ＴＷＥＮＴＹ－ＳＩＸ
𝕚𝕧𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟
𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟾, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟸
MOLLY WEASLEY HAD wanted to get an owl, or a toad, or any other manner of creature when she brought William into the menagerie. There had been a wide selection of owls, all with price tags far out of her budget, but she and Arthur had discussed all of that beforehand. It was their first child going to Hogwarts—going after the war. They'd get whatever he wanted, regardless of price. Arthur had been picking up longer hours at the Ministry, and since there was so much to be done post-war, the work had flooded.
The pay, however, was subpar.
There had been a beautiful brown owl, with bright golden eyes, and feathers nearly iridescent in the peaking light. He looked so much like the one her brother Gideon owned when she still had a family to speak of—when she had been Molly Prewett.
A phantom ache, like a missing limb, crept up Molly's spine as she scanned down the rows of animals lining the menagerie. She fought the urge to turn her head and search for Fabian, as if to say: "Look! A twin to match."
But, of course, there were just the rows of animals lining the walls, and Molly felt that phantom pain nearly splice her in two.
William had taken one look at the owl, and despite the crowds of students who had stopped to pet him, her boy had only said, "I'm not cleaning bird crap all day."
Molly felt the need to remind her boy that all the animals would leave droppings, and magic would keep the cage clean, but she didn't know if she could stomach staring at the bird all summer and winter. She was certain that even the sight of letters from her own son, delivered in his talons, would become a source of dread.
She had barely managed to move before she felt Arthur slide his hand up against hers and weave his fingers through her own. She had thought she managed to cover it, but nobody knew her like Arthur, and certainly, nobody knew her brother's owl. Arthur's steady grip kept her grounded, and she wondered how many years it would take until it no longer hurt.
In her distraction, she had failed to notice that William had stopped at the cage of rats. It wasn't even an animal on the letter, but Molly didn't have the heart to tell her son that when she saw the fascination in his eyes when he stared out through the glass.
"That one!" William had exclaimed, always the first yell out of all her children. Percy was always so quiet and Charlie had a soft-spoken voice, despite how he was always off getting into trouble. In fact, Molly had to practically drag him away from the nest of baby nagas that had nested their home in her backyard. There was not a beast or being in a 16-kilometre distance that her son would not immediately find. Then, there was Fred and George, who she always said must have been born with her own brothers' spirit, and only the most destructive part of it at that. If magic were not in her life, Molly would never be able to repair the walls that her boys destroyed.
The rat that William was pointing to was a skinny thing, mostly just fur and bone, its face so gaunt that Molly felt a well of pity. It was in the corner of the cage, all on its own and staring up at them with shining blue eyes. She thought it looked rather pitiable, sitting there, afraid of the others, wearing its sagging skin like a cloak.
"That one?" Molly had asked sceptically, her voice laced with confusion and concern. It was as if she couldn't believe her own ears and thought her son must have been pointing to the wrong rat—preferably the one running endlessly on the wheel in its cage. But no, he was fixated on the other one, the one with beady eyes that bored into her very soul as though to say 'please, save me.'
"Yes, that one!" William confirmed adamantly, tapping on the cage and directing his mother's attention to the frail and sickly rat before them. Its scraggly fur and sunken eyes only added to its desperate appearance, tugging at Molly's heartstrings.
"There are better ones," she said, but the little creature's head sank at her words. The familiar pang of pity ebbed at Molly once again.
"No. He's the one. He's ugly and I want him," William interjected with a wide grin, showing off his perfect, white teeth and crinkled eyes. Molly's lips thinned in disapproval as she turned to her husband, who only shrugged in response.
"That one it is, I suppose," Arthur said, mirth sparking in his eyes as Molly frowned at the rat. They took him home that night, bought him a cage, and Molly wrote a letter to Minerva, asking for leniency on the pet policy.
It all turned out for the best, William, or Bill as he later demanded they call him, had taken his pet everywhere. Scabbers he named him, in honour of the little thing having bitten him on the first day they had taken him home.
The rat was now fat, lazy, and slept all day. A year later, Bill gotten an owl, and Percy had become Scabber's new caretaker.
Molly's ears perked up at the sudden screeching coming from Percy's room. She hastily made her way down the hall, expecting that perhaps the little thing had fallen off his wheel again. The small rodent had curled itself into a tight ball, hugging its own tiny limbs and emitting soft, pitiful squeaks. It was a peculiar and almost human-like behavior for a small rodent, and it made Molly think back to her own childhood. She remembered crawling through the debris of her destroyed home, her brothers' worried voices echoing in her head through their Patronus messages—begging her to run and hide.
Molly's heart raced when she ignored the warning to stay put and rushed to the supposed safe house. As she approached, a chill crept up her spine at the sight of the eerily quiet house. The once pristine white walls were marred with splatters of blood, resembling a freshly marked macabre painting. Could still vividly recall the numbness that had settled in her arms when she wrapped them tightly around herself, clutching Fabian's wand to her chest for comfort as her bones lost shape her breast—the beating of her heart having eviscerated them.
Molly didn't know why the sight of a lone rat had invoked such a memory, but she had no words for it and no solutions. She had a house full of sleeping children who would wake and wreck chaos and Molly didn't want them to see her. She cast a quick mufflato on the cage, before slowly descending the creaky staircase of the Burrow. The wooden steps squeaked like little mice, scuttling about from under her weight, each one worn with years of use.
As she reached the bottom, the smell of fresh baked goods from earlier in the day still lingered in the air, but it no longer comforted her. She tiptoed past the living room, careful not to disturb her sleeping husband, and made her way to the kitchen where she could finally have a moment to herself.
As she entered the familiar warmth of the kitchen, she sank down onto a cushioned chair, her body craving the comfort and solace it always found in this room. She watched as the tea began to brew itself, enchanted by the steady movements and rituals that had become second nature to her. It had been years since Molly last looked at the family photo album, but it seemed to call out to her now, pulling her towards its familiar pages filled with moving images of her loved ones.
She couldn't help but linger on the photos of her mother, tracing her face with her finger as if trying to etch it into her memory forever. She had made a new one, her own little Fabian and Gideon, but Molly would never forget the last touch of her mother's hand, slipping from her grasp.
She saw little splatters of water drip onto her dad's beaming smile, his dark hair now drenched and muddled by the distorted reflections of her own tears. The kettle never whistled, merely pouring its scalding hot contents into the delicate porcelain cups, drowning out the haunting heartbeats of her unsteady pulse with the rhythmic clicking of a metal spoon against the smooth surface.
Molly sat up alone, bathed by lamplight, her eyes fixed on the clock that told her her children were safe and sound at home.
