No Such Place
Chapter Five: Follow
A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys;
Painted wings and giant strings make way for other toys.
One gray night it happened Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff the mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.
-Puff the Magic Dragon, Peter, Paul and Mary
*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all the things that go with it belong to J. K. Rowling and now probably Warner Brothers as well.
Note: I apologize for the skewed POV in this chapter; it was necessary, as Oliver is sort of... important. It should have been in On His Own instead, but somehow I think I will end up combining the two into one big Charlie-and-Oliver stew (what could be better?). Oh, yes. And this chapter is rather mushy, even for me... try not to hate it too much.
Thanks as always to Jennie for the edit.
*
Kate came running back in two seconds later. "I just thought of something."
"Astounding," Charlie said dryly, piling the tomes that so far had not yielded useful information into a pile and grabbing Elfish Medicine to take with them. "Care to share?"
She took a deep breath and said bluntly, "What if it doesn't work?"
He blinked. The possibility hadn't really occurred to him. "Then it doesn't work, I suppose."
"And Oliver goes home heartbroken! We can't tell him what he's doing."
"What! Then how are we supposed to get him to do it?" Charlie crossed his arms. "Kate, there are some risks you just have to take in life, and this is one of them."
She sighed exasperatedly. "Shouldn't Oliver be the one to decide whether he takes the risk?"
"Kate, have you even met Oliver Wood?" Charlie asked incredulously. "Don't you think that if there were even the slightest chance of curing Alicia, Oliver would do it in a heartbeat?"
"Yes, but that's not to say he wouldn't be torn up when it didn't work! We can't go rushing him into something like this!"
"Who's rushing? Do you know how long Alicia's been in stasis?"
Kate stopped short and Charlie cringed. He kept letting things slip out in unguarded moments. "No," she said, her voice calculating, sharp, and demanding. "How long has Alicia been in stasis, Charlie?"
"Never mind. It's not important. But now that you're not rushing off to get Oliver- don't you think we should think this out a bit more?" Her expression clearly read 'Explain.' Charlie continued. "Look, if we go in to St. Mungo's now, we're going to be seen. Which means that logically, if Alicia walks out of St. Mungo's, she is also going to be seen."
"And?" Kate challenged.
He rolled his eyes. "Kate, if someone who has been in St. Mungo's for as long as Alicia has just gets up and walks out again, someone is going to notice. She and anyone with her will become a target for Dark wizards. In case you hadn't noticed, you are already a target. I am already a target. Oliver is also a target. Going into St. Mungo's and 'rescuing' Alicia is just like a big 'kick me' sign."
She thought for a moment, and then nodded. Still, Charlie wasn't off the hook yet. "Oliver's a target?"
*
When Oliver came to the door, he was bleary-eyed, aiming a wand, and wearing a loose bathrobe and boxer shorts. He looked more than a little surprised to see the pair on his doorstep. "Er... hello. Is there something I can do for the two of you?" He swallowed a yawn. "What time is it, anyway?"
"Time to go," Charlie said shortly. "Get dressed. I'll explain on the way."
"Um," Oliver replied, glancing warily at Kate.
"She knows everything."
"Oh." Searching their faces, probably for signs that he should be alarmed, Oliver acquiesced. "Give me two minutes. Are we flying?"
"Apparating." Something behind the door was shuffling around and Charlie folded his arms across his chest. "Company?" he asked lightly.
Oliver's face colored a bit, but he stood his ground. "I was lonely," he excused. "Besides, she doesn't get along well with her coworkers."
"That's because you spoil her, Oliver," Charlie said with a grin. "I hope you haven't fed her any Pepper Imps." Oliver stepped back to let them in the door and a light above it flashed green; Oliver noted it duly and Kate closed the door behind her. "Hello, Nadzia. What are you doing up?"
Kate looked a little shocked. "Oliver. There's a baby dragon in your apartment."
"Actually, she's a pygmy. Don't tell my landlord." He turned to Charlie. "I thought you said you'd told her everything?"
"Nadzia?"
"It's Polish," said Oliver defensively.
