Author's Note: To everyone who read and enjoyed The Man With No Shadow, thanks for coming back. The story that follows is my oldest unposted work. Special projects kept pushing it to the back of the Knight Bus, and perhaps it's just as well. This story was written before Order of the Phoenix was published, and certain things revealed in that novel effectively shot this story down in flames. A re-write was necessary to keep the whole concept from collapsing. Everything should be in order now, and I am, at least, spared the humiliation of the story having been rendered obsolete (and even foolish) had it appeared before the release of OotP. Now, it will stand or fall on its merits -- such as they may be.
This is a short tale, only four chapters, none of them overlong. As I'm still paranoid about the changes, I'll stick with weekly posts to allow for close scrutiny of every chapter. When it's all done, I hope no one feels let down after the impact of The Man With No Shadow. All I can say is, it seemed like a good idea when I wrote it. I hope the same can be said when it's finished.
And now, on to Chapter 1.
"Come on!" Ginny pleaded for the tenth time as she tugged energetically on Hermione's arm. "It'll be fun!"
"Oh, alright, then!" Hermione said, her deep brown eyes rolling upwards in resignation. "Anything to end this Spanish Inquisition!"
"Excellent!" Ginny chimed, clapping her hands together. "You won't be sorry!"
"I'm already sorry," Hermione murmured as Ginny set off at a brisk pace, beckoning Hermione to follow.
The late July sun was warm on Hermione's face as it reflected in a dozen directions from the windows and signs lining Diagon Alley. Living in a Muggle household as she did, Hermione was unable to visit Diagon Alley regularly, unlike wizarding families, who shopped here as a matter of course. Her only opportunity came during the Summer holidays when she and her family came to buy her school supplies. Spell books and potion ingredients and wizards' robes were not to be found in Muggle shopping malls, after all.
This would be Hermione's last visit to Diagon Alley for that purpose. Her seventh and final year at Hogwarts would begin in just over a month. By pre-arrangement, the Grangers had met in Diagon Alley with Hermione's two best friends from school, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. As he had so often in the past, Harry was spending the last month of the Summer at the Burrow. Had he been given a choice, he would have spent the entire holiday with the Weasleys and never set foot within a mile of Privet Drive. He understood fully now why he had to return to the Dursleys for at least a brief stay every year, but that did not make the experience any less repugnant to him. If anything, Dudley's endless taunts and Uncle Vernon's disgusted scowls made him appreciate his annual return to the Burrow even more.
The transformation that came over Harry upon seeing his friends after a month's separation was beyond measuring. Hermione understood this better than most. She had been experiencing a transformation of her own in recent months. Lying awake night after night in her old, familiar room in her parents' house (at some point she had ceased to regard it as "home" -- over the past six years, Hogwarts had become her real home), she would stare into the darkness and smile at the vision of a face with black, unruly hair and hypnotic emerald eyes that held her spellbound with a magic not found in any textbook. And when at last she beheld those eyes in the flesh, her reserved, studious facade crumbled away, and it was all she could do not to break into a run like a four-year-old racing downstairs on Christmas morning. And though she did her best to disguise the light in her eyes and the flutter in her stomach, the fierce hug with which Hermione greeted Harry in front of Gringotts Bank did not go unnoticed by her parents.
"You're very fond of Harry, aren't you, dear?" her mother had asked in a very delicate manner as she watched the goblins exchanging British banknotes for gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts.
"Yes," Hermione replied quietly. She said nothing more, but her mother's smile revealed clearly that she had detected a bond much deeper than friendship between her daughter and the most famous boy in the wizarding world.
In fact, Hermione had hoped to spend some time alone with Harry before day's end. They would have little enough time to themselves when school began. Harry, however, seemed to be spending an uncommon amount of time with Mr. Weasley. Their discussions seemed rather on the serious side. More than once, Hermione saw a look in Harry's eyes which she recognized all too well. It was the unmistakable look of grim determination he always got when his mind turned to the subject of Lord Voldemort.
The Dark Lord's power had been rising steadily since his return to full strength two years ago. Harry's nightmares had inceased of late, to be joined in recent months by Hermione's. She had begun to fear ever more strongly that Harry's courage and nobility might lead him to some act of foolish sacrifice on behalf of the wizarding world. Her fears had increased exponentially when Harry revealed at the end of last term that Dumbledore had, after much deliberation, amended his rule that no one be allowed to join the Order of the Phoenix prior to graduation. It was a one-time-only exemption, Harry told her -- and there was no need for him to elaborate on the identity of that lone exception to Dumbledore's edict.
