Lena's nineteenth birthday was a small affair. Maggie and Oliver came to the Lestrange Estate for dinner with her and Remus, and afterwards they drank wine and ate chocolates while they discussed the Triwizard Tournament and their plans for Christmas.
Two days later, Lena left for the continent – alone, as Remus' transformation was fast approaching – to do a job for Madam Zawadzka, a friend of Hedda's. The task was to obtain two pints of Swooping Evil venom without paying a small fortune. After a few days of investigation, Lena found her best bet: a man named Ossani. A deal was struck, and a week-and-a-half after she'd left England, she was ready to make the agreed-upon transaction.
The meeting place was in Rome, a Muggle bar down the road from the Villa Medici. As Lena entered the establishment, her eyes darted around the place, wary of any associates of the Vettori family. It was highly unlikely that any of them would be in a Muggle bar, but nobody made it in this line of work by being an optimist.
She spotted Ossani sitting at a booth in the far corner, his fingers nervously tapping on the table. She suspected he wasn't used to doing business in Muggle establishments. Lena, on the other hand, preferred to meet in places populated by the non-magical. It made it easier to tell if a contact had any associates observing their interaction – and it also meant they were less likely to resort to magic if things weren't going their way.
"Ossani," she greeted him, reaching the booth.
He jerked his head in a nod, his eyes closely following her as she slid into the seat opposite him. "Lestrange. You have the file?"
"If you've got the venom."
Ossani picked up a small case that was beside him on the booth seat. He looked around furtively. Apparently content that nobody was watching them, he flicked the lid open, and Lena looked inside. As agreed, there were two pint-sized bottles of Swooping Evil venom.
Lena opened her bag and pulled out the file Ossani had requested in exchange. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him. "It details all the evidence the Aurors have against your brother, and their possible leads as to where he might be."
Ossani didn't even try to hide his eagerness as he took the file from her. He quickly opened the folder, his eyes scanning through its contents.
She had 'obtained' the file from the Italian Auror department's office the previous day – not that they were aware of that.
"If you're going to contact him, I suggest you do it sooner rather than later," Lena warned him. "The copy I made isn't going to last for much longer."
Ossani glanced up at her, then slowly nodded. "Yes," he muttered, pulling out a pocket watch from inside his coat. He flicked it open and read it, his finger anxiously tapping against the face. Then he shut it, and pushed the case containing the bottles of venom over to Lena. Picking up the file, he abruptly stood up. "I believe that concludes our business," he said, giving her another sharp nod. As he did, his eyes darted to the bar's entrance.
Lena, who was putting the case in her bag, paused. Her eyes narrowed at Ossani. Something was wrong. 'The pocket watch,' she realised. 'It wasn't a timepiece. It was a communication device.'
But it wasn't his brother with whom he'd been communicating. As Ossani passed her, Lena looked back to the entrance, and clenched her fists when she saw who was coming inside – two of Arsenio Vettori's hired thugs.
It had been a set-up. Lena could have smacked herself in the face for not realising that sooner. But there wasn't time to be angry with herself. In this kind of Muggle setting, she was restricted in what magic she could use, and there wasn't a chance in hell she could physically overpower these goons.
She needed a distraction, and an opportunity immediately presented itself as she noticed a man walking through the bar with two full drinks in his hands. Just as he was passing a table full of rowdy men who were clearly exceptionally drunk, Lena flicked a hand in his direction, and the man suddenly crashed into the table.
A brawl immediately broke out, and within a few seconds, the entire bar was in pandemonium. Lena stood up and spotted Ossani. His attempt to exit had been blocked by the fighting. Seeing the file in his hands, Lena made a crushing motion with one hand, and the file suddenly crumbled to dust, eliciting a cry of rage from the treacherous man.
Vettori's thugs had barely made it two feet from the entrance when the chaos had begun. Satisfied their view of her had been blocked, Lena quickly made her way to the back of the bar, and down the little hallway that led to the bathrooms. She had been hoping that it would be empty, giving her the opportunity to Apparate away, but a young couple sucking each others' faces off prevented her from doing so. The ladies' bathroom was no better, occupied by half a dozen twenty-somethings chatting and retouching their makeup.
Lena returned to the bar's main room. She was trying to get to the storeroom when a large, meaty hand clamped around her upper arm. Instinctively, she raised a hand to wandlessly blast him away, but noticed that unfortunately, the brawl appeared to have run its course. It was too risky to use magic now.
The thug who was holding Lena grinned nastily. "Il capo vuole una parola con te," he told her. The boss wants a word with you.
The other man wrenched Lena's bag off her shoulder, and together they marched her out of the bar and into the alleyway beside it, where Arsenio Vettori was waiting.
It was the first time Lena had come face-to-face with the eldest Vettori son. He wasn't as big as Renzo, but it looked like Arsenio was the one who had been given the brains.
He smirked upon seeing her. "Lena Lestrange, how wonderful it is to finally meet you," he drawled. He looked at his henchmen either side of her. "Hai la sua bacchetta?" he barked at them.
