Posted 10/13/2014
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Fifty-Four – The Dangerous Truth
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"And you're sure there is no other way?" Hermione asked, vanishing the blood from her hand. "Couldn't you rework the protections or something like that? Logically, it should be possible; time-consuming, yes, but possible."
"I'd rather not tinker with something that works just for a bit of convenience," Harry replied. "It works this way, but who knows what would happen if I changed something? Making things easier is not my top priority right now."
She watched him for a moment. Part of her wanted to argue with him and point out that with the knowledge he should have absorbed already, he shouldn't have any real problems. Didn't his attacks rely on him circumventing wards to get to the targets anyway? Part of her wanted him to dedicate some of his time to that project – the less time he spent brooding over Riddle's memories, the better; moody Harry had been a problem before he had decades of cruelty and deadly skills in his head. And in a way, she preferred not finding out whether Harry's impulsive side that made him lash out at his friends was still there.
"Now then," he spoke up, and she became aware that she had probably spent too long looking at him, "you wanted something, right?"
"Err, yes," she told him, "I wanted to check something about altering potions. I thought I had seen a book about the theory of Potions around here. Of course I could just try it and see what happens when I do, but I'd rather not blow up the house."
"Good call," Harry chuckled, "thanks for that."
"Any idea when you want to do your next attack?" Hermione asked over her shoulder, pulling books from the shelves in passing.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Harry shrugging. "Well, yes and no. Soon. I want to be sure I know how to get past Nott's wards. Macnair and Szarka were considerably easier to reach - neither had any real protection, never mind older ones. And you know how much time I spent observing the latter to know his routine. No, Nott's something else entirely. I think he likes it that way; Macnair didn't think anyone would try coming after him. Szarka didn't have the resources to protect himself quite like that. Nott seems to enjoy making people jump through hoops. And if I had to guess, someone in the family either is or was a tinkerer. Or that's what those wards make me suspect, there's something about them that just screams experimental – too many hoops and needless complications."
She didn't comment on it, not having come face to face with the wards in question. Turning around, she found him picking a book for himself. "It is definitely Nott, then? No change of heart?"
"Getting a Death Eater and stopping the Snatchers in one go? Sounds good to me. It'll be Nott. Plus, loathe as I am to admit it, but he is both quite charming – good for recruiting and diplomacy – as well as cunning enough to twist the truth into whatever he needs it to be. Caught in the Ministry, wand in hand, with the Mark on his arm? Well, a misunderstanding, you know? He wasn't part of any attack or plan, no, he was just passing by in the middle of the night for no reason at all when he heard the commotion and went down into the Department of Mysteries. The mark is just an old shame, really.
"He might not be Malfoy, but he sure is smart enough to stay under the radar, and as long as the Lestranges are around, no one will worry too much about the small fry. Also, he's not part of the Ministry. It's time to show I'm more of an equal-risk assassin." He leafed through the book before putting it back on the shelf. "Well, except for women so far. Oh well, there's always a next time."
"Well," Hermione spoke up, "I'll see what I can find upstairs, all right?"
He waved lazily at her, picking another book. "Sure, I'll be up in a minute. Ooh, that sounds..." He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.
Part of her should be happy, Hermione thought, ascending the stairs to the small working area. The old Harry hadn't found reading as interesting. Sure, he had done his work, and certainly more readily than Ron, but it had been obvious he hadn't had the same working mentality for every subject. Defence against the Dark Arts had been easy for him, and he had enjoyed it. Transfiguration and Charms worked well enough that he could find them interesting. Since Professor Binns's class had been too boring for him, Harry had been forced to do more reading than he had liked for History. Divination wasn't even a real class, Hermione reasoned, so she could give Harry a pass for not applying himself as much as he could. Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology were slightly more practical; he had done reasonably well in both. Not as good as Hermione, but if she bothered with small things like that, she wouldn't find time for the more important issues. Potions had always been Harry's weakness in terms of marks, partly because he didn't put in enough reading. Then again, even Hermione had to acknowledge that no amount of reading would have made a change with Snape. And to be fair, Harry had actually managed an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. Had the examiners been lenient with him because he was Harry Potter? Had they been lenient because they were used to abysmal results in general? Hermione wasn't sure.
Part of her really should be happy, Hermione thought, but she wished Harry wouldn't focus on harmful magic so much now. Whether necessary or not, a part of her mourned their childhood.
She would have continued her thoughts, but when she reached the small working area, she found it less empty than expected. Greengrass sat in one of the seats facing the stairs, books strewn across the table. She seemed to have noticed either Hermione's arrival or hesitation, for Greengrass looked up for a moment.
"Hello," she greeted with a nod. "I'm almost done, just a few last notes and then you can have the table for yourself." And as if it were her library to begin with, as if there was nothing noteworthy or wrong with Greengrass being there, she returned to the book in her hands.
"That's very kind of you, giving up the spot and letting me stay here," Hermione replied, but whether the sarcasm went unnoticed or Greengrass simply didn't care, it failed to cause a reaction. "So what are you reading, then?" Hermione tried, putting her books down on one of the free corners of the table.
"Defensive spells and counter-curses," Greengrass answered. "Who knows what people will fling my way, so why not?"
With a quick look around, Hermione noticed most of the books did indeed seem to support the claim. "Well, I'll go check whether I can't find something else downstairs," she spoke up with a smile. Greengrass nodded, but didn't stop her from leaving.
