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Chapter 45 - A dreadful truth
Harry gulped down the knot in his throat, which felt far too raspy. There he stood, in front of the door which led to the First Counselor's office, fully knowing all he had to do, and yet, the doubts were still there.
Dumbledore hadn't given him much context, nor the reason behind his plan, but he'd said that it would be enough. So, who on earth was Harry Potter to question the Great Sorcerer? It's Albus bloody Dumbledore whom we are talking about. He knows what he's doing. Such thought was all the boy needed to take the next step.
He knocked on the door, then said, "It's me, Mrs Umbridge—Harry Potter."
Harry did not receive a response, and not as if he needed one, for the door was suddenly pulled open. For an instant, he was blinded, and not because of a bright light. No, it was the office's decoration that caused such an impression. Outside, in the corridors, it was dark and cold, just as the walls were dull and simple, however, in there, pink was all he could see.
Walls of pink wood, covered by countless pictures of cats and diplomas; floor covered by a velvety carpet of the brightest pink he'd ever seen; bookshelves and furniture of a darker shade… Hell, even the fire from the hearth seemed to bright with a strange gleam!
"Come inside and take a seat, dear Harry," Umbridge beamed at him. The plump woman stood right behind a large table, a steaming mug in her hands. She still wore the same robes she'd used this morning during her visit to one of Lupin's lectures; those of a purple shade. "It took you a while, but I see that you have finally come to your senses, right? Now, be a kind boy and tell me all that happened in those visits to the Headmaster's office."
Harry, as diligent as he could, took a seat on the plushy chair he was offered; it looked far more comfortable than it really was. "There isn't much to it," the boy grimaced—how could a pillow feel so stiff and hard? "For the first visit, it was me who requested the audience. My godfather, Sirius Black, hadn't answered any of my letters in the past weeks, and I was beyond worried."
"Oh, Black, yes," Umbridge hummed, eyes now set on the largest diploma she had. One which, if Harry wasn't mistaken, proclaimed her seat in the Wizengamot. "We already knew that Sirius Black was out of the country. He's quite the restless man, don't you think so? Between you and me, I've never liked him, and much less I did like him when he was freed from Azkaban, so out of the blue. The Ministry took a huge blow there, you know? But I guess he was innocent after all…"
Harry refrained himself from unleashing a few curses upon her; he barely managed. Even so, his evident effort didn't seem to trouble her at all. "Anyhow, we didn't meet here to talk about Black, did we? Carry on, dear Harry."
"I happened to ignore that fact," the boy said, putting his all into the task, "but it was the perfect reason for me to access Dumbledore."
"A good move, indeed." Just then, Umbridge pulled out some strange and expensive-looking quill from the pocket of her robes, and she started to tap it in a soft way against the table. It was embellished by some ornaments of a deep shade of red, similar to that of blood, which really caught Harry's eye.
"He answered all my doubts, and then we chatted about Hogwarts and the lectures so far," Harry went on. "That's when your name was brought up. From what I grasped, the Headmaster wasn't very worried about your many inquiries, although it bothered him a little that you'd been persistent with Hagrid and Lupin."
"A little bothered, you say?" Umbridge seemed to take delight in that news. Still she refused to meet his eyes. "That's curious! Do you know that I spotted Severus carrying a package full of potion vials to Lupin's very office? The poor man must be quite sick to have such a kind treatment from our dear potion-maker… Anyhow, that will be a matter for another day. Go on." The quill's tapping continued.
"Yeah, just a little," Harry sighed, now a bit worried about his friend. If she'd mentioned that piece of information, it was with a reason in mind. "Then our meeting ended, and I found myself out of ideas to meet with him once more. However, it was him who called me to his office. It happened yesterday, and all he wanted was to congratulate me because of how well I performed at the Minor of Hogsmeade. Then, we talked some more about idle matters, and just when I thought that it would be a waste of time, I found it."
Umbridge raised a brow, and Harry continued. "Well, you see, there was this strange folder atop of his table, one hidden under a bunch of books. When my eyes started to linger on it, the Headmaster just offered me a drink and, very subtly, took it out the table and stored it in a drawer under his desk. It all happened very fast, but my eyes are used to locate a snitch atop of a broom, so I was able to glimpse some strange logo on its cover. From what I recall, there were four blazons around a laurel wreath, and one of them was Hogwarts's."
Umbridge's eyes gleamed at that, and she did not bother the slightest to hide it. "Very well done, my dear Harry," she beamed. "That was a good piece of information, indeed. Cornelius will be very pleased to hear about it." Finally she stored the quill back into her robes, all under Harry's confused gaze. "However, I'm afraid this is just the beginning. Keep your eyes on the Headmaster, Harry, and come to me as soon as you learn of something new. You've proven yourself to be quite capable, and so, I will allow you some liberties. Despite this, we will meet again before the end of the year."
Harry had known very well this was coming, still, he acted surprised and nervous. "But I thought we had a deal-"
"We have one," Umbridge cut in, back in seriousness, "and it is far from ending. You broke a very serious law, Potter, and the only reason why you are still here is because of us. Because of mine and Cornelius's mercy. So, please, do not make this harder, okay? In the long run, this will benefit the both of us. I will make Hogwarts a much safer place, something that Dumbledore has overlooked in the past recent years, and you will have our favour if you behave correctly."
"What do I need to do next?" the boy asked with a sigh.
"Nothing new," she said. "Keep your eyes on Dumbledore, just as I keep mine on Remus Lupin and Rubeus Hagrid. There's something really wrong with these two, I can tell. If not, why on earth would Dumbledore protect them so much when even some of the Professors doubt them? Nasty business, indeed."
Umbridge shook her head in clear disgust, eyes set on her many diplomas once again. "Off you go, dear Harry. I have much to think about, and you have much to do. Oh, just in case, allow me to remind you that this meeting never happened, okay? Come on, off you go!"
Harry managed to refrain those foul words which threatened to spill from his mouth like a furious cascade, and much to his surprise, he managed to get out of Umbridge's office with a calm breath.
He welcomed the castle's austere decoration; his eyes could finally rest, no longer obliged to stare into that pink void anymore. "Well, this went just as I expected," the boy said with a sigh.
True enough, both he and Dumbledore had known that he wouldn't be freed from Umbridge's claws this early into the year; he was a very valuable asset, after all. Still, more than his sombre fate, it had been her demeanour, the one to anger him. She'd treated him like a dog, one she expected absolute loyalty from.
Dolores Umbridge was, with no doubt, one of those parts of the Wizarding World he disliked so much, just like Draco Malfoy and his ilk.
