Exiled Years

CHAPTER 5: An Understanding


The familiar wisps of smoke and incense clouded the room, clearing as Hermione opened the attic door into the classroom. Frowning at the smell and foggy atmosphere, she crossed her arms and waited. Soon her old professor appeared through the mists, her gaudy bracelets, scarves, and all.

“Still the games, Sybil?” Hermione asked dully, taking a seat in one of the desks.

“Games, Hermione?” Trelawny questioned innocently. Her graying hair stood out of its wrap some, and though the years had been kind to her, she still reminded Hermione of an old bat roosting in the attic. In a way she was.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took the cup of tea Trelawny offered, sipping it delicately. It was too sweet by far. “I’ve come with word from Ginny.”

“I assumed as much. What has she said?” Sybil asked, dropping the nonsense act and pushing her glasses up on her nose.

Over the years Hermione had gotten over her double identity act. She’d learned the two faces of Sybil (funny her name was Sybil, a Muggle, multi-peronalitied woman was called by that name; very manipulative she was) Trelawny. One was the classroom Trelawny, wispy and over all annoying. Hermione called her Trelawny or the Fruit Bat. The other Sybil Trelawny was much more to Hermione’s liking. The Sybil Trelawny Hermione favored was smart and quick, had an abundance of odd information, crazy facts, and extreme knowledge of the shortcuts and magical instruments in the wizarding world. Hermione called this Sybil Trelawny just plain Sybil.

“Well,” Hermione began. “Gibberish to my ears, but it sounded serious. ‘An eagle sinks in the South. New winds blow from the West. If they meet, disaster will fill this world and the Wonder of Death’s Maiden will rise again.’ What does it mean?”

Sybil frowned and opened a dusty old book. Hermione’s fingers itched to turn the pages of some of Sybil’s books. Some habits died hard. They all looked so interesting though. Their filled with prophesies, Hermione berated herself. You don’t even understand the damn things; much less have patience for them. No rhyme or reason to the damn things!

“Ah,” Sybil said, licking her finger and turning one more page. “Here it is! Clever girl, our Pythia! Now, she’s using an old Egyptian description of Nuit, the goddess of eagles and the air. Of course Egypt is south of us. And the ‘western wind’ can only mean Ehecatl, the Aztec god of wind.

“Now Death’s Maiden has to be Persephone. You know the Greek myth how Hades brought her down to hell with him and Persephone’s mother grieved and it was winter? How every spring it is said Persephone returns to her mother? It is that one. The Wonder of Death’s Maiden has to be winter, though it could mean spring as Persephone caused that too. But the use of ‘disaster’ would make you think otherwise.

“So, if Nuit and Ehecatl meet, the end will come, simple warning to keep the Aztec Holy Man out of the Egyptian strongholds. You’ll need to sweep both places for spies and traitors.” ermiermione’s jaw worked up and down. Oh, sure it made sense now...kind of. “Thank you, Sybil,” Hermione said, still in awe. She figured it out every time; Hermione had to give her that. Every time! And she was never wrong in her translations. Damn, Hermione thought, standing up and cracking her neck. Got to give her a raise or something. Dumbledore had the right idea putting her on staff.

“Any time,” she said, turning dewy-like, more Trelawny. “Come back and I’ll give you a tea-reading, dear!”

Hermione had already kicked open the door and made it halfway down. “Maybe, Sybil! I’ll send Lavender and Parvati up for a while, they need some pointers I think, couldn’t figure it out for the life of them. Their damn good at training troops though! See you!”

With that Hermione slid down the ladder and began walking briskly to her office. Viktor caught in step with her halfway and he looked at her for a command. “You just got back from Trelawny’s, right?”

Hermione nodded. “The encampments in Memphis, Cairo, Thebes, and Alexandria, all of them need to be checked, looked inside out, and returned to normal. Anyone suspicious at all is to be hauled in for questioning, even if it’s Granny. Also, Macchu Picchu, Lima, Sucre, and La Paz need to be examined. Our oracle has spoken, Viktor.”