She found Harry standing by the charms section sifting through yet another book.
"Greengrass is upstairs," she told him in a low voice, "reading some books."
He blinked. "Ah," he said, looking up. Then and to Hermione's surprise, he shouted, "Hey, Daphne."
And as if nothing was out of the ordinary, Greengrass greeted back. "I'm mostly done up here. Oh, and I found the evil twin of that arm restraining spell. I'll leave the book open, all right?"
"Yeah, it's fine," Harry replied, smiling. Then he continued in a normal volume and to Hermione, "I had wondered about that one, actually. Nifty bit of magic if done right, a cross between a conjuration and a charm. See, the normal version creates a solid pipe of metal that twists itself around the arms and passing in front of the throat, forcing the arms spread. Something to keep your enemies occupied - tricky to get right, but very much unexpected and more or less working independently. While your enemies try to sort it out, you can focus on someone else. And it seems it has an evil twin as well."
"Unexpected, aha," Hermione told him, crossing her arms. "Unexpected indeed." Lowering her voice with a glance towards the stairs, she added, "What is she doing here?"
"Reading?" Harry said, shrugging.
"I know that," Hermione growled, "I meant, what is she doing in the library? And no, Harry, reading is not an acceptable answer this time. You know what I mean. Why is she in here? Why aren't you the least bit surprised about it? And why is she even able to come in here in the first place? Or did you let her in earlier?"
He sighed, putting the book back on the shelf. "Well, she is in the library because that's where reference material is found. It's why you're here, after all. Why am I not surprised? Because I know she can enter. I showed her the entrance on Christmas evening. We've been reading together, looking up spells to use for our fights. Why are you so surprised about that? I did say I've been working with her."
"You never said anything about letting her study with you," Hermione hissed, glaring at him. "Keeping secrets from us?"
"I keep whatever she trusted me with according to our agreement," he replied. "But that's not new to you or anyone, really. And I... I didn't say we came in here for that from time to time, did I?" He looked slightly surprised at the realization.
"Not to me, at least, and Ron wouldn't have kept quiet about it," Hermione told him. "So she's been coming here for weeks already?"
"Not every day and certainly not every waking moment. Occasionally. Sorry I didn't tell you. The Wesleys's arrival kind of kept me occupied. I didn't keep track of what exactly I did say to you."
"The Weasleys didn't come on Christmas evening," Hermione pointed out.
"No, they didn't. That being said, I did say I trust Greengrass. But apart from the first evening, we're talking about two other visits before they arrived. And just to answer your earlier questions, I didn't have to let her in. She is married to a Black for the time being – said Black being me – and as such can enter and leave whenever she feels like it. Some books don't like her, but apart from that, there haven't been any problems. But it doesn't matter, does it? I've been helping her; she's been helping me. I did argue for her inclusion in our training lesson when the Weasleys were around. I did say I'm sharing my wisdom with her."
"It's not... Look, that's something you should have told us," Hermione tried.
"It's something I could have told you," he corrected. "It's my library, these are my books now."
"You chose to let her in but not me," Hermione interrupted, impatiently tapping her foot.
"I didn't keep you from entering here for selfish reasons, but because it wasn't safe. Now that I've found a way around the protections, I'm letting you in here. Apart from the inconvenience of having me bring you in every time, there are no restrictions on your access now. Or rather, about the same she has to deal with as well. Keep in mind, it's mostly that way because I'm hesitant toying with something that might blow up just to make life more convenient for you. It's... Bill described wards as a stack of books. Tampering with them now might very well be pulling one out from somewhere in the middle or at the bottom. Do I think the stack won't collapse? I don't want to risk finding it out. However, the protections don't apply to her. As a wife of a Black, she is allowed in here. Since I trust her, I saw little reason actively stopping her from entering. It's not me stopping you from coming in here, it's the protections around here. Since she offered to help me look through the books for spells and the like, I saw no reason to not work with her."
"You could've asked me or Ron, though," Hermione pointed out. "We would have helped you. You didn't have to bring her in here."
Instead of an answer, Harry shrugged. "I doubt Ron would have wanted to read anything of what's in here. It's not as dark as I'd originally thought, but it's still considerably darker than anything he'll be comfortable with. There are three books about psychological torture, for example, and some others with the rest. And I already pointed out that I wasn't sure whether it was safe to bring anyone in here. She can enter without problems. I trust her. It slipped my mind to tell you she's been in here, that's all, but that's on my head for the most part."
Hermione sighed, sorting through her thoughts in her head. Did it matter right now that Harry knew Greengrass could enter any time she wanted to? It did, but not as much as not letting Greengrass be unsupervised upstairs or appearing to hide from Greengrass. Harry and Hermione didn't hide anything, did they? Well, she thought with a glare in his direction, Harry apparently hid something from his friends. And in a way, they did hide something from Greengrass – their war efforts. That cheered Hermione up slightly as she grabbed a book from the shelves and went back upstairs.
Greengrass hadn't been lying when she said she'd be done soon as she was already putting the books back in their proper places. Or maybe she had been lying and was just trying to seem as if she had been telling the truth? Either way, Greengrass was as good as gone.
"So, found what you've been looking for?" Hermione began.
"Yes and no," Greengrass replied. "I found something, but not the answer to all of my problems, unfortunately."
