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Interlude 2
1947 – Illos
"You've decided on this course?" Atticus asked quietly, his eyes intently studying his mother even if he already knew it was coming. Doesn't he didn't dread it though.
"I have" Anne smiled at him slightly before she looked away "My life with Marcus was wonderful, more than it ought to have been. We've seen many things together" she turned back at him, a loving smile on her face "brought up two children that would fill any parent with pride before she lost that faint glimmer in her eyes "But now…" she sighed.
Atticus closed his eyes. "Are you leaving beca-"
"No." His mother interjected "I am not leaving because of you, the world does not revolve around you" his mother said to him in a soft chiding tone.
He reopened his eyes and met his mother's gaze.
She continued "You may have kept many secrets from me, far greater and consequential than I had ever thought they may be, but I am not leaving because of that or because of the ostracising of our family"
She gazed upon the homes that stood upon a maze of hills, a fond smile on her face. "I am saddened to miss most of the beginning." She said with a wistful sigh, a sigh that pained both of them.
"Then why?" Atticus asked, unsure if he managed to prevent his voice from being uneven. He'd seen this conversation happen in so many different ways yet it felt like a punch in the gut. Like he'd Seen it happen. Somehow it felt more painful.
His mother smiled at him and stayed silent for a moment before she began again "I am curious" she said slowly.
"Curious?" Atticus repeated after her.
"Moira wishes to visit some of the old worlds that used to belong to her people" she looked at him pointedly "partially to help find this new world you wish to settle our people" she said before looking away from Atticus.
"I've gotten close to Moira and she tells me of the richness of her people…of the wonders they had constructed, the worlds they built to perfection and utmost beauty. She knows they are most likely destroyed into nothingness by the enemy of her people but there might be a remnant left that she could find and I…" She trailed off for a moment.
Atticus placed his hand on top of hers. She turned to him with a smile "And I…I could use an adventure, I've been cooped up here too long and I think this might be a productive way of spending my time"
"Mother I'm sor-"
"Don't, please." His mother said softly "I understand why you did what you did. I did from the moment" she gazed towards the alien trees "I woke up here and understood it was because of you" she turned to him. "In truth, Moira helped a lot with dealing with my grief…the way her people expressed and dealt with their grief aided my own tremendously."
He knew that she spent a lot of time with Moira, even once isolation had ended. It seemed like returning to being a 'socialite' hadn't been on the cards. Not that it likely would have been on the cards anyway after the death of his father.
And he hadn't been able to begrudge her that comfort, that sheer distraction that Moira and tales of her people offered to his mother despite the difference in culture and, not to be rude at all, his mother's understanding of the universe. It seemed that despite all of their differences, it hadn't impeded them from bonding.
He was glad for his mother, truly but he didn't want to lose his mother to the unknown…the person who loved him the most without question or judgement, the person who had repaired him the most…
He loved her wholeheartedly and there was nothing he wouldn't do for the person who made him understand what being loved felt like the most…the first person he ever loved.
His sight while growing was not perfect and he didn't know, couldn't know what she'd find there. He'd Seen a future where she'd be back but she'd be gone not long after and after that his Sight was too…unclear…too uncertain.
And he hated that he didn't know, that he couldn't protect her if she needed it.
He also knew his mother. She'd already decided and short of taking away her free will, he'd not budge her from the decision.
"And in that time, I learnt more about her own grief, the unresolved pain she feels at the lack of answers as to how nothing seems to remain of her people or even the enemies that thoroughly consigned her race to extinction." She paused for a moment "I think I can help with that." She saw his surprised look and chuckled softly "Of course I won't be much help with all of that machinery but I am fairly good with my wand and I think I can support her in other ways"
"I'm not surprised that you're willing to help her as much as I am surprised that you're so willing to go into the unknown out there in space" Atticus said concerned.
He didn't know what was out there and Moira likely didn't either, at least not completely. These Forerunners may not be as gone as Moira believed.
He found it difficult to believe that those who choked travelling through slipspace in a way that prevented any aid coming towards the besieged humans could go extinct from their own weapons.
Those who had hundreds of kilometres long warships, hundreds of thousands warships that could annihilate entire worlds and even move stars…
And even if it was true, that they were truly gone because of the parasites, parasites that only needed a fleck of cells to survive before they could become an insurmountable enemy again…
He didn't want his mother go out into space alone, even if it was with Moira in a ship capable of outflying and most likely outgun any enemy except for a few races.
"You were planning on going to space yourself and then later the rest of us, weren't you?" she posed to him knowingly.
He sighed and nodded and she hummed "Well, where do you think you get your wilfulness and your stubbornness from?" she smiled at Atticus before it faded away.
"I understand what you mean. I have not always…approved" she said delicately "of your desire to study the sciences but that had been when I had thought them to be the muggle version of magic, their own way of trying to live up to what we can do with but a wave of the wand" she stared past him.
"I know better now and I agree that we should find ourselves a home" she met his gaze "and who better to look than your own mother?" she smiled at him.
"Someone who you do not need anymore, that Sophia doesn't need any more either" she said in a slight wistful tone.
"Mother, I do not think you understand how much I still need you" Atticus said in a quiet tone. His mother's presence alone set him at ease in ways that no one else could. He trusted her wholeheartedly with his being.
"You don't" his mother smiled at him, a glimmer of sadness in her eyes "You haven't needed me for years, not since you were a child." She squeezed his hand
"You have many things to do, Atticus, and it serves us both well if I am out there" she looked upward before she settled her eyes once more on him "exploring and preparing for when it is time."
Atticus remained silent for a moment. He understood what she was implying, offering to remove a weak spot in his armour with all that he was plotting.
Though she wasn't really offering…merely letting him gently know.
He sighed.
"I won't be able to dissuade you from this?" Atticus half asked, half stated already knowing her answers that was always the same in countless times he'd watched this moment.
She merely smiled at him "Could I dissuade you from this path you have chosen?" she returned to him, reminding him of where he had inherited some of his stubbornness from.
"You could…" he said softly.
