Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Genres:
Drama
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 11/25/2001
Updated: 11/25/2001
Words: 5,911
Chapters: 1
Hits: 1,522

The Siren's Knapsack

Misch

Story Summary:
The year is 2006 and all is most decidedly not well. Harry was captured 3 months before he graduated Hogwarts...and has been held captive by a decidedly evil Mr. Draco Malfoy for the past eight years. Ron lives in Texas with his longtime lover Oliver Wood. Hermione works in England for the Ministry in a department that is getting more and more sketchy every day. And now this Weaver comes along telling Hermione that she needs to work with Ron to find Harry.

Chapter 01

Chapter Summary:
The year is 2006 and all is most decidedly
Posted:
11/25/2001
Hits:
1,522
Author's Note:
This chapter, indeed, this entire fic, would not have come into existence were it not for the lively Draco debates on Ebony's HP_Paradise group. Dedicated to the wonderfully intelligent listees in Paradise...to Donna for being the most excellent idea bouncer I've ever met...and to Uberbeta!Frances, for being...well...for being Uberbeta!Frances.

"Chess is such a difficult game,
there's so many pieces,
so many squares where you can go,
so few promises.

"Never you mind all the others,
anticipating your next move.
I know it's hard cause you've got a lot to do."

-Weezer "Chess"



* * * * *


The manacles chaffed.

Okay, fine. They weren't a pair of manacles in the ball-and-chain, rings of unbreakable iron, sense, but were far more along the lines of spiritual fetters, capturing his spirit and clamping down on it cruelly and heartlessly. But they sure chaffed like hell.

Harry paced in the stone cell. 13 paces length. 8 paces width. Step by agonizing step, he had been pacing in this very same cell for five years. Five fucking years. And the length and width hadn't changed in the least.

Still, he paced, if only because it was something to do. Sometime, about 3 or so years ago by his reckoning, he had tried to stop constantly pacing and had begun thinking. Harry shuddered at the recollection...safe to say that he had begun pacing again to make himself stop thinking. The only thing worse than being locked up in a stone cell was being locked inside his own head. Humans, he mused, didn't realize how important social interaction is, how immensely critical it is in maintaining sanity and perspective. A closed system eventually reaches equilibrium, but humanity, the very spirit of what makes someone a person, is based around extremes. Equilibrium is antithetical to humanity.

Step. One. Step. Two. Step. Three.

Of course, Harry thought as he pivoted at the corner, he was not totally alone. There was him. He, his captor, that two-headed snake, that cowardly turncoat, that, that, utterly slimy git. Malfoy. Harry spat to get the taste of the name out of his mouth. During his five years spent in this cell, and three before that spent in another cell, he had been Malfoy's pet project. Convert him was what Harry knew to be Malfoy's orders. Get him onto our side Malfoy had been instructed. What a weapon he can be was the ideology that drove Malfoy.

Step. Ten. Step. Eleven. Step. Twelve.

He reached the cot and jumped onto it. The rusty springs creaked under his weight. Harry reached up, his fingers barely brushing against the grating covering the lone window. Outside, if it really was outside, it was nighttime. A sharp wind blew against Harry's fingertips and he rejoiced. Just the sense of the burning cold against his fingers, the mere sensation of touch, could drive him to ecstasy these days. He knew better, though, to assume that it was winter or even night. He knew that he was in the dungeons, the underground dungeons. The seasons outside the window changed daily. Just yesterday it had been a sunny, sweltering day. He got off the cot and continued pacing.

Step. Twenty. Step. Twenty-one. Step...

A doorway appeared in the wall. Oh god, Harry thought, not again. Malfoy was such a bloody showoff; the doorway appeared in a different place each time. Once he had even come down from the ceiling.

"All rise for his honor, Lord Draco Malfoy," the Death Eater shouted as he strode into the room. Harry sat down. The Death Eater seemed not to notice.

"Harry, Harry," Draco Malfoy said, sweeping in through the door and pushing the other Death Eater out of the way, the train of his black cloak sweeping around him.

