Chapter Eight “ The Prophecy of the Six Elements
In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
Robert Frost
Hermione could hardly breathe as she watched the hospital attendant disappear again to bring Cassandra in. This was probably going to be the most difficult thing she would ever do in her life. And she couldn’t wait for it to be over.
The nurse came back, wheeling in probably the oldest woman Hermione had ever met in her life. She was hunched over, with her arms wrapped protectively around her body. Her feather-soft white hair was tied neatly into a bun, without a strand out of place. Hermione gazed straight into the old woman’s eyes. She felt like icy fingers had taken hold of her arms. They were green, with lots of dark lashes. But somehow they didn’t seem to sparkle and glitter like in the photos on the tables. Her eyes looked slightly milky. Maybe it was just Hermione’s imagination, but they seemed to lack all the spirit and fire that was present in the pictures. However, the older Cassandra still had a heart-shaped face. And there was something familiar about the lines of her chin.
She was absent-mindedly fiddling with the knotted fringe of her shawl, not seeming to notice her two visitors. Hermione was sure she was never going to get the date, let alone a prophecy, out of her. But she’d made a promise to try, so she would.
Hermione approached Cassandra, and knelt down so she was facing her more on a level. The clouded emerald eyes surveyed her, then the Seer patted Hermione’s head, saying:
“Ah, Elsa. How nice to see you.”
“Elsa?”
Who on Earth was she?
The nurse tapped Hermione on her shoulder, and whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. Sometimes she gets people confused, and it’s best to just let her. Elsa was her great-great grandniece, and Cassandra was ever so fond of her, she used to visit every Saturday.”
“Used to?”
“Elsa died in childbirth just a year ago. But you do look a little like her.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded. Looking back at the prophetess, she wondered how many people that she loved would be lost. The thoughts made a lump swell up in her throat. She tried to force her attention back to getting the prophecy.
Cassandra had all her attention fixed on one corner of the sitting room. Crouch was standing there, his face half-hidden in shadows, his expression unreadable. The Seer put a trembling hand to her mouth, and made an effort to stand.
“J-Jamie ?” She stumbled over her words, her eyes filling with tears. “Is t-that you?”
Crouch shot Hermione an inquiring look. “Her husband,” she mouthed. “The DDL killed him.”
He bit his bottom lip, and stepped closer to the lamp, which threw his features into sharp relief. Hermione watched Cassandra’s whole body sink with disappointment. Her eyes stopped straining to see, and became dull and unfocused once more.
“You’re not Jamie,” she sighed, “he was far more handsome than you are.”
The nurse blushed and tried to cover up her charge’s remark. “Why don’t you sit down? Shall I make some tea?”
“Yes please,” said Hermione as she seated herself in an armchair on Cassandra’s right. Crouch helped the nurse get out cups and saucers out of a drawer, then settled down on a coach opposite them.
The attendant placed the tea things on a silver tray. She opened another drawer, then sighed in frustration. “There’s no cake! I’ll need to go and get some. You don’t mind if I leave you for a while, do you?”
“Not at all,” said Hermione calmly. Inside, she was celebrating. Now there would finally be an opportunity to ask Cassandra without anyone sticking their noses in.
The nurse left. “The prophecy?” Hermione mouthed at Crouch. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and started to make the tea. After three failed attempts, she took over.
“Would you like a cup?” she asked Cassandra.
The Seer turned away, pulling her shawl closely around her.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, shall I?” muttered Hermione as she handed one to Crouch.
He grinned mischievously, then turned back to Cassandra and made some comment about the size of the room. The three of them began to talk about Living Rooms in general. Hermione knew exactly what he was doing, and she didn’t like it. Luring victims into a false sense of security.
Cassandra was a strange person to talk to. Sometimes she seemed perfectly sane, but then she would get lost in her own mind again…
“So,” Hermione sighed, after the conversation had been dominated by silence for a few minutes. She really didn’t know what to say, so she better think of something quickly, “I’d say the autumn chill has really started this week. And the leaves…”
“Don’t you dare discuss the weather,” Crouch hissed in her ear. “Of all the topics in the entire universe…I refuse to talk about it. On a matter of principal,” he folded his arms across his chest and huffed.
