A/N: Just so there aren't any misunderstandings, what you have seen so far is about as explicit in terms of violence and sexual content as you will find in this story. The rating was changed to "M" in advance of the graveyard scene just in case someone complained that it went too far for a lower rating. It was a "better safe than sorry" decision, even though a higher rating will likely reduce the number of potential readers down the road.
Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "This Is the Best Thing" by avidbeader. After Ron is attacked and put in the hospital, Harry and Hermione finally realize some things about themselves and each other. H/Hr.
Chapter 57 - Don't Stop Believin'
Monday, May 3, 1995, Early Morning.
Hermione bit her bottom lip in contemplation as she stared at the parchment in front of her. She had stumbled across a mystery, and she wanted to solve it because she absolutely hated unanswered questions. The problem was, she had a million other things to do as well, and she wasn't sure how important this really was, especially compared to some of the other issues facing her and Jasmine.
Then again, this did appear to affect the two of them directly — that was why she had decided to sacrifice some sleep that morning to work on the problem. Her brow furrowing, she once more went down the list of incidents that she was only now beginning to see might be related.
Bonding with house elves. Giving and accepting magical oaths. Giving and accepting promise rings.
And then there was something that happened to them during Beltane.
In each case, there had been a magical glow that affected those involved. But what did the glow mean, and what did they all have in common? If she could figure out what the first three had in common, perhaps she could figure out what it was that happened to them during Beltane when she saw the bright green, blue and white glowing lights. Well, she thought she had seen them. She had been otherwise occupied at the time and couldn't be entirely sure what she saw, but there had definitely been a glow of some sort.
Was it that they were all oaths? Her words when she bonded Winky to her hadn't exactly been an oath, but she supposed it was plausible that they might be treated that way by magic. However, she definitely hadn't been saying anything while she and Jasmine were... well, that wasn't entirely true. She had said a few words, some rather incoherent in fact, but definitely none that could be construed as an oath. Well, not that kind of oath.
Hermione suddenly felt warm at the memory of what Jasmine had been doing to her to pull that kind of language out of her, then smiled as she wondered if Jasmine would mind being woken up a bit early.
Well, she thought, there's only one way to find out….
Monday, May 3, 1995, Afternoon.
"Mother?" Sirius asked as he walked into the hall. He'd finally given in and decided to address her as if she were in fact his mother. He had tried to resist and keep thinking of her as just a portrait, but it didn't work. The mannerisms and attitudes of the portrait were simply too true to life, and it was too easy for him to fall into old habits. He still suspected that it was a sign of growing insanity on his part, but he figured that he'd be better off if he just relaxed and accepted it.
"Yes?" she asked tiredly.
"I've got the room as repaired as I can," he said. It had taken him hours both yesterday and today to fix the heavy damage caused by the explosion. Had it been a normal explosion it probably would have been relatively simple, but this blast had left a lot of dark magical residue that had to be dealt with. The fact that he was using an old family wand instead of one matched to him didn't help his efforts.
"Some of it is beyond me, though," he continued. "I don't know if Kreacher can do anything, but if he can't then we'll have to bring in specialists in magical construction to deal with it."
"And of course we can't do that because of your fugitive status," Walburga said with a sigh. "Is there any danger to the house itself?"
"No, it doesn't look like it," Sirius answered. "I shored up the magical protections, and they all look fine. At least, they look fine to me — I'm not an expert."
Walburga nodded. "Speaking of Kreacher," she said slowly, "I finally got him to talk about why he was so upset after the explosion." Sirius raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He had never seen an elf that upset, but even more surprising was that he had been resisting answering answer his mother's questions. That elf had always been absolutely dedicated to her, and that dedication continued even after her death, though it was focused on her portrait for some reason.
"Apparently," she explained, "your brother Regulus stole something from the Dark Lord — something he prized greatly. Before he died, Regulus commanded Kreacher to destroy it, but he was never able to do so. Kreacher believes that the explosion was his fault, but I eventually got him calmed down.
"Regulus?" Sirius asked hoarsely. "I thought... I thought he died as a Death Eater."
"No, he seems to have betrayed the Dark Lord at the end," his mother said, an oddly tentative note in her voice. In life, she'd been an ardent supporter of any and all dark lords, and betrayal of any sort would have been a blight on the family honor; now, though, she seemed less certain about it. "Kreacher said it was a locket with an 'S' on it. I suspect that it was something that originally belonged to Salazar Slytherin, but Kreacher was never able to open it, and it was impervious to everything he did to it."
