The time has come
The tale now short
But who has won
My adventurous sport?
It's one long war
Of wits and ends,
Though worry not, for
The relationship mends
I own it not
(-- Luck's brilliant stroke)
For all Jo's got,
… I'm completely broke.
This chapter (hell, this STORY) is dedicated to my one muse who does NOT party in Ireland where the men have lower inhibitions and/or accents. Jamie, if it weren't for your (hypothetical) cheerleading, I probably wouldn't have continued. This is to your support, from the first time I posted chapter one in my livejournal, to now. I adore you.
-Achi (Did you get teary-eyed yet? Huh? Huhuh?)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I tried to be as mythologically correct as possible. I took a few authors' liberties (Lachlan is mine), but outside of that, let it be known: I tried
Epiphany
Rated: PG-13
Chapter Five: The Dream
Pansy could always tell when she was dreaming. Whether in black and white (an obvious commentary that, what she thought was real, wasn't) or in color, the same aspects of her dream world always applied, for in every dream, reality became fuzzy and details that were normally the bane of her existence went unnoticed.
It wasn't abnormal for Pansy to dream, and she found that she often had several in a week, so to find herself within an unfamiliar room and in the presence of a man she'd seen before, yet couldn't quite place, wasn't as strange as it would have been were she awake. She couldn't help but notice the numbers of small, blue beings flying about her head, pulling on locks of hair that were not normally red, nor curly, obvious commentary of her current dream state.
The man in front of her smirked in an epitome of smirks. "You really shouldn't put up with this," he informed her, leaning forward in his high backed armchair. "I've seen the extent of your anger and you could easily blow them away. Even though your control is terrible."
Dream Pansy rolled her eyes. "They always come back in greater congregations. Maeve isn't even dealing with this situation, Laez. It seems to be that I've angered her and she's put me under the care of one of the fae lords. In return," Dream Pansy stopped and pointed at the fae tangling her hair, "I've got these little bastards acting as a pain in the ass around my head."
The man smirked at her again, his green eyes coming off as menacing. "To say you 'angered' Maeve is an understatement, love. Maeve doesn't take kindly to people belittling her."
Dream Pansy rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I do that she deserved it. She was meddling in affairs that she doesn't need to be brought into. Maeve is in charge of the fae, the old ways, nothing more and nothing less. She doesn't need to be telling, or forcing, or even complimenting you on the way the school's being run. She's acting as an evil advocate, sitting on your shoulder and whispering into your ear about who should be allowed into the institution and who shouldn't be. It's only going to cause anguish in future years, Laez."
"And I can't help it that I agree with some of her points, Morganna. I'm afraid that if we bring in too many muggle-born children, the wizarding society is going to stretch the magic thin. Who's to say there will so many part-wizarding, part-muggle births that one day, the wizarding community will cease to exist?" he wanted to know, now fixing her with his Full Attention, something that Dream Pansy did not appreciate; it made her nervous and she felt like fidgeting in her seat.
"And what if magic isn't one of those things people split amongst themselves? You act like magic is more of a color than a trait, where wizards and witches are blue and muggles are yellow. Mix them together and you have an impure form of green as the offspring. Keep mixing that green with the yellow and soon, there won't be a trace of blue left. Magic doesn't work like that, Laez," Dream Pansy pleaded, folding her fingers together to prevent them from tugging at the fibers in her dress, a nervous habit. "And will you stop tugging at my hair," she spat, ripping the auburn strands from a particularly violent sprite. It laughed at her and spat water into her face, a trademark signature of that particular breed of sprites.
"I have had it up to here with them," Dream Pansy ranted to the man, standing up from her seat and ripping the rest of her hair from mischievous hands. "I can't even walk into muggle villages anymore without these little bastards raising a ruckus for me. I had to obliviate three villagers yesterday, Laez," she commented, pacing about the room. "These little fellows decided to manually attack the villagers and were worse than ever to me, ripping at my hair, tugging at my clothes, attempting to make me hover about the ground before dropping me from an unwilling two or three feet up. There's no stopping them!"
"Yes there is," Laez commented evenly, folding his hands across this torso and fixing Dream Pansy with a smoldering gaze through half-closed eyes. "Complaining to Maeve is pointless, but you can always go to the one controlling the sprites."