As Harry was already the focus of Lord Voldemort's venomous scrutiny, it was reasoned that, once he came of age, nothing could be gained by delaying his active participation in the organization. Past events had demonstrated that his safety would be in question regardless. Better that he take an active part in his own defense than remain insulated and risk a blindside attack with no hope of defending himself.
To Hermione's relief, he assured her that he would not be included in any out-of-school missions prior to graduation; but he would be an active participant in all meetings conducted at Hogwarts between Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape. He would also be included in weekend strategy sessions held in the Order's London Headquarters at number 12 Grimmauld Place. The more information Harry possessed, he assured her, the better he would be able to protect himself. In addition, he would be taking special classes wherein to learn the rudiments of attack and defense in preparation for his chosen career as an Auror.
"It's for the best," he assured her and Ron as the trio sat beside the lake the day before they were to leave for home on the Hogwarts Express. "Like it or not, I'm a target. But if Voldemort thinks I'm going to sit back and be a passive target, he's got his head shoved straight up his arse. When the time comes -- as we all know it will -- I intend to be ready."
But though Hermione's pragmatism accepted the wisdom of this, her heart took a completely different view. More than once her cries in the night had awakened her in the grip of a cold, damp chill of dread. Although Hermione was too sensible to put any stock in dreams and death omens, a tiny spark of apprehension yet remained in the back of her mind.
These thoughts had been swept away by Arthur Weasley's announcement that Hermione was welcome to spend the remaining Summer holiday at the Burrow, to which invitation her parents unhesitatingly gave their blessing. This was the tonic Hermione's troubled soul craved. She would thus be able to keep a close eye on Harry up until the very moment they returned to Hogwarts. Once there, Harry would surely be safe under the protection of Professor Dumbledore.
Once their school supplies were secured, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione all dumped their overstuffed bags in the boot of Arthur's new car. Molly had initially opposed any suggestion of replacing their previous car, which was now running wild in the Forbidden Forest outside Hogwarts. She had finally relented when her husband solemnly promised not to enchant the new car to fly, as he had the old Ford Anglia. However, that did not preclude his enchanting the interior to the expanded proportions of a stretch limo, including the boot.
A debate then ensued as to whether the four teens were old enough to be permitted some "down time" in Diagon Alley without the supervision (read: interference) of the adults. Hermione argued reasonably that, as she and Harry had been named Head Girl and Head Boy, and Ginny would be a sixth-year prefect, the three of them would be up to the task of keeping Ron from making a total prat of himself. Ron looked a bit surly at this argument, but his smile quickly returned when his mother gave her consent with a stiff nod.
Arthur wasted no time in hustling Mr. Granger off to the Leaky Cauldron for a pint of bitters, while their wives went off in search of a high-class fashion shop which Mrs. Granger had seen in an advert in a copy of Witch Weekly which Hermione had brought home from school. The Grangers had been introduced to the comforts of wizards' robes the Summer before, during a weekend visit to the Burrow, and Mrs. Granger had confided (in an audible whisper) to Molly that her husband had become a veritable tiger in the bedroom whenever she wore her new robes around the house. When Ron began to tease Hermione that the Granger house might soon have another little Gryffindor in the near future, she had promptly sealed his lips with a Silencing Charm. She removed it a minute later, her point having been made, after which Ron wisely said nothing more on the subject (though he continually rolled his eyes and smiled in a suggestive manner whenever the opportunity arose). Hermione was glad when Harry dragged Ron off to Quality Quidditch Supplies, leaving her and Ginny free to explore some of the more quaint shops in the less frequented corners of Diagon Alley.
"You know," Ginny said after they had spent a carefree hour peering through windows and gaping at the unusual magical folk passing all around them, "I think that place my cousin told me about is right around here."
"What place?" Hermione asked idly as she peered through a very dusty window in an effort to see what was in the display.
"You know," Ginny said. "The fortune teller. I was telling you all about her this morning."
"Not that rubbish again!" Hermione said with a dismissive cluck of her tongue.
"It's not rubbish!" Ginny insisted. "My cousin told me about it, two years ago. She said she went in and had a reading, and the cards told her who she was going to marry! And a year later, she did get married! I was a bridesmaid, and she told me all about it during the rehearsal."
"Load of balls," Hermione said in a low grunt.
"I know it's around here someplace," Ginny said thoughtfully. "She said there was a little shop just around the corner selling cursed antiques. And this shop here looks just like that sort of place. What does the sign say?"
They both looked up. A shabby sign was swinging in a light breeze. The painted letters were chipped and difficult to read, but the word "Antiques" was plainly discernible.
