Regretfully Uncaring
Chapter 42: The Girl in the Void and the Wolf in the Dark
Daphne found herself sitting alone at the Slytherin table. Not that this was a rare occurrence, but Astoria tried to say hello from time to time. This morning she hadn't.
Across the hall from her sat Ron. Or rather, Ron's back, as he was facing away from her. Neville sat across from him and the two seemed to be in a heated discussion. Professor Umbridge was sitting at the head table, even though she wasn't actually teaching anything, sipping her tea. Daphne felt that it was a stretch to call the stuff tea. Dirty sugar water was more appropriate.
She wasn't one to judge, so she didn't hold it against the woman.
Today was Monday. This was unfortunate for a multitude of reasons, but the main contender was that they had History of Magic first.
They were in their fifth year. She felt like they'd got the gist of the goblin rebellions.
That old complaint didn't ring so true with the new curriculum in place. It would've taken a near miracle for Binns to change his teaching practices, but somehow, he had.
It wasn't that she disagreed with the material being presented, it was the way they were told to discuss it. Bigotry was not a fundamental pillar of her being. From a young age, her mother – and to an extent, her father – had made sure both she and Astoria knew that blood purity was nothing more than dangerous men speaking louder than others in dangerous times.
Except now, those dangerous men were in charge. Rules were rules, and if Daphne benefited from them, she wasn't going to turn them away. It was dangerous and foolhardy to oppose the Ministry.
So, she turned her focus away from Ron and stood from the table. She collected her things and made her way to the exit, down to Professor Binns' class.
When she arrived, she found the door was open as always, and the classroom empty. She found a spot at the back of the class and got everything ready to take notes.
The Slytherins shared History with the Ravenclaws this term. It wasn't all that different. The house of the wise was just as distracted and bored as the Gryffindors. The only difference was that they were distracted and bored at the front of the class.
Slowly, as the clock ticked by, the Ravenclaws filled the room. As expected, they stuck to the front, completely ignoring Daphne.
She was in the very far corner. There were so many possible places to sit away from her, it could probably fit the entirety of her year's Slytherin population. Which was why she was distinctly confused, and disgruntled, by the thin frame of Theodore Nott sitting in the chair beside her.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked.
Daphne shook her head. It wasn't a lie. She was indifferent.
"Thanks," he smiled and retrieved a golden snitch model. He unfurled the wings manually, pulling on them and coiling them before the snitch automatically drew its wings into itself.
"What is that?" Daphne asked, never having seen a snitch act that way before.
Theo shrugged. "It's just a toy. You can fidget with it, helps me focus,"
Daphne nodded, returning to her original position, facing the front of the class.
Professor Binns came through the blackboard and began his lesson. They were discussing the muggles' First World War now. It was fascinating history if it was told by quite literally any other teacher.
On and on it went. The horrors the muggles inflicted upon each other and the wizarding world ran like molasses through her brain. Unbearably uninteresting.
"And so, the International Confederacy of Wizards voted to aid the muggles in their war, to end it as soon as possible. This was a mistake," Binns said with an odd surge of passion that brought Daphne out of her straight-faced glazed expression. "Can one of you tell me why?"
Theo Nott raised his hand.
"Yes, you in the back there," said Binns, pointing to Theo.
"Well, it's rather simple. The First World War was a muggle conflict. Their battles, their frustrations, harmed us. We should have either stayed out of it or taken them to war ourselves,"
Daphne frowned but couldn't see any lapse in judgment in Theo's statement. He was right, fundamentally. It wasn't our war. The damages the muggles caused on magical society warranted a counterattack, yet instead, the wizarding world chose to aid them in…
Then it clicked. The ICW had made the right choice. They chose to de-escalate the conflict, leading to less damage overall.
She looked around the classroom, watching all of the stern faces and students taking notes. They weren't thinking for themselves. They were taking in information at face value and accepting the immediate truth.
Yes, the First World War wasn't a wizarding conflict. Yes, it led to hundreds of magical deaths, but for how much longer would the war have gone on had the magical community remained stagnant? In the long run, it made sense.
But no one here was thinking about the long run. They were impressionable children in a class they didn't care about. Sure, they may hate History of Magic, but that didn't mean they didn't take anything in.
"Do you really believe that?" Daphne whispered to Theo. "Do you really think we should have started a war with the muggles?"
Theo looked at her as though she'd grown three heads. "No, of course not. That would've been a waste of resources,"
"Then why did you say it?" Daphne asked.
Theo shrugged. "It doesn't matter, does it?"
Only it did matter. His words were spoken without thought to the repercussions.
Daphne crossed her arms on her desk and rested her head on them. Maybe it didn't matter. She'd thought so herself earlier that morning. This was the direction the Ministry was going. There was no need to rebel because she disagreed with a part of the new office's beliefs. You-Know-Who was in charge, pulling the strings while no one was looking.
If no one was going to stand up and put an end to things, she wouldn't be the one to start it. There was a future ahead of her. Her father was well regarded, and their name had yet to have been tarnished. She wouldn't ruin her chances at success. Not for anyone or anything.
