RainKiss Ao3: That's a good point, Rachel does have a clearer mindset. Dudley and Harry were too close to the situation, but Rachel had a level-minded standing and knew more about why Petunia was the way she was.
Vibe: Pro by NEFFEX
If Fenrir Greyback had not known about this new master, a new lord to serve, he might have followed Voldemort on whatever crackpot plan he has with a random goddess.
But Greyback had it on good authority that a real god, a true god was travelling these lands with his hounds, so to speak. So he gathered his slowly growing forces and went in search for the god.
Because if Lycaon himself was calling the shots, not even those demigods could stand in their way.
Greyback and his pack of fourteen wolves were camped out near the east coast along Wales when two of his men, Goodspeed and Jacobs, arrived with news. Goodspeed was one of his most loyal followers, in charge of the new recruits like Jacobs, who was fifteen and still wavering in his dedication. Greyback expected Goodspeed to break him soon.
"Well?" Greyback snarled, jabbing a wand at them.
"He travels west!" Jacobs whispered, bowing his head. "This is not a rumour, Greyback. We came across a few wolves from his contingent. He seeks to find the Southern village to increase his forces."
Greyback grinned. His hunch had paid off. It had been smart to be stationed as close as possible to the village.
The Southern village was the largest UK settlement of werewolves who abided by wizarding laws, choosing to keep their teeth and claws to themselves even when the humans shunned them. Pathetic.
"The god would be better off simply wiping them off the map," Greyback said. He walked over to a corner of the room where a large cage housed a small woman.
"Isn't that right, Hana?" Greyback crooned.
The woman was nearly fifty, her dark hair barely greying. But age did nothing for her steeliness. Hana snarled, "They will have left the village! There won't be anyone for your god to slaughter!"
Greyback grinned. "I assure you, your warning did not reach them."
"Yeah, the message was delicious," Goodspeed snorted.
Hana gripped the bars of her cage in desperation. "You will not win. The demigods have already rallied with the wizards."
"Fantasies!" Greyback snapped. "The Ministry hates half breeds, no matter what breed! They'll put bounties on every demigod there ever was! Especially after what that Jackson boy did to the building!"
He leaned towards her cage and she snapped her arms away, retreating to the corner.
"But that isn't my concern," Greyback said, now revelling in the stab of fear that filled the air from the cage. "You should have sent the children to us, Hana. Now Lord Lycaon will claim everyone."
Hana shuddered.
"You won't find the village," she whispered.
Greyback shrugged. "I don't need to. The god can find any werewolf no matter the protections. He is on his way here. He will pave the way to the village with ease. I just pray he will allow us some fresh meat. How old is little Evey now?"
Hana clapped a hand over her mouth. The others cackled at her. Jacobs stared at the ground. He flinched hard. They ignored him.
"The full moon nears, Hana," Greyback spoke. "I have the perfect gift for our god. I'm sure he would love to watch you, newly turned and hunting your family through the wilds of Wales."
"A brilliant reconstruction of a silver Egyptian tea tray from the 1900s," Dumbledore hummed, examining the object.
"Egyptian?" Rachel wondered.
"Reconstruction?" Harry asked.
"Silver?" Percy said doubtfully. "Isn't it supposed to tarnish?"
Dumbledore smiled. "All good questions. It is a replica of an original silver tray, which is why it has not tarnished, and why I called it a reconstruction. And I believe I know who's tray it is."
They waited.
"Professor Arwa Karim, the celebrated director of the Cairo Museum of Antiquities," Dumbledore said solemnly. Then he perked up. "She used to be a faithful correspondent of the Wizengamot before she was promoted a few years ago. She might hear us out."
"Or you at least," Harry muttered. "From everything we heard, Professor Karim would be happy to ban Rach and I."
"True…" Dumbledore hummed. "Unless we return her tray. She might be curious about Percy."
Percy sat up, perplexed. "Me? Really?"
"Lily and James were interrogated in 1997," the ex-Headmaster stated. "They filed papers stating that you, Percy, and your aunt, Kimberly Jackson, were kidnapped and trafficked into Egypt. The Aurors had launched a search soon after that. I am remotely familiar with the Head Auror, Omar Diab. He was involved in the case. He helped transport you and your mother back to New York City."