"I'm positive it's not far from here," Ginny said, her eyes darting this way and that.
"So, go find it," Hermione said indifferently. "I'll be here when you get back."
"But don't you want to know?" Ginny said, her light brown eyes wide and imploring.
"Like I'm going to believe some simpering charlatan telling me who I'm going to marry?" Hermione laughed derisively. "If they're all like Trelawney, I wouldn't give you two Knuts for the lot of them!"
"Well, if you don't want to know," Ginny said emphatically, "I do!"
"Then go!" Hermione said, waving her arm in concert with a toss of her head.
"I will," Ginny said pleasantly. "But I'll be back! And I'll fetch you back with me!"
"Good luck to that," Hermione mouthed silently as Ginny set off on her quest.
But Hermione had reckoned without Ginny's inborn Weasley stubbornness.
"It's tenacity," Ginny corrected Hermione proudly as she steered the two of them through the clusters of shoppers in a more or less straight line toward their destination. "A Weasley never gives up!"
So it was that a resigned Hermione found herself being dragged into a narrow shop that was scarcely wider than the door through which they entered. Hermione instantly cringed. The air was heavy with incense, and the oil lamps set into the far corners were shaded so that everything was no more than an indistinct blur to her eyes. It was Trelawney's classroom all over again. She blinked against the stinging of the perfumed air, coughing lightly. Ginny must have sensed her reluctance, for she suddenly found herself being jerked all the way inside with a firm tug of slender fingers catching her wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Welcome," came a throaty, feather-light voice from out of nowhere. "I have been expecting you."
A beaded curtain, all but hidden in the shadows, parted. The witch who entered was, indeed, reminiscent of Professor Trelawney, though not nearly so spare and gaunt. She was clad in purple and scarlet, with a flowing sash that circled her waist loosely and hung low on a supple hip which her robes could in no wise conceal. Gold hoops swung from her ears and clattered on her wrists. Jewelled rings glittered dully on red-nailed fingers. It was all Hermione could do not to laugh.
"Yeah, right," she muttered under her breath. "I bet you say that to all the pigeons just before you pluck them."
But Ginny had apparently taken the witch's words to heart. "Were you really?" she said breathlessly.
"Indeed, yes," the witch replied. "I saw you in the crystal. You were standing in front of Flourish and Blotts."
"Of course we were," Hermione grunted in a low voice laced with impatience. "It's obvious we're students. Where in the bloody hell else would we be the week after our Hogwarts letters were sent out?"
But once again, Ginny was delighted. "Yes! We were there just this morning! I was telling Hermione all about you! And you saw us?"
"I have that gift. Or rather, it works through me, as it wills, not as I will. I am Madam Cybele, your obedient servant."
Madam Cybele motioned with a rounded arm, her bracelets clanging musically with the gesture. A small, round table seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Three cushioned chairs stood at an angle, as if inviting the three witches to sit. This Madam Cybele did, followed immediately by Ginny and, resignedly, Hermione.
"And now, if you will please tell me your names."
"You don't know?" Hermione said in a cold voice. But Madam Cybele's pleasant expression did not change.
"That is not one of my gifts. As it is with wands, so with the Sight. The choice is not mine."
"I'm Ginny Weasley," Ginny said excitedly. "Ginevra, that is. And this is Hermione Granger."
"Which of you wishes to go first?" Madam Cybele asked.
"Don't you want to know why we're here?" Hermione asked in a challenging sort of voice.
"You are here to find your mates," Madam Cybele said smoothly. "Do you wish to go first?"
"I want to go first," Ginny said quickly, fearing that Hermione was about to say something unpleasant, as the older girl's eyes had gone very narrow.
Madam Cybele passed her hand over the table. Two decks of cards appeared. Both decks rose, hovered, and proceeded to shuffle themselves thoroughly.
"Touch both decks, Ginevra," Madam Cybele instructed. Ginny touched a finger to the first deck, which hummed under her touch so that she gasped softly. She repeated the action with the other deck, with similar results. Madam Cybele then touched the first deck with a red-nailed finger. It instantly fanned out into a perfect half-circle, suspended in mid-air directly before a hushed Ginny. "If you would be so good as to select a card," Madam Cybele said with a nod.
Ginny hesitantly pulled a card from the fan and looked at it. Her face fell.
"What is it?" Hermione said, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Ginny turned the card over. It was blank.
Madam Cybele passed her hand over both fans of cards, which instantly reassembled into neat decks. Ginny's card leaped from her hand and slid back into its deck. The cards remained motionless in mid-air as if resting on an invisible shelf a foot above the table.