Hermione imitated him, and said coldly, “Well what do you suggest? Got any better ideas?”
He considered her for a second, then replied, “Nope. For once in my life, I really can’t think of anything to say.” He arranged his legs in a ridiculously bendy arrangement on the couch. Then suddenly, he laughed, “Discussing the weather. The height of Britishness. Please, carry on.”
She was really starting to fear for his sanity.
Hoping Cassandra hadn’t noticed, she carried on, “Where was I?... Oh yes, the leaves! I always hate to see them come off the trees, don’t you?”
Her last sentence didn’t seem to have registered, as the Seer was obviously lost in her own thoughts, “He said I should always make sure I cleaned my cauldron out properly. Always worried that my potions would get contaminated…” Cassandra fell silent, her mind obviously still wandering off on thoughts of a certain person. Somehow, Hermione had a feeling she knew who it was.
Crouch poked her arm, “Ask her about the prophecy!”
“Now? Why me, can’t you do it?”
“Look at her,” he pointed to the prophetess. Hermione stared. Cassandra was rocking backwards and forwards in her chair. Her hands were twisted into knots in her lap, and a lone tear trickled down her weathered cheek.
“Go on.”
Hermione’s throat tightened, and she looked away, “I can’t. Why don’t you?”
“Because I think she likes you.”
She might as well. The prophetess probably wouldn’t remember anything anyway. Hermione sighed, kneeling in front of Cassandra’s chair, and looking directly into her face.
“I was wondering, could you try and do something for me?”
The Seer started to fiddle with her sleeve. Her head was bent down over her lap, with a few stray hairs dangling in her eyes. There was absolutely no point in asking her, Hermione was sure of it. But she may as well try…
“I need you to think back to the night…when you lost your family.”
Nothing changed in Cassandra’s face. Did she understand anything being said? The Seer had stopped crying, but there was still a wet trail down one cheek.
Hermione hoped she was doing this right, but she seriously doubted it. “Earlier on that evening, you made a prophecy about Six Elements. Do you think you can remember it?”
Cassandra closed her eyes. Could she even recall a line of it? Hermione wasn’t sure what was going through the Seer’s mind. She gazed beseechingly at Crouch, willing him to come to her rescue. But he just stood there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He shrugged, and gave her a half-smile.
Hermione turned back to the Prophetess.
Cassandra was staring straight at her, tears arranged like droplets of morning dew on her lashes. Somehow her eyes seemed clearer, brighter, and a more brilliant shade of green than before. For the first time, Hermione could see the young Cassandra shining through the old lady’s face.
The Seer stared intently at her, “You’re not Elsa, are you?”
Suddenly, Hermione hated herself for ever having deceived Cassandra. How could she have taken advantage of the Prophetess like that? She was hardly better than a Death Eater. “No, I’m not. I’m called Hermione.”
“You look like her,” said the Seer fondly, her eyes glistening with tears, “the same smile, and a similar-coloured iris.”
She didn’t need Crouch’s subtle poke in the arm to know this was the right time to ask her. “I’m sorry I’m not Elsa. But I do need your help. I “ no, we “” she corrected herself, glancing at Crouch, “want to know if you can remember the Prophecy of the Six Elements.”
Cassandra stared at her blankly, and for a moment Hermione thought the whole trip had been for nothing. Dumbledore’s trust ill-founded. All hope of ever knowing what the prophecy said disappearing before her eyes. But then she was proved completely wrong. The Seer glanced desperately around her, then started to speak.
“At the hour of despair,
The Dark Lord shall fall
By the hands of the
Six Elements of the Prophecy.”
There was a pen stuffed into one of the pockets of her jacket, but she didn’t have anything to write on! She desperately scoured the room for a sheet of paper, but there was nothing. Hermione was just about to start writing on her hand, when Crouch offered her a well-creased piece of parchment. There was no time to hesitate, Cassandra was beginning again.
“Drawn together for reasons
They can hardly explain.
