Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Nine

I let him run on, this papier-mâché Mephistopheles, and it

seemed to me that if I tried I could poke my forefinger

through him, and would find nothing inside but a little loose

dirt, maybe.

The phone was ringing. Hermione's head was swimming with sleep and the only thing she could remember as she fought her way to consciousness was that it had to be the phone, as she hadn't set an alarm.

"Good morning, my lovely," a familiar male voice chirped into her ear as she managed to grunt into the receiver. "And how are you?"

Blinking a few times, the miasma of sleep began to clear. "Ron?" she asked stupidly. "Is that you?"

He chuckled into the phone. "It's me, yes."

"But ... you don't know how to use a telephone," she blurted, still feeling rather disjoint.

Again, he laughed gently. "Hermione, I didn't know how to use a phone fifteen years ago. I can be taught, you know."

Coughing, she sat up, letting the blankets fall to her waist. "I'm sure you didn't call to explain to me that you've learned to operate a phone."

"Indeed," he replied, voice still full of warm humor. "I confess I had other motives. You see, Ginny has tickets to the Wimbourne match this afternoon, and I was planning to take the kids. Alice loves Quidditch. But there's been an incident and I have to go into work."

She was confused. "Incident?"

Ron's voice was momentarily sober. "William Summerford -- a young chap I work with, just out of his training -- was found dead last night," he explained.

"Good Lord!" she exclaimed unthinkingly. "What happened?"

"We don't know," he replied. "But I've got to go in for the day, at least. So, I was wondering if you'd like to go to the game, with Ginny and the kids."

"I ... erm ... of course," Hermione said, brushing hair out of her eyes. "What do I need to do?"

"Just show up at the Burrow 'round one or so. The match starts at two. I'll drop the kids off this morning -- Françoise is going out with Petunia, you see. But Mum's happy to watch them for a bit. Sound good?"

She stood, automatically straightening her nightclothes. "Of course. I, um, hope everything is all right at work, Ron."

"So do I," he said darkly. "Bye, Hermione."

"Bye ..." Still rather dazed with sleep, Hermione hung up the receiver, regarding it carefully. She wondered how often Aurors died. By the almost-nonchalance in Ron's voice as he spoke, it must be often enough that he was relatively used to it.

How did one get used to death, anyway?

Ron was used to it. By all accounts, he was a relatively well-seasoned Auror and could speak fairly casually about his deceased colleagues.

And Snape was probably used to it. She knew she'd never get a chance to ask him about it, but she was pretty certain that he was very familiar with death and destruction due to the nature of the work he used to do in the Order.

Shaking her head as if to rid herself of such thoughts, Hermione shuffled toward the lavatory. Quidditch, she thought ruefully.

-- -- -- -- --

"Have you eaten, Hermione?" Ginny asked as she opened the door to Hermione's knock.

Expecting a 'hallo,' or 'good afternoon,' or something like that, she was rather taken aback. "I ... yes," she finally said, fully processing Ginny's question. "I ate back at the hotel."

"You're still staying at a hotel?" she asked cheerfully, ushering Hermione into the Burrow. "It's been what, a month now?"

"More than," she conceded, following Ginny through the hallway.

"You know," Ginny replied, waving her toward an overstuffed chair in the den, "you could stay with us here. Mum would be delighted to have you. Tea?"

"Thank you," she said. "Tea would be lovely. And as for your other offer, I'm grateful, Ginny, but I couldn't."

"Nonsense," she snapped, reaching for the tea things. "You're like family. Well ... like a prodigal cousin, anyway."

Hermione smiled at the gentle jab. "Ron offered me his flat, you know. He's spending all his time with the Potters these days. I'm just not sure ..."

"Stay at Ron's then," Ginny said, handing her a teacup. "It'll be a bit messy to start with, but you can soon remedy that. What, d'you like paying for a room or something?"

