Dark Gods In The Blood
Chapter Nineteen
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A/N: None for this
chapter. Thanks for reading!
Summary: A wandering
student comes home, a broken man pays his penance, and a gruesome murder is
both more and less than it seems. Some
paths to self-discovery have more twists and turns than others.
Rating: R, for intermittent
dark themes, violence, and language
Disclaimer: Nothing
you read here (save the plot and bits of the text itself) belongs to me.
property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. (and someone else, probably, but not
me). All chapter headings are properly
credited to their sources.
Dark Gods in the Blood
by: Hayseed (
Chapter Nineteen
Kurtz
-- Kurtz -- that means short in German, don’t it?
in his life --
long. His covering
had fallen
off, and his body emerged from it pitiful and
appalling
as from a winding-sheet.
Heart of Darkness
“I thought I’d come and
rescue you,” Ginny said as she came breezing through the front door.
shout ‘Come in.’ You-Know-Who could be
lurking in your front bushes.”
Hermione did not open
eye
eyes. “I knew it was you,” she said
lightly. “What do you mean -- rescue
“Got a crystal ball under
your robes, then?” Ginny retorted tartly.
“You have a very
distinctive knock,” she said, eyelids quivering but otherwise staying
shut. “Shave-And-A-Haircut.
I’ve never met anyone else who does it with such frequency, either.”
Clearing her throat,
Ginny’s voice was bright and Hermione could hear the smile in it.
“From myself?” she
echoed.
“Yes,” she
confirmed. “If I still know you as well
as I once did, I’m nearly certain that you’re going to spend the entire day with
your nose buried in some book you’ve already read a million times, as my
worthless brother has heartlessly abandoned you for work.”
eyebrows. “I was
A hand suddenly grabbed a
lock of her hair and tugged. “Not today
you’re not, missy.”
“Ouch!” Hermione cried,
eyes finally flying open.
Unrepentant grin firmly
in place, Ginny just laughed. “I’m
taking you shopping. I bet it’s been
just ages since you’ve done anything
absolutely mindless and purposeless. I
know I’m due.”
“Shopping?” she
repeated. “What on Earth for?”
Giving her an appraising
look, she put her hands on her hips.
“Well ... you could use a new set
of robes.”
“My robes are just fine,
thank you,” she retorted firmly.
“Hermione,” she
sighed. “You’re wearing more patch than
robe and the hem is unraveling besides.”
“Well ...” Hermione
conceded grudgingly. “It would be
nice. But I can’t afford new robes
right now, Ginny.”
“Do I or do I not owe you
thirteen years of Christmas and birthday
gifts?” Ginny asked, a teasing glint in her eye. “I suppose I could be convinced --”
“Ginny ...” she warned.
“For Merlin’s sake,
Hermione,” she exclaimed. “Don’t buy
anything, then. It’s a beautiful
Can’t you contemplate the inner workings of the universe when it’s raining
go out, and I don’t want to go alone.”
Blowing out an
exasperated sigh, Hermione unfolded her legs and made as if to stand.
about buying me clothes if all you wanted was someone to tag along.”
“Brilliant!” Ginny cried,
eagerly reaching out a hand to help tug her to her feet.
With a great show of reluctance,
she began collecting her cloak and shoes and wand. By the time she was locking up the flat, she was genuinely
pleased that Ginny had prodded her into leaving.
Indeed, the day was
absolutely lovely -- the sunshine just warm enough to render the chill in the
air to a mere crispness. The leaves had
not yet begun to turn, but they crackled nicely as the wind occasionally
rustled through them.
“You see?” Ginny asked as
they walked outside.
Hermione grimaced
playfully at her.
They found themselves in
Hogsmeade by lunchtime, nostalgia washing over both of them as they saw robes
with Hogwarts crests careening around nearly every corner.
interest in Honeydukes either -- the line was literally out the door.
“They look so young
other around the street, waving bags proudlyringring Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes
logos. “Did we look like babies when we
were at Hogwarts?”
“Probably,” Hermione
replied, mind moving on to more practical concerns. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m trying very hard not
to be. I shudder to think of the crowd
at the Three Broomsticks.
