Chapter XX
Hermione staggered on the first step of Grimmauld Place. She barged through the front door, screaming in pain as she fell face-first unto the cold wooden floor of the corridor.
Blood gushed from her left side upper-chest and shoulder, the torn flesh beneath the open wound visible in the dim light. She had panicked for just half a second as the fiery otter almost caught up with her, and splinched herself during apparition.
Kreacher popped next to her and his old round eyes immediately widened in horror.
"Mistress Hermione. Hurt. Where is master Harry? Oh poor Kreacher, what does he do?" He held unto his long ears and rocked back and forth.
"Kreacher..." She said through gritted teeth.
"What would Kreacher's old mistress say? Oh, the shame... Kreacher doesn't know healing magic... Oh, my master's friend is bleeding..."
He tried to get closer, small old hands trembling as he held them up, but then withdrew in distress.
"Kreacher, under my bed," Her words came broken and compressed, every breath caused a new surge of pain in her chest. "Essence... Of... Dittany..."
"Kreacher knows what it looks like."
"Bring it."
Kreacher ran upstairs and back in no time, moving faster than Hermione had ever seen him. He rushed down again, misstepped on the last stair, and stumbled to her side.
Hermione tried to reach and grab the bottle, but she couldn't move. She screamed again, the pain shooting through her like a hot sword.
"Kreacher you have to do it... Right unto the wound." She gasped for air, unable to fill her lungs due to the pain.
He stood, hesitating just a step away, fidgeting with the vial of Dittany in his hands.
"Kreacher doesn't know if he can... Oh, if Master Harry found out that Kreacher looked at his friend in this state... Kreacher doesn't want his anger... What would Kreacher's old mistress say..."
"Kreacher! Do it, or I'll tell Harry that you refused to help me!"
Kreacher's eyed widened in fear. He uncorked the vial and stepped closer, and hesitated for a second, then emptied the bottle on Hermione's chest.
She gasped and churned on the spot, Kreacher fell backwards "I've killed her... Oh, no..." He rocked back and forth as he pulled on his long ears.
She stopped twisting as the pain subsided and her breathing steadied.
"Bring Phineas. Do as he says." She said before passing out.
Hermione woke several hours later, wrapped in a thick velvety blanket on the couch. She looked around and found the empty portrait of Phineas leaned against the back of a chair.
"She's alive!" He exclaimed. "Master Black!" He said in the direction of the empty frame.
"Phineas Nigellus Black..." She called weakly.
Slowly the features of Phineas appeared through the blur as he returned to his frame.
"Miss Granger. Glad you are back with us."
"Kreacher has done everything you asked master. The blanket, the fire... But Kreacher couldn't find all the potion ingredients you requested..."
"They are no longer needed. You are dismissed elf. Begone. You will be called if your service is needed. Do not linger uselessly."
"Yes master Black." He bowed deeply before disaparating.
Hermione tried to sit up, but yelped in pain and gave up.
"What happened girl? Since when do you splinch yourself?"
"Long story..."
"Do tell."
"I didn't leave too much behind..." She said looking down at herself. "Looks pretty much healed, why does it hurt so much..."
"You were right to tell that accursed elf to use Dittany. It accelerates your healing, but had you left more than tissue behind, it would be beyond our knowledge of healing magic."
"That's a comforting thought..."
"Where is my heir?"
"That's even a longer story..."
"Is he hurt?"
"Yes. He's at St Mungo's."
"What happened?"
Hermione sighed and forced herself upright, grinding her teeth through the pain. She leaned back on the couch, panting.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Give me a moment!"
She tried to reach forward to grab a glass of water, but decided against it as the pain shot through her core again. She summoned Kreacher and told him to get her a glass of water, which he obeyed, and vanished before Hermione could thank him.
"Now remember that you are honour-bound to secrecy..."
"I have kept my word to Potter-Black, I have blatantly refused to tell the other portraits and the head mistress anything about you three. Even Albus tried his best." He smirked in satisfaction.
"Very well then."
Hermione filled him in on the events of the past two days, leaving out only the less pleasant details. She recited her exchanges with Sheraldov as well as she could still remember, and described the destruction of the Nott manor briefly.
"Miss Granger," Phineas begun in a soft tone.
"No Hermione any more?" She said with a faint uncertain smile.
"No, not after the last time..."
"I don't know why I snapped at you the other night..."
"You very well do. I was trying to manipulate you. It was right of you to snap."
"I thought it felt off..." She said thoughtfully.
"It is not as bad as it could've been. Once he's out, a simple glamour will have him look the same to you, and to the world."
"I hope so, though I wouldn't care about the scars..."
"It was noble of you to try and reconcile a relationship with a veneer of civility between Potter and his relatives. Do not blame yourself. I will congratulate you on your newborn brother, once you've met him. There are a few things that I'd like to discuss with you regarding your nightmares, and several other things, but they can wait."
He paused, watching her carefully. His painted eyes narrowed as though deciding on something.
"How do you feel now?" And when she only blinked, he added. "Now that you have taken lives..."
"I don't. I tried, at the hospital, to feel anything about it, guilt maybe, but I just couldn't. And now, its just like... Like it had to be done... Better me than Harry... I promised to protect him..."
"And so you have." He said proudly.
There was a pause in which Hermione sipped water, and Phineas played with his goatee.
"This Sheraldov. His knowledge is, unsettling... Could Weasley senior have let something slip, or would that troll betray you and Potter?"
"I don't think so. Neither Ron nor Mr. Weasley would tell anyone. I thought perhaps, he is sensitive to soul magic..."
"It's a possibility. But that'd make him far more dangerous. A sensitivity to surges or residual effects of soul magic, is a rare skill, which is not easily obtained. But then again we know that he is much older than what he seems, so he may just have had enough time to get attuned to it..." He said thoughtfully.
"He said the mountain that I am struggling to climb was carved by people like him."
"It could just be a boast..."
"He can't be that old, can he? To have been there when the ways and the methods of soul magic were being devised?"
"I cannot say... Yet he nearly named you... That is bothering me..."
"Named me?"
"He called you a priestess of the past? Didn't he?"
"Yeah, and when I told him that I don't want to be called that, he said that he has seen the last of my kind, and she didn't want to be called a priestess either..."
"He said what?" Phineas said loudly, leaning forward in his frame.
"What is it?"
"We know exactly when the 'last of your kind' lived."
"Really? That's great. We can use that to place Sheraldov then." She said excitedly and sat up quickly, causing a new wave of pain to shoot through her body.
"The last priestess of the old blood-as far as I know-which must be what he meant by the last of your kind, since the old circles always have a priestess, but they are ordinary-lived in my time, In fact, I've met her. That's why I know, she hated to be called a priestess." He said fondly.
"You never told us that."
"It was the summer of 1458, I remember it very well. Her name was Parisa. She was a tall woman, pale skin and dark hair. I was ten when I met her..."
"And?" Hermione urged.
"And that's enough on that. The rest would frighten you out of your mind. Now you know that this minister is at least 541 years old. That's a start."
"That makes him nearly as old as Nicolas Flamel, though he died some years ago."
"He has consumed so much soul to extend his longevity."
"That, is repulsive."
"Depends. Soul can be drawn from the surrounding world, or from people and animals. There used to be places in the dark market that one could procure a crystal, infused with enough soul for most rituals. Or for consumption. Though no one really used them for that in the circles."
"I had read about that. Drawing soul from the atmosphere is the only way around soul diving and downright feeding, to ease hunger."
"You don't need either. His love fuels you. That enriches your soul enough. And the blood that you consumed, paired with what wakes in it in your anger, is quite enough for anything." He smiled.
"Why did it bother you?" She asked abruptly. "That he called me a priestess. Just like you did, in fact he recited the same poem, though it sounded finer than your version."
"Was it by any chance 'Priestess born of ages three'?"
"Yeah, That one. Do you know it as well."
"Of course I know it, I know the whole sonnet. But what is more important is that you forgot to mention it."
"Is it important?"
"If he believes in the 'three' part, that might tie him to some lesser known circles, who believed in a cycle of death and destruction, and peace. I don't know the full lore, you have to research it yourself, but I know that they believed the world operates in cycles of three, and every third cycle, a priestess of the old blood would manifest, to bring about the end of an era."
"Manifest? As in, they don't have to be born from anyone from that bloodline?"
"Precisely."
"Every time anyone mentions her, its always about death and destruction... And somehow it doesn't bother them... You and Sheraldov both reacted the same way..." She hesitated, remembering how effortlessly she had taken those lives. "Have I, become her?"
"Almost."
"It sounds like she is a monster..." Hermione said in an undertone.
"It isn't that she is a monster, it is more about the monstrous world that demands her presence. You reject philosophy, yet I have told you before that when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you. Thus, he who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster... That much has been always clear..."
"I don't reject philosophy. I just find it odd that you of all people, would quote muggle philosophers."
"Some of them have had their moments, I admit."
"So if I have become something that the world demands-in this twisted world-view-is there a way to confirm it?"
"None that I know of. Yet in my eyes you already have proven it. You have learned to invoke its power, communicate with it, and to channel it. An ordinary priestess would not have access to such power. Plus, Sheraldov's 'great interest' in you is also proof enough. Whatever cult he belongs to should have its own priestess already, but not of the old blood. Also," He drew a long breath, straightening his collar. "You, Potter, and the troll have exposed yourselves to soul magic. And it has recognized you. You are embellished, augmented-if you will-for the will that governs the world, has seen it fit."
