Dark Gods In The Blood
Chapter Twenty
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A/N: And the ‘Who
Killed Harry Potter?’ Contest has taken a turn -- while Albus Dumbledore still
has the most votes, Neville Longbottom has been the most popular recent
suggestion, showing up four times at least.
I will have all of you know that my tongue is bleeding with the
effort of holding it all in.
Here be chapter the next.
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 r sor sources.
Dark Gods in the Blood
by: Hayseed (
Chapter Twenty
And
in the hush that had fallen suddenly upon the whole
colossal body
fecund and mysterious life seemed to look at her,
pensive, as
though it had been looking at the image of its
own
tenebrous and passionate soul.
Nicholas said shyly as he opened the door.
“Mum said you were coming over for supper. She and Uncle Ron are in the kitchen. He’s trying to add peppers to her spaghetti sauce.”
“Is he?” Hermione asked
as she stepped into the foyer. “Well,
he always did like spicy food.
crash emanated from the kitchen and olasolas giggled at Hermione’s grin.
“Perhaps I ought to stay
out here until supper is ready ...” she told him thoughtfully.
<
“We could play
Soulblade,” he said, excited.
She tried very hard not
to grimace. “Erm ... that is ... maybe
we could just ... I don’t know. How’s
school, Nicholas?”
“Okay,” he said, glancing
down at his bare feet. “My teacher’s
really nice this year, even if she does
give us too many problems in math class.”
“Math problems ...” she
said, delighting in the memory. “I
haven’t done any math problems for a long time.”
He brightened and grabbed
her hand,lingling her into the den.
“Really? Mrs. Daniels says that
we’ll always have to do sums.”
“Well ...” she began,
wondering how to put it. “Wizards don’t
use as much math as Muggles.”
Grinning, she could see
he was trying very hard not to jump up and down in delight.
“But we do have to use some
“After all, we have money and banks and Quidditch scores and things.”
His face fell
comically. “Oh.”
She attempted not to
laugh at him and mostly succeeded.
“Other than eternal math problems, how do you like school?”
“There’s this girl ...”
he said in a stage whisper.
Hermione blinked,
surprised.
eight? “A girl, eh?” she prompted.
“Lydia,” he said
dully. “She chases me around at recess
and tries to kiss me.” He made a face
of disgust. “And she tells an>ean>everyone
Unable to hold it back, a
snort escaped her. “Oh, really?
marriage.”
“I don’t want
her lips are really, really slimy.”
If she wasn’t able to
laugh soon, Hermione was certain something internal would explode.
“Maybe,” he replied, but
there was doubt in his voice. “You
“No ...” she said, mood
sobering. “No, I didn’t.”
“Was there ever a boy you
wanted to marry?” he asked. “Like Uncle
Ron?”
She finally managed a
laugh, but it sounded fake even to her own ears. “I already told you about him,”
she reminded him. “But no.
“I would,” he said
stoutly. “You’re nice and you play
video games with me.”
Her laugh was more
genuine this time -- startled, but genuine.
“I finally meet a man who’s got his priorities in order.
“So ...” he said
slyly. “Want to play?”
“Yottlettle prat!” she
cried, giving his hair a teasing tousle.
“You think you can charm me into
playing video games? You’re a handsome
little devil, I’ll grant you, but not quite that handsome.”
He pouted mockingly.
“Hey ... Nicholas?” she
asked after a long pause.
Looking up at her
inquisitively, he swiped his bangs out of his eyes. “What?”
“Do you ... do you know
where your name came from?” Hermione
found herself surprised at her own question, not knowing where it came from.
Nicholas frowned, sensing
her bewilderment. “My name?
father.”
With a sigh of relief
that she wasn’t aware she was holding in, Hermione glanced away from the
question in his eyes. “I just ... I
once knew someone named Nicholas.n stn style="mso-spacerun: yes"> And I
wondered if your father ever ...”
“Oh, Papa told me about
him,” Nicholas said dismissively. “That
ghost. Nearly Headless Nick.
day he died?”
“We did,” she said with a
nostalgic smile. “One Halloween,tualtually. It was .nternteresting.”
“When Papa ... right
after he ... sometimes I wish he’d become a ghost,” he admitted in a
near-whisper, sounding very young.
“That way he wouldn’t be gone forever.”
Something tugged in
Hermione’s chest. “Oh, Nicholas ...”
But he shrugged.
though. If he was a ghost, that would
mean he ... regretted something. That
maybe we hadn’t loved him enough.”
If she didn’t find some
way to change the subject soon, she was going to start crying.
“He called me ‘Nick’
sometimes. Not a lot, but
sometimes. I don’t like it when anyone
else does.”
A breath hitched in her
throat.
“I got in trouble for it
at school,” he continued, not meeting her gaze. “Tommy, in my class, called me that when we were playing
football, and I hit him. Mrs. Daniels
kept me in at recess the next day, but she didn’t tell Mum.
a nickname, but when I told her that I only let my papal mel me that, she got
all quiet.”
1'>
I would, too, Hermione
thought, wanting nothing more than to take Nicholas in her arms and hug him
forever.
he concluded evenly, oblivious to her internal struggle.
much trouble.”
