37
NORAH and Wes had to skirt around a pile of leaves in the cemetery to get to Death Eater Jack Brennan's gravesite following the commencement of the man's memorial service.
The funeral was, above all else, a celebration of the man's accomplishments. During the ceremony, Norah had been more than a little shocked to discover that alongside her father, seated at the front of the aisle, and she and Wes were perhaps the only dry faces here.
The Dark Lord was not in attendance, for which Norah was more than a bit relieved. She did not think she could stomach to look Voldemort in the eyes, much less be near the wizard.
She looked around her new surroundings, crinkling her nose in disgust. The boughs of the cemetery twisted like contorted, mangled bones, writhing in a silent, eternal scream. Beneath them lay the cold stones, each marking a dwelling place where no one was home, save the remains. There was no weather this evening as the sun slowly crept beyond the horizon.
Norah shot a silent prayer to Merlin Above or whoever was listening that she'd make it back in time for night duty, and Ollie would have never noticed she was gone. There was no wind or clouds or dropping temperatures. It was almost eerie, in a way.
Wes must have been able to sense Norah's uneasiness, for his grip around her bicep curled even further, his nails almost digging into the sleeve of her black lace dress, as he leaned forward and whispered into the shell of her left ear.
"Whenever you're ready, Norah, say the word, and I'll take you back," Wes murmured, careful to keep his voice low and quiet.
Norah nodded in silent agreement, though she continued plowing forward, planning not to leave here until she paid her respects to Jack Brennan. As much as she despised the man, the Death Eater had been a bloke who'd never know love or friendship.
And she felt sorry for him. She felt could not explain it if she tried.
Along the path skirted with leaves at their feet as she walked, they were visited by several unfamiliar faces, all of them either Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's ranks or at a minimum, sympathetic to Ollie's father's death. More than a few of the men cast interested glances at her backside as they kept on, which made Norah's face flush in anger, but she did her absolute best to ignore it.
As the pair of werewolves walked, looking for Brennan's grave, she began to hear talk and murmurs from those around her. The topic?
Ollie. This immediately gave her pause.
The fair-haired and fair-skinned witch furrowed her eyebrows in quiet contemplation as her wolfish hearing perked up at the mention of her Order partner. She allowed her mind to drift to thoughts of Ollie Brennan for a moment.
She'd heard many things of Jack's son prior to Greyback forcing her to infiltrate the Order of the Phoenix, most of them from other Death Eaters, and Jack himself, on a few occasions.
Some things were good but most of them…not. The topic made Norah feel incredibly uneasy, especially now coupled with the fact the man's son was her partner in the Order, and what Greyback was forcing her to do.
She hoped to avoid discussing Ollie as much as possible if anyone, particularly her father, should ask after her progress, but as Wes guided her gently but urgently towards where the crowd of mourners had gathered and were quickly dispersing, her wolfish hearing perked up as new tidbits of information related in question to her new partner reached her eardrums. Norah strained to listen in.
"The boy's a lost cause, nothing but a devil! Mark my words, Yaga, you're wasting your time with your grandson," one man exclaimed vehemently.
Norah's heart sank to the pit of her stomach, her blood turning to ice in her veins as a stooped, cloaked figure turned at the waist, and suddenly, Norah and Wes found themselves face-to-face for a second time with Ollie's grandmother, the old hag, Baba Yaga.
Norah stiffened and swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat as the wizened old crone's gaze narrowed as she gave Norah and Wes a quick once-over, her eyes making a quick scan of Norah's put-together appearance in her simple black lace dress.
She felt a cold sheen of sweat start to bead along the front and sides of her temple as she found herself a scrutinized victim of the old woman's harsh glower.
Baba Yaga pursed her thin, wormy lips into a rigid line and adjusted the hood of her black woolen cloak where she fixed the unnamed Death Eater who'd spoken with a withering glance that would have wilted the flower that Norah had chosen at that moment to conjure from thin air with her nonverbal magic just then if Ollie's ancient grandmother had the ability to.
