Authour's Notes: I am terribly sorry that this took so long to get out. But this chapter is a good size, about 20 pages, so hopefully this will keep everyone happy until chapter 31. I'm happy to report that I've begun writing chapter 34, and I estimate that there will be a total of 40 chapters. I still need to re-write my outlines, but everything is in my head so it's not a huge deal, really. Just me being disorganised. :P
There are loads and loads of interesting revelations in this chapter, character and plot-wise. And no, there's no direct D/G action in this chapter, but the next should well make up for it. As I've probably stated, I never claimed this to be strictly a D/G story. This is a general story with romance/smutty sidelines. Everyone gets a voice (eventually) so please don't get upset that Harry, Hermione, or Narcissa get a turn. Or even the plot.
And just to let you know: if you didn't read chapter 27, you'll be lost. I suggest reading that before this chapter.
Everyone have fun and I'll update again as soon as possible.
I have learnt silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. ~ Kalil GibranNarcissa Apparated just outside the hedgerows surrounding a large, ramshackle house. It looked like several gigantic parcels had been carelessly piled, one on top of the other, to the sky.
How revolting.
She smoothed down her robes and stepped lightly on the winding path leading to the front door. Before she went too far though, a man stepped out from behind a hedge and held up his hand.
"You can't go any further. This is a private home so unless you have an appointment . . ."
Narcissa drew herself up. "As it happens, I do have an appointment. Mrs Weasley has invited me for tea."
The man raised a sceptical eyebrow at her. "Aren't you Narcissa Malfoy? I saw a picture of you in the Daily Prophet when your husband died."
Her lips tightened. "Yes, I am Narcissa Malfoy, and I suggest that you move before I-"
"It's quite all right!" a voice puffed from behind the man. "You can let her through. I've been expecting her."
He turned and smiled when he saw Molly Weasley. "Are you sure, Mrs Weasley? I mean, she is-"
"She's safe as houses, Dimsley." Molly blushed. "Here you are, dear; I made you a tea tray. I know that it's terrible weather out today, so I thought you could use some warmth." She handed a small tray loaded with cake, sandwiches, and tea over to the guard. "Now there's enough to share with Miss Adams over there." Molly glanced slyly down the hedgerow to where a female Auror was patrolling. "So make sure she gets some as well."
She winked at Dimsley and he flushed to the roots of his dark hair. "Of course, Mrs Weasley. I'll see that she has some of your famous-uh, ahem, rum cake here."
Molly patted him on the back. "Good, good. Run along now."
The man trotted off obediently, still smiling. Narcissa took this opportunity to thoroughly study her future relation. Well, she amended, a closer relation. Narcissa almost shuddered at the very thought, but knew that she had little choice. Molly Weasley was short and over-plump with greying auburn hair that was piled on the back of her head haphazardly with a wand poking out of the mass. Narcissa briefly wondered whether her future daughter-in-law would look like this when she was her mother's age and made a note to mention the matter to her son, just so he could see what sort of mess he had made for himself.
After the wedding, of course.
"Come in, Narcissa." Molly waved her hand toward the house and shooed her along. "Come in. I've just made some tea and we can have a spot while we iron out the details of the wedding contract."
Narcissa smiled frigidly and allowed herself to be herded, rather like a cow, she thought, into a large kitchen. She'd never been in a kitchen before, except once when she was a very small girl. It was not an experience she wished to repeat, but new situations called for adaptability, so Narcissa kept her comments to herself.
In the hearth, a small kettle was boiling over. The smoky-sweet smell of burnt tea was thick in the air. Mrs Weasley bustled over and lifted it from the fire before pouring some in an earthenware mug.
"Your tea's ready, dear!" she shouted up the stairs. Molly noticed Narcissa staring and smiled. "Oh not to worry. This isn't for us. My son prefers it this way. I have to burn it for him or he can't taste it. So he says, anyway." She pulled out two chairs from a large, rough-hewn table covered with tiny doilies. "You can sit here, if you'd like, and I'll get our tea tray and some parchment."
