ccxxvii. devils among us
Holding her breath, Elara reached out to slowly open the waiting door.
Harriet's room sat quiet and mildly dusty, smelling of broom polish, dried flowers, and faintly of old socks. With every inch the hinges creaked inward, Elara's nerves rose, and she had to force her feet forward. Her god-sister's possessions remained just as she'd left them: trunk open, her Atlas on the nightstand, a collection of letters building upon the desk.
Elara swallowed and stepped inside, the dead rabbit procured by Mably hanging from her gloved fist.
She didn't have to wait long before movement disturbed the otherwise quiet space. "Sssss…." The deep, displeased hissing preceded the heavy shift of an unseen body moving against the floorboards. Elara did her best not to flinch when the Horned Serpent revealed himself from under the bed, but it was difficult to stare down more than two meters of irritated snake when his master was present, let alone when she was not.
Of course, Harriet never saw anything wrong with it. She adored things and creatures lesser witches and wizards could barely bring themselves to consider at all. Harriet saw snakes, especially big magical ones like Livius, as people—whereas everyone else just saw a big magical snake. A big, magical, angry snake.
Livius raised himself, and Elara's heart skittered in her chest, unnerved by the reptile's blue-eyed stare as his violet tongue flicked in her direction. He was close enough for her to see the crack in his horn and the scattering of scars marring his scales.
"Harriet's not here," she said slowly, never quite sure how much he understood. The angry hissing didn't level off. "She will be. Soon."
His tail thrashed, curling about the bedpost, his spikes driving small divots into the antique wood. Elara's eye twitched.
She levered the rabbit up, swinging it once, then into the air as she'd seen Harriet do. The movement caught Livius' attention, and he struck, taking his prize down. Elara pointedly ignored the serpent swallowing his meal, moving instead to shift his body aside and tug the blanket he used for a nest out from under the bed. Using her wand, she vanished any mess, and sighed when she noted he'd gotten ahold of one of Harriet's cloaks and shredded the material.
Lovely.
Crouching, she kept a wary eye on Livius and poked through the wrinkled fabric. For several minutes, her searching turned up nothing. "Come on now. Where—?" Elara gasped when sharp little fangs closed onto her knuckles, grinding her teeth as she lifted her hand to find a skinny green snake dangling from it. "There you are, you little—." She chose not to voice her frustration further, plopping Kevin onto the bed. A quick search turned up Rick and Howard as well.
She retrieved the jar of mealworms from her robe pocket and cracked the lid, a noise of mild disgust escaping when she plucked one up and fed it to Howard, then to the others. The golems proved much less hostile than Livius when distracted by food, though the task was no less distasteful. Elara could stomach the worms more than the crickets, though. Something about the kicking legs rose her gorge.
Someone bumped their knuckles against the open door's jamb, and she looked around.
"Hello," Remus said, blinking at the sight of Livius now coiled partly below Harriet's desk, a noticeable lump in his middle. The Horned Serpent took note of him and hissed, drawing himself deeper into the shadowed recess. "How are the snakes doing?"
"As well as can be expected, I guess." She pinched another mealworm between her fingertips and gave it to Kevin, moving before he could make a second go for her fingers. She shooed Rick from the jar and fastened the lid again. "Livius is very upset."
"Yes, I can see." Remus glanced at the snake in question but had the good sense to stay at the threshold. "Do you need any help?"
"No, I'm done in here." Elara pushed the nest below the bed once more, though she took the trio off the bed and placed them on the heated rock on Harriet's nightstand. She straightened, then stripped off her right glove, observing the bleeding bite on her knuckle.
"That's the green one that does that?" Remus asked.
"Yes," Elara sighed. "Kevin." She said the name with a measure of loathing. Harriet may love the little monster, but Elara surely didn't. She retrieved her wand and muttered, "Episkey," healing the mark.
Overhead, something heavy hit the floor, then scooted across it. Male voices echoed in the stairwell and stiffened Elara's spine.
"They're rearranging furniture to make room for beds," Remus explained, his eyes rising to the ceiling. Muffled laughter followed another thump. "The Headmaster mentioned coming by to apply a few Extension Charms so the boys and the Weasleys can all stay comfortably in one of the bedrooms and what I think was a nursery before. The other room is being prepared for any agents who need to come to the house and stay overnight."
"Where are you staying, then?" There were three bedrooms on the fourth floor, which did not include the empty nursery or the dusty game room. The attic above that contained servants' quarters and storage, but Elara had locked them years ago on Cygnus' word that there were many Dark artifacts kept up there, out of sight.
