Chapter Forty-Six: Lost and Found
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"I'll deal with this Rookwood mess, and I'll see you at home as soon as I can. I—"
"...as soon as I can..."
It left her in disquiet.
"I—"
And not a word since. Why was that? Why had Harry's stag appeared so… so unfinished? Had someone distracted him? Tried to stop the messenger?
"I—"
He was all right, wasn't he? Ella didn't reckon she should worry — not really. Not in the way she was already worrying about Ron, and about how questioning Rookwood would go. And that was probably what had distracted him, wasn't it? Had kept him from finishing… what? Words of love? That was where it had been heading, wasn't it?
Above her, Act-D dripped slowly into the tubing. Drip.
Drip. Drip.
The tubing coiled against her skin. All pale yellow hues and hard, rigid angles.
The sight fascinated and terrified her at the same time. Threatened to steal all her focus every time she caught a glance.
She closed her eyes. Sought out Harry again in the darkness.
Was that why Siggy had hurried so abruptly from the room? Was it all their public displays of affection, permeating the room like wildfire smoke? Weighing down the air, until it was too sickly sweet to breathe.
And she was the one who felt sick. Weak. Shaky.
Breathless.
But it wasn't Harry. Not his cut-off messages, or the I Love Yous he didn't quite say. At least she didn't reckon so. Not that the chemo should affect her so quickly, and yet these days it always did. The shakiness. The chemical aftertaste lingering on her tongue, reminding her of this room long after she left. With every swallow. The way things darkened slightly if she shook her head too fast, moved too quickly.
Still. Twelve.
All worth it for that number, wasn't it? Twelve. It was working. Real, undeniable progress now. An end in sight, if she dared imagine it. She usually didn't, but today it was difficult not to flirt with the notion. Not to let hope spark. And then there was Harry; questioning Rookwood just three short miles away.
Her heart fluttered. Strained against her ribcage, thrumming like a thousand tiny wings.
Finally on the cusp of answers. That was good. She reckoned it was good. Or maybe it was bad. Maybe Rookwood would say something that simply couldn't be unsaid, and Harry would run off, do something stupid…
There was a sudden hum above her, growing swiftly louder. Breaking apart the quiet of the room. It was jarring, but not unfamiliar; she wasn't a newbie, after all. She glanced up, comforted slightly by the sight of the empty chemo bag. Three down, her mind whispered as she mentally ticked off another checkbox.
Maybe next time…
No. She steeled herself. She didn't dare imagine.
The door slid open, and Hannah swept into the room. The sound stopped as abruptly as it had begun. As if Hannah had scared it into silence.
"All done?" she said brightly, her eyes shifting up to the empty bag.
Ella nodded.
"Good." Hannah withdrew her wand and started Vanishing the tubing. "How are you feeling? All right?" There was a slight tug on Ella's chest. A flash of cold that made her skin tingle.
"Fine," Ella agreed, straightening her shirt. The right shoulder strap had fallen sideways, tangling in the tubing while she'd let her mind drift. She carefully tugged it back into place. "Perfect."
"That's what I want to hear." Hannah erased the empty bag with a final, rather hurried, wave of her wand before withdrawing several glass vials from her robes. She offered them to Ella. "Here's the Blood Replenisher. Take it in the evening before bed, all right? Just like last time. Let's get those bloods back up to a comfortable range."
"Sure." She slipped the vials carefully inside her bag, nestling them in with a cushioning charm.
"Good. Questions? Concerns?" Hannah hovered, halfway to the door.
"Er— no." Ella shrugged. "Busy day?"
"We are a bit behind," Hannah admitted. "So I do have to run, I apologize. But I'll see you first thing Monday to recheck those numbers."
"Sure thing."
Hannah paused, sizing her up. "Are you sure you're all right? You're a bit pale. Where's your friend?"
"I'm fine," Ella promised. "Really. It's just been a day. She'll be back in a minute."
Hannah considered her for a moment, then nodded. "All right, good. But do send me a patronus if anything. And remember: twelve." She offered up a smile.
Ella grinned too, unable to resist the wisp of hope sneaking in through her armour. "Are you going to tell me how I'm nearly at the end and I should hang in there?"
Hannah paused on the threshold, holding her gaze for a second. "Now you know I can't speculate," she said finally. "Healer rules. But what you feel matters far more than anything I could say. And even if it's not the end yet, every milestone is worth celebrating." She held Ella's gaze for another moment before finally slipping out the door, letting it close softly behind her. The room hummed itself back into silence.
Twelve.
Ella sat in the chair for another long moment, taking in the quiet. No more tubes attached to her chest. No more chemo dripping into her veins, at least for now. Just the number left to sit with. Twelve.
Yes, it was exciting.
Exciting, and then exhausting, and then exciting again. Like a thirsty traveler finding a cup of water in the desert. Drinking it all. Basking in it. And then remembering just how many miles they had already walked. And how many more there were to go. And yet, for the moment, the thirst had abated. The water had been enough.
It was the sort of thing she'd celebrate. If she wasn't expanding all her energy trying to imagine herself into the room with Rookwood.
What was he saying, even now? What had Harry learned? Why hadn't he messaged her again?
There was a dryness in her mouth she couldn't quite seem to swallow. Like a swatch of cotton, stretched thick across her tongue. She rose slowly, briefly closing her eyes at the creeping darkness that now hovered perpetually at the edge of motion. One breath. Two. She blinked, the room bright again.
There was a cup of water on the counter. Hannah always left it there, both a reminder and a kindness. Ella reached for it and tipped it back, the water cool against her lips. Heavy on her tongue. She forced herself to swallow, already imagining the nausea creeping up, snaking through her insides.
