Where the king was castled
Does – your – brother – look – like – you...?
The words played slowly in Tiggy's mind. Does – your – brother – look – like – you...? Yes, one of them – did...
"Yes! Rax!" She clasped suddenly at Kingsley's arm. "Yes! Yes! You've seen him? You know where he is? Is he all right?"
The smile on the Auror's face faded slightly. "He's – alive."
Alive...? Alive...?
A cold finger of Darkness seemed to fall across this sunlit castle – as if the celebrations of others were too good for a Sutch after all. What did only 'alive' mean...?
Kingsley looked at her with concern. "He– your...your brother has been – very badly cursed," he said with slow reluctance.
The Dream – The Dream – what had she done? Had her hand that held the wand failed to kill – only to exact the same pointless vengeance as They had wreaked on Cles?
Tiggy straightened. "I must see him. I must."
There was no sunshine now – only darkness. To see him – to see him... only that idea beat through the cold, grey, mocking heaviness as 'No!' had beaten through the Darkness last night. But it hadn't worked – for the Dark Queen still mocked the pawn, though dead... The pawn had thought it was the last joke, the last revenge – but it was not on Father – the Darkness had set revenge too for the pawn who had cheated them... 'You have lied,' the hissing voice had said – how had They known unless They had found him... to make her... and to make her discover...
She must see Rax – she must, she must... Somewhere in the greyness the not-Dumbledore was objecting that she couldn't "go rushing off in your state, Missy" – she must see him – a balding, red-headed man was talking to Kingsley in a low, urgent tone – she must see him – Kingsley was telling him to gather all the Ministry workers and he'd join them in about twenty minutes – she must see him – the not-Dumbledore was offering to take her – she must see him – Kingsley was smiling, and saying he'd like to tell somebody it was 'all over' himself – and through it all the Darkness swirled like the mist up Diagon, and the Dark Queen mocked... Darkness... darkness – what had she done?
What did an Auror describe as very badly cursed? How could it be 'all over' if Rax- if Rax had- been cursed...?
It was a very long way to the gates before Kingsley said they could apparate.
~:~
Pressing crush of Apparition – very different with another hand guiding instead of the forcing call of the harsh voice – and then for a moment it seemed they had left the Darkness behind. The place was green, more sunshine. Tiggy blinked frantically in the bright light. It was- it was a field, a footpath through a big, open field with low cereal grasses rippling in waves beneath a gentle wind. Hedges and trees and fields to the left, a steep hill up to blue sky and wind-bent trees to the right. She stared around.
"It is a bit of a change from Hogwarts," Kingsley remarked, pointing along the footpath. "Not much further to see your brother now, Miss Sutch."
The cold, grey dread came back.
She must see him... but what might she have done...? The last joke might be knowledge, not oblivion...
"I'm sorry about the walk," Kingsley's voice sounded through the greyness, "but as Hidcote's a muggle village, you can't apparate into the lane, and since their son was killed, the Faringdons have some fairly comprehensive anti-disapparition wards-"
"Faringdon?"
"Yes." Kingsley stopped as Tiggy had done. "Do you know them?"
Faringdon...
Faringdon was a name from Long Ago. But not a face, not one of the People who belonged to the Darkness. Faringdon – was the name of the boy who had gone to the muggle village with Grandfather... Which meant... what?
Tiggy realised she was staring. "Grandfather did," she said faintly.
They went on in silence.
It made sense, then. That this was the last joke – even with the Dark Queen dead. That was why Tiggy had remembered the tale of Grandfather and the boy called Faringdon. They had put Rax there, and made it that she would go there... that this time, the revenge on the Sutches would hit home...
Along the path, through a narrow gate into a grass-verged country lane, with a thick hedge on one side and a row of thatched, golden-Cotswold-stone cottages on the other. Kingsley drew his wand at the first white-painted front gate.
"It is I, Kingsley Shacklebolt," he called. "And it's all over: Voldemort" - he said the word with a queer expression of triumph – "is dead!"
Someone must have been watching the front gate, for it popped open at the same time as the cottage front door, and a little old witch rushed out. She was even shorter than Tiggy, with grey hair and as many wrinkles as Aldred, and a certain neatness and enunciation that marked her as French. The same eruption of talking as at Hogwarts – a mysterious jumble of 'the taboo!' and 'it's over!' – Potter and Horcruxes and Voldemort and wands and giants and Phoenixes and the names of many, many people who had apparently fought or died or survived – and again and again that it was all over.
It was all over – that was true.
They talked, and Tiggy leaned dully on the hard stone wall of the porch, that could not stave off the Darkness like the un-apparating Thing last night – the swirling, mocking Darkness of 'very badly cursed...' She had thought she must go to Hogwarts, but the last joke was here. It was all over.
"...all over! Anyway," Kingsley's voice broke through, "this young lady's here to see her brother – Antigone Sutch, Marie-Elise Faringdon – and I'll have to go now, Marie-Elise." He smiled. "Your son's poor trainee auror protégée has to go to the Ministry and be confirmed as temporary Minister for Magic."
He shook off the old witch's startled cluckings of almost maternal pride – nodded politely to Tiggy – and vanished in three strides to the gate and a cloak-swirl of apparition.
"Mon Dieu..." Marie-Elise shook her head. "Kingsley – Minister." She turned to Tiggy. "He was our Philippe's first trainee, once Philippe had qualified himself, and they were great friends. He hasn't got anybody particular himself, so he's like a son to us since Philippe died... But you don't want to stand here listening to an old woman twittering – you want your brother – come in, come through!"