She brought her hand to his cheek and padded him softly "I could not and would not. I understand now why you were always so interested in the sciences. You were always could see the potential of the littlest of things." Her eyes glittered
"Even in your choice of spouse you could not have chosen more ably, even I would have liked grandchildren much sooner than I think I will have from you" she said in a teasing tone.
He nearly choked on air at that "Well…" he tried, stumbling on what to say next and his mother's tickling laughter filled the air between them causing Atticus to smile at the warmness he was feeling.
They spent the last few days together with Sophia once they came back from visiting family in the States and Emily joined once during those last few days, leaving with his mother for a few hours before she left, both women silent on what was discussed and he let it go despite how curious he had been.
Truly, it had been a blissful period that was a bright spot in an otherwise greying world and now, as he stood before the scout ship next to Moira, his eyes intently focused on his sister giving their mother a tearful 'see you soon', he felt as if his world was darkening even further.
"If you come back without my mother, don't bother coming back." Atticus only said, his gaze never once leaving the sight of his family.
He felt Moira's gaze on him but he didn't bother turning. Not yet. "You might have plans for my kind, nebulous plans that seem to fit with what I intend to do with my people but know this…Yminenso Yprikushma" Atticus said as he turned to face her, his eyes meeting her dark ones.
"I am a terrible enemy to have." His words were said with an arctic coldness that could chill atoms into stillness.
"Do not test my resolve by not returning my mother to me." He said, his gaze moved back to his mother. He cared for his people, he truly did. But his family…
Not even destiny would be safe from his wrath.
-Break-
1947 – Bhaktapur, Nepal
Emily POV
Her eye twitched as chimes and drums droned on ceaselessly, the high pitched sounds mixed with low pitched drums spearing her towards a migraine.
The only thing that was more annoying was that they were amongst these rabble, rabble that left little room to move let alone walk.
It was overcrowded, smelly a-
She felt his hand wrap around hers and she turned to him. Atticus bore a faint but reassuring smile that drove down that irritation and she felt calmer as he soothed her through their bond.
She gave him a small smile, if a little scowling, back before she returned her gaze towards the congregation of muggles. She could bear these muggles a little while longer.
It was the Gai Jatra festival, a festival that commemorated the deaths of loved ones. The muggles wore comedic face paintings, wore reds and oranges mixed with those who were more solemn, grieving. It seemed like it was a festival that allowed anyone to be joyful or grieving turning into a curious experience to say the least.
A muggle child wove through the gap between herself and Atticus who stopped and turned towards them with a painted moustache and a red circle between his eyes, all while bearing a wide smile on his face as he waved before disappearing through a sea of muggle legs.
She felt Atticus' amusement through their bond and despite herself she allowed herself to smile at her husband's childishness.
As the day continued, they watched little muggle girls dance oddly with brass teapots, men carrying effigies of some kind restlessly, random individuals beating drums in an odd synergetic manner and they'd watched performers wearing nothing but a towel and red scarfs as they performed with sticks.
Far from the strangest things she'd ever seen but it was at least somewhat confusing and she confided as much to Atticus. Most of the actions by the muggles seemed…pointless, random, without meaning.
Not that she was surprised. After all, these people were a superstitious bunch.
"They say that it is to commemorate the deaths of loved one but the point really is community. Sharing in loss and sharing in the beauty of life and death." Atticus said as they walked more freely through the scarcer streets as a consequence of the festival petering down the wake of the looming night.
"I think that whatever they do is kind of a natural evolution of successive festival throughout the centuries. Random acts of fun become frequent sights the next year and then the following year and before you know it, it has become tradition, a staple of the festival." Atticus said with a curious smile.
Ah…
She could see now why he wanted to come during this distraction.
With Illos more or less finished now, at least the homes, the nature and the enchantments that regulated weather, water and more, it would soon be time for the next stage of their plans to come to fruition.
The movement of thousands of magicals to Illos.
Illos had long been an idea, a target that they both worked towards for years, had worked on for years and now it was coming to be with the way relations with Magical Britain was breaking down for House Sayre.
And with that breakdown, came the inevitable migration towards Illos, by a people who would be…reliant on Atticus, on them, to provide them all that they need.
And that left an opportunity of shaping them culturally.
Already they were working on that with the orphaned children and infants that they rescued across the world and given to childless mothers to mother and raise in the exact way they wanted in Illos but these thousands of largely adult people would need a more hands on approach.
She eyed the few trailing performers that have yet to leave, still dancing their primitive celebrations with a contemplative look on her face. They already outlined how they were going to shape them culturally but not quite socially.
Humans grew closer with shared experiences.
The greater the kind of experiences shared, the closer they were. This was seen plenty in war – those Knights of Atticus' were a prime example – but similarly she had seen the same effect when old traditions and festivals were reintroduced at Hogwarts where children across different Houses who otherwise rarely dealt with each other instead became friends.
"You're thinking of introducing something like this?" Emily asked as they kept on walking, a contemplative look still on her face.
"Nothing so…" Atticus said a little slowly before a look of mirth crossed his face "extreme." 'Primitive' she knew he wanted to say.
He continued "But yes, something similar. Of course, the traditional festivals and celebrations will be made into a shared experience but in the interim, I believe a frequent gathering of some kind might prove useful to help create a commonality." Atticus said before he lost his look of mirth as they approached one of the dilapidated homes.
"We're here." He said and she inclined her head slowly as they walked up to the door. She waved her hand over them, the rough translating charm washing over them whilst the illusionary charm fell away from their faces.
The translating charm would work just about well enough for them to be able to speak with the muggles.
The door opened and a young looking man came to the door, surprised but also wary. After all, both she and Atticus were foreigners in a very small town knocking on their doors.
"Namaste." Atticus began smoothly with a bow of the head with his palms held together as if he was praying. She followed suit with the gesture.
This wasn't the first time they were paying lip service to local customs.
The man returned the greetings with a similar albeit a little stiffer manner.
"I am Atticus Sayre" he gestured towards her "This is my wife, Emily Sayre." The man nodded, a little surprised at their flawless accent.
Atticus turned back to the man "And we are here to talk to you about something important if you have time to hear us out."
