On the Brink of Yesterday

Chapter One

Snow Stained Red

Excerpt from Famous Witches and Wizards: Before the Age of Merlin - By Wenda Raven:

Page 2,007 -

~”The legend of the witch Queen Irisel of the year 800 B.C. is not a well remembered legend amongst the common Wizarding society of today. She was the only daughter of the exiled High Priestess Nariana of an island that is today believed to be the lost enchanted island of Avalon: as any school child will know it is where the creation of all things magical began (see page 4,087 for details). Queen Irisel's exact date of birth is unknown, but she was believed to have been born sometime in the year 780 B.C., somewhere in the coastal lands of Britain. She was a child of the Beltane fires and her father was the Great Hunter, and by tradition he was left anonymous.

Three years before Irisel's birth, the land of Avalon had been corrupted through the Dark Arts and had become infested with the demons of the Dark Lord and his unknown mistress. The Kingdom of Avalon was forced to seek refuge on the main land, where they were scorned and persecuted by the common folk. The High Priestess Nariana saw hope in her slowly blooming daughter, who had no knowledge of her heritage, other than her mother's healing arts. Irisel is rumored to have grown up in the wild country outside of Yorkshire and knew little of ordinary people, save what she heard from her mother and the few people whom she lived with. But from an early age the High Priestess knew that her only daughter was special. She had the gift of the gods, she could commune with nature and nurture the earth and bend it to her will, or so the records say. Irisel's power was dangerous and unpredictable and she grew up with no knowledge of her strange behavior. Until the day she learned of King Teritan of Avalon, the Dark Lord of hell itself.

The High Priestess Nariana is believed to have died of natural causes sometime in 802 B.C., leaving Irisel at the young age of fifteen, alone and unprepared. Irisel harbored a hard and blind hate for the Dark Lord and his equally evil Queen, and vowed on her mother's grave to regain the sacred land of her people.

At the age of seventeen Irisel had gathered an army of over a twenty thousand, both of fey and British decent. But it wasn't until sometime in 801 B.C. that she met the British wizard warrior, Jared of HallowWood, and joined forces with he and his vastly larger army. The details of many of their battles are sketchy and ill-recorded (see page 3,007 for details), but sometime in the year 800 B.C., Irisel was named Queen by her people and led a final battle, with her Champion Jared of HallowWood at her side, into the black land of Avalon. Irisel, her beau, and the Dark Lord were lost forever in a blinding clash of magic that was said “ ...to blind the hearts of men and scar the soul....” The battle was won that day but the only Witch Queen recorded in history was lost, and Avalon's evil Queen disappeared from history.

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Soft snow drifted downwards languidly, like diamonds from the frosty grey sky above. A light caressing wind made erotic patterns of the fine downy ice, sending it in wild dances through the air. From a high icy tower in the East Wing, Ginny Weasley watched as they fluttered past the window she was staring fixedly out of. She thought longingly of the warm cozy dormitory that awaited her, the cup of exquisite, steamy hot chocolate, with vanilla of course, that would be sitting at her bedside when she arrived. Turning away from the snowy storm outside she directed her thoughts towards the book settled on the table in front of her. The class room around her was bitterly silent save for Colin Creevey's breathy snores a few desks in front of her. She sat in the back of the room in the corner desk, right next to a small glass window that when clear, had a wonderful view over the Forbidden Forest.

Ginny sighed wearily and let her soft brown eyes skim over the paragraph she was supposed to be reading. Throughout the class she had tried desperately to focus on the lesson but her mind kept straying towards nothing in particular. She was freezing as well, her toes numb in her black glossy shoes, her thread-bare, second hand cloak no match for the chill of the room. If only Professor Binns wasn't dead and had the perception to start a fire in the warmly awaiting fireplace just behind his nearly transparent body. At least he wasn't lecturing anymore, she reminded herself, trying desperately to look on the bright side as she suppressed a shiver, pulling her much too long sleeves over her chilled fingers.

Sinking back into herself Ginny started out the window once more. Here she was half-way through her sixth year, and she still felt like a lost first year looking for Hagrid and his rickety boats at the Lake. All her Hogwarts years she had felt apart and different, but... how could she not when she held the stain of darkness on her soul so kindly placed by the late Tom Riddle. She wasn't depressed, nor did she wish to be alone, her nightmares happened rarely and she felt mostly normal. But there was something else, something that stirred beneath the surface, like the calm before a storm, that drew her away from the common worries of people her age. Ginny shuddered from the cold and sunk lower in her chair, eyes focused on the snow drifting lazily outside the frosted window.