Sirius shook his head in disbelief. "I wish Regulus had come to me. I'd have helped him. If only he had trusted me, believed in me more. Maybe I could have... maybe he wouldn't…."
Walburga smiled kindly at her least-favorite son. "I know, Sirius. I know. We all made a lot of mistakes back then, it seems, but we need to focus on the present. Were you able to find any fragments of the object that exploded?"
"Yes," Sirius said slowly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some shards of metal. Despite being blackened and twisted, there were still hints of the gold they were made of. "These were the most damaged things I could find, and I think they must have been at the center of the blast. On top of that, I saw them shuddering and fizzling early this morning, which was strange because they weren't doing it yesterday."
"I want you to cast Menue Aposunergēsis Agma Thuos Baskanos on them," she commanded sharply.
Sirius looked at her quizzically, not understanding why she'd want such a thing.
"Just humor me."
He shrugged and asked her to repeat the spell for him, since he had little experience with Greek incantations. After a couple of attempts, he was able to cast the spell on the shards sitting in his hand. He gaped as all of them exhibited a slight, fluctuating green glow. "Wha—?" he tried to ask, but Walburga interrupted him.
"Seal them in a silk bag, then put it in a lead box," she commanded. "Say nothing of this to any of the other portraits. Or anyone at all, for that matter."
"What is going on?" Sirius asked. "What does this mean?"
Walburga shook her head and said, "Deal with those things first. I'll explain everything to you, but please, just take care of them and let me think for a while."
Sirius wasn't sure, but couldn't remember his mother saying "please" before. Ever. To anyone. That alone told him that there was something very wrong with the situation, and he decided that it would be best to go along with her, at least for now.
Once she was alone, Walburga Black sat heavily in the chair that had been provided for her in the painting. She may not have done a very good job at creating a horcrux for herself, but she had done her homework and learned all she could about them first. Her suspicions had been raised by Kreacher's description of how the locket behaved — and the very fact that a locket could "behave" in any way at all was a clue in itself.
The spell Sirius cast had confirmed it, though. The Dark Lord had created a horcrux. No wonder he had returned despite everyone thinking that he'd been killed back in 1981.
Well, she thought, his horcrux has been destroyed, though I'd love to know how. The fact that they are hard to destroy was part of what drew me to them in the first place. There shouldn't have been anything in that room that would have been a threat to it, and it sat there for years without a problem... at least, it did until recently. We really need to find out what happened, but Sirius just doesn't know enough to do a thorough investigation.
She was glad, at least, that without his horcrux the Dark Lord would be truly mortal once again, thus making it possible for someone to kill him. Once that's done, Sirius' goddaughter will be safer, she hoped. She's already had to deal with so much, having to face the Dark Lord four times already... wait, why has she faced him so many times?
Walburga stopped as she tried to remember everything she'd been told about her experiences at Hogwarts. Jasmine Dorea survived him for the first time in 1981, and she was just confronted by him again when he gained a new body. In between was her first year when the Dark Lord was trying to come back through the Philosopher's Stone, then in her second year when there was some sort of book….
The portrait's face paled as she started to run through the implications of that story. "Sirius!" she screamed, needing to get all of the details so she could be sure of what she suspected. And how do I explain to him what I fear without also telling him why I know so much about this subject?
Tuesday, May 4, 1995, Morning.
Albus Dumbledore picked at his eggs as he reflected on the visit of the Europeans from the continent. He had spent almost all day Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at the Ministry talking to representatives of both the French magical government and the veela enclaves. Three solid days of talking, and always lasting until late in the night. Talking... and not much else. Dumbledore had long grown accustomed to politicians who seemed to talk for no other reason than that they liked to hear their own voices — politicians who talked and talked but never said or accomplished much.
The French, however, had taken that to a whole new level, and that hadn't been his previous experience with them. He couldn't understand why they had invested so much time and effort into coming here and talking for days on end, then not appearing to care very much that nothing had been decided on. If he didn't know better, he'd think that they had never intended to accomplish anything. But what would the purpose of that be? he wondered. To simply test our resolve? To learn how we'd react?
It didn't make any sense. He suspected that he might be missing something, some key piece of information, but he couldn't imagine what it might be.