Molly laid a tea towel down on the other chair and bustled off just as Narcissa was sitting down. She sighed and wondered when exactly her life had become so complicated that she was forced to consort with people like the Weasleys. Then she looked next to her and every thought oozed out her ears.
"Good lord, Narcissa! What the devil are you doing here?" Percy said as he floated down into the seat beside her.
"I-I-"
"Oh, Narcissa!" Molly said as she came back into the room with several scrolls of parchment in hand. "I forgot to tell you about my son, Percy. I don't think-"
"We've met, Mum," Percy said, taking a sip from his mug.
Narcissa noted, horrified, that the tea wasn't actually suspended, but fell to the seat below to be absorbed by the tea towel. It wasn't as if she had never seen a ghost, but this particular one took her by surprise. And she'd never seen one attempt to eat before.
"Narcissa and I were actually quite good friends at one time, weren't we?" Percy said.
His figure was hazy and iridescent white, a muted flicker of his former self. Narcissa felt her knees shaking and struggled to keep them from jarring his chair. She wondered if he would feel it if she did.
"Yes," Narcissa managed to whisper. "Good mates."
Percy smiled and leaned closer to her, the light not reflecting on his glasses as they used to do when the two of them put their heads together and whispered conspiratorially about clothes and hair potions. "I've missed you, Narcissa."
Narcissa wanted to smile, but her face was still frozen in shock. I've missed you, as well, she could have said if her throat wasn't so constricted. Narcissa started when Molly plopped a cup of tea in front of her.
"Here's the cream, and the sugar is right there."
Narcissa inattentively stirred several spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. The fact that Molly Weasley should have made up her tea as was proper not registering because she was still staring at Percy. He grinned at her and took another sip from his crude mug. The earthenware didn't look right sitting in his shimmering, ghostly hands. Percy had always insisted on using the finest china when he was staying in her home. Then, there was nothing but the finest china at Malfoy Manor.
"I didn't think you'd be so shocked," Molly was saying. "I had no idea that you knew our Percy before-" She cleared her throat. "Well, before."
Percy spoke up quickly, likely in some attempt to circumvent that line of thought. "How are those Red Caps coming along, Mum? Have you managed to oust them yet?"
Molly glanced to the floor behind her. "They're almost gone. I suspect that they'll disappear soon enough."
He nodded. "Good, good." Percy turned back to Narcissa. "So what are you doing here, anyway? Not that I don't appreciate you stopping by, mind, but . . . well, it is a bit odd, isn't it?"
Molly cleared her throat again and fidgeted uncomfortably. "I really should have told you last night when your father and I came home. But I was so distraught and I didn't think Arthur needed another shock so soon after the one we'd just had." She sighed. "It seems Narcissa is going to be part of the family soon."
Narcissa flinched and hurriedly gulped down some of her tea, not caring for once that it slopped over the sides of her cup. "Yes. My son is marrying your sister," she choked out.
Percy gasped. "But I thought that he was already contracted to one of your cousins."
She shook her head. "The contract was broken when he compromised the girl."
"Compromised! Oh my God." Percy's pale, transparent face looked shattered. "Poor Ginny. I had hoped . . . Merlin's teeth!" he swore.
"Now, now, Percy," Molly tutted, "No need for language." She rose from the table. "I'll go and get my mother's wedding contract to use as a guide, shall I? And our lineage, of course." Molly almost sneered here, if Weasleys were capable of it at all, it would have been. Then again, Molly Weasley was half Black, too, and Merlin knew that they could sneer; Narcissa considered herself a prime example.
"I've already seen Draco's pedigree," Molly was saying snidely when Narcissa tuned back to the conversation. "So I don't think we'll need a copy of that."
Narcissa's lips thinned and she glared at the woman's back as she ascended the stairs. She had always been fond of great-aunt Eliza, but unfortunately, none of the things Narcissa liked about her had been passed on to her daughter. Molly Weasley certainly didn't get that garish hair from the Blacks. It was almost as bad as Andromeda's daughter's hair after she'd visited that Muggle music conservatory.
She felt Percy's tentative touch on the back of her hand, which drew her away from family prejudices. It was like ice and she shivered, so he pulled it away.
