Prophecies of Doom

Alina was walking back to the castle after an afternoon in Hogsmeade. She'd spent a few enjoyable hours browsing the bookshelves at Graymalkin's Grimoires, bought a new Quick Quill and re-usable, waterproof notes-parchments at Scrivenshaft's and treated herself to chocolate ice-cream on the terrace of Madam Puddifoot's. Best of all, since she'd gone on her own, she'd be back at the castle in time to squeeze in another session with The Book before dinner.

Thinking of The Book made her scowl as she walked towards the Gatehouse.

Professor Snape had given it to her the weekend Hermione was rescued. On the first day of autumn equinox, the Anglo-Saxon hærfest and modern Wiccan Mabon. Not a day of power. But a day of balance.

Alina pondered the problem of balance. They'd only started learning about the way constellations and alignments affected the ebb and flow of magic in Astronomy class this year.

Why had Snape given The Book to her then? Especially when there'd been so much else on his mind?

If equinox means that everything is in balance that day, that all magic is perfectly balanced that day, then that means that my magic was in balance, too, she mused. She visualised a balance scale. With the magic of Light resting on one weighing pan and the Dark Arts on the other. Or her magic weighing down one side and her Muggleness on the other? Which side would The Book weigh down?

Alina sighed. Something to meditate on during her session with The Book today.

That's what she did with the book so far: Meditate over it. She sat and gazed at its green leather binding, its tarnished silver clasps and corner guards until her eyes hurt.

As per Professor Snape's instructions. He was always curt, short-spoken in class, but what he'd told her about The Book had been sparse even for him: "Do not attempt to read it. Do not even attempt to open it until I tell you so. Make it your own."

That was all. And more than irritating. (How can you make a book 'your own' without reading it?) Though Alina had to admit she was almost relieved that she did not have to open and attempt to read it yet.

Because her strategy of making The Book 'her own' consisted of more than meditation. She carried with her wherever she went. At night she slept with it stuffed under her pillow. And in her dreams she sometimes heard whispering voices. Voices, that for once had nothing to do with people dying, and everything with The Book.

She shivered and forced her attention back into the real world. Alina glanced to her right. Somehow everything in the Highlands held a touch of grey: The tree trunks were green-grey, the lake grey-blue with silver sparkles where the rays of the sun hit the surface. And even the bright blue sky was smudged with a hint of grey clouds drifting in from the Atlantic ocean.

A spot of bright purple and gold zoomed in wild circles above the lake, dipping downwards and upwards in great figures of eight. Alina smiled. Woodstock was enjoying the good weather.

Then Alina looked ahead and frowned. Was that Hermione standing at the edge of the cliffs, shoulders hunched, shaking?

oooOooo

Bill Weasley put down his beaker. The black Franconian beer he had enjoyed just a moment ago suddenly tasted stale in his mouth. "What do you think, Severus? Is Fudge going to win the election?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You read the same paper I do. You attended the same staff meeting I did. So what do you think, Bill? Or aren't you paid for that?"

Bill refused to get riled up. He was well aware that there was no love lost between Fudge and Snape. "Sometimes I wonder," he commented calmly.

He twirled the golden goblet in his hands. "Ron thinks Fudge will win. He's taken to prophesying the end of the wizarding world as we knew it, should that happen."

Neville winced. He was touchy about that particular topic. "It's because of that – Fudge and that committee of his, the – what's it called? Office for Harmony? No – Office for Harmonious Magical Markets. That's it. They've been rather hard on the shop last year, haven't they?"

Bill nodded. "Yes. They lost the licences for some of their best-selling products because of new EMU regulations."

Severus snorted. Then he rose to his feet with soft swish of his robes. "I have to take my leave now. Hermione should have returned from Hogsmeade by now."

oooOooo

Astoria had just settled down to sort through a stack of papers flooed in fresh from the EMU, when someone knocked on the door. In the silence of the Ministry dungeons the sound echoed like drum rolls. Instinctively, she sucked in her breath and pressed the palm of her hand against her chest as if to slow down her racing heartbeat that way. Then she jumped to her feet and went to open the door.

The woman on the other side was so thin and pale she might have been a ghost. Her complexion reminded Astoria of chalk. Dry and white. Her hair was almost white, with the sickly yellowish hue that pale golden hair sometimes acquires in age. When she raised her head and looked at Astoria with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, her movements were careful, slow and stiff like those of an old woman in her frailty.

Astoria was barely able to suppress a shocked gasp.

"How do you do, Miss Greengrass," Narcissa Malfoy said softly. "I was wondering if you might tell Draco that I'm here. I would like to – ask if it is possible to speak with him." She paused. "If … he is willing to see me."

"Oh…" Astoria gulped for breath. "Of course." Her voice sounded choked and thin to her ears. "Please come in and sit down, I'll just – just – pop around the corner to his office and – uh – ask him."

oooOooo

A/N: The Book of the Dead is from Abhorsen canon, but I'll also be borrowing from Egyptian and Tibetan mythology as far as it suits my purpose.