The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Title: The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, madness, non-consensual sexual acts, abuse, oral, M/F, and overall darkness. Dark!Harry included.
Summary: DH-EWE: Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain 'hero' is responsible.
Author's Notes: This fic is in 1st person POV, so take heed. It will eventually be a DM/HG, but there is a squicky scene that might make you think otherwise. There is some non-con in this fic, so if it squicks you, don't read it for Merlin's sake! Comments and ConCrit is welcomed!

Special thanks to kazfeist for taking on the task of perfecting this part! kazfeist, you have my eternal love and admiration!


This part also contains some interpretive Tarot...er, not a real reading per se, but a brief look into the symbolism of the Tarot of Marseilles. I'm not an expert, I would never claim to be...so if anyone sees any blaring mistakes with my use of the Tarot, CONCRIT is welcomed. Without further ado...


The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 6




Within three minutes of Malfoy informing me of my imminent departure, I was descending the stairs. I wore a new pair of heavy boots, my hand-me-down coat, which had been cleaned of my blood, and placed in the wardrobe with the rest of my battered clothing. I carried a heavy haversack over my shoulder with the book I had been reading, the sealed book, the notes I had made the day before as well as a small travel kit with some expensive toiletries from France, most likely from Narcissa.

Malfoy was pacing frantically in the foyer, and as my new boots tapped soundly on the marble, he turned.

“We’re Apparating.”

Malfoy strode to the wide front doors, and I had to nearly jog to follow him out into the cold of the day. Malfoy paused just before the door to pull up the collar of his coat before moving down onto the white gravel drive. I took the small haversack from my shoulder and shrank it, shoving into my bottomless pocket, costing me a few steps so that I fell behind.

Old memories of my last visit to the Manor swept through my mind as I tried to keep up, but I kept them away as I finally managed to come within arm’s reach of Malfoy’s back. Together, we passed through the wrought iron gates and I felt a shift in the air around me. The wards had let me pass, and glancing back all I could see was the indistinct drive and the Manor in overgrown, burnt ruins.

Ten steps from the gate onto a muddy, disused lane, Malfoy turned and drew his wand, and I blinked at it…pausing before him, staring dumbly at the light coloured wood. Malfoy frowned, and sighed as he lunged forward to grasp my right arm. I opened my mouth to protest, but time stopped for just a moment.

The world quickly compressed around us, and I was shoved against his chest, inundated with his spicy scent. My head lightened and I crumpled against him, finding it odd that Malfoy’s arms held me…

Side-Along Apparition.

The world re-expanded, and I felt pain again, slicing through my brain like a dull cleaver. Apparition was different than Portkey travel, and it had been a while since I had Apparated. My head felt as if it were shattering, the pressure inside my cranium releasing with an excruciating whistling in my ears.

Malfoy’s arms guided me to the ground, his wand moving over my face to heal shut the wounds that had suddenly reopened on my scalp. My eyelids fluttered, and soon the pain abated. I was panting, disoriented, and tired, but I could see.

“Easy…easy,” Malfoy whispered, and I blinked, amazed at the gentleness in his voice.

He held my shoulders as I began to breathe normally, and I realized I sat in snow. I began casting my eyes about, and I saw I sat in the shadow of the Shrieking Shack.

I pushed Malfoy off in my dazed state, and with a thump, he fell back into the snow, staring at me as if I had grievously injured him in some way. If my head has not been thumping so hard, I would have burst into a fit of laughter. Instead, I drew my wand from my bottomless pocket and struggled to my feet.

Malfoy sneered as he wiped snow from the back of his coat and glanced about. It was pouring snow outside of Hogsmeade, a vast change from the breezy cold of Wiltshire.

I Transfigured my coat into a long, heavy cloak. Malfoy mimicked me, pulling up the hood to hide his shockingly pale hair and face.

“Pull up your hood, Granger, and keep it low. Stay close to my back,” he growled, tucking his wand back into the holster over his black sweater and under his dark cloak.

I nodded, pulling my hood up so that I could only see as high as Malfoy’s long fingers. The wind whipped around the creaking house like a wall of ice and I shivered, feeling a draft in my hood, wind moving about my shorn head. I adjusted the cloak on my shoulders and soon all I could see were Malfoy’s boots.

He started to walk, his soles crunching into the snow, and I moved to follow, trying my best not to let the cold deter me. It had not been so bitterly cold in Wiltshire. My boots slipped in the mix of loose and hard-packed snow as we moved from the Shack, up the lane going into Hogsmeade.

