Disclaimer:Not mine, no money made. Thanks.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone that found the time to leave a comment. I think we have this chapter, and then four more and an epilogue. The new book will probably knock my plotline into a cocked hat, so it will be before then. This chapter is late because the site has obviously decided it hates my story with a passion and so I have only just got it to load it..; ))
Summary:
"If we were alive today, we would never have met."
When the Order Of The Phoenix learn of Voldemort's latest plan to use the Veil to experiment with immortality, they embark on a mission to destroy it once and for all. Hermione Granger is nineteen, and in charge of finding the spell that will succeed in this task. But when the mission goes wrong and Hermione is pulled in, who can she possibly turn to for help now she's….well..dead?
Seven
Keeper's Gate
"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden where the flowers are dead."
-
Hermione clutched Regulus' arm, and they both froze.
'The cows are in the meadow eating buttercups. Atishoo, atishoo we all jump up…'
sang the voice again. The voice of a little girl in a land of dead things gave Hermione such a shock to the system that she swung round, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. It was almost terrifying, in the gloom, to hear this bodiless voice singing rhymes of a bygone era.
"Ring o' ring o' roses…a pocket full of posies…"
Regulus evidently felt similar. Hermione had never seen him draw the sword before, but his reflexes were remarkable; he was pointing it at the source of the noise, grabbing hold of her shoulders protectively with his free arm.
"Who's there?" he called, in a loud voice. Once again, Hermione instinctively reached for a phantom wand as an amputee might try to use a lost limb, but of course, it was not to be found. Her wand was forgotten, however, when the owner of the voice sidled out from behind the largest bush.
It was a small girl, about eight years old. She wore the clothes of Victorian England; a grubby white apron over a long-sleeved dress, long knickerbockers just visible underneath. Her black lace up boots were undone, the laces trailing around thin ankles, and her yellow hair was knotted on top of her head. Her eyes were the most peculiar, though. The dark smudges underneath them were like those Regulus had, but unlike his eyes, the little girl's were dark and hollow. One iris was a pale blue, the other hazel, and she blinked slowly as she stared at Hermione and Regulus as they stared back at her in astonishment.
"Saw you!"shesaid, in the same singsong voice, and giggled into a ragged teddy bear she was holding.
"It's a child, Regulus." Hermione said, in relief. "It's only a child. Put the sword down."
Regulus clearly did not want to put it down. He bit his lower lip in a decidedly doubtful expression, and lowered it slightly.
"Where did you come from?" he asked suspiciously.
The little girl giggled again, but didn't answer him.
"Charis!" came another, deeper voice, making them all jump "Charis! Come back now, it's getting dark!"
The new voice was a male one, gruff and urgent. Charis (they assumed) turned suddenly, and ran back the way she had presumably came in the direction of the new voice.
"What the…" Regulus muttered.
"We'd better follow." Hermione said, firmly, taking his hand that was still gripping her shoulder, and heading towards the red brick path. "This is the path, anyway, and besides, it's getting dark. If there's someone else here, they might know where we can stay tonight."
Regulus just nodded, following Hermione down the path after the little girl. They didn't have to go far, for as they came clear of the tall gorse bushes, their eyes fell on a small cottage. A thick pine forest reared up behind it, dark and forbidding, but preventing any entry was a high fence, so high that the top could not easily be seen. In the centre, there was a large, dark gate with a bar across it.
The cottage itself had a low thatched roof, and a small garden in front edged with a white picket fence. Here, the plants flourished; campanula, honeysuckle and clematis. Sweet William and lavender lined the pathway to the cottage door, and it was in this doorway the old man stood.
"Charis, come in now!" he told the little girl who was swinging the white wooden gate shut and running down the path towards him.
"Grandpapa!" she said, looking up into his frowning face and smiling happily. "Grandpapa, there's peoples! Look!"
