That Which does not Kill

There are oceans between us

But that's not very far...["blurry", -puddle of mudd]

~ * ~ *

She's not the kind of girl
who likes to tell the world
about the way she feels about herself
She takes a little time
in making up her mind
She doesn't want to fight against the tide

She knows the human heart
and how to read the stars
now everything's about to fall apart...

The trick is to keep breathing... ["the trick is to keep breathing", -garbage]

~ * ~ *

(Yule Ball, outside in the gardens)

Quiana was lost in Draco's embrace. Natural hypnosis: his warm breath on her head. His heartbeat in her ears. She felt dizzy, slight vibrations pounding in her head.

The pulse of life, the sheer space of it all...if only I could stay here forever and be sheltered and taken care of and...

But at once a feeling similar to that of ice water washed over her. She shivered visibly.

"What's wrong? Are you cold?" Draco asked with concern, pulling her closer.

"No, no. It's something else..." Her gaze was drawn to the sky, but she did not scream. Her eyes widened and she grabbed his hand. "He's here," she whispered.

A shrill, terror-laden scream emerged from the edge of the forest.

~ * ~ *

Inside the Hall, Parthenope finished warbling her last note. The silence seemed ugly compared to her sweet, enchanting voice. Suddenly it was broken by a bloodcurdling scream that seemed not too far away. For a second, time seemed to stop. People froze in their seats, and the musicians hung on to their last note. Oddly, time caught up with a shove; Dumbledore leapt to his feet, followed closely by McGonagall and Snape. The prefects stood up and tried to calm the nervous, scared crowd.

Ron walked up to Harry, biting his lip. "Harry, that sounded an awful lot like--"

"Parvati," Harry affirmed, his heart sinking. It must have been a Death Eater, he thought dismally. He let go of the girl's hand. "I'm sorry, but I have to go find a fellow classmate," he apologized to her.

Ron looked confused. "Who--" he noticed the girl gazing sadly at Harry. "Oh."

The sadness was gone from her eyes. She pressed her lips together. "You do what you have to," she relented.

"I'll go with you, Harry..." Ron couldn't stop looking at her eyes. They were more familiar than usual. He had seen the exact same gray; somewhere...He just couldn't remember...

Harry broke into a run out of the Hall, with Ron on his heels.

~ * ~ *

Dumbledore meandered from his balcony seat and down into the gardens. He walked for a while until he stopped at the edge of the forest, the supposed source of the scream. Obscuring the pale, waning moon was a giant, outstretched wing. Incredulously, he followed the wing to the proportionately, impossibly small and black-scaled object suspended in the sky. Its skin seemed to absorb the light around it rather than reflect it. The only refractions were the gleaming, evil red eyes.

"Black Night," he said simply.

Behind him, the color drained from both Professor McGonagall and Snape's faces. Black Night, a name whispered with almost the same amount of frightened submission as You-Know-Who's name commanded. He was the epitome of living fear. He was Voldemort's emissary, his Watcher and Guard. Imprisoned during the First Mage War, he must have been released once Voldemort regained his power. He was Voldemort's messenger, the dragon Black Night. Another shrill scream sounded from the thicket below its red stare. A frightened girl with torn robes emerged in the clearing. The dragon let loose a roar of rage and flew after her.

Soon, Draco and Quiana appeared next to Dumbledore. All had shell-shocked looks on their faces. Dumbledore, because he realized that Voldemort was closer to home than he expected, Draco because somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that the dragon was meant for him, and Quiana because her time of peace had suddenly run out. Harry and Ron quickly joined them, panting.

"So, what'd we miss?" asked Ron, bending over to facilitate his breathing.

The look of surprise was gone from Draco's face. In its place was a solemnity of magical proportions. He pulled a pair of dragon-hide gloves from his robes and put them on in one fluid motion. "Harry, Ron, distract Black Night; I'll take care of it from there."

Dumbledore watched with curious attention. He was interested in seeing the Staffs at work.

Harry nodded slowly. He realized that Draco knew what he was doing, and for some odd reason, He, the 'great' Harry Potter, was compelled to trust him. "Accio Firebolt!" Instantly, his broom was in his hand. He said a silent prayer of thanks to Hermione for teaching him those Summoning charms so long ago...Ron jumped on behind him and then they were up in the air.

The girl had run into the forest. She was unable to be discerned from the dark trees and foliage. The teachers inched closer, attempting to get close enough to draw her out. But the dragon landed right in front of them, daring them to move. Small flames jetted from its nostrils, as if warning them about its full powers.

Harry and Ron were busy maneuvering in the air, in an effort to distract the dragon from the girl. It's only the Hungarian Horntail, nothing else; it's going to be easy, it's not Black Night, concentrate, damn you! Harry thought to himself; the thoughts were quickly becoming his mantra, as if to convince himself to quell his reasonable fear.

The dragon's eyes followed Harry's every move. It was obvious that it was tiring quickly of the annoying mortals zipping around on a moving object. Roaring, malicious flames spewed from its jaws. Harry merely swooped under it and evaded the whip-like tail as it lashed out at him. Finally, in a complete stage of annoyance, the dragon turned around, forgetting the teachers, and in a gust of hot, fire-sparked wind, blew both Harry and Ron off the broomstick.