Charlie shrugged, scratching the dragon behind her horns. "I did. I'm not responsible if she didn't believe me." He looked up again, suddenly serious. "Hurry up, Oliver. This is important. Someone's life depends on it." Although at first he could not believe he'd said that, he soon found that melodrama was kind of fun.
"Only one?" Oliver asked dryly, retrieving a robe from the closet and struggling into it. It looked a little ridiculous without a shirt underneath of it, but it was good enough for what time it was. Charlie and Kate had decided to collect him at an inconvenient time on the good chance that the area near Oliver's flat was under surveillance. They had arrived via a special Stealth Portkey to avoid detection. "Right. Where to?"
"St. Mungo's," Kate answered. Oliver had just enough time to look alarmed before the three of them Disapparated.
*
"St. Mungo's?" he repeated once they'd arrived. He glanced around, anxious. Oliver absolutely abhorred St. Mungo's. He didn't deal well with sick people; there was nothing he could do to help them. "Who-"
Kate laid her hand on his arm; Charlie seemed to be fighting a frown. "It's easier if we just show you."
Oliver raised his eyebrows, but followed them without a word into the reception area. "Identification, please," the night-clerk asked with a slight yawn.
Charlie and Oliver handed over their F.L.A.M.E. badges and Kate tossed her Ministry ID on the counter. The clerk scanned them and handed them back. "All right. New experimental drug?"
"Yeah," Charlie answered. He jerked his thumb in Oliver's direction. "Him. Let's go."
Oliver scampered along after the two of them. Some things happened way too fast, especially during the hours when healthy people were unconscious. "You got me out of bed and took me to St. Mungo's-"
"Yes," said Charlie distractedly, making a seemingly random turn down an unmarked, seemingly normal corridor. In fact the only thing that wasn't inconspicuous about it was that it didn't have any doors.
"Through the high-security reception area-" His brain was trying vainly to make the proper connections.
"Yes. Do you have a point?"
"-And now we're going down some very bizarre hallways that have no markings and I'm supposedly some sort of cure-?"
"Shut up, Oliver," Kate said, not unkindly.
He sighed. "I am definitely helping you two out the next time you plan a mission. Especially the briefing part. Quite frankly, you suck at it."
"No, we don't," Charlie said, stopping before a blank section of wall. He held his palm up to it; around its outline the wall glowed blue. "We're just really good at the mission secrecy part."
Oliver did his best not to gape.
Not good enough. "Close your mouth, Oliver. You're letting in flies. Now, are you coming, or aren't you?" Kate stood in the hidden doorway with one hand on her hips.
What have I gotten myself into? Oliver wondered. What else could he do but follow?
The room they entered was sterile, white and windowless. It was occupied by two hospital chairs, a small table, a tiny closet and, in the middle of the room, a white-sheeted hospital bed. The chart at the foot of the bed was basically a straight line; there seemed to be many weeks' worth of other charts underneath it. Beside the bed, magical monitoring equipment blended unobtrusively with the white walls; an automatic feeder, a Magical Activity Indicator, and a heart-and-brainwave monitor stood vigilantly by.
Oliver's brain registered none of this. From the moment he'd stepped through the door, his attention had been focused entirely on the familiar figure in the bed. Her skin was paler than he remembered, like delicate porcelain; her dark hair fanned out around her face in a sort of halo. Alicia Spinnet looked just like he remembered her, except that her eyes were closed, thick lashes half-moons on her cheeks, and she lacked the animation his friend had always had.
Oliver reached out a hand and touched her cheek, forgetting for a moment that there were others in the room.
His reverie was shattered by Charlie, who interrupted as gently as possible. "There's a way you might be able to wake her, if you try." Seemingly hesitant, which in Oliver's opinion was not very like Charlie at all, he pressed an open book into Oliver's hands. "It's up to you, but I think it's worth a shot."
