Chapter Twenty-Seven: Settling In

Crom Cruach viewed the site in a rage. His followers cowered on the ground around him, some vomiting up bile and blood, all of them affected by his ire.

His temple was a parking lot.

The half-deserted town had seen a tourist boom in the last decade that brought a sudden boost of income while it lasted. The city had taken the money and ran with it. The still-to-be-developed sites that were intended to stimulate the local economy paved in places, leveled in some, and, in others, little more than over-grown tangles of rotting construction supplies.

The site of his temple – millennia before – was under thick stone that crumbled at the edges. Weeds peeked up through the tar-thick substance, stretching desperate leaves towards the mist-covered sun. When the money had run out, so had the town's luck. Fewer and fewer people stayed in the village, leaving for the larger towns away from the rocky coast and its fading fisherman trade.

Crom Cruach was livid. Even his Priest was on his knees, pressed as close to his God as he dared, attempting – and failing – to placate Him with mouth and hands.

The mortals around him writhed as anger spiked through the god. This was his site. How dare the humans defile it. He caught his Priest by the arm, hauling him to shaky feet.

"Slaughter them all," he spat into the blood-streaked face. He pushed the man away, letting the temporary body fade back into the Dark. He would need to save his power for later, when the bonfires burned high and the straggling remains of the pathetic mortal village were little more than mush and blood on his altars.

He would build his temple anew from their stacked bones if he hand to.

qpqpqpqp

As Harry had predicted, Defense Against the Dark Arts really was the class from Hell.

But they did, actually, get some use out of it.

Umbridge's strange fanaticism reminded Harry of the young men in black suits that used to go door-to-door in the Dursley's neighborhood. They were always polite, always eager to lend a helping hand, but getting them out of the house was damn near impossible, at least until he took their pamphlets and promised to consider the redemption of being born again in Christ's name, amen.

Harry could never really figure that last part. How, exactly, did you get reborn? Was it like in those wacky videos Aunt Marge would force Dudly to watch, full of people in leotards leaping like animals all over the stage to weird, rhythmic music? Aunt Marge had called it culture and for Harry to scatter off, since he would never understand it anyway. One of the videos had a tunnel-shaped thing where a bunch of the dancers wiggled out of, stretching arms out towards the flaring stage lights – if that was the mess of being born again, Harry had decided he would pass, thank you. There had been slime.

It had been Blaise who pointed out the good parts of Umbridge's long rambling speeches about passages from a book called the New Testament.

"It's the One God's religion, see?" Blaise had a stack of notes on the table, some stickied with colorful tabs, others highlighted. "It's a pretty bizarre mix, but it is a muggle religion. They've worked a ton of old pagan rites into their beliefs – it's pretty easy if you just accept most of them as bonkers and work with the system they left in place."

"Hey, now," Seamus was the only one to stutter. "It's not that bad, mate."

"Yes, it is."

"Well…" Seamus frowned, one hand curling into a loose fist. "I'll give you the part about being bonkers, but I'm Roman Catholic. We're all a bit touched in the head."

Sasha had turned to look at him. "Is it catching?"

"Only if you take Communion."

"Communion?"

"Eh…yeah."

"What is it?"

"The – ah…erm. Body and blood of Christ."

Eyes had gone wide. "You mean you're a bunch of cannibals?"

It had taken the rest of the afternoon to straighten that mess out.

Still, the lectures Umbridge gave had little to do with the Roman Catholic liturgies Seamus had supplied for the Slytherins. Of the two, Harry preferred the solemn rituals of Seamus' church. Umbridge did little more than quiz them on the hand outs she gave them and forced them to say the Lord's Prayer every beginning and end of class.

Most Slytherins were starting to get fed up with the whole thing.

The realm of politics had also spread to Hogwarts' halls. Draco was as bad as the rest, supporting his father's renewed push to have a site cleared somewhere close to Diagon Alley for the Temple to All Gods to be built. As expected, the Slytherin House fell in behind the idea, as did a surprising amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Gryffindor House protested the loudest, with most of its students rallying behind Fudge's new speeches of going back to a more traditional way of life, one that was led by the rules in that Old Testament Harry kept hearing about – he thought it was rather silly, since they were both in the Bible, why call it Old or New? Then Seamus had had to sit him down and explain it, only it just made thing worse.

"You mean the Old Testament is the how-to guide for the Jewish people?" Harry rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Seamus had frowned, but nodded. "Sort of, yeah."

