Author's notes: Why did this take long? Because poems aren't my strong point and I had to write 'em for this one! That and the fact that I was also very, very busy.
Thanks so much to Tome Raider who, as usual, did an amazing job betaing this chapter!
Also, I feel honored that this story inspired Fullpensieve to create some awesome art. Check it out here: http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=1059 and don't forget to drop him a note! ^_^
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Thirty-Fourth: Messages
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Hermione and Harry met up with Ron, Shacklebolt, and Remus in 12 Grimmauld Place. As Tonks summoned McGonagall and Arthur for an emergency meeting, Hermione spoke to her Shadow Kin in private.
"I want you two to make sure that something is being done to find Yasmin," she told them. "Go to Tirgoviste and see if Henry's got it together, and whether the Coven has him in on the search. If not, find Keiko and ask for an update. When you get the chance, Solomon, access my personal inbox online. You remember my username and password?"
Solomon nodded.
"Check to see if Yasmin's responded at all. It has only been a few hours since I emailed her, but if she's alright and she wants to be found, she'd respond." Hermione looked to Lucien. "Try to see if you can get in touch with Elena. If she's still in London, try to meet with her personally and tell her the situation with Yasmin. Ask her how much she wants as payment for her services on this matter."
Lucien smirked. "She'd do this for free if you shag her."
Hermione shot him a glare. "She never asked that from me, you know. And if by some strange twist of fate, she does, that's not an option. I'm with Harry now and so that would be cheating."
"Not if you get him in on it." Lucien wiggled his eyebrows.
"He might like it, but Elena won't," said Solomon. "I heard she's a jealous lover."
"Oh? Shame, but I could live with just Hermione and Elena."
"Well, then there would be Harry to think about still."
"Harry's a cool bloke and a do-gooder to boot. Hermione and Elena going at each other would be for a good cause, so he isn't likely to kick up a fuss."
"Come to think of it, boyo, Harry seems like a jealous guy in his own right…"
"Only with blokes, I think. He supports Hot Lesbian Action just like any heterosexual man. You'll see."
Hermione listened to them both with martyr-like patience, and when finally they paused to think the matter over, she said, "Are you two quite finished deciding mine, Harry's and Elena's sex lives?"
Both boys motioned to say something but she interrupted before they could. "Shut up, both of you. Go. Go before I hurt you."
She was serious and they probably realized that. They scampered away to get to their tasks and Hermione muttered swear words under her breath as she watched them go.
She loved her boys, but sometimes they could be impossibly single-minded.
With her Shadow Kin dispatched, she rejoined Harry and the others in his study. McGonagall and Arthur arrived shortly after they were flooed and thus assembled, Harry calmly told them what transpired in what Harry now called Spinner's End.
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Hermione stared at the vials in Harry's hand. Three tiny containers filled with a dark, ominous substance that was either his salvation or destruction.
Her eyes stung and she hastily blinked back her tears.
Damn you, Snape. Damn you.
The profound silence in the room only compounded the fact that Harry's options were miserable, and unless they came up with a better plan, this was how it was going to be.
Harry's expression was grave, his eyes filled with intensity. "I'll hand over one of these vials to our Potions lab at the Ministry, if you don't mind, Kingsley. I want Woodhouse on this."
"Best Poisons Specialist we have," said Shacklebolt.
Hermione's stomach clenched, the look in Harry's eyes was one she knew well. He had decided on something, and she had a feeling it involved putting himself in great danger. It filled her with grief and anger. When was he going to understand that hero though he was, she wasn't about to sit back and let him take foolhardy risks? She had always trusted his ability to pull through the most impossible situations, but she has never, in the course of their friendship, let him go unprepared if she could help it.
"And if it turns out to be what Snape said it would be," said Hermione. "What are you going to do, Harry?"
His gaze flickered. "Then I just might go and use it."
Hermione beat down her rising temper. She waited a few seconds to speak. Whether it was because she was controlling her irritation or waiting for someone else to point out what was wrong with his plan, she wasn't sure, but she found herself getting angrier at the fact that no one was saying anything.
Finally, she spoke. "That thing could kill you."
"Snape didn't say that for sure. He said there was a possibility."
"Oh, well, I suppose if it's just a 'possibility,' then it's alright."
Harry shot her a glare.
Remus sighed. "She's right, you know. The risks are immense, Harry. Why should we let you go through with this?"
"I don't know. Fate of the Wizarding World, maybe?"
Ron scowled. "Well, then if you put it that way, having you possibly die by poisoning doesn't sound as bad."
"Son," Arthur said, dealing him a warning glance.
"Quiet, all of you," McGonagall said with her usual briskness. "Potter, however sarcastically Granger and Weasley put it, they have a point. You cannot just take that potion and hope for the best. Severus might be a brilliant potions master, but he isn't infallible. There might be something in the potion that could be altered-"
Harry shook his head. "Altering is out of the question. We don't know what goes into the Soul Harvesting potion, and even if we did, who's to say that any alteration in the Revivisco potion, no matter how helpful it may seem to us, won't react badly to the Soul Harvesting one?"
As much as it behooved Hermione to admit it, Harry's argument on that respect was sound.
"There has to be another way, then," she said. "It can't be just that."
"Maybe we can make another potion?" said Tonks. "One that would ensure Harry's survival."
Harry frowned. "Wouldn't that be convenient? I could really use a potion like that, Tonks."
Tonks shot him a glare. "It was only a suggestion."
Harry sighed and gave her an apologetic look.
"Nevertheless, we ought to try it, don't you think?" said McGonagall.
"Why don't we shoot him up with all sorts of Muggle drugs while we're at it?" Ron muttered. "Isn't there some kind of limit to how much potion a wizard could drink without exploding?"
"Better than just watching Harry die, don't you think?" Tonks pointed out.
Hermione wanted to scream at such awful prospects.
"I'll speak to Horace about it," said McGonagall. "Potter, do send a sample of that potion to my office at Hogwarts."
Harry nodded, though Hermione could tell that he wasn't putting his hopes on anything.
Shacklebolt went on to mention the arrangement of the Order general meeting, enlisting Tonks's and Arthur's help in the logistics.
Hermione was only half paying attention to it. She was eyeing Harry intently, knowing that the discussion about Snape's potion was nowhere near done as far as he was concerned. She resolved to speak to him about it after this meeting was done, and hopefully she could talk some sense into him.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Harry stalked out of the office and Hermione followed right after him. She nearly collided with Ron who was headed in the very same direction.
They took a moment to shoot each other irritated glances before they fell into step behind Harry.