As she sat there, contemplating her own beliefs and those of the Ministry, she was lulled to sleep by Binns slow, tired voice.
The dream was different this time, and she knew it. The air was charged with something that hadn't been there before.
She and Astoria still ran around the topiaries and flower beds, and they still shouted the same conversation, but the dream was different.
Almost like it was made of something else.
With little effort at all, she let the Shattered Sky wrap around her and everything she was. Only this time, it was filled with complete silence.
There were no blink-and-you-miss-it memories. No voices from her past. This time it was total, suffocating silence.
Then, like a hand reaching out from the dark, a wind came from a distinctly identifiable direction. Daphne turned to face it.
Finally, after nearly a month, there was something new. A giant crack in the sky, like a damaged piece of wood, splintered across the horizon.
From its depths, the voice of a girl, a girl she'd heard before but only in random short occurrences while doing mundane tasks.
"What is Regretfully Uncaring," Ginny's voice asked, seemingly mid-conversation.
Daphne ran towards the crack in the sky, but the more she ran the smaller the crack got. As if the Shattered Sky was repairing itself.
"NO!" Daphne cried, and just like that, she was awake again. The bell signaling the end of History of Magic was ringing, and Theo had already packed his things. He was sitting on the desk, legs dangling to the floor, waiting for her to get up.
"Are you alright?" Theo asked, taking in her hassled appearance.
Daphne blinked rapidly and collected herself. "Yes… dozed off," she explained, throwing everything into her bag in a distinctly unorganized fashion.
She rushed out of the classroom in search of Ron. She had a vague idea of his schedule and was on her way to Transfiguration when she faltered.
That was the clearest Ginny's voice had been yet. On top of that, the visual change of the shattered sky was something to go on about.
Only, she couldn't go running to Ron about it. Not now. If Umbridge saw, she'd lose her position in the inquisitorial squad, which so far, consisted of one member, and her position in the Professor's eyes.
It was too hard of a gamble.
Daphne tapped her foot on the floor in annoyance and spun on the spot, back towards History of Magic.
Theo was only just climbing the stairs. She fell into step with him.
"Hey Theo," she greeted hesitantly. "Professor Umbridge asked me to recruit for a sort of… club,"
"Not interested," Theo interrupted.
"It's to enforce the Ministry's teaching and guidelines," she said hastily, trying to retain his attention.
Theo looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "What's it called?"
"The Inquisitorial Squad. I need to recruit more people and, well, you're incredibly popular. Having you on board will give us a fighting chance,"
Theo wrapped his thumbs around the straps of his rucksack. "Are there any benefits?"
Daphne blinked at him for a moment before fishing out a pink scroll Umbridge had given her that morning. She unfurled it and read, "You will gain the ability to give and deduct house points. Curfew is made obsolete," Theo's eyes widened at that, "and students who are members of the Inquisitorial Squad will gain full access to Hogwarts and its grounds,"
"Let Professor Umbridge know you've gained a member," he said with a mischievous smile. "Thanks, Greengrass,"
Daphne rolled the scroll up and hid her blush behind her hair. She stood up tall and hoisted her bag back over her shoulders, only for Theo to wrap his arm around her waist and walk with her. "So, I assume I get co-ownership of this little club?"
Daphne rolled her eyes. "No. I'm still in charge, you'll just be the face of it. You know… free advertisement,"
Theo laughed and started talking about the Slytherin Quidditch team's chances of winning. Daphne zoned out.
Ginny Weasley was alive and communicating through her dream. How was this possible?
As the weeks went on, Ron really did think that Hogwarts was lost. Their classes in defense were mostly theoretical, for no reason other than Lupin refusing to have them perform dark spells.
Transfiguration and Potions remained relatively unchanged. Potions was actually improved somewhat thanks to the new professor, but other than that, everything felt off. Umbridge had slipped under everyone's radar yet maneuvered her position in a way that left them all attached to a string.
His detentions were beginning to get annoying. The first week was fine, though it left a permanent itch on his dominant hand. Now, she'd extended it by two additional weeks. The words I must not tell lies were permanently scarred into his flesh.
Today, however, he was hoping to get a serious win under his belt.
Today was Quidditch tryouts.
He'd practiced all summer. Letting the twins help him occasionally. It had been a bit nerve-wracking at first – especially when asking the twins to shoot on him, but they'd been unnaturally supportive. He figured it was probably because they all just needed to get out of the house for a bit. So, every day, they played. It was a constant stream of disappointment for months until finally, Ron got the hang of playing keeper.
This year was odd for a multitude of reasons. For one, Wood was gone, replaced by Angelina Johnson as captain. Then there was the missing seeker. Harry was gone, and if only he had left Ron would have appointed Ginny after having seen her fly at Potter Manor the year prior, but she was gone too.
So now it was a bunch of third years, each begging for attention from Angelina. She seemed a bit haggard, but otherwise optimistic.
She'd organized tryouts in a three-week schedule. The first week was for the chaser position. It was no surprise that Angelina, Alicia, and Katie all stayed on. A bit of a worthless tryout, really. The second week was for the seeker position. This had taken far too long, but eventually, it was made clear that the best option was a third-year boy called Mincus Morrow. A name that Fred and George had made very clear to their new captain, was truly dreadful.