"It is what it is," the boy said to himself as he hopped onto a moving staircase. "At least for the time being, I need to play this game. However, I will be the one to have the last laugh, and it will be a long and loud one…"
Throughout his life, Jin the Stranger had been many things; many roles he'd embraced, either by choice or by obligation.
Once upon a time, a hero for the defenceless, but also a hammer for those who eluded justice. He also was a father and a grandfather, a duty he took to the heart as of today. Then came the Underworld, and he became a man with no morals but those of whoever bought his services. He'd been a murderer, a thug, a bodyguard and also an errand-boy. He'd been feared, and loved too. Respected by great men and looked upon with disdain by lesser men.
However, if there was something he'd been above all those things, it was a spectator.
That day in particular, he witnessed the fall of one of the most powerful and ancient organisations in the history of the Wizarding World—the Order of Merlin.
There, in the Tower, the air felt heavy to breathe, even to him, a man who did not give a damn about the Order and its members. Not so long ago, these deserted corridors he now walked through had been crowded with countless servants from each of the Five Masters, and whenever one went they were followed by their whispers, laughs and tears. Now, only the intricate and breathtaking tapestries gave them life, although they failed quite miserably at it.
It still was a very majestic place, indeed, but one completely devoid of life. No, the Tower was dead, like a night with no stars.
Jin sighed as he remembered those times; better and way less complex. A solitary glass, empty for quite some time now, stood on the long table of his balcony. It was a cloudy day, cold and windy, proper of November; one not even his favourite whiskey could brighten a tiny bit. He liked to observe the shore from up here, from that privileged position of his, but it was impossible due to the thick sea mist which covered it.
Because of it all and some more things, Jin found himself in a state of sulk.
The world belonged to the strongest, of that he still harboured no doubts. Else, to whom did that title belong as of today? Isaac the First, the man he swore to follow and obey, had been defeated, and Jin wasn't even talking about his defeat at the peak of that canyon on that sunny day a few months ago. No, Isaac also lost his sanity that day. There was no doubt his brilliant mind was still there, of course, but his wit had been reduced to ashes by his now ever-present rage.
The king of the jungle had been dethroned on his coronation day, and he had not been able to recover from such a blow… His so desired glory stolen from him when it was at the tip of his fingers…
It wasn't as if there was a single soul who could help him, also.
Isaac was the leader of the Order, true enough, but just in name, it seemed. To start with, Jin was his hired wand, not a friend and much less a shoulder to cry on. But all of this could also be said about his supposed partners.
Aura the Fourth, his closest ally, had been happy to step aside as Isaac lost his head; she'd grieved that Inquisitors of hers, yet hadn't lost sight of what really mattered. Adigele the Fifth, that damn freak of a woman, spent day after day locked in her chambers, totally unaware of her duty towards the Order, like a puppet who was no longer controlled.
Then came Xaladir the Second and Lawrence the Third, two wizards whom Jin had always been very wary of. Now, with that old geezer, the matter was quite simple. It seemed that he would spend the rest of his life in the Great Library, until those bony fingers of his could no longer hold a quill or pass a book's page.
However, the said wariness turned into fickle fear when speaking about Xaladir. That man was just as dangerous as Isaac was, if not more, for he seemed to have full control over the same rage which laid siege to the First Master's mind.
Suddenly, someone knocked on his door, and just like that did his sulkiness go away, replaced by the cold facade of the Stranger. Jin stood up, calmly, not putting too much effort into the task. Whoever was outside, it wasn't a welcomed guest.
They knocked on the door for a second time, but still, Jin took his time; although he was really curious about the intruder's identity now. Not many people in the entire world had the guts to irk him like this.
Finally, he opened his door, and there he found a taller man. And a much older one, too. "It was about time," Lawrence the Third complained, stepping into the room as if it was his. "You, young lads, have no decency towards the elders. Oh, that I know—that I know!"
Jin limited himself to stare at the Master.
Lawrence was, indeed, a very old man. Frail and delicate, as if a streak of wind could tumble his decrepit bones. With a white beard and mane so long it gave him the appearance of a loon. And despite that and way more, he still stood regal and proud; the bearing of a true Master from the Order.
"The hell are you doing here, you geezer?" the mercenary asked.
"Oh, so you can talk!" Lawrence said, eyeing the dormitory with a keen eye. "Isaac has treated you well, huh? Is that a chest made of Goblin Steel that my tired eyes see? Oh, and those lamps are made from Blackdusk's crystals! From what little I know about them, they are said to cost a fortune!"
He went on about every single of Jin's properties; all of it under Jin's growing impatience.
"So you have a wand of every kind of wood ever known, eh?" he went on. "Huh, look at that! The bed's cover seems to be made of Firecat's fur; oh, wonderful! I've heard they warm bodies like no other silk."
Only when he was finished did he step outside, to the large balcony. There he just took a seat and grimaced when his eyes fell over the bottle of whiskey. "I hate alcohol," the old man began. "It perverts the mind of great and lesser men alike, making no distinction whatsoever. Each sip we take from it, we move one step closer to our tomb. But I guess each person is free to do as they please. However, I expected a bit more from the infamous Jin the Stranger. Is this cheap beverage what you are used to drinking?"
"It ain't the best, that I know, but it's my favourite one," Jin said with a sigh as took a seat in front of Lawrence, right across the table. Then, he poured himself one more glass; he was gonna need it, he could tell. "I will ask it one last time, you old fool. The hell do you want from me?"
Lawrence ignored him, choosing instead to stare at the ocean; what little could be seen of it through the mist, at least. "I fear the end of the Order is close at hand," he finally said. "The end of my dear Order… Well, it was bound to happen at some point of the history, although it saddens me to live in the age it did happen. Furthermore, it greatly saddens me to know that it was us, the Masters of the Order, the ones to destroy it…"
Jin allowed the old Master to speak his mind.
"My dear Shana was quick to realise how corrupt our hearts really were, and she took her leave," Lawrence lamented. "A very well thought move, indeed. However, she came back, and to fight us, no less. Shana fought for what she believed to be right, whereas I took a passive stance once more. Xaladir did it too, but with a very different purpose, of course. I prayed for the conflict to end, for us to be whole again, and he prayed for Isaac to die, for Isaac to reveal his secret."
"It seems that Xaladir will come out victorious without the need to move a finger," Jin pointed out.
"Will there be any winner among us, I wonder," Lawrence sighed, eyes still set on the ocean. "Aura will probably survive—of course, she will. She's the strongest, after all. And then comes young Adigele, such a carefree spirit! Oh, poor girl, who will suffer the consequences of messing with such rotten people!"
"Answer me, Lawrence," Jin finally cut in. "What do you want from me?"
