Chapter 2 - Three Misfits
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Previously on the Forgiven and Harry Potter: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley encountered three individuals bearing the Dark Mark and casting Unforgivable Curses without detection or consequence. Hermione Granger confronted the Minister of Magic: Kingsley Shacklebot, about a hypothesis she developed and a tome she found. The book listed an organization's membership that included him, Albus Dumbledore, and Alastor Moody. A group is revealed to be possibly permitted use of the Unforgivable Curses….'The Forgiven'.
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"Who are 'The Forgiven'?"
Hermione choked back her feelings and asked the Minister with an emotionless, almost tired, tone.
For a few tense seconds, the two stared at each other before Kingsley sighed heavily.
"If I tell you, you are not allowed to breathe a single word of this to anyone. Not even Weasley or Potter."
"I will make no such promise."
"….So be it. Then we have nothing further to discuss."
"Wha—! I'll find any evidence out there, no matter how small! I'm good at that. Found this after all. Someone will know something."
"I assure you—whatever you may find, whether you manage to capture those three or not—none of it will ever trace back to me." He glanced at the book and added, "And I doubt my name in an old tome would lend credence to anything."
"From what Harry and Ron described, I doubt they would be so loyal, if arrested. We can extract their memories if it comes to that."
"You don't know the half of it, Ms. Granger. Those three…" Kingsley paused at a thought. "…Those three would willingly die before being captured. Even if they weren't bound by a number of Fidelius Charms and Unbreakable Vows."
"Unbreakable…Vows…?"
"A bright young witch like yourself, you must be curious. Curiouser than most and growing more so by the second."
"…"
"Promise to me you will reveal nothing of what is spoken of in this office, and I will reveal all."
Hermione's teeth grinded against each other in thought. Her mind was working to come up with a smart reply, but her interests conflicted. "The Forgiven", Kingsley's, Dumbledore's, and Mad Eye's membership in some ominous group, permitted use of Unforgiveable Curses. There were so many questions filling her thoughts, she thought her mind would burst.
"Fine. I promise," she finally answered.
The Minister chuckled.
"You are a terrible liar, Ms. Granger. Though…I think once you've heard what I have to say, you will no doubt keep your promise."
Kingsley looked down at the page the tome was opened to. There, it was written:
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The Masters Forgivers
Albus Dumbledore
Alastor Moody
Kingsley Shacklebot
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And below that, he ran a hand over three more names listed there. Each syllable he read silently, like some sacred prayer very dear to him.
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The Forgiven
Norse
Liar
Gri—
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He paused at the last name. It brought sorrowful memories just mouthing it through his lips. A cold pinch spread through his heart.
Kingsley looked at the waiting Hermione and sighed.
"Perhaps it would be best to start the story with the individual named—"
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"Grimm," Liar tapped her shoulder.
"…What?"
Sneaking into a Quidditch supply shop and standing before a display case were Grimm and Liar.
"I dunno. You looked a bit out of it."
"I'm fine. Just thinking about Kingsley."
"Hm. You think he'll come for us?"
Grimm frowned.
"Of course, he will. Even if it eats him up inside, he'll do it. He's the Minister now."
"Ah, yes. Our great and magical overlord, ruler of all the wizarding realm. Long way, he's come. And look at us. Breaking into a broom shop. I wonder if he's ever had to break into anything in his life."
They both heard Norse rumbling through some brooms in the stockroom. The two ignored her and carried on with their conversation.
"Such blatant bitterness doesn't suit you, Liar. Thought you'd be happy for him."
"I am! I mean…" *Sigh* "If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's him. He was only dragged into all this by Albus and Mad Eye.
Grimm stared silently at the Thunderbolt VII model broom resting in the glass before her. A sarcastic smile slowly broke.
"Yeah. He's had it hard alright."
"Always been too soft for our gruesome sort of business."
"What do you think of this broom?"
"Thunderbolts? Like riding a twig. A wicked fast twig, but no question. It's gotta be a Firebolt, boss. Thunderbolts can't compare."
They both heard wooden crates being shattered. As they turned, they saw bright yellow words floating towards them.
Found them.
A few seconds later, Norse appeared from the backroom clutching three brooms in her hands. All of them Firebolt Supreme Models.
"Sweet…" Liar awed.
The great glowing witch tossed one to them each. Grimm went to the counter and dropped a heavy sack of Galleons onto the register. The total would pay for the brooms plus damages to the store.
After examining their newly acquired wares and removing the security charms, Liar gave a checking glance to his two accomplices. Seeing as they were both ready, he put an arm on each their shoulders and Apparated them out.
All three felt a familiar vacuum sensation as they slipped into the void, and then out of it within seconds. When they cleared the teleportation, they found themselves freefalling through the night sky. Far from panicking, they seemed to take the sudden drop in comfort.