"Sorry. I forgot about that." He leaned toward her. It seemed like he wanted to touch her again, but he didn't. Narcissa noted that she couldn't feel his breath against her face when he spoke. "Don't let Mum bother you. She always means well, even if-" A blood-curdling scream rent the air above them. "Oh no!" Percy said, floating out of his chair. "She must have gone into the attic. He's been hiding up there, you see, and-I need to go check if he's done any harm. Blast him!"
Narcissa watched Percy rise up through the ceiling and lifted an eyebrow. She shrugged and sipped at her tea. Perhaps the mad bat had fallen and broken something; preferably, her neck. Narcissa frowned. She had never been a violent person and she wondered where the thought came from. Then she remembered where she was currently sitting - and why - and she wondered no more.
Even she had her limits.
After a time, Percy brought his mother down the stairs. She was shaking, almost as pale and white as her son, but still furious. "How could you not tell me that he is in my home? I don't care if he stays in that attic for the rest of his-well, unlife! I want him gone, gone, gone!"
"But, Mum we can't leave! Neither of us can. You know that," Percy said, his voice raising an octave or two. One of the things Narcissa had always found comforting about Percy Weasley was his voice. It was at all times gentle and soothing, even when raised; never grating, like his mother's.
"I will not have Lucius Malfoy in my house!" Molly shrieked. "I don't care what you have to do! Make him leave or I'll call in a Banisher."
Narcissa's leg lurched under the table and hit the wood sharply. She sucked in a breath and rose partially from her chair. "Lucius?"
"Yes," Mrs Weasley said tartly. "Your husband's ghost is up in my attic. And, from what Percy says, has been there since before he came back a couple of weeks ago." She pursed her lips. "He killed you, Percy! I don't want the murdering ghost of that man in my home. Your father doesn't even know that you're home yet and what he'll say when he finds out that Lucius Malfoy is in our attic . . ."
Narcissa wobbled and felt a faint coming on. "Oh God," she moaned. Percy glided forward and helped her back to her seat.
"Don't go to pieces now, Narcissa. You'll be all right." He called over his shoulder: "Mum, could you bring her some smelling salts? She doesn't like Pepper-Up very much."
Molly rushed to her potion's chest, eager for something constructive to do. "Yes, yes. Oh let's see here - don't faint yet, Narcissa!" She rambled through the drawers. "Smelling salts, smelling salts . . . I'm horrible to be speaking about her husband that way, even if it is . . . Here they are!"
She hopped over to where Percy was supporting Narcissa with his icy hands and unstopped the cork of smelling salts directly under her nose. "Take a good whiff of this, dear, and you'll come right around."
Narcissa inhaled obligingly and the noxious fumes did manage to clear her head a little. She felt Percy release her shoulders, and Molly stepped back once she saw that Narcissa wasn't going to faint.
Draco's face kept swimming through her mind, and seeing Percy beside her only compounded the sudden white-hot rage that was flowing through her.
"I need to speak with him," Narcissa said firmly. She stood up and shakily made her way toward the stairs. "If you'd be so kind as to show me, Percy?"
He hesitated and glanced at his mother. "I don't think you should, Narcissa. He's really-" Percy lowered his voice to a confiding level. "Well, he's really quite mad now, I think. I suppose being bound to this house has sent him around the turn." Narcissa lifted her head to gaze at him piercingly and Percy shrugged. "Fine, fine. I'll show you up."
Narcissa followed Percy up the stairs to the third attic. It was at the very top of the house, and she was getting woozy from the height and climbing all those stairs. He opened a trapdoor and pulled down a rope ladder.
She looked at it scathingly, but still put one foot on, looped the long hems of her robes over her arm, and climbed into the room above. It was stuffy, smelling strong of dust and mould. Percy stayed by her side, hovering protectively. Narcissa peered into the darkness and called out: "Lucius? Are you here?"
His sudden appearance made the room light up and she stepped back.
"Lucius."
The silver form of a ghost suited him as much as it disfavoured Percy. He, like Percy, still wore the blood-stained black robes of a Death Eater, but they seemed to fit him more. His eyes and hair were, not surprisingly, much the same colour they were in life. It vaguely reminded her of when Lucius was young and first courting her parents for her hand; the bright and gleaming prince riding up the front drive in his elegant carriage and immaculate robes with a glittering smile.
