Chapter 113- Supposed To Be a Secret
Everything about the forbidden room pressed in on Adelaide, musty and oppressive. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl the ancient stone walls seemed to say.
She walked with a mad, sleep deprivation fueled fearlessness. For weeks, months, she'd been unconsciously rehearsing this very moment in her mind: what she would do given the opportunity to snoop through her mother's belongings.
Countless shimmering vials of all sizes were tucked into the alcove walls' stone shelves, casting a glowing bluish light that lit Adelaide's path. A large basin, carved in ancient runes, sat at the center. A basin just like the one Dumbledore possessed in his office.
What kind of memories was her mother squirreling away? she wondered. But there was no use wasting her energy or time on those vials while Crazy Cathryn snoozed only a few stories above. She wasn't that stupid.
Her feet padded to a row of books tucked in dungeon-like wall. She thought, or rather hoped there'd be a shrunken portrait of Roesia being held captive in those shelves, or maybe the family tree book. or the dictionary... something.
Adelaide's hands wiped away the dust from the spines. That balloon of hope deflated. It was just a bunch of dodgy books.
She searched them, of course, in case any were secretly concealing anything more nefarious. Most described unfriendly, yet surprisingly legal, spells; others gave recipes for deadly potions and antidotes; one book was quite heavy and written entirely in ancient runes.
There was an Encyclopedia of dangerous magical plant-life, an anthology of quidditch players from the 1940s, and even a first edition copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that might have been worth a fortune if it hadn't been so weathered (Someone had written messily in the margins, adding in their own charmed pictures and comments such as, "Unicorn population low— habitat?" and beside a particular fierce Grindylow a giant "X" and the word "Rice").
However, there was nothing even resembling a family tree, kidnapped portrait, or Middle English dictionary.
After what felt like at least an hour (but was more like 20 minutes) Adelaide yawned and reached for one of the few books left untouched. It was large, brown, spine suspiciously blank, battered at the edges, as if it had been well used, and little scraps of parchment were jutting out of the pages. "Last one and I'm going to bed," she mumbled, hoisting it partially onto the empty pensive basin to keep from dropping it. "You better not be another bloody potions book..."
It was not. The spine crackled like popping joints as she flipped it open. Adelaide's fingers traced over Hogwarts Crest on the first page then down to the hand written inscription:
"Property of Cat Carrow"
Could this have been one of Cathryn's old school books? She flipped to the first page and almost fumbled the book onto the ground at what she saw.
It was her mother. There, standing at was clearly the Hogwarts Express platform, was her mother. Little, eleven year old Cathryn scowled, arms crossed, and every once and while she'd turn around and swat at the two older boys behind her when they'd pull her hair. Those must have been her brothers... but where was her twin sister, Patricia? Was she the one taking the photo?
The pages that followed were sparse. A few pressed wildflowers, sweets wrappers, random clippings from quidditch games. The only photos were out-of-focus and exclusively of unicorns grazing in their paddock on school grounds.
It was a scrapbook. Somehow it seemed odd that Cathryn would have kept a scrapbook. She wasn't exactly the sentimental type. Rummaging through her mother's old scrapbook wouldn't help her find her missing items, but there was something so... intriguing about seeing her mother's mummified mementos. About seeing her so normal... so human...
Adelaide flipped the page. Second year Cathryn scowled once more for the camera, her eldest brother was gone, leaving only one burly boy to bother her, Adelaide's uncle Caledon. And bother her he did. She looked as if she was nearly in tears as he brought his owl cage right up to her face with one hand, the other clutching her robes to keep her from running away.
"Prat," Adelaide said, poking the little image of her uncle with her finger. He stuck his tongue out at her and Cathryn stomped on his foot when he wasn't looking. The Owl silently screeched in protest.
The scrapbook pages for second year were much like those for the first (though, the photos were a little less blurry and expanded to mooncalves and hippogriffs as well).
Third year Cathryn again looked miserable at the trainstation. Caledon was taller now. He smirked and said something that made Cathryn blush bright red and look to her right in terror. Adelaide frowned, and squinted but whatever it was that flustered her was too far out of the frame to see. She huffed and flipped the massive yellowing pages. More old flowers, more quidditch clippings, more badly taken photos. "Good thing you never became a photographer... these are shite..." she grumbled.
Fourth year Cathryn was taller, still awkward, still devoid of her twin sister, still harboring a venomous loathing for the brother at her side, but she was smiling, beaming, and holding an adorable squirming crup puppy in her arms.
The next few pages were filled with blurry photos of the puppy, Cathryn's out-of-focus image popping in here and there as she tried to get the puppy it to sit or grab it before it bolted off toward the lake.
There were more pressings of thistles, more candy wrappers, then there was an odd photo... Odd because it was the first where her mother was standing next to another human (besides the annual torture of standing beside Calderon).
She stood beneath the old ash tree by the black lake, the crup puppy in her arms licking her chin. To her left stood a girl and boy, clearly siblings, both honey blonde and freckled with a familiar upturned nose, and to Cathryn's right was another boy, pale-blond, impeccable posture, a head taller than her with eyes so blue that they popped even in the faded photograph.
Her father.
While the two freckled siblings grinned for the camera, teenaged Cathryn and Filip were oblivious, speaking to one another. Or rather, it looked like Filip was speaking to Cathryn who was frozen, staring up at him with a red face squeezing the puppy as Filip scratched it behind the ears.
Adelaide's eyes drifted down to the messily scrawled caption: By the lake with Tilly, Marty, & Fil.
Tilly... The girl look familiar and Cathryn still kept in contact with several of her school friends, but Adelaide never remembered her mentioning a Tilly... Maybe it was a nickname?
There were a few more pictures of her and 'Tilly' giggling with the puppy throughout fourth year, but no more of her father.
Fifth year Cathryn still look as if she'd much rather shove her wand up her brother's arse than stand and take another photo in front of the stupid train, but she was also very pretty. Not that she hadn't been pretty in the other years... but she must have learned how to do her hair over the summer.
There were no photos of the crup fifth year. None. Adelaide even flipped ahead and found no trace of the crup anywhere. Odd... Maybe that was the year they started the ban? Or maybe it was with her illusive twin sister?
