Chapter 21

The woods smelled of incoming snow and dead leaves. Allen waited for alarms to sound, attackers to fly out from the trees, and jumped when Hermione stumbled out of the door behind him. She looked around, wand forward. "Oh, wow," she exclaimed. "It worked. It actually worked!"

"Get down," Allen whispered. "I haven't heard an alarm, but—"

"Allen, let's get under the cloak."

Oh yeah: her invisibility cloak. "Right," he replied, and together he and Hermione squeezed under the cloak. It was close quarters. Allen was surprised at how well he could see out of the silvery fabric. He popped his head out and whispered loudly, "Timcanpy! Get under here!"

With the golem tucked safely under his scarf, Allen looked to Hermione. She nodded, and they stepped forward, creeping along the forest floor as quietly as possible.

Allen couldn't fight the creeping fear in his belly as they walked forward, wondering if it was the right direction. A small part of him hoped it wasn't. It was a very small part, though.

As they walked along Allen's eyes went to the sky, in search of golems. He didn't see anything. There weren't even birds around; the woods were still. His heart hammered in his chest as they walked further into the forest, and he swallowed as his throat dried.

It's okay, he told himself. You have nothing to be afraid of. Why are you afraid?

Hermione stumbled over a root and he grabbed her elbow to steady her. She murmured a thank you and they went on.

A few more minutes passed. Hermione whispered, "Are you sure we're going in the right direction?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "But it's not a big island. The headquarters are just on the other side of the forest. We should be there soon."

"You keep looking up. Is there surveillance in the sky?"

He bit his lip. "There should be," he murmured, his voice almost too soft for Hermione to hear.

She glanced up, scanning the clouds, but saw nothing. She gripped her wand a little tighter.

Soon the trees began to thin out and Hermione caught glimpses of structures in the distance as the light brightened. At the edge of the woods, they stopped together, looking out.

The cathedral was a ruin.

The walls were crumbling. Sections of the roof had caved in long ago; glass windows were shattered, some ground into fine sand. Age and fire and neglect had touched this place, and trees and scrub grew up around it, ivy crawling on the stone and grasses peeking through the floor. A small tree grew in a protected corner, where it had shade and light and protection from the wind.

Allen sucked in a breath, taking it all in. Hermione looked over at him, biting her lip. She didn't want to say it. "I'm sorry, Allen. But it looks like no one's been here in…well, a long time."

"A hundred years," he corrected softly, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, and Hermione saw his eyes were glassy. He sat down at the edge of the wood, the cloak falling away from his shoulders, and he shook as stifled sobs wracked him. He curled up on himself, hiding away.

Hermione sat down beside him, and waited silently as minutes passed. She considered giving him a hug, but thought better of it. She shivered in the winter air, and stared out at what had once been Allen's home, trying to imagine it whole. Tempted as she was to light a fire, she waited, sympathy making her patient.

xox

Some time later, Allen sniffed, sitting up and wiping his eyes. He looked over at Hermione, eyes red and glassy, but he managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Hermione said gently. She got up and brushed herself off, looking out at the ruins. "Did you still want to look around?"

Allen nodded, wiping his nose and readjusting his scarf. He seemed to be collecting himself: fixing his clothes, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeves, clearing his throat several times. He still looked wretched as he faced the ruin.

"What did you want to find?" Hermione asked.

Allen stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking. "My master, Cross Marian, knew a lot about things involving my curse and what happened in the past. I want to see if there's anything here. Anything he might have left behind, I mean." He knew it was a long shot; Cross kept secrets like some people keep glass figurines.

Hermione looked out at the ruins as they approached. She doubted there was much of anything left.

Allen saw her expression. "The Order had several levels within it. Headquarters kept records, experiments, and other stuff going in the underground of the cathedral."

"You think these records might still exist?"

Allen shrugged stiffly. "If anything's left, it'll be there. It's worth looking around."

They had reached the ruins, and Allen stepped over rubble and glass, walking inside. It was dark, and cold; wind whistled through the holes in the walls and the room smelled of decay and mold. Hermione walked in behind him, looking up and around. She could picture it now, staring at the still-standing walls; a high Gothic ceiling, a Rose window at one end, stained glass windows lining the church walls.

