Author's Note:
So here it is, the start to what will undoubtedly be the balls-to-the-walls crazy insane sequel to Maledictum, entitled Maledictum: The Veiled War.
A word of warning: I think many long time readers will be displeased about the direction some of this will go, at least initially. I'm of course talking about the main pairing of the first work in this series. Things didn't go so smoothly in two years of exile for our two antiheroes. How and why, you'll have to continue to read to understand. But if you know anything about the way I write, then you'll know none of it will be convoluted, or gratuitous. There will be a minimal focus on romance in any way. That is it will only appear in the sense that different characters do have a love life of some kind.
If you can live with things being bumpy, and are comfortable with reading something that doesn't have a romantic twist and gets dark at times (this time it will undoubtedly get more personal), enjoy. I'll try not to abuse your trust too much.
Marco had been five years old when they left the continent. He still remembered it like it was yesterday. They had been in Palermo for a few weeks then. His father had taken them away from the danger of Nurmengard and moved with a handful of allies to the villa's left empty in the city. It was easy enough to guard from the gaze of the locals who were still recovering from their own war.
He was playing in the garden when it happened, under the lemon trees with his sister Selena. His father entered with a frantic look in his eyes, his mother following behind.
"What do we do?"
"Get the brooms! They appeared on the east side, where the Rembrants live."
She nodded and quickly went to the broom shed. Valenti Porto knelt beside his children. "Marco, Selena, I need you to go with your mother. The Rembrants are in trouble, and they need my help."
Marco didn't know what to say. He knew back then that what his father did was dangerous, but to his young mind, the reality of it was abstract. "Yes, dad," he said.
"What's happening?" Selena asked.
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to move again. Just one last time, yes?"
The way Valenti looked at his children would stay in Marco's mind forever. He knew he wasn't going to see them again. He steeled himself as Rhea came back and smiled. "All right, you. Go on ahead with mum on the brooms and don't complain. Be brave, yes?"
Marco nodded, and watched as Valenti hugged Rhea and whispered something in her ear. She protested, but he stopped her. "I brought them into this," he said. "I'm not leaving them to fend for themselves. You'll be fine. Find Dietrich at the place we agreed."
Valenti left brandishing his wand. Marco's mother hurried them along, but he couldn't take his eyes off his father as he left. A spark of fire erupted from Valenti's wand as he ran east out of the garden.
They went on the broom with their mother, Selena crying for what seemed like hours while they flew. He fell asleep. When he woke up, he was on a bed in a foreign house, his sister beside him. Out of the window, he could see his mother standing outside. He watched her pace, and bite her nails. A man with a silver beard stood beside her. His eyes were just as tired as his mother's. The air was filled with the chirping of crickets as the sun set.
There came something in the distance. Rhea stood unblinking, but as the forms came closer, the sight of two brooms, she started to cry. The man beside her grimaced. Two men descended from the brooms on the hill. Pieter and Lucien. They were their neighbours, and were always nice to Marco and his sister. In a way, they were like big brothers to him.
"Where is he?" Rhea asked.
"I'm sorry," Pieter said. "I'm so sorry, Rhea…"
Marco felt the dread of what was happening through his mother's cries. His father was supposed to come back with them, but he wasn't there.
"Those bastards," Rhea cried. "Those cursed bastards. Who… Who was it?"
"Mistral," Lucien choked out. "He was there. Lekarov found us first. Valenti held him back until…"
Rhea cried on Pieter's shoulder, who himself couldn't hold back tears. Marco stood there, not knowing what to do, not willing to believe his father was gone. As Pieter and Lucien left with Rhea somewhere inside, the silver-bearded man turned towards the house. For some reason, Marco felt like he had to go outside to this man and ask.
As he came closer, he saw the man's smile and his eyes full of tears.
"Hello, Marco," he said. "I'm Dietrich."
"Did you know my dad?"
"Yes."
"Is he really gone?"
"Yes."
Marco shuffled. Dietrich knelt beside Marco in a manner that reminded him of his father.
"Your dad was very brave, Marco. It's thanks to him Pieter and Lucien are here. Thanks to him we'll be able to find a place that's safe now. He did that for you, your sister, and your mother."
"We won't have to move any more?"
"No. We won't have to."
Dietrich's words, and Valenti's words that they would finally find a home where they would be safe was a true promise. At least, safe from others. He grew up with Pieter, Lucien, Selena, and many others that had fled, in what they had taken to calling the Sanctum. Their new home. But many had lost friends, family, just like Marco did. Pieter and Lucien would never rest knowing that the people who had hunted them were still out there looking for them.
For a time, things were peaceful. Until one day when Marco was much older, a man in every sense of the word, Lucien had left his pregnant wife a widow. He saw the anger and grief in his friends' faces. An idea started to form, among the inner circle of the Sanctum. Pieter had convinced most of their friends that their ultimate goal should be to go back, and reclaim the freedom that they'd lost.
To Marco, this seemed like insanity. Many died trying to achieve this goal, Pieter being among them, leaving his own daughter without a father. However, as time went on, as the children of those exiled to the Sanctum grew older, things changed. Those who ventured outside their safe haven came back as killers instead of victims. A new generation of leaders arose. Pieter and Lucien's daughters were soon chosen to lead them, together with Dietrich and two others.
Marco, though, stuck to what he knew. The supply boats they manned had turned to a fleet, and Marco had become Commander Marco, looking over eighty-one men and women and sixteen vessels. He'd always loved sailing with his father.
He was sixty-seven now, and the burning hatred he'd seen fester in the people of the Sanctum had now morphed. The reason for that change was that two years ago, they had accepted two outsiders into the Sanctum. It was completely unheard of, and if Marco had any say in it, it would never have happened. But they were here now, and with them came a renewed wish to break out from their exile.
When Dietrich called him in for a talk, he knew it was to discuss something to do with the Potters. They met at Dietrich's house, a cosy looking stone dwelling on the edge of the pavilion.
"Good evening, friend," Dietrich greeted him, waving him inside. "Amaro?"
"Yes," Marco sighed. "How are you?"
"Very busy," Dietrich said, pouring them a drink.
"I can imagine. All those youngsters stirring up trouble."