"No..." Quiana's heart struck with pain as she watched them hit a large tree with a sickening thud. A tear collected at the edge of her eye. When she reached to wipe it away, the liquid on her fingers felt thicker than usual. She looked down at it, and it was...red. This is...blood...my blood... it took so much of her energy to keep from collapsing to her knees and breaking down into sobs. It's too much, I can't take it, she thought frantically, wiping the blood from her fingers. You still have a duty to carry out; a voice inside reminded her. Do not be afraid, for Evangelia is with you. Take the Blade, Holder, and defend all that is good... She remembered that voice well. It was there when she had first received the Blade Staff, and here it was again, reminding her of her duty...my curse, she thought dimly. "Accio Blade!" Her fingers closed around the carved, ebony handle until the knuckles were white with tension. "Let's go," she said to Draco, who had already called his Dragon Staff. "We have evil to conquer."

~ * ~ *

Another scream from the forest. That was three times already, Quiana noted. You'd think she'd be dead by now. Black Night's eyes flicked toward her and Draco as they stood before it. For a mortal instant, Holder and demon stared into each other's eyes. An odd discomfort afflicted Quiana, and she closed her eyes, breaking the thread. The eyes...they're not demonic...they're...human.

With another battle-cry, the dragon folded its great wings and seemed to shrink. However, it still towered high above them, drawing in a long breath. Draco was really on the edge of desperation, hysteria gnawing at his senses. But his image betrayed nothing of how he felt on the inside. The dragon crowning his staff was glowing, as if preparing for use.

You aren't going to die, Draco. Oh no, oh no...just don't let her die, don't...

The dragon started to spew out red-white flames: at first a raging torrent, and tapering into a tiny jet. Draco stared as the flames rushed towards him. Driving the base of the Staff into the ground with one arm, he chanted, "Light of Day, never to extinguish, shine brightly in the face of anguish." A glittering, snow-white shield amassed in front of him, deflecting the flames back at the demon.

The demon howled in pain at its own flames. It didn't expect retribution.

"I have to leave the shield, Draco," Quiana stated, without looking at Draco. "It's the only way the magic will touch Black Night."

Draco's eyes lit with their own fire. "No. I'm not letting you go out there alone."

She looked at him sadly. "I wasn't asking for your permission," she replied as she stepped out of the barrier and into the darkness.

The dragon was still nursing its wounds when it noticed that one of the mortals had left the protective shield. Roaring with delight, it spread its wings once more and motioned to spurt out more flaming streams from its jaws.

Closing her eyes, she recited, "Ancient Blade, hear my decree, fly straight and true to the heart of the beast, return only to me when it falls in defeat."

The ivy on the large, double-crescent blade slowly filled with a yellow light, apparently energizing itself. Opening her eyes and exhaling, she tossed up the staff, caught it, and launched it with all her might. Like a high-powered javelin, it flew straight up in the direction of the dragon's chest.

The flames had just begun to emerge from the dragon's mouth as the Blade pierced its heart. Whimpering, it fell from the sky, dethroned. There was a heavy trembling of the earth as Black Night dropped like a stone in front of Quiana. The Blade remained stranded in its vast chest. The teachers, as well as Draco, approached carefully from behind.

The dragon gave a shudder, and its malignant, ruby eyes closed in death. Miraculously, the Blade extricated itself from the lifeless corpse of Black Night, stained with its black blood. Quiana extended her hand to receive the Staff, but as soon as her hands touched the handle, she fell to her knees. Her hands flew to her eyes and she instantly began to sob uncontrollably. She fought hard to keep from emitting the cries of pain that wracked her body. This was the reason why she hated crying: it always hurt so much when the tears of blood flowed freely from her eyes, blinding her, paining her.

The Holder of the Blade had power, but that same power did not come without a price. For each life that it smote, the Holder would hear the soul's cries of pain and even feel the death agonies themselves. The tears of blood were real; they testified to the suffering of the soul.

Alarmed, Draco dropped to her side. Cupping her quaking shoulders, he tried to coax her up. "What's wrong with her?!" he screamed to Dumbledore.

Quiana's usually confident and assertive voice had become tiny and distressed. "It hurts," she kept repeating, hands still covering her eyes.

"Get her to the hospital wing," said Dumbledore. "Now! Before she bleeds to death!"

"Bleeds to death?" Snape said in wonder.

"Just get her to Pomfrey, you bleating idiot!" McGonagall raged.

~ * ~ *

(Hospital wing, same night)

Draco's grip on Quiana's hand drew tighter and tighter until he felt that if he continued squeezing, he would break their delicate structure. She lay pale and sweaty in the hospital cot, levitated as quickly as possible by Madam Pomfrey, who had gone to make her 'specialty tea' with some house elves. Quiana's hair was in disarray; her eyes were closed tightly, and her mouth spouting words that didn't seem to connect.

"I killed her, I killed her...it was me..." bits of caked blood that resembled the aftermath of cuts were scattered on her face. Draco reached for his kerchief and dusted them away. I wonder where that came from...it must have been when she picked up her Staff from Black Night's body. Dragon's blood tends to run a little black. But somehow, he was not convinced that the blood on her face was of dragon-type. The dried color was more of a dark crimson, like human blood would be. Draco's heart ached. He didn't want to think of the chance that Quiana could be mortally wounded. He stroked her hand. Don't leave me, you're stronger than this, as if the mere act of holding her hand could will her to live.

"How is she?" Harry's voice reached his ears from behind. Two pairs of footsteps accompanied the voice.

Not letting go of her hand, Draco turned to see the visitors. It was Harry and Dumbledore; Harry's own arm bandaged and in a sling. Ron had been awakened, bandaged, and sent to the dormitories. He suffered only minor bruises and scratches; Madam Pomfrey insisted that he get rest.