"It's not my fault he's got horrible parents!" Angelina had defended vehemently. "Just show up next week for beater tryouts, and pray that you're still the best,"
Today was that week. Beaters and Keepers. Ron was sitting in the changing rooms. His helmet and shin pads were secured, and his robes were fitted properly thanks to some help from an odd girl with strange eyes named Luna. One of Ginny's friends, he supposed.
It had been an incredibly uncomfortable interaction. She'd called his name, told him his robes didn't fit, and then resized them without asking. Ron only caught her name because Neville knew her as Loony Lovegood.
Mental, Ron thought idly.
"Oi, Ron! Are you going to try out or not?" George called from the opening to the tent.
Ron stood abruptly. Shaking his arms and striding towards his brother. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine,"
"I didn't ask how you were doing but alright," George muttered, following Ron out onto the pitch.
Unsurprisingly, the stands were completely empty save one spot where the Slytherins were gathered. Ron spotted Crabbe, Goyle, the Zabini boy, Pansy Parkinson, the ratty face of Theo Nott, and then Daphne.
He huffed and walked faster toward the opposite set of goalposts. Daphne's presence irked him.
"Hey, Ron!" Angelina called from the sky, flying low to catch his attention. "We've got you set up over there. McLaggen got here first," she pointed to a tall sixth-year boy standing at the foot of the preferred hoops. "Sorry, mate. First come first serve."
Ron sighed and nodded. He wouldn't get on bad terms with the captain this early on.
"WEASLEY!" one of the Slytherins jeered. "It's a Quidditch tryout! What are you doing walking across the pitch for?"
Ron's cheeks heated and he mountain his broom, stumbling slightly. The Slytherins all laughed. He felt a boiling rage fill the pit of his stomach. His anger was getting the better of him recently. It felt like everything and everyone was against him at all times, all save his mother and the bloody twins of all people.
Despite the awkward start, his fly to the goalposts was actually quite impressive. His firebolt, (paid for with Malfoy's money), responded to his every move. He looped around the posts and settled in front of the middle one.
"Right, can you all hear me?" Angelina asked under a sonorous spell. Her voice echoed through the stands.
"YES!" the Slytherins replied, drowning out whatever the actual team had to say.
"Me, Alicia, and Katie are going to take turns trying to score on each of you. Luckily for me, all three of us have no attachment to either of you and we don't care who wins. So, fuck you both, and let's make a Quidditch team!" said Angelina, raising her fist in the air. "We're going to shoot on you five times. Whoever saves the most wins the spot!"
Fred and George smashed their bats together. "Have you forgotten about us?" they asked in unison.
Angelina waved them off. "No one bothered signing up to try. You two are the kings of the position,"
"Angie!" Fred cried, his hand falling over his heart. "You do care for us!"
Angelina ignored him and gestured to her fellow chasers in attacking McLaggen. Ron loosened his grip on the front of his broom. He'd need to be fast, and holding on so tight his fingers got numb was not a way to catch a quaffle.
"New broom with mummy's money, eh Weasley?" Crabbe shouted from behind the hoops. "Won't change any lack of skill, will it?"
Ron swallowed. The chasers had failed to score on McLaggen, they had regrouped and were coming his way. His nerves were getting the better of him.
He closed his eyes, thinking of the pitch back home. The smells of the trees and the flowers.
Just at the right moment, he reopened his eyes. Alicia passed the quaffle down to Katie, who passed it across to Angelina, she raised her arm and took aim for the center hoop.
Only her eyes betrayed her true motives. At the last minute, she pivoted and shot for the left hoop. Ron was already in front of the goal and caught the ball.
Katie flew up to him, a curious expression on her face, and held her hand out for the ball. Ron gave it to her and bit his lip. It wasn't over yet. He couldn't celebrate, and he couldn't get out of his headspace. It was a good catch, but in a real game, the chasers would've been faster. They would've trained for weeks for a match.
"That firebolt got you to the right place fast enough, but will it next time!" Goyle jeered.
"Funny that you're going on about fancy brooms making better players after Malfoy bought his way onto the team with daddy's money," Ron snapped, his eyes still focused entirely on the chasers trying to score on McLaggen. "Come on Goyle. You don't want to be a hypocrite, do you?"
It seemed by the stall in play that McLaggen had once again caught the quaffle. Ron cursed under his breath and again prepared himself for the chasers.
Katie had the ball this time and didn't seem keen on passing it. Alicia dived unexpectedly, and Ron followed her, expecting Katie to drop the quaffle to her, but instead, she took aim and shot for the right hoop. Ron raced towards it, and batted the ball away, unable to get a firm grasp on it.
That was too close, and not a clean save whatsoever.
Back and forth it went. McLaggen hadn't missed a single one. It was the fourth shot and Alicia did this weird spin; as if she was avoiding a defensive player, before shooting for the left hoop. Ron was on the right. He raced to the middle; in case they made a last-minute change. In theory, he'd given himself the right amount of time to get to either hoop. Alicia passed it to Katie. They were impossibly close now. In Ron's mind, they could only score on the right. He shot into position, ready to catch, but mere feet away from the goals, Katie passed back to Alicia, and it went through the left hoop.
