Whispers of the past

'Scalpel!' demanded a voice.

'Scalpel,' returned the second voice at the edge of perceptibility.

'Swab!'

'Swab.'

Blood and disinfectant hung heavyly in the air, numbing his mind. He felt dull.

'Bone saw!'

'Bone saw.'

He couldn't see. His head was covered, and he couldn't feel any of his limbs from his neck downwards. There was the sound of someone struggling with a particularly crooked tree. It shook his body this way and that way – despite the restraints.

'Swab!'

'Swab.'

'No, do it again! I can't see anything like that!' After a short pause, the voice continued, 'Alright, Forceps!'

'Forceps.'

There was a loud clunking sound of something heavy hitting the bottom of an empty bucket.

'Swab!'

'Swab.'

'How are you proceeding?' asked a third, oily voice from behind him.

'We'll be done shortly, Effendi. Scalpel!'

'Scalpel.'

'It really is some dreadfully unpleasant business, isn't it?' asked the third voice. It seemed more bored than repulsed, the words merely an echo of common expectations.

'Yes, Effendi. Please mind your steps; the whole floor is a bit slippery. The old overflow is doing its best but … Swab!'

'Swab.'

There were footsteps behind him. 'My, but it is such a splendid beast, isn't it?'

'Yes, Effendi. Scalpel!'

'Scalpel.'

'Such a pity, such a pity,' mumbled the third voice sadly. 'Such a waste! Are you sure we have no use for the rest of it?'

'Yes, Effendi. Alright, hold your wand, we've got exactly one shot at this. Don't ruin it!'

'Yes, Doctor.'

'One, two – three!'

Something yanked at his body, and he heard someone mutter a few incomprehensible words. He felt the presence of magic.

'Success! Success!' The voices shouted excitedly. They seemed very pleased with themselves. He felt like asking what pleased them so, but the world was slowly turning dim …

'Do you think it's still alive? Its head seems to be moving.'

'Oh, yes, Effendi. Undoubtedly. It's a very fine specimen, and they're known for their vitality. But the problem will solve itself in a few minutes. We'll dump the body when it's cold.'

'Let's have a look while we can, shall we? We always give the courtesy of looking into the eyes of the dying.'

Someone lifted the cover from his head. He stared into cold, coal-black eyes. In the background, two men with long, pointy beards, wearing erstwhile white coats lifted a little lump of pulsating flesh into the air. It looked sort of like a cross between a ball and a knot with some fleshy tubes attached to it.

'Farewell, beast,' said the human with the smooth voice and predatory eyes. 'You may rest assured–' He chuckled, starting anew. 'You may rest, assured that your donation is appreciated.'

Memory Lane

Harry opened his eyes, the mildly curious coal-black eyes still etched in the front of his mind.

He was in his bed in the Slytherin dormitories, safely tucked underneath his blanket, his right hand clasped around the soothingly familiar black wood of his wand.

Frowning, he sat up, rubbing his temple, trying to recall the strange dream in greater detail. It had been vivid, unnaturally clear. If he concentrated, he was sure he could still count all the little golden ringlets in the impressive beard of the one the other ones had called 'Effendi'. After a second, he gave a cursory sniff of his bedding. It smelled nice and freshly laundered – not at all like the small chamber and its foetid miasma of bodily secretions.

Throwing back his blanket, he stood up, stretching in the cool air of the dungeon. He felt refreshed. As a bonus and contrary to his nagging suspicions, he also didn't suffer from a hangover. It was Monday, the second of September, 1996 – the first day of his third year. Whatever this term had in store for him, and he intended to make sure that finding out what had happened to Sirius was part of that, literally anything should be more important than some vaguely disturbing dream about the victim of a vivisection.

He'd seen worse.

When the other boys finally entered the common room, they found Harry well-groomed and wide awake, sitting in front of the perpetual fire, legs crossed, taking a few notes with his right hand about a book in his left.

'Good morning, Harry,' said Leo.

Harry waved the hand holding his quill, not looking up.

'When did you get up?' asked Draco, shivering a bit in the cold morning air.

'A bit early, I suppose,' said Harry, turning a page.

'You're too keen for your own good!' Draco threw himself lazily on top of a couch, resting his legs on the dainty little coffee table. 'This is our first day. What are you swotting for?!'

'This isn't school-related.'

One of the older girls who was just walking towards the secret entrance scowled at Draco, turning on the spot and marching directly towards the boys, a silver-green badge pinned to her robes.