Hermione paused, her mind working fast to keep up with the riddles. She sat upright and folded the blanket away before speaking again. There was so much that she needed to figure out, and to study. 'One by one.' She thought. She noticed something personal in it all for Phineas. Something that she had felt before, but could never pin down.
"You didn't answer my first question Phineas."
"It bothers me, because if anyone is to name you, it should be an elder of the rites, not a foe. And since we don't have any elders lying around, it should be me."
She smiled. "Is it just, territory, or have you begun to care about the muggleborn girl?"
"A little bit of both I admit."
"What happens next?"
"Once you are named, you assume the full role of a priestess, and accept her fate."
"Do it then." The words jumped out of Hermione's mouth before she could even process them.
Phineas's eyes widened in surprise before a smile appeared on his face. "I thought you'd want time to study it..."
"I will study it, but as of now, I feel more strongly about not receiving any titles or names from that beast, let alone a fate..."
"Once my heir is back, we will perform the ceremony, properly. We can't deprive him of this. It's not right."
"Fine," She said in a tired voice, and leaned back on the couch again. "Can you recite that sonnet for me Phineas?"
"Of course I can."
"Do it please." She closed her eyes.
Phineas hesitated. His black eyes scanning her for a moment too long before deciding to do what she asked. He began, in a slow, deep and measured tone. His voice was mystical and melodic, as though a gust of history spoke through the frame.
A single teardrop ran down Hermione's face. She wiped her face with her palms, keeping her eyes shut. The poem had painted a clear image in her mind, one that she refused to let go. It horrified her, a woman who wailed as her lover died in her arms, a reddened sky and his words that carried his love, to the last breath. Yet somehow she still found it beautiful.
"So that is the fate of a priestess..." She said in a quiet tone.
"Yes." He said gently.
"It sounds, horrible..."
"It doesn't have to be..."
"I will lose him then..."
"To the world, or to yourself?"
"Don't riddle me Phineas..."
"Miss Granger,"
"Why does it hurt to even think about it..."
She opened her eyes.
Phineas paused, weighing his words, and watching Hermione's pain ripple through her gaze.
"For it is real." He said finally.
"If this is love, If love means hurting the one you care about, I do not want it..."
"Hurting? Or allowing them to ache for you, as you suffer for them?"
"This is, this, this is a burden. I won't put this on him. I won't let him watch me get crushed under it either."
"What is heavy? So asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden."
"I don't want to carry any more... I just want to be..."
"I'm afraid you have no choice. But if you had, would you have left him?"
"No. I will never leave him." She said quickly, as though that single sentence needed no thought process.
"Then live, enjoy it, savour it, so that you can remember, and cherish it... While you can... Understand that the world shan't sunder you in life. It is not the without that you must fear. It is the within. You are the flame that burns all. He is what has, does and will ignite you. You are destined to burn, and he shall, willingly burn for you, if only to save you from yourself."
"I don't want this fate. What if I reject it?"
"You will be consumed."
"Fine, I don't care what happens to me..."
"I told you, it doesn't have to be like that. You can change this fate. If anyone can, it would be you. But if it does happen. Make sure you have lived enough."
"How? Sheraldov said that-"
"To hell with that man. You can change your fate, by accepting it first. If this Sheraldov believes you to have the blood of the old priestesses, then he will come for you. He will come for Potter, and you both better be strong when that happens. You will not sit around like love birds and do nothing. Practice, learn and become powerful. Then by killing him, you can ensure that no one will ever harm you, or him."
"You said the outside world will not break us apart..."
"It won't. But it can kill you."
"What about the þing?"
"Lock the door and forget about it."
"Just like that?"
"Yes just like that. Just like it had happened before. Lock the door and seal the chamber."
"I don't think Sheraldov can die. He seems untouchable." Hermione said after a pause.
"Of course he can die. He may be immortal, but aim right, and I'm sure he will fall."
"Once I accept this... Name... I am then cursed to this fate?"
"It is up to you to decide whether it's a curse, or a blessing..."
"How can it be a blessing?"
"You get to be in control, you get to live, love, and more importantly, you will not lose yourself to wrath."
"If I lose control,"
"You will kill without mercy, drown in anger, despair and solitude. You will destroy everything in your path through the endless maze of thorns which shall be your life, unless you are stopped."
"Then I have no choice."
"There is always a choice miss Granger. The choice is, to whether live for the sake of love, suffer for the sake of life, or to let yourself go, leave, and perish in isolation... Alas, the latter destroys your beloved the same..."
"It's all just wordplay. It all boils down to 'I will bring him pain.'"
"Love of this magnitude can only be ruination. And who is to say there is no beauty in that?"
"What if someday he decides that," Hermione paused, remembering Sheraldov's words again. "That I am his suffering..."
"To love is to die through the other, and to be resurrected in their faintest smile. It is love as consuming fire that is simultaneously grace and destruction. The same fire that burns for love, burns the lover and the loved one. Until neither remain."
"But that makes no sense!"
"Consider this, dissolution into the beloved is the final becoming, not a loss."
Hermione held her face in her hands and remained still.
"There is much time miss Granger."
"Time that leads to death..."
"All time leads to death. It is a river that pours only into the swamp of the past, and down the guts of Hades. It does not care for you, nor your desires, and certainly not your feelings. It is blind, and goes without a will, yet it is all will."
"Enough with the philosophy Phineas. Please."
"Hermione," He called quietly.
She raised her head.
"Only through power, you can save both of you, and the world with it. Potter has not yet assumed his full power. He fights it, for he thinks you will leave him if he changes. But now, things are different. There will come a time when you will consider, 'containing' him to save the world. That is what you must prevent. His unleashed power combined with yours, will be a force to behold. And no Sheraldov or auror would be able to stand in your way. It is this pain, the pain of your very existence that fuels that power. Once it is over, you must find peace. Or death shall swiftly find you, both."
"I don't know if I can..."
"You must. I repeat, only through immense power, you will be able to change this fate. Then a new poem shall be written."
"If no priestess has ever managed to do this, why would I?"
"You will succeed where they have failed. Accept the fate, for it is the only thing that keeps the fire at bay. Reject the ending, kill before either of you dies.
Hermione blinked. "How does that-"
"This is-I believe-" Phineas cut her off. "Why this role has been called 'priestess' for eons. For it is a struggle against one's nature, one's fate, and the hope-almost religiously-that the worst shall not come to pass. In essence, you are a priestess of the faith that is built around your own demise. In short, you worship life, raw and primordial life, and for it, you shall kill. For your life is bound to another, in love. Thus, a life that is void of the other, is expendable."
There was a long pause before Hermione found her voice again.
"I understand, or I think I do..."
"Good, because I was not going to repeat all that." He said with a smile.
"You are a good teacher Phineas. I know you hate to hear it, but it is true."
"Well thank you miss Granger. It was possibly the most pleasant insult, I've ever had to suffer."
Away at the ruins of the Nott manor, Sheraldov stood, hands clasped behind his back, as he observed the sight before him. What used to be a grand manor of an ancient pureblood family, now lay in waste. He caressed the gemstone on his ring absent-mindedly, as he paced towards the western wing. His followers apparated behind him one after the other, muttering words of respect as they took their place in a semicircle.
"Today is a grand day my friends." He said loudly. He stood by the sole survivor of the destruction that had been unleashed there.
"Is it true Unctus, is it happening?" Asked a slender man with a long grey goatee as he bowed.
"Will our dream come to life at last?" Asked another man as he absorbed the sight of destruction.
Sheraldov's eyes glided over them, wordlessly. He walked towards the obliviated Nott, laying uselessly on the ground. He turned his face with his foot.
"Tut, Tut..."
His followers all looked at him in silence.
"Unctus tell us something, anything we beg you..." Said a petite woman.
Sheraldov paid no attention to them, his focus was solely on the sight before him, and the broken man. The air was thick with residue of soul magic. Someone had their soul handled with disregard there, someone had begged for mercy, someone had blatantly refused to feel compassion, and someone had been disgusted, he could almost taste it in the air.
"I need your soul," He told the drooling man. "Surely you don't mind."
He held his hand over his chest in the air.
"HIC.ANIMAM.TUAM.FRICO" He muttered. (Now I take your soul)
The man thrashed vigorously for a few seconds, before a gust of silvery smoke, like a strand of memory, emerged from his eyes. His mouth gaped silently to the extent of unhinging his jaw, and then, without any sound, he fell still. The light in his eyes gone, his mouth left ajar, and his limbs, in odd angles from the thrashing.
Sheraldov absorbed his soul like a breath. "I don't blame her." He muttered.
"LIMEN.DUC.NOS.AD.LIMEN" Chanted the followers as one. (Threshold, take us to the threshold)
He could see the entirety of his miserable existence in his mind. But he was only interested in his last day. He saw a pair of glowing red eyes beneath a black hood.
He smirked.
"At last..." He whispered.
"It is true then master?" Asked the man with a goatee again.
Before Sheraldov could answer, a woman appeared several feet away, wearing a dark green robe with silver linings. Her hair was pinned back neatly. Her sharp features did not soften as she saw her peers, her eyes glided over them in open disdain before she knelt in front of Sheraldov on one knee, her right hand on her chest, and bowed her head. The followers bowed in her direction momentarily.