"My grandson may be temperamental, but I can assure you, boy, he's quite harmless. He won't hurt a fly, especially not those he cares about." Here, Yaga looked towards Norah with an omniscient little glower, and the growing sense of uneasiness in her chest only worsened. "Come," she barked, motioning with a wave of her arm for Norah to follow her towards the front, where no doubt Jack's grave had been placed. "You came to see Jack, girl. He's this way. Be quick, now!"
Norah nodded and took a cautious half-step forward, though the moment Wes copied his best mate's movements and made to fall in alongside the young blonde witch, Ollie's grandmother peered over her hunched shoulder and shot Wes an angry look.
"Not you, boy, you wait over there," she snarled, a look of burning animosity in her narrowed gaze as she raised a gnarled, arthritic claw and pointed towards the shade of an ancient dark pinewood tree. "I wish to speak to your darling little friend alone, please." Her voice was dripping with feigned courtesy and politeness that Norah could tell Baba didn't mean.
Wes looked uneasily towards Norah before quickly making his way towards the shade underneath the tree that Ollie's grandmother had pointed towards, but not before shooting a hesitant look at his friend, unsure of whether or not to leave her alone with the cantankerous old witch he'd encountered just last night in St. Mungo's, remembering the horrible insults she'd called him as they'd made their way to her room.
Norah cocked her head to the side and did her best to plaster a reassuring little smile on her features in the hopes it indicated to the slightly older wolf that she was going to be alright, that she'd be just fine.
Though truth be told, she felt anything but, but it was enough for Wes to return Norah's smile in kind, seeming at least a little bit satisfied, for now, and he turned on the heels of his boots to wait under the tree.
Norah nodded approvingly before she quickly came to the realization that Ollie's grandmother hadn't said so much as one word to her yet, and the blonde witch was forced to return her attention back to Baba, only to find the hag was still staring at her, unblinking as if she were in the middle of some trance.
"Why have you come, girl, and be sharp about answering. This is no place for a she-wolf like you, Jameson, and we both know it," Ollie's grandmother finally asked, breaking the long and unsettling silence that lingered between the two witches as finally, the pair of women reached Jack Brennan's marble tomb.
Norah visibly cringed as she knelt on bended knee to place the simple white lily she'd conjured at the foot of the man's grave, noticing hers that she'd thought to place was the only flower offered up at all.
"To pay my respects. Your—your grandson does not know that I'm here. I came of my own volition. I—I'm sorry for your loss, Baba," Norah murmured in what she hoped was a polite enough voice. When Baba Yaga did not immediately respond, her lack of response back to irk the German werewolf, and she began to feel nervous.
What in Merlin's name did she want with her? Was it to scold her again, to admonish her for her part in Greyback's plans regarding her grandson? A grandson who, if Norah was correct in her initial assessment, didn't seem to care for much.
But if only Yaga knew how much Norah wanted out, but how to make the old witch see the truth, now?
A question burned on the tip of Norah's tongue, just begging to be asked, and before she could stop herself, the question tumbled out of her lips, though she wished she could have taken back her query, it was too late. "Why haven't you told him the truth?"
She hadn't meant to blurt it out as the pair of them stood in front of Jack Brennan's tomb, looking down their noses at it with a small hint of sadness coupled with just a flicker of disgust, Norah noticed.
Baba Yaga's gaze narrowed until her eyes were mere slits, resembling a snake's slit-like beady pupils.
"Would it be better for my grandson's heart to break twice?" she snapped, feeling a surge of anger well within her chest as Yaga looked at the young wolf with whom her grandson was growing infatuated.
She'd seen it for herself in the hospital room the other night at St. Mungo's, and wasn't sure what to make of it. She sincerely hoped Norah would see her logic, that she would find a way to put a stop to this.
"This is the thanks that you give my grandson for saving your life, witch?" Yaga remarked with no small amount of exaggerated anger and ire in her tone.
Norah resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Saving it, Baba, or ruining it?" she questioned, her voice positively seething and livid with blame and hurt.
Baba Yaga's cautious gaze flitted towards the small crowd that was now gathered at the head of the cemetery gates, Greyback among them. Norah stiffened and flinched as her father caught sight of the pair of them talking by Jack Brennan's grave and she froze, drawing in a sharp breath that pained her lungs. If her father was at all pleased to see her, he made no effort to show it.