"Fine, I suppose," Draco nodded stiffly toward Harry's sling. "How's the arm coming along?"

Harry's good arm instinctively moved to cradle the injured one. "I think it'll be all right; Pomfrey is good at this sort of thing."

Quiana had stopped her fitful turning, and was resting somewhat peacefully. Her eyes remained shut tightly, however.

Dumbledore silently moved to the opposite side of the cot. He placed one hand over her forehead, then retracted it slowly. At the same moment, Madam Pomfrey shuffled by and placed a silver tray on the bedside table. Pouring a violet-colored tea into the porcelain cup, she handed it to Dumbledore. "This should help her restlessness," she said, glancing concernedly at the girl in the cot. Dumbledore graciously took the cup and was about to administer the liquid when Quiana suddenly sat up, her eyes wide open.

"Parvati! I killed her!" As quickly as she had awakened, she fell back, unconscious.

~ * ~ *

Madam Pomfrey blanched considerably. She nearly fainted, had Dumbledore not steadied her.

"Wait, what does she mean she 'killed' Parvati? Parvati was in the forest; Quiana slew the dragon, end of story. I know Quiana's not a murderer. Don't tell me she just became one." Draco said adamantly, eyeing Dumbledore to elicit his response.

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles and sighed. "There's something different about Black Night, for he was no ordinary dragon. You see, once Dementors suck out mortal souls, the souls are completely altered. The Dementors have no use for them, so they deposit them in a living host. Black Night, I believe, was a host."

"Parvati's host..." Harry whispered. Everything fell together. A Death Eater must have set a Dementor on Parvati, which caused her soul to be transferred to Black Night...and when Quiana killed Black Night, she also destroyed Parvati's soul. "Professor Dumbledore? What happens when the soul is destroyed?"

Dumbledore gestured to the cot. "It often depends on how the soul was destroyed. Parvati must have experienced great pain when the Blade Staff cut through Black Night. Quiana experiences a similar effect, only she does not die. The effects of the soul are not permanent; once the souls tire of haunting they embark on their search for eternal rest. Meanwhile, this tea is more than a sleeping aid. It is meant to rid Quiana of the parasitic soul."

After getting the tea down her throat, Dumbledore set the cup on the tray. "Madam Pomfrey will make sure to care for Quiana until she has returned to full health. It is late, and while this turn of events has undoubtedly altered the course of the school year, you will continue to have classes tomorrow. Good night, gentlemen." There was a swishing of robes, and Dumbledore was gone.

"Dumbledore's right, Draco. We should leave. Madam Pomfrey will take care of her..." Harry said, with a tone of concern.

"I'm not leaving," Draco said, ignoring Harry.

"I agree." There was intelligence behind the voice, not power. Harry looked over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the girl he was dancing with prior to the Black Night incident. He was notably surprised.

"What are you doing here?" He blurted, without thinking.

"Visiting an old friend," the girl said simply. Her face was pretty in a pointed sort of way, and a fervent intelligence burned in her gray eyes. Her short, shiny black hair gave her an age-beyond-her-years look.

"Who are you?" Draco asked roughly. "What do you want with Quiana?"

The girl's voice was cold. "Silly boy, you don't even recognize your own relatives. And if it pleases you, I went to school with Quiana a long time ago; she was my best friend. But I am here for other reasons, those of which were demonstrated tonight."

"You're here for the war," Harry interpreted.

"I'm not here to instigate it, if that's what you were thinking. I'm here to help Dumbledore and the rest of those fighting along with him against Voldemort and his emissaries. Black Night was only one of the many who loyally served the Dark Lord. There will be floods of his other followers once the war begins."

Draco looked confused. "I don't remember ever seeing you before. If you were truly a Malfoy, you would have gone to at least one reunion."

"Obviously, I'm not a Malfoy." The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Then you're not my relative," Draco responded instinctively. It was an answer his father had taught him over and over: if the person does not carry the Malfoy name, then they are not relatives. It was one of the simpler concepts learned within the walls of Malfoy Manor.

"Oh, but I am. It pains me, Draco, really, that Mum never told you about me; yet all along I knew about you."

"Mum?"

"Yes, Mum. Narcissa Malfoy, Mistress of Malfoy Manor, is my biological mother." She explained, exasperated. It was evident she disliked using her mother's full title.

"How is that..." Draco trailed off, thinking.

"Possible? It's fairly simple: I have a different father, but the same mother as you. I'm your half-sister, Celeste LaSeule of Alastriona Conservatory for Witches."

~ * ~ *

(Malfoy Manor, the living room)

Narcissa and Lucius sat by the roaring fire. It had been charmed to glow green instead of the normal, reddish-orange color. Narcissa glared into it, a premonitory fear running through her. She knew what was to come. A curse, being born a Seer. Especially when all there is to See is hatred, turmoil, and death. She thought darkly.

The fireplace flickered and a hooded head appeared within the flames, giving it a hellish look. Lucius jumped to his feet, but Narcissa remained seated.

"My Lord," he said, bowing low.

Voldemort laughed. "Why bow to a mere reflection, Lucius?" he noticed Narcissa in her chair. "Narcissa, how are you?"

"Well enough, as always." Her voice was frosty and edged with insolence.

Lucius reddened. "Narcissa! I forbid--"

"Leave her be." Voldemort's face was solemn. "Your son is developing his talents quickly; I am sure you know what this means for the Plan."

