Hogwarts, April 4th, 2014
Delphini walks Teddy to the Hufflepuff Common Room, the two of them quietly treading the corridors. Once they reach the door, they wrap their arms round one another for a short moment, and Teddy physically leans on her. She wipes a wayward stain of chocolate from his cheek, smiling.
"Can't let a Prefect walk in dirty," she muses, letting her hand settle on Teddy's jaw.
"Thanks, Delphie. Goodnight."
Teddy is different now. He's quieter, his hair not as bright as it used to be, though it is blue again. She has to drag him out of the library these days, because he takes refuge in studying. When he's studying, she can see in his mind, he's not thinking of how much he misses his grandmother. The OWLs just happen to be a convenient excuse.
It is somewhat early for her to go to bed, so she walks slowly through the groups of students, her robes waving about her in tandem with her braid. She doesn't have to dodge running students, or stand aside for wanderers. People simply move out of her way, fluidly, not out of fear, but out of a strange kind of deference. Even the boys and girls in blue flowy uniforms and in sternly cut red attire have picked up on it.
She walks alone, unimpeded and uninterrupted, mind lost to thinking, until her name sounds in the air, near the staircase that leads to the dungeons.
"Delphini? I've been looking for you," comes Silverius' voice from behind her. "Would you mind if we had a word?"
"Travers," she turns to look over her shoulder, "of course. I've done some reading, but I'm afraid I haven't found anything truly interesting."
"How about we let the Common Room clear a bit and get together in a little while?" He offers her a little smirk, and Delphini knows he's equally lost.
"How about the library? We could enter it just before curfew, and stay well past it…"
She winks, keeping a playful expression on her face. He nods, smiling back, and he walks by her side to the dungeon door, greeting Radagast when they reach it. Delphini enters the room on Radagast's arm, and they're received by shy little smiles and as many wishful stares as envious ones. They sit down by the fire with the usual crowd, and the conversation flows easily. There's the Tournament, of course, but also the Quidditch World Cup, which starts in less than ten days, not to mention the never-ending gossip of three wizarding schools combined.
The Common Room grows quieter and quieter, and eventually Travers comes looking for Delphini again, with a heavy looking satchel hanging from his left shoulder. She leaves the cosy cocoon made of Radagast's chest and arms, kissing him lightly and apologising for not staying with him and their friends for the rest of the evening.
"Off to plot the victory of Slytherin's champion, are you?" He asks, holding on to a hand of hers.
"Hogwarts' champion," she corrects him, squeezing his hand a little too hard in reprimand, and turning away to leave.
Delphini and Travers move quietly through the darkened corridors. They push the heavy doors of the library and rush past the bookcases, before Madam Pince can see them, all the way to a sturdy mahogany table deep inside, next to the gates to the Restricted Section. Delphini points her wand at the sconce nearby to brighten the light. They choose to stand instead of taking seats, examining the list of ingredients over and over, trying to figure out which potion they're supposed to brew.
They have Abraxan feathers, Horklumps, Runespoor eggs, Snargaluff pods and a Mandrake from the first task. In the box from the second task, they've found dragon blood, wolfsbane, wormwood, Acromantula's venom, cowbane, bat spleens, shrivelfigs and wiggentree bark. Which is to say, they have a whole lot of things and no idea what to do with them.
"Do we think that all of these are important, or that some are just here to mess with us?" Delphini suggests. "I mean, some of these are part of any student stock…"
"I've been keeping a Mandrake under my bed for months, in a bowl of milk. It better be useful."
"What happened to keeping Mandrakes in pots?"
"It's too big now, and I didn't want it wandering off. Professor Longbottom told me to keep it in a big bowl of milk and to change it every three days. The elves all hate me."
"On the other hand, some of these ingredients are incredibly expensive or hard to come by, or both," Delphini says, twirling the vial of dragon blood in her right hand.
"Is there actually a potion that uses all of these? Because I've been looking, and this is a most unusual combination," Silverius wonders aloud.
"I came to the same conclusion, and I've made an extensive list of all the potions that require at least one of these ingredients. It's far too long to be useful, and I still have to check a couple of books from beyond that," she nods towards the metal bars that separate them from the darkened shelves in the Restricted Section.
They both take to the more or less forbidden books, delving into potions that are not even close to legal these days, but all to no avail. They return to the table raking fingers through already tousled hairs.
"Is this all we have? A bunch of mismatched ingredients and not a clue to what you're supposed to brew with them?"
"If there is a clue, I haven't found it yet. Do you suppose there could have been something else in the lake?"
"No, I don't think so. You were all docked points for upsetting the creatures, but there was no mention of incomplete tasks," Delphini shakes her head, "may I see the box?"
"It's just a wooden box. There was nothing else inside. I used every spell I could think of, then I found some books about charmed chests and the like and tried some more," he explains, sliding the box across the table.
Delphini reaches for it, delicately picking it up with slender hands, letting her fingers feel every edge and every groove. The box is engraved with exquisite detail, etched all over with magical creatures and plants. She runs her fingers over dragons, giant spiders and winged horses. Her eyes inspect the leaves of wormwood, wolfsbane and mandrake.
She pulls the lid off and turns it in her hands at first, levitating it above her palm a second later, spinning it slowly and effortlessly under Silverius' amazed staring.
"Have you noticed the Boomslangs on the lid?"
"Boomslangs? I don't have anything that could be extracted from a Boomslang," he replies, rapping his fingers on the bottom of the box, as if making sure it's empty.
Delphini looks up at the sound of Silverius' fingers against the wood, her lips coming slightly apart, her eyes fixed on the case.
"You do realize that's hollow?"
Silverius' eyes are fixed on her, staring, mouth agape. He shakes his head just a bit, blushing, completely oblivious to what Delphini has just said.
"Sorry, I didn't hear a word."
"The bottom of the box, Travers, it's hollow," she repeats, impatiently rising from her seat and taking the case from beneath his hands, "there could be something else inside it."
There is, most definitely, a secret compartment to the box, but they can't find any mechanism, and no spell seems to work. The engraved piece of wood is jinxed and hexed a hundred different ways for the better part of an hour. The secret compartment remains closed.
"I'm done with this thing!" In his frustration, Travers points his wand at the box and flings it through the air, against a shelf. It cracks when it hits the bookcase, and comes apart upon reaching the floor.
"Well, that did it," Delphini japes, retrieving three pieces of wood from the floor with her wand, "but this isn't Boomslang." There's a square envelope with the seals of all three schools. She cracks them, pulling two equally square pieces of parchment from within.