He glanced down at the tome. Its leather bindings felt ancient; it seemed to weigh far more than a book its size ought to have. Letters swam before his eyes and Oliver let them fall shut, feeling tears prickle behind his eyelids. "Can I-"
By the time he had composed himself again, they had gone. Kate, ever tactful, had pulled Charlie with her outside the room to wait. Oliver pulled up a chair beside Alicia's bed and took her hand in both of his, trying hard to ignore how cool it felt. Having just found out she was alive, he needed a few moments to sort his thoughts out. He looked up at her face- pale as the sheet it was set against- for a moment, and his memory brought him back to Hogwarts, and the last game he'd ever played there.
You look like you've seen a ghost.
Oliver finally overcame his shock and managed a grin. "I can't believe it's only been a year." Alicia, in her graduation robes, came forward to embrace him. "You've grown."
She laughed and cuffed him on the back of the head. "You haven't. What brings you to Hogwarts on this most chaotic of last days?"
He placed a hand over his heart, maiming injury. "What do you mean, what brings me here? Five of Gryffindor's Quidditch Team are graduating! Of course I would never miss an event such as this. Where's Harry, we should have a scrimmage before you all have to leave."
Alicia's expression registered somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "Actually, Oliver, only four of the Quidditch team are graduating. And Harry's off somewhere with Ginny Weasley, very likely; don't ask me where Ron is."
She hadn't quite succeeded in changing the subject. Oliver's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, only four Gryffindor Quidditch players graduated? Is someone staying an extra year?" Back then, he could not contemplate any of their lives without the game; everything revolved around the love of the game.
"Actually, Oliver..." she looked as if she were in actual physical pain. "Quidditch just wasn't one of my priorities this year. I had so much else to do, and so little time in which to do it. I... Quit."
His mouth dropped open. He was rendered absolutely speechless. Alicia, one of his unbeatable Chasers- Alicia had quit? Alicia had quit? She loved Quidditch almost as much as he did- at least, she had the last time he'd checked. Which, come to think of it, had been in her second year, when he'd recruited her for the Gryffindor team.
"You look like you've seen a ghost." Alicia had smiled at him weakly. "I'm sorry, Oliver. I didn't mean to spoil your day. But that's a good idea- let's get a game going. I've had enough of these pre-post-Hogwarts blues."
Setting aside his initial disappointment, Oliver took her by the arm, and they ventured out to find the rest of the team.
"We all thought you were dead, you know," he rasped, almost unconsciously stroking the back of her hand. It was hard to talk past the lump in his throat. "Everyone but Charlie, pretty much, and even then it's not like he really knew you. Sometimes I felt like I hardly even knew you. I certainly never would have guessed you'd leave the Quidditch team. I should have realized that even the most fanatical can have their priorities changed."
It was as if the dam he'd been using to cut himself off from his pain had broken. Every dream, experience, emotion that he had had over the past six months wanted expressing. "When you- when I thought you were gone, everything changed even for me." He laughed a little, wiping moisture from the corner of one eye unconsciously. "That was the day I was supposed to renew my contract, but that was a bust. I quit- just like you did, only I guess the realization got to me a little later than it did to you. I enlisted for special Auror training the next day.
"It wasn't like I'd expected. Hell, I thought I was there to set an example; I thought Aurors were supposed to be the epitome of virtue. Kind, brave, heroic- turns out that we have to play dirty sometimes, too. War-" here he stopped, swallowed, and continued- "War isn't like Quidditch. In Quidditch there are only two teams, and you know exactly who they are. There's a clear definition of fair and foul play. In Quidditch you don't have to worry about whether the other team wants to be playing against you or not, or whether there are more of them than you. War isn't black and white. It's not fair, and there's no one to dictate rules. There's no real way to tell if someone's on your team or not. To tell you the truth, Alicia, this war scares me.
"But that's the way things are going around here. I- I don't want to be the one to tell you this..." Oliver spent a good deal of time trying to bypass the lump in his throat, "But I don't know if there's anyone else to tell you. Your parents... well, they're gone. There's no delicate way to put it. I guess maybe I shouldn't have bothered, since I'll just have to tell you again anyway..." He sighed. "I've missed you. I still miss you."
The book on the table finally caught his attention and he flipped it open to the bookmark. "I guess I ought to give this a try."
