Chapter 32 is out!
Scala ad Caelum
Chapter 32: A reason to keep fighting
Severus Snape POV
Rufus Scrimgeour was a hateful bastard. He also was a man of honour and a great Auror, truth to be told, but overall, he was a hateful bastard. Of that, Severus harboured no doubts. Not even the Chamber of Secrets—or what was left of it after Albus' battle—had been able to create the faintest of the dents in his determination. "So, this is the place where Dumbledore ended the Heir of Slytherin and its myth, isn't it?" The Auror asked, probably, to fill the air with another noise than the one of the water pouring down the giant hole in the wall.
"Yes," Severus answered.
His plain answer made the Auror turn around. Face to face, Scrimgeour truly looked like a lion with that long, tawny mane and sideburns of his. He also had a predatory look on his face. "Is that all, Severus Snape?" He replied—more like he growled, better said. "Ever the obedient puppy, aren't you? In the end, all that changed about your character is the master you serve. Honestly, I never understood why the Wizengamot decided to pardon you of your crimes so easily. One of their many mistakes, no doubt." Still speaking, the man walked past Severus, his feet stepping over the damped floor with enough force to splash the Professor's robes with drops of residual water.
Severus gulped his rage down. His Occlumency helped him to keep his composure—he built barriers around his anger, shutting it up at the far end of his mind. I won't give this bastard such satisfaction. To him, it was very clear what Scrimgeour's intentions were—the legendary Auror would never cease his attempts to create any reason good enough to send a man he disliked to Azkaban. Cursed be Albus and his decision to send me down here! The Headmaster was busy in a meeting with Fudge, while Minerva was in the medical wing accompanying Amelia Bones, who wanted to see the petrified students. Because of that, Severus had been chosen to deal with the worst of the important people who had come to Hogwarts that day.
No words were uttered as the two wizards walked out of the Chamber. Severus glanced around one last time; from the elegant stone pillars which looked to have no end, to the giant hole which had replaced the destroyed bust of Salazar Slytherin… It truly was a legendary place—he had been down there quite a few times since the Basilisk was killed, but the young wizard still got goosebumps just by the sheer aura of the place. This was the Chamber of Secrets, that mythical place which had always been said to be the last of Salazar's inventions. The Professor felt how Scrimgeour sent him a sideways glance, so he, immediately but cautiously, turned his head to look forward.
Once outside, near the tunnel, the two brooms which had gotten them down there awaited their return. Scrimgeour didn't even wait for Severus to mount his; the Auror just kicked himself into the air and went upwards, through the tunnel and towards the castle. This torment will end soon; just endure it. At least, he hoped so. There would be no more reasons for the Ministry to keep poking their noses into Hogwarts after Dumbledore was finished with Fudge. Many people knew the Great Sorcerer was a very influential person within the important circles of the British Ministry, but those fools could not imagine how hard that old geezer had the Minister dancing to his tune.
The air hit Severus right in the face as he went upwards—the closer to the castle he was, the warmer and less humid it got. It was a long ascent, one that allowed his mind to ponder about thoughts he abhorred. Cornelius Fudge was a stupid bastard, that was a given, but maybe and only maybe, it was of their best interest for the man to be reelected as the country's Minister. Lord Voldemort was alive, and so a war was assured to happen. Fudge was a coward, but he could be easily tempted, for the better and the worse, with promises of money, power and safety. However, that plan had a great flaw—Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the old Death Eaters were very well aware of the Minister's nature; moreover, they could give the man better promises than Albus could.
Just in time, Severus stopped the broom metres before entering the bathroom—from there, he glided, softlier, until his feet stepped onto the sandstone floor. This bathroom will need to be rebuilt. We don't want stupid kids coming here to see the entrance to the Chamber. However, that was a matter for another day and for another man. Severus looked around; Scrimgeour was nowhere to be seen. Good. All he wanted to do was go back to his office so he could finish those potions which were last requested of him to brew. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be possible.
With a slow pace, Severus made his way towards the medical wing—sooner or later he would need to start preparing the potions to unpetrify the students, and he would rather pay them a visit than watching over Scrimgeour. Six students petrified under our very noses. It's a miracle Hogwarts wasn't closed for good. In his opinion, it was another proof of how bad the political situation was in England. Muggle-borns, I can understand, but Harry Potter and a Weasley? Merlin, Fudge must really value this school for his campaign. Severus crossed a few students in his way; now allowed to roam the castle as if nothing had happened in the past months, some wore the robes with the colours of their Houses while others chose a muggle attire. They all looked down as soon as their paths met, something the Professor really appreciated—since Potter and his gang came to Hogwarts, those brats had done nothing but to incite others to disrespect him.
Potter. That name brought a certain face to his mind. Severus had failed to protect Lily's son. The brat will live, he growled in his mind. It was a truth; the boy would live as if nothing had happened as soon as Pomona and Severus himself brewed the potions. However, had it not been for others—stupid and meddling children, no less—he would have failed to Lily for one last time.
