Disclaimer: Despite neither of them wanting the Death Eaters to win, was there ever any indication that the Ministry and the Order actually cooperated with each other? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 17
Light, Dark, and Neither
"This is what's so important?" Mad-Eye asked with a short glare at their unimpressive surroundings. "A dirt road in the middle of nowhere?"
"Just because something looks like nothing does not mean that it is. I should not have to tell you about the importance of looking past the surface."
The grizzled old Auror snorted as he followed Albus down the road. He knew quite well to be prepared for anything that might spring up; that was the reason he had chosen to get a prothetic eye that could see through walls rather than something that looked more normal. Right now, as far as he could see? There was nothing to be found anywhere around them. Little Hangleton was just another hamlet in the countryside, identical to hundreds of others.
Rather than point any of this out, he grunted, "What are we doing here? I'm all for hunting down something that can hurt Voldemort, but unless I know what I'm looking for, my time would be better spent on something productive."
"Patience, old friend. Patience." The elder of the two wizards continued down the road a ways before turning off of it onto a path than was nearly invisible behind the overgrown hedgerows. "We will arrive at our destination soon enough. Before that, I wanted to talk to you about something, away from the rest of the Order."
Mad-Eye focused both eyes on the man for a moment before returning his namesake to panning around the bush. After the Ministry's latest rebuff of the Order's intelligence report, not to mention Shacklebolt's suspicions that the Auror Office was intentionally keeping him in the dark about their wider campaign against the Death Eaters, maybe Albus had finally realized just how much damage his stance of moral superiority and unwillingness to work together was doing to their relationship with the Ministry? It was about time. "What's on your mind?"
"Elphias told me some troubling news the other day. Apparently, some of our own members are turning against us. They want us to bend our knees to the corruption and greed of the Ministry, to remove ourselves from the path of Light and righteousness and abandon our morals. What was the name he said they were calling themselves?" Albus muttered. "Oh, yes. The 'Second Order'."
Of course someone had called themselves that in front of the rest of the Order. He had told them to open the other members' eyes to Albus's short-sightedness, not make themselves out to be a splinter group! That was one of the biggest problems with fighting a war alongside civilians: absolutely no comprehension of operational security.
"He also said that you were their leader."
"Did I get some people together who don't think the sun shines out your arsehole?" he snarled when Albus turned around to look at him with a disappointed expression. "Yes, I did. I've tried to tell you that you're being a bloody idiot about the Ministry, but you won't listen. You've surrounded yourself with too many people who think every word that comes out of your mouth is Merlin's own truth. Doge, McGonagall, the Potters, the Weasleys, Lupin; I could go on. Someone needs to call you out on your mistakes, and if I'm not enough alone to do it, I'll get all the members of the Order I can to back me up. Maybe enough of us shouting the same thing at you will finally get the message through your thick skull."
Albus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose just below his half-moon glasses. He was using his left hand, Mad-Eye noticed; a roll of his electric blue eye proved that Albus's wand was clutched his right hand and hidden behind his back. Was Albus preparing to attack him for his 'betrayal'? To defend against an attack, as expected of a 'traitor'? "Why, Alastor? We have been friends for decades. Why would you turn your back on that?"
"I turned my back on our friendship?" He could not help it. He laughed, the sound tinged with total disbelief. "You want to know why I got this little 'Second Order' together? It's because as far as I can tell, you won't be happy unless the entire country has either bowed before the glory of Albus Dumbledore or has been destroyed for being 'Dark'." Whatever mocking mirth was left vanished from his face and voice. "What's next, Albus? Will we have to 'prove our loyalty'? Kiss your robes? Tattoo a phoenix on our arms?"
"I would appreciate not being compared to Voldemort," Albus said in a voice of forced calm.
"Then stopping acting like you're reading from the same playbook! You think you're the only one with the knowledge or the intelligence to lead this fight. You refuse to work with the Ministry, who want the Death Eaters stopped just as much as we do, because they insist on being an ally instead of a follower. For Merlin's sake, you're treating a disagreement over your methods the same as if I had pulled up my sleeve and showed you the Dark Mark!" Lowering his voice again, he spat out, "You are behaving like just as much of an egomaniac as Voldemort, and you can't even see it."
