Monday 21 April, 1997:
"But sir," said Harry, making valiant efforts not to sound argumentative, "it all comes down to the same thing, doesn't it? I've got to try and kill him, or–"
"Got to?" said Dumbledore. "Of course you've got to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you've tried! We both know it! Imagine, please, just for a moment, that you had never heard that prophecy! How would you feel about Voldemort now? Think!"
Harry watched Dumbledore striding up and down in front of him, and thought about the young Tom Riddle he had just seen in Slughorn's unaltered memory. Something that had struck him were the eerie similarities to Lena.
'What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter...'
Their behaviour was so controlled, so considered. They constructed masks for their faces, hiding their true feelings with misdirection, but every so often, for the tiniest second, the mask would slip and show something with a frightening rawness. And they both looked so alike...
But there was kindness behind Lena's colder exterior – unlike Voldemort, who was pure selfishness and cruelty. Harry thought of his mother, his father and Sirius. He thought of Cedric Diggory. He thought of all the terrible deeds he knew Voldemort had done. A flame seemed to leap inside his chest, searing his throat.
"I'd want him finished," said Harry quietly. "And I'd want to do it."
"Of course you would!" cried Dumbledore. "You see, the prophecy does not mean you have to do anything! But the prophecy caused Lord Voldemort to mark you as his equal... in other words, you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy! But Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will continue to hunt you... which makes it certain, really, that–"
"That one of us is going to end up killing the other," said Harry. "Yes."
But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high.
Suddenly, the door to the headmaster's office was slammed open, making Harry jump to his feet, as Dumbledore looked sharply to the source of the interruption.
Remus stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. He was wearing a heavy overcoat, more suitable for the middle of winter than spring, and his eyes were bloodshot. Under one arm, he carried a rectangular brown case.
"What happened?" said Dumbledore, and Harry looked at him in surprise. The vigour with which he'd just been talking and moving had deserted him, and he seemed to have aged about fifty years in less than a second.
Remus didn't speak. He just stared at Dumbledore, as though trying to figure out if this was a nightmare or real.
So Dumbledore spoke again. "Where is Lena?" he asked quietly.
"She stopped the spread," replied Remus, his voice tight. "Brought all the Nekrosía back to the Orb."
"The Orb?" interjected Harry, looking between him and Dumbledore. "Wait, what's going on?"
"There was a situation," answered Dumbledore, not taking his eyes off Remus. "On one of the islands of Svalbard, where the Orb was being kept. Lena and Remus went there to handle it."
"Oh, she handled it alright," Remus cut in. His whole body was shaking. "She drew it all back to the Orb, and I went to join her, just like we'd agreed. But when I got there, she... she–" He shuddered and with his free hand – which had been holding the door open – covered his face. The door swung shut behind him as a noise that was half sob, half howl burst out of him.
Horror-struck, Harry immediately crossed over to Remus to try to comfort him. He had never seen his former teacher like this, not even after Sirius died. Putting his hand on Remus' shoulder, he felt his stomach twisting. 'She can't be,' he told himself desperately. 'Not Lena. There's no way she can be de–'
"What is in the case, Remus?"
Harry looked at Dumbledore again. Fear was in his eyes, and that terrified Harry.
Remus removed his hand from his face and, despite his expression of agony, temporarily composed himself. Silently, he walked over to Dumbledore's desk and put down the case. He undid the clasps and opened the lid. Dumbledore and Harry, who came over to stand next to him, both peered inside.
It was a dark red sphere, and Harry was certain he could hear the tiniest heartbeat coming from it.
"I thought the Orb was supposed to be black," he said hesitantly.
"That," said Dumbledore softly, gazing at the object, "is not Hecate's Orb." After a few seconds, he looked up at Remus, who continued to stare into the case with tormented eyes. "You were there when she did it?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
Remus nodded slowly, not shifting his gaze. "She waited until I was there, so she could explain to me what she was going to do... and why she had to do it."
"Do what?" said Harry urgently, and louder than he'd intended. "Remus, what the hell happened to Lena? And what is that?" He gestured to the case.
As Dumbledore sunk into the chair Harry had previously occupied, Remus finally looked away from the red orb and turned to Harry.
"There was only one way Lena could keep control of the Orb to stop it from destroying everything," he said heavily. "She had to return it to what it originally was: a heart." He struggled to force out his next words. "So she took out her own, and replaced it with the Orb."
Harry wasn't sure if he'd heard Remus correctly. "Did you... did just say that Lena... took out her heart?"
Remus' hand hovered over the red sphere, like he desperately wanted to touch it. "She ripped it out of her chest," he whispered, "and forced the Orb inside. Then the veins appeared, and her eyes went black." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "And she vanished, in a cloud of black." He abruptly shut the case. "I don't know where she is now," he added bitterly. "And I don't know who she is anymore."
Staring at the case, which he now understood contained Lena's heart, Harry felt a burning sensation in his eyes. The triumph of finally getting that vital memory out of Slughorn was now forgotten.