•───⋆˖⁺‧₊◯₊‧⁺˖⋆───•
𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹
Emma Vanity awoke to the moonlight filtering in through the curtains, casting a golden sheen on everything around her. As she slowly blinked open her eyes, disoriented and confused, it took several seconds for her to recognize the murky green walls that surrounded her on all four corners. She hadn't slept in her old rooms in years. Instead, she had chosen to sleep in Illara's old quarters, keeping them meticulously clean in the hopes that one day her sister would wake up and they could finally be reunited once again. She longed for the day when Illara would speak her name and Emma could feel her embrace finally return. The room held a lingering sense of emptiness, a reminder of the absence.
She let her fingers glide across the gooseflesh that covered her skin, making it feel rough and scaly. She couldn't bring herself to stand up, not when the memories swarmed around her like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. Curling into herself, she pulled her legs close to her body and rested her head against her knees. Her stomach churned and clenched, a painful reminder of what still lingered and awaited her.
With every ticking moment, Emma felt the weight of her promise to cure lycanthropy bearing down on her. She had taken on this task without truly comprehending the complex blend of science and magic that lay behind the curse. Now, as she struggled against the disease's relentless resistance, she wondered if it was somehow sentient enough to not wanted to be cured. It seemed to be evolving and adapting, but Emma lacked the expertise, resources, and funds to fully understand it.
But the promise was made, and she would give anything to finish it. Her only hope was to reach the vault, to obtain what Ivy had requested in exchange for her aid.
She had to live.
Emma slowly rose from the bed, fighting through the quaking and pain that raged in her belly. Her feet throbbed with every step, swollen and sore from carrying her growing child. She had slept fully clothed, too exhausted to change into her nightgown. Now, she faced her closet, surveying the colourful array of garments bought with her family's blood money. But none of them fit her growing body; all of her maternity clothes were currently stored in Illara's room. With a heavy heart, Emma's hands brushed over the delicate fabrics of gowns from a life that had long since abandoned her.
Her hand gently grazed the smooth, delicate fabric of her white gown, one she had always thought too conservative when her mother had it ordered from Paris. The intricate designs of embroidered vines and little purple embellished flowers added a touch of whimsy to the soft cotton material, which felt like silk under her fingertips. Despite its luxurious feel, the fabric always seemed to swallow her petite frame, obscuring her curves and causing her to lose all semblance of shape within its folds. She had despised how it failed to accentuate her ample cleavage and had angrily declared to her mother that she could not wear such a drab garment. She refused to be seen in something so plain and unflattering.
The memory of her mother's quiet composure as she endured the screams came flooding back to Emma, but now, Emma recalled the way her mom's eyes had lit up with excitement when the box was delivered. It was a gift that Emma had never fully appreciated or understood.
Emma reached out and slowly draped the dress over her arm, feeling its delicate fabric between her fingers. As she hugged it to her chest, she could feel her eyes welling up with tears. She held it to her heart, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as she thought of her beloved mother. Gratitude and love flooded through her, for this tangible reminder of her mother's generosity and affection. In that moment, Emma longed to hold her mother close once again, to tell her how much she cherished every little thing she had ever done for her.
Tears did not fall from her eyes, though the weight of grief still lingered in her chest. The echo of commotion downstairs had pulled her mind away from her sorrow and she hastily slipped on the dress, eager to make herself presentable. But as she reached for her wand, panic set in as she realized it was missing. Sometime during the chaotic night, someone must have taken it from her, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Her own growing anxiety threatened to overwhelm her as she tried to open the door, only to find it locked and further trapping her inside.
With a frustrated growl, she yanked at the handle, her nails digging into the smooth surface as she tried to crush it in her hand. She could feel the tension building in her muscles, the urge to flatten her palms against the wood and unleash her pent-up anger rising within her. She wasn't that sort of person and she didn't see how throwing a tantrum would aid her. Her hand slipped away from the brass metal knob, a chill escaping from the top of her spine until she feel it travelling down the length of each vertebra.
Emma was a talented witch, but wandless magic had never been her speciality. She could do the simple spells, little charms that could get her through basic life, but a single Alohomora would not suffice. She tried it anyway, yet the door did not budge. She walked back and forth through the length of her room, but it wasn't until the sun had fully peaked through her blinds that she heard the door finally unlock with a magical spell.
With that came a soft knock. It was so ridiculous that Emma laughed out loud, trying to picture a single Death Eater actually raising their fist to knock. She waited a moment before opening the door and revealing Antonin Dolohov, standing on the other side tapping his wand against his wrist with an impatient smile. "We nearly forgot about you."
Emma partly wished they had. She wondered if she'd mind starving to death in her own home and wished she had more self-preservation. "Did you actually knock?"
"Would you rather I blew a hole in the wall?" Dolohov had a remarkable ability to smile without an ounce of humour and it made a sliver of revulsion echo in the base of her gut.
"I'd rather I had my wand back," Emma's voice carried a sharp edge as she spoke, her hand clenched at her side where her wand should have been. She brushed past him in an attempt to avoid even a hairsbreath of physical contact.
"Afraid I neither care nor have it in my possession if I did," Dolohov replied, lips quirking once more. "Come now. Your blood is precious and I would rather not have to spill it. We are all friends here. Allies." Despite his words, Emma saw his fingers tighten around the base of his wand in threat. She had to remind herself that she had done nothing to elicit mistrust. She was a Slytherin—a Vanity—and while she had no way as simple as rolling up her sleeve to prove her supposed loyalty, she had no marks to prove otherwise.
Her dry lips trembled as she resisted the urge to touch her stomach, aching with the weight of the biggest proof of all. She trailed behind him down the familiar halls, once her haven and now filled with memories that sent chills down her spine. These walls had sheltered her throughout her childhood, but they also held secrets, the unspeakable acts her family had committed and her mother's complicity in them. Emma had witnessed it all with apathetic eyes, too young to fully understand or care. When she got older and started school, her own complicity began to feel like a declaration of long-standing guilt. Yet it wasn't until Leon was bitten that she had turned away from her father's many lessons.
She drew them back to her when she saw Bellatrix Lestrange, sitting in her father's chair as if she owned the mansion. She slipped into the role as she had the dress.
"Itty bitty Vanity," Bellatrix greeted, her teeth sharp and white, but her eyes were dark and bloodshot. Bellatrix had come about the manor a few times the year before last, but Emma had only peaked through her father's study as he spoke in hushed whispers that she now associated with him. "Is that how you will look for the trip?" Bellatrix tisked, her hostility clouding and permeating the room when Leon entered next. "A master must look the part when walking a dog, is that so?"
Bellatrix's bark erupted into a raucous laugh, aimed squarely at Leon. It was sharp and harsh, like the crack of a whip against the air. Emma reigned in the habit of defending him, closing it and encasing it in her throat. She was so close to snapping, waiting for her brother to defend himself and yet all she got was his reserved silence.
The vault was so close to her reach, but Emma had no plan of escape. She could alert the Ministry perhaps, but then what? They'd easily capture her brother in the mess and despite everything, she couldn't survive the thought of Leon in the same place as her father. She didn't know what to do.
What could possibly be locked away in the Vanity vault that drove him to such desperation? She didn't have an answer, and no one was willing to divulge their intentions.
