Exiled Years

CHAPTER 7: The Devil Speaks


Everything seemed to slow and speed up at the same time. The clouds began whizzing by fast, lightning streaking out over the sky in temperamental little fingers. Students began walking slowly down from the castle, wondering what the noise was.

The clouds slowed and the students looked up at the floating girl. It is Ginny Weasley, hovering twenty feet from the ground, chest thrown out and head back, eyes filling with an odd, bluish color, some evil perhaps, but something powerful they know.

She does not breath, rather hangs there as if there were a string in her chest holding her up. Her mouth opens. A scream, a loud, awful, pain wracked, screams cuts across the fields.

Lightning crashes down from above, long, spindle fingers, thin but with strong warning. The clouds zoom over her, lightning crashing and high-pitched scres. es.


I followed the hoard of people down from the Great Hall. The lightning or maybe the storm called us. Something universal, it ran through our blood, some magic, calling us down, drawing us out. Stepping out into the cloudy, dusk sky I am in awe. The clouds move at an ungodly speed, fast over the horizon, lightning streaking across the sky.

I look up and see her. Ginny. I want to scream at her to come down, but Hermione’s hand on my arm stops me and I look at her. Her eyes are wide and her hair is being blown back by the wind. I notice her tears and stop. I am crying too. I don’t know why.

Ron is crying too when I look at him. Something in Ginny’s screams...I can’t place it. It hits me in a way nothing else ever could, at a deeper, more primal level. I think she must be in unimaginable pain.

Just thinking the night before...gods I’d wanted her. She’d become so beautiful and wonderful. Over the past year she’d...well she’d grown. The porcelain skin and darkly beautiful eyes were the least of my worries. Her body was...and her face...and her very self were the most beautiful things in the world to me. I had dreams about her, visions of her...gods I need her. And she doesn’t need me in the least. She didn’t even like me. She’d made that clear last night.

But looking at her now he’d do anything for her. A great cloud of blue energy was circling her body, little strips of lightning whipping around inside of it. Her eyes were glowing an unearthly, dark blue, beams of light extending from them into the heavens as her head hung limply.

And then I heard it. It was such a beautiful, yet terrible voice. It sent shivers down my back and caused my tears to freeze on my face. It was Ginny speaking, but it was not Ginny speaking. The clouds slowed and then stopped, lightning fizzing out as it touched the sky and she straightened, taking in a breath. Her eyes still blue and her robes flying off her in a turbulent wind she spread her arms and looked dazedly in front of her. Lips barely moving she spoke. “Call down the prophet and a Pythia you shall have.”

“Pythia!” a strong voice comes. I hadn’t noticed this person before. He is standing next to Dumbledore and yelling. He is tall and had dark hair. I don’t like him. “Come to me, Pythia! To me!”

All lightning stops. All magic stops.feelfeel a surge of emptiness as Ginny falls. She drops like a rock, eyes closing and all semblance of power disappearing from her odd blue aura. But the curly, black-haired man catches her deftly, smoothing back her short, red hair, and kissing her forehead. He says something to Dumbledore and Dumbledore nods.

I look at Ron and he looks at me. Dashing forward I hear Hermione call to us to no avail. We want to know what’s wrong with Ginny.

“Headmaster!” Ron shouts, breath out. “What is wrong? What happened to her?”

He looks kindly at us and smiles. “Mr. Weasley, Harry,” he says. “I would like to see you in my office tomorrow at noon. Your parents, Mr. Weasley, will be there as well. Good evening, gentlemen.”

That casual dismissal didn’t sway me though; I made eye contact with tall, blue-eyed man and frowned. He was far, far too close to Ginny.

“Harry, Ron,” I hear Hermione say. I turn to her and see a worried expression on her face. Of course, Hermione will know what is going on. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She opens her eyes a bit wider and looks at the rest of my classmen. McGonagall is leading them up and back to the castle. I nod and Ron and I follow Hermione into the castle. Not surprisingly she heads straight for the library, earning a smile from Madam Pince as she flashes her Head Girl badge and heads into the Restricted Section.

“Look,” she says, sitting down at the farthest table from the entrance. Ron and I sit. “Dumbledore wants to see you tomorrow right?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “he said that my parents would be there too.”

“Hermione, what is going on with Ginny?” I ask. “I know you know something.”

She purses her lips and frowns. “I might. But think for a moment, don’t you recall that man, that, dark haired man that caught, Ginny? What does he remind you of?”

I look at Ron and he shrugs. I look at Hermione and she rolls her eyes.

“He’s Greek!” Hermione says in an exasperated voice. “And he called Ginny ‘Pythia,’ don’t you know what that means?”