It took his eyes a few moments to get used to the strange font, but when he did, he found his blood singing in his ears. This was it, Alicia's last chance. He drew his wand and a deep breath, concentrating on the incantation for a moment. He was not such a poor student of Latin that he did not understand what he was supposed to do. "Expergo lethargus arcessito saviolum," he managed, and commanding more courage than he had ever used in the war effort, leaned over and pressed his lips to hers.
Several things failed to happen. First, Oliver noticed, the world didn't end. No fireworks erupted in his brain. He supposed it was difficult when one of the parties involved in the kiss was unconscious. Thunder didn't rumble in the distance, and the lights didn't flicker.
Alicia's eyelids did, but they didn't open. Her breathing quickened, though, and, as Oliver watched, a bit of colour returned to her cheeks. Finally, he found himself caught in her sapphire gaze. She spoke, her voice untouched by the months in a coma. "Oliver?"
His heart flooded with emotion; words failed him yet again. Gently but firmly, he pulled her against his chest. Only then did he allow himself to believe that she was real. Only then did he allow relief to overcome in. And only then, in the quiet, isolated sterilized room, did he let his emotions show. For the first time since he had enlisted, he lost control completely, and found himself then, tears flowing down to moisten Alicia's hair.
*
"What's he doing?" Charlie whispered curiously.
Kate kicked him in the shins. "He's coming to terms, ogre. Show a little human compassion and let him be."
"I resent that. I am not an ogre!"
"You're right," she agreed with a glint in her eyes. "You're too short. More like a satyr."
He rolled his eyes. At least she was making an attempt to lighten their situation. "I'm not hairy enough. And I don't have horns." A grin lit his features. "Except figuratively, maybe. Or if you count Angel's."
"Angel?"
"It was Fred's idea," Charlie said with a smile. "What's wrong with calling a pygmy Angel?"
She scoffed. "When I was in Romania, we gave the dragons sensible dragon names."
"What, like Rippy?" he smirked. "Sounds like a bad Muggle horror film."
"Well, there was Godzilla, but that was a fluke. He got away from his Keepers... besides, that was in Japan, and there was something wrong with his Medulla oblongata." Kate bit her lip; looked nervously back at the door, whose outline was just barely discernable. "Do you think he'll be alright, Charlie?"
For reasons he did not care to think about, Charlie reached for her hand and squeezed it in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Oliver's pretty strong, Kate. I wouldn't have made it as far as he has if I were in his situation. He'll be fine." He didn't like to think about himself in Oliver's situation. That meant that he would have to believe Kate was dead. He knew for a fact that it was beyond his capability to cope.
"I hope you're right." She caught herself. "Not about the you not being able to handle it part. About the Oliver being okay part."
"I guessed that." Charlie strained his ears. "Do you hear beeping?"
Kate rushed to the doorway and stuck her head in. She withdrew it again quickly, her expression one of quiet relief. "Alicia's awake."
Oh, thank God. Charlie felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He must have sagged noticeably against the wall, because Kate turned to him with a kind, encouraging, almost sad smile and unexpectedly put her arms around him. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown," she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
He managed to keep himself from blushing or stuttering. "Thanks." He cleared his throat. "Should we... collect them and go? The longer we stay, the better the chances that someone finds out what we've been up to."
Sighing, Kate admitted, "You have a point. I hate to interrupt, though." She glanced apprehensively toward the door.
"We'll give them a minute." However, Oliver chose that moment to appear in the doorway.
"I've got it from here, Charlie."
Charlie nodded. "Portkey?" He wasn't especially keen on being seen leaving, either. He had special wizarding permits wired into the core magic of this particular division of St. Mungo's - often the patients there needed Auror protection, and fast. Taking a yo-yo from the pocket of his robes, he unwound the string a bit and distributed it between the four of them. "On three?"
They reappeared, vaguely nauseated, just outside the door to Oliver's apartment, which he awkwardly opened one-handed. Kate and Charlie followed him inside, and Charlie closed it quietly behind him.
Nadzia snuffled around the corner from the kitchen, where her makeshift den was. Spotting her partner, she stomped over and peered a trifle curiously at the woman in his arms. She sniffed once. Then, with a grumbling sigh of acceptance, she retreated back into the kitchen.
