Author's Note
YES!! *Janie bounces around like Tigger* I am updating!!! *beams* And since you are all no doubt overcome with uncontrollable curiosity and not in the least bit interested in any "pre-chapter waffle", here is the Seventh Interlude and Chapter Fourteen (with an ocean of gratitude to the brilliant Kirsti…hugs dear!) Janie xoxo
SORCERERS' NOOK
By JanieB
SEVENTH INTERLUDE
The Dark One was writhing with impotent fury. Failure was not acceptable. It left behind a dreadful need - an overwhelming desire - to vent his enormous fury. He viciously cursed the Muggles and Wizards alike who had, in his eyes, let him down. If only that foul, spineless Muggle had simply gotten to his feet and just killed that filthy Mudblood Granger! He was certain even the thrice-cursed Potter would've been caught by surprise! The thought of Potter caused a wrath so great it was painful. Potter! The Dark One felt the intensity of his rage increase ten-fold at the mere thought of Harry Potter - the festering thorn in his side!
The Dark One lashed about in a frenzy of rage. The unexpected sight of his despised enemy had caught him by surprise. Only for a mere second, but the filthy Muggle had grasped greedily at the momentary lapse in control and the vermin's cowardice had prevailed…he'd begged for help, the useless piece of filth! The Dark One cursed anew. Again he cursed the wretched Muggle idiot for making him kill him. The fool had failed him in every way - what choice had he had but to kill the wretch? And yet now, he was left without a tool - without a Muggle - and he desperately needed one, for without one he could not exact the revenge that was necessary to his continued well-being and existence…at least not yet. He thrashed violently, sending distorted waves of hatred and loathing rippling throughout the Realm. He felt a fierce desire to make his Disciples, who were even now kneeling in the cavern, suffer as he was suffering. But as the fit of hatred abated, the Dark One endeavoured to calm himself and came to realise that it would not be sensible to kill all of his Disciples, much as he'd like to…but perhaps the exquisite torture of just one would allay the anguished torment eating away at him…
*
In the Ante-Chamber, the Disciples were desperately murmuring the words of the Chant of Greatness - something they'd been doing for many long hours now in an attempt to assuage the fury of their master, hoping to calm his angry turmoil. They were all frighteningly aware of the consequences if the Dark One decided their attempts were not enough, and he had to use one of his Disciples as a means of soothing himself.
Then a jarring, discordant screech split the cold, salty air of the cavern, causing the kneeling Disciples to cry out involuntarily in pain and fear. They quickly recovered themselves though, the words of the chant once more falling from their lips in an endless stream, louder than before. But they knew the hours they'd spent chanting in physical agony had not been enough when one of their number at the front, closest to the rock wall, shrieked in terror and unimaginable pain. The sound ended abruptly as though a switch had been flicked, and the chanting ceased just as suddenly. The few seconds of terrified silence that followed ended with a spattering sound. A few of the nearby Disciples, unable to stop themselves, retched violently, sickened by the sight of their comrade's fate.
The black candles set in the wall sconces behind them were snuffed out by a sudden, chill blast of air that carried the unmistakeable stench of death. Silence descended once more, the Disciples knowing that to recommence their chanting now would only serve to infuriate their master. And so they waited, accompanied by an occasional, pitiable whimper from what was left of their fellow disciple - his mangled remains lying against the rock wall. Then the blazing outline of an arch appeared in the rock face, causing them all to avert their eyes. Yet they knew from the sounds that followed what was happening…the last, feeble shriek of their comrade…a wet, dragging sound as his remains were pulled into the inky blackness…the sounds growing slowly fainter. Finally, a faint splash as he joined his new comrades in a lake whose black, glass-like surface hid horrors no sane witch or wizard would wish to dwell on…
*
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In which Harry and Hermione manage another unexpected kiss, Harry uses the old "swish and flick" to conjure up dinner with Hermione's heartfelt approval, Dean and Neville make Hermione laugh and Harry and Hermione find themselves in a very unexpected time and place…
Not wanting to risk possible magical repercussions if they kept the photograph of the Rileys, Harry reluctantly closed the book on it. Hermione then returned the book, once again reposing in its box, to the Armarium. They'd just collected their cloaks and slipped them on before leaving, Harry pulling the library door shut behind them, when the lift clanked open and an inter-departmental memo streaked out and flapped around above Hermione's head. She held out her hand, and it landed obediently; as she unfolded it, Hermione exchanged a puzzled glance with Harry.