"You're as sharp as ever, Marco," Dietrich laughed. "I did want to talk to you about something."
Marco sat down, rubbing his rough stubbled beard. "I can't imagine it's very good news, placating me with drink already."
"It's true what you say," Dietrich mused, taking a drink from his crystal glass. "They wanted to push this issue last week, but I know I had to get your advice first."
"I'm not on the Council," Marco said dismissively. "Whatever they decide is law and I know they have everyone's backing. I'm just a stubborn old holdout."
"But we owe it to ourselves to listen to those stubborn holdouts," Dietrich said with a smile. "What kind of people would we be if we didn't? Besides, you know I value your advice."
"Well, go on, out with it!"
"I feel like if I tell you straight away, you will chase me out of my own house. Please give me the benefit of the doubt here. First, it's true that the cove can't have many more ships for anchor?"
"We have seven supply vessels, two tugs, three war sloops, three fishing boats and the Illusive. If they want to expand our fleet, we could fit a few more, but we'd be stretching the limits. With things how they are, I don't see the point. What were they asking for?"
"What's the largest ship the cove could fit?"
"You mean in tonnage? Dietrich we're wizards, we have no use for that."
"Humour me."
"Probably…" Marco tried to remember the reef positions inside the cove, making a quick estimate. "We could accommodate a length of fifty meters, give or take a few."
"How about the northern cove?"
"That's outside the barrier." Dietrich waited for him to answer. "Fine, there is no ship that can't fit there, the northern cove has no reef and a 1.6 kilometre gap. You're right, it would be an ideal place for shipping, but that was never the intent, hence why the barrier doesn't extend there."
"Unless we extend it," Dietrich said, holding up a finger.
"Extend it? Porca miseria, Dietrich, Pieter and Lucien are dead, we can't extend it. They were the only ones who could!"
"Marlene thinks she can do it, at least temporarily."
"Temporarily!" Marco roared. "Do you hear what you're saying, friend? The barrier falls, and we're unprotected, it's open season on our homes then!"
"It can hold out for at least a year."
"A year and then what?"
Dietrich drained his drink. "The Council has voted. In one year's time, it has been decided we will go to war."
Marco was speechless. He'd known they were out for blood, but to this extent. "War?"
"The people want to fight."
"And what? More dead? More orphans?" Marco sighed. "And you want my advice on what? If they've already decided, what is it to me?"
"I need you to be with us, Marco, especially now."
He took something from his pocket. A picture, an ordinary one, nothing magical about it. It was a black and white picture. He very well knew what it was. Anyone with any interest in naval history would. Forty thousand tons of steel.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"It's a bribe," Dietrich said with a smile.
Marco frowned. "I don't get it."
"I want to ask you to recover it. You'll escort Potter and Marlene to the location of the wreck where they will retrieve it. We've done salvage operations before, right?"
"Right. For things that are salvageable. This," he said, tapping the picture, "is in a thousand pieces at the bottom of the ocean."
"Marco, you know the Council has means. If I tell you he'll recover it, he will."
"So you'll extend the barrier to the northern cove and we'll tug it back there?"
"Can you?"
"I can."
Dietrich laughed. "You're intrigued."
"Don't put words in my mouth!"
Marco pondered it. He certainly didn't have the power to stop the Council from going to war, and if they were, he certainly wasn't going to stand by the sidelines. Even if he would never admit it, he was intrigued.
"I have one condition," he said.
Dietrich motioned for him to go on.
"I want to go down with him. I want to be the one to oversee the salvaging."
"Done."
They refilled their glasses and drank to it. Never in his life did he think he would see war again, but fate had a funny way of working in a way you didn't expect.
#
"So you know him?"
"Not know him, really. But he's friends with Ollie, and he used to live right next door to me. They're friends, I think."
"You think?"
"Because Potter has been with the Hunters. I heard he ran with Ollie for… the last year?"
"And?"
"Well, I don't know, he seems all right."
"You don't know anything, do you?"
"Ollie says he has red runes running all over his chest. And you know, that scar."
"Everyone knows about the scar."
"No, I mean the one running across his chest."
"Quiet!"
The sailors straightened up as Marco walked up the docks. "Did I make a mistake picking you two? Will you keep your mouth shut?"
"Yes, Commander," they both chimed.
"Good. Now look sharp."
"Sir," Hans said, gauging if he could even ask a question.
"What?"
"Where are we going? We've never been on a trip without knowing our destination."
"Only I know the course, that's why this operation is marked as 'secret'. You'll get your instructions as we depart." Marco sighed, being uncomfortable with not informing his crew. "Though I dare say you've never seen a salvage operation like this."
Hans laughed and nudged Enrique. Marco relaxed a little. Even if they were young, they were good sailors, and discreet when in public. Which is why he picked them. Marco looked ahead of the docks to the path where two figures had appeared. One, he knew very well, and nearly considered a daughter; the other, he knew little about. It was clear by their demeanour, talking as they approached, that Marlene and Potter had grown friendly.
Marlene always was understanding and optimistic, as well as brilliant. Marco had kept his distance, but it was hard to stay ignorant when she so often talked about Potter's boy. Whatever the situation was, he knew the mother of that child wasn't very present in the boy's life, hence he spent many days in Marlene's company.
It was the Sanctum's way, to stick together. Only, the Potters were outsiders.
"Uncle Marco!" Marlene called out, waving her hand.
"Marlene, you look well."
She hugged him and motioned Harry closer. "You know Harry."
"Not as much as I would like," Marco answered.
"Sorry about that, Commander," Harry said, extending a hand.
Marco firmly shook it. He'd seen him before, talked briefly, but it wasn't until now that he understood what Dietrich had been talking about. He had that air about him, that if he talked you would be compelled to listen. Like Grindewald, for what he remembered of the man.
"We better get going," he said. "It is a long way to the northern straits. Enrique, Hans, prepare to raise anchor."
He lead them aboard. Potter watched intently as they prepared the proper enchantments to allow the heavy tug to make good time in open seas. "It will be dangerous," he said in a low voice. "Some ships pass through the lanes we have to use today, even if I've done my best to chart a silent course."
"You shouldn't worry," Marlene reassured him in a similarly quiet voice. "He's good."