The man who had first grabbed Lena hastily patted down her pockets. After a short search, he discovered her wand in her sleeve and pulled it out, handing it over to Arsenio.
"È ora di andare, credo," he told them, and the thug gripped Lena tighter.
They were about to Disapparate with her, and to Merlin knew where.
'Probably somewhere even harder to get away from,' thought Lena. Once again, she had to act quickly – and this time, successfully.
Lena snapped her head back, and with a loud thwack, it connected with the nose of the thug on her right. He swore loudly, letting go of her arm in shock. As soon as her arm was free, Lena made a violent pushing motion with her hand, and the thug on her other side flew back and crashed into the wall. As he was flying through the air, Lena recalled her bag from his hands.
Just as it reached her, Arsenio sent a Stun at her, which she just managed to dodge. She attempted to call back her wand from him, but he was gripping it too tightly.
The henchman who was still clutching his broken nose swung a punch at Lena with his other hand, just grazing her right ear. She raised her hands to push him back like she'd done with the other, but was distracted by Arsenio sending another Stun at her. She dropped to the ground, and while she was down there, kicked out with one of her legs. The heel of her boot struck the thug in the ankle, and he stumbled back.
Once again, Lena tried to Summon her wand from Arsenio's left hand, but to no avail. So instead, as she narrowly avoided another spell sent her way by the Vettori son, she stretched out a hand towards the unconscious henchman who was slumped against the wall, and a moment later his wand flew into her hand.
She deflected another one of Arsenio's Stuns and put the other henchman in a Full Body-Bind. As he crashed to the ground, she pointed the stolen wand at Arsenio, who had his own trained on her.
"Give me back my wand," said Lena calmly, rising to her feet, "and your mother won't have a second one-armed son."
Arsenio only snarled in response, and sent a flurry of curses at her. Lena easily deflected each one, then flicked her wand as if she were casting a fishing line. A thin, golden rope streamed out of the wand. It wrapped itself around Arsenio's neck, and Lena tugged it.
Arsenio's eyes bulged, and he made a choking noise. He dropped both his wand and Lena's, and tried to pull the rope away from his neck. But his struggling only made it tighten.
As Arsenio, gasping for air, fell to his knees, Lena Summoned the two wands with her spare hand. Gripping her own, she dropped Arsenio's. Then she flicked the henchman's wand, and the gold rope disappeared. Arsenio let out a rasping gasp and coughed, his hands massaging his throat.
Lena threw the thug's wand down on the ground next to Arsenio's, then pointed her own at them.
"Exactus Confringo."
A jet of orange shot out and split itself in two. Each stream hit one of the wands, breaking them into halves.
Arsenio glared at her, enraged. "How dare you–" he began to croak, but Lena cut him off, pointing her wand at him. Although there was no rope this time, Arsenio's face started to turn purple as the air in his lungs was expelled.
"I suppose," said Lena nonchalantly, watching the man claw at his throat, "it would be somewhat unoriginal of me to cut off your arm." She cocked her head thoughtfully. "Perhaps a leg instead. Or an eye. Or possibly your tongue."
But before she could make up her mind, Lena heard the sound of footsteps approaching the alleyway. She quickly broke the Choking Spell and turned around to face the alleyway's entrance, preparing herself to cast a Memory Charm in case an unsuspecting Muggle stumbled into the curious scene.
To her surprise, it was not a Muggle who turned the corner, but a familiar face – Theodora.
The Greek woman raised her eyebrows at the sight that greeted her – two large, hulking, unmoving men on the ground, and another, spluttering, hunched-over man, and Lena standing over all of them. Theodora, however, did not look shocked or confused; just mildly intrigued.
"An eventful night out, I see," she said, walking towards Lena.
Although Lena didn't raise her wand at the woman, she still gripped it firmly. "What are you doing here?" she asked, suspicious.
Theodora shrugged. "I heard there was a possibility you might be in Rome tonight."
"So you're still stalking me," said Lena irritably. "Great."
"Not stalking you," argued Theodora, sounding affronted. "Just keeping you under observation. As I told you last time, you're quite important to us."
Lena clenched her fists. "And I told you," she replied through gritted teeth, "that I don't want anything to do with your cult."
Theodora opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a groan from Arsenio, who was struggling to get to his feet.
"Right," said Lena, pointing her wand at him, which made him freeze. "You're going to take your idiots–" she quickly undid the Body Bind on the paralysed henchman, and murmured "Rennervate" at the unconscious one, waking him up– "and fuck right off," she finished.
As the goons unsteadily stood up, looking between their boss, Lena and Theodora with confusion, Arsenio's lips curled into a snarl. "This isn't the last you'll see of us, Lestrange," he hissed. "My family will have its vengeance."
Lena sighed, shaking her head. "Merlin, you're stupid. I am literally giving you an out now. Take it, or the consequences of another meeting will be entirely on you."
Arsenio muttered an insult in Italian under his breath, but gestured for his men to follow him, and the three of them stalked out of the alleyway. Lena's eyes didn't leave their backs until they turned the corner and were out of sight.
"We're not a cult."