"Ah, Narcissa," he sighed wearily. "Have you come to take me home?"
She gazed at him dispassionately. Many years of close association with him had tarnished the Sickle-shine of Lucius' presence in her eyes. "No. You must stay here."
He frowned and started pacing an inch above the floor. "I don't like it here," Lucius said petulantly. "There are all sorts of Weasleys living down below and they have a ghoul in that wardrobe over there." Lucius pointed off into the darkness. "I must go home and prepare for Master." He grew increasingly irritable and restless, shoving his finger through his translucent hair. "He'll be arriving soon and then all of the Mudbloods and Mug-"
"I've come to ask you a few questions, Lucius," Narcissa said calmly. She thought she would have felt something, standing here with him. But when Narcissa was honest, she realised that she had been more upset to hear of his continued existence than she was when given the news of his death. At least now she could find out if he really did curse their son.
"You're always wanting something, Narcissa."
"Yes, well I'm in a position to ask you now." She folded her hands. "I would like to know if you placed the Tir nan Og Curse on Draco."
"Of course," Lucius said casually. "The Dark Lord wanted a perfect vessel, so I was going to give him one. He even helped me with some of the alterations."
"You were going to sacrifice our son's body and mind to him? He's your heir! Surely even you aren't that foolish."
Lucius scoffed. "I could always have made more if I had wanted to, Narcissa. The gender manipulation charms are easy enough to manage, even for you."
She smiled cattily, content in the knowledge that he could not have made more heirs. Draco's birth had, blessedly, ended the possibility of future children from her body. But Lucius didn't need to know that. At least not while he was being useful.
"Draco found a way to break it." Narcissa stepped closer. "I suspect that the emotional turmoil was immediately effective, but the physical effects are still appearing. He's different every time I see him. I give it another four or five months before the curse fades completely away."
"Bully for Draco," Lucius muttered childishly. "I only renewed it less than a year ago. His schoolmates were calling him 'Spindle-legs' . . . hardly an appropriate name for a Malfoy."
"Whereas Lucius is an entirely appropriate name for you," Narcissa murmured. She'd waited for so long to be able to say something like that to her husband. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He glared at her, his glassy form wavering. "So what were your other questions?"
Narcissa glanced at Percy. "Why did you kill him when I asked you distinctly not to do so?"
Percy started when Lucius laughed and glided closer to Narcissa.
"Because he was no longer useful to me and he was interfering." Lucius whirled around and floated over to a tiny window, his colourless eyes gazing longingly at the sun. The light shone through him and puddled on the dusty floor in a pattern that made Narcissa feel as if she were underwater. "But I suppose that I'm being punished for it now." He turned his head and roved his eyes over Percy, lingering on his crumpled face in a way that seemed to pain him. "I still have to look at him," he whispered huskily.
Narcissa could hear Percy sob beside her and it spiralled her anger to new heights. "He is my friend, Lucius. I begged you not to do it." Her hands fisted by her sides. Now she understood how people could give in to violence so easily. "I begged for him!"
"Yes," Lucius sneered, coming to himself again. "I recall that you begged quite prettily for another friend once, too. And you still pined for him. At least until you found out what he was." He came closer and let his hand pass through her arm instead of grasping her. "The thing you allowed to touch you."
"Percy was different," she whispered, watching the subtle shift in light that was Percy's tears, not wanting to see the sudden lucidity in Lucius' eyes. "Is different. He understood me, I think. And you didn't want him, not really. But I did. Just like our son, you took him away from me as well; made it so that Draco couldn't even love his own mother." Lucius' laugh rang in her ears and she wanted to block it out, but couldn't. "You tried to make him a miniature copy of yourself, but it didn't work the way you wanted, did it? He still rebelled."
"I suppose that must have been your blood, wife."
Narcissa laughed mockingly. "Yes, well he didn't get his strength from you, obviously. You always were a pushover for the Dark Lord." She turned to pin Lucius with her eyes simply because she felt confident that she could now without restraint. "Creeping off into the night to do his-"
Lucius did grab her this time, around the throat. Her hands came up to push him away, but they closed over chill, empty air. He throttled her back and forth until blesséd Percy pulled her from his grasp.