After reading the first few lines, Hermione sighed, saying softly, `Of course - I forgot about this with everything that's happened today. Look…' She turned so that Harry could also read the memo with her, over her shoulder. Harry dropped his head slightly so that he could see the small, crabbed writing more easily. This small action meant that a mere inch now separated his cheek from Hermione's hair and as her soft perfume filled his senses, his eyes closed, his heart beginning to race. He suddenly found himself thinking about burying his face in her hair - or tenderly moving it aside so that he could kiss the soft skin of her neck beneath it -
`Harry?'
Harry's eyes flew open as he jerked upright, unable to think of a single word to say in reply, his gaze fixed on some point above Hermione's head as he tried to gather himself.
`Are you all right?' He forced himself to meet Hermione's gaze. She was looking up at him in a very speculative way and he gave her a self-deprecating grin as he said, his voice a little gruff, `Sorry, miles away.'
It did his composure no good whatsoever when Hermione's gaze unexpectedly dropped to his mouth and somehow he just knew she was thinking of the kiss they'd shared the previous evening. And he was right. Hermione had tried to force herself to focus on reading the memo, but found she'd been so intensely aware of Harry's closeness as he leant over her shoulder; she simply hadn't been able to concentrate properly, and the sudden intrusion of the memory of their kiss certainly hadn't helped matters. When she'd reflexively turned to look up at Harry, it had been to find his eyes closed and his expression unreadable.
Hermione's eyes moved back up to meet Harry's and their gazes locked. Harry was torn between an almost overpowering longing to kiss her again and an equally fierce desire not to push things too far, too fast, for fear of harming his chances.
But Hermione had that same imploring expression in her eyes again, the one he'd seen the previous night, just before they'd kissed. He was as helpless now as then in the face of that unspoken appeal, and as he lifted his hands, she turned to face him so that they came to rest on her shoulders. Hermione's face was tilted up to him, her lips slightly parted as she moved up against him while her arms stole around his waist, the forgotten memo crumpled in her hand. The experience of their previous kiss had only given him an even greater desire for her and this time he didn't hesitate, his lips claiming hers completely. While passionate, their first kiss had still had an underlying tentativeness; this kiss, however, held no trace of tentativeness. Harry's right hand moved swiftly to clasp Hermione's neck, his other wrapping around her shoulders to hold her as tightly as possible against him. Hermione could only press even harder against him, her now flattened hands pressing into his back, the memo falling unnoticed to the floor.
There was no cool, logical voice admonishing Hermione this time, although it's highly doubtful she would've taken any notice of it had it tried. She still didn't understand why kissing Harry felt so wildly amazing and while he was kissing her, she didn't really care why. She was more than happy to submerge herself in the incredibly pleasurable sensations she was experiencing and just enjoy it without wasting precious time on something as mundane as why…
When the kiss finally ended, Harry released a shuddering breath; he'd never felt a desire this potent and overwhelming for Ginny and he was shaken by the restraint it took not to just pick Hermione up, carry her off and… A sound that was half laugh, half groan escaped him as his images of just what he'd like to be doing with Hermione filled his head. Hermione, sounding quite breathless, asked, `What is it?'
Harry shook his head slightly, smiling at her. `I'll tell you some other time,' he said hoarsely, managing a lopsided grin as his hands moved back to rest on her shoulders.
`Harry, I still don't know why - why -' Hermione hesitated, frowning thoughtfully, `- well, why -'
`Why we've suddenly started kissing each other and enjoying it?' Harry broke in gently, his voice nevertheless deep and husky, sending unexpected shivers through Hermione.