Lena looked at Theodora, who was watching her as one might gaze at a large, gift-wrapped present with the knowledge that it is for them, but uncertain of what it held.
She arched an eyebrow. "A millennia-old society that is dedicated solely to the legacy of one, powerful person – one worshipped as a goddess, no less? The Orkístike is the very definition of a cult, Theodora."
"Well," said the other woman after a moment's reflection, "when you put it like that – yes, we are a cult. But," she added hastily when Lena snorted, "we're not like other cults. We're not a fringe group of lunatics. Our devotion is not based on faith, but knowledge."
"And what knowledge would that be?" asked Lena, folding her arms.
"That Hecate's Orb holds the power to change the world for the better. It just needs someone strong enough to wield it. And we now know that person is you."
"Funny, because it sounds to me like you're confusing 'knowledge' with 'delusion'," remarked Lena.
Theodora let out an aggravated groan. "You are the delusional one," she snapped, "if you truly believe that the Orb is gone from your life forever." She took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm herself. "Look, why don't you just come with me and meet the rest of the Orkístike? Then maybe you'll start to understand–"
"I'm not interested," said Lena firmly. "I have a life I want to live. And I suggest you stay out of it."
Theodora sighed. "You can't run away from your own destiny, Lena."
Lena paused. Then she adjusted her bag. "You're right," she said. But as Theodora began to smile, she added, "Because you can't run away from something that doesn't exist."
And with that, she Disapparated.
Wednesday 21 December, 1994:
Remus contentedly watched Lena swallow a mouthful of her pumpkin soup. The smile that had graced his face the moment she had returned that evening was yet to fade.
Lena's eyes flicked to his face, and she tilted her head. "What?" she asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He reached over the kitchen table and rested his hand on hers. "I'm just happy you're home again," he said. "I've missed you terribly."
Lena smiled softly and picked his hand up, gently kissing him across the knuckle. "I missed you too." Letting go of his hand, she had another spoonful of soup. "Especially your cooking. Bloody hell, this soup is delicious."
"I'm glad you like it," replied Remus, chuckling. He leant back in his chair as he watched her finish the rest of the bowl. And as he did, he couldn't help noticing that she seemed preoccupied with something. Troubled.
"So," he began, as she waved a hand and the empty bowl was transported to the sink, "everything went well with the job?" He tried to keep his tone light.
Lena gave him an odd look. "I already told you it did."
"You didn't encounter any problems at all?" persisted Remus.
She raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"Any members or employees of the Vettori family."
"There may have been some actions I had to take to avoid them," said Lena uninterestedly, drawing out her wand and waving it at the dirty bowls, spoons and other items of crockery that had been used, which began to clean themselves. "But I wouldn't say there were any problems."
"Well, that's good to hear," said Remus. But he was still concerned. He was about to ask if there was something bothering her when Lena came over to him and plonked herself down in his lap. He winced slightly. Of course he enjoyed the extraordinarily close proximity to her, but Lena's bottom wasn't exactly the most comfortable rear-end to have on one's lap. It was a remarkably bony posterior.
He was temporarily distracted from his discomfort as Lena pressed her lips to his. Eagerly, he returned the kiss. After a few seconds, Lena pulled back. Her hands, which had been resting on his shoulders, slid around his neck, and with a small sigh, she nestled her head against the crook of his neck.
"It's really quite ridiculous how much I adore you," she said.
Remus smiled fondly at her, and kissed her on the tip of her nose. "Funny you should say that," he said, "because I was just thinking that the amount of love I have for you is, frankly, absurd."
"You think so?"
"I know so," replied Remus matter-of-factly. "What other reason would there be for allowing your bizarrely sharp buttocks to dig into my thighs for so long?"
Lena straightened, and looked at him indignantly. "Are you saying you don't like my arse?"
"I adore your arse," insisted Remus. "I have an immense aesthetic appreciation for it. But I also like being able to feel my own legs, and at the moment, they're going rather numb, and that is a consequence of your delightful arse being sat upon them."
Lena sniffed haughtily, and stood up. "Fine. Then my arse and I are going upstairs to have a shower, and you are not invited to join us."
"What? But it's your first night back–"
"And you were hoping for a shag in there, no doubt," interrupted Lena, her manner imperious. "However, your rejection of the privilege to have your lap sat on by me has given me no choice but to withdraw any offer of shower-sex tonight." She leant forward and gave him the quickest of pecks on the lips. "I'll see you in bed."
She spun around and strode out of the kitchen, leaving a properly put-out Remus in her wake.
Nevertheless, in spite of having one less chance to physically demonstrate his joy that Lena was home again, he was relieved to see that her previous troubled preoccupation appeared to have vanished.
Sunday 25 December, 1994:
On Christmas morning, Remus woke up to a sight that genuinely stunned him.
Lena. Still lying in their bed. For the first ever time.
She was awake, lying on her side, facing him. Upon seeing him both awake and shocked, she grinned.
"Morning, darling. Merry Christmas."
Remus blinked. "You're still in bed," he said. He glanced at the clock on her bedside table. "At nine-past-seven in the morning."
"Consider it your first present of the day."