My breath came out in white puffs from under my hood as I breathed from my open mouth. Malfoy was moving too quickly, and I was slipping too often in the snow…my head still ached, and my chest burned from the exertion of walking at a fast pace.

We were nearing Hogsmeade proper, the village nearly obscured by the amount of snow falling, when I had to stop and let my head clear.

“Move it!” he snapped, stopping a few yards down the lane.

I did not answer and bent to rest my palms on my knees, taking in as much icy air as I could. I still was not in the best of health for I knew I could walk leagues in the uneven terrain of the Forest and not need to stop for a breath. I had walked the lane in and out of Hogsmeade as well, and never did I feel as I were operating on only one lung.

I was dizzy, and I could feel cold sweat on the back of my bare neck. The snowy ground seemed so appealing, all of a sudden…

“Damn it, Granger…”

I was in his arms again, my face directed toward the ground. I wanted to sleep, to die, anything to be able to close my eyes and rest. I wanted to throw up…

Malfoy whispered to me, but I could not listen. My vision was off, and the snow was a strange shade of yellow, then green, then blue. I knew something was not quite right with my eyes, but after a few moments of stillness, the snow was white again. I could finally breathe without straining myself, and I lifted my head to stare at Malfoy’s chin.

“You’re feverish, you silly bint… should never have let you leave the Manor…”

He was angry, but he was not speaking to me as much as he was speaking to himself. I was also a bit angry, but at myself for being so weak. I had never been so weak before…

Lifting me up with ease, Malfoy set me on my feet, readjusting my cloak, pulling my hood down again. I still could not see his face for his hood, only his sharp, clean-shaven chin.

“Come along then…” he whispered with an air of irritation, taking my hand in his and pulling me along at a much slower pace.

I was sure we looked ridiculous walking down into Hogsmeade’s High Street. Malfoy stood a head and half taller than me, and his pale hand totally enveloped my own. No one could see who we were, but if they compared sizes, one might have thought we were parent and child.

There were very few people out in Hogsmeade, which surprised me. Then again, with Hogwarts closed, the village would seem quiet. Passing Honeydukes, I managed to see official Ministry notices pasted to the windows announcing curfews at sundown, effective for all of Wizarding Britain…

I wanted to ask Malfoy more about the notices, but said nothing as we finally left the High Street for the lonely lane towards the castle.

I wondered about the people of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. The village and the castle had survived the War, and never once had the school closed because of Voldemort. It was closed because the castle’s residents had been attacked, and not the castle itself.

As we neared the gates to Hogwarts, I lifted my hood a bit, causing Malfoy to glance back with a sneer, his hand squeezing painfully around mine. I ignored the man who was pulling me along like a petulant child, and examined the figures standing at the gates.

Old Mr. Filch stood in a ridiculous looking balaclava and cloak, speaking with four other cloaked men. Malfoy growled a curse under his breath as we approached, and quickened his pace, dragging me behind him.

“Macavoy, Peters, Scruggs, Hartley, is this what you call ‘patrolling?’ I walked up the lane as bold as day and no one, no one stopped me!”

Malfoy released my hand with rough gesture, and I stepped closer, peering from under my hood to stare at the four men. I did not know any of them, but they looked younger, their names unfamiliar.

One dark skinned man stepped forward and saluted as Malfoy pushed back his hood. Malfoy frowned at the man and hissed.

“No, sir…we were just about to have a cup of…”

“Hartley, you piece of dung, you were supposed to be positioned down the lane, at the bend. And you, Peters, you were supposed to be monitoring the other end of High Street, why the hell are you here?”

Peters seemed to be the oldest of the four men, his hair a beautiful shade of honey, his face pleasant and round. He stepped forward and saluted as well, causing Malfoy to hiss again.

“Sir, I was about to return…”

“Move it, Peters. By Merlin, if I am going to have to speak with your Sergeant, heads are going to roll!”

Malfoy’s face was a mask of cold anger, and I noticed that there was still a faint imprint of my hand on his cheek, which had nearly faded for the cold. The two reprimanded men popped away, Apparating back to their posts, I assumed. Only Macavoy and Scruggs were left, as well as Mr. Filch who was grinning stupidly at the situation.

“Sir, is there a problem outside…” a dark haired man began, but stopped as Malfoy shook his head slightly, his mouth moving as if to spew some more orders.

“I have brought a consultant from the Ministry to speak to the remaining staff. The DS is aware that I am here, now, can we pass, Scruggs, or am I going to have to stand here all fucking day?” Malfoy growled at the man named Scruggs.