Hermione was tempted to reply that even magic couldn't do miracles that big, but she held back. Their truce had lasted for weeks already, and if anyone would break it, then it surely wouldn't be Hermione. No, the last weeks had been considerably pleasant, all things considered. Greengrass had apologized for her behaviour – she still owed both Ron and Hermione an explanation as far as Hermione was concerned – and Harry had tried keeping the peace as much as possible. That had meant keeping Ron from saying something stupid, mostly, but maybe he had been intervening behind the scenes and had reined Greengrass in somehow. In any case, with the arrival of the Weasleys, things had been too chaotic to mind the other girl much, but that didn't change the past and it didn't eliminate Greengrass' behaviour. Ally or not, she was tolerated, not necessarily welcome or wanted.
"That's too bad," Hermione said, relieved her conflicted feelings didn't sound through too much. "Well, I guess I'll see you at dinner."
Greengrass nodded. "Probably, yes. Even if I were to forget it, I wouldn't put it past Harry to send Kreacher to get me. Oh well, see you at dinner then." She left both the working area and Hermione standing in it.
The moment the girl was gone, Hermione went to each of the spots she had seen Greengrass be, checking the books. Wards and protective magic. Defensive magic. Combat spells of significantly darker nature than Hermione was comfortable having around the still largely unknown risk of Greengrass.
Harry trusted her, a voice in the back of her head told Hermione. He trusted her, and Harry wasn't one to trust easily. There had to be something he knew and kept secret that made him trust Greengrass despite her attitude. But Hermione wasn't convinced. He trusted Greengrass, Hermione trusted Harry. It didn't remove Greengrass' responsibility to justify that trust.
He trusted her, the voice repeated. He trusted her, and Harry did have good instincts. He trusted Greengrass, and he had asked both of his friends to tolerate her. Maybe she was a necessary evil, much like Professor Snape? Harry did kind of trust his old Potions professor, but it was no secret that neither liked the other and both only worked together because it was advantageous. Maybe Greengrass was indeed an asset. With both her friends and her father now in danger because of the war, wasn't it in her best interests to see the conflict come to and end sooner rather than later? Still, Harry wasn't infallible. He could be tricked, for one. Maybe she had tricked him somehow, told him some sob story to get him on her side? Everyone knew Harry had a soft heart, after all.
He trusted her, the voice in the back of Hermione's head insisted. And hadn't she sympathized with Greengrass as well? Father imprisoned, friends in danger. At the end of the day, why did Hermione have a problem with Greengrass? So what if she had been abrasive at the beginning of her stay? Harry taken it upon himself to deal with her. It had given him something to do, so no harm done, right? And after talking to her, he had come to trust her and had asked both of his friends to tolerate her; they didn't need to be friends. Hermione was quite sure she would never be Greengrass' friend, but then, neither Harry nor Ron were Professor Snape's friend.
He trusted her, the voice reminded Hermione in something of a singsong. Didn't she trust him? Hermione didn't have to think about that one. She did trust him and his judgement until she had evidence to the contrary. If he trusted Greengrass for whatever reason, then Hermione also had to trust the other girl a bit. So why did Greengrass bother her so much?
Harry's appearance shook Hermione from her thoughts. "Sorry," he said, smiling, "I just got held up." A moment later, he held up the book in his hands. "You don't mind if I join you, do you?"
At seeing her raised eyebrow, he chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question."
"Don't forget to look up that spell Greengrass found for you," Hermione told him. Blinking, she noticed an edge in her voice she hadn't quite intended. "She left the book over there. This one," she added, and tapping it.
With a sigh, Harry sat down in another seat. "You don't like her," he spoke up. It didn't sound like a question and more like a statement Hermione couldn't help but comment on.
"It's not about liking or not liking," she argued. "You trust her."
"I do, yes," he interrupted.
"And I trust you, so I don't question that. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about her coming and going unchecked. For all you know, she might have learned some really nasty spells, and even if she doesn't intend to use them against our friends or us, if she does use them, it will be partly your responsibility as well. Each time you go out and do your thing, each time you kill someone, I'm partly responsible as well – for not stopping you, and for helping you on top of that. I have accepted that. Have you thought about what you might cause by letting her learn whatever she likes?"
"Sounds awfully like distrust to me," Harry mused.
"It's not about trust in your alliance. She's an unknown factor. She might live her whole life carefree and stay law-abiding. Or she could throw a tantrum in ten years and start cursing everyone she sees, using deadly spells you allowed her to pick up. Did you forget how she acted in the dining room when we wanted to question her? She sent a spell at you for no reason at all."
"She missed. But that's more between her and me," Harry pointed out. "Right now, I'm more concerned with the war we're fighting right now than the distant future. Ten years is a lot of time, after all. But, Hermione, I don't just trust her as an ally. I trust that she is a good person even though she was at odds with all of us. Yes, even though she sent a spell in my general direction. So, you don't like her?"
"I didn't say I don't like her," Hermione pointed out. "I simply have far fewer reasons to like her than reasons to dislike her. She sent a spell at you, she insulted you; she kept her secrets, she acted rude towards us; she played mind games with Ron."
"Hmm. True," Harry agreed.
"So you don't deny it?" Hermione wondered. "And you still want us to accept her?"
"I'd settle for tolerating her. That's not quite the same. I don't particularly like Snape, yet I do know now that he's useful. Both Mrs. Weasley and Sirius were furious with Mundungus, yet neither made sure he was thrown out of the Order."
"Because he was useful, yes," Hermione argued. "Not because they were overly fond of him."