"Narcissa, go!" Percy commanded, still struggling with her husband. Lucius' eyes were wild as they locked with those of the younger spirit, their transparent bodies colliding and slipping against each other in a struggle for dominance. "Go back downstairs! I'll take care of him."
She turned and fled from the attic, scrambling down the ladder and flicking her wand at the trapdoor to make it seal shut behind her. Narcissa leant up against the wall and tried to catch her breath. She hadn't done anything that active for years.
Narcissa raised her wand again and cast a calming charm on herself. Then she straightened her robes with a flick of her fingers and smoothed her hair before she went down to start writing the marriage contract. It wouldn't do to look like Molly Weasley with her mess, would it?
*~*~*~*~*
Harry huddled under his invisibility cloak, trying to ward off the chill creeping into him from the cold stones beneath his slippered feet. Hermione was tucked safely in his bed for the fourth night in a row, but he couldn't sleep, not even with her there to warm him.
The finalisation of their hastily constructed plans had taken over, ticking away in his head like a bomb. What if they couldn't find it? What if Hermione was wrong? How else would they discover what really happened in 1945? The doubts gnawed at Harry, twisting his stomach and his mind into knots that had no end, no beginning. All he could do was sit up and stare at the walls, helplessly attempting to unravel them and make the strategy form some sort of sense. However, Harry counted it lucky that he was awake tonight in the common room, mulling over what could be a very dangerous situation.
Because little Colin Creevey was up to something cloak and dagger and decidedly un-Gryffindor.
He'd watched Colin slip down the stairs, his round eyes shifting almost comically from left to right as he looked to see if anyone was about. Colin hadn't seen Harry hunched in an armchair, shadows blanketing him in the corner of the room.
After Colin crawled out the portrait hole, Harry ran upstairs to fetch his cloak and map. The rest was history. Cold history. Boring history. And bloody hell, Hogwarts was an uncomfortable place to spy on someone. Harry shifted again and tried to make his body, half-propped against a window ledge, comfortable.
Why was Colin Creevey sitting on a window ledge, not far from the hallway that branched into the Slytherin dorms and common room? Harry's stomach churned in anxiety. Surely he wouldn't confront Malfoy about Ginny, would he? After so long? It'd been half a week since the news came that she was, erm¾ well, it would be insane to start an argument with Malfoy on his own turf. Not with all of Slytherin house to back him up.
Harry glanced at his watch: almost three by Muggle time.
He was mad.
The corridor seemed endless. Shafts of moonlight streaming through the windows broke the darkness into neat, manageable pieces. Harry saw a flicker down the way that grew steadily larger.
Dumbledore was coming.
Colin didn't notice. He was still concentrating on the Slytherin hallway, fingering his wand. Harry slipped into the shadows beside the window, closer to Colin.
Dumbledore cleared his throat when he was almost close enough to touch. Colin flinched and stood quickly to face the older wizard, his forehead was spangled with sudden condensation in the half-light.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, I¾ "
"Hello Mr Creevey," Dumbledore greeted Colin mildly, cutting him off. "I would ask what you are doing out of Gryffindor tower so late¾ " he broke off and glanced between Colin's wand and the Slytherin hall. "But it seems more than plain what your intentions are."
Colin's skin darkened and he looked away. "He's going to pay for what he's done to Ginny, sir." Colin shifted back to Dumbledore and he looked him boldly in the eye. "And I don't care what you say, no one's going to stop me. I have to keep her safe."
Dumbledore looked slightly surprised and almost pleased. "I must say, Mr Creevey, that you seem to exemplify the bravery of a Gryffindor, but you haven't tempered this with good sense." He gestured for Colin to sit back down. "Do you know what would happen to you if you went through with your plan tonight?"
Colin's face adopted a mulish set. "I don't care. Any price is worth seeing him dead."
Harry's mouth fell open and he almost said something until he remembered that he wasn't actually supposed to be there.
"Even Miss Weasley's peace of mind?"