He continued to stare at her for a few seconds. Then he rolled on top of Lena, and began enthusiastically snogging her. Very conscious of the fact they were still naked from the previous night, his lips gradually drifted down to her neck. And then her chest, her stomach, and even further down...
"Wait, Remus," said Lena suddenly, trying to sit up, "I'm tingling!"
"That's nothing compared to what you'll be feeling in a minute," muttered Remus from down between her thighs.
But Lena, using her foot to push him off, impatiently told him, "No, you idiot, my arm. Something's triggered the Estate's intruder alert. Someone's at that gate." She quickly got off the bed, searching for some underwear.
Remus sat up, confused. He and Lena were supposed to be joining Maggie and Oliver at Newt and Tina's for Christmas lunch (Rolf's parents wouldn't be there, as they were spending the holiday in Brazil with their son). There wasn't supposed to be anyone visiting them at the Estate today, so just who had set off the alarm?
"Maybe it's an owl trying to get in?" he suggested, also getting off the bed and going to the wardrobe to find clothes.
Lena shook her head. "I adjusted the wards a couple of days ago so that birds can enter, remember?" she said. "No, whoever's here is human."
They hurriedly finished dressing and raced downstairs. Going outside and approaching the gate, they were both shocked to see that their visitor was none other than Valeriya, who had sent them a letter a few days ago saying she wouldn't be back in England until Boxing Day.
"Valeriya," said Lena, opening the gate, "this is a pleasant surprise."
Remus smiled at the older woman, but personally thought it was a very ill-timed surprise. Her arrival had ruined what was looking to be a very promising Christmas present.
"Well," said Valeriya, kissing Lena on the cheek and nodding at Remus, "just wait until you hear the news I've come to deliver." She looked exhausted.
"News?" inquired Remus.
Valeriya nodded. "I left the continent as soon as I heard it – which was only a few hours ago."
No wonder she was so tired. That was an awful lot of long-range Apparition to do in a short time.
"What's happened?" asked Lena, frowning.
"It's the Vettoris," explained Valeriya. "Loredana and all three of her sons." She took a deep breath. "They're dead. Murdered."
Remus gaped. "What?"
Lena, meanwhile, had gone very still, staring at her great aunt with a peculiar expression.
"One of Arsenio's employees found them shortly after midnight," said Valeriya. "All lying in the drawing room, dead. I can't confirm the cause, but all the rumours are saying they were each struck by a Killing Curse."
Remus felt conflicted. It was honestly quite relieving to think that he and Lena no longer had to worry about a Dark and powerful family trying to kill them the moment they set foot on the continent. On the other hand, it rather went against his nature to celebrate the murder of a family on Christmas morning – even if it was a family of particularly unpleasant people.
He looked at Lena. She still hadn't moved at all, and he was finding it impossible to get a read on what she was thinking.
So he turned back to Valeriya, who was watching Lena intently. "Is there any word on who might have done it?" he asked.
Valeriya glanced at him. "No," she replied, "other than it wasn't a robbery. Apparently, not a single one of their artefacts are missing."
"Why don't we go inside?" said Lena abruptly. "I'm freezing out here." Without waiting for a response from either Remus or Valeriya, she began walking back to the house.
Both Remus and Valeriya stared after her. Then they exchanged a look with each other.
It was a look that said whatever they'd been expecting Lena's reaction to the news to be, that hadn't been it.
Once they were back inside, Lena was able to get a grip on herself. She managed to balance the correct amount of apathy and curiosity as they discussed the murder of the Vettori family further, and by the time Valeriya left, Lena was fairly confident that the concern she had felt from both her and Remus upon her initial reaction to the news had faded.
She kept up the pretence that everything was fine throughout the rest of Christmas day. Lunch at Newt's passed without a hitch. But at night, after Remus had fallen asleep, Lena went straight to her study and sat down at her desk. After a few seconds of blankly staring at the wall, she realised she was shaking.
There was no doubt in Lena's mind as to who had killed the Vettoris. Nor was there any in regard to why they had been murdered. Because their deaths had been a message – one meant for her.
It was the Orkístike's way of saying, 'We want to be friends'.
Slowly, her hand still trembling, Lena opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out the case that held the ancient, untranslated documents concerning Hecate. She set it down in the centre of the desktop, and her finger hesitantly traced the clasp on its side.
'You can't run away from your own destiny, Lena.'
Lena had never had much time for Divination. In her opinion, the majority of prophecies were self-fulfilling, and it was much the same with destiny and fate. When she decided to walk down a particular road, it was because all the surrounding evidence informed her that it was the correct path to take to get to her chosen destination. It wasn't because it was the only route, and it wasn't because there was some mysterious, unseen force guiding her down it. Hard work in tandem with the aligning of circumstances got you places, not a definitive predetermination.
But neither could she ignore that choices had consequences, repercussions that might only emerge years after a decision was made. And Lena had to accept that the choice she had made to take the Orb out of the case in which Valeriya had hidden it almost eight years ago had permanently affected her life. And a specially-designed potion by the International Healers' Organisation wasn't enough to counteract that.
