CHAPTER 13 - Sanguis Secundi
[Date - REDACTED] - Storage Room 3 - Baskerville Facility, [Time - REDACTED]
Expression perfectly blank, Thirteen quietly observed the scene before him.
As the Director of the ever elusive Division 13 the wizard bore his standard Glamor Charm, that which he kept in place at all times save the very rare moments when interacting with Control and Number 2 regarding Matters of Truly Serious Concern. With the exception of Twenty-Six, none of the others in his own sub-department knew what his face looked like.
It was ultimately for the best, considering the depth of danger unique to the affairs under his division's scope.
Specifically, matters pertaining to the Wild.
While every sub-department entangled with some minute aspect of wild magic given their areas of research, only Division 13 guarded the deepest of Wildest secrets, be it the varying realms or their mystifyingly esoteric magicks.
It was Division 13 that safeguarded the knowledge of Divine, Dark, and Unknown Wild, monitoring the realms as to ensure none of the occultish forces contained within those spheres breached the current Reality.
It was Division 13 that protected the truths about Wild Animagery and Wild Metamorphmagery, the latter of which was classified as Strictly-Need-to-Know given its inherent entwinement with soul magicks.
It was Division 13 that preserved the true secrets of nihilimancy, chronomancy, cosmomancy, and all other branches of obscure and Reality-destabilizing magic practiced in the Fallen City of Avalon.
A sharp huff of air broke his reverie, directing his attention towards The Voice. He and Number 26 currently stood in varying distances near the room's entrance, eyes focused ahead. Croaker's lips were set in a thin line, his standard scowl firmly in place.
The main object of their collective focus was the semi-active Goblet of Fire, pale blue flames gently licking the cup's edges and serving as the room's sole source of light. It sat in the center of the room on a slightly raised dais within a glowing heptagram forged of a myriad of arcane symbols, chief among them Elder Futhark.
At the edge of each point in a kneeling position was a witch or wizard, one of whom would become the Chosen Conduit for the Goblet of Fire. In line with the Triwizard Accords, none were from the host country due to a potential conflict of interest that could skew the tasks.
Each wore dark robes with a large hood covering their respective heads, staring unblinkingly as they muttered, hummed, or whispered their chosen orison towards the Goblet. Their attempts were to establish a psychic connection with the ancient artifact, with one chosen by the hallowed relic to serve as the communicative vessel for the three Tournament tasks. Said connection would self-terminate upon completion of the Tournament when the Final Champion claimed the Triwizard Cup.
Very few understood the means in achieving the connection to begin with, but then again such magic was not for the mundane mind to understand.
Chief among the septet was the Great Kibarbarinik Hiari Kipkirui, a powerful Seeress and magical Naturalist skilled in oneiromancy, lithomancy, phyllomancy, and xylomancy. She was highly regarded within and outside of her native Kenyan commune, most notably for her rare talent of Higher-Dimensional Scrying - achieved by subjecting herself to an Ascended Trance in order to 'see that which was lost'. It was exceptionally powerful magic, and in any other context 013 would have paid a pretty galleon to have the privilege of bearing witness.
Hiereia Hermia Atreides was the second, an esteemed cult priestess of the Dodona Mystics. The Seeress possessed a keenly intense presence, though unnerving was a more appropriate adjective the Unspeakable Director would use to describe the witch.
The third was Dario von Höffer, paternal nephew of Madame Ingeborg von Höffer. Like his zhretsa aunt, Dario was a fully realized volkhv whose speciality lay in astronomy and astrology, having already accurately cataloged the movements of the known asterisms for the next decade. That coupled with his powerful Diviner's Intuition made him an exceptional nomenographer, his skills greatly appreciated by highborn families and Neznachimito - the Balkan Alliance's equivalent of the Unspeakables of which he was Conscripted.
Representing from across the pond were the pair of Mistress Cleo and Miss Velloc, two powerful Legilimens blessed with the Diviner's Intuition, making their abilities all the more potent. The former was an Empathetic Abductivist, capable of making rapidfire and frightfully accurate predictions on people's moods on mere observation. The latter possessed the Peisinoan Aspect, capable of inflicting a siren-like effect on the mind that psychically lulled its target into lowering his or her Occlumency shields, making them vulnerable to a more intensive attack.
'Going to owe Skinner a favor.'
He snorted internally, envisioning the stony visage of the ever-elusive Director of Division X - MACUSA's equivalent of the DoM. While there was no love lost between the two men Thirteen was using his two best interrogators, one of whom could end up tied to the Goblet for the foreseeable year.
The presence of Subaru Sumeragi presented another potential favor 013 owed. Great-nephew of his old friend Mahoutokoro Headmaster Hinata Kurosawa, the young mage was a rising onmyōji - a diviner capable of exorcizing demons and helping spirits reach the afterlife. He currently served as an Apprentice to a Master kannushi , with rumors floating of an additional Alchemy apprenticeship under Nicholas Flamel.
'Probably his last good deed before he finally croaks, bloody buggering 'immortal alchemist' arse.'
His beef with Flamel went back at least a century and would probably endure well into the afterlife.
A slight movement from the opposite wall broke Number 13's musings and shifted his gaze to Anastacia Panagiotoupolos-Konstantinov, niece of Feodora Konstantinov - one of the present seven.
Like her aunt the Red Star was outfitted in dark monastic robes, impossibly dark eyes staring unblinkingly ahead. Despite her youth Thirteen was well aware of the Ana's mystical prowess; in addition to acquiring 12 OWLs, she'd followed in her aunt's footsteps to complete the third set of thirteen Initiation Rites in becoming a Vedunya - a Mage Seeress skilled in Ascended Trances and, to Thirteen's mild surprise, Wild Divination.
'Durmstrang was always the more… flexible among our educational institutions.'
It wasn't really his concern one way or another given the witchling wasn't a citizen of Wizarding Britain. As such, the nature of her abilities and applicable Conscription fell within the purview of Neznachimoto and thus would not be Thirteen (or Six's) headache.
'Praise Merlin for small mercies.'
Given the stage of her initiation Anastacia required constant supervision, thus necessitating her accompanying her aunt Feodora whom herself was a fully-realized Vedunya.
Still, 002 would include the witchling in the Obliviations for all participants who would not be selected. Thirteen then frowned at the potential awkwardness, as both Feodora and Ana were maternal cousins of his deceased wife Orella - former Number 39 who was killed-in-action.
