Other Ends

OTHER ENDS

Silverfish ~:

IV.

The trouble with Chief Constable Blurty is that he is a curious man, and not in the sense of someone who enjoys searching out the answer to a puzzle, like Daniel is, but he is more, as one could say in an honest description which hopes not to be derogatory--"He's a very nice fellow. A little curious, perhaps." This aspect of his personality may be why he was so strangely chipper given the gravity of the current situation. Minerva McGonagall found his positive outlook to be oddly refreshing.

"...So the walls were damp,and some of the bricks were coming way, and the foundation had a horrible crack right up its center, but I have to say, all in all the little Provence cottage we'd invested in wasn't all that bad. Not even with the rain pelting us with that hole in the roof...Oh yes, and that snap snowstorm, and unfortunately we hadn't any heat and the fireplace was blocked. There was a layer of ice on all the roses we'd planted, and had finally gotten to grow properly. Very pretty. My wife wasn't quite so pleased, though. I still don't know why she made me sell the place." He poured himself a cup of tea into his pink flowered cup and unhappily sighed. Minerva made a move to get herself a cup, and Blurty instantly grabbed a small cup and the handle of the teapot, which struggled in indignance against his tight grasp. "Dear me, my manners! How many sugars?"

"Two," Minerva McGonagall said, and smiled sweetly.

The spout from the teapot tried to inch away from the rim, and Blurty had to place the teacup on the surface of Dumbledore's desk and then grab the spout with his free hand. "Come on now, what's the trouble with giving the fine lady a spot of tea?"

"It may have an opinion about the tea being over steeped," McGonagall explained, and blushed a little at being called a 'fine lady'. Blurty gave her a look of concern which she waved away. "Oh, but I don't mind it strong."

Blurty managed to pour the tea, but not without sloshing just a little of it onto Dumbledore's desk. The drops immediately evaporated. Out of curiosity,and to the great displeasure of the teapot, he purposefully poured a few larger drops onto the wooden surface. The tea evaporated, and left it even shinier and cleaner in its wake. "Self cleaning furniture," Blurty said in admiration. "My wife would be a fan of this."

He sipped at his tea and picked up the Marauder's map that lay partially curled on the surface of Dumbledore's desk. He had a bemused expression as he watched the gathering of wizards descend onto the section marked as 'new construction'. The little dots and corresponding names kept melting into one another as the scene became more panicked. Blurty's gaze traveled away from there to find his other two officers, who were found in the Gryffndor tower, having some serious conference with George and Fred Weasley, which seemed to involve a lot of dancing dots and few female co-op students from Ravenclaw's graduate affiliate: "The Wizard and Witchery Scholastics And Tiresome Philosophies College". Blurty figured they wouldn't be able to brood too much on Sartre with Britney Spears playing that loudly. He could even hear her tinny voice through the map.

In contrast was Lucius Malfoy, who was still between shelves, not moving. Ricki was in Hagrid's home, and by the look of things in deep conversation which was always a rare thing for Ricki. Blurty concentrated on that unmoving Malfoy dot for a long moment. He drained his pink cup of tea, and then rolled the map up, tightly.

"I think," he said to Minerva McGonagall, "we'd best take a trip to your library."

***
Hermione and Ron crept through shadows as they made their way the painfully long distance to the Hogwarts infirmary. Ron walked behind her, not at all sure that this particular plan, whatever it was, was going to work. But then, Ron always had been a bit of a pessimist in the face of adversity--At least, he thought, when it came to Muggle things that could suddenly turn into who knew What in his universe--and it definitely couldn't be something useful or good. Guns were used to kill people.

That thought alone, of it resting against Hermione's heart where she held it close as they walked--Ugh, it made him shudder!

"Are you sure this won't take too long?" he asked.

"I can't make any promises," Hermione said in confidence. "All I know is that to make a purifying potion, one must have purifying ingredients, and I know that most of them are in Madam Pomfrey's cabinets. Elfvensbane especially." She flinched at the thought.

