Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD
//This is Parseltongue.//
Tiny break to get some outside perspective on the situation. 5k on a whim in a few hours... proud of me yet? ;)
Paraselenic
Interlude - Lacuna // a gap or place where something is missing
M
His eyes were burning, even hours after the fact. He was quite sure they were bloodshot and irritated, but it didn't stop the tears from filming over them, not falling -- he was a man, he would not cry, no matter the pain -- but serving to irritate him more. His fingers shook in his vision, clouded though it was, unable to stop even with the passing of adrenaline.
Y
Numbness had left him some time ago, replaced with an all consuming rage that had no direction, no recourse. He'd wanted to shout, scream in denial. That had been taken away from him. He had had the urge to throttle whomever came close to him, wrap his hands around someone's neck -- Colin's neck was thin and girlie, he bet he could wrap his hands fully around it without any effort -- and collapse their windpipe. He'd wanted to tear at his hair and rip apart his scalp, anything to distract from the insurmountable truth.
L
But he hadn't. He wasn't sure why he hadn't given into the urges that had incinerated his mind. There had been opportunity before his wand had been taken -- McGonagall? Honestly? -- but he hadn't. He'd glowered at his hands, impotent in his wrath. Hating everything. Not understanding what had gone wrong. The logic didn't fall into place. Rooks cannot move diagonally, Kings cannot be demoted to Pawns and taken from the board. A white piece cannot be changed to black mid-game.
L
Now… now it hurt. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt in his life. No physical pain compared even the tiniest bit, no jealousy or anger could come close. This, he thought, must have been what people called -- Hell, like the muggles used to think wizards came from, horrible pain and endless agony -- devastation. He felt like his world had been pulled out from under him, replaced by some strange alternate reality. Down and up still remained in their respective places, but nothing else made sense. It couldn't. How could this ever make sense?
A
Harry. Rash, heroic, but inerrably kind. Whether it was a friend in mortal danger or a mouse Crookshanks had gotten his claws on, Harry had always been the savior. Somehow more than the rest of them -- head thrown back with fire igniting his eyes in fierce luminescence, refusing to back down -- on a higher plane of existence. Too old for his age, too jaded and defeated. Hell, if even he'd managed to notice it, it must have been obvious. Harry was just… Harry. Snappish at times, faltering and losing hope, but never losing his stride. Harry was the King of the board. To be kept safe no matter the sacrifices needed to keep him that way.
K
But oh, he had never seen something like this. In the months before when he had expected something wrong, he had expected something huge. He'd known it would be bad… but what was a year at Hogwarts without something bad happening? Whether it was an insane Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher or Voldemort hatching another plot, there was always something -- the eyes of a werewolf as it bore down on him, the rage contorting Lucius Malfoy's face as they defied him in the Department of Mysteries -- when you were closely tied to Harry Potter. It was nearly routine!
K
But not this. Merlin, no, not this. This was like hairline fractures spreading on a world of glass, the world crumbling to pieces before his eyes. There was nothing to do but await the end once the cracks had started, no way to revert. And he knew it couldn't be mended. But why -- why, why, why, why, why?! -- did it have to be Harry? How could it possibly be Harry? They'd gone through so much, survived impossible odds. How had things turned out this way?
A
But they had. Oh, they had, and Ron could do nothing but see the world fall to pieces around him. With one word spelled in cheerful orange light, with one stupid spell -- it was a joke, meant to be a laugh; why wasn't it funny?!-- his world was no longer the same. The white King had flipped black and replaced the Queen, Pawns had become Knights and Rooks were deviating from their intended track. How could everything go so wrong? How could he not have known?!
He'd been called oblivious enough times by Hermione, stupid by Slytherins, thick by Snape. But Ron knew he was more than that. He'd grown, damnit, and he should have known something was wrong. But he hadn't. He hadn't seen the way his friends had obviously been growing away from him. He'd not known that Harry was a fucking Dark Lord, for Merlin's sake! How could he have missed that, even as Hermione had followed along behind him, if Voldemort's addressing of her and her acceptance of it was any indication. Neville! Neville had known! How could Ron call himself Harry's best friend when he hadn't known?
