"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle"- Plato
Chapter 20: The Sender Of The Letters
Albus revolved on the spot for longer than he'd ever remembered. He was spinning so fast that it was hard to keep his eyes closed, though he knew from the soot sneaking its way up his nostrils that it was unsafe for him to do anything other than wait patiently for his trip to end. After almost a full minute of spinning, his feet hit solid ground.
Albus fell over at once, his eyes still closed as his knees collided with something that felt like thick carpet. He immediately stood up and wiped at his eyes with his ash covered hands, and the second that he could blink them into focus he spun around to stare at the fireplace that he'd just exited.
It was an extremely simple looking thing, one almost archaic in how withered it looked. There was no fire roaring however, and indeed, the wood inside looked as brittle as twigs. For some odd reason he recognized it not as a wizarding fireplace, but as one of the muggle kind. Without the added powers of Insta-Floo, he realized, he may not have even been able to use it.
He turned his head away from the fireplace to survey the rest of his surroundings, and he felt his eyebrows raise in surprise at what he saw. However vague his expectations had been, they had had nothing at all to do with this.
It was a cozy sitting room, and it looked as though it hadn't been used in years. He was indeed on a carpet, a shaggy brown one in fact, but it was so coated in dust that it felt like he was standing on an extra layer or two. There were tables all over the room, all adorned with unlit candles and framed pictures that, oddly enough, were all face down. In the corner of the room he saw a massive grandfather clock that looked as though it hadn't told the time in years, and most surprisingly of all, he saw a comfortable couch a few feet away from an old television set. This was definitely a muggle house.
Albus walked forward slowly, thick clouds of dust forming with every step that he took. The carpet made a squishing noise at the slightest movement as well. The room itself was dark, but there was a window near the television providing light from outside. Albus walked over to the window carefully, then peered outside to get a better impression of where he actually was. The first thing that he saw was a garden that looked as though it hadn't been tended to in decades, and beyond that a massive oak tree that hung over a dirty road. He knew that he was in a single house of some sorts, nothing too fancy but not exactly shabby either, and that he wasn't far from civilization-possibly a muggle town or village. Who had lived here? Or, more specifically, who was currently here?
His curiosity was beginning to sink into confusion and, to some degree, fear. Suddenly the excitement of stumbling upon the answers to all of his questions had replaced itself with the solid fact that he'd been very stupid to come here alone. He looked back at the dilapidated fireplace as well, and realized that he could not use it to return anywhere. Why hadn't he brought extra Insta-Floo with him?
No longer caring about why the letter had requested this particular muggle home, Albus strode over to the nearest table full of photographs, intent on gathering a few clues as to his current whereabouts. He picked up the first face down picture frame that he saw and examined it carefully, his eyes widening as he did so.
It was Fairhart. Even with the thick dust covering it, his former professor was immediately recognizable. The tall figure, the wild black hair, everything. His face, however, was immaculate. Whenever this photograph had been taken, it had been at some time before half of his face had become horribly scarred; Albus had only ever seen one other picture of Fairhart like this before in his life, and it was one that Fairhart had kept with him while at Hogwarts.
Most peculiar about the image of his friend however was the large smile on his face. He looked positively electric; his smile went from ear to ear, his eyes looked young and possessed an uncanny sparkle to them, and he even stood in a more relaxed manner. Next to him was possibly the source of his happiness. With a slender hand on his shoulder stood a beautiful woman, her hair equally black, only straighter. She had a smile on her face that matched the man next to her, and Albus could tell, even despite the fact that the picture was not moving, that they were extremely comfortable around one another. Something interesting caught his eye though. The woman's hand had a small gleam of silver on it. And now that he looked closer-
"Sam" he muttered to himself, and he dug through his pockets instinctively, removing the silver ring and eyeing it intently. It was definitely the same, there were no arguments to the contrary. Sam had not been a powerful wizard at all, as he'd once thought. Sam had been a woman...a muggle woman too, by the looks of it...
Albus placed the frame back down, suddenly feeling as though he were a voyeur. Even without looking at the rest of the pictures, he now knew exactly who had once occupied this house. It had been Fairhart and this woman, Sam. The two had obviously been lovers. But now that Albus really thought about it, hadn't that same woman also been in the photograph that he'd seen two years ago? He hadn't noticed a ring of any sort, though he wasn't exactly looking for one at the time either. But she had been pregnant...
Albus looked around the room, now extremely uncomfortable. Whatever mystery he had came here to solve, he had not wanted this kind of information on Fairhart's personal life. So what if Fairhart and this person had once lived here? Why had he been sent a letter regarding this particular location? He had expected to find something far more relevant to current events; the Executioner's Veil, to be exact.
