Hour of Grace

HOUR OF GRACE

by Strega Brava

Chapter Three: A Cry In the Night

Hermione's sleeping face showed horror and confusion. Her breathing was quick and her forehead was slick with the sheen of a cold sweat. She was dreaming…no, she was having a nightmare…no, this was worse than a nightmare…

The room was dark and horrifying. The flickering lights from the torches did little to lift the deathlike gloom that permeated the walls, the ceiling and the floor. All around her she could see hooded figures deep in conversation but she could not make out any of the words…it was all an incomprehensible murmur which was rather unsettling. At the one end of the room stood a large cauldron upon a black marble table. It seemed to be empty but there was a knife lying beside it. It was curiously shaped and seemed to be fashioned of the same material as the table.

"It looks like a snake," she thought to herself in surprise.

No one noticed that she was there and she flitted here and there.

A door opened and another hooded figure walked in followed by a woman who was crying pitifully. She saw that this particular individual was carrying something wrapped in a black cloth. This something appeared to be wiggling! Suddenly, a portion of the cloth fell away, revealing a baby who looked as if he (or was it a she?) was about to start bawling at the sight of so many strangers.

"Please do not do this," the woman cried out in anguish, "You will kill him."

The hooded figure motioned to another who immediately struck the woman across the face, making her fall to the ground. Her hand went to her cheek as she glared at the person who had hit her.

"Can you not fight your own battles?" she asked scornfully.

The hooded figure did not take the bait but seemed to be waiting for something…or someone…

A flash of light and a crackle of dark magic announced the arrival of someone…someone important judging from the reactions of the others. They prostrated themselves on the ground.

"Master. Welcome." They said in unison.

This was Voldemort; a tall thin man with pale skin, a snakelike face and eyes that seemed to radiate with the cold intensity of a hatred barely kept in check. He walked over to the figure holding the baby and stared at the small child eagerly…as if it were a meal he was anxious to consume.

Upon seeing such a frightening visage in front of him, the baby started to wail and the woman automatically went to comfort him. One of the prostrated figures immediately rose and forcibly restrained her.

"You cannot do this to him! He is too young! The Ritual Bath is not meant for anyone under the age of 18!" she screamed as she struggled against her captor.

"Crucio!" Voldemort spoke the word of the Unforgivable Curse in a nonchalant manner and watched with disinterest as the woman shrieked in pain. Blood trickled from her nose and from her lips, where she had bitten herself. The baby's cries increased, despite the frantic efforts of the hooded figure to get him to hush.

"Finite Incantetum. Surely you teach your wife better manners than that?" he directed the question at the figure holding the baby.

"My apologies, Master. She has been most…difficult since the birth."

"Perhaps she needs a more lasting lesson," he waved his wand in a negligent fashion; a light green mist began to emanate from its tip.

"No Master. Killing her would place me in a most awkward position. She will be placed under the Imperius Curse once the child is weaned. It is important for me to maintain an outward appearance of decency if we are to achieve our objectives."

The green mist vanished. The woman could not move or speak for the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes, Master."

"Bring your son to the cauldron."

Voldemort accompanied the bawling child and the father to the black marble table. Voldemort stood behind the cauldron and waved his wand in a circle three times. It seemed to be filling with some kind of liquid. The reflections from the torches and the fireplace made the liquid look like blood. He then picked up the knife.

"Sanguam ex Dominus."

He made a cut across his left hand and allowed several drops of blood to fall into the cauldron. He then motioned to the father to bring forward the child, who had calmed somewhat.

"Sanguam ex servus."

The father held out the child's left hand and, in one deliberate action, Voldemort made a cut across the tiny hand. The child wailed in pain as his blood was added to the cauldron.

The woman, presumably the mother, was in agony as she witnessed this. She was helpless to stop it.

"Place your son in the cauldron."