"Another riddle? Is a sphinx organizing the tournament?" Silverius tousles his hair once more, making a proper mess of his usually carefully combed dark brown waves.
"They've always used riddles in the tournament, Travers. It's old news."
One of the squares is a simple note informing Silverius that for this task he'll be allowed the use of an empty classroom, which is to be protected however he sees fit, and given a set of cauldrons only he can approach.
"We'll see about that," Delphini says, smirking and making Silverius snort, trying to stifle his laugh.
The second square is much more interesting. There's neat handwriting in shimmering black ink, but what truly catches their attention is the texture. It isn't paper or simple parchment. It's much softer, more pliable.
"This is vellum," Silverius realizes, his fingers caressing the surface, "as in proper calfskin. Look, there's veining on it. Why would they go through the trouble of sourcing this just for a riddle?"
"Because it's part of the puzzle, Travers. There are Boomslangs on the box, even though none of the ingredients can be extracted from them, and now there's vellum," Delphini answers, giving him a pointed look.
"You need to be clear about this one, Delphini, because I don't get it."
"Boomslang skin Travers! I'm telling you, you'll have to brew something that needs it."
"Makes sense. Let's hope they'll actually tell me which potion it is," he says, letting his eyes drop back to the words they haven't read yet.
'If you'd like to see this task behind your back, know your triumph lies on the wonders you can flask.
What would save you from the Basilisk glare? What would save you from Bicorns with fangs bare? How would you keep your mind sharp? How would you play a person like a harp? What keeps your eyes seeing in the dark? What makes you sing like a skylark? What awakes the injured and stirs the dead? What stops a poisonous spread?'
"So… eight questions, eight potions? I'm guessing the ingredients are clues to the answers, which means that list I said was useless can actually come in handy," Delphini muses, pulling her braid onto her lap.
"All to be brewed from scratch, on time," Silverius' voice holds a little note of despair, "thank Merlin I get to take my NEWTs a little later in the summer."
"The thing is, why do you have to brew these? How are you going to use them in the third task?" She tilts her head, tugging on her braid. Travers shakes so violently beside her that Delphini nearly regrets thinking aloud.
"Tell me we're not saving other people using these potions, Delphini. I have two little sisters here at Hogwarts, they better not be thinking about endangering them!"
There's a vivid image of two dark haired girls in Silverius' mind. Delphini knows them. A Slytherin third year and a Ravenclaw first year. Fair skinned brunettes that like wearing red on the weekends. Nivea and Iucunda.
"We have no clues to that, so I say we stay up until dawn figuring out which potions you'll need," she says, avoiding the subject, "we have thirteen ingredients to work from. I'm guessing cowbane goes into the Bicorn repellent, whatever that is." She rises gingerly, going straight for a bookcase. Travers does have a lot to get done tonight.
And Delphini would rather keep her mind awake and busy than let it wander into the dark corners where it likes to dream.
X
Ministry of Magic, April 15th, 2014
There's a knock on his door.
"Come in."
"Auror Potter? This just came for you, sir," says a young, skinny witch fighting a purple paper aeroplane in Harry's office doorway.
"There's no need to call me 'sir', Carina," Harry says, looking up from his pile of delayed files, fighting to keep a smile from his face. She's one of the new recruits, just getting started, and there's a clumsiness and a propensity for awkward situations to her that have him thinking of Tonks every time they cross paths.
"Sorry, sir, I mean, Auror Potter. It's being rather insistent, I believe it's urgent, judging from the way it keeps flying against your door and bullying me to let it in."
The skinny witch steps inside, reaching for the frenzied piece of paper. The thing seems to realize it's now in the right place, so it dodges her hands and flies straight into his forehead, pocking him repeatedly.
"Thank you, Carina," he says, flinching as the flying memo hits his scar, "that will be all." He plucks the thing out of the air, smiling to the witch, who is clearly struggling not to laugh.
Carina closes the door behind her and Harry proceeds to almost violently unfold and flatten the frantic little purple thing against his thigh. He flattens it again, this time against his desk, holding it down until it stops moving and allows him to read the short note.
'We have a meeting that started five minutes ago. Get in here!
Hermione'
Harry can almost hear her through the straight-to-the-point words. She is right, though, he thinks, looking to the clock haphazardly perched on the very edge of his desk. He plucks his robes from the back of his chair and quickly makes his way to the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, walking at a brisk pace, knowing that it will keep people from stopping him. He greets mostly everyone with a nod of his head, avoiding names because he's still lousy with them.
He is greeted by Hermione's secretary, Helen, he thinks, who rushes him along into the office.
"Sorry, Hermione, I was catching up on paperwork and lost track of time," he offers the excuse the second he's inside, hoping that 'paperwork getting done' is enough to stave off her anger for now, knowing perfectly well that he'll get a proper scolding about his erratic filing of closed cases. Once they're alone, that is.
It's not just the two of them here. There's a wheat-blond wizard in the office with them, as well as a middle-aged witch with features like a hawk, and a familiar face that evokes a sad smile from him.
"Harry! We were waiting for you," Hermione smiles despite her obvious annoyance.
"I said I was sorry. I am," he apologises once more, this time bowing his head to the others. They are all sitting at a round table near the fireplace, and there's a free chair by Hermione's side, which he is quick to occupy. "What's going on? You never did tell me what this was about."
"Well then, I'd like you to meet Rubeolus Stinkwood from the Muggle Liaison Office, and Theodora Bellchant from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," she nods to each one as she presents them, "I'm sure you remember Mr. Diggory from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Hermione smiles kindly to the melancholic man sitting across them both.
Harry can't help but notice the longing in Amos' eyes. Cedric would have been just a couple of years older than him, perhaps working at the Ministry as well. It can't be easy for Amos to be surrounded by all of them, to have to see so many of his son's friends and colleagues on a daily basis, but never Cedric. His mind slips away, wondering about the myriad of what-ifs that a different ending to the Tournament of '94 might have brought about.
Hermione clears her throat discreetly, bringing him back. She sets her forearms on the polished table, her hands coming together and fingers twining over a stack of files.
"At the bequest of the Minister for Magic, I'm putting together an interdepartmental team," she slides a file to each of them as she speaks, "so that we can sort out this mess."
So that's what this is about, he thinks, opening the file. It's been the talk of the Ministry for these past few weeks. The Aurors are currently looking into a couple of freak accidents involving Muggles, but there have been more. Quite a lot more, it seems. Some thought to be caused by children's accidental magic, some thought to be the result of magical creatures' activities, some a bit too suspicious to be passed as accidents at all. Their Muggle liaisons have been busy making excuses and coming up with cover stories, but Harry does not like the pattern he sees.