She felt Atticus send out a mild wave of unbounded pulse of Legillimency, one that tinged with reassurance and compliance and she saw the man's shoulders dip a little in relaxation.
She knew that Atticus didn't like manipulating emotions like that, especially to those he deemed innocent. Of course, disliking something doesn't take away the necessity of easing a situation even if Atticus went about it in a way that was far more respectful than they really deserved.
The man looked at them for a few seconds before he let them in.
The house was little better than a shack – a well cleaned shack but a shack nonetheless. It almost reminded her of her mother's home. Of course, these people had more dignity than those infernal Gaunts who practically resided in their own filth.
As they were directed towards the living room, she saw the reason why they were here in the first place. The girl was sitting with a very worn book in her hands on the ground as her mother got up, about ten years and likely turning eleven within the next six months if their intel was right, with a curious gaze on her cherub face.
Bhavaroopa Bitsa, a muggleborn witch born in nowhere to two unknowing squibs.
The girl remained on the floor, her gaze flickering between them and her parents were talking idly before the woman went away and the man re-joined them and gestured them to sit, the look of curiosity intensifying.
Just by looking at the girl, one would not assume that she was any different…that she was special yet she could feel the magic from her, that near silent thrum that she emitted so unknowingly.
She likely never would know how truly special she was as she went about her life – if she made it that far without being accused of witchcraft, muggles had a strange sense of knowing if someone was superior…like prey feeling it was being watched by a predator – until the day she died.
It was to her fortune, just as it was to the hundreds of others, that she wouldn't wallow to a life of great insignificance when she could become more as the magic in her blood demanded all while being properly taught their ways.
From the arid deserts in Mongolia to a sparsely populated island in the Pacific they were capable of capturing the bursts of magic a child makes once they went through their very first magical maturity which happened from the ages of five to seven.
They were able to pick up those bursts of magic that operated at higher magical frequencies almost instantaneously and they triangulated on it – frequencies that were more…responsive to will and desire – with the aid of the Ancient Satellites that covered the Earth to find the origin of the burst of magic.
It allowed them more freedom in securing children at the fringes of any magical society that were likely to slip through the various nets of magical detection that were arrayed around the world.
Admittedly, she didn't quite dislike this part of their travels, the dimes they found that they'd change into galleons loyal and working for them. Something she hadn't quite expected at first.
Entwined with their search for relics, artefacts and pearls of knowledge around the world for the past few years or so, they made an effort to personally visit muggleborns born in the regions that were effectively unwatched by the magical world.
They of course focused primarily with at-risk muggleborns, those who had little protection against fearful mobs or undeserving parents – something that had kept them utilising Time-Turners and Polyjuice a lot more than she could have conceived – but now they were making the journey towards the ones that proved to have better parents.
Slightly more challenging and different challenge altogether but it wasn't too hard to overcome once they were convinced it was a genuine offer to improve their lots in life. Creating circumstances that were just right enough to make them fearful of their child's – and their own – safety of course helped with the stubborn and frankly sharper parents.
So far, Bitsa was the eightieth muggleborn they were visiting this year made possible by the Stone of Admissions, a crystalline stone that was connected to the leylines that crisscrossed the world in a similar fashion to how the Hogwarts' Book of Admissions was connected to the leylines that ran below the great school.
With Atticus' Sight and the Stone, they were able to plan years in advance on how they were going to convince the better parents to move countries without raising any alarm bells by those she knew were watching their movement very closely.
She knew that it was quite likely that this girl would be the very last they'd visit personally for some time given what was happening back in Britain though it should not affect their recruitment now that Atticus' trusted – and oath sworn – associates in Sphinx Group were taking charge of the operation.
After they were brought little cups of chai tea, likely a luxury for these people, the man finally asked Atticus what this important thing was.
"Has strange things ever happened around your daughter?" Atticus asked with a calm tone as he nursed the chai tea, watching curiously over the rim the cup.
The mother stiffened, a look of panic clouding her face whilst the Ms Bitsa looked terrified. "Peace." Emily soothed as she let go of the cup and leaned back in the rather uncomfortable wooden chair.
Their eyes widened dramatically.
"You're like me!" the little girl, Ms Bitsa, said in wonder.
"Are you a boksi [witch]?" the father questioned, his voice even despite the clear fear that she felt exuding from him.
Her eyes darkened slightly "Not in the way your people believe." She said calmly though it was a close one to keep her tone from being…harsh.
Only the fact that these squibs were…better than their ilk kept her from being disdainful. She knew that these people were an exception to the primitive muggles of these lands.
Nepal, once upon a time, had a thriving community of magicals.
For thousands of years Nepal had been a land of spirituality and magic, so much so that both magical and muggle Buddhists from across Asia made pilgrimages to Nepalese temples that were fountains of knowledge containing priceless manuscripts on the nature of existence…and magic.
Yet as with all things when it came to magical and muggle cohabitation, through centuries of mistrust growing between both kinds of people, magic, once seen as something as natural as breathing instead became as wicked, something to fear…people to fear.
The once thriving community of magicals left Nepal towards the mountains of Tibet, India and China not long before the Statute was erected yet despite magic leaving these lands, witch hunts were still a frequent occurrence even now.
Hatred from these muggles knew no reason or logic and were driven by superstition that bordered near insanity with what they perceived as witchcraft.
Particularly when it came to women and girls. They were blamed for material loss, sickness of cattle and livestock along with actual illness of muggles.
The unlucky ones were burnt alive – it seemed even tens of thousands of miles and hundreds of years apart, muggles of any kind had a propensity to burn people alive – others succumbed to wounds from torture and assault whilst the lucky ones survived the ordeal though never they were never the same.
Whilst most of the victims were muggles, both her and Atticus did believe that more than a few over the centuries likely had been muggleborn witches.
Folklore wrapped in myth and stories to scare children of wicked creatures as dark as night that were found throughout distant regions of the world made it likely that more than a few muggleborns had turned into Obscurials throughout the ages.
In Nepal, the description of Masan fitted that of a Obscurial just as Tariaksuq in Inuit mythology did and just as similar words and descriptions fitted the consequences of muggle intolerance.