"Getting approval?" Charlie said with a mild grin.
Oliver glared at him before heading off into the further recesses of his flat.
"Moves fast, doesn't he," Kate commented dryly, watching his retreat.
Charlie, appalled and amused, turned to her with an expression that matched her own. "I hardly think that after months in stasis, Alicia has that kind of stamina. And Oliver looks pretty tired, too. Shall we give them the benefit of the doubt?"
Luckily for him, Oliver was just returning from the bedroom area and hadn't heard this comment. "Thank you," he said simply, perhaps the sincerest thing he'd ever said to Charlie.
Charlie heard Kate mumble, "What, finished so soon?" and trod purposefully on her toe. "You're welcome, Oliver. But before you- anyway, you should know... She can't leave," he finished miserably. "If they find out she's gone anywhere..."
"I know," the other man replied solemnly.
"And you have to tell her about-" Charlie waved his hand vaguely.
"I know."
"And just..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Go easy on her, okay?"
Oliver nodded. "Relax, Charlie. I wasn't raised in a stable. I know how to treat a guest."
Kate interrupted gently, "Make sure you know how to treat a friend, as well."
He smiled a little, looking entirely preoccupied. "Thanks, Kate. I won't forget."
*
Morning came gently.
Something about that morning, Oliver knew, was fundamentally different. He stretched languidly, allowing a yawn to escape him. He rubbed at his eyes for a moment before turning over to snuggle deeper into his warm bed.
Except that it wasn't his bed. Oliver toppled off the couch with a ploomf, ensnared in a wicked tangle of blankets, and belatedly remembered what was so fundamentally different about this morning: Alicia Spinnet was sleeping in his bed.
He pulled himself up off of the floor, trying to walk without being tripped by the blankets that had somehow managed to wrap themselves around his feet. Then he headed for his bedroom to check on his unexpected houseguest. He knocked on the door. "Alicia? Are you awake?"
Receiving no answer, Oliver slowly pushed the door open. "Alicia?" A cursory glance showed that she wasn't in his bed. "Are you-" Just as he was turning around, Alicia herself walked a little unsteadily through the door. Her hair was wet, and there were water droplets running down it onto her shoulders. Her eyelashes were stuck together in clumps, and her blue eyes were awake, alert- and a little startled. She was wearing a very short towel.
"Er," he said, feeling his face and other less civilized body parts heat up. "You're awake." So are you, an inner voice taunted. He turned, if possible, even redder.
Alicia just nodded. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and formed words with her lips, but he couldn't hear her. At first he wondered if her near-naked soaking-wetness was having more of an effect on him than he'd thought, but then he realized that she had been in an induced sort of stasis for six months, and long periods of exposure to magic tended to wreak havoc on the vocal chords. Even Sonorous Charms, designed specifically for use on voices, were not recommended to be used for more than a few hours at a time.
Stop staring, Oliver, he reprimanded himself sharply. "I, uh, I'm going to go make some breakfast, okay? You can help yourself to whatever's in my closet." He couldn't help but feel a little cowardly as he fled the room and sought peace in the kitchen.
Every clatter of the pans on the stove seemed unnaturally loud to Oliver's ears. When Alicia walked in, mercifully clad now in one of his old robes, he had pretty much composed himself. "I guess it's going to be kind of quiet around here until you get your voice back." He put a plate full of six different breakfast foods in front of her and filled a glass with orange juice. "Is there anything you're going to need...?"
Alicia looked down at herself and back up at him with an expression that said, "Isn't it obvious?" and Oliver cursed himself inwardly. Clothes. Toothbrush. Personal, feminine things. Man's worst nightmare was about to become reality: they were going to have to go shopping.
He sighed. "Okay. Give me a few minutes to get ready." She's going to need a disguise, he reminded himself. You never know who you might see.
But who would recognize her? Aside from her hair and eye color, this Alicia looked nothing like the Alicia he had known before. This Alicia was smaller, less confident, less muscular than the Alicia she had been. Her hair was too long and she was too pale. All of this would make it very easy for her to be inconspicuous.