He remembered the last time he had seen Lena, here at Hogwarts. He had parted from her with such angry words. And they, he realised as his throat tightened, might have been the last words he ever said to her... at least, to their Lena.
Wednesday 23 April, 1997:
The prisoner stared out through the bars of her cell. She had thought fifteen months ago, when He had freed her and the others, that she would never have to return to Azkaban. But He had abandoned her, and she was a prisoner once more. For the last ten months, a debate had raged in her mind – if He ever did come back for her again, would she go with Him? Act like she didn't care He had very publicly demonstrated that she was His second choice? She had dedicated her life to Him, and that was how He repaid her loyalty.
She stared at the tattoo on her arm. Did she really have a choice? She had gladly signed her life away to serving Him when she was eighteen. When you joined the Death Eaters, that became your life. For better, or for worse.
"A Sickle for your thoughts."
Bellatrix Lestrange jumped, startled. The voice had come from the dark corner of her cell, opposite to where she was standing. Somebody was there, leaning against the wall.
She narrowed her eyes. "Who are..." Her voice trailed off as the figure emerged from the darkness.
"Who am I? You know, that is an excellent question."
Bellatrix's heart started beating faster as she looked at the young woman who stood only a few feet away. There still wasn't much light, but she could see they were about the same height. Both were pale, with long black hair, but the other woman had no streaks of silver, and the hair was untangled, falling down to her waist in immaculate waves. She wore black, her arms and feet left bare. A glint of gold on her left hand suggested she was wearing a ring. In the dimness, her eyes – a light and pure blue – seemed to glow as they looked back at Bellatrix with an absolute familiarity.
"I think," she said slowly, "you used to refer to me most commonly as 'the brat'."
Bellatrix stared at her, stunned. It was less than a year since they'd been reunited at the Ministry of Magic, but she looked... different. And she felt different too.
"How are you here?" asked Bellatrix, trying to mask how unnerved she was. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end.
"The more pertinent question is why am I here." Taking a couple of steps closer to the cell's door, she ran her fingers across the bars like she was strumming a harp. "Can you guess?"
Bellatrix backed away as far as she could in the small cell. "I didn't think your precious Dumbledore would approve of executing prisoners." She forced out a cold laugh. "Maybe he's not as weak as I thought."
"You know, I've wanted to kill you for as long as I can remember." The words were calm and quiet as she gazed steadily at Bellatrix. "But now that I could do it with the snap of my fingers–" she emphasised this with a click, "–I just don't think killing you would be enough for me."
"I've spent the better part of fifteen years in Azkaban," snarled Bellatrix, readying herself to dodge whatever attack came her way. "You really think I can't withstand whatever torture you try on me?"
"You lack imagination."
Suddenly, she was in front of Bellatrix, her hand around the prisoner's throat and pinning her to the wall. Bellatrix tried to fight back, but her limbs suddenly felt too heavy to move.
"In time," whispered her captor, "none of this is going to matter. But before that time comes, I want you to spend every second of every day suffering. In torment. Helpless." She moved her mouth right against Bellatrix's ear. "You thought being a prisoner of Azkaban was bad, but you're going to find being a prisoner in your own mind is much, much worse."
Bellatrix tried to speak, but she couldn't make a sound. She wanted to be angry, but all she could feel was fear as she stared into those piercing eyes.
'They didn't used to be that colour,' a small voice in the back of her head said. 'There used to be some grey in them too.' The hazy memory of the day her daughter was born played in her head.
"The child is a girl."
Bellatrix didn't respond. The midwife asked if she wanted to hold the baby, but she just turned her face away. Everything hurt. Her mother had told her giving birth was hard, but the joy of becoming a mother outweighed that pain. But all Bellatrix wanted to do in that moment was curl up and cry.
She had never felt so weak. She just wanted to rest. But she couldn't because the baby had started to cry, the sound cutting through her exhaustion and pain like a knife.
She had never hated a sound so much in her life.
With her free hand, she touched Bellatrix's forehead. The sound of the baby crying grew louder and louder until it filled her head. And cracks began to spread through her mind, further and further until it all broke into a million little pieces.
As she released her, Bellatrix started to scream and scream. She slid down the walls, curling into a foetal position on the cold stone floor, continuing to scream because all she could feel, hear, see and know was agony.
Her daughter simply watched. And for the first time, she smiled.
"Sweet dreams, mother."
Voldemort threw open the door to his home, his mood dark. Two of his newer Death Eater recruits who'd attempted an attack on a Muggle-born reporter for the Daily Prophet had been caught that evening by Aurors. Fortunately, they were not privy to any sensitive information, but it was frustrating to see how many of his younger Death Eaters were subpar witches and wizards. Most of his best men and women had been captured after the Department of Mysteries fiasco, and it was taking a toll on the effectiveness of his plans. He would have to stage another breakout soon, but with all of the opposing side now on high alert, it would be much more difficult than the last.
