A/N: A lot happens in this chapter. Sorry if it feels bloated.
Dudley folded his once-white t-shirt carefully into the battered dresser that stood in the corner of his small, stone room. Nothing about the room was like his old life. The cold, grey walls were about the only similarity. The rotten mattress with its springs protruding out the end sat on the rocky, uneven floor. A dirty sweater acted as his pillow, thanks to the old one being ripped up by his werewolf form on one of his first, horrendously painful nights.
So much had changed, since then. More than just his room. His body, for one thing, had grown and developed better than he ever would have hoped. While in any other scenario, he might have looked at his new physique with pride and satisfaction, here he felt nothing but resentment toward the reflection that stood in the mirror.
As someone who had never cared much for personal hygiene, he craved his turn in the shower more than anything at the end of each week. He'd take advantage of every drop provided. His hair constantly felt greasy and matted. The work Greyback had them doing was grueling and dirty. It had been months since his initiation, and yet Dudley was still considered a Lowen. The lowest possible rank in the pack.
Dudley wasn't fond of the title. He didn't even have a name, by all accounts. Only Greyback addressed him as anything other than 'runt' or 'Lowen boy'. There weren't enough of them for it to be confusing. Dudley always knew they were talking about him.
He knew, to some extent, that the only reason they hadn't eaten him was that he was important. He held a connection to Harry Potter. Some form of lure for the one who had completely escaped their grasp.
It's not like Harry was the only werewolf out there who hadn't joined some form of Greyback's pack. Hundreds, potentially thousands of them were out there. Greyback could name all of them if he wanted to. It was just that Harry was a big name. The face of the Wizarding World, by many accounts. Not only that but the public had not been made officially aware of Harry's condition yet. The speculation was in papers of ill repute. Like The Quibbler. A magazine that had been about the only source of joy in Dudley's life over the past five months. Well, joy was a bit of an overstatement. The rag had left him smiling once or twice.
It was better than nothing, really.
Dudley did his best not to think about his resentment for Greyback too often. The werewolf had a way of knowing things about the others. He could tell Dudley exactly what he was thinking if they were in close enough proximity.
Which was why, generally, Greyback made sure to take everything out on him. They were trying to break him.
For all intents and purposes, they had. Dudley had no hope of escaping, and he wasn't going to make any attempts to do so. He wasn't a brave man, child, wolf, or whatever he was. He was the definition of fodder. He always had been. Any signs of leadership he'd presented with his 'friends' at school was a complete lie. A front built out of fear.
It pained him to be in the position he currently sat in because Greyback was the mirror image of who Dudley had been. Only on a larger scale, and with cruelty few could match.
So, Dudley sat on his mattress. Its springs creaked under his muscled weight, and he rested back on his arms, staring unseeingly at the wall opposite him.
A knock at the door made him flinch. He didn't get the chance to mutter a feeble "Come in," before Greyback's looming, inhuman form walked into the room. He was wearing clothes this time. Thank God. Though they barely covered his torso.
"I've got your replacement assignment ready, Dursley," Greyback said in his raspy voice. "Put a shirt on,"
Dudley did as he was instructed. Unfolding the yellowed tee and pulling it over his taut shoulders.
"Come," Greyback commanded, almost whispering as he led Dudley out of the room.
The halls of the werewolf den were filthy. Coated in mud, grime, and occasionally, blood. It smelled awful, but Dudley got the impression that Greyback and the others loved the odor. It excited them.
They passed through the prison block. The cells were empty, now. That previous month's full moon had seen to that. Of course, Tonks was brought in after that. She was still in her cell; her pregnancy rapidly becoming more obvious.
Chiara was in there now. He could smell the two of them. They never spoke. The bad blood between them was too much to overcome, it would seem.
Dudley bowed his head as he walked past the cell, shame bubbling in his stomach. He wouldn't help her. He couldn't, and shouldn't.
The silent walk to the main hall stretched on until finally, Greyback spoke. "Do you know of Alyssa Scamander?"
Dudley shook his head, not willing to respond verbally.
"Himulrean, my assistant, was sent to kill the family not so long ago," Greyback began, continuing his trek towards the main hall. "He slayed the parents without much trouble. Unfortunately, his need to infect overrode his desire to consume, and he ended the night by sinking his teeth into a young girl called Alyssa,"
Dudley placed the names in his head as he took mental notes. Himulrean was a cruel werewolf. Driven further away from humanity than Greyback himself. Dudley chose to forget the days in which he'd been forced to spend time with him. It had not been pleasant.
"Alyssa is the granddaughter of Newt Scamander. A man who has devoted himself to the 'art' of magizoology for decades now," Greyback spat as though the title revolted him. "He has promoted the support and research into our gift for many years, and I wanted him gone. His son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren were the only ones at the sanctuary, so my goal was thwarted,"
Dudley was having a hard time keeping track of everything now.
"In the end, Scamander being forced to adopt and take care of his two grandchildren was not the end of the world for us. It put a temporary halt on the search for a cure, and hope was again lost for those who had escaped us,"
Dudley frowned. It was common knowledge that Greyback despised the mere idea of a cure for lycanthropy. As long as hope was lost, more werewolves would succumb to his pack. The laws in England weren't for Greyback's cause, but they enabled an easy playing field to spread the infection. So, in other words, the werewolf legislation passed by Lupin and Tonks was a necessary evil, in Greyback's eyes.
"Now, however, Alyssa has a child of her own. A young girl, not a year old. We need her for the same reasons as the rest," Greyback said with a tone of finality.
Dudley swallowed and waited for his instructions to follow the history lesson.
"Your assignment is simple. Find the girl, Charlie Scamander. Kidnap her, and make sure Alyssa knows it is I who sent you," Greyback said, rounding on Dudley and forcing their walk to a halt. "Do you understand?"
"Where do I start?" Dudley asked, ignoring the pointless question attached to the end of Greyback's sentence.
"She lives in Paris, though I do hear she's been spurring quite the movement down there. I doubt she'll be hard to find," Greyback suddenly reached out and held Dudley by the arm. "I'll know if you betray me,"
Dudley swallowed and nodded. "I wasn't planning on it, sir,"
Greyback sniffed at the title. He didn't seem to appreciate it, as his grip dug further into Dudley's skin. "Bring me the girl… then we'll consider moving you up through our ranks."
Greyback knew Dudley didn't care to move up in his ranks, and he seemed to relish his discomfort.
"Yes, Greyback," Dudley said, accepting the mission.
"Good. Now, head to Paris. Join her people. Find the child," Greyback listed off his duties.
Dudley, again, nodded.
Greyback handed him a small metal ball and whispered, "We, as servants of death, go to fulfill our duties,"
Then, he let go of the ball, leaving Dudley as the only one holding it. The feeling of being pulled by the navel through a small tube enveloped Dudley, and he found himself falling flat on the pavement of a deserted side street.
Regretfully Uncaring
Chapter 44: The Fire and the Shapeshifter
His muscles ached as he got up. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd broken something, but his being a werewolf allowed rapid regeneration. Injuries weren't much of a problem.