As much as the ICW would like to profess that Credence Aurilius was the last known Obscurus, it was a bold faced lie that was an open secret amongst the more politically connected individuals.
After all, there was little reason for there to be an International Affairs department whose mandate was wholly woolly with regards to what it was supposed to do.
"Not in the way you believe either." Atticus said knowingly, his gaze holding onto the man's eyes. The man broke it and looked at his daughter before he looked back at Atticus and nodded determinedly.
"My daughter is not a monster like some would claim her to be should they learn. She is good." The man said firmly.
Atticus gave the man a smile as inclined his head and she felt a trickle of contentment eke out from him, that soft spot he had for those who were traditionally morally right rearing its head.
"And you are right." He said as he waved his hand. The book that the girl had been reading floated in between them, a gasp of shock escaping the lips of the mother whilst father and daughter only watched as Atticus repaired the book back into pristine condition before he levitated it back to the daughter.
"Magic is not evil rather it is a gift, one that your daughter inherited from both of you." Atticus said, recapturing the small family's attention.
"I don't understand?" the mother said hesitantly.
They spent the next few hours explaining the particularities of inheritance and the history of Nepal and its links to Buddhism – along with some liberal stretching of the truth – and then went on to explain the opportunities for the family in Australia where they would be given a new life and a new home for them.
They hadn't been keen to learn that it depended on them accepting that their daughter would need to learn magic to control herself but once they explained that untrained magicals brought attention to themselves along with the implication of what exactly such attention meant for their family should it happen.
They also bluntly explained to the small family that they were doing this for the girl as they feared for her safety should she remain in Nepal and in the end, they agreed to the terms in full with only some amount of compulsion needed to convince them, starting a new life in Australia where a new home and employment waited for them.
They would leave the very next day to Kathmandu to board the chartered private plane that waited on them that would go to Patna before going to Kolkata where they'd take a ship to Perth where they would be settled down and sworn to secrecy by the muggleborns that worked for Sphinx Group.
"She's likely to become an introducer, isn't she?" Emily mused aloud as they stood by the docks of the port of Kolkata, returning to the region a few days later to see them off.
They both knew that early life experiences greatly shaped the trajectory of one's path in life. An abused child had much greater chances of becoming an abuser themselves. A child raised by a successful businessman is likely to have a career in the same industry or even the same company.
And the children they introduced to magic were very likely to become introducers themselves once they were integrated into Illos. Especially those who had experienced the violence of muggles first hand like some of the children they barely saved had or those who had boundless amount of compassion like this little girl seemed to have.
It would be useful in the years to come when the muggle populations are set to explode. Who better to introduce families to the benefits of going with them than those who are visible proof of success?
"I think the chances are very high" Atticus admitted with a smile as he took her hand.
She twisted with a silent pop taking him with her and soon enough they arrived some three kilometres above the Irish Ocean and as they felt the grasping hand of gravity, they released their magic and evaded its grasp before flying unaided back to shore.
She raised her wand and with the memories flooding the front of her mind, a torrent of white blue mist streamed from her wand before a magnificent sphinx galloped forth from that mist. "We have returned." She said to the Patronus and Sphinx bowed to her before it turned and raced away.
They would cease their masquerade and return to one of the safe houses to purge the Polyjuice out of their system.
With the attentions that were on them, they had to be…creative to explain their absences. As much as she hated others taking her form – no less than five different oaths bound their subordinates to secrecy and conduct – she knew that it was necessary especially when they often left for days, sometimes weeks, at a time.
A couple of silent pops later, they were back to Sayre Manor.
"Masters" Tweenie said with a bow as they walked through the front door.
"Lunch is ready."
"Thank you Tweenie" Atticus said with a nod as they carried on walking towards the dining room.
Atticus waved the seats pulling them out and she took the seat by the head of the table. She turned to him as she sat down and food popped in front of her.
"She'll be our last, I think." Atticus said as he began to cut into the shepherd's pie. Before he put the piece in his mouth he continued, his eyes on her "I do not think we can spare the time any further." He told her and she agreed and she was rather pleased it would be the end of it.
She hadn't been enthused by his desire to personally convince unknowing squib parents to take the opportunities offered – she'd refused to come the first few times – but in the end she had conceded and joined him in his travels.
Her disdain for the muggles had only increased of course, these people who lived little better than animals in squalor and without civilisation in these far off regions.
They were not as bad as the parasites in the cities that lived on top of one another, those who destroyed without care or reason but it was a close thing.
At times she had thought that their aims of leaving this world were misguided, that they were gifting them far too much to creatures who deserved nothing more than to be reduced to cattle made to work on their behalf.
She banished that thought, flashes of ancient horrors in the deeps of space coming back to the forefront of her mind, a faint grimace soaring from within.
At least the muggles – if they didn't destroy themselves – would prove useful in the centuries and millennia to come should the universe prove to be as hostile as they suspected it was with the way the muggles bred and advanced.
They would prove great distractions when the time came.
Still, it hadn't been completely pointless beyond the benefits of obtaining more loyal magicals for their empire and propaganda. Even in the bowels of most remote regions of the world, there were still the pervasiveness of magical blood.
A prospect that screamed towards the inevitability of the destruction of the Statute in the decades to come. The ICW knew nothing of these regions which begged the question how much did they and the Ministries really know about the populations and the looming explosion of muggleborns under the respective magical nets?
European schools, particularly the Northern ones like Durmstrang and Koldovstoretz already didn't allow muggleborns to be inducted in their schools and many basic schools were still not rebuilt after the Grindelwald war. The ones that were still in operation had a catchment area of tens of thousands of square kilometres.
It was bound to result in muggleborns being unattended to.
With the ICW watching carefully over Europe, she knew that the practices of getting rid of muggleborns were at an all time low – even if the culling of known squibs was at an all-time high as a consequence of The Truth about the Returnees and the Lie of being Muggle Borne – and if she knew anything about the idiocy of purebloods was that once they stopped doing something, they rarely restarted of their own volition.
Fools, she thought with an inward sneer.
They were sleeping on top of an active volcano that was on the precipice of explosion.