Was he so unimportant?
Questions buzzed back and forth in his mind like a displaces hive of bees, growing more insistent and loud with every minute that passed. What in the name of all that was Light could have made Harry join Voldemort? There had to be so much more behind this than there appeared to be. There just had to be. Nothing could make Harry just suddenly side with the murderer of his parents. Nothing.
But did he really know Harry? After this, after seeing those letters spelling out just who Harry was, could he really still state that he was Harry's best friend? A best friend would have known something was off. A best friend would have known that his friend had suddenly decided to be evil.
What about Hermione? She had been shocked and scared with the rest of them, but she'd followed after Voldemort's swaying robes like it was the most natural thing in the world. And even when Neville and Malfoy -- Malfoy! -- had come back out, she had not. She was in there still, with Harry and Snape and Voldemort, and Merlin knew what they were doing. Had she known all this time? Had Neville? Had they all been sneaking behind his back?
And his father. Harry had known, hadn't he? They had been gone the night before, he remembered now. Hermione and Harry had come back late, but his grief had overshadowed his suspicion by morning. Had… was it possible that Harry had done it himself? He felt ill, and Ron suddenly very much wanted to retch. Had Harry been lying all this time, not only about his allegiance, but about his friendship with Ron, as well?
Anger was swiftly overtaking him again, and his hands curled into fists. Had they been the ones to destroy his family? Was he so unworthy now of their friendship that they would betray him in such a huge way? They didn't trust him at all, to have kept all of this from him. They obviously assumed he would have been unable to accept the circumstances, unfit to stand at Harry's side.
He hated Harry for this. He hated him for ruining the world he was so content in, for wrecking his family. He hated him for not trusting Ron to be strong.
But most of all, he hated himself for knowing they were probably right.
Luna kicked her feet under the table, smiling serenely at her housemates. The eagles were tense and worried, not sniveling like the Hufflepuffs but quite afraid. She wished should could tell them not to be, but without a voice that became a bit tricky.
Luna hummed silently, legs kicking in rhythm with her song. She ignored the hateful looks her housemates sent her for her calm acceptance. She couldn't expect them to understand, after all. They were so dreadfully uninformed, not knowing Harry like she did and without the Wrackspurts to tell them what was really going on.
It was a pity. If they knew, she was sure they would understand. Ravenclaws were logical beings.
'Knowing One, has the Angel fallen?'
Luna's smile broadened as she tipped her head, glad to hear a voice. This was her favorite of the Wrackspurts, one of the only to come back again and again. She had a feeling this was because of Harry since he seemed to be his favorite subject. She nodded vaguely, knowing that even the Wrackspurts wouldn't be able to really hear her with the silencing spell in place.
'Ah, the time has come. Things might be rough now, Knower. Important matters are being decided as we speak, and Angel's choice has been taken from him. Do you think it will make a difference?'
He sounded so young, so scared. But Luna knew he was strong and so very wise, even more than the others who helped her to understand the workings of people around her. Her smile only brightened as she nodded fervently, paying no mind to the odd looks she was garnering. She was used to it. Poor, uninformed housemates of hers.
'I am glad you have such faith. It may well be needed in the months and years to come, Knower. Hard times, dark times, they come swiftly. Hope rests on the Angel. Without him…'
He paused, and Luna nodded her head slowly this time. On Harry rested their fates… but he was worthy, Luna knew. Harry was amazing. She had always known he had great things in his future, and it had had nothing to do with his infamous scar or his famous status. She just knew he was too great to stay in obscurity.
'Your friends… be sure to be there, Knower. They will surely panic as this all comes apart at the seams. You are the strongest of them all, so guide them, will you?'
Luna's grin was broad as she nodded decisively, and she felt when the Wrackspurt's presence left her. Something deep inside told her it was the last she would hear from him, but it was nothing new. They all moved on after a time. Perhaps he could move on now as well, be free of whatever held him there. She was glad to have gotten the chance to know him at all.
Luna picked up a napkin and pushed her empty plate away, long since cleared of its food by the house elves. She laid it flat on the table and began folding it, humming once more in her mind. Fold after fold, and she was garnering attention now. No matter. Let them escape from their fear with this if they needed to. Soon, all would be fine.