He was carrying nothing but the satchel he always brought with him and his vest full of vials and bandages. His unnatural height only added to the growing discomfort in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't been outside much since the night of his parent's deaths.
There were thousands of different smells coming from the exit of the side street. Boarded-up shops lined the alley walls. Dudley swallowed and brought a hand to his brow to block out the sun that was beating down through the buildings. Step by step, he made his way out into a large open space. Roads led to multiple different streets, which all ended in large blue portal structures.
The French tricolour waved over multiple stands and hung from various terraces. The smell of fresh paint mixed with that of the small food market placed where all the streets met in the middle.
He was in Paris. He could see the normal skyline beyond the magical one. He'd always wanted to come here. Even if it was nothing more than a strange distant dream, he'd thought of it.
He shook his head, dismissing his own thoughts, and stepped out into the street properly. His pale skin felt like it was on fire from the sun's rays. His head hurt, and he could feel his heart rate picking up. Sweat formed on his brow and seeped onto his hand. The smells, the sights, the sounds. It was all piling up. He'd never been in a situation where all of this was as strong as it was here. There were so many people.
Greetings and farewells echoed through his head as his brain tried to sort through it all. Everything was moving so fast. Tears pooled under his eyelids as he tried to block out anything at all.
"Sir? Sir, are you alright?" a boy was talking to him. Dudley could smell his breath. He'd eaten an apple recently. At least, he assumed that's what that was.
"No," Dudley said through gritted teeth. He was suddenly aware that he'd fallen to the cobblestone ground. His knees were aching from the landing. Everything was so delayed.
"Someone get a healer! We need a healer over here!" the boy shouted to the crowded streets.
"NO!" Dudley shouted, the adrenaline in his chest drove him to his feet. He swayed for a moment and was stabilized with some help from the boy next to him. He had dark skin and short hair. His concerned brown eyes seemed to take Dudley's every move. "I need to find… someone. Scamander… Alyssa,"
The boy's eyes widened, and he pulled Dudley back into the side street. He muttered a few spells, and suddenly, everyone who'd come to the scene in hopes of aiding Dudley was confused. Scratching the backs of their heads and walking away.
Dudley wasn't the curious type, so he didn't bother asking what sort of magic that was. For the time being, he wrote it off as some spell that sent people looking in the other direction.
The boy finally stopped and forced Dudley's body to face him. They weren't all that far apart in height, and if Dudley had to guess, he'd assume they were around the same age.
"Who are you?" the boy asked.
Dudley almost said his real name, before he faltered. "Erm, Vernon. Vernon Evans,"
The boy worried his lower lip and nodded, extending his hand. "Dean Thomas, a pleasure to meet you,"
Dudley shook the boy's hand, trying not to inadvertently break his bones. "Right, yes… sorry, why did you drag me down here?" he asked, looking around them to see if there was some sort of hidden passage.
"Because you said you were looking for Alyssa Scamander," Dean said, "and I know exactly where she is,"
Dudley let out a short breath in relief. He hadn't expected it to be this easy. "Erm… brilliant. Where is she?"
"Why do you want to see her?" Dean asked. Responding so fast he nearly cut Dudley off.
"I hear she's been spurring up a sort of… movement," Dudley began, trying to think of everything Greyback had told him. "I wanted to join,"
Dean squinted up at him, frowning. "Are you working for the British Ministry?"
Dudley gaped at him. "How old do you think I am?"
Dean's eyebrow crept higher on his brow. "Early twenties? Late teens?"
"I'm fifteen," Dudley spat. "I'm not working for anyone,"
"Don't get so defensive," Dean held his hands up in surrender. "I've got to make sure you aren't trying to shut us down,"
"I'm not," Dudley replied firmly. It was true. He wasn't there to shut down whatever Alyssa had started. He was only there to take her infant daughter. He squirmed uncomfortably.
Dean wasn't looking at Dudley anymore. He was staring unseeingly at the wall behind him. "Follow me. Someone's watching us."
So, they set off, back into the open streets of France's hidden magical society. Dean led him through weaving markets and up stairwells in old buildings with crumbling concrete walls. They walked over boardwalks made of ancient wooden planks that creaked under each of Dudley's steps. In the distance, above the non-magical rooftops, stood the Eiffel Tower. It was unbelievably tall. The sense of scale was amplified by the low height of the buildings surrounding it.
Then, Dean crouched to fit through a small gap between rooftops. Dudley had to crawl, and he felt the odd twig press through his clothes and into his skin, but it didn't bother him so much.
The sight before him was incredibly disorienting. It felt like he was watching the world expand in front of him. Until finally, the picture fit the edges of his vision, as he got to his feet right on the edge of a large open space. Around him was a dense tropical rainforest. Several cabins sat in a large circle around an amphitheater, while beyond that was a farmhouse. Like the ones in American films.
Apparently, Dudley's awe and confusion at the magic in front of him had shown on his face. "I know right? It's weird at first," Dean commented, taking in the view for himself. "Come on. She's probably at Headquarters," he pointed to the farmhouse.
As they walked towards Headquarters, Dudley took in the rest of the field. Dozens of witches and wizards were practicing with these strange wooden training dummies. The bright lights of the various spells looked like fireworks in the daylight. None of the people practicing were much older than Dean.
They were all kids.
Some older members seemed to be there for guidance. Correcting their stance or whatever else went into producing magic.
Dean seemed to slow as he reached the front steps to Headquarters.
"Is everything alright?" Dudley asked hesitantly.
Dean nodded, more to himself than anything, it seemed. "Yeah… yeah, it's fine. Just… I've never really brought someone in before."
"Brought someone it?" Dudley's apprehension was growing by the second. "What do you mean, brought someone in?"
"Dean!" a girl's voice broke the silence. Dudley whirled around to face the sound and was momentarily starstruck.
She was quite beautiful, at least to him. She had darker skin, but not quite like that of Dean's. Her face was well-rounded. Cheekbones, nice eyes, good nose, perfect lips. When she talked, her front teeth seemed to come down further than the rest, but it was cute rather than coming off as out of place.
"Hermione!" Dean greeted as the girl came nearer. "I've got a new recruit with me. I found him while doing my rounds in the high street,"
The girl, Hermione, waved at Dudley with a small smile. It wasn't altogether friendly, but not dismissive either. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said, offering her hand in much the same way as Dean.
Dudley took it, choosing to be extra gentle this time. "Vernon Evans,"
Hermione's eyes narrowed nearly imperceptibly, but Dudley noticed. "You're from England, I take it?"
"Erm, yes. Surrey," Dudley answered.
Hermione pulled away slightly. He couldn't explain why, but even though she retained a straight-faced exterior, he could've sworn she was smirking. Like she knew something he didn't.
"Well, I hope you find a place here… Evans,"
Dudley blinked and watched her walk away, down to the training grounds.
"She's always like that, don't worry," said Dean, taking a step onto the wraparound deck of Headquarters.
Dudley couldn't help but get the feeling that Hermione had seen through his fake identity. Evans was a common name, sure, but it was also Harry's mother's maiden name. He should have thought of that. From what Dudley understood, Harry was not only well-known but a bloody celebrity at this point.
