Chapter 33 - The Dark Mark
The kiss shattered as a scream tore through the air. Not Ava's, but Fred's. He crumpled to his knees with a strangled cry, his body arching backward in agony. Sickening green luminescence flooded the clearing, casting eerie, distorted shadows across their horror-stricken faces. Ava spun instinctively, wand raised and heart hammering. Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
Yaxley stood in the shadows, wand extended, face twisted between amusement and disgust. The air around him shimmered with power, the venomous green glow of the Cruciatus Curse pulsing at his fingertips.
"I warned you," he drawled. His eyes locked onto her terrified gaze. "I warned you what would happen if you let someone touch what's mine."
"Stop it!" Ava screamed desperately, her voice breaking as she lunged forward, wand pointed directly at Yaxley. "Stupefy!"
With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Yaxley effortlessly deflected her spell, sending it spiraling into nothingness. He twisted his wand again, violently wrenching Ava from her feet and flinging her backward into a tree. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, leaving her gasping and dazed. Before she could regain her senses, thick vines erupted from the earth, swiftly wrapping around her wrists and ankles. She struggled frantically, but they tightened mercilessly, pinning her helplessly against the bark.
"Still feisty," Yaxley murmured, striding closer to her, his tone low and mocking. "That's one of the things I always liked about you, Ava." His gaze slid down her body like oil. "But you keep letting boys get in the way."
From the ground came a low groan, ragged and determined. Fred pushed himself up shakily, blood trickling down his chin, fingers digging into the dirt as agony still wracked his body. "Get …away from her–" he growled, his voice ragged.
Yaxley's lip curled. "Didn't I just deal with you?"
He turned and raised his wand again, but this time Fred lunged, tackling him low. The two men crashed to the ground. Ava screamed as spells went wild as sparks flew around them. Fred managed a fierce punch to Yaxley's jaw, his knuckles connecting with a satisfying crack before Yaxley snarled furiously, flinging out a brutal surge of magic. Fred was hurled backward, skidding roughly across the grass, his body sprawling painfully as dirt flew up around him.
Yaxley rose to his feet, panting, robes torn, his normally composed appearance utterly undone. Fury twisted his features, eyes blazing with murderous rage as he spat, "You insolent little–"
"EXPELLIARMUS!" The spell burst through the air, sharp and commanding. George's voice was unmistakable.
Yaxley's wand ripped violently from his grip, spiraling through the air before landing uselessly in the dirt. Before he could even register the loss, a fierce crimson jet of light slammed directly into his chest, George's shout ringing clearly across the clearing. "Petrificus Totalus!" Yaxley's body went rigid instantly, his limbs snapping to his sides, expression locked into an enraged snarl. With a heavy thud, he toppled backward, crashing stiffly into the grass. Ginny stood beside George, her wand still raised, chest heaving.
"You're welcome," George muttered, brushing off his shirt and glaring at the motionless Yaxley. "Bloody hell, Ava. Next time you want to test out a Disarming Charm, maybe don't use me as your practice dummy, yeah?"
Ava barely heard him. Her heart pounded frantically as she stumbled desperately across the torn earth to Fred, who was slowly, painfully pushing himself upright. Blood smeared his lip, and his shirt hung torn and filthy from his shoulders. She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out with trembling hands to cup his face, gently brushing sweat-matted hair from his forehead.
"Are you okay?" she whispered urgently, voice choked with emotion, eyes brimming with tears as she searched his battered face for reassurance.
Fred swallowed hard, his fingers closing tightly, comfortingly, around hers. His voice was a raw rasp, but the warmth in his eyes was unbroken. "I'll live," he murmured, managing a faint, weary smile. His thumb brushed softly across the back of her hand. "You?"
Ava leaned into Fred, breathing him in, her forehead pressed gently to his. "I was so scared," she whispered, tears finally slipping free. "I don't know what I would've done if something happened to you."
Fred lifted her chin softly, thumb wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here… I'm not going anywhere." He glanced toward George, a faint smirk breaking through his exhaustion. "Took your bloody time, didn't you, Georgie?"
"Oh, I'm sorry I couldn't sprint through a Cruciatus storm after being launched ten feet by our girl's surprise attack." George let out a dramatic sigh as he dusted off his singed sleeve, shooting Fred a look. "Next time I'll be sure to sprint heroically through a Death Eater ambush a little faster, maybe throw in a cartwheel or two while I'm at it." He limped a step closer, rubbing his shoulder. His joking tone faded quickly, replaced by sudden seriousness as he looked down at Yaxley's immobilized form, his expression darkening. "We need to decide what we're doing with him. He won't stay petrified forever."
As Fred and George debated quietly, Ava drifted a few steps away, her eyes drawn unwillingly back to her godfather lying in the dirt, the shadows of firelight dancing across his face. But soon a different shadow filled the air. She felt it. It was sharp and electric and made her cold. She lifted her head and her blood turned to ice.