Nearly twenty more minutes passed in relative silence before the Goblet flared brightly, a gout of eldritch blue flame shooting up high. The seven diviners increased the volume of their respective meditations, signaling that the vestige was ready to choose its conduit.
And that would be correct, though not in the way any of them expected.
The Goblet once more flared, accompanied by the perturbing sound of fiendish whispers sounding all around them. Two and Twenty-Six unholstered their wands on instinct, bracing themselves for impact.
Even more disturbing was Anastacia's reaction; the witchling jerked sharply to attention, her inky eyes blown wide. With slow measured steps she approached the Goblet, gaze transfixed above the object's flames. The gathered seven all froze, none daring to speak lest they interrupted…whatever was going on and incurred devastating magical backlash.
Naturally, none of the others couldn't see what the young Ethergazer glimpsed above the artifact.
If any of them had been able to see what the heliopath could, they would have recoiled at the sight of a massive Blibbering Humdinger - the astral-dimensional representation of the Goblet's potent magicks. Had any of the Unspeakables possessed the heliopathic Sight, they would have likened the being to the Giant Squid in Hogwarts' Black Lake, bearing several writhing appendages attached to a center mass that resembled a pulsing, unblinking eye.
That stared directly at the young witch as it spoke to her in only the way a High Interdimensional Being could.
With every step the witch took the whispers ratcheted in volume, taking on a strangely musical lilt. Even stranger was Ana speaking in seeming tandem with the unintelligible words that echoed all around them.
"... Geron va nyke … ivestragī īlva lanta sagon hae mēre … geron va nyke …"
From her kneeling position Hermia stiffened, earthen brown eyes widening in perturbed recognition at the words tumbling from the younger witch's mouth. Thirteen had a similar reaction, grip tightening on his mage staff. The elder wood warmed in response to his growing tension, ready to defend his person if need be.
"... Urnēptre nyke skoros iksis iemnȳ issa … sīr kostan tepagon issa … skoros iksis iemnȳ nyke …"
Ana's voice was clearer as she repeated the peculiar phrase, her penetrating gaze unchanged as she began climbing the dais.
Twenty-Six and Two instinctively moved towards her, before freezing at Thirteen's bellow of "DO NOTHING!"
The Red Star finally reached the top, still staring some inches above the now roaring eldritch-blue flames as she continued her chanting:
" ...Tepagon nyke līr mazverdagon ao… sīr kostan sētessis līr mazverdagon nyke… "
The accompanying whispers now verged on shouts , accompanied by a peculiar wind that whistled through the vast space. Slowly, the witchling reached into her inner robes pocket, retrieving an obsidian ritual knife that she slashed across her wand-hand palm as she continued to incant:
" ...Sīr kostā sagon hae nyke… sīr kostan ȳdragon rȳ ao… "
The witchling stared blankly at her bloody palm, as though hypnotized by the sight of the red rivulets.
"... Ivestragī īlva lanta sagon mēre … Ivestragī īlva lanta sagon mēre … Ivestragī īlva lanta sagon mēre …"
Maintaining her unblinking gaze Ana plunged her bloody hand directly into the Goblet's flames.
To her enraptured and horrified audience they witnessed the fire surge upwards to engulf her entire body, looking as though she were being burnt alive . It didn't help that she was screaming in tandem with the fiendish unintelligible shouts bouncing off the room's walls.
Naturally a faint whine sounded all around them, causing Thirteen's mouth to settle into a thin line upon the realization of the sheer mountain of Wild Magic in the air.
'Damned Chime is probably ringing its head off.' 013 snorted under his breath.
The wind increased in volume and the unnerving chorus of Ana and the Goblet's shouts crescendoed to unbearable levels, pounding against the collective skulls of the room's occupants. The Voice looked visibly disquieted, jaw tight as he clutched his ash wand in a vice grip. Twenty-Six was rather pale, but her back remained ramrod straight in true Gryffindor fashion as she sunk deeper into a protective occludic state.
Ana screamed again as the Goblet's flamed impossibly bright, and for a split moment, roiled and pulsed as though it were an inferno that consumed the witchling whole.
The flames finally receded to reveal the surprisingly uncharred Red Star…
Who promptly collapsed.
It was only Two's cry of "MOLLIARE!" that prevented Ana from cracking her skull when she landed, immediately convulsing with eyes rolled in the back of her head.
Feodora abandoned her post to race to Ana's side, gently cradling her jerking and twitching niece's head in her lap as the psychic bond between herself and the Goblet finalized itself. After a few more tense moments the seizures simmered down to trembles, her dark eyes wild.
"Well?!" exclaimed Thirteen urgently. "What did you see?!"
Ana shivered and shook in her aunt's arms for a few moments, before she stiffened as her ichor-like eyes landed on Thirteen's own. With a rattling breath she snarled:
"... There be dragons!"
The Following Day…
Lips settling into a thin hard line, Bojana Krum stared at the mangled corpse before her that resembled mutilated viscera moreso than an actual human being.
The only that remained identifiably intact were his eyes, bulging orbs of deep brown blown wide in terror and pain.
"Transmorgrifian Torture Curse, applied very methodically." Senior Deputy Erkki Leppanen's expression was perfectly blank despite the graveness of his tone, fir wand methodically waving to and fro over the slain valet's form. "My secondary scan confirms the Cruciatus, which in combination with the aforementioned spell meant this poor man… suffered before he died. Same for the two guardsmen."
Bojana could only blink in response, hard-pressed to disagree with her colleague's assessment. She watched as Junior Deputy Pierina Foscarelli expertly cataloged all relevant evidence from the brutalized Aurors' remains, the slightest tinge of green coloring her cherubic face. She was the youngest member of the team - five years Bojana's junior - and the Bogatyr believed that the Boyar held great potential to flourish within the organization.
Commander Krum and her four-member team were currently at El Museo Magico dei Castelli within the mundane El Museo Casa Siviero, nestled within San Niccolò in Florence. Their presence had been requested by the Italian Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stating that "the grave severity" of the situation at hand required the investigative intervention of the Srebristite Streli.
Directly inspired by the Silver Spears of olde, the Streli was founded in the early 18th century by kavkhan and Black Wolf Serghei Zedescu, inspired by his dear friend and ally's Commander Clelia Weasley's efforts in Wizarding England. In Serghei's case, the Streli served as a direct response to the rise of the Golden Khatun, a powerful Dark Lady who wrought her own special brand of terror in the magical Balkans.