Hermione, whoever she was, likely knew of Lily and Petunia Evans. Whether she knew Harry lived in Surrey or not was another question altogether. Did they know where Harry lived? Was that common knowledge in the Wizarding World?
He tried to stamp those thoughts down and joined Dean on the deck.
"Alyssa's grandfather is visiting at the moment. I don't know how long it'll be,"
"I don't want to intrude," Dudley insisted awkwardly. "Time with relatives is… important, you know,"
Dean nodded, surely agreeing with Dudley's bullshit personality. Instead of backing down, however, Dean raised his fist and knocked at the door.
They waited for a whole minute before Dean knocked again. Still nothing.
Dudley was getting impatient. He pushed past Dean and knocked himself, a little more forcefully this time.
Again, there was no response.
"Can we just go in?" Dudley asked.
Dean shrugged. "I wouldn't, but the house isn't off limits until after six,"
Dudley took that as an open invitation and turned the doorknob. It opened easily, without any groans from the hinges.
The house was a large open space. No walls or supports for the top floor. Obviously, magic was playing a role. It was completely deserted.
"This is madness, Alyssa! You cannot possibly tell me this is the right thing to do!" a man shouted from upstairs. Dudley turned to Dean with wide eyes.
Dean, however, seemed more curious than anything. He took a step into the house and closed the door behind him.
"It is what needs to be done! You know it's true! We need change, Newt!" a woman's voice, this time, replied.
"That's Alyssa," Dean whispered.
"Let me ask you this, Mr. Scamander," a cool, oily voice broke the tense silence. "Have you got any other solution?"
"That's Professor Snape," Dean informed Dudley, his voice barely above a whisper. "Used to teach us at Hogwarts. You've probably heard of him."
Dudley hadn't, in fact, heard of Professor Snape, but he went along with it and nodded.
"Well… I," the man, who Dudley assumed to be Mr. Scamander, scoffed. "You cannot put me on the spot with such things, you know this,"
"Which is why you aren't a leader," Alyssa insisted. "It's why people like the raven, and… well, me, make the decisions. We can think on the spot. We can come up with real solutions!"
"Stop saying solutions as if it is going to solve any of the problems you currently face!" Mr. Scamander yelled. His voice had an odd detail to it. Like he rarely spoke up, or something. "This isn't change, Alyssa, it's terrorism. This whole… beautiful place is a… a bloody terrorist syndicate!"
Dudley and Dean crept towards the base of the stairs to hear the conversation consistently.
"Call it whatever you like. I choose to call it a revolution. Change doesn't just happen! It takes someone to fire the spell, and light the fire." Alyssa said, rather calmly all things considered.
Then, Snape spoke. "Mr. Scamander, do believe that I was hesitant, even doubtful of your granddaughter's motives-"
"It is not her motives that concern me, Severus, it is her methods! This is… I mean… the loss of life alone! If this plan goes through-"
"When this plan goes through," Alyssa interrupted Mr. Scamander, "The loss of life will be a necessary evil,"
There was a long pause. Dudley, thanks to his condition, could hear one of the three people in the room tapping their foot on the ground.
"You were so concerned about starting the fire that you didn't realize it had destroyed you with it," Mr. Scamander said, his voice suddenly quite small. "I will not fund this. I will not support this. I cannot,"
Dudley heard the man who'd been tapping his foot make his way to the stairs. "Go, behind that sofa!" Dudley hissed. Together, he and Dean slid across the hardwood floor to hide.
"I can't hear them now!" Dean whispered in frustration.
"I can," Dudley snapped, not willing to compromise their position. Although Alyssa was a werewolf. Surely, she knew they were here.
"So, what now, then?" Alyssa said, her voice cracking. "You're just going to keep standing around? Doing nothing?"
"Doing nothing?" Mr. Scamander replied incredulously. Dudley could tell from his voice that he was smiling in uncomfortable disbelief. "Doing nothing? For years I have dedicated myself to removing barriers between our people. For years I have written, researched, and developed! I will not have everything I have worked for be destroyed by… radical action!"
"So, you're just going to leave me?" Alyssa cried. Dudley could smell the tears. "You promised me you wouldn't,"
"I promised I wouldn't leave my granddaughter, and her brother," Mr. Scamander clarified.
"Am I not her? Am I not your granddaughter, Newt?" Alyssa asked disbelievingly.
"You're going, not even threatening, going to kill hundreds… for what? To change the world? Your brother is at that school! He will die at your hands!"
"That's why I need your help! I need you to get Rolf out," Alyssa pleaded.
Mr. Scamander fell silent. "What of your child, Alyssa? Char needs you. You need her!"
Dudley's attention was piqued at the mention of his target.
"I do not want to raise her in a world that still treats seventy percent of its population like garbage," Alyssa said quietly. "I won't do it,"
"How can Charlie be alright with this? Your voice of reason? Your husband?" Mr. Scamander cast around. He was evidently desperate to get Alyssa on his side.
"I don't hear him anymore," she replied.
"He left?"
"No," Alyssa deadpanned. "I blocked him out. I was tired of hearing it all."
Another pregnant pause followed that statement.
"What are they saying?" Dean asked.
"Shut up." Dudley retorted. He didn't even understand what they were going on about, but he needed as much information as he could get.
"You've lost your way, Alyssa," Mr. Scamander said sadly. "I hope you find it one day,"
Then, Dudley heard more footsteps, this time louder than before. Mr. Scamander was coming down the stairs.
Sure enough, he and Dean caught a glimpse of the man. Tears streamed down his face as he rushed out the door.
"Alyssa? Are we to go through with the plan?" Snape asked coolly from upstairs.
Dudley could hear Alyssa's quick gasps and shallow breaths. She was sobbing. "Sunday. Have it done by Sunday night."
Dudley turned to Dean. "Is there any way I can stay here for the night? In one of those cabins, or something? I don't think now is a good time to talk to Alyssa,"
Dean nodded, even though he hadn't heard the latter half of the conversation, Mr. Scamander's sudden departure was evidence enough. "Yeah, erm… just follow me."
The next day, Remus walked through the streets of Hogsmeade. It was bitterly cold. The clouds hanging low over the horizon seemed to indicate a coming snowfall. The sun felt as though it hadn't peaked from behind its curtain of clouds in weeks. Though, perhaps that was just a side effect of Tonks having gone missing.
Because he didn't care what excuses Sirius told himself and others. Tonks was missing. It had been well over a month now. She wouldn't have gone this long without contact. Especially with him.
Her constant letters and visits had been mildly annoying at times, but he'd never have wanted them to cease entirely.
Today was a Hogsmeade weekend, and he was assigned to stay in the castle.
Not today.
He'd been acting rashly since the start of October. He liked to say it was because he felt like he was finally fighting back, but really, it was a side effect of his worry over Tonks, and... other things he'd rather not think about. He didn't do well when the ones he loved were in danger. At least with Harry, they were actively looking for him. It created a false sense of security. With Tonks, nothing was being done. Her father, Ted, had fled the country earlier in the summer. Andromeda kept telling people he was at work, but far too many knew his heritage for him to actually maintain his position in The Ministry.
