Accidents of Circumstance

Chapter 17: The Beginning of the End

Sometimes, it was very hard to chart the progress of those days. To Harry, everything had been a blur. There were various classes, Quidditch practice, Neo-Pictish tutoring and additional practice in charms and hexes. He was always busy, and he was feeling as though he were stretched too thin to retain everything properly. There were no more breaks, as though Regina felt an urgency in the air, and wanted him to be as ready as possible.

The Death Eater attacks were in all sorts of places. London neighborhoods, Scottish Lowlands, Welsh neighborhoods known to house clusters of anti-Death Eater activity. There were mass killings disguised as ordinary Muggle bombs. The boys with glamour kept appearing, messages carved into their chests, completely drained of blood. Harry wondered how he had kept missing that detail, focusing only on his face plastered over that of the innocent child. He was sick of the death, sick of the evil that crept into his dreams. He didn't have any nightmares causing him pain in his scar, but that didn't mean anything. Voldemort's followers didn't always need his direction to create a panic. These people keep dying for me, and I'm locked up in here, safe as houses, more a symbol than anything else.

Regina had asked McGonagall and Flitwick to help her train Harry. She had explained to Harry once or twice that they had become her closest friends on staff, since a few of the other teachers were wary of her. Sinistra, Vector, Sprout, Pomfrey and Snape seemed to get along just fine, but she always hesitated when speaking of them. Regina absolutely couldn't stand Trelawney or Weidmuller. In fact, Regina had made sure that Harry had perfected the curses and hexes he should have learned in Weidmuller's Defense Against the Dark Arts class before moving on to the more complicated Neo-Pictish and English curses.

Flitwick was an excellent dueler. Harry had been surprised to find him a serious opponent, since Flitwick was so tiny and friendly. But Harry felt his reflexes tested, and his repertoire of curses and hexes were growing enough that he felt almost equal to Flitwick. He was looking forward to those late night duels in the Charms classroom. Regina and McGonagall in the meantime were conferring over a few notepads filled with Regina's loopy handwriting. While Harry was battling an all-too-serious Flitwick, they were planning out strategy. What little Harry could understand while still concentrating on the duel made some sense, but not all. Apparently, all of the professors were being discussed as though a siege were planned.

Harry threw a confundus charm at Flitwick, then broke one of the chairs next to him. Flitwick stumbled into the splintered mass and shouted in pain. When Harry repaired the chair, it reformed around Flitwick, trapping him.

Then suddenly Harry noticed that splinters were trying to get through the teacher in order to recreate the chair in its entirety. Horrified, Harry shouted "Finite incantem!" loud enough to startle everyone in the room. He rushed over to Flitwick, shouting "Are you all right, Professor?!"

Flitwick was laughing, however, pulling himself out of the ruined chair. "Brilliant idea, my boy! Using simple spells no one would think could be of use in a duel..." Harry helped Flitwick out of the mass of splinters. "Quite nice, quite nice."

"I'm so sorry, Professor, I didn't know it would hurt you!"

"Nonsense! A few splinters are worth it." Flitwick charmed the splinters out of his skin, still laughing. "What a wonderful idea."

"Just remember, a Death Eater wouldn't laugh," Regina said, looking up from her notepad. She had two pens stuck in a bun as though they were hair sticks, one tucked behind an ear and one in hand. McGonagall had a self-inking quill in hand. "You can't stop if you do that to a Death Eater."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. McGonagall was looking at the pad in front of her, a shocked expression on her face. All he could see were black lines looking like a starburst in the middle of a box. He walked over to her. "Professor?"

McGonagall looked up, and tried to smile for Harry's sake. "Are you tired?" she asked, trying to sound as maternal as she always did. "We could stop for the evening."

"What are you worried about?"

McGonagall looked at Regina, not sure what to say. Flitwick came up next to Harry and patted his back. "It's the beginning of the end, my boy. We all must be prepared."

***

Ron stared at the book in front of him. There was a sense of growing horror building up inside of him, and he didn't think Hermione felt it. She was thrilled by an academic chase, by looking for something new and absorbing it. Ron understood this, and even was charmed by it on most days. She was enthusiastic about learning in ways Ron could never be, and she didn't take magic for granted the way he could. He was realizing that he was becoming more appreciative of the life he led because of Hermione, and he could appreciate Muggle artifacts better now. Ron didn't realize how much he had absorbed from Hermione until recently, talking in the common room until Harry returned from his extra lessons at midnight.

Now he was starting to wonder if that enthusiasm for study would get them all killed.