Deciding that he could still search the rest of 2791 Woodlard Way, he poked his head into the next room; the dining room. This room too was cramped, and the circular table meant for dinners was grimy and filthy. He could see the kitchen as well, and it looked to be in no better condition, though the walls had been painted a lime green color that was chipping off.
Only when he returned to the sitting room did he ask himself another confusing question. Why were all of these photographs face down? Who was so unwilling to look at them?
He looked around the room wildly, looking for another destination and finding one at once. There was a staircase just a few feet away from the fireplace, it too with the same brown carpeting throughout the rest of the house. He had figured there'd be a second floor-there needed to be at least a bedroom and bathroom anyway-and he also knew that this would be an entirely different section of the house for him to explore. Though this home had an ominous feel to it, he still wasn't exactly worried. If he was going to be attacked, he realized, it would have happened by now. What he wanted to do above everything else was find out why he was supposed to be here.
He crept up the stairs at a slow pace, and even with the carpeting, each step created an awful creaking noise. By the time that he reached the top and had a view of the narrow hallway in front of him, he had the distinct suspicion that the house was close to collapsing. He saw several closed doors, and he decided to search each of the rooms systematically. The first door was on his immediate right. He pushed it open silently, and was strangely met with the sounds of music.
But it was not typical music. It was a slow, carefree jingle that one would fall asleep to, and Albus knew why on sight. He was in a room designed for a baby. Everything from the walls to the carpet was a light blue color, and this room more than any other that he'd been in so far looked as though there had been a considerable amount of effort put behind it. There were blocks with letters on them in one corner, stuffed animals cramped in a different corner, and even small picture books organized perfectly on a shelf near the lone open window of the room. Most notable however was the empty crib directly in the center, adorned in all blue, the light music that Albus could hear all coming from the baby toy hanging above it, as if to lull the toddler to sleep. The wind from the window must have been what was propelling it.
Albus suddenly felt queasy. This room appeared to be the most personal of all that he'd entered so far, and yet, he could not take his eyes off of the crib. While everything else in the room looked perfect, the crib was slightly lopsided and almost shabby in appearance; it looked as thought it had been carved by hand. And what's more, the blankets and pillows inside looked strangely stiff. Albus slid his finger across the rail of the crib and saw that there were actual chunks of dust and dirt on it. It was not that this crib hadn't been used in a long time. This crib had never been used at all.
Albus backed his way out of the room slowly, everything now with a surreal feel to it. What was he doing here? He did not belong here, whatever his initial expectations may have been. Had the letters perhaps been meant for Puckerd after all? But even that didn't connect. Who would want Puckerd to come to Fairhart's old home?
He closed the door silently behind him, the light caressing music now almost entirely faded from his ears. He had half of a mind to exit the residence and look for the nearest muggle village-possibly find a way to contact wizards or get help in any way possible-but he was distracted by an odd fluttering noise. A few doors down on the opposite side there was a chilling sound of movement from the crack underneath the door. Was someone in there?
Albus went over to it and removed his wand. He pushed the door open slowly-
He gasped. There, clear as day, was an ancient archway with a thin black curtain hanging from it. The Executioner's Veil.
Albus staggered towards it in complete disbelief, recognizing it instantaneously as the same object that he'd seen with Fairhart two years ago, in the heart of the Department of Mysteries. The Veil was big enough so that it took up most of the space in the room, but the actual decor did not go unnoticed. The only other item in the room of a comparable size was a bed, lined with crisp white sheets that had not escaped the dusty decay of the rest of the house. There were also two identical white dressers. Albus knew at once where he was. This was the master bedroom; this was where Fairhart and that woman Sam had slept.
Albus turned away from the bed, feeling even more uncomfortable than he had near the crib, his attention now completely held by the Veil. It was indeed fluttering, though the window in the room was not open. Now that he could examine it up close, Albus moved around to the other side of it and saw that there was nothing there but empty space. Had this been an ordinary archway, someone could definitely fall through and wind up on the other side. As he knew from his father, however, this was not the case. He was careful not to touch it as he looked at it-
He heard a horrible buzzing sound, and soon an intense pain was shooting through his skin.
"No, not now!" he mumbled to himself, collapsing on all fours and dropping his wand. His senses were going crazy, and the pain had turned into an awful numbing that was possibly even worse; he felt as though he'd lost his body. "Not now!" he mumbled again, but even his voice was starting to sound different to him. He was beginning to see flashes of gold through his eyelids, and as he blinked over and over again it only became more stable. After a few more seconds, the numbness stopped. The buzzing ended, and everything that he could see he saw with a tint of gold. He was still on the floor, but that odd and delicious feeling of intense power had returned to him. It was more clear now than it had been earlier in the year, during his first Quidditch game against James. It was more similar to how he'd felt at various moments during his fourth year; as though he could do anything that he wanted.