'Trouble heading our way,' said Leo, nodding towards the girl.

'It'll be fine,' said Draco, shrugging dismissively.

'Take that foot off the table, Malfoy.'

'Or what?' said Draco, smirking. 'Going to take points, are you?'

The girl looked at him coldly. 'You know, the sixth-years are going to be brewing Amortentia this year. You know that pudding of a girl? Around your age? Midgen, I think she's called. If you don't take your bloomin' legs down right this instant, you might suddenly develop a disturbing fascination with her pimples.'

Draco's legs flew off the table. 'All right, all right. No need to get nasty …'

After one last sneer at Draco, she stalked off without giving Harry or Leo as much as a glance.

'How can someone wear such an innocent ponytail and have such a mean streak?!'

'You're the only one judging people based on their haircut, Draco,' said Leo.

'Maybe because you always piss her off?' added Harry without diverting much attention from his book about Dementors. Given how many people actively avoided Slytherin during their Sorting, assuming any girl – or anyone in general – in Slytherin was a star-struck maiden full of innocence and wonder was … quaint. People in Slytherin were normal, of course, just kids like any other, but most of them had a hardness to them that the other houses commonly lacked.

'You'd figure she'd be pleased to meet me, wouldn't you?' continued Draco. 'Like, walking up to me and saying, ''Ho there, dear cousin'' and I'd be like ''Hey, Rosier. Good to see you in fine health as always. And may I congratulate you on your exquisite taste in hair styling?'' Yeah. That's how it should be. Not acting all high and mighty.'

'Ho there, dear cousin?' repeated Leo with a little grin. 'Has anyone ever actually said that to you?'

'Well, no. But they should! I mean, I'm glad you guys are here, so isn't it natural to say something nice now and then?! Blaise and Parkinson are cool and all, but they can be a bit dull at times. You guys are never dull!'

Harry looked up with an expression of faint surprise. 'Why, that actually did sound kind of nice, Draco.'

Draco harrumphed importantly. 'I don't know why I'm trying. I'm surrounded by weirdos and … dangerous weirdos. In our clique, we've got an incurable bookworm with a scary background–'

'Oi!' protested Harry half-heartedly as he turned another page in his borderline forbidden book he'd acquired through family channels.

'… a nutter who likes petting Chimaeras and exploring nutty forests full of vicious stuff–'

'It was only that one Chimaera! How long are you going to go on about that?!' grumbled Leo sullenly.

'… a mad potion princess who's prone to hitting people–'

Harry considered coming to Daphne's defence, but he had to admit that Draco was being rather spot on.

'… a smart-arse dwarf who just doesn't shut up–'

Harry liked that one as well.

'… a Muggle-born in Slytherin–' Draco went on with his spiel, making a face. '… and, ahem, your sister, Leo. No offence.'

'No glib moniker for Amy?' asked Harry.

'No.' Draco took off his boots, massaging his feet. 'You can't imagine how that dance hurt. It starts itching again whenever I think about it. Man … Anyway, as I was saying and to sum it all up, you're all a bunch of weirdos! It's no good for my mental health that Tracey and me, of all people, are the most ordinary far and wide.'

'We shall strive to better ourselves,' said Harry solemnly, winking at Leo, who grinned back.

Draco looked at them, his brow furrowed. 'Nah, it's okay. I think I prefer a bunch of weirdos to a throng of awestruck Hufflepuff groupies.'

'You're making me blush, Draco,' said Harry dryly.

'Maybe Rosier slipped him the potion already?' suggested Leo.

'I suppose it might explain his charm offensive.'

'Haha,' said Draco sarcastically. 'Nevermind, then.'

The girls, uncharacteristically, joined them only after Harry, Draco, and Leo had decided to start breakfast. Tracey looked dead on her feet. Hermione and Daphne looked simply dead, possibly a few feet under. Amy was shaking with silent laughter, holding Daphne up with one arm. Hermione was staggering behind, swaying dangerously.

The boys stared.

'Er, good morning?' ventured Draco cautiously.

Daphne snorted contemptuously, shambling towards the bench. '…t's so bleeding good about it?' she mumbled, almost inaudibly.

'I feel like we're missing something here,' said Draco, his eyes darting from one girl to the next.

Daphne collapsed at Harry's side, overturning his cup. '–ry' she muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow, turning his head towards Amy.