That man was on the run. He could be dead.
Tonks could be dead.
Remus approached the Hog's Head Inn and debated going inside and letting Aberforth know where he was going. Someone ought to know.
He stood there, the chilly breeze running against his thin robes. No, he told himself. There was no time to waste, and Aberforth would go straight to Dumbledore. That wasn't what he needed right now.
He continued to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and disapparated as quietly as he could. The townsfolk would be up early to prepare for the Hogwarts students.
He arrived in front of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Its grizzly exterior was almost more inviting than the inside.
He walked up the steps and opened the door in an attempt at stealth. It failed, obviously, because Kreacher couldn't be bothered to oil the bloody hinges.
The door groaned open. At least Sirius's mum's portrait hadn't woken from it.
"Who's there?" Sirius's tired voice called from the gloom. Remus could just make out his form in the shadows thanks to his wolfish eyesight.
"It's Moony," he replied easily. Few knew the nicknames, so it doubled as a security answer.
Sirius's silhouette lowered his wand. "What are you doing here? It's six in the morning,"
"That really isn't that early, you know," Remus replied, waving his own wand and lighting the many candles throughout the hall. "Please tell me you don't live in this place in the dark all the time,"
Sirius shrugged and made a wide, swooping gesture to the hallway. "As you can see, lighting the candles doesn't make much of a difference."
It really didn't. Everything still felt just as claustrophobic and wrong. Sighing, Remus followed Sirius's natural path to the basement kitchen. This was the only room that seemed to have any joy in it. The walls were a vibrant purple, and the table had been replaced by a high-chaired bar of sorts.
"Why haven't you renovated the rest of the place?" Remus asked as he sat himself down at one of the benches. It's not like he didn't know the answer.
"Don't feel like it," Sirius grumbled, whipping his wand out and summoning a frying pan to the old gas stove. "Want an egg?"
Remus hadn't eaten, so he nodded in thanks and waited a moment to start talking.
"Any news worth mentioning?" Sirius asked conversationally, handing a glass of orange juice to Remus.
He accepted the glass and shrugged. "I've been put on probation by the High Inquisitor," he took a sip, "that's Umbridge, by the way,"
Sirius turned to Remus in disbelief, the frying pan held in one hand. "You could write me and tell me these things, you know. I always hear about the Hogwarts side second-hand."
Remus chuckled dryly. "There isn't much to tell, I'll be honest. Umbridge continues to tighten her control over the school. The Prophet is still printing about Ginny somehow. I don't know how the Ministry hasn't canned it yet,"
Sirius let out a quiet snort. "That's because there's a mole in the printing process,"
Remus quirked an eyebrow. "And you know about this how?"
"Because Yaxley is leading the investigation on who it is, and he's not great at making sure his memos get to the right people," Sirius replied, bringing his mug of coffee to his lips.
"You're intercepting messages?" Remus enquired, leaning forward on his bench.
Sirius nodded, his back once again turning to Remus as he focused on cooking. "Yes. It isn't all that difficult to summon a paper airplane. They don't know who it is, but they suspect they must be an unregistered animagus,"
Remus frowned. "Right, start from the top. Tell me about this Prophet investigation,"
Sirius flipped the egg over and prepared two pieces of toast on separate plates. "So, the papers that are going through the Ministry and are approved for print are, naturally, not the ones being printed. The Prophet goes on to hyperfocus on Ginny's death internally and then blames it all on the Ministry. Those are the ones being sent out to subscribers."
Remus wasn't following, and it showed on his face.
Sirius put the eggs on the toast and brought them to the table. "Somewhere in between the Ministry's approval and the printing press, the contents of the articles change," he bit into his egg and toast and chewed for a moment. "So, what does the Ministry do? They send someone to The Prophet's headquarters and say, 'watch over the operations here, if you fail, you're fired!'" Sirius snorted at his own impression of a man with no name. "Anyway, it's been weeks now and at least twenty people have been fired. The one thing I know, though, is that the articles that are Ministry Approved are being printed. They're just being modified into what's getting sent out at the eleventh hour,"
Remus finished his egg on toast rather quickly while Sirius talked and dusted off his hands. "Why not shut the entire thing down?"
Sirius leveled a finger at Remus's face like he'd said exactly what he wanted him to say. "How would it look to have the Ministry shut down The People's Paper: The Daily Prophet!" he said the last bit with an overdone air of posh pure-blood swagger.
Remus chuckled wryly and drained his cup of orange juice. "They'd have a full-blown revolution on their hands,"
Sirius nodded and smirked. He seemed… proud.
"Hang on…" Remus stood from his bench and squinted at Sirius. "You know more about this than you're letting on,"
"I might," he said, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. "I may be… involved, shall we say,"
Remus shook his head in disbelief. "You're going to get caught,"
"So? I've escaped before," Sirius's smile slipped off his face at Remus's dead stare.
"You can't get locked up again, Sirius. You know that."
Sirius bowed his head in shame. "I know,"
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck," he sighed, "We're both moronic, aren't we? You're infiltrating the press; I'm sabotaging my own job…"
"WHAT?" Sirius roared, as though he wouldn't have done the exact same thing.
"Don't act surprised, Padfoot," Remus rolled his eyes. "We're impulsive kids who grew up fighting. We didn't want to stop fighting, and now we must, and we can't,"
Sirius let his face fall into his hands. "And we thought we could raise Harry," he laughed humourlessly.
Remus's small smile appeared without his noticing. The thought of Harry always brought a smile to his face. "I wonder where he is right now," he asked, not for the first time since he and Ginny had gone missing. Here, however, it wasn't a question clouded over by hopelessness. He didn't know why, but he wanted to ask the question differently.
Sirius leaned back, tucking his shirt into his trousers. "I reckon they've found help,"
Remus noted the hint of Ginny's presence.
"They've found help, and they're doing something that is working directly against You-Know-Who. None of this wishy-washy printing press bullshit," Sirius coughed roughly, pounding his chest. "I think they're fighting."
Remus liked the sound of that. "Do you think he and Ginny…"
A stupid smile spread across Sirius's face. "Merlin, I wish I didn't want them to get together this badly. I feel like Lily's mum. Remember how much she pressed Lily to get with James? She was living that relationship vicariously through her daughter!"
Remus laughed, shaking his head as the memories passed over him. He thought of Harry and Ginny. Specifically, within those final days before the task. "He fancied her. I could see it in the way he talked about her, the way he looked at her."
Sirius nodded. "I remember. Ginny was… off, before the Third Task,"
"You've mentioned this before," Remus noted.
Sirius clicked his tongue to distract himself. "I still wonder if she knew something,"
Remus took a deep breath, remembering his urgency to reach Sirius as soon as possible. He focused his thoughts back on the task at hand.
Tonks.