"Great," Percy mumbled. "But what about the obvious question?"
Rachel sat up. "Not that obvious to me."
"The moment people know we're heading to Egypt, your Mom will find out," Percy said darkly. "And I bet she won't send monsters."
Meaning she'd send Ajax, Harry heard loud and clear.
Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Good point. Give me a minute."
Turns out one Rachel minute was 90 Harry minutes which was also 600 Percy minutes and a nice little nap for Dumbledore.
The sun had set by the time Rachel came up with a plan. Harry and Percy had been discussing various contingencies to figure out how to get Harry and Rachel into Cairo without the country raising arms. Dumbledore was on his third mug of rose tea.
"I've been practicing my Welsh," Harry was saying. "Maybe if they think we're not so British, they won't kick me out?"
Percy snickered. "Dude, did you forget you're a carbon copy of James?"
He scowled. "Gallaf o leiaf geisio!" (I can at least try it!)
Dumbledore raised his silvery eyebrows. "The strength must come deep within your chest, Harry. Not just your throat. Gallaf o leiaf geisio."
Rachel dropped back into her chair, holding her phone. Percy raised an eyebrow as she said, "If I can get my parents to back off of our visit, we're good, right?"
"That would work in an ideal world, I suppose," Harry muttered.
Dumbledore looked at Rachel over his glasses. "Do you have a viable plan, Rachel?"
Rachel grinned and tapped her screen. She held her phone to her ear and began to breathe heavily.
"Hello?" they heard over the line. "Rachel, ma chérie?"
"Papou!" Rachel sobbed. Her voice broke over the single word.
"Rachel! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?"
"Papa! Such awful dreams!" she wailed. "I saw terrible things. Ichor and blood, broken swords, magic drenched into the earth! Dio immortales!"
Patrick Dare was the CFO and co-founder of Dare Enterprises, a veritable empire commanding a significant percentage of the global economy's profits. He was suddenly panicking, cowering against the distress in his only daughter's voice.
"My darling, tell Papa everything!" Patrick cried.
Rachel wove the ultimate sob story. She spoke of monsters eating children, darkness encroaching the land, lights and life snuffing out from the fallout of the Earth Goddess's war.
Harry's jaw was open. Percy had a hand clapped over his mouth, holding his sniggering at bay. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he sipped his tea.
"I'll never sleep again, Papa!" Rachel cried hard, tears slipping down her red face.
"That's not true, baby. You can have good dreams too," Patrick said, grasping at straws.
"How can I, Papa? Every day is terrible with people across the world planning terrible things. Voldemort isn't just lying low, he's planning dastardly things! And I know you and Maman have concrete schemes for the demigods. It's so horrible, I can close my eyes without seeing everything that's to come!"
"Rachel… sweetheart…"
"I just want a break, Daddy!" Rachel whispered into the phone. "Just a few days. I want to sleep and know I won't see terrible futures!"
"Oh, baby," Patrick said miserably. "I… maybe I can… withhold some plans and put a stop on some things… just for a while."
Percy sat up, now excited. Rachel didn't break her stride.
"Really, Daddy?" Rachel sniffed.
"Of course, sweetie. You need to sleep too. I'll… I'll speak to your mother."
Rachel broke into fresh tears. "What if she won't listen?! I keep seeing my friends dead and… and…"
She hiccupped hard like she couldn't breathe for a second. Patrick panicked.
"I'll try and convince her!" he rushed to say. "I promise, Rachie!"
"I miss you, le petit prince," Rachel sniffed.
"I miss you too, la petit princessa," Patrick whispered. "So much."
Rachel coughed hard and cut the call. She tossed her phone onto the couch and neatly wiped the tears off her face.
"And the Oscar goes to…!" Percy yelled, high-fiving her.
"Will that work?" Harry asked, amazed.
"It had better," Rachel huffed. "Most of it was true. I haven't been sleeping for the past four days."
Dumbledore was concerned. "Oh, dear. You must be exhausted, Rachel."
She pouted. "A little."
