Chapter Thirty-Two: The Sharpest Lives

Chapter title taken from the My Chemical Romance song.

"Get out."

Rosalind did a double take, looking over at Sanchez then back at Adriana. There was no way she could have recognized her, they hadn't seen each other in months and her features were different. But as a dirt-stained tear began streaming down the girl's cheek she realized that she hadn't recognized her at all-it was merely a desperate plea for anyone who would listen.

Rosalind muttered a quick spell, causing Adriana's calf to bleed profusely, her loud cries annoying Sanchez. Before he could act on her, Rosalind took charge. "Let me handle it, I know how to fix wounds,"she said in an icy tone as the Muggle looked annoyed but knew he couldn't cross her. "These animals are so sensitive." Sanchez repeated her statement as she grabbed Adriana by the arm into a secluded area of the forest, casting Silencing Charms around them. She forced the girl to sit on a large rock, standing inches from her face.

"Is your name Adriana Holmes, of Harrow Hill?" she demanded, speaking quickly.

The young girl looked astonished, her eyes darting back and forth. "H-how do you know that?" she whispered. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rosalind Morana, I work for the Ministry," she said in a low voice. "Do you remember me? I was there with my partner the day you were-"

"Yes, yes of course I remember!" the girl exclaimed, almost forgetting about the cut on her calf. "What are you doing here? Why do you look different? Are you here to save us?"

She hesitated; they were not exactly to save them per se, because no one knew they were there. "Yes, and others. I was given a disguise and I'm here undercover. They've kidnapped kids and we don't know where they're hiding them. Do you know anything?"

The girl shook her head. "No...we heard of the plan but don't know much of it. All I know is that they want to let us lose when we transform, hoping the Ministry will come. They want us to bite them."

"Why?" Rosalind pressed. "What's the point?"

"I don't know," the girl shrugged, her shoulders crunching from the dirt caked on her skin. "They want to riot. They want chaos." Her eyes shifted to her wound, Rosalind mumbling a healing spell, her skin healing into a clean scar. "But they tend to not keep their word."

"What do you mean? How did you get here?"

"That girl, the one with the bow in her hair...she got me to leave St. Mungo's. She was my mystery visitor. She promised that they would be able to help me, that they would accept me for what I now was," her voice broke as she recalled the memory. "But it was all a lie. They lied to both of us. They said that they would take care of us, that they were part of a movement to convoke the Ministry to accept werewolves as people, not classify them as beings-they said we would have equal rights as if we weren't infected." She over enunciated the last word, like it was a disease. "But they keep pushing everything back. They're terrible to us...they put tracking spells on us so we can't escape. They let us out on the full moon to wreak havoc, to tease and bite people to bring them here. We lie to them so we bring in numbers, otherwise we get tortured." Her voice faded as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry Adriana," Rosalind said in a somber tone. "We'll get you out of here, I promise." She wiped away the girls face with her cloak. "Is there anything else that you know?"

Adriana shook her head, sniffing her nose. "No. No I'm sorry I couldn't be any more of a help." Her voice was frail, as if she hadn't spoken in days.

"It's alright, you've helped a lot," she said reassuringly. "But there's something I have to do to protect you and I know you won't like it."

"Wh-what's that?" the girl asked nervously.

"I have to make sure you won't remember this. I don't want them to grow suspicious and torture it out of you." Her voice was slow and steady, the same voice she used on Emma when she was lecturing her.

"O-oh," Adriana said in a lower voice, knowing what was coming. "Is it going to hurt?"

Rosalind shook her head, forcing a smile. "No it won't. But we have to act quickly." She raised her wand to the front of the girl's forehead, taking a deep breath. "Obliviate." The girl's eyes rolled to the back of her head along with her neck before snapping open, looking delirious.

"Wha-where am I? What's going on?" she asked scared, glaring at Rosalind. "Who are you?"