"Žirladov." She said in a course Slavic accent.
"No need for formalities Dasha, you may stand."
She stood slowly, matching his height. She brushed off the dust from her robe with her hand, before looking him in the eyes.
"You summoned me."
"There is much to discuss..."
"Zhikh Kreshto D'Khatha" She spat in the direction of the followers aggressively, her eyes glowing an unnatural bright blue as she glared at them. (Be gone ye gaping worms)
They looked at each other disappointedly.
"Go. The mission stands. Find me the youth I asked of you." Said Sheraldov.
They all bowed in reverence before apparating away one by one.
"Afra." He called the petite woman before she left. "Have that buzzing bee run an article on this."
She bowed deeply. "Yes master." And apparated away.
Not a second later, Dasha began. "Aldorin says that you've found a priestess of the old blood."
"I believe I have."
"I am no longer needed then."
"You are not a spawn of the mother."
"Yes," She bowed her head. "I bare no shame in that..."
"Then remain where you are..."
"Yes." She said flatly, her voice dripping with spite.
Sheraldov paced slowly. Looking at the broken marble that had once, undoubtedly looked grand.
"I need that goblin rebellion Dasha."
"Things were progressing as scheduled. Until that attack. Seems like your Железный кулак (Iron Fist), ain't all that!" She turned away slightly, looking at the dead man on the ground.
"Dasha!" He called after her.
"You can no longer call me that!" She spat angrily.
"And I thought I told you not to call me Žirladov in front of them!"
"Вы бы предпочли «Помазанника»?" (Would you prefer 'The anointed one'?)
"У твоей бабушки тоже был змеиный язык." (Your grandmother too had the tongue of a serpent.)
She rolled her eyes and turned, pacing several feet away.
"Don't avoid me Darya. I can still sense your thoughts..."
"What are you planning with her?"
"My plans are no secret to you."
"I will not assist in yet another fruitless destruction of a life."
"Have you developed, 'something' for this one as well?"
"No." She said coldly.
"Then act your part."
"Is she truly the blood of the mother?"
"I don't know. She displays, 'the disposition'."
"You? Not knowing?" She grinned.
"I admit the feeling is fresh..."
"Could she be? She is born of commoners..."
"Even so... The mother never cared for such things..."
"Look at this destruction." She waved her hand in the direction of what remained of the manor. "He cannot be approached, She won't allow it. "
"He will have to be told in another way then... It is crucial..."
"Да." (Yes)
"How is our Baron?"
"Wallowing in wealth and a false sense of self-importance."
"I expect you have him, 'hooked', yes?"
"Yes." She said bitterly.
"It pains me for I know what it costs you."
"Не притворяйся, что у тебя есть сердце." (Don't pretend that you have a heart)
"Ты меня презираешь... (You loathe me...)" He said almost sadly. "I cannot blame you."
"Недостаточно. Но всё же." (Not enough. Yet.)
"Small comfort."
"The forest is restless Unctus, it needs, 'closure'. So does your following of worms."
"Soon."
She inclined her head before walking away. Sheraldov watched her.
"Будь осторожен, Жирладов, некоторые пожары даже тебе не по силам." She said loudly before apparating. (Be careful Žirladov, some fires even you cannot command.)
"Clearly." He said in an undertone. "But I can set them off at the right place." He smirked.
Ron gasped for air as his face broke the surface of the freezing water. The lake's water was bitter and stale. He coughed and spat angrily as he pulled himself out, and sprawled on his back on the coarse snow, panting.
"Why-" He said through gritted teeth. "Is- This- Torture- Necessary?"
"It's not." Said Gerald, sitting on the boulder next to the lake's edge. "You can give up any time."
"I can't give up."
"Then stop moaning!"
"I don't moan. Let's see you try holding your breath in there for an hour."
"I can hold it for an eternity."
"Well for-fucking-give me that I'm not some ancient old soul master like you."
"And at this pace, you'll never be." Gerald grinned.
"That's encouraging"
Ron had visibly gained some muscles in the short time that he had practised with Gerald. His training had been both magical, and physical. And between all of that, he still had to draw soul from the surrounding world.
It wasn't as hard as it sounded, yet it was tiring. It eased the hunger, and nourished his body without needing to eat, though it drained him magically. It was like, breathing, but not just from the lungs, it was breathing from a deeper place, and drawing more than just air from the surrounding.
Gerald had been thorough in his instructions, guiding him through every step, describing every sensation, and every feeling along the way. With his voice, heralding him through the maze of this unknown realm, it had been fairly easy. Yet there were long hours when Gerald was nowhere to be found, and when he arrived, it was always in his owl form. During those hours, Ron was tasked to meditate, and to practice on his own, and he always knew if he had practised.
He stood, holding Gerald's gaze defiantly. "I am tired. I wish to rest."
"Are you asking for permission?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"Right." He muttered and made to walk away.
"Alas your importance, is your downfall boy."
"Look, I'm tired of it all OK?"
"What exactly are you tired of?"
"Your philosophy, these fruitless training, the labour, all of it."
"Fruitless?"
"The only useful thing you taught me was the drawing thing, now you're just working me like a slave."
"You have no idea what it's like to be a slave!" Gerald spat angrily. Ron recoiled slightly.
He rarely lost his temper, or displayed any emotion other than the detachment of an ancient being, but this time was one of those sparse moments that he let through something more human.
"Do you?" Retorted Ron, though he felt less confidant than he sounded.
"Leave me. You have exhausted my tolerance for your disobedience."
"Don't sulk. You're like a thousand years old. Why are you so worked up anyway?"
"Tell me Ronald. Do you feel the change in the air?"
"I feel a change, but I'm not sure if it is me who is changed, or something else..."
"The hour is near Ronald. You need to be ready. Tonight, we start teaching you how to shield yourself..."
"The hour?"
"Go, have your rest."
"I'm not tired any more..."
Gerald grinned. "Do you know why?"
"No."
"Because tiredness is beneath a soul mage. There is no such thing as fatigue when you breathe the power that the world offers..."
"I've... I think I've noticed..."
"Is it fruitless still?"
"No. I'm sorry I said that. I'm not ungrateful..."
"I don't need gratitude. I need obedience. You are free to disobey me once I ask you for things that are against your interest. Have I worked against you Ronald? Or have I spent my time, every minute of it to help you?"
"Look I said I'm sorry. Don't rub it in. I snapped, alright?" Ron said uncomfortably.
"Very well. Then I want you to learn soulshielding. We begin tonight."
"What is it?"
"It is the ability to hide the stench of soul magic on yourself, from others who are sensitive to it."
"You mean people can tell that I've been drawing soul?"
"Not many. In fact, they are so few that I know all of them by name." He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Three of them are myself."
"What? Never mind..." This was probably one of his silly jokes.
"It is a crucial skill-downright impossible to learn when one is at your skill level-but incredibly valuable. Besides, you'll never need to master the Fidelius charm."
"Well that's encouraging."
"I know." He smiled.
"I never leaned to make myself invisible. Neither of us did in fact, we never needed to... We always just used Harry's cloak..."
"Your friend has a cloak of invisibility?"
"Yeah it's more like 'the' cloak of invisibility."
"Well, very few wizards ever master the Fidelius charm to the point of casting it so well, that it even hides them from their own eyes."
"And you think I can learn this soulshielding thing?"
"No I think you will fail."
"Thanks." Ron said bitterly.
"Without my help that is." He smiled.
"So you've found another way of torturing me. Why do I need to be invisible again?"
"I thought you may want to visit your friend at St. Mungo's."
"Who? Harry? What happened?"
"I don't know, they were attacked."
"Is she-"
"She is fine. So is he."
"I told you I feel like she's in danger."
"You were wrong. She wasn't in danger. She was a danger to others... She had become a formidable foe."
"What do you mean?"
"As of now, she will have taken more than one life."
"That's impossible. It's a lie." He shouted. "She would never do such a thing!"
"Nothing is impossible from this point forward."
"I don't believe it."
"Prove me wrong then."
"I don't need to be invisible to enter St. Mungo's."
"Perhaps not, if you are willing to risk everything."
"Fine! Let's begin then."
"You're not tired any more?"
"No. Teach me that thing."
Gerald smirked as he stood. He wasted no effort in hiding his satisfaction. His eyes glinted beneath the dark shadow that passed over his features.
"As you wish Ronald."
Hermione had spent the entirety of the next hour with Phineas's portrait. She had finally decided to confide in him more than she had let herself in the recent past, and he seemed genuinely helpful, even supportive.
She had to take a quick shower to wash off the blood and the stench of Dittany, as well as everything else from the night before. She could feel a strange sense of ease, or calm, whenever she focused on Harry, and she knew that he was well, perhaps sleeping through the medication again.
The conversation with Sheraldov and Phineas had left her with more questions that she could process at once. Each one a new mystery, a new riddle that needed their own pondering-time. Yet she had more answers than before. She thought that she finally understood what it all meant, what she had taken upon herself, and what was going on with the world.
She made a mental note to read every issue of the Prophet carefully, now that she knew the cults-at least Sheraldov's-were communicating through very publicly available newspaper articles. She wondered if they really needed that kind of communication, or if it was a way to tell the world that they exist.
An owl arrived at four PM, announcing Harry's recovery after the seizure, and the visitor's hour.