At last, Lawrence looked back at him. "When the time comes, and trust me that it will, I need you to save Adigele and all the innocent people here. Those who faithfully serve us, and those who swore to defend me, my two loyal Inquisitors. Isaac is growing desperate, and Xaladir awaits for the perfect moment to strike. I believe he knows way more about Isaac's venture that he lets on. Those two are fated to clash, and only Magic knows who will be the one to emerge victorious. For the love I profess to this Order, I will try to stop them, and so will Aura, even if it's just to not betray the oath she swore long ago. Oh, it will be a tragic day, but one we deserve!"
"Let me get this right," Jin sighed. "You want me to risk my life and jump into a pool full of vipers so I can save some random bastards I don't know… Merlin, you are really barmy, aren't you?"
"I might be many things," Lawrence replied, "but mad is not one of them, yet. I know many things, Jin the Stranger. In example, who you really are. Your real name is Oliver Fury, and you once were a fine, young man who dreamt of becoming a fair and just Auror."
Jin suddenly stood up, seeing all red. In the blink of an eye, as a faint whistle cut the air, a silver knife travelled from his hand to Lawrence's head. It sunk into the wooden chair, right above his skull; a few strands of hair being cut was all the damage done.
"Ah, that is such a predictable response on your behalf, I'm afraid," the old Master said as he scratched his cheek with one finger. "It also proves that I hit the nail. Anyhow, please, take a seat so we can discuss this like two proper men." Jin did as bid, much to his surprise, for he still was controlled by a cold rage.
"Like I said, you once were an Auror, and a very splendid one, on top of it," Lawrence continued, as if Jin hadn't tried to kill him just now. "Because of that, you made enemies of very powerful persons—dangerous people who, like you, were supposed to fight for the defenceless. In the end, you were fired and your name was repudiated. However, instead of drowning in sorrow because of such an unfair fate, you decided to get back on the move, to fight for your new morals."
"Now, we both know those weren't very fair morals, to say something," he went on. "You became a ruthless wizard, one feared in every corner of the Underworld, where the worst of our kind reside. Still, there were limits you never came to cross. Because of that, I still believe there is a bit of good in you, Oliver."
Jin remained silent. His lack of words was used by Lawrence.
"I have observed you for the past months," he said. "To me, you seem to be lost. You believed for Isaac the First to be the strongest, and you followed him because of that. But he was defeated, not by any wizard but by his own self. A man who holds no control over his mind is a dead man, and you know that as well as I do." He paused for a moment, in which he retrieved the silver knife from atop of the chair. "I'm giving you a purpose, Oliver, a reason to live; one of those you once had. Please, do what is just once more and save those poor souls from our incompetence. I beg you."
Jin felt his tongue rough and stuck to the floor of his mouth. When he spoke, his words came out hoarse and faint. "Why am I so weak, old man?" he asked, defeated. "I've lived a long life in which I've had many faces. I've done a lot of good, but not as much as the evil I've done; not nearly. That part of me was supposed to be long gone, buried under countless amounts of blood and death. And yet here I am, doubting and unable to kill you."
"You are a ruthless bastard, indeed," Lawrence sighed. "But to your family, to your daughter and granddaughter, you are a splendid man. So you were to that poor family whom you tried to defend a long time ago. But life, oh, it sure has the habit to stomp over those with a good heart. Most of them cannot take it, and they die and their names are forgotten. Your name was also forgotten, Oliver, but you didn't die. No, you refused to give up, and with a heavy heart, one full of rage and sorrow, you became part of the problem just to survive. You became Jin the Stranger."
Jin could only nod at that.
"I think you owe it to them, don't you agree with me?" Lawrence asked. "That family is long gone, and nothing will bring them back. Just as all those whom you killed will not come back. For all the evil you have committed, you must live a life full of regrets. However, I believe you can still honour their memory by making good once again. You can become someone whom your granddaughter can be proud of. You will get to tell her about you for the first time. Say, Oliver, will you save a life once again?"
And for the first time in many decades, Jin the Stranger and his mask were shattered. This day, in his suite atop of the Tower of Merlin, the man once known as Oliver Fury came back. It was far too late to repent, he knew, but it wasn't to make one last good deed.
"I will save them," Oliver mused. "That's a promise. When the time comes, I will be ready. This will be a tale my granddaughter will hear. The first of many. When she's grown up, she will be ready to judge her grandad for all he's done. She deserves to know the kind of man I am…"
It was then when a ray of sun broke through the deep mist; not strong enough to warm them, but it was to brighten the Tower. Its white marble reflected it, almost like a lighthouse.
"We are selfish men, Oliver," Lawrence said with the hint of a sad smile. "But, from time to time, we gather enough courage to think about others' well-being. It is far too late for us, I'm afraid, but damned be I if I don't try to leave the world in a better state with my last breath. Damned be I and the blood which courses through my veins!"
They fell into a deep silence, and it was Lawrence the one to break it once he finally stood up.
"Prepare yourself for all that is yet to come," the Master said as he tidied his long, white robes. "Jordan, that scoundrel of a man, will be found one day; it's just a matter of time. He's alone, for he has betrayed all those who loved him. And heed my words: a solitary wolf never makes it, no matter how strong his resolution might be. Perhaps, his reasons will be lost, buried with him in his grave, and although I would pay unthinkable amounts of gold to know them, it might be the best for them to remain a mystery. Anyhow, his demise is way closer than you think, and so is ours. Farewell, Oliver, and thank you from the bottom of my heart. You've brought a bit of hope to this old man…"
When the Master stormed out of the dormitory, Oliver was hit by a wave of exhaustion. And then he understood it, and his laughter, loud and hoarse, could have reached every corner of the Tower.
"He has manipulated me!" he laughed again and again. "That old man is an Allomancer, and he has control over the Emotional Metals, ha! He's toyed with my emotions as if I was a silly child!" And yet he didn't feel any ounce of rage within himself. What's more, he felt relieved.
Lawrence the Third had manipulated him, true enough, but he had also helped Oliver to take that next step he had dreaded for so long. It wasn't the correct way to do things, that he knew, but it was long ago when he came to understand that the world moved to its own tune, and poor of those who tried to row against it.
Fate wanted Oliver back, and so, Jin the Stranger would allow that for the time being.
Ron moved his bishop, and just like that he put Tracey on check-mate. "It's over," the redhead said. "It would be a wise move to surrender. We have time for one more game, if you fancy so."
"Well, it turns out that I don't really fancy it," Tracey said with a sigh. "What's the point? I think you've swept the floor with my pieces enough times this week! Merlin, why don't you ask around for somebody else to play with you!"
"Don't be so dramatic," Ron grinned as he stored the pieces back into their set. "I destroy you at chess, and you destroy me atop of a broom; that's the deal, isn't it? Next week it will be your time to shine."
