Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

July 1994 - The Second War

It was sometime after midnight when Charlie Weasley decided he couldn't sleep.  The rest of the Burrow was dark and quiet as he made his way down to the kitchen, walking past the bedrooms that belonged to his siblings and avoiding the steps that always creaked at the bottom of the stairs.

Someone had left the lamp on above the kitchen table.  Its dim light cast a strange glow over the room as Charlie walked inside.

He headed for the sink, rolled up his sleeve, and unwrapped the bandage covering his arm, wincing a bit as he removed the gauze.  The injured - and agitated - Romanian Longhorn he had kept locked in a barn for five days had gotten him good that morning, but the antibiotic potion he had taken a few hours earlier seemed to be working.  He was healing, and there were no signs of infection.

Then why do I feel so out of sorts?

It was the house, he decided.  He shouldn't have come back to the Burrow, and he should have moved the box he had left in the corner of his and Bill's old bedroom to the closet, or someplace else where it wouldn't have gotten so covered with dust while he had been away.  He hated that it was still sitting on the floor upstairs; that he still wasn't ready to face the contents: old letters filled with faded ink, an assortment of motionless photographs, a few battered cassette tapes, and a collection of well-worn muggle paperbacks that had never belonged to him.

Charlie had forgotten how blunt - Personal Effects - Stone, Aaron - the writing on the side of the box was.  He had looked through the books and photographs the last time he had been home, and read some of the letters, pulling them at random from an organized stack secured with frayed twine, until he had seen his own unsteady thirteen year old handwriting.

Aaron had saved everything. 

"I'm sorry, too."

As soon as Charlie had seen the words, he had dropped the letter, ran outside, and dry-heaved by the pond until his body had finally stopped shaking, leaning over the grass and telling himself the same thing.

it's not fair

you're gone

and it's not fair

Charlie walked away from the sink and reached into the high cabinet where his mother kept her potions.

It had been three years - almost to the week - since Aaron had disappeared.  Charlie had heard that time was supposed to help with this sort of thing.  It hadn't.  He'd had to force himself to stop looking for him last summer.

You said you'd be right back, you bloody tosser.  We were supposed to do this together.

He moved the assortment of vials and jars around until he found the Star Grass Salve.  He took it out of the cabinet, unscrewed the lid, stuck his fingers inside, and rubbed the balm into his burn.  His breath caught in his throat just long enough to remind him that he still wasn't alright.

bloody hell

Charlie wiped at his eyes.

I wasn't supposed to lose you

you promised me I wouldn't -

The air in front of the sink ripped apart with a violent crack.  Blood sprayed over the cabinets, counter tops, and the floor.

Three figures collapsed on the tile at Charlie's feet, covered in blood; a man, a woman, and -

"Aaron?!"

Charlie swore.

It was Aaron.

He got on the floor and reached for him.

The woman screamed and shoved herself away from Aaron.  She collided hard with the cabinets behind her and clawed at her face, leaving disturbing streaks of red across her forehead.  Long, tangled hair obscured the rest of her features.

The man had a vise grip on Aaron's arm.  His untrimmed fingernails had broken through Aaron's skin.  Blood spatter covered his face, neck, and clothes.

Aaron choked.  More blood ran from the corners of his mouth. 

no

fuck

Where is it all coming from?!

Charlie helped Aaron roll onto his back and got his answer.  Aaron's right arm, part of his shoulder, and what looked like portions of his rib cage, were gone; a mangled distortion of flesh, fragmented and protruding bones, and blood was all that remained.

Charlie pulled the confused - and nearly catatonic - man off of Aaron's arm and reached for the right side of Aaron's body, trying to apply pressure.  It was useless.  There was nothing left to hold together.

The rest of the lamps ignited as Charlie's parents ran into the kitchen.

Molly looked at Aaron, raised her wand, and screamed, "Ferula!"

Aaron gasped.  "Charlie-"

"I've got you!" he said, swearing and holding his hands against Aaron's gaping wounds.  "Try not to move!"

There was so much blood.  The wide strips of gauze that had been summoned by Molly's bandaging spell had been soaked through as soon as they had materialized.

Charlie cradled Aaron's head in his lap and looked up at his mother, fighting his own panic.  "He . . . shit . . . he needs a healer!"

"If we move him, it could kill him," she said.  "I'll get Poppy!"

She said something to his father and ran for the fireplace.

Charlie tried to reposition Aaron without hurting him.  He was choking on his own blood.

"Charlie . . . I . . . I can't . . . "

Charlie pulled out his wand and used a spell to clear Aaron's airway.  "You can.  Just breathe!  Keep breathing and stay with me."

He looked up as his father ran back into the kitchen, carrying a stack of towels.  He bent down and got on the floor next to them.  Charlie helped him shove the towels against Aaron's mutilated body.

Aaron looked up.  "Arthur, you have to . . . tell the Aurors.  The . . . they're going to attack the Council of Magic."

"Aaron, stop.  Hold still before-"

"Who is, son?" Arthur asked.

"The killers!  Nott!  The fucking . . . Death Eaters!  You have to . . . tell the Aurors!"

Charlie said, "Aaron, stop moving, or I'll have to-"

"Paris," Aaron spit out.  His lips and tongue were covered with blood.  "They're going to attack Paris!  Please!  Tell the Aurors.  Tell Moody.  You have to tell them now!"

Arthur said he would.  He stepped back, and disapparated.

Charlie kept his eyes on Aaron's.

Blood ran down Aaron's chin.  "Charlie, I . . . I . . . tried to . . . "

"Tell me later, yeah?" Charlie said, holding one of the towels against the remains of Aaron's shoulder, pressing it against fractured bone and severed tissue; watching it turn red.  "You can't afford the effort right now."

Aaron's body shook.  "I can't . . . Charlie . . . I'm . . . I thought I'd never . . . "

The rest came out gurgled and hard to understand.

"Aaron, please."  Aaron's blood had soaked through Charlie's clothes and covered the tile beneath them.  He knew Aaron could see the fear on his face.  "For fuck's sake, just focus on breathing."

A sudden roar of flames came from the living room.  Molly ran back into the kitchen with Madam Pomfrey, covered in soot.

Before Pomfrey could get on the floor, and get to Aaron, the air between her and Charlie compressed and expanded.

Albus Dumbledore appeared. 

He stepped over Aaron's splayed legs and looked at Charlie.  "Did you check him?"

"What?"

"Did you check him for the Dark Mark?  Did you check his arm?"  Dumbledore leaned down and pulled on the only arm Aaron had left.  Aaron tried to say something, but there was too much blood in his throat.

There wasn't anything on his arm.

Pomfrey stepped between Aaron and Dumbledore with her hands raised.  Charlie scooted back as she siphoned more blood out of Aaron's throat.  Aaron gasped.  Pomfrey leaned over him and tore off the remains of his shirt.  Charlie could feel the healing magic coming off of her in waves.

The woman with tangled hair hadn't stopped screaming.  The unknown man was still mumbling incoherent words to himself in the corner by the stove.

Dumbledore reached for Aaron again.  Charlie got to his feet, stood protectively over Aaron and Pomfrey, and raised his wand.

"Don't touch him."

"He's one of them, Charlie," Dumbledore told him, as Aaron struggled to breathe.  "He has been working with the Death Eaters for years."

Charlie kept his wand aimed at Dumbledore.  "Did you know he was alive?  All this time?"

"You don't know how dangerous he is.  You don't know what he can do."

"What are you talking about?"

Dumbledore said, "He isn't who you think he is, lad.  Hundreds of people have died because of him." 

Aaron's blood dripped off the end of Charlie's wand.   "That's not true.  Get away from him.  You've got it wrong.  He's not one of them!"

Pomfrey looked up from the floor.  "Albus, he is dying.  Where are the Phoenix Tears?"

Dumbledore reached into his robe and took out a vial.  He handed it to Charlie.

Charlie grabbed the Phoenix Tears.  "You knew."

He knelt next to Aaron and held the vial to his lips, but Aaron had already lost too much blood.  His body went limp in Charlie's arms.

Charlie tilted Aaron's head back and forced the Phoenix Tears down his throat.

He wasn't losing him again.

Two hours later, Charlie stood over the sofa bed in the living room, watching Aaron's chest rise and fall.  The smell of his blood still permeated the Burrow; a heavy residue of iron and copper that clung to the air.  Molly had told everyone to stay out of the kitchen until she could use a few charms to scrub the cabinets and mop the floor.

It didn't matter.  No one wanted to go in there after what had happened.

They had all debated taking Aaron to St. Mungo's with the man and woman they had realized - after some gentle coaxing from Dumbledore - were Frank and Alice Longbottom, but Pomfrey had told them she didn't want to arrive with a corpse.  It had taken her long enough just to stabilize Aaron so he could breathe on his own.

Charlie's hands still shook with receding adrenaline.

stop

calm down

the potions are working

he's not going to die

His mother came back into the room and sat down on the edge of the sofa bed.  Charlie watched as she reached for Aaron's forehead, checked his pulse, and pulled the knit blanket covering his legs up to his stomach.  He looked so cold.  And far too thin.  Wherever Aaron had been, he hadn't been eating enough.  Charlie didn't want to think about what that meant.  And he didn't want to think about what Dumbledore had said.

it's not true

He knew Aaron.  And he knew what he could do.

he's not dangerous 

Charlie stared at the sofa bed, trying to think about something else - about anything else.  "I can't believe Dad got himself one of these."

"Oh, you should have seen him," Molly said. "You know how your father gets.  He was so excited.  We were driving up to Bristol in that old muggle car of his a few years ago and there it was - in a ditch!  It was filthy.  The upholstery was in tatters.  I told him to leave it, but he had already pulled over, so we loaded it into the car."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Shrinking charm," Molly said, smiling up at him.  "Honestly, Charlie, did you learn nothing at Hogwarts?"

"I learned the important things.  You can't Reducio a dragon."

Molly kept her eyes on him.  "I'm glad you're home.  It's been too long."

It had been months, and years before that.

"I know.  I'm sorry."

"Are you alright?"

Charlie looked at Aaron.  He still couldn't believe he was alive.  "I'm better now."

"I can watch him.  You should go upstairs and clean yourself up.  Get changed out of those clothes."

He had peeled off his blood-covered shirt and left it in the kitchen sink, but his trousers and shoes were still soaked through.  There was more blood in his hair.  Dried clumps of it clung to the stubble on his chin.

"I will.  I just wanted to make sure he was-"

The dying embers in the fireplace ignited.  A surge of green flames poured over the hearth as Madam Pomfrey emerged, carrying a case of vials filled with a red liquid.

She wiped the soot off of her clothes and looked at them.  "I've made more Blood-Replenishing Potion.  How is he?"

"No worse off than when you left," Molly told her.

"Good.  That's a good sign.  Here," she set the case down, "help me get some of this into him."

Pomfrey un-corked one of the vials.  Charlie watched as Molly reached for Aaron's jaw, opened his lips, and gently tilted his head back.  Pomfrey leaned forward, poured the potion down his throat, and covered his mouth with her palm, making sure it all went down.

She removed her hand a moment later and turned her attention to the right side of Aaron's body, peeling back layers of saturated bandages.

"He's still losing blood," she said, "though not nearly as much.  The Phoenix Tears are doing their job.  His right lung has stitched itself closed, and his ribs and scapula are mending, thanks to the Skele-Gro."

"What about his arm?" Charlie asked, looking at what remained of the right side of Aaron's body.  He had been torn open down to his hip.

"Skele-Gro only re-grows bones," Pomfrey said, without looking up.  "It won't do him any good to have arm bones without any muscles, nerves, blood vessels, or connective tissues."

"So, what, he's lost it?"

"He knew the risks associated with apparition," Pomfrey said.  "He's lucky the arm is all he lost."

"Aaron isn't an amateur at apparition," Charlie said.  "He's bloody brilliant at it."

"Brilliant or not," Pomfrey said, "botching apparition is common when a person's mental state is . . . unsound."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When Aaron can be moved, I will take him to St. Mungo's for an evaluation, assuming the Aurors don't show up and take him elsewhere."

"Aaron isn't mental," Charlie said.  "He knew who I was.  He knew he was at The Burrow.  He wasn't screaming and drooling in a corner like Alice Longbottom."

He looked back at Aaron.  His face was gaunt and unshaven, and Charlie had never seen him with hair this short - cut close to his scalp like someone had taken a knife to it.  There were dark welts on his skin from what must have been repeated bruising, and his shoulder and stomach were covered with raised patches of scar tissue.

Bloody hell, Aaron.  What happened to you?  Where the hell were you?

If you were alive, why didn't you come back?

The air by the window separated with a sudden crack as Alastor Moody appeared.

Charlie turned around and stared at him.  He hadn't talked to the man since Aaron had gone missing.  It hadn't been a good conversation for either of them.

"I take it my father found you."

Moody nodded.  "He told us about Paris.  Madam Bones has notified the Council of Magic, and Scrimgeour has dispatched multiple Aurors."

"Do they know where the information came from?"

Moody's artificial eye swiveled.  "They don't know Aaron is here, if that's what you're asking me."

Charlie looked at the iron shackles Moody carried.  "You don't seem surprised to see him alive."

Moody ignored him and took a step closer to Aaron, clutching his wand.  "I need to know what happened, and I need to know what the hell he's doing in your house."

"You can question him here all you like," Pomfrey told Moody, "but he can't be moved yet.  He's too unstable."

"Then I won't move him."

Moody shouldered his way past Charlie, stood over Aaron, and aimed his wand at his head.  

"Rennervate."

Aaron's eyes shot open as he sat up, coughing up dark clots of blood.  He gasped and fought to catch his breath as more of it came up his throat.

Madam Pomfrey was there suddenly, helping him lean forward.

"It's alright," she told him, "you're alright.  Get it out."

Aaron struggled and spit more blood clots into his palm.  Bubbled strings of dark blood hung between his mouth and his hand.  Pomfrey grabbed the mess with a towel as the room wavered around him.  

shit

Aaron watched as vague outlines of dark cobblestone streets merged with the living room.  He closed his eyes and forced the motion to stop.  He still couldn't tell if he was shaking because he had lost so much blood, or because he was shifting through space too fast to perceive.

It wouldn't be the first time.

He felt a hand on his leg and opened his eyes.  It was Molly, gentle and concerned, grounding him as the world churned.  Moody and Charlie stood behind her.  They were all staring at him.

Aaron didn't want them to realize how disoriented he was, but he had to know.  He looked up at Charlie, trying to steady himself.  " . . . how long was I gone?"

"Three years," Charlie said, looking solemn.  "We thought you were dead."

A sudden wave of nausea made Aaron sweat.  His ears rang and the edges of his vision went dark.  He sat back and held his head, trying to remember -

the park

staying awake with the dragon

Pomfrey watched him.  "Are you in pain?  You shouldn't be feeling much with the strong cocktail of potions I've got you on."

Aaron shook his head.  "No."  

It wasn't the pain.  Or the shock of being alive.

the park

staying awake with the dragon

yesterday I was 

wait

shit 

He still couldn't remember the rest of his broken memory key.  His thoughts were difficult to catch and his awareness of time was nonexistent. 

Aaron looked back at Charlie.  "Frank and Alice were with me when I . . . where are they?  Are they hurt?"

"No, they're alright.  Dumbledore took them back to St. Mungo's.  They're safe."

Aaron wasn't sure that was true.  He supposed he should have jumped right to the hospital, but there hadn't been enough time for him to summon another location.  He had barely made it out.

Moody leaned over him.  "What the hell are you doing here?  Did you think this stunt would work?"

"What?"  

"Did you think bringing Frank and Alice back with you would protect you or something?"

"I . . . I didn't think I was going to survive the jump, so, no," Aaron told him, still shaking.  He leaned over and spit more blood into the towel.

three years

shit

"Tell me about Prague.  And London."

" . . . Prague?"

"Tell me everything," Moody said.  "Right now."

"I . . . I don't understand.  What happened in Prague?"

Moody kept his raised wand trained on Aaron's head.  "You attacked Pod Mostem.  You were there after the explosion."

"The explosion?  Moody, I wasn't in control.  I don't remember-"

"Yes, you do."

"No, I . . . I don't."

the park

staying awake with the dragon

yesterday I was alone in -

"Then tell me about London," Moody said.  "I saw you in Diagon Alley before the stations were leveled.  Before you grabbed me.  I know you were involved with the attack."

Aaron remembered Diagon Alley.  He remembered Moody coming at him not too long after - walking toward him across a dark field - but he hadn't been able to stop himself from doing whatever it was he had done next.

"I was there, but I couldn't-"

"You set off the explosives in London and Prague.  You killed all of those people."

Aaron felt sick.  He could still hear the screams that had come from the river.  He could still see the people standing next to him on the bridge with the statues, frightened and covered in blood.

Moody pulled something out of his coat pocket.  It took Aaron a moment to realize what it was - to see the worn dragon heartstring that protruded from the splinters in his hand.  

shit

"You went with them.  Did you tell them where you were that night?  Did you tell them you were in the graveyard?"

Aaron stared at the remains of his wand.  "I-  No, wait, Moody, I didn't-"

Moody ignored him and looked at Pomfrey.

"When can he be moved?"

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Ten years earlier . . .

September 1984 - Between the Wars

Professor Minerva McGonagall had the only key to the South Tower.  She whispered under her breath and flicked her wand as she approached the heavy oak door at the end of the next corridor.  The guardian enchantments and wards covering the entryway wavered in response, allowing her to pass.  She slipped the key into the lock, turned it to the left, and headed inside.

Torch light cast shadows across her robe as she ascended the stone steps beyond.  It didn't take her long to reach the room at the top.

She walked to the desk by the window and took a quill and a folded piece of parchment out of her pocket.  With fifteen minutes left on the thirty-first of August, she sat down in front of an ancient quill and a book covered with deteriorated dragon hide.

The worn pages of the Book of Admittance were yellow and brittle.  Her name was inside, but she didn't know where it had been written.  She avoided touching the delicate pages more than she had to.

Minerva read through the list of names in the dim light - the same ones she had seen during her last trip to the tower.  

She folded her parchment and tucked it back into her robe.  So, that was it.  They would only have thirteen first years.

Minerva stood to leave, and turned her back on the book.  It was a mistake.

She was at the top of the stairwell when she heard movement, and turned around just in time to see the tattered Quill of Acceptance lift into the air.  Minerva gasped.  She had never seen the quill write a name.

Few had.

She crossed the room and watched, in amazement, as the enchanted instruments went through the motions of their arcane work.  The quill dipped itself in the inkpot and floated back up into the air.  It hovered there for a moment before it dropped, touched one of the waiting open pages of the book, and started to write a name.

Minerva glanced at the clock on the far wall.

Just in time.

She waited until the quill finished its task before she copied the name, birth date, and location of the fourteenth child onto her piece of parchment.

Aaron Stone.  The 11th of November, 1972.  Glasgow, Scotland, United Kingdom.

Just in time, indeed.

The boy had turned eleven almost a year ago.

Minerva didn't recognize his surname.  He had to be another muggle-born.  She waited to see if there would be any other last minute additions, but nothing else happened.

When it was officially the first day of September, Minerva picked up her list and left the tower.

Arthur Weasley looked through the disheveled stack of parchment sitting on the desk between him and Dumbledore, trying to find his marks from the day before.  It was after midnight.  He had sent Molly an owl when he had arrived at Hogwarts - letting her know he would be home late - but he still didn't like getting back to The Burrow after the boys and Ginny were asleep.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair.  "It won't pass."

"I can't believe it was written," Arthur said, without looking up.  "The fact that the Wizengamot is taking it this seriously and will consider enacting it infuriates me."

"There are many who would welcome the establishment of a commission, Arthur, but they are not the majority, and this is not their time."

Arthur kept his eyes on the parchment in front of him.  He wasn't so sure.

"This act won't go away," he told Dumbledore.  "If it doesn't pass now, those who support the legislation will keep it tucked in their back pockets, right where they can pull it out again the next time an opportunity presents itself.  It is dangerous, and we'll have to make sure it won't be used to-"

A knock came from the door behind him.  Arthur turned around.

Professor McGonagall walked into the room without waiting for a response.  She nodded at him and handed a folded piece of parchment to Dumbledore.

"We have a last minute addition," she said.  There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice.

Dumbledore glanced at her over the top of his glasses, looking amused.  "Did you see the book and the quill in action?"

"I most certainly did," McGonagall said.  "I thought we would only have thirteen First Years.  I was about to leave the tower when the quill shot up into the air!"

"Minerva, my dear, you have witnessed something truly remarkable," Dumbledore said, returning her smile.

"I'm sorry, did you say thirteen?" Arthur asked.

"Fourteen now," McGonagall corrected.

"That seems a bit low.  Why so few?"

"I'm afraid we are starting to see the long-term consequences of the war," she told him.  "Many magical families decided not to have children while our world was experiencing so much violence and uncertainty.  Others, as you well know, were lost during the conflict."

Arthur was quiet.

"It won't be a problem," McGonagall continued.  "If anything, having a smaller group should make things a bit easier for us, seeing as we'll be able to fit all of the children in the same classes instead of having to break them up by house."

Arthur watched as Dumbledore read through the short list of names.

"Interesting timing, the distribution of this class," Dumbledore said.  "It is the first time, to my memory, that we have had more muggle-born than wizard-born first years."

Arthur couldn't help but feel the same way, given the copy of the controversial act sitting on the desk between them.

"We will have to make the necessary arrangements," Dumbledore told McGonagall.  He handed the piece of parchment back to her.  "Find out what you can about him."

Arthur said, "Wait.  What happens with the muggle-born students?  I imagine you couldn't just send an owl.  They would have no idea what to do."

"We insist on recruiting them in person," McGonagall told him, "but even then, it's no simple task to explain our world to the parents.  Often times, we have to use a bit of charm work to help them understand.  However, the final decision to send - or not to send - their child to Hogwarts must be made without any sort of magical intervention."

"Yes, of course.  But these muggles can't all just agree to send their children off to be taught by strangers who sound like mental cases," Arthur said.

"Oh, some don't," McGonagall said.  "There are always the parents who refuse to acknowledge their child's abilities and laugh in our faces."

"What happens then?"

Dumbledore said, "After spending a few years living with a child with magical abilities - and having no idea what to do with them - the parents usually come around."

"Or, they don't, and the child runs away," McGonagall said.

"We have had many runaways over the years.  And others still who have fallen through the cracks," Dumbledore confessed.  He looked at McGonagall.  "Let's make sure this new addition doesn't become one of them.  With the school year starting, we will need to get to him quickly, and try to get permission to bring him here as soon as possible.  Can any members of the faculty make it to Glasgow by morning?"

McGonagall shook her head.  "I'm afraid I've already asked all of the others to help escort the rest of the new muggle-born children.  I would gladly collect the boy myself, but I'm already scheduled to head to Manchester shortly after breakfast, to show Miss Thomas how to board the train."

Arthur glanced at the piece of parchment she held, and decided to let his curiosity intervene.

"Does it have to be a faculty member?" he asked.

Dumbledore and McGonagall looked back at him.

Arthur said, "It's just, well, you see, I've got my car here with me.  Glasgow's not too far.  If it's alright with both of you, I could go get him."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1984 - Between the Wars

The bell above the convenience store door rang as Arthur walked inside.  He smiled at the attendant behind the counter and headed for the coffee pots.

Despite the early hour, he felt elated.  He did every time he was out in the muggle world.  He had spent the last two hours on the road blasting the Eurythmics, Duran Duran, and Toyah - strange, entrancing music he had found on the radio - driving with the windows rolled down and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

He filled a styrofoam cup with coffee and added some sugar; walked up to the magazines and selected a few of the ones covered with a good variety of unfamiliar faces, vehicles, and foods.  Molly would never try the recipes, but he always caught her reading the gossip articles when she thought he wasn't looking.

He grabbed a package of Jammie Dodgers to go with the coffee on his way to the register and set everything on the counter.

The attendant scanned the magazines.

"If you don't mind," Arthur said, staring at the man, "what is that in your shirt?"

"In my shirt?"

"Yes, in your pocket.  With the pens."

The attendant looked down and pulled his shirt away from his chest.

"I hope you don't mind," Arthur said. "It's just that I've never seen one of . . . those things before."

" . . . are you talking about my pocket protector?"

"A pocket protector!  Ah, yes!  Absolutely ingenious.  No doubt to protect your shirt from ink should your pens leak!  I have heard they tend to do that.  I imagine it is quite frustrating."

The attendant pulled a face.  "Lost the plot a bit, have you?"

Arthur tried to remember what that expression meant.  "Excuse me?"

"Trying to have me on then?  Seeing if you can have a bit of fun before you get on with your morning, is that it?"

"I'm sorry, no.  I certainly didn't mean to offend you.  I've just never seen a pocket protector is all."

The attendant glared at him and rang up the rest of his things.

Arthur would be disappointed with himself later if he didn't at least ask.  "Do you know where I could get one?  Could I, perhaps, buy yours?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"Again, I don't mean to offend you.  I genuinely would like to buy it."

The attendant pulled the pocket protector off of his shirt and slid it across the counter.  "You know what?  If it gets you out of here, take it.  Take the bloody thing.  Take the pens, too, for all I care."

"Oh.  Wonderful!"

Arthur tried to hide his excitement as the attendant handed him blue and red pens.  He paid for his things and slipped the man an extra thirty quid, having no idea what pocket protectors or pens cost. 

Seeing the writing instruments made him remember the telephone number on the scrap of parchment that was tucked inside his back pocket.  It looked like the sun was coming up.  It would be alright to call now.

"Not to put you out again, but have you got a telephone I can use?"

"If you drive down a ways to the grocer, there's a payphone out front."

"Thank you so much for your generosity!  Cheers."

Arthur took his things off the counter and left the store.  He whistled and opened the package of biscuits when he got to the car.

The attendant watched him leave.

"What a bloody nutter," he muttered to himself, as the red-haired man pulled out of the station.

It took Arthur a few minutes to figure out how to work the payphone, despite its similarities to the telephone he had installed at The Burrow not too long ago, an older rotary model he had snagged from a bin of confiscated muggle objects at The Ministry.  Thankfully, the instructions on the panel in front of him were fairly straightforward.  He dropped some coins into the slot at the top until he got a dial tone.

It rang for awhile before a man answered.

" . . . hello?"

He sounded half asleep.  Arthur decided he probably was.

"Hello!  Who's this?"

"This is Michael.  Who's this calling?"

At least it was the right person.

"My name is Arthur Weasley, and I wanted to-"

"Mind speaking a bit quieter?  I can almost hear you without the phone."

"Sorry, yes, of course," he said, lowering his voice.  "I didn't mean to-"

"Arthur, why are you calling me?"

"I represent a school in the Highlands.  I would like to talk to you about Aaron Stone."

Arthur waited.  There was no response.

"Hello?"

"Sorry," the man said after a second, "did you say this was about Aaron?"

"Yes, is he there with you?  I would like to talk about getting him enrolled."

"In your school?"

"Yes."

"Look, I'm not . . . maybe you should call his-"

"I'm on my way to Glasgow.  Would it be alright if I stopped by?"

"What?  Now?"

"Yes, if it's alright."

"It's . . . I don't know if I can let you do that."

Arthur tried to be a bit more patient.  This wasn't turning out to be as simple as he had thought it would be.

"Sorry.  I know you weren't expecting me," he said, "it's just, well, this is rather important.  The school I represent is a very good school, with a very specific curriculum and a very dedicated group of teachers.  Truly, it is one of the best in the country.  Only certain children are ever even offered the opportunity to attend.  I would like to give Aaron that chance, if you'll let me.  Please.  If you'll just let me come by and explain the rest.  I promise it won't take long."

The man mumbled something to himself that might have been profanity, then he said, "Hang on."

There was silence on the other end.  Arthur stood there for a moment, studying the advertisements on the front windows of the grocery store and wondering if he should have tried harder to convince the man to -

"Arthur?  You still there?"

"Yes.  I'm here."

"Have you got my address?"

"I do, yes."

More silence, then, "If you can get here by seven, you and I can sit down, and talk more about this school of yours."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1984 - Between the Wars

The terraced house Arthur drove past was small, and the narrow road out front was crowded.  He had to park two streets away.  Unexpected construction on the motorway after his stop at the convenience store had made the drive to Glasgow take longer than it should have, and his legs were stiff.

He stretched and yawned as he got out of the car.  He had slept on a sofa at Hogwarts for a few hours before he had gotten on the road, but it hadn't been enough of a rest, and the effects of the coffee were starting to fade.

Arthur double checked the address in front of him, making sure it was number twelve oh six, before he walked up the front steps and rang the bell.

A rather slender looking man with glasses and an unshaven face opened the door.

"Good morning," Arthur said.  "Are you Mister Lewis?"

The man rubbed the back of his neck.  "I'm Michael Lewis, yeah."

"Oh, wonderful.  We spoke on the telephone earlier.  I'm Arthur Weasley."

"Figured as much.  Well, come on in."

Arthur followed the man inside.

"Bit early for a Saturday.  Can I get you some coffee?  Tea?"

"Tea would be lovely," Arthur told him.

"Right then.  Have a seat, yeah?  I'll see what I've got."

Arthur sat down on an overstuffed chair in the living room and studied his new surroundings.  There were books stacked on a stool by the staircase and old, braided rugs on the hardwood floors.  Some sort of battery powered device and thin plastic cartridges with circular holes in them - labeled with words that didn't make any sense to Arthur - London Calling, Combat Rock, and Let's Start a War - sat on the low table in front of him.  A television set - he knew what that was at least - sat inside a cabinet in the far corner of the room, complete with an antenna.

Arthur was fascinated.  If only he had brought his camera.

Michael walked back into the living room a moment later and handed him a mug.  "I still don't understand how the school you represent knew about Aaron.  He hasn't applied to any scholarship programs that I'm aware of, especially not one for some posh private school."

"Perhaps a teacher recommended him?"

"Not likely.  Aaron hasn't had the luxury of getting to know many of his teachers.  They've moved him around so often.  I took him on so he could stay in one place for the school year."

"Took him on?  I don't understand.  Are you not his family?  I realize you don't share a surname, but I thought perhaps you were a relative."

"No, I foster children.  Aaron is a ward of the court."

"Oh," Arthur said.  "I see."

He didn't.

"Don't get me wrong, the school you represent sounds ideal.  I think Aaron would really benefit from going someplace where he could get some more attention.  God knows he needs it.  But I can't make those types of decisions.  It would be up to his social worker."

Well, this certainly complicates things.

"Would it be alright if I met the boy?  I would very much like to speak with him while I'm here."

"May I see some sort of identification or proof that you're from the school?  I always hesitate to introduce any of the children in my care to strangers, especially when there's been a history of mental illness in the family."

Arthur took two pieces of parchment out of his pocket.  The first had been enchanted to appear as a driver's license and the second was a certificate Dumbledore had given him before he had left.

Michael looked over the documents.  "Strange name for a school, yeah?  Never heard of Hogwarts."

"Not many people have.  It's highly selective."

" . . . and you think Aaron qualifies to attend?"

"We do, yes."

Michael looked skeptical.  "Do you mind if I write down your information?"

"Not at all," Arthur said.  He handed the man one of his newly acquired pens.  "Mind telling me a bit more about him?"

"About Aaron?  He's only been here with me for a few weeks," Michael said.  Arthur watched as he carefully spelled out the words Ottery Saint Catchpole on a scrap of paper.  "He's a good lad, but he isn't exceptional.  If anything, his academics have suffered because of all the times he's been moved around.  And he's had other . . . struggles.  I'm afraid it's all left him a bit withdrawn."

Arthur looked up.  He heard footsteps at the top of the stairs.  He leaned closer to Michael.

"Has he really got no one?"

" 'fraid not."

"His parents, what, are they dead?"

"Don't know, to be honest.  His mother was a nutter.  Probably bipolar, or an addict of some sort.  She couldn't take care of him.  She surrendered him when he was all of seven months old, I think, before she was admitted to an institution.  She might still be there, for all I know.  She gave up her parental rights."

"What about his father?"

"His father could be anyone, with his head case mum."

"What happened last night?" Arthur asked.

"I don't understand."

"Just before midnight, did something strange happen here?  With Aaron?"

"No," Michael said, "not at all."

"Has anything strange ever happened around Aaron?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean by strange."

"Have you noticed objects moving on their own?  Or things disappearing?  Have you seen anything exploding or shrinking?  Or . . . maybe . . . has he been talking to animals?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Michael said.  "He isn't a delinquent.  And he isn't a nutter like his mum.  Mister Weasley, are you sure you've got the right child?"

"I would have to meet him, in order to make sure."

Michael stood up and walked toward the staircase.  "Wait here."

He came back down a moment later, followed by a boy with dark hair who looked to be about Charlie's age.

The boy's shirt was too big on him.  He pulled on the sleeves awkwardly as Michael guided him forward, tugging them down over his wrists.

Arthur smiled at him.  "You must be Aaron.  I'm Arthur Weasley.  Did Mister Lewis here tell you about the school I came from?"

Aaron's hair fell into his eyes.  He pushed it back and stared at Arthur with noticeable suspicion.

"It's alright," Arthur told him.  "I just want to talk to you for a bit."

But the boy didn't move.

"Michael," Arthur asked his host, "could I bother you for some more tea?"

"Right, yeah," Michael said.  He took Arthur's mug and left the room.

Arthur looked back at Aaron.  "Can I show you something?"

He reached into his coat and took out his wand.

Raising it slowly, he whispered, "Lumos."

The room brightened as the end of his wand started to glow.  He smiled and held it out toward Aaron.

"It's okay.  You see, I'm a wizard, just like you.  This is my wand.  I use it to perform spells.  Here, why don't you have a closer look?"

Aaron took the wand.  Arthur watched as he examined it, turning it over slowly in his hands.

Michael was still in the kitchen.  Arthur leaned closer to Aaron.

"Would you like to see something else?"

Aaron shrugged.

Arthur took his wand back, dimmed the end, and pointed it at the books by the staircase.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The Count of Monte Cristo lifted off the top of the stack and floated across the room, hovering between him and Aaron.

"Go ahead.  You can take it," Arthur told him.

Aaron hesitated, then snatched the massive book out of the air.  He held it tightly and looked it over.

" . . . how'd you do that?"

Arthur smiled.  "Magic."

"There's no such thing," Aaron said.

"Who told you that?"

"No one.  There just isn't."

Arthur leaned forward.  "Are you so sure?"

Aaron stared back at him, looking uncomfortable.

"I know all of this must sound a bit strange, but, if I can get permission for you to come with me, would you?  Would you let me take you to a school where you can learn how to use magic?"

" . . . but magic's not real."

"Has anything unusual ever happened to you before?  Have you ever noticed things falling off of shelves or doors slamming when you walk by?  When you get angry, does it feel like you can make the room shake?"

Aaron didn't say anything.  He looked confused, like he didn't know what to say - like he had no idea what Arthur was talking about.

Michael came back into the room just then, and handed Arthur his mug.

Arthur took it gratefully.  "Michael, who was it you said I would need to speak with to get permission for Aaron to-"

Arthur jumped as something scratched the window behind him.  He turned around as Michael stared, looking a bit surprised.

"Is that . . . wait.  Is that an owl?" Michael asked.

"It is!" Arthur said, standing up. 

He opened the front door.  The owl flew from the window sill and landed on his outstretched arm.  Arthur took the papers it offered out of its beak, gave it a few pieces of the crumbled biscuit left in his pocket, and tossed it gently back into the air.

"What the hell was that about?" Michael asked, as the owl flew off.

Arthur wasn't sure.  He looked through the papers, but they didn't seem to be for him.  He handed them to Michael.

"What is it?" Aaron asked from behind him.

"Your guardianship papers from the court," Michael said.  "They've been signed by your social worker.  I don't understand.  It looks like she's transferred your guardianship to someone named Albus Dumbledore."

"That's the headmaster at Hogwarts," Arthur told him.  "He must have met with her before I arrived."

Michael looked annoyed.  "This isn't the usual procedure.  I need to call her." 

Michael Lewis went back into the kitchen, picked up the telephone handset, and dialed the number on the piece of paper he had taped to the fridge a few weeks earlier.  It rang until a woman answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Rachel?  This is Michael."

"Good morning!  I was just about to call you."

"What the hell is going on?  Did you release Aaron Stone from my care?  There's a man here who says he wants to take him to a private school somewhere up in the Highlands.  A bloody owl just showed up with his guardianship papers."

"Ah, yes, the headmaster was waiting at my office when I arrived this morning.  Brilliant man.  A bit eccentric though.  He mentioned something about the school having trained owls."

"Trained owls?  He sounds like a damn nutter."

"A nutter?  I didn't think so.  I reviewed his credentials.  Aaron will be well taken care of."

Michael exhaled into the handset.  "This is all rather unexpected.  I thought you wanted Aaron to get through one bloody school year in the same place."

"He will get through the school year in the same place, just not with you, I'm afraid.  I appreciate you taking him in on such short notice, especially considering the circumstances, but the school had a last minute opening, and the plan has changed.  I'm sure you understand."

"I suppose.  It's just, well, he was finally getting comfortable here with me is all.  I told him not to worry about being relocated for awhile, and now you've gone and done this."

"Michael, I can't deny Aaron this opportunity.  This could be a semi-permanent placing, if it all works out.  He really needs that."

Michael didn't say anything.  He knew it was true.

"Now, let's see," Rachel continued.  "I was told Aaron could get a ride to Hogwarts this morning from a man named Arthur Weasley.  Is he the one at your house?"

"Oh, he's here alright."

"I'm very sorry for the short notice, Michael.  You've been more than generous."

"I understand, but I'm not the one you should apologize to."

Michael hung up the telephone, swore, and walked back to the living room.  He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at Aaron.

"How you feel about going to this private school?  It sounds like a nice enough place.  You would live there, too, the way I understand it."

Aaron stared back at him.  " . . . I thought I was staying here."

"I know.  So did I.  It seems there's been a change of plans."

Aaron looked at Arthur and then back at Michael.  He was still holding onto one of his books.  "Do I have to go?"

Michael nodded.  "Yes.  I'm sorry." 

He really was.

"Want me to help you pack up your things?"

Aaron shook his head.  He looked upset.  Michael didn't blame him.  He wasn't convinced this was the best decision.  

He watched as Aaron grabbed the cassette tapes and the Walkman he had left on the coffee table after breakfast, and stomped up the stairs.

Michael turned to Arthur and handed him Aaron's guardianship papers.  "You'll take care of him?"

"Yes," Arthur said, "you have my word."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Ten years later . . .

July 1994 - The Second War

Aaron staggered as Alastor Moody guided him down a narrow corridor, reaching for the nearest wall and bracing himself against the concrete, trying to keep his asymmetrical body upright while Moody shoved him forward.

A dim security light flickered from somewhere ahead of them.  Moody opened the next door they came to, and led him inside.

Aaron studied his new surroundings, staring at the high ceiling and the battered cabinet that sat in the far corner of the room.  The tile beneath his feet was covered with dark, uneven stains, and a drain was in the middle of the floor.  Aaron didn't know where Moody had taken him, but it didn't matter.  He knew an interrogation room when he saw one.

He watched as Moody grabbed the end of a chain that was anchored to the wall, and attached it to the iron shackle that was already clasped tightly around his wrist.

Once he was secured, Moody took a vial out of his coat, removed the cork, and looked back at him.

"Open your mouth."

Aaron did.  He held still while Moody fed him three drops from the vial.

The subtle aftertaste of the potion was familiar.  Aaron leaned back against the wall as the truth serum worked its way into his bloodstream.

Moody kept both of his eyes on him.  "Say it again."

"I'm not a Death Eater," Aaron said.  "For fuck's sake, Moody; I was their prisoner!"

Moody looked skeptical.  "What happened in London?"

"I don't remember everything," Aaron said, "but they must have used me to set off the explosives inside the stations."

"Did the same thing happen in Prague?  Did they use you to level Pod Mostem?"

"As far as I know, yes," Aaron said.  "And they had similar plans for Paris.  I think they were going to-"

Moody grabbed Aaron's deformed right shoulder and dug his fingers into his borrowed shirt.  Aaron cried out and dropped to his knees, gasping as blood seeped through his bandages.

"Tell me – right now – why I shouldn't take you to Azkaban."

Aaron inhaled hard through clenched teeth.  "I wasn't in control!"

"For three years?"

"I was under the-"

"Don't give me that Imperius Curse shite, Aaron.  You were trained to withstand it, and shut it out of your head."

"Moody, listen to me.  What they can do now is different.  You and Juliet never could have prepared me for-"

"Do you think you're the first person who's ever tried to use the Imperius Curse to justify their actions?  Every goddamn Death Eater tried to use that curse as an excuse after the-"

"I'm not a fucking Death Eater!"

Moody glared at him.  "Do you really expect me to believe that they were holding you against your will this entire time?  That you couldn't get yourself away from them?  That you never had one goddamn opportunity to jump?"

"They kept me manacled and drugged whenever I was-"

"You weren't manacled in London."

Moody let go of his shoulder.

Aaron made himself stand up.  "I didn't have to be, not with Nott controlling me.  He found a way to-"

"Is he still alive?"

Aaron nodded, remembering the way his body had gone numb right before he had gotten Frank and Alice out of the warehouse.

"Jesus Christ.  Did he get in your head?"

"Only with the Imperius Curse," Aaron told him.

It was an important distinction.

Moody stepped back and took out his wand.  "For how long?"

Aaron leaned against the wall, wishing he had taken more of the pain management potion Madam Pomfrey had left him with before Moody had come back and dragged him out of Arthur and Molly's living room.  He was tired, and everything hurt.

"I don't know.  I had no way to keep track.  It was . . . a long time.  But I never-"

"I thought you were dead," Moody said, studying him in the dim light.  "I stopped sleeping after you went missing.  I had every damn Auror I could get my hands on trying to figure out what the hell had happened to you.  I made Hagrid and Filch drag the Black Lake."

Aaron didn't say anything.  He just kept his eyes on Moody's. 

"When Miles Novak told me he saw you in Prague after the explosion – when he told me you tried to kill him – I told him it wasn't you.  I told him it couldn't have been you.  You were dead.  Even if you weren't, if somehow you were alive, you were an Auror.  I told him you would have never gotten involved with those fucking-"

"Do you really think I left of my own free will?  Do you think I went off and joined up with the sociopaths we were hunting down?  For fuck's sake, Moody, look at me.  Look at my starved body.  I was their captive, I wasn't their-"

But Moody still wasn't listening to him.  "I don't understand, Aaron.  Did I not do enough for you?"

"What?  No, Moody, you always-"

"What did he do to you?  What lies did that sociopath put in your head?"

"He didn't put anything in my head."

"Then you defected."

"No, I didn't-"

"Stop fighting the Veritaserum."

"I'm not!  And I didn't defect!"

Aaron had never seen Moody look at him that way, like he didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

fucking hell

He held onto the wall, still struggling to keep himself on his feet.  He felt nauseous, lightheaded, and unbalanced.  He needed more time to recover.

"Moody, I don't know what you've heard, if Dumbledore told you who I am, or you figured it out some other way.  Maybe that's why you think I ended up with Nott and the rest of those bastards.  But I didn't know, and I'm not one of them.  I never would have consciously walked away from being an Auror, or from you."

never from you

Moody stared back at him.  He was still clutching his wand.

"You tried to kill me, Aaron."

"What?  I don't remember-"

"You slung a chain around my neck after you attacked me in London.  Does that sound familiar?"

jesus christ

"Moody, wait!  I don't remember what happened in London!"

fuck my mind

the park

staying awake with the dragon

yesterday I was . . .

shit

He still couldn't remember the rest.

He flinched as Moody swung his fist, hitting him hard in the face.

"I saw your eyes!  You weren't under the Imperius Curse."

Aaron leaned over, sucking air in through his teeth and reaching for his bleeding nose.  "It doesn't work like that, not with the new method they use!  Nott can take the curse and-"

Moody shoved his wand into Aaron's neck.  Aaron looked up.  He could see the intention written clearly in Moody's good eye.

"Moody, please," Aaron said.  "If you don't believe me, then take my memories!"

"Do you know what the Wizengamot will do when they find out what you've done?  That you're the one who killed all those people?  They won't bother with Azkaban, Aaron.  They will execute you!"

"It wasn't me!  I wasn't in control!  I couldn't stop Nott from-"

"We were pulling bodies out of the Vltava for weeks!  It was even worse in London.  More than two hundred and fifty people died in those stations because of you!"

"Moody, no, wait, I-"

"Why did you defect?  Why did you go with them that night in the graveyard?"

"I didn't-"

"Was it because you learned the truth?  Was it because you found out who you are?"

Aaron felt sick.  He stared back at Moody as blood ran down his face.  "I'm not him.  And I never-"

Aaron's body went rigid, seized with a sudden burning pain that spread through his nerves as Moody raised his wand.  He gasped and reached for one of the hooks anchored to the wall, trying to brace himself, but he was already on the floor, crying out and writhing against the stained tiles while Moody stood over him.

"When did they get to you?!  When did you decide you were better off with them?!"

Aaron couldn't respond.  He was trying not to bite through his tongue as his body spasmed.

"I know you didn't spend three years under the Imperius Curse!"

"Moody . . . stop . . . please stop!" Aaron screamed.

His broken mind couldn't take anymore. 

"Moody . . . please . . . just take my fucking memories!"

"The ones he altered?!  Do you expect me to be able to trust anything I'll see in your head?!"

"He never touched me!" Aaron screamed.  "He never fucking touched me!"

His head fell back, hitting the floor with a thud as Moody stopped the curse.  He lay there for a moment, shaking and struggling; trying hard to catch his breath.

Moody stared down at him.  "Never?  Not in three years?"

Aaron pushed himself up and wiped at the blood on his lower lip.  "No."

"You're sure?"

Aaron nodded, still shaking.  "He never touched me.  Not . . . directly.  He made a point not to, for obvious reasons."

Aaron flinched again as Moody raised his wand, but, this time, he aimed it at his ear.  He held still, trying not to move while Moody extracted long coils of white silk from his head, focusing his thoughts and surrendering everything he could remember from the time he had been gone - from the night three years ago, when he had jumped from Dumbledore's office, to the moment he had appeared on the Weasleys' kitchen floor.

When Moody had gotten what he needed, he walked over to the cabinet in the far corner of the room and opened the front panel, revealing an old glass pensieve.

Aaron watched as Moody dropped the tangled strands of his memories into the bowl, stirred them until they unraveled, and submerged his head.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Ten years earlier . . .

September 1984 - Between the Wars

Aaron didn't want to tell Arthur Weasley, but riding in cars made him sick.  It usually took awhile for him to feel nauseous – for a headache to work its way behind his eyes and his stomach to start tossing – but today it felt like he was going to throw up before they even left Glasgow.  He rolled down his window and leaned against the inside of the car door as they headed down the motorway, curling up and clutching his worn duffel bag closer to his chest, trying not to look as sick as he felt when Arthur asked him what sort of music he liked.

The sound of the radio, the cool breeze, and the steady motion of the car made Aaron's eyes heavy.  He hadn't slept well the night before.  It wasn't long until his head lolled back against the front seat and he nodded off for good.

When he woke up, the car was parked in front of a grocery store.  Arthur was using a payphone near the entrance.  Aaron sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes.  With the car window open, he could hear everything Arthur said.

"I know.  I'm sorry I'm going to miss it.  Tell Charlie I'll meet him in Hogsmeade.  I will be on the platform when he gets off the train." 

Now that the car wasn't moving, and he had slept, Aaron felt a bit better.  He unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water Michael had handed him as he had walked out the door and took a few cautious sips, waiting to make sure his stomach wasn't going to turn on him again.

"I don't know, Molly.  Dumbledore didn't mention anything about taking him to get supplies for his classes, and now there isn't time.  Send everything you can with Charlie, and maybe go ahead and pack up a few of Bill's old shirts, too.  This boy doesn't have anything – no quills, no parchment, no textbooks, no robes.  There can't be more than one or two extra outfits in the bag he's got here with him.  I'm sure they'll give him a few things when he arrives, but I don't want him showing up with nothing, not on his first day."

Aaron leaned back against the front seat and took another sip of water, wondering if he had heard Arthur right.

Did he say . . . robes?

"Of course, but he's muggle-born, Molly.  All of this is new to him.  I don't want to overwhelm him."

I'm . . . what?

Arthur glanced at the car and lowered his voice, but Aaron still heard everything he said next. 

"He hasn't got anyone, Molly.  No mum or dad.  No brothers or sisters.  He was left alone with a stranger.  The last thing he needs is to feel more out of place.  He's already a bit distrustful of the whole situation, and I don't think he's had a very stable upbringing.  He seems to have been a bit neglected, and maybe even-"

Aaron turned up the radio and fiddled with the dial, trying to find a song that wasn't from the decade before he was born.  He didn't want to listen to the rest of Arthur's conversation.  He had heard it all before.

A few minutes later, Arthur hung up the phone and got back in the car.

"Right then," he said, shutting his door and pulling his seat belt across his lap, "let's get you to school."

Aaron tucked the bottle of water back into his duffel bag as Arthur started the engine and backed out of the parking lot.

It took him another minute to ask, "What's . . . muggle-born?"

"It means your parents weren't magical," Arthur said.  "Muggle is wizard slang for someone who can't use magic."

"I can't use magic."

"Yes, you can," Arthur said.

Aaron shook his head.  "Never used it before."

"You probably have and just didn't realize it.  Did anything happen to you last night?  Maybe something a bit strange?"

"No."

The strangest thing that had happened to Aaron in the past twenty-four hours was the arrival of Arthur Weasley and the tame owl.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it too much.  When you get to Hogwarts, everything will make sense."

"But if I'm a muggle and I can't-"

"You're not a muggle.  You're muggle-born.  Just because you don't come from magic doesn't mean you aren't just as capable of using it as someone who does.  If anything, it means you should get the best magical-based education you can.  The professors at Hogwarts are brilliant – they'll teach you everything, you'll see."

" . . . teach me what?" Aaron asked, trying to ignore his headache as Arthur merged back onto the motorway.

He felt sick again.  He hated cars.

"How to control your abilities.  And how to defend yourself."

"Defend myself?"

Arthur turned down the radio.  "Not all witches and wizards are good people, Aaron.  Some use magic to hurt others.  Now that you're in our world, you will need to learn how to protect yourself."

Aaron leaned forward, holding his head.

"Are you alright?"

He wasn't.  He could taste bile in the back of his throat. 

"Sometimes . . . being in cars makes me sick."

"Oh, you should have told me!  Here."

Arthur took out the wand he had showed him earlier.  Aaron flinched and backed toward the door as Arthur pointed it at him, not sure what was about to happen.

"It's alright, I promise," Arthur told him.  "Just going to use a bit of magic to help you feel better." 

He kept his eyes on the road, waved his wand in a diagonal pattern, and said, "Tarda Nauseam."

Aaron waited, trying to pretend like this was all normal.  He clutched his stomach in an attempt to keep the contents from coming up.  He hated feeling like this.

"You'll have to give it a minute, I'm afraid," Arthur said.  "That spell is used to alleviate nausea and headaches.  My wife came up with it years ago.  She's experienced more than her fair share of morning sickness.  It's a bit slow acting, but it should make the rest of our drive a bit more bearable once it kicks in."

Aaron leaned against his bag and closed his eyes.  It felt like the whole world was moving.

"Do I need to pull over?" Arthur asked.

Aaron almost said yes, but, suddenly, the sick feeling he'd had started to fade.  The bile in his throat receded as his stomach finally settled.

He opened his eyes.  "No, I . . . I think it's working."

Arthur glanced over, watching him as he drove.  He still looked concerned.  "Are you sure?"

Aaron nodded.

"Alright," Arthur said.  "I'm glad.  You had me a bit worried."

Aaron took a deep breath and leaned back against the door, closing his eyes and waiting for the last of his headache to go away.

An hour or so later, the song coming from the radio turned to static as they turned off the motorway, driving along curves and gaining elevation.  Aaron tried to get the music back, but nothing on the dial would come in clearly anymore.  He shut the radio off and stared out the window, watching the rolling landscape go by.

His eyes were still on the distant hills and a wandering heard of sheep when Arthur broke the silence.  "You seemed rather upset about leaving Glasgow.  I imagine my visit was a bit of a surprise.  Sorry about that."

Aaron shrugged.  "Doesn't matter.  It's always the same."

"What is?"

"When I get moved."

"Moved?"

"Placed somewhere else."

"How often have you been relocated like this?"

Aaron kept his eyes on the countryside.  He didn't like talking about this.  Especially not with an adult he had known for all of four hours.

"Don't know.  A lot."

"Is that normal for someone in your . . . situation?"

is when no one wants me 'cause they think I'll end up as mental as my nutter mum

Aaron shrugged and looked down as Arthur turned onto a narrow gravel road.  He was glad when the man didn't ask him any more questions.

They drove for a few more miles before they passed a sign warning that the bridge was out ahead.

"There's a roadblock before the bridge," Arthur told him.  "Don't worry.  It's all fine; just an illusion.  I'm going to drive right on through it."

He didn't slow down.

Aaron braced himself for some kind of impact as they approached the barrier ahead, but nothing happened.  They drove right through the deteriorated wooden boards like it was all some sort of mirage.

Arthur smiled at him as they sped across the intact stone bridge on the other side.  "Wasn't that fun?  There's nothing quite like a well-cast bit of concealment spellwork!"

Aaron didn't say anything.  He was still trying to make himself let go of the door handle.

The trees up ahead grew close to the road, blocking out the sky and covering the car in shadows.  Arthur turned on the headlights while Aaron held onto the seat, bracing himself.  Tree roots stuck out through what was left of the gravel, making for a bumpy ride.

When the forest finally receded, they came around a high curve.  Arthur pointed past him, down toward the valley below.  "There's Hogwarts!  Look and see for yourself."

Aaron stared out his window at the sight before him, not sure if what he was seeing was real.

that can't be the school

In the valley beneath them – on the far side of a dark lake – stood a massive castle.  The slate on the elegant turrets shimmered in the breaking sunlight as a distant train beyond steamed toward a nearby town, sounding its whistle.

Arthur was still watching him.  "Can you see the castle?"

Aaron nodded.

"What about the train?"

"The red one?"

Arthur laughed.  He sounded relieved.  "I told you!  You aren't a muggle!  Hogwarts is bewitched; protected by spells that prevent muggles from being able to see it for what it really is.  If you can see the castle – and you can see the train – you aren't a muggle!" 

Aaron kept his eyes on the shimmering turrets in the distance as they drove down a steep ridge, winding their way toward the town and the valley below.

He wasn't so sure Arthur was right. 

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1984 - Between the Wars

The train station in Hogsmeade was crowded.  Arthur walked through the shuffling masses of excited students with Aaron on his heels, stepping around stacks of luggage and dodging a few loose cats as he made his way across the platform.

He saw Bill a moment later, standing near the end of the train, talking to a boy his age with messy hair.

Arthur called his name and waved at him.  Bill looked up, saw him, and waved back.

"Where's your brother?" Arthur asked, shouting over the loud murmur of voices as Bill walked toward him.

"On the train," Bill said.  "I told him to get off, but he wouldn't listen."

"What the hell is he doing?"

"Looking for his lizard."

"He brought a lizard?"

Bill nodded.  "He did.  And it got loose."

Arthur swore.

That boy.  Always with the bloody animals.

"I told him to just leave it," Bill said.  "There's no way they'll let him keep it, but he was worried about it.  I don't think he'll get off without it."

Arthur tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice.  "Right then.  I'll go find him.  Are you alright?  Have you got everything you need?"

Bill nodded.

"Okay," Arthur said, pulling him into a quick hug; trying to spare him from too much embarrassment as his friend looked on.  "I'll see you at Christmas.  Listen to your professors.  And keep an eye on Charlie.  You know how distracted he can get."

"Obviously," Bill said, rolling his eyes.

Arthur made a face.

"Don't worry," Bill said.  "I'll watch out for him.  Promise."

"I know it's a tall order.  Just do what you can," Arthur told him.  "You better go now, before the carriages start boarding.  Let your mother and I know if you need anything."

"I will.  Thanks.  Bye, Dad!"

"Goodbye, Bill," Arthur said, watching as he joined his friend and walked off into the crowd.

When they were out of sight, Arthur crossed the platform and got on the Hogwarts Express.

He checked the compartments as he made his way down the aisles, poking his head inside each one and stepping around cleaning brooms while Aaron followed him, carrying his duffle bag.

He found Charlie in the third car from the front, standing on a seat cushion and balancing on his toes, trying to reach the luggage rack above his head.

"Charlie!  What are you doing?"

Charlie didn't turn around.  "I can't leave him."

"Charlie, come on.  There's no time for this.  The rest of your classmates are already on the platform."

"I know," Charlie said, "but I've got to find him!"

"They won't let you keep a lizard at Hogwarts.  You know that.  Cats, rats, and owls only.  Maybe the occasional toad."

"He's a moke, not a lizard, Dad."

"They still won't let you keep him."

"But I can't just leave him all alone on the train," Charlie said, climbing down and looking under the seat.

Arthur sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.  He was too tired to argue and, besides, it was Charlie's first day.  It would be best not to say goodbye on a bad note.  He stepped into the compartment and started checking the other luggage racks.

Aaron watched them for a second before he set his bag down.  Then, he got down on the floor with Charlie, and helped him look beneath the seats.

They had almost searched the entire car when Arthur saw Hagrid walk by outside, making his way through the station and calling for first years to follow him.  Arthur swore again.  He had to get Charlie and Aaron off the train.

He reached up and slid his hand along the trim above the next window.  This time, he felt something move.

He had found the moke.  It hissed at him as he grabbed it.

Arthur turned to Charlie and held out the squirming little reptile.  "Here!  I've got him!"

Charlie smiled and took it.  "Thanks, Dad!"

"Come on," Arthur told him, heading for the nearest exit.  "Let's get you boys to the boats."

Charlie followed him.  Aaron grabbed his bag and did the same.

Arthur got off the train and scanned the platform, looking for the trunk Molly had packed for Charlie.  He spotted it next to a trolley filled with suitcases, walked up to it, and opened the lid.

Molly had it well-organized.  A few of Bill's old robes were right on top.

Arthur grabbed one of them.  "Here you go, Aaron.  Put this on over your clothes and leave your bag with the others."

"But my name's not on it," Aaron said, taking the robe.

"That's alright," Arthur told him.  "It doesn't matter.  They'll get it all sorted.  It will be waiting for you on your bed, I promise."

Aaron set his bag down with a noticeable amount of reluctance and pulled the robe over his head.

The robe was too big on him.  The bottom of it dragged on the platform.

Arthur knelt down and helped him roll up the sleeves.

"It's alright," he said, trying to hide his smile.  "You'll grow into it."

Aaron just stared back at him.  He looked so uncomfortable.

"Don't worry," Arthur said. "You're going to make a fine wizard, you'll see."

He stood up and looked back at Charlie.  "Where's the lizard?"

Charlie patted the front pocket of his robe.

"Right, well, I want you to give it to Hagrid before you get inside the castle – before the sorting.  Do you understand?"

Charlie nodded, looking a bit disappointed.

Arthur bent down and pulled him into a hug.  "None of that.  You're going to have a great year.  If you need anything, talk to Bill, or send an owl to me and your mother, and we'll do what we can."

"I will," Charlie said.

Arthur lowered his voice.  "Aaron is muggle-born, and he doesn't know anyone, so try to include him, and explain things to him when he has questions, alright?"

"Alright," Charlie said against his neck.

Arthur kept his arms wrapped around him for another moment, suddenly wondering where all the years had gone.  He wasn't quite ready to let go.

"First years!" Hagrid shouted from the far end of the station.

Arthur stood up slowly.  "I should get going, too.  It wouldn't be fair to leave your mother on her own with the twins for two nights in a row."

"Okay," Charlie said.  "Bye, Dad."

"Bye, Charlie," Arthur said, smiling back at him and Aaron one last time.  "Go on now, before you both get left behind."

Aaron followed Charlie out of the train station, shoving his hair out of his eyes and reaching for the bottom of the robe, trying not to trip as he dodged his way through the crowd of departing students.  He felt like such a dolt the way he was walking, but he didn't suppose he had much of a choice.  Not if he wanted to avoid falling flat on his face.

Charlie stopped and looked back at him, clearly waiting for him to catch up.

When he did, Charlie asked, "Want to hold him?"

"What?" Aaron said, caught a bit off guard.

"Do you want to hold him?"

"The . . . moke?"

Charlie nodded and reached into his robe.  "Yeah, I mean, only if you want to."

"Err, yeah," Aaron said.  "Yeah . . . alright."

He took a step closer to Charlie, studying him in the fading daylight.  Charlie was a lot broader than he was, with wide shoulders, a scattering of freckles, and skin so tan it made Aaron realize just how pale he was in comparison, but they were about the same height.

Aaron stretched out his hands as Charlie took the moke out of his pocket and passed it to him.

For a second, he just stared at it.  "It's not a lizard?  It looks like a lizard."

"No, mate," Charlie said, smiling at him.  "Mokes are different.  They can shrink whenever they want to, all the way down to the size of a Sickle."

Aaron had no idea what a Sickle was.  He kept his eyes on the moke as it writhed against his fingers, waiting to see if it would do anything.  He had about given up when its scales shimmered suddenly in the twilight, making it look almost transparent.

It was different.

He looked back at Charlie.  "Where'd you find this thing?" 

"In the meadow by our house.  He was scared of me at first.  I think someone tried to kill him.  They're killed all the time because their hides are used to make bags.  Can you believe that rubbish?"

Aaron didn't.  There didn't seem to be enough moke in his hands to make much of anything.

"It's awful," Charlie said.  "It should be illegal."

Aaron handed the moke back to him and followed him down the cobblestone path, picking up the front of the robe again.

He looked up a moment later, when a girl with sandy hair stepped out of the crowd ahead of them, waving and yelling in their direction.  "Oi!  Charlie!  Come on!  Hagrid's gonna leave you!"

"Is not!" Charlie shouted back at her, but he walked faster.

"Did you find your lizard?" the girl asked as they came up to her.

She looked friendly, with bright eyes and a wide smile.

"Yeah," Charlie told her, "I've got him here in my pocket.  Can't keep him though.  Dad said I've got to give him to Hagrid."

Aaron followed them, still trying to keep the robe off the ground as they walked.

They hadn't gone far when the girl looked over at him and pointed at his feet.  "Hey!  You've got muggle shoes!  Are you muggle-born?"

Aaron looked down.  He hadn't noticed how different his scuffed up trainers were compared to what they wore.

He looked back at the girl.  " . . . what of it?"

"My dad's got shoes like yours!  He's muggle-born, too." 

She smiled and stuck out her hand.  "I'm Tonks."

He took it long enough to say, "Aaron."

Tonks raised an eyebrow.  "Don't think I saw you on the train."

"I didn't take the train," Aaron told her.

A big man with a lantern turned around and yelled at them, "Come on, yeh lot!  Catch up, already!  I'm not waiting on yeh all night!"

Charlie and Tonks ran toward him.  Aaron ran after them, moving a bit slower.

They stopped at the edge of a dock, where a group of other boys and girls their age stood waiting to get into some sort of boats.  When it was their turn, Aaron followed Charlie and Tonks into the last one and sat down next to them, across from an Asian girl with dark eyes and long hair.

Aaron stared out across the lake, watching the lights floating on the water between the dock and the distant castle.  He had spent a lot of time walking around castles with different school groups when he had lived in Edinburgh for awhile, standing in lines with other students and listening to tour guides and wrinkled old curators drone on about royal families and inheritance laws; about restoration projects, kings, queens, clans, and bloody sieges.  He had never thought he would end up living in one, or that he would ever –

"Do you know what's going on?" the Asian girl asked him.

Aaron looked away from the castle.  "With what?"

"Any of this.  Like, who's steering the boats?"

Aaron hadn't even noticed that their boat was making its way across the lake all on its own.  He grabbed onto the side and looked down at the dark, murky water, trying to work out what was happening.

Tonks leaned over Charlie and looked at him and the Asian girl.  "The boats are bewitched to move on their own.  Easy charm, I bet.  Wanna see a real trick?"

Before either of them could respond, Tonks' face . . . shifted.  Her skin pulled tight and stretched over the changing shape of her nose as her ears shrank back against her head.  The loose knot of hair tied at the back of her neck came undone, changing color from light brown to bright red and lengthening as it tumbled down over her shoulders.

The Asian girl gasped and covered her mouth.  Aaron stared back at Tonks, a bit dumbstruck.  He wasn't sure what his reaction was supposed to be.  He wondered if it hurt for your body to do something like that.

"Well, brilliant," Charlie said.  "Now you've gone and scared them."

Tonks laughed until her nose and ears transformed back to their normal sizes.  She reached her hand out toward the Asian girl.

"I'm Tonks.  This is Charlie, and Aaron."

"I'm Eni," the Asian girl said, shaking Tonks' hand.  "Now explain whatever that was you just did."

Aaron listened as Tonks told her.  Apparently, Tonks was something called a metamorphmagus – a shapeshifter.  Eni asked her about transfiguration spells.  She wanted to know if they were similar.  Charlie got excited and started talking about something called an animagus.

Aaron stared back at the lake as the castle got closer, wondering what the hell he was even doing there with the rest of them.

They were almost to the other side pf the lake when Charlie reached over him, holding out the moke with both hands.  "Hagrid!"

The big man looked over at him from his nearby boat.  He was the only one in it, and it bowed under his weight.  Aaron had never seen anyone so massive.

"Wha' yeh got there, Charlie?"

"A moke."

Somehow, the big man directed his possessed vessel toward theirs.  As soon as the other boat was close enough, Charlie stepped over Aaron and passed the big man – his name's Hagrid, Aaron told himself – the moke, which decided to shrink mid-transfer.  Hagrid swore as it fell between his fingers.  He grabbed his lantern quickly and leaned over, searching the hull of his boat.  Aaron saw a flash of green scales just before Hagrid scooped the moke back up.

"Got 'im!"

Hagrid ran a finger along the little animal's - now much smaller - body, whispering something to it until it grew back to its previous size.

"Can you set him free someplace safe?" Charlie asked, watching him.  "I don't want anyone to turn him into a bag."

Hagrid laughed.  "Oh, don' yeh worry.  I'll find 'im a nice patch o' meadow."

He tucked the moke into his shirt pocket and looked at Aaron as Charlie went back to his seat.  "Who are yeh now?  A friend o' Charlie's?"

"He is now," Charlie said.  "This is Aaron.  He's muggle-born."

"Is tha' so?"

Aaron nodded, keeping his distance as Hagrid leaned closer to him.

But the big man just smiled.  "Some o' the greatest witches an' wizards o' all time were muggle-born.  Don' let anyone tell yeh differently.  Whoever does don' know nothin'."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1984 - Between the Wars

Aaron followed Hagrid into the castle with the rest of the children from the boats.  The entrance hall was massive.  Aaron stared at the torches mounted on the walls - at the high arched ceiling and the grand marble staircase that curved up and out of sight - taking it all in as a woman wearing green robes and a pointed hat walked toward them.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said.  "As always, I can take it from here."

Hagrid nodded and stepped back, winking at Charlie as he headed for the doors.

The woman looked at Aaron and the others.  "Welcome, all of you!  I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  If you would all please follow me, there are a few items of importance I need to discuss with you before we make our way into The Great Hall."

Aaron walked behind Charlie, Tonks, and Eni, following Professor McGonagall into a small room.

"Everyone, come closer!  That's it!  Line up for me, right here at the front!"

Aaron picked up the bottom of his robe again, and shuffled toward Professor McGonagall, crowding in with the rest of his classmates.  Loud voices came from the other side of a door at the opposite end of the room.

"Good, yes, just like that," Professor McGonagall said.  "The start of term banquet is about to begin, but first you will all need to be sorted into your houses.  Your houses will function much like your families during your time here at Hogwarts.  For those of you who don't know, there are four houses.  They are called Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor.  Some of your pursuits over the course of the year will earn you house points . . . "

"Wait," Eni whispered to Tonks as Professor McGonagall kept talking, "they're going to separate us?"

"Well, yeah," Tonks said.  "Have to make sure the nitwits and cowards don't end up sharing rooms with the know-it-alls and show offs."

" . . . however, any rule-breaking will not be tolerated, and will cost you house points.  At the end of the year, we will award the house cup to . . . "

Eni leaned closer to Tonks.  "But how do they know which ones of us are-"

"Miss Iro," Professor McGonagall said suddenly, staring down at Eni, "do you care to share your thoughts with the rest of us?"

Eni shook her head, looking nervous.

"Very well then," Professor McGonagall said.  "As I was saying, it is important that you all try your best to be shining examples of your houses, whichever ones they may be."

She reached for the door behind her and pulled it open.  "Now, follow me, and stay together."

The voices got louder as Professor McGonagall led them into a large dining hall.  Different groups of older looking students sat at long tables, talking and laughing with each other, whispering and pointing at the first years as they walked by.

Aaron tried to avoid their gazes.  He stared at the candles floating above his head, watching them flicker against the dark ceiling, where, somehow, a cluster of low-hanging clouds had gathered, making it look exactly like the night sky.

Professor McGonagall guided them to the front of the room, instructing them to stand near a podium and a rickety looking old stool.  More adults - more teachers, probably, Aaron thought - were seated at a table nearby.

Aaron watched as an old man with a long white beard handed a tattered looking hat to Professor McGonagall and walked up to the podium.

"Good evening," he said, adjusting his glasses and staring out at his audience.  He looked tired.  "For those of you who don't know me, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster here at Hogwarts.  For those of you who have returned, and expected to find things exactly as you left them, allow me to break your illusions, starting with the young class standing before you.  It might surprise you all to learn that more than half of these first years have come to us from non-magical families."

A loud murmur went through the crowded tables.

"Quiet!  All of you!" Professor McGonagall yelled.

Professor Dumbledore looked down at Aaron and the others.  "Of course, I wouldn't worry too much about any of that, if I were you.  You will soon find that it doesn't matter where you came from, or who your parents were.  You are all now a part of the greater magical world.  If you are feeling out of place, and as though nothing makes sense, that is to be expected.  In time, you will realize that you always belonged right here, with us."

"Now," Professor Dumbledore said, "why don't we begin?"

Professor McGonagall turned back to the first years.  "When I call your name, please come forward, and have a seat.  Carrow, Rhodus!"

The boy who walked up to the stool was taller than the rest of the first years, and he looked a lot older than eleven.  Aaron watched as McGonagall placed the tattered hat on his head.

A short blonde boy who stood on the opposite side of Charlie asked, "Is the hat . . . moving?"

Charlie nodded.  "It talks, too."

At that moment, a wide rip above the hat's brim opened, and it shouted out, "Slytherin!"

Aaron, Eni, and the blonde-haired boy jumped as a cheer went up from a table at the far side of the hall.  Rhodus Carrow stood up, looking quite pleased with himself.

The next first year McGonagall called forward - a girl whose robe was also too big on her, Aaron noticed - was placed in Hufflepuff, followed by a girl and a boy who were both sorted into Slytherin.

"Iro, Eni!"

Eni walked forward and sat down on the stool.  The hat was too big on her.  It slid down over her eyes.

Aaron watched as the hat shifted around on Eni's head.  It seemed to be talking to her, but he couldn't make out what it was saying, or any of her responses.

Their private conversation went on for a few more awkward minutes.

Professor McGonagall looked excited.  

"We have a hat stall!"

The hat didn't seem to like her proclamation.  "Sometimes it takes a bit longer, Minerva!  You, of all witches, should know that!"

Aaron leaned closer to Charlie.  "What's a hat stall?"

It was just one of the questions he had at the moment, but he supposed he should start somewhere.

"Bill told me it's rare.  It's what happens when the hat can't decide where to put you.  Each house is known for certain traits, like bravery or kindness.  Looks like Eni's got a few different ones."

Aaron couldn't see much of Eni's face, but he could see the way she was biting her lower lip.

After another minute, the hat finally declared, "Ravenclaw!"

Eni got off the stool and handed the hat back to Professor McGonagall, looking relieved.  She took one last look at Aaron, Charlie, and Tonks before she headed for the loud table waiting to greet her.

The next boy was also placed in Ravenclaw, followed by a girl who was sorted into Hufflepuff.  Aaron felt nervous, realizing his name would be called soon.

A boy whose last name was Rosier was sorted into Slytherin.

And then it was his turn.

"Stone, Aaron!"

Aaron walked up to the stool.  It seemed as though the entire hall had gone silent.  He hoped no one could hear how fast his heart was beating.

He sat down slowly, taking a deep breath as Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

"Well now," it said, as it slid down over his ears, "who have we got here?"

Aaron jumped.  The hat's voice was louder than he had expected it to be.

"Easy, easy!  If you sit still, I promise this won't take very long."

Aaron shifted around on the stool, trying to keep his gaze down.  He couldn't see much past the brim of the hat, but he still didn't like the way the students at the tables were staring at him.

"Oh, don't worry about them.  They've all been up here before, same as you."

wait

Was the hat in his –

"I certainly am.  Would you rather talk to me directly?"

"You . . . You can . . . read my mind?"

"Well, of course I can!  How else am I supposed to know where to put you?  This messy hair you've got certainly isn't much of a personality trait.  It does bollocks for my conclusion."

Aaron almost leaped off the stool.  He didn't want a talking hat in his head.

"There's not much you can do about it, I'm afraid," the hat said, "not if you want a place to sleep tonight.  Now, try to relax a bit, and I'll make this as quick as I can."

Aaron stared at the floor, waiting for his fate to be decided beneath the frayed brim; feeling uncomfortable.  If the hat could read his mind, would it know he was . . . what was it again . . . muggle-born?  Would it know he had never used magic?

Would it tell him he couldn't stay?

Aaron looked back at Charlie and Tonks.  They were whispering to each other and staring at him.  In another minute, the hat was going to kick him off the stool, and then they would all know he wasn't like them.

Aaron felt sick.  He didn't want to go back to Glasgow.  He didn't want to get shoved off on someone else who didn't want him, or end up back in another –

"You don't think you belong here," the hat said suddenly.

Startled, Aaron grabbed its brim - that's enough of this - and almost yanked it off his head.

"Hey!  Easy now!  If you do that, I will sort you right into the lake!  I know all of this is strange to you, but feeling out of sorts is no reason to assault me."

Aaron still clutched the hat's worn fabric.  It was right, he realized.  He had never had to consider the feelings of a sentient object before.

Aaron released the hat slowly.  "Sorry, I just-"

"You've been mistreated a lot in the past.  It's made you distrustful.  I don't blame you for that."

Aaron lowered his gaze again, wishing he was anywhere else; hating the way the hat had seen right into him.