Consultant? I felt a slight grin crack my face.

“No, sir, just let Macavoy take the ‘consultant’ through…”

I blinked as the last man, a hefty red headed fellow with large brown eyes came to my side, clutching my elbow roughly.

“She’s not some criminal, Macavoy, take it easy,” Scruggs scolded his partner, glancing past Malfoy to me, his head craning to attempt to see my face.

“Go on then, I’ll be right through,” Malfoy uttered in a low tone to me, and I nodded as the large Macavoy pulled me toward the gates.

Mr. Filch, I noticed upon approach, stood just inside the gates. As I was pulled through, I grunted, causing the man attached to my elbow to pause, but then pull me through so that I stood near the caretaker.

“You alright then, missus?” Macavoy asked in a thick regional accent that I did not recognize.

I nodded, my hood shaking around my head.

I was not ‘alright,’ in fact, I could feel blood trickling from my head and around my left ear. Whatever the protections were that surrounded Hogwarts, it had ‘probed’ my body, recording my magical signature, and plucked at something inside me, as if pinching me to see if I were real. I watched Malfoy walk through with Scruggs, his face hardening for a moment as he passed, he, too, apparently feeling what I had felt.

Malfoy spoke brusquely with the two men, who I assumed were constables of sorts, and then took my elbow much like the large Macavoy had, and began pulling me along towards the front doors of the castle.

“You’re bleeding again,” Malfoy said softly, irritated.

I sighed. “I know…it was the wards…I…”

“They are not really wards, per se, Granger. It is goblin magic, the strongest protective sort. It pulls apart your magic, looking for the minutest traces of whatever it deems dangerous. If you were Potter, the gates would have literally incapacitated you in a type of stasis until the authorities arrived.

Why they did not use the goblins earlier, I have no idea…” he muttered as we started up the front steps.

The idea of using the goblins to fortify Hogwarts made me uneasy.

I knew I would have to find Poppy once we got inside, the bleeding was not serious, but it was not stopping either, and I could feel it running down my neck and into my sweater.

Malfoy pushed against the large front door so that the ancient wood released a low groan, and opened just enough for us to pass inside. The first thing I noticed, as Malfoy threw his shoulder into closing the door, was how cold it was in the entryway for I could still see my breath before my face. The castle seemed abandoned, none of the torches lit and a mournful wind moving high above my head.

I pushed my hood back and shivered, glancing toward the closed doors of the Great Hall, then toward the Portrait Hall, only hearing a few whispers from the paintings.

“Look at me, Granger.”

I jumped as Malfoy stepped in front of me, grasping my face by the chin, turning my head so he could look at the opened wound in my scalp. I felt silly, but strangely comforted as Malfoy drew his wand and Vanished the blood and muttered a spell too low for me to discern, sealing the wound again.

“You need to see Wiscombe again, Granger. These wounds are not normal…” Malfoy muttered with a hint of disgust, turning my head the other way to look at the other side, his large thumb pinching my chin slightly.

“I know.”

Malfoy released me, giving my face a once-over, stepped back, and then turned away.

“Let’s go. Longbottom should be in his office…”

We moved through the freezing stone corridors towards the gargoyle and the entrance to the Headmaster’s office.

I had not told Malfoy what I intended to do from that point on, and I wondered if I should stop him from addressing the gargoyle guardian and inform him of my latest plans. I had only been allowed to leave the protection of Malfoy Manor because Gumboil had wanted Malfoy to work with me…and I needed Malfoy’s protection although it made me feel very…odd. Ten years ago, Malfoy would have rather hexed me than protected me. Ten years ago, I would have rather given up magic all together than be indebted to him…

Times change.

And your generation has had the benefit of being able to change with them, Severus whispered.

I tried not to smile at that comforting voice as the gargoyle informed Malfoy that Headmaster Longbottom was in the greenhouses, but for us to wait in the office. I stepped behind Malfoy as the spiral stairs curled upward.

The familiar Headmaster’s office was a wonderful contrast to the halls, warm and comfortable. Snow blew against the windows, and the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and immediately I began looking for Minerva.

I drew my wand, re-Transfiguring my cloak to my familiar coat, doffing it to move toward Dumbledore’s portrait. However, before I could take two steps toward the portrait, the door banged open and Neville Longbottom stood just inside, snow on the shoulders of his dark red cloak having seemingly run from the greenhouses. Behind Neville was Horace Slughorn.