Allen walked down the center aisle, passing rotten wooden pews and broken stone statues of saints and disciples, down into another wing of the building.

This area was less damaged that the front, its ceiling still mostly intact. Hermione began to see signs and symbols of the organization. On the wall hung a half-burned, faded tapestry of a strange symbol: a cross with a pointed bottom, like a knife, and Hebrew letters set on individual tiles around the cross. Allen walked past it without a glance, and she hurried to follow. There was a wooden door across the room, and Allen shoved it open, grunting as the rusted hinges groaned. A stairwell led down, and Hermione smelt the cold and earth of a cellar. Wordlessly she lit the tip of her wand, and together she and Allen walked carefully down into the bowels of Headquarters.

Timcanpy came free of Allen's scarf and fluttered ahead, leading the way, projecting a light of his own from his mouth like a search light. Hermione wasn't certain how long they walked. Allen didn't say a word. He didn't seem to be looking anywhere but straight ahead. They passed through stone corridors, dusty and filled with cobwebs, living spiders, and other creepy-crawlies. There were rooms of electronic equipment Hermione couldn't believe were there. Miles of wiring snaked the floor, long since dead of electricity. Hermione's light caught computer screens, projection equipment, and several rooms of books. They passed by rooms that could have been residential; beds, desks, and wardrobes filled them, but they too were long empty and dusty with disuse.

Allen stopped at last in front of a set of metal double doors. Hermione raised her light, and bit her lip. They were rusted shut.

"I could blast them apart," she offered, her voice a hoarse whisper.

That was all it took to break the spell on Allen. He shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. "I got this."

A flash of green, then white light filled the room. Draped in his white cloak, Hermione watched Allen raise his metal left hand and bring it down across the door. It fell apart like butter to a hot knife, and she covered her nose to keep the rising dust out. She coughed, and Allen deactivated his Innocence.

Hermione sent up globes of light into the room, illuminating it in a soft yellow-and-white glow. It was file storage. Boxes and boxes lined shelves that went wall-to-wall, a story high, and Allen walked inside.

"We're looking for Cross's files. If they're there, we look through them for anything related to someone called the Fourteenth."

"Who's the Fourteenth?"

Allen hesitated. "A bad guy," he said at last. He pointed down to the right. "I'll go this way. Call if you need me." He walked away. Hermione hesitated to go after him, but then figured splitting up would be faster. She turned left and started down the first aisle, reading what names she could on the shelves, wondering who the Fourteenth was and why Allen had never mentioned them before.

After a while, Hermione decided the names she was looking at were personnel at Allen's Order. Some boxes were labelled "Deceased", some "Missing in Action", some simply "Confidential." She went down aisle after aisle, and then paused as she spotted one box in particular.

"A.W." It was stamped with a Confidential label and sealed with tape. She rose her wand a little higher to look, and then swiveled her head, looking for Allen. Of course he was nowhere to be seen. Tucking her wand in her pocket, illuminated end up, she reached and pulled the box down, setting it carefully on the ground.

It was probably a coincidence, she told herself as she cut the tape and carefully lifted the lid off the box. Plenty of people had those initials.

As the lid came free, she set it aside and drew her wand, holding it above her head.

On top of the box was a yellowed folder. It was titled simply "Allen Walker" with a string of numbers after. She reached in carefully, pulling it out, and sat back on her heels to open it.

It was empty. There was nothing except the folder. Setting it aside she looked at the rest of the contents of the box. A few clothes, full of moth-eaten holes. A book or two, also moth-eaten. And then, at the bottom of the box...

There was a notebook. It was a simple thing; soft black leather bound it, a string of twine held it together. It didn't have a speck of dust on it. The edges of the pages were crisp and white, not yellowed with age. It didn't even smell old. Hermione picked it up, and felt a strange sensation run up her arm as her fingers touched it. It wasn't unpleasant, but she knew instantly that the book had been bewitched. The nature of the spell wanted her to know this.

