Dark Gods in the Blood

Chapter Nineteen

Kurtz -- Kurtz -- that means short in German, don't it?

Well, the name was as true as everything else in his life --

and death. He looked at least seven feet long. His covering

had fallen off, and his body emerged from it pitiful and

appalling as from a winding-sheet.

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"I thought I'd come and rescue you," Ginny said as she came breezing through the front door. "And you know, it's really dangerous to just shout 'Come in.' You-Know-Who could be lurking in your front bushes."

Hermione did not open her eyes. "I knew it was you," she said lightly. "What do you mean -- rescue?"

"Got a crystal ball under your robes, then?" Ginny retorted tartly.

"You have a very distinctive knock," she said, eyelids quivering but otherwise staying shut. "Shave-And-A-Haircut. Always. I've never met anyone else who does it with such frequency, either."

Clearing her throat, Ginny's voice was bright and Hermione could hear the smile in it. "Back to the matter at hand. I have come to save you from yourself."

"From myself?" she echoed.

"Yes," she confirmed. "If I still know you as well as I once did, I'm nearly certain that you're going to spend the entire day with your nose buried in some book you've already read a million times, as my worthless brother has heartlessly abandoned you for work."

She raised her eyebrows. "I was planning on spending the day meditating, actually."

A hand suddenly grabbed a lock of her hair and tugged. "Not today you're not, missy."

"Ouch!" Hermione cried, eyes finally flying open.

Unrepentant grin firmly in place, Ginny just laughed. "I'm taking you shopping. I bet it's been just ages since you've done anything absolutely mindless and purposeless. I know I'm due."

"Shopping?" she repeated. "What on Earth for?"

Giving her an appraising look, she put her hands on her hips. "Well ... you could use a new set of robes."

"My robes are just fine, thank you," she retorted firmly.

"Hermione," she sighed. "You're wearing more patch than robe and the hem is unraveling besides."

"Well ..." Hermione conceded grudgingly. "It would be nice. But I can't afford new robes right now, Ginny."

"Do I or do I not owe you thirteen years of Christmas and birthday gifts?" Ginny asked, a teasing glint in her eye. "I suppose I could be convinced --"

"Ginny ..." she warned.

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione," she exclaimed. "Don't buy anything, then. It's a beautiful autumn Saturday. Can't you contemplate the inner workings of the universe when it's raining? I want to go out, and I don't want to go alone."

Blowing out an exasperated sigh, Hermione unfolded her legs and made as if to stand. "All right, all right! You didn't have to give me all that blather about buying me clothes if all you wanted was someone to tag along."

"Brilliant!" Ginny cried, eagerly reaching out a hand to help tug her to her feet. "Fetch your cloak, then, and we'll be off."

With a great show of reluctance, she began collecting her cloak and shoes and wand. By the time she was locking up the flat, she was genuinely pleased that Ginny had prodded her into leaving.

Indeed, the day was absolutely lovely -- the sunshine just warm enough to render the chill in the air to a mere crispness. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, but they crackled nicely as the wind occasionally rustled through them.

"You see?" Ginny asked as they walked outside.

Hermione grimaced playfully at her.

They found themselves in Hogsmeade by lunchtime, nostalgia washing over both of them as they saw robes with Hogwarts crests careening around nearly every corner. Hermione was glad Ginny appeared to have no interest in Honeydukes either -- the line was literally out the door.

"They look so young!" Ginny cried, watching a pair of boys chase each other around the street, waving bags proudly bearing Weasley's Wizard Wheezes logos. "Did we look like babies when we were at Hogwarts?"

"Probably," Hermione replied, mind moving on to more practical concerns. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm trying very hard not to be. I shudder to think of the crowd at the Three Broomsticks. Unfortunately, a butterbeer does sound lovely." Her face was wistful. "I'm sure that's why grown-ups drink it, you know. It makes you remember your first Hogsmeade weekend when you were a kid, when the Shrieking Shack was actually scary, when ... oh, I don't know. When everything tasted better."

"Butterbeer," she mused, more to herself than Ginny. "I daresay I haven't had one of those since I left Hogwarts."

"Merlin's ear, Hermione," Ginny cried. "We can't have that. Come on, my dear -- let us brave the masses."