"Everything I do is necessary to stop the Death Eaters. If I did not, they would conquer our world and burn it to the ground."
"'Everything I do is necessary to stop the mudbloods. If I did not, they would conquer our world and burn it to the ground'. Don't you hear yourself? That's the entire reason everything has gone wrong for you. The reason there was no international backlash when Fudge pulled you off the ICW without warning? Because your holier-than-thou attitude pushed away even our closest allies. The reason the country had no problems believing that you used mind magics on the students of Hogwarts? Because you have to be the smartest man in the room, no matter how little you know of what's going on around you. The reason the Ministry refuses to trust you and instead is keeping us at a distance? Because you wouldn't know cooperation if it was staring you in the face. The reason the Order is falling apart around you?" Mad-Eye shook his head. "Because despite what your sycophants have been telling you, you aren't as wise or as charismatic as you think you are. You made a whole host of enemies over the years, and now all those problems you've been ignoring are coming to a head. If you don't bend, you're going to be broken, and there's nothing I could do to help you even if I wanted to."
"You would rather watch our world fall into Darkness?" the stiff-necked wizard asked sadly.
"I'd watch the Order fall apart and lead the survivors to work alongside the DMLE. I wouldn't be happy about it, but if that was the only option I had left? I'd do it. I don't trust you enough to smooth over your mistakes anymore."
"What have I done to earn such enmity from you?" murmured Albus. "When I reformed the Order, you were willing to fight alongside me even when the Ministry refused to acknowledge the truth. Now, here we stand in opposition to one another. What has happened between us?"
"You messed with my cadets' heads while they were at Hogwarts, and you're talking like a madman. Either one would be reason enough for me to distrust you, and both together?"
The pair watched each other for a long moment; Mad-Eye had no idea what was going through Albus's head, but his own mind was busy examining and dismissing various tactics should this turn into the fight he worried it would. Finally, though, Albus let his shoulders slump and relaxed his grip on his wand. "Would I that we could trust each other as we once did."
"I just told you that you act like you're losing the plot, but I still came out here alone with you. From where I'm standing, that's being extremely trusting," he pointed out. "The Bludger's on your side of the pitch now."
"I suppose it is, isn't it?" The former headmaster turned and started walking again, deeper into the hedges. "Ever since Voldemort proved himself to still be alive in 1992, I have wondered how he managed to do so. The next year, following the incident of the Chamber of Secrets, I thought I knew, but still I was unsure. He could have used the method I believe he did, or perhaps what I held in my hands was something else, a simulacrum of sorts, but creating a duplicate that was self-aware as young Danny claimed would be impossible for any student, even one as brilliant as Voldemort. It must have been the true article."
"Quit dancing around the subject, Albus," he demanded. "What are you talking about?"
"The actual name is irrelevant"—Mad-Eye snorted; more likely, Albus was keeping it a secret so he could not find information about it on his own—"but it is incredibly Dark magic, even for an application of necromancy. It involves a wizard splitting his very soul in half through an act of cold-blooded murder and then binding that fragment of his self to a physical object. So long as it exists, he may return from death as many times as he wishes."
That would explain how the bastard came back after thirteen years, he admitted to himself with a nod. "So destroy the anchor, then he can be killed. He can't make another one once this is gone, can he?" he asked with sudden suspicion. "It won't do any good to spend the time destroying this now if he'll just make a new one and hide it in a different spot."
They rounded a corner to find a small house waiting abandoned for them, though the hovel could barely be seen through the trees growing wild all around it. "Once upon a time, I think he would have noticed its destruction, but if he still can after all the murders he has committed? I have my doubts." Albus's features twisted in hesitation for all of a moment, and he reluctantly added, "The real question is not whether he will notice this one is gone and replace it, but whether this is the only one. I cannot say for sure if he went through with it," the elder wizard explained, "but I have reason to believe that he at least considered making more."
"More of these things." Albus nodded. "Bollocks. That could be a problem."
"Indeed."
The pair reached the house, and Albus waved his wand. Nothing happened. "I did not expect summoning to work," he admitted ruefully, "but there was no reason not to try. It seems we must search for it." A jab vanished the door.
