Chapter Fifteen : Reunions



Camp Alpha is unusually dark on this afternoon of mid-January; any light that is supposed to shine has been blotted out by the grey clouds overhead. One figure rests near the red brick wall of the camp, which is tall and has silver barbed wire strung across the top. He is a short man, stout and important, wearing black robes, which, by the insignia sewn on the upper right arm, are the robes that most Death Eaters have chosen to wear. They are made from a heavy cotton fabric, but do not shield his skin from the harsh bursts of cold air and snow that break against his body, which has been permanently frozen for the last few months.

The dark sky casts hoary shadows across the camp, and most prisoners have taken refuge in their buildings. Most Death Eaters have barred themselves inside of the headquarters that stands in the centre of Alpha. With cups of cocoa, strong black coffee, or sugarless Earl Grey tea in hand, they reminisce about the old times, or have unsophisticated talks about which bird they nailed last week.

This wizard chooses not to be apart of it all.

For he waits for his connection. A connection that has vast white wings and bright yellow eyes. And when this owl in question does arrive, she lands gracefully onto the wizard's shoulder without the fluttering of a single wing, and drops a letter into his waiting hands.

The letter has no markings on the off-white envelope, except for a writing that is rushed and painted in black ink. It spells out "Dear Dad."

* * *

Over the orange and pink horizons of Romania, three wizards clad in simple brown travelling robes Apparate with the snap that is accustomed to the magic. Winds howl and scream around them, blowing the loose skirts of their robes around their feet, causing the act of walking to prove most difficult. The yellow sphere that is the sun sets behind the tallest of the winter mountains with the greeting of the waning moon. They walk forward through the dense green foliage towards a small, yet loutish, village surrounded by a barrier of mountains, snow and trees. Only a sign painted chaotically with dark red letters names it: caution, death comes to those who dare to pass these boarders.

Severus stifles a disrespectful laugh. "Looks like that oaf Hagrid has been busy." He crosses his arms, regarding the few backwards letters and misspelled words with much appall, and a sneer plastered across his thin lips.

Just as the party sets forth once more, their black boots crunching the freshly fallen snow, a dark shadow flies overhead and casts a fleeting darkness over them. The three wizards dismiss it, quite foolishly, as a cloud. That is, until a deafening roar ricochets through their eardrums, shaking their bodies as well as the ground they walk uneasily upon.

"Norbert! Down boy!" the deep voice of the old groundskeeper seems to boom from all four of the directions. "Yeh can eat 'em later!"

Fleur nervously takes a step away from the Norwegian Ridgeback known as Norbert, only to be bounced back by a solidly built wall behind her. A startled scream escapes her lips as the wall proves not to be what it is, and a hand grabs the frail Veela by the shoulders. But the grip is not one that intends to hurt.

"Who dare trespasses in ze village of ze giants?" a voice, though not as deep as the first, asks. It originates from behind the terrified Fleur.

Just before Fleur realises who the voice belongs to, the large dragon lands with a few of his kin close on his tail. Following the dragons is a three-headed dog that Severus recognises as Fluffy, the underworld mutt that guarded the Philosopher's Stone, and a ratty black dog that looks as though he's about to run back the other way with his tail hidden between his bony legs.

Fleur's the first one who is able to find her voice, and she proceeds to explain their presence to the two unrecognisable half-giants. "We're 'ere to see Rubeus 'Agrid and Olympe Maxime. We were sent 'ere on a meession to recruit ze giant's 'elp." She steps forward and turns around, letting the hand fall from her shoulder. And a few moments later, her jaw drops as well.

Hagrid--a bearded man who stands nearly eight feet tall--dismounts from Norbert, a big grin appearing ear to ear as the travelling wizards remove their hoods. "Professor Snape! Good ter see yeh! What business are yeh here fer?"

Severus glares, "Were you not listening?" he snaps, patience wearing thin. In his opinion, this mission should have ended already. "We need to know that when we make our move against the Death Eaters, you will be there--" he pauses, a black streak, short and panting, catching his eye and disrupting his attention. He scornfully wonders when animagus Sirius Black arrived; shouldn't he be helping the two they left behind in the Delacour Mansion?