He strode down the hallway, Nagini gliding along the floor behind him. He had been keeping her closer these last few months; mostly because she was useful, but there was a small part of him that wanted the company. She would never betray him.
Not feeling hungry, he climbed the stairs and went straight to his bedroom. But when he pushed the door open, he froze upon seeing what was inside.
"I see you haven't let my room out to anyone. Not interested in having a housemate anymore?"
Lena sat on the edge of his bed, casually poised with her legs crossed. She was wearing long black pants and a sleeveless shirt that clung tightly to her body, like a second skin. Her hair was loose, but uncharacteristically neat. She didn't look ill in the slightest – rather, she appeared healthier than he'd ever seen, although she was just as pale. In fact, he noted with an almost queasy feeling, she looked extraordinarily beautiful.
Voldemort's hand reached into his robe pocket for his wand, as he hissed, "How did you get in here?" The intruder alert had not gone off.
The left corner of her lips turned up slightly. "I'm really, really good at magic."
His hand closed in his empty pocket, and he looked down in confusion. His wand was gone.
"Is this what you're looking for?"
His head snapped back up. Lena was holding his wand, twirling it in one hand.
Nagini, who had been quietly eyeing Lena with suspicion, raised her head and bared her fangs, spitting out a threat.
Lena didn't even spare the snake a glance as she dismissively flicked a hand, and Nagini vanished.
A sense of panic began to rise in Voldemort. "What did you do to her?" he said angrily.
"Relax," replied Lena, rolling her eyes. "I just put her outside. Where pets belong."
Voldemort stared at her. Something was very off. Her eyes were different, although he couldn't think why. But more importantly, her magical signature had changed, to the point he no longer recognised it.
"What's happened to you?" he asked. He wanted to move closer, but cautiously remained where he was.
Lena stopped twirling his wand, and gave him a dazzling smile. "Let's just say I've had a change of heart."
A small seed of hope began to grow. "Do you mean you have finally come to your senses?" he said softly, trying not to let the hope creep into his voice.
She cocked her head for a moment, then straightened it again as the smile became a smirk. "Oh dear, I think I might be giving you the wrong impression. No, I'm not here to ally myself to your pathetic little cause."
Voldemort's thin lips curled into a snarl. "Then why," he growled, finally taking a step closer, "are you here?"
Her face lit up with delight. "Are you trying to intimidate me? Oh, that is precious." She shook her head, letting out a small giggle. "You couldn't scare me when I was a prisoner at your mercy, and you're trying it now when I've already disarmed you?"
"I don't need a wand to make you suffer," he told her in a low, dangerous voice, although he was thoroughly disconcerted. She was completely at ease, and he found that extremely worrying.
Lena snorted in amusement as she stood up, leaving his wand on the bed. Her bare feet didn't make a sound against the floorboards as she closed the distance between them. Coming to a stop about a foot in front of him, she looked up at his face, studying it.
"It's strange," she murmured eventually. "You don't look it, but even after everything, you're still human." She paused, before adding with relish, "And small."
Voldemort didn't think; his hand just shot out, reaching for her throat. But Lena was quicker. She caught his wrist in a tight grip, and he let out a gasp of pain as black veins began to shoot up his arm. It felt like he was burning.
Then Lena released her hold, pushing him back as she did. As he stumbled backwards, the black veins faded away as suddenly as they had appeared.
Likewise, Lena's prior good humour had disappeared. "You just don't get it, do you?" she said coldly. "Everything you are doing, all that you are working for – it is meaningless. Your dreams are insignificant, and tiny." Her eyes bore into his. "You are tiny."
Rubbing his wrist, Voldemort glared back at her, trying to ignore the sound of his thudding heart. This was not the same Lena he'd kept on his island for four months. It was not even the Lena he used to teach every Friday afternoon for two hours. But he had a horrible suspicion that this was the Lena who was the monster he had seen growing in her mind when they had first met.
He straightened, standing his ground. "I don't know what has happened to you," he began, "but you can threaten me with pain all you like. But you cannot kill me. Nobody can."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" She reached a hand behind her back. "Then I guess this doesn't mean anything to you." She brought her hand back around, but this time she was holding something.
Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.
Voldemort felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He was unable to stop his eyes widening, and his mouth parting slightly in shock. She knew? For how long?
"Because if it did mean something to you," she continued, her eyes glinting malevolently, "it would be very careless of you to leave it lying around in my Gringotts vault. Even more careless than leaving your diary with Lucius Malfoy. But since nobody can kill you, you won't mind if I just–"
Voldemort lunged forward, but once again he was too slow. Lena, with impossible strength, crushed Hufflepuff's Cup in her hand, transforming it into a pile of gold dust. A scream of anger filled the air, although Voldemort wasn't entirely sure if it came from the Horcrux, or himself. Perhaps it was both.
Frozen, he watched her open her hand, letting the pulverised remnants of the Cup fall to the ground. If the destruction of a part of his soul had physically hurt him, he didn't notice it. He just felt numb.