Ron grimaced. "Aren't those..?"

"Elf boogers," Hermione said, her voice sharp. "They're quite common in all wizard remedies. Especially cough medicine."

Ron turned a shade of green. "But...I had a cold last week...and she...she gave me cough medicine..."

"And you don't have a cold now," Hermione said, and smiled. "Amazing, isn't it?"

"It's disgusting," Ron said. His mind was reeling with the thought of elves horking loogies into an amber coloured medicine bottle. He clutched his stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Hermione wasn't as concerned about her friend's discomfort, for there was something even more important pressing on her, facts that simply were more personal than she was willing to share. Their meeting with Draco Malfoy had been strange, to say the least, especially after all these years of him being their most severe enemy. She wouldn't forget in a hurry how he'd looked at her, in that awful mixture of what could almost be seen as pity and revulsion. It hurt her pride to think that some of his ideas on the 'barbarity' of Muggles may be right, but it didn't mean that he was correct in placing his own pureblooded Wizard status above her own. That is...If he still did.

He said he was talking to someone named 'Blurty'. As in Chief Constable Blurty, Daniel Deschamps' former superior. Of course she knew about him, she knew about McKnulty and McKinnon toughs wouldn't be the thorough academic she was if she didn't know a thing or two about nosy research.

Besides, she couldn't help it if their English teacher's wristwatch had been talkative. She was still annoyed that Professor Snape had confiscated it during one of her potions classes. She had assured the dour Snape at the time that no, she hadn't stolen it, the watch had a terrible habit of slinking away from Professor Deschamps like an inchworm and she'd found in the hall after her Arithmacy class. She had every intention of taking it to the Headmaster where it would have been dealt with properly. For whatever reason, this ended up in fifteen points being taken off of Gryffndor, and Snape being the proud new owner of a partially sentient Timex.

Muggle things certainly didn't belong in the wizard world. She gave the gun she held against her chest an unhappy pat. Draco had said he found the weapon in his father's briefcase. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him, especially after seeing that stricken expression of his when she'd clarified his darkest fears. Disillusionment was never an easy thing, especially when it involved the man you worshipped most--your own father.

"I wonder where it will all lead to from here?" she wondered aloud, and Ron, thinking she was talking about the twisting corridor, said: "The infirmary's only around this bend."

They turned and were immediately standing before a huge, oak door. At first, Hermione was worried it may be locked, but Ron was the braver one, and he opened the door with a gentle shove. It softly creaked as they made their way into the black, velvet darkness, the beds all empty, and the room as cheerless as any tomb.

"In the past, that's what this place had become for a few unfortunate students," Hermione thought. She shuddered at the way her own and Ron's shadows crawled along the walls. "And nearly for me as well."

"The cabinet's over here," Ron whispered, though there was no need. No one was coming here tonight, the silence of the dark room overpowering--deafening, even, in its depth. Hermione swallowed back her nervousness and followed Ron to the cabinet containing Elfsvenbane along with several other ingredients they would need. She placed the gun and its velvet covering onto the seat of a nearby chair, and began reading and collecting bottles that were the ingredients they would need. She was holding an especially small bottle of mandrake juice, when loud voices suddenly disturbed the quiet. She could hear Madam Pomfrey the loudest, and she was barking out frantic orders.

"Another somnolence spell! Now! He's only just dead, not entirely dead, there might be some hope yet if we can hold him in this suspension for just a little while longer..."

The door to the infirmary burst open, and both Ron and Hermione ducked behind the medicine cabinet as a stretcher was wheeled in and placed in the center of the infirmary. Dumbledore was there, as was Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. All of them were working over the horrifying, bloody form of Daniel Deschamps, who lay stretched on his back, the tone of his skin every inch of death's grey. Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth to keep her cry of terror inside, but unfortunately Ron wasn't so quiet.