Harry didn't miss a step as he spoke, never bothering to look back at them. "You two aren't wasting time, are you?"
Hermione didn't let his dismissive tone affect her. "We have to talk to you, Harry."
"Yeah, and this isn't going to wait," said Ron.
Sighing, Harry said nothing, but he didn't stop them from following him, either. He made straight for his room. He let them walk in with him and it was Ron who shut the door behind them.
"Harry," Hermione began in a stern tone. "You have to promise us that you aren't going to do anything rash the moment Snape's potion is okayed."
He looked terribly annoyed. "Like how rash?"
"Like going off to find Voldemort yourself-rash! You know what I mean, Harry!"
"Is that what you think I'll do?"
"Isn't it?"
Harry shot a glare at Ron. "And you? Thinking the same thing?"
"I've known you a long time, Harry, and you've done a lot of crazy things. What do you expect me to think?"
For several seconds, Harry said nothing, transferring his gaze between Hermione and Ron. He looked both perplexed and amazed, and Hermione figured it was because he'd rarely ever seen her and Ron agree on anything. Finally, Harry spoke. "I've always come out of the things I've done alive, you know. I'll get through this, too."
Ron threw up his hands in resignation.
Hermione growled, her frustration potent enough to frizz her hair even worse. "You don't know that!"
"Don't I? How do you know I haven't looked into the Oracle's message? How do you know I haven't seen a future where I'm perfectly alright and Voldemort is dead?"
"Oracle?" Ron asked. "What Oracle?"
Hermione threw Harry a fierce glare. "Even if you have, I wouldn't let you listen to it. I've tried to explain it to you, Harry. The Oracle doesn't show the future. It shows possibilities as the situation stands. It shows what could happen if you do one thing and then another. And that's apart from the theories that the Oracle could actually manipulate people into doing what it wants!"
"Can someone please explain this Oracle business to me?" cried Ron.
Since Harry didn't look up to it, Hermione took on the task with a patient expression. "It's a magical device that vampire masters use to guide their decisions. It's under the guardianship of the Coven because it's said to contain the blood of Isis, of which whose descendant is always the Coven Master."
Ron's eyes widened. "It tells you the future?"
"No, it does not," Hermione said curtly. "At least I don't believe it does. It gives a glimpse of the past, present, and what could be the future. Sometimes, it spouts out unsolicited advice. This is when most masters go insane, I believe, because they usually take it to mean that the Oracle is making a prophecy. Yasmin swears by it. Many do. I don't, so Harry can't use it to convince me to let him do what he thinks he should."
Ron still looked confused. "So what does Harry have to do with it?"
"Yasmin gave him a message from the Oracle."
Ron groaned. "Another prophecy. Fantastic."
Hermione was getting irritated. "Weren't you listening? It's not a prophecy!"
"What you think and what is are two completely different things, Hermione, no matter how brilliant you are."
"You're missing the point, Ron! No one should ever have to let crystal balls, or Oracles, or loopy sherry-drinking Professors influence their decisions!"
"How can you say that when you saved Sirius's and Buckbeak's life with a Time Turner?"
"Again, you missed the point! When I used that Time Turner, I didn't see the future in a crystal ball! I was the future, and Harry and I went back in time to fix it."
"Yes," Harry interjected. "But even then, we did the exact same thing we were meant to do. The future can be told-"
"Yes, the future can be told," she conceded. "But it doesn't mean it should be."
He fell silent. So did Ron.
She took in a breath and expelled it, the feeling of air entering her body soothing. "So have you unraveled the Oracle's message, Harry?"
He took a few heartbeats. "No, I have not, but with everything that's happening, I might."
Hermione's heart sank, but she said nothing to discourage him. "Just don't do anything stupid when you find out whatever it is you find out, alright?"
"You already told me that the first time you gave me the vial."
"Well, then I'm telling you again. I'm nothing if I'm not a nag."
Ron eyed her carefully. "It's strange to listen to you admitting it. It sort of takes away from the fun of doing the exact opposite of what you nagged about."
"Haha, Ron. Very feckin' funny."
Ron gave her a dismissive wave. "Which brings up my point. Harry, how can we be sure you won't do anything stupid after you discover Snape's potion works?"
Harry shot him a glare, but when Harry looked expectantly at Hermione and she made no move to chastise Ron, Harry seemed to realize that she wasn't taking his side this time.
The brief look of betrayal in Harry's eyes almost did Hermione in. Another second and she might have thrown herself into Harry's arms, telling him that she'd never doubt his common sense again, but he sighed, and she saw that he understood.
Reaching into his coat, he plucked something from within its pocket.
Hermione heard the clink of glass, and sure enough, Harry held out the three vials.
"Take them," he said, a flush rising in his face. "Maybe… maybe you're right. Maybe I couldn't be trusted with them. Just make sure Slughorn and Woodhouse gets samples of them for testing."
Hermione stifled her sigh of relief. "You give them the samples." She took one vial and held it up briefly. "I'll keep this one, just because it would be wiser to have them separately kept."
Ron shrugged. "Well in that case…" He took one vial for himself. "Don't make us regret we trusted you with the last one, Harry."
He eyed Ron briefly before he pocketed the last vial. "I won't."
"Good," said Ron, looking quite satisfied. "Blimey, Potter. I didn't get you this far through the war only to have you serve yourself up on a silver platter! That's just not fair! That's all my hard work gone to waste."
Harry grinned and Hermione realized that it did reach his eyes.
These two men were best friends, and she couldn't help but wonder if her presence before had hindered the development of that relationship. With her gone the last five years, Harry had to bring his most complicated issues to Ron for support, and that would have never happened if Hermione had been around. Harry and Ron seemed so close now, and of course that was to be expected, but Hermione could tell that they could look at one another and know what the other was thinking. It was uncanny, but true.
Well, if they start snogging, that would be such a bother.
She cocked a private smile.
Harry and Ron seemed to be agreeing on something, but she had missed the conversation.
Harry put his arm around her. "Oy, what's with the secret smile?"
She wasn't that surprised he noticed. "Nothing. My mind just wandered off a bit. What were you and Ron saying?"
"Just thought we'd sneak out for bit and unwind. Grab a Guinness, talk about stupid things."
"Ah," she said. "Then I bid you two to enjoy yourselves."
Ron rolled his eyes. "What are you on about, Granger? Don't you want to come with us? Pub not classy enough for your tastes?"
She sneered. "Shut it, you. It has nothing to do with how seedy your pub is. I just… well, it's a boys' night out kind of thing, eh? I don't want to get in the way."