Hermione's cheeks took on a rather fetching shade of pink as she nodded. `I suppose I'm wondering if it's a rebound thing, you know - we've always been so comfortable with each other - and I've always felt, well, safe, with you…' Hermione's voice trailed off. Harry thought it was just as well she couldn't see what was in his head at that moment - if she could, he was certain she'd stop feeling quite so safe pretty damn fast…
Harry also knew that this wasn't the time to tell Hermione he'd fallen in love with her and that there was no "rebound thing" about it whatsoever. Instead, he said carefully, `Hermione, I can only speak for myself when I tell you that I fell out of love with Ginny some time ago, I just simply didn't realise it. So, I don't feel as though this is on the rebound - but we don't need to rush anything, okay? You're far too important to me for me to risk that.'
The colour in Hermione's cheeks deepened as she said earnestly, `I just feel a bit confused - half of me feels as though this is a perfectly normal progression and the other half is wondering how on earth it all came about and - I mean, what's everyone's going to think if you and I - well, so soon after - you know…'
It was very rare for Hermione to be lost for words and Harry suppressed an indulgent laugh as well as the almost overpowering urge to kiss her again. Dropping his hands from Hermione's shoulders, Harry took a deep breath and gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring.
`Hermione, I think we should just take our time, and deal with things as they come. I don't think it helps that we've got a lot to deal with at the moment, including this -', Harry bent down and retrieved the crumpled memo, pushing it into an inside pocket of his robes, `- which we'll finish reading when we get home.'
Hermione nodded. `Maybe we should just get past this whole thing -' she waved her hand expressively, `- and worry about, erm,' Hermione's now clasped hands twisted and turned in front of her, `well, yes, I think you're right.'
Hermione felt a desperate sort of relief at being able to put the "thing with Harry" as she'd begun to think of it, aside for the moment, almost glad she had something else to claim her time and attention, however awful it was. She didn't feel as though she was quite ready for something like this just yet…
Harry, on the other hand, was cursing the timing of this wretched Dark One; he thought he'd much rather have Hermione as his only "project" at the moment…
Grinning at his own thoughts, Harry said, `I'm glad you agree. And right now, I think the most important thing is to go home and eat - do you realise we didn't even have lunch? I'm ravenous!'
Hermione laughed, relief replacing the slight, momentary awkwardness she'd felt. `So,' she said, `who's cooking?'
`I will,' said Harry firmly, `and since it's getting late and we're both starving, you will not say a word about my using the old swish and flick, Miss Granger!'
*
During the short trip back to the Atrium before Flooing home, Harry and Hermione barely had time to agree that they wouldn't say anything just yet to anyone about their discovery that afternoon; they wanted a chance to spend the following day exploring the Book of Records as much as they could before the meeting at Hogwarts.
It was perhaps fortuitous that they'd at least managed that as, when they arrived home a short while later, it proved impossible to avoid Emrys and Verity who had obviously been waiting for them. After using quite a bit of cajolery and promising faithfully to talk to them the day after attending the meeting at Hogwarts, they headed for the stairs, only to be set upon by Esmerelda before they'd reached the first step. She was in a fluster over what was happening, and after Harry and Hermione patiently assured her the best thing to do was to wait for the meeting the following evening, which they explained she was welcome to attend if she wished, Esmerelda asked about the possibility of having the book returned.
After exchanging glances with Hermione, Harry said, `We can't return the book to you right now, Esmerelda, I'm sorry.' They didn't have the heart to explain right at that moment that they'd learnt only that afternoon that the book was apparently the rightful property of Dean Thomas, her newest tenant.
`And Esmerelda, I was so sorry to hear about your father - Harry told me,' said Hermione, her voice soft with compassion. `We had no idea he'd been murdered.'
Esmerelda gave them a weak smile. `Of course you didn't, and I suppose since it all happened some time ago, it can wait until this current situation is sorted out.' Harry and Hermione, feeling light-headed with hunger and tiredness, wearily agreed, and with sympathetic pats to Esmerelda's shoulder, finally headed up the stairs.
Without either of them needing to say anything, Harry followed Hermione into her flat; they'd barely had time to remove their cloaks when they heard a knock. With an exasperated sigh, Harry turned and headed back to the door.
From the kitchen, where she was putting some dinner in Crookshanks' bowl, Hermione marvelled at the patience in Harry's voice as she heard him say, `Neville, hi - come in. We just got home.'