His arm was wound tight around Norah's adopted mother, Rena, who opened her mouth and looked like she wanted to rush towards her daughter, but the group Disapparated before she had a chance. Baba Yaga let out a tired sigh and looked back toward the werewolf, at the crestfallen expression and look of fear in her glistening cobalt pale blue eyes.
She raked her sharp, hawk-like eyes over Norah Jameson's petite form, at the dark bags clinging to the skin underneath her eyes, indicating she'd not slept.
Baba Yaga fought back a twisted sneer that threatened to curl her lips upwards into a Cheshire-Cat-like grin.
Good, Yaga thought, her chest puffing out in indignation. The little bitch. She ought to be feeling guilty for this.
"I would say you've done a remarkably fantastic job, dear, of the latter yourself," Baba Yaga remarked bitterly as she lowered her eyes at the object of her grandson's affections, letting out a sniff of disapproval through her nose as she regarded Norah rather spitefully. She walked slowly and deliberately away from Jack Brennan's tomb, leaving Norah speechless.
Norah felt a horrible fire-seed of anger well within her chest as frustration and anger at the predicament Greyback had placed her in wallowed. Her fists clenched, shaking at her sides as she quite literally stalked her way after Ollie's grandmother.
"I'm doing what I have to!" she shouted, not even caring if Ollie heard as the three of them were the only ones left in the graveyard now the others had gone. She quickened her pace into a jog to catch up and moved to stand firmly in front of Baba Yaga. "I—I'm trying to protect both of us, but I don't know how."
Norah heard her voice crack and falter with a painful regret as she tapered off and ducked her head.
Baba Yaga let out a haggard sigh, contemplating the young werewolf's actions thus far, what little she had been able to see when it came to keeping tabs on her, thanks to the help of her pet raven, Bram, with whom she shared a spiritual connection and was able to possess the bird's body for brief lengths of time.
Though before Ollie's grandmother could open her mouth to speak, allowing her anger towards this she-wolf to cool for a moment, a calm, collected voice rent the air behind her, causing the fine hairs on the backs of their necks to stand upright in fear and awe.
"Enough." A soft, snakelike hiss penetrated the chilly autumnal air around them, and Norah felt terror seize her heart. She didn't even have to turn on the heels of her boots to recognize that it was Lord Voldemort.
Her blue eyes went wide as she immediately swiveled her head to look towards Wes to ensure her best mate was still safe. He squirmed uncomfortably. Wes tried his hardest to look comforting and gave Norah his best, 'Everything Will Be Fine,' smile.
She felt as though she had been punched in the gut as she slowly swiveled on the heels of her black ankle boots, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. The Dark Lord might as well just kill her now. The dread in her tone was quite obvious as she beseeched her father's master, not wanting to look into the man's red and narrowed hardened gaze.
"M—Master," she squeaked, cringing as she looked at the dirt floor beneath their boots. "I—I didn't e—expect to see you here, sir. What…how can I help?"
Norah exhaled a long, deep breath as she worked desperately to summon every bit of her inner Gryffindor courage that she could muster, and nervously lifted her chin and gaze to look at Voldemort.
Her expression was ultimately one of disbelief, and she flinched, a hand over her racing heart as Ollie's grandmother murmured a half-hearted apology the moment the Dark Lord turned to Yaga and bade her leave him alone, Disapparating on her heels.
The Dark Lord's face remained impassive, rendering it impossible for Norah to tell what thoughts, if any at all, were flitting through the tall, pale man's mind. He clasped his long, slender fingers together, toying with his wand in between his fingers, and stood calmly and deliberately in front of Norah, as the wind picked up and rustled his black robes back behind him.
He was an intimidating sight if ever one existed.
"There is a matter that concerns your reputation, Miss Jameson, that I wish to discuss," he began speaking in his smooth languid voice as he turned his back to walk through the length of the graveyard, away from Wes. Norah shot her friend a pained look and saw no good reason not to follow him. If she didn't, there was a good chance Voldemort would kill her for insubordination, by simply refusing to follow a simple nonverbal command. "I believe you are familiar with Augustus Rookwood?" The Dark Lord said in a hiss.
