Chapter Twenty-One

"A prophecy was made a few years back," Carissa Baxter murmured, taking a sip of her cooling tea and leaning back into her armchair comfortably. "I believe… oh, about nineteen years ago, maybe twenty. It spoke of a pureblood child born under a meteor shower." Carissa paused, then spoke directly to Draco, "That would be you."

Draco nodded – this was not new information to him. He already knew of the unique cosmic circumstances that had been in motion at his birth.

"This prophecy is a separate foretelling than the one with which you are concerned, however," Carissa continued. "The original prophecy, made by the late Seer Damian Jilk, merely stated that a new prophecy would be revealed once the child reached his or her eighteenth year."

"That would be this past June," Draco agreed, setting up a mental timeline in his head. Hermione realized with a jolt that she hadn't even known her fiancé's birthday.

Carissa continued, "And indeed, the very day after your birthday, I happened to be having tea with Lucius. I had thought it quite odd that he would have me there after being out-of-touch for such a length of time. But alas, an old woman will politely ignore small omissions for decent company. It was there I revealed the prophecy. How Lucius knew it would be ME who revealed it, I still do not know."

"The prophecy… what did it entail?" Draco probed.

Hermione bit her lip, every inch of her mind protesting the idea that divination should be shaping her life. If only she'd… what? Not walked out of Trelawny's class in third year? As if she would have learned anything anyway… but all the same, there was still the deep-rooted disdain for the subject she was finding hard to shake away, even now.

"A riddle!" Carissa exclaimed. "The whole thing was a riddle. Didn't even seem finished, that's why. I don't know about you, but I can't even finish the crossword…"

"So you're saying you don't know what the prophecy even entailed!" Hermione exclaimed disbelievingly.

"No, no, no," Carissa protested, shaking her head animatedly back and forth, "that's not what I'm saying at all. Here – I've written it down."

The woman reached into her back pocket with some difficulty and produced a fresh piece of parchment. Both Draco and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Noting their expressions, Carissa explained, "I had been expecting you." She placed the parchment on the wooden coffee table, facing them.

Hermione peered curiously at the parchment. It still smelled new, evoking that faint fusty smell parchment tended to have. The writing was spiky, written in red ink:

.

Prophetic response: D Jilk.

To Mr. L Malfoy, by Ms. S Patel.

Concerning one Mr. D Malfoy and one Miss H Granger.

D Jilk (18 February 1980): A pureblood child will be born during the meteor shower, 5 June 1980. A second prophecy will be foretold of that child upon the reaching of his or her eighteenth birthday.

Confirmed to be Mr. D Malfoy.

S Patel (6 June 1998): Concerning the young man spoken of in Seer Jilk's prophecy, eighteen years ago. He will be married before the outcome of the year to another pureblood witch. She will have been born to both purebloods, raised as a Muggle. Upon their marriage, there shall be six months of rain, followed by six months of snow.

The world will slowly begin to flood until the child has been conceived with the mark of destiny upon its face.

.

Draco pushed the parchment away, disgusted. Apparently the marriage wasn't even the worst part! Shitty weather… AND he was supposed to SLEEP with her! Just the idea was revolting.

"Are you alright, Hermione, dear?" Carissa anxiously murmured.

Draco's head turned to look loathingly at the creature beside him. She was deathly pale – but who cared, anyway? Stupid filthy girl – raised as a Muggle… like a, a…. an ANIMAL. The corner of Draco's lip upturned and he looked away. Hermione was staring blankly at the carpet.

"The S Patel refers to me," Carissa explained calmly, "it's my given name – Sonja Patel. Baxter is my Anglo-Saxon name. Are you sure you're alright, Hermione?"

Draco shot another blazing glare in Hermione's general direction. If only he hadn't ever gotten to know her! If only he hadn't agreed to that truce! If ONLY he hadn't found her THAT day! If only… he could hate her truly and fully!

He was trying extremely hard to hate her. He had once, a short while back – and he couldn't anymore. But he dearly wanted to.

"Yes, I'm fine. But… what's the point?"

"Point? I'm afraid I don't follow you, dear," Carissa admitted.