Malfoy’s face tightened, noticing that Neville was staring at me with a mixture of shock and joy. Horace, on the other hand, looked ill, his fat face as white as the snow falling on the grounds. Malfoy did not move from his place before the fire, and I stood in the middle of the office dumbly holding my coat before me, my wand caught in two fingers of my right hand.

“Thank Merlin, Hermione!”

The door banged shut, creating a cold draft that made Malfoy scowl.

I blinked at Neville. My old housemate looked terrible. I knew I must have looked worse, but Neville’s face shocked me to complete stillness. His normally bright face was sallow, his handsome eyes red, and his mousy hair dishevelled. He had lost weight and his cloak hung from his shoulders limply: his jumper too big, his trousers held up by a cinched belt.

I took a breath and laid my coat over the back of the nearest couch, trying to mirror Neville’s joyous expression.

“We had heard you were attacked, Hermione, are you alright?” Neville asked stepping toward me, his eyes moving from my shorn head and sunken cheeks. His worn hand raised to touch my face.

I surprised myself by backing away quickly, an abrupt cloud of fear billowing up in my mind.

Neville froze, stricken, glancing to Malfoy who had moved to stand behind me near my elbow. I closed my eyes, how stupid could I be?

Horace remained near the door, his dark eyes staring pointedly at me, and I noticed that his face conveyed a wordless message. Horace needed to tell me something. After so many years dealing potion ingredients for banned books, I knew how to covertly communicate with the sly old bastard. I was an honorary Slytherin after all, and when I nodded slowly, Horace returned with one nod and discreetly showed himself out.

“Neville…” I started, moving my eyes to my old housemate, plastering a congenial smile on my face. “I’m fine. Of course, I’ve been better, but I’m fine…”

What a lie.

“But, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Albus. I don’t mean to be short with you, Neville, but it has to do with why Malfoy is here with me…”

Neville’s wide eyes moved from my face to Malfoy, and his expression darkened as if a cloud had passed before the sun.

“I understand, Hermione. I’ll be in the greenhouses, if you should need me…Malfoy.”

I could not see Malfoy’s face, but apparently a flickering of understanding passed between the two men. Neville forced a smile as he considered me again, but I could see a pain in his eyes…a pain I could not identify.

Neville turned and slowly exited the room, his eyes studying me as he shut the door. I felt sorry for Neville having suddenly been thrust into the role of Headmaster of a school that was closed…

I sighed, my shoulders falling. The depressing ambience of the castle had been amplified by its Headmaster, and I wondered how soon the world would right itself. And then I remembered…

I turned, ignoring Malfoy, and moved through the office, up to the Headmaster’s desk, to face the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

“Where is she?”

Albus’ painted blue eyes twinkled, and a smile turned his lips upward. I realized…I really did not like this man albeit he was now a magical conglomeration of pigments on canvas.

“Protecting Gryffindor Tower, as per the instructions of her will.”

I started to turn away, but thought better of it. As much as I longed to see and speak with Minerva, I still had a line of questioning to pose to the former Headmaster. I leaned into the corner of the Headmaster’s desk, crossing my arms before me, staring evenly at Albus. After a few moments, those blue eyes turned away from me, towards the door of the office.

“I see you still carry Severus’ wand, Mr. Malfoy.”

I frowned, and turned my shorn head toward Malfoy who had also doffed his coat and was moving a wand over the door to cast a privacy charm. It was a different wand than the one in his chest holster, the other wand I had suspected strapped to his arm.

Malfoy turned toward me, his eyes moving passively from mine to Albus. In his right hand he held a long, thin wand of dark wood. It was possibly red oak or mahogany, but I was not sure. However, I was more concerned with Albus’ words…

Severus’ wand…

I had rarely seen Severus Snape with a wand. There had been that speech in my First Year about ‘foolish wand waving…’ But I vaguely recalled that Snape’s wand was at least thirteen inches of dark wood and unknown core.

How and why did Malfoy have it?

Malfoy tucked the wand into his sleeve, and moved toward Albus’ portrait, his face unreadable.

“And Tom’s as well?” Albus asked, but there was no hint of surprise in his voice.

I, however, gaped. I rarely gape.

I thought I had recognized the pale wood wand Malfoy carried in his chest holster, his primary wand, I assumed. There was only one ‘Tom’ to Albus, Lord Voldemort nee Tom Riddle. If I had been puzzled at Malfoy having Severus’ wand, I was shocked that he had Voldemort’s.

“Is that a problem for you, Dumbledore?” Malfoy asked, standing near me, aping my composure by also crossing his arms before his wide chest.

