More peeks into thoughts by moonlight and in the shadows. Major angst ahead.

Moonlit Shadows

Paris is a city for lovers but let us leave the lovers be for now.

In the Hog's Head, Aberforth poured himself another shot of whiskey. Summer nights in the Scottish Highlands were still cool. Some nights the memories came. An angel's smile, her lilting voice. How the wind tugged at her dark curls… He downed his shot, feeling the liquid burn on the way down. She was always beyond his reach, a summer's dream. Hogwarts castle loomed against the sky.

Dumbledore watched from the window as the moon shone down on the Black Lake, turning it silver. Children's laughter drifted upwards from the levels below. A late-night astronomy class perhaps, returning to their dorms. Ah, the innocence of the young. For now, all was quiet. He has no news from either brother. Nor did he expect any. They all had been young once. The Scamanders brothers, Leta Lestrange… Theseus was Head Boy, admired by his peers but always retaining his humility and good sense. Newt was never meant to be bound by the norms of society. The best thing that happened to him, ironically, was being expelled. Dumbledore had not expected Leta to join the Ministry. Somehow it did not suit, and not for any failings on her part.

Doubt gnawed at his soul. He was not infallible. Could his old mentor in Paris help? Nicolas Flamel was old, past his prime as some would say. He could never turn away anyone in need. Was he right to bring the old man into this? Threstals swooping past in the moonlight outside his window. He once knew a boy who loved threstals. Albus only saw them after Ariana died. He knew in his heart there would be more deaths before this summer ended. How had it gone so wrong between them?

Back in Paris, the same moon shone down on the city below.

There had been a threstal in Godric's Hollow. It had carried him away after that duel. Young Gellert saw his first threstal in his first year of school, after an older student fell off the tower and hit the ground in front of the first-year's flying lesson, hard. All Durmstrang students could see the wild herd that lived by the lake back then, if not on admission, by the time they graduated. Gellert had learned all he could through the library, and then by observing a perfect who had formed an understanding with the herd. They were fascinating beasts, if not pretty to look at.

It had tickled him no end to realize that Albus could not see the creature who lived almost in his backyard – an old beast, abandoned by its herd. Albus would have been horrified had he known their explorations by the river were observed by it. The tired old creature had witnessed their first sloppy kiss, their clumsy fumbling… Poor Albus was such an innocent. He never told him, just like he never told Albus about what really happened in Durmstrang. He had loved that threstal in his own way and he was sorry when it passed on soon after his wild flight to Paris.

In the guestroom, Queenie drew the curtains. The moon was too bright. The pain of her memories too raw. Tina and Jacob both. Before the orphanage, the sisters had often sat together on the nursery carpet by the moonlight, weaving tales of wonder long after they should be in bed. Moon princesses with pet rabbits. A castle of light surrounded by unicorns. Maybe someday they would fly there on their brooms. The whimsical tales petered off after their parents died, but the moon retained her charm for them both. There was little privacy in the orphanage, or in the Ilvermorny dorms. They were in different Houses.

A dare, a prank – sneaking past the prefects and teachers to swim in the lake by moonlight. They were caught all the same and spent the next week in detention polishing the scrying crystals. The same moon shone in New York where they had gone partying at the clubs just after Tina made Auror. They had danced until moonset, giddy with gigglewater and the invincibility of youth.

Jacob. He worked hard at his bakery, often well into the night. He started early too, before sunrise. With the moon shining in through the window, they cuddled up in his small room above the shop. Shared kisses, caresses, and dreams. Dreams of marriage, living openly as man and wife. Children, a baker's dozen she had teased him. Those were the heady days of love. If it were not for that wretched law…

In her pension, Perenelle Flamel wondered where her guest was. Surely it was late even for a confident young witch like Tina to be abroad. Perhaps a call on her husband would be in order, but she did not wish to impose. Not when her little book indicated he had guests at his place. Oddly, the book also showed he was out.

Whatever have you gotten yourself into, Nico?

Things were stirring in the shadows with the whispered return of the Lestrange heir. Too bad for the distant nephew Josephine Lestrange had chosen to succeed should Leta Lestrange die without bearing a pureblood child free of Non-Magique ancestry for seven generations. Only those diehards would fuss about that stuff. The adoption would only be recognized if Corvus IV's bloodline, died out. Leta was engaged to a British wizard, his detailed blood ancestry unknown. If Corvus V lived, the adoption would be rendered void.

"He's just like a huge kitty, ain't he? What a good boy!" Jacob laughed as the Zouwu rubbed against his chest, purring deeply. Once calmed down, the Zouwu had made herself at home in Newt's case. Dougal placidly offered Jacob a mug of tea. The demiguise had prepared a much welcome repast of tea and biscuits.

"Actually, it's a girl," Newt corrected as he rummaged through a mess of bottles and jars. Now that they had Kama stabilized, he wanted to dose him with a potion to clear the lingering effects of his parasitic infection. There was also the feeding of his creatures that need to be seen to. Jacob volunteered to help with the mooncalves and occamies. They could spend the night in the case among the animal pens on cot beds, like Newt often did when he needed to sit up with a sick mooncalf. A bucket of feed was emptied by the hungry Zouwu. Satisfied, the beast curled up in a corner and fell asleep.

Nicolas Flamel's place was rather cramped. The alchemist was out. The cot Newt transfigured for Kama took up most of the free space in the workroom. They could not get him down into the suitcase. Tina had volunteered to watch over the patient, but she was exhausted. She had fallen asleep in an overstuffed armchair there almost as soon as she sat in it. Newt decided to allow her to rest. Kama was stable enough for now. Newt's observation about Aurors was uncalled for, even if he was especially mad at his Auror brother that day over his travel ban.