Dream Pansy stopped, her navy skirts following seconds behind her. She ignored the sprites as they reattached to her hair. "Lachlan is more stubborn than I am. You know this, Laez. I've seen you try to season with her and she just giggles and tosses her hand and… It was actually kind of funny at the time, but I'll never admit to that again because you look like you're about to kill me and isn't the weather nice today?" Dream Pansy rambled, noting the menacing glare he sent to her soul.
"I never said reason with her," Laez replied. "Defeat her. Take her turf. Show her what you're made of, to coin a phrase."
Dream Pansy rolled her eyes. "And now you sound like that idiot Godric. You, as well as I, know that fae can't be killed. They're immortal, just like you aren't."
Salazar Slytherin, Morganna LeFaye's long time mentor and part time amour stood to his full height and stretched. "I'm not dumb, Morganna. But you might be for comparing me to Gryffindor." He casually sauntered to where she stood and towered a head and shoulders over her frame. "I know you can't kill fae. But you can trap them."
-----
Pansy woke from her dream with a start, wondering the significance behind that particular phenomenon. The dream had been one of the more realistic dreams she'd had in her life, almost as if reliving a history lesson or a memory through her sleep. As if it were trying to tell her something.
She snorted, rolled over, and stared at the clock that read "early morning." More than likely, such a dream was trying to tell her something. She'd lived long enough in the wizarding world to know that such vivid things didn't often occur without reason. However, figuring out the reasoning behind the dream wouldn't be quite as easy. She guessed she might as well sit back and wait for whatever happenings to happen. She closed her eyes and drifted back into sleep.
-----
The feel of her next dream was different. The warmth of the chambers from the last dream was no longer present, as, in compensation, blasts of rain and wind managed to drench and hurl Dream Pansy about. Sodden clumps of hair flew around her head, half-obscuring her vision and sticking to her forehead. Her gown weighed her down and made it difficult to be agile, and overall, Dream Pansy was miserable, but only half of her thoughts were focused on her state of being. The other half currently resided with the immortal being in front of her who was causing the rain and wind.
"You mortals think you're so smart and brilliant," the voice commented. Dream Pansy couldn't get a clear look at the speaker, the rain, wind, and random sprites blurring her vision. They giggled at her present state. "Do you think that I wouldn't stop to wonder what your final rage would be? That it wouldn't come down to this?"
Nearly invisible hands reached out to stroke her face. "Do you think Laez was aware that sending you after me would be your downfall, love?"
Dream Pansy slapped the hand away, now seeing complete red; Salazar Slytherin had left Hogwarts half a year ago under the pretences of creative differences. It had been rumored that Lachlan's minions had spent the past two years whispering troublesome, evil thoughts into Laez's mind, the reasoning behind the 'creative differences.' To say that without Lachlan, Laez would have never had anti-muggleborn thoughts was doubtful, but Lachlan had fueled his anger and driven him to incomprehensible results. Morganna had never stopped to think he would leave her, but now that he had, she hadn't had time to stop and grieve.
"I'm stronger than you," both Dream Pansy and Morganna whispered, dropping the wand to the ground and closing eyes simultaneously. Struggling for a moment on clearing her thoughts, Morganna emptied her mind and concentrated on the task in front of her. Lachlan's sprites giggled around her and the lady of the Fae Court laughed out loud.
"What if you do defeat me?" taunted Lachlan, voice echoing in Morganna's mind. "What is left for you? The school? The Fortunate Isle, with your ill-conceived half-brother? You are a healer, Morganna, not a warrior."
Those lines snapped Morganna's attention directly to the fae in front of her. "I may be a healer," she whispered, forcing all of her strength into the center of her being, "But I am a Battle Queen in my magic." With one deep breath, Morganna sent all of her gathered power to the Fae Lady.
A laugh slowly turned into a scream from in front of her. "You are a prophet and a healer, Morganna Le Faye! You do not measure to my strengths! You cannot destroy me!"
The cries ended in a single pop and the winds died almost immediately. Morganna/Dream Pansy opened her eyes tiredly, sagging both mentally and physically. The sprites, once pulling and tugging on her dress and hair now stopped and settled to the ground, gazing curiously at the woman who had just defeated their lady.