Hermione dressed quickly. She wore simple black robes with regular jeans underneath, and apparated as close to St. Mungo's vicinity as she dared. She didn't want to risk apparating too far away after that splinching.
Walking past ordinary muggle shops, it occurred to her to buy something small for the two guards she had threatened earlier that day. She felt slightly bad about that whole thing. After all, they were just doing their jobs.
She didn't think she'd have time to stop by Diagon alley for something magical, so normal chocolate would just have to do. She went to the first supermarket on her way and bought a box of 24-piece Ferrero Rocher chocolate. She paid in muggle bills, and walked the remaining short distance to the hospital.
The reception area was packed with people. The line before the welcome witch kiosk was longer than Hermione had ever seen it before. The guards stood where they were before, eyes fixed on a spot in front of them.
Hermione approached them.
"Hello." She said to the man on the right.
"Came to hex us?" He said with a sideways look.
"It's Alecer isn't it?"
"And if it is?"
"I wanted to apologize for earlier, it was wrong of me."
Alecer looked over at his partner, Paris, and back at Hermione.
"I was under a lot of stress. So I wanted to say that I'm sorry, to both of you," She looked at Paris. "And here's a box of chocolate." She presented the box of Ferrero Rochers.
Paris walked a step closer. He and Alecer both looked down at the unknown box with some interest.
"It's muggle-made, imported from Italy, they're quite good. I didn't have time to get anything from our world. But these are as good as they come." She added.
"There was no need for this Miss, we see behaviour like that quite often." Said Alecer.
"Really Miss, there's nothing to forgive, though no one has ever bothered to apologize." Said Paris.
"He's right."
"Remember that foreigner who claimed we're harvesting souls for dark wizards who seek the end of time?" Said Paris with a chuckle. "As if you can even do that. That's how muggles imagine magic."
"The crazies are everywhere." Said Alecer rather flatly, but chortled all the same.
Hermione had to summon all her focus to pretend that the idea was laughable, and to not pursue it. Her mind worked fast in the two seconds that Paris and Alecer laughed together at the man who had claimed such absurdity. But she knew that it was more real than they thought. Asking about it would raise suspicion, that she could not afford. They would find out about this event in another way. It was England after all. Someone had seen it, told it drunkenly to someone, who wrote about it, and someone must have had gossiped about it. There'd be traces, she thought.
"Still, Please accept the box, they're good I promise." She said with smile.
"Well, thank you then." Said Alecer, accepting the box.
"Yeah, thanks, I've never had muggle chocolate." He said with a boyish grin.
"Hope you enjoy it." She smiled.
They both nodded as she approached the welcome witch and asked if she needed to queue, explaining that she already knew where to go. The witch replied in a bored voice that she could just go up.
Hermione made for the corridor that led to the lift when a boy ran past her. Her eyes followed him as he rushed into the waiting hall, bent over a seat, buried his face in his hands, and began to cry. She recognized him as the boy from that morning, the one called Ignis.
She turned and walked up to him.
"What's wrong?" She asked softly.
"My dad," He said between sobs.
"What happened?" Hermione asked despite guessing the terrible answer.
"He's gone."
"I'm sorry." She sat on the chair next to him. "I really am." She added, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Now I can never tell him about the cool lady I saw..." He sobbed harder.
"What lady?"
"The one from before, with fiery eyes..."
"Where is your mother? I saw her with you this morning..."
Ignis lifted his eyes, recognition passed over his face.
"Oh it's you," He wiped his eyes. "I thought you sound familiar... How's your friend? The reporter kept asking about him, I didn't know what to tell her, I was asleep when you guys came here..."
"A reporter was here?"
"Yeah, I thought she was going to ask about my dad... He was attacked by those deadeaters... But she kept asking if I saw Harry Potter. I told her I've only seen him in the newspapers my dad reads," He paused resisting the sob that grew in his throat as he remembered his dad again. Hermione caressed his shoulder gently. "And then," He swallowed. "She asked me if I saw anything interesting, and I told her about the fiery lady... She seemed interested in that too..."
"I'm sorry Ignis, for your dad, I wish there was something I could do..." She said, hiding a sob herself. She couldn't bring herself to care about the reporter, possibly Rita, as she watched the boy suffer with loss and desperation.
"Next year I'll go to Hogwarts, and I will learn how to resurrect people from the dead. Then it wouldn't matter who gets killed by those deadeaters, we can just bring them back..."
"You have to be strong Ignis, for yourself, and for your mother..."
"But I'm not strong... I'm just ten..."
"I was once ten..."
"I bet that lady could kill any deadeater..." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
"The one with the fiery eyes?"
"Yeah. My dad would've loved to hear about it. He read me so many stories about vampires..."
He broke again, crying uncontrollably, hiding his face from her. Hermione put caution aside and pulled him into her embrace. She hugged him as he sobbed hard.
"I know... It's' rough... It's OK to cry..." She said gently, holding him through it.
"But she said that she wasn't a vampire..." He pulled away slowly, wiping his eyes again. "Do you know what she was?"
"She," Hermione began, not knowing where to take this. Despite mourning his father, the boy seemed fixated on what he had saw. She thought it could perhaps distract him. "She is just someone who is trying to survive."
"How do you know that?"
"I've met her." She improvised.
"You have? What's she like?"
"Terrible."
"Is she powerful?"
"Oh yeah. She can bring down a tower just with her eyes."
"WOW." The boy's eyes widened in excitement.
"That's not even half the things she can do." She said in a hushed tone.
"What else can she do?"
"She can dive into your mind, and see if you are strong or not."
"No way!"
"Yeah." She grinned.
"I bet she'd be disappointed if she dived into my mind." The boy said solemnly.
"Why would she?"
"Because I'm not strong..."
Hermione hesitated for a solid three seconds. "What if she asked you to? Or told you to be strong?"
"I'd do anything she tells me to..."
"Are you sure? She can tell, if you lie, you know..."
"I'm not a liar. If I say I'd do something, I'm going to do it."
Hermione looked around the hall. The few people that peppered the scattered chairs were either asleep, or drooling through fire whiskey.
"Stand here." She moved him to the right, making sure the door was behind her.
"What are we doing?"
"Just wait for three seconds, I'll show you something you'd like."
"OK." He muttered uncertainly.
She closed her eyes. Thinking about the pain this boy had to suffer because of a few thugs. How he'd grow up without a father, go to platform nine and three quarters without a father, and how no one was going to care. The anger that rose within her didn't need any further reasons to burn through her eyes again.
She opened them slowly, looking straight into his eyes.
"WOW! IT'S YOU!" He exclaimed loudly.
"Shhh, not so loudly."
"Sorry." He said in a hushed voice, looking around.
"Now, I want you to be strong. You are the man of the house now. You have to take care of your mother. Can you promise me that?"
"I swear it!" He said in awe.
"And you will be a good boy, doing your chores and your studies?"
"I will."
"Good." She smiled, patting him on his shoulder.
"Those are so pretty." He said, staring at her with unblinking eyes.
"You think so?"
"Yeah. What do you see in my mind?"
Hermione's eyes darted between his. "I see a strong boy, who will become a great wizard, if only he can trust in himself."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then once I'm older, I'm going to make sure to become the world's strongest wizard. Then I will marry you."
Hermione laughed. "I'm so much older than you."
"Are you married?"
"I will be."
"Well then maybe you have a daughter by then."
"Sure." She smiled.
"I'll be the most powerful wizard. Then no one dares to hurt anyone I care about."
"Just remember to be kind, and care for others."
"I know. I'll be a good kind of powerful."
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, pulling down the flames of anger that soared through her core, and opened them again.
"Aww... Why'd you take them away?"
"You see how people react, you own mother was terrified... I didn't mean to scare her earlier..."
"She thought you were something evil..."
"Well I am evil." She smiled somewhat half-confidently.
"You don't seem evil to me."
"Why weren't you afraid?"
"Fire doesn't scare me." He pulled his sleeves up, showing her wild burn marks on his inner forearms. "I was three. I tried to hug the fire in the hearth... It looked so pretty... Didn't even realize that it was hurting me..."
"You have to be careful around fire." Hermione said in a gentle tone.
"I told you, fire doesn't scare me..."
"Do you know why?"
"It just doesn't..."
"Do you know what your name means?"
"I don't like my name, it's hard to pronounce..."
"It's a great name, for a great wizard. It means fire."
"Really? My name means fire?"
"Yeah."
"I guess I like it now."
"Remember your promise." She stood. "And don't tell anyone OK?"
"I won't tell a soul."
"I have to see my friend now, visitor's time is almost over. Take care Ignis, and be strong." She patted him on his head and walked to the door.
"Wait, What's your name?"
She turned and paused for a second. She didn't want to tell him her own name, not that he couldn't learn it eventually, but she wanted to give him something special, something to hang on to, something closer to her core. A name that meant something. A name closer to what he saw in her.
She settled on the only name made sense to her besides her own. The only name that had echoed through her before.
"Anahita."
"What does it mean?"
"Life."
Blood gushed from her left side upper-chest and shoulder, the torn flesh beneath the open wound visible in the dim light. She had panicked for just half a second as the fiery otter almost caught up with her, and splinched herself during apparition.
Kreacher popped next to her and his old round eyes immediately widened in horror.
"Mistress Hermione. Hurt. Where is master Harry? Oh poor Kreacher, what does he do?" He held unto his long ears and rocked back and forth.