Ron didn't shout. He didn't even visibly react. His face remained neutral, and his hands continued to grip the length of his broom. He couldn't really hear the Slytherins' taunts. The silence in his mind was deafening.
McLaggen had to miss this one. He just had to. It was his fifth round, though. So, if Ron missed his next turn, he lost.
Then, the strangest thing happened. From across the pitch, Ron watched as McLaggen started lazily drifting to the side. Like he'd fallen asleep.
"Is he really that cocky?" Ron mumbled to himself.
The moment McLaggen stopped his feigned sleep, the quaffle went through the center hoop.
Ron could practically feel himself flushing. This snarky bastard wanted to drag it out, did he? Well, Ron wasn't going to let him win. Not now.
Angelina made a shot on goal and Ron caught it without trouble. He couldn't hear anything save the blood pumping in his ears.
The breeze picked up from the East. Which meant the wind was to his back. This was an advantage for him. The ball would move slower and more predictably.
This was the tiebreaker, and again McLaggen drifted in front of his hoops. A stupid smile spread across his face.
"Fuck off, McLaggen," Ron hissed. No one could hear him, and he didn't want to be painted as a poor sport, but seriously. Fuck him.
Katie took aim, Ron's heart rate skyrocketed, and the quaffle flew right past McLaggen's outstretched hand, through the left hoop.
"YES!" Ron shouted, doing a loop-de-loop and pumping his fist.
The Slytherins were distinctly quiet. He turned to face them, ready to get a bit of verbal revenge, only to find himself driven into silence by what he saw.
Theo Nott extended his hand, helping Daphne up off the bench. He held her hand for a little too long. She looked into his eyes for a little longer still.
Ron swallowed his thoughts and turned around, flying back toward Angelina, missing Daphne tucking her wand away into her robes.
It shouldn't bother him. It really shouldn't. She was attractive and there was nothing more to it. He was delusional. She was in Slytherin at the height of a war between people who thought just like her, and people who thought like him. It was stupid to even entertain those incoherent thoughts and scenarios in his head.
He'd seen Nott and Daphne getting closer over the past couple of weeks. Why did it bother him?
"It doesn't," he told himself out loud. "Who cares. I don't care,"
"Are you going mad now that you've got on the team? Because I'd rather not have McLaggen flying with us," Fred teased as he came to fly beside Ron. George accompanied his twin, sandwiching Ron between them.
"Good keeping little Ronnie," George elbowed him in the side playfully. "Glad we haven't lost our third Weasley teammate,"
"Third?" Ron asked, confused.
Fred shrugged. "Harry's an honorary Weasley at this point. Besides, if Ginny ends up being a seer, he'll be married into our family anyway."
George scoffed at the joke while Ron cracked a smile. He was grateful the twins were still at Hogwarts. They captured the much-needed moments of levity life that Hogwarts currently lacked.
Ron got changed, smiling and laughing with the half-assembled team. He wondered why Harry never hung out with the Quidditch team. He'd always stuck by him and Hermione. He felt another pang of shame at that realization. Harry had stuck by Ron, even if he'd been shown admiration and kindness elsewhere, from more popular and fortunate people. He was aware of this, of course. He just hadn't ever really thought of it.
He hauled his bag over his shoulders and trudged up the sweeping lawns toward the castle.
Everyone seemed so focused on Ginny after having discovered the fake body that Harry might as well have been absent from the equation. Sure, they brought it up, but it seemed like everyone assumed they'd find them together.
What if they didn't?
"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley," Ron jumped, not having expected to hear Umbridge's voice until Monday. She stood there, leaning into her hip with her clipboard in hand.
"Oh, er, hi professor," Ron replied, nodding to her and trying to keep the grimace off his face.
Umbridge's eye twitched as she looked away from him and instead, surveyed the grounds. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Yeah… yeah, it's a bit cold but erm… yeah,"
Unlike Ron, Umbridge seemed to relish the awkwardness of their interaction. "What's the broom for?"
Ron's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. In hindsight, he realized this was rather rude, and probably not the best play. Especially with a teacher who seemed keen on breaking his back. "Oh, well… I just got back from Quidditch tryouts,"
"Oh, and how did you do?" Umbridge asked, a false smile stretching her toad-like features.
The sun came out from behind one of the turrets, forcing Ron to squint. "Pretty good, actually... I made the team. Thank you for… asking,"
Umbridge pursed her lips and hummed. "Well, I'll be off. I'll see you Monday evening, yes?"
Ron's face fell. She hadn't said anything about more detentions last night. "Yes, professor,"
"Good!" she beamed, strutting down toward Hagrid's still unattended hut.
Ron shook his head in disbelief. The woman was a menace of the highest order. Literally. There was nothing he could do to get rid of her. Nothing anyone could do, really. It was like what Percy said back in July. Outside of a full-scale revolution, they didn't have any grounds to fight on. The general public didn't see the Ministry as an enemy. They had seemingly taken the right moves to combat a muggleborn threat. If Ron wasn't in the loop, he may have considered it true.