"I am a prophet, and I am a healer, but I am not to be disparaged, Lady Lachlan of the Breton water sprites. Revenge is a bitch."
Dream Pansy bent down to pick up a tattered, brown book. The title, once written in gold lettering, had long since peeled off in time and left only splatterings of gold to hint at the grandeur the book had once had. She sighed. "Now, to take care of this, to place it where it will not let out which it hides," she stated. Bending down, she held a finger out to a random sprite. "Come, my Morganes. We have work to do to cover up Lachlan's folly and begin anew." Fae and woman alike trudged to the outline of a dark castle, Morganna's final battle fought and won.
-----
Panic had settled over the castle while Pansy slept, lost to her dream memories, while the remaining students and professors settled to battle. While the month of May had brought final exams, a final battle had settled amongst the castle as well and the majority of fifth through seventh years were currently stationed within the Great Hall, pale with worry and determination. Amongst them were a surprising number of Slytherins, including one Draco Malfoy.
"Just because my father is a Death Eater does not mean I am one as well," Draco had informed one Harry Potter just hours before. "Father understands my choice is one I hope to not drag my children under. I've seen what being a Death Eater has done to my loved ones, and I want to stop this before more of my family gets screwed over." He paused momentarily. "I'm also hoping to have a little one-on-one with a Master Jasper Parkinson for being a lousy human being, a terrible husband, and indescribable father. Before this night is over, he will be begging me for mercy and apologizing for Pansy without realizing it."
"And what does your father think?" an uncouth Ginny Weasley had asked, not one for tact or dancing around a question.
"We both agreed to start at opposite sides of the room and to pray that somebody would take one of us out before facing off. I personally think he's afraid of me." Draco buffered his nails on his Hogwarts robes and ignored the unladylike snickers from Ginny's direction. Her elder brother in turn managed to scowl even deeper.
"I still wouldn't trust a Slytherin with my life," he muttered. Draco felt like patting him gently on the head and sitting him down in a nice little corner to live his life.
"It's a good thing I'm not fighting against my father's beliefs in a battle for you then, eh, Weasley? I'm in this for one person. And it's not one of the Golden Trio."
"Have you seen Pansy?" a voice asked. Draco rolled his eyes and faced Blaise Zabini who was looking as nervous as a dog before an earthquake.
"I didn't bother to wake her. I left her to sleep in the dormitory and threatened the other girls if they were to wake her," Draco replied, fixing the oak doors of the Great Hall with unmoving gray eyes.
Blaise shrugged and stretched his neck by rolling his head in a circle. Draco could practically sense the radiation of nerves coming off the Italian boy. "It's just she's been acting odd lately," Blaise commented. "She's blowing hot and cold, as if she were fighting over the rights of her mind and thinking skills. Sometimes I wonder if somebody has tapped into her mind and forced her to pull stunts she wouldn't normally do. If we were anywhere but Hogwarts, I'd think somebody had Imperio-ed her."
Several feet away, Hogwarts' infamous Head Girl (who had been harmlessly eavesdropping on the two Slytherin boys) had a serious coughing fit into a cup of pumpkin juice. The connection was not lost on Draco and he slowly turned to Hermione. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the way Parkinson's been acting this school year, now would you?" he wanted to know, threat underlying is question.
Hermione wiped at watering eyes and turn to fix Draco with her gaze. "I know that you know the ancient myths surrounding our culture and beginning history of magic. Every pureblooded parent double checks to make sure that their children have the basics of history before leaving for Hogwarts. I read up on it in a book."
"And?" Draco wanted to know, mentally crossing his arms in expectant waiting.
"It's going to be terrible when you have to start applying things you learned in school to real life, isn't it, Malfoy," Hermione shot back, fixing his blank look with one of her own.
"Cut to the chase, Granger. We're about to get attacked by the Battle to End All Battles. I don't feel like playing twenty questions about what's happening to Pansy Parkinson."
"It started in September. We met in the library by accident, she was mumbling something about getting kicked out of the commons by you two," she inclined her head in Draco and Blaise's direction. "We had a brief scuffle over a book. That tattered, leather-bound book."
Draco gave Hermione a blank look.
