Relevant Inspiration:
Deprived by The Crimson Lord
Disclaimer: I'm not British, French, Irish, Polish, nor Bulgarian. I am, also, definitely not Portuguese. BUT I AM A MARINE NOW!
Enjoy.
-VI-
Amelia knelt beside a hole in the ground, where a tree may have once been. Now, however, just disturbed earth remained, and the former occupant was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes followed scattered dirt, and estimated where the tree...no it had been a stump….had wound up. She stood, and moved to another spot a dozen feet away, where large fragments of wood stuck out of the ground. An explosion. Had it blocked a spell? Her eyes rose, and she saw the mutilated corpses of two masked men beside small boulders and trees that had been coated with their gore. She looked from those bodies to the rest that lay between the trees, then up to some that were scattered across the trees. She frowned. This had been a massacre.
"The counts are in 'Lia! Any guesses?" Amelia rolled her eyes but didn't spare a glance back at her partner.
"I'm not guessing how many dead wizards there are, Sirius." The dark haired man faked a pout.
"Awwww, you're no fun! It's thirteen, by the way. Thirteen dead here, and the French arrested four among the tents." Amelia considered that.
"Do we have any idea how many were here fighting them?"
"Not yet." Sirius scanned the bloody woods. "I'd gamble on at least eight...if it was an ambush…"
"...they would have needed more if it was a prolonged fight, though. So eight on the low side, twice that many in a stand up fight?"
"They were all marked death eaters." Amelia blanched at that revelation.
"All of them?"
"Well," Sirius admitted, "we found enough of the bodies to be sure that at least ten of them had the dark mark, but we couldn't find the left fore-arms of the other three." He looked back to his partner. "I'd say even a dozen Aurors wouldn't have had an easy time of this many of Voldemort's men." Amelia noticed his choice of words.
"You make it sound like he isn't dead." Sirius winced.
"Sorry 'Lia. I know he was destroyed when he attacked the Longbottoms, but after losing James...and Lily...and Har-"
"Auror Bones, Black. We found something." Both Aurors turned to face the newcomer. Her hair was so short that it was barely a shadow across her scalp, and a smattering of freckles across her cheeks were pinpricks of darkness on her pale skin. Her eyes held a vague imitation of life in them, the horrors she had seen forever trapped in their depths. Sirius found himself shivering despite the weather. He had heard what this woman had been through; no one left Azkaban untouched. Noticing her partner's inaction, Amelia stepped forward.
"Detective Court, what is it?" The woman regarded them with her dementor-haunted stare. When she spoke, it was as if she was trying to force out enough volume to be heard, but she only managed a loud whisper.
"We have confirmed the identity of one of the dead. I guessed you would want to know as soon as we made headway, but I wanted to make certain we were not misinforming you. His face, blood, and wand all match. We also found threads of portkey magic, so several individuals fled the fight here." Sirius was the first to respond.
"Well who did you identify?"
"Zane Avery." Sirius sucked air through his teeth and ran a hand through his hair.
"And he had the mark? Damn 'Lia, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight officially serving the Dark Lord's memory." Amelia nodded mutely, knowing this would shake up the Wizengamoot. While it was suspected that more than a few of the wizards and witches who had claimed imperious after the first war had been lying, this was the first definitive confirmation.
"You found signs that portkeys were used? Any idea how? I understood there were wards to prevent that very thing in place." Jane Court affixed her gaze to Amelia. She was the leader of the team from the Investigation Department of the Auror's Office. Though having one of the most bland titles one could imagine, the members of her team were as highly regarded as the best hit wizards the Ministry had to offer.
"From our research into magical transportation, the Investigation Department knows of several ways to bypass the intent of portkey wards. The most likely thing that happened here was that there was a 'flicker' portkey used, one that transports an individual or individuals to another area within the wards. Thus they never have to come into conflict with the preventative measures." Jane stopped to take a breath. To the Auror's eyes she appeared nervous, and Amelia suspected she was more of an introvert, uncomfortable with reporting aloud all that she had found. Detective Court, however, continued.
"It also could have been a 'skipping' portkey. That's what we call a portkey that takes its passenger to another portkey placed directly on top of one of the rune stones for the wards. The wizard or witch lands on the wardstone, and in that hairsbreadth of a second, they portkey again, confusing the ward scheme and possibly slipping through." She took another breath, and fought on. "The final option is a blunt force choice. The portkey could have been made by someone with far more power than those who raised the wards. I find this option the least likely."