Tracey just huffed in response, closing her eyes as she leaned back onto her couch.
It was a cold night outside, but the many fireplaces kept the Slytherin common room warm enough to be dressed in comfy sweaters and joggers. Winter was close, and proof of it was the insane amount of students who enjoyed the day's late hours inside the castle. From those noisy first-years, not so shy anymore, to those older and grumpier students, barely a soul had the guts to spend time outside.
Many of them spent the time with their noses buried under thick books, whereas some, like Ron and Tracey themselves, played a game of chess or cards. Although just a few seemed to truly enjoy their free time, like a bunch of friends who chatted for the sake of it. Not about serious and adult topics such heirlooms and politics, but about life and its many matters.
Slytherin was a weird place, indeed.
"I'm nervous, you know?" Tracey said out of the blue, her lip quivering a bit.
Ron came to a halt in his task of storing the pieces back into the set. "Because of tomorrow's game?" he asked. "I mean, that's understandable. I'd be too if I was in your place. I cannot say much to comfort you, but I've also gone through this, and it gets much better once you get back in action. At least, so it worked for me when I competed at the Minor of Hogsmeade."
Tracey gave him the hint of a smile. "It makes sense, I suppose. All in truth, I don't think I should feel this nervous. We, as a team, have trained so hard for more than a month, and the sensations are superb. Hell, Flint says this is the best group he's ever worked with, and I can see why. However, at the same time, that's what really makes me nervous. I expected them to treat me differently, perhaps with a bit of haughtiness since I'm the youngest and the most recent addition to the team, not to mention that I'm also a half-blood. Instead, it is hope and faith that I see in their eyes…"
"I mean, you really put on a show during the team's trials," Ron said. "I also have high hopes for you, and I have them because I know that you will try your hardest, that you will give your best no matter what. Honestly, you look like a different person atop of a broom, like a girl who knows her worth and who would not allow others to stomp over her."
"Damn it, I didn't expect such cheesy words to come out of your mouth," Tracey snickered, although her eyes now gleamed with a different light. "If you say so, then it's clear we'll win. Ravenclaw has nothing to do, for the great Ronald Weasley has spoken: he has a blind trust in his cute, witty friend!"
Ron just shook his head, a bit perplexed. It still amazed him how easy it was for Tracey to change her mood and brighten all those around her. "Did I really say that last part, though?" he smirked. "I don't recall those words coming out of my mouth."
"Oh, but they did," Tracey smirked back at him. "You just happen to have a bad memory; a very bad memory!"
And just like that did Saturday come to an end, and so, another day was announced by dawn; a cloudy and colder one.
Hogwarts woke up early that day; it was the first game of the season, after all. Ron made his way to the Great Hall, in solitude but not bothered about it by any means. Tracey had woken up way earlier, summoned to one of Flint's infamous pregame meetings. There, he almost had to fight his way over an empty seat.
In the end, he took a seat among the second-years, whose annoyed glares he was quick to ignore. That's rude, you brats. I wasn't so rude towards my elders when I was your age. Or so he thought, at least.
Even so, there was one girl who, at least, showed him a bit of kindness. "Excuse them, if you mind," Alaine Baldwin said. "It seems summer took away all traces of manners within them." The half-blood witch had grown a bit this summer, he could tell, but she still was rather short of a thirteen year-old girl. Her raven-black hair was also styled as per usual, with a simple yet tight ponytail.
"Let them be," Ron said with a shrug. "I couldn't care less."
"May I ask why you took a seat here today?" Alaine asked seriously.
It struck Ron as quite odd. From what he remembered of Alaine, she was known for being playful and outgoing. "There aren't many empty seats today, in case you haven't noticed," he simply said.
"Fair point," she nodded, then remained silent as she ate her porridge.
From the corner of his eye, Ron noticed a faint movement from under the table. He feigned to stretch his back, and then he took a peak under the table. Alaine's free hand fidgeted with a long, thick wand of dark wood, which she then dropped on the wooden bench, right between Ron and herself.
The hell? It didn't take him long to understand it.
"Where's my wand?" a blond, pink faced girl shrieked from across a few seats. "I swear I stored it in my pockets this morning!"
"Perhaps, it's the work of Pinky," Alaine said with a serious face. "You know, that old elf you cursed a few nights ago… I've heard that Hogwarts's elves aren't like those you, noble purebloods, are used to ordering around. Maybe, she didn't find your prank as funny as you did, Cali. Rumour has it that they lose sight as they grow older. Maybe she took your wand for a piece of wood and dropped it into a fireplace… You know, since it's such a large wand… "
All colour was drained from the girl's face in just a few seconds. "No! That cannot be possible! My precious wand!" Like a storm, she stood up and sprinted out of the Great Hall under many confused eyes. Two boys, one tall and of brown skin and one short and of light skin, were quick to follow her.
Alaine took a spoonful of porridge to her mouth, which hid the huge smirk that almost split her face in two.
"You used me for that," Ron pointed out. "That was clever…"
"Sorry not sorry!" Alaine stuck her tongue out. "I will give it to her after the game, or perhaps once the sun has set. Who knows? Not her, that's for sure."
Ron just shook his head, bewildered. "May I ask the reason why you did it? I've seen many pranks throughout my life, trust me, and I can tell when one gets personal. What you said about that elf… What was all of that about?"
Alaine took a long, deep sigh; long gone were all traces of mischief in her eyes. "Pinky is a kind, old elf who's tasked to clean our dormitory. Like I said, she's old, and not so sharp as she once probably was. Yesterday, the poor elf woke us all before dawn, two hours earlier than she should have. That blond girl you saw, well, her name is Callidora Yaxley, and she's bloody insufferable. Anyhow, the thing is that Callidora was angry when that happened; very, very angry. And she hit poor Pinky with a very nasty spell, one her dear father taught her this summer…"
"I swear I will forever remember the way Pinky wailed in pain," Alaine went on. "I tried to help her, of course, but she just Apparated away when I got closer. I wanted to cry. On the contrary, Callidora seemed incredibly proud of herself. I felt the need to slap the hell out of her right there, but I refrained myself, of course. Well, it is said that revenge is best served cold, isn't it?"
"Sometimes, I really hate purebloods," Ron sighed, not so hungry anymore.
"Just sometimes?" Alaine asked with a mirthless smile. "I know only a few of them, but if they all are like Callidora… Well, no wonder they all hate Slytherin so fervently. I've given her enough chances, but it's worthless. She puts up with me because among us, second-years, I'm the one with the best grades. And also, as she says, because half of my blood is clean and worthy; that makes me bearable, but barely. It seems fraternity is a trait she dearly values, to a point in which she's able to put up with me. "
"Not all of them are like that," Ron told her. "It took me a while to understand it."