"It's called Epiphany, and it's by Morganna Le Faye."
Realization dawned upon Draco, as the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. Strengthening his resolve, he forced himself to face the doors and fight the Death Eaters now streaming into the hall. The only thing saving Pansy now would be herself.
-----
Waking from her last dream was more difficult than waking from her first. Pansy could sense gaining consciousness, but her eyes felt like they had been weighed down by lead and her body felt as if somebody had slipped dried gillyweed into a cigarette and forced her to smoke. Slowly raising an arm to rub her temples, Pansy was surprised to find herself half weighed down by small, flittering bugs. Her eyes immediately shot open and for several seconds, her vision blurred and then cleared.
A small, winged person grinned down at her with the blank, mischievous grin only a lesser fae could produce. All about her head and her chambers, water pixies flittered about, tearing at hangings, ripping at pages, and causing as much mayhem as could be done by multitudes of small bodies working together.
"What the hell is going on?" Pansy demanded, slowly sitting up and reaching for her wand. The bedside table was empty.
"Missing something, deary?" an unfamiliar voice in a heavy Irish accent asked from the center of the room. Pansy's attention was drawn to the circular study table she had dragged near the fireplace earlier in the year, tired of the terrible lighting she received by her bed.
Cross-legged on top of the circular table, an unfamiliar woman sat on the spine of a tattered, leather book that glowed a slow blue. The woman had a parchment-feel about her, edges slightly crumbled and stained as if drawn from a weathered page of a well loved and much-aged novel. From within her hands, she twirled Pansy's wand about carelessly, blue sparks shooting out from both ends.
"It's a pity," the woman spoke, grinning from cerulean lips to show bluebell-colored teeth. "You shan't be needing this." Before Pansy could protest, inhuman fingers the shade of the sky took a firm hold of her wand and snapped it in two, Pansy mesmerized by the extra joint per finger.
As if still dreaming, she watched as the useless ends of the wand fell to the floor. Navy irises danced in merry glee and the strange woman let out a bark of laughter and not for the first time, Pansy felt dread slowly overcome her body.
-----
A letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown:
I saw your brother's wife with his main knight last night.
In saying this, I mean I saw your brother's wife with his lead knight doing inappropriate things that gentlemen do not speak of in front of the presence of a lady. You know. What we did last night. But a little bit further. Should I tip them that the courtyard is a bad place to be doing such things?
-L
The reply to the letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown:
Half-brother. HALF-brother. Only partial. As in that bloody Merlin is a bastard. Who needs to have his staff broken in two. Figuratively speaking; get your mind out of the road ruts.
It's a good thing you don't speak about such acts in front of a lady. A gentlewoman's elder brother might attack you. But this also raises another question. Pray tell, My Lord, what am I?
-M
The reply to the reply of the letter from the 10 Century, participants unknown:
Is this one of those times where you said I couldn't possibly dig myself any lower, so I might as well start apologizing and groveling to your perfectly manicured toes on those pale, smooth, small feet up to the luscious calves and milky, delicious thighs and that wonderful core of… knowledge upon your head?
King Arthur to his half-sister's advisor, found in the ruins of Camelot, dating roughly 900 AC:
Morganna said I could attribute the fragments of my magic mirror to you. Please refrain from angering my sister so. She has difficulty controlling her powers when in the middle of an anger-fit.
A letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown:
I shouldn't have shown you that. How badly hurt is he? And how mad is Merlin?
A reply to a letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown:
Unable to control my power in an anger fit my ass. I think I showed excellent control, seeing as he'll be able to walk again. Eventually. In the near future, at least.
Merlin needs to mind his own, if he knows what's good for him. Too bad they don't allow recollection in history texts. Merlin: the wizard who never knew when to stop meddling.
A letter from Lucius Malfoy to his son:
Lucius X. Malfoy, to:
Draco L. Malfoy
The Snake Pit
Hogwarts
Scotland
Tonight. We come tonight. Warn who you must and protect the rest. Burn this as soon as you have finished reading it. If I'm found, I die as well, and I haven't updated my will to leave you the inheritance.
