Chapter 34: Brotherhood
The Dementor gave their cloak after a week in confinement. They threw it over Petunia's shoulders and dissipated into dust with a cackle. Petunia screamed; it was a fruitlessly high-pitched scream that sounded unnatural to her own ears. Every terrible memory and emotion heavily wrapped itself around her, a magic coding itself to her very DNA.
The dementor's voice was in her head begging her to let go of this. Her body, her aspirations and to give in to the emptiness. There was light, beautiful, clean and antiseptic, the harsh light grew stronger in front of Petunia. The emptiness and hunger stood on the edge of need.
Anything could be better than this need. She cursed the creature and felt grateful to them all at once. It was a brotherhood calling out to join them. To let go of this very small existence and to live. To submit to the ease and to feed. The voices promised her a glorious feast should she join them. To take away the million moments that made her human and Petunia was so close to giving up her humanity.
They would understand? Wouldn't they? There wouldn't be any tears if she chose this: as her freedom?
Another voice joined the narrative in her head. Red eyes and a forceful presence telling her to give it up. To give up the cloak and Petunia's hands pulled the material closer to her.
To give this up? This brotherhood? They said that they would take her as long as she gave it up, as long as she let them have it. Her hands shivered and she pulled the cloak off and stepped away. The voices and the trance. She looked longingly at the puddle of grey material.
Willingly given up and her heart still wanted to join the melody of sadness. The words, drilled into her head from all the reading that they had done.
"I give it up, I give my claim up. I give up this birthright to you. I give it up willingly. I have given up this brotherhood, this glorious brotherhood and have paid the price of my memories. I stand here today as I show of good faith and hand over this legacy to you. May the magic you use it for be fruitful, be glorious, be blessed."
The magic flowed out of Petunia, the moments of it that nestled itself under her ribs. It was a blessing and the irony was not lost on anyone. Dark magic required the users to pay for it and Petunia knew that if she did not pay it would come back to haunt her. She had to put up her price because even if given up willingly, there would still be a price as dictated by the laws of magic.
"I ask for no harm of those who deem as my own and their descendants of blood, no matter how diluted that claim becomes. Is this a fair ask?"
A beat of silence and a room with just the two of them. If this is what it took to be a Dark Lord, Petunia would have never wished it on her worst enemy.
"The price is fair."
Magic, a red ribbon tied itself to Petunia's pinky and then to his and they were tied by Fate itself to do no harm and fulfil promises made. She stumbled back and let the stone of the potion shed bring her back. If it was possible Petunia would have closed her eyes and slept.
The sun was setting and bathed the room in the most glorious colours. The ribbon faded away and Petunia didn't feel any different for making a magical promise. At least they had a cloak and Malfoy had sent a slip of parchment indicating that he got permission for Petunia to meet Gellert Grindelwald.
Petunia forced herself to stand up and bundle the grey cloak that would not be cut by any tool that they had in the shed. They had the cloak and now it was time to make the potion. Domacles had decided that it would be best if she did it by herself, he would be watching of course.
A potion like this would last for years and they would make a bathtub full of it. The potency would increase based on how long it sat, it would be unbearable in a couple of years. Enough to drive anyone insane in a couple of sips. That was what the needed the Dementors Cloak for, to essentially unravel the thread that held the cloak together. To make sure that every sip held a little bit more of the regret that only a Dementor could pull from a person.
"Apart from the list is there anything else I need to get from Grindelwald?" Petunia asked.
She was looking over the bag she would be allowed to take into the prison. Like most people who knew the story, Petunia felt intimidated by the legend that was Gellert's reign. Damocles was going through it with her. They had been strict when they said that she was allowed no magical item other than the cloak in the prison with her. The cloak however was allowed to be sealed in a box that was curved with runes so that the emotions leaching off the cloak wouldn't filter into the atmosphere.
They didn't really trust her and they would be fools to have; none of them slept that night and the radio station was one of the few wizard ones that played the kind of music that Petunia hated. She wrote her letters in case she didn't make it out after making the potion. The letters to Tobias, her parents, Lily, Jean and Darren, there was only one place she trusted for them to be safe.
The owl flew from the post-office to Gringotts where Iron Fang would do the rest. Her relationship with the Goblin had been one of the better decisions she had made when starting to work in the Wizarding World. Very little was done without the knowledge of the Goblin Kingdoms and history had shown that she was better of respecting the people who controlled her money.