"…So what the hell does it have to do with Christianity?"

"Well, Jesus was a Jew."

"But you said he was the son of the One God."

"He…is. Sort of."

"So then Christians are all Jews?"

"…No."

"Make up your mind already!"

Harry still didn't get it and Seamus had given up trying to explain.

The elections were starting to heat up. The position of Minister would be decided in November, but people were already protesting in the streets over both Fudge and Scrimgeour. Harry kept his head down as much as possible and stayed far away from the hot heads in Gryffindor that kept trying to get him to weigh in on the matter.

They did, after the first week, find out why all the first years had been terrified of Harry – were still, point of fact, leery of being in the same corridor as him. Umbridge's lectures, for the other classes, had a much more…violent trend, as they found out. Brimstone and hellfire and the old gods were all lumped together as devils and damnations, and Harry was seen as the key that had brought all of it out into the light of day.

Harry was certain the woman was completely barmy.

On top of everything else, they still had to prepare for their OWLs. Harry and the rest of Slytherin House studied every night. In the rare moments when he wasn't trying to stuff his mind with facts that he was supposed to have learned the year before, Harry had to wonder how Hermione was holding up. He'd tried to keep an eye on her, and was relieved to see her talking more with her Housemates. She had yet to come to the Slytherin table in the library, though. Harry was starting to worry.

It was at the end of one such evening study session, two and a half weeks into term, when Harry and Ginny had their first true fight.

He'd been avoiding the girl at almost any cost – he'd been getting a letter from Sirius every few days asking – demanding, Harry made a sour face – as to what he was doing and whom he was seeing. Harry had fobbed his godfather off with a few lines here and there, snippets of gossip from classes and how much work they were trying to cram into the month the school board had given them to prepare.

Ginny had not been as recalcitrant to write.

Their row had cleared the area around the main fireplace in the Common Room.

"You have to tell him, Harry!"

"No, I don't."

"He loves you. He wants what's best for you."

"Sirius is wrong about Draco and the Malfoys. And Professor Snape."

"But can't you write him then and tell him that?"

"Tell him what, Ginny? That I sit with Draco in every class, rely on him to keep me sane –,"

"Not that again!"

It got very silent around them. Harry let his arms drop to his sides. "I meant in Umbridge's class, Ginny. You've sat through enough of them to know they're enough to make anyone barmy."

"Right," the sneer was not what he expected. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and stomped a foot. "You need to tell him all of this."

"Why? He'll just tell me to stop."

"Then stop!"

"Stop what?"

"Everything he wants you to stop!"

Harry peered at the girl. "I'm not going to give up one person I care for just because another person I care for tells me to."

"But he's Father!" She threw her hands up in the air, cane waving wildly enough to cause some to duck.

"No, Ginny," he turned away, too tired for words. "He's not mine."

He made it to the boy's dormitory hall when she spoke. "You won't let him be your father."

Harry did not answer. He shut himself in his room instead, and no amount of pleading by Draco got him to come out.

qpqpqpqp

Crom Cruach stood on the tall bluffs over looking the sea. An early winter storm was rolling in over a slate gray ocean. The silence was cut by the shriek of the wind and little else.

Behind him the large rectangle of crumbling stone had been chipped away to half its size. His new priests had not been able to use their magic on it, since they claimed it would bring the Unspeakables and the Ministry down on them. The God had not cared, but his Priest had argued the point with eloquent words and willing body, so he let the matter slide. For now.

The initial rush of bodies had been a sweet victory over the ruin of his once-precious site. There had been enough victims to raise a barrier over the mortal village, causing all others to forget about it, to wander away or turn around just outside of the village limits. It was raised by his Priest, in the old language and the old ways, a wondrous sight in the barbaric lands of this future and untraceable by this meddlesome Ministry that had his priests petrified with fear.

He needed better worshippers. These pissed themselves far too easily when his ire was raised. Fear was for the weak and foolish. He would replace them in due time.

There was still so much to do. He needed a clear space for the foundations of his temple. The old wooden posts and golden idol would not be good enough this time. He wanted more, much more. And he needed the sacrifices to go with it.

He had the perfect targets in mind, but no time before the fist turn of the cycle to complete his plan. No, he would have to wait until the turning cycle returned to a position of his favor. The fires would be lit. His temple would have enough time to be built and ready for its first, most important sacrifices.

The God bared his teeth to the wind and spread his arms, letting it catch his scent. There was so much to be done, but he had no time to chase them. No, he would let them come to him.