However, there were plenty of other photos. Some were of her mother and her old friends: Walburga, Dalia, even Mrs. Rosier all made an appearance, posing like the dignified little purebloods they were. However, the ones of her and Tilly were the most frequent and the only ones she looked remotely happy in.
They laughed in almost every one. They made silly faces, ran around throwing snow balls, tried to pose on their brooms the way the professional quidditch players did in the magazines, walked arm in arm, dressed in fancy gowns at one of the Hogsmede shops. All things Adelaide did with Mary.
The last picture before sixth year was of the two of them. They were in official quidditch robes looking fierce with quaffles under their arms before they burst out into laughs once more. Her mother in Slytherin emerald, and Tilly in Hufflepuff yellow.
Her mother, her pureblood fanatic mother, was best friends with a Hufflepuff? "What the hell?" How had Adelaide never known? Her and Tilly seemed close enough to be sisters. Why had her mother never mentioned her?
Adelaide glanced around at the glowing vials. Cathryn's memories. She told herself she wouldn't bother with them. That merely being in that room was risk enough... A tag caught her in eye, hiding in on the second highest shelf with one word printed clear as day: TILLY.
She rapped her fingers against the stone basin.
She should go to bed. She should just go get her damn tea and go back to sleep. She wasn't going to find Roseia or the dictionary or the damn family tree by snooping through her mother's mementos... through her mother's memories. Besides it was dangerous, she didn't even know how...
But how difficult would it be, really? All you did was pour the memory into the basin and watch the events unfold. Maybe she'd learn how her mother became friends with a Hufflepuff and why her mother kept it a secret? "No. It's stupid and dangerous and unnecessary."
Tilly's vial glittered, as if to taunt her...
"Miss Adelaide?"
Rain dripped down his nose as he hopped from one crumbling cobbled step to the next. His fingers gripped the broom stick in one hand as the other rapped upon the painted yellow door. The front lamp of the cottage flickered on and the door swung open.
Despite the late hour, he knew they were still awake from the cozy light of the window, but it still caught him off guard when a round faced woman blinked up at him, her brown eyes quickly taking in his bedraggled state.
"I'm sorry," he called over a rumble of thunder, running a hand through his wet hair. "I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't be here—"
"Nonsense," she interrupted. "You know you're always welcome."
He had been welcome, but that was before...
"You're soaked to the bone. Come in before you catch cold," she said, snatching the broom and ushering him into the cozy cottage. "Fergus! Fergus, put the kettle back on!"
"I thought you liked the Peruvian tea?" a voice hollered back.
"It's not for me, Fergus! We have company!"
Fergus, a tall man with kind eyes, appeared in the doorway with a pleasantly surprised look upon his long face. "Oh."
"I'm sorry, I should have given notice. I was just flying by and I-I had to..."
Maria wrapped a quilt over his shoulders, dried his hair with a whip of her wand, then none to gently led him to the kitchen table. "Now now. Stop with the apologizing and come sit down for a cup of tea. Fergus was meaning to owl you in the morning, anyways."
Shite on a stick. "You were?"
"Of course!" Fergus plopped down in a kitchen chair. "The French translation has been doing splendidly since the release. So splendid, in fact, that we've got word from two other publishers, Swedish and German, that want to do translations as well! The reviews have been phenomenal; first on Daily Prophet Best Seller list for three weeks now! I hate to nag, but I do hope you've been working on that adventure novel. If we're going to pivot into different markets it's best to start planting the seeds with the international publishers now—"
"Fergus, enough talk about work, let the poor lad breathe! Here's your tea, dear."
Fergus ignored his wife and continued to prattle on. Only at the Macmillan's could one receive such a welcome at two in the morning amidst a thunderstorm.
While Fergus and Maria playfully bickered about the pros and cons of dust jackets, the young man's eyes wandered to the amateur artistry gracing the refrigerator. Most would have interpreted it as a lumpy green rock... but he knew it was a turtle (Harriet Turtleman, to be specific).
His hands gripped the mug tighter. He wasn't listening anymore, mind consumed on one thought... "Is she okay?"
Fergus and Maria froze.
"Is Olalla okay?" he repeated.
The blood drained from Fergus's face and Maria put her hand on his. "She... she's going to be just fine," Maria answered, forcing a smile.
He could always spot a forced smile. He could always sniff out a lie.
"She... was she... did..." Dammit. He had to be brave. He had to know. He had to get the fucking words out of his mouth. "I heard... The Aurors thought... I had to..."
Fergus and Maria shared a look between them. Fergus cleared his throat. "Now, it's important that you know we don't blame you, not in the slightest—"
The aurors had definitely talked to them. "Please just tell me what happened."
Fergus sighed and rubbed his eyes. "There was... an accident..."
The young man looked away, staring at the wobbly crayon drawing of Harriet Turtleman as Fergus continued on. It was a familiar story, eerily similar to the one he'd penned in his head since his time at the hospital. Little girl wanders out at the full moon and... and the monsters were there to greet her. The only unexpected plot point was the fact that Fergus seemed quite convinced that a second wolf, a white wolf, had somehow scared away her attacker.
Had he been at the scene of the crime? Had he fought the other wolf? Probably. It would explain the proper mess he'd been in when he woke up. But was his Wolf-self solely responsible for saving Olalla as Fergus as was suggesting? Maybe... but lycanthropes fought over territory all the time.
"—her arm is healing, though. They said she'll be cleared to come home later this—"
"How did she get outside in the first place?" The words came out rougher than he'd meant them to.
Maria forced another smile. "It was our fault for not checking the locks... we should have—"
"There were carrots on the ground...," said Fergus. "Where it... happened."
And there it was.
"She went to feed Harriet..." he replied, voice catching in his throat. "I'm... I'm so sorry..."
"No!" Maria said with more fire. "No, don't you start that. This was not your fault."
"She went to find Harriet! She wouldn't have been out there if it hadn't been for me!"
