Chapter 5
Echoes from the past
March 1631
The Rhodope Mountains, modern-day Bulgaria
Pierre Bonaccord was dead. The Supreme Mugwump had fallen…
Marcus had never flown at such speed and height in the middle of a thunderstorm. The wind would have violently ripped out his eyes if it wasn't for his protective mask. He signaled to Sagittarius and Octavia to stay in formation. He knew it was unwise, even suicidal, to fly so close to each other during such treacherous weather. However, he knew that he had little choice in the matter. The roar of hundreds of spells being unleashed every second kept his doubts at bay.
By Merlin's will, the light coming from the curses made this stormy night look like the brightest day he had ever witnessed. For the first time in history, so many armed witches and wizards were in the air. Flying on brooms, carpets, and even uprooted trees, thousands of magic folk clashed in the stormy night. Thousands came here under the banner of the newly formed International Confederation of Wizards, and probably most would not see the end of this battle.
Pierre, the brave fool, led the entirety of the forces of the Confederation against the army of the supremacists.
The plan seemed perfect on paper. Do not allow the enemy forces to spread out and disappear into the nothingness and force a decisive engagement where the confederation could win easily win with their numbers. Who would have thought that the enemy also could predict that easy plan and cause an engagement in the air during the most disastrous weather for an air fight?
Absolutely nobody. It was a suicidal calculation until you factored in the dragons.
The great drakes made the dream of a fast victory downright foolish. A few dozen firebreathers had turned the battle into a slaughterhouse for all of them. He did not know when Bonaccord had fallen. Seconds, minutes, and hours had all lost meaning during this horrid nightmare. Markus had taken over the command of the united forces preventing the confusion of becoming turning into an utter disaster. The resulting clashes were brief, brutal, and extremely bloody. In some places, the wizards were firing spells from their tight formations at long-distance enemies. In others, it was an uncontrollable dogfight where allies and enemies would collide with each other while throwing the most vile curses in the neverending bloodbath.
He activated his enchanted master ring and quickly wrote the numbers one and two inverted. The orders were clear—a full frontal charge with the first and second reserve squadrons. Doomed to fail if somebody even more suicidal did not clear the dragons.
Or desperate enough.
To say that Markus Potter was gambling the outcome of the entire battle on a dice roll would be an understatement. The supremacists knew that the dragons only kept them alive because the great beasts excelled at dispersing formations. Still, they would not fare well in extended fights, especially if they got surrounded. So they spread their dragons through the entire battlezone, keeping the confederation's forces at bay and inflicting heavy casualties with hit-and-run tactics.
Markus decided to pull the reserve out of the sidelines, and instead of reinforcing his existing positions, he was going to break theirs.
The dragons were hunter species. Typically, they would not expect an attack from above. Their prey was always meant to be below them. With the full frontal charge preparing to launch, the riders would force their beasts to intercept the attackers, leaving them open for an attack from above. And that is what the third reserve squadron was going to do. With Markus at the helm, dozens of wizards in small formations were climbing the height needed to do the intended ambush.
There were thousands of potential problems with this plan. However, Markus did not have to linger long on them. The gambit had paid off.
The enemy's dragons were grouping to face off the incoming wave with hellfire. They were utterly unsupported. There were no escorting flyers, no additional dragon-keepers, and most importantly, no one to match his force's better maneuverability. It seemed so easy… too easy. He almost called off the attack. It must have been some sort of trap, but then he remembered the words of that thrice-cursed pale maid.
The skeins of fate will favor those who are ready to bestow the winds with the greatest sacrifice of blood against the rising firestorm. With a victory, they will be crowned, but in tears, they will be drowned.
He wrote the inverted three. It was now or ever. He tilted his broom downwards. The dive had begun.
He saw the surprised expression of the closest dragon rider right before a trio of slicing curses reached him, transforming him and his dragon's neck into a picture of crimson gore.
He was just a boy. Barely in his teens, and now … only blood in the winds.
Markus was bewildered when he realized he had ordered and participated in this gruesome execution. He had cast the enhanced severing charm purely by instinct, and Octavia and Sagittarius had followed his lead.
He banished any further regrets and focused on the deafening roar coming towards his small group. One of the larger dragons had managed to survive the initial assault and was coming to face him directly.
