O'Neill called his home. They had bought a muggle phone, it was easier to communicate this way, faster and better.
Letters took way too long. He wouldn't lose time. When it came to finding his son, every single second was important.
The veteran auror had a sad voice. Harry felt a sudden chill and felt fear. He was waiting for more news concerning his son's case. His voice sounded muffled while he used his mobile phone.
"Harry, they found someone in the forest, in Cheshire. It's a boy and they need someone to recognize the... body and to see who it is. They think it could be your son."
He felt like someone had punched him right in the stomach.
He felt like none of it was real.
As if it were all a terrible nightmare.
"Do you think it's him?" When he spoke his voice was surprisingly stable but his hands were shaking a lot. Perhaps it was years of training as an auror that prepared him and know he was able to remain calm, even at times like this.
"Mr. Potter, I'm not sure. Whomever they found has green eyes, that's all I know." He felt bad, he wasn't feeling well. He wanted to scream. He took deep breaths. Feeling utterly sick and defeat. Feeling like a failure...
"I should probably tell your wife too, but I decided to call you first," said O'Neill, sadly. He was immensely grateful for O'Neill's commitment, who thoroughly investigated anything, any minor complaint, and put a huge amount of effort into the case, going home really late at times (as Ron had informed him). Harry would always be grateful to the veteran auror for that.
"No, don't tell her. I will do that later," he said, Ginny might be worse than he was, Harry wanted to make sure it was Albus before making her worry about it.
(If it was him..., surely it wasn't..., right?)
He followed the coordinates that O'Neill had sent him. He had two more aurors with him in the area, both of them gave him apologetic looks. He should probably call Ron or Hermione, or... someone. Someone to be there and support him.
O'Neill started to give him details about the boy they found.
"We don't have any suspects yet, but I believe he died a few days ago, we don't know how long he has been in the forest, but we will investigate," he said, a somber tone in his voice.
They walked through the dark, cold forest.
Please don't be Albus.
Please don't let it be him.
Please, thought Harry.
He couldn't get rid of the feeling that none of this was real, he just kept moving, without really paying much attention to his surroundings. With a terrible sensation in his stomach.
"There! Whoever did this just dropped the body here, naked and bruised," murmured O'Neill.
"Is it him?" The man asked, slowly lifting the gray blanket.
...
He threw up.
...
What did they do to him?
His eyes looked with terror at the boy's face, but a strange sense of relief subconsciously invaded him, soon being replaced by guilt.
It wasn't Albus.
But it was someone else's son who was lying there, dead.
"No, this is not him," he said, still horrified at how bloody the boy's face was.
His face... disfigured.
Why would anyone do this?
Horrendous.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought it was," said O'Neill, but Harry was anxious to leave as soon as possible, he wanted to leave the dark forest.
He needed to leave.
"Mr. Potter, I'm really sorry-" Harry quickly reassured O'Neill.
"It's okay, you were just doing your job," he said, all of his energy seemed to have drained now and he felt very tired.
Too tired.
"It seems like a... werewolf attack? But the government knows nothing about it. This is a muggle. Plus, according to the Security Tracking Law for Werewolves and other Dangerous Beings (STL-WDB), there's no indication that a werewolf lives nearby," informed O'Neill, dubious.
Another "polemic law" (to say the least!) passed by William Magis...
Werewolves and any "non-human" considered to be too dangerous should wear a tracking device at all times.
Hermione and other groups were radically against that specific law.
His godson Ted Lupin had actively campaigned with a civil rights group.
But unfortunately, the government had managed to instill fear in the population. Journalists showed images of violent werewolf attacks almost every day, presenting everything in an extremely sensationalistic way.
They wanted to market an easy solution to a very complex and structural problem.
In the end, the majority of the population had been in favor of this law and it was eventually approved.
Now werewolves were required to formally inform their residences and previously stat if they were going to travel abroad, for example.
The new law also amended the general guidelines for receiving the Wolfsbane potion, with the government subsidizing only half of its price. The werewoves should pay the rest.
At least, Horton Cirley had done a good thing and invested millions so that his new foundation "Werewolves are Human" could afford the rest of the potion costs.
Since William Magis had taken over, the situation for the so-called "non-humans" had worsened considerably.
Administrative reforms were carried out successively, with the excuse of them being necessary in order to combat corruption.
The "non-humans" were demonized and perceived as the enemies of the so-called "good citizens", the "well-meaning citizens".
This was a way of justifying setbacks in their civil and political rights.
A bill wanted to specifically strip werewolves of their voting rights because it considered them "less intellectually capable", it would hardly pass because of international complications and by going against national constitutional determinations, but the mere fact that this project existed was already troubling.
William Magis seemed to be trying to undermine opposition groups by freezing donations and by elaborating dozens of fake news.
Initially, in a discrete manner, but as time passed, his tactics were growing more and more aggressive.