Harry had no sooner shut the door behind Neville and followed him across the hall, when it was knocked on again. This time it was Dean.
`Hello Neville - hello Dean,' said Hermione, giving them a quick smile as she walked carefully around the end of the bench - Crookshanks was weaving around her ankles in anticipation of his dinner. She and Harry exchanged a glance as she passed him and she knew he was thinking about what they'd read earlier concerning Dean.
`Sorry to pounce the minute you're in the door,' apologised Neville, `but we received an owl from Professor McGonagall not long ago - the meeting's been brought forward to tomorrow night. We just wondered what's going on.'
`Sit down,' said Harry, indicating the table, `I'll get us all a drink. Wine? Butterbeer? Or something else?'
Dean and Neville both asked for a butterbeer, while Harry poured himself and Hermione a glass of wine, emptying the bottle of wine he'd opened the previous night. The night we first kissed, he thought with a smile. Hermione joined Neville and Dean at the table, leaving Crookshanks happily eating his dinner. Harry excused himself for five minutes as he needed to see to Hedwig and while he was gone, Hermione filled them in on the day's events.
`You know Harry's letter you received yesterday?' she asked.
Dean and Neville both nodded, Dean commenting, `The one that didn't really say much except we should be careful - we were in danger,' he said wryly.
`Without saying exactly what it is we should be careful of or why we're in danger of being murdered or tortured,' said Neville, his expression equally wry.
Hermione gave them an apologetic smile. `We didn't want to alarm anyone,' she said.
Dean and Neville looked at each, expressions of mock shock on their faces. `Alarmed?' said Dean in a high voice. `Neville, why ever would we be alarmed?'
Neville shook his head, a puzzled frown in place. `I don't know, Dean. No reason I can see. I mean, after all, being in danger of being murdered - or worse, tortured - well, really, no reason to be alarmed, is there?'
Dean shrugged. `Quite right - nothing to be alarmed about there.'
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at their antics. `You idiots!' she cried.
`Oh, so now we're endangered idiots?' Dean sniffed, his eyes dancing nevertheless.
`Alarmed, endangered idiots,' said Neville, deadpan, although his eyes too, were twinkling with mirth.
`All right, enough!' cried Hermione, still chuckling. `I appreciate your humour though - honestly, it's good to laugh after today.' She leant forward and rested her arms on the table with a sigh. `However, I have to be serious, much as I wish there wasn't a need to. We don't know an awful lot as yet, nowhere near as much as we'd like to or need to, but something happened today - something that is the reason for the meeting being changed to tomorrow night. A Muggle died today. We're certain he was murdered, actually - by the same - well, we're not sure what he is, but he's evil, and we're certain he's the one we're all in danger from. He wants revenge.'
Dean and Neville's expressions immediately became serious. Hermione rubbed her forehead, beginning to feel overwhelmed as anxiety joined her hunger and tiredness.
Dean and Neville exchanged a look. `Hermione, we should've waited instead of turning up the minute you arrived home,' said Neville apologetically, his heart going out to her. `We'll find out what there is to know along with everyone else tomorrow night. You're tired and you haven't had dinner yet -'
`And no lunch,' said Harry as he returned and crossed the room to join them at the table. `Have you both eaten?' he asked as he sat down. `I have some chips in the freezer and Hermione has some steaks and salad in the fridge.'
`I've eaten, thanks,' said Dean and Neville nodded that he had as well as he and Dean both rose to their feet.
`We'll leave you to it - you both look tired,' said Dean.
`We'll see you tomorrow night at Hogwarts,' said Neville, `and don't worry - we'll see ourselves out,' he assured Harry who was halfway to his feet.
`Thanks,' said Harry with a grateful smile as he sank back into his chair.
As the door closed behind them, Harry and Hermione looked at each other.
`Not telling Dean is much harder than I thought it would be,' said Hermione. `Do you think we're doing the right thing?' she asked, chewing her lip in an all-too-familiar gesture.
Harry nodded. `I just hope that Dean will understand when we do tell him.'
Hermione looked puzzled. `I always had the impression that Dean thought Mr Thomas was his father, didn't he?'