But the intense feeling of power was now accompanied by an inexplicable fear, something that he'd never experienced alongside this radical and unusual transformation. Some part of him-for some reason-was worried.
Give it back.
Albus blinked his golden eyes a few times. Who had said that?
Give it back!
The coarse whisper seemed so close, and yet he could not discern its exact whereabouts. He looked at the Veil, which for some strange reason was not tinted gold as everything else had been. It looked the exact same, only somehow more majestic. It was fluttering unusually fast now. Albus' golden eyes widened as the bottom of the curtain rose itself slightly...a horrifying, scabby hand was now protruding from it-
Everything stopped at once. The hand disappeared, the golden tint went away, and everything was back to normal. Albus kept his stomach pressed to the floor, gasping for air; he had not noticed it before, but he was now sweating profusely. The Veil was fluttering in its normal way; it appeared as though it had only reacted to his own transformation.
It took him a moment to realize what had made things stop, but after a few seconds he knew what had distracted him.
Scratch scratch scratch!
Albus stood up at once, scooping his wand up and spinning around wildly on the spot. It sounded as though a mouse were scuttling around somewhere.
Scratch scratch scratch!
No, it wasn't a mouse at all, mice did not move in rhythmic patterns. It sounded as though someone was scribbling something. Or writing a letter!
Albus aimed his wand in front of him, for the first time sure that someone else was in the house. His fear was mingled with anticipation now; he had the feeling that whoever it was that he heard would be the greatest asset to solving the mystery that he'd been encountering all year.
The scratching was constant, but barely audible with the door almost entirely closed. He inched himself towards the door and pushed it open, attempting to be silent as he did so. The hinges of the door gave an extended squeak as if to mock him.
The scratching was now louder, and Albus was sure that it was coming from one of the other rooms in the narrow hallway. He could hear his own heart pound as he pressed his ear up to each one. Finally, two doors down from where the baby room had been, the scratching noise was at its loudest. Albus tightened the grip on his wand and slowly pushed the door open-
He had entered a dimly lit study, the only piece of furniture occupying it a dilapidated desk with burn marks from candle wax. The entire floor-which was hardwood, unlike the rest of the house-was covered in scraps of paper and envelopes, at least a hundred of each. And there was also someone in there. A woman, her back turned to him as she scribbled away furiously at a piece of parchment on the desk. She had wild blonde hair matted with dirt, and her skin appeared to be completely pale, as if it hadn't experienced sunlight in months. And yet, Albus inexplicably recognized the back of her head.
"Professor Blackwood!" he gasped, and the woman turned at once.
It was indeed Ida Blackwood, or whatever was left of her. Her lips appeared thin and parched, her tangled hair falling in front of her as though in an attempt to conceal how unattractive she'd become. Her eyes were bloodshot, and yet at the same time irregularly active. They were glaring in almost opposite directions; she looked crazed, manic even, and the blue of her irises had faded as well. The scribbling stopped while she ogled him for a moment.
"San!" she breathed, and her face lit up with a mix of excitement and disbelief. In a single swift motion she fell from her seat at the desk, landing face down on the floor. She began crawling towards him.
"W-what?" Albus said, lowering his wand at her pitiful state. What had happened to her? He knew that she had been on the run from WAR, but what was she doing here? And why did she look insane?
As she crawled towards him he glanced down at some of the discarded pieces of parchment on the floor. Some of them, he noticed even from afar, had words written in perfectly legible handwriting. The others were child like scrawls.
"Professor have you been sending me these lett-"
But she cut him off by flinging herself around his legs, now weeping bizarrely and muttering things indistinctly.
"San!" she repeated, and she looked up at him, mucus and tears mixed on her now grotesque face. Albus felt her arms squeeze around his waist tightly, and this was officially the most uncomfortable part of the day so far. It was hard to imagine that he'd just finished an exam hours ago.
"Pro-prof-"
"San I wrote to you!" she wept, tears sliding down her eyes. "So many times! I didn't-you weren't-I thought you were dead!" she finished, aghast, and Albus could only watch as she curled up into a pathetic ball on the floor, pulling out strands of hair.
"I thought I'd killed you..." she sputtered to herself, her tears now dropping onto the slips of paper on the floor."San..."
"Professor, I'm not Fairhart" Albus told her, but she didn't even acknowledge him. She merely picked herself back up on her knees and flung herself around his waist once more, sobbing yet again.
"San..." she repeated in between wails."Some-some-sometimes you're here...and-and-"
"And sometimes I'm not" Albus finished for her tensely, remembering the contents of the first letter.
