A/N - So it turns out that even summer is not without it's busy times, what with Scholar and I both being gainfully employed and whatnot. Fortunately, we decided to knock out the rest of the story all in one go, so it's all finished now, and the last few chapters will all be up shortly. Certainly takes care of the pesky problems that are delays. Now then, when last we left our heroes, there had just been an epic fight scene...
Mark managed to stay unconscious for nearly two days. There had been some debate as to whether or not they ought to take him to St. Mungo's, but in the end Alastor had insisted that they not. For all practical purposes, Mark was, strictly speaking, a Muggle, and the Healers at St. Mungo's were required to check for things like wands and identification. Alastor had honestly not much felt like smuggling Mark into the hospital, and instead they simply brought him back to the medical wing at the Ministry. Ideally the place was for Aurors and Hitwizards who had been injured on the job, but not quite bad enough to need a visit to the emergency wards over at St. Mungo's. Alastor had brought Mark here after the last incident, and saw no reason he couldn't do the same now. Tiberius stopped arguing eventually, and they managed to con some of the younger healers into treating Mark (on the grounds that he was a witness in an ongoing investigation). Fortunately, no one had asked any questions, and two days later all seemed to be going well. Exceptt of course, for the part about Mark still being unconscious.
That, and the small fact that although Mark had yet to wake up, his magic kept deciding to randomly engage. The healers had yet to determine what caused this problem, and had only really figured out that the bluish light burned anything on contact. Being that Alastor and Tiberius had already realized this thanks to personal experience, they were not especially surprised. The healers made frequent visits to make sure Mark hadn't managed to set himself or the room on fire, and Alastor came by during his free hours, usually dragged by Tiberius.
In fact, at present Alastor found himself leaned against the wall outside the room, hands in his pockets as his stomach rumbled. Tiberius stood at the observation window not far away, frowning in at Mark.
"Do you suppose he'll be alright?"
"You didn't hit him that hard," Alastor said, for what felt like the hundredth time.
"I donnae think it was all me," Tiberius said quietly.
Tiberius had voiced that opinion several times, that perhaps Mark's odd magic had more to do with his prolonged unconsciousness than Tiberius or Alastor had. The idea seemed reasonable enough, in Alastor's opinion. Mark had been out for a while after doing small amounts of magic, logic would suggest that he'd be out for longer after using even more magic.
"Fair enough," Alastor replied. "Did you, ah...did you happen to hear what he was saying?"
He had not yet had a chance to ask Tiberius about Mark's odd words during the fight. For a moment, he was worried Tiberius had forgotten, or else had not heard at all. The words had been troubling him, the tone and phrase and the glazed, far-away look in Mark's eyes.
"Aye," Tiberius said at last. "What you suppose it was?"
"Threats, words...the ramblings of a loony?" Alastor shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. Rubbish, but I only remember parts of it anyway."
"Same," Tiberius agreed. "Although...you know what it did sound a bit like?"
"Hmm?"
"Some sort of prophecy."
Alastor snorted, fixing his friend with a long look.
"I thought you grew out of that Divination rubbish."
"Maybe I did, and maybe I dinnae, but either way, still sounded like one," Tiberius explained, still yet to look away from the window. "Donny could probably tell us what it means."
"Aye, he probably could, if we remembered it," Alastor muttered. "Doesn't help that Mark's unconscious either."
"Now, that's not entirely true. Don could look at one of his memories. Or ours..." Tiberius suggested, arching an eyebrow at Alastor.
Alastor did not hesitate to shake his head in firm refusal. He had had just about enough of people sorting through his personal thoughts.
"He's not pulling anything out of my head. Not this time."
Tiberius did not seem too entirely surprised by the response, merely shifting his stance and keeping his attention the window. Alastor ignored the smirk his friend also suddenly looked to be wearing.
"You can chat with him about it when he gets here. When's tha healer coming?"
"They come through every few hours. Keep having to deal with that blue mess," Alastor answered.
Tiberius cast another sidelong look at him, this one plainly of surprise. Alastor scowled and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
"I certainly haven't been here. Don't give me that look. The healers, they come report to me."
"Do they?"
