Chapter 33 – She Hates Happy Memories

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Previously on The Forgiven:

Norse and Grimm's estrangement come to a head when the leader's methods of manipulating the Centaurs and endangering innocent lives finds her allies questioning their friendship. Meanwhile, the plan is set to use Harry Potter as bait to draw out Voldemort.

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It was late in the morning when Grimm woke from her sleep.

Her fox form wrestled with the ocean of blankets, in the bed that was too large for her small body. Eventually finding the edge, she hopped down, only to notice her leg was bleeding. Looking back, she could see the white sheets were stained in crimson.

What the—? I didn't even use the Cruciatus Curse yesterday.

Lingering effects, maybe?

Grimm reverted back to her human form and touched the bite shaped marks around her arm. She snatched up her wand from under her pillow and waved it over the gashes. The bleeding stopped and the skin restored to a certain extent.

Not as good as Liar's usual work, but it'll have to do. I'm not exactly his favorite person at the moment.

After changing into her cloak and putting on her mask, Grimm left her room. But just as she closed the door, she remembered she was supposed to take something with her.

When she opened the door again, the mess of bed sheets and other room clutter were completely organized. The place was in tip-top order, readily livable once more.

"House-elves," Grimm muttered.

The witch opened her suitcase and withdrew a certain picture and pocketed it.

Grimm made her way downstairs and found Liar and Norse missing. No matter where they were, she was sure they would turn up before night came. The two were angry with her, but they wouldn't ignore the mission planned for tonight.

After picking up some food from the kitchens, she steered her way towards the front of Dumbledore's office.

"Caramel Cobwebs."

The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's door shifted to let the witch through.

"Grimm. I trust everything goes according to plan?"

"Firenze says he'll bring his clansmen with us." The witch plopped into one of the guest chairs facing Dumbledore's desk, where the Headmaster sat. "Mapped a route for Hagrid to take the kids. Prepared as much as possible for everything that could go wrong, to go wrong. At least, as much as I could."

"Where are Norse and Liar?"

"Around."

Dumbledore paused to give her a questioning look. "I have compelled them to heed your every order."

"No longer needed. It's not like they're insubordinate, just—unhappy."

"And you believe they will not disobey direct orders, if perhaps, you ordered them to strike down Voldemort rather than save Neville Longbottom? Should the situation ever arise, of course."

"Of course…" Grimm squinted.

"Hm, I see. Well, just as precaution, I will leave the Forgiver's order intact until tonight's operation is complete."

"Fine."

"Is there any other matter you would like to discuss?"

"Any idea how to catch a shade, who repeatedly sheds his body every time we wound him?"

"Ah, I remember your report on the matter. I've developed a number of hypotheses regarding the anomaly."

"All ears, Albus."

"I have a mind that the ability is most likely a result of Voldemort's diminishing condition. His soul is weakening and his body, fracturing. And, although the unicorn blood is sustaining him, it is also accelerating the degradation process caused by the spiritual toll it takes."

"So, he's using it to his advantage. Makes sense."

"Normally impossible under any other circumstance."

"Explains how he took a Killing Curse and walked it off. Wouldn't something like that be mind numbingly painful?"

"Perhaps Voldemort is accustomed to quartering off pieces of his soul."

"There's a happy thought." Grimm pulled out of one of her knives and played with its edge. "So our only option is to keep carving away at him until nothing is left of his soul? I'll be honest, Albus. I was looking forward to some actual advice."

"Alas, I have failed to find a viable method to accompany the theory."

The witch flicked and spun the blade in her fingers, faster and faster. Eventually, the thin sharpness cut a red line into her palm. Grimm put her mouth to it to suck the blood and seal it with saliva.

She then, suddenly touched her hand over her heart. Under her cloak was a certain tattoo. "Wait a minute. Does that mean my Origin Magic would be effective?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. "I must admit, I had not considered it. A rather embarrassing oversight, on my part."

"It's not exactly something to be used in a fight, but in this case...Chipping away at a person's soul, huh?"

"It is a gamble. The Origin Magic may prove especially potent against Voldemort's current state, or ineffective due to the same reason."

"Funny how often 'gambles' and 'only option' coincide. Unless, you've got something with better odds. Maybe, a secret weapon to take Voldemort out that doesn't involve us dueling him until he ceases to exist?"

"….We shall see," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Considering we're using Potter as bait, You're being rather nonchalant about all this. Not that it's unusual for you, but I thought you had plans for the Boy Who Lived. Not worried at all about what might happen to him out there?"

"On the contrary, I am rather curious as to what will happen to him."

Grimm grunted with annoyance. "Figures." She stood up from the chair. "Always something up your sleeve. Wouldn't hurt to let us in on the whole of your plans, you know. We are on the same side—aren't we?"

A momentary look of disdain crossed and she turned on her heel to leave.

"Grimm," Dumbledore called after her.

"What?"

"….Despite your harbored misgivings about me, no one understands your burdens or the course of your actions, better than I."