Unfortunately, a butterbeer does
sound lovely.” Her face was
wistful. “I’m sure that’s why grups
ups
drink it, you know. It makes you
remember your first Hogsmeade weekend when you were a kid, when the Shrieking
Shack was actually scary, when ... oh, I don’t know. When everything tasted better.”
“Butterbeer,” she mused,
more to herself than Ginny. “I daresay
I haven’t had one of those since I left Hogwarts.”
“Merlin’s ear, Hermione,”
Ginny cried. “We can’t have that
dear -- let us brave the masses.”
Before she could so much
as squeak, Ginny clamped a surprisingly strong hand around her upper arm and
pulled her into the Three Broomsticks.
Every table was full,
either of boisterous children or harried adults. Laughter echoed across the dark room and Hermione found herself
suddenly swept back fifteen years as Ginny left her standing in the middle of
the room.
She and Harry and Ron
used to like to sit at that one table near the back, toward a potted fern.
still there. A bit more wilted than she
remembered, and quite possibly a different species altogether, but the same old
corner, with the same old table, currently occupied by a group of students
sporting various House crests, swapping various bits of sweets out of white
Honeydukes sacks.
“Are there any places to sit?”
Ginny asked abruptly into her ear as she came elbowing back to stand beside her
once again, a mug of frothy butterbeer in each hand. “Although I suppose we can just have these standing --”
“Good gracious!” a small
voice exclaimed somewhere from the vicinity of Hermione’s wrist.
Startled by the sound,
Ginny jumped and a bit of butterbeer sloshed over her right wrist.
glancing down. “How are
He looked as if he hadn’t
aged a day, a pleased smile on his face.
“Oh, I’m wonderful, my dear. But
it’s been so long since I’ve seen
you. Oh, you must come and sit with us
over by the bar -- I’m sure everyone would love to hear from you.”
answer, he moved off into the crowd.
Exchanging amused glances, Hermione and Ginny followed him as he
continued to chatter. “We do see your
brother Ron every now and again,” he chirped.
“He and Albus do a fair bit of work together, I’m led to believe.
Either he trailed off or
Hermione simply lost the thread of his squeaky voice as she tailed him.
soon approached a table occupied by two very familiar faces.
“Look who I’ve found!”
Flitwick cried as soon as they were in earshot of the other professors.
Blushing, Ginny shoved
the butterbeers into Hermione’s hands and allowed herself to be embraced by
about both of the table’s occupants.
“My dear girl!” Professor
McGonagall said as she gave her shoulders a round squeeze.
“Yes,” Professor Sprout
agreed with a wide grin. “It’s been
many years. Although Albus is not
terrible at keeping us up to date. Are
you still working for Manchester’s team?”
“It’s Wimbourne now,
actually,” she replied.
“Oh, do sit down,”
Flitwick said, ushering her toward an empty chair. “And your friend as well.”
He gave Hermione a congenial nod and she realized with a start that none
of them had recognized her. “You seem
vaguely familiar to me, my dear. Did
you attend Hogwarts as well? What House
were you in?”
She smiled broadly,
wondering how long it would take them to guess. “Oh, I was a Gryffindor,” she replied. “But that was many years ago.”
McGonagall gave her a
calculating look. “Couldn’t be that
many -- you don’t look a day over twenty-five.
What is your name, child?”
Biting back a laugh,
Hermione’s grin widened. “Hallo,
Professor McGonagall. Maybe you
remember me -- Hermione Granger?”
There was a crash as
Professor Sprout actually knocked her drink off the table.
and McGonagall’s face was literally white, polite smile frozen with surprise.
you’d ...”
“I’m back in the country
after a prolonged absence,” she explained, beginning to feel slightly
uncomfortable as their stares continued.
“Well ...” McGonagall
said with a nervous laugh. “I never
expected to see you again, Miss
Granger.” Apparently unable to bring
herself to embrace Hermione, she settled for a congenial pat on the arm.
“Quite well, thank you,”
she said. “How’re things at Hogwarts?”
“Much the sam whe when
you were a student,” McGonagall replied, smile warming slightly.
of your years. I’m afraid the biggest
disaster we had last year was when a Ravenclaw set the entire potions classroom
on fire and the castle had to be evacuated for a night.”
“I would think a few
mundane years would be a welcome relief,” Hermione said.