Ron scoffed. "Don't be foolish. You're one of the boys, so you won't be getting in the way at all."
She had to smirk. "Oh, am I one of the boys? Harry doesn't think I'm one of the boys. Especially not earlier this evening."
Harry laughed softly, pulling her closer to kiss her just beneath the ear, as if to prove it. She shuddered at the touch of his lips.
Ron, to his credit, seemed unfazed. "I didn't hear you say that and I didn't see him do that! And viola, you're both just my best friends again and you're not shagging each other. Now let's get going, before you two get all hot and bothered. We'll sit at the bar. That way you don't get to footsy each other under the table."
Hermione smirked, warming at Ron calling her his best friend again. It was indeed cause for celebration. "And sitting at the bar would curb our enthusiasm, because?"
"Erm, because human decency demands it?"
Harry grinned. "I'll try to keep my hands off her, Ron, so long as you answer all our questions."
"All of them?"
"All of them. No excuses."
"Humph. Well, that could be arranged. Half-a-dozen shots of whiskey ought to do it."
"We have a deal, then?"
"Absolutely. Let's go. Darkness's a wasting!"
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When they first arrived at the pub, Ron put his great big arm around Hermione's shoulders and jerked a thumb in Harry's direction, telling the barkeep, "These are my best friends in the whole world. They're going to buy me drinks tonight because they have an amazing sex life and I haven't had a shag in months." And true to his role as chaperone, Ron sat between them at the bar. As was his wont, Ron carried conversation with hilarious success. The barkeep thought him amusing enough, and that was a tall order in a pub whose toilet hadn't been cleaned in days. Ron was expert at breaking the ice at the bar.
And so he drank, and-quite a few shots of whiskey later-told them that Gabrielle had broken up with him.
They'd acted properly sympathetic, never letting on that they'd expected it; telling him they were sorry. Harry shared a Russian Boilermaker with him, in honor of the tragedy. They dropped a shot of vodka, glass and all, into a mug full of beer and chugged it down in one long toss, after which they slammed their empty beer mugs on the bar, letting loose matching belches.
Hermione had three words for them. "That. Was. Disgusting."
They could hear the barkeep laughing softly as he wiped glasses dry behind the counter.
"I suppose I ought to be thankful you're not breaking bottles over your heads and scratching your balls," she said loftily.
"That's only for Quidditch weekends," Ron burped, straight faced.
With only the slightest disparaging look, Hermione-like the good friend that she was-let it pass and proceeded to ask the details of the breakup, urging Ron to unload.
Ron whinged a bit, declaring that if she asked him to get in touch with his feminine side, he was going to walk right out of the bar.
Unaffected, Hermione insisted, and Harry watched Ron "give in" with too-loud protests. Harry said nothing, letting his best friend have the privilege of spilling his heart out under pretense of reluctantly obliging Hermione.
Gabrielle had broken up with Ron because Ron couldn't give her the time she so richly deserved. Gabrielle hadn't been angry. She hadn't railed and cried and threatened. She had simply said that she understood that the demands of the Order came before her own, and that she had no wish to make him pick a side. She was young in a situation that demanded her to grow up, and that since she needed to grow up anyway, she ought to grow up with someone, rather than scramble to catch up with her boyfriend who seemed older than his years.
"Sweet little thing, isn't she?" Hermione said dryly. "What's his name? Pierre? Jean?"
Ron seemed surprised, then impressed. "Well, I don't think she was cheating, per se. Gabrielle's a good girl, and she wouldn't hurt anyone on purpose, but I think she's interested in someone… more her age. She mentioned some bloke named Rémi once. Maybe that's him."
"Humph, and humph again," muttered Hermione. "I ought to soufflé that petite Delacour."
Ron laughed. "Oh, leave her alone. I'll just be grateful that she made an old man feel like a teenager again."
"Ron, you're only twenty-two. It's been all but three years since you were last a teenager," said Harry.
"I feel much older."
Harry had exchanged secret eye-rolls with Hermione. He shoved another shot of whiskey in Ron's direction. "Here. Drink up, then, old timer, before your rheumatism acts up."
Hermione laughed, but a moment later, she put her arm over Ron's shoulder and asked, "Are you going to be alright?"
Ron's look of mild surprise transfigured into a half-smile.
Harry was a bit surprised himself. Hermione had, of course, been the most perceptive and sensible woman he'd ever had the pleasure of befriending, but since having returned from living five years as a vicious, perhaps even bordering on ruthless, vampire, her sweet and sensitive nature had taken on a decidedly sharp edge. This was no gentle damsel who wept at chick flicks and slept with a teddy bear. She was a sword-wielding lady chock-full of attitude, and perhaps even Harry hadn't expected that she'd be mindful of the gentler sensibilities of men and break-ups.
"Yeah, I reckon so," Ron replied. "I sorter had it coming, and it was a bit unfair, wasn't it? Of me, I mean. She was too young. I should've known better."
Hermione gasped and clutched at her chest. "Be still my heart. Did my ears hear the whisper of wisdom from Ron Weasley's lips?"
"Don't get used to it," Ron said. "I'm only wise in this relationship thing because Harry has fared much worse than I have in that department. And you know what they say, 'A wise man learns from his mistakes. A wise guy learns from the mistakes of others.'"
"Hey," said Harry in a mildly protesting tone before he gave in to his grin.
Hermione's eyebrow arched, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, really? Well, from what I've seen and heard, you haven't learned from the most important mistake."
Ron smirked. "Oh, you mean the one about falling in love with a vampire? I've learned loads about that."
She grinned, not the least bit offended. "Not that mistake, the one about not seeing what's right under your nose."
Harry made a face at her. She grinned right back.
Ron kept smiling, but his brows knotted. "What? I don't get it."
"The defense rests," Hermione muttered. "And I'm not even going to stick my nose in that one."
"Me neither," said Harry. "If it ain't broke…"
"Don't Nargle it."
Harry laughed and Ron confused expression disappeared as he chuckled under his breath.
"Oh, Luna, you mean," he said.
Hermione smirked. "Well, the monkey doth think."
"Hey… I'm at least not as dense as this bloke over here." Ron jerked a thumb at him.
"Oy," said the aforementioned bloke. "Quit picking on me."
A gleam of amusement lit Hermione's gaze. "So, Ron. Do you fancy Luna?"
Ron shrugged. "I don't know. I never thought about it until now."
"Oh, haven't you?"