Muggleborns were the greatest threat to the Statute and their methods on dealing with the squibs and the muggleborns were insufficient, a half measure that was doomed to failure.
Either you killed all muggleborns and squibs once discovered or you integrated them from the earliest age possible making sure you kept control over them and their perception of the world.
All they were doing now was make inaction a new normal that one day will erupt into disaster where not even mass Obliviation can remove the damage, she thought before she banished that train of thinking away and returned to their conversation.
"Yes, my work in Hogsmeade will take more of my time in the coming months." She said to him. Her National Heritage Museum, her employment schemes in Hogsmeade along with the various other initiatives she was undertaking with a few of her vassals would keep her busy…and very public.
She started cultivating a picture of national icon in the form of the Founders, one that was suitably progressing well without much interference from the Ministry.
"That will be important" Atticus said musingly as he ate silently for a moment before he eyed her "We only have a year before it turns truly stark." He said as he placed a piece of the pie into his mouth.
"Sophia is confident that we can move all of our businesses out of Britain within the day whilst she's working on the logistics of our businesses in Europe." He paused for a moment. "The ones that aren't creature reserves." He said musingly before he continued to eat, quieter than usual.
She sighed internally as she stared at him silently.
The political pressure was ramping up just as they expected yet it still angered how…easily Atticus' accomplishments and goodwill had evaporated over the past year and a half, so much so that there was very little they needed to do to force a situation of exile.
It was expected, of course, after the way they had ruthlessly operated within the business and political worlds as they utilised the influence Atticus had garnered from his defeat of Grindelwald and his revolutionary products yet it left a sour taste in her mouth to see how quickly and easily a tower of power could crumble.
And now, with the Ministry having nationalised key companies – including the Daily Prophet – the insinuations and remarks made by the Ministry was finally affecting the populace, so much so that going to any of the Alleys was almost impossible for Atticus would facing at least a few looks of scorn.
Whispers of comparisons to Grindelwald who they acknowledged Atticus had saved them from were growing in strength. Accusations of destabilising the Ministry, accusations of having a private army at his beck and call just waiting to enthrone himself as a dictator were becoming more and more prevalent.
She wasn't sure if she found it amusing or rage inducing that she was receiving looks of pity, pity! from those very same people as a consequence of their work to separate her away from Atticus.
He might not have said it but she knew that he was…wounded at the way he was being scorned by the same people who they intended to take with them to greatness.
The fact that others were manipulating events to push them out did little to assuage that disappointment he felt for the sheep.
Still, at least it served a purpose however, she thought as that sliver of anger melted away. He was more acclimatised to flagrant and distasteful manipulation of people and events, that moral battle he often had with himself disappearing into the wind like dust riding on an eddy of a gale wind.
She never liked the way he tortured himself with what needed to be done for those who didn't even deserve an ounce of consideration and she could see that he was running out of patience with many many people…even those who had once been considered friends.
It wouldn't be long before he'd return fire with fire, before he'd speak a language they thought they knew but come to fear rip out of his mouth.
That, at least she was looking forward to.
-Break-
1947 – Zagros Mountains, Persia [Iran]
Her eyes washed over the mountain range and over the valley nestled in between two great peaks, the green brown valley that signalled a lush region in better days' thousands of years ago.
Her eyes veered towards the holographic map hovering in the air that marked out the location of the tomb of Jabru, a necromancer nearly lost to time only remembered somewhat by a scarce few in the local magical communities and thought to be a god in the Elamite religion by the muggles.
She glanced at Atticus who was further ahead by the mouth of the cave.
There were no real traps in the tomb from what Atticus had been able to See though it seemed like there was little recourse around the blood sacrifice requirement to gain entry to the tomb.
She made her way towards him and the entry, her magic pulsing out of her as she felt the weak but fixed magic that guarded the necromancer's tomb.
Most tombs and caches they'd raided had similar degradation of ancient wards yet curiously the instances of these wards having failed could be counted on one hand.
It was impressive to a degree that these ancient wizards and witches were able to make such long lasting wards especially when nearly none of them were tied to any leylines. They'd used human blood in almost every instance as the medium to tie wards to their tombs and hideouts.
It was quite likely that these kinds of wards were the ancestors to blood wards tied to leylines, refined and improved over the millennia.
"If we strip the wards away, the structural integrity of the cave will fail immediately as a consequence of cascade failure." Atticus said with a sigh and a shake of the head. "It'll happen too quickly to stabilise the place." Atticus said with a wan smile as he raised his hand and pressed his other finger against his palm and dragged it across creating a line of trailing blood before he placed against the entrance.
She could feel the shift in the wards, the non-conscious intelligence of the wards probing and sensing the magic in the blood offered before the wards receded back into idleness.
Minor tremors rippled below them, the rock face parting slowly but certainly, and it wasn't long before they were privy to a dark tunnel.
"Sometimes I wonder about our kind's tendencies to store away all achievements and artefacts in tombs." Atticus said musingly as he led first into the dark tunnel, a dim light flickering into existence. She hummed in response.
It was proving to be quite true, this tendency for ancient mages to hide away their discoveries. Especially given that the kinds of tombs they found were certainly not mediocre wizards…nor as light as the majority of people today.
Tomes bound by human skin that still felt warm to the touch, scrolls and texts that were undecipherable simply because it would kill you to even try…
She doubted these people ever trusted anyone with their life's work. Likely came to these tombs – in some instances literal palaces dug in mountains – waiting to do die.
She also knew that if either of them ever died or planned to, not that it would ever happen, they would very likely do the same. And she knew that is exactly what he meant with 'our kind'.
"Too proud of one's work to destroy, too distrusting to leave it behind for others to use." Emily said as they stepped further down in the narrow tunnel, the air stale.
"Good thing too." Atticus said with a sigh as they reached the tomb itself.
"Texts like those of Luxiticus released out in the world…" Atticus' whistle echoed against the damp walls. "The world would have been a very different place had it remained in circulation."
As much as she hated to say it, she was in agreement that such works would have ended in disaster however interesting it was. Vampires and werewolves were bad enough but they were honestly mild in comparison what they'd found, particularly Luxiticus' work.