"Sirius, while it's been a nice… chat. Well, I'm here because of Tonks,"
Sirius nodded. "Yeah, I figured. Which is why I-"
An owl interrupted Sirius's sentence and dropped a letter down on the kitchen table. The owl immediately flew back out the open window, and into the morning sky.
"Well, alright then," Sirius quipped, reaching for the letter only to find it was unfolding itself in front of him, hovering just above the table.
"Dear monsieur Sirius Black," the letter said. It carried a French accent that the two men immediately recognized as Fleur's. "As you both know, I and Bill have been placed in France on Dumbledore's orders,"
Sirius didn't seem to know that, judging by his brows knitting together.
"Yesterday afternoon we were doing our usual duties and were met with an odd sight. A man, maybe two years older than Ron, came stumbling out of the alleyway. Bill recognized the signs of a stunning spell gone wrong and went to investigate.
"Only, when he arrived, he was confounded by a young boy who he later assigned the name 'Dean Thomas'. He is a student in Harry and Ginny's year at Hogwarts, muggleborn, and was smuggled out of the country earlier this summer.
"Now, while this was happening, I disillusioned myself into the alleyway. I overheard their conversation. The mystery man identified himself as Vernon Evans,"
Sirius's eyes widened and immediately met Remus's. They both knew that was a cover name.
"He was tall, blonde, and well-defined. It was only in analyzing my memories of the event that Bill figured he was a werewolf,"
"Dudley," Sirius breathed as Fleur's letter took a pause. Remus nodded in agreement. Vernon Evans? It was the most simplistic cover name anyone could come up with. Of course, that was in line with Dudley's level of intelligence, if what Harry had told them was to be believed.
"He is looking for Alyssa Scamander. A name that is becoming more and more controversial here in France. We don't know if you've heard the news yet, but she's amassed quite the following. She wishes to bring change to our Ministry.
"You can understand why this would be controversial. She was born and raised under MACUSA. Her ideals do not match ours. Even so, her sympathizers grow by the day. It's only a matter of time before something breaks.
"Bill, as her brother-in-law, has tried to make contact but is pushed away frequently. Neither he, nor Percy, has been allowed to see their niece, and since Ginny's disappearance, Alyssa has remained at arm's length from the Weasleys."
"This is bad," Remus muttered.
"We thought you should know, as Bill interpreted Vernon Evans as a cover name for your missing Dudley Dursley. He and Dean Thomas left while I went to help Bill from his confundus charm, so I am not aware of their location.
"Sorry for the early letter, I hope you are well,
"Fleur Delacour,"
Then, the letter tore itself up midair. Its fragments drifted down to the table lazily.
Remus and Sirius were quiet for some time.
"I think we have a start on where to find Tonks," Sirius said quietly.
Ron walked alone to Hogsmeade. He was up early in an attempt to evade Umbridge's nagging, but his efforts had been futile. While the High Inquisitor was asleep, her pawns were not. Parkinson, Daphne, Nott, along with Crabbe and Goyle had been waiting for him. They asked every question under the sun, just to keep him from getting out of the castle and into the village. There was no real reason for it, other than "Inquisitorial Squad duties." Which wasn't a valid excuse since they hadn't bothered stopping anyone else. What bothered Ron most was that Daphne just stood by and watched. Every once and a while, he assumed she'd step in. It seemed he'd given her far too much credit. She responded more to Nott's flirtatious conversation than to Ron's silent pleas for help.
Eventually, the whole ordeal had taken so long, that he'd been the last to leave the castle for the village. Now, he was hunched against the wind, his hair whipping into his eyes. It was an altogether unpleasant experience.
Through a long line of strange connections, Ron had organized a fairly sizeable group to meet in The Hog's Head. It was Aberforth's inn, and Ron knew it had a certain reputation. It was typically deserted on the weekends, especially those that had been scheduled for Hogwarts students.
Luckily, Ron didn't need to walk down the high street to get to the dodgy pub. He passed through a narrow alleyway and found himself right in front of the uninviting façade.
No matter how disgusting the inn was, the warmth that welcomed Ron as he entered was well worth it. He pulled his hood down and took off his dragon-hide gloves.
Sure enough, a group of about thirty students was grouped in a large semi-circle in front of a wall. Aberforth was at the counter and nodded to Ron shrewdly. He was certain the barman knew more than he was letting on. Ron decided he didn't care. Dumbledore, the Order, it was all connected, and they'd sent him to start this club. Aberforth could tattle all he wanted. If anything, it would earn him points in his next defense lesson.
Ron snuck past everyone, excusing himself if he bumped into them too harshly, and made his way to the center of the wall. All faces had turned to him. Any conversations were put to rest as all focus was given to Ron.
"Right, well, I'm sure you're all interested in why I've invited you here today," he began, noting how young some of the members were. "I've got a lot to tell you, and I want you all to listen with an open mind,"
"What's this about?" a lanky blonde boy in Hufflepuff colours sneered, interrupting Ron.
"I'm getting to that you dolt," Ron snapped. Fred and George chuckled along with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
Ron surveyed the rest of the pub. From what he could see, it was empty.
"Abe!" he shouted to the man behind the bar. They'd gotten to know each other through small talk over the summer. Enough to earn the right to use his nickname. "Are we alone today?"
"Yes," Aberforth grunted in reply. "I made sure of it,"
"Brilliant," Ron murmured, before speaking up. "You-Know-Who has come back from the dead, and he's pulling the strings behind everything. The Ministry, Harry, and Ginny's disappearance, the muggleborn threat. It's all made up."
Silence met Ron in reply. Everyone seemed so thoroughly taken aback by how casually Ron had stated everything.
"I suppose I could have eased you all into it," Ron trailed off.
"You think?" Fred said, rolling his eyes.
"Have you got any proof?" the Hufflepuff boy asked again. "I mean, you're saying a lot with… as far as I can tell… no evidence,"
"Snape's left Hogwarts," Ron offered, trying to think of other ways to convince the group in front of him. He hadn't really thought this through. "The Ministry is teaching us dark magic, and rewriting history to villainize muggles,"
"What's Snape got to do with this?" a girl from Ravenclaw, who sat next to Cho Chang, asked.
"Snape was a Death Eater. He worked for You-Know-Who in the first war. Of course, he was a double agent, but he's had to go on the run now because… well, he betrayed… You-Know-Who," Ron didn't understand the whole situation all that well himself, so he faltered a bit mid-sentence.
"Hardly enough evidence," the Hufflepuff boy mumbled. "Have you actually seen him? You know. Have you seen You-Know-Who?"
"Has he seen him? Who the fuck do you think he is? Harry Potter?" Neville retorted incredulously.
"He's his friend!" the Hufflepuff boy defended. "It's the next best thing,"
"Exactly right," Ron interrupted, bringing the conversation back into his hands. "Which is why I've been selected by Dumbledore, and various members of his secret society, to organize a group that stands against the Ministry, and You-Know-Who."
Everyone seemed confused at this, including Fred and George.
"Secret society?"
"Dumbledore?"
"What sort of group?"
"Why would they pick a fifth year?"
"Why would they pick RON?"
