Dennis arrived at the meeting site the next morning filled with nervous energy. Mr. Odpadki leaned against Kate waiting for him. The man scanned some sheets he clipped to the top of document holder. Dennis knew his employer sorted out their route for the day. They both dressed in the same style gray, stained overalls, and they looked very much like any other rubbish hauler.
"What's on for today?" Dennis asked when he got close enough.
"Olivander's got a load of wood shavings and decommissioned wands he wants us to cart off and destroy," Mr. Odpadki informed him.
"Isn't burning wands dangerous?"
"Who said anything about burning?"
"It's wood," Dennis half-stated and half-guessed.
"Alright, you got me on that one, ya snot," the burly man said with a chuckle. His forehead wrinkled in mirth and pale sunlight glinted off his mostly bald head.
Dennis smirked at being called a snot, one of Peeves' favorite insults. Mr. Odpadki stowed his clipboard under his arm and began walking around the front of the lorry. Dennis climbed into the passenger side.
"Got a special furnace back at the house for this, and a Ministry clerk'll be meeting us later to monitor the burning once I send word," said the man while turning over Kate's engine. She came to life with a throaty growl that almost sounded like a real animal. He patted the dashboard and smiled.
"Why a Ministry clerk?" Dennis inquired.
"Can't have magical wood and old wands going missing now, can we? Whoever they send will account for the weight in shavings and scrap, and check the manifest to make sure all decommissioned wands are there," Mr. Odpadki explained. "A person could make a lot of mischief with this stuff. Imagine what the Veloweisses would do with it?"
An involuntary shudder when through Dennis. Since they disposed of the family's unidentified flying object, reports of more sightings trickled through the news media. Several unnamed RAF pilots talked about incredibly fast, supersonic small objects they could not catch and that went into space. Mr. Odpadki said they would never speak again about what they did with the compacted trash heap, and that he would never again let a customer watch special disposal efforts. It seemed to Dennis the kelpie already jumped the berm for the ocean, but he said nothing.
Dennis got a lesson in wand production. While Olivander might sell the wands in Diagon Alley and a few other select places, he crafted the magical items in a separate location. The production facility, a squat barn next to a sumptuous-looking house, existed in heavily fortified location. The number of spells and wards Dennis felt himself pass through once they got permission to enter left him feeling like his first disapparting experience. He heard about the defenses used at Hogwarts during the battle, and he wondered why they never contacted the Olivanders to really protect the castle. While Mr. Olivander, himself, got kidnapped by Voldemort and subsequently freed by Harry Potter, it seemed neither Voldemort nor his forces ever breached the Olivander compound.
When they passed through the final barrier, a wiry, almost stringy, middle-aged man pointed to the barn. Mr. Odpadki seemed to know where to go. When the turned toward the rear of the barn, two young men waited for them. They clearly shared the same bloodline, and looked remarkably like their father. Dennis thought their father looked remarkably like Garrick Olivander, whom he met once. He got distracted by his employer's expert handling of the lorry as he maneuvered it around and backed it up to strange looking silo. He then shut down the motor.
"Ganin, Gerold," Mr. Odpadki called out as he exited Kate.
The two young men approached, but they silently stared at Dennis when he came around from the other side.
"This is Dennis Creevey, a new member of the crew for the past month and a half. One of brightest I've ever had working for me. Works only with the special jobs, he's that good, and worth every knut I pay him… maybe even more," Mr. Odpadki gave the introduction.
Dennis gaped at the man. His shoulder almost got crushed when the man clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed.
"I mean every word of it, Denny," he quietly said.
"Gerold Olivander," the youngest of the two men said and held out a hand. Dennis went to shake it, but the hand got pulled back. "Wand, please."
"It's their way," Dennis' boss whispered.
Dennis produced his beloved wand. He felt a strange form of threat and hesitated in relinquishing it. His eyes narrowed.
"No harm will come to it, Dennis," Gerold said.
It took a force of will to hand over his wand. Gerold carefully took it. He ran his long fingers over it. Dennis' nerves twanged, and he let out a small giggle of nervousness.
"American red pine. Grandfather's choice, and his work. Dragon heartstring. Eleven inches," the young man said, and then place one hand on either end and flexed it a little. "Very sturdy, and yet… not springy, but… supple. Very attached to you, Dennis. It's resisting me."