"The aurors suspect she was lured," Maria continued. "Tricked. Perhaps with a curse to get her outside of the wards—"
"None of this would have happened if I hadn't left the damn turtle here—if I hadn't written that damn book. I should have let things be... I shouldn't have dragged you lot into my mess—"
"We dragged ourselves," Fergus managed. His kind eyes were steady and determined, though he squeezed his wife's hand, siphoning her courage. "I told you we don't blame you. We knew the risks we were taking on publishing your book and we don't regret a thing. Now, I won't lie, it is a tragedy and her life is going to be difficult—"
"Fergus—" Maria protested.
"No, it is. We can't pretend that people in the world won't hate her for what she is. But don't you think for a second that we blame you or that we will love her any less because of this."
Words. It was all words. People always promised things without knowing the gravity of what they were saying. Fergus may not have blamed him then... but he would. He'd blame him when the schools began rejecting her because of her condition. He'd blame him after the moon when she cried in his arms, terrified, bleeding from scratches she didn't remember getting. He'd blame him when she was fired yet again from a minimum wage job just because of what she was. He'd blame him when the aurors started to target her for crimes she didn't commit simply because they could.
It wasn't right. It wasn't the way it should be. He wished he could change it. He would try to change it. But that's the reality she would face. Whether or not Fergus knew it, he would resent him at some point. It was only a matter of time.
He set down the cup, draped the cozy quilt on the back of the wooden kitchen chair and stood. "I want her to have the profits from the international publishers."
"What?" Maria said, startled.
"And the next book," the young man continued, raising his hand to summon the broom back to him. "Put it in a trust, give her a vault at gringots—I don't care. I just want her to get the money."
"That's—you can't—We can't," Fergus sputtered, scuttling after him through the hall and toward the front door. "The American deal alone is a fortune!"
"I don't want it."
"Now, just wait one moment, if this is some sort of self inflicted punishment—"
He spun around to face the couple. "I have more money than I need as it is. I can't undo what's happened to her. I can't change the way the world will see her. But I can do this. Please just let me make one damn thing easier in her life."
There was a long silence. Maria's eyes rested on the broom. "Where are you going?"
"London," he replied.
"We spoke to the aurors," Fergus said. "I told you we don't blame you, and we don't, but they told us about Doug. About the stunt you pulled. They're not happy. They'll be looking for you everywhere."
"They think I'll flee the country," he replied. "They probably think I'm halfway to Australia by now. No ones going to expect me to be writing a book right under their noses." Besides, he was sick of running away.
Adelaide's first instinct was to run.
However, between the clunky scrapbook in her hands and the spindly wide eyed elf at the door way, her chances of escape were limited.
"M-mimsy?" She fumbled the scrapbook closed. "Mimsy, what—"
Mimsy furiously shushed her. With one hand she snapped her fingers, sending the clunky scrapbook zooming into place upon the shelf and the enchanted wall morphing back into place. With the other, she wrapped her fingers around Adelaide's wrist and suddenly they were apperating.
Adelaide's stomach churned when they arrived in her room. Berwin squeaked, the candles lit themselves, Mimsy waved her hand at the door. "What was Miss Adelaide thinking?" Mimsy's shrill voice grated in her ears. "Why would Miss Adelaide do such a thing? After everything Mimsy has done to keep you safe..." Mimsy was pacing now, rubbing her hands over her face. "When Mistress finds out that you were in her parlor... in her private room!"
When she finds out?
"Mimsy you can't tell her!" Adelaide gasped, finally finding her voice. "Mimsy, please! I know! I know I shouldn't have been in there. It was stupid. I—"
"Yes, it was stupid!" Mimsy said, looking her full in the face. Adelaide had never heard the elf lose her temper like this before. "Mistress Fawley's private belongings ares dangerous! Not for young witches to be—Ugh! Mimsy thoughts after what happened last time Miss Adelaide would learns to—to leave well enoughs alone—!"
"Wait... What happened last time...?" Adelaide said. Did she mean the fight with her mother? Or... no, surely Mimsy didn't know...
Berwin hooted quietly. Mimsy's blue eyes were wide.
"Mimsy, what do you mean 'what happened last time'?"
Mimsy stayed silent for a long moment, then took a deep breath. "Master Fawley came home and you didn't know the spell... and if he had found you there..." she shuttered. "Mimsy waited. Mimsy hoped that almost being caught would be enough to keep Miss Adelaide from trying again..."
Her father... almost being caught 'last time'... trying again... "You closed the doorway the first time I went snooping, didn't you? You've known... this whole time and you never told anyone..."
Mimsy nodded, reluctantly. "Mimsy is a bad elf... a very bad elf. Mimsy should have told Master Fawley... Mimsy should have made sure Miss Adelaide never could go back in... Now Mimsy has to tells and—"
"Woah, woah, woah! No, you don't!" Adelaide crossed the room. "Mimsy, I hardly saw anything! Just some old boring books!" and a scrapbook full of unexplained questions about my mother. "Besides, you know how my mother is, Mimsy! If she finds out... if you tell her... Mimsy, if you really care about keeping me safe, you can't tell them I was in there!"
"But then Miss Adelaide will only go backs in when Mimsy isn't looking!" Mimsy said miserably. "Miss Adelaide will make more trouble."
"No, I won't!" Even as she said it, she wondered if it was a lie... "I only broke in because I had lost something, that stupid book I asked you about the other day, and thought it may be in there. But it wasn't. I promise I won't go back... just please, please don't tell anyone."
"Is Miss Adelaide giving Mimsy an order?"
"I—" Was she giving her an order? Adelaide couldn't remember the last time she'd done so, maybe at Mimsy's party? But telling her to have fun at her own birthday party was one thing... commanding her to lie and keep a secret as big as this... "No. I'm asking you, as a friend, to please not tell anyone."
Mimsy frowned, wringing her long fingers together, pacing once more. "Miss Adelaide promises not to go back?"
"I— yes..." Again, she didn't know if she was lying.
Mimsy paced some more, muttering to herself for a minute or two before suddenly she stopped and faced Adelaide. "Mimsy won't tell—"
"Thank you, Mimsy!"
Mimsy held up a spindly finger to silence her, shaking her head so that her big ears flapped. "But if Miss Adelaide even tries to go backs, Mimsy will tell. Mimsy will tell thems everything."
There was no doubt Mimsy would keep her word... question was, could Adelaide do the same? She hesitated, then reached out to shake the elf's hand. "Deal."