The registration office, on the surface, was a good idea. Check to make sure not all muggleborns were affiliated with this radical fictional terrorist and send those guilty to Azkaban.
Only, they weren't going to Azkaban. The Order didn't know where they were sending them, and recently, they weren't sending them anywhere. The general consensus according to Bill's coded letters, was that wherever they'd been sending them had run out of room, and now, they were executing them.
Ron shuddered at the thought as he climbed the stairs up to the common room. Thank Merlin Hermione had made it out before the Ministry had gotten a proper hold over things.
The common room was packed with students playing games and desperately trying to finish their homework before evening came. Likely hoping to spend some time with their friends without thoughts of impending due dates looming over their heads.
Ron ran his Quidditch things upstairs before returning with his transfiguration essay in hand. It was almost done, he just needed to go over it.
His grades were suffering in the classes that had received the most Ministry influence. He was nearly failing in defense and history. In fact, if Binns ever took the time to correct their essays, he'd be failing entirely.
His mark in defense was being held above and acceptable by Remus and Remus alone. Professor McGonagall had been incredibly well receptive to Ron's more focused output in her class. Though, she seemed to understand why it was the case.
He scratched out a few grammatical errors his spell-check quill had missed and changed some vocabulary, but for the most part, the essay seemed to hold water.
He sighed, sitting back into the stiff-backed chair, and closed his eyes.
When Ron woke, it was well past dark. The common room was silent and everything was lit faintly by the obscured moonlight.
There was something ringing in his ear. It was obnoxious as all hell.
Then, quite suddenly, there was a crash from where the portrait hole ought to be. Only, the portrait hole wasn't there. Instead, there was a figure standing in shadow, completely still.
"Do you know my name?" the figure spoke quietly. Its voice sounded both ancient and familiar. Deep and guttural. Like it wasn't meant to talk.
Ron scrambled out of his chair and drew his wand. Only, he didn't have his wand. He felt breathless. A dreadful sinking feeling took over his senses. He felt like his legs couldn't move, and his arms couldn't lift themselves. Weakened by everything around him.
The figure made a distinctly animalistic sound. A snarl followed by the licking of lips. "Do you know my name, Ron?"
The voice was again, familiar. Its distorted nature prevented him from getting to the bottom of the figure's identity.
The ringing in his ears grew louder, more defined.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Like the watch on his wrist, he could hear ticking. It reverberated through the room and pounded in his chest. It was everywhere and nowhere.
"Do you know my name?" the figure repeated. Finally, its silhouette moved. The sound of iron scraping against stone met Ron's ears.
He couldn't move. He couldn't fight back.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"Ron…" the figure crooned. It was a moment away from stepping into the light. "You know my name!"
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Ron stepped back, finally able to move his body again. It felt incredibly surreal. Like he was watching through his eyes, but from miles away.
"You know my name," the figure said determinedly, stopping just before revealing itself in the moonlight.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Then, the light through the window shifted, and slowly, it revealed the contents of the room. Ron watched with bated breath as the light reached the figure. Its feet shocked him first. They were paws. The creature's claws were out and digging into the stone floor like a set of small knives. The light rose further, revealing a set of strong legs, covered in fur. Then the creature's chest. It was wearing a vest with strange canisters and bandages.
Then, Ron saw what it was holding. A sword with delicate runes etched into its blade, held out towards him in the dark. The light continued to rise until finally, the face of the creature came into view.
It was a wolf. That much was obvious. Its fur was blowing in a wind that did not exist.
Its ears turned this way and that, picking up on signals Ron could only dream of recognizing. Its eyes, a vibrant green, were focused on Ron. Its blade never wavered. Above those eyes, like a long-forgotten scratch, was a pink scar visible through the fur.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Ron felt his throat – which up until that point had been constricted – open up. "Harry?" he whispered into the dark.
"You know my name," the wolf repeated.
Ron swallowed and shook his head. Not understanding what was going on.
The wolf shook its sword in Ron's face, frustration growing behind its eyes. "You know my name!"
Ron continued to walk backward until suddenly he was pressed against the opposing wall.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"YOU KNOW MY NAME!" the wolf bellowed. Its unnaturally deep voice felt like getting punched in the chest. The wind was knocked out of Ron. He couldn't breathe.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Then, like sand blowing away in an hourglass, the wolf faded away. Its millions of particles spread themselves around the distorted common room.
A chime noting the hour boomed in Ron's ears. He felt like he was trapped in a clock tower.
The ticking ceased, and the air in the room stopped moving. That was the best Ron could describe it. Nothing could move.
Time had stopped.
The earth-shattering sound of something tearing, like a glacier as it broke free from its larger brother, destroyed whatever stillness time had created.
Ron turned to the sound and saw a bright white crack in his perception of the room.
It clicked then.
Ron was dreaming.
Then, he heard a voice a part of him hadn't expected to hear again.
"RIDDLE!" Harry's voice screamed. "WHERE IS SHE!"