Harry nodded. `He did, up until about fifth year, I think it was. He never stopped wondering where his magical blood came from and his mum finally told him that Mr Thomas wasn't his real father. Dean said he was sort of shocked, but not surprised. He reckons his real dad must've been a wizard, although there's no way he can prove it and his mum told him his dad never said anything about it to her, either.'
Hermione shook her head in amazement. `I never knew any of this!'
Harry shrugged. `Dean never made a big deal of it. He said since he'd grown up thinking his step-dad was his real dad, he still felt like that, and that his real dad was a bit of a tosser anyway, nicking off without a word.'
`Well, I guess that makes sense - but if it was me, I'd want to know!' said Hermione.
`Of course you would, you're you,' said Harry, grinning. `Now, I seriously need to eat - soon!'
`Me too,' said Hermione as Harry pulled out his wand and waved it over the table.
`How's that for a bit of swish and flick?' he asked, his green eyes dancing as he smiled at Hermione.
Surveying the meal that had appeared on the table before her, Hermione smiled back at him. `Ten out of ten, Mr Potter. I love steak, chips and salad!'
Picking up his knife and fork, Harry said, with a deprecating grin, `You're probably hungry enough to love anything at the moment, Hermione, but thanks. And as Dumbledore was fond of saying, tuck in!'
After they'd eaten and Harry had cleaned everything away, Hermione said she really needed to go to bed and wished Harry goodnight, yawning as she did so.
`I'll see you at seven in the morning,' she told him, smiling sleepily over her shoulder as she headed for the hallway.
`I'll be here,' he replied, his green eyes intense as they rested on her retreating form.
Hermione paused in the archway and gave Harry an appraising look. `You're not planning on sleeping on the couch again, are you?' she asked.
`I am sleeping on the couch again,' said Harry, and his tone brooked no argument.
`Why don't you sleep in Ginny's room?' suggested Hermione, covering another yawn. `A bed will be much more comfortable.'
`Don't you worry about me, Hermione - you just get yourself to bed.'
Once she'd left, too tired to argue, Harry conjured his pillow and duvet and settled himself on the lounge. Crookshanks was now curled up in his basket, his yellow eyes gleaming in the light from the candles sitting on the coffee table.
`The couch is fine,' Harry told him quietly, as he fluffed his pillow, `and besides, sleeping in Ginny's bed would be too weird. And it's too far away from Hermione, anyway.'
With a quiet miaow that Harry took to be agreement, Crookshanks closed his eyes. After putting his glasses on the coffee table beside his wand, Harry gave a nonchalant wave of his hand to extinguish the candles before closing his eyes and falling asleep almost instantly.
*
Hermione slept like the proverbial log. Harry, on the other hand, found himself waking every hour or two for no reason he could fathom. Finally, at five in the morning, after waking for the umpteenth time, he decided he may as well get up and make himself a cup of tea, dismissing his disturbed night as a result of his anxiety over Hermione's safety as well as everyone else's.
Or perhaps I'll have some cocoa, he thought, shivering in the cool, morning air and thinking he'd start a fire to warm the room before Hermione appeared. As he swung his legs off the lounge, pulling the duvet around himself for warmth, his eyes fell on Crookshanks' basket beside the fireplace. It was empty.
Harry frowned, forgetting all about starting a nice, warming fire. Surely Crookshanks didn't usually leave the warm comfort of his basket this early? And where would he go? It dawned on Harry then, and instead of heading for the kitchen, he crossed the room and walked up the hallway to Hermione's room. The door was open and he peered in; Hermione was just visible in the grey, pre-dawn light seeping into her room - as was Crookshanks, curled up on the bed beside her. Harry couldn't resist; he crept carefully to Hermione's bedside and stood there, watching her. She was facing the window, her back towards him, only the tumbled mass of her soft, brown hair visible above the edge of her duvet. Crookshanks was lying in the space behind his mistress's knees, purring softly in his sleep with quiet contentment. Harry could just discern the slight movement caused by Hermione's slow breathing. For one fleeting, crazy second he actually considered lying down and cuddling up to her - how deliciously delightful it would be to wake up next to her! Then he realised Crookshanks had stopped purring and as his eyes travelled back to the large ginger cat, he saw he was now being watched. With a crooked smile, Harry raised his finger to his lips before turning and walking away, leaving his love undisturbed.
