A TALE OF RIVALS
By Elk99
Chapter 24
Gawain Robards was having a bad day. It had been the first time in five years he was able to take off Christmas Day. The Promotion to Deputy to the Auror Chief had been a long-coveted position, and after Moody's 'retirement,' his opportunity to shine had come. The pay was much better, and finally, he could afford to take the Holiday off, designating one of the more junior Aurors with similar levels of ambition to run the Office and keep the people protected. Yet quite rudely, crime seems to hold no schedule, and high-profile crimes had to be dealt with. He had a duty to the Ministry after all, his wife would understand. Hopefully.
"Tonks," he called out, walking into the bustling Auror Office on the Second Level. "My Office, now, and there better be a damn good reason I've been called in."
Moody's last trainee was right on his heels and wasted no time as he settled into his chair in the sparsely furnished office. 'With all due respect, sir. I thought you'd want this case. It's Fenrir Greyback. There's been an attack."
Robards stood up. "Hand me the file, and Floo the Chief, Auror Tonks," he said determinedly. "Where was the attack?"
Tonks paused on her way out the door. "It was in Ireland, sir. It's Ned Fawley's son."
"Oh, Merlin's balls," he swore. "Where is Madam Bones? Does she know?"
"She and Lord Fawley are with the Minister right now in -"
Tonks flinched as another swear emanated form her usually stoic boss as she rushed to find a floo to call the Chief.
Rufus Scrimgeour wasted no time stepping through the secure, password-protected floo connection from his home directly into his Office at the Auror Bureau. A purple airplane memo whizzed into his Office just as he left the fireplace. Catching it deftly, he read the message calmly before burning it and crossing the Hall to Gawain Robard's Office.
"I assume you're ready," he asked his Deputy gruffly, already knowing what the answer would be.
"Of course, sir," Gawain dipped his head in acknowledgement to his mentor. "If I may, sir –"
"It's your case, Auror Robards," Scrimgeour interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Even if this hadn't been your case, I would've put you on it as soon as Fawley got involved. Now come on; Bones, Fawley and the Minister are waiting for us."
The two walked at a brisk pace. "You have the lead on this Robards," Scrimgeour confirmed, "But we are about to walk into a room with the three most influential people in Magical Britain short of Albus Dumbledore, so let me do the talking until you're called on."
"Aye, sir," Robards affirmed, too busy collecting his thoughts for the questions he'd have to endure.
Finally, they had arrived at the Minister's Office. With a solemn nod from the Minister's Junior Assistant, Mr. Rosier, they opened the heavy wooden doors to see the Minister nervously fiddling with his signature green bowler behind his desk, Ned Fawley wringing his hands by the Fireplace, and Amelia Bones standing stoically in the center of the Office. Under different circumstances, the scene would have been almost comical.
"Rufus," Amelia Bones nodded at her Auror Chief. "Gawain."
"Are there any updates on Greyback?" Ned Fawley asked, rushing up to Scrimgeour.
"We have Aurors on it, Ned," the grizzled Auror Chief replied. "But I've only just got up to speed."
Amelia Bones cut in before Ned could respond. "Perhaps we should all sit down. Minister?"
Fudge, Amelia, and Ned sat down, the latter somewhat reluctantly, in the armchairs facing the two Aurors, who remained standing in front of them.
"As I said," Rufus began. "I've just gotten up to speed. Lord Fawley did the right thing contacting the Auror Office at once. We still have people at the scene, and a few are checking out some of Greyback's hideouts in London. Auror Tonks has already taken yours and your wife's statements, Ned, but we will need to question your sons when they are able."
"They've been brought to St. Mungo's," Bones added. "The Fawleys have brought a special healer in."
Typical of the rich Purebloods Gawain had to stop himself from scoffing.
"We've already sent someone over to the Hospital for a Protection detail," Scrimgeour affirmed. "Which brings me to my next point. Minister, Lord Fawley – this is Gawain Robards, my Deputy, but more importantly, the man who has ran point on Greyback for the past five years. He will continue to lead the this case."
Robards stiffened as attention turned to him. "We are giving this our full attention, Lord Fawley."
"I think it would be best if we let Auror Robards and his team get to work," Bones said. "We'll handle this, Ned."
The Halls of Koldovstoretz were particularly frigid over the Winter Holidays, as the lanterns which provided warmth against the cold Russian winters were extinguished, replaced by a low burning witch-light, emitting a soft greenish glow.
