Dark Shines

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Dark Shines | Part Four | Arrivals and Departures

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"I hate to come to you this late at night, but Albus…" She absentmindedly stirred her tea, the old Headmaster waiting patently in silence for her to continue. Albus Dumbledore could see the tiredness penetrating Ashla's face; the lines of old age evident in the corners of her eyes and along her skin. Her hands shook a little around the teacup; her six-foot braid seemed dank and limp. Not good signs in a woman whose career was based around her seemingly impenetrable veneer.

He'd known the Providence for sometime, having worked with her early in his career, often looking to her unwavering spirit in the dark times that had passed for assurance; for a reason to continue on the path he'd chosen along with the others. But this woman that sat before him now seemed to hold no trace of the optimistic albeit sarcastic Ms Ashla Morgan he'd known before.

The two of them were seated in Albus's comfortable quarters, with only each other and Fawkes the phoenix for company. Face down in front of them lay evidence of their separate brainstorming, a curious collection of squiggles and lines, English and Latin combining to create what they saw as the only logical plan in face of what was to happen. Voldemort's uprising. Dumbledore sighed and placed a hand on hers.

"You've no need to apologise, Ashla."

"I pulled you out of the feast! I should have at least had the decency to let you…" a tear slipped down her pale face and she smirked humourlessly. "I haven't cried in years."

"Voldemort's return is no laughing matter, and considering what you've told me…" If what she said can be trusted, he thought. If she'd received this information through Serendipity, one could not help but think it was all an elaborate ruse, played out on the table in an attempt to deflect from the actual return to power of the Dark Lord. His thoughts were stopped, however, as he noticed she was quietly bawling her eyes out in front of him.

"Let them come, my dear. Let them come." Albus' hand was comforting against hers as she let out the tirade of tears that had been threatening to flow all night. Helplessly, Ashla fell to the ground sobbing, still holding his hand as her body wracked with silent sobs. "Oh, Ashla." He sat on the floor and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, letting her head fall against his chest. "Why have you taken this on alone?"

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The prefect badge glinted evilly at her across the room. Prefect. The word made the bile crawl up into her neck and for a sharp moment, Hermione thought she was going to throw up.

Granted, she knew that this was her Hogwarts fate, as did her peers. Standing in the Great Hall, a beam on her face, as Dumbledore pinned the luminous emblem of perfect school behaviour onto her spotless blazer, she would be all ready to tackle the last years of her wizarding education with gusto and brilliance. Graduate with honours, marry a nice wizard, pop out some kids, wahey, go team Granger.

"Sigh." Melodramatic to say the least, Hermione scowled. Who verbally said 'sigh'? Honestly. The thing wasn't even a word, more like an expulsion of breath, or a reaction created from an action…okay. Thinking way too hard about that. She shook her head slightly, drawing her knees up close to her chin. Thinking way too hard about everything, really, she mused. Her trusty notebook lay next to her on the plush, royal blue bed cover, a full quill positioned so not to roll on to the covers and stain them with the rich ink. A letter to Viktor had turned into a self-confessed tirade, her muddied thoughts pouring out onto the paper like a waterfall.

Nice visuals, she thought wryly. What's next, a frickin' love sonnet, a la Ginny?

Hermione's jaw dropped. Obviously, that wasn't a typically Granger-esque thought that just occurred, and Hermione was quite aware of this little fact. She sat there, shocked. Where on Earth had that come from? Again, she shook her head a little. Not that it wasn't unfounded, she thought. Ginny's childish behaviour in regards Harry and her pre-school crush on him was certainly an insult to women, if not humankind as a whole. No wonder he avoided the youngest Weasley like the plague whenever they stayed at the Burrow. Hermione smirked. If I had an annoying pest of a girl chasing me around like a jackal on the scent for blood, I'd be bloody wary too.

Woah. Consciously, Hermione stood up from the bed and walked to the mirror, her face a mixture of shock and worry. Something was seriously wrong, she thought, as she searched for it in the reflection. The girl who looked back at her was pretty, if not plain. One void of makeup, she reasoned, and one with enough hair to ensure that baldness didn't run in her family. A translucent girl. Invisible, though visible enough to be seen as 'one of the guys'.