"You can stop with the acting," Harry said pointedly before turning to Dumbledore. "Lupa asked us to avoid sleep and food for the entire week."
"Asked?" Percy questioned.
"Fine," Harry said. "She demanded we stop sleeping and eating for a week."
Dumbledore blinked. "Is she sure of this?"
"She wanted us to fast for a month," Percy said. "We negotiated it down to a week. Blabbered about the Roman welcoming feast and stuff. Lupa didn't like it, but it worked."
"Three more days to go," Rachel said hopefully.
Dumbledore lowered his mug. "How are all of you faring?"
Harry, Percy, and Rachel looked at each other and shrugged. Harry said, "We have so much more time now that sleep is off the schedule. And cooking and eating."
"It's awesome," Percy added.
Harry knocked on the table. "If this works, we can bring Cassandra and Iphigenia into the fold. Get them to work their magic on the Death Eaters, or whatever their plan is."
Rachel's eyes widened. She lunged for her phone and frantically tapped out a message for her aunts.
"Feels too good to be true," Percy hesitated.
"That is what our contingency is for," Dumbledore said mildly. "We can make the Cairo trip a success without the obstacles."
"True. Don't go pessimistic on us now, Jackson," Harry commented. Then he nodded at Rachel. "You call your dad your little prince?"
"Pfft!" Rachel hissed. "Tu aimes juste foutre le bordel, pas vrai?" (You like to cause problems, don't you?)
Harry smirked. "Adfyd a ddwg wybodaeth, a gwybodaeth ddoethineb." (Adversity brings knowledge and knowledge wisdom.)
Dumbledore raised his mug in praise.
Percy murmured, "Nos echarán si discutes así." (They'll kick us out if you argue like this.)
Beatrice Dare stood by her desk, hands on her hips.
Her husband was facing her, wide-eyed, still holding his phone.
They were in her office built of ancient mountain stone, grey ragged rocks carved into a large hollow space that warded out eavesdroppers thanks to the sheer weight of magic entrenched into the walls. Her heels clicked on the stone floor, approaching him.
"Love," Beatrice said slowly. "You realise Rachel was probably pulling your leg?"
Patrick frowned. "She was sincere, Bea. She was crying so hard… it makes sense, she has always been sensitive to things. It was like December, when she couldn't sleep because of—"
"Let's not speak of that!" Beatrice said frantically, recalling exactly what he was talking about back in 2008.
She glanced over at the glass case embedded in the wall like a snake emporium. But there was no creature inside it. Instead, a heavy glass cylinder hovered in the centre, tendrils of light sparking once every few seconds.
Patrick avoided looking at it. He tasted lemons just standing in the room so close to it behind several layers of protection.
"How long?" Beatrice asked wearily.
"A few days, Bea," Patrick insisted. "At least, three. It's the least we can do."
Beatrice wasn't happy. "I don't know about this."
Patrick stepped closer, his blue eyes shining. "She called me Papou."
The office was silent.
"And she remembers the story I read to her every night," he whispered.
Beatrice exhaled, "Oh, Pat…"
They knew Rachel was perhaps not as stricken as she'd been on the phone. But that didn't matter. She was still their little princess who cuddled up to her dad as he read his favourite story, The Little Prince. Patrick used to tell her that Rachel had known the story before they'd even adopted her. It was one of the reasons they'd been so drawn to the toddler in the adoption center.
"Alright," Beatrice relented. "As long as the goddess doesn't find out… and we'll need to occupy Ajax. Perhaps, the temple…"
Patrick's eyes lit up. He and Beatrice turned to the balcony. Across the wide, open space, they glimpsed a mere crumb of an ancient temple of the spirit of Delphi when she used to take up residence in Olympus. It had been buried eons ago. No mere mortal, magical or not, could unearth it.
"I'll talk to her," Beatrice decided. "You can summon Ajax."
Patrick groaned. "He'd love that."
Rachel was searching through her closet for her passport when the phone rang. It was Mom.
She gasped and grabbed the device, taking the call. "Bonjour, Maman!"
"I hope you're pleased with yourself," Beatrice said sternly.
Rachel stuck her bottom lip out. "What are you talking about, Maman?"