Norah felt her cheeks flushing as her breaths hitched in her throat, but she was aware her father's master, and to a lesser extent she supposed, her own, as long as Greyback swore fealty to the Dark Lord's cause and she remained under the werewolf claws, was expecting her to answer. She swallowed hard.
"Yes." It was all she could manage to say, and even that came out as a hoarse little croak. "I am."
Norah was all too aware she should have probably lowered her eyelashes to the ground in a show of humble submission, but she couldn't do it.
She withstood Lord Voldemort's gaze bravely, even though her cheeks were burning, flushed with color, and her stomach clenched in fear and anticipation. The Dark Lord must have sensed the hesitation and fear that was plastered on her face, for the edges of his lips curled upward in a twisted sneer.
"I have not come to this place to punish you, werewolf, despite what you might think."
His eyes continued raking over her form as if to communicate that he really could not care less what Norah did with her time, but if that were the case, then why was he here? But before she could ask him just that, he pressed forward and continued.
"Mr. Rookwood came to me claiming you beat him nearly within an inch of his life." At this, he snorted, almost sounding amused. She gritted her teeth and waited with bated breath.
This was…not good. It was never a good sign when Voldemort was even remotely humored or amused. Norah shuddered, a chill going down her back upon hearing the Dark Lord laugh.
"I find it…difficult to believe that a young woman of your…physical stature, despite what you are, could overpower a seasoned fighter like Rookwood, my dear."
"He lies, Master," Norah spat out, her words dripping from her lips like black, putrid bile. "I don't suppose he also told you how he nearly assaulted me within an inch of my own life before Jack's own son saved me?" she cringed, horror wide in her eyes now.
Norah realized what she had just said and immediately clamped her hands over her mouth in shock, staggering backward, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Voldemort as possible.
She had just casually spilled something that she wasn't sure she ought to have, though Norah suspected with a heavy heart that somehow, the Dark Lord had already been made aware of her father's plan. But still.
Greyback's plan was not public knowledge, for sure, and Norah had never been the type of girl to spill secrets so damned bloody casually without thinking twice. But the words just…slipped out. She'd not meant to reveal anything about her new partnership with Ollie to Lord Voldemort, but the tall, pale wizard standing in front of her frightened her.
Norah barely stifled a yelp of surprise as the Dark Lord's voice reached her pounding eardrums, his voice lowered an octave, and he sounded quite quiet.
"Oliver Brennan saved your life, is that correct? Your…father only divulged to me a little of his plan," Lord Voldemort's voice was neutral, his facial expression impassive, as it always was, but Norah sensed the Dark Lord was almost hungering for more information as his gaze hardened and narrowed at her.
She swallowed down past the lump in her throat as her chest tightened and constricted, thinking hard on how her father's master possessing this knowledge would undoubtedly change her current situation, terror wallowing in her mind, and she was sure, her shock and surprise showed on her rapidly paling face.
"Y—yes," she stammered, lowering her lashes, and painfully twisting her fingers together, biting down on her bottom lip. The Dark Lord was a Legilimens, as she was, as Ollie was, and it would do her no good to lie. There was no turning back from this point forward.
Norah fought desperately to control her mounting panic, somehow to calm down, to try not to think about the fact that she had just perhaps made a huge mistake that could cost them both their lives and to remember to just breathe. She had to try it.
Breathe. She breathed slowly through her nose.
"Alone?" he prodded. Now he sounded curious.
"N—no, b—but…I was unconscious when Ollie found me," she whispered hoarsely, not wanting to bring Remus Lupin's name into the conversation if she could at all help it. This was neither a lie nor the truth. At the time, she'd smelt the other werewolf's presence when Ollie had rescued her under that stupid streetlamp, but she'd not know Lupin yet then.
The Dark Lord said nothing by way of response and merely gazed at her wordlessly for a while, processing the information.
In a way, Norah realized with a sickening sense of dread in her stomach that almost made her want to puke, she'd probably just sentenced her new partner to his death by divulging it.
"And now you have successfully managed to infiltrate the Order of the Phoenix, have you not?" The Dark Lord finally noted, his words more of a statement than a question, his voice back to its usual monotone.