Harry barely glanced at Malfoy, silent resentment etched across his face, his emerald green eyes impassive, staring at a spot 3 inches above Malfoy's left ear.

"Now, this just won't do, will it Potter?" Malfoy said in a tone one might reserve for a class of kindergartners. "Stand up, now."

The Death Eater stepped behind Harry and dragged him up by his collar. Harry hung limp, like a rag doll, stuffing worn thin by use and abuse.

"What do you want Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Oh, you know what I want," Malfoy said, "the question is, will you give it to me?"

"Cut the crap Malfoy, I haven't got any virgins willing to shag you."

"Ha. Ha. Mr. Potter seems to think himself funny now? I'd like information. And you will give it to me."

Harry remained silent. Malfoy continued.

"Two Death Eaters were killed in a scuffle with your type," Malfoy nearly spat out the phrase. "A new spell was used, killing them, leaving only a lightning scar. Explain."

"I don't know," Harry responded immediately. "In case you've forgotten, I've been otherwise occupied for the last eight years. I can't tell you anything and I completely fail to see what you keep asking me questions. I'm not the one who's a Weaver."

"I am sorry, Potter, that is an unacceptable answer. You know it pains me so to do this to you, but," Malfoy sighed and raised his wand "Crucio!"

A bolt of black light struck Harry as the Death Eater let go of his collar and leapt away. Harry's body looked like it was a marionette controlled by a schizophrenic puppeteer, jerking now this way, now that way.

With a wave of his wand, Draco cut off the curse. Harry collapsed to the stone floor, lying motionless on his stomach.

"Jog your memory?" Malfoy asked, flipping Harry over with the toe of his boot.

"I...told you. Don't...know," Harry croaked, "honestly."

"Oh, pity, and I was having such fun. You know what? That was so much fun I think I'll have another go. Crucio!"

The bolt of black light continued until Harry passed out.

"That's enough. It'll teach him to respect his betters. Come," Malfoy motioned to the Death Eater as the exited the room.

The doorway disappeared just as the figure entered through the wall. An odd looking figure. Clad in much the same garb that Malfoy had worn, but much, much thinner, skeletal almost. And carrying a wicked looking scythe.



* * * * *


"Do you understand your assignment Miss. Granger?" Ralph Gardner, her boss, asked, looking out at her from over the top of his spectacles.

"No, quite simply, no. I don't see why the article has to be rewritten," Hermione said perched on the edge of the chair in front of Mr. Gardner's desk.

"It is not being rewritten," Mr. Gardner's tone was patronizing in the extreme, as if he thought Hermione a few ingredients short of a potion. "The original article was incorrect. Two Death Eaters were not killed. There is no such thing as a Death Eater anymore, Hermione. Two civil servants were murdered in a fight over in Hogsmeade. You are not rewriting," again there was that patronizing tone. "You are merely correcting."

"Ah. So that's the story. And, tell me," Hermione clicked her tongue in feigned dismay and adopted the tone of a cynical schoolgirl. "Do you actually believe this crap the head office feeds you?"

"Ms. Granger, please watch your attitude! That is what this department does, and has done for the past four years that you've worked here," Mr. Gardner said, leaning towards her, his bushy white moustache twitching slightly.

"No, no, I'm sorry, when I started here we did not manufacture news; we checked the facts for the Daily Prophet. Checked facts. Not made facts."

Mr. Gardner huffed. "That is what we still do. Now please, I must ask you to get to work; the article is due for publishing in the UK late edition. Owl it to me by noon," Mr. Gardner stood up, heaving his massive bulk out of his chair and opening the door for Hermione. She walked out briskly, her assignment clasped in a fist.

Hermione paced down the hall abruptly, reaching her office and slamming the door. She cleared papers off her chair in one sweep of her arm, not noticing where they fell, honestly not caring. Face in her hands, she could feel the moisture behind her eyelids.