The Golden Khatun proliferated her own myth as most Dark mages are apt to do, fanning whisperings of her being a reincarnation of Temülün, the youngest full sibling and only sister of the infamous Black Khan.
Rumors abound that it was actually Temülün herself, maintaining her life force through exploitation of the most forbidden of the darkest arts and allowing her to persist for centuries.
The witch's power was as tremendous as her ruthlessness, a warrior mage skilled in corporikinesis - a now-outlawed branch of Transfiguration that allows for advanced body manipulation aided by legilimency. The results were mind-controlled super soldiers completely loyal to their creator, a near-indestructible army capable of wreaking much carnage.
It was Temülün who helped the Black Khan capture Scholomance, invade and seize Vienna, and push back against the heavy resistance from the Byzantines and the Wards of the Empire, maintaining the impasse when the Black Khan was unexpectedly forced to spend time suppressing an attempted revolt within the Mongol Empire.
When the Black Khan forged an alliance with the mage lords of the Byzantine Empire to conquer Europe in the wake of the House of Magic's destruction, Temülün smartly recognized that said pact would be viewed as an act of war by the regions threatened by Mongols. The witch insisted that these nations would take up arms against Black Khan and the Empire which would ultimately lead to their doom and destruction of their goals.
She would be right of course, and Durmstrang would emerge in the Yule of that year.
Her brother naturally refused to see reason, attempting to assassinate Temülün for her efforts. The witch was forced to flee to Abyssinia, remaining there well after her brother's demise.
She emerged in the early 1670s, Imperiusing Kara Hasanzade Mustafa Agha and using him to acquire leagues of janissaries she altered with corporikinesis. Out of these leagues emerged her six havari , dedicated disciples to her cause.
Together, seven-member sect ran an exceptionally ruthless campaign throughout Bulgaria, Romania, Serbia, and Macedonia, utilizing the cover of the Ottoman-Venetian Wars to murder, pillage, and enslave the will of the No-Majs to serve as underlings of their magical superiors. The only reason she was partially and not completely successful was due to the interference of the Streli. Her ultimate goal was to rule all of the recognized Ottoman Empire as the Padishah , usurping the will of the Ottoman Caliph and any other recognized ruler who stood in her path to glory.
Her motto - Herkesin İyiliği İçin Kullanın - served as justification for her actions, based on the belief that her possession of magical ability bestowed her with the right to rule those who lacked it and crush those who stood in her way.
It would be this maxim that inspired Gellert Grindelwald's own Für das Größere Wohl , and all the horrific chaos that plagued Wizarding Europe after the fact.
The Golden Khatun met her ultimate demise when she breached the fortress of Topkapı Palace, home of Sultan Ahmed III. She and two of her lieutenants aimed to assassinate the Sultan but her plans were foiled by Ahmed's royal vizier Damat Ibrahim, a close friend and ally of Serghei since their boyhoods in Durmstrang. The Boyar's cleverness saw a spy planted in Temülün's inner circle, feeding intel to Serghei to thwart the most dastardly of her plans.
In the end, the Golden Khatun and her two most faithful were felled by the Black Wolf kavkhan and his two closest Bogatyr and Storm King compatriots in a brutal, blood-soaked, and magically awe-inspiring clash, finally ending her reign of terror with her death.
At the current time, the nearly thirty-member Streli served as the the Balkan Alliance's magical equivalent of the muggle's INTERPOL, though unlike their muggle counterparts who just shared intel, they were fully empowered by the ICW to utilize lethal force if their cases required it.
"Perimeter's clear, seems they used a standard Imperturbable ward scheme to prevent entry and exit." Mykyta Karkaroff looked poised to strike, storm-gray eyes sharp as he completed his assessment.
The great-nephew of current Durmstrang Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, the Bogatyr alumnus was one of Bojana's best friends and steadfast supporters since their schooling days. Despite the witch's prodigal magimartial abilities and corresponding accomplishments, there were quite a few detractors who resented her unprecedented elevation to the Glavnokomandvasht of the Streli.
The contempt was doubly so considering her age - merely 35-years-old and the commander-in-chief of one of the most elite tactical forces in the Wizarding World.
"Fitting," Bojana replied. "I can't imagine the Death Eaters wanting to draw attention to themselves whilst they invaded and burgled the place."
"And you're certain it was Death Eaters?" The snide tone of Laszlo Thurzó interrupted, a slight sneer marring his features as Mykyta leveled a less-than-subtle glare in his direction.
"I am quite certain Laszlo," replied Bojana with a touch of amused condescension. "The spell usage is consistent with that of the Death Eater Mr. January aka Barty Crouch Jr., consistent with reports of other victims who've suffered this particular brand of violence during the height of the Death Eater raids in the previous war. Considering that Barty Jr. was captured, tried, and ultimately perished in Azkaban, it is more than likely this was the work of a protégé who worked alongside him in the raids. More than likely two protégés who could overpower the slain valet and the two Hit Wizards tasked with providing security for the museum."
Laszlo's jaw ticked in response as he was unable to formulate an equally logical counteroffensive, lightly snarling as he registered Mykyta's less-than-subtle snickers as Erkki lightly coughed to cover up his quiet laugh.
Bojana gloated internally, more amused than annoyed at the older Storm King's antics. Not for the first time she was pleased to have dealt with three Storm Queen sisters in her youth, quite attuned to the temperamental arrogance of those in House Perun. Laszlo's lent towards the visceral, still bitterly resentful at Bojana soundly defeating him in the Ascension Trials to claim the mantle of Glavnokomandvasht.
That the Bogatyr was twelve years his junior made the sting all the more poignant.
With a swift nod to Erkki, the man immediately took a sentry position just outside the entrance. Bojana instructed Laszlo to do the same, eliciting yet another less-than-subtle chuckle from Mykyta as he flanked Bojana's right with Pierina taking the left.
As one the threesome ventured into the museum proper, maintaining their modified diamond formation on high alert.
They were met with a three-member squad of Italian Aurors.
"Benvenuto Commander Krum. I am pleased that you and your team could make it."