"Well…" Ron paused. "There's the occasional passing randy thought, but that's normal, ain't it? I'm a healthy bloke and she's blonde with exquisite breasts."
Harry laughed.
Hermione made a face, remembering Ron looking down her tank top. "I never took you for boob-man, Ron."
Ron turned to Harry. "Aren't we all?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, boobs are nice, I admit… but I like legs much better. Hermione has a fantastic pair of 'em."
She feigned exaggerated modesty. "Oh, stop."
Ron made a face. "Well, when you're as tall as I am and often have a view from above, one can't help but look down those shirts."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "That makes a strange sort of sense, actually."
"It does," said Harry.
"I propose a toast," Ron said, raising his shot glass. "To perky breasts and shapely legs. Hell, let's throw in tight arses for good measure."
"Cheers, mate."
To Hermione's credit, she let it pass with a mere roll of her eyes.
And so they spent the next two and a half hours watching Ron getting banjaxed for his woes. When he'd had enough, Harry footed the bill and with Ron half-draped on him, tried to stumble out of the pub.
"Some help from the vampirically strong girlfriend would be nice," Harry said, grunting from the effort of keeping Ron relatively upright.
Ron began to sing a lewd song about knickerless girls doing high kicks.
Hermione smirked but did not complain, taking her share of Ron's weight as they hobbled out to the sidewalk and to the nearest Apparating point. Harry Apparated Ron first, dumping him on his bed gracelessly.
"Harry, I think George is in love with Luna," Ron slurred.
Harry actually paused and frowned.
"Look on his face," Ron muttered, scratching his tummy as he burrowed drunkenly into his pillows. He blinked, his bleary eyes affixed on Harry. "He needs her more than I do, I reckon…"
Harry felt a pinch in his heart for his best friend. He didn't know what to think about that. "Go to sleep, Ron."
"'K. G'night, mate."
Harry left.
He went back for Hermione and soon he was walking her down the dungeons of Grimmauld Place.
Midway, she stopped and looked back at him. "Harry, whenever you're…"
"Yes?"
"You know… saving the world…"
He laughed softly, shaking his head with miserable resignation.
"You know what I mean," she said softly. "When you're doing that, what goes through your mind?"
"Other than, 'Oh God, there's an evil wizard trying to kill me, let me out of here?'"
She smiled, almost looking apologetic that she was asking, but she didn't take the question back. "Yes."
Harry hadn't really thought about it from such a perspective, but the answer was clear to him immediately. "I'm thinking I couldn't fail, because there are too many people who would suffer if I did. And then I think about the people I love and want to protect. And then I ask myself how far I'm willing to go to protect them…"
She sighed, her eyes filling. She swiped what tears would have spilled with the back of her hand. "Ron and I can't stop you from doing what you have to do, Harry. I think maybe I've tried too often in the past… failed each time. Just promise me one thing. When you do decide to do something that I'm probably not going to want you to do… tell me. Just please tell me. I promise I won't stop you."
His eyebrow arched in surprise. "You won't?"
"I swear. I swear I won't. No matter how stupid I think it is. No matter how reckless or irrational or-"
A soft chuckle escaped him. "Perhaps I deserved that."
She blushed. "Just please promise me."
He kissed her, enfolding her gently in his arms. "I promise," he whispered.
When they parted, she looked up at him one last time before she continued the rest of the way down the steps. Harry watched her a moment as she descended, and when she reached the foot of the steps, it appeared Solomon and Lucien were there to meet her. She acknowledged their presence before she turned to him again.
He tilted a weary smile and she returned it before she disappeared behind the bend.
As Harry climbed the steps, he heard Hermione's voice drifting from the hallway below.
"Any word?" There was a pregnant silence, signifying that Solomon and Lucien had nothing to tell her.
Yasmin's still missing.
Harry didn't know what the implications of it were, and honestly, he didn't want to think about it.
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Slivers of sunlight pushed through the blinds of Harry's bedroom window. Bright and early, he still had several hours to get some sleep, but as he sat at the edge of his bed contemplating the Oracle's message in his hand, he had to wonder if Hermione was right about this, too.
If not for Hermione's cautionary words, he might have unraveled the message already.
He looked back on prophecies and time turners, how they were self-fulfilling and destructive. He didn't know what the consequences of this message was, but at this point, when things seemed so bleak and any ray of hope seemed better than nothing, he wondered if he had anything to lose.
He rolled the vial on his palm, the soft glow of the liquid inside enticing. The metal-work on the vial was as intriguing to him as ever, and he knew that if he ever got the chance, he would ask Yasmin what it meant, if it had any meaning at all.
Pinching the sculpted head of the demon-angel, he pulled carefully. The vial popped open and the red glow coned from the vial's rim. He held the vial up to the dim light of his room, wondering whether he should drink it.
The glow of the liquid deepened and Harry felt warmth on his fingers. The warmth became a searing heat and he yelped, the vial tumbling from his hand. He swore as he tried to catch the vial mid-fall, only to fail when he realized it was too hot to hold. The vial toppled to the floor, whole, but the liquid inside it spilled, pooling.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Harry hissed, dropping to his knees. He tested the vial and found that it had cooled, and frantically, he tried to scoop some of the liquid back into the vial. It was silly, of course, and as he soiled his fingers, momentarily fascinated and horrified that the liquid felt like blood, he stared at the mess on his hands.
He had seen his hands bloodied before, but he realized that he had gotten more blood on them when he was trying to save lives rather than taking them. Most of the vampire and werewolf blood he had shed spilled on his sword, and the human lives he had to take had been by magic. Saving lives, pressing on bleeding wounds… the blood had seeped through his fingers and caught beneath his fingernails.
Hermione's blood had been everywhere.
He closed his eyes, trying to block the memory from his mind.
When he opened them again, the blood on the floor and on his hands gleamed in the dimness.
Harry felt a surge of panic, cursing as he contemplated running to the bathroom to wash off the blood before it did something awful to him.
But before he could do just that, the pool of blood on the floor began to ripple, and then it drew itself into a line, as if alive, and viscously crawled in Harry's direction.
He didn't know why, but it was the creepiest thing he had ever seen, and he stumbled to get away from it.
Pushing himself clumsily to his feet, he made for the door, only to realize as he reached for the knob that the thin film of blood on his hands were rippling to life as well.
"Shite!"
He reached for his towel, lunging to wipe it off, but it seemed to crawl between the folds of the linen and up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, and then into his mouth.