A week before the Hogwart's train came back for the summer, Petunia got ready in the morning. She drank the biggest cup of breakfast tea she could stomach. If this was Slughorn, Petunia would have made an attempt to make crystallized pineapple. Charles was a little easier to please with gingersnaps spiced with cloves. Odgen liked regional alcohol and Fenwick needed only her sincerity or an hour or two of her time to help with a potion that he deemed needed a little more feminine energy.
Gellert was only a person that Petunia heard about in stories. Maybe that's why she didn't know what to give him. She knew they were asking for a big favour, regardless of how eager he had been to help with it. To her, it felt like a fair exchange to share something with him. At the end of the night, she had given up and just bottled the tiniest bit of Felix Felicis. Her time at the Belby Cottage had been the longest she had access to a potion lab and the potion had been a test of her skill.
She wrapped the bottle in the Dementor's Cloak knowing that the Auror's wouldn't search the cloak itself due to the amount of hateful energy that rolled off it. The potion had cost her a small fortune to make and while it was banned in so many circumstances, it made her really happy to think that a year ago, a potion like this would have been out of her reach.
Only an idiot would go empty-handed to the cell of the greatest wizard in recent times.
Gellert Grindlewald had blonde hair, the kind that looked honeyed in the sun and hid grey well. He held out a hand to shake hers and Petunia was struck at how joyful and warm his room felt. This was the wizarding equivalent of a homicidal dictator, why did his room positive and full of light.
Petunia stuck out her hand in greeting trying not to stutter over any words. There were so many things she wanted to ask him and the list of questions burned deeply in her mind. But there were questions she wanted answers to, personal questions.
Grindlewald was not a hand shaker, he was a hugger. Petunia stiffened and then relaxed a fraction in the hold and he let her go.
"Petunia Evans, apprentice to Damocles Belby," Petunia said and lifted the case onto the table. She took out the cloak, it still felt terrible to touch it (or be in the same room with the cloak). "This is for you."
She put the vail into his hands and the liquid gold inside the vail looked happier for the minute. He looked happy, kind of like when the housewives used to get soap and cream deliveries from Eileen.
"You know I've heard of you. They all seem to think your some stupid muggle."
Petunia would have been shocked a few months ago. Her name was associated with Eileen and by virtue of that association, Petunia's potions were always a topic of discussion.
"The Prince family hadn't raised a Potion Master that was useless." Petunia replied. It was true, even though they were practically dying out, Prince's had raised really good Potion Masters. "So teach me, I'm good."
He laughed at that. "Definitely a muggle, thinks everything can be solved by their own hands."
Petunia dropped her eyes to her hands. Those were the hands of someone who lived her life using her hands. It didn't matter if she playing netball, or working on machinery or washing clothes. Those were her hands and she was ridiculously proud of how far they had taken her. She shrugged. There was no point explaining why she thought his assessment was actually closer to reality than he would ever acknowledge.
"Ok, tell these hands what to do."
Grindelwald tucked the potion carefully into his clothes. It was probably worth good money and retrieved his wand. There was a clearing of a throat and a sip of water. His voices started in a low hum.
Petunia took a step back. This was Light Magic. Not the way the Ministry classified Light Magic. She tried to not make a sound as the hum grew louder into actual words that Petunia could not pick the origins for. The wand movements were beautiful and slowly, the cloak rose.
The threads began to unravel. Petunia clutched her sides as they started burning. Her cloak was being destroyed and she could feel the pain of the Dementors who had worn the cloak before her.
How dare she do this to them? How dare she allow Magic to do this to them? The betrayal caught up in the fibres and wave after wave of anguish travelled over Petunia. This wasn't fair, why was he taking what was hers?
She crushed onto her knees, unable to ignore the pain any longer. Petunia tried breathing deep breathes and thinking light thoughts. Nothing worked and the humming came to an end, all that was left of her cloak were threads of pure sadness and soul.
"How long did you wear it for?" Grindelwald asked her.
Petunia looked into his eyes. For someone that old, his eyes were still beautiful. Warm and almost unwelcoming.
"Just half an hour, long enough to bind me and then to give it up," Petunia said, standing up.
She took a pair of dragonhide gloves and a large crystal container. Every fibre of the cloth was pulled into the container.
"Soul magic is not to be trifled with."
Petunia looked into his gloriously beautiful eyes. "Good thing I haven't trifled with it yet then."
The greatest wizard of their age shook his head. She was just a stupid muggle, what did she know about soul magic.