“Well, that’s good,” she
replied, grateful to find her voice again.
Nicholas was still for a
moment, seeming to study his hands with great intensity.
Blinking at the non
sequitur, her reply was automatic. As soon as the
words were floating through the air, she became suddenly aware of the dryness
in her mouth, but Nicholas was already -- -- jumping off the sofa and running
into the kitchen, allowing the door to swing wildly in his wake.
“Nicholas!” she heard
Françoise scold.
“Sorry, Mum,” he replied
less than contritely, and Hermione watched the door still as if of its own
accord.
Left momentarily alone,
she found herself looking more closely at her surroundings.
about finding sconces in the Potter home, and he’d replied that Harry and
Françoise had been far too modern for such things.
But taking a second look,
she realized that Ron wro wrong.
Sconces would be quite at home in the subtle blend of antique and new
that greeted her eyes. All of what she
assumed had been Harry’s technological Muggle toys were neatly arranged in a
clearly Victorian wardrobe cleverly modified to hold them all and somehow tuck
the cords mysteriously out of view. The
furniture was obviously of a more modage,age, but Hermione dimly ascribed that
to the presence of two small children -- she recalled an incident from her own
childhood involving an antique ottoman in her grandmother’s home and suppressed
a slight shudder. It was clear, she
decided as she contemplated the delicate ivy pattern actually
into the chair rail circling the entire sitting room, that Françoise and Harry
both had put a lot of effort and love into making their house a home.
“If I recall, Albus
actually chose that particular shade of green paint under the rail there that
you’re staring so hard at,” Ron’s voice said dryly from out of nowhere.
She jumped in her
seat. “Jesus, Ron!”
His expression was bland,
but she could see the bemusement dancing in his eyes. “Françoise wanted this butter yellow stuff and Harry wanted some
ludicrously dark burgundy sort of thing.
To compromise, they asked Albus to choose, but he decided on a
completely different color. Fancy a drink?”
“I told Nicholas ...”
He held out a
wineglass. “I doubt you thought
Nicholas was offering a particularly nice Riesling. He’s currently got his nose buried obediently in a mug of milk,
by the way, probably wondering how his cleverly wrought plan to obtain a soda
failed. Sometimes I forget to give
Françoise her due, you know.”
Laughing, she took the
glass and cradled it in her left hand.
“Does spaghetti go with Riesling?
I can never remember.”
With a shrug, he slumped
into the chair nearest the kitchen door.
“Who cares? I’ve always thought
they tasted just fine together. ‘Course
...” he trailed off thoughtfully. “I
can’t stand
maybe I’ve been doing it wrong all along.”
< sty style='font-style:normal'>
She toasted him
mockingly. “To wrong wines, then.”
“Here, here!” he cried,
saluting her in kind. “May we all only
drink the wines we like.”
They sipped from their
respective glasses quietly, Hermione periodically giving hers a contemplative
swirl, watching the amber liquid twirl around the rim.
“You’re going to spill
that in a minute,” Ron warned.
“Thanks,
she retorted with a sarcastic glare.
His smile was only
slightly apologetic. “I spend the
better part of my evenings with a seven-year-old boy and a two-year-old
girl. It’s becoming a habit.
towel.” Leaning back in his chair, he
ctedcted nonchalance.
Wrinkling her nose at his
antics, she tapped the base of her wineglass with a single pointer finger.
He rolled his eyes.
serious, aren’t you? I get enough
gravity at work, Hermione.”
“Just one question,” she
pleaded.
“It’s never just one,” he
said good-naturedly. “But I fall for it
every time. What?”
“Did you tell Kingsley
Shacklebolt what I told you?” she asked hurriedly. “About Weaver and everything?”
With a sigh, Ron started
to swirl his own wine as he began to consider his words with greater care.
“Dubious?” she echoed,
doubt creeping into her voice.
“Actually ...”
cheerfully. “He said it was the biggest
load of bollocks he’s heard in ages
thought I’d gloss over that bit.”
“Thanks,” she said
sarcastically. “Did he happen to say
why?”
With a laugh, Ron crossed
an ankle over a knee, grin broadening.
“Didn’t I say
Butterfly, he did
She watched his grin
stretch even further as her impatience became increasingly visible.
“What?” he asked,
feigning innocence.
“What reasons did he
give, then?” she askedoughough gritted teeth, grounding the words out
painfully.
“Well, the complete anotalotal lack of a connection between Weaver and the other victims, for one,” he
pointed out.
Hermione sighed.
and that other one, Bones, then.”
she could tell he was not thrilled with what he was about to say.
social positions. After all, Bones’
mother is on the Wizengamot. So they’re
natural targets.”
“For the same group?” she
asked incredulously.
His fidgeting
increased. “We’re still working out the
connection, okay? It’s not rock solid
yet. But there has to be one.”
She pounced.