It was higher praise than the word 'good' implied, from Marlene. She who always looked down upon the Hunters, save for a fair few. Marco nodded, and wondered if her judgement was biased at all by having grown close to Potter.
It took minutes to embark, and before long, they were taking off out of the bay and soon in the undersea current to the north of the cove. They wouldn't be able to take that way back.
He overheard Marlene explaining it to Harry. "Remember when you took it to come here? We'll go through the Underpassage to arrive in the Caribbean Sea, then Commander Marco will chart a course to avoid the magical ship traffic."
"That's useful," Potter answered.
Catching Marco listening in, Marlene peeled away from Potter and came up to him. She walked ahead to the bow and he followed. "I know you have your reservations about what we're doing," she said, "but you know I couldn't tell you anything before the Council decided to do so."
"I know," he answered, flattening his moustache. "I know I'm alone, an old dog barking without anyone to listen, but I dislike it. This. It feels like throwing away everything… I don't need to tell you."
A smile came over her lips as she looked over the waves twilit waves. "But it's what father would have wanted." She turned back to him and seemed to be pondering something. "You should talk to him," she said with a nod of her head back to the other side of the ship.
"Potter?" He exhaled in frustration. "Why? I know you're fond of him, but I don't know what I would even say."
"Ask him, why we're doing this, why it's important for him to go back."
Marco felt uneasy. To him Potter had been something of a foul presence in the Sanctum, a catalyst corrupting the people even further to action. Maybe he was afraid of being convinced.
He shook his head and walked back to the prow, where Potter raised his eyes at him in anticipation.
"Follow me," Marco simply said, and walked down into the cabin. They passed down the stairs into the magically roomy hold put up below. He had fitted every one of his vessels with nice accommodations, rich decors, all with sights on making life easier for his sailors. Now, those efforts seemed so pointless. He sat in one of the leather chairs in the cabin and motioned for Potter to sit as well. He did so, slowly, like a cat feeling out a new sleeping spot.
"Marlene told me to speak to you," he said bluntly.
Potter relaxed and smiled slightly. Marco felt it difficult not to grow to like him in that instant, but he fought that impulse.
"She helped out a lot," he said, "with everything."
"Your boy," Marco nodded, closing his eyes trying to remember. "I'm sorry, I forget his name."
"Sirius," Potter said, his eyes lighting up. "He's very talkative apparently, and everyone in the Sanctum seems to like him."
Marco laughed. "You wait until they grow older. Before you know it you wish they wouldn't talk and you'll be looking at grey hairs in the mirror."
"You have a son, in the Hunters. Salvatore?"
Marco nodded. "This is what men talk of, huh? Their sons and daughters, and their future. I'm sure you know my thoughts on all of this."
"I'm aware."
"This is a good place. The Sanctum, its people. Your son, he could grow up here, he could have a life here. I'll just ask you. Why risk everything to fight? In all honesty, I thought you would just leech here, I thought you would stay on and the Council would have to convince you. But it seems as soon as the opportunity presented itself, you chose war."
Potter was silent for a long while, looking out the porthole. When he looked back, there was steel in his eyes, fathomless like the deepest depths of the ocean.
"You're right, this is a good place. People are kind and helpful. For a time I thought it wasn't so bad, but…" He looked straight through Marco, to something very far away, almost unreachable. "I wouldn't quite call it a promise. Every time I look in my son's eyes, I'm reminded of the people I would like him to meet, the life I'd like him to have. I can't stay here and speak of the past like he'll never get to understand what I mean when I talk of my life back home. Besides, I don't think I'd be able to endure staying away myself."
Marco's fingers dug into the arm rest. By some unnatural urge, he felt the very fire of the earth well up in his chest. Potter's plea, his clarion call, was almost irresistible. It took every bit of stubborn will for him to remain in his chair.
His spirits settled with the motion of the waves. It seemed, he had very much underestimated Potter. Whatever mundane or magic he possessed to rally people to his cause came from a genuine want to reclaim his place back home. Lucien had that same fire in him, that same madness that would gather people around him and go forth, even into very real danger.
"I'm not convinced," Marco said. "I still think it's inadvisable, dangerous and mad. To go to war now, it… I can't justify it."
"I'd tell you I would go either way, but the Council has been pushing for war as much as I have. I'm not going to talk them out of it."
"A lame dog," Marco whispered under his breath.
"I'd like to ask you something," Potter said, leaning forward.
"Ask."
"I'd like you to attend further Council meetings."
Marco chuckled. "I'm not part of the Council, or an adviser like you. The Council makes its decisions, they send the orders, and I obey. That is the way we do things in the Sanctum."
"I understand," he said patiently, "but the way things are going you will be an important part of what we do. If I have my way, you'll accompany me to Britain to fight this war."
"I am Commander," Marco said decidedly, "I will do whatever is required of me. I don't need you to appease me."
"I'm not trying to, but if we're to be successful, then you need to be in the know. What do you say?"
"They will allow it?"
"They already did, but Marlene wanted me to talk to you first."
"That girl," Marco said with a rueful smirk. "Yes, agreed. I will join the meetings."
Potter nodded, and Marco stood up. He posted him and Marlene inside the cabin while he coordinated with Hans and Enrique to bring the tug through the undersea passage. They found the maelstrom and the ship tipped into it, being carried through the rapid currents. Only briefly, the entire ocean spread out above them, and a moment later they were shunted into the cavernous waterway passing underneath the continent, and into the Atlantic.
The currents and winds were on their side. On the evening of the second day, they were in the cold waters of the Greenland Sea. Hans was taking a nap in the cabin and Enrique made sure to keep an eye on the instruments to keep them on course. Soon they would reach the coordinates where the wreck supposedly lied. Potter came up with Marlene, both having dressed for the cold.
"Not much further, is it?" Marlene asked.
"Less than an hour," Marco answered.
She stepped towards the bow and took out a pouch, taking a handful of dust out of it. She tossed it in the water and the surface lit up ahead of them in a line, way across the waves. "It should help you follow the exact spot."
He nodded. Marlene always had been good at what she did, harnessing the magic around her in unusual ways. Marco had never been the Sanctum's best, which is why he never made the Council. For all of their flaws, they were good at keeping the best in leadership.