"Back away werewolf before I hurt you," Rosalind ordered in a painfully convincing voice, her wound stitched up. "Go to your line. Don't make a sound."

The terrified girl complied, her eyes quivering for a fraction of a second, running back to her group with her blonde friend. It hurt Rosalind to be cruel, but she couldn't risk blowing their cover. She walked back over to Sanchez, trying to make sense of the new information in her head. She had to talk to Rodolphus and Dawlish, but they had no way of communicating with each other. And it was too early to conjure the Dark Mark-there had to be another way to find out what the big plan with the Ministry was.

A cold breeze swept through the woods, causing Rosalind to clutch her cloak tighter to her chest. She watched Sanchez, Morales, Garcia and others bark orders at one another. What appeared to be a petty argument captured Rosalind's attention: she could never distinguish who was the wizard among them. Sanchez snatched a stick from Morales' hand, whilst Morales responding by shoving him, an orange jet stabbing him in the chest, knocking him off his feet. Rosalind ran over to them, pointing her wand at Sanchez. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded, grabbing the stick to examine it. It was once a handsome wand, now cracked at the seams from the abuse it had received. "Whose is this? Who owns it?"

The men glanced at each other before answering. "It's ours."

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "I know that, pendejo, I'm asking which one of you."

Garcia gave her a quizzical look. "We share it. It's for the three of us."

"The three of-?" her jaw dropped for a moment before she composed herself. Instead she asked, "Who gave it to you? I thought you were all Muggles."

"We are," Sanchez butt in. "Sal gave it to us. The more werewolves we catch and get bitten the more wands we have. We take them so they don't escape. He said we're gonna learn how to use magic once we all have our own."

Rosalind's brow knitted together, almost disappearing into her hairline. What was Sal thinking, giving wands to Muggles? They had no clue what they were doing. "And then what?" she sneered, keeping her character. "Doesn't even look like you've learned anything."

"Yes we have," Morales said stung, grabbing the wand.

"Oh yeah? From what, all your little charms lessons?" she laughed, gleaning from their disappointed expressions.

"No, from listening to all you arrogant wizards," Garcia grunted. "Thinking you're so high and mighty because you carry a magic stick."

Rosalind smiled, up for a challenge. "Let's see how much you've learned then." She stood, facing him directly. "Do your worst."

The men eyed each other, nodding in agreement. Garcia held the wand to eye level, taking a deep breath, pointing it at Rosalind's chest. "Estupefy!" He closed his eyes awaiting the magic, only to be disappointed: nothing.

Rosalind grinned, relieved-Muggles with wands was a dangerous combination. It was the equivalent of a wizard flying a plane without magic. "I think the spell you mean is this," she said with a dry, sinister laugh. "Stupefy!" A jet of red light hit Garcia square in the chest, knocking him into the ground. She walked over his body as he groaned in pain, the other two men stepping back.

"Just a little tidbit of information," she said in a low voice, inches from his face. "You will never be more powerful than a wizard." She stared at him, huffing at her win. For a moment she contemplated whether to help him back on his feet or not but decided against it, as his companions did instead.

"S-sorry," Garcia stammered, unable to look her in the eyes. "Won't happen again."

Rosalind smiled, cocking her head to the side, looking at them with a sultry gaze. "Good," she said in a sweet voice, almost forgetting what she needed to do. "Where's Sal? I need to speak with him about something urgent." Morales pointed in the direction of the camp they were at earlier, giving her directions. She spun on her heel, beginning the walk back to camp, silently fuming.

I can't believe this, she thought to herself. He's really made them think that they can be wizards. She shook her head, sighing deeply. He's got them wound tight under his finger. She had to find a way to talk to Rodolphus and Dawlish-not only were these men armed and dangerous but they were sharing wands too. That magic is irresponsible, unpredictable, and dangerous-either nothing would happen, or pandemonium would erupt from the explosions. She quickened her pace as she contemplated whether she should speak with Dawlish and Rodolphus first or Sal, but they had warned her not to see him alone. Another burst of bitter wind swept her as she approached the camp, sensing that someone was behind her.