"Such a thing is possible?" Sirius seemed intrigued.
"Technically. But we would be talking about someone near to Dumbledore in power. After all , the Department of Mysteries set up the wards here."
"I see why you think that unlikely." Sirius said, smirking. Amelia sighed in exasperation, but turned back to the Detective.
"Thank you. Please let us know if you learn anything else." She said, and Jane nodded.
"Will do." She turned and walked back to three of her compatriots who were engaged in a quickfire debate, leaving the two aurors to themselves. There was quiet for a minute, then Sirius broke it.
"So either we have escaped death eaters who can bypass wards, or professional killers who can bypass wards."
"Yep."
"And we have a member of the ruling elite of wizarding Britain dead. One who clearly followed the once Dark Lord and is now committing terrorist actions in his memory."
"Yep."
"Fuck."
"Yep." The two walked back among the corpses, and regarded the scene. The bodies. The trees. The Ministry workers surveying and mapping it all out. The chaos of the living. The tranquility of the dead.
"I don't know about you, 'Lia, but I'm sick of all of this… I'll head back to the office and see if I can figure out what all spells were cast here. Maybe we can profile our killers with them." Amelia nodded in agreement.
"I'll see if I can find any witnesses. The Minister is holding all non-government workers, and all non-players here until we think it's safe for them to leave."
"In other words, he finally pulled his head from the sand and is letting us do our jobs.
"Pretty much."
"Well it's about time. I was beginning to wonder who's side he was on."
"Thank Merlin I wasn't the only one." She saw him opening his mouth for some witty response, so she drove on. "I'll meet you back at the office later today." She began walking towards the tents and camp grounds.
"Hey, Amelia." She turned around, surprised. He never called her by her full first name.
"Stay safe. There could be more in the crowd." She smiled.
"Always."
The Hogwarts Express was as rambunctious and noisy as always when it pulled out of the station at King's Cross, but in the charmed seclusion of Neville's compartment, all was quiet. Mostly quiet, he admitted to himself, but the occasional sound that his friends made didn't bother him. Whereas he was sitting cross-legged, calmly focused on the small potted plant in his lap and the tight spell work he wove around it, his friends were more formally arrayed around the room. Hannah Abbott sat beside him, legs crossed demurely, and Elspeth's Spellbook of Advanced Medicines opened to a cauterising spell from the 18th century. Seamus Finnigan drowsily attempted to maintain consciousness as he half-way carried on a conversation with Luna, who hung upside-down from the luggage rack, swaying gently side to side, with an edition of the Quibbler right-side-up in her hands.
Finally, sitting beside the spot occupied by Luna's hanging hair was Hannah's friend, Susan. She listened, seemingly attentively, to the odd conversation beside her, but her eyes flickered occasionally to the locked door. As if answering her prayers for rescue, a blurred figure filled the glass door and rapped on the frame. With a yawn, Seamus peered from his spot at the newcomer, but quickly realized the futility. He extracted his wand from his muggle hoodie and tapped the frosted glass once. The door slid open revealing a dark-skinned girl with ink-black hair in tresses to her shoulders. She wore a confident half smirk as she scanned the compartment and settled her eyes on Susan.
"Good morning. Would you mind if I borrowed Susan for a few hours?" Her voice held a touch of a throaty timber that probably drove boys crazy, but Neville was too absorbed in his plant and Seamus was wiping the sleep from his eyes. It was Luna who answered.
"Okie. Be safe you two." She smiled behind her newspaper, "Blithering humdingers may not enjoy being on fast moving transportation, but dillydoos do and they will nest in your hair follicles." The dark-haired girl cocked her head in confusion, but Susan just sighed and stood up.
"Of course, Luna." The redhead slid out of the compartment and closed the door behind her. Seamus yawned.
"Whowuzzat?"
"One of the sixth-years, Rhonda Fladburry. She's the Vice-President of the Duelling Club." It was Hannah this time who, having placed her book to the side, answered. Seamus nodded, and started swinging his legs to get into a more upright position, but Luna reached across the divide and placed her hand on his leg, stopping him. She smiled her dreamy grin.
"You haven't slept much since you got back from the World Cup, you should rest." And as if his strings had been cut, Seamus nodded his way into oblivion. Hannah regarded her wispy friend.
"He stayed with you after the lockdown?"
"Yep. The ministry wasn't letting anyone out of the country after the attack, so he couldn't go home to his family in Ireland. Daddy said he could stay with us at the Rook." Hannah frowned.
