Harry Potter and the Second Prophecy

Chapter 7 - Pure Blood

She was standing on the edge of a cliff, daring herself to leap off into the sea or just drop onto the rocks below. Her long dark hair was billowing in the wind as she wept, struggling desperately with the decision to either commit or turn away. Her clothes were unfamiliar; she wore a long mahogany gown that skimmed the ground and met her wrists, and could feel the stiff lace scratch at her throat. Could she have seen herself, she'd have been astounded by just how stunning she was, but her thoughts were so mournful and grief-stricken, she no longer noticed her own tears streaming down her face.

She stepped forward, hesitated, and then pulled back once more from the cliff. Time sped up, and she was racing up a flight of creaking wooden stairs in a small cabin-like home, and suddenly flinging parchment and books to and fro, searching, searching for one...she did not know which...and then she had it. The book was opened, the spell was found, and time vanished.

She was amongst the trees, lost in the wood. The book was open, and nearby was a flaming rock glowing green. She held a knife in her hand. It was an old wooden-handled kitchen knife, and the eerie firelight flickered a reflection on its blade. She knew what she had to do.

It seemed she stepped outside of herself and watched. The woman before her thrust the blade into her side between her ribs, never nearing bone, and reached into the wound to open it wide, allowing her own blood to gush into her hands. At the same time, she leaned forward and fell onto the rock, pressing her hands on the stone's surface as the flames engulfed her body. She was chanting something, she couldn't make out or understand what it was as she watched herself (her ancestor) be consumed by the blaze. And then Charity looked directly at her, into her eyes, staring so fiercely and yet so tenderly...and immediately vanished in a cloud of ash. And Camilia began to scream.

* * * * * * * *

Hermione grabbed her wand from under her pillow and leapt from her bed, struggled briefly with the long velvet curtains that hung there, and raced across the room to where Camilia lay, screaming, only to struggle again with Camilia's curtains. She shouted "Lumos!" and without delay a bright yellow glow filled the enshrouded bed with light. Camilia still lay screaming, staring with horrified open eyes at the ceiling. Hermione yelled to her, shook her, and finally grabbed her by the hair and yanked her face upward to just inches from her own when Camilia was calm enough to focus on Hermione. After a brief summary of the dream Camilia had had, she spent the rest of the night snuggled up alongside her friend in Hermione's bed, glad to know her friend was there, just in case.

The next morning passed miserably. Neither Camilia nor Hermione had gotten much sleep due to the previous night's horrors, and Harry and Ron had learned as first years not to bother Hermione when she hadn't had enough rest. Ron had decided that Camilia's disloyalty to Gryffindor House was unforgivable, and Harry had opted not to have any opinions on the matter.

Camilia was forced to endure the stares and the whispers and the gossip of all the houses around her. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had decided that Camilia, by dating a Malfoy, was living up to her family name. The Gryffindors felt betrayed by her selection of a Slytherin, (though the girls were at least slightly more understanding than the boys,) and the Slytherins were divided among three schools of thought: either they detested her for her having usurped easily the best-looking Slytherin at Hogwarts, they thought she must be terribly easy because, as a Gryffindor, she'd allowed herself to engage very publicly in a display of affection with a Slytherin, or both. Malfoy, however, payed them no mind. He knew what he had to do, he had planned it very, very carefully, and things were coming along swimmingly, on a number of counts.

As the four sat sullenly at the Gryffindor table, in flew the owls with the day's deliveries. One of the school owls landed in front of Camilia, held out its leg for her, and as soon as it was relieved of its cargo, snatched a sausage from her plate and made for the window.

Camilia stared at the parchment a moment, unrolled it, and sat in silence as she read its brief contents. Harry, noting Dumbledore's handwriting, asked innocently what she'd received, and after a quick glance around her to determine who might be listening, she leaned across the table to him and handed him the parchment, saying "It's from Albus." He slid it down to his lap and unrolled it once more.

Camilia,

I have neglected our lessons, and I humbly apologize. I shall hope to see you this evening at half past seven in my office. I believe you might appreciate some information about a sacrifice once made on your behalf.

Very Truly Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Do you enjoy peppermint sticks?

Camilia looked across the table at Harry with a puzzled expression on her face. "Peppermint...?" she asked.

"Password," he replied. "Have you never been to his office before?"

"Only once," she stated. "The gargoyle statue, right?"

"Right," responded Harry. "That's where you give the password."

"It didn't require one when I went with Albus...Dumbledore," she finished, seeing the consternation on Harry's face at her continued use of the Headmaster's first name.

"I would imagine that it's been enchanted to recognize the Professor," Hermione chimed in, then returned to the article she was reading in the Daily Prophet.