Spurred into action, Ron made a break for the fissure in the dream. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, his arms felt as though they were being coated in freezing cold water, and just as his hand was going to touch the glowing white emptiness of Harry's voice, it sealed up. Everything collapsed around him. He desperately tried to scramble to keep on top of the world as it fell.
Then, he shot up from his seat. Disorientated at being back in his homework-covered workstation in the common room, he took a few deep breaths.
He stared unseeingly at his completed transfiguration essay. The early rays of dawn were making their way across the room.
The dream hadn't felt much different from the rest of his dreams. He wasn't in control; he was a spectator.
But Harry had sounded so real. His anger and desperation felt genuine. Could his mind have come up with something like that?
"What the fuck," he muttered to himself.
The next day, Ron was sitting in his usual spot beside Daphne in defense. Lupin was at his desk, looking out the window and seemingly quite bored as the class was assigned reading.
The ratty Slytherin boy, Theo Nott, kept snickering and waving Daphne over. She'd turn to him, laugh at whatever he'd done, and kindly refuse the invitation.
She hadn't said a word to Ron all class, which wasn't surprising, especially with Umbridge lurking at the back of the class with her clipboard at the ready.
"Hem hem?"
A collective sigh could be heard through the class at the now familiar opening of a dreadful conversation.
"Tissue, Dolores?" Lupin replied as always.
Umbridge giggled… as always. "No, Mr. Lupin. I was merely going to suggest that you do the rounds of the class and make sure everyone has a good grasp of the material,"
Lupin got to his feet without a word and stood at each desk to ask various questions. Ron sat and watched the affair in disappointment. It wasn't really Lupin's class anymore. None of the Professors had that luxury. Umbridge was essentially running the entire school. Well, McGonagall didn't put up with it, but her class wasn't under any scrutiny.
"Mr. Lupin, perhaps some demonstrations are in order?" Umbridge announced, breaking the library stillness of the lesson.
Lupin stood up tall and failed to meet her gaze. "I'd rather not,"
Umbridge shook her head and scribbled a note on her slip of parchment. "I'm afraid I wasn't asking, nor suggesting. I am telling Mr. Lupin. Do obey,"
Lupin chuckled to himself and fidgeted with his wand between his fingers. "Sorry, whose class is this?" he asked, looking over the whole room in search of an answer, as though he was trying to quiz them on some mysterious dark creature. "Tell me, Dolores, who's the professor here,"
Umbridge's toadlike smile in response made Ron's blood boil. Worse yet, she remained silent.
Lupin pointed to her and then pointed to himself. "It's me. This is my class. These are my students. I will teach them what I like, and how I'd like to do it. That is how it has always been done,"
Umbridge scribbled another note on her clipboard before tucking it under her arm. "So, you are against innovation?"
"Well, Professor… progress for the sake of progress is not something I condone," he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat and spread his feet apart, relaxing into his stance. "Following a government-mandated curriculum that has never existed before now, and was not voted in legally, is not good progress. It isn't innovation."
Umbridge's smile remained in place, like some sort of sculpture.
Lupin sighed exasperatedly and wiped a single hand down his face. "So, no. This is my class. I will teach my lessons. If you've got a problem, take it up with Dumbledore," he turned around and walked towards his desk. "Last I checked, the Ministry hasn't passed a law to get rid of him,"
Umbridge hummed, her lips coming together to form a closed smile. "For now."
Lupin stopped his strut at those words, his back to the woman he so obviously despised.
"I'd like an essay on the Unforgivable Curses, and why they should remain unforgivable," he announced to the class, ignoring Umbridge for now. "It will be due by this day next week. Do you understand?"
Everyone made noises of ascent or nodded silently.
"Good," said Lupin distractedly as he sat back at his desk and opened a book at random.
Ron looked over his shoulder at Umbridge, who stood at the back of the class with a peculiar expression on her face. She seemed, disappointed.
"Stop looking at her," Daphne hissed in a nearly inaudible whisper. Ron's eyes darted to hers and he was surprised to see such raw desperation in her grey eyes.
He shuffled in his seat and returned to face the front of the class.
A low whistle sounded from Nott's table a few rows behind them.
"Oi! Greengrass!" he whispered. "C'mon and help us. Group project, you know?" he smiled welcomingly.
Daphne squinted as she grimaced. "I don't work well in groups, sorry,"
She returned to her blank roll of parchment with a frown. Her brows knitted together as she fell deep in thought.
Ron sighed and put his quill down. "You can go sit with them, you know,"
"I don't…" she trailed off and scratched the corner of her mouth awkwardly. "There isn't room anyway,"
Ron rolled his eyes and flicked his quill, letting it slide up the desk, only for it to come sliding back down. There was an open spot right next to Nott.
"I don't know why you sit here," Ron said after a while, his whisper was covered by the scratching of quills and the sighs of frustrated students. "You don't have to. I don't even think you want to. Just stay where you're comfortable, Greengrass,"
Daphne's neutral expression faltered a little as he referred to her by her surname, but she otherwise remained obtuse.
There was prolonged silence between the two of them. In fact, it was so long that Ron took the time to start on his first topic.
