Harry Potter and the Missing Prophecy

Chapter Twelve

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

- Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, 1927

He'd known it would be coming - that the Dark Lord would call to him. He had been expecting it, but could not prepare himself for the absolutely terrifying, gut-churning nervousness he felt as he stood in the cold chamber that Sunday morning, the now-familiar dripping of water rushing in his ears, reflecting the fear he felt.

To the distant onlooker, such as Pansy, who could see him from across the chamber, he looked as cool and calm as ever. If she had been any closer to him, she would have seen the beads of sweat forming on his brow, a cold sweat that only manifested itself in such a situation. She herself felt coolly and confidently smug, leaning back on her wooden chair, one arm flung over the back. She could barely keep the grin from her face. The Dark Lord was happy with her reports on Draco and had promised to brand her with the skull and snake tattoo this very day. Just as soon as she had done one more thing for him, he had said.

Draco stood in the middle of the chamber, waiting for the Dark Lord to appear. He and Pansy were the only people in the chamber, although the sickeningly shrill sound of screams somewhere distant still permeated the stillness. He did not acknowledge Pansy until she spoke.

"So then, lover.... What brings you here?" she drawled.

Draco paused, then turned to her. "Don't try to be something you aren't Parkinson," he muttered.

"Ooh, tetchy today, I see.... Nervous, are we?" she teased.

Draco had the urge to wipe that smug look from her face but then remembered she actually liked a little violence, so he held his cool.

Her restlessness peaked; she couldn't resist. "He's going to initiate me today," she sing-songed, the urge to just tell someone bursting through.

Draco didn't say anything but stared blankly towards the hole in the wall, which served as a door.

Pansy was getting impatient with Draco. "You do realise that I've been tricking you this whole time, don't you?"

Draco rolled his eyes in irritation.

"I never really loved you, you know." Wouldn't she ever shut up? "I was just using you to get closer to the Dark Lord's inner circle."

At this point, Draco really had had enough and whirled to her, "You know, you are the worst spy ever. Do you even know the meaning of the word 'subtle'? You actually thought I loved you, or something?" and he snorted with derision.

Pansy raised a slow smile, but with a flickering waver of her confidence, Draco could see that he had gotten to her and it annoyed him beyond belief that she honestly thought he hadn't guessed what she was up to all that time.

She was about to say something else, but the swishing noise of a cloak caught her attention and she sat up in her chair and shook her hair back out of her eyes.

Draco turned and stood up straighter, looking at Voldemort, but not straight into those cold red eyes.

"I'm glad you could make it, Mister Malfoy." Voldemort said rather unnecessarily as he placed something that looked like a small book into a concealed compartment of his cloak and swooped over to his throne-like chair.

Draco said nothing.

Voldemort looked piercingly at him.

"I trust you have some news for me."

Draco had rehearsed every word. He knew he could not lie or embellish the truth - Voldemort would know instantly.

"I have news. I do not know what the Prophecy says, but I know for sure that Potter does...."

"I know this already," Voldemort interrupted, his tone impatient and dangerous.

The sweat built at the top of Draco's arms. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pansy simply glowing with malice, gleefully willing Voldemort to do something horrible to Draco.

"Yes. But Potter has told his friends. They know what it says, too."

"I'm waiting to hear something useful from you....."

Draco's knees quivered a little, but his voice did not waiver.

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Potter is protected by the school wards and the teachers, but his friends are not. They are easier to get to. Hermione knows something else too, but I don't think she even knows exactly...." And his voice trailed.

There was an agonising pause but Draco did not dare to look up. He shut his eyes in silent prayer.

"Mister Malfoy, I had hoped you may be of some use to me, but you have failed me miserably since last I saw you. What you told me bears no importance to me. Potter's friends, however amusing it would be to torture them, would never succumb to such methods...."

"But Veritaserum....." Draco interrupted unthinkingly, forgetting his place and meeting Voldemort's eye. He quickly realised what he'd just done, and bowed his head again.