"Yes. Told them I was the lead Auror on the case. It's done wonders for their obedience."
"I'm sure."
Alastor settled back into his place against the wall, ignoring his stomach as it growled yet again and wondering exactly how long he would have to wait for lunch. A sharp elbow from Tiberius drew his attention, and also caused some slight pain in his ribs.
"He's awake," Tiberius said hurriedly, gesturing toward the window.
Alastor leaned forward, glancing into the room. Sure enough, Mark had opened his eyes at last and begun to cautiously push himself upright.
"Don't think we're clear to go in..." Alastor muttered, watching for a flicker of blue from Mark's palms.
Tiberius simply waved, tapping at the glass with his opposite hand. Mark did not notice them at first, and only gave a slight nod in acknowledgment when he did. In fact, he seemed more determined to get away from the bed, based on the fact that he had swung his legs over the edge. The moment he tried to stand though, his legs collapsed, and Mark went tumbling to the floor in a heap. Alastor glanced down the hall and back, figuring that someone ought to go pick him up off the ground.
"No healers. Come on, in we go."
Alastor held the door for Tiberius, who greeted Mark with a cheery smile.
"Glad ta see you're not actually dead."
Mark leaned back against the side of the bed, sitting where he had fallen on the floor.
"Thanks."
"Let's get you up then," Alastor muttered. He waved Tiberius over, and the pair of them lifted Mark beneath the shoulders, maneuvering him back onto the bed once more. Mark grunted and winced a few times, but for the most part he seemed to be alright.
"Take it you're not feeling much better?" Tiberius guessed.
Mark merely rubbed his head, probably feeling the knot that the collision with the floor had caused. He dropped his arms with a sigh, glancing down at his hands as he said, "I'm sorry."
"For?" Alastor asked, because really he could think of several things Mark could legitimately be apologizing for.
"Putting us all in danger," Mark replied.
Not the apology Alastor would have most liked to hear, but a suitable one nonetheless.
"We're not very often not in danger, ta be honest," Tiberius said. Alastor had to admit, that statement was quite true.
"I didn't realize when that man mentioned the gas, he was serious. I thought he was just trying to scare me off. 'Don't mess with changing the future'- that sort of thing," Mark explained.
"Next time, perhaps you ought to listen to fellows like that," Alastor suggested.
Mark prodded at his own side, wincing again at the contact.
"Did I burn myself?"
"Might have. Probably," Tiberius amended.
"Few things you didn't burn, really," Alastor said.
"It's called a Scinnlác—a frenzy—when I go into that," Mark began. "Sir Isaac Newton was famous for his—though they didn't make him use magic. He didn't have enough for that."
Alastor had not been expecting another explanation, nor had he been expecting one quite like that.
"Ah...right," Tiberius said, nodding along.
"What caused it then?" Alastor asked.
"Whenever I come into contact with any man-made sort of drug or medication, it's like—it makes the magic go wild. I don't know—over-stimulation?" Mark considered the word, then shrugged. "And I've got to get it out or... well, I don't know what will happen if I don't. It feels like I'll burn up from the inside."
"That's...odd," was all Alastor could think to say.
He had never heard of a wizard having any sort of trouble like that before. Well, actually, he felt confident he could make a fairly humorous joke with those last couple of phrases, but that wouldn't precisely help at present. Fortunately, Tiberius seemed to be thinking the same thing, and they grinned at each other for a moment. If Mark realized what they were laughing about, he did not seem to care, and instead simply moved the conversation along.
"I don't remember much of what happened."
"Well." Alastor took a deep breath to swallow the last chance of laughter. "There was a lot of blue light."
"And a minefield," Tiberius added.
"You also started talking a bit funny."
Mark had been staring at the blanket, but at that he glanced sharply upward, eyes narrowing at Alastor.
"Funny in what way?"
"Sounded like..." Alastor supposed he ought to at least pitch Tiberius' idea, because as much as he hated to bring in anything Divination related, it seemed like a valid point. "Like you were maybe...prophesying or something."
Tiberius snapped his fingers and said, "With some part about a battle ending in loss."
Mark had been about to answer Alastor, but he paused to glance back at Tiberius.