"The point," Hermione repeated, exasperated. Her face was milky pale, with all the blood rushed out, "there has to be more to it. By itself, that prophecy means nothing. There is no motivation there besides to stop a slow flood."

A sickening smile that didn't fit her personality played around Carissa's lips, "Ah, the motivation. Haven't you heard what they say about the child with the mark of destiny upon its face?"

"It's Potter all over again," Draco muttered darkly.

"Certainly not," Carissa rebuked, frowning at her former student, "Harry Potter brought about the fall of the Dark Lord both in infancy and again in manhood. This other child they speak about will bring the rise of the Dark Lord's soul."

"Just as you said," Hermione murmured. She was speaking to Draco, but she did not look at him.

Why was she speaking to him? She seemed so calm for someone who'd just been told she needed to bear the next Malfoy child to bring about a third rise of the Dark Lord. Draco would never understand her… He rubbed his forearm out of habit, as he always did when someone brought up the subject of Voldemort.

"You seem calm enough, Granger," Draco spat in accusation, his eyes sweeping briefly to the general area she was seated in. "Care to enlighten?"

"Your father was buying Grenadian Thestral Hoof Enamel," she explained, her voice calmer than her face looked, "which means that just the fulfilling of the prophecy isn't enough. There are other things that need to be done to raise Voldemort up. Besides, what makes you think I have any intention of having any remotely sexual relations with you?"

Her remark stung, but only for a moment. Draco relaxed; So… Hermione DID have some sense, after all. Well alright then.

"Good," was all he could think to say.

Carissa gazed at the two young people in front of her, an amused smirk playing on her face. If only they knew… but they were too young. They'd have to figure it out for themselves…

"I suggest," Hermione spoke up, a little more boldly now, "that we return home and do some research on whatever has been said about the 'child with the mark of destiny on its face'. Until we know what we're dealing with, we can't know how to fight it." She turned to Carissa, "Unless you have anything further you can tell us?"

Carissa shook her head, "I'm only as good as my art will allow me to be. However, I am interested in whatever you happen to find out. Dealing with the dead… happens to be my specialty."

The dim light in the room sputtered for a second, throwing ominous shadows across the splendid walls.

"Then we have heaps of work to do," Hermione answered in her best no-nonsense voice. She placed her now-cold cup of tea on the tray and stood up to leave.

Draco rolled his eyes, drained his cup of tea, and also stood up to go. "Can we Floo?" he inquired.

"Feel free," Carissa answered, the model of friendless and accommodation. "There's the fireplace in the hallway that's got the most standing room. The Floo Powder's in the bucket by the grate."

"Thank you, again for your hospitality and information," Hermione said, utilizing the manners Dora had drilled into her head.

"It was a pleasure, my dear," Carissa replied, smiling.

Once safely into the hallway, Draco and Hermione found Ginny sitting against the wall across from the fireplace Carissa had mentioned. The redhead was playing with a litter of very tiny kittens while their mother watched by cautiously, only a few feet away.

Ginny looked up upon noting the exit of her companions. Something in their faces must have hinted that neither was willing to talk about what they'd been told. She remained silent, offering only a small smile to Hermione, which was lightly returned.

Without even a word, the three each Floo'd back to the Black Manor, all three minds racing with untold possibilities...

.

.

Author's Note: The current year would be 1998 – something I got off some Harry Potter website. I didn't do a lot of research on it though, so if anyone would like to correct me, I'm sure I won't be offended.

I figured you guys needed another chapter soon, since I've been delinquent with my posts recently. Also, Lira broke her elbow on the jungle gym and I've been working from home this week to stay with her, so I've had a smidge of extra time for a change.

Thanks bucketloads to Michelle Amethyst, RaineyDays, whatifgirl, Conquistador Imp, MamaJMarie, MyLookOfDenial., GoodCharlotte615, and brooklynsam3 for reviewing!!

Conquistador Imp - I like constructive criticism. Thank you.

GoodCharlotte615 - Aww, that's sad! Poor parakeet. I still have no love for them, but I'm not totally heartless. We used to have them for a little while, but probably living in a house with four kids didn't do them any justice. We gave them to my sister, who loves birds and wanted them. I have never had the best of luck with birds, you see. A finch landed on my shoulder once. And an owl landed by me on a park bench another time. It's very random.