"You are a Weasley, also part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Alaine pointed out.
"Not to them," Ron snorted. "To them, I'm the worst kind of lot, even worse than muggle-borns, I dare to say. We are a noble and ancient family, true enough, but one that has repudiated the Blood Supremacy by choice. In all truth, I didn't find much disdain here, much less than I first thought I would, in fact. However, I can see it in their eyes. They hate me, not because of who I am, but because of my beliefs. It gets way worse out of Hogwarts, from what I've been told, once the lordships and ladyships come into sight. Money, relationships… That's what moves them."
Around them, many students made their way out of the Great Hall as they finished breakfast, which included Alaine's group. Only one of them sent a look in her direction, to which, in response, she shook her head in denial. The noise became much fainter now, and so they had to lower their voices in order to not stand out so much.
"He's a good lad, that Jayson Burke" Alaine said, eyes set on the raven-haired boy as he took his leave. "Pureblood too, but not from a powerful family. He too dances to Callidora's tune, but does not approve of her ways."
"Burke…" Ron mused. "That name sounds familiar… Oh, right, they had a shop of dark items, right in the middle of Knockturn Alley. My father tried running a few inspections on that business, but his petitions never made it. It seems that Burke has many friends in the Ministry, well connected ones, who protect him from unwanted guests."
"That's his uncle's business," Alaine was quick to defend him. "Jayson is the heir to the House of Burke, hence his father is the lord, yet it is his uncle who holds the power in that family. There's bad blood between the two brothers, I believe."
"I said nothing about him," Ron pointed out with a raised brow. "If there's something we, Weasleys, do, it's to never judge someone by what one's parents did or never did." The Hall was almost empty by now, and Ron took notice of that. "How about I walk you to the Quidditch field? I believe we have much to discuss, or I have much to say, at least."
Alaine Baldwin sent him a sharp look, yet nodded in the end. They joined the crowd, almost missing a moving staircase by a heartbeat.
"I hated purebloods when I was sorted here, you know?" Ron started. "All my life, I have believed for them to be bigots if not evil, regardless of age, gender or importance. To me, those children sorted into Slytherin were, most likely, Death Eaters in the making. Then I got sorted here myself, and life slapped me in the face damn good. There's plenty of vermin here, of course, people of the likes of Malfoy, Parkinson and Nott. However, there also are plenty of them who are worth getting to know."
"Jayson is," Alaine said, eyes firmly set on Ron. "You too are, and so are your friends. Otherwise, you would have never befriended them."
"Blaise Zabini is a self-centred bastard who only thinks about himself no matter what," Ron stated, coldly. "But he was kind to me when others had left pretty clear how unwelcomed I was in Slytherin. He's never been rude to anyone, much less hurt a single soul. All Blaise wants is for others to ignore him, as he does the same with them." The staircase finally arrived at its destination, a corridor on the third floor, and they hoped down.
"Then comes Daphne Greengrass," the redhead continued, trying to ignore his anger towards her. "She's, with no hint of doubt, the most prideful girl I have ever met. The heiress to a Great House, with enough money to buy a dozen palaces despite not cleaning a single dish in her entire life. She's been spoiled since birth, and she expects others to do as she pleases. And yet, when I most needed it, she was here to help me. Truly one of the most loyal persons I have met."
"They do sound nice," Alaine smiled at him. "I don't know what happened to your group, but I do hope you four manage to sort it all out."
"That's up to them," Ron shook his head. They finally exited the castle, and the cold breeze made him tighten the scarf around his neck. "Anyhow, let's not deviate from the main matter. There's good people here, yes, but also dangerous bastards. To me, Callidora Yaxley is nothing but a spoiled brat, but I bet my right hand that she has many contacts both in Hogwarts and outside. Be careful, Alaine. I know you mean well, but take one step in the wrong direction, and you will pay a great price."
Alaine also tightened the scarf around her neck; whether it was because of the cold day or due to Ron's words was something they both chose to ignore.
"I know what you mean," she sighed. "Believe it or not, I took precautions before taking revenge on Callidora. I talked to Headmaster Dumbledore, and I told him about Pinky and what I was about to do. His words were quite similar to yours, now that I think about it, and neither did he try to stop me. I needed to follow my heart, he said. He also promised me that Pinky would be moved to another House. Whenever she is now, I hope they treat her better than we did…"
The two Slytherins were still far from the stadium, but the crowd could already be heard. Most likely, many bets had already been made. Looking upwards, Ron spotted the two teams with ease, already warming up atop their brooms. One of those specs of green was Tracey, but he could not tell from afar.
"You are way more clever than I was," he whistled, impressed and even proud of his junior. "I learnt the truth the hard way; with a broken lip and with a way harsher scold." She raised a brow at that. "That's a story for another day, if you are lucky enough. Back then, there was someone who guided and protected me, and his name was Daniel Williams. He told me that we, outsiders, needed to be extremely careful in Slytherin, and that we needed to stick together no matter what. Today, I felt the need to honour his words and to follow his call. If you ever need a friend, do not hesitate and come to me. I will be there, Alaine."
They made it to the stadium when the game was about to start, yet Ron cared very little about it as of that moment. His eyes were set on Alaine, who looked to be at a loss for words.
Until she wasn't anymore. "Thank you, really," she said with a bright grin. "Between you and me, I would rather take you as a friend than that snooty Head-Boy." She suddenly turned dead serious. "We were complete strangers until today, and yet you lost plenty of your time to help me. That's a friend to me, and friends help each other. Say, is there anything you want? Eh, don't give me that look! This comes from the goodness of my heart!"
Ron laughed at that, though it was just a fickle guffaw. "Well, there might be something," he admitted. "It's about my sister, Ginny." That caught her attention. "She suffered a lot last year because of the Heir of Slytherin, and although I tried to help her this summer, I fear my effort was not enough. I believe she has no friends, mainly because she does not know how to approach them, and she has even come to refuse all my last approaches. I am not asking you to become her bestie out of the blue, Alaine, but you are, easily, one of the most outgoing students here. Also, you have a great heart… Please, I ask you to try where I failed."
One of the reasons why he had asked for help was because, much to his sadness, Ron did not know how to help his sister anymore. But there was a second reason, one even more important. Like Gerdnyaram once told him, Ron would not be able to help Ginny by himself because she knew it had been her the one to give his brother Tom's diary.
