The Mask of Anarchy

The Mask of Anarchy

Chapter One: A Sad Day for 'Mione

Ron was gone.... Hogwarts had never loooked so grim to Harry as it did at this moment. Hermione had been silent ever since the funeral had started. Harry simply sat next to her while Dumbledore gave his speech, but by the end of it Hermione had started to sob silently. Harry did not feel like comforting anyone. He stared forward, sinking into his fury at Voldemort and the fates. If only Ron hadn't been so stubborn...he'd still be alive to laugh and get into trouble with Harry and Hermione. At this thought Harry remembered that Hermione was probably taking this day harder than any of them.

It had been a very rough year for Hermione. Towards the end of their fifth year, Ron and Hermione had started dating. Hermione was not certain about dating such a good friend, but it wasn't something she could avoid. Ron's affection for her was only too obvious....well, to everyone but her. Even Harry had known. Ron cared too much for her in the end. That was the reason he was gone, thought Hermione as Dumbledore addressed the mourners on the dangers of the Death Eaters.

Harry's cold attitude had been troubling to everyone lately. He spent much of his time these days alone by the lake. Even the giant squid avoided his gaze whenever possible. Hermione had seen him sitting beneath the tree that had become the trio's favorite place to be outsde of the Quidditch pitch. Harry was so unapproachable. Hermione was worried; she was certain Harry was concocting some plan to avenge his friend, and she was certain he would not include her. Those two had never let her do anything too dangerous.

Both Harry and Hermione were awakened from their musings when Dumbledore stopped talking. The silence in the room was only emphasized by the occassional sniffling of Molly Weasley, barely audible through the cloak of Aurthur who sat stone-faced clutching possessively to his wife. An old witch from the wizarding funeral home stood and asked if there were any others who would like to say something in memory of the deceased. No one stood, but everyone glanced at Harry in hopes that he would say something. Harry didn't move but stared at the stone floor as though avoiding the eyes of those he could sense knew what he was thinking.

Fred and George stood after a moment's hesitation. "Ron was one of the best brothers anyone could ask for," said Fred.

"He could be a nusance from time to time," added George.

"But what brother isn't?"

"We are all going to miss Ron"

"But we shouldn't sit here and drag on the sadness...we should look to the future and focus on the task at hand."

There followed soft mutterings of agreeance from many of the mourners. Everyone stood and began to form a line in front of the closed red and gold wooden box that held the remains of Ronald Weasley. The line moved slowly across the front of the Great Hall and filed out of a side door into the Entrance Hall. Once the line had finished its procession, the old witch from the funeral home lifted the small box and carried it swiftly out. The mourners stood and watched as the box was placed in a carriage and driven toward Hogsmead to the wizarding cemetary.

The Great Hall was refurnished by the professors, and the guests piled in. Refreshments were served, memories shared, but no one approached the small table where Harry and Hermione sat quietly holding hands without speaking. Hermione's tear-stained cheeks said enough of her agony at losing her first love, but Harry was, as ever, unreadable. His face was darker than the night sky reflected on the ceiling.

Hardly any time had passed since the funeral ceremony, and all the people attending began to filter out. Soon enough, the only ones left were the Weasleys and the Hogwarts faculty. There were uncomfortable gances towards Harry and Hermione's table as each of them decided to take their leave. It seemed as if everyone had one excuse or another to avoid speaking to them.

The rest of the night passed without event. Harry and Hermione retired to their rooms after the Weasleys had left for Hogsmeade. The Weasley's were put up in rooms at the Hog's Head, along with some others present at the funeral. Harry and Hermione were staying in the Gryffindor dormitories until the next school term actually began, only two weeks away. They weren't the only ones either. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom were also staying, as well as the Patil twins. All of them went to bed without saying much, but they all slept fitfully.

The next morning dawned cold and rainy. The students all rose quietly and proceeded to the Great Hall for breakfast. As it had been the Christmas of their third year, Harry noticed that all the house tables had been removed with a smaller round table in place of them. At this table sat Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and a younger, unfamiliar witch with long reddish hair and tiny wire glasses. The others presumably hadn't risen from bed yet, but no one asked otherwise. Dumbledore invited them all to sit down at once and dig in to the meal on the table before them. As each of them sat down, plates and cutlery appeared as if out of thin air. McGonagall was in deep conversation with the unknown witch when she looked up suddenly as if she had just noticed the students had joind the table.