The older Lestrange smiled. 'Daphne was a bit worried about her w–'

'AMY!'

'Well-being,' continued Amy smoothly, mischievous joy dancing in her eyes. 'So I suggested going for a bit of a run every morning. You know. To stay fit and all.'

'Ah,' said Harry, nodding. He could see where this was going. 'And I suppose it was you who proposed the track?'

Tracey, moving her legs like they were heavy trunks controlled by very thin strings of silk, awkwardly took a seat. She snorted. 'No! "Lapping the lake" is not a track! We only just got back in time for breakfast.'

'You circled the lake?' repeated Draco disbelievingly.

'Of course not,' said Tracey, dragging several bowls, two plates with fruit, and about a dozen sausages towards her. 'We turned back as soon as we realised what she was up to. But we'd been jogging for about an hour up to that point already!'

Leo's eyes shone with excitement. 'Hey, we should also totally g–'

'Denied!' said Harry firmly.

'Are you mad?' protested Draco, looking at Leo as if he were infected with some strange, foreign disease.

'Oh,' said Leo with palpable disappointment.

Harry tried to motivate Daphne to eat for a while before he gave up when she dozed off with her head on his shoulders. Tracey looked more or less fine, if tired, but Hermione was staring through red and unfocused eyes at a book in her trembling hands. Harry didn't have it in him to tell her that she still had a few branches stuck in her hair.

Amy was chatting energetically with her brother about something she'd seen down by the lake.

'Schedules' barked Professor Snape eventually, handing out the timetables.

Harry silently accepted his own and Daphne's schedule, ignoring Snape's vituperative glare at his cousin's state. But her excellence in potions apparently kept him from making a comment.

'Oh, you got a free period first thing Monday morning. Nice!' said Draco. For Draco, the most important thing about his studies were his breaks from selfsame.

Harry hummed thoughtfully, scanning his own and then Daphne's timetable. 'Not for you guys, though. You've got Care of Magical Creatures.'

'It appears that you've already prepared for your stay in the wilderness, Miss Granger,' hissed Snape.

Hermione looked up through bleary eyes. 'Pardon me, sir?'

Tracey reached over the table and carefully disentangled the testimony of their little excursion through the woods from her hair.

'I expect students of my house to turn up looking smart and orderly in the morning. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir,' responded Hermione in a small voice, staring at the twigs.

When Snape was out of earshot, Amy said, 'We could also try to find a better track through the Forest. I liked our shortcut on the way back!'

'What?! We're still talking about the Forbidden Forest, right?!' asked Tracey, spraying tea all over the table. 'No way!'

'Well, seeing as that's the only forest we've got here, we'll have to make do, won't we?' asked Amy with a grin.

'No!'

'We could also jog around the castle,' proposed Amy reluctantly.

'And have everyone ogle us?!' asked Daphne appalled. With a groan, she sat up straight, staring with unseeing eyes at her schedule. 'Thanks, but no thanks!'

Memory Lane

For the first time in a few months, Harry sought out the Hogwarts library. Madam Pince eyed him beadily, stalking through the rows, ever watchful for any signs of food, loud behaviour, or general cheerfulness, determined to make everyone as miserable as she was. Seeing as only Harry and a few older students had decided to visit the library first thing on the first day, a lot of her attention was focused on him.

But Harry simply ignored her breathing down his neck, picking tomes and books with collected calmness. Then he delved into a few books about the history of Azkaban. Only when the bell rang loudly throughout the castle did he finally lean back and gather his supplies.

With an extra cheerful wave at the librarian, he made his way towards the third floor, hurrying through the hustle and bustle of the castle. He could only imagine the kind of look Aenor would give him if he was late on his first day. Near the Defence classroom, hastening around the last corner, he nearly collided with a lively, blonde bouncy ball.

'Oww!' it squealed.

Harry, acting purely on instinct, caught the sleeve of the girl that had been trying her best to run him over. Admittedly, her petite figure wasn't suited to this kind of physical aggression. 'Are you alright, Miss Greengrass?'

She looked up at him. 'Shouldn't you apologise, Black?!'

He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.

Her expression cracked into a wide smile only two seconds later. Looking around to make sure they were alone, she gave him a stormy hug.

'They treating you okay?' asked Harry, looking her over.

'Oh, yeah, they're all really nice. Most of them. Some found it odd that my sister's in Slytherin, but – you know …'

Harry nodded sympathetically. 'It'll be alright, don't worry. They're probably just curious.'