Before Hagrid can respond, Severus opens his mouth to speak again.

"Black. Stop sniffing Fang's arse, you're not that convincing of a dog." Severus has never been that fond of Sirius Black, not since their school days when Sirius used Remus Lupin in an attempt to tear Severus to multiple and unrecognisable pieces.

Sirius reverts to his human form. "Shove it up your arse, Snape, or I will." He is a tall man, although he has not gained in height since his escape from Azkaban in 1993. His black hair, once long and scraggly, is now short-cropped and healthy. Scruff enhances his handsome features, and it's apparent he has not shaved in a few days. His robes, which are as black as his hair and twice as clean, fit loosely to his body, as he prefers them. The one thing that has not changed since his days at Hogwarts is his smile, which is one of a never-ending boyish charm.

"What are you doing here? You should be helping research the magicks." Severus turns his nose up at Sirius, expecting him to have turned renegade against the leader of the Last Alliance's orders. The others only watch, curious or amused smirks painted across their faces at the situation unravelling before their eyes.

"That's why I'm here," Sirius snaps rudely. "There's a book hidden away deep in Romania that belonged to Merlin himself. I'm here to retrieve that book, and recruit the help of the giants, and maybe even a few of the tamer dragons." He folds his arms, proud with his power to always make Severus angry in one way or another.

"That's why we're here!" Severus declares, his temper rising as he leans forward in an attempt to intimidate Sirius. How dare the Last Alliance give his mission to someone else, especially someone as annoyingly immature as Sirius. But, then again, the leader has always favoured the escaped convict.

"We figured you needed help," Sirius scoffs nonchalantly.

Fleur chokes down a laugh at the insult of Severus's competency.

"Where is this book, then?" Karkaroff growls, defending his friend.

Sirius sighs, slouching his shoulders in disgruntled defeat. "That's the problem--I was hoping the giants could help. They might have heard something about Merlin's personal Book of Shadows. All other leads have led me to this exact spot." Sirius stamps his foot once, his boots slipping into the snow.

"Maybe you should start digging!" Severus barks.

"Okay, yeh two, break it up, or Fluffy's gonna have 'im one snack, an' Norbert gets the other," Hagrid intercepts, facing the ire of the two lifelong rivals, but not caring. Cracking his knuckles loudly, he then adjusts the many furs that are draped over his massive frame. "Anyways, I think I've heard about that book. . . . I may have put it into junior's crib one night to keep 'im quiet."

"Rubeus," Olympe Maxime--a woman who has recently redefined wealth--warns, but she regards her lover with unwavering affection. "I've told you not to leave Orayn alone with books. You know what 'appens."

"But this book I can't even open. I--I figured it'd be safe," Hagrid mutters sulkily.

"Junior? Orayn?" asks Fleur with mild confusion in her posh voice.

"Well, Fleur, you see, when two people love each other zey make ze conscious decision to . . ."

"I already know that, Madam!" Fleur's cheeks turn apple with embarrassment, knowing where that conversation with Maxime was going. "But why didn't you tell me? I thought you and I were friends, and not to mention I was in your last graduating class. You were even at my wedding." In a smaller voice, though just as strongly, she adds, "you should be able to trust me."

"Oh yes, Roger," Maxime remembers as she smiles warmly. "How is ze boy?"

"Dead," Fleur says bluntly, not sparing the subject at all. She tries to hide the salty tears filling her blue eyes as she subconsciously plays with her wedding band, which she promised Roger she would never take off.

"Would yeh like ter meet him?" offers Hagrid, grinning. The exchange between Maxime and Fleur doesn't reach his ears, for if it had, he might not have changed the subject as he did. "Orayn is me pride and joy."

Fleur agrees, glad for this interruption and chance to bond with her old Headmistress. The women go sauntering off towards a home with a thatched roof and walls of clay; idle chitchat is all that's between them.