Dennis held out his hand. Gerold returned it to him, and then smiled. His entire demeanor changed in a heartbeat. His brother also seemed to relax. He recalled the oddness of Mr. Olivander when purchasing the wand. The elderly man did not seemed to want to sell it to him, yet Mr. Olivander said it appeared a pairing destined in the stars. The wand never failed Dennis if he carefully controlled his magic and preparations. He liked hearing his wand favored him. Most witches and wizards considered their wands a literal physical extension of themselves. Dennis easily fell into that category.
"You've taken excellent care of your wand. A pleasure to meet you, Dennis," Gerold said and extended his hand again. This time he did not retract it when Dennis reached for it.
Firm yet pliable skin met his somewhat calloused palm. The grip did not lack in surety. They squeezed and shook once before releasing it. A second hand drifted toward him. Dennis took it. It felt nearly identical to Gerold's.
"Ganin Oliv… hmm, a charms person. No wonder the wand is so fond of you. Excellent pairing," Ganin made an awkward introduction.
"How did you know?" Dennis asked, impressed and slightly afraid of the exchange with the grandson's of Garrick Olivander.
"Family trait. Helps with the selling of wanders. Gerold is the natural wandmeister, like father and grandfather, but I got grandfather's ability to read the magic of people. This is why I am the only one allowed to sell of the three of us," the older of the two brothers explained. "Can I ask what it is you do with charms… other than this?"
"I, ah, well… hard to explain, but… I investigate the pasts of ghosts," Dennis replied and slightly reinvented himself. "Right now I'm working on who killed a noble two hundred and fifty years ago."
"Yes, yes. I can see where charms would come in handy there. Do you find it satisfying work?"
By this point Gerold stood close to his brother. Their father walked up and halted a few feet away. Dennis felt like they interviewed him with greater intensity than Mr. Odpadki ever did. An interesting suspicion developed in his mind.
"Yeah, I do. There's some terrible suffering for some of the ghosts, and they want answers just like the living. Problem is once they're dead, they can't do a lot about it. Most of 'em are stuck in one place. That's where I come," Dennis continued to flesh out the details of his avocation for the Olivanders.
"You are kind, then. Red pine responds to kindness. It also means you are certain of your charms ability. Your wand would not suffer a careless hand," Gerold quipped.
"Got NEWTs in charms and transifigu…
"Of course! That's what was hiding behind you charms ability. I could feel it, but… very subtle, Dennis," Ganin said in an appreciative tone.
"Yes, Mr. Odpadki, he can help," the father of the men said and stepped forward.
Ganin and Gerold parted like sliding doors. The older man extended his hand. Dennis took it. Skin like finely tanned, thinly cut leather rubbed against his. The man squeezed, and a pronounced grip announced itself. Dennis returned the gesture.
"Gared Olivander, son of Garrick Olivander," he introduced himself. "I think my father would enjoy seeing one of his customers again. Pocket your wand and let's see if he can remember."
Dennis got robbed of choice. The Olivanders herded him away from the lorry and barn. They led him to the rather fastidious and uniquely ornate two-story house. It boldly yet tastefully spoke of craftspeople. The details in the woodwork went several steps beyond amazing. Dennis made a guess that generations of Olivanders contributed to the decoration of the house. He could not begin to imagine the age of the domicile, although it currently wore a Victorian guise. The gang of Olivanders led him through a side entrance, into a large kitchen tiled in white and gleaming with chrome and nickel fixtures, and to a side hallway. The slightly labyrinthian hall terminated at a doorway that, when pushed open, revealed a wide study filled with equal parts bookshelves and windows. Rich wood furniture occupied all the right places. The very elderly Garrick Olivander sat in a wheeled high-back chair pushed up against a desk where the man sat examining a plethora of wood splinters under a large magnifying glass. He lifted his head.
"Father, someone is here to see you," Gared Olivander said and continued to push Dennis forward.
"Ah, a Hogwarts student," Mr. Olivander said. "And not long from those storied halls."
"No, sir, I…"
"Tut, tut. Let father have a guess," Gared interjected and silenced Dennis.