As they finally escaped the mocking jeers and taunts of the Death Eaters, a wave of relief washed over her. The cool air that surrounded them as they entered Gringotts felt like sweet freedom after the stifling eternity—though as powerless as she felt, this was all fleeting. "I thought you said to sleep with my wand. Seems counterproductive to take from me," she hissed at Leon, her eyes darting nervously around the marble-lined hall filled with wealthy wizarding families.
Leon's posture and demeanour transformed into that of an upstanding pureblood as they waited their turn in line. His finely tailored suit enhanced his already impressive stature and gave him an air of effortless elegance. "I told you to not return. What happens to your possessions is someone else's whim, not mine. Move," he ordered, tapping her shoulder and forcing her to waddle closer to the front.
"I don't understand why you'd side with—" Emma broke off, uncertain as she approached the goblins who awaited her. Leon had given her the key and he knew the gravity of this moment—her chance to act, to potentially save herself and others.
She could behave suspiciously, alert the goblins of some sort of mistrust or trickery. The security at Gringotts was severe and she knew each of the regulations. They'd be held separately and questioned. She'd have the chance to tell someone, anyone, of the Death Eaters stationed in her home. As per wizarding law, the goblins would be obligated to alert the Ministry.
The goblins stood tall and proud, their sharp features and glinting gold teeth intimidating even in their stillness. She tried to push aside her own prejudices against non-wizard beings as she handed over the key, feeling the weight of it leave her palm and enter the grasp of the goblin's claw-like hand. The words these creatures uttered were spoken through teeth sharp enough to tear skin if they wanted to. Despite knowing better, she couldn't help the inherent mistrust, causing her to shut her mouth so tightly that her teeth clicked against one another.
The goblin's voice bounced off the stone walls and filled the space with a low thrum. He sat perched on a large, ornately carved wooden desk, his sharp features and green skin giving him an otherworldly look. She tried to relax her rigid posture as she felt her brother's intense gaze burning into the back of her head. "Name and intent," the goblin demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Emma Vanity," she replied, her voice shaking slightly. "Withdrawal."
The goblin's beady eyes narrowed as they flicked over to her brother. "And the guest?" He was writing something, but she couldn't make the words out from just the sweeping of the feather from between his hands.
"Brother. Leon Vanity," she announced confidently, watching the goblin now flip through the papers that were summoned at the utterance of her name. The pages rustled with a faint whisper, almost as if they were speaking their secrets only to the goblin's ears and they were saying that she was fucked.
The goblin's matted, dark green hair fell in tangled clumps around his pointed ears as he leaned forward, sneering at the two figures before him. "It appears," he drawled, sliding back over the key with a bored flick of his wrist, "that neither of you has immediate rights to the vault." His eyes narrowed in disinterest, glinting with malice as he relished in their disappointment.
"And who would that be?" The disgust in Leon's voice was clear, but Emma couldn't help the sense of betrayal that settled with curdling clarity. She wondered when her father had decided to disown her and what the last straw had been.
The goblin let out an exasperated sigh, his beady eyes flicking back and forth between the two figures in front of him. "Miss Illara Vanity. Now, is that all?" he asked, clearly bored. "Come back with the owner of the vault."
Leon's frustration began to boil over as he spoke again. "Illara Vanity is currently in a magically induced stasis," he explained, trying to keep his voice level despite his growing irritation. But the goblin seemed completely disinterested and unfazed by their predicament as if this was a common occurrence for him. He simply shrugged and began counting the coins in his hand, not bothered by their pleas for help.
"Then come back with a certificate of death and the rights will pass to next of kin," the goblin said, his tone cool and dismissive as he inclined his head towards the girl before him. "If that is all, I'd ask you to step aside."
Emma's nails dug into her brother's wrist, her eyes burning from humiliation and distress. "What now?"
Leon ripped his arm away from her touch, "Seems we were both disowned."
•───⋆˖⁺‧₊◯₊‧⁺˖⋆───•
𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟸, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹
The sunlit cafe hummed with the low murmur of voices and the scent of freshly baked croissants. Lidia's call for a meeting with Ivy Evans could only mean one thing. As the Wizengamot official, Lidia was known for her constant requests for mimosas and occasional orgies, but when it came to business, she was all business. Today, she sat in the crowded cafe wearing a sleek pantsuit that clung to her figure, blending in among the muggle patrons. In one hand, she held a book disguised as Ernest Hemingway, but Ivy could tell there was some sort of magical glamour at play. The aroma of coffee wafted from her other hand, a drink that she sipped delicately as she waited for Ivy's arrival.
Lidia expertly blended into her surroundings, her appearance constantly changing with the help of one of the four polyjuice glamours. In this current form, she was a Hispanic woman with a mane of tightly coiled black hair, pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Ivy had grown accustomed to seeing Lidia in various disguises, as being seen out in public together was not deemed safe due to Ivy's reputation as a Hogwarts expelled student and a target for the opposing side.
She had always been a gorgeous person, never more so than now with those curly strands peeking out and cupping the sharp edges of her face. Her skin was light, but had a tinge of brown that went well with the bright chestnut eyes that darted up from her book to spot Ivy walking through the doors. The heavy wooden doors swung shut behind Ivy, their loud thud echoing throughout the room. She walked with purpose, taking a seat across from the woman and causing the chair to scrape loudly against the ground.
"You're looking stunning, as per usual," Lidia greeted, shutting the book with a loud clap of pages before she rested it near her empty cup.
"Don't flirt. I'm still not interested in a ménage à trois, considering." Ivy's voice held a sharp edge as she spoke, her eyes rolling in exasperation. With a graceful movement, she leaned forward to slip off her coat, revealing the smooth and delicate fabric of her silk top. The material caressed her bare arms as she draped the coat over the back of a nearby chair.
Lidia's lips curved into a sly smile, and her narrowed eyes held a hint of calculated mischief. She relaxed into her seat, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if in dare.
"Well, my husband is dead, so that would be a very gross activity for us anyway," Lidia warned, her tone serious despite the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Ivy bit her bottom lip, her nose wrinkling as a small smile began to force its way through. "Don't laugh."
Ivy couldn't contain it any longer and a small laugh escaped through her fingers, covering her mouth like the petals of a flower.
Lidia's lips quivered with restrained amusement as she spoke. "It's really not funny," she said, fighting to keep a straight face while her smile grew wider. "He's dead. This isn't a joke."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was rude of me. Very insensitive," Ivy said, turning her head with her palm still flat over her mouth. Her shoulder shook in very poorly concealed laughter.
At the next peal of laughter, the waiter appeared with swift steps, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. He greeted Lidia with a warm smile as he refilled her water, his long limbs gracefully moving to complete the task. His skin was a pale canvas dotted with an abundance of freckles that mirrored the rich hue of his ruddy brown hair. His features were sharp yet friendly, and his eyes sparkled with genuine hospitality as he asked, "Can I get you anything else?"