The tall man walked briskly down the way, not so unfamiliar with the Ancient School that he had forgotten where things were. Still, he could not remember the Castle to be this cold, and bundled his pure white snow leopard cloak closer together.
Eventually he stopped at a great black door. Lifting his cane which houses his silver bear-studded wand, he rapped on the door, the harshness of the knock resonating in the silent hall around him.
"Madam Avlov," he said with a quick bow as the door opened to reveal an imposing woman of six feet, snow white hair wrapped tightly in a bun.
"Efim Ketanov," the woman said, hiding her surprise. "It has been a long time since you have graced these halls. Did the High Master grant you entry?"
Efim smiled slightly. "He doesn't really have a choice. I serve the Committee."
"And it is your precious Committee that has brought you to my door?"
"I would advise you, Madam Avlov," Efim warned sternly, "To not disrespect the Committee unduly. Genius only gets you so far."
"Luckily I have a benefactor on the Committee," she replied, eyeing him sharply.
"Yes... that…," he smiled, reminding the old woman of a predator. "I have a small… request of you."
The threat did not need to be any clearer. "Go on," she said.
"An acquaintance of mine in Britain needs nothing short of a miracle for his boy. Bitten by a werewolf."
The old woman sighed. "I'll get my bag."
Ruger Vitoff was a brilliant potioneer. The best in Europe he had heard people say, whispering as he walked by. He did not know whether that was true or not, but he did know he was a man who could attribute his success to fine attention to details. His apprentice rarely received floo calls, and when she did, hardly did she take longer then a minute or two. This call had already lasted for almost five minutes, critical time when actively brewing.
"Master Vitoff," his apprentice rushed in, her normally composed features looking very much in disarray.
"Ms. Fawley," he answered her curiously. "Whatever is the matter?"
"It's my brother, Master," she breathed deeply. "He has been bitten by a werewolf, my other has asked me to return to see if there is nothing I can do to help him."
Lycanthropy. After a moment's hesitation, he cleared the brews with a flick of his wand. "Very well, Ms. Fawley, let us be going."
"Sir?" his apprentice asked, confused.
He stopped his erratic preparations for a split second to gaze at her, dead in the eye. "I am coming with you, Ms. Fawley. Hurry now, I doubt we have much time to waste."
"You wanted to see me, Professor?"
"Ah yes, Remus thank you for your expediency." Albus Dumbledore gestured his Defense Professor to a chair. "I'm terribly sorry to bring you back to the Castle before the start of term, but there has been a development which I daresay may require your experience."
Titus Yarrow was a busy man and Christmas day was the one day he could rest easy with his wife and children in their Ballycastle Home. Considering himself a man of reputably strong work ethic, Christmas was the one day he declined to take patients, closing off his Floo Network to avoid outside contact. Today, he had learned that precautions such as those did not stop Simon Fawley, and Azkaban would fill its prisoners with hope and kindness before he referred his most lucrative patients to another Healer.
Which was why, he found himself walking briskly into the sterile halls of St. Mungo's, barely having time to don his Crème Robes distinguishing himself as a Senior Healer before being assaulted with Junior Healers and Assistants.
"Someone explain," he ordered gruffly, continuing to walk to the Severe Trauma and Catastrophes Ward.
One of the Junior Healers, Abasi if he recalled correctly, handed him a file. "Werewolf attacked both of the brothers, sir. One of them was bit. The other almost was, but still suffers severe head injuries and magical damage."
"Claw marks?" Titus asked, looking down at the file.
"On both boys," Abasi affirmed.
"Separate them, prep Theatre 4, as well. Who received the patients?"
"Healer Mathews," one of the other Junior Healers supplied.
"Right," Titus nodded. "Her find, her care. She can begin a course of treatment for the non-bitten patient. Abasi, you'll be with me in Theatre."
If Titus saw the jealous looks half the Junior Healers sent to Mathews, a small woman who could barely fit into her white robes, and the look of excitement on Abasi's face at the prospect of Theatre and Lycanthropy, he didn't show it. He had important things to be doing.
Bracing himself, he pushed open the doors to the Ward, where he was immediately accosted by the Fawley Patriarch and his daughter-in-law.
"Madam Fawley, Lord Fawley, I have just been briefed. I'll need to separate the boys," he began, noting privately with approval that Mathews had already gone over to one of the beds, directing Assistants and Nurses to transfer the boy.
"The werewolf bite is obviously our immediate concern. Theatre is being prepped as we speak," he continued.
"I have called in some experts, Titus," Simon Fawley spoke up. "We want the best people working with you on this."