How could she do it? How could she manufacture news, be responsible for the publishing of a falsehood in the Daily Prophet, the premiere magical newspaper? Where was the honor in that?

The answer was simple. There was no honor, not in this and not in any of the other assignment she had been getting for the past while. The Department of Public Opinion had changed, and Hermione had been deluding herself into thinking that it hadn't. The upper-levels of her Department had been exerting a constant pressure on them to make the news complimentary towards the new government.

Hermione was an optimist and she firmly believed that the Minister of Magic, George Crumb, was clueless. He was a figurehead. For something. Hermione had been working in the Ministry for five years now and things were getting dire. Something was going on behind the scenes. She, Fred, Ginny, and others had been quietly snooping about at Dumbledore's behest, but whatever was going on was beyond them and the resources they had access to. Hermione stared at the assignment as it contained the secrets to life, the universe, and everything Dumbledore wanted her to find for him.

Hermione snatched up the assignment and shoved it into her bag. She needed something to drink.



* * * * *


The Mulberry Tree Café was old. Stories had it that it was founded on the site of the signing of the document by the four founders that assured the construction of the Hogwarts castle. The document was supposedly signed under a spreading Mulberry Tree, hence the name.

Regardless of the mythological connections her coffee store had to the annals of history, Hermione knew one thing for certain. They made a damn good cup of white mocha cappuccino. Damn good.

She took her customary table in the back corner, right under the Magivision screen, blaring out the day's news. A waiter came over to take her order.

"Would Madam like a deck of Exploding Snap? We have the Daily Prophet's challenge problem of the day," the waiter asked in what was obviously a faux French accent.

"No, that won't be necessary, Juan, just the coffee," Hermione waved the waiter away and pulled out the assignment, a fresh scroll of parchment, and her favorite quill.

The quill scratched against the parchment as she began writing. In Hogsmeade less than a week ago, the peace was disturbed yet again by a roving gang of hoodlums. In a vicious and unprovoked attack, they ganged up on two civil servants, murdering them in cold blood. Witnesses remark that...

"Hermione!" the bells on the door jingled softly as Ginny entered the shop. Ginny nearly ran across the room. "I knew I'd find you here," she said breathlessly, her face red and her eyes twinkling.

Hermione looked up from her work. "Oh, hello Ginny, have a seat."

Grinning, she dragged a chair over to Hermione's table, straddling the back of it, her arms resting on the top.

"Guess," Ginny said.

"You got married?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Very funny, you were my bridesmaid last summer."

"Then you're pregnant?"

"No, not even close."

"Really? Not even close? Damn," Hermione bit the end of her quill. "Well, whatever it is, it must be really important."

"How do you know?" Ginny asked, her brow creasing up. "Did you find out already? It was Eden, I know. That girl just can't keep a secret."

"No, it wasn't Eden. It's just that your eyes are twinkling. The last time I saw them twinkle like that is when you told Molly that Lee Jordan proposed to you."

"Don't patronize my excitement, dahling. You would be thrilled too if you knew what I know."

"For god's sake Gin, tell me already. I've got work to finish by noon. What the hell is so important that you'd track me down all over London to find me so you could not tell me?"

"Chill girl, chill. I can't tell you here, but be at flat 7A by eight o'clock tonight, okay?"

"Can I at least have a hint?"

"Fine. The Weaver will be there."

Ginny got up and left the café, leaving behind a stunned Hermione.



* * * * *


Oliver Wood rolled over in bed, his tousled hair tickling his lover's nose. Rolling himself over onto his stomach, he rested on his elbows and watched Ron sleep. Ron was such a peaceful sleeper; when he was asleep that permanent crease in his forehead disappeared, the lines around his eyes softened, and his mouth curled into a slight grin. Though, Oliver though with a smirk, that grin might have more to do with last night than the fact that Ron was asleep.

Oliver stretched out by Ron's side, nestling their bodies together and putting his arm protectively around Ron's chest. Kissing him lightly on the neck, Oliver gently tried to wake Ron.