A sudden thought oozed maliciously into her head. Fuck them. A smirk crossed her face. Does this have to be the way her schooling turns out? Lap-lackey to two absentminded pseudo-heroes? Plain, vanilla cream Hermione Granger?

Hell no.

And with that, something inside her suddenly snapped.

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"You don't have to leave -" Ashla looked up from the trunk, her expression determined. They'd gone from discussing their dual plans to her sudden need to flee. Dumbledore's mind ached at wondering where her reasoning was at.

"I do. I need to speak to Serendipity, to Gage! I need to hear what the Fates are saying, Albus!" Slamming the lid down forcefully, she turned to the old wizard. "I can't sit by and let Voldemort return."

Albus looked past the disguise of youth and beauty she had given herself and saw who the Providence really was - an old soul, born before time existed, her only constant feature her coiling hair. And for the first time, he wondered what her real motivations were for coming to the school in guise of a professor.

"The Fates will see me coming." Her wry voice broke through his gaze. "That's the problem with them - you can never take them by surprise." Forcing a smile, Albus leaned into her and hugged her deeply. Separating, a sad smile played across her lips.

"I love you, Albus. Whatever may happen, remember that."

With that, she left the school without a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and with Albus Dumbledore more confused than ever before.

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Determined to find Hermione and find out what the hell was going on with her, Ron and Harry strode up the stairs that lead to the Gryffindor common room.

"Maybe it's a girl thing," Ron suggested, panting slightly. Harry shrugged.

"All we know is that she's having this quarter-life crisis thing where she freaks out if we even look at her. There's something up, Ron." Running a hand through his already-messy hair, Harry sighed. "You know her as well as I do. She's not going to talk unless we pummel it out of her."

Quietly, so not to draw attention to themselves, Harry and Ron stuck their head into the girl's dormitory. Nothing there, except for a pad of paper and a prefect badge that was left on Hermione's bed. Guiltily, Harry picked up the notebook and started reading it, recognising their friend's distinctive writing.

Dear Viktor, it started.

I am still buzzing from our holidays! You opened me up to a whole new world, one filled with much more than the regular, boring, mundane life I have to endure here. Stuck beside Harry and Ron, living up to the standards everyone has come to expect from me, being the insufferable know-it-all while other girls get to giggle and gossip and flirt with boys! I'm living the life of a thirty year old spinster.

Lord knows that isn't the problem - as if you'd want to be like Lavender, Ginny and Parvati. The problem lays in the simple fact that there is nothing here for me anymore. I stood in the Great Hall tonight, having my prefect badge pinned to my blazer and Viktor, I wanted to cry! I wanted to demand something from my peers, something that even I have no idea what it is.

I wanted to tell them who I'd become over the summer, that Hermione Granger was no longer a two dimensional extension of the Potter Trio, that I was living and breathing and growing before their very eyes. I wasn't who I was when I started here. I'm not even the girl they said goodbye to two months ago. But do you think Harry, Ron and everyone else sees it? No. They are too concerned with themselves, with the mendacity they consider lives.

I don't fit in here anymore. "Miss Granger" has given way for someone, I am not even sure who. The summer gave me strength, gave me a reason to look forward. A feeling I can only describe as exuberance coasts when I think of what we achieved in the Alps.

Draco Malfoy claims he saw me there. Simply, he will have to be silenced. I cannot risk people finding out about our dalliances, about what we did and how we did it. A Gryffindor seen with a Durmstrang? Wouldn't it just kill them all to know…

The letter ended with a blot of ink, signifying her hasty end. Harry swallowed heavily, and passed the book to Ron, who, in turn and after reading the epistle did the same. Shocked, Harry was first to speak.

"What the hell is this about?"

"I don't know. All I know is that we have to find out, Harry." A cynical look crossed Harry's face as he addressed the pale Ron.

"How? 'Hey, 'Mione! Read the personal letter you left on your bed, which we found whilst prowling around the girl's dorm without anyone's permission!'" He feigned sarcastic interest. "'What's that all about, then?' Come on, I really doubt it, Ron."

"Yeah, alright, you don't have to be Malfoy about it," Ron glared. "What do you suggest we do, Oh King of All Good Suggestions?"