The old man looked up as she pointed down the path to where Hermione and Regulus stood, the latter still holding the sword at his side
He looked at them keenly, through narrowed eyes the exact same mismatched colours, Hermione noticed as the little girl who called him grandfather. Eventually, still frowning, but evidently satisfied with their appearance for the moment, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder into the cottage
"You'd best be coming in." he growled "Dark's on it's way. And you can put that sword away, boy, before you take someone's eye out."
Hermione looked at Regulus, whose mouth was still pressed in a thin line looking at the man. After a pause, he slid the sword back into it's leather scabbard, and held out his hand to Hermione. The man stood by the door, still looking gruff and suspicious, but he stood aside to let them pass, Regulus having to duck his head under the low doorway.
Once they were inside, he closed the door, retrieving a stout wooden bar from the floor and hooking it into place across the door. Hermione looked at it, slightly alarmed, and the man must have noticed because he looked back at her and said
"Do that every night, stop looking like a frightened rabbit, girl."
The cottage seemed to be simply one large, dim room. The walls were rough and hewn from the same red brick as the outside. Inset into them were shelves holding a vast assortment of objects not all of which Hermione could name. Things in jars, empty glass bottles of Muggle and Wizard wines, horse brasses, and more. The ceiling was low and painted a dark green, which seemed to make it loom even lower. From it, over a low round table surrounded by mismatched armchairs, hung a huge brass chandelier, it's missing droplets like loose teeth, the others shining fire in the light from the lit hearth across the other side of the room. The table held a pack of cards, a chessboard and an ashtray. In the corner, there stood a rocking chair. Charis sat in it, rocking and quietly crooning her nursery rhymes to her teddy bear over and over, winding a strand of straggly yellow hair around her finger. Other toys, all looking as dilapidated as the teddy were strewn across the floor; a box of spillikins like small bones, a broken china doll; tin soldiers that seemed to have fought many wars if the look of their chipped paint was to be believed.
The man walked around the room and sat down in the largest green armchair. He gestured them to sit down as well. Regulus folded his legs across each other gingerly in the chair across from the old man; she could see his was still poised mistrustfully, and his hand kept straying to his pocket. Hermione sat down in the chair next to Regulus, and the old man produced a small box from his own pocket and took out a cigarette.
He offered the box to Hermione, who wrinkled her nose up at once and refused as politely as she could, but to her surprise, Regulus accepted one, and strode across the room calmly to light it on the fire, leaving a trail of water in his wake from his still dripping cloak.
"Easier this way," said the old man, dryly, and to Hermione's surprise, he drew out a short oak wand, lighting his own cigarette with the end of it, which immediately began to exude green smoke. He pointed it next at the clothes of both of them, which dried immediately. Hermione was relieved.
"Sorry. You forget……." he said. "Perhaps it's time I introduced myself" he said. "I am Silas. This is Keeper's Gate, and I am the Keeper."
"Er……" said Hermione after a short pause. "Er……do you know where we are, sir?"
"I just told you where you are, girl." said the Keeper, gruffly, though he did smile a little, and his voice softened, but only slightly. "I was wondering when some others would turn up. It's been a while…but I wasn't expecting two together."
"Why not? " Hermione asked "Why not two?"
The old man finished smoking and stubbed the end in the green glass ashtray. Regulus still said nothing, just continued to puff on his own, looking watchful as ever, like a cat, mistrustful.
The old man stood, and walked over to a ladder in the corner of the room that Hermione had not noticed at first.
"A moment," he growled, disappearing into the roof. Hermione noticed a peculiar blue light shine through the crack when he opened the hatch in the roof and climbed through it.
He returned a moment later, holding something long and thin, and a piece of worn out parchment, and this time he addressed Regulus directly.
"Took your time getting this far, didn't you, boy."
Regulus looked up sharply.
"What do you know?" he said, rather curtly, but the old man simply chuckled darkly, crumpling the parchment in his hand and holding the other object behind his back.
"Little Regulus Black. The valiant boy who died so aloneTell me: was it worth your trouble?"