"Buongiorno, Della Torre." Bojana nodded respectfully in the handsome Senior Auror's direction, successfully resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the flirtatious lilt of his smile. Vincenzo really ought to have been named 'Casanova'; the rakishly handsome Beauxbatons alumnus earning quite the reputation for being a ladies man who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. He was quite lucky to be a powerful auror from a very influential highborn family, else Bojana surmised he would have met his end several flings ago.
Accompanying the man were Antonia Pagano and Luca Cannalo, both of whom exchanged polite greetings with the newcomers. The former was rather stern-faced with a brooding countenance, though from prior interaction Bojana knew it was merely Auror Pagano's natural predisposition. Luca looked rather chipper, though that had more to do with youthful eagerness as a recent graduate of La Scuola di Cavalieri d'Arme - Wizarding Italy's equivalent of the Auror Academy.
"You have my sincerest condolences for your colleagues."
" Grazie mille , Commander." For once Della Torre looked completely serious. "Canossa and Romagna were truly honorable and dedicated to their duties. We will inform their families of their bravery and honor them as is appropriate."
"Well said," Krum supplied with a nod. Her team was in agreement, though Karkaroff's eyes narrowed at the overly friendly smile Signor Casanova sent Bojana's way.
"So," stated Vincenzo. "There is only one artifact missing," he gestured towards the empty stands. " Todesflüstern…"
"...The Death Whisper," supplied Commander Krum. "A dagger forged of mithril bearing dark enchantments, originally belonging to the Belascos of Bavaria before coming into possession of the Kleinwuchs family. After the defeat of Grindelwald and the death of Gustav Kleinwuchs, the blade was retrieved from his ancestral home Die Wolfshöhle. It's…" she paused for a significant beat, eliciting concerning glances from the others. "It's posited that the type of enchantments on the blade are necromantic in nature, capable of pulling the very soul from the body with one stab."
"And now, it's in possession of Death Eaters." A fearsome scowl marred Mykyta's patrician features, grip tightening on his aspen wand.
"Are you certain the thieves were Death Eaters?" asked Antonia, unwittingly echoing Laszlo's sentiments.
"Yes," replied a confident Bojana, repeating her earlier theory. The Italian aurors appeared convinced but in Della Torre's case, a wave of disquiet overcame him.
The Death Eater Menace of the previous year was disconcerting enough, suggestive enough to paint the picture of a not-so-dead Dark Lord making moves for a resurgence. While he was a steadfast believer in True Prophecies and had no reason to doubt the veracity of the Boy-Who-Lived, the circumstantial coincidences were piling too high to be ignored. Memories resurfaced of the previous Blood War; the unyielding fear and paranoia as the Dark Lord wrought his unique brand of terror within England and parts of France, spreading like a disease to the remainder of Wizarding Europe.
Were he to be somehow resurrected …
"Have you collected all the relevant evidence?" asked Luca.
"Yes," replied Bojana. "We have everything that we need. There are already Red Notices on most of the identified and unmasked Death Eaters, with Obediah Prewett and Thorfinn Rowle highest on the list. Per the aforementioned assessments, Mr. January more than likely trained a few proteges in his respective cell before his apprehension by the British Aurors. We'll review his previous case file to gauge who these individuals are and where they can be found." A wry smile overtook the Bogatyr's features. "If only we could acquire the deceased's memories for more details it-"
"I believe I can help with that."
The Streli stiffened as a shadow peeled from the northernmost wall, revealing the figure of a slight man outfitted in surprisingly sleek and modern vestments. A thick brown rope of acromantula silk tied around his waist, featuring three equidistant knots that each resembled an ouroboros. The man's face caught the scant bit of light filtering in through one of the windows, prompting Bojana to relax as her team did the same.
"Monsignor Borghese… tua presenza è apprezzata." Commander Krum respectfully bowed in the direction of Beniamino Borghese, her team repeating her greeting. The Italians didn't react, already having interacted with the man.
"Il piacere è tutto mio, Signora," he replied, voice raspingly dulcet. He bowed in Bojana's direction, repeating the gesture to Mykyta and Pierina. The wizard-priest was a high-ranking Cardinale in Il Ordine Magico di San Francesco di Assisi, a prestigious and highly influential organization within Italy since their inception in the 13th century. Said order strove to embody their patron saint's enduring motto - Pax et Bonum. They fully dedicated themselves to acts of charity, which varied from running Healing clinics for the poor, establishing scholarships for underprivileged magical youths to attend Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and, through their Squib intermediaries, provided food, shelter, and medicine for impoverished muggles.
Unlike their muggle counterparts who aspired to a life of complete poverty, Il Ordine made it a point to involve themselves in the affairs of noble and highly influential magical families. In exchange for their financial patronage, Il Ordine provided counsel in matters of politics, family, and other points of intrigue spanning the 'mystically arcane'. Divination was chief among their services, specifically nomenography, scrying, oneiromancy, cartomancy, and prophecy interpretation. They also provided Occlumency training to highborn heirs and other interested parties, another effective means of ingratiating themselves with the influential highborn.
To maintain the necessary checks and balances for such a powerful and entrenched organization, the magical Italian government established a mandate that ensured the Order could only work under the jurisdiction of magical Italy, and had to lend their vast services in supporting the Italian DMLE to close cases.
Additionally, members who displayed 'significant natural abilities' were required to be Conscripted in service to country, identities kept on a secret list known only to the Italian Minister of Magic, the head of the Italian DMLE, and the Director of Neznachimoto.
Beniamino was among that number, and had been since his 8th birthday.
A natural Ambuscader Legilimens with a Diviner's Intuition from the illustrious La Familia Borghese could not be allowed to slip through the cracks.
"You mentioned memories, Signora?"
Bojana blinked. "Yes, Monsignor."
With a smooth flourish he retrieved three phials from his inner robes pocket, handing them to the Commander.
"Did… did you get those from their corpses?" Mykyta looked keenly perturbed at the possibility as Pierina blinked in amazement.
"That is correct," was Beniamino's quiet response. "The mind is, as the muggles so aptly state, a terrible thing to waste." He turned to Bojana whilst ignoring her compatriots' matching shudders: "Those memory copies are from the victims' last few moments. Though they do not provide the direct identities of the Death Eaters involved, it does confirm your theory that they are in fact the Dark Lord's soldiers."
He turned to Della Torre. "Il Ordine will be working closely with your division on this investigation."
"We are honored to have your assistance, Monsignor." Vincenzo bowed, eliciting his team to do the same.