Mr. Olivander, his faced lined with creases and wrinkles, solid white hair held in place by a short, embroidered fez of a deep brown color, gazed at Dennis with slightly rheumy eyes. He pulled a pair of glasses off his desk and donned them. Then he really scrutinized Dennis. The youngest of the assembled felt as he did seven years before.
"Yes, yes. Dragon heartstring in red pine. Supple and sturdy. Eleven inches. Rather long for that variety, but made for tricky, picky magic. Like a needle weaving fine cloth together," Mr. Olivander said. He held out his hand. "Very pleasant to see you again, Mister Creevey, and my condolences for the loss of your brother. Dogwood, unicorn hair, nine inches, and very whippy."
"Yeah, that's right. Thank you, sir," Dennis said as he stepped forward to except the handshake as emotions roiled him. He seldom thought about Colin's wand, and it stayed hid in the bottom most drawer of his dresser buried under little worn clothing. Dennis never looked at it.
The aged hand remained firm, and Mr. Olivander met him with a steady gaze.
"Many of us suffered at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but none more cruelly than those who lost a loved one to him and his forces. It is for that reason you, and those who suffered as you did, must remain vigilant to ensure we never encounter another dark wizard of the same caliber."
Dennis nodded. They released their grasp. Mr. Olivander gazed at him for a few seconds.
"May I?" He requested and held out his hand.
Dennis produced his wand without pause. He carefully laid the length of wood in the hand that shaped it into a magical device. The thin, somewhat gnarled fingers, closed around it.
"Pinus resinosa, Mister Creevey. It grows straight and tall along the east coast of North America. Many of the Algonquin people venerate the red pine, and their shamans use it craft mighty spears, arrows, and extraordinary staffs for their shaman and medicine people. It is said the Broken Nose mask that emerges from one of the trees is gifted with a great spirit," Mr. Olivander said as if talking to the wand and reciting history for it. "The range of mountains on which grows once lived as an ancient, primordial sea. This is very potent wood when matched with the right core. This dragon heartstring came from a very old, very wise… even gentle antipodean opaleye that allowed us to harvest it upon her death. She died quietly, peacefully, just as she lived. It seems the magic you ask it to perform is equally as peaceful."
"Wow," Dennis breathed the word.
"Do you know why I tell you these things, Mister Creevey?" The old wandmaker inquired.
"No, sir."
"It is to show you that no matter how well you may know a thing, you can never truly know it. There is always more hidden in the depths," Garrick Olivander said in his scratchy, thick voice. "I didn't know this wand would land in your hands when I crafted it. I could never guess the unique and delicate magic you would perform with it. And let me tell you, young man: even if you were to lose it in a duel for some ridiculous, shortsighted reason, I do not think it would switch allegiance. Keep it close to you, young man, for it will never fail you."
"Thank you, Mister Olivander," Dennis said in an awed voice when the man returned it to him.
"Mister Creevey, we only allow people on this property who who deeply care for, respect, and form a true bond with their wand. It is strikingly clear to me you love your wand. It is imbued with your essence already. And for that reason I believe you will treat what we do here with the utmost respect."
"I will, sir, and… so you know, and maybe you already do, but from the first second I ever held my wand, I loved it," he stated as he gazed as his precious implement. Dennis squeezed it in his hand. "I'd rather die than lose my wand, Mr. Olivander."
Dennis would swear forevermore he felt his wand vibrate as he spoke those words. Mr. Olivander smiled and nodded his aged head.
"You are welcomed here, Dennis, and thank you for the service you'll help perform," the man said in a pleasant manner.
Dennis nodded. Then, with even less ceremony, he got ushered away from the famed wandmaker. The Olivanders chatted among themselves about the task at hand. Mr. Odpadki joined into their discussion. Dennis walked along and stared at his beautiful wand. The eldest Mr. Olivander made it more treasured by sharing the some of the history of the wood and core. He privately wished every witch or wizard could receive such a lesson. The second trip through the elegant house became just as confusing as the first.
"Alright, gentlemen, we shall begin shortly," the son of Garrick Olivander told them. "Ganin, this is what I want you to do…"
Dennis followed Mr. Odpadki back to the lorry as the two youngest Olivanders received instruction.
"Lad, don't know how you do it, but you struck the right chord with them," his employee muttered. "Knew you would, too. I've seen the way you look at your wand and look after it. Been a while since they approved another worker to assist me."