Markus gave the rest of his squad a sign to prepare to cast a blasting curse. However, this time he underestimated the beast and its rider. It was Hebridean Black, a particularly nasty breed of dragons that were impossible to tame. His plan would have worked if it were any other breed, but this simple miscalculation cost him everything.
The black beast came too fast, and its flames were even faster, but not fast enough to save itself.
The following few seconds were the most terrifying moment of his life. The dragon fire reached them as soon as they cast their spells.
Markus quickly summoned a Flame Freezing Charm, but it was not enough for everyone. The flames engulfed him, and a second later, a powerful explosion ripped through the air silencing all the surrounding screams of the damned.
He forced his broom to go faster. The tickling sensation of the flames was making him lose balance. When he got out of the hellish inferno, he was met with another thing that would haunt his dreams until he drew breath.
It was a rain of blood.
He turned his head back and faced the consequences of his brazen attack. The black dragon was plummeting in the air, heading straight into the ground, all the while screeching like a wild beast. Markus saw the reason behind this downward spiral, and to say that he was shocked would be an understatement,
Half of the dragon's skull was gone. It looked as if some godly being had torn off half of the best's head and left it to die in the cruelest manner amidst the roaring winds that had served the creature since its inception.
Right in the eye. I did this…
He turned his head out of the gruesome sight only to stumble on a visage that finally succeeded in crushing his heart. For a moment, he thought that in front of him was the largest firefly he had ever witnessed, but this hysterical thought was quickly extinguished when he realized the nature of the light. It was a burning broomstick with a wizard on top of it.
No, not just a wizard, an auror. His head was unnaturally tilted, and one of his hands was missing. The brown leather robes of the auror were charred, and his silver mask was cracked, revealing long, burning locks of blond hair.
Sagittarius!
He quickly tried a few extinguishing charms but to no avail, for this was dragon breath, not a normal flame. He tried again and again until one silent crack almost threw him out of his broom. The neck of the body of the burning wizard snapped, and his head fell over his shoulders, disappearing in the storm.
Markus could not watch it any longer. Sagittarius was one of his closest and oldest friends even before sharing a room with him for seven years in the Gryffindor Tower in Hogwarts. He tilted his broom upwards and started climbing even higher. When he put enough distance between himself and all of the screaming, he looked down.
The burning broom of Sagittarius Malfoy was still visible. It looked like a falling star that was lazily arching to the ground. Way down, he spotted the commencing clash that was bound to happen.
With the enhanced sight of his mask, he saw Asen Levski, the young Bulgarian commander of the second reserve squadron, guiding his forces in a massive formation against the hastily organized enemy formations.
He witnessed the last push and the brutality that followed it. Wizarding air combat was way more deadly than muggle battles; there was no easy way to retreat when you were wounded or scared, and the sight in front of him proved that statement. Thousands of magic users were locked in close air fights, and below them, there was a constant rain of falling wands, broken brooms, and mangled bodies.
Markus stopped his broom and violently removed his mask. He stared at the cursed thing. It was covered with the bloody remains of foes and friends mixed with cold rainwater.
What do you know of sorrow, oh righteous one? It is so easy to be a saint in heaven, never to look beyond the bubble created by your kind. What would you have done if your people were burned like animals and you did not have the power to stop it?
The words of the raven were echoing in his head. He turned his gaze upwards and screamed in sorrow and anger.
London City, a few hours later
The London undercity was more gloomy than usual, or maybe it was his imagination. The Wizards' Council had made the former goblin colony their headquarters during the last rebellion nearly a decade ago. It was supposed to be a temporary solution after the destruction of the former building at Hogsmeade, but with the burning of the settlement of Hogwarts and the unnervingly increasing number of witchhunts, the Wizengamot decided that it would be most prudent to convene here.
It was way more secure than the previous gathering grounds. For example, The Hall of Mysteries was finally secure against outside influences and attacks. However, everything about this place made Markus uneasy. It was dark and wet, and most importantly, it did not belong to them. It was a trophy of war that was won through unnecessary bloodshed and brutality. It was not the Trail of Merlin or any of their ancestral lands. A few decades ago, the thought of abandoning the lands of Merlin, where Hogwarts and Hogsmeade stood, would have been something akin to heresy. However, these days, the unthinkable had the nasty habit of becoming reality. Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were still there, but the ancient druidic lands were way more dangerous now due to werewolf and vampire attacks and the new international wizarding conflict. Merlin's folk quickly abandoned their ancient lands and fled to the nearest muggle settlements in droves.