He gagged, his knees folding to the floor. He felt the line of blood swimming on his tongue as the pool on the floor caught up with him. The liquid trail climbing up the length of his leg, his body, before it began to seep through his fingernails along the way. They seeped through his scars and Harry felt invaded; under siege. He lost control of his faculties, suddenly feeling drugged and dazed, like he was going to pass out in a trance.
He must have stumbled on his face, because he felt something jarring his cheek. He couldn't move, and soon his vision bled into a deep, crimson darkness.
~~
An ancient voice whispered unintelligible words. Phrases swimming together in his thoughts.
The voices drifted, and visions and memories rose to the surface of his consciousness. He couldn't tell one from the other.
Hermione's face, anxious but determined, lifted the Time Turner between them, the gears spinning with three clicks…
He found her in his arms, life-blood seeping from her body, his hand pressing on her wound…
And there fell the vampire to his knees at the agony of solar light burning into his flesh, the fangs of a serpent painted on his skin rippled with the contortion of his body…
Janus pierced the vein of his wrist, blood oozing from the wound as he forced it against Hermione's mouth, forcing her to drink while her eyes filled with horror…
Sleek legs and seductive curves, a dark apparition standing between Hermione and death. The forest surrounding them tingled with dangerous magic, and yet the apparition laughed, the sound escaping lovely lips. They called her Yasmin, and she was ancient, protecting the young from the one who sired her…
~~
The sounds drifted to silence and Harry saw the many faces of his enemy. He was the disease hidden beneath Professor Quirrel's turban; the living essence of the young boy that was in the Chamber of Secrets; the treachery of a friend known as Wormtail who shattered the lives of Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Lily; the creature that was born from the bones of his father, the flesh of a servant, and the blood of his most hated enemy; the man who tormented his thoughts, waking or asleep; the evil that plagued London, families, and Hogwarts; Voldemort, who took so many lives and promised to take more.
Harry saw others, those who followed Voldemort's cause. Bellatrix, his loyal and vicious right hand. Peter, the sniveling servant. Lucius, the deep-pocketed minion. Fenrir, the ferocious werewolf. Janus, the ancient vampire.
And then Harry saw himself, his past, his present and his future.
~~
They were eyes older than any Harry had seen. A woman's eyes lined with thick kohl, wisps of incense smoke swirling at the corners, pungent and strong. The smoke thickened, clouding one's vision, and he could hear sounds from her lips as she read from a parchment, words written in blood. "Ahksha Tan. Shiao Khali. Nung Aino we Hiro. Jahad. Rhakmun. Imma akh shanna wa hal eyto ji ufra amun hal ami. Ahksha Tan. Shiao Khali. Nung Aino we Hiro…" The strange syllables repeated over and over again, until Harry could stand it no more and he clapped his hands over his ears. He struggled to scream. He wanted it to stop, because the disjointed thoughts and images were driving him mad.
He cried for silence. He squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, he was in his room at Grimmauld Place. The strange woman reading from the parchment sat across from him while blood seeped through the walls.
He stared at it all, terrified.
The blood formed shapes, like characters of an unknown language, filling every visible surface of his room, and still the woman spoke the same strange words over and over, her eyes growing emptier by the second, like the mantra was draining her of herself.
She continued to speak, and slowly, she began to say things he could understand.
~~
"Three descendants of the Fang
A child meant to betray and lead
A child meant to serve and bleed
A child meant to nurture destiny's seed
On three the balance of the Blood hangs
These children of the Fang.
"Two souls bound by prophetic ties
A soul who lived by the oldest of magic known
A soul torn but lives through dark magic sown
Both souls yet incompletely owned
On two a world's future lies
These souls bound by prophetic ties."
"Each one in common fate entwined
Anointed Ruler, blessed by ancients' will
The Catalyst, to know and so fulfill
Time's last Turner, to awaken olden skill
The Wielder, meant to either die or kill
The Puppet, for naught but blood to spill
Five lives of common fate entwined
Deliver Blood from daylight's bind."
~~
The walls were filled, ceiling to floor, and the shapes bled into one another, a layer of crimson pooling at the floor as it came at him again, climbing his body and seeping through his mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. He felt saturated, like he would burst, and though he tried to scream, nothing but the garbled sound of a drowning man escaped him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Harry!" came a distant voice. "Harry!"
And then Harry felt someone hit him, once across the face. It felt like he had gotten hit with a paddle, and it was only then Harry realized he was screaming bloody murder.
He wasn't drowning in a pool of blood. His room was not flooded and his walls were bright and clean. There was no strange woman in his room with him. In fact, everyone who was there was a familiar face.
There was Tonks, Remus, and even Draco. All of them pale and shocked.
Tonks loomed over him, shaking him senseless and slapping him silly.
Harry stopped screaming, and he realized he was breathing heavily, his clothes damp with perspiration. He was on the hardwood floor and his entire body felt cramped.
The ache in his fingers became pronounced, and he realized it was because he had them tensely clamped into the wild strands of his hair. He loosened his fingers, orienting himself to the familiarity of his surroundings.
"You ought to hit him again, Tonks," Draco said rather seriously.
"Shut it, Malfoy," said Tonks. "I think he's coming to."
Draco peered at him. "Is it his scar?"
Remus frowned, peering cautiously into Harry's eyes. "I don't know. Harry? Can you hear us?"
Harry took a few more breaths before he swallowed and nodded. "I-I'm alright. I just-blimey, it was like a nightmare." He struggled to sit up and Remus helped.
"What was?" asked Remus
Harry remembered the message and he looked frantically around him for the vial. He saw it on the floor. The cap was off, but the blood didn't spill. Frantically, he reached for it, grasping the vial and willing his hands not to shake as he plugged it close.
His head throbbed, the strange words imprinted in his memory. "I-I need to get to my Pensieve. I have to-"
"Relax," said Remus in a soothing tone. "The Pensieve isn't going anywhere."
"Yes, but the memory might-I don't know how these Oracle things work. I need to remember the words…"
Remus and Tonks looked at one another in confusion.
"Oracle?" asked Tonks. "What in the world-"
"It was never a question of whether he would lose his mind," said Draco in a derisive tone. "It was always a matter of when."
Harry ignored him. "I have to get to my study."
Remus's firm arm steadied him, for which he was grateful. His legs still felt a bit wobbly.
Harry took a few tentative steps and was glad to note he could manage it without swooning. He walked on, Remus and Tonks following close behind.
Draco's disgusted snort and receding steps were evidence of Draco's disinterest.
"Where the bloody hell is Ron?" Tonks asked. "Don't tell me he slept through that racket!"
"He's dead pissed," Harry replied absentmindedly. "Gabrielle dumped him."