"But surely some people were let out?"
"Only politicians, officials, and players. It was realized that they were all accounted for and it was deemed a reasonable assumption that none of them were involved." Hannah grimaced.
"Lucky then I wasn't there." She said. Neville looked up at last from his plant and regarded her.
"I wish I had been."
"Neville, knowing your luck you would have wound up in the thick of it."
"Exactly my point." Neville said, placing his plant on the seat beside him and turning to face his two conscious friends. "Maybe I could have done something to help. The Prophet said that eleven people were killed and scores injured. Who knows what help I…"
"Who knows anything?" Luna dropped her newspaper and spun in her hanging position to face him. "You might have been killed." Neville scoffed at that, but raised a hand when Hannah opened her mouth to retort.
"I know, I know. I'm not invincible. Trust me, I know I've been very lucky. What with Lockhart failing to get the stone our first year, all of you being safe when that monster ran around second year, and with the Dementors last year."
"That's not counting the rat man last summer." Luna supplied helpfully. Hannah scowled.
"What rat man?"
"Fair, Luna, but that's not the point." Neville said quickly, trying to blunder through Hannah's annoyed confusion. He could tell she was letting it slide for now, but he would have to tell her eventually. "My point was that I know I'm lucky but I have come up on top of all those fights due more than just good fortune, and I have been training all summer for when luck runs out." He fixed his friends with pointed looks. "I can't go running away from danger when people need help." Hannah sighed.
"I know Nev', but we worry about you. Even Seamus does, though Merlin knows he won't admit it." The trio watched their sleeping friend for a minute or two before Neville spoke up again, a wry smile peaking its way through the serious conversation.
"I made sure to add Indian Pennywort and horsetail to my supply this year, in case he blows himself up again…" Hannah matched his grin, the tension broken and her own knowledge of potions and herbology filling in the gaps.
"Burns, blood loss, and nerve damage, eh? What about the organ damage? The nausea and vomiting from internal shock?"
"Well, Coneflower should help with the actual blood integrity and cell adhesion…" Luna shook her head as her friend's conversation turned to topics less familiar to her. Reaching thin fingers down to pluck her newspaper from the floor, she opened it once more to the article she had written about the eternal advance of clover-cricks and their unavoidable, though delayable, strangulation of the planet's termite infestation. She ground her teeth in frustration when she caught an error she had made. How were wizards supposed to take her reporting seriously if she forgot to tell them that a simple color changing charm on the cricks would temporarily abate their hunger? Luna vowed to rectify this in the next issue.
Ginny tied her boots, numb fingers fighting to not fumble the laces, as rain cascaded outside the quidditch shed. Her hands shook gently, her breath quickened, and she grimaced in pain as she dragged one leather glove over bloody knuckles. Reaching for the second glove, the redhead was interrupted by a low rumbling voice.
"Again?" She didn't raise her head to meet his eyes. He took several quick steps towards her and grabbed her wrist, examining the bloody digits. Victor Krum swept the shed with his eyes, taking in the scattered equipment, the dented lockers, and the red streaks where she had beaten her fists raw on the metal. Though only one word, his question carried a meaning far more vast.
"I am ready to go back."
"Are you?"
"I've done my Occlumency, both organizing and setting up defenses…" Viktor waited on her, letting the silence stretch on. Eventually, she shuddered, sighed, and finished, "Thank you for telling me in private first." He nodded and sat heavily beside her.
"I did not want you losing your calm in the presence of others." Ginny glared at him.
"You didn't believe in me?" He chuckled, and a slight grin cracked his serious demeanor.
"You have a piece of the Dark One in that pretty little head." He ruffled her hair, and she batted his hand away with a mock glare. "I have faith in you. I also had faith that learning of our journey to Hogwarts would hit like a bludger." She huffed in acceptance and he watched her carefully, searching for any sign of the fear, pain, and rage that had led her to wrecking the room. To his relief, her chocolate eyes held none of those miseries. "Heal yourself." Viktor said, stood up, and pushed the door open, allowing the small crowd outside to gain entry to the quidditch lockup.
The youngest Weasley saw her teammates flood in and shook her head. Trust them to be willing to wait patiently on her to access their equipment, but to rush in and then completely ignore her when they actually saw her. Olga Heikkinen and Ingvar Obarin fought over the best beater bat as they always did, both claiming that the single ancient Siberian Larch-wood club still in storage was the ideal tool. Yarek Mokovski and Lorien LaSalle, her fellow starting chasers, located their gear quickly, but paused in the middle of the pathways through the mess of gear to watch the two beaters pummel each other. Both men winced when Olga drove her knee directly into Ingvar's groin. Boqin Chu Hua, quiet as always, slid in between her larger teammates and gathered her helmet and pads while murmuring scolding words about their immaturity.