Ron began to stir, stretching out his arms, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Morning darling," Oliver said as Ron rolled to face him.

"Mmm, and good morning to you," Ron said, kissing Oliver lightly on the tip of the nose. It was their little ritual in the mornings.

Oliver tilted his face up, catching Ron's lips on his own and kissing him fiercely. Ron responded in kind and soon the two were kissing passionately, caught up in the moment.

There was a scratching at the window. An owl. Oliver moaned in frustration, picking himself up off the bed and unlatching the window to allow in the owl. It flew around noisily until Ron relieved it of its mail and newspaper and gave it a sickle.

Ron carried the paper across the floor of their studio apartment, dropping it on the small kitchen table. The sheet he had wrapped around his waist trailed after him like a bridal train.

"Any for me?" Oliver asked from the bed.

"Any what?" Ron replied, holding onto the sheet.

"What do you think? Any mail. You know, mail? That thing the owl just delivered?"

Ron put his hands together as if in prayer and bowed towards Oliver. "Sorry O gracious master. I forgot myself and did not think before replying. Woe be upon that one who fails to think and thus annoys the great master Oliver before he has had his exalted coffee."

Oliver sighed, shaking his head. "Yes, O grasshopper. One would think that after six years living with me you would have realized I'm not a morning person. Foolish grasshopper. Thou has much to learn."

Ron laughed, walking back towards the bed with a cup of coffee for Oliver in one hand, the newspaper in the other. He handed Oliver the mug before tucking himself back under the covers. He unfolded the Daily Prophet-American Edition (Early) and began reading the headlines.

"What's that?" Oliver said, pointing to a small article in the bottom corner. "It's about an attack in Hogsmeade; read it aloud. I hope it didn't get your factory involved."

"I'm sure it didn't, Ol. The factory's on the outskirts; plus, don't you think that someone would have told me about it by now," Ron said, "but fine, if it'll please you." Ron cleared his throat as he began to read, "In Hogsmeade less than a week ago, the peace was disturbed yet again," he dropped the paper and turned to face Oliver. "See Oliver? It happened a week ago."

"Oh, fine, why'd it take so long to hit the papers?"

"Why are you asking me? I don't work for the Daily Prophet; I'm just a poor peddler."

Oliver snorted. "Poor peddler? Is that what they call the entrepreneur who founded the premiere magical catalogue company? You call running Magic's Beginning being a poor peddler? Grasshopper, thou truly has much to learn."

"Very funny Oliver, but speaking of that, I'm due in the office soon. Better be getting dressed. You ought to too, come to think of it. Don't you have that meeting with the Sweetwater All-Star rep about your Quidditch contract?"

Oliver yawned and got slowly out of bed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm up. I'm up."

Oliver was a quick dresser; he was finished while Ron was still picking out what to wear. He picked up the Prophet again - that article had caught his eye. There seemed no end to the unrest in England these days. Ever since The Era had ended with the capture of Harry, England had not had a moment of peace.

Oliver shook his head and finished reading the article. Ho-hum. So some government workers had been killed; it was nothing new. He just hoped that it wouldn't hit home - he and Ron had moved to Sweetwater, Texas because of Oliver's Quidditch contract with the local team, but neither of them would deny the feeling of relief that they had when they finally had gotten away from England. Its atmosphere was, just...Oliver sighed. It was impossible to describe the level of oppressiveness in the English atmosphere.

"Almost ready Ron?" Oliver called, flipping the paper back over to look at the byline. Well, he thought, that was certainly odd.

"Yeah, Ol, you using Floo?" Ron asking, coming up behind Oliver and pecking him lightly on the neck. "Oliver? You there?"

"Wha-? Oh, right, you'll never guess who wrote that article," Oliver said, his face contorted with confusion.

"Okay, if I'll never guess then tell me, I have to get to work," Ron said, feeling up along the fireplace for the Floo Powder.

"Hermione Granger," Oliver said, turning to look directly at Ron, "remember her?"