"Hope their age difference had nothing to do with it."
"Tonks," said Remus in a gently reproachful tone.
Harry kept on walking and when he got to his study, he turned to them apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I need to be alone."
Tonks and Remus eyed him a moment, as if gauging whether he was fit to be left by himself. He didn't let his gaze waver, and finally, they nodded and turned to leave.
Sighing with relief, Harry closed himself into his study and looked to his Pensieve.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ron woke with a blinding headache. The sun was up, its rays piercing holes through his skull.
Moaning, he pulled the covers of his bed over his head to block the glare. From beneath the blanket, he poked out a hand to reach for his pocket watch.
He had to blink several times to see that it was almost noon.
He moaned again. "Charlie's going to kill me," he muttered.
Pushing himself up to his feet, he felt his head sway and his brain split. It only got worse with the racket coming from his windowsill.
The flapping of wings sounded like firecrackers going off in his head.
Scowling, he turned to see an eagle, a large one, and it took up most of his window. The eagle gave a piercing shriek and it knifed right through Ron's ears.
"Argh! Bloody fucking hell!" he growled, burying his head in his pillows.
The eagle flapped again and Ron emerged from his shelter, yelling for the beast to hold still.
There was a letter tied to its leg and Ron struggled to get it off without having the eagle's talons cutting him.
The envelope was unmarked, but when Ron broke the seal and read its contents, he felt suddenly sober.
~~
Please come visit for tea. The children miss their uncle.
~~
It was unsigned, but Ron knew who sent it.
Blinking back his intoxication, he splashed himself with cold water, drank some Pepper-up Potion, and put some fresh clothes on, grabbing his parka on his way out. Using his Dragonkeeper Portkey privileges, he hastened to the dragon reservation in Sweden.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry closed his eyes and massaged his temples, thinking that if the words he'd written didn't make more sense to him soon, he'd go spare.
He looked to the fireplace, waiting for either Slughorn's, McGonagall's, or Woodhouse's face to appear in it with news of the sample potions he sent them, but the hearth remained silent.
He sighed. He desperately needed a distraction.
There were papers everywhere, blotted and inked with notes, copied images, phonetically spelled gobbledygook, and perhaps a doodled cartoon or two.
He'd been in his study for hours, breaking only when Tonks came in before she left for work and when Remus dropped by to share a packed lunch with him. Of course, it was odd to eat a packed lunch in one's own home, but really, at that point, he wasn't going to labor over such details.
There's too much to do… he thought, wondering when he was going to fit everything he had to do between now and the inevitable confrontation between him and Voldemort, which he assumed was soon.
He oddly felt like he was going to an exam hugely unprepared. This was not good, especially since he had spent the last few years thinking that he was ready for anything.
This is Snape's fault.
He checked his pocket watch and saw that it was just after sundown.
He hadn't had any sleep.
Slipping off his glasses, he closed his eyes. He must have dozed off a bit because before he knew it, he was being stirred out of sleep by the sound of softly shuffling paper.
He spied a blur by his chair bending over his desk. He slipped his glasses back on and watched Hermione's backside for a bit. He indulged himself a secret smile before he spoke. "How long have I been asleep?"
She didn't seem surprised that he was awake, her gaze never wavering from the papers on his desk. "Just a few minutes… where did these come from, Harry?" She held up a sheet of paper, the one with the strange characters on them.
He straightened himself on his seat, yawning. "Oracle. I unraveled the message this morning."
She held still a moment, and he wondered if she was going to scold him. She didn't.
"This is vampire hieroglyphics," she said. "Did you write this?"
"Copied it," Harry said. "From the visions. I make no pretense of understanding it. Can you read it?"
Hermione nodded. "Ahksha Tan. Shiao Khali. Nung Aino we Hiro… Harry, this is very archaic writing. It's a tad more difficult than the more modern vampire syntax, but-"
He blinked his drowsiness away and encouraged her to read on. "Keep going. It sounds exactly like what I heard in the visions."
"What visions?"
"From the Oracle," was all he said as explanation. "Keep reading."
She didn't insist on further explanation, throwing him a mildly annoyed look before doing as he said. "Ahksha Tan. Shiao Khali. Nung Aino we Hiro. Jahad. Rhakmun. Imma akh shanna wa hal eyto ji ufra amun hal ami… it's just the same thing over and over."
He nodded. "Do you know what it means?"
"Yes. Ahksha Tan means the anointed ruler. Shiao Khali means the catalyst that would fulfill. Nung Aino we Hiro literally means the Last Turner of Time. Jahad means the Wielder. Rhakmun means the dummy, or more accurately the puppet."
"And the rest of it?"
She read it again, brows knotting. "Roughly: Five to deliver the Blood from darkness so its children could walk the light again."
"The blood?"
"The Blood is an archaic reference to vamp kind and their children."
"Children?"
"When a vamp turns a human, that turned human is sometimes called the vamp's 'child.' But it's just a metaphor. Some take it seriously, most don't. Just like when two vamps are turned by the same master, they were 'turned by the same father' and that sort of thing."
Harry shuffled the papers on his desk and brought out the one where he had written the lyrical messages. "Here, read this and tell me if it makes any sense to you."
She did, brows knotting in concentration. A few minutes later, he rifled through his pages on the desk and brought out a different set of copied characters. She held it up. "Who interpreted this?"
"Is it wrong?"
She held up the hieroglyphics and the lyrical message. "This English translation is exactly what these hieroglyphics mean."
Harry pointed to the English text. "I scribed this from the message and I copied the characters from the vision. Do you understand the references in the verses?"
"Only the one to you and Voldemort."
"The 'Last Turner of Time' mean anything to you?"
She frowned. "Of course it does. I had the last one before they were all destroyed in the Department of Mysteries."
"That's what I thought of when I heard the words used before, but it's not talking about a Time Turner, Hermione. It's talking about the last one who turned time."
"I was afraid you were going to say that. See, this is why I hate Divinations… and just when and from whom did you hear about the 'Last Turner of Time?'"
"A couple of weeks back, from one of the werewolves sent to burn your parents' house down. Don't change the subject."
"Sorry."
"This prophecy-"
"It's not a prophecy." She said it through grit teeth.
He sighed, smiled patiently, and rephrased. "This message is talking about you, too. Now since you're not one of the two whose soul is bound by a prophecy…"
"I'm one of the three children of this so-called Fang," she finished unhappily. "I don't know who Fang is, unless Hagrid's cowardly dog has turned into a bloodsucking mutt… or it could be another reference to vampire kind…"
"You're rambling. You know what I'm getting at."