Ginny smiled faintly and tapped her wand to her knuckles, first to her right fist, then her left. She watched absentmindedly as the flesh knit itself back together and the microscopic cracks in the bones fused. The spell caused her no physical pain, but cast her thoughts briefly back to terrible memories, the very ones that had brought her to tearful rage earlier. Memories of a diary. Memories of a serpent. Memories of ignorant innocence lost.
Snapping herself to the present, Ginny gathered her quidditch gear and finished dressing. Behind her, Ingvar had crawled to his feet and, seeing Olga trying to leave the room with her prize, leapt over a pile of cleaning supplies and Superman punched her. The two crashed into a heap on the deck, and began rolling in pain. Olga's hand held her swollen face and bloody nose, while Ingvar clutched between his legs at his own aggravated injury. Broom in hand, the redhead Weasley darted out of the shed, stepping over her downed friends. She nodded to the rest of the team that was still outside. The reserves stood awkwardly outside the lockup, waiting for the senior team to finish gathering their gear before they could grab their own.
"Ingvar and Olga are at it again." Ginny called over one shoulder as she raced to the railing of the massive vessel and flung herself over the side, mixed cheers and groans following the news. She felt the wind whip in her face as she fell, reveling in the cold clarity as she let go of all her worries. Then, just moments before she would have impacted the grey water, she mounted her broom and shot off parallel to the choppy waves.
She couldn't help but let and grin warm her grim countenance, and soon the freedom of flying obscured any lingering vestiges of pain or fear. It was a temporary fix, she knew, but it was all she had.
It had been a pleasant morning in southern France for the Delacours and their guests. Salomé had awoke to her normal early morning training, but had managed to get closer to that cursed line in the sand than she had ever before. She had even winged John with a clever trio of spells. He had unceremoniously catapulted her back into the surf immediately thereafter, but that sweet sense of accomplishment kept a grin on her face all morning.
The Lord and Lady of the Château had been the next to wake, and had watched the training with amusement from Sebastien's office windows. Sharing several cups of steaming tea and bantering had become a tradition for the eldest Delacours, and though they would never admit it, they had taken to making bets.
Fleur and Gabrielle had both slept in and only awoke when Apolline floated two glasses of water over their bed and promptly dumped them. Their squeaks of surprise were quickly followed by a chase of their mother through the hallways.
The day was early yet, but what a day it was looking to be. For as they all knew, it was the day students would flood from all over Europe and beyond to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
Salomé had packed her bags the prior night, and so it was with great zeal that she attacked her breakfast, even taking a plate of seconds with her as she followed her friend around the chateau, commenting on Fleur's frenzied packing between each bite of blueberry pancakes.
"Don't forget your wand."
"I am not going to forget my wand."
"Well seeing how it is not on your person, you can understand my concern." Fleur snapped around and saw Salomé had the aforementioned wand behind her ear, and the frustrated Veela yanked it back. Salomé took another bite of pancakes. "Don't give your enemy access to your weapon." Fleur looked at her strangely.
"What are you even… never mind, I do not care." She stuffed more clothes into a bag, then sat on it, crushing it so that it was compact enough to zip shut. "Shouldn't you be packing?"
"I'm done."
"Then quit standing there and help me."
"Nope." Salomé gazed long and hard at the last piece of the wonderful blueberry pancakes. She quickly devoured it. "I'll be right back." Fleur didn't turn around, but she yelled back.
"Good. Stay gone! Or maybe bother Gabrielle….or maman...or John even if you really want to be helpful!" Not hearing a response, she huffed and increased her frenzied tempo even more. She made sure to grab her new, pre-shrunk, enchanter's kit for her new elective class, as well as, with a gleam in her eye, a book on offensive spells. Though not part of her curriculum, this would be integral to her plans this year, especially if she was going to prove⎯
"Don't forget your history book." The voice was slightly warbled by food, but Fleur still spun around.
"Is that your third plate!?" Salomé looked at the plate in her hands and idly poked at the physical manifestations of perfection.
"Fourth actually. I ate the third on the way here." She showed that there was, in fact, another plate beneath the one Fleur had seen. The silver-haired girl let out a scream of frustration.
