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Chapter Text

Credence couldn't stand this yelling. When Skender went on whipping another freak, trying to beat obedience into them, the boy with the mop tried to hum under his breath to phase out the noise. All of them were freaks, otherwise, they didn't have names. For the audiences, they had their circus names: the Bonfire Woman, the Wicked Twins, the Snake Woman. None of them ever said these titles out loud, none felt like artists. He, Credence, not being the one on the stage, was less than a freak; he was a nobody. It served him just well at the time. Skender would usually call him 'boy', or 'hey, you'.

There was also a serving house-elf who got the same portion of Skender love as everybody else. He didn't have a name at all, and everybody called him 'elf'.

There was noise. Sometimes his bones would burn, and his joints felt like they were about to be torn out. Credence didn't know whether he was screaming then, or the noise of the circus just became louder.

He only had one thing to do.

Unlike the freaks, he was relatively free to move around, and that and only that helped him to witness a new object being brought. The noise she created was almost insurmountable. Credence hid behind the curtain, his eyelids heavy from the lack of sleep. The smells of the circus were itchy in his nostrils; sweat, wet rags everybody wore, scat, sour smell of rotten food. The smell of burning flesh from the Zouwu cage.

Skender servants were whipping the horses, hurrying with the big cage mounted on the carriage. The girl inside was sputtering curses so quickly Credence couldn't process half of them. She was all golden and young, she looked like a hostage. But she wasn't a freak. Her long braided bronze hair was discheveled, she was definitely a witch. On her wrists, and her feet, there were thin but hot-looking golden chains. As she swirled around in her cage, jumping at the bars like mad, Credence noticed the same type of chain on her neck, locked so tight it must hurt her. Her eyes were bizarre, mad, like she was not all there.

He had the wonderful ability to hide so well Skender couldn't catch him even when he stood next to him behind a shelf with potions and medications. In the commotion of the newcomer, nobody noticed him.

The new freak was kept in a bird-like huge cage that was lowered from the roof of the tent; three people were needed to keep her in place with long poles while the cage was being put in place. Not because she would catch flames or turn into a cougar; but because she was so wild all the time.

The bars of her cage lit red-hot everytime one touched them; it was done not to let her move too much. There was just enough place for her to lay down in fetus position. Credence knew all that because he cleaned, and could hide like a ghost. To kill the time somehow in here, until he could come up with a plan, he hid around the corners, behind the curtains, below the desks, among the empty cages, and listened to everything. He was like a spirit, more than a man; and like an annoying poltergeist, he was treated.

As the dust settled, after her hectic arrival, Skender had the honors of listening to her interminable flow of curses and threats; all too rude and self-confident to Credence's taste. He would cram himself in between the clothing rag and the row of shelves standing behind the tent wall, and peek out with one eye to take a look.

"When I get out, and believe me, I will", she hissed with an accent Credence would place somewhere between Europe and north of England, "you will regret ever seeing me with your two eyes".

Skender laughed, his face almost hidden behind his uncombed, lush beard, his dirty face with little pig eyes glistening with sweat.

"You're now in this cage with the chains, little monster".

She tried to grab onto the bar, and it sizzled with the piece of skin from her palm. She yelped with pain and jumped back, cradling her hand. Skender started laughing again. Dull music of bells flowed into the tent in narrow torrents. Her face was almost covered with her hair, but big, golden hoops were glimmering through it in her ears; she looked like a jinn.

The girl crawled back and took the bars with her two hands, as if the scorching iron didn't hurt her at all. The movement was quick, sharp; Skender twitched with his whole body and held his breath for a second. For some time, the only sound in there was the bubbling skin on her hands as she held the bars.

"I will make you eat your own two eyeballs, poacher. Remember that".

Skender grabbed a walking stick placed against a box further away, and took two steps towards the cage. The girl slowly let go of the bars and sat down at the sharp sound of the strike.

"Sit back, and be quiet".

The man left, and Credence stepped deeper into the shadows. As the sound of Skender's steps faded away, he heard the girl moan with pain. He peeked out again: she crouched on the ground, trying not to scream.

"Mesdames et Messieurs! Come closer, see tonight, at the Circus Arcanus, for your pleasure! The ancient creature of magic! Yes, you heard it right! The old hag looks like a young girl but let it not mislead you! For this creature was caught in the darkest forests of Scotland doing ancient magic!"

The crowd gasped. The girl sat in the middle of the scene, on the ground, seemingly unbothered by the dozens of pairs of eyes watching her. Her gold glimmered in the light of candles.

"These chains on her ankles, her wrists, her neck, and around her waist" - Skender banged his stick on the bars of the stage, and nothing happened. "These chains", he repeated again, louder. Of course, she wouldn't perform for him. Her body was shaking with rage. Skender bared his teeth, motioning to the servants to move into the stage and kick her. Nobody would volunteer. Finally, the house elf stepped into the little arena, trembling with fear.

"The chains you're about to see keep her magic at bay. These mind-boggling locks have been forged by Tubal-cain himself, and present another wonder of the world, recovered five hundred years ago in Jerusalem. Only a fine feature of blacksmith art can really contain power like this".

The elf approached the girl carefully and she lifted her face towards him. Surprisingly, she didn't attack him, but even let him get her up to her feet and lift the hem of her chemise a little, where the chain was seen. Having completed this little task, the elf ran back out of the cage quickly. She stayed standing, observing the audience like a wolf, with no human recognition whatsoever.

How old was she, Credence wondered. And does ancient magic really still exist?

"Now, if you will, ladies and gentlemen, on the sides of the cage, we need a little space", elated Skender continued. The spectators shifted and moved, chattering quietly. On both sides of the scene, two magicians appeared, with their wands ready.

"To prove to you how strong the hag is, we will set her on fire. And believe me", Skender grinned with his showman's sneer, "no hair on her head will be harmed".

Credence caught himself holding his breath. As the two servants shouted, Incendio!, simultaneously, the long fiery tails flew out of the tips of their wands, rushing towards her. The last the audience saw of her was her unmoving position, her face with absolutely no expression. For several moments, she was burning, standing, like a straw figure they destroy at the end of winter. After the fire ceased, the viewers gasped once again: the witch was still there, not a sign of injury on her; her clothes, her hair, her whole body unharmed.

"The next time you levitate", Skender said. After the show, she was dragged and thrown back to her narrow cage, but didn't lose her spirits. Now was the time for her to laugh.

"Miserable fool. I don't levitate by command".

He waved his fist in the air as if he could do something with it. Credence had witnessed her jump on one of the servants with her feet and her fingers spread, trying to gouge his eyes out. She used no magic, but her anger alone gave her a little headstart.

"You will! You will do as I say".

"It doesn't work like that!" she shouted.

"Next time, you levitate like a fairy, or I will start torturing the elf".

The smile didn't quite leave her face, but her eyes hardened.

"You remember what I told you, Skender? Once I get out of here..."

"It won't happen", Skender spat on the floor in front of him. "You talk big, but you won't get out of the chains. You do as I say, bitch, and stop jumping if you don't want your face burnt like your hands".

Credence later interloped the elf as he was bringing her food, and gave him the ointment, for her palms. It wouldn't rid her of scars at once, but should take away the pain.

Credence loved no one; Nagini loved him. Because he was braver than he seemed, and cared more than he showed. He was nice to her, he talked to her while everybody else, even the freaks, tried to keep their distance. In this little torture prison, the victims even formed alliances and the closest to Skender, put down the outcasts. Credence was not like them, and he was the only one who treated her with decency.

Only through him did she get any news of, if not the world, but at least the enclosed space of their circus. Who perfromed what, who Skender beat up, who left, who came. About the new freak, the ancient witch, she proposed to get closer to her. Maybe she would help them escape; she clearly desires that. Maybe, if they gave her what she wanted - Skender, - and free her of chains, she would liberate them together with her. Credence agreed, but he didn't know how to handle her.