“Yes, Hermione,” Viktor said loyally.

“And Viktor,” Hermione said, stopping and setting her hand on his forearm. “I want you to see this over personally. I can’t trust anyone else to, Viktor. No one I can spare at any rate.”

A rare smile broke out on Viktor’s face and he nodded. “Yes, Hermione.”

Then he disappeared into a dark hallway and Hermione leaned against a wall, frowning. ‘Now what?’ seemed to be the thing in question. Ginny was captured. Things were going shitty with the search for Harry. Ron said the new recruits were...green. Green wasn’t good. She wanted brown, battle-weary soldiers to fight in her war. He was off getting himself killed in some family honor thing. Hermione hoped to Merlin someone would stop him or find him before he got himself killed.

“He loves you, did you know?” a smooth voice said from behind her.

Hermione’s head pivoted towards the speaker. Severus Snape, she thought. “What are you doing out of the dungeons?”

“Has ever since your fourth year,” Snape continued. “Never could figure out why.”

“My stunning personality no doubt,” Hermione quipped, beginning to walk again. “Not that I care, but why do you care?”

Snape apparently didn’t deem the question worth answering for he went off into a whole new line of conversation. “I have news from...the dove.” The last bit he practically spat. “Foolish...”

“Come on!” Hermione said, a smile on her face as she punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You love it. What’d Luna say?”

Snape rolled his eyes and murmured something like ‘worse than Dumbledore’ before continuing. “Told me to pass on that he found some blood that smelled like Potter’s –”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know why she knows what Harry’s blood smells like.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Snape snorted. “She says that she’s close, gets closer every day.”

“Good, good,” she said, reaching her office and leading Snape in. “We’re checking out the Egypt and South American encampments –”

“I know,” he interrupted. “Good idea too. Miss Weasley’s gone missing has she?”

“Yes and –”

“Mistress Granger!” a voice squeaked. Hermione jumped as the tiny house-elf appeared before her, a large gray sock on one foot and a yellow on the other. “Mistress Granger!”

“Dobby!” Hermione breathed, grasping at her heart. “For the love of Merlin, don’t do that! You’re going to give me a heart attack. And don’t call me master. Hermione is fine.”

Dobby looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Okay...Hermione.” Then he recovered a small letter from his battered clothes. Holding it up to her he said, “This comes for Miss when she is out of office. Dobby brings it to her...it is from Miss Weezy.”

“Weezy?” Snape said confused.

Hermione’s eyes brightened and she practically ripped the letter from the startled elf’s hands. “Thanks, Dobby!” she said quickly, reaching into her desk and tossing him a sock. With a satisfied pop he was gone, a smile on his face.

“Weezy,” Snape repeated.

“Weasley,” Hermione corrected. “Ginny. A letter from Ginny. Damn it! This thing doesn’t – Enscribo!” The letter ripped itself open and a sheet of paper with fine print on it appeared. Hermione read aloud.

“Dearest Hermione,

“I hope this letter finds you well. I must write briefly for I cannot risk this falling into the wrong hands, even though I’ve seen it won’t.

“I have told Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas not to worry about me and to leave to you immediately. I hope they remembered the message correctly; they were very upset at having to leave me with Draco Malfoy. Yes, Malfoy. I’ve been captured by him and I’m being taken to Tom Riddle. Where I cannot say, for I don’t want you coming after me. I ensure you that I will not be harmed and am quite safe. Orphel is here looking after me and Riddle can’t risk killing me until I find the animals.

(“Codename,” Hermione explained, “for Dumbledore and Harry. Dumbledore’s a honeybee and Harry is a stag.”)

“I leave you with these words. The West winds have many messengers, a Fox and a Crow. One of them always tells a lie and the other always tells the truth. The one who lies always says the exact opposite of what he means the one who tells the truth never speaks with his words.