Tori nodded back, staring at her feet.

'And what else did they say?' said Harry, who considered himself something of an expert on interpreting both sisters' body language.

'They, er, they don't like you much. Hannah's been saying all sorts of mean things.'

'She's always been like that, don't worry. Just don't make a scene; shouting and stomping your feet won't really do you any favours …'

'I know that!' said Tori, making a face. 'I'm not Daphne. Anyway, you really don't mind that I'm in Hufflepuff, do you?'

'Why would I?' Harry smiled at her, rubbing her head. 'I wouldn't have minded being in Hufflepuff. Or in Gryffindor.'

'Really?' asked Tori, saucer-eyed.

'Really. Come on, now. You've got lessons, don't you? You don't want to be late on your first day.'

Tori nodded, giving him another short hug before she ran along.

Harry sighed, watching her slide around a corner. Remembering that he, too, was in the process of being rather late, he imitated Tori and started sprinting towards the Defence classroom.

The door, however, was already firmly shut, and he could hear muffled voices from within.

Damn!

He knocked with equal measures of politeness, foreboding, and resignation.

'Come in!'

Having a very good idea that this was going to turn nasty but having no clue whatsoever what to do about it, he obediently opened the door. The entire class was staring. Daphne was making a face Harry subconsciously associated with bystanders near a particularly brutal accident.

'Ah, Mr Black. How good of you to honour us with your presence – eventually.'

Reluctantly, he turned towards his professor. He knew Aenor wasn't fond of teaching. But what she hated even more were unprofessional behaviour, whining, and being a brat in general. 'Sorry, Professor,' he said, bowing politely. 'I seem to have forgotten the time.'

'Wasting ours in the process,' she remarked icily. 'Take a seat – no! Not there. I'm sure Miss Greengrass can cope without your help and guidance for a single lesson. How about you take a seat … right … next to Miss Abbott and Mr Crabbe?'

Aware of the hostile glares from the Hufflepuffs, he quickly took his seat.

'Right. And how about … how many points does Slytherin currently have, Mr Malfoy?'

'Er, something like twenty? Professor?' Draco added hastily, retreating into the depth of his seat, as far away from her flaring nostrils as possible.

'Right. Twenty. Classes just started, of course. So that's twenty points from Slytherin. I trust we can return to more important matters again? Unless someone's got any objections? None? Splendid.

'I was just about to point out that I consider this class slightly behind in terms of our schedule. But since most of you have stopped fumbling or dropping your wand most of the time, I dare say we can finally come to more important matters than reading books …'

'Sorry for the trouble,' said Harry under his breath.

Crabbe shrugged. 'It's okay.'

For a second, Harry glanced at Hannah Abbott. She had somehow managed the impossible and was turning away from him while still facing the front. He didn't want to waste a perfunctory excuse on someone who wasn't interested in even looking at him. He really hated that conceited cow.

'… after which I shall have you face Boggarts, Acromantulas, ghosts, vampires, gargoyles, werewolves, and trolls – in a reasonably safe environment. As you should but might not know, these are all creatures you may encounter in our little corner of the world. The headmaster has … dissuaded me from instructing you about Dementors or Inferi before your OWLs, so that will be all for now. We'll round out our year by starting on curses – finally. It is my hope that we'll finish with those during the first term of your fourth year, leaving us with a more than reasonable amount of time to deepen your understanding about some of our earlier material and revision. While my previous years performed … adequately in their examinations, I started teaching here at the same time as you began attending. Naturally, the headmaster will attach a great deal of importance to your year's performance, so see to it that you come prepared. Any questions?'

'OWLs are still more than a year away,' whined someone in the back rows.

'Precisely, Miss Wright,' said Aenor, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. 'And that is why you should start to study steadily from now on instead of cramming in everything during the last few weeks. Alright, as I said, we'll start with freshening up what you know about counter-curses. Any volunteers?'

The class remained stoically silent.

'In that case – Mr Black, since you're sitting right at the front, would you please assist me?'

Ah, thought Harry gloomily. It was going to be one of those lessons.

As he marched to the front, his friends watching him as if he were about to wrestle a troll, he wondered if she hadn't been pissed off before he arrived late.

Memory Lane

The answer, as it turned out, was: yes, she had been.

'Who does he think he is?!' she raged when the rest of the class had left.