"Be nice to her, like you are with me", said Nagini. Credence was looking down at his shoes on the dirty floor. He was, in fact, not the best for cleaning.

She did not levitate, the next time. As she said, the owner's requirements were unreasonable. There was no way she would levitate. The next performance was a disaster. She just stood there, disinterested, looking at the people outside like she wanted to crunch on their bones. No matter what Skender did; he poked her with his stick and lambasted her with curses, and screamed at her; she wouldn't leviate. Eventually, the servants were called to repeat the same trick with the fire. Credence asked himself, why she bled when stroke with a slicing curse, but wouldn't burn.

After the show, almost as it ended, he raced through the circus. He didn't know why the witch treated the elf so well, but there was talk of her killing poachers in dozens at a time, before she had been caught. He found the elf in the kitchen, mopping half-heartedly, and, with all the magic he possibly had in him, locked him in a huge locket in his little room at the end of the tent, next to the petty, where he slept. He threw some cheese and bread inside, and swore him to be quiet, and listened, as Skender ravaged through the circus, looking for him. He sat on the locket, shivering. Magically, no less than in a sway of miracle, Skender never made it to his little hole. After several hours of beating, screaming and bludgeoning everyone who crossed his path, Skender finally have gone quiet. Maybe he even left the tent to go to the city and buy a new elf; Credence opened the locket and begged with the old one to stay there for a while. The elf didn't much care and didn't fight back as he shoved him deeper.

She was yelling for Skender. Her voice was shrill and angry and made Credence hold on to his head as he approached her cage. The sharp pain in his temples razored him so deep he couldn't see for several seconds.

He sneaked into the place they were holding her and finally stood in front of the cage and not outside, hiding.

She was sitting with her back to the entrance, cursing.

"You should try to comply", he said, interrupting the torrent of crying.

"You should do what he says, for your own sake, and those around you".

He bowed his head a little out of habit. He was still a little intimidated of her, even though she was in the cage.

The witch turned to him, silenced at once. First, she was frowning, but, as she looked at him, her face lit up with a strange expression. He saw the recognition in her eyes, and it took him by surprise. For some time she was even quiet, and then, in a voice no one has heard her use here before, she called,

"Credence?"

She stood oh ner knees and reached her hand through the bars, careful not to touch them. Credence didn't move, uncertain what it meant.

"You know me?"

"Yes", her hand was reaching for him. The gold bracelet on her thin wrist glimmering. Credence wouldn't budge.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's a long story..." she appeared to be pondering something. Then scowled with horror.

"What year is it?"

She had a very young face; not older than eighteen, maybe. It was difficult to say. Her eyes knew something, there were dark shadows around them. But her face was the face of a maiden. And she asked him what year it was?

"Nineteen twenty seven", he said, observing her. She retreived her hand back, touching her head absently, trying to comb her long hair.

"Oh, no", she looked back at him, "we need to leave this place, Credence".

"Is it true that you have ancient magic? That you're old?" he asked, deciding to leave empty politeness aside.

"Yes, but these chains contain it", she said, looking at her wrists. "This one on the neck barely lets me breathe. And to think that I was back at Hogwarts, poachers' doom! That's what they called me! But I completely lost the track of time. I should've understood, when Dumbledore came to teach... I was away for too long..."

Credence blinked several times, frustrated at her empty muttering.

"How do we get them off?"

For a second she thought, then her face lit up. She was so different, so gentle, Credence noticed, when she wasn't screaming profanities at people.

"You could do it". The way she said it was meaningful.

"You... know what I am?" he asked. Familiar itch in the back of his head made him stoop, trying to contain terror tearing out of him. Suddenly he was expecting a strike, but it didn't come.

"Yes", she said tenderly, like someone who really knew him. Credence made himself look up and examined her face again. He was sure they've never met before.

"How? Is it because you're a... an ancient witch?"

"I am not ancient, Skender just invented it for the sake of effect..." she gasped, "the elf! What is with him? Is he alive??"

Credence watch her almost grab on the hot bars again and hurried to answer,

"I hid him. He's okay".

"Oh, thank you, thank you Credence. How many animals are in this circus?"

"Only Zouwu and a kappu. And, well, the elf", Credence shrugged. It felt secondary to him, but clearly, that's what she was most concerned about. "There also used to be a hippogriff and a couple of half-goblins, but Skender got rid of them".

Credence saw she was about to cry.

"What do you mean, got rid of them?"

He tried to actually pull the memory of them from his head; the months at the circus were blurry, like one big, loud, horrible carnival with constant bashing noise and the mixture of color.

"Look. Will you help us if I release you?"

"Who is with you?"

"A friend. Have you seen the snake woman?"

"Nagini?" she asked. Credence decided not to amaze at her knowing them all. He just nodded.

"We should get her out. And the elf. And kappa, and the Zouwu, very important".

He got agitated at her energy, seeing as the plan was suddenly being pulled at the seams. It wasn't their plan to rescue the whole circus.

"No, listen-"

"Bring me the biggest knife you can find, and a bell, alright?"

Credence listened to the outside, making sure nobody was listening to them like he used to.

"Alright..."

She outstretched her hand again.

"Give me your hand, Credence".

Maybe she was about to read destiny on his palm. He saw the scars on her skin, looking very similar to his own. As he touched her slender hand, he felt the surge of magic, and warmth, at the touch of a human. Strange thoughts howled in his mind. He wanted to slide his fingers up and tear the chain from her wrist away.

"We will get out of here. Believe my rage, friend".

As he returned to Nagini to give her the news, he was still pondering on the touch. It seemed he got a glimpse of what his magic could be; as if he touched something equally strong, and equally dangerous as himself, but more golden.

"The next time she's brought to performance, we escape", he said.

The circus was readying for the evening show. The fire breather was brushing her hair; she gave Credence a glance of resentment as he passed her room. The twins were arguing about something, and the beasts were nervously pacing in their cages. He was overwhelmed with worry; he was sure the witch was going to complicate everything once she's out. It occurred to him in one of those moments, that he never asked her name; while she knew his and Nagini's. In his mind, she was the golden witch. The hoops in her ears, the bracelets around her wrists, and ankles, and neck, all vaguely symbolic, of what, he didn't know. As they gleamed in the bright candlelight, the flashes were as bright as the sun, almost white and iridescent.

Skender's workers poked her with sticks as she walked calmly towards the arena; she did listen to Credence, and became agreeable, convincing Skender he managed to break her down after all. Nagini had been picking a hole in her own cage, in the narrow, thin bars that kept her even in her snake form. At the right hour, she turned and slid quietly, concealing in the shadows of the drapes, while everybody was busy preparing for the show. The look of her empty room was the signal Credence had been waiting for.

He picked up a kinfe from Skender's empty room - he had been hiding the elf in his room, feeding him; he had to get him on a chain not to let him run back to his master. It was for his own good. He made a mental note to release the elf once the tumult begins. He had gone to see the lock on the Zouwu cage and realized it would be useless to battle with it without magic. The sight of the beast, contained in a small cage, stirred anger in him. He decided that he agreed at least on this with the witch. Zouwu had to be set free.

As she was being led through the corridors, happy Skender walking in front of her, Credence peeked from one of the sections of the tent, sending her a nod. She barely moved her eyes but formed fists of her hands. Credence ran. As he was running, he tore the hat from a clown's head, because it had bells. Nagini sliding beside him, his greatest weapon so far. He sneaked behind the back of the worker, and gave him a jab in the back of the neck. Nagini stroke, and the man fell on the ground.