“The Fruit Bat

(“Sybil,” Hermione informed Snape.)

will be able to help you if you get stumped. Now I bid thee fair-well and will see you, though I can’t tell you when (for ous ous reasons).

Remember the Berliner I told you about? She will be contacting you soon. She brings with her three sisters, and though they are terrifying to look at, they hold great hatred for Riddle and will be valuable to our cause.

“I love you, and tell Ron I love him too. Don’t go after him if he’s already left to come and avenge me. You mustn’t interfere with him and the Frenchie-Veela.

“With all my love,

“Ginny

“PS – A word from the wise: Snakes are cold blooded and require a heat source to live and be successful. Go for it. The Fruit Bat will know what I mean.”

Hermione re-read the paper in her hand then gave it to Snape, who read it again as well.

“What does she mean about the messengers?” Snape finally asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Hell if I know. My marks in Divination were...satisfactory.”

“You hated it.”

“Vehemently so.”

“As did I. A trip to Trelawny seems in order.”

“I know.”

“And the snake bit?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Right.”

“I’ve got to...I suppose I shouldn’t go off and tell Ron to come back. I mean if Gin says I shouldn’t. I wonder who the Frenchie-Veela is.” Hermione sat at her desk and toyed with a quill as she thought.

Snape snorted as sat across the desk from her. “What are we going to do about Potter and Lovegood?”

Hermione stared off into the fire instead of answering, the quill propped up against her skin. Her brow was furrowed as she observed the orange flames. “Luna has things under control. I think...I want to speak to these messengers, the Crow and the Fox.”

“The ‘Crow’ and the ‘Fox’? Hardly sounds faith inspiring. How can you tell which is which? I suppose that is a question for Trelawny however.”

“Yes,” Hermione said absently, looking at Snape with a cool gaze. He returned it solidly, not saying a word.


Ron stormed out of the office. His bro was was dead. His sister was captured...by MALFOY no less. That bastard was going to kill his sister, or worse, bend her to his will or rape her or make her reveal the secrets of defeat. He had to stop him. Voldemort could NOT have the oracle. Voldemort could NOT have his sister. MALFOY could not have his sister.

Palming his wand in his black robes he grimaced. It would do a lot of work on his brother’s to find out the newest location of Voldemort. They probably wouldn’t tell him. No matter, they would see it his way when he told them Ginny had been captured. If not...he was stronger than them. Even if they were two, he was still the better wizard.

Gritting his teeth he made his way down the dusty, midnight path out of Hogwarts grounds to Apparate. Taking the shortcut around through the trainee encampment he heard something he would never forget.

He had heard people cry before. Hell, he’d made people cry before. But not like this. NEVER like this. It was a quiet sob. No. Sob was too harsh. Something more eloquent perhaps. It was more like weeping. It was an almost silent, soft weep that caught his attention and made him stop. Frowning he looked around him. The twinkling bell, soft choking sound came closer as he walked towards the Forbidden Forest and he scowled. That forwas was dark. Either something in that forest was playing a trick on him or someone was really in pain.

Being the noble, brave Gryffindor he was, he headed straight to the sound and stopped when he saw who it was.

“Gabrielle,” he said softly. She was too far away to hear him. Nor did she notice him; she must have been caught up with whatever she was thinking about. Ron noticed a letter on the ground and tried to put igethgether. Perhaps another death in the family? Perhaps a lover dead?

It wouldn’t surprise him if she had several lovers. She was, obviously, very, very, very beautiful. Part of being a Veela and French he knew. But there was somet mor more human in her that he admired. She was strong and witty, not something you would expect to find in a girl her age and stature. Well, he thought after looking at her again, not really a girl anymore. She was very well toned and stronger than she looked. It was impossible to determine her age. Anywhere between twenty-five and fifteen could be right. He figured she was about seventeen; Fleur looked like her at that age.