Colin's face shuttered in confusion. "Sir?"
Dumbledore budged Colin over a bit and settled in beside him. Harry crept as close as he dared so he could hear better.
"If you were to kill Mr Malfoy tonight," Dumbledore said in his vague tone, resting his hand on Colin's knee. "As you had planned, Miss Weasley would be heartbroken and you would likely lose a friendship that is very important to you."
"She'd be all right after a while," Colin protested, his chest hitching and his eyes watering. "And she'd have me to help her. Ginny wouldn't turn her back on me."
Dumbledore shook his head. "She loves him." He raised his head just enough so that one bright blue eye glittered in the moonlight. "And you know that too well, it seems. It isn't just to protect a friend that you are doing this, and it isn't only for revenge." Dumbledore paused, his breath rattling in his lungs. "You're afraid that he'll take her away from you."
Colin's eyes were especially round as he turned this over in his mind. But the Headmaster wasn't finished.
"At your age, you can't be expected to know the difference between deep, honest friendship and true love." Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles so that they perched a little higher on his long, crooked nose. "Some never discover the difference. What you feel for Miss Weasley is friendship, communion, understanding. And yes, you love her, too. She supports you, and has done, for a long time. She defends you against those in this school who don't understand your preferences, or are frightened because they feel the same impulses you do, but are too scared to admit it. Even to themselves."
Dumbledore sighed, his body slumped and suddenly seemed so terribly old. "It's as I told Miss Weasley: we live in a world where these things are not accepted. You know this, as do I. And like myself, you are angry at these restrictions." Dumbledore's eyes glazed, as if he were seeing something besides the boy huddled beside him.
"For now, this is the price you must pay for your magic. As the Muggles advance in other ways, we grow stagnant. As a race, we don't change, or grow, or learn anything new. We are taught what our parents were taught, and their parents before them." A faint smile lifted the slack corners of Dumbledore's lips as his hoarse, old voice continued. "But one day - hopefully not too far in the future - wizardkind will live at peace with those who are different. The people who make a difference and change our antiquated notions with intriguing new ideas. A revolution of the most exciting sort, Mr Creevey." His eyes found Colin again and the smile faded.
"But even for that, we must pay a price." He was quiet for a moment longer, his face grey and strained as if he were under an unimaginable pressure.
"There's always a price," he whispered.
Colin was wide-eyed. "Do you truly think that wizardkind will¾ change?"
Dumbledore nodded. The mood suddenly changed and his bright eyes squinted in a friendly manner that suggested a smile. "I have it on good authority that it will be so. Perhaps even in your lifetime." He stood up. "Now, forget this nonsense with Mr Malfoy and let Miss Weasley deal with this in her own way. I know you're her friend, her closest companion even, but this is not the answer to her problems. Do you understand me, Mr Creevey?"
Colin shuffled his feet and bowed his head swiftly. His sandy fringe shaded his eyes. "Yes, sir."
"I trust you can find your way back to Gryffindor?"
"Of course, sir. And¾ " Colin looked up. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."
Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder and Colin started back to Gryffindor, Harry tiptoeing behind him. Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked pointedly at him. Of course he'd known that Harry was there.
Harry stopped following Colin, and when the boy was only a speck in the distance, he removed his cloak.
"I'm glad that you kept an eye on young Mr Creevey tonight, Harry. But you really should stay in your dormitory at night. There are¾ " Dumbledore paused and shook his head. He reached into his robes and pulled out his odd little pocket watch, staring at it intently before continuing. "There are all manner of things creeping about at this late hour." He smiled sadly. "Some of whom can give you so many detentions that you'll never leave Hogwarts."
"Yes, Headmaster," Harry parroted and turned sharply back to follow Colin. He didn't want to speak to Dumbledore, he just wanted to go to his dorm and curl up with Hermione. He wanted to forget about Hermione's stupid plan and Albus Quaffle's nonsensical ravings about Grindlewald, forget that he had ever doubted Dumbledore, even though something still nagged at the back of his mind . . .
"And Harry . . ."
Harry stopped but didn't turn around. He could hear Dumbledore's steps echo on the stone floor, coming closer. Suddenly, Harry was quite aware of his own unprotected back.