She heard her mother's long exhale. Rachel grinned.
"Three days, Rachel Dare," Beatrice said. "You and your friends will have no interference from us for 72 hours starting from this instance."
"Thank you!"
"But understand this!" her mother spoke seriously. "Your Papa and I can't do this again. No matter how much you cry and plead, we will not stop the war."
Rachel sobered up. "I understand perfectly well. Shall we shake on it?"
"Metaphorically," Beatrice agreed. "I love you."
Rachel was quiet for a moment before replying, "What did you tell Athena in the limo?"
Beatrice sighed the softest of sounds. "Take care, Rachel."
She cut the call before Rachel could say anything else. Her chest felt tight. It had hit too close to home. Rachel didn't know why her parents thought she'd change her mind about siding with her friends.
She pushed it out of her mind when she finally found the small booklets beneath a pile of denim shorts. Dialling a new number, Rachel waited till the call connected.
"Well?"
"We have 72 hours," Rachel said. "Is that enough?"
She could practically hear Cassandra grinning over the phone. "Might be cutting close… but Iphy and I can manage. Keep an eye on the Daily Prophet articles."
"We'll get the Order on it," Rachel told her, flipping her dual passports in hand. "I'm taking a trip."
In the light of the slowly growing moon, a massive man emerged from the trees. His forces flanked him on both sides, their luminescent glowing in the dark.
Greyback and his men awaited them in the clearing. The forest was deadly quiet except for the gently rustling of the wind and the stuttering breathing of Hana, the only prisoner.
"My Lord," Greyback announced, bending his knee and bowing his head. The others followed, fidgeting under the gaze of the god.
Lycaon grinned. His smile was as sharp as his teeth which glinted in the darkness. He was nearly ten feet tall, muscular, and immense. His rough leather trousers were certainly in vogue with the shirtless look. The pelt of a white wolf lay on his head, its glowing fur illuminating the man's powerful shoulders and veiny arms.
"Greyback," the god growled. "I have heard much of you. Not all good."
Greyback nodded, eyes still at the ground.
"An excellent reputation," Lycaon chuckled. "Rise, my wolves."
They stood up, gazing at Lycaon with clear admiration, tinged with fear.
"A human stands among you," the god noted with distaste.
Jacobs kicked the back of Hana's legs and she crumped to the ground in pain. A few laughs filled the clearing.
"A present, my Lord," Greyback sneered at her. "If you would like to have her lead your hunt in the village, you may have her."
Lycaon smiled. "Sounds fun. What is your name, human?"
She mumbled under her breath, "Hana."
"Quaint," he said, smiling with no humour. "And why do you have loyalties to the Southern village?"
Hana gulped. "I… don't…"
"Do not lie!" Lycaon hissed and the sound rolled through the forest floor, sneaking into Hana's trembling body and scraping her bones.
"I live there!" she whispered.
A burst of laughter filled the area. Lycaon's was the loudest.
"You? And what do you do, Hana? Make leashes for our kind?"
"I bring in medical supplies," she whispered, tears rolling down her face.
A low fog slowly filled the clearing.
"And why do you show such kindness to those wolves?" he mused.
She shook. "I… my mother is a werewolf. I grew up there."
Lycaon tutted. "She must be terribly weak if she cannot turn you!"
Hana sobbed.
The moonlight illuminated the light fog that now covered the ground. It was grey, tinged with an ominous green tone.
Someone loudly cleared their throat.
Greyback's head snapped up as did many others'. He scanned the surroundings and saw something strange.
A golden glow was barely visible through the branches of an old tree several yards away from the group. It's gnarled roots and branches were a thing of beauty, its trunk so old and massive that Greyback thought it might be the tree's spirit shining.
But it was a mere boy in a gold bomber jacket.
He called out, "Beth ydych chi'n ei wneud yma, syr a madam?" (What are you doing here, sirs and madam?)
"Fool!" Greyback growled.
"Oi, English yeh?" the young man hollered back.
"Impudence!" Lycaon snarled and the others growled, baring their teeth.
"And the same tah ya, laddy!" the voice cried out from the tree. "Yah got the time?"