"It's alright," the hat said, "all the things you've been through have given you a lot of fight.  And you still give more of a toss about other people than you think you do.  Hmmm.  Better make sure . . . "

Aaron waited, but the hat didn't say anything else.

" . . . are you going to stall?" he asked.

"No, no, don't worry," the hat told him.  "I know just what to do with you.  A bit reckless . . . a bit impatient . . . but you've got guts.  I think you'll make a fine . . . Gryffindor!"

Aaron looked up as the other far table erupted in cheers.  Charlie and Tonks were smiling at him.  Charlie was whistling.

Aaron got up slowly, a bit surprised he wasn't being escorted out of the hall.

"Don't worry.  That won't happen.  You are right where you're supposed to be," the hat reassured him, as Professor McGonagall lifted it off his head, "just try not to attack the portraits, too, alright?"

Charlie stepped forward, clapping Aaron on the back as he made his way toward the Gryffindor table.

"Brilliant, mate!"

Aaron looked around, wondering where he was supposed to sit.  It was loud and crowded, but Charlie pointed him toward Bill, who moved to make some room for him, and waved him over.  Aaron sat down between him and a girl with dark hair, watching as McGonagall called for his next classmate.

"Thomas, Maddison!"

The tall black girl was sorted into Slytherin.

"Tonks, Nymphadora!"

Tonks walked forward too fast, tripping right into the stool and knocking it over.  She picked it up and sat down, smiling and looking a bit embarrassed.  It didn't take the hat very long to make its decision.

"Hufflepuff!"

Tonks hopped off the stool and headed for her table.

There were only a few other students left.  The next boy –

"Tremlett, Donaghan!"

- was also placed in Hufflepuff.

"Weasley, Charles!"

Aaron watched as Charlie walked forward.  The hat had barely touched his head before it yelled, "Gryffindor!"

Bill hollered for his brother with the rest of the table.  Aaron scooted over as Charlie joined them.

"Weston, Peter!"

The last of the first years - the short blonde-haired boy who had stood next to Charlie - climbed up on the stool.  He sat there quietly until the hat called out, "Ravenclaw!"

Aaron saw Eni clap for her new housemate.

Professor Dumbledore looked out at the tables as Professor McGonagall took her seat.  "Now that all of that is out of the way, why don't we all enjoy tonight's feast?"

Aaron moved back, a bit startled again, as steaming plates filled with food appeared on the table in front of him.  He tried not to gape at the roast chicken and potatoes.  The smell of it all was making him hungry.  He hadn't had much of an appetite that morning, when Michael had made him some ham and eggs, but now, he realized he was starving.

Bill and Charlie were already reaching for the pork chops and a loaf of bread.

"Come on," Bill said, spearing a sausage with a fork and setting it on Aaron's plate, "you're one of us now.  Dig in."

"Yeah, you better," Charlie said, talking with his mouth full, "before Bill eats all of it."

Bill wadded up his napkin and threw it at Charlie, who ducked out of the way, laughing at him.

Aaron smiled.  He added a spoonful of potatoes to his plate and cut into the sausage.  He still wasn't sure he belonged there with the rest of them, but, for just a second, he let himself think that maybe, if they really did let him stay, for once, things might not be so bad.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

October 1984 - Between the Wars

The distant sounds of laughter drifted toward the hill where Aaron sat, staring out at the meadow between the castle and the lake, trying to ignore the lifeless broomstick lying at his feet.  All of his classmates were up in the air, soaring around high above him, chasing each other in what looked like a fun game of tag, supervised by Madam Hooch.  She had enchanted all of the brooms at the start of class, to make sure they wouldn't be able to fly past certain boundaries, but, once again, Aaron's had never even gotten off the ground.  After more than a month of watching him struggle with it, and encouraging him to try everything short of sticking the bloody thing in a wood chipper, Madam Hooch had taken him by the shoulder, and told him not all wizards were meant to be airborne.

But it wasn't just flying.  It was everything.  Aaron still hadn't been able to use magic in any of his classes.

He tore up a handful of grass as more laughs came from the sky, frustrated with himself and wishing he had brought a book; listening to the others enjoy themselves as they soared through the air.

It took another twenty minutes or so for Madam Hooch to blow her whistle.  His classmates stopped where they were, hovering at the edge of the clouds, far above the meadow.  Most of them were still giggling.  Madam Hooch told them to line up, watching them all closely as she explained something.  Aaron couldn't hear most of whatever else it was she was telling them from where he sat.  He supposed it didn't matter.  It wasn't like any of her instructions applied to him at the moment.

He waited through another round of tag, watching his friends have fun until Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, and told everyone they were dismissed for the day.

She didn't seem to notice that, this time, not all of his classmates looked happy.

Aaron watched as Peter Weston headed for the ground, flying fast with Rhodus Carrow coming in right behind him. 

"That's right," Rhodus yelled at Peter as they landed, "go sit up there on the hill with the other mudblood!  Neither of you deserve to be here!"

He jumped off his broom in one smooth motion, making it look as though he had been flying his whole life.  Aaron figured he probably had been. 

Peter ran toward the hill, clearly trying to get away from Rhodus.

Aaron got up.  He didn't know what had happened to start all of this, but it hadn't been anything good.  "Peter!  You alright?"

"No," the other boy said, upset and out of breath, "I want to go home.  I hate it here!  I hate him."

"Carrow?  Yeah, he's a right tosser."

"I hate him, Aaron.  He won't leave me alone!  He keeps following me around and calling me names!  I just want him to leave me alone!"

Rhodus came barreling up the hill with his wand out.  He pointed it at Peter.  Aaron stepped between them.

"Leave him alone."

Rhodus laughed and stuck his wand in Aaron's face.  "Or what?"

Aaron didn't know.  Rhodus was a lot bigger than he had looked at the sorting ceremony.

He took a step back.

"What's wrong, mudblood?  Scared of magic?" Rhodus sneered, leaning in closer and circling him.  "Look at you, Stone.  You're not even a mudblood!  You're a muggle who got lost!  You can't use magic.  Everyone here knows it.  Even the teachers!  Bet they're going to send you right back to wherever it is you came from just as soon as you-"

Aaron stuck out his arms and shoved Rhodus.  The larger boy shoved him back - harder.  Aaron staggered, raising his fists as Carrow aimed his wand.

Just then, Charlie landed with the rest of their classmates.

"Rhodus!" He yelled, pulling out his wand and running up the hill toward them.  "If you don't stop acting like a dumb git, I'm gonna cover your stupid ugly mouth with warts!"

He meant it, Aaron knew.  Bill had taught him the curse one night in their dorm room.

Rhodus kept his wand in Aaron's face.  "Try it, Weasley!  Did you even get that old stick you're waving around at Ollivander's?  Or did your mum have to go and rummage for it in a bin in Knockturn Alley?"

Madam Hooch appeared suddenly, coming up behind them.  Aaron jumped.  He hadn't even seen her land. 

She reached out and grabbed Rhodus by the back of his robe.  "What in Godric's name are you doing?!"

"I was just-"

"Don't think I didn't see what you did up there!  I said no rough play!"

"I didn't-"

"Yes, you did!  This is absolutely unacceptable.  I will not have you antagonizing your classmates in the middle of my lesson!"

"But I wasn't-" 

"Get your broom, leave it in my shed, and go report to Professor Snape for a swift detention!  Honestly, Rhodus Carrow, you know better!"

"But-"

Madam Hooch ignored him and looked at Aaron and the others.  "The rest of you clean up and get to your next class!  I don't want to see anymore of this sort of behavior from any of you!"

Rhodus reached down and grabbed his broom, huffing as Madam Hooch escorted him toward the shed, holding him firmly by the back of his robe.

Aaron watched them leave, exhaling hard.  His fists were still clenched.

It was Peter's turn to ask, "You alright?"

"Fine, yeah."

He wasn't, not at all, but he didn't want any of the others to know that. He wondered how many of them had thought the sort of things about him that Carrow had said to his face.

"Are you sure?" 

Aaron ignored Peter and looked back at Charlie, trying to keep his voice level.  It wasn't easy.  "What's a mudblood?"

Charlie clutched his wand, glaring at Carrow's retreating form.  "Did he call you that?"

"He called both of us that," Peter said.

"Stupid git."

"What does it mean?" Aaron asked.

"Forget it.  It's stupid.  He's so rude and ignorant.  He shouldn't have-"

"Charlie, just tell us what it means."

Charlie shoved his wand back into his pocket.

He hesitated for a moment, then looked back at them, and said, "It's a wizard who's got muggle parents.  It means dirty blood."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

November 1984 - Between the Wars

Barty Crouch Junior got out of bed at seven o'clock every morning, whether he was awake or not.

He was still somewhat unaware of what he was doing as he left his bedroom, stepping out into the dark hallway beyond and listening to the floorboards creak beneath him as he made his way along, finally realizing where he was headed.

It was time to get ready.

He watched through clouded eyes as he walked into the bathroom, opened the shower door, and turned on the cold water.  He watched as he pulled off his clothes and stepped under the trickling stream in the dark, unable to wince or reach for the lamp in the corner.  Nothing about his daily routine was meant to make him feel comfortable.

It didn't matter that he was comfortable - only that he was alive, and out of sight.

It was the same every morning.  Every morning he stood shivering in the dark, watching as his hands moved without his consent, scrubbing his skin raw and pulling too hard at his hair.  Every morning, soap ran into his eyes, and he couldn't blink, or wipe it away.

He watched as he turned off the water; as his hands reached for a towel and his body dressed quickly, pulling on clothes he hadn't selected.  None of it mattered, said a voice in his head - not the cold water or the darkness or the trousers that were too loose on his thin frame - because this was fine and he was NO happy.

This was all NO fine.  And he was STOP happy.

Barty caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME TOO LOOK AT ME and wished he hadn't.  He barely recognized the man who stared back at him.  His cheeks were too gaunt and his eyes looked so hollow.  Nothing about his features was familiar.

He watched as he spread a handful of shaving cream on his face and reached for the straight razor in the cabinet, raising the blade MOVE IT TO MY NECK CUT MY NECK and guiding it along his face, even though he liked himself better with some hair on his chin.

It didn't matter.

This was all fine.  And he was STOP MAKE IT STOP happy.

Some time later, he found himself in the kitchen, making coffee on the stove.  He hadn't even noticed that he had gone downstairs.  He hadn't noticed that he had put on a record; that he had cut MY THROAT OPEN JUST CUT MY THROAT OPEN two slices of bread off the loaf on the counter, toasted them, and spread a generous amount of strawberry jam across each one.  He had done it all without paying much attention.

It was hard to pay attention when he wasn't the one in control.

He watched as he set a mug of coffee on the table next to the plate of toast; as he walked across the kitchen while the music played.

A moment later, his body headed for the corner across from the shuttered windows, and stopped, facing a wall. 

NO PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HERE PLEASE NO DON'T LEAVE ME

There were days he stood in the corner for hours.  He had memorized the lines PRISON BARS THEY ARE PRISON BARS of the wallpaper a long time ago.

He listened as the clock above the door chimed.  The next hour passed slowly.

YOU DROPPED THE STRINGS PUPPET MASTER YOU DROPPED THE DAMN STRINGS

The toast got cold.  The coffee got cold.

With a sudden motion that startled him, he walked back to the table, grabbed the mug, and poured out the coffee.  He watched as he refilled it from the pot on the stove; as he reached for TAKE the knife AND END THIS FOR BOTH OF US and made more toast; as he used the knife to spread more strawberry jam.  He watched as he rinsed the knife under the tap, dried it with a towel, and carefully put it away.

NO

PLEASE

MAKE IT STOP

He already knew his plea would go unanswered.  His puppet master never made mistakes.  He never let his marionette trip on the stairs or drown in the bathtub -

- or slit his own throat.

None of those things mattered anyway, the voice reminded him.

Because this was all fine.  And he was happy.

Barty heard footsteps.  His body turned and faced the corner again.

The puppet master didn't like looking him in the eyes.

He listened as his father ate the breakfast he had unwillingly made for him -

LOOK AT ME I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME

- and then he was gone.

Warm tears ran down Barty's face as his father left the room.

NO COME BACK

PLEASE COME BACK

PLEASE MAKE IT STOP PLEASE JUST MAKE IT STOP

Barty stood alone in the corner of the kitchen for the rest of the morning, trapped safely in the confines of his own mind, where he couldn't hurt himself - or anyone else - ever again.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

December 1984 - Between the Wars

Aaron couldn't sleep.  He lay there in the darkness of his dorm room, staring up at the canopy above his bed, listening to Charlie and Bill's steady breathing while rain fell heavy against the windows. 

It had been three days since Professor McGonagall had taken him out of Transfiguration.  That same morning, Professor Flitwick had pulled him to the side, after watching him slam his fist on his desk in frustration, and told him he needed to take a break from Charms.  He had been right.  Without magic, Aaron couldn't keep up with his classmates.  He had tried to stay ahead with the reading and the written reports, but he couldn't complete assignments that were entirely based on whether or not he could perform spells. 

He had stopped showing up for flying lessons in November.  Besides Madam Hooch, no one had noticed.

"It's alright, dear," McGonagall had told him.  "You're just off to a slow start.  It happens a lot more often than you would think.  If you're patient, the magic will come.  When it does, I can put you right back in Transfiguration, just as soon as you get a feel for the spellwork."

By 'get a feel for the spellwork', Aaron assumed McGonagall must have meant 'show any sign whatsoever that you are even remotely capable of using magic at all.'

"Isn't there something else I can take?" he had asked her.

"Let's see.  You're doing excellent in Herbology, so I can also enroll you in the second year class."

Of course he was doing well in Herbology.  Growing magical plants wasn't really all that different from taking care of normal plants.  Even he couldn't mess it up.

"I can also place you in second year History of Magic.  That way, you won't fall too far behind, and, whenever you are ready, we can add Charms and Transfiguration right back to your schedule."

Aaron sighed as more rain hit the windows.

stupid muggle

that's all I am

a dumb muggle

if I don't do something with magic soon they are going to kick me out

I've got to use magic

He sat up and leaned over the side of his bed, reaching for his bag and digging through it in the dim light, trying to find his wand. 

Well, it wasn't his, not really.  It was a training wand McGonagall had given him his first morning in Transfiguration, when he had walked into her classroom confused and unprepared.  It was mahogany, with a unicorn hair core.  The combination was ideal for consistent magic, she had told him. 

She was right.  It had consistently done nothing.

Aaron looked up as Charlie rolled on his back, opening his mouth and starting to snore.  Aaron grabbed the wand and pulled his blanket over his head, trying to block out the noise.  He wished his Walkman worked, but it had been useless ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts.  Eni hadn't been able to get hers to work either.  She said it had something to do with all the wards and energy surrounding the castle.  Apparently, magic and electronics were not well matched.  It was why the wizarding world relied so heavily on medieval technology, and why sending an owl, of all things, was the most reliable way to communicate.  Charlie had told him the telephone his father had installed at their house was always shorting out.

Aaron grabbed his Walkman off his bedside table and put the headphones on anyway, pulling the familiar orange earpieces into place.  

Then, he got back under his blanket, and held the wand tight. 

"Lumos," he whispered, waving it just like Professor Flitwick had taught him.

But nothing happened.

He tried again.  "Lumos."

Still nothing.

MUGGLE

He sat there in the dark, breathing warm air, holding the borrowed wand and his battered old Walkman like either of them were going to do something.

"Lumos."

He tried shaking the wand.

"Lumos," he whispered louder.

Nothing. 

this is stupid

But he had to keep trying.  He didn't have another choice.

Aaron yanked off the headphones and got out of bed.  He pulled on his trainers, grabbed Charlie's spell book from Charms off the end of his trunk, and headed for the common room, shivering as he made his way down the stairs.

The fireplace was dark and the room was cold.  He wished he had thought to put on his jumper.

He reached up on the mantel.  There had to be a way to start a fire without using magic, but he couldn't find any matches or lighters.  Oh well.  Maybe the dark and the cold would force him to do something.

He raised the wand and tried again.

"Lumos."

Not even a flicker.

"Lumos!"

MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE

it's not going to work

try something else

He opened the spell book and looked for anything familiar, reading by the low light coming from the windows, still shivering.

"Right then," Aaron said, taking a breath.  He aimed the wand at a throw pillow sitting on the sofa.  "Wingardium Leviosa."

The pillow didn't move.

MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE

JUST A STUPID MUGGLE WHO CAN'T EVEN -

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!”

When nothing happened, Aaron threw the training wand in the fireplace.  At least he had made something fly.

"What are you doing, mate?"

Aaron jumped.  He turned around and saw Charlie, standing by the bookcase in his pajamas.  He hadn't even heard him come down the stairs.

Aaron sighed and walked over to the fireplace, snatching the training wand out of a clump of ashes.

"Trying not to get kicked out," he muttered, wiping off the handle and keeping his head down, doing what was probably a poor job of hiding his frustration.

He wondered how much Charlie had seen.

"They aren't going to kick you out."

"Rhodus is wrong about a lot of things, Charlie, but I am a muggle who got lost.  I don't belong here. They're going to send me back."

Charlie stared at him for another moment - at his scuffed up old trainers and the faded old band shirt he had on that was two sizes too big, the one he had nicked from a bin of unclaimed clothes at his last school - like he was finally realizing how different it all was; how muggle and out of place he was compared to the rest of them.

"Do you want to go back?" Charlie asked.

"No," Aaron said, resisting the urge to keep staring at the floor.  "I . . . I want to stay here.  But I can't.  If I can't use magic, they won't let me.  They'll make me leave."

Charlie walked over to him.  "Right, well, when you try to use magic, what do you feel?"

"Feel?  Nothing.  Am I supposed to be feeling something?  It seems like all of you just pull some invisible force out of the air and I've got nothing."

"Here," Charlie said, "I've got an idea.  Hold up your hand."

Aaron pulled a face.

"Come on, just try it, yeah?"

Aaron sighed again, slowly doing what Charlie had asked him to.

Charlie took out his wand and waved it through the air, casting some sort of spell Aaron had never heard of.  "Sentire Idem."

Aaron watched as a small cloud formed between them, encircling his raised hand.

Charlie looked around.  Someone had left a half-eaten box of Every Flavor Beans on the table by the sofa.  He grabbed it, poured a few out, and ate one, chewing it while he stuck his hand into the cloud. 

Aaron made another face.  He could taste something sour on the end of his tongue.

"What spell is this?" he asked.

"Flitwick taught it to me and Tonks after class the other day," Charlie told him.  "It's used to share sensations, as long as both people are in contact with the cloud.  You can feel what I'm feeling."

"Is that why I taste . . . lime juice?"

Charlie laughed.  "I think it's lemonade."

Aaron raised an eyebrow.  "This is weird."

"Maybe that's your problem, mate," Charlie said.  "You've got to embrace it."

"Yeah, well, I don't think it's embracing me, either."

"Hang on," Charlie said, raising his wand.  "Let's try this.  Lumos."

The cloud between them brightened, along with the end of his wand.

Suddenly, Aaron did feel something.  He felt a current.  He felt wind, sun, and long, tall grass brushing against his skin.  The fireplace was still dark, but now he felt warm, like his entire body had come alive.  It was . . . comforting.

"That's what it feels like when I use magic," Charlie said.  "You feel it?  Sort of like you're all lit up?"

Aaron nodded, transfixed.  He had never felt anything like it.

Charlie smiled.  "Good.  Now you know it's real.  One day, you'll feel it like this all on your own.  I know it.  You wouldn't be here if you weren't a wizard."

"I don't know.  I think they got it wrong.  I can't even make this stupid wand light up."

"You can't right now, no, but one day you'll get the hang of it.  I promise.  So, promise me you'll keep trying."

"Charlie, I don't think-"

"Just promise me, okay?  I don't want you to get sent back."

" . . . you don't?"

" 'Course not!  You mental?  Now, promise."

Aaron let out a long breath.  "Okay, fine, yeah.  I promise.  I'll keep at it."

"Good, yeah, you better," Charlie said, still smiling at him, " 'cause I'm never gonna let you give up."

Aaron kept his hand raised, taking a few more slow breaths and listening to the rain; staring back at Charlie, until the cloud - and the addicting sensations of magic - dissolved between their mirrored palms.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

February 1985 - Between the Wars

The sudden sounds of angry voices interrupted Dumbledore's thoughts as he arrived at The Ministry of Magic, appearing just inside the boundaries of the apparition point near the fireplaces with a loud crack.  He stepped to the side for a moment, readjusting his tasseled hat and looking out across the Atrium, trying to get his bearings.  He had expected the crowds, but he hadn't expected anything like this.  A writhing mass of people had already filled the main corridor, chanting and shouting as they pushed their way forward, carrying banners and marching toward the fountain, raising their wands and casting illuminated words of protest into the air.

End This Witch Hunt, or We Will

Ban Bigotry, Not Muggle-Borns

My Existence is Not a Crime

We Will Not Be Silent

We Will Not Go Away

We Are the New Magic

Dumbledore braced himself for the chaos and headed into the crowds, glancing up at the massive astronomical clock that towered above the Security Desk as he made his way forward.  Despite his own personal opinions regarding schedules and appointments, it would be best if he wasn't late.

He picked up his pace, dodging past more people, nearly colliding with a woman who held a banner emblazoned with the words VXMORT Was Wrong, and So Are You.  He apologized to her and kept walking, unsure if she had even heard him over all the noise.  He supposed it didn't matter.  

They were all there for the same reason.

After handing his wand over for inspection, Dumbledore walked through the security gates at the far end of the Atrium and headed for the lifts.  Most of the people who hurried past him now looked like Ministry employees, or others who were there on business, much like he was, keeping their heads down and trying their best to ignore the shouts that still came from the crowds.

Dumbledore stepped into one of the open lifts and hit the button for Level Nine, well aware of the way the people around him were staring.  It was unlikely that any of them didn't know who he was, but, thankfully, they all kept their distance, respecting his privacy and riding with him in silence until the doors slid open.

Level Nine was quiet.  Dumbledore's footsteps echoed against the high ceiling as he made his way past The Department of Mysteries, quickly losing the few people who had followed him out of the lift.  He opened the door at the end of the next hallway and took the stairs down to Level Ten, following the sound of Millicent Bagnold's voice to the main dungeon.

They had started without him.  Bagnold, who had been appointed Minister for Magic during the last few years of the war, had already taken her place behind the podium.  Dumbledore listened to her opening remarks, drawing a few disapproving glances from his colleagues as he headed for an open seat.

"I trust you all enjoyed the holidays, and made the most of your time away from The Ministry, despite the run of bad weather that has continued to plague most of our country," Bagnold said, adjusting her spectacles and staring out over her audience.  "Unfortunately, we are not here to exchange pleasantries.  As you all know, and could no doubt tell from the commotion upstairs, we have been asked to discuss, and vote on, what has quickly become a very controversial piece of legislation, a proposal known formerly as Ordinance Twenty-Seven, or, as it has more recently come to be called, The Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act."

A sudden hush fell over the Wizengamot.  All eyes shifted to Bagnold.

"I'm sure you all understand that this is not a task that should be taken lightly.  If enacted, this act would affect the lives of hundreds of people in our community.  It would establish a commission many have already claimed would strip muggle-borns of their autonomy.  Whether or not that is true remains to be seen, but it is why I believe we must review this act in its entirety, and understand all of its potential implications, before we make our decision.  It is my intention that our session here today will serve as the first of several hearings, during which we will go through this act, line by line, if necessary, and discuss it in detail, so nothing it entails can be misconstrued."

Several members of the Wizengamot shifted in their seats, looking uncomfortable.  Others leaned across the aisles, covering their mouths and whispering to one another.

Bagnold ignored them.  "For those of you who have not yet taken the time to read through the first draft of the act, you should know that, if made law, all muggle-borns would be required to register with The Ministry of Magic, and to provide The Ministry with information concerning their families, friends, where they work, where they live, and which businesses they frequent.  The commission created by the act would be given the authority to monitor all members of the muggle-born community; to keep detailed records of where they go and how they spend their time.  It should also be noted, with some degree of apprehension, that the commission would be given the authority to arrest and detain any muggle-borns they believe are acting in a manner that could compromise the secrecy of our world, or endanger our way of life."

A series of loud murmurs came from the benches.  Dumbledore leaned forward.  He didn't like what he was hearing.  He studied the faces of his colleagues, trying to gauge their reactions while Bagnold continued, remembering suddenly what Arthur had said when they had been alone together in his office.

"This act won't go away."

"It is dangerous."

"While such measures may seem a bit extreme-"

"Extreme?" 

Dumbledore turned around.  The voice of Amelia Bones had come from one of the benches behind him.

"With all due respect, Madam Minister, what this act is calling for is nothing short of authoritarianism.  It would create a police state, and turn muggle-borns into second class citizens, treating them as though they were inferior in a world where so many of them already feel like they don't belong."

Bagnold kept her eyes on Bones.  "There are many of us who feel the same way, Amelia.  However, there are also many in this room who believe this act would not take things far enough, who would rather see us prevent muggle-borns from operating within our society in any capacity, and who would gladly-"

"This is insanity," Bones said.  "You can't honestly expect all of us to sit here and discuss whether or not to strip what is quickly becoming a larger and larger portion of our population of their rights."

"No one says they have to stay," said a different voice.

Dumbledore looked up.  More heads turned across the dungeon as Marcus Carrow got to his feet.

"If they don't like the arrangement," he said, "they can always leave our world behind."

Bones glared at him.  "Are you delusional?"

"On the contrary, Amelia.  I have merely realized the truth - that the time has finally come for us to ensure our own survival."

"Marcus, I didn't come here today to listen to more of your alarmist fear mongering.  So, unless you have something constructive to add to this conversation, I suggest you sit back down and-"

"I assure you, I am not here to waste your time, or speak to you under any false pretenses.  In fact, I think what I have to say will interest you greatly, seeing as I'm the one who wrote the act."

More loud murmurs came from the benches at this unexpected revelation.

Dumbledore stared at Marcus Carrow.  It was his turn to feel uncomfortable.

Carrow, much like his own son, had been a difficult student back when he had attended Hogwarts in the early nineteen sixties, an uptight young man from a well-heeled family who had been raised with the unfortunate belief that he was better than those around him.  He had kept his nose clean during the war, as far as Dumbledore knew, but there had been a bit of a scandal after he had been appointed to the Wizengamot in 1981, shortly after the end of the war, around the same time his father had been accused of crimes related to war profiteering.  Somehow, despite the severity of the charges, the case had been dropped, long before it had ever gone to trial.  Dumbledore had always wondered how many people the Carrows had paid off over the years to make their problems go away.

Marcus ignored the glare Bones was still giving him and turned to face the rest of the council.  "I know many of you have concerns.  It was never my intention to cause greater division, or for this act to become so controversial.  I simply realized what many others in this room already have, that the very existence of muggle-borns poses a great threat to our way of life, opening us up to the possibility of exposure after we have worked so hard to keep our world hidden from the one that so many of them still occupy.  Not only is having them go about freely a risk, but their outside influence has consistently weakened the integrity of our society.  For centuries, magic has been passed down through generations of pure-blood witches and wizards, through the lines of twenty-eight ancient families, including my own.  Unfortunately, in more recent years, these bloodlines have become tainted, and muggle-borns are largely to blame.

"Muggle-borns enter our world knowing nothing about our history, or our customs.  Many of them have no respect for our way of life.  They have a long record of introducing their own toxic ideas into our society and bringing destructive elements of the muggle world into our own.  Countless amounts of time and energy have already been spent keeping the muggle world from knowing we exist.  This cannot continue.  If you don't see how dangerous it is for us to keep allowing the muggle-borns to openly distort the boundaries between our world and the next, then, I assure you, you are the ones who are delusional."

Carrow paused again, letting his words hang in the air.  He kept his gaze trained on the council for another moment, studying them all quietly before he continued.

"Despite what some of you may think, this act is necessary for our survival.  It is the only way forward, and I believe we must work together to ensure that it-"

But Dumbledore had already heard enough.

"With all due respect, Mister Carrow," he said, getting to his feet, "I am afraid I must disagree."

Carrow stopped, staring back at him with a look of obvious annoyance.

Dumbledore didn't wait for him to respond.  "I think it is most unfortunate that you believe our survival depends so heavily on enacting a piece of legislation that would so blatantly encourage discrimination, and punish members of our society simply for the crime of existing."

Carrow's eyes stayed fixed on Dumbledore while more hushed voices came from the council.  "Is that so?"

"There are many other ways to ensure our survival, none of which would involve subjugating nearly a quarter of our population to the whims of a commission, or requiring them to-"

"Dumbledore, we've all heard your arguments before.  None of the methods you've suggested in the past would do anything to address the threats we are now facing from the outside world, or the ways in which the members of the muggle-born community have continually failed to properly integrate themselves into our-"

"I agree that pressures from the outside world have long been a concern, but the muggle-borns have not done anything to warrant what your act is proposing.  They have never given us a reason to place restrictions on where they can go, what they can do, or who they are allowed to speak to.  They have never-" 

Carrow shook his head.  "You've spent too much time up there in your castle.  When was the last time you stuck your head out of your office window long enough to see what is really going on around you?  Things are changing, Dumbledore.  The muggle world is advancing, faster than we ever could have anticipated, in ways we never could have predicted.  It won't be long before they-"

"Whatever threats may come from the outside, we will face them together, just as we always have, without compromising the autonomy of any of the members of our society."

Carrow's eyes narrowed.  "Do you really think that's still an option?"

He looked back at the council.  "Do any of you honestly believe that we can simply continue to operate much in the same way we always have, and all of this will just go away?  How long do you think it will be before another muggle-born drunkenly tells their friends about magic?  Until one of them is seen on the streets, using a charm to light their way home or shield themselves from the rain?  How many more times can we cover up their mistakes before there is another disastrous event that ends up on one of their radio stations or television networks?  Do any of you actually believe that we won't be persecuted, much like we were before the Statute went into effect, if who we are and what we can do is ever revealed, even by accident?  Do any of you believe that we won't have to fight for our lives if word ever got out that magic is real?  That they wouldn't try to lock us all up?  Do you actually think we would be able to take on their governments, or their military forces, to keep them all from hunting us down?"

Dumbledore watched his colleagues shift uncomfortably in their seats.  None of them spoke.

Carrow looked back at him.  "You claim this act would punish members of our community - that it would endanger the muggle-borns - but let me tell you something, Dumbledore.  We are already in danger, and this act of mine might be the only chance we have to keep our world intact."

Dumbledore stood there quietly, listening as loud shouts of agreement came from the benches, suddenly feeling as though the whole room was pressing in around him - as though everything was coming undone, just like it had before the war.

"I can't believe it was written."

"It is dangerous."

He reached for the handrail to his right, trying to steady himself, unable to ignore the cries of dissent that now seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"No, Marcus," Dumbledore said, looking out over the Wizengamot and suddenly realizing the truth.  "This act of yours is no solution.  It is going to tear our world apart."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

April 1985 - Between the Wars

The corridor that led to the main dungeon was empty when William came down the stairs, carrying three rolls of fresh parchment and a tattered old satchel, suppressing a yawn and wishing he hadn't stayed out quite so late.

He had spent most of the night up in Camden Town, drinking at a pub near the canal with some friends, laughing and taking turns buying rounds, sitting there with all of them and pretending he still belonged; pretending there wasn't an entire part of his life he would always have to keep hidden.

Sometime after last call, one of his mates had thrown an arm around his shoulder, leaning against him and staggering a bit as they had all left the pub, pulling on their coats and heading for the nearest bus stop. 

"It's so early still!  Why don't you come back to mine for a bit?  Vicky's staying at her sister's again.  I've got a bottle of whisky we can share, just like that first summer you came back."

"Can't," William had told him, "got work in the morning.  Have to be there early."

"Again?  Bloody hell, Will.  When are you gonna tell all those old wankers to lay off you?"

"Soon as they find someone else to do all the important stuff."

"Oh, come off it," Bethany - another one of his friends - had said as they had walked, giggling and slurring her words, "I bet all you ever do at that place is answer the phones and keep the filing cabinets sorted."

"Right, yeah, see, like I said – the important stuff."

They had all laughed at that.

He had stood there on the pavement with them for a few more minutes, watching as one of his other mates had thrown up a pair of fingers at a car that had honked at them as it had driven past; joining in when they had all started singing some god awful song from the pub in the wrong key and talking way too loudly; doing much of the same once the bus had arrived and they had all gotten on board.

William had stepped over the legs of a man who had fallen asleep stretched halfway across the aisle and taken a seat near the back, crowding in with his friends and listening as they had told him stories about some of the things he had missed while he had been away.  He had wondered then, not for the first time, as they had all laughed, if he had made the right choice when he had decided to skip out on university and leave most of his old world behind.

Another one of his friends had looked his way a few stops later, when he had stood to get off the bus.  "Sure we can't talk you into one more drink?"

"Yeah, come on, Will; just one more!"

"One more!  For old times sake!"

He had laughed and shaken his head.  "No, no, I really can't tonight.  Afraid I've got to be at least somewhat sober by sunrise."

Bethany had rolled her eyes.  "Fine then, your loss!   Next time, though, alright?"

"Next time," he had promised them, still smiling as he had gotten off the bus, humming the same dumb song from the pub as he had walked back to his flat alone.

Next time, he told himself again, suppressing another yawn and adjusting his satchel, glancing at the numbers posted outside each of the empty courtrooms until he got to a familiar set of wooden doors at the end of the corridor.  He shoved them both open, stepping through the flickering boundaries of the wards that guarded the entryway and heading into the darkness of the dungeon beyond.

William looked around for a second, fumbling with the rolls of parchment and reaching into the front pocket of his robe, taking out his wand.  He aimed it at the torches mounted along the walls, casting Incendio in short bursts and filling the room with light.

A crumpled piece of parchment sat on the table by the podium, next to a dried up old quill and a few discarded notes that had probably been left behind by one of the other scribes.  William took off his satchel and leaned down, reaching for the rubbish and clearing it away, wondering suddenly if the crowds had already started to gather upstairs - if he would have enough time to go up there later and join them - if he would be allowed to tell them anything about what was about to take place in the dungeon; about how much worse things were about to get.

He tucked his wand back into his pocket and took a few of his own quills out of his satchel, setting them on the table and reaching back in for the rest of his supplies as his thoughts returned to his friends.

next time

when this is all over

and I don't have to worry so much about whether or not I'll even be allowed to see them again

or if I'll have to -

William gasped, inhaling hard as the inkwell he had picked up slipped out of his hand, shattering at his feet and splattering its contents across the floor.

Suddenly, he couldn't move.

He couldn't fucking move.

He choked, trying to pull air into his lungs, struggling to breathe as footsteps came from somewhere behind him.

"Look at you," a strange voice said, "down here all by yourself."

William tried to move again – he tried to yell and reach for his wand - but his body didn't respond.  A desperate cry of incoherent sounds was all that came from his mouth.  His tongue had been paralyzed, right along with the rest of him.

The footsteps got louder, echoing across the dungeon as whoever it was came closer, walking up slowly behind him.

"It's a shame, isn't it?  To find, at the end of your life, that you are all alone?"

William struggled, still fighting for air.

"Don't worry," the voice told him, "I'll make sure we find you some . . . company."

William let out a choked cry, watching, with horror, as his attacker reached around him, and pulled a knife across his throat.

Dumbledore couldn't remember the last time he had been in Arthur's office.  The small room was cramped and crowded.  A desk covered with a jumbled collection of paperwork had been shoved into the corner near the fireplace, along with a few high-backed chairs and an overburdened coat rack.  Framed photographs of motor vehicles and various members of the Weasley family covered the walls.  Boxes overflowing with old batteries, radio dials, and various types of electrical plugs had been stacked in front of the bookcase, where diagrams for telephones and television sets lay scattered amongst an assortment of more strange electrical components, most of which looked as though they had been fished out of a rubbish bin.

In the midst of it all, there wasn't much room to stand.

"I wish you had told me you were coming," Arthur said, looking a bit frazzled as he cleared off one of the chairs, moving a box filled with what looked like broken parts of some sort of kitchen appliance to the floor.  "I've got a meeting with the patent office down on Level Seven in a few minutes.  I'm not sure I'll be able to get out of it."

He moved another box out of the way and gestured toward the chair, but Dumbledore ignored it.

"I understand, Arthur.  This won't take long."

He reached behind him and pulled the door closed.

"I spoke with Amelia again last night.  Despite her efforts, and my own, support for the act is continuing to grow at an alarming rate."

Arthur's brow creased.  "That's concerning, especially after all the time the protesters have spent trying to get people's attention."

"I'm afraid it is going to take a lot more than a few angry crowds to turn things in our favor."

Arthur crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk.  "Have you talked to them?  The protesters?"

"I haven't, at least, not in any formal capacity."

"They've gotten a lot more organized.  If one of them could go before the Wizengamot, and plead their case, it might convince the council to-"

Dumbledore shook his head.  "As much as I would support something like that, I'm not entirely sure it would help their cause."

"Well, what else are they supposed to do?  Keep getting together and making banners?  They haven't got any representation.  Apart from shouting at people in the Atrium, they don't have a lot of options."

"I know.  Unfortunately, most members of the Wizengamot will never-"

"Have you seen the sort of things that are happening out there?  The way the protesters are being treated?  This morning, I saw a man who works down on Level Four throw a handful of mud at one of them, yelling the worst sort of slurs as he walked by.  The security agents just watched it all happen, standing there and refusing to do anything about it.  Yesterday, three other protesters had to be rushed to St. Mungo's after someone hit them with a curse that made them go blind.  They are out there almost every day, putting themselves in harm's way, just for a chance to be heard.  So, tell me, what good is it doing if the Wizengamot won't even listen to them?  If all it does is make them easy targets for those who would rather see them all lose their rights?"

Arthur was right, Dumbledore knew.  The situation was becoming more and more volatile.  He had no doubt that things would continue to escalate; that the protesters would soon find themselves on the receiving end of even more scorn and vitriol.

"If we want to give the muggle-borns a chance," Arthur said, still holding his gaze, "we've got to find a way to get them before the council.  We've got to find a way to make sure they won't keep being ignored."

If only it were that simple.

Dumbledore glanced at the photographs that hung on the wall near the coat rack.  His eyes fell on a much younger version of Arthur, who stood at the edge of one of the frames, grinning and shaking hands with a confused looking gentleman who was handing him a set of keys.  Behind them, Dumbledore could see what had to be Arthur's old car, years before it had ever been restored, covered with rust and fallen leaves.

Dumbledore couldn't help but smile.  Arthur had always had such a fondness for muggles and their contraptions.  It was a trait they could all use a lot more of.

"I will talk to Bagnold," Dumbledore told him.  "We will find a way to let the muggle-borns speak."

They both looked up as the door opened, letting in a flying piece of parchment that made a beeline for Arthur's head.  He snatched it out of the air, read it quickly, and looked at the clock on his desk, swearing under his breath as he wadded up the note and tossed it in the direction of an overflowing rubbish bin.

"Right then," he said, grabbing a faded sport coat off the back of his chair and heading for the door, "seems I've got to go.  I'm already late."

"I'll walk with you," Dumbledore said, following him out into the hallway.  "It's about time for me to make my way downstairs."

They hadn't been in the lift long when Dumbledore heard the shouts that came from the Atrium.  The loud rabble of discordant voices became louder and louder as they approached Level Seven and the floor below.

"I stayed out there with the protesters for a bit this morning, after the man threw the mud," Arthur told him suddenly, tugging on his coat as the door slid open.  "I talked to them.  It's not just the act.  They want things to change.  They want representation.  They want people like us to stop seeing them as other."

He stood there for another moment, hesitating between the open doors.  "I just wish I knew if any of that were really possible."

Dumbledore put a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder.  "Given enough time, we will find a way to make it a reality.  I promise."

Arthur gave him a sad smile and stepped out of the lift, walking out of sight as the door slid closed.

Dumbledore let out a long breath, and rode the rest of the way down alone.

When he arrived on Level Ten, he saw Amelia Bones and Barty Crouch, walking just ahead of him, heading for the main dungeon and speaking to each other in hushed voices.

Amelia turned around first, apparently realizing they weren't alone.

"You're early, Albus," she said, looking amused.

"Today, perhaps," he said, walking up to them, "but I would hate to make it a habit expected of me, so try not to let on once the others arrive."

Barty smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.  "We wouldn't dream of it."

"How are you both?"

Amelia shrugged.

"I'm still not sleeping well," she said.  "I don't imagine I'll be able to until all of this is over."

"My nights have been restless as well," Dumbledore told her.  "That said, if you aren't too tired, perhaps you could spare some time to help me with something after today's session?"

"Of course.  You know I'll do whatever I can."

"So will I," Barty said.  "If you'd like my help."

"I would appreciate that."

"What do you need, Albus?"

"Co-conspirators.  I need to convince Millicent to allow some of the protesters to-"

Dumbledore's next words were cut off as Barty shoved open the doors of the  dungeon, and screamed.

Dumbledore drew his wand, charging into the room with Amelia behind him.

What he saw made him go cold.  He gasped, staring with horror at the center of the room, where the bodies of four people hung suspended in the air.  The head of each victim had been removed, but floated, with gruesome magical assistance, above what remained of their necks.

"My god," screamed Amelia, "get them down!"

They ran across the dungeon, stopping beneath the victims, where a spreading pool of blood had collected on the floor, mixing with spilled ink and broken shards of glass.  More blood rained down on them from above, running down the victims' legs and arms - dripping off their shoes and fingertips.

"Help me!" Bones screamed again, raising her wand.  "Help me get them down!"

She cast a charm on the first body, breaking whatever spell had kept it hovering above the podium and guiding it carefully to the floor.

Dumbledore did the same with the body closest to him, setting it down gently, away from the growing pool of blood.  He bent down slowly, studying the lifeless face of the dead young man he had pulled out of the air; feeling numb and distraught; jumping back as the young man's severed head suddenly came loose, hitting the floor and rolling toward the table, where a crushed roll of parchment lay amongst the ruins of an inkwell.

Dumbledore aimed his wand at the detached head, moving it carefully back into place as Barty and Amelia brought down the two remaining bodies.

That was when he saw it.

Godric's heart

What is that?

Dumbledore leaned closer.  His hands shook as he brushed aside the dead young man's hair, staring at the crude M that had been carved into his forehead.

Dumbledore swore and looked over at the other victims, whose bodies had each been mutilated in the same manner.

They were muggle-born, he realized, with a choked breath, staring at their blood-soaked clothes.

Merlin save us

all of them were muggle-born

Dumbledore tightened his grip on his wand, trying to stop his hands from shaking; watching helplessly as more blood spread across the floor.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

June 1985 - Between the Wars

It was late in the afternoon when Dumbledore finally retreated to his office, taking the winding staircase that led to the top of the tower at the far south end of the castle, wincing against the headache that had started to form behind his left eye sometime after lunch.  Despite his best efforts, the pain had been there on and off to some degree for the past four days, plaguing him as he had gone about his work; reminding him how much he needed to rest.

If only sleep would come.

Dumbledore closed his office door and walked across the room, ignoring the friendly squawk that came from Fawkes as he passed by the bird's perch.  He reached into the cabinet by the window that overlooked the lake and took out a bottle of Brandy, pouring a generous helping of it into the mug of hot tea that sat waiting for him on the edge of his desk. He sighed as he stirred it all together, watching the mixture turn as the pain in his head worsened.

Dumbledore sat down slowly and raised the still steaming mug to his lips, taking a long drink, inhaling the scents of lavender and sage; letting his eyes rest; trying to calm himself down and stop his hands from shaking, even as his thoughts churned.

But closing his eyes didn't help.  He could still see the body of the muggle-born scribe, dangling in the air above his head.  He could still hear himself screaming, shouting to Barty and Amelia to help him get the scribe and the other victims down.

The dungeon murders, as they were already being called by many members of the Wizengamot, had left him in a numb state of shock.  The situation had been made worse by the fact that the security of The Ministry's lower chambers had been compromised; by the knowledge that the murders had been committed inside the main dungeon, despite the spells and heavy veils of wards that should have prevented anyone who wasn't a standing member of the Wizengamot from having any access to the room at all.

Adelaide Burke, the current head of The Auror Office, had gone before the Wizengamot two days ago and told them the Aurors were working to determine who had killed the four muggle-borns.  When asked if it could have been one of their own, or if the dungeon's considerable enchantments had been compromised, Burke had only stated that the killer's means and methods were still undetermined.

Dumbledore was on his third pour of tea and Brandy when he heard a knock at his door.

Dumbledore looked up, disoriented for a moment, until he remembered the conversation he'd had with Minerva at breakfast, involving the student who was still struggling with magic; the one she had reminded him about time and time again.  As he had walked away from the table that morning, he had told her to send the boy to him at the end of the day.

Dumbledore put his mug to the side, and told Aaron Stone to come in.

The door to his office opened slowly.  Dumbledore remembered Aaron from the sorting.  He had seen him in the halls and at meals with his friends, a quiet, guarded boy who hadn't yet seemed to form any close relationships with any of his professors; who didn't say much in classes and kept to himself.

"It's alright, lad," Dumbledore told Aaron, who had stopped a few feet past the door.  "Come over here and have a seat."

Aaron's eyes went to the empty chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.  He hesitated before taking a step forward.  "Am I in trouble?"

Dumbledore gave the boy what he hoped was an encouraging smile.  "Hardly, unless you know something I don't."

Aaron still looked uncomfortable.  He kept his eyes down as he walked across the room, stepping around Dumbledore's armillary sphere and lowering himself into the waiting chair.

Dumbledore studied the boy in the fading daylight coming in through the windows, feeling suddenly out of sorts.  He wasn't sure if it was the Brandy, or something else, but, suddenly, he felt cold.  For a moment, the years between the past and the present blurred together.  In the shadows that remained, he saw another dark-haired orphan sitting in front of him, one with a wicked grin spreading across his face.

No, stop this.  Stop this right now.

The boy is not Tom.

Maybe not, but something about him was still so familiar.

No.  That's enough.

Tom is gone.  

Tom is gone, and the war is over.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, trying to steady himself.  He reached for his mug and took a long sip.  "You'll have to forgive me.  It has been a busy year, and I'm afraid I haven't had time to check-in and see how you've been getting along.  Have you enjoyed your classes?"

Aaron nodded.

"I've heard you're still not able to use magic.  Is that true?" 

"Yes," the boy said, shifting in his chair.

Dumbledore took another drink from his mug, still trying to banish the memories of Tom Riddle - and all of his other depraved former students - from his head.  

When he finally did, he looked back at Aaron.  "Would you like some tea?"

Aaron shook his head.

Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his spectacles.  "You can't do anything with magic?  Nothing at all?"

"No."

Dumbledore set his mug down.  "Tell me what you've tried."

"Everything."

"I very much doubt that.  Can you be more specific?"

Aaron let out a long breath.  "I've tried summoning things, repairing them, getting them to change size; opening locks, closing doors, and making things move or levitate.  Even tried to use a few jinxes, and a hex once.  It doesn't matter.  Nothing happens.  I can't even use Lumos or shoot sparks out the end of a wand."

Aaron slouched back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I can't use magic."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.  "It sounds like you're giving up.  I certainly hope that's not the case."

Aaron shrugged, still not looking at him.

Dumbledore thought for a moment.  If only it were as simple as letting the boy give up.  This was the wrong time to send a twelve year old wizard back out into the world alone.  No matter how limited his abilities were, he was no muggle.  Untrained and left to his own devices, he could become a danger to himself and others whenever he was finally able to use magic, especially if he was left in the care of more incompetent people, as he seemed to have been for most of his life.  He would have to learn how to use magic.

If he isn't killed first, with an M carved into his forehead.

Dumbledore reached for his kettle and refilled his mug.  "Not every student who walks into this school finds themselves blessed with immediate, complete control of their abilities.  On the contrary, many are not even capable of that when they leave here.  Magic is powerful, but it can be fickle.  When you are young, it may come and go."

"It's not coming and going," Aaron said.  "I think I'm just a muggle.  I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

"You're not a muggle, Aaron, merely a struggling student.  You're going to have to be patient and keep trying."

"I have tried, I can't-"

"Have you spoken to your professors?  Have they tried working with you on your own?"

Aaron shrugged, fiddling with a loose string on the hem of his robe.  "A bit, but it doesn't help.  I still can't-"

"The magic will come, Aaron," Dumbledore said, reaching into the top drawer of his desk and rummaging around until he found the piece of parchment Minerva had given him two weeks ago, filled with a list of Aaron's classes and notes in her handwriting. 

"Now," Dumbledore said, reading through the list, "what do we do with you in the meantime?"

The boy had done well enough in Herbology and History of Magic that he had been dual-enrolled in the First and Second Year classes, at the expense of Transfiguration and Charms.  He had never officially dropped his flying lessons, but Dumbledore had heard from Madam Hooch that he had stopped showing up for classes before the winter holidays.  She hadn't had the heart to fail him either, because he had tried.  And, for a while, he had kept trying.

In Astronomy, another class that didn't require the practical use of magic, Aaron's marks were at the top of his class.  Severus Snape had told Dumbledore - with a lot of irritation in his voice - that any part of Potions that required magic wasn't a problem for Aaron, because his classmates stepped in to help him with whatever came up.  Aaron was also competent enough, it seemed, to be able to brew a few of the more basic concoctions on his own.  Defense Against the Dark Arts, as far as Dumbledore knew, had been limited to theory that year, due to the unstable nature of yet another professor who probably wouldn't make it to the summer.  That was alright.  Aaron seemed to keep up with theory just fine.

The boy wasn't stupid and he wasn't failing.  He just couldn't use magic yet.

But that would change.

Dumbledore lowered the piece of parchment and looked back at Aaron.  "Do you like it here?"

Aaron seemed to hesitate, still fiddling with the loose string on the hem of his robe.  The boy had been moved around so many times, Dumbledore wondered if anyone had ever asked him something like that before - if what he wanted had ever even been a consideration at all.  From what he had seen of the boy's records, he had never spent more than ten months in the same bed at any point in his life.  Living like that couldn't be good for a child.

"Aaron?  Did you hear me?"

"Yes.  I do.  I like it here."

Dumbledore kept his eyes on him, watching him over the top of his spectacles.

"The magic will come.  I promise.  Until it does, we need to keep you moving forward and dual-enrolled in classes you won't need it for."

Dumbledore looked back at the piece of parchment he had in front of him.  Minerva had left a note underlined at the bottom of Aaron's class list.

Needs his own proper wand!

Dumbledore looked back at Aaron.  "Professor McGonagall tells me you don't have a wand of your own.  Is that true?"

Aaron's eyes shifted, avoiding his gaze.  "I've been using one of the training wands."

"Having your own wand will not be the difference between your ability or inability to use magic.  However, your lack of a wand does tie into another point I wanted to discuss with you.  You don't come from a family that can provide for you, unlike the majority of your classmates.  Legally, you belong to me and the school.  We will continue to provide you with books, food, and supplies to live and attend your classes, but it would be most helpful, for yourself and others, if you started to pay a portion of your way."

Dumbledore's eyes went back to the loose string on the hem of Aaron's robe.  He had seen him in the hallways, on his way to the library or to his classes, wearing clothes that never quite fit him.  The robe he had on now seemed to be alright, but the stitching was worn and frayed.  Even the best mending charms could only do so much to hold tattered threads together.  The boy needed new clothes.  He needed a way to provide for himself whenever he left Hogwarts.

He needed money of his own.

"Aside from getting you what you need to succeed at school, it would not be wise to have you leave Hogwarts in six years with nothing to your name.  So, I will make you a deal.  If you work for the school over the summers, during holidays, and on the weekends, I will open an account for you.  Soon, you will have enough money, not just for a wand of your own, and anything else you would like to purchase, but enough to start a life for yourself one day, if that is what you want.  You are young, but we could always use the help, and the magical community is not one for labor laws preventing us from employing you.  It would be a lot of work - mostly maintaining the grounds and working in the kitchen - but you will not be assigned work during the week, so there shouldn't be any worry about keeping up with your classes.  Would you like an arrangement like that?"

Aaron nodded.

"Very well.  I will speak with Filch and the kitchen staff.  You can start once the school year has ended," Dumbledore said, folding up Aaron's class list and looking back at him.  "I've watched many students struggle with magic, muggle-born and wizard-born alike, and the underlying reasons are not always clear.  Magical ability is not always as straightforward as some would like to believe, and the ways in which it manifests can often be unpredictable."

Fawkes shifted on his perch then, watching them from across the room.

Dumbledore leaned forward.  "Tell me, Aaron, is there something you want?"

Aaron hesitated again.  He looked nervous.  "I don't understand."

"Magic often attempts to develop in ways that will help us.  It is a willing assistant, seeking to fulfill the desires of our hearts.  While it may be that your abilities are simply delayed, perhaps what you want - what you need to be happy - is a bit more complex."

"But what I want is to be able to use magic," Aaron said.  "It's not . . . helping me do that."

"I'm afraid this goes beyond your immediate wants, or even needs.  Whether or not you are aware of it, I believe there is something deeper; something you want even more than magic."

Aaron stared back at him.  "No, there isn't."

"There must be something else you-"

"There's not."

"You're young," Dumbledore said.  "You might not even realize what it is you-"

The chair in front of his desk scraped against the floor as Aaron shoved it back, getting to his feet and heading for the door.

"Aaron," Dumbledore said.

The boy stopped halfway between his armillary sphere and the fireplace, but he didn't turn around.

"Be patient," Dumbledore told him.  "The magic will come."

"I have been patient," Aaron said.  "I've done everything I'm supposed to do, and nothing happens.  It's not enough.  I'm still doing something wrong."

"You're not doing anything wrong.  Don't give up on it."

Aaron shook his head.  "I don't belong here."

"Yes, you do."

Aaron didn't say anything.  Dumbledore wondered how many times he had heard similar words from other adults, and if they had ever meant anything to him.

"Are you alright, lad?"

He wasn't.  Dumbledore could see it in the way he stood; in the rigid set of his shoulders.

This was about more than the boy's inability to use magic, Dumbledore could see that now.  It was complex.  What Aaron wanted had been buried, but now it was tearing at him from the inside.  Dumbledore could feel it, even before he started reaching into Aaron's mind; a jumble of feelings and emotions, made up of thoughts the boy was too afraid to admit he had –

no one wants me

I have to do this alone

or I'm going to get hurt

again

I don't know where I belong

but it's not here

- and questions he didn't want to ask himself.

doesn't anyone care about me?

or where I end up?

am I ever going to belong somewhere?

or have any control?

what am I still doing wrong?

has anyone

Aaron wiped at his face.

has anyone ever wanted me?

"Aaron?"

The boy still didn't turn around.

"Aaron, if you need-"

Dumbledore felt it then.  There was something else in Aaron's mind.

Something that pushed back.

A chill went through Dumbledore as whatever it was pried at the edges of his own consciousness, like it was trying to find the seams, and tear them apart.

Dumbledore gasped, reaching for his desk to steady himself as he pulled out of Aaron's head.

"I don't need anything," Aaron said, finally turning around.

Dumbledore stared at Aaron from across the room, feeling numb.  If the boy had any awareness of what he had just done, he showed no signs of it.

Dumbledore didn't call after Aaron when he left the room, or try to stop him.  He watched as the boy walked past the perch where Fawkes sat, yanked open his office door, and stepped out into the corridor beyond without looking back.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, still feeling shaken.

A moment later, he reached into the cabinet behind him, took out the bottle of Brandy, and filled his mug to the brim.

He would have to keep an eye on Aaron Stone.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

August 1985 - Between the Wars

A chorus of quiet sobs came from the bathroom where Eni Iro stood, staring at herself in a stained mirror, leaning over a cracked pedestal sink with no hot water, hating every bit of what she saw.  The girl in the mirror looked so afraid, so scrawny and scared, but she didn't want to be scared anymore.

Eni wiped at her eyes and grabbed a handful of her hair.  With her other hand, she raised the scissors she had taken from the drawer beneath her father's front counter, and cut the long strands she held between her fingers, watching pieces of hair fall until the ends stuck out just beneath her ears.

Eni lowered the scissors slowly and wiped at her eyes again, staring back at her pale reflection.

that's enough 

stop crying

She grabbed the last long strands of hair that dangled against her neck and cut them as short as she could, snipping until her father's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Get back out here!  I am not done with you yet!"

Eni jumped as he pounded on the door.  The sink was full of dark pieces of hair.  She picked up the larger clumps and stuffed them in the rubbish bin, turned on the tap, and watched the rest of her severed locks wash down the drain.

She didn't let go of the scissors.

Stop crying, idiot.

Eni collected a handful of water, splashed it on her face, and used some more to rinse her eyes.

Her father yanked on the door handle, but it didn't give.  Eni listened as he swore.  She heard him walk away a moment later, and felt relief, then panicked, realizing she had forgotten to grab his set of utility keys from the drawer when she had taken the scissors.  She barely had time to climb off the stool she had dragged over in front of the sink before he unlocked the bathroom door, and pulled it open.

Eni backed against the far wall, standing between the sink and the toilet, clutching the scissors in her hand.  Pieces of cut hair covered her shirt.  Her lip quivered, but she didn't cry.  She stood still as her father stepped into the room, blocking the doorway and looking horrified.

"Your hair . . . What have you done?!"

"I-" Eni stammered, as he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the bathroom, dragging her through the back room of the bakery beneath their flat.

"Papa . . . Papa, wait!"

He didn't listen.  He shoved her out of the back room.  Eni fell forward into the bakery, landing hard on the floor behind the last row of shelves.

"What have you done?!" her father yelled again, standing there between her and the rest of the shop.

Eni got to her feet, bracing herself against a stack of boxes.  No one was in the bakery.  Most of the lights were off.  There was still another hour until closing time, but it looked like her father had already locked the front door.

Eni's lip quivered again, as she thought about what that meant.  Her father looked so angry.  He must not have wanted anyone to walk in and see whatever it was he was about to do.

She raised the scissors as her father came toward her.

"No, wait!  Papa, wait!" Eni cried.

But he still wasn't listening.

He grabbed her arms before she could get away from him, pulling them roughly behind her back.

"Papa, wait!  Please!  You're hurting me!"

"Then hold still!"

Eni winced as he tore the scissors out of her hand and slapped her across the face.

"Where did you get them?!"

"Wh-What?"

"The magazines!  Where did you get them?!" her father demanded, shoving her back on the floor.

Eni gaped up at him, afraid.  He must have meant the ones she had nicked from the convenience store on the corner last week.  She should have thrown them out.  She had never even gotten brave enough to look through them.  Taking them had been so stupid, but she had just wanted to know what it was about them that made her feel so strange, like she was nervous and excited all at once.

"Did someone at your school give them to you?  Another yariman?  Is all they taught you to like women?"

Tears welled in Eni's eyes as her father reached for her, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her toward him.  "Wait, no!  Papa, wait!"

She cried as he grabbed her wrists, forcing her to bend over, coming at her with the scissors he held in his other hand.  "You know something.  I think you did not finish."

Eni twisted in his grasp, trying to pull herself free, but he was strong, and twice her size.  "No!  Papa, no!  Papa, please!  Please stop!"

"Damare!"

Eni watched, horrified, as thick clumps of hair fell in front of her eyes.  She cried as her father took more random strands between the blades, removing chunks of her hair while she shuddered; cutting close against her scalp until blood ran down her forehead from the nicks he had left behind.

When he was done, he shoved her back on the floor.

"What has happened to you?!  You stupid girl.  Was it not enough for you to be a possessed witch?  Now you are a sexual deviant, too?"

"I'm not a deviant!  Papa, please!  I-"

Eni cried as her father yanked her off the floor and dragged her toward the front door.  "Damare!  You are no longer my child, do you understand?!"

She tripped as he shoved her outside, scraping her hands on the pavement.

"Stay out!  Do not come back!"

"Wait!  Papa!  Papa, please-"

"Damare yariman!  Did you hear me?!  I said, do not come back!"

He raised his hands, coming at her again with the scissors.  Eni tripped backwards, falling off the curb in her hurry to get away from him, scrambling on the ground for a moment before pushing herself up.

As soon as she was back on her feet, she ran.

For awhile, she could still hear her father screaming after her, calling her a slut and a whore.  Eni wiped at the tears that ran down her face.  She ran until she couldn't hear him anymore; until she couldn't hear anything but the traffic and the noise of the city; the sounds of her own heavy breathing and her shoes hitting the pavement.  She ran with no destination, dodging beneath street lamps that were just coming on, past closed shops and dark homes and a petrol station.  She ran until her lungs burned and the reality of what had just happened finally hit her.

oh god

oh god oh god

What am I doing?

Everything she owned was in the flat above the bakery; all of her clothes and her books and her wand.

Blood ran from the cuts her father had left on her scalp.  She wiped it off her face with the back of her bleeding hand as more tears stung her eyes.

What she had left behind didn't matter.  It was too late now.  She couldn't go back.

It was full dark by the time Eni stopped running.  She leaned back against a low brick wall, panting.  Thankfully, the few people who walked by didn't pay her much attention.  She was glad for the shadows.  They kept anyone from seeing her bleeding hands, her butchered hair, and the tears she still couldn't stop herself from crying.

Eni wiped at her eyes again, watching as cars drove by.  She shouldn't have left her wand behind.

Would they have understood if I had used it?  Would they have let me come back?

She didn't know.

Eni walked away from the brick wall and headed down the street, trying to clear her head.  She had to figure out what to do next.  She couldn't stay out all night and she couldn't go back home, not while her father was there.  He had been so angry with her.  She had seen something flicker in his eyes when he had first thrown her on the floor, something that had scared her.  She didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't run, if he would have kept hurting her, but it didn't matter now.  She needed to go somewhere else, somewhere she would be safe.

Eni crossed the street, heading toward the bus stop on the next corner, shivering a bit now that the sweat from her run was drying on her body.  She tried not to think of her mother, how none of this would have happened if she were still alive.  She would have understood, about her being different; about her being a witch and liking girls.  She still would have loved her.

It wasn't the same with her father.  It hadn't been for a long time.

He had barely spoken to her all summer, since the day he had picked her up from the dock.  He hadn't asked her about Hogwarts, or any of the strange things she had unpacked.  He hadn't asked her about her books or her cauldron or any of the other things Professor Flitwick had taken her to buy last summer.  He hadn't asked her about her classes, or if she had missed home.  He had gone in his bedroom, turned on the telly, and locked the door.

Eni was sure there had been a time when he had loved her, but everything had fallen apart five years ago, after her mother had died.  Her father had stopped smiling.  He had stopped hugging her and holding her in his lap and lifting her up on his shoulders.  He had started yelling; shouting at her every night; telling her to stop leaving her puzzle pieces and coloring books all over the sofa before he threw them all away - to stop crying about her mother, because crying wouldn't bring her back.

Eni wondered then if he blamed her for what had happened, if somehow he associated her mother's death, and all those long nights they had spent in hospital rooms, with her.  She didn't know.  All she knew was that, when her mother had died, a part of her father had died, too, and, now, she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Eni shivered again.  She didn't know what time it was, but it had to be getting late.  She couldn't stay out on the streets all night.  She had to think of something.

The bus stop was just ahead, so was a payphone.  There wasn't anyone in Liverpool she could call.  She didn't have any other family, or any friends who lived in the city.

But there was someone else who might be able to help her.

Eni walked up to the payphone and pulled a handful of change out of her pocket.  She dropped the coins in the slot and dialed the only number she had memorized while she had been at school, listening nervously while it rang, hoping someone would pick up.

Thankfully, someone did.

"Hello?"

"Err, hi," Eni said, trying to slow her breathing.  She didn't recognize the voice on the other end of the line.  "Is Maddison there?  My name's Eni.  I'm a friend of hers from school."

Eni had first noticed Maddison at the sorting ceremony.  She had walked right past Eni and the rest of her classmates, taking her seat at the front of The Great Hall, looking, the entire time, like she had known she belonged there.  Eni hadn't said anything to her then, but she had seen her in Charms the next day, sitting at a desk across the aisle from her, flipping through her textbook and raising her hand before class had even started.  Eni couldn't remember what questions Maddison had asked, or what Professor Flitwick had said in response, but she had noticed the way Maddison had laughed; the way she always spoke up and never hesitated whenever Professor Flitwick asked for a volunteer to come to the front of the room.

At first, Eni had been too nervous to talk to her, especially with the other Slytherin students around.  She had almost jumped out of her skin the week before Halloween, when Maddison had come yelling after her in the hallway outside of Transfiguration.

"Hey!" Maddison had shouted, grabbing Eni gently by the shoulder and pulling her into an alcove.  "I saw that!"

"Saw what?" Eni had asked, a bit on guard, wondering if Maddison was going to get her into trouble.

But Maddison had just smiled.  "What you did with the teacup!  That was brilliant, the way it sprouted those little wires.  How did you do that?"

"I don't know.  I was just . . . well . . . I was trying to give it a tail, but I couldn't seem to make it-"

"You're not one of them, are you?"

"One of who?"

"Them, you know, the wizard kids.  You're not one of them.  You're normal, like me."

"S'pose I am, yeah."

"Thank, god!  I've no idea how I ended up in Slytherin.  There's no one else in there like us.  The rest of them have all got a parent or two who can use magic.  I swear, it's all they talk about!  I really don't see what they're so proud of.  They're so ignorant about everything else.  Most of them don't even know what an album is, and don't even try talking to them about Depeche Mode or Top of the Pops."

Eni had laughed at that.  It was true.

"What's your name again?" Maddison had asked her.

"Eni."

"You're from Liverpool, aren't you?"

Eni had smiled.  "Is it that obvious?"

It had been Maddison's turn to laugh.  "Don't think you could ever hide an accent like that."

They had been almost inseparable after that, sitting next to each other in classes and waiting for each other in the library.  One day, Maddison had found her at supper, and handed her a folded piece of parchment.

"Here, take this."

Eni had unfolded the offering carefully, staring at the numbers Maddison had written down.

"Hang on to it, alright?" Maddison had told her.  "When summer comes, I'll need a friend from here who actually knows how to use a phone."

"Hello?" the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line said suddenly, bringing Eni back to the reality of her sorry predicament.  "Eni?  Are you still there?"

"Yes, I am, sorry," Eni said.  "Could you repeat that last bit?"

"I said, this is Mrs. Thomas, Maddison's mother.  Should I get her for you?"

"Err, yes.  Yes, please."

Eni heard Mrs. Thomas set down the telephone handset and call for her daughter.

There was a shuffling sound a moment later as Maddison picked it up.  "Eni?"

"Maddison . . . I . . . I'm sorry," Eni stuttered.  It was so hard to get the words out.  "I need help."

"Help?  Eni, what's wrong?  What happened?"

"It's my Papa.  He . . . Well . . . I told you he hated it, my being a witch."

Eni stopped.  She couldn't tell her the rest.  Not yet.  She was trying not to cry again.

"Oh, Eni.  I'm so sorry.  Are you alright?"

"I'm not, no," Eni said, choking back the emotion building in her throat.  "He . . . He kicked me out.  I don't know what to do.  I . . . I haven't got anywhere else to go."

Muffled voices came from the other end of the line again.  Eni could hear Maddison talking to her mother.  She wiped more tears off her face as Maddison's mum got back on the phone.

"Eni?  Are you still there, dear?  Can you tell me exactly where you are?  We're going to come get you."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1985 - Between the Wars

A rolling clap of thunder followed Eni down the street as she ran through the rain with Maddison, holding her coat above her head in an attempt to keep herself and the duffel bag she carried dry.  The storm had come out of nowhere.  Maddison's mum had barely dropped them off on the corner when the rain had started to come down in sheets.  Thick drops of water ran down Eni's arms now, as she hurried along.  It was hard to see where they were going.  Her shoes were already soaked through.

"It isn't much farther," Maddison promised, holding on tightly to her own bag and the hood of her coat.  "See that brick wall up ahead?"

"The one topped with barbed wire?" Eni asked, squinting through the rain.

"That's it, yeah.  The station entrance is in the building right on the other side."

"How do we get past the wall?"

"There's a door next to the main gate.  The city keeps it locked, but it will open for us.  Once we're through, and inside the building, there's an old lift we can take down to the station."

Eni glanced back at the brick wall as they dodged around a forming puddle.  "I didn't even know Manchester had an Underground."

"It doesn't," Maddison said, "well, not officially.  Come on!  Let's move it before we drown out here."

They ran across the street and up onto the curb, stopping in front of a heavy looking metal door.  A car with a cracked windshield drove past them, splashing water up onto the pavement.  Eni watched as it drove away, suddenly feeling a bit nervous that someone would see them and ask what they were doing snooping about.  But, thankfully, Maddison got the door open quickly, and led the way inside.

The yard they stepped into looked abandoned.  The brick building beyond didn't look much better.  There weren't any windows at the first floor, and the high windows above were dark and full of grime.  The only entrance appeared to be a roll-up door at the front of the building.

But Maddison walked right past it, heading around to the back instead.  Eni followed her, watching as Maddison let go of her coat, letting her hood fall back.  She held onto her bag and raised her free hand, running her fingers along the brick wall in front of her, eyes fixed in concentration.  After a moment, she started counting, whispering numbers under her breath while another crash of thunder came from somewhere overhead.

Maddison counted off ten bricks from the edge of the wall.  One of the bricks turned silver as she touched it, shimmering in the rain.  Maddison tapped it three times, and the wall transformed, creating an opening that was wide enough for them to walk through.  Without a word, she stepped inside.  Eni followed her.

The room beyond was dry, if a bit drafty.  Eni shook the rainwater off her coat and walked behind Maddison, following her to a concrete stairwell. Utility lights flickered above their heads as they made their way down.  A sign up ahead read, PLEASE KEEP GUARDIAN TIDY.  PUT RUBBISH INCLUDING CIGARETTE ENDS IN THE RECEPTACLES.

Maddison turned around at the bottom of the stairwell, looking back at Eni with a mischievous grin.  "What do you think?  Feel like we're some sort of urban explorers yet?"

"I guess," Eni said, looking around.  She still felt a bit nervous, like they shouldn't be there.  "So long as you know where we're going."

"Don't worry," Maddison told her.  "I know the way.  You'll like it, I promise."

They walked on in silence for a bit, until they got to a lift with a cage door that looked rather old. 

Maddison reached out and opened the lift.

"After you," she said, stepping out of the way and gesturing for Eni to climb aboard.

Eni stepped inside the lift.  There was another sign.  This one warned, DO NOT PUT ARMS THROUGH GATES.

Maddison followed her in, pulled the cage door shut, and pressed a button.  Eni felt her stomach drop as they descended.

They hadn't been in the lift long when Maddison looked over at her.  "You alright?"

"Yeah, why?" Eni asked.

"I heard you get up again last night.  You were still gone when I woke up a few hours later."

Eni shrugged.  "I couldn't sleep."

Maddison's mother had made up one of their guest rooms for her, but Eni had spent most of her time the last two weeks in Maddison's room, listening to pop albums and sharing her four poster bed; talking and giggling every night until Maddison's mother would come in and tell them to quiet down and get some sleep.  One night, when the house had been dark and quiet, they had both taken a needle, stuck them in a candle flame, and pierced each other's ears, muffling their laughter and pain with a pillow.  The pain hadn't been so bad, Eni had decided afterwards, smiling at the way the little blue gems she had borrowed from Maddison had looked in her ears. Maddison's mother hadn't even been mad at them.  She had just smiled, and taken them shopping for more earrings and some clothes for school.  Afterwards, she had dropped them off at a theater to watch St. Elmo's Fire.  Eni hadn't been to a movie since her mother had taken her the summer before she had gotten sick, when they had shared popcorn and laughed at the cartoon characters that had been on the screen.  It was the last time Eni could remember her mother laughing.

Eni watched as the inside of the elevator shaft moved past the cage door, avoiding Maddison's gaze.

Maddison and her mother - and even her father - had been so kind to her, but sometimes, in the middle of the night when she was lying there awake after Maddison had fallen asleep, she still felt like everything was wrong.

"It's alright, dear," Maddison's mother had told her one afternoon, when they had been browsing through a record store.  "It's just temporary.  No need to make a fuss.  You just pretend you're on holiday with us until school starts again, alright?"

Eni had nodded, and smiled when Maddison's mother had given her some money to buy herself a new Walkman and a few cassette tapes, but she had still felt empty inside.

She still wondered what would happen if it wasn't temporary; if her father would ever try to find her, or if he really never wanted to see her again.  She wondered if they would ever make her go back.

Eni wiped more rain off her coat.  Maddison was still looking at her.

"I went downstairs," Eni said, finally meeting her gaze.  "I just . . . Sometimes I can't sleep.  Sometimes . . . I'm still so worried.  I don't want him to find me.  I don't want him to make me go back."

Maddison set her bag down and wrapped her arm around Eni.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry about what happened.  What your father did . . . I know it's got to be hard."

Eni nodded.  It was all she could do.

"It will get better though, alright?  He was wrong to do what he did.  You're safe now, with us.  We won't let him take you back."

Eni nodded again.  She wished she knew for sure if that were true.

Maddison kept her arm wrapped around her as the lift continued its descent.  It was comforting, in a way Eni hadn't even known she needed.

Maddison lowered her arm slowly as the lift stopped.  She grabbed her bag and pulled the cage door open, looking back at Eni before she stepped out.

"Right then.  Stay close, alright?  I know where we're going, but the tunnels down here are a bit confusing.  If you wander off on your own, it may take me awhile to find you again, and we've got to be on the platform right at noon."

"Don't worry," Eni said, managing a smile.  "I don't plan on running off."

She stepped out of the lift and followed Maddison into the darkness of a narrow hallway.  Beyond the hallway was a dusty room, filled with boxes and stacks of old electrical equipment.  They walked out of the room and into another, past cabinets and panel boxes and bundled black cables.

"What is this place?" Eni asked, stepping around an overturned metal rack.

"You know," Maddison said, "I asked Professor McGonagall that same question.  It's really interesting, actually.  She told me it's some sort of old communications bunker that was built during the Cold War, back when everyone was worried about nuclear bombs taking out telephone lines, or something like that.  Obviously, it's abandoned now.  I've lived in Manchester my entire life and never even knew this place existed until McGonagall brought me down here."

They kept going, walking down a long circular tunnel until they came to a door inscribed with the words MAINTENANCE PERSONNEL ONLY.

Maddison pulled on the handle and they stepped through.

Eni gasped a bit at what was on the other side.  They were standing in the middle of a train station, and they weren't alone.  Groups of students wearing familiar robes, carrying suitcases and cages filled with rats and owls, stood on a crowded platform, laughing and talking to each other, voices echoing off the high ceiling and the stained-glass skylights far above their heads.  Eni felt fresh air coming from somewhere.  In contrast to the rest of the bunker, the train station was clean and well-maintained.  The walls were covered with polished red and white tiles, and rain-dimmed daylight streamed down from up above.