With a little start, she realized Ginny had managed to fix her tea exactly how she usually took it. "That's not it, it's just ... I feel like if I stay at Ron's --"

"He'll stay with Françoise that much longer," she completed, preparing her own tea.

"Well ... sort of," Hermione acknowledged. "But it's more than that. I just ... I don't want to be an imposition."

Ginny laughed shortly as she sipped her tea. "Believe me, Hermione, if Ron thought it would be an imposition, he wouldn't have asked. Fundamentally, he's still the same fellow you went to school with. Happy enough, but none too bright and not very thoughtful of others."

"Oh, I don't know ..." she said, thinking about Ron's face as he gently teased Alice Potter or the look in his eyes as he told her about his job. "He's changed a bit."

"I'm his sister," Ginny said with a shrug. "It's my prerogative to point out the fact that he's a human pig to any and every passerby. But I will say again, if he's offering to put you up, I'd take him up on it. Even if that means sacrificing him to Françoise."

Curious, she swirled the brown liquid around in her cup, wondering what futures it would tell when she finished. "Sacrificing, eh?"

"Françoise Potter isn't my favorite person in the world," Ginny said tartly. "I'll not make a secret of it. But not for the reasons everyone thinks." She gave a soft snort. "Mum still thinks I hate her because I'm still carrying some silly childhood torch for ... for Harry."

They were silent for a moment, contemplative, until Ginny picked up her thread again.

"She loved Harry," she continued thoughtfully. "Whatever else she has in her, she had that. Loved him bettr than anyone else could, I suppose. But there's something hard in her as well. Something that wanted to keep Harry away from the world and all for herself. And when Harry wanted to take Ron with him ..."

Pausing, Ginny took another draught of tea and Hermione didn't think she could bear the lull in conversation. "What do you mean, Ginny, 'wanted to take him?'"

Again, that bitter laugh. "Haven't you noticed yet?" she asked, a cynical edge in her voice. "Wherever Harry went in life, he had Ron right there beside him. Don't get me wrong -- Ron was happy to be there. Is happy to be there. They were a matched set, like. And now ... well, now Harry's gone to the one place I don't want Ron to follow." She finished her tea.

Hermione ventured timidly into the ensuing silence. "I wondered ..." she began, hoping to dispel some of Ginny's obvious anxiety. "Françoise is ... well, she didn't go to Hogwarts, so I --"

"Beauxbatons," she replied succinctly.

"She's French?" she asked. "But her English is completely --"

Again, Ginny interrupted her brusquely. "She grew up in England. London, I believe. Her father was a sort of liaison between the French Ministry and ours. But he absolutely insisted that she go to Beauxbatons. He's very French, you see. In fact, if I remember, both Nicholas and Alie have French bits in their names. And when she gets angry, her accent is worse."

Terse, clipped, to the point, the tension was not lifting. If anything, it was rising. "Are you certain this isn't unrequited puppy love?" she asked, a half-smile frozen on her face, hoping against hope that Ginny understood.

"Shut it, you insufferable know-it-all," she shot back.

The two women regarded each other stoically for a moment and then burst into gales of laughter. Ginny did understand, then.

"What's so funny?" one of the Weasley twins asked as he stuck his head in through the doorway.

Ginny stopped laughing long enough to catch her breath. "Nothing you'd understand," she told him, still grinning. "Where are the kids, then? We've got to get going. Match starts at two and it's nearly half-past one."

"I think Mum has Alice in the kitchen," the twin replied. "Nicholas ... well, I think Fred has him upstairs. We've been working on this new sweet, you see --"

"Oh, no!" Ginny cried. "Françoise will absolutely kill us! George, what have you done to the poor boy?"

The twin -- George -- threw his hands up in the air. "We can fix it, Gin, I swear!"

As if on cue, Fred came walking into the room, holding his hands strangely in front of him, circling the empty space. "What's all this, then?" he asked, all false innocence.

"Don't you give me that, Fred Weasley," Ginny snapped in an unconscious imitation of her mother. "What have you done with Nicholas Potter?"