Markus was too tired to continue this train of thought. He distanced himself from the portkey and made his way to the prisoner's quarters. The complete silence around him unnerved him. Usually, he would have been met by a dozen of wizards by now, but now everyone was either resting on the battlefield or having their funeral rights.
He entered the narrow hallway leading to the holding cells and bit his lip in frustration. He had not rested from the conclusion of the battle and the hastily travel from the Rhodope Mountains that he had to endure to return to Britania in time.
The ability to travel at such long distances so fast had made the initial stages of the war almost bearable. However, with the increasing need for more hit-wizards, curse breakers, unspeakables, medics, aurors, and other kinds of personnel, the portkey and floo networks had become unreliable. The last few months were a living nightmare because Markus and hundreds of other witches and wizards were forced to fly on brooms all over the known world in the cover of the night to avoid any suspicions or enemy detection. Apparition was the only good thing that had come of this conflict. It was invented a few short years ago, and it was by far the fastest way to get to a desired destination but it was tricky to pull off correctly and disastrous if botched, and most of the wizards he had to work with could not. That is why any sizable force had to fly conventionally through large distances to reach their intended destination.
So, the comparatively short six-hour trip should have been almost relaxing. However, it was anything but. His time was running up.
"Markus!? What are you doing here?"
Damm it.
He immediately recognized the voice. Rolland Weasley was 'guarding' the entrance to the prisoner's quarters. The ambitious auror had been hit in the leg a month ago by a nasty slicing curse, which left him limping and unable to participate actively in the campaign. As a head auror, Rolland was subordinate to Markus, but the loyalties of the Weasley heir were something that Markus could never figure out. True Slytherin to the core.
Pity that he liked him a long time ago.
Even with his injury, Rolland was still a very deadly spellcaster, so Markus could not hope to take him silently in the dark. Frankly, he hoped that the Chief Warlock had dismissed him from his post, but then he remembered that the current Chief Warlock was resting six feet underground in a casket.
"Visiting the prisoner before the deranged madmen of mysteries open her head and stuff the brain in some of their vaults." He answered truthfully.
"I thought that you were going to the battle, Potter. Your presence here is completely unwanted." Rolland said, grinding his teeth while reaching for his wand.
"The battle is over, Rolland. Please, allow me to pass through."
"Over!? What do you mean over? We have been left in complete silence for hours. Did we lose?"
"It was a victory. However, with one more such victory, we will be undone."
"How do I know that you are not lying?"
"Are you questioning your superior, auror Wesley?" Markus hated pulling this card against his colleagues.
"Some have wondered if you have been compromised, Potter. Talking with the crazy bird has not done you any favors. Even Chief Warlock Lovegood has expressed her worries, I am here under her direct orders."
"Lovegood is dead, Weasley. Longbottom, Gaunt, and Aquarius Black also joined her in the grave. Currently, I am the highest-ranking council official." He showed his glowing golden ring as proof of his unwanted position. "So, choose your next words carefully, Rolland."
Nobody said anything. They were locked in a silent standoff, and nobody was giving up any ground.
"Go in." Muffled Weasley and Markus did not need to be told twice.
Markus glanced back at Rolland and saw how the veteran auror was slowly reaching to the ground while trying and falling not to tear up.
Markus had seen too many similar scenes in the last few hours. However, the dammed experience did not manage to stop the guilt from devouring his soul.
He made his way toward the cell without looking back.
The cell was cold, extremely dark, and completely silent.
"Lumos!" He said.
In front of him was the completely naked form of a chained young woman. Her pale white skin was covered from head to toe with dried blood and old and new wounds and scars. Her weathered blond hair was let loose, covering her shoulders and parts of her face. However, her shining pair of dark eyes remained visible even under all of it. They were examining him carefully without blinking even once.
He finally understood the primordial fear muggles experienced when they faced a magical being. It was unnerving and downright horrifying. Markus had faced and defeated wizards, werewolves, vampires, sirens, and dozens of other human-like magical creatures and had never experienced something similar when he was in front of the Raven.
Seers always unnerved him. They were the most unstable kind of wizards you could find. They seemed completely normal, but their behavior was anything but. Constantly aloof or, in this particular case, too stoic. Their prophecies always came through but never in a way you expected. Some even suggested that the seers actually defined your fate rather than revealing it.