Well, that and the fact that people tended not to recognize people who were dead.
Oliver stepped into the shower and tried not to think about the fact that there was still steam from the previous one in the bathroom. It was going to be a long day. He hadn't even tried to breach the subject of her parents yet. Maybe when they were done shopping.
*
The glamour Alicia was wearing was fairly simple. It gave her freckles and coloured her hair red and rounded her face. Her eyes still peered curiously and brightly out from under similar-shaped brows, though, and Oliver thought that she was beautiful. That, however, was a given.
He just wished she could speak. It was a little embarrassing when, at the first shop on their rather lengthy list, Alicia held up a particularly alluring brassiere to her chest and merely raised her eyebrows at him as if to ask his opinion. Oliver turned six shades of red before nodding. This process had repeated itself multiply in that boutique and then in almost every other- there were vitamin supplements and toiletries and other feminine items to consider, and clothing and sleep attire (the word 'negligée' did not exist in Oliver's vocabulary).
When all the general Muggle shopping had been done, Alicia turned to Oliver as if to say, "What about robes?" and gestured in the general direction of the entrance to Wizarding London.
"It's not safe," he said reluctantly. "Someone would recognize me for sure, and you don't look that different. Besides, you won't be needing them."
He got another curious look as they continued back to his flat. "What I mean is," and here he cringed, unsure as to how to continue, "you..." He sighed. "Oh, hell. You're going to have to lie low for awhile. That's part of why you're wearing a disguise. Everyone thinks you're dead, and the circumstances surrounding that 'death' are highly classified Ministry files." Oliver opened the door to the flat and let Alicia enter. He deposited the many shopping bags on the floor in the foyer. "While we're on the topic..."
Alicia allowed herself to be directed towards the sofa. She sat down a little stiffly as Oliver picked his blanket off the floor. He folded it into his lap as he spoke, trying not to fidget too much and looking directly into her eyes. "Alicia... when you were in St. Mungo's, a lot happened. Before, Voldemort was still being really careful and didn't concentrate much on... well..." He took a deep breath. "A few days after Lucius cursed you, Voldemort got a lot less discreet. He... Alicia, he killed your parents." Causing her so much pain filled Oliver with self-loathing. "I'm so sorry."
Alicia's eyes squeezed shut and her face crumpled. She drew her knees up to her chest and tried to hide herself in them, and Oliver was startled by the noiselessness of the soft, sudden exhalation. Her body shook with silent sobs. Feeling utterly helpless, he did all that he could, pulling her into his arms and trying to share the pain. Alicia buried herself in his robes for a long time before her emotional exhaustion pulled her to the other side of consciousness.
*
When Charlie got home from work, Kate was sitting on his sofa with a stack of books piled up beside her. "Pull up a chair," she said without looking up, absently turning an ancient page. "Lots of research to be done."
Charlie's stomach grumbled. "Just a minute. I've got to get something to eat." A quick search of the standard Muggle refrigerator provided him with a few slices of cold pizza, which he took with him back to the living room. "Which one is the finished pile?"
"'Finished pile?'" Kate repeated demurely with a slight smile. "Grab a textbook, Charlie. They're all fair game."
He groaned and grabbed the top book in the pile. Elf Genealogy. Not likely to be the most involving read, he thought to himself. The ancient cover creaked ominously as he opened it. There was another layer of dust inside the cover; he brushed it off. Barely legible at the top of the page were the words, The beginning. Below it, in tidy handwriting-
Prelude
In the beginning the young world was divided in four: earth, wind, fire and water. From thence came the world's first magical creatures: there came Tuath from the earth and Druids from the water, Sprites from fire. But the north wind and the south wind fought bitterly over what would manifest their power, causing storms all over the earth and desegregating the other elements. Into their storm they swept up bits of earth, and rain, and lightning, and it swirled and crackled and grew and made the Tuath and the Druids and the Sprites miserable for seven years. At the end of the seventh year the other three creatures pooled their power and forced the dueling winds to cease, but they had fought so fiercely that everything that had been consumed by their storm had been mixed together so thoroughly that it could never be separated into the four elements again. Thus, the north wind and the south wind breathed life into the blend, and the race of Elves was born.