"The name you seek has not yet been written in the book of Fate," Madam Cybele said with a slight lowering of her head. She then turned to Hermione, who flinched.
"Um...no," Hermione said slowly. "I...just came in with Ginny..."
"Do it, Hermione," Ginny urged. "What have you got to lose?"
Only my parents' hard-earned money, Hermione thought, feeling the weight of the gold Galleons in her pocket which had been converted at Gringotts from the pounds in her father's wallet.
But another fear tugged at her gut. There was only one name in her mind, and in her heart, which she wanted to find on that card. What if it wasn't there? What if her card, like Ginny's, was blank? Her fear for Harry's life had plagued her all through the Summer. She reminded herself again that fortune telling was bollocks. But what if...
Professor McGonagall had told her on numerous occasions that Divination was an imprecise field of magic. But did that automatically preclude those rare persons who truly had the Sight? And who was to say that Madam Cybele was not one of those few?
Ginny was still urging Hermione on. Madam Cybele sat placidly, her eyes wide and unblinking (no mean feat in the dense, perfumed air), waiting for Hermione's decision.
Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded once. Madam Cybele waved her hand, and the two decks shuffled themselves again. At Madam Cybele's prompting nod, Hermione touched the first deck, feeling the same tingle as had Ginny. She touched the second deck, her eyes falling as she withdrew her hand. Madam Cybele caused the two decks to fan out once more. Hermione swallowed again. She reached out a trembling hand and took a card. She hesitated before turning it over. She gasped, the card falling through her fingers. Ginny quickly picked it up off the floor, her eyes widening as she read what was on it. She turned it over for all to see, her gaze fastening on Hermione's eyes, which were clouded and unreadable.
A single letter was printed on the card, in bright red ink. A letter W.
A light was growing in Ginny's eyes. "W," she said thoughtfully. "W. Well, it can't be Ron," she chuckled. "One of you'd be in a cell in Azkaban on a murder rap before your first anniversary." A mischievous light, reminiscent of Fred and George, sprang into her eyes. "I know! Warrington! That bloke from Slytherin! You'd make the perfect couple, you would!" She laughed as Hermione essayed a lukewarm smile. Ginny's brow furrowed as her thoughts deepened, and a different sort of light began to illuminate her freckled face. "Wood? Oliver Wood? My gosh, Hermione! You know him, don't you? Through Harry! Maybe Harry will become a Quidditch player, and you'll all get together, and Oliver will see that you're not the little girl you were when he graduated -- oh, wow!"
Hermione's mind was screaming denial. No! It should be a P! I'm going to marry Harry!
This thought startled Hermione momentarily. Though she and Harry had been an "item" at school for the better part of a year, neither had pursued their budding romance past simple dating ritual. What had prompted Hermione to conceive such a notion just now? Marry Harry? Did her feelings for him run that deep?
The answer to that question resounded in her chest like rolling thunder. Yes!
Hermione felt as if she had been smothered in a warm, comforting embrace. Somewhere inside her, a door had silently opened, through which brilliant golden sunlight was streaming, its heat and light seeming to envelop her soul. The realization of these unsuspected feelings sent a quiet strength flowing through her. How could she have been so blind for so long? Had she been alone in her room and not in a public place, she would have laughed out loud. Looking at the card again, Hermione heard the silent voice inside her repeat emphatically: I'm going to marry Harry!
But, unexpectedly, another voice spoke, in a whisper that quietly drowned her inner scream. Are you? the voice mocked. Are you certain?
Yes! Hermione's silent scream resounded, more forcefully than before. I love Harry! I'm going to marry him and only him!
But the whisper countered with three words that stabbed her like a knife through the ribs: If he lives.
All this time, Madam Cybele had waited patiently, her placid smile never wavering. "You have another card to select, Hermione."
"What does the other card reveal?" Ginny asked.
"The first deck consists of letters," Madam Cybele said knowledgeably. "The second, of numbers. We now know the first letter of the man whom Hermione will marry. The second card will reveal the number of letters in that man's name."
"Pick the card," Ginny said urgently. Hermione listlessly drew a card from the second fan and turned it over. It did, indeed, bear a number, in the same red ink. A number 7. Ginny took the card from Hermione, whose fingers had gone numb. The younger girl's eyes grew wide as those of a house-elf. Hermione's filled with the beginnings of tears.
W. Seven letters.
Weasley.
Author's Note: What is the meaning of the prediction? Is Hermione really destined to marry Ron? (Given the parameters of this site, not bloody likely!) Then what is the answer? Sorry, no answers next week. But the mystery deepens, as does Hermione's anxiety. Come back for another taste, won't you? Thanks for reading.