"Oh...right." Camilia wasn't sure she'd ever learn all there was to know about the magical world.

Harry seemed to read her mind. "It just takes a while," he offered. She smiled at him, though her eyes were not in it.

They parted for classes, and Harry spent the day wondering if the sacrifice Dumbledore had referred to had anything to do with the dream Hermione had told him and Ron that Camilia had had the night before. Harry was most interested to hear about it considering he'd had his own dreams about Voldemort that had hit too close to home, but Ron had been more interested in hearing about Camilia spending the balance of the night in Hermione's bed, so she'd given up trying to explain to the two of them the significance of Camilia's dream. Harry was beginning to feel that Ron's hormones and emotional outbursts were causing Harry to miss out on a substantial amount of noteworthy information. He hoped to find a private moment to sit down with Camilia and discuss both her dream and her lesson with Dumbledore, but knew there would be little opportunity, so he determined to wait by the fire in the Gryffindor common room until she returned from her lesson and perhaps catch her then.

Hermione spent her day grumpy, tired, and frustrated with Ron, and Ron spent his day picturing Hermione and Camilia in Hermione's bed.

Camilia spent the day speeding through classes, ignoring stares and whispers, and making out with Malfoy in the back of the library between classes. Finally, it was almost 7:30, and she made her way to the gargoyle statue outside Dumbledore's office.

"Peppermint Sticks," she ventured, and the gargoyle stepped aside to reveal a large stone revolving staircase. She stepped on and ascended quickly and smoothly to a landing in front of a large oak door. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened on its own, and a voice flowed out from the interior of the Headmaster's Office.

"Come in," invited Dumbledore warmly. She stepped inside and crossed to his desk, sitting in an overstuffed chair across from him without being encouraged to do so. "Sit down," he chuckled, still smiling warmly.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"No, no, dear, no apologies. It is I who must apologize. Seldom do we have Americans at Hogwarts," he said, grinning.

"So because I'm an American I have no manners?" she countered.

"Precisely," he stated. Each smiled, slightly, at the other.

"So Albus," she started, "what's up?"

"I doubt I have ever been asked that question," he mused, "at least not by a sixteen year-old." His disapproval was evident, and Camilia decided then that being allowed to call Dumbledore by his first name did not give her permission to be quite so casual with him. "And I suppose the answer would be," he continued, "Professor McGonagall's level of displeasure with you."

This was not the answer she had expected. "I...I'm not sure..."

"Were you not to be found yesterday evening in the front hall of the school with Mr. Malfoy? I have been told there was a display of affection involved in that meeting that would put many of your Hollywood actors and actresses to shame." Dumbledore was nothing if not direct.

"Got me there," she stammered.

"Perhaps," inquired Dumbledore with slightly more an air of strong suggestion than he had intended, "you might consider participating in such...activities...in private in the future?"

"I'll give it some strong consideration," she smirked.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled as he smiled kindly at Camilia. "Good. I believe Professor McGonagall will be glad to hear it. Well, then, on with the lesson."

For the next two-and-a-half hours, Camilia and Dumbledore discussed the history of her family and the brand of magic Camilia was able to harness using nothing but her own two hands. She practiced advanced magic with him; so advanced, even, that Dumbledore noted, though not directly to Camilia, that her skills exceeded the abilities of many of her professors, but it seemed also that the simplest of spells were far beyond her. It was just after ten when Dumbledore decided it was time to send Camilia to bed.

"I think it best we both get some rest, child. If not you, then me. You have effectively 'tired me out,' as you say," and he rose from his chair in a manner of dismissal.

Camilia rose too. "Next Wednesday, then? Are Wednesdays good for you?" She caught another sparkle in his eye.

"Wednesdays are perfect," he replied. "Though, if we're going to spend as much time practicing and sharing information as we did this evening, it may be best to begin at seven rather than half past."

"Seven o'clock next Wednesday, then," concluded Camilia, and with that, she stepped around the table and hugged the Headmaster.

It took him by surprise for just a moment, and then he squeezed her in return, patted her gently on the head, and, with his palm between her shoulder blades, gently set her in motion toward the door.

She turned briefly before stepping out onto the landing. "Night, Albus," she said.

"Goodnight, Camilia."

* * * * * * * *

Harry jerked awake as the Fat Lady's painting swung shut. He had fallen asleep on one of the common room's exceptionally comfortable chairs in front of the fire, which had now died down to tiny wisps of flame. Camilia stepped into the room, and he hailed her over to him.

As she sat in the chair next to him, looking drained, he peeked over the back of his chair into the corners and at the other chairs and couches in the common room. There were few people remaining now; two desperately studying fifth years catching up on Astronomy for their O.W.L.S., and two seventh years in a far corner snogging quietly, but the room was otherwise devoid of life.