Narcissa smiled. Draco was always a quick learner. It felt odd; she was unused to the pull of her facial muscles. She relaxed them hurriedly.

"Narcissa, of course, the Great Seer, knows what I am talking about." Voldemort cackled for a moment, then commanded, "I require you by my side, Lucius. Now." The face in the fire flickered for a second, and then was totally consumed by the verdant flames. Lucius straightened his robes quickly and lifted his wand. Suddenly, he seemed to change his mind.

"Narcissa, he said you knew of Draco's 'talents'."

"I am a Seer, Lucius." She said plainly.

"Ah. Well, you needn't wait for me tonight." Lucius Disapparated, leaving her alone. Narcissa sighed and stoked the fire disconsolately. She had too much time on her hands lately; Lucius had been away at his 'meetings' with increasing frequency. More time for reminiscing...regret...a whole lifetime of regret...the fire flickered again.

"Narcissa."

"Voldemort."

"It always amazes me, Narcissa. You amaze me. I offered you a chance by my side."

"You asked after you took, Voldemort. It doesn't work that way; not with me. I had nothing to lose." The shadows played on her face, and her eyes gleamed even more gray.

The Dark Lord's voice was cruel, filled with sadistic glee. "You have much to lose now, your son...your husband..."

"The husband you chose, Voldemort. The heir you wished me to bear."

"The first one...Narcissa, was the first one mine? Was it my child?" There was a curious note of pleading in Voldemort's voice.

"Do you honestly think so?" Narcissa replied, with harsh amusement.

"Damn you, Narcissa!" Voldemort roared, reverting to his Muggle upbringing for a brief moment. "Magic undone, what I can do has no rival to your cruelty."

"You flatter me so, Voldemort."

"And you... torture me."

"You, more than anyone, deserve it the most."

"One day, Narcissa. I will kill you and everything you love."

"I never doubted it."

The face flickered, and with one last snarl, was gone. The hardness on Narcissa's face suddenly melted away, and her eyes became soft and sad. Tears of liquid crystal glittered green in the firelight. Tears weighted not only by sadness; but also by hatred, rage, regret, and frustration. Life, she thought bitterly, is the ultimate torture.

~ * ~ *

Narcissa hadn't started out with a bad life. She had been born to a wealthy Pureblood and Veela. Charm and grace came as naturally as breathing to her, as did rashness and cruelty. She hadn't attended Hogwarts, but had private tutoring by strictly lady teachers. Her Veela charm was too much for people. Her father allowed her to attend one dance; not just any dance, but the Yule Ball at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There she met two young men unlike any other. One with charcoal black hair, one with the blondest iridescence. One as cold as the other warm--Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy.

She had never been attracted to Lucius. He was merely a year older than she, whereas Sirius was at least five. He was teacher's aide. She could still remember her first dance with him. His softest touch, his breath on her cheek, and his voice whispering in her ear. It had been easy. He was completely in love with her.

And I? I was completely in love with him too. Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut. She had met a completely different man also. A wizard yet emerging into power--the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort. She had feared him more terribly than the rest, for she could see his strength. She could see the hatred within him. She could remember the fateful day as if it were still happening to her.

<< Flashback >>

The air was unnaturally crisp and tense. Sirius had just proposed to her. The cold metal of the engagement ring still chilled her finger. She sat in her room, gazing in wonder at the golden ring with a glowing stone in the center. Inscriptions of love lined the inside; it was a true profession of his love for her. The moon was full, and all seemed quiet. The Dark Lord came for her that night.

It wasn't any use screaming or struggling.

"You are perfect, Narcissa."

"No, not for you. There are other Veelas, other witches you could take..."

"I need a consort of beauty and power. You, my exquisite flower, have both."

She continued to refuse, but he took her anyway, forcibly. More tears jerked into Narcissa's eyes as she remembered.

Two weeks later she found she had become pregnant. Voldemort demanded to know whether the child was his. She did not breathe a word to him. She loved Sirius too much to let him be involved. He never knew if the child was his either. The Dark Lord chose her a suitable husband for propriety's sake, one close to him, where the child could be observed. He thought that he could recognize whose child it was once the birth had taken place, especially by the eyes.

He was mistaken. The baby was born with licks of black hair. She opened her eyes, and they were slate gray, her mother's eye color.

Narcissa had smiled then, but her happiness did not last. She knew that Voldemort was going to find out one way or another whose child it was, and his way was never the peaceful one. After the baby celebrated its first birthday, Narcissa made the decision: she was going to give her child to the magical convent in Liverpool. The baby would be safe amongst the nuns; so, cloaked in darkness, she stole through the night, her baby sleeping peacefully in her arms, unaware of its fate.

It was winter; Narcissa's tears froze on her cheeks as she lay the baby in front of the convent's doors. She kissed her finger, then tapped it on the baby's wispy head. "Good bye, Celeste. From now on you shall be known as the orphaned Leila Blackfeather, and hope that you will never again have to associate with the evil that nearly consumed your mother." She couldn't bear to look upon her baby any longer, and broke into a quick run until she was far away from the convent.

<< End flashback >>

~ * ~ *

(Lord Voldemort's Headquarters, Forbidden Forest)

Lucius Apparated to the predetermined area instantly, only to find it deserted. He could hear the Dark Lord inside, but he had the better sense than to go find Him. Lucius' eyes widened. That was his master, yelling. The Dark Lord rarely lost His temper. That was His greatest asset, the cold calculating veneer that hid His rage and made it all the more menacing. The door creaked open and slammed behind Voldemort as He stepped out, hair disheveled, eyes glinting. He looked almost...human.