Before she could so much as squeak, Ginny clamped a surprisingly strong hand around her upper arm and pulled her into the Three Broomsticks.

Every table was full, either of boisterous children or harried adults. Laughter echoed across the dark room and Hermione found herself suddenly swept back fifteen years as Ginny left her standing in the middle of the room.

She and Harry and Ron used to like to sit at that one table near the back, toward a potted fern. Blinking, she noticed that the fern was still there. A bit more wilted than she remembered, and quite possibly a different species altogether, but the same old corner, with the same old table, currently occupied by a group of students sporting various House crests, swapping various bits of sweets out of white Honeydukes sacks.

"Are there any places to sit?" Ginny asked abruptly into her ear as she came elbowing back to stand beside her once again, a mug of frothy butterbeer in each hand. "Although I suppose we can just have these standing --"

"Good gracious!" a small voice exclaimed somewhere from the vicinity of Hermione's wrist. "Is that little Ginny Weasley?"

Startled by the sound, Ginny jumped and a bit of butterbeer sloshed over her right wrist. "Excu -- oh, Professor Flitwick!" she cried, glancing down. "How are you?"

He looked as if he hadn't aged a day, a pleased smile on his face. "Oh, I'm wonderful, my dear. But it's been so long since I've seen you. Oh, you must come and sit with us over by the bar -- I'm sure everyone would love to hear from you." Apparently not willing to take no for an answer, he moved off into the crowd. Exchanging amused glances, Hermione and Ginny followed him as he continued to chatter. "We do see your brother Ron every now and again," he chirped. "He and Albus do a fair bit of work together, I'm led to believe. But I haven't seen you for ..."

Either he trailed off or Hermione simply lost the thread of his squeaky voice as she tailed him. It did not matter much, however, as they soon approached a table occupied by two very familiar faces.

"Look who I've found!" Flitwick cried as soon as they were in earshot of the other professors. "It's Ginny Weasley!"

Blushing, Ginny shoved the butterbeers into Hermione's hands and allowed herself to be embraced by about both of the table's occupants.

"My dear girl!" Professor McGonagall said as she gave her shoulders a round squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"Yes," Professor Sprout agreed with a wide grin. "It's been many years. Although Albus is not terrible at keeping us up to date. Are you still working for Manchester's team?"

"It's Wimbourne now, actually," she replied.

"Oh, do sit down," Flitwick said, ushering her toward an empty chair. "And your friend as well." He gave Hermione a congenial nod and she realized with a start that none of them had recognized her. "You seem vaguely familiar to me, my dear. Did you attend Hogwarts as well? What House were you in?"

She smiled broadly, wondering how long it would take them to guess. "Oh, I was a Gryffindor," she replied. "But that was many years ago."

McGonagall gave her a calculating look. "Couldn't be that many -- you don't look a day over twenty-five. What is your name, child?"

Biting back a laugh, Hermione's grin widened. "Hallo, Professor McGonagall. Maybe you remember me -- Hermione Granger?"

There was a crash as Professor Sprout actually knocked her drink off the table. Flitwick was staring at her with round eyes and McGonagall's face was literally white, polite smile frozen with surprise. "Hermione ... Granger?" she asked slowly. "But you're ... Weasley and Potter said that you'd ..."

"I'm back in the country after a prolonged absence," she explained, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable as their stares continued.

"Well ..." McGonagall said with a nervous laugh. "I never expected to see you again, Miss Granger." Apparently unable to bring herself to embrace Hermione, she settled for a congenial pat on the arm. "How've you been?"

"Quite well, thank you," she said. "How're things at Hogwarts?"

"Much the same as when you were a student," McGonagall replied, smile warming slightly. "Although somewhat lacking the ... adventure of your years. I'm afraid the biggest disaster we had last year was when a Ravenclaw set the entire potions classroom on fire and the castle had to be evacuated for a night."

"I would think a few mundane years would be a welcome relief," Hermione said. "For most, that is."

"There will always be a few who seek trouble out," she said with a nod of agreement. "But fortunately, the largest part of the students are content with the small concerns of the peaceful. For others, there are dungbombs and detentions enough to content even the most restless of troublemakers. Although, Miss Weasley, I will say that we've yet to meet any of your brothers' ilk in recent years."