The father quickly did as he was told and placed the whimpering infant into the cauldron. The child immediately stopped crying and simply looked at his father, bleary-eyed, as his father supported his neck to keep it above the liquid in the cauldron. A black smoke began to rise from the cauldron and cluster around the child. Strangely enough, the child did not cry or whimper or react in any way. The smoke became so thick that she could no longer see the cauldron, let alone the child.

"Sanguam ex dominus. Sanguam ex servus. Semper fidelis cum pater et filius.

With a flash of green light, the smoke vanished and the child was in his father's arms again. Voldemort approached him, holding out his arms as if to pick him up. The child laughed and allowed himself to be handed over.

"You have a strong son…you should be very proud."

"Thank you, Master."

The room and the figures began to fade and everything became misty and indiscriminate. There were patches of darkness and light swirling everywhere she looked.

Suddenly she heard a voice.

"One hour…nothing more."

With a gasp, Hermione suddenly found herself awake and trembling.

"What was that all about?" she thought to herself shakily, "That was the most horrible thing I could have ever imagined. Volde…You-Know-Who and a child and…a Ritual Bath and Death Eaters. This is the sort of thing Harry has nightmares about…not me."

She got out of her bed and went to the window, opening it wide and breathing the night air in deeply. She glanced at the night sky somewhat fearfully, almost expecting the Dark Lord himself to come swooping in to attack Hogwarts at that very moment.

"This is ridiculous. I can't be frightened by something as simple as a dream," she remonstrated herself angrily, "After all, it's probably because of my friendship with Harry. I bet Ron gets these nightmares from time to time as well. Sympathy nightmares."

It didn't sound very plausible, even to herself.

"Oh, for pity's sake, I have to get out of this room and…I don't know…read a book or something before I start screaming."

Muttering incoherently about the baneful influence of ridiculous Divination teachers, she quickly threw on a robe, picked up a couple of books she had borrowed from the library as well as quills, ink and parchment and left her room. Quickly descending the stairs, she reached the Gryffindor common room and went over to her favourite chair, a particularly squashy loveseat that seemed to fit her nooks and crannies just perfectly. The dormant fireplace immediately came to life and cheered the room considerably, as well as her spirits. It was more difficult to be afraid in a comforting and familiar room such as this.

"Hi Hermione," a voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. She turned around quickly and saw that her friend, Neville Longbottom, was busily working away on some homework.

"Neville! You scared me half to death! What are you doing down here at this hour?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same question," he smiled.

Hermione laughed as well.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. No point in worrying him about her crazy nightmare which probably meant nothing, "What about you? It's nearly 2:30 in the morning."

He pointed to his parchment, "I had a great idea for my Herbology essay and I guess I lost track of the time."

Hermione was interested. Herbology was easily Neville's best subject.

"What was your great idea?" she asked, peering over a multitude of notes and diagrams.

Neville smiled and, Hermione noticed he was no longer blushing and stammering the way he used to.

"Whatever it was that gave you your confidence back, I'm thankful," she thought to herself. Neville's upbringing could not have been easy. She vividly remembered when he told them about it in sixth year. Harry somehow already knew but the rest of them had no idea…they had simply thought Neville was an orphan being raised by his grandmother. The truth had been much worse.

"I am proposing a new use for an extremely rare variety of deadly nightshade mushroom. A distillation of this particular fungus is one of the most lethal poisons in existence. If I were to take an ordinary pin and dip it into a vial of the distillate and then prick you with the pin, you would be dead almost instantly."

"Isn't that the same type of mushroom that they think killed that muggle Roman emperor from a long time ago?"

"I can't remember the name but I know who you are talking about. Yes, this is the one and only."

"So what's your proposal? This stuff sounds like it is better left untouched."

"I am proposing that this distillate, diluted considerably, combined with dragon's blood and simmered with some powdered unicorn horn would transform it into a powerful counter-curse potion…but one that could only be used in the most desperate of cases."

"Have you discussed testing this with Madame Pomfrey?"

"Yes, she seemed pretty excited about it."

"Good for you, Neville. It sounds like you might be on to something."

Neville's smile seemed like it was a mile wide.