Ron paused and turned to face Oliver, his face strangely void of emotion, curiously blank and pained at the same time. "Of course," he said impassively, "how could I forget Hermione? So, she's working for the Prophet these days, nothing so surprising about that I suppose. She's bright; she could edit the Prophet in a few years. Now, you going?"

Ron held out the Floo powder for Oliver. Oliver took it and threw it into the fire, calling out "All-Star's training room!". With typical Oliver flair, he dove headfirst through the flames.

Once the last sparks from Oliver's dive had disappeared, Ron picked up the paper and threw it into the fire, watching with satisfaction as it burst into flames.



* * * * *


Harry rolled over, his head pounding and his vision blurring. He waved his arm around, trying to get orientated; his hand hit something hard and skinny. He tried to use it for balance to pull himself up, but it moved.

"AHEM, I WOULD THANK YOU NOT TO DO THAT TO MY LEG."

Harry's eyes shot open, his migraine temporarily forgotten. "What, wha-? Where am I?" He thought that he recognized the stone walls as his own but face it, stone walls could be stone walls anywhere.

"WELCOME. WELCOME TO THE REST OF YOUR LIFE"

"Life?"

"FINE, WELCOME TO THE REST OF YOUR DEATH. HONESTLY, THOUGH, WELCOME TO THE REST OF YOUR DEATH DOESN'T SOUNDS QUITE SO CATCHY"

"Life, death? What happened? And who are you?" The migraine was definitely forgotten - certain things have the ability to overwhelm a human mind, this appeared to be one of them.

"WHO AM I? GUESS. HOW MANY PEOPLE WEAR BLACK ROBES, CARRY A SCYTHE AND ARE BONY?"

"But I'm alive, I think. Aren't I?"

"IT WOULD UNFORTUNATELY APPEAR SO"

"Unfortunately? I find that perfectly fine. What's with the unfortunately business?"

"I'M DEATH. I WAS CALLED HERE. YOU SHOULD BE DEAD"

"But I'm not."

"SO IT WOULD APPEAR. PARDON ME FOR A MOMENT"

The figure, Death, pulled out of his cloak a large hourglass, filled with sand rushing down from the top bulb, which was nearly full, into the bottom bulb, which was nearly empty.

"THIS IS EXTRAORDINARILY STRANGE. YOU ARE HARRY POTTER, ARE YOU NOT?"

"I am."

"ACCORDING TO YOUR LIFE TIMER" Death pointed at the hourglass with one bony hand, "JUST A FEW MOMENTS AGO YOU WERE DYING, BUT NOW IT WOULD APPEAR YOU HAVE BEEN REBORN. DO YOU RECALL BEING BORN WITHIN THE PAST 5 MINUTES?"

"Um, to be honest, I was unconscious for the past few minutes, but I'm fairly positive that I wasn't born," Harry said, finally pulling himself up and facing Death. Death looked liked a skeleton in a black cape, which was what he was. But, however, most skeletons, no matter what their garb, do not have Death's eyes. Or, to be precise, eye sockets. They glowed with a fierce blue light, giving Harry the impression that the eyes were merely the gateway to something much larger than the skeleton standing before him.

Harry had imagined meeting death many times in life, while he was crouched in a foxhole somewhere in battle, or while he was planning out strategies. Not once, not once had the thought even crossed his mind that he would be alive during the meeting. Or that Death would talk back.

"WHAT WORLD IS THIS?" Death asked.

"Earth," Harry said.

This seemed to confuse Death even more. He was pacing on the floor, tapping his fingers against his head, make that his skull. A weird echo reverberated throughout the room.

"OKAY, HARRY, SORRY TO HAVE BOTHERED YOU." Death reached out to shake Harry's hand, "I AM SURE THAT WE WILL MEET AGAIN, PERHAPS IN THE NEAR FUTURE, PERHAPS NOT. I THINK SUSAN MIGHT LIKE YOU."