"I'm honored to be here. I'll never forget the day I got my wand," Dennis rejoined in a soft voice.
"Aye, here's to that," Mr. Odpadki said and dipped his head. "Got my second wand from the man after a stray leshy turned up in Epping Forest and smashed my first one to bits. Wasn't maybe a year older than you. Olivander asked me about my first wand, a Ukrainian number… oak and harpy feather. Hard to control. Olivander lectured me for three hours about wands and wand care. Then he started testing wands on me. Finally ended up with Pudge here: chestnut and dragon heartstring. I know what you mean 'bout loving it on first touch. Must've been my fourth, fifth wand he tried with me. Landed in me hand and I knew right then I didn't want any other wand. It was like I knew Pudge all my life. Strange that, huh?"
"No," his employee countered. "As soon as this beaut touched my had, I'd fight anyone who tried to take it from me. Olivander knows, Mister Odpadki, and it looks like his grandson Ganin can do the same."
"They do. Brought all my kids to Olivander's for their wands. Took my last polished knut, but worth in my book."
Dennis would never debate the last sentence. He bobbed his head as thought it over.
"Now, lad, what says you about moving a small mountain of wood shavings and de-cored wands?" Mr. Odpadki inquired.
"I'd use wingardium leviosa. Keep it simple. Keep it direct. Don't get fancy. Move it with care, maybe in small clumps, and don't add anything else," Dennis offered his opinion.
"Nine out of ten would suggest something more aggressive, faster. However, I happen to agree with you. The less magic the better with loads like this. That was going to be my call as well. You're a quick thinker, and I like that. Alright, let's get to it," the man said in a wholly complimentary fashion that made Dennis' cheeks turn pink.
It both did and did not surprise Dennis when Ganin and Gerold joined them in transferring the scrap to the back of Mr. Odpadki's lorry. The spell got murmured almost like a song in rounds as they each took turns. Dennis made certain he concentrated and used precise wand movements as though his friend and mentor stood nearby evaluating him. With four people at work, the main job came to swift completion. The final step came when Mr. Olivander's son brought out an iron box as long as a forearm and half as high. Dennis easily guessed it contained the old wands. He could not imagine himself consigning his wand to the box.
The three Olivanders walked up to the rear of the lorry as Mr. Odpadki placed the iron box in the rear, and then closed and locked the bin.
"Find work there, gentlemen. Respectful, as we expected," Gared Olivander said and extended a hand to Mr, Odpadki, who accepted it with grace. The shook once. "I will notify the Ministry your on your way back. A clerk will meet you."
"Easy-peasy, Gared. All the inspectors know where I live," the expert waste handler replied. "You want an ash sample?"
"If you'd be so kind, Mariusz. We'll send Esme over to retrieve it," Gared said. Then he turned to Dennis, and offered him a hand which Dennis grasped. "Thank you for being so kind with my father. He does enjoy seeing old customers from time to time, especially one who understands something of what he endured."
"I wasn't at Hogwarts during the battle. My brother asked me to stay with our parents to protect them, but I've always appreciated what your father made and what he did for the cause, Mister Olivander," Dennis said, and then they released the shake.
"They tortured him, Dennis. He… needed to retire after that ordeal. My father meant what he said to you about losing your brother. He feels others gave far more than he did."
"They didn't give: Voldemort took. He took Colin… he took a lot of people? And for what? What did Voldemort really gain for all the death he caused? Only his own death. The thing Harry said he hated most."
"Ah, so you know Potter. You went to school with him?" Gared Olivander asked. His sons stepped closer.
"Yeah. As nice guy as any. Hates being the Boy-Who-Lived. The funny part is I think he would've done it all anyway… facing Voldemort. It's just who he is. Not keen on rules, but definitely hates a bully," Dennis stated and tried to be honest with his estimation. "People confuse who he is with what he did. It's not the same, you know?"
"Indeed. Very interesting words, Mister Creevey. Very interesting."
With that final farewells got made as Dennis and Mr. Odpadki climbed aboard Kate. The lorry slowly departed from the Olivander homestead and workshop. Dennis felt as thought he got a special treat for the day. Yet a question remained.