Long gone was that bastard, and even from the afterlife he still was able to pour misery into their lives…
"There's no need to flatten me," Alaine said softly. "I have noticed her change, too. Last year, at the Duelling Club, she humiliated me and my arrogant ass. She stood there, victorious and proud like no other. And then came our second year, and Ginny Weasley was a shelf of her past self. I can only make you one promise, that I will try my best. I reckon she will be a nice change of airs for me."
A large part of the crowd chanted for a goal, most likely in favour of Ravenclaw.
"Now, it's me the one to thank you, really," Ron ruffled her hair, much to her embarrassment. "You are a nice girl to be around, Alaine. However, I would rather watch a Quidditch game, don't you think so?" And just like that, the two of them made their way up the grandstands.
Ron, for a change, felt as if a huge weight had been taken out of his shoulders.
Tracey allowed the winds to carry her through the field as her eyes moved from one corner to another.
They've taken the lead, but not for much; merely three goals of advantage. At that moment, she held the quaffle with a tight grip, knuckles white under her thin gloves. A faint whistle told her the bludger was on her way, and yet she ignored it. Out of nowhere came Adrian Pucey, and she heard the crunch of his wooden bat as the bludger was repelled.
Graham Montague flew past her like a shooting star atop of his superior Nimbus. Tracey then feigned a pass to him, which got the attention from one of Ravenclaw's chasers. Ha, got you! Instead, she passed the quaffle backwards, towards Flint, who was quick to pass it back to her. At that moment, in front of Grant Page, the keeper, she paid a blind ear to the entire stadium.
Her arm moved by itself, and the quaffle got past the keeper by mere inches. It was a new goal, her third in the game.
Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and so, the Slytherin team flew back to their field, allowing the ravens enough room to restart the game. "That was a damn nice shot!" Graham said, fist bumping her. "We need to keep putting pressure onto them! They are almost out of breath, I can feel it!"
Tracey nodded at that, although she wasn't in a much better condition either. Say what you will about Quidditch, but it sure was exhausting!
The game resumed, and the quaffle advanced in the hands of Roger Davies, the team's ace and captain. "Graham, you take the left side," Flint barked. " Davis, you go and cover Stratton; that's their most used play when the game gets tough! Bletcher, keep an eye on the left goal; that damned Davies always shoots there!"
Right, we studied their game! Tracey did as told, flying so close to Stratton she felt like his shadow. At the same time, she kept an eye on the field. The snitch had yet to appear, although both Malfoy and Chang had already circled the field thrice.
"Get off me!" Stratton shouted at her. "Bloody girl!" He tried to accelerate, but his broom was worse than Tracey's, thus he didn't get far from her.
The quaffle finally moved, towards Stratton, and yet she waited. Tracey allowed the older chaser to taste victory, and then, when the bludger came at him out of nowhere and made him move out of the way, she was there to grab it. With no need to look for her teammate, Tracey threw the quaffle across the field.
As planned, Flint was there to capture it, alone against the keeper, and he wasn't a chaser to miss those chances. The ball went through the goal, and the snakes burst into cheers. They led by fifty points now!
"That's what I'm talking about!" Flint roared, fist into the sky. "This is our bloody game! Nice job controlling the bludgers, Adrian! You too, Bole!" Tracey also roared at that. They all were older than her, and some shared certain beliefs she repudiated, but still, here in the field, she felt as one with her teammates.
The game continued, and it got slower and dirtier; for each goal Slytherin got, Ravenclaw scored another for themselves. In the end, as per usual, it would all come to the seekers. Speaking of which, Malfoy suddenly rocketed towards the ground, but Chang was quick to follow him. The snitch had appeared amidst the game's chaos.
"Get those bludgers off our seeker, Adrian!" Flint shouted. "Bole, you help him!"
Those were good orders, she reckoned, but Ravenclaw's ace was faster and more intelligent. Davies flew down with the speed of lighting, quaffle in hand, and just when Malfoy was about to capture the snitch, he threw the ball at it. It did not hit it, of course, but it was enough to alter the snitch's route.
Now, going upwards, it was Chang who was in advantage.
I will not allow it! Tracey left her position in the field, ignoring the shouts from Montague. It was a very crazy idea, the one to fill her mind, but damned be her if it didn't make all the sense in the world. Up and up went the snitch, away from Malfoy yet closer to Tracey. The girl leaned forward onto her broom, and then she erased all thought from her mind.
Tracey ploughed through the winds so fast that it seemed to blow her eardrums, making all other sources of noise disappear. She extended her arm forward, then opened her hand just to close it around a golden, winged ball.
She, a chaser, had captured the snitch, therefore the game had ended and they were crowned victorious.
It was quite hard to believe, almost surreal. The crowd seemed to share her opinion, and so, it took them a few seconds to react. Someone was the first to clap, and then others followed. Soon enough, an entire area of the grandstand, filled by those dressed in silver and green, were up on his feet, clapping and shouting as if possessed.
Out of nowhere came his teammates, led by Montague himself, and they used her shock to surround the girl in the blink of an eye. "You made it, Davis!" he shouted, patting her on the back with such force she was almost dismounted.
"I told you all she was good! A damn prodigy, I dare to say!" Bletchley exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. "I told you all, did I not!? Wait a moment, is this even legal?"
"Of course it is, you moron," Flint grunted, though he wore a wide smile on his face; quite the unusual yet also scary sight, in her opinion. "It rarely happens, but there is not a single rule to forbid it."
Tracey could barely take in their words. Her eyes were still set on the snitch, which no longer tried to escape from her grip. It felt warmer than she'd expected, and it was also far more beautiful when looked so up close.
However, she was taken out of her stupor when a hand softly touched her shoulder. "It was a good play, Davis," Malfoy said sourly. It took her a while to process his words; not because of them, but due to whose mouth they came from. "Their ace took me out of the picture with such a reckless idea, and I could not react in time. If you hadn't acted, we would have lost, and the blame would be mine to carry alone. Thank you, really."
He left with no further word, gliding through the rest of the team, who were far too euphoric and happy to pay him a single thought. It seemed that Tracey had been forgotten too since she hadn't taken part in their loud and handsy celebration.
"I have done it, father," Tracey mused, lost in her own world yet also just as happy as the rest. "I have proven that I deserve to be respected. Not because of the gold in our vaults, like most do here, nor due to the House which I was born into, like some privileged claim, but due to my efforts and sacrifices…"
She then spotted a mop of light-brown hair amidst the Gryffindors, one which jumped and waved his arms like a possessed man despite all the annoyed glares sent in his direction. Definitely, Darren, her dear brother, had not changed a bit. This too, she remembered, was his to enjoy.
It seemed she'd found the perfect birthday gift for him—her golden snitch.
"Tracey looked incredibly happy today," Gerdnyaram voiced out, still in her eagle form.