An uneasy quiet had settled over the Wizarding world. The Dark Lord was out there somewhere bidding his time, as he had been ever since his last encounter with Harry his fifth year. This time Ginny shuddered from the pain of memory, what a horrible year that had been. Thinking of Harry always brought tears to her eyes, she would always harbor something of a crush on the Boy Who Lived, but most of all she felt a deep sense of pity and a quiet understanding. She had been touched by darkness once and had barely survived, yet Harry had been subjected to the terrors of Voldemort not once but eight times, and was still expected to achieve victory. Harry was wearing away, his spirit downcast and falling faster and faster towards despair. They were losing him not physically, but spiritually with every day that passed - even Ron and Hermione, were nearly lost to him. Again Ginny shuddered and rose with the rest of the class as Professor Binns dismissed them.

At the door, Ginny turned and looked out the small window once more, watching the snow, and wishing that like the small delicate flakes, she could be lost among the white and pure. Nothing was pure anymore. Everything was stained red. The door shut with solemn click behind her.

If only she had known then her life was about to take a horrible turn for the worst.

****

Draco loved nothing more than to bait a Weasley into uncontrolled rage. It was like oxygen to him: he couldn't go a day without throwing an insult or two at least one of the redheaded Muggle lovers. Like a drug, it was fun and addictive, but the best part was that they were so very easily riled.

Ronald Weasley, Draco's favorite target, had just failed for the tenth time at producing the right ingredients during a particularly boring class of Potions. It was obvious to everyone that Weasley was merely guessing at which jar held the dried remains of a vampire's heart. Snape looked happy enough to sing, as Weasley, on his final chance, selected a jar of horse-radish.

“Weasley,” Draco drawled over the hissing of cauldrons, “You're so bloody stupid that you could fall into a barrel full of nipples and come out sucking your thumb.”

The Slytherins' laughed cruelly in appropriate quantities of mockery, and Draco noted with unabashed pleasure that both Potter and Weasley became almost instantly red with anger. It was almost too easy, and the way Weasley's ears turned a humorous molten red was well worth it. Draco smirked, pleased despite himself.

Snape himself smiled faintly - well, the corners of his thin white lips twitched upwards anyway- before announcing in his normally cold voice that ten points would be taken from Gryffindor because of Weasley's lack of much needed brain cells. Draco felt he had done his duty and returned to calmly slicing the entrails of a goat into little pieces, ignoring the glares from Potter and Weasley a few tables away.

The dungeons were characteristically frigid for the season and Draco's pale fingers were slowly becoming numb with cold. He wondered vaguely if Snape realized how bloody freezing it got down there in the winter, or if he even cared. He should be made to care, Draco thought angrily as he added his dried vampire's heart, causing his potion to turn a deep, red blood color.

Ten minutes later Draco was calmly stirring his perfect Invisibility Potion and ladling it into a large glass jar, scribbling his name across the top and setting it proudly on the table beside his notes, making sure Potter and Weasley could see it clearly from the distance. They noticed, as Draco knew they would, and glared at him in pure hatred. Draco had to fight the urge to smile brightly back at them.

A split second before class was to be dismissed, the blundering fool, Neville Longbottom, succeeded in melting his very first cauldron of the year, which was actually quite impressive for the idiot. Draco, who was at the time flicking bits of intestines at the back of Harry's head, wasn't quick enough to escape the great wave of sick brown liquid.

The wrongly concocted Potion struck him full in the chest as it splattered onto the cold stone floor, and Draco felt as though he had been suddenly struck by lightning. His heart stopped mid-beat and his blood froze in his veins, everything was in slow motion, and then he was falling. He was sure he was dying, and fear gripped at the functioning parts of his brain.

Through the haze he heard his father's voice softly echoing through his befuddled mind, cruel and hard. “Dying for the Dark Lord is the greatest honor Draco, you should never be afraid to die for our Lord, never...” Draco wasn't quite sure why this occurrence suddenly came to mind, but he supposed he would have to ponder it in hell, and he was quite positive he was headed in that direction. His poor mother would be devastated, if only he could tell her he loved her.....

Then like a candle being blown out, everything faded into black.

***

The small dismal chamber was completely dark save for a nearly spent candle settled precariously on the rough stone floor. The cold air was stale and smelled of old books and some faintly rotting creature.

Beside the lazily flickering candle sat an open book, and beside that, a dead body. It was the body of a woman. She was beautiful, with long flowing blonde hair that now hung limp about her shoulders, and piloted around her lolling head. She wore expensive robes of satin and lace, its red color succeeding only in bringing out the pale dead color of her skin and her blue lips. Yes, Narssica Malfoy had been beautiful in life, but in death, she would be not only lovely, but terrible with power.