It was in the dustiest book in a dark corner of the Restricted Section. Titled Blood on the Stone: Ancient magicks and their purpose, the book contained many blood magic spells within its covers. The problem was, most of the spells were clearly Dark Arts, and could do untold damage to both the caster and the object of the spell.

We're going to die, that's all. When the Death Eaters come for us, we're going to die because none of these work right...

"Ron?" Hermione asked gently. "Is everything all right?"

Ron clasped her hand in his tightly. "Promise me you won't use these spells, Mione. You have to promise me."

"What?" She skimmed the page Ron had been reading and paled on seeing the spell at the top of the page. "I promise."

The top of the page had been discussing a spell known as "Flower of Darkness," which was often used to bind one person's will to another:

...one full cauldron of wizard blood set to boil. Add the powdered pomegranate seeds one teaspoon at a time. Once all ten have been added, stir continuously for ten minutes, until the blood turns black... Paint the flower symbol on the forehead of the intended Servant, and chant the following incantation... Once complete, the skin will slough from the Servant completely. This must be saved; if burned or otherwise destroyed, the spell will be broken and in turn the Owner shall bleed the equivalent of two cauldrons of blood over the next fortnight in payment. Should another break the spell, the method of payment is left up to this outsider to decide. It will still be blood, but its payment may vary...

"These spells could hurt us, Mione. I don't want you hurt..."

Hermione threw her arms around Ron and kissed his neck. "I'm always going to be there for you, Ron. I won't turn to Dark Arts, I promise."

"It feels like bad things are coming, Mione... I don't want anything happening to you..."

Hermione pulled back slightly and smiled at Ron tremulously. "Well, you're going to be there for me, too, right?"

"Anything," Ron whispered, then kissed her softly on the lips. "I love you."

They had never said the words before, and Hermione nodded. "I love you."

They kissed once more, then looked at the piles of books around them in dismay.

***

Pansy was lying on a couch near the fire in the Slytherin common room, using her wand to change the color of her nail polish. Draco was at a table, doing his Potions homework in silence, not even looking up to see who was near him. Bored with the little beauty game, she left her nails at their original dark green and stood up. She sat down next to Draco, but he didn't even acknowledge her existence. "Draco, what's happening to you?"

Draco looked up, face blank. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, Millicent, Violet and I were talking last night, waiting for Cressida to get back into the dorm, and we started talking about you." Pansy paused, but Draco's face remained eerily blank. "We're worried about you. You don't talk to anyone here anymore. You aren't excited about anything, you don't even talk about that teacher you like so much. It's like you're pulling away from us."

Draco could feel her insistence like a weight upon his temples. Ginny had warned him that his classmates would notice his absence and his silence. He hadn't listened, knowing he didn't feel all that comfortable with their cattiness any longer. "I've grown up," Draco said shortly.

Pansy looked hurt, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care. "We've known you all your life! All of our parents are friends, we've all had parties together, we all go to classes together, we all know each other."

It shows how little you really know me, Draco thought. His features were very still, as if sculpted from pale marble. "I don't need silly chatter as much," he said in reply. His voice sounded dead to him. "I just need to study."

"Your father can't have yelled at you that much about being second in our year."

Being in Slytherin is about pride and ambition. Where the hell are yours?! Draco could hear his father yelling in the back of his mind. "You have no idea," he murmured, bending down to look at his parchment again. "You really don't."

"Draco, we do care, you know."

Draco looked up at Pansy. They had grown up together, that was true. His parents and her parents had been best friends, and ecstatic that they had children who could marry. Draco thought Pansy was too plain and boring for him. It was strange; he had once thought of her as the inevitable, and had been resigned to it. She wasn't terrible, after all, just not someone he thought he could grow to love over time. And she did care, in her own way. Maybe she could delude herself into thinking it was love, that it wasn't just duty and money and lineage binding them together. Pansy never had aspired to much, but what she did want she worked for. He had to respect her for that.

Draco found himself patting her hand gently. "I'm changing faster than you, that's all. Maybe you'll catch up soon."

"You're getting strange, Draco," Pansy whispered, eyes wide with confusion.

"Maybe. I don't feel strange, though. Just impatient."

"Our parents will come, they'll put things right," Pansy whispered, bending her head close to his. "You'll see. They'll fix everything."

"What if they can't?" Draco said softly. "What if there's nothing to fix?"

"But there has to be. Hasn't your father told you of the plans about the Ministry?"

Draco blinked. "Plans about the Ministry?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you've forgotten. And you say I can be thick," she said mischievously. "They're going to get rid of the Muggle lovers and Mudbloods in the Ministry next week. They're going to bomb it."

"Friday?" Draco guessed.

"After lunch," Pansy said with a nod. "See? They're going to fix everything."