She was bound to Hecate's legacy. It had become a part of her. And while Lena still had no desire to join Theodora and her gang of certifiable weirdos, these documents were quite possibly the best source of information on the woman to whom she was so unbreakably connected. They could be the key to unlocking knowledge of the person Lena would become if she ever found the Orb in her possession again. And to deny herself that understanding was unquestionably stupid.
To Lena, there were few things worse than being stupid.
So for the first time since Markellos had given it to her, she opened the case and removed the ancient papers, and started to spread them out across her desk.
It was time to put that Outstanding in NEWT level Ancient Runes to use.
Remus was anxious. And, as in most cases since the first of September, 1993, the cause of that anxiety was the woman he loved.
Lena had been acting strangely – even for her – ever since the morning after Christmas day. She spent nearly all her time locked up in her study, working on a project that she refused to tell him anything about. According to her, he wouldn't understand it.
As the weeks passed, it became a rarer and rarer occurrence for Lena to eat meals with him. She stopped coming to bed with him. And she declined all job offers sent to her.
She stayed with Moony during the next full moon. But frankly, it was more irritating than comforting for Remus to know that throughout one transformation, Lena had probably spent more time with his furry alter-ego than she had with his human self for the entire past month.
The problem was that whenever he tried to voice his concern to Lena, she became snappish. Most of the time, when this happened, Remus backed off. Occasionally, however, he would retaliate in a similar manner, which escalated the prickly exchange to an argument that ended with Lena slamming the study door in his face and Remus storming out of the Estate and Apparating to the Hog's Head.
It was on an occasion such as this that found an angry Remus stalking towards the disreputable Hogsmeade pub slightly after half-past-eleven on a Saturday morning.
"Professor Lupin?"
Startled, Remus turned around. About thirty feet away from him stood Harry, Ron and Hermione, all watching him curiously.
He blinked a few times as they approached him, and asked in surprise, "What are you three doing here?"
"It's a Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry slowly, also looking confused. "I wrote to Lena earlier this week telling her–" He broke off as Remus' face darkened.
"Yes, well, communication isn't exactly Lena's strong point at present," he grumbled.
The trio exchanged a look, making Remus immediately feel embarrassed. It had been six months since he'd seen any of them, and the first thing he did when he saw them was complain about his relationship. It wasn't a good look.
"Sorry," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "You've caught me at, erm, a poor time. How are the three of you?"
Harry coughed slightly. "Well enough, considering the whole being-entered-in-the-Triwizard-Tournament-against-my-will thing."
"And Hagrid being slandered by that awful Rita Skeeter," added Hermione.
"And the insane amount of homework we're being given," chimed in Ron. When Hermione shot him a dirty look, he hastily amended, "Which, obviously, isn't as bad as the other two things."
"How is Hagrid?" asked Remus, recalling the horrendous article Skeeter had written in the Daily Prophet about the gamekeeper a couple of weeks ago.
"We don't really know," said Hermione, looking upset. "We haven't seen him since it was published."
"That's why we're here," explained Harry, "in this part of Hogsmeade. We know Hagrid sometimes comes here." He gestured towards the Hog's Head.
"I see," said Remus, frowning. If Hagrid hadn't been taking his Care of Magical Creature classes, then he must have been horribly affected by Skeeter's words.
"But how are you, sir?" said Hermione. "It's been so long since we've seen you."
A small pang of sadness hit Remus. "I'm not your teacher anymore, Hermione," he reminded her. "You don't need to call me 'sir'. 'Remus' will do. And I'm..." he paused. At the moment, he really didn't feel 'fine'. He sighed. 'Better just change the topic,' he thought. "Why don't we head inside, and check if Hagrid's there?" he said instead.
Once again, the three of them shared a look, and Remus knew his avoidance of the subject of his well-being hadn't gone unnoticed. Nevertheless, they nodded and followed him inside the pub. It only took a couple of seconds to confirm that Hagrid wasn't there.
"It was worth a shot," said Harry glumly.
Ron, meanwhile, was looking around the bar with a keen interest, particularly at the various types of drinks on offer. "Well, now that we're here..."
Remus shook his head, smiling wryly. "Why don't the three of you grab a table, and I'll get us some butterbeers?"
The trio sat down while Remus went up to the bar, behind which Aberforth Dumbledore stood, watching Remus warily. Undoubtedly the pub's owner had recognised one of the students who had just walked through the door.
Remus cleared his throat. "Four butterbeers, please," he said. He'd been intending on drinking something quite a bit stronger, but he didn't think that would be good idea now that he had company.
Aberforth raised his eyebrows, but wordlessly fetched the drinks. Remus paid him, and brought the tankards over to the table in the corner where the three Fourth Years had sat, and were clearly very self-conscious of the looks the other half-a-dozen patrons of the pub were giving them.
"You're not the sort of clientele that usually frequents this place," he murmured to them, setting their drinks down in front of them.
Harry snorted. "You don't say."
"You're looking well," offered Hermione. "In good health, I mean."
"Full moons have been better since I stopped taking Wolfsbane," explained Remus. "Not to mention having Lena's company–" He stopped, his expression once again clouding over.