With that fact carved in his mind, Severus stormed into the medical wing. Its white walls almost stunned him for an instant, but a simple blink of his eyes was enough to regain his cold facade. There, he found Amelia Bones examining Weasley with her ever present monocle on her left eye. She looks old, Severus noted. He had never considered Bones as a young woman, but now one could say her hair had more white strands than browns. Still, she looked as strong as ever. "Madam Bones," the Professor greeted just out of courtesy.
She didn't even turn back. "Professor Snape, it's been a while." It had been more than a while. To be precise, since the day Severus eluded a trial under the Wizengamot's eyes. Amelia Bones took the monocle out of her eye and stored it into her purple robes. "Not even a student from Slytherin could escape from Salazar's last gift, eh?" Her eyes went from one bed to another, not missing any of the six. Severus just imitated her. "I urged Cornelius to act as soon as Justin Finch-Fletchley, the first muggle-born to be attacked, was petrified. Obviously, he ignored me. Fortunately, things ended well for everyone—blessed be our luck, don't you think?"
"If it is an answer that you seek, go ask Albus Dumbledore," Severus replied with a cold yet polite voice. "He was the one to stop the Heir of Slytherin, after all. I wasn't there to see it. No one else was, I reckon." Amelia Bones stared at him dead in the eyes for a few seconds. Hers was one of the very few faces Severus could not read; he hated that fact with all his soul.
"I find that quite surprising," she said. The words came out of her mouth very slowly; each one of them being greatly emphasised. "I had always believed Dumbledore had some kind of…, special bond with you. Seems like I was wrong." Just like Scrimgeour did before her, Amelia Bones walked past him as anyone would do with a rat. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Severus Snape."
Her petty words clashed against his indifference—those Ministry officials needed to up their game if they wanted to make the slightest of the dents in his Occlumency. A lot.
Once Bones was out of sight, the Professor walked through the medical wing; from one bed to another, Severus observed each one of the petrified students. His eyes made a brief stop at the bed where Weasley laid. The green and silver crest of Slytherin called him like the brightest of the beacons. In the end, he was just another stupid brat. To think I trusted him to be special in some way or another…
Ronald Weasley had been an element of surprise, indeed—there wasn't a better way to describe him. His hot and impulsive character was that of his twin brothers, but his thirst for knowledge and recognition among his classmates was that of his brother Percival. It was that of a younger Severus. For more than one year, the Professor had seen traces of his past self on the redhead boy—far less talented than him, but dedicated like no other in his year. However, those thoughts of resemblance came to an end the moment Weasley got petrified by the Heir. In the end, everyone gets what they deserve. Everyone but me. Weasley had been foolish enough to follow Potter and his gang in a stupid hunt of the Heir—three of them, those who might have entailed a bit of danger to him, had paid the price of their stupid actions.
How could a group of second year students think they stood a chance against the Heir of Slytherin? Hell, not even James Potter and his gigantic ego were so stupid. Almost unconsciously, his head turned to look at Potter's bed. There he imagined a similar face—one which, had its eyes been opened, Severus would have found two brown irises. Maybe, James Potter would have been as stupid as his soon, if not more.
Finally, even angrier than before, the Professor was about to abandon the medical wing when Madam Pomfrey's voice surprised him. "I did not expect to see you here, Severus," she said with a slight tone of surprise in her voice. The young man turned around to find the medi-witch smoothing out a blanket. Her eyes scanned him in a second, and they only stopped after realising by whose bed he stood nearby. With a flick of her wand, the blanket flew to a bed; just as her face showed…, was it hesitation?
"Do you have something to say?" Severus asked as he took a few steps away from Ronald's bed. He had spent far more time carrying out Albus' orders than he would have wanted—hell, he wasn't even finished! Yet the young wizard was very intrigued about Pomfrey's sudden moment of confusion; so curious he stayed there.
She took a few seconds to think about his question, and just when he thought the witch would not answer him, her reply came. "Something strange happened to Ronald a few days ago," Pomfrey confessed with a long sigh. "At first, it scared me, maybe because I could not understand its nature—not as if I can now, either way. Oh, but don't worry, Severus, it was no dangerous thing. Very strange, but harmless." He raised a brow at her lack of sense—in response, she let out another, and longer, sigh. "There was a change in his magical aura a few days ago, as if he had cast some kind of spell. For the first time since Finch-Fletchley was brought here, one of the petrified students showed a sign of change. It was brief but intense. And when I checked him up, that spur of magic was gone; as if it had never existed!"
That is strange, indeed. For much he tried, he could not find a reasonable explanation. Severus considered himself an expert in the field of curses, but to understand one caused by a Basilisk? Not many people were so wise; not him, at least. "Have you asked Albus about it?" The young Professor questioned. If there was a man who could be said to know more than anyone else about magic that was the Great Sorcerer—him and Lord Voldemort, Severus thought as a shiver went down his spine.