"I don't know why I'm here either," she said after a while. Her blonde hair obscured her face from view. "You're right,"
Ron closed his eyes in a deep sense of frustration. He couldn't understand why even though he'd brought it up, even though he'd given her a way out, he was still disappointed that she took his offer. He felt a tingle of anger spread through his chest and stomach. She always took the easy way out. She wasn't going to change.
She just wasn't worth the effort.
"I'd like you to have this," she mumbled, sliding an envelope across the desk. "Read it as soon as possible, please. You can get back to me… whenever,"
Just then, the bell rang, and Daphne immediately got to her feet, waving her wand and muttering the enchantments necessary to perfectly arrange all her school things in her bag. Before Ron had even packed his, the Slytherin girl had up and left.
He eyed the letter Daphne had given him warily. He didn't want to open it, but he knew the temptation would probably arise. He was just too curious not to. Daphne was a mystery, and he knew that if Harry and Hermione were here with him, they'd have gotten to the bottom of it.
He tucked her letter into one of the side compartments of his bag and made his way to leave the class. He saw Umbridge exit alongside Nott and Daphne, the three of them were deep in conversation.
Trying to ignore the furious despondency from the sight, he waited for Neville to join him.
"Ron, Neville, could I have a word?" Lupin summoned their attention from his desk at the front of the class. "It won't be long, I just have a question for the two of you,"
Ron looked at Neville, who was only halfway through packing his things, before stepping up to Lupin's desk. "What can we do for you, Professor,"
Lupin smirked before furrowing his brow. "I'd given you some ideas already, but I think I need to be a little more... to the point. Umbridge has put me on probation, so it really is now never,"
Neville then joined him at the front of the class, his attention held by the teacher's serious tone.
"You won't learn anything properly from me and, unfortunately, we haven't got the opportunity to keep you poorly trained," Lupin said in a rush. "So, I need you to train yourselves,"
Ron shrugged. That was pretty straightforward.
Lupin shook his head as though he could read the other's thoughts. "I need you to train the school. First to seventh years. Find a place to meet, and spread the cause. I don't care if you lie about its purpose or create some false message around it. Just… create a group… a team… I don't know-"
"An army?" Neville supplied awkwardly. "You want us to raise an army,"
Lupin pursed his lips. "Don't put it like that… but… well, yes. You're going to build an army,"
Ron scoffed but quickly lost all his humour at the sight of Remus's stern expression. "You're serious?"
"Your mother and father are aware of the plan. It's Dumbledore's orders. It needs to, for all intents and purposes, be a student lead group that defies the Ministry. Once you're ready…" Lupin trailed off, but Ron and Neville seemed to understand the point.
"We're going to fight, aren't we?" Neville asked hoarsely.
Lupin nodded. "Those of you who can. Those of you who choose to. Yes, you will fight."
Ron leaned into the desk and wiped at his nose, rubbing the crust of dried snot away as he thought of Lupin's preposition. "I take it my mum doesn't know about the last part, then?"
Lupin nodded. "No one is aware of that part of the plan. You aren't supposed to be either, but I disagree with Dumbledore on that one. I think I should make it clear that you don't have to fight,"
"But we'll want to," Ron replied knowingly. "That's the point, isn't it? No matter what you say, we'd end up fighting either way."
Lupin nodded ashamedly. "Yes, that's the point. I'm glad you… understood."
Ron disagreed with that logic, and he felt like Lupin was showing his own cracks. This was a man who was desperate. Acting like a child in front of a Ministry official to make a point to himself. A man who was a part of a group of wizards who were fighting a war that had been lost from the very beginning.
As Ron walked away from Lupin's class a few minutes of awkward conversation later, with Neville by his side, he realized that there was no changing that.
They'd lost, yes, but that didn't mean they had to go out with a whimper.
An army to fight the Ministry. An army to show the world that there was hope.
A spark.
Ron didn't know how he was going to do it, and he didn't know who he could trust to enlist, but finally, he had a chance to do something.
He'd take it.
Albus Dumbledore sat alone at an inn on the outskirts of a town near Berlin. His beard was charmed to appear shorter than its usual eccentric self, and his half-moon spectacles were balanced delicately on the tip of his nose.
He'd chosen a table in the darker corners of the pub. The charms he'd placed around his spot would prevent any unwanted guests from meddling with things they could not and would not understand.
He heard the door creak open; the harsh autumn winds cooled the room for a moment before it swung shut.
As he had done for the better part of three hours, Dumbledore glanced up at the entrance to see who had come in. Waiting for the visitor he was expecting.
A tall man stood in the doorway; his hood obscured everything from view.
A week ago, Dumbledore had taken part in a meeting that had left him thoroughly confused. The Weasley boys, along with Molly, Arthur, and Sirius, had told him of Grindelwald's defense of the burrow. Of his information on Ginny Weasley, and the truth behind the body found by the river.
Dumbledore was stumped by the tale. In truth, his mind had strayed to Grindelwald and what he may be up to more times than he could count over the last six months. He'd received many letters with his signature handwriting, but he hadn't opened a single one. He didn't want to be torn by Grindelwald's silver tongue. Not again.