Because they were born of the fierce battle between the winds, the Elves became powerful warriors. And because so much magic was needed to pacify the dueling winds, the Elves became the heirs to a great deal of magical energy as well as a comfortable reign of peace.
Charlie turned the page. He was glad that Riley didn't have such terrible problems with normal English sentence structure.
A Chronicle of the Second House
I wonder where the First House is if it's not at the beginning, thought Charlie irrelevantly, then focused on the text again.
Wethrel Thornspark, oldest brother of the Starfire, headed the Second House. The Second House, as well as the Third House, is considered nobility among the Elves. Though there is no formal hierarchy except that the First House is the ruling house, the Elves deem it a great honour to be of close kinship to the Starfire.
The time of Wethrel Thornspark lasted until the first Age of Chaos, when feuding Elves from the Fifth and Sixth Houses started a war that lasted seven years. Wethrel was killed by his second cousin, Farlin the Strong, while attempting to resolve the conflict. Upon his death, his great-great-grandson Eldir...
Charlie skipped over the next few dozen pages and pondered again. Why someone would go to the trouble of documenting the entire history of a clan feud that had basically no impact on the way the clans interacted after that was beyond his comprehension. Most of it was probably myth, anyway- many wizards didn't believe in Elves in the first place.
Looking down at the page once more, Charlie's eyes widened incredulously. "Kate. Have a look at this." He passed over the book. Written at the top of the page in faded ink were the words, Genealogy of Fallen Elves (continued from page 238). A key at the side indicated that the Elves written with a purplish sort of ink were still considered members of their original House, whereas those in red ink had been cast out. Charlie noted curiously that all of these Elves were of the Fifth or Sixth Houses.
But this wasn't what he found so fascinating. Halfway down the page was a name from a long line of red names that Charlie was sure he remembered- Chait Blakemore. Kate peered over his shoulder and followed his finger down past Chait Blakemore to Raamah Blakemore, who had had, among other offspring, a son named Marcellus. Two names, both red, appeared below this- Cassius and Narcissa.
Now Charlie knew that this was a familiar family. Beside Narcissa's name were the letters that spelled "Lucius Malfoy" in a colourless ink. And then, following the line of "Cassius," his blood froze. "Kate?" he said weakly, too stunned to gesture.
Cassius Blakemore and Viviane Beard- her name in a light gray. Below that, in purple ink again instead of red: Quem Seponere. Charlie wondered aloud, "Kate... is Viviane your mother's name?"
Kate, her face entirely drained of colour, nodded twice.
"Have you got a half-sister you never mentioned?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of. But I mean, this Cassius man- he could have taken the baby away, right? Before I was even conceived? I wouldn't have known about it- it would have been simple to put a Memory Charm on my mother, she wouldn't have remembered a thing..."
Charlie said nothing. He doubted very much that Viviane Beard had had another child. Deep in his heart, he was already convinced of the true identity of Quem Seponere, but he was pretty sure it would be more than just difficult to convince Kate.
*
He gave himself one final appraising glance in the mirror before giving up entirely, realizing that he was going to be late if he didn't get moving soon. He wasn't exactly certain what to expect from himself, or what to expect from Kate, but he did know one thing- if he screwed up his friendship with her, he'd never forgive himself. Charlie resolved to expect nothing, hope for the best and prepare for the worst, feeling slightly queasy as he picked up the flowers by the door and locked it behind him. A few minutes later, he Apparated to The Leaky Cauldron. He and Kate had decided (meaning that Charlie had insisted) that in order to decrease the likelihood of a further connection between the two of them, they would meet at the Muggle restaurant Kate had chosen. This was the result that had stemmed from a slight debacle over whether everyone knew they were close and what harm a little more protection could do.
He thought that he would get out of The Leaky Cauldron without further delay, but someone called to him from a booth across the hazy room. "I hope you've got a hot date tonight, Charlie, because you're a little overdressed for The Leaky Cauldron."