"As you can see, these would-be-freak-accidents have been happening for about six weeks now, but they have been scattered across multiple departments. It was Rubeolus that made the connection, as he noticed an unusual spike in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee workload." Hermione gestures towards the wheat-blond wizard, who promptly takes the word.
"The Committee is not very often called upon to solve matters like these accidents. Usually, the Department deploys the Reversal Squad or the Obliviators and that's it. All the new Muggle technology has made our work much harder, you see, but these accidents are highly unusual. The frequency at which they happen… not even Muggles are this prone to mishaps. When I started looking into them, well, I think we're dealing with something else altogether."
"You think someone is attacking Muggles," Harry concludes. "Have we excluded all other possibilities?" He doesn't like the most likely scenario, but it is painting itself in vivid colours before their eyes.
"We have excluded accidental magic," answers the witch with hawk-like features, "in the cases reported to our department, that is. There were no magical children in the vicinity, and, when there were, it was determined that their accidental magic was not the cause."
"We have also checked for creatures' involvement in some of these," says Amos, "we couldn't find as much as a Pixie."
"Let's start cross-checking cases, then. The files I provided you with all have the cases currently at hand, organized by department, make sure we exclude all other explanations for this before we jump to conclusions." Hermione looks to Harry then. "Please tell me you haven't found anything suspicious in your cases."
"The problem is, we have found just enough to make it suspicious. There's nothing obvious, and we have no clue to who might be behind all this, but I do believe someone is targeting Muggles."
"If you allow me to be so bold," says Rubeolus, leaning forward on the table, "I think we are well past jumping to conclusions. I believe we are running behind whatever is going on here. Fortunately, none of these have been filmed or photographed by Muggles. We have a standard list of excuses for the images their new contraptions can capture, but the truth of it is that we're running out of ways to make those things go away, and if these attacks are somehow witnessed… I'm afraid we'll have to be forthcoming with the Muggle authorities."
"To be perfectly honest," sighs Hermione, "if there was such an incident, at least we'd have a lead."
"What? Must I remind you, Mrs. Granger, that we live under a Statute of Secrecy?" Theodora sounds positively indignant.
"No, Theodora, you do not have to remind me."
"Do shut up, Theodora. You have no idea about what we are up against when it comes to Muggle technology," Rubeolus tone is worsening in mood and rising in volume.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Enough! We all know that we're in over our heads when it comes to Muggle technology and the problems it's been causing. That's not the point," Hermione sounds tired then, "the point is that someone is attacking Muggles. We are not telling the Prime-Minister a word about this until we have at least an idea of who's carrying them out and why they're doing so. Cross-check each other's cases, come back to me within a week." She stands then, and everyone follows suit, leaving swiftly.
All but Harry, who dallies, and shuffles through his file, pretending to be distracted. Hermione shuts the door after Amos Diggory, leaning against it and huffing, a long sigh exiting her lips.
"You look exhausted, Hermione. Is there anything I can do?"
"Can you take the lead on this thing?" She laughs when Harry shivers. "I thought so. This is going to be like herding cats. We have all these problems with Muggle technology, and now this."
"How's Shacklebolt? I haven't met him in a while."
"If he had any, he'd be pulling his hair out. All these issues with smartphones and the internet… it's getting bad, Harry. There's a movement for complete segregation forming, and he keeps trying to curb it, but it's bad."
Harry doesn't answer. He is fully aware of the undercurrents coming alive in the halls of the Ministry, on the streets, in the pubs.
"It doesn't help that the damn things go absolutely nuts in our hands," she says, letting her hair down from the practical, and tidy bun, "even Squibs can't use them long enough for us to figure them out properly. We can Obliviate as many Muggles as we like, but erasing the track of the stuff they manage to upload is practically impossible."
They stare into each other's eyes. There's no need for words. Muggle attacks, a movement for complete segregation, it all sounds eerily familiar. Every couple of decades, the same beliefs surface in the wizarding community. All they need now is some sort of leader, someone daring enough to lobby for the cause, and the snowball will start rolling again, growing and picking up speed. Someone will, eventually, make an argument for the superiority of wizards over Muggles, they know it. They have to stop the avalanche from ever coming.
"We're getting to the bottom of this, Hermione. We won't let it happen again." Harry stands, file in hand. "I'll get my best people on this. We'll start a proper investigation on the other cases first thing in the morning."
X
Malfoy Manor, April 18th, 2014
Delphini has been home for less than a week now, yet this is the third time Healer Harvey has had to come. She had her suspicions about Astoria's health, with Scorpius letters being so quiet on the matter, and Draco's letters becoming irregular.
She was up reading by wand light, splayed under her covers, Guivre and Vicious somewhere in the bed with her, when the cracking started. The house-elves started popping in and out of rooms, the sound reverberating through the silent mansion. A louder crack and she knew one of them had gone to fetch Healer Harvey.
Now, Delphini waits just outside Draco and Astoria's chambers, hands together at the front of her dressing gown, rubbing her fingers to fight the chill of the night, listening to the rain bashing the windows, trying not to focus on Astoria's hacking cough and the wheezing that can be heard in between. Scorpius is still asleep, fortunately, and she has taken the precaution of casting a Silencing Spell on his bedroom door.
She waits, then waits some more. Her Kneazle takes a seat by her feet, leaning against her shins, its tail tickling her calves. She fidgets with the end of her braid, wrapping the wide curl there on her fingers repeatedly. When the door finally opens, the wizard that emerges from it looks weary at best. His dark tresses are dishevelled, his eyes are red, and the circles under them look nearly purple.
"Healer Harvey, I have to talk to you," she says in a quiet voice, "it'll be but a moment. I promise to be quick."
"Is something the matter, Miss Lestrange?"
"I need your help. I'd like you to teach me."
With the amount of reading about potions that she has been doing, it's only logical that she would stumble into several tomes about healing. There are some answers there, but not all that she needs. There are ways to make Astoria better, even if it's only for a little while, but she cannot risk trying them without some sort of guidance.
"Teach you," he repeats, seeming baffled by the notion, "you want to take up an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's? With me?" The idea seems to pick up momentum in his mind, and his eyes light up under the exhaustion. "I'd be delighted to have such a talented witch-"
"No," she interrupts him, watching the light in his eyes go down a little, "I haven't made myself clear, Healer Harvey. I don't want to learn about healing people. I want to know how to take care of Astoria. How to heal her."
"Uhm, specifically? I see. If I may be so bold to ask-"
"Can you cure her? Can you undo the blood curse of the Greengrasses?"