Lena, the girl he had loved as a daughter – the only person he had ever loved – had destroyed a part of him. Willingly. She had dragged him closer to death... with pleasure. She looked at him now, a small smile playing on her lips. For a moment, he wondered if that was what he looked like every time he killed someone.
'What are you?' he wanted to ask her, but his lips could only form one word.
"Why?" he whispered.
She reached out, and lightly stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. "Because I want you to remember," she said softly, "that the only reason you are still breathing is because I am letting you." On the final few words, she grasped his jaw and pulled his head forward so their faces were only inches apart. She stared wordlessly into his eyes for a few seconds, then let go.
Voldemort took a step back, automatically touching his face where her hand had been. He hated it, but it was clear to see that whatever had happened to her since he'd last seen her had turned her into something he could not fight. When she was a child, he had often thought the day might come when she was as powerful as him. What he hadn't imagined was that she would become so powerful that he would be completely at her mercy. Whatever she asked him for, he had to give it to her.
He swallowed. "And what else do you want?" he said quietly, his tone cautious.
"From you?" She shrugged. "Nothing. I gave up on that a while ago." She began to leisurely circle him. "No, I'm going to allow you to keep playing your little war games for a bit longer. In fact, I hope you get closer and closer to winning, to getting everything you want. Because that will make it all the more enjoyable when I finally take it away from you." She came to a stop. "Everything you have spent your life working for will all have been for nothing. In the end, your only legacy will be how you helped shape me into who I am today. And for that, I do truly thank you."
"Thank me?" He couldn't keep the fury out of his voice. He pointed at the pile of gold dust on the floor. "You think that is gratitude?"
"Oh, don't take it personally," Lena told him earnestly. "I've always considered you a father to me." She smiled sweetly. "But parents must die to make way for their children."
And with those final words, she disappeared in a black cloud, leaving behind a monster with a broken heart.
Thursday 24 April, 1997:
For the first time since Svartlager, Remus had managed to sleep for longer than an hour before the image of Lena's eyes turning black forced him awake. He sat up in bed, breathing heavily and sweating, and had to remind himself it was not a nightmare, but a memory.
He had finally spoken to Valeriya yesterday. She had turned up at the house in the morning, the first time he'd ever seen her truly distressed, not just angry. Dumbledore had sent her a message after Remus had left Hogwarts on Monday, but she'd wanted to hear what had happened directly from Remus. She had held it together until he'd said how terrified Lena had been. Then she had broken down in tears.
Maggie had cried too, when he told her on Tuesday. Oliver had still been holding her when Remus had left her cottage.
Although the bedroom was still darkened, he could just make out Mortimer's tiny body curled up, still sleeping, on the pillow beside him. Lena's pillow. He hadn't left Remus' side since he'd returned. Tizzy was miserable too. A dark gloom had descended over the house in Notting Hill.
Remus illuminated his bedside table just enough to read the small clock upon it. Just before seven a.m.. Sighing, he stood up. There was no way he was going back to sleep.
He had only just stepped outside the bedroom when he froze. There was a noise coming from downstairs, and it didn't sound like Tizzy. He strained his ears, listening. It sounded like...
Music.
Remus nearly ran to the stairs, stopping once again at the top step. It wasn't only playing from a cassette player. Somebody was in the house singing, and he knew their voice better than anyone else's.
He descended the stairs quickly, following the music to the kitchen. Stopping at the entrance, he stared at the figure singing. Her back was turned to him as she washed and cut the green tops off a bowl of strawberries. The cassette player sat on the counter nearby, and he finally recognised the song it was playing. It was, he realised, exactly two years since he'd first heard it.
Monday 24 April, 1995:
It was their last night before heading back to the continent for a job, and Remus was searching the Lestrange house for Lena. He had just finished making dinner, the first time he'd used a new pasta recipe, and was eager for her to try it.
She wasn't in their bedroom, or her study, so Remus headed to the hall she'd converted into a garage. As far as he was aware, there wasn't any work she was doing on the car, but she did sometimes tinker around with other projects in there.
He heard her before he saw her – or rather, he heard her cassette player. It wasn't, however, music he recognised. Reaching the entrance, he looked inside for Lena. When he saw her, his jaw dropped open in shock.
Since that first night at the Swiss house, they had danced together a few times. Well, dancing was a generous term – 'moving to music' was probably a more apt description. But he'd never seen Lena dance by herself.
Until now. Her eyes were closed as her arms waved gently in the air. With her bare feet on tiptoe, she moved around in slow circles, her hips swaying to the rhythm of the song.
"When sundown pales the sky,
I want to hide a while
Behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find..."
She danced freely like a child, unconcerned about how she looked, and with a serene smile on her face. She looked so... happy. As the next verse began, she started to sing along with it.
"For me to love you now
Would be the sweetest thing,
T'would make me sing.
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind..."
At this point, she opened her eyes – which was good, because it meant she narrowly avoided crashing into an open toolbox. But it also meant she finally saw Remus standing there, watching her with an expression of utter delight. She came to an abrupt stop, blushing.