"Kreacher..." She said through gritted teeth.
"What would Kreacher's old mistress say? Oh, the shame... Kreacher doesn't know healing magic... Oh, my master's friend is bleeding..."
He tried to get closer, small old hands trembling as he held them up, but then withdrew in distress.
"Kreacher, under my bed," Her words came broken and compressed, every breath caused a new surge of pain in her chest. "Essence... Of... Dittany..."
"Kreacher knows what it looks like."
"Bring it."
Kreacher ran upstairs and back in no time, moving faster than Hermione had ever seen him. He rushed down again, misstepped on the last stair, and stumbled to her side.
Hermione tried to reach and grab the bottle, but she couldn't move. She screamed again, the pain shooting through her like a hot sword.
"Kreacher you have to do it... Right unto the wound." She gasped for air, unable to fill her lungs due to the pain.
He stood, hesitating just a step away, fidgeting with the vial of Dittany in his hands.
"Kreacher doesn't know if he can... Oh, if Master Harry found out that Kreacher looked at his friend in this state... Kreacher doesn't want his anger... What would Kreacher's old mistress say..."
"Kreacher! Do it, or I'll tell Harry that you refused to help me!"
Kreacher's eyed widened in fear. He uncorked the vial and stepped closer, and hesitated for a second, then emptied the bottle on Hermione's chest.
She gasped and churned on the spot, Kreacher fell backwards "I've killed her... Oh, no..." He rocked back and forth as he pulled on his long ears.
She stopped twisting as the pain subsided and her breathing steadied.
"Bring Phineas. Do as he says." She said before passing out.
Hermione woke several hours later, wrapped in a thick velvety blanket on the couch. She looked around and found the empty portrait of Phineas leaned against the back of a chair.
"She's alive!" He exclaimed. "Master Black!" He said in the direction of the empty frame.
"Phineas Nigellus Black..." She called weakly.
Slowly the features of Phineas appeared through the blur as he returned to his frame.
"Miss Granger. Glad you are back with us."
"Kreacher has done everything you asked master. The blanket, the fire... But Kreacher couldn't find all the potion ingredients you requested..."
"They are no longer needed. You are dismissed elf. Begone. You will be called if your service is needed. Do not linger uselessly."
"Yes master Black." He bowed deeply before disaparating.
Hermione tried to sit up, but yelped in pain and gave up.
"What happened girl? Since when do you splinch yourself?"
"Long story..."
"Do tell."
"I didn't leave too much behind..." She said looking down at herself. "Looks pretty much healed, why does it hurt so much..."
"You were right to tell that accursed elf to use Dittany. It accelerates your healing, but had you left more than tissue behind, it would be beyond our knowledge of healing magic."
"That's a comforting thought..."
"Where is my heir?"
"That's even a longer story..."
"Is he hurt?"
"Yes. He's at St Mungo's."
"What happened?"
Hermione sighed and forced herself upright, grinding her teeth through the pain. She leaned back on the couch, panting.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Give me a moment!"
She tried to reach forward to grab a glass of water, but decided against it as the pain shot through her core again. She summoned Kreacher and told him to get her a glass of water, which he obeyed, and vanished before Hermione could thank him.
"Now remember that you are honour-bound to secrecy..."
"I have kept my word to Potter-Black, I have blatantly refused to tell the other portraits and the head mistress anything about you three. Even Albus tried his best." He smirked in satisfaction.
"Very well then."
Hermione filled him in on the events of the past two days, leaving out only the less pleasant details. She recited her exchanges with Sheraldov as well as she could still remember, and described the destruction of the Nott manor briefly.
"Miss Granger," Phineas begun in a soft tone.
"No Hermione any more?" She said with a faint uncertain smile.
"No, not after the last time..."
"I don't know why I snapped at you the other night..."
"You very well do. I was trying to manipulate you. It was right of you to snap."
"I thought it felt off..." She said thoughtfully.
"It is not as bad as it could've been. Once he's out, a simple glamour will have him look the same to you, and to the world."
"I hope so, though I wouldn't care about the scars..."
"It was noble of you to try and reconcile a relationship with a veneer of civility between Potter and his relatives. Do not blame yourself. I will congratulate you on your newborn brother, once you've met him. There are a few things that I'd like to discuss with you regarding your nightmares, and several other things, but they can wait."
He paused, watching her carefully. His painted eyes narrowed as though deciding on something.
"How do you feel now?" And when she only blinked, he added. "Now that you have taken lives..."
"I don't. I tried, at the hospital, to feel anything about it, guilt maybe, but I just couldn't. And now, its just like... Like it had to be done... Better me than Harry... I promised to protect him..."
"And so you have." He said proudly.
There was a pause in which Hermione sipped water, and Phineas played with his goatee.
"This Sheraldov. His knowledge is, unsettling... Could Weasley senior have let something slip, or would that troll betray you and Potter?"
"I don't think so. Neither Ron nor Mr. Weasley would tell anyone. I thought perhaps, he is sensitive to soul magic..."
"It's a possibility. But that'd make him far more dangerous. A sensitivity to surges or residual effects of soul magic, is a rare skill, which is not easily obtained. But then again we know that he is much older than what he seems, so he may just have had enough time to get attuned to it..." He said thoughtfully.
"He said the mountain that I am struggling to climb was carved by people like him."
"It could just be a boast..."
"He can't be that old, can he? To have been there when the ways and the methods of soul magic were being devised?"
"I cannot say... Yet he nearly named you... That is bothering me..."
"Named me?"
"He called you a priestess of the past? Didn't he?"
"Yeah, and when I told him that I don't want to be called that, he said that he has seen the last of my kind, and she didn't want to be called a priestess either..."
"He said what?" Phineas said loudly, leaning forward in his frame.
"What is it?"
"We know exactly when the 'last of your kind' lived."
"Really? That's great. We can use that to place Sheraldov then." She said excitedly and sat up quickly, causing a new wave of pain to shoot through her body.
"The last priestess of the old blood-as far as I know-which must be what he meant by the last of your kind, since the old circles always have a priestess, but they are ordinary-lived in my time, In fact, I've met her. That's why I know, she hated to be called a priestess." He said fondly.
"You never told us that."
"It was the summer of 1458, I remember it very well. Her name was Parisa. She was a tall woman, pale skin and dark hair. I was ten when I met her..."
"And?" Hermione urged.
"And that's enough on that. The rest would frighten you out of your mind. Now you know that this minister is at least 541 years old. That's a start."
"That makes him nearly as old as Nicolas Flamel, though he died some years ago."
"He has consumed so much soul to extend his longevity."
"That, is repulsive."
"Depends. Soul can be drawn from the surrounding world, or from people and animals. There used to be places in the dark market that one could procure a crystal, infused with enough soul for most rituals. Or for consumption. Though no one really used them for that in the circles."
"I had read about that. Drawing soul from the atmosphere is the only way around soul diving and downright feeding, to ease hunger."
"You don't need either. His love fuels you. That enriches your soul enough. And the blood that you consumed, paired with what wakes in it in your anger, is quite enough for anything." He smiled.
"Why did it bother you?" She asked abruptly. "That he called me a priestess. Just like you did, in fact he recited the same poem, though it sounded finer than your version."
"Was it by any chance 'Priestess born of ages three'?"
"Yeah, That one. Do you know it as well."
"Of course I know it, I know the whole sonnet. But what is more important is that you forgot to mention it."
"Is it important?"
"If he believes in the 'three' part, that might tie him to some lesser known circles, who believed in a cycle of death and destruction, and peace. I don't know the full lore, you have to research it yourself, but I know that they believed the world operates in cycles of three, and every third cycle, a priestess of the old blood would manifest, to bring about the end of an era."
"Manifest? As in, they don't have to be born from anyone from that bloodline?"
"Precisely."
"Every time anyone mentions her, its always about death and destruction... And somehow it doesn't bother them... You and Sheraldov both reacted the same way..." She hesitated, remembering how effortlessly she had taken those lives. "Have I, become her?"
"Almost."
"It sounds like she is a monster..." Hermione said in an undertone.
"It isn't that she is a monster, it is more about the monstrous world that demands her presence. You reject philosophy, yet I have told you before that when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you. Thus, he who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster... That much has been always clear..."
"I don't reject philosophy. I just find it odd that you of all people, would quote muggle philosophers."
"Some of them have had their moments, I admit."
"So if I have become something that the world demands-in this twisted world-view-is there a way to confirm it?"
"None that I know of. Yet in my eyes you already have proven it. You have learned to invoke its power, communicate with it, and to channel it. An ordinary priestess would not have access to such power. Plus, Sheraldov's 'great interest' in you is also proof enough. Whatever cult he belongs to should have its own priestess already, but not of the old blood. Also," He drew a long breath, straightening his collar. "You, Potter, and the troll have exposed yourselves to soul magic. And it has recognized you. You are embellished, augmented-if you will-for the will that governs the world, has seen it fit."
Hermione paused, her mind working fast to keep up with the riddles. She sat upright and folded the blanket away before speaking again. There was so much that she needed to figure out, and to study. 'One by one.' She thought. She noticed something personal in it all for Phineas. Something that she had felt before, but could never pin down.
"You didn't answer my first question Phineas."
"It bothers me, because if anyone is to name you, it should be an elder of the rites, not a foe. And since we don't have any elders lying around, it should be me."