"Can't wait to get down there and get a look," Enrique said.
"You're not going," Marco explained. "It will be me, Potter and Marlene."
"But sir…"
"No buts. Remember there is a reason why we were asked to keep quiet. Frankly, I have no idea how they will do it."
"Yes, sir," he answered absently.
As they got closer, the trail of glowing dust on the waves grew brighter. He slowed the tug to a steady few knots and soon, they came upon a large area where the glowing waves were scattered all around. Marlene was preparing her bubble charm with Potter, it was one of her and Dahlia's inventions, and had made salvaging of this kind much easier. Marco took out his wand and cast the charm, grabbing the bag of salvaging stones.
"Are we ready?" he asked.
Potter tucked something into his pocket, turning around. "Ready," he said.
"Then, let's go down and see what there is to see."
They stepped on a gangplank. Marlene jumped, and so did Potter. Marco followed. The water enclosed around his bubble, and they all descended slowly, down into the abyss. Three lit wands followed schools of fish, curiously keeping their distance from the strange people. As they went deeper, the sea life changed. Fish gave way to larger, more delicate creatures and anemone, floating in streams. They dodged an outcropping into the deeper canyon where the glowing dust guided them.
After what seemed like forever, his feet touched the sand, and they went towards the closest hulking piece of debris.
"It must be spread over quite a distance," Marlene said, her voice muted by the water.
"No matter," Potter said. He pointed down the taller piece of steel. "I think the middle point of the break might be that way."
They walked further. Marco's eyes took in every bit of the wreckage, the gargantuan mound of steel littering the ocean floor. Around him he saw pieces of twisted metal, glass, even bones buried under the sand. Like Potter had said, the ship had been ripped in half. A jagged wall extended, and a dozen meters away from it, the rest of it, probably part of the front half. Marco knew of no magic that would bring that thing back to buoyancy.
"I'll be right back," Potter said, walking behind the ripped back end.
"What is he doing?" Marco asked.
"Sorry," Marlene said, shaking her head, "I can't tell you."
A few minutes later, Potter reappeared, his bubble shimmering in the light of their wands. "We should put some distance between us and the wreck," he said.
They moved away, and waited.
A great scream came from somewhere to his left. Then a groaning. Marco turned and saw the two others weren't surprised by this. It was some time before he realised that what he was hearing was the groaning of the metal itself, bending and moving for a mile around them. Something dark in the distance moved through the water, and there was a loud bang. Barely, he could make out the silhouette of the wreck, reforming, puzzling itself back together.
Transfixed as he was, he didn't see the shambling shape until it was right next to him. A water-rotten sailor, bones green and fractured, moving towards the ship. His blood ran cold, and more shapes, all around them rose through the sand.
"Over a thousand men died in that wreck," Potter said. "Well, their death wasn't in vain. Now they've come back to man their ship."
"Inferi…" Marco whispered.
"No," Marlene said. "Inferi: Inferior Undead. These sailors have their life's will still flowing through their bones. They are true Revenants."
"Is this to be my crew for the war to come?"
"We don't have a thousand men," Marlene simply answered.
It took half an hour for the sounds of creaking metal to die down, and the shambling crew to go back to their ship. A great sense of awe filled Marco as he saw it reformed to its full glory. It's tower, like a tree of metal, and two front double barrelled cannons as large as a house. He remembered when his father took him to the port to show him the muggle's warships. He just never thought he'd be commanding one, much less one still manned by its very dead crew.
Potter waved his wand and the sand formed into an even staircase leading up to the deck. Marco's hope that the undead crew would make themselves scarce seemed to be granted at first, only seeing a single corpse shambling back inside the bridge.
"Well, now to bring it up," Marlene said, with a look back to Marco.
"Right, yes. We need to place stones at eight different spots. I delay them so the ship doesn't come up at an angle."
He went inside the bowels of the ship, towards the munitions hold first. Inside, the corpses were many, shambling from room to room, leaving space for their new masters to do their work. He placed the first salvage stone and timed it for twenty minutes. Next was the boiler room, where four more stones were to be placed in different holds. As he was about to place the last one, Potter entered a different corridor.
Marco was too curious not to look. Potter took something off the floor and closed his eyes, a look of relief on his face. Quickly he pocketed the shiny object and rejoined them.
At last, they arrived to the engine room. To Marco's shock, it was completely empty, as if all but the engine of the ship had been reformed.
"We thought that might be the case," Marlene said. "But don't worry, we will replace it with something much better."
He finished his work, and they stepped back onto the deck. At the planned time, the stones activated, and slowly the ship filled with magical bubbles of air. Just as they'd descended earlier, the ship now slowly ascended, regaining buoyancy. They broke above the water about half a mile from the tug.
The dead crew luckily didn't show themselves as they fastened the cables from the tug to the giant warship. Enrique and Hans worked in silent wonder, knowing all too well they would not be allowed to speak a word of their secret salvage operation, though badly wanting to. They looked differently at Marlene and Potter, like they were finally realising the gravity of what was happening within the Sanctum's Council room.
Many of the others would be just as shocked when they saw what their will to retake their ancestral homes had wrought.
#
Slowly, she came back to the land of the living. At least the coffee helped somewhat. She'd gone drinking last night for Ginny's placement on the National Team, and though she didn't like to admit it, she did end up nursing a hangover more often these days. Things had just been so… tasteless since. It wasn't the first time, that she found herself thinking how much she depended on Harry on a day-to-day basis. But it was the first time it affected her so badly.
Back when he'd been in his coma, at least she could visit. 'Harry will pull through,' they all reassured her, and so he did. Ironically, she'd been so cross with Ginny because she'd given up on him. They weren't really that close back then, but there had still been an argument, and harsh words spoken. Life was a funny thing. Now she spent quite a bit of her time with the meteoric Harpy. In fact she'd been quite a good friend.
Today was selection day. The trainee batch would either get cut or make the cut, and she was to attend the brutal process soon. Bigby had taken over training with Faich. These days, they spent a lot of time putting out fires, trying to be there before the Bluecloaks so they could deal with sensitive problems privately. Alfred's little group of rebels had the bad habit of stirring up trouble. As much as it annoyed her, she wasn't about to let a bunch of Yanks take over law enforcement.