Liar had a habit of Apparating them midair. Grimm remembered when the stunt used to bother her, but now, she took solace in it. As she fell through the clouds, through the endless dark blue, she felt oblivion. Like the matters that weighed so heavy on her mind were worlds away. She opened her eyes and saw her comrades already finished skydiving, and were riding on their brooms.
The whole sequence was a countermeasure against being followed. Ministry charms tracked Apparations so they needed to create as much distance as possible from their entry point.
Grimm felt reality reel back and mounted her broom. The witch rode the momentum down and swooped up, like a swallow in flight. She joined her comrades, and together, they made their way to one of their safe houses.
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The three flew overhead some cities before reaching the vast ocean. Although there was nothing but water beneath them, they dove towards one spot in particular.
"His nose was nicked, his head was thick, let all be known, that Voldy's a prick." Liar recited the poem password.
A small island faded into existence for the party coming towards it. On the island, stood a four-story mansion that could have passed for a small castle. The estate once belonged to an aristocratic wizarding family. Its previous head had joined the Death Eaters about five years back and ran into the group, which was Grimm, Liar, and Norse. Shortly after their meeting, the said individual was…..relieved of his need of it.
The three flew straight to one of the windows and kicked it open. They soared through the halls and into to the dining room where they finally dismounted their brooms, and dropped lazily into the dining room chairs.
Liar rested his feet on the eating table and began rocking back and forth. Grimm, after a small break, went to the kitchen counter and began putting together a sandwich for herself.
"Oh! Can you make me one too?" Liar piped up.
"What? 'Make you a sandwich'?"
"…You know, I meant that in the most non-misogynistic manner as possible, and I would never say anything that would endanger my life so."
"But of course."
Grimm turned to him, pointed her wand, and zapped him with a white light. When the flash dissipated, a turkey sandwich was sitting where Liar's feet were.
Grimm chuckled, while Norse laughed mutely.
"Haha, hilarious," the sandwich said, flapping slices of bread as he spoke.
Grimm finished preparing their meals and set a plate for each of her companions. It was a funny sight to see Liar eating the sandwich without changing back to his human form. As Grimm watched, words from Norse began floating through the air as she took her bites.
Is that some sort of cannibalism?
"Looks that way. Transfiguration spell felt a bit off…" Grimm eyed the wand in her hand."…Apple, Unicorn, ten inches—no wonder. You should have handed me a better one back there."
Norse shrugged her shoulders, stood up, and unfurled a part of her cloak. Wands poured out and clattered loudly onto the table. There had to be at least thirty of them.
"Geez, Norse! How many poor saps had the unfortunate circumstance of meeting you?" Liar bellowed.
The glowingly blonde witch smiled as if every wand was a trophy from a defeated foe…which was an accurate assumption.
Grimm began sifting through the instruments for a better replacement. Inwardly, she prayed to find one to her preference, since quality in spells and comfortability differed greatly with material. There was also the affinity with personality to consider. After going through half of them, the witch started to feel discouraged.
Just when she was losing hope, Norse quietly dangled a wand in front of her face.
Grimm smiled and took it, turning it over in her hands.
"Ebony, Thirteen inches, Unbending…Phoenix Core. Yes! Oh, I love you, Norse," the witch said as she cupped her friend's face, and ruffled it. "You ready?"
Norse nodded.
After taking one more bite of her sandwich, she took one of the wands on the table and placed it between her teeth. The woman braced herself as Grimm blasted her across the room. When the blonde witch got up, she spat out the wand she was biting on, walked over to the table, and continued eating as if nothing had ever happened.
"I shall never tire of watching that. In any case, wand allegiance won. Congratulations. Now, if you would be so kind?" the talking sandwich requested.
Grimm turned to Liar and transfigured him back to human form.
As the three ate their sandwiches and conjured more, their leader looked at the other two with a warm gaze.
When was it that I started getting used to them? To all of this…
The blue-dyed hair witch sighed as she pushed another morsel into her mouth.
Three misfits.
Witches and wizards permitted use the Unforgivable Curses.
Recruited and taught to be the cloak and dagger for the good of the world.
'The Forgiven'…
She smiled at the thief and warrior, who continued devouring their food next to her.
What a load of bull…
Grimm's mind wandered back to when it all began, to the circumstances that led to this, to the idea shared between two wizards, to the moment she was first recruited. She wondered about what ifs, but banished the thought almost immediately.
No matter what happened, it happened. All she could do was live in the now and enjoy the subtle victories her current life afforded her. Breaking into broom shops, screwing over the crooked, exercising freedoms outside the law, enjoying certain vigilante joys; playing judge, jury, and sometimes, executioner. And, of course, sharing the good and bad times with the two people she considered closer than family.
"Indigestion, boss? Your face looks a tad gross," Liar commented.
She is thinking of the foes she fell this night. Grimm must take pride in defeating Harry Potter, who slayed Voldemort. I feel the same.
"I'm rather sure that isn't the case."
Norse made a crude doodle of Grimm posing on top of an unconscious Harry Potter in the air.
"Pfffttt—HAHAHA! What is that, Norse?! It's terrible!"