"Well ..." Fred hedged. "The good news is that he's not purple any more. I don't think."

Ginny tapped her foot impatiently and Hermione bit back a grin. "This implies, then, that you've got bad news."

"Now he's invisible," Fred said very quietly, nodding down at his hands. "But I think I can fix it!" he amended, seeing Ginny's rapidly reddening face.

"Ooh ..." she fumed. "I ought to tell Mum. What on Earth did you feed him?"

Fred made a complicated motion with his wand as George answered. "A new prototype. We haven't got a name worked out yet. When we're done with 'em, they'll make you turn into someone else for about a minute. Sort of a thirty-second Polyjuice. If we can key it right, the person who gives it to you can determine who you'll turn into."

"Damn!" Fred swore as the empty space that was apparently Nicholas Potter remained obstinately empty. "George, could you ...?"

But George's incantation failed as well. "Perhaps if we ..." he began thoughtfully.

"Yes," Fred replied. "Together."

As the incantation was repeated a second time and both twins waved their wands, Nicholas shimmered into view, impassive and quiet, watching Fred and George with open suspicion. His dark hair looked distinctly uncombed and his shoelaces were undone.

"Thank Merlin," George breathed. "If Françoise ever found out ..."

"I've half a mind to tell her," Ginny spat. "You know she doesn't like you feeding things to the kids. And Nicholas, you know better than to take sweets from this pair."

"Well ..." Fred said quickly. "No time to talk about it now. You've got to get going if you're going to make it to the match on time. I'll just trot back to the kitchen and fetch the other one, shall I?"

Ginny sighed and took Nicholas by the hand. "I can't believe I'm about to let you two off the hook."

"You know you love us, baby sister," he tossed back as he walked into the kitchen. Possibly unwilling to continue to face his sister's wrath, George followed his brother.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the retreating twins, Nicholas' gaze wandered the room and settled on Hermione. Not again, not again, not again, she prayed as his eyes widened and his breathing quickened. He was on the verge of hyperventilating and she was certain he was going to start yelling his head off again.

"Nicholas," she said swiftly, preemptively, mind racing. "Nicholas, I'm not going to hurt you."

Ginny looked first at the panicky boy and then gave Hermione a frankly confused stare. "Well, of course you're not," she said. "Nicholas, what's wrong?"

"I don't know what's wrong," she told an increasingly concerned Ginny. "He's ... afraid of me or something. Nicholas, I promise I'm not going to do anything," she said as his breaths became even more labored -- Hermione had a dim suspicion that this was what a panic attack looked like and if Nicholas didn't calm down, she was going to have one herself.

"Nicholas," Ginny said gently, dropping his hand to wrap her arm around his shoulder in a seemingly futile effort to calm him. "Nicholas ..."

Hermione stepped forward cautiously and stretched out her right hand, inwardly wincing as Nicholas flinched. "Nicholas," she said, repeating his name as often as she could in hope of making a connection with the terrified child. "Nicholas, I'm going to touch you, okay? Just to show you that I'm not going to hurt you." Her hand moved closer.

Nicholas shrank into Ginny's side but could go no further, as Ginny herself remained firmly planted.

Even closer now -- her fingertips brushed the front of his shirt -- and he was actually gasping for air, round eyes gazing at her with that half-paralyzed animal look she remembered so vividly.

She longed to close her eyes, to break contact with his in hopes of relieving the agony, but kept them stubbornly open as her fingers and then her palm encountered his heaving chest. Pressing firmly, Hermione tried her best to smile. "See?" she said as loudly as she dared. "Nicholas, I'm not hurting you."

His breathing slowed a bit.

"I don't know why you're acting like this, Nicholas," she continued, encouraged, "but I want you to know that I'll never hurt you, all right?"

Body uncoiling slightly, he was almost leaning into her touch. And then his eyes slid closed and his breathing became normal and Nicholas was just an ordinary little boy again.