Harry, to his regret, remained the only outlet for her fury. Calmly, he pressed a soothingly cold compress on his right shin, making calming gestures and nodding in agreement whenever she glared at him. 'He's the headmaster,' he pointed out with some amount of caution.

She scoffed. 'He's a dwindling dogmatist, clinging to his precious concepts of morality for dear life. Nevermind that this whole rotten ship is only waiting to sink!'

'I thought he was merely asking to have a look at your proposed curriculum?'

'Which is the same as saying that he doesn't trust me to handle it myself! And it's not like he bothers to do so with the real failures he has in employment. No, Trelawney is free to poison you brats with all the nonsense she's been making up for years, but I have to suffer the indignation of being questioned about my work. It's like putting me on probation without outright saying so!'

'Did you do something to put him on edge?' asked Harry, trying to instil some amount of logical reasoning into her clamour. 'He might appear languid, but you have to agree that Dumbledore must have had his suspicions when you got us out of the Ministry last year. I think he just didn't want Prewett to meddle with school business, and that's why he smoothed it over.'

She turned around, about to snap something at him – but then she paused. Within a moment, her face settled into a ruminative expression. 'You might be onto something.' With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of her desk, looking at him – really looking – for the first time since he'd entered her classroom. 'Ah, whatever. It's not worth it. So? Feeling better today?'

'Fine,' he replied. 'Better than I thought actually.'

She grinned. 'No hangover?'

'No?'

'Well, maybe you've finally started growing up, then. So – what shall we do this year? Seeing as you don't seize up whenever I happen to come close or don't seek to learn something completely beyond your ability–'

'Hey, I did manage, in the end.'

'Yeah, you did,' she said with a wink. 'And it only took you a quarter of an hour to cast a single spell, too – after studying it for an entire year.'

Harry flicked his tongue. 'You're going to lord that over me for how long exactly?'

'Until I find something more demeaning, naturally. If you prefer, I could also go on about your and Davis' expressions when that building collapsed. That look on your face was priceless. Kind of reminded me of that Hufflepuff, that Goyle boy.'

'Er, no, thanks.' Harry thought back on his rather careless trip through London. There had always been one thing bothering him since then … 'Say, are you an Animagus?'

She cocked her head, looking faintly surprised. 'Whatever makes you ask that?'

'Well, I've been thinking, and there has been a strange amount of ravens about.'

She laughed. 'That's all?'

'No. What really got me thinking was you admitting that you followed us all year. Even before that, I could have sworn I heard a raven croak in the forest after our flight from the Lethifolds. And that was late at night – ravens are diurnal! And I don't think they rest deep within forests either.'

Harry didn't want to go into how he always stopped short whenever he saw a corvid nowadays, like that one time in London with Daphne. It was getting a bit embarrassing.

'How astute, but no – sorry to disappoint. I have a … gift with ravens and – to a lesser extent – with crows, but that's really it. Becoming an Animagus is a long and dangerous process, not to mention difficult. I've never tried it – nor do I intend to.'

Harry leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin. Still, even if she really wasn't an Animagus, that didn't make him feel any easier about her as good as admitting that all the ravens were spying on him. The fact that Aenor probably didn't think more of it than babysitting didn't really make him feel any better either.

'Are you interested in becoming an Animagus? I'm sure McGonagall could give you a few pointers if you butter her up long enough.'

'No, I don't think so. I think I'd rather focus on playing to my strengths.'

'How so?'

Harry twirled his wand lazily around his fingers. 'I've been relying so much on obliviation these past two years. It's getting a bit embarrassing that I'm still so bad at it.'

'Aren't you exaggerating? I mean, you didn't have any trouble obliviating the Aurors, did you? Most fully qualified wizards wouldn't be able to pull it off – even though your spell was a bit crude.'

Harry frowned. 'No, but I'm a bit worried that it'll come back to bite me. As soon as someone realises that I've been messing around with Obliviate, sooner or later they'll connect the dots. Fawley, London, the Ministry – if that were to happen, I'd be royally screwed. I mean, how many people are strolling around Britain wiping the minds of people like me? No, I need to find a way to solve my problems without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind. Especially with that Antonius fellow still lurking around Britain – even if he's, thankfully, not at Hogwarts anymore.'

'I believe I told you in the past, but you need some expertise with Legilimency before you can start to use that spell in any artful fashion. Your spellwork will degrade if you start messing with the human mind without truly understanding it.'

'To what consequence?' asked Harry, aware that he might regret the question.