With a flourish Beniamino unholstered his wand and summoned his patronus, the corporeal vulture racing off to deliver its missive.
If the others noticed that both the spell and the message were nonverbal, they didn't bother to comment.
Shamballa, 10:41AM
Try as he might, Healer Gupta could not help but frown at the disquieting news he'd just received.
"You're absolutely certain?"
A flash of irritation crossed Ji-hun's face, smoothed in a blink amidst the flames of the Floo.
"Yes Baskar," the wizard replied with a touch of dulcet asperity. "I am quite certain that neither I nor my family have seen my sister in almost a week. All letters have gone unanswered, no charmed mirror communication, and all other… unconventional means of correspondence have gone unanswered. She hasn't been in touch with Chin-Sun either, and those two have always been thick as thieves. I…" Ji-hun's expression wrinkled, the concern hard to miss. "I am quite concerned for my sister's whereabouts."
Baskar couldn't help but agree. Yoo Ri had left on her usual holiday trip almost a week ago, on the heels of the Weasley family and Jim Potter's return to England. She always made a point to 'check in' with Baskar when she arrived safely, but no such correspondence had come.
Now, to hear that the witch had never even reached her destination ratcheted Gupta's concern to uncomfortable dread.
Something was very wrong.
Resolving to find out what happened to his dear friend, Baskar quickly wrapped up his Floo call.
Pleased to be in his private quarters, the healer took a dew meditative breath before unholstering his wand - 14-inch ficus with caladrius feather.
"EXxXPECTO PATRONUM! "
A burst of silvery light poured from the wand, slowly resolving into a beautiful swan.
" ...Not all who wander are lost, but some who stray lose their way… and now it's time for friends to seek that which has gone away... "
With a flourish Hansa flew off with the cryptic message. As one of the handful of individuals authorized to send and receive patronus missives, Gupta knew it would take some minutes to receive a response.
Rising from his kneeling position, he set about making a strong cup of tea. He'd just finished adding some honey when a gorgeously sleek snow leopard sprinted in, speaking in Julian Montmorency's husky tenor:
"... Sometimes the things you've lost can be found again in unexpected places … Our paths will cross when Selene reunites with Aphrodite in the great Ouranos."
In a blink Stelmaria faded away, though Baskar was filled with a keen hope he didn't feel before.
Never had he been more glad to make an ally of Le Grand Maître of La Fraternité de Sorciers, who would, based on his message, make an effort to help him find Yoo Ri.
And to think, the Li-Tsieng Crisis was the catalyst that brought them all together.
'Strange miracles indeed.'
5th Arrondissement - Paris, 12:44PM
Satisfied moans interspersed with hoarse screams, filling the space of the abandoned loft.
Well, the loft wasn't technically abandoned, but the copious Notice-Me-Nots, Repello Muggletum, Inmobullio, and other secrecy wards prevented its actual muggle owners from entering the space, much less remembering that they owned it in the first place.
La Veuveblanc demanded absolute privacy when conducting the more… delicate of her organization's affairs, especially one that afforded such a fabulous view of the Seine!
The witch took another bite of her confit de canard, wiggling her toes in delight at the deliciously rich flavors dancing on her tongue. A decadent sip of Roumier Musigny Grand Cru followed, the lushly rich fruity profile complimenting the fatty duck excellently.
Another hoarse scream sounded, properly annoying the blonde witch and souring her appetite.
'Can't even enjoy a proper meal these days.'
With a huff and an eyeroll Sabine tossed aside her napkin, venturing her way over to the source of the shouting. A subtle nod signaled La Paillaise to cease her tender ministrations, the witch complying but not before poking their captive with the tip of her stiletto-like ebony wand.
"Oh Jean, Jean, Jean," leered Sabine, bending to become eye-level with the Incarcerous -bound man. Jean Fauchelevent glared back with hateful yet fear-tinged watery brown orbs.
"Don't look at me like that chéri ! I am not the one who is in trouble here!" La Veuveblanc mockingly tutted in the man's direction, chittering in sardonic delight at the sneer leveled her way.
Said sneer which was promptly wiped off his face at the sharp slap courtesy of a scowling La Paillaise, causing a long trickle of blood to dribble out of his mouth.
"That's better!" Sabine leaned closer, icy blue orbs staring unflinchingly into Fauchelevent's own. "Now, you're going to explain to me exactly why not one, not two, but three separate shipments to our contact at the Pitié-Salpêtrière never made it to their intended destination. I mean really, when Le Caïd agreed to replace Les Fripones with your lot, did you think that gave you grounds to be so careless?! Mon dieu! Do you think Romanian Longhorn blood, jobberknoll feathers, and sal ammoniac grows on trees?!"
An incredulous huff of laughter escaped her lips as she gripped Jean's jaw in an icy grip. With nary a thought Sabine tapped into her minor Bellamy-aspect, setae sprouting over fingers that thinned and elongated like a spider's . She dug the appendages deeper into Jean's skin, causing him to moan pitifully as his eyes widened in fright.
"Awww, scared of spiders are we, chéri?" Her icy blue orbs shimmered in cruel delight as her captive's whimpering increased, his arachnophobia causing him to visibly shudder in mounting horror.
"Now," continued the Dragon. "You are going to answer my questions and answer them truthfully, else my colleague here will have quite the time drawing it out of you. Or beating… rather torturing it out of you." She shrugged glibly. "Or perhaps we can skip the niceties and I can simply hand you over to Le Garde-Chiourme, who would have absolutely no qualms handing you over to Le Prêtre… I hear Jerome Fletcher is as chatty as ever."
" NO! " screamed Jean, instinctively horrified at the possibility. It took about a minute or so, but he ultimately sagged in defeat.
"F-F-fine ," he whispered. "I'll tell you everything you want to know."
"That's much better!" Sabine tittered viciously.
WIth a deeply shuddering breath, the smuggler recounted his tale:
"It started with Jerome… he introduced me to…to… Volodymyr Tkachenko." Sabine's jaw twitched, though she really wasn't surprised. It seemed Jean also possessed Jerome's unique brand of greed.
"That's how I met his wife, Madame Tkachenko…" La Veuveblanc's scowl deepened at the infatuated sigh that left the man's lips. There was always a bloody woman involved.
"She seemed really interested in the work we do for the hospital…" 'Of course she was interested imbécile, her husband is attempting to take over our organization!' None of Sabine's furious thoughts poured from her lips, content to glare contemptuously at the fool whilst he continued his nattering.