Ivy's voice cut through the air like a dull knife, brushing against whetstone. "Get me a vodka martini." The cafe was bathed in decadent lights, each one twinkling like a star. Lush green plants framed the back wall, creating a natural border and adding to the elegance of the tap water. Customers chattered and clinked glasses, creating a lively hum that made her nauseous. Ivy leaned back in her chair, breathing in the differing scents.
Lidia's perfectly arched eyebrow rose in disapproval as she glanced at the clock. "Darling, it's only 8 in the morning," she chided.
"And a piece of toast," Ivy added, the waiter let out a chuckle, but quickly wrote it down.
"Just another espresso for me," Lidia said with a contented smile, sinking back into her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.
The rich aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans filled the air, mingling with the wafting scents of a hearty breakfast spread. Hints of tangy spices and sweet pastries entwined in the mix, creating a heady and intoxicating scent that could almost mask the lingering pain from yet another nightly attack. Ivy took a deep breath, savouring the comforting smells as she tried to push away the ache in her body.
The delicate skin on her neck was marred with lacerations, every swallow feeling like a battle to force saliva down her constricted throat. She pushed the thought away as a glass appeared before her, its contents resembling clear water. With a forced and unnatural smile, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. The taste of alcohol flooded her mouth, tinged with subtle notes of fizz, and it weighed heavily in her stomach like lead. Across from her sat a steaming cup, miniature in size but ornately decorated, tempting her with its rich bitterness.
"Sorry about Cokesworth, for whatever that's worth," Lidia said casually, and sympathy was not a good look on her. Ivy chose to ignore the tug that yanked on her heart, making it sink into her stomach and lurch. She wondered if her mother could see it all. Hogwarts proved an afterlife existed, and Ivy could only imagine how disappointed her family was from the beyond.
She licked her lips, feeling the dryness of them as she forced it all down. She smiled, but the weight of the expression nearly made it all sink away. "I am taking precautions to prevent another..." She cut off, unable to find the words. Massacre, revenge killing, and whatever else it may be.
"I assume your side project is ongoing," Lidia said cautiously, delicately swirling her espresso before bringing it to her lips.
"What do you really want, Lidia?" Ivy's fingers instinctively reached up to twist a strand of hair around them. The hem of her blouse was crumpled in her other hand as she fidgeted with it. Beneath the table, her leg bounced up and down, but she quickly caught herself and stilled her movement. Picking up her martini with forcibly steady hands, she took a quick sip to calm herself before setting it back down on the table.
"You know what I want. I assume you've had enough time with him. Hand over the escapee as you agreed to do," Lidia's words dripped with chilly calculation, her tone devoid of any emotion as she spoke. Ivy felt herself pause, as if Lidia's words had physically halted her thoughts in their tracks. But Ivy was always prepared, always thinking ahead. It was almost as if Lidia could read her mind, because at that moment, she leaned forward and cast a Muffliato charm, muffling all sound between them. Her voice took on a velvety smoothness, oozing with false sincerity. The words became almost hypnotic as they spilt from her lips. "It benefits both of us."
Ivy took a deep breath, the scent of alcohol and olives filling her nostrils as she downed the martini. She leaned in closer to Lidia, resting her elbows on the smooth wood table. Her eyes searched for a hint of doubt on Lidia's face before she spoke, "He's innocent," she said, her voice low and filled with conviction. "Are you truly okay with that?"
Lidia's expression became almost unkempt, but it vanished in an instant as she took hold of Ivy's hand, preventing her from setting down the empty glass. "It doesn't matter if he is or isn't. It's all about perception. The world thinks him guilty and locking him away will guarantee my seat in the Wizengamot. With that power, I can make certain that there will never be another Sirius Black again. And you can get whatever you desire in the Department of Mysteries."
Ivy didn't look away, but she placed her palm onto the back of Lidia's with a hollow expression, vacant of conviction. "I never agreed to your terms. I don't own Sirius Black. I don't even know where he is."
"I never saw you as a liar," Lidia's soothing tone was swiftly snuffed out, turning sharp and accusatory as she spoke, her fingers tightening around Ivy's hand. The redhead sat there numb, unable to even feel the grip of Lidia's fingers.
"I don't care about your pretentious English politicking," Ivy said, forcefully removing Lidia's hand from her own. Her voice was steely and determined, the kind that brooked no argument. "If I want to get into the Department of Mysteries, do you think I'd ever need you? I will find my own way and I won't disrupt my own values to do it."
Lidia's usually composed demeanour shattered as she snapped back, her sharp words laced with anger and frustration. "And when exactly did you develop any values?"
"They may not be of many, but the ones that are there are rigid," Ivy said carefully, leaning back in her chair. "I did not break him out just to hand him over on a whim. I am not a slaver or a human traffiker. Find a way to Rook's seat without further damaging a single man's life. Especially one who has suffered enough. You say you will change things in the Ministry. You say that you will make certain another Sirius Black does not arise." Ivy stood now, towering over Lidia as she spoke. "Why don't you start with Sirius Black? "
"I am a much better friend than an enemy," Lidia declared, her eyes fixed on Ivy as she carefully dragged the chair back across the floor. She stepped beside it with a casual grace, lazily placing it back under the table.
Ivy couldn't help but notice the deep set of Lidia's eyes, almost hidden by heavy lids. Underneath her irritation, Ivy thought she caught a hint of hurt in Lidia's expression. Breaking what was between them was not ideal, especially since she was focusing her attention on a disguise instead of Lidia's real face. "It doesn't have to be one or the other. Will you truly let your pride ruin the trust we have built?"
Lidia stood tall and regal, her shoulders squared and her eyes fixed on Ivy. "You have openly confessed to aiding and abetting a known murderer. As a member of the Ministry, my first loyalty is to uphold the law and protect our citizens."
Ivy let out a derisive snort, tilting her head sideways in disbelief. "I understand your desire for power in a system that wants to chisel you out, but is this the way?"
"Think it over," Lidia said with a deep frown etched across her features. "If you don't turn him over, your name will be plastered in a future edition of the Daily Profit, right next to his."
Ivy's cheeks flushed with anger as she bit down hard on her tongue, desperately trying to hold back the heated words that wanted to escape her lips. Her nose scrunched up in frustration and her nostrils flared with every breath. She nervously licked her dry, cracked lips, the taste of bitterness lingering on her tongue. Without saying a word, Ivy turned away from Lidia and quickened her pace as she made her way out of the diner.
He never even brought my toast, she realized as she got further from the diner.
•───⋆˖⁺‧₊◯₊‧⁺˖⋆───•
𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟸, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹
Remus Lupin was hyperaware of the full moon that was to rise in a few short hours. There was always a dread before every night he was to transform. It should have made a difference that he had been doing this since he was a boy—that he was used to it—but the isolation that crept in was always the same. He awoke that morning, surrounded by unfamiliar walls that he had yet to become used to.