Interestingly enough, Denis Sallinger was the one who had pointed out the situation, positioning himself in favor of more rights for werewolves.
The problem was that, at least in this case...
"It's not a werewolf," stated Harry, with strange confidence in his voice.
O'Neill looked at him blankly "Well, I was already treating it as a werewolf case, because the marks seem like claws, it seems like the thing bit him really hard,"
"I'll have Cirley take a look at some documents to try to find out more..., he has contact with a group of healers who offer private consulting in the area of wizarding security, I could you ask for his help." Harry paused momentarily, curious.
"What happened to our healer-investigator Shamon?" Harry asked
"Well, yes, of course... well, Mr. Potter, the public employees' salary was cut in half and he got a very good offer at a private hospital, so..."
Harry sighed, disappointed. Now they would have to hire another specialist.
William Magis' spending cuts had seriously hurt the Auror Department, with aspiring Aurors dropping out of the official Auror course, opting instead to go into the new service modalities emerging in the private sector (that paid way more, with optimized infrastructure).
They were having a serious shortage of young people in the career, which was worrisome because of the threats that were emerging (DPM, PNM, and others).
They would have to think about some way to bring more young people into their ranks. Ted Lupin, his godson, had entered the Auror's School, but the class was way smaller than usual. At least Harry knew the recruits were highly capable.
What mattered now for Harry was to find his son. He would think about other matters later.
Even after returning home, the dead boy's green eyes (green as his son's) pursued him in his dreams.
It was a rainy and cold day.
He was on leave now, but the pressure for Harry to abandon his son's case was even bigger now.
The Dark Path Movement had just announced to the public that they were at war with the Proud New Magicians, causing panic and leading Dennis Salinger to write a really nasty article about the Ministry's inefficiency in dealing with threats:
[...] And where is Harry Potter at this moment?! Not just him, but all those self-proclaimed heroes. They are looking for a boy who has probably been dead for a long time now! Wasting his time, instead of helping the wizarding population! [...]
The Auror Department had to deal with so many cases, complaints simply increased exponentially since William Magis once more cut the aurors' salary by more than 75%.
Violent protests by disgruntled werewolves, a brand new manifesto written by the PNM were calling for everyone to be a part of what they called the "New Wise Age", this had gathered thousands of onlookers in a rural area owned by a large Proud landowner.
In addition, recurring reports of disappearances in the magical outskirts were attributed to recruitments by both the Proud New Magicians and the Dark Path. ... and, of course, the usual cases: public disorder, robberies, thefts, assaults, and many others.
Poorly paid work, high risks, and little appreciation by society...
Many people nowadays complained about the auror's inefficiency.
William Magis had promised to do more for the population's safety (at least that was what he said).
The man had promised that Harry Potter would soon be investigating some major cases again.
Using him as some kind of propaganda tool.
Magis, at times when his popularity waned, tended to bring up the "famous Harry Potter, our savior" discourse. That was how he liked to say in a cheesy and dramatic tone, sometimes with false tears.
He had warned O'Neill (who then immediately told Harry) that they should close Albus' case as soon as possible, whether Al was found or not, it was what he had recommended.
He would soon relocate O'Neill back to the case of the Proud New Wizards to help Ogden, who was dealing with an enormous amount of work alone on this specific case, while also having to manage a disastrous divorce.
Ron dealt more with the Dark Path Movement, he was having some help from the voluntary recruits of the auror program (it was a good thing they agreed to help, but Harry felt bad for not being able to pay them properly, they didn't have enough money).
The problem was that Ron tried to do the bureaucratic job all alone (the aurors in training couldn't help with that, because they didn't have the formal and legal permissions to write the papers).
He refused to ask for Cirley's help, even if he was excellent on the bureaucratic part, fastly writing the most complete and well-written reports.
O'Neill always asked for Cirley's help, for example.
Ron had been criticized by the Minister himself after sending a report that was way too short concerning the latest discoveries about the Dark Path activities.
When the friend came to visit him at his house he had criticized the Minister for quite some time, annoyed at the man.
"He simply doesn't value us, Harry! He couldn't care less!" He vented.
Harry did try to go back to work, saying he could help Ron with DPM, but William Magis forbade him, saying, in harsh and cold words that he could not be useful as an auror if he were not fully focused on his work and had his mind in the right place.
Magis was under heavy pressure from none other than Horton Cirley!
The man had formed a broad opposition political coalition to counter all the anti-werewolf measures.
Bringing to his side one of Magis' biggest political and financial supporters, the experienced politician Gordon Sollys (Harry didn't know how him personally).
He doubted Mr. Sollys was actually pro-werewolf, but Cirley was an excellent politician. He knew how to get what he wanted.
If Cirley didn't have so many contacts (both nationally and internationally) and so much money and influence, Harry was sure that Magis would have already found a way to put his "friend" (friend only for favors exchanging, of course,) in some way less prestigious division, such as the Department of Archives and Correspondence.