The questions came at him fast and disjointed. Too many people were speaking at once. Ron pursed his lips and looked past the crowd at Aberforth, who was polishing the dirty silverware with a smirk.
"SHUT UP!" Ron bellowed, causing everyone to fall into shocked silence. "Shut… up. Ask one at a time," he pointed to the Hufflepuff boy. "You,"
"What's this secret society?" he asked.
"What's your name?" Ron inquired.
"Zacharias Smith,"
Ron recognized the surname. "Where does your dad work?"
"Ministry. Department of-"
"Then I can't tell you what it's called, and I can't tell you what its purpose is," Ron replied firmly.
"The hell is the point? You already told me he's got a secret society!" Smith complained.
"That's fair, Ron," George cringed.
Ron slapped a hand to his forehead. "Right, well… we'll obliviate him. And, for that matter, we'll obliviate anyone here who doesn't join."
The sound of a glass falling to the counter made Ron jump. He looked up to see Aberforth trying, and failing, to conceal his laughter as he walked into the back, leaving the students alone.
Another confused silence met Aberforth's departure.
"For the record," Fred said, looking around at everyone. "We aren't actually going to obliviate any of you. Ron's just stressed. Look at him. There's sweat on his forehead,"
Everyone laughed. Ron clenched his jaw, trying not to lose his temper. It's not that he couldn't take the joke. It was that he hated what it meant.
No one took him seriously.
"Listen, I agree that I'm not the best pick for this, which is why I'm not going to be the one teaching you," Ron shouted over the laughter, causing everyone to again, focus on him. "I'm the messenger. I'm the organizer. I'm here to get the ball rolling but I know full well that I haven't had the training… nor the… well, anything, to teach any of you. I mean, I guess it could help the first years, but that's about it."
Everyone nodded slowly.
"Who did you have in mind, then?" Cho Chang asked, her interest seemingly piqued.
Ron made a vague gesture to Fred and George. "I'd have you teach transfiguration and charms, and then…" Ron moved his outstretched arm to Cedric Diggory. "You could teach Defence."
None of the students in front of him were convinced. In fact, most seemed ready to leave.
"You come in here and tell us that the greatest Dark Wizard of all time has returned, is behind everything that keeps our society moving, and you want to ask others to do a job that was assigned to you?" Smith asked in disbelief. It seemed his perception of things was shared with the rest of the group. "You make these claims with no evidence. You don't even have a plan for what this club is supposed to be, I mean… for Merlin's sake, why did you even bother gathering us here?"
Ron felt ridiculous. He could do nothing as Smith scoffed and got to his feet, followed by most of the people who had come to hear him talk. All that work Neville had done in recruiting had gone to waste.
They all exited the pub, laughing and jeering. Ready to continue to live another day of ignorance. All because Ron hadn't thought of how to talk to them.
Those who remained seemed to do so as an obligation more than a real desire. The twins, Katie Bell, Cedric, Neville, Lavender Brown, Looney Lovegood, and Cho Chang.
"It's an army," Ron admitted quietly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "That's what this was supposed to be. An army to make real change,"
The remaining students seemed even more confused. Ron slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.
"They told me to build an army. That's all they told me to do,"
"It's not an easy task, mate," Cedric offered consolingly. "I mean… you have a lot on your plate… clearly,"
Ron scoffed. "I have a lot on my plate, but most people don't even believe in what I'm dealing with."
"I believe you!" Lovegood piped up cheerfully. Cho closed her eyes in apparent irritation at the blonde's words. "Me and my father have noticed suspicious goings on. I'd be willing to say it's because of You-Know-Who!"
"Thanks, Loon-"
"Luna!" Neville interrupted Ron with wide eyes, saving him from accidentally insulting the poor girl.
Cedric got to his feet. "Well, if you ever get a handle on this… do let me know," he smiled and offered his hand.
Ron was still sitting, but he shook it all the same. He watched Cedric leave, along with Cho.
"You can all go too, you know," Ron announced to the others. "Get on with your day and such,"
Lavender and Katie left, though not together, as well as the twins. Each of them patted Ron on the head twice. All in all, he felt like a child.
Neville and Luna were left. Ron stood up and made his way over to his fellow Gryffindor.
"Luna? Haven't you got better things to do than sit around in a dingy pub?" Neville asked.
"No, not really," Luna said. Her bulging eyes were following Ron's every move. It made him incredibly uncomfortable. "I haven't got any friends, so I don't have much to run along to,"
"Oh," Neville replied awkwardly. "That's… a shame,"
Luna hummed in agreement. "it's alright, though. I've got you now,"
Ron's eyebrows shot to the top of his head, but he remained silent, drumming his fingers on the table. "Right, well, I'm going to head back to the castle. I'll see you all later,"
"Oh, I'll join you!" Luna smiled dazedly. Ron, truly, wanted to walk alone, but he wasn't about to act a prat after his embarrassing showing in front of a sizeable chunk of the school.
He'd said far too much. News of what he'd done, and what he'd said would travel fast. Somehow, the sinking realization of what that meant didn't seem to affect him. He didn't care if he was expelled. He didn't care if he had to face the Ministry. At least then he was doing something.
At least then, he was fighting.
Remus frowned at the fragments of Fleur's letter. "So… to France?" he offered, a nervous excitement building in his stomach.
Sirius smiled, though he tried to conceal it. "No plan. No warning. A complete, reckless, impulsive, idiotic idea… sounds good enough to me,"
"Brilliant. I'll call in sick," Remus waved his wand, producing a sheet of parchment.
"You've got to stay at Hogwarts, mate," Sirius said, sounding rather upset over the matter. "I'll keep you updated, but… without you, it's only Dumbledore. He's out hunting… whatever it is he's looking for. We can't leave all those kids alone with Umbridge."
"They've got McGonagall," Remus said dismissively.
"That isn't enough, and you know it," Sirius sighed. "Come on, Moony. I know you feel terrible leaving her in potential danger, but Tonks would understand. I'll go alone,"
Remus halted his writing and stared at the page. "It's not Tonks that's bothering me,"
Sirius frowned. "What?"
Remus groaned, leaning back in his chair. "Of course, Tonks is a part of it. The main part of it, really. But there's more to it than that. I feel… restless,"
"How so?"
Remus shrugged. This was what he purposely avoided thinking about. "I don't know, I just… it feels like it did back then. Before I had better control over my lycanthropy,"
Sirius's frown deepened. "Like when you could still hear your mum?"
Remus shook his head. "It's not her. She's still there, I can feel her again. That's another thing. She's back, but I can't hear her. It's like there's another presence… latched to my mind. To my soul."
Sirius clearly didn't like the sound of that. "This is about more than Tonks then, isn't it,"
"If Dudley is alive and in Paris… Sirius, I think Greyback got him," Remus admitted the thoughts that had put themselves together since Fleur's letter had torn itself apart. "I think he's working for him,"
"By choice?" Sirius asked, unconvinced.
Remus didn't know. He held his arms out to the side and shrugged. "I doubt it. He was cruel to Harry and others but… he wasn't a cannibalistic monster. I don't think he's spent enough time with Greyback to grow into that, either,"
Sirius shuddered.