"I did," Pomfrey huffed, a bit annoyed at the mention of the Headmaster. "And he just raised a brow at me! That's pretty interesting, he said; can you believe it?" Certainly, he could believe it. "In the end, he just treated it as a curious incident and nothing more. I consider myself quite knowledgeable in the field of Healing Magic, but Albus wisdom is something I will always value over my own."
That is our mistake, Pomfrey. We all trust him too much for our own good. Finally, the old witch just bid farewell to him with a nod of her head as she walked towards Granger's bed. Severus just left the medical wing and made his way towards the dungeons—towards his office, where a last duty awaited him. The boy was never late, but Severus still had a few minutes left until the appointment.
The young Professor poured himself a glass of the finest whiskey from his inventory—one of muggle labels. If there was something those bastards knew how to do, it was drugs and alcohol. Severus sat on his comfy chair of high back, made of the most elegant leather the Upper District of Diagon Alley could offer. He took a sip and restrained himself from taking another one right after the first. What a shitty day. That was an understatement.
The Chamber of Secrets was finished, finally, but its problems would still carry for a few more days. Everyone asked questions, and Albus did not want to give them a full truth—so the Great Sorcerer weaved and weaved his version of the story, the soon-to-be version of the story, as Severus and the others waited for their role to be written. The bloody Heir of Slytherin and its fucking Chamber! Dear Merlin, was it all caused by Him? Or, as Albus says, are there more forces attracted to the Dark Lord? They were very certain about the existence and role of two: Peter Pettigrew and Ashram—two pawns in this game, but dangerous pieces who had been set at the other end of the board, in the end. Then, there also were that red-haired witch who helped him to confront Ashram and the blue spirit that helped Albus in his fight against the Basilisk.
Voldemort was a hurricane, and as such, he destroyed and attracted all those persons who were misfortunate enough to be close—those who felt seduced by his promises, those who tried to stop him, and those innocent souls who happened to be in the wrong moment and place.
The Professor took another gulp of his drink as someone knocked on the door. "Get in," Severus said, his cold and calm facade ready once again. Daniel Williams strode into the office without further ado. The boy was one of the best students Severus had ever seen—one of the very, very few whom he could say that it had been a pleasure to teach and tutor. A sixth year prefect who would become Head-Boy in the near future.
As he beckoned the boy to sit across the table, Severus' eyes fell over the white and green bandage which covered his left hand. In their stupid, reckles incursion into the Forbidden Forest, Daniel had lost two of his fingers during a battle against a swarm of acromantulas as he tried to protect the two dunderheads who accompanied him. It was a very incredible feat the one he accomplished, but it had also been a very stupid situation to end at. To survive against such adverse odds was proof of his immense talent, yet the fact he got himself into such a dangerous scenario was proof the boy still lacked brains.
"It's funny, but I still feel as if I had not lost two fingers," Daniel said as he dropped himself into the chair in front of Severus. "And they hurt. Most of the time, at least."
"It is called phantom limb pain," the young Professor answered. "And it is a pretty common thing in this kind of injury." Severus paused for a moment to look at his student dead in the eyes. "Say, how are you, Daniel?"
"As good as I can be, given the circumstances," the student sighed. "I know you do not approve of my decision, Sir, but it was something I needed to do, or so it felt to me. To be honest, I do not know what got into me. I have never been so impulsive, yet, when the opportunity presented itself right in front of me, I did not hesitate to jump into danger itself."
"And how did you find that opportunity?"
"About that, I had nothing to do. It was Potter and Weasley's group all along. Their friend, that timid boy by the name of Longbottom, gave some folded letter to Percy Weasley with the hope of him delivering it to Davis. Though he did not expect me to read it—there wasn't a single spell of privacy, can you believe it? Anyhow, I realised they could be onto something really good, just as I acknowledged it was us who needed to follow that lead. At the end of the day, that is what happened. And here we are."
"And here we are…"
"I do not regret a single one of all the decisions I took that night, Professor," Daniel stated with a firm voice, looking at him eye to eye. "Hogwarts is safe, and so, I will get to finish my education."
Severus just stared back at him—the boy did not lower his gaze. With a tap of his finger on the table, the Professor transfigurated a pair of quills into a vase of glass. Then he poured the same whiskey he was drinking on it and sliced it through the table in Daniel's direction. "You are seventeen, aren't you?" Severus asked. Maybe, a bit too late since the glass was already being held by the boy's hand.
"I will be in less than a month, Sir."
"Well, I will look the other way, then."
Daniel just took a long gulp of his glass. He tried to hide it under a mask of experience, but his eye twitched in protest. "This sure is a fine whiskey, Sir." He took another gulp before setting the cup down. At least, there was no funny grimace on his face.
"Do you usually drink?"
"From time to time, and only when my muggle friends are around," the boy replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Summer nights are long and boring in Birmingham."
"Do you know what you will do as soon as you graduate?"
"I have no idea. I've thought of many options, though. With my resume, I am sure the Ministry will practically beg me to apply for whatever position it is free for me to take—a position with loads of work to do and not so much money in exchange, of that I am sure. I have also considered starting my own business—curse breaking, brewing potions to those in need of a much more skilled hand…. Whatever it is that they need, I can do it for a good price."