Harry was at a loss, too. It was obvious from Hermione's thoughts that she was unhappy with not only them, but the entire school and that she had been a part of something that could potentially get her in trouble. Viktor Krum? Durmstrang student, practicer of the Dark Arts? Hermione in an emotionally vulnerable position? It looked bad, from where Harry was standing. They needed to get into her head. Glancing at the letter's last paragraph again, he had a suggestion.

"Well?" Ron was getting impatient.

"What else can we do?" Harry pointed to the book. "We have to ask Malfoy."

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With robes bellowing behind him, Severus Snape crossed the plush grounds with nary a look around him. Heading towards the teacher's dormitories, his mind was racing. He had a potion, one so nasty he could barely stand to be near it on the boil and it would not pay to leave it any longer. That's all he needed, he shook his head. Passed over again for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, feast ruined, potion stuffed up - well, it would run with the theme of the night.

A figure lay in front of him, dark against the shadowy grass. He stopped, wary. The man was dressed in what he could only describe as the clothes of a peasant; a white shirt was tucked haphazardly into black, cord pants, held up it seemed only by luck and a pair of red suspenders. A thick overcoat fanned out around him, partially covering a battered saddle-bag and a couple of books.

It was like he'd fallen from the sky. And, Snape surmised, that is probably what occurred. No mode of transport was visible he noted, as he glanced systematically around the surrounding grounds, and there was little evidence of magic at work. Stepping over the lifeless body, he lifted the man's head up by the scruff of his neck.

A smiling face looked back at him, all teeth and boy-band hair. Snape suppressed a squeal as he recoiled his hand like he'd been slapped. It only took him a moment to realise what had occurred.

"Gage." The man in question grinned and pulled himself up into a sitting position opposite the Potions Master, who was now staring at him with thinly-disguised dislike.

"Hello, Severus! How are you?" He threw his bag solidly at Snape's chest, who just managed to catch it. "Wouldn't fancy giving us a hand into the castle, would you?" A sneer answered the question. Unfazed, Gage stood and gathered his books. "That's a sport!"

Snape, amazed at the weight of the small bag, observed the Fate. "Why are you here, Gage? Aren't you supposed to be guessing people's weight and having dinner with the Bearded Lady?"

"You never change, do you?" He slapped the Potions Master firmly on the back and laughed heartily. Abruptly, his demeanour changed. Suddenly, his eyes became haunted, his body language closed and his lips thin as he started walking briskly up towards the overshadowing castle. "Follow me, won't you?" Snape started to protest but Gage cut him off. "Your potion is fine. It needed a little more time to simmer, anyway."

It was those small, annoying comments that drove Snape batty. Having known the Fate for sometime and working with him closely, Severus came to love those moments of solidarity when they were apart, when he didn't have to know what was coming around the corner at every single second of the day. When Gage had gone to tend to his sister Serendipity in the late eighties, it was a welcome existence. Now, he observed the Fate and his return coldly.

"Thank you for your insight. Will you be reading my tea leaves next?" A mischievous, familiar grin appeared as abruptly as before.

"Tarot cards are next, Sev. You know that."

"Amusing as ever, Gage. Seriously, why are you here?" They had reached Snape's Potions dungeon, and with a forceful hand, Snape felt himself pushed blindly into the ink black room and the door slam behind him. "Lumos," came the stock-standard spell from behind him and suddenly he could see the anxious Gage had replaced the light-hearted one again.

"Why are you here?" Snape repeated, as Gage suddenly heaved one of the books at him.

The front page, leather bound and printed in pure gold read the words "Registrar of Void Books". Quizzically, he flipped it open before turning his gaze back to the Fate.

Gage swallowed, rubbed a hand across his forehead and started pacing methodically across the stone floor. "In the past two weeks, three books have been listed as void. Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy. And Tom Marvolo Riddle."

What? Snape thought sharply. He echoed his thought verbally, and was given a piercing look as a response. "It's true. That's why I'm here." Snape's mind whirled with questions.

"I don't understand why these Books were taken, though. Why these boys?" Gage stopped and looked him straight in the eye.

"Don't you understand? Don't you see it?" Severus shook his head and Gage ran his hands again through his floppy hair. He pointed at the Registrar, a hard unmoving look evident in his eyes.

"I don't understand, Gage. What is wrong?" With a jab at the book, Gage punctuated himself.

"Severus. Someone out there is trying to play God."