It was also said that for every answer given to a seer, they returned three answers, which were all terrifying to comprehend and ultimately true from a certain point of view.
He knew that he was playing with fire, but their world was turning into ashes way faster than any fire could burn.
"I was expecting my executioner to bear a different face. No satisfaction for the damned, I gather." She stated while staring at him without breaking eye contact.
"I really hope that your ability to predict the future is not connected to your expectations." He waved his wand, unlocking the rusty chains.
She looked completely shocked for a moment. Markus threw the invisibility cloak at her feet and examined her slowly.
"Can you walk?" Markus asked.
She slowly nodded her head in confirmation, never breaking her stone-faced expression, staring into his soul with her pair of bottomless voids that some simple soul could mistake for eyes.
"Good, we have work to do…"
Modern-day, Hogwarts, Scotland
Wednesday awoke as if she was suffocating. She forced herself to breathe even though the process made her lungs screech in unbearable pain.
She persisted, and soon, she had enough oxygen in her chest that she did not have to worry about dying from asphyxiation.
"Lumos." She muttered and somehow managed to cast the spell wandlessly.
The brilliant white light started shining from the top of her finger. Her entire room was soon illuminated, and she finally realized the cause of the problem.
Her blood vessels had turned pitch black and were expanding so rapidly that they were a few moments away from bursting. The skin around them was so pale that she was sure it had become whiter than her teeth. The obscurus curse was sticking its ugly head again.
She quickly reached for her personal communication mirror and activated the enchantment. Then she threw it on the bed without seeing if there was a response, knowing all well what would happen next.
Wednesday got out of her bed, grabbed her wand, and lit the old wax candles. She had a limited amount of time before the effects rendered her unconscious.
She quickly reached for her notebook and scribed the name of Markus Potter. Then she continued listing the names she could remember before she suddenly stopped. Her hand froze when midway into Bonaccord's name. It was shaking uncontrollably and making huge inkspots on the parchment.
Wednesday closed the notebook and sat patiently on her bed. The world around her seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing second. When the darkness took her, she embraced it like an old friend.
Poppy Pomfrey could claim that she had seen the greatest of injuries that magic could inflict when someone decided to wage indiscriminate use of the dark arts. Some of the sights she had witnessed during Voldemort's and Grindelwald's wars could break some more feeble minds completely. Other horrors looked completely indistinguishable from normality. She had seen the empty shells that the dementors left in their wake and the victims of the mind-controlling curse. All of them seemed perfectly normal at first glance. However, only a fool would not know that something had gone horribly wrong.
This was one of these instances. The girl in front of her looked like she was sleeping peacefully. However, she was anything but. She was cold as a vampire, her muscles were so tense that if her hands were not restrained, she would have broken her fingers in her comatose grip.
Poppy had given her best, and it seemed to be working for now. The excessive bleeding from the eyes and nostrils had stopped, and the dreamless sleep potion had finally put the small girl into a proper sleep, replacing the strange unconsciousness that accompanied the painful seizures.
"How is she?" Albus asked, watching the young Slytherin without blinking.
"Better than the last time if the report is to be believed. Trelawney certainly helped, even though I did not believe her at first." She answered truthfully.
"Sybilla was always wiser than we give her credit. Sometimes I wonder if she has seen more than one should be capable of seeing." Dumbledore said enigmatically.
Poppy scoffed. Sybill Trelawney was an unnecessary annoyance at best and a full-on menace at worst. Most of the time, she rambled on some nonsensical divination concepts and their most gloomy interpretations and was silently ignored by the well-reasoned inhabitants of the castle. However, in some rare instances, her predictions came exactly as said.
They were so precise that Poppy feared that, in some way, the divination teacher had somehow influenced the outcome of the events.
"I was not your fault, Albus." She whispered slowly.
"Aberforth will disagree with you, Poppy. Unfortunately, he is right."
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, she asked him:
"Do you trust Trelawney?"
"I believed Sybilla because I know from experience that ignoring a seer's words is akin to making them your destiny."
Another answer that demands two more questions.
Poppy knew that she should have stopped expecting straight answers from the headmaster a long time ago. However, for the sake of the girl in front of them, she hoped that Dumbledore knew what he was doing.
AN
So long time no see...
Sorry guys, I started uni and did not have time and will to write. However, my first exams are over, so I should start making more time for this story.
Thank you to everybody who commented on the last chapter. I loved your suggestions.