"Mrs. Weasley wasn't," Harry corrected.
"What does it matter to you, Harry?" Hermione brought up, glancing at one of the books in front of her.
"Well, she is technically my wife for seven years – or till Death do us apart, which I kind of try to avoid, you know?"
"And we both know how serious those vows were," Hermione replied, sending him a pointed look. "It's simple, really. You say she's our ally, so she is our ally. You say she's sharing some of our goals, so she is sharing some of our goals. But when you said you trusted her, I didn't think you'd let her run around without any control in place. I assumed you'd be more careful than that, especially now with the war going on."
"So you blame her for my actions? Or rather, my lack of action?"
"I... No, not really," Hermione answered. "It's your choice, really. It's your choice whether to keep an eye on her."
"Who says I don't?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows, but urged her to continue with a wave.
With a shake of her head, she added, "Be mature, Harry. You know what I mean. It's your choice whether to pay attention and be careful around her or let her do whatever she wants. And I know you two are up to something, don't think I haven't noticed how you act when Ron's around. You're trying to upset him. 'Could you please?' and 'Sorry, I didn't see,' those pleasantries and those little touches." Harry smiled mischievously, and Hermione pointed at him. "See, you're not even denying it. I know you're trying to wind him up. It's quite simple, really. You say she's our ally, so she is. You say you trust her, so since I'm trusting your judgement, I'm willing to leave it at that. However, I'm not her friend. She's made it pretty clear what she thinks of us. She was rude."
Harry tapped his chin. "Rude? Who does that remind me of?"
"If you're thinking of Ron, then let me tell you that he's gotten a lot better."
"At least he doesn't make you run into bathrooms any more. Not as far as I know, in any case. You two were Prefects at school."
Hermione's eyes snapped up from the book in her hands. Glaring fiercely despite her blush, she growled, "We did exactly what we were supposed to and nothing more. We were Prefects; we had a duty to the school."
"Fine, so you didn't take advantage of the situation."
"Ron has drastically improved since first year," Hermione continued. "He was eleven back then. Greengrass was going on eighteen. Ally? Fine. Friend? I don't think so."
Harry frowned, apparently mulling it over. "Sounds reasonable. So, what bothered you more – that she can come in here, or that she was before you?"
Hermione refused to answer with anything more than a glare.
She washed the bad taste from her mouth. How long until she would sleep well again? Would she ever? Her glance fell onto her reflection in the mirror. A haunted, pale girl stared back. The marks had mostly vanished by now, the pain was gone, but she could still feel the hands as if they were there, and the cold that nothing could chase away accompanied them. Had they been the last the others had felt? She had never dared to ask, but she supposed they were.
The faces appeared before her eyes, a parade of those that had been lost that day. First her mother's; she hadn't understood what had been going on, a sense of foreboding, worried looks around the court as the crowd had hushed had been the first warning. But then the dread had settled around them, that indistinct shadow of fear – the cold that had frozen everyone and had robbed them of their strength. Before Sarah's mother could have done anything, she had fallen to the ground, covering her head.
When the first had been lifted off the ground, Sarah had thought it to be an illusion or a dream. It had seemed too unreal to be true, too strange to understand. Yet even then, she had felt it – there had been that horrible emptiness, that nothingness around her that had sucked away any warmth and hope.
It had been a young man, short, with hair cropped painfully short. He had twitched, twisted for a moment until with a jerk he had fallen still. The terror had risen to new heights in that moment. That had been when the screams had started, the moment the horrible truth had dawned on the people. It had been the moment when they had known they had been lost.
The man had fallen back down to the ground with a mundane thump. Her mother might have been next, but Sarah didn't know for sure, and she felt bad for it. Dozens had fallen victim that day, yet she couldn't remember their faces or last moments. The images were there, burned into her mind, but Sarah couldn't put them in order. Whenever she closed her eyes, they were there; old and young, men and women, all staring at her with those empty eyes. The screams echoed in her ears even now, weeks later.
Her stomach gave another lurch, but she regained control quickly enough.
Her mother hadn't fully understood, and in a way, Sarah envied her. Whatever it had been, Martha Collins had been trapped in her head; the woman's last moments had to have been full of fright and confusion, but at least she hadn't had to witness the rest. She had only had to endure her own end before the life had left her, before only the empty shell remained. She had been one of the earlier victims. She had been spared the full extent of the slaughter.
Someone had screamed when Sarah's mother had crumbled to the ground. It might have been Sarah herself, but she didn't know for sure. She had been too busy with her own inner demons to pay much attention to details. She had remembered vividly the day she had seen her father with new eyes, had seen the poison in him. And the day he had left, had taken everything they had owned, to run away with his new woman. And she had seen once more the nameless dog of their neighbour barking up the tree and snapping at their heels. And then a new memory had joined the others – the empty look on the face of the woman who had given birth to Sarah, and the comprehension of the undeniable truth. Sarah's mother hadn't been anymore, something had happened to the woman. Something had extinguished the spark of life in her.
Bradley had struggled over to them, trying to shield both Sarah and David from the sight. Or perhaps he had understood the danger they had been in, that something was there and attacking. Maybe he had wanted to get them to safety? Sarah didn't know and would likely never learn. He had been ripped back as the worst dread had befallen their small group. Sarah could have sworn she had heard something breathing close to them, but of course, nothing had been there. Instead, Sarah had stumbled into her first day at school, when the older girls had roughed her up as part of the initiation and she had to run home with her precious, expensive, new clothes in tatters. When she had pushed that memory out of her mind, Bradley had twitched one last time before sinking to the ground.