"Greyback… he gets into your head," Remus began, trying to explain how someone could go from being entirely human to something that simply wasn't. "He turns minor inconveniences, moments of disrespect… into hatred. You start to see everything the way he does. It's not a spell, it's not a ritual, it's just… manipulation. You start to hate the world you belong in so much that you dread having to return. Even to your family," Remus paused, "Or to your friends,"
Sirius wouldn't be able to understand, and Remus knew that, but there was one thing they both understood.
"You want revenge," Sirius realized, a funny look crossing his face.
Remus nodded ashamedly. "I want Greyback to hurt. If he has anything to do with why Tonks has been missing looking for a boy who evidently isn't missing… I'll kill him,"
Sirius laughed quietly. "Stab him through the heart with a silver spear, will you?"
Remus made eye contact with his friend. "I'm serious, Sirius. I'll kill him,"
Sirius backed down, nodding in understanding. He was surprised by Remus's determination.
"And you're going to let me come to France. It's the weekend. I don't have any duties at school," Remus continued. "We leave today. Within the hour,"
"It isn't that easy to get a portkey," Sirius sighed. "Especially now, and especially with us,"
Remus shook his head in annoyance. "No, Sirius. I don't care that it's hard. I don't care that it's inconvenient. We'll be in Paris by tonight. Get that portkey,"
He got up from the table and headed upstairs. Sirius was left alone in the kitchen, staring at the table's surface with a glazed expression.
"KREACHER!" he shouted after running through all his options.
The decrepit house elf appeared in front of him with a loud crack. "Yes, ma-master," he stumbled over the word that offended him so.
"You can apparate through any wards, yes?" Sirius asked. He knew the answer but he needed clarification.
"Anything master wishes, master can have," Kreacher repeated mournfully. "Even if Master is an ungrateful stout trout who deserves nothing more than to be cast out and burnt at the stake,"
"Brilliant!" Sirius smiled, just to piss the old elf off even more, and stood from the table himself. "Be ready to leave for France by…" he checked his watch. It was still well before noon. "By seven, if that's alright,"
Kreacher gaped at him. "That is… a long way,"
Sirius reached forward and swiped the top of Kreacher's head aggressively, as though he was dusting him off. "You could use some time to stretch your legs, I'm sure,"
"So, tell me your name," Alyssa Scamander asked kindly. Her false smile made Dudley feel less welcomed than he already had. They were sat in Headquarters, alone. It had been a full day since he'd arrived, and it seemed Dean had waited just the right amount of time to tell Alyssa of his arrival. She was neither pleased nor annoyed by his presence.
"Vernon Evans. I'm erm… muggleborn," Dudley said, his confidence wavering over the unfamiliar vocabulary.
"Muggleborn werewolf…" Alyssa smiled sadly. "It must have been very difficult for you,"
Dudley sat back in his chair, comfortable in this familiar form of conversation. They were talking about him. "Yes, well… it's a recent thing, really. My parents died in the attack, so there was no trouble there,"
Alyssa hummed sympathetically and patted his hand. "Family can be difficult,"
Dudley felt this was the completely wrong response to what he'd said but he ran with it anyway. Alyssa was obviously still thinking about whatever had happened between her and her grandfather the day before.
"So," Alyssa said, breaking the silence, "Evans, was it?"
"Evans?" a cool voice wondered aloud from the doorway. Dudley spun his head to face Snape, who seemed to glide over to their spot in the sitting room. "Tell me, what was your first name?"
Dudley swallowed. "Uh, Vernon,"
Snape's thin lips curved into a smile. "Dursley? Is that it? You're the son of that dreaded pair,"
Dudley froze. His cover had been blown. Somehow.
"Tell me, Dudley Dursley," Snape scratched his chin and hovered over Dudley. Alyssa seemed both confused and intrigued by his deduction. "Why is it that you're here, pretending to be someone who doesn't exist when you should be in England… recovering from your recent infection."
"I… I don't know what you're talking about," Dudley spluttered.
"Oh, I think you do," Snape sneered. "Was it Dumbledore who sent you? Or perhaps you've chosen a different course. Maybe it was Voldemort. Or… perhaps… Fenrir Greyback? Who is it you're working for?"
Dudley didn't know how to respond. His entire body had frozen up. He couldn't think. He felt as though he'd been called on in maths class.
"Lock him in the cellar, Alyssa. Dumbledore's tools always have friends. It is only a matter of time before someone comes to his aid."
Before Dudley could say a word, he was hit by something in his side, and everything went black.
Daphne wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. She didn't want to think about the day. She didn't want to think about Umbridge or the inquisitorial squad. She didn't want to think of her father's most recent letter. She wanted out.
"Astoria!" Daphne called, dragging out the 'a'. "Stop running! Mummy wants us inside! It is going to rain! You'll wreck that lovely dress of yours!"
Relief flooded her senses as she recognized the dream beginning once again. She was asleep. A time that had begun to harbour a sort of sanctuary for her. It's not that she was hiding from her thoughts. More so the fact that she had something to focus on here. Something to strive for.
She wanted to break through the Shattered Sky. She wanted to find that fissure again and slip through it. Her hair blew around her face, and she tied it back in a messy knot on the top of her head. She needed to focus.
The land of distant thoughts and forgotten memories swept her up and away from her dream. Destroying everything she could touch and feel.
Again she was surrounded by complete silence. None of her memories could be heard. She was looking at the white crack on the horizon. Just like the one she'd seen while dreaming in History of Magic.
She wasted no time now, however. She ran as fast as she could. The closer she got to the fissure, the shallower her breaths became. Until suddenly, they'd reverse. When she inhaled, she exhaled. It was disorienting, but she chose not to focus on it.
Then, her vision flipped. Like her eyes had been swapped and turned upside down. Everything was wrong.
Curiosity burned within her alongside the determination to do something to take her mind off her life and her choices.
Then, everything went cold. It felt like her body had been doused in freezing water. The fissure was closing again.
"NO!" she screamed, her voice cracking with the effort. She never raised her voice. Ever.
The crack did not obey her command, however. Daphne was out of breath. She was breathing backward, and she couldn't see properly. Her body was above her and the sky was below her.
This is my own dream, she thought angrily. Listen to me!
The shrinking crack stalled for a moment, and Daphne took her chance. With one foot forward, she leapt through the air and slipped through the crack.
The feeling of water being returned to the bucket, a pour in reverse, made her skin crawl. Her vision righted itself, but her breathing stopped entirely as she fell to a surface that carried no distinct temperature. It was exactly that of her skin.
She didn't need to breathe. There was no pinching in her chest telling her to do so. She was perfectly content. She tried to get up from her sprawled position but found herself flailing backward instead. Her muscles were almost too strong for where she was. Her movements had to be minute and calculated. Or else she might overshoot her intended goal.
She just wanted to stand, however.
Slowly, she got into a crouching position. There she sat on her haunches before using only her knees to stand fully. The lack of effort required to do anything was incredibly strange.
Finally, she got a good look at where she had landed.
