Book 4: Astoria Greengrass and the Curse of Quennell Park
Song rec: "Lullaby" by Low

When Astoria's grandparents replied to her, Astoria brimmed with happiness, relief, and excitement. Her grandparents, too, were overwhelmed with joy to hear that Astoria was alive. They told her that the rest of the family was in the United States, and that they were sending out a letter straightaway to inform them not only that the war was over, but that Astoria was alive. The Ciels planned to get on the very next Wizarding ferry to Britain to meet Astoria at Quennell Park and wait for the rest of the family to come home. Astoria first had to go make sure that Quennell Park was visible and accessible again. She shared the good news with Mrs Tonks, who wanted to come along with her, but Astoria insisted that the babies would pick up on her stress and that she would be better alone. She would take advantage of her ability to Apparate without arrest and "fix up" the house. It was just some repairs and cleaning, she said, and she would be back before dinnertime.

Andromeda Tonks was ten times more trusting of Astoria than her own mother ever would have been, or maybe there was too much on her mind to get suspicious. Either way, it worked out for Astoria. In her mind's eye, she imagined the last visible part of Quennell Park: the tall, wrought iron gate with the "Q" in the centre, enchanted to be covered with ivy, standing alone in the tall grass. From Mrs Tonks's back garden, she turned and Apparated to the spot.

It was warmer in East Sussex. It usually was. Astoria looked down the dirt road, and it was exactly as she had left it. She looked out to the field where the forest truly stood. She wrapped her hand round one of the rungs of the gate and got the rust on her palm.

"Quennell, I'm home."

She felt something in the metal in her hand, magic perhaps, or a slight vibration. She blinked and missed it, but her forest had reappeared, and the beautiful path to the house came into view, though it was overgrown with weeds. Astoria opened the gate using the first wand she grabbed from the three she carried in her pocket.

Hawthorn. Draco's.

The forest was quiet and somnolent. It smelled the same as she had always known. She had been born here, in that now-empty house on this lonesome soil. It stood with the off-white exterior and the slate, domed roof in the first clearing. The formal garden was a mess, but its "mess" came from having been left to nature rather than the will and aesthetics of humans.

There was little point in entering the house unless she wanted to spend an hour dusting. She could do that once her grandparents arrived, but there were things she had to do before they came. There was no eagerness in her, though. For now, she merely wanted to enjoy being home again. She was a different person, but some things would always remain the same. She walked along the garden. The muddy footsteps and marks of Apparition had grown over. The Splinched limbs were gone, and Astoria's stomach was displeased with that, but what was done was done. She went to one of the benches by the dried-up fountain and sat with her hands in her lap. No, that wasn't very comfortable. It was all wood and stone. Astoria conjured a blanket and lay in the grass. It was nice to be alone, though she knew she wouldn't be for long. She stretched her arms and legs, and her fingertips reached beyond the blanket to twiddle the feathery lawn. Her eyes traced the tree leaves and sky above. A faint breeze sent some loose green leaves afloat in the air. She watched the clouds and guessed their shapes. She saw a peacock, a sea monster, and a stegosaurus.

There was gentle silence, without the call of birds, insects, or mammals. Only the wind and her breathing. She didn't come here with any decent plan or any idea of how to word things. Quennell might have pretended to want to sacrifice himself for the future of the family, but the state in which he lived, or half-lived, might cloud his judgment and make him take back his words.

Unlike so many in her family who disliked Quennell, Astoria had considered him a comfort of home and another member of the family. That was before she found out what he was, but how much had really changed? She wasn't going to lie to herself. She still missed him. She didn't want to lose him. It had been ages since she had last cared to look at their genealogy records, but she was the only one who even acknowledged him as the Quennell, the first person on their family tree and the one who settled in this forest. He just happened to be a miserable Dark wizard, not a heroic slayer of dragons.