She put the box labelled "A.W." back on the shelf, and pocketed the notebook. She could figure it out later. She would have to: she wasn't sure how long she and Allen had been down here, but it was getting late.

"Allen?" she called, voice muffled by dust and rows of shelves. "Allen?" she called louder.

"Over here," Allen called, sounding a long way off.

"Keep talking," she called. "I'm coming toward you."

"Okay. See anything interesting?"

She considered the notebook, but she didn't feel like shouting across the room about it. "Yeah, I'll show you in a minute. What about you?"

She reached the end of the aisle and saw a light bobbing up ahead. Allen and Timcanpy came into view. He still looked rough, but he waved as he saw her.

"So did you find your master's files?" Hermione asked as they met by the doors.

Allen shook his head. "It was empty," he said gravely. "Everything was gone." He sounded like someone who comes to a watering hole at the edge of a desert to find the only well dry.

She nodded. "I see."

He rubbed his hands over his face. "We should get back," he said at last, trying to sound upbeat. "We've been here too long."

Hermione nodded again. Timcanpy flew off, leading the way. Allen followed, Hermione took up the rear. They walked in silence, the dust and dark and Allen's mood taking away all desire to speak.

When they reached the ground floor, and Hermione could smell fresh air and a hint of oncoming snow, she felt better. Just being out of the underground eased the tension from her. She looked over at Allen, who walked slowly, looking around the decrepit cathedral at last, soaking it in. Timcanpy flew over to him, burrowing in Allen's scarf. Hermione ran her hands over a pew, the wood solid and cool under her gloves.

"I found your file box," she said at last. Allen simply turned his head to look at her.

"And?" he replied blankly.

She fished into her pocket and pulled out the notebook. "This was in it. Do you recognize it?"

Allen's eyebrows creased together, and he stepped forward, taking the notebook from her. He looked at it, turned it over in his hands, then held it back out to her. "No," he replied, and she knew he told the truth. "I've never seen it before."

Hermione took the notebook. "It's been bewitched," she said plainly. "And unlike everything else in this place, it's not damaged. At all."

Allen pressed his lips together. "Let's talk about it after we get out of here," he said softly. "I..." But he couldn't seem to finish his thought. His gaze returned to the desecrated building around them.

"I understand." And she did. It must have been horrible to see a place you considered home destroyed. If she saw her house, or Hogwarts, in the state that this place was in, she didn't know if she would manage better.

They walked out, past the broken pews, through the gaping hole in the wall they'd come through, and back into the winter cold.

Allen froze in his tracks, raising a hand in front of Hermione. She halted, looking around, listening.

"Someone's here," they whispered together, Allen stating, Hermione confirming with him. Hermione gestured hurriedly to Allen. He slipped back until he stood next to her and she draped the cloak around them both.

Swiveling, Allen and Hermione turned, looking for the intruder. There was nothing there. Allen took a breath, and whispered, "Walk as quietly as you can."

Together they stepped off, shuffling forward, Hermione's wand raised, Allen's eyes flitting here and there, searching for people. He could feel it; something was wrong.

They had cleared the building and were halfway to the woods when Hermione spotted them. She lay a hand on Allen's arm, both of them stopping in their tracks.

A figure dressed in long, dark clothes walked through the ruins. "I don't recognize them," Allen whispered thickly, but he didn't truly expect to.

"I wish we weren't so far away," Hermione whispered. "If I could—" but the figure turned, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She stifled a gasp.

The figure wore a mask of bone. Allen glanced at Hermione. "What is it?" he whispered.

"Death Eater," Hermione replied, her voice barely audible. "Allen, we have to get out of here. If they catch us…" But the words couldn't follow. Hermione's wand hand shook.

"What if they know we're already here?"

She shook her head. "Let's hope they don't."

"He might be alone," Allen offered hopefully.

But Hermione was shaking her head frantically and pointed. Allen followed the line of sight and smothered an oath.

The Death Eater wasn't alone. Two others had come to join him, and all three of them were staring exactly where Hermione and he stood, watching. Waiting.