The earth beneath them boiled up in sudden fury, and Mad-Eye sprayed fire in a circle around them as snakes of all descriptions were set upon them. Vipers, adders, kraits, cobras, and more that he did not recognize. While he was otherwise occupied, Albus turned the ones that tried to come up from directly under their feet into dust, and several seconds passed before the trap was completely spent. "With manners like that, it's no wonder he became a Dark Lord," Mad-Eye muttered.
"Indeed. Even as a boy, he was far from gracious." Albus shook his head with a sigh. "If only I had known then just what kind of monster he would become. I think I would have left him in the Muggle world, honestly; he had already developed a decent grasp over his powers, but without instruction of some kind, those tricks would be all he ever explored. He would be safer to be around."
And he wouldn't be our problem. Callous, yes, but when discussing the mass-murdering leader of a revolution, foisting him off on the Muggles would have saved all the wizards and witches he killed over the course of the wars. And, if Albus were right and he would not have had the skill he did now, he probably would have killed fewer people in total. Eying Albus, Mad-Eye asked, "And how does Potter and the prophecy fit into all this?"
Albus sighed. "As I told you – along with the rest of the Order – before, so long as Voldemort does not learn the contents, exactly what it says is irrelevant to our purposes. You were content with that explanation before."
"Content? No. I was just willing to let it lie. That was before you damaged my trust so thoroughly. I know you, Albus; you may be telling the truth about it being most important that Voldemort doesn't hear it, but you're making plans based on its contents nevertheless, and you haven't been doing so well in the planning department lately."
The white-haired wizard stepped into the shack, and the retired Auror followed and set his eye spinning around the single room. A fireplace, washtub, small cabinet, and low-set table with four stools sat to one side; on the other was a bed large enough to sleep three comfortably and a chest for clothing. Nothing Mad-Eye himself would want to put a chunk of his soul in, that was for sure.
"Check that side," Albus ordered, waving a hand at the sleeping half of the building. "Knowing him, it will be something ornate or valuable. He always did like 'collecting' his little treasures."
Not knowing why that phrasing disturbed him so, Mad-Eye very carefully expected the contents of the chest before opening it.
"The prophecy…." Albus began. "It says that a child would be born at the end of the seventh month, one that was capable of defeating Voldemort. The only one capable of doing so."
"If Potter is supposed to be the one to save us, he's got a long way to go."
"I am aware. I have also kept in mind that it is not a moral choice to push a boy into fighting our wars for us. If he sought out the conflict of his own accord, it is one thing, but I must not force him into it. Alas, I now worry about how capable he is of such a task. There are methods available to grant him an advantage, but none of them are…" A grimace swept over Albus's face. "…palatable."
Looking over, Mad-Eye nodded to himself. "What aren't you telling me? You're still hiding something." A thought crossed his mind, and suddenly all the pieces came together to form a coherent whole. "This has something to do with the Black girl, doesn't it? That's why you were so suspicious of her while I was teaching. She was the only one you asked me to keep a discreet eye on, even when there were known children of Death Eaters running around causing problems. You didn't know she was the Lestrange bitch's, not then, but there was something you did know."
A long, tense minute passed in silence. "I knew she was James's child," Albus admitted, "and the prophecy actually revealed two children who were capable of being the One. The first, marked by Voldemort, who would be raised by the Light. Another, filled with hate and cruelty, who would side with the Dark. Danny and Black."
"And just like after you defeated Grindelwald, whichever one defeats him will have all the fame and glory he or she could want," he cut in as he caught on to Albus's plan. Just because he did not like politics and preferred to keep his boots on the street – one of the reasons Amelia had been chosen as Director of the DMLE rather than him; he never wanted to go into an administrative position – did not mean he could not understand it. "If Potter defeats Voldemort, he's the hero that everyone listens to, a mouthpiece who will forward your own goals. On the other hand, if Black wins, suddenly all that power goes into the hands of someone who doesn't like you and has a totally opposite ideology. All those successes you've had over the years disappear in one fell swoop."
"I would never treat Danny as a simple tool in the Wizengamot. He would make his proposals and cast his votes based on his own conscience," Albus denied, a meaningless distinction since Potter the Elder was one of his biggest supporters and devotees and the boy was just like his old man. "But yes, if Black should be the victor, our nation will abandon all the progress we have made over the last fifty years. Do you really expect me to stand aside and just let that happen?"