John sauntered across the grass lawn outside. He too was ready, though his packing had been done prior to even accepting the contract from the Delacours. Never having unpacked more than the bare minimum each day from the various shrunken bags and trunks in pockets across his body, and then placing it neatly back each night, he had merely had to add a few of his recent purchases to his bags and completed his 'packing' in less than a minute. And so on that morning he found himself patrolling the property when he felt the coin in his pocket shake slightly and grow warm.
"Goldflour. 073448 Henderson." John recognized the identity check.
"Royce. 037662 Archibald." One down.
"Coercion."
"Courage."
"Sitrep." The request for a report was not unexpected, and John was actually surprised that the call hadn't come sooner.
"The principal has come under threat twice. Threats have been disposed of. Moving to Stage 2 at 1100 hours local time."
"List concerns."
"Principal's companion requested training. It has been supplied at a base level."
"Royce is aware that he violates standard operating procedure?" John mentally sighed, and his response was curt.
"It will become impractical to maintain an unimpeded visual cover of principal at Stage 2 and 3. It is believed that even a basically trained female companion could serve as practical security on a near-constant basis."
"Royce could have requested support."
"It would be a waste of an operational asset." There were a few breaths of silence, then a response came.
"OpCom concurs with Royce's assessment. List further concerns." John hadn't expected the Operations Commander to be near enough to his handler for conversing, but it was a welcome surprise indeed when your boss's boss agreed with your decision.
"It is believed that the principal will volunteer for the Tournament in violation of agreement. Please advise."
"Advisory request logged. List further concerns."
"No further concerns."
"Understood, Royce. Goldflour out." The coin cooled as the connection was cut. Not too soon either. He heard footsteps, bare feet on grass, approaching. He turned, and slipping the coin back in his pocket, he inclined his head to Lady Delacour.
"Madame."
"Walk with me John." He did, and the odd pair began a slow circle of the grounds. Birds sang from the trees, the trees swayed gently in the wind, and the wind gently slid in from the Mediterranean in an amalgam of nature's simple beauty. The two moved in a respectful silence that let the world around them run its symphony unimpeded. Eventually, however, the sounds of the sea were muted enough by the chateau that the harmony was broken, and at last Apolline spoke.
"John, what do you think of your mission." She watched him as she said this, and tried to gauge his reaction. "I don't want some professional formality for an answer, I want to know what thoughts are burning behind those glasses."
"Madame, I think that you have two beautiful daughters who have the misfortune of living in a world of greedy and vile people who will take advantage of them. I think that their friends, Salomé and Jezebel are subject to similar biases, and that is a wretched thing." He turned his mirror-veiled eyes to meet hers. "And I think that is why you have hired me. Because I am not a good man who can merely shield them from the vile people they will meet. I am, instead, an unbiased weapon that will make even the balance of the world around them. I am a Sentinel, not a saint."
"Why should I not seek a saint?"
"Living saints are just idols who have yet to be martyred. Only a fool would hire a martyr for a guard, and you and your husband are not fools."
"Fancy words for merely a bodyguard." The beautiful woman gave a devastatingly coy grin. "Why are you training Salomé then? If you, as you say, are not a good man."
"Practicality, Mme. Delacour. She will be able to do things I will not." Apolline raised an eyebrow.
"And what could a school girl do that a multi-million-dollar killer can't?"
"Go with your daughter into the restroom." Apolline's sudden bout of laughter was divine song, and the birds all around joined in the beautiful music.
The Delacours, Salomé, and John all met outside the front entrance to their chateau, Fleur, Gabrielle, and Salomé with their bags arrayed in front of them, and John waiting patiently to the side. Apolline, as she insisted on doing before every school year, gave each one a huge hug and went over everything that they needed, making sure everyone was packed appropriately. As always, her final check bore fruit, as Gabrielle had neglected to pack her running shoes (though she had yet to use them, Apolline and Sebastien insisted that she should have them in case she changed her mind about non-mandatory exercise), Fleur had forgotten her History textbook, and Salomé had realized that she had not purchased the wand-holster she had meant to.
John had done his own check as well, the only thing he had needed to grab that he had originally chosen not to was a fragment from the broken Caesar statue. To the bodyguard's surprise, Sebastien had elected to leave the statue broken, as a permanent reminder to the occupants to never assume the imperviousness of their sanctuary.