I spread my hands and Ron gives her the traditional ‘Hermione-you-are-the-only-one-who-knows-what-you-are-talking-about’ look.

“Don’t you two ever read?” she cries, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t answer that! For the love of all that’s holy! Sometimes...”

“Hermione,” I say warningly. She looks up and just rolls her eyes.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Harry James Potter,” she snaps. “I know you’re worried about Ginny but I also know you know she’s safe. She’s with the headmaster, for the love of Merlin. Now just think, you two don’t remember any of this from History of Magic?”

We look at each other and shake our heads. Hermione glares at us and says something to the effect of ‘We just learned this...’ and stood, walking over to a book and plucking it out of the shelf deftly. She licks her finger and flips through the pages for a moment, then nods and slams the book in front of us.

An illustration catches my eye. A very beautiful, very young woman sits with her eyes closed on a stone seat. She’s in an open air temple sort of place with a thin tree in the back ground. The woman has her hair in a set of intricate braids and she wore a simple white robe. In one hand was a staff and in the other was an orb, a sort of crystal ball. There was a person by her side, a man, but his facial features were darkened so I can’t tell what he looks like. The caption below reads, “The Oracle of Delphi.”

“Read on,” Hermione commands.

Ron brings the book closer to him and reads aloud. “‘The Oracle at Delphi is one of the most prestigious honors awarded to seers and prophets around the world. The origins date back to the days where the Greek gods ruled with an iron fist and witch and wizard feared them. One god, Apollo, was punished, sent to foretell the future at Delphi by his father, Zeus. When his punishment was up, he selected a handmaiden, Pythia, to channel his visions through. Over the years, the oracles that sit at Delphi have been called Pythia, and all have been female. It is said that Morgan le Fay herself sat at Delphi for a while after the fall of Arthur and Camelot.

“‘Pythias of modern day are traditionally not as strong as Apollo, le Fay, or the first Pythia. Usually their power drains within five to ten years and they die. The last powerful, life-long prophet, Amia Dinatov, foresaw one final Pythia more powerful than the rest calling her the, ‘songbird of the future’ and ‘harbinger of truth.’ Not much is known about the training process of Pythias as their Keepers are very secretive.’”

Ron turns the page but sees that there is no more. I frown, looking at the picture again. The man in the shadows interests me the most and I don’t know why. He has strange tattoos on his wrists, traveling up his forearm and stopping before his elbows. He stands very near to the oracle, Pythia I guess. I glance up at Hermione.

“I think that man that was there, the one that caught Ginny, was her Keeper,” Hermione sighs. “We don’t know much about them, save they are supposed to be very protective of Pythia and very powerful in their own ways. Theve sve special gifts...after that they are a mystery. The tattoos are what tipped me off. That and he called Ginny Pythia.”

“I don’t like him,” I say, frowning.

Hermione looks at me and licks her lips, deciding not to say anything. She puts the book back on the shelf and says, “We should go back to the common room. McGonagall will be looking for us.”

I nod and we get up, leaving the library in a group. I’ll never understand how we always do this. Year after year, something always happens. Is it our fault? Is it the fault of Voldemort? Of Dumbledore? Every year it seems. Last year Hermione was kidnapped by Death Eaters. The year before that we all temporarily lost our headmaster to the martial law of Umbridge. It always seemed we were in the middle of things.

Now it has spread to Ginny. I need Ginny. Ginny is for me, not for the world and not for Voldemort. I need to see her, but I’ll have to wait. I’ll see her tomorrow. Gods how I need her...


Hermione was left outside the office. She waits for Ron and I to return and tell her what’s going on. As soon as Ron and I enter Dumbledore’s office, I see Mrs. and Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley sweeps me up in a big hug right after she squeezes all forms of life out of Ron. Mr. Weasley pats me on the back, his face worried and strained. No one has spoken; it io quo quiet.

But Dumbledore speaks up. “Sit, sit, please, Molly. Arthur, Ginny is fine. Now come, downdown, have some tea. Please take a seat Ron, Harry. That’s better, some tea, here.”

I set my tea down on the table next to me and look at Ron, who sits next to me. He fiddles nervously with his sleeve and looks at his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are holding hands, trying to look brave.

“Now, now, Molly, Arthur, there is nothing to worry about. I assure you, Ginny is in the best hands right now. I fear that I have a bit of explaining to do.”