"Lucius," he hissed.

"I came as soon as I could, my Lord."

Voldemort ignored the comment. "Now, the tainted one with your Draco. They were dancing. The perfect opportunity came when they decided to go for a walk. My emissary ambushed them, while another servant took care of the girl. But that cursed Potter and Dumbledore were there as well. And then, of course we have the matter of the Staffs." He touched his chin thoughtfully. "The boy can call his steed anytime he wants, the Queen Dragon Fiona. He is much too powerful to frighten now. But his tainted love, she is another matter. She still holds close ties with those in the Muggle world."

"Lord, if I am not too forward, how did you receive this information?"

Voldemort laughed. "My spy and follower, I think you will recognize her name: the Countess Parthenope De Maurier."

Lucius gasped. "Draco's former attraction?"

"Ah, yes, unfortunately, she still has feelings for your boy. She and I have come to an agreement of sorts. Quiana leaves the picture and she's on my side."

"But my Lord, surely such a little child has little power?" Lucius laughed nervously.

An evil smile crept across Voldemort's snakelike face. "You are sorely mistaken, Lucius, for she has great power. She has a 'special' connection with the dead. However, that is unimportant for the matter at hand. Let us deliver a message to the tainted one, Lucius, a very personal message."

~ * ~ *

(Slytherin 7^th Years Boys' Dormitory)

Upon discovering the mysterious visitor's true relation to him, Draco decided that his splitting headache was just not going to go away without some sleep. He left with Harry while Celeste remained next to Quiana. The moment his head drifted to sleep, his visions returned with a vengeance, only this time, they were slightly different.

<< Flash >>

He tried to open the barred door, but it was sealed shut. He pounded on it, kicked it, but it still wouldn't open. He sighed in pure frustration and stopped. With a low groan, the door swung open, plunging him into an all-too familiar darkness.

"Quiana?" he called. He saw the glints of her eyes and she was there. Little by little, the darkness ebbed away, leaving a gentle, rosy light. Her back was turned toward him, and he could see that her cloud-like chemise didn't cover her shoulders to her lower back. Suddenly, he blinked and she was faced him in front.

"Draco."

"You can talk!" He exclaimed, surprised.

"I can now. What do you want here? I have nothing more to tell you." She clasped her hands together.

"Are you real?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Yes, Draco. I'm very real, and from the future. Well...one of your futures." Her hands shook slightly. "The future we chose together."

"Where am I? Am I with you?"

Quiana reached out and slid one finger down his cheek. "I can't tell you any more than I already have. You can't come here anymore; you rule your own life now. The choice is left to you: this future...or another."

A thought struck him and he swallowed. "Am I...Am I dead?"

A small, red trail coursed from the corner of Quiana's right eye. "I'm sorry," she said.

"But that means I'm going to die soon...I mean..."

She smiled bitterly. "Don't believe all that you see."

"We did love each other, didn't we?"

"We still do..."

Her hands moved down by her sides. They were fidgety, yet they still remained graceful; it was like watching her move in slow motion. A flicker of shiny metal on her right hand caught his eye and he stared at it in consternation. His voice was unsteady, shocked with realization. "I gave you that, didn't I?"

Quiana's hands stopped their tremors. Her left hand moved to touch the bright green jewel in the center of the silver ring. "Yes, you did."

<< End flash >>

~ * ~ *

(Hospital Wing, following morning)

Professor McGonagall brushed the tears from her eyes as she walked briskly down the corridor to the Hospital Wing. Her fingers trembled a little and her temple throbbed painfully. The passing of an Auror was never something to be taken lightly in the magical world.

"...Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." Quiana graciously accepted a fresh cup of tea, evidently awake and on her way to regaining full health after drinking the tea from the night before. "Professor McGonagall! I didn't expect to...see...you..." Quiana's voice tone dropped a few levels once she recognized the look of distress on the professor's face. "Is there something I should know?" She asked quietly, almost afraid to be told.

"We just received word..." Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and continued with difficulty. "Your grandmother's house in Liverpool was attacked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The house was completely demolished."

"And my grandmother, is she all right?" Against her will, panic crept into Quiana's voice. She set the tea on the bedside table. "Tell me, is she all right?"

Professor McGonagall appeared as if she was going to cry again. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't tell me she's dead, don't tell me..." Tears stung at her eyelids. Some sneaked out and landed on the white sheets, staining them with her blood once more. "Oh, god...why?" She looked so sadly at Professor McGonagall that the professor had to cover her mouth to prevent sobbing aloud.

In a few moments, though, the professor had regained her composure. She handed Quiana a sealed, paper envelope. "This was found near the remnants of the house. It is addressed to you, and only you."

Quiana took the letter in her hand. Was this...was this my grandmother's last message? She tore it open, only to find a beautifully scrawled note:

'Purity stands alone. Silver and Gold do not flow together. Beware the consequences of your actions.'

"Voldemort," she said through clenched teeth. What grief had been in her heart was now replaced by pure, unadulterated hatred. She wanted more than anything to see the Dark Lord writing beneath the Blade, begging for mercy and renouncing his evil. Her anger collapsed into sadness, her senses overwhelmed with guilt. "It's all my fault, if I had just..." More red tears fell from her eyes.

Professor McGonagall took the letter from Quiana's limp hands and set it aside. She took the side of the sheet and wiped the blood away. "There's nothing you could have done. You were here, and your grandmother was not. Her memory will be cherished, but at the same time, Hogwarts needs you to be strong. Ophelia Llewellyn would not have wanted her valiant granddaughter to spend the rest of her life lamenting over her grandmother's death."