An empty shell, she remembered Evan calling it. She shuddered.
Others had joined her mother and Bradley, Sarah knew it, but the only thought she had been able to muster at that moment had been 'Not David!' as she had cowered with her arms around him. Others had screamed, others had fallen, bereft of life. More for the pile of empty shells. More faces, more accusations. Out of the corner of her eyes, Sarah had seen someone run and fall, only to recognize Liz Parker carrying her brother – two more screaming voices echoing in Sarah's head.
And then another wave of icy cold had hit her, and in fear she had thrown herself sideways and clutched her head as her heart was broken once more by her father's betrayal. Only seconds later Sarah had realized her mistake, but it had been too late. She had failed them, her mother most of all, and hadn't been able to stop it. As if in slow motion, David had been lifted off the ground, high and higher, and she had been too weak to look away or stop it from happening. His legs had kicked out, he had screamed for both of his parents even if he had never known his father. He had wet himself, she knew he had, he had fought for his life while she had looked on, unable to do anything. And then his head had snapped back, and that something had happened again. He had twitched, and then, he had fallen unceremoniously, dead to the world and monument of her failure while her world had shrunken to shrill cries and nightmare after nightmare, darkness and cold delivering the final blow.
When she had felt the cold fingers gripping her, she had almost welcomed it. She had thought she'd soon join her family again, would be reunited with her mother whose never-ending disappointment she would have to endure. And David, little David, whom she had failed so horribly. Even Bradley might be there, although there was no love lost between them.
The images hammering in her head, she had wanted to die, to leave the pain and misery behind, but she had found herself unable to hope for it. All that would await her, she had realized in that moment, would be nothing, that behind the shadows and the mist, after the last journey, nothing would await her.
And then she had seen it. The face that was not quite one. The lipless mouth, the eyeless features. Even if she didn't see them, she could picture it in her mind. The rotten skin. The skeletal head. The toothless mouth.
She had fallen. She knew she had, the bruises on her knees had proved as much, and for days, she had struggled with walking.
And she had seen him. Evan. She could picture his face in that moment very well. It had broken through the darkness, the pain, and the terror, perhaps because it was frightening in itself. He had stood strong, clenching the bowl in his hand. She had seen him stand up to that monster. While others had rolled on the ground, unable to get themselves to safety, he had stood there boldly, unmoving like a statue. When the invisible beast had attacked, he hadn't cowered, even though the terror had the rest of the square flee. The beast had let loose a scream; even though Sarah hadn't heard anything, the best she could say it had been a scream that had hit her. Of whatever had happened afterwards Sarah only remembered clouds of white and shouts and a grim laughter and lights.
Fierce hands had gripped her and had dragged her away. Away from the shells of her mother, her mother's new, weird lover, and her little brother. How little he had looked! And yet, as she had been carried away from the scene by those strong hands, she had become dimly aware of others moving into the square and the shouts of powerless fear shifting slightly. Survivors crawling out of their hiding. She had heard them even if the papers had later claimed there had been no one to report anything.
Sarah glanced back at her reflection. She should have died that day. Maybe she had and the last days had only been a dream. But deep in her heart, she knew it had happened. She knew she had survived despite all logic, she knew she had escaped when she had been dragged away, and she also knew she had abandoned them. She had left them in that square – her mother, her mother's new boyfriend Bradley, and David. And sometimes, she thought she had left herself as well. Or perhaps she only hoped she had. Sarah wouldn't have left her only family behind.
A shudder ran through her as she turned away from the mirror. She had survived, hadn't she? Sometimes, she wasn't so sure about that.
When she entered the small room, he stirred. She called him Evan, but she doubted it was his real name. He didn't look like one, and he had reacted a bit too late to the name during those first days. Evan Harris sounded far too common for him.
His eyes locked on her frame, and she fought down the blush. They had moved past that stage, hadn't they? She sat down on the bed next to him. The TV was still on, but neither paid much attention to the low voices coming from it. Evan sat up, cupping her face with one of his hands. He kissed her surprisingly gentle, just like he often did. When he had first given in, she had expected him to paw at her, to slobber all over her. But he had been gentle and kind.
When he ended their kiss, he smiled at her. Days ago, she would have called it lecherous or hungry, but she had come to understand him better since then. He was hungry without a doubt, hungry for life. And his smile wasn't meant to be lecherous. He simply couldn't understand the world and how he had ended up with her. Neither could she, rationally; all she knew was that she owed him a lot, that he knew what was going on, but kept secrets. He had brought her back from the abyss; he had taken care of her; he had spent days and nights keeping her company, never complaining.
"Did you have another one?" he asked softly. She liked that about him. He cared. He listened and worried. He had given her strength when she had needed it.
She nodded, but didn't say any more. In truth, there wasn't anything left to be said. She had cried until her tears had been spent, she had begged and shouted until she had been hoarse. He had heard it all, but of course he hadn't been able to do anything to ease the pain or chase away the nightmares. They stayed with you, he had once said, and for a short moment, she had thought she had seen something shimmer in his eyes.
After a moment of hesitation, Evan gave her another of his soft kisses. But he stopped there. She liked that about him as well. He knew when the mood wasn't right. He knew her well enough to know when to stop.