To fight for liberation
For the whole of the wizarding world. ”
Hermione was scribbling madly, praying Cassandra would carry on.
“They shall come against barriers
Set down by the Dark Lord.
And fight against Mind and Body,
Emotions and Past, Memory and Judgement.
Six Elements.
Three women. Three men.
Nothing to unite them,
Save their differences.”
Cassandra broke off. As a chill spread through Hermione’s veins, she whispered, “You’re doing really well. Can you carry on?
“My first comes,
To Light up the way.
Just a little girl scared of the dark,
Who grows and blends.
M.H.M.
The second will be
Firm and steadfast as Earth.
He shall be born from a pure black Geranium,
And a red Lily from Muggles.
Waiting for the Light on her slow path through Fire.
As for my third,
She soars light as Air.
One whose heart will be broken thrice,
Death’s shadow too quickly upon her.
Still waiting…still waiting…
Fourth will be
With a temper of Fire.
Denies himself the chance of happiness,
For the sake of his parents.
A butterfly. An accountant’s daughter. The second son.
My Fifth will run,
As deeply as Water.
Condemned for her blood by the world,
Praised for her brightness.
A black and white rose intertwine.
Out of the shadows of Darkness
My last will come.
Ends his source in wood and bone,
Armed and trained by the Dark Lord,
But seals his Master’s fate at the last stand.
At the hour of despair,
The Dark Lord shall fall
By the hands of the
Six Elements of the Prophecy…”
Cassandra stopped abruptly. Her head dropped onto her shoulder, and her eyes became unfocused once more. Hermione stood up, and realised she was crying. Her sleeve was all she had to wipe her cheeks with. So she used it.
“Thank you,” she said to the slumbering Cassandra. Before Crouch had the opportunity to steal her copy of the prophecy, Hermione stored the precious parchment in her jacket. He was rummaging inside his coat until he produced a tissue. Silently, he passed it to Hermione.
At that moment, the nurse bustled in again, carrying a cake.
“Here we are!” She chirped, laying it down on the table next to Crouch. “Sorry it took so long. The kitchens didn’t have any, so I had to go all the way up to the tea rooms.”
The attendant cut them both large slices of sponge cake, and Hermione couldn’t think of a way to say ‘no’ politely. Cassandra had woken up, and was staring around the room looking slightly bewildered. They talked about nothing, Hermione longing to finish her food so she could escape. Now it was all over, all she wanted to do was go to sleep for hours.
“I hear the Chudley Cannons came bottom of the Quidditch League again,” remarked the nurse.
“Unsurprisingly,” Crouch snorted.
Hermione attacked her slice of cake with a ridiculously decorative fork, and forced another chunk into her mouth. It had become almost impossible to swallow the over-sweet, thick layers of jam and cream. Her head was pounding unceasingly, and her stomach churned unpleasantly. She expected any moment for it to relieve its contents all over the rose-coloured carpet.
“I don’t see why they even bother playing anymore. I mean, the Tornadoes beat them six hundred and fifty points to ten. Maybe they hope their Seeker will do a Plumpton Pass by accident,” Crouch seemed to notice she was having difficulty finishing her cake. He slipped her plate in front of him, putting his empty one next to her so stealthily the nurse didn’t notice. He picked up his fork, and the slice was finished in three mouthfuls.
“I think I’d better be going now.”
The nurse got up, “Yes dear, it is rather late. But you will come again?”
Hermione nodded, and bent down in front of Cassandra, “Thank you. We’re so greatful for what you’ve done. I hope-”
The Seer put a hand to Hermione’s cheek, “Bless you, Elsa.”
All she did was nod.
She smiled at the nurse, and thanked her for the cake. She wasn’t really sure what to say to Crouch, so she just left it. It took all her self-control not to run out of the sitting room. Hermione walked quickly into the cool, dark corridor. She pulled out Dumbledore’s inkwell with a trembling hand. All she wanted to do now was go home.
“Hogwarts castle.”
Roses and Thorns by Phoebe Gruzelier
Chapter Notes: For my mum, because she's always there to give me little words of wisdom and encoragement, even when I'm being stroppy.