"I'm telling you, it's going to be boggarts today," Davey announced Monday morning, big hands grasped around his tea cup. "We're practicing with boggarts today. I can just feel it in my bones."
The rain from the weekend's storms had finally subsided, but there was still a distinct air of unease in the normally bustling office. Aurors were talking to one another in hushed tones, casting furtive glances, as if there was some big looming secret they were attempting to both conceal and gossip about. Though, it probably had less to do with bogarts and more to do with Sirius's pal Doug, the fugitive werewolf author.
Dorcas ruefully shook her head. "Doubtful. After what happened to Dodderidge on Friday, I'm sure Moody will have us practicing proper wand holstering for the rest of the week."
Adelaide winced just at the memory. Poor, distracted, Dotty Dodderidge slipped and fell in the canteen, snapping the wand in her back pocket and singeing her trousers in the process. "As long as it's not another shield charm workshop. That was the most boring thing I've ever sat through."
"Wrong and wrong!" a jolly voice announced behind them. Gideon, ever the morning person, was all smiles as he gathered the attention of the other chattering interns. "Today, you sorry chaps are going to be going on a very important retrieval mission!"
Everyone was abuzz. What were they retrieving? Would they get to go out in the field? Battle death eaters? Dark creatures?
Fabian appeared at Gideon's side, burly, ginger, freckled and identical except for the fact that he had two working ears instead one. "By 'very important' he means, 'entirely fabricated and inconsequential'."
Gideon swatted him away. "It's a valuable training exercise!"
"Which is code for not real," Fabian laughed.
"You better go flirt with your fiancé before I stuff you into one of those 'not real' trash bins... again."
The interns all laughed and Fabian went away, hands raised innocently.
Once his nuisance of a brother was gone, Gideon explained the mission. Real or not real, it was more exciting than practicing wand holstering or shield charms. In groups of two or three they would venture once more into the metropolitan training course to each extract a 'stolen' artifact. "Each group will get their own set of leads to go off of so you're not all bumbling into the same areas. The artifacts and mission may be made up, but the danger is still real, and you'll want to stick together and work as a team. And remember, this is a retrieval mission, not reconnaissance. Don't dawdle about and get yourself hurt trying to put on a show. You find the item and get the hell out as fast as you can without attracting any attention. Understood?"
There was a muttered chorus of assent. Dorcas's eyes were already scanning the dark cobbled alley. "Addy," she whispered. "You're not sitting this one out again, are you?"
The rush of embarrassment from the last training simulation hit her once more. Her eyes locked onto Gideon as he answered some older Gryffindor boy's questions, her father's words echoing in her mind. "if you feel that you're losing control— you'll have permission from Gideon to step out until you've calmed down." But she wouldn't lose control. She'd prove her father wrong. "Um... no. I don't think so. It was just that thing with my ankle. But it's all healed now," she lied.
"Good. You're the best at charms. We'll need that," she whispered back.
Adelaide was quite good at charms... but only when in possession of a wand, and preferably when not fighting off feisty devils snare tendrils and a rabid pack of sofa cushions.
"Addy, do something!" Dorcas yelled. She kept blasting off devil's snare tendrils and it was only making the plant more angry.
"I'm trying!" Adelaide kicked a growling cushion off her trouser leg and into the devils snare nest. Maybe that would distract it from trying to strangle poor Davey for a moment. If she could just get to the wardrobe... if she could just get her bloody wand of the floor she could set all this right. "Dorcas, that's not going to work. You need to use sunlight."
"Right. Right, you're right. Deadly fun but will sulk in the sun..." Dorcas flicked her wand in a wonky figure eight. Adelaide could tell even before the incantation left her lips that it was going to be pitiful at best. "Lumos Solem!"
The dim light succeeded in making one tendril shrink away, but it was never going to be enough for the whole plant. It had crept its way the the beams of the old Victorian townhome.
"Not to be rude but... could I get a little help over here?" Davey grunted, pulling at the the plant snaking around his neck and shoulders.
"Oh, Davey!" Dorcas said, whacking the pitiful wand light at a rather large root. "I'm trying, Davey, I—"
"Dorcas," said Adelaide, kicking another snarling cushion. "Take the light and aim it at Davey. Make sure he can breathe then focus on torso then limbs."
While Dorcas scurried to the side and did her best to free Davey, Adelaide set about trying to recover her wand from under the wardrobe, sending cushions zooming as she did so. "So help me, when I get my wand, every last one of you is getting turned into a duck..."
"I don't want to be a duck!" Davey moaned.
"Not you, the cushions!" Adelaide crawled on the floor and could see her beautiful elm wand with its mother of pearl inlays glittering between a dust bunny and a crumpled leaf. She reached, blindly. It was too far.
If she could just use wandless magic... just to scoot it a little closer. Her father told her not to use it in the training course, but it's not like Dorcas or Davey could see... No one would even know if—
"Addy! Monster Cushion!" Davey hollered.
A loud growl was followed by a sharp pain in her shoulder. Adelaide let out a stream of curses that would have made Remus proud, yanked the cushion off of her then hurled it out the bedroom door and bopping down the stairs in a throw that would have made James proud. Her arm was bleeding. Dorcas was freaking out. Davey was trapped. And the stupid knitting needles they came in there for were no where to be found.
With a battle cry, Adelaide leaned on the side of wardrobe with her good shoulder and gave it a good shove. If she could just get her wand...
The wardrobe moved by an inch. Something bumped around inside... just like—
"Wait! Here! Let me help you!" Dorcas said.
"Dorcas, no! Don't! I think there's a—"
Her wand swished then flicked. The wardrobe went wobbling up, shaking furiously now. Something inside and desperately wanted out.
Dorcas's was holding her wand in both hands, trying to keep the wardrobe steady. "Addy, hurry up and grab your wand! It's—I don't know why it's doing this! I don't know how long I can—"
Screw her dad and his stupid rules. "Accio wand!" Finally the stupid wand wizzed into her hand. "Thank, Merlin. Dorcas, I got it, you can put the wardrobe—carefully!"