"... happy to be here," came from the TV where a man with grey hair and a weathered face smiled uneasily.
"Now, as you can imagine, many people are not happy about the severe travel restrictions in place," the host began. "International travel has practically seized to exist. Some have called it quarantine. It is my understanding that you were a large proponent of very similar restrictions as early as October."
"That is correct," the guest replied with a short nod. "You have to keep in mind what we're faced with. From the beginning, it was obvious that we are helpless against this disease. And a very peculiar aspect of it is the sudden outbreaks, with victims being found in groups and huddles. This leads us to believe people tried to help the first victims and got infected that way, becoming victims themselves within maybe minutes. Please consider this. We seem to be talking about an epidemic that has an incubation period of minutes. All reports indicate a low mortality rate, but so far, no recoveries have been reported. Also, since first becoming aware of the illness in October, not one immunity has been reported – everyone present during an outbreak was affected and found unresponsive."
"Except for the most recent one," the host spoke up.
"Well, yes, except for that one, but from what I've heard, most of the survivors had been inside and not actually in contact with any of the victims. Let us talk about that one for a minute. Thirty-seven victims in less than fifteen minutes."
"A tragedy for sure," the host added with a sombre face. Evan sent Sarah a worried look, but she didn't react.
"True, but that's not what made the Government react – far too late in my opinion, but they are finally taking the necessary steps," the guest replied. "The average viewer might think of it as a tragedy, but to anyone with even a fleeting knowledge of diseases, it is perhaps the worst possible scenario imaginable. Thirty-seven cases in less than fifteen minutes in one square means we do in fact have an unknown cause – perhaps a virus, perhaps not. Why these thirty-seven, though? There are three possibilities. First of all, the sudden outbreak over a very short time could indicate a terrorist attack with a yet unknown chemical or pathogen. If we only think of the latest incident, I might even believe it, but it wouldn't explain the other cases around the country. Families in their homes and seemingly random people in the streets aren't that likely of targets for terrorists, and I haven't heard of anyone taking responsibility for any of these attacks."
"So you don't believe the terrorism theory," the host summarized.
"It is unlikely at best and wishful thinking at worst. These incidents could be the work of humans, but they would have to have access to some chemical or biological weapon that no one else has heard about and that hasn't been identified yet. Investigating in that direction is not unreasonable, but I doubt it will turn up any substantial results. If it were the work of humans, someone would have to know about it. There are perhaps a handful of laboratories in the world that could come up with something of that magnitude. That leaves a natural cause and the second possibility. It might be that a lot of people are immune without knowing it. Then many of the people in that court would have come into contact with the disease, but not fallen ill. Maybe it was on some surface; maybe it's transmitted by contact. The victims would have been unlucky to contract it in that short span of time."
"Do you think that scenario is reasonable?"
"As horrible as that might be," the guest sighed, "it's about equally bad as the last possibility. It would mean that we would have hundreds, maybe hundreds of thousands of carriers in Britain and Ireland. If so, our main concern would have to be stopping further spreading, for example to the continent. There are some unanswered questions, though. The very short duration of the outbreak is too suspicious, for one. That those thirty-seven got infected elsewhere and just happened to fall ill at the same time and in that very same square with no other reported cases in Britain, Ireland or even just the city leads me to believe that they contracted the pathogen somewhere in that court. Furthermore, that not one case from elsewhere was reported means to me that not one infected left before the outbreak. A very short incubation period might explain that, so we have a pathogen that works within minutes. That those thirty-seven came into contact with the same surface sounds unreasonable, so transmission by fluids or contact cannot be the only possible way of infection. It is far more reasonable to assume that it is an airborne disease that has an incubation period of minutes with no recoveries so far. Some people might be immune, but whether they become carriers or not is unclear. Or alternatively, there is a carrier who intentionally infects people without anyone noticing."
"As horrible as that sounds," the host spoke up after a moment of stunned silence, "it doesn't explain the travel restrictions. If it is that fast-acting, how could travelling spread it? How can it be spread in the first place, now that I think about it?"
The guest sighed. "There might be asymptomatic carriers among us," he said, frowning. "People who are infected, but don't fall ill. Instead, they walk around, not knowing that – if it is indeed an airborne disease – every breath they take might infect those around them. Maybe it is only infectious under very specific conditions and each of those outbreaks is nothing but unlikely incidents, but the probability for such a streak of horribly bad luck is negligible. Until we know for sure what we are dealing with and how exactly this disease is transmitted, keeping those asymptomatic carriers away from the general populace is essential to keeping the disease under control. However, the short outbreak also means something else – either the carrier was still in that court or left, but he or she did not infect others afterwards. Think about that. In maybe half an hour, over thirty people were infected; afterwards, not even one. If carriers indeed spread it only for short moments, what does that tell us? The man sitting next to you on the train might be a carrier. Maybe your baker is one. Or that cheerful girl who helped you cross the street. Everyone you meet might be an asymptomatic carrier, and until the cause has been identified, keeping those away from others means keeping people away from each other in general. Either you are a carrier, then staying away from others is doing your part to control this disease. Or you aren't a carrier, then those travel restrictions are for your own protection. Restricting international travel might be a very unpopular step, but it might restrict whatever we are dealing with to Britain and Ireland. Once it has spread to the continent, containing it would be far more complicated and maybe even impossible."
Just as the host was about to reply, Sarah grabbed the remote control and turned the television off, frowning.