Except now, it was possible that Grindelwald had information that was crucial to the war effort. At least, that was the excuse he told himself as Grindelwald's hooded figure slid into the booth opposite him.
Neither spoke. Dumbledore set down the miniature sugar spoon and laid his hands on his lap, fiddling with the napkin with his untarnished hand.
Grindelwald brought both of his hands up and pulled down his hood, revealing his sallow face. The man had aged like a fine wine. Yes, he was pale, and it was clear he'd been deprived of sunlight for quite some time, but his eyes were as sharp as ever.
Dumbledore's mouth went dry, unable to come up with an intelligent thing to say.
"Albus," Grindelwald said hoarsely, licking his lips to revitalize his voice. "Do you know why I left Nurmengard?"
Dumbledore held his gaze but did not respond.
"I left so I could prevent the collapse of everything you have fought for. I fled so your death would not be in vain,"
Dumbledore brought his blackened hand onto the tabletop. It sounded like he'd dropped a rock instead of his own flesh and bone. "You know of this?"
Grindelwald's eyes shot to his hand, then back to his face. "Yes, Albus, I know of it. But that will not be how you die,"
Dumbledore sat back in his chair and contemplated the man in front of him. He couldn't describe how it felt to see him again. He didn't like it.
"I am here to get the truth out of you," Dumbledore said, ignoring Grindelwald's statement for now. "Is what you say of Ginny Weasley true? Is she alive?"
Grindelwald seemed disappointed by Dumbledore's question, but he nodded all the same. "Yes. I would not lie about something so important. She is… stuck. That is the best way I can describe it,"
"And you cannot give me any more information? Anything that could help us… for lack of a better term, get her unstuck?" Dumbledore pressed.
Grindelwald shook his head. "That is all I can see. I am trying to guide others to find her. They are the ones fate has chosen, but that is the best I can do,"
"Who? Who are you helping?"
"Allies, Albus. Allies." Grindelwald said shrewdly.
Dumbledore felt like this must be how everyone saw his way of divulging information. It was incredibly frustrating, but he believed what Grindelwald said to be true.
"What is it you're going to do to prevent the… collapse of what I've fought for, Gellert?" Dumbledore asked, choosing to use the man's first name was a conscious choice.
Grindelwald drummed his fingers on the table in a manner that properly revealed his age. It was hesitant and uneven. Like he'd lost some control over his hands. "Why do you speak of nothing but politics… war. Why can't we just talk, Dumbledore," he put his hand down on the table firmly. "About this. About… you or about me. Why must you always-"
"I don't want to speak with you," Dumbledore interrupted flatly. "I don't intend to do so ever again, and I want to get as much information as possible,"
Grindelwald stared into his eyes and nodded. A sad smile formed, and he broke the contact, looking down at the damaged wooden table that sat between them. Finally, he replied. "By finishing what you started,"
Dumbledore shook his head in disbelief. After all this time, Grindelwald still hadn't learned. "The greater good?"
Grindelwald nodded slowly. "The way you would have done it. Protect the muggles first, let wizards live freely second,"
"You're going to break the Statute of Secrecy? Destroy everything our society is built around. Take what I've reinforced, and tear it all down?" Dumbledore felt a fury he hadn't felt since his youth. "I had held hope that you'd changed. I'd trusted that you would stay in that god-forsaken tower, and learn."
"I did, Albus!" Grindelwald insisted, his eyes pleading silently. "I have seen the error of my ways and I am here to correct them. More importantly, I have seen the error of your ways. I have seen where we have all gone wrong!"
Dumbledore shook his head vigorously, shaking away the seeds of doubt Grindelwald was planting. He stood from the table and made to walk away, but Grindelwald reached forward and grabbed his hand, keeping him there.
"I see a new world, Albus. Where magic can be used in the streets and the countryside. Where the muggles understand nothing of what they see because they cannot see it!" Grindelwald spoke with such passion; it kept Dumbledore from pulling his hand away. "It will take many years, but I am… so close to figuring it out. I need time, and I am building the resources to get that time. I will wage war, I will save lives, I will build the infrastructure… I will do whatever I need to do to get it done and by Merlin's Fist I will do it for you."
Dumbledore wrenched his hand from Grindelwald's grip. "Build your armies, fight your battles, but I am not a part of them. They are not for me. Nothing you did was ever for me," he took a step back and lifted his hood over his head, ready to leave the inn and return to Britain. "Goodbye, Grindelwald,"
He removed the portkey from his robe's pocket and left Berlin, and his past, behind.
A/N: This took fucking forever to edit. I'm talking nearly a week of rewriting and fixing shit and canon-checking, but it's done now. This chapter was originally much longer. With scenes of how the school reacted to hearing Ginny was dead (Which was a detail that had been moved from the last chapter to this one and was ultimately scrapped), It just didn't feel necessary. Those gaps in storytelling would probably have made it in if I wasn't just so damn impatient right now.
I hope you're all still enjoying what I'm writing. This fic is irritating the fuck out of me at the moment. I just want to bring Harry and Ginny back in, but I have to set the world up for them to return.
Thanks for reading, as always, I appreciate your reviews.
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