From the shadows, the Dark Lord cackled mirthlessly and took from his neck a vial of dark blood. With it he began the ceremony that would ensure his victory, a victory not even Harry Potter and his prophecy could stop.

Chapter 2

Awakenings

The story of Draco Malfoy's collapse in Potions spread like wildfire through the school, and Ginny, who was very sick of hearing about it constantly, couldn't use the lavatory or get through class without hearing some new rendition of Malfoy's untimely demise - or so Ron was feverishly praying would indeed be the outcome. Malfoy had only been in the Hospital Wing for three days and already the story had developed quite a few interesting variations.

Some swore that Neville, in a fit of rage, had in fact thrown his entire cauldron over Malfoy's head, knowing perfectly well that it was poisonous - because of this many of his fellow Gryffindors had taken to cheering him in the hallways or during meals. Others whispered that Hermione, who everyone knew slipped Neville tips in Potions whenever possible, had purposely given him the wrong ingredients in hopes of poisoning Draco. This one was widely popular among the Slytherin girls, though it was painfully illogical. After all, how does one predict which way the contents of a melted cauldron are going to fall? Ginny found the whole business rather immature and petty, but it seemed that only person in Hogwarts that shared her views was in fact Hermione.

“Are you sticking up for- for Malfoy?!” Ron sputtered at Hermione in disgust over dinner the eve before Christmas break. Ginny and Harry promptly busied themselves with their plates, careful to stay out of the line of fire.

Hermione rolled her eyes and set down her fork in exasperation, “Really, Ron, I heard Professor Sprout and McGonagall talking about him before Transfiguration, they think that the potion might have been fatal.”

“And your point.... is?”

Hermione blinked at Ron in disbelief, “You can not be serious! He could die, Ron!”

Ron snorted and took a rather large bite of potatoes, “Well, `hat's one less Malfoy in the `orld then `sn't?”

Hermione, a scowl plastered on her face, didn't seem to know quite how to take Ron's unabashed and guiltless wish of death on the Malfoy heir. She sat there for a moment, glaring down at her plate, then promptly picked up her bag, shooting a look at Ron that would have had Snape on his knees, and walked angrily from the Great Hall.

Ron looked a bit lost as he started down at his potatoes, fork held aloft in his hand.

“It's all right mate, you know how Hermione is, even if it is... M-Malfoy,” Harry choked over the name, as he tried to smile encouragingly at his best friend.

“Oh yeah, sure,” Ron said dissmissively, “But I think I've found a bit of hair in my potatoes, and its most definitely not mine.”

Ginny, who had been watching tensely a moment before, suppressed a small snort as Harry's face was suddenly washed clean with relief. Ginny couldn't blame him, the two were unbearable when fighting, but it was a good sign that Ron, at least, appeared to be unaffected. Ginny's thoughts were disrupted the next moment, when she caught her brother comparing the offending hair that had been dug from his potatoes, to one of Parvati's long raven plaits, and she quickly went to the other girls rescue, Malfoy's injures and possible death, far from her mind.

~*~*~

The pain was horrible. He thought he might never recover from it. It pulsated from within and contracted with each agonizing beat of his heart, slithering wildly through his veins like a thousand tiny biting snakes. His muscles were tense with the intensity, his mind screaming and screaming over and over again for release, for freedom. He couldn't escape it. It choked him, it cut into him, it slowly began to kill him. Tears washed his face like hot acid, stinging his chest and burning his skin in fear and hate. He hated him, he hated him so much. He wanted to kill him, to make him scream and beg for mercy. Rob him of his damn pride, of his spirit, or his total humanity. And then he would kill him, watch his thick blood flow out of his body and wash the carpets in an ocean of crimson hate. Wanted to kill. Wanted to hurt. Wanted the pain to stop. Hate. Pain. Fear. Kill, kill, kill, KILL!!!

Draco awoke to his own hoarse screams. Jerking up right on the small bed, his eyes opened wide in fear and confusion. He stopped screaming almost instantly and fell back into the softness of the bed with a low groan, a wave of white hot pain searing through his chest. His hand immediately flew up to grasp at his heart, only to find damp bandages wrapped tightly against his skin.

After a long horrible moment, the pain began to subside slightly and he looked blurry eyed up at his blood and sweat smeared hand, it quivered and he let it drop back onto the bed. He hungrily gulped in air and tried to regain some sense of stability about him, some knowledge of where he was and how he'd got there.