Ginny laughed. "Fred and George would be more gratified than you'll ever know to hear of it," she said. "Although I feel as if I ought to warn you that they're attempting to school their erstwhile nieces and nephews in their particular brand of mischief."

"Really?" McGonagall asked. "Young Andrew shows no such inclinations. He's actually been very quiet and studious -- especially for a Weasley."

"Charlie probably read him the riot act preemptively," she said. "After all, Andy's got three Head Boys and two Quidditch Captains to emulate in addition to his prankster genius uncles. Well ... we'd rather him not take after Percy," she said after a moment's pause. "He always was such a prig. And we don't see him much any more. I did hear that he got married, though."

An awkward silence followed. Flitwick coughed.

"So ... Miss Granger," Sprout said, voice bright with false cheer, "you said you'd been out of the country ...?"

"Yes," she agreed cautiously, willing to speak more freely for once in order to change the subject. "I've been in Tibet mostly, living with a group of monks."

"Monks?" Flitwick asked, clearly curious. "What order?"

She paused, considering his question, and then laughed. "They would tell you that they are simply students of nature and that such labels are not significant to them, but I'll go ahead and tell you that I'm fairly certain they're Taoist."

Hermione waited expectantly for the inevitable 'ninja' joke but found herself oddly disappointed when Flitwick's face simply creased with confusion. "Oh," he said doubtfully.

"But I'm back now," she said, feeling as if she ought to continue somehow, to fill in a gap she was certain she was only imagining. "I came back home." She raised her butterbeer to her lips finally, feeling the warmth slide down her throat and into her belly -- it was not nearly as comforting as it used to be. Somehow, it did not taste the same -- there was a bitter undercurrent she'd not noticed as a child.

In unison, the professors presented a solemn set of faces. "We were so sorry to hear, Miss Granger," Sprout said, somehow managing to literally wilt under the force of her grief. "That poor boy ..."

"His family stayed with us for a week or so," McGonagall said soberly, picking up the thread as Sprout trailed off. "This summer. Albus brought them to Hogwarts. He and young Ron Weasley stayed with them."

"It has been very hard," Flitwick agreed, nodding at the stern old witch. "The entire community has been affected, but I can't imagine how it's been for you -- for Potter's closest friends ..."

Ginny and Hermione both sighed. "I think everyone's been managing as best as they can," Ginny said. "We may weather this storm yet."

"Nicholas -- that's his son," Hermione said tentatively. "Nicholas has gone back to school. And Ron is ..."

"He's barely left Françoise's side," Ginny completed with an articulate wave of the hand.

"Professor Dumbledore's been around a fair amount himself," she said thoughtlessly. "I spoke with him just last week."

McGonagall's head jerked up and she narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "You've seen Albus?" she asked sharply.

Wondering what had just happened, she nodded very hesitantly. "Just a handful of times, really."

"A handful of ..." Voice fading, McGonagall snorted and Hermione started -- she hadn't ever been entirely sure that her severe old Head of House was actually capable of laughter. "You mean that Albus has known you were back in the country?"

"For a couple of months, now."

She shook her head, smiling grimly. "That old codger. I'll have to tell him that his little joke's played out. Thank Merlin he wasn't here to gloat over us."

"Gloat?" Ginny asked, clearly trying to pretend that she was confused. Hermione rather suspected she was just as aware of Albus Dumbledore's more devious side as anyone.

"Oh, not gloat per se," Flitwick replied. "Just sits back in his chair and chuckles -- that little 'I knew all along and you didn't' laugh. He's gotten very good at it through the years. And I admit, I'm always delighted when something surprises him -- he's so used to knowing about everything before it happens that his reaction to something completely unexpected is rather priceless."

Sprout laughed. "Do you remember when his brother sent him that Howler all those years ago? At breakfast, in front of all the students?"

"Oh, I do," McGonagall said with a thin smile. "I never could figure out what Aberforth Dumbledore was doing all of that damned screaming about -- all I made out at the time was 'goat,' 'Mother,' and 'a hundred thousand Galleons.' Albus' face was absolutely purple."

The professors shared a laugh as Hermione grappled with the idea of Minerva McGonagall knowing swear words stronger than, 'For the love of Merlin.'

