Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter character's or anything related to the works of J.K Rowling. I only own the plot and any original characters you might notice. If I used any music or poems or any other medium you may have noticed from pop culture or music/books I do not own that source.
SORRY FOR LATE UPDATE! I didn't give up writing the series, I swear. My work schedule keeps changing on me, my sleep schedule is a mess now because of that and as a result it took me damn near forever to put another chapter out! Guys, please be patient with me. I love to write and I do want to complete this series, I just have bills to pay and other responsibilities on my plate. SORRY AGAIN FOR THE LATE UPDATE!
With all that being said-I really hope you all enjoy the chapter-I worked hard on it. If didn't enjoy the chapter, well, let me know what I could do to fix it or make it better. Thank you all to the readers who favorite and review this series. Nothing makes my day than seeing someone dropped a review for me. I really appreciate everyone who reads this series.
November 17, 1948
There is never a good time or even a convenient time for bad things to happen, but maybe one could agree that it is not better for a bad thing to happen on a day that is busy.
Yara Zolotov came down with a fever in the middle of the previous night; William and Zyra hardly got any sleep. That was when they got the news from the Elwoods.
Margot Elwood had went into labor at roughly about one in the morning; she didn't know extreme emotions could offset the whole birthing process. If Peter had to guess as to what caused the whole thing, he'd pin it on the letter they'd got in the middle of the night.
Wendy and Ben Darwin were the ones who sent a letter for the young Elwood family so late into the night. Ben took responsibility of putting pen to paper as he scrawled out what he knew and where they'd be. Wendy took responsibility of gathering spare clothing, two pillows, and a blanket together to make things more comfortable.
Gregory Darwin had to send a howler to his son and daughter-in-law as soon as he possibly could once he found the news out. He also sent another howler out to Colorado, the far Pacific, and just for good measure one to New Orleans. If there was one thing the old Gryffindor was thankful for was that he wasn't far from St. Mungo's Hospital when he got wind of Pipa's condition.
Every witch, wizard, squib, and muggle in a particular individual's life scrambled in one way or another to get where they needed to be. Which unfortunately meant they all tried to rush to the intensive care wing in St. Mungo's.
Margo had to be wheelchair bound and only could visit if a healer gave the okay to visit and only for five minutes at the most. Peter had to make sure they stuck to the instructions of the healer, for the benefit of baby.
William and Zyra took turns between keeping an eye on their own sick baby and visiting too. Yara's fever was not too worrying but witches and wizards in the infant wing wanted to monitor her just to be on the safe side.
Wendy, Ben, and Gregory Darwin stayed put in the room as friends of the younger member of their family popped in out of the intensive care wing.
Night was turning into morning and as no immediate answers made themselves present in the corridors of St. Mungo's. No one knew exactly what caused the witch to go her current state of unconsciousness. Not really anyways.
"Seizures." The volume in Ben's voice could barely be considered even that of a normal. It was low, gruff, and unsteady. "Pipa's never gotten seizures before." There was a visible pause in Ben's features. "Is it because she was born prematurely?"
Wendy Darwin shook her head at her husband's words. An odd type of self-loathing took over the mother's body as she watched her only child lay still on the stretched out hospital bed. She was a nurse, a well educated and experienced nurse who had seen people of varying ages on the same hospital beds her daughter was on...And there was absolutely nothing in Wendy's ability to help her daughter...Wendy may be a damn great nurse, but a muggle nurse couldn't treat a sickness that was caused by some sort of spell.
Gregory didn't say much. His thoughts all tangled and knotted together into an ugly mess. He was slightly upset especially considering his granddaughter's husband to be was nowhere to be found.
Unlike how aurors could go about and handle things in Europe it was wonderfully different and if not stupidly complicated in the Americas.
Not just any auror could waltz up to any Native American Reservation, to a medicine man's home and investigate the magic being used on said reservation. An auror had to get approved by a tribal council (each different for every reservation) then forward the approval of selected aurors to the Magical Congress of the United States of America.
Which more or less explained why John Westing sat on an all too familiar couch in a living room of an all too familiar person. This was supposedly a business call but because it was Ruth, John knew better. He didn't bother to freshen up after a long day of working; his light blue tie was completely undone; his gray dress shirt was terribly wrinkled and there was a coffee stain somewhere on his brown slacks; who knew where John threw his jacket off to the second he walked into Ruth's home.