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a glance as he relaxed, neither one willing to speak. Fortunately, George broke the tension by ducking back into the room, holding a joyfully chattering Alice, and before Hermione's wits were properly collected once more, they were out the door.

-- -- -- -- --

"Snitch!" Alice shouted excitedly, jumping up and down in her seat and pointing as her curls flailed this way and that. "Snitch!"

For the seventh time, Hermione squinted up at the sky. "Where? I don't see it. Ginny, do you ...?"

"I don't know how she manages it," she replied. "I've been to a handful of games with the kid and every time, she sees the Snitch about ten times before either Seeker manages to catch a glimpse of it. Harry's bought her a broomstick already, according to Ron. It was just a matter of convincing Françoise to let him teach her to fly. Which he hadn't, of course. She's not even two, for Merlin's sake."

"I can imagine his joy in discovering his daughter is a Quidditch savant," Hermione said dryly. "Tell me, does she have a full set of Quidditch robes as well?"

Ginny laughed, throwing her head back. "Actually," she admitted. "They both do, courtesy of yours truly. If I recall, Nicholas used to insist on sleeping in his, didn't you?" she asked him.

He did not answer, but Hermione thought he looked rather abashed.

"You gave them Quidditch robes?" she asked. "Oh, wait, that's right. You used to be one of those as well. Quidditch mad, the whole lot of you."

"Says the woman who had a running correspondence with Viktor Krum for the better part of four years. Ron would have given his lucky Keeper gloves to read even one line from the letters he sent you, you know," she teased. "I'd say you're just as guilty of it as the rest of us, for all that you didn't play."

Concentrating briefly on not hexing her old friend, a thought flickered through her mind. "I always thought you'd be the one to play professionally," Hermione said. "After all, you were in place for it by your seventh year, if I remember."

With only a small frown, Ginny automatically pulled Alice away from the edge of the stands and back into her seat. "I forgot," she said soberly. "Of course you don't know ... what was it Ron said? Thirteen years."

"What happened?" she asked, subdued. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nicholas studying them with open interest, blatantly ignoring the game.

"I fell," she replied with a little shrug. Upon seeing Hermione's quizzical look, she elaborated. "Well ... it was an eighty-foot drop, and I happened to catch my arm against a Bludger about two-thirds of the way down and drag it with me, so when I hit, I didn't hit dirt; I hit metal. Mum was furious. She always said I'd hurt myself playing."

"Good God, Ginny," Hermione breathed. "You could have killed yourself."

Smiling self-deprecatingly, Ginny pushed Alice into her seat yet again. "Two days later, I very nearly wanted to. Madam Pomfrey healed the breaks and cuts immediately, of course, but my right arm and hand ... well, there was a fair amount of nerve damage. Can't grow those back."

To illustrate, she held up her hand limply. Curling her fingers around, Hermione noticed they did not make a fist.

"Two of my fingertips on that hand are completely numb, and it'll never entirely close again. Can't be a Chaser if you can't hold a Quaffle," she said, eyes studying her fingers with something akin to regret. "My hand is too small to palm it. But I tried. Spent six months pretending I was fine, going to practice and dropping the Quaffle every damn time it got into my hands. Sorry -- kids, don't say 'damn,' okay? At least, not around your mum."

Hermione managed a weak smile. "Ginny --"

She silenced her with a little hand flap. "I came to terms with it. And when I got out of Hogwarts, I went into marketing at Manchester -- merchandise, charming advertising customers with free tickets, that sort of thing. I'm with Wimbourne now, hence the tickets," she said, waving an arm at the yellow and black clad players zooming around the stadium. Laughing shortly and what Hermione thought was bitterly, Ginny shrugged again. "And you know all about Ron, right? Such are the ironies of life ..."

"Ginny --" she tried again.