Above the treetops, something green and glittering tore across the sky like a comet. It twisted once, then unfurled like a banner: a colossal skull, comprised of emerald stars, with a serpent slithering from its gaping mouth like a tongue. Its glow bathed the woods in an eerie light.
The Dark Mark.
"We need to go," George said urgently. "Others'll be coming. We've got to get out her..."
"We should finish it," Fred said through gritted teeth, raising his wand.
"No," she said firmly, her voice stronger than she felt. She turned back to Yaxley's rigid figure, her heart pounding. This man, this monster, was part of it. He had helped bring this horror here. "Let the Ministry find him. Let them see exactly who was here tonight."
Fred's free hand curled into a tight fist, his jaw clenching. For a moment, he looked as though he might argue but then his eyes met hers, and he saw the finality in her gaze. "Alright. We leave him."
He stepped back, and without hesitation, reached for her hand. Ava took it, fingers sliding into his, palm to palm. George and Ginny exchanged a glance but said nothing. The air was thick with smoke and silence, the kind that came after something unspeakable. They fell into step behind Fred and Ava as the four of them turned away from the ruins of the forest.
The forest was no quieter than before. Shouts still echoed in the distance and flashes of errant spells lit the darkness like phantom fireflies but the path ahead was clear. As they moved together through the brambles and smoke, they crested a small hill. From there, the remnants of the camp came into view. What had once been a celebration of magic and unity was now a warzone. The ground was littered with debris–crushed Omnioculars, tattered flags, broken wands. Abandoned vendor stalls smoldered in the distance. Above it all, the Dark Mark pulsed in the sky, green and terrible.
Ava's fingers tightened around Fred's. His grip responded in kind, pulling her closer to his side as they descended the hill together. But before they could descend the hill fully, a flash of emerald robes caught Ava's eye. Several Ministry officials were making their way up from the camp, wands drawn, faces grim and pale beneath the flickering green glow of the Dark Mark.
"Fred! George!"
Arthur Weasley came running from the direction of the camp, his overcoat unbuttoned and his glasses askew. Relief flooded his face as he caught sight of his children, and he pulled them all into his arms with shaking hands.
"We're alright, Dad," Ginny rasped, hugging him back tightly.
Fred looked over his father's shoulder toward Ava, his arms still looped around Ginny and George, but his heart was visibly torn. His eyes were wide with residual fear, mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn't quite find the words. He wanted to stay wrapped in the safety of his family but his gaze kept flicking back to Ava. She stood just a few steps away, hands clenched into fists at her sides, eyes bright with a hard, quiet resolve. He wasn't ready to let her go. Not again.
Arthur noticed his son's hesitation and turned, following Fred's gaze until his eyes landed on Ava. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by confusion, and then dawning alarm. "Ava?" he asked, blinking as he stepped toward her. "What are you doing…what happened–"
"He's here…" Ava interrupted his questioning, her voice clear despite the tightness in her throat. "My godfather… Corban Yaxley… he was here tonight."
Arthur stopped in his tracks. "What?"
"He attacked us in the forest," she said, glancing toward the treeline as her words gathered strength.
Arthur's face blanched, all color draining from his cheeks. He stared at her for a beat, stunned. "Yaxley?"
"He's still there," Ava continued, pointing over her shoulder toward the ridge. "Petrified. Bound. Just past the trees."
Fred instinctively took a step toward her, but Arthur raised his arm, already in motion.
"Hold on." Artur's voice sharpened as he turned to two Aurors nearby. "You, travel to the north perimeter. Now. Check the woods past the ridge. If Yaxley's there, we need him alive, but stay alert. He won't go quietly."
The Aurors gave short, clipped nods and took off immediately, cloaks whipping behind them as they disappeared into the smoke-streaked night.
Before Arthur could say more, another figure stepped up beside him, a young witch in deep navy-blue robes with a silver Ministry crest pinned over her heart. Her posture was crisp, but her face softened when she looked at Ava. Her braid was pulled tight, not a strand out of place. "Miss," she said gently but professionally, "I need to ask you a few questions. About what you saw tonight. About Yaxley, and anyone else you may have recognized."
Arthur turned sharply toward her. "Surely this can wait. She's just been through a bloody nightmare."
"She's right here," Ava interrupted, her voice steady. "And I can handle it." Arthur opened his mouth to protest again, but Ava met his eyes, calm and resolute. "I want to help. I need to."
Arthur looked like he wanted to argue, but something in her expression stopped him. He nodded once, somberly. "Alright. We'll be close if you need anything."
Fred, however, wasn't ready to let go. His gaze had been locked on her the entire time, and now, panic shimmered in his eyes. "I'm staying with you," he said firmly.
"Fred," she murmured, stepping toward him, "I'll be fine."
"I'm not leaving you," he said, his voice low, and raw before whispering. "...Not again."
Ava stepped toward him, placing her hands on either side of his face, her thumbs gently brushing the soot from his cheeks. "Fred," she whispered, "I'm okay. I promise."
"You shouldn't have to do this alone."
"I'm not alone," she said. "You saved me tonight. You were there when I needed you most. But right now, your family needs you too. Be with them."