"Please don't stop on my account," he said, grinning.
"Oh, shut up," she muttered, smoothing her hair back as she crossed over to the table upon which the cassette player sat.
"What's the song?" he asked as she pressed the 'stop' button.
"It's called 'Catch the Wind'," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. Her cheeks were still very pink. "I was trying to make my own mix-tape..." She trailed off as Remus, who had moved over to her, tilted her chin up so she was looking at him.
"Never," he told her softly, "be embarrassed about wanting to dance. " He gave her a warm smile. "Especially when you look so beautiful when you do."
Lena wrinkled her nose. "Don't be so saccharine. It makes me want to throw up–" She was cut off as he pressed his lips to hers.
As Lena relaxed into the kiss, Remus' hand searched for the 'start' button on the cassette player. He wanted to hear the rest of the song.
Now, her voice sang the words as if they were her own.
"When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near to kill my fears,
To help me to leave all my blues behind.
For standin' in your heart
Is where I want to be
And long to be.
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind..."
As the instruments took over, Remus drew a deep breath. "Lena?"
She turned around at once, dropping the knife on the counter. "Remus!"
Remus nearly took a step backwards. The black veins on her face were gone, yes. But nor did she look as she had before she had exchanged her heart for Hecate's. Now, her pale skin had an almost ethereal glow. In fact, everything about her was unnaturally beautiful. The once bony figure was now somehow smoother. Her hair fell down to her waist without a strand out of place. Every feature was flawless: her lips, her cheekbones, her–
"Your eyes were black," Remus blurted out.
Lena frowned slightly. "What?" She touched the corners of her eyes. "Oh, yes. I fixed that."
He stared at her. "They're blue now."
She cocked her head slightly, looking confused. "They always were."
Remus bit his lip. "Not that kind of blue."
Lena gazed back at him as if she couldn't understand why he was acting this way. "You don't... you don't seem very happy to see me," she said hesitantly. She raised her left hand, and nervously pushed back her already perfect hair.
The flash of gold on her hand caught Remus' eye. "You're still wearing your wedding ring," he observed aloud.
She glanced down at the ring, then back up at him. "I..." She shook her head slightly, like she couldn't quite believe what he was saying. "Of course I am. I'm your wife."
Remus clenched his jaw to stop himself from snapping back, 'Are you?'. Instead, he allowed his eyes to flick down and up again. Her feet were bare, and she wore a sleeveless white dress with a lace overlay, its hem reaching a couple of inches above her knees.
"I've never seen you wear that dress before," he said, barely managing to stop it sounding like an accusation.
"I... I made it," replied Lena in a small voice. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest, her posture demonstrating anxiety. "Remus, are you... are you not happy to see me?"
He flinched slightly. She sounded upset, which was the last thing he ever wanted to make Lena feel. But he also remembered what she had told him at Svartlager.
'I don't know who I'm going to be.'
And she had made him promise to never open the case – which now lay under his bed – for her if she asked him. She had been so adamant. She'd been so frightened of this new woman who would wear her face.
"It's been over three days since Svartlager,' he finally said, crossing his arms. "Where have you been?"
"I just needed some time." It was almost like she was pleading with him. "To adjust to... everything." She was gradually becoming more distressed. "I was afraid I might be a danger to you, if I wasn't in control of myself." She took half a step forward. "But I'm all right now. I'm okay. And I–" Her breath caught in her throat, choking her. She swallowed, and then the words tumbled out of her mouth: "And all I want is for you to hold me again." She released a shuddering breath, gazing at him with pained eyes. "Just to hold me–"
Remus couldn't take it anymore. He hurried across the kitchen and wrapped her in his arms. Lena muffled a cry of relief, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. She clung to him like he was the only thing stopping her from drowning as he stroked her back, his hand brushing against her hair. It felt like silk.
"It's all right," he murmured into her ear. "I've got you now. I've got you."
Lena slowly drew her face back, looking up at him with a soft smile. She jerked her head, indicating to the bowl behind her on the counter. "I brought strawberries," she whispered.
He returned the smile. "I saw." A thought occurred to him. "Have you seen Tizzy?" he asked, looking around. "She's usually in the kitchen at this time."
"Oh, I asked her to give us a bit of space," answered Lena, running her fingers through his hair. "I wanted some alone time with you."
At the back of his mind, Remus could feel there was something a little off in her words. But the desperate desire for everything to return to the way it had been made him push the feeling away.
He moved in to kiss her. But before their lips could meet, the moment was disrupted by a small chattering sound.
Mortimer was scurrying across the kitchen floor towards them, looking up at Lena adoringly.
Her face lit up, and she crouched down. "Oh, Mortimer, come here," she cooed.
But when Mortimer was almost in her reach, he came to a sudden halt and went silent. For a second, he just stared at Lena. Then he let out a terrified squeak, and started scrambling backwards.
Lena blinked, looking surprised. "Mortimer, what's wrong?" She stretched out her hand to him, but he made another frightened noise and dodged her hand. He raced over to Remus, and latched onto the hem of his pyjama bottoms.