He knew they would come, one way or another. Now all he had to do was wait.

qpqpqpqp

"Harry?"

He let the letter drop to his lap. Draco stood framed in the door to his room, a worried frown marring the skin between his eyebrows.

"Yes?"

Draco slid into the room, closing the door behind him. "You are awfully pale."

Harry set the letter aside. "It's nothing."

"Black?"

"It's nothing," he favored the blond with a look.

"Right – it's just – we need to talk."

"Talk about what?"

Draco drew in a short breath – then let it right back out. "I truly hate Pansy at times."

"This was her idea?"

Draco pushed off the door and took a seat next to Harry on the bed. He could feel the blond's body heat in the chill of the room. There had been frost that morning, thick enough to last until the sun had risen over the tree line of the Forbidden Forest. Professor Sprout had not been pleased.

"I wasn't idle while you were gone," Draco chose to move on into a whole new conversation. It was a strange habit, but Harry was getting used to it.

"I would imagine not."

"I think…I'm almost positive, I've found a way to create Gates into the Otherworld."

Harry sat up straight. "How's that?"

Draco curled a hand around Harry's, focusing on their joined fingers. "I put it all together – it kept me sane while you were gone."

"Did you go into the Otherworld by yourself?"

"No, I wanted to wait for you."

"But you've been able to create a gate?"

"Yes – but keeping it to the same place every time is almost impossible."

"Draco, this is amazing!"

The blond threw him a crooked grin. "So you'll forgive me for not using it to come rescue you?"

Harry pushed Draco down onto the bed and curled his arms around the other boy's neck. "You're an idiot."

"Hey!"

"Of course I don't blame you." Harry settled them against the mound of pillows on his bed. "Professor Snape said to me once – a Slytherin does not run blind into unknown situations."

"That sounds like him."

"You could have been lost."

"I know. I couldn't trust the Gate to hold with just myself."

"You think it'll hold with the both of us?"

"We need to return to Pythia. She has the answers we need. She can help."

"While we're at school?"

"When else are we going to learn?"

Harry drew back to look Draco in the face. "You're sounding awfully Gryffindor-ish today."

"Hey!"

He settled back against the blond's side. "The frost was bad," he seemed to have picked up Draco's bad habit.

"Yes."

"It's never been like this before."

"I know."

Harry let out a sight. "This weekend?"

"Yes."

"Good." They lay curled together on the bed, the cracking logs on the fire the only sound left in the room.

qpqpqpqp

Scrimgeour threw the report down on his desk hard enough to bounce.

"Sir?"

"Get out." He didn't mean to shout, but his temper was at the end of its leash. He wanted to be alone.

The door shut behind the last of his interns. Merlin, he would have to apologize tomorrow. He paced to the window and braced his palms against the sill.

Diagon Alley was a riot of protestors and anti-protesting protestors, a strange mix of muggle and wizarding clothes that hurt the eyes. Muggleborn witches and wizards were pouring in day by day, all flooding the register's office to be able to vote. Fudge's smirk was pasted across several poster board signs, the animated face not funny in the least as it pontificated in silence. Here and there in the crowd he could make out the flaring aura of an Unspeakable – the hush-hush section of the government having decided to back Fudge instead of him. They were a constant source of worry for Rufus. He had no idea how to handle them.

Politically, at least.

The only ray of good luck in the storm of messes was Potter's continued silence. The reports of Death Eater activity was up – he needed to leak those reports to the sympathetic presses that supported his side. That he had had to order some of his more…loyal followers to help the reports along – well. He would deal with that mess when he was in the Minister. In this regard, he firmly believed that the end justified the means.

Still, Albus was upholding his end of the bargain, which meant a whole other set of issues when Rufus took the Minister's position. But again, he needed the venerable old wizard in his corner for what was left of the fight. Fudge's legion of muggleborn supporters would be difficult enough to overcome. He needed almost all the pure blood and half-blood votes to counter them. Then he needed to win a majority of the muggleborn to his cause as well.

There was a knock at the door. "What?"

"A Mr. Lucius Malfoy to see you, sir."

Rufus spared a moment to sigh. Then, "Let him in."

Malfoy swept through the room like the lord his family had raised him to be. Rufus knew they had no real title – the French noble lines had not passed their titles off to their English cousins, but Rufus did not blind himself to their…connections.

He knew them and hated them.

"What do you want?" He didn't bother with pleasantries.