"Not my business." Tonks had all but admitted the youngest Black was a dark witch, but she had also denied that the girl planned to take over the world. He had found Black to be a selfish little chit that one year he had spent at Hogwarts, but she was a teenager; everyone was convinced the world revolved around them at that age. Between Tonks and Albus, he knew who he trusted more, even if she were anything but impartial on this, and that made his decision for him. Unless he caught wind there might be a Dark Lady Black starting up trouble in a decade or two, he'd keep his nose out of it.
Albus pulled his arm from inside the chimney and shook his head. "It has to be here. This was a meaningful place for him. Why wouldn't he hide it here? Alastor, rip up the floors. He must have buried it."
Two spells tore the rough wooden boards out from under them, but what was revealed was flattened dirt. There was no sign that anything was hidden here.
"This what we came for?" Mad-Eye grunted, unimpressed with their little venture. A good hour, completely wasted. "A bunch of nothing?"
"I know it was here. He must have moved it."
The disfigured wizard scoffed and walked away. Maybe there was something there once; maybe it was all an act of Albus's. He did not know, and honestly? He had better things to worry about.
"Resilie carpe retractum."
The glowing orange thread shot from Filius's wand, bounced off the stone wall, flew over the nearby wall sconce, and lashed itself tightly around his attacker's ankle. Miss Black barely had time to blink before a twitch of his wand reeled the magicked rope back in, which in turn flung her face-first into the floor and ungraciously dragged her along with it. A flick of his wand covered her in a light coating of frost. "That's my win, my dear."
"You don't have to sound so proud of it," the sixth-year muttered as she hastily brushed off the ice. "What's our score, again? A thousand to nought?"
"I doubt it is that many. Five hundred, maybe." She scoffed and stood, and he conjured chairs for both of them. "Even that is nothing to disparage. You have, on occasion, fallen for the same trick twice, but never thrice. Once I run out of new strategies, I expect that you will quickly start evening the score." He smiled brightly and bounced a couple of times in his chair in his excitement. "Just between us, I've actually had to go to a few matches on the weekends to get more ideas to keep ahead of you in these lessons."
Miss Black shot a doubtful glance at him, but it was absolutely true. She had a natural talent for dueling, and between what he was teaching her and her own studies of combative and dark magics, the knowledge gap between them was rapidly crumbling into nothing. Soon enough, the only advantage he would have was sheer experience, but that was less comforting that it sounded when he kept in mind that she had already faced off against a Dark Lord five times her age and had stayed on even footing the entire time.
"You're going to duels, and you haven't been inviting me?" she eventually asked in a displeased tone.
He shrugged, his smile revealing his embarrassment. "These weren't the professional duels like those I used to compete in. Do you remember how I said that there were underground fight clubs on Knockturn Alley?" That got a sharp smile out of her. "I doubt your family would allow you to go with me, and the people there are not the kind a young lady should be exposed to."
"You'd be surprised just what kinds of people I have been exposed to over the years, Professor."
That was a comment he was not going to touch with a ten-foot pole. Casting about for a different conversation topic, his mind alighted on an idle curiosity that had been fluttering about in his head ever since the summer. "I read in the Prophet that you are one of the young women who started looking for suitors this year." She nodded absently. "And yet, I recall the complaints you had last year, the ones that were the result of you sleeping with other witches while you were dating Miss Lovegood." The nod this time was slower and warier, and he gave her a friendly shrug. "I just can't help but wonder how the two of you are working through all this."
"Not well or easily," she groused. "She knows I need to see this through. Not only am I the heir of my House, I am the only person who can continue our line. Aunt Cissy, Aunt Andi, Dora; none of them bear the name Black. Sirius is sterile. If I bear a bastard child, little though I myself care about it, our enemies would pounce on it. Two illegitimately born heirs?" She shot up from the chair and started pacing in front of him. "It would start people talking, you know. Inevitably my own sudden appearance would be put under greater scrutiny, and someone would remember that the goblins practice blood magic. Rumors would start that I am not actually a Black, that I'm some random girl the Blacks dressed up as their heir to keep the House from going extinct."