Regulus' eyes narrowed , and his face grew even more watchful
"Yes." he said eventually, in a hard and bitter voice that Hermione did not recognise . "Yes, sir, it was worth every bit. And now you can tell me how you know so much about me."
"Such spirit!" Hermione found it hard to tell whether it was admiration or mocking in the old man's voice. Perhaps both.
Regulus stood up, as if he'd been insulted, facing down the old man. But the Keeper looked untroubled.
"Sit down, little Black. I know a lot more about you that that, a great deal more, in fact…"- here, his eyes strayed momentarily to rest on Regulus' fingers which were on his pocket again. Regulus seemed to follow his gaze and quickly withdrew them, but did not sit back down. Hermione, who had been watching the scene in front of her, utterly nonplussed, whispered to him, worried about offending the old man, who could, after all, simply throw them back out into the dark.
"Regulus, please."
He glanced at her sideways, and slowly sat back down.
"What do you know about me, then, Keeper?" he asked. "And kindly tell me why you know it."
The Keeper smiled slightly.
"I know about all those who pass through here. But only some of them, the very bravest, tend to get this far. You two," he surveyed them briefly again. " Will be looking for the Crossing?"
"The crossing? The Soul Crossing?" Hermione said, excitedly, the prospect of answers at last, irresistible. "What do you know about it? Can we get there? Will I be able to….-"
The Keeper held up a hand for quiet.
"In time, young lady. But first things first. I have something here that now should be returned to it's rightful owner."
He drew his hand out from behind his back to reveal another wand.
"Fourteen inches. Ebony and unicorn hair. Used for only eight short years. Do you recognise it, boy?"
The look on Regulus' face gave the answer his lips could not. The Keeper held out the wand, and Regulus took it at last, with a shaking hand.
"My wand!" he whispered. "It's been so long!"
Silas the Keeper watched, a tiny smile playing around his cracked lips, while Regulus held the wand, still in his outstretched palm, looking as one might look if one held the Koh-I-Noor itself, or some precious object, once thought lost.
"How did you get his wand?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence. Regulus looked up too, evidently having just thought the same thing. The Keeper smiled a little more, slightly twisted and unnerving, but genuine nonetheless;
"They all come to me. I am Keeper of the Gates, but also, I am Keeper of the Wands. And I return them to their owners. When the time is right they come to me…just as you did. They are safe here, until they can be collected. Or not. Depending."
"Will it work?" Regulus' voice cut across the question on the tip of Hermione's tongue.
"Try it." the Keeper invited., with a wave of his hand.
"I don't know what to cast," Regulus muttered. He thought for a moment, and then, flourishing the ebony wand with the familiarity one might attribute to an old friend, he levitated the ashtray off of the low table. He lowered the wand and the shallow receptacle fell onto the polished wooden floor and smashed. Regulus paused for a moment, and then cast a "Reparo,"watching with an expression about halfway between excitement and satisfaction.
"Wait a moment," Hermione said, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "You do have mine as well, I take it? My wand, I mean?"
The Keeper looked just a little uncomfortable.
"Your wand?" he repeated.
Hermione bit her lip, a little impatient, and a little concerned.
"Yes?" she lifted an enquiring brow at the older man. "My wand. Vine wood. Eleven inches. Also been in use eight years. Do you have it?"
"You aren't a Squib, then young lady?"
Hermione looked furious.
"No. No, I am definitely not a Squib. I was a member of the Order Of The Phoenix. Our mission……..I did a spell…there was a veil, that's all I can remember. A black veil. We were trying to destroy it and I got pulled in. It wasn't supposed to happen ."
The old man narrowed his eyes, and Regulus was listening intently now.
"I have heard of the veil you speak of," he said, not meeting her eyes. "But it is not regarded highly here, in this realm. It has powers, powers that could be dangerous for the lines between one world and another. Cassandra, who lives on the other side of this forest, is a great Seer, or so I understand, it being that we have never met in the physical sense. She says the spirits are afraid of the veil, and they talk of a Dark presence, one who comes to cause evil and discord. Are you part of it?" he demanded, so suddenly, it made Hermione jump.