"So, I want to know," Harry said to Camilia, his face pointed toward the floor but his eyes raised to meet hers.

"What?" she asked. She couldn't decide whether she was particularly tired, or whether the stress of the evening had finally caught up with her, but Camilia was suddenly noticing just how striking Harry's green eyes truly were.

"What did he tell you? About your dream, I mean."

"Oh...well, it wasn't about the dream exactly, but what I saw in the dream ...no, that doesn't make sense, does it?" She paused. "You want details, don't you?"

"Am I that obvious?" he grinned.

"Yes, but I'm that tired," she retorted.

"Here," he began as he moved to sit in her place, gently moving her from her chair to the floor, "maybe this will help." Harry began to massage her shoulders, helping to release a month's worth of tensions.

"Mmm," she sighed. "All right, all right, I'll fill you in," said Camilia, "but don't you dare stop until I'm done," she added.

"No problem," was his reply.

"I saw my great-great-great-and-then-some-grandmother. At least, that's what Albus said. She was beautiful, Harry, nothing like me."

"You're beautiful," interrupted Harry, and just as he was about to continue, she cut him off.

"Thank you, but that wasn't my point. I mean, she was striking. She had this waist-length chocolate colored hair...so pale, so lean, so determined-looking. But her eyes, they were hollow, you know? I half expected her tears to turn into icicles on my face...her face...I mean, well..." she babbled, leaving off on her tale.

"I know. It's you, but it's definitely not you. I've been there. But I was Voldemort," he finished.

"God. I had no idea."

"So, continue," he prodded.

"It was Charity. I...she...she kept thinking of ways to kill herself, or to kill her husband. Charles. She kept thinking, if only I could kill Charles. And then she'd come up with ways to do it, but she'd picture these horrible consequences, and then she'd go back to thinking about throwing us - throwing herself from the ledge. See, I was on this ledge looking down on the ocean - anyway - and she was wondering what it would feel like when she hit the rocks, or if she'd make it into the ocean. Then...oh, Harry, it was like Medea. I swear I never thought I'd be inside a mind like hers...I read it when I started high school. I was interested in drama, you know, and she was this character in a Euripides play...she killed her children. She killed them to protect them from her husband. Sort of, I mean, it was partly selfish, but not entirely or the Gods wouldn't have protected her. My point is, Charity was contemplating it. She was thinking of ways to kill her kids. She considered drowning them, or stabbing them to death, or...oh god, I can't talk about it. I shouldn't even have said that." Camilia noticed that Harry was white as a sheet. "I'm sorry, Harry, I shouldn't - "

He cut her off again. "Go ahead. I want to hear."

"Right. So, then, anyway, Albus told me that the book I saw that she found in her attic, the one that belonged to Charles, my great-whatever-grandfather, belongs to the Malfoys. They won it at auction. He said I had to get it from Draco, whatever the cost. He said it would explain in detail the spell that she cast. He said it is the only remaining book with a complete record of it, because it's dark magic and all the others were burned in the 18^th century or something like that.

"Albus said it was a blood sacrifice, older than time itself, the foundation of all religions. Jews look to a burning bush, but for Charity it was a flaming rock, the rock of her family's salvation, something, and Christians believe in a spear piercing His side, and so she had to make a willing blood sacrifice by thrusting in a knife...and once the sacrifice was accepted, she was consumed by the flames."

"What were the flames?" asked Harry.

"I don't know. God? Magic? God as the source of all Magic? Or maybe her dead family? I don't have a clue, but the point is, Charity, my great-and-some-grandmother, sacrificed herself, her flesh, her blood, to save me, and me alone. I guess she thought it was the only way out of the curse. But the problem was, she was centuries too early for a prophecy made by an Oracle..."

"...The Oracle at Delphi..."

"Right, but...well, it seems since I am still part of the Pritchard line, and have no brother to marry - sick, I know - I'm the one from the Oracle's prophecy. The only one left with whom Voldemort could, well, mate," she shuddered, "and continue his twisted reign. She pretty well assured, then, that I'm screwed. That Voldemort was going to come looking for me. Don't get me wrong, Harry, I still wouldn't want to have to marry my brother or anything, but seriously, that would've been easier than learning I'm a witch at the end of some freaky bloodline being chased by the most evil wizard the world has ever seen."

"If anyone understands, Camilia, I do." He hesitated. She stared at him.

"I know you do." They looked at each other for a moment longer, and then, whether it was exhaustion or intense understanding, they began to kiss. Their kisses became more passionate, more fervent, more frantic, each trying desperately to understand the other through their open mouths, and then, just as quickly as it had begun, the kisses ceased.