But he knew instinctually that she and her sister were nothing alike. t frt from being beautiful and knowing they were beautiful, the Delacour girls were almost complete opposites. Gabrielle was calm and collected, not overly teasing, and kind. Though she did have a temper, it was reserved and only came out when she was very, very upset. Her sister though...unpredictable came to mind. Flirtatious, domineering, spoiled, ostentatious, conniving, and rude were a few other terms that surfaced when Ron remembered Fleur.

No, they were complete opposites. It intrigued Ron, making him wonder even more what had caused his strong Gabrielle to cry. Where the hell did that come from!?! Ron faltered. ‘His strong Gabrielle?’ What was he thinking? Shaking his head he backed away from the woman.

Her head shot up like an arrow. He had stepped on a twig. “Who’s there?” she called out softly, bringing her wand into her delicate hand and licking her lips cautiously.

Seeing no need to scare her, Ron stepped out of the shadows and revealed himself while raising his wand over his head. Gabrielle’s eyes widened and she hastily wiped all traces of tears from her face and put her wand away. A faint pink glow remained on her cheeks however and her eyes were just one shade of darker blue.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Ron said softly, walking into the moonlit clearing where he’d found Gabrielle. “The forest is dangerous.”

“Thank you for the concern,” she said stonily. “But I’m fine.”

Then with a second look into his eyes she brushed past him, leaving him alone in the clearing. Ron frowned. He could understand her embarrassment. She was very proud, and as much as she was loath to admit it, vain. She wouldn’t appear weak for all the tea in China, especially to a superior officer.

Still curious (“You realize there is a reason they say curiosity killed the cat, right, Ron?” Hermione had asked him not five days ago.) he walked up to the letter left on the ground and skimmed over it.

Dearest Gabby,

Oh, sister, the wonders of my new life! Everything is so blissfully wonderful and perfect.

It must have been Fleur. Skipping down to the signature he saw it was.

The power is unimaginable. Just the other day I saw five people killed by one curse. Lord Voldemort rewarded them handsomely of course. I myself have been rewarded similarly for my deeds. It is better than family, being a Death Eater. It is better than friends and better than brothers. They are closer, more powerful, and know you; I mean REALLY know you.

Lord Voldemort is so powerful, so great, so wonderful I can’t even describe it. Like when he talks (he gives the most wonderful speeches) you just want to go and do it. It doesn’t even matter what ‘it’ is, you just want to. It’s enchanting and glorious.

You must come straight way to Copenhagen and join me. A meeting is being held on the fifth of January; tons of new recruits from all ages and countries will be there. I only hope that you, sister, will come too. How proud Lord Voldemort will be! His beautiful, strong Veela sisters. The pleasures he will give you, my sister, the gifts and wonders!

I implore you, come with me! I miss you sister! I put my trust in Goldenrod to find you though I don’t know where you are. Send a reply with her as soon as possible, I await you response, sister dear.

Your loving sister,

Fluer

Ron almost dropped the letter. She had said Fleur had died. Years ago she said. Ron’s eyes widened. She was a spy! No, another voice answered. She just got this, look at the date you dolt! December twelfth it read. He looked at the fine yet excited scroll of Fleur’s and frowned. It did change a few things though.

“You read it,” a soft voice said from behind him. Turning he saw Gabrielle, cold and sad looking, her arms crossed against her chest and a small smile on her face. She looked...disappointed. Disappointed in herself it seemed. She was ashamed of her sister, Ron realized. “I suppose I should get packing then. May I have my lettair?”

Ron shook his head. “You should explain yourself.”

A rigid expression came over her face, but then, looking thoughtful, she sighed, apparently giving up. “I told you. My sistair died yairs ago. Zis izn’t even ‘er anymore. Fleur, the real Fleur, the one I grew up with on zee country ‘ome in Lorraine, vould never stoop to zis level. She died yairs ago; she’s not even my sistair. But she writes, trying to find me, persuade me to join her. I was...I was going to give zis letter to General Granger and zen leave. Her owl, Goldenrod, will report my position back to her.”

Ron was silent for a while. The term double agent came to mind. Too young, too young, his mind said, rejecting the idea.

But she has a sister in high places, he countered.

