The Osiris Song

"NO!"

Hermione could not keep the cry of heartbroken outrage to herself as she watched Fleur slowly crumble to the floor, weeping. Without thought, the younger witch tried to run towards her friend, only to find herself rebuffed by an invisible wall that left her sprawled on the ground at Ron's feet.

"What's going on?" the young man asked as he helped her to stand again. Harry came forward to join them, and all three stared in horror at the sad reunion taking place on the other side of the transparent barrier.

"She has paid the price for tampering with the will of Osiris," the calm, tranquil voice of Isis said from behind them. The trio turned as one to see the darkly beautiful goddess gliding forward to stand level with them at the barrier.

"You never told us this would happen!" Hermione exclaimed, not caring that she was shouting at a god. "You should have said something!" Hot tears burned in her eyes.

Isis quietly endured the young witch's scolding. "Had I given Fleur warning, would she have left the Song unsung?" the goddess asked softly, her fathoms-deep eyes touching each of the three in turn, and leaving them in no doubt as to the answer.

"No," Harry answered for them all, his voice hollow. "She would have sung it anyway. But perhaps it wouldn't have hurt so much after the fact," he added, though there was little venom in the statement.

Isis nodded sagely, and turned her attention back to the couple curled up on the floor by the sarcophagus. "Foreknowledge may have eased the pain, that is true," she agreed, "but it would have tainted the Song, and there would have been no reunion over which to weep or rejoice." Bowing her regal head, she continued, "You must learn, young ones, that there are very few true miracles. All things must have their price. There must be balance to the world, or it will dissolve into chaos."

It was the truth, and yet the realization did little to ease the pain they each felt. Hermione found herself pondering the cruel irony of the situation; Fleur was now the most beautiful creature alive, perhaps the most breathtaking veela Hermione herself had ever seen. It was something Hermione - and indeed, every witch back to the dawn of time - had wished for all her life. And yet the shimmering witch crouched beside the coffin would gladly have traded every shred of her beauty to have her life back to what it had been three months ago, when Bill had still loved her despite her beauty, not because of it.

"Why can't we reach her?" Hermione heard herself say, her eyes riveted to the pitiful tableau next to the sarcophagus. Fleur had Bill cradled in her arms and was weeping softly into his hair, while her husband held her tightly, a smile of rapturous delight painted across his face. "I tried to earlier, but something kept me back."

"A respite," Isis replied with a nod. "A veil, through which you can see the events with clarity."

"What do you mean?"

"Were the curtain not here, you would be as Bill is. You would not see Fleur. You would see only the veela she has become." Isis turned her mystical gaze on the three friends and smiled sadly. "I felt it only right that there be witnesses here to view her sacrifice and know it for what it truly is. The Fleur you once knew is dead now. Only this Fleur remains."

A beautiful, grieving, shimmering vision of misery. Hermione found herself wishing Isis had not been so thoughtful. She could have lived her entire life blissfully unaware that the young veela had forfeited anything, rather than experience these few minutes of pain on her behalf.

"I wonder what the children will be like," she heard Ron muse quietly behind her after a few moments had passed.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, as much trying to fill the unhappy silence as from any real interest.

"They would have been only one-eighth veela before all this," Ron explained. "I was just wondering if… well, if they'd be half veela now or what." Hermione felt him shrug. "Never mind. It was stupid. I was just wondering."

Hermione couldn't resist a smile, though only a small one. It was just like Ron to be thinking about such seemingly inane things during a time of crisis. It was his defense mechanism.

"Will they love her?"

Harry had said it, but it didn't sound like his voice. He sounded younger, like the boy with broken glasses Hermione had first met on the Hogwart's Express all those years ago. When she looked at him, she saw that his eyes were clear as he watched the pair beyond the transparent wall. "Of course they will," she murmured, a little shocked that Harry could suggest otherwise. "She's their mother."

"No she's not."

"Harry, what are you talking about?"

"She said that Fleur was dead now," Harry said, his voice aging again, taking on a sharp tone as he gestured towards Isis. "Only this Fleur remains, isn't that right?" He addressed the question to the goddess. "This perfect Fleur."

Isis bowed her head in acknowledgement.

"It's not fair," Harry growled between grated teeth, green eyes glowing with suppressed ire as he stared past Fleur and Bill, into the cavernous distance of the throne room. "They should know their parents, not these shells who look like them."

"Fleur made the choice-" Hermione began, laying a hand on his shoulder to soothe his raw nerves, but Harry knocked her hand away.

"Yes!" he barked, glaring at her. "FLEUR made the choice, not the children! They're as much a part of this scenario as Bill or Fleur. Didn't you hear the song? Didn't you hear THEM? They're PART of this charlatan miracle, not some side effect that can be dealt with later. They deserve a say in how it all happens!"