"What is it?" Evan asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't do that, you look like a pig," she told him.
"Yes, I know," he laughed, his hand squeezing her butt. She hadn't allowed Orville that, but she didn't mind Evan's touch as much. He wasn't a snivelling idiot.
"Sorry, I've heard it before," Evan explained. "Well, no, I haven't heard it, I just know people said it behind my back. It was worse in the past, actually. That's when I looked like a pig. A fat one, even. But enough about that. You have something on your mind, don't you?"
Her eyes came to rest on the wooden bat in the corner. He had brought it with them, either because he hoped he could do something with it or because he just felt safer having a weapon around. "Yes," she decided, playing with the locket around her neck, the last memento of her mother. She couldn't bring herself to sell it. "Yes, I have something on my mind. They claim it's a disease, but we both know that's a lie. These things..." she tried, seeing his face drop, "what are they? You obviously knew them, and you said we had to move or else we'd be in big trouble. You know what is going on, don't you?"
He sighed and lay down on his back. She settled down on her side, watching him. "Not once over the weeks have you asked me," he spoke up. "I know of them, but not much. I've met them once before. I was lucky to survive then, lucky help came or... I was lucky to survive the second time as well. I was an idiot, wasn't I? To challenge these things?"
"It was very brave," Sarah assured him.
Chuckling dejectedly, he shook his head. "I was just so angry that I didn't care any more. They'd have been angry with me if they'd known what I did." Sarah had a feeling Evan hadn't meant those things with his last statement, but some loved ones. It made her feel lonelier.
He rubbed his face tiredly. "I shouldn't tell you about them. It'll get us in serious trouble if I do. I don't know whether..." He glanced around the room as if to look for other people.
"You mean like those news reports?" she asked, remembering the sudden drop in attention. Three days after the attack, there had been photos of those creatures in the news. One day they had been there, the next, they had been gone. Most people seemed to have forgotten about them completely. Sarah hadn't liked the conclusions she had come to, even if madness and sorrow had clouded her mind back then. Someone, she had feared, had suppressed the story. Someone had pushed for another explanation about an illness getting out of control. People had accepted it and apparently forgotten about the photos of those strange beasts.
"Yes, like that. I... I don't think I should..."
"Please, Evan," she interrupted. "It's... these past days, I... I want to know. Maybe I even need to. You know about them. You were the only one who stood up to them. You knew what to do."
"I was lucky. Lucky that I'm so stupid," he replied, snorting.
"Don't do that," she told him with a glare.
"Yeah, I know, I sound like a pig – oink, oink." He waved her off.
"No, not that. Whether you were lucky or not doesn't matter. Whatever flaws you may have otherwise, you saved me and who knows how many others. You are a hero. So don't belittle yourself."
His eyes jumped around for a moment while he blushed. "Fine. How can I not tell you after that?" He frowned as if trying to remember something. "They're evil," he began, sitting up. "Evil and invisible. Wherever they go, the cold follows them. They bring despair. They force you to see your... worst moments, I guess. That's their power. They make you weak and rob you of your hope. Without hope, you can't escape them. They were once guards, but now they roam the country."
"They... Guards?" she asked, watching him carefully.
"Prison guards of some sort," he confirmed. "Makes sense, at least if you're a heartless... human," he said, his last second switch not unnoticed. "You've seen what it's like with them around. You can imagine years of imprisonment with those beasts around. No one escapes with them near."
"I've never heard of something like that."
"Neither had I," Evan replied, sighing. "It must be a dark place, full of... It's not important, is it? I'd rather not... you know..."
"Fine," she said. "What happened to... to those people? Those in the square? What about..."
"Don't think about them, please," Evan advised her, kissing her hand. "It's... I don't think it's worth it. Right now, there's nothing either of us can do for them, so please, Sarah, don't think about them."
"I do, though. What happened to them?"
He sighed heavily, sounding like an old man all of a sudden. "Their souls. These... they take the soul, and all they leave behind are the empty shells."
She sat up straight as a shiver ran down her back. "The souls?"
Evan swallowed hard. "That's how it was explained to me. They... feed on them. On the souls. Sometimes, I'm guessing, not always. That's why they attacked. To them, it was likely a feast, dozens of people unable to fight back. It's... there's little that can be done, not as far as I know."
"And these souls," she tried, not fully believing him. "What happens to them?"
He stared at the wall, a haunted look in his eyes. He was hiding something from her, but she couldn't decide whether she wanted to know. Finally, he sighed. "I don't know. Maybe no one does. I don't want to find out. All I know is that these things take them, and if they feed on them as I've been told, then I don't think they'll let them go."
"And we're in trouble now?" she asked. "Because you told me, we're in trouble?"
"Yes. That is something they keep quiet. Can't have the normal people know, can they?" He had an ugly expression that fit him quite well and looked very natural.
"Who'd we be in trouble with, then?"
He stayed quiet, before sighing. "Them. It's..."
"Who are they?" Sarah interrupted impatiently.
"Don't ask, please, it's..."
"Evan," she spoke up, cupping his face with her hand and turning it to make him look at her. "Evan, I can tell you know more than that. If you know, then you're already in danger. If you're in danger, then I am as well just by being near you. And I can tell you don't like Them keeping normal people in the dark, so don't do the same to me."