Astoria was a Dark witch, so what did it all mean? Quennell had long since paid for his actions. The problem was that so did others in the bloodline. Astoria heaved a breath. Was there anything lingering in Delphini's blood, too? Marrying on the Equinox wasn't going to save Delphi if there was. Her consolation was that any and all Horcruxes that were "related" to Delphini had already been killed. Surely she was free, but Astoria's family wasn't. This Horcrux lived.

Astoria pondered her role as Secret-Keeper. She could, after all, ensure Equinoxes were rigidly adhered to for all her life and come back for Quennell's Horcrux in her later years. Nobody said she had to do anything now. Nobody said she wanted Quennell to die, or go away, or "pass on." What would destroying Quennell's Horcrux achieve besides putting an even bigger hole in her heart? The Greengrasses were going to celebrate and marry on the Vernal Equinox regardless, right? In a perfect world, Quennell would be what she had always thought he had been: a mere ghost and her lifelong friend. She wished Quennell and the curse were not one and the same. That was impossible, so when would be a good year to destroy the Horcrux? When she was sixty? Seventy? Would she even be able to control Fiendfyre at eighty?

Astoria turned each wand in her hand, one at a time. The hawthorn was hers only for the time being, and it was quite timorous when it felt her magic, which led it to produce unnecessary recoil. It was cooperative, artful, and elegant — traits Astoria didn't require in a wand. It listened absorbedly to her troubles and was always helpful, but she needed more than help. She needed power. The silver lime felt like dragon heartstring. It was intelligent but full of dance, and it knew each twitch of her body and curdle of her anxiety before even she did. It used magic as a precious resource. Cripplingly lonely from years without use, it was also healing from abuse. The silver lime was the only one to have cast Fiendfyre before, and she knew how it felt. But the cherry had been a virgin wand to her ownership, awakened with her magic. It had been the only one she had owned when she discovered Quennell's Horcrux in the woods. The cherry was hers after so many years of its arguments with her. She had tamed it, and had grown with it, and had finally proven to the fussy thing that she could reach her full potential if she stopped living under everyone else's thumb. Only the wand that cast Fiendfyre could be the wand to put it out. For once, she placed all of her trust in the cherry.

She simply didn't trust herself to do it. She wanted Quennell there in her life. She could come back to the meat of the Horcrux when her own life was waning. He had been the first friend she had ever made. The next time she had made a true friend, without any obligation to do so, was when she met Rhiannon Clarke on the train. Rhiannon wasn't here. Quennell was.

He was lying next to Astoria on the blanket with his hands clasped over his stomach. His hat was tilted over his face so that it would not bunch beneath his head, and so his eye sockets would remain hidden. His manifestation did not surprise Astoria, as it felt quite natural to be next to him, but his force of presence was far stronger than the last time they had met. He was truly all but alive. The colour in his skin was so vivid that she could see the sunspot on his hand and the rose in his cheeks. He was only vaguely spectral now, a mere mistiness to his form dressed him. But his dark brown locks were real enough to tangle as he fidgeted to get comfortable on the blanket. A small insect landed on his neck, and he swatted it, making a sound against his skin.

"You're really here," Astoria mouthed, propping herself up on her elbow.

"Bone of the family, blood of the foe," Quennell said, rubbing his neck. "I have not been this close to life since I was last alive."

"You seem alive now. You're going to make it hard for me to talk to you about the Horcrux," Astoria said.

"Nonsense. I know you seek to free us."

Astoria lay back down, this time on her side, with her head in her bent arm. Quennell rolled towards her. She removed his cumbersome hat, which was finally tangible to her, and she set it aside. Her hand did not go through him when she touched him anymore. He was no longer that peculiar mix of extreme heat and extreme cold. But he wasn't as alive as she was; he was ambient temperature. She would have liked to have said that this was the first she had ever seen him this way. But he was familiar, like a memory, down to the texture of his hair and the smell of his skin. She looked into the woods, then back at him.

"Quennell," she uttered, "how long have we known each other?"