He was completely flabbergasted now. Is this what Blackwood had been doing the entire time that she'd been on the run? Writing him letters? But they had been addressed to-
The Head of Slytherin House
Albus felt a pang in his gut as things slowly began making sense. Puckerd was the Head of Slytherin House this year. But two years ago, before Blackwood, it had been Fairhart. She had been writing all of those letters to Fairhart. That's why she had mentioned the Veil as well...
"Professor, I'm not Sancticus Fairhart!" Albus yelled down at her as she continued to cling to his robes, but nothing got through to her.
"San I'm s-s-s-so s-s-s-sorry" she stuttered out. "F-for killing you" she finished dramatically, and Albus felt his skin go cold. What had she just said?
"F-for killing me? For killing Fairhart?" Albus asked.
She looked up at him, and Albus could see a mad glint in her eyes that even surpassed the one he'd seen in Darvy's before.
"P-please don't make me do it again" she begged desperately, and Albus could only stand there as thoughts flooded his head.
Blackwood was nothing short of insane. She seemed to have lost all awareness of her physical health, somehow believed that Fairhart was both dead and alive, and also believed that he, Albus, was Fairhart! She'd even been sending him letters throughout the duration of the year assuming such. And what was more, judging by the varying grammar and sense of her letters, she entered stretches of time in which she could barely write cohesively! Albus had been trying to decipher a puzzle along...but there had been no actual puzzle to speak of...
Albus could not even hazard a guess as to how this had happened. His old Potions professor had seemed upset following the news of Fairhart's death two Decembers ago, but she had looked and acted nothing like this. Had her seclusion done this to her? And why was she at Fairhart's old house anyway, sending him letters to come to the location?
Out of the corner of his eyes he thought that he saw the answers. Or at least, what contained them. He had been quite wrong to initially assume that the floor only had scraps of paper on it. Right next to the desk that Blackwood had evidently written numerous letters on, he saw a large circular bowl, ancient in appearance and filled to the brim with a silvery substance that Albus knew was neither solid, liquid, or gaseous. It was a Pensieve, and further than that, there was already a memory swirling around inside of it.
Albus pried Blackwood's fingers from around his body, and when she no longer had his support, she fell to the ground in a disheveled heap of worn out robes. He slowly stepped over bits of paper and made his way around the desk, peering into the pensieve as he did so.
"Professor" he said aloud, to no reply. "Professor I'm going to look around here, okay?"
She merely continued to sniffle, muttering something under her breath that Albus didn't quite catch. He turned his attention fully to the Pensieve now, curious as to why it was active. Blackwood had not been surveying a memory. Why then, was there a memory in there? He tried to recall what Fairhart had told him years ago about people who used Pensieves. Hadn't he mentioned that some people purposefully removed their records of memory from their heads, so as not to dwell on them? Or something along those lines anyway...
Blackwood must have removed this memory, in an attempt to forget it and remember it again at her leisure. As she looked in no condition to explain anything, however, there was only one way for Albus to find out what was going on.
He crouched down to the floor, paper sticking to his robes as he did so. He hoisted the pensieve up carefully and placed it on the desk, then slowly inched his head towards the bowl, so much so that the silvery substance began to draw him in, mesmerizing him, until-
He felt everything spin; it was almost as if he was travelling by floo powder again. He had experienced the magic of a Pensieve before, however, and he knew that once his feet hit solid ground, he would be in one of Blackwood's memories.
The first thing that he heard when he arrived was voices.
"Is everyone ready?" someone whispered hoarsely, and there were slight murmurs of compliance.
He was in a front yard of sorts, on a concrete pathway that led to a single, normal looking home. Similar to the one in which his present body was in, it had with no other houses near it, only this one looked much further from society. It was in a heavily wooden area, almost forest like in fact, and it had a distinct look of a home that was not privy to having company inside of it. The bricks were all the same dull gray, and the fence leading to the yard, Albus saw, was high with spikes attached to it. This person liked their privacy.
More ominous than the house and surrounding yard, however, was the actual scene itself. It was dark outside, with the clouds above looking thunderous; a powerful rain was imminent. But beyond that there were people. Anywhere from ten to fifteen cloaked individuals, all dressed in identical black with their hoods up, a silver sword like emblem embedded to each one. Wands and Redemption.
"What's our attack strategy?" someone from the back of the group asked, and Albus saw that they were all standing huddled together outside of the front door to the house, looking somehow both frightening and afraid.
"We pretend like Warren has a message for him" the one in front-the same one with the hoarse voice-said to them all. "And then we attack. No mercy. Warren wants him dead."