“Not at all! It merely surprises me that you have never found a wand that was uniquely your own. You had mine for so long…”

Ah, yes…

“It was not really yours to begin with, though. As it had never really been Voldemort’s or Malfoy’s, although Malfoy had it longer than Voldemort, and could have used it if he had liked,” I snorted, ignoring Malfoy’s piercing eyes upon the left side of my head.

“And now Harry has it. It is his by right.”

“Perhaps so, but I would rather see the damn thing destroyed,” I sneered.

Albus said nothing in retort, but studied me, his eyes returning again and again to my bare head.

“It is dangerous for you to be here, Miss Granger.”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes Albus could be so daft.

“There is something I need to know, Albus, and you may be the only one who can answer my questions.”

Malfoy shifted on his feet, and I let my arms fall to my sides, hands clutching the edge of the desk. Albus nodded after a moment of hesitation.

“The Resurrection Stone. Its only power is not simply what we believe it to be…not what is recorded in Beedle the Bard, is it?”

Albus frowned, shifting in his frame. “What is it you believe, Miss Granger?”

I rolled my eyes again, and my face flushed. “We do not have time for riddles and mental exercises, Albus. The Resurrection Stone can literally resurrect people, not just their shadows…”

“I didn’t…” Albus started, agitated.

“You didn’t try it yourself, but you knew, didn’t you?”

Gravely, Albus nodded, too agitated to answer aloud.

Silence fell over the office, and I closed my eyes. Sometimes I hated it when my theories proved correct.

“Time and chance…”

I opened my eyes to stare at Albus who had spoken in a near whisper, almost as if speaking to himself, which I knew he did quite often.

Time and chance…I wanted to vomit, die, or curl up in a ball and be left alone for a very long time. Yes, I hated when my theories…

“You told Potter this?” Malfoy growled, taking a step toward the portrait, and I half wished Malfoy would use Voldemort’s wand to erase the canvas.

“Long ago…almost as an afterthought…”

Merlin…

I started laughing, much like I had the last time I was in that office… How did that poem go? Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone? Oh how true.

I flopped down in the Headmaster’s chair, throwing my right leg over the arm, laughing all the while to keep from screaming at Albus and Vanishing the oil from the canvas.

“You old fool… All these years of you feeding into Harry’s pain, his vulnerabilities, to sway the outcome of a war…you are going to lose it all because of some stray words…lose it when he somehow manages to ‘correct’ the timeline. If you weren’t already dead, I would kill you!” I progressed from laughter to screaming at the portrait, the figure in it which recoiled…the frame having cracked and the painting thumping against the wall.

I slapped a hand to my face, rubbing my eyes, then the right temple. Merlin, my head hurt. I had done it again letting my own magic project through my voice. I would have to think as to the reason why it was happening at some later point…my head hurt…

I glanced to Malfoy, who had been watching me all the while. My skin prickled at his gaze and the way his lips curved into a satisfied smirk. I sighed.

“Why do we have to suffer for you, Albus?”

Despair laced my voice, and I had to keep my tears at bay…

“I never asked…”

“You didn’t think to ask, you just…” I trailed, sighing again to cover my deteriorating emotions. “I am just a chess piece to you, a pawn.”

“A Queen, Miss Granger, if you must use that analogy, there are better, more accurate analogies,” Albus said swiftly, his words correcting me. “Harry was the King on my side…just because the King has been checked…the game is not over.”

I stared at Albus. “Explain.”

Albus smiled, sadly, arranging his hands before him, delicately. “Protect the Queen, she has all the moves. You have been called the ‘brightest witch of your age,’ Miss Granger. Did you really think it a simple compliment? You have heard it so many times, maybe the words have lost all their meaning.

Just as Harry had been groomed to stop Voldemort, you have been groomed to stop Harry.”

I was on my feet before I realized it, with my wand drawn. “No one has groomed me for such a thing, don’t you dare claim that, Albus!”

The room shook, the other portraits yelling protests from other side of the office. Albus remained calm, bowing his head as his painted world suffered a devastating earthquake.

Suddenly, the shaking stopped as Malfoy’s hands enveloped mine, forcing my wand hand down to my side. I had not seen him move, but then again, my attention had been fixed upon Albus.

“You have all the moves, Miss Granger. Do what you feel is right. You have always known what to do…and I was not the one to groom you, my dear, someone else takes that honour…two people, in fact.”

“I am not listening to this shite now, Albus. And if you don’t have anything useful to say, I am going to leave this office and possibly never return!” I snarled.

Albus opened his eyes and raised his white head, but he was not looking at me, but at Malfoy.