The sprawling rooms of Ivy Evans' tower were filled with charms and enchantments, evident in the soft glow that emanated from every nook and cranny. As he lay paralyzed in a bed that was almost too comfortable to be his own, dusters hovered and darted about, effortlessly wiping away stray bits of debris that had accumulated over time. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender and jasmine, making him feel almost drugged. He stood up, trying not to disturb the sheets as he stretched his limbs, feeling them pop and crack. The moon was still below the horizon, but he knew its presence was nigh.
He should be used to it by now, yet every transformation always felt like a brand new horrible night.
A sinking sensation of dread settled in his stomach, causing him to hunch over and clasp his head in his hands. His heart raced as he waited for the inevitable crash that would shatter the fragile peace. And Remus thought he might be a profit like the great Cassandra of Troy, when the walls shook.
Just as he feared, a deafening boom reverberated through the room, shaking it with such force that the lamps swayed and threatened to topple over. All at once, the enchantments that brought the room to life, abruptly ceased. The faux lighting and the dusters all clattered to the ground like ghostly apparitions by the time Remus stood.
He bolted towards the doorway, his heart racing with adrenaline as he braced for another tremor to rock the floor beneath him. The very wood felt like it was alive, twisting and shifting like fault lines in an earthquake. Pushing through the door, he scanned his surroundings for any sign of danger—dark wizards, magical beasts, anything that could explain the chaos. But all he saw was the never-ending spiral of the tower's hallway on either side of him. He steadied himself against the quivering walls as he struggled to recall the layout of the spiralling tower. The vibrations only intensified his confusion, making it difficult to concentrate and find his bearings.
Then, as if he were trapped in a maze, the halls shifted, moving and rotating in such a way that Remus thought he was losing his mind or his vision.
He could hear the sound of his own ragged breaths echoing off the cool, polished marble beneath his frantic footsteps. The towering walls, etched with many ancient runes, seemed to stretch endlessly on either side as he sprinted down the expansive hallway of the grand structure. The air was thick with an oppressive sense of foreboding, as if the very walls were closing in on him. Every turn brought a new corridor, each one identical to the last, making Remus question his own sanity or if he had perhaps stumbled into a parallel dimension.
The winding corridor narrowed as he neared the heart of the tower, and finally, with a burst of energy, he emerged into the open space, revealing the vast atrium. A grand wrought-iron railing encircled the elevated platform he stood on, offering a breathtaking view of the bustling ground floor below. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned against the sturdy railing, trying to steady himself against the vertigo-inducing height and the palpable vibrations emanating from the building.
The ground floor, once illuminated by hundreds of flickering candles atop a grand pillar, now stood dark and empty. The stone pillar loomed over the space like a forgotten monument, its surface cold and lifeless. The once clear pool, filled with vibrant stained glass fish, enchanted to swim with magical grace, now lay still and devoid of any shimmer or movement. The absence of the enchantment was palpable, as if the magic had been hoovered out. Gone were the glowing white lights that had floated through the air like stardust plucked from the sky, leaving the tower shrouded in a dim haze. But with a snap of her fingers, Ivy summoned them back to life, their tiny bodies glimmering like fireflies suspended in mid-air.
"I forgot you were here," Ivy's voice drifted up from below, her words echoing and bouncing off the walls.
"Are we under attack?" Remus quickly shot back and was grateful the distance was far enough that he missed the arrogant irritation that likely crossed her features. His heart was still beating madly with a sick and almost salty taste, shooting up his windpipe.
The enchantments that once lit up the atrium with colours and light, had significantly dimmed, even with her attempts to revive them. The smell that had wafted through the ground floor, made to put the occupants into a state of calm and relaxation, became mechanical—like burning steel. Remus circled the vast iron railing, placing his foot upon the spiralling staircase that led all the way down. Once, this staircase had been enchanted to transport its occupant down in a matter of seconds, but now it lay dormant, rendering Remus to make the journey on foot.
As soon as his bare feet touched the ground, Remus felt a shiver run through his body. The cool press of the marble floor shot up through his nerves, awakening every sense in his body and making him wish he remembered his slippers.
"What's your plan?" Ivy asked from her place, knelt down on the cool marble, redrawing runes in haphazard and scattered disregard. Her bare knees were marked with ink, matching the dust that clung to her feet.
"Huh?" Remus asked in return, baffled.
Her head was still bowed down, her arms moving tirelessly as she worked on the intricate runes on the ground. "For the full moon," Ivy finally responded, her voice low and focused as she flapped her hand in the direction of the second-floor atrium. "And besides the doggy door on the second floor, this place isn't exactly pet-coded."
"Why is there a dog door?" Remus followed her gesture, and in his brief distraction, he failed to notice that her runes had expanded from her circle. Before he could comment, she slapped his calf, her line unbreaking as she continued the various runes atop the ground where his foot had been. Caught off guard, he stumbled back and nearly tripped over his own feet. The sudden movement caused a sharp pain in his leg, reminding him of the injury he sustained during the last full moon.
"Demiguise," she said without pause, her arm arched to form the perfect circle.
"What? I haven't seen a Demiguise," Remus said.
Ivy let out a deep, incredulous sigh that seemed to deflate her entire body. "You don't say," she said with a hint of sarcasm lacing her voice.
"Why do you have Demiguise?" Remus retorted, his cheeks flushing despite his attempts to brush it off.
"He won't go away and I got tired of trying to find an invisible creature." Finally, Ivy sat back on her heels, her gaze fixed on him with an eerie stillness that sent shivers down his spine. Her hair was wild and tousled, framing her heart-shaped face in a tangle of curls. The emerald green of her eyes was still striking, but they were rimmed with black and red, hinting at sleepless nights. "My question?"
"I have the full moon covered. I've been doing this for most of my life," Remus finally retorted, absently searching the floor, realizing that even the clear glass that once displayed magical creatures, swimming beneath his feet, were gone. He wasn't certain what sort of enchantment created them, but the tower seemed lifeless without it. "Now, how about my question? Are we under attack?"
"Of a sort," Ivy answered with a vague shrug. "Did the enchantments upstairs break?"
"The building shook," Remus snapped with an incredulous scoff. "Where have you been?"
For the last three weeks, Ivy hadn't once appeared in the tower, leaving Remus and Sirius to think she had finally pissed off enough of humanity and they all banded together to take her out. Their anxiety about leaving the tower was compounded by Sirius' status as a wanted criminal, not wanting to risk losing their only safe haven if the tower just disappeared the moment they opened the doors.
"Russia. Where do you usually go for a full moon?" Ivy asked, and his features twisted in suspicion.
"Why do you want to know?" Remus felt like a lab specimen, awaiting the next invasive prick. He wondered if Ivy knew—and if she did, she likely didn't give two shites—that her attention felt so encroaching.
Her lips curved into a charming smile, but the unease in his eyes only deepened. "Because I can help you," she answered, her voice laced with confidence and hidden intentions.
"Why would you do that?"