But Magis was no fool, Horton Cirley now had (and always have had) much more prestige than him in the wizarding community.
Yes, generally, Cirley's relationships were based on a constant exchange of favors and momentary cooperation for the attainment of specific goals.
But Cirley did possess a certain charisma and, most importantly, he had money.
A tremendous and almost obscene amount of money. More money than Magis (or anyone) would ever dream of having.
Money to buy fame, relationships, positions, cultural assets, and to create movements on behalf of the agendas he believed in without the actual help of others.
It would be idiotic if Magis, with his political agendas aimed at bankers, big businessmen, and a bunch of old men from the big cities (and with his whole political career tied to Cirley's initial support) tried to openly go against Horton Cirley, owner of more than a hundred foundations (with social, political, and economic goals), six Quidditch teams, two restaurants, a professional career training center, three amusement parks, seven hotels, and two tiny islands in the Pacific where he intended to set up even more businesses.
A letter... An owl was entering the room.
He was being informed that James had hurt a boy who said something about Albus, he would be serving detention.
Ginny had gone out for a walk with Lily and had not returned yet. Harry sighed and prepared some coffee, he was not sleeping well at all.
James had started to act differently, more out of control, irritable, explosive, with periods of prostration and sadness.
Harry was worried because he thought that James was probably feeling depressed.
The fact that his oldest son didn't seem to want to talk to anyone about the things that bothered him at the moment was even more worrying.
He had started, before going to Hogwarts, to remain a lot of time in his room, alone, and Ginny had informed him that his son had been crying at night.
Now he had beaten up a student.
He briefly picked up a journal.
Some reporters were talking about strange rumors that a new, mysterious, underground mystical group had started it's activities in Britain.
This had nearly driven William Magis crazy, but he flatly refused to increase the defense budget, claiming that it was not possible to allocate scarce resources to recruit or train more Aurors (even if he had tripled the budget of the department that looked after his public image, investing heavily in marketing, desperately trying to improve his relationship with the media).
Dennis Sallinger was even called to his office one day for an exclusive interview. The article was published a few days later.
Mysterious mystical clandestine movement doesn't exist, says the anti-werewolf Minister.
"Rumors of a new clandestine movement in the UK have no basis. There is no reason to worry," said the anti-werewolf Minister. According to him, there is some kind of conspiratory-like campaign to undermine his position and hinder his re-election.
"Just look at all social movements and all these protests by werewolves, goblins, and some wizards who complain, without much reason, about me and the Ministry... who organizes these demonstrations?! Who sponsors all of this? These supposedly clandestine creepy movement is nothing more than a strategy to destabilize me!" Completed the Minister.
He admitted that, initially, there was an initiative by some aurors like Ron Weasley to investigate the movement (still without a name and without a known specific objective), but the Minister froze the investigations and prohibited the aurors from spending funds researching "what does not exist".
This week, he'll issue a new magical decree (No.234) that makes any investigation conducted by the Auror Department illegal without the direct endorsement of the Council for Consultancy and Analysis for the Release of Funds (CCARF).
[...]
He wanted everything to be subjected to the approval of a select group of advisors and politicians with heterodox economic orientations, who generally refused to grant the necessary amount of resources, and also required long reports on the resources' spending.
Suddenly, the phone rang.
It was O'Neill again, the veteran man was agitated and out of breath.
"We found a clue," commented O'Neill, and Harry's heart skipped a beat.
Finally, a clue!
But something in O'Neill's tone made Harry a little worried.
"What did you find?" O'Neill seemed to hesitate a little.
"We didn't find Albus, but we probably found the place where he used to be kept, the culprits appear to have left the house. We found some blood," he said.
If only they could have found this place earlier, maybe Albus would already be back with his family!
He sighed loudly, frustrated.
"I'm going alone again," he said, Harry didn't want Ginny to see it. His wife would probably be very angry with him later when she found out that he hadn't told her all about the Albus case.
"Weasley offered to go, too."
"Okay, so it's me, Ron, and your team. Where is it?"
"Near the Wynn Forest in Romania, in the Celt Forest, Ukraine" Harry gasped.
"Ukraine ?! Do you suspect he was taken to Ukraine?" Harry was shocked, but O'Neill seemed somehow convinced.
"Yes, that would explain why we couldn't find any leads in the UK. I think he was, in fact, forcibly taken to another country."
Harry quickly picked up his wand and was ready to go. He had time to get a black coat and tried, without much success, to fix his way too messy hair. He poured cold water on his face and cleaned his glasses.
He grimaced as he looked in the mirror..., he seemed to have aged a lot since Albus had disappeared: dark, ugly dark circles under his eyes, excessively oily skin, and a tired expression.
He then apparated.
It was a gloomy, dark, and cold forest. A strong storm was falling, the wind howled, the foliage swayed, the trees were tall and old, and the storm caused their trunks to tip dangerously. The ground was muddy, with deep puddles. He could hear the ominous and horrible scream of black crows, which flew together, aimlessly, in the forest.