"Somehow, I really doubt that."

"Just something to keep in mind, Grimm. There was a reason we chose you, not solely on the recommendation of Alastor."

"…"

"All of you have a mind that Norse made for the perfect Forgiven candidate, but you see…"

"No way. You are not about to say I am your prized pupil."

"You and I possess the vision. We see what must be done, and we act. Nothing more, nothing less."

"This isn't a 'you and I are not so different' speech, is it? You know, Albus, only the bads make that kind of spiel."

The Headmaster removed his spectacles to eye her clearly. So piercing was his stare, that Grimm was reminded why Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort ever feared.

"Sometimes, we are tasked with the awful means to bring about a greater good. And we must make do without the convenience of guilt or remorse." He leaned forward and spoke as if he were whispering right in her ear. "But not to worry. The debts of our actions will catch up to us one day and demand their price, inevitably so."

Grimm felt a cold shiver travel down her spine.

Dumbledore's voice resonated like a distant thunder.

"But for now, you must stay the course."

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Part 2

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It was late afternoon when classes ended.

The time was free for students to do what they liked until supper time came. Some used it to have fun with their friends, few used it to practice spells, and fewer still, used it to do homework.

Halfway to evening time, Grimm found Neville sitting with Norse and Liar in the Quidditch Field. She thought to join them for a moment, but hearing their distant laughter dissuaded her of the idea. The witch felt her sudden intrusion would only dampen their spirits, and chose to walk away.

As Grimm reached one of the thresholds leading into the school, she heard running steps behind her. When she turned around, she saw Neville with his hands on his knees, panting for dear life.

"Neville? What are you—"

"I saw you from a distance…! Or at least…! I thought it was you…!"

"Norse and Liar put you up to this?"

"They noticed…! But they didn't want to say anything."

"Okay, well. Take your time and catch your breath. I'd prefer it you spoke complete sentences without getting blue in the face."

"Thank you…!"

And with that, Neville dropped to the ground there and sat. Grimm was uneasy for a moment, but chose to settle herself next to him. All was quiet for a while, as the only sound heard was the young boy's debilitated breathing.

With a nimble flicker, like a magician performing a card trick, Grimm pulled an old picture from her pocket and handed it to Neville. The boy took the photograph and stared at it for a while.

The edges were soft and worn, and the color was fading. Wrinkles strew the paper. It smelled of black coffee and stale tobacco.

But the moment Neville held it, he recognized it as something precious.

In the moving photograph was Frank and Alice Longbottom, as well as Alastor Moody. The three of them looked to be in horrible shape. Their clothes were torn and burned, clear cuts and bruises marked the bare parts of their skin. They were all standing in front of a smoldering ruin that could only be the aftermath of a long, hard battle.

In spite of all that, his parents and even Moody, had great big grins plastered on their faces. His father was missing a tooth. His mother was bleeding from one eye. Their hair, covered in soot, but they looked at the camera, beaming with pride and flipping the middle finger.

"Don't have many pictures of Alice and Frank like that around the house, I bet."

Neville bobbed his head awkwardly and stared at the picture again.

Grimm was right.

For all the pictures of his parents, the ones his grandmother kept on display always portrayed them as proud and noble. They were moments of receiving rewards and commendations. Newspaper clippings of their Auror work. Some had Frank and Alice posing with members of the Order of the Phoenix. They always looked so stoic and proper. Heroes to be lived up to and adored.

But the photo Grimm handed him was a complete opposite of all that. His parents were animated, shouting something up at him, which he could tell were obscenities. It warmed his heart and brought hot tears to his eyes.

Neville went to hand it back, but Grimm shook her head.

"Keep it. It's yours now. Figure you'd like something of your parents that showed a bit more character."

The boy gripped the picture tighter and sobbed softly for a little while. When he calmed down a bit more, he noticed something peculiar about the photograph. The spacing between the people seemed off.

A thought came to mind.

"Grimm? How did you get this picture?"

"Oh, it's just an old thing from my Auror days." She pointed to a blank space in the photo, next to his mother. "I was in the picture, there. That was a crazy Tuesday," Grimm reminisced. "Sting operation went completely tits up. We had bad intel. Botched up the whole timing, and we fought a whole hive of bads, while their boss got away."

"What?!"

"Yeah. Probably wondering why they're all smiling, huh? Well, that's because it was my first, wet Auror case. They said I did well all things considered it was a proper fock up," Grimm chuckled.

Neville looked at her and then the photograph.

"But why aren't you in the picture?"

"Secrets, secrets, Neville. No one's supposed to know how I look, much less an actual picture of me existing."

"But…! Isn't that—sad?"

She shook her head. "I don't really like these kinds of things in the first place. Not very sentimental, you know. Don't like looking back on simpler times."

"Grimm."

"Hm?"

"Could you show me how you looked in this picture?"

"What? Why on earth would you want to see that?"

"Please?"