"If you have any questions, you need only ask me," Dumbledore said, gripping Harry's shoulder in a friendly manner before walking past him to be absorbed by the shadows of the corridor.
He couldn't forget. Not yet.
Harry walked back to his dormitory, deep in thought. He wasn't surprised to see Hermione awake when he got there. A quick glance at Seamus' bed confirmed that Albus Quaffle was also awake and wondering where he'd been.
"We have to find the Mirror and discover what happened to Dumbledore back in 1945. Soon." Harry whispered to Hermione as he climbed under the duvet, motioning Albus to come closer.
Some frazzled strands of hair fell across Hermione's face in the moonlight, slashing her cheeks with dark, fuzzy shadows. When her mouth opened to address Albus Quaffle, it glittered in a wet, inviting way. "Albus, please tell us again what the last thing you remember about your duel with Grindlewald was."
Albus Quaffle puffed up and crept closer to the edge of Seamus' bed, almost teetering. He generally responded well to Hermione's soft requests and would spill more details than he would to Harry, though, Harry suspected that most of the 'details' were fabrications a la Lockhart.
"After I crashed the door open with one of my finest spells," Albus began proudly. His little plush body swelled alarmingly as he drew himself up. "I threw a Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. He almost blocked it, but my spells never fail, so he toppled to the ground. Still, though, old Grindy kept throwing those hexes at me and I kept blocking them. Then he said an odd one I'd never heard before and caught my gaze with his own." Albus' plush brow wrinkled in concerted thought. "And I remember his eyes," he said softly. "Dark and looking at me so intently that it was almost as if¾ well, as if he were looking into my soul."
Hermione was nodding, half-asleep again but making an effort. It was Harry who realised what Albus could be talking about. "Hermione! That's it!"
"Hmmn?" she answered hazily. "I'm awake, truly I am."
Harry turned and shook her shoulders slightly, making her look at him. "Remember my Occlumency lessons with Snape?"
Her eyes widened. "Yes! Oh goodness, yes!" Hermione's shoulders shuddered under his hands as she reached into his bedside table for a quill and parchment, no doubt to write extensive notes and drill him mercilessly in the process.
"Hermione, stop. Just listen for a moment. I could be going the wrong way here," Harry said, grabbing her searching arm. Albus just blinked at them in stuffed simplicity from across the way.
"Yes, but you could be going the right way!" She pulled her arm free and started searching for a quill again. "Honestly, just let me write down some notes. Bring Albus here and put up the Sphere. I was too sleepy to remember."
Harry could have smacked himself. The Sphere. He was always forgetting the blasted thing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and scooped up Albus, careful not to wake Seamus, and climbed back under the bedclothes with Hermione. Harry shut the curtains tight around them while Hermione lit a candle and cast the Sphere.
"All right," Hermione said as she preened her parchment down to a smooth, uncrumpled sheet and leaned forward in her best interrogator pose. "Now Albus, can you remember the precise word or words Grindlewald used?"
"Not particularly."
Harry rubbed his hand down his face and groaned, but Hermione shushed him and continued. "Are you sure? Not even what it sounded like?"
"Mmmmn." Albus Quaffle seemed to have a remarkable range of expressions . . . for a plush Quaffle.
"Please?" Hermione wheedled. A naughty smirk tugged at her lips. "I'll give you a kiss."
"Hermione!" Harry gasped, horrified. There was no way he was going to let his girlfriend kiss that¾ that toy.
She threw him a withering look as if to say: 'don't be a prat about it.' Harry crossed his arms and waited for the toy to decide. Not like it took much thought.
"I suppose I could try for a nice young woman such as yourself," Albus said at last. Harry didn't like the beady squint to his button eyes as he told them this. It looked terribly smug.
Hermione waited patiently and Albus sighed. "Well, it was rather like 'lemony melons,' but I don't know why he'd be talking about fruit in the middle of a duel."
Harry snorted. "I suppose a twa¾ " He caught Hermione's stern eye and cleared his throat. "I suppose a nice person like you would think it sounded like fruit." He grunted. "Close enough to the actual spell, I reckon . . . if we were making a summer pudding."