"Oh dear, I am sorry. Students, this is Alethea Pollux. She has applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position here at Hogwarts," said McGonagall quickly addressing their curious gazes.

"Nice to meet you all," replied Alethea. "I hope you all are feeling somewhat better. I heard about your friend."

"Thank you," said Hermione. " It is nice to meet you, too." Her voice sounded pleasant, but her face showed her upset at the mention of Ron. The students did no more talking after that, but Professor McGonagall and Ms. Pollux talked animatedly to each other. Most of those at the table seemed to realize that talking was the last thing the students were interested in doing. Everyone finished their food and went their seperate ways.

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The weather outside was warm, but Hermione's heart felt cold. Standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she watched the orange and red leaves fall silently from the trees. She wanted to go for a walk by herself, away from the pitying stares. She stepped over the threshold of the forest and wound her way through the trees.

Away from the castle, her tears flowed unchecked. Sobbing, she found herself in a small clearing. The golden sunlight peaked through the colored trees. Hermione sat on a fallen tree and cried. She couldn't stop the memories of the past few days as the flooded her mind. She remembered the last time she saw Ron and his goofy smile. The last time they visited Hogmeade. The last gift Ron had given her, a book. Remembering the book brought a new wave of memories. The book had been a collection of Hermione's favorite poems, by both wizards and muggles.

Ron's body, or at least part of it, had been found in a black bag behind some old crates in Diagon Alley. An old wizard had found it while looking for his pocket sneak-o-scope that had rolled away from him. The Ministry of Magic had searched only a few hours when they found the rest of his body outside Borgin & Burkes in an old wand box. Hermione had heard that the box was discovered when one of the ministry officials lifted it, and it began to leak a blackish red goo. The only reason anyone knew it was Ron was due to the large amounts of red hair, and the larger pieces of skin were covered in freckles.

The dripping box had an old bit of parchment tied to the top that couldn't be traced to any suspects. The authorites from the Ministry thought the paper may have been a letter of some sort. All it contained were a few lines of a smudged poem and the letters M-I-O-N. The lines of the poem were as follows:

    I met Murder on the way---

    He had a mask like a Castlreagh---

    Very smooth he looked, yet grim;

    Seven bloodhounds followed him:

The letter was given to Hermione as the letters resembled her name. The handwriting was not Ron's. Hermione knew his handwriting very well, but the Ministry of Magic would not listen to her when she told them. Hermione feared the Order of the Pheonix was recieving the loudest message from You-Know-Who that they had ever gotten before.

Hermione walked up to the castle slowly. She pondered the poem that had been so carefully picked out. She knew it to be a muggle poem, but she couldn't guess who wrote it or even how she knew it was a muggle poem. These thoughts haunted her all the way to the common room.

Her first thought upon entering her room was to get out the book that Ron had given her. She flipped absently to the first poem. It was the "Mask of Anarchy" by Percy Shelley. There were the four lines from the letter making up the second stanza of the poem.

Hermione' s fears had been realized, even though she wasn't certain she had been thinking them. She knew for sure that the person who killed Ron knew about the book.

"Why else would it be the very first poem, and who possibly knew about the book?" she thought to herself. Quickly, she gathered all of her things a headed straight for the library to look up the significance of the poem.

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Chapter Two: Alethea Praesepe Pollux

Alethea had woken that morning to terrible butterflies in her stomach. "Fire-breathing butterflies," she muttered to herself as she pulled herself out of bed and threw on her robe.

This was supposed to be the day that she would be getting to know the other professors. She had been warned when she had arrived by Floo the previous night that some of the professors would not take kindly to her wanting to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.

Alethea had encountered the "some professors" at breakfast in the Great Hall. She had finally gotten up the nerve to go down to breakfast, but soon wished she had not when Professor Snape came storming in the room, cloak billowing, quickly taking the place between Professor Dumbledore and herself.

Snape's black robes accented his pale skin, and his greasy black mane framed his somewhat large nose. Alethea found him at once frightening and fascinating. However, it became apparent from his glaring stare that he did not want her taking the job. Alethea could read that plainly on his face. She was saved from his scathing scowl when Professor McGonagall took the seat next to her, and struck up conversation.