Revolutionary is what she would describe Luxiticus' experiments on human life to be and she could see traces of his work in that of others, including that of Ekridis whose experiments and creation were far too similar to be completely original work.
She was quite glad that Ekridis never got his hands on Luxiticus' surviving notes on Leviathans. The idea of Dementors in the mould of the Leviathans was utterly menacing and she was content that Luxiticus had dispatched the Leviathans before they were able to escape.
Leviathans could take human shapes but could also become incorporeal shadows with possessing strength that rivalled vampires and werewolves. They were hard to kill, retained some sense of magical ability, preferred humans as their primary food source, and had an innate desire to dominate along with insidious 'psychic' abilities – some form of Legillimency – that could ensnare even the strongest of wills.
To make it worse, they could fly, intelligence rivalling that of mages and they could conceal themselves entirely from magical sensing.
Had Luxiticus not destroyed the mating pair when he found out about their attempts to escape his control, it would have been likely they would have ascended to the dominant species of the world.
Luxiticus despite his very useful act had kept enough clues to at least grant the chance to recreate his creations to anyone remotely competent and lucky to encounter his tomb and texts.
She thought that Ekridis probably found pieces of Luxiticus work somewhere given that a lot of Luxiticus work tended to be geared towards creating esoteric beings that could feed from non-physical sources of magical energy.
They made it to the tomb, if it could be called that, a few minutes later. Jarbu had died at his table seemingly in the midst of consuming some kind of drink.
The tomb was disappointing, most of the scrolls had withered away to little more than dust thanks to time and lack of care though were at least several dozen tomes that survived including some truly malevolent tomes that almost made her bask in how dark they were.
It was those that Atticus was eying intently. As she got closer, she could imagine the painful deaths the sacrifices had died to imbue it with the protections that it had.
"The books on transmutation." Atticus' countenance darkened ever so slightly as he looked over the tomes, the malevolent feeling of the magic that was imbued in the tomes bothering him.
"Human?" Emily questioned and he turned to her with a slight nod before his eyes returned to the tomes.
"It'll take some time to break the protections. It'll be worth it though." He said to her and she smiled slightly before she refocused on the books.
There were few entreaties on human transmutation or alchemy, even in the Sayre or Slytherin libraries so it was a welcome find.
With her own research and experiments on the creation of life faltering slightly despite the access she had to the Atlantis archives, any insights were welcome.
They left not long after, taking all of the tomes with them and soon enough they were in the air, flying over the Zagros Mountains towards their final destination.
The magical history of these lands were rich, almost as rich as that of the Far East or Egypt and many magical communities in this region could trace back their heritage around these mountains or the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in the West.
Thus it wasn't surprising to either of them that there were many tombs and caches hiding in the crevices of mountains and caves causing them to return here for a third time in less than a year.
In many ways, the quality and volume of tombs strengthened the claims of the magical communities around these parts, that this was a cradle of civilisation…and that of magic.
And much of that claim was centred on the Elamite Empire that once called these mountains and valleys home along with its legendary mages that preceded and combatted the famed Sumerians.
The Elamites had two politically, culturally and socially important centres in their empire. Susa and Anshan. Susa was located between two fertile river valleys near the base of the Zagros Mountains whilst Anshan was in the formidable mountain range in the south east where the city was protected by the surrounding terrain which later had been sculpted with formidable runic walls.
The Elamite mages were not as well known for their master sculptors and metal workers as they were for their combat magicks outshined as they were by the Ancient Sumerians but they were far from lesser.
The Ancient Sumerians might have considered the Egyptians as rivals when it came to forging and alchemy but that rivalry was nothing but a child's quarrel compared to the rivalry it carried with the Elamite mages which the Doctrine of Susa highlighted perfectly.
The Doctrine of Susa was a famous transcript found during one of the excavations by the Persians that took decades to transcribe though once it had been translated, it had made clear that there had been effectively a bitter rivalry between the Elamites and the Sumerians…even in the spheres of magic.
The Doctrine had set out the requisite requirements of any and all mages to be handed over to the Mage Guilds to be trained in the arts of sculpting, metal working, alchemy and religious ceremonies.
Not much had survived of that era over the thousands of years when it came to proof of their capabilities in magic or their writings, not after constantly being conquered in a thousand-year period between the 2500s BC and 1500s BC.
What had survived however, was the reputation of the Elamite mages to this day. Each time they had been the very strength of the Elamites to drive out the Akkadians and then later the Sumerians when they had sacked the legendary city of Ur.
The Elamite mages had gripped southern Mesopotamia with an iron grip for decades before they had been removed infamously by the Ancient Sumerian mages who had learnt how to wield elemental magicks and turned the river Euphrates into a graveyard as they wielded the river like a scythe cutting down the Elamites, muggle and magical alike, before ushering out a century long uneasy peace.
That was not where it ended however, for it was the catalyst that spawned the resurgence of the kinds of magicks that had been lost since the days of Atlantis.
Through the rivalry between the Elamites and the Ancient Sumerian mages, ventures into blood magicks, necromancy, elemental magic, soul magic were made, cutting edge magical research with the backing of kings and lords and politicians of city states that feared one another provided ample sources of slaves and prisoners of war to conduct experiments on – it was thought that Veela, Sirens and other near-human magical beings were as a consequence from these experiments – and it was marvellous.
Mages were elevated and some even inducted into the pantheon of gods as rivers were turned into devastating weapons as mountains aplenty were ripped apart and valleys made and mountains reformed into a natural barrier to armies and mages.
Huge arrays of rituals were common place, plagues and droughts were acceptable weapons of mass destruction as entire climate and topography was changed and destroyed just as cities were strangled to death as rivers were made to change direction and strength.
The most unfortunate however was that only a fraction of the knowledge survived and even less than a percent of that fraction was known to any families outside of that region of the world.
As a centre of power, it was bound to attract the attentions of other peoples and soon enough waves of nomadic invaders streamed into the fertile crescent. Babylon was conquered by the Hittites, the north and central parts of Mesopotamia were flooded by Kassites and Hurrians all while the Elamites took and lost and regained territory and cities throughout the centuries in those turbulent times.