Titus would expect nothing less. He knew very well that the Fawleys would, like any family, pull all strings available in a situation such as this, and the Fawleys had a lot more strings than most.
"Very well. In the meantime, we are administering a Pigera Potion to slow the blood flow and ideally stop the spread of lycanthropy – if there is any. As it was not the Full Moon, I cannot say for sure what the bite will have. I need time to examine it, so slowing it down is our best option."
"An excellent choice if I do say so myself, Healer," a thick German voice called out.
"Mum!"
As Meredith Fawley embraced her sobbing mother, Simon and Titus turned to stare at the newcomer.
"Ruger Vitoff," the man gave a short bow. "My apprentice has informed me of the misfortune that has occurred. I come to lend my assistance."
"All help will be appreciated, Master Vitoff," Titus responded calmly, looking quickly to Simon Fawley who nodded imperceptibly. "I am Healer Yarrow."
"Family Healer I presume?" the Potion Master asked. "If you could give me some family history, I could brew up something to give you a bit more time."
"Very well but we will have to talk in Theatre," Titus began walking briskly to Theatre 4, Vitoff behind him.
Madam Avlov paced around the bed, casting diagnostic charms as she went. The Family Healer and Vitoff had done a good job. The Potion they had concocted and administered was derived from the Draught of Living Death, essentially slowing all body functions to a degree just enough to still sustain life.
She had arrived only a half-hour ago, taking a Ministry sanctioned Portkey straight to the Hospital. Efim's acquaintance must certainly be high-up to merit this sort of expediency, she had thought, and proven right upon learning that it was a Fawley. Ned Fawley's son. The entire ward had been closed off, her arrival a secret, as the British Ministry did not want the public to know she was there. Can't really blame them.
"What do you think?" The Healer had returned with Vitoff.
"I want to inject him with Silver," she said with aplomb.
The two men eyed her warily. "Lord Fawley won't like this," Yarrow finally spoke, before walking out the door, not bothering to distinguish which Lord Fawley he exactly referred.
"The British," Avlov spoke under her breath. "So queasy."
"You are proposing to violate the Grimm Convention," Ned Fawley said flatly, looking Titus Yarrow straight in the eye.
While Elodie and Meredith alternated sitting by Edmund and Sullivan's beds, Ned and Simon sat inside Titus Yarrow's office, as the Healer explained the proposal.
"This is likely the surest way to save your son," Titus stretched his hands on the surface of the desk.
"You said you don't believe he's a werewolf!" Ned interjected.
"We don't know that, no," Titus corrected. "By injecting silver into his bloodstream, we could cauterize the lycanthropy running in his veins. But we'd need to do that soon before it saturates the nervous system."
"How is that even possible? Simon Fawley finally asked. "I know very little about medicine but.."
"Lycanthropy is pure magic," Madam Avlov interrupted. "Very little of it is explainable. There is what we know, and what we know must be the guide in dealing with it."
"It isn't like a Potion," Vitoff said. "If it reaches the soul, the damage could be done."
"Your son is on at least twenty different potions right now and that is the only reason we have had the time to examine him, Titus spoke up again, nodding gratefully to both Avlov and Vitoff. "Giving him anymore will kill him, and the potions will run their course soon."
"I am the Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation," Ned growled. "I cannot allow Grimm to be violated."
The Grimm Convention, signed in 1890 by all states party to the International Confederation of Wizards, showcased proper medical and humane treatment for werewolves and other magical beasts, severely restricting the use of silver for medicinal purposes, as the risks of its volatility with magic were severe.
"With all due respect," Madam Avlov spoke up. "You called in a favor and here I am. I know you dislike my methods, Lord Fawley, but clearly my methods are the only way you may still keep your son as normal as possible. You wanted the best. The best is in this room."
"Elodie would never forgive you if you turn this down, lad," Simon whispered in his son's ear. "We can figure out a way to cover this up afterwards."
Ned schooled himself. "Proceed as proposed," he said before sweeping out of the room, his dark blue robes billowing behind him.
While a private ward at St. Mungo's blocked all visitors as the Healing Team worked out a treatment plan, Gawain Robards had given up on getting a statement any time soon and had instead dispatched Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was technically on desk duty because of an injury, to await for access to the Fawley brothers.
Sitting in the cold and rainy Irish weather however, Gawain decided was the better deal. He's take the thrill of a hunt over the Fawley family any day, particularly since Ned Fawley could cost him his job if it came to it. No, Gawain was happier in the rain.
A flash of movement caught his eye. "Rowle, McMaster," he whispered. "Over there!"