"I didn't expect you to be back so soon, Esme." His voice wasn't surprised or accusing, merely observing.

Esme. That was what her mother was called. It was strange to hear it out loud again. She put on another fake smile, turning to see Sal in front of her, cigar in hand. The only reason they were on a first name basis was because she was a woman-the men had the respect of having their last names used, but she didn't receive the same equal treatment. In their eyes she was barely above an object.

Rosalind let out a laugh. "Ah, there you are! I've been looking all over for you. Do you have a minute to talk? It's awfully cold out here."

"Of course." Sal stepped forward, ducking into his tent, the opening flap smacking her in the face. He nodded towards a rickety chair for Rosalind to sit down as he stood-a power play. She was already shorter than him, and the chair exaggerated their height difference. He was in no mood to negotiate.

"So," he said casually, pouring a cup of coffee for himself, ignoring her needs. "What's going on?"

"Well," Rosalind began, watching the man sip his coffee slowly. "We've moved all the werewolves, they're waiting for the full moon in their dens. Sanchez, Morales and Garcia were arguing though, they tried to Stun me, with a wand they were all sharing," she laughed as Sal raised a dark bushy brow. "Which got me thinking...wouldn't we be more powerful, more of a threat to the Ministry, if we had stronger numbers? By stronger numbers I mean more Death Eaters, wizards who know their way around Dark creatures and Dark Magic, who wouldn't get into petty fights-"

"We already tried that," Sal interrupted, unimpressed. "We broke them out of that wizard prison Azkaban even, and look at how they repaid us. They double-crossed us and ran, like cowards." He set his coffee on the table, the rusted metal clanking loudly. "The only real men from that group are Rosier and Lestrange, who have made up for running and paid their respects." His arms were now crossed, his stance wide: he was challenging her. "Why the fuck would we ask them for help?" Rosier was the name they had decided on Dawlish, a known Death Eater with an unknown face.

Rosalind's lip quivered, her mouth slightly open. "I'm not saying ask for help, exactly, I just mean that sending Rodolphus and Rosier to recruit more Death Eaters might be a good idea," she said nervously as he shortened the gap between them.

"And why should I," he said slowly, taking meticulous, deliberate steps closer to her, arms still crossed, "should I listen to the opinion of a woman?" He said the last word like it was a parasite, less than human. He grinned, stepping even closer to her. "Are you trying to tell me how to operate my men?"

It was a rhetorical question. Rosalind shifted her eyes away from him, breaking their eye contact. "No I'm not it was just a suggestion-"

"Oh a suggestion," he laughed, basking in how uncomfortable Rosalind was quickly becoming. "I didn't know your pretty little head could come up with suggestions." He caressed the side of her cheek, his hot, coffee-stained breath filling her nostrils. "Do me a favor, would you?" He said in a tone that meant he wanted her to look at him in the eyes. She froze, as she always did when she was afraid, gripping her wand tightly underneath her cloak. "Never talk to me like that ever again." He loosened his glare, and for a moment she thought she was free. Rosalind winced at the sight of his hand, his palm thudding across her cheek, jerking her head forty-five degrees.

She sat there, beneath him, doing everything in her power not to cry. She wanted to hex him-burn him-for slapping her. But instead of crying for help or fighting back, she glared at Sal like she had never glared at anyone before, each daring the other to speak.

"Get out."

Rosalind ran out holding her breath, clutching her face, fighting tears. You're so stupid, Rosalind, she couldn't help think. He doesn't see you as-

"The fuck are you doing out here alone?" a gruff voice barked.

She stopped in her tracks with a deep sigh. "Nothing," she said without turning around. "Where's Rosier?"

"Back at camp, why?" Rodolphus eyed her, stepping in front of her. "What the hell happened to you?"