"Mister Odpadki, why don't they just incinerate this stuff themselves?" Dennis asked.
"Did you get a good look at the workshop? It's less than twelve years old. The one before that burned to the ground. They lost all their materials, tools, and stock. From what I heard, it cost them over half a million galleons to replace everything. They don't want that to happen again, so now they call me," he answered as they passed through the protective spells and wards.
By the middle of the hot July afternoon, Mr. Odpadki released Dennis for the day. The man stood guard over the last of the controlled burn of the wood in the specially created incinerator. Dennis saw it in the past, but never in operation. The Ministry clerk closely observed everything. The wands would be burned separately after the wood scrap. After a brief greeting with Mrs. Odpadki, Dennis took his leave. He apparated to the Ministry, jumped to Nottingham and lastly to Hogwarts. In one hand he carried a role of pages containing a summary of the information he gathered the day before. The front gates of the surround wall opened for him as a recognized visitor. Dennis strolled up the entrance and toward the spot where Thomas habitually stood.
"Dennis!" Thomas greeted him in a very friendly manner. "How fare you this day?"
"Good, and you? And Lucia?" He rejoined.
The earl's daughter smiled at him.
"Each day with her is a joy, my friend," the man told him.
"Verily," Lucia said and gazed at her father.
"Then I might have even better news," Dennis stated and held aloft the small sheave of paper. "Between what you told me the other day and something I learned from Professor Flitwick right after, I discovered a lot of information, but I need to explain how I think we should to go through this."
Dennis then took several minutes and a roundabout way of telling the ghosts they needed to listen to the names he would recite. Thomas' reaction, he speculated, would tell them if they hit upon the right name. Thomas and Lucia agreed to the plan. Dennis wished the ghosts would retreat to the interior of the castle since the day gradually began to bake him. However, an intractable state of affairs existed between The Bloody Barron and the late Earl of Nottingham.
"Okay, the top four first. Let's start with Bayard van Hussel." Dennis carefully said the name.
"I made his acquaintance once in the summer of 1761, but I never by chance saw Bayard thereafter once he came to understand my status as a wizard. I did hear word he performed some odd work until the winter cold settled, and thereby he set out for warmer climes," Thomas told him.
"And I'll cross that one off," and the living mage did. "Lothar Payne?"
"No, I know of no Lothar Payne. Lucia?" The elder North stated.
"I know nothing of that name, Dennis," she answered.
Dennis drew a line through the name, and said: "Wyllodrus Finch."
"I am sorry…" Thomas began.
"Yes, I heard that name, but not when father… died," Lucia interrupted. "He became a field hand for the Hickings the summer afterward. I heard Uncle Richard talking about him. Uncle said the hiring and presence of Mister Finch lacked decency and probity under the circumstances, but I never learned as the circumstances he mentioned."
"I do not recall ever being introduced to a Wyllodrus Finch, yet… mayhap it is but a coincidence. The surname cannot be that uncommon," Thomas intoned in a distracted manner.
"What coincidence is that?" Dennis asked.
"Prior to the time of the Lord Protector, the previous Earldom of Nottingham was held by the Finch family, yet they were thoroughly deposed by the Roundheads as staunch supporters of Charles the First. More to the point, the Finches were never considered for the seventh creation, and it was my grandfather who took up the title for services to the crown and as distant relation to Charles the Second," the late Earl of Nottingham explained.
"So, that'd make you the… um, third Earl of Nottingham in your family?" The mortal among the three inquired.
"Technically I was the ninth earl."
"Looks like I'm heading back to the libraries," Dennis all but quailed.
"Dennis, let's review the remaining names you unearthed. I find your method of deducing the suspects quite sound, and I would not wish to pass over any possibilities on a mere coincidence," Thomas requested.
It took five minutes, including a small discussion, to eliminate the remaining names. While Thomas new a few of the people mentioned, most he did not recognize. They then returned to the question of Wyllodrus Finch.
"And you're sure you never heard of the man, Thomas?" Dennis asked for confirmation.
"On my word, Dennis, I would remember such a name as Wyllodrus. That is not to say, of course, he did not get presented to me under disguise. Were a portrait available I could review, then I would be better able to say."
"I heard getting a portrait painted was expensive. I saw your official portrait at Nottingham Council House. It's a really good likeness of you."