"Ruth," The American wizard's voice had a slight Southern drawl; the accent was stronger before he dropped out of Ilivermorny and decided to fight in the war. He almost didn't get to fight because the muggle recruiters (it was easier and the no maj military system had a lot of loopholes he could easily walk through) thought his heterochromia would somehow affect his ability to aim a rifle.
"Don't you say my name in that tone of voice." Ruth might have been older and smaller than the auror in her home but she was by no means scared of getting on his bad side. She dropped a well packed suitcase in front of the young auror, right by his feet. Her trusty leather satchel attached to her shoulder. "The walk to the portkey isn't long so stop your sulking."
"I'm not upset about the walk to the portkey, Ruth." John didn't budge from his spot on the couch. "I am upset because you taught a witch outside of your tribe the type of magic. You know the MACUSA has strict rules about that!" John shook his head not in distress but in utter annoyance. "You could have taught anyone of relatives to teach your magic to, a neighbor on the reservation even. Yet you teach it to someone visiting from England. Don't you know how illegal that is?"
"I do." Ruth admitted so carelessly. The older Navajo woman did not give any shits about what the MACUSA deemed fit about who she could and couldn't teach magic too. "But I am not the one who has to fill out all the paperwork and make sure everything is processed." She then added, "Don't you get suspended as an auror should MACUSA find out that an area you are responsible for is not complying with MACUSA mandated laws?"
John Westing sighed and weighed his options. Not for real or with any real seriousness, he knew he already lost. At least if I go with Ruth, I can keep this as controlled as possible and if I can do that MACUSA probably won't even process this on their radar...No suspension, no investigation on me, no paperwork.
The twenty four year old wizard ran a hand through his black hair but there was some gray spotted along on the sides. John was accepting the fact that he'd be working a long night instead of enjoying his bed at home, a nice beer, and sleep.
Looks like your twenty minute break is up, Westing. John thought to himself as he finally got off the couch and grabbed Ruth's suitcase off the ground.
"Also," Ruth said as they made their way of her home. "I believe a wizard who knows possible voodoo and blood magic might be joining us on this whole trip."
"You're shitting me." John tightened his grip on the suitcase; he knew better than to drop a medicine woman's suitcase. He didn't want spiders summoned to his place because he pissed the old lady off...again. An irritated sigh was breathed out. Voodoo and blood magic was just as illegal as what Ruth had done. "Anything else I need to know?"
Ruth nodded but she never spared to look over to the auror who walked right by her. "A wizard from the far Pacific will be there."
John's gut twisted. Wizards from the far Pacific themselves were not illegal, no. They only had a habit of traveling by sea storms, tropical storms, hurricanes, and tsunamis-which again-not illegal. No, the illegal thing about wizards from the far Pacific was like Ruth's situation, they were not supposed to teach outsiders their type of magic.
"This witch isn't a future dark wizard in the making is she?" John's voice was serious, careful, and nervous. He'd already been through one war for the no majs; he couldn't imagine going to war against wizards.
"You know, John." Ruth's voice was calm but it held a small amount of anger in there. "Our magic wasn't considered illegal until MACUSA deemed it so. I would really think over why you immediately thought us teaching her our magic immediately meant she was trying to be a dark wizard."
John groaned. All he wanted was a nice cold beer...Three ice cold beers…Maybe some moonshine.
She keeps absolutely no records of anything! Tom scowled as he tore apart Ophelia's room from roof to floorboard. He searched the rest of the Darwin's family home earlier but found nothing.
No letters. No notes. No books! Not even a scribble of anything that implies what she knows!
Tom Marvolo Riddle was beyond any words and beyond the normal human spectrum of emotion. He couldn't pinpoint what he was feeling or how to express it.
"Fuck!" Tom cursed as he knocked over the small writing desk in Ophelia's room. That was the last thing he had to search before he could conclude that he couldn't find anything. He assumed, considering his Ophelia was simply the way she was that the writing desk in her room would either be empty or have pictures scattered around in the drawers.
So imagine the lack of surprise the handsome wizard experienced when he found the desk was absolutely fucking empty.