"From my experiences and knowledge, I'd go for the second option without any doubts," Severus said. "With your talent and brains, you can make a huge amount of gold in just a few years. Trust me, there are plenty of wizards who have no idea about magic—let it be muggle-borns like you, half-bloods like myself, or even pureblood lords like Goyle or Crabbe."
The hint of a smirk appeared in Daniel's face. "Then, you would take work from me, Sir," the boy commented. "I know this is a large and well populated country, but everyone would accede to you without hesitation, rather than to a freshly graduated muggle-born like me."
"Starts are tough, indeed," Severus replied with a nod of his head. In truth, he did not face many adversities after graduating from Hogwarts—the Dark Markhad its advantages. His right forearm started to sting, but, as always, he ignored it. Foolishness had a price, and he wasn't even close to finishing what he owed to Lily. "However," the Professor continued after a brief pause, covered under the simple act of taking a sip of his drink. "I can vouch for you, Daniel. After Hogwarts, work with me for a few years, and I will make you an even greater wizard than you already are."
At first, the boy looked surprised—mainly, because his eyes gave his emotions away. Then Daniel quickly regained control; just as Severus taught him during his fourth year. "From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate the trust you have in me," Daniel started. "I really do. However, I do not know what I will be doing next week, much less what I will be doing two years into the future. When I come to a decision, you will be the first to know, Sir."
The Professor finished his whiskey with a long gulp, and so did the student. Daniel Williams was one of the very few children Severus had come to respect in all his years of teaching. He could take the Wizarding World by storm, but he was still naive about many truths of life. The boy's hand was already over the door's knob when Severus called him one last time. "Daniel," the young wizard started. "I know how much it means to you, so you will be the first to know. Slytherin has won the House Cup for another year. And you were a great part of our success."
Daniel smiled; a full smile, this time. "Me? What did I do?"
"Given the events of these past days, the Headmaster has decided—with a bit of my intervention, of course—to award those students who stood up to face the Heir of Slytherin and its evilness. Three from Gryffindor and three from Slytherin, thus the points will remain as they were at the end of the day. Which makes us, I believe, victorious by a fair margin." Severus did not bother to hide the smirk on his face. "Also, your names will be announced during the Closing Ceremony. Congratulations are in order, I think."
Daniel bowed his head as farewell before stepping out of the room—yes, for another year, Slytherin would remain as the best House of Hogwarts, as it could only be.
However, no matter how giddy Severus felt about it, this was no time to celebrate. As he was left alone in his office, the young Professor's mind pondered about those unanswerable questions which had swarmed his mind for so long. Who was the enemy? Will his debt to Lily ever be paid? Of those, he had no idea, but he knew one thing: Peter Pettigrew was the key to solve them all, and he was living on borrowed days.
Shana POV
Shana opened her eyes as the knife pierced her throat.
Other nights, too many to count them by now, she had woken up all sweaty and breathless. However, this time she welcomed the darkness of her room with a tired sigh. Another night, the same nightmare… Merlin, what's wrong with me? If there was some kind of oneiric God, that bastard sure liked to mess with her—how else could she explain the way that bloody nightmare assaulted her dreams every single night?
Things did not happen for the sake of it, she already knew that. Especially those as important as dreams could be. Yet the reason behind her dilemma eluded her like a gazelle ran from a lion. The lion always gets what it wants, though. Now, am I a lion or a gazelle here? Shana couldn't suppress the ironic snort that came out of her; her humour was starting to get a bit too ironical, and that had never been a good sign.
The former Master got up from the bed with no more preambles. The morning light was already seeping through the window; it was time for the day to start. Not bothering to put any piece of cloth over her orange nightgown, Shana made her way out of the large bedroom. As they always did, the cold eyes of the many armours which decorated the corridors of Shawn Manor seemed to follow every of her movements—amours from dead warriors of the past, from the Alazthi Empire. To be honest, some of them were nothing but a few pieces of hardened leather over the tall figures, but a few wore full sets of dark metal with the emblems of long forgotten Houses carved on them. It was a very dull yet regal decoration—a mirror of the impression Elend Shawn used to cause in others.
There also were beautiful paintings and colourful carpets at some of the central corridors, but even those could do nothing to brighten the cold halls of grey and black stone. It might be a very rich collection of relics from the Ancient Times, but Merlin, what a boring one! Finally, Shana stepped into the main dining room. There, already waiting for her arrival, was her breakfast; a steaming mug of coffee and a pair of toasts with olive oil and ham. Elend sure has his elves trained. She already knew them well enough to guess that it had been Shadow, Alexander's personal elf, who had served the food that morning. It was too well placed over the table.
"Good morning," a voice pulled Shana out of her thoughts. It belonged to Alexander, Elend's son, who was already eating his breakfast, seated in the middle of the large, wooden table. "I did not expect to see you here."