The fuss began. Skender turned around, alarmed by the shrill scream of pain. Nagini slid between their legs, attacking the next guardian, while the witch kicked the third one. She jumped again - like a monkey, her limbs coarse from all the sitting, and started bashing his head on the ground. The horrified worker screamed. Credence watched as Nagini turned back into human and thought it a mistake; she would be far safer if she just crawled away from the path of the witch to let her deal with Skender. He didn't know why she did that. Behind her back, the witch was making her way towards Credence with her hand outstretched. He ran forward, handing her the knife. A spell whistled just above her ear, hitting Credence in the shoulder. He caught himself on the wall, sharp pain in his limb crawling down to his fingers. He felt the black whirlwind inside grumbling with rage; he would lose control soon, and then the whole circus, together with his two accomplices, would be buried. He clenched his teeth, looked into her eyes. The witch turned around and ducked, missing another spell. She was quite good.

Nagini attacked Skender with nothing but her short, sharp blade; and a green flash lit the narrow corridor for a split second. Credence heard himself scream as Nagini fell. The witch yelped with rage and threw the knife. As Nagini's body hit the ground, the weapon cut the air silently, and lounged in the middle of Skender's chest. He already put up his wand again, but didn't have the chance to yell a curse. The witch followed the knife, a golden lightning, and launched on him as he, too, crashed on the ground.

There were inhuman screams as she bent above him. Credence could feel the salt in his throat, while crawling towards Nagini. She was dead.

"What did I tell you, Skender?"

Skender shrieked with pain as she plunged her sharp fingers in his eyesockets. Then, gurgling sound, in Credence's head it sounded like music. He was half-way turned now, having forgotten about the elf, or anything else, for that matter. The world around him was already in shambles; the other freaks ran towards the noise, and now were scattering in all directions at the sight of what the witch was doing to their master. There was roar, and shrieking, and laughter, and terrified screams; wondering yelling from the spectators already at the arena, waiting for the show that would never begin.

She pulled on his shoulders with force, but was still unable to get him up if he didn't cooperate.

"Credence".

He lifted his eyes on her. Her gold touched her cheeks; long locks flying around her head.

"Please don't come undone; not now. You will kill us all".

He made it to his feet, and only then realized he was clutching her hand. She looked down at Nagini, horrified.

"This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to live... what have I done..."

He bit his lip until his teeth hurt. He split his lip in two.

"Skender killed her".

She pleaded with him to go release the animals. The circus workers were already gathering, unsure what to do. There was no explicit need to fight them for they were unguided without the showman who was now lying on the ground, with his squelched eyes in his open mouth. Credence looked at her hands, covered in blood.

"I'll release the elf".

"Wait", she ran back to the body and recovered Skender's wand.

"I can't do any magic at all, but you can".

"I've never had a wand in my life", Credence mumbled. Her face was in front of him, her hands took his head, covering his ears.

"Magic is in you. You're a natural. You can do a simple Alohomora. Meet me at the Zouwu cage outside".

Credence thought of taking Nagini with them, but couldn't think of any possible way to carry her. The best he could do was, taking her to his hole - yes, it was tiny, and smelly. But he slept there, and there was no other remotely acceptable place for her. Feeling his face twitching with crying, he put her into his bed and touched her face.

He then cut the chains off the elf.

"I'll tell master Skender!" he yelled.

"Skender's dead. The witch killed him", Credence replied coldly, "you can come with us if you want".

The elf glanced at the body in his bed and shook his head. Then he walked slowly away, and Credence followed him into the corridor. As he walked, he watched the ravaged rooms and freaks running away. Kappa's aquarium was now empty; his travelling water bag was gone together with him. As Credence turned to exit the tent, he found the river vampire sitting on Skender's chest and sucking the blood out of a big cut on his face. Credence slithered between them and the wall and ran outside.

The witch was standing next to the cage of Zouwu. It was visibly nervous. The cage wasn't even big enough to pace, so it just rocked from side to side, puffing. Some servants were also outside, trying to get her with spells, but she was hiding behind the stands with colorful costumes.

Credence looked at the wand in his hand and realized he didn't know any offense spells. When he heard someone use them, he didn't pay attention, not even a thought in his head that he, one day, would wield a wand. The flashes were raining on the side of the tent, trying to get her, as she crouched on the ground, yelling at them. It seemed, she had lost her mind completely and was just trying to defeat them with verbal damnations. Credence pointed Skender's wand towards two men and thought, 'go away'.

A powerful surge of air picked up the rags, clothes and garbage from the ground, eventually reaching them. It held them in the air like toys, and then they were pulled with force, thrown away, against the nearby market buildings, like glass figurines. The other two made themselves scarce instantly.

The witch reappeared, a bit dowdyish but in one piece, and, suddenly, there was a big, big smile on her face, making her look like a girl again. She gave him two thumbs up. Credence swayed and ran towards the cage. There was a crowd gathering on the square already; people were concerned, someone yelled something about the aurors.

He ordered, Alohomora!, and the lock cracked, and fell from the bars. The witch made him step back as she opened the door and let the beast out.

"Where's the bell?"

He pulled the clown's hat from behind his belt and handed it to her.

She shook the hat in front of the huge beast. It was big, like all the circus itself; bright-red and fiery yellow, it had two gigantic amber eyes that now followed the tiny clown bell attentively.

"Get his collar off", she whispered. Credence didn't even register it until she pushed him lightly on the shoulder. She continued to shake the bell in front of the monster; Credence was getting angry. He wasn't some spell-ready machine, he didn't know how to get the collar off without hurting the Zouwu. He voiced that.

"Credence", she said assertively, tugging on his collar. Finally, a gesture familiar to him, brought him back to his senses. "Credence, my friend, listen to me. Focus on the collar, and say Evanesco. Can you do that?"

He stummered.

"I-I guess".

"Go on my boy. There are people gathering already, and soon, the fighters of Ministry will be here, and I don't trust them much".

He pointed his wand at the tight iron collar, barely visible in the beast's lush orange fur.

"Evanesco!"

Instead of quietly vanishing, the collar first narrowed, choking the Zouwu, and then broadened, and exploded.

The beast roared and moved its enourmous body in all directions. People around them shouted and rushed away, but Credence decided to fix it immediately. He tugged on the creature's fur, trying to run behind its moving face. He could hear the witch calling his name, and the sound of bells. A strong push bounced off of his hurt shoulder, and Credence was in the air for a couple of seconds. The Zouwu, and the square, turned upside down, and he crashed onto a pile of rags at the circus entrance. As the whistling in his ears calmed down, he regrouped, and saw the witch trying to calm the beast down. She was just like a little squirrel in front of its face. It didn't pay attention to bells anymore, it was snapping its huge jaws, trying to swallow her.

He couldn't control the obscurial anymore. He could feel, rather than understand, as it lifted him up, tearing his body apart. Black smoke lifted him above the ground and pulled forward, towards her. He only just managed to catch her reaching hand as he soared up, into the sky, losing his consciousness in the roaring vortex of the wind.

When he woke up, the freshness of the air almost lulled him back to sleep. He saw the stars, glimmering silver, winking at him. The smell of fire near him made his stomach suck its guts with hunger.

He sat up, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark, and the fire, scared. Has he killed her?

"Good evening", he heard. She sat on the other side of the bonfire, comfortably leaned against a stack of hay. Credence looked around. They were far away from Paris; the spaciousness around, and the quiet of the night told him they were outside of the city.

Her face was only lit by the bonfire, and she looked like a fiery ghost.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice rusty.

"Oh, not much. Maybe an hour. You're strong", she said, with a hint of strange admiration in her voice. She was pulling her hair, playing with it, finally relaxed. It was obvious she had been preoccupied.

"I- I never asked your name", Credence said.

"Orlaith Peverell", she replied, simply.

"Oh".

She grinned.

"Did you expect something else?"

He was embarrassed at his reaction.

"No, I just... just thought about you as 'the witch'", he said, bowing his head.