"This will never work!" squeaked the smallest member, a boy of eighteen perhaps, whose teeth were chattering. He appeared to be a new recruit of sorts, and this particular task, it seemed, he wanted nothing to do with. "I've heard things of the man! I heard that he once put Zydrunas in St. Mungo's! For a month!" he added, but everyone else in the crowd shushed him, creating a sound that in itself was louder than the young man's voice.
"There are thirteen of us, and we have the element of surprise as well!" the leader of the group said once more, and Albus realized that every face that he could see, he had never seen before in his life. Whoever these people were, none of them were at WAR's headquarters weeks ago...
The group leader, who pulled back his hood to reveal a mane of gray hair and a head shaped like a square, banged on the door twice. Everyone else in the group jumped at his abrupt actions. There was no response at the door however.
"He's not here!" rattled another voice, this one a woman's. "Let's just go! Tell Warren that he fled-"
"Shut up Ida!" the one in front barked, rounding on her, and Albus now saw that it was indeed Ida Blackwood he was talking to. She was in the back of the group, and she was looking the most nervous of all, even more so than the new recruit. Her entire body was shaking, and her eyes were darting around unusually fast. Still, she looked different than she did in the present day. She still had her good looks, anyway.
"Don't tell me to shut up! Sancticus is smart; he'll have known that Warren detected betrayal! He's probably half way around the world by now!"
Albus froze on the spot, now understanding what it was exactly that he was viewing. This particular memory took place during his winter break of fourth year. It had been in that time period that Fairhart had been killed on Warren Waddlesworth's orders. Albus' insides shriveled up knowing that he was about to witness a murder. His theory on the Silver Wizard had been incorrect after all...
"Well if you're so sure that he's not here, just leave then!" someone else in the crowd hissed at Blackwood, and she bared her teeth towards him menacingly.
"I have to stay, on Warren's orders" she said. "He wanted a long standing member here to make sure that you idiots don't screw it up! Not that it matters, he's not here anyway..."
Even as she said it however, Albus could tell that she herself did not believe it. It was almost as if she was simply trying to convince everyone to leave, so as to postpone what needed to be done. The WAR member in front groaned.
"Well if he's not here," he spat, "then he won't mind if we blow down his door-"
There was blast of light and a terrible crashing noise, though Albus noticed that the man in front had not even withdrawn his wand. Instead he'd been blown backwards, knocking several others to the ground as he did so, howling in pain the entire time. The door, however, had certainly been blown down.
"He knows we're here!" someone spat, and spells of all different colors-mostly green though-shot into the open doorway. It was impossible to see if anything was connecting however. There was an odd mist inside the house that concealed whatever was going on...
Two of the cloaked men gave a wail of agony and sunk down to the floor.
"He's behind us!"
And so he was. Fairhart was standing behind the group, just in front of the spiked fence in fact, having evidently apparated behind them all after destroying his own door. He was looking furious. His eyes were focused and intense, and the mangled side of his face was even more twisted due to the muscles being pulled. He was dressed in ordinary wizarding robes, his wand drawn out and aimed square at the group.
"Inside the house!" one of them yelled, and they all immediately shuffled inside, except for the two that Fairhart had incapacitated. He walked towards his own home almost placidly, aiming his wand at the two bodies on the floor as he did. There were two bolts of green light, and the men stopped moving at once.
Albus phased through the house himself, just as Fairhart was entering. The interior of this house looked slightly more decorated and well kept than Fairhart's old muggle home; the carpet was a rich red with silver designs on it, there were various bookshelves beside a comfortable looking armchair, and the fireplace was active. These were the only traits that he managed to pick up on however; the rapid spells coming from both ends of the sitting room were distracting.
The WAR members all took cover behind the furniture and the shelves, popping out to fire spells aimlessly at random moments. Fairhart stood firm on the spot however, whirling his wand around in deep concentration, shields and protective barriers formulating themselves and repelling everything thrown at him. He only dodged when a killing curse was thrown at him, and even then he did it gracefully and with great tact.
The WAR members began dropping like flies from behind their hiding spots as their own spells rebounded upon them. The only person wearing the sword insignia who was not an active part of the battle however was Blackwood. Though Albus knew that she was more than a capable witch, she was taking cover behind the armchair, hands over her ears. Her wand was not even withdrawn.
It mattered not however, all of the noise and ruckus made it impossible for her to defend herself, and a random stunning spell ricocheted off of the ceiling, going straight downwards and colliding with her. There was a few seconds where Albus stared at her motionless body on the ground, the scene around him still active with Fairhart slashing his wand through the air menacingly, but soon things began to grow dim...and then dimmer...the noise stopped...it became completely dark...
Albus understood at once what was happening. Though the Pensieve was magical enough to recount memories from different positions, Blackwood was officially unconscious at this point in the battle, and thus had no memory of what occurred afterwards. Albus was sure that the scene would return however, and he expected that his friend and former professor would not be alive when it did so...