He didn't respond. He just shook his head, jaw clenched, eyes darting between hers, searching for some reason to stay. So she kissed him. Her soft hands curled behind his neck, drawing him down to meet her lips in a moment that was quiet and certain, even amidst the chaos. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll find you."
Fred's hands lingered at her waist, reluctant to let go. But at last, he nodded, just barely. Ava stepped back toward the Ministry witch, and Fred stood watching her with that same look of unspoken longing until Arthur gently placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him away.
Ava had barely taken a step toward the Ministry witch when she heard it. A voice, low and aching, with a distinct French lilt. "Clarice!"
She turned just as Marcell appeared from the smoke, stumbling across the wreckage in his scuffed clothes and streaked with ash. His hair clung to his forehead, and his chest heaved with relief as he caught sight of her. "Clarice," he said again, voice cracking.
Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into a crushing hug. His arms wrapped around her like a lifeline, grounding and desperate. Ava froze, her arms hovering uncertainly for a beat before she slowly brought them around him.
"You're alright," he murmured in her ear, his soft French accent thick with emotion. "Mon dieu, I thought… when I saw ze smoke… I thought I'd lost you."
She didn't answer right away, overwhelmed by the warmth of him, the tension in his frame, the shock of this reunion. He was shaking. "I'm okay," she finally said, gently pulling back.
But even as she stepped away from him, another figure emerged behind Marcell, a tall, broad man in formal wizarding robes the color of slate. His wand was tucked into a silver clasp at his side, and he held himself with an air of controlled authority. Marcell's father.
His sharp eyes swept over Ava from head to toe, taking in the disheveled hair, the grime, the haunted look in her eyes. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, but he gave no greeting. Instead, he turned to the Ministry witch who had been waiting nearby and spoke in polished, curt French: "Je vais prendre le relais à partir d'ici. Elle est sous ma protection."
The witch's brows lifted in surprise, but she didn't move. "Sir, with respect this girl is a key witness. We need to question her under proper protocol."
Marcell's father gave a tight, diplomatic smile. "Mais bien sûr. But she 'as been through a trauma. I am sure you will understand if I insist she is questioned in my presence, non?" His polite but commanding tone left little room for argument.
"What happened?" Marcell asked, his accent gentle but frayed at the edges. "When I woke up, the tent was empty. I heard the shouting and the screams and you were gone, Clarice. I thought…" His throat worked around the words. "I thought you were dead."
Ava swallowed hard, her guilt beginning to churn. "I couldn't sleep," she said quietly. "I went for a walk. Just to clear my head."
Marcell's brow furrowed. "Alone? In the dark?"
"I didn't know what was happening. It all happened so fast," she whispered, her voice thinning. "I… ran into a Death Eater." His face paled, but before he could speak again, she rushed on. "I got away. I promise. Some people found me…" Her voice faltered. "They helped."
Marcell let out a slow breath and pulled her into another hug, tighter this time, like he could keep her from slipping away she stood frozen in his embrace, guilt stabbing deep into her chest. He was kind. Steady. He had opened his world to her, brought her into his family's luxury box like she belonged there. He'd trusted her. Cared about her. She had let him. And maybe there was some other world where the two of them would have worked.
But it wasn't this one. There would never be anyone but Fred. Not after tonight. She needed to be honest with Marcell. To tell him who she really was. To thank him and say goodbye. She owed him that. "Marcell," she began softly, eyes already glossing with unshed tears. "There's something I need to tell you–"
A scream tore through the camp. Ava's blood turned to ice as she whirled around. At the base of the hill, several Aurors were dragging a struggling figure across the scorched ground. His long limbs were bound tightly, his coat torn, hair falling in wild strands over his bloodied face. Yaxley.
He was snarling at the Ministry officials, but the moment his eyes locked onto Ava, everything else dropped away. His expression twisted into a sickening, triumphant grin.
"Ava," Yaxley drawled, his voice like poison seeping into the air, low and guttural. His eyes gleamed with hatred as Aurors dragged him past, and he twisted in their grip just enough to meet her gaze. "If you think this is over, little mouse… you're more naïve than I thought."
Her feet rooted to the ground. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.
"I will find you," he snarled, louder now, venom laced through every word. "And next time—next time if he's with you…there won't be any mercy. I won't hesitate. I'll rip him apart while you watch. You hear me?" The Aurors yanked him forward, but he kept speaking, voice echoing over the camp like a curse: "He dies screaming, Ava. Just like your father!" The Aurors yanked him forward, silencing him with a binding spell, and he disappeared into the haze, still grinning like the devil himself.
Marcell stood frozen beside her, shock etched into his face. "Who is that?" he asked slowly, eyes narrowing. "And why did he look at you like he knew you? Clarice… what's going on? Who is Ava"?"
Ava turned to him, heart hammering. Her lungs burned with the weight of a thousand truths she wanted to tell but couldn't. Not anymore. For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then she forced her voice to stay calm, flat.
"I don't know who that man was," she said. "And I don't know who Ava is."