"Oohh, I like it. The Witch. The poachers used to call me the Cutter, but the Witch is much more noble and insidious, I think".

Across the fire, her smile glistened like lightning.

"The Cutter?" he wondered.

"I used to use Sectumsempra on them", she motioned in the air, as if she was slicing the fire diagonally. "It's a slicing curse. It opens up numerous little cuts on the body of the enemy. With time, I mastered it so well I could chop them into pieces with one spell".

"Why did you hunt... the poachers?"

"Well, when I was at Hogwarts, the Forest was swarming with them. I would walk through it to meet my peers, and there would be voices in the woods. I decided to clean the forest. You should've seen what they did to the animals they caught", her face changed into the grimace of hatred.

The names didn't make any sense to him but he gathered he could ask later.

"And how did you get caught?" Credence felt like he was treading on top of a thread, asking her further, as if she could snap. He rubbed his neck which was a little sore after turning. In fact, he realized, his whole body ached, but now it was this warm ache of relaxing muscles.

"Oh, it was so simple. I was not being careful. Dumbledore told me to be discreet, but I was so arrogant. I have ancient magic, Credence. I could turn the earth. I could move mountains, almost. I thought I could take on twenty, thirty men at once. And I could. But, well, I hunted poachers, and they knew the strings to pull. They caught me up in between two flames. They said they wanted to put me in chains and one of them, he held this baby deer in his hands, threatening to slice its throat".

Credence frowned,

"Not even a magic beast?"

"Does it make any difference? As I let them put the chains on me, they let it go. I didn't know these were so powerful", she tugged on her wrist. "Can you try to take them off?"

She was, herself, like a magical chained beast.

He shook his head.

"If I tear them off, I tear you apart with them".

"I am useless", she sighed. "If I weren't useless, Nagini wouldn't have died. This wasn't her fate. She was supposed to live on".

Credence felt the knot in his chest, and concealed his face for a moment.

"Who will take her place now?" she mused quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Orlaith gave him a look of significance, as if she was seeing him for the first time. She even stood up and circled the bonfire to sit next to him.

"How are you after the flight?"

He was taken by surprise by her question. Very rarely, maybe once or twice in his life, has somebody asked him how he was. How he felt, whether he hurt. She was visibly unsure whether to touch him or not, and halfway through, Credence wished she did. She touched his hand quickly.

"I'm alright".

"Can I see your arms?"

A vomit-inducing feeling snaked into his stomach. No way, there are these cracks on his skin, through which the black core is seen. His core. He was dying.

He shook his head slowly and moved away a little.

"I asked you", he repeated, a bit colder, "what you were talking about, about the fate".

She sighed and turned towards the fire. Only now Credence noticed that the witch wasn't wearing any shoes. Her feet must be hurting.

"I know things. Like, your name, and what you are. And I know some of the future, although it's uneven. I can't tell you everything now, it's too sad for me. But... I know that, because I was there at the circus, Nagini died".

He was trying to place this kind of magical ability somewhere on the spectrum of what he knew.

"Are you clairvoyant?"

"Not quite. I just... know how the story goes. It's rather useless now, because I've already been changing the course of time. It seems I've bothered everything".

"Do you know who my mother is?" he asked quickly.

Orlaith was expecting this question. Her voice was filled with sorrow,

"No, I'm sorry. I know that you are an obscurial. Or, rather, there is an obscurial inside you. But your family..." she narrowed her eyes.

"You know, I can tell you this. You are the first - and the only - person in the history who hasn't only survived the first years with obscurial, but lived to see adulthood. You know what that means?"

Credence was silent, thinking, how many times he has reflected upon that. It wasn't something to be proud of, or amazed. Clearly, Orlaith thought that. That he was that special, strong, chosen one. She looked at him like that; like he was something.

"Come on, Credence".

"I don't know. I've thought about it. I can contain it now, control it a little. But I don't know what it means".

She rubbed her foot unconstrainedly. The chain on her ankle winked at him.

"I think... well. When you think about it like that... you must really be very strong to fight and even tame an obscurial like that, for so long. You must have some very old blood. Maybe you're one of the very powerful trees, Credence. I've only heard of several warlocks who could theoretically have that much of magical control".

"What's it good for?"

"It narrows the search greatly".

He shook himself up. Cope, he thought. She makes a lot of sense.

"And... who do you think..."

"I don't know American wizard families, I'm sorry. See", an upset laughter shook her body, "I know so many things, but none of them are useful for you".

In the morning the first light woke him up. A foggy new day was rising above the countryside; Credence had no idea where they were. Chances were, he would need to turn and fly again, only to find out where to move on. While Orlaith slept, snuggled in the hay, he went searching for any houses at all; clutching Skender's wand, he was ready to use it to get some food for breakfast, and shoes, for her.

The remnants of a village were situated not far away, but no people. There was no food; he only found a couple of old, shattered houses, and a big, empty barn. Inside, he found a pair of beaten down boots, small enough for her feet. And a little brown chick, no bigger than a sparrow, peeping softly. He picked up the baby bird in his hand, feeling strangely hollow.

"There aren't even any scraps to give you, little one", he murmured. Together, a chick on his palm, and boots in his hand, they walked across the huge barn. He did manage to find a very old, half-empty bag of crops; but no human food.

As he came back, the witch was already awake, sitting there at the cold bonfire, like someone struck her on her head.

"Sorry, I'm not an early bird", she greeted him. He showed her the shoes, and the chick he found, sure she would love her.

Orlaith was amazed at the little baby like it was the most fantastic thing she'd ever seen in her life. She let it sit on the skirt of her dress, and then handed it back to Credence.

"I think she likes you more".

She was very grateful for the boots, too. Although they were still slightly big for her, she put them on at once, smiling.

The question of breakfast never came up. As they started discussing what to do next, it turned out they had very different plans of action.

"We need to go back to Paris and somehow hop on a train to London. From there, we-"

"No", Credence refused, "I have an address. There is a chance it's my mother's place. That's why I came to Paris in the first place. I have information. I need to go see her".

Orlaith shook her head assertively.

"No, Grinderlwald is looking for you. You won'd find anything in France, Credence. Your best chance is with Dumbledore. We need to seek him. Him, or Newt".

Just the name he recognized stopped him from shaking with anger.

"Newt? Scamander?"

"Yes, you've met him. He has connection to Dumbledore. He'll help you. At Hogwarts, with Albus, you'll be safe".

"I don't need to be safe. I'm looking for my parents", he pressed. Orlaith looked at him with her almost golden eyes. In the light of day she looked more tired, but still mysterious, sparkling. Like a fairy. It was a surprise she couldn't actually levitate; with all her wavy hair, and long dress, and round rings. She was all the light Credence lacked, in his appearance. He knew he was black, bloody and heavy.

"If Grindelwald gets you, you may get the answers, but then you'll die".

"That's what I want".

She stood up, towering above him. Credence was forced to look up upon her. Her face was concerned, unreadable otherwise.

"Don't say that again, Credence", she said quietly. "You will have a better life, without this curse. You will heal, and with healing, you will cast the obscurial out. Hasn't Nagini ever told you it doesn't matter what you were born?"

The sound of her name made him jump out.

"Don't use her like that".

"She was right", Orlaith continued, "you will find your family, but you shall find them not through the alliance with Gellert Grindelwald".

"Is that also a story you know?" he asked with his fists clenched.

"I'm much like you, but my destiny was more gentle with me. I don't know why I have ancient magic; my name only gives me so much to ponder on. But it doesn't matter how I came here, who sent me, why I know what's going to happen. I learnt to control it, it doesn't matter to me anymore. What matters to me is to keep the people I love, safe".

Credence turned away, away from her gaze, that made his spine twitch. He ignored the word she said, it didn't apply to him. Obviosuly didn't apply.