A letter from Severus Snape to Albus Dumbledore:
Severus Snape, to:
Albus Dumbledore
Warn the students. Voldemort attacks Hogwarts tonight. He plans to make it the final battle between himself and Potter. Warn the trustworthy students and come up with a plan to detain the untrustworthy ones. I'm sure you'll come up with some sort of method.
A letter from Albus Dumbledore to the Heads of each House:
Albus Dumbledore, to:
The House Heads
The following is a list of students I expect sent to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor corridor next to the Barnabus the Barmy tapestry by noontime. They will be detained through the Death Eaters attack and presented to ministry officials afterwards. Kindly do not mention my name, but explain to them that you wish for such individuals to report to the room to obtain a desired object. Send each at a specific interval (provided) and do not let them confer with each other.
Thank you kindly and Merlin bless,
Albus
A note from Hermione Granger to Ronald Weasley, passed during Charms:
Hermione, to:
Ron
If you get killed, I'm going to be extremely displeased. Even more so than that time when you forgot Valentine's Day.
A note from Ronald Weasley to Harry Potter, passed during Transfigurations:
Ron, to:
Harry
You better kick his arse, mate. My chances of surviving if you kick the bucket aren't very good. And Hermione will be mighty ticked if I die. She told me so.
A reply from Harry Potter to Ronald Weasley, passed during Herbology:
Harry, to:
Ron
Your concern for my well-being makes the entire process seem endearing. I'm glad to know you care so much for my life.
You're the best mate I could ever ask for.
Sigh.
A letter from Harry Potter to Ginevra Weasley, left on the Gryffindor Commons message board:
Harry, to:
Ginny
When we survive this battle, you are in charge of teaching your tactful brother the way of Sarcasmology. The being of sarcasm.
You can practically see irony float through one ear and out the other with him. It would be funny if I didn't have to go back through and explain the situation before Hermione deals with him. She tends to use him to mop the floor when she's anxious.
A reply from Ginevra Weasley to Harry Potter, left on the Gryffindor Commons message board:
Ginny, to:
Harry Potter
If you get killed, I'm going to be extremely displeased. Even more so than that time when you forgot my birthday. Except you didn't forget as much as you got me the worst present a boyfriend could get a girl friend, so I just store it in my memory as that one time you forgot my birthday. It's easier on my mind.
Ginerva Weasley to Hermione Granger, passed when seeing the other in the hallway:Ginny, to:
Hermione
I'm scared. And I'm more scared for his life than mine, Hermione. My world will not be if he loses. Not because Voldemort will have won, because I would continue to defy him with my very being until I no longer exist.
No. I'm afraid because a life without Harry isn't a life for me.
Hermione, I think I love him.
Hermione Granger to Ginny Weasley, passed during dinner:Hermione, to:
Ginny
I'm scared too. At least we can be scared together. I fear for my life, my friend's lives, my parents, you, Harry, Ron. At least we still have these emotions. I don't think s You-Kno /s Voldemort knows what fear is anymore, and I think this is going to be his downfall. Keep everything that can be crossed crossed, Ginny.
-----
Insert end of the chapter here. I apologize EVER so much for the long wait for this chapter. School hates me, and so does my muse. I had all but the letters written by Tuesday, but then the week caught up with me. Eek.
I realize y'all are probably tired of hearing "Aid Katrina Victims!" but I insert my own wishes for you to help aid these people. New Orleans was already in pretty bad condition when the hurricane hit, but at least the sheer amount of deaths weren't around. Even a couple of dollars helps, so if you can spare it, pretty much everybody everywhere is doing a fundraiser, so please, help if you can. I feel lousy because I'm in the Tampa region of Florida and when it only hit the south as a tropical storm-ish rate, I was all, "YAY! Too bad for the people it hits next." Bam. Gains LOTS of power. Hits one of the worst cities it COULD hit.
Sigh. Next chapter comes out . This translates to "When I Think of How I'm Going To Get It To the End I Want It To End With." In the meantime, I re-leave my icon/community/fic update journal for y'all to check up on:
www. Livejournal. Com/users/idiotsinkinc
Omit the spaces. I'll occasionally place updates when I feel it's taking me too long to update.
And since this note is getting longer than the story (not really), I finish it here. Have fun, stay tuned, and send prayers (or best wishes, if praying isn't your thing) to New Orleans, Louisiana and all the people still there.