Confused, Remus bent over and picked up Mortimer. He was shocked to find the tiny green body was quivering.
"What's wrong with him?"
Tensing, Remus glanced at Lena, who had stood back up and was looking a mixture of hurt and affronted. Then he looked back at Mortimer, who continued to vocalise his fear.
Remus had never understood Mortimer's language of squeaks and twittering as well as Lena, but right now, the Bowtruckle's meaning was crystal clear.
This was not their Lena.
He looked at her again – really looked this time. And there he saw it, behind the feigned hurt feelings, in her unnaturally blue eyes.
Cold irritation.
Anger filled him. "Get out," he said in a low voice.
Lena's body went rigid. "Excuse me?"
He tried to remain calm, but it was difficult. "As long as you are making Mortimer feel unsafe," he told her icily, "you are not welcome in this house."
She stared at him blankly for a long moment. Then she pursed her lips in annoyance.
"He always was remarkably attuned to what I was feeling," she muttered, eyeing the Bowtruckle. Flicking her gaze back up to Remus, she shrugged. "Fine. Maybe I wasn't being completely honest with you before." She held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers. "But I meant it when I said I'm still your wife. And I do love you more than anything else in the world." She said it without any feeling, but as a cold, hard fact.
Remus put Mortimer on his shoulder. "Forgive me if I'm not totally convinced," he replied bitterly, leaning back against the counter while watching her warily.
"You think I'm lying?"
"I think I don't have a bloody idea who the hell you are anymore."
Lena tilted her head to the side, and Remus could have sworn that the kitchen's temperature dropped.
"You want to know who I am?" she said quietly. "I'm the woman who used to spend hours talking with you in your office at Hogwarts, making you smile and laugh. I'm the woman who you sat with while she lay dying, and you begged to hold onto life. I'm the woman who spent countless full moons with you, and I'm the woman who gave the wolf inside you the only love he has ever received. I am the woman who stood with you in the Forbidden Forest, vowing to love you for the rest of my life, and whatever may come after it. And if you don't think that love could withstand me ripping out my heart, then maybe you never knew me at all."
Remus' throat felt very dry. "I'm sorry," he said eventually.
"For what?" said Lena coldly. "Treating me like a monster?"
He took a deep breath. "For saying I don't have a clue who you are. Because I do. Yes, you are the woman who did all those things. And I love that woman. But I also know that if you were exactly the same woman from before you put the Orb in your chest, and you had all that extraordinary power you have inside you now, I wouldn't have come in here to find you washing fucking strawberries."
Lena narrowed her eyes. "What," she hissed, "is your point?"
Remus clenched his fists. "My Lena's priority would be protecting Harry. The first thing she would do is stop Voldemort. And the fact you haven't said anything about that tells me you not only haven't tried yet, but have no intention of doing so."
"You don't understand," said Lena, after a short pause. "There are bigger things to consider."
"Like what?" snapped Remus.
"My power is meant for more than simply killing one man." She lowered her voice, speaking in a hushed excitement. "I can do so much more... I will do so much more. I just need a bit of time – and then, I promise you, Voldemort will never hurt anyone else again."
"And how are you going to do that?"
Lena closed her eyes. "If I told you," she whispered, "you wouldn't understand. You'd think it was too dangerous, maybe even wrong." Her eyes opened again. "You can't see things the way I do now. You're too... human. And that limits your perspective."
"Oh, so you're above humanity now?" said Remus quietly. "You're finally the god you always thought you were?"
She slowly ran her tongue along her top row of teeth, watching him intently. At last, she said, "Well, if that's what you want to call it..."
"Other people might call it being a monster," he replied bluntly.
Remus didn't see her move, but Lena was suddenly right in front of him, their lips almost touching.
"No." Her voice was still soft, but forceful. "I'm what the monsters see in their nightmares."
That almost sent a shiver down Remus' spine, but he held his ground, staring back into her eyes with a calm defiance.
"I love you," he said, "but I will not share a bed, let alone a house with you while you're like this."
This time, he knew the hurt in her eyes was real. Lena stepped back from him, her jaw clenched.
"All right," she said tightly. "I will respect your decision. But if you do want to see me, to talk to me, you need only ask. I'll hear you, wherever I am." And then just like at Svartlager, a black cloud formed around her, and she was gone.
Remus spun around and gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, taking deep breaths in and out. On his shoulder, Mortimer twittered mournfully.
Telling her to leave had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He had promised to love her, no matter what – 'for as long as Time itself'. But that was why he had to push her away now: because the real Lena would never forgive him for not telling her 'no' when he knew in his heart she was wrong.
He looked over at the cassette player, which Lena must have magically paused when she'd first turned around. Reaching out, he pressed the 'play' button, letting the song finish its final few bars.
"Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind..."