She smiled. "Is it just, territory, or have you begun to care about the muggleborn girl?"
"A little bit of both I admit."
"What happens next?"
"Once you are named, you assume the full role of a priestess, and accept her fate."
"Do it then." The words jumped out of Hermione's mouth before she could even process them.
Phineas's eyes widened in surprise before a smile appeared on his face. "I thought you'd want time to study it..."
"I will study it, but as of now, I feel more strongly about not receiving any titles or names from that beast, let alone a fate..."
"Once my heir is back, we will perform the ceremony, properly. We can't deprive him of this. It's not right."
"Fine," She said in a tired voice, and leaned back on the couch again. "Can you recite that sonnet for me Phineas?"
"Of course I can."
"Do it please." She closed her eyes.
Phineas hesitated. His black eyes scanning her for a moment too long before deciding to do what she asked. He began, in a slow, deep and measured tone. His voice was mystical and melodic, as though a gust of history spoke through the frame.
Across a field, beyond the sun Whence mine fate was set and done
The birds sang a mournful cry Her wail sundered the reddened sky
She held her love in tender grace Tears ran down her burning face
Thus, he spake in a fading voice:
Whence didst mine heart feel thee last, A breath of places far and vast,
Whence didst mine ears hear thy sound, A rush of joy and pain profound,
Wherefore was I lost in awe, Withered lives and ruins I saw,
Whither goest thou, thy will or pain, With the wind flies thy silky mane,
Alas, the flames, to and fro, Wherefore didst mine hand let go,
Whence didst mine soul yearn for thee, A priestess born of ages three,
For thee and thine burning eyes, For thy love and thy painful cries,
For one moment, a stillborn heart, Shall beat again, and act its part,
In thine eyes, I saw mine last, In thine lap, I would leave my past,
Whence didst mine soul burn ablaze, As I held thine burning gaze,
Rivers flowed in steady pace For mine last, no fairer place
Priestess, priestess born of wrath Lead me, lead me to my path
A single teardrop ran down Hermione's face. She wiped her face with her palms, keeping her eyes shut. The poem had painted a clear image in her mind, one that she refused to let go. It horrified her, a woman who wailed as her lover died in her arms, a reddened sky and his words that carried his love, to the last breath. Yet somehow she still found it beautiful.
"So that is the fate of a priestess..." She said in a quiet tone.
"Yes." He said gently.
"It sounds, horrible..."
"It doesn't have to be..."
"I will lose him then..."
"To the world, or to yourself?"
"Don't riddle me Phineas..."
"Miss Granger,"
"Why does it hurt to even think about it..."
She opened her eyes.
Phineas paused, weighing his words, and watching Hermione's pain ripple through her gaze.
"For it is real." He said finally.
"If this is love, If love means hurting the one you care about, I do not want it..."
"Hurting? Or allowing them to ache for you, as you suffer for them?"
"This is, this, this is a burden. I won't put this on him. I won't let him watch me get crushed under it either."
"What is heavy? So asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden."
"I don't want to carry any more... I just want to be..."
"I'm afraid you have no choice. But if you had, would you have left him?"
"No. I will never leave him." She said quickly, as though that single sentence needed no thought process.
"Then live, enjoy it, savour it, so that you can remember, and cherish it... While you can... Understand that the world shan't sunder you in life. It is not the without that you must fear. It is the within. You are the flame that burns all. He is what has, does and will ignite you. You are destined to burn, and he shall, willingly burn for you, if only to save you from yourself."
"I don't want this fate. What if I reject it?"
"You will be consumed."
"Fine, I don't care what happens to me..."
"I told you, it doesn't have to be like that. You can change this fate. If anyone can, it would be you. But if it does happen. Make sure you have lived enough."
"How? Sheraldov said that-"
"To hell with that man. You can change your fate, by accepting it first. If this Sheraldov believes you to have the blood of the old priestesses, then he will come for you. He will come for Potter, and you both better be strong when that happens. You will not sit around like love birds and do nothing. Practice, learn and become powerful. Then by killing him, you can ensure that no one will ever harm you, or him."
"You said the outside world will not break us apart..."
"It won't. But it can kill you."
"What about the þing?"
"Lock the door and forget about it."
"Just like that?"
"Yes just like that. Just like it had happened before. Lock the door and seal the chamber."
"I don't think Sheraldov can die. He seems untouchable." Hermione said after a pause.
"Of course he can die. He may be immortal, but aim right, and I'm sure he will fall."
"Once I accept this... Name... I am then cursed to this fate?"
"It is up to you to decide whether it's a curse, or a blessing..."
"How can it be a blessing?"
"You get to be in control, you get to live, love, and more importantly, you will not lose yourself to wrath."
"If I lose control,"
"You will kill without mercy, drown in anger, despair and solitude. You will destroy everything in your path through the endless maze of thorns which shall be your life, unless you are stopped."
"Then I have no choice."
"There is always a choice miss Granger. The choice is, to whether live for the sake of love, suffer for the sake of life, or to let yourself go, leave, and perish in isolation... Alas, the latter destroys your beloved the same..."
"It's all just wordplay. It all boils down to 'I will bring him pain.'"
"Love of this magnitude can only be ruination. And who is to say there is no beauty in that?"
"What if someday he decides that," Hermione paused, remembering Sheraldov's words again. "That I am his suffering..."
"To love is to die through the other, and to be resurrected in their faintest smile. It is love as consuming fire that is simultaneously grace and destruction. The same fire that burns for love, burns the lover and the loved one. Until neither remain."
"But that makes no sense!"
"Consider this, dissolution into the beloved is the final becoming, not a loss."
Hermione held her face in her hands and remained still.
"There is much time miss Granger."
"Time that leads to death..."
"All time leads to death. It is a river that pours only into the swamp of the past, and down the guts of Hades. It does not care for you, nor your desires, and certainly not your feelings. It is blind, and goes without a will, yet it is all will."
"Enough with the philosophy Phineas. Please."
"Hermione," He called quietly.
She raised her head.
"Only through power, you can save both of you, and the world with it. Potter has not yet assumed his full power. He fights it, for he thinks you will leave him if he changes. But now, things are different. There will come a time when you will consider, 'containing' him to save the world. That is what you must prevent. His unleashed power combined with yours, will be a force to behold. And no Sheraldov or auror would be able to stand in your way. It is this pain, the pain of your very existence that fuels that power. Once it is over, you must find peace. Or death shall swiftly find you, both."
"I don't know if I can..."
"You must. I repeat, only through immense power, you will be able to change this fate. Then a new poem shall be written."
"If no priestess has ever managed to do this, why would I?"
"You will succeed where they have failed. Accept the fate, for it is the only thing that keeps the fire at bay. Reject the ending, kill before either of you dies.
Hermione blinked. "How does that-"
"This is-I believe-" Phineas cut her off. "Why this role has been called 'priestess' for eons. For it is a struggle against one's nature, one's fate, and the hope-almost religiously-that the worst shall not come to pass. In essence, you are a priestess of the faith that is built around your own demise. In short, you worship life, raw and primordial life, and for it, you shall kill. For your life is bound to another, in love. Thus, a life that is void of the other, is expendable."
There was a long pause before Hermione found her voice again.
"I understand, or I think I do..."
"Good, because I was not going to repeat all that." He said with a smile.
"You are a good teacher Phineas. I know you hate to hear it, but it is true."
"Well thank you miss Granger. It was possibly the most pleasant insult, I've ever had to suffer."
Away at the ruins of the Nott manor, Sheraldov stood, hands clasped behind his back, as he observed the sight before him. What used to be a grand manor of an ancient pureblood family, now lay in waste. He caressed the gemstone on his ring absent-mindedly, as he paced towards the western wing. His followers apparated behind him one after the other, muttering words of respect as they took their place in a semicircle.
"Today is a grand day my friends." He said loudly. He stood by the sole survivor of the destruction that had been unleashed there.
"Is it true Unctus, is it happening?" Asked a slender man with a long grey goatee as he bowed.
"Will our dream come to life at last?" Asked another man as he absorbed the sight of destruction.
Sheraldov's eyes glided over them, wordlessly. He walked towards the obliviated Nott, laying uselessly on the ground. He turned his face with his foot.
"Tut, Tut..."
His followers all looked at him in silence.
"Unctus tell us something, anything we beg you..." Said a petite woman.
Sheraldov paid no attention to them, his focus was solely on the sight before him, and the broken man. The air was thick with residue of soul magic. Someone had their soul handled with disregard there, someone had begged for mercy, someone had blatantly refused to feel compassion, and someone had been disgusted, he could almost taste it in the air.
"I need your soul," He told the drooling man. "Surely you don't mind."
He held his hand over his chest in the air.
"HIC.ANIMAM.TUAM.FRICO" He muttered. (Now I take your soul)
The man thrashed vigorously for a few seconds, before a gust of silvery smoke, like a strand of memory, emerged from his eyes. His mouth gaped silently to the extent of unhinging his jaw, and then, without any sound, he fell still. The light in his eyes gone, his mouth left ajar, and his limbs, in odd angles from the thrashing.
Sheraldov absorbed his soul like a breath. "I don't blame her." He muttered.
"LIMEN.DUC.NOS.AD.LIMEN" Chanted the followers as one. (Threshold, take us to the threshold)
He could see the entirety of his miserable existence in his mind. But he was only interested in his last day. He saw a pair of glowing red eyes beneath a black hood.