Too young, not enough experience. She’d get herself killed.

“Ron?” she questioned, stepping closer to him.

He frowned. He would definitely need to see Hermione about this. It had been a while since he’d instructed someone in being a double agent...Snape could help him a bit...

“Ron?”

“Gabrielle,” he said, very serious and calm. “You shouldn’t leave. I have a feeling that Hermione will find this all very useful, very useful indeed. Now why don’t we go back to your bunker and sort this out in the morning,” he said, waving the letter about a bit. “Do you still have Goldenrod?”

Gabrielle nodded, beginning to understand the situation. “‘e’s in the Owlery.”

“Good,” Ron said, looking her in the eye. “Gabrielle?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“No one wants you to leave,” he said kindly. “You’re here for a reason, all of us are. Hermione would never cast you out knowing you need help.”

Gabrielle swallowed and licked her lips. “Thank you, Ron.”

Ron looked at her a moment longer then nodded. “Good, let’s get you back to your room.”

She nodded again and they began to make their way out of the woods when Ron heard something behind them...something big. The bushes quivered as whatever was coming neared the two. They both drew their wands as the creature crashed down to them; it was huge in shadow, for that was all they saw. It was definitely humanoid, well, most of it. It stood like a man anyway. Ron tried to push Gabrielle behind him but she didn’t comply.

Then it stepped out into the light.

“Manticore,” Gabrielle whispered in awe.

And she was right. It stood roughly eight feet tall on its haunches and smelled something dreadful. Its face was ugly, horrifically so, but human nonetheless, and covered in blood, it must have just eaten. It had the body of a lion, though slightly more human as it could walk on two feet, and a wavering scorpion’s tail followed behind it. The thing that struck Ron was it was covered, absolutely drenched in blood. Huge gashes were on its chest and its eyes were tearing blood.

A soft crooning sound and it fell to the ground, tail falling limp behind it and blood flying off it as it hit the ground. Gabrielle took a hold of his arm and he could feel her shivering in fear, her small body pressed against his back. He remembered from Care of Magical Creatures that manticoreequeequented France during the summer, trying to escape the heat of Greece, Macedonia, and Yugoslavia. Living in Lorraine she would have reason to fear them.

Though this one seemed...almost dead. He’d figured manticores for the never die, skin-as-thick-as-rock-and-skull-even-harder type. Nevertheless Gabrielle was threatening to cut off all circulation to his arm.

“Gabrielle,” he murmured. “I can’t feel my fingers.”

She loosened her hands a bit and stepped away, not too far though. The manticore let out another groan and she sobbed, returning right back to his arm and burying her head in his shoulde
“R
“Ron,” she quivered. “Can we leave, please? I can’t do zis. S\'il vous plaît! S\'il vous plaît, pouvons-nous partir, Ron?”

Ron frowned. She was really scared of this thing. Nodding he led her out of the wood; he was going to have to tell Hermione about this. Maybe Hagrid could do something... Shaking his head Ron practically had to carry Gabrielle out of the forest and to her bunker, the one she was alone in. The boys had different rooms.

When he stopped there she clutched to him harder and looked up. Ron’s eyes widened, she was practically crying. Her fleshy, pink lips were parted slightly and quivering, her eyes big and pleading. “I’m...I’m scared, Ron. P – please, d – don’t leave me. I can’t – can’t…”

She was talking pretty much in gibberish; her breathing erratic and shemedemed to be hyperventilating. And then she fell into a dead faint in his arms, whispering something in French. Her face was slightly pink, her lips still moving, whispering, and her body was light in his arms. He could barely believe she was there she was so feather light. Sighing, he lifted her in his arms and considered bringing her into her room.

She’d never trust you again, a voice said to him. Don’t leave her alone.

He nodded and headed towards his rooms in the castle. It would be the couch for him tonight. He would need to see Hermione after he settled Gabrielle in.

So all thoughts of his sister and brother gone, he made the long trek back to the castle, feeling, for some reason, light headed.