"You're right, professor, it isn't any use lamenting. Tears aren't going to bring her back..." Quiana swiped the last bloody drop from her eyes. She laughed resentfully. "The only thing I can do now is vow to bring about the end of Voldemort, but I guess being Holder of the Blade has already taken care of that."

~ * ~ *

(Dumbledore's office, same morning)

There was a knock at the door of Dumbledore's office. He was in the middle of writing a letter to the Ministry of Magic, informing them of the situation at hand. "Come in," he invited, without looking up.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, it's good to meet you." Celeste walked in, taking a seat in front of the wide, polished wood desk.

"Celeste LaSeule, I've heard much ado about you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Dumbledore set down his quill and stood up to shake her hand. "I presume you are here for the approaching war?"

"Correct, professor. I have brought my latest 'breakthrough' along with me: it works like a Portkey, only far more reliable and allows itself to only be manipulated by certain people. I am sure the forces of good will be needing it quite soon."

"I see," Dumbledore replied, deep in thought. "And you are quite sure of this?"

"Yes, however now all I lack is the last ingredient: the blood. Somehow, it refuses to work without the blood of those it transports."

Dumbledore folded his arms. "You plan to use this when it comes time to bring the Holders to the Grounds of Evangelia."

Celeste only smiled. "I thought it would be much more useful for the war than sitting on my shelf amongst my other, dustier successes."

"We will need a miracle, Celeste. There are only two Holders in our midst, Draco and Quiana. The whereabouts of the other two are unknown."

Celeste sighed. "I was afraid of that." She fingered the pendant around her neck. All of the sudden, she was overcome with an idea. "Dumbledore, what of their previous whereabouts? Were they ever known?"

Dumbledore's eyes lit up curiously. "Yes, I think they were. Why, Celeste, have you conceived yet another brilliant idea?"

"This just might work in our favor," she said, yanking on her pendant. The chain holding it broke, and she placed the pendant on the table: it was a small hourglass, with sand and everything.

"A miniature Time Turner..." Dumbledore said in awe.

~ * ~ *

(Gryffindor Tower, 7^th Year Girls' Dormitory)

Hermione sat up in her bed. She had never woken up this late before. Lavender wasn't in her bed...Just how late am I? She wondered, yawning sleepily. Her head throbbed. It's like I just got run over by a train...I better get ready for class. She rolled out of her bed, put on her slippers and made her way to the bathroom. She was just starting to wash her face when she overheard two familiar, chatty voices: Lavender and Angelica.

"Lav, have you heard anything of that Second Mage War and whatnot? Do you think it had anything to do with what happened to Parvati?"

"Oh, silly Angelica, have you actually been listening to Professor Binns talk about that? I mean, you know all that talk is absolute nonsense. There isn't going to be any 'mage' war, my parents told me so. And about Parvati...she probably just got lost with her date in the woods...you know how she's absent-minded like that."

Angelica's voice was skeptical. "How can you be so sure? Everyone's talking about it, even Dumbledore seemed a little worried about her..."

"Trust me, dear, Parvati's going to be fine, you'll see. There isn't going to be any 'mage war'. Things like that just don't happen to good witches and wizards."

"I hope you're right, Lav, for the sake of a lot of people."

Hermione gawked. How could Lavender be so naïve? To say that there was no Mage War would be like to ignore the foulest smelling potion right under one's nose! And yet Lavender's parents refuse to let her see it? How could they?

Hermione suddenly didn't feel like being in the same room as they. Their ignorance just sickened her. Angelica, polite as usual, greeted her first.

"'Lo, Hermione! Did you have fun last night?"

She's being so phony with me...Hermione thought. Something has to be wrong here. "Oh! Um...Yes, I did, thanks. And, ah, you?"

"Same, although I have to say I missed the last half of the Ball...had something to take care of." Angelica flashed Lavender a look, and she giggled hysterically.

That's the problem with inside jokes...people just don't like to share them. Hermione tried to smile back, but it was too much effort. "I missed some of it too, after Professor McGonagall cut it short and sent us back to the dormitories."

"Oh, really, that's too bad..." Angelica sighed, her smile plastered to her face.

"Yes, well, I really have to go, I'll see you around." Hermione spun around and walked quickly in the direction of her room. She quietly closed the door behind her and took out her robes from her trunk. A random thought floated across her mind. Whatever happened to Quiana?

~ * ~ *

(Great Hall, breakfast hour)

Everyone was seemingly preoccupied with his or her food, to a point where no one seemed to want to talk. Draco picked up his drink and sipped.

It's awfully quiet today, especially at my table. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table, which was missing a few people. The only ones whispering were Harry and Weasley; there was no sign of Granger, Lavender, and another girl. Was it something in the food? He examined a piece of toast on his plate. It was simply a normal, toasted slice of bread. No charms or anything obvious. Usually, the Slytherin table was extremely active--everyone was hatching schemes of humiliating the Hufflepuffs or even the Gryffindors. However, today...today was different. No schemes, no insults, nothing. Just the sounds of people picking at their food.

At the Gryffindor table was something similar. No one was doing anything except poking listlessly at the food in front of him or her. Ron surveyed the rest of the Gryffindors, all silent except for himself and Harry. He tapped Harry on the shoulder.

"I wonder what's gotten into everyone?" he whispered.