Remus suddenly found the crown moulding quite fascinating and couldn't look away from it as he answered her. "In the master."
"Ah."
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and laced his hands together in front of himself. Elara chose not to comment further on the matter.
"I'm surprised Sirius didn't demand Hermione and I give up our bedrooms and come sleep in here with the snakes."
"Actually, Molly posed the question of whether or not one of you girls would be willing to double-up, but Sirius was adamant you each had your own space."
"Hmph." Elara grumbled under her breath as she slid her glove back on, not quite sure how to take that information. It was something, at least. That meant the third level was entirely theirs, unless someone decided to convert the office or the study. Elara swore if she found one of those disgusting boys in the washroom down here, they'd never hear the end of her anger. It'd been festering in her since the moment they stepped foot in her house.
Remus considered her, a slight frown tugging at the scars on his face. "It can be difficult to remember sometimes how young you and Hermione and Harriet are still. You don't know anything of the war."
The comment took her off guard. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You wouldn't understand how very uncommon a house like Grimmauld is, and what the people fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had to give up. In some cases, they had to leave behind their families, their lives. The Death Eaters were unrelenting and backed by You-Know-Who's incredible knowledge of spells and wards. Unless you had someone like Albus Dumbledore securing your home, there wasn't a single barrier they couldn't break through eventually, and even Professor Dumbledore's protections weren't infallible. That meant spending sleepless nights wide awake, terrified the Death Eaters would come. Defying You-Know-Who meant never knowing safety again." Remus tipped his head. "Would you begrudge the Order the usage of the house to help people who may very well end up sacrificing everything yet again to fight the Dark Lord?"
Elara didn't answer.
"The protections in Grimmauld are exceptional. I know you've read into the family wards a bit and understand how the decades have changed their power. Professor Dumbledore intends to add a Fidelius Charm on top of that when Harriet is returned to us."
"Then why can't he do that to some other place?" Elara snapped. "Why do they have to be here? I do not want them here, Remus."
"The Fidelius doesn't take to every property. It won't bind to the Burrow, nor to the Longbottom's house." Remus sighed. "Only ancestral homes will work."
Elara released one long, aggravated breath. Again, something thumped overhead. "I should have been consulted. I should have been told."
"Yes, you should have," Remus agreed. "I won't deny that. But it isn't as if you weren't told out of malice, dear. We've had a great deal on all our minds."
Yes—Dark Lords returning from the dead, murdered students, Harriet being arrested and abducted off a train platform. Still, Elara liked to think someone might have had the common sense to mention the impending horde about to descend upon her home.
Not a manner between them. None.
She squeezed her hands together, watching Livius as he slithered out from under the desk and made his way below the bed once more. At the end of the day, Grimmauld was naught but timbers and nails and tatty wallpaper; Elara had immense familial pride, but not so much so she would deny people safety against agents of the Dark Lord. She had a great deal of regard for those who were willing to fight Voldemort despite their fear and his overwhelming influence.
They could show more respect for the property, however, and stop banging the furniture about.
Elara took a final look about the room, wishing Harriet were there. Livius grew more agitated, louder hisses and rustling coming from the dark space below the bed frame, and so Elara quickly stepped back and joined Remus at the entrance. They exited into the corridor and shut the door tight behind them.
"Have you heard anything more about Harriet?" she asked him, hopeful.
"Not yet. But Professor Dumbledore will know more this evening when he goes to the Ministry with Mr. Dirigible."
Elara forced a breath through her nose, then out through her mouth, willing her blood pressure to cease climbing. This night marked the official passage of seventy-two hours since Harriet had been taken from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The Ministry would have no choice but to present Harriet to her barrister—Mr. Dirigible, who worked from the same discreet chambers as Mr. Piers, Elara's own solicitor.
Worries continued to rove through Elara's mind like physical ghosts—cold and pulsating, almost as sharp as a migraine. It had been one of the longest seventy-two hours of her life, and she was absolutely terrified that when it ended, the Ministry simply wouldn't bring Harriet forward. What would they do then? What could they do?
Besides burn the Ministry down, Elara thought with little humor. She should probably find it alarming she wasn't being entirely facetious. The desire pressed itself just behind her ear like soft, warm lips, muted words reminding her she knew the perfect spell to get the job done. She could do it, and she could do it so easily—.
Footsteps came down the steps, and Sirius' trainer-clad feet appeared first, followed by the rest of him. He chatted over his shoulder with the Weasley twins, who were coming down behind him. Elara immediately honed in on the box tucked under her father's arm.