"No, Miss Lestrange, I am sorry but I cannot do either of those things."
"Which means the curse will have her in the end. Although there are ways to stave it, if I understand correctly? You can keep her from getting worse, can you not?"
"Well, the short answer is yes, Miss Lestrange, but you must understand that I'm limited in my results."
"I know that, Healer Harvey," she looks him square in the eye, "but if you can keep her with us longer, and a little better…" She lets her voice falter, the burden of what's to come weighing down on her lungs, strangling her voice with the harsh truth.
"I will try my very best to keep Mrs. Malfoy alive, and comfortable, Miss Lestrange. But this is an uphill battle, and a losing one." His shoulders sag, his eyes drop to his shoes momentarily, before he dares raise a hand and place it on Delphini's shoulder. He doesn't move his hand; it simply lingers there, very still. An odd comfort, a painful admission of a defeat to come.
"Let me help you. Teach me. I know we can't save her, but Scorpius deserves to have his mother on the platform the day he leaves for Hogwarts for the first time. He should have his mother there, at least this once," she is dangerously close to rambling now, fighting the knot in her throat and the tears about to surface, but she refuses to be silent. She must have her way with this, "and you can't be here for the entirety of summer to make sure that happens, but you can teach me. You can show me which potions to use and which spells to cast. I know I can't save her, but I can make sure that she's there for Scorpius. I can buy her some more time."
"I see," there's a sad smile of resignation on his lips, a truthful sorrow at not having her as a true apprentice, "you do not share of a healer's vocation, but your motives are sound. It is quite late, Miss Lestrange, might we postpone this to a more feasible hour?"
"Of course," she replies, nodding her head enthusiastically, her tiredness gone.
"Meet me at St. Mungo's on Monday, I'll have a list of books ready for you and we'll go from there."
She curtsies demurely, and Healer Harvey bows, wishing her farewell. Delphini watches the tall wizard walk down the corridor, stopping when Narkey pops up by his side. The elf cracks away with him, and Delphini doesn't wait for its return.
She checks on Scorpius, making sure to adjust the covers around him, then walks to her own bedroom; Vicious Mist trailing silently behind her, chasing the end of her braid.
X
St. Mungo's Hospital, April 21st, 2014
Delphini stands outside a derelict red-bricked house, wearing her blonde and warm brown-eyed persona, not quite capable of leaving the blue out of her tresses, even if it gathers some attention from the Muggles passing by. She puts her hands to the window and slides inside, crossing the glass and emerging in St. Mungo's waiting room.
She wastes no time, dodging the Welcoming Witch and the lime-green dressed Healers, taking to the staircase as discreetly as possible. She climbs the steps up to the fourth floor and, once there, takes a long corridor on the right. There are several offices, all barred by doors featuring the bone-crossed wand and a lime green plaque featuring the name of the Healer working inside.
Delphini steps aside as a witch in a purple dress exits Healer Harvey's office. She is followed by a little girl sporting long whiskers and restless little mouse ears.
"A spoonful of this every night for a week, and absolutely no cheese, Mrs. Rathmore," Healer Harvey says, extending a large flask with a yellow concoction inside, "also, tell your son to stop trying spells on his sister, will you? It's only funny the first time."
The little girl looks up to her and squeals a greeting. Her mother gives her an embarrassed smile and swiftly takes the happy girl by the hand. Delphini can't help but notice the long thin tail peeking from under the girl's pink dress, waving from side to side as she walks away.
She focuses her attention back on the tall wizard making his way inside the office again, putting a hand against the doorjamb and the other on the doorknob.
"I'll be glad to help, young lady, but you must make an appointment. I'm rather busy right now, if you'll excuse me," he speaks without taking a second look at her, "I'm waiting for someone." He waves towards the corridor, clearly uninterested in her.
"I know, sir. It's me you're waiting for," she says, pushing the door and entering uninvited, "good afternoon."
The wizard's brows frown at first, as Delphini shuts the door behind her, and then rise on his forehead when she lets her true features and colours come forth.
"Miss Lestrange! Do come in."
"I'm sorry, Healer Harvey, but I'd rather not divulge this meeting, or Astoria's condition, which is why I came here looking, well, not like myself."
They sit down on opposite sides of his desk, and he promptly slides a small notebook towards her. She flips through it, taking in the lists of books she's expected to read, the potions she'll have to make, and the spells she must master.
"There will be a lot of reading and potion brewing to begin, some spell work too, but you're not an apprentice and you're still studying at Hogwarts, which means I have no present easy way to keep tabs on your progress."
"I can practice at Hogwarts," she tells him with that wide open smile that could win over the world for her, "I'll ask Madam Pomfrey, I'm sure she won't oppose to some help. And she can report back to you." Her voice is even and assured, with a touch of smugness to her tone that she has picked up from Uncle Lucius. She has had the whole scheme figured out in her mind for days.
He laughs openly at that, loud and happy.
"Your peers are not rats in first year Transfiguration, Miss Lestrange… but I guess that will do. I'll write to Madam Pomfrey. What about the potions? Can you source the proper ingredients?"
"I'm part of the Slug Club. Professor Slughorn won't oppose. He'll be thrilled to help, and I'll be able to build up a little stock to bring back with me for the summer."
"And with such a library at Hogwarts, you will have no trouble catching up with the reading, I'm certain," he smiles, laying his hands on his desk and intertwining his fingers, "but I must ask, Miss Lestrange, are you certain about this? Make no mistake, there won't be a happy ending to this quest of yours." His semblance is much more serious, all lightness gone from his voice.
"I am certain," she knows exactly where this quest ends, and her voice is steely and even as she speaks, "I intend to work diligently, Healer Harvey, so that I can be of use during the summer."
So that I can grant Scorpius one happy journey to Hogwarts, so that he can have his mother at the platform, sending him off, her mind adds, and the voice in her head is not so steady.
Astoria forbade her from learning about the darkest arts, but she won't oppose to the notion of having more time with her family, even if it's only borrowed. Astoria forbade her from dwelling in the murky waters of immortality, but that does not mean she can't save her in some small measure. One that's unbearably minute, but still there. A mere twinkle of light from a faraway star amidst the dark skies of the night where future hides.
Delphini exchanges some pleasantries with Healer Harvey, and takes mental notes on their conversation, though her interest is fairly diminished now that she has what she came for. A cover up. Something to use when people ask why she has taken such a keen interest in the arts of healing. She lets the conversation flow naturally, making no attempt to shorten it. She knows that there's a clock ticking on the healer's desk, and another appointment after hers. When their time is up, Delphini rises from her seat, bowing her head to the wizard before she turns her hair blonde and blue and her eyes brown once more. Her features change, she's even a little shorter like this.