"Every battle ends in loss, one way or another."
Alastor had begun tapping his foot against the floor though, thinking, trying to recall, Tiberius' words having jogged his memory, or at least begun to do so.
"There was more to it though..."
"Why donnae we just let Don take a look at tha memory?" Tiberius suggested.
"What?" asked Mark, caught entirely off-guard.
"He wants to let Donald take a look at what happened in the Pensieve. It's a way to look at thoughts," Alastor added in answer to Mark's confused expression.
"I've never had that done before. I don't know how well it would go over," Mark said.
"Nothing serious," Tiberius said, shrugging. "Just sort of..."
He trailed off, tugging his wand from his pocket and moving slowly closer to Alastor.
"Don't you dare," Alastor growled, fixing Tiberius with a glare.
From his place on the bed, Mark had begun to look curious, which for some reason irked Alastor immensely. His first aim proven useless, Tiberius simply rolled his eyes, placing his wand against his own temple instead. He closed his eyes, and after a moment drew the wand away, a silvery string floating along after it.
"Then you take tha memory," Tiberius gestured toward the silvery wisps, "drop it in tha Pensieve, and you can...watch tha memory."
"You can observe what happened. Even if you weren't there," Alastor explained.
Mark considered this for a moment, then asked, "Would just Donald see it, or would all of us?"
"We could all use it," Alastor replied.
"I don't know," Mark said, gaze falling to the blanket once more.
"Could we at least try?" Tiberius asked, conjuring a vial with a flick of his wand. He was apparently determined not to take no for an answer.
"If it was a prophecy, maybe it would be better unknown," Mark said slowly.
"They like to keep track of them anyway," Alastor answered. "Besides, it probably wasn't."
"Prophecies never help anyone until they're over. A lot of time they make for a mess of misinterpretation," Mark replied.
"I wouldnae say that's true," Tiberius argued. He looked to be on the verge of lapsing into one of his pro-Divination speeches, at least until Alastor stepped on his foot. "And you clearly havenae seen tha hall in tha Department of Mysteries. Not many wizards share your opinion."
"Millions of prophecies," Alastor confirmed. "Very odd place."
"I don't want to donate mine," Mark said. "I don't think it's even valid."
"Haven't got to donate yours," Alastor answered. "Just trying to see what happened. Besides, what if it applies to that stupid book of yours?"
Mark hesitated only a fraction of a second before replying. "Fine."
"Excellent!" said Tiberius. He crossed the room, raising the empty vial in one hand and his wand in the other. "Ready?"
"Sure," said Mark, though he sounded doubtful at best.
"He's got to be the one to do it, Tiberius," Alastor reminded his friend.
"Oh, right." Tiberius studied Mark for a moment. "Tis quite simple. Think of tha memory, keep it up front in your mind, and then just...pull it out."
Tiberius offered his wand to Mark, who took it slowly. Alastor's fingers went to his own wand out of reflex, sincerely hoping Mark did not decided to do something stupid like try and hex Tiberius.
"Any memory?" Mark asked.
"Ideally tha memory of tha fight," Tiberius replied.
"Right."
Mark paused, frowning in concentration for a moment before he pressed the wand point against his temple. He closed his eyes, and they stayed closed even as he began to draw the wand away, silvery strands emerging as he did. Tiberius lifted the vial and took his wand back as soon as Mark had finished, saying what sounded like "Excellent" over and over. Mark simply watched, hands falling back into his lap. He still did not look especially thrilled to have given into these proceedings, but he had at least stopped arguing.
The hall filled with noise all of a sudden, a rush of people and chatter, and somewhere in the distance a door opened and shut. All this preluded the arrival of Donald himself, who smelled strongly of cigarettes as he entered the small room. Alastor wrinkled his nose in distaste but said nothing, even when Donald raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"Finally awake, I see," Donald said, turning his attention to Mark. "I'm glad these two didn't manage to injure you too severely."
"As I recall, it was the other way around," Alastor grumbled. "We were defending ourselves."
"Alastor's right, actually," Mark admitted.
Alastor grinned proudly, and Donald cast an intrigued look back in Mark's direction.
"Don't say things like that, it only encourages him."