"I thought you only cared about animals".

He heard her chuckle. Her hand laid on his shoulder, and he felt the magic again. They were like two parts of a mechanism, vibrating off of each other. Two sources of infinite magic. It was surprising she didn't feel that, or didn't show. He put the little chick into his pocket.

"I need to go back to Hogwarts. They must be looking for me. They're looking for you, too".

"You go then". Credence hadn't mentioned still that he had no idea what 'Hogwarts' was.

"You don't understand..."

Credence turned back to her and clutched her narrow shoulders. He hadn't touched anyone in years, at all. He could feel the bones under his fingers, and her flesh, warm. He could almost feel her bloodflow, that's how vivid it was. And her slightly open mouth, her flaring nostrils, and her golden earrings, all of it, opened up a gap he didn't know existed in the world. Connection to someone else. She didn't retaliate, didn't scream at him; she didn't get angry or scared. The obscurial inside of him lingered obediently without raising its head. He let go of her, ashamed.

"You don't understand", he managed to utter, "I've been living, without a name, for twenty-seven years. I don't know anything about Grindelwald, and I don't think I care. I can't care".

She put her hands up, with her palms, scarred but much, much healthier than before the ointment; she never got to know that it had been Credence who sent it to her. The elf didn't actually like her that much at all.

She didn't get the chance to say anything, as her eyes enlarged with fear.

The sound of the wind was too swift behind his back, and the smell of someone's presence hit his nose.

Orlaith clutched his shoulder, digging her nails into his flesh, right where the spell hit him yesterday. She held him like she wouldn't let go even if they chopped off her arm. He stood next to her, looking at one man, who had apparated silently and was waiting for their attention.

How much had he heard? Shouldn't be too much, since Orlaith noticed him almost at once. But what if he had been creeping before?

His white face, a face of an old falcon with one glass eye, observed them with quiet contentment.

"My boy", he said softly. His skin crawled. He remembered this person, from before. His suggestive hands on Credence's neck, not warm, but dry and cool, the need to freeze and just comply that always overcame him when this man was beside him. Even when he looked different, Credence was awashed with the sense of importance, and doom, and inevitability. He did care, he thought, deciding the things were much simpler a second ago. Seeing Grindelwald quietly eyeing Orlaith, as he was ruminating. He now got the idea of urgency all of a sudden. A person like this, who had manipulated him to find an obscurial, only to use it, like a weapon. If he got a creature that wielded ancient magic into his arsenal, there would be horrifying things happening.

Her voice echoed strangely in his head. Sure, she would have these chains broken, but then she'll die.

Orlaith just clung onto his shoulder, trying to shove him behind, as the wizard examined them.

"Finally, I found you. Good that you're spending time outside of the city, Paris is so dirty. Who is your friend?"

"She's a freak from the circus. We escaped yesterday", Credence said, which came as a shock to himself. Without a stutter. He knew he could destroy Grindelwald if he really wanted. If he had time to practice, to use this creature inside of him. If he really tried.

As the wizard made a polite step forward, Orlaith barked,

"Don't touch him!"

Gellert's mouth formed an 'oh'. He was entertained.

"A freak, from the circus? And what little tricks do you do, mademoiselle?"

She was about to open her dirty mouth and flood him with everything she could come up with, but Credence took her hand and pulled it away from his shoulder.

"Nothing. She could barely levitate. Why are you here?"

"I have come for you, Credence", Grindelwald cooed quietly, his eyes still on the witch. Credence saw how the old wizard was contemplating her golden collar.

"But should I take her, as well?"

Orlaith tried to grab him again, but Credence shook her off. He didn't even have space to give her a look.

"You need me? Let's go", he said.

"Credence!"

He closed his eyes and formed a storm. In a second, he turned, letting the obscurial out, and it was so easy, almost painless this time. Encircling her, sheltering her from the wizard, he whispered, hoping that she would hear,

"He can't know what you are".

He couldn't see her face, engulfed in the black and orange vortex of himself. The fractions of his soul were tearing at his eyes, ice cold. Then he moved towards Grindelwald where he knew the man was standing, and they flew, together, like two black swarms, towards the skies.

She kept calling his name.

Dumbledore was most puzzled, happy, relieved and worried all at the same time. She begged him to go at once, but the blood pact weighed on him. As he worked on the chains, he was thinking.

"You know, Orlaith", he said, musingly, "that chick Credence found in the barn. What was it like again?"

The chains were almost choking her now. In presence of someone who could break them, they started killing her slowly, squeezing her throat.

"Well", she hissed, "it was small. Smaller than a chicken baby. Dark brown, with some spots. Interesting, green eyes, very uneven green".

"And the spots - golden?"

Something snapped. Orlaith already thought it was her own artery. The lack of oxygen made her dizzy, two Dumbledores floating in front of her. As she saw one golden little snake on the floor, she took a deep breath of air.

Albus was shaking his hand, like it burnt.

"Yes, pale golden", she said, touching her neck and feeling a scar with her fingers. "Why?"

The next chain, feeling its sister defeated, started crushing her ribs, and Professor rushed to disenchant it.

"Um... well... I'm thinking. You're right about Credence being uncharacteristically strong to whithstand an obscurial for so many years and even stay sane. It does mean very old and powerful blood".

"Don't tell me he's a Peverell", she squealed. One of her ribs cracked, and Dumbledore cursed the chain several times.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow ow ow ow!"

Finally, it fell down, as well. She could feel magic running through her veins, bright purple, and blue, and red. All her body was shot through with the warmth of it - a feeling she hadn't appreciated before. Albus mended her rib.

"Why?" there was a curious smile on Dumbledore's face.

"Why what?" she panted.

"Not a Peverell", Albus smiled wider.

"Oh, you know. Wouldn't want to find out that I fell for my cousin".

He was gentle with her wrist chains, smirking.

"Oh, no. See, I think this wasn't a usual chick. I'm not sure though - but", it was obvious Albus was uncertain. He gave her a long look.

He was fussing with the third chain, muttering.

"What was it then?"

"If it has pale golden spots, and unevenly green eyes, it might just be a phoenix, and coincidentally, my brother had confided in me, not earlier than three months ago, that he had had a son".

Orlaith let the magic shoot down her limbs, busking in its welcoming tingle. The rest of the chains broke and fell off her. Dumbledore stood up, content that he had no need to kneel down now.

"Professor, you think he's a Dumbledore?"

"Not sure, but he might be. He's the right age. And you can stop calling me Professor".

She looked outside, where spring light glinted on the surface of the great lake. How the boy would have loved the sight of these peaceful mountains.

"My brother met this muggle-born girl in summer of 1899. He only decided to tell me now, because, well, Fawkes left him, all the while Newt brought news of an orphaned boy with obscurial. You know there had already been an obscurial in our family".

She nodded.

"And Aberfot thinks his son ended up in America? How did he become orphaned if he has a living father? How did you not know of his existence these twenty-seven years?"

He laid his firm but reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"All of those are good questions, Orlaith. But do answers really matter right now? If Aurelius Dumbledore is in Grindelwald's hands, we should throw all forces to get him out".

She nodded again, now, in agreement. She rememebered Credence wasn't big on all this philosophy. Aurelius wasn't.

"He only went because he was afraid that Grindelwald will figure out I have ancient magic".

Behind her, Albus sighed with his kind, wise sigh, and it sounded like a smile. Aurelius, she thought. Golden, like her.

Chapter Text

He landed in the freezing yard, his palms stung with the snowflakes thrown forth by the ferocious wind. The fortress looked like a ship behind the sea mist. It was hard to keep his face up, but the snow was at least making it numb. He heard himself breathe, with a little bit of wheezing. His back ached, and something was crawling on the inside of his spine; Credence felt tired. He leaned against the ice-cold stone of the gate, lifted his collar against the wind, and listened a little.