“Miss Granger, if I had any more information, I would gladly give it without being asked. As it is, there is nothing more I can give you.”

“Not even a speculation as where Potter might be now?” Malfoy asked, his official DCI tone of voice employed.

“I thought about Number 12 Grimmauld Place early on, and sent Phineas to check, but no one has been there for years.”

Malfoy snorted, “Phineas Nigellus Black is confined to the view of one room…but Grimmauld Place has been searched, Potter has not been there.”

I bit my lower lip. I had not pondered the possible whereabouts of Harry. There were places he could hide, places he could go, but that was only to capture him. I wanted to stop him…

I shifted my feet. There was nothing more to be learned from the room. I passed Malfoy and Albus’ portrait, and retrieved my old coat, shrugging into the warmth. I tucked my wand into my pocket and strode to the door, passing through and shutting it behind me, leaning back into the wood. Malfoy would soon follow. However, Malfoy did not come, instead, I could hear him speaking to Albus.

“You are far too resistant, Mr. Malfoy.”

“A quality that has kept me alive, Dumbledore.”

“Every Queen needs a Knight, every Fool needs a ruler to protect it…”

I heard Malfoy scoff. “You were a fool when you were alive, you are just the same dead.”

“The Fool is not my part to play, Mr. Malfoy, but I digress…it seems fate has found you fitting to play a major role in this story, whether you like it or not…”

I stepped away from the door, feeling a surge of magic pass through the walls, and all was silent. I stepped onto the staircase and was halfway down when Malfoy exited the office above me. Through the dark of the stairwell, I could see he had reapplied his cloak, not having re-Transfigured it, and was tucking his light coloured wand into his holster.

I decided to think about Malfoy’s wands later.

We met again in the corridor, I in my ugly oversized coat, he in his elegantly Transfigured cloak. I did not ask about the sudden surge of magic I had felt or Albus’ words, but I did mumble that I wanted to see Minerva. Surprisingly, Malfoy followed me as we moved down the near frozen corridors to the Portrait Hall and up the moving stairs towards Gryffindor Tower.

The silence in the castle was deafening to me, and the portraits that watched Malfoy and I were strangely hushed. It was unnerving, and the slowness of the moving stair was becoming an irritation. Finally, I stood before the portrait guarding my old dormitory.

I smiled, I couldn’t help myself. Minerva’s portrait was large, and in it she sat in a chair in her old Transfigurations classroom. She wore her best dark red robes, her hair pinned up in beautiful ruby coloured pins. Sunlight fell over her from an unseen window, and I felt tears burn in the corners of my eyes.

However, Minerva slept in her chair, her head propped up on her right fist, her left hand holding wand, resting in her lap. She slept peacefully, breathing evenly.

“She won’t wake.”

The voice as muted, and as I lifted my chin to glance to the portrait immediately above Minerva, I remembered the round face staring down at me. The portraits had been moved around since the last time I had been in the hall and I never passed through during my time living in the cottage. The less the portraits knew of my presence in Hogwarts, the better. However, the kind face beaming down at me was none other than the former dormitory guardian, the Fat Lady.

“She’s been sleeping ever since the portrait was placed after the funeral. I gave up my post happily for her…but there are no students…”

“She hasn’t been awake at all?” I asked, the disappointment clear in my voice.

The Fat Lady shook her head, her dark coiffed hair bouncing about her wide shoulders. “The new Headmaster comes every day to try to talk to Minerva, but he always walks away after a few minutes. I have to pop down and open the door sometimes when someone needs in. But, it is like this sometimes, especially if the portrait is new.”

I nodded, Albus’ portrait had slept for a very long time. It was not until what would have been my Seventh Year did he respond to anyone.

“I will watch over her, Miss Granger, do not worry.”

A tear trailed down my cheek as I looked at Minerva again. Oh, how I wanted to talk to her, hear her voice again.

“And dear?” the Fat Lady asked in a familiar melodic voice. “Do something about your hair before Minerva wakes, you look terrible.”

I nodded, a laugh trying to well up from my chest, but stopped in my throat.

I inhaled the rest of my tears and turned to start up the stairs again when Malfoy, who had been silent all the while, grasped my wrist.

“Where are you going, Granger?”

I turned, meeting his eyes, which flashed brilliant silver in the filtered light of the Hall. Looking down on his face, I was struck at how pale and perfect he was…he was like a white marble statue, but I knew it was the quality of the light in the Hall and the tears in my eyes that made Draco Malfoy seem so beautiful.

“To Trelawney’s classroom,” I answered as if Malfoy had just asked the stupidest question of the decade.