"I should have seen it, before," Healer Harvey muses in a low voice, "you look like them."
Delphini doesn't reply, merely smiles and turns to leave, notebook securely held against her chest. A Malfoy, he means, and she dares hope the world will see her as such, and not as what she truly is.
X
Hogwarts, April 30th, 2014
They're tired after their classes, but the tournament's last task is approaching far too quickly for them to dally. As promised, Silverius has been given use of an empty classroom and four copper cauldrons, which are now all simmering over the fire.
The classroom has been warded by Silverius, as far as the jury is concerned. The cauldrons are off limits to everyone but the champion, jolting others across the room at any attempt of using them. There will be no third party interactions with the potions, hazardous or otherwise. Ludo Bagman was extremely careful about it, and though flinging ingredients in from a distance is entirely possible – they checked – it is deemed too dangerous and too inaccurate.
What Delphini can do is help prepare the never ending list of ingredients that go into making eight different potions, as well as making sure that they concoct the right eight. Have them sorted and ready, and save Travers some trouble, and some time. That thing she never really minded much but now feels like treasuring.
"Do we know how we're keeping my mind sharp during the task?" Silverius asks her, trying to look nonchalant about it, as if dicing bat spleens is the most important thing.
"With a brain elixir, I've told you. It's what the Runespoor eggs are for," she answers, not looking up from the Mandrake root she's juicing, smirking at the anxiety exuding from his mind.
"Does that stuff even work?"
"Not that Baruffio's stuff, it doesn't", she says, whipping her hands on a cloth and pulling a book out from her satchel, straight from the restricted section, "but there's an old recipe that hasn't been used for centuries because it's hidden in a book of questionable intent. I went through it with Professor Slughorn already. It's sound."
Professor Slughorn has a vested interest in this particular task, and he has been keeping tabs on Travers progress. He has also been elated with Delphini's renewed passion for potion brewing, and she has spent a considerable amount of time working with him.
"Do the other champions have access to our library?"
"I suppose so, but then the book is here, so…" They laugh together.
"Speaking of Professor Slughorn, will you be with him soon?"
"Tomorrow actually. He's going to make sure my potions are safe and sound before Madam Pomfrey uses them."
Travers nods, returning his attention to the bat spleens, while Delphini gathers the Runespoor eggs and the flask of dragon blood, setting them neatly by the book. They don't say a word, but their silence is compliant. There's a hidden intention to Delphini's meetings with their Head of House.
She can't actually help with the brewing, but Delphini can get the Boomslang skin for Travers. The faculty is forbidden from helping the champions, but if a student happens to ask a teacher for an ingredient, and it somehow makes its way to a champion's cauldron, well, there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with it.
X
Hogwarts, May 1st, 2014
Delphini knocks on Professor Slughorn's office door, and gently pushes it when his jolly voice invites her in. He offers her tea, dropping a cube of sugar in his own cup, levitating another in her direction. She lets a small enchanted jug poor some milk into her cup, revelling on the warmth spreading across her hands as they cradle it.
Slughorn is more than a little excited about this meeting, but he plays along, keeping to their cover. Delphini plucks several flasks from her satchel, placing them in a neat row on the sturdy coffee table in front of the armchairs where they've taken seats. The fireplace cracks and spits little embers, for even if spring has started a couple of weeks ago, it seems to be taking longer to reach the Highlands.
She smiles openly at the compliments her potions earn her. Professor Slughorn casts spells on some, drops tiny leaves into others, watching them turn a different shade or exhale a colourful mist, his smile widening with each one.
"A most successful batch, Miss Lestrange! That will be ten points each," he says, lifting his teacup to her and bowing his head, "Poppy will be delighted, I'm sure. How have you been liking your work in the Hospital Wing?"
She indulges his curiosity, describing how Madam Pomfrey wasn't very keen on having her play shadow at first, but has been actually giving her some leeway this past week. Delphini never does anything without consulting her, sometimes only for appearance's sake, but she is allowed to fix the magical mishaps of her peers, and to set to bones after Quidditch practices and matches.
Slughorn is very proud of her, his pride emanating from his mind, warm and welcoming, not a trace of suspicion in it. He can still be uneasy about her, he never quite forgets that she is Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter, but he keeps those thoughts to the back of his mind. Delphini does her best to keep them there, more than a little aware that the wizard before her taught her father once, and he more than anyone inside the castle could make the connection hiding in her green eyes.
"Are we both going to pretend that we don't know why I'm truly here, Professor?" She smiles, pulling her curls, left loose on purpose, over her shoulder with slow movements. They've talked enough, they've checked her potions, and it's time they get down to business.
"Oh, I have no idea, Miss Lestrange. But it's on that bookcase," he replies, nodding over his left shoulder to several shelves absolutely filled with ingredients, "seventh shelf, to the right, in a jar. Labelled, actually."
She smiles, nearly laughs, standing up gingerly and walking up to the right side of the bookcase, drawing the wooden step ladder closer with a twirl of her wand, and reaching for a large, almost cubical, flask sporting a very clear label. Delphini examines the two skins inside, one brown and one green.
"I've got the skin of both a female and a male for you," Slughorn explains, "I couldn't quite remember which one goes into the Re-skinning Elixir." He winks, and Delphini feels compelled to answer in line.
"I'm not sure either, but I'm certain Madam Pomfrey will clarify the matter. Students can get some ugly burns from wayward potions and exploding cauldrons, Re-skinning Elixir is always on demand. I'll bring the other one back, Professor." She is by the coffee table again, levitating her batch of brews back into her satchel, carefully placing them inside so that none break. She stores the Boomslang skins last, knowing perfectly well, as does Slughorn, that neither will be returned.
Female Boomslang skin for the Re-skinning Elixir. Male Boomslang skin for the Oscines Potion. They don't know why exactly, but the third task requires a potion that makes people sound like songbirds.
Delphini apologises for not staying longer, thanking Slughorn for the skins and for the tea, but she has homework to finish. Her Head of House escorts her to the door, still chatting.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he adds, a bit like an afterthought but his smile too coy for this not to be planned, "Professor Longbottom has something for you."
"He does?" Delphini's brows furrow on her forehead.
"He just asked that I send you his way. Greenhouse Six, he said. I trust you will not be costing our House any points by being absent?"