"Okay," Allen said. "Move slowly."

They began to back up, eyes forward, Allen almost sliding his foot so as not to trip. "Is there a way to silence our sounds?" he asked.

"Um…" Hermione flicked her wand and murmured, "Silencio," at her feet. She took a step forward; her footfall made no noise. She spelled his feet and they both took a few more careful steps forward. Nothing.

"Okay. Back to the Ark," Allen said. It didn't need repeating. They moved as quickly as they could, both of them glancing behind their shoulders to see if they were being followed. They reached the woods at last, but Allen was keenly aware of how far they still had to go.

"Stupify!"

The spell hit Allen square in the back and he tumbled forward, taking Hermione and the cloak with him. It slipped, revealing them both from the waist up. He tried to move, but his entire body was numb, unresponsive. Panic clutched his heart.

"Reducto!" Hermione screamed, and without waiting to see if the spell hit turned her wand on Allen and cried, "Finite Incantatem!"

Allen felt his body go free, and he jerked; Hermione grabbed the cloak and they bolted, all sense of secrecy lost, Hermione firing spells behind her, Allen ducking as hexes zipped past his face and his feet and slammed into the trees, setting them on fire or blasting them apart.

"They're getting away!" screamed a Death Eater, too close behind them.

Allen grabbed Hermione seconds before a curse hit her arm, tugging her down a narrow corridor of trees, hopping roots as they ran.

"This way!" he panted, and they broke through a clearing. Just on the other side there was a bright jagged line of light—"The Gate's this way!"

"Imobulus!" Hermione screamed over her shoulder; Allen heard a thud as a body hit the ground.

"Hold on!" he cried, and pulled Hermione forward, shoving her up into the Gate, following close behind. He grabbed the door and slammed it close, singing hurriedly in a strained, breathless flow.

They lay panting on the ground, bright sun above them, surrounded by silence and stone. Allen sat up a few moments later, reaching for Hermione. "Are you okay?" he panted.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, still catching her breath. Groaning, she sat up, rubbing her arm. "Can they follow us in?"

"No," Allen said, letting out a long breath. "Door's closed. There's no way in."

Hermione sighed in relief, eyes shutting as she cradled her arm. After another moment, she got to her feet, brushing herself off. Without a word she held a hand up for Allen; he took it, pulled himself up.

"So are those the guys you're fighting against?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. You-Know-Who's people. We're lucky we got away."

Allen nodded. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Lucky you were with me," he said.

She reached up and took his arm, squeezing it in comfort. "I'm so sorry," she said. "About your home."

Allen's throat squeezed. He nodded, and stepped back, looking around, trying to keep his expression under control.

Hermione figured it was better to move on, for now. She murmured a spell at her arm, the ache from her fall fading. "Why were they there?" she wondered aloud, brow furrowed in thought.

"I don't know," Allen said. "Maybe a meeting place?"

"Or a base of operations?" Hermione guessed. She nodded, deciding something, and said, "We have to go to Dumbledore. He has to know what we saw."

"I agree," Allen said decidedly. His side trip for finding Horcruxes could wait. He busied his hands fixing his scarf, straightening his coat, and Timcanpy chirped, still safely tucked inside. Allen smiled at the golem. "You were helpful," he said dryly.

Timcanpy reached up and bit his ear. Allen yelped, and the golem flew out, chirping at him and flying just out of reach.

Hermione chuckled.

Allen threw her a halfhearted glare. "Think this is funny, huh?"

She chuckled despite herself.

Allen rubbed his ear, glaring at the golem. His hands were shaking, just slightly. I shouldn't have been off guard, he scolded himself. I should have been paying attention.

"Allen, we should get moving."

He shook his head. "Yeah," he said, clenching his hands. "Yeah."

I want to go home.

His real home, where headquarters was a living, bustling hive of activity, full of friends and yes, even enemies, but still around. Still real.

I want to go home.

I want to go home.

It repeated in his head, a desire so strong that nothing seemed more important, even Death Eaters. He needed the Order to exist so badly he ached, despite everything that would mean. He walked on, leading the way, staring ahead and avoiding Hermione's worried frown beside him.