Their conversation took up most of breakfast with only a small break when Alethea was introduced to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. It was rumored around the wizarding college that Miss Granger was offered a full scholarship and an opportunity to skip the rest of her education at Hogwarts in favor of a more challenging one in college. She had refused this by saying that she still learned something new every day at Hogwarts.

The morning's events ran smoothly, and soon Alethea was summoned to the Headmaster's office for the first of her interviews. Things went well, and she was able to answer every question he threw at her. He informed her upon ending the interview of the faculty vote. In order for Hogwarts to avoid the animosity between Professors that it had harbored in past years, Professor Dumbledore had decided to let the teachers vote, the majority deciding whether or not to hire the new teacher.

Alethea was curious to see who would vote against her. She was certain that Professor Snape would, but she knew knew from the beginning that he hated the idea of anyone having the Defense Against the Dark Arts job other than himself. She suspected he would vote a resounding "no."

"But will there be anyone else?" she questioned herself.

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It was a long day, no matter how smoothly it had gone. After interviews with the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, there were school governors to impress and ministry officials to persuade. After the business with that Umbridge woman, no one wanted to take any chances. "Who knew getting a teaching job would be so taxing?" Alethea thought to herself as she slowly prodded up the marble staircase that led to her guest chambers at Hogwarts.

Alethea had spent the last eight years studying Defense Against the Dark Arts at a rather private wizarding college. After receiving her leaving certificates and teaching permits, she applied for teaching positions in wizarding schools all over Europe. Hogwarts was the only one with an open position in her field of study. Alethea reached her chambers without even realizing she was there until Sir Cadogan, a small knight with a large personality, greeted her courteously.

"My good gentle lady, might I inquire the password?" he asked with a quick but sincere bow.

"Fizzing Whizzbees," replied Alethea in an exhausted voice. The painting in which Sir Cadogan stood swung forward soundlessly on old, rusty hinges showing a short tunnel ending in a pleasantly lit sitting room. Everything in the room conveyed the Hogwarts crest, causing the occupant of the room to never forget where they were staying. The large red and gold crest adorned the gilded mirror above the stone fireplace, and it was even embroidered into the backs of the five over-stuffed armchairs that dominated much of the sitting room itself. Alethea continued in past the comfortable-looking sitting room and went straight to her bed chamber, wanting nothing more than to fall into the large four-poster bed.

Albus Dumbledore had informed her shortly after her arrival in his office the previous night that there were five bedrooms with separate doors attached to the the single sitting room in the guest quarters. Each room represented one of the four Houses of Hogwarts or another room much like the sitting room for those guests that did not attend Hogwarts previously. Upon further inquiry, she had learned that the rooms could change by reading the person entering. The threshold of the bedroom worked like the Sorting Hat, and gave the room the proper decorations. The separate rooms also allowed several guests to use the chambers at one time, given that they weren't all from the same Houses.

"Doesn't always work though..." recalled Dumbledore.

Indeed it did not, for Alethea had been a Gryffindor in her Hogwarts days. She thought on this as she stepped onto the cushiony green carpet and walked to the wardrobe with its serpent-shaped handles. The whole room reflected Slytherin House, both in color and decoration, from the carpet to the bedspread to the furniture itself. Alethea grabbed her nightgown and stepped into the adjoining bathroom.

The walls were silvery-grey marble with deep veins of blue. They reminded her of the mermaids she had studied in school. A large mirror stood in one corner, but the room was consumed mostly by the enormous green porceline tub. Instead of clawed feet, the feet were formed into the heads of snakes with stones of amber and garnet for eyes that glittered in the blue flames from the wall sconces.

Alethea took relish in her bath, but she could not help noticing the mirror. More often than not, she avoided gazing at herself in the mirror. The person in the mirror disappointed her. Her skin was a pasty white that only showed the slightest hint of life in her reddish freckles that faintly scattered themselves across her arms and knees. She was not small or dainty in any way and felt she could do to lose a few pounds... everywhere. There were only two aspects of herself that she found remotely worthwhile, her grey eyes and her red hair.

After a ten minute session of self-criticism, Alethea retired to her bed with a copy of her favorite book, Quidditch Through the Ages. She soon fell asleep with dreams of broomsticks and Snidgets.