Sirius opened his mouth just as Elara demanded, "What is that?"
He grunted, letting out the breath he'd taken. "Just some rubbish."
"What is it?"
She saw the aggravation he held back by tightening his jaw, but Sirius kept his tone level and calm as he said, "It's junk Snape left here before buggering off last summer."
Snape. No one had seen hide nor hair of the man in over a week, and if he had contacted the Headmaster, Dumbledore wasn't telling. Elara's feelings towards the Potions Master were mixed; without peer, Snape could be an intolerable bastard, an absolute son of a bitch, but Elara understood, for all his sharp comments and verbal barbs, Snape could be worse. She would never forget he'd saved their lives in the Aerie, and then again in the Forbidden Forest when he forced Wolfsbane down Remus' throat. So, despite her personal opinion of the wizard being less than amicable, he was quite capable, intelligent, and not without character.
If he failed to return, if he died, she knew Harriet would be devastated. Unlike Elara, Harriet actually liked Snape. She liked Snape in the same vein she liked snakes; the acrid, dour face and prickly behavior didn't stop Elara's god-sister from seeing something in the man others didn't understand. If he died after Harriet had begged him not to go back—.
Elara swallowed. "Give it to me," she instructed, holding her hands out for the box.
"What? It's going in the tip."
"You're not destroying Snape's possessions. Hand me the box." She would set it in Harriet's room. Whatever Snape's fate, she would leave it to her god-sister to decide what to do with his things.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not giving you Snivellus' leavings, who knows what nasty curses he has on the shite. Elara."
Guffaws rose from Fred and George, the latter sticking his hand into his trouser pocket to fish out a gold coin. "Told you," Fred snickered as he accepted the Galleon. "It'd be no time at all until they were at each other's throats. Didn't I tell you, Georgie?"
For some inexplicable reason, this was the final straw for Elara. What composure she'd managed to knit together this morning and don like a black veil fell to pieces—but she didn't cry. It was anger that came roaring out of her like steam through bellows, her face red and her hands shaking.
"Do you find this amusing?" she demanded, the twins falling silent in an instant. Elara didn't care. She strode closer and didn't stop until she had to shove Sirius aside to mount the stairs. "Do you think it's funny how we argue? It's all a good laugh? Oh, I'm sure it's all very hilarious, though I don't see the humor in it myself. So, tell me, just what about this situation do you think is worth mocking?"
Fred and George both stared at her in stunned silence, shaken by the sudden volume of Elara's usually level voice.
"Do you think it's funny to be in my house making your little bets about the Black family? Waiting for us to go at each other like it's a sport? Are you enjoying your stay? Damaging the furniture, keeping us up at night with your stupid experiments. The floor is not soundproof, you pair of fatuous, cackling half-wits! While we're at it, my half-sister's the one who gave the money for that rubbish, so please! Enjoy yourselves, scorching the walls and the floorboards while Harriet can't even come to her home because she's being held for a crime she didn't commit! She could very well be suffering undue cruelty at the hands of our twee Minister, but so long as you're having fun!"
Elara was shouting by now, heads popping over the railing to peer below and watch the spectacle. She had to stop. She had to pull back—but the rage continued to flow like blood from a punctured artery.
Fred and George looked properly shamed. "We didn't mean nothing by it—."
"Just a bit of banter to lighten the mood, is all—."
"Laugh!" Elara commanded, her lips pulled back in a snarl. She climbed the steps, her vision red. Footsteps rushed behind her. "I swear to God, it'll be the last time you do!"
The gas lamps flickered, the walls groaning. Elara wanted to reach out and grab them by the throats, let her fingers pull through the skin like they had when she'd held that rat out to Accipto—.
Sirius and Remus seized hold of her arms. "Down you come," Sirius ordered, the box of Snape's belongings abandoned on the landing. "There's a love."
They had to physically pick Elara up, hands braced about her bent arms, jarring her when her feet hit the floor again.
"Tea," Remus said in his best professor voice, the one that brooked no arguments. "And boys—return upstairs, if you would. Now."
The Weasleys rushed to comply, as did the ones up above, quickly moving away from the railing before they could be spotted. "Let's get a nice cuppa, yeah?" Sirius told Elara as he gently held her by the shoulders. Elara hadn't realized how strong her trembling had become until that moment, and she fought to still herself, her entire body feeling hot and cold in equal bursts. She stared at the empty stairs. "Elara, look at me."
She did so, her gaze swinging back to Sirius' face.
"It's going to be all right," he affirmed. "Okay?"
"Yes—okay."