Hermione shared a look with Ron. "Harry," the red-haired young man said carefully, taking a tentative step towards his friend. "Calm down, mate. You're talking crazy."

"Am I?" Harry snapped, eyes switching between the two of them like their heads were ping-pong balls in play. "What would either of you know? You haven't lost YOUR parents. And even if you did - even if you lost them right now - you could at least say you KNEW them. You'd have memories, family photographs, stories to tell your children. You'd have THEM." He took a blazing step towards them, and Hermione was surprised to find herself stumbling backwards to get away from that green fire in his eyes.

"I had a year with my parents, and it won't ever be enough," he said, voice soft and dangerous as potion smoke. "These children - Fleur and Bill's children - wouldn't even have THAT."

"But… Fleur and Bill…," Hermione ventured nervously. "I mean… they're THERE. They're alive. Harry, they'd still have their parents."

"No they wouldn't," Harry argued, thankfully turning the full brunt of his eyes away from her and onto the couple curled up beside the sarcophagus. "Those aren't their parents. That's a veela and her sycophant. Those aren't the people who loved each other like crazy, who would have loved their children like they were the center of the world." He shook his head, his eyes unmoving. "It's not right."

Hermione wanted to reach out and take his hand comfortingly in hers, but resisted the urge. He looked as though he'd snap her wrist if she tried. "I know, Harry," she agreed quietly. "It's awful. None of it's fair. But what's done is done. And Bill's back - he's alive and safe again. Let's be thankful for what we have, without inviting more pain because of what we're missing. We can't change it."

"Why not?"

"What?"

He looked at her again, and now his eyes were cool as glacial pools. "Why can't we change things?"

When she didn't answer right away, Ron filled the silence. "It's impossible, Harry," he said, coming up behind Hermione and rubbing her arms soothingly. "Whatever you're suggesting, it's impossible."

"Is it? Twenty minutes ago, I would have said bringing a man back from the dead was impossible. But I'm obviously wrong, because I see one right there." He jabbed an angry finger in Bill's direction, then turned in Isis' direction. "You're a goddess," he demanded. "Do something."

Hermione held her breath, waiting for a reaction from the deity. She had been nothing but gentle until now, but Harry was pushing the immortal in directions Hermione was certain were not meant to be pursued. The retribution for overstepping the mark was probably horrific, but Harry didn't seem to mind.

Rather than turning into a whirlwind of righteous anger, Isis bowed her head. "What would you have me do, Harry Potter?"

"Let the children speak. Let them decide if they want this to happen."

"The children are unborn."

"Then alter time. Wave your hands and twiddle your nose and snap your fingers and make them appear. Read some bloody tea leaves. You're a GODDESS. Think of something!"

Hermione felt Ron take her hand and squeeze it for dear life. He was obviously thinking the same as her - that any moment, Isis was going to reach out and snap Harry's neck like a piece of straw. But the goddess merely reached out and laid a tender hand on the young man's untamed hair.

"Your anger pours through you as water through cloth, child," she murmured in her voice like a bell; dark, fathomless eyes searched his face. "But this is not your family, and they are not your parents. What is done here cannot change the life you have suffered."

Harry stared up at her, unblinking. "You're wrong," he said quietly, voice like a ripple of heat across a desert landscape. "They ARE my family." He bowed his head now, his anger finally collapsing under the weight of her love. "Please..."

For a long moment, Isis did nothing but stroke his hair.

Then, raising her hand from his head, she threw it out to the side, fingers splayed, palm turned towards Fleur and Bill.

"SPEAK," she said, her voice quiet but thunderous, like the movement of currents beneath the surface of the ocean.

A pink mist began to form around the immortal's hand. It spiraled up her arm, then spread out down her body until she was cloaked in a fine, thin veil of coral smoke. Isis closed her eyes but her body remained rigid, as the vapor began to whirl and snap around her, as though tossed by a stormy wind.

Time seemed to stop. Hours or minutes might have passed. Perhaps it had been years while Hermione watched in awe as the goddess Isis, mother of Horus, who had sewn her husband's body back together for love, listened to the fog.

Then it was over. One moment, the mist was there. The next, it was not. Hermione shook herself out of the reverie that held her, and blinked dry eyes.

"What was that?" Ron asked, his voice hoarse, as though he hadn't swallowed in an age.

Isis lowered her hand. "The children have spoken," she said, and bowed her head. "The bargain is struck."

"What bargain?" Hermione asked, but Isis didn't answer. "What bargain!"

"Oh my god," Ron murmured, and squeezed her shoulder. "Look."

Hermione followed his gaze, through the transparent barrier towards the sarcophagus and its unhappy couple.

And she gasped.

TBC…