"Now," Hagrid turns to the wizards who continue to shoot death glares towards each other, "yeh said somethin' about a book and needin' our help?"

Over a large cup of Hagrid's special tea and crumpets, Severus, Karkaroff, and Sirius explain the plan with the five heirs, the state of Britain since Malfoy has taken charge, the matters of the Last Alliance, and the International Ministry of Magic who refuses to act.

"Where did you get the book?" Sirius inquires once their explanation has ceased, and he places his rock-hard crumpet back into the basket that no one else dared to touch.

"Ireland. A fella' in the pub sold it to me fer a few drinks. He said that if I needed more information, I was to contact him at the Castle Caulfield." Hagrid shrugs, not seeing how that is important. What he doesn't know is that only an heir of Merlin or someone close would be in possession of that book. In this case, a nobleman was in possession, and now a half-giant oaf owns it. "I remember he said his name was Tyrone Donnelly," he adds after a second thought.

"Donnelly? That sounds familiar." Sirius strokes his scruffy beard, deep in thought. Beside him, Karkaroff and Severus muffle their chuckles at this cliché action, only to be totally silenced by a glare from Sirius.

"The Donnellys are well-known alchemists," Severus informs them matter-of-factly once he has calmed his laughter. "They discovered the wolfsbane potion, not to mention other remedies fit for werewolves. Plus, they worked on several theories for the Philosopher's Stone."

"I know that," Sirius retorts. "Remus told me."

And Severus mumbles something that, thankfully, Sirius does not hear.

". . . James's mother came from a Donnelly blood line, if I remember correctly."

But this time, Severus can't keep his mouth shut and decides to take another cheap shot at Sirius. The hungry mutt and dragon are also forgotten, or have been pushed from his mind. "I guess those years in Azkaban didn't help you much, did they?" He smirks and crosses his arms smugly over his chest.

Rage boils inside of Sirius, and his anger explodes into words of a venomous nature. "I took your sentence--you owe me." After a moment, he decides to add, "Have a little faith here, Sevvy, if you are capable of such a thing," in a softer tone.

"Fluffy! C'mere boy!" Hagrid calls, not giving the wizards a word of warning about the hungry three-headed canine. "It's dinner time!"

If looks could kill, Hagrid would certainly be dead. And to the side, all they can hear are Karkaroff's sniggers at their immense immaturity. The two of them calm down, as Karkaroff finally attends, without a moment's delay, to the business they travelled here for.

"Hagrid, can we count on the giants and the dragons for help?"

"Of course yeh can! Anything ter help. Such fine wizards as yerselves, even though yer immaturity levels are high, can use as much help as you can get ter take down Malfoy and those Death Eaters. Of course, those dragons only obey me an' Charlie Weasley." Always a loyalist to Dumbledore's memory, Hagrid is, and it's something that will come in most handy in the future.

Severus nods. "Perfect. We'll send any information you may need with the hyperactive nuisance, Pigwidgeon. And," Severus adds seriously, "never insult me like that. Sirius is fine, but never me."

Sirius balls his fists, "Why I oughta . . . !"

* * *

The black-robed wizard, still clutching the letter from his son in his gloved hands, raps thrice on the door to Building Theta. It's several seconds that he's shivering in the cold till someone--a handsome young man with many freckles and crystal eyes--finally answers.

"Gene Avery," he says with surprised announcement as he folds his arms over his broad chest.

"Charles Weasley. May I come in, please?" Gene quickly pockets the over-read letter before Charlie, or any of the other family members, ask too many questions of which the answers do not concern all of them. The one Gene worries about is the youngest, Ginny. She may be a lovely young woman now, at the age of eighteen, but her curiosity has never been fully satisfied. She's been known to constantly ask questions even though there are no answers to them.

"Of course. It's not our place to refuse a Death Eater," Charlie replies grimly, as he stands aside to let Gene enter, his right hand never straying from his wand tucked safely in the folds of his heavy robes.