“Huh?” he grunted, “A connection,” she “Well, they were victims “Alisander Weaver was He stiffened. “Still ...” “And what’s more,” he “Death Eaters,” she He stared at her, eyes She spoke slowly, “Snape?” he echoed. “About Harry,” she “It’s not that,” he said “Ron.” He was clearly “Okay, then, Ron “The ones that are still He glared at her, but “Not nothing,” she “Your theory has a hole, She shrugged. Horror blossomed on Ron’s “Hopefully,” she replied “I don’t know whether you’re Chewing on her lip, she With one last sigh, Ron Hermione found herself “What?” “How do you Even more gentle. “This ... this knowing He focused his eyes on Hermione waited through His hand on the door, The moment shifted as he And the shadows ebbed -- --
clearly taken aback.
enunciated. “Why does there
to be one?”
of the same group, weren’t they? Same
M.O. and all that. It’s peculiar enough
that there’s got to be a connection of some sort that we’re just not seeing at
the moment.” Ron relaxed visibly,
apparently in more comfortable territory.
killed in the same way as the two you’re claiming are connected, Ron,” she
said, exasperated.
didn’t do any paperwork beyond ‘Could not resuscitate, cause of death
unknown.’ They didn’t even bother to
call us. The only thing you’ve got is
half a rumor from the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, who is
by the by, an expert in exotic murder cases.”
interrupted her, voice gaining volume.
“At least poor Harry and that other fellow, Bones, were potential Death
Eater targets by some
Scotland with no affiliation to either the Death Eaters or to the Order.
repeated scoffingly. “Not every Dark
wizard is a Death Eater, you know.”
narrowed and brow furrowed. “What do
you mean, Hermione?”
carefully, keeping her voice even and unemotional in hopes that he would
listen. “You’ve insisted all along that
a Death Eater is responsible for this ... for these mur -- deaths.
there wasn’t a Death Eater alive in a position to do such a thing.
Death Eater?”
confirmed steadily. “And don’t get that
awful look on your face, Ron. I know
you don’t mind Snape as much as you used to.”
calmly enough. “It’s just ... Hermione,
Snape’s not the most stable fellow in the world any more.
concerned. I don’t know if I’d take his
word to be ... ironclad, if you catch my meaning.”
him. Just treated it like some sort of
puzzle to solve. He was ...
any way for a Death Eater to be responsible.”
unconvinced. “I don’t know ...”
Weasley,” she said, finally beginning to get angry wiim.
a member of a defunct organization who’s most likely in some sort of exile,
mind -- have for killing not only the son of a prominent political official,
but one of the most famous wizards in all Britain? If he’s caught, he’ll be publicly flayed alive at the least and
for what? Martyrdom to a cause that’s
been dead for at least a decade?”
alive who could hope to pull off a deed of this magnitude are far too
intelligent to risk it, I should think,” she said, cutting him off.
behind it, his eyes were simply tired.
“That leaves us with nothing, then, if you’re right, Hermione.”
corrected. “Someone killed thren
wn
who had no other reason to die. And
didn’t use a spell to do it. I asked
Snape about that as well -- he can’t think of one that would do such a thing,
either.”
then, Miss I-Know-Better-Than-The-Entire-Aurory,” he retorted nastily, a bitter
glint in his expression. “Wandless
magic. What you’re proposing is just
impossible.”
method. No theory is perfect.”
face, his lips curling up in a grimace.
“You also realize that if you’re correct, there could be any number of
other victims that St. Mungo’s hasn’t reported. The only ones they would bring to our attention would be for
political reasons. Merlin, this could
have been going on for ...” He
controlled himself with visible effort.
“No,” he said decisively, more to himself than to her.
would have noticed. Right?”
with a shrug. “One would think so, at
any rate.”
right or not, Hermione,” he said after a long pause. an>“an>“I’d hate to think you are, actually. But we can’t afford to ignore any of this.
looking into it.”
frowned. “I don’t either.”
drained his wineglass anderedered her a faded version of his usually cheerful
smile. “Well, there’s not much we can
do tonight, in any case. I’ll talk to
Kingsley in the morning and see if he’s got any ideas.
business. I’m sure Françoise is nearly
done with supper back there. We should
go see if she needs any help.”
standing along with him, her feet automatically carrying her toward the kitchen
door. “Ron?”
confusion in her stance.
with this?”
that the world could unravel about your ears,” she said, not knowing how to put
it. “That there really
monsters in the shadows.”
>
the oak door. “Mostly, I don’t think
about it. I look Charlie’s kids and
Harry’s kids and at people like Fred and George and Ginny who live in the sunshine,
and I know that it’s important that someone knows what’s in the
shadows, to keep them at bay. It’s just
a part of it. Not being alone
helps. If I was alone ...”
his pause patiently, wondering if he would complete his thought or simply walk
into the kitchen and become good ol’ Ron, charming friend and bumbling
uncle.
Ron’s eyes suddenly swiveled to meet her own.
“If I was alone,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I think I’d wind up in the darkness where your buddy Snape is
right now, Butterfly.”
flung the door wide -- the cacophony of bubbling pots and laughing children
overrode it. And Hermione was drawn
into it, taking the forks and plates Françoise handed her with a smile, grinning
as Nicholas tugged on rob robe sleeve, trying to garner her attention for some
reason or another. She set the table as
Ron poured more drinks and Françoise stirred a very large pot.
back into the corners of the room, where they belonged.