Rosalind shook her head, muttering something about the cold. "I needed to ask him something, come with me?" Her voice was strained, painfully high. The Death Eater nodded, walking a step behind her. She clutched her cloak, spotting Dawlish by their tent, motioning her head to follow them inside.

"What's going on?" Dawlish asked, shaking snow off his boots. "What happened to you?" He noticed the red mark lingering on Rosalind's cheek.

She shook her head, tears faltering off her face. "N-nothing I needed to talk to you two about something-"

Rodolphus cut in, his face angry. "Did you go see Sal by yourself? That's where you came from isn't it?"

"Yeah, I was looking for you two-"

Rodolphus rolled his eyes, glaring at her. "What the fuck did I tell you about going around alone? He is not your friend." The tone in his voice caused her to jump. "The only reason he's been nice to you is because he thinks you're a Death Eater, but now that he knows you're scared of him he might be second guessing himself. What the hell were you thinking talking to him without anyone around?"

Rosalind stared at him, taken aback. "I-I don't know. I was looking for you two but he found me first."

"Well what happened?" Dawlish asked concerned, reaching into his robes for a tonic for her face. "Did you find new information?"

She nodded, recounting her conversation with Adriana and what happened with the Muggles. Both men stared at her in disbelief, piecing the information together. "He's really told them that they'll become wizards?" Dawlish asked dumbfounded. "And they believe that?"

"Yeah well, it sounds promising doesn't it? Take a wizard's wand, hope some magic comes out of it and boom-you're a wizard. They don't know any better."

"I can't believe he would sink that low," Rodolphus scoffed. "Muggles trying to become wizards? Fucking ridiculous."

"You have to remember where they're from," Rosalind continued. "They haven't had the best life. Anything would be an improvement."

"But the werewolves," Dawlish cut in. "They were never here to play the villain then, were they?"

Rosalind shook her head. "They don't want to be here. They were given false promises and had their wands stolen. But they see no other way out. They're just...following orders," she finished, remembering the conversation she had with Rodolphus. "But we still don't know where the kids are or what they're planning on doing to them. Sal seems to change his mind a lot."

Dawlish sighed, Rodolphus tugging on his beard. The silence was heavy; they were at a standstill. "When's the full moon, tomorrow night?" Dawlish asked as Rosalind nodded. "We'll have to summon the Ministry then. We have no other choice. If we wait until after the werewolves are let out then we'll lose them, they'll be feeding and biting in villages before the Ministry gets here. It'll have to be just as it starts rising; we'll have the best chance of helping them then."

"And the kids?"

Dawlish ran a hand through his receding hairline. "I don't know. We'll have to figure that out afterwards. We're not any closer to finding them than before and we're running out of time. He sat in the metal chair, sighing deeply, facing Rosalind. "Can you do that tomorrow night at dusk? Conjure the Dark Mark?"

Rosalind took a quick look at Rodolphus, then at Dawlish, feeling the grooves in her left forearm from the skull and snake tattoo. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Good," he said standing back on his feet. "I've got to head out-see if I find more information." He threw his cloak over his shoulders, nodding at his colleagues. "Until tomorrow." He didn't wait for them to mutter their goodbyes, leaving the tent with a hole of dread.

Rosalind bit her tongue at the awkward silence, sitting on the cot as Rodolphus glared at her with his arms crossed, like a parent scolding a child. "You're smarter than that, Morana."

Rosalind pursed her lips, avoiding his gaze. "I know."

"What'd you do after he did it?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing," she said bitterly.

"What did you want to do?"

"I wanted to fucking kill him!" she bellowed, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. "He's everything I despise in a person!"

The Death Eater grinned. "Under any other circumstances you should have. But," he yawned, stretching on the cot. "It's a good thing you didn't."

"I know," she repeated, observing him. He was much different than the man she met in Azkaban. "Why do you care?" she finally asked. "About what happened between me and Sal just now? You weren't like that at all when we first met."