Much of the powerful magicks were lost in this era, temples were purged of children understudies in the chaos killing off future generations before they became dangerous. Mages turned on mages for coin and wealth before being treacherously dealt with in kind by those who paid them and the final death knell on the Elamite mages' power came when Susa was razed to the ground by the Assyrian Empire in the first millennia BC.
An ignominious end to what had been powerful clans of mages.
Most of the surviving mages in the region, however few in numbers, had taken to shelter away by the time of the Median and Babylonian Empires. Over the next millennia, such communities would grow more isolated with time free from the turbulence in the region where war was as frequent as the seasons.
It was shame then that in their isolation they also lost their ancestor's ingenuity regarding magic. By the time the Achaemenid Empire came about, most of the magical weaponry the Immortals used were little more than slightly better quality than that of mundane swords and spears.
Of course, it was likely by design but she couldn't help but think it was also what they were only capable of. By the time Alexander and his men steamed all the way to India, the Grecian mages had far surpassed the Mesopotamian mages in skill and ability in magic.
Across the horizon, just beyond the small passage of ocean, they could see Qeshm Island. Emily sped up, now faster than the speed of sound and with a broadening smile, he followed suit
They landed with effortless grace onto the hard beige ground, the eroded walls of rock. She turned to Atticus and saw his hard face. She glanced away and her eyes grew half lidded as her magic expanded outward and magic crept into her eyes.
There wasn't much magic on this lifeless rock except for…
Her eyes widened and she turned to her east, her eyes seeing that trickle of magic that seemed to be ebbing and flowing like a gentle tide. "The manticore"
"Yes." Atticus said, his expression set hard before a hint of excitement replaced it. "I suppose it's a good thing it can't be bargained with." Atticus said, a shadow of a smile growing on his face as she looked on, her own excitement rising.
Neither of them had fought a creature as deadly as a manticore. It hardly would be a challenge despite its imperviousness to nearly all kind of magic but the novelty of slaying a manticore was certainly exciting both of them.
"I'm honestly surprised that Zereh was able to get it to agree to guard its castle-hold." Emily said musing as she stepped off of the ledge and fell downwards.
With only a slight flicker of the fingers, her descent was halted and she twisted around to gracefully stand on her foot. Atticus was beside her only moments later.
"It's possible that Zereh reared it from youth." Atticus said as they walked down the maze like surroundings.
There were bones of creatures all around them, bones made white by the sun. She recognised some of the bones, bones of Karkadanns – a mix of a horse and a rhinoceros that had a sword like horn and was a ruthless predator in its own right – and bones of a Roc, a massive bird of prey big enough to carry elephants that were was near extinct now.
"Or it is possible it was his sibling." Emily said with a twitch of her lips, her eyes sliding off of the bones with little concern.
Atticus' expression grimaced before he eyed her "Wouldn't that be something?" he said with a grimaced laugh before he shook his head.
"Still I doubt half the stories about the woman are true."
Emily hummed for a moment as she considered it. Yes, she doubted those stories were true…at least the more…outrageous stories.
As feared as Dark Lord Fulad Zereh had been, his mother was almost as equally feared by the Persians. Known as a powerful enchantress, she was able to imbue enchantments on artefacts were nearly impossible to replicate.
In one instance, she'd created an enchantment that tied Fulad Zereh's immortality to one particular sword named Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar where he could only be killed by that one sword.
She had thought perhaps it had been a horcrux but she'd dismissed as the clues weren't there to support it.
It was likely a combination of things as it was known that the Dark Lord liked using the sword to execute people, likely drawing blood and life from his victims to extend his own lifespan.
In any case, the pair were fairly capable with magic and their tomb promised quite a haul…once they dealt with the manticore. They neared the source of the ebbing magic and she felt the shift in the air just as Atticus did and they halted, their eager eyes waiting on the manticore.
"Who disssturbbsss my slummmbeeerr?" the inhuman voice bellowed out in a low growl in Farsi, its voice slamming against the maze like walls with power and weight of a dragon's tail.
The ground shook, the noise of cicada vibrations echoing ominously as a human male head with a lion's mane crowning its head turned the corner.
Emily's eyes gleamed at the sight of the magnificent monstrosity before her, the black scales of its back glistening under the hot summer sun, its scorpion tails swaying dangerously like a serpent tasting its prey's scent as it stood on its tail. Its furled wings were just as dark as the scales on its back though they were similar to that of bats.
From the size of it – the creature was huge, its head at least six meters tall and several times that long – the creature was ancient. The older the Manticore, the larger it was and given that Manticores were known to die typically quite young at the claws and teeth of another Manticore, it was clear that this Manticore was special amongst its kind.
"I don't suppose you would be willing to bargain for safe passage?" Atticus offered lightly as his staff materialised in his left hand.
The Manticore laughed and it was a malicious laugh as it stared them down. "Food cannot bargain" the creature growled, its sword like teeth bared in a gruesome smile.
She felt Atticus' magic rise, the sounds of his magic crackling an eerie sound as wisps of emerald and violet magic illuminated the maze with a startling glow.
Emily's teeth showed as her own magic burbled underneath her skin, a tempest of magic that felt like violence made alive.
Her wand whipped out at near the speed of sound, blasting curses racing from the tip of her wand as fast as bullets and the ground shook as each hit like mountains.
The Manticore roared and launched itself forward moving impossibly fast for a creature itself size and it barrelled towards her but as it was airborne mid-stride, Atticus hit the creature mid-stride with a whirlwind of spells that lashed from his staff.
The Manticore cried out as the whirlwind of lashing spells hit its side, the ground scarred with thousands of grooves inches wide, nearly a metre deep and Emily could see the spells breaking the Manticore's skin.
She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and saw him smile at her amused, as if to challenge her to do better.
The Manticore let out a scream of rage, its wings flapping furiously as it soared towards Atticus with murderous intent and he was carefree as he let the creature closer.
Atticus dodged the strikes of the deadly scorpion tail with serene ease, his magic swirling around him, pulsing like excitable flames dancing to a tune brimming with life despite the life and death situation he was in.