Fortunately we didn't have many problems with students trying to sneak out of the castle, he reflected. Increased patrols kept students in the dorms, leaving only the problem of a few Ravenclaws trying to use their astronomy telescopes to see what was going on, which the prefects quickly put a stop to. The only real problem was the Weasley twins' unexpected foray into the witches' dorm, and I still haven't figured out how they managed that! I don't envy Minerva's meeting with them and Molly...
He picked at his breakfast a bit more while letting his gaze wander across the Great Hall. He stopped when he reached Jasmine Potter, noticing that she and Hermione were reading a letter which the muggleborn witch had received that morning. Almost reflexively, his eyes shifted back over to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy and his friends ate quietly. Ever since he had been released from the hospital wing, he'd been incredibly subdued, especially for him.
I have to admit, it's nice to not have to listen to his insults and verbal attacks on others, Dumbledore thought reluctantly. It always seemed like such a good idea, giving him so much liberty. It reminded Miss Potter about the problems in our society, forced her to develop a thicker skin, and demonstrated to young Mr. Malfoy that there was an alternative path to the one his father wanted him to follow — a path characterized by forgiveness and tolerance.
Dumbledore sighed with regret. The meeting about Miss Potter's punishment, followed up with a private discussion with Mr. Malfoy, had revealed to him that he'd been wrong on pretty much every point. It gave Miss Potter reasons to despise our magical community, caused her to distrust me and my methods, and told Mr. Malfoy that the alternatives to his father were weak and unworthy of respect.
No longer feeling very hungry, Dumbledore set down his silverware and slowly made his way out of the Great Hall, thinking about the changes he'd have to make to his plans. He still believed that his long-term plans were the right way to deal with Tom and other problems in society, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible to make a few improvements in the details.
"What do you suppose he wants?" Jasmine asked as they hurried to the seventh floor. They'd have to be fast if they wanted to read the message and still get to History of Magic class on time. Not that Binns would notice if they were late or even skived entirely, but Hermione wouldn't allow it.
"I don't know," Hermione answered, "but this is the first time he's ever written 'urgent' on his message, so we'd better find out."
Once they were in the Room of Requirement, Hermione tapped the piece of parchment with her wand and recited, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," eliciting a small sort of amusement from Jasmine, given how rare it was that Hermione ever deliberately set out to do mischief.
As surprised as they were by the declared urgency of the note, they were even more confused by the contents of the full message. Sirius wanted them to explain events of the second year in as much detail as possible, with a special focus on everything they knew about the diary: where it came from, what it did, how people reacted around it, etc.
"What do you suppose this is all about?" Hermione wondered.
"Dunno," Jasmine said with a frown, "but he's asking for a lot. You, me, and Ginny will all have to contribute in order to give him as much as he seems to need."
"Ginny won't like reliving all of that," Hermione pointed out.
Jasmine grimaced. "I know — I'm not exactly looking forward to it myself. But he says it could be critical."
"Why don't we ask Neville to do it with her?" Hermione suggested. "I think she's still a little sweet on him, even if she's dating Dean. She might find it easier to open up to him."
Jasmine nodded. "Good idea. I'll get started on my part during History of Magic, then during break you can read it over and add in your own observations. If we can get Ginny's this evening, we can respond to Sirius by tomorrow morning."
Hermione appeared a bit put out as she burned the note, annoyed that her girlfriend was so ready to ignore their History of Magic lecture, but she had to admit that Jasmine's plan would see them finished with the project as quickly as possible.
Hidden in the shadows of a seventh-floor alcove, two identical Gryffindor wizards gave each other a significant look. The two witches they'd been investigating had apparently found a room that even they had never discovered! They hurried over to where they had been sure they'd seen a door, but no matter what they did, they couldn't find one, and none of their detection spells revealed a thing.
"Curiouser and curiouser," one twin said to his brother.
"Indeed," the second twin agreed. "There is clearly far more going on than we realized."
"We'll simply need to step up our surveillance," the first twin responded, not realizing that they had just effectively admitted to not having learned their lesson, thus dooming them to greater and more detailed instruction on the art of creativity.
Saturday, May 8, 1995, Afternoon.
Jasmine and Hermione burst through the surface of the pool, laughing and smiling. "Wow," Hermione said, "I never would have imagined that using gillyweed would be so much fun. We should have done this sooner!"