"Joseph Wright executed that painting, and I paid handsomely for it since Joseph favored landscapes. He came to Nottingham to paint the Labyrinth, but the coin I offered swayed him. He spent the spring of sixty completing it. I was pleased with his effort," the ghost stated.
"It hung in mother's suite until she passed. Then it rested in the portrait hall until Uncle Richard passed. I do not know what became of it when the Hickings got granted the title and took residence in Wollacott. By then I lived permanently on Geoffrey's estates," Lucia recounted in a trembling voice, as the memories clearly upset her.
"There, my child, be at peace. Those days a long behind us," her father said, took her hand, and gently patted it.
Dennis let them have a moment of silence, and then said: "I also wanted to tell you about something I found in the Decennial Magus Annales."
The North's glanced at him.
"The Wizengamot knew you got murdered by another wizard… or witch. They didn't know who did it, but they were certain you got murdered," Dennis solemnly revealed. "Before you were buried, they hired… I think it was a hiring, but they hired Leviculus Everill to examine you. He used a confudus charm on your brother to get access to your body. Leviculus cited something called the opprimo curse as the cause of death…"
Dennis halted. Thomas went as still as a statue. Fear got etched into his features. It appeared certain hearing the name of the killing curse triggered the binding one. The younger wizard felt a deep sense of sorrow for the man.
"Did all your tenants pay on time?" He asked his spectral friend.
"No," Thomas heaved and sank to knees.
"Father!" Lucia cried and stooped down to comfort him.
Dennis also walked closer, but did not wish to intrude. Thomas, although he needlessly breathed again, still appeared to be in the throes of terror. His wide eyes stared at nothing, save perhaps across the fields of time to the day of his demise. The Earl of Nottingham trembled as his daughter sought to lend succor.
"All the air got squeezed from me as though a great stone were placed on my chest," Thomas flatly spoke the words. "I could make no sounds. I could not yell or scream as I felt the life fleeing my body. It seemed an age before I knew I died… and the pain. It was meant to be cruel, and this man succeeded in making my death as miserable as he could in what time got afforded to him."
Dennis memorized the details.
"Father!" Lucia sobbed.
"No, sweet child, no. Be calm. I died only but once," the father then tried to comfort the daughter. "For so long I could see that face… hear those words, but…"
Thomas looked up at Dennis. He smiled. It shook Dennis.
"You are a wonder, Mister Creevey, and I am indebted to you beyond any poor compensation I could offer," the ghost told him while gaining his feet and then assisting Lucia. "At long last to be able to speak of that terrible moment is a relief to me like few I have known, save for the day when dear Lucia arrived at this spot."
"Thomas, you don't…" Dennis began to say.
"But I do, Dennis, and I am shamed to think of all those days I saw you in your misery and spared not a single moment of real comfort toward you, consumed as I was with my own misfortune. I am a poor excuse for a friend…"
"No, you're not, and shut up!" Dennis nearly yelled.
Thomas Lester Jonathan North, Earl of Nottingham, looked affronted. It seemed no one ever spoke to him in such a manner. Lucia also bridled at the tone.
"Thomas… since I started helping you with this, my life has changed so much. It's so much better now," Dennis continued without a single hint of apology. "I've been places, done things, I never would've on my own. I met Cameron looking for answers to your murder. Don't think for one second you've gotten all the benefit out of this because I'm a lot further ahead than you are right now. What I… endured here at Hogwarts can't even begin to compare to what you suffered. So, shut it, Thomas."
"You are magnanimous, Dennis," Thomas said and inclined.
"Put a sock in it," the young man huffed. Then inhaled and exhaled once, and fixed his gaze on the ghost. "So, that was the spell that did you in?"
"Indeed, it was," the Earl rejoined and looked a bit flustered. "Opprimo anima."
"Now, if I can figure out how he… and it is a he?"
"It is."
"How he silenced you and sent you here, then you'll be entirely free of the curse. After that you can go on and get all mushy about whatever service you think I've done for you," Dennis grumbled.
"May I at least say thank you?" Thomas requested.
"Yeah, and you're welcome."
"What shall be your next actions, Dennis?" Lucia inquired.