Ginny's father, Draco thought, feeling his insides clench. And her brother Percy. "Do you know who's in on it?"

"Well, both of our fathers, of course. They have to place the bombs. And some of their friends, the fat ugly one and the skinny scary-looking one that always comes over to talk." Pansy wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought. "And Crabbe and Goyle's fathers, of course. And I think Goyle's mother is also helping."

"What about my mother?" Draco asked, then wondered why he did. His mother never got involved. It was always too messy, too beneath her dignity.

Pansy pulled away, looking confused. "You didn't know about it, did you?"

"I just have a lot on my mind now," Draco said, knowing it sounded lame. "I'm trying to do better, and it takes up too much time."

"Well, soon enough, you won't have to worry about Mudbloods beating your scores."

With a concerned peck on the cheek, Pansy left the table to return to her dorm room. He stared at his parchment for a bit, then rolled it up. "Crabbe, Goyle. If anyone asks, I'm going to Snape's office for help on my essay." They grunted, then returned to their game of Exploding Snap in the corner.

Snape was a spy. He would know what to do about the information Draco was going to give him. He would help keep Ginny's family safe. He had to.

***

When the following Friday came, no one was in their offices after lunch. Important papers were removed, to be filed elsewhere, at undisclosed locations. Several people had not arrived all day, and were safely ensconced in their homes. Those who were sympathizers to Muggles and the Muggleborn witches and wizards had ample warning, and had slowly recreated a new set of Ministry offices at several different locations. All of them were fully warded and required three different identity checks. Alastor Moody was proud.

The bombs went off in empty offices.

***

Tempar:

The secret to never dying was never growing old. The secret to never growing old was to possess a completely inhuman humanity. But the price to pay would be too high, too complex, too painful. Humans are better off without this.

Trust me, the little fallen angel will grow her wings before it's through, or else fall to earth and shatter like pieces of glass. She will have to find herself in the heart of the garden and find the seeds of her own creation. And only when she knows the truth of the garden will she find all that she truly seeks.

Yes, my darkling darling love. We said we could care for you. We said we were there for you, and we would not take too much. Did we lie? Did we take more than we could give? Of course not. We gave and took in equal measure, no more and no less than what each of us were willing to trade. You didn't lose too much in the deal.

*

The promises we made were equal to the promises that were kept. The time has been weighed and measured accordingly, cut to the proper length. The time to act is now, and the time to thread is now, and the time to weave is now, and the time to cut is now. There is no other time but now.

These are the seeds of creation, dark and light, mixed together to form the whole expanse of matter and time and space. This is the heart of the garden, the time out of mind, the center of the labyrinth, the end of the world. Here is the center of everything, where all can be seen if you only know how to look.

This is the time of watchfulness. This is the time of awareness. All we ever have is time, all we ever need is time. We cannot touch your world, cannot breach its defenses and pass through unscathed. You will open a path to our realm, you will begin the gate. When we bridge it, we will have you to thank, and we know what we must do.

*

We watch, we the three that are one at once, we watch and wait. The end of the road for us will come, and you will help bring about a revolution.

We are ready.

And soon you will be, too.

***

Key West, Florida:

There was a chill in her bones that was unexpected; age had never felt this way before, and not in the sunny southern lands. There was a sense of expectation, a sense of something crawling over her skin. She never expected fate to turn out this way, for the future to be like this. Now she wasn't sure that Vision was enough to make it through the next few weeks, since the tangled skein of fate was getting much harder to read. She knew that much had happened already, and much more would happen still. There were scars along the poor girl's arms and mind and eyes and the hole in her chest that passed for a heart. The poor girl pretended she was still fine, and she had almost fully convinced herself; she could no longer see or feel the scars. Her hands appeared clean, no starburst and silver threads to serve as reminders.

Those with the Sight grow accustomed to multiple time streams unfolding at once, at multiple realities and outcomes. They learn to see into the Tempar realm, the realm of the Weird Sisters, the Silvered Sisters, the Fates, the Erinyes, the Eumenides, the Furies. Those with the Sight over time learn to live with the knowledge that they are merely tools of the Tempar themselves, that whatever path they choose to follow has been ordained.

"My lady?"

The Queen turned to face her Lady in Waiting, the Duchess of the Deep Wave. The Queen was beginning to feel her age, the press of centuries upon her skin. "What is it?"

"You haven't said anything to the people in so long. They begin to worry."

"I don't say anything anymore because nothing is important anymore. We took on human flesh for the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. She will arrive soon. We must prepare for her," the Queen said, repeating her earlier orders.

