Chapter Seven | Alchemy
"So... the Dumbledore's Resistance Army. All t'gether again." Ernie takes a sip of his goblet, then sets it down. "Since our lad o' pairts is late, I say we start this meetin' early - before we're all too drunk tae do anythin' but snog an' call our exes o'er the Floo."
"Hear, hear!" Padma toasts, collapsing in giggles on Anthony's shoulder.
"I can't say no to that proposition, MacMillan," Dennis says with a broad wink in Ginny's direction.
"Who wants to snog a Weasel?" Draco Malfoy steps out of the Floo, brushing off his immaculate robes. "Sounds like a dodgy prospect, if you ask me."
Click.
The Muggleborns in the room shrink back, while Ernie and Draco look confused. Dennis looks like his every boyhood wet dream has come true at once. His eyes are alight with worship as he stares at Ginny, aiming the .44 at Malfoy with one hand.
"Fuck!" Cho drops the tray of food she's carrying, causing Ginny to misfire. The sound of the gun reverberates in the tiny room, and Draco lets out a shout that seems to hang forever in the air.
When the ringing clears, he is staring, wide-eyed, at the slug embedded in the wall. One inch to the left, and it would have blown his head away.
"Fuck, Weasel! Is that what killed Avery?" Malfoy ignores the gasps from the others and grabs the gun out of Ginny's hand, turning it this way and that, examining it from every angle. "I've never seen a firefly like this up close before. How do you -"
"Not that way!" Dennis pipes up, grabbing the gun from Draco. "If you point the barrel of a loaded gun towards yourself, you'll end up in St Mungo's if you're lucky. In't you never seen a gun before?"
"No," Draco says with a condescending laugh. "I'm not some common mudblood."
"Let him shoot himself next time, Creevey," Ginny says with a studied, casual air, though her heart is pounding as if she's just dodged a bullet herself. "He'll learn, then. Or maybe not - they say you can't teach a ferret new tricks."
Before Draco can draw his wand and fire off an Unforgivable at Ginny, Ernie claps a hand down on his shoulder.
"Ah, here's our mon o' the hour, our lad o' pairts, Draco Malfoy himsel'!" The belated announcement falls flat.
Coming in from the garden, Neville draws up short to see Ginny holstering her gun. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Our Ginny's a bit trigger happy. I, for one, think it's brilliant." Dennis says with a wink at Ginny, patting his lap. "Come over here and speak sweet nothings of AK-47s to me, gorgeous."
Meanwhile, Padma takes a huge gulp from her goblet, fanning herself. "It's too much excitement for me," she says. "I thought I'd just drink until I called my ex on the Floo, like Ernie said. None of this firestick business!"
"Well, we can't all have what we want. I'd like Seamus to be here, but he's been missing for a few days now." Jelly-legged, Ginny sinks back down onto the sofa, accepting a full drink from Neville, who pulls her into a quick, one-armed embrace. He smells like French cigarettes and damp earth.
He nods to Draco, who nods back, stiffly.
"Where's Granger?" Draco demands. "I was under the impression she'd be here." He accepts a shot of liquor from Ernie, downing it in one go and choking, tears streaming down his cheeks. "What in the fucking fuck was that?!"
"That'll put hair on yer chest, laddie!" Ernie thumps Draco between the shoulder blades, nearly knocking him over. "Me own family recipe, aged in alder barrels. Alder burned the brightest in the thick o' the fight, an' it's guaranteed to separate the men frae the mice!"
Neville pours himself a shot, raising a brow. "Bottoms up, Malfoy," he says. Without another word, the two of them glare at one another, then slam their shots.
"Boys!" Padma throws her hands in the air. "It's not time to play 'whose wand is bigger'! We have serious matters to discuss!"
"I don't have to drink to know whose wand is bigger," Anthony says with a shit-eating grin. He nods at Neville and Draco, his voice dropping to a sly whisper. "The fact that Granger's missing says it all!"