Her jaw slackened, and for a moment, very little thought entered her mind.
She was standing on the brink of an enormous pit. Hundreds of miles in diameter. It seemed to be a perfect circle, but that was only an assumption. From her perspective, she could only really make out a semi-circle.
At the center of the pit was a spire as black as night. It reflected no light, yet it was easily visible in front of the field of stars that coated the enormous dome-like ceiling. These weren't stars like those at Hogwarts, however. They were brighter. Forming dazzling arrays of purple, red, and gold. Like the nebulae of their astronomy textbooks.
She swallowed uncomfortably and tried to find identifiable details. The ring that encircled the pit was entirely made up of natural materials. In fact, it seemed to be sitting in an unending sea. Water poured over the edges of the pit in inexplicably huge falls. Though, it wasn't a universal waterfall. It was interrupted in consistent intervals by large, stone jut outs in the pit.
Then there was the matter of what was in the pit. Millions of tiny balls of light floated around, just like her memories in the Shattered Sky. Only these didn't seem to be hers. Though she was far away, she could tell they were not familiar. They were other memories. Perhaps of other witches and wizards.
Daphne couldn't comprehend the enormity of it all. Everything she was looking at was impossibly huge.
Where was she?
Then, there was the spire. Only visible thanks to how vibrant and bright the rest of the night sky was in this strange place.
A narrow bridge led from where she stood to the middle of the spire. Well, it was difficult to gauge what the middle of the spire was, considering the fact that Daphne couldn't see its base. The bridge was exactly flat, and led to the spire, that was all she knew.
At the end of the bridge, there was an opening to the spire. It was shaped like a triangle with a line down the middle. A circle wove its way through the line but remained within the triangle.
"Peverell…" Daphne mumbled to herself. She recognized the symbol from countless books on wizarding families. Not to mention the excursion her father had taken her and Astoria on to The Peverell Chamber many years ago.
"He sent you, didn't he?" a woman's calm voice flittered up from Daphne's right. She whirled around much too fast, nearly falling off the edge of the pit if not for the woman reaching forward and catching her.
The woman sat on the edge and made sure Daphne could see her.
If Daphne's heart could stop here, it would have. The woman in front of her was no stranger. It was her mother. Her pristine expression of nonchalance, practiced for decades, was broken by a small smile.
"Mum?" Daphne whispered.
Her mother shook her head. "No, not quite. Though I do have her memories, her identity, her thoughts… I am not your mother."
Daphne scooted back slightly, carefully avoiding the edge of the pit. "Then who are you?"
"I am who you associate with death. This is how I appear to you," her mother, or not her mother, said delicately. "Do you understand what I am?"
Daphne shook her head.
The woman hummed in thought. "I don't believe we've met before?"
Daphne, again, shook her head. She felt that was an odd choice of question. Like the being in front of her didn't quite know how to converse normally.
"I thought not," the woman pursed her lips. "I've got many emissaries, you see. I also have many enemies," she leaned forward, running her eyes over Daphne's body. "I do hope you're not one of them, either?"
Daphne still couldn't respond. Whether it was her mother or not, seeing her likeness speak, move, smile and frown was almost too much for her. In fact, it was too much. She couldn't think straight.
The woman smiled. "Don't worry, I know my enemies," she placed her hand on the ground, seemingly to support herself as she leaned back, but the hand transformed into a large swirling cloud of darkness. It was still shaped like a hand, but not a human one. "Who sent you here?"
Daphne cleared her throat, feeling the adrenaline pushing her to respond now that her life was in danger. "You said… He did. Who's He and why are you asking me the question if you already know the answer?"
Daphne could've slapped herself for how rudely she'd spoken to this… shapeshifter. Or whatever she was.
The shapeshifter smiled again, though this time, it seemed to be a genuine reaction. "Well, at least you're paying attention. Besides, I can see through any lie, and I know you're quite lost. Aren't you, Daphne Greengrass?"
Daphne didn't like the way her name rolled off the shapeshifter's tongue. It traveled through the air like ice in her ears.
"The He I am referring to is Gellert Grindelwald," the shapeshifter admitted curtly. "Though he is not an enemy, he is not a friend either. He tends to… meddle with things he should've left well enough alone,"
Daphne immediately thought of the dream with Grindelwald from before the Third Task.
"Yes, he came to see you," the shapeshifter said, inspecting her human nails. "I watched him run along the minute hand quite spectacularly. He seemed eager to get to you,"
"I… it was a dream, though? I mean, I know he entered my mind… but…" Daphne trailed off. She didn't know what was going on.
"Don't worry about it now," the shapeshifter waved her off. "You're here, and I am going to tell you why you cannot return,"
Daphne's eyes locked with those of her mother. They were an identical grey to hers.
"This land you find yourself in is neither real nor imaginary. It is the in-between. Where the dead and the dreaming come to meet. It is both everything and nothing. You, Daphne Greengrass, were selected by a man who can see into the future. A dreamer," the shapeshifter got to her feet and surveyed the fantastical land before them. Daphne joined her. "Therefore, you have been graced with some of his finer… abilities."
The shapeshifter rounded on her. "You are not to use them. You are not to probe them. You are to remain silent, and unaware,"
"Couldn't you just wipe my memory?" Daphne asked. Knowing full well that it would be incredibly difficult for her to just stop thinking about this experience.
Though, it was all just a dream after all.
"That's right," the shapeshifter said consolingly. "It really is just a dream."
Daphne looked down at her feet. Thinking.
"Who are you, really? What's stopping me from coming back and simply… evading you. As Grindelwald has," Daphne asked, leaning into her hip in an effort to show confidence.
The shapeshifter smirked. "Grindelwald hasn't evaded me, darling," she reached over her shoulder and withdrew a sword out of seemingly thin air. Its fine, silver blade reflected the dazzling night sky like a mirror. It had many runes Daphne couldn't recognize etched along its length. "No one evades me, nor my emissaries. I am the unavoidable. The one consistency between every soul. I am fear. I am the tempest of war. I am the inevitable end," she leveled the blade at Daphne's chest, and suddenly, she could breathe again. She could feel her heartbeat. Hear the blood pumping in her ears.
She was mortal once more.
"I am Death, Daphne Greengrass. Which is precisely why you mustn't return."
The sensation of water being poured on her in reverse hit her again, and Daphne was falling in reverse. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear. Her mind was replaying the shapeshifter's final words repeatedly like a mantra within her soul.
Then, she sat up. It was Sunday morning; her breathing came out in heaving gasps.
"I am Death, Daphne Greengrass. Which is precisely why you mustn't return."
A/N: I don't like asking for reviews but I'm very like, not sure about this part of my story. Like, yes, I love what I'm writing, but I don't know if you all are…? If that makes sense? Anyway, just let me know. If you hate what I'm doing, do make it constructive haha.
Anyway, a lot happened in this chapter, and the story is about to pick up speed. I'm pretty sure the next three chapters are non-stop action and/or plot development so yeah.
The next chapter is all in France. The one after that will cover whatever the fuck is going on at Hogwarts.
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