The room was dark and it took his eyes a moment to adjust, his aching head pounding all the harder with the strained effort. He lay on his back in tangled white sheets, dressed only in a long blue night shirt that reached barely to his knees. He, and the bed were surrounded by starch white curtains, soft moon light filtering through the thin material so he could see the vague outlines of other beds. He was in the Hospital Wing, he finally assessed. Draco relaxed slightly into the welcoming matters, closing his eyes, and breathing shallowly.

The door across the room burst open a moment later, causing Draco to lurch awake in surprise, another shot of pain piercing through his heart. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and gritted his teeth, tasting blood, and tried desperately to hear what the two people out side his bed were saying.

“He keeps moaning in his sleep Headmaster, about someone... someone hurting him, torturing him, and we still have no idea what's wrong with him or what the potion is that did this to him. It's like nothing we've ever seen before,” a woman said fearfully in a hushed voice.

Draco recognized the soft feminine voice to be Madam Pomfrey's, and he assumed the other looming shadow to be the tall form of Professor Dumbledore.

The Headmaster sighed softly, “Professor Snape and I have an idea of what the potion might have been, Poppy, but if our conclusion is indeed correct, there is very little we can do for Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco's heart skipped a beat and he closed his eyes tightly against a sudden rising sense of fear. Was he dying?

“His mother hasn't responded to our letters,” Madam Pomfrey said with a shaky voice, it sounded as though she were on the verge of tears. Draco didn't think he'd ever had anyone cry over him before, let alone feel sorry for him.

“I know Poppy.... I've- I've heard unsettling rumors about Narissca Malfoy,” Dumbledore said softly, and Draco's eyes flew open. What had happened to his mother?

“What should we do Professor? Isn't there anything we can do for the boy?”

“Professor Snape is trying to find a cure using a sample of the potion as we speak, but he has yet to come up with anything substantial.”

Madame Pomfrey whimpered slightly.

Draco forced himself to breath quietly and not break out into cries of reckless panic. He opened his eyes and looked blindly up at the high stone ceiling above, now more confused, and afraid than he had ever been in his life, and that was saying something.

“If-When he wakes, what do you want me to tell him Headmaster?” Pomfrey asked painfully.

“Send someone to get me, Poppy, I'll try and explain the situation to the boy as best as I can.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” she sounded relieved.

“I must be off now Poppy, I'm making a trip to Malfoy Manner this evening. Not only has Narissca not responded to your owls, but she hasn't reported to the Order in nearly three weeks.”

Dumbledore sounded worried, but this was lost on Draco. The Order? As in the Order of the Phoenix?! Oh yes, Draco had heard about it, on numerous occasions, from his father - who'd faced quite a few of its members during the first War. Was his mother a part of this Order? Had she betrayed Voldemort? Had she betrayed his father? Or more importantly, had she betrayed him?

Draco glared up at the ceiling in anger and turmoil, he felt alone and unsure of himself for the first time... in a very long time. He didn't fall asleep till long after Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore had left, behind the soft swishing of robes and hurried whispers. And Draco found himself alone with his nightmares and memories, again.

~*~*~

Ginny waved happily good-bye to her friends on the steps of Hogwarts, as they bounced away in the Thestral drawn carriages just as the sun began to fall behind the distant snow capped mountains. It was three days before Christmas and everything was perfect. The four of them; Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Harry, were all staying behind for the holidays -Mr. and Mrs. Weasley being quite busy with the Order had written them about the change of plans the evening before.

Hermione sighed softly from her place beside Ginny and drew her cloak more firmly about her, waving in turn as Neville said his final good-byes from a carriage window. They stood silently for a time, watching the long row of the happily departed disappear into the hazy distance. The day was of course chilly, and fresh snow blanketed the spacious grounds, the frozen waters of the Lake glimmering in the setting sun, painting the snow in oranges and yellows. It reminded Ginny warmly of buttered mashed potatoes. She smiled slightly to herself at the strange thought, it appeared Luna's course of intellectual expanse had rubbed off on her - Ron would not be pleased, which some how made the idea slightly more bearable.

Nearby, Harry and Ron had, rather loudly, begun a small snow ball fight. Harry was half hidden behind a pine tree while Ron, shouting at the top of his lungs, pelted the visible parts of him with snow. Ginny smirked and elbowed Hermione softly in the ribs, pointing mischievously at Ron. Hermione grinned and the two girls crept silently behind a large stone statue just behind Ron.

