"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" said Fred keenly.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" said George impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."
"A bit of what?" said Ron.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.
"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.
"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.
"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another."
"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"
"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"
But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.
"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --"
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . ."
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" said Fred keenly.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" said George impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."
"A bit of what?" said Ron.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.
"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.
"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.
"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another."
"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"
"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"
But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.
"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --"
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . ."
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" said Fred keenly.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" said George impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."
"A bit of what?" said Ron.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.
"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.
"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.
"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another."
"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"
"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"
But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.
"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --"
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . ."
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" said Fred keenly.
"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."
"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.
"Why?" said George impatiently.
"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."
"A bit of what?" said Ron.
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.
"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.
"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry.
"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another."
"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"
"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"
"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.
"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.
"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"
But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.
"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --"
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.
". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . ."
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."
There was an emptiness that crept at the edges of her cerebrum in recent days. Though it wasn't a vacuous void that simply swallowed and ceased existence. It was more like an ache, a knowing that some things were missing. How big were Vutris ad the triplets now? Were they still well? Still yet, what of Sari? She had received a missive, one writ within the script of her homeland, an occasion that she had long given up the ideals of. Those had also been devoured by the precipice where familiarity crumbled like brittle earthen crust. Soil parched, infertile and left abandoned in its pitifulness. A precarious spiderweb of splintered glass waiting for the last bit of pressure to make it fully collapse into ruin. She felt as if she stood upon its brink, and the longer she looked into that abyss, the more it beckoned her not to wait - to jump.
Perhaps she'd have listened to that siren call had it not been for the parchment she clutched so tightly within her hands as if its presence alone was enough to stave off the madness of grief. The want for something. Blood like adhesive to patch the fragile porcelain. It reminded her that she was the daughter of wolves - that she shared in their skin. She would not be undone by snakes, those related to her or otherwise. She unfolded the message once more, reading it like a treaty of peace with herself. Her lady in waiting had been ever faithful, and it was just another reason to dig her heels in to the narrowing ledge. To know what had become of her, to offer any attempt to repay her kindness and loyalty. She had been deserving of so much more than the Beleverons could have ever given her, but there was the creeping, lurching, lurking knowing in the back of her mind that Avarice's stalwart warning in the beginning had been correct. She had yet to be seen. She had yet to make any contact with any. Desperate fingers clutched the paper again. She wouldn't have just abandoned her.
Still, a plan of attack was difficult when the Lord of the Manor had an unknown number of men at his command with their fire breathing steel. Her finger tips brushed over the scarring upon her chest, recalling the incinerating burn that had ravaged through her with the bullet that had struck her. The way the dirt and leaves had had little sway over the wound's incessant bleeding and pull of vitality. If it hadn't been for Avarice, death was certain to have found her. The black mist of the reaper no longer accompanied her through the twisting tree lines now, however. If he thought it was enough to deter her indefinitely, though, he could not be further from the truth. If she could not rend him directly, she would find a way to do so. She owed that to Sari. To herself. To her family that had been sold death to fill his bloodied pockets. If he thought them savages, she would show him savage.
Her train of thought was wholly derailed, however, as a sudden burst of movement snared her attention at the darkness of the underbrush. She still had little more than a primitive bow she'd made for herself to hunt game, her arrows sparse in number, so instead, she prepared to shift. She could feel the ripple over her skin, the spark of primeval energy that announced the change, but her curled, snarling lip would soften as a familiar - albeit much larger than last she had seen - dragon made its way from the foliage. Her hackles lowered, her posture relaxing as it leapt towards her with a chirp of greeting.
"You've grown..." she murmured, allowing her hand to outstretch towards the noble creature. The passage of light beams trespassing through the sparse canopy glancing off the facets of his scales in dazzling display. He seemed almost proud of his discovery and she couldn't help but chuckle as she heard further foot steps racing towards them, along with disgruntled, muffled vocals. “Itrewic svern tenpiswo Cricket. Jaseve wer usjalil loaw,” so as not to bid the companion to remain tempted by her presence, she would lower her hand, dusting the clinging moss from her legs as she ascended to her feet. Despite that sentiment, however, she would offer the little dragon a rabbit leg, whispering softly to him with a gentle simper, "Good job finding me, Cricket."
Recognition seemed to register beyond the covering, eyes she couldn't quite meet due to the obstruction of hair and construct as her guest spoke. “Svabol re wux tirir shio wer idol ekik tenpiswo? Tir wux ti waph persvek wer sjach taoul mrith wer wihsirmir okraz grovisv?” Her brow furrowed faintly in contemplation. She had learned several words and phrases of the draconian tongue through her time with Drogo, Dracul, and Draco. It allowed her to pick apart some of what the masked figure inquired. Clarion of bringing up where she lived at least, something of a city, water, and wood - the majority of the later making little meaning to her. Though she was certain the difference between their last meeting and this one was drastic. Her fine gown replaced largely by hides to provide ample covering and some resistance to the encroaching chill. Deer, rabbit, squirrel and others that she hunted cloaked her modestly, a strong contrast to lace and frills. “Why here? You live in, in… grovisvi?” She would nod in affirmation to the inquiry. “In plant? No city?” She would hesitate slightly, once again finding her tongue tripping over itself as she mustered the attempt to speak in a dialect that would offer him some comfort of understanding should she not butcher the pronunciations too badly. "Axun, p-persvek grovisvi." Another bob of her head as she lightly scratched her cheek, a nervous inclination as she tried to recall and piece together her next phrase. "Wer taoul jahus ... ui ti d'nag ekess ve... anymore..." The buildings too cold despite their hearths, the people even more so. Her gentle beam became faintly apologetic as her eyes fixed back to him once again. "Sorry, I'm not very good yet." She offered, but she gestured towards her fire and her skinned kills - a few rabbits and a squirrel. "Join me?"
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