"Say, Newt… I think you and Tina have a chance of getting back together – if she is no longer seeing that Tolliver guy…" Jacob stifled a yawn and sat down in the other armchair.

"We're all tired. Maybe tomorrow morning, things will be clearer… Maybe look for Queenie…" the plump Muggle was soon snoring. Dougal wrapped a blanket around him and looked pointedly at Newt. The demiguise had followed them up to help with the potions.

"Oh, Doug, not you…" Newt wondered if Dougal has been hanging around humans too much. The demiguise was starting to get human insights. "I will speak to her in the morning, if she would have me… now that blue potion, please?"

"I am too old for all this running about…"

Still, Nicolas Flamel could not turn Bedivere away when he Apparated on his doorstep. Galahad should have been dead and buried many times over… There were special potions he needed whenever he had a relapse. With a mother like Elaine de Lance, the boy was doomed for a hard life from the start. Perhaps Nellie would better be able to give some insight on why a would risk her children's health and magic just to hide from her kin. Elaine did not meet up with Fleur Delance in the States as they had arranged. Maybe it was Gerwyn and his wife who had poisoned her mind against her own kin. She simply vanished with her infant son as soon as the ship docked.

They later learnt that she had met a No-Maj in the States and married him, hiding her magic and those of her children using potions. Dangerous things, potions. Le Barone had told him about the dark times before the Emancipation. Enslaved wixen often tried to protect themselves and their children by hiding their magic from the slavers and slaveowners. Amulets could be lost or misplaced. Potions were more potent. If not carefully administered and prepared, they could make one very sick or even break a wizard's magic entirely. It could be a badly brewed potion that did poor Elaine in. She must have been dosing her children with the same potions until her death. How she died had been horrific enough for her family to flee that small mining town that dark stormy night.

When nine-year-old Galahad finally resurfaced in magical society, the damage was already done. Sisters Charity and Constance only became aware of the case because the healers of Marie de Lourdes thought he was turning into an Obscurial. His stepfather had bounced about from town to town with the children in tow, often drunk and jobless. In New Orleans, he dumped his young stepson and daughter at a bordello and disappeared. One stormy night, the New Orleans MACUSA branch office had their first five-alarm alert since the werewolf attacks of 1812. A 'specialist' brothel went up in flames that night along with several detested members of the town's elite, to the secret delight of all decent townsfolk, so it was said.

"It's like a dam broke. His magic's been bottled up inside for so long, something had to give. And what they did to him in there, it's a wonder it did not happen sooner.…" Constance had observed. "He is trying, but he can't really get a hold of it… he is scared but at the same time, he wants it bad."

It had taken another one of the sisters' foundlings to confirm that Galahad was not an Obscurial, and that they should please stop tying him to his cot and Stunning him each time he so much as wiggles a toe. Stunners hurt a lot. Who could blame the child for throwing everyone who tries to approach him back with a shield?

The sisters taught him how to channel his magic properly. They did not find out about his sister until a year later. While the sisters were checking up on another possible foundling, Galahad persuaded simple Timmy to help him steal her petrified corpse from a sideshow in New Orleans and smuggle it back to Black Creek. He then stole a grimoire from Le Barone's place and attempted to bring his sister back. With his shaky control over his magic, it went all wrong.

What he brought back was not sweet little Alice. It looked like Alice at first, then the teeth were too sharp and the limbs too long…

Galahad awoke with a start, just enough for Bedivere to dose him with another vial of Flamel's concoction, the fifth and last one for the night. The blond gave a moan before going under again, soundly cussing the parseltongue and alchemist as he did.

"He will be alright when he wakes up, right?" Bedivere asked. Lucia crawled up onto his shoulder and yawned. The snake was tired too. It was a long night.

"My potion will not affect his memory. It just stabilizes his magic core, opens the channels that should be open and seals off those that should not be. He will still be miffed at us when he wakes up. Young man, you work at Marie de Lourdes, right? Have you seen his files?" Nicolas asked. Bedivere nodded solemnly.

Galahad's records made for a very hard read. The Aurors who reported to the scene had dosed the boy with Veritaserum and interrogated him to find out more about the incident as few believed a child his age could wreak so much destruction alone. When they got the full account from him, half of those present resigned, unable to continue in their work. They were convinced they were looking at a soon-to-be Obscurial. His magic core still retained some instability even after all those years. Regular visits to St Kitts' and Marie de Lourdes were a part of his life to this day.

"Then you should know what he needs…"

"What Gal needs is someone to knock some common sense into him." Galahad was forever driving his guardians to distraction and exasperating the prefects and professors in Ilvermorny.

"That too."

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Flamel. Perhaps I should see you home."

"Young man, I am fully capable of Apparating home." To prove his point, the alchemist Apparated with a soft pop.

Almost all of them had hard childhoods before they came to the estate. Most were No-Maj born, with family who did know how to accept or cope with their children's magic, even without Rappaport's Law and the Statutes weighing in. Bedivere's mother was a Cherokee medicine woman. She knew enough about the magical world to send her son to the Graves sisters before their superstitious neighbours acted on their fears about the boy-who-draws-snakes. His parents left it too late for themselves. Their cabin burned down with them inside. It was ruled an accident. A new name and a new life for Bedivere. As far as he was concerned, Benedict McGregor perished with his parents in that fire.

Author's Notes:

It seems this is another filler chapter before we get to the Rally. Ah well…