"I never imagined that kissing underwater while using gillyweed would be so much fun," Jasmine responded with a grin.
"It's definitely something we'll have to explore more in the future," Hermione agreed. "For science, of course."
"Of course!" Jasmine said as she kicked over to the shallow end of the pool where she could stand and leaned back against the side. Hermione followed and turned around so she could lean back against Jasmine, reveling in the embrace. For her part, Jasmine enjoyed taking advantage of the fact that Hermione's hair was gathered up under her swimming cap, giving the green-eyed witch access to a surprisingly long and graceful neck to nuzzle and nip at.
"Jasmine, you haven't heard back from the DMLE yet, have you?" Hermione asked.
Jasmine shook her head. "Madam Bones said it might be a while, so I haven't given it a lot of thought. It's not something I like to dwell on, frankly.
"I understand," Hermione said, "but it has been over a month."
Silence fell between them until Jasmine brought up a topic that she had been meaning to discuss but could never find the right time. This almost certainly wasn't the right time either, but she couldn't keep putting it off anymore.
"Hermione, have you thought about what you'll say to your parents about us?" Jasmine asked.
"I really don't know," Hermione said sadly. "You know we aren't close, so it's hard for me to predict how they'd react. I've never heard them comment positively or negatively when stories about gays and lesbians come up in the news. I... I just have no idea."
"They seem pretty awesome to me," Jasmine said, causing Hermione to give a slightly embarrassed smile, "so maybe they'll accept us, even if it takes a bit of time. Both of us getting closer to them would help."
"Closer?" Hermione asked with a bit of a squeak. "I... I don't know if we can still do that."
Jasmine shook her head. "Hermione, your parents are great, especially your mum. That was made obvious to me after the incredibly thoughtful gift they sent me for Christmas and then sending those books you asked for. Twice, even! A person who doesn't care about you wouldn't be so helpful to a friend of yours that they don't really know. Every time you've owled them for help, they've come through, haven't they?"
Hermione paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before answering, "Yes, they have."
"They've come through incredibly, I'd say," Jasmine said. "And those are all cases where they knew exactly what you needed because you told them."
"So maybe the rest of the time, they don't know, and that's why they always seem so distant to me?" Hermione said to continue the thought.
"Maybe," Jasmine said. "I mean, if they don't know what to do — whether because of how distant you've all grown, because you're a witch, or something else — then maybe they're just kinda frozen, not wanting to act for fear of making a mistake."
"But they practically leap to help when they're sure of what I need," Hermione said.
"So maybe the distance between you isn't as great as you think?" Jasmine suggested, stroking the back of Hermione's hand. "Or, at the very least, won't be as hard to bridge?"
"You're right," Hermione said as she nodded. "I'll have to think about what I can do."
"Good," Jasmine said softly. "I can't remember my parents and grew up always wishing that I had parents who love me. I'm pretty sure yours do, even if they seem to have trouble showing it, so I'd hate to see you give up on them when you don't have to. Try to trust and believe in them, and maybe they'll surprise you."
Hermione turned around in Jasmine's arms and looked deep into her green eyes. Only just then did she start to understand how much having parents, even surrogate ones, would mean to her girlfriend. The Dursleys were awful and didn't sound like they were fit to raise a hamster. The Weasleys were nice, but Molly was way too overbearing. But her own parents... her parents could potentially fill that hole in Jasmine's life, just a little.
For that to happen, though, Hermione would have to reconnect with them herself, then help them get to know how wonderful Jasmine was. And somehow, eventually, she'd have to tell them about their relationship. It wasn't much of a plan yet, but it was a start. Jasmine had just helped her realize that her relationship with her parents might be more salvageable than she thought; what was more, she'd been given more of a reason to salvage it than she ever thought she'd have.
Hermione wanted to have her parents back. Even more, she wanted to give Jasmine a chance to feel what it was like to have real, loving parents herself.
Monday, May 10, 1995, Morning.
Already on his second cup of chojo that morning, Earchewer stared down in concentration at the latest urgent intelligence report from Hogwarts. It looked as though there were two separate items, but he doubted that they were all that separate. First there had been a massive delegation of European witches and veela — both mostly French — that camped on the Hogwarts grounds. They had supposedly been in the country to talk to the Ministry about the events of the second task, but according to this report their numbers had been far, far too high for any simple diplomatic delegation.