A hall dark after the sunlight, a bigger room dark compared to the open door at the end, and Marie-Elise was ushering her out into a garden: "He likes it out here on fine days..."
And–
– a little boy, small, stooped. Blue-black hair, pale face and great blank eyes with a hint of mongoloid eyelids...
"It's Anticles! What have you done to him!? Anticles!"
"My dear-" Marie-Elise placed a hand quickly on Tiggy's arm. "We haven't done anything to him. He – he was much worse than that when your brother came..."
Much worse when-? What was she on about?
"Bald, blind, mad and elephant-eared?" said Tiggy absently, crouching down. "Anticles..." she called softly. The little boy was turning, listening, moving towards her across grass studded with bright yellow dandelions...
How strange that it was spring, when it should be the Last September...
"Did Kingsley tell you?" Marie-Elise sounded horrified. "I shouldn't think you'd have needed a shock like that this morning-"
"Tell me? This morning?" Tiggy twisted round to stare up at her. "Mrs Faringdon," she said blankly, "he's been like that for sixteen years..."
This witch – this grey-haired, respectable witch, was crying? Was crying over Anticles? Over the tortured remnant of a Death Eater's son...?
There was a very gentle hand on her shoulder; the little boy was coming nearer. There was no sight in those dark eyes, there was no sign of much reason behind them, but–
"Cles? It's Tiggy. Have you been good?"
"My dear..." The older woman seemed lost for words. "Your brother didn't tell us that..."
"He – didn't – tell – you – that – ?" Tiggy lifted the familiar weight that was Anticles onto her hip, and stared, puzzled, from his blank eyes to Mrs Faringdon's tear-filled ones. "I – I don't understand?"
"Your other brother. Didn't – Kingsley didn't tell you that either? My dear," Marie-Elise shook her head slightly as Tiggy stared without a word, "they've both been here since last summer."
It – it could not be true.
She could feel Anticles' hand patting her face, she could hear Mrs Faringdon, but Tiggy could only see Rax: Rax as Antigone had not let her think of him in the Darkness – in the attic with no cloak and no bread and – no Tiggy coming back. And he must have set off – Merlin alone knew how he had managed to transfigure that curse-scorched cloak to cover him and Anticles – but why here...?
They too must have walked...
"... and there was this man on the doorstep, and he said: 'Is Philippe Faringdon here?' Well-" Marie-Elise shrugged helplessly. "When somebody asks for your son who's been dead ten years, you don't instantly say 'I'm sorry, he's dead' – you've stopped thinking about it like that... So Hubert said 'Why?' and – your brother – he said 'Because I'm Artaxerxes Sutch's grandson and he's the only Auror I can possibly trust...'"
The only Auror he could possibly trust...?
"...We should have realised who he was, because Hubert had been friends with Artaxerxes Sutch from Hogwarts– but we hadn't seen him for years, other than the odd owl at Christmas, not– not since he came to ask Philippe's help for de-cursing a book of Dark Magic or something..."
That book...
Tiggy stared at Marie-Elise in dimly stirring comprehension.
Rax had known about that book – had known they had it, known why they had it – and he had started to say not Grandfather, but F-
"...Philippe – wasn't here..." Marie-Elise finished her thought.
The book that was in no way a friend or companion – had been after all – the very last connection out of the Darkness...
"...but Hubert said 'He's dead' – and your brother just suddenly leaned on the porch wall-"
The hard stone porch wall at the very end of everything... and Tiggy knew what he had said: "Then it's all over."
When the very last move you can make ends in nothing, it's all over.
Shah i mat.
But it seemed that this was only where the king was castled –
"...used this as his base since he's been on the run from the Taboo..."
– and that is always the last row of the chess board.
Tiggy stared about.
Perhaps it did make sense – that when a pawn had played as far as it possibly could, right through the Dark ranks, it could begin again in this sunlit place...
"...we made them stay," Marie-Elise was saying, "and then we found Anticles had been cursed, and Hubert's a Healer – he's on night shift at St. Mungo's now, since they dismissed all the muggle-born healers, even though he's meant to be retired – so he's done what he could, and Kingsley helped remove some of the worse disfigurement and time-freezing hexes, but the mind and the eye damage was too great..."
A chess piece in playing gets worn; some pieces, even well-mended, are not quite right ever again – but a pawn only needs to move to the next square – a blind pawn could feel its way.
Tiggy sat down on the wooden garden bench, and shuffled Cles onto her knee. "A pawn goes 'One!', hey, Cles?"
Bump, bump, bump. "One – one – one..."
Somebody was moving faster than that – a frantic succession of pounding footsteps inside the house – and then there was somebody in the doorway who too knew how pawns moved, what it was to move through the Dark ranks to the depths of despair and come out into the Light...
And all Sutches now looked like that...
Antigone Sutch got to her feet. For others the crying and the embracing and the joyful exclamations. She had seen them all that morning at Hogwarts. She could only smile – and smile – and smile at her brother.
"Hello Rax."
~:~:~:~
A/N: Castling: a king who has stayed in his post until checked, ie point blank risk of capture, may escape by switching to the far side of one of the rooks on the last row of the board. And if you go to the Cotswolds, and walk over the fields from Hidcote Bartrim to Hidcote Manor, you will be on the footpath, and pass the Faringdons' house itself.
But this is not the end! In an important game, you must read the 'Game record.'
Final chapter. Here. Now.