“Why?”

The pressure on my wrist increased slightly and his warmth suffused my skin and travelled to my chest. I gently extracted my arm.

Why indeed? There was a little niggling bit of thought in my brain, it was the memory of only a few minutes before…something Albus had said. Analogies…Trelawney…and ‘The Hanged Man.’

“There is something that bothers me…” was my answer as I started up the stairs again, my hands grasping the railings as I climbed. My head still thumped painfully.

Malfoy followed close behind me, and every time that I stumbled on the step, I felt his large hand against my back, keeping me from falling backward. I could not really think too much about how warm and big his hand felt, and I could not really think about how he would gaze at me when I would turn to him. No, I had to keep my mind focused.

I knew I needed to see a Healer about my head. Maybe a specialist, and not Wiscombe. Wiscombe was suitable, but he also was attached to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…

Finally, I entered Trelawney’s classroom, pausing to catch my breath and hoped that the pounding of my heart in my brain would slow and eventually stop. I leaned against the back wall, wheezing as Malfoy passed by me and into the dim light of the classroom.

Even with Trelawney dead for some time, the room still reeked of a strange mix of incense and weak tea. I had left this classroom in my Third Year, and had not ever returned. As I scanned the room, I found little had changed. There were still small tables clustered about the middle of the room, chintz poufs for students to sit, and Trelawney’s spindly table and matching chair in the middle of the room.

Malfoy moved to the opposite wall, pulling aside heavy curtains to uncover a large round window, spilling grey snow laden light across the room. Around Trelawney’s central space was a floating blue line, glowing faintly in the light. It reminded me of Albus’ age line around the Goblet of Fire, but I knew what it was…a Ministry sanctioned cordon, allowing only certain people to cross and barring all others. It was a literal barrier as compared to the Muggle version of police tape.

I pushed off the wall and made my way down the row of low tables with crystal balls perched on fake gold stands. Malfoy stood by the window, leaning back against it to gaze out of the frosted glass to the Lake. I was thankful of his limited involvement as I approached the cordon, careful not to touch it. I had heard that anyone trying to cross a barrier as the one I skirted, received a nasty hex and strong Confounding to boot.

There were congealed puddles of black blood staining the floorboards, shards of a crystal ball…and scattered atop those things, Tarot cards. I let my eyes move from the floor to the chair. Trelawney had draped the chair with gauzy scarves, as she had used to decorate the rest of the room, and it was unnerving that those scarves, albeit garish in colour, were now stained black with blood.

It was like something out of Muggle horror films. There was a distinct odour as well, one I had not noticed when I had entered, but one that I knew. It was the smell of excrement, bile, and death. It was not overpowering for the lingering scent of incense that permeated everything in the room for the past twenty years. I was suddenly glad for that headache-inducing incense. After the Last Battle, I never wanted to smell the scent of death again.

I could see a particularly dark stain before the chair, where Trelawney’s flayed skin had been piled, and I could see bloody fingerprints upon the shards of the crystal ball that I assumed had been knocked from the side table inside the cordon. I sucked on my bottom lip, moving around the cordon to get a better look at the table.

“Why hasn’t this been cleaned?” I asked distractedly, but glanced quickly out of the corner of my eye to Malfoy who had not moved from the window, his arms crossed before his chest.

“Documentation. The Forensics teams have been through, but the blokes in charge of documentation are taking their time with this one.”

I nodded, but to me it just sounded like laziness on the part of the police. I thought no more of it as I stood as close as I could to the table, noting the empty base the crystal ball had been knocked from, an empty cup of tea, a small incense coffin, and four Tarot cards smudged with bloody fingerprints.

“Trelawney’s fingerprints?” I asked aloud.

“Yes. Potter’s were found on the shards of the crystal. The bloody fingerprints on the crystal is Potter’s blood, he must have cut himself somehow.”

On the shards? I took a breath and leaned closer, my eyes fixing upon the cards.

Had I stayed with Divination, I might have been able to identify the exact deck Trelawney had used, but as it was, the only way I could think to describe the illustrations on the cards was ‘medieval.’

The cards were arranged in what I considered a pyramid, one card above two others…actually, three others with one card overlapping another. At top was ‘The Fool,’ below, on the left was ‘The Emperor,’ and on the right, ‘The Hanged Man’ resting atop ‘The Magician.’ I leaned back, straightening. Trelawney had touched the cards with bloody fingers, either during or after Harry… I took an unsteady step back.

Proper analogies… I sucked my lower lip between my teeth again.