And according to his source in the Ministry, the few that actually had met with British officials did not seem to be overly concerned with accomplishing much. That settles it, Earchewer concluded, they had ulterior motives for being in Britain — motives that were probably related to Hogwarts in some fashion.
They had held what appeared to have been an enormous Beltane celebration in the Forbidden Forest — a celebration which the centaurs had not only welcomed, but had personally protected. The goblin's intelligence source couldn't get close enough to report on any details, but there had been a massive eruption of fire from the forest, then later, an even more massive surge of magical energy. All through the night and for two days afterwards, smaller but still substantial surges of magical energy continue to flow out from the forest, their cause unknown.
Was there something important about that forest which the French had been looking for? Something they could use in a ritual? Was it even truly a Beltane celebration? Could it have been a weapon that they were looking for... and found? And how did they get the centaurs to agree to help them, whatever they were doing? Unfortunately, there were no answers to these questions.
At least, no obvious answers, unless they were contained in the second bit of information: the forest itself was changing. It seemed to be improving substantially, in fact, with new growth pushing back against old, dark, and dying elements. It had already started before Beltane, so it clearly wasn't directly caused by the celebration, but the process certainly appeared to have sped up radically since then.
The only other thing that connected the French, veela, and Hogwarts were those two English witches that he'd been getting regular reports about... though it hardly seemed likely that they would have had anything to do with whatever happened in the forest.
The audit for the one witch was complete, but they hadn't figured out a way to communicate with her without risking alerting the wrong people — and this was something they absolutely didn't want to take any chances on, even if it meant delaying communication for a while. Is it simply a coincidence that a large number of veela show up at Hogwarts now? he asked himself. There was no evidence of the two witches meeting them, but that doesn't mean anything. No, it's probably not a coincidence — I'll have to forward all of this on to the Gatekeeper. I also need to push my source to get more information on events like this. We're digging blind here!
Once the communications packet had been prepared, Earchewer turned to the next high-priority item: bursts of dark magic being detected down around some of the older high-security vaults — probably the Lestrange vault, but they couldn't be sure just yet. Three months earlier, Nailtooth had devised a plan to install dark magic detectors around the area, but the proposal required removing the guard dragon. It was a drastic step, but Vault Master Ripsaw had endorsed it as their best chance for tracking down the source of the dark magic emissions.
Earchewer leaned back in his chair to think about that. Removing a guard dragon was no easy task, and not one to be done lightly, since it created a rather large hole in their security. It was even worse in this case because the dragon in question was especially old. As a result, the plan had been put on hold to see if the problem kept occurring — and it had, which meant that decision about whether to move forward was now his. Unfortunately, there was no one for him to pass the problem along to.
Friday, May 14, 1995. Evening.
The Room of Requirement was packed. A significant percentage of the witches in the school were here, plus a few wizards. Jasmine, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny had been reluctant to let any hint about the existence of the room get out, but there was simply no other place to meet in secret — not with so many students. Fortunately, Hermione had come up with the idea of requiring everyone to sign a charmed parchment that prevented them from discussing anything they learned during the meeting that night. It wasn't foolproof security, but it was better than nothing.
Once it was clear that everyone who was coming was already there, Daphne stood on a platform to address the gathering. Jasmine watched from the side. She had agreed to help — to lend her name and support — but not to lead. Despite the exhortations of the study group, she didn't believe that she was a leader, and she didn't want to be responsible for what might happen to people if things went wrong, so this had been their compromise.
Finally it was Jasmine's turn to speak. She may have been able to avoid being made a leader, but she couldn't avoid talking to people. "Hi," she began a bit awkwardly. "You all know my name, but few of you actually know me very well. That will hopefully change over the coming months as we all work together, helping each other, but right now I need to talk to you about a much bigger issue." She took a calming breath, then continued, "You all know by now what happened to me last month — my kidnapping, torture, and the attempt to kill me. What you need to know is that it wasn't just about me. I was the first, but I won't be the last. Many more will be targeted, much like I was. You may be next."
Jasmine looked around at the horrified faces staring back at her. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that, but it's true. There is a group of dark wizards out there right now who would like nothing more than to rape, torture, and kill those they consider beneath them. Muggleborn will be their first and favorite targets, but so-called 'blood traitors,' foreigners, anyone who stands in their way, and eventually even witches in general will be targeted in one way or another." She paused to let this sink in a bit. "The Ministry is aware of this, but the Ministry didn't prove itself to be very effective the last time there was a gang of dark wizards terrorizing Britain, and we shouldn't assume that they magically became competent over the past decade and a half."