Her lips pursed, and in some sick, twisted way, Harry wanted to giggle and say, "Sucks to be in a prophecy, doesn't it?" But then of course, this wasn't supposed to be a prophecy, and he figured this wasn't going over-easy with her at all, so joking about it wasn't exactly a good idea, either.
"Well, we don't know if I was the last one to turn time," she pointed out stubbornly. "Maybe some bloke turned time just that we never knew it."
"That bloke wouldn't happen to be allergic to Kryptonite, would he?"
She frowned. "I'm serious."
He chuckled miserably. "Hermione, I need you to work with me. Just tell me if you understand that you're one of the three this pro-message is talking about."
She sighed. "Yes, of course, I do. But-"
"But nothing. Janus made you. Janus and Yasmin have the same maker. You said so yourself."
"That doesn't-"
"Even if Yasmin and Janus created a dozen vampires in their five lifetimes, you're still the only one that has anything to do with me and time turning. Don't you want to know who Grandfather Fang is?"
She shook her head, obviously frustrated that they were talking about this so-called message at all. "And so this means what? Who's who in this last verse? Who gets to be the Annointed Ruler? Who gets to be the Catalyst? And so on and so forth? Why are you even asking me these things? I already told you what I feel about proph-stuff like this, Harry. And see, it's proving to be every bit as troublesome as I thought. Think about it. At least two of the five think that they're the Annointed Ruler, anybody can be the Catalyst, being the Wielder sounds too damn vague, and everyone would like to think that the other one's the Puppet! Seems to me that everyone is being motivated by this so-called message to make it work for them. The fact that there's reasonable certainty that I'm the Last Time Turner doesn't make things any easier, and it doesn't really shed much light on what my role is concerning the first verse. What does the Oracle expect us to do with this information?"
Harry gave her an apologetic smile but didn't let the issue go. "Yasmin said I should be ready before I unravel the message. That doing so before may lead to dire consequences. I have no aspirations to rule and I'm no catalyst, either. I'm either at the middle or at the end, never at the beginning. Am I a puppet? Am I the Wielder? We'll probably never know until the end, but I have a feeling that I'll know when it matters most."
Imminent fury flashed in her eyes, but she pursed her lips, saying nothing. She had remembered her promise, and so he was going to remember his when the time came.
She sighed, sitting on the edge of his desk with weary resignation. "Harry, listen to me. You might have decided to do one thing or another without knowledge of the Oracle's message, but now that you've listened to the message, you'd probably think this or that option would be the only choices you have! Don't you see? You will inevitably choose the path the Oracle has shown you when you don't have to follow it!"
"Everyone else has chosen to take this path, Hermione-"
"You don't have to."
"Yes I have to," he said, holding her gaze with his own. "Do you even realize what this Oracle has done? Just think on it a second. Janus knew about this message, we don't know how, but somehow, he did, maybe, just maybe he showed Voldemort the same message. He didn't even have to bring the message with him. He had it in his mind, and Voldemort could've looked at it through a Pensieve. Yasmin definitely knew about it because it's her Oracle, innit? And so the three people who knew acted on it. Janus turned you, Yasmin took you, and Voldemort has been trying to kill you since. Can you even comprehend what that does to me, Hermione? I couldn't simply ignore this Oracle now, could I? Because it changed both our lives. Whatever it is, whether it tells the future or manipulates it, it has us. Do you understand?"
Her brows knotted, then she pressed her hands to her face, taking and expelling a breath. When she lowered her hands, she said nothing for a moment. "I liked it better when you let me figure things out. At least then I had a head start on things and I had more time to brace myself for the inevitable."
He smiled tiredly. "Did it make it any easier?"
"No. I used to think it does because I could predict your knee-jerk reaction-"
He laughed.
"-but the fact is, it never made things easier. It might have if I didn't care for you."
"Always said I was a burden to my friends."
She arched an eyebrow then smirked. "There are worse things in this world than loving Harry Potter."
He grinned slowly, taking her hand until their fingers were entwined. "I should hope so."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ron shivered within the forests of Mount Galtispuoda.
It was a crisp night, mercifully bereft of wind, but it was quiet as death, and the light of the moon wasn't exactly what Ron would consider comforting. He shoved his gloved hands deeper into his fleece-lined pockets. Maybe there was some secret warmth there that he didn't yet know about.
He had worn out his excuses for showing up at the Swedish dragon reservation, and it wasn't an easy thing traveling from one Apparition Point to another between the heart of the Scandinavian mountain range to where he was now, several times throughout the day. It didn't help in the least that they expected him at the reservations to pull his weight.
Those Short Snouts are a bitch! he thought sourly, touching part of his head that had nearly caught on the tongues of dragonfire earlier that evening.
Not to mention the fact that when he wasn't at the reservation, he was over at Krum's house, playing Viktor to Viktor's kids, just so the house help wouldn't suspect anything was amiss. Didn't help that Viktor seemed to have a taste for alluring Swedish babysitters. The blonde hair and blue eyes, Ron could deal with, but those outfits… didn't they know it was fall and that skimpy clothes were inappropriate for the season? It wasn't as if they didn't feel cold, because Ron could tell they were.
Sighing, Ron wondered when Viktor would get there and wished the Bulgarian-
Ex-Bulgarian
--would hurry up, because if Viktor didn't get there in another ten minutes, that would mean Viktor was in trouble, and Ron knew he would have to go and try to save the Quidditch Seeker's-
Ex-Quidditch Seeker's
--sorry arse. Ron was no coward, but he thought it would increase his and Viktor's chances exponentially if he could ask for help, something Viktor had expressly forbidden him to do unless it was absolutely and life-and-death necessary.
"Less people know, safer for you and me," Viktor had said.
Ron had wanted to argue: They needed help-this was dangerous, it wasn't as simple as it seemed, Harry could do this better than both of them can-but Viktor was adamant. Ron couldn't entirely blame him. Viktor prioritized his children above all else, and everything he did or didn't do tied in with that.
Ron wasn't happy about it, but he didn't want to push Viktor to do something he didn't want to do, especially since Viktor was putting his life at a terrible risk to help the Order.
Why Viktor had chosen Ron to help him, of all people, was apparent enough. He was already Viktor's Secret Keeper, and Ron could help him without the risk of revealing the location of Viktor's new home, or compromising Viktor and his family's new identities. Viktor trusts him and he knew Ron had tactical experience. Besides, it was-as Viktor said-so much safer dealing with as little people as possible in a covert operation. Of course, the fact that Ron had only so many resources at his disposal was something Ron didn't want to think about. He only hoped Harry didn't notice that his Auror-grade Polyjuice supply was slowly dwindling.