"Damn it!" Tom's yell echoed through the empty house. Without any restrictions in his actions, without any thought, Tom began to kicked and throw the already scattered belongings of his fiance's room. He threw the blanket off her bed, threw pictures to the ground, kicked clothes around on the floor, and he even went as far as to punch the wooden walls of the room.
Why was this happening to him? Why was this happening now? Usually he'd find a way to blame it all on the half-blooded witch but with her lying on what very well could be her deathbed, the heir of Slytherin didn't want to do that.
He wanted to know what spell she used. Tom wanted to know where she learned it and from because that spell, whatever it was exactly, could also be of use to Tom in the soon or later future.
Yes, it seemed selfish of him and even he could see how breaking and entering into Ophelia's home while she and her family were at St. Mungo's hospital could be considered a terrible thing to do.
Tom Riddle didn't give a shit because he didn't selfishly try to find a clue as to what the spell was only for his benefit. No, he was Tom Marvolo fuckin Riddle and he was smarter than many witches and wizards alive and dead.
If I knew what the spell was, I could have been able to reverse it or at least make a cure for the side effects. Tom's body was finally done ruining the room and with an intense shock of discomfort in his chest and stomach, he sank down to the floor.
As an orphan, Tom was used to the idea that he was in fact alone and sometimes, especially when he was much younger, he understood what loneliness was on an expert level. Yet as he grew older he prefered to being alone-it gave him more time to plot his plans out and made it easier to do whatever he wanted without someone constantly tagging along.
He had always been alone since day one much like he had been breathing since day one.
Yet the thought of Ophelia dying was a brand new level of loneliness that managed to awaken the sad child that Tom thought was long gone. Ophelia came into his life the same time Hogwarts did!
His mind, memories, even emotions would forever associate Ophelia and magic together for all of time!
If she lives….Tom thought to himself he threw his wand in the air and willed the room to clean itself up. I'll never let her travel again. A proper wife shouldn't travel the world anyway.
After all it was Ophelia's stupid want to travel and learn that put both her and Tom in this position not merely Ophelia herself; that was the only logical explanation Tom Riddle could think up anyways.
Peter kissed Margo on the top of her head as soon as the sound of a tiny voice crying filled the room. At first they were both worried that maybe their child being born early would bring complications but after only three hours of labor the newest addition of the Elwood family finally came into the world.
Autumn Rose Elwood was born at ten forty-five in the morning, coming out at six pounds and three ounces, and the cutest nose Peter had ever seen.
Tears welled up in Margo's eyes. "She looks just like you." The blonde witch pressed her lips gently on her daughter's tiny forehead, the scent of a new infant took over Margo's senses. "Oh, Peter, look at her. Isn't she perfect?"
He agreed without even a second thought. "I bet she'll have your eyes."
A happy silence filtered through the room until it was no longer a happy silence. Their baby had been born way before the expected due date and the only reason they had made it to the hospital so early was due to Ophelia.
"Should we bring Autumn to meet Aunty Pipa?"
Margo shook her head, "I don't know if the healers would even let us."
"I'll go ask Will and Zyra if they want see to Autumn then. I think the healers told them Yara was stable and her fever's gone down. " Peter carefully drew himself away from his little family. "I won't be gone long."
Peter slipped out the room quietly and began in his search for William and Zyra. If he was correct, the intensive care for infants wasn't too far from the delivery ward. He was lucky though, William spotted him first.
"Congrats my friend." William walked over to the new father, two unlit cigars in his hands and a small grin. "I'm sure your daughter is healthy and beautiful." The Russian put one cigar in his mouth and handed one to Peter before lighting it. "Cheers, mate." There was a third cigar hidden in the pockets of William's trousers but it was reserved for Ophelia...William had a childish hope that she'd be awake by now, cured and fine as ever.
That wasn't the case at the moment. A quick flash of black hair peeked off to the side of William's and Peter's peripheral vision. Broad enough shoulders, stiff and straight posture and an overall tall figure.
To the two former Hufflepuff quidditch players, that flash of black hair could have only been one person.
"Riddle!" William called out to as he walked towards the figure. "Have a cigar with-." William's mouth immediately shut securely to a close and a confused expression appeared over his face. "Uh, hello."
Peter quickly walked over to see why William and Tom were frozen in an awkward tension. "Riddle, care to celebrate with-." Peter's voice disappeared the second he caught a better look at the black hair man. "You're not Riddle."