"We talked a lot, you see…Madame Tkachenko was intrigued by the Saint Roch Ward and its purpose…" Sabine stiffened as setae-covered fingers dug deeper into the frightened wizard's jaw, ice blue orbs glaring dangerously.
"She asked about the patients there…" The blonde's jaw began ticking.
"She was fascinated by Leta Lestrange's presence…" La Paillaise's eyes slightly widened at the soft choke that left her Consilier's lips, startled at the widening of her eyes.
Snickt.
"LANGLOCK. SILENCIO. OBSCURO. "
The spells from La Veuveblanc's acacia wand rendered Jean mute and blind, adding a Stupefy for good measure.
"Sisi? What-"
"Watch him until I get back!"
And without waiting for a response Sabine turned on her heel and marched off, not allowing her colleague to see the panicked expression on her face. Le Garde-Chiourme had given her a highly redacted version of Jerome's interrogation, and thus she was aware of the bare bones of Tkachenko's intended ambitions.
If his wife was already asking about Leta Lestrange…
With a few choice swears Sabine apparated away to her and Gabriel's rendez-vous, knowing that her arrival would trip the wards and alert the Senior Chevalier of the situation's urgency.
Her primary hope as she witnessed the space distort around her was that her news wouldn't finally push Le Garde-Chiourme in delivering on his threats to permanently disband Le Milieu.
Lower Lewes - East Sussex, 3:41PM
Elizabeth Edgecombe could only stare helplessly at the quiet form of her granddaughter, currently sitting on the veranda listlessly staring at the beautifully curated garden.
It was the first time in almost a week she wasn't hysterically sobbing whilst awake, and Madame Elizabeth Edgecombe (née Gudgeon) was immensely grateful for that.
Per Healer Finlay Prewett of St. Mungo's, Marietta was in a "state of persisting shock" resulting from the overwhelming grief of losing her parents and godfather.
Elizabeth closed her eyes as a wave of sorrow filled her, the pain of losing her only son and beloved daughter-in-law still as fresh as the day she'd discovered the news.
Somehow Rita Skeeter had acquired photographs of the carnage, publishing the lurid images alongside her usual sensationalized nonsense in the proceeding edition of The Prophet . The poor Ravenclaw had seen the images, once more devolving into a hysterically screaming nervous-breakdown.
Draught of Peace was the only respite in that moment, but Healer Prewett had been able to wean the witchling into a stronger-than-normal dosage routine of Calming Draught.
Still, the gentle giant of a Healer strongly suggested a Mind Healer. He'd given her a referral for Healer Ted Tonks as "the best bloody one of the bunch!", though it was delivered in Finlay's distinctively gruff brogue.
Both Elizabeth and Desmond had been initially quite put out by the suggestion of a mudblood puttering around in their only granddaughter's mind. The Edgecombe Family were respectable and traditional purebloods who did not believe in the intermingling of the lesser-born interlopers that intrigued in their world.
It was even more offensive that Ted had absconded with Andromeda Black, causing an outright scandal that led to the witch's expulsion from her maiden family.
One would consider the Edgecombes' view on blood purity to be rather heavy-handed as they were on the lower rungs of the influential ladder, despite being (mostly) pureblooded for generations. None of the adult-aged Edgecombes were shy in their social climbing; the family had made inroads with illustrious lineages including the Belbys, Slughorns, MacDougals (prior to their demise), and, through Violetta, the Ancient and Noble House of Fawley.
Though Violetta was not of the mainline family and thus would have never wielded the considerable power and influence afforded by House Fawley, the name and prestige of the family was more than enough to give the Edgecombes the credibility and prestige they craved. It had afforded Violetta the means to schmooze with the likes of Narcissa Black, enough to be considered a dear friend. Had the former Lady Malfoy not committed an act as taboo as divorce, Elizabeth was certain Violetta would already be a member of her Inner Circle.
Nonetheless, the Black name was just as prestigious as that of Malfoy, and Marietta had mentioned in her letters that she and Heir Malfoy were in a school club and "got along quite well!"
A shift in the wards broke the witch's reverie, alerting her to an arrival in the guest Floo.
Reaching the Receiving Parlor, she was greeted with the sight of Healer Ted Tonks.
"Madame Edgecombe, pleasure to formally meet you." He gave a slight gentlemanly bow, dusting a polite kiss on the back of the witch's extended hand.
Elizabeth returned the greeting, surprisingly pleased at the mud… muggleborn's comportment as she studied the man.
He was considerably taller than expected and was quite well-put together, noticeably over six feet with surprisingly sharp aristocratic features emphasized by kind pale blue eyes and a warm smile.
Unbidden, the poshly clipped tones of Dowager Cressida Dagworth-Granger's voice sounded in Elizabeth's mind, remarking that the Tonks boy "is damned near identical to that shameless rake Titus Avery, Circe rest-his-soul. It's bloody uncanny that!"
The elder Ravenclaw witch was surprised to discover that the Slytherin was right. Titus Avery - great-uncle of Daimon Lord Avery - had been quite rakish, though he oozed a unique charm and sharp intelligence that rendered him quite irresistible. He was quite popular with the witches, noted as quite a 'gifted lover'.
Fitting that he'd ended up in Slytherin, though his enduring rivalry with Caractacus Flint prevented his inclusion on the former's Prince Administration.
Shaking off her thoughts, Madame Edgecombe exchanged pleasant chatter with Mr. Tonks, quite taken with the charming timbre of his voice. Conversation steered to his would-be patient, and Elizabeth felt quite at ease in describing the witchling's condition.
"...Will you be able to help her?" the older witch quietly asked, gazing at a still-unmoved Marietta with all the care and concern only a grandmother could show her grandchild.
"I will do all in my power to help your granddaughter heal, madam." Ted smiled reassuringly, putting Elizabeth at ease.
9:23PM
Frozen.
The forms of the Unspeakables were completely and utterly frozen , like statues carved of marble suspended in time.
Mr. Arachne spent a few seconds gawking at the scene before him, before a quick clearing of Mr. Justinian's throat jerked him out of his momentary stupor.
"How in Merlin's saggy y-fronts did you manage that?!"