"That's what I should say," Shana replied as she took a seat in front of the boy. It had been months since they last met at Shawn Manor, and he looked slightly taller, or so she appreciated. He also carried himself with a proud bearing, an attitude he must have learned from his father—even there, in the very house he lived, with Shana as the only companion, the brat felt the need to straighten his back and act all mighty and serious.
The witch just took a bite of her toast as she raised a brow at him. In a matter of seconds, Alexander let out an exasperated sigh as a response. "I'm sorry," the boy apologised. "I know you don't like it when I act…, well, the freaking way you despise so much, whichever the hell it is. Not that I do it intentionally to spite you, of course, but I can't really control it. This is how I am. So far, you are the only person who has had any problems with it."
Shana had always hated unnecessary courtesies and serious attitudes—too many of those had soured her days back when she still held the title of Fifth Master. Under no circumstances will she allow a kid to behave that way with her. "I'm sure many don't find it pleasant," she said. "However, they probably don't care so much about you to voice out their complaints. That, or they just put up with it as best as they can." She took a sip of her coffee; it was a bit too hot today, but it still was one of the best she had ever tasted.
"You talk about unpleasant things, yet you are the one drinking that disgusting brebaje."
"You mean coffee, one of this world's wonders? One day you'll be grown enough to talk about coffee without sounding like a bumpkin, but meanwhile, do me a favour and shut your mouth. Please."
Alexander huffed in response as his eyes sent the witch a sour look, which got worse the moment he realised how the smirk on her face seemed to laugh at him. Oh, children are as easy to spite as adults. Though much funnier. Shana just tossed a little piece of bread at him, which he caught midair. "Come on, kiddo, I'm just messing a bit with you," she laughed. "It's been quite a while since we last talked. Tell me anything about your life. How is school going? Do you have any girlfriend? Or boyfriend, if that's what you fancy. I wouldn't mind going back to my school days right now, you know?"
Alexander pointed at her with a half-eaten piece of toast, accusingly, as he shook his head. "You are still as barmy as I remember," the boy said. "I can't believe you are an adult—legally, at least." He took a sip of his orange juice and shook his head once again. "School is all right, I guess. Most of the subjects are either easy or boring, and those which I once looked forward to still have a few years left before they turn interesting enough. I tried Quidditch, but there are a few guys who are much better on the broom than I am."
"You don't like not being the best at something cool, eh?"
"Was it necessary? Really? Whatever. To be honest, I've certainly enjoyed my first two years at Ilvermorny, but I expected more."
"In terms of magic, you mean?"
"Yeah," Alexander fervently nodded his head. "I know I am a special case since my father started to educate me when I was six, and so I began with a much stronger base than other students, but hell, I swear we've barely done anything interesting in these two years!"
"It is said Ilvermorny created a plan of soft and inclusive education for the first years, although its most advanced classes, those which are only taken by the best students, are incredibly tough," Shana piped in, trying to remember as much as she could from the School. "Hogwarts, Beauxbatons or even Dumstrang are considered to be tougher, yet it is always Ilvermorny the one school to produce the most famous minds among all." A name came to her mind—Alycia Lessard, the Headmistress of Ilvermorny. And also, the sister of Aura Lessard, the Fourth Master of the Order of Merlin. "What about the Headmistress? What can you tell me about her? Is she as weird as people say?"
"You could say so," Alexander replied. "She's weird as a person can be. I've only spoken to her on three occasions. In all of them I felt as if she was measuring every word which came from my mouth—hell, I felt as if she was staring through my mind and soul!"
From the corner of her eyes, Shana saw a house-elf retrieving the empty dishes off the table. "Legilimency?" The witch asked with a raised brow. Maybe I can learn something interesting about Aura through her sister. Merlin knows I need all the help I can get!
"Nah, it wasn't Legilimency," the boy said with a shake of his head. "My father made me experience the Mental Arts a few years ago. I should be prepared in the case some stupid lord tries something against me, he said. Anyhow, it did not feel the same." Shana was about to speak, but Alexander went on. "I already know what you are about to tell me, but don't bother. I'm well aware that masters of the Mental Arts can fool their prey into thinking they are not being attacked, but I trust my instincts well enough. She did not perform any kind of Legilimency on me. Of that I am sure."
What a brat! I swear I wasn't as arrogant as him back when I was his age! Just in case, Shana tempted the barriers of his mind, but there were none of them. With her chin leaned onto her hands, she hid a smirk under a mask of goofiness and tried to get into Alexander's mind. A bit of excitement, that was the first thing she grasped. Then, as she was about to reach the first train of thoughts in his mind, there was a burst of anger. Barely paying attention to it, Shana just conjured a weak streak of wind to send away the juice which was thrown at her. Well, he sure noticed it. She was impressed, that was an understatement—Alexander had only needed a few seconds to realise his mind was under a subtle attack.
From her, a very well versed witch in the field of Mental Arts.
The boy now stood up from his chair with an empty glass in his hands and a furious look on his face. "Have you gone mad?" He exclaimed. "Honestly, the hell is wrong with you?"