"Please don't think of me as a Death Eater--I am here on business not concerning them," Gene informs, knowing perfectly well that all distrusting eyes are fixated upon him as he enters. Nevertheless, it doesn't matter. Glancing around the sizeable building, he notices that the curtains, which are a deep shade of crimson, are partially burnt at the ends, and the ashes still grace the windowsill. White candles are scattered across the room as stars, and each of the flames flickers with the soul of a deceased loved one. The floorboards are a cracked, rotting wood, and an old area rug, black to hide stains, covers most.

Fred and George sit together in the corner, while Ron, Ginny and a bushy-haired woman camp near the makeshift fireplace, which serves only to heat the room in the colder months. All of the Weasleys, as well as the witch by the name of Hermione Granger, wear thick robes of red or light grey, and most of their eyes are now sunken and comatose blue or brown. Those who haven't given up hope never had any in the beginning, and those who had hope found it quickly fleeing on Death's wings.

"I'd like to recruit the help of a Weasley."

"For what?" Charlie raises an eyebrow, stepping protectively between his family and Gene. He's heard about "tasks" that the Death Eaters have called prisoners forth for; some are considered lucky if they survive with most of their limbs, and at least one of their eyes.

"Until I know who I am dealing with, I cannot divulge that information. This could end up in my death if it were to fall into the wrong hands, and the conditions of Britain would fall further." Gene glances around, waiting for one of the six wizards to volunteer themselves for the unknown, and possibly deadly, mission.

Ron immediately stands; he's always been hot-headed in matters such as these. "I will." He runs his pale, slender fingers through his fire-red hair, yanking on the thin tresses and staring at Gene compliantly.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieks as she grabs for her lover's drab sleeve, but she doesn't pull him back. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into!" Her tone is one of a disapproving mother figure, although fear is what holds her back.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that my intentions are honourable." And to further emphasize his point, he bows at his waist towards the young brunette.

"Hermione, please. This might be a chance to make a difference in our lives, and I won't sit still without acting because of what may or may not happen. Besides, anything that goes against the Death Eaters, and my brother," he speaks the last part with spite, "will be something that I jump at the chance for." Ron shakes Hermione's loose grasp from his arm.

Turning to Gene, he comes to a decision that his family and lover disapprove of, and adds, "What is it you need done, Mister Avery?"

Gene grins broadly, pleased very much with his volunteer. He's heard about this Weasley from Percy, of course, but most of the conversation was a pleasant one. "Please come with me, then. And," he averts his attention back towards the others of the large family, his face a mask of false solemnity, "don't worry about him, his sacrifice will be for the greater good."

Their faces drop.

"Of course," Gene quickly adds, rectifying his mistake, "I'm only joking." He forces a jovial laugh befitting of his good nature and furthers the assurance about Ron's safety. "Ron's life will not be in danger, he is merely one of the few prisoners I must talk to today. Have faith in my objectives, my dear Weasleys. And I guarantee that your lives will change for it. Now, come along, son. The portkey is about to leave without us, and Roger Davies has a date with a letter from a lost love."

Ron glances back silently at his family before joining the Death Eater he must now put his trust and faith in. The streets of Alpha are empty, and hollow echoes sift through the sleet. It's not every day that a Death Eater decides to help the good guys, especially one as old as Gene. But it was Gene who fought for that morale-boosting Quidditch game. Ron shivers against the baffling situation, and pulls his cloak closer.

"What I'm about to say to you must be kept to yourself at all costs, do you understand?" Gene quickly glances at Ron before casting his eyes back towards the icy street on which they walk. The redhead nods in agreement, and Gene continues abruptly, "There is still hope for Britain. Our lives may lie in the hands of the Last Alliance, a small faction of wizards who fought alongside the Regime Alliance in the earlier years. You see, Ron, there is still hope. But only if we play our cards right, and we've been dealt the worst hand possible. All you need to know is that there are powerful wizards on our side, and the network must start here, shaded from Death Eaters' eyes."