“There will always be a
few who seek trouble out,” she said with a nod of agreement.
students are content with the small concerns of the peaceful.
detentions enough to content even the most restless of troublemakers.
we’ve yet to meet any of your brothers’ ilk in recent years.”
Ginny laughed.
than you’ll ever know to hear of it,” she said. “Although I feel as if I ought to warn you that they’re
attempting to school their erstwhile nieces and nephews in their particular
brand of mischief.”
“Really?” McGonagall
asked. “Young Andrew shows no such
inclinations. He’s actually been very
quiet and studious -- especially for a Weasley.”
“Charlie probably read
him the riot act preemptively,” she said.
“After all, Andy’s got three Head Boys and two Quidditch Captains to
emulate in addition to his prankster genius uncles. Well ... we’d rather him not take after Percy,” she said after a
moment’s pause. “He always was
And we don’t see him much any more.
I did hehat hat he got married, though.”
An awkward silence
followed. Flitwick coughed.
“So ... Miss Granger,”
Sprout said, voice bright with false cheer, “you said you’d been out of the
country ...?”
“Yes,” she agreed
cautiously, willing to speak more freely for once in order to change the
subject. “I’ve been in Tibet mostly,
living with a group of monks.”
“Monks?” Flitwick asked,
clearly curious. “What order?”
She paused, considering
his question, and then laughed. “They
would tell you that they are simply students of nature and that such labels are
not significant to them, but I’ll go ahead and tell you that I’m fairly certain
they’re Taoist.”
Hermione waited
expectantly for the inevitable ‘ninja’ joke but found herself oddly disappointed
when Flitwick’s face simply creased with confusion. “Oh,” he said doubtfully.
“But I’m back now,” she
said, feeling as if she ought to continue somehow, to fill in a gap she was
certain she was only imagining. “I came
back home.” She raised her butterbeer
to her lips finally, feeling the warmth slide down her throat and into her
belly -- it was not nearly as comforting as it used to be.
was a bitter undercurrent she’d not noticed as a child.
In unison, the professors
presented a solemn set of faces. “We
were so sorry to hear, Miss Granger,” Sprout said, somehow managing to
literally wilt under the force of her
grief. “That poor boy ...”
“His family stayed with
us for a week or so,” McGonagall said soberly, picking up the thread as Sprout
trailed off. “This summer.
“It has been very hard,”
Flitwick agreed, nodding at the stern old witch. “The entire community has been affected, but I can’t imagine how
it’s been for you -- for Potter’s closest friends ...”
Ginny and Hermione both
sighed. “I think everyone’s been
managing as best as they can,” Ginny said.
“We may weather this storm yet.”
“Nicholas -- that’s his
son,” Hermione said tentativelpan pan style="mso-spacerun: yes">
“Nicholas has gone back to school.
And Ron is ...”
“He’s barely left
Françoise’s side,” Ginny completed with an articulate wave of the hand.
“Professor Dumbledore’s
been around a fair amount himself,” she said thoughtlessly.
McGonagall’s head jerked
up and she narrowed her eyes at Hermione.
“You’ve seen Albus?” she asked sharply.
Wondering what had just
happened, she nodded very
hesitantly. “Just a handful of times,
really.”
“A handful of ...”
Hermione started -- she hadn’t ever been entirely sure that her severe old Head
of House was actually capable of laughter.
“You mean that Albus has known you were back in the country?”
“For a couple of months,
now.”
She shook her head,
smiling grimly. “That old codger.
played out. Thank Merlin he wasn’t here
to gloat over us.”
“Gloat?” Ginny asked,
clearly trying to pretend that she was confused. Hermione rather suspected she was just as aware of Albus
Dumbledore’s more devious side as anyone.
“Oh, not gloat per
se,” Flitwick replied.
laugh. He’s gotten very good at it
through the years. And I admit, I’m
always delighted when something surprises him -- he’s so used to knowing about
everything before it happens that his reaction to something completely unexpected
is rather priceless.”
Sprout laughed.
that Howler all those years ago? At
breakfast, in front of all the students?”
“Oh, I do,” McGonagall
said with a thin smile. “I never could
figure out what Aberforth Dumbledore was doing all of that damned screaming
about -- all I made out at the time was ‘goat,’ ‘Mother,’ and ‘a hundred
thousand Galleons.’ Albus’ face was
absolutely purple.”