"No! If you mean……Voldemort," (she felt, rather than saw Regulus flinch next to her) "Then we were working against him."
Hermione frowned, trying hard to remember. The recollection was hard, and hazy, but at last it came back to her.
"He split his soul, he was trying to become immortal. I remember now. He made Horcruxes. We hunted them down and found all but a locket belonging to Slytherin, his ancestor. We knew he had a snake, and himself, so we had to get the locket before we went after them. But before we could find it, we heard he was trying to experiment with the veil. We had to stop him….." she paused suddenly, thoughtful, aware of Regulus suddenly paying attention to her every syllable, one hand on his wand and the other in his pocket. "But I suppose we failed. We couldn't do it."
Silas stood once again, and walked over to a cabinet. He opened it, and took out a shallow stone basin that he held in both hands. Hermione recognised the bowl at once as a Pensieve.
He brought it over to the table, and placed it in front of Hermione. The stone made a loud thump on the wood of the table, and she jumped. Regulus was frowning, and stood up himself, brandishing his wand.
"Now, you just look here…" he began, "There's no need to scare her. Just give her back her wand, and we'll be on our way, thanks. We won't trespass on your," -he looked around, with a great show of theatrical disdain designed to offend - "Hospitality…any longer."
Silas growled.
"Put it away, boy. I won't hurt her, and you can even accompany us, how's that?"
"To where?" the other two asked, at the same time. Then Hermione realised what he must mean.
"You want to see my memories?"
The Keeper nodded. "Your boyfriend there can do it. He wants to practise."
Hermione tried not to colour at his reference to Regulus, but she felt his pale, slight hand warm on her arm, gentle and reassuring. Could get used to this.
"What do you need to see?" she asked the Keeper nervously.
"I need to see the night you died." he replied.
-
Regulus knelt in front of her as she sat on the edge of the chair. He had the air of a doctor about to perform a complicated surgery upon his own child, and his hands moved from her arms to smooth back the hair at her temples. He looked somehow altered, Hermione thought; more luminous with his wand in his hand, biting down on that full lower lip, concentration apparent as he raised the wand.
"Ok?" he asked her softly, his voice little more than a whisper.
She nodded, and thought hard about the last night…that night of darkness and whispers and spells firing, shouting and yelling and banging…….
A stream of silver later and they all three stood a little way off from the red telephone booth, watching the ten maroon-cloaked Order members descent into the Ministry. Silas, his country attire and baize cloak incongruous in the sudden setting of the richly-decorated Ministry atrium, was beside Regulus and herself as they followed the group in the memory all the way down to the bottom of the stairs.
"Who's the redhead?" asked Regulus, eyes on her previous self giving Ron a hug as they tried the three doors and eventually found the Death room.
"That's just Ron," she whispered, as if the party in front might possibly hear them, although she knew that was impossible.
"Just Ron." Regulus repeated, lifting one eyebrow. "Just Ron seems to like you, doesn't he?" His lip curled.
"He's been my friend for eight years," Hermione said, shortly. To Silas, she said "This is where I have to do the spell……"
She tailed off as she saw herself approach the veil. Regulus was staring at it, transfixed; she had told him how his brother had died. The other Order members had their backs to her and were covering the doors, all except Ron, who stood with his hand on her shoulder looking fearful and white. She noticed Regulus shift his gaze slightly, eyes narrowed.
Her own voice begin the incantation, and they watched as the mortar of the antiquated structure began to drip and ooze, and the wind begin, concentrated around the dais where the stone arch stood. She saw herself struggle to keep her footing, and she saw when the doors crashed open and the four Death Eaters ran into the room and started shooting green and red light in all directions. She thought of Regulus in those robes, and felt suddenly, a little tearful, when she realised she could imagine it quite well.