"I need to find our more about this Wyllodrus Finch. I really do think he's the one that did all this. If he's related to the earls before you, there's got to be a record of him somewhere. Then I'll need to see if I can find a picture of him. I also need to research spells. Maybe I can find one to reverse the silencing spell," Dennis thought aloud.
"Mister Creevey, did you know about this death curse that got used on my father?" The woman questioned him.
"Never heard of that one. I've never even seen it mentioned in any of the Unforgivable Curse lists. Seems like avada kedavra took over."
"That is a heinous spell and truly unforgivable… and I think perhaps it explains why my murderer chose opprimo anima," Thomas opined. "The use of The Killing Curse would announce a murderer to other witches and wizards, and the caster of the curse would be hunted."
"Someone really thought about killing you, Thomas," Dennis said with open disquiet.
"So it would seem."
"But why, Father? What did you ever do to deserve this fate?"
"That is part of the mystery, Lucia," he responded to her.
"And we'll probably never figure out it even if we can't find the person who did it," Dennis felt the need to add. He wanted to keep expectations as low as possible.
One small mystery, however, he did think he could solve. Dennis went to the castle after he and the spirits of the Norths discussed some minor details. The young man went to find a few specific paintings of some old friends, and the term old served double-duty. He went to the second floor on which several classes got taught. On the walls hung the portraits of numerous deceased teachers. He went to end of the corridor where a new window gave a view of the north woods.
"Professor Artura?" Dennis quietly said to the witch sleeping in the painting. "Professor Artura?"
The witch jerked awake and glanced around with a nasty sneer on her face. Her chalk gray hair floated wildly about her head from under her cap. She softened a bit when she saw Dennis staring at her. Then her eyes narrowed.
"What say thee, young Creevey?" She asked in her familiar suspicious tone. "A small aged passed since thee last came for my counsel."
"I graduated, Professor Artura," he explained. "But I came to say hello."
"Pah! Thou yet again seeks to prize knowledge from me," she complained.
"Maybe a little. What do you know about opprimo anima?"
The witch, dressed in shades of ruby and gray, sat up and stared at him. The silence lingered. Dennis feared he asked the wrong question of the old Defense Against Dark Arts instructor from the late sixteenth century.
"A benighted spell, Creevey, and any who utter it are damned souls," she said to him, her voice squeaking disdain. "Whyfore dost thou speak of such things and importune me with its memory?"
"One of the castle ghosts got killed by it in his day. I don't know anything about it, and I don't have to time to get permission to go into the restricted section of the library," he told her. "And I'm not trying to learn it. I'm trying to learn about it if that makes any difference to you."
"It is an ancient curse. Once favored by the Romans to dispatch and execute those who they deemed criminals, it fell into disrepute from the frightful and abominable nature of its effect. 'Twas more a torture than a death. The life crushing spell did it come to be called by many. It is an awful thing to even whisper that curse."
"It was used on noble."
"Count it an assassination then. Few outside highborn or pure-blood lines would claim knowledge of it. Long 'ere the days of my youth a damned spell it got named. Think no more on't, Creevey, if thou does not seek means to bring it to bear. And be warned: should word reach my ear it again stains the land, on thy head I will lay blame and bring down upon it what castigation I may foment," Professor Artura told and warned him.
"Thank you, professor, and I have no intention of learning it or wielding. You answered my questions, and I am grateful to you," he said in a contrite manner.
"Stay thee from dissembling before me, boy! Thou art a quick and wily wizard, and there is purpose to your inquest!"
"I'm trying to help Silent Thom. He's the one who got killed with it. I just read about it the other day in the Decennial Magus Annales."
"Dread the day when thee disabused thyself of thy ignorance on this matter. Such knowledge is best left forgotten," she chastised him, and her hazel eyes appeared like storm clouds.
"I won't argue with you about that. Wish I didn't know it existed. Why do witches and wizards invent spells like that?" He rhetorically inquired.
"Tis the nature of the beast, Creevey. Mankind too frequently gives itself over to craven and wanton desires, dastardly even. Thou art witness to the ill-natured aspects and did have them plied against thee. How harried wouldst thou needs be to fully understand? Thy question is infantile and fit only for a simpleton… and thou art no imbecile!" The long-deceased witch upbraided him.