"About to explode out of euphoria," Ron nodded to her words, a wide grin on his face as he remembered the post-game party in the common room. His friend had almost crushed his ribs in a tight embrace, then she'd ran away from her teammates, who wanted to toss her up in a blanket. "She deserves every bit of it. Finally, she won't have to worry about what others think of her. Despite her blood status, the Quidditch team had taken quite a liking to their new chaser."
The two of them made their way through the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest, long past Hagrid's hut. Ron devoured a large apple while at it.
"That sounds nice," Gerd hummed. They fell into a comfortable silence. Out there, under the dusk's shadow, both the Essentia and the wizard felt at peace.
"It's really a shame we don't have anyone to practise the Anticipation with," Ron said. "Still, there's plenty of things to train. Today, I wanna give Ume's Shield a try. You know, the one she used to jail me in. I reckon I can get my Shields to move forward and those kinds of things."
Gerd did not answer back this time, she just flapped her wings at a faster pace, leaving the redhead slightly behind. "There's someone else here," she announced.
Suddenly, the grunts reached Ron's ears; they sounded tired, yet extremely rageful. He drew out his wand, just in case, and followed the Essentia, whose ethereal light did nothing to illuminate the path ahead of them. "Lumos!" he mused. A large ball of light appeared at the tip of his wand, powerful enough to brighten all around them.
The grunts came to a halt just as Ron strode into the clearing.
All around him, thin trees have been either cut through the half or pulled out of their roots. The soil was charred at many points, if not also holed. And amidst all this chaos stood Theodore Nott, who frowned at Ron with a dark look in his eyes.
"The hell did those trees do to anger you?" the redhead whistled. Perhaps, it wasn't his wisest choice, to say something so blunt in front of a very unstable wizard like Nott. However, to Ron, the weedy boy didn't look so fearsome anymore. Not since the way Shawn had toyed with him at the Minor.
"They were on my way," Nott said with a ragged breath, yet he stored his wand back into his robes. "I should be the one making questions now. Why are you here, Weasley?"
"It was a fun party," Ron replied with a shrug, "but I found myself in need of some fresh air. I reckoned a stroll around here would do it."
"So, you didn't come in my search…" Nott said with a dangerous touch in his voice.
"Why would I?" Ron almost snorted at that. "I've done this before, too. Not so violently, I believe, but I understand the way you feel. There's always a bigger fish, Nott. I understood that long ago."
"Shawn isn't better than me," Nott said haughtily, taking a step towards Ron. "He was lucky, and he tricked me! If he'd fought directly, as a proper man should, then I would have won! Everyone knows that."
Ron just shook his head in disbelief. "Even if you repeat those words a hundred times, such a blatant lie will never become a truth. Perhaps, you will come to believe them, but that's it. Come on, I know you aren't so stupid. Be a man, as you just said, and accept your defeat."
Nott drew out his wand in the blink of an eye, its tip glowing yellow and pointed at Ron. "You take that back!" he hissed.
"No, I don't think I will," Ron said coldly. A part of him begged to run away from Nott before it was too late, but he just turned a blind eye to it. Here and now, he was not scared of Nott. In fact, he kind of pitied him. "It's the truth, and you know it as well as I do. Otherwise, you wouldn't react so stupidly."
The yellow gleam turned into a weak Bombarda, which missed Ron by a fair margin. A blasting sound came from behind, just as a weak flash almost blinded him. The wind brought to them the scent of burnt leaves, which quickly fused with that of the clearing.
"Why?" Nott then asked, a bit out of it. "Why don't you fear me anymore? What has become of this world, that I cannot intimidate a blood-traitor?"
"People change," Ron said. "Once, I feared you, but then I met far worse than you, Nott. A man whose essence was of pure evil, a man rotted to the bone… For much I have tried, I have yet to defeat him, even though he's nothing but a memory. I will make it one day, that I know, because that's what we are supposed to do. We fight, we make our way through hardships and all the obstacles life tosses at us, and then, once we conquer our demons, we become stronger, different. It seems that's a lesson you have yet to learn. Perhaps, Shawn came to understand it long ago, and that's why he swept the ground with you…"
Nott, for once, looked speechless, eyes and mouth wide open.
From the corner of his eye, Ron was able to spot Gerdnyaram, back already in her human form, her ever-present long dress waving to the breeze's tune. It was with a raised brow that she observed him, almost impressed. Yet when her gaze turned towards Nott, it was a pitiful one that appeared.
"The Heir of Slytherin," Nott mused, then. "That's the identity that filthy Boggart took to scare you…" He remained silent for almost a minute, and Ron let him be. "My father was there, you know? He saw how his son, and the heir to his House, was humiliated in front of hundreds. He is the mighty James Nott, you see? A name feared by many, a name which many utter with dread and respect. Yet that of Theodore Nott, his son, has become a joke in the world of duelling. To them, whenever I go, I will be the poor bastard who was humiliated by Alexander Shawn…"
Ron looked for Nott's eyes, but the weedy boy avoided his gaze.
"By the time I woke up, my father had already left," Nott sighed. "I wrote to him a few days after the Minor, as soon as the shame I felt towards myself allowed me. That was seven days ago, and he has yet to answer. I have tried calling for an elf of ours who works here, at Hogwarts. That too was a worthless attempt. I have disappointed him yet again, but this time, I not only did that. No, I have also tarnished the name of our House."
"Honestly, it still blows my mind the importance you, purebloods, give to that House nonsense," Ron huffed. "Daphne was just the same. All she did was influenced by how it could affect her House. What a bloody nonsense! Life is way more than that, yet you all are so blind to see it. I pity you and your bloody customs, for the record."
"You say that because you understand nothing," Nott laughed, loudly yet mirthlessly. "In the pureblood society, you must eat those around you, otherwise, you and your loved ones will be those to be devoured. More so here, in England. We are alone, Weasley. The rest of the world cut ties with us long ago, and many ancient alliances came to an end. We once were the kings of the world, respected by our fellow purebloods from other countries, but, as of today, we fight for the scraps they left to us…"
"A man such as Lucius Malfoy has the power and the influence to destroy an entire business just because someone was fool enough to cross him," Nott went on. "A man such as James Nott will kill those who offend him. A man such as Corban Yaxley, that scoundrel of a wizard, has powerful, shady friends. A man such as Thomas Greengrass still has contacts in the Underworld. Politicians such as Fudge or Umbridge, those who are meant to defend all people regardless of wealth or blood status and yet are so easily bribed… I could go on for minutes, Weasley. They all served, or feared, the Dark Lord once, and now that he's gone they are free to do as they please in this country. Allies and comrades in the past, perhaps, but given the chance, one must only be loyal to himself and his name."