Maddison caught Eni staring and elbowed her.  "Told you you would like it."

"It's excellent.  In Liverpool, I just took a ferry.  This is . . . "  Eni's words trailed off.  She was still staring up at the ceiling, trying to get her bearings.  "Do people know this is here?"

"Not normal people, no, just us weirdos.  Think of it as another part of our secret world."

Eni scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces, but she didn't recognize any of the students who stood around her.  Most of them were older, sixth or seventh years, if she had to guess.  

She was still looking around the station when Maddison nudged her again.

"When the train arrives, we won't have much time.  You'll see why I packed so light, and why my mum got you the duffel bag.  We'll have to jump aboard."

"Wait.  Jump?  Like actually jump?"

"Sort of, yeah."

"The train doesn't stop?"

"No, but we'll be alright, you'll see.  There's a sort of time warp that happens when the Hogwarts Express arrives.  The train slows down while station time runs normally, and that's when we can get onboard."

"If there's a time warp, what happens to the people on the train?"

"I don't know," Maddison said.  "I don't think they even notice.  No one said anything to me about it last year.  They all thought I had gotten on in London."

Eni looked back at the end of the station platform, trying to prepare herself.  "Right.  So . . . we jump."

"Yeah.  It's not bad.  We'll just have to be quick about it.  And careful.  As soon as our feet are on the train, we'll be back on its relative time, and it moves pretty fast, so grab onto something as soon as you can and hold on tight."

Eni looked up as a train whistle sounded.  Headlamps and bright light flooded the tunnel to their right.

"That's the signal," Maddison told her, stepping into the crowd.  "Come on!"

Eni followed her, watching as the Hogwarts Express came out of the tunnel.  When it did, something happened.  Time warped, and the train slowed to a crawl.  The next blow of its whistle distorted, warping and stretching in the air.

Eni saw the train conductor in his cabin as the engine came into view.  His eyes were closed, mid-blink.

Maddison didn't hesitate.  She hurried up to the train with the other students, matched its pace, and jumped onto one of the open-air platforms between two of the cars.  Eni followed her, jumping quickly onto the train behind two other students and reaching for a handlebar.  The end of the whistle sounded loud in her ears as reality resumed its normal pace.

Eni let out a gasp, trying to keep herself upright without losing her duffel bag.  The train did move fast, but she held on, rocking as it swayed on its tracks, barreling forward into the dark tunnel at the opposite end of the station platform.

"You alright?" Maddison yelled over the noise, reaching out to give her a hand.

"Fine!  Thanks!"

"Anytime, yeah, it's alright!  That first step is always so dodgy!"

Eni laughed in agreement, following Maddison toward the train car on their left.

Maddison was still smiling.  "You know, I'm not sure what they do in London, but I rather fancy the way we board the Hogwarts Express in Manchester!"

Eni smiled.  She did, too.

Whatever happened next, even if her father did try to find her, it wouldn't be so bad, not as long as she had friends like Maddison, and a way to escape together back into their secret world.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1985 - Between the Wars

With the practiced pace of one stride, Albus Dumbledore stepped out from behind the desk in his office onto a rooftop in Edinburgh, appearing nine stories above the city with a loud crack.  

Dumbledore shivered, pulling the collar of his robe up around his neck as a strong gust of wind caught his beard.  It was cold, and he hadn't expected such heavy rain.  Thankfully, he could see now that he wasn't alone.

Alastor Moody stood on the far side of the roof, leaning against a low wall near the edge with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, surrounded by the wavering boundaries of a shield charm he seemed to be using to block the worst of the unfortunate weather.  He nodded as Dumbledore approached him, lowering one side of the shield just long enough to let him duck inside.

Dumbledore took out his wand, casting a drying charm on himself as he looked over at Moody.  "I was most dismayed to receive your message, Alastor."

Moody grunted, reaching into his coat and taking out an envelope.

"You'll be a lot more upset when you see what I've got here," he said, passing the envelope to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore opened the envelope carefully, taking out the documents inside.  What he saw made him go cold.

Beneath a report written on a piece of parchment in Moody's familiar handwriting was a collection of photographs.  Each one had clearly been taken at a crime scene.  There was so much blood.

Dumbledore tried to steady his breathing as he looked through them.  Each image he saw was more disturbing than the last.  No matter how many times he saw photographs that had been taken by muggles, he would never get used to the silent, motionless figures they contained, especially not when those figures were bodies, staring back at him with cold, dead eyes.

Based on the images he held, three more muggle-borns had been killed, each in the same gruesome manner.  Dumbledore's breath caught in his throat as he realized he recognized one of them.  Samantha Jones had been one of his students, about six or seven years ago.  When she had finished her education at Hogwarts, she had returned to the muggle world to attend university, discouraged by the state of the magical world during the war; wanting more for herself than what magic had to offer.

Dumbledore felt sick.

Oh, sacred Merlin.

Why was she targeted?

She left our world.  She was living as a muggle.  Why on Earth would someone have gone after her?

He studied the photograph of Samantha again.  Her body was lying on a tile floor, crumbled up in a heap, missing the head, which looked as though it had rolled a few feet away.  Her eyes were open and her swollen tongue protruded from her mouth.  The report from the police in London didn't say anything about finding her body floating in the air.  If the killer had used a levitation charm, it must have worn off before they had arrived, or the muggles hadn't known what to make of it.

Dumbledore looked back at Moody.  "Tell me the Aurors have something."

Moody shook his head.  "They have fuck all on the killings that took place in the Wizengamot dungeon, and they aren't doing a damn thing about any of the dead muggle-borns in that envelope.  Those killings took place outside of our world, and Burke doesn't want the Aurors involved."

"But the connection between the murders is obvious.  The markings on the foreheads and the way the heads were removed is the same as it was in the dungeon."

"The Ministry doesn't give much of a fuck about connections right now, Albus.  The Aurors can't solve the murders that happened right in front of them, let alone the ones that have taken place across the rest of the United Kingdom."

Dumbledore thumbed through the autopsy reports that had been in the envelope, but they didn't tell him anything he didn't already know from looking at the photographs.  The foreheads of each victim had been mutilated while they had still been alive, just before their heads had been removed.

Dumbledore returned the stack of documents to their envelope.  For now, he decided to hang onto the photographs.

"With the four that were found at The Ministry, and the two from July, the body count is at nine," Moody told him, looking off toward the city below.  "They are being systematically targeted, and hunted down.  This can't be allowed to continue.  Someone needs to stop this before it gets out of hand.  I've decided to take a more active role.  I'm going to liberate myself from retirement before we end up with a pile of dead muggle-borns and no ideas as to who has been going after them."

"The way the heads were removed was so ghastly," Dumbledore said.  "It doesn't look like something a wizard would have done.  At least, not with magic."

"It doesn't, no.  The heads of the bodies we recovered from the dungeon were removed with a sharp, blunt instrument," Moody said, shifting his gaze back to Dumbledore.  "There wasn't anything magical about it, but that doesn't mean a wizard wasn't involved."

Moody's eyes went back to the gravel covering the roof beneath them, watching puddles form.  "Look, Albus, I've got to be honest with you.  We're in over our heads here, and I can't guarantee anyone's safety.  If you want muggle-borns to have more protection, maybe getting them all registered isn't the worst idea."

Dumbledore shook his head, refusing to even consider the suggestion.  "No.  We can't do that.  We will find another way."

"Well, what else do you suggest?" Moody asked, looking back at him.  "It's not like you or Burke have offered up any alternatives.  The way I've heard it, you haven't even been attending any of the Wizengamot meetings outside of the bloody Registration Act hearings."

"I've been preparing for the school year."

"Oh, bollocks.  You haven't even been doing that.  There's word you weren't at the sorting ceremony last week."

"I wasn't, no," Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid I had to-"

Moody's gaze narrowed, searching him.  "Where were you, Albus?"

Dumbledore stiffened a bit.  He hadn't come here to be interrogated.  "That is none of your concern."

Moody stared back at him, artificial eye whirring.  "Yes, it is.  As soon as you contacted me, asking for my help, everything you do became my concern."

Dumbledore looked away from him again, tucking the photographs into his robe.

"Look, Albus, I need your help, just as much as you need mine," Moody told him, after a minute.  "The war depleted the Aurors.  We've got a starved group left, most of whom are either too old to be of much use, or too young and inexperienced to do this on their own.  Every great Auror we had - every damn one of them - died in the war, got the hell out of dodge, or ended up like Frank and Alice Longbottom."

"You're one of the great ones," Dumbledore said, looking back at Moody.  "You always were."

Moody grunted.  "Maybe I was once, but now I'm just one of the ones whose too fucking old for this shite.  I can't keep doing this forever.  If you want more Aurors around to solve these murders and protect muggle-borns, then do your job and teach the students.  I don't have to tell you where Aurors come from."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, watching the rain.  He knew Alastor was right.

"Will you tell me when you know more?  Will you tell me if any more are killed?"

"I don't think it will be a matter of 'if' anymore," Moody said, reaching into the front pocket of his coat, "but I'll keep you informed as best I can."

"Thank you, old friend." 

Moody nodded and raised his wand.  "Be seeing you, Albus."

With a quick flick of his wrist, he dissolved his shield charm and disapparated, leaving Dumbledore standing alone in the rain.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

September 1985 - Between the Wars

Something was wrong.  

Aaron lay in his bed in the dark, hovering at the edges of sleep, watching as the outlines of an empty classroom merged with the Black Lake.  His body contracted in a sudden, violent jerk as he sat up, shaking and shivering and sick.  Saliva coated the inside of his mouth while the illusions surrounding him dissolved, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared, but whatever was happening to him wasn't over.

A dizzying wave of nausea hit Aaron fast.  He got up, pulling on his trousers and his trainers, stumbling out of his dorm room and heading for the bathroom, trying to make it in time.  He got as far as the stairwell before he threw up.

Aaron leaned over, retching and drooling on the stone steps while his vision swam.

no no no

What's wrong with me?

Why does this keep happening?

The whole world was spinning now, moving faster and faster.

Aaron dry-heaved, gasping while his body convulsed, waiting for more vomit, but nothing came up.  He wiped at his mouth, leaning back against the nearest wall; trying to calm himself down.  It took a long time for the world to stop moving, but it did finally stop.

Aaron took a deep breath, then another.

It's okay, he told himself.  It's over.

But he wasn't sure that was true.  He was still shaking, and there was a horrible taste in the back of his mouth.  He needed water.

Slowly, he got to his feet.  He leaned against the wall as he walked down the stairwell, heading for the boy's bathroom.  As soon as he was inside, he closed the door, went to one of the cabinets by the sinks, and took out a cup.  He filled it with water from the tap and drank slowly.  He had gotten most of it down when he dry-heaved again, coughing up some of the water.  He had felt too nauseous to eat much at supper, or there probably would have been more actual vomit.

Aaron grabbed a clean washcloth, a bar of soap, and ran more water in the sink, washing the rest of the sick off his mouth and chin.  His hands were still shaking.  The face he saw in the mirror looked so pale.

Aaron took the washcloth and headed back to the stairwell.  He bent down and cleaned his vomit off the steps, went down to the common room and tossed the washcloth in a rubbish bin, and leaned back against the wall by the fireplace, still feeling a bit lightheaded.  The clock on the far wall showed that it was just after five o'clock in the morning.  He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, not if it was like last time.  Besides, now that his stomach was empty and most of the nausea had passed, he realized he was starving.  The kitchen staff would have breakfast started.  If he went down there and helped Lara, the head kitchen porter, with her preparations, she might feed him.

Aaron stepped through the portrait of the Fat Lady and left the common room behind.

He was almost to the second floor corridor when he saw Filch, walking toward him with his cat in tow.  The old caretaker glared at him for a moment, but he didn't say anything, or try to stop him.  Aaron had spent the summer working in the kitchen and out on the grounds with Hagrid early in the mornings.  He figured maybe Filch was just finally getting used to seeing him around.

Aaron headed downstairs.  He took the staircase near The Great Hall down to a wide, brightly lit corridor.  He could smell baking bread and grilled meat before he even touched the portrait of the bowl of fruit.  After he did, he waited for the portrait frame to swing open and stepped inside, heading down more stairs to the entrance to the kitchen and the preparation stations beyond.

Aaron looked around.  There were plenty of house elves, but he didn't see Lara.  He grabbed his apron from its usual peg on the wall and pulled it over his head.

He had barely gotten it tied when Lara walked up to him.  "You're not supposed to be down here today.  You've got classes."

"I know, sorry, I just-"

"Dear Lord, is that your stomach?"

Aaron nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed by how much noise it was making, probably because there wasn't anything left in it.

Lara sighed.  "Tell you what, if you wait here, and cut up those apples and peel some of those oranges," she said, pointing to some bowls of fruit that sat on one of the long tables, "I'll go finish corralling the house elves and get you some ham and eggs."

"Thanks," Aaron said.

"It's alright, just don't make this a habit, okay?  Next time make sure you eat enough at supper."

"I will."

"And make sure you're gone before we start the service.  If Dumbledore or McGonagall find out you were down here this early helping me out before your classes, they'll give me a right telling off."

"I'll get out of here right after I eat, I promise," Aaron told her, heading to the closest sink to wash his hands.  "I'll be gone long before breakfast."

"Okay, good.  I'll be right back.  Tuck in your shirt, and tie that hair up, too!" 

Aaron did as she had told him, fixing his shirt, pulling his longer strands of hair back into a knot, and heading for the table where the bowls of fruit were sitting.  He reached down and took a knife and a cutting board out of one of the cabinets below the table and got to work.

The kitchen was loud.  Aaron listened as the house elves scurried around, carrying dishes and yelling to each other.  He tried to focus, but something still felt wrong.  He couldn't keep his hands steady.  He put down the knife and reached for the oranges, peeling a few while his fingers shook.  He had seen something in the dark, just as he had been waking up; something he couldn't explain.  It had probably just been a dream, but the Black Lake and the classroom had looked so real.  He would have sworn he could have just reached out his hand and -

"Aaron?  What are you doing down here?"

The voice had come from behind him.

Aaron turned around and saw Eni, standing by the sink.

"Working," he said.  "What are you doing down here?"

Eni shrugged. 

"I couldn't sleep," she said, walking past him.

Aaron watched as she pulled on an oven mitt, walked over to one of the brick ovens, and took out a pan filled with fluffy looking rolls.  She set them on a cooling rack and walked into the pantry, coming back a moment later with a jar filled with honey.

"Do you like milk bread?" she asked, glancing his way as she opened the jar and drizzled some of the honey over the tops of the rolls.

"I don't know," Aaron told her.  "I've never even heard of it."

"Here," Eni said.  She picked up one of the rolls and handed it to him.  "Try some."

Aaron put down the orange he was still holding and took the roll.  He took a few slow bites then ate the rest quickly, licking at the honey that ran down his fingers.  It was really good.

Eni handed him another roll.  Aaron took a bite, watching her while she walked over to the pegs on the wall, reaching for a satchel and rummaging through it.  He hadn't talked to her much since she had come back with the others two weeks ago.  He didn't know what it was, but something had changed.  It wasn't just her hair, which was shorter than his now; there was something else.  She looked sort of sad.

"There's something I was going to show you last night at supper," Eni said, interrupting his thoughts, "but you left before I got the chance."

"Sorry, I was feeling sort of . . . It doesn't matter.  What's that?" he asked, as Eni pulled something out of the satchel.

"It's my new Walkman," she said, smiling as she showed it to him.  "I figured out how to get it to run on magic."

"What?  Wait, are you serious?"

Eni nodded.  She pressed play and turned up the volume.  Noise came from the headphones.  Aaron smiled as she reached up and pulled them over his ears. 

"Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated . . . "

Aaron laughed.  He couldn't help it.  He hadn't heard muggle music since the day he had left Glasgow.

He looked back at Eni, still grinning.  "This is excellent.  How'd you get it to work?"

"I had to modify the whole thing," Eni said over the music.  "It's running off an animation charm now instead of batteries.  I stripped the wiring and added gears."

"Nothing to do, nowhere to go, oh, I wanna be sedated . . . "

"That's brilliant."

"I could modify yours, too, if you want."

" . . . get me to the airport, put me on a plane . . . "

"Please, yes," Aaron said.  "I'd lick a house elf if it meant getting my music back."

"Eww, no!  Stay away from the house elves and just give me your Walkman."

"It's in my bag upstairs.  Can I give it to you in Potions?  I've got a bunch of cassette tapes you can borrow, too, if you like."

"Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane . . . "

"Sure, yeah," Eni said.  "There's no rush.  I'll have to borrow Maddison's wand to do it anyway."

Aaron stopped the tape and took off the headphones.  "Wait, what happened to yours?"

"To my wand?"

Aaron nodded.

"I had to . . . I left it in Liverpool," Eni said.  She didn't elaborate, but she looked sad again.

"Are you alright?" Aaron asked her.

Eni shrugged.  She didn't say anything, but he knew now that she wasn't.

Aaron reached into the pocket of his apron and took out the training wand.  He had used it to stir a soup he had made for himself last week and hadn't touched it since.  He ran it under the tap, wiped it clean, and handed it to Eni.

"Here," he said, "you can use this one.  Keep it, even."

"Wait, Aaron, no, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," he said.  "Here.  Take it."

Eni reached for the wand.  "Are you sure?"

Aaron nodded.  

"Of course, yeah," he said, managing a smile as Lara came back with a plate full of food.  "It's not like I'm going to need it."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

December 1985 - Between the Wars

A heavy snow had started to fall just after sunrise, covering the distant hills and the grounds of the castle, sending a cold chill down the corridors and into the classrooms.  Dumbledore pulled his robe closer, shivering a bit as he walked back to his office, heading for the third floor corridor.  When he arrived, he stopped in front of the familiar statue of the stone gargoyle for a moment, waiting until the sentient creature saw that it was him, and stepped to the side, allowing him to continue on his way.

Dumbledore walked past the gargoyle and took the staircase beyond up to his office.  The room was dark, lit only by a faint glow coming from the edges of his armillary sphere and a few dying embers in the fireplace.  He hadn't left any of his lamps burning when he had left that morning.

Dumbledore raised his wand, re-igniting the fireplace as he stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him and heading for his desk.

The photographs Alastor Moody had given him were still sitting where he had last left them, lying face down in a jumbled pile near his inkwell.  He had gotten an owl from Alastor not ten minutes ago, telling him that two more muggle-borns had been killed.

Dumbledore reached for the photographs, picking them up carefully and tucking them into one of the inner pockets of his robe.  It had been almost three months since he had talked to Alastor on the rooftop in Edinburgh, and still nothing had been done about the muggle-born murders that had taken place outside of the magical world.  The matter hadn't even been brought up to be discussed before the Wizengamot.

Dumbledore knew now that it was time for that to change.  He had waited long enough for the Auror Office to do something.  It was time for the rest of the members of the Wizengamot to know what was going on; to know that the murders that had taken place in the dungeon weren't the only ones; that people were still being killed.

With a quick glance at Fawkes, who was sound asleep on his perch, and a sudden, loud crack of displaced air, Dumbledore vanished.

The Atrium at The Ministry of Magic was quiet.  With just five days left until Christmas, it looked as though most of the employees had already left for the holidays.

Dumbledore walked through the security gates, nodding at the witch who was on duty and handing over his wand to her for a quick inspection before heading for the lifts.  He didn't have to wait long.  He pocketed his wand and took the first lift that arrived, heading down to Level Nine, trying to avoid glancing at the astronomical clock as the doors closed.

Once again, he was already late.

Dumbledore got off the lift at Level Nine and took the stairs down to Level Ten.  He could hear the amplified voice of Barty Crouch, coming from the end of the corridor.

Dumbledore pushed open the doors to the main dungeon and walked into the Wizengamot.  Barty Crouch stood at the podium at the far end of the room, talking about the merits of maintaining a good relationship with the French Council of Magic.  He was still speaking when everyone else turned around, staring at Dumbledore as he walked toward the center of the room.

"Oh, Barty, don't stop on my account," Dumbledore said, avoiding the glances of those around him.  "By all means, please continue."

"Would you care to explain yourself, Dumbledore?" Millicent Bagnold asked, watching him carefully from the bench where she sat.

"Explain myself, Madam Minister?"

Bagnold's gaze narrowed.  "First, you stop responding to my owls.  Now, you walk in twenty minutes after we've started, interrupting our proceedings and looking quite clearly as though you have your own agenda."

"My apologies, Millicent, but I doubt I've missed anything myself and everyone else in this room haven't already heard before," Dumbledore said, shifting his gaze to the faces of the witches and wizards who surrounded him.  "Am I right?  Or, are there some fascinating new pieces of information that have come from Paris that I should be made aware of?"

A few people smiled at that, but Millicent was not one of them.

"Albus, I've told you before, you can't just-"

Dumbledore ignored her and kept his eyes on the rest of the Wizengamot, staring at them over the top of his spectacles.  "Despite the Minister's objections, I believe you all will be quite interested to hear what I have to say, as it involves some very troubling news regarding what has happened to a few unfortunate members of our community."

"Albus," Millicent said, "if you want to take the podium, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Crouch has finished."

"Oh, that's quite alright, Millicent," Dumbledore said.  "I don't need a podium."

He reached into his robe and took out the photographs Alastor Moody had given him, tossing them on the floor at Millicent's feet.  Before she even had a chance to see what they were, Dumbledore raised his hand, and used a quick bit of magic to lift the photographs up into the air.  With a quick turn of his wrist, the photographs enlarged and collected in a circle, facing out toward the other members of the Wizengamot.

For a moment, his audience looked confused, then many of them started to gasp.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, watching as hands jerked up to cover open mouths; as his colleagues looked back at him with expressions of horror.  "I see now that you're all paying attention, so let me ask you this; how many more dead muggle-borns will it take for us to vote down the Registration Commission Act?"

Barty Crouch took a hesitant step forward from his place at the podium, looking aghast as the image of a dead nineteen year old boy floated in the air in front of him.  His eyes drifted from the dead boy to Dumbledore.  "I . . . I don't understand.  These . . . these people are all muggle-borns?  What . . . what happened to them?"

"The same thing that happened to the muggle-borns we found floating in this room eight months ago.  They have all been killed, and all in the same manner."

Crouch covered his mouth.  He looked horrified.  "But I . . . There's so many.  I-  How many have been killed since the ones we found?"

Dumbledore kept his eyes on Crouch.  It was just as he had suspected.  He didn't know.  None of them did.  The Auror Office hadn't told them anything.

"Eleven," Dumbledore said solemnly.

More gasps came from the benches.  Several members of the Wizengamot lowered their gazes.

"Wait, please," Dumbledore said, holding up his hand, "I know these images are graphic, but I must ask you not to look away.  It is our responsibility to know what is happening.  I want all of you to see what these murderers have done to our people, the way they have carved up their foreheads and left them strung up like marionettes."

A few eyes shifted back to the photographs, looking reluctantly at the haunting images that drifted around the room, hovering in a circle like some cursed child's mobile.

Millicent reached up slowly, and took one of the photographs out of the air.  It was clear from the expression on her face that she hadn't known about the murders that had taken place outside of the dungeon either.

"This Wizengamot has failed," Dumbledore said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.  "While we have sat here and argued amongst ourselves, muggle-born children, witches, and wizards have died, and no efforts have been made to find out who is responsible."

Millicent shook her head.  "Albus, as unfortunate as these deaths are, we have to follow protocol, and work to ensure that-"

"Did you hear me, Madam Minister?  I said our people are dying."

"I am well aware of these murders, Dumbledore," Adelaide Burke said suddenly, leaning forward to address him from the bench to his right where she sat.  "However, based on the information myself and my Aurors have gathered, all of these murders took place outside of our world.  As such, they are beyond the jurisdiction of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or even the Auror Office."

"Are they?" Dumbledore asked.  "Are they truly beyond your jurisdiction when it is our people who are dying?  When they are the ones being hunted down and slaughtered in their own homes?"

"Albus," Millicent said, "I agree that something should be done, but now is not the time to discuss this.  Adelaide is right.  It is up to the Auror Office to determine if-"

"No," Dumbledore said, "we are the ones who need to act.  We are the ones who brought this on them."

"Is that so?" a familiar voice said.

Dumbledore turned to see Marcus Carrow, sitting on a bench near the entrance to the dungeon, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest.

"How exactly did we bring this on them, Dumbledore?"

"Marcus, I don't think it's any secret that this all started with the announcement of The Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act.  Your act has done nothing but stir up animosity toward muggle-borns, and make them feel as if they are being persecuted.  Worse, you have given people who dislike muggle-borns more validity, and given them reasons to feel like they have a right to inflict harm."

"My act has done no such-"

"Oh, Marcus, you know that's not true," Dumbledore said, taking a few steps toward him.  "Anonymity is powerful.  Wouldn't you agree?  We all benefit from it, as we sit here in our dungeon, protected from the outside world.  So many of us have avoided the muggle world for decades, ignoring it and treating it as though it doesn't exist, even as it moves and changes around us.  We haven't interfered in their wars, and we haven't come to their aid, not even when natural disasters have threatened them.  We have remained hidden, living on the fringes of their communities, keeping our existence to ourselves.  We have gone to great lengths to hide magic from the rest of the world, and yet, here we are, entertaining the idea of enacting legislation that would remove the protection of anonymity from the most vulnerable members of our community; a piece of legislation that's very conception has caused muggle-borns to be targeted and killed." 

"We don't know what the motive of the killers is at this time," Adelaide told him.

Dumbledore turned back around, facing her.

"No," he said, "how could we?  No one in this room, you or myself included, have done anything to stop the killings or find those responsible.  All we seem to want to do is help the killers out by handing them a list of potential targets, which is exactly what The Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act will provide."

"The registry of muggle-borns would never be made available to the public," Adelaide said, narrowing her gaze.

"Not intentionally, no, I'm sure it won't be," Dumbledore told her, "but you and I both know that doesn't mean anything.  We both know it will just be a matter of time until the registry is leaked."

"Albus," Millicent said, "I've already spoken with Adelaide about this, and she has assured me that the registry will only be kept in the hands of those who-"

"Madam Minister, do you really believe she can assure something like that?"

"Dumbledore," Adelaide said.  "The Muggle-Born Registration Commission would work directly with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  The entire purpose of the act, as we plan to proceed with it, should it be enacted, would be to protect muggle-borns; to keep them safe by telling us who they are and where they live."

"Madam Director," Dumbledore said, keeping his eyes on Adelaide Burke, "you can't tell me that no one who works for The Department of Magical Law Enforcement harbors ill will against muggle-borns."

Adelaide's eyes narrowed again.  "Even if that were a concern, the registry would be guarded with the utmost-"

"How can you guarantee that the registry will be so well-guarded, when you can't even guard this dungeon, or help the members of our society who need you the most?  How can you say the registry will be used to protect muggle-borns, when you are already refusing to involve yourself or your Aurors with the cases of eleven muggle-borns who have been murdered?"

Adelaide shifted on her bench, clenching her hands as she leaned forward.  "I told you, Dumbledore.  Those murders are outside of our juris-"

"I don't think they are," Dumbledore said.  "I think you just haven't cared enough to make them a priority."

"How dare you-"

"Tell me, Adelaide; what makes you so sure your office or The Department of Magical Law Enforcement could oversee an endeavor such as The Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act when you can't even solve the murders that have taken place in this room?"

"Albus," Millicent said, "that is quite enough."

"I'm sorry, Madam Minister," Dumbledore said, adjusting his spectacles and looking back around the room, "but I'm not quite finished yet.  You see, I have struggled with the terms of this act for a long time, and I keep coming back to the same conclusion.  Keeping a record of people and monitoring their movements is simply not right.  I believe many of you remember when we watched, from a distance, doing nothing while millions of muggles were registered, monitored, and taken away to death camps during the Second World War; when we sat by, doing nothing, while millions of them were killed."

"It won't be that way," Millicent said quietly.  "We aren't them."

"We are," Dumbledore said, looking back at her, "and your refusal to see that is what makes this act so dangerous."

"Dumbledore, for the last time," Adelaide said, still clenching her fists, "the act would be for their safety."

"No, it wouldn't.  I'm afraid it will have the opposite effect.  If we put muggle-borns on a list, they will all be hunted down, and killed."

Dumbledore walked back to the center of the room, watching as the photographs turned; as the lifeless eyes of the victims stared back at all of them.

"Albus," Millicent said, after a moment, "our intentions are not to further endanger the lives of our people.  That should be obvious, to you and to everyone else in this room.  These murders should give all of us great cause for concern, and I agree that something should be done to find out who is responsible.  However, you have brought this all on us rather suddenly.  I believe we all need time to process these awful tragedies and meet again formally, perhaps after the holidays, when we can all reconvene after we've had some rest, and decide if we need to-"

"Madam Minister," Dumbledore said, letting his words come out slowly, even as his heart sank, "if you are still intent on waiting for the right time to discuss this horrific situation further, and figure out what is to be done about it, then I'm afraid that, by the time we act, for so many of our people, it will already be too late."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

December 1985 - Between the Wars

It was a few hours after breakfast when Aaron sat down at his usual preparation station in the kitchen, leaning over a bowl of squash soup and a mug of hot chocolate.  The hot chocolate was too hot to drink.  Aaron blew on it for a minute before giving up.  He shifted his gaze to the lit fireplaces and the dark stoves, wondering if it had stopped snowing yet.  He doubted it.  It had been snowing for almost five days.

It had been about a week since Aaron had ventured outside of the castle.  He was starting to feel a bit stir crazy, but he didn't fancy his chances with the strong gusts of wind or the deep drifts of snow, especially not with his scant collection of winter clothes.  He should have borrowed a nicer jumper from Charlie, or maybe even one of Bill's big coats and a pair of boots.  Aaron had already checked both of their wardrobes, but they hadn't left much behind.  So, he had decided to just stay in the castle.  He had spent most of his time reading some of his old books and catching up on his class work.  A copy of A History of Magic lay open on the table in front of him, turned to the page where he had left off earlier that morning, before he had started helping Lara.  Lara was still in the pantry, trying to finish her inventory work before she began preparing order lists for the remainder of the school year.  She was sat on the floor just past the doorway, surrounded by large baskets of rice and potatoes; by crates filled with turnips and carrots, her quill, and a few sheets of parchment.

The door to the pantry was small, but the room beyond it was massive.  Lara had told him that space manipulation spells had been used during the room's construction, making it stretch far beyond the limits of where it should have existed.  The shelves inside towered almost six stories into the air.  There were wooden ladders and platforms and pulleys, but Lara didn't need them.  He could still hear her whispering under her breath, using charms like Accio and Wingardium Leviosa to move things around while she worked.

The hot chocolate was still too hot to drink.  Aaron pushed it to the side and looked back at his textbook, staring at a passage that had been underlined at the bottom of the next page.

"Escalations of attempts by muggles to force wizards and witches to perform acts of magic for muggle ends; muggle led torture and killing of wizards and witches, including burning hundreds of witches at the stake; and widespread persecution of magical children by muggles, drove members of the magical community to call for total seclusion from the non-magical world and the majority of the population.  Upon the enactment of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards [and witches] went into hiding for good."

The ink beneath the words was faded.  Whoever had underlined the passage must have done so years ago, long before the book had ever been his.

Aaron shivered.  He had heard about witches and wizards being persecuted in some of his classes, but he hadn't realized that it had gone on for so long, or that it was one of the reasons why witches and wizards still tried so hard to stay hidden.  He hadn't known that so many people had been hurt because of magic; that people had really been tortured, or hunted down and killed, because of what they could do.

Aaron turned around as an owl appeared, flying down the stairwell and into the pantry, gliding over to where Lara still sat.  He watched as she took The Daily Prophet off its leg and gave it a carrot.  The owl scarfed down the offering and took off again, flying past Aaron and back up the stairwell.

Lara came out of the pantry a few minutes later, looking upset; holding The Daily Prophet like she wanted to rip it apart.

Aaron pushed his book to the side.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

Lara shook her head.  It was clear she wasn't.

"What happened?"

Lara looked back at him slowly, hesitating for a minute, like she didn't want to tell him.

"More muggle-borns have been killed," she said.

"Like the ones at The Ministry?"

Lara nodded.  "Nothing's being done.  They're leaving it all in the hands of the muggle authorities."

She walked over and handed him her copy of the paper.

Aaron took it, and opened it to the front page.  His eyes went right to the main headline.

 Violence Against Muggle-Borns Spreads to Muggle World: More Gruesome Murders Confirmed

Chief Warlock and Grand Sorcerer Albus Dumbledore arrived late to the most recent session of the Wizengamot on Friday.  After interrupting fellow council member Barty Crouch Senior, Dumbledore made sure to present his own agenda, speaking at length about a series of now confirmed muggle-born killings that have taken place in the muggle world, and blaming the Wizengamot for failing to act.

"They've failed, alright," Lara said, watching as he read on.  "They still don't even know who killed the muggle-borns at The Ministry.  I doubt they've done much to try to work out whoever it was that was involved.  They've never cared about people like us."

Aaron's eyes were still on the paper.

At this time, most of the details regarding the murders that have taken place outside of the magical world remain unknown.  However, based on the condition that many of the bodies were reported to have been found in, including the way some of them were decapitated and left floating in the air, there seems to be an obvious connection between these new killings and those that took place inside the Wizengamot dungeon in April, leading many muggle-borns to fear that they will not be safe wherever they go, should those who perpetrated these crimes remain at large.

To make matters worse, Adelaide Burke, the current director of the Auror Office, has stated that, at this time, the Aurors will not be investigating the murders that have taken place outside of the magical world, as she believes they fall outside of their jurisdiction, and should be left in the hands of the muggle authorities.

"The truth, I'm afraid, is that there's not much we can do to solve these crimes," Adelaide Burke told The Daily Prophet on Friday.  "These killings took place outside of our world, and involved muggle-borns who had been living as muggles for quite some time, having nothing to do with the rest of us.  For these reasons and more, we cannot get involved.  I assure you that the muggle authorities are well aware of these crimes.  It will be their job, not ours, to bring whoever is responsible for these murders to justice."

Lara reached over and picked up Aaron's mug.  She used a charm to cool down his hot chocolate and set it back down on the table next to him.

Aaron's eyes were still on the article.  He felt sick, like something was wrong with his stomach.  He thought of the passage he had just read in his textbook; about how wrong it all was and how people were still being killed.

He looked back at Lara.  "They really won't do anything?  They won't try to find whoever killed these people?  Even if the killers can use magic?"

He was thinking about what he had read in the paper; about the way some of the bodies had been found floating in the air.

Lara let out a long breath.  She still looked upset, but something about her gaze now was sad, too.

"It doesn't matter," she said, not quite looking at him.  "Not when it's muggle-borns who are being killed.  The Ministry won't do anything."

"Not even when people are dying?"

Lara inhaled hard.  "People like us have been dying for a long time, Aaron.  Hundreds of muggle-borns were killed during the war.  I wish I could tell you things have changed since then, but they haven't.  I'm not sure they ever will.  As much as you might hear otherwise from some of the professors in this castle, people like us will always be outsiders.  There will always be people in this world who hate us, and, because of that, we will always be the ones who are hunted down."

Lara's gaze went to the fireplaces.  She stared at them for a long time before she turned around, wiping at her eyes and walking back into the pantry without saying another word.

Aaron crumbled up The Daily Prophet and threw it against the wall by the sink.  It bounced off the stones and rolled out of sight beneath a cabinet.

It didn't matter what he did, or what he couldn't do.  Even if he could use magic, he would never be like the rest of them, and now people like him were being killed, just because they didn't come from magical families.

Aaron's hands shook.  He choked down a mouthful of bile. 

He hated it here.  He hated magic.  He wished he was back in Glasgow.  He wished Arthur Weasley had left him there when he had told him he couldn't use magic.  He wished he had never -

Aaron jumped as a loud crash came from the pantry; as Lara shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

There was another loud crash as something heavy hit the floor and broke apart, shattering on impact.

Aaron got to his feet and ran to help.

A stack of crates that had been balanced high up on one of the shelves had collapsed and fallen down.  Lara had caught most of the crates in the air with her levitation charm, and avoided being crushed, but the crates she hadn't caught had held heavy jars of tomato sauce, and the floor around her was full of it, covered with thick red paste, splintered pieces of wood, and shards of broken glass.

"Shit," Lara said, stepping back and staring at the mess.

"Are you alright?" Aaron asked from the doorway.

"Fine, yeah," Lara said, tucking her wand away.  "Thankfully, I heard those crates start falling in time to do something.  I must have piled them too high."

Aaron's hands were still shaking.  He looked at the shattered jars on the floor and tasted more bile in the back of his throat.

He was too upset to realize what had really just happened; to realize what he had just done.

"I'll get a mop."

"No," Lara said, "don't worry about it.  I can clean this up with a few charms."

right

yeah

lot of good I can do

He really was just a stupid muggle.

Aaron looked back at the stairwell as two more owls flew into the kitchen, carrying heavy looking packages that were tied to their legs.  They landed next to his open textbook.

Aaron walked over to them, untied the packages, and took a sealed envelope from the owl on his left.  The owl tilted its head and pecked at his hand.

"Ow!  Right, sorry," Aaron said.  "That was probably a lot of work."

He went over to the bread box and took out two of the muffins Eni had made for the kitchen staff before she had left for the holidays.  He gave one to each of the owls, who devoured them and flew off.

Aaron looked at the sealed envelope, surprised to see his name.  He opened it and took out the letter that was inside.

Aaron smiled and tore open the first package.  A paper bag filled with cinnamon and chocolate chip cookies was stacked on top of two clean robes.  The second package contained a few shirts, two pairs of jeans, a pair of trousers, some clean socks, and a pair of shoes.  Aaron pulled off his worn out trainers and tried them on.  He walked around the kitchen for a minute, seeing how they felt.  They were a bit big, but they didn't hurt his feet.

Aaron walked back over to the table.  There was something else in the first package.  He tore off the rest of the brown paper, unwrapping something made out of wool; a red and yellow scarf that looked like it had been knit by hand.  Aaron ran his fingers over the soft material.  Charlie had one just like it, so did Bill.  Their mother had made them.  She had obviously made this one, too, and she had made it just for him.  A black A had been stitched into one of the corners.

Aaron stared at it, realizing his breath had caught in his throat.  No one had ever made him something before.  Not like this.  Not something of his own.  He had never even had many clothes of his own, just things he had gotten from other kids at the foster homes where he had stayed when they had grown out of them or left them behind.  This was different.  This was his.  This meant a lot to him.  He had never even met Molly - she didn't even really know him - and she had still taken the time to do something kind for him.

Aaron was still staring at the scarf when Lara yelled, "Oi, Aaron!  Are you still out there?  I could use some help with the rest of the inventory!"

"Coming!" Aaron shouted.

He folded the scarf carefully and set it on top of his new stack of clothes, then he reached inside the paper bag and took out two cookies, one for him and one for Lara.  They were both still warm.

He was still thinking about the scarf, and the Weasleys, as he walked inside the pantry, eating his cookie and trying to hide his growing smile.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

June 1986 - Between the Wars

Eni leaned against the window to her left, trying to use the motion of the train to rock herself to sleep.  It was still early, and she was tired.  Peter and Maddison were both sat across from her, leaning against each other with their eyes closed and their shoulders touching, heads lolling back against their seat as the Hogwarts Express swayed.  They had fallen asleep like that just after the train had left Hogsmeade.

It had been a late night.  They had all been in the Hufflepuff common room until almost three in the morning, drinking pumpkin juice and laughing, eating a cake Eni had made to celebrate the end of the school year and passing around a bottle of firewhisky Aaron had nicked from the kitchen.  None of them had ever had alcohol before.

After they had all had a taste, and spit some of it out, Maddison had reached for the bottle and said, "I've got an idea!  How 'bout we play some Truth or Dare?"

"Truth or Dare?" Tonks had asked, licking some crumbs from the cake off of her fingers.  "I've never heard of that game before.  How do we play?"

"You ask someone a question, and they have to tell you the truth," Maddison had said.

"Or, you dare someone to do something, and they have to do it," Peter had said, snatching the bottle away from her and taking a sip.

"Fine, yes, or that," Maddison had said, taking the bottle back from Peter and making a face at him.  "Anyway, I think we should play Truth or Dare, and the person being asked the question or dared to do something has to take a drink, too."

"Alright," Charlie had said, "that sounds fun.  Why don't we start with you then?  Since it was your idea.  I dare you to stand on your head."

Maddison had smiled and taken a drink from the bottle, then she had stood up, taken out her wand, used a levitation charm on herself, and floated up into the air above Charlie, turning herself around until she dangled upside down above his head.

"Hey!  Wait!  That's cheating!" Peter had said.  "You can't do it that way!  Using magic makes it too easy."

Maddison had laughed, turning herself right side up again and floating back down to the floor.  "Oh, really?  I disagree."

She had tucked her wand away and reached for the bottle, taking another quick sip before passing it to Aaron.  "I dare you to do some magic."

"Maddison, wait," Eni had said.  "That's not fair."

"Yes, it is.  Come on.  Let's see if he can do it."

Aaron hadn't said anything for a moment.  Then, he had taken a long drink of the firewhisky, coughed a bit, and looked back at Maddison.

"Go fuck yourself."

Eni had burst out laughing.

Charlie had almost choked on his pumpkin juice. 

"What did you just tell her to go do?" he had asked Aaron.

"Fuck myself!" Maddison had said, laughing and snickering with Eni.

"Fuck yourself?  What does that mean?" Charlie had asked.  "Is it some sort of muggle swear?"

Eni had covered her mouth, giggling at the confused expression on Charlie's face before leaning over and whispering exactly what it meant to go fuck yourself into his ear.

"Oh," Charlie had said, turning a bit red.  "I-  Oh."

"Oi, that's brilliant!" Tonks had said.  "Teach us some more!  Please?!  You already know all our swears!"

Aaron had shrugged.

"Suppose that's only fair," he had said, smiling a bit and passing the bottle to Peter.  "I dare you to teach them some more muggle swears."

"Oh, I don't know," Peter had said, taking a quick drink.  "They look like a bunch of bloody fuckwits.  I don't think I could teach them any more muggle swears for shit."

Aaron had snorted.  Eni had erupted with laughter again and grabbed her stomach.

"What?" Peter had said, giggling and taking another drink.  "You all think that's funny, do you?  Well, I think you're all a bunch of twaty dickheads!"

Tonks and Charlie - who had probably never heard half of the words that had come out of Peter's mouth - had rolled on the floor, giggling and laughing until Tonks had started to hiccup.

They had gone on like that for a few more hours, until Nancy Irvine, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, had had enough of their antics and sent them all back to their own dormitories.  Eni had been too wound up from all of the fun and the sugar and the alcohol to sleep.  She had ended up lying in her bed wide awake until the sun had come up, unable to stop smiling. 

It didn't seem like she was going to have much luck sleeping now either.

Eni reached under her seat and started digging around in her backpack, looking for her Walkman.  She had just grabbed her headphones when Maddison stirred and opened her eyes.

Did you sleep? she mouthed to Eni as she sat up, moving slowly; clearly trying not to wake up Peter.

Eni shook her head as the door to their compartment opened.  It was Tonks.  She walked in and sat down on the edge of the seat next to Charlie, holding a sandwich with a few missing bites.

Charlie looked up from the sketch of some sort of animal that he had been working on.  Peter shifted in his sleep on the seat next to Maddison, letting out a long breath and leaning against the window.  He looked so tired, with his eyes closed, his mouth open, and long strands of blonde hair stuck to his forehead.  Eni wondered if she looked tired, too.  Her eyes felt so heavy.

She sat up and stretched a bit as Maddison asked Tonks, "Did you get that from the Trolley Witch?"

Tonks nodded, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"Does she have any meat pies?"

Tonks nodded again, answering Maddison's question with her mouth full.  "Plenty, yeah.  She's got roast beef, liver, chicken . . . whatever you fancy.  She's still in the car just ahead of ours, I think, if you want to try and catch her."

"Great, yeah," Maddison said, easing herself away from Peter, "anyone else hungry?"

When Eni and Charlie didn't respond, Maddison said, "Come on!  I can buy."

"No, it's alright," Charlie said.  "I'm sure Bill will bring me something later."

He didn't sound very interested in eating, but even Eni could hear his stomach rumbling.

Maddison took out a handful of Sickles and set them down on the seat between Charlie and Eni.  "Come on.  I'm starving.  Just come with me and get some food."

"No, really," Charlie said.  "I don't need your money."

"Maybe not, but take it anyway.  My parents keep sending me more.  I don't have enough time to keep exchanging it all, let alone spend it, so just let me share some of it with you, alright?"

Eni stared at the Sickles.  Her stomach hurt from skipping breakfast and drinking too much of the firewhisky.

She looked back at Maddison.  "Alright, yeah, thanks," she said, taking a few of the coins.  "I'll find a way to pay you back."

"Don't worry about it," Maddison told her.  "Honestly, I'm surprised my mum doesn't just send you money, too."  

She looked back at Charlie.  "Come on.  I know you're hungry."

Charlie sighed and snatched up the rest of the coins.  "Alright, fine, but I'm only getting a pie if she's got mincemeat."

Maddison smiled.

Eni stood up and followed her and Charlie out of the compartment, leaving Tonks and Peter behind.

They had just stepped out into the aisle when it started to rain.  Eni stopped for a moment, watching as heavy drops hit the windows and slid down the panes.

It had gotten so dark outside.  Eni felt cold.  She wished she had grabbed her coat.

She turned back toward the end of the car, following Charlie and Maddison out to the platform between their car and the next, moving fast and closing the door behind her to avoid getting wet.  The rain was really coming down hard now.  And something about it looked so . . . strange.

Eni looked again, not quite sure of what she was seeing.

The rain looked . . . black.

She stared at it, confused.  She didn't understand.

Black rain?

"Eni," Maddison said, looking back at her, "are you coming?"

"Wait," Charlie said.  "Where's the Trolley Witch?  Didn't Tonks say she was in this car?"

Eni looked ahead.

The aisle was empty.  No one was there.  All the compartments around them looked dark.

Eni, Maddison, and Charlie stopped, standing there quietly while the lamps suspended from the ceiling flickered, shivering together as the train swayed.

Eni forgot about her hunger and her sour stomach as the rain picked up and pelted hard against the windows.  It was so loud.  The whole train shook from the force of it.

Eni reached up to cover her ears, staying close to Charlie and Maddison, shrieking and jumping as, suddenly, the windows to their left shattered.

Eni screamed.  She ducked down with Charlie and Maddison as shards of glass flew at their heads; as the lamps went out and heavy black drops of rain tore through the inside of the train car.  

It was then Eni realized that it wasn't rain.

It was mud.

She screamed and covered her head, backing against the partition wall with Maddison and Charlie as the mud pelted their bodies, covering their backs and their arms and their legs, stinging like fire as it tore at their exposed skin.

They rocked with the train, falling against each other as the Hogwarts Express lost speed.  Bright flashes of light and loud noises from what sounded like cast spells cut through the darkness, coming from somewhere outside.

Eni reached into her back pocket, realizing with horror that she didn't have the training wand.  She had given it back to Aaron that morning, so he would have it over the summer, just in case.

Eni winced as more mud pelted against her body.  It was coming faster and faster now, rushing in through the shattered windows, filling the aisle of the train car up to her knees.  She was still gasping and covering her head, trying to breathe through the onslaught; trying to stay close to Charlie and Maddison while the Hogwarts Express rocked violently one more time, and came to a sudden stop.

Eni couldn't move.  She was still trapped in the downpour of mud, listening to the distant sounds of glass shattering and metal giving way.

Maddison was next to her, gasping and choking; reaching desperately for her arm.

"I . . . I don't have my wand!"

Charlie didn't seem to have his either.

Eni gasped, trying to breathe; trying to keep the mud from going down her throat.  There was so much of it, coming so fast, pouring over her head and forcing her to the floor.

She was on her knees now.  It felt like she was drowning.  She couldn't see anything anymore.  She gasped and choked, realizing, suddenly, that she was suffocating.

no

no no no

She didn't want to die.

oh god

She couldn't breathe.  She couldn't see Maddison or Charlie anymore and she couldn't breathe.

no no no

She really didn't want to die.

Eni choked again.  It was then that she remembered the shield charm.

protego

She tried to cough out the mud lodged in her throat.

it's protego

But she couldn't open her mouth to say it.

no no no

With a desperate lunge, Eni raised a shaking hand -

protego protego protego

- and felt something inside of her give way.

She turned back, facing the windows and stretching out her hand, reaching through the heavy waterfall of mud as she thought, PROTEGO!

With a sudden force that shook the train car and everything else around her, a shield tore out of Eni's raised palm, wrapping itself around her and protecting her from the incoming deluge.

Eni got back to her knees and raised her other hand, pushing harder, forcing the shield to expand; forcing it to spread out; forcing back the driving torrent of mud until she could see Maddison and Charlie again.

The mud pelted the outside of Eni's shield, but now they could all breathe.  The three of them gasped, leaning forward and coughing, spitting up mouthfuls of mud.  

Eni was too afraid to lower her hands.  The mud that had collected in her hair and on her forehead slid down into her eyes, half blinding her as the onslaught continued around them.

Screams came from somewhere outside of the car.  Loud voices and shrieks came from one of the nearby compartments.

"We have to get out of here!" Charlie shouted, coughing up more mud.  "We have to get back to our compartment!  Tonks and Peter . . . they might be trapped!"

Eni got up, staggering to her feet in the deep mud.  She shoved at the edges of her shield, but nothing gave.  She tried again, straining now; forcing herself to summon more magical energy; trying desperately to tear it out of the air around her as the train car rocked again.

She gasped as, with a sudden, violent pulse, adrenaline surged through her body.

"Hold on!" Eni shouted to the others over the increasing roar of the mud.

Maddison looked like she was about to ask, "To what?", when a concussive wave of energy shot out of Eni's palms.

The force of the blast rocked the train car as the mud flew back, pushing away from them in a sudden, upward cascade; tearing back out of the car through the shattered windows.

Eni's hands shook as she got to her feet, staggering back the way they had come, keeping her shield pulled tight around the three of them and deflecting the incoming mud.  They hurried forward as fast as they could, staggering as the train rocked, tripping through the mud at their feet and back outside into the next car, pushing forward until they were back at the door to the compartment where they had left Tonks and Peter.

Maddison reached out, pulling on the door handle, but it wouldn't give.

"Tonks!" she shouted, beating on the compartment door, "let us in!"

There was no response.

Charlie stepped forward, pulling on the door handle with her, but it still wouldn't give.

"Tonks!  Come on!  Let us in!"

Eni tried to send out another wave of magical energy, but nothing happened.  She was exhausted, and more mud was still coming, pelting hard against her shield.  She dropped to the floor, sinking down into the mud, keeping her hands raised and biting through her bottom lip; struggling to keep her shield cast while Maddison and Charlie pounded on the compartment door.

When there was still no response from inside, Charlie kicked at the pane of glass on the door until it shattered.  He reached inside, digging through the mud.  Blood ran down his wrist from the broken glass as he grabbed the other side of the handle, tugging at it from the inside until the door finally came free.

Charlie pulled on the door with Maddison as mud poured out of the compartment.

Eni saw a hand, an arm, and nothing else.

oh my god

no

She pushed with her shield, sweating and shaking, trying to clear more of the mud out of the way as Charlie and Maddison reached for the arm.

It belonged to Tonks.

no

no no no

oh my god

Charlie and Maddison pulled Tonks out of the compartment and sat her up against the partition wall, but she wasn't moving.

no no

oh god oh god

Charlie leaned down and wiped mud off of Tonks' face, then he reached into her mouth, pulling out more mud with his fingers.  Maddison pounded on Tonks' back until, suddenly, her eyes shot open.

Tonks leaned forward, choking and gasping, coughing up more mud as the train car finally stopped rocking; as the mud finally stopped pouring in through the shattered windows.

Tears of exertion ran down Eni's face, mixing with the mud on her cheeks and the blood running from her lip as she finally lost control of her shield, falling forward on her hands and knees while Charlie held Tonks, who was spitting out more mud, choking and gasping as she said, "Peter . . . Peter's still in there!"

Eni went cold.  She looked back at the compartment.

It was filled with mud; with a pile of it that was almost higher than their heads, oozing out from the open doorway and dripping down from the ceiling.

There were no screams.  No shouts.  Everything was quiet.

No movement came from inside the compartment.

no

Eni watched as Maddison and Charlie dug through the mud; as Tonks lunged forward, trying to help them, still coughing and wiping at her mouth.

no no no

Eni didn't see anything.  

She watched as the others kept digging, as Charlie and Maddison and Tonks reached into the mud, trying to clear it away; trying desperately to find Peter.

oh god

oh no oh no oh no

no no no

There was a leg.  And an arm.

Charlie reached for it, pulling hard, but he couldn't get it out.  Tonks and Maddison pulled with him to no avail.

They couldn't get the arm out; they couldn't pull it free.

oh god oh god

They kept digging.

They dug until they pulled out the arm that belonged to Peter; until they pulled out Peter's legs; until they dug out Peter's neck and his head and his swollen purple face.

Eni gasped.  Maddison screamed, covering her hand with her mouth and backing away from Peter's lifeless body.

Charlie kept digging, but it was too late.

They all knew now that it was too late.

no 

oh god oh god 

no

Charlie didn't stop digging, even when tears ran down his face.

Suddenly, Bill was there, shoving his way through the train car, covered in mud, bleeding from his forehead, holding onto his raised wand; stepping around Eni to get to his brother, but Charlie was still digging, moving more and more mud away from Peter's dead body, crying and shaking even as Bill tried to pull him away.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

June 1986 - Between the Wars

It was late the next evening when Dumbledore finally went to go see the train.  He disapparated from the castle and appeared at the top of a hill near the tracks that had been laid a few miles outside the village of Invermoriston, materializing with a loud crack near a tree that wasn't too far from where Hagrid stood, waiting for him with the conductor and Alastor Moody.

Dumbledore walked toward them slowly, taking out his wand, igniting the end of it, and watching as shadows from the light he had cast moved steadily across the ground.

Moody nodded at Dumbledore and ignited the end of his own wand, turning around and heading for the edge of the hill without saying a word.  Dumbledore followed him.  The conductor and Hagrid walked behind them, carrying lanterns, letting them sway between them as they all walked toward what was left of the train.

The Hogwarts Express sat abandoned in the silence of a dark meadow at the bottom of the hill, covered with thick layers of dried mud.  More dried mud hung from the undersides of the cars, covering the wheels and the axles and the bearings.  It didn't look like anything had been spared.  The mud had gotten everywhere.  More of it covered the ground and the tracks that led back up the hills into the Highlands.

Dumbledore walked closer to the train, still following Moody, trying not to gasp at what he saw.  He had heard that one of the train cars had collapsed during the attack, giving way under the weight of the mud.  He could see it now, fallen off the tracks and lying on its side, completely smashed in.  Two of the students who had been in that car had been killed.  One had been crushed.  The other had suffocated.

They were almost to the front of the train when the conductor walked ahead, pointing to a car that was further down the track.

"See this 'ere?  Th' way th' axles are warped?  This on' almost overturned, too."

Moody grunted.  He seemed to be a lot more interested in the dried blood that covered the side of the car; the blood that was now visible in the light coming from the end of his raised wand.  He walked around to the front of the car and stepped over the coupling, pointing his wand at the ground.

Dumbledore and the conductor followed him, watching as he bent down and looked beneath the train.

"You said the Trolley Witch is still missing?" Moody asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back up at the conductor.

"She is, aye," the conductor said.  "She went out in th' thick of it and got on top th' train, tryin' tae keep off all tha' mud and whatever else was out there.  Las' I saw of her, she was standin' on th' edge of th' coal car, castin' shields lik' mad an' screamin' Confringo at th' sky."

"Ah, right, well," Moody said, "I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

He reached down and pulled an arm, and what looked like part of a shoulder, out from beneath the train car.  Without a word, he raised his wand, used a levitation charm, and lifted the detached body parts over the coupling between the train cars, dropping them with a thud at the conductor's feet.

"Is that the Trolley Witch?" Moody asked.

The train conductor leaned over and retched on the ground.  Moody turned away, giving him a minute.

"Aye, that's her," the conductor said a moment later, sounding like he was going to vomit again.  He was still wiping at his mouth.  "All th' bracelets."

Dumbledore turned around and looked back toward the front of the train.  A pile of abandoned luggage, covered in mud, spilled out of one of the cars.  He watched as Hagrid bent down and picked up a crushed container of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, wiping dried mud off the label as fresh tears filled his eyes.  Hagrid had been one of the first faculty members to arrive after news of what had happened had reached the castle.  He had helped to recover the bodies of the five students who had died onboard.  One of the students who had been killed had only been a first year; a small girl named Raye.  Dumbledore remembered a morning early in the term when Raye had collided with another student in the air during a flying lesson.  He had watched from the south tower as Hagrid had carried her from the meadow by the lake to the courtyard and up inside the castle to Madam Pomfrey.  Six hours ago, Dumbledore had watched as Hagrid had carried her lifeless body into Hogsmeade, holding her close like he had that morning so many months ago.  Her death had been one of the hardest, and, to make matters worse, Dumbledore still hadn't been able to get word to her parents.

He stood by the edge of the train, watching as Hagrid started to collect the abandoned luggage and sort it into a neater pile.  He would make sure Hagrid took it all back to the castle, cleaned it up, and sent it to the students.  They should have their things.  So many of them had already lost so much.  When they found the trunks and suitcases that belonged to the dead, he would make sure Hagrid used extra care to remove all of the mud and return the items to their families.

Dumbledore looked back at the train.

It's horrible.  So horrible.

Five children dead.

And the Trolley Witch, too.

Who could have done this?  Who would have attacked children?

He didn't know.  All he knew was that he hadn't been there to stop them.  He felt like he had failed them all.

Dumbledore watched as Moody walked alongside the train.  He had expected Alastor to find more; to find something that would have given them some insights as to who had been responsible for this awful tragedy, but right now it seemed like whoever had attacked the Hogwarts Express hadn't left anything behind except broken train cars and the haunting echoes of death.

Dumbledore reached down and collected a handful of dried mud off of the ground, crushing it in his palm until it spilled out between his fingers.

No one is safe. 

Muggle-borns are dying, the Wizengamot is doing nothing, and I can't even protect my own students.

He kept his eyes on the train as Alastor walked up to him.

"This attack . . . It doesn't fit the pattern of the muggle-born killings," Moody said.  "What happened here is something else entirely."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, studying Moody's scarred face in the dim light.  "You don't think there's a connection?  None at all?"

Moody sighed.  "I think it's going to take me some time to determine who was involved with this disaster, but, no, Albus, I don't.  What happened here . . . This isn't like the murders.  This is different.  Whoever planned this attack had a completely different motive."

"Five of my students are dead, Alastor," Dumbledore said.  "I would like to know who is responsible."

"So would I, believe me, but it's going to take me some time to determine-"

"Why don't you start with the Wizengamot?  With the people who incited all of this violence in the first place?  With those who had access to the dungeon when the first four muggle-borns were maimed and slaughtered?"

Moody's gaze narrowed.  "The Aurors have already questioned the members of the-"

"And where has that gotten them?"

"Albus-"

"Have you talked to them?  Have you questioned them yourself?  Have you made any efforts to keep something like this from happening again?"

Moody glared back at him.  "Don't make me your enemy, Albus.  I'm just as frustrated as you are.  I promise you, I'm doing everything I can."

We both are.

But I still fear it isn't enough.

Dumbledore's gaze shifted back to the train as Moody walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.  He stared at the collapsed and overturned train car in the distance as the wind picked up, whipping at the hem of his robe. 

It's all happening again.

And I cannot stop it.

He hadn't been able to protect his students during the war, and it was clear that he couldn't protect them now. 

No.

That had to change.  He had to do something.  He had spent enough time trying to make the Wizengamot see things his way.  He had spent enough time talking.  He couldn't keep standing around waiting for his colleagues or the Auror Office to act.

Not when people were dying; not when his students were at risk.

It was time for him to do something.

Dumbledore reached down and crushed another handful of dried mud between his fingers.  He had to find out who had done this.

Thankfully, he already had a pretty good idea of where to start looking for answers.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

June 1986 - Between the Wars

It was Carrow.

This had all started because of Carrow.

Dumbledore stood in the shadows of an abandoned Underground station, staring down at Marcus Carrow's unconscious body, overcome with the knowledge of what he had to do next.

He had to break Carrow.  It was the only way.

If he could break Carrow - if he could get him to talk - he could break the truth of the muggle-born killings wide open.

If he could break Carrow, he could end all of this.

It had been early that morning when Dumbledore had gone to Marcus Carrow's house in London; when he had let himself in and found his way up the stairs, walking quietly past the bedrooms that belonged to Carrow's son and daughter.  He had found Carrow in the master bedroom at the north end of the house, lying on his bed in the early morning light, sound asleep and all alone.  Dumbledore had realized quickly that he wouldn't be able to question him there, not if he didn't want to wake the children.  So, before Marcus had stirred, Dumbledore had hit him with a stunning spell, taken him by the arms, and dragged him out of the house, bringing him to a sealed-off Underground station that had been used as an air raid shelter during the Second World War, and had sat abandoned ever since.

Marcus was still unconscious, but he wouldn't be for long.

Dumbledore leaned over the man he had abducted, and raised his wand.

"Rennervate."

The word echoed through the dark as Carrow's eyes opened.  He looked around groggily for a moment, like he was trying to work out where he was, then he gasped, trying desperately to get up; struggling against the iron chain Dumbledore had used to restrain him.

"Wh-  What is this?!  What's going on?!"

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, watching from the dark as Carrow struggled.

"Hello?!  Who's there?!"

Dumbledore waited.

"Hello?!  Is anyone there?!  What the hell is going on?!"

Dumbledore walked forward, stepping slowly out of the shadows.

"Hello, Marcus."

Carrow sputtered, looking up at him with a horrified expression.  "D-Dumbledore?!  What is this?!  What the hell have you done to me?!  Where the hell are we?!"

"I see you have a lot of energy," Dumbledore said.  "I trust that means you've been sleeping well these past few nights, after you picked Rhodus up from school."

"What?!  What are you talking about?!  Let me go!  You crazy old-"

"You know, it's strange," Dumbledore said, walking closer to Carrow.  "Last year, I believe you sent him home on the train."

"You crazy old bastard!  You've gone mental!  What the hell are you on about?!"

"The train, Marcus.  I'm talking about your attack on the train."

"The . . . the what?!"

Dumbledore kept his eyes on Carrow.  "The train.  All that mud.  It was you, wasn't it?"

"The train?  What the hell are you-  Wait!  Wait!  No!  It wasn't me!  I didn't touch those kids!" Carrow screamed.

Dumbledore ignored him.  "It's so unfortunate, isn't it?  Such an awful tragedy.  Two wizard-born children were killed along with the three who were muggle-born.  You didn't want that to happen, did you?"

"You mental bastard!  I didn't touch those kids!"

"If it wasn't you, then who did you get to do it?  Who did you get to attack the train?"

"No one!  It wasn't me!"

"Forgive me, Marcus, but I can't help but wonder if that's really true."

Carrow lunged, straining against the chain that held him back.  "You sick bastard!  Let me go!  You're absolutely mental!"

Dumbledore didn't say anything.  He glared at Carrow as the man struggled and screamed.

"Is this because I wrote the act?!" Carrow asked.  "Do you honestly think I hate muggle-borns so much that I must be out there in the Highlands, killing muggle-born children on their way home from school?!"

"Ah, well," Dumbledore said, taking a vial out of his pocket and leaning forward, forcing three drops of the contents down Carrow's throat, "as I already mentioned, it is strange that you didn't have Rhodus take the train."

Carrow tried to spit out the Veritaserum, but it was too late.  Dumbledore had already made sure it had all gone down.

He waited another moment, then he asked Carrow again, "Who did you get to attack the train, Marcus?"

Carrow was still struggling, shoving his body against the chain and the concrete platform beneath him to no avail.  "No one!  I-  I swear to you, Dumbledore!  I didn't touch those kids!"

"If you didn't, then who did?"

"I don't know!  Let me go, you sick-"

"Does your wife, Emily, know what you've done?  Have you told her yet?"

"Leave her out of this, you sick-"

Dumbledore grabbed the chain, tugging at the part of it he had draped around Carrow's neck, cutting off Carrow's next words along with his circulation; watching as he choked.

Carrow writhed against the chain, but Dumbledore just pulled tighter.  Carrow's face went pale as he struggled to breathe.  His feet hammered against the concrete platform as he tried to propel himself away from Dumbledore and the lack of oxygen, but he wasn't going anywhere.

Dumbledore waited until he saw a flash of panic in the man's eyes, then he let go.

Carrow leaned forward, gasping and choking; coughing until he finally caught his breath.

"I apologize," Dumbledore said, "but I thought you should know what it feels like to suffocate, because that's how three of my students died on that train.  They gasped and struggled, much like you just did, but all they managed to do was pull more mud down their throats."

Carrow screamed.  "Y-You bastard!  You sick fucking-"

"Who attacked the train, Marcus?" Dumbledore asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

"I don't know!  Let me go!  For Merlin's sake, just let me-"

"Who did you send?"

"No one!  Let me go, you sick bastard!"

He knows. 

He's fighting the Veritaserum, but he knows.

Make him talk.

"Aren't you glad you came and got Rhodus, instead of sending him home on the train to watch his classmates die?"

"I didn't know!  I swear to you, you sick bastard!  I didn't know!"

"I disagree.  I think you did.  I think you knew exactly what would happen on that train, so you protected your son.  You protected him, and now you're protecting whoever it was you sent to attack those students."

"No!  You sick bastard!  I didn't send anyone!"

Dumbledore could still see the four bodies he had found floating in the air in the Wizengamot dungeon.  He could still see the photographs of the other victims that sat on his desk; the same ones he had shown to his colleagues six months ago.

He could still see the bodies of the five students who had died on the train, lying stiff and cold in a freezing chamber in Hogsmeade.

So many innocent lives lost to hate and bigotry.

It had to end now.

Dumbledore reached for the chain again, watching as Carrow struggled.

"No!  Please!  It wasn't me!  I swear!  I didn't attack those kids!"

Dumbledore tugged on the chain, watching as it dug deeper into Carrow's neck.  "Just tell me who you sent, Marcus.  Tell me who you sent, and I will let you go."

Carrow gasped.  He was choking again.

That was alright.

Let him choke.  Let him struggle.

Let him know what it feels like to be afraid.

Dumbledore pulled harder, watching as Carrow's legs pounded against the concrete; as his back thrashed against the steel column he was chained to.

"Who did you send, Marcus?"

"I-  I-" 

"Why are you killing people?"

Carrow gasped again, unable to respond.

Dumbledore tightened his grip on the chain.  

"The war is over.  It's all over.  It is finished.  None of this ever should have happened.  People shouldn't be dying.  They shouldn't still have to live in fear."

He pulled harder, watching as Carrow bit through his tongue; as a thin trail of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.

Five children died on that train.

Let him know what it feels like to be afraid.

Dumbledore watched as Carrow's eyes bulged; as his bleeding tongue rolled to the back of his mouth and lodged in his throat.

Five children are dead. 

Fifteen muggle-borns have been killed.

It can't happen again.

He had to make sure it wouldn't.  He had to end this now.

Dumbledore was still pulling on the chain when waves of magic started to come off of his clothes and his exposed skin, singeing the air around him and filling the abandoned Underground station with light.  He watched as some of the energy his body had released fed itself into the chain, binding to it and sharpening its edges.  He was still pulling on the chain, tugging harder and harder, watching as its links slid over each other; as Carrow's face convulsed and turned blue.

So many have died.

I can't let it happen again.

Dumbledore knew then what he had to do.

Too many people were already dead.  He couldn't let Carrow go.  He had to make sure he would never hurt anyone else again.

With a sudden, fierce tug, and a violent wave of magical energy, Dumbledore pulled until the links of the chain came together, and tore through Carrow's neck.

The Underground station shook.  Dumbledore gasped as Carrow's severed head fell back onto the platform, rolling away into the dark.

He stood there for a moment, breathing hard and shaking.

It's over, Dumbledore told himself, as he finally let go of the chain.

This time, it's really over.

Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

August 1986 - Between the Wars

Charlie looked up as a sudden flash of fur and feathers darted across the horizon, moving quickly just beneath him, catching a few bright rays of the early morning light.  He leaned forward with the next gust of wind, clutching the handle of his broom as he plummeted, diving down beneath a dense layer of clouds.  The drop sent his stomach up into his throat.  The rush made him smile.

Gryphons weren't supposed to be this fast, especially not young ones with injured wings.  Charlie looked around as he came soaring out from beneath the clouds, but, suddenly, he couldn't see the gryphon anymore.

No!

Charlie looked around again.

Dammit!

Where the hell did it go?

He had lost it.  His broom shook as he hit a sudden patch of turbulence.  He held on tight and surged upwards, riding the uneven pockets of air.  The wind stung his skin and tore at his clothes as he flew back up into the clouds, still looking for the gryphon.

Charlie had first spotted it when he had been out flying two days ago, and had been worried about it ever since.  He had watched from a distance as the gryphon had darted across the sky, trying to stay close enough to follow its erratic movements without scaring it off; wondering how he could help it; if there was a way he could capture it without hurting it more.  It had seemed like a bit of a precarious endeavor, especially when his worn out copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them only documented ways to capture flying creatures with the assistance of magic.  Charlie had supposed that was because Newt Scamander hadn't been underage when he had done most of his work.  He probably hadn't been outside flying around and trying to study magical animals without magic, like some sort of savage.

Charlie scanned the sky as he soared up through the next layer of clouds.  He heard a sudden cry and turned fast, sliding down the handle of his broom as his feet came up out of the stirrups.

The gryphon cub was right on top of him, and it wasn't happy.

Charlie threw up his arms to protect his face, using his legs to stay on his broom as the gryphon cub attacked him, tearing through his jumper and his skin with its sharp talons, drawing blood.

Charlie winced, accelerating as he flew backwards, trying to put some distance between him and the gryphon, but it wasn't working.  The gryphon was too fast.  It gave a loud cry and chased after him.

Right then.

So that's how it's going to be.

That was fine.  He could still do this, he told himself, he would just have to be quick about it.

Charlie reached up and released the net he had tied across his back earlier that morning, making sure the handline was still tightly secured to his broom.

The gryphon cub was still right behind him.  Charlie threw up his arms again as it came at him, screeching loudly in his left ear, trying to tear through his clothes before it darted away again, soaring back up into the sky.

Charlie wrapped the emergency release cord for his net around his wrist and leaned forward.  He had modified the net a bit, just in case.  If this didn't work, and it got tangled, or the gryphon struggled too hard, he could just pull on the cord, and the entire thing would unravel.

Charlie watched, waiting with some anticipation as the gryphon cub circled back toward him.  When it was close enough, he tossed the net, managing to sling it right over the gryphon's head.

Yes!

His plan had worked.

Bloody brilliant!

Charlie pulled on the lead line and cinched the net closed.

The gryphon hated the net.  It squawked at him, struggling hard and pulling on his broom; trying to get away.

Charlie reached out, grabbed the net, and pulled the gryphon into his lap, holding the angry cub tightly against his chest.

"Shhh!  Shhh!  It's okay!  You're alright!"

Charlie kept one hand on his broom and the other on the gryphon.  Now that it was in the net, with its wings pressed right up against the sides of its body and its talons tangled in the cords, it looked so small; it looked so small and so young.  It couldn't have been out of the nest for very long.

Charlie flew carefully, maintaining a low speed while the gryphon calmed down, navigating back to his camp in the forest outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.

He was still in the air when he saw his mother, sitting on a wooden stool in front of his tent.

Charlie circled his camp a few more times, trying to decide what he should tell her about the gryphon.  If she had already looked inside his tent, it wouldn't matter much.  She was probably already going to be pretty cross with him.

Charlie flew lower and landed by his fire pit, trying not to make eye contact with his mum.  He got off his broom slowly, keeping the still-protesting gryphon cradled tightly against his chest, heading for his tent; walking past his mum without saying a word.

Molly didn't say anything either.  She got up slowly and followed him inside.

Charlie's tent was crowded.  He stepped over a pile of loose cords and a few cut pieces of rope he had left on the ground earlier that morning, heading for an empty cage in the corner.  Three mokes with bad rashes and peeling scales watched him from a different cage at the far end of the tent.  A golden snidget that couldn't fly sat perched on a lantern by the crate he used as a table, chirping at him.  There was a blind knarl he had rescued, too.  It was asleep in a cage by the crate, curled up in a nest Charlie had made for it out of leaves and tree roots.

Charlie knelt down slowly and untied the net.  The gryphon pecked at him a bit, but, thankfully, it didn't seem to be as upset with him anymore.  Charlie reached for a dead mouse he had left in a basket near the cage the mokes were in and fed it to the gryphon. 

While the cub ate the dead mouse, Charlie checked its injured wing, trying to be gentle.  Something was broken, that much was clear, but he didn't know what.  The end of the gryphon's wing turned down at a sharp angle.  As bad as it was, he was surprised the cub had been able to fly at all.

Charlie used another dead mouse to lure the gryphon into a cage lined with straw.  Once the gryphon was inside, he shut the door, filled a bowl with water from the pitcher he kept on his crate, reached inside the cage, and set the bowl on the ground.

His mum was still there, standing just inside the entrance of his tent, watching him.

"I'll release all of them before school starts, I swear," Charlie said, without turning to look at her.  "They just need some more time to heal.  I couldn't leave them all out there on their own."

"It's alright, Charlie," his mum said.  "I understand."

"You're not mad?" he asked.

"Mad?  No.  Just a bit surprised you've got so many animals out here is all.  I thought maybe you were just . . . Well . . . It doesn't matter now."

The gryphon chirped and tilted its head sideways.  Charlie reached inside the cage and stroked its head until he heard what sounded like purring.  He wondered if it was still hungry.

"Is that a gryphon?" his mum asked.

Charlie nodded.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's got a bad wing," Charlie said.  "I'm not sure what happened, but I think something's broken.  I think I'll have to set the wing and bandage it."

"Would you like help?"

"Maybe," Charlie said, reaching for the gryphon, "if I can realign the bones and hold the wing steady, can you use one of your bandaging charms?"

"Of course," his mum said, walking toward him.  "Be careful.  I imagine it's in pain."

She knelt down slowly and took out her wand as Charlie held the gryphon's wing, trying to be gentle; feeling his way along the bones until he felt one that was out of place. 

"Sorry," he told the gryphon, "this might hurt some."