Another pregnant pause passed before Voldemort spoke again, in a deadly quiet voice. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that you are as knowledgeable or informed as myself, Mister Malfoy. Veritaserum is highly difficult to find the ingredients for, let alone make. There is only one who could make a potion strong enough to fight through defences as strong as loyalty, and he is currently.... indisposed."

And with that the subject of Veritaserum was swiftly closed.

Draco was building himself up for the fall, the curse that would end his life, when Voldemort suddenly stood up and strode over to him, stopping only when he was a couple of feet away.

"Your absolute failure leaves me confounded, considering who your father is. It seems that you have forgotton that I do not accept failure in any form."

Draco scrunched his eyes up and heard a clap and giggle of glee from Pansy's direction.

"However," and Draco looked up to see Voldemort staring him in the eyes, searching his soul. Draco also thought he saw a slight twitch in Voldemort's face - something that told him he was itching to do something, yet must hold himself back at all cost.

"However, the fact that I have marked you means that you are bound to me. If I harm you, others will see me as having shown weakness in choosing an incompetent person for one of my Death Eaters. Therefore, I will take something of yours."

"Anything, my Lord..."

"What do you mean, 'anything'! Of course 'anything'! I will take from you what I feel you treasure most."

Draco closed his eyes again. Something didn't sit right. That excuse about why Voldemort could not harm him, it seemed a bit... feeble. It wasn't like Voldemort, the Dark Lord, heir of Slytherin, to not harm someone in order to keep face. And what would Voldemort want from him? Money? Well he had plenty of that but he didn't think Voldemort would want any of it. Draco couldn't think straight anymore.

"What is it you love most, what would you miss......" Voldemort turned slowly and purposefully, his next phrase a long-planned suggestion. "Why, maybe your girlfriend will be a fitting tribute...."

Pansy stopped laughing. Draco furrowed his brows a little, confusion abound. Surely Voldemort could read into his mind that he did not care for Pansy?

"But you need me!" Pansy desperately cried, but Voldemort silenced her with his will. Tears welled in Pansy's eyes as she looked desperately for escape.

"Aah, how one weeps for oneself when the tides are turned." Mock pity made Voldemort's head tilt to one side as he slowly approached a flailing Pansy, his voice a sickly sweet treacle of soft malice. "Destiny is a funny thing. I keep my promises. You see, you are serving a purpose. You do still have one more mission. Think of yourself as a martyr, to save your pathetic boyfriend...." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, Pansy recoiling in horror at its iciness. It was almost a gesture of tenderness. Almost.

Voldemort stepped back towards Draco, eyeing him carefully.

It happened quickly and quietly, as Voldemort turned swiftly, deftly and silently pulling something from his robes. In the swing this created, and before she could even blink, Pansy's head hit the ground and rolled across the floor to meet Draco's feet.

Four hours. Four sodding hours she'd spent trying to fathom this stupid prophecy thing.

Oh, certainly she'd found the words and their English translations. That hadn't been a chore in itself, after asking Ron exactly how to translate his scribbled handwriting into something legible.

She had worked methodically, as she did on all her assignments. Once she had her list of Latin words, and there were only about three dozen of them, she had looked up the stem meanings of the ones she didn't already know. However, it was then she realised that a lot of the words had multiple meanings when used in different contexts. Not a problem on it's own, but when trying to cross-reference them with all the different meanings of the other words, it became a serious migraine-inducing exercise.

Not that she wasn't enjoying the task anyway.

Ron had long ago abandoned helping her. It was by mutual agreement, after Ron, getting restless and bored and being of no useful aide at all, had flicked a quill at her and left permanent ink on her nose. Hermione had snapped, telling him to "go and be useful - find Harry or something". He had looked crestfallen when she'd yelled at him, which had attracted the attention of Madam Pince's disapproving stares. After an apologetic smile at him, he leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek and left the library. Hermione had let herself smile a dreamy smile a bit and watched him leave, before breathing deeply and looking back at the list in front of her.

After staring for another hour at list after list of words, Hermione decided that she could safely eliminate some meanings of words easily, and decided that if she extracted basic nouns, verbs, adjectives and names, conjured them into moveable ink on the page, and just watched them swirl around for a bit, perhaps a pattern could be discerned.