"Alright, we have everything now? Bon. Je vous aime. Stay safe." Apolline finished hugging Gabrielle, and wiped a tear from her cheek. Each year, she tried to keep herself composed, and each year, without fail, she still cried. Such was the curse of motherhood. She shrunk all the childrens' bags, and they all filled their pockets. Sebastien produced the portkey that would take them to Beauxbatons, a piece of worn rope, and the students gathered around. He smirked.
"Fleur, would you like to say it?" John was surprised at the exasperated sigh she produced, and the completely opposite reaction from Gabrielle, a giggle of amusement.
"Papa, I was two. Must we do this every year?"
"Oui." Apolline insisted. "It was cute."
"It is just a childish mispronunciation."
"C'est vrai. That's true. However, it is a cute one, and as your father I will not let you live it down." Fleur clenched her teeth in frustration.
"Je Tem Bras." She said the butchering of 'I kiss you', her cheeks crimson as the portkey activated with a zziipp.
They all appeared on a grassy hill bordered behind them by a gorgeous forest, and more hills in front of them. Not a hundred meters distant was an ivy-covered stone archway in a low stone wall that snaked its way across the countryside. Through the gate trailed a simple cobblestone path that ended at an expansive hamlet of buildings arrayed around a breathtaking villa. Serving as a backdrop to the picturesque campus were the Pyrenees mountains, snowcapped and jaw-dropping.
John had done his research on Beauxbatons, of course. Therefore, he knew that the current location of the school had moved in the early 1800's following the discovery of the school by muggles. Though the muggles had initially thought it an old templar convent, they had soon realized the roman nature of the Villa, and had become understandably more emphatic with their exploration. Though the original Villa of Beauxbatons was now a tourist attraction known as the Villa gallo-romaine de Montmaurin, mages from across Europe, from Ramon Llull, to John Dee, to the Flamels, to Jean Eugene Robert-Houdin all pitched in to help magically replicate the original campus at its new location, south of Bethmale Lake in the French Pyrenees. Even Gilles de Rois, psychopath and criminal though he was, was given temporary amnesty from the ICW to help his former school.
A further realized benefit to moving the school was, in addition to being in a less accessible location for muggles, was it was even closer to France's only magical animal reserve, allowing ludicrously easy access for students wishing to study magical creatures. Just as John had been reminding himself of this fact, a roar muffled by distance echoed from the mountain peaks as a large shape soared through the Pyrenees. Gabrielle giggled, and without even turning to the rest of them, took off sprinting towards the school.
"Last one to the gate gets eaten by the dragon!" The other kids looked at each other. Salomé smirked then, shoving Fleur, she rocketed off after the youngest Delacour. Fleur spluttered, then followed, yelling after her traitorous friend. Jezebel looked at John.
"I'm not running." She said with an obviously feigned snort of self-importance. Her smile further helped give her joke away. John, however, nodded sagely.
"Most unbecoming, indeed, for a lady of your mature age to be carrying on like the children." He said it with such a straight face that she could not help but snicker. He reached one arm out. "My Lady, together shall we?" She nodded, adopting a mask of seriousness.
"Indeed we shall. And should we be targeted by that monster in the mountains?" She took his arm and they began walking after their companions.
"I shall give my life in a valiant attempt to save you." She nodded, though a smile tested her mask. Then, suddenly, she frowned.
"An attempt to save me?" It was John's turn to nod.
"I'm afraid I shall fail. Shakespearean, indeed, shall be our demise." She smacked him in the arm.
"Imbécile!"
When Amelia backed through the door to the office she shared with Sirius, a paper cup of coffee in each hand, she hadn't been expecting to find her partner huddled amongst a semi-circle of open books in one corner, with more books covering his desk and individual sheets of paper floating from pile to pile around the small room. Sighing, the redhead ducked a floating quill that was taking hurried notes on a parchment mid-flight, and stepped her way across the minefield to the clearly sleep-deprived man. His hair was not in its usual neat tresses, his leather jacket was slung haphazardly over his chair, and even in the poorly lit room, she could see the swollen black circles under his eyes.
"You never went home Friday, did you?" She asked, handing him one of the cups. Sirius rubbed one eye with the back of his hand, then took the proffered gift. He inhaled deeply, grinning despite his fatigue.
"No cream, no sugar, as black as possible. Might as well be family!" He quipped, taking a sip from the container, and wincing slightly as the caffeine began to combat both his exhaustion and slight inebriation.