She wished he had eyes, because she was staring into the gore. Quennell had long sensed everything without eyes, but she wanted to see them. She wanted to see him seeing her. He had once had dark green eyes.

"Quennell," she repeated more firmly.

"Please grant me the mercy of not asking that question," he whispered.

Astoria breathed the woods' air deeply.

"I guess I don't really question it."

She took his hand in the space between them. He startled with guilt.

"For three-hundred thirty-one years I have repented. Our little family has become a great one, greater than I ever was. I was vainglorious. I was evil. I meant to murder a Muggle, and instead I ripped the dearest person in my life from me, and I created my own prison. I would, without hesitation, lead my life differently a second time. However, my resurrection will not break the curse, as it would be an extension of my selfishness. If I were to live once more, I would, I confess, desperately interfere with all of your plans… There can be no mistake that you've come home. It must be you to do the deed. The threat of the curse runs most strongly in you. But so too does its end."

"Quennell," Astoria said, now violently confused, "I cannot kill you."

"I am already dead, my dearest," he said, cleaning the gate's rust off her palm.

"You're not," Astoria said, clenching her hand round the very real feeling. "You're nearly alive, Quennell. What was the last thing you needed? Flesh of the servant? Are you telling me you're a house-elf's pinkie toe away from coming to life?"

"I will not have an elf's injury in my name. I want to free you, and our family, of the consequences of my actions. Our family — you especially — should never have been subjected to this curse. I had never known the magic would turn on me so brutally that it would harm our very own… o-our very own…"

Quennell broke into sobs, which was even more of a messy ordeal than before. Astoria freed her hand and drew it under his head, encouraging him to sit up. She gently tilted his head forward and wiped his tears with her other hand. The tears were as real as rain.

"Quennell, I can't do this. You're here again. I can't hurt you."

"I have hurt you."

"Quennell, stop. I, er, I felt I'd destroy the Horcrux when I was old."

"To go together, essentially?" he asked quietly.

There was so much hope in his voice, but then it shattered.

"No. No, no. I cannot have that. Generations will be born with this curse still in their blood. Your very own children, Astoria, will be threatened if you wait that long."

"Marriage on the Equinox will break the curse—"

"What if they are unable? It is not a righteous course of action, Astoria. It isn't right to dictate how people live, wed, and bear children. I must be destroyed. You and all others deserve freedom from me."

"You make it so hard now, though, don't you understand? It would feel like I am killing you."

"Recompense. I did far worse."

Astoria didn't acknowledge his dramatics anymore. She lay back down, unconcerned with the time. She had only one rule: be back before dinner.

"Let's spend the day together, then. It's beautiful out."

Quennell lay back down and breathed in the piney air.

"Won't you tell me all that has happened since your departure? You carry scars on your skin," he noticed.

"I'll do just that. I'll tell you everything until you're bored with me," Astoria replied.

"You will speak yourself breathless before I tire of you."

In a not-so-far copse in the woods stood the tree with strange pale bark and thick, hungry roots. It was carnivorous and self-sustaining in nature, as it hosted a split soul. That soul had intellect and will, but the nature of his existence constantly went against his will. He had taken an action that he had instantly regretted, and only Secret Keepers were privy to the truth. The Vernal Equinox, or it should be said, love, was the only force against the long-term consequences of the Horcrux creation. But the Equinox should be what everyone thought it was, a celebration rather than a curse-breaker. People had died to feed this unholy thing as it tried to regenerate the person it held bound.

Astoria had used exhausting curses from her grimoire to cut down all of the surrounding trees and move them far away in the forest, so that their leaves would not catch the infernal flame. Quennell walked by her side as she cleared leaf litter and detritus on the forest floor, spanning a radius even larger than if the Horcrux tree were to fall. Then she conjured water, soaking the ground beyond its holding capacity, creating a vast, ankle-deep puddle. Water would not put out Fiendfyre, but all of the water would have to evaporate before the fire would touch the ground, and the ground itself was sodden. Astoria knew how to control the spell, but by its nature, it was one of the most temperamental curses known to Wizardkind, and she would not let anything else burn. Quennell complimented her on her forethought in saving their forest, their home. They stood there for longer than most people would willingly stand in water.