"What a storm!" Exclaimed Ron, trying to take shelter in what was left of a large tree trunk, the rotten trunk had an opening in the middle, forming an entrance where Ron, O'Neill, and another burly auror shivered in the cold.
"I don't like staying here, Mr. O'Neill, this forest brings back luck. It's cursed," Harry realized that there was a teenager among the aurors, he looked utterly scared and looked around worriedly, as if looking for some unknown threat.
"You said it wasn't dangerous during the day," commented O'Neill, distracted.
"Oh no, I said it wasn't that dangerous! It's always dangerous. The forest is cursed by the Star!," said the boy with extreme confidence in his voice as if he was only communicating a fact known by all. He paused for a moment, gazing fearfully at the hideous forest, his eyes wide and fully alert.
"Cursed and dead. And the storm just makes things worse, I demand that you increase my payment or I will go away! I said that I would come in if the day was sunny! Do you see the sun?! " Said the young man, hysterical, as if to prove his point, lightning struck a few meters ahead, knocking a small tree down, followed by thunder that scared away some crows that let out horrible screams and flew through the forest like black shadows passing grimly through the trees.
"Calm down, you have four aurors with you, what can go wrong, Mr. Clayton? You said you are a magical tour guide, I'm sure you can be more courageous than-" the boy cut him off, irritated and offended.
"You want to go too far. This is already too far and then you want to find that hut you told me about it again. Bad luck. Bad luck is coming, Mr. O'Neill! I will guide you because I promised, but you better increase my pay and not do nothing to disturb the forest," he said, ominously, his ominous tone. O'Neill nodded, a bit annoyed, and then Mr. Cayton left the makeshift shelter, speaking in an authoritarian tone.
"We must respect the forest at all times, we must never speak too loudly, and before anyone tries, we cannot eat animals or plants here, it is forbidden ... The soil is bad... the plants are already born rotten. You should never deviate from the central path drawn on that map, the cabin that Mr. O'Neill wants to show you all is on the trail so I will accompany you there. Now I want half of my payment! " O'Neill raised an eyebrow but ended up giving the boy a heavy bag of coins.
"Is that half the payment? How much-" began Ron
"Oh, believe me, I should be asking for a lot more," said the boy starting to walk in the heavy rain. They followed.
O'Neill briefly explained to him that Clayton worked as a magical guide for a nearby region, but did not go into the infamous Celt forest.
"The locals strongly believe that the forest is cursed, they believe that entering the forest brings bad luck, they believe in the popular tribal beliefs," O'Neill added in an extremely patronizing tone.
He received an irritated look from Clayton, but the veteran auror ignored the boy.
"He is from this magical Shasta tribe that believes in all that..., maybe I shouldn't talk about it.," concluded O'Neill whispering to him.
"Tell us a little more about this forest, if possible, in case you don't mind, of course," asked O'Neill cautiously now, as Clayton did not answer the auror insisted "I searched the Ukrainian libraries about the Celt forest and found very little. When I asked the residents some details, they didn't want to answer, in fact, I can say that they seemed to be a little afraid to talk about it. "
"Yes. And they should be really afraid ... talking about the forest is bad luck," said Clayton in a whisper full of awe. The man did not tell them anymore. He guided them slowly, his wand emitted a very dim light, it was difficult to see things, but the guide had forbidden them to light their wands to bring more illumination.
"And you mentioned a star ..." This time it was Ron who asked, after almost falling into a deep puddle of mud.
"No! Better not to talk about it when we're going deeper and deeper into that damn forest," whispered Clayton in a frightened tone, looking frantically around, as if looking for some possible threat. Harry exchanged a confused look with Ron and the burly auror.
The further they entered the forest, a strange sense of danger came over Harry. His instincts were telling him to get out of the forest right now. There was something very wrong there. He felt watched, it was a very strange feeling. He felt as if the forest was trying to slowly suffocate him. He had to stop for some air, as he was out of breath and it wasn't just him, Ron had asked Clayton if there was anything toxic in the air ...
"The air is bad... Things are rotten. Everything here. Rotten like Wynn forest. Both are rotten since- " The boy had interrupted himself and did not continue even if O'Neill had insisted.
Several times he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The more they walked, the more the forest seemed to close over them, the trees branches felt like giant arms, twisted like a bunch of spiders, swinging dangerously, waiting to jump over them and wrap themselves around their necks, slowly suffocating them. The crows continued their sinister and ugly song. The storm continued, strong as ever.
That forest was grim, ugly, too damp. Even if it didn't bring bad luck, it brought bad... energies.
"I think I saw something, that-" Ron whispered only to be cut off by the scared guide.
"No. Ignore it. Don't try to see it," he warned and added quietly a few minutes later "You don't want to know." He and Ron exchanged a look. The guide swallowed and gave them a serious look.