"I'll take that as a no." Amelia sighed, pulled up her chair, and looked down at her partner and the mess surrounding him. She too took a sip of the hot coffee, mentally thanking the muggle-born father and son who had decided to open the coffee shop in Diagon Alley right beside the Floo to the Ministry. Were it not for the brew, she didn't think she could survive her co-workers puns, nor the other stressors he so often brought. "I take it you spent the whole weekend trying to find what those spells were?"
"All but fucking one." Sirius growled, then took another sip of his coffee to ease his nerves and gave an apologetic nod to his compatriot. "I've combed all the books I have stored away, twice now mind you. I think I know what they all were, all except for one." He gestured to the eight books arranged around him. "If I'm right, that one should be somewhere in these, but..." He trailed off, looking helplessly at the paper wasteland.
"Sirius. You've been at this for, what is it now, sixty hours? More? You need a break."
"I've taken breaks. Took a few for the loo, two for food, and the rest to try and figure out who exactly the killers were." He gestured to the trash can in the corner, which due to his laziness to evanesce the remnants of his meals, held the proof of his claims. Several boxes of take out. Amelia surveyed the garbage with a keen eye, then turned back to look at Sirius.
"Stretch your legs, I'll take over for a bit." Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head slowly, and tapped her wand in its holster. "Don't bullshit with me, we both know where Voldemort went after the Potter's. I have just as much reason to be pulling three-nighters to find out who the hell killed death eaters and then didn't stay to take credit. Those are the kinds of people we need to finally put an end to those terrorist bastards once and for all." The white sheep of the Black family watched his partner's face flush slightly in her passion, and her dark eyes narrow. He decided discretion was the better part of valor.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, 'Lia, I'm moving." He slowly stood up, swaying slightly as spots filled his vision, and staggered over to his chair, sagging gladly into its soft embrace. Amelia sat cross-legged where he had been, and skimmed the array of books in front of her.
"I'm going to pretend that there isn't a first edition copy of Tessalic Horrors right next to the autobiography of Benicio Bonavenna."
"As if a book on arcane blood rituals wouldn't belong next to the torturer's choice compendium. The Portuguese Inquisitor would be proud."
"I don't give a damn if Cardinal Bonavenna would be proud, he's not the one who would be locking your ass in Azkaban for even touching that book." As she spoke, Amelia carefully levitated the offending book over to the side of the office, where Sirius' open trunk sat, and dropped it in. Her focus then snapped back to the seven remaining texts around her, and began flipping through them. "Still sneaking into the Family Manor to pilfer books and artifacts?" Sirius huffed in response. Then, after another longer sip from the still steaming cup, he elaborated.
"Most weeks I go once or twice. I change up the days, and every now and then skip a week or two. I'm already all but an enemy of the family, no reason for extra confrontation. Plus, I only just found out that they recognized Andy's marriage a few years ago—"
"Huh."
"That's what I was thinking! Who would have thought the pureblooded Blacks would ever recognize their daughter's marriage with a muggle, much less—"
"Not that. I was commenting on this." Amelia pointed to something Sirius had underlined in one of the books. Though miffed that he had been interrupted, the dark-haired man leaned down to look closer and attempt to read the book upside down. "You think that dust-for-brains was hit by an Egyptian construction spell?" Sirius scratched idly behind one ear as he recalled his reasoning.
"Yeah. Not entirely certain on that one, but it makes sense. Raspaga prasina. Originally Macedonian, but like Cleopatra, it wound up in Egypt. Because it was originally meant to turn basalt and even granite into chunks, and then from chunks to gravel, when it was used on the much softer Sandstone of northern Africa, it would crumble to stone to dust."
"So the Death Eater's brain was dusted by a two-ish thousand-year-old spell?" Amelia mused. She pointed to another marking. "The Flight of a Thousand Wooden Birds? That's a spell name?" Sirius nodded, not needing to consult the text.
"Yep. Well, the English translation at least. Requires a quick mind and an even quicker wand to cast. A lot of Chinese spells have the same wand movements as you would use to write the spell name with ink and quill. Something about the fact that they have separate characters for most words or names, so magic recognizes the word as the thing itself. Their spells require a lot of willpower though, wizards and witches have to mentally force the spell's target to obey their desires." Amelia ran her fingers over the page, reading along as he spoke.
"Is that because it's a conjuration spell?"
"More or less. It's like a conjuration mixed with the Oppugno Jinx. Taking something that already exists, then manipulating it. I think it is what was used to shred those two corpses near the large boulder…" A knock at the still-open door interrupted his explanation, and the two Aurors shot to their feet.