Her fingers danced over the paper, crumpling bits accidentally but moving on. It wouldn't be perfect, but she couldn't expect it to be. In the end she was proud, holding up her Gromsphanth and grinning at her housemates. They were such skeptics, rolling their eyes. Couldn't they tell what it was? Gromsphanths were magnificent creatures -- cousins of the phoenix, really, with beautiful silver scales.
The sound of voices called her attention, and Luna blew wispy bangs from her face in a short burst. Neville was shaking with a hand pressed to his chest, Draco Malfoy at his side and looking very pale. She let her eyes wander further to where Voldemort was storming away, fury written in his every movement. Then slowly, so slowly, Hermione's distinctive head appeared over the mass of craning students, body visibly shuddering. Luna glanced down at her folded napkin and away again, pushing away to stand.
Time to see what she had missed. Whatever would they do without her, really?
Poppy Pomfrey had always prided herself on being unshakable. She could face the most gruesome injuries and retain a cool head, and she had been doing just that for many years. It was no exertion to mend broken bones or remove painful curses. She could hear one of her patients screaming and still manage to lock away emotion and deal with it head on. She could practically wade through waste and refuse without batting an eyelash.
Right now, she would much rather be doing any of that.
Her eyes could hardly pull away from the straight-backed posture of Minerva McGonagall. Forty years ago, Circe it had been so long, Poppy had first met her, new in her position and scared out of her mind. Minerva had smiled and just understood how nervous she was, and had proceeded to take her around the school an introduce her to the staff. She hadn't needed to, but she had. She was Poppy's oldest, dearest friend.
Forty years… and now this. Never had she even had an inkling of deception, never had it crossed her mind that Minerva might be hiding something. Thousands of late night conversations, millions of embraces… and Poppy had never even imagined this… this…
She was stronger than this. She could say it, she was no teen. But why did her mind freeze just as she tried to put it into thought? Why did she feel like she was dying inside just to think it?
Minerva was a Death Eater. There, she'd said it, and her heart broke anew at the thought.
Her friend of forty years, her lover of thirty two, was a Death Eater.
How could she possibly cope with this? Give her pestilence over this any day. This was too much for her to bear.
Time seemed to be crawling sluggishly as Minerva turned the barest bit, hazel eyes meeting her own pale green ones. Poppy's breath caught at the icy expression her partner wore, at the depth of Minerva's apathy. Oh, she could not have prepared for this. It hurt so much that Poppy wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and let the pain fade into darkness.
Poppy knew better. There was too much to tend to; the students might need her. There were Death Eaters in the school, rough and vicious people, Voldemort at their head…
She broke contact with those familiar eyes, turning her gaze to the table as tears ran unbidden down her cheeks. How could Minerva do this to her, to them all? What fiend had replaced the love of her life? Oh, if only Albus was still there. They couldn't hope to fight this on their own, not with Minerva and Severus defected. They were the magically strongest of the staff, the ones with the most influence.
They were all doomed now, and for what?
Dear, sweet Harry had gone the same way, as well, it seemed. He was such a kind boy, so many horrors in his life. She knew he had not had a picturesque childhood, his stunted growth only one of the obvious traits. She had supported the boy as best as she could, sitting on the sidelines there to tend his bruises and broken bones. He was one of her children, all of the students were.
His father had been both a favorite son and a nuisance, his more malicious pranks sending students of all houses into her care. But he was effusive and bright, charisma practically oozing from his pores. Even an old woman like Poppy had not been immune to his charm. And Harry had had that same charm in him as well, dormant though it was. It had laid there quietly, only emerging in times of great need. Poppy had glimpsed it. Harry had always been the epitome of the word special. And now he had abandoned them all.
Severus was another. One of the choice victims of James and Sirius's pranks, Poppy had seen much of him in his school years. Dark and brooding yet so fragile. He'd had an even more difficult upbringing than Harry had, flinching away from even the most cautious touch for many years. The boy had never trusted her, and that had extended into adulthood. But she had cared for him nonetheless, doting after him even as he became a staff member alongside of her. She couldn't count the number of times she had trudged into the dungeons to check on his wellbeing when he was looking particularly sallow.