The laughter died down and Sprout wiped a single tear from her eye. "That was so long ago. Severus Snape hadn't even joined the staff yet."

"He was a student, then, if I recall," McGonagall agreed. "And there's another one ..."

They were silent, then, each giving Hermione and Ginny calculating looks, as if to determine exactly how much they knew.

Ginny coughed. "I know about Professor Snape," she said quietly. "Dad told us what Professor Dumbledore said about him ... er, going away. And Ron said that Hermione -- hey!" she cried as Hermione administered a swift kick to her ankle under the table.

Not wanting to share her odd relationship with Severus Snape with any part of the Hogwarts staff, she spoke quickly. "Ron told me about Professor Snape," she said.

"It was such a pity ..." McGonagall said thoughtfully. "After all that boy had been through. And Albus still goes every week to see him, even after all these years."

"So that's where he gets to," Sprout said thoughtfully. "I'd wondered, especially after that business with the Weaver family."

A dim bell rang in Hermione's mind at the sound of that name. "The who?"

Sprout shrugged. "I don't see any harm in telling either of you. One of my students lost his father in a rather bizarre accident at the start of term. The first day, actually. Poor Weaver. Gwion Weaver -- that's the boy's name -- a fourth year in my House."

"Bizarre accident?" Ginny asked. "What on Earth ...?"

"I asked a nurse at St. Mungo's, actually," Sprout replied. "The boy wanted to know and his mother wouldn't say. After what the nurse told me, I wouldn't tell him either. No child should have to think of something like that happening to his father. It was so strange, though. They couldn't determine how Mr. Weaver had been cut like that. Nearly straight through." Her face was tinged with green at the thought and both of the other professors looked vaguely horrified.

The wheels were racing in Hermione's mind. "Erm ... Professor? Do you happen to know Mr. Weaver's first name?"

Sprout blinked rapidly, apparently deep in thought. "Alex -- no, Alisander. Alisander Weaver. I believe that Thomas -- Thomas Arfken's our current potions professor, you know -- went to school with him."

It clicked and Hermione bolted out of her chair. "Excuse me, please, professors. It was very nice to see you again. Ginny, I've got to go."

Before Ginny could so much as protest, Hermione was out the door, running down the street, ignoring all of the strange looks the students gave her as she passed by.

-- -- -- -- --

"So there you are," Ginny said as she opened the door to Ron's flat.

"Come on in, Ginny," Hermione replied absently, not looking up from the papers spread across the floor.

She sighed and closed the door neatly behind her. "You know, one of these days, you're going to let someone really dangerous in here like that."

"I'll take my chances," she said in a light voice.

Feeling Ginny's eyes on the back of her neck, Hermione continued to squint at the copy of the Daily Prophet she was holding in her hands.

"Are you going to tell me why you hared out and ran off?" she asked crossly. "I did just spend the last three hours looking for you."

"I had to check," she mumbled. "I'm just glad I saved it ..."

"Saved what? What on Earth are you talking about, Hermione?"

Hermione finally looked up to see Ginny standing there, arms crossed over her chest, irritation clearly written across her features. "Alisander Weaver. Forty years old. Died September 3. A potions manufacturer who lived in Edinburgh. Died at home." She shook the paper in her hand and it rustled forlornly. "Don't you see? I read his obituary."

Letting out an impatient huff, Ginny allowed her hands to drop to her hips. "So what? You read his obituary."

"Of course his wife wouldn't have called the Ministry," Hermione said, more to herself than to Ginny. "Why would she have? No ... she called St. Mungo's. And they would have never made the connection because it's simply not there. Ginny, this is ridiculous ..."

"What is?" she nearly shouted, startling her out of her babbling. "Hermione, you're not making a damn bit of sense."

Breathing in and out of her nose, Hermione tried to speak slowly. "I think, Ginny, I think that Alisander Weaver's death is connected. If Professor Sprout is right about what St. Mungo's said, he died the same way. But it was no accident."

"Connected to what?" Ginny asked. "Hermione ... I swear, you're as bad as Ron."

"Connected to Harry's," she said flatly. "I don't think Alisander Weaver died an accidental death. I think that the person who killed Alistair Bones and Harry Potter is the same person who killed Weaver."

-- -- -- -- --