The calling of a meeting of the Orkístike came at an inconvenient time for Theodora Konstantinidis. A very pretty witch had just suggested that Theodora might like to come back to her apartment with her so they could 'get to know each other a little better', when the tattoo on her wrist prickled. Reluctantly, Theodora asked the girl for a raincheck and made her excuses. She left the bar they were in, and Disapparated outside.
The meeting place was always Skoteinó Nisí – the Dark Island. Once the home of the sorceress Hecate.
Theodora appeared on the moonlit beach, and noted she was the last to arrive. The other seven members of the Orkístike were standing in a huddle in front of the doors to the great tower. As she approached them, they all turned to her.
"What happened?" It was Izîl who asked. Of the others, he was the closest in age to Theodora, and always wore his dark hair in a short ponytail.
Theodora frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Why did you call the meeting?" That was Saul, the oldest member.
"Me?" Theodora looked around at them, confused. "I didn't. I thought it was one of you."
They all shook their heads.
"I don't understand," said Izîl slowly. "If you didn't, and none of us did, then who–"
He was cut off by the doors to the tower swinging open on their own accord. Inside was illuminated by the lit torches hanging on the walls.
Once again, the Orkístike all looked around at each other with bewildered expressions. Then Saul cautiously led them through to the main hall. At the end of the hall was the obsidian throne, raised on a dais, that Hecate had sat upon thousands of years ago. Since her death, it had not been occupied again.
Until now. Somebody was sitting in it, leaning back comfortably with one bare foot casually drawn up onto its seat, an elbow resting on the raised knee.
The Orkístike halted, all staring at the figure on the throne.
'Welcome, my friends. So good to finally meet all of you."
Theodora started. That voice... was it... was it her?
She stepped forward, studying the woman dressed in black who was watching them with an indecipherable smile. She looked just like her, except... also different.
"I believe I owe you an apology, Theodora."
Theodora gulped. "Is it... is it really you?" she asked hesitantly, hardly daring to believe it. After all these years of waiting, had it finally happened?
The woman drummed her fingers on the arm of the throne. "Who do you mean – Lena Lestrange, or Hecate?" Her smile widened. "Because the answer, I suppose, for both is... yes."
Clearing his throat, Saul also stepped forward. "Then it was you who called for the meeting?"
Lena flicked her hand, and Theodora felt her tattoo burn for a second. From the others' sharp intakes of breath, she knew they felt it too.
A moment later, Saul knelt down, and the others hastily copied him. But as Theodora lowered herself, she couldn't help wondering – if Lena had finally reunited with Hecate's Orb, then where was it?
"My Lady," Saul was saying, "we have long awaited your return. Each one of us, by taking this mark–" he raised his wrist, "–has pledged ourselves to your service, and are–"
"Ah," interjected Lena, leaning forward slightly, "you see, that's what I wanted to talk about. 'Pledge yourself' – now, what exactly does that mean?"
"We are yours to command," said one of the Orkístike. Theodora wasn't sure whose voice it was – she was too focused on Lena's face, which wore an expression she was familiar with, but was having difficulty identifying.
"So, you'll do anything I ask?" inquired Lena. She had started to twirl a lock of hair around her forefinger.
"That is the duty of the Orkístike," answered Saul, bowing his head.
"We would give our lives for you, my Lady," added Izîl eagerly.
"Well, that is good," said Lena pleasantly, and it hit Theodora – she was looking at them as a farmer might inspect their livestock, deciding whether it was time to slaughter them. "Because it's your lives that I want."
She let go of her hair, and curled her fingers in a beckoning motion. But it was not the people she wanted to come to her. It was their life energy she was calling.
Theodora watched, motionless with shock, as a white vapour streamed out of the bodies of the other members of the Orkístike, their mouths opening in silent screams. As the vapour drew closer to Lena, it turned black, and entered her outstretched hand. The more she pulled out, the more of her victims' veins turned black. As the last of the energy left their bodies, the other seven members of the Orkístike fell to the ground, their eyes and the insides of their mouths black.
Trembling, Theodora stared at her dead fellow acolytes. Then she looked up at Lena, who had finally stood up from the throne, and was walking towards her.
"Why–" Theodora's voice cracked. It took another few attempts to finally spit it out: "Why did you kill them?"
"They wanted to be of service, and the potential Nekrosía was more useful to me than anything else they could offer," replied Lena, shrugging.
"But why did you leave me alive?" asked Theodora, trying not to shrink back as Lena reached her.
Lena appeared to study her for a long moment. Then she smiled as she touched a fine chain – that Theodora only saw now they were in such close proximity – which was hanging around her neck. She gave it a tug, snapping the chain, and pulled out from underneath her shirt the medallion attached to it. She held it up to Theodora, letting it swing like a pendulum. And like any Greek witch or wizard with even the slightest interest in their nation's magical history, Theodora immediately recognised it: the Medallion of Circe.
"Because," said Lena softly, "you are still of use to me."
The last time Theodora has visited Aeaea, she had been a child, sightseeing with her parents. It had been daytime then, and the island had looked like a paradise. Now, being there in the middle of the night, the atmosphere felt more foreboding.