Malfoy never blinked. "I want the Temple to All Gods be built."

The Temple. Of course the bloody Temple. Day in and day out he was hounded by that bloody white elephant that was doing a jig in the middle of the room.

"The plans are not out of the committee yet," he said instead.

Malfoy took a seat in one of the slick leather chairs opposite him. "Of course not," the blond had the gall to look amused.

"Then, as you can see, there's nothing I can do, Malfoy."

A pale eyebrow arched. "You are not that stupid, Rufus. There are ways around this little…hiccup."

"Yes, but I, unlike some, do not like to use Imperio on the unwilling."

Malfoy made a soft sound in the back of his throat. "A Malfoy is above such things, I'm sure you know."

"Of course."

Pale eyes glittered in the lamplight. "I could win this election for you, Rufus, and you know it."

"I will win it fairly, Malfoy."

"Come, come. Call me Lucius, please."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Malfoy. Please leave."

The blond stayed seated. His hands were folded over the knobby head of his cane. "You're not nearly as boxed in as you think you are."

"Good day, Malfoy."

Lucius rose, but did not move. "The Temple could unite the pure blood families behind you."

"And in case you've gone blind, Malfoy, there are more muggle born on the streets now than all of the pure blood and half blood families put together."

"True," Malfoy cocked his head to one side. "But isn't it strange, Rufus, how almost half of those muggleborn fools are holding signs crying out for unity and peace?"

That checked Rufus from his scathing dismissal.

A sliver a smile crossed Malfoy's face. "Don't worry, Rufus. It'll all come together soon."

"Wait – what? Malfoy what are you planning?"

"Planning? Why Rufus, you make it sound so sinister." This time the smile was anything but pleasant. "Consider it a favor…or payback if you prefer." He turned on the ball of his foot, his dress robes perfect in their flare.

"Malfoy? Hey, wait –," but the man was gone, sailing passed Rufus' sputtering secretaries and interns without batting an eyelash.

Rufus' gut felt like lead. Nothing good ever came of the pure bloods mucking about in politics. He had a feeling he was not going to like whatever Malfoy had planned. And that he wouldn't be able to wiggle his way out of it when the plan was revealed to all and sundry.

Rufus allowed himself a large glass of firewhiskey that night.

qpqpqpqp

Neville liked mornings in the hot houses best. Hogwarts had such a vast array of them that he could spend all day trimming and weeding and never have to speak to another soul.

A perfect job for him.

Professor Sprout was grateful for his help. He hadn't told the others – or Blaise, he conscious piped in – but his OWLs were just for show. So would be his NEWTs. He had a position waiting for him at one of Britain's premiere labs as an Herbology assistant. He and Professor Sprout had finished up the paper work the year before – the position was close enough to his Gran's house for him to continue to live there, if he chose. Now he had to tell Blaise, but he had no idea where to start. He didn't want to give up his dreams, but what if Blaise wanted to do something else, live somewhere else?

"If he loves you, he will understand."

Neville yelped and fumbled with the pot in his hands. Rosmerta took it from him with a smile.

"M-m-my lady!" He didn't know whether to bow or kneel.

"Neville Longbottom," her eyes were bright in the early predawn glow. "I know your name."

"Ah…yes?"

Her smile grew. "You should not worry so," she set the plant down on one of the long potting tables that ran the length of the room.

"I shouldn't?"

"Of course not." She tapped his nose.

"Ahh…all right." He felt a bead of sweat break and slide down the column of his neck.

The goddess winked at him and stepped away. Even in the uncertain light, she was brilliant. The plants around her seemed to vibrate, their color flooding back for one last bloom.

She did a slow turn on the hot house. Her smile was gone by the time she faced him again. "There is something wrong here," she said.

"My lady?"

"Come now, boy. Speak up."

He blinked. "It's an early frost."

"No…no." Strands of hair fell into her face as she shook her head. She speared him with a glance. "Look at them, Neville Longbottom."

He drew in a shaky breath. "I have."

"And?"

He inclined his head. "There is something wrong here."

She let out a hiss and turned away. He could breathe again. "Many years have passed since I have felt the coming winter this much." She rubbed at her arms. "It is almost as if…"

"Almost as if what, my lady?"

She shook her head again. "I must go," she glanced over her shoulder at him, one corner of her mouth curling into a smile. "I will see you again, Neville Longbottom."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her smile grew and then she was gone.

End Chapter Twenty-Seven