"Oh FUCK!" he shouted, and staggered out from his hiding spot, and looked as though he was about to fade away himself right then and there. Which, as he tumbled to the ground, is exactly what he did.

Dumbledore noticed him, and raised a bushy white brow. "Hm...Seems this place is popular for energetic get togethers--Who else is there?"

Embarrassed, Hermione crept out of her hiding place from behind the cabinet. "It's me, sir," she said.

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, and actually smiled at her. Though the image of Daniel Deschamps on the stretcher was certainly terrifying, she did her best to compose herself, and she nodded at her Headmaster carefully.

Madam Pomfrey had a cloth held against the back of Daniel's head. It was dripping crimson. "This won't do," she said, "I need something a little stronger." She nodded at Hermione. "My dear--Get me some of that wall plaster, will you? Second shelf from the right." She shook her head as she stared what had to be a very fatal wound. "Getting the bullet out of there is the biggest problem," she said. "If I even dare to nudge it, he'll be dead beyond repair."

Silently, Hermione got the plaster and made her way to the gurney that held the dying, if not already just dead, Daniel Deschamps on it. Sirius Black was cursing, his good friend Remus Lupin holding his shoulders.

"That bastard," Sirius said. "He knew all along!"

"And what would you expect him to do?" Remus said to him, angry. "Just casually announce that 'Oh, by the way, I might look very healthy and alive, but Death is looking for me since She already nicked me a year ago.' Even here in the wizard world no one would have believed such strange nonsense. A man dies and he can either go or become a ghost, that's just the way things are supposed to be...Not this weird lingering."

"That bullet," Pomfrey said, shaking her head again. Hermione nudged her way past Sirius and Remus who let her pass between them, and handed Pomfrey the can of wall plaster. Pomfrey tore off the lid and began applying the substance liberally onto the back of Daniel's head.

"Sometimes, they just leave the bullet in," Hermione offered.

Pomfrey paused, and Dumbledore, who had been watching Daniel with grave concern, stroked his beard in contemplation at this.

The Headmaster smiled. "Why...Of course, what an excellent suggestion, Miss Granger. It should be implimented at once!"

Sirius and Remus exchanged confused expressions, expressions which soon turned to shock as Dumbledore pushed them aside with a strength that no wizard who looked as fragile as he did should have had. "Out of the way, now, I've work to do!" he said to them. He tapped his wand on the metal frame of the gurney, capturing Madam Pomfrey's attention. "You too, Madam, I would hate anyone else to get caught in a crossfire of this magnitude."

"But..." she looked down at Daniel's wound, and at the way his body still refused to do the basics, like breath and make its heart beat. "He'll be dead too long in a few seconds and..."

"Out of the way," Dumbledore said, sounding mildly irritated. There was strength enough in that conviction to make Madam Pomfrey leave her patient, though still with some reluctance. Hermione, for her part, inched closer to the far wall, and nearly tripped over a chair. Something heavy, and metal, hit the floor. It was resting against her foot, something strangely warm. She tried to kick it out of the way, but for some reason she refrained. She allowed the fallen gun to rest at her ankle. It was warm, and inviting. The weapon of Muggle Death was giving her some measure of comfort.

She let it remain.

***
They'd been forced to stay in the Potions classroom, to keep an eye on Professor Snape since Headmaster Dumbledore had refused to allow him to follow the entourage to the infirmary. He was now behind the closed door of his potions office, and Harry and Draco were sitting at the places they usually occupied during class. Draco was concentrating heavily on the lines of his palm, his thoughts drawn deeply inward. Harry was staring at the potions office door, his brow in increasing rivets of worry.

"Do you think it's wise to leave him in there alone?" Harry asked.

Draco didn't look up from his inspection of his palm. "I don't know," he said.

Harry made a decision. He pulled on Draco's shoulder, gnarling the fabric of his robe into his grip. "We'd better check on him," he said, and Draco sneered in response.