"Something to say, Goldstein?" Ernie holds up a shot in front of Anthony's face. "Inverness versus London. What d'ye say?"
"No, no, no!" Cho splutters. The boys all ignore her. "Kern Aleister MacMillan!" She holds up her hand to slap Ernie, but he grabs her wrist with his free hand.
"Slainte!" Ernie bellows, and the boys all down their drinks, Dennis included.
"That's enough!" Ginny says, quietly. She drags Ernie and Anthony by their ears to their respective chairs, then muscles her way in between Draco and Neville. "That's. Enough! She isn't here, so sit your arses down! You can drink each other under the table later - we have time for that. For now, can we please act like adults?"
"That's something I never thought I'd hear a Weashley say." Draco slurs, allowing himself to be led to the sofa, pulling Ginny down next to him. "Mmm, you smell good enough to eat," he murmurs, burying his nose in her hair. She pushes him away, but Neville flops down next to her, pinning her between them.
"I don't know if you remember Finnigan or not, Malfoy, but he likes to blow things up. And that's his girl you've got your scaly coils all over," Neville says with a raised brow, chuckling as Draco reels back from Ginny.
"I don't need you act like a white knight, Neville!" Ginny hisses, poking him in the ribs.
"Chivalry? Is that why I'm defending you?" Neville smiles, patting Ginny on the head. "You have a lot to learn yet for someone who wants the rest of us to act like adults." He clears his throat. "Hermione's not here, so I'll speak for the both of us." He sips his drink slowly, until they all give him their full attention. "She wanted to come, but there have been rumors that the Auror Department is cracking down on Undesirables. We have a mole working for us in the Ministry -"
Draco puts his hand up, snickering, and makes a drunken bow that involves tripping over his feet and landing ungraciously next to the cheese platter.
Neville smirks, waiting for Draco to sit back down, and continues. "Reports are -" he pushes a hand through his hair. "They're bad. It's all bollixed up."
"Fuck yeah they are," Draco says. He's garrulous when he drinks, astoundingly so. "You think your lot is in the dark? Just be happy you don't have to deal with the incompetent fucks our lord has put in charge during this new regime. All of his Death Eaters are in the key roles in the Ministry... and a lot of them suck at it. That's where you bastards step in, you make them seem even worse. But you're only making Him look foolish - and he hates that." Draco drinks again. "I only came to warn you all - our Secret Keeper has been murdered."
There is a cacophony of shouts, and Padma lets out a terrible cry, then buries herself into Anthony's chest, sobbing. Amidst the commotion, a voice breaks in from the back door, one that Ginny remembers from a dream - or a nightmare.
In the doorway stands Fenrir Greyback, flanked by two Snatchers, who are escorting at wand-point a shaking Gabrielle Delacouer and a white faced Michael Corner. "Murder?" Fenrir licks his lips. "I like the sound of that."
Next to her, Draco Disapparates with a loud pop. She should have known he wouldn't stay to fight, but she can't say she blames him. Fenrir is looking her up and down with a hunger that chills Ginny down to the marrow. She raises her hand and points a finger at him, knowing in that instant that she cannot afford to fail.
"Ādrædan!" Ginny screams in a voice like the grave, from another time, another life. A cold wind gusts in through the open window, all the way from the North Sea, extinguishing the light from every candle and all the warmth from the room. "Úlfheðnar!" she cries in a half-remembered language, in a voice that is not quite her own. She sees the wolf in Fenrir's eyes, ready to rip and rend, to tear her to pieces. "I challenge you to a duel!"
"And what are your terms, little witch?" Fenrir is suddenly quite close, looming over her. He smells of the beast and the wild, and his eyes have gone as yellow as the harvest moon. Fenrir Greyback as he is now may not remember the Úlfheðnar, but the wolf remembers, and Ginny has to force herself to remain calm, no matter how terrified she may be. There is no Viking here to be her sword and shield, tattooed with runes, ice blue eyes flashing as he swings his battle-axe.
