Clarisse hated Great Britain. She couldn't say that this feeling had been personal, not to the least. She had nothing against its people, nothing against the language and definitely nothing against its history. What she absolutely couldn't stand was the weather.
How could anyone survive in that gloomy, sun-deprived world of never-ending puddles? She had been here for nearly an entire week and already felt almost suicidal. Her hair looked appalling, making her resemble a wet poodle, while her figure seemed terribly disfigured by the necessity of wearing her yellow, vast raincoat. What was even more terrifying than that, was the fact that no one seemed to be bothered by her clothing.
What was wrong with that country? Clarisse didn't seem to be able to find the answer to that particular question and it made her even more miserable; she absolutely hated not knowing something, even if it happened to be so meaningless. She had been fully aware, though, that there were questions better left unanswered.
"Stop whining," Fabré's voice reached her ears, which felt really surprising considering all that noise made by the falling raindrops.
"Whining? I've been quiet for at least an eternity now," she snorted and rolled her eyes at his unamused expression.
"Your thoughts are particularly loud today," the man answered in a tone full of much appreciated irony.
Her temporary partner's sarcasm was what kept her sane these days, since the Englishmen she had met up to this point could be described as incredibly stiff. Or proper, as they liked to call themselves. Apparently all the fun people of Britain moved elsewhere, just to spite her.
"So is the rain."
"Clarisse, for fuck's sake," he sighed, exasperated with her childish behaviour. 'Can we please focus on the job?'
Of course they couldn't. She had no idea whatsoever why they were even there. The murders had already happened and quite some time ago at that. Examining the scenes brought no new evidence and, honestly, no one expected anything else. They had already established that whoever stood behind those crimes made sure not to leave anything behind. Well, anything besides a body, of course.
"It's not like we're going to find something, is it?" she muttered and kneeled down, right beside a particularly large puddle.
The ground seemed to be incredibly uneven in that place, which also happened to be the exact place of the murder, judging be the pictures they had seen.
"Is there a particular spell they use to prevent the crime scenes from being washed away?" she asked and tapped the water with her fingers.
"I presume it's the same spell we use," Fabré answered, lowering himself to her current position. "It's not like it doesn't rain in France."
Clarisse sighed and looked up towards the grey, cloudy sky. She had to admit, something about this place seemed to go very well with the gloomy weather. The beautiful cathedral towered over the square, once again taking Clarisse's breath away with its raw beauty. It had been completely different from the Notre-Dame, which sight had she been used to. The Westminster Cathedral was unlike anything she had ever seen before, with its single, incredibly high tower placed on one of the church's sides and its uncommon colouring. She didn't know much about architecture, but this building must have been pretty unique.
A frown appeared on her face, as she kept staring at the cathedral. Suddenly, she knew that her mind was onto something, although she couldn't make a conscious connection in that moment.
"Why here?'' she muttered more to herself than to Fabré and earned herself a puzzled glance.
"Why here what?" the man asked, but she chose not to respond, enveloped in her chaotic train of thoughts.
Something about this place simply spoke to her. She couldn't explain it, not in a rational way, but she found that rationality wasn't always needed when it came to this magical world she lived in.
"This is the third crime scene we've been to," she stated in an absent tone and her partner nodded, looking at her intently. 'This is also the third church I had seen during this week'
"I take it has nothing to do with your sudden appreciation for various buildings," Fabré said and she finally switched her gaze to his form.
"No. Up to this point we had just assumed that he picks his spots based on their popularity. We thought he seeks attention, even if that means offending Muggles' religious views, by placing the bodies in front of the churches. But what if there's something more to it?" she mused out loud, causing Antoine to raise his eyebrows in a slight amusement.
"Are you saying that our killer believes in God?"
Clarisse snorted and shook her head. The wizards weren't big on faith, at least not that kind of faith. They believed in magic and all that came with it. Did it involve some kind of mighty creature responsible for all the creation? Not really. She highly doubted that their culprit had different beliefs, but no one could eliminate that option with all the certainty.
"How would I know, huh?" she shrugged and scratched her head, directing her gaze to the church, once more. "Maybe he does, or maybe it's something entirely different..."
There were many stories pertaining wizards and churches. After all, the Muggles desperately wanted to believe in the existence of some supernatural powers and when those finally happened, they gave credit to God. Clarisse couldn't picture a better place for some cunning wizards to make easy money, than a muggle church. Magic made all those hailed miracles possible and there were people incredibly eager to use that fact to their benefit.
Many of the stories about miracles and relics and all kinds of unexplainable things were complete bollocks, she had been sure of that. But some of them... Denying the fact that the old cathedrals held some power inside their walls would be quite pointless. Years of practising magic inside of them, years of performing various rituals or even years of witnessing millions of prayers turned those places into incredibly powerful artefacts of sorts.