"Look, Neville. I understand the curiosity, but if you keep asking, I'm going to have to hex you."

"Grimm this is important. Just for a second?"

"…..Fine, but only because of outstanding circumstances you are not aware of, I feel like I owe you something for what might happen later."

Grimm tapped the blank space on the picture with her wand, and the visage of a young girl came slowly into existence. Neville's eyes went wide at seeing the small figure clutching his mother's waist. The girl's face was bandaged and her nose was broken, but the look of defiance smirked back at him. He could hardly believe this was the same woman sitting next to him.

Even Grimm barely recognized her younger self. She was so bright and full of fire back then. The girl in the picture would have spat at the person she was now, and the thought twisted her insides.

This is why I hate sentimental shit…

Nothing, but grief in what happy memories are. The best times of my life are behind me. Now, it's all pain and gloom, but at least there's solace in that.

If someone put me under a True Crucio, they'd probably flood me with all the happy thoughts I'd rather forget.

Grimm was about to tap the photo with her wand again, but Neville blocked her.

"I like it better this way. No one would recognize you, if they saw it. I won't frame it or anything, just keep it hidden to look at sometimes."

"That's not a good idea, Neville."

"Please, Grimm."

The witch scratched her head in frustration. She didn't want to dwell on the matter any longer.

"DON'T show it to anyone, or I'll kill you! Understand?"

"….Yeah," Neville stared.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I kind of realized. You're just like this all the time, aren't you?"

"Huh? Like what all the time?"

"Mean. Angry."

"Oh, that? Yeah, I guess so."

"Even when you're trying to be nice?"

"Force of habit."

"I thought you hated me."

"I—" Grimm hesitated. "I don't hate you, Neville. You're a good kid." She took a deep breath to choose her next words carefully. "If this is an honest to truths moment, I'll tell you there are moments where you kind of frustrate me. Okay? Like enough to start bleeding out my ears."

"Okay."

"But I could never hate you. You really are a good kid and I'd do anything to keep you safe. You're young, but you're turning out well. Could be doing better in your classes, but at least you're not failing. Making good friends, specially that Granger. Not running with a shitty crowd or nothing. No bad habits to speak of. Alice and Frank would be happy with you. Are! They ARE happy with you. Oh, fock, cocking, bull—"

"…..You're a good person, Grimm."

"No, I'm not, Neville. No…That, I am not."

The witch plucked up a few hairs of grass they were sitting on and blew them into the wind. Neville glanced at the picture and the crooked smile of the younger Grimm.

"You should make up with Norse and Liar," he said.

"Aw, geez. You don't worry about us. We fight all the time, friends fight. It'll pass—probably."

"Friends shouldn't fight."

"Oh, yes, they do. Of course, they do."

"Really? Why?"

"Because if one friend is behaving like an absolute prick, it's the duty of the other one to try to knock some shit into the idiot friend's arse. Pardon the language."

"Then, shouldn't you be listening to them?"

"Are you implying that I'm the prick in this?"

"No! I—"

"Just kidding, Neville. It's fine to think that way. But from my point of view, they're the ones who are wrong, see?"

"Then how do you solve your problems."

"Who knows. Maybe wait until one of us wins? If we're unlucky, time will solve it for us, but that always takes too long."

"So, you think it's good to fight?"

"I think it's good my friends stand up to me and I stand up to them. I'd never wish for them to hold back, no matter how much it hurts."

"Okay…"

Grimm used Legilimens to read some of Neville's thoughts, and then clapped him on the shoulder.

"You should never be afraid to stand up for what you believe, even if it's in the face of your own friends. That takes a special kind of courage."

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Part 3

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Night fell, and the Forgiven were readying their gear to head out.

Grimm was drinking her usual black coffee. Liar was smoking cigarette after cigarette. And Norse was knocking back a glass, while listening to some music. The three barely spoke a word to each other.

When it was time to leave, the Forgiven mounted their brooms from the tower's balcony. There was no risk of being seen, so they could fly directly from their base of operations to the forest.

They slid their masks over their faces like knights donning their helms. Their eyes looked to the east with purpose.

Right as they were about to take off, Grimm tapped Norse and Liar on the shoulder.

"Look, you two….I…." She blinked for a few moments. "I've got your backs. And I—need you with me. Or else, I can't do this alone. You know I hate asking for help, right?"

"We hear you, boss." Liar showed her a small smile. "You can always rely on us. That never changes. Ever."

"We are sworn, sister. From now, and to our last days—I walk with you."

At that moment, Grimm made a silent promise to herself that when they returned, she would try all she could to clear the air between them.

"Now then," Liar clapped his hands. "This is, without a doubt, a long and terrible night in the making. Problems ahead for sure. But one day, we'll all look back on this and laugh. So let us go make some happy memories, shall we?"

Grimm and Norse gave bitter chuckles.

I hate happy memories, though.

With Grimm's last thought, the Forgiven set to the skies.