Rodolphus scoffed. "When you were with Draco and Potter walking through the corridors? What'd you think I was trying to do to you, hurt you?" He rolled his eyes at the thought. "I just wanted your wand, like Potter said. I'm not an animal. But of course I wanted you to think that." He closed his eyes as he stretched his legs. "Besides, Daphne cares about you and if she knew I let something happen to you I'd never hear the end of it."

Rosalind almost smiled at the thought. Just a few short months ago she questioned Daphne's motives, thinking she was using her as a pawn. But they had grown close, forming a friendship that extended to Ares as well. She stared at the dozing Death Eater, arms outstretched behind his head. "I think our marriage is off to an interesting start."

He grinned, his eyes closed. "Just you wait, love. I'll knock the boots off of you soon enough."

An icy drop of melted snow rolled off a tree, plopping onto Rosalind's nose, jolting her into a shiver. She had awoken early to head to the dens where Sanchez and Morales were close by, mostly to make sure they weren't harassing any of the kids inside. She hadn't been able to speak with Adriana again since she wiped her memory-something that was still plaguing her.

Sanchez, Morales, and Garca were huddled around a small campfire, roasting coffee beans and frying plantains, passing around a pipe. Her stomach growled; it had been years since she had had coffee with plantains, one of her favorites. But she wasn't going to befriend them. They were signing to each other and other passing gang members, much to her distaste. She hadn't been able to identify which hand signals meant what, and she couldn't attempt Legilimency on someone who wasn't directly in front of her.

It was a long, slow, ominous day: she spent the majority of her time trying to sort out the codes they had between each other and penetrating their minds, which were both difficult; she was often interrupted, as they frequently asked her how to perform spells when they were sharing the wands. She purposefully gave them false information, hoping that was safer than them trying a real spell. She hadn't seen Rodolphus, she hadn't seen Dawlish, and she hadn't seen Sal either-she was half hoping he was busy with someone else.

It was late afternoon, and Rosalind was sitting at the bottom of a tree, observing the soon-to-be-werewolves: their nails were yellowing, their mouths salivating, their breathing dog-like; they were behaving more like animals the closer they got to the full moon. She pitied them. The majority were teenagers and young adults, fallen into a trap of false promises and the hope that they would be accepted into the wizarding world. It was a cruel plan, targeting the lonely and rejected, but deviously brilliant-these were the people no one would miss, that no one cared about. The gang members were the same, having came from poor, rural neighborhoods, thinking that they were on a path to glory. Either that or they were scared into submission, the only other option being death.

A murmuring from the group of men encroached her ears-they were walking in her direction, a roll of parchment in their hands. "What's going on?" she asked with a smudge of authority.

"We've got new orders," Garcia said. "Sal gave us a list of the names of the kids they got at that wizard school. He wants us to let them out on some field. Let the werewolves have them."

"What?" she squeaked, jumping up. "When? He didn't tell me that," she finished annoyed, her stomach in knots. They were running out of time.

Morales glanced up at the pink and purple spotted sky, shrugging. "Don't know. Whenever the moon's up."

"Where are they?" she demanded, starting to panic. The men pointed over the horizon, mentioning that they were going to get them soon. She ordered them to head over, thinking quickly. As much as she wanted to go with them she knew she had to stay. She had a job to do.

The men left her with the soon-to-be-wolves, disappearing into the thickening darkness, swallowed by night. She looked around with a crazed look in her eye, making sure no one was around. She lifted up her robes, exposing the black tattoo on her left forearm. She was breathing heavily, her heart thudding against her chest. She jabbed her wand into her slithering tattoo, bracing herself for what was about to come. "Morsmordre!"

A jet of green light, a flame smoking into the night sky, molding in a giant, gruesome skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth: for the first time since the Second Wizarding War, the Dark Mark was alive once more.

The action is heating up! There's a lot of action in the next chapter :) Thank you for reading!

Next chapter: The Dark Side of the Moon, Again.