And strangely enough, it worked.

Ron looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts, across the lake lapping at the shore, across the expanse of grass, where it looked as though Dean and Seamus were trying to teach that muggle football-game, or whatever it was called, to some fourth years. He noticed Ginny watching them uninterestedly from the sidelines.

He considered going down to speak to her, but then changed his mind and decided to check the Quidditch pitch. Harry might be there.

Ron had gone to bed the night before quite late. They had been waiting up for Harry to see what Snape had had in store for him, but after Hermione had fallen asleep on his shoulder, he'd gently woken her up and guided her to the foot of the stairs to the girl's dormitories. They had shared an emotional goodnight kiss, before Ron went to his own dormitory and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he woke up, Harry was still not there, and his bed looked as neat as it had the night before.

Needless, to say, both Ron and Hermione had cause for concern, considering who the last person to see him would have been. However, they had tried not to worry too much, as Harry had done a lot of disappearing on his own lately, and hadn't yet alerted any of the teachers. They'd already checked the Room of Requirement and the kitchens, but hadn't yet checked outside the castle itself.

Ron half-jogged down to the pitch, but the only people there were the Slytherin Quidditch team, looking slightly puzzled and unsure about something.

Ron hastily left the pitch and took the long way round by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Dark stormy clouds loomed overhead, threatening a whipping wind, and Ron made up his mind to head back to the castle as soon as he had had a quick look around the grounds.

He hadn't got far when he came to the gates of the school and stopped short.

A pair of legs poked out from beneath the bush lining the gates.

Ron's heart quite literally stopped, his breath quickened. It took him a shocked moment before he got down on his knees and had a closer look, tentatively lifting the lower branches to see underneath.

For some reason, Ron found he wasn't surprised at all to see Harry lying there, pale as a Malfoy, and dead.

The world momentarily froze.

Ron's heart started beating again, of it's own accord, but his mind wouldn't engage. The air around him rushed through his ears and his eyesight became like tunnel vision, all black save for the sight in front of him.

It took what felt like forever and a day before Ron noticed that Harry's chest was rising and falling, not deeply, but enough to know that he was still alive.

Ron reacted very suddenly in his relief, a state which rendered him cold and dizzy. He reached further beneath the bush, and pulled Harry out. Harry grunted at this rude disturbance and shielded his eyes against the light.

"Harry?" Ron called lightly to him, and it made Harry roll over and block his ears with his hands.

"Stop yelling!" he replied, his voice hoarse.

"I'm not yelling. What the hell are you doing here?" Ron asked, stood over his sprawled body.

"Hogsmeade.... Firewhiskey," Harry mumbled, waving his hands limply and trying to get off the ground. He found it wasn't a good idea, and immediately fell back down, although he managed to sit himself up this time.

Harry rubbed his puffed-up eyes and squinted up at Ron, before looking around him. "Ermph, what time is it?"

"Just before midday."

Harry scrunched up his face. "I think I need something to eat." Then he paled. "Wait, no I don't!" then leaned over, heaving and spitting onto the ground in front of him.

"I think we should get you back, don't you?"

"I need sleep."

"I'm more concerned with how we're going to get you through the castle without being seen by any teachers."

Ron held his hand out and Harry took it, wobbling unsteadily as he stood up.

"OK, I think I have an idea," Ron said, then guided Harry carefully over to a large tree near to where Ginny was sitting. There he dumped Harry unceremoniously, without much protestation, and jogged over to where Ginny sat, idly playing with Crookshanks.

"Oh, not again Ron," Ginny rolled her eyes. "How many times, it's none -"

But she was cut off by Ron. "Listen, Gin, I need your help."

Glad for a reprieve from the third degree, Ginny frowned. "What? Is it illegal?"

"Not quite. Listen, I found Harry - "

"Why, was he lost?"

"Shhh, keep it down, will you!? He's behind that tree over there, but I need to get him into the common room without being seen."

"Is he ok? Why ca - "

"Just... please... Gin, I need you to go find Hermione in the library and ask her to fetch the thing from our dormitory, she'll know what I mean, then bring it back here. Tell her it's in Harry's trunk, and she'll need to use that special charm she invented to unlock it."

Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes. "The Invisibility Cloak is hardly a secret anymore Ron. Let me look at him." She pulled herself up, and strode over to the tree where Harry was splayed out like a starfish over its roots, a green tinge to his sweaty face.

"Ah, I see," she nodded. "Hang on a minute," and she pulled her wand out, pointed it at Harry and muttered "Sobrius". She put her hands on her hips and both of them watched as Harry's eyes seemed to focus slightly before he curled up into a ball and promptly threw up on the ground, heaving and retching until there was nothing left. He got up slightly but stayed there on all fours, rasping heavily.

"Ergh. Where did you learn to do that?" Ron asked.

Ginny shrugged. "Fred and George taught it to me years ago so I would be able to sort them out after their trips to Hogsmeade. He'll be ok in about five minutes."

Ron nodded, impressed.

By this stage, Harry had stood up and walked to the lake's edge and splashed his face with water.

"Can I go now?" Ginny asked.

"Er, yeah, cheers Gin," Ron nodded and walked over to Harry.

"You look like death warmed up," Ron stated unnecessarily.

"Yeah, cheers mate." Harry frowned at himself as he said that. Mate? A niggling something tugged at the word, made it sound strange.

"C'mon, they'll be serving lunch now. You look like you could do with some grub."

Harry merely nodded, colour returning to his cheeks by the second. They turned and walked towards the castle steps, waving thankfully at Ginny as they passed.

"So.... Snape's detention that bad, huh?" Ron asked.

"Yeah...." Harry's voice trailed, his every memory of the night before returning along with his thought capability.

"What did he make you do?"

Harry frowned, trying to remember everything. Then very suddenly he did, and realised it wasn't that at all that had made him go to the Hogs Head and drown in about a litre of Firewhiskey. He had a feeling he should probably be alone and think about something.

"Oh, the usual. Listen," he said as they reached the Great Hall. "I'm just going to grab a plate of food and take it with me upstairs."

"Do you want me to come with - ?"

"No! No. I think I just need to eat somewhere quiet and then have a nap. Really, I'll be fine."

With Ron looking puzzled after him, Harry left the hall with a large plate of ham and pickle sandwiches. He didn't think he could stomach anything more exotic than that.

When he got to the common room, Harry went straight upstairs, sat on his bed and closed the drapes around it, thankful that no one else was in the dormitory.

As he slowly ate his sandwiches, Harry's mind wandered to his strange encounter with Snape but was then overshadowed by the scene he witnessed by the lake. As he thought about what he'd seen, he shook his head, to clear a cobwebby thought. It was as though his heart was in a vice, but he didn't know why.

His meanderings delved into every far-flung corner of emotion. He didn't really feel much at the moment apart from that dull ache.

Ron and Hermione. Hermione and Ron. Together. Ron and Hermione together as a couple. Kissing. Hugging. He tried it all on for size.

Was he shocked? Maybe not. As he thought about it, he recognised that all the clues had been right there in front of him, but he had not realised it until now. So what was it about the sight of them together that had made him react so badly last night - badly enough to go and get drunk on his own in Hogsmeade anyway. How long had it been going on? Were they deliberately trying to hide it from him?

These questions revolved in his head, and emotionless swirl of confusion. He recalled that devastated feeling he'd had inside when he'd seen them. Betrayal, hurt, anger, all those things. The only feeling he had now was a numb kind of dull ache in his belly, although he wasn't sure if it was the after-effects of the Firewhiskey. He tried and failed to distance those emotions from the emotions he had already felt at that time from Snape's detention. But one seemed to override the others, and it took him a while to realise what it was, and that it had nothing to do with Snape. Jealousy.

He sat up straight, a bolt of realisation hitting him at the same time as a wave of overwhelming hurt. A sudden urge pervaded his ability to think and in a fit of rage he threw the empty plate off the bed. The drapes caught the impact, and the plate fell between them and the bed, hitting the floor with a soft clatter.

I'm in love with Hermione.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, drained and feeling sick.