"You did not have a single barrier in your mind," Shana pointed out, ignoring his tantrum like she would ignore a fly. The former Master was really curious about what she had just felt in his mind.
Those words seemed to embarrass him a little, much to her surprise. "Well, my father says I might be the worst occlumens to ever walk the planet," the boy answered as he took seat once again. "Trust me, I've tried many times, enough to have all the theoretical aspects well memorised in my head. However, Occlumency seems to avoid me as I would avoid a Dementor—I just can't."
That could be a problem, given all the enemies his father is making. Now, if he can react against Legillimency with so much ease… Shana was pulled out her thoughts as another person came into the room. Nathan Miller, the hefty man in charge of House Shawn security—even though one could consider him as Elend Shawn's personal errand man—strode towards them. Dressed in muggle clothes, some denim trousers and a black jacket over a white shirt, he cleared his throat to announce his presence.
"Alexander, we must leave now," Nathan Miller announced. It wasn't a command, but it certainly did not leave room for a refusal. "It was agreed we would arrive in England in the early morning. I do not know about you, my little lord, but I do not want to face the wrath of your mother."
From the little Shana had heard about the said woman, lady Athena Black, who took the name Dorian after marrying lord Paul Dorian, one of France's richest wizards, had a really rough temper. Obviously, it was not the kind of temper her sister Bellatrix was said to have, but still, the blood which ran through their veins seemed to be quite hot. That's what you get when a family tries to keep the purity of their blood so fervently. In fact, it was so important for them that two of the four daughters, who came from the marriage between Orion and Walburga Black, had been banished and erased from all the archives just because they decided to marry the not-so adequate person. None of my business, though.
"Okay, let's get on the way, then," Alexander sighed as he stood up. "I need to get some things from my room first—I brought Sophie a cool present, I'm sure she will love it. Wait for me at the portkey room, Nathan. I'll be finished in no time at all." He began his walk out of the room, still eating the last toast of his breakfast in large bites.
"Good, but it needs to be quick," the man replied with a nod of his head. Then he turned to look at her. "I've been tasked to tell you that your presence is needed at Elend's studio." Alexander slowed his pace a bit—even though it was a very noticeable action to her—and his ears seemed to perk at the mention of his father's name. The gesture was not ignored by Nathan Miller. "The little lord should pay attention to those matters important to him, and ignore those which aren't."
Before stepping out of the large stance, Alexander waved his hand in a rather irated—and pretty rude—gesture. "Like father, like son," Nathan said with a sour voice. "I worry about the day in which I will serve Alexander, but then I tell myself that it won't be different from serving Elend." The man let out a loud snort. "Anyhow, Elend and the others are waiting for you, lady Shana. You should not make them wait."
"Who are the others?"
"Ludwig Larsson and Nalar Shawn, my lady," Nathan Miller replied as he started to walk away from her, towards the door Alexander had just used. He stopped a moment without turning his back. "I fear my last battle is close. Our last battle, maybe." As he went outside, the man kept rambling, but he got out of Shana's reach soon enough.
Well, that certainly lifted my spirits, she grimaced. With a last, long sip, the red-haired witch gulped down what was left of her coffee. Shana then made her way towards her room. The witch had been told to not make her allies wait, but first she needed to change into more proper clothes; never ever would she attend such an important meeting wearing just a nightgown. A long dress of summer, its colour of a red darker than her hair, was the attire chosen—it was sleeveless and tied around her neck with a fine lace; even though it covered her whole body, it still was rather fresh, enough to fight that wet and hot morning of late spring.
The way from her room to Elend's study wasn't a short one, but it certainly took Shana way less to walk it than usual. Is it the time, finally? Will my venture come to an end after years of scheming against the Order of Merlin? Are we even ready to fight Isaac and his allies? So many questions swarmed her mind. To a point in which Shana only realised she had entered the studio after Elend acknowledged her presence.
The man welcomed her with a silent nod of his head; he stood near the large window behind his table, barely paying any attention to her. Instead, it was the Swedish wizard who took the word. "It's been quite a while, lady Shana," Ludwig Larsson greeted her with an arrogant smile. For a moment, Shana could do nothing but stare back at him—it didn't matter what the man did, even if it wasn't his intention, everything came out of him challengingly or provocatively. When they first met, at one of their group meetings, the first thing which caught her attention was the wizard's presence, that along the many tales she had heard about him and his physical appearance, made Shana question whether Elend had taken a correct decision by recruiting him.
We need good warriors; we won't find any as good as Ludwig Larsson is. With that mental affirmation, Shana banished all the doubts from her mind. There was no time for weakness there; she needed to look strong in front of her allies. "Likewise," the former Master replied. Just by sheer habit, she almost greeted him with the title of lord; thankfully, her tongue was sharper than her mind. Shana was closer to becoming the Queen of England than Ludwig Larsson to finally be named as the head of the Great House of Larsson.