“On the count of three then,” Ginny whispered, ducking back behind the cool marble of the statue. Hermione nodded sharply and they both, in a completely business like manner, collected handfuls of snow, molding them expertly into hard packed globes, ready for battle. Ginny smiled at Hermione and used her fingers to count down to three. When Ginny's ring finger rose to make three, they both jumped out from behind the statue with loud giggling cries.

There was no one in sight. They froze and Ginny frowned, looking around her suspiciously, the two boys had been there only moment before. Suddenly Ginny was struck, hard, on the side of the head by a large snowball. She gasped, alarmed, as cold ice dripped down beneath her warm wool scarf. Harry, who'd hidden behind a few low bushes a few feet away, burst out in fits of laughter.

“You should've se-seen the look on-on your face!” Ron cried, clutching as his sides that were aching with laughter. A snowball promptly connected with his nose and a smug faced Hermione bent to collect another.

The fight lasted well past sunset and into the night, but the large torch lit windows of the castle above gave them plenty of light to play by. The teams often switched or rearranged depending on who wanted to get revenge on whom. Though it quickly became apparent that the girls had quite a few hidden talents when it came to snow ball fighting: Hermione, for instance, was excellent at long distant attacks and Ginny was wonderful at sneaking up on people.

By the time they were ready to head in, tired and wet, Ron and Harry were worse off by far, and Ginny couldn't help but smile cheekily at her soaking older brother.

“Next time we'll have Neville and Dean come along, that was bloody humiliating,” Ron groaned and Harry smiled.

“I'm freezing,” Hermione shivered, “Let's go visit Dobby in the kitchens and have some hot chocolate.”

“Oh that does sound lovely,” Ginny moaned and the four of them started through the snow towards the castle, Ron grumbling and shivering all the way. Harry was silent as usual, and Ginny frowned as she walked. He'd looked so happy that evening, almost like he used to, before... before Sirius... before Hagrid's disappearance a few months ago.

She looked back at him through the darkness and he smiled at her softly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Ginny turned away, eyes stinging, there was so much pain in his eyes, so much loss. If only he would talk to her. Didn't he understand that in a small way, she understand how he felt? She'd felt the emptiness before, the horrible shard of darkness in her heart. If anyone could listen, could help, it was her. He just needed to give her a chance....

“Is that a wand?” Hermione whispered suddenly in her ear, Ginny jumped slightly and shook her head, blinking away her dark thoughts and trying to focus on what Hermione was pointing to.

Some yards away, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, lay what appeared to be a lit wand, lying alone in the snow. Ginny's brow furrowed, people rarely lost their wands, well, except for Neville. Ginny was about to suggest that perhaps Neville had in fact left his wand miraculously behind, but found that Hermione had already sprinted ahead of them to pick up the discarded wand. The others quickened their pace as Hermione began poking around in the foliage, looking for some kind of clue as to who might have, rather stupidly, left their wand behind.

Harry, Ron and Ginny were nearly upon her when suddenly, Hermione let out a horrified scream that caused them all the stop mid- stride, the blood draining from their faces. Still screaming, Hermione stumbled out of the trees, her face ghostly white, mouth open in terror and shock, brown eyes huge and dilated with pure fear.

“Hermione!” Harry called in alarm and rushed to her, turning her around and shaking her. Hermione instantly burst out in uncontrollable tears, burying her face in Harry's shoulder, mumbling incoherently. Ron and Ginny quickly went to investigate, wands raised, peering through the bushes where Hermione had been searching moments before.

Ginny roughly pushed aside a rather prickly looking bush and discovered something that would stay imbedded in her mind for years and years to come. On the ground in bloody, disfigured tatters, lay a young girl in a ruined Hogwarts uniform, her brown eyes glazed and staring, blood drenching her auburn hair. The snow around her was stained red, her body was disgustingly deformed, her legs and arms bent in ways that were grossly unnatural.

Ginny's hands flew to her gaping mouth and she stumbled backwards with a sob, heart pounding wildly in her ears, something inside her was breaking open, something hidden was making its self known. Ron cursed somewhere behind her, but Ginny didn't care. She was falling apart, breaking from the inside, threatening to destroy. Her knees hit snow, jarring her whole body, but she couldn't feel it, she was miles away. Someone, someone she knew, was calling her name, begging her to come back, but they were so far away. Ginny reached for them desperately, calling to them in panic, but she was lost, lost again, in darkness. Then from the hallows of her mind came a whispering voice that was not her own, a voice that calmed her soul, but created a familiar fear in her heart all at the same time. Release me! Release me! RELEASE ME! And then she was gone, hovering in an abyss of loneliness and fear.