"My lady..." The Duchess took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I'm not used to saying anything, because I've trained myself not to say anything, to try not to feel anything. I don't look like anything bothers me because I don't let it bother me. I don't think about it. I push everything aside somewhere deep and I just don't deal with it. I ignore things that happen, as if not acknowledging it will make it go away."

"Hyacinth..."

The Duchess continued, as if the Queen had not spoken. She had to finish quickly, before she lost her nerve. "But every once in a while, it has to come out. And if it builds up big enough, it hurts. It will physically hurt. And we all worry that there are no safe places left, that this human clan won't help us. How can they, when they are all but dead themselves? How can we find a home with them, how can we continue to survive, when all our fates are tied to a single human woman that can't keep her own peace?"

The Queen sighed. "Your fears are valid, Hyacinth, but they are not true."

"We fear it is, my lady."

"She belongs to the Tempar."

The Queen heard Hyacinth's indrawn breath, but took no joy in it. "She belongs to the Tempar more fully than I do, or my daughter does. She had been drawn into their substance and made anew to serve them. She has a purpose, as do we. Our dying clans will be bound together and together we will survive."

"My lady, the people need to know," Hyacinth choked.

"They cannot be set at ease. They would tell the seventh, and she cannot know what the Tempar means. She cannot know of the Three or their purpose."

"My lady, we worry."

The Queen turned to the Duchess. "Yes, Hyacinth, as well you should."

***

"Sometimes I don't think I'll make it. Sometimes I get afraid that everyone else will see that there's something hideously wrong with me and not accept me."

"Oh no, honey, no. That's not true!"

She continued as if there was no interruption. "It's not something I talk about, but it's there. There's always a fear of failure, of not being good enough, of not being worthy. That's what I meant when I said I felt stupid sometimes. It's not necessarily stupid as in not knowing anything, but stupid as in not good enough. That somehow I was never really good enough to be a part of the family, good enough to be wanted.

"And I just want to be wanted. I just want to be needed. I want to have a purpose, to not float aimlessly hoping I'll catch onto something and have it feel right."

"Gina, you have a wonderful job. You have a purpose in life, you do!"

"But I don't feel it. And I don't want much... I just want to be wanted. I don't think that's such a bad thing, such an evil thing. I don't think it makes me a traitor. I don't think it brands me a shiftless evil bitch."

I just want to be wanted.

Regina woke, gasping for air. She had been talking to Selphie in her dream, and she was twenty-one and wondering why another relationship had gone bad. Selphie could have said something then to calm her, but didn't. It would have sent her on a different path.

Regina whispered "Lumos," and the room brightened a little bit. Her bedroom desk was littered with plans to defend the castle in a siege, the teacher layout and the spread of curses and hexes, the right place to throw the black phoenix egg she had conjured in the Dreamscape. It would carry more disaster with it than any atom bomb, if she wanted it to.

Her computer was on, though the screen was off. She had distinctly remembered shutting it off completely the last time she had used it. Was Selphie showing off again?

Once the screen was on, it showed her word processor screen.

Tempar and Florida are ready. So are we. The time is upon us.

Regina felt herself shiver, a line of cold across her spine. She didn't feel ready.

***

Snape heard the knock on his door, and thought he was dreaming. Or that he was drunk, more likely. Between Draco suddenly feeding him stories of Death Eater activity or the meetings he was supposed to attend, Snape had been very busy. His exhaustion, however, often left him unable to sleep.

He opened the door and saw Regina in a button-down shirt, jeans and sneakers. "I need a walk to clear my head, but I don't want to be alone tonight. Can you come with me?"

"No one else could do it?"

"I didn't ask anyone else."

Somewhat cheered, Snape took his cloak. "Aren't you afraid of the cold?"

"I'm cold enough already," Regina said, her voice a low mumble. "My nightmares are picking up in frequency over the past two weeks. I can't really sleep all the night through anymore. I just... This is the first night I've needed company."

"You can come inside."

"No," Regina murmured, shaking her head. "I don't think I could."

He nodded, expecting that reaction. She was still skittish whenever they seemed to be growing closer than colleagues or friends. He knew what she was afraid of, and didn't press the issue any farther. He put on his cloak and escorted her out of the castle.

"They're coming, aren't they?" Snape asked her after they had already reached the lake. The moon was out, more than half full.

She nodded. "I told you about Selphie's message a few days ago... I don't know who I'm getting the dreams from anymore. They're just enough to keep me rattled so I can't fall back asleep." Regina didn't mention that she had battled with herself every night to see Snape, to fall back into the same pattern she had loved sixteen years ago. When she had nightmares then, he had always been there for whatever she needed. If it was conversation, a snack, a movie, a walk or a rousing bout of sex, he never belittled her for being afraid. She learned after the fact that he had demons of his own.