The darkness passed almost instantaneously, though Albus knew that this was only because it had seemed this way in the memory. Albus regained his seeing and hearing at the same time as Blackwood, with a mix of colors and sounds returning, first as blurs and muffled tones, and then as more distinguishable noises and sights. Once the scene returned, Albus could witness the carnage.
There were bodies on the floor everywhere, scattered as though they'd been tossed aside arbitrarily. There was gaping holes in the walls, the carpet was matted with debris, one of shelves with books had completely exploded, and the fireplace had even caved in. Fairhart was still standing however.
He looked virtually untouched, bar the accumulated filth on his robes. He seemed extremely tired however, which Albus could only assume was a product of vigorous dueling. Albus grimaced as Fairhart walked around to survey the unmoving bodies individually, firing a killing curse at each of them in turn to ensure no more surprise attacks. On one end, it was difficult to watch who he knew to be a genuinely good man murder with such little thought. But on the other, he couldn't necessarily blame him, not after the ambush that had just occurred. Had it not been Fairhart who had first told him that sometimes killing was necessary? And still, he could not help but think of that nervous teenager among the group of renegades...
Blackwood, despite having regained consciousness, stayed collapsed on the ground, eyes jammed shut as if to feign death. Fairhart approached her smoothly, sighing heavily as he did so.
"I know you're not unsconscious, Ida"he said, and she jumped upwards at once, pale as a ghost.
"San, I-I-I-I I did not plan this! I did not want-"
"I know" he replied, stepping over a dead body to become even closer to her. Albus noticed Blackwood's eyes light up with fear. "To what exactly do I owe the pleasure of Warren's message?" he asked bitterly.
Blackwood swallowed. "He thinks that you've been communicating with the Potter boy! And he thinks that you're unwilling to eliminate him as well, if necessary!"
"He's correct on both accounts" Fairhart said dryly, waving his wand through the air absentmindedly, cleaning his robes at once. Blackwood's jaw dropped.
"No wonder you knew we were coming!" she hissed at him. "You'd practically begged for your deat-"
"I knew you were coming because Warren was stupid enough to expect more than ten people to make no noise as they waited outside of my door inquiring to one another about the best way to plan a surprise attack that had failed the second that they'd decided to discuss it aloud" Fairhart said all in one breath, his tone icy. "But I suppose he's caught me here" he added. "I have no defence."
"What do you mean?" Blackwood asked, and Albus too was curious at this.
"I mean that Warren knows me. He knows who I will harm, and who I won't. He won the second that he sent you here."
Blackwood's lips began to tremble. "S-San-"
"You cannot go back empty handed, Ida" Fairhart said. "You have a job to do. And I see your wand in your hand."
Albus could not believe what he was hearing. Is this how Fairhart had truly died? Unwilling to fight an old friend?
"After all of that!" Blackwood spat, jerking her head towards the bodies on the floor. "You'll just let me kill you!"
"Yes" Fairhart said. "I refuse to let myself fall to a gaggle of mediocre mercenaries. But I have no qualms with dying at your hand. You are a skilled witch, Ida."
Blackwood was now breathing extremely fast, and she was staring directly at Fairhart's face, as if to detect lies.
"How do I know you're not just saying that to see me make the first move!" she barked after a moment. "To give you a reason to defend-"
Fairhart tossed his wand to the other side of the room. In one swift movement, he'd moved himself directly into Blackwood's face, so close that their noses were practically touching. He picked up the limp wrist that she was holding her wand with and pointed it directly at his forehead; Albus could see his silver ring gleaming on his own hand as he did so.
"Do it" he said sharply, and she gave a screech of detest.
"No!" she said, and she tried moving her hand away, but he pulled it back, intent on having her wand aimed at him no matter what. Albus was beginning to feel sick now...
"Do it!" he repeated. "If my only two choices are killing you or being killed, you know which one I'll pick!"
"Those aren't your only choices!" she said, her lips now quivering even greater than they'd been. "You could kill the boy like you were told!"
"Please stop calling him 'the boy'" Fairhart said, and Albus, despite knowing what would soon come, could not help but feel honored. "Albus is a former student of mine, as well as a friend. And what's more, he is innocent. I will not take his life because Warren believes it necessary."
A single tear leaked from Blackwood's right eye, but her grip tightened. "San, please don't make me..."
He said nothing. He merely stared at the wand pointed in his face, half of his own covered by his wild black hair, the other half so mangled it was hard to tell what it was he was focusing on exactly.