Charlie went slow, trying to realign the misplaced bone.  The gryphon shrank back, hissing a bit and trying to get away from him, but he held it firm, manipulating the wing until all of the bones inside were back where they should be.

"Now!" Charlie said.

Molly raised her wand.  "Ferula!"

Charlie watched as bandages appeared, wrapping tightly around the creature's maimed wing.  He let go slowly, taking a step back, making sure the wing was set alright.

"That was good work," his mum said after a minute, leaning forward to inspect the wing herself.  "Things like this will be a lot easier when you can use magic outside of school."

The gryphon was still hissing a bit.  Charlie didn't blame it.  He walked back over to the basket, took out another dead mouse, and fed it to the cub, watching as it tore apart the offering and scarfed it down.

"Charlie," his mum said, standing up, "I know you've got a new pet to look after, but I think it's time we had a talk."

Charlie kept his eyes on the gryphon.  "About what?"

"I think you know what."

Charlie shook his head.  "I don't want to talk about the train."

"This isn't about what you want," his mum told him.  "Look at me."

Charlie turned around and leaned on the crate.  The snidget hopped over from the lantern.  Charlie scooped it up and held it carefully, petting its back while it nuzzled him.

"Your father and I have given you a lot of space this summer.  We haven't said anything when you've gone off everyday to do your own thing.  We wanted you to have time to think and grieve on your own, but you've still been so quiet.  We've started to worry more about you again."

"I'm fine, Mum."

"No, Charlie, you're not," Molly said, eyeing the stack of unopened letters that sat on the crate next to him.  "You're isolating yourself.  You haven't spent any time with your siblings since you got home, and it looks like you aren't even responding to your friends."

Charlie shrugged.  "I just want to be left alone."

"We've left you alone for almost two months."

"I'm fine, Mum, really."

"Charlie, you saw one of your friends die.  I know you're not fine."

"I didn't see him die.  He was already dead when we pulled him out of the mud.  I should have kept digging right after Maddison and I pulled out Tonks, but I didn't.  I stopped.  I stopped digging, and he died."

"Charlie, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," Charlie said, keeping his gaze down.  He was still petting the snidget.  "It still is.  Peter's dead, Mum.  Peter's dead and it's my fault."

Molly took a step closer to him, reaching for his shoulder, where the gryphon's talons had torn through his jumper and the skin beneath.  Charlie winced.

Molly took her wand back out, aimed it at him, and cast a healing charm.

Charlie's shoulder burned as his tender flesh and skin mended.

"I'll fix your jumper tonight," Molly told him, putting her wand away.  "Right now, I need to fix your perceptions of guilt and loss."

"No, Mum, really, I don't need you to-"

"Yes, you do, Charlie.  I want to help you.  I want to help you recover from what happened."

"I don't want to recover," Charlie said.  "I want Peter to be alive.  I wish none of us had ever got on that stupid train."

His mother let out a long breath, and leaned back against the crate next to him.  "Charlie, none of what happened on the train was your fault, or the fault of any of your friends.  Peter died because some demented sociopaths attacked all of you.  It was a horrible, horrible tragedy.  When I found out about what had happened, I was so worried.  I was so worried that I had lost you.  I was so, so glad to hear that you and Bill were alright."

Charlie stood there quietly, feeling a bit numb; keeping his eyes on the snidget.

"I know it's hard to believe, but there really wasn't anything more you could have done," his mum told him.  "Peter might have been dead before you and the girls even made it back to your compartment.  His death wasn't your fault."

"Maybe not," Charlie said, trying to keep his voice level as his throat tightened.  "But it still feels like it."

His mum let out another long breath.

"You know something," she said, shifting her gaze to the little bird in his hands.  "I don't talk about my brothers much.  You were so young when they died.  I was grieving, and I didn't want you or Bill to grow up scared of Death Eaters or what happened during the war."

Charlie looked at his mum.  He couldn't remember ever hearing her talk about her brothers.  He knew they had died.  He knew they had been captured and tortured by Death Eaters, after fighting for their lives.  He remembered the months when his mother had stayed in her room; when he had been able to hear her crying through the door.

Charlie set the bird back down on the top of the lantern, and wrapped his arm around his mum.

"Losing someone takes a part out of you, Charlie," his mother told him, wiping at her eyes.  "Even after time dulls the wounds, the pain sits inside your mind and reminds you it's there every time you think you're past it."

"It hurts," Charlie agreed.  "It hurts a lot.  I . . . I don't know what to do."

"Most of the time, neither do I," his mother confessed.  "I wish I could tell you that this is the last time you'll encounter death, or lose someone you care about, but you're a wizard, and our lives seem to be filled with struggle and loss.  I can tell you this though.  If you let the guilt of what happened to Peter build up inside of you, the weight of it will kill you, Charlie."

He nodded.  "I know."

It already felt like he was back on the train; like he was trapped and suffocating all over again.

"I just . . . I don't know how to stop it."

His mum gave him a sad smile.

"You have to learn how to forgive yourself," she said, reaching up and squeezing his hand; wrapping her other arm around him and holding him tight.  "Because, believe me, you'll never survive in our world if you don't."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Controversial Act Continues to Incite Violence.  Final Vote Placed on Hold.

The Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act has been a near constant source of discord and hostility ever since it was first brought before the Wizengamot two years ago, and has continued to instigate heated arguments and protests from both objectors and supporters alike.  Those who oppose the legislation have frequently spoken out about the ways in which the act has caused division, given muggle-borns reason to fear for the preservation of their autonomy, and encouraged violence, and, now, it seems they may finally have the Minister for Magic on their side.  Millicent Bagnold spoke before a crowd of more than two-hundred people this morning, stating that, due to the course of recent events, the final vote concerning whether or not to enact the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act will be placed on hold.

"This is not just about the protests, or even the sudden disappearance of Marcus Carrow, as concerning as that has been.  I am afraid I must now inform all of you that the rumors that have been circulating are true.  Last April, four muggle-borns were killed inside the Wizengamot dungeon, in a manner that has led Aurors to believe that the atrocity was committed by proponents of the act.  While I cannot yet promise justice for the families of those who were killed, I can stop providing our world with the kindling that has continued to stoke the fires of hate, and make arrangements to shelf this act until such a time when order has been restored."

Bagnold would not respond to any further questions regarding the Wizengamot dungeon murders; however, when asked about the ongoing investigation concerning the attack made on the Hogwarts Express, which resulted in the deaths of five students, and the death of Elara Bailey, who had affectionately been known as the trolley witch, the Minister for Magic had this to say,

"The Aurors are still hesitant to assign blame.  Ultimately, the side responsible for the attack does not matter.  It has become clear that this tragedy was just one more act of violence incited by the division that has once again arisen within our world.  Whether the mud was used as a symbol by those who are called by the derogatory term associated with it, or it was merely a means to an end for those who wished to cause harm, the children and Miss Bailey are still dead.  If we want this to stop, then we must be the ones to end it, and that starts with delaying our vote, and determining whether or not this act should have ever been given consideration at all."

When asked what measures will be taken to ensure the safety of the students, Bagnold assured her audience that Aurors will be on the train next week, to escort and protect the children as they return to Hogwarts.

As for whether or not Bagnold's decision to shelf the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act will put an end to the violence, it seems only time will tell.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

October 1986 - Between the Wars

Charlie sat at a round wooden table at the back of the Three Broomsticks, leaning over The Monster Book of Monsters.  His battered copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them sat on the empty chair next to him.  He had strengthened the worn out spine with an adhesive he had found in the apothecary in Ottery St. Catchpole over the summer, and used a binding charm on the rest once he had gotten back to Hogwarts, but a few of the pages still kept tearing and falling out.  He had wrapped some twine around it last night, in a bout of frustration, to make sure it stayed intact when he wasn't reading it.  So far, it seemed to be doing the trick.

Charlie sighed as he got to the end of the next paragraph.  The piece of parchment sitting in front of him was still blank.  He hadn't even taken his quill or his inkpot out of his satchel.  He should have started his essay about one hundred and six practical uses for the Oculus Potion when he had first sat down, but he had gotten distracted by a recipe for Dragon Tonic, and now he was reading everything he could about the Antipodean Opaleye.

He didn't even look up when Tonks walked over.

She picked up Fantastic Beasts, set it on the table, and sat down next to him.  "Hey, Charlie!  You haven't seen the others have you?  Eni and Maddison were supposed to meet me here to critique a presentation I've got to give for Muggle Studies on Wednesday."

Charlie kept his eyes on his textbook.  "Sure haven't."

He had avoided the others on purpose all morning, sneaking out of The Great Hall before they had all come in for breakfast.  It had been almost a week since he had said much of anything to any of them.  He really just wanted to be left alone.

Unfortunately, Tonks didn't seem to get the hint.

"Have you finished that essay for Snape yet?"

"No."

"What about that puzzle box project?  The one for Charms?  Did you figure it out yet?  I think Flitwick wanted us to-"

"I haven't started that either."

"Are you serious?  It's due Monday."

Charlie shrugged.  He really didn't care.

Tonks was quiet for a moment.  He could tell she was staring at him, waiting for a better response, but he still didn't look up.

"You know, Charlie, you could at least pretend to-"

"Tonks!"

She turned around, looking toward the front door.  Eni and Maddison had just come in, giggling about something and leaning on each other as they walked over.

Tonks smiled at them.  "About time!"

"Sorry!" Maddison said.  "We had an important stop to make."

She pulled her arm out from behind her back, dropping a paper bag overflowing with candy from Honeydukes on the table between them.

Tonks gave a laugh, reaching for a piece of taffy.  "Good thing, too!  I might not have forgiven you if you hadn't shown up with this offering."

Eni pulled out a chair.  "Hey, Charlie!  I didn't know you would be here.  Want to help us give Tonks some feedback on her presentation?  I imagine you'd be pretty good at it."

"Why would I be good at it?"

"Because of what your dad does."

Charlie kept his eyes on his textbook.  "I don't pay much attention when he talks about work."

"You must've picked up a few things," Maddison said, pulling up another chair.  "Doesn't your family have a telephone?  I know your dad has a car."

"He doesn't drive it much.  And I've never used the telephone."

"Well, what about-"

"Look, I'm busy.  Can't you all go do this someplace else?"

But they weren't listening anymore.

Eni had stood back up.  "I'm going to get some tea before we get started.  Anyone want anything?"

"I'll take some tea," Tonks said.  "Lavender, if they've got it."

"Me too, but I want peppermint," Maddison said.  "You can put them all on my tab."

Tonks took out her notes as Eni walked away.  "Right, let's see.  Can we start with the part I wrote about microwave ovens?  My dad's never used one, so he wasn't much help, but, based on what I've read, they sure seem like the closest thing to magic that muggles have devised-"

Tonks jumped as Charlie slammed his book closed.  It didn't like the rough treatment, and snapped at him.

Maddison said, "Charlie, for fuck's sake, what's wrong now?"

Charlie yanked his arm away from the book that was still trying to bite him.  "I'm just . . . I'm not in the mood."

He strapped the book closed, opened his satchel, and shoved it inside.

The book growled at him again.

"Right, yeah, you haven't been in the mood for much of anything since we got back," Maddison said.

Charlie didn't say anything.  He shoved his blank piece of parchment into his satchel, tearing it a bit in the process.

"You know, you act like you were the only one on that train," Maddison said, "but you weren't.  The rest of us were right there with you.  There wasn't anything more we could have done.  We never could have saved-"

"You don't know that," Charlie said.

"Charlie, stop.  You can't keep running off like this!  You should talk about what happened.  Ignoring all of us clearly isn't doing you any good-"

"Maddison, I mean it.  Just leave me alone."

Eni came back to the table then, with Aaron.  Charlie hadn't even seen him walk in.

Eni passed a mug to Tonks, who had gone quiet.  They were all staring at him.

"Look," he said, grabbing his satchel, "Peter is dead, and it's my fault.  There.  I talked about it."

"You're full of shit if you really think what happened to him was your fault.  If it was your fault, then it's my fault - it's Eni's fault and Tonks' fault, too."

"It's not any of your faults," Aaron said, handing one of the mugs he held to Maddison.

Charlie picked up Fantastic Beasts and pointed it at Aaron.  "Stay out of this!  You weren't even on the train."

"Charlie, stop," Eni said.  "He's just trying to help."

"No, he's right," Aaron said.  "I wasn't there."

He took a step toward Charlie.  "Do you know how I found out about what happened that day?  I was here, in Hogsmeade, when Hagrid and the others brought the bodies back.  I saw Peter, when Hagrid carried him past me, all limp and pale, and no one could tell me if you, or anyone else, had made it off that train alive."

Charlie's satchel brushed against the table, knocking Tonks' notes on the floor as he moved closer to Aaron, standing nose to nose with him.

"Do you think you could have done any better?"

"No."

"Do you think you could have saved Peter?"

"None of you could have saved Peter.  Even with magic, Eni almost got herself killed trying to keep all of you from-"

"You don't know anything about using magic, Aaron," Charlie said.  "We all know it.  Think it's time you stopped pretending."

Before Aaron could respond, Charlie shoved past him, and left the inn, slamming the front door behind him and walking back to the castle alone.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

November 1986 - Between the Wars

Barty Crouch Junior walked into the kitchen and turned slowly, facing a corner he didn't usually frequent.  It was the one on the far side of the room, where the calendar hung.  He stared at the dates; at the numbers that had been crossed out so carefully with red ink.  Another year had passed, and he hadn't even realized it; he hadn't even paid it any attention.  It had passed while he had been TRAPPED IN THIS USELESS BODY making toast, coffee, and taking cold showers alone in the dark.

That wasn't all.  Something else had changed.  Suddenly, he heard music.  He didn't remember going to the record player, but that didn't mean it hadn't been his hands that had taken the album, removed the vinyl from its sleeve, and adjusted the needle.  It only meant he had more blank spots in his head.  It was hard to record memories when you weren't the one creating them.

It had become so much easier NO to give in NO to his puppet master.

His body shifted suddenly, startling him.  He shuffled across the room until he was standing in his AH I SEE YOU REALIZED YOUR MISTAKE usual corner.

That was alright, because this was all fine.  And he was NO NO I'M NOT happy.

He felt his father inside of his head again; poking around and looking out through his opaque eyes, controlling when he moved, and implanting thoughts that weren't his own.  When the old man wanted to - when he pushed hard enough - he could send Barty to a dark corner of his mind, where there wasn't any sight or sound; where he was completely detached from the rest of his body and what remained of his consciousness flickered like a dying flame.

NO

FIGHT IT

MAKE IT STOP

Thankfully, the darkness THAT'S IT FIGHT IT HE'S NOT PAYING ATTENTION HE ALREADY MESSED UP AND LEFT ME IN THE WRONG CORNER didn't come.  Not yet.  He felt for the corners of his mind THAT'S IT COME ON and found YES KEEP AT IT a place where the edges of the curse had started to DON'T LOSE IT KEEP HOLD OF IT THIS TIME fray and KEEP HOLD OF IT unravel.

COME ON

DO IT

DO IT THIS TIME

MOVE

JUST MOVE

Barty gasped as his index finger twitched.

He wanted to cheer.

Another moment, and he made it happen again.

THAT'S IT COME ON HE DOESN'T KNOW HE HASN'T NOTICED DON'T LET HIM -

Barty went cold as his father's voice echoed through his mind.  "Oh, my boy.  You know better.  You really shouldn't misbehave."

Just like that, the room around him went dark.

Something deep inside of Barty came apart, screaming as he was sent to the farthest corner of his mind, where there wasn't any music or memories to forget or dates crossed out on the wall - where he wasn't even sure if he was alive or dead.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

November 1986 - Between the Wars

Aaron sat across a table from Tonks in the back corner of the library, leaning over her copy of Ancient Runes Made Easy, trying his best to keep his eyes on the next paragraph.  It was a lot harder than it should have been.  At this rate, he wouldn't be able to focus on his homework for much longer.  He had stayed in the kitchen too late last night, helping Lara with inventory, and now he was tired.

Tonks shot Aaron a look as Madam Pince walked out from between the bookshelves on the other side of the room.  Pince had pulled her to the side last week and had a long talk with her after she had laughed too loud at something Eni had said.  They had all been a lot more wary of her after that.

Aaron turned down the volume on his Walkman, making sure the music no longer drifted past his headphones.  Pince stared at them for a moment, but she kept walking.

Tonks sighed.  "It's not fair.  It's been three hours.  We should have just taken Care of Magical Creatures or something that wouldn't have gotten us stuck in the bloody library every Saturday."

Aaron pressed stop and took off his headphones, stifling a yawn.  "I don't think taking Kettleburn's class would have saved us.  I saw Charlie come in here about an hour ago.  He's been reading over there behind you."

Tonks turned around.  "I bet he isn't even doing homework.  He's probably just researching more about dragons for the hell of it.  That's all he ever does now."

Aaron didn't say anything.  Despite the fact that they shared a dorm room, and slept less than twenty feet away from each other, Charlie had still been doing his best to ignore him.  Aaron had decided that was just fine with him.  He didn't want to admit it, to himself or anyone else, but what Charlie had said at the Three Broomsticks still hurt.

Aaron looked back at his parchment and put his headphones back on, turning up the volume again.

He got three translations further into the assignment before Maddison snuck up behind him and pulled them off his head.

"Did you bring it?"

"It's in my bag," Aaron told her.

Maddison looked around to make sure no one was watching, took the bottle of firewhisky out of Aaron's satchel, and slipped it into her own.

"Eleven o'clock in the Slytherin common room, if you both still want to come," she said.

"I'll be there for sure," Tonks said.  "Is the password still nightshade?"

Maddison nodded.

"I can't anymore," Aaron told her.  "I have to work."

"Again?  What have they got you doing now?" Maddison asked.

"Something with Hagrid."

"You can't stop by after?"

Aaron shrugged.  "I really don't know how long it will take."

He stood up and handed his parchment to Tonks.  "Here's the first part.  Well, most of it.  I'll try to finish up the last bit tomorrow."

"I'll get the second half done after dinner and swap you back," Tonks said.  "Where are you going?"

"To do something I'll probably regret," Aaron said.

He grabbed his satchel, and walked over to Charlie before he could talk himself out of it.

Charlie didn't look up.

Aaron pulled out one of the empty chairs across from him and sat down. 

"What do you want?" Charlie asked.

His eyes were still on his book.

"There's a dragon in the forest," Aaron told him.  

"What's that word you and Maddison like to use?  Oh yeah.  Bollocks."

Aaron shrugged.  "Hagrid's the one who wanted me to tell you.  Go ask him about it."

Charlie looked up.  "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Aaron said. 

"There's really a dragon in the forest?"

"Yes."

Charlie still looked skeptical.  "Even if there was, why would Hagrid tell you?"

"Because I've got to go out there tonight to help him and Kettleburn with it, but you actually care about dragons, so he decided you should be there, too."

Charlie didn't say anything.

"Look, if you want to go, but you don't want me there, that's fine.  I get it.  Meet Hagrid at the edge of the forest at sundown.  Just tell me if you go so I don't show up, too, alright?   Pass the word to me through Donaghan or whoever it is you still talk to."

"I don't talk to Donaghan much anymore either," Charlie said.  "What are they doing with the dragon?"

"Hagrid wouldn't tell me much, but it didn't sound like anything good.  The dragon is old.  I think it's dying."

"They really want help?"

"Yes, and it should be you, not me."

"Are you saying you don't want to see a dragon?"

"Not as much as you do.  You're the one who wants to study them."

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck.  "You know, you don't have to stay behind, if I go."

Aaron leaned closer to him.  "Are you really sure you can stand to look at my ugly, non-magical face all night?"

Charlie shut his book.  "Sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did at the Three Broomsticks."

"No, you shouldn't have," Aaron said.

"I want to see the dragon.  I can help Kettleburn and Hagrid, too, if you don't mind me going with you."

"Right then," Aaron said.  He stood up and pushed in the chair.  "Bring a lantern."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

November 1986 - Between the Wars

The sky above the Black Lake was already filled with vibrant streaks of lavender and crimson when Charlie left the castle, grabbing a lantern from the supply closet in the Gryffindor common room and heading outside, keeping to the shadows as he took the well-trodden path that led down the hill to Hagrid's hut.  Somewhere along the way, he realized he was shivering.  It was cold, and the wind had started to pick up.  He really wished he had thought to borrow Bill's heavy coat.

Hagrid's hut was dark.  Charlie walked past the garden and headed for the forest.  He saw Hagrid a moment later, standing at the edge of the trees, holding a crossbow and a lantern of his own.  Aaron stood next to him, with a weighed-down pack and a canvas roll slung over his shoulder, not quite meeting Charlie's gaze.

Before Charlie could get any closer, Fang barked and ran up to him, jumping on his shoulders and knocking him down, licking his face and sniffing at his pockets with relentless enthusiasm. 

Charlie smiled.  "Whoa, easy, mate!  I haven't even got anything in there for you this time!"

He tried to stand up, but Fang was too heavy.

Thankfully, Hagrid gave a shrill whistle.  Fang looked up, bounding back over to him and leaving Charlie on the ground.

"Sorry abou' tha', Charlie!  He's still got a lot ter learn."

Charlie got to his feet, using the sleeve of his jumper to wipe some of the drool off his face.  "It's fine, Hagrid!  He's just excited."

Hagrid grunted.  "It was fine a few months ago, when he was a 'undred pounds lighter.  Now, it's jus' bad manners."

He glared at Fang, who lowered his head and tucked his tail.

Charlie picked up the lantern and re-adjusted his satchel as Hagrid waved him over.

"Come on.  We should prob'ly get goin' before old Professor Kettleburn starts ter worry."

"Is there really a dragon in the forest?" Charlie asked Hagrid, trying to hide his excitement.

"O' course there is!  I would never lie ter yeh about somethin' like tha'!  I really wanted yeh ter see it up close, too, since yeh wan' ter study 'em an' all.  But, err . . . "

Hagrid hesitated.

"Well, the truth is, yeh should know tha' tonight isn' just fer tha'.  The dragon is old, an' it's dying.  Have yeh ever heard about wha' happens ter a dragon when it dies?  About wha' we have ter do?"

Charlie thought about the books he had read, about dragons and the poachers who went after them, hunting them down and killing them for a profit.  Dragon blood, in particular, was expensive, and was always in high demand.  But he knew illegal poaching wasn't the only way to obtain it.

"We have to-"  Charlie stopped.  He didn't like the word, but he made himself say it.  "We have to harvest it."

Hagrid nodded, looking solemn.  "Tha's righ'.  We're goin' ter stay with the dragon until it dies, then we'll collect its blood, along with everything else."

He glanced at Aaron, then looked back at Charlie.  "Both o' yeh are old enough ter know where heartstrings come from.  Yeh aren' first years anymore.  I think yeh can handle wha' we have ter do tonight.  But, I'll warn yeh, it's goin' to be messy.  Real messy.  Dragons are beautiful creatures, but watching one die is hard, an' cutting it open afterwards is worse.  If yeh don' wan' ter do this, I understand.  But Kettleburn an' I could really use the help."

Charlie didn't say anything.  Suddenly, he felt nervous.

"It won' be pretty," Hagrid said, still watching him, "but it has ter be done."

"Then I'll do it," Charlie said.

"This is the righ' way ter get dragon blood, yeh know.  Doing things like this helps discourage poaching."

"I know.  I read about it.  I understand."

"Reading about it an' doin' it are two different things."

Hagrid looked back at Aaron.  "I won' tell anyone if yeh wan' ter bail."

"No," Aaron said, adjusting the pack he held, "I'm still going."

"Alright then, stay close," Hagrid told them, raising his lantern and heading into the trees.  "Yeh've prob'ly both heard some bad things about the forest.  Some o' 'em are true, but nothin' will hurt yeh, not if yeh're with me an' Fang."

Charlie and Aaron followed Hagrid.  It didn't take long for them to lose what was left of the daylight.

"I can carry that roll of canvas, if you want," Charlie said, looking over at Aaron.

Aaron kept his eyes on the ground.  "It's fine.  Just hold the lantern."

Hagrid turned around.  "I told yeh two ter stay close!  Catch up, now, before yeh get lost!"

Charlie walked faster, trying to keep the light from the lantern steady as they made their way along an overgrown trail, climbing over rock ledges and fallen trees.

"Hagrid," he said, after they had gone a bit farther, "how old is the dragon?"

"Don' quite know, ter be honest.  Kettleburn thinks it's around twelve 'undred an' fifty years old, based on its condition.  The on'y other clue we've got is tha' it is actually in the forest at all.  Dragons haven' lived anywhere near Hogwarts for centuries, but, when they die o' old age, they usually return ter where they were born.  There were some records we found in the library, an' a few notes about a Welsh Green who laid a clutch o' eggs back in here about thirteen 'undred years ago.  It might be from tha' litter, but we still don' know for sure."

Charlie watched his step as they left the trail, following Hagrid while he pushed his way through the undergrowth.  The terrain had changed, sloping uphill at a sharp angle.  Every so often, Fang's head shot up at the noises that came from the trees, but they kept moving.  If something was following them, Charlie never saw it.

It took almost an hour for them to get through the forest, to a clearing where Professor Kettleburn stood, waiting by a campfire.

Charlie saw the dragon as soon as they stepped out of the trees.  He stopped where he was, staring.  It was a Welsh Green, though its coloring was faded and its features were pallid.  It looked exhausted, lying there on its stomach with its wings folded against its body.  Its head rested on the ground, cradled by a bed of straw.

Professor Kettleburn left the pot he had been tending over the fire and waved at them, beckoning to Hagrid a bit awkwardly.  Kettleburn had lost part of his left arm - and one of his legs - to some animal years before Charlie had ever met him; long before he had ever taken up teaching.  His prosthetic arm was visible now, sticking out from the end of his coat sleeve at an odd angle.

Charlie turned his attention back to the dragon, moving slowly as he walked closer.  It raised its head, watching him carefully.  Its breathing, he noticed, was slow and labored.  Scars and wrinkled hide covered most of its face.  More scars were scattered across its neck and wings; long gashes and irregular-shaped gouges where the hide was worn thin.

Charlie wondered how many times it had fought other dragons, or escaped from hunters.  It was old enough that it had probably done both on many occasions.

It took another moment for Charlie to realize that the dragon had about half the scales it should have, based on what he had seen in some of his textbooks.  But, then again, he had never seen any pictures of a dragon this old.

Do they lose their scales permanently as they age?  Or do they -

Charlie looked up as Aaron waved a hand in front of his face.

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted supper," Aaron said, standing there with two bowls of what smelled like beef stew.

"Oh, right, thanks," Charlie said.

He took one of the bowls and raised the spoon that came with it, trying not to burn his mouth as he took a few bites.

The dragon moved suddenly, exhaling hard.  Some sort of vapor came out of its nostrils.  Aaron jumped back, almost dropping his supper in his hurry to get out of the way.

"Easy, lad!  It's alright!" Kettleburn said as he walked up to them, with his prosthetic leg thumping on the ground.  "She can't breathe fire!  Not anymore.  She's far too old for that!"

Aaron still kept his distance, watching the dragon warily over the top of his bowl.

"She . . . she's too old to breathe fire?" Charlie asked.  He had never come across anything like that in his reading.

Kettleburn nodded.  "That's right."

"Is that . . . common?"

"Based on some of the research I've done, the Welsh Green loses its ability to breathe fire around the age of eleven hundred or so, though I imagine this lady here was still a fierce fighter, that is, at least until the last few years, when time must have finally started to get the better of her."

Charlie watched as Kettleburn walked closer to the dragon, trying to get her to drink from a bucket of water, but she just turned away, resting her head back down on the bed of straw.

"It's no use, I'm afraid.  She stopped eating three days ago," Kettleburn told him.

Charlie took off his satchel and set it on the ground with the lantern.  "What can we do?"

"Keep her comfortable.  I would give her some Draught of Peace, but, based on her size, she would need a lot more than what I've got on hand, or what I can get from Madam Pomfrey.  Here, come take a look at this."

Charlie walked up to the dragon as Kettleburn reached for its side, grabbing gently at one of its scales.  It didn't take much pressure for him to pry it loose.

"What do you think of this?" Kettleburn asked, handing the scale to Charlie.

Charlie studied it in the firelight.  The scale was bigger than his hand, hard as rock, and seemed to be made of some sort of transparent layers, like mica or gypsum.  

"She's shedding them," he said.

Kettleburn nodded.  "Many species of dragons molt and grow new scales beneath their old ones as the seasons change, but, here, see this?"

Charlie leaned closer, studying the rough patterns of wear on the dragon's hide, and said what he had already started to suspect.  "There aren't any new scales coming in."

"That's right," Kettleburn said.  "It seems as though she has been losing them for years, without growing more.  But, here in the last few days, she has shed a great deal of her remaining scales.  It's a phenomenon I've never witnessed before.  I believe it has to do, not only with her advanced age, but with her close proximity to death."

The dragon shifted again, moving with obvious effort.  She looked so tired.

"How much time does she have left?" Charlie asked.

"I'm not sure, but it won't be long now.  Although, waiting for her to pass could take most of the night.  I told Hagrid we can sleep in shifts.  Whoever is awake can alert the others when the time comes."

Charlie pocketed the scale and glanced over at the fire, where Aaron now stood with Hagrid, who had given him his crossbow.  Hagrid stood behind Aaron, showing him how to load the crossbow and hold it steady, with his shoulder back and his arms level.  Charlie watched Aaron shoot a few arrows into the trees, then he looked back at the dragon.

When he got brave enough, he reached out slowly, and rubbed her head.  She closed her eyes and pushed her massive snout against his chest, nuzzling him for a moment; releasing another breath that smelled like sulfur.

Charlie knew then that he wouldn't be able to sleep that night.

"Will she . . . be in pain?"

"I expect her to go peacefully," Kettleburn told him.  "If all goes well, she should fall asleep, and never wake up.  We will have to work quickly once she passes though.  Her blood will start to solidify within the first fifteen minutes, and that's the thing we need the most.  We can deal with the rest later, but we'll have to drain her blood and get to her heartstrings right away."

Charlie's eyes were still on the dragon.  He tried not to think about what they would have to do to drain her blood that fast, or how they were going to get to her heartstrings.  He had already seen the knife handles poking out of the canvas roll Aaron had carried as they had made their way through the forest.  This wasn't going to be pleasant, but, if he wanted to study dragons, he had to do it.  This was no time to be afraid.

Kettleburn said something to Hagrid and walked back toward the fire.  Charlie grabbed his satchel and took out his sketchbook, his quill, and his inkpot.  He sat down in the fallen leaves and the dirt and started to draw, carefully studying each feature of the dragon as her eyes closed.  He made sure to capture the way her hide wrinkled around her mouth - the way her horns were worn smooth and a mass of scars tangled their way down her neck.  He drew the curve of her back, the folds of her wings, and each of her remaining scales, noticing that she seemed to have lost the most along her spine and across her shoulders.

For awhile, there was nothing else, except him and the dragon.

His hands were cold and cramping when Aaron sat down next to him, holding Hagrid's crossbow.

Charlie looked up, realizing he was hungry again.  "Is there anymore stew?"

"Kettleburn put the stew away about an hour ago," Aaron told him.  "He's asleep now.  So's Hagrid."

"What?"

Charlie put down his sketchbook and turned around, a bit confused.  Sure enough, the campfire flames were low, the pot was gone, and Kettleburn was asleep on his bedroll.  Hagrid was slumped against a nearby tree, snoring loudly with his mouth open.  Fang was curled up in his lap.

Charlie rubbed his eyes and shoved the cork back into his inkpot.  "Oh.  I, err, didn't realize how late it was."

"I figured," Aaron said, glancing at his drawing.  "You were really into the dragon."

"I'm just glad you told me about her."

"It was Hagrid's idea, not mine."

Charlie opened his satchel.  He put away his inkpot and quill and made sure the drawing was dry - that it wouldn't smear - before he closed his sketchbook.

The dragon shifted in her sleep, but her eyes stayed closed.

Charlie looked over at Aaron, supposing now was as good a time as any.  "I'm sorry, for what I said at the Three Broomsticks.  You didn't deserve that."

Aaron shrugged.  "You were right.  I wasn't on the train.  I'll never understand what you and the others went through."

"I meant the other thing I said."

"You were right about that, too."

Charlie shook his head.  "No, I've been a right tosser.  You lot keep trying to help me not feel like rubbish over Peter's death, and I've done nothing but shove you all away."

"Yeah, you've got to stop doing that.  And thinking that what happened was your fault."

Charlie was quiet for a moment.

"Aaron, I . . . I forgot Peter was there.  I was so worried about Tonks that I just . . . I stopped digging.  He was buried in all that mud and he couldn't breathe and I stopped digging."

"Maddison stopped digging, too.  You were all just trying to survive.  You've got to stop blaming yourself."

Charlie kept his eyes on the dragon.  "I . . . I can't.  Not yet."

He realized then how cold he was.  The temperature had dropped again, and the air had a deep chill.  He leaned over and rubbed his hands together, wishing he had brought a pair of gloves.

Aaron stood up.  He walked over to the fire pit and grabbed two blankets from a pile of unused bedrolls, shaking them out a bit as he walked back over to Charlie.

"Here," Charlie said, taking out his wand, "let me see those."

Aaron held up the blankets.

Charlie aimed his wand and said, "Focillo."

The air around them got warmer as the blankets began to radiate heat.  Charlie took one and wrapped it around his shoulders.  Aaron sat down next to him and did the same with the other one.

"I wasn't there when Peter died," Aaron said, after a moment, "but I've blamed myself for things before.  It's . . . it's not healthy."

Charlie looked over at him.  "What have you blamed yourself for?"

"Doesn't matter."

"If it's for not being able to use magic, you're right, that's not healthy, and you should stop."

Aaron shook his head.  "It's not that.  It's . . . "

His breath fogged in the air between them.  It took him another moment to say, "I . . . I don't like what my life was like, before your dad came and got me."

Charlie moved closer, studying him in the dim light.  Aaron had never talked about anything like this before.

"Was it . . . bad?"

Aaron was quiet.

His voice shook a bit when he said, "It was . . . hard.  I . . . I've never had a family like you.  My mother . . . whoever she was . . . she had mental problems.  She gave me up."

"Mental problems?"

Aaron nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground.  "She couldn't take care of me, so I was placed with different foster parents and moved around a lot.  I've lost track of how many people I've lived with, and how many places I've stayed.  I never knew where I was going to end up next, or when I would have to leave somewhere I liked."

"And you . . . blamed yourself for that?"

Aaron nodded again, looking uncomfortable.

Charlie put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "That's not right.  You never should've had to live that way."

Aaron shrugged.  "I didn't have much of a choice.  And I kept thinking it was my fault, that no one wanted me.  I just . . . I blamed myself every time I got moved.  I decided there was something wrong with me - that there had to be something wrong with me.  I used to get so upset about it that I would make myself sick."

He shoved his hair out of his face and looked up at Charlie.  "I don't know.  I know it's not like what happened on the train.  I just . . . I've blamed myself for things before, I think I still do, and it just makes everything worse.  I wish I could have told myself to stop doing it, that I could make myself stop doing it now, so I guess that's why I'm telling you.  Blaming yourself for things all the time . . . it's not good."

"I'll try to stop," Charlie said.  "I just . . . I don't know what else to do."

"You can talk to me and the others, if that helps.  Or, I don't know, go beat the hell out of some bludgers."

Charlie looked back at the dragon, watching the subtle rise and fall of her body.  Each of her breaths seemed so drawn out.

"I miss Peter," he said.  "I feel like I didn't even get a chance to get to know him very well, but I still miss him.  He was one of us, you know?  It's not fair."

"No.  It's not."

"It doesn't feel right.  It doesn't feel right that we made it off that train and he didn't."

"I know.  I was so glad the rest of you were okay, but I . . . it still feels wrong."

Charlie looked back at Aaron.  "Want to know something else?"

"What?"

"I'm useless without magic."

"I doubt that."

"No, I really am.  When we were trapped in that train car and I didn't have my wand, I couldn't get us out of there.  It was Eni who saved us.  I don't think I really understood it until then, how hard it's got to be for you not to be able to use magic when the rest of us can."

Aaron smiled, adjusting his blanket and moving closer.  

"It's total shit, right?"

Charlie laughed.  It felt good.

It felt so good to laugh again.

The soft glow of daylight came through the trees several hours later, casting long shadows across the clearing as the sun began to rise.

Charlie pressed his hand against the dragon's neck, listening while her breathing continued to slow.  It had been a long time since she had moved.  If Kettleburn was right, it wouldn't be long now.

He looked over at Aaron - who was wrapped up in his blanket, asleep against the dragon - and nudged him, trying to be gentle.

Aaron stirred slowly.  "Sorry . . . I . . . is it time?"

"I think it will be soon," Charlie said.

Aaron pushed off his blanket and stood up, stretching a bit and rubbing at his eyes.  "Alright.  I'll wake up Kettleburn and Hagrid."

Charlie kept his hand on the dragon, unsure if she could even feel anything anymore.  Her breathing was so slow.

He was still holding onto her when Kettleburn walked up behind him, reaching for the dragon's head and studying her in the early morning light.

A few more minutes passed before the dragon opened her mouth and pushed out a long breath.  Then, her body went still.

Charlie was afraid to ask.  "Is she . . . ?"

Kettleburn checked her, and nodded at him.  "She's gone."

Charlie was sad.  He didn't want to let go of her, but Hagrid was already walking toward them, holding a knife.  He backed away as Hagrid leaned over the dragon, lifted her head, and pulled the knife across her throat.

Kettleburn had a wide-mouthed bottle ready.  The dragon's blood poured into the vessel; a thick green liquid that was so dark it looked black.  It should have filled the bottle fast, but some type of space magic seemed to have been used to keep that from happening.

Kettleburn motioned for Aaron to take over.  Aaron grabbed the bottle and balanced it on the ground beneath the dragon's head.  Some of the blood missed its target in the transfer, running over the side and down Aaron's arms, soaking through the sleeves of his coat.

Kettleburn took a knife from the canvas roll and moved the dragon's right wing away from her body.  When her abdomen was exposed, he grabbed another knife, and held it out toward Charlie. 

"Here.  Take this.  This is the part where I really need your help.  We are going to cut through the dragon's hide and break through her rib cage, into her chest cavity.  The hide is tough, but I've enchanted the knives with a few tearing charms to make it easier."

Charlie took the knife by the handle, holding it carefully.  It was heavier than he had expected it to be.

"I . . . I'm not sure I know how to-"

"It's alright.  Cut parallel to my incisions, and you'll be fine.  You might want to take off your jumper though.  This is going to get messy."

Charlie pulled his jumper over his head, tossed it on top of his blanket, and held the knife tight, watching as Kettleburn drove his knife into the dragon's side with a forceful blow, and pulled down at a sharp angle, digging into her flesh.  Charlie took a deep breath, and did the same thing, grimacing a bit as his knife tore into the dragon.  Even with the enchantments, it still took a lot of work.  His fingers and arms were quickly covered with blood.

Charlie kept going, ignoring the heavy smells of iron and copper, cutting through muscles and tendons, trying to mirror Kettleburn's more practiced motions.  It wasn't easy.  More blood ran down the dragon's side, seeping through his shirt and dripping onto his shoes.

He was worried, when they got to the ribcage, but Kettleburn used some type of spell to tear right through it.  Charlie winced at the sound of breaking bones.  He really didn't like this, but he couldn't stop now.  This was too important.

Once they were past the ribs, Kettleburn showed him how to get to the heart, cutting through the thin layers of tissue that separated it from the dragon's lungs and the rest of her organs.

"We'll have to cut her heart out to get to the chordae tendineae - the heartstrings," Kettleburn told him, slicing through something else.  "They are the tendons that link the muscles of the heart to the valves of the ventricles."

He looked over at Charlie.  "Are you okay, lad?"

Charlie nodded.

"Alright.  Then we'll keep going."

Working together, Charlie and Kettleburn removed the heart, tearing through veins, ligaments, and arteries.  When it finally came free, Kettleburn used a levitation charm to hold it steady in the air between them.  He guided Charlie's hand to the first heartstring, and showed him where to cut.  It was hard, like tearing through rope.  Charlie was careful as he removed the first heartstring, lifting it slowly and placing it on a piece of canvas Kettleburn had waiting.  They cut out the rest as Hagrid and Aaron filled three more bottles with blood.

Kettleburn set down his knife, leaving the heart floating in the air while he tore off more thin strips of canvas, wrapping them around the heartstrings.

"So many of the things we use come from these animals," he said, keeping his eyes on his work.  "Few witches and wizards ever realize what it takes to make the things they use every day.  They don't realize how many animals die for our sake.  They go buy their pre-bottled potion ingredients and their heartstring-cored wands right off the shelf and never even realize what it took to get them there.  Most would rather not think about it.  As you know now, it's gruesome work, and it's not easy."

He looked back at Charlie.  "It means so much that you were here."

They worked for awhile longer, taking more pieces from the heart, until there was nothing left.

When it was all over, Kettleburn put the knives away and stood up, casting a few charms to clean up their clothes and the rest of the mess before something in the woods smelled blood and got hungry.

Hagrid cut off a smaller piece of the dragon's flesh, and fed it to Fang.

"I'm really proud o' yeh, Charlie," he said, placing a massive hand on his shoulder.  "Yeh did well.  Seeing the way yeh were with her today, well, I know yeh're goin' ter do great work with dragons."

"Thanks, Hagrid."

"Kettleburn and I can finish up here," Hagrid said, looking at him and Aaron.  "Why don' yeh both head back to the castle?  Bet yeh could use some showers and a good breakfast."

Charlie stood up, using what was left of the bucket of water to wash off his hands before reaching for his satchel.

"Take Fang with yeh, too, in case you run into any trouble, but, if yeh go ou' the same way we came in, yeh should be fine."

Charlie picked up the lantern, and followed Aaron into the trees, walking slowly with Fang at his heels.  He took one last look at the dragon as they left the clearing, staring at its mutilated body - at the canvas rolls and the knives and the dripping bottles of blood.  Kettleburn was right, it hadn't been easy.  Not any of it.  He was sore now, and tired; overcome with all of the emotions of what they had just done, but, somehow, he felt better than he had in a long time.  He knew then, as he and Aaron made their way deeper into the forest, that he would never forget that night.

He would never forget his first dragon.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

March 1987 - Between the Wars

The noise could have been anything.  Passersby on the next street had probably heard it; a sudden crack that had echoed down the alleyway, reverberating off the brick walls and the pavement, but none of them seemed to have given it a second thought.  It had probably just been a car backfiring, or someone tossing out a bit of old furniture.  None of the people who walked by stopped long enough to find out, or to look long enough to give the alleyway anything more than a passing glance.  They would never look close enough to learn the truth - that things are not always what they seem.

The young woman who had appeared out of nowhere leaned back against one of the brick walls that bordered the alleyway, watching cars drive past on the nearby street, their headlights reflecting in the distant shop windows.  A second crack split the air a moment later.  The young woman looked back down the alleyway as a man with similar features joined her, stepping out of thin air and waving at her, beckoning to her silently; telling her to follow him.

They left the alleyway together, dodging past people as they made their way to the Underground.

A simple charm got them past the turnstiles without paying.  They took the stairs down and walked out onto the northbound platform as the next train arrived.  When it came to a stop, they stepped over the gap between the platform and the nearest car, got on board, and found a place to stand, away from the doors.

The young woman held onto the bar above her head, leaning with the train as it pulled away from the station.  "Two stops, Cass?"

"Three."

"Three?"

"Kennington is closer, Jules."

"Shit," she said, watching as the train headed into the darkness of the tunnel ahead.  "We should have left sooner."

She held on as the train picked up speed, riding with her companion in silence until they got to Kennington Station.  As soon as the doors slid open, they stepped out, walked through the crowd of people who were gathered on the platform, and took the stairs up to the street.

They walked for a moment before Cassio took her arm, pulling her suddenly in a different direction.

"This way," he told her. "I've already checked the addresses.  Number seventeen oh eight is just ahead."

Juliet let him guide her, matching her pace with his slow, deliberate steps.  Her brother was nothing if not methodical.

And, usually, right.  This time was no exception.  She could see the building they were looking for now; a stack of flats that stood on the next corner, across from a brightly lit convenience store with a faded sign.

The building was old and there wasn't a lift.  They took the stairs up to the fourth floor.

Cassio got there first, walking slowly down the dimly lit hallway. 

"Four oh five should be at the end," he told her.

Once again, he was right.  Juliet stepped in front of him, reaching for the door and knocking twice.

There was no answer.

She knocked again.  "Mister Daven?  Are you in there?"

She heard movement then, and muffled voices, coming from the other side of the door. 

" . . . weren't supposed to be here . . . he was supposed to warn us if they . . . "

"I know.  It doesn't matter.  Quick!  Bring him in here . . . before they . . . "

Something heavy hit the floor inside the flat with a loud thud.  

Juliet swore.  She raised her wand and cast Alohomora, but the door wouldn't budge.

"There's a ward," Cassio told her. "We can break it if we-"

Juliet didn't listen to the rest.  There wasn't time.  They might already be too late.

She faced the door of the adjacent flat - Number 406 - and cast Alohomora again.  This time, it worked.

Juliet shoved the door open and ran inside.  A woman standing in the living room screamed.

Juliet hit her with a stunning spell and lunged forward, catching her body before it hit the floor.  She laid the now unconscious woman carefully on a sofa and turned toward the wall behind her - the one that looked like it separated the two flats.  Then, she raised her wand, and cast Confringo.

The wall exploded.  Broken pieces of brick and mortar fell around her as she stepped through the opening she had made.

It was dark.  Juliet ignited the end of her wand, and saw everything.

A man was lying on the floor in the next room, choking and holding his neck.  A crudely cut M dripped from his forehead.  Blood covered his clothes.

The front of his throat had been torn wide open.

Juliet ran toward him, dropping to her knees and reaching for his neck, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

"Mister Daven?!  Can you hear me?!  Mister Daven?!  Who did this?!"

But it was useless.  His eyes weren't responding.  All he did was choke.

Juliet swore and screamed for her brother.

The man was dying; going limp and bleeding out on the floor, but she still had to know who had done this.

She kept one hand pressed against his throat, and used her other one to reach for his head.  His blood ran between her fingers as she closed her eyes, and pulled herself into his consciousness.

Fading light encroached on her as she pried at the edges of the dying man's thoughts, a sign that his mind was losing oxygen.  She didn't have much time.  If the darkness caught her while she was in his head, it would pull her into death with him.

Juliet reached for the man's most recent memories.  The first thing she saw was a countertop and a tea kettle cooling on a stove.  Albert Daven had been standing in his kitchen when his assailants had come for him.

Juliet watched as the mug he had held fell out of his hands, shattering on the tile floor beneath him as two dark figures grabbed him from behind.  She strained, trying to make out their features, but she couldn't see anything past the darkness that was still closing in around her.  She heard voices - the same ones she had heard from the other side of the door.  The words spoken by the figures in black distorted as the darkness pulled at her, trying to work its way into her mind.

Juliet gasped.

She was out of time.

She opened her eyes and took her hand off Albert Daven's forehead.  Blood still ran from his neck, thick and dark and heavy, but he was no longer choking.

She knew then that he was dead.

Juliet looked up as a cast spell came hurtling toward her.  She raised her wand as Cassio lunged between her and the windows at the far end of the room, casting a shield to block the incoming attack that came from somewhere outside.  The impact shook his shield as Juliet got to her feet, throwing up her own shield and running across the room, diving through an open window and tumbling out onto a fire escape.

Two cloaked figures wearing red masks hurried up the ladder above her, firing more spells at her head.

Juliet disapparated to get ahead of them, but the cloaked figures had the same idea.  She appeared on the next landing right as they vanished.

Juliet listened to the roar of the city below her, until two loud cracks came from across the street.  The cloaked figures appeared on the roof of the next building, running through the shadows and sending another round of spells in her direction.

Juliet disapparated -

- and appeared in front of them.  She raised her wand and cast Stupefy as they disappeared again, this time appearing down on the street.

Juliet disapparated and appeared on the pavement near the entrance to the alleyway, running after them and shoving past people who looked like they were on their way home from work - people who had probably seen her appear from nowhere.

shit

Juliet ran faster, almost catching up to the killers now.  When they apparated again, she was ready, and got ahead of them, but she miscalculated the distance, and appeared in the middle of the street.  A car braked fast, honking loudly and almost hitting her.  Juliet tripped and fell forward, scraping her blood-covered palms on the asphalt.  More cars honked.  Someone yelled at her to get the fuck out of the road.

Juliet got to her feet and ran, looking around wildly for the figures in black.

god fucking damn it

where are they

She listened for another series of cracks, but it was impossible to hear anything over the sounds of the traffic.  She kept going anyway, breathing hard as she ran.

shit

no

no no no

She turned around fast and ran back down the street, looking desperately for the cloaked figures.

But they were gone.  She had lost them.

Juliet ducked behind a lorry that was parked on the next corner and disapparated.

She appeared back in Albert Daven's flat and reached for a cushioned chair, trying to steady herself as she caught her breath.

Cassio stood in the shadows above the dead man's body, holding his wand.  "Did you catch up to them?  Whoever it was who did this?"

Juliet shook her head.  "No, they . . . I lost them.  I fucking lost them."

"What about him?" Cassio asked, nudging Albert Daven's leg with the toe of his boot.  "Did you get in his head before he . . . expired?"

Juliet nodded.

Cassio tightened his grip on his wand.  He took a step toward her.  "Did you see them?  Were you able to make out their faces?"

Juliet shook her head.  "They were wearing masks.  I couldn't make out a goddamn thing.  I'm going to get Moody."

"Jules, wait-"

She didn't.  She disapparated before Cassio could stop her, and appeared in Moody's flat in Edinburgh, tripping into the table in his kitchen where he sat eating supper.  

Moody dropped his fork as soon as he saw her.  "Jesus fucking Christ!  What the hell happened?"

Juliet staggered.  She was shaking now, lightheaded and covered in blood.  "Another muggle-born's been killed."

Moody shoved his chair back and got to his feet.  "Where?"

"London," she said, bracing herself against the table.  "Not far from Kennington Station.  I left Cass there with the victim's body.  Can you-"

"Don't move," Moody said, and took her by the arm.

Juliet clenched her stomach against the disorienting motion as Moody's flat disappeared.

They appeared on a grass lawn an instant later, surrounded by trees and the distant glow of city lights.

"Which way?" Moody asked her, taking out his wand.

"I don't know," Juliet replied, still feeling lightheaded, "where are we?"

"Burgess Park."

"Brilliant, alright, I can apparate us from here," Juliet said, reaching for Moody's arm before he could protest.

The air split again as the park vanished, replaced instantly by Albert Daven's living room.

Juliet let go of Moody and reached for the cushioned chair.  She leaned forward and lowered herself to the floor, feeling spent from the chase and all of the apparition.

Moody's gaze went to the body at Cassio's feet; to the spreading pool of blood.  "Tell me everything."

"It seems we interrupted the killers," Cassio said, tucking his wand carefully into the pocket of his waistcoat.  "They left him alive, though not for long.  Juliet chased them."

"We were so close," she said, shaking her head.  "And I lost them.  I fucking lost them."

"Did you see their faces?" Moody asked her.

Juliet shook her head again.  "They wore battle cloaks, and masks.  I heard their voices through the door when we arrived, but they were muffled and distorted.  They may have been using voice modification charms.  I'm not sure.  Our victim was in his kitchen when they grabbed him."

Moody stared back at her, looking at the blood that covered her hands and clothes.  "Did you excavate his mind?"

Juliet nodded.

"While he was dying?"

"Yes."

"That was dangerous.  You could have been-"

"I was careful."

Moody didn't say anything.  He was still staring at all of the blood.

Cassio stepped over the victim's body and went to the open window, looking down at the street as sirens came from somewhere in the distance.  "How many of the muggles down there saw you?"

"I'm not sure," Juliet said.  "Quite a few.  I'm sure they saw me apparate . . . and with the killers firing off so many spells-"

"We'll need to run damage control," Moody said.  "I'll contact Burke and tell her to-"

Cassio turned around.  "There's no need to involve the Obliviators.  I'll get down there and start altering memories.  It won't take me long."

Juliet looked at her brother.  "Are you sure?  I could-"

"No," he said, tugging off one of the leather gloves he wore.  "Stay here.  I'll handle this."

A loud crack split the air as he disapparated.

Moody looked back at Juliet.  "You said you arrived mid-kill.  How did you know?"

"We've been monitoring police reports and scanners.  The man - Albert Daven - told the Met police he was being followed last night."

"He told the muggle police?"

Juliet nodded.  "He called them so he actually had a chance of being taken seriously."

Moody's gaze shifted to Daven's open neck.  "Not seriously enough.  How the hell did you know he was muggle-born?"

Juliet reached for the chair and got back on her feet.  "We've been tracking muggle-borns."

Moody's good eye narrowed.  "You fucking what?"

"Just Cass and me," Juliet told him.  "Cass is the only one who knows how to use the trace."

"You set a trace on muggle-borns?"

Juliet nodded.

"That was a reckless move, especially with the Registration Commission Act fresh in everyone's mind.  If anyone finds out what you've done-"

"I know."

"Then why the hell did you do it?"

Juliet let out a long breath.  "Cass developed the trace so we could keep tabs on our sister, Rosaline.  She's been living back in the muggle world with her husband and we were worried, with her being pregnant and all.  So, we put a trace on her.  After that, Cass thought, why not do it for more muggle-borns to see if we could find some patterns and catch the killers?  Whatever spellwork it is that Cass came up with for the trace doesn't work on wizard-borns, or even half-bloods.  It made it easy to isolate people like us, so he decided to cast the trace spell over Diagon Alley and the Atrium a few times a week and pick up whoever he could.  After that, all we had to do to identify people was cross-check Ministry records and police reports.  That's how I found Albert Daven.  And it almost worked." 

"It's a brilliant strategy," Moody said, "but if Burke or anyone else finds out what you've done-"

"I know.  We haven't told anyone, apart from you, and we're not going to, but we had to do something.  The people who did this, who keep killing muggle-borns, they are slaughtering us, and they won't stop, not until we make them," Juliet told Moody, looking back at Albert Daven's lifeless body.

They would have to find out if he'd had any friends or family members in the magical community.  If not, they would have to decide whether or not to involve the muggles who had known him.  Based on some of the framed photographs that were sitting on the coffee table, it wouldn't take very long for him to be missed.

Juliet looked back at the windows.  The sirens had gotten louder.  She wondered how many people in the building had called the police when they had heard the commotion that had come from the fire escape.  They would have to move fast if they were going to clean up the mess and get Daven's body out of there.

"What you're doing with the trace," Moody said, "you're right.  It almost worked."

Juliet looked back at him.  "Sure, yeah, until I fucked it up ten ways to hell with a chase gone wrong."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Juliet.  You know it won't do you any good.  Keep at it.  We'll find them."

It was then that a series of inarticulate noises came from the next flat.

Juliet raised her wand and walked back through the hole she had made in the wall.  She stepped around the debris and peered in at the woman she had left on the sofa.

The woman stared up at her, looking confused and afraid.  "Please, please, don't-"

Before the woman could say anything else, Juliet cast Obliviate, and watched as her face went blank.

"Now," Juliet said, walking closer to her, "let's make this easy.  You never saw me.  In fact, the last thirty minutes passed by without you even realizing it."

Juliet reached for the television set in the corner of the room and turned it on, adjusting the channel dial until she found the BBC.  "You were just right here, watching the news on the telly, when you drifted off."

The woman looked from the screen to Juliet, dazed under the influence of the memory altering spell.  "I was . . . yes, of course.  I was watching the telly.  But . . . but then . . . wait . . . who are you?"

Juliet managed a gentle smile, keeping her wand raised as the voice of the newscaster filled the room.  "I wish I could tell you.  I really do.  But I think it would be better for both of us if you forgot that I even exist."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

May 1987 - Between the Wars

Shadows crept toward Dumbledore from the farthest corners of his office, flickering in front of the fireplace and whispering to him in the dark.  He stood up slowly, walking forward with some hesitation, trying to decide if what he saw was real, or something he had conjured up himself.  He wasn't sure.  He reached for the chair by the bookcase, steadying himself and gazing ahead, knowing suddenly that he should leave.  His mind had become a dangerous place, and he didn't want to be there anymore.

He closed the doors to his office and headed for the kitchen, taking the back staircase to avoid the groups of students who could always be found mingling in the hallways before the evening curfew.  He didn't want to be interrupted, not now.  Not tonight, in this state.  The Draught of Peace he had gotten from Poppy had stopped working weeks ago, as had the sherry he had always kept in the bottom drawer of his desk.  His mind was racing now, filled with the sorts of thoughts that would disturb the rest of his waking hours and his sleep.  To calm it, he would need something much stronger.

He checked to make sure no one was following him as he approached the end of the next corridor, stopping in front of a familiar portrait of a bowl of fruit and staring at it for a moment before reaching for the pear, and watching the frame swing wide open.  Torchlight flickered across the steps beyond as he made his way down into the kitchen, glad to find it empty.

Dumbledore didn't waste any time.  He walked past the cabinets and the sink, and headed for the pantry.

The kitchen porter - he never could remember her name - had always kept the Firewhisky on the high shelf above the door, and the good scotch on the shelf above that.  Dumbledore raised his hand and summoned one of the unopened bottles, watching as it floated toward him.  When it was close enough to grab, he reached up and took it out of the air.

He didn't bother getting a glass.  He sat down at one of the preparation tables near the sink, removed the cork, and took a long drink.

Killing Carrow hadn't stopped the murders.  It had only made things worse.  Muggle-borns were still dying, and it seemed there was nothing more he could do to make it stop.

He had already made so many mistakes.

Dumbledore took another drink.  He wanted to forget the shadows in his mind; he wanted to forget about Marcus Carrow and all the others.  He wanted to forget about the dark-haired boy who had once told him that he could hurt people; that he could get them to do whatever he wanted.  He wanted to forget about the deaths of his former students.  He wanted to close his eyes and stop seeing Lily and James Potter, whose bodies had been found buried in the remains of their own home; to forget about Frank and Alice Longbottom, who had been found chained to a fence one cold night in Godric's Hollow, screaming and insane.

He wanted to forget about the young wizard who had once taken him into the woods, and told him about the greater good.

Dumbledore took another drink.

He hadn't thought of Gellert in years.

Oh, my old friend.

If only you could see me now.  If only you could see how it all went wrong.

Dumbledore raised the bottle again -

- and saw the bodies of five young students, lying spread out on the ground by a mud-covered train -

- another drink, and he saw four dead muggle-borns, floating in the air inside the Wizengamot dungeon with blood running from their open necks.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, trying to banish all of his hallucinations.  The room had started to spin now, but he found he didn't mind.  The alcohol was helping.  He drank until his thoughts stopped racing - until half of the bottle was gone.

He was about to leave, and head back to his office, when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Dumbledore looked up -

- and saw the ghost of Tom Riddle, standing in the doorway, staring back at him with wide eyes.

Dumbledore's hand shot forward, releasing a concussive blast of magical energy.  The resulting shockwave that emanated from his palm knocked the dark-haired boy flat on his back.

Dumbledore stood up with electricity gathered in his fists, ready to strike again.  "I should have killed you myself, Tom!  I never should have let you-"

The boy threw up his arms as Dumbledore raised his hands.  "Wait, wait, don't!  Please!  I . . . I'm not Tom!"

The boy's features blurred in Dumbledore's vision; his long dark hair clung to his forehead; his eyes and face seemed different now.  He looked so afraid.

It's not Riddle, Dumbledore realized.

It's . . . the other boy . . . the one who can't use magic.

Aaron

The boy's name was Aaron.

Merlin's soul

What have I done?

Dumbledore lowered his shaking hands.  The boy coughed and rolled on his side.

Dumbledore reached down to help him, taking him carefully by the arm, but the boy jumped back and yanked himself out of his grasp, standing up quickly and shoving himself away from him.

Dumbledore stammered, "No, no, wait, it's . . . it's alright.  It's alright, lad.  I . . . I am so very sorry.  Please, let me-"

"Don't touch me!" Aaron yelled, backing farther away.  "Don't-" 

"Wait, lad, I am sorry.  Truly, I am.  I thought I saw . . . someone else," Dumbledore said, reaching for the doorway and holding on as the room pitched around him.

What have I done?

He tried to focus on his surroundings.  He had hurt the boy, he knew he had.  He hadn't meant to, but he had.  He had to help him.  He had to -

But, when he looked back at the staircase, the boy was gone.

Dumbledore leaned against the doorway, staring into the darkness ahead.  "Aaron?"

There was no answer.

Dumbledore staggered up the stairs, looking desperately for the boy, trying to tell him it was alright, that everything would be alright, but it was too late.  The boy was gone, and he was alone. 

Merlin's sacred soul, Dumbledore thought, holding onto his head as he stepped back through the portrait.

What have I done?

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

July 1987 - Between the Wars

The Three Broomsticks was quiet.  Aaron sat alone at the end of the bar with a glass of pumpkin juice, reading The Island of Doctor Moreau for the third time.  It was one of the books he had taken with him when he had left Glasgow.  The short paperback was tattered and worn.  Pages fifty-three to sixty-four were stained with what Aaron had always hoped was tea.  He didn't know.  He had found the book lying on the floor in one of the hallways of a school he had attended for a few months when he had been about ten years old.  The inside of the front cover had been stamped by the school library, but Aaron had never gotten a chance to return it.  His social worker had moved him that night, without warning, in the middle of the week, when the people he had been living with had decided, for whatever reason, that they didn't want him around anymore.

Aaron flipped through the book.  A borrowing card was still glued to the inside of the back cover.  He had memorized all the names and dates.  The book had been in the possession of a lot of people.  Like him.

What would my borrowing card look like?

He didn't know.  He couldn't remember all of the people he had lived with, or all of the places he had been left.  Sometimes it just seemed like a chaotic progression of houses and flats; a random assortment of places he had never belonged, each one filled with different furniture, different dishes, different smells, and different rules.  He had even been placed in a children's home for a few months once, when a teacher had told his social worker he had stopped talking.  Of course he had stopped talking.  He had been seven years old, alone in a new place again, and he had hated the school they had made him go to.

To make things worse, a therapist who was supposed to help him had blamed his behavior on his attitude instead of his lack of a stable home environment, and made him go back.

That was another reason Aaron couldn't remember everything, he knew.  He had tried to make himself forget the places he had lived that he hadn't liked.  He had tried to make himself forget the places where people had hurt him.

His social worker - Rachel - had gotten him out of situations fast the few times the people she had left him with had turned out to be abusive.  She would always apologize, find him somewhere else to live, and take people to court for what they had done to him, but every time still left a mark.  He still had an ugly scar on his left arm from a man he had spent a few weeks with once when he had been eight years old.  And riding in cars would always make him sick.

Whatever spell Dumbledore had used on him that night in the kitchen wasn't the first time Aaron had been thrown on the ground.

but it was the last time

He turned to the Table of Contents at the front of the book, where he had written down his social worker's contact information before he had left Glasgow.

I could tell her what happened.  She could come and get me.

He stared at her telephone number, not even sure he could find a way to call her.

Even if I did, then what?  Wait to be placed with more people who don't want me?

It doesn't matter.  The hat was right.

I don't belong here.

"You're not doin' school work now are yeh?"

Aaron looked up.  He hadn't seen Hagrid come in.  "No.  I'm just . . . reading on my own."

"Mind if I take a look?"

Aaron handed the book to Hagrid.

Hagrid sat down next to him and flipped through it.  "Looks like a good one.  's nice ter see yeh doin' somethin' fer fun."

He handed the book back to Aaron and leaned over the bar.  "Hey, Aleus, yeh don' 'ave any more o' tha' summer punch o' yours do yeh?"

The bartender looked up from the sink, where he had been standing quietly, fiddling with something.  "I've got a whole barrel of it under the bar, if you want some.  No one's been here to drink it."

"Sure, yeah, I'll take some," Hagrid said.  He looked back at Aaron.  "Yeh wan' ter try it?  's a bit strong, but no one's here ter care if yeh do.  's pretty damn good stuff.  Yeh've bin workin' hard all summer, jus' like the rest o' us.  Yeh might as well 'ave some, if 's alright with Aleus."

Aleus walked over and set two clean mugs and a large tankard on the bar.  "I don't mind.  Just don't tell Rosmerta."

He reached beneath the counter and filled the mug and the tankard, handing the mug to Aaron and setting the tankard down in front of Hagrid.  He saved the second mug for himself, and took a long drink.

Aaron took a drink from his own mug, and coughed.

Hagrid smiled.  "Good stuff, righ'?"

Aaron nodded.  It was, but Hagrid had been right.  It was strong.

It was sometime later when Aleus poured Hagrid a second round.

Hagrid thanked him and looked back at Aaron, who hadn't even gotten halfway through his first round yet.

"Have yeh heard from Charlie at all this summer?"

Aaron nodded, taking another slow sip. 

"How's he doin'?  Is he alright?"

"He's good, yeah."

Hagrid turned back to Aleus.  "Charlie's a good lad.  Always bin so great with animals.  He even- Oh!  Did I tell yeh 'im an' Aaron helped Kettleburn an' me harvest a dragon?"

Aleus looked at Aaron.  "Really?  That's messy work.  Well done."

Aaron shrugged.  "I didn't do much.  All I did was help with the blood."

"Oh, nonsense," Hagrid said.  "Jus' havin’ yeh there made all the difference!  Yeh an' Charlie were great at it!  I was really proud o' yeh both."

Aaron took another drink and muttered, "At least I did something right."

He didn't think Hagrid would hear him, but he did.

"Now, now, none o' tha'.  We've talked abou' this plenty o' times before.  's alright yeh can' use magic.  I can' either."

"That's different," Aaron said.  "You're not allowed to use it.  I can't use it even when I want to."

"Come on, now.  Tha' doesn' matter.  Yeh're in there with all the rest o' 'em, ain' yeh?"

"Sure, yeah.  But I'll never belong."

"Wha'?  O' course yeh belong."

Aaron shook his head.  "No, I don't."

"Yes, yeh do."

"Why?  Because I can see the castle for what it really is?  Because I can see the train?  Like that proves anything?"

"It proves everythin'," Hagrid said, scooting his stool closer to him.

Aaron kept his eyes on his mug.  "No, it doesn't.  Someone made a mistake.  I shouldn't be here."

Hagrid shook his head.  "No student comes ter Hogwarts by mistake, especially not yeh.  Didn' anyone ever tell yeh wha' happened with the book?"

Aaron looked up.  "The book?"

"Yeh don' know about the book?"

It was Aaron's turn to shake his head.

"There's a book in one o' the towers, an' an old quill.  Whenever a child here in the United Kingdom does somethin' magical fer the firs' time, the quill senses it, an' tries ter write down their name, as a record o' magical ability.  But, if the book don' think they're magical enough, it won' let the quill write down their name, an' the child isn' invited ter come ter Hogwarts.  But, if the book agrees tha' the child's magical enough, then it let's the quill write down their name, an' the child is invited ter come learn how ter be a wizard."

Aaron raised an eyebrow.  "So . . . that's why I'm here?  My name is in the book?"

" 'O course it is!"

" . . . have you seen it in the book?"

"I don' need ter," Hagrid said, taking a drink.  "Watchin’ your name get written down in there was jus' abou' all McGonagall could talk abou' your firs' year."

Aaron almost choked on his next mouthful of punch.  "She- What?"

"Oh, yeah, she wouldn' shut up abou' how she'd seen the quill write down your name.  She was excited, 'cause 's rare ter see the quill do tha'.  Yeh have ter catch it at the exact moment a child does somethin' magical fer the firs' time.  She actually saw your name get written down.  Yeh're in the book alright."

Aaron leaned back slowly and took another drink, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

"Has anything unusual ever happened to you before?"

"Just because you don't come from magic doesn't mean you aren't just as capable of using it as someone who does."

"You're not a muggle, Aaron."

Hagrid was still staring at him.  "They never told yeh abou’ the book?"

"No," Aaron said.  "No one ever told me."

"I would have thought McGonagall would 'ave told yeh.  Maybe they try ter keep it a secret."  Hagrid took a quick drink, shifting his eyes back to the counter.  "Oh well.  Yeh didn' hear anythin' from me."

Aaron wasn't sure how long they sat there.  Hagrid laughed with Aleus and told a story about a talking spider he said lived in the forest.  Aleus told them about a time he and his brothers had gotten lost in the mountains on the far side of Hogsmeade, where they had found a deep network of caves, filled with ancient goblin rock carvings.  Aleus had always claimed to be half-goblin.  Aaron could see it now, with his pointed ears, hooked nose, and the way his eyes caught the light from the fireplace as the sun went down.  He was tall, but then, from what he had heard, Hagrid was short compared to a full-blooded giant.

When the punch was gone, and Aaron had finished his second mug, Hagrid drained his tankard and stood up.  " 's gettin' late.  We should get goin' an' let Aleus here close up."

Aaron didn't realize how drunk he was until he stood up.  He reached for his book, dropped it on the floor, and laughed at himself for being so clumsy.

Aleus smiled.  "See you liked the punch."

"It-"  Aaron laughed again.  It was hard to form words.  "It was . . . m-magical.  Like the quill and that damn book."

Aleus looked at Hagrid.  Hagrid laughed.  "Oh, he's fine!  I'll take 'im home with me.  We won' tell anyone at Hogwarts abou’ the punch, will we, Aaron?"

"Nope," Aaron said, shaking his head.

He felt so . . . light.  He couldn't feel his face, or his fingers.  He'd never been drunk like this before.

He said goodbye to Aleus and followed Hagrid outside.  The air was humid and the clouds hung low as they walked through Hogsmeade, making their way along beneath the streetlamps.

"Hagrid?" he asked, when they were almost to the end of town.

"Yeah?"

"Who's Tom?"

Hagrid stopped.

He turned around slowly and looked at Aaron, staring back at him with a strange look on his face.  "Wha'?"

"Who's Tom?  And why does Dumbledore think he should have killed him?"

Hagrid had gone pale.  "Dumbledore talked abou' Tom?"

"He . . . brought him up."

Hagrid's gaze shifted toward Hogwarts - toward the dark spires that towered off in the distance.  "Aaron, d'you . . . d'you know abou' You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah," he said, still trying not to slur his words, "the dark wizard."

Hagrid nodded.  "Tha's him.  Tha' was Tom.  Tom Riddle.  He was a student at Hogwarts back when I was, back before he became You-Know-Who."  

Hagrid's voice sounded different now.  Aaron didn't like the way it shook.  "But . . . but if Dumbledore was talkin' abou' 'im like tha', if he was really talkin’ abou’ ‘im like he was Tom- Tha's not good.  Tha's not good at all.  He shouldn' 'ave done tha'."

Aaron hiccuped.  "I don't think Dumbledore . . . realized I was there."

Hagrid looked back at him.  "Even so, he shouldn' be talkin' abou' You-Know-Who, not like tha'.  You-Know-Who hasn' bin Tom since . . . well, since long before your time.  Since long before the war."

"Did you know him?  When he was here?  When he was Tom?"

Hagrid was quiet for a moment, then he grunted, and turned back toward the road.  "I try not ter think abou' 'im.  Yeh should do the same.  Come on now.  's gettin' late."

Aaron followed Hagrid out of town.

They were almost to his hut -

- when the road . . . wavered.

Aaron stopped.  He watched as what looked like a dark train station platform appeared in the shadows ahead of him, merging with the cobblestones and the low stone walls that bordered the road.

He took a cautious step forward, trying to get a better look at the tracks and the dark tunnel that had started to surround him -

- but, just like that, it was all gone.  The illusions had vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

For a moment, Aaron stood there alone, watching the road as his head swam; staring into the shadows and waiting to see if the illusions would reappear, if reality would waver again.  He kept his eyes fixed on the cobblestones for as long as he could, trying to keep his drunken gaze steady, but nothing happened.  He kept watching anyway, for just awhile longer, until Hagrid looked back, and told him to catch up.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

July 1987 - Between the Wars

Aaron woke up slowly, squinting at the light coming in through the windows.  He was in Hagrid's hut, lying on the floor on top of a pile of blankets in front of the big stone fireplace, curled up next to Fang, who was still asleep, warm and heavy against his back.

Aaron almost rolled over, and pulled one of the blankets back over his head, but something was wrong.  He felt sick.

Aaron sat up, trying to swallow around the bile collecting in his throat.  The summer punch had been strong - and he'd had a lot of it - but that wasn't the problem.

The world had layers again.

He could see the Gryffindor common room.  He could see the vague outlines of the fireplace - of the sofas and banners and tables and bookcases - merging with the walls of Hagrid's hut.

Aaron closed his eyes.  And shook.  It wasn't just his hands this time.  His whole body trembled.

Fang stirred, sitting up and licking his face.  Aaron leaned against the boarhound, trying to steady himself.

It's fine.  It will stop.

I had way too much to drink last night is all.

It will stop.

He opened his eyes, hoping that was true, but the common room was still there, and now he saw -

Is that . . . a park?

It was.  Aaron saw trees.  He saw a wide grass lawn, a parking lot filled with cars, and crowded footpaths.  He saw people moving past him, talking loudly as they walked by, close enough to touch.

But that wasn't all.

He watched as a city street appeared, merging with what was left of the park, the common room, and Hagrid's hut.  The shifting locations overlapped each other in a sudden jerking motion, making him feel worse.

shit

Aaron leaned against Fang, trying to brace himself as his surroundings pitched.  Fang whined loudly in his ear, sounding concerned.

Me too, mate.

The whole room was spinning now.  He could still see the park and the common room.

Aaron swore.  He felt so sick.  He wanted to throw up.  He shut his eyes again, but it didn't help.

The world was still moving, and he couldn't make it stop.

Aaron gasped, overwhelmed with all the noise that came from the places he saw.  His ears rang with the sounds of voices and traffic - with the sounds of clanging dishes and something heavy clattering against a wooden table.  Aaron covered his ears with his hands and backed toward the fireplace as Fang started barking; as the room tilted and spun around him, careening suddenly out of control.

Aaron winced and doubled over on the floor, keeping his hands clutched over his ears, trying to block out all the noise.  He could hear Hagrid now, shouting and calling his name, but he couldn't see him.  The world around him had become a churning mass of shifting locations, and he was lost in the middle of the chaos.

Aaron jumped a moment later as Hagrid grabbed him, watching with horror as the locations multiplied, shifting and layering over each other in rapid succession, blurring and distorting his vision.

Aaron let out a cry and shoved himself away from Hagrid as the Forbidden Forest and the bar inside the Three Broomsticks appeared, merging with a small room with an even smaller bed he had slept in once five years ago, a library that wasn't the one at Hogwarts, a living room with old, braided rugs -

- and a kitchen where a red-haired man stood, bent over a sink.