He smirked.
"At last..." He whispered.
"It is true then master?" Asked the man with a goatee again.
Before Sheraldov could answer, a woman appeared several feet away, wearing a dark green robe with silver linings. Her hair was pinned back neatly. Her sharp features did not soften as she saw her peers, her eyes glided over them in open disdain before she knelt in front of Sheraldov on one knee, her right hand on her chest, and bowed her head. The followers bowed in her direction momentarily.
"Žirladov." She said in a course Slavic accent.
"No need for formalities Dasha, you may stand."
She stood slowly, matching his height. She brushed off the dust from her robe with her hand, before looking him in the eyes.
"You summoned me."
"There is much to discuss..."
"Zhikh Kreshto D'Khatha" She spat in the direction of the followers aggressively, her eyes glowing an unnatural bright blue as she glared at them. (Be gone ye gaping worms)
They looked at each other disappointedly.
"Go. The mission stands. Find me the youth I asked of you." Said Sheraldov.
They all bowed in reverence before apparating away one by one.
"Afra." He called the petite woman before she left. "Have that buzzing bee run an article on this."
She bowed deeply. "Yes master." And apparated away.
Not a second later, Dasha began. "Aldorin says that you've found a priestess of the old blood."
"I believe I have."
"I am no longer needed then."
"You are not a spawn of the mother."
"Yes," She bowed her head. "I bare no shame in that..."
"Then remain where you are..."
"Yes." She said flatly, her voice dripping with spite.
Sheraldov paced slowly. Looking at the broken marble that had once, undoubtedly looked grand.
"I need that goblin rebellion Dasha."
"Things were progressing as scheduled. Until that attack. Seems like your Железный кулак (Iron Fist), ain't all that!" She turned away slightly, looking at the dead man on the ground.
"Dasha!" He called after her.
"You can no longer call me that!" She spat angrily.
"And I thought I told you not to call me Žirladov in front of them!"
"Вы бы предпочли «Помазанника»?" (Would you prefer 'The anointed one'?)
"У твоей бабушки тоже был змеиный язык." (Your grandmother too had the tongue of a serpent.)
She rolled her eyes and turned, pacing several feet away.
"Don't avoid me Darya. I can still sense your thoughts..."
"What are you planning with her?"
"My plans are no secret to you."
"I will not assist in yet another fruitless destruction of a life."
"Have you developed, 'something' for this one as well?"
"No." She said coldly.
"Then act your part."
"Is she truly the blood of the mother?"
"I don't know. She displays, 'the disposition'."
"You? Not knowing?" She grinned.
"I admit the feeling is fresh..."
"Could she be? She is born of commoners..."
"Even so... The mother never cared for such things..."
"Look at this destruction." She waved her hand in the direction of what remained of the manor. "He cannot be approached, She won't allow it. "
"He will have to be told in another way then... It is crucial..."
"Да." (Yes)
"How is our Baron?"
"Wallowing in wealth and a false sense of self-importance."
"I expect you have him, 'hooked', yes?"
"Yes." She said bitterly.
"It pains me for I know what it costs you."
"Не притворяйся, что у тебя есть сердце." (Don't pretend that you have a heart)
"Ты меня презираешь... (You loathe me...)" He said almost sadly. "I cannot blame you."
"Недостаточно. Но всё же." (Not enough. Yet.)
"Small comfort."
"The forest is restless Unctus, it needs, 'closure'. So does your following of worms."
"Soon."
She inclined her head before walking away. Sheraldov watched her.
"Будь осторожен, Жирладов, некоторые пожары даже тебе не по силам." She said loudly before apparating. (Be careful Žirladov, some fires even you cannot command.)
"Clearly." He said in an undertone. "But I can set them off at the right place." He smirked.
Ron gasped for air as his face broke the surface of the freezing water. The lake's water was bitter and stale. He coughed and spat angrily as he pulled himself out, and sprawled on his back on the coarse snow, panting.
"Why-" He said through gritted teeth. "Is- This- Torture- Necessary?"
"It's not." Said Gerald, sitting on the boulder next to the lake's edge. "You can give up any time."
"I can't give up."
"Then stop moaning!"
"I don't moan. Let's see you try holding your breath in there for an hour."
"I can hold it for an eternity."
"Well for-fucking-give me that I'm not some ancient old soul master like you."
"And at this pace, you'll never be." Gerald grinned.
"That's encouraging"
Ron had visibly gained some muscles in the short time that he had practised with Gerald. His training had been both magical, and physical. And between all of that, he still had to draw soul from the surrounding world.
It wasn't as hard as it sounded, yet it was tiring. It eased the hunger, and nourished his body without needing to eat, though it drained him magically. It was like, breathing, but not just from the lungs, it was breathing from a deeper place, and drawing more than just air from the surrounding.
Gerald had been thorough in his instructions, guiding him through every step, describing every sensation, and every feeling along the way. With his voice, heralding him through the maze of this unknown realm, it had been fairly easy. Yet there were long hours when Gerald was nowhere to be found, and when he arrived, it was always in his owl form. During those hours, Ron was tasked to meditate, and to practice on his own, and he always knew if he had practised.
He stood, holding Gerald's gaze defiantly. "I am tired. I wish to rest."
"Are you asking for permission?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"Right." He muttered and made to walk away.
"Alas your importance, is your downfall boy."
"Look, I'm tired of it all OK?"
"What exactly are you tired of?"
"Your philosophy, these fruitless training, the labour, all of it."
"Fruitless?"
"The only useful thing you taught me was the drawing thing, now you're just working me like a slave."
"You have no idea what it's like to be a slave!" Gerald spat angrily. Ron recoiled slightly.
He rarely lost his temper, or displayed any emotion other than the detachment of an ancient being, but this time was one of those sparse moments that he let through something more human.
"Do you?" Retorted Ron, though he felt less confidant than he sounded.
"Leave me. You have exhausted my tolerance for your disobedience."
"Don't sulk. You're like a thousand years old. Why are you so worked up anyway?"
"Tell me Ronald. Do you feel the change in the air?"
"I feel a change, but I'm not sure if it is me who is changed, or something else..."
"The hour is near Ronald. You need to be ready. Tonight, we start teaching you how to shield yourself..."
"The hour?"
"Go, have your rest."
"I'm not tired any more..."
Gerald grinned. "Do you know why?"
"No."
"Because tiredness is beneath a soul mage. There is no such thing as fatigue when you breathe the power that the world offers..."
"I've... I think I've noticed..."
"Is it fruitless still?"
"No. I'm sorry I said that. I'm not ungrateful..."
"I don't need gratitude. I need obedience. You are free to disobey me once I ask you for things that are against your interest. Have I worked against you Ronald? Or have I spent my time, every minute of it to help you?"
"Look I said I'm sorry. Don't rub it in. I snapped, alright?" Ron said uncomfortably.
"Very well. Then I want you to learn soulshielding. We begin tonight."
"What is it?"
"It is the ability to hide the stench of soul magic on yourself, from others who are sensitive to it."
"You mean people can tell that I've been drawing soul?"
"Not many. In fact, they are so few that I know all of them by name." He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Three of them are myself."
"What? Never mind..." This was probably one of his silly jokes.
"It is a crucial skill-downright impossible to learn when one is at your skill level-but incredibly valuable. Besides, you'll never need to master the Fidelius charm."
"Well that's encouraging."
"I know." He smiled.
"I never leaned to make myself invisible. Neither of us did in fact, we never needed to... We always just used Harry's cloak..."
"Your friend has a cloak of invisibility?"
"Yeah it's more like 'the' cloak of invisibility."
"Well, very few wizards ever master the Fidelius charm to the point of casting it so well, that it even hides them from their own eyes."
"And you think I can learn this soulshielding thing?"
"No I think you will fail."
"Thanks." Ron said bitterly.
"Without my help that is." He smiled.
"So you've found another way of torturing me. Why do I need to be invisible again?"
"I thought you may want to visit your friend at St. Mungo's."
"Who? Harry? What happened?"
"I don't know, they were attacked."
"Is she-"
"She is fine. So is he."
"I told you I feel like she's in danger."
"You were wrong. She wasn't in danger. She was a danger to others... She had become a formidable foe."
"What do you mean?"
"As of now, she will have taken more than one life."
"That's impossible. It's a lie." He shouted. "She would never do such a thing!"
"Nothing is impossible from this point forward."
"I don't believe it."
"Prove me wrong then."
"I don't need to be invisible to enter St. Mungo's."
"Perhaps not, if you are willing to risk everything."
"Fine! Let's begin then."
"You're not tired any more?"
"No. Teach me that thing."
Gerald smirked as he stood. He wasted no effort in hiding his satisfaction. His eyes glinted beneath the dark shadow that passed over his features.
"As you wish Ronald."
Hermione had spent the entirety of the next hour with Phineas's portrait. She had finally decided to confide in him more than she had let herself in the recent past, and he seemed genuinely helpful, even supportive.
She had to take a quick shower to wash off the blood and the stench of Dittany, as well as everything else from the night before. She could feel a strange sense of ease, or calm, whenever she focused on Harry, and she knew that he was well, perhaps sleeping through the medication again.
The conversation with Sheraldov and Phineas had left her with more questions that she could process at once. Each one a new mystery, a new riddle that needed their own pondering-time. Yet she had more answers than before. She thought that she finally understood what it all meant, what she had taken upon herself, and what was going on with the world.