Years and years she had tended to the sick, the infirm. She had seen hopeless cases, shed tears over her inability to erase their pain. She had seen people die before her eyes. She had felt the pain of her patients in every heart-wrenching scream, every helpless whimper or plead to make the pain stop. But none of that compared to the feeling of loss Poppy now experienced.
Harry, Minerva, Severus. Three dear people lost to her, all in one horribly culminating evening. Just the night before she had laid with her head on Minerva's shoulder, fingers idly running through her partner's beautiful long hair. Minerva had chuckled at her and tugged on her own short curls, accusing her of being jealous. And, as she had an infinite number of times over the years, Poppy had replied with a simple, "Of course I am."
Oh Circe, how could any one person bear a pain this strong?
Heart in shambles, Poppy laid her arms on the staff table and her head upon them, tears soaking her sleeves as she finally broke into sobs. Mustn't let the children see her despair. Mustn't take away their hope.
But was there even hope to be had?
Neville patted Luna's hand where it rested on his shoulder, answering her preoccupied grin with a hesitant smile. Things could be falling apart at all angles and Luna would still smile. She would always smile. She believed the best in every situation, in every person. That anyone could be so trusting was a mystery to him… but it was endearing, he supposed. Infectious, maybe. Who could really look down on such a viewpoint?
Here they were, his worst fears come to fruition. Death Eaters were clogging the doors leading from the Great Hall, the cause of his family's misery among them. Harry was injured. Voldemort was angry. People were panicked and sobbing in silence, unable to express their fear because of the silencing spell.
And still, Luna smiled.
Neville knew he was on with Harry for better or for worse. There was no doubt in his mind about that. But it seemed there was a heavy difference between knowing Harry had gone to the other side and seeing Voldemort bearing down on him. Those eyes were so bright, so angry; he could see why so many feared him. Neville had been unable to stop shaking.
Even now he was trembling, and Luna's hand tightened its grip. Neville gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, determined not to shake like a leaf at the mere memory. He'd come a long way, hadn't he? He refused to be the stereotypical coward. He was strong; Harry needed them strong.
Hermione was twisting a section of hair around her fingers, gnawing at her lower lip with a far-off look. Neville knew that look after so many years. That was the look Hermione got when she was stuck on a particularly challenging question, when incongruent data had appeared. The problem with the people for the ritual sat heavily on all their shoulders, even as Neville's eyes trailed over the Hall for the umpteenth time.
There were a few different possibilities. Snape was an obvious one. Blaise was still quite disgruntled. Ron… Neville cringed and couldn't stop his eyes from flicking up. Ron was staring indolently at the Gryffindor table, unmoved for many long minutes. He seemed to have lost the ability to react, and Neville worried for both his own sanity and Hermione's if this kept up. But Ron, Ron was a thought. But they had no idea how he felt at this point. Another possibility was Bellatrix. Neville tensed in irritation at the mere thought of that woman helping Harry, even as a negative pull.
It was such short notice, to try and find such strong emotional ties in only a couple of hours. This was Harry's life they were gambling with! He let out a sigh, closing his eyes and trying to push away his helpless frustration. Four candidates that he could think of, three spots to fill. None falling perfectly into place like he'd want them to. Everything was so unsure.
Hope felt like it was slipping through his fingers, half his mind on Harry lying prone in the antechamber. He had not looked like he was sleeping, messy hair in disarray. He had looked dead. He understood it was some magically-induced coma, but he certainly didn't look to be functioning. It gave Neville the chills. Without Harry… where would they be? He had the uncomfortable feeling that without Harry there, none of them would be safe. He could only imagine Voldemort's reaction.
That was another thing. How had he missed the memorandum that Harry and Voldemort were lovers? Neville fought down a grimace. He had nothing against two guys, of course, but… Voldemort? Really? Sure, he was sort of handsome when not looking like a snake, but he was Voldemort. He'd killed Harry's parents with his own hands. It would be like Neville sleeping with Bellatr-- he quickly cut off that train of thought to stop himself from gagging. He would not go there.