'Well, your test subject might lose touch with reality, for one.'

'You mean go insane?'

'Not exactly. Not at first, anyway. But you won't exactly stay the prime example of sanity with permanent hallucinations or perpetual headaches either. The human brain is such a fragile apparatus – so easily unhinged.

'Much more likely, however, you'll make it easier for the recipient of your spell to unconsciously resist the spell. A fatal flaw for a trick that relies on guile and subterfuge.'

'You mean they could regain their memories on their own?' asked Harry, shocked. 'Even later?'

'Oh, yes. The more powerful and disciplined the individual, the more likely they are to break free of the spell eventually. It usually starts with that vague feeling of déjà vu, like a memory just out of reach. If the charm was particularly powerful, the victim might develop something of a chronic, mild headache. Eventually most realise something's wrong and seek professional help. And even though there are rumoured to be spells that cannot be detected even nowadays, you might as well throw in the towel at that point. Even Muggles show similar symptoms.'

'That's bad,' commented Harry curtly.

'Quite. Obliviate isn't a spell for half-measures, Harry. If that's your course of action, you have to be fully committed to doing anything. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Obliviation isn't without risks. Some people are naturally more resilient to it than others. If you're in a pinch, you shouldn't ever hold back. A strong charm killing all memories is highly preferable to a suboptimally cast clever spell with the intention to hide the magic. Of course, not that many people could pull off either with any notable success.'

Harry stared at his wand for a while. Aenor, in the meantime, called a few elves to prepare lunch for two.

'Are you sure you couldn't teach me Legilimency? I don't want to drop the charm altogether; it … feels kind of like something I'm good at.'

'You are,' replied Aenor with a tired smile, pouring herself a generous measure of an Italian red she'd summoned from Merlin knew where. 'But you shouldn't rush these things. Legilimency training is serious business, and you'd need someone who would trust you enough to allow it. It'll take years!'

'Please!' insisted Harry. 'Would it hurt to give it a shot? It's not like I'd be able to see anything past your Occlumency anyway.'

'That's right. Because your spell will fizzle out like a Hufflepuff's wet dream,' said Aenor with a teasing smile.

'Come on!'

She rolled her eyes, putting a bit of steak on her plate. 'Alright, alright. I'll give you one lesson to leave you thoroughly disillusioned. But not right now, not with Dumbledore snooping around.'

'It's a deal!' said Harry, grinning.

Aenor shook her head, rolling her eyes. 'No, Harry. A deal is usually an agreement during the course of which both parties stand to gain something. That is to say, more than amusement at the other party's impending failure.'

'Well, you stand to gain the joy of my company, don't you?' he said cheekily.

She gave him a schoolmasterly look, patting his head over the table. 'Nice try, but you should test that line again once you're actually as tall as me, little lordling.'

Having his head patted like that was strangely irksome. With a little mental flinch, Harry decided then and there to spare Tori the embarrassment in the future.

Memory Lane

Antonius, the man they had once called The Sleuth, was currently writhing on his chair, his face pale and sweaty, his long hair entangled, wild, almost threatening to strangle him. Only the measures to soundproof his office were preventing his subordinates from dashing into the room to see what was causing the racket. Moaning, hands flailing erratically, knocking paperwork, inkstands, and paperweights from his desk with long, pained, desperate sweeps, he tossed and turned in his chair, miraculously remaining seated. His personal owl had long since retreated to the most faraway corner of the room, seeking shelter behind a large bookshelf.

Ten minutes, twenty, an hour – no matter how troubled, how disturbed his sleep, the man just didn't appear to wake. Thick red veins stood out against his feverish skin. It was as if he was struggling with something.

There were powerful spells, ancient and forgotten spells, spells of such dreadful potency that they were not only beyond ordinary, mortal men but also far removed from any clumsy examination such people could conduct.

But there also were people naturally resilient to any kind of magic manipulating the mind.

With a scream that rattled the windows, the giant with the auburn hair came to.

Loud footsteps and only seconds later his two subordinates stormed into the office.

Fujiwara gasped.

'Boss?' asked Boris, cautiously drawing near.

Slowly, like a primordial monster awakening after aeons of slumber, Antonius rose from his chair, looking at the both of them through bloodshot eyes that seemed to be smouldering.

His voice was but a whisper, the faintest murmur of ghosts, but it roared through the room like a thousand peals of raging thunder.

'He escaped. Grindelwald escaped.'