"Thanks, Hermione. I thought I might try to win some points for the House Cup this year. Can't break a perfect streak," he laughed and Hermione joined him, feeling much better and almost ready to head back to bed.

Then she heard it.

She stood shock still for a moment.

"Was that the wind?" she thought to herself. It certainly sounded like the wind.

She heard it again. Ignoring Neville's questioning glances, she started looking around the common room.

"If it wasn't for the fact that tonight is not the night of the full moon, I would have sworn that sounded like Professor Lupin," she thought.

"Hermione, what's wrong? Did you lose something?"

Hermione turned to him incredulously.

"Didn't you hear that, Neville?"

He looked confused.

"Hear what?"

"That moaning sound. Almost like a person crying."

Neville shook his head slowly.

"Are you sure, Hermione? I mean it is late and Hogwarts is well known for having more than enough creaks and cracks and other things that go bump in the night."

Hermione heard it a third time. It was a low, mournful cry redolent of some awful pain…like being subjected to torture too awful to think about.

"It sounds like someone being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse," she thought suddenly.

"Hermione, maybe you should get some sleep. You seem to already be overdoing it and it is only the first day of class. This is a bit much, even by your standards."

He was already picking up her things.

"Neville, I know this sounds crazy but I am hearing something…or someone I should say. I just can't understand why you can't hear it either."

"Well, maybe you have a hidden language talent. Remember the Basilisk in second year? Harry was the only one who could hear it because he's a Parselmouth."

"That's true, Neville, but I am not hearing words…just crying and moaning. I really don't understand."

Neville walked over to her and handed her the items he had picked up.

"Listen, Hermione, you had better get some rest. You've got me a little worried with this."

Hermione's forehead was still furled with concern.

"I just don't understand."

"Do you want to take a look around the common room while I wait for you?"

"Thanks, Neville," she quickly dashed around the common room, trying to locate the source of the unearthly sound.

"Where are you hiding?" she thought to herself. Hermione approached the common room entrance and was surprised to hear the sounds coming from outside.

"It's coming from outside the common room," she said to Neville in a puzzled voice.

"You can't go out there now, you'll get in a lot of trouble. Besides, you don't want Filch or Mrs. Norris catching you out at this hour of the morning."

The magical clock in the common room struck 3:00 am.

Silence…

More silence…

"The crying has stopped," she thought to herself in amazement, "or is Neville right and was I just imagining the whole thing? Maybe the nightmare made me jumpy."

She walked back to where Neville was waiting patiently for her.

Taking her supplies back, she turned to look at Neville.

"You are absolutely sure that you heard nothing…nothing at all?" she asked in an earnest voice.

"Just you and nothing else," he answered seriously, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine. You're probably right…I just need some rest. Thanks for putting up with me and…I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't mention this to the others. I don't need them worrying about me needlessly."

Neville smiled again, "This conversation never took place."

They walked back to the entrances to their respective dormitories and, after saying their good nights, they walked up the staircases to their rooms.

Hermione opened the door to her room and walked over to the window. She had carelessly left it open and the wind had blown several things from their original locations.

"Just what I needed," she thought to herself with a sigh.

As she sorted through the mess, her eye fell on an article from "The Daily Prophet"

Narcissa Malfoy Found Dead

It has been confirmed that the body of a woman found outside Malfoy Manor is, in fact, that of Narcissa Malfoy. The cause of death has not been determined at this time although further magical tests are being conducted at the moment. Lucius Malfoy is obviously distraught by the news and has asked that his privacy and that of his son, Draco, be respected during this tragic time. Narcissa and Lucius had been married for 18 years. Their son, Draco, attends Hogwarts and is in seventh year. Our condolences go out to the Malfoy family for their loss.

"Funny," she thought to herself as she climbed into bed, "He didn't look as if it was bothering him all that much."

She rolled over on her bed so that she was facing her window. She watched a tiny falling star zoom across the sky.

"I hope I never have a dream like that again!" she fervently wished.