She returned to tracing intricate runes on the ground, her fingers moving with practised precision. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a thoughtful shrug, as if contemplating something far beyond their current conversation. "If you don't want my help, just say that."
"I don't want your help," he barked, his eyes flashing with anger.
"Well, you shall have it," Ivy replied, now standing, though her attempts to rise were met with her body's resistance, her legs nearly buckling from beneath her weight. If he wasn't so certain she'd immediately turn into a hostile beast the moment he approached, he might have helped her.
"I go to the Forbidden Forest during full moons," Remus finally admitted through gritted teeth. "Happy?"
Her response came in a quiet succession of words, her fingers lightly tracing the crease in her brow as she spoke. A smudge of black chalk stained her skin as she absentmindedly rubbed against it. "Just to clarify," she said, her eyes narrowed in bemusement. "In order to protect humanity from yourself, you have chosen to reside in the very forest that is just a stone's throw away from a school?" The thought seemed absurd, almost comical, but the seriousness of the situation overshadowed any hint of humour.
From him anyway, since he was acutely aware of a small smile peeping through her frown.
"I didn't realise I had opened the board to your notes." As he spoke, Remus felt his temper rising. His jaw clenched and he realized that Sirius was nowhere to be found. While it wasn't unusual for him to go off on his own, it was odd that he hadn't come down to ask about the tower vibrating like an earthquake had struck it.
"No, go to your little school. It's a splendid idea—just like the shrieking shack," she retorted with a biting edge to her voice. She smoothed out the folds of her bonnet, which hung loosely over her shoulder like a delicate flower petal.
"That was Dumbledore's idea," Remus reminded her.
"I think we have long since proved that Albus Dumbledore is not infallible," she said with a swift smile, but there was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "You are welcome to use the box."
"The what?" Remus asked as Ivy stepped over her carefully drawn runes, her steps deliberate and graceful as she made her way towards the centrepiece of the garden: a magnificent fountain of greenery that used to be alive from beneath the enchanted ceiling, lit with sunlight or stars. Now, it appeared absent of vitality, wilting from the lack of magical light.
"The box—I made it to hold magical creatures before I realised I hate taking care of things," she answered, snapping her fingers and weaving them about in a flourish of magic. "Trademark Newt Scamander."
"I don't want to use anything you made," Remus replied harshly, acutely aware he was being a prick, but she just implied he was a magical creature.
"I had to dismantle all my wards," she finally said softly, her lips downturned. "To move locations."
It would always be jarring to talk to someone who continuously changed topics in no linear order, but Remus quickly shook off his irritation.
"Move locations?"
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," she quipped, earning a disbelieving look from him. "I catch the occasional film, you know."
"And you moved the tower without telling anyone? How do you even do that? It's a tower."
Her sneering smile had a sharp edge, like the glint of a blade in the sunlight. "I didn't realise I had opened the board to your notes," she said, her words laced with mockery. "It was technically unplotted anyway. I'd explain the maths, but something tells me you wouldn't care."
But he wasn't put off by her insults. He replied calmly, carefully measuring his words. "You are very much incorrect. It's your voice that grates at me."
"Mates, this tower just trapped me in the loo!" Sirius exclaimed, his leather shoes tapping against the polished marble flooring as he quickly descended the last step of the spiralling stairs to join them. "What's the deal with this negative energy?"
"She's a secretive, selfish arse," Remus said at the same time Ivy commented, "He's an ungrateful, freeloading, wolf."
"I see," Sirius said after a brief hesitation. "I think I heard you say you changed our location. I was eavesdropping."
"I know," Ivy responded sharply, her fingers moving quickly as she continued her enchantment with ease, despite the presence of the two men. Remus stumbled slightly, his eyes frantically scanning the floor to avoid the snaking runes that seemed to come alive under Ivy's command. Each black line glimmered with shimmering particles that slithered and writhed around the room like crawling creatures. Gradually, the lines began to sink deeper into the cool marble flooring, disappearing into the surface like a worm burrowing into soft soil.
"Judging by the hoarding outside, I assume we are now in France," Sirius paused, lips pursing in contemplation. "Where have you been?" Sirius asked.
"Russia," she clapped her hands together, but the moment her palms kissed, they froze against one another. The motion was instinctual—Remus watched the frustration slip over her veneer. It was an interesting break of smug arrogance, immediately thwarted by an irritation that looked nearly forlorn and sad.
"What have you learned regarding your mistake—" Sirius's lips quirked up when he immediately was on the short end of her scowl, yet he continued as if he hadn't seen it. "—in cursing."
"Go back to prison, please. I care not," she retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. Remus observed Sirius's fond chuckle at her sharp retort. "Either way, I see we have yet to have a conversation about boundaries. I will take full responsibility for that. So let's rectify that now." She pulled out a notepad, the sound of her pen scratching rapidly against the paper filling the tense air. Remus strained to catch a glimpse of her writing, but could only make out quick movements and illegible scrawls. "Anytime you have questions, I want you to know the answer to them is always this: None. Of. Your. Business. Thank you."
"Enlightening," Sirius's mocking smile returned as he quipped. "As always, Ivy-divy."
She pauses, her pen digging into the page with such force that Remus could almost hear it stabbing against her palm. The ink flowed freely from the tip, creating a dark blotch on the pristine white paper. Remus stepped back and rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension building in his head. "Sirius, don't antagonize her."
Sirius scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. "That's impossible," he retorts. "Oxygen antagonizes her. She exists in a state of perpetual antagonization."
Ivy carefully placed her leather-bound book on the stonework, her delicate fingers brushing over the design on the cover. Remus watched in reluctant fascination as she raised her right hand and began performing a series of complicated hand motions, her fingers swerving and weaving in precise gesticulations. As she continued, faint runes seeped out from the walls, swirling and slithering before becoming fully visible once again.
"Okay. Real talk," Ivy said, gracefully jumping down from the edge of the fountain. Her feet landed softly on the ground, causing her long skirt to flutter around her legs. She hugged herself tightly, her jumper riding up slightly on her forearms. "Since I am technically harbouring you both, I think it's time you earn your keep." Her voice was firm yet kind, her words accompanied by a gentle smile that softened her features and made his eyes immediately narrow.
Remus wouldn't trust so much as a glass of water if she offered it.
"Actually, I've been meaning to mention some ideas I have about Pettigrew," Sirius began eagerly, but Ivy silenced him with a swift wave of her hand.
"I don't care about your ideas," she said dismissively, shrugging her shoulders.
"Rude. I have feelings, Miss Evans," Sirius protested with a playful smirk.
"Yes. Entirely too many," Ivy retorted with another sneer. "Mr Lupin." Remus had been content with simply slipping back to his room and curling up in a cosy pullover to go back to sleep, but Ivy's sharp voice caught him like a hook. "I don't much care where you do your transformation, but when you do, I'd like to accompany you."
Remus's response came in a sharp bark, his body stiffening with tension. "Absolutely not," he declared, his voice brooking no argument.