Death's hand was horribly bony and Harry had to suppress a shudder when they shook hands. Harry felt like he was reaching into a grave. Which, theoretically speaking, he was.

"Wait...meet again?" Harry wasn't sure that meeting up with Death was a good thing, "but surely..."

"DO NOT FEAR MR. POTTER, I HAVE NO INTENTIONS OF HARMING YOU, I CANNOT ACTUALLY HARM YOU; I AM DEATH, NOT SOME COMMON MURDERER."

Death spun on his heel and walked out through the wall...not through a doorway but through the actual wall. Harry stared at the wall for while as the migraine began to return in full force. He sat down on the floor, cradling his head in his arms, his mind only just beginning to comprehend what happened.



* * * * *


The bronze number on the apartment door read 7A. Hermione, checking the hallway for Muggles, surreptitiously pulled out her wand and tapped the doorknob three times. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing what appeared to be a perfectly normal apartment. As if.

Stepping over the threshold, Hermione muttered the incantation under her breath.

"I'm here," Hermione said, looking around. The apartment looked different; the glamour protecting it from outsider's eyes had fallen. No longer did it look like a normal apartment...now magical items were stashed on every available ledge, and properly drippy candles were strewn haphazardly around the place, some resting on books, some floating in the air. Everything combined to give the apartment a decidedly occult feel.

"Ooo! Hermione!" Eden, a witch a year older than Hermione, ran forward, giving Hermione a big hug and cheek peck. "So glad you could make it. Ginny was worried you wouldn't show." Eden was decked out in a magenta robe and striped stockings, looking for all the world like a complete ditz. Hermione knew better. No one was better at attack magic than Eden...and no one was more ferocious in battle. The Aurors she had been taught by had given her the name of 'Trix after a particularly fearsome fight.

"Well, Eden," Hermione hugged the other witch back, "if Ginny would be a tad bit less vague with her messages I might be a bit more responsive. And she ought to know not to interrupt my coffee break."

Eden giggled as she led Hermione into the main room. The main room was where everything happened - the rest of the apartment was just storage.

"Hermione, glad you came," said a voice from the corner.

"Tovah!" Hermione said, turning around to face Tovah. An aged witch, the quintessential grandmother, Tovah was beloved by all who worked with her, both for her knowledge of Kabbalah as well as for her baking.

"Oh, zietzele," Tovah bustled over to Hermione, enveloping her in a big hug. "So late! I'd have thought you of all people would be here on time."

Hermione was puzzled. "Why me of all people? And why does it seem like everyone but me knows what's going on?"

"Oy! Ginny didn't fill you in?" Tovah shook her head in amusement. "You'll soon learn, now sit down. You look exhausted."

Ginny popped her head into the room. "Hey Hermione. We'll be ready in a moment."

"You didn't tell her!?" Eden said nearly cackling with mirth.

Ginny laughed. "Of course not, I saw her in the Mulberry Tree Café. Couldn't exactly tell her in public, now could I?"

"No, no, you couldn't," Eden said. "Don't stress it Hermione. Once Dorian the Weaver gets here all will be clear."

Hermione and Eden took seats inside the chalk circle that had been drawn on the floor. Tovah soon joined them, sitting on a low chair.

"Ginny, you coming deary?" Eden shouted.

Ginny came bustling down the hallway, holding her robes over her knee so as not to trip. "Everyone here?" she asked.

"No, where's Lee?" Hermione asked, setting out candles around the edges of the circle.

"He couldn't come tonight...on call at the hospital. Beside, you all know that Dorian unsettles him," Ginny said, lighting all the candles in the room with a flick of her wand. Soft light flooded into the circle.

"I'll seal it," Hermione stood up in the center of the chalk circle, her wand held over her head, and began to turn around. Slowly, slowly, gathering speed as the incantation got louder, until suddenly she stopped, and a burst of light came from the tip of her wand. The light spun around the air before stretching out, enclosing the circle in a bubble of opalescent light. Actually, the assembled witches could only see a half circle, but they could sense that the light extended below the floor, completely enclosing the circle.