Almost an hour later, Harry returned from his own flat after having a shower, bringing with him the Daily Prophet that he'd sent Hedwig out for. As he walked back into Hermione's flat, he could hear the shower running and leaving the paper on the table, walked around the bench into the kitchen to make some tea and toast for breakfast.
When Hermione appeared twenty minutes later, dressed and ready for work, it was to find Harry sitting at the table, reading.
Harry peered at her over the top of his paper. `Morning,' he said with a smile. `I take it you'd like some tea and toast?'
Sitting down, Hermione thanked him as she pulled the cup of tea and toast towards her, both still hot thanks to the charm Harry had put on them.
`Anything interesting in the Prophet?' asked Hermione, waving a slightly jammy finger at the paper, which Harry had folded and put aside when she sat down.
Harry shook his head. `Not terribly.' He looked up at Hermione. `Although the same can't be said for that.' With a nod, he indicated a crumpled looking piece of parchment, now folded, sitting on the table beside him. `I found it in my robe pocket this morning.'
`Oh, that memo I received yesterday - I'd forgotten all about,' cried Hermione, quickly sucking the jam from her finger before picking it up. `I didn't really take it in yesterday,' she said a mite self-consciously. As she spoke, she deliberately avoided looking up at Harry who was grinning to himself, feeling rather chuffed at the thought that he'd distracted Hermione to the point where she wasn't able to concentrate on reading.
`That's right, oh yes, I remember now…' Hermione murmured to herself as she read.
`That fool, Oscar Blakely, is in way over his head.' Harry made it a flat statement, unable to wait until Hermione had finished before saying something.
Hermione nodded. `Draco Malfoy is still on the wanted wizards list, whereabouts unknown. But there's nothing on Malcolm Rafferty.' Hermione threw a puzzled glance at Harry before continuing. `So they don't know Malfoy's using a false identity?'
`It's sort of like hiding in plain view, I guess,' said Harry, shrugging. `They wouldn't expect Malfoy to stay in London for fear of being caught, so they don't look for him here.'
Hermione frowned. `Still, it does seem a bit strange, though, doesn't it? And why would someone like Oscar Blakely want to associate with someone like Draco Malfoy, or even Malcolm Rafferty?'
Harry shook his head. `Who knows? They have nothing on Blakely - he's apparently just what he appears to be - the new editor of advertising at Witch Weekly who lives alone, parents dead, no siblings, no girlfriend, very few friends.'
Hermione rubbed her forehead. `Sounds a bit sad - he's got no one, really. Maybe that's why he's taken up with Malfoy. I mean, Rafferty.'
`You'd have to be pretty desperate to take up with Malfoy,' said Harry disparagingly, gulping the last of his tea.
Hermione agreed as she pushed aside her mostly untouched toast as she, too, finished her tea. Replacing her cup on its saucer with a determined chink, she stood up. `Let's forget about those two and get back to the library. We've got to find out more today, Harry - it's imperative!'
*
Hermione retrieved the Book of Records from the Armarium as soon as they arrived at the Ministry. Once more seated in the small alcove at the square table, the large, leather-bound book before them, Harry and Hermione sat for a moment, staring at it. Hermione reached out tentatively and touched the cover, tracing the letters of the title with her forefinger.
`It looks like an ordinary book, and there's obviously no danger in just touching or reading it,' she said softly, glancing up at Harry.
Watching Hermione's hand with a slight frown, Harry said, `I think you're probably right. Verity may just have been trying to frighten us off from looking at it.'
`You know,' said Hermione, her voice distant, `I have a feeling that what we need to know is somewhere in this book.'
`We just don't know where in this book,' said Harry.
`There has to be someone who knows,' said Hermione, sounding vexed.
`Besides Emrys and Verity, you mean?'
Hermione nodded. `I'm sure they're not telling us everything they know, although I don't know why. In the meantime, I think we should keep trying to find out for ourselves.'