"There's nothing there. Nothing."
"But I-" Ron looked at him confused.
"Nothing there, nothing to see. Let's continue," he insisted frantically.
O'Neill was talking to the other auror a little too loudly.
"Silence." Mr. Clayton warned.
"What's wrong with this forest?! It gives me the creeps, what I saw looked like—" Ron tried to say to him, but the guide managed to hear and suddenly shuddered, causing his wand to jump out of his hands, the tiny beam of light pointed momentarily off the trail, casting misshapen shadows that moved ghostly as the wand rolled through the mud.
"F-fell off the trail. We have to abandon the wand now, leave it where it is, " whispered Clayton, in panic when O'Neill started to approach his fallen wand his to pick it up.
"But it's your wand. It just fell, are you really going to leave it here? Just let me get— "Ron said in a playful tone, but the wizard cut him off angrily, with a whisper full of fear and anger.
"You foreigners don't know anything about the forest! The fruits are rotten and the animals are horrendous, whoever ventures here will die a horrible death and have bad luck for life. The soil is rotten and whoever steps on it will invoke the timeless wrath of the Star. In the Circle, we are All One, and being One we are All. Whatever is of the path will be unclean for eternity. It is the Nostrad-Ikabonf's curse in the Wynn-Celt forest," said Clayton, but he soon seemed to regret his revelation. He was deathly pale and terrified.
"Wynn-Celt? The Wynn forest in Romania, you mentioned before. What about these Nostrads-Ikabonfs ..."
"Enough. Enough, this will attract bad things. Leave the wand there, it is already impure, we will continue. I and someone else will go ahead and the others will follow us" Said Clayton, seeming to want to avoid the subject. Harry volunteered hesitantly.
"Hey! There is something there, there is, I— "said Ron again, determined to find out what it was that he had seen before, Clayton ignored him, but the others tried to see. Harry saw a translucent shape in the distance, the shape got a little closer, but soon the forest pitch mysteriously enveloped it.
"We have ghosts over here—" Ron again insisted.
"It's not a ghost."
"Uhm... a spirit so, so much—"
"It's a bad thing."
"But what is it?"
"Bad luck. Seeing things here is bad luck. It's bad luck," insisted Mr. Clayton, ominously.
"Look, I'm an auror. We are all aurors here, we hunt dark wizards and we deal with magical creatures too, whatever it is, we can deal with it. I'm not afraid of these Nostrads-Ikabonfs," said Ron, irritated, raising his voice.
Suddenly the light on Harry's wand went out.
An endless pitch.
"No. No! Stand still and hold hands, let's form a circle," said Clayton hysterically, but still whispering.
"Lumus," tried Harry but nothing happened.
"What is-"
"It's your fault, foreigner. It's your fault. Your fault! We have to form a circle," Harry felt Clayton grab his hand and he, deciding to listen to the man, looked for the other Aurors' hand and grabbed O'Neill's.
"I don't know what's going on, but Harry's wand may just have failed, it's an old wand, after all, and-"
But a cry of horrible pain cut the air, it was the cry of the auror that accompanied them.
"Help! T-There's something pulling me! Help!" he shouted, the other aurors prepared to assist.
"Form the circle!" Said the man. In a matter of seconds, they heard another cry of pain from the auror.
He heard the sound of leaves being crushed on the ground, the sound of small branches breaking, the sound of leaves being crushed, and after that only the sound of the storm.
He realized then that the circle had been made, O'Neill had grabbed Ron's hand, who managed to pull Ottis's hand.
"What happened? Ottis, are you okay? " O'Neill asked in shock.
"I-It hurts!" groaned the auror. Harry realized that, at the last moment, Clayton had taken the other Auror Ottis's hand and managed to close the circle, he began to murmur strange poetry:
The Circle is closed.
Nothing in, nothing out.
The Circle is closed, hermetic circle, locked circle.
I close, I finish.
It's over and complete.
Circulushermeticus!
He pronounced the last part like someone who pronounced a spell, a strange but good feeling, spread through Harry's body.
"Let's go on," said Clayton next, as if nothing strange had happened.
"W-What happened ?!" Ron and O'Neill asked at the same time.
"I-I don't know if I can continue, on my leg," groaned Ottis, Harry saw an ugly bruise on his leg, as if someone had bitten and ... chewed part of the man's leg. It was a horrible wound, it was bleeding a lot and Harry could see something white, it could be his bone ...
"Nobody can be left behind, to separate is to break the circle and if we break the circle we will be doomed, we will not be able to get out of the forest and we will-"
"But what is all this crappy circle-talk?! I don't understand anything, "said Ron, very irritated. He heard a distant hoarse growl that was certainly not human, it was too animalistic, but the macabre growl soon became... melodious, like a beautiful song delivered by beautiful nymphs.