The cushion Adelaide had hurled out the door was back, growling fiercer than ever, but thankfully missing a jagged tooth. It launched itself toward Dorcas first.
She screamed, dropping the wardrobe onto it's side with a horrible crash that set the whole floor shaking. Her shield charm had the crazed cushion bouncing back toward Adelaide.
"Ducklifors!"
"Quack!"
"Aw, it's a Wallace!" Davey cheered.
The door to the wardrobe creaked open but Adelaide was too busy exacting her revenge on the stupid cushions to notice. "I'll teach you—Ducklifors! To attack my throwing arm—Ducklifors! You stupid— Ducklifors! Bloody—Ducklifors! Pillows—"
"Quack!"
Crack!
"Uh... Addy," Davey said.
"Quack, quack, quack!"
"I'll free you in a minute, once I get these stupid pests under control. Ducklifors!"
"Quack, quack!"
"No, Addy... there's a... a..."
Adelaide looked up, zapping the last murderous cushion wordlessly. "What?" Davey was holding the root around his neck with one hand and pointing behind her with another. Dorcas looked as if she had seen a ghost... and not a nice, friendly one like Nearly Headless Nick or the Fat Friar.
An icy chill fell over the the room and a something behind Adelaide gave a horrible rattling breath. She turned slowly, a sinking dread knotted at the pit of her stomach. A dark hooded figure, 10 feet tall, loomed toward Dorcas. It reached out a hand, glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, scabbed, and in desperate need of a manicure.
"They-they said they didn't have d-dementors in the trainee course!" Dorcas forced out through chattering teeth.
"It's not a dementor!" Adelaide called.
"What are you talking about?" Davey said over the horrible hoarse rattling of the creature's breath. "Of course it is! Look at it, Addy!"
"It's not real!" Adelaide said. "Dorcas, you're afraid of dementors, aren't you?"
Dorcas nodded her head. She had both hands over her mouth.
"Who the hell isn't afraid of dementors?" Davey said.
"It's a boggart, Dorcas! It was in the wardrobe and must have got out when—"
The fake-dementor wooshed toward Dorcas, breathed in. There was a horrible scream and suddenly she was on the ground.
"Dory!" Davey yelped, struggling fiercer than ever to get free from the devils snare. "I thought you said it wasn't real!"
Adelaide rushed past a few waddling and thoughly traumatized ducks to Dorcas's side and felt for a pulse. "She's fine... I think she just passed out."
Crack!
"Addy..."
"Hold still, Davey, and I'll get you loose from there! Lumos Sol—"
"Miss Fawley," said a high cold voice. "Quite the predicament you've got yourself in, isn't it?"
Adelaide's wand clattered onto the old wood floors. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. "You're not real."
"And there goes the wand, once more... good thing you don't need it," he laughed and the floorboards creaked as he walked closer. A chill ran up her spine and Adelaide slammed her eyes shut. She had to remember the spell. Something about being funny—
"Addy, who—" Davey tried to say.
"Oh, I forgot..." the high cold voice tutted. "That was supposed to be a secret, wasn't it?"
"Shut up."
"I suppose you should be careful... Never know who would use you... we wouldn't want someone to get hurt because of you..." There was a heart wrenching cry of pain. Sirius.
Adelaide turned around and stared at fake-Mr. Riddle's stupid smirking face, ignoring the fake-Sirius writhing on the floor. "You're not real. None of this is real."
Her hands were shaking. What was the damn spell— it started with an 'R'...
Suddenly there was a deafening whip-crack! andthe bodies of Sirius and Mr. Riddle were flung into a wobbling ball of horror. The boggart shifted quickly between images: her mother, crack! giant asparagus crack! a white wolf crack!Mary's dead body crack! A pack of murderous cruppies crack! Sirius's dead body crack! James's giant, disembodied eyelashes crack! All the marauders dead crack! and then, finally, a giant, grey werewolf, blood still dripping down its jowls as it stalked closer to her, growling low.
Not just a werewolf. It was the werewolf. The werewolf that killed Alex.
And just like that, Adelaide was nothing but a scared little girl once more.
"No!" She flung her body, shielding Dorcas. The wolf couldn't have her, too, not like it did Alex. She wouldn't allow it.
"Addy! It isn't real!" Davey screamed. "It's okay, Addy! It's not real! Use Riddikulus! Turn it into a puppy or something! ADD—mmph!"
Her head jerked up. The devil's snare had finally wrapped around his face. He couldn't breathe. If she didn't do something he was going to suffocate... he was going to die... and it would be all her fault just like—
Without thinking, without even pausing to say the words, Adelaide flung her hands up and the room was filled with a brilliant blinding light.
The wolf behind her let out a snarl, the devil's snare shrieked, writhing in retreat through gaps in the floorboards and walls, the ducks scattered about the room all quaking and tumbling out the door and down the stairs.
One hand still maintaining the steady stream of sunlight at Davey as he struggled to pull his way free, Adelaide gritted her teeth and rounded toward the wolf. Funny... something funny... Werewolf... funny... She remembered something Sirius had said...
"Riddikulus!"
Crack!
The wolf shrunk to the size of a Pomeranian, grey fur replaced with bright purple.
Davey let out a coughing laugh.
The purple mini-wolf gave an embarrassed yip! thenran tripping into the toppled wardrobe before it could endure anymore ridicule.
Squinting at the light still filling the room, Davey staggered toward Dorcas, shaking off the last of the devils snare around his ankle. "That—was—brilliant!" he said between wheezing coughs.
Adelaide panted and finally put her hands down. The light dimmed and finally all was the way it should be (except for Dorcas still being unconscious, but that was easily fixed). She'd somehow managed to keep the sunlight going even as she battled the boggart... how was that even possible?
"I can't believe you made it purple... brilliant! And the light! Good Merlin! That was incredible! How did you..." Davey trailed off, eyes darting between the wand on the floor and Adelaide's shaking hands.
Adelaide snatched the wand up. "C'mon. We need to get Dorcas up."
Davey blinked then nodded. "Right, Dorcas... Rennervate!"
Dorcas groaned.
"Accio knitting needles!" A basket in the far corner of the room fell to the floor, yarn balls rolling around, and two golden needles landed in Adelaide's palm.