There were actually a few chuckles at that, and she began to relax a little as she warmed to her subject. "This means that you have to be ready, willing, and able to protect yourselves and your families. It means that you will have to take responsibility for your lives, despite the fact that you're still students. It sucks, I know — I know because I've been fighting for my life and the lives of those I care about almost since I arrived at Hogwarts. I can't protect you from it, but I can help you protect yourselves. Well, me and my friends up here can." Jasmine gestured to members of the study group who were all standing up front. She thought she caught Hermione mouthing "my friends and I!"
"This is just the first meeting, so not much will be accomplished," Jasmine continued. "However, before the term ends, we hope to do several things. You should all learn a few defensive and offensive spells — nothing fancy, just enough for basic protection. Next year we'll be teaching more advanced stuff, but in the time remaining we're focusing on what's absolutely necessary. You'll learn about how gangs of dark wizards have operated in the past so you can watch for signs of them. You'll learn a few things you can do to protect your homes and families. You'll learn about some basic first aid potions that you'll be able to brew at home — yes, the restrictions on underage magic don't apply to potions! And finally you'll be organized into mutual support groups based on who lives closest to who. That way you'll know where you can go for help if something happens."
Jasmine paused again, meeting the gazes of those around her. Many were still scared, but even more were starting to look determined, which was what she was hoping to see. "I won't lie to you: this won't be easy. People will get hurt. But if you work hard, then hopefully the ones who get hurt are the dark wizards who want to do awful things to you. I did it, and I keep surviving because of the help of my friends. You can do it too, and when you win it will be because of the witch or wizard standing next to you. Our group is about witches helping witches — helping each other to be better and to achieve our goals. Sometimes, it may be about helping each other to survive. That's why I'm here, at least."
It started with Hermione and Daphne, but the clapping and cheering quickly spread throughout the entire assembled group. Jasmine smiled in appreciation and hoped that she had been successful in giving them a symbol to believe in, because they'd need that belief in order to weather the coming storm.
In a nearby alcove, there was absolutely no one spying in an attempt to learn more about the Room of Requirement. There had been early on, but they had quickly been discovered and were now mercifully unconscious in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had been drawn out of her office by banging and screaming outside the main doors, and upon investigation, she found the Weasley twins in a panic because someone had switched their faces and their buttcheeks.
Moreover, according to the twins, their faces had been switched to the other twin's bum. She had no idea how they could tell, and in all honesty she didn't really want to know. Eventually she was forced to stun them because they were so upset that they were interfering with her attempts to treat them. Normally she'd be able to fix a badly cast switching spell in a trice, but something about their situation was resisting all of her efforts to fix it, and she was coming to the conclusion that she might have to contact St. Mungo's for expert advice.
First, though, she decided that she ought to let Minerva know, since it involved two of her most troublesome lions.
Friday, May 14, 1995. Night.
Lord Voldemort looked over the group of wizards who had come to be marked as his Death Eaters and scowled. Pathetic, he thought to himself as he tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne. All purebloods, but none of them are worth anything. It was, however, the best he could do right now. It would take a while before he could once again make his message appeal to the richer, more sophisticated purebloods, but he would get there... though the message might need to be delivered with a few threats and the occasional curse, just to be sure.
In the meantime, the best he'd be able to expect to rally to his cause were poor purebloods — wizards, mostly, who felt they were entitled to better jobs, better houses, better wives, and more gold, yet who kept being surpassed by everyone else. Because of the restrictive nature of their society's laws, it was rare that they were ever actually surpassed by mudbloods, half-bloods, foreigners, or witches, but they only needed to see it happen once or twice in order to conclude that it always happened, thus fixing their hatred on what Voldemort found to be appropriate targets.
It was the same in the early days of his first rise to power, too. In every society there were always plenty of poor, underachieving members of the dominant class who resented the success of others and who felt they were entitled to more. Muggles had them too, and they were a ready source of troops for anyone who could harness their resentments, focus them on politically vulnerable targets, and then unleash them in the service of whatever nonsensical ideology was convenient.