Parchment littered the table in front of her. Words spread out like a meaningless tableau. Yet it was the exact opposite. It was the destiny of a future foretold, yet impossibly changeable.

She leaned forward again and rested her head in her hands, fighting the sad frustrated tears that threatened to spill.

She sat that way for a long while before Ron approached quietly and took her shoulder. She looked up at him desperately and he leaned down to draw her into a tight hug.

"Come on, let's go somewhere else," he said quietly. He tidied her papers and books together before hefting them in one arm and lifting Hermione in the other. He guided her to the near-empty common room before dropping her into a low armchair.

She leaned forward, barely aware of where she was or how she had got there. Ron knelt in front of her and lifted her chin with his hand.

"Hermione? What is it?" He asked quietly, trying to keep the faint note of panic out of his voice.

At this, she lifted her head and looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then her eyes widened suddenly and she grabbed his arms forcefully.

"Harry! Did you find him?" she said in a shaky, pleading voice.

"Shh, he's ok. I found him. I think he's sleeping now."

She loosened her grip and nodded, but the same sad resigned look she had on her face when he'd found her returned.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at him and searched his eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do...." She whispered.

"Hermione, tell me."

"I - I don't know if I can. It's too terrible...."

"What's too terrible?"

Hermione searched his eyes, her own wide and flickering. "You can't tell him, Ron. You just can't. I don't know what to do. I don't know why they told me. It's - it's the weapon. It's not an object. There is no actual weapon for Harry to use to kill Voldemort...."

Ron took his turn to grip her arms. "But... then it's ok! He's got his mother's prote -"

"No!" Hermione almost shouted, then dropped her voice. "Listen to me, Ron! The weapon is not something Harry can wield. It's not an object. It's - it's a person...."

Draco looked down and stared, not quite understanding what had just happened. He looked up, trying not to show his reaction, to see Voldemort facing him, his bony fingers holding a longsword with dull emeralds embedded into the ebony handle.

He looked down at his feet again and blinked. He wondered what had made the Dark Lord think that Pansy mattered to him. He also couldn't help thinking that it would have been just as effective to use the Killing Curse to do the job. When he looked up for the second time, Voldemort's pale face broke into a self-satisfying grin.

"I know, brutal, isn't it? Some of these ancient muggle-style warfare tactics are really quite effective. Much more satisfying than the Killing Curse. I'm becoming quite fond of it..." his voice trailed off as he held the sword up in front of his face, tracing a finger delicately along its blade. He pulled his finger away and inspected the blood that had appeared, fascinated. He rubbed the blood between his fingers thoughtfully and turned to Draco.

"This sword belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Each founder had one. They had them made by goblin warriors and were displayed in Hogwarts for seven centuries before being stolen back by the goblins. Indestructible, yet one sword may destroy another, and only an heir may wield it. Stronger than diamond or even adamantine... more powerful than you can imagine..." Voldemort seemed to be talking to himself more than to Draco, all the while stroking the sword fondly, and as his voice trailed off he turned abruptly and acknowledged Draco with a mocking stare.

"Fitting, isn't it? A pathetic, desperate Slytherin loses her head to Slytherin's own sword, in order to prove a point to another desperate Slytherin..."

For want of a better phrase, Draco was scared shitless. He could barely find breath in his lungs. He was not bothered by Pansy's actual death, yet the pool of rapidly thickening blood around her headless torso was definitely bothering him a fair bit. A fair bit being a lot. Desperation screamed at him to run, to get out of there, but frozen to where he stood, he still could not help wondering why the Dark Lord was acknowledging some of his thoughts, but completely ignoring others.

"I expect," continued Voldemort, "that you are wondering if I intend to kill you too." His horrid eyes bored into Draco's. "But I am not ready for that end. I may dispose of you later, but then again, I may not. It depends...."

Draco took a long blink and ventured the words, "On - on what, Master?"

"Whether you will fulfil your duty or not. I am not sure whether you are more useful to me alive or dead. Until I decide, you will stay here with me."

A cold shiver ran down Draco's spine. He had not expected this. Death, yes, but not this.