"Hey, you found them!" Dorcas said, rubbing her head. "I knew they had to be in here some place! How... The dementor— Davey— What happened?"
Adelaide crawled closer to Dorcas, sitting beside Davey as he explained. "She was a proper badass, Dory! Sent that puppy squealing away! I feel a little bad for the all the Wallaces though..."
Dorcas rolled her eyes and rose to her feet. "Well, now we've got the artifact probably be best to get out of here before the ceiling fan decides to tries to decapitate us as well."
"Cheers to that..." Adelaide mumbled, rising unsteadily to her own feet.
They returned to base third overall, which according to Gideon was impressive for interns that young, though they did get some points knocked off for tripping the boobytraps. Gideon patched up Adelaides shoulder with a simple healing spell, but insisted that Dorcas be checked over by a healer after her fainting, which left Adelaide and Davey sat in the breakroom, snacking on chocolate digestives as they waited for the others to return.
"I knew there would be a boggart," Davey said.
Adelaide chuckled. "You're a regular seer, Mr. Gudgeon."
"Addy," Davey said after a moment, looking around the empty room, lowering his voice. "Thanks for saving me."
"Any time, Gudgeon."
"And Addy?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
Adelaide shoved a biscuit in her mouth. "About me saving you?"
Davey inspected his own biscuit carefully. "About you not having a wand when you saved me."
Adelaide nearly choked on her biscuit.
She had hoped that with all the commotion at the time Davey hadn't noticed that particular detail. She wanted to believe him... but they hadn't been friends very long. What if her dad started checking in? What if Davey let it slip? Her dad had been pretty clear about the no wandless magic rule. Would he ban her from the training course? Pull her out of the internship entirely? She still didn't particularly want to be an auror... but she still wanted to prove she could at least make it through the summer. And there was always that looming threat of being shipped off to France...
"Davey, I—"
"Look, you don't need to explain it to me," he said, calm as could be. "What you did was bloody brilliant, and I'm beyond grateful... but Creepy boggart bloke made it pretty clear it's supposed to be a secret... and I just want you to know that I won't tell anyone."
"Davey... I..."she shook her head slowly. "Thank you."
"Sitting on the job, eating bon bons, are we?" Fabian said, leaning against the breakroom door frame.
Startled, Adelaide jumped.
"They're chocolate digestives, actually," Davey said.
"Close enough," Fabian shrugged. "Gudgeon, Moody wants to see you about working on proper wand holstering."
Davey slumped down over the table. "You're kidding. Please tell me you're kidding."
"Afraid not. Old codger saw it in by your back pocket this morning and has been throwing a fit ever since. You're lucky Gideon convinced him to wait until after the training course."
"Just my luck. Almost strangled by a stupid house plant only to be tortured by Moody."
Adelaide patted him on the shoulder. "Well, it was nice knowing you, Gudgeon."
"Fawley, if I don't come back, make sure they have tulips at my memorial..."
"Consider it done."
"Gudgeon," growled a voice around the corner. "Stop your lallygagging an' get over here!"
Davey scrambled out of the chair and out the door in a heartbeat.
"Ah, the life of an intern. Wish I could say it gets better but..." Fabian shook his head slowly and sighed. "Em said she could use your help with some filing if your up for it, Little Porskoff."
Adelaide was already out of her seat, shoving the last of her snack into her mouth. "Anything to keep out of Moody's line of fire."
Fabian smirked. "I knew you were smart. She's just around the corner at her desk... and I'd take the biscuits with you."
"Hey, Emmeline? Fabe said you needed help—What in the name of Dumbledore's dirty drawers...? "
"There has to be a record of him!" said the muffled voice of Emmeline Vance, muffled because her head was currently craned inside of a brief case, engulfed in green flames.
"Vance, I'm telling you, there's nothing. We checked the school. No one has ever heard of him," said another muffled voice... from inside the briefcase? Must be some sort of portable floo...
"But the MACUSA citations and— and France!"
"An alias, most likely. Heavily used, albeit, but it's not unheard of."
Emmeline groaned and ran her hands through her hair, flames twisting around her fingers. "Well, thank you for looking into it..."
"We're going to catch him, Vance. We've got international wards set up, descriptions sent to local magical authorities. Give it some time and he'll turn up."
Emmeline didn't seem quite so hopeful as she said her parting pleasantries to the unidentified briefcase occupant. Sighing deeply she pulled her head out of the fire and closed the briefcase, as if this was a perfectly normal office procedure. "Oh, there you are, Addy. Sorry about that, I had a meeting with Finnagan at the Ireland field office... Gid said you had a fair run on the training course?"
"Yeah, it went pretty well, I guess." She only battled a boggart wandlessly and saved poor Davey from certain strangulation...
"I'm sure it was better than 'pretty well'," she winked. "Come on, I need you to sort out some files for me."
Emmeline plopped Adelaide down on the floor near the cubical with a large crate of medical patient files. "Now, everything you need should be on the first page. Look at the birthdate first. Anyone older than 12 goes over in that pile. Younger than 12 you sort by month and highlight the location of attack. Got it?"
"Got it." Adelaide nodded. Emmeline put the pink muggle paint quill in her hand. "Em, this is for that werewolf case you're working on, isn't it?"
Emmeline practically sunk in her chair, jostling the desk and making the hula dancing, coconut bikini clad Dumbledore bobble head dance a tad more vigorously. "Yes... It's actually a huge help that you're here... I've still got years to go on the mapping..."
Adelaide, sat crisscross on the floor, started sorting the files by patient age. "Full moon was last week, wasn't it? Any new leads?" Perhaps one with purple hair and a penchant for writing best-selling autobiographies?
"One," Emmeline said. She picked up a notebook and began crossing things off with sharp slashes. "But we lost him."
"Oh... was that why you were talking to brief case man?"
Emmeline nodded and began flipping through her notebook. "He got away at the hospital... your dad wasn't very happy about that..."
So it was Doug...
"You think he's the one who... who's behind all... this?" She gestured to the files.
"Based on the evidence it certainly could line up... and with him running away... people only run away when they have something to hide."
"Maybe he was just scared?"