"Are you mad?" He shook off Harry's touch. "I have no intention of rolling around in black nettles, thank you very much. I say we just leave him alone--He's probably devising some potion to bring Deschamps back from the brink of death anyway, and we'll be back to misunderstanding Shakespeare and earning 'F's in no time."

"No," Harry said, and he really was adamant. Draco fumed as he was practically dragged to the shut potions door. Harry fixed a look of profound disapproval on him. "You really are a coward, Malfoy," he said.

"And you're a meddling brat," Draco replied. "What do you hope to see when you open that door? If Snape is making a potion to bring Daniel back from the dead, you can be sure the ingredients won't be pretty, in fact they could be highly volatile--disturbing him might affect the way the potion works."

Though what Draco said had some merit, Harry wasn't about to entertain the thought too long. "Snape is a potions master, he won't let us distract him," he said. Still, when he placed his hand on the knob of the door, and gently turned it, he only pushed the door open a small sliver, to give them an inkling of what Snape was doing within his office. Draco stood behind Harry, looking over his shoulder, for now that the decision had been made and the act carried out, there was no point to refusing himself a peek.

Severus Snape was not creating a potion to bring Daniel Deschamps back from the dead.

He was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Grief. It was overlaying every molecule of the air within his office, and it leaked out through the sliver of the partially open door. Harry had been curious, that was all--and he realized now that such a thing under these circumstances had no place in this man's suffering. It put him on the same cold level as the Malfoys.

He closed the door again in silence. Casting Draco an apologetic glance, he raised his hand in a fist, and knocked twice on the thick, moss laden wood.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"Leave me alone," was the answer. The words were devoid of the usual Snape malice, replaced instead by this horrible dullness--like his life had been siphoned out. Inexplicable as it was, Harry longed to have that biting sarcasm of Snape's back. That emptiness was just....It was wrong.

"I thought he'd hated him," Harry said to Draco as they left the door, and their potions master's grief, alone. "But now I think Daniel Deschamps was the only person Snape ever called a friend."

Draco sat in his usual spot, and began contemplating his palm again. "Harry," he said. "Do you believe in destiny?"

Almost immediately, Harry touched the scar on his forehead with his fingertips, and then took his hand away, as though his fingers had been burned. "I don't like to," he said, "but I think it's just forced on us just the same."

Draco snorted at this. "My father said it had always been my destiny to be a wizard of great worth, to be a Malfoy and a master of the Dark Arts, to be a blessed party to the greatest wizard ever known." He looked for shocked surprise on Harry's face, and found nothing but sad agreement. Draco's mouth twisted into a sneer, his grey eyes flickering in anger. "I don't believe in destiny," Draco said in finality. He raised his gaze to Snape's office door, and narrowed his eyes at it. "Not anymore."

***
Albus Dumbledore was a wizard of great mastery. Far too many times had both the students and faculty of Hogwarts forgotten this, believing his outward, almost frail appearance and his odd eccentricities to be the true level of his personality and power. Hermione was becoming a very fast learner when it came to surface appearances. Everything she thought she might have known about their enigmatic Headmaster was in this moment being shattered.

Both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were standing on either side of Hermione now, their eyes wide as they watched Dumbledore, his arms spread wide and his robes billowing as he commanded the pillar of power that lay over top of Daniel Deschamps' body. The spell he was weaving was infinitely complicated, and used so many commands in differing succession that Hermione had a very hard time keeping up with them. Some sounded Latin, while others were of some other, unknown language. Trails of magic sparked against every corner of the room, and even Madam Pomfrey had to find some safety behind a large rocking chair in the corner of the infirmary.

Dumbledore certainly didn't look all that harmless right now, Hermione thought. He looked as strong as if he could have forged the oceans themselves.

She was glad Ron was still unconscious. This was quite terrifying.