However, Harry was a grown man. Neville couldn't fault him for his relationship, no matter how disturbing it might be to him. There had to be something more to the notorious Dark Lord if Harry saw enough in him to be in a relationship. He only hoped that what he saw was enough. But what would Voldemort do if Harry didn't make it? A shudder racked him as he imagined the devastation.
Luna's hands were pushing his shoulder now, and he turned to face her fully with a weak smile. She held up a napkin, folded primly into a deformed looking bird, head too long for its body. Neville laughed suddenly, overcome with the urge to hug his closest friend. He could never lose hope so long as Luna was at his side, vague smiles and all. He didn't know what he would do without her.
Hermione fidgeted, warm brown eyes suddenly meeting Neville's. He smiled at her, willing the cheer Luna had suffused into him to transfer to her. Hermione was so worried, so stressed. Harry wasn't there to control her reactions, and Neville worried what would happen if she lost control now. Would he have what it took to knock her out before she could hurt anyone?
"Any more ideas?"
She blinked several times before trying a smile of her own, finally releasing her teeth from her lip. "I'm really not sure. There are so many combinations, and none of them seem perfect. If I understand the spell right, the positive emotions are more important… but the negative are necessary for contrast and grounding. The stronger the fit, the better. But… Merlin, I don't know what to do."
"For Harry… we'll do this right no matter what, Hermione."
She looked shocked for a moment, staring at him like he was a stranger. Neville shifted, wondering what he'd done, when Hermione smiled. It was so bright. For months she had been weighted down, rarely coming out of her own, personal darkness. Only when Harry was around did she smile at all, but even then they hadn't been so brilliant. He smiled back, feeling warmth suffuse him.
No matter what.
She tested the air, slinking forward slowly. Not much farther now.
The robed ones were in her way, they always seemed to be, but they skittered once they noticed her form, allowing her passage. Good. They should be afraid. It was only by her master's graces that they remained free of her fangs. A few of them even looked tasty… the blond, for one. But no, the brat would be upset if she ate that one, he seemed pleased with him.
It wouldn't do to upset her master's mate, after all.
There were small ones in here, a lot of them. Some hardly more than hatchlings, others nearly grown. There was even a miniature blond one! Perhaps she could eat this one? But she would have to ask Master, and Master would probably speak with the larger blond one or his mate about it. And they would probably deny her. Nagini harrumphed as well as a snake could.
She knew she was no normal snake. Between being eternally linked with her Master and living alongside humans for so many years, she often thought herself to be more human than snake. She had slowly come to understand the strange ways humans thought, and it was really quite fascinating. She wondered what it would be like to meet another snake now after so many years. Would she even be able to understand them anymore?
Her master would be pleased with her, she knew. She brought good news.
//Pet, I didn't expect you here. What brings you?//
Her Master was there, gazing down on her with those familiar eyes. She missed his more reptilian looks, but she could tell his mate preferred this. Silly brat he was, but she supposed it was his choice.
//I have news, Master. The round man in the ugly hat was taken away.//
He crouched down at once, fingers coming out to stroke across her head. She could feel his approval over their bond, and she thrummed with happiness.
//Thank you, Nagini. You should find a place to rest… I cannot leave yet.//
//What is happening, Master?//
He pursed his lips, anger contorting his features. //There were complications. Nothing for you to worry about.//
//Your mate, Master? I would like to demand him to warm me; these stones are chilled.//
The rage in his eyes deepened, and Nagini's curiosity spiked. Something was wrong with her Master's mate. How… interesting. //Never you mind, Nagini. Go now.//
She snickered as well as she could, turning away. //You humans are amusing creatures.//
//And you are replaceable, pet.//
Nagini knew better, and didn't pay any attention as her master stood and spun on his heel. All would be well, and perhaps she could finally see him content. He was such a finicky man, so angry and brusque. It would be nice to see a change. Perhaps he would import more of the fat mice he used to favor her with. Those had been delicious.
Now, Nagini's only wish was to find a suitable lap. There had to be one amongst the hundreds of bodies. Perhaps the smaller blond? Without Master's mate around, perhaps she could even get away with a taste…
Revised: 3/21/09