There was a third man in the room, one with whom she barely had any contact despite the long time they had been allies. Nalar Shawn was, physically, very similar to his brother Elend. A bit taller and with a longer hair of a darker shade of blond, the two siblings shared many, many traits—seriousness, very well shown in their ever cold features and attitude; pride, as the ever present coat of arms, a golden phoenix with two black swords crossed at its back, announced, sewed at the front on the blue cape which covered the man's robes; and lastly, a very scary sense of duty, which, in his case, as the second son of Edwin Shawn and the little brother to lord Elend, obliged him to defend his family against whatever threat it faced.
Suddenly, Elend let out a tired sigh as his eyes fell over her. "Tomorrow, we will face Isaac the First and the whole might of the Order of Merlin," the man said. Just like that; no words than those needed. He pulled a blue coin out of his robes; then he tossed it at her. Shana grabbed it midair. There, carved on the blue coin, was a figure she recognised with ease: Atlas, the Titan who held the weight of the planet on his shoulders.
"Raven's plan," Shana muttered after a few seconds of silence. She raised her gaze to discover three pairs of eyes set on her. "He did not fail to follow his word."
"Indeed, he did not," Elend said with a sour voice; almost pissed out, if she would guess. "I want to know your opinion before there is no turning back. So far, both Nalar and Ludwig think going into an all-out battle is the best choice for us to come out victorious. The odds are not in our favour—not even close—but I do agree with them. If I may add, Nathan and the rest of our forces will do as I command."
They were greatly outnumbered, that was a fact. The Order of Merlin, helped by the Wings of Liberty and Jin the Stranger, against the Great House of Shawn, Ludwig Larsson and Shana herself… What a shitty odds! "We will not find any better scenario," Shana stated. "In terms of a battle, maybe, but the Horcrux will be out of our reach, then. Also, we must not forget this is Raven's plan, not ours. However, I truly believe he wants both sides dead so he can obtain the Horcrux for himself."
"So…?" Ludwig Larsson cut in.
"I think we should go all in," Shana sentenced. "We all might die, or maybe not. Whatever happens it won't matter if we steal the Horcrux from them."
"And then what comes next?" Nalar piped in, taking everyone by surprise.
Shana thought about his question for quite a bit. What comes next? "I don't really understand your inquiry," she muttered after sending a sideways glance at Elend.
"My brother wants to prevent the coming of a new Dark Lord, and so do I," Nalar began his explanation. "You want to ruin Master Isaac's plans for whatever reason you have. And Ludwig sided with us because he also feared the nature of a Horcrux. I am certain we will win this war and obtain the Horcrux for ourselves, but what will come next?" He took a moment to look at his brother, who still had his gaze set on the large forest that could be seen through the window. "We need to kill them all so they will leave us in peace once everything is said and done—the Order of Merlin needs to be wiped out, of that I am sure. Otherwise, they will come to hunt us down again and again. Let's say we come out victorious after eliminating all of our enemies in the next battle; what comes next? Do we destroy the Horcrux and go back to our lives as if nothing happened at all?"
"I don't know about you, but that is my fucking plan," Ludwig huffed. "I wouldn't have described it better, Nalar." The man jumped out from his seat atop of the studio's table and made his way towards one of the large libraries which were embedded into the wall. His eyes scanned the many books there. "That Horcrux, that aberration of nature… I want it destroyed and its remmanents as far from me as possible." Without turning back, he uttered a last statement. "We will give death to those bastards who dared to play with such dark shit, and then we will erase them from our minds as they deserve—I will treat them as rats and nothing more."
It was a good plan; was it what she wanted for herself? To stop Master Isaac had always been Shana's objective since the moment she learned about his plans, however, the red-haired witch had never taken a moment to think about what would come after it—if she survived this venture, of course. "I don't know nor I care about the future," she finally said. Shana did not want to die—hell, the mere thought of it still scared her like a little girl—but she chose her path long ago.
Back then, she still had Valkyrie by her side, but after the fight against Jin the Stranger… Her counterpart had always been a very important part of her life; for so much time she couldn't even remember. After destroying the Order of Merlin, Shana would try to get her back—yes, she would prove to Valkyrie that no one was strong enough to split them apart. Certainly, not a bastard like Jin the Stranger.
Ludwig Larsson finally turned around to stare at her; a glance from toes to head was the only gesture he showed. That, and a raised brow—to Shana, it was obvious that, despite being the one who began this war and first raised against Isaac the First, the Swedish wizard did not consider her to be a decisive factor for the upcoming battle. Maybe, a weak girl was all the man saw. "Should we take that as a confirmation?" He asked. His eyes quickly darted towards Elend and Nalar—however, not fast enough for her to not notice the action. "Or do you have another and better idea?"
"Tomorrow, I will fight against the Order of Merlin. Dead or alive, I will not allow Isaac the First to obtain Herpo's Horcrux."
With her intentions already stated, the former Master left the room without further delay. Shana felt three pairs of eyes on her; oh, she sure felt them. She knew hers had been an abrupt exit, but there were no things to be done or said anymore at the reunion. Tomorrow, their final clash will occur. Tomorrow, her venture will come to an end. And only Magic itself knew if her clock would run its hands for one more day.