"Don't insult the forest anymore," pleaded Clayton. Ron, grumpy, decided to finally accept the situation, since Clayton did not answer any of his questions, they managed to conjure a stretcher for Ottis, and, in this way, we're able to carry him on. Harry led the way together with Clayton.
Strangely, the further he walked, the more Harry felt that the forest became more and more... pleasant. Yes, they arrived in a part of the forest that was illuminated by vast rays of sound, a fantastic waterfall, a lake of crystal clear water with large and colorful fish swimming calmly.
The storm was suddenly over and he could see the beautiful and shining sun again, he no longer heard the ugly crows' song, but the sweet melody of the little birds that flew happily, carrying in their beaks pieces of the abundant and sumptuous fruits that sprouted everywhere. Apples, watermelons, grapes, peaches, everything was there, the fruits were big and juicy, ready to be harvested.
Harry realized that he was very hungry... they could get off the trail to pick up some fruits, they looked so delicious. He was also thirsty..., maybe he could drink some of that crystalline water. Rest in the sunshine... relax a little bit...
He deserved to rest a little bit, he was tired.
Tired of feeling guilty all time, tired of not finding his son, tired of letting people down...
...
There was a woman there.
...
He only noticed it now. She was a beautiful woman with long red hair that crawled on the floor, he sat on the floor and smiled at him, inviting him to join her ...
Harry couldn't go with this woman, because ...
Wait...
It was Ginny! Suddenly he realized that the woman was Ginny, he could stop just a little and go meet Ginny.
(Why was Ginny there? Strange. But it didn't matter. Harry had to go.)
The problem was that it was off their trail.
Ginny with long hair called out to him holding a bowl of juicy fruits. In a quick movement, she stripped off her clothes, placed the basin gently on the floor, smiled at him and dove in the crystalline waters, she soon reemerged laughing—
(Ginny's laugh is strange, it sounds like a grunt.)
But he wanted to go swimming with Ginny and then eat the fruits, without worrying about anything else.
He hadn't been able to enjoy some quality free time with her since Albus disappeared—
["Come, come, come with me, come."]
(Ginny's voice was strange ...)
He saw Albus, James, and Lily, all swimming there with Ginny. He just needed to get off the trail.
["Break the Circle. Come here, leave the path, break the Circle."]
"Hey!" It was Clayton, alarmed, who pulled him back onto the trail.
Harry blinked in surprise. He looked again at the forest and saw no waterfall, no river, no Ginny.
"Yes, I saw-"
"Never leave the trail! Never!" Clayton said emphatically. Harry looked again, shocked.
What was that?! What had just happened?!
It didn't make sense after all... why would Ginny be there? And Albus ... well, Albus was gone.
For a moment he believed.
Who or what had done this? It had seemed so real!
Harry explained the situation to Clayton, who did not answer his questions exactly, but answered with yet another mysterious song:
Icar Wolf tricked and drowned Isabel Nostrad on a sunny summer day
The sweet song of the birds and the fruits that she picked
The child in her womb and the wedding the following spring,
Everything was gone, gone, gone
Hidden crime, hatred, and then more killings
The Bloody Lady of the Lake is searching for her eternal revenge
Full of sadness and anger.
Harry exchanged a confused look with Ron, but there was no time to ask more about it. They had arrived.
The cabin was right in the middle of the trail, like an obstacle.
It seemed to have been built on purpose on the trail.
He looked in through the window and only saw darkness. Pitch black.
O'Neill pulled the door handle, the door was already open. They heard an ominous squeak. The cabin looked like it had belonged, or at least being inhabited by a Muggle before because there was electricity, the lights still worked.
Auror Ottis remained on the stretcher still moaning in pain, Clayton declined to enter, he said he would be monitoring the forest.
(But monitoring what, exactly?)
The cabin was bigger than it looked, it had two floors and a basement (a rotten ladder would lead them there), a wooden staircase led to the second floor.
There was a small table with a few dishes on top of it, with what looked like soup, a green and gooey soup that stank.
The wooden floor had rotten away, had many holes on it, and crackled when they walked, making scary sounds.
There were leaks in the ceiling letting the rain, making the ambiance incredible damp and plenty uncomfortable. The cold wind came through cracks in the house making a strange and ominous noise, like an infamous cry of an evil and melancholic spirit.
"Four dishes. Our theory, Mr. Potter, is that we have three culprits. There is one dish for Albus, and three for the others. I asked for help, and my friend, a potions producer, analyzed the samples I sent and in one of them he found traces of a strong sleeping potion, so we found that they must have been drugging your son, "said O'Neill, fast. Maybe he thought that if he talked quickly it would somehow cause less impact. Obviously... it didn't work.
People had been drugging him son. He felt immense fury and dread. Why? Just why?
He imagined his son, drugged, helpless.
Suddenly, in a somewhat irrational way, the image of the pedophile muggle prick appeared in his mind. The culprit wasn't him, of course. But he could sickeningly imagine that big man, with his thick, calloused hands... and Albus, his beloved and innocent son drugged, bewildered, alone and frightened.