"No, sir, I shall not," she says, completely confident, even though she has not a clue to why Professor Longbottom wants to see her. There is an ingredient they need to get from the greenhouses, but those are open for the students to use pretty much at will, there's no reason for Professor Longbottom to act as intermediary.
X
Professor Longbottom is waiting for her in Greenhouse Six, just like she was told, but she isn't any closer to the reason why by the time she reaches it. Her mind is more than a little frazzled these days, with the amount of excuses she has not to sleep much. There's schoolwork, Quidditch, being alone with Radagast, spending time with Teddy, lounging about with her tight pack of friends, helping Travers with his potions, reading up on and brewing her own potions, writing and reading letters to and from her family… all and all, she is positively exhausted by the time her head hits the pillow, and she is thankful. She is nothing but grateful for this kind of exhaustion, because her mind is simply too tired to dream much of anything, let alone construct elaborate nightmares.
She has to shake those thoughts off her mind at the sight of Professor Longbottom, who is gently prying green and leafy tentacles off his right leg, mumbling soothingly to the enormous plant that seems to cover the entirety of the roof beams and at least one wall. He's clad in protective leather robes for good reason. From afar, the plant looks like it has been sprinkled with bright blue spots, iridescent in their shine, but up close Delphini can see long skinny thorns on the vines and tentacles, the vivid blue in sharp contrast to the large, bright yellow flowers that crown what seems to be the centre.
"Amandi Tentacula. Pretty, isn't she? They are known for being jealous though, which is why she's being so touchy now. She can sense you. Stay back, just in case. She can't shoot her thorns, but she can fling a tentacle full of them at you."
"Lovely," Delphini replies, taking a couple of steps back and wrapping her fingers around her wand, "mind if I keep my wand ready? Just in case, Professor."
Her stance and the bone white wand elicit a note of alarm in Longbottom's mind, but the plant does not strike, and so it subdues into care for the cloying vegetal.
"Now, now, I'll be back in a moment to water you and get rid of those bugs. There's no need for all this," he keeps saying, caressing the tentacle as he puts it away, "she's just a student."
Delphini watches on, amused but appreciative of her teacher's devotion to his plants, no matter how they look or how deadly they may be. She waits for him to step closer to the door, keeping herself at what she supposes is a safe distance.
"Professor Slughorn said you asked for me."
"I did, Miss Lestrange. I don't mean to intrude but I crossed paths with Draco the other day, and I gather that Astoria is not doing well."
He seems genuinely concerned, and even a little embarrassed to bring the subject up, so Delphini restrains the urge to tell him that 'not doing well' happens to be the euphemism of the century.
"She is not, sir," she says instead, offering no more information than that she precisely has to.
"I've heard about the curse. I'm sure you have all the best care for her, already, but I couldn't help and wonder if… well, if some of the extracts I keep wouldn't be of use."
Delphini is stunned into silence. This man lost his parents at the hands of her mother, and can't help but be reminded of Bellatrix every time he sees Delphini. This man is still scared of her in the back of his mind the whole time they share the same room. He suffered horribly under both her parents, even if he isn't completely aware of it, but still he is kind.
He has seen the dark shades under her eyes when she comes into his class, she sees in his mind. He has seen those blueish half-moons grow since she came back after Easter break, every morning at the Great Hall, and he saw them mirrored in Draco's face when he saw him, and he chose kindness instead of the ugly feelings she has seen sprout in other people's minds. Nameless wizards and witches that cross their paths, having suffered a great deal less than Neville Longbottom, and rejoice a little in just how tired Draco looks, how it's making his hair line recede, how's he's ageing faster. But not Neville Longbottom. Harry has mentioned Astoria's sickness more than once in conversation as well, and Neville knows that Delphini has been helping Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing, and somehow sees through her façade.
Her teacher has seen the worry grow within her, and he has an assortment of helpful plant extracts for Delphini to take back home.
"I have them here, all packed for safe traveling," he tells her, going to a glass cabinet not far from the door and retrieving a sturdy looking package. He unravels it, pulling the cord and brown paper off a leather vial holder, and then opening the protective leather flaps away. Stored in neat little pockets, lie a dozen vials containing healing extracts, soothing extracts, mild sleeping drafts that replenish the body as one rests.
Delphini knows care from people outside her family. Potter cares, Professor Slughorn cares, Headmistress McGonagall cares, but they all have a reason, an ulterior motive. They care about her secret, they care about her reputation and how it reflects on theirs. Granger cares, in her own way, Molly Weasley cares, but they care out of a choice to see past her mother and the scars she inflicted on them.
Professor Longbottom just cares about her, honestly, for no other reason than caring. He doesn't do it to redeem himself, or to forgive her parents through her. He has seen her suffering and decided to ease it as he can simply because he can.
"Thank you," she nearly whispers, her voice threatening to crack, "I don't know what to do. How can I possibly-"
"You don't have to do anything. A thank you is more than enough. I just hope they'll be of use," he's talking so that she doesn't have to, not looking at her tear-brimmed eyes so as not to embarrass her, instead keeping busy by folding the leather holder closed again, and wrapping it again. He could do it with just a couple of spells, but he does it manually, giving her time to compose herself.
"Also, Professor Slughorn told me you might be interested in gathering some Dirigible Plums?" He is quick to change the subject, passing the package to her hands without another word about it. "Well, if you are, they're at the back, and you can take a few, seeing as you're already here."
He is giving her an out, and a truthful explanation as to why she was here, without having to mention Astoria's sickness, or the vials she now holds.
"Thank you, sir, truly. I will."
They nod to one another, and go their separate ways. Professor Longbottom back inside, to care for his Amandi Tentacula, and Delphini all the way to the back of Greenhouse Six, where the small bushes of Dirigible Plums grow, leaning against the frame and the dirty glass panels of the greenhouse.
X
Hogwarts, May 13th, 2014
She is back in the Chamber, and it's preposterously early. Not that one would know whether it's day or night in the green hued light of this secret place. The water ripples around her, Salazar watches over her with his stone eyes. Delphini is dressed for the day already, her outer robe neatly folded on the large armchair she Conjured, over her satchel, so that she won't have to move against the crowd once morning settles on the castle.
This isn't a potion to be made under Slughorn's proud eyes, or to be used in the Hospital Wing. This is something to be done in privacy, shrouded from the world's eyes so that they cannot see the pain that haunts her family. The fear of the future that lives in all of their shadows.
Delphini stirs the potion in her cauldron three times clockwise, lets it bubble for precisely two minutes, and stirs again. It simmers now, and Delphini reduces the bright flames to shy little wisps of fire. She moves away from the cauldron and turns to her worktable, a sturdy thing of dark wood, tall enough for her to stand while working. The male Boomslang skin was taken to Travers, along with a bunch of Dirigible Plums, but the rest she kept for herself. Travers needs the plums to his manipulating potion. She needs them to keep the Malfoy's spirits a little higher.