“You did not mention this to me, Malfoy,” I muttered, turning my shorn head to look at the pale man, he was still gazing out the window.

“The cards? I did mention those.”

“Not the configuration or the exact cards.”

Malfoy sighed, his eyes swivelling to the table and then back out the window.

“I thought you did not believe Divination to be an art worth mastering, Granger.”

I did not answer. I did not want to verbally spar with Malfoy at that moment, I, instead, began racking my addled mind for what I remembered about Tarot symbolism.

The configuration had significance, the top card being the base from which to begin. It was possible that the top card represented the querent… The Fool. My lips twitched, there were so many meanings to that card. But the card that really put me ill at ease? The Hanged Man.

“Too much of a coincidence…The Hanged Man…”

A shift in the light startled me and I realized Malfoy had moved from the window to stand a quarter of the circular cordon to my right. His eyes fell upon the cards and his lips twisted in obvious distaste.

“I…I know so little about Divination, I cannot begin to interpret the significance of the cards in a configuration…”

My voice trembled, and my head began to pound harder. I was thinking too hard, too deep, and I wanted desperately to sit down, but the only option was the chintz poufs.

“The Fool is the protagonist, Granger…a person represented who seeks experience and knowledge over the cost of his welfare. The key words being ‘seeking’ and ‘knowledge.’ There is a lot more to The Fool than that…

And then The Emperor, he is the father figure, in this case the lord of the land, the protector, and the hand of autonomous justice.

And The Hanged Man…”

“Yes, I know. But why this configuration, and why The Magician underneath The Hanged Man?” I huffed. I really did not like the feeling of Malfoy lecturing me, then again, he had stayed in Divination while I had walked out.

Malfoy smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets, reminding me of earlier in the day when he had done the same thing.

“I can only speculate, Granger, but it is clear that the querent or the person of true importance referenced in the spread is The Fool.”

Analogies…

Malfoy continued, “Potter could not have been the querent for his character does not fit. But The Hanged Man…”

“Yes…” I whispered.

So much about Harry reflected the symbolism of The Hanged Man. But who was The Fool, and who was The Emperor? And then there was The Magician who was very different from The Hanged Man.

Action versus inaction, creativity versus conformism, manipulation versus acceptance…two sides of one…

I blinked. The Fool had two paths, protection under The Emperor or confliction of The Magician/The Hanged Man. I licked my lips, my eyes moving over the table.

The Hermit.

I had not seen it at first, the empty teacup obscuring the face of the card, but I could just make out the words from under the shadow of the handle.

It seemed ironic that The Hermit was separate from the others, obscured. However, it rested above The Fool on its side as if it had fallen there by chance and was ignored as there was an empty teacup sitting atop it.

The Hermit…the interpretation of the card was a bit simpler in my mind. Reclusive, introspective, philosophical, and I wondered if that was where I fit in.

If Harry was The Magician/Hanged Man, I was the Hermit…

I closed my eyes as a particularly nasty slice in my brain stopped all cognizant thought. The room, its ambiance, and the conflicting odour of death and sweet incense were making my headache worse.

Slowly, I moved around the magical cordon to stand next to Malfoy. If I were going to fall, I would rather have him catch me than suffering a hex by unconsciously crossing the barrier. As I came to his side, my head began to clear.

“Do you remember when I walked out of her class?”

Malfoy smirked. “A glorious day, another class I did not have to share with you…”

I rolled my eyes, only succeeding in making myself dizzy. I had to get out into better air. I made my way to the door slowly, Malfoy on my heels, and when I was clear of the room and into the empty corridors, I could breathe.

Glancing back up at the entrance, I sighed. “Trelawney was rarely correct, but when she was…her predictions were explosive.”

I let the mental image of the cards on the table flash behind my eyes. I had imprinted the sight as best I could…

“Those cards could mean anything, Granger. Trelawney was a barmy old bat.”

“Better to consider everything, Malfoy, than miss the one thing that will explain why all of this is happening.”

Malfoy’s face darkened with repressed words, but I ignored his expression. Malfoy was not a fool, but he had not been the one attacked by Harry Potter either. However, I could not tell if I were any closer to formulating an answer as to why Harry was tearing our world apart. As I stood in the corridor, Malfoy staring at me, his face shuttered with anger, I was more concerned with why my head was hurting so terribly, and why the wounds were refusing to heal. My head injuries had not been caused by magic, but by sheer battering, and I knew that if I were to puzzle out Harry’s motives, I needed a clear mind.

But it would have to wait…at least for a while.



Images of from the Tarot of Marseilles: