The Devil's Stratagem

The Devil's Stratagem Chapter One: Premonitions

In the middle of the night

I go walking in my sleep

From the mountains of faith

To the river so deep

I must be looking for something

Something sacred I lost

But the river is wide

And it's too hard to cross

Even though I know the river is wide

I walk down every evening and I stand on the shore

I try to cross to the opposite side

So I can finally find out what I've been looking for.

-Billy Joel 'The River of Dreams'

***

Pale skin was made milky by the full moon, a few freckles made evident by the glow. Flipped hair fell over a back, a dress lying in a V cut just underneath the hair. Outlining the dress was a twisted gold fabric, making the plain garb twinkle in the night. Tiny sandals peeked out from underneath the dress, revealing surprisingly tiny feet.

A young woman stood, her eyelids fluttering open. A strange mist hung about her and there seemed to be a screaming silence radiating from her body. Her fragile hands parted, falling slowly to her sides. She remained kneeling on the tiled floor, looking up at the crucifix that was hanging on the wall in front of her. No one was inside the building; it was only she and the cross.

She rather preferred it that way. She could speak to him alone, she could pray in peace. It was much more satisfying for her than preaching to a room full of mendacious people. She never knew why they even bothered to come; it was pointless to attend her services if you didn't believe.

The rising moon's glimmer crept through the church's stained-glass-windows, throwing a painted look upon the scene that was the girl kneeling daintily on the floor. Slowly, she stood, inhaling deeply as she did so. She knew it was time. A dark feeling settled in her chest, a dark feeling she didn't like. A feeling that someone with cruel intentions was close by.

A small chain dangled from her neck, delving deep into her robes. Her hand twisted around the section of chain by her throat nervously as she walked briskly past the pews. Her skirt trailed behind her just as a bride's vale, her hair billowing behind her from an unseen wind. She paused at the door, her hands hesitating before grasping the slick handles. Taking in a deep breath, she lurched one of the intricately carved doors open.

Her honey eyes met the dark grounds of the church. She took a shaky step outside, looking around each of the corners. It was clear that she was scared.

Her tiny feet worked their way carefully around the graves, weaving in and out of the path that was made for her by the dismal stones and statues. Her gaze was steady, fixed on the forest ahead of her. She could feel something uplifting in her breast that she couldn't describe. It was as if someone was with her; she felt that she was protected.

Stopping, she looked up at the sky, smiling. The heavens seemed to be shining down upon her, a solitary moonbeam penetrating the clouds and landing atop her fiery head. She raised her arms towards the sky, twirling around in a circle joyously. She stopped mid-twirl, slowly bringing them back down to her sides. A snap. She looked around. Nothing. A smile lit her face once more as she looked upwards before she set off again.

She stepped into the wood, closing her eyes with reassurance. She had to be strong; she couldn't fail. Knowing every inch of the forest, she didn't bother opening them for some time. All she did was walk. She didn't exactly know where, she was just walking wherever her feet took her. She trusted them. She knew the one she loved most guided them.

A man stood amidst the graves of the large church. Nothing could be seen but his hands and eyes, for his cloak covered the rest of his body. A small wreath of thorns could be seen sticking from the innards of his left pocket. His hand delved inside, not noticing as the wreath scratched his hand until they were covered with bloody slashes. He relaxed, taking his hand out of his pocket, his gruesome hand now balled into a fist.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes darting all around him. He could barely make out the woman's figure disappearing into the shadows of the trees, but caught a glimpse of her pale skin. A light sparked in his eyes, a cruel grin slicked his lips. A sinister laugh escaped his mouth as he set off at a stride towards her. She was his prey, and he was going to obtain her.

Entering the woods, he saw her walking the forests, but she looked different somehow. She looked so young with the full moon shining down upon her. From afar, she looked perfect, her robes set in just the right places about her body; but if you were to look closer you could see her dress was torn to rags.

Her hair was set a mess about her head, a small band of jewels winding their way across her forehead, back to the nape of her neck where it held the bulk of her mane in zigzags. She snapped her head around, feeling the man's gaze upon her. Her eyes briefly met his before she turned her head back in front of her. Her eyes grew wide, knowledge spreading though her body. This was it. Her breathing became quicker, her chest heaving upwards every time she inhaled.

She placed her feet on the ground, careful not to make a sound. Perhaps he would not follow her. Perhaps he was not the one who wanted it. Her hand flew up to the chain once more, her fingers wrapping themselves around the metal links. She knew she was only fooling herself, but she had to hope. Her grip tightened around the chain.

Hearing another twig snap behind her, she set off at a run, the emerald cloth that was bonded to her body flowing out behind her. She bit her bottom lip, looking behind her just as the tip of her tiny, Italian sandal caught a root from a nearby tree.

Falling on her face with a thud, she scrambled up, her eyes darting hurriedly about her. Hearing rushed footsteps approaching her; she placed her two hands together. Pressing her pointer-fingers to her lips, she prayed. Her soft whisper echoed throughout the forest, the serenity of her words gave everything a false sense of security. "God give me strength." Pushing herself off the ground, she held her head high.

She could still not see him, for he was hidden amongst the shadows of the night. It seemed to conceal him from her, and it made her uneasy. Her eyes darted left, then right. She distinguished nothing. Her stomach churned upon seeing a foot emerge from behind a tree. Her eyes remained plastered to the foot, which was followed by another. Gathering the strength, she looked up, only to see that the tall man, clad in black, had been revealed from the forest's obscuration.

Though she could not see his face, she knew he was sneering. She laughed inside, knowing that she was sneering as well. He would not catch her. Not ever. Nor would he take what he most desired from her. She would rather die than see him bend it to his will. He was not wise enough to see that it would devour him in his greedy climb to power; and if he could not see that, she would rather die, taking it with her than leaving it on this Earth with the chance that he may use it.

The man exhaled, the winter night forming his breath into a cloud of smoke. She could make out his nostrils flaring underneath his cloth mask. She stared at him curiously. He was like no man she had seen before, yet, she couldn't place the differences. A mist formed below their feet, swirling amongst the two. It was then that she realized he was staring at her. She shivered, her eyes slipping to his pocket. A gasp. Her mind was torn from the wreath when the sky became black. The man looked up, a smile gracing his lips.

She also looked up at the blinding darkness a frown adorning her mouth. The moon had been covered. Gulping, she let her head fall back down to his level, but she immediately realized her mistake. As she was not paying attention, he had slowly risen his hand. It now hung limp, aiming at her for a moment. Suddenly, his finger flew out, pointing at her. It seemed as if a thousand-pound weight had just hit her directly in her breast. She blinked for a moment, not realizing what had just happened.

Her chest heaved in roughly, her shoulders protruding forward. A strained gasp escaped her lips, her mouth turning to a frown. Her eyes grew large, her pupils blocking out all of the sweet honey color that normally filled them. Her body crumpled to the floor, yards and yards of fabric spread out about her.

She lay motionless on the ground. Her chest rose slightly, signaling that she was still alive. The man sighed with something that resembled relief, walking over to her. He stood over her, bending down slowly. His Adams-apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. A resounding smile spread across his lips, his mouth curving to a wicked smile. He had finally got what he wanted. He had finally got her alone.

"Your soul has been growing dark as of late, priestess, and you cannot save your precious charm now. I will have it and you shall be my prize," he kneeled, placing his fist over her strained lips.

Unconscious on the ground, she began to tremble. His hand spread out so his palm covered all of her face. Body slowly arching, she was lifted off of the ground, her body covered with a ghostly glow. He stood up with her as she rose, his palm always covering her delicate face. He took his free hand and delved it into his pocket once more. With the wreath in his hand, he carefully placed it on her head. "See, you are now like your Lord," the drawl seemed to echo through the forest.

Lips parting, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her eyelids flashed open, a white light piercing through them. "I thank you for the crown, but a priestess does not belong with a demon, nor does an angel," her sweet voice spat venomously, though it was clear that she was speaking through her subconscious. Her body was slowly set back on the ground.

His eye twitched with anger. He didn't know what was going on. No one had ever been able to defy his endowment. Balling his hand into a fist and then releasing it again, he mumbled something under his breath. Her body began to rise again, but stopped an inch above the ground. She began shaking terribly. Her entire body was vibrating with such a force that she would have been killed if she were not being held together by something greater.

She showed her first sign of consciousness by squeezing her eyes closed. She felt as if gravity had forgotten everything else and was only concentrating on bringing her back to Earth, while the wind was doing all it could to keep her in the air. Pulling against the two heavy forces, she pulled her arms up so they made a cross over her chest.

Her body slowly fell back down, twitching back up every moment or so. The man, who tried to hold her up, the man who tried to bend her will; began breathing deeply. It was all he could do to stand up.

Gracefully, she made her limp body stand, though it did more than simply become erect. It was as if she were a puppet, being held up only by strings. She was floating. Feet dangling from the ground, she did not remove her arms from their cross-position. Her head rolled back, resting it on her neck. She coughed, blood shooting up from her mouth, mixing with her crimson hair, splattering on her chin.

Her head turned back to him, her black eyes rolling back into the front of her head. "Non il dispetto me o il mio dio, dato che avremo l'ultima risata. Ora vada e li risparmierò la difficoltà di ricerca me nel sotto il mondo. Venuto a me, il mio jem prezioso, perfora il mio corpo ed è uno con me. Li trascinerò per scolarsi, ma non potrò tenerli, bugia giusta compiacente per me. Li conserverò, dato che so che il mio signore lo conserverà. Perdonimi il signore dell'OH, ma questo è il mio ultimo ricorso." Her voice rang clearly, her Italian broken with coughs of blood, her head dropping down so it rested on her chest after she was finished. A sharp object in the shape of a cross zoomed from the chain on her neck, slicing the mist, plunging itself into her stomach.

With a gasp, she fell on the ground motionless. She was cold. Her skin was even more pale than usual and her lips were slowly turning to a frigid shade of blue. The man bent down, turning the woman over hurriedly. Sure enough, there was a blo directly in the middle of her stomach, but the charm she had once held was nowhere to be found. He dropped to his knees, his fists clenched.

His scream pierced the night, a flock of birds taking off from the nearby tree.

***

Tossing and turning in her bed, a familiar looking redhead began spluttering. She was resting uneasily, her eyes flitting around beneath her eyelids. She coughed, a dribble of blood trickling down her chin. In her sleep, she began yelling something, something in a completely different language.

She rose in her bed, her body floating just above her sheets. Her toes were pointed; her arms folded into a cross along her chest. Head rolling backwards, she dropped back onto the bed with a thump.

A gust of wind streamed into her open window, blowing the curtains into the room. Riding along the wind was a faint whisper. It was calling to her, calling her name. She shot up in bed, her back rigid.

Ginny awoke with a start. Sharp pains had begun slicing their way through her throat, down to her stomach. Not knowing she was doing so, she clutched at her neck. Her eyes darting wildly about the room, she finally realized she couldn't breathe.

Taking in deep gulps of air, she felt better, the pains leaving her body. Letting out a small puff of air, she inhaled again, making sure that she was able to breathe. Ginny blinked, looking at her room. She knew she was in her flat, but it didn't seem like she was. It was as if she had just been thrown into bed after being put through something horrible.

The redheaded woman flashed in her head, her voice spitting at the man flooding her ears. Ginny covered them, screaming to get the voice out of her mind, but one phrase flashed in her brain, reverberating off the insides of her entire being.

She scrambled towards her desk, ripping out a piece of parchment and a quill from underneath a stack of books, something primal pushing her to do so. Her hand gripped the quill, tightly. On her own, her hand began scratching the quill across the parchment eagerly. When she looked down, she saw the phrase that wouldn't leave her.

'Li trascinerò per scolarsi, ma non potrò tenerli, bugia giusta compiacente per me.'

Ginny stared down at the sentence, baffled by the foreign phrase. Staring at it blankly, she now tried to remember her dream.

Bits and pieces flew back to her mind. She remembered seeing someone running, but feeling that she was running with that person. Catching glimpses of the man in her mind, she held to the memory of the feeling of not being able to breathe. She remembered the way the charm felt as it twisted into the woman's stomach, the way it dug inside her body.

She shivered, turning to her bed. It looked so warm and inviting, yet it scared her. She didn't want to go back to sleep if she would dream about that woman again. She didn't want to be haunted by her memory. Her bed abruptly turned to something awkward in her mind, very uninviting all of a sudden.

Turning on her heel, she stepped into her kitchen, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. Placing the jug of milk back in her refrigerator, she tipped the glass to her lips, letting the contents slide into her mouth. The cold liquid felt good running down her sore throat, coating it with a soothing layer of softness. She placed the glass down on her small kitchen table, looking at the grandfather clock's pendulum.

Time was a strange thing in her mind. It never ended or really had a beginning point. Ginny had always marveled at the thought that everything happened at a certain time. She never really imagined that someone had free will. It was all predestined; everything was planned out for you. That's one of the main reasons why she was a Christian. How could something so perfect be made by accident? Her answer was simple, it couldn't.

But, if everything was predestined, was she supposed to have that dream? All of her logic told her yes, but she wasn't sure. What was really planned for her? She didn't know, nor did she think she wanted to.

Knowing something before it happened usually resulted in it not happening after all. She and Trelawney never really got along because of that. She remembered how the old bat would fight with her, tell her that she was a diviner, being the seventh in a family; remind her of her 'power'. Ginny shook her head. She was nothing more than a normal girl who got a job from her brother's best friend at a library of history.

The clock chimed two o'clock in the morning, snapping Ginny out of her revere on a wide span of things. She sighed, placing her glass in the sink to clean later. Ginny didn't want to bother with the whole cleaning process at the moment. She really did need to go to sleep if she was going to go to work the next day. Only God knew what speech Hermione would lay into her if she didn't arrive on time.

Walking back into her bedroom, she stopped at the doorframe. Her room was just as she left it, and was surprised to find she was expecting it to look different. Ginny shook her head, walking into the room. She was going to go to sleep in her bed no matter how uninviting it looked.

She gulped, getting back under the covers. A feeling of foreboding began to creep into her bones. Why could she feel this woman's pain? It wasn't as if she actually experienced any of this. She did not even remember reading anything about something even remotely like that at school.

It was completely out of the ordinary, this bizarre dream of hers. She tried to push it from her mind, but it lingered in the back of her thoughts all the same. This woman, who looked exactly like her, screaming out something in an unrecognizable tongue would haunt her.

She didn't want to see someone who resembled herself. She didn't want to feel what this other woman felt. She couldn't. It was tearing her in two as she tried to lie back in bed. She felt that she had some unknown responsibility.

She had to take care of something, she had to protect something, but she didn't know what. It nagged at her... ate away at all other thoughts that she tried to block it with as she attempted to sleep.

Her stomach churned, rumbling loudly. Placing her hand over her stomach, she felt a hard cutting feeling. Yelping in pain, she looked down, but saw nothing. She felt as the woman in her dreams had felt when the charm dug itself into her skin. Somehow, she knew that something was going to transpire.

Stepping out of bed smoothly, she wiggled her feet into her slippers. If something was going to happen, she decided it would have to wait until the morning. Ginny padded across the floor to the bathroom door across the room. Twisting the doorknob, she went inside, rummaging around the interior of her medicine cabinet.

Her fingers traced the labels of the potion bottles, her pointer-finger finally falling on the smallest bottle in the whole cabinet. She reached inside, gripping the sides. Pulling it out, she dumped a drop into her mouth.

Immediately, her stomach began to soothe itself. Closing the medicine cabinet, she glanced into the mirror, shooting it a smile. Her hair was set at a sweaty mess about her head, her pupils still wide. The freckles that trimmed her nose stood out boldly against the contrast of her pale skin. I look like the night of the living dead...she groaned to herself, walking out of the bathroom, not bothering to take a second glance at her reflection.

She slid her slippers off before she approached her bed. Sitting down on the cushy piece of furniture, she oddly felt even more reassured than she had in a while; and she didn't even know why. Slipping under the sheets, she snuggled into her bed once more.

Pulling the covers over her shoulder, Ginny nestled her head into the soft pillow. She folded her two hands together, praying to have a restful sleep for the rest of the night. Feeling that tickle in her throat, she mumbled a quick 'amen' before placing her hand over her mouth to cough. She turned over, placing her hand next to her head on the pillow, falling into a deep sleep.