Much to the British and Russian wizards surprise the new man stranger in the presence spoke with an accent they had never heard before.
"No, John Westing." The slight Southern drawl was ever so present. He offered a hand out as a way of greeting the new wizards. "But whatever you are celebrating, I'm all in for it."
The Russian wizard promptly offered Westing a cigar. "Nice to meet your acquaintance."
What is an American wizard doing all the way out here? Peter shook Westing's hand right after William did. "So what brings you here from across the pond?"
John took a long drag from the rich and savory cigar. "Work."
"I'm here! I'm here! I'm right here!"
Ophelia's eyes were aching, red from tears and being unable to sleep. She was over crying about the mess she landed herself in and was over being trapped in whatever realm of spirituality she was in.
At first she thought she was a ghost but at least if she was a ghost then the people around her would've been able to see her (like Nearly Headless Nick or the Fat Friar) but no one saw her….Nor could they hear her.
What clued Ophelia into the fact she wasn't dead and therefore could not be a ghost was that healer were still tending the body she should have still been in. She would also catch glimpses of her mother checking her pulse and temperature from time to time.
So here was a half-blooded witch in what could be thought as a spirit in a weird sub-pocket of possible death or purgatory having a literal out of body experience in which no could see or hear her. It was an excruciating mental and emotional wait-Ophelia was either going to die or she was going to get back into her empty shell of a body and live!
There were no in between options and staring at lifeless body that she was supposed to be in was starting to root strong feelings of doubt. All she could at the moment was float aimlessly close to the ceiling in her little hospital room and watch as people filtered in and out.
She overheard the conversation of her family and friends just fine. Margo went into labor as soon as she got the news; Zyra and William's baby was sick with a fever; and no one was able to get a hold of Tom since Ophelia's physical body was administered into St. Mungo's.
"Is there a way to remove her from this place?" A wizard from New Orleans asked as he lit and place deep purple candles in each corner of the room; then he reached into his briefcase and took out a little sack filled with what looked like black salt and sprinkled it by the window and by the door.
Raymond Bellevue had been the wizard to take Ophelia under his wing during her stay in Louisiana. No could tell it by looking at him, but the wizard was at least a hundred and three years old. Raymond had healthy carob skin without any wrinkles or spots anywhere to be found on him (maybe a scar or three from a whip to the back but he didn't like to revisit that memory); pearly white teeth and dimples to match his smile; and every hair on his head was a vibrant and beautiful shade of midnight blue without any white or grey hair in sight.
"I don't know if the staff here will let us." Kane answered with a look of concern engraved on his face. He placed what looked a shell that was shaved to look like hook on the center of the former Hufflepuff's still body before throwing it up into the air.
A gasp of surprise weaseled its way out of Ophelia when the hook Kane threw up latched itself into her spirit form; right where her heart was supposed to be. A strong forced pulled Ophelia down to the ground until her feet were planted onto the floor boards...Not that anyone could see that anyhow but she was relieved that she wasn't floating anymore. Being rooted to ground felt normal, natural, and it gave her a small bit of hope.
"Oh , thank Merlin." Ophelia breathed out. Her statement of appreciation fell on deaf ears.
"Is that a good sign?" Ben Darwin asked as the hook stayed fixed in mid-air.
"It means a spirit is here, but we don't know if it is hers or not just yet." Kane looked back over to Raymond. "May I ask what the black powder is for?"
"Keeps demons who may want to take the child's body out." Raymond, for good measure, then sprinkled some of the black powder on the foot of Ophelia's bed.
Ruth went around the room, a bundle made of specific herbs and various other plants and bit of hair snipped straight from Wendy Darwin's scalp. At first no scent filtered through the room, then slowly the obvious smell of lilies clung in the air the way black smoke lingered against a winter sky.
"That's a good sign right?" Wendy asked with hope rising in her voice as she breathed in the scent of lilies. "It's not a rotting smell but a fresh smell so that has to be a good sign right?"
Ben bit down on his tongue and shook his head from side to side. Wendy's completely muggle upbringing wasn't the same as Ben's childhood. Ben may have been born a squib but Gregory Darwin made sure his son had a rather wild and magical experience growing up...Wendy didn't think or ever thought about meaning behind flowers.