Voldemort didn't care about these wizards. He had no interest in their hopes, their dreams, or their fears. All he cared about was the fact that they had managed to work themselves into a frothing hatred against minorities that had never harmed them in any way. Even better, they were now willing to be used by him to attack his enemies simply because he convinced them that his enemies and those minorities were the same thing. And, once they were marked, they'd do whatever he demanded — they wouldn't have much choice.
Now Voldemort smiled. They may be pathetic, but soon they will be Ours, and We will use them to start rebuilding Our power. There still isn't any clue about what caused us to first lose consciousness at the beginning of the month, not to mention why Our magic feels weak. Until We can figure out what happened, We must stay in the shadows and recruit more servants. In the meantime, though, We will enjoy some entertainment.
"You all know why you are here," Voldemort announced as he rose from his throne and stepped down to face his newest recruits. "It's time for you to take the Mark and officially become Death Eaters!" This was greeted by a cheer from the assembled crowd. "Receiving the Mark does not come free, however. Only true believers… only the most committed… only those who prove themselves worthy can be Marked."
He stopped to look at each of them in turn. "Are you committed? Do you believe? Do you think you have what it takes to be a Death Eater?" Once again, this was greeted with cheers, though louder this time. "We are purebloods. We do not consider muggles to be our equals. We consider them to be little more than animals. Toys. Playthings." He paused again as he looked at them all. "We use the torture curse to teach them their place. We use them for our pleasure because they are lucky that we would even deign to touch them. We kill them because the world becomes a better place when we have cleansed their filth away."
Voldemort walked back up the steps and turned back around, standing in front of his throne. "Do you think you have what it takes?" Several of the recruits cried out in agreement. "What?" he asked menacingly. "We asked if you have what it takes!" Now all of them cried out loudly, shouting "Yes!"
He glanced around at his current Death Eaters, including some inner circle members, standing masked along the walls of the room. They would take care of any of the new recruits who proved to be too squeamish to do what needed to be done. Well, except for Wormtail, who sat pitifully in the corner. For some reason, he had expected to be rewarded more than he had been, despite having done such a miserable job at taking care of Voldemort's little homunculus body.
"We shall see," he said to them, and with a wave of his wand, he cancelled a disillusionment charm that had been active behind them. When they turned around, they saw a group of a dozen crying muggles, bloodied and with their clothing half torn off.
All were girls in their mid-teens.
And all had dark red hair.
"Demonstrate for Us that you have what it takes," Voldemort said as he sat back on his throne. He smiled rapturously once the screaming started.
Jasmine Potter thrashed back and forth, caught up in the throes of a nightmare, something that hadn't happened in many months because her new relationship with Hermione had effectively blocked Voldemort's emotions from affecting her. Now, though, Voldemort's emotions were so strong — and so directly related to her — that some were filtering through.
She was soon joined by Hermione, who always seemed to be aware of Jasmine's state at night and so had always been quick to offer comfort when she had a nightmare. Tonight that comfort was needed more than ever, and it took an unusually long time for her to soothe the girl, who kept sobbing and whimpering in her sleep.
Eventually she did quiet down, and Hermione remained by her side until morning, though Jasmine wouldn't be able to tell her anything because she wouldn't remember any details from the nightmare.
She had no idea how fortunate she was.
Saturday, May 15, 1995. Afternoon.
Sirius stared disbelievingly at the portrait of his mother. He knew from her reaction to whatever had caused the explosion in the sitting room that she had been hiding something, and her demand to learn everything possible about what had happened during Jasmine's second year was strange even for her. But this went far beyond anything he could have imagined.
"Are you… are you absolutely certain?" he asked as he tried to wrap his mind around the very concept of splitting one's soul.
"As sure as I can be, given how little direct evidence we have," Walburga answered. "We'd need to actually have one for absolute certainty, and even then that wouldn't tell us if there were more than one out there. However…" she trailed off, shrugging helplessly.
"Yeah," Sirius said hoarsely, "both the locket and the diary fit the descriptions from that book." Sirius could have gone and read the book himself — it was still kept in a sealed area of the library — but he didn't even want to touch it. He'd have destroyed the book if he didn't suspect that knowledge of such evil magic might be necessary to oppose it when encountered, but the thought of it being in the house for any reason still made him ill.
Though the fact that his mother knew it well enough to recite it from memory bothered him even more.
"And if he made two…" she said.
"He might have made more," Sirius finished. "But not necessarily — three soul pieces is an arithmantically sound number."