It was Arthur, Aaron realized.  Arthur Weasley.

But then, just as quickly as he had appeared, Arthur was gone.  Aaron saw the grass lawn and the parking lot again; he saw pavements and cobblestones and cars coming at him and a stained kitchen floor; a clearing in the Forbidden Forest and more strange places he had never seen before.

Aaron shut his eyes as the locations churned, trying desperately to make it all stop.

In the chaos and the noise, he suddenly heard Arthur's voice.

"Aaron, let go."

"What?!"

"Let go."

"Of what?!"

"Whatever it is you're holding onto."

Aaron opened his eyes, but Arthur was already gone, replaced by the same blurred reality of shifting locations.  He watched as each one pitched toward him, moving faster and faster.

Hagrid's hut.  The park.  The Gryffindor common room.

Aaron choked as more bile came up his throat.

The city street.  The clearing in the forest.  The kitchen at Hogwarts.

Arthur.

" . . . can you hear me?  Aaron?!"

Hagrid.

" . . . 's alright.  Jus' try ter . . . "

Arthur.

" . . . You've got to let go . . . "

Hagrid.

" . . . careful, Aaron!  You'll tear yourself apart if yeh don' . . . "

Traffic.  Dishes colliding with counter tops and wooden tables.  The sound of unfamiliar voices.  Fang barking.

It was all so loud.

Suddenly, Arthur was there again.  "Aaron, let go.  Can you hear me?  You've got to let go."

Aaron inhaled hard, and did just that.

He screamed as the world blurred, falling forward until reality folded in on itself -

- and pulled him through.

Aaron gasped, landing hard on a tile floor.  He leaned over, retching as the locations dissolved - as the world finally stopped moving and everything went quiet.

fuck

He was still shaking.  His face was covered with sweat.

He was still trying to catch his breath, when Arthur reached for him.

Aaron let out a pained gasp and shoved himself away from Arthur.  He didn't want it to start again, and Hagrid touching him had made everything worse.

Arthur bent down slowly.  "Aaron, here, lad.  It's alright-"

He shook his head.  His voice trembled.  "No.  No, it's not.  What . . . what was that?!  What the hell just happened to me?!"

"Well," Arthur said, "the first time you use a portkey is always the worst.  Especially . . . "  He hesitated.  " . . . if you're not very magical.  And you held on for too long.  For a moment there, it looked like you were in two places at once.  That is incredibly dangerous."

Aaron stared back at Arthur, trying to keep his voice level.  "I . . . I don't understand.  I didn't use a portkey."

He looked up, fighting the urge to vomit some more as a woman with red hair came hurrying into the kitchen.  She looked at Arthur, then at him, and grabbed a bucket from a cabinet beneath the sink.  She set the bucket down in front of him, ran a washcloth under the tap, and leaned down, trying to hold the washcloth to his forehead, but Aaron backed away.

"It's alright, dear," she told him, face full of concern.  "You're safe here with us."

Aaron didn't move.  He wasn't sure he could.

The woman held out the washcloth.  Aaron took it slowly.  He wiped his mouth, folded it over, and held it against his forehead, leaning back against the cabinets.

"I'm sorry," he managed after a minute.  "I . . . I don't know what happened.  I don't even know where I am."

He looked at Arthur.  "Is . . . is this your house?"

"Yes," Arthur said.  "And this is my wife, Molly."

The woman with red hair smiled at him.  She still looked concerned.

"I . . . I don't understand," Aaron said.  "How did I get here?"

"You probably found a portkey and didn't realize it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Arthur.  There's not a portkey to our house at Hogwarts.  He apparated."

"From Hogwarts?  He couldn't have.  Not with the wards."

Aaron's stomach lurched.  He leaned over the bucket and threw up again.  His vomit was the same color as the summer punch.

When he got it all up, he set the bucket down, and used the washcloth to wipe off his mouth.

He looked up a moment later, as Bill walked into the kitchen.

"Aaron?  What are you doing here?"

He really wished he knew.

"He apparated," Molly said.

"But he's never been here before."

"No," Molly said, "but he did it all the same."

"He couldn't have."  Bill looked back at Aaron.  "Weren't you at Hogwarts?"

Aaron nodded.

Bill turned back to Arthur and Molly.  "He couldn't have apparated from there, not with the wards.  It must have been a portkey."

"That's what I said," Arthur told him.

Aaron leaned back against the cabinets.  "It wasn't a portkey.  I . . . I was at Hagrid's.  I woke up sick, and I could . . . see places.  Like the world was . . . I don't know . . . layering over itself.  It kept getting worse.  I saw all of these places I didn't recognize.  I . . . I think I was in all of them, at the same time."

"You saw other places?  Before you appeared here?  Places you've never been to before?" Arthur asked him.

Aaron nodded.

"That's not a portkey," Arthur said.

"That doesn't even sound like apparition," Bill said.

Aaron let out a choked breath as the room pitched around him.  He watched as the Gryffindor common room re-appeared, merging with the boundaries of the Weasleys' kitchen.

shit

bloody shit no

no no no

He could see the park again, and the city street - the one filled with people and moving cars.

Aaron closed his eyes and clutched the washcloth.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked him.

Aaron shook his head.  He wasn't.  "It's happening again."

"Oh, bugger," Arthur said, leaning closer to him.  "Focus, Aaron.  You have to be deliberate.  And determined.  If you apparate without control, you could get lost, or splinched-"

"Or kill yourself," Bill added, helpfully.

"I'm not trying to apparate," Aaron told them.  "I'm deliberately trying not to."

"But you still see all of the places?"

Aaron opened his eyes again.

He saw the park and the Gryffindor common room; Hagrid's hut and a small room with a sink and a stained mirror; the house in Glasgow with old, braided rugs, the busy street in the middle of a city, and a tent somewhere in the woods.  He dropped the washcloth as his body shook.  It took everything he had just to hold onto the floor.  He gasped as the locations multiplied; as Dumbledore's office and a well-lit shop with shelves full of baked goods appeared, merging with all the rest.

Aaron reached for the cabinets, trying to anchor himself - trying so hard to make it all stop - but he couldn't.  He couldn't fight whatever he could feel pulling on him.

He fell forward, gasping as the air separated, vanishing from the Weasleys' kitchen and landing on the floor in the Gryffindor common room with a sudden, violent CRACK.

Aaron tried to grab onto the nearest sofa, but whatever was happening to him wasn't over.

With another rush of displaced air, he vanished -

- and appeared inside a bedroom he had slept in for a few months once when he had been about nine years old.  No one was there.

He winced as reality came apart again, pulling him out of the bedroom and leaving him on the ground in a gravel lot in front of the payphone Arthur Weasley had used to call his wife three years ago.

fuck

Aaron rolled onto his back, breathing hard as more places appeared.

bloody fuck

it's not going to stop

He vanished again, appearing between a row of shelves in the well-lit shop he had seen before.  He didn't even have time to worry about the man behind the counter seeing him.  The air separated again -

- and pulled him into the empty train station in Hogsmeade -

- through reality again and into the middle of a graveyard with old iron gates and a looming statue of Death.

Aaron rolled on top of the well-trodden grass beneath him and dry-heaved, choking and trying again to catch his breath as the graveyard disappeared.

The next jump brought him to a city he didn't recognize.  He was lying on some pavement next to an empty street, in front of a brick wall covered with barbed wire.

fuck

fuck fuck fuck

come on

be deliberate

be determined

Aaron tried.  But it wasn't working.

He couldn't pick his destination.

He tried to focus.  He tried to make the locations stop shifting - to make the Weasleys' kitchen or the kitchen at Hogwarts or the Gryffindor common room appear again - to get the next jump to take him someplace - anyplace - familiar - but it didn't work.  He didn't have any control.

Aaron gasped as reality collapsed -

- and pulled him back through.

He fell forward and rolled onto his back, shaking and exhausted, trying to figure out where the hell he was now.  It was dark.  It was really dark.  The ground beneath him felt hard.

It was then he saw the tracks to his left, and two faded utility lights, flickering above him in the shadows.

He was on a train station platform; the same one he had seen last night on the road between Hogsmeade and Hagrid's hut.

Aaron pushed himself up on his hands and knees and crawled forward.  The air was stale.  It smelled like a dead animal.  It smelled like something had died and been left to -

Aaron stopped, gasping at what he saw ahead of him.

It was a head - a severed, decomposed head - lying in a pile of debris at the edge of the platform.

Aaron screamed and shoved himself away from it, but there was more.

A decayed body was chained to the next column.  The blood that covered the platform around it looked like it had congealed a long time ago. 

Aaron dry-heaved and covered his nose with his arm.

fuck

bloody fuck

jesus bloody fuck

He backed away from the corpse, choking up more vomit as the Weasleys' kitchen finally appeared again, layering over the platform. 

Aaron dove toward the illusion, closing his eyes as reality collapsed around him.

He appeared back on the tile floor in the Weasleys' kitchen a moment later, shaking and gasping in front of Arthur, Bill, and Molly.

"Make it stop!  Please!" Aaron shouted, grabbing onto the sink as the room blurred.  "I can't bloody- Just make it stop!"

Molly raised her wand.  "Stupefy!"

A bright flash of red light came at Aaron.  His body went limp as he was knocked back - as Arthur reached out and caught him, swearing as he collapsed in his arms.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

July 1987 - Between the Wars

It was still early when Alastor Moody arrived at The Ministry of Magic, stepping out of a fireplace and dodging around a few tired looking employees, who stood talking in the middle of the Atrium, as he made his way toward the security gates.  He nodded at the witch who sat behind the main desk as he approached, waited for her to let him in, and headed for the lifts, taking the first one that arrived up to Level Two.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was all but abandoned; rows of desks sat empty, and most of the lamps weren't lit.  Moody headed right for Adelaide Burke's office.  He didn't bother knocking.  He shoved her door open and tossed the summons she had sent him on her desk.

"Alright, I'm here.  What's so damn urgent?"

"It's nice to see you, too, Alastor," Burke told him, keeping her eyes on the roll of parchment in front of her.

"Don't waste my time," Moody said.  "You wanted me, so here I am."

Burke stood up and raised her wand, backing slowly away from her desk.  A map of the United Kingdom appeared as if from nowhere, floating in the air between them.  Moody watched as pinpricks of red light began to cover the country, multiplying quickly, like a spreading virus.

"As you can see," Burke told him, "we have a problem."

Moody stared at her, making no attempt to keep the exasperation out of his voice.  "I swear to Christ, Burke, if you made me come all the way down here to discuss a bunch of underage wizards using magic-"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple."

"Yes, it is.  Send out the bloody owls, threaten to expel the students, and bring them in here for a nice little chat.  It's the same damn thing every summer.  More instances of law breaking shouldn't change the protocol."

"These aren't hits from a bunch of underage witches and wizards using magic," Burke told him.  "These are all hits from the same trace signature.  They appeared in rapid succession this morning, right after I arrived, before I had even finished my tea.  It took less than five minutes for all those lights to show up."

"What?"

Moody took out his wand and studied the map.  There were dozens of lights.  Whoever it was had covered a lot of ground.  That wasn't possible in five minutes.  Not unless . . .

Moody pointed his wand at the map and cast a chronology charm.  Time stamps appeared next to each of the red dots.  It didn't take him long to realize that Burke had been right.  That could only mean . . .

bloody hell

they were apparating 

It was the only way to cover so much ground that quickly.

Moody swore.

"Whoever this is," he said, still staring at the map, "if they're a student, they're begging for expulsion."

"The trace signature belongs to Aaron Stone," Burke told him.  "According to his records, he just completed his third year at Hogwarts."

"A bloody third year is apparating like this?  Who the hell taught him how?"

"I don't know.  I'm past the point of sending an owl.  I want to know what's going on.  I want him found before every muggle in the country sees him."

"Right, so, go find him."

"I can't.  That's the problem.  All of his jumping around has interfered with his trace.  I have no idea where he ended up after his trek across the country.  I sent Edward out with Juliet and Cassio on a mission to start checking some of these locations - and alter muggle memories, as needed - but they haven't found him yet, and I can't pull any more Aurors off their assignments to find some kid."

Moody raised his eyebrow.  "What is it you think I do all day?"

"Maybe if you reported to me with any regularity, I would know.  You never even told me when you decided to come out of retirement.  I had to hear about it from Juliet."

Moody ignored Burke.  His eyes went back to the map. 

The underage trace was flawed; it had been since they had started using it on children back in the late sixteen hundreds.  It didn't detect instances when an underage witch or wizard used magic in a magical home, or within the limits of a registered magical town.  The only time it activated with any accuracy was when the target used magic in a muggle area.  The limitation made it harder to track the use of underage magic than The Ministry had ever wanted to admit.

"Have you told Dumbledore about this?  It's one of his students."

Burke shook her head.  "No one knows where Dumbledore is.  Minerva told me he hasn't been at Hogwarts since May, and he hasn't shown up at the Wizengamot since long before that."

Moody let out a long breath and rubbed at his real eye.  "How far have Edward, Cassio, and Juliet gotten on these locations?"

"I don't know," Burke said, handing him a scrap of parchment with what looked like the description of a kid who must be Aaron Stone.  "They're probably still somewhere up in Scotland."

Moody sighed.  "I'll start with the last location then, and work my way backwards."

He raised his wand again and pointed it at the map, using a charm to transfer the coordinates of each location to a blank piece of parchment sitting on the end of Burke's desk.

"I appreciate your help, Alastor.  Please bring him in as soon as you find him.  If he can really apparate like this without managing to kill himself, I don't want to take any chances and end up losing him again."

Moody grabbed the list he had made and headed for the door.  "I'll be sure to drag him right back in here after I nab him, if that will make you feel better."

"It would.  Thank you."

Moody pocketed his wand and left Burke's office, heading down the hall to the armory.

He bypassed the wards securing the room and scanned the shelves, glancing at the piles of folded battle cloaks, an assortment of old gas masks that cluttered one of the shelves, and some sort of enchanted trench clubs that hadn't been used since the war, until his eyes fell on a pair of heavy iron shackles.  Moody grabbed the shackles and left the armory, making his way back to the lifts, hoping this wouldn't take too long.

It hadn't been raining when Juliet had first appeared in Glasgow earlier that morning, materializing in the shadows at the far south end of Calton, down near the edge of the river, but it was raining now, coming down hard in heavy sheets, flooding the streets and the pavement.

Juliet reached for the hood of her coat, pulling it over her head as she stepped back outside, walking out the front door of the block of flats she had just spent almost an hour searching through, leaving them all behind.  Most of the building had been empty.  She had seen a lot of old eviction notices, posted on some of the doors.  No one even lived on the top floor anymore, as far as Juliet had been able to tell.  Some of the people she had talked to had mentioned problems with the roof.  They had told her how it had started to sag - how no one wanted to live in any of the flats right beneath it anymore.  Juliet didn't blame them.  She wouldn't have wanted to live here at all.

So why did that kid come here?

Juliet didn't know.

She stopped for a moment, standing on the pavement beneath the edge of the canopy that covered the front door of the building, shielding it and herself from the rain.  None of the people she had talked to had heard of a kid named Aaron Stone, or seen anyone who had looked like him at all, not even briefly.  It had been the same at Sighthill Park.  No one she had talked to there had seen a kid who had matched Aaron Stone's description, based on the copies of Hogwarts school records that were kept by The Ministry, and none of the kids she had seen kicking balls around on the lawns had been anything but muggle.

Juliet let out a long breath, listening as a loud clap of thunder came from somewhere off in the distance, shifting her gaze back to the street and watching the rain.  There were still three locations to check in Glasgow before she moved on.  At least now, she wouldn't be searching alone.  She could see Cassio and Edward, standing beneath the awning of a run-down shop across the street, watching her, like they had been there all along.

Juliet stepped out into the rain, leaving the small courtyard in front of the stack of flats and joining them quickly, ducking beneath the awning to stand with them as another clap of thunder echoed down the street.

"Any luck?" Cassio asked her, before she could get the same words out.

Juliet shook her head.  "Nothing.  You?"

Cassio shook his head.  "No sign of him.  We looked all up and down High Street.  We even went in some of the shops, and in some parts of the castle.  He wasn't there.  He wasn't anywhere."

"Of course he wasn't," Edward said, checking his reflection in the window behind them; running a hand through his short, unkempt hair.  "Did you really think we'd find him?  The way he was jumping around?"

Juliet ignored Edward.  She would much rather have done this without him, as much as they needed his help.  She had always heard that Edward had been something of a prodigy, back when he had first started working as an Auror, years before she had ever left Hogwarts, but Juliet had never seen any proof of that.  Edward had never done much to impress her.

At least he looked a bit more put together today.  He even seemed to be wearing clean clothes.

Juliet looked back at Cassio.  "The next location here in Glasgow is nearby, just a few streets over.  It won't take us long to walk there."

"He won't be there either, love, trust me," Edward said, picking something out of his teeth.  "Whoever this little punk is, it's pretty clear he doesn't want to be found."

"No, but we might be able to-"

"To what?  Question some more muggles?  Ask them if they've seen some scrawny kid vanishing right in front of their eyes?  Face it, love; this is pointless.  At this point, we're out here looking for a ghost."

Juliet ignored Edward again, looking down at her wrist as the bracelet she wore there vibrated ever so slightly.  She stared at the worn silver band for a moment, watching until Moody's gnarled handwriting appeared.

"Moody's in London," she told Cassio and Edward.  "He's going to start checking locations there, starting with the most recent one."

"Well, that's something, ain't it?" Edward said.  "Maybe he'll have better luck."

Juliet sighed and ducked back out into the rain.  She couldn't help but hope that was true.

"Come on," she told the others as more thunder sounded, "let's go find this kid."

The last set of coordinates from Burke's map weren't far from The Ministry.  They led Moody down beneath London, into an abandoned Underground station that looked like it hadn't been used since the last world war.  Faded signs designating it as an air raid shelter were still attached to some of the walls.  Both sides of the tunnel that ran through it had been encased in concrete.  Moody'd had to break in through a utility door and walk a quarter of a mile beneath the city just to find the right access point.

Bloody hell

How did this kid even get down here?

Moody didn't know.  He reached up and covered his nose.  The overwhelming stench of decay had hit him as soon as he had stepped out onto the main platform.  He peered into the shadows ahead of him and raised his wand, illuminating the end of it as he walked forward.

After that, it didn't take him very long to find what was left of Marcus Carrow's body.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

July 1987 - Between the Wars

A heavy veil of enchantments wavered around Moody as he stepped through the fake storefront windows of Purge and Dowse, LTD, into the main entryway corridor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.  He walked past the reception desk and hurried through the lobby, trying to stay out of sight of the Welcome Witch as he made his way toward the lifts, where Hagrid stood waiting.

"Wait jus a damn minute," Hagrid said as Moody approached, staring at the shackles he was still carrying.  "When I told yeh he was here yeh said he wouldn't be arrested.  He can't control his apparating."

"It's a precaution," Moody told Hagrid.  "Now, where is he?"

Hagrid crossed his arms and stepped into the middle of the hallway, blocking Moody's path.  "I'm not taking yeh ter see 'im, not until yeh tell me yeh won' arrest 'im.  He's not a criminal.  He's jus a kid learning how ter use magic."

"I'm not going to arrest him.  I just want to talk to him.  I need to find out what the hell is going on."

Moody tried to take a step toward the nearest lift, but Hagrid didn't move.

Moody let out a long breath.  "Hagrid, this is serious.  Where is he?  I can find him with or without you."

"D'you swear yeh won't-"

"I'm not going to arrest him.  You have my word."

Hagrid studied him a moment longer, then dropped his arms and called the lift.  "At firs', they thought he'd bin jinxed, so they took 'im ter the fourth floor."

"He wasn't, was he?"

Hagrid shook his head.  "Don't seem like it."

Moody followed Hagrid into the lift, dragging his bad leg a bit as the door closed behind them.  He was tired.  It had been a long day, and the early morning hadn't helped.

"'s not righ'," Hagrid said, as they rode upward, "After all this time where he couldn' do no magic at all an' now his firs' time he can' control it."

"First time?" Moody said, not sure he had heard right. "I thought he was a third year."

"He is, was, but, well, yeh see, Aaron's never bin able ter do magic."

"And now, what, he can't stop doing it?"

"Don' seem like it, no, at least not the apparating part.  Haven' tried gettin' 'im ter do anything else.  An' 's not like anyone ever taught 'im how ter apparate.  He can' get a handle on it."

"Of course not," Moody said.  "He's a third year."

The lift passed the third floor then, struggling a bit with Hagrid's bulk.

"I felt terrible, jus terrible, seeing 'im on me floor like tha'.  I thought I'd let 'im have too much ter drink.  He looked so sick.  It took me a minute ter realize he was apparating."

"Wait.  Wait a bloody minute.  He was at your hut when all this started?"

"Well, yeah, I brought 'im back to me place after we were in Hogsmeade together las night.  I passed out on me bed and the nex' thing I knew Fang was barking like the roof was on fire an' poor Aaron was on me floor, shaking like a leaf.  I thought he was goin' ter kill himself the way his body was-"

"He disapparated from Hogwarts?"

"He did, yeah."

"He shouldn't have been able to do that," Moody said, stepping out of the lift as the door slid open.  "Not with the wards."

Arthur and Molly stood in the hallway around the next corner, talking quietly in front of a window.  Molly's eyes went immediately to the shackles.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing with those?"

"Molly-" Moody started, but she wasn't listening.

She crossed the hallway and walked right up to him.  "If you're here to arrest Aaron, I swear to Godric I will-"

"I'm not going to arrest him, Molly.  I just need to talk to him."

Molly didn't look convinced.  She stood there between Moody and the rest of the hallway, blocking his path much the way Hagrid had done.  "He's not a criminal."

"She's right, Alastor," Arthur said, coming to stand next to his wife.  "What's happening with Aaron . . . it's not his fault.  It's a magical ailment.  It's like what happened in 1978, when Ezra McCallen couldn't stop levitating.  He can't control it."

"That may be," Moody said, "but I still need to talk to him."

Molly shook her head.  "You can't, not until the healers figure out what's causing this."

"You don't get to make that decision," Moody told her.  "I'll speak to the healers, and his parents, if I have to.  Where are they?  Where are his parents?  Are they here?  Do they know?  Has anyone told them what's going on?"

Arthur and Molly exchanged a look.

"He's muggle-born," Arthur said, after a moment, "and he doesn't . . . well . . . I'm afraid he doesn't have any parents.  We're the ones who brought him here, after he ended up at our place.  We had to make sure he was alright."

"But he's not," Molly said, "and we're not going anywhere until he is, and we're not just going to let you-"

"Something's happened, Molly," Moody told her.  "This isn't just about an underage kid using magic out in public.  There's a lot more involved now.  I know you want to protect him, but he might be the only one who can give me some answers, so, I'm not leaving.  Not until I've talked to him.  I need to find out what's going on."

Molly was quiet for a moment, then she said, "You really won't arrest him?"

"No.  I won't."

"You can't take him to The Ministry, either.  Not until he's got the apparition under control."

"If I decide I have to do that," Moody said, "then I'll be sure to teach him how to apparate first."

"We've tried teaching him already," Arthur said.  "The healers tried, too.  What he's doing isn't like normal apparition.  It's . . . "

"Aggressive," Molly said, "and unstable."

"I have a lot of experience with unstable witches and wizards," Moody said.

Molly shook her head.  "Not like this you don't.  No one does.  If it happens again - if he starts apparating like he did this morning - he won't have any control over where he ends up.  It could be hours before we find him again."

Moody held up the shackles.  "That's why I brought these.  I don't intend to let him get out of my sight.  Now, where is he?"

Molly let out a long breath.  "He's resting, in Room 408.  Please be gentle with him, Alastor.  He's been poked and prodded by the healers all day.  They finally let him sleep, and he's so-"

"I'm not going to hurt him, Molly," Moody said, stepping around her and Arthur.  "I'll be gentle."

He checked the signs on the nearest wall, and headed down the hallway to Room 408, leaving the Weasleys alone with Hagrid.

The room was dark.  Curtains had been pulled down low over the windows.  The only light came from a lamp in the corner by an empty chair.  The first bed was occupied by a sleeping man who looked to be about in his mid-sixties.  His face was covered with green boils, each one leaking puss.  He rolled over on his back, snoring through his open mouth as Moody walked into the room.  In the bed by the window, against the far wall, was a boy with dark hair.

Moody stopped.  Even in sleep, the boy's features looked familiar, but he couldn't place them.

He cast a noise blocking charm over the first patient's bed and stood over the dark-haired boy for a minute, studying him closely, before reaching out and touching his shoulder.

The boy awoke with a start, shoving himself back toward the wall.

"Easy now," Moody said, pocketing his wand, "are you Aaron Stone?"

The boy stared up at him warily, squinting a bit in the dim light.  "Yes.  Who are you?"

He looked exhausted.  The hospital shirt he had on was way too big for him.

He's just a kid, Moody thought.  A damn third year.

"My name is Alastor Moody.  I'm an Auror with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  I'm here because you were apparating all over the United Kingdom.  You know about the underage wizarding laws, I assume?  About the trace we use to-"

"I know.  I didn't mean to-"

"How did you disapparate from Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

"I know you didn't break the wards."

"No."

"But somehow you did it anyway."

"The wards didn't stop me."

"So, what, you just started apparating as soon as you realized they were down?  Did you figure out you could apparate in and out of Hogwarts and then decide to go have yourself some fun while everyone else was gone for the summer?  Did you think no one would notice if you went on a nice romp around the country?"

"No," Aaron said, kicking off the blanket that covered his legs as he sat up, "That's not what I . . . I can't control it."

"That's obvious enough.  You lost control all over England and most of Scotland.  You lit up The Ministry trace alerts like a fucking Christmas tree.  How long did it take you to realize you're shit at apparition before you stopped trying to get back into Hogwarts?"

"I wasn't trying to get back into Hogwarts.  I was trying to stop apparating.  But I couldn't.  I was tired and I couldn't-"

Aaron stopped.  His eyes had gone to the shackles. 

Moody set them down on the empty chair and looked back at him.  "That's what happens when you use apparition the way you did.  The farther you go, the more energy it takes, and you were jumping clear across the goddamn country.  Multiple times."

"I kept trying to stop," Aaron said, reaching quickly for the railing on the side of the bed.

Something about him was still so familiar.

Where the hell have I seen his face before?

Moody took a step closer, studying him in the dim light.  "How did you get inside that Underground station?"

"I don't know," Aaron said, holding onto the railing.  

"You must have known about it, or been down there before."

Aaron shook his head.  "No, I never-"

"That's not how apparition works."

"I know.  I wrote a fucking report on it."

"What do you know about the body that was down there?"

"Nothing.  I don't know how it got there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Aaron said, suddenly looking like he was going to be sick.  His hands were shaking.  "I didn't kill anyone."

"Not recently, you didn't.  The body was far too decomposed for that.  Did you apparate it there?"

"What?  No!"

The boy's entire body was shaking now.  It was subtle, like his skin was vibrating.  Like he was moving, too fast to see.

Moody got closer, leaning down next to him.  "It's happening again, isn't it?"

Aaron nodded, closing his eyes.

"When you did your report on apparition, do you remember what you're supposed to do?"

Aaron shook his head.  "None of it works.  All the destinations layer on top of each other and I get pulled into whichever one decides to grab me first."

"All the destinations?  How many are you seeing?"

"I don't know.  I can't-"

"Yes, you can.  Focus.  Be deliberate.  Be determined."

Aaron gasped.  "I can't.  Shit.  I can't make it-"

He winced and reached for his ears.  Moody grabbed his shoulder, and the hospital room disappeared.

They appeared in a room filled with firelight - with heavy rugs and crowded bookcases and portraits Moody realized he had seen before.  They were in Dumbledore's office.

Aaron shoved himself away from Moody, but Moody took his arm -

"Oh, no, you don't."

- and held on as the room collapsed around them.

They appeared in what looked like the Gryffindor common room, disappeared again and appeared in a house with a television set.  Another jump, and they were standing in a rundown kitchen with stained vinyl floors - one more and they were in a library with fluorescent lights - another and they were standing on the pavement in a parking lot at the edge of a park. 

Before Moody could worry about who saw them, they vanished again -

- and appeared somewhere much more familiar.

Aaron staggered and reached for the table in the corner of the room, bracing himself against one of the chairs.

Moody kept a firm hand on Aaron's arm.  He felt sick himself now.  His ears were ringing from all the jumps.  He tried to keep his voice level as he looked around and asked, "How the hell did you get us here?"

"I don't know," Aaron said.  "I don't even know where here is."

"We're in my flat - in my kitchen - in Edinburgh.  I'll ask one more time.  How the hell did you-"

"I don't know!  It was one of the . . . layers."

"Get us back to Hogwarts.  Right now.  I need to make sure the wards haven't been compromised."

Aaron shook his head and yanked his arm away from Moody.  He was bent over the table now, covered in sweat and shaking, struggling to catch his breath.  "I can't."

"Yes, you can.  Focus."

"No, I can't-"

"Look at me, lad.  Think of the details of the place you want to go and use them to ground yourself.  Think of the suits of armor in the corridors and the way the Potions classroom smells."

Aaron shook his head again.  "I can't, not with everything else spinning-"

"Yes, you can.  You've gone there for three years.  You know Hogwarts," Moody said, envisioning the school himself now; remembering all of the nights he had spent in the library and the mornings he had woken up before his classmates to get down to breakfast and grab a seat at the end of one of the long tables, where no one would bother him.

He reached gently for Aaron's shoulder.  "You can do this, lad.  I promise.  Focus.  Focus and think of the-"

Moody jumped as the air split, breaking apart with a sudden crack and pulling them out of his kitchen.

They appeared an instant later, standing in the middle of The Great Hall.

Moody laughed.  "Would you look at that!  You did it!  Well done, lad."

He let go of Aaron, took out his wand, and checked the wards.

It didn't take him long to make sure they were still in-place.

But that's impossible.

How the hell is he doing it?

He looked back at Aaron just in time to see him stagger.  Moody reached out quickly, catching him before he hit the floor.  He looked so sick now.  He had to get him back to the hospital.

Moody held onto Aaron and tried to disapparate, but he couldn't.  The wards, of course, stopped him.

"Aaron, are you alright?  Can you get us back to St. Mungo's?" Moody asked.

Aaron didn't answer.  His body had gone limp.  His eyes had rolled to the back of his head.

Moody swore and bent down, lifting Aaron up and heaving him over his shoulder, swaying a bit in the process.  The boy was heavier than he looked.

bloody hell

Moody took a long breath and trudged toward the high oak doors.  So much for being deliberate.  Now, he'd have to find a fireplace.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Seven years later . . .

July 1994 - The Second War

The limited length of chain attached to Aaron's shackle pulled hard on his arm, but he was in too much pain to get back on his feet.  He closed his eyes and leaned against the concrete wall, wondering how much longer he could fight off sleep before his exhausted body finally lost the battle.

He had no idea how long he had been in the interrogation room.  The potions Madam Pomfrey had left for him that morning - to numb the unpleasant sensations associated with having severed off his own arm - had worn off hours ago, and Moody's head was still submerged in the pensieve.

Aaron opened his eyes and stared up at the shackle.  In more ways than one, it was the only thing keeping him where he was.  He just wished it wasn't on so tight.  The first time Moody had left him with a restraint, he had at least made sure it would be a bit easier to live with.

Aaron still wasn't sure how Moody had gotten him back to St. Mungo's after he had collapsed at Hogwarts that day so long ago.  He had woken up back in his hospital bed what had to have been several hours later, tired and disoriented, wearing an iron shackle that had been de-coupled from its counterpart.

Moody had been sitting in a chair by the window, staring back at him as he had raised his arm, watching his new accessory slide down to his elbow.

"I know it's not ideal," Moody had told him, "but that should stop you from going anywhere.  We use iron to ground witches and wizards when we arrest them - to keep them from apparating.  You shouldn't be able to . . . disappear anymore, not as long as you've got that on."

Aaron had waited to see the locations - for saliva to coat the inside of his mouth and his body to start shaking - but nothing had happened, and, for once, reality had remained stable.

"It's working," he had told Moody, managing a smile.

"I'm glad, but that shackle isn't a long-term solution.  We need to figure out why the hell your body won't stay in one place before you really hurt yourself."

They had figured it out - eventually.

Aaron jumped as Moody's head shot out of the pensieve.  Moody wiped some sort of residue off his face and stared back at him, looking enraged.

"Is he really still alive?"

Aaron didn't have to ask who he was talking about.

"Yes."

"Jesus fucking Christ.  If I had known that deranged sociopath was still alive-"

Moody's next words were cut off as he stuck his head back in the pensieve.

Aaron let out a long breath and leaned back against the concrete wall, clenching his teeth against the pain and trying to keep himself from passing out.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Body Found in Underground Confirmed to Be Carrow's

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has confirmed that the body removed from an abandoned Underground station in London last week belonged to Marcus Carrow.  According to a report released by the Auror Office, the decomposed state of the corpse, and the manner in which it was found, provided a clear indication that Carrow's death had occurred some time ago, likely just after he went missing from his home last summer.

While the precise nature of Carrow's death has not yet been disclosed to the public, many now suspect that Carrow may have been the victim of foul play.  As the primary author of the controversial Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act, Carrow was no stranger to being on the receiving end of much scorn and vitriol from members of the muggle-born community, and many others who may have wished him harm.  As the investigation into his death continues, there is no doubt that those involved will have to consider the potential link between Carrow's significant political influence and his tragic end.

Carrow is survived by his wife, Emily, and his two children, Rhodus and Amelia.  A candlelight memorial service will be held this Friday evening at The Ministry of Magic for all those who wish to pay their respects.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

August 1987 - Between the Wars

The wonderfully familiar aromas of popcorn and candy floss mixed with the sounds of laughter and carnival music in the late summer air as Eni and Maddison entered the fairgrounds at the south end of Heaton Park, dodging their way through the crowds and heading toward the food stalls that had been set up at the entrance to the midway.  Maddison paid for a box of popcorn, and a candied apple for Eni, and took her hand, leading her toward the bumper cars and the Ferris wheel as shouts came from the other rides.

Eni took a bite of her apple, unable to take her eyes off all the lights.  It was really warm out tonight, but she didn't care.  She had never been to a proper fair before, not one like this.  She had been so excited when Maddison's mother had suggested it; when she had said she would drop them off on her way to go see a friend.

Eni smiled again.  She was still staring at all of the lights, enjoying how magical they all looked and how happy she felt.  For the next three hours, she and Maddison would be there together, having fun all on their own.

The music got louder as they walked past the merry-go-round, stopping for a moment to watch the people who were onboard lean out over the edge of the spinning platform, trying to grab the brass rings that stuck out from a stationary post near the control booth as they went flying past.

"Look at all of them," Maddison said, eating another handful of popcorn from the box she had bought as she turned back toward the midway.

"It's a bit crowded, yeah," Eni said.  "It is a Saturday."

"That's not what I meant though," Maddison said, eating another handful of popcorn.  "I meant look at them - all these people out here enjoying themselves and living their normal lives.  They've got no idea there's another world out there, and they still look so happy."

"Yeah . . . and?  We didn't always know about magic either."

"We didn't, no," Maddison said, sounding a bit sad.  Her eyes were still on all of the people around them, watching them smile and laugh.  "Guess there's no going back now."

"No," Eni said, "guess there's not."

She took another bite of her candied apple and followed Maddison back down the midway, walking with her past the bumper cars and heading toward the Ferris wheel, worrying a bit more about what Maddison had said; about the way she kept hinting that she wished everything was different; about the way she seemed to wish she had never left the muggle world behind.

The line for the Ferris wheel was long.  They stood behind a group of girls who looked to be about their age.  The girls were laughing and talking to each other, pointing up at someone they knew on the ride, who was waving down at them.

Maddison reached for another handful of popcorn.  A few pieces fell, scattering on the ground between them, mixing with trampled grass and a torn chewing gum wrapper.

It was almost their turn to get on the ride, when Maddison looked up. 

"No way!  David!" she said, smiling and waving as she left the line.

Eni watched as she walked up to an older looking boy who stood on the midway, tapping him on the shoulder.  The boy laughed when he turned around, and pulled Maddison into a hug.  More popcorn went flying everywhere.

Eni let the next people in line go in front of her.  She stepped to the side, watching as Maddison and the older boy kept talking.  They both looked pretty thrilled to see each other.  They were still smiling, and standing really close.

It took Maddison a few more minutes to look back toward the Ferris wheel.  When she did, she smiled and waved at Eni.

"Come on!  Forget the ride!  Come on over here and meet David!"

Eni hesitated for a second, then gave up her spot in line and walked toward them, tossing the little stick and the sticky core that was all that was left of her candied apple into a rubbish bin on her way over.

"Eni, this is David," Maddison said, as Eni walked up to them.  "David, this is Eni.  We met at school."  She looked back at Eni.  "I've known David forever."

"Our dads work together," David explained, slipping his hand around Maddison's waist.  Eni didn't like the way the older boy was looking at her.

"We used to be neighbors, too," Maddison said, "until David's family moved to Stretford."

"Oi!  David!" another older boy shouted, walking up to them.  "What are you doing, mate?  I thought we were gonna have a go at the high striker?"

"This is Ian," David said to Eni and Maddison.  "He's a bit of a wanker."

"Am not!  No more than you, at least!"

"We were just in line for the Ferris wheel, if you'd like to join us," Maddison said, mostly to David.

"I'm in," Ian said, winking at Eni, "so long as we all get to share a car."

Maddison rolled her eyes.  "Alright, fine, come on then!"

She took David by the hand and led him back to the line.  Eni followed them and Ian, moving a bit reluctantly.

The line for the Ferris wheel had gotten longer.  Eni stood behind Maddison and David with her arms crossed, trying to ignore Ian and his attempts to chat her up, watching as Maddison leaned closer to David - as his hand drifted back to her waist, then went lower.

"Annie, was it?" Ian asked Eni, stepping between her and the others.  "Did you hear what I said?"

"It's Eni, actually, and, no, I didn't."

"I said, how'd you know these two?"

"I met Maddison at school."

"Ah, she's pretty, yeah?  What sort of school?"

"A very selective one."

"Really?  That so?"

Eni didn't say anything.  Ian didn't seem like the sort of boy who would know much about selective schooling.  She stepped back as he tried to put his arm around her.

"Hey!  Don't touch me."

"Oh, easy, girlie," Ian said, still standing too close.  "I just thought you looked a bit cold is all."

"Sure, yeah, I'm freezing, standing around out here in the twenty-seven degree weather."

"Eni?  You alright?" Maddison asked, looking back at her.

"Fine, yeah."

just bloody fine

"Are you sure?  You look a bit uncomfortable."

"Hard not to when I'm trying not to get felt up by some weird arsehole."

"Oi!  I'm not an arsehole!  And I was not trying to feel you up!"

"Yes, you were."

Ian huffed.  "Don't sound so disappointed."

"Just leave me alone, alright?"

"Hey, David, you hear that?  Think this one's a bit of a prude!"

"She is not!" Maddison said, glaring at Ian.  "Back off!  You're making her uncomfortable."

"Easy, Madds!" David said.  "I told you he's a wanker!"

"Well, he can go be a wanker somewhere else.  We were trying to have some fun tonight."

"Are we not?" David asked.

Maddison was still glaring at Ian.

"Just ignore him, alright?" David said.  "Ian, here, tell you what, why don't you go find the high striker and I'll meet you there after our ride?"

"Oh, no you don't, you dickhead!  I want to have some fun too!  I'll back off, alright?" he said, smiling at Eni again.  "I'll be a right proper gentleman.  You won't even know I'm-"

Eni'd had enough.  She shoved past Ian and left the line, heading back down the midway, away from the others.

"Eni!  Wait!  Don't be cross!  Come on!  Come back!  It's almost our turn to get on!" Maddison yelled after her.

Eni ignored her and walked down the midway, stepping over some of the big black cables that stretched between the rides, dodging her way through the crowds, past all of the hawkers and a group of people who were dressed up in funny looking costumes.

She could still hear Maddison calling after her.  "Eni!  Wait!  Come on!"

Eni kept ignoring her.  She didn't care how upset Maddison got.  She wasn't going to get on that ride; not with them.

They ARE wankers.  They're arseholes and they're wankers.

Eni kept walking, heading back toward the bumper cars and the carnival games.  It took her a few more minutes to realize she was being watched.

Eni looked up.  There was an owl on the other side of the midway, perched up on a string of lights, staring right at her.  Something was tied to its leg.

Eni ducked behind the Tilt-A-Whirl.  The owl swooped forward, landing gracefully on the ground in front of her.  Eni reached down, took two pieces of parchment off its leg, and unrolled them.

It was a letter.  She recognized Aaron's handwriting immediately.

shit

Eni folded up the pieces of parchment.  Aaron had told her not to worry, but she already was.  She tucked both parts of his letter into her back pocket and walked back down the midway, heading back toward the Ferris wheel.

Maddison and the others had just got off the ride.  Her and David laughed at something Ian said as they all left the midway and walked behind the funhouse.

Eni followed them.  She caught up with them just in time to see David light a cigarette and hand it to Maddison.

Maddison took the cigarette and inhaled, trying to hide the way it made her cough.  She looked up as Eni walked toward them.

"There you are!  Where did you run off to?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does, actually.  I was worried about you.  What's wrong?"

Eni shrugged.  "Nothing.  I'm going home."

"Now?"  Maddison coughed again.  "But it's so early!  You haven't even been on any of the rides."

Eni shrugged again.

"Alright, well, if you're really set on it, go on then," Maddison said, handing the cigarette back to David.  "Do you want some money for cab fare?"

"No, I'm fine," Eni said.  "I can walk."  She glanced over at the boys, who were busy passing the cigarette back and forth, snickering about something. 

Eni turned and looked back at Maddison.  "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Maddison said, eyeing the pieces of parchment that still stuck out of Eni's pocket.  "Wait.  Is that a letter?  Did you get an owl?  Who wrote you?"

"Aaron.  He's sick."

Maddison's face changed.  She looked concerned.  "Aaron's sick?"

Eni nodded.  "He's at St. Mungo's."

"Bloody hell.  What happened?  Is he alright?"

Eni looked back at the boys.  They still weren't paying them any attention.

"He used magic," she told Maddison, keeping her voice low.  "Something went wrong."

"Shit.  That figures.  Did he hurt himself?"

"I don't think so.  He sounded alright, apart from being upset that he was stuck in hospital.  Bet he'd much rather be back at Hogwarts though."

Ian laughed.  "Hogwarts?  What the hell is Hogwarts?"

Maddison snatched the cigarette back from him.

"It's nothing to you," she said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke as she looked back at Eni.  "You don't have to leave, you know.  David's got a car.  If you stay, he can give us a ride back to my place."

Eni shook her head.  "I'd rather leave now."

"Alright, well, I'm staying."

"You're staying?  With them?"

"Yeah, I am," Maddison said.  "I still want to have a good time.  Don't you?  Don't you want a break from . . . "  She looked back at the letter that was still sticking out of Eni's pocket.  " . . . everything else?"

"Not here, no.  Not with them."

"Oi!" Ian said.  "We're not so bad.  Come on and stay.  Promise I'll be more charming!"

Eni still didn't like the way he was looking at her.  She took Maddison's arm and pulled her back toward the midway, away from the boys.  "Look, just come home with me, alright?"

"No, Eni.  I'm having a good time.  I want to stay out for a bit.  I know you don't like Ian, but David's fun, and I-"

"Are you serious?  You're going to choose them?"

"I'm not choosing them, En, you're the one who wants to leave, not me."

"Yeah, I want to leave because-"

"Because you don't like the boys, yeah, I know.  You've made that quite clear.  You've made it quite clear you don't like any boys."

" . . . What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, En!  I don't judge you for being queer, so why are you judging me all the sudden?"

"I'm not judging you!"

"Yes, you are!  What's wrong?  Why are you acting like this?  Are you jealous or something?"

"What?  No!  I'm not jealous!"

"You don't have to lie.  It's fine if you are."

"I'm not lying!"

"You sure?  Sure you're not jealous that I fancy David instead of you?  It's alright.  We're friends.  You can tell me if you-"

Eni reached over and grabbed the cigarette away from Maddison, raising it to her lips and inhaling hard.

"Fine.  Know what?  You're right," she said, trying not to cough.  "We are friends.  We're just friends.  Or, at least, I thought we were."

The smoke made her eyes water.  Eni coughed and turned back toward the midway, taking another puff off the end of the cigarette as she walked away.

"Eni!  Wait!  Come on!  Don't be like this!"

Eni turned and looked back at Maddison, trying to hide the tears that were coming fast.  "Tonight was supposed to be fun, you know?  It was just supposed to be us.  Did you really have to go and ruin it?"

"I'm not ruining it, you are!  Come on, Eni!  You can't just walk home by yourself!"

"Watch me!" Eni said, turning back around and walking fast down the midway, wiping at the tears on her face, ignoring Maddison's shouts for her to come back.

This was stupid.  This was so bloody stupid, but she couldn't make herself stop walking away.  She was too upset.  She didn't want to be there anymore.

She coughed as she smoked the rest of the cigarette, finishing it off and tossing the smoldering end on the pavement as she left the fairgrounds behind.

She was still coughing and wiping at her eyes a moment later, when she left Heaton Park and headed back to Maddison's house, away from the lights and the carnival music, walking down the street alone.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

October 1987 - Between the Wars

The old stone fireplace in the Gryffindor common room hadn't been connected to the Floo Network since the end of the fourteenth century, but a special allowance had been granted by The Ministry of Magic for a one-way trip.

Aaron had never consciously traveled by Floo powder before.  He wasn't prepared for the abrupt end to his journey.  He tumbled out of the fireplace in a sudden burst of green flames, landing hard on the hearth, coughing and covered in soot.

Aaron groaned and pushed himself up, wiping at his shirt and trousers as he got back to his feet.  His clothes were filthy.  At least no one had been there to see him fall on his face.

Aaron wiped more soot off his shirt and headed for the stairwell, hoping no one was upstairs either.  Thankfully, the boys dormitory was empty. 

Aaron went to his room and hurried over to the dresser next to his bed, opened the top drawer, grabbed the first clean shirt he saw, and took off the one he was wearing that still smelled like some of the disinfectant potions and cleaning spells they used at St. Mungo's.

He had just changed into a clean pair of trousers, too, when he realized he was starving.  He couldn't remember the last thing he'd had to eat.  He hadn't been able to stomach the plate of liver and squash the orderlies at St. Mungo's had tried to give him for lunch, and he had missed whatever they had served for dinner when McGonagall had shown up and arranged for him to go back to Hogwarts.

Aaron pulled his trainers back on and looked at the clock above Charlie's bed.  If he hurried, he could catch the end of the evening meal service.  He tossed his dirty clothes into the hamper by his bed and headed back downstairs, walking through the common room and ducking through the portrait of the Fat Lady, heading down the hallway toward the moving stairs.

He walked into The Great Hall a few minutes later, heading right into the familiar chaos of clanging dishes, loud voices, and a hundred different conversations.

The Gryffindor table was crowded.  Charlie saw him and waved him over.  Aaron walked toward him and sat down between him and Bill.

"Bloody hell," Charlie said.  "I didn't know you were coming back tonight!"

"I didn't either," Aaron said, keeping his head down.  It felt strange to be back at Hogwarts after spending so many weeks on his own in hospital.  Some of the students at the other tables were staring at him, talking to each other and whispering.

"How are you feeling?" Bill asked him.  "Did they figure out what's going on with you, or do you still have to wear that awful, bloody-"

Aaron raised his arm.  The shackle Alastor Moody had given him slid down to his elbow.  "I still can't control it."

"Shit," Charlie said.  "Sorry, mate.  You alright?"

Aaron shrugged.  "I'm just glad I'm not stuck in hospital anymore."

He jumped as Eni came up behind him and threw her arms around his neck.  "You're back!  Holy hell, I didn't think they'd ever let you out!" 

Aaron smiled, turning around and hugging her back.  "They didn't want to.  They still can't figure out what's wrong with me."

"Damn, really?" Eni said, sitting down between him and Bill.  

Aaron nodded.

"Then why did they let you leave?"

"Because McGonagall showed up and told them I'm missing too much of the school year.  She's right.  I'm behind enough as it is, and it's not like anyone at St. Mungo's was doing anything to help me."

"She should have got you out of there weeks ago," Charlie said, taking a bite of the bangers and mash on his plate.  "Mum and Dad tried to, but the administration staff at St. Mungo's wouldn't let them.  They said someone from here or your legal guardian had to approve it or some rubbish like that.  Dad almost altered some papers of yours he said he still has.  Said he would do it for sure if you weren't out of there by Halloween."

"That's alright; I'm out now," Aaron said, though he did appreciate the way Arthur and Molly had tried to help him.  He would have to send them another letter.

He reached for a platter of roast beef, adding some to his plate along with a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"Oi!  Aaron!"

He looked up.  Tonks was walking toward where they all sat, a massive grin spreading across her face.

Aaron put down his fork, smiling as she came up and hugged him.

"Bloody hell!" Tonks said, holding onto him tight.  "Welcome home!"

"Thanks," he said, managing a grin and hugging her back.  It felt good to be back with all of his friends.

Tonks pulled back and studied him for a moment, taking a seat between him and Charlie.  "You know, you don't look so bad, considering how shit the food is at St. Mungo's."

"Yeah, eventually I got used to the taste of-"

They all looked up as a scream came from the far end of the Gryffindor table, where a girl had just jumped right up out of her seat.

Aaron watched as a rat came scurrying toward them, darting its way across the table as more of his housemates shrieked.

Charlie reached out quickly, grabbed the rat, and tucked it into his robe.

Aaron stared back at him as the commotion died down.  "Did you just stuff a random castle rat into your pocket, or have I actually gone mental?"

Charlie rolled his eyes, reaching for his fork again. 

"It's Percy's," he said.  "I told Mum and Dad not to get him a pet.  He's never been good with animals.  He hasn't been taking care of it."

Percy was walking around at the far end of the table now, leaning down and looking beneath the benches.  A boy who looked like another first year pointed at Charlie.

"Oi!  Charlie!" Percy said, walking up to them.  "Have you got Scabbers?"

"Scabbers?" Charlie said, only sort of looking up from his plate.  "You named him?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

Charlie shrugged.  "Surprised is all.  I didn't think you cared about him enough to name him, considering how often you lose him.  You've really got to be more careful."

"You're not Dad, Charlie," Percy said.  "Stop telling me what to do."

"Take better care of your rat, and I won't have to."

Percy's eyes narrowed.  "Where is he?"

Charlie reached into the front pocket of his robe and took out the rat, holding it carefully.

But something was wrong.  The rat had gone limp.

"Merlin's ball sack, Charlie!" Tonks said, eyes wide.  "What'd you do to him?"

"I . . . nothing!"

They all stared at the rat, lying there in Charlie's hands.  Its little stomach was moving up and down in a concerning rhythm. 

"Shit," Charlie said.

"He's fine," Percy said, still looking cross.  "He always does that."

"What?  Falls asleep and looks unconscious?"

Percy nodded.

"You sure you haven't cursed him?" Tonks asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!  Why would I do that?"

Charlie was still studying the rat.  "Right, well, I'm going to hang onto him for a bit, just to make sure you haven't."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can, seeing the state he's in."

"He definitely cursed him," Tonks said.

"I haven't cursed him!" Percy said, reaching for his rat; trying to snatch him back out of Charlie's hands.

Charlie gently held the rat away from his brother.

"Charlie, stop!  Give him to me!"

"No."

"I'm writing Mum about this!"

Charlie shrugged.  "Go ahead."

Percy stormed off in a huff, heading back to the far end of the table, glaring back at Charlie one last time.

"Fucking hell," Charlie said, looking over at Bill.  "Was I this difficult my first year?"

"Not like that, no," Bill said, shaking his head.  "Percy's always been a bit of a prat though.  Almost makes me wish the twins were here instead."

"Easy now, don't talk crazy," Charlie said, tucking the still sleeping rat carefully back into his robe and stabbing a piece of sausage with his fork.  "I don't think anyone's ready for them just yet."

It had been a long time since Aaron had slept in his own bed.  He wasn't used to it anymore.  He tossed again in the darkness, pulling his blanket over his head, trying to force himself to fall asleep.  Somehow, everything about Gryffindor Tower had become unfamiliar while he had been away.  It was too dark and too quiet after the constant noise and brightness of the hospital.  He didn't like the way he could hear his own thoughts again.

"Hey," Charlie whispered.  "Are you still awake?"

Aaron uncovered his head. 

"Yeah," he said, letting out a long breath.

"You alright?"

"Fine, yeah.  Just can't sleep."

Charlie sat up.  "Are you tired?"

Aaron shrugged, then, realizing that Charlie couldn't see him very well said, "No, guess not."

"Good," Charlie said.  He pulled his covers back, got out of bed, and walked over to Aaron.

"Where's your wand?"

"My wand?" Aaron said, sitting up.  "You mean the training wand?"

"Yeah, where's the-"

Charlie ducked as a pillow came hurtling across the room, headed straight for his head.

"Oi!" Bill said, from his bed in the corner.  "Either keep it down over there or use a bloody noise-blocking charm!  Fucking hell, I know you've not seen each other properly for a few weeks, but it's nearly two in the morning now, for fuck's sake!"

Charlie held up a finger.  "Use a spell yourself, dickhead!"

He ducked as another pillow came flying at him.

Charlie grabbed Aaron's arm and pulled him down on the floor between their beds, took out his wand, and cast what Aaron assumed was some sort of spell that would keep the sounds of their voices from reaching Bill and Kirley McCormack, the other older boy they shared a room with, who was somehow still asleep.

"Right then," Charlie said, looking back at Aaron as the rest of the room went quiet around them, "where's the training wand?"

"I don't know," Aaron said.  "Eni's still got it, I think."

He hadn't seen it since she'd left for the summer.  He had made her take it with her after what had happened on the train the last time she had left it behind.

"Alright, well, here," Charlie said, "you can use mine."

Aaron sighed.  He knew where this was going.  "Charlie, wait, I don't know if I can-"

"I've thought about what you should try first," Charlie said, ignoring him.  "I think you should start with something simple, like Lumos or a levitation charm, or maybe you can even try to-"

"No, Charlie," Aaron said.  "I'm not trying anything."

"Yes, you are," Charlie said, shoving his wand at him.  "Here, take it."

"No," Aaron said, pushing the wand away.

"Why not?"

"Because I still can't do anything."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't."

"You can, mate.  You apparated from here all the way to The Burrow.  There's full on grown wizards who can't do that, and I bet it's not all you can do now."

"I can't control the apparition, Charlie.  It's not even something I'm consciously doing."

"I know, but I still think you can-"

"I can't, no," Aaron said, shaking his head.  "I apparated a few times, yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to be able to fire off spells at will now."

"Not 'til you practice, no, so let's get you started," Charlie said, holding out his wand again.

Aaron still didn't take it.

"Come on, mate, can't you at least try?"

Aaron shook his head again.  "I've got Charms back on my schedule again this year.  I start on Tuesday.  I'll try then, when Flitwick's there to make sure I don't-"

"I don't think you should wait for classes," Charlie told him.  "I think you should try a few spells now and start getting a feel for them.  That's what Bill had me do my first year.  We practiced stuff all the time.  I didn't just wake up one day able to call my broom over to me whenever I fancied.  I had to work at it."

Aaron sat there for a few seconds with his back against his bed, looking down at the shackle on his wrist in the dim light.  "Yeah, but . . . you're good at this sort of thing.  I'm not.  I've never been good at it.  I think the apparition is all I can manage, and I'm not even doing that right.  I just don't know if I can-"

Charlie reached over and pressed the hilt of his wand into Aaron's palm.  "Don't you want to find out?"

Aaron let out another long breath.  He did, was the truth.  He was just scared.

He was scared he still wouldn't be able to make anything happen, but it was time for that to change.

He took a deep breath and raised Charlie's wand.  "Alright, fine, I'll try, but look . . . I don't even know how to hold this thing properly anymore."

"I know, here, let me show you.  Relax your grip a bit.  There you go, yeah, just like that."

"What should I try?"

"What do you want to try?"

"I don't know.  I thought you said I should start with-"

"Forget what I said.  You know spells.  Pick one."

Aaron was quiet for a second, thinking.  Then he turned around and reached under his bed, dragging out his duffel bag.  He rummaged through his things until he found what he had been looking for, his tattered copy of Kidnapped with the torn cover.  He took it out and shoved the duffel bag back under his bed, staring at the book for a moment.  It was old.  He didn't even remember where he had gotten it, or how the cover had been torn, just that it had been that way since long before he had come to Hogwarts.

He looked back at Charlie, and set the book down on the floor between them.

Charlie looked down at the tattered book.  "You want to fix it?"

Aaron nodded.  He felt nervous.  He felt so fucking nervous.  "I know the spell.  I know the word.  I just . . . how do I wave this so it-"

"Here," Charlie said, scooting closer to him.  He closed his fingers around the hilt of his wand and Aaron's hand.  "Like this.  It's a clockwise motion, just a bit more than a full circle."

Aaron let Charlie guide his hand, but now he was even more aware of how awkward he felt.  And of how close they were sitting.

He took another deep breath.

"Right, okay, so I just . . . visualize it?  Like what the book would look like if I managed to fix it?"

Charlie let go of his hand and sat back, giving him some more space.  "That helps, yeah.  It's all about your intention."

"Right," Aaron said, looking back at the book.

His intention was to not fuck this up.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Aaron raised Charlie's wand, waved it quickly, and said, "Reparo!"

The battered old novel jumped away from him like it had been kicked.

But it had done something.  And he had felt something; something he never had before.

"That's it!" Charlie said.  "Try again!"

Aaron aimed Charlie's wand at the book again and tore it through the air, moving it just the way Charlie had showed him. 

"Reparo!"

He watched as the front cover opened, folded in on itself -

- and stitched itself back together.

"Fuck me," Aaron said, "it worked!"

Charlie laughed and slung his arm around his shoulder.  "Damn right it did, you fucking wizard!"

Aaron smiled.  He picked up the book and ran his fingers over the front cover, studying it in the moonlight coming through the windows.  There wasn't even a seam where the tear had been.  It looked like it had never even been damaged; like it had never been torn at all.

Aaron laughed.

He had done that.  He had fixed it.  

With magic.

Charlie reached into his trunk and grabbed his spell book, turning through the pages quickly. 

"Right, that was excellent!  Let's try another one, yeah?" he said, without looking up.  He sounded so excited.

Aaron was still grinning.  He was excited now, too.  He could feel a wave of magical energy pulsing beneath his skin, ready to leap out at everything around him; the sort of energy his classmates had always talked about; the sort he had waited so long to feel himself.

"Alright, yeah," he said, looking back at Charlie and raising the wand again, "what's next?"

Chapter Text

December 1987 - Between the Wars

The third floor corridor had become overcrowded in the weeks leading up to Christmas, packed with students walking between classes, carrying stacks of books and rolls of parchment, trying to get everything done before they left for the holidays.

Aaron looked up as he left Transfiguration.  He could see Eni at the far end of the corridor, heading toward him, dodging her way past some of the other students.

She reached into her satchel as she walked up to him, taking out the training wand.

"You should just keep this," she said, handing it to him.  "I mean, technically, it's yours."

"It's not, no," Aaron said, taking it from her, "and you need it, too."

Eni bit her lower lip.  "Suppose I could just ask Flitwick if he's got an extra one."

"You could, if you want," Aaron told her.  "I just asked McGonagall if she's got another spare last week.  She said she didn't, then she told me it was time I went and 'got myself a wand more accustomed to my inner traits and developing talents' and left it at that."

"That's not a bad idea, you know.  You have been a lot more consistent."

Aaron shrugged.  "It still comes and goes.  I'll buy a wand, I promise, then you can have this one.  I just wanted to make sure I would actually need it first."

"Hmmm, you know what," Eni said.  "If I start working, too, I can save up some money for my own wand, then we can both stop using this old thing."

"Great, yeah, talk to McGonagall about it.  There's plenty of work.  You already spend most of your time in the kitchen.  Might as well get paid for it."

"I'll ask her about it, yeah.  Did you finish that report for Snape?  The one on the uses of Hemlock and Dittany?"

"Not yet," Aaron admitted.  "I was going to finish it up in Herbology tomorrow."

"Okay, well, let me know if you work out the sixth use for Hemlock," Eni said.  "I've only got five right now.  It's driving me mad."

"Me, too.  I was going to ask Sprout about it, to be honest."

"That's not a bad idea."

"I do have them sometimes," Aaron said, tucking the training wand into his satchel as the bells floating in the air above them began to chime.  "See you in Dark Arts?"

"Uh huh, yeah," Eni said, turning to walk away, "good luck with Flitwick!"

"Thanks, yeah, say hi to the others for me!"

Aaron dodged his way down the rest of the corridor, walking into the Charms classroom and taking his usual seat at the back, trying to ignore all the excited first years who sat in front of him, giggling and talking loudly.  He had felt a lot better about himself when he had been a first year, taking second year classes, or when he had been a second year, taking third and fourth year classes.  It was a lot harder now, when he was a fourth year, and painfully behind, surrounded by a bunch of overeager students who were half his size, most of whom had a lot more experience using magic than he did.

Aaron took out his quill and his inkpot, and his battered old copy of The Standard Book of Spells, as Flitwick walked in, closing the classroom door behind him.

"Alright, class!  Everyone turn to page ninety-seven, and we'll pick up where we left off on Tuesday!  Quiet now, Bradley!  Come on!  Let's get started!"

Aaron opened his textbook, looking up as Flitwick started to write something on the board at the front of the room, noticing that the boy sitting next to him was digging through his satchel, looking a bit frantic.

Aaron tried to remember the boy's name.  It was David or Dean or something like that.  Oh well.  Whatever his name was, he had his textbook out, and a quill and some parchment, but there was no sign of an inkpot.

"Here," Aaron said, sliding his across the table between them.  "You can use mine."

"Oh, thanks!" the boy said, looking relieved.

Aaron remembered then.  

Daniel

The boy's name was Daniel.  He was in Ravenclaw.

Aaron watched as Daniel dipped his quill into his inkpot, pulling it out too fast and splattering drops of ink all over the table.

Daniel gasped, glancing nervously at Aaron, using one of the sleeves of his robe to wipe up some of the mess.

"It's okay, here," Aaron told him, taking out the training wand.  It was time to see if today would be any better than yesterday.

"Tergeo," Aaron said, waving the wand carefully over the spilled ink, watching as almost half of it siphoned itself up into the air and dissolved.

Aaron smiled.  

It took another wave of the wand, but he managed to get all the ink cleaned up.

He was still smiling a few minutes later, listening to Flitwick, when he realized Daniel was staring at him.

"What?  You alright?"

Daniel scooted closer to him on the bench, looking nervous again.  "Is it true?"

" . . . Is what true?"

"Can you really apparate to wherever you want?"

"No."

"Oh, but I heard-"

"People talk a lot," Aaron said, looking back at his notes.

Daniel leaned closer to him again, whispering now.  "Was it scary?  When it . . . when you first . . . "

Aaron looked up, realizing Flitwick's gaze had gone to where they were sitting - that he had completely missed hearing whatever it was Flitwick had just said about wand movements for color changing charms.

Aaron let out a long breath as Daniel kept talking.  He really didn't want a first year to know how much he actually had to pay attention.

"Look," he said, leaning forward until his shackle stuck out from beneath the hem of his robe, "if you keep talking in class like this, I swear I will apparate you out to the middle of the Forbidden Forest and leave you there."

Daniel's face went white.  "Sorry, I just-"

"I know, look, come find me at dinner if you really want to chat, alright?  This isn't exactly a good time."

"Alright, okay, yeah," Daniel said, turning back to his quill and his sheet of parchment.

Aaron's gaze went back toward the front of the room.  Flitwick was well into the practical application part of his lecture now.

"Okay everyone!  I'm going to pass around this basket.  Everyone take out a block of wood!  There you go, you got it; now pass it around.  Make sure it gets to the back of the room.  There we go!  Does everyone have a block?  Good!  Now, raise your wands and repeat after me . . . Colovaria!"

The first years all raised their wands, shouting the charm back at Flitwick with enthusiastic voices.

Aaron muttered the spell under his breath and flicked the training wand, staring at his block of wood.

Nothing happened.

All around the classroom, younger students recited the incantation again and waved their wands, looking excited and capable.

You have to embrace it, Charlie had told him, again and again.

Right.  Fine.

Aaron took a deep breath and raised his wand.

"Colovaria!" 

He said it so loud, Daniel jumped, but he felt something.  He actually felt something.  He watched, smiling now, as the block of wood he had picked out of Flitwick's basket started to change color, turning a darker shade of brown before turning black and fading to gold.

"Ha!"

Daniel jumped again.  Flitwick turned to look at Aaron, glancing down at his block of wood.

"Oh!  Mister Stone!  Well done!  Very, very, well done!"

Aaron smiled again.  He was doing it.  He was actually using magic like the rest of them.  Eni was right.  He really was getting to be a lot more consistent.

He was so excited about it, he raised his wand, and did it again.

"Colovaria!"

The block took its time, but it turned red.  Aaron laughed.  He felt so good.  He wanted to run down the halls and turn every fucking thing he saw a different color.

When class was over, Aaron grabbed his satchel and headed for the front of the room, dropping his now purple and blue striped block back into the basket with the others.

Flitwick was standing near his desk, smiling, watching him over the heads of his younger classmates.

"Excellent work today, Mister Stone!  You've been practicing!"

Aaron shrugged.  "A bit.  I . . . I've had some help."

He had.  Charlie and Eni had spent the last few weeks making him try to use magic for just about everything.

"Very good, yes," Flitwick said.  "You know, I think you'll develop a real knack for charms one day, if you keep at it.  I could work with you some more on an individual basis, too, if you like.  I think you would really benefit from some one-on-one instruction."

Aaron's gaze shifted a bit.  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe.  "Might, yeah."

or not

He really didn't know.  He still had bad days, when magic didn't work for him at all.  He didn't want Flitwick to feel like he was wasting his time.

"Let's do that then," Flitwick said, adjusting his glasses and reaching for his quill, making a note on a piece of parchment.  "Are you available on Wednesday mornings?"

"I don't know.  I . . . I've got work before breakfast.  I've got to-"

"Ah, yes, that's right.  Let's see.  How about in the evenings?  Sometime before dinner?"

"I could on Mondays, yeah."

"Wonderful!  Let's start next week then, alright?"

Aaron nodded.  "Alright, yeah, I mean, if you don't mind.  I'm still not very good.  I can't always-"

"Oh, nonsense!  You've been doing just fine.  You'll see.  A few private sessions with me, and I'll have you doing a lot more than getting an old block of wood to change colors."

Aaron was quiet.  He wasn't so sure about that.  He appreciated Flitwick's enthusiasm, he really did, but it had taken him over a month now, working with Charlie almost every night, just to master a charm he could use to mend his own socks.

Flitwick smiled at him again.  "Look, Mister Stone.  I know you've had a rough go of things, and I'm sure you're feeling a bit out of place right now, in here with all these first years, but I don't think you'll be out of place for long, not if you keep working at it.  You've got talent.  I know you don't believe that, but you do.  I think it's time you started trusting yourself, and believing in yourself a bit more, don't you think?"

Aaron shrugged.

Flitwick was still smiling at him.  "That’s alright.  Sometimes it takes a bit more time.  You'll get there.  I promise.  See you on Monday?"

"Alright, yeah," Aaron managed, as he turned away from Flitwick and headed for the door.  "Thanks, professor.  Thanks a lot.  Really.  I'll see you on Monday."

Aaron had barely left Charms when Tonks found him.  She smiled as she walked up to him, waving at him over the heads of a group of second years.  "Hey!  Aaron!  Have you got a partner for the dueling practical in Dark Arts today yet?"

"I don't, no," he said, once she was a bit closer.  "Why?  You want to do it with me?"

Tonks grinned.  "Obviously."

"I don't know, Tonks.  I can't cast most of the dueling spells we've learned to save my life."

"That's fine!  I'll go easy on you.  Come on!  It will be fun."

"Sure, yeah, until you maim me."

"I'm not going to maim you."

"Or knock me on my arse."

"That I might do," Tonks said, grinning again.

Aaron shook his head as Charlie walked up to them.

"Hey!  Have either of you seen Percy?"

"He was in Transfiguration earlier," Aaron told him.  "What's he gone and done now?"

"Lost my broom, probably.  I told him he could use it for flying lessons, if he put it back under my bed whenever he was done with it, but he hasn't been putting it back.  I've got Quidditch practice in an hour and I can't find it.  I can only cast Accio so many times before I lose my damn mind."

"Bet it's locked in the broom shed," Tonks said.

"It's not," Charlie told her, "believe me, I checked."

Aaron tensed as Rhodus Carrow came walking around the corner.

No one knew Aaron was the one who had found Marcus Carrow's body in the old Underground station.  Moody had used a gag charm to keep him from talking about it with anyone who wasn't an Auror, or a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Marcus Carrow's decomposed corpse was all Aaron could think about whenever he saw Rhodus or Amelia in his classes, at meals, or out in the hallways.  He would never forget the way Carrow's body had smelled, or the way it had looked, rotting and decomposing in the dark, like the rats had been having a go at it for a long time.

Aaron stiffened as Rhodus' eyes met his, glaring at him.  Rhodus had changed since his father had gone missing - since everyone had found out he had been killed.  He was still a right prick, but he had gotten a lot quieter, in a way that had started to make Aaron feel uncomfortable.  Rhodus seemed a lot more angry.  He seemed not to care about anything at all.

Aaron didn't blame him.

He dropped his gaze as Rhodus walked past, giving him some space.  Rhodus shouldered him a bit, but other than that, he left him alone.

Aaron looked back at Charlie and Tonks.  They were still talking about Percy, and Charlie's broom.

"Serves me right for trusting him with it, I guess," Charlie said, running a hand through his hair.

Tonks shrugged.  "You were just trying to be a good brother."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a saint."

"I'm sure he's got it stashed somewhere."

"In pieces, probably."

Aaron walked behind them, following them both to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  They were almost there when he caught sight of Eni, standing by the door, waiting for them.  She smiled and followed them inside.

The classroom was crowded.  Aaron moved toward the back of the room, still following Tonks and Charlie.  Professor Rakepick stood at the center of the room with her arms folded.  All the desks and chairs had been moved to the side.

"Come on, everyone file in!  That's it!  I know you're all excited about today's dueling practical, so if you all circle around and find a spot to stand with your partner, we'll get started.  There you go!  Spread out a bit more there on my left.  Excellent!  Now, there's an odd number of you, so one of you will have to partner up with me."

A few murmurs went through the group of students as most of them shuffled around.  Rhodus Carrow, it turned out, was the odd one out.

"That's alright, Mister Carrow," Rakepick said, smiling at him a bit.  "I'll try to go easy on you, when it's our turn."

Rhodus didn't look like he was worried about it.  He looked like he didn't want to be there.  Aaron didn't blame him for that either.  He hadn't been looking forward to this.

"Right then!  Everyone move in a bit closer.  There you go!  I want to see all of your faces.  I want to make sure you'll all hear what I have to say."

Professor Rakepick raised her wand.  Half the class jumped as the door to the Dark Arts classroom slammed shut behind them - as the torches mounted along the walls flickered and went dim.

"Magic can be fun, as you all know," Rakepick started again, "but it can also be dangerous.  Sooner or later, you are going to have to face an opponent who wants nothing more than to hurt you, or do something much worse, and you've got to know how to defend yourselves."

Aaron tensed as Rakepick walked closer to him, staring at him for a moment before shifting her gaze to Tonks and Charlie, and the rest of his classmates.

"You're all too young to remember the war, or remember how bad things were.  You're too young to remember how many people were killed, or how many people went missing in the middle of the night."

Aaron noticed then that Rhodus was staring at Rakepick - that he was clutching his wand.  He didn't need a reminder.

Neither did Aaron.  

People were still going missing.  People were still being killed.  After what had happened to Rhodus' father, and what had happened on the train, they had all seen exactly what the war must have been like.  They had all seen more than enough death.

"There were many students, just like you," Rakepick continued, "who stood right here, in this room, and went on to do terrible things; who tortured and killed people, and made so many live in fear."

Rakepick looked back across the room as the torches on the walls flickered again.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once stood in this room, learning how to cast many of the spells he later used to do so much of his worst work, as did many of his followers.  Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, who were involved with the killings of Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and hunted down the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, and made them go insane, once stood in this room, as did young Barty Crouch Junior, who helped them with that later, horrible task."

Aaron looked at Charlie, who's body had gone rigid next to his.  Charlie had never talked much about what had happened to his uncles, or if he had been too young to even remember them very well, but he had told Aaron exactly how they had died.  So had Bill.  Bill still remembered both of them; how they used to come play with him and take him for rides on their brooms.  He had been the one to tell Aaron that they had gone down fighting.

Rakepick walked past them again, staring at them all in turn.

"Sirius Black once stood here, too, long before he killed twelve muggles in broad daylight, laughing as he was dragged off.  Magic is powerful, as you should all well know by now.  What we do in this room will be one of the most important things you will ever learn: how to defend yourselves, and how to stay alive."

Aaron looked at Charlie again.  His gaze was still fixed straight ahead.

"I know your instruction up to this point has been somewhat lacking," Rakepick said, drawing her wand through the air.  "I think it's time to change that."

Aaron watched as she stepped to the side - as a long platform rose from the center of the floor.

"Right then," Rakepick said, looking back at all of them.  "Who would like to go first?"

Aaron stiffened as Tonks raised her hand, waving it wildly in the air.  "Oh, we can!  Aaron and I can go first!"

"Very good!  Miss Tonks, Mister Stone, please step up here."

Aaron took a deep breath as Eni leaned toward him.

"Good luck," she whispered.  "You've got this."

"Right, yeah," Aaron said, "if she kills me, I'm blaming you, too."

He walked toward the center of the room, stepping up onto the platform with Tonks.  She smiled, walking to the far end of the platform and turning to face him, taking out her wand.

"Good," Rakepick said, positioning herself between them off to the side.  "Now, before you start, a few rules."

"Stone doesn't need rules," Rhodus said, from somewhere behind him.  "He needs a miracle.  He can't control magic even when he does manage to do some."

Aaron's hand tightened on the training wand as laughter came from behind him, but he didn't turn around.

Rakepick's glare shot across the room.  "If you don't have anything constructive to add to this class, Mister Carrow, I will gladly escort you out, and deduct an appropriate number of points, not only from your house, but from your marks as well.  Do you understand?"