"Why do you need me?" Ron raises an eyebrow in suspicion as he slows his pace. If Lucius Malfoy or any other loyal Death Eaters were to discover this little act of treason, the consequences would be dire. Ron can't imagine that Gene has many other Death Eaters on his side, not when the times are so good for them.

"I'll tell you at a later date. Right now, we must be going."

"Where?"

"If that was for you to know, I would have told you. Your only worry at the moment is whether or not you can trust me," Gene responds curtly, having faith that Ron wouldn't want the deaths of many of the Regime Alliance to be in vain. Dumbledore, Harry, and all others died for a reason, and this is now it.

The twinkle of hope in Ron's eyes says it all. "If it means getting our old lives back, then I will put all of my faith in you. Lead the way." And, suddenly, everything starts to look up.

* * *

It's dusk when two identified wizards come walking down the main street of Camp Delta towards the building that harbours Roger Davies. Two guards, one with sandy blond hair and the other bald as cue ball, stand quickly at attention, wands in hand. They are there by order of Percy to guard Penelope, who has spent the last three months here, and she still hasn't spoken to Percy about the child that is growing inside of her womb.

"What business do you have here?" asks the fair-haired Death Eater.

"Stand down, Finnigan. Our business is our own," Gene says sharply. The wizard known as Seamus Finnigan, former Gryffindor, shoots his partner, Augustus Rookwood, a nod of acknowledgement that Gene is free to come and go as he pleases. They are under him, after all. "Leave." And both depart in opposite directions and awkward silences.

Gene knocks once, and without waiting for an answer, he lets himself, and Ron, in. "Davies?" His voice echoes through the empty room.

Penelope Clearwater, four and a half months pregnant, waddles into the room. "May I help you?" She places her hand on her stomach, and sits uneasily in a navy blue chair. The furnishings in the living room are elaborate and expensive, most were gifts to Roger from Penelope herself. The floorboards are new and washed, and the place has a certain Death Eater appeal to it.

"No, you may not. I'm here to speak with Roger Davies."

"About what? The Last Alliance?"

Colour drains from Gene's face, unsure if he should trust the lady of a Death Eater. One wrong person holding information such as this would make matters worse; one slip of the tongue would ruin all Gene and his son have worked for. "What did he tell you?"

"Enough," is Penelope's reply, straight and to the point.

And Roger chooses this time to enter, descending from the upper level, dressed in deep purple robes, his damp black hair slicked back. "You told a Weasley, but I can't tell my best friend?"

"Ron is well-connected in Camp Alpha. We will need his family's help," Gene justifies. "I was told to recruit them by order of the leader of the Last Alliance, and I cannot say the same for you."

"So you're here, why?" Roger and Gene may be working together, but that does not mean that Gene is welcome at any time.

"Read this letter, it's all explained." Gene hands Roger the letter from his son.


Dear Dad,

The supplies we discussed will be delivered through the night of the full moon. Use them sparingly, for we don't know when we can send another shipment. Snape, Karkaroff, and Fleur were sent to Japan; we hope to hear their findings when they reach Hagrid in Romania. Sirius also travelled there. Unfortunately, we have not had luck with the International Ministry, and our plans have changed drastically. We have now started seeking the heir of Merlin, but we need to find the heirs of the Hogwarts founders first. If you have any other thoughts, please tell us.

Love,

Your son


Roger's jaw drops and his skin pales drastically in contrast to his dark hair at the mention of his wife's name. Turning to Gene with the expression of being stabbed a thousand times over, and with tears in his eyes, the only words he manages to whisper are, "You knew?"

"I'm as surprised as you are. I thought the lovely Delacour died defending my son."

The heavy flapping of feathers beating against the air drowns any response from Roger that has yet to be spoken out. A large eagle owl carrying one piece of parchment between his claws swoops down, dropping a letter into Gene's outstretched hand before flying away just as fast. Shaking, Gene unrolls the parchment. He recognises the owl as belonging to his lifetime friend, Lucius Malfoy, and it rarely carries good news. He silently reads the letter before placing in into his pocket with the other, and turns towards his audience.

"Marie Amitri has gone into premature labour."