And explain he did. He confirmed Hermione’s suspicions. She was an oracle. She was perhaps the most powerful oracle to sit at Delphi for a millennia. But she had to be taken, taken and trained. She needed to be in Greece, in Delphi, so she could have her center. Delphi was the best place for this. He wanted Ginny to get the best training possible, to be as safe as possible, and Delphi was surrounded by ancient and powerful charms. But she would need to leave now, before anyone put two and two together. The student population would be Obliviated of course and everything would be kept a secret until she was strong enough to protect herself and her mind.

“But – but, Headmaster,” Mr. Weasley said slowly. “I understand what you are saying, but Greece? Somewhere closer to you would be safer, right?”

I watch as the headmaster sighs. “Orphel, please come in,” he calls. “Bring Ginny too.”

A door, well hidden for I didn’t see it earlier, opens and the tall man enters. His eyes lock with mine, and he frowns. His eyes are a piercing blue. I don’t like it. He turns back to where he came and says something I can’t hear. He comes out again and Ginny is holding his hand, inching closer to him and looking around with shifty eyes.

She nervous, but I can’t tell why. Her eyes dart all around, taking in the people and flinching uneasily. Her eyes flash to blue again and she clutches desperately to the tall man, Orphel.

Dumbledore nodded to Orphel as he sat and Orphel nodded back, looking at Ginny. Ginny sat by him automatically, scooting close to him.

“You see,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “Can’t you see how scared she is? She is so terrified, Arthur. She can’t escape it, she can’t censor it; the visions come to her at all hours. She’ll go insane if she doesn’t get help. She sees thing in all of your Futures, she can’t even articulate anymore. Taking her to Delphi where she’ll not be surrounded by people will help. Orphel can train her, he is prepared.”

Ginny jerked violently and proceeded to burry her face in Orphel’s arm, muttering something I couldn’t hear. She is so pitiful. She is barely a shadow, her breath coming out in strained intervals. I can’t even imagine what she sees.

Mrs. Weasley sobs and runs over to Ginny, intent on taking her away from Orphel and into her arms. “Mrs. Weasley,” Orphel says sharply. It is the first time I’ve heard him speak. He is calm and his voice is smooth. I don’t like it. “It would only hurt her to touch you. She will see your Future and it would haunt her. Surely you don’t want that?”

Mrs. Weasley’s jaw begins to tremble and she runs to Arthur again and puts her face in a hanker-chief. “My baby!” she cries. Mr. Weasley closes his eyes and rubs his wife’s back tenderly.

I look over at Ron and see him, blank of expression and pale of face. He looks awful. Very worried. But I speak up. “What will happen to her, Headmaster?”

“The training of Pythia is my concern, Mr. Potter,” Orphel says in a business-like tone. Then he turns to Dumbledore and I feel like punching his pretty-boy face until it breaks. “Albus, the sooner she leaves, the sooner she will be well and can help the cause.”

I see Dumbledore sigh. Then he nods. “You must take her tonight, Orphel. I will send Alastor and Fletcher with you for protection. Ron, Molly, Arthur, please take this moment to sayd-byd-bye. I...I can’t express enough that you shouldn’t touch her. She is very volatile and we don’t want her predicting yet.”

Ron nods to my left and rises from his seat. “Get better, Gin,” he says quietly.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley look down on Ginny, tears in both their eyes. “You will take care of her, won’t you, Mr. Orphel?” Mr. Weasley asks.

“I will,” Orphel assures them.

The Weasleys get up and leave, even Ron. I think he wants to see to his parents. I stay seated however. Staring at Orphel and Ginny I feel a wave of jealousy. It should be me holding her. I’m loat adm admit it but she’s held a spot in my heart for a while. She’d definitely held a spot in my dreams. And now that bastard was going to take her from me.

“Harry,” Dumbledore says after leading Mr. Weasley, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley out of the office. “I have something that I want you to do for me.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” I say calmly.

He sits across from me and sighs. “Ginny has...Ginny has already begun to prophesize. She’s...she’s said some very interesting things about you. Orphel has agreed; it may be best if you stayed in the castle, even after graduation, until we figure some things out. She’s not very...coherent...right now. Though what she says certainly sounds dangerous for you. I’m not expert, but ‘the Serpent’s Bane and Translator’ sounds an awful lot like you, Harry.”

Slowly I nod. It’s a week from graduation right now and I would rather not be stuck up in a castle for the rest of my graduating summer...but if Albus Dumbledore asks it of me...

“I’m afraid I must insist, Harry,” he says sadly.

“I’ll stay, Headmaster,” I agree. I would do anything he asked. Odd how he inspires that in you. Anyone would do what he said. I fear the people who can lie to him; it means they have no soul and no conscious. I think I fear most the people that would try to kill him, because that would be killing someone so good, so pure, that they would have to be an evil incarnate themselves.