"Do you think we'll be ready?"

"I've been stepping up the training for Harry, and you know I've asked Minerva and Filius for help with that."

"They say he's made much progress," Snape replied in a noncommittal tone.

Regina nodded. "He really has. He's gotten creative, so that's a definite plus. I've drawn up various battle plans, catering to each professor's strengths."

"You're no general."

"No. But I'm not from here. It's less of a political thing to have me do it."

"So the Headmaster asked you?" Regina nodded. She stared at the lake glumly. "Do you think you're doing a good job?"

"I've been reading strategy books, history books, whatever I could get my hands on. I've been trying to puzzle out a few old prophecies, but not all of it is working well. I just don't know enough. But I'm trying. So far, everyone thinks the plans are okay. I've started adding in a few other people I don't know that Albus told me about. I'm hoping it'll work."

"Anyone I know?"

Regina shrugged. "I have no idea. They're arriving tomorrow, maybe Albus will introduce them at dinner. I just know their code names."

"You work too hard," Snape murmured, catching hold of her hand. She didn't move away, and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

"There's no one else."

Silence stretched out for a moment. "You used to like it when I told you stories."

"I used to believe in them," Regina murmured. She couldn't meet his eyes.

Snape paused for a moment, then began to speak. "Once upon a time, there was beautiful princess that didn't realize she was beautiful. She was useful, but didn't realize that she was. She had an inner grace, something that was very rare to find. She worked diligently, day in and day out, always worrying that something would go wrong, or she wouldn't be able to save everyone she cared about. She had ways to go and paths to take and infinity stretching out before her. She was capable of anything, and all that mattered was that the sun would rise in the morning and she would still be with her beloved and all would be well."

"Was it?" Regina prompted once Snape fell into silence.

"I think it was."

"But what else happened?"

"She had to make a choice between love and power, but in her own mind, there never was a difference between the two. By whatever name it went, the very center of her being was caring for others. She felt powerless if the caretaker role was in some way inadequate."

Regina looked uncomfortable with the story, and turned to face Snape. "It feels like something that I've done before. Is that a coincidence?"

"It's just a story, Gina."

"Sometimes I wonder about you..."

"I always wonder about you."

He said it so quietly she knew it had to be true. "Too many things happened between us, Sev. We can't go back."

"Let me finish the story. Maybe then you can sleep."

Regina nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Sometimes, she secretly wished to give up, to let someone else take over, make decisions and let her rest. She worked so hard that sometimes it seemed wonderful to be able to dissolve into a cocoon so fine and thin it looked like skin. Sometimes it carried the trace of beauty with it, that being carried was more elegant than walking or running, that it would be best for her, for everyone she ever had cared about. Let someone else assume control. Let someone else take responsibility. It wasn't her place to save the world. Let them save themselves. Let them remake themselves in another image. She had herself to save. She had herself to protect. Let someone else play heroine. Let someone else save the world from the whims of petty gods. Let someone else be the one to take the blame."

"Then she's not a very good heroine, now is she?" Regina interrupted.

He didn't answer, but looked up into the night sky. There was the just-over-a-half moon, a scattered group of stars. Most of the sky was black, with a few scattered clouds. The castle was dark, full of sleeping students and teachers. The air around them was still, heavy, waiting for something important.

"This princess knew many secrets. This is why she felt so tired, so weighed down by time and duty, why sometimes it felt better to fall apart than to continue. Secrets can be nasty, hurtful things. They breed in darkness, they can inflict damage many years later, they can tear apart all semblance of sanity. She already was starting to feel brittle as aged paper, ready to break. She wasn't who she had wanted to be when she was young. She had no meaning, and felt no more real than a shadow."

Regina turned to Snape, tears shining in her eyes. "Don't finish this story, Sev."

"I'm almost done with it, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Regina snapped, eyes flashing. "Because I already know how it ends. She wants to save everyone else, doesn't she? Never mind that it couldn't happen, ever. Never mind that she knew far too much and yet not enough already. Never mind all that. It's a false hope, anyway. It was still nice to pretend she could save everyone, that she really did have a place in history. It was nice to pretend the hope was real, and she could one day wake up not knowing all the evils of the world."

Snape shook his head. "That's not how it ends. The princess does save everyone."

"Bullshit."

"No, it's true. She doubts herself, she wonders and hopes and doesn't know if she's good enough, but she is. She saves everyone."

"It's a beautiful lie, Sev. I won't save everyone. People will die, and I won't be able to save them. This is only the beginning of the end."

***

***