On the whole, Viktor's plan had seemed simple enough at first. After the siege at Viktor's castle was won, Viktor had scoured around the dead bodies and morbidly collected hair samples from one of the Death Eaters. He did it because he wished to continue to do his part in the war, but he had his children to think about, too, so he had to do it secretly-very secretly; as secretly as secret could be. So secret that he spoke to no one about it but his Secret Keeper, and so Ron helped Viktor Krum execute his plan.
Viktor Krum had the Dark Mark on him. A real one. It would be very easy to slip in and out of Death Eater company with the mark making his magical signature inconspicuous to Voldemort's attention. He could gather information, take what he could, be a spy for as long as he wasn't caught, killed, or both.
However dangerous the plan was-and yes, Ron told Viktor it was downright foolish-, Viktor insisted. He said he would do it with or without Ron's help, and that all Viktor asked was that if anything happened to him, Ron would make sure that the children would be delivered safely to their legally appointed guardian's care until they were old enough to administer their own fortunes. Ron didn't ask about who would get the children if the worse happened. He pretty much knew who it would be, and for the most part, Ron didn't worry about whether she wouldn't take them, because she would in a heartbeat, but Ron just knew that he would have Viktor's death on his head. If something happened to Viktor, it would be his fault, and he didn't think he could face Hermione for it; he didn't think he would know what to tell Viktor's children when they were old enough to understand.
With this daunting possibility looming over him, Ron obsessively made it his mission to employ everything he could to get Viktor safely to and from infiltrations. Ron lined up plan Bs and plan Cs. Ron's constant reminder of "Don't get caught!" had a decided edge to it.
This was Viktor's second foray into Death Eater territory. The first time hadn't been a bad run, which only made Ron more nervous. Somebody had to have cottoned-on to their ruse.
For Merlin's sake, how in the world could two people with crappy tracing charms, limited means of communication, and with no official Auror-training manage without turning this into one, mother of a clusterfuck?
I'm going to get him killed. I'm going to get Viktor Krum, International Quidditch star, and the best (or Second Best, as Ginny often said) Seeker in the world, killed. I'll be famous for being the dumb-arse sidekick of Harry Potter that got Viktor Krum benched-permanently.
Ron was just about bracing himself for the inevitable rescue mission when the whoosh of a Portkey sent dust clouds of snow up in the air.
In the next second, Viktor was there, still in his Death Eater visage.
"Come," Viktor said, grabbing Ron by the arm and dragging him through the snow. "Something important has happened. I was caught."
"What!" Ron squeaked, his thoughts thrown awhirl. He started raving, of course, demanding to know the details immediately.
Viktor shushed him, telling him that they must Apparate immediately.
Resisting the urge to throttle Viktor, Ron complied, and soon, they were walking down the streets of the quaint Swedish Wizarding town cocooned from the world and prying eyes. The glamour Ron wore to alter his physical features was about as perfect as most Auror-issue charms were. Viktor had been given his own glamour, for when he dealt with anyone other than his children, but he didn't have his on now because his Death Eater appearance served.
Viktor led them to the seedy pub situated at the edge of town, sat them at a corner table, and ordered them Lager and food.
Ron scowled. It amazed him that Viktor could think about eating at a time like this, and coming from Ron, that was saying something. "Who the hell caught you? How the hell did you get out of there alive?"
To Viktor's credit, he didn't look around shiftily to make sure no one was listening. He simply cast a diversion charm around them and began to speak in a lowered voice. "It was Severus Snape who caught me. I do not know how, but he has been acting suspicious of me since the first time. Today he kept asking me questions, and before I knew it he did something. Got in my head, I think. It was not pleasant."
"Holy crap. He must've been right teed off! Did he threaten to report you?"
"There was mention of that, da," said Viktor calmly. "But I was not so afraid. He called me many unsavory names, but he did not report me. He was very rude, though, and he said that you and Potter were sure to get me killed."
Ron scoffed. "That's him alright."
"He also called me twice the fool for trusting my safety to you. He said that if it had been up to him, you would have gotten trolls for all your subjects, and that you would have gotten so many of them through the course of your Hogwarts life that you could have raised a Troll Army. He also said you were dead from the shoulder up, whatever that may mean. And then he said you were-"
"Alright already! I get it! He doesn't think very highly of me. Tell me something I don't know. Blimey… did you two talk about anything other than how stupid he thought I was?"
"We did. Snape said that if I wanted to get through this alive, I must do exactly as he says. I did. He is very control freakish, yet he does not shampoo his hair. One would think a man like him would be obsessively neat."
Ron blinked, momentarily confused between the gravity of Viktor's report and the swift shift to shampoo. "Well, did he help you get important information?"
"He tried, but there was very little he could do for me yet. Still, he wants me to go back there as soon as I can."
"Are you mad? Viktor, I urge you to reconsider asking the Order's help-"
"No. Above everything else, I want my children to be safe. If you tell them about me, it will break the Fidelius for my children, as well. I will not risk them."
"Krum, listen to me, you cannot trust Snape completely. Do you understand? He's ruthless and will stop at nothing to do what he thinks he ought to do. You watch your back!"
Krum sighed, removing the diversion charms so that the waiter could bring them their orders. "That is all I have been doing most of my life. Watching my back. I am done watching my back too closely. I want… I want my children to be proud of their bashta." Remembrance flickered in Viktor's eyes, like he was recalling something pleasant. "It is nice to hear the people you love tell you they are proud of you."
Ron fidgeted a bit uneasily on his seat. He wasn't sure if he was comfortable hearing Viktor talk about such personal feelings. Then again, the poor bloke probably didn't have many people to talk to, especially not about things like this. "Er… Krum, I think what you're doing is crazy, but whether or not you get through this alive, I think you can be pretty sure your kids are going to be proud of what you've done."
Viktor's smile was barely discernible. It was a rare enough image, to Ron. Viktor always appeared to be a surly man, but Ron supposed he didn't look that way to deliberately scare anybody. He was just that way, period. Ron wasn't going to bother asking why. Whatever the reason, that was Viktor's business.
To Ron's great relief, the food arrived, and over hot soup, omelet, and sausages, he listened to the rest of Viktor's report.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Some of you asked how many chapters left and I have learned that I cannot keep my promises in that respect. LOL! I want to say three, but yeah right… you know?
Anyway, until the next chapter!!!