"If I win, my friends and I shall go free, no longer to be plagued by you or your pack - or the Death Eaters you came here with! You shall become our secret keepers as well, forsworn to your liege lord and master!" It is a bold claim, and she knows it. Fenrir smiles wickedly at her, lifting a lock of her hair and inhaling deeply.
"And if you lose, little red?"
"Then you may take me, and let my friends go!"
"Ginny, no!" Neville roars, struggling against his captors. "Unhand her, you beast!"
Fenrir does not spare him a glance, his attention entirely hypnotized by the pulse at Ginny's neck. He places the pad of his fingertips there, for one beat, two – and then his head snaps up, his eyes meeting hers. "It is done."
•••
"Hey, you!"
Thorfinn has just finished emptying the contents of his stomach when he hears the voice, and he turns, trying not to look at the bodies above. A silvery ghost is floating just in front of him, that of a youth in Muggle trousers and a t-shirt that reads "Anarchy in the UK" stretched across a sculpted torso. He looks just as his corpse might have in life, were it not for the stab wound right in the center of his heart.
"Are ya an auror, then?" The boy has an Irish accent, and he studies Thorfinn with sad eyes, thumbs nocked through his belt loops. "It's been so long, I thought no one would find us."
"Who are you?" Thorfinn asks, though he isn't sure he wants to know the answer.
"Seamus Finnigan, at yer service." The ghost bobs his head respectfully, looking around. "Where is she, where's ma love? I don't want her ta see me like..." he looks up at his body, twisting in the air. "Like this."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Thorfinn leans heavily against a tree, wiping his mouth. "What happened?"
"I was murdered by ma friend - at least, I thought he was a friend. Once." The ghost sighs. "That's one thing about Gryffindors, ya see. Loyalty is blind."
"No - go back to the beginning. What is this about?" Thorfinn holds up the coin.
Seamus' eyes grow dark and distant, and he shimmers, trying to hold his form together. "Since yer an auror, I can tell ya. I'm one o' Dumbledore's lot, a lieutenant in the Resistance Army. Since Harry died over a year ago though, me an' ma girl have been fightin' with ma friends in Northern Ireland, an' in Kosovo. We got back t'ree months ago."
"With Muggles?" Thorfinn shudders. He knows all about Muggles and their idea of 'fighting' now. "Wait - any relation to Fergus Finnigan?"
"He's ma cousin," Seamus says off-handedly. "Why?"
"Never mind. The coins. Go on."
"Wait a minute. How d'ya know about Fergus?" Seamus' brow furrows in suspicion. He floats closer. "I know ya! Yer not an auror!" His eyes flash. "Ya were at the Battle! Yer Thorfinn Rowle, the Death Eater!"
Thorfinn feels he ought to take a bow, but he doesn't, because the ghost is zooming around, shouting curses in Gaelic that fade and fizzle out to dust. Instead, he waits for it to end, and it does, with the ghost's fists clenched in frustration, shoulders shaking and back turned.
"Where is she?" The ghost demands, rounding on Thorfinn. "Where's ma girl? Where have you bastairds ta'en her? That's why ye've found me, innit? The coins told ya!"
Thorfinn holds it up. "I found this on the course of an investigation. A Lord Finch-Fletchley was murdered recently. You know him?"
The ghost reels back in shock. "No!" He grabs Thorfinn by the collar. His hands are like ice. "No one is safe!"
Thorfinn is getting frustrated. You can't give a ghost Veritaserum, or put one in a Body Bind. And this particular one is already frustrating him. He tries a different tack. "Who's -"
There is a sudden thump in the atmosphere. They both feel it the aftershocks of it, coming in waves, traveling across the barriers of time and space. The air feels sticky, heavy with the faded signatures of ancient magics, as though the land itself is part of the fight.
Where has he felt this before? Why is this affecting him so deeply? Why does he feel so utterly drawn to it, and yet cannot run far or fast enough?