She made a mental note to read every issue of the Prophet carefully, now that she knew the cults-at least Sheraldov's-were communicating through very publicly available newspaper articles. She wondered if they really needed that kind of communication, or if it was a way to tell the world that they exist.
An owl arrived at four PM, announcing Harry's recovery after the seizure, and the visitor's hour.
Hermione dressed quickly. She wore simple black robes with regular jeans underneath, and apparated as close to St. Mungo's vicinity as she dared. She didn't want to risk apparating too far away after that splinching.
Walking past ordinary muggle shops, it occurred to her to buy something small for the two guards she had threatened earlier that day. She felt slightly bad about that whole thing. After all, they were just doing their jobs.
She didn't think she'd have time to stop by Diagon alley for something magical, so normal chocolate would just have to do. She went to the first supermarket on her way and bought a box of 24-piece Ferrero Rocher chocolate. She paid in muggle bills, and walked the remaining short distance to the hospital.
The reception area was packed with people. The line before the welcome witch kiosk was longer than Hermione had ever seen it before. The guards stood where they were before, eyes fixed on a spot in front of them.
Hermione approached them.
"Hello." She said to the man on the right.
"Came to hex us?" He said with a sideways look.
"It's Alecer isn't it?"
"And if it is?"
"I wanted to apologize for earlier, it was wrong of me."
Alecer looked over at his partner, Paris, and back at Hermione.
"I was under a lot of stress. So I wanted to say that I'm sorry, to both of you," She looked at Paris. "And here's a box of chocolate." She presented the box of Ferrero Rochers.
Paris walked a step closer. He and Alecer both looked down at the unknown box with some interest.
"It's muggle-made, imported from Italy, they're quite good. I didn't have time to get anything from our world. But these are as good as they come." She added.
"There was no need for this Miss, we see behaviour like that quite often." Said Alecer.
"Really Miss, there's nothing to forgive, though no one has ever bothered to apologize." Said Paris.
"He's right."
"Remember that foreigner who claimed we're harvesting souls for dark wizards who seek the end of time?" Said Paris with a chuckle. "As if you can even do that. That's how muggles imagine magic."
"The crazies are everywhere." Said Alecer rather flatly, but chortled all the same.
Hermione had to summon all her focus to pretend that the idea was laughable, and to not pursue it. Her mind worked fast in the two seconds that Paris and Alecer laughed together at the man who had claimed such absurdity. But she knew that it was more real than they thought. Asking about it would raise suspicion, that she could not afford. They would find out about this event in another way. It was England after all. Someone had seen it, told it drunkenly to someone, who wrote about it, and someone must have had gossiped about it. There'd be traces, she thought.
"Still, Please accept the box, they're good I promise." She said with smile.
"Well, thank you then." Said Alecer, accepting the box.
"Yeah, thanks, I've never had muggle chocolate." He said with a boyish grin.
"Hope you enjoy it." She smiled.
They both nodded as she approached the welcome witch and asked if she needed to queue, explaining that she already knew where to go. The witch replied in a bored voice that she could just go up.
Hermione made for the corridor that led to the lift when a boy ran past her. Her eyes followed him as he rushed into the waiting hall, bent over a seat, buried his face in his hands, and began to cry. She recognized him as the boy from that morning, the one called Ignis.
She turned and walked up to him.
"What's wrong?" She asked softly.
"My dad," He said between sobs.
"What happened?" Hermione asked despite guessing the terrible answer.
"He's gone."
"I'm sorry." She sat on the chair next to him. "I really am." She added, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Now I can never tell him about the cool lady I saw..." He sobbed harder.
"What lady?"
"The one from before, with fiery eyes..."
"Where is your mother? I saw her with you this morning..."
Ignis lifted his eyes, recognition passed over his face.
"Oh it's you," He wiped his eyes. "I thought you sound familiar... How's your friend? The reporter kept asking about him, I didn't know what to tell her, I was asleep when you guys came here..."
"A reporter was here?"
"Yeah, I thought she was going to ask about my dad... He was attacked by those deadeaters... But she kept asking if I saw Harry Potter. I told her I've only seen him in the newspapers my dad reads," He paused resisting the sob that grew in his throat as he remembered his dad again. Hermione caressed his shoulder gently. "And then," He swallowed. "She asked me if I saw anything interesting, and I told her about the fiery lady... She seemed interested in that too..."
"I'm sorry Ignis, for your dad, I wish there was something I could do..." She said, hiding a sob herself. She couldn't bring herself to care about the reporter, possibly Rita, as she watched the boy suffer with loss and desperation.
"Next year I'll go to Hogwarts, and I will learn how to resurrect people from the dead. Then it wouldn't matter who gets killed by those deadeaters, we can just bring them back..."
"You have to be strong Ignis, for yourself, and for your mother..."
"But I'm not strong... I'm just ten..."
"I was once ten..."
"I bet that lady could kill any deadeater..." He wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
"The one with the fiery eyes?"
"Yeah. My dad would've loved to hear about it. He read me so many stories about vampires..."
He broke again, crying uncontrollably, hiding his face from her. Hermione put caution aside and pulled him into her embrace. She hugged him as he sobbed hard.
"I know... It's' rough... It's OK to cry..." She said gently, holding him through it.
"But she said that she wasn't a vampire..." He pulled away slowly, wiping his eyes again. "Do you know what she was?"
"She," Hermione began, not knowing where to take this. Despite mourning his father, the boy seemed fixated on what he had saw. She thought it could perhaps distract him. "She is just someone who is trying to survive."
"How do you know that?"
"I've met her." She improvised.
"You have? What's she like?"
"Terrible."
"Is she powerful?"
"Oh yeah. She can bring down a tower just with her eyes."
"WOW." The boy's eyes widened in excitement.
"That's not even half the things she can do." She said in a hushed tone.
"What else can she do?"
"She can dive into your mind, and see if you are strong or not."
"No way!"
"Yeah." She grinned.
"I bet she'd be disappointed if she dived into my mind." The boy said solemnly.
"Why would she?"
"Because I'm not strong..."
Hermione hesitated for a solid three seconds. "What if she asked you to? Or told you to be strong?"
"I'd do anything she tells me to..."
"Are you sure? She can tell, if you lie, you know..."
"I'm not a liar. If I say I'd do something, I'm going to do it."
Hermione looked around the hall. The few people that peppered the scattered chairs were either asleep, or drooling through fire whiskey.
"Stand here." She moved him to the right, making sure the door was behind her.
"What are we doing?"
"Just wait for three seconds, I'll show you something you'd like."
"OK." He muttered uncertainly.
She closed her eyes. Thinking about the pain this boy had to suffer because of a few thugs. How he'd grow up without a father, go to platform nine and three quarters without a father, and how no one was going to care. The anger that rose within her didn't need any further reasons to burn through her eyes again.
She opened them slowly, looking straight into his eyes.
"WOW! IT'S YOU!" He exclaimed loudly.
"Shhh, not so loudly."
"Sorry." He said in a hushed voice, looking around.
"Now, I want you to be strong. You are the man of the house now. You have to take care of your mother. Can you promise me that?"
"I swear it!" He said in awe.
"And you will be a good boy, doing your chores and your studies?"
"I will."
"Good." She smiled, patting him on his shoulder.
"Those are so pretty." He said, staring at her with unblinking eyes.
"You think so?"
"Yeah. What do you see in my mind?"
Hermione's eyes darted between his. "I see a strong boy, who will become a great wizard, if only he can trust in himself."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then once I'm older, I'm going to make sure to become the world's strongest wizard. Then I will marry you."
Hermione laughed. "I'm so much older than you."
"Are you married?"
"I will be."
"Well then maybe you have a daughter by then."
"Sure." She smiled.
"I'll be the most powerful wizard. Then no one dares to hurt anyone I care about."
"Just remember to be kind, and care for others."
"I know. I'll be a good kind of powerful."
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, pulling down the flames of anger that soared through her core, and opened them again.
"Aww... Why'd you take them away?"
"You see how people react, you own mother was terrified... I didn't mean to scare her earlier..."
"She thought you were something evil..."
"Well I am evil." She smiled somewhat half-confidently.
"You don't seem evil to me."
"Why weren't you afraid?"
"Fire doesn't scare me." He pulled his sleeves up, showing her wild burn marks on his inner forearms. "I was three. I tried to hug the fire in the hearth... It looked so pretty... Didn't even realize that it was hurting me..."
"You have to be careful around fire." Hermione said in a gentle tone.
"I told you, fire doesn't scare me..."
"Do you know why?"
"It just doesn't..."
"Do you know what your name means?"
"I don't like my name, it's hard to pronounce..."
"It's a great name, for a great wizard. It means fire."
"Really? My name means fire?"
"Yeah."
"I guess I like it now."
"Remember your promise." She stood. "And don't tell anyone OK?"
"I won't tell a soul."
"I have to see my friend now, visitor's time is almost over. Take care Ignis, and be strong." She patted him on his head and walked to the door.
"Wait, What's your name?"
She turned and paused for a second. She didn't want to tell him her own name, not that he couldn't learn it eventually, but she wanted to give him something special, something to hang on to, something closer to her core. A name that meant something. A name closer to what he saw in her.
She settled on the only name made sense to her besides her own. The only name that had echoed through her before.
"Anahita."
"What does it mean?"
"Life."