"I could lie" she suggested weakly, more tears now streaming silently down her face. "I could say I killed you-"
"Warren undoubtedly has Veritaserum at his disposal, and even you cannot brew a defence for it every day. Also, in the extremely unlikely event that Warren ever gets a proper legilimens to replace me, your deception will become known."
"I could go with you! We could both flee-"
"Me and you both know that you can't keep up" Fairhart replied at once. "And besides, you need to return to Hogwarts soon, classes will resume and I would not have those students robbed of an education-"
"It's like you want me to kill you!" she barked at once. "Dammit San, why do have to be so prepared for this!"
Fairhart lowered his head slightly, his expression stoic. "There is a difference between being prepared for, and having accepted death. I am aware of my options, and I have examined the results of both. Out of the two things that can be done in this situation, I want you to kill me."
"But what about what I want!" she said furiously, and Albus thought that she was making an extremely good point.
"I don't care what you want" Fairhart said simply, and for a fraction of a second, a smile had flickered on his face. "I'm sorry" he added afterwards.
Blackwood's knees looked wobbly, and Albus, still frozen in the same position that he'd been in since the darkness had faded, thought that he had never seen a bigger dilemma in his life. He was not stupid; he knew the kind of feelings that Blackwood had for Fairhart. What was she supposed to do in this situation? Was there any correct answer?
Blackwood exhaled deeply. "This-this is what you want?" she said, her tone making it clear that she was praying for a negative reply.
"Yes" Fairhart replied. "But first, I must ask two favors of you."
"What are they?" Blackwood replied breathlessly, welcome to any conversation that postponed what she was about to do.
"First," Fairhart began, "you will keep Albus Potter safe."
"What?"
"With me gone, Warren will elect you to the position of Potter's murderer, mostly because your place as his Potions professor will make it so easy. You must use your role however to protect him instead. No matter what occurs, do not let any harm befall Albus Potter! Even if it means turning your back on WAR" he added darkly, and Albus' jaw dropped in sync with Blackwood's.
"Sancticus you can't possibly expect me to-"
"If you love me" he said, "you will do this for me."
It was a pitiful card to play-no better than what Mirra had tried to do-but it somehow worked far more effectively. Blackwood had cringed at these words, but she seemed more accepting of her task.
"Why do you care so much about the boy's safety anyway!"
"Numerous reasons" Fairhart replied. "First, your own safety is involved. If anything happens to Albus-or his siblings for that matter, though it's not as likely-Wands and Redemption will be suspects. And what that means, Ida, is that Harry Potter will mercilessly slaughter every member of WAR numerous times over in a fit of rage that only a parent can truly understood. You would be killed, and it would be painful. I refuse to let that happen.
"Second, Warren has reason to place Albus on such a pedestal. Though it is a working theory, I believe that he is an integral part of stopping this war. I will go no further however; some information is too risky considering things like Vertiaserum. I expect it to develop over time though."
Albus strained his ears at this part, bewildered as to what he was hearing. Had Fairhart just called him an integral part of stopping the war? There was no time to think on it however, Fairhart was finishing his list.
"And lastly" he said to Blackwood, who was looking both irate and confused, "I am, as I've said, friends with him. And a friend of a friend, Ida, is always worth protecting."
Blackwood was fuming. Her wand, however, had lowered itself slightly as she paid attention to what Fairhart was requesting of her.
"And the other thing, Ida" he said, "Is equally important. On the second floor of this house I have a very important object. It is large, but it is transferrable by magical means. I need you to move it to a safe location, and to keep guard over it as well."
"And what object is that?" she asked grimly.
"It is called the Executioner's Veil" he said, and things clicked in Albus' head at once. That explained quite a bit.
"And what exactly is this Eradicator's Veil! She said.
"The Executioner's Veil," he corrected her, "is a magical archway long since linked to the very roots of necromancy. It was, up until recently, kept in the Department of Mysteries for study. Harry Potter predicts a time when Ares-or possibly even his brother-will seek the Veil, and it has been entrusted to me. I am now entrusting it to you."
Blackwood looked close to fainting now. "You want me to keep something from the Department of Mysteries hidden, and you're worried about Warren having me killed! What if the Ministry gets wind that I have it? Or Ares!"
"That is why it is so important that you keep it hidden. When you return to Hogwarts you are not to mention anything to anyone, not about what happened here, what I've asked of you, nothing. There are leaks everywhere. As for the new location of the Veil, I know of one place safe enough, though it will require your own enchantments."
"Not Gringotts?"
"A Ministry breach could have my vault opened by technicality. No, I need the Veil kept at my home. My old home."
Blackwood made a hissing noise and re-tightened the grip around her wand, now looking, for the first time, murderous.