Charlie felt his blood simmer as he turned towards the voice. Why did it have to be Jonathan Chortos? he asked himself silently. It was always Jonathan Chortos. That damn American. He managed to keep his voice calm. "Actually, yes, and I'm going to be late. Sorry I can't stay to chat." He noted the simpering wench- witch- beside him with distaste before nodding to her and raising his hand in farewell. I knew there was a reason I hate Valentine's Day.
The walk to the restaurant was cold and somewhat lonely, and Charlie had to admit to himself that meeting Kate there wasn't the most romantic idea even if it was the most practical. He would probably have to beg her forgiveness. Again.
When he got to the restaurant he found that Kate was already waiting for him. The maitre d' led him to the table where she was sitting.
Truth told, Charlie didn't even recognize her at first. He seemed to be following the maitre d' to a table where an exotic, dark-skinned young woman sat alone in a rather stunning red dress, her honey-blonde hair curled and twisted onto her head. She looked entirely too sophisticated to approach, let alone eat with, and then Charlie realized with a start that she was Kate.
She stood up to greet him and planted a kiss on his cheek when he offered her the flowers. "Sorry I'm a little late," he said apologetically. "I ran into something unanticipated and paid for it with time." Like the arrival of his brothers Bill and Fred, both happily married, who had decided that he needed a little help getting ready (or a large push in the right direction) and had been more hindrance than assistance.
"I ordered hors d'oeuvres and wine to punish you," she said with a teasing grin, "but it's not much of a punishment since you'll be here to eat and drink it. You're not really that late anyway. I was only a little worried."
Charlie hated when he made Kate worry. It filled him with self-resentment and it wasn't generally a pleasant experience. "Sorry," he said again, abashed.
Kate kicked him lightly under the table. "Forget about it. I already have. Now what're you having? I, personally, am starved."
He held up a hand to forestall any further comment for a moment, diverting Kate's attention from a Muggle man about to propose to his girlfriend. He definitely hated Valentine's Day. "I wasn't done," he chided gently. "I'm sorry I'm such an ass. It really was pointless for us to meet here to avoid more public exposure- first of all we're sitting in front of a huge window, and second of all, half of the wizarding world suspects we're having an affair. Probably also my fault, by the way."
She mock-chastised him, "I think you're taking too much of the credit." But he could see something in her eyes appreciated and was even touched by his apology. "Can we order now?"
He smiled- Kate had managed to dispatch his uneasiness with tremendous skill and little fumbling over words. Maybe this wouldn't be as difficult and perplexing an issue as he'd thought.
*
Still somewhat awed at the fact that the evening hadn't been completely awkward, Charlie led Kate up the steps to her cottage. "Coming in?" she asked, and miraculously Charlie did not blush. She brandished the flowers he'd gotten her at him. "I need to put these and water. Besides, I made dessert."
Charlie quickly weighed his options in his mind. He didn't have to work in the morning; the only thing he had to do was show up at The Burrow as he'd promised his mother. He wasn't worried about getting anywhere he shouldn't with Kate- in the first place she'd never allow it, and on top of that she was his best friend, and it was the most natural thing in the world to be around her. He had confidence that they wouldn't do anything that would make either of them uncomfortable.
So Charlie had no reservations about going in for what he deemed to be a completely innocent visit. In fact, he had almost followed her into the kitchen to help her get dessert, but for some reason decided against it. Then Kate screamed.
Charlie made his way to the sound before he even realized where it was coming from. Kate had dropped the crystal vase she'd had the roses in and it had shattered into a million pieces on the floor.
Next to it was the prone body of Chloë Sanderson. There was a trickle of blood on her forehead that originated somewhere else on her head and her breathing was shallow. "My God," Kate whispered, completely pale, her eyes riveted to Chloë's form.
Which was clearly in at least the sixth month of pregnancy. "Oh my God," Kate repeated. "Charlie... You have to go get someone. I'll stay here with her."
"What if they come back for you?" he reasoned automatically, still shocked.
"What if they do? I'm not in any state to Apparate, Charlie. I'll splinch myself. Go!"
He went.
*