"Hermione," she exclaimed, exasperated. "I'm fine. That was many years ago. And besides, I make nearly as much money in merchandising as I would if I actually was out on the field." This was accompanied by an impish sort of smile. "With the grand exceptions of Ron the Battler of Evil and Charlie the Tamer of Dragons, there, us Weasley brats have managed to do quite well, financially speaking."

A question popped into her mind. "Ginny, I've been meaning to ask, but what did Harry do? I know he went into Auror training briefly, but Ron didn't say just --"

She found herself without speech abruptly as a small voice from her left interrupted her. "He worked at Honeydukes," Nicholas Potter said, staring at his shoelaces.

Ginny's eyes bored into the top of Nicholas' head. "What ... what did you say?" she whispered.

Clearing his throat, his voice was much louder as he responded. "I said that Papa worked at Honeydukes. He made sweets, like Fred and George, only his didn't make nasty things happen like theirs do. His were funny." But he did not look up.

"Nicholas, you just ..." Ginny stammered, reaching out a cautious hand across Hermione to touch his shoulder.

He did not flinch as Hermione had expected. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to --"

"Merlin, Nicholas, you don't have to apologize," Ginny said, turning the touch into more of a pat. "I'm just ... I'm glad you feel like talking again."

The boy actually managed a smile.

"Snitch!" Alice shouted again, breaking the moment. "Snitch, Nic'las!"

"Show me," he told his sister quietly. "Point it to me."

Eagerly, she clamored over both Ginny and Hermione to plop down more or less in her brother's lap. "There, Nic'las!" she cried, pointer finger extended. "Snitch there."

He squinted into the sky -- Hermione did not know whether he truthfully saw it or not; certainly the golden glint had completely eluded her for the entire game. "I see it, Alice," he said. "I see the Snitch. You're better than both the Seekers, aren't you?"

"Both," she agreed, beaming. "Damn both."

"Oh, no," Ginny said, burying her face in her hands. "Françoise is going to be so mad ..."

"Maybe she won't notice," Hermione said, trying to be helpful.

At that exact moment, Alice gave her adopted aunts a sweet smile. "Damn damn damn damn ..." she sang.

"Well, she might notice that," she admitted as Ginny let out another little moan.

"Hermione?" Ginny said, muffled through her fingers.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously.

"Shut up."

-- -- -- -- --

"For such a little china doll, she's certainly a devil, isn't she?" Ginny asked rhetorically as she untangled Alice's sleepy hand from her hair.

"That Cleaning Charm has come in handy throughout the day," Hermione agreed, watching Nicholas hover beside her, clutching at a handful of her robes. Between Nicholas at her side and Alice in her arms, Ginny was having a difficult time of it. "Do ... do you want me to take her?" she asked after a moment.

She shrugged minutely. "That would probably be a bad idea. Do you want to wake her up before we can get her back to her mum?"

"Excellent point," she said, considering it.

"Although maybe Nicholas can pull at your clothes for a bit," she said, giving him a pointed look.

He stared down at his trainers, peeking out from under his robes. "Sorry, Aunt Ginny."

Softening immediately, she shifted Alice in her arms. "Nicholas ... I just ... maybe you would like talking to Hermione for a bit. She went to school with us, you know, me and your father and your Uncle Ron."

Perking up slightly, he lifted his head. "Really?" he asked, looking directly at Hermione for the first time in about two weeks. "You're that Hermione? The one Papa talked about in his stories?"

"Uh oh," she said, smiling at him. "I'm afraid that I am, although I doubt I'm as interesting as Har -- as your father made me out to be."

He actually grinned. "But you're the one who always got them out of trouble. Him and Uncle Ron. You and your clever plans."

With a self-deprecating laugh, she shook her head. "Nicholas, I don't think your father told you the entire truth."

"Is it true that you and my papa met a giant once?" he asked breathlessly, eyes wide. "He said the giant knew your name!"

She thought she heard Ginny snicker. "I --"

"And did you really turn yourself into a cat?" he continued. "I always thought ..."

Yes. A definite laugh now.