She smirked at the way he was enjoying himself, much like he did whenever they duelled. Well, it wasn't right to let him have all of the fun.
Atticus wrapped a lasso around its hind legs and threw the creature back to the ground though the Manticore readjusted impressively well as it landed on its feet.
Not that it would matter.
Black red darts of fire ripped out of her wand like scathing turbulent hail of ice and the Manticore cried out in rage and in pain, the scorch marks left on its hide plain to that it was not impervious to magic despite the legends.
"Enough!" the beast bellowed out, his voice so loud that it likely echoed for miles. "No more!" the creature growled out and launched itself to her, its fury laced inhuman face showing that it knew that it was fighting for its life – and it fought like it was too.
The Manticore swiped at her and she danced out of the way, the air howling in a sharp whistle as the consequence of the claws that were sharp as knives, and as she danced, she gracefully with inhuman speed jabbed at the underbelly of the creature.
A stream of magic shot out of her wand tip, the violent sound that breached from her wand reminiscent of the sound of air raid alarms and it lifted the multi-ton beast from its legs, its inhuman human-like face scrunching together before it let of a deafening roar of pain.
It crashed into a wall of rock that crumbled under its great weight and Atticus began pelting spell after spell, each spell cratering the crash site with ruinous strength and the sounds of the creature's howls were almost frightful with the fury laced in the sounds that escaped the inhuman maw.
It was berserk, without reason and more like the beast that it was. Like the cornered prey that it was. Atticus took its attentions as he flung flaying, scything and cutting curses of all varieties at the creature, its raging turning more like helpless yowling as Atticus increased the strength and viciousness of his attack.
Suddenly, faster than she thought possible, a boulder sized rock was flung towards Atticus and he was caught surprised momentarily, just enough that it gave the creature a reprieve and it utilised it well for the Manticore flew into the sky impossibly fast though upon reflection the creature must have jumped which only signified the ridiculous strength within the beast.
Amidst a hail of rock that it tossed aside as it unfurled its wings, within a few flaps, it raced towards Atticus like a bullet who was waiting for the beast. As if now, she could see its wings torn and bearing puncturing holes and she knew it was nearly at its end.
She rose in the air and shot off faster than the speed of sound as Atticus toyed with the Manticore.
Atticus swept his staff around him in wide motions, the sky darkening as fast as a blink of an eye and cords of lightning split open the sky striking the Manticore with millions of volts, its roar now pitiful cries of pain.
It would feel more pain before she would let it die.
Her wand tip steamed for milliseconds before a torrent of water exploded out of her wand moving unnaturally as she bent the jet-like stream. The several metres thick jet of water raced towards the Manticore with laser like precision.
The Manticore regained some sense, some idea of the danger that it was in and it tried to get out of the way but it was to no avail, the jet of water followed every single change of direction it made until it hit and the Manticore was tumbling out of control back to the lifeless rocky ground.
She was not done however and with a jerk of the wand, tendrils of waters broke away from the jet stream, clawing and gripping at the creature's appendages, her hand moving to enchant the water as it slowly but surely wrapped around the creature before she cooled the water into rock hard ice and the Manticore screamed. "Mercy! MERCCYY" the Manticore cried out as the indestructible ice chains began to squeeze life out of the creature.
She felt Atticus approaching her though her eyes never lift the Manticore who was writhing and roaring out pitifully.
Out of curiosity she asked "If it lives…will we regret it?"
Atticus remained silent for a moment before he spoke up. "No. We will not. As least as far as I could see. For now, it'll lick its wounds and avoid us when we search the tomb."
She glanced at Atticus for a moment before she reset it back onto the Manticore.
She was tempted to let it live but she knew better than to let enemies regroup.
Her left hand rose as she twisted her wand hand in a ninety degree turn, the chains tightening more and more and she could see bone breaking now, the howls turned agonised and the Manticore was frantic, deathly panicky and she smiled with a gleam in her eyes.
Her depthless magic rose to the forefront, dark blue swirls of magic surrounded her as her left hand glowed with brilliant radiance before at the centre, a black blue fire sprouted into existence and she could taste the darkness that it exuded.
It was necromantic fire, a fire she found from the archives squirrelled away by an Akkadian mage, and it grew brighter just as it grew more ominous, more deathly.
The Manticore seemed to sense it, its panic turned even more frantic and the wounds from the near absolute zero chains that it bore was splitting open.
Just as she wanted.
The necromantic fire grew in size until it was half a metre in diameter and she simply flicked her wrist and let it loose, the ball of necromantic fire almost moving towards the Manticore with a snail like speed but soon enough, it was engulfed and its cries and howls were inhuman, as if the depths of hell were scratching at the walls of this reality that was how much similar the Manticore's cries were.
The fire sunk into its wounds like hooks sinking into human flesh with the pervasiveness of oil finding purchase in each crook and cranny.
The skin of the Manticore changed, from hard as nails and seeming as if it could survive even ancient human weaponry to skin that looked as flaky and weak as wet parchment. It changed further, blue veins with a sickening glow lined its body and the Manticore's cries began to die until it was little more than a whimper as the fire burnt the life out of the Manticore.
All that was left now was a dried husk reminiscent to a piece of coal.
"That's awful magic." Atticus said after a moment as he parted his gaze away from the husk and his eyes narrowed. "Banned from our duels. I'd rather not test our healing abilities to that."
A flicker of amusement washed over her.
She never really considered using the spell in their duels – even for her, it was too risky to fire at her beloved no matter how much she thought he could handle it.
The holo popped up and she realised they weren't that far from the tomb and began to move towards it as she let the husk fall down to the earth uncaring of where it went. "Don't worry. I'll continue to take it easy on you." She said airily.
"It's cute when you're delusional." Atticus said with a scoff
"Delusional?" she questioned as she turned around though still flying in the same direction, her eyebrows quirked.
"Overconfident" Atticus corrected with an infuriatingly smug smile and she rolled her eyes.
"I'll let that slide. Let's go. There's a tomb to pilfer." She said as she turned away from him and increased her speed towards the tomb as excitement began to course through her.