening, and Daphne's vision blurred from the sound.
"The clock is ticking faster."
Then, he'd vanished, and she'd been awake again.
She was trying to figure out what it all meant.
One thing about the dream had changed, however. She was conscious. Aware of everything going on. She was watching herself and her sister, Astoria, from a third-person perspective. She could think for herself and interact with things within the dream. Pick up objects, even if they were blurred by time.
Today she was going to try something new.
She was going to wait behind. Perhaps the answers she sought were in the world left behind. Not with her younger self but with the details she may have missed.
"Astoria!" Daphne called, dragging out the 'a'. "Stop running! Mummy wants us inside! It is going to rain! You'll wreck that lovely dress of yours!"
The dream began again. The grey sky hung low thanks to their hilltop manor. Fifteen-year-old Daphne followed on instinct, before stopping herself.
Astoria ignored her. Choosing instead to run around, diving in and behind their charmed topiaries. One of them, which Daphne liked to call Mr. Orangles, depicted a large flamingo.
"Mr. Orangles?" Daphne greeted kindly. "Have you seen Astoria? She should've been right... here!" Daphne reached inside of the plant, much to its chagrin, and grabbed hold of Astoria's little arm.
The older Daphne stepped up to the topiary and admired him. Mr. Orangles was quiet these days.
"Sister!" Astoria whined. "I wan'ed to hide!"
"It's 'wanted', not 'wan'ed'," Daphne sighed.
Daphne rolled her eyes at herself. Looking back, she wished she hadn't been so adamant about growing up.
Astoria made a 'hmph ' sound in indignation and made her way back toward the manor. "I'm only four," she said, holding out four fingers to make sure Daphne understood that four did, in fact, mean four.
"I'm well aware of that fact, thank you," said Daphne politely.
"You're boring now..." Astoria said sadly. "You used to be funner,"
"That isn't a word," Daphne reprimanded as they began to climb the marble steps to their home.
"See!" Astoria cried. "You're so boring..."
Daphne watched them climb out of sight and fought the urge to follow. It wasn't like she wanted to go in after them, it was more the fact that her body, her mind, wanted to stick to the dream.
She wouldn't. Not today.
As her dream-self ran up the steps with her sister and vanished within the manor, the world they left behind began to crumble. A great darkness enveloped everything in the grounds. It came ever closer until finally; Daphne closed her eyes. She felt it pass over her like a strange wind. This wind carried sounds, emotions and thoughts.
She opened her eyes and couldn't believe what she saw. It was a vast expanse of stars. Only these weren't great burning objects billions of miles away. No, these were her stars. Her memories. Everything that, working together, built who she was.
They were the pieces of her that influenced her dreams.
It was like a great, shattered sky, and she was floating within it.
The pull to return to the dream was only growing, and she had to clutch her stomach to fight it, but it was in vain. Like being pulled from the water of a sinking ship, she woke. Back in her dormitory at Hogwarts.
She sat there, breathing hard for a few moments. She ran a hand through her hair, noticing the dampness on her brow.
She'd done… something. Floating in a great beyond of sorts was just as, if not more frightening than reliving the sight of her mother's mutilated body. At least she was familiar with one of them.
This was a change. She'd broken through a barrier of sorts.
She wasn't a good student for nothing. It would do well to document such things.
She hastily pulled out the drawer of her bedside table and retrieved her leatherbound diary, along with various abandoned stationery.
She dipped her quill in ink and wrote,
"The Shattered Sky,"
A/N: Ugh baby steps are so irritating but I get to actually start the fucking plot (At least the interesting part) in the next chapter.
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