He imagined his innocence being corrupted, broken, shattered.
Imagined him being hurt in various ways.
"What were they doing with him?" Harry's voice was shaking a bit, he was still able to keep some control, but he just needed to know... how had they been hurting Albus, his sweet son, the sweetest boy on earth.
Who loved candies to mix strange mix of foods, such as honey, chantilly, chocolate and strawberry ice cream...
Who was eager to finally go to Hogwarts...
Who he loved so much he couldn't stand the thought of him being hurt at this horrible place!
A solitary tear fell down his cheeks.
He had to focus. He couldn't get so emotional now, he had to be effective, do his job. Do the best he could to find Albus as soon as possible.
And his son was alive. He was. Any other scenario was utterly ridiculous!
Albus wasn't dead.
(Fiest stage of grief is denial-)
"Harry?" Ron looked at him, worry evident on his face.
"I'm fine," he tried his best to appear strong. Even if he wasn't feeling strong. He felt defeated, he felt sad and furious at the same time. He felt so many different emotions he thought he wouldn't be able to describe them properly.
O'Neill said they should go up, where he thought they had kept Albus most of the time.
"He was being drugged and confined in this room, Mister Potter," stated the man pointing at a door. O'Neill then opened it without much ceremony, his eyes cold, fully concentrated on his job.
It was a small room with no windows, next to it was only a dirty and precarious bathroom. In the cold room, there was a small bed and a bookcase. It all seemed normal, but then O'Neill turned on the bedroom lights (there was muggle electricity in the house).
...
There was blood on the bed, on the walls, and on the pages of a book that were lying on the floor.
A lot of blood.
In the room, there was also a small hippogriff plush toy with blood on it.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
Harry really wasn't feeling well. He felt sick, nauseous, furious. He felt like a failure. He let that happen. He was at fault too!
"O'Neill, please, tell me you found those sick bastards who did this to my son?!" He tried his best to control himself. His words came out as a dangerous whisper.
"We... We are investigating, Mister Potter," said O'Neill vaguely with an apologetic look.
For the first time, he felt anger towards the older auror, it wasn't O'Neill's fault, of course, but Harry couldn't control his emotions very well when he thought that his son was being drugged and probably tortured.
And who knows what else? Were they actually doing perverted things to him? This is had been Harry's suspicion. What if they were the kind of depraved people who were attracted to children, what if-
Harry did his best to interrupt his thoughts, he noticed that both Ron and O'Neill were looking at him worriedly, Ron approached him, gently putting his arms on his shoulder.
"Harry...," he tried to start and say something useful, but Harry decided to ask O'Neill first. He had to know. He just had to.
"Have you found any trace of him, even with that amount of blood, he could still-... I-I mean he can't be... he can't be dea-" his voice was getting cracky, he let out a shaky sigh.
"We found some...," he didn't seem to want to say whatever it was that they found.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. He felt like a cold hand was smashing his heart inside of his chest.
"What? What did you find?" His voice now sounded just defeated.
"Nails, a bit of his hair and traces of...-"
He gave Harry a meaningful look and Harry understood perfectly that yes, Albus's kidnappers were that kind of depraved people.
Tears fell, and while Harry cried and Ron stood beside him, his eyes also teary, O'Neill kept his usual professional expression.
At least someone there could do that.
"We believe they kept him either sedated or tied... or both... here, in this room," said O'Neill pointing to the ropes attached to the bed that was also stained with blood, Harry hadn't noticed them, but now that he did, he felt sick "We also found some clothes, the ones that he was wearing it at Diagon Alley, probably. Look. " O'Neill was right, he remembered. Harry looked at the clothes and held them with affection, a melancholic nostalgia invaded him.
"Harry ..." Ron started in a delicate tone.
"Who could have known this location, O'Neill?" Harry asked quietly.
"Actually, I only found the cabin easily the first time, when I followed an anonymous letter. My theory is that one of the culprits changed his... or her mind and decided to inform me. I came here the second time, I followed the trail as before, but I wasn't able to find the cabin, I've always followed the trail, as I was advised, never deviating from it, but it didn't work. The luck is that I had collected the samples the first time. I waited and investigated a bit more, before deciding to try again, I only managed to find it again when I came with another guide. He was more superstitious than Clayton and did not want to explain it all to me properly, it all remains a mystery. In fact, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to find it again today...," whispered O'Neill, Ron growled angrily.
"Doesn't this Clayton look kind of weird? Can't we interrogate him? Maybe he knows something. Pretty sure those guides know some things, aren't they from that tribe you talked about earlier, they may know something about the forest," said Ron, O'Neill just sighed with a tired face.