He knew that there, deep in the forest below the castle that stood on the edge of the mountain, huge spiders cracked their dry legs while climbing the rocks; snow horses ran through the moors, and meak, black birds snuggled in tight flocks, trying to withstand the neverending winter. It always snowed. It was always black.

He entered the gate and walked towards the small opening which he usually got into the castle through. Nurmengard was a grim but imposing place, reeking of old. Its square towers constantly faced the northern winds that sometimes flew with the power of furious gods. Nothing could break through; magic buckled in each corner, each little window, cloaked it tight, like desperate mothers roll their newborn babies into the blankets.

He walked these hallways, bleak and slightly bronze in the light of the evening, and cold, blue during the day, with his head down. Very often he didn't wish to see Vinda, peeking out from around the corners, following him. Other times, he would just close his eyes and wish everything away, wish the time ran faster, to the inevitable end.

He would go up into his room in one of the towers, where the entrance gave uncomfortable view of the bed, so everyone who came to see him could catch him off guard.

He now wore a long black coat that hid his crooking body. The spasms and pains came ever more often now, when the winter night never ended and kept curling behind the window with thick, ornamented glass. Credence thought that sometimes he saw some prophecies, some silhouettes in the dancing snow, but could never make them speak to him.

What spoke to him was the mirror.

One of those evenings a message had been waiting for him, which he wiped away, furious. Rather, it wasn't a message, but a name, his alien name, as though his father was trying desperately to get him to talk.

He constantly was thinking about the castle and why the mirror in his room connected to mirror his father had. Grindelwald didn't like talking of Dumbledore; when he did, his face took on that disgusting expression, as if it hurt him. Credence knew it was an act. He saw the wizard through and through; all his pretence, and quiet rage, the way he was trying to make all of his scheming work. How the vein under his left eye twitched every time somebody spoke to him at the wrong time. The little snaking smile Gellert had for him, like the superficial warm greeting, made him want to turn and break himself apart.

But he still kept the mirror. Or did he forget about its existence? Did all the mirrors connect to Hogsmeade or one of Dumbledores? Was he reading the messages his father has been sending him, and what he was replying?

Credence used this mirror to look at himself past the foggy words. His skin was getting paler, especially in contrast with the long black hair. He thought, this couldn't be good. The way his black inner was now almost shining through his skin. His eyelids heavy all the time. Very often he felt no strength in his hands, and only when it was time to kill, a surge of anger was articulating his limbs. And he killed. To kill, was the only thing Grindelwald wanted him to do. Of course, it would be silly even to think that the madman would notice Credence whither away right in front of him. When he took his shoulder, with his dry and cool hand, he never wished him to be better, but reminded him to stay alive just long enough to be able to kill his uncle. Credence imagined that afterwards, freedom was awaiting, and maybe he could see the golden witch once again. Right before he would die.

Grindelwald asked about her once. It was lucky that there were other things on his mind at the time; he was looking for a Qilin, working with Vogel, building a plan. More than anything, he was preoccupied with the Deathly Hallows, a symbol of which Credence still had. Mystical, mythological, far-fetching legend for those who seek immortality. Why one would want to be immortal, Credence didn't know. One short life was unbearable enough. He thought of her golden earrings and purple sparkles of her magic under her skin. There were now such distances between them that, when Gellert asked him, pretending to be indifferent, just curious, just to upheave a conversation, Credence managed to stay calm.

"Remember the girl who was with you last year, when I picked you up? Who was she?"

"I told you she was a freak from the circus", Credence was looking at the swirling, dark-purple liquid in his cup. It smelt of black current and cholocate and was steaming.

"Yes, but see, I don't think you've told me the truth. The chains on her, I thought they looked familiar..."

Credence looked at him. Between 'Credence' and 'Aurelius', Grindelwald decided not to choose, and didn't call him anything anymore.

"I don't know what they were. She'd been brought to the circus and never performed. The owner couldn't get her to do any tricks. Eventually, two weeks in, we just escaped together, but I never got the chance to ask her why she was there".

Grindelwald hummed in agreement, looking above his shoulder. At any given time in Nurmengard, Queenie was somewhere not far away from him, just lingering, like a ghost. Like he used to be. Credence turned around and gave her a stern look. Queenie always held onto the doorframes or the backs of the chairs for support.

"He's telling the truth. He remembers her golden earrings, and..." she broke off, seeing his eyes. Somehow she betrayed Orlaith, mentioning it.

"Oh", said Grindelwald quietly.

In the summerland, where the warmth was, opposite to the weather in the mountains of Austria, the air was flickering with the tiny bodies of flying bugs. Orlaith put a bandlet in her hair to get the locks away from her face, as she fished. She didn't fish in the normal sense, but for the research. The Bluetails were extremely rare. She's been hearing about them for years, and they were even mentioned in Newt's fantastic book. Even there - only once; for he hadn't encountered them very often. The beauty of those little fishes was all in their long, birdlike tails, that glowed when in the water, therefore, always. During the day, they just seemed to gleam a little, but at night, sensing the blue light of the moon, Bluetails made the whole pond glow with all shades from turquoise to deep marine blue. During her search of Grindelwald, she found herself in Northern Ireland, where the whole little town of Helen's Bay was humming with the talk of Bluetails. They have had these stories for ages now, the magic folk, of course, and Orlaith, frustrated and tired, decided to go check and bring her mind in order. The wood anemones and bluebells were scattered around the deep and hidden forest pool, and the small butterflies fluttered around her head, seeing the bright guilded decoration on her hair.

Orlaith released a Bluetail back into the water and looked at the faded, pale powder left on her palms. The burnscars have almost gone, but the skin wasn't smooth anymore. It's been almost exactly a year since Grindelwald has taken away Credence, and she was afraid he'd regretted going instead of her. There were probably very few places in the magical world now sadder than wherever Grindelwald was; the worry about obscurial slowly killing him constantly made her fidget with impatience. She had been all throughout Europe and found nothing, but then again, she had no help, and didn't really know how to search for them properly. Many times she thought to herself that she had enough power to just raze whatever hiding place the mage chose, to the ground. She had enough fury for that. The thought that, of all people, Credence Barebone, whether he felt like Aurelius or not, had to go through that, made her blood boil.

What a beautiful place this was; well-hidden deep in the woods, where any person, even very quick-footed, would have to search for a whole day. Passages were tangled with cobwebs and old, strong branches and new, stubborn saplings; thorns, briar, and tall elder bushes were barricading the way. And here, in the circle of ancient trees, this small pond was protected with everything nature had, just to admire at these little fishes, giving the night its ethereal glowing. Now it was about to be protected by Orlaith's magic, too, so that no one would ever discover Bluetails. Let them be the stuff of tales.

She decided to rest just a little more, drowning in lush moss, her head heavy, but it was not to be. She could hear the flapping of the ghostly wings. She put her hand to her forehead to protect eyes from the sun; a barely visible patronus flew up and was floating three steps away, right above the water. The sunrays of the evening were shooting through it, making parts of its body invisible. It was a phoenix.

"Professor?" she said.

The non-verbal message in her head sounded like Dumbledore's voice.

it's time to come back home.

Even is she hadn't lost guidance and wasn't out of ideas, she wouldn't have been able to disobey. The message was just a tiny bit concerned. As the phoenix threw its silvery wings and flew up, disappearing in the evening light, she clutched on the moss. Just five more minutes here, in her dreams, with the sound and smell of the forest. Then she started making the protective spells.