"Which, technically speaking, you are," he pointed out helpfully.
"That's why I can't have people poking around!" she snarled back at him. "Once my heritage is in question, it will give the Potters firm ground on which to build their case. People will listen to their claims that I'm their daughter, will believe them. Then come hearings, interrogations, accusations. A Halfblood dressing herself up as a Pureblood and, even worse, an heir to a House in the Wizengamot? My family, my real family, will all be shoved into prison for Line Theft; Dora might escape that fate, maybe, but the Aurors would toss her out on her ear even if they couldn't prove that she knew about it. A family whose history traces back to the eighth century, possibly even back as far as the days of Merlin and Morgan and Camelot, declared extinct.
"And I?" The girl threw her head back and laughed out loud, the sound cold and brittle and bitter. "If I didn't spend a few decades in Azkaban, too, I would be forced to go back to those… those… Baron-be-damned moronic gobshites who threw me away when I was a toddler! If you were told you had to leave the Wizarding World and live the rest of your life with the goblins, what would you do?!" she demanded.
His answer was immediate and final. "I'd kill every single person who thought they could get away with trying it." His relationship with his grandfather's species was abominable – they were more condemning of their 'half-breeds' than even the worst of the blood-purists – and it had been made clear to him, as it had been to his mother before him, that he was not one of them and never would be, and the punishment for non-goblins trying to sneak into their world and 'spy on their culture' was death. As far as he was concerned, that was fine. He wanted nothing to do with them, either.
"Exactly!" Miss Black sighed and plopped wearily back in her seat. "I'm not going to let that happen. Right now, people respect and fear what I'm capable of. I killed a dragon, am Bellatrix's daughter, fought Voldemort one-on-one and stayed alive. They don't want to dig too deeply. As long as I never let their suspicions outweigh those fears, I – we – will stay safe. So yes, I'm accepting suitors. I will choose one of them to be my contracted husband. I will have a legitimate child by him. And even though she's too insane for anyone to believe her anyway, I will breathe a sigh of relief when Bellatrix is killed and cannot deny that I am her daughter."
She panted lightly at the end of her diatribe, and Filius kept silent for a moment to allow her to regain her emotional equilibrium. That rant had the sound of one that had been building for many months now. "You said Miss Lovegood knows that you need to do this. Does she know why?"
"No, she doesn't." The brunette let out a long sigh. "My friends all believe more or less the same story about my heritage that we released to the Prophet. Admitting that it was a complete fabrication now would be… awkward."
"More awkward than her girlfriend courting a number of wizards behind her back?"
Nothing was said in answer, and he leaned forward with a groan and braced his elbows on his knees. Dueling with her was enjoyable, no doubt about that, but it unfortunately made sure he knew that he was getting older. "Would you like some advice?"
"Can't cause any more problems."
"As I see it, there are three options available to you for dealing with this. One, you try to keep going as you have. Continue your relationship, continue your courting, and continue pushing your relationship and your friendship with Miss Lovegood to the breaking point. Eventually, it will snap, and the resulting emotional injuries will be painful for everybody even peripherally involved. Two, make your choice and stop looking for a husband so you can commit yourself to her fully." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "There will be problems socially with that, both because it is not a traditional relationship and because any children you have to continue your line will be illegitimate as a matter of necessity, but while I am not a member of high society – for obvious reasons – I doubt they will be quite as bad as you are imagining."
"Plans based on optimism never turn out well," she retorted.
"True, but borderline paranoia is not realism, either. Your third option…." He shook his head. "Again, make the choice. If continuing your family's legacy is that important to you, do the proper thing and make a clean break with Miss Lovegood. It is not right to her to string her along like this, nor is it right to you."
Miss Black muttered something unintelligible to herself before brushing her hair out of her face. "Do you have a good option in there somewhere? Something I might actually like?"
"Not every problem has a nice, tidy answer. You should know this well enough by now," he replied with a weak smile.
"Well, on a completely different subject, I need a permission form for the Restricted Section," she said. "There's a book I need to prepare for my Dark Arts Proficiency, but I can't even browse them without showing Pince proof that it's been approved."