Mary entered the office, standing waiting for attention.
"Yes?"
"They're just about ready."
"All right," she said with a heavy sigh.
They walked to the training halls. She still had fond memories of her selection process. The challenge back then had been just what she'd been looking for, even if her career had been bumpy after. "Haven't even checked in with them," she said. "Any good ones?"
"Not really," Mary said bluntly. "Selvy was the only one who stood out."
"He's… the one who's good at charms?"
"He aced concealment."
Faich stood by the trainees. She was one of the older Aurors. "Hello, Chief," she said, walking over to her.
"What's the verdict?"
"Adremora, Selvy and Baxton. Sorry to say none of the others redeemed themselves."
"Well, we don't run a charity," Mathilda said with a smirk. "If they make it, they make it. They can come back next year if they're not traumatised. Where's Bigby?"
"He's getting their enrolment forms." Faich turned towards the trainees. "All right! Form up!"
They broke up their sparring and lined up in front of them. Bigby arrived with an envelope filled with now three shiny trainee badges. He cleared his throat.
"You all knew coming here this is a place for the best of the best. As such, only a select few can go ahead and start as trainees. Every year we look with unbiased eyes to bolster our ranks, and that means many of you will not get to walk that path. That being said, it takes dedication and skill to make it this far. Without further ado…"
Bigby called the names. The three chosen took their badges with a great sense of relief and pride, as they should. She'd been ecstatic when she got hers. She shook their hands, welcoming them to the Aurors. Though they were selective, it was nearly unheard of for someone who made the selection not to make it to full Auror. It wasn't an exaggeration to say making it through was their golden ticket to a life of excellence.
"To those who were not selected," Bigby said, "we'll join later for a drink at Paddy's. If you want to join us, you're very welcome. To the others, let's continue. Combat apparition drills. Tomorrow, you'll accompany a Senior Auror on call."
She stayed to watch for a moment. There were no urgent things requiring her attention. They had reached the level required of new Aurors, but certainly no exceptional mastery. Her mind drifted to her countless duels, her countless sparring sessions. This was to be their temple for the years to come, as they perfected their craft. She couldn't banish the phantom of a young man practising his spells here day after day, a look of determination in his eyes.
"Chief?"
Mary brought her out of her revery, much to her discontent. "What?"
"You looked like you were drifting off." She lowered her voice. "You really should watch your alcohol consumption."
"Watch that mouth, Borgin."
Mary Borgin had distinguished herself as a new Auror faster than most she'd known. She had talent, evidently as Harry had told her when she was still in school. This and the fact she was one of two who knew the truth of what happened to Harry made sure she ran her mouth from time to time. But in the end, she was loyal, though partially out of a distant fear that she might end up not waking up one morning if she wasn't.
Despite the turmoil since Harry left, the Auror department was doing well, keeping its strengths and sticking close together. However, she'd felt in a daze for the past two years. She got her golden trim. She got the respect and deference of her Aurors. The only thing she didn't have, was a purpose.
She wasn't alone in this. However, unlike Mathilda who drank away her uncertainties when the day was over, Alfred had taken a different path. He was so sure, so confident that what he was doing, stirring up all this trouble, was the right path for him. Chief Warden Baxter. It felt so strange to think of him that way, but he had changed. Unlike how she'd grown close with Ginny, her and Alfred, supposedly fellow Aurors, a bond so often unbreakable, had drifted apart. And Alfred had left the Aurors for a loftier position.
When things at the department had died down, and Bigby took the trainees for a drink, she excused herself and stopped home to get her duffle bag and went straight to the Last Gong. At this time of day there were only a few men and one woman in the gym. She wrapped her wrists and started with a set of crunches. Maybe she'd taken Mary's jab too seriously. Lately she felt her age more acutely, even though she knew that as a witch it wouldn't hamper her for many years to come. Silently, she worked away her night of drinking.
About an hour later, as she was caught up in the rhythm of the ball of her foot hitting the sandbag, someone called out to her.
"Figures you'd be here."
She turned, brushing damp hair out of her face, unsurprised to see Ginny staring back at her. "Stalking me?" she asked, continuing her workout.
"Obviously," she said, positioning herself behind the sand bag. "It was either here or Paddy's and I figured you felt guilty about indulging with us last night. How's your headache?"
"Gone," she answered with a kick. Ginny held the bag steady.
"And selection day?"
"Good… I think… You don't really know who's going to shine until you put them in the field anyway."
"Can't believe it's been two years already."
"Two years… One month… Twelve days."
"How are you doing?" Ginny asked raising an eyebrow.
Mathilda shrugged and reached for the water bottle on the bench nearby, taking a long gulp.
"Maybe it's time to let go," Ginny tried, joining her on the bench.
"Figures you'd say that."
"Right, because I'm the fickle bitch who moves on like it's nothing."
Mathilda laughed drily, knowing full well that it wasn't that easy for any of them. "I'm not as adaptable as you are. Even being Head Auror, it feels like I'm just plodding along."
"Forget I brought it up," Ginny said dismissively. "Are you about done here?"
"Yeah, I'm beat."
She took her duffle and went for the showers. When she was out, she found Ginny playing with a speed bag, deftly pummelling it back and forth. "Shall we go near the Oval?" she asked.
"Fries again?"
"Not like either of us need to watch our figure. I'm starving."
"Maybe you don't."
Ginny laughed. "I have a big appetite. And you should stop being such a bummer. What you need to do, is find yourself a boyfriend."
Mathilda rolled her eyes. "What, a young thing fresh out of Hogwarts like you did?"
"Seth's twenty, you dolt."
"Whatever you say, Ms. Cradle Robber."
#
Her mouth felt numb as she woke up. She rubbed a line of drool from the corner of her mouth and stood up to see the morning winter sunlight shine through the drapes of her bedroom window. Mechanically, she walked out to the kitchen looking for something to eat. She downed half a meat pie with some orange juice and found her running trousers and shoes, as well as a worn jumper.
Before heading out, she went to the small study of the house. There, surrounded by paints and different pieces of canvas in various states of completion, she found Seth, bent over his latest piece. The small bird with a bright red breast stood cocking its head as the brush painted its wing a faded shade of black.