August at Hogwarts was one of the best months; to say nothing about the cheerful and warm view of the castle, strong, huge and greyish-pale in the orange sun, the animals and insects - insects most of all - were doing the last summer dances. The squid was a frequent guest at the picnics near the lake, and Hogsmeade was already full of people. The dread with which the vendors and the house elves were expecting students every year, was endearingly comical. First rogue leaves left their trees and now were making their great travel across the huge territory, flying all the way from the Quidditch field to the forest in the northern side. Across there, the big lake laid glistening, bubbling, ringing with life underneath water. The almost dissipating waterfalls were being filled again with the rains, running happily and with noise; only May could be better. When Dumbledore called it home, it wasn't only for Orlaith, but for many other people who clung on to it.

She came back on the last day of August, while the castle was all but vibrating with preparations. As usual, rare early students who had some extra cause, were already there, wandering aimlessly across the green and stone yards. The Headmaster Dippet was at all the places at once. The air of the castle, by the way, with its green hallways, and very strictly ornated Big Hall, still had a very faded feeling of Black being there. As she returned to Hogwarts, every time, because she couldn't stay away, she contemplated on the repetitiveness of time, and thought of other Blacks that were to come, and the one Black she wanted to save very much, in fact. But the future was so dim, so uneven now.

A year was the longest she's been away, in all her time in the wizarding world.

"Peverell!" was the first thing she heard as she entered the huge doors of the castle. Her light, happy pondering was smashed with a ball of water immediately, shaking her awake at once.

"Peeves!" she yelled, then took out her wand.

"Where have you been!"

Another water bomb flew past her as she ducked in time.

"Away!"

She pointed her wand at the poltergeist.

"I'm all wet now, Peeves!"

He laughed with the most disgusting laughter.

"That's for leaving me alone for a year!"

"I'm not your nanny, Peeves", she grumbled, shaking her hair and unbraiding it. The water started dripping down her collar. But she removed the wand.

Poltergeist let her be somewhere on the fourth floor already. She headed for the DADA class, sensing no presence of Dumbledore anywhere else.

Orlaith knocked like she used to, and pushed the door open. The light class, complete with empty (for now) aquariums, iron traps on the walls as if it was an exhibition of torture; and rows of empty decanters, bottles and viles; the pictures, although it looked like some of them haven't been buttoned to the wall properly, of various creatures and wizards, looking very threatening, with their teeth bare, wands pointed. And her favorite: the golden ornament on the wall, giving the class a feeling of never-setting sun.

The little door at the top of the stairs opened, and Albus stood there for a second. She smiled and almost ran to him;

"Come up!" he called, "I have guests".

He was waiting for her at the top of the stairs; bright blue eyes smiling, and the golden chain on his pocket. Always with a straight back, soft in his movements, welcoming. He laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Orlaith would hug him but she was almost dripping with water; the water balls Peeves has been shooting at people weren't fist-sized.

"Has Peeves proclaimed his undying love for you?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Oh, as usual. Nothing changed at all".

"How did you travel?" he asked, as they entered the inner office.

"Okay, apparating here and there, then I took a train for a little, because I don't know inner Ireland too well. Quite comfortably".

At Dumbeldore's office, a boyish man with his ravaged ginger hair, in his unchanging blue coat, was sitting at the table, bowing his head above something. As he turned, Orlaith threw her hands open.

"Orlaith!"

"Newt!"

They almost hugged.

"Ow. Why are you wet?"

Dumbledore sent a drying spell from behind her back, and she felt warm again.

"Tea?" Professor asked after they all greeted each other, and hugged, and shook hands.

"I would prefer coffee, actually", Orlaith nodded with gratitude. She liked Professor's office, because it was spacious and very cosy at all times. It was a Dumbledore thing, she thought. Of course, it was extremely interesting to look at all the curious mechanisms and instruments that were hung under the ceiling or laid on the shelves behind his desk; she always tried to riddle herself with various strange symbols and undecipherable writings on the little chalkboard he had at the door, a twin of one in the main class. Why was the blue globe constantly spinning by itself? And why did the windows in his office glimmer with some pearl shining in the evening, and the glass appeared to become soft? There were a lot of curious things in Dumbledore's office, but the best part was himself. Always welcoming, with a secret smile in his eyes. For now, he was still young, she thought, very handsome. His sleeves always rolled up to his elbows, and a grin hidden in his beard, he looked at people with a kind tilt of the head. After she's been thrown into this world, she's been waiting for Dumbledore to come to Hogwarts; it's been some time ago. The first nine years she wasn't adjusted, hadn't had anybody to rely on, except for Fig. Sebastian? Sebastian was a cunning bastard, that's who he was.

She sat comfortably in one of the tall chairs draped with red (the colour of her house) together with Newt as Dumbledore brought her steaming coffee in a little blue porcelain cup. It smelt like black current.

"Well, you must be wondering why we've summoned you", he said, getting into his place across the desk.

"Because I couldn't find anything and you wanted me to stop running myself into a grave?" she asked.

"Oh. That, as well, of course, but, also", Dumbledore gestured towards Newt, who was, as usual, clutching on his magical suitcase. Pick was sitting on the desk in front of him, she noticed, and stared at her intently.

"What is it, Pickett?"

"Don't mind him", Newt mumbled, as he stood up to let himself open the case on the floor, "this morning, he fell into a pot of Scheming potion. He's been plotting against everybody the whole day today. Attacked Dumbledore already".

She raised her eyebrows. Dumbledore demonstrated a missing button on his sleeve.

"Vile", she laughed. Pick narrowed his tiny, tiny eyes.

"Doesn't it bother you, Newt, that when he falls into a Scheming potion, he's not overcome with the plans on world peace, but with murderous intent?"

"Oh, no", he giggled, "he's always been a vindictive little fellow".

Finally, the case snapped, and Newt recovered an animal from it. For several seconds there was silence and the zoologist held the little deer-like creature with scaly skin in his hands. Dumbledore was thinking about something.

"What is it?" she asked. "It looks familiar".

Newt let it on the floor, and the creature trotted towards her carefully. Orlaith gave her hand out of habit, and felt the wet little nose touching the tips of her fingers.

"Extremely rare, almost extinct. It's a baby Qilin, Orlaith".

She slid down from the chair and sat on the floor as the little Qilin sniffed and examined her. It let her hand caress it on its head.

"Wonderful", Dumbledore mumbled. It felt like he had been holding his breath.
"She likes you".

"Why wouldn't she?" Orlaith wondered.

Newt shrugged,

"Well, Qilins are very gentle creatures, very sensitive. They prefer pure and soft people, and you're... not to be mistaken, you're very kind, but you're just so, so angry most of the time".

She scoffed. The Qilin baby was scuttling around her in circles.

"We are going to need you to take care of her", Dumbledore said. Orlaith looked up. From where he sat, only a part of her face, forehead and her two eyes were seen.

"I need to go back to Europe, you know that. I'm searching for him".

"Orlaith", Newt said quietly, his face already sorry. He always looked like he was about to cry, it was just his eyes, surrounded by freckles, but now he really did look very sad.

"Credence killed her mother. I only managed to save one of the two babies".

She took the baby into her arms, and it folded its thin legs, cooeing softly. For several seconds the two men were watching her intently.

She turned to Dumbledore again.

"And now what, we give up on him? Because Grindelwald has him in the iron clutch?"

"We don't", Albus replied carefully, "can you get up? I can't see you".

She sat back on the chair, with Qilin in her arms. The little weight of her small body, the feeling of her breathing, soft, warm scales on the sides of her tiny body, made her feel almost like a mother. But the thought of Credence, his name said aloud, stung her temples like a needle.

"He's in too deep, and he's with Grindelwald, you're right. And we won't give up on him".

"Strange, all this past year I was the only one looking for him".

"Because I've been preoccupied with other matters", Dumbledore retorted calmly. "And now I need you to join me".

"Is this a part of a plan?" she meant the Qilin.

Newt swayed uncertainly.

"How long am I supposed to stay here then?"

Albus frowned.

"I don't know, Orlaith".