Out of nowhere, a breeze of fresh yet humid air hit the witch right in the face. Shana had made it to the large balcony atop of Shawn Manor. She had visited the place very few times and in all of them the moon had shone up in a dark sky—under the daylight, it wasn't nearly as beautiful, not even close. For starters, there was no trace of those little and lively nature spirits which glided over the lake like bright moths, just as the water's surface didn't reflect their many colours. Despite that, it still was a very nice place to stop by.
Shana walked towards the handrail; a hundred waist-height columns of white and black marble demarcated the surface of the large balcony, made of faultless, grey stone. Once there, she just leaned over the handrails; her elbows supported most of her weight, and thanks to her sleeveless dress, the witch felt the marble's coldness on her skin. It felt rather nice.
"I also like to come here from time to time," Elend's voice echoed behind her. Soon enough, the man stood by her side. He even imitated her posture, even though his back had to curve much more than hers due to his tall frame. "It helps me to clear my mind."
Shana huffed, ironically, in response. "In my case, I doubt such a thing is possible."
"You are scared," Elend just said. It was one of his observations; one of those which used to describe reality without an ounce of tact.
"I am not scared, Elend," Shana showed him her trembling hand. "I am fucking terrified. About our chances of victory, about the future… But most importantly, I am scared for my life. I do not want to die. I am so young and I still have so many things to do—so many places to visit, magic to discover and study, people to meet…"
"Last year, you weren't this…, emotional."
"Last year, I had yet to taste death, lord Elend," Shana replied, coldly. "And I tasted it well enough during my fight against Jin the Stranger. Oh, I tasted it well enough to make me wish I was just a farmer instead of a Master of the Order of Merlin!" Shana shook her head in amazement; how many times had she been about to drop it all? "Yet I have a duty to compel, and so I still fight."
She had a duty to compel and so she moved forward; failing at every task and ruining his allies' effort with her many defeats. Shana could not defeat Jin the Stranger, and because of it, Valkyrie did not answer her calls anymore and Isaac obtained Herpo's dagger for himself. Shana could not capture the man by the name of Ashram, and so she and her allies missed the opportunity to obtain very precious information about the Essentia that might have whispered much and very important knowledge into the First Master's ears.
"I understand your emotions."
"Oh, do you?" Maybe, it came out way more sarcastic than she intended. But, at that moment, at the verge of uncertainty and her probable death, Shana did not give a single damn about it. "You are lord Elend Shawn, the golden phoenix who heads the Great House of Shawn. Many lords, and not lesser ones, fear you and your magical talent. You have survived a war. Hell, you have even battled Lord Voldemort and live to tell the tale!"
"A golden phoenix? No, more like a black one," Elend commented with humour. A real smile had just formed in his face; truly a rare sight to behold. "All you have just said might be true, but, just like everyone else, I once was a young and arrogant brat. Since I have memory, I have been complimented due to my talent for magic—again and again and again, by as many people as you can imagine. How could I not feel invincible? I was special and everyone knew it. Then, the war came and Albus Dumbledore asked me if I could step up and make the right decision. So I did what my heart told me. And so I fought, and so I killed those who stood at the other side of the battlefield… And so I almost died for the first time." His eyes, that had been set on the lake for the entire monologue, now turned to look at her. "A man whose name I still know not took a Killing Curse for me—a better man, no doubt. The battle after that one I did not answer the call, and many men died because I let fear rule over my sense of honour."
Elend exhaled a long breath; just as his gaze returned to the lake. "That day, I learnt about how much duty and honour weighed. Even up to these days, if I recall those battles, those uncountable moments I almost died, the doubts still come to my mind. Is it necessary to start another war? Will I live through another one? Am I sacrificing the very little time I will get to spend with my son because of my sense of duty? To be honest, I do not know the answer to those questions. However, when I think about what could happen with Isaac and Herpo if I do not fight, I find my resolution—my resolution to fight one more day, at least."
Shana just stood there, in silence, as Elend made his way back to the manor. Which are my reasons to keep fighting one more day? Which are my reasons to not give up? Just as Elend had said, those were unanswerable questions. She did not have family nor a place to call it home; Valkyrie had abandoned her just because Jin beat them up to the verge of death… I need to find those reasons to keep living. I need to bring Valkyrie back. I now know what to do.
Those were some clear goals—maybe, the clearest ones she had ever had. But for them to occur, for Shana to discover a real way to live her life, she needed to destroy Isaac the First and his Order of Merlin. She needed to destroy Herpo's Horcrux once and for all.
And lighting struck her if Shana was not going to bloody give her all to find her purpose to live her life.
Well, there it was. A chapter of transition in which I wanted to explore the psyche of these two characters. The next chapter is battle time; a huge one. I already have about 6K words written, but that ain't enough to even finish one of the four parts which will form the chapter. Also, I'm going through a bump of a lack of motivation, so I don't know when it will be finished. Whenever it is, see you there!