"Ginny, shut it," she said firmly. "I don't want to hear it."

"I'd forgotten about the cat thing," Ginny said through her giggles. "Ron told me about that. And you had a tail ..."

"Ginny ..." she warned. "Don't make me hex you."

"So violent," she admonished playfully, shifting Alice to her other arm. "What would your monks think?"

Hermione sighed. "Your mother told you, didn't she?"

"Of course she did," she said matter-of-factly. "Mum's dead curious about you, even though she won't admit it. She's absolutely fascinated by the fact that you've up and disappeared for all these years and you won't even talk about it. Actually, she's positive you've got a husband and kids socked away in Mongolia or wherever you've been."

"Tibet," she corrected tiredly. "And no. You can tell your mother that I'm still quite unmarried."

"Like Uncle Ron," Nicholas said unexpectedly.

Taken aback, she looked down at his possibly-deliberately neutral little face. "What?"

"Uncle Ron," he repeated with an impatient shrug. "He's not married either. Are you going to marry him? Is that why you came back?"

She blinked and Ginny giggled again. "Erm ... no, Nicholas," she said slowly. "Your Uncle Ron and I aren't going to get married. We're not in love."

"But you like him," he persisted.

Sighing, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Of course I like him," she said. "He's one of my dearest friends. But we're not in love. Generally, people marry when they love each other."

"Like Mummy and Papa," he agreed, nodding a bit. "I wish you and Uncle Ron would get married, though. I'd call you 'Aunt Hermione,' then," he said in what she thought was a rather sly tone.

Ginny laughed. "What a cheeky little boy! Hermione, I do believe he just offered you a bribe in return for my brother's hand in marriage."

"Nicholas," she began, wanting nothing more than to drop the subject entirely. "I'm very sorry, but I'm not going to be marrying Ron," she said firmly.

Immediately, he was downcast. "All right," he said, studying his feet again.

Perhaps her tone had been too harsh. "When we were young, Nicholas, your father used to tease me and Ron all the time about getting married," she explained. "He thought it would be perfect. Ron and I, living in the house next door to him and his wife. He hadn't met your mother yet, you see. But Ron and I didn't like your father teasing us like that very much, so it still sort of bothers me. Do you understand what I'm saying, Nicholas?"

His brow was furrowed. "I think so," he said. "It makes you mad because it always did. And it makes you sad, too, I think. Sad because it makes you think about Papa."

Hermione exchanged a surprised look with Ginny. "A little," she admitted. "But what made you say that, Nicholas?"

"It makes me sad to think about him," he said with a little shrug. "And your eyes are sad. I just guessed. Was that okay?" His little voice sounded rather worried.

"Sure," she said after a moment's pause. "Nicholas, can I ask you a question?"

He smiled a little. "You just did, silly." And then, he sobered. "My papa used to say that."

Treading carefully, Hermione spoke slowly, thinking about each word before she said it. "When -- when I was at your house for supper two weeks ago, did -- did I make you sad? Thinking about your father?"

His expression was solemn. "You scared me."

"Did you know who I was, then, Nicholas?" she asked, still cautious, curiosity burning her inside and out. Her face felt warm and Ginny was giving her a completely perplexed look.

"Not really," he replied, beginning to look rather confused himself. "But ..."

"But what?" she prompted.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I had a dream about you once. Before you came to my house."

Hermione sucked in her breath and she heard Ginny gasp. Apparently she'd also done something to wake Alice, who whimpered in her arms. But Hermione's attention was focused solely on the fidgeting little boy walking by her side. "Do you remember what it was about?"

"I do," he said miserably. "You fought a dragon. You fought him and you killed him. And the dragon was holding my papa prisoner. In a little cage, with a snake beside him. And ..."

"Yes ..." she whispered, eyes transfixed on his face.

"And you took the snake in your arms," he continued, dark eyes full of pain. "And you let my papa fall down a black hole. You let him die."

-- -- -- -- --