Dennis chuckled and said: "Still willing to tear strips out of me, huh, professor?"
"When thou plays the fool, thee assuredly begs for it. I pray give me guarantee I wasted not my days in instruction with thee. 'Twas thy mind I sought to improve. Do not give me cause to think it an impossible task," the old woman railed against him.
"I leave smarter then when I came to you," he replied.
"Thou wouldst make a child's plaything of me! Away with thee, Creevey, and leave me to my slumber!"
The ritual reached completion. Professor Artura despised it when he tried to thank her for teaching him. The woman assumed, even in portrait form, that people naturally wanted to learn. Dennis learned a goodly number of defensive spells from the woman while she hinted at the dark forces at work during her days. It sounded very perilous to him even in comparison to Voldemort's rampage. The world seemed a dangerous place for witches and wizards before modern times, and even then he still did not feel entire certain they could live in peace with muggles. It gave him much to think about as he wandered down the hall toward the main stairwell.
"What do you hope to gain from that crone, Snot?" A voice whispered in his ear and made Dennis jump.
Peeves came into view and cackled with delight.
"She taught me a lot," I snapped back at him. "What are you doing up here?"
"Getting a lay of the land, Weavy Creevey. Still, you did not answer me about the crone."
"Had a question about opprimo anima…"
The poltergeist halted and seemed horrified.
"I'm not learning the spell," Dennis again defended himself against the accusation, albeit it came in a silent reaction.
"Only a jackenape would seek such a spell! Thou makes sport with vile temptations, Creevey Snot!" Peeves lambasted him.
"I'm not learning it! Are you even listening to me?" The living person yelled. "It's what killed Silent Thom!"
"Then he was a detested man if one sought to end his life with that curse. I will take my death before his!"
"It's really that bad?"
The stopped in hallway. Peeves did not look the least amused. His eyes became black orbs in his face, a sign of his anger. An angry Peeves turned into a force to be avoided.
"People who drown experience less fear and pain. It takes the breath from a person, as though being pressed by large weights. Unable to draw breath, they gasp for air in wild panic. It is beyond hideous, Creevey! If Thom did perish under that curse, then hatred in full measure did his killer keep for him," Peeves murmured in low tones.
"And we're trying to name his killer. I think we're close, Peeves. We've nearly totally broken his silence curse," Dennis told his ghostly friend. "The look on his face when I said the name of the spell… I won't ever forget that."
"Then you have some notion of it's affliction. I would count it as evil as avada kedavra, if not more so. The Killing Curse kills and does so in an instant. If thee values any of which I've told you in the past, then know whoever unleashes the life crusher did sacrifice all that can be called human."
Dennis' eyes went wide to hear Peeves make such a pronouncement.
"Mark me, Dennis Creevey, banish from thy mind all knowledge of this spell once you have secured Thom's freedom. Do this. For if thou ever seeks to use it, know that I am your enemy and will forswear any affection that once bound us in league. I will hold it a cursed day when I first kept company with thee," the poltergeist said in such a serious and staid tone it frightened the mortal to the core.
"I swear I will, Peeves. I'll have Professor Flitwick obliviate it from my mind," Dennis vowed.
Peeves placed a single finger on the right side of his nose. He black eyes locked with Dennis gray irises. The poltergeist nodded once. Then he vanished. A cold settled into Dennis' gut. Not since the day he learned of his brother's death did he feel as though he gained tragic and unwanted knowledge. Between Professor Artura, Thomas North, and Peeves, the young man of a wizard received a dire warning. He walked alone and lonely down the hall as the thought of discovering so evil a curse it would turn friends against him. Dennis felt chilled and longed for the sun.
For an hour Dennis lay on the quidditch pitch and let the hot July sun warm him. His friends imparted an important lesson. Dennis knew the end of Voldemort did not signal the end of evil. Knowledge, he understood better than ever, proved both a blessing and a curse. As a child, he once heard a program on the radio in his father's delivery truck that people could not unlearn devastating information. However, that presenter apparently did not know about magic. Although admittedly dangerous and difficult to achieve specific results, Dennis would seek Professor Flitwick's assistance with removing the knowledge of opprimo anima from his mind. He would also make certain to destroy any mention of it in his notes. Dennis prayed he could remand the curse to the obscurity it so richly deserved.