"Is this going to, er, hurt?" Astoria asked.

"Oh, it shall," Quennell said. "Then it will be over. Do not fret."

Astoria had never wanted to do this less. If only she had known this spell when he had first made her Secret Keeper, she could have destroyed the Horcrux in her anger and feelings of betrayal. Time had, unfortunately, healed her. She had seen the difference between Quennell and unremorseful criminals first-hand. However, there was nowhere decent for Quennell to go. If her family, especially her parents, saw what he looked like now, they would be terrified, and they wouldn't understand even if she passed the Fidelius Charm to them. It wasn't like them to understand; they knew only what they knew.

Quennell wrapped his arms round Astoria slowly, for he was not used to the sensation. She tried not to startle him as she did the same. He had a few more things to say.

"Astoria, people say the word 'love' liberally, hollowing it. It often does not mean what it should. They say it to mean 'want,' 'rely upon,' and 'admire.' Love is so true a magic that all of humanity can grasp it, but you will hear people declare their 'love,' and it is nothing. I ask you, does the wizard Draco Malfoy love you, and does he respect you?"

"Yes, Quennell, he does, and I love him. I am a Legilimens, you know. Frivolities don't get past me," Astoria reassured.

"Very well. Then this is goodbye. After all, dearest, you must be back for dinner."

Quennell walked over to the tree and clasped his hands tightly.

"It may fight you," he said. "It may show you visions or move of its own accord. It will try to self-preserve at any cost. It may appear, dearest, that I am the one fighting you. I can assure you that I want the deed done."

"I understand," Astoria said, taking the cherry wand from her pocket.

"Do not falter. I have waited so long for this freedom," Quennell emphasised.

"You have my word."

"Goodbye, Astoria."

"Goodbye, Quennell. I'll see you someday," she said.

"Yes."

Quennell drew a long breath and seemed to hold it. She backed up. She would have to do it now.

"Fiendfyre."

Her wand heated, but she would not drop it. She sent the flame to the leaves and etched it down the branches, and Quennell began to scream and shake. Astoria tried not to look at him, to look only at the tree. The Horcrux, not the soul that possessed it. She tried and tried.

A towering chimera erupted from the cursed fire and started gnashing its teeth through the tree trunk, and Quennell cried in so much pain. If only there were some better way… but a dripping tooth of a basilisk wasn't going to get to the core of this tree.

No visions or hallucinations were accompanying the Horcrux's demise like he had warned, perhaps because hearing his screams was enough for Astoria to want to stop. How many people before her had tried to cut the tree like he wanted? Why did it have to be her? The fire was exactly as hot as she remembered, if not more so, and she briefly wondered who had been able to craft such a spell, but her thoughts were interrupted with Quennell's continued pain, and she looked at him. As the tree burned, he appeared to be bursting with cuts of bright light.

"Do not look!" he screamed, but she had, and the chimera dissolved before it could burn to the core of the tree.

Then Astoria realised that her own will to save him was needlessly prolonging the spell and putting him through even more pain. She could have this all over at once if she would just… let him go.

"Quennell, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you for everything."

She cried, and the Fiendfyre roared, and seven beasts emerged and singed the tree to dust. Quennell's figure became light itself, and at the end he no longer screamed. He was gone. He was free.

Astoria beat the spell down into the ground, where the water was hot and bubbling. Her feet and ankles were burning, so she stepped out of it once the job was done. Then there was no more fire. There was no more Horcrux, and no more curse.

Her face and hands were extremely hot, and the heat dried her tears. She conjured more water and splashed it upon herself. She hobbled out of the woods, this time truly alone. But she would not be alone forever. She would start this family again.