Aaron didn't know if Rhodus did or not, but he had at least gone quiet.

"Excellent," Rakepick said, looking back at Aaron and Tonks.  "Now, as for the rules, no stepping off the platform, or using any spells we haven't already practiced in class.  The goal is to incapacitate your opponent as quickly as possible without hurting them.  You may cast one offensive or defensive spell at a time.  Each duel will go three rounds.  Are you ready?"

Aaron nodded, so did Tonks.

"Very well, then let's begin!  Take your stances!  Raise those wands and hold them steady!"  

Aaron did, taking a deep breath, keeping his eyes on Tonks, who was still smiling.

"Excellent!  Now, on the count of three . . . One . . . Two . . . Three!"

"Protego!"

Aaron had barely shouted the word when a massive jet of water erupted from the end of Tonks' wand, coming at him and knocking him flat back onto the floor.

Aaron coughed, spitting out some of the water that had gone in his mouth as laughter came from behind him again.  He rolled on his side and laid there for a moment, a bit stunned, and absolutely soaked.

"Well done, Miss Tonks!" Rakepick said.  "That was excellent!  Just the sort of spell I was thinking of!  Did you all see what she did?  The way she used something that is usually so harmless in such an effective way?"

Aaron got up slowly, shaking out his hair.  It had been effective alright.

"And you, Mister Stone, excellent try with the shield charm!  You'll just have to be a bit faster next time.  Miss Tonks here beat you on the draw!"

Tonks grinned at him from across the platform, looking pretty damn pleased with herself.  Even Charlie was laughing now, probably at the sight of him.  That was good.  Aaron was just glad he and Tonks had managed to distract him from what Rakepick had said about his uncles.

"Alright, two more rounds!  Come on!" Rakepick said.  "Let me see what you've got."

"Right," Aaron said, facing Tonks again, shaking some more water out of his hair, "was that really the best you can manage?"

"Not even close," Tonks said, smiling.

Aaron grinned, raising the training wand again.  He would probably get knocked right back on his arse, but he didn't mind so much now.  It hadn't been so bad.

He had almost stopped her, and he was ready to try again.

Chapter Text

February 1988 - Between the Wars

Alice Longbottom sat alone on the far side of the room; silent and unresponsive in a chair by the windows.  She had been given a large dose of potions to keep her subdued during visiting hours; to keep her from running out of the room, screaming.

Dumbledore watched from across the table where he sat as the expression on Alice's husband's face changed from one of awareness to uncertainty.

"You . . . " Frank started, his next words trailing off.  "You have been here before?"

"Yes," Dumbledore told him, "I have.  I have been here many times before."

Frank's expression changed again.  He stood up slowly, pushing his chair back and looking toward the windows, past his wife, toward the rooftop terrace beyond, lost in his own thoughts and what seemed to be the sudden, unfamiliar appearance of his surroundings.  Suddenly, he looked so afraid.

Seeing him like this always broke Dumbledore's heart.  Frank had never been one to be afraid.  He had always been so strong.

Frank looked back at Dumbledore again a moment later, his eyes full of excitement once more.  "I have a son; did you know that?  Have I told you about my son?"

Dumbledore nodded.  He knew Neville well.  The nervous boy had been at the hospital a few hours earlier with his grandmother.  Dumbledore had watched them from a distance, waiting for his turn to visit with Frank and Alice.  It had taken Frank almost twenty minutes to realize that the boy who had been sitting across from him was his son.  In the time it had taken Frank to smile and reach for Neville, a haunted look of confusion had come over his features.  Dumbledore had watched as Frank had forgotten who the child in his arms was, and pushed him away.

"He's a good boy, my son," Frank said, smiling now.  "Sometimes I carry him around the house on my shoulders.  He's always so . . . so happy . . . so very happy."

Frank's face changed again.  "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"You do," Dumbledore told him.  "I am a friend."

"I . . . I do feel as though we may have met before.  I'm sorry.  Sometimes, my mind . . . I can't always . . . I'm so sorry.  Have we met before?"

"We have met many times, my dear friend."

Frank was still staring at him. 

"I know your eyes," Frank said, "but I'm afraid everything else is lost beneath a layer of years."

Dumbledore smiled.  "As are we all."

"The years . . . they can be so . . . so hard.  I'm sorry.  Have I told you about my son?  He's such a good boy."

One of the healers walked up to them then.  Dumbledore nodded at her. 

Visiting hours were over.  It was time for him to leave.

The healer took Frank's hand, guiding him slowly out of the room.  Dumbledore watched them go.  He had promised himself he would visit Frank and Alice whenever he could, but it had been almost two years since he had last come to see them.  He had been avoiding them, he knew.  Seeing them was always so hard.  They were nothing more than remnants of their former selves now, broken and damaged beyond repair, like ghosts wandering alone.  He had learned long ago that there was nothing he could do to help them; that there was no way to save them from the waking nightmares their lives had become.

Dumbledore looked back across the room, where Alice still sat alone in a chair by the windows.  Last night had been hard for her.  The healers had told him everything, about the way she had woken up screaming, telling them she could see people who weren't there.  They had told him about the way they had found her on the floor, backed against the wall in the far corner of her room.  They had told him that she had screamed at them, that she had told them she could see Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, coming for her in the dark; that she could hear Barty Crouch Junior, laughing.

Dumbledore took one last look at Alice and stood up, walking out of the visiting room, back through the entrance to the Janus Thickey Ward, thinking about all the things he wished he could change.

He took the lift down to the main floor and found his way to the lobby, still moving slowly.  A young witch sat in a chair by the reception desk, reading an article from The Daily Prophet.  Marcus Carrow's face was on the front page of the newspaper.  It seemed the Aurors still didn't have any leads regarding the tragic death that seemed to have befallen him in the Underground station.

Dumbledore stared at the image of Marcus Carrow a moment longer, feeling cold.

I never should have killed him.

How did they ever find his body?

He didn't know.  He should have disposed of it properly.  He had been careless.  He had been careless and upset.  He never should have let things get that far.  He should have left Carrow alive, and found a way to bring him before the Wizengamot, so he could answer for what he had done. 

But he hadn't.  He had taken matters into his own hands, and let his frustrations consume him, and now, Carrow was dead.

He's dead . . . at my hands.

And it was all for nothing. 

Muggle-borns were still dying.

Dumbledore looked away from the moving image of Marcus Carrow, and the young woman who held the newspaper, and turned to leave, unable to stop thinking about what he had done - about all of the horrible mistakes he had made, trying to make things right.

This is my fault.  This is all my fault.

If not Marcus, who should I have chained to that column?

Chapter Text

March 1988 - Between the Wars

Nick inhaled hard, sucking on the end of the cigarette that dangled between his lips.  When the end finally caught, he shoved his lighter back in his pocket and took a few steps around the enclosed back lot, taking another few drags.  It had been a long set and, on his way out for a smoke, Isaac had told him that they weren't getting paid.

Fucking hell.  Fuck this night.

Fuck this whole bloody night.

It was three in the morning now, and Isaac was still inside, listening to the next band and nodding his head along in a drunken stupor, like a fucking idiot.  Well, that was fine.  Just bloody fine.   Isaac didn't care whether or not they got paid.  He had family money.  He didn't have to worry about where his next meal would come from or any shit like that.  It wasn't the same for Nick.  This wasn't just some sort of game for him.  This wasn't just something he did for fun.  He had needed this gig, he had really fucking needed it, and he had really fucking needed to get paid.

They all told me to get a real job, the fucking wankers, he thought, flicking the end of his cigarette on the ground.

Well, I guess they were all right.

He stomped out the end of his fag and reached for another one.

fuck

This had been a real job; a nice, real, steady job that had gone on for almost two years.  But now, the gigs had dropped off, and the venues had stopped calling.

Nick exhaled a mouthful of smoke and looked up at the sky.  He supposed he should have seen it coming.  Instead, he had decided to ignore the signs that their success would be short-lived and ride the high of the few gigs they had managed to book, lying to himself about how good they were.  It was pretty fucking obvious now that they weren't exactly the dog's bollocks.

Nick took another long drag off his cigarette.  His ears rang from their set, but he could still hear the music that came from inside; from the band that was currently occupying the stage.  They sounded like shit.  Absolute rubbish, really, but the crowd was yelling and screaming for them anyway.  Nick didn't see what all the fuss was about, but he bet they were getting paid.

Bunch of wankers.

This whole fucking warehouse is a shit place to play anyway.  It's got shit lighting, shit acoustics, and shitty little underage kids with fake IDs, shoving each other in the crowd, trying to prove something to each other after all their wanker parents dropped them off out front.

Nick finished his second cigarette and tossed it on the pavement, shivering a bit.  It was cold for March; really bloody damn cold.  The thought of walking back through the warehouse and back to the Underground was enough to give him a headache.  He didn't want to deal with the crowds, and he sure as shit didn't want to see Isaac again tonight.

Thankfully, he didn't have to.

Nick scanned the lot, making sure he was still alone, and disapparated.

CRACK

The air snapped around him as he appeared inside a roadway tunnel covered with graffiti, a few streets away from Lane's flat.  He didn't think anyone had seen him, at least.  The tunnel was empty.

Nick shoved his hands in his coat pockets and left the tunnel, heading for the next street.  He would have apparated right into the flat, but Lane might still be awake, and he didn't want to scare him, or have to explain himself.  Lane was a muggle, but he was a good muggle.  A good muggle who had given him a place to stay for a few weeks, until he got all his shit back in order.  The last thing Nick wanted to do was break the Statute of Secrecy and wear out his welcome all in one go.

That was alright.  He was almost there anyway.

At least magic got me this far.

Nick laughed at the joke.  This was exactly where magic had gotten him; hungry, broke, and nearly homeless, living on other peoples' sofas and floors.  No one at Hogwarts had told him the truth; that the magical world was full of shit.  After his first five years, Professor Sprout had looked at his marks, and told him, if he worked a bit harder, he could get hired to do inventory work at one of the shops in town, or maybe even get taken on by one of the owl post services.  What wonderful opportunities.  He could make ten Sickles an hour.  Maybe more, if he got really serious about things and spent his last two years of school bent over some more books in the library.  It would be worth it, wouldn't it?  To make ten Sickles an hour?

Ten bloody Sickles an hour.  To clean up owl shit.

That was the problem with Hogwarts.  Every student who went there thought they would graduate and become an Auror, or play Quidditch professionally, or maybe even go off and live on some mountainside in Hungary, where they could spend their days in the sun, drinking ale and breeding dragons.

The truth was that it took a lot of fucking work to be an Auror, professional Quidditch teams started scouting at the Third Year level - two years before Nick had even joined his house team - and no one bred dragons unless they were born into a family that had done it for generations.  Nick sure hadn't been born into magic, and he had never given much of a shit about his grades.  Who the fuck was ever going to care if he got Outstanding marks in Divination?

No one in the real world, that was for damn sure. 

No one wanted to hire someone whose educational background consisted almost entirely of studying obscure plants, the alignment of the stars, and how to defend themselves against the occasional Boggart.  The truth was, thanks to his Hogwarts education, he had no practical life skills.  He was absolute shit at doing anything that could have made him some real money.

Nick reached for another cigarette.  He really wished his parents hadn't been right.

"That school of yours is such a waste of time.  You need to forget about magic, is what you need to do.  Can't you just try being normal?  You'll never get anywhere living like this."

Nick stopped on the next corner, taking a few long drags.  He really, really wished his parents hadn't been right.  He wished even more that they would stop making him feel like shit about himself every time he went home.

"Aren't you a wizard now?  Can't you just . . . make some money appear?  Can't you use magic to get yourself a nice flat here in the city?"  

No, Nick had told them, he couldn't.  That wasn't how magic worked, not the sort he could do anyway.

Thank Christ Isaac had called and he had kept up with the drums while he had been at Hogwarts.

He took out another cigarette.  It was his last one.  His lighter was dying now, too, and he didn't have his wand on him.

Know what.  Yeah.  Fuck everything about tonight.

Nick stopped on the next corner, waiting for the light to change.  It was then that a woman walked up next to him.

He noticed her arse first.  It was a great arse, holy damn.  She had long legs, too, beneath her short skirt, covered with nearly transparent stockings that had a tear running up one of the sides.  It was all pretty damn sexy, was what it was.  The top she wore was loose, and he'd bet his last cigarette - the one he was still trying to light - that she wasn't wearing a bra.

The woman looked at the chewed fag that hung between his lips, took out a lighter, and flicked the flint wheel.  She held the flame up between them and leaned closer.  "Need a light?"

Nick wanted more than a light, but he thanked her and ignited the end of his fag.

"You live around here, handsome?" she asked.

"Sometimes," Nick said, inhaling.

She looked him up and down.  "Fancy a night back at mine then?"

Bloody hell.  Is she having me on?

Nick shrugged, trying to feel her out.  "Oh, I don't know.  I guess, if you'd like."

The woman leaned against him and nipped at his ear.

"I like," she said, grinning.

Fucking hell.

This was happening.  This was really happening.  Maybe she even had food at her place.

Nick laughed and threw an arm around the woman, pulling her close.  "Is that so?  Where do you live, love?"

"Not far from here," she said.  "Are you . . . clean?"

"Oh, very," Nick said, though he couldn't imagine what he smelled like after sweating through the gig for an hour and a half and chain smoking for two days to keep his stomach from cramping.

"Excellent," the woman said, leaning into his embrace.  "Let's go then, yeah?"

Fuck me.  She really wants to do this.

Is she working?  She must be working.  Will I have to pay her after? 

He probably would, but right now he didn't care.  He could get all that sorted later.  If he had to pay for her services, he could apparate back to the warehouse real quick and find Isaac.  Isaac could spot him for a hundred or so quid.  It was the least he could do after what he had put him through.

Nick took another drag off his cigarette, inhaling as the woman pulled him close, opening her lips and kissing him, pressing her tongue against his.  Nick grinned.  She was good at this.  He couldn't wait for her tongue to press against something else.

Nick looked up a moment later, realizing he had lost his cigarette, and all awareness of where they had walked to.  They had stopped in front of a door at the back of a building.  The woman shoved it open and led him inside, guiding him down a dark hallway.  Her wandering hands undid the buttons on the front of his jeans as she led him into a stairwell.

"Oh," Nick said, "aren't you eager?"

The woman smiled, reaching for him again, pulling down his jeans and his pants and kneeling down in front of him before he could protest.

Nick gasped, reaching down and running his fingers through her hair while her head bobbed up and down in the dark.

Sweet.  Holy.  Fuck.

It had been a good, long time since someone had sucked him off.  He kept his hand in her hair, twisting the long strands between his fingers.  In the dim light, he wasn't even sure what color it was anymore.  He had thought it was black, when they had been out walking around, but now he wasn't so sure.  It almost looked red now.

Eh, who gave a fuck?  This was brilliant.  Her mouth felt fucking amazing.

Nick leaned back, and decided to enjoy himself.  He reached for a pipe that was attached to the wall behind him, held on, and closed his eyes, starting to moan.

This wasn't going to take long. 

He kept his eyes shut, still running his fingers through the woman's hair.  She still hadn't mentioned anything about charging him for this.  Maybe she wasn't a hooker.  That was fine, but if she wanted a little something from him in return, he was going to have to stop her pretty soon, or at least ask her to slow down.

No, no, don't worry about her.  Just focus on the feeling.

He did.  Oh, he did.  He really fucking needed this.

"Are you doing alright up there, love?" a male voice asked him.

Nick's eyes shot open.  

The woman was gone.  A man was kneeling in front of him now; a fucking, bloody man.

"Oh," the man said, smiling up at him, "what's wrong, love?  Don't you like me anymore?  I thought we were having fun."

Nick grabbed the man by his shoulders and yanked him to his feet.  "What is this, you sick bastard?!  Where the hell did she go?!"

"Where did who go, love?"

"The woman I came in here with!  The one I fucking-"

Nick gasped as the man's face changed, shifting in the dim light, turning once more into the face of the woman he had met on the street.  "I'm right here, love.  I never left you."

"What the fuck is this?!  Jesus Christ.  Are you some sort of bloody-"

oh fuck

It was a metamorphmagus - a fucking metamorphmagus.

fucking hell

"Some sort of bloody what, love?" the metamorphmagus asked him, their face changing back to that of the man's, dark hair shortening quickly against their scalp.

"Look, I . . . I'm not some sort of bloody queer.  If we're going to do this, I don't want you looking like a fucking-"

Nick let out a pained gasp as the metamorphmagus shoved him back against the wall, and pulled out a wand.  "How about you shut your mouth?  You unappreciative wanker."

Nick struggled, trying to get free, as the metamorphmagus raised their wand and said, in a rather sing-song voice, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Nick's body went ridged, propped up against the wall.  He couldn't move.  Jesus Christ.  He couldn't fucking move!

Nick watched, helpless, as the metamorphmagus cast a levitation charm, using it to lift his body into the air.

FUCK!

HOLY FUCK!

He couldn't even scream.

HOLY FUCKING CHRIST THIS IS BAD THIS IS SO BAD

"You know what?" the metamorphmagus said.  "The real bitch of all this is that we could have had such a good time together if you had just let me keep going.  I would have treated you so well before I had to do this."

Nick watched with horror as the metamorphmagus reached into an unseen pocket in their skirt, and took out a knife.

FUCK FUCK FUCK JESUS SHITTING FUCK

Whatever was about to happen, he couldn't stop it.

"It's alright, love," the metamorphmagus said, smiling back at him.  "Believe me, I really am sorry about this.  You've got such a pretty face."

Blood ran down into Nick's open eyes as the metamorphmagus carved a slanted line into his forehead.

NO FUCK NO NO NO STOP

He still couldn't scream.

JESUS CHRIST NO STOP

PLEASE STOP

PLEASE

OH GOD OH FUCKING SHIT

He hovered there, paralyzed, as the metamorphmagus carved another slanted line, and another.

"I know what you're thinking," the metamorphmagus said, as more blood ran down Nick's forehead, "why you?  Well . . . why not?  After all, you're just my type."

PLEASE STOP

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST PLEASE JUST FUCKING -

There was a horrible sound then - a horrible wet, choking sound - the last Nick would ever hear - as the metamorphmagus raised their knife, and pulled it across his throat.

Chapter Text

March 1988 - Between the Wars

It took two days for someone to find the body in the stairwell.  The Metropolitan Police got the tip from a homeless man who had found his way into the building late one night, looking for a place to hole up and stay warm.  His plans had changed pretty quickly when he had pushed open an unlocked door, and found a body covered with blood that he swore to God had been floating in the air.

The modified police scanner that sat on Juliet's nightstand broadcast the report just after four-thirty in the morning.

"Possible homicide in Tottenham, near White Hart Lane.  All nearby units respond.  Body reported to be mutilated and decapitated."

Juliet grabbed her coat and her wand, pulled on her boots, and disapparated, leaving her bedroom behind.

She appeared a moment later, in the living room in Cassio's flat.

He was already standing by the door, fully dressed, waiting for her while he tugged on his gloves.  "I can get us as far as Noel Park."

"No, I've got this," Juliet told him.  "I met Bev for coffee at a café near White Hart Lane last summer.  I can get us there."

She took Cassio's arm before he could protest, and made them both disappear.

CRACK 

They appeared inside the dark café a moment later, knocking over two chairs and triggering a security alarm.

Juliet winced.  Cassio raised his wand, casting a spell and silencing the awful, blaring noise.

"Fuck," Juliet said.  "Hope no one heard that."

Flashing blue and white lights were already coming from outside, where three police cars were parked in front of a building on the next corner.  Juliet could see a few police officers now, too, using barricades to block off the road.

"Come on," she said to Cassio, "let's try the alleyway."

She led him through the back of the café, past the kitchen and down a dark hallway, where they ducked out the back door. 

They walked toward the back of the building on the next corner slowly, sticking to the shadows.  Juliet could see another police officer, standing guard at the building's rear entrance.  Before the officer could see them, she raised her wand, and hit him BANG! with a stunning spell, watching as he fell back onto the asphalt.

Cassio hurried forward, pulling off his gloves.  He bent down quickly and reached for the man's forehead, closing his eyes for a moment before getting back to his feet, reaching for the back door of the building, and heading inside.

Juliet followed him, walking toward the sound of voices, careful to watch her step in the dark.  Two more police officers - and a homicide inspector, by the looks of him - stood in the shadows ahead of them.

Juliet raised her wand again, firing off more stunning spells, hitting both of the officers and the homicide inspector in their chests, watching as they collapsed.

Cassio got to the men first, kneeling down to touch their foreheads, dealing with, what Juliet assumed, was the removal of all memories the men might have of seeing them.  Static came from one of the men's walkie talkies as Cassio stood back up.

They would have to make this quick.

Juliet didn't waste any time.  She stepped over the unconscious inspector, ducked beneath a ribbon of police tape, and headed through the open door beyond, walking right into a poorly lit stairwell.

Juliet stopped, frozen where she stood.  The landing in front of her was covered with dark puddles of congealed blood.  There was more blood on the walls and the concrete steps.  The dead man was no longer suspended in the air.  The levitation charm that had probably been used on him had worn off what must have been hours ago.  What was left of the corpse had fallen down onto the landing - a deformed mass of limbs covered in blood.  The legs were mangled and twisted, bent at an unnatural angle.

It took Juliet another moment to find the head, which had rolled down the flight of stairs to her right, and landed on the next landing, with the open mouth and eyes facing up.

A familiar M had been carved into the man's forehead.

Juliet looked back at the corpse, trying to take it all in.  There was something weird about this one.

It was naked from the waist down.

That was different.

Juliet took a step closer to the corpse, slowly raising her wand.  The man's pants and jeans were bunched up around his ankles, creating a strange clump of fabric, denim, and blood.

She looked back at Cassio as he came through the doorway behind her.

"Looks like we managed to beat the Met's forensics team," she said, "but I bet they'll be here soon enough.  We'll have to work quickly if we don't want to spend the rest of the night assaulting police officers."

Cassio nodded, reaching into one of the hidden pockets in his coat and taking out his camera.

The flash bulb lit up the stairwell as he snapped his first picture.  Juliet watched as he got what he could from the doorway, then turned his wand on himself and levitated up into the air, hovering over the corpse and all of the blood.  He landed on the set of stairs below Juliet, where more blood had poured over the tops of the concrete steps, dripping off their ends and running down the risers.

Juliet hesitated.  She'd have to be careful if she didn't want to contaminate the scene.  Taking a cue from Cassio, she turned her wand on herself and cast a levitation charm of her own, floating up over the body and all of the blood, leaning down slowly to get a better look at the corpse.

"This M was carved with a sharp, blunt instrument, same as all the others we've seen," Juliet said, looking back at Cassio, who had taken out a quill and a piece of parchment and started making some notes, leaving his camera floating in the air.

"The head was removed with a similar sharp, blunt instrument.  Probably the same one.  The spinal cord is fragmented and the wind pipe is shredded.  Whoever decapitated this man took their time.  It must have taken a lot of force."

Cassio finished writing, tucking the piece of parchment and his quill back into the inner pocket of his coat and reaching for his camera again, snapping another picture.

Juliet looked back at the bloody pile of clothes that was wrapped around the dead man's ankles.

Right then.

Let's find out who you were.

She raised her wand, using spellwork to look through the man's pockets, until she found a wallet.

The man's legs twisted a bit as the wallet pulled itself free of the wet clump that had been his jeans.  Blood that had been trapped in the folds of denim leaked out, running down onto the concrete landing.

Juliet leaned forward and snatched the wallet out of the air, carefully removing a blood-splattered driving license.

She had to wipe off some of the blood to read the name printed on it.

"Nicholas Conner," she said, looking back over at Cass.  "He was twenty-three years old."

There wasn't anything else in the wallet, apart from an old Underground ticket.  Juliet studied the man's license for another minute before tucking it back inside the wallet.  Then, she raised her wand again, and used more spellwork to return the wallet to the back pocket of his sodden jeans.  Apart from a blood-covered cigarette lighter that seemed to be out of fluid, she didn't find anything else.

It was then that she heard someone, coming their way from out in the hall.

Juliet swore and stood back up to her full height, still floating in the air.  She turned and faced the doorway with her wand raised.  Cassio did the same.

"For Christ's sake, lower your wands," Moody said, grunting a bit as he ducked under the police tape.  "It's just me."

Juliet's gaze narrowed.  "How the hell did you-"

"You're not the only ones with police scanners now," Moody told her, stopping to take in the scene.  "Jesus Christ.  What a mess.  Any idea who this was?"

"Another muggle-born, I'm assuming," Juliet said, watching as Moody came closer, standing at the bottom of the flight of stairs beneath her.  "His name was Nicholas Conner."

Moody's eyes were still on the corpse.

"Do you want to take over?" Juliet asked him.

"No," Moody said, "by all means, continue.  This is your crime scene."

Juliet turned back toward the corpse, and knelt down over the body, beginning her narration to Cassio again.  "Apart from the forehead, and the obvious decapitation, it doesn't appear that there are any other wounds on the body, and, it looks like . . . wait."

Juliet leaned closer, and saw it properly then, the thing that had caught her eye.  A long piece of hair was wrapped around the fingers of the dead man's right hand.

"Cass, get this," Juliet said, leaning back so he could take a picture.

The light from his flashbulb ignited the stairwell again as Juliet used some more spellwork to untangle the long strand of hair.  She left it there for a moment, hovering in front of her, suspended carefully in the air.

It looked red.

Juliet reached into the inner pocket of her coat and took out a vial, using another spell to wind up the strand of hair.  When it was coiled up tightly inside of the vial, she capped the vial with a cork, and took out another vial, using it to collect a sample of the congealed blood.

When she was done, she stood up and turned around, looking back at the head.  The strand of hair didn't look like it belonged to the dead man, which meant he might not have been alone when he had been attacked . . . or whoever he was with might have been one of the killers.

Juliet faced the corpse and raised her wand again, casting a spell designed to collect different sorts of bodily fluids and other sorts of genetic material.  

She really shouldn't have been surprised when a somewhat sticky substance separated from the blood on the man's flaccid cock and drifted into the air.

At least he had a final moment of pleasure before his neck was torn open.

Or this is a kink gone terribly wrong.

Juliet siphoned the substance out of the air, into a waiting vial.

She tucked the vial into her coat and took a step back, watching while Cassio took some more pictures.

"What do you think?" she asked, looking back at Moody.  "Should we leave the body here?"

Moody nodded.  "We'll let the muggles have him.  This will be the ninth body they've found before we did, by my count.  They should be looking for a serial killer by now.  Stay on them.  If they find anything that can help with our investigation, so be it."

Juliet broke the levitation charm she had placed on herself and stepped down onto a clean portion of the landing. 

"Think we're just about done here then," she told Moody.  "Any chance you plan on sticking around?"

Moody shook his head.  "I've got a meeting this morning with an engineer who can tell me exactly when the tunnels leading to the Underground station where Carrow's body was found were encased in concrete.  That will limit the access timeline."

Juliet raised an eyebrow.  "I thought that apparating kid told you he'd never been down there before."

"He hasn't, not that he can remember, but that's not how apparition works, and you and I both know that body didn't get down there on its own."

"Right, well, good luck with that.  I'll see what I can get off these samples and dig into the victim's background.  Cass and I will keep an eye on the muggle police, and see if they come up with anything useful."

Moody turned to leave the stairwell, stepping over one of the unconscious bodies Juliet and Cassio had left in their wake.  "Did any of these muggles see you before you did this?"

"They did," Cassio said, tucking his camera away and pulling his long gloves back on, "but I've already dealt with them."

"He did, yeah, don't worry," Juliet said.  "He started grabbing foreheads and altering memories before we even started looking at the body."

Moody stopped, standing rigid in the doorway.  "Oh, fucking hell.  I wonder if . . . "

"What?" Juliet asked him.

Moody shook his head.  "I'll be fucked by a Boggart."

He looked back at her then, with something like realization spreading across his face.  "I think I know how that kid got inside the Underground station."

Chapter Text

March 1988 - Between the Wars

It was just after sunrise when Juliet finally made it back to her flat, squinting at the bright rays of light coming in through her living room windows.  She raised her wand, drawing the blinds as she headed for her desk, taking each of the vials out of her coat and setting them down by her inkwell and a stack of books.

Here we go. 

Fucking finally.

Something real.  Something solid.

Juliet moved the stack of books to the side and leaned forward, opening one of her windows before standing on her chair, reaching for her smoke detector, and yanking it off the ceiling.  That done, she climbed down, went to her cupboard, and took out her cauldron, setting it on her desk and starting a fire beneath it.

The killer had gotten sloppy, and left evidence behind, or they had interrupted Nicholas Conner while he had been getting head in a stairwell.  Either way, she would have another face to go with her crime scene, and another person to find and question, if they were still alive.

Juliet went back to her cupboard, took out a few Ashwinder eggs and a jar of dried Angel's Trumpet, and set the lot of it down on her desk, before reaching back into her cupboard for her little vial of Dragon's Blood.

Juliet dropped a handful of Angel's Trumpet into the cauldron.  She cracked one of the Ashwinder eggs in next, careful to include all the pieces of the shell.  After siphoning in some warm water from her kitchen tap, and adding a bit of distilled essence of lavender, she took a spoon, stirred for four minutes, and added three drops of Dragon's Blood.  When it had all dissolved, Juliet reached into the inner pocket of her coat and took out the jar of fireflies she had gotten from the apothecary in Diagon Alley on her way home.  The fireflies were still alive, crawling around on the little pile of twigs and leaves the shop assistant had added to the jar.

That was good.  She needed the fireflies alive.

At least, for a second.

Juliet unscrewed the lid, reached inside the jar, and plucked out six of the fireflies, crushing them quickly in her hand.  She scraped the fresh glob of neon guts and smashed wings off her palm and into her cauldron, and stirred until the color of the mixture changed from red and orange to purple and dark indigo; a sunset fading slowly into twilight.  The dark concoction kept swirling, moving all on its own, transforming suddenly into a starry night.

That would be the fireflies.

Juliet pulled on a pair of gloves and took the strand of hair out of its vial.  After using a charm to remove the dried bits of blood that still clung to it, she dropped it into her cauldron, and waited.

Juliet watched the mixture carefully, raising her hand to suppress a yawn.  She didn't want to admit how tired she was.  The early morning had taken a lot out of her.

She left her cauldron, went to her kitchen, made herself a strong cup of coffee, and walked back into her living room, staring at the far wall - at her collage of photographs, handwritten notes, and articles she had cut out of The Daily Prophet that covered nearly every inch of space.  Some of her notes were old and worn, starting to show their age.  The ink was faded now, and hard to read.

The oldest notes were transcripts from interviews she had conducted in April of 1985, when she had first talked to Barty Crouch Senior and Amelia Bones about the murders.  Juliet had been working on her own as an Auror for all of eight months when she had been called down to the main Wizengamot dungeon, where the bodies of four slain muggle-borns had been floating in the air, with their foreheads mutilated and their bodies still dripping with blood.

She should have been afraid.  She should have been terrified.

But she hadn't been.  All she had felt then was ready.

Before the muggle-born murders, Juliet had spent most of her time as an Auror waiting for something to happen - for anything to happen.  When she had first arrived to start her new career, Adelaide Burke had decided to give her the mind-numbing task of reviewing and sorting vials containing old memories that had been confiscated by The Ministry, to keep her busy, back when The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had still been trying to re-build after the war.  Juliet had spent weeks in the old storage closet by the armory, pouring strands of memories into a pensieve and making notes in a ledger, watching each one carefully before re-shelving them in a well-defined order.

From what Juliet remembered, most of the memories she had organized had been worthless.  She had watched witches and wizards testing the limits of basic charms, witnessing minor crimes, and finding illegal ways to use common spells.  Burke had told her the memories were significant, and that sorting them and finding out what they contained was important work, but Juliet had realized pretty quickly that it had all been a load of dragon shit. 

She had just been the youngest – and the least experienced – Auror on the payroll at the time, and Burke clearly hadn't known what else to do with her before the murders had started.  Juliet was still pretty sure all of those memories had been worthless.

. . . So why was she thinking about them again now?

Why did it suddenly feel like she had forgotten something?

Juliet looked up as steam started to rise from the liquid night sky in her cauldron.

That's it, yeah.  Come on.

She set down her cup and leaned closer, watching as the steam started to coalesce, taking the form of a woman's body.

Right, well, I guessed that much, Juliet thought impatiently.  There better be more.

The woman's features settled then, as details began to emerge.  Juliet watched as the plumes of steam changed colors, turning into strands of long red hair; into light skin and wide, blue eyes. 

Juliet grabbed a piece of parchment, held it up, and raised her wand.  The ghost of the woman who danced in front of her turned into colored shades of charcoal that copied themselves onto the parchment, creating a magical facial composite; a police sketch type drawing that was dead-on accurate.

Juliet stared at the sketch for a moment, studying it.  She had never seen the woman before.

Is she the killer?

Or had her and Conner just both been in the wrong place at the wrong time? 

She didn't know.  She didn't even know if the woman had been in the stairwell when Conner had been killed.

Thankfully, the strand of hair wasn't all she had to go off of.  Someone else might still be involved, or at least she would have a match, and know for sure who had been giving Conner head.

Juliet raised her wand again, removing the strand of hair and returning it to its vial before vanishing the contents of her cauldron.  She would have to make a fresh batch for the next sample she had collected, if she didn't want to contaminate her evidence.  She would have to do the same for the samples of congealed blood, just to be sure, though it was pretty obvious that they belonged to Conner.

Juliet set her wand down and reached for more Angel's Trumpet. 

When the second batch of Midnight Oil was ready, she added the sticky substance she had pulled off Nicholas Conner's flaccid cock; the substance she had already guessed was saliva. 

Juliet took a sip of her coffee, waiting once more for steam to rise from her cauldron.

It took a few more minutes for the shape of the same woman to appear.

Juliet was about to start over again, when the plume of steam curled in on itself, twisting and shifting until a man's face appeared on the woman's body.

What the shit?

Juliet swore, wondering if the sample had been contaminated.  She was sure it hadn't been.  She had been so careful.

Had it been a man who had been in the stairwell with Conner?

Was he the one who had been giving him head?

shit

Or . . . 

Was it him AND this woman?  Were BOTH of them there with him?

Juliet wondered for a moment if it had been two people; if it had been the same man and woman she had chased up the fire escape after Albert Daven had been attacked.

Jesus Christ

What sort of sick fucks are killing these people?

She watched as the figure in the steam changed again, shifting back to the woman, only this time, she had short, blonde hair.

What in the bloody hell . . . ?

Something was wrong.  The steam wasn't settling.  Juliet watched as it danced in front of her, moving in a constant state of flux, like it was some sort of -

OH

OH FUCK

OH HOLY BLOODY FUCK

Juliet swore again.

It wasn't multiple people.  It was the same person.

It was a goddamn metamorphmagus.

The person who had been in the stairwell with Nicholas Conner - who had sucked his cock and maybe even pulled a knife across his throat - had been a fucking metamorphmagus.

Juliet grabbed more pieces of parchment and raised her wand, quickly creating composites of all the different faces that had started to appear.  There were four of them in all, two male and two female.  She studied each one, holding them up to the light.

A metamorphmagus.

Bloody fucking hell.

This was going to make things so much more complicated, but at least now they had a suspect.

Juliet yanked off her gloves and stood up, extinguishing the fire beneath her cauldron and reaching for the composites again, preparing to disapparate, hoping Cassio was still at The Ministry.

Now we've got something.  Something real.

With that thought, the air around her cracked, and she was gone.

Chapter Text

March 1988 - Between the Wars

It was almost an hour after that night's dinner service when Aaron leaned over the sink in the kitchen, plunging his hands back into dirty dishwater, using a washrag to scrub at the stack of plates he had just submerged, swearing a bit under his breath.

It had been two days since he had been able to do anything with magic.  He was so sick of this.

He kept his eyes on the sink while Lara walked up behind him.

"There you are.  Thanks for doing that.  I know it's not fun.  Want me to cast a quick-"

"No," Aaron said, scrubbing at another plate.  "It's fine."

"Are you sure?  I could-"

"I'm sure," Aaron said through gritted teeth, still not looking up.

"Alright, well," Lara said, "you don't have to be so stubborn about it."

"Why not?  Doing dishes this way probably builds character or some shit, right?" 

"If by 'build character' you mean punishing yourself for not being able to use magic, then yes, I'm sure what you're doing will be very effective."

Aaron shrugged.  "I got along fine without magic before.  Besides, it's not like I had anything else to do tonight."

His eyes were still on the sink.  He knew nothing about his tone had indicated that any of this was alright.

Lara leaned back against the counter next to him.  "Oh, I don't know about that.  The weekend's just starting.  Sure you don't want to go sneak some more firewhisky into one of the common rooms?"

Aaron kept his gaze on the sink.  "Did you always know I did that?"

"I know exactly what is - and what is not - in this kitchen at all times."

"Sorry," Aaron said, finally looking at Lara.  "I can pay for what I took."

Lara smiled.  "It's alright, Aaron.  You didn't drink all that alcohol by yourself.  I was a student here once, too, you know.  I know what it's like.  I still sneak a bottle or two out of here every now and then."

She took out her wand and cast a self-cleaning charm on the silverware he had left soaking in a bucket of hot water.  "Tell you what.  Why don't you keep scrubbing for awhile, then come find me again whenever you decide you're ready to stop doing things the hard way, alright?"

"Right, yeah," Aaron said, looking back at the sink.  "No promises."

He reached for the next stack of plates, ran some more hot water from the tap, and scrubbed until his fingers started to cramp.

He was still at it when a familiar voice came from the stairwell behind him.  "Well, I'll be damned."

Aaron kept his eyes on the sink, even as Alastor Moody walked toward him. 

"When Minerva told me I could find you in the kitchen, I didn't think it was because you were working down here."

Aaron didn't say anything.  He didn't want to.  He hadn't seen Alastor Moody since the last week he had spent at St. Mungo's, when Moody had woken him up one night at three in the morning, given him Veritaserum to jog his memory, and made him write down every place he could remember ever having lived or passed through; every school, flat, house, and address he thought he had long since forgotten, and countless locations in-between.  None of them had been anywhere near London, let alone the abandoned Underground station where he had found Marcus Carrow's body.

When Moody had asked him for more details - "What were you doing there?  What the hell were you even doing at Hogwarts in the summer?  Have you really got no family?" - Aaron had tried not to tell him – there was too much he didn't want to talk about – but the truth potion had made him pull apart his personal history and all of his memories of the time he had spent in the oh-so-great foster care system of the United Kingdom.  He had told Moody too much about himself and some of the things that had happened at the places on his list.  He had told him he had never known his parents, that his mum was a nutter; that he had kept getting moved around because no one had wanted him.

He had told Moody he had been hurt by people who should have taken care of him.

When it was over, he had sat on the edge of his hospital bed, staring at the floor, feeling drained and numb.  Moody had apologized and reached for his shoulder, looking at him with a mix of pity and concern.  Aaron had hated that part the most.

He was not excited to see Alastor Moody again.

Aaron kept his eyes on the sink as Moody walked up to him.  "What do you want?"

"Dry off your hands and come with me," Moody told him.

Aaron leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest.

"I won't make you drink anymore potions, I promise," Moody said.  "I'm sorry.  I really am.  I never should have made you do that." 

Aaron stared back at him.  "I don't know anything else about that Underground station or Marcus Carrow, alright?  I don't know how his body got down there, and I've got no idea how I ended up down there with it."

"I do," Moody said.

"Bollocks," Aaron said, as a house elf scurried past them.

"Look," Moody said, watching the elf retreat, "this isn't the best place to talk."

Aaron let out a long breath and reached for the washrag, drying his hands and taking off his apron.  "Fine, yeah, let's go."

He left the last of the dirty dishes in the sink and followed Moody up the stairs.

Moody looked down at his arm as they walked past The Great Hall.  "When was the last time you took off that shackle?"

"I mean, I don't shower with it."

"Are you still getting sick and seeing all the different locations when you aren't wearing it?"

"Not every time," Aaron said, "but often enough that I don't like removing it."

"Who's been teaching you how to control the apparition?"

"No one."

"No one?"

"No one," Aaron said again.

Moody shook his head.  "Fucking hell."

"No one wants to watch me try to kill myself again, or deal with the consequences of having me randomly appear and disappear in front of a bunch of muggles."

They turned, taking a staircase down to the dungeons.  When they were inside the Potions classroom, Moody closed the door, enchanted it to stay locked, and added what looked like a noise-blocking charm for good measure, before he turned and looked back at Aaron.

"I need another list."

"Look," Aaron said, crossing his arms again, "I've gone through all the places in my head.  I can't think of any more I haven't already given you, except maybe where I was born, but I've got no idea where that was.  I've never had a birth certificate, and I don't know where the hell I was for the first, like, seven months of my life, before my social worker started keeping records.  I can't-"

"Don't worry about any of that," Moody told him.  "We've already established that you had never been in that Underground station before you apparated there.  I mean, how could you have ever gotten down there?  Most of those tunnels and access corridors were encased in concrete ten years before you were born.  You didn't kill Carrow."

Moody's eyes stayed on Aaron.  "But you touched whoever did."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I work with two young Aurors who have what I have started to think of as amplified magical abilities."

Aaron laughed.  It came out as a sudden, choking sound.  "You're full of shit.  You've got to be.  I am the least magical student at this school.  Didn't you just see me doing the dishes . . . with my hands?"

Moody didn't say anything.

"I'm rubbish at magic," Aaron went on.  "I've spent the last four years at this school trying not to get kicked out for not being able to use it.  I'm still trying to get the hang of charms like Wingardium Leviosa.  In my fourth year.  I'm shit at magic."

"You're not shit at apparition, or whatever it is you're doing.  Those young Aurors I work with both have touch-related abilities, too.  One of them is a walking pensieve.  She can pull herself into peoples' thoughts and memories just by touching them.  Her twin can erase and alter memories just by touching people, too.  I think your apparition works the same way, with some sort of touch transfer.  I think you can apparate to wherever you have been, and to wherever people you've touched have been."

Aaron leaned back against one of the tables, where someone had left a cauldron, filled with something that had dried out and now smelled a bit like grass and wet leaves.

He thought back to the morning he had woken up on the floor in Hagrid's hut, shaking as he had tried to hold onto the floor.  He had felt so sick, and Hagrid touching him had made everything worse.  He had seen parts of the Forbidden Forest he had never been to before.  He had never been to the Burrow until he had jumped there either, but obviously Charlie and Bill had.  

Aaron's gaze went to the floor.  He tried to remember the rest of what he had seen that day.  Everything had been moving so fast.

There had been a bakery.  It could have been Eni's family bakery, the one she always talked about.  There had been a graveyard, too, and then he had seen -

wait

"When you grabbed me in the park," Aaron started, looking back up at Moody, "we ended up at your flat."

Moody raised his eyebrow.  "Still think I'm full of shit?"

Aaron turned around, and grabbed a piece of parchment off one of the tables.

Moody handed him a quill and an inkpot.  "Write down anyone you've had physical contact with in the last two years."

Aaron wrote fast, starting with the names of his friends.  He added Hagrid, Aleus, and Lara next. 

Had Arthur and Molly carried him when he was unconscious?

shit

He didn't know.  He didn't even know the names of most of the healers at St. Mungo's.  He wrote Hospital Staff and moved on, hesitating on the next name.

He didn't know if Moody would want more details about the sort of physical contact he'd had with the people on his list.  He didn't know if it mattered, but he would be lying if he told himself he didn't think Dumbledore was capable of killing Marcus Carrow, not after the night he had ran into him in the kitchen.

Aaron wrote down Dumbledore's name, and handed the list to Moody.

"That's everyone," he said, "except maybe a few people I've jostled in the hallways.  At that point, just go ask McGonagall for the entire student roster."

Moody looked at his list.  "I won't need that."

Aaron watched Moody's face as he read through the names.  He didn't seem surprised by anything he saw.

"I've got to finish up in the kitchen," Aaron told Moody, after another minute or so.  "If you're going to use a gag charm on me again-"

Moody looked back at him.  "I don't know.  Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

"Good, because, if we're going to keep working together, I can't just shut you up with a charm every time something happens.  Either I trust you, and you make us both regret it, or you don't, and we start making some progress.  One of the people on this list killed Marcus Carrow.  I don't think I need to explain to you how important it is that no one knows about these names."

"You can trust me," Aaron said.  "I won't talk about any of it."

Moody's gaze narrowed.  "Good, because, if you do, I will do a lot more than just use a gag charm on you."

"Yeah, I get it," Aaron said.  "I won't talk."

He watched as Moody folded up his list, and tucked it somewhere inside of his coat. 

"How are your marks?" Moody asked, looking him up and down.

"My marks?"

"Your grades," Moody said.  "You've got O.W.L.s next year, right?"

"Right, yeah," Aaron said. 

"Are you prepared?"

Aaron shrugged.

"That's not an answer.  Try again."

"I don't know," Aaron said.  "If I can get a better handle on some of the spellwork, I might be able to squeeze by with-"

"I need you to do a lot more than squeeze by," Moody told him.

"Why?"

Moody's gaze narrowed.  "Don't you want to do well?  Don't you want to do something besides scrub plates for the rest of your life?"

"I guess," Aaron said, shrugging again.

Moody was still staring at him.

Aaron let out a long breath.  "I'll try, okay?  The magic isn't always there, but I do alright with the rest."

"Good," Moody said.  "Keep working at it."

"Yeah, okay, I will."

"As for the apparition, with what you can do, learning how to control it is no longer an option.  Do you understand that?  You have to learn how to control it.  And how to use it.  If that means I've got to come out here a few times a month and work on it with you, then so be it."

Aaron looked back at Moody, not sure he had heard him right.  " . . . You're going to help me?"

"Someone's got to, that's for damn sure. I don't think you realize how rare whatever you can do is.  I've never seen anything like it.  If you can really pull locations off of people just by touching them, it changes everything; the whole damn way we do things.  Especially with how you bypass wards.  It's too important to ignore, or have you spend the rest of your life cutting off your abilities with a bloody piece of iron."

Aaron's eyes went to his shackle.  "I don't know.  I don't know if I can learn how to-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, lad.  Do you really want to keep drooling and hearing what you described to me as 'ear destroying noise' every time you take that ruddy thing off?"

"No, but-"

Moody sighed.  "Admittedly, whether or not you want to work out how to control what you can do is somewhat irrelevant at this point.  You can't live like this.  You know that right?"

Aaron thought again about the morning he had woken up at Hagrid's; about how sick he had felt when his body had tried to rip itself apart.  He thought about all the times he had woken up in the middle of the night, feeling dizzy and nauseous.

"I do, yeah," Aaron said, making himself look back at Moody.  "You're right.  I can't live this way.  I want to learn how to control the apparition."

"Good," Moody said, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, "we'll start with that, at least."

Chapter Text

April 1988 - Between the Wars

It was almost midnight when a woman with short blonde hair adjusted her purse, and took the stairs from the street down to the front door of the pub on the corner, quickly making her way inside.  The noise coming from the crowd gathered between her and the bar assaulted her as she shouldered her way past a group of people who stood in the entryway, laughing and talking loudly, clearly already a bit intoxicated.

The music was even louder than they were.

The Clash - or maybe it was the Ramones - the woman could never tell those two bands apart - came from the speakers behind the counter, where an older looking barman poured a cask ale from a tap, filling pint glasses one by one and setting them down on the bar.

The blonde woman kept walking, moving purposefully through the crowd, stopping to look up when the sound of a glass shattering came from somewhere to her right.  A cheer went up then.  Someone had dropped their pint.  The people around the culprit clapped while the barman tossed a dirty towel in the direction of the applause.

Savages, all of them, the woman thought. Absolute savages.

At least that explained why the bottoms of her stilettos kept sticking to the floor.

The woman sighed and shouldered her way through a group of men who stood near the dart boards.  The men looked her up and down as she moved past them, elbowing the lot of them a bit more than was necessary, smiling as they covered their drinks with their hands to keep the contents from spilling.  She didn't see why.  Spilling some beer on themselves wouldn't hurt.  It might help them, actually.  Their sport coats and blazers smelled like they were already saturated with an overabundance of cologne.

Besides, she never had minded much if things got a bit messy.

"Oi!  Blondie!  Looking good tonight!  Want I should buy you a pint, love?" one of the men asked, trying to reach for her.

The woman stopped, turning to look at him properly as his fingers grazed her arm.  He was much better looking than she had expected.  Oh, how she did want him to buy her a pint, this well-fit chap with nice glasses and an expensive looking watch.

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time.

Instead of accepting his offer, the woman smiled, took the man's beer out of his hand, and raised it to her lips. 

"No need to buy me a pint, handsome," she said with a wink, taking a nice long drink.  "It seems you already have."

The man's friends laughed as the woman walked away, taking the man's pint with her.

There was a one-room bathroom at the back of the pub, genderless and a bit dingy, just the way the woman liked it.  Thankfully, no one was in there.

The woman walked in quickly and closed the door behind her, sliding the lock into place before upending the pint, finishing the beer that wasn't hers, and setting the empty glass down on the counter next to the sink, staring at herself in the stained mirror for a moment as her hair began to change, lengthening and turning black, tumbling down over her shoulders.

The woman - who was at least a woman for now - smiled, giggling a bit as her features changed again, turning into the face of the man Nicholas Conner had met in the stairwell a few weeks back.

Oh, Nicholas.

Poor, poor Nicholas. 

He had been so fun, until they'd had to kill him.

Kayal Rowle stared back at their reflection for another moment, watching their form shift again.  When they presented as a woman, she gave her name as Roxanne or Ellen, depending on her mood.  When they presented more masculine, he went by Richard or Charles, something a bit more regal.  But, whenever possible, Kayal Rowle preferred to exist in a state somewhere in-between; to blur the boundaries between masculine and feminine as much as possible, until even they couldn't tell what they were anymore.

Kayal reached into the purse they carried, took out a vial, pulled out the cork, and smeared some of the contents - a gold and black fluid flecked with drops of blood - across their forehead, keeping an eye on themself in the mirror as their features continued to pulse and ripple, loving the way it felt, to be completely themself.

Kayal reached back into their purse, took out a robe, and pulled it on over the tight red dress they wore, careful not to let it ride up too much.  A little was always alright. 

When the robe was on, Kayal stood back from the mirror and raised their wand.  A few flicks, and a few words, and the wall next to the sink transformed, revealing a stone staircase that led down into the dark.

Kayal tucked their wand away and braced themself.

Now came the fun part.

The tunnel in front of Kayal diverted, shifting around them as they walked forward.  Kayal watched, a bit nervously, as one corridor transformed into four intersecting hallways, one of which pitched up sharply into the darkness. 

Kayal reached for the nearest wall, trying to stay upright - trying to remember which of the moving passageways they were supposed to take.

Shit, Kayal thought.

Necking that beer had been a bad idea.

Kayal jumped then, almost screaming, as a hand grabbed their shoulder, and yanked them hard to the left.

"This way."

Kayal recognized the voice immediately.

"Oi, Nott!" they said, turning around as they were shoved forward.  "You can't just grab me like that!  I might have fallen right on my bloody-"

"You were going the wrong way," Theshan Nott said, by way of explanation.  "The labyrinth key has been changed."

"Well, someone could have told me!"

"I just changed it," Nott said, sounding annoyed, pulling Kayal by their robe down the still shifting corridor.

The floor moved independently of the ceiling as they walked forward, making a strange grinding sound as stones slid in and out of place.  Kayal struggled to keep their balance.  They had no idea where they were now, or if they were even still in London.

Goddamn Nott.

In the dark like this, he could have already taken them both right through one of his fucking mirror portals.

The toes of Kayal's stilettos dug into their feet as they changed size and width, trying to find the best form for balance.  Nothing was working.

Oh, fuck it.

Kayal stopped and grabbed Nott's shoulder, stabilizing themself as they reached down and pulled off their stilettos.

They had just gotten them off when Nott shoved them back against one of the stone walls, holding his wand to their throat.  "What the hell is wrong with you, Rowle?"

"My feet are killing me, is what's wrong!  And here you are, dragging me all through your bloody funhouse like some sort of-"

Nott shoved the end of his wand into their neck.  "You stupid twat!  You left . . . pieces of yourself behind at your last kill site!"

"Ah, did I now?  Are you sure?  I could have sworn I-"

"Your behavior is maddening," Nott said through gritted teeth.  "They've got evidence that you were there now, you daft idiot."

"Easy, Nott!  Calm down.  I don't see what the problem is.  Can't you just make it go away?  Like all the other times you-"

Nott shoved them again.  Kayal winced.

"I am not cleaning up after you!  Not again.  This time, you're on your own."

"Now, now, it sounds like you're overreacting.  Are you really sure they-"

"Check tomorrow's Prophet, if you don't believe me.  They have four of your forms.  Burke and the others all already know."

"Four?"  Kayal laughed.  "Is that all?  Trust me, dearie, that doesn't matter!  I just won't use those forms anymore, yeah?  Who cares if Burke and the rest of them have seen a few of my faces now?  None of them know shit!  They still think it was us who attacked the train!"

Kayal winced again, as Nott pressed his wand further into their neck, glaring at them.  "If you do anything like that again - if you make another mistake - I promise you, I will lead them right to you.  I will make sure it ends with you dead."

Kayal gasped, falling forward as Nott finally released his hold on them.

Nott turned and yanked the hood of the robe he wore over his head.  "Come on.  We're late."

Kayal was quiet as they followed Nott down the rest of the corridor, still trying to catch their breath, raising their own hood slowly, making sure to cover their face.

The end of the corridor was dark.  Kayal couldn't see anything, except the light that came from the end of Nott's wand as he raised it, forcing the walls around them to stand still.

For a moment, everything was quiet, then, Kayal realized the shadows were moving, as were they.  A faint light was coming from somewhere to their left.

Suddenly, they found themself standing at the edge of a familiar circular room, filled with other figures who wore dark robes with hoods that covered their faces; a crowd of witches and wizards who were still determined to remain unseen, even though Kayal now knew most of them by name.

Kayal followed Nott toward the center of the room as a massive pensieve rose from the floor.  They realized quickly that everyone was watching them; that everyone was waiting for them to come forward.

Kayal took out their wand, holding it up to their ear, tilting their head and letting their memories of their kill in the stairwell pour out, starting a few seconds after one of their - now compromised - male forms had gotten off his knees.

They didn't like this part.  It always made them feel so exposed - so strange and so exposed - but it was part of the ritual, like Nott had always told them, maybe the most important part.

Kayal walked up to the pensieve slowly, lowering their wand, watching as their memories unraveled.

The others stepped forward then, surrounding the massive stone basin, waiting again, as an old witch - one of the oldest of them - looked their way.

"Before we begin," the old witch said, "we must remember why we are here."

There was silence for a moment, as Kayal's memories churned in the pensieve.  A haunting blue glow came from behind them - from somewhere in the walls, reminding them of something else familiar, something they were never quite able to place.

"We must remember those who came before us, those who were imprisoned and tortured and killed; those who suffered at the hands of the muggles, and survived.  Let us all remember their names, for we truly owe them everything."

The chanting started then, a low murmur that came from those gathered around the pensieve.  Kayal listened, speaking some of the words themself, as all twenty-eight names were repeated again and again, rising like a crescendo, the same way they always did, drawing out the fine hairs on Kayal's arms and the back of their neck.

"Abbott, Avery, Black . . . "

Kayal watched their memories churn, starting to take shape in the pensieve.

" . . . Burke, Carrow, Crouch, Fawley, Flint . . . "

They could see Nicholas Conner now.  They could see his bleeding face; his lovely, lovely bleeding face.  Poor Nicholas.  He looked so scared.

" . . . Gaunt, Greengrass, Lestrange . . . "

Kayal stared at Conner, at the blood running down into his eyes.

" . . . Longbottom, Macmillan, Malfoy, Nott . . . "

He was scared when I killed him, Kayal thought.

" . . . Ollivander, Parkinson, Prewett, Rosier . . . "

He was so very scared.

" . . . Rowle, Selwyn, Shacklebolt . . . "

Kayal bent their head closer to the stone basin, smiling now; standing there grinning with a streak of Conner's blood smeared across their forehead, mixed with the rest of the potion that let them traverse the labyrinth freely; that made it reveal all of its secrets.

" . . . Shafig, Slughorn, Travers . . . "

Kayal thought about Nicholas Conner again, remembering how it had felt to cut him open.

" . . . Weasley, Yaxley . . . "

It had felt good.  It had felt so good.

"And now," the old witch said, "let us witness what has been done."

Kayal watched as the collective submerged their heads, watching them watch them kill Nicholas Conner; reliving it all through their eyes.

When it was over, the old witch raised her head, bowing to Kayal, letting them know they had done well.

Some of the others were still raising their heads, coming slowly up out of the pensieve, when Nott grabbed Kayal by the shoulder again.

"You may have fooled them, but you haven't fooled me," Nott said, whispering closely in Kayal's ear.  "I don't care how helpful you've been.  If you continue to insist on being so incompetent, I won't bother letting the Aurors know how to find you.  I will kill you myself, and no one will ever come looking for your body, because, I promise you, Rowle, I will make it as though you never existed at all."

Kayal swallowed hard, frozen where they stood, listening to the chanting begin again, as Nott's fingers dug deeper and deeper into their shifting flesh.

Chapter Text

May 1988 - Between the Wars

It was still dark when Aaron left the castle, sneaking down the moving stairs, past The Great Hall, and out onto the grounds, using a match to light the lantern he had taken from the storage closet in the Gryffindor common room as he headed for the forest.

He hadn't gone far when he heard something moving in the branches somewhere above him.  Aaron ignored whatever it was, holding the lantern a bit higher and sticking to one of Hagrid's well-trodden paths, wishing he would have thought to grab his coat.  It was always so much colder in the forest, and the early morning fog had made everything slick.

Aaron stepped over the uneven terrain and raised the lantern again.  Whatever was making the noise was still up there, somewhere just out of sight, watching him, but he kept going.  He could see Moody now, standing in a clearing up ahead, waiting.

Aaron approached the clearing slowly, setting the lantern down on the ground as he walked up to Moody, watching the shadows move across the trees.  It was so dark.  Even after sunrise, there wouldn't be much more light this far into the forest.

Moody reached into his coat, taking out a vial and handing it to him.

"Drink this," he said, by way of greeting. 

Aaron took the vial and raised an eyebrow, studying the contents suspiciously.

"It's not Veritaserum," Moody told him.  "It's a trace blocker.  It will counteract your underage trace signature, so The Ministry won't start losing their shit when you start . . . moving around.  Unfortunately . . . "

Aaron removed the cork and upended the vial before Moody finished, gagging a bit on the contents, almost spitting the trace blocker back out.

Moody grinned.  "As I was saying, unfortunately, the taste leaves a lot to be desired."

He wasn't joking.  The trace blocker was horrible.  It tasted like some sort of acid, mixed with milk that had gone sour.  It smelled even worse.

Aaron gagged again as he swallowed, but he managed to get the rest of it down.  He wiped his mouth and handed the vial back to Moody, glad to be done with it.

"Good lad," Moody said, stuffing the vial back into one of the inner pockets of his coat.  "Now we can get to work."

Aaron reached for his shackle, but Moody stopped him, taking a step closer and covering Aaron's hand with his own.

Aaron tensed.  He hadn't meant to, but he had.  Being this close to an adult always made him uncomfortable, even an adult he had started to trust.

Moody seemed to sense his apprehension.  He took a step back.  "Everything alright?"

Aaron nodded.  He didn't want Moody to think he was afraid.

"I'm not going to hurt you, lad, or make you do anything you don't want to.  Do you understand?"

Aaron nodded.

"If you don't want to do this-"

"I do."

Moody raised his eyebrow.  "Are you sure?"

Aaron nodded again.  He was.  He felt ready.  He was nervous, but he felt ready.

Moody studied him for another second, watching him closely in the dim light, his artificial eye whirring.  Aaron didn't let himself look away.

"Alright then, well," Moody said, taking a step back, "you tell me if that changes."

"I will," Aaron said.

Moody kept his gaze on him.  "When I first met you, I had planned on giving you the same talk I've given to all the young Aurors I've trained, who think they can just apparate all over the bloody place without any consequences, but you're a bit different.  You've already experienced some of the consequences of moving yourself from one place to another too quickly - the panic and fatigue and the loss of control - so I don't think I need to go into graphic detail about apparition killing witches and wizards who have appeared suddenly in the wrong place, or the risk of splinching off one of your body parts."

"No, you don't," Aaron said.  He had already heard more than enough about that sort of thing in some of his classes, too.

"Good, then let's start with endurance.  From what I've seen of the way you apparate - and the hits you left all over the map in Adelaide Burke's office last summer - your particular affliction leaves you in a constant state of instability, and drains your ability to use and interact with magic in any consistent way.  When you're not wearing that thing," Moody said, nodding toward Aaron's shackle, "you're moving, even if you can't always tell, and our trace methods can't always detect it.  You're making hundreds - maybe even thousands - of micro-jumps.  It's why your body always looks like it's shaking, and why you're seeing multiple places at once - you're moving through them, all of them, at the same time."

"And it's making me exhausted."

Moody nodded.  "The only way you're going to overcome that is to increase your endurance; to increase your ability to interact with magic and your own physical limitations.  Since your magical abilities are lacking right now, you've got to spend some time working on your physical endurance, which is going to mean running, or something like it, anything that gets your heartrate up.  Whenever you have time - and even when you don't - I want you pounding the cobblestones, or whatever is between the castle and Hogsmeade.  Got it?"

"Yeah, okay, I'll run."

"And eat," Moody said, looking him up and down.  "A lot."

"Fine, yeah," Aaron said.  His last growth spurt had left him too skinny.  He hated that someone else had noticed.  "I will."

Moody took a few steps toward the lantern.  "Alright then, now let's see what happens when you take that thing off."

Aaron took a deep breath, and took off the shackle, trying to make himself relax.  "Do you want me to just wait until it happens, or should I try to-"

"I have a feeling you won't get much of a say, based on what I saw last time, but let's see if you can start to get some more control over it, like you managed to do before you passed out in The Great Hall.  When you feel it coming on, I want you to try and keep yourself here as long as you can.  Fight the pull these . . . what did you call them?"

"Layers," Aaron said.  "It's just the way the locations look when they're all blurring together."

"Right, yeah.  Fight the layers.  When you reach a point where you can't control them anymore - and you're going to either fully apparate or pass out - put the iron back on, and we'll try again."

An hour later, nothing had happened.  Aaron had started pacing around the clearing, watching his shadow dart across the trees and flicker against the ground as he walked in circles, trying not to feel so frustrated.

Moody watched him from the other side of the clearing, leaning back against a large rock with his arms folded, suppressing a yawn.  "See anything yet?"

"No," Aaron said, shaking his head.  "I told you I'm shit at magic.  You shouldn't have come all the way out here."

Moody raised his eyebrow.  "Would you rather try this again when I'm not here, so you can lose a body part or end up back at St. Mungo's?"

"No, I . . . "  Aaron stopped pacing.  "Look, I'm trying, I really am, but I've never been able to just pull magic out of the air like everyone else.  It's never worked for me like that.  It's barely ever worked at all."

Moody shoved himself away from the rock.  "Do you think you're the only wizard who's ever struggled with magic?"

Aaron shrugged.  It sure had felt that way.

Moody sighed.  "Magic is it's own monster, Aaron.  It's erratic and a right pain in the arse sometimes, and it's not always going to let you just reach out and grab it.  Sometimes, you have to make it work for you, and that means forcing it to respond, and making it do what you want it to."

Aaron shook his head again.  "I can't, alright?  I can't force it like that.  Every time I try to use magic, it feels like I'm just grasping at it, like I'm reaching through the edges of a fog that dissolves as soon as I try to take more."

"It doesn't dissolve when you apparate," Moody said.  "That's no small amount of magic you're playing with.  So, why don’t you stop trying to tap into something that won't respond, and summon whatever it is you feel when your body is trying to tear itself apart."

"Yeah?  How the hell do I do that?"

"You stop waiting for magic to like you, and start telling it what to do."

Aaron just shook his head.

"Look, lad, Hogwarts is a good school," Moody said, "but they don't teach enough real-world magic.  That - and the war - is why we've got such a shortage of Aurors right now.  Most of the students here can pull out their wands and turn tricks the first day on the train.  The basics come easy for them, but they never spend enough time learning how to make magic work for them even when it's hard, and most of the professors here are no help.  Sure, they're good people, but they've all gotten too comfortable.  They've forgotten how to teach the side of magic that takes grit, and they sure as shit didn't know what to do with someone who was struggling like you."

Moody walked forward, standing close to him for a minute, positioning himself between the lantern and the edge of the trees.  "I think you've struggled enough, don't you?"

"Yeah," Aaron said.  "More than, probably."

Moody grinned.  "Good, now, I think it's time for you to get a little uncomfortable, and make something happen.  Raise your hand, nice and slow, and take a few deep breaths."

Aaron did, trying to calm himself down again.

"Good, there you go," Moody said, taking a few steps away from him.  "Now, when you're ready, I want you to reach out with your mind, and summon it.  Make the magic respond to you."

Aaron exhaled, keeping his gaze on his outstretched hand, making himself unclench his other fist.

At first, he couldn't feel anything, except the pounding of his own heart, beating hard against his chest.  Then, something started to happen.

Aaron watched as the edges of the clearing began to blur, just enough to make him notice.  He focused on the sensation building around him, feeling a sudden chill work its way up his spine as he tried to direct it, trying to summon the Gryffindor common room.  When it didn't appear, he pulled on the parts of his mind where the strongest memories of it were stored; where the smell of fireplace soot mixed with spilled ink and parchment and the sound of Charlie's laughter.

He heard firewood crack as the common room - there we go - finally appeared, merging with the clearing around him.  The common room pulled on him, but he pushed back against it, feeling for the forest and making his hold there stronger.

"That's good," Moody said, watching him.  "Just like that."

Aaron inhaled hard.  The city street had appeared without being summoned.  A few cars passed right in front of where he stood, just off a curb, for instants at a time.

Aaron looked around at the early morning sunlight reflecting off the buildings around him, wondering where this was.

Is it Glasgow?

Is it even a street I've been on before . . . or does it belong to someone else?

. . . Does it even matter?

He didn't know.

The common room fought the street for control as bile started working its way up his throat.

Alright, magic.  Fine.  You want to play?

Good.

'Cause I can play now, too.

Aaron reached his hand out farther, summoning the library from the school that wasn't Hogwarts, watching as it appeared, materializing quickly as he summoned the hallway outside of his old hospital room at St. Mungo's, trying to hold onto everything at once, wincing against the sounds of city traffic and voices coming from strangers he could barely see.

Aaron's body shook as each location fought for control - as all of the noise got worse.

"How many . . . can . . . see?"  The voice was Moody's, cutting through the distorted world that churned around him.

"Four,"  Aaron said, wincing again.  "Five now, including the forest."

"Try . . . more."

Aaron wiped sweat off his forehead and watched the world shift around him.  He was dizzy, unsteady, and his stomach was reeling, but he had gotten this far without letting the layers dictate where he ended up, and he really wanted to see if he could keep going.

Aaron summoned the clearing where the dragon had died.  It pulled on him - hard - but he pulled harder, and brought in the Charms classroom, the Hogwarts kitchen, and the living room in Glasgow with the old, braided rugs.

"Nine now," Aaron said, inhaling hard, trying to keep his raised hand steady.  His vision was a chaotic blur of overlapping locations.  He could barely keep himself upright.

He watched as Moody raised his wand, casting what looked like some sort of shield.  The shield rushed toward Aaron.  Its boundaries disintegrated on impact; warping, tangling, and tearing themselves apart.

Aaron collapsed, falling forward on his hands and knees, shaking from exertion.  He could feel the pull each location had on him, threatening, once more, to rip him apart.

Aaron reached into his back pocket, grabbed the shackle, and clasped it around his wrist, watching as everything stopped.

Aaron fell forward, lying on the ground and rolling onto his back, shaking and breathing hard.  His body was covered with sweat.  His shirt was soaked through.

"Are you alright, lad?" Moody asked, hurrying over to him.

Aaron nodded, coughing a bit, trying to force out some of the bile that had worked its way up his throat.

"That was good work," Moody said, standing over him.  "Really good fucking work."

Aaron sat up slowly, wiping at the sweat on his face.  He was still shaking.

"What kind of shield was that?" he asked, looking up at Moody.

He had never seen one like it before, but that didn't mean much.

"It wasn't a shield," Moody told him.  "It was an Archimedes Field.  We use them to find illegal portkeys and mirror portals.  They detect distortions in space, and you ripped it clean apart."

"I'm . . . "  Aaron coughed again, still trying to clear his throat.  "I'm distorting space?"

"No," Moody said.  "You're directly manipulating space; warping it and layering it over itself; folding it until it pulls you through.  It explains why wards meant to prevent apparition do fuck all to stop you."

bloody fuck

"Because I'm not apparating," Aaron said, wiping at his face again, "not technically."

"No, you aren't, but let's not tell anyone that.  At least, not yet," Moody said, reaching down to help him to his feet.  "There you go.  Good lad.  Are you sure you're alright?"

Aaron nodded.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good," Moody told him, "because, whenever you're ready, I want you to do that again."

Chapter Text

September 1988 - Between the Wars

Percy didn't know it, but his rat was missing again.  Scabbers . . . no not Scabbers . . . Wormtail . . . my name is Wormtail . . . had waited until the boy was asleep, crawled out of the little cage the boy had left him in by squeezing himself between the bars, and dodged his way across the dormitory floor, with his long nails scraping against the stones, moving as fast as he could. 

He didn't know how much time he would have, or what would be required of him.  He would have to hurry.

He headed for an opening where the floor met the wall by the stairwell and scurried through, climbing right into the crevice beyond.  The old masonry inside the wall was jagged and uneven, and he had to watch where he crawled.  Some of the crevices dropped down ten or twenty feet.

Wormtail made a worried noise.  The only thing worse than living as a rat would be getting trapped like one, and starving to death somewhere in the castle walls.

He ignored that thought and kept crawling, working his way downward.  He came out of a gap between two dislodged stones, not far from the statue of the one-eyed witch.  Wormtail looked out carefully, moving slowly and twitching his nose, smelling for the cat.

Thankfully, there was no sign of her. 

Wormtail hopped down and landed on the floor.  He would have to scurry out in the open for a few meters to reach the torch next to the statue.  He looked around again, feeling nervous, but the voice in his head told him to keep moving, so he ran forward.

hurry

hurry

that's it

that's it

faster

faster

almost there

almost there

go go go

He hated how exposed he felt, running down the wide corridor with his stupid little rat legs.

He was breathing hard by the time he made it to the statue.  He climbed up a tapestry nearby and made a leap for the torch, hurrying into the opening between the back of the torch and the wall.  The next series of crevices and gaps in the stonework would take him down to the One-Eyed Witch Passage.

Wormtail moved faster, heading for the passageway and hurrying into the darkness.  He didn't stop until he reached Honeydukes.

He waited for a moment once he got there, hiding in the cellar behind a crate, trying to catch his breath.

Being a rat was exhausting.  He still had to get to the Three Broomsticks, and he was running out of time.

It took Wormtail nearly twenty minutes to leave Honeydukes and make his way through Hogsmeade without being chased by any of the local pets.

Thankfully, when he made it to the inn, no one was there.

Do it, the voice told him.  Do it now.

Wormtail stood on his hind legs in front of the fireplace inside the inn, and transformed, ripping out of his rat form and landing on the stone floor as Peter Pettigrew.

Peter laughed.  He ran his hands over his arms and legs, shaking a bit.  It didn't bother him that he was naked.  He was just relieved to see that all of his human parts were still intact.

Get up, the voice told him.  Stop wasting time.  The way is unguarded tonight.  This may prove to be one of the most important missions I have sent you on thus far.

Hurry, Wormtail.

Do NOT fail me.

Peter stood up slowly, a bit unsteady on his legs.  He turned and reached for the fireplace mantel, holding on tight and taking a handful of Floo powder from a dish near an old vase.

The fire was burning low, reduced down to its embers.

"Crouch residence, Finsbury Park, London," Wormtail said quickly, and stepped into the fireplace, feeling the rising flames engulf him as the Three Broomsticks disappeared.

He landed hard on a dark hearth a moment later.  Soot stuck to places he rather wished it hadn't.

Well done, Wormtail.  Now, transform back.

Peter stammered.  "B-But I just-"

DO IT NOW, YOU USELESS DOLT.

Peter rubbed his arms one more time, and shrank back into his rat form.

Very good, Wormtail.  Very good.

He's in the kitchen.  Go now.

I want you to see that you're not alone.

Wormtail didn't know what that meant.  He was still wondering what this was about.  He scurried across the floor, heading down a long hallway, looking for the kitchen.  He had never been in this house before.  It was big, and quiet, and oh so dark.

The kitchen was just off the hallway, near the front of the house.  Wormtail darted inside and scurried across the tile floor, hurrying for the protection of the shadows.

A moldy piece of bread was lying beneath one of the cabinets.  He approached it slowly, sniffed at it, and took a bite.  

He was still chewing when he looked up.

The voice was right.  He wasn't alone.

A man stood in the corner, facing the wall.  Wormtail crawled closer, staying beneath the edge of the cabinets, trying to see who it was, being oh so careful . . .

It was then that he saw the man's face.

Wormtail stopped, freezing where he was, wishing he could scream - that he could cry out and call to the man in the corner.

It's Barty, he thought.  It's Barty Crouch Junior.  Merlin's beard.  Merlin's sacred beard, he's alive!

Yes, Wormtail, yes.  Barty is alive, as are you.

There were dark circles under Barty's eyes.  He looked broken and tired; weak and malnourished.  The clothes he wore didn't seem to fit him.

I don't understand, Master.  I don't understand.

Really?  But it's so simple, Wormtail.  I wanted you to see that you are not alone.  Barty is alive, just like you, and there are others, too.

Wormtail crawled a bit closer.  He still didn't understand.  It was Barty, but something was wrong.

Barty's eyes were open, but he wasn't moving.  He was staring straight ahead, breathing ever so slowly, like he was in a trance, or . . . 

He is trapped, Wormtail.  His father has trapped him in his own mind.

I . . . I don't understand, Master.  What do we do?

Nothing.

Nothing?  But, Master, he is not well.  He is-

Now is not the time to save him.  I am not strong enough, and neither is he, but the time will come, I promise you.  The time will come when you will both be freed, and rewarded for your dedication.

But, Master, I could-

No, Wormtail.  Not now.  He is not ready, and neither are you.   For now, my dear servant, all I want you to do, is wait.

Wormtail waited, sitting there beneath the cabinets for a long time, watching as Barty stood motionless, waiting to hear the voice again . . .