The professors shared a
laugh as Hermione grappled with the idea of Minerva McGonagall knowing swear
words stronger than, ‘For the love of Merlin.’
The laughter died down
and Sprout wiped a single tear from her eye.
“That was so long ago.
yet.”
“He was a student, then,
if I recall,” McGonagall agreed. “And
e’s e’s another one ...”
They were silent, then,
each giving Hermione and Ginny calculating looks, as if to determine exactly
how much they knew.
Ginny coughed.
quietly. “Dad told us what Professor
Dumbledore said about him ... er, going away.
And Ron said that Hermione -- hey!” she cried as Hermione administered a
swift kick to her ankle under the table.
Not wanting to share her
odd relationship with Severus Snape with any part of the Hogwarts staff, she spoke
quickly. “Ron told me about Professor
Snape,” she said.
“It was such a pity ...”
McGonagall said thoughtfully. “After
all that boy had been through. And
Albus still goes every week to see him, even after all these years.”
“So that’s
business with the Weaver family.”
A dim bell rang in
Hermione’s mind at the sound of that name.
“The who?”
Sprout shrugged.
you. One of my students lost his father
in a rather bizarre accident at the start of term. The first day,
actually. Poor Weaver.
fourth year in my House.”
“Bizarre accident?” Ginny
asked. “What on Earth ...?”
“I asked a nurse at St.
Mungo’s, actually,” Sprout replied.
“The boy wanted to know and his mother wouldn’t say.
tell him either. No child should have
to think of something like that
happening to his father. It was so
strange, though. They couldn’t
determine how Mr. Weaver had been cut like that. Nearly straight through.”
Her face was tinged with green at the thought and both of the other
professors looked vaguely horrified.
The wheels were racing in
Hermione’s mind. “Erm ...
Professor? Do you happen to know Mr.
Weaver’s first name?”
Sprout blinked rapidly,
apparently deep in thought. “Alex --
no, Alisander. Alisander Weaver.
current potions professor, you know -- went to school with him.”
bolted out of her chair. “Excuse me,
please, professors. It was very nice to
see you again. Ginny, I’ve got to go.”
Before Ginny could so
much as protest, Hermione was out the door, running down the street, ignoring
all of the strange looks the students gave her as she passed by.
-- -- -- --
“So there
flat.
“Come on in, Ginny,”
Hermione replied absently, not looking up from the papers spread across the
floor.
She sighed and closed the
door neatly behind her. “You know, one
of these days, you’re going to let someone really dangerous in here like that.”
“I’ll take my chances,”
she said in a light voice.
Feeling Ginny’s eyes on
the back of her neck, Hermione continued to squint at the copy of the Daily
Prophet she was holding in her hands.
“Are you going to tell me
why you hared out and ran off?” she asked crossly. “I did just spend the last
three hours looking for you.”
“I had to check,” she
mumbled. “I’m just glad I saved it ...”
“Saved what?
Hermione?”
Hermione finally looked
up to see Ginny standing there, arms crossed over her chest, irritation clearly
written across her features. “Alisander
Weaver. Forty years old.
hand and it rustled forlornly. “Don’t
you see? I read his obituary.”
Letting out an impatient huff,
Ginny allowed her hands to drop to her hips.
“So what? You read his
obituary.”
“Of course his wife
wouldn’t have called the Ministry,” Hermione said, more to herself than to
Ginny. “Why would she have?
connection because it’s simply not there.
Ginny, this is ridiculous ...”
“What is?” she nearly
shouted, startling her out of her babbling.
“Hermione, you’re not making a damn bit of sense.”
Breathing in and out of
her nose, Hermione tried to speak slowly.
“I think, Ginny, I think that Alisander Weaver’s death is
connected. If Professor Sprout is right
about what St. Mungo’s said, he died the same way. But it was no accident.”
“Connected to what?”
Ginny asked. “Hermione ... I swear,
you’re as bad as Ron.”
“Connected to Harry’s,”
she said flatly. “I don’t think
Alisander Weaver died an accidental death.
I think that the person who killed Alistair Bones and Harry Potter is
the same person who killed Weaver.”
-- --
-- --