The Bane of the Dark Lord's Enemies merely blinked at the question. "A joint project between myself and Nemo." Though soft, his voice nonetheless possessed a deeply warm timbre. "The cardinal wardstone scheme creates a temporary field of physical and psychic immobility that ostensibly traps those within its field. Those under its effects will experience the current temporal moment indefinitely. Well… until the runic matrices patter out and the stone disintegrates into non-existence. Once they do, their perceptual experience of time will resume seamlessly with none the wiser. "
Arachne continued his gawking. "...You froze time?!"
Justinian gave him a look. "Not quite. Though I can't imagine we have the time to argue that point?"
Ignoring the man's jibe and the sardonic snort from January, he stepped around the still forms of 002 and 026 to reach the Goblet of Fire. A simple swish-and-flick gently levitated the object to its intended destination.
About 200 feet from their current position past the west-facing forest lines was a small clearing containing a ritual circle Arachne and Direction created a few nights prior. Carved into the trees were a series of warding runes in Elder Futhark and Althochdeutsch given to them by Rex Norvegicus, ensuring that their intended activities would be obscured from the eyes and senses of all.
The Goblet's container was slowly levitated directly into the circle's center, set atop a smaller inner circle forged of Verbis Diablo runes.
The arcane artifact gave a slight rattle , as though disquieted at being in contact with the accursed runes.
Disrobing, Arachne effortlessly into his leviathan spider-man form as January, Direction, and Justinian assigned a three-point formation around the circle proper. Flexing his additional appendages the Master of Ceremonies sunk to his knees, and with his hornbeam wand, slashed at one of his hands with Diffindo and allowed the blood to pour into the cup.
The Goblet flared to life, spitting eldritch blue flames in a manner not unlike a hissing cat.
"Taif ati, olov oge tucis,
Taif ati, olov oge tucis,
Taif ati, olov oge tucis."
The Verbis Diablo flowed from his lips, the perverse syllables flowing over the Goblet and causing it to rattle all the more intensely as it physically began vibrating.
"Orcesbo Azathoth
Retsigam Suitot Sinoitaerc te Sinoitcurtsed!"
A terrible discordant hum sounded all around them, coupled with the keenly crushing sensation of the most forbidden magicks filling the air. It was complimented by the Goblet's increased spitting, the eldritch blue flames a veritable beacon as it fought against Arachne's efforts.
"Meniugnas ni em ibit od,
Tu ratu etutriv ni et!"
A strange hum emitted from the Goblet, causing the other three Death Eaters to slightly shift.
"Ad ihim metatsetop maut tu sunimod suem rutatu aut etutriv te taviv!"
Blood leaked from Arachne's eyes, nose, ears, and lips, the rivulets running down to forge a strange rune on his chest that thrummed in time with the dissonant sounds all around them. A bizarre chorus of whispers began, adding another layer of audial disquiet all around them.
"Icov eartsev oipicearp,
Tu rauqol metatnulov inimod iem repus mucimini muus,
Oipicearp itatsetop eaut,
Tu sunimod suem oe rutatu da mudnedrep mucimini muus!"
The Master of Ceremonies grit his teeth as he felt the full psychic breadth of the Goblet's efforts in fighting back, a low grunt of pain emitting from his throat. A sharp flick of hornbeam levitated three items out of his discarded robes:
A thin Unbreakable phial full of Rex Norvegicus' blood.
The gold Heir's Ring of House Potter.
A small magically sealed container housing the handkerchief stained red with Jim Potter's blood from the disastrous Potter Twins' twelfth birthday bash.
Three sharp flicks and the Verbis Diablo-equivalent of the Liquefying Curse transformed the three items into a roiling blood-red miasma that he directed to hover just above the Goblet's hissing blue flames.
"Rep meniugnas suie seidebo ie tucis onimod out!
Rep mungis eailimaf,
Mue sitecsongoc ni etsoh itaf inimod iem!
Rep muitsoh meniugnas,
Mativ suie da maitnesse maut sibagil!"
With an audible snap Arachne's back bent backwards as he screamed bloody murder, the strange symbol increasing its thrumming as it stretched and pulled as though intending to bulge out of his chest.
A keen expression of horror flashed across Direction's face, actively fighting to maintain her shields as the distinct desire to crawl out of her own flesh increased tenfold. A backup Personality hovered on the precipice of January's mind, the instinct of his natural Fuguist Occlumens ability springing to the fore to protect him from this profoundly unnatural danger. Even Justinian was disquieted, unable to keep his face completely void of emotion as he gripped his wand-holstered wrist in a vice.
Grunting loudly, the Master of Ceremonies flicked his wand and directed the liquefied blood-red mass to drop right down the Goblet's gullet. The effect was instantaneous as the ancient object shook and rattled violently as the corresponding whispers crescendoed in volume, as though screeching its fury at the violation.
"Oruida et tu satnet mucimini inimod iem…
Mutaf mutaton…
Mureup Iuq Tixiv!
Engi mue atnet!
Mue atpmet auqa!
Mue atnet etrom!
Etivres tucis sudom iuq mue tibacifirup…
Cissucimini inimod iem,
Tif eamitlu eaitnecsaner eaus mutnemurtsni!"
Struggling past the splintering pain in his lungs and past the tangy taste of copper, Arachne screamed:
"TAIF ATI, OLOV OGE TUCIS…
TAIF ATI, OLOV OGE TUCIS…
TAIF ATI, OLOV OGE TUCIS!"
And that final declaration the Goblet's eldritch blue flames surged upwards towards the dark night sky, the object violently shuddering as it fought with all its might against the unwanted substances tainting its essence.
Suddenly, the flames and the ancient artifact turned blood-red as the sound of Something Else filled the entirety of the space around the foursome…before the flames receded with a loud WHOOSH! The Goblet reverted back to its original hue, finally resuming quiescence as the discordant whine quieted.
Sagging in completion, Mr. Arachne shifted from his Wild Animagic spider-man vessel back into human form, leaning forward to catch his breath as his three compatriots deflated in varying degrees of relief. Miss Direction vowed to drink at least half a bottle of Old Blishen's Finest to numb her mind at all that she'd seen. January gulped uncomfortably, forcing his body to relax. Mr. Justinian exhaled, though he succeeded in keeping his expression impassive.
Finally settled, Mr. Arachne resummoned his robes and returned his person to its usual pristine standard.
Additional flicks Vanished the ritual circle and all evidence of his activities, satisfied to see the warding runes fade into non-existence. Another swish-and-flick levitated the inactive Goblet to return it back to its rightful place. Justinian, Direction, and January followed behind him, eager to leave.