Could it be that the killer worked under that exact assumption? Maybe he didn't crave attention or recognition. Maybe all he wanted was that raw power dwelling inside those stone walls?
"But why?" she muttered to herself, completely forgetting about Fabré's presence. "And what for?"
"Am I supposed to read your thoughts, Clarisse?" the Auror asked with exasperation, putting an end to her musings. "I'll admit, it would probably be hilarious most of the time, but I'd rather not to do this. I've heard you have a very dirty mind."
Clarisse smirked at him and tilted her head, challenging him to hold her gaze. The man had been older than her, but that age difference hadn't been nearly enough to make her refrain from teasing him most of the time. Sure, he happened to be her mentor, but it didn't make him any less manly. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"I also have a very dirty mouth to match it," she finally said, when he refused to let her win their stare contest. "So I guess reading my thoughts wouldn't be more entertaining than letting me speak."
"Speak then."
She nodded and shared her little theory with him, causing him to frown in a sign of deep reverie. It gave her a couple of seconds to study his handsome face; though and rough around the edges, but attractive nonetheless. Of course, not everyone would agree with her, especially not people who liked that classic, cliché epitome of beauty. Antoine Fabré's face had definitely lacked the symmetry so desired by many women, his jaw was extremely sharp and his lips too thin. His gaze, though... Clarisse had to admit, she had spent way too much time picturing those clear, blue eyes boring deep into her own with a great passion.
Finally, she had to stop with the staring, as his eyes became focused again. He smirked at her and Clarisse knew that he decided her idea hadn't been half bad.
"It does have some sense," Antoine admitted and stood up from his crouched position. "But only some. I still have no idea what he wanted to gain from accessing that power you mentioned. He certainly didn't need it to perform the killings."
Clarisse nodded and sighed. Merlin, how she hated that case... They were literally trying to grasp smoke. They had no clues and no viable explanation of the killer's intentions. All they had were theories.
"Let's get out of here, shall we?" Clarisse said and stood up as well, smoothing her blasted coat. "I can't look at myself any longer. Not in that thing."
Fabre looked at her with amusement, as he raised his brows.
"You do know that you're a witch and can change the colour of that thing?"
"Of course I bloody well know it," she grunted and scowled. "It's still going to be ugly."
"Buy a new one, then."
"Fuck no. I have no intentions of returning to this country ever again," she stated firmly, causing her partner to smile genuinely for the first time that day.
"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but no one cares for your intentions."
To say that she was mad, would be an understatement. After all, how could one feel differently in that kind of situation? Not only was she forced to prolong her stay in that wet place, no matter how dirty it sounded, but now she also had to chase Auror Finley like a dog. She understood the necessity of keeping their conversations as secretive as possible, which meant avoiding owls and letters in general, since those were incredibly easy to intercept. But why was she the one who needed to cross the entire country in order to meet up with him?
Even the unique opportunity to see Hogwarts hadn't been enough to coax her into accepting that task without as much as a word of a protest. Maybe if she was to meet with anyone else, things would feel different. But when it came to Auror Finley, nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Something about him irked her. Sure, it might have had something to do with his dislike towards her person, but Clarisse had a strong feeling that it wasn't the only reason behind her reluctance. The fact that he simply ordered her to appear at Hogwarts did nothing to change that, without any doubts.
Finley had even failed to provide her with the information on how to get there. After all, she hadn't been one of Hogwarts' many students. She hadn't even been British. And yet, he expected her to show up on a whim, just because he couldn't have Apparated himself out of the bloody castle. Why was he even in there to begin with?
"Bloody hate him," she muttered under her breath, as she tried to steady herself after the Apparition.
The world stopped spinning and she found herself looking at a massive castle, which beauty almost took her breath away. She had expected a building similar to the one belonging to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, but this... This was simply indescribable. She kept staring in awe at the castle's many towers and windows, wondering how many secrets were hidden inside those walls. Even after seeing all those churches, even after living in Paris for such a long time, Hogwarts took her breath away, making her forget about the anger she felt only seconds ago.
"Can I help you, Miss?" she heard someone's voice and spun around immediately.
Apparently, she had failed to notice the village around her in that initial awe she felt. This had to be Hogsmeade, one of the entirely magical places in the Great Britain. Clarisse had to admit, it kind of felt like it. Not only because of the great castle towering over it, but also because of that unique atmosphere that could only mean one thing -magic.
The man standing in front of her looked genuinely interested in her well-being. He was smiling, while his eyes shone with curiosity.
"No, thank you, sir," she answered and returned his smile. "I'm just passing through."
"Ah, you're a foreigner!" he exclaimed excitedly, completely ignoring her polite decline. "French, I suppose?"
She nodded, deciding that no harm could be done by confirming her nationality and the man clasped his hands with joy.