"You'd have me staring at the pictures of the two of you while I keep your promises-"
"I ask only that you guard it with your own enchantments, and the occasional personal check up. It's a muggle residence, and thus, it is not on Ministry records. It will be almost impossible to trace. Your presence is merely an added precaution. Please Ida, I need these things tended to" he added earnestly.
Blackwood's breathing turned shallow. Albus could tell that she was going through everything in her head; all of her tasks and all that was about to happen. After a moment, she nodded.
"Thank you" Fairhart said, sounding extremely sincere. Albus felt his own heart pounding however. All of Fairhart's affairs were in order. This was it.
Blackwood was crying again, for Fairhart had just moved her wrist again so that her wand was pointed back at his face. She began sobbing silently, and Albus did not know who this was going to be more difficult for; Fairhart, experiencing the mystery of death, or herself, forced to murder someone who she loved-
Things were beginning to turn dark again however. An odd haze had risen throughout the entire memory, and suddenly the sounds were distorted. Everything had a surreal feel to it...it was almost as if this next portion of this memory had been tampered with. Was that even possible?
His feet hit solid ground again. Whatever had happened, the memory had ended, and Albus had left one destroyed house to return to another that appeared beyond repair. It mattered not however; Albus could take a very good guess as to what tragedy had occurred next. But still, not everything had been explained. Why was Blackwood acting so strange? Had being forced to kill Fairhart addled her brains? And why was she erroneously addressing Albus as Fairhart, when she knew him to be dead better than anyone else? And wasn't Fairhart supposed to have lost his ring during the battle? Somewhere in the rubble? He had still been wearing it when he and Blackwood had been conversing...
And where was Blackwood? She had been weeping on the floor when he'd first entered the Pensieve...
"Professor!" Albus called, looking around the room wildly and seeing nothing but scattered sheets of paper. He held his wand up high and bolted from the room, seeing a door ajar. He entered it and realized that he'd just gone back into the master bedroom, the one containing the Veil. Sure enough, Blackwood was in there. She was staring at the Veil, a vacant expression on her face.
"Pr-professor" Albus called. "Can-can you hear voices too?"
Blackwood didn't answer however. She simply continued to stare at the Veil. Albus, though quite unnerved, decided to stay by her. She was, at least, a familiar face. Insane or not, perhaps she could help him get in contact with someone?
CRASH!
The sharp clatter echoed from the downstairs area, and Blackwood immediately snapped out of her stupor, diving behind the giant bed as she did so. Albus too leapt over it instinctively.
There were more noises from below. It was not just the two of them in the house anymore.
"Does anyone else come here?" Albus whispered to Blackwood, who was curled up in the same position that she was in earlier. For the first time, she acknowledged him; she shook her head.
"It's WAR!" Blackwood hissed to him, and Albus, taken aback at being spoken to, stared at her in confusion.
"W-what?"
"It's WAR!" she repeated, her eyeballs moving around disgustingly. "They know San-they know everything! Warren wants you dead!" she added crazily, her eyes sliding out of focus. Only now, sitting next to her so close, did Albus realize that she smelled awful.
"Pr-professor, I don't think so-" he stammered out, though he supposed that it was a possibility. His thoughts were leaning more towards the Dark Alliance however, and this unsettled him a great deal. In her current state, Blackwood didn't seem like she'd be a very big contributor during a duel to the death.
"Shhh" she said to him, placing a finger up against her lips. "I'll keep you safe, San" she said, staring at him with her eyes wide open, and she rose to her feet.
"Professor no!" Albus blurted out, pulling at her grimy sleeve to make her sit back down. "You don't-you-you're not right in the head..." he finished weakly, but Blackwood appeared unable to register what it was he was saying. She had returned to her previous state of ogling him with an insane expression on her face. Her mouth was sagging open now too. And then-
"Professor!" he gasped, but he could not stop her. She had already moved forward, pressing her lips against his, and Albus, somehow surprised, repulsed, and baffled all at once, was rendered immobile as she kissed him. Only with their lips touching did Albus understand the full negatives of her unkempt state; the malodorous breath and the dry, grimy lips among them. After a few seconds she pulled away, staring at him with the same expression.
"P-p-p" he was unable to finish his thought. He wiped at his lips, then had to forcibly remind himself that the two of them could be in great danger, and now was not the time to dwell on such a surprise. Blackwood, however, was focused squarely on him.
"That's the first time you didn't pull away" she said breathlessly, and her face twisted itself into a grin so wide that her entire face became transformed.
"Uhhh..."
She stood up, and Albus didn't even reach for her sleeve this time.
"Stay here" she muttered, removing her wand from her robes. "I'll protect you!"
And with that, she leapt over the bed, the Veil fluttering powerfully as she moved swiftly passed it and out the door.
Two more chapters today, be on the lookout!