The package at her heel was still warm. She bent low, between Remus and Sirius, and picked the velvet encased gun up, and held it close to her chest. Its warmth sent a calming sensation throughout her, and she closed her eyes, giving in to it.

When she opened them again, the swirls of power were gone, and Dumbledore looked on the rest of the gang in the infirmary with an expression one could only describe as 'confused'. On the gurney before him, Daniel Deschamps' body was no longer there. On the center of the pillow, still stained bright crimson from the loss of his blood, was a small, oval, metallic object.

A bullet.

Dumbledore stroked his white beard. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he looked over his shoulder at Remus, Sirius, and a frightened Hermione between them.

"I should think," he said. "That now is a good time for tea." He winked at Hermione and she held the gun in its velvet covering even closer. It sent a wonderful sensation of calm throughout her being. "Hermione, if you could let Professor Snapes know that I would like to see him here, if you please. I believe he is in his potions office." He pointed towards the cabinet where Ron had fallen. "Madam Pomfrey, if you could find a more comfortable spot for our Mr. Weasley to sleep, I'm sure his back would appreciate it."

Hermione dropped the gun she had been holding onto the seat of a nearby chair, and bolted out of the infirmary. She kept looking back as she ran down the corridor, and neatly bumped into the side of Professor McGonagall.

"You should not be walking the halls at this hour," McGonagall said, sternly. "Go to your dormitory immediately!"

Hermione didn't quite catch what she'd said. She was eyeing the mysterious, very large black canvas bag she and Chief Constable Blurty were lugging between them. "Headmaster Dumbledore said that I had to inform Professor Snape to come to the infirmary," she said.

McGonagall sighed in both irritation and frustration at having to further stumble along with the heavy weight of whatever was in the bag. "Well, the second you are finished with that you are to go back to your room! Exams not even a week away, and here you are traipsing about at all hours. If you want good marks you need to get a proper night's sleep."

Blurty passed Hermione as they struggled with their package through the infirmary doors. "You must be the little lass Draco's told me about," he said, smiling. "Good to meet you."

She nodded, a little confused at this. The infirmary doors closed behind them, and she was left alone in the corridor.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she said to herself, and made her way to the express stairs to the dungeons.

***
The infirmary doors swung open as Snape, followed by Harry and Draco, burst into the room. Hermione's announcement had caused a small flurry of panic in the dungeons office. Snape marched to Daniel's bed, and stared blankly at the little bullet sitting on a now pristine white pillow. The other wizards and Madam Pomfrey were gathered around the gurney in solemnity. Seeing this, Snape clearly feared the worst. His face was pale, and his tangle of black hair obscured his small black eyes, effectively hiding what sorrow might have been reflected within them.

Blurty coughed, and walked up to Draco. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, lad," he said. "He's at the best hospital in all the wizarding world, so your Headmaster Dumbledore says."

Snape spoke dully to the stretcher before him, though there was a tiny, barely perceptible timbre of hope to his voice. "So...He's alive?"

"Hm?" Blurty said, looking up at Snape. "Oh...Oh, I'm sorry!" He patted Draco's shoulder jovially. "I was talking about Lucius Malfoy!"

Draco frowned. "My father?"

Blurty coughed. "Oh now, lad, don't look so glum. They say the reconstructive surgery will be a piece of cake." He scratched at his red nose in reflection. "Though it's quite possible that nose of his will be a lot less symmetrical." He grinned up at Snape. "Daniel's been shipped off to a Muggle hospital--St. Thomas's, I believe, isn't that right Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Where is it?" Snape asked.

"I believe it's on Lambeth Palace Road. I've taken the tube there a few times, it's off Waterloo station," Blurty replied.

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore said to him, "there's something you should know..."

But Snape didn't wait for Dumbledore to explain. In a second he had his wand out and shouted the transmigration spell--Heading, quite clearly, for St. Thomas's Hospital.