Harry nodded in agreement as he lifted the cover of the book, quickly turning the page on Oswyn Riley's fierce expression.
`Let's go through each of these titles more carefully,' said Harry as they once more found themselves looking at the first contents page. `Maybe we'll notice something on a second reading.'
Hermione reached for the thick roll of parchment she'd brought with her which contained all the notes they'd made that week. `Right,' she said as she unrolled the parchments and tapped them with her wand so that they lay flat before looking back at the book, `the first entry is in the fourteenth century - the witch burnings. I definitely don't remember coming across anything relating to those anywhere else.'
`And then a recount of the Scourging of Sussex in 1326,' read Harry.
`That,' said Hermione, `was started by Adney the Addled. He wanted to eliminate the giants there.'
Harry turned his head slowly and gazed at Hermione. `And you know this, how?' he asked, somewhat awe-struck.
Hermione gave him a smile that held a touch of pride. `Because I listened in History of Magic classes,' she told him.
`The listening I recall - it's the remembering that amazes me,' he told her. `So, nothing there?'
Hermione shook her head. `No, didn't come across anything about that. Keep going.'
`The Somerset Skirmish, 1385.'
`Started by Bromwell the Brave. Not it.'
`The Battle of Dorsetshire, 1399.'
Harry's head turned when Hermione didn't answer and he heard a shuffling sound as she riffled through the sheets of parchment, murmuring to herself.
`Wharton the Great? Warlock Wharton? Struck down by Edmar, the Evil Lord…here it is!' said Hermione triumphantly as she drew out a sheet of parchment covered in her small, neat script.
`What've you found?' asked Harry, watching as Hermione's eyes quickly scanned the parchment.
`I remembered reading about the Lord of Evil - Edmar - that he credited his rise to power in the Battle of Dorsetshire to his discovery of the Realm of Darkness. Here it is, see?' Hermione put the parchment on top of the open book, her finger pointing to a paragraph halfway down the page.
Edmar of Devonshire of the Noble House of Ryedille, now Duke of Dorsetshire, Harry read, in this Year of Ascension to the Throne of Henry the IV of the Noble House of Lancaster, the said Edmar of Devonshire having defeated and shamed Wharton the Great, Warlock of the Defeated House of Wyllkes, gladly pays homage to the greatness and generosity of the Overlord of the Dark Realm, come to this land recently, who saw fit to elevate his humble servant, Edmar, to the exalted rank of Lord of Evil. As Lord of Evil, Edmar pledges, without reserve, his own life, and those of his minions, first and last, to the eternal service of the Overlord of the Dark Realm.
Harry lifted his eyes to find Hermione watching him. `What now?' he asked.
Hermione moved aside the parchment and said, `That, now,' as she pointed to the instructions written in parentheses after "The Battle of Dorsetshire, 1399".
Harry grinned at her. `I had a feeling that's what you'd say.'
They both stood up. `Before we do this, I'll need to seal this room, just to be safe,' said Hermione. She drew out her wand as she turned and tapped each of the six, small blue tiles set into the wall beside the alcove opening. With a sharp, smacking sound, the opening was filled with a blue door, although not a conventional door, as it had no handle.
`Nifty,' said Harry, his eyebrows raised in admiration.
Hermione turned back to the book, but before she could say anything, Harry spoke. `I'll go first,' he stated. `No,' he continued, as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, `this is not negotiable, Hermione. I'll go first and I'll be waiting for you.' Hermione closed her mouth, deciding it was wiser not to argue with Harry at that point, and simply nodded in assent; she didn't think it really mattered who went first, anyway.
Harry, feeling relieved, looked down at the contents page and began chanting the appropriate spell. As he spoke the final word, he was enveloped in a whirling cloud of darkness. He reflexively closed his eyes against the falling sensation that followed, opening them only when he "landed". He looked around, but it was night time, and all that he could see by the feeble starlight was the outline of many trees; the moon was glowing very faintly behind the edge of a thick cloud. He could neither hear nor see anything else. A strange sound assailed his ears - it reminded him of water being sucked quickly down the drain - and then Hermione was beside him; he certainly didn't need bright light to recognise her.
`Harry? You all right?'