He looks at me, his infinitely blue eyes slicing through all my barriers. “I’m afraid I must ask something of you, Harry. Something more.”

“Anything, headmaster,” I reply automatically.

He nods, a strange look in his eyes as he moves to a silver-clad cupboard and reaches to the top shelf. It surprises me, the thing he pulls down. It is the sword of Gryffindor, rubies and all, shining in the firelight. He holds it with gentle hands, walking over to me. I stand, looking questioningly into his eyes.

“Headmaster?” I question.

“I ask you to take this with you, Harry. It is high time that you received it. Perhaps…perhaps I am late in giving it, perhaps I am still early. But I fear great danger over our horizon, Harry.” He hands me theatheathed sword and it is cool to my touch. His eyes look at me imploringly and he continues. “Godric was a master of charms and transfiguration, Harry, this sword was one of his most valued inventions. It fits in your pocket the same way it fit inside the Sorting Hat. Call upon it when you have great need. Do you understand, Harry?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” I reply, my eyes moving from the gold plated hilt to Dumbledore’s crystalline eyes.

He nods to me, a wry smile on his face. “Good. Now good night, Harry.”

I not in return, taking one more look at Ginny, she is so beautiful, and then I leave.


“Are you sure we should be here?” Hermione asks as we walk down the streets of Hogsmeade. “I mean, didn’t the headmaster ask you to stay in the castle?”

Ron and I both look at her. “Hermione,” Ron says in a tired voice. “Think. We are in Hogsmeade. What is going to attack us...in Hogsmeade? We are practically suffocating in witches and wizards.”

Hermione frowns anyway, snuffing her nose at us. “Well fine! But please don’t say I didn’t warn you if you get in trouble! I have to go and get a Potions book, see you two at Honeydukes I suppose.”

“Bye, Hermione,” Ron says. After she is out of hearing range he sighs. “Honestly, Harry, she’s worse than my mum.”

“She’s your girlfriend,” I say will a roll of my eyes. “Come on, I’m in the mood for a butterbeer.”

That’s when I hear it, on my way to the Three Broomsticks, the screams. They were coming from inside the pub. Ron and I look at each other and freeze. Then I pull my wand. He nods and we dash off towards the Three Broomsticks.

As we approach a huge gust of green energy breaks all the windows, several other explosions boom in the streets. Bodies fly out of the pub, burning and writhing. Then with another explosion, the roof is on fire; a green, slickly fire, and I heard the words.

“Morsemordre!”

It cut through the confusion like a bullet, silencing everyone, even the ones in anguish. The evil apparitionskulskull and snake rose above the small town, the sky seemed to become a shade or two darker, and all chaos broke loose.

“Reducto!” I hear Ron cry. He jumps into the action, the crowd of twelve Death Eaters filing down the streets. I follow him, but am slower. I hit the hoard of Death Eaters and feel a curse hit me hard. It must be the Impediment Curse because I feel like I’m moving in water. It saves my life because as I run a great beam shoots in front of me. I would have hit it at full speed.

But the Impediment Curse wears off. It doesn’t take long for the battle to heat up, the Cruciatus and Killing Curse becoming a common background. I see Hermione exit the bookshop and take down a few Death Eaters with a singlrse.rse. I can still hear Ron fighting too.

Then I see him. The blonde hair gives it away. His hood has fallen and he’d just killed one of my classmates, Colin Creevey. Adrenaline races through me and I charge, wat ret ready, into the fray.

“MALFOY!” I shout angrily. I knew it! I knew it! Death Eater scum to the last. Damn Malfoy, he is smirking now. But his eyes widen as he sees something. It’s not me. It is behind me.

“Move out, men!” he shouts. “The teachers are here! Move! Apparate! Now!”

Death Eaters disappear one by one. I see one large one cast Avada Kedavera on a young Hufflepuff girl and my rage boils over. He is smirking, the arrogant bastard.

“MALFOY!” I cry again. I leap at him and his eyes widen. It all happens so fast. His wand is in the air, ready to Apparate, I hit him and then he hits the ground. But we aren’t in Hogsmeade when I hear him grunt with my weight. I don’t care though. I punch at his face, holding him down the neck. “You BASTARD!” I shriek. My wand is forgotten on the ground but I immediately regret it.

I’m thrown off Malfoy, dragged away punching and kicking, by two huge men. I’m big, but not that big, and I’m more wiry than thick. They have the advantage. One of them holds me back and punches me in the stomach four or five times. My breath is out but I’m still fighting. I look up to see Malfoy standing, wiping blood from his face, still sneering like the sadistic prick he is.