The noise really was as loud as she remembered at the time. The three of them saw her being dragged closer to the veil. Ron was shouting, his voice rising to a scream as the pull of the veil became stronger. Hermione saw her cloak torn off, the gold phoenix in tatters on the sleeve, saw red and blue light shimmering and bouncing off the walls, a muted whirl of colour in the heart of the veil wrenching and ripping. She saw her own wand drop from her hand, something she hadn't been aware of at the time. Ron's hand flew out to catch hers, and then all of a sudden, they were in darkness and being flung sharply upwards and out of the pensieve.
Hermione thought there would be more to see, but even so, she was almost glad to feel the solid seat of the armchair in the Keeper's cottage. This did not stop the tears from coming. She felt arms hold her tightly, smelt the familiar scent of hair that was not red, but as black and smooth as the night outside the curtained windows of the cottage, and after a moment, she stopped shaking.
"You still haven't given me back my wand," she blurted to the Keeper, who sat watching them carefully, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Where is it?"
"Young lady…" the Keeper sighed. "Your wand…is there." he pointed with his index finger into the Pensieve.
"What do you mean?"
"It confirmed my suspicions. If you are a witch, and now I have no doubt, indeed…..then this memory is incomplete."
"Incomplete?"
"Unfinished, unsealed……inconclusive." he sounded every syllable in this last word out like drops of water falling on hot metal.
"You're telling me you haven't got my wand……because I didn't die properly?" she said eventually, her expression growing as she got the sentence out, as if hearing the words uttered aloud only added to her incredulity.
Silas lit up another cigarette, puffing green smoke slowly to make rings around the chandelier above them.
"I've got nothing on you." the Keeper said flatly."You were not meant to come over."
"But…my wand!" Hermione protested uselessly.
The Keeper sighed, looking slightly irritated.
"Your wand, young lady, lies on the floor of the Department Of Mysteries. In the land of the Living. I cannot reach it, and neither can you. There is no mortal here, there is no flesh and blood, no mortal coil, there is no beginning nor end to oneself…… only one's soul. Regulus here knows that…don't you?"
The old man said turning suddenly to look at Regulus, who was silent. The Keeper turned his odd eyes back to Hermione.
"But you…you are not one amongst us. You don't live as we must, inside this hollow neither here nor there. You are not meant to be here now. It is not your time. You must find the only way back from here."
"The way back? But how do I…"
"That is for tomorrow, young lady. Tonight you must stay here and rest your mind. It is only the very sharpest and courageous of souls who make it to the Soul Crossing. Tomorrow you set out. For now, let us enjoy the fire and………the company. It's rather rare, in my line of work, you see."
-
The smoke hung in a haze above the round oak table. Regulus and Silas were playing cards, and she was passing the time curled up in the large armchair with a crocheted rug over her legs. Regulus had cast a spell to repair and clean her clothes and herself, and she was feeling better now the tangles and the tearstains had been erased. Her hair in particular felt lovely, and Regulus apparently thought so too, having earlier reached across the back of her chair and fingered a thick strand of it, as if he was curious about its texture.
The two men muttered in low voices over the table. It seemed Regulus was much the better player, winning two games outright before the Keeper had won the third, but Hermione couldn't help feeling that Regulus had let him win. Silas got rather gruffer as the games went on; perhaps he had expected the younger man to be easy to beat. Hermione did not dislike Silas, but couldn't help feeling satisfied that Regulus could embarrass him at poker. She had attempted to converse with Charis, who still sat rocking back and forth in the rocking chair, teddy bear still staring with it's one glassy eye at nothing in particular, but the conversation seemed very limited, mostly a high-pitched, muttered line from whatever nursery rhyme the child happened to be considering at that moment. Hermione wondered how Charis had died.
She saw Regulus look up at her, but she turned her head away, away from Charis rocking endlessly in the chair singing 'Hey Diddle Diddle," under her breath and from the sad broken toys on the floor. She sat in her armchair and dozed until she saw the sky begin to lighten behind the Hessian curtains.
"Checkmate." said Regulus, from his armchair.
Hermione smiled behind her hand, remembering another chess game a long time ago.
-
Quoted: Oscar Wilde
Comments most welcome.