"We rarely have visitors from other countries! One could think that the proximity of Hogwarts could change this, huh?'' he laughed and extended his palm towards her. "My name is Corrick Leighton. I work at the Flourish and Blotts, the Hogsmeade branch!"
Was she supposed to know what it meant? Clarisse nodded, deciding that it didn't matter anyway.
"Nice to meet you, Monsieur Leighton. Like I said, I'm just passing through. I need to get to Hogwarts," she said, hoping that the man would quit pulling her into conversation, but apparently her hopes were futile once again.
"Ah, understandable! Allow me to escort you then. The way is quite simple, but the company surely wouldn't hurt!" he said, making Clarisse sigh internally. "What did you say your name was?"
She didn't. Quite purposefully at that. It became obvious, though, that Mr Leigthon had no intentions of leaving her be, so she decided to humour him.
"Auror Clarisse Bouchard," she said and watched his face lit up in excitement.
"Auror? What does a foreign Auror want with Hogwarts?"
Oh, she wanted absolutely nothing. After all, Finley forced her to come here, but she couldn't tell Corrick that, could she?
"I'm meeting a... friend," Clarisse answered, trying to keep the scowl away from her face.
"It must be someone important if you decided to visit another country! Your intended, perhaps?" the man laughed, making her nauseous.
"That's a very disturbing idea," she muttered and this time couldn't keep a straight face, as the corners of her mouth twitched, forming into a scowl.
"Someone from the family then?"
Clarisse sighed and shook her head, partially in denial, partially due to the annoyance evoked by the man's nosiness.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't talk about this," she said dryly, wanting to stop all the questions.
"Pardon me, Auror Bouchard! It's just that I don't have the opportunity to meet many strangers. It's rather quiet in here, most of the time."
She sighed once again and nodded stiffly, although she didn't like pretending to understand his nosiness. One thing she really hated about socialising was the constant urge to pry into everyone else's lives that most of the people possessed. Maybe she did too. But she tried to make a point of not following up on it.
"Have you ever been to Hogwarts before?" he asked after a moment of silence and this time, she shook her head.
"I'm French. I had no business being here."
"That's understandable, I presume," he agreed and smiled fondly. "Although I bet you will regret it, after seeing the school."
"It certainly is impressive," she admitted and looked up, skimming over the castle that got larger and larger by every minute.
Clarisse wished she could have spent the entire way towards the imposing building all by herself, admiring its beauty and focusing on it, rather than on the constant babbling coming out her companion's mouth.
"I must say, the time spent at Hogwarts had been one of the best times in my life. There's no place quite like it in the entire world."
The longing in Corrick's voice managed to catch her attention. Was that how British folks felt about school? Sure, she had fun at Beauxbatons, but she never felt so connected to it, that she wished she could go back. Her life had been pretty satisfying, after all. She had a brilliant future ahead of her, being smart and incredibly dedicated to learn. Would her thoughts be any different if she ended up in Flourish and Blotts, whatever that was?
"I never felt as connected to magic as I did back there," he smiled sadly and sighed. "I guess that's the main reason why I chose to work in Hogsmeade rather than in the Diagon Alley."
"You're a Wizard. You're always connected to magic," she pointed out and shrugged. "This castle may be ancient and powerful, but it's never going to be more magical than someone filled with magic from head to toes."
He looked at her with surprise and then smiled.
"You have a point there"
Of course she had. The castle had been the creation of Wizards and Witches, not the other way around, hadn't it? The magic made it possible, but still... It was the magic wielded by people. Very powerful people, at that.
"You have to admit, though, we don't use that kind of magic anymore. Some of the Founders powers' got lost over time, making us plain, ordinary even. The Battle of Hogwarts only proves my point," Corrick sighed and smiled sadly.
Clarisse frowned, looking at him with sudden interest. Being French certainly did nothing to improve her knowledge about Great Britain's history, but there were things that one could not simply not know. The war against Voldemort had been one of them, obviously. She highly doubted that Harry Potter's name had been a mystery to anyone in the wizarding world, regardless of their nationality. He had defeated Voldemort, one of the greatest Dark Wizards in history, during said battle. But just as everything else in this world, it had its cost. Many people had died, but the biggest damage had been done to the castle itself. It took hundreds of survivors to rebuilt it quickly enough to let the students go back to school and remotely normal lives.
"Originally, it had been built by only four people. They made it from scratch, they adjured their magic inside its walls. This place is unique not only because of hundreds of years of history. There is simply no one who could repeat their achievement. Not anymore."
Sadness in his voice affected even her usually cold heart. She looked up and let her eyes roam over the castle that got bigger and bigger with every passing second. Corrick's words bore some truth to them and admitting that felt incredibly depressing. Even someone as ambitious and driven as herself couldn't compare to the wizards from the old times. But why? Why did the power harnessed by their ancestors with such ease disappear forcing everyone to dwell on memories and hail things that were forever lost?