Emmeline frowned down at the mass of maps and charts scattered across her desk. "I'm sure he was scared. Of what, is what I'd like to know..."
For the next two weeks things in Adelaide's life fell into a comfortable rhythm (or as comfortable as one could possibly be living within Fawley Manor). True, she was no closer to solving the illusive Roesia's riddle, but she also hadn't had to battle anymore boggart werewolves, the bouncing bulbs in her greenhouse were thriving, and she finally discovered if platypuses were magical or not. Moreover, neither Mimsy nor Davey said a word about her break-in or the wandless magic.
Still, Adelaide couldn't help the rush of panic when her father asked to speak with her one Thursday evening after dinner.
He sat in his usual chair in the dim sitting room, reading the Evening Prophet, puffing on his pipe as the fire crackled. When she entered, his face was as unreadable as her handwriting.
Had he found out about her snooping in the secret room? The wandless magic? Maybe it was about the mirror? There had been a close call during her evening chat with Sirius that Tuesday (Gwendolyn Morgan had allegedly come into Saint Mungo's with a sprained big toe that day after a rogue bludger hit the stands of a scrimmage she was watching and inadvertently started a small field mouse stampede).
"I noticed you still haven't started packing?" he said, gesturing for her to have a seat.
Shit. France? No, he wasn't sending her to France. She had to keep her cool.
"Packing?" she said.
He glanced over his paper. "Flora is expecting you to move in tomorrow, Adelaide. Of course, you can always come back for anything you've forgotten... but she's put a lot of work into decorating and it would be terribly disrespectful if we were to be late because of your laziness."
Flora. How the hell could she forget about moving in with Flora? Only, she hadn't forgotten, not really. Problem was that the date always stayed weeks away in her mind... now that the day was here...
Her father was still going on about Flora and the plan for tomorrow, convinced she was still listening attentively. "—and remember, you cannot be going into town—"
"—without Flora. Dad, I know." Though it's not like she hadn't been to Diagon without an adult before. And if her performance in the internship was any indication, she could certainly handle her own if any ruffians crossed her path.
Filip frowned and puffed on his pipe.
"Dad, relax. I promise I won't go out and about with the ruffians and I'll get my things together tonight. It's not like I have that much to pack anyways."
Adelaide had quite a bit to pack. A tremendous amount, in fact. The sheer number of ill-fitting jumpers alone was astonishing.
At first, Flora had been miffed her niece wasn't ready to move in the moment the clock struck 9am. However, now she couldn't help but be amused. The bedraggled girl haphazardly whipped her wand around; clothes, books, shoes, and stuffed animals shoved themselves into trunks like some sort of bizarre blizzard of belongings. It was equal parts impressive and chaotic.
"Need some help?" Flora said. A purple ball of fluff whizzed past her nose.
Adelaide jumped. Everything fell to the ground at once, making the floor shake, the purple ball of fluff rolling toward the vanity. "Aunt Flora! I—" she gave a smile drenched in remorse. "I'm sorry. I'm almost done! I promise! Five minutes!"
"I really don't mind helping Laid—er— Adelaide." Flora wandered to the Vanity, picking the purple fluff, a puffskein plushy, off the floor. "I've moved my fair share of times before and—"
"I've got it!" Adelaide insisted. "Really. I once helped the boys pack all their stuff while James kept turning all the dust bunnies into miniature elephants—"
"Miniature elephants?"
"—This will be a breeze. You and Dorris can just have a seat and I'll be done in no time."
"Dorris?"
Adelaide stared at her as if she was daft then pointed at the ball of fluff. "Dorris," she explained.
"Ah, Dorris."
And so Flora sat, for quite a bit longer than five minutes, petting the plushy puffskein, Dorris, wishing the stubborn witch would just let her assist. As Adelaide ordered the hanging clothes in her wardrobe into a lavender purple trunk by way of conga line, Flora thumbed through the scattered papers and stationary on the desk, stacking them neatly with a flick of her own wand when Adelaide wasn't looking. Most were drawings of random musings: flowers, doodled cats, a platypus. "Adelaide, is this a drawing of a...a cockroach wearing a tiara?"
"Cedric Buggington," Adelaide informed her, papers shooting into the trunk in a blur. "The second." An odd array of papers at the bottom of the stack fluttered up from the desk, filled with peculiar words scrawled in purple ink... "and technically it's a crown."
"I was thinking we'd go see a film this afternoon," Flora said. "After you get settled, of course."
The tidy row of papers stopped, a few pieces of parchment floating down. Flora caught the notes page in her hand.
Adelaide's eyes were wide. "A film... You mean a muggle film? To see... to see a mover thing?"
"I believe they're called movies, but yes... there's a theater just down the road from the townhome. Plunkett told me about a new one that's out with a big shark, 'Jaws'. It's supposed to be quite good, but I'm more of a 'Pink Panther' gal myself." Flora shrugged, folding and refolding the paper in her hands. "Of course, we don't have to go if you don't want to. I have board games and there's always the television—"
"You have a Tell-a-vision?!" Adelaide practically yelped.
"I— Yes... but let's maybe not mention that to your father..."
"I want to see the shark," Adelaide said, packing at a furious pace now, shoving books into one side of the trunk while socks shot down on the other. "and the purple panther—"
"Pink Panther."
"—And the tell-vision— All of it!" she grinned, scurrying to the bed and throwing stuffed animals into the trunk with a surprising amount of accuracy. She lifted a pillow, paused for a moment, then placing what looked like a metal disk into her pocket. "Oh, wait until Sirius hears... He's going to be dead jealous. Flora, can you help put the jewelry away?"
Flora chuckled, placing the paper in her pocket. "I thought you'd never ask."
Flora's townhouse was exactly the way Adelaide thought a townhouse should look. It was located in the heart of Diagon Alley above her shop. Ivy creeped up the weather washed brick and blooming flower boxes hung outside shuttered windows and along the back balcony. Inside it was the perfect mix of homey and modern. The tell-a-vision set sat in front of a squashy couch, perfect for reading and napping. Everywhere Adelaide looked there were posters and knickknacks from Flora's travels.