Accepting the obvious segue, he prompted, "I know we have a number of books on the darker aspects of magic in case the NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts students need to look something up, but I'm not sure exactly what those texts cover. I was more concerned by that point with the finer points of dueling than facing off against monsters or Dark Lords. What information are you looking for?"
"Advanced scrying magics," she replied with an odd, almost distant smile, "specifically water scrying. I read about some manners of scrying that allow you to use all your senses rather than just sight and hearing, but that text wasn't entirely clear as to the details…."
Several days of haunting the Restricted Section passed before Jen felt ready to give this plan a try. There was indeed a method of scrying that should allow her to use her sonar to sense her surroundings, something her normal scrying made impossible, but unfortunately for her, that method was not exactly safe. Any magic that was said to only be possible upon reaching 'the glimmer of blackest sleep' was not something she wanted to experiment with on her own, even if she did have Death's favor.
Thankfully, there was someone she could recruit to give her a hand.
She slipped through the stacks in the library to where her friends had gathered together to study for Charms, the only class all seven of them shared. "Hey, Tracey? Can I borrow you for a few minutes?"
"Sure. Give me a second." Once all her things were packed, the chestnut-haired Slytherin walked up and followed Jen as she left the library toward a room she had prepared. "Where are we going? Since you want me, I'd assume this was House business–related, but there's little reason we couldn't have done that in the library under privacy charms."
"No, it isn't politics."
Tracey blinked. "Okay. So why pick me? If it's not politics…."
The swift inhalation told her when her best friend had put the pieces together, and she nodded. "There's some dark magic I need to perform," she whispered. "It is related to House business, sort of. I need to find something, and while I know how to scry, what I'm looking for is warded against it. I'm hoping I can peer through those charms using this technique, but I need someone to keep an eye out and make sure nothing goes wrong. That would be… bad."
The rest of the journey passed in silence. Unlocking a door, she led Tracey into the room she had prepared earlier. She closed the door and locked it again, and then she pulled her robes off her shoulders and let them fall to the ground.
"…Didn't you tell me once that you wouldn't hit on me?" Tracey asked delicately while trying not to look at her naked body.
"No, I believe what I actually said was that if I did flirt with you, you would know it." Watching the other girl's face crumple, she could not help the laugh that spilled out. "Don't worry, Trace. I'm not trying to drag you into my bed."
"Thank Merlin. No offense to you, but girls just aren't my type."
"Not that you don't look delectable, of course," Jen added with an exaggerated licking of her lips. Tracey just rolled her eyes, but the small smile told a different story. "On to the scrying. It's called immersion scrying, and like the name implies, I need to be completely submerged for it to work."
"Okay." Watching Jen walk past her to sit in the conjured tub that had already been filled with water, Tracey asked, "So what do I need to do?"
"Not much. Just pull me out if I stop breathing for too long."
"Stop breathing what?!"
Jen dropped her head backwards and under the surface of the water. The glimmer of blackest sleep. The edge between life and death. She could do this. She blew out the air in her lungs.
Then she breathed in.
A paralysis spell stopped the spasms that came as her body fought against her to try to get to air. She needed to balance on that edge, and she could not do that if she kept breaking the surface for a breath. Shadows started to encroach on the edge of her vision, and through her half-closed eyes she could see little specks of silvery white light dancing in the darkness. Dancing, floating….
Glimmering….
The black engulfed her, but then the misty shadows cleared enough to see a swarm of fireflies hovering far away in front of her. No, not in front of her. Below. She was floating in the air, and the sparks below her were the lights of numerous cities. This was the view of Britain and France during the deepest hours of night, for not even then was everything asleep.
But she was not doing this to enjoy the view. She had a job to do.
Drifting down toward the earth, she threw her sonar far and wide. She did not have to feel textures and shapes, not with this view. All she needed to look for was the burning touch of white magic. Scrying for the Turk himself was impossible now that he was surrounding himself with Marduk's power, but that should, if everything went right, be what let this work. She could not find him, but if she could find echoes of his magic, she would have locations for Priest and Menagerie to search.
The alternative was to create an entirely new ritual to scry for him. None of Elsie's books described anything like what she needed.