"We're only looking at the word phonetically, Harry. He can't be expected to know the spell itself."
Harry nodded in grudging agreement. "It still doesn't make sense, though. The closest to that is what Voldemort did to me at the Ministry building in fifth year, but I still knew who I was. To my knowledge, Occlumency can't be used for anything more than that, it can't replace your soul, and this sounds like . . . well, it sounds like¾ "
"Dispossession," Hermione said crisply. "It sounds like Professor Dumbledore was kicked out of his body and was then possessed by Grindlewald; the most evil person in wizarding history aside from Voldemort."
"But that's ridiculous!" Harry hissed, ignoring Albus' spluttering protests about possession. "We've known Dumbledore since we first came to Hogwarts. If he was actually Grindlewald, we'd have figured it out before now. If this theory is right, he could have shown his evil self loads of times since 1945. Besides that, Dumbledore was the one who encouraged us to spread word of Voldemort's return, encouraged m-me to defea¾ " Harry sucked in a breath and let it go sharply, his hand raking his hair so it stood on end for a moment before flopping over. "It just doesn't make sense, Hermione!"
Hermione frowned. "I know it doesn't make sense, but that's what logic is telling me right now. Perhaps¾ well, perhaps Grindlewald didn't actually like Voldemort very much. I think he would have been his professor still, in 1945. For only a year or so, perhaps, but still enough to know and dislike him."
"Say, who is this Voldemort fellow you keep talking about?" Albus asked, sidling up to Hermione and blinking at her adoringly.
Hermione looked down and smiled, rubbing the back of what would be his ears. Harry could swear he heard the perverted fluff ball purr. "Voldemort was an evil wizard," she said. "The most evil in recent history. I suppose he was a bit like what I've heard of Grindlewald. He slaughtered Muggles by the hundreds and tried to convince everyone that only pure-bloods are worth anything in the wizarding world."
Albus shook his head. "Doesn't sound at all like Grindlewald. He wanted to protect the Muggles, not slaughter them."
Harry and Hermione both leaned back. "Protect the Muggles?! Why was he an evil wizard, then?"
"I don't know. I just tried to help the Ministry stop him, the unnatural fiend. He was getting people all riled up talking about equal rights for house-elves, and Muggles, and centaurs¾ imagine such a thing! They're not even human! And Muggles barely so themse¾ mmmph!"
Harry clapped his hand over the toy's 'mouth' and stuffed a pillow over him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing! Harry slowly met Hermione's stricken eyes. "There is no way you can tell me that this thing is Albus Dumbledore. I don't care. If this was the real him - and he sounds an awful lot like the demented love-child of Lockhart and Malfoy to me - then surely people would have noticed such a drastic change in the man. He couldn't have gone from being someone like this to someone who sounds like¾ well, sounds like you, actually."
"I thought you said that Albus Quaffle did sound like me," Hermione sniffed. Two great fat tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks.
"Yes, well, when he said to me that he was a wizard with rights when I tried to make him shut up, I thought he did. It's something you would say. But this?" Harry shook his head. "This is your worst nightmare."
"How are we going to figure this out, Harry?" The tears that were threatening did fall down Hermione's cheeks and Harry reached up with his free hand to wipe one away. "I'm just so confused."
"Me, too," Harry admitted, dropping his head. "If Dumbledore has never actually been Dumbledore . . . I don't think I could handle it. I had to¾ but I won't have to do. We'll prove that this is a load of gobshite. We will when we find the Mirror and cast the incantation. We'll see it with our own eyes."
Harry raised his eyes to Hermione's face again. "Help me?" he pleaded softly.
Hermione nodded and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, twining her fingers through his hair. "Always, Harry. I've come this far, and I'm the one who dug it up from the library, so I'm not about to back out now. But we should¾ " She frowned as if thinking, her fingers splayed and tapping his cheek. "We'll need Ron, too. It wouldn't be right to do this without him, don't you think?"
Harry smiled grimly and ignored Albus' muffled cries from under the pillow. He pressed down a little more firmly out of spite, satisfied to hear a squeak.
"Yeah. We need Ron for this one."