When the ghost raises his head to look at Thorfinn, his eyes are nearly black. "She's in trouble." The ghost suddenly shudders all over, as though he's been stabbed through the heart again. He fixes Thorfinn with a terrible look, the echo of it tingling all the way down to the bone. "Don't ya feel it? Look to the west!" And he rises above the treetops, pointing.
Thorfinn does feel something. Something that's achingly familiar, a piece of the puzzle that's been missing for years. He Levitates himself to the treetops, and he sees what the ghost is pointing at, far to the coast. "Fuck!" The sky to the west is an inky blue, so dark it is nearly black. He can just make out lightning, and cracks of blue-white magic lighting up the sky. "By all the gods, what in Hel's name is that?!"
"Aye, by all the gods!" Seamus says. "Ya felt it too! Ma star is out in Eechie Ochie, an' she's fallin'."
Thorfinn's head whips around so hard to look at the ghost that his neck cracks. "What?" he demands, feeling like all the air has been sucked from the clearing.
"She's in terrible trouble - an' I can't leave here t' help her. I'm bound t' this place by ma death."
"No - did you call her your star?"
Seamus smiles, sadly. "Aye, that I did. I'm not much of a romantic, t' be sure, but that was one thing I liked to say. That she was a fallin' star, an' I'd be makin' all ma wishes upon her. Would that I'd have known I'd be pushin' up daisies in a year, I would have wished for different things." He laughs, ruefully. "There was this poem she used to say t' me, when we was in Kosovo, an' all the bombs were fallin'. Go an' catch a fallin' star/Get wi' child a mandrake root/Tell me where t' past years are/Or who cleft t' devil's foot... -"
"Teach me to hear the angels singing/Or to keep off envy's stinging/And tell me/What wind/Serves to advance an honest mind," Thorfinn finishes. Seamus gapes at him.
"Yer him!" he says, poking Thorfinn in the chest.
The sky crackles with thunder, and the sky shimmers, a red cloud forming above that place, far to the west.
The ghost points to the ground and shouts "Accio broom!"
The broom shoots into the air, an ancient broom that looks like a school broom from Thorfinn's salad days. He rubs his hands over the handle, recognizing the notches cut into it, for every Bludger that unseated another Chaser or Keeper.
"Are ya an honest man, Thorfinn Rowle?" The ghost asks, fixing Thorfinn with a steady gaze. His features are contorted with a private pain that Thorfinn recognizes, it is the look of a man who has had everything, and lost it all in one unlucky instant. "Even if ya are a Death Eater?" The ghost doesn't give Thorfinn a chance to answer, just goes on, in that same pained tone, his voice barely heard over the roar of the wind. "She was ma lucky star – an' if yer who I think ya are, then ya must go to her – now!"
Thorfinn doesn't need to be told twice.
•••
When Thorfinn lands at the house known as Eechie Ochie, he finds blood everywhere and not a single living soul. The house and grounds are empty, whoever was here left in a terrible hurry.
"Water... Mummy, please... Water..." Curled up under a hedge is a boy, not more than six or seven years Thorfinn's junior. He crouches next to him on the slick grass, putting a hand on his shoulder. He isn't anyone Thorfinn knows, so not a Pureblood or a follower of Lord Voldemort. Thorfinn knows he should leave this traitor to die, that he shouldn't feel any pity for him. And yet, he does feel it - pity, for the boy with a claw mark near his jugular - he won't make it through the night. Thorfinn is frankly shocked he's made it at all.
"Where is she?" he demands, shaking the boy's shoulder. "Where is -"
"Greyback... Sent the Snatchers after the rest of us... the others ran... I tried to fight... they broke my wand... Took her..."
"Took who? What? Why?"
But when the boy's head rolls towards Thorfinn again, his eyes are glassy and lifeless. And he remembers another death, another time.
Thorfinn... My sister... The Snatchers are going to rape her... Find her, Thorfinn... Help her...
"I'm coming, Star," Thorfinn says grimly, kicking his broom into the air.
I won't fail you again.
xXx
Ādrædan means "to fear" in Anglo-Saxon, so basically it's a spell that causes fear in your enemy.
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