Ginny waited, watching for a moment. It was true that she'd met him while he was still at Hogwarts. She'd found him in a similar position, in an empty classroom. They got to talking. Some way, somehow, she had found herself sponsoring the young artist. Needless to say that a sponsorship from the famous Harpy had made people take notice of Seth's talents. Eight months later they were dating.
He turned and frowned, putting away his brush. "Sorry, Ginny, didn't see you were up."
"I just woke up."
"Do you want me to join you?"
Ginny smiled and kissed him. "No, that's fine, you stay inside. I'll go out flying until noon, then I'm visiting Luna."
"You don't have training?"
"Not until Monday."
"Dinner?"
"I think so. I'll probably be back before seven. You have that meeting with a client at four?"
"Yes," he said with a smile, going over and fishing out a portrait. "The Great Lord Bones, saviour of the country. How does it look?"
"Ridiculous, and I'm sure he'll love it."
She went on her morning run. When she first started out in the professional world of quidditch, it quickly became clear that her tomboyish nature was an invaluable asset. At the highest level, pros had to be in perfect condition. Physically, mentally, and magically. These runs became as much a habit as breathing. She wasn't sure she could stop if she tried. After two miles, she rounded back to the back of the house, where she took her Firebolt Exigo out of the shack and went out for a flight around the countryside.
She started a high-speed dash around the highlands, and continued with a set of complex braking drills. Before she knew it, the sun was high in the sky, and she climbed way above the cloud cover to enjoy a bit of high-altitude flying. On a whim, she turned north and cruised ahead. Fifteen miles later, she could spot it in the distance, over the meadows, now devoid of the flowers that embellished its hills in summer.
Blackmoor Castle, the new wizarding prison. She didn't feel much longing looking at it. Only, it brought back memories of something hectic and now so foreign. Alfred would be there, no doubt, and if she approached a few miles closer, she'd find a contingent of Blakmoor Guards honing in on her position.
Something like that wouldn't be as easy to breach as Azkaban had been. Shrugging off errant thoughts, she sped back to her house, and showered and dressed for her visit to Hogwarts. Around a quarter to two, she took the floo to the Three Broomsticks, and gave Rosmerta a passing greeting as she walked her way up to the castle. Neville was waiting for her at the gates as usual.
He was enveloped in thick winter robes and a black and white scarf, waving at her. "Hello Ginny."
"Neville."
"You look like you're doing well," he said as they walked the grounds. "Congratulations on your selection. Playing for England, I'm sure they'll be better off with you in their lineup."
"Thanks. Is Luna still on the grounds?"
"She's taking care of the unicorn foals. I think she's trying to get them to accept boys coming close, but I still have to keep my distance so far."
"How is she?"
Neville frowned quietly. He didn't know the full extent of what went on with Luna, but regardless, he had a lot of anger inside him for what had happened. He'd figured out it had been Harry who was responsible for her condition, to an extent. To say he'd been protective would be an understatement.
The hut came into view, where in the nearby meadow Luna was tending to three unicorn foals. Not too far was their mother, keeping a watchful eye.
"I'll leave you two to catch up," he said with a nod.
Luna didn't look up from her tending as Ginny came closer. She knew Luna's emotions were fractured, on one side wanting to accept the worry others felt for her, on the other, wanting to fulfil the vow she had taken. It put her in the interesting and untenable position of knowing a great deal about Harry Potter's disappearance, and yet not being able to tell anyone about it. Anyone except for Ginny, that is. Yet even Ginny didn't know what Luna's true feelings were, not since her breakdown two years ago.
"They look healthy," Ginny said, kneeling beside the smaller of the brood. "Neville tells me you're trying to get boys close to them."
Luna stopped her brushing and ran a caring hand across the animal's mane. "Did he say anything else."
Ginny shook her head. "Has he let off somewhat? Is he still trying to get you to talk to him about what happened?"
"No, not really. I think he's scared I'll get hurt again. Congratulations, on making the National Team."
"We went celebrating, this Sunday. Mathilda was there. She had a giant hangover the next morning," Ginny laughed. "You should join us some time."
"Maybe."
"Did you see Hagrid lately?"
Luna shook her head. "He doesn't want to see people. McGonagall went to see him a few months ago. Grawp is well."
She stopped her brushing and looked intently towards Ginny. "Do you think Harry will ever come back?"
Ginny found that she didn't know what she thought. All her thoughts around Harry were so jumbled. If she followed her instincts, she would have to say yes, that Harry no matter what happened would not leave things unfinished. She shrugged. "I don't know. Do you want him to?"
"I'm not sure," Luna said, shaking her head. "Neville wants it. He's been preparing, I know. He thinks it's his duty, that he's been chosen to fight when the new Dark Lord Potter comes back."
"I don't know where he got that idea," Ginny mused. "If Harry comes back, Neville won't do any good standing up to him."
"They said the same about Harry when he stood up to Voldemort. Strength comes from where you least expect it sometimes."
Ginny looked out into the distance, her breath misting in the air. Never mind Neville's strange new calling, Harry coming back seemed more nebulous an idea every day that passed. Frankly, she had no idea what would happen if he did. She doubted anyone else had any clue either.
#
"I want to see it again."
McGonagall took off her glasses with a heavy sigh. "Neville, you've seen it a dozen times. What will be different on try thirteen?"
"I don't know," he answered, "but you have to admit it's unfinished. The Prophecy spoke of some great darkness. It means he will be back, just like Voldemort came back. At least it means that we need to prepare for that."
"With all due respect, Professor Longbottom, things seem plenty dark these days. I know you've taken it upon yourself to prepare for this great coming turmoil, but there is little any of us can do. More pertinently, the Overseer Committee visited me this morning, trying to broker a deal to position their Aurors on our grounds."
"Maybe it's not such a bad idea."
"You are telling me that Kingsley's efforts to keep us neutral in this change of government is a foolish idea? These people love to meddle in every affair, and letting them into Hogwarts is a terrible idea. They already turned two members of the board. Hogwarts' impartiality is not negotiable."