Harry bit his lip, looking uncomfortable. "Er, Pro– I mean, Remus," he corrected himself, "are things, um, all right? Between you and Lena?"
Needing time to think of an answer, Remus took a long swig of butterbeer, very aware of the three sets of inquiring eyes on him. Swallowing, he finally responded, "I would say that things could be better."
"Well," said Ron, shrugging, "she is a bit of a nutcase."
"Ron!" snapped Hermione.
"He's not wrong," muttered Remus before he could stop himself.
Harry and Hermione looked at him, shocked, and Remus blushed.
"I just mean that she's a very complicated person," he said quickly. He took another sip of his drink. "Extraordinarily complex." Then, unable to help himself, he let out a frustrated groan and buried his face in his hands. "Who am I kidding?" he mumbled. "She's insane."
A few moments later, someone hesitantly patted him on the arm, and Remus looked up. It was Hermione, giving him a half-embarrassed, half-pitying look. Harry, meanwhile, was frowning.
"Lena's not crazy," said the boy. "She's–"
"A self-absorbed, narcissistic, patronising, controlling, emotionally stunted nightmare," said Remus irritably. He thought about the maddening woman for a moment, then released a longing sigh. "Merlin, I love her."
The trio stared at him with varying levels of bafflement.
"But you just said–" Ron began to say, but Remus interrupted him with a dismissive wave of the hand.
"Trust me," he said, "it would just be a waste of time to try to understand it. I'd much rather hear about what Professor Moody is teaching you in Defence Against the Dark Arts."
At the mention of his favourite subject, Harry's eyes lit up. As he launched into an account of all the curses that Moody had been covering in class, a small ache started up in Remus' chest.
'Bloody hell,' he thought, 'I miss teaching.'
Monday 13 February, 1995:
"Lena," Remus called out, loudly knocking on the study door, "will you please open the door?"
There was no response.
Remus scowled. He knew she was inside the study, as he had heard her moving around in there an hour earlier. No, she was just ignoring him, and it rankled.
It had been three weeks since he'd ran into Harry, Ron and Hermione in Hogsmeade. When he'd returned home, he'd been too busy brooding over the fact he was no longer the Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to be cross with Lena, and his reinvigorated misery over the loss of his favourite job had kept his mind preoccupied for a few days. Then it had shifted into a desire to work on another job with Lena, obtaining some sort of difficult-to-procure magical artefact or substance. He knew she was still receiving offers. But when he had tried to approach the subject with her, Lena had resolutely told him that she still had much work to do on her 'project', and she didn't have time for 'gallivanting around Europe'. Another argument had ensued, and they still hadn't resolved it.
However, it was Maggie's nineteenth birthday in two days, and she had invited Remus and Lena over for dinner with her and Oliver. Lena still hadn't confirmed whether they were going – hence, Remus was standing outside her study door this morning, determined to get an answer out of her. Not because it was imperative that Maggie knew whether they were coming or not by the end of the day, but more so that Lena might finally have an actual conversation with him.
Remus banged on the door again. "Lena, open up. Maggie needs an answer about whether or not we'll come for dinner on Wednesday."
Yet again, no sign of acknowledgement came from within the study.
A small growl escaped Remus. He understood that Lena was somebody who needed her own space, but this was just ridiculous. Seven weeks of completely isolating herself and unresponsiveness was too much. He was going to have to put his foot down.
He hammered the door with his fist again, bellowing, "Lena! We need to talk! Now!"
Silence.
"LENA! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, OR I SWEAR TO MERLIN I WILL BLOW THE BLOODY THING OFF ITS HINGES!"
When there was still no answer, he drew his wand and pointed it at the door, breathing heavily. "Right! THREE! TWO–"
There was a small clicking sound, and the door swung back a few inches.
Remus frowned. Lena didn't appear to be standing behind it. He slid his wand back into his jumper-sleeve, and pushed the door open the entire way. Stepping inside, his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.
The walls of the study were covered in runes and words. Some of them were scrawled on large, pinned-up pieces of parchment, but many of the wood panels had been directly written upon. There were more scraps of parchment littered across the floor, some scrunched up in balls. A dozen or so old books were lying open throughout the room.
And there Lena was, sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. Half her hair was in a knot on top of her head, the other half limply hanging down, more tangled and matted than he had ever seen it. Her pale skin was somehow even more pallid than usual, and the shadows beneath her eyes were almost like bruises. She looked ill – the sickest he'd seen her since she'd been so close to dying one year ago.
"Hello, Remus," she said quietly.
He quickly crossed the room and knelt beside her. "What have you been doing?" he said urgently, touching her shoulder.
"It's on the desk."
"What?"
Lena's hand twitched in the direction of the desk. "The project. It's on the desk." She looked down at her knees. "You should read it."
Bewildered, Remus looked at the desk. "Lena, I don't under–" He stopped, as one of the words written on the wall caught his eye.
Hecate.
A mixture of fear and worry rose inside of Remus. His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the walls. 'Hecate' appeared several more times, as did 'Nekrosía' and 'Time'.