Maybe next time she'd hit negative, and there would be an end to this. Maybe—
She shook her head abruptly, dispelling the thought before it could flutter away. Jinx everything. She was a walking contradiction. Doing exactly the thing she swore she wouldn't do. How could a person be so happy and sad and excited and terrified all at once? She was just bursting with it all. All her thoughts colliding and unraveling before they could fully form, growing into a muddled mess that stuffed up her mind. What was wrong with her?
She slapped the cup unsteadily back down on the counter. Too hard. Water splashed everywhere as it tipped over. Pooling across some of Hannah's folders and Siggy's bag, laying beside them. Ella cursed and hurried to grab the folders, managing to knock the bag to the floor with her elbow. There was a loud thud. The rustle of papers scattering.
She sighed, momentarily closing her eyes and lifting her face to the ceiling, mouthing every foul word in her repertoire. As if it would undo the mess.
It didn't. Siggy's notebooks and papers and colorful quills had spilled out all across the stupid floor, doubling in size outside the confines of the bag. Parchment scrolls grew before her eyes, rising up to form a small hill. Last week's essays. Ella cursed again, dropping to her knees amidst the mess.
Nothing like an undetectable expansion charm. It was ironic. She could hardly imagine a better metaphor for her state of mind. Just break her a little bit, crack her, and all the grief and pain and horror she was holding in her heart would surely come spilling out.
She sifted through the parchments, putting the damp ones aside. There was a charm to fix that. If only her brain would work so she could remember it. It seemed so much more tempting to Vanish the entire stack. Tell the students it had gotten eaten by a dragon or something. Totally realistic. Though she supposed that'd be unfair to Siggy, who'd surely spent hours grading them.
Siggy's notebooks were wet too. She began stacking them neatly next to the essays. And then she froze, frowning. It was the words on the cover of the book that caught her eye more than the artwork, which she'd never seen.
Harry Potter.
Big, bold letters. She couldn't quite make sense of them. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. An artsy cover. Cartoonish, compared to her own. She lifted it, letting the book fall open in her hands. Her eyes skimmed familiar words. Familiar chapters. The faint smell of ink and glue and paper still lingering in the pages.
Had Daniyel given it to her? It didn't look like his copy. No — she saw, as she flipped through the crisp pages, that the publication date was 2017. It still smelled new. New-ish, anyway. Had they bought it together in Muggle London?
She placed the book down carefully, not quite believing that Daniyel could share something so private. Harry's inner thoughts splattered all across those pages. They should never— not in this world. This wasn't right. There was a whirlwind brewing in her head. A thousand swirling thoughts. She couldn't seem to untangle them.
A red notebook lay at the top of the pile. She lifted it without quite meaning to, her hands going through the motions as if by themselves. The cover fell open.
The Dark Side of the Soul by Asbert LaRouge
The words were not handwritten. Her fingers shaking slightly, she flipped the page.
Chapter Four: The Horcrux
And so, the murder is committed. This is the precipice; a return to Before now impossible. And thus begins the breaking of the soul. A piece slips away, cut loose by the violence of the act. There is only one way for the fragment to be preserved. For the soul to remain, if not intact, but whole within the earthly realm. The soul must be shaped into the Horcrux. And thus, the act of murder is elevated — no longer simply a wanton desire, or a gruesome fantasy. No, it is the first step in an arduous process. And the result will not only save the fragment, but, perhaps, the caster. For the Horcrux serves in anchoring—
There was a number on the bottom right corner of the page. 107.
She stared at the notebook, dumbfounded. What was this? Why? Why did Siggy have this? A thousand explanations raced through her mind, each more muddled than the last. It couldn't… couldn't be… She reached for another notebook. Then another.
Fifteen notebooks. All books inside.
Secrets of the Darkest Art. Magick Moste Evile. The Horcrux and the Soul. Tales of The Between. The Summoning.
And then, as she plunged her hands into the pile of quills and inkwells, scattering them aside, her fingers closed on something smooth, and cool, and solid. Her heart stopped. She couldn't possibly be breathing. The shape of it; so familiar. The light grain etched against the sides, made up of fifteen distinct Runes, repeated over and over. So small, they couldn't be seen with the naked eye.
She'd felt them all so often, they could have been carved into her own skin.
She pulled back her hand, slowly unclenching her fingers. It lay innocently in her palm. Small. Unassuming. Not blue like her own, nor the green one she had given Daniyel.
No, this Stone was yellow.
The only yellow Stone she'd ever made, she had left that night. At the Ministry.
Her hand was shaking.
She tried to lower it, to place down the Stone, but it didn't quite seem to move. As if every command her brain sent was getting lost, tangled up along the way. Perhaps it couldn't squeeze past the frantic tightness of her heart, thrumming so hard it set her chest aflame.
There was a click. The unmistakable sound of the door opening. She looked up; she couldn't not. She couldn't do a single other thing.
Siggy stood frozen on the threshold, her eyes widening as they took in everything. The bag. The books. The Stone. Her face paled.
"S-Siggy," Ella croaked. "Why…"
Her lips were so dry, she could barely force out the words. She finally managed to lift her hand, and the Stone clattered to the floor, the sound unnaturally, terribly loud. They both stared as it rolled away.
"Why do you have this?" Ella whispered, though deep inside she knew, she knew the answer. The terrible truth.
Siggy shifted her hand. Just slightly. Her fingertips brushed her pocket. There were tears in her eyes.
"Did you—" Ella tried again.
She didn't see it coming. Didn't feel it. The darkness was heavy and all-encompassing. It burst through her chest, flashed behind her eyes. Muffling everything. It wrapped all around her, thick as a blanket. Tight as a cocoon. A solid, unnatural darkness that didn't belong. It was a painful, betraying sort of black. Darker than any she could slip into on her own.
It came quickly. Like a slamming curtain. As sudden as it was complete.