The Manor is a dour place these days, and Scorpius is slowly but steadily drifting towards a dark place inside of him. She needs them to hold some hope, wasted as it may be, she needs them to believe a little harder. Astoria's curse cannot be lifted, but she will stave it. And she will make sure that they all do a little better for however long Astoria may still have.
She slowly slides an upside down jar to the very edge of the table, bringing the opening over it just enough for her to slide her hand inside and catch one of the floating plums. The bright orange fruit feels soft in her hand, the surface smooth, a little squishy to the touch. Perfectly ripe. It bleeds juice when she cuts it open in half and slices it on the cutting block. She repeats the process for the other two, then moves back to the cauldron and pushes it all off the wooden board with her silver knife. They pop into the liquid, bit by bit, creating little splashes.
Ten times she stirs, whispering words over the purplish concoction, carefully making it swirl counter clockwise, and watching it change from purple to green. Not jade green, nor emerald green. The colour of new leaves in spring, a hopeful shade of green that speaks of life.
She puts out the flames underneath the cauldron with a brusque movement of her hand and casts a cooling charm on the cauldron. Her wand emerges from the holster, capturing the hued light in its whiteness, and dances through the air as Delphini Conjures several small vials. She fills each one with the potion, and stores them in two rows on the bookcase, by the leather holder Professor Longbottom gave her and her box of treasures.
She cleans and tidies with swift, almost careless, movements of her wand. She puts on her outer robe and leaves the Chamber, satchel hanging from her shoulder, her braid of dark curls pulled over the other. Delphini slides into the mob of students moving towards the Great Hall for breakfast, and does so unnoticed.
X
Delphini takes her seat at the table, between Radagast and Syrianna, Freya and Sigmund on the other side, all of them already chatting cheerfully. Radagast removes himself from the conversation, leaning towards her.
"Early morning?"
"Very early, I wanted to catch up with a few things," she replies, kissing him on the cheek, "pass the pumpkin juice, will you?"
Breakfast is a quick affair amidst conversation. The tournament is on everyone's mind, pushing darker thoughts to the side. It's not until they are getting ready to leave the Great Hall that Delphini feels like something is going on. She walks hand in hand with Radagast, bound for the same class, when he suddenly lets go of her hand with a kiss to her right temple.
"What?"
"We're just waiting for someone," he says, pulling them towards the wall and out of everyone's way.
She doesn't have time to try and listen to his thoughts, for Teddy emerges from the crowd just behind them, tripping on his own unruly robe and nearly running into her.
"Sorry, Delphie," he blurts out, before even saying good morning. He quickly wraps one arm around her shoulders and starts walking. Radagast is by their side, looking far too amused for Delphini's taste. She does not like being taken by surprise, and she frankly dislikes that her cousin and her boyfriend have somehow conspired together to achieve this.
"Sorry for not being here for you, Delphie," Teddy says, so out of the blue that Delphini could have tripped and fallen on her face were it not for his arm around her.
"What? You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I know you're knee-deep in the Tournament, and Quidditch and what not," he says, as if he hasn't registered what she just said, "but you look worried when you think no one's watching."
"I'm fine, Teddy. You lost your grandmother," and her voice does not falter, even if she's thinking she killed her, "you're the one that needs taking care of. And you have OWLs-"
"Don't," he cuts in, "you may fool them all, but I know you. You've been off since Easter break. Radagast agrees." He nods to her boyfriend, smiling kindly, and Radagast steps closer to her, taking her hand again.
"We're worried, Delphini."
The noise of the students engulfs them, but Delphini feels like she's in a bubble with just the two of them.
"You're off, Delphie, and you're throwing yourself at this Healing apprenticeship to avoid it, you're trying to keep busy."
"I'm not avoiding it, I'm trying to fix it," she hisses, her tone a blade, "I'm not trying to keep busy, I am."
"Will you tell us what's going on? Or just tell Radagast. I'm fine with not knowing, but please talk to him." He hugs her, absolutely uncaring that people are staring at such an open display of affection.
Delphini can't help but hug him back, though she keeps from burying her face in his robes. They part ways without saying another word. She walks with Radagast, his arm around her waist and her body leaning on his, up to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Teddy walks the other way, down to Potions.
She won't say a word now, but she'll sit with Radagast one of these days, in the quiet of the Common Room into the late hours of the night. And the next day she'll sit with Teddy in their now sunny bay window, quiet perhaps - for Teddy had neither parent at the platform the first time he left - but a little lighter, a little happier.
X
Hogwarts, June 15th, 2014
The castle is absolutely frantic. It's the last task today and the stands of the Quidditch pitch are filled to the brim. The Ministry has issued permits for outsiders and members of the press to come and witness the end of the first Tournament in two decades.
Delphini has been struggling with everyone else's thoughts, raising the barriers of her mind higher and higher. Most thoughts are cheerful and loud, whether in English or French or languages she does not understand. Some, though, are simply disturbing. It's not what they think of her, or of Teddy, or of her and Radagast together. It's what they think of Travers winning. Hogwarts students are all with him, but not the faculty, not the outsiders, at least not all of them. They are concerned for his victory, secretly cheering for the other champions, simply because it will be easier to digest a loss than a victory by a Slytherin.
No matter how many minds she pries into, or how many thoughts she can't quite keep out of her head, she still doesn't know what, exactly, is the task. No one quite knows what will happen, or how the potions will play into it. The canvas screens are in place, the tracking spells will soon be cast again, but all they can see from up here is a stone house, almost a miniature fortress, built with magic over the last two weeks. They had to rearrange the Quidditch Cup schedule because of it, cramming it all in the last half of May, which led to some seriously exhausted students plopping down on beds at the Hospital Wing and copious amounts of Skele-Gro and Replenishing Potions being doled out. It was either that or cancelling Quidditch and Headmistress McGonagall was having none of it, to the students delight.
The dark stone building sits eerily in the middle of the pitch, not reaching higher than any of the goal posts but seeming to take over the entire place. There have been rumours of large crates being carried inside and what not, but it seems that this time, the task has remained an actual secret. Delphini would much rather know, but she dismisses such thoughts, her mission today is different.
"I'll be back in a second," she whispers into Radagast's ear, leaving her place at the stands and pushing through the crowd on her way down. It's easier for her, she knows, people instinctively recoil in her presence, her magic exudes from her body and everyone else's makes way.