"Have you been able to translate the book at all?" Mark asked, as though Donald had not spoken.
Donald paused, taken aback. Alastor would have taken the chance to explain the finer points of polite conversation to Mark, but Donald merely narrowed his eyes and glanced warily from Mark to Alastor.
"Turns out he's been reading our minds," Alastor announced. "Ever so polite, isn't it?"
"It's not mind reading, exactly," Mark repeated his earlier argument, but none of the wizards seemed to be accepting of this suggestion.
"Bit of a stretch, that," Tiberius muttered.
"Hush, Tiberius," Donald said, straightening his glasses and beginning to look far too curious for Alastor's taste. "What do you mean?"
Mark took a deep, steadying breath, then launched into his most lengthy explanation yet.
"Well, the long and short of it is that I'm a decedent of the wizard Merlin, King Arthur's mage, and I can use magic but not in the same way you wizards do, and when I look at people I can know their histories in a glance whether or not I want to-which is how I knew about the copy you made of my book."
At the conclusion of this, Alastor rolled his eyes and fully intended to ask which mad house Mark had escaped from. Instead he took another elbow to the ribs from Tiberius, and was forced to keep silent for the time being.
"And I also time traveled here. From 2010," Mark added after a moment.
"All sorts of special, isn't he?" Alastor grumbled.
Donald processed all this information, surveying Mark like he was a puzzle of some sort.
"You do realize, there is no historical record of any genealogy of Merlin?"
"There's one in my book," Mark answered.
"Is there indeed?" Donald asked. "And where might I find this?"
Mark hesitated before answering this time. "Well, it's the last couple of pages."
Donald turned, apparently intent on going to investigate this claim on the spot. Alastor could not believe a smart fellow like Donald would fall for this rubbish, and grabbed him by the sleeve of his robes before he could get away.
"Tiberius wants you to take a look at something in your Pensieve."
Donald blinked, raising his eyebrows. "I don't exactly carry it in my pocket."
"If it's in your office, we can get it," Tiberius offered.
Alastor had never known Donald to turn down a chance to use the Pensieve, and this time proved no exception. Donald shrugged, conjuring a key ring with a flick of his wrist, and tossing the keys to Alastor in the same smooth motion.
"Alright. But if I see one parchment out of place, I'll lock you both in the Time chamber. Again."
"Time chamber?" Mark asked.
"Where they study time. Lots of ruddy clocks and things. Time turners, matter of fact," Alastor explained as he pushed the door open.
"All tha ticking gets ta you after awhile," Tiberius said.
"Ah," was Mark's only reply. Then the door had shut again, and Alastor and Tiberius set off for the Department of Mysteries.
As Alastor and Tiberius hurried out the door, Donald turned back to Mark and leaned against the wall casually. His eyes were still alight with curiosity. Mark knew that of the wizards, Donald was the one that would be the most likely to believe him. "So...why exactly do they want the Pensieve?" Donald asked.
Spreading his hands, Mark tried to explain. "When I come in contact with drugs—gas, alcohol, medication—I go into this, um... magic frenzy. Scinnlác is the Old English term. It happened to us two days ago. They think that I prophesied while I was in the frenzy, and they want you to look at it."
Donald began to frown. "Do you remember any of it?"
Smoke and ashes and a deafening ring in his ears. Mark winced. "Yes, I think I remember most of it."
The wizard's eyes were serious, and he spoke softly, "Prophecies, seeing the future... that's dangerous business."
"I know," Mark answered. Snapshots of Donald's memories seeped into his head: A spread of cards. The hanged man. The tower. Mark could remember the voice of someone, shouting a name as the debris fell. "I think—I think it has to do with Alastor."
Interest and concern crept into Donald's face. He stepped from his place at the wall, asking, "What makes you say that?"
"The first day I met him, I had—well—when I was looking at his history to see if Hogwarts existed I saw something that hadn't happened to him yet," Mark tried to explain. "He was drinking heavily—Tiberius was there. During the frenzy, he caught my attention, and—I just remember these flashes, about a field and explosion and a pain that doesn't end." Motioning towards his head, Mark winced a little at the memory. "It's hard to describe. I don't know if it's best for them to see my memory of it, though."