"There's something in the air, I guess..." Harry answered vaguely, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

"Oh, there's something in the air, all right, something bad. It's about last night, isn't it? Something happened to Parvati..."

The entire Gryffindor table stopped whatever they were doing and turned to stare in Ron's general direction. He gulped, his ears turning a distinct red. He looked at Harry. "You think I said that too loud?"

Harry nodded. Had the situation been different, he would have laughed, but death wasn't something he liked to laugh about. Once the other Gryffindors lost interest and Ron's embarrassment evaporated, Harry motioned for Ron to leave with him.

In the corridor, Ron could now return to speaking at his normal volume. "So what really happened to Parvati? What did Dumbledore say?"

Harry held up his hands in dismay. "All I know is that a Dementor got to her, and her soul was transferred to Black Night--"

"Wait, you mean the dragon..." Ron bit his lip in an effort to understand. "Parvati's soul was relocated to the dragon after the Dementor...?"

"Basically; Dumbledore sent Hagrid out to look for her body, but as far as I know, nothing's been found. Quiana's still in the Hospital Wing, and Hermione's--"

Ron interrupted him again. "Hermione's what? Is she hurt?" He asked, wide-eyed with evident apprehension.

Harry raised his eyebrow. "No...Professor McGonagall said that she sent the remaining students back to the dorms when Black Night was first sighted. Hermione's fine...as is Lavender."

Ron sighed with relief. "That's good to know."

"Good to know what?" Hermione walked up to her friends, curious.

"Hermione! You're all right!" Ron encircled her in a hug.

"What's this all about?" she queried, laughing. She looked towards Harry, who mouthed, 'I'll explain later.'

~ * ~ *

(A deserted room outside the Great Hall)

Hearing voices isn't supposed to be normal, Draco thought as he entered the old classroom. Especially that voice...

"Hello, Draco Argentus." He whirled to face the disembodied voice. Only three people ever called him by his first and middle name, and the disembodied voice calling to him did not resemble his mother or father's voice at all.

"Parthenope," he sighed tiredly.

"You sound so thrilled to see me, darling." The air shimmered, and Parthenope appeared, electric red hair and all, sitting in a velvet plush chair.

"I am," He couldn't hide the sarcasm in his voice.

She ignored his tone and bustled on. "I came here to offer you a proposition: I, Countess Parthenope De Maurier, wish to marry thee, Draco Argentus Malfoy."

"You what?" Draco asked, shocked.

"I want to marry you." She stated firmly.

"Ah." He said, weakly, leaning on the wall for support. "Well, Parry...we haven't been together in years, I'm afraid I don't know you all that well anymore. Besides, I don't love you--"

"Love..." Parthenope laughed. "Love, Draco? How delightfully quaint! It's no wonder you win over so many..."

"Huh?" The polished veneer of suavity was gone from his fearful face.

"It is impossible to love and be wise," she said, grinning.

"Francis Bacon," murmured Draco instinctively. "But what does that have to do with--"

Parthenope cut him off and grasped his hand. "Listen to me, Draco. You and I can gather an army rival to all. The Second Mage War will be our victory. Your Dragon staff's ability with my voice and my own powers."

"Parthenope, don't you understand? What good are one Holder and a hypnotist against three other Holders, Dumbledore, and the rest of the forces of good?" Draco smirked. "My Dragon Staff is no use against the powers of Sun, Sea, and Blade combined, even with your voice. Besides, I don't care much for world domination: it can't be done."

Parthenope chuckled coyly. "You're a Slytherin, of course you care for world domination."

Draco cursed under his breath.

She threw back her hair. "Moreover, you can only choose Dumbledore and Potter or the Dark Lord himself. You lose either way."

"I side, Parthenope, with Quiana," he countered in a tight voice.

"Ah, the dark little wench I saw you with the other night? That means you side with Dumbledore, and correct me if I am wrong: I don't think you care for him or his multitudes of Muggles."

You are in deep shit, Draco Malfoy. She can read you like a bloody book. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Just listen, then walk away: it's easy. You love Quiana...

"...That's what will happen. Close your eyes to it if you can or want, but you simply don't belong in that world. Nor do you belong in a servile worship of the Dark Lord. Make your own world, Draco. I'm offering you that choice: your way out of this hellish dilemma." She smiled innocently, knowing each word tossed another wave of doubt into his already turbulent mind.

"I have my own world, I just...won't take sides, that's all." He said, clinging to a shred of obstinacy.

Parthenope sighed, then began in a sadistic, pleasant tone, "Now, Draco, you have made me very irritated. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do this, but--marry me, or I join Voldemort and wreak havoc on the Muggles, kill your little girlfriend like her ancient grandmother and bury her alongside your mother and oh, I almost forgot: half-sister, who, trust me, will not die such a quick and honorable death."

Draco's face drained to an even lighter shade of pale. "But...I love her." His voice came out strangled. Even to him, it sounded weak and unconvincing.

"If one judges love by the majority of its effects, it is more like a hatred than a friendship." She grinned once more, her voice dripping sickly sweet. "You don't have to decide now. Tell me later, sweet, I'll be around. Why don't you discuss it with--" she paused to roll her eyes in disgust. "Quiana. Toodles, dearest!" She winked and pecked him on the cheek. He watched in mounting disgust and horror as she walked out of the room, swaying her hips like a gypsy dancer.

He tilted his head back to the wall. This is too much...his head started to spin and thoughts flew wildly. Flashes of the future decayed in his mind. He held his head in his hands and began to sob softly. No tears ran down his face...because if there was one thing his father taught him, it was that tears would never again run down his face.