Norah nodded mutely, feeling at a loss for words.
"Oliver's son. Do you fear the man?" he questioned, and Norah could not quite shake the inevitable feeling of dread from wafting up and down her back as the Dark Lord looked at her, like the tall, pale wizard knew more about her situation than he was letting on.
To say it unnerved her was an understatement. Truth be told, she was terrified.
Lord Voldemort's question gave her pause. Did she? Currently, the only thing she was afraid of was what her father's master would do if she provided a wrong answer that displeased him, given the chance.
"No. I—I don't think Ollie would harm me, sir," Norah answered, at least half-truthfully. She was not afraid of Jack Brennan's son, because she knew Ollie would never hurt her, though the fact remained that if the man learned of the truth, of her involvement in Greyback's stupid plan of revenge, there was no telling how the man, given his volatile temper, would react.
In truth, it was Ollie's unguarded manner that she dreaded, and the fact she knew he desired her. Otherwise, he would not have asked her out to dinner.
At least, she suspected he would until the truth came out, and she didn't want to put Ollie through that at all if she could help it, but nor had she successfully come up with a way out of this, either.
The Dark Lord's quiet voice, little more than a snakelike hiss, pulled her from her conflicted mind.
"Good. You are an incredibly talented witch, girl, despite what you are," he spat.
Norah supposed she should have been disgusted with the contempt laced throughout the man's voice for his ire of werewolves, but she was too afraid in the moment and too concerned with not showing any of her fear to care.
"I expect, given your successful infiltration, regular reports," Lord Voldemort murmured to Norah with a slight incline of his head, and before Norah could say anything further, he turned on his bare heels and Disapparated with the familiar, loud, resounding crack! that made her jump.
Her hand unfurled from its clenched fist at her side to clutch at her heart, racing in her chest so damned audibly loud, even as she felt Wes nudge from behind her, she was sure her friend could hear it himself.
Norah had always been easily startled throughout her life, but her jumpiness seemed worse. Her hammering heart had just begun to slow down when she was able to take in a long exhale again. She allowed her hand to rest on her heaving chest.
"Thank Merlin," Wes grumbled under his breath. "I—I thought he'd never leave," he growled in a wolfish snarl under his breath. Norah flinched the moment the other werewolf's hand rested on her arm. Wes moved to stand beside Norah and cast her a cautious glance out of the corner of her eye. "You good, Nor?" he questioned, furrowing his brows in a frown, not liking how pale the young blonde looked.
She kept her gaze fixated on Jack Brennan's grave, thinking how unfair it was that her own father, whether adopted or otherwise, was merely using her as a pawn in his scheme, a poor source for his entertainment while he watched Ollie suffer at her hands. Norah didn't know how much more she could stand.
"I—I want to go back, Wes," she whispered sadly, turning towards Wes, who blinked in surprise.
He didn't look entirely convinced. "You sure?"
"Yes," Norah growled through gritted teeth, this time her voice was laced to the brim with pent-up rage. "I don't think I can stand to be here any longer. Let's leave, Wes, please," she whispered, lowering her voice an octave.
She squeezed her eyes shut, though something prompted her to glance one last look over her shoulder towards Ollie's father's grave, the Dark Lord's snake-like hiss of a voice flitting through her mind. The tall pale man's voice was hollow, merciless.
Though before she could take Wes's outstretched arm and allow her friend to escort her back to Grimmauld Place, a hoarse voice rent the air.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" a man's familiar rough, grating voice that sounded like sandpaper growled angrily.
Norah let out a shriek of alarm and wildly turned around, almost twisting her ankle in the process and likely would have had Wes not shot out an arm to catch her fall, Norah involuntarily leaning into Wes.
She winced and cried out in pain as she felt her ankle twist regardless, despite her best efforts, though by some miracle of Merlin, though it hurt, she stayed standing. As she looked up, her blue eyes widened.
Ollie was glowering at her through the darkness as the sun had finally set.
She'd not realized how late it had gotten. Norah shot the man a furtive, apologetic look. He returned it with a look of distrust, saying her silent apology was not accepted. Now, Norah knew, she realized with a heavy heart as it sank to her stomach.
That she was about to be in very big trouble.