The three Aurors crept forward, fanning out slowly. They were creeping across a flat field, across from them, he noted Tonks' team mirroring their movements. If they could just keep silent for a bit longer…
"Not so fast little Aurors," a voice behind them growled before McMaster suddenly grunted and fell to the ground with his throat torn in two.
Instantly leaping into action, Gawain dived left before Greyback could reach him.
"Stupefy!"
"Here," Ruger handed Madam Avlov a large vial. "It's a fusion of aconite and moly. My own creation."
"This will do nicely," she muttered her thanks. "So why are you here, Ruger?"
Vitoff shrugged before realizing Avlov, busy casting spells on the boy would likely not have seen the motion. "My apprentice, it's her family."
"Yes, yes, I heard about that," Avlov smiled to herself. "Very rarely do you take apprentices after what happened with Grindelwald."
"I am growing old, Irina," he said tiredly. "I have a responsibility to pass on my knowledge."
Avlov said nothing, holding her want at the boy's chest, listening, she could sense the blood flow. "We may need to infuse the silver with this mixture of yours," she muttered. "The Healer will have to administer it. Where is he anyway?"
"Checking on the brother," Vitoff replied. "Making sure his Junior Healers haven't made him worse."
"I'm surprised he left us alone, me in particular."
The Potions Master had nothing to say in response. "Why are you here, Irina? Why take that risk?"
"It was not my choice," she responded. "I'd probably have been shipped off by the Committee."
"The Committee is aware of your presence here?"
"No," she paused briefly. "But my protection from the Committee was rather insistent."
If Ruger Vitoff was at all curious, he did not show it, for which Avlov was glad, as she would have told him nothing more. "You left at the right time though," she told him quietly. "It is not like it was in our school days."
Their conversation went no further as Titus walked back into the room. "Are we ready?"
It was several hours before Titus walked back into his office, where the four Fawleys were sitting in order to avoid the regular waiting room of the Hospital. He sat down at his desk with a sigh, running a hand through his blonde hair.
"So overall the treatment was successful," he said.
Madam Fawley and Meredith's shoulders visibly loosened as Simon and Ned both breathed sighs of relief.
"There were a few complications that were easily handled over the course of surgery. We did have to make some incisions but those have been healed and will leave no scarring. Your son is very lucky to be alive. The lycanthropy strain we found in him was malignant, we previously thought it was benign, but with nearing the date to the Full Moon, I suspect there was a transition in Greyback's strain."
"So will he.. turn?" Meredith asked fearfully.
"I don't know Miss Fawley," he sighed. "This is a situation of wait and see. There are no tests we can run that will give us that answer better than time itself."
"There is more," Ned said.
"Yes, there is. Under the course of our treatment, the strain was not completely cauterized. Instead, it melded with the aconite and moly –
"What does that mean?" Elodie Fawley demanded.
"It means that he will continue to be able to hold silver. It means he probably won't turn. But because we were focused on saving the critical systems, there is a good chance that he will adopt some of the more… superficial signs of lycanthropy such as an affinity for red, rare, meat; more sensitive hearing; heightened emotions."
"What about his mind?" Simon asked, fixing the Healer with a narrow look.
"There should be no memory loss or anything else of that sort. We will know more when he wakes up."
With a flick of his wand, another file came from the shelf to his desk. "Now taking the bite out of the equation for a moment, both Edmund and Sullivan received similar injuries, trauma to the head, cracked ribs, cuts across their abdomen. Sullivan has some contusions on his back as well. At this time those injuries are being treated by my team. Healer Mathews and Healer Abasi report that they'll make a full recovery."
"What's the next step? Both boys play Quidditch."
"They'll need a month off the pitch is my estimate. We'll know more when they wake up."
"Thank you, Titus," Elodie breathed out.
"I do my job, Madam Fawley. Ruger Vitoff and Irina Avlov were also instrumental in the process. Madam Avlov has agreed to remain at St. Mungo's until the boy's wake up and she can give them an examination as well. She has far more experience with lycanthropy then I, or indeed anyone at this hospital."
"Lucky you were able to contact Efim, Ned," Simon muttered.
"And lucky Master Vitoff is capable of compassion even whilst making you work on the Holiday," Elodie Fawley said to her daughter.
"Thank you very much, Titus, for all your hard work," Ned stood up solemnly. "It may not have only been your hand, but your coordination is exactly why you remain our family's Healer."
"It is a pleasure to serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Fawley," Titus responded smoothly.