~ * ~ *

(Dumbledore's office)

Albus Dumbledore cast Celeste a suspicious glance. "Where did you get that? The use of a Time Turner is strictly governed," he said sharply, with a slight twinkle in his eye.

Celeste smiled. "Oh, Professor, you're a failure as a Ministry rule stickler. I didn't steal it, I made it myself."

"Highly impressive, Celeste. I was not aware of your advancements."

"Professor Dumbledore, if I may be frank: I have invented the Draught of Eternal Youth, a Time Turner is nothing to me."

"Now, Celeste, it should work theoretically, but in practice?" He glanced towards the window. "A Time Turner is a Metallurgist's domain."

"Much useful knowledge comes from unlicensed Alchemy." She laughed when Dumbledore's eyebrows went up in surprise. "I took a course once I dropped out of Alastriona. Pity it's outlawed."

"There is a very fine line between genius and lunacy," Dumbledore mumbled, chuckling.

"I heard that, Professor! I was a born Alchemist, even Azkaban couldn't change that. The Ministry simply wouldn't see beyond my age when I applied for a license, so I decided to take the matters into my own hands."

Dumbledore nodded. "Vigilante Alchemist...I will not argue with that. Come, we have work to do. First, I think we should discuss this with the two Holders here--"

A sharp knocking sounded from the door. "Who calls?" Dumbledore asked loudly.

"Minerva McGonagall, it is absolutely urgent."

"Celeste, if you will excuse me." Dumbledore drew out his wand and unlocked the door for Professor McGonagall. "Yes, Minerva?"

"I have a matter to discuss with you concerning the rest of the school year. We are putting the students in perpetual danger by keeping them here."

Celeste was silent, and excused herself. She realized that this was something in which she had no business. She waved to Dumbledore and slipped out of the office.

"But Minerva--"

"I won't have it, Albus, I just won't. These are children we are speaking of. Children! They must not be exposed to something like this. The war is coming sooner than we expected, and we have failed to protect them. I received an owl from Parvati Patil's mother, Vidya, informing us that she expected Padma back in India by next week or the Ministry will be in an 'uproar'. I will personally take on the responsibility of sending owls to each student's parents, letting them know that the schooling for Third Years and above has been cancelled until further notice." Professor McGonagall removed her glasses and began to wipe them with part of the reddish-gold cloak she was wearing.

Dumbledore was silent, then moved to a stand next to his desk where Fawkes was perched. Stroking the phoenix, he watched Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, I completely understand your concern for the younger ones, but I feel that they must at least finish this term."

"Albus, you know it is not safe. We all know it."

He sighed. He had to give in; there was no use in arguing with Minerva, but he already knew that. "All right, but we have to allow some students through..."

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you agreed with me, Albus."

"Yes, Minerva, but how will future, incoming children know how to defend themselves against Voldemort? You know Hogwarts will become the headquarters for SAVE. They will be safe then."

Professor McGonagall's jaw was set. "Seventh Years will be given a choice: to enlist in SAVE or to simply return home. Once enlisted, they will either be drafted to fight or teach a subject: Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Myself and the rest of the teachers will constantly be with you and the leaders of SAVE; we will not have time to teach rudimentary principles any longer."

Dumbledore nodded, his face saddened.

Professor McGonagall exhaled sharply. "I will send the owls immediately."

~ * ~ *

(Hospital Wing)

Madam Pomfrey's face was lined with worry. "Are you sure you are feeling well?"

"Yes, Madam, thank you." Quiana fastened the clasp of her robes, stood up and shook Madam Pomfrey's hand. "I must be going now."

"There is a meeting going on in the Great Hall, they will be expecting everyone."

"Good day, Madam." Quiana turned and left the hospital wing, for the first time since the Yule Ball.

When she reached the Great Hall, it was like her first day all over again. The tables were filled with students, and upon opening the door, they all turned to stare at her. Silently, she moved to take her seat at the Gryffindor table.

Dumbledore stood calmly behind of the long faculty table at the front of the Hall. His face looked grim. "As many of you know, there are, without a doubt, many rumors of the Second Mage War that is to happen very soon. It is with greatest sadness that I confirm your fears. A mage war is indeed on the brink, and as your parents will be assuredly fearing for your safety, we have no choice but to release you to them. All Seventh Years have a choice to stay. However, if you take this path, you will be enlisted into SAVE, the Struggle Against Voldemort and his Emissaries. Make sure you made the right decision if you enlist--you will either be drafted into battle or to teach basic Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Owls have been sent to all parents concerning this misfortune. I wish everyone the best of luck and safety for the rest of the holidays."

The Hall was abuzz with great whispers. Some students panicked, others rejoiced at the chance of being drafted into battle.

Dumbledore sighed. The hardest part was yet to come. He suddenly appeared years older...the youth somehow evaporated from his body. Hermione shut her eyes. So it is true. She glanced over at Quiana, who had just arrived from the Hospital Wing.

Quiana's heart fell. This is it...She thought gravely. After years of peace, the Mage War has come back to haunt everyone. Why do I have the feeling that this is a war to end all wars? What is our purpose, to help protect the forces of good against the forces of evil? Or is it to ensure the continuation of a peaceful existence? As a Holder, it was her predetermined destiny to stand up for the just cause, to fight for the forces of good in the eternal feud against evil. It's my destiny to fight for myself and the cause...that, or like all the Holders before me...Die trying...