The woman standing before him raised her hands in a placating gesture, her mouth twisting into a rueful smile. "My apologies, I misspoke as if you had a say in the matter," she murmured apologetically. "I will be accompanying you."
A look of unease tightened Remus's features, causing his usually calm expression to contort. "I can't control myself during the..." His voice trailed off, unable to utter the words. The thought alone sent a chill down his spine and made his stomach twist with dread, like a knot tightening with every passing second.
With a deadpan tone laced with confidence, she retorted, "I do know what a werewolf is, Lupin."
"You will get hurt." Lupin insisted, his voice gravely serious.
"I am an Animagus," she reminded him, casting one fleeting glance towards Sirius. "And I assume that you're coming too. Friends and all that."
Sirius's lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "Did you just imply that we are all friends?"
"No," Remus bit out, his shoulders shivering with distaste. "Absolutely not. I will do it alone."
"Mate, I used to be there all the time. For old time's sake?" Sirius asked, his voice hushed and cautious. But even as he spoke, a sharp pang of pain pierced Remus' chest at the memories flooding back.
"Things change. I've changed," Remus replied bitterly, turning away and storming off. With the enchantments now fully restored, his first step on the spiralling staircase propelled him through each floor in mere seconds.
The walls seemed to hum with intensity around him as he stood upon unsteady legs, gazing out at the charmed ceiling overhead that Ivy had enchanted to represent the clearest full moon he had ever seen.
•───⋆˖⁺‧₊◯₊‧⁺˖⋆───•
𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟸, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹
"What a drama queen," Ivy's scathing words cut through the air, causing Sirius to pause in his tracks, his expression holding onto light worry.
"I should go talk to him," Sirius announced, motioning to follow him. "Also, the quote is 'Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.'"
"Fuck off."
The enchanted night sky above was peppered with stars, twinkling like diamonds against the velvet black of the sky, and a certain smell hung in the air that reminded him of home. A mixture of rubbish and rotting food and clean rain. It was a comforting scent, nostalgic even, though it shouldn't be. He suspected Ivy wasn't nearly done at recreating the many enchantments and charms she had previously dismantled, since much of the magic remained drained and vacant. Also, before, he would always get the evocative scent of Marlene's perfume and the Potter estate—not the Black mansion.
Sirius's boots were centimetres from the first step, ready to follow Remus through the labyrinth of corridors on the second floor. But he stopped, his brows furrowing in contemplation. "You obviously are after werewolf droppings, right?"
He twisted his body to catch a glimpse of Ivy, who was finally sitting and resting against the surround that hugged the edge of the basin. Her fingers massaged her feet, and he noted they were covered in chalk dust and dirt, causing his nose to wrinkle in distaste. She looked oddly vulnerable in the trick of the moonlight, cast from overhead. Then, a spark of rage pierced his chest as he noted it was a full moon above.
"Get rid of it," Sirius commanded with a sharp tone, jabbing his finger towards the conjured moon. Ivy looked up, her vulnerable facade vanishing as quickly as the ripples in the fountain behind her.
"Ugh. See what I mean? Too many feelings," she softly whispered, staring up at the moon. "It's a work of art. No need to fear a projection."
"You're not the one who has to turn into a monster every month."
"You've never seen me on my period," she answered back swiftly, and he had to physically bite back the need to smile at her quip.
You're angry, Sirius. Be strong, he reminded himself.
"You're exhausting." Her voice was strained, and her hand shook as she lifted it to the sky. She mimicked the motion of a clock, the seconds ticking away in rapid succession. The peppered stars above rained down like snow that dissolved before ever reaching the ground, leaving behind the soft cloudy sky in its wake, the sun hidden beneath a blanket of grey. The cool air brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh rain.
He straighted, one hand tightly gripping the metal railing of the steps, the other fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "You really should sit down and listen to my ideas," he finally said, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them.
She let out a breathy sigh, dipping her hand into the fountain's water, and swirling it slowly about. For a moment, he thought she was actually relaxing, but then he noted the dirt that clung to her feet had dissolved away, cleaning itself. It gave him a flashback to the first day she rescued him, cluing him into what spell she used to strip away the grime from the jails of Azkaban.
"Okay," she conceded, not looking his way as he approached her, deciding Remus could use a few minutes to cool down. Sirius remembered quite well how much Remus Lupin enjoyed his space. He cautiously sat next to her, his arse sinking into the moss that covered the surround—which still magically slithered away for her weight, yet not for his.
"Time Turner," he suggested, breaking the ice with a smile. Near the fountain, the air was filled with the clean scent of water and wet stone, mixed with the faint hint of something floral and perhaps magical.
Ivy let out a snorting chuckle, moving her hands from beneath the water where he watched the stained glass fish, now dead and lifeless, bounce back to life. Or as alive as a magical object could be. There was a soft smile on her features as the smallest of them, barely the size of a goldfish, flitted between her fingers. Her laughter sounded like a symphony, her movements fluid and graceful as she played with the delicate creatures in the water, infusing them with life and magic.
She released a soft sigh, her lips forming the word "right" almost inaudibly.
"Could zip right on back to that night and witness it ourselves." As he spoke, his grin widened but he struggled to keep up a serious façade when she sharply turned her striking emerald eyes back to meet his gaze.
Ivy's fingers trailed through the water, creating waves that spread out in all directions. "That night. Two years. So putting aside that I actually don't have a Time Turner in my pocket, we'd have to wait around for two years, unseen for time to catch up." She pulled her hand back and watched as the droplets fell from her fingertips, creating tiny ripples in the water below.
"How do you not have a Time Turner by now? I saw a Demiguise while I was a taking a shite," Sirius exclaimed with a laugh, disbelief written all over his face. Despite her best efforts, the corners of her mouth curved upward in response.
"Unfortunately," As she spoke, her voice took on a sharp edge, the kind she only used when she was about to assign blame. Sirius couldn't help but feel defensive, wondering what he could have possibly done wrong now. "My contact into the Department of Mysteries has sadly fallen apart."
Sirius shifted uncomfortably under her accusing gaze. "Why are you looking at me like this is my doing?" he asked defensively.
She exhaled a heavy sigh and shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "What are your real ideas?"
He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Divination?" he suggested with a playful tone.
She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Lovely, the one magical practise I could not master," she replied with a wry smile.
"One? You are so very humble, Miss Evans," he said with a sarcastic snort, leaning back against his palms, letting them sink into the soft moss. "I have a cousin—"
"Racist and a bigot?"
Sirius shrugs, noting the little details she left out from the conjured sky above. The clouds seemed haphazardly drawn, unfinished brushstrokes giving away her usual precision. He stole glances at her from his peripheral, a flush of concern rising in his chest. After all, Ivy was very likely the greatest magician he had ever met, so this lazily done spellwork was definitely unlike her.
Sirius took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell of his old mansion. His nostrils flared as he noticed the undertones of burning wallpaper, reminding him of his portrait that had been burned away on the family tree. "Of a sort. He had this compass," Sirius said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Said it could track your heart's desire."