The lights were too bright, the boy decided. The smell was too pungent. Opening his eyes would cause too much pain. What were the clattering sounds happening all around him.
"Alright young Master Fawley," a chuckle was heard somewhere above him. "We know you are awake. Open your eyes."
The voice was familiar… trustworthy. It wouldn't hurt to open his eyes he decided. The first thing he saw were three faces looking down at him. One was an older woman, white hair wrapped in a severe bun. The man to his left, a bit pudgy with a thick grey salt-and-pepper beard. The third face, the man in the middle, had a long face, clean shaven, blonde hair looking perfectly manicured. They all looked relived to see him. Why aren't they doing something for the pain?
"Healer Yarrow?" he asked weakly.
"Aye, young Master," the Healer said, smiling fondly. "Welcome back to St. Mungo's."
"Where are my parents? What happened to Greyback?"
"Worry not about Greyback for now. As for your parents, they'll be in shortly along with your sister and Grandfather, but first I wondered if you would oblige me a few questions?"
"Well I don't suppose I have much choice anyway."
"That is the spirit," Titus chuckled. "Now, what is your full name?"
"Edmund John Fawley."
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"Hogwarts House?"
"Slytherin" Edmund replied with a hint of pride.
The list went on and on, Healer Yarrow asking him questions about family history and academic factoids. After answering one to satisfaction, Edmund was given a reprieve.
"A lot has happened in the past 24 hours, young Master," Titus said. "You had us all quite worried and working round the clock."
"What happened, sir?"
"What do you remember?"
Edmund paused, thinking back to that morning. "Sullivan and I were flying on his new broom, the Firebolt. I flew a bit too high. I landed and Sullivan saw Greyback. It all happened so fast. He…"
He paled.
"He bit me, didn't he?"
The silence amongst the three adults in the room was answer enough. Edmund could see the entirety of his ambitions slip away from him as this reality sunk in.
"He did, but we don't know what that means yet," Titus said gently. "We believe we were able to stop the lycanthropy before it transitioned your soul into that of a werewolf.""
"What did you do?" Edmund asked. "What makes you so sure?"
With a raised eyebrow, Titus raised a silver rod up to Edmund's face before laying it flat in the palm of his hand. "Do you feel anything?"
"It... it doesn't hurt..." Edmund looked at his wand wondrously. "How?"
The witch cut in at this point. "Mr. Fawley, the procedure you underwent is dangerous and illegal, and quite frankly, it would be better you not know its finer points."
The thick Russian accent caught him off guard, and he just nodded mutely.
"That reminds me," Titus continued. "This is Madam Irina Avlov, a Senior Scholar at Koldovstoretz, and this, is Ruger Vitoff, Potions Master."
"Your sister is a hard worker," the wizard identified as Merry's Master said gruffly. "If you are anything like her, saving you was well worth my time."
"We have a Potions regimen that you'll be taking for the next month," Titus held up a small vial. "I'm afraid you'll also be staying here for another night under observation. In the meantime, I do think your family is waiting to visit with you."
Titus flicked his wand at the door opening and allowing Edmund's mother and sister to rush in, followed closely by Sullivan, and their father and grandfather.
Edmund allowed himself to be fussed over by his mother and sister, doing his best to assuage them of their worry. Truthfully, he felt much too exhausted to put up any resistance to them. "Sweet heavens," he muttered at Sullivan. "What happened to your head, man? Get a brain transplant while I was out?"
Sullivan laughed, rubbing the bandage on the side of his head, as Elodie and Meredith shook their heads. "Speak for yourself, Eddie," the use if his childhood nickname being the only indicator of his worry. "Luckily you already have a girlfriend and won't have to worry about being attractive, huh?"
"Girlfriend?!" their mother interrupted, her sons' brush with death all but forgotten. "What is this I hear? You have only been fourteen for a few months!"
Oh boy Edmund thought with despair as Sullivan and Merry guffawed while his father and grandfather set a strategic retreat from Edmund's Hospital bed. Didn't Healer Yarrow mention anything about a sleeping potion?
A/N: So therein ends chapter 24. I hope you enjoyed a bit of the suspense involved as well as the scene changes between multiple situations. I'm conscious of the fact that there have been more requests for world-building, so I'm going to try and incorporate that much more into the upcoming Chapters. Of everything mentioned in this Chapter, if you have any questions about it, or you want me to write more on it in subsequent parts, please leave a review and let me know!
Also - I know I made the Lupin/Dumbledore scene pretty short. That will be expanded on in the next chapter.