"Chief Scrimgeour." Sirius glanced at his rumpled clothing and cast a few quick charms to straighten his messy appearance to a semblance of professional formality. Amelia did the same for the room. The Chief of the Auror Department looked on with one eyebrow slightly cocked, waited for his subordinates to finish their rushed cleaning, and then spoke when they both stood before him, attentive. As always, he jumped straight to the point for his early visit.
"The Minister of Magic is being pressured by the Magical Governments of Bulgaria, Ireland, France, and a dozen more members of the ICW to deal with the Death Eaters once and for all. The attack on the World Cup has left them rattled." Scrimgeour took a brief pause to gauge the attentiveness of his audience, and sufficiently satisfied, he continued.
"To that end, the Minister has seen fit to create a task force to deal with the problem. He is further concerned by our ability to administer justice after it was noted that several of the terrorists killed at the Cup had been purebloods who had claimed imperious at the trials after the Dark Lord's demise. To alleviate his fears, I volunteered to assign two Aurors to his task force that I knew could be trusted. Two purebloods who I can be certain are not compromised, and are some of the finest duelists in my department." Amelia flushed slightly at the compliment, and saw Sirius grinning in her peripheral vision. The Head of the Aurors produced two metal badges; each was a metal eye above the Ministry's 'M', both pierced vertically by a single wand. He looked over the two as they examined the gift.
"These denote your position as part of the Minister's new Huntsmen. You will work with the other branches of our Government as you see fit, and even with certain sections of other nations' Law Enforcement." Sirius' grin grew wider, any trace of his fatigue gone as he grew giddy at the thought. "However, the Minister has decided that you two must work closely with the Hit Wizards, as he wants them on the scene in any case where you believe there will be open combat. To ensure a seamless relationship between our two branches of the DMLE, I have elected to permit a member of the Department of Mysteries to lead the Task Force."
Amelia's eyes widened slightly. To her knowledge, a coordinated operation between the Hit Wizards, Aurors, and the Department of Mysteries had never been smoothly executed in the history of the Ministry of Magic. To attempt one now was a great gamble on behalf of the Minister. Chief Scrimgeour stepped out of the doorway, and inclined his head slightly.
"I would therefore like to introduce the individual in charge of this Task Force, and your new immediate superior for the foreseeable future." The Head of Department raised one hand in introduction as a man walked into the office. He was tall, wore an immaculate charcoal suit under a navy blue robe, and had his hair cut short and styled formally. A barely-there stubble greyed his cheeks and his amber eyes burned with intensity. He walked with the poise and presence of a king, but the lethal grace of a man skilled in the shedding of blood. In the first moments of seeing him, Sirius Black held no doubts; this was the most dangerous man he had ever met.
"Ms. Bones, Mr. Black, this is the representative of the Department of Mysteries, Unspeakable Tom Riddle."
N/B: \Fun fact: Jane Court is not actually an OC. Though only canon due to her appearance in the video game, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery, she was a witch who was sentenced to Azkaban for an unknown reason, but not sentenced for life. Anything past this, though, I have made up.
\In regards to the previous NB, I endeavor to use canon characters as much as feasible in my stories. Sometimes, however, there is a gap in Canon, or I feel an unknown figure would mesh better.
\I know that for every question about the history of my AU that Neville's section answers, it opens up one or two more. Sorry, not sorry! :)
\Beauxbatons has, canonically, a rather lacking history and description. Everything I added is based on a real Villa in southwest France!
Author's Note:
Well, at long last, I have completed two of the three stage of USMC training, and am now a Marine. [Insert excited scream.] Unfortunately, I am slightly delayed with stage three due to the villainous Covid-19. Fortunately, I will have plenty of time to write now! You can expect me to be back on regular schedule, if not an expedited one!
Also, first, please tell me what you think of the new POV's, and especially about if I treated Luna well. It is truly difficult for me to write her, but if she is acceptable to y'all, then I shall war on. Hopefully with time she will improve!
Second, I hope y'all loved the surprise at the end! I'm sure it answers a bunch of questions, but like Neville's bit, raises a hell of a lot more! [Insert evil laughter.]
Thirdly, with Covid doing its best to bring us down and cause pain, if any of y'all need someone to pray for you or something/someone in your lives, let me know, and my boyfriend and I will pray for you. We can also pass the prayer (keeping you anonymous of course) on to our close friends and family for further outreach.
Finally, y'all are wonderful as always, and I don't deserve all the patience and love y'all give.
[With ALL the love we can give.]
Semper,
Vi