"Markellos offered them to me six months ago."
Remus looked down at Lena, and swallowed. "Offered what?" he asked, his voice suddenly very dry.
"Documents," she replied emotionlessly. "From Hecate's time, written by her most dedicated follower. Untranslated. Until now."
He stared at her for a long moment, then stood up and walked over to the desk. Upon it were two piles of papers. The pile on the left was covered in runes, the one on the right in English.
Picking up the translated pile, Remus glanced at Lena. She was looking up at him with an expression he'd only ever seen on her face once before.
When she had told him that she had killed her grandmother.
As an ominous feeling settled over Remus, he began to read.
I, Astris, write this in a scripture that only I alone understand, as it has been created for this specific purpose: to record all my knowledge of my Lady so that long after I am dust, it will survive. But these words I write must not be for everyone – only one who can learn to read them is worthy of them.
When I was thirteen, my village was attacked by an army of men. They killed and raped, plundered and burned. My mother, like me, possessed the gift of magic and was supposed to be our village's protector. But her skill was not great enough, and she was overcome and murdered. My limited knowledge was only sufficient to protect myself, and in the end, I was the sole survivor. I swore vengeance.
But my rage did not blind me to the fact that I was not powerful enough to face the army all by myself. I needed to be taught how to wield my magic.
I had heard of several sorcerers throughout the nearby kingdoms, but in one town I passed through, I was told of a sorceress who was claimed to be more powerful than any of the others. Her name was Hecate, and they said she was no mere witch, but a Goddess.
I travelled for months to find her. She lived on a small island in a great tower with a dozen others –gifted with magic, all of them –who had dedicated their lives to serve her. After much begging, I was granted an audience with the great lady. At first, I was so awed by her beauty that my tongue hung limp in my mouth, but with her encouragement, I told her my story.
When I was finished, she ordered her followers out and spoke to me alone. She told me she admired my determination to avenge my people, and that I showed great strength. She said she would accept me as a pupil if I pledged my life to her. Eagerly, I agreed and swore upon my blood that I would be her faithful servant.
Over the next few years, while my skills proved under her tutelage, I began to discover the extent of my Lady's great power. With the flick of her fingers, she could move enormous boulders, hold back crashing waves, deflect almost any spell another sorcerer sent at her. She could travel great distances in the blink of an eye, and could bring a wilted flower back into bloom with the touch of her hand. But it was not until shortly before I was ready to seek out the army of men who had destroyed my village that I learned why she could accomplish these extraordinary feats that no one else could.
My Lady learned that one of the sorcerers in her service was selling secrets he had learnt from her to another renowned magician. This broke the oath of fealty he had sworn, and we all were called to the tower's hall to witness his punishment. The traitor had been immobilised by my Lady, and before our very eyes, she pushed her hand into his chest. Instantly, his veins blackened, as did the whites of his eyes and the inside of his screaming mouth. A strange glow began to form around my Lady. She pulled her hand out of the traitor's chest, and he fell to the ground, dead. My Lady, still glowing, made a fist with her hand, and the corpse turned to dust, which was blown outside by an unnatural wind.
In my next lesson with her, I was hesitant to ask her how she had done what she did. But my Lady sensed my curiosity, and told me it was time I learned. She explained to me that the source of her godly power was a form of magic called Nekrosía. It transformed the energy of a life into Dark magic, and every life that was taken increased the amount of magic inside of you. It was what had kept my Lady alive for over three centuries.
A month later, I was ready to seek out the murderers of my people. I departed my Lady's island with her blessing, on the provision that once I had successfully carried out my vengeance that I would return to her.
It took only a few weeks for me to find them, now that I knew how to transport myself across long distances with magic. I used spells my Lady had taught me to kill all the men. At first they tried to fight back, but soon they realised their efforts were futile, and attempted to flee instead. But I let none escape.
Afterwards, as I walked among the field strewn with fifty-eight corpses, a great peace filled me. My promise to avenge my mother and our village had been fulfilled. Now the path ahead of me was clear; I could fully dedicate my life to the woman who had given me the means for my vengeance.
I returned to the island, where my Lady was most eager to hear of my retribution. She told me she was proud of me, and promised that I had a place at her side for the rest of my life.
Years passed, and I became her greatest student and her most trusted confidant. She even started to teach me how to use Nekrosía, and was patient with me as I struggled to learn the most complex Dark Art.
It was two decades after I had first come to my Lady when there was a new arrival on the island. And it was Hecate's meeting with this magician that changed everything.
The man's name was Phorcys. He was a handsome man, and similar in age to me. And also like myself, he had come to my Lady seeking assistance in his vengeance. His wife and three children had been brutally murdered by a rival of his, and Phorcys wanted their killer to suffer unimaginable pain for this. And as she had done with me, my Lady agreed to help him in return for his loyalty. Phorcys agreed, and so became her new pupil.
He was more advanced in the magical arts than I had been upon my arrival, so it was only three months until he was ready to find his family's murderer and inflict on him an unbearable torture of his and my Lady's devising. But over those three months, it came to my attention that my Lady was beginning to develop an uncharacteristic affection for him.