Along with Liar, Grimm couldn't help, but laugh at the crappy drawing as well.
Endless chortling echoed through the deserted house. All three lost to an uncontrollable fit.
The hurt they had incurred over the years, forgotten.
The dark future that lay ahead of them, they faced with laughter and smiles on their faces.
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(Many Years Ago. The night Voldemort fell and Harry Potter was left to his Aunt and Uncle's.)
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Dumbledore Apparated to the entrance of the Hog's Head Inn. He turned up the hood of his cloak to hide his face before entering.
Once inside, he was greeted with the loud celebrations of Voldemort's death. The fall of the Dark Lord would give many the drunkest night of their lives. Chairs were tipped over, men and women shouted and danced on tables. Butterbeer and fire whiskey ran like waterfalls. Everyone in the tavern was thoroughly inebriated, or at least, beside themselves with glee.
All save for two.
Dumbledore's mouth curled into a small grin at how easy it was to maneuver without catching anyone's notice.
The tall wizard made his way to one particular, dark corner of the establishment. At a single table, a lone patron drank his whiskey with a watchful eye. A literal watchful eye that whirred about, reacting to every little movement of every person in the tavern. It only rested when Dumbledore pulled a seat to join the man.
"Look at them, Albus. If a Death Eater rolled into the place right now, they'd curse everyone here dead with no problem at all," Moody grumbled.
"It is a time of celebration, Alastor. They've little news to hear that wasn't filled with death or tragedy."
"Peh! Still a bunch of ruddy fools!"
"Hm…"
Dumbledore waited patiently as Moody growled about more somethings. His eyes twinkled as he gently surveyed the jovial people. But as soon as he felt his friend's stare on him, signaling that he was ready for real talks, the glimmer in his eyes faded; replaced by empty pools of darkness likened to an endless abyss.
"It's not over, Albus. They're still out there. He is too, I'd wager. Only a matter of time before we have another War on our hands."
Dumbledore sighed.
"Agreed," he nodded solemnly.
"And we won't be so lucky next time. Unless you know how the adolescent Potter beat him."
"I have my theories, but you are right in thinking we will not be so fortunate again."
"There's plenty of Death Eaters in the wind. They'll come after the boy—after the Muggles, Muggleborns, even our people in the Order."
"Which is why you wish for me to rescind its disbandment."
"Our people need to be out there, Albus. The Ministry and the Aurors won't be enough."
"And neither will the Order. We need something new. A small group of gifted individuals who can move quickly and quietly to put out the small fires before they can catch."
"Small?"
"A group of three should suffice. No more, no less."
"A bit too small, don't you think?"
"The larger the group, the less mobility, secrecy, and so forth. Also…" Dumbledore revealed a book from his cloak, and placed it before Moody."…I would expose as little of those as possible to the immoralities we are about to commit."
Mad Eye went over the scriptures of the old text as quick as he could. His artificial eyeball whined and spun over the lines of faded ink. The words were coded, but translated in a flash. Each sentence deciphered made Moody's pupils contract tighter and tighter until they were tiny specks.
When he finished reading, he looked up at the wizard with half-moon glasses across from him. The aged Auror probed his companion for any trace of misgivings. As per usual, he found none.
Dumbledore had long steeled his nerves for the actions he would soon take, and Moody was deciding if he would do the same.
After contemplating it, he spoke. A dark weight following his voice.
"'The Forgiven'. If you and I are to be their handlers, we still require a third."
"I believe Kingsley will do."
"...Agreed."
"We will approach him tomorrow."
"And these chosen three agents. Where will we find them? In the Order?"
"No. We will look to the younger generation. Faster, smarter, and far more malleable."
"Children."
"The ones chosen…Their age will have no reflection on their true bearing."
"From the generation who experienced the Dark Lord's atrocities first hand? I'm sure we won't be short of candidates. Kids who've grown far too fast for their own good. It's the morality of it I'm worried about. Mind you, I'm not one to shy away from the blood and dirt…But they'll have been through enough already."
"They must also be expendable. Extend a hand to those who seem to be at the end of their lives prematurely."
"…"
Moody felt a bad taste in his mouth. Still, he knew Dumbledore was likely right. The wizarding world needed its watchers. A vicious guard dog that would sink their fangs into an intruder while they were on the front lawn, before they made it into the house. And they needed to be a force that would tip the odds in their side's favor whenever Voldemort should return.
"…Do you have some names in mind?" Mad Eye asked bitterly.
"Norse has already accepted."
"The one with the vow of silence?"
"The very same."
"I see."
As far as ideal candidates went, Norse is a perfect fit, Moody thought.
"Is there any name you have to offer?"
Mad Eye grimaced at Dumbledore's question, and knocked back what was left of his whiskey. A little disgusted with how quickly he came up with the name. Part of him believed that his friend already knew who he was thinking of…
A young girl who seemed one moment away from forfeiting her life.
A witch named Grimma…