"I tried Weasley, but... strangely, the Ukrainian government intervened, asking for an official mandate and a series of bureaucratic procedures and, well ... a federal judge appeared threatening me, saying that if I kept trying to question the guides, they would expel from Ukraine and file a lawsuit against me," explained O'Neill, Harry thought that was very strange. Why did a federal judge care so much about them interrogating a magical tour guide?
Harry thought that he might be from a protected tribe, but why was the Ukrainian government so worried about it?"
"Clayton told me even more confusing things too when I hired him... saying that things may move around here, that there is some kind of rule, I can't understand it. Maybe the culprits had some privileged information about the cabin's location or someone told them... We are investigating." Harry sighed heavily.
He would find Albus. He had to find him.
"Can we talk about the strange things in that creepy forest?" Asked Ron, with a serious expression "I saw something, what the hell is happening here?" Continued Ron, frustrated.
"Maybe, there are things here we can not yet explain," answered O'Neill vaguely, he indicated he would be leaving the room, not seeming very interested in the subject "I don't really believe in these popular beliefs. Even if I saw something, I'd just try to ignore it, at least for now, Weasley. We can theorize all we want, but I don't think we can get some solid facts about it," told him, objectively.
Ron didn't seem satisfied, but accompanied the man, as did Harry.
"Let's go to the basement," he informed, but they turned to Harry with a worried expression and a sad look.
"Mister Potter, what is on the basement may not be pleasant."
Harry was not intimidated. He had to know, if he didn't see, Harry knew he would think about it every night.
The door opened with an ugly creak. It was a warehouse, wide and also without windows. There was more blood on the floor, next to a bucket with various instruments such as knives, scalpels, and rusty needles.
Rony tripped over something and fell, knocking over several old books from a bookshelf. A giant moth flew up, startled.
"Ouch!" He exclaimed.
"Are you okay, Weasley?"
"What is this symbol on the floor?"
"What symbol?" Asked O'Neill, surprised. Harry was able to see a red mark on the floor.
"I haven't noticed that one before!" Said O'Neill, raising an eyebrow, intrigued.
The symbol was worn out and seemed to form some specific image, but it was impossible to discern what it was now.
Some of the blood had fallen on top of the lines made with... Ink? Was that ink? Harry didn't know if it was ink or old blood...
"O'Neill there's more of these marks here!" Exclaimed Ron, pointing at some other part of the room.
"They seem to form some kind of geometrical form," state O'Neill, vaguely.
But then he seemed to realize something, and suddenly his face became real pale.
Then he had an expression that showed pure and explicit fury, a brief-expression, but one that both aurors have never seen before.
"O'Neill?" Ron clearly noticed.
Almost immediately, the veteran auror was back, looking just like his usual self.
"I'm sorry, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley. I just thought it could be..., some kind of ritual, and..." It was strange to see the confident and professional O'Neill looking so shocked and unsure of how to phrase his sentence.
"A ritual? What kind of ritual?" Asked Harry, utterly confused with O'Neill's behavior.
Out of character, blatantly strange.
"Oh... I mean... just the arrangement of the elements in the scene." Back to his vague tone and neutral expression. Harry and Ron exchange a look.
"O'Neill, it's my nephew if you know something-" Ron started saying, a bit threatening.
They, he and Ron, liked O'Neill, but everyone was on edge there.
...
His son's blood was all over!
He wanted to annihilate the ones who had done this.
How could someone hurt a sweet, innocent kid?
How could someone want to hurt his son, a boy so sweet and loving...
Even the serene and controlled O'Neill had been bothered by something. O'Neill turned around quickly, evading their inquisitive stares.
He turned around with a look of deep sadness on his face, but as he spoke his voice took on a neutral, and even cold tone "I don't know much about rituals, gentlemen. But I will say that, as we can all see here, the ritual used blood. And, we all here know that, in general, the rituals that use this are those of dark magic. There is the possibility that nails, hair, and some other items were also used," he said. Ron seemed impatient.
"But, do you know something? I mean-"
"I'm not a specialist, Weasley!" He said, a bit rudely. He immediately apologized.
"I'll conduct the investigation, but we have to leave for now, just..." O'Neill pointed at the wall.
Harry thought he should insist on the specific ritual subject, but he suddenly realized that Clayton was knocking on the cabin door trying to be as discreet as possible.
"This is what I wanted to show you, we must leave soon, but look!" Said O'Neill, hurried.
A strange symbol on the wall, similar to the one they saw on the floor. But this wasn't hidden at all. It was circle-shaped, but it had another undiscernible shape at the center.
The mark had been made with blood, but the blood looked old.
...
There was the mark of a small bloody hand there too.
"Let's go, foreigners! For no amount of money, I'm staying here at night. It's time to go. If you don't come back with me, I'll leave you all there!" He threatened, with an irritated whisper.
A hand. Was it his son's hand?
Harry tried to ask Clayton some questions, but the boy was clever, he determined not to reveal anything.
The only answer he got from him was:
"Bad luck. Back luck is coming."