For a moment, Donald stood with a finger against his chin, thinking. "What you have to remember, first and foremost, is that the future is never certain," he said, pointing at the ceiling like a professor would. "We can see possibilities, probabilities. And I do have to agree. Sometimes... it's better not to know what lies ahead."
A solemn look crossed Don's face, and he fell silent. News. Bad news. Black ravens against a white sky. Masks and cloaks and an old graveyard. An emerald sign, haunting and hanging in the sky, skull and snake entwined.
"I understand," said Mark quietly.
They remained in silence for a few minutes, Donald's finger back on his chin and his eyes clouded with thought. Rousing himself, he looked up. "Would you object to allowing me to seeing the memory, if I promise not to show Alastor or Tiberius?" Donald asked.
"That would be alright with me."
"I appreciate that. Now, did you give Tiberius the correct memory, or does he have a false one in that vial?"
"It's the right one," Mark said. "I don't know how I would have gotten a false one."
Don flashed a smile. "There are ways. Alright, I'll take care of it then."
"Okay," Mark said. At that moment, Tiberius pushed opened the door. He entered the room backwards, Alastor behind him, helping him to carry a large bowl between. As they sat it down on a table at the end of his bed, Mark leaned to get a better look. The Pensieve was a large bowl made of stone, with runes and symbols carved around the rim. At present, the bowl was empty.
"Weren't sure if we could use magic to carry it," Alastor said, rubbing his back.
"And that thing's too bloody heavy," Tiberius expounded.
"Now you see why I don't move it," Donald said with an eyebrow lifted. He stepped to the Pensieve and held out his hand towards Tiberius while he leaned over the bowl. "The vial, if you please?"
Tiberius took it out of his coat pocket and put it in Donald's hand. Opening it carefully, Donald poured the silvery liquid into the bowl. The wisps of memory spread to fill the Pensieve, glowing softly against the stones. He gently prodded it with his wand, murmuring all the while. His eyes were sharp, but distant.
"Any time you're ready, then," Alastor said, crossing his arms.
Mark knew that all he had to do was watch Donald, and he would see whatever the wizard was seeing. Color had begun to fade from Donald's face, and he bent closer and closer to the bowl, his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. The visions he saw stirred in the back of Mark's head, like a memory he couldn't quite recall. Mark dragged his eyes away, staring at the wall. He did not need to see the prophecy again.
Abruptly, Donald straightened. "Seems there's nothing here."
Mark glanced at Tiberius and Alastor. Tiberius was slack jawed, but Alastor's eyes narrows suspiciously as he watched Donald. "Tell me you're kidding?" Tiberius asked incredulously.
Donald pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid there's naught here but flashes of light and a certain someone's Patronus charging in at the end."
"So it's nothing to worry about?" Mark asked.
"Don't mock my Patronus," Alastor cut in. "Better than your ruddy owl."
Donald ignored Alastor, turning instead to Mark. "Nothing at all, I'm sure. Though I think"–he returned the liquid to the vial, and tucked it into his robes—"I'll hang on to this. Just for... a closer look at your magic."
Understanding perfectly, Mark nodded. "Alright."
"What, tha funny blue stuff?" Tiberius asked.
Sighing, Donald said, "Yes, the funny blue stuff. Did they teach you those descriptive words in Auror training?"
Crossing his arms, Tiberius muttered something angrily. Alastor gestured to the Pensieve. "What're we supposed to do with this great thing, then?"
"Well, as I'll be doing work the rest of the day, you can bring it back to my office," answered Donald absentmindedly.
Alastor grumbled, lifting the Pensieve himself. When Tiberius stepped forward to help, Alastor shook his head. "'s fine, I've got it."
"What about Mark?" Tiberius asked, glancing back at him as they headed to the door.
Donald looked over his shoulder as he pushed the door open. "I trust you'll not be going anywhere just yet?" he asked.
"No, I need to rest for a bit," Mark answered.
"We'll be back in the morning then," said Alastor, going through the door.
"Alright. Thank you," Mark called after them. As soon as they were gone, he lay down and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, but it was a long time before he could fall asleep.