Coming closer, she smiled when she finally did feel heat pricking uncomfortably in her mind. Two points of similar strengths, fairly close together, just north and north-west of the lights shining from Greater London. Far to the west, probably in Devon, a weaker one. Thinking about it, that was probably the fields and orchards of Ottery St. Catchpole, where she knew light magic was called up every Christmas Eve. Continuing in that direction lay the weakest speck somewhere in northern Cornwall. North from London, halfway to the Scottish border in Leicestershire, was the strongest piece of white magic she had come across, though its heat seemed… almost diffuse, in a way. She had no way of knowing what that meant, but it was something for them to check.
Idly curious, she started looking for cold spots. London, of course, where the Blacks' townhouse stood. Cardiff, again obviously. Birmingham. The very tip of Cornwall. North nearly to Scotland, County Durham or North Yorkshire. Only five points of dark magic, equal to those of the light? That was unacceptable. Someone would have to do something about that.
She pulled back and drifted away from the world. Now that she knew where the light magic was, she could… do something with it. Why did she want to do this, again? Someone wanted to know… or did she want that? Her reasons were all becoming fuzzy, and she knew that was a bad sign, but why it was bad? That she was not sure of.
She did have the information, though, so she supposed she could return to her body, which she had left… somewhere. Feeling around, she found a thin thread leading from her into the distance, and with nothing better to do, she followed it. She hurtled over the English countryside, past the lights of Glasgow and Edinburgh, over the mountains of the Cairngorms. Down she fell, toward a glassy black lake and a brightly lit castle. Through a rapidly approaching window, she could make out two figures; as she came even closer, she saw that one of them was a girl with reddish-brown hair, and she was pulling another girl, this one black-haired and naked, out of a bathtub.
Well, that was rude of her. What if the second girl was enjoying her bath?
The first girl threw the second onto the ground and kissed her. No, not a kiss, she decided as the girl then started to press down on the naked one's breastbone; that girl must have drowned. Poor thing. But why was she still coming closer? She was trying to get to her body….
Ah, she thought as the dark-haired girl's face took up the entirety of her vision, maybe this is my—
A thought snapped the paralysis curse she had laid on herself, and Jen flipped over and coughed as water poured from her mouth and nose. And poured, and poured. Her lungs were completely saturated.
Dimly, she became aware of Tracey smacking her shoulder repeatedly. Nor was it to help, either, if the expression of furious terror were any indication. "Jennifer Black, how dare you do that to me?!" her best friend shrieked, each word punctuated with another slap. "I did not spend all this time dealing with your weirdness just to watch you kill yourself!"
She raised her arm and tried to catch Tracey's striking hand. It took a few attempts, which she was sure did not help matters. "I wasn't killing myself," she rasped. "This is how immersion scrying works. It's not as bad as it looks."
Not as bad so long as she ignored the disturbing sensation of her sense of self rapidly flaking away, at least.
"That doesn't make it better!"
Jen pushed herself into a sitting position and cast a drying charm on herself. Her lungs and throat needed healing desperately, but there was no way she was going to use a healing curse while she was soaked like this. She would go from being drowned to being frozen solid, not much of an improvement in her opinion. "It is what it is." Now that she was mostly dry, she dropped the previous spell for healing, and her voice returned to normal. "Besides, do you really think, if I wanted to commit suicide, I'd invite you along to be a witness? Or do it by drowning? It'd be a lot less painful to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower."
"Not. Helping." Putting away her snarl with difficulty, Tracey demanded, "Did whatever you were doing succeed, or was this all for bloody nothing?"
She thought back to what she had felt during her scrying. Five areas of white magic, and she thankfully remembered where each of them was, though she would need to write it all down to make sure she did not forget. "Oh, it worked, all right." Grabbing Tracey's arm, she pulled the other girl into a damp embrace. "It worked perfectly."
"That's great. Let go of me." Her friend tugged and pulled until she let her escape, and the Slytherin finished off the task of drying them both. Throughout all of that, her glare never wavered. "Never, ever ask me to do anything like this again."
"Fine, I won't ask you to do anything like this ever again as long as you live," she replied facetiously. "Now help me up, will you? I have a letter I need to send."
In Jen's defense, the book she read made no mention of losing her sense of self if she went immersion scrying. It also, however, assumed she had experience with hydromancy and wasn't jumping straight into the deep end.
Silently Watches out.