And her bedroom... When Flora had sat her in front of the catalogue weeks previously Adelaide, truthfully, had been annoyed. Every wardrobe and purple fabric looked exactly the same as the last. But now, seeking the house plants, bookcases, the sprawling oil painting landscape, cozy purple and white bed, and the window seat reading nook, she couldn't be anymore thankful for Flora's insane attention to detail.
And the best of all? (Well, besides the brand new record player Flora had got her). No Crazy Cathryn for the rest of the blasted summer.
"So..." Flora said. She flicked her wand and sent Adelaide's belongings out of her trunks and into drawers, wardrobes, and desk with far more grace than Adelaide had had putting them into the trunks. "What do you think? I know it's quite a bit smaller than you're used to... And of course you're free to change anything you don't like—"
"This is..." Adelaide dropped the rucksack in the middle of the room. "This is perfect, Aunt Flora."
Flora beamed. "Really?"
"Really." Adelaide laughed, jumping and falling back upon the bed. "Absolute perfection."
"Alright, so you'll have your own bathroom just down that hall by the linen cupboard." Flora said. They had just finished getting all Adelaide's belongings out away (though Adelaide would most definitely have to rearrange some things that night) and Flora was giving her the grand tour.
"The dining room is round that way near the kitchen, but I really only use that Alphy comes round—and over here is my room and those stairs lead to the attic, but I set it up as a second guest room... again, mostly for Alphy because the poor bloke cannot handle his gin," she laughed then glanced at Adelaide and quickly thought better of it and cleared her throat.
Adelaide bickered. She was about to tease her about who this 'Alphy who couldn't handle gin' was and if he would end up being her new uncle, but was sidetracked when Flora began walking away.
"Wait, what's this door?" she asked. Reaching for the handle of the room just across from Flora's.
"That," Flora said, blocking Adelaide's path with a too bright smile. "That would be my junk room. Best not go in there."
Adelaide laughed. "Oh, come on! I'm sure it's not that bad—let me see—"
Flora swatted Adelaide's hand away from the handle. "No, Adelaide—you can't—" she took a deep breath. "I can't let you in there."
"You're kidding," Adelaide said, smile falling from her face. "Flora, you saw the state of my room... and I'm friends with a bunch of messy boys. However bad it is, I'm not going to judge you... unless you're hoarding dead bodies or baby dolls, or secret Chudley Cannons shrine or something. But, let's be honest, if that's the case you probably deserve a good dose of judgment."
"That's not—" Flora took another deep breath. "It's not that I'm embarrassed. It's that some of the things are dangerous, Adelaide."
"Dangerous?" Adelaide half laughed. Surely this had to be some sort of joke. Flora and danger didn't exactly go together. This was the woman who got in a legitimate argument about the cuteness of cruppies, for Merlin's sake. However, Flora's smile was gone, hand still gripped on the brass door handle, a melancholy darkness falling over her features.
"When my parents passed away they left me and your father with a number of artifacts, most are harmless... but some of them are very old and... and let's just say they are not the type of things that you should go rummaging through."
"But—"
"Adelaide, I need you to trust me. I need you to promise you won't go poking around."
Flora's blue eyes bore into her and for a moment Adelaide swore she had somehow found out about her sneaking through Cathryn's own secret room. But that was impossible... Mimsy wouldn't tell anyone. It was just her guilt cropping up again. Or perhaps it was her annoyance.
Here was yet another adult keeping secrets from her...
But Flora wasn't like her parents. Flora was kind and loving and if she said it was dangerous, she was probably right. Probably.
"Okay, okay. I promise... Now, about that giant shark..."
Flora's smile quirked up at the edges of her lips. "I suppose it's too late to convince you to see Pink Panther instead?"
"We can see the panthers... after the giant shark."
Flora sighed and checked her watch. "Next showing isn't for another hour and half... how do we feel about ice cream first?"
Adelaide grinned and ran to her new perfect room. "I'll go get my purse!"
The train roared on its rails outside the flat's fire escape, drowning out the ever-pleasant click-clack of his bright yellow typewriter, the oppressive stench of mildew seeping into his very bones.
The crup gave an excited 'yip!' both tails wagging aggressively, tongue lolling, and head poked out the window watching the train rushing past, and the people below mingling about the shops.
"Glad you're enjoying yourself, Harriet," he sighed, stretching in his chair. "Let's keep that same enthusiasm when the rats come about, yeah?"
Harriet gave another happy bark.
The young man took a sip of his cold tea then picked up his untouched copy of the Daily Prophet. Pacing the small flat, floor boards creaking with ever step, he rustled the paper open and began to scan.
Sometimes reading was a struggle, but that day hadn't been too bad. Still, every once and a while a headline came across as utter nonsense: "What on earth is the Department of Miseries and why were they talking about some long missing aggregate?" And he'd have to give it another look only to discover it was the Department of Mysteries and the aggregate was actually an agent. Not that this made anymore sense.
It wasn't until he flipped to the fourth page, below a large advertisement claiming to cure "Troll Toe" that there was the slightest whiff of a missing persons search... and that was just for some old bloke. Probably one of those elderly folks that's prone to wondering. Not a hint about a young man with lavender hair.
Which meant, that while they were still looking for him, as he was sure they were, they were still hoping to keep the whole matter of bitten children hush hush.
He didn't know which bothered him more. The fact that they were after the wrong person or that Olalla's attack meant so little to them that they couldn't even be bothered to tell the public and ask for leads. "Self important pricks," he muttered. Throwing the paper in the trash.
He whisked away a stray dust bunny and sat on the floor beside Harriet by the window, scratching her behind the ears and watching the pedestrians muddle about, hoping it would spark his imagination.
Then Harriet growled.
"Hey, hey..." he said soothingly. "It's alright—"
His eyes followed her narrowed glare down to the ice cream parlor. A blonde woman in a bright yellow jumper was holding two cones beside the door. Then, all at once, she looked up, their eyes met, and Harriet began barking even more furiously. The young man flattened himself on the floor and threw a hand toward the crup to silence her.
"Dammit, Flora."
A/N:
Okay, okay I'm sorry it took half a year. I blame ADHD... Also not my favorite chapter but I needed to move the story along so we can get to the gooooood part ;) tehehe
As always, I love hearing your thoughts and theories ?¬ワフ️