. . . but the voice didn't come.

Wormtail glanced at the clock that hung on the kitchen wall.  It was late now.  It was time for him to leave.

The sun was just rising outside the windows of the castle when Wormtail finally crawled back into the cage next to the boy's bed, and fell into an exhausted sleep, thinking about Barty Crouch Junior, standing there alone in the dark; about how trapped they both were, waiting so patiently for their Master to come back and save them.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

October 1988 - Between the Wars

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

Dumbledore studied the inscription on the headstone one more time, touching the words with shaking fingers.  He was still staring at them when he reached for the bottle of Brandy he had tucked into his robe, raising it to his lips and taking a long drink.

The deaths of Lily and James Potter still haunted him.  They had both been so young; so very, very young.  To the day, it had been seven years since they had been killed.

Dumbledore looked at their names again, studying them both in the dim light coming through the branches of the overhanging trees.

I knew they were in danger, he thought.

I knew, but I couldn't stop it from coming for them.

I couldn't save them.

Dumbledore took another drink.

When the bottle was empty, he threw it across the graveyard, where it shattered against the trunk of a tree.

Dumbledore shivered and wiped at his eyes.  He had lost so much.  So many of the people he had cared for had died.

And I couldn't save them.

Not any of them.

He had always been too late.

No.

Dumbledore sat up.

That's not true.

I still have the boy.

I still have the boy who lived.

Dumbledore got to his feet slowly, using the headstone for support, picturing Privet Drive in his mind for just a moment before he stepped back, and disapparated.

With a sudden crack and a rush of displaced air, Dumbledore appeared in Surrey.  The name of the street on the post above him was blurred, but he knew where he was; he knew he had made it to his destination.

Dumbledore stepped into the swelling shadows of the late afternoon, trying to steady himself.  If there were any muggles around, he would rather not draw their attention.  He walked down the street slowly, taking his time, until he stood across from Number Four Privet Drive.

There were two children playing in front of the house, a bigger boy with blonde hair and a chubby face, and a much smaller boy with glasses and dark hair.  They seemed to be playing some sort of game, though Dumbledore didn't know what it was, or if the boy with dark hair was even enjoying it.

Dumbledore tensed, watching as the bigger boy stepped forward suddenly, shoving the boy with dark hair and knocking him back onto the ground.  The boy with dark hair let out a startled Oof.  The bigger boy laughed, leering down at the smaller boy, asking him if he was going to run; if he was going to cry.

Harry.

Oh, Harry.  I'm so sorry.

He never should have left the boy here.

The bigger boy laughed again.  Harry wiped at his eyes; at the tears that were coming fast.  Dumbledore watched as the bigger boy walked off, and Harry was left alone.

He looked so small - so small and so upset - but there was so much more to Harry than his frustrations; there was so much about him that Dumbledore recognized.  Even from a distance, he could see Lily and James in Harry.  They were right there, written in all of his features and expressions; Lily's gentle manner and James' constant determination.

Dumbledore wanted so badly to run across the street; to pick Harry up and save him from this place.  He hadn't loved the others - not like he should have; he knew that now - but he would love Harry.  He wouldn't make the same mistakes with Harry.  Loving Lily and James' son would be his redemption; he was sure of it.  Harry would save him in a way he might never be able to save himself.

Suddenly, Dumbledore felt overcome.  He stepped off the curb and stopped in the middle of the street, standing there for a moment, watching as Harry got up.

If Harry had seen him, there were no indications of it.  Dumbledore watched as Harry brushed off his clothes and stared back at the house where they had left him all those years ago; at the house where he was supposed to be safe.

Dumbledore almost went to him again then, but he stopped.  He couldn't approach Harry.  Not now.  Not like this.  It had been weeks since Dumbledore had slept in his own bed; since his breath hadn't stank of alcohol.

He couldn't go to Harry like this.  He would only do more damage.

He had to take care of himself first.

It was then, while he was still staring at Harry, that he thought of the other dark haired boy; the boy who had startled him in the kitchen last year.  The boy who had struggled so much with magic.

Aaron

Dumbledore knew the spell he had used on Aaron that night in the kitchen would have done much more damage if he hadn't of been so drunk when he had cast it.  He hated himself for what he had done; for the way he had lost control.  He had hurt Aaron that night, just like so many others had.  And he had still never been able to make it right.  He had still never been able to apologize for what he had done, or find a way to make sure it would never happen again.

Dumbledore shook his head.  He had to fix this.  He had to be better.  Because if he ever hurt Harry or another student again, there would be no redemption.  Not for him.

He couldn't go to Harry now.  He couldn't help him yet.  Not until he helped himself.  Not until he took control of his demons and faced down the darkness in his own mind.

Dumbledore stepped back up onto the curb.  It was late now, and he couldn't stay there forever.  He took one last look across the street, staring at Harry one more time, before he stepped back into the shadows, split the air, and made himself disappear.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

November 1988 - Between the Wars

"Hogsmeade!"

The crowd in front of Myron Wagtail hollered as he ran out onto the stage with his bandmates, waving at the people in front of him and taking a waiting microphone out of its stand.

"How's everyone doing out there tonight?!"

More cheers came from the crowd.  The old barn behind the Hog's Head Inn had sat abandoned for almost twelve years, but now it was filled from wall to wall, packed with students and townies alike.  Every single one of them had come for the show.

Myron grinned as more people hollered.  This was fucking brilliant.  There was so much energy out there tonight.  He could really get used to this sort of thing.

"Well, don't you all look lovely?" he said, as he leaned out over the edge of the stage.  "I have to admit, this is a bit different from our usual gigs.  We're much more used to playing in common rooms, but, seeing you all out there now, well, let's just say I'm feeling really glad that we finally decided to take our little show on the road!  Even if the road was a short one." 

Myron smiled again as Kirley's laugh came from behind him. 

"To commemorate our first performance off school property, I'd like to introduce you all to the newest member of our group," Myron said, stepping to the side and gesturing across the stage.  "You might know him as Donaghan Tremlett of Hufflepuff, but soon you'll all find out why we call him Tremble Fingers!"

The crowd laughed.  Donaghan shook his head and kept his eyes on his bass guitar.

"As you can tell," Myron said, "he doesn't like the attention, so, let's make this as uncomfortable for him as we can, yeah?"

Another grin spread across Myron's face as more cheers came from the crowd.

"Right then!  Here we go!  Donnie, this one's for you!  Wrote it myself this morning.  I'm calling it Badger's First Time."

A sharp riff came from Kirley's guitar as Myron leaned back over the crowd and screamed into the microphone.  The crowd loved it.

Fucking brilliant!

Myron smiled again.  He couldn't help it.  This was going to be so wicked.

The lights above the stage flashed as Eni shouldered her way through the crowd, trying to get closer to the front of the room, scanning the faces around her and looking for Tonks.  She swore as another person stepped in front of her.  This would be a lot easier if she were a bit taller.  The entire place was packed.  Students she knew - and more she didn't - stood close to each other, yelling over the music and waving their hands in the air, cheering as the band played.

Eni kept working her way toward the stage, letting out an unintentional Oof as she tripped over someone's foot, falling forward and bumping right into a girl with fringed hair and a pierced lip.  Eni knew the music was way too loud for the girl to hear her apologize, but she mouthed the words anyway.

Pierced Lip smiled.  Pointed ears stuck out from her head of shagged blonde hair.  Eni blushed.  She tried to apologize again, but a boy with a mohawk stepped between her and the other girl before she could get the words out.

Eni looked up as the stage lights flashed, finally catching sight of Tonks while Myron sang.  She was standing just ahead of her, a few rows back from the stage.  

"This is the night!  This is the fucking night!  So, take your hands off me!  Tonight, I'm breaking free!"

Eni dodged past the people around her and walked up to Tonks, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention.

Tonks whirled around.  "Eni!  You made it!"

"Just barely!"

Tonks grinned, throwing an arm around her and pulling her close.  "Aren't they great?!"

"Brilliant, yeah!"

"Come on!  Let's get closer!" Tonks said, taking her by the hand.

Eni held onto Tonks and followed her through the crowd, dodging between more people until they were both standing at the edge of the stage.

Tonks threw up her arms and cheered, shouting out the same words Myron was singing.  Eni did the same, letting herself relax and slip into the music.  The bass pounded hard against her chest as Donaghan and the others played. 

"I close my eyes and squeeze you from my consciousness!  And in the morning when I wake, the line I walk is straight!  But the morning is so many miles away!"

When the song was over, Eni yelled and applauded with the rest of the crowd, jumping up and down next to Tonks.

She turned around a moment later as Myron started singing the next song, a slower one she had never heard before.  She didn't see the girl with the pointed ears and the pierced lip, or the boy with the mohawk, but she saw Aaron, leaning against a column to the left of the stage.  He was standing alone, watching the band with his arms folded across his chest and his headphones around his neck, clearly trying not to get jostled by the people around him.

Eni yelled in Tonks' ear that she would be right back, and walked through the crowd, dodging past people until she was right next to Aaron.

"You missed the start!" she told him.

Aaron turned and smiled at her.  His hair was pulled back and his face was red.  It looked like he had been running again.  "Sorry!  Lost track of time.  How are they?  They seem alright."

"They're not the Sex Pistols, but they're not bad!" Eni said, reaching into her back pocket and taking out a pack of cigarettes she had nicked off a sixth year girl, who had left them in the bathroom on the third floor.  She stuck one in her mouth, handed another one to Aaron, lit the end of hers with an incineration charm cast off the end of her finger, and held out her glowing cigarette.  Aaron held the end of his cigarette against hers and took a few puffs, inhaling a few times until it caught.  Smoking had become one of their favorite things to do together.  They had picked up the habit over the summer, when they had both been working in the kitchen and there hadn't been anything better to do.

For a moment, while the band played, they both just stood there, in the cloud of smoke they had created, nodding their heads to the music.  Eni's eyes were still on Myron and the others when she saw Pierced Lip again, walking through the crowd behind Tonks.

Eni choked on her next mouthful of smoke as the girl looked her way, smiled, and waved. 

Eni composed herself just in time to wave back, holding onto her cigarette a bit awkwardly as she did.

She jumped as Aaron leaned closer to her again.

"Think she fancies you!" he said, yelling over the music.

"She does not," Eni said.  "How would you even know?  Besides, I think she's here with someone!  See that bloke with the mohawk?"

"That's her cousin," Aaron said.

"Oh, like you know!"

"I do, actually.  She's Aleus Zyc's niece.  Don't tell me you haven't seen her working in the Three Broomsticks all summer."

Eni shook her head.  "I haven't been there since that night we went in June."

She tried to focus on the band again, but her eyes kept drifting back to the other girl.  Pierced Lip smiled at her again.

"Alright," Eni said, taking another puff and leaning back toward Aaron, "what else do you know about her?"

Aaron shrugged. 

"Not much," he said, taking a long drag.  "I know Aleus has been trying to convince her to go to university in the muggle world whenever she's done with secondary school.  I imagine she's smart."

"What's her name?"

" . . . Lynn?  Wait, no.  Shit . . . Leah?  Maybe?"

"Goddamn it, Aaron," Eni said.  "I need some actual help here."

Aaron grinned.  "Look, I don't remember her name, but I know she's some percent goblin, if that does anything more for you."

It sort of did.

Great.

Eni stuck her cigarette back between her lips and wiped her palms on her jeans.  Her hands were sweating like crazy, and the music wasn't helping.  Myron had started singing another slow song, one with a very timely theme.

"So, believe that magic works and don't be afraid of being hurt."

Thanks, Weird Sisters.

Eni took a deep breath, crushed out her cigarette, and took a few steps toward the other girl, moving fast, before her courage left her.

Unfortunately, she hadn't gotten far when her nerves kicked in all over again.  She stopped and looked back at Aaron, feeling suddenly unsure of herself.

Just fucking say hi, he mouthed.

Right.  Like it's that easy.

Eni turned back toward the stage and made herself walk forward.  She didn't stop until she was standing right behind Pierced Lip.  But, even when she got closer, the other girl didn't seem to notice.  The boy with the mohawk stepped between them again, throwing up his hands and cheering on the band.

Eni looked back at Aaron and mouthed, What now, idiot?

She was still facing him when a voice shouted in her ear.  "Hey!  Mind if I bum a fag?"

Eni turned, startled, and saw Pierced Lip, standing right there, smiling at her.  

"Sure, err, yeah!" Eni managed, fumbling for her pack and dropping it on the ground.

Eni swore and bent down, reaching for her cigarettes, but the other girl beat her to them and snatched them up.

"Here you go!" she said, handing the pack back to Eni.

"Thanks," Eni said, blushing as she took out a cigarette and handed it to the other girl.  Before Pierced Lip could ask her for a lighter, Eni sparked a flame off the end of her finger, and lit the end of the girl's cigarette.

The girl smiled and inhaled, eyes glowing from the embers and the stage lights.  "Neat trick!  What's your name, Hand Magic?"

"Eni, err, my name, that is.  It's Eni.  I'm Eni."

"Brilliant!  I'm Lee."

The music was picking up again, getting louder and faster as the people around them jumped and cheered, but Lee stayed close, talking into her ear.

"You look like a Hogwarts girl.  Do you know the band?"

"Just the new bloke."

"The bass guitarist?" Lee asked, releasing a mouthful of smoke.

"Donaghan, yeah," Eni said, feeling a bit more sure of herself now.  "He's in my year, but he mostly just hangs out with the lead singer and his class, the seventh years."

"Ahh, right.  I did hear something about them lining up gigs across the UK.  Wasn't sure how much truth there was to that!"

"A lot, apparently!  Enough that Donaghan wants to join them.  I overheard him talking to someone about dropping out of Hogwarts to go on tour.  He says he'll do it, if that's what it takes."

"Well, based on this performance, I think they've got a good shot!"

Lee was standing so close now.  Eni could smell the perfume she wore, a wonderful blend of plums and lavender.  She was really pretty.  And her smile was gorgeous.  Eni couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper crush, especially not on someone who wasn't on the telly or in a magazine.

The music was so loud, she couldn't hear most of whatever it was that Lee said next.  All she knew was that she wanted to tell her how much she liked her smile.

But she didn't.  She nodded along and kept her eyes on the Weird Sisters.  There was no way Lee was interested in her, not like that.  Lee was just friendly, that was all.  She was friendly and she was having a good time.  She probably didn't even realize Eni was -

"Do you like Joan Jett?" Lee asked her, leaning in close again.  "You kind of look like her, you know."

Eni was glad the stage lights had dimmed now, as heat rushed to her face.  "You . . . you really think so?"

Lee nodded, dropping the end of her cigarette and crushing it under her heel.  "Of course, yeah, you've got the same hair!"

Eni smiled.  "In that case, you could be Debbie Harry."

"Oi!  You're a real flatterer, aren't you?"

"You did start it," Eni said, still blushing.

Her heart leapt into her throat as Lee reached over, and took her hand.

"Is this alright?" Lee asked.

Eni nodded a bit awkwardly, managing to squeeze Lee's fingers.

"You're really pretty," Lee said.

Eni laughed.  "I've sort of been wanting to tell you the same thing."

Lee stared at her for a moment, studying her face.  "Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"I've never kissed anyone," Eni admitted, hoping her voice wasn't shaking.

Lee wrapped her arm around her slowly, pulling her close and grinning.  "Want to?"

"Oh, I would love to-"

Eni gasped, losing the rest of her words as Lee leaned forward and kissed her.

Her lips were still on Lee's when Myron and the others broke into their next song, playing their instruments and moving across the stage.  Eni couldn't see much of them anymore, but she didn't care.  Lee's hand was in her hair now.  She tasted like the spiked punch her uncle served, a bit sweet, a bit strong, and fully intoxicating.

It was brilliant, it was all so absolutely brilliant. 

Eni kissed Lee again.  She never wanted this night to end.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

CONTINUED LACK OF PROGRESS IN ONGOING MURDER INVESTIGATIONS PLACES MUGGLE-BORN REGISTRATION BACK ON THE TABLE

After the reports of last week's double homicide in Bristol were confirmed, the count of muggle-borns who have been slain in the on-going spree of murders stands at forty-three.  Apart from the facial composites that were released last spring by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and warnings from the Auror Office that a metamorphmagus is involved, the hunt for whoever is responsible for the killings seems to have resulted in nothing more than a series of dead ends.

Muggle-borns were dealt another blow on Friday, when Adelaide Burke, the sitting head of the Auror Office, announced that, although the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act remains on hold, muggle-born registration and tracking will move forward in an attempt to solve the murders.

"If we register muggle-borns, we can protect them," Adelaide Burke told The Daily Prophet on Friday, "and, hopefully, catch whoever has been out there hunting them down."

Burke was vague in regard to the process by which muggle-borns will be registered, stating only that it will be done through The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and that the names of those who are registered will not be shared with any other Ministry department.

"Once it is compiled, our registry of muggle-borns will be kept entirely confidential.  This is not the Registration Act.  The sole purpose of our registry will be to save lives."

Burke went on to explain that a trial run of a specialized trace spell that will be used to track muggle-borns is currently underway, and will remain active until late June, at which time The Department of Magical Law Enforcement intends to implement a more permanent version of the trace, and register all muggle-born wizards and witches over the age of eleven.

Muggle-borns have already taken to the streets, and to The Ministry of Magic, in protest of what they believe is a clear violation of their rights and autonomy.  However, Burke remains adamant that the clear and present danger to their lives will have to take precedence over their concerns.

"I know the situation is unfortunate, but the fact remains that muggle-borns are being killed, and that they will continue to be killed until we find out who is behind these attacks.  In the meantime, the least we can do is work to guarantee the safety of as many muggle-borns as possible, and we can do that much more effectively if we know who they all are, and can keep tabs on them ourselves."

Burke declined to answer any further questions, but went on to inform The Daily Prophet that, if you are muggle-born, and fearing for your life, you are welcome to send an owl with the details of your predicament, and any threats you may have received, directly to her desk, and that she will make every effort she can to investigate and respond to each correspondence in a timely manner.

HOGWARTS HEADMASTER REMAINS MISSING

Professor Albus Dumbledore has not been seen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry since he abandoned his post at the end of the last school year.  His absence has been felt by many, and is still a subject of much debate, especially as his whereabouts continue to remain unknown.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, who has been acting as Headmistress during Dumbledore's absence, had this to say when asked if she thinks her new position will become a more permanent role:

"Good heavens, no!  Professor Dumbledore's leave of absence is, and will always be, temporary.  When I last spoke with him, Professor Dumbledore informed me that he had been stricken with issues of a great personal nature, and needed to take some time off to restore his own mental health and well-being.  Whatever difficulties he is facing, he will deal with them in his own time.  After he has done so, I have no doubt that he will return to Hogwarts, ready, once again, to lead us all."

When asked if she had heard from Albus Dumbledore at any time during the past eight months, or if she has any insights regarding his current whereabouts, Professor McGonagall had this to say:

"As I told you, Professor Dumbledore will return to Hogwarts in his own time.  Until then, I advise you to stop concerning yourself with the affairs of higher-order wizards, and go do something useful for once.  I also advise you to get out of my office, and take that damn floating quill with you!"

Unfortunately, at this time, The Daily Prophet can only speculate as to the precise nature of the personal issues that seem to have been plaguing Albus Dumbledore.  We must all wonder if his absence is indeed temporary, as is being claimed, and if the students at Hogwarts are being properly taken care of under the remaining leadership.  Furthermore, with Albus Dumbledore, a staunch opponent of muggle-born registration and adamant supporter of muggle-born rights, still missing in action, we must also wonder who else, if anyone, at this critical juncture, will take up his mantle and defend their cause.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Eleven years earlier . . .

December 1977 - The First War

An enchanted shroud descended over the city of Edinburgh as a cold flurry of snow began to fall.  The effect was amplified by the glowing strands of lights that hung above the roads and the wreaths of holly that had been tied to the street lamps.  Suddenly, everything, from the cobblestones to the castle up on the hill, looked as though it had come alive.

The two young women who walked together beneath the lights and decorations were no strangers to magic, and yet there was no pretending that they weren't excited by the heavy flakes of falling snow that stuck to their scarves and coats.  There was something so perfectly festive about spending a night out on the town three days before Christmas, walking past crowded shops and leaving a trail of footprints on the pavement behind them.

Lara shivered.  She passed the thermos she had filled with spiked apple cider to her friend, Samantha Jones, and shoved her hands back into her coat pockets.  Even with the charm she had placed on her gloves, her fingers were still cold.

"Where's Adam this week?" Sam asked, taking a quick swig from the thermos.  "Did you leave him in London?"

"No, actually, he's back in Hogsmeade."

"Really?  All by himself?"

Lara shrugged.  "I invited him to come with me, but you know how he is.  He still wasn't ready to meet mum.  He doesn't have much experience with muggles."

They walked on in silence for a moment, than Lara looked back at Sam, and asked, "Is Ernas still adamant about spending the holidays in Barnton?"

"I hope so," Sam said, passing the thermos back.  "I'm going to break things off with him as soon as we're all back at Hogwarts."

"Ah, poor bloke.  He'll be crushed.  He loves you, Sam."

"I know, but the feeling isn't mutual, at least, not anymore.  Besides, his parents would kill him if they found out he'd spent the last three months snogging a mudblood Keeper on the Quidditch pitch after every match."

Lara laughed, catching a snowflake on her tongue as the warmth from her last sip of cider spread to her cheeks.  She had been pretty generous with her pour when she had added the whisky.

They were almost back to High Street when she looked back at Sam.

"When it's over, are you still going to leave?" she asked, trying to keep the emotion that was building in her throat out of her voice.

Sam reached for the thermos, taking another drink before she nodded.  "I've been accepted to The University of Edinburgh.  I'm going to move back here and start classes in September."

"Are you serious?  Sam, that's wonderful!  Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I just found out this morning," Sam said.  She was smiling now.  She looked so happy.  She had wanted to go to a proper university for so long.

Lara elbowed her, taking the thermos back.  "I knew you'd escape!  You've always been clever."

"So have you.  You should come with me."

Lara shook her head.  "No, no, I wouldn't survive at university.  I'm afraid this is where our paths are finally going to have to diverge in the woods."

Sam bit her bottom lip.  "Shit, really?  I'm not alright with this."

"You'll be fine," Lara told her.  "Better than fine, actually.  You'll be brilliant."

Sam reached for the thermos again, and took a long drink.  "Maybe.  It won't be the same without you.  You should really think about escaping, too.  There is a war on, you know, and no one knows what You-Know-the-Fuck-Who will do."

Lara stopped at the edge of the pavement, standing there for a moment with Sam, waiting for the traffic light to change.

"You're sweet to worry about me."

"I'm not being sweet, Lara, I'm serious.  It's dangerous out there right now.  Especially for people like us."

"I know.  I'll stick close to Hogwarts."

Sam elbowed her, and passed the thermos back.  "Close to Adam, more like."

"I mean, at this point, I might as well marry my townie and go off to live a life of poverty."

Sam laughed at that, but the look in her eyes was still full of concern.  "Be careful, Lara.  Please.  I don't want to lose you."

"I'll be alright.  I promise.  Or, at least, as close to alright as I can be without having you around."

There was a moment then, when the traffic light finally changed, that Lara wished, more than anything, that she could escape; that she could stay with Sam forever, and leave all the rest behind.

But, as soon as they stepped off the curb, the moment was gone.

Or, so she thought.

Sam stopped, standing right at the edge of the street, staring off toward the distant castle, frozen where she stood.

"I can't believe it's over.  What we have . . . You've always been there with me . . . I can't . . . "  Her voice trailed off.  She looked back at Lara.  "I'm not ready for it to end.  I'm not ready to say goodbye."

Lara wrapped her arms around Sam.  "This isn't goodbye.  Or the end.  It's just the beginning!  We've got these wonderful new lives to look forward to, and we're just getting started!"

Sam nodded against her shoulder, and hugged her back.

"I love you, Lara.  I never could have done any of this without you."

Lara smiled.  "I know.  Same for me.  I love you, too.  Things will be alright.  I promise."

They stood there for another moment, holding each other tight, ignoring the honks that came from passing cars as people drove around them.

It was the beginning, but it wouldn't last long.

They had no way of knowing that this would be the last time they spent the holidays together, or that, in eight years, one of them would be dead.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

Eleven years later . . .

January 1989 - Between the Wars

Most of the snow that had started falling over the city of London melted as soon as it hit the streets, leaving behind ugly puddles of slush filled with dirt and grime.  It looked a lot better in Kennington Park, where it lingered on the grass and the pathways, getting deeper and deeper, holding onto a mysterious set of footprints that started in the middle of the south lawn.

Juliet stepped out of the drifts of snow that clung to her boots and headed for the nearest path, walking past a group of teenagers who stood near a bench, laughing and smoking and leaning on each other, paying her no mind.  If they felt any of the cold pockets of air that drifted around the park, they didn't show it; they were muggles, and they didn't know the truth.

Kennington Park was haunted, and Juliet had already picked up a ghost.   

A man wearing a gas mask and an officer's uniform walked on her right with his arms hanging limp at his sides.  He had the tragic look of an apparition who hadn't realized he was dead yet; the haunting appearance of a spirit who was still caught in the mental throes of the event that had taken his life.  Thankfully, after the last time she had walked this way, Juliet had done some research.  She knew who the man was. She had seen him once before, on a night much like this one.  Kennington Park had had trench-style air raid shelters during the Second World War.  The shelters had been used by civilians and soldiers who had been stationed in London during the blitz.  Unfortunately, they had taken a direct hit from a bomb in 1940.  Over a hundred people had been killed by the blast, and only forty-eight bodies had ever been recovered.

Many, like the man who walked with her now, had never left the park.

Juliet shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat and kept walking, staying with the ghost for awhile longer, until, suddenly, he disappeared.

Juliet shivered as he vanished, looking back over her shoulder one more time before walking on.  She shouldn't have been surprised that he had followed her.  Something hung off of her now that hadn't been there a few months ago; a growing apathy and a lingering sadness that the ghost must have gravitated toward.  Her awful mood was unfortunate, but she couldn't help it.  It felt like everything was going to shit.

On the second of December, Adelaide Burke had pulled Juliet into her office, and threatened to take her off the muggle-born murder cases if she didn't hurry up and make some more progress.  Juliet had told her, in not so many words, to go fuck herself.  Burke wouldn't have anything if it wasn't for her and Cassio.  They were the ones who had put in all of the work.  They were the ones who had interrupted the - unfortunately successful - killing of Albert Daven.  They were the ones who had pulled the hair and saliva samples off the body of Nicholas Conner.  Juliet had used those samples to hand-deliver the facial composites of the metamorphmagus that now hung on Burke's office wall.  If Burke wanted more progress, Juliet had said, she should assign more Aurors to the cases, give her and Cassio more resources, and stop breathing down her neck.  Burke had told her she was getting dangerously close to being put on probation, and reminded her to be a lot more mindful of her tone.

It wouldn't have been so bad if that was all that had happened in Burke's office that day; her getting a bit of a reprimand and a reminder to improve herself.  But then, Burke had looked at her, and said, "You know something, Juliet.  There would be more progress on these cases if you shared your resources with the rest of the Auror Office instead of keeping things from me and the others.  Cassio told me about the muggle-born trace."

Juliet had stared back at her in shock.

He what?

"He said you've been testing it for almost two years," Burke had said.  "He told me it works; that he can isolate muggle-borns with a spell he developed from some sort of ancient ancestry charm he stumbled upon."

Juliet hadn't been able to believe what she had been hearing.

He fucking what?

Burke had smiled at her.  "The two of you have been busy, haven't you?  Building a registry and comparing names to police reports?  It's brilliant.  I won't pretend it isn't, but you and Cassio should have kept me more informed about your means and methods.  I think we need to take them further.  I want a map similar to the one we use to locate underage witches and wizards.  And I want your list of names."

fucking hell

At least Cassio hadn't given her that.

Juliet had sworn.  She'd had to stop herself from breaking the old ceramic lamp that sat on Burke's desk.

"No," she had managed to say, taking a step away from Burke; trying to keep her voice steady as rage had built inside of her.  "We're not giving you the registry.  The trace is ours!  It was never supposed to be used by anyone other than me and Cass.  We're muggle-born, and we're the ones who are trying to hunt down these bloody killers!  We aren't going to just let you have our-"

"Yes, you are.  I can't have the two of you running around out there doing this without some sort of supervision."

"Yes, you can!  No one else gets the names!  You don't need them.  Us handing them over now would only create more problems for muggle-borns."

"Juliet, listen to me-"

"No, Burke!  If our list ever got leaked, the murder rates would surge!  I won't do it!  I won't give it to you or anyone else!  I've already seen enough fucking bodies!"

Without another word, Juliet had slammed Burke's door and headed right for Cassio's makeshift office down the hallway that led to the armory.  She remembered telling him to get fucked, but not much else.  They hadn't spoken since.

Three days later, the story about the trace had appeared in the Prophet.  Burke never had been good about keeping her mouth shut.

Juliet kept walking, heading on through the falling snow.  Thinking about what Cassio had done had made her mad all over again.  She reached back into her coat and took out a scrap of parchment, stopping beneath a flickering lamp at the edge of the path to double-check the instructions she had copied down that morning.  Her destination wasn't much farther, now that she was almost out of the park.  She left through the east gate and turned down a side street, leaving the ghosts and the worst of the evening chill behind.

The neon sign she saw a few minutes later was enchanted with a concealment spell.  At first glance, it read Nathan's Dry Cleaning, but another flicker of light revealed what Juliet had been looking for: words that said, The Changeling. 

A shimmering ward wrapped itself around her as she approached the front door.  There was a noise-blocking charm on the building, too, but it couldn't hide the way the blacked-out windows trembled with the pulse of the heavy bass that came from inside.

When the ward finally decided Juliet was magical enough to let her see what it guarded, it unwrapped itself, and let her open the door.

The nightclub beyond assaulted her with a chaotic roar of deafening music, colored strobe lights, loud cheers, and raucous voices.  A tightly packed crowd danced on the far side of the main room, where Depeche Mode mixed with Renegade Soundwave and shook the walls.  Everyone she saw was clustered together, writhing and shifting beneath the flashing lights.  She watched as long-haired men became long-haired women, who morphed again, until their breasts disappeared, and pulled off their shirts.  Some of them didn't even bother morphing first.  Most of the clothes she saw in the crowd were just as ambiguous as the people who wore them; there were long dresses pulled over tight pants; oversized tops and fitted blazers; brightly colored suspenders and loose garters and short, torn skirts.

When the disorientation brought on by her new surroundings finally started to abate, Juliet walked into the crowd, and was immediately jostled by the metamorphmagi around her; pulled right into the mass of movement and flashing lights and changing skin tones.

She hadn't gone far when one of them reached for her shoulder.  Juliet turned around, and saw a face that wasn't quite male or female.

The stranger raised a finger to their lips and pulled her over to a drink rail.

"Did you have to come so . . . overdressed?" they asked, looking her up and down.

"Enir?" Juliet guessed.

Her new companion smiled.

Another non-binary individual came up behind Enir, kissed them quickly, and danced back into the crowd.

Juliet looked back at Enir and yelled, "Should we go somewhere more private?"

Enir leaned closer to her, shaking their head.  "No one can hear us over the music, lamb!  This is where I feel safe.  At least, safe enough to talk to an Auror."

Fair enough, Juliet decided.

She raised her voice again.  "Alright, yeah, okay, then let's not waste any more time.  In your letters, you told me you recognized the faces of the metamorphmagus from the wanted posters.  You said you knew their name?"

"If I give you their name, what assurances do I have that my name won't end up on that registry of yours right along with all the muggle-borns you've helped so much?"

Juliet tensed.

"I'm muggle-born," she said after a moment.  "My name's on that registry.  Believe me, I know how important it is to maintain your anonymity.  When this conversation is over, I'll make sure you don't exist."

"Kayal," Enir said.

"Kayal?"

"Kayal.  That's their name.  And we call our various appearances forms, not faces."

"I apologize.  So, who is this Kayal?"

"Kayal Rowle is a pure-blood.  A pretty damn conceited one."

Juliet recognized the last name at least.  "What more can you tell me about him?"

"Them, darling," Enir said.  "I slept with them two years ago.  Best sex of my life, but I woke up with the worst hangover and so much regret!  It was actually a night much like this.  There was loud music, a few dark corners, and way too much vodka.  Neither of us talked very much.  Kayal didn't want anything to do with me when it was all over.  They snuck out before I even had a chance to offer them breakfast.  I saw them a few times after that night, in here and around London, but I haven't managed to see them again since you lot made a few of their forms."

"Are there any other forms they take that you might know that we don't?"

Enir laughed.  "Maybe.  To be honest, that whole night I spent with them is wrapped in a heavy haze of alcohol and sex.  I'm not sure how accurate their other forms would be if I tried to describe them.  Like I said in my letters, you're looking for a metamorphmagus, may Merlin and Christ help you.  Kayal could be in here right now, standing next to us, and neither one of us would even know it."

Juliet leaned closer to Enir again.  "Would you let me see the haze of alcohol and sex in your memories so I can decide for myself?"

Enir pulled back, hesitating as the music pounded.  "I don't know.  I don't know how I feel about The Ministry having access to replays of my . . . indiscretions."

"Don't worry," Juliet said.  "I won't take anything out of your head that can be stored in a vial."

Enir's face became more masculine for a moment before drifting back to feminine, pausing at various stages in-between as they raised an eyebrow.  "Really?  And how do you plan on doing that, love?"

"I'm afraid it's a trade secret."

"Is that so?"

Juliet nodded.

Enir laughed.  "Oh, what the hell, in that case, I suppose you can have a go!  So long as you're not shy about watching me and this metamorphmagus of yours do a few queer things to each other."

"It won't be anything I haven't seen before, despite how vanilla I may appear," Juliet told them.  "Now, if you're ready, focus on the night you spent with Kayal.  Start as far back as you can."

Enir watched as she raised her hand. 

"Should I close my eyes?" they asked.

"If that helps you," Juliet said, reaching slowly for their forehead.  "Most people find it's best to just relax, and let me do all of the work."

With that, she touched Enir, and pulled herself inside their mind.

Darkness collapsed around her as the music and the flashing lights disappeared, but the nightclub wasn't gone for long.  As shadows of the past began to take shape, Juliet found herself standing back on the dance floor, surrounded by the same sort of crowd she had just walked through.  The recall was distorted, but Juliet could make out most of it.  She watched through Enir's eyes as they led her on a strange vision quest.

bloody hell

They really had been intoxicated.  There were more flashing lights; loud music and dancing and drinks; cigarettes and smoke and lines of white powder inhaled off a glass tray in a crowded bathroom stall.

Just before the drunken movements of Enir's lurching body made her vomit, someone grabbed them from behind.  The new, shifting figure pulled Enir into a dark corner of the club, where they fingered and stroked each other's morphing genitals while Madonna sang.  A subsequent foray out the back door resulted in both participants bringing each other to the point of release while Enir was pressed up against a brick wall, breathing hard and moaning.

The night continued; time skipped forward.  Juliet watched as the face of Kayal Rowle went through what had to be ten or twelve forms.  

Now I've got you, she thought.

at least . . . more versions of you

Juliet kept watching, until the shapeshifters pulled each other into a dark bedroom, collapsing on the bed and stripping each other down, taking turns getting on top.  Juliet pulled herself out of Enir's head just as they pulled themself out of Kayal Rowle, watching as the scene dissolved and the memory went dark.

Juliet opened her eyes, staring back at Enir as the music and the lights pulsing around them cut back into her senses.

Enir smiled.  "See anything you liked?"

"I did, yes," Juliet managed, "and then some."

She would review her own memories of this encounter later, but she knew she had seen at least fifteen or so of Kayal Rowle's different forms.  It was a lot more than she had been hoping for.

Juliet reached into her coat and took out a pouch filled with coins.  It wasn't much, just some of her own money, but Enir had given her valuable information and she didn't want to leave them with nothing.

But Enir wouldn't take it.

"Keep it," they said, sliding her pouch of coins back across the drink rail.  "If you find Rowle, I'll consider us square."

"Thank you."

Enir looked back toward the dance floor.  Their eyes stayed there for a moment before glancing back at Juliet.

"Did you know that two of the murdered muggle-borns were metamorphmagi?  I didn't see that mentioned in the Prophet.  I figured The Ministry probably didn't know, what with us not changing forms after death and all."

"I didn't know that, no," Juliet said.  "I thought your abilities were only passed on through half and pure-blood lines?"

"Not always," Enir told her.  They were quiet for a moment, then they said, "If Kayal is involved in all of this, like you say they are, it means they went after their own kind."

Juliet waited, but Enir didn't say anything else.  She picked up her pouch and went to leave.  "Thanks again; for everything.  If you see any of Kayal's forms, or anything else that would help us find them-"

"You'll be the first to know," Enir said, hesitating for a second before giving her one last smile.  "That is, so long as I don't decide to string that bloody tosser up myself."

Juliet decided to take the long way home, to give her ringing ears a chance to recover from their exposure to The Changeling's music.  Or, at least, that was what she told herself.  The lie was pretty convincing, until she found herself standing across the street from her sister's apartment building, looking up at her living room windows.

Rosaline hadn't answered any of her calls or responded to any of the owls she had sent since the muggle-born trace had become public knowledge.  Juliet didn't blame her.  Her sister had always been a strong advocate for muggle-born rights, ever since she had first realized that possessing a heritage that didn't include the rest of the magical world was enough reason to be hated and discriminated against.  She had stood in the Atrium for months with the rest of the protestors when the Registration Commission Act had been up for discussion in the Wizengamot, shouting and carrying signs.  Juliet had admired her for that, more than she had ever let on.  Rosaline had always been a fighter.

Unfortunately, right now, that trait of hers wasn't working in Juliet's favor.

Juliet kept her eyes on her sister's flat.  A light was still on in her living room.  Juliet's next breath fogged in the air, mixing with the falling snow as she crossed the street and let herself into Rosaline's building.

Juliet took the stairs up to the second floor, walked down to the end of the hallway, and knocked on the door to Number 305.

There was no answer.  Juliet waited.  She could hear voices inside the flat, but still no one came.

After a moment, she knocked again, trying not to be too loud.  It was late, and Rosaline's infant daughter, Anna, was probably asleep.

When there was still no reply, Juliet leaned her head against the door.  She could still hear whispered voices, coming from the other side.  Her sister wasn't alone.  The second voice was muffled, and hard to make out, but it didn't sound like Rosaline's husband Richard.  It almost sounded like -

Juliet jumped as the door was unlocked and swung open.

Roseline took one look at her, swore, and went to close it again.

Juliet stuck her foot forward.  "Ros!  Wait!"

"Get out of here, Juliet.  I'm not in the mood for this."

"Ros, please.  Just let me-"

"No, Juliet, I don't want you here, and I don't-"

"I'm sorry about the trace," Juliet said more softly, keeping her foot wedged against the bottom of the door.  "I didn't know."

It was almost the truth, but the expression on Rosaline's face still didn't change.

"I don't care, Juliet.  I really can't do this right now.  I don't want you here, and I don't want to talk to you."

"Ros, please, just let me come in for a minute so I can explain-"

"Explain what?  What do you think you have to say that I want to hear?"

"Ros, please.  I need help!  I need you!  I'm so alone out here.  You don't know how hard it is for me to keep doing this without-"

"Then stop working for The Ministry!  Hand in your Auror badge, get the hell out of there, and maybe try doing some real good for once."

"I can't," Juliet said, trying to keep her voice level as strong emotions built-up in the back of her throat.  "You know I can't.  I've got to stop whoever is out here killing people like us.  I've got to try to-"

"They'll turn on you one day, The Ministry," Rosaline said.  "You know that, don't you?"

Juliet didn't justify that question with a response.  She had already had that argument with her sister too many times. 

"Please, Ros," she said instead.  "I'm trying to fix this, so is Cassio.  Our names are on the registration list, too, right there with yours."

Rosaline's eyes narrowed.  She looked past Juliet, like she was confused; like there was something she was trying to remember.

When whatever it was finally came back to her, her gaze shifted back to Juliet.  "Cassio and you can both fuck off, as far as I'm concerned.  You can't solve these murders.  Don't you see that?  You're only making things worse!"

"Ros, please, wait-" Juliet started, but her sister didn't listen.

Before Juliet could stop her, Rosaline gave the door a sudden shove, and closed it in Juliet's face.

Juliet didn't wait, or try to knock again.

She left the building and headed home.

Rosaline stood on the opposite side of her door for a moment, waiting to see if the conversation she'd had with Juliet had woken up Anna or Richard, but no sounds came from either bedroom.  She took a deep breath and slid the door lock back into place, realizing, suddenly, that her hands were shaking.

bloody hell

Leave it to Juliet to make me feel unsafe in my own flat.  

It had been a long night, and her sister's unexpected visit hadn't helped.

Rosaline leaned forward and looked through the peephole.  She made sure Juliet was gone before she turned around and headed back to her living room, where Lara sat waiting.

"Did she hear us?" Lara asked.  Her face was serious; her eyes were full of concern.  It had been a long time since Rosaline had seen her look afraid.

"I don't know," Rosaline said.  "I don't think so, but she might be back.  There's nothing stopping her from apparating in and appearing right here in front of my sofa, apart from her fleeting respect for my privacy."

"You need wards.  I can show you how to set them."

Rosaline ignored Lara and went over to the windows.  She pulled back her curtains and looked down at the street, trying to see if her sister was out there, but all she could see was the falling snow.

Rosaline looked back at Lara.  "You should go.  We can't keep meeting here.  It's not safe, for us or my family."

"I know.  I won't stay much longer.  Maybe next time we can-"

"Lara, look, I wish I could get involved again, I really do, but I can't.  I can't keep doing this, not with Anna.  Five children died the last time we tried to get The Ministry's attention.  That really messed me up.  I can't keep-"

"Things are different now, Ros.  Heston and Wright are gone.  I know what happened with the train was a nightmare.  You were right; none of us had any control over those mud-summoning spells.  We never should have-"

"Lara, stop.  Please.  I really can't do this anymore.  Children died because of what we did!  How can you sit here and ask me to-"

"We have to intervene, Ros.  For God's sake, we have to do something!  People like us are still dying, and Juliet is proof that the Aurors can't do a thing to stop it.  We have to-"

Lara stopped as a light came on inside Rosaline's bedroom.  Rosaline could hear Richard now, getting out of bed; heading for the on-suite bathroom and closing the door behind him.

"Lara, you have to leave," Rosaline said.  "It's late and Richard's already had a bad week at work.  I don't want to have to explain anything to him, not tonight."

"Alright," Lara said, slowly getting to her feet.  "I'll go.  I'll set some wards for you on my way out.  Just, please, think about what I said."

"Lara, no, I can't-"

"Please, Ros," Lara said, looking at her with pleading eyes.  "I can't do this on my own."

Rosaline didn't say anything.  She didn't move.  She kept her gaze fixed on Lara.  Thinking about what had happened to the children on the train had made her feel sick all over again.

Lara let out a long breath and reached for her coat, pulling it on as she headed for the door.

She was reaching for the knob, when she looked back, staring at Rosaline over her shoulder.  "Is this really what you want?  To keep living in fear?  Is this the kind of world you want Anna to grow up in?"

"Lara, she might not even be a witch."

"What if she is?  What if she's exactly like us?  Do you really want her to live this way?  Do you want someone to attack her one day and string her up like all the others?"

"Jesus Christ, Lara, you're talking about my daughter."

"That's exactly why they'll go after her; because she's yours.  Because her father is a muggle.  That's why they'll keep going after all of us.  They'll never see us as anything but less than."

Rosaline watched as Lara reached into her coat and took out her wand.  She cast a ward that spread quickly, filling Rosaline's living room and front entryway with light.  Rosaline stayed where she was, watching the ward ripple against her walls and her front door, wishing things were different; wishing things could be like they once were, when there had been so much more between her and Lara than a dark secret, a dead friend, and a hopeless plight.

"This won't end, Ros, you know that, don't you?" Lara said, interrupting Rosaline's thoughts one last time as she stepped out the front door.  "This won't end until people like you and me can find a way to make it stop."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

April 1989 - Between the Wars

Aaron wasn't sure what time it was, or how long he had been standing there in the meadow alone, watching as a chaotic maelstrom of locations shifted around him, superimposing themselves over the distant lake.  He kept his arm raised, trying to focus as distorted music came from his headphones; a loud mix of guitar riffs, fast drumming, and repetitive screamed lyrics; some of his favorite anti-fascist noise.  The music served another purpose, too.  It drowned out the world around him, giving him a sense of control; making all the abrasive sounds that came through the holes he ripped in space irrelevant.

Moody had spent the last year telling him to pay attention - to take off the damn headphones and find another way to deal with all of the noise - but using loud music to block it out worked too well.  It let him focus on the actual space manipulation without all the other distractions.  It had helped him make a lot of progress.

The running had helped, too.  So had learning - and actually being able to use - magic.  It had made everything so much easier.  Most of the time, he could hold onto a few of the layers at once now, without getting pulled between them so aggressively, especially if they only consisted of places that were nearby, like Hagrid's hut, the familiar clearing in the Forbidden Forest, and his classrooms.  He could still feel the locations that were farther away, like the park, the city street, the bathroom with the stained mirror, and the Burrow, but they didn't pull on him as hard as they used to; not unless he let them.

Aaron smiled for a moment, watching as the streets of Hogsmeade layered over the greenhouses and the room at the top of the Astronomy Tower, glad to finally be in control, even as sweat ran down his forehead.

He reached down and clasped the shackle back around his wrist, watching as the layers vanished.  When he felt steady again, he turned the training wand on himself and muttered Tarda Nauseam under his breath a few times, until the bile in his throat started to recede.

At least this time he hadn't collapsed, or thrown up.  It was progress, and it wasn't the only sort he was making.

Thanks to almost ten months of hard work, he was finally starting to catch up to his classmates.

He had completed First and Second Year Charms, and First Year Transfiguration, before the end of the last school year.  Flitwick and McGonagall had helped him through the material for Third Year Charms, and Second and Third Year Transfiguration, over the summer, and tested him in August to make sure he could do more than just get a block of wood to change color.  Catching up on everything he had missed had taken a lot of work.  He still spent most of his evenings alone in the library, going through his textbooks, teaching himself more spells, and trying to get better at the ones he had already learned.

Eni had started leaving him notes in the kitchen, reminding him to take some breaks and get more sleep.  Charlie and Tonks kept asking when they would see him outside of classes and meals again.  He didn't know.  All he had been able to focus on, besides working with Moody and putting in a few hours in the kitchen every day, had been trying to figure out all of the charms and enchantments his friends had learned years ago.  He didn't have a lot of time for much else, not if he was going to get through all of the material and do well enough to get placed back in the right classes for his year.

Thankfully, the end was almost in sight.  He had finished Fourth Year Charms before Christmas and tested out of Fourth Year Transfiguration over the spring holiday.  If he kept up this pace, he would be ready for the O.W.L. Charms examination in two months.

It was Fifth Year Transfiguration that was the problem.  He had only been at it a month.  He was behind . . . and total shit at it.  The spellwork was so bloody complicated.  It built on enchantments and charms his classmates had been able to cast easily for years.  He'd had to keep going back through notes Eni and Tonks had saved from Third and Fourth Year lectures just to understand anything McGonagall was saying.  He was going to have to spend a lot more time in the library before it was all over, but he sure as hell wasn't going to give up now.  He had come too far, and he was finally starting to feel like he belonged.

Aaron reached up, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe some of the sweat off of his forehead, watching as the sun started to dip toward the trees.  If he was going to do this, he had to do it now.

It was time to see if he could use all of his new magical abilities to do something practical.

Aaron took off his shackle and set it on the ground, staring at it for a moment.  This wasn't going to be easy, if he managed it at all.  He was going to have to maintain the chemical composition of the iron while simultaneously transforming the shackle into what he hoped would be something that would be a lot easier to remove and pocket when he needed to.

He was going to try to turn the shackle into a ring.

Aaron took a step back, reaching up and taking off his headphones, turning down the volume on his Walkman as he raised the training wand.  He hadn't thought much about what he would do if this all went wrong; if he fucked up the shackle beyond repair.  He was really hoping that wouldn't happen.

Aaron took a deep breath, and guided the training wand in an intricate pattern, focusing on the incantations he had taught himself while he said the words out loud.

At first, nothing happened.

Wait, he told himself.  Just wait.

He did, suppressing the locations that wanted so badly to overwhelm him, taking a few more deep breaths, until he finally felt steady again.

That's it.  Come on.

Try again.

The magic's there.

It was.  He could feel it now.

So reach for it.  Reach for it and fucking summon it.

Aaron repeated the incantations and tore the training wand through the air, moving it quickly, watching as the shackle started to vibrate.

He tugged on the shackle with the magic he had summoned, drawing it into a vortex as it started to shrink.

Aaron kept working through the spells, manipulating the shackle until come on come on that's it it stabilized, and re-formed itself into a ring.

Aaron lowered the training wand and reached for the ring, sliding it on quickly and trying to summon the Gryffindor common room.

Nothing happened.

It worked.

Aaron laughed and stared at the ring.  He tried to summon another location, but everything around him remained stable.

It actually bloody worked!

It was about twenty minutes later, when the sun had finally started to disappear behind the trees, that he saw Eni, walking toward him across the meadow.

Aaron sat up, lowering his headphones and stopping his cassette tape.

"How'd it go?" she asked him.

Aaron grinned and raised his hand, showing off his new accessory.

Eni eyed the ring and smiled.  "I told you you could do it!  Bloody well done!  Still want to test your reflexes?"

"I guess, Hand Magic," Aaron said, standing up, "if you really still think you can hit me with that leg locking charm of yours."

Eni blushed.

"What?" Aaron asked.  "Hand Magic?  Is Lee the only one who can call you that?"

Eni shook her head, still looking embarrassed.  "You know what, I'm going to stop sharing the details of my love life with you, you dickhead."

"No, wait, don't do that!" Aaron said, smiling.  "If I can't live vicariously through you, I've got nothing."

Eni rolled her eyes.  She reached into her back pocket and took out her cigarettes, lighting two and handing one to him.

Aaron took a drag while Eni inhaled.

"Lee wants me to go to London with her for the muggle-born protest in May," she said, through a mouthful of smoke.

"Told you she has a fetish."

Eni elbowed him.  "Her mum is muggle-born, too, idiot."

Aaron grinned and exhaled.  "Are you going to go?  I imagine it would be nice to get away from here for a bit."

Eni nodded.  "You should come with us.  We should both go see what our kind are fighting for before our names are added to that bloody list."

Aaron shrugged.  "Maybe, but I'm not the one who got invited."

"I don't think Lee would mind if you came along.  Her cousin, Oliver, is going, too.  It's not like this is some sort of romantic endeavor."

"As far as you know," Aaron said.  He tapped a clump of ashes off the end of his cigarette.  "I'll ask Lara, but I think she's going to the protest, too, so no promises.  Someone has to run the kitchen while you're both gone."

"I suppose that is important work," Eni said.  "We wouldn't want to have a house elf rebellion on our hands.  They could lay siege to the pantry."

Aaron laughed and took a few more drags, then stomped out the end of his cigarette and handed Eni the training wand.  "Right, well, I'm ready if you are."

Eni took the training wand from him and tucked it into her back pocket.  "Suppose I should give my own talents a workout while we're at it."

Aaron shrugged and took off the ring.  "If you insist."

He took a few steps away from her and flashed her another grin.  "I still don't think you can hit me."

Most of the students at the Gryffindor table were already halfway through dinner when Aaron sat down next to Charlie.  He grabbed a dinner roll, filled it with roast chicken, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing quickly before reaching for more, not even bothering with a plate.

"Damn," Bill said, watching him from across the table.  "Hungry much?"

"Missed lunch," Aaron told him, mouth full.

"What happened with the shackle?" Charlie asked.

Aaron raised his hand and showed him the ring.

"Oi!  Bloody well done, mate!  That's a huge improvement over your 'just crawled out of Azkaban' look.  Does it work?"

"So far," Aaron said, spearing a slice of ham with his fork.  "If I start looking unsteady, Stupefy me."

He looked up, still chewing, as McGonagall walked over to the Gryffindor table, scanning the faces of his housemates for a moment before heading his way.

"Here you go, dear," she said, reaching out and handing him an envelope.  "This came for you this morning.  It was delivered to the school's address in Hogsmeade by muggle post."

Aaron set his fork down and took the envelope from McGonagall, staring at it for a second.  It was muggle.  It had actual postage.  There wasn't a name, but he recognized the return address.  The name of the street Glasgow's main Social Work Services building was on was burned into his memory along with the telephone number that was written down inside his battered copy of The Island of Doctor Moreau.

Aaron opened the envelope and turned around, facing away from Charlie and the rest of his housemates while he read the letter inside.

"Everything alright?" Charlie asked.

Aaron didn't know.  He had barely heard him.  His heart was in his throat. 

He leaned forward and read the rest of the letter.

Aaron turned the letter over.  It was signed by his social worker, Rachel Adams.

"Aaron?"

Aaron wasn't listening.  He stood up and walked toward the front of the hall.

McGonagall sat on the far left end of the faculty table, talking to Sprout and Flitwick.

Aaron walked right up to her.

"Was there anything else?" he asked.

McGonagall paused her conversation and looked over at him.  "Anything . . . ?  Oh, no, it was just the letter, dear."

"There wasn't a package?  It would have arrived in October.  It was addressed to Dumbledore, but it was for me."

"If there was, whoever collected it in Hogsmeade may have left it in Professor Dumbledore's office."

" . . . Can you check?"

McGonagall shook her head.  "I'm afraid his office has been sealed off with wards since the end of November.  I haven't even been able to get inside, and things I need are in there."

Aaron just stood there, holding onto the letter.

"I'm sorry, dear," McGonagall told him.  "I realize this is important to you for whatever reason, but it will have to wait until Professor Dumbledore returns."

Aaron didn't say anything else.  He turned and walked back to the Gryffindor table and sat back down next to Charlie.

"Are you alright?" Charlie asked him, looking concerned.  "What was all that about?"

"Nothing," Aaron said.  "It's not important."  

But it was.  What was he afraid of?  If there was anyone he should be able to share this sort of thing with, it was Charlie. 

"Here," Aaron said, handing him the letter.  "You can read it, if you want.  Some of my stuff from before I came here was sent to Dumbledore by mistake.  It's probably in his office.  McGonagall can't get in; there's wards."

"That's no sweat for you though," Charlie said, ignoring the letter and leaning closer to him.  "Are you going for it?"

Aaron nodded.

"Want me to cover for you?"

"No, it's alright," Aaron said, standing up and tucking the letter into his front pocket.  "Everyone's in here.  No one will notice if I disappear for a bit."

"Do it then," Charlie told him, "but watch yourself, yeah?"

"I will," Aaron said, already fiddling with his new ring.  "Be right back."

He left The Great Hall and headed toward the staircases, ducking into the first empty room he saw.

The room was dark.  There weren't any windows.

Aaron didn't waste any time.  He closed the door, took off the ring, summoned Dumbledore's office, and pulled himself inside, appearing at the edge of the room with a sudden CRACK.

Aaron flinched.  The phoenix had startled him.  He ducked away from the perch where it slept, wondering what it was doing in there; if it was in there alone. 

He stood there for a moment, scanning the shadows, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.  Apart from Fawkes, the office looked deserted.  Aaron took a few cautious steps forward, walking around Dumbledore's armillary sphere and heading for his desk.

The desk was a mess.  It was covered with jumbled stacks of parchment, books, and unopened envelopes, most of which were coated with thick layers of dust.  A few of the drawers at the back side of the desk were open, contents spilling out onto the floor.

Aaron let out a long breath, staring at the lot of it.  Finding the package was going to be a right pain in the arse.  He leaned over the desk and started looking through the closest stack of parchments, trying not to disturb it any more than he had to.

Aaron flinched again as Fawkes shifted in his sleep.  He watched the bird for a moment, then went back to his search, trying to go as fast as he could.  He didn't like being in there alone.

He was almost halfway through the mess when he turned too fast and knocked one of the envelopes onto the floor.  He watched, unable to stop what was happening, as its contents scattered at his feet.

Aaron stared down at the photographs that had spilled out of the envelope; a set of horrific images that looked like they had been taken at some of the muggle-born murder scenes.  There had to be more than twenty of them.  He saw blood, overturned pieces of furniture, and decapitated bodies with jagged lines carved into their foreheads.

A few articles that looked like they had been cut out of The Daily Prophet were mixed in with the photographs.  The themes were clear.  There were articles about the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act, the murders, and the attack on the train.  There were more about Marcus Carrow - about him authoring the act, going missing, and the removal of his body from the abandoned Underground station.

Aaron inhaled hard.  He felt sick.  He slid the ring back on, remembering the awful smells of rot and decay.

"One of the people on this list killed Carrow."

Not one of them.  

Dumbledore, I bet. 

But no one knew where he was.  Not even the Aurors.

Aaron bent down and shoved the photographs and articles back into the envelope.

It took him a few more minutes to find what he was looking for, a small package buried under a few weeks worth of owl post - the only one he saw that had muggle postage.

Aaron picked up the package and stared at it in the dim light.  The handwriting on it was different from the writing that had been on the envelope McGonagall had given him, but the return address was the same.

Aaron unwrapped the package, tearing off the brown paper.

It was a book; Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four.

He opened it and turned to the inside of the back cover. 

It was his.  His name was scribbled at the top of the last page in messy eight year old handwriting, complete with a backwards R.

Aaron leaned back against the desk.  The bent edges of two photographs stuck out from the middle of the book.  He took them out and held them up to the dim light coming in through the windows. 

A much younger version of himself stared back at him from a swing in a school yard.  He didn't seem excited to be wherever he was, holding onto the chains of the swing and refusing to smile for whoever had taken the picture.

Aaron turned the picture over.  Someone, probably Rachel, had written, Aaron in Edinburgh, 1978.

He tucked the photograph back into Nineteen Eighty-Four and took out the next one.

A woman with long, tangled blonde hair looked away from the camera.  Aaron stared at her for a long time, only vaguely aware of how fast his heart was pounding.  It was the first time he had ever seen his mother.  He had never known what she looked like.  They had the same nose, but not much else.  He hadn't inherited her green eyes.  And she seemed so -

sad

She seemed so fucking sad.  Like no one had ever taken care of her either.

why

Why didn't anyone help her?

Where the hell was our family?

Aaron turned the photograph over and saw where someone had written, Abigail Laurent, October 1973.

What?

He was so confused.

Her name wasn't Stone?

Aaron flinched, losing his balance as the air split - as Dumbledore appeared in front of him with a CRACK that made his ears ring.

Aaron caught himself against the desk, tucking the photograph of his mother back inside the book, holding it tight while Dumbledore leaned over him.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I-" Aaron stammered. 

"Did you think I wouldn't be watching my office?"

"Sorry, I just needed to-"

"How did you break my wards?"

"I didn't."

"Then how did you get in here?"

"I-"

Aaron gasped as Dumbledore grabbed his wrist, dropping the book as he tried to pull away.  He winced while Dumbledore tugged on his arm, turning it over and checking his palm, for what, he didn't know.

"What have you done, Aaron?"

"I . . . I was just-"

"What dark magic have you been experimenting with?"

Aaron didn't answer.  He yanked himself free and pulled off his ring, summoned the corridor outside The Great Hall, and jumped through.

He appeared with a loud CRACK, reaching for the nearest wall, dropping to his knees and breathing hard, pulling the ring back on.

shit

Jesus fucking shit

He had left the book with the photographs on the floor.

Aaron swore again.

He had to go back.  He had to go back in there before Dumbledore found it.

Eni must have seen him appear.  She was walking toward him, dodging her way around the end of the Ravenclaw table, moving quickly.

"Chikusho," she said, as she stepped out into the corridor, looking at the way he was holding his hand.  "What happened?"

"Nothing," Aaron said, letting go of his wrist and getting back to his feet.

"Aaron-"

"Where's the wand?"

"What?"

"I need the wand.  I've got to go back in Dumbledore's office."

"Dumbledore's office . . . ?  What do you . . . Wait, is he here?"

Aaron nodded.

"Aaron, what happened?  What's going on?"

"Dumbledore caught me in his office, going through some of his stuff.  Fucking hell.  His bloody portraits were probably watching when I-"

"Dumbledore caught you in his office?  What the hell were you doing in there?"

"He's got something of mine.  I was trying to-"

"Aaron, you shouldn't have gone in there.  Not without permission.  You should have asked one of the professors if you could-"

"I know, alright.  I'm an idiot.  Tell me all about my poor decisions later.  Right now, I still have to go back in there."

"Aaron-"

"Eni, please, just give me the wand."

"Alright, fine," she said, taking it out of her back pocket.  "But I'm going with you."

Aaron shook his head.  "No.  Dumbledore might still be in there, and he's upset.  I don't want you to-"

He stopped as Eni grabbed his arm.

"Aaron, I'm not letting go of you.  So, either take me along, or wait and think this through."

Aaron let a breath out through his teeth and yanked off the ring.  He didn't want to wait.

He summoned Dumbledore's office, watching as it appeared.  The room was still dark.  He didn't see Dumbledore.

"Fine," Aaron told Eni, "hold on."

The air cracked around them as he made them both disappear.

Aaron looked around the office.  Dumbledore was gone.  So was Fawkes. 

Aaron walked over to the floor by the desk and leaned down, picking up his book and making sure the photographs were still tucked inside.  Thankfully, they were.

"Is that it?" Eni asked him, looking at the book.  "Is that what you needed?"

Aaron nodded, reaching for her arm.  "Come on.  Let's go."

He felt sick, more layers were forming, and it hurt to move his wrist.  It was time to get out of there.  

He summoned the corridor outside The Great Hall and -

wait

He could see Dumbledore.  

Aaron stopped, raising his hand to steady his surroundings, still trying to hold onto Eni, the book, and the training wand.

Dumbledore was right there in front of him, in some sort of dark room, standing by himself.

Aaron tensed, thinking again about what Moody had said; about the way he had found Marcus Carrow's decapitated body rotting on the train platform.

Aaron looked again.  He could still see Dumbledore.

shit

He could jump to wherever he was now and -

– and what?  Confront Albus fucking Dumbledore with a sore wrist and a training wand? 

Aaron CRACK pulled Eni back into the corridor outside The Great Hall.  Then, without bothering to give her any sort of explanation, he let go of her arm and pulled himself through space again, appearing in the room at the top of the Owlery.

He walked over to the table in the far corner of the room, grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment, and wrote fast.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

April 1989 - Between the Wars

The house that sat in the forest outside of Godric's Hollow had been all but abandoned the first time Gellert Grindelwald had brought Dumbledore inside and showed him the curated collection of books he kept hidden beneath the floorboards.  The books had been old; older than the house.  Gellert had taken them out one at a time, lifting them out of the dark and holding them up to the dim rays of light that had come in through the dirty windows, setting them carefully on the floor in front of them.

"They're yours now, too," Gellert had said, smiling at him.  "We can share them."

So they had.  Dumbledore had spent the rest of that summer in the house in the forest with Gellert, reading through each of the books, fascinated and obsessed with more than just the pages in front of him, sitting on the floor next to Gellert while warm breezes came in through the open front door.

He had been sixteen that summer, and he had never read such detailed descriptions, instructions, and accounts on the use and practice of dark magic.  He had studied each page carefully, knowing full well that he was doing something forbidden, unable to stop himself from absorbing all of it, from sitting closer to Gellert when the sun went down and arguing with him for awhile about the potential uses of dark magic, before dropping whatever book he was holding and reaching for the young man who had become more than just his best friend, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him deeply.

Decades later, when Ariana was dead and Gellert had fled the country, Dumbledore had gone back to the abandoned house in the forest alone, and pulled up the floorboards.  Most of the books had still been there, worn and covered with dust; one final gift from the brilliant, disturbed man who had taught him so much.  For years, the books had sat in his old office at Hogwarts, forgotten and untouched.  The first one to ask about them had been Tom.  

Somehow, Tom had known the books were there.

Dumbledore looked down at the removed floorboards and the empty space below him; at the dirt and cobwebs and decayed wood framing that was all that was left of Gellert's hiding place.

He leaned back against the wall behind him, trying to collect his thoughts.  The books were still in his office, in a hidden closet, secured behind a locked door and a heavy veil of wards.  To his knowledge, the only people who knew they were there were Severus and Minerva, but were there others?

Dumbledore felt cold, thinking of all the dangerous things that were in those books; knowing he had kept them all these years so he would know what he was up against; so they wouldn't fall into the wrong hands.

Does Aaron know about the books, like Tom did?

Is that why he was in my office?

Was he looking for them?

Or was he looking for something even more dangerous?

Dumbledore didn't know.  The boy could get past wards.  He had done it before.  Magic like that was powerful.  

Has someone else been teaching him how to use it?

Someone besides Alastor?

Or is he doing it all on his own?

The boy had been frustrated for so long.  For years, he hadn't even been able to use magic, not in any easily perceptible way.

Unless he hid his abilities.  And taught himself how to use magic in private, at least until he lost control that first summer I was gone.

Tom had done that.  He had hidden everything.  Especially his experiments with dark magic.

Another chill spread through Dumbledore.

Is Aaron doing the same thing?

He didn't know.

Dumbledore picked up the bottle of fire whisky he'd left on top of a dust-covered table and took a quick drink, still thinking about Aaron Stone.

There was a problem, Dumbledore knew.  His mind kept conflating Tom Riddle and Aaron Stone, blurring his memories of a young version of Tom with Aaron until all he could see was a dark-haired orphan with abilities that no one else fully understood; a boy he had brought into the magical world before he had known anything about him; a boy who was frustrated and angry.

Dumbledore raised the bottle and took another drink.  He should have found out more about Tom before he had approached him.  If he had spent more time getting to the core of who Tom was - and destroying the sadist who had been there - he might have been able to save them all.

He might have been able to stop the boy before he had become Voldemort.

Have I done it again?  

Am I still making the same mistakes?

Dumbledore took one last drink and set down the bottle.  He didn't know.  Aaron wasn't Tom.  Tom had been sadistic and manipulative in a way he had never seen before; in a way Aaron had never seemed to be.

But there were still things he was sure Aaron was hiding.  There were still so many things about the boy he didn't know.

He didn't know if Aaron was dangerous, or what he might have gotten himself involved with, but there were ways to find out.  There were places he could go to find answers.

Dumbledore pictured a building in Glasgow he had only been to once before, and disapparated, leaving the house in the forest and appearing in a narrow hallway.  

It was dark, but a light came from the office to his left.  Rachel Adams jumped as he walked through the open doorway.

"Oh," Dumbledore said.  "I am sorry.  I didn't mean to-"

Rachel still looked startled.  "Who let you in here?"

"Don't you remember me, Rachel?"

"I remember you.  Albus Dumbledore.  Headmaster at Hogwarts.  I still want to know who let you into the building."

"I let myself in," Dumbledore told her.

That didn't seem to make Rachel feel any better.

"I apologize," Dumbledore said.  "It was not my intention to frighten you."

"It's alright," Rachel said.  "It's just . . . It's late, and you startled me.  We've had some trouble with vagrants breaking in after hours and making a mess of things.  I wasn't expecting anyone to . . . What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you about Aaron Stone."

"About Aaron?  I don't understand.  Is he alright?"

"I'm afraid that remains to be seen."

Rachel looked worried.  "What do you mean?"

"I've started to observe a few . . . concerning traits in Aaron.  I was hoping you could tell me more about him.  The last time I was here, you told me his mother, Abigail Laurent, was mentally unwell."

"Yes, I . . . That's right."

"What was wrong with her?"

"She heard voices.  She had delusions.  She would talk to people who weren't there, that sort of thing.  One time, she tried to kill herself.  I was told she had paranoid schizophrenia, and warned that it could be genetic.  It runs in families.  I always hoped Aaron wouldn't get it.  There was a good chance he wouldn't, but with everything that's happened to him, I always worried . . . If Aaron is showing any signs of having what his mother had, I'll have to-"

"Tell me about his father."

"His father?"

"Do you know anything about him?"

Rachel shook her head.  "I don't, no.  I'm not even sure Abigail knew much about him herself, or if she even knew for certain who he was.  She left all of that information blank when she gave Aaron up."

"But the boy's last name isn't Laurent.  Not legally."

"No," Rachel said, "but the name Stone never had anything to do with his potential father, not the way I understood it.  Abigail said she had changed Aaron's last name to that of a distant family member before she turned him over to us.  She didn't want Aaron to find her."

"What else do you know about the boy's family?"

"Apart from his mother, nothing,"  Rachel said.  "He's never had one."

"You must have more information.  Have you ever tried to contact any of his mother's-"

Rachel walked past Dumbledore.  She opened the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet and pulled out a worn, old folder secured with two dried-out rubber bands.

"This is everything I've got on Aaron Stone," she said, handing Dumbledore the folder.

He took it from her, removing the rubber bands and opening it slowly.

The first thing he saw were the original copies of the guardianship papers he had signed five years ago.  He realized he had barely read them then.

Dumbledore looked through the rest of the documents that were inside the folder.  There was a list of schools fifteen names long and worn pieces of notebook paper with over thirty addresses written on them.  Some had notes in black pen.  Others had been crossed out violently with a red marker.

There were medical records.  Aaron had been hospitalized in the summer of 1976 for severe dehydration and heat exhaustion, after he had been found locked inside of a car.  He had been taken to an emergency room in 1981 with a deep cut on his left arm.  Closing it had taken almost twenty stitches.

There was more.  There were pictures of Aaron with bruises on his arms and wrists, and a summary of trial proceedings from the summer of 1984, when he had been removed from the care of an abusive foster parent.

The papers Abigail Laurent had signed in 1973 to give up her parental rights were on the bottom of the stack of documents, along with a newer-looking handwritten note on a lined scrap of paper.  It was the address of a mental hospital in -

Dumbledore stopped reading and looked up.

"Is this correct?" he asked Rachel.  "His mother was admitted to a mental hospital in France?"

"Yes, that's right," Rachel said.  "She was from there; from Nantes.  One of my colleagues gave me that address last summer.  For the longest time, I never knew where she had been placed."

Dumbledore looked back at the scrap of paper.

"Where is Aaron now?" Rachel asked him.  "Is he at the school?"

"He is in my care, yes."

"After what you've told me, I'm afraid that needs to change.  I will have to-"

Dumbledore closed the folder and tucked it into his robe.  "You do not need to do anything."

"Yes, I do.  I need to take him for an evaluation, and make sure he isn't developing-"

Dumbledore raised his hand, and cast Obliviate .  Rachel's face went blank.

"Forget about Aaron Stone," Dumbledore told her.  "As far as you're concerned, he never existed.  Neither did Abigail Laurent.  And I was never here; not now, and not in 1984."

It was late when Dumbledore arrived in Nantes, France, stepping out of a fireplace inside of a magical pub near the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul and heading south toward the river, walking down the dark streets alone.

The mental hospital where Abigail Laurent had been admitted in 1973 was near the university.  Dumbledore ignored the visiting hours that were posted on the door outside of the main lobby and let himself in, taking his wand out of his robe as he approached the woman who was sitting at the front desk.

After some gentle persuasion, the woman stepped out from behind the desk with a set of keys, and led him through a set of double doors and down a long hallway, guiding him - he hoped - toward some of the answers he had been looking for.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

April 1989 - Between the Wars

The now familiar tastes of spoiled milk and acid were still lingering in the back of Aaron's throat when he raised his hand, ripping a tear in space and jumping from Hogwarts to a gravel-covered rooftop in Edinburgh, where he had met Alastor Moody once before.  

Moody wasn't there yet.  Aaron walked across the roof, taking a cigarette out of his back pocket.  He stuck it between his lips and raised the training wand, muttering an incineration charm under his breath for a moment until the end of the fag caught.

Aaron inhaled hard, enjoying the taste of tobacco and the subtle rush of nicotine.  He leaned back against a short wall at the edge of the roof and took another drag, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.  He hadn't slept, and he felt exhausted.  After he had sent the letter to Moody - and waited in the Owlery for almost two hours without getting a response - he had jumped back to the castle, headed for the Gryffindor common room, and ran into Eni along the way.  She had taken one look at him, and the way he had been holding his hand, and made him go to the Hospital Wing.  By then, his wrist had been purple and swollen, and the pain had gotten worse.  Pomfrey had asked him what had happened.  Eni had forced a laugh and made fun of him for tripping down the moving stairs.  Pomfrey had looked at them both skeptically while she had fixed his wrist, but she hadn't pried any further.

Aaron had spent the rest of last night, and most of the next morning, alone in the Gryffindor common room with the ring off, sitting on the floor by the fireplace with a bucket he had grabbed from the storage closet, just in case his stomach decided to turn on him again, watching as the locations he had pulled off of Dumbledore had churned.  He used to think the places he saw were random, but they weren't.  He never seemed to pull locations off of people that they had passed through without incident.  The strongest pulls came from places that seemed to hold some sort of emotional significance for whoever they had belonged to; places like the bakery in Liverpool that belonged to Eni's father, Charlie's camp in the woods near the Burrow, and the park with the wide lawn and walking trails.

Aaron suspected that last one was his, but he didn't want to face the sick feeling he got whenever he saw it.

He had also noticed that the locations had the strongest pulls immediately after he had physical contact with the person he had taken them from.  It was why he had stayed on the floor in the common room all morning, watching the locations he had pulled off of Dumbledore swarm around him, until Moody had finally written him back.  He had been determined to hold onto all of them; to the room in the abandoned house where he had first seen Dumbledore standing, a dark graveyard with an old iron fence and a statue of Death, a visiting room at what looked like St. Mungo's, Dumbledore's office, a path through an unfamiliar forest, a terraced house somewhere on a muggle street, and a closet filled with strange looking objects and books.  He had lost Dumbledore when he had disapparated from the abandoned house, but he was sure it would only be a matter of time until he appeared somewhere that he could see him again.

Aaron looked up as a loud CRACK came from the far end of the roof, where Moody had appeared, standing with a young woman Aaron had never seen before.  He flicked his cigarette on the gravel and stomped it out before Moody could yell at him for smoking. 

Moody didn't introduce the young woman who had appeared with him.  He walked right up to Aaron and asked, "What happened?"

"Dumbledore came back to Hogwarts," Aaron said, "and caught me in his office."

"In his office?  What the bloody hell were you doing in there?"

"Looking for something," Aaron said.  He didn't want to elaborate.  "I've got his locations now.  There's more than when I pulled the abandoned Underground station off of him two years ago.  I can't not see them.  They're strong."

Moody's eyes were still on him, studying him carefully.  "Did Dumbledore . . . Did he seem himself?"