`Fine. You?'
`Fine.'
`What now?'
`We wait,' replied Hermione. `I think it's likely that the memory written in the book begins here - and probably very soon.'
`This is different from Dumbledore's Pensieve,' whispered Harry, scanning their surroundings for anything out of the ordinary, `because it was Dumbledore's memories, he was always there. Or to whomever the memory belonged - they were there, in it.'
`This isn't a Pensieve, though,' said Hermione, looking around in a similar fashion to Harry. `I'm not too sure about how it works in comparison. I'll have to research this when I have the time. I've never come across something quite this sophisticated before, especially from something so old.'
Harry smiled to himself at Hermione's calm discussion of such things whilst they were standing in a dark forest somewhere in Dorset during the fourteenth century, waiting for some sort of battle to occur. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
`Hermione,' he whispered urgently, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him, `I can hear something, I think there's someone coming.'
They both crouched down behind a thick shrub growing at the base of a large tree. Just then, the moon came out from behind the cloud that had been obscuring it. Its ghostly white light shone down, and Harry and Hermione could make out a leaf-strewn clearing through the shrub; a dirt road wound through the trees before crossing the clearing. The sound Harry had heard was that of horse's hooves, accompanied by a faint jingling which could have been the horse's tackle or perhaps its rider's armour or weapons.
They looked instinctively to their right, where the sound was coming from, and saw a large black horse emerging from the darkness. Despite its size, the horse was stepping along almost delicately, picking its way carefully on the rough road. The rider on its back was wearing a black cloak that rippled around his tall, lean figure, his face in darkness beneath the overhang of his hood. Then as the horse made its way around a slight bend in the road that brought it into the clearing, the moonlight struck the face of the rider and Harry's throat constricted with horror and loathing as he looked upon the hideous snake-like visage of Voldemort.
`Voldemort!' gasped Hermione.
`Not possible,' hissed Harry through clenched teeth.
The horse stopped abruptly in its tracks.
`Who goes there?' said the rider, his voice as hard and cold as ice.
Harry's grip on Hermione's arm tightened reflexively, but neither made a sound, although he felt Hermione wince slightly and loosened his hold. The rider waited for a few agonising seconds before slowly moving on.
`I didn't think we could be seen or heard,' said Hermione weakly, as she watched the darkness on the other side of the clearing swallow the horse and its rider.
`Perhaps whoever that was has extraordinary powers like Dumbledore. Perhaps that rider is a wizard who has similar abilities.'
They stood up slowly, both feeling a little unsteady after their unexpected encounter, Harry maintaining his grasp on Hermione's arm.
`What now?' asked Hermione apprehensively, looking up at Harry.
`We follow that rider,' he replied grimly.
Hermione shuddered as she unwittingly repeated Harry's earlier words to her, without the grin, `I had a feeling that's what you'd say.'
`Come on, let's go, before he gets too far ahead of us,' whispered Harry as he dropped his hand and grasped Hermione's. They began walking, Harry striding out so that Hermione almost had to run in order to keep up and they very quickly reached the point where the horse and rider had been swallowed up by the darkness. Then they, too, were lost from sight as the gloomy night surrounded them like an Invisibility Cloak…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Author's Note
I have finished Chapter 15 dear readers - but unless there's a miracle in the form of an extra 24 hours suddenly becoming available to me before next Monday (somehow I don't see that happening), it probably won't be ready for posting until… *Janie's voice drops to a whisper* …next Thursday.
I'm really sorry!! This wasn't supposed to happen!! When I started posting, I'd actually finished Chapter 12 (including the Interludes) and had started on Chapter 13. Now, I was POSITIVE back then that there was no way my posting would catch up with my writing. But would you look at that?? I was wrong!! (Dang, double damn blast, buggering, bloody hell! To paraphrase a friend. *Janie cyber-grins at Timbo*). But believe me, I will be doing my utmost to write as much as possible so that I can post as often as possible!! (I feel really quite wretched at not keeping up the twice weekly updates - on top of which I am now living with my usual self-imposed pressure to write, write, write!!! *~*) So if all goes well (fingers crossed!), I'll see you next Thursday! Janie xoxo
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