"I just think having a few more Aurors wouldn't be the worst thing, if something happens—"
"If something happens?" Minerva interrupted, raising her voice. "You mean if Potter walks through the door to my office and declares himself King? We paid the price, for our panicked reaction when we found out about Mr. Potter's crimes. I will not also relinquish control of Hogwarts for some… flimsy notion that history will repeat itself."
Neville felt silly in that moment. How could he explain that everything didn't add up, that what had happened to Luna pointed to the possibility that Harry was still alive. He knew of Horcruxes, and many other dark things they'd encountered during their Auror work. To Neville, the possibility seemed evident, and the notion that Harry and Hermione would kill themselves in a vengeful act didn't make sense. But he'd been alone in thinking that. Only Luna didn't dismiss him out of hand.
"I know it sounds crazy," he said. "But I can't get rid of this feeling that something went terribly wrong, that we overlooked the obvious. Think of it, Minerva. Barely a day passed between you finding out about Harry and him mysteriously blowing himself up, leaving little evidence and a closed case."
"There was the inquiry."
"Where they hastily pinned medals on the saviours of Britain, and the MCUSA came in to save the day."
"Yes. You are right, of course. They were quick to take the reigns, and the Magical International Community was only too happy to sign off on this Overseer Government. But that doesn't mean we are standing at the precipice." She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever happens, we will live through it, and I must insist Hogwarts remains as it is. I know you have the best of intentions, Neville, but we must take things as they come."
"Right…" Neville checked his wrist watch and saw it was past six already. "I'll go check up on Luna, I'm sure Ginny has left by now."
As he turned, McGonagall called out to him. "Professor? As much as I dislike to be an annoyance, perhaps it's time to give Ms. Lovegood some room. These things have a way of healing with time, rather than forceful effort."
It was true that Neville had kept worrying about Luna, and perhaps that was because he felt guilty. That a friend had been in need and that he hadn't seen it. Two years ago, he'd found her nearly comatose. The doctors at St. Mungo's hadn't been able to tell him much. Internal bleeding, from a magical source, some kind of compulsive curse. More frustrating was the fact that Luna would not tell him anything. Little by little, he realised that it was because she couldn't tell him. Somehow she was magically bound to silence, and though she never said it outright, it was obvious who the cause was.
This was when the idea formed that Harry and Hermione's death had been a little too convenient. They disappeared, leaving behind charred bones and many of their political enemies dead. Few had escaped the blast. Only Richard Bones who had been held up because of a faulty portkey and two of his associates were left of those who had no connection to Harry.
He turned to the staff dormitory and as he came closer to Luna's door, heard laughing from inside. Maybe she'd taken Ginny upstairs for a chat. He knocked.
Luna came to answer and to his surprise, he didn't see Ginny. Instead, Ernie Macmillan was sitting with her, having tea. He looked between the two.
"Come in," Luna said. "Ernie was just telling me about the fuss with the puffskein breeding competition."
Neville greeted Ernie and sat in the open chair.
"They're not the smartest of creatures," Ernie said, "lovely little buggers of course, but they have trouble with counting. So a new breeder—Matthew Willy—brings out this bright red puffskein whose doing advanced arithmancy! Now the judges get suspicious of this bright little beast, and one of them takes out his wand. Matthew gets very nervous and tries to stop him, but the judge flicks his wand, and what appears? The puffskein turns into a witch!"
Luna let out a bright laugh. He hadn't heard her laugh like that in months, and felt a pang of jealousy that Ernie was the one to make her laugh like that.
"As it turns out, Matthew's wife was a puffskein animagus, but she kept up the charade for another ten minutes, pretending to be a puffskein. So they've decided to add a rule checking for animagi as a standard practice next competition."
"And yours? Did you win?" Luna asked.
"Came in second," Ernie said with a smirk.
"That is ridiculous," Neville said. "Did you come to visit?"
"I had some business at Hogwarts and thought I'd come say hello."
"It was nice catching up," Luna said.
"Sorry, but I really do have to go," Ernie said, shaking Neville's hand. "I'll come by and visit again."
"Please do," Neville said.
Ernie left, and to Neville's displeasure the mood in Luna's quarters dimmed somewhat. He realised he'd been less than sunny lately, and maybe McGonagall was right, maybe it was time to give Luna some space.
"You seem better," he said.
"I'm fine, Neville," she said as she cleaned up her table. "Isn't Hannah visiting today?"
Neville's stomach turned. He had completely forgotten about that. "Yes. Have a good evening."
Back in his quarters, he found Hannah with a scornful look, holding Alice. "I've been waiting for an hour."
"Sorry," he said, going over to Alice and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I got caught up."
"Caught up? You were with Luna?"
"Only briefly," he sighed. "I came here right after."
"Briefly? You mean again?"
"You know she's been having trouble."
"Of course I know, it's all I've been hearing since Alice was born!" She tried to calm herself, but it was obvious she was tired and frustrated. "You need to think of us first and foremost. Not Luna Lovegood or whatever silly quest you've got in your head since Potter died."
"Silly quest? I'm trying to keep all of us safe."
"Are you? What I've seen is you spending every waking hour obsessing about some distant possibility that a new Dark Lord will pop up. And what if he does? Are you going to take the Sword of Gryffindor and challenge him to single combat?" She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "That's not you, you're not a martyr. You're not even an Auror any more. You're a father."
"Thanks for the encouragement…" Neville shook his head and hugged Hannah. "Sorry. I don't want to fight."
He really did want to spend some time with his wife and daughter. God knows he needed it, but it was just another jab that she thought so little of his will to keep them safe from a very dark future.
#
Filch had become quiet in his twilight years, a fact Ernie was infinitely grateful for. The last thing he needed was the caretaker spouting his ramblings as they descended through the darkest corridors of Hogwarts. They went beneath the dungeons, taking a right before the docks. They passed through a hewn corridor and went past an iron gate, leading to an ancient door.
Filch shuddered as they stopped. "Will you ever tell me what's beyond there?"
"Nothing interesting, Master Filch."
"Somehow I doubt that," he said, looking over the portal. "I'll wait until you're finished. Don't make it too long."
"I can find my way back if you're not comfortable waiting."
Filch shook his head and hung the lantern on a hook. Ernie opened the door.