"Let's go find you something to calm down with before you start thinning the red-headed brood. Cleaning up dust is bad enough without bloodstains…."
xXx
After Molly Weasley prepped a cup of tea and an afternoon nibble for Elara, it was decided Sirius needed to take her and Hermione out of the house for a bit of air while they waited for further news on Harriet. So, they grabbed hooded cloaks despite the pressing summer heat, tied back their hair, and headed out to Diagon Alley.
Neither Hermione nor Elara showed much interest in the district, though they were happy to get out and stretch their legs. The only store Hermione wanted to go into was Flourish and Blotts, and only to venture into the rarely visited section set aside for magical history and law. They passed the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and Elara suddenly wished to venture there, but they had Sirius with them, so she squashed the desire.
It was while they meandered along the more posh surroundings of Empiric Alley that they noticed the crowd. They sidled up behind it, and it was Hermione who first pointed out the banners before the noxious, hated voice magically enhanced to float through the cobbled square reached their ears.
"He's campaigning for reelection," Hermione muttered as they peered over the many shoulders of the witches and wizards in front of them, all eyes faceted on Gaunt. They kept their hoods firmly in place and turned their heads away from the Aurors patrolling the perimeter. Many Ministry officials wearing the gold badges given to Guardians of the Magical Right milled about the alley. "Traditionally, the campaigning season happens every three years and opens on Beltane, candidates chosen by Mabon, and closing with the official vote done by the Wizengamot on Yule, unless there's a full moon, in which case the vote is delayed by one day."
"Bigoted arsehole," Sirius commented without bothering to lower his voice. "I can see that Skeeter bint has a front-row seat there."
Elara turned her head to Hermione, lifting one brow, and Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged. "If she's writing about Gaunt, she's not haranguing me about Harriet. Our arrangement included her, so I warned Skeeter off even mentioning her name in any write-up she did. The bug has been sending me nasty letters about censorship ever since."
Elara could believe that. Skeeter struck her as the kind of person who'd not often heard no, and even then didn't obey. She returned her attention to the stage.
"And what of our children's safety?" asked a reporter from the Prophet, calling his question up to Gaunt. "With recent reported dangers at Hogwarts, what will your administration do to protect them?"
"My administration is highly concerned with the state of our most hallowed institution," Gaunt said with an air of solemn gravity. "In my new term, I will continue pushing for more regulations in safety to not only protect our children while they learn, but to protect our mores and daily values in a rapidly changing landscape of modern encroachment. I will continue serving our world to not only enact change, but to preserve the sanctity of the Wizarding world."
Hermione scoffed. "He wants to implement more changes at Hogwarts," she translated. "And stamp out Muggle influence. The same thing he's been doing for years."
"More like kill Muggles for no fucking reason." Sirius cleared his throat, realizing he was in mixed company. "I haven't been around for long, but it's nothing new from what I gather. He knows the buttons to press and the right words to say, and magical kind sings his praises."
Elara watched Gaunt through heavily lidded eyes as he flashed beatific smiles at the crowd from his podium, the wide banner scrolling behind him and his arrayed cabinet. Gaunt for Minister. Tradition, justice, perseverance. He stood there proud and unbothered as if he hadn't stalked and facilitated the kidnapping of a teenager, as if he weren't responsible for the slew of laws that pricked against them like growing thorns and encouraged the slow, bleeding genocide of the Muggleborn population. What was worse, the crowd cheered him on through the recitation of his foul, denigrating dogma, blind as only the most ignorant could be.
"What about the rumors of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return? What is your stance on that, Minister?"
"My stance is that it's ridiculous. The Dark Lord is not here anymore. We shouldn't be afraid of ghosts."
Elara watched them, the grinning, besotted witches who saw a handsome wizard and couldn't bring themselves to say a negative word, the wizards who clung to tradition and nodded along because the vaguest strains of change frightened them. The families who were frightened, the mothers who just wanted their children to be safe. It did not matter that they stared the Dark Lord in the eyes; these people would not listen, would notsee. They would choose what was familiar because it was better than admitting the monsters had never really left.
The monsters had been with them all along.
Elara folded her hands before herself, her spine straight, her eyes narrowed. A decision formed in her mind with all the certainty of an inviolable fact: the sky was blue, magic was real, and Marvolo Gaunt would not be Minister again.
If they will not see, she thought as the crowd cheered and Gaunt smiled. Then we will force them to look.
A/N: Elara's temper is on a hair-trigger. Welcome to the downward-spiral of Dark magic addiction.
Elara: "I learned a new spell, watch."
Elara: "Hippity hoppity, get off of my property."