It was a thick Welsh accent that made the fog swirl around their feet. Greyback held back a growl deep in his chest.
"Show yourself!" Lycaon commanded.
A small figure jumped from the tree. He landed neatly and silently and stepped forwards. Greyback growled, his body tensing. There was no scent from the man-child. No sound either.
No heartbeat.
"What leech dares to be in my presence?" Lycaon spoke, now more amused.
"Leech?" the boy said, surprised. "So rude! I assure yah, I yain't no vampire, no sirree!"
"Who are you?"
"Just a loiterer hopin' for the time," the boy called out, still smiling that stupid smile.
Greyback hoped Lycaon would allow him this hunt. He wanted to know what this simpleton tasted like.
"I have no use for clocks," Lycaon announced. "I am a god, you insignificant creature! I have watched millennia go by with nary a care! Approach, foolish boy. I shall make your end quick."
The boy frowned. "I 'ave me own question. Do any of you 'ave the time? I 'ave a grave appointment, yah see."
Lycaon grinned, showing off his bloodied teeth. He waved an arm in Greyback's direction.
"Expecto Tempus," Greyback growled, waving Hana's wand.
Numbers glowed in the dark. 11:56:07
The boy stared, not at the numbers, but the wand in his hand.
"Now, now," he spoke softly. "That ain't yours, Greyback."
The man-child knew his name. Greyback scowled. "My Lord! May I show you how my wolves hunt?"
Lycaon smiled. "Very well. Make it quick. I wish to head into the village soon."
Hana was the only one who did not move. She watched, terrified and confused. The young Jacobs shared an alarmed glance with her.
The boy barely looked concerned as Greyback's followers surrounded him. His gold jacket illuminated his dirt-blond hair which had been cut shoddily. It fell to his chin in a strange mess. Coupled with the gleam of the jacket, the boy stood out starkly against the nightly clearing. He had made no effort to dress for stealth.
The fog of the clearing moved eerily.
Something pricked in the back of Greyback's mind. A quiet warning. He ignored it. He had no use for warnings. His god was at his back. This boy would die, an appetiser for the night.
"You're no wizard," Greyback spoke, noting the boy's unarmed stance.
"Nay," the boy agreed. "I should warn yeh. I kennot fight mortals, willay nillay."
Another man barked a loud laugh. "Should have thought about that before coming here, boy!"
Greyback jerked his head to the left. Two werewolves burst out of formation and rushed at the boy.
It was not the full moon, but they were just as ready to claw and bite.
The boy moved. He pushed his feet against the ground and in less than a blink of an eye, he had dodged both men. They flew past him, crashing into each other with loud growls and scraping the ground.
He was fast. Almost like a vampire, but not quite. Greyback lunged forwards as did five others.
The boy dodged them all. He spun around the clearing, the fog swirling and dead leaves rustling as he moved lithely.
Greyback skidded on the ground, swerving around enraged. He smelled the frustration from his followers and the annoyance from Lycaon. The god would not tolerate another failure, he knew.
"Another minute," the boy whispered, keeping his eyes trained on Greyback.
He was waiting for midnight, Greyback realised.
"Stop dancing and run!" he snarled.
The boy smiled. "Attack me agin an' I retaliate."
"I will have your head!" Greyback roared and charged again.
The boy did not dodge this time. He widened his stance and raised his arms, almost like he was going in for a hug.
He caught Greyback's large body like it was a beach ball and squeezed.
Greyback's gasp rippled the cold, forest air. A shock of agony coursed through his body as his arms and ribs cracked. The sound was like thunder in the silence and in his heart.
The last thing he saw was the boy's gleaming smile before small but deadly nails gripped his head and ripped it off his shoulders.
Greyback's broken body fell to the ground and gasps and shouts echoed through the clearing.
The fog glowed green. The boy smiled.
"The Earth Goddess's forces will not back you tonight, Lycaon, god of werewolves," Destin Autis spoke. "I accept your challenge."
Image of the silver tray - https/antique-serving-trays/large-antique-presentation-tray-egyptian-silver-plate-afternoon-tea-victorian/itm214602
Stay tuned,
Cabba K.