X
Delphini sneaks up past the outside of the Quidditch pitch, and keeping to the shadows along its wooden walls. It's a long walk, but she finally reaches the tent where the champions await their calling. It's outside the pitch, connected to the lawn by a tunnel under the stands, and it seems to scream in the bright colours of all three schools.
The minds inside reel with excitement and fear, a jumble of thoughts permeating the canvas. She takes her wand out and points it to the cloth, just by the place where she can hear Travers' mind the better. His mind is full of apprehension. Making sure she is not seen, she whispers as she draws a straight line from her chest to the floor down the canvas. It is cleanly cut, and she wastes no time in crouching a little so as to step inside Traver's room in the tent.
"Breathe, it's fine, it's just me," she says, the instant she's inside and before Silverius can turn, "your sisters are both up on the stands, proudly cheering for you. They're safe."
Travers looks at her with anxious eyes, a tiny glint of relief in there when she mentions that he won't have to save his own little sisters, and promptly starts rambling.
"They made us write down the names of the potions we brewed. They said we wouldn't be allowed in if they were not appropriate. Plus, we wrote down different potions, we've checked!"
"You have different solutions for the same problems, so what? Have they barred any of you from entering?" She tries to worry about it, truly, but her mind is distracted.
There is something that's not quite right. It is the last task, and the champion's scores are pretty close, which means everyone is a little too excited today, thoughts spinning and spinning, running in all directions. Still, she can sense a little something. A dissonant mind in the crowd. No, not in the crowd. Closer.
The flap that keeps the privacy of the Slytherin champion ruffles, catching them both off guard. Delphini tightens her hand around her wand. If she's found, Travers could be disqualified. Their breaths catch in their throats as a bright green glove pulls the flap open.
There's a bright flash and a loud crack, and they go momentarily blind as the sound of glass breaking reaches their ears. Their vision returns, spotted and unfocused, but good enough to see what's happening. Someone's taking photographs.
Delphini perfectly arches her eyebrows as she turns her head towards the sound and the flashing light. Another burst confirms her suspicions. There's only one journalist who'd dare to come inside the champions tent. She holds her head higher, signalling Travers to stay put, and walks up to the offending flash. Another photograph is taken.
"Miss Skeeter," her voice is satin over a blade, "you were allowed to cover the Tournament, I see." The disdain in her tone is obvious, even more so in her green eyes, which travel up and down the witch, letting her know that her outfit is clearly lacking in taste.
"Miss Lestrange! Well, I certainly wasn't expecting you to be in here. I had you pinned with Radagast Rothley, but I see things have changed. Young love is such a fleeting thing. A word from the both of you? Perhaps another picture, a little more intimate this time, may I suggest a good luck kiss?"
The booming charmed voice of Ludo Bagman derails all of them, calling forth the champions. Travers right hand instinctively pulls his wand out, and his left hand pulls the strap of his Mokeskin bag over his head, and then his eyes search for Delphini's.
"Go, I'll take care of this. Quick, before Slughorn comes looking for you." It's an order, not a reassurance, but it works just the same. Silverius straightens his shoulders and his cloak, and steps past them with a stern face, disappearing from view beyond the heavily embroidered fabric.
Rita Skeeter's damned acid green quill is already flying over the parchment, scribbling juicy lies for the rest of the world to swallow. It's infuriating, but Delphini takes hold of her anger and pulls it back. She decides for the diplomatic approach, instead of clear confrontation. A swift menace should put an end to this.
"No, Miss Skeeter. You cannot have a word from either of us," there's a subtle hiss to her voice, and her canine teeth show in the malevolent smile she offers the other witch, "my aunt will hear of this." Her eyes glint, and she has to fight the urge to let them sparkle ruby red.
She is amused beyond measure at the evident fright in Rita's eyes, at the noticeable gulp in her throat, and at the way the photographer scatters away immediately. Her smile becomes victorious. Not one word will be written of this. The photographs will never be developed.
Rita gulps once more, stumbling a little in her rush to leave. Delphini raises her wand, rejoicing on the sheer panic emanating from the other witch's mind, and points it at the floating note pad. It bursts into flames without her saying a word, and that has Rita properly running out of her presence.
Delphini stays still for a moment, collecting herself, making sure that she can leave unnoticed. Then, she realizes that the dissonant mind wasn't Rita's, and her heart starts to race.
The dissonant mind left when Travers did, she realizes. Whoever it was, it was not in the tent once they called forth the champions. She decides to wait inside the tent instead of going back to the stands, and quickly casts a series of spells to keep her from being noticed.
She doesn't have to wait for very long, but it feels eternal. She listens as someone is brought back inside, into the room next to Travers'. Everyone's whispering, so Delphini lets her mind permeate the cloth and feels for the minds on the other side.
A bunch of people, all seriously concerned, a few thinking of stopping the task. Then, she pinpoints the dissonant mind. Noailles. He's the one they brought back. And for very good reason, it seems.
His mind is not his mind. There's someone else in it, commanding him. His thoughts feel blurry and they are pushed to the side by a series of orders that his mind replays. Noailles is under the Imperius Curse.
Delphini listens keenly to the orders that sound in his mind, desperately trying to understand what's happening.
You did it. You switched the right ones. Good boy, now drink it. You know which flask it his, drink it. Do it, now. It will all be over soon, I promise.
There's screaming then, a mess of clashing words.
"Take the bag away from him!"
"Stop him!"
"Don't! Put the flask down!"
Throwing all caution to the wind, Delphini slashes the fabric that separates her from him. She must know what he did, she must know who's making him do it. Wizards and witches startle at her sudden appearance, multiplying the screaming, and she swishes her wand, casting a shield so as not to be stunned.
"Noailles, look at me!" She's loud, and he looks up, trembling in his cot like a defenceless little creature would before a predator. Delphini crashes into his mind the second his eyes meet hers. She furiously skims through his recent memories, and what she finds horrifies her. Noailles shakes his head when she leaves his mind, retching, folding in half and falling to the ground on all fours. She was too brisk about it, but she doesn't have time for gentleness right now.
Euphemia is here. Euphemia has a plan.
Delphini runs.
Author's Note: Sorry for that cliff-hanger. Also sorry that it took me two months and a half to update, but this chapter… well, let's put it this way: it took a LOT of rewriting and a lot of editing, and I'm plagued by doubt, but there. It's done, and it's much longer than I thought it would be.
There's a lot to unpack here, hang on to your seats, any bets?
An immense thank you for all of you still reading, feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated. Welcome to all the readers that joined in during the gap.