"Thank you Hermione," Ginny said as Hermione sat down. "Now, Dorian should be here soon. He doesn't like to come without the circle having already been cast and sealed."

The four witches relaxed.

Suddenly there was a breeze spinning around in the middle of the circle. It spun around and around, gathering mass, until...

"Good evening ladies, I trust I did not keep you waiting too long," Dorian said, a youthful figure sitting cross-legged in the middle of the circle, a canvas bag resting on his lap.

"Not at all, not at all," Ginny said. "But you might want to get started, I think Hermione is keeping her curiosity bottled up, but we all know what's going to happen when that cork bursts."

Hermione smiled; Ginny was right. Hermione hated, absolutely hated, being kept in the dark, and being here - when everyone but her seemed to know what was going on - was getting to be a bit much.

Dorian began unpacking his bag, pulling out the normal objects that a Weaver carried - a wand, an invisibility cloak, various bottles of powders and liquids, a quill, and a skein. The skein was what was imperative to Dorian's trade.

Weavers were special. Their powers were held in awe by all the wizarding population, even Voldemort was said to have revered them. Normally, wizards and witches inhabited two planes, the plane of magic, and the plane of matter. Weavers were not constrained by these planes. A normal wizard lived most of their time on the plane of matter, invoking the plane of magic only when they cast a spell. Weavers lived on both simultaneously...they were, by definition, magical beings. Other creatures, such as unicorns, dragons, and other magical creatures, lived on both planes simultaneously, but Weavers had something these creatures did not. They had a mind. Only the centaurs came close to a Weaver in magical ability, and even then they lagged behind immensely.

Since Weavers inhabited both planes at all times, they had some interesting talents. They had the ability to change form at will - unconstrained as they were by normal laws of matter and magic. Normal laws of magic did not, in fact, apply to them. The circle that Hermione had cast would have kept out any normal wizard or witch, but Dorian entered it without even breaking a sweat.

Still, the most valued ability in Weavers was the handle they had over fate and time. They could see forwards and backwards - time was not linear for them. And they could weave. Not normal yarn or thread, but the threads of fate. The skein they all carried was infinitely large...it contained the life thread for all people, living, dead, and yet to be born.

The price for a Weaver's great power was a great load of responsibility. It was their responsibility to safeguard fate, to see that no great harm came to humanity. Whenever the fabric of time began to get pulled or ripped the Weavers were the ones who had to be there with the patch. The could not influence individual threads - they were more concerned with general trends in the skein - but they could read individual threads. They could tell a person when they would die, when they would have children...and when they would truly fall in love. The future was infinitely mutable, of course, nothing was predetermined, but Weavers had a pretty good idea of what would happen.

The skein that Dorian picked up now told the story of everyone, Hermione, Tovah, Eden, Fred, Ron...and Harry, whom no one had seen for eight years. It was him that this meeting concerned.

Dorian turned the skein over and over in his hands. The four witches leaned in closer to get a better look.

"Look at this thread," Dorian pointed to one thread that had come to the forefront of the tangled mass. "Hermione, do you see anything special about it?"

"It, it looks like the person whose thread it is has died recently," Hermione said hesitantly. "Wait. That can't be right, because look, it goes on."

Dorian smiled, "That, my dear Miss Granger, is your friend Harry's thread. I am afraid what you said is true. He died recently, which is why I was able to locate his thread, but your second thought was correct too."

Hermione frowned. "Impossible Dorian. You mean to tell me that Harry died, but that he's still alive? How the bloody hell is that possible?"

Dorian kept smiling. "Ah, that's not important to you," Dorian waved the thought away with a swish of his hand. "All you need to concern yourself with, Hermione, is that he's still alive. He's alive, and, if you wish, you will have an easier time of finding him because the skein can help to guide you."

"Like five years ago," Ginny said softly, "we've been given another chance, another chance to save Harry. Isn't that wonderful Hermione."