When the time came to find the murderer, she went with Phorcys. And when they returned, it was clear to me that seeing whatever he had done to his rival had only intensified these feelings. Although I tried to approach the subject with her, she admitted nothing. But I was not blind.
I watched her, day by day, fall deeper in love with Phorcys. But it was a doomed desire, as he was still too heartbroken over his wife and children. My Lady thought if she gave him time, room would grow within him for another great love, but three years after his arrival, he still grieved.
At first, my Lady simply pined. But she was a woman unaccustomed to being denied what she wanted. So her first scheme to have his heart was devised.
One day, I could not find Phorcys anywhere. Worried that he had left the island without telling my Lady, I went to inform her of his absence. When I found her, she was already distressed. I asked if she knew where he had gone. She gave no response as she paced around her room, wringing her hands. Eventually, I asked if she wished me to try to track him down. Finally, my Lady properly acknowledged me and told me to follow her.
She took me down to her private vault. Inside, I was astonished to discover Phorcys, huddled on the floor. His eyes were empty, and he was muttering incoherently. Horrified, I asked my Lady what had happened to him. To my great shock, she began to weep as she confessed the truth.
She had attempted to remove all memory of his family from his mind. My lady had thought if he were no longer weighed down by his grief for them, he would surely reciprocate her love. She had not realised that taking away such integral memories would drive Phorcys mad. She had tried to reverse what she had done, but the damage she had made was irreparable.
My Lady's tears soon dried up, and as they did, I could see a new plan starting to take shape in her mind. Concerned, I begged her to tell me what she was thinking, but she simply dismissed me.
Over the following months, she was frequently away from the island. Stories of piles of corpse covered in black veins began to reach my ears, and I realised that whatever my Lady's plan was, it required more power than she presently had.
Nearly a year after her destruction of Phorcys' mind, I was woken some time after midnight by my Lady, who beckoned me to follow her. She led me out of the tower and through a system of caves that ran underneath the island that opened up into a great cavern. On the stone ground in the centre was drawn a circle surrounded by runes, most of which I did not recognise.
It was then that my Lady finally told me what she was doing. She had come to the conclusion that the only way to mend Phorcys' broken heart and mind was to ensure that it was never broken in the first place. And the only way to do that was to change the past so that Phorcys never met his wife.
At first, I was stunned into silence. Then I began to protest. She was almost undoubtedly the most powerful human alive, yes. But she was speaking of interfering with Time itself. But Hecate ignored my protests. She had drawn another, smaller circle that just touched the edge of the larger one, and told me to stand in it. If I did, my memory of the present as it was would remain unaffected by her manipulations. Perhaps she wished for this because her vanity would not permit her to undertake such a difficult and impressive task without a witness. Or maybe she had come to regard me as something akin to a friend, and simply felt a peculiarly human need for someone to be with her. I do not know which. But against my better judgement, I did as she commanded.
My Lady took her place in the main circle, and she began to reverse Time. Then, when she had reached her desired point, she began to rewrite it. But shortly after she manipulated events to eradicate Phorcys and his wife's meeting, she started to scream. My Lady had not been aware that shortly after their meeting, his wife had saved him from drowning in a river.
Desperately, my Lady tried to rewrite history so someone else would be there to save Phorcys, but this led to another tragedy for which Phorcys would bear great guilt. And in trying to avoid that from happening, she created another kind of misery.
Again and again, my Lady tried to manipulate Time to fit her desires, but with every problem she fixed, a new one took its place. I begged my Lady to stop, but she did not listen to me, her once-brilliant mind clouded by her tormented heart.
Through tear-filled eyes, I watched the great Hecate destroy herself. Her body, immersed for too long in Time itself, disintegrated. Flesh, blood, bone – all turned to dust, and dust into nothing.
At last, all that was left of her was her heart, sitting in the centre of the Time circle. It was completely black, painted by the Nekrosía that had eventually become her own life-force. I reached out to touch it, and as I did, a hard shell grew around it, as if made from Obsidian.
My fingertips brushed it, and I quickly retracted my fingers. I had felt, for the briefest of seconds, the most immense pain I had ever known. Leaving it there in the cavern, I returned to the tower and told everyone that Hecate was no more, and the source of her extraordinary power lay in the cavern. Many of her followers rushed to see it. Six of them attempted to pick it up and wield it.
The heart killed them all.
It has been over half a century since that day, and the heart still has not left the circle. But I live in hope that there will one day be someone worthy enough of it, and will be able to use it to achieve the great things she would have if not for the destructive force of love.
Until that day comes, we, the Orkístike, will watch over Hecate's heart.
10 house-points to anyone who knows what this chapter's title is a reference to (hint: it's Shakespearean).
Again, thank you to all reviewers :) Quick response to hikazechimizu: To answer your Sherlock question, the only time I was consciously influenced by the BBC incarnate of the character was when Lena is explaining to Remus how she deduced he was a werewolf. But you're right, there are definite similarities between them, more than I'd realised (I hadn't even considered the whole addiction thing, but that's certainly an interesting parallel).