He turned corners, not paying much attention, and jumped when Hermione called, "Allen, it's this way, right?"

He turned, annoyed with himself. "Uh, yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Should we rest for a—?"

"No."

She blinked, taken aback by his tone. Allen could kick himself. Before he could apologize she nodded and said briskly, "Let's just get back, we've been gone long enough."

And so they walked, and walked. They went around the same fountain three times before Hermione stopped in the alley. "How could I be so foolish," she muttered. "Got myself landed in a place I've never been with no map and a person who's hopeless with directions."

A beat passed and she winced, glancing apologetically at Allen.

He shrugged, too caught up in his own thoughts to be offended. "It's true, though."

Still looking apologetic, she asked, "How do you get around the castle, then?"

"Timcanpy's got the place memorized."

They both stared at one another a moment before looking up at Timcanpy, fluttering above their heads, chasing his tail.

"I'm an idiot," they said simultaneously.

"Timcanpy!" Allen called. "Can you take us back to the Hogwarts door?"

Tim chirped and flew off; Hermione and Allen followed, darting through alleys and up and down stairs neither of them quite remembered crossing the first time. But at last Tim stopped and hovered above a door, and Hermione cracked a relieved smile as she saw the burned crest of the school.

"Let's go home," she said, looking at Allen.

Allen nodded reluctantly, looking back up the way they'd come before turning to stare at the door. "Right. Home."

Singing the melody of the Musician in his head, feeling the gate shift and open, he reached for the doorknob and turned it. Hand out, he said, "Ladies first."

Hermione stepped through into the darkness, Timcanpy following her. Allen hesitated and then with a deep breath, followed them out.

He landed hard on wet cobblestone, and the stench of fecal waste and old water hit his nose. "Ugh," he groaned, sitting up. Hermione had her wand out, turning about in confusion. The tip of her wand was illuminated, the light reflecting off puddles.

Allen shut the door behind him with a thought and stepped forward. A bitter wind blew down the alley, going straight through his clothes and whisking the stink away. It was nighttime. Just how long had they walked around the Ark, lost?

He decided it didn't matter. "Come on, let's get going," he said. "They're probably looking for you in the castle."

Hermione didn't follow. "Allen, something's not right," she said.

"Coming out of the Ark always feels like that," Allen countered dismissively.

"No, I mean…where's the snow?"

He looked around; indeed, there was no snow, just wet cobblestone. "Probably melted," Allen said. "We don't know how long we've been gone. Could have been hours or days."

She stared at him. "Hours and days? You mean you don't control this?"

"I do," he said, "but it's not perfect." He hesitated a moment before adding, "I've never had to deal with time travel before."

Hermione stared at him, at first looking as if she thought he was joking. As he stared back, the look morphed to one of slight horror. "Time travel? Why didn't you mention that before now?"

"Would you have believed me if I did?"

"You'd be surprised," she replied.

"Well, you didn't exactly give me any time to explain, did you?" Allen shot back.

Hermione looked away, mollified.

Sighing, Allen held his hands up in a placating gesture. "We'll talk when we get back to the school." He walked forward, stopping at the opening in the alley. "There, I can see it now."

Hermione clenched her hands and looked up, a determined gleam in her eyes. She wouldn't be shamed to silence. "No, you've dodged the question enough, you'll explain it now. What did you mean about time travel?"

Allen saw an abandoned newspaper on the ground and picked it up. The paper was partly soaked and the ink had run, but he folded the paper over until he found the top and checked the date.

He stared. Hermione was speaking beside him but he wasn't listening.

Let's go home.

Without a word he handed Hermione the paper. She stopped talking, taking it, looking it over. Her eyes found the date; she froze, staring at it. Clutching it tightly she turned her gaze to Allen.

"Allen," she began quietly. All the fight was gone from her voice, her temper cooled by what she saw in front of her. "When you said time travel…"

He stepped into the street, looking around. "Only one way to know for sure. Come on."

Hermione glanced back at the paper in her hands, and the date written across the top corner of the page: 12 November 1896.