He stared at her for a long time. "Them," he told her finally. "The people in the shadows. The one's causing all this trouble. The secret societies acting behind the scenes, manipulating everyone and everything. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"There is little I wouldn't believe right now," she interrupted him. "I have seen eyeless, invisible monsters. I know others have seen them as well, they must have, but instead, the news don't speak about them any more. So if you say there's some conspiracy controlling the news, I'll believe you."
Evan watched her for a moment. "That's in part what I meant, yes, but it's not just the news. They're manipulating everything and might just be all-powerful." He glanced around nervously, lowering his voice, "They can make people forget. They can make you do whatever they want. They can come and go anytime they want, and they can go any place they want. That's why the papers talked about an illness – it was hushed up. Maybe no one remembers the truth any more – no one but us, that is, and we're left because I ran before they got us."
"You... No, I... We have a government to protect us. We have..."
"Very little that would stop them," Evan spoke up. "You say we have a government to protect us. I say they've infiltrated our government. When I said they are manipulating everything, I meant that. Maybe one days you'll meet some of them."
"So it's them causing the trouble?" she urged. "Who are they? Evan?"
"I... Sarah, I really shouldn't..." he tried, but to no avail.
"I want to know now. I think I need to understand why all of this is happening. Who are they?"
He stared at her for a long while. "It's magic," he finally said. "All around us."
Sarah blinked, stunned for a moment. She hadn't expected that. "Magic? So... Witches and wizards? Merlin and Morgan Le Fay? Madam Mim?"
"Something like that, yes," Evan confirmed. "Or maybe not, I never learned that much about it. People aren't supposed to know. People aren't supposed to tell."
"Yet you do both," Sarah pointed out.
"I've crossed their path in the past. I know, but normally, I shouldn't tell. This isn't normal, though, so..."
"So... Magic. Huh. That explains the invisible beasts, then."
"It does, yes."
"And do you know any magic?"
"I... No. I know it's there, but you have to born like that, I think."
"I... One day, you'll have to tell me about it some more," she said, shaking her head.
"It's secret," Evan reminded her. "And I do know they hunt down those who shouldn't know. Maybe you'll meet one of them one day, but let's hope not. They bring trouble and pain wherever they go. They're bad news."
"So what is going on then? What do they do?"
"I cannot tell you much. I don't know that much, to be honest, and most of that is hearsay. There is..." he glanced around the room nervously, "a war going on right now, right under our noses. A war between... two groups of them. One side mostly leaves us in peace; the other side hates us normal folk. I don't know which side showed up in that square, but the moment they did, I knew it was time to leave. These beasts... they were set loose to terrorize. They were once their prison guards, but they like causing mayhem too much, I think, so they left to fight in this war. These attacks on us, they are merely collec... co... they are a by-product. We aren't the target, but we aren't protected either. And if by some chance one of us does learn about it, if something gets out, it's hushed up. It's..." He shook his head. "That one side at least, Sarah, they care no more about us than we care about a fly on the wall. And both sides try to hush it up to keep us unaware. I only know by chance."
"There are still limits to what they can do," she argued. "There have to be some limits. I mean, magic is probably pretty powerful, but..."
"You've seen invisible monsters and have felt their powers," Evan reminded her, wrapping an arm around her. "It's better to think everything is possible for them. And I do know even the slightly more friendlier side isn't above using their powers on us for their amusement."
"So you know all of that and even more. Do you fight in this war of theirs?" She nodded towards the bat.
"Not really," he answered, sighing. "I wouldn't stand a chance. Before I'd get close enough to hit them, they'd have killed me ten times over. Or turned me into a mindless slave of theirs. Yes, they can do that, from what I've heard. How? Magic. I don't know more than that and I don't want to find out. I just try to stay alive as long as possible. Perhaps even until the war is coming to an end. I don't know how long I can continue like this. I don't know how long I can escape them. I just want to stay alive. Funny, isn't it? Me, wanting to stay alive, yet running to my own death?"
"You didn't die," she reminded him, and as if to make a point, she kissed him softly.
"I could have. I should have, frankly. But I do want to survive it. It'll come to an end soon, I think. I hope."
"This secret war?" she asked. A shiver ran down her spine. War was never good, but a war fought by people who had invisible beasts at their command and could erase all evidence of their attacks, all pictures and memories, from what she could tell, made her consider Evan's words about the limits of these people. All of a sudden, she felt exposed and half expected the door to burst open and masked men storming in to capture them. "You think it will end?"
"Yes, once they will win."
"Who will?" she whispered, feeling on edge suddenly. "Who will win this war?"
Evan smiled, a genuine, proud smile she hadn't expected from him. "My cousin will."
She blinked at his reply, but didn't comment on it. Slowly, the story formed in her mind. Evan's cousin was fighting in the war, it seemed, which explained just where he had heard about it. Did that mean Evan's cousin was a wizard? Probably. Sarah guessed Evan's cousin fought for the one side that left normal people mostly in peace – if Evan was still alive, he had to have been tolerated long enough to grow up. And there was something about the way Evan had talked about his cousin. He had been sure of it, had been certain this cousin of his would win the war. It gave her hope – if Evan who had stood bravely against these monsters trusted his cousin, then perhaps she should as well. If Evan could trust his cousin, he or she might not be all that bad.
She kissed Evan in thanks for his answers, and he kissed back. Somehow, it escalated, and before long, they were once more a tangle of sweaty limbs, making her feel more alive than she believed she deserved.
Yeah, I couldn't bring myself to kill Dudley. So I thought I'd throw him a bone.