Ivy's eyes widened with interest, like a wilting flower suddenly finding the sun. "Did you ever see it?" she asked eagerly, leaning forward.
"He was a right prat," Sirius reminded Ivy, raising his hand to the water's surface. But before his fingers could touch the water, she grabbed his wrist in a tight grip.
"They don't like strangers," she warned him, releasing her hold.
"Seems like a design flaw," he quipped.
"I don't like strangers either," Ivy huffed impatiently, pushing her fiery red curls out of her face. The silence stretched on as Sirius watched her fidget and shift, itching to get back on topic.
"I did see it," Sirius finally said, rubbing the bristling chin with a discontented sigh as he moved his hand away from the magic pool of apparently dangerous fish. "Golden thing with an etching of a quiver and a moon."
"I see," she said, and there was just enough nonchalance in her voice to make him cast a suspicious eye at the vastness of her face. Her hands were stiff at her side, revealing more, perhaps, than either her words or her expression. Her hands gave everything away, including the fact that she only used one of them for magic.
"Share with the classroom," Sirius murmured, keeping his voice light when he noticed her clenched fists and the crescent moon shapes she had made with her nails on her palms.
"Where is it? The compass?" Ivy finally turned her head to meet his inquisitive side eye, and though it allowed him full access to her pupils, it also forced him to truly notice the sallow gaps of her face.
"When you break the curse you placed, I will tell you," Sirius said after a moment's hesitation, attempting to keep concern from the baritone of his voice, already knowing that the pettiest witch of his year would not appreciate it.
Though he knew every hill, every canyon, every bluff and river of the Hogwarts grounds, it was somehow sullied when she forced him back there. He barely got a moment to breathe it all in before he realized she had used Legilimency on him. He pulled out his wand, forcing her out of his head before she could stain the memory. She didn't appear surprised by the wood beneath her chin, digging into her skin with a nearly painful prodding. He loosened the grip, only slightly, as his anger proved to outweigh his sympathy.
Sirius clenched his jaw and his eyes darkened as he snapped, "Stay out of my head." She recoiled at the sudden change in his tone, her own expression turning stern as she met his gaze with a steely glare.
"Impressive," she whispered from beneath her breath, not surprising since she likely abhorred the idea of gifting him with her praise. Before he could make more—likely empty—threats, a bell chimed softly in the background, like the clinking of champagne glasses in celebration. She made a small gesture with her hand and he felt a surge of numbness run through his arm, rendering it useless at his side. "Don't raise your wand to me if you're not prepared to use it."
"Don't go into my head without consent," he snapped back, as he absentmindedly prodded at his arm, trying to coax feeling back into it. He paid no mind to his wand up until it plopped into the pool of glass fish where they immediately attacked it, like piranhas searching for blood. "Hey!"
Ivy's lips curled into a smile, but reluctantly snapped her fingers, causing the fish to redirect their attention back to swimming. She then reached into the water and retrieved a slim, shimmering wand. As she lifted it out of the pool, droplets cascaded down her arm, but upon hitting the stone surrounding them, they vanished without a trace.
"It's all very funny. Undo whatever you did to my arm," Sirius ordered as he clenched his teeth at the numbness in his arm, disquieted by tingling sensation that spread over his skin.
Ivy turned over his wand, reverently stroking down the length of it with an expression she reserved for magic and magic alone. Without looking at him, she redid the spell she had done before, only this time the gestures she made with her fingers reversed in order. It looked like the rewind button on the telly, and at the last flourish of her middle finger, his arm returned to life.
"Don't give me ultimatums," she said, handing over his wand. "I do not like them," she said firmly. With a sigh, she stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her flowing dress. "I was already going to break the curse in a fortnight. I just need the claw of a werewolf."
"And how do you plan on obtaining it," Sirius asked with a growing frown. "By attacking one?"
The next ringing of the bell was louder than the first, and the chime echoed through the arches and pillars of the tower, unanswered. "Of course not. That would be uncouth."
"Since when have you cared about manners?" Sirius asked, a small smile peeping out.
"Either way, whether Remus agrees or not doesn't matter to me," she commented, raising her wrist to take a gander at the time. "I'd prefer his cooperation, but it is hardly a requirement."
"I don't understand his hesitation," Sirius admitted, his breath visible when it protruded from his lips. "I used to be there for him all the time during the full moon."
Ivy gracefully glided around the marble fountain, her long skirt trailing behind her and her hands outstretched. She reached the other side and stood in front of a towering pillar of candles. With a flick of her wrist, she re-invigorated the flames with a burst of magic. "It's easier to isolate oneself than to trust in temporary alliances," she stated firmly, her gaze never leaving the candles.
Her comment had him twisting his neck to catch a glimpse of her from behind the broad stone pillar. With one delicate hand, she continued to weave intricate enchantments, her fingers dancing in the air. The temperature seemed to drop suddenly, sending shivers down his spine, but with each subsequent flourish of her hand, a wave of heat washed over him, melting away the goosebumps on his arms.
Sirius's fingers nervously drummed against the smooth wood of his wand as he tucked it into the specially-made pocket in his trousers. He furrowed his brow, confusion and frustration evident on his face. "Why does he think this is just a temporary arrangement?" For Sirius, it meant that he finally wouldn't have to spend his days alone anymore.
"I don't know. Maybe you should ask him instead of bothering me?" Ivy's arm jutted out as she gestured towards the stairs, her hand balled into a fist. The stress in her shoulders was evident as she let out an exasperated sigh. He couldn't help but wonder if she was using her irritation to hide how exhausted she really was.
"You don't have to be rude, Miss Evans," he said softly, his eyes drawn to the telltale twitch in her left eye.
She crossed her arms and took a deep breath before retorting, "You don't have to be here. Merlin, it's like I am—" He couldn't help but smirk at her frustration, watching as her expression contorted in annoyance. "It's like I am suddenly running a hotel. When in the bloody hell did that even happen?"
"A hotel?" Sirius let out a derisive snort, standing up and circling the marble basin. "I have half a mind to complain about this dreadful hotel and its lack of decent service. And don't even get me started on the pathetic excuse for room service."
"Perhaps not," Ivy sneered, shooing him away with her hand. "Either way, when you feel up to getting that compass, do let me know."
The smallest of smiles crept onto his face, though the weight of it was heavy on his face. "You won that game last time remember? I seem to recall the deal was, you beat me, you get to raid the Black family house." The smallest crease appeared on her forehead, but Sirius watched her swiftly smooth it away once the memory resurfaced. "After you break the curse," he said, his voice heaving with reluctant concern when he noticed she had locked her knees—almost like she thought they might buckle if she didn't. "I'll show you where the compass is, deal?"
He held out his hand, and though she looked reluctant and irritated, she placed her palm into his. "Though the bar is low."
"You don't have to insult me. Just say 'deal'."
"Dealing with you, insults me."