“I knew it,” I spit. “Death Eater. You’re disgusting, Malfoy!”

He just smirks, tossing back his hair a wiping a smattering of blood from his lips. “What a wonderful gift I’ve brought my master. Potter, won’t you come with me?”

I am punched in the stomach a few more times and thrown to the ground. Breath out, I fall to my hands and knees, grabbing my stomach. It hurts so much. But I look up defiantly anyway. “You’re so sick.”

He smirks. “I know. Come now, Potter. No more foolishness. Think what Granger the Mudblood would say.”

“You shut up, Malfoy!” I growl, leaping from the ground to his neck. I never reach it.

“Crucio!” he shouts. The pain sears through me and I fall, convulsing, to the ground...right on my wand.

Rolling over I shout, “Incendio! Laserus!”

A cry of pain from Malfoy before he casts the counter-curse, but the Cutting Curse is still an open, gaping wound on his neck. But I’m already immobilized by several other Cruciatus Curses from behind. I’m breathing hard again, but I manage to get on my knees before a swift kick to my face sends me to the ground. I practically see red as my nose breaks and I fly backwards. Lying on my back I groan, I fight to stay conscious over the pain. It’s hard and I see the edges of my world darken a bit.

“Pick him up,” I hear Malfoy say. “Carry the Golden Boy or drag him. I don’t care. We’re seeing Lord Voldemort and I’m getting a promotion.”

Then he squats down beside me. He looks at me for a moment and pats my cheek lightly. I fight back a yell of pain. “You’re my Golden Ticket, Potter. Thanks.” Then he smacks me hard and I grunt. Pain shoots through me again and I can barely open my eyes. Malfoy spits on me and I feel my body being dragged by the feet.

Still fighting unconscious I somehow maketo wto where ever we are going. It’s dark, in some room perhaps, some outside chamber or stone hall. I don’t know. I feel rain pouring down on me and I move my hands to the the blood out of eyes. They don’t move.

Then I stop moving and I’m pulled into a standing position. But as soon as they let go of me I drop to the ground. I hear a dull laughing.

“Draco,” it drawls. “What have you brought me? A rat? A wizard? A plaything?”

“No, my lord,” I hear Malfoy simper. I try to move and find a foot on my back, impeding my progress. “I bring Harry Potter. He seems to have...followed me home.”

I can smell it. Voldemort. It’s disgusting. I frown...I think. I don’t have much control and I’m going into the dark.

“ENNEVERATE!” I hear being shouted. I’m suddenly very awake, my eyes flashing open. The foot moves from my back as I struggle to stand. On hands and knees I look up at it...Voldemort. I want to puke but I won’t.

“Voldemort,” I growl.

“Harry Potter!” it says. It sounds delighted to see me, its high-pitched voice almost effeminate. It is so disgusting. “How long has it been? Two years, three years? My you’ve grown! Come now, look at your Death, it won’t hurt for long.”

I force myself to stand, hoping I look defiant as I glare. It seems to find this amusing and it lets out a shallow chuckle. “You haven’t changed at all,” I say, spitting at his feet.

“Now, Mr. Potter!” it mocks. “Is this anyway to greet a good friend? Come now! And after Draco so graciously brought you to me in more or less one piece, have you nothing to say on your behalf? No thank you? Nothing?”

“Go to HELL, Voldemort!” I yell. The hall goes quiet and I feel the rain soak into my very bones. I realize that it is very cold.

“Hell?” Voldemort says. Its voice has an edge I like even less than its mocking one. “Hell, you say? Hell, my dear boy? We ar hel hell, Mr. Potter. Look around you, boy! Take one look! This IS hell!”

A shrieking, Merlin awful sound fills the air and I realize what it is; Voldemort is laughing. A shiver runs down my back as Voldemort begins to chant. A deep voice comes from it, deep and oppressive. A blackguagguage, nothing I would want to hear again, fills the smapen-pen-air building and the rain seems to fall harder. The chant goes on and I feel something.

It builds in the pit of my stomach and rises like a sick bile up my throat. The sourness fills my whole body and I start to feel nervous. Not just nervous...scared. Very scared. And I can’t help myself; I want to run. The chanting intensifies and I feel my heart beat faster. Everything is so huge. What can one person dohey hey are so much more powerful than I. I could only run to live. That was the only way out.

The doubt filled my head and I began to back away. The rain fell harder and darker; the sky seemed even more evil as I look up and around me. And then the chanting stops and I want to flee; something however, keeps my feet in place. But not for long.

“Go, Potter,” it says darkly, a small, evil smile on its face. “Go. Fly Potter! Fly far, far away and never come back!”

I run.