Four soft pops saw the Death Eaters disappear at the exact moment the wardstones disintegrated and dispelled their effects from the Unspeakables.
Number 26 immediately stiffened, prompting the others to do the same.
"What is it?" asked Saul, senses heightening on instinct.
"I thought…"
Wand flashing, 026 cast a series of obscure spells, causing 002 and 091's hatchets to rise at the Old Latin incantations. The results revealed nothing was out of the ordinary in their surroundings or with the Goblet, causing the Assistant Director of Division 13 to finally relax.
"All's well. Let's carry on."
Saul also relaxed though he didn't lessen the grip on his wand. Given the nature of their cargo, he was absolutely in the mood to curse first and ask questions later.
Upon reaching their intended destination about a third of a kilometer away, the Unspeakable threesome retrieved their joint Portkey and disappeared with an audible WHOOSH!.
Less than a minute later the air once more rippled, a near-inaudible pop of air signaling the arrival of Roderigo Slytherin. He was wearing a perfectly nondescript face as he assessed his surroundings, realizing that he'd missed both the Unspeakables and the Goblet.
A snarl of rage escaped his lips that he'd failed in mission, before once more disapparating to attend to other matters to keep him from ripping the real-Reinaldo de Moura (whose intel had led him here) to shreds with bare hands.
A sharp scream jolted Anastacia back into consciousness, clutching at her chest in pain as she came to awareness.
Well… quasi-awareness.
She'd fallen asleep whilst lucid dreaming, which she only did when under an extreme amount of stress or practicing deeper-level meditations in preparation for her venduya rituals.
As she was preparing to undertake the fourth set of Initiation Rites, she'd found herself falling asleep within her dreams more often than naught.
The Red Star then remembered her binding with the Goblet of Fire the day prior, a vicious scowl marring her exhausted features. If she sunk into a deeper occludic state she could sense the artifact's keenly intense psychic presence - at once warmly familiar and frightfully formidable.
Taking in her surroundings, she was pleased to see that she was still in her original position - comfortably seated under the mighty olive tree on her family's expansive estate in Old Nafplio. She could see the manor house mounted on a rocky hill some feet away, and if she wanted she could float to her bedroom window and gaze upon herself fitfully sleeping.
Suddenly, she felt 'it' again - the strangely unsettling sensation overwhelming the bond she shared with the Goblet. It was the same feeling that jerked her out of her 'sleep', and not only did it linger, it grew and grew and grew until another scream poured from her lips, forcing her to claw at her chest. Not only was she in great pain, the Red Star felt distinctly…violated. She screamed once more before slumping over, breaths coming out in labored huffs as the feeling faded. Not having any reason to think otherwise, the heliopath assumed it was her magic finally getting acclimated with the Goblet.
Ana sneered on instinct, once more cursing her ability as Ethergazer. Why else would a quasi-sentient entity see fit to choose her out of the seven bloody viable options as its conduit for some bloody stupid death tournament?!
Familiar feelings of acrid bitterness arose at the thoughts of her unwanted ability. Recalling her fifth birthday when she first manifested her ability, terrified of the strange critters she suddenly noticed above the heads of her parents and other adults they'd run into and keeping the realization to herself in the desperate hope that it would stop.
Increasingly vivid dreams, unwittingly astral projecting as she fought the horrified panic of being separated from her body as she floated… to other places.
Finally confessing to her parents, aghast at her father's fascination and her mother's excitement as she raced to tell her sister-in-law. The both of them took the witchling to her elderly great-great-aunt Katinka Konstantinov, who simply stared above the frightened girl's head. Seemingly satisfied at what she saw, and summarily Conscripting her into the services of Neznachimoto "for her own protection".
Apparently she would have caught the eye of the elusive and dangerous Bene Gesserit, who would have exploited her prodigious ability for their frightfully nefarious purposes.
Training her abilities Katinka's unyielding tutelage, and upon the harridan's death, a blood and rune-locked journal only Ana could access.
Learning on her 11th birthday the truth of Konstantinovs cursed with the ability to Ethergaze, possessing a singularly unique ability only one other bloodline carried.
Astralwalking.
Not only could they project their forms into the astral realm primarily through lucid dreaming, Konstantinovs could traverse the realms within realms hidden within the dimensions of the known Reality and, if blessed with the Diviner's Intuition, Speak what they see in the waking world.
And in the case of her ancestor Dragan Konstantinov, astralwalk into the domain of the Divine Wild, treading into the Lar Guildhalls.
(Lar Nitwit - currently on his third terrestrial reincarnation - distinctly remembered the unprecedented event with uncharacteristically fond amusement, though he would never be able to discuss it with any others who weren't there, especially a mere mortal.)
Ana's rage at her whirling thoughts manifested a gelatinous cloud of deep orange wrackspurts, causing her nargles to slow down their usual alley-oop motions and begin vibrating.
Deep breaths caused the wrackspurts to disappear into nonexistence, allowing her nargles to resume their standard formation. The creatures - resembling double-winged billywigs - emitted the softest of hums only an Ethergazer was capable of hearing.
With a quiet sigh the Red Star once more leaned against the olive tree, preparing herself to attempt a third-level inner-meditation.
'Not like I'll be really resting anytime soon… might as well make use of it.'
AN 1: The language the Goblet (and Ana) speak are High Valyrian, the best translation I could find. That'll be expanded upon later. The role of Anastacia Panagiotopoulos-Konstantinov is played by Courtney Eaton in her role as a teenaged Lottie Matthews (Yellowjackets). She will be a fairly important part of Book 4 as the TWT unfolds.
AN 2: Julian Montmorency's whole schtick as Le Grand Maître of La Fraternité de Sorciers will be part of his (sub) sub-plotline in Book 4 and a major-ish plotline in Book 5. He is played by James McAvoy in his role as Lord Asriel (His Dark Materials). I'm still a bit undecided on Healer Gupta's actor, we'll see soon enough. As it stands, Elder Yoo Ri-El is very much missing which will also tie into the TWT.
AN 3: Monsignor Beniamino Borghese is the analogous equivalent of Gabriel Delacour, though their abilities have distinct differences. He is played by Will Keen in his role as Father Hugh Macphail (His Dark Materials).
AN 4: The events in this chapter are prior to the Motitus-arc of the previous four (4) chapters.