Now it was Ron the one at a loss for words. Those were names he knew very well, for his father had rambled about them and their foul nature for hours on end whenever one of his projects was denied. Still, to him, those were the names of children, of boys and girls around his age who attended Hogwarts.
Just then, he remembered the way Alaine had spoken of Callidora Yaxley. A girl of thirteen years of age, perhaps, but already one to enjoy the suffering of those whom she considered to be beneath her…
"That bad?" Ron mused.
"You have no idea," Nott shook his head. "My father is, under your values, a vile man who, in the Great War, killed countless mudbloods and traitors to the Blood who defended them. He's cruel, a murderer with rage problems, but he ain't no degenerate. I have met men and women who, in private, indulge in sinful pleasures of the worst kind; children, people of the same blood and even creatures of different races. We have hosted nobles from across the sea who are so fervent about the Blood, they would not consider you, a traitor to it, someone worthy to exist in a world they believe belongs to them. Heirs and heiress to Great Houses who are forced against their will to marry their own kin; products of endogamy. Remnants of Great Houses who lost their might due to internal disputes in which not even the infants survived… Torture, raping, briberies and exortion… I've seen it all with my own eyes, how long gone those fuckers are…"
"I am sorry to pop your bubble of sunshines and rainbows, but, yes, this is our world, Weasley." Now it was a mocking smirk the one Nott wore. "And yours too, like it or not, for the House of Weasley once feasted and toasted with the likes of Nott, Malfoy and Black… The Dark Lord might be gone for good, but his heritage will last forever. We, those of the Blood, will wait for another monster to unite our cause. We will cleanse the Wizarding World sooner or later, because it is ours by right."
"That's just…" Horrible. It was, plainly and simply, horrible. "How can you speak of these horrors so easily?"
Ron felt sick beyond words. He'd come to change his opinion about purebloods since he was sorted into Slytherin, for most he'd met here were ordinary children. Some were richer, others more arrogant and cruel to those weakers, but he had yet to find true evil here. However, the way Nott spoke of his beliefs… It truly made him wonder if he was made of the same flesh and bone as those degenerates were.
"Because it is the way it all works," Nott said with a shrug. "In the Ancient Times, we were the rulers of all and every land. We were conquerors, and we started to share our blood with those unworthy. That was a sin, but a necessary one; we needed to survive, after all. It made our blood dilute, but some were less careful than others. It seems that today, in the present age, only a few remember who we really are, even among ourselves, those who belong to the Blood."
Nott placed a hand on Ron's shoulder as he walked past him. "It does not matter the name, whether it is Shawn, Redfield, Potter, Weasley or Greengrass, they will have to make a choice. To betray their true nature and therefore die, or to join their kin and therefore survive. One day, we will take the world back from the unworthy, and poor, poor of those who dare to stand in our way. Magic favours us, after all."
"Why are you telling me this?" Ron said, pulling away from Nott's grip with a disgusted look on his face.
"Because you helped me first," the weedy boy said, back turned on Ron. "The least I could do was to warn you. Although a traitor, your blood is yet pure. You are one of us. Please, do not associate yourself with the wrong lot, Weasley. I am fond of you, and I would hate for you and your entire family to end up dead because your arrogant tongue angered the wrong person. Be part of the change, do not oppose it."
Just like that, Nott became one with the Forest's darkness.
Minutes went by, in which Ron spent them rooted to the ground, eyes still set on the path Nott had taken.
Finally, it was Gerdnyaram who broke the silence. "Nott spoke no lies," she said sourly. "Such was the way the world worked in the Ancient Times, and we suffered the consequences. However, it seems that both our sins and repentance have been forgotten, and now, in the present age, your people rush to commit the very same mistakes. It is unforgivable."
"Do you believe in all he said?" Ron mused, way more exhausted than he was before this unexpected encounter. "Do you believe the world is as rotten as he let on?"
"I know it is, for a fact," Gerd nodded with a sigh. "And so do you, Ronald. For much you try to deny it, you know it."
"I remember when I first met him," Ron said. "Nott told me that, to him, Hogwarts was just a waste of time, a formality, that he knew what would be of his life in the future. He's always had no trouble using violence when he needed it, and even those who once called him an ally were scared of him… Yeah, I do believe him. What's worse, I know there are plenty of bastards worse than him. You have shown me the Future, after all. Voldemort will return, and his lackeys will come to his aid…"
Gerd flew down, and she took a seat atop of his shoulder. Her hands, warm and soft, caressed the boy's face in a comforting way. "This is yet another reminder, Ronald," she mused with evident sadness in her voice. "It greatly pains me to see that our people have not learned despite the years and our many failures… However, Nott told you one lie. A person's birth leaves a huge mark in their nature, but it does not dictate which path to take. There's people worth saving amidst all that evil, like your friends…"
"I know," Ron whispered. "But we cannot save them, Gerd. I tried it, remember? To save as many as we could, to be a hero. Yet I failed miserably. Because of that, my loved ones suffered the consequences. Had I been more watchful of Ginny, as the older brother I am, I could have saved her. But, no, I had to be the bloody hero and stop Tom all by myself! I can only reach so far, and I will limit myself to it."
"Those are wise words," Gerdnyaram said, "and I respect them. However, there's something you can do for those who are worth saving. Give them a chance to fight for themselves, Ronald. When the time comes, when the shadows start lurking around us, give them a chance to choose their own fate. Do not judge anyone because of the tales told about them. There might be an innocent soul lost in hell. Light shines brighter amidst darkness, after all."
Ron just ruffled his hair, exhausted as if he'd been the one to play the Quidditch game. "We have yet to decide what to do next, Gerd," he sighed. "Two years ago, it was the Stone of Life that we needed to protect, and last year, it was the Heir of Slytherin whom we needed to defeat. Now, however, there's nothing… Sure, Harry is very worried about Umbridge, but I think he's spurred by personal reasons rather than common sense."
"Now, we wait and prepare ourselves for the storm to come," Gerd said. "Voldemort will be reborn anew, one way or another. Herpo the Foul will, too. When that happens, I am certain we will take notice of it, for the Wizarding World will be shocked to its core… Out there, there are many more enemies yet to meet, just as there are many allies yet to befriend. Even so, as of today, it is the two of us alone against the world. I stand by what I once said: we could, perhaps, resort to the likes of Albus Dumbledore, but then we would be used just like any other piece on the board… No, we must wait."
"The eyes that watch from the darkness, huh?" Ron snorted, remembering one of her quotes from first-year. "Okay, Gerd. I do trust you. We will keep our eyes open on the many open fields… Voldemort, Herpo and your fellow comrades, Fudge and the Ministry, Nott and the pureblood society… We will protect our family from them all."