Today was the day, a day he would always remember, bitterly and fondly. Ernie was eight years old when his mother died. She had always looked weak, but had a kind heart and always laughed when his father told one of his jokes. The bout of dragonpox that had blown through their village had been too much for Emma Macmillan.
She'd called him to her bed, fever coursing through her, pale and ragged. "My little Ernie," she said, "there's something mum needs to tell you, and you need to listen."
Ernie had nodded, aware even then this might be the last time he'd talk to her.
"Way, way back, little Ernie, my mother gave me something, something she got from her mother, and her mother's mother long before that. She told me all of us are descended from Helga Hufflepuff herself, and that we've been given a task."
Ernie watched intently as she took a worn book out of the bed table. "We've been given a task, to protect what's at Hogwarts, something no one else is supposed to know, but… I was surprised when I had you, Ernie. Happy, so happy," she said, stroking his cheek, "but surprised. You see, Ernie, only witches are supposed to guard this secret. I thought something might have gone wrong."
She pushed the book into his hands. "But now I know, looking at you, that there is no mistake. This is your purpose now Ernie, to study and protect what's under Hogwarts. Talk to Headmaster Dumbledore, he knows. I know it doesn't make much sense, my little prince, but when you're older, you'll understand."
To Ernie's great chagrin, this had been the last time he'd spoken to his mother. Over the years, he would try to understand what his mother had been telling him. The book contained generations of notes on their charge, what was beneath Hogwarts.
He passed through the dark cavernous hallways, twisting endlessly below the earth. In the end, he had not figured out what it was they were supposed to protect, even if he had his mother's writings to help him. The book didn't go to the inception of Hogwarts, so it was likely that earlier notes had been lost. Ever since, Ernie had been looking for an answer, in many unlikely places.
Passing the final bend, he entered the main chamber. Pillars were erected haphazardly around the cavernous room, marked with millions of tiny inscriptions, undecipherable to him. Prominently, in the back corner was a stone wheel embedded in the wall, bearing similar inscriptions, all converging on what looked like an eye. He sat down in the centre of the room and opened the book.
19th of September 1968
Mother has given me the book she treasured so dearly. She's been feeling unwell lately, and she told me something similar happened to her mother when she was little. Reading back, it seems the guardians of this place died soon after their daughters were ready for it.
The cavern is large and dark, and there is an ominous atmosphere about it. Earlier writings make no sense of it. Strange warnings though, they all sound a bit scary. But there are many theories. Jenna Ferlay, our ancestor three generations back, has written that the markings in the cave do not match any ancient runes she knew of. She was a smart woman, much smarter than me, so I'll take her word for it.
For now I've taken to exploring the adjacent rooms, if you can call them that. The passages extend like tendrils. There must be a hundred of them and I've only gone through six so far. Looking at the notes, Leandra Corbe did a similar thing, and counted one hundred thirteen paths extending from the main room. I've found nothing, and even though I've been given permission from the Headmaster, Filch will be looking to give me detention if I tarry much more. I'm looking forward to finding out all I can about this place.
To the sound of dripping water, Ernie turned the page, indulging in this remembrance of his mother.
24th of March 1968
No matter where I go, it just seems empty. Father took us on vacation when I was little and we saw caves then, but nothing like this. They seem unnatural, like they weren't formed by water and the earth's movement but something else. I swear sometimes when I sit here, I start to get paranoid. Echoes in the caves sound like whispers.
Maybe there really is something in here. Maybe we've just been fooling ourselves and it's busywork from an ancestor. I've taken to working on the inscriptions on the pillars. I'm pants at this, I know it, but I figure if I keep at it long enough, something would become obvious.
7th of October 1970
It's hard sometimes to think of this place as important with everything that's happening. As strange as it is, things are starting to make sense. I can't explain it, but the patterns, the symbols, they speak to me. I had a dream two nights ago, of a hundred eyes staring at me. I should have been scared, but somehow, I felt incredibly happy.
If I were to translate what I've made out, it seems what this chamber holds, is some kind of way to protect Hogwarts. I can see it in every swirl of dots and scratches, this place holds a great secret, a way to fight back should the worst come to pass. I would give anything to go back in time and ask Helga Hufflepuff what it all means. I don't have any doubts any more. This place is important.
Flipping ahead, Ernie found the last entry, one that still made him wonder.
19th of December 1987
I've been feeling unwell lately. I wonder if it's finally my time, if I will have to pass on my knowledge as my mother before me. But Ernie is a boy. I never had a firstborn girl like all those before me. Have I failed somehow? I can't see Ernie as a mistake, yet I wonder. If only we had notes going further back, maybe…
I went back today for a final time. It's strange what time does to the mind. All of the sudden, it's like I've been able to read the inscriptions all along. We were never meant to figure it out. There was no point to it. All that mattered is that we knew of it.
Ernie, listen and listen well. There might be a time when this place calls out to you, and when it does, let it be so. But until then, live your life, laugh, and remember your mother fondly.
Under the final entry was a final note, letters jagged and strained.
The eyes are watching me. They turn away when I look at them, but I can tell.
It was clear this place did something to the mind. He could feel it as clearly as his mother described. Her disjointed thoughts nearer to her death, her confused instructions.
He smiled as he wondered about her revelation. If this place was supposed to defend Hogwarts, it had done a terrible job a it. Two wars, and that was only in Ernie's lifetime. Then there was Harry's downfall. Surely if Emma Macmillan had been right in her theory, the need for this place would have come long before.
Though Neville still seemed to think the worst was yet to come.
Fleeeesh.
He dropped the book, looking around for what whispering he just think he heard. He could feel his pulse throbbing through his entire body, making it difficult to think he'd imagined it.
Looking around, he saw nothing but the apertures in the walls, dead silent. Then it came again.
Fleeeeesh.
His hand shook as he took his wand. Something moved in the darkness—no—many somethings, hundreds and hundreds of them, dark, seeing, watching him.
There. Flesh. You.
A hundred eyes. A hundred watching eyes, waking from the darkness. Darkness on the wheel, on the walls, on the pillars and the dots and scratches. Watching him. All watching him. Asking of him. Asking for his—
Flesh.