'Or maybe that's just because she is here,' thought Theodora, as she followed Lena down a narrow, winding path.
It felt strange to still refer to this woman as 'Lena'. She looked a lot like her, yes, and her voice was nearly the same. But the behaviour was unrecognisable. She even walked differently now, moving with an unhuman grace. An oppressive aura surrounded her, capturing everything in her presence and holding it prisoner at her leisure.
Theodora couldn't help wondering how Remus Lupin felt about this new version of his wife, who had killed seven people with as little care as was conceivable.
The Orkístike had always understood that the true master of Hecate's Orb would leave casualties in their wake, as they tried to reshape the world to make it a better place. But Theodora didn't think any of them had really thought their lives would be the first sacrificed.
They were halfway down a hill when Lena halted. She turned around and gestured for Theodora to stand beside her, which she obediently did.
Lena pointed down at a large, round stone that was embedded into the path. "Put your hand on the centre," she told Theodora.
Theodora crouched down and pressed her hand against the stone. A second later, she felt something moved underneath her, and she retracted her hand, revealing a small indentation that had just appeared. Around the edge of the stone, runes slowly formed, but the script was unfamiliar to her.
Lena, however, could read them. Illuminating the stone with a hand-held blue flame, she inspected the writing. "Of course," she murmured to herself, then looked at Theodora. "Hold out your hand," she commanded.
Theodora obeyed, and Lena took it. Slowly, she dragged a finger across the open palm. Theodora winced as the skin was cut open and blood appeared. Lena pressed the Medallion into her bleeding hand, and closed Theodora's fingers around it. She squeezed the hand, and Theodora's breath hitched as she felt the blood ooze out.
After a few seconds, Lena released her hand, and gave Theodora her next order. "Put the Medallion in the indentation so the bloodied side is facing down, and turn it anti-clockwise a full rotation."
The Medallion fit inside perfectly. Using the small bump in the centre of it, Theodora began to turn it, and there was a clicking noise, like a door being unlocked. Once it was fully rotated, the stone dropped several inches and slid to the side, revealing a narrow staircase leading down to underneath the hill.
Theodora glanced at Lena. She was looking down at the staircase with an extremely pleased expression, like she had finally received the birthday gift she'd always wanted.
Hesitantly, Theodora ventured to ask, "Why... why did you need me to open it?"
Lena glanced at her. "Because Circe locked it with Blood Magic – specifically a protective enchantment that would prevent Hecate from opening it." She began to descend the steps. "Come along."
Theodora began to follow her again. "So, when you said you're both Lena and Hecate–"
"I have the memories of both, although Hecate's are more fragmented," said Lena calmly. "But I have Hecate's magic, which now runs through my blood. That is why I could not open it by myself."
"And you knew that before you read those runes, right? That's why you brought me here."
"I knew Circe would have taken precautions against Hecate. The last thing she ever wanted was her getting–" They had reached the bottom of the steps, and Lena waved her hand, bringing forth light to fill the chamber in which they found themselves, "– in here."
Theodora gazed around the room, trying not to gape. She was standing inside Circe's vault, probably the first person to do so in several thousand years. She was surrounded by idols, masks, caskets, scrolls and other artefacts that some wizards and witches would have killed to get their hands on.
Lena was examining a shelf containing various vials and bottles, and Theodora got the sense she was ticking off items on a mental checklist. Which meant she knew what she was looking for.
Which also probably meant Circe knew what Hecate had wanted, and she had been desperately against it.
"Circe was once a pupil of Hecate, wasn't she?" said Theodora cautiously.
Lena looked over to her. "Correct," she answered mildly. "Her first real student – at least, of any note. But as her power grew, so did their differences of opinion. When she finally left Hecate, it was the first time her heart..." She paused, touching her chest. "My heart," she amended quietly, "broke. She loved Circe like a daughter. The bond they had forged became a rivalry. But neither ever really won a victory over the other." She turned her eyes back to the shelf in front of her, and picked up one of the crystal bottles. "Until now." She murmured it so softly Theodora barely heard her.
She took a step back, and surveyed the rest of the vault. "Yes," announced Lena – or perhaps it was Hecate at that moment. "I have almost everything I need. Almost."
A huge thank you to the reviewers of the previous chapter, I'm happy to hear I can still surprise some of you after all this time :) As always, I'd love to hear thoughts on this one.
Question: How do you guys feel about the way I've incorporated music into the story? I can imagine it's the sort of thing that usually comes off as super cringey in Fanfiction, and if that's also the case with To Be Human, please let me know. I've just always felt that because Lena grew up not really understanding the right ways to express emotion, she would really connect with music that can articulate how she feels, either lyrically or melodically. And I also feel that because creating stuff like music, literature and art requires a sort of genius that Lena doesn't possess, she would have great admiration for those who can. But if any of you have other thoughts on the matter, I'd love to discuss it further :)
Once again, thank you for reading this story! And until next time, cheers :)