Aaron shrugged.  "I don't know.  I didn't stick around long enough to find out.  He wasn't very happy with me."

"I imagine not.  You shouldn't have gone in his office."

"I know, but I-"

"Can you see him now?"

Aaron shook his head.  "No, but I'm watching the new locations.  I'll know as soon as he appears.  Then I can-"

"You aren't doing anything," Moody said.  "I just need you to get us to Dumbledore, or tell us where he is, then Juliet and I can do the rest.  I don't want you to be anywhere near him when we-"

"Wait, Moody, no, we should talk about this," the young woman, who Aaron assumed was Juliet, said.  "I think we're going to need him."

Moody shot her a warning look, but Juliet ignored him and looked back at Aaron.  "You're not an Auror, and I'm pretty sure you're not even of age, but if Dumbledore runs - if he apparates - we'll need you to help us find him again."

"No, Juliet-"

Juliet ignored Moody again and kept her eyes on Aaron.  "If you can really do what Moody says you can, having you there is the only way we'll have a chance to confront Dumbledore."

"Juliet, no," Moody said, "don't encourage him.  He's too young."

"So was I."

"That was different, and you bloody well know it.  I don't want him involved with this.  He'll get us to Dumbledore, then he'll get himself the hell out of there.  He hasn't been trained to-"

"I can handle it," Aaron said.

Moody's gaze shifted from Juliet back to him.  "This isn't just trying shit out in the woods anymore, Aaron.  We don't know what Dumbledore will do when we confront him."

"But she's right, isn't she?  If he apparates, I'm the only one who will be able to find him again."

Moody swore and pulled Juliet to the side.

Aaron couldn't hear the words they exchanged.  He watched the abandoned Underground station merge with the city around him, blurring the extents of the buildings and the distant castle.  The graveyard and the terraced house on the muggle street followed.  He swallowed hard, choking down the bile that had started to work its way up his throat.  He had kept the ring off too long.  He was starting to feel sick.

He reached for the low wall behind him, trying to steady himself as Moody and Juliet walked back up to him.

"Alright, listen," Moody said.  "After you jump us to wherever the hell Dumbledore is, stay behind us and do not engage him.  If this turns into some sort of battle, cast defensive spells only and jump yourself away from him.  Do you understand?"

Aaron nodded, watching as the layers shifted - as Dumbledore appeared back inside the abandoned house.

"I can see him," he told Moody.

"Where?"

"I don't know," Aaron said.  "He's in a dark room inside a house that's falling apart."

He let go of the wall as Moody and Juliet drew their wands.

"Take us there," Moody told him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Aaron took a deep breath and reached for Juliet's arm, pulling them all through space.

Dumbledore turned around quickly, raising his wand as they appeared, looking confused and alarmed.

His eyes went to Moody.  "Alastor?  What on earth are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Moody said, stepping forward, getting between Dumbledore and Aaron and Juliet.  "You've been gone a long time, Albus."

"I have, yes," Dumbledore said.  "But, as I've told you before, what I do in my own time is no concern of yours."

Aaron stayed behind Moody, looking around the room they had appeared in.  It was hard to work out where they were.  The windows were coated with thick layers of dust and grime.

"You should leave, Alastor," Dumbledore said, still watching them.  "And take these children with you."

"You know I can't do that," Moody said, taking another step toward Dumbledore.  

"Then tell me what you want."

"Answers," Moody said.  "The last time we were together, we were standing in a field next to the remains of the Hogwarts Express, after five children had died.  That same night, Marcus Carrow went missing from his home."

"And you think I was involved?"

"Were you?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.  He was still holding his wand.  "Did you really come all the way out here to confront me about the death of an anti-muggle-born bigot?"

"Is that why you killed him?  Because of his intolerant beliefs?"

"How did you ever find his body?" 

"So . . . you did kill Carrow."

"I did what was necessary," Dumbledore said.  "People were dying, Alastor.  Children were being-"

"You can't execute people, Albus, no matter what they've done.  We aren't at war anymore."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed again.  "Are you so sure?"

Moody was quiet for a moment.  "Albus, I'm not here to argue with you about-"

"No," Dumbledore said.  "You're here to arrest me."

"Only if it comes to that," Moody said.  "The war damaged both of us, Albus, but you seem to have taken it the worst.  I never realized what it had done to you, or how much pain you had endured on your own.  I never realized how much you were still grieving, or what you were willing to do to make sure nothing like what we went through will ever happen again.  I'm sorry, Albus, I really am, but I can't keep letting you-"

Dumbledore ignored Moody and looked over at Juliet.  "What do you think, Juliet?  I know you've already seen enough death to last you a lifetime.  Can you honestly stand here with him, after everything you've seen, and tell me we aren't still at war?"

Juliet was quiet.  Her eyes stayed on Dumbledore.

"You've come such a long way since your days at Hogwarts; such a long way from being the wayward girl who used to use peoples' memories to torment them," Dumbledore said, still looking at her.  "Tell me, Juliet; is your sister still afraid of you?  Does she still keep you away from her daughter?"

Juliet tensed.

"And you Aaron," Dumbledore said, turning to look at him.  "Have you told Alastor the truth?  Have you told him how you learned to bypass wards?  Have you told him about the dark abilities you inherited?  The ones you have no control over?"

Aaron took a step forward.

"Don't," Juliet said, placing a hand on his shoulder.  "Stay behind me."

Aaron obeyed her, but Dumbledore's eyes were still on him.  "Do you want to tell them who you are, Aaron?  Or should I?  Don't worry.  There aren't any secrets between us anymore.  I went and found out everything."

"Albus, that's enough.  Leave them out of this."

"I believe you're the one who involved them," Dumbledore said, looking back at Moody.  "Have you told them how bad things were, when we fought together during the war?  Have you told them how many people we lost?  How many horrors we witnessed?  Have you told them what they'll have to do if everything goes wrong again?"

"Albus, this isn't about-"

"Yes, it is, Alastor," Dumbledore said.  "This has always been about war.  We both know Carrow's death wasn't the first at either of our hands, and I fear it won't be the last."

Juliet let go of Aaron's shoulder, shifting her weight and taking a step closer to Dumbledore.

"Things have changed, Albus," Moody said.  "Let me bring you in.  Let me help you-"

"The time for that has passed, I'm afraid.  Where was the help for my students who died on the train?  Where is the justice for their families?"

"Albus-"

"What is the count of dead muggle-borns at now, Alastor?  Has it reached fifty yet?  How much has The Ministry skewed the numbers?"

"Albus, please, don't make me-" 

"Why are you standing here, confronting me, when there are far more dangerous people out there, opening the throats of those they have deemed to be undesirable?  When will this nightmare end if we don't intervene?"

"Albus, for Christ's sake, I'm frustrated, too!  I will never on my life defend The Ministry, or what they've done, but you can't just go off and-"

"It's happening again, Alastor, can't you see that?  Everything we fought for is falling apart."

"That might be, Albus, but I can't let you-"

"This is war," Dumbledore said.  "We are at war, and I won't let you stand here and tell me we shouldn't be doing everything we can to-"

Dumbledore stopped and turned fast, sending some sort of spell at Juliet, who had gotten right behind him, and aimed her wand at his head.  The spell knocked Juliet off her feet.  She let out a pained gasp as she fell back, hitting the floor hard.

Moody raised his wand and cast a blasting spell that shook the room, making the air waver and forcing Dumbledore back against the fireplace.

Juliet got back to her feet, and sent a stunning spell at Dumbledore, who raised a flash shield, blocking her attack quickly.

"Is this what you want, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked, casting another flash shield to block the next spell Juliet sent his way.  "For us to fight amongst ourselves while more people die?"

He raised his wand again and sent a blinding flash of energy in Moody's direction, knocking him back.

Juliet winced as his next blast singed her arm.

"No, but you can't just kill people, Albus!  I can't let you fucking-"

Aaron felt it then; a sudden shift in the air around Dumbledore.

He didn't hesitate.  He jumped behind Dumbledore -

- and grabbed him as reality collapsed.

CRACK

They appeared at the edge of a graveyard; the one with the iron fence and the statue of Death.  Dumbledore yanked himself out of Aaron's grasp, but Aaron grabbed him again, taking control as they both vanished.

CRACK

They appeared in the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, where translucent dragon scales still littered the ground.

Aaron kept a firm hold on Dumbledore's arm as the world shifted around them.  He didn't try to summon any particular location; he took a deep breath, and let the layers take them wherever they wanted.

CRACK

They appeared in the kitchen at Hogwarts - vanished and appeared on the lawn in the park - disappeared again and got pulled into the middle of a cobblestone road in Hogsmeade.

Aaron winced as more locations came at them.  He saw a school playground with a broken merry-go-round, an empty gymnasium, and the now familiar terraced house on the muggle street.  He saw a flat with walls covered with photographs and newspaper articles and faded notes written in black ink.  He saw Dumbledore's office, an empty living room with old, braided rugs, the train platform in Hogsmeade, and a crowded city street.

Aaron reached out his free hand and pulled them both into the center of the churning maelstrom, leaving them trapped between a dozen places at once.

He choked back a mouthful of saliva as reality wavered, but he wasn't done yet.  He pulled them both into his old hospital room at St. Mungo's - into the barn behind the Hog's Head Inn and back to the park - hoping Dumbledore was now just as disoriented as he was.

He held onto the rest of the layers while his maelstrom churned, rendering the world around them a chaotic blur.

They tumbled out of the chaos a moment later, and landed on the ground in a gravel parking lot, in front of a payphone.

Aaron got to his feet, raising the training wand as Dumbledore vanished.

fuck

Aaron reached for the payphone, trying to keep himself upright as he summoned Dumbledore's locations, watching as Dumbledore appeared in his office.

Aaron stepped through space, grabbed Dumbledore, and pulled him onto the rooftop in Edinburgh.

Dumbledore stepped back, yanking himself out of Aaron's grasp.

"Is this what you wanted, Aaron?  To show me what they taught you?  What you're capable of now?"

Aaron staggered again, breathing hard, trying to hold onto the training wand.  The world was still spinning around him.  

shit

He was losing control.

"Who found you, Aaron?" Dumbledore asked him, as the rooftop swam.  "Who found you and told you I was the enemy?"

Aaron inhaled hard, trying not to pass out.

He had to get back to Moody.  Right now.

Aaron lunged forward, grabbed Dumbledore, and opened space, pulling them both into -

- the Forbidden Forest.

FUCK

He hadn't meant to do that.

fucking hell

He was so tired.  Everything around him had become an unstable blur.  He watched as a dozen locations he didn't recognize collided in his vision, choking on the bile that was forcing its way up his throat.

no 

no no no 

fuck

where's the abandoned house

He didn't know.  And he had lost his hold on Dumbledore, who had once again pulled himself free.

Aaron staggered, falling back against the gravel as Dumbledore disapparated.

no

shit

find him

get off the ground and FIND HIM NOW

Aaron got back to his feet, raised his hand -

- and broke space apart.

Aaron exhaled hard.  He could see Dumbledore again, in a void between the rooftop and wherever it was he was headed.  Aaron reached through, grabbed Dumbledore, and re-directed him to the there it is abandoned house, gasping as they appeared together in front of the fireplace.

Aaron staggered, losing his grip on Dumbledore and collapsing in front of Moody, who swore and reached for him, catching him right before he hit the floor.

Aaron watched as Juliet hit Dumbledore with a stunning spell.  The room filled with a bright flash of red light as Aaron looked at Moody; as exhaustion took over and his body went limp; as everything around him went dark and faded away.

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

April 1989 - Between the Wars

The narrow room at the end of the hallway that served as the infirmary for The Department of Magical Law Enforcement wasn't much bigger than the medical bed and the single row of cabinets it contained.  The Ministry didn't keep any healers on staff.  Aurors were expected to treat themselves for any injuries that weren't severe enough to warrant St. Mungo's.

Juliet used her wand to ignite one of the surgical lamps.  She took off her coat and held the back of her arm up to the mirror mounted above the sink.

shit

Her blistered skin had fused to the fabric of her shirt.

Juliet winced as she pulled some of the material away from her wound.  She would need something sharp to remove the rest.

Juliet reached into a drawer and took out a scalpel, using a spell to sterilize it.  She was still cutting away singed pieces of fabric when Cassio appeared in the doorway behind her.

Juliet ignored him.

Cassio walked past her, reached into a cabinet near her head, and took out a vial.

"For the pain," he said, handing it to her.  "You should probably take all of it."

Juliet took the vial and pulled out the cork, downing the potion inside quickly before reaching for the scalpel again.

Cassio leaned back against the cabinet next to her.  "Burke told me you and Moody arrested Dumbledore."

Of course she did.  Bloody hell.  Is there anything the two of you don't share?

Juliet kept working on her arm, keeping her eyes down and ignoring her brother.

Cassio sighed.  "Jules, come on, it's been months.  Will you really still not talk to me?"

No.

I won't.

She pulled at the charred remains of her shirt, carefully cutting the rest of it away from her blistered skin.

"What happened, Jules?  Why did you and Moody arrest Dumbledore?  How did you even find him?"

"That's classified."

"Jules, come on; you can't keep ignoring me like this."

"Yes, I can.  Besides, if I don't, the rest of the magical world will know everything that happened by tomorrow."

"That's not fair, and you know it," Cassio said.  "Burke was going to take us off the muggle-born murder cases if I didn't give her something."

"So, you decided to tell her about the trace without consulting me or even warning me first?  Goddamn it, Cass!  We agreed that we would never tell anyone about the trace!"

"We still have the ledger with our list of names," he said.  "That stays between you and me."

Juliet tossed the scalpel in the sink and ran the water, sticking her arm beneath the tap and reaching for the bar of antibacterial soap.

"It doesn't matter," she said, trying not to wince again as she cleaned her wound.  "You worked out how to track our kind.  It's only a matter of time until someone else does the same thing."

"I fucked up.  Is that what you want me to say?"

Juliet shut off the water, realizing she had never heard Cassio swear.  In all of her memories, he had always been so fucking proper.

"I suppose it's a start," she said.

She dabbed at her arm with a dry cloth and tossed the scalpel into the metal rubbish bin beneath the counter.

Cassio reached into the cabinet again, taking out a jar of Star Grass Salve and handing it to her.  Juliet took it and unscrewed the lid, rubbing some of it into her wound.

"I've been meaning to tell you, you did well obtaining so many forms of the metamorphmagus," Cassio said.  "How did you manage it?"

"Someone they knew came forward."

Cassio's eyes narrowed.  "Really?  Who?"

Juliet set down the Star Grass Salve and raised her wand, using a bandaging charm on her arm.  "Another metamorphmagus."

"I think it's time we started sharing information and working together again, don't you?  We'll never solve these murders if we're working them from two different angles."

"What?"  Juliet smiled.  "You don't like working with Edward?"

"Edward is . . . sloppy," Cassio said.  "I don't have the patience for his mistakes."

Juliet examined the work the bandaging spell had done and looked back at her brother.  "Look, Cass, you're right.  We won't get anywhere on these murders if we aren't working them together."

She reached past him and opened the cabinet, putting the jar of Star Grass Salve away.  "There's a few leads I've got to follow up on tomorrow.  You should come with me.  But right now, I'm going home.  I haven't slept, and I'm tired as shit."

"Alright," Cassio said.  "I'll be back here first thing in the morning."

"Good," Juliet said, raising her wand and dimming the surgical lamp.  "Now, for Christ's sake, keep our bloody means and methods away from Burke, alright?  If I can't trust you, I swear to god, I will lose my fucking mind."

Aaron woke up alone on a battered sofa in the corner of a crowded room, curled up beneath a worn, old patchwork quilt.  It took him a moment to remember where he was - that he was in Moody's flat somewhere in Edinburgh.

Aaron sat up slowly, looking around the room - at the fireplace and the bookcases filled with magical artifacts.  An empty bucket was on the floor next to the sofa, near a strange looking trunk with a bunch of locks.  He had a vague memory of waking up sick in the middle of the night, throwing up in the bucket, and pulling the quilt back over his head.

He was still looking around the room when Moody appeared in a doorway to his right, eating from a plate of what smelled like breakfast.  

"How are you feeling?" Moody asked him.

"Not sure," Aaron said.  He hadn't been awake long enough to decide.  "Alright, I think."

"There's some beans and toast on the stove, with some ham and eggs.  I figured the toast would be easier on your stomach."

Aaron sat up a bit more, letting the quilt fall to the floor.  "What happened?"

"You took Albus Dumbledore on a ride through space, I assume, seeing how spent you were.  Then you passed out and slept for eighteen hours."

"Did he . . . Where is he now?"

"Azkaban."

"Azkaban?"

Moody nodded.  "Azkaban is the only place that will hold a wizard as powerful as Albus Dumbledore.  He'll be brought before the Wizengamot as soon as they decide how to try one of their own for the murder of a fellow council member.  As you can imagine, it's a bit unprecedented."

Aaron leaned forward, rubbing at the back of his neck.  He was still trying to wake up.

"You should eat," Moody said.

Aaron shook his head.  "No, I . . . I should probably get back to Hogwarts.  I already missed all of my classes yesterday."

"Don't worry about that.  I sent Minerva an owl after I brought you back here.  You'll be staying with me today and through the weekend.  We've got some work to do," Moody told him, turning around and walking back through the doorway.  "Come on.  There's something I need to show you."

Aaron reached for his shirt, pulling it on and following Moody into his kitchen.

He stopped when he saw what covered the far wall.

There were photographs, dozens of them, each one more graphic than the last.  He stared at them for a moment, trying not to feel sick, looking at all of the decapitated bodies with mutilated foreheads - at the swollen faces and stiff limbs covered with blood, bent and broken at weird angles.  Each photograph was marked with the name of the deceased - Samantha Jones, Ian Holden, Martha Hall . . . - and what seemed to be the locations of where they had been found.  The murder sites were everywhere, from Edinburgh to Glasgow and Oxford to London.  Some of the photographs looked like copies of the ones Aaron had found in Dumbledore's office.  Others he had never seen before.

He took a deep breath, still trying not to feel sick.  The images were hard to look at.  

Moody walked over to the stove.  He covered two pieces of toast with baked beans and handed him the plate.  "You'll never see any of these pictures in the Prophet.  I wanted you to know the full extent of what you would be getting involved with, should you decide to keep working with me and Juliet."

Aaron took the plate from Moody and walked closer to the photographs.

"As much as we could use the help, you don't have to do any of this, though I think you would make a pretty damn good Auror."

Aaron looked back at Moody.  "Why?  Because of what I can do?  Is that the only reason you decided to help me?"

The words had almost caught in his throat.  He had thought something similar more than a few times over the past few months, but he had never said anything about it out loud, not even to himself.  He wasn't sure he wanted an answer.

Moody set down his plate.  "Is that really what you think?"

Aaron shrugged, lowering his gaze.

He didn't want to think about the reasons Moody had helped him; if what he could do was the only reason Moody had taken an interest in him at all.

Moody sighed.  "Look, Aaron, I won't stand here and pretend that what you can do was never a factor, or that it wasn't what put you on my radar in the first place.  I think you already know it was.  But believe me when I say that, if space manipulation was the only thing you had going for you, I would never tell you to become an Auror.  But that's far from the truth.  You're a quick study, lad, and you've got grit.  You've got enough resilience and determination to be good at this job - to excel at it, honestly."

"But what if I don't?  What if I don't want to be an Auror?  Would you still . . . waste your time with me?"

"I don't think I've wasted any time.  Do you?"

Aaron shrugged again, keeping his eyes on his plate.  He was mentally regressing back to his eleven year old self and he couldn't stop it.  He hadn't realized how much having Moody take an interest in him had meant; he hadn't wanted to admit to himself how wanted it had made him feel for once in his damn life.

Moody took a step closer to him, studying his face.  "Aaron, if you don't want to be an Auror, that's fine.  I understand.  I'll still meet you right back in the woods.  I'm not going to leave you struggling on your own.  Do you understand that?"

Aaron didn't say anything.  He wasn't sure he could.

"Aaron?"

He still wasn't looking at Moody.  He hated himself for not being able to respond.

fuck

stop it

stop shutting down

"Aaron?  Lad?  Are you alright?"

fucking hell

stop

he's trying to help you idiot

he's not 

shit

he's not going to . . . get rid of you

Aaron looked up, and said slowly, "I'm fine, yeah.  I understand."

Moody watched him.  "No, you're not.  What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I can't help you if you don't-"

"Forget it," Aaron said, making himself keep his eyes on Moody.  "I'm fine."

Moody let out a long breath and crossed his arms.  "Look, kid, I know you've been . . . passed around a lot, but I'm not going to abandon you, if that's what you're worried about.  I'm not going to do that to you, do you understand?"

Aaron shrugged.

"I need you to trust me, alright?  I know that might be hard, but we need to trust each other if this is going to work - if you're going to keep helping me - or one of us is going to get killed."

"Yeah, alright," Aaron said.  "I get it."

"You don't have to give me an answer about being an Auror right now.  There's plenty of time.  You won't survive if you do this for the wrong reasons.  So, wait until you're sure, then we can-"

"I want to be an Auror," Aaron said.  He wasn't sure when he had made the decision, but he knew it was the truth.  "It's just . . . "

Moody stared at him, waiting.

"I'm not good at magic," Aaron said.  "I appreciate all the time you've spent helping me, and trying to change that, I really do, but I don't know if I'll ever be good enough to be an Auror."

"Do you know how much magical energy it takes to manipulate space the way you do?  You are good at magic, Aaron.  Get that through your head.  What you can do with your abilities is pure dead brilliant."

"Well, good," Aaron said, "because I'm shit at most everything else."

"You won't be shit when I'm done with you," Moody said, looking at the plate Aaron was still holding.  "Now go on and eat some of that so we can get out of here.  I left a toothbrush and a towel on the bathroom sink for you too, if you want to clean yourself up a bit before we leave.  There's soap on the counter."

"Alright, thanks, yeah," Aaron said, taking a bite of his toast.  "Where are we going?"

"Diagon Alley," Moody said.  "You need a real wand."

Chapter Text

PODFIC LINK

May 1989 - Between the Wars

A loud chorus of chants and cheers echoed off the walls of Diagon Alley as Eni followed Lee, taking her hand and walking into the tightly packed crowd ahead of them, dodging past a group of people who stood pressed up against each other in the entrance to the narrow passageway behind the Leaky Cauldron, holding signs above their heads.  The scene was much the same when they reached the main thoroughfare.  There was barely enough room to move.  Eni stayed close to Lee, holding onto her hand and her shoulder, letting her girlfriend guide her deeper into the masses that surrounded them.

Eni had only been to Diagon Alley once before, back when Professor Flitwick had taken her to buy her wand and some of the other supplies she had needed when she had started school her first year.  It had been crowded then, too, but nothing like this.  She had never seen so many witches and wizards gathered in one place.

Eni kept moving, making her way forward slowly, holding onto Lee and reading some of the signs a few of the protestors who stood around them were holding as they walked by.

I'LL SEND BURKE A BIRD ALRIGHT

HUNT THE KILLERS, NOT THE WITCHES!

BAN BIGOTRY, NOT MUGGLE-BORNS!

MY EXISTENCE IS NOT A CRIME

MAGIC DIES WITHOUT US 

WE WILL NOT BE SILENT

WE WILL NOT GO AWAY

WE ARE THE NEW MAGIC

Most of the protestors wore muggle clothes beneath old robes that had been cut, torn, and patched with bright swaths of colored fabric and stitched words laced with rebellion.  Eni saw a mix of pointed hats, muggle-style caps, Quidditch shirts, and football jerseys; a bizarre fusion of cultures that stood out, and was purely intentional.  A protestor who stood to her left, in front of Flourish & Blotts, carried a boombox on his shoulders, blaring music that was loud, disruptive, and entirely muggle.

Eni looked down as something lying on the cobblestones caught her eye.  She reached for it, picking up a flickering piece of parchment, watching as the moving image on the front of it shifted, cycling through the known forms of the wanted killer metamorphmagus.  Eni had seen the same sort of images on some of the posters that had been hung up in Hogsmeade, but she hadn't seen any posters like this.  This series of images ended with an unflattering picture of Adelaide Burke, and the words MAKE HER RESPONSIBLE.

Eni kept walking, still following Lee, watching as a witch who stood on an overturned cart used some sort of spell to amplify her voice and yelled out over the crowds.

"MY FELLOW MUGGLE-BORNS!  YOU ALL KNOW WHY WE'RE HERE!  WE ARE ALL BEING REGISTERED AND TRACKED BY THE MINISTRY, BUT WHERE IS OUR VOICE?  WHERE IS OUR REPRESENTATION?"

Shouts went up from the people who had gathered around the overturned cart as the woman raised her wand and spoke again.

"THEY HAVEN'T BEEN LISTENING TO US!  THEY HAVEN'T BEEN PAYING ATTENTION!  THERE ARE STILL NONE OF OUR KIND SITTING ON THE WIZENGAMOT!  WE ARE BEING SILENCED AND GIVEN NO SAY IN REGARD TO WHAT HAPPENS TO US!  WE CAN'T STAND FOR THIS ANYMORE!  WE CAN'T CONTINUE TO BE IGNORED!  NOT WHEN SO MANY OF US ARE DYING!"

"There's Oliver!" Lee said, still pushing her way through the crowd.  "Come on, this way!"

Eni followed her, dodging around more people as a boy who looked to be about her age reached out and handed her another pamphlet-style piece of parchment.  This time, the flickering faces she saw belonged to those of the victims - to all of the muggle-borns who had been killed.  Some had names.  Some had families.  Others had never been properly identified.

Eni tucked the flickering piece of parchment into her back pocket along with the other one, thinking now about how many people had been killed; about why they were all really there.

"Oi!  Lee!  Over here!"

"I see you!" Lee shouted, waving at Oliver.  "Almost there!  Don't move!"

Eni could see Oliver now, too, smiling and waving at them from over by Ollivander's.  She stayed close to Lee as they made their way past another group of protestors, who had used red markers to write M's on their foreheads and other bold statements on their bodies.

MY BLOOD IS MUD

END THE TRACE NOW!

WHAT'S THE REAL BODY COUNT, BURKE?

Another group of protestors were standing in front of Madam Malkin's, reaching into buckets filled with mud and smearing it on their arms and faces.  Eni turned away.  The sight of all the mud made her uncomfortable.  What they were doing to their bodies was too similar to the way her body had looked after the attack on the Hogwarts Express, when mud had still been dripping from the ceiling of the car they had all been in, falling down onto Peter's lifeless body as Maddison had screamed.

Eni sucked on her bottom lip, running her tongue over the scar there; her reminder of just how real the attack on the train had been.

She looked back at the protestors who were still covering themselves with mud, wondering if they had forgotten what had happened that day so long ago that still gave her nightmares.

Thankfully, she and Lee had made it to Oliver.  He grinned as they joined him in front of Ollivander's, finding a place for them to stand at the edge of the crowd.  A young witch stood on a stack of crates next to them, holding a sign that said I AM A FUTURE MINISTRY COVER-UP and chanting with the next group of protestors who walked past them, holding a banner above their heads.

Lee took Oliver's hand and climbed up on top of one of the crates, reaching back down to help Eni up, too.  Eni looked out over Diagon Alley.  From their new vantage point, she could see a group of young witches dancing with each other in the street just ahead of them, twirling in circles and chanting, "Witch, old witch, what do you drink?  Apple cider vinegar and midnight ink!"

Lee wrapped an arm around Eni's waist as two older wizards who were standing near them embraced, pulling each other close and kissing.

In that moment, Eni's thoughts went to her father.  She wondered what he would think if he saw her there now, standing in the street with so many people in the middle of a protest, with her girlfriend's arms wrapped around her.

He never will, she thought.  He didn't want anything to do with me four years ago, and he never will.

He had called her a deviant.  He had called her possessed.  

He had hurt her.

She knew she was better off without him, but it was still hard.

Eni looked back at the people around her - at the witches who were still dancing in the middle of the street.

It would be alright, she knew then, if she never saw her father again.  This was her world now.  And there were no deviants here.

Eni watched as the young witch next to her set down the sign she held, bent down, and reached for one of the buckets of mud that was being passed through the crowds, plunging her hands in up to her elbows and wiping mud all over her arms.

They haven't forgotten; they're reclaiming it, Eni realized, as the young witch wiped more mud on her body and picked her sign back up, raising it high above her head.

Eni took a deep breath and bent down, shoving her hands into the bucket and rubbing mud all over her arms and face. 

She was ready.  She wanted to reclaim it, too.

She looked back at Lee as she cheered, raising her arms with the rest of the people surrounding her as Lee smiled, wiped some of the mud off her lips, and kissed her right there, in the middle of it all.

The sun had just started to set when Emily Carrow walked over to the chest of drawers between her bedroom windows and reached for the delicate gold necklace her husband Marcus had given her for their tenth anniversary, just three months before she had turned thirty-five.  Marcus' wand still rested on the mantel of the fireplace behind her, next to a framed photograph from their wedding day.  He had looked so handsome that morning, as they had stood there together on the back terrace of the Carrow family estate, promising to belong to each other forever.

Emily secured the small clasp on the chain of the necklace and looked back at the fireplace.  She had found Marcus' wand on his nightstand the morning after the night he had gone missing, when she had come home from her trip to Paris - from her visit to the Musee d'Art Moderne, where she had served on the board of directors for almost five years.  Much like her wedding day, she would never forget that morning either.  It was the morning she had come home to a nightmare.  The bed she had shared with her husband for eighteen years had been left in a state of disarray.  She had found their daughter, Amelia, on the floor in the corner, shaking and crying, telling her she couldn't find her father.

Emily hadn't recognized the body the Aurors had recovered from the Underground station that next summer; the rotten and decomposed corpse that had been all that had remained of the man she had loved.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had never released an official statement regarding what had happened to her husband, but Emily had seen the dark bruises that had covered what had remained of his arms and chest - the parts of his body the rats hadn't gotten to beneath his robes.  She had seen the dried blood trapped in the corners of his half-eaten mouth.  It had been then that she had known the truth - that he had been tortured in that Underground station before he had been killed.  The thought of it all still made her sick.  She wished more than anything that she could apologize to Marcus for what had happened.

This was never supposed to be about him.

The Aurors had filed her husband's murder away with the rest of their unsolved cases, but Emily knew what had really happened.  A muggle-born - or someone who was sympathetic to their cause - had killed Marcus.  Whoever they were, they had thought he had been the one who had hated them enough to pull all those knives across their throats.

Emily walked away from her chest of drawers, reaching for the long, dark robe and the mask she had left out on her bed.  If only the Aurors knew the truth.  Marcus had never had the stomach to kill anyone.  He hadn't had the stomach to hunt dragons with her when he had been younger, and he still hadn't had the stomach for killing in 1985, when he had given Emily the counter spells to break the wards on the Wizengamot dungeon.  He had told her then that he would never get involved, not with what she was doing.  He had been too involved already, with what had been going on with his Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act.  That act had been his passion; his way of dealing with the muggle-born problem, and that had always been fine with her.  Poor Marcus had always been a bureaucrat.  He had never been the type to get his hands dirty.

He had never been able to do what needed to be done.

Emily reached down, and picked up the knife she had left out on the bed with her robe, making sure the tip of the blade was still perfectly sharp.

She had never shared her husband's reluctance. 

She could still remember the sight of the muggle-born scribe, dangling there in the air in the Wizengamot dungeon.  She could still remember the way he had looked, hanging there with all that blood running from his opened neck, as she had dragged in their next victim, preparing to string her up next to him, a woman she had found up on Level Five; a woman Theshan Nott had told her about himself; a muggle-born who had gotten a bit too preoccupied with her plight to help her kind gain more ground in a world that would never belong to them. 

Emily had cut open the woman's neck herself, levitating her rigid body up into the air as Theshan had kept watch - as Adesh Selwyn and Kayal Rowle had come in with their own paralyzed victims, ready to add them to the macabre mobile they had planned to leave for the council to find.  Emily had never known where Adesh and Kayal had gotten their victims that day.  It hadn't mattered much then, so long as they had been muggle-born.

Everything had been so much more complicated before the trace.

Emily turned her knife over one more time, staring at it for a moment before sliding it into the sheath she wore over her shoulder.  When it was secure, she reached into the pocket of her robe, and took out a vial whose contents swirled in the fading sunlight, a black and gold fluid flecked with specks of blood.  She removed the cork and stuck her finger inside, carefully smearing some of the potion across her forehead, before she set down the vial, and disappeared.

CRACK

Emily appeared on a flat rooftop a moment later, staring out over Diagon Alley, stepping right into a heavy veil of wards and concealment spells that had been cast by Theshan Nott.

Theshan was already there, as expected.  He stood on a ledge at the far end of the roof, watching the crowds that had gathered below.

Emily walked over to him, listening to all the shouts and cheers that came from the cobblestone streets.  The muggle-borns had been at it for hours.  The sun was almost gone now, and they were still down there, pressed close together, chanting and dancing, writhing together like disobedient children.

Theshan kept his gaze on the crowds as Emily walked up to him, eyeing the roll of parchment he held.

"The whole muggle-born community came out for this little protest," he said, unrolling the piece of parchment and tossing it up into the air, making it float between them, "and I've cast the trace on them all."

Emily watched as flickering lights spread across his roll of parchment, multiplying like bacteria.

"I admit that I doubted your strategy," she said, still staring at his map, "but it's clear now that it worked."

Theshan huffed.

"It took longer than I thought it would for them to decide to do something about it, despite all my prodding," he said, sounding irritated.  He was still watching the crowds.

"At least it's done now," Emily told him.

"No, it's not," Theshan said.  "Not yet.  But it will be."

Emily's gaze went back to the cobblestone street below.  It was dark now.  The sun had disappeared, and soon the muggle-borns would, too.

Theshan reached up, snatching his unfurled roll of parchment out of the air and tucking it back into his long coat.

"The locations of the muggle-borns who were here today should already be on the other maps," he told her, "yours included."

"Good," Emily said.  "Should I tell the others to begin?"

Theshan shook his head.  "Not yet.  I'll send out the order myself tonight, after I've selected a few of the targets.  I want this to be clean and coordinated.  Watch for my signal on your map."  His eyes went back to the crowds below.  "It's almost over now.  It won't be long until they all leave."

Emily watched as a crooked smile spread across his face.

"They think they're all safe.  They think they can do whatever they want.  We'll show them, won't we?" Theshan said, grinning some more as he looked back at her.

With that, he walked over to the other side of the roof, and disapparated, vanishing with a sudden CRACK.

Emily took her own map out of the inner pocket of her robe, keeping her sheathed dagger close to her chest, staring out over Diagon Alley, and waiting.

Chapter Text

May 1989 - Between the Wars

The florescent lights at the far end of the train car flickered, fading more and more, until one of them went out, leaving the back of the car cast in shadows.

Eni stared at her reflection in the nearest window, watching the dark tunnel beyond the train speed by, listening to the familiar clack clack clack of the tracks.  She had managed to get most of the mud off her arms before they had left Diagon Alley, but the rest of it had dried, hardened, and still clung to her clothes.  More of it was in her hair.

Lee laughed, turning to take her in.  "Oh, Eni!  You really do look a sight!"

Eni rubbed at a clump of dried mud that was stuck to her chin. 

"Oh, I don't know.  I kind of like it," she said, though seeing all the mud on her face, and feeling the constant motion of the train, was making her nervous, bringing back too many bad memories.  She really wished they hadn't decided to take the tube.

Eni rubbed at more of the dried mud on her chin and looked around the train car.  Two wizards a few years older than them stood in the aisle, talking.  A woman who stood to their right reached up, took off the pointed hat she wore, cast a spell to shrink it, and tucked it into her purse.  Three other young muggle-borns laughed at the opposite end of the car, holding onto the straps above their heads; loud, animated, and still looking a bit intoxicated from whatever they must have had to drink in Diagon Alley.  Eni didn't mind.  She was just glad she didn't see any muggles.

Lee must have noticed there weren't any around, too.

"Here," she said, raising her hands, "hold still."

Eni watched as Lee's hands began to emit a soft glow, radiating with a distinct, white light as she spread her fingers and tilted her palms toward Eni.  The dried mud that had clung to Eni's clothes came free, detaching itself from her, floating into the air and dissolving into nothing, like it had never existed at all.

Lee was more careful with the mud on Eni's face.  She used her index and middle fingers to trace the outlines of Eni's chin, mouth, nose, and eyes, gently removing the last of it.

Lee's careful touch, still ignited with remnants of goblin magic, was hot against Eni's skin, burning in a way that made her want Lee to stand closer.

Eni shivered a bit as Lee lowered her hands.

"There you go," Lee said with a shy smile, suddenly looking a bit self-conscious.  "All clean."

Her eyes drifted to the floor.

Eni reached for Lee's hands, holding them gently between hers.  "Can you teach me?  To use magic the way you do?"

"Oh, I-"

"It's just . . . It's so beautiful.  You make it look so beautiful."

Eni smiled.  She didn't think she had ever seen Lee blush before.

"You've got to teach me how to use magic like you do," Eni told her.  "The way I do it . . . Well . . . Professor McGonagall has been helping me, but I still can't make it-"

"Here," Lee said.  "Hold out your hand."

Eni did, raising it slowly.  Lee took her own hand and placed it over Eni's.

"It's alright," Lee told her.  "There's so many people using magic on the train, The Ministry won't notice if you use some, too."

Eni nodded, still feeling a bit nervous.  She could already feel a subtle pulse, coming from Lee's fingers.

"Start slowly, that's the key," Lee told her, guiding Eni's hand through the air.  "Let it build for a moment; gather it carefully before you let it go."

Eni focused, taking a deep breath.  She could feel the magical energy pulsing beneath her skin, combining with the magic Lee was already channeling.

"There you go.  Just like that," Lee said, slowly removing her hand, "then, when you're ready, just take a breath, and the magic will be ready, too."

Eni watched as colorful trails of light came from Lee's fingers, igniting their side of the car, making the people around them stare.

Eni looked down, noticing the way her own hand was glowing now.  She stretched it out, moving it slowly through the air, following the trails of light Lee had left with some of her own, smiling as their magical energies combined, feeding off of each other and getting brighter for a moment, before fading slowly against the ceiling of the rocking car.

"That was perfect!" Lee said, throwing an arm around Eni and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Eni was still smiling.  "You've got to teach me more!"

"I will, I promise," Lee said.  "I'll give you another lesson tomorrow, but tonight we're going to have some fun."

Before Eni could ask what she meant, Lee reached into her back pocket, and took out one of the little pamphlets with the shifting faces of the wanted metamorphmagus on it.

"Here," Lee said, folding the piece of parchment and pressing it between her palms until it sprang back, unfolding quickly as something else entirely.  "This will get you through the front door of where we're going."

"What is it?" Eni asked, taking what now felt like a hard piece of plastic from Lee.

"Oh, just some forged identification, seeing as you're still just sixteen."

Eni grinned, looking at the fake driving license, complete with a picture of her.  Lee had done an excellent job.  "Oh my god!  You made me nineteen?  This is brilliant!" 

Lee shrugged.  "It's nothing, really.  Oliver taught me how to make fake identification cards last year, so I could go to some gigs at some of the clubs with him.  I've still got one of mine."

"Lucky," Eni said, "I'd love to go to a show."

"They'll be a lot of good bands in London this summer," Lee told her.  "I bet Oliver can get us all tickets sometime."

"If he does, tell him I can pay him back."

"No, no," Lee said, "I'll be the one to do that.  I'd love to treat you!"

It was Eni's turn to blush.  "You're so sweet.  I really don't deserve you."

"Oh, rubbish!  I'm the one who's snogging a Hogwarts girl, while you're out here slumming it with a London public school kid who had to get her father to put an illusion charm on her ears every time she left the house."

"I love your ears, though."

"You do, yes, but there's plenty of people I grew up with who would have been absolutely terrified of me, or would have thought I was some sort of demon or an elf," Lee said.  "Anyway, that doesn't matter anymore.  I can cast my own illusion and transfiguration charms now, thank you very much, and it's time I used a few for something more fun."

Lee stepped back, took another quick look around the train car, and raised her hands.  With a few quick flicks of her wrist, her entire appearance transformed.  Streaks of blue and green appeared in her long, dark hair, which was suddenly sticking up over her head.  Her skirt was shorter, her boots were higher, and now it looked like she had on fishnet stockings.  The sleeves had come right off her shirt, too, which was now covered with bold geometric shapes and bright neon colors.

"There we go.  What do you think?" Lee asked, grinning as she spun around.

Eni smiled.  "I think you look absolutely fab!"

"Good!  'Cause we're going dancing!  Hurry up and do yourself up, too, before we get to the next stop!"

Eni didn't waste any time.  She was so excited.  She raised her hands quickly and got to work, transforming her own outfit into something much more appropriate - a nice neon pink shirt and a tight little skirt that showed off her legs, with fishnet stockings and boots to match Lee's.  It took her a minute to get it all right - the fabric of her shirt didn't want to behave with the first illusion charm she used - but, eventually, she got it all to cooperate, just as the train arrived at the next station.

"Come on!  Let's go!" Lee said, taking her by the hand and guiding her out of the train, through the crowd on the platform, toward the nearest exit and the streets beyond.

There was a line when they walked up to The Warehouse, but it moved fast.  The bass coming from inside the dance club pounded against Eni's chest while they waited outside, laughing and sharing a cigarette.

Lee paid for both of them to get in.  Eni showed her new fake driving license to the man who stood at the door, who waved them right on through.

Loud, electronic music shook Eni's body as she followed Lee down a dark hallway, into a massive room with a big dance floor, where bright, colorful lights flashed over the crowd.

Eni almost stopped.  There were so many people.  She stayed close to Lee, following her into the crowd, walking past women who wore short skirts and dresses, tight leather pants, and torn jeans, and men who wore blazers with rolled-up sleeves and loose ties over colorful shirts.  The different hair styles she saw all looked so fun, too.  Eni saw side parts and feathered bangs; neon headbands and teased-out waves full of volume.  A lot of people were dancing.  They all looked so happy.

Eni turned back toward Lee as Lee leaned closer to her, yelling over all the noise.  "Fancy a drink?"

"I don't know," Eni shouted back.  "I've never had a muggle drink before!"

"Don't worry!  I'll take care of it!" Lee assured her, taking her by the hand and guiding her toward a bar at the edge of the room.

Lee walked right up to the middle of the bar, leaning over the counter until she got someone's attention, leaning over it even farther to shout her request to the woman who stood behind the counter, mixing drinks.  The woman nodded.  Eni watched as the woman finished the drinks she was making, made two different ones, and set them down in front of Lee, who handed the woman a ten pound note, took the drinks, and passed one of them to Eni.

"Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Eni said, raising her glass.  "Er . . . what is this?"

"A gin and tonic!  I think you'll like it!"

Eni took a sip and made a face.

Lee laughed.  "Here, squeeze the lime in and stir it up a bit!"

Eni did and tried the drink again.  It was much better.

She took a few more sips, enjoying the way the alcohol was already going to her head.  She followed Lee back into the crowd, holding her glass tightly, swaying her head a bit to the beat of the music.

It was then that Eni saw a woman in a red dress, dancing close to a man who wore baggy trousers and white trainers.  The woman was gorgeous, with long curly hair and dark eye shadow.  She winked at Eni as her and Lee made their way out onto the dance floor.

Lee was already swaying and shaking her hips, taking a few long sips of her drink, raising a hand in the air and cheering a bit as the music got louder.

Eni laughed as Lee took her hand, pulling her close and guiding her deeper into the writhing mass of people on the dance floor.  The music pounded in time with Eni's heartbeat as Lee pressed against her, grinding against her legs and the front of her skirt.  Eni had never danced like this before.  She didn't know what to do.  She smiled as Lee took her hand, guiding it to the lower part of her back and pulling her even closer, grabbing her gently by the waist.  

Eni downed the rest of her drink quickly, holding her empty glass with one hand and Lee with the other as the crowd pressed in tighter around them.  Eni shivered, smiling as Lee's free hand wandered from her waist to her upper thigh, brushing across the front of her skirt on the way, lingering for a moment as Lee leaned forward, bending down to kiss her neck.

Eni let out a moan as Lee moved higher, kissing her chin and moving to her mouth, sucking on her lower lip.  Eni felt a bit self-conscious as she kissed Lee back, trying to remind herself that it was too dark - and too crowded - for anyone to notice or care.

They danced awhile longer, staying close as the music shook their bodies and the bright, flashing lights pulsed above their heads.  Eni laughed as Lee turned around, grinding her arse against her for a moment before leaning back and stealing another kiss over her shoulder.

"I need a break!" Lee said, turning back around to face Eni.

"Me too!"

"Brilliant, yeah!  Follow me!" Lee said, taking her hand and guiding her back out through the crowd.

Eni was glad they had decided to take a break.  The dancing was fun, but she hadn't realized how hot she had gotten.  She could also really use another drink.

She followed Lee past some high tables, setting her empty glass down on one of them after watching Lee do the same thing.  Eni was about to follow her back to the bar when Lee took her hand and led her to a dark alcove near the loos.  Lee grinned, backing against one of the walls and wrapping her arms around Eni, pulling her close and kissing her again.  Eni kissed Lee back, moving closer, running one of her hands through Lee's hair, gasping a bit as Lee grabbed her other hand and guided it beneath the loose fabric of her shirt, until Eni could feel the lace of Lee's bra.

"Me, too," Eni managed, her lips still on Lee, "touch me, too."

Lee smiled and reached up beneath Eni's shirt - running her fingers up beneath the silky fabric of her bra.

Eni moaned again, leaning forward into the shadows.

She didn't know if anyone could see them.  She didn't care.

There was almost nowhere to stand when they finally made it back to the dance floor.  Eni barely paid attention to the people around them.  Her face had gone a bit numb, now that she'd had a second gin and tonic, and what her and Lee had done in the alcove had only left her wanting more.

This time, it was Eni who took Lee's hand, and guided her through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor, pulling her close as a Madonna song began to play, mixing with the pulse of the electronic music.

Eni closed her eyes, moving her hips against Lee.  She had no idea how long it was before she opened her eyes again, smiling as the lights flashed over them.  When she did, she saw the woman in the red dress again.

Eni watched as the woman moved closer to her and Lee, dancing toward them through the crowd, smiling at them as the music played on.

"Fancy a dance, love?" the woman asked Eni, shouting over all the noise as she winked at her again.  "I saw you watching me before."

Eni looked at Lee, who had started dancing with two other girls who looked friendly, but Lee just smiled at her and kept dancing.

Eni tried not to lose sight of Lee as the woman in the red dress danced with her, but it was hard with so many people moving around them.  She kept getting jostled by the crowd.  

Suddenly, as the next song started, she realized she couldn't see Lee at all. 

Eni moved through the crowd, standing on her tip toes, but she couldn't see over anyone's head.

The woman in the red dress leaned toward her.  "Are you alright, love?"

"I don't see my girlfriend," Eni said, still looking around, trying not to feel a bit panicked.  "She was just here."

"Was she the one with the colored streaks in her hair?"

Eni nodded.

"It's alright, love, here," the woman said, reaching for her hand.  "Let's go find her."

Eni let the woman take her hand, following her through the mass of people around them, still looking for Lee.

Eni tried not to look upset, but she was really starting to worry.

Oh, Lee.

shit shit shit

Where did you go?

Eni tried to think.  If the charm on Lee's ears had started to fade, she might have run off to the ladies room to re-cast it.  If so, she would probably be right back.  Maybe it would be best to just stay where she was, but the woman in the red dress was still guiding her through the crowd, toward the back of the warehouse, away from the dance floor.

"Wait," Eni said, stopping, "I don't think we should-"

She gasped as the woman grabbed her wrist, and pulled harder, dragging her through the edges of the crowd.

"Wait, no, stop!" Eni said, but the woman wouldn't let go of her.

no

shit

This was bad.  Something was wrong.

"Stop!  Please!  Let go of me!"

Eni twisted and yanked, but she couldn't get away from the woman, who was now dragging her down a dark hallway.

Eni gasped as the woman's body contorted, shifting and changing in the dark, tearing the red dress.  Eni screamed and pulled on her own arm, still trying to get free, but the woman was too strong, and it was too loud for anyone to hear her.

Eni screamed again as the woman transformed, now looking like a man - a man who wanted very much to hurt her.  Eni kept trying to yank herself free as the man dragged her down the rest of the dark hallway, through a door out into an alleyway beyond.

The man covered Eni's mouth as she screamed again.  "You should stop that.  You're making this so much harder than it has to be.  We had a nice dance together, didn't we?  I know you liked my dress.  Now, if you stop fighting me, I'll be quick about this, you whiny little mudblood."

Eni screamed against the hand clamped over her mouth, kicking and writhing as the man dragged her down the alleyway with his arm wrapped around her.  Her ears still rang from the loud music inside the club.  Everything was happening so fast.  She watched as the man grabbed for the training wand she couldn't reach, that was sticking up out of her boot, taking it and snapping it in half, holding her tighter as he tossed its broken splinters into the shadows.

Eni kicked at the man again, watching as his features changed once more, realizing, with horror that whoever this was wasn't using transfiguration or any other sort of charm work.  The way his face changed was exactly the way Tonks' did when she practiced her forms; when she would go through a playful series of faces and hairstyles while Eni and the others laughed, begging her to do it again.

But this wasn’t a game.

The person who had her now was Kayal Rowle, the wanted metamorphmagus, and they were going to kill her.

no

no they're not

you know what to do

stop panicking

stop panicking and FUCKING FIGHT THEM

Eni stopped kicking, focusing instead on the magical energy she could already feel building inside of her, searing against her skin as it raced down her forearms, spreading into her palms and her fingers.

The force of it shook her body.

Eni didn't think of a spell, or what The Ministry would think of her using magic.  She shoved her hands against the metamorphmagus as hard as she could, and released pure, unrestrained energy.

The metamorphmagus screamed as they were driven backwards, flying away from Eni into the wall across the alleyway, where they landed hard, and pulled out a wand -

- and a knife.

Eni clenched her jaw and sent another wave of magical energy out from her hands, directing it at the metamorphmagus in a controlled current, until they were pushed up against the wall with their arms pressed into the brick - until the brick started to come apart and they screamed, shifting rapidly through forms - but Eni wasn't finished.

She twisted her right hand, raising it high, facing her palm toward the sky, forcing the metamorphmagus up into the air as they screamed again - as jagged pieces of brick fell off the wall.

Eni couldn't tell if they were trying to use their wand or not.  She didn't want to drop her hands long enough to find out.  She pushed until more bricks gave way - until she could hear the sound of something that sounded like bones breaking, ignoring the metamorphmagus as they screamed, raising them higher and higher into the air, up onto the roof of the next building, where she finally dropped them.

Eni fell forward, breathing hard, shaking with adrenaline - with the shock of what she had just done.

Lee

She didn't know if the metamorphmagus would be able to walk after that - if they would try to come after her again.

She had to get out of there, and she had to find Lee.

Eni ran, tearing down the alleyway, heading back toward the back door of the dance club, pulling on the handle and running inside.

It was dark - it was so dark - and the music was so loud.  She broke back out onto the dance floor in a run, heart pounding, shoving past people who were still dancing, too drunk or having too much fun to care, almost tripping as she made her way back to the spot where she had last seen Lee -

- but Lee still wasn't there.

Eni kept going, shoving her way past more people, scanning the faces around her, feeling more panic build in her chest.

She was still shoving past people when she finally saw Lee, standing toward the edge of the crowd on her tip toes, looking out over all the people.

"Lee!"

"Eni!  There you are!"

Eni hurried toward Lee, stumbling, realizing then that her shirt was torn - that somehow, there was blood running down her chin.

"Lee!"

She didn't stop until Lee had wrapped her arms around her.

"Eni!  Oh my god!  I was so worried!  Where the hell did you-"

Eni grabbed Lee's hand, already leading her out of the crowd.  "Lee, we have to get out of here!  We have to get out of here right now!"

"Eni, wait, what's wrong?  My god, you're bleeding!"

Eni didn't stop to explain, not until they were out of the club, running back down the street toward the Underground.  She didn't stop until she was sure they were safe - until she couldn't hear the music - or the sound of herself screaming - anymore.

Chapter Text

May 1989 - Between the Wars

Kenton Underground station was still crowded when a seventeen year old boy who had been at the protest with his older brother and sister-in-law disembarked from one of the trains, stepping out onto a narrow platform, laughing as his brother teased him some more about a girl he had talked to in Diagon Alley - a pretty girl who had smiled at him when he had helped her hold her homemade sign.  The boy didn't care what his brother said, or how much he teased him.  Not really.  He had never met anyone like that girl before.  He had given her his telephone number before he had left, just in case, and told her to call him sometime, if she fancied.

The boy smiled.  He really hoped she would.

He was still smiling when he left the Underground station, saying goodbye to his brother and his sister-in-law, making the unfortunate decision to walk home alone.

He didn't start out alone, not at first.  At first, there were plenty of other people around.  He walked behind a few different groups of muggle-borns for a bit, until the crowds thinned out, and no one was left but him, and an older woman who walked a few paces behind him.  The woman had looked a bit haggard when the boy had walked past her a moment ago, with her thin grey hair and thin, wrinkled skin, but she seemed to be doing just fine on her own, making her way quickly along the uneven pavement, not even pausing to wait for cars before she crossed the next street.

When the boy turned left at the next corner, the old woman followed him, walking quickly behind him.  It was a bit odd that she was following him so closely.  He wondered if she needed help - if maybe something was wrong.  He could hear her breathing now, fast and labored.  He was about to stop and check on her, when the woman appeared in front of him with a loud CRACK, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him into a nearby alleyway, shoving him up against a wall with her thin, skeletal arms.  The boy struggled, realizing now that he was the one in trouble - that the old woman was a lot stronger than she had looked.  He tried to yell, but his voice died in his throat as the woman aimed her wand at him, casting Petrificus Totalus and raising his paralyzed body into the air.

The boy panicked.  He couldn't move.

oh god no

no no no

please

He couldn't even scream.

help me someone help me

He watched with horror as the old woman took out a knife, and carved a line into his forehead, smiling as blood ran down into his open eyes.

When Adelaide Burke left The Department of Magical Law Enforcement that evening, she didn't walk home.  Instead, she made her way down to the Atrium, crossed the outer boundaries of the apparition point, and disapparated, arriving in her living room a moment later.  Her four year old son smiled, hurrying over and giving her a hug.  Adelaide bent down and hugged him back, smiling at the boy and taking him into the kitchen for a late night treat, dismissing his nanny and promising to pay her tomorrow.  Adelaide knew she owed the woman some money, but she had forgotten to stop by Gringotts during her lunch break that afternoon, and she was too tired now to go upstairs and open her safe.

She watched as the nanny left, collecting her things by the door, realizing she couldn't even remember the woman's first name.  Adelaide sighed.  Oh well.  She had written it down somewhere, she was sure, when she had hired the woman a few months ago.  She had never really had any reason to address her by her first name.

Not even twenty minutes later, Adelaide had completely forgotten about her son's nanny.  She took him up to his room after he finished his treat, and sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching for Grimm's Fairy Tales and reading him a story about two brothers, before tucking him in, kissing him on his forehead, turning off his light, and telling him goodnight.

Adelaide Burke's nanny, a fifty-seven year old muggle-born witch named Maria, with three sons and two daughters of her own, walked to the bus stop alone every night.  She didn't mind.  The streets in Burke's neighborhood were well-lit, and filled with muggles - with other people like her who were headed home after a long day of work.

Maria had forgotten about the protest.  She had first heard about it from her eldest daughter, who had told her she was going to attend.  Maria hadn't wanted to ask for the time off.  Burke already seemed to be upset with her, after the day she had been late two weeks ago, when she had missed her bus, and she didn't want to set the woman off again.  Besides, she really needed this job, and the money.  Ever since her husband had died, things had been hard.

Maria remembered the protest again when she was about two streets away from her bus stop - when people started walking past her, wearing robes and torn jeans, holding signs and talking eagerly about muggle-born rights; about finding more ways to show people how much they mattered.

Maria rode the bus for four stops before she fell asleep in her seat, leaning against the window, rocking with the steady motion of the bus, until a sense of familiarity jolted her awake.  By then, the bus was almost empty, and her stop was next.

She didn't notice the man who followed her, getting off behind her at the back of the bus, walking behind her as she approached her house.

It would be hours before anyone would find her body, hovering a few feet from her front door, dripping with blood.

After she was sure her son was asleep, Adelaide Burke went back downstairs and started to make herself a cup of tea.  When the tea had finished steeping, she added some milk, and took the cup to her library and sat down with a copy of The Evening Prophet that had been delivered by owl while she had been putting her son to bed.  Adelaide took a sip of her tea and read through the headlines.  The paper was filled with dozens of articles about the muggle-born protest, with pictures of witches and wizards holding signs, and chanting her name, demanding that she be held responsible.  There were more pictures of them marching, and covering themselves with mud.  Some of the protestors, it seemed, had even made an effigy of her, and burned it in the square near Gringotts.

Adelaide crumbled the paper and tossed it into her fireplace, sitting there for a moment, drinking her tea and watching the flames.

I am doing all I can, she told herself.  I know they are upset; I know they are dying, but I really am doing all I can.  

Adelaide sat back in her chair in front of the fireplace, reaching for a magazine, deciding not to give the unfortunate matter of the muggle-born problem another thought for the rest of the night.

A young girl who had just turned ten years old held her brother's hand tightly as they left Diagon Alley together, begging him to let her stop somewhere for a soda.  She had gotten so hot, standing in the sun all day with all of those people.  Finally, just before they got to the Underground station, her brother relented, giving her a tenner from his wallet and letting her cross the street by herself to go into the convenience store on the corner, hollering after her to make sure she didn't forget to bring back his change.

The girl smiled, holding the ten pound note tightly as a man in a long coat held the door open for her, and followed her inside.  The girl headed right toward the row of fridges at the back of the store, already trying to decide what she was going to get.  Maybe a fruit flavored soda.  She really hoped they had cherry.

Her brother watched her enter the store from across the street, leaning back against a lamppost.  He hadn't wanted her to go to the protest with him, but he wasn't home from university often, and his parents had told him he should spend some more time with his little sister, and show her his world.  After all, it would be her world, too, soon.  She had already started to show signs of having some magical abilities.  His mother had told him that she could open locked doors, and make some of her toys float in the air, just like he had been able to do when he had been her age.

The young man looked up with a start a moment later, almost jumping out into traffic, as a terrible scream came from the convenience store - as all of the lights inside flickered, and went out.

The young man swore and hurried across the street, careful not to get hit by any cars, moving faster as a woman ran out the front door, screaming.

"They're dead!  They're dead!  Oh my god!  Help!  Someone help!  They're all dead!"

The young man ran into the store, past the shopkeeper who was lying motionless on the floor behind the counter, hurrying toward the fridges at the back, where glass from broken soda bottles had scattered everywhere.

It was then he saw his little sister, hanging in the air, and knew, with horror, that his life would never be the same.

It took her longer than she had thought it would, but Lara finally broke the ward on Adelaide Burke's house.  She watched it flicker for a moment, before dissolving into nothing, as she pulled a mask on over her face, and looked back at Rosaline, who had already pulled her mask on, too.  Dried mud still covered both of their clothes, clinging to the fabric of their shirts, acting as a reminder of what tonight was really about, and why they were really there.

Rosaline stepped in front of Lara and raised her wand, unlocking Burke's front door with a quick flick of her wrist, and leading them both inside.

The house was dark.  They walked through the foyer quietly, trying not to make any noise.  A light came from a door at the far end of the hallway in front of them.  Another one came from somewhere upstairs.

"I'll check up there," Lara told Rosaline.  "Wait here a minute."

She walked toward the staircase, keeping her wand raised as Rosaline stayed where she was, standing in the shadows behind her.

Lara didn't find Burke in any of the bedrooms, but she did find Burke's son, asleep in his bed.  Lara closed the door to the boy's room and cast a noise-blocking charm before she headed back downstairs.  She would hate for the boy to wake up in the middle of what they had planned on doing to his mother.

"Burke's in the kitchen," Rosaline told Lara in a hushed voice, as she walked back down the stairs.

"Are you sure?"

Rosaline nodded.  If she was still hesitant about being there tonight, she didn't show it.  Her wand was raised and ready.

"Alright," Lara whispered, leading the way, "let's go."

Burke was pouring hot water into a waiting mug when Lara walked into the kitchen, startling her.  There was a crash, and a shout from Burke, as her kettle hit the floor, shattering on impact as she turned and raised her wand, but Lara was ready.

"Expelliarmus!" she shouted, lunging forward and catching Burke's wand as it tore out of her hand.

Burke tried to charge her, coming at her fast, but Lara had already cast another spell, a powerful wave of force that hit Burke in the chest, shoving her back against her kitchen cabinets. 

Burke let out a pained cry, trying to move, but Lara had her pinned.  She moved her wand slowly, lifting Burke's body into the air, bringing her down into a waiting chair at the kitchen table.  Burke tried to reach for her, but Lara cast an incapacitation charm on Burke's limbs, leaving her arms hanging limp at her sides as Rosaline stepped forward, using an iron chain to lash Burke to the chair.

"What was it you encouraged us to do again?" Lara asked Burke, as Rosaline bound her.  Her voice echoed through the kitchen, distorted and stretched from the voice altering charm she and Rosaline had cast on each other.  

Burke was quiet, glaring at her from where she sat, lashed to the chair.

"If I remember correctly," Lara said, walking closer to Burke and pocketing the woman's wand, "you told us to send you an owl, if we were ever concerned and fearing for our lives."

She raised her wand again, watching Burke carefully, hoping she was making her nervous.

"Well, from what I've seen, it seems like all those owls people like us have sent must have fallen on deaf ears."

Burke still didn't say anything.

"I suppose I should have expected you to react this way," Lara said.  "After all, silence usually is The Ministry's favorite policy regarding the muggle-born killings."

"What do you want?" Burke asked, still glaring at her.

"Justice," Lara said.

Burke sighed. 

"I understand your frustrations," she said.  "I am doing everything in my power to-"

"We're well past the point of being frustrated," Lara said, keeping her wand trained on Burke's head.  "We are here to find a solution."

"I'm sorry," Burke said, "I don't-"

Lara walked closer to her.  "Do you have any idea what it's like?  To be a muggle-born right now?  To watch so many people around you die?"

"And you, what?  You think it's all my fault?"

"I think, like many others, that you aren't doing enough about it."

"The killers have proven to be most elusive," Burke told her.  "What else do you expect me to do to help people like you?  If we can't find the killers, we can't-"

"I expect you to try harder," Lara said.  "I expect you to care."

"Look," Burke told her, "I know you're desperate; that much is obvious.  I understand why you feel like you have to-"

"No," Lara said, "you don't.  You have no idea.  You live here in your nice house, behind all your wards, so very far away from the rest of us."

"I-"

"You think you understand, because you married a muggle, but it didn't take you long to divorce him - to cut him off from your life and keep his child from him."

Burke's eyes narrowed.  "I have never-"

"You don't want muggle-borns to be a part of this world any more than you wanted your muggle husband to be a part of yours, not after you decided you were done with him."

"How dare you bring my marriage into-"

"Does he even remember you?  Or did you make sure he never would?"

"I never-"

"You're right," Lara said, "My apologies.  This really shouldn't be about you.  It should be about all the people you've shown no compassion for - about all the people like me who developed abilities as children that scared them; that made them feel like outsiders, like they were possessed, or even crazy."

"Do you really think the rest of us don't feel that way sometimes?  Do you think we don't understand what you-"

Lara wasn't listening.  "It's even worse after people like you show up, when you take us away from our families, show us another world, and tell us it doesn't really belong to us, that we will never be like the rest of you."

"You know that's not-"

Lara took another step forward, leaning toward Burke.  "Tell us about the trace.  And the registry."

"I am not directly involved with the tracking or the registration of muggle-borns.  I know nothing about the trace, other than the fact that it exists."

"You're the head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Rosaline said in her distorted voice, from behind her mask, "you can't sit here and tell us you don't-"

"I'm not the one tracking you, or writing your names down in a ledger."

"Even if you aren't," Lara said, "I'm sure you are the one with the authority to stop the trace, and destroy the registry."

"I can't do that," Burke said, shaking her head, "not until the killers have been caught."

"Not until you're done using us as bait, you mean.  That fucking registry isn't doing anything but giving the killers a list of people to target."

"If we don't know how to find you-"

"Then no one else will, either," Lara said.

"I think we can both agree that it's too late for that," Burke said.  "As far as we can tell, the killers have their own trace now.  They already know who they want to target, and there's not anything we can do to stop them from-"

Lara pressed the end of her wand into Burke's neck.  "There is.  You can end the trace.  You can end the trace, and destroy the registry."

"That won't help you," Burke said.  "Not anymore.  I already told you, it's too late.  The killers will find you, with or without our trace.  At least this way, we can protect you.  We can-"

Lara's hand shook, just for a moment, as she thought of Sam - of spiked apple cider and a snow-covered street in Edinburgh.

"You can't protect us," she said, "not when you still see us as less than.  If you won't end the trace on your own, and destroy the registry, then I'm afraid you're leaving us with no other choice but to force your hand."

"Go ahead and try," Burke said, "if you really think you can make me-"

Lara had never cast the Cruciatus Curse before.  The word felt unfamiliar coming off her tongue, but the intention was there, and she was ready.  She thought of Sam again - of Sam's broken and mangled body - watching as Burke screamed, lunging against the iron chain that bound her; watching as Burke kicked out hard, overturning the chair and falling back onto the floor, landing with a hard thud.

Lara stopped the curse, shaking as she lowered her wand.  She was still thinking about Sam.

"They'll find you," Burke said through clenched teeth, writhing on the floor, "if you do this to me, the Aurors will-"

"I don't care," Lara said, keeping her wand trained on Burke.  "I don't care if they find me; they haven't yet.  I'm not going to stop, until you end that trace and destroy the fucking-"

"The trace isn't mine to end!  I've never even seen the registry!"

"You're lying."

Burke shook her head, her body still heaving against the floor.

"The trace isn't my creation," she spat out, breathing hard.  "It's the trade secret of one of my Aurors.  I don't know how it works, I swear to you!  The list of names is kept from me by the Aurors who were tasked with finding the killers.  They won't share it.  They're like you!  They're muggle-born.  They're trying to protect you.  I can't stop them from-"

"Yes, you can," Lara said, stepping forward and shoving her wand into Burke's neck, "I know you fucking-"

"Wait," Rosaline said.  "She's right.  It's too late.  If the killers have their own trace-"

"No," Lara told her, "it's not too late.  We can still stop this.  We can still make her destroy the registry.  We can still fix this."

Lara's hand shook again.  She was thinking of the day Sam's mother had called her - the day the old phone she kept in her house in Hogsmeade had rang for the first time in years.  She had all but stopped breathing when she had found out Sam was dead, that she had been found on the floor inside her flat, all alone.  The Ministry - people like Burke - hadn't done a fucking thing about it.  Sam's death had crippled her - it had absolutely, fucking crippled her - and The Ministry hadn't done a goddamn thing.  They hadn't wanted to get involved, not back then, even though Sam's murder had been nearly identical to the ones that had been committed in the Wizengamot dungeon just a few months earlier.  They hadn't even sent any Aurors to investigate Sam's death, not until it had been far too late to do anything to find whoever it was who had killed her.  Instead, for so long, The Ministry had pretended it had never happened.  Sam had been targeted by people who had hated her for what she was, and The Ministry had never done a goddamn thing about it.

Sam's casket had been closed at her funeral.  Her body had been too mangled to display.  Lara had wondered if Sam's mother would ever stop crying.  She had known she wouldn't.

Lara's hand stopped shaking as she cast the Cruciatus Curse again.  She watched as Burke thrashed against the floor - as Burke started screaming again - but she didn't care.  She was crying now, and she didn't care.  She knew what she had to do.

Thankfully, Rosaline didn't try to stop her.  She had loved Sam, too, and they had both known it might come to this.

"Stop!  Please!" Burke screamed.  "For Godric's sake!  It's too late!  I can't stop it!  It's too late!"

Lara kept her wand trained on Burke, even as the woman thrashed against the floor.  Rosaline nodded at her, stepping back.  They would keep trying, but if they couldn't get Burke to end the trace, and promise to destroy the registry, there would be nothing left for them to do, except make her an example.

They were going to make people pay attention.

They were going to do what they had to, to make this stop.

Six hours later, Adelaide Burke was found catatonic, wandering the streets of London alone in front of Purge and Dowse, LTD, screaming at people who weren't there.

Chapter Text

May 1989 - Between the Wars

A heavy veil of fog cut across the narrow hallway in front of Juliet.  She watched as her surroundings changed; as the hallway faded and disappeared, leaving her staring out through the eyes of a young child, playing somewhere alone.

Juliet looked down, still feeling a bit disoriented.  She was staring at a colorless pail and a dirty, plastic shovel - at toys that had been stripped of most of their other details and characteristics thanks to lost memories and time.

Juliet watched as a small hand reached out, stretching toward two dolls in pale little dresses that were lying face-up on a lumpy pile of sand.  The dolls started to vibrate as the child's hand got closer to them.  Juliet watched as they lifted up into the air, drifting above her like marionettes on strings.

The child laughed, keeping her hand raised, making the dolls dance in the next gust of wind.

"Where are we?" Juliet asked her, but the child didn't seem to hear her.  She just kept playing.

Juliet tried again.  "Can you tell me who you are?"

"Adi," the child said.  "My name is Adi."

"Where are you, Adi?"

Adi laughed.  "With my dollies!  I'm with my dollies!"

"Can you show me more, Adi?  Can you show me your house?  Can you show me your son?"

Adi didn't say anything.  She just laughed again.

Juliet tried to look past the girl and her sandbox, into the dense layers of fog that hovered behind the dancing dolls; a distant storm threatening to overwhelm them both.  Fog was significant.  Inside the mind, fog indicated distortion, suppression, and a loss of memory.  Fog was where whatever had been conscious thought existed in a fragmented state; where the mind was damaged beyond repair.  It was dangerous to breach its boundaries, but Juliet didn't care; not right now.  She needed answers.  She needed to know what had happened to Adelaide Burke.

Juliet stood up slowly and walked forward, stepping into the fog, leaving the girl and her sandbox behind.  She winced as the fog pressed against her mind.  She had to work fast.  If she spent too much time wandering around in it, it would distort and erase her own memories.

Juliet stood still for a moment, letting the fog surround her, reaching out for the usual gateways to memory - for sounds and tastes and smells.  The first things that came to her were the subtle odors of chamomile and mint.  Juliet followed them, walking forward again, heading deeper into the fog as a metallic taste formed on the end of her tongue.

It was blood, she realized.

She was tasting blood.

Juliet kept going, watching as vague shapes appeared in the dark, listening as Burke's voice said, "This woman was no woman at all - she was an evil witch!"

Somewhere, a child giggled; a child who sounded like Burke's son.

"Hansel sat anxiously," Burke's voice said, coming through the edges of the fog, "thinking of a way to escape."

It was Hansel and Gretel, Juliet realized.  Burke was reading Hansel and Gretel to her son.

Juliet listened as the boy laughed again.

This was good, but it wasn't enough.

Come on Burke, Juliet thought.  Give me something else.  Give me a way to help you.

She winced as the fog swirled around her; as Burke's next words faded into the dark.   The next voice she heard was distorted.  It didn't belong to Burke, or her son.

"Des . . . reg . . . "

Juliet tried to reach for more, but the fog moved faster, pressing in hard against the edges of her mind.

fuck

She was running out of time.

"Des . . . tr . . . oy . . . regis . . . "

The smells of chamomile and mint faded, but Juliet could still taste the blood.  There was more of it now, filling her mouth, running down the back of her throat - running down the back of Burke's throat.

"I'm . . . not going . . . to stop . . . "

Juliet choked, struggling against the fog that had turned into a heavy sludge, pulling at the edges of her mind.

"Des . . . troy . . . the . . . fuck . . . ing . . . "

shit shit shit

Juliet gasped, realizing she was stuck - that she was stuck in the fog and she couldn't see anything anymore.

She swore again, shifting her focus back to her own mind - to the six memories she had bound to her psyche to guide her back to reality.

They came slowly, drifting back to her one by one; the familiar pieces of her memory key.

Juliet saw herself first, reaching for Rosaline's hand in the garden behind their childhood home, asking her big sister to push her on the swings.  She wanted to stay there, where it was warm and sunny and safe, but the next piece of her memory key was already materializing, guiding her into a dark room where her mum lay, struggling with her last breaths, telling her how much she loved her.

There was more.  Juliet saw her dad, leaning over a bench in his workshop, covered in sweat and sawdust, smiling at her as he taught her how to sand the edges of a cabinet he had built, hoisting her up into the air and spinning her in circles above his head.

Juliet winced as the fog cut back in, pressing against her, but she was almost there - she was almost free.

Just two more.

Remember the last two.

The sorting hat appeared above her then, dropping down over her eyes and calling out, "Ravenclaw!" as Rosaline cheered.

One more.

Just one more.

Moody was there now, standing with her on top of a roof, telling her to run - telling her it was her turn now, that it was all up to her.

Juliet gasped as the last memory faded.

Yesterday . . .

. . . Yesterday, I was in my flat in London . . .

I was sitting in my kitchen in my flat, and it was raining.

With a cry that was mostly in her head, Juliet tore herself out of the fog -

- pulled her hands off Burke's head -

- and leaned over, retching on the floor.

A healer ran over, handing her a bowl, rubbing her back gently as she threw up the rest of what had been her breakfast.

"I'm fine," Juliet said a moment later, still drooling, waiting for her eyes to stop watering behind her glasses.  "I'm alright."

shit

"Are you sure?" the healer asked her.  "I can-"

Juliet shook her head, passing the bowl back to them and wiping at her mouth.  "I'm sure.  I just need a minute."

She leaned forward, waiting, holding her head in her hands.

In the yard with Rosaline . . .

The night mum died . . .

Dad in his shop . . . 

She took a deep breath, willing her hands to stop shaking.

Hogwarts . . . Getting sorted at Hogwarts . . .

Moody . . . My first time . . . Running down someone all on my own . . .

The healer was still there; still gently rubbing her back.

Yesterday, it was raining . . . 

It was raining and I was in my flat alone . . .

Juliet sat up, looking back at Burke, lying on the bed in front of her, mumbling to herself, staring vacantly at the ceiling, moving her hands through the air, still trying to make her dollies dance.

"I'm fine," Juliet told the healer again, standing up and reaching for her coat.  "I got what I needed."  It was far from the truth, but she was in no shape to try again.  Not yet.  "You can put her back under the calming spells."

The healer nodded, raising their hand, touching Burke's forehead gently, until Burke lowered her arms, and closed her eyes.