"Very true," Walburga conceded, "but seven is stronger. The only way to find out is to search for more and see what comes up. Or, I suppose you could try to kill the Dark Lord again and wait and see if he comes back…."
Sirius shook his head. "I think it would be safer to try the first, at least for now."
"Agreed," Walburga said. "So we need to learn all we can about his life and background. That's the first place to look for clues, I think."
"I wonder if anyone else knows and might have worked on this," Sirius thought aloud.
"Well, Regulus found out, even if he didn't know all the details," Walburga said, "so it's possible. Who else might have been working against the Dark Lord? Dumbledore, perhaps?"
Sirius furrowed his brow and nodded. "Yes, if anyone has any ideas, he's a good bet. Means we'll have to work with him more closely, too."
"Check with Phineas. See if he remembers Dumbledore ever mentioning anything," Walburga said. "No, wait — bring Phineas here. We should inquire closely about how Dumbledore behaved around the diary. Jasmine Dorea said she left it with him, right? Then his behavior alone might provide clues about his knowledge."
Sirius immediately went after Phineas' portrait, making a mental note to start pressuring that magical supplier to get all the frames he needed for the warded portrait room he had prepared — then he wouldn't have to run around like this. It was only when he reached Phineas' portrait that he remembered that Kreacher could have easily done it, and that his mother had probably sent him off like that just to annoy him.
Sunday, May 16, 1995. Morning.
No one in the goblin delegation to the veela was happy, and Lufestre Gydenna least of all. She scowled as she sat in the outer reception area, waiting to be admitted to see the Theledrion. She had originally arrived at the beginning of the month, only to be informed that the council wasn't even present and that she'd have to wait several days. Ha! she thought, As if I'd believe such an obvious lie. One or two members of the Theledrion might be travelling at any given time, I'm sure, but the entire ruling council would never leave, no more than the Bet Bel would. They were stalling me for some reason, and I don't like it. It's insulting!
The fact that they were plotting something was only emphasized when she'd been informed back on the sixth that they'd all returned, but she still couldn't see them. They'd claimed that there had been "complications" of some sort and that they hoped they'd have it all sorted by the end of the full moon, forcing her to wait another ten days. She was absolutely furious at the disrespect they'd been showing her, and she had been tempted to just pack up and leave.
She probably would have, too, if the reigning goblin monarch hadn't been a childhood friend who had asked her personally to lead this delegation. She even called me "Lufey," my childhood nickname, she grumbled, just to put me off balance.
I still don't understand why she asked me, Lufestre fumed to herself. I'm no diplomat. I'm the high priestess, for the Goddess' sake. I'm needed in our main temple. I shouldn't be cooling my heels here, waiting for those bird-brained harpies to get around to remembering that I exist!
Lufestre closed her eyes and counted backwards from twenty in Mermish in an attempt to rein in her temper. Hellraiser apparently believed in her and felt she was the best choice for this mission, and she didn't want to disappoint her friend and queen. Besides, it wouldn't be a good idea to do anything violent here, where she and the others were surrounded by the legendary veela warriors, all of whom were looking distressingly larger, fiercer, and more imposing in their golden armor than the goblin intelligence reports said they should be.
It's possible that our records are wrong, she considered, since they are so old; but it's more likely that something's changed — yet another reason why it was a bad idea for us to cease regular diplomatic exchanges with them.
Finally the massive doors opened and someone approached, inviting the goblin delegation to come in and address the Theledrion. It's about time, Lufestre grumbled inwardly.
The first thing she noticed was the towering statues of ancient goddesses that stood along all four walls of the large Theledrion chambers. I guess this is why Hellraiser wanted me to do this, she concluded. I knew they were devotees of goddesses, but this is a bit more than I had expected.
The next thing she noticed was the Theledrion itself: two dozen veela sitting on the opposite side of a large table shaped in a half circle. Each was fitter and more beautiful than Lufestre could have imagined. Well, beautiful for humans, at any rate. It was only when she reached the table, however, that she realized they were all glowing slightly — glowing skin, glowing hair, and glowing eyes. It wasn't too strong, and one had to be close to really notice, especially in the daylight, but it was definitely there.
"What brings a goblin priestess to our sacred chambers?" asked one of the veela, her voice resonating with enough magical power to make Lufestre feel weak in the knees. Haemed! she cursed inwardly. I knew I should have turned this job down!