"Forgive me, Miss Bouchard. I didn't want to sadden you," Corrick's voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she shrugged dismissively.
"I'm not sad. It's just interesting."
The man beside her looked at her intently, but didn't say a word. Clarisse felt surprised, as apparently he decided to stay quiet for the rest of the way, allowing her to think her actions through.
Looking for Finley seemed quite pointless. The castle had been huge and she didn't know a single thing about its layout. She had also no idea why he was even there to begin with. Maybe he just wanted to make her life miserable? She wouldn't be surprised if that had been the case, but she wasn't going to let him succeed at his evil plan.
As soon as they had reached the castle gate, she spun around to face Corrick and smiled at the man genuinely. He turned out to be quite pleasant company, if he kept his mouth shut.
"Thank you for showing me the way. I appreciate it," she offered politely and the man smiled brilliantly in response, clearly satisfied with her words.
"Ah, don't mention it, Miss! The pleasure is all mine!" he answered and extended his hand towards her.
Clarisse grabbed it without hesitation and squeezed firmly, bidding him farewell. A moment later, Corrick Leigthon spun around and walked away, leaving her alone in front of the old, tall gate protecting the entrance to the school grounds. She sighed and took out her wand, concentrating on the happiest memory she had –the day of her graduation from the Auror training, the first day of her dreamed-of life.
"Expecto Patronum," she murmured and watched as a silver mist sprung out of her wand, slowly taking the form of a beautiful horse.
Warmth spread throughout her body, just as it always did when she conjured her Patronus. Clarisse would never admit it out loud, but it had been one of her favourite spells. Not only because it required to recall the best, happiest memory the caster had, but also because it served as a proof, that no matter how sarcastic, mean and unpleasant she could have been, she still had a long way to go before she became a bad person. Death Eaters weren't able to conjure it, as this spell consisted purely of good energy. Their minds, corrupted by the Dark Arts, void of any happiness, simply weren't able to produce a full-fledged animal form.
Her Patronus formed completely and began prancing around happily, bringing smile to her face.
"Quit the fun, sweetheart. I need you to deliver a message to Auror Finley," she said and watched the mare become still, awaiting orders. "Auror Finley, I'm waiting in front of the castle Gate. Would you be so kind to come here to meet me? I don't fancy the idea of getting lost."
She didn't care for being polite, not to him anyway. Being on his soil forced her to be civil, to respond to his ridiculous request, but it definitely didn't require her to like the man. Clarisse watched as her Patronus pranced towards the castle and she smiled, feeling incredibly grateful to Albus Dumbledore for inventing such a method of communication. It hadn't been known to many people, but the Ministries of Magic all over the Europe made sure to teach their Aurors how to conjure a Patronus. Not only because it came in handy, but also because it served as a wonderful method of eliminating evil people from such a crucial position.
The war changed many things. Voldemort nearly destroyed the world everyone knew and loved even with all its flaws. Great Britain had been all alone in their fight and Clarisse loathed that fact. She knew that her country didn't want to engage in the war merely because it hadn't reached French borders.
'It wasn't our problem', she had heard on multiple occasions and it drove her mad.
How anyone could have thought that Voldemort would simply stop after conquering Britain? She saw no logic in that train of thoughts, as it was clear as day that the man had been completely crazy and obsessed with power. France had always been more liberal when it came to blood status, even with multiple exceptions from that general rule. It seemed like an obvious choice for Voldemort's next goal and the government did nothing to prevent that from happening. Instead of aiding their neighbours in their war, putting an end to everything, they were willing to risk finding themselves all alone in the same fight.
She had been merely a little girl when it all had happened, but growing up helped her realise a couple of things and made her determined to prevent something like that from happening again. From her first day at the Ministry, she was trying everything in her power to make sure that everyone realised their mistake regarding participation in the war. Of course, no one wanted to listen to her, pointing out that she couldn't know anything about those horrific events, as she was a child when they took place, but she refused to give up.
Luckily for her, even French government had to notice the changes initiated by Great Britain. Harry Potter turned out to be much, much more than a war hero, as he fought for opening the borders, for establishing international organisation destined to make the entire wizarding world a better place –place fully equipped to fight such evil, if it were to return. France had no other choice but to adjust to this entirely new plan of managing conflicts and cooperation.
Clarisse might have hated working with Finley, but there was no denying its necessity. Whoever stood behind those horrific crimes they had encountered, the word evil felt quite accurate to describe him.
She simply had to suck it up and survive, if she wanted to solve this case and prevent something really terrible from happening again. The wizarding world didn't need another psychopath roaming around. Not now, not ever.