Hermione stared at the skein in Dorian's hands, transfixed by that one thread. "You, you, mean that..."

Dorian nodded. "Yes, you can save Harry. And I trust that you learned from your mistakes five years ago."

"But how? How can we save him? It's not like we haven't been fucking trying for the past eight years that he's been gone," Hermione nearly screamed in frustration. "Since Harry was captured by that, that complete and utter bastard we've been trying. We've tried everything. What makes this any different? Why should I get my hopes up this time?"

"Calm, Hermione, calm," Dorian said, "I can help you find him...the skein ought to give me some clues once I've had a chance to look into it more closely. And answer me this: who has been looking for him for the past eight years?"

Hermione thought for a moment, before realization dawned on her. "You mean?"

Ginny cut in. "Wait, now I'm confused. We've all been looking for him. What do you mean?"

"I think," said Dorian, "that Hermione understands. She can take things from here." With that, he packed up his skein and disappeared.

"Hermione?" Eden asked.

"Ginny's right, we all have. We being the people here tonight and those directly involved in our group. But who's not in the group?" Hermione said with a hint of anger in her voice.

"Um, a lot of people?" Eden said.

Hermione sighed. "I know that, Eden, but Ginny, can't you think of one person who hasn't been in the group?" For instance, Hermione thought, your cowardly brother.

"Surely Dorian cannot mean him," Tovah's brow was furrowed in consternation.

"He does mean him...Ron," Ginny said, "he's the key. We've got to cooperate with him."

"No," Hermione said, "Not we...me. Dorian wants me to. Ron, Harry, and I."

Why, Hermione did not know. She and Ron had drifted apart after Harry was captured. Hermione had realized that Harry had been the glue in their relationship. Hermione and Ron in and of themselves had not had a special relationship...everything they had done had been in relation to Harry. Researching spells for him, hanging out as a trio...even when Ron and Hermione were alone together they were always alone because Harry was busy, not because they wanted to be alone. Once Harry was gone...and matters had not been helped by Ron's attitude. It was almost as if he thought it were her fault. Just because she had thought Draco to be something that he wasn't...just because she had been unable to save Harry. Not to mention, Hermione thought bitterly, that Ron himself had done the exact same things, had failed in exactly the same ways. Bastard, getting mad at her for no reason.

"Perfect!" Eden said, jumping up, "Ron's in the States now, right? Just find him and go get Harry!"

"No," Hermione said flatly, "I refuse."

The other three witches stared at her. "Darling?" Tovah said.

"I refuse. Plain and simple. Ron chose not to bother himself with our trouble. I see no reason why we need to get him involved. We'll find some other way."

"But Hermione," Ginny said, slightly shocked, "that's what Dorian said we needed to do. He does know best."

"I'm sorry. I'll help, but I will not get Ron Weasley involved. Not only did he leave after the war, but he had the stones to suggest that somehow it was my fault that Harry had been captured."

"I'm sure it was just the stress of the time, Hermione. He is your friend," Tovah said laying a hand on Hermione shoulder. "I'm sure he didn't mean it."

Hermione shrugged off Tovah's hand. "Was, Tovah. He was my friend. But then Harry was captured and Ron and I drifted apart. We had nothing in common but Harry."

"Exactly. Ron and you had Harry in common. It'd be perfect...you two getting together to help save Harry," Ginny said, "Ron loved Harry and if it means that Harry will be safe Ron would do anything. I know my brother. He'd never turn down a chance to rescue Harry."

"Excuse me Ginny? When was the last time you spoke to him? If he's so eager to help Harry why hasn't he contacted us? Why hasn't he returned any of the owls we sent him asking him for help? Where the fuck was he five years ago?" Hermione stood up and was nearly shouting. "I'm sorry Ginny, but you're mistaken. Ron is not interested in helping us any more than I am interested in speaking to him. Good day."

Hermione waved her wand, taking down the bubble, and quickly Apparated away before anyone could stop her.