"Lilies are flowers that are associated with death or funerals," Poppa sighed as he looked down at the floor. He couldn't bring himself to look at his grandchild...He didn't want to see Ophelia like that.
"I'm going to die?" Ophelia asked as she felt a terrible chill crash down on her. It was pointless because no one could even hear the question to answer it. Yet, due to her stupor all Ophelia merely repeated the question. "Am I going to die?"
Ruth put the bundle of sage and other plants out and pressed her hands on Ophelia's motionless body. First the Navajo woman put a hand on Ophelia's face; Ruth had her eyes closed with immense focus. Words began to flow out of Ruth's mouth; it was a chant that was being repeated over and over and over in Navajo.
A hot and tingling crawled all over Ophelia's spirit form as soon as Ruth began to chant. While her physical body remained still; Ophelia's spirit form began to wince in discomfort. The little hook attached to her spirit followed as she hunched forward in pain.
Kane looked over to the hook as it swayed back and forth in midair by itself. "This is a good sign," he whispered to himself.
Ruth then moved her hands away from Ophelia's face before placing her hands flat on the center of the younger witch's chest. The medicine woman chanted in Navajo over and over once more.
Ophelia felt something as she watched Ruth suddenly ball her hands into fists and pulled violently away from the still body. The British witch couldn't help but slowly claw and scratch at her chest as Ruth chant away.
"Tsk." The Navajo woman took her hands away from the unconscious young lady that laid before her. "I've told you not to forget your center."
"Can you fix her?" Wendy barked out taking a small step toward Ruth only to step back when Ben pulled her arm away from the medicine woman.
With a slightly annoyed expression, Ruth dug into her leather satchel and pulled out a mason jar filled with a tan looking liquid. "Ophelia's soul is still on this realm, so yes, I might be able to fix her as you say. However, it is up to Ophelia to take the journey to come back to her physical body." Ruth uncapped the mason jar and let out a rather gruff sigh; peyote tea was nothing like apple juice. "You though this was bad before? It'll taste worse once you are back in a body."
"Lucky me…" Ophelia watched as Ruth poured peyote tea gingerly into the unconscious body. Her pale green eyes widened when she saw one of the older wizards reach their hand towards her.
Kane walked over to the hook that he was now sure latched onto the young witch's soul. With a humming sound smoothly running from his mouth, Kane snatched the hook out of the air and tucked it into the pocket of his pants. "Ophelia's here with us right now."
Raymond quickly got out some more black powder out and with a strong and steady whistle, he sprinkled the black powder around where the hook was lingered in the air. "Let no ill will find you as you journey into the beyond."
Almost in an instant Ben, Wendy, and Poppa looked to where the hook had once been. Almost all three of them were about to spout out questions only to be silenced by Ruth.
There was only one fourth of peyote tea left in mason jar Ruth held and she went ahead and poured what remained out in front of where she assumed Ophelia's spirit was hovering about. "Safe travels, see you soon."
Ophelia opened to her mouth to speak, a gut feeling had told her maybe that if she were to say something now, everyone would be able to hear her. She didn't get to speak though, she didn't process what she wanted to say fast enough.
Everything melted into a dizzy blur as Ophelia felt something pull her soul up and away from everything familiar.
A new sense of ugly, deep, and primal terror dawned on Ophelia as she realized that if she didn't succeed in this 'adventure' back to her body-she'd be just as good as dead.
Tom Riddle stood outside of St. Mungo's. That distinct pain in his chest from seeing Ophelia unresponsive grew sharper in the time he distanced himself from it all.
Do not go to her….He repeated in his mind. Do not see her...Not until you've been told she is alive and well.
A thought hit Tom and it him hard. A thought hit Tom harder and more violently than a train could hit him.
Ophelia could die.
No. Tom focused hard on simply being in denial that death could be an outcome at the end of the situation.
That's it-the end. Gone forever. No more and never again. Departed. Passed one. In a 'better place'. DEAD.
No. No, no, no, no!
Tom looked at St. Mungo's with a quiet contempt. Someone, just someone better heal Ophelia Mae Darwin... Even though Tom could maybe possibly start to understand that he was the one who put her in St. Mungo's in the first place-there would be hell to pay should the witches and wizards fail to revive Ophelia.
Lord Voldemort would be sure of it.