"I'm sorry," began Harry.

"Don't you dare apologize," she finished for him. They sat for another moment, gazing intently at one another, until she broke his hold on her. "Look - I - it's just nice to be understood, you know?"

"I know," he agreed.

"So, then, back to the story, right?" She did not wait for a reply, but continued. "I guess Albus suspects that Charity knew. He thinks she somehow already understood that Voldemort would one day exist, and that he'd come after you, and that her whole sacrifice thing was more than that. That she wanted me to see it. That she has been, I don't know, waiting for me to see what she did. That she wanted to communicate something to me by killing herself. I told him that she didn't say anything to me when she looked at me, but Harry, I swear, just like I told Albus, that she saw me. That she was in the middle of killing herself, and right then and there she saw me, as I was, in my dream last night. It wasn't just some weird connection of my thoughts to this vision of the past, you know, like when you can suddenly control your dreams and you're trying to tell yourself something by letting it happen a certain way. This was different. I was there."

"So you experienced the moment when she - "

"No, that's not what I mean. Not that I was there in the dream to see it and experience it. I mean, I was there, in real life, when it happened. She saw me watch her, Harry. I was there. For real." She understood the look of disbelief on his face, but had to somehow make clear to him her earnestness and her knowledge of her presence, her perfect understanding that Charity had actually seen her as she'd killed herself. "I know it doesn't make sense, and I don't remember it from having been there, and it wasn't some déjà vu thing that I experienced when I saw it in my dream. I don't think I was there mentally or emotionally when it happened, but I was physically and spiritually. I hadn't been born yet, so I can't retain a memory of it in that sense, but I remember it spiritually. I remember the heat, the ash, the glow, Harry. I was there," she repeated.

"You're right, Camilia, it doesn't make sense," he concurred, "but I believe you."

"I knew you would, Harry. Thank you," she stated.

They sat in silence for a long time, neither looking at the other, but the both of them sitting next to one another, touching. Camilia considered kissing him again, but decided against it, thinking of Draco. Harry felt inclined to pick up where he'd left off with Camilia - she was an excellent kisser - but thought of Ginny and opted out. Finally, Harry broke their silence.

"Did Professor Dumbledore cover anything magical with you?" he asked.

"You mean, performing spells and stuff?" she questioned.

"Exactly," he replied.

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty cool, you know, being able to do stuff that other witches and wizards can't. For instance, there's this one thing...Albus said that he doesn't even think that any of the professors here at the school can do it...and I can! Without a wand!"

"Well..." Harry began, and when Camilia showed no sign of relenting and filling him in, he continued, "What IS it?" in a slightly more exasperated voice than he'd intended.

"Want me to show you?" she smirked.

"Of course," he answered.

"'K, then...attack me," she challenged.

Harry hesitated. "I'm going to get hurt, aren't I?" he mused.

"Don't worry, I'll prevent it," she assured him.

"All right, then..." he began, clutching his wand to him. "Rictu - " And before he could finish his words, Camilia flug her right hand up at his wand in a motion as though to push it away, and her left hand shot forward as though to push him backward. His wand flew from his hand, and he flew backward across the room. He'd have made miserable impact with the stairway to the girls' dormitory had she not immediately pulled back her left hand in a sort of motion that made her appear to grab at the air when he came to a stop in midair, and was placed comfortably on the ground, standing, when she lowered her arm and released the tenseness of her fingers. He strode back to where she was standing, and when he'd almost reached her, he saw her fling her left hand outward toward the place his wand had flown and very gracefully motioned with her hand out in front of her, clasping her fingers at the same moment which came to rest around none other than his wand, which had flown again through the air to land betwixt her fingertips. She handed him his wand and smiled at him devilishly.

"Impressed?" she asked, knowing full well his answer.

"And then some," he replied.

"Good." She smiled. "Well, then, on that note, I think I'm going to bed." She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and yawned, and as she was yawning, said what amounted to "Ahh tie-uht."

"Me, too," agreed Harry, hoping that she'd indeed said she was tired. And then, on an impulse, Harry pulled her into his arms, looked down into her eyes, and used his hand to tilt her chin toward his face. He then placed a very gentle, partially open-mouthed kiss on her parted lips, then kissed her on the cheek, stroked the spot he'd kissed with the back of his hand, and released her. He walked toward the stairs to the boys' dormitories without another word, without an explanation, and without turning around to look at her.

Camilia stood a moment and watched him go, smiled an oddly sad smile, and strode toward the stairs to the girls' dormitory, knowing that, unlike the night before, she would, at least tonight, sleep well.