"He's there because of me. He has only joined him to save me, and now he's killing rare animals? Grindelwald has done something to him".

"Credence has had a very tough upbringing. I don't think a lot was needed to harden him".

"I don't care".

Newt caressed Qilin's head carefully.

"Orlaith, I think that this baby now is your best chance at saving him", he said, peacefully.

"I know you want to find them", Dumbledore added, "and turn the ground upside down, and strike them with lightnings. But remember what happened the last time you underestimated your enemies".

Nasty, smart Dumbledore, she wanted to say. You always know better, and you always will, but it's so exasperating. She gave the Professor a long look, then, Newt.

"You don't trust me?"

"I trust you, Professor. But I know you're always calculating. Don't think I don't suspect there's more to this favour than what meets the eye".

Dumbledore shrugged helplessly.

"Orlaith, it's instrumental that this baby is undiscovered and unharmed", Newt pointed. "She is absolutely the most important thing we have against Grindelwald".

Picket jumped at her, launching himself into her hair, and started jabbing at her head. It felt like light scratching on her scalp because he was, after all, a very good-natured bowtruckle. Newt rushed to pick him up, trying not to tear too much of her hair, awkwardly. She tilted her head, paying no attention to the attempt of assassination.

"Why me, exactly? To keep me from looking for Credence?"

"Orlaith", Dumbledore uttered, used to her complaining.

Newt smiled knowingly. He sat back, keeping the Pickett in his hand firmly.

"Oh, no, because, I think, you will protect her with your life, because you will love her very much".

She finished her coffee, silent, as the two men discussed the matters. She watched the light dying above the castle, as the golden rays started shooting on the walls through the windows. What's the use of this ancient magic, she thought, if she couldn't destroy people like Grindelwald? If she wasn't able to save people she loved? It felt like her battling days were now behind, and nowadays she's been sitting, gathering flies, and watching the seasons. There were no poachers nearby anymore.

She had the Cloak of Invisibility that Dumbledore discovered in the empty Peverell manison in the Godric's Hollow. She thought it funny how the artefact travelled from Dumbledores to Potters, and back again. She did not disclose to him just yet the nature of the cloak, but kept an eye on it so that it would make it to James eventually. Now, it was exceptionally useful because she could hide the Qilin under it in the evening as she travelled to the castle. Together, the two of them occupied a little house in the eastern part of Hogsmeade, with the windows looking out on the Potions and Lotions shop and the field beyond it. But the baby had to move a lot, so, in the evenings, Orlaith would take her with, and, invisible, go to the castle to the Room of Requirement where she released the little young beast to run around in the vivarium. Otherwise it was empty, save for little bugs; so the Qilin was in no danger. She decided not to give her any name because Orlaith didn't know what was bound to happen. So, she just called her 'baby'.

At night, she would return home with the tired baby in her arms, and the youngster slept in her bedroom on the second floor. For many months, it was a nice, quiet, exhausting life of obscurity, until commotion finally began.

There were spiders again, and dugbogs started appearing along the rivers in the Forest. It's been twenty years since she last saw any of them; the spiders were now cast out into the deepest caves only, and the dugbogs, she personally saw to them.

But that autumn, there was talk of them again, and several teachers had to inspect the Forest. Orlaith was agitated to spring into action again. She hoped, just a little bit, that poachers would return. Not that she wished any animals harmed, but she missed the practice, and the clean sweep of offensive magic as it made the forest glow in the dead on winter night; the perfectionistic feeling of cleaning the woods of them, seeing hares, owls and mooncalves return again to the places that had been scorched of life because of those killers. She was a killer, herself, she had no delusions of that. That was one thing Dumbledore and her never spoke about. He seemed to be unsure about her lust for destruction when she came upon those criminals.

She didn't get out much, still, because she was keeping an eye on the baby. Sometimes she would go to the castle to hang around and be unhelpful at something; desperately strained in between the professors, the students and the bypassers. She had no job, she was not studying anymore. She was almost invisible, unapplied. The teachers brought news of the armies of dark creatures breeding in the forest, meaning some threat brewing. Orlaith sometimes went out at night. The house was protected by invisibility spells, and only her and Dumbledore had the special magic matches that allowed them to see it. While she was outside, no soul could penetrate the dwelling, it became unreachable. She would leave the baby sleeping, with the milk next to her bed, and the fire just slumbering downstairs, and go to the forest, in her old blue cloak she used to wear before.

She remembered the forest very well. As the winter drew nearer, and the first November snow made the old paths more visible again, she spent more time hunting the reasons for this insidious activities. She didn't like killing even the dark creatures; she never hunted Mongrels, actively avoiding them and launching them deeper into the forest, further from the castle. She searched for humans; those who could tell her what's going on, and maybe carry the word from Grindelwald himself.

They used to be washed up, untidy, careless, dirty poachers, easy to kill. They cursed, and scattered at the sight of her sky-blue cloak, they were disorganised and unskilled. The people she started meeting now, looked different. Those were dark acolytes of the wizard whose name it was still allowed to say out loud. And they were way more treacherous.

Now, Orlaith had to make sure none of them actually escaped, not to let Grindelwald hear even a whiff of her existence. Once or twice they managed to hurt her well, wounding her, but every time the instinct, and the force that supported her, actually did the rest as she was bleeding. One of the nights in December she got caught up in a group way bigger that she'd anticipated. After a quick but exhausting fight, her wand jumped out of her hand with a snap, and she was blinded by a red flash. The well-frozen earth was hard beneath her, and the sky, uneven. The sky was still pregnant with real snowstorms and couldn't show the stars to navigate by. Higher, above the trees, the wind was moving the masses of snow chaotically. Orlaith took a deep breath, waiting until the pain in her chest would cease. She wasn't even thinking of the prospect of death; that would be stupid. She was way too proud to speculate on the possibility of being defeated by a gang of outlaws, be they even Grindelwald's slick dark wizards with style, somewhere in the Forest. Laughable. And, she had been in these circumstances before. She recalled that the first time she actually got scared, because a witch without a wand feels like a cook without their arms. Her fear surged out of her, as if the earth itself heard her cry for help, and she managed to attack them without it. The second time, centaurs saved her, by that time already aware what kind of activities she's been conducting in the woods. The third time was now.

"Zabini!" she heard, "tie her up. The Lord will want to hear about this. This is probably the..."

"Zabini?!" she raised her head from the ground, although the world was still spinning. Indignation pressed on her chest.

"How dare you, you absolute laughing stock! You're the dirtiest, the unfixable boar-"

The running steps lifted snow off the ground as she sat up. She put the cloak around her, because it was getting cold.

"Shut up!"

"No, you shut up!" she yelled. She didn't know Zabini's face or even whether this one was a man or a woman. But the familiar name was so funny, so absurd.

"Which one of you is Zabini?!"

One more spell landed almost next to her hand on the ground. Orlaith tried to stand up, but was still weak.

"She's moving", and arrogant female voice said, "get her, quicker".

She rolled over and stood on her fours, feeling for her wand. That is the only time I can stop thinking about Credence, she thought. The only time I'm having fun. The wand was somewhere out of reach while the feet of the... Grindelwalders? were approaching. Someone even kicked her on her ribs, and she nearly threw up.

"Okay, enough", she whispered, gatherting the focus in her hands. She could see her own fists glowing lightly, as the whirlwind of magic roared inside of her. I might be arrogant, of course, she was thinking. But I am so bloody strong.

The umbrella of power opened up above her, knocking the closest ones off their feet. Several of their curses flew up in the sky like fireworks. Night birds, bothered by the noise, took off and flew away.

"Where's my wand?!" she screamed. She stepped up to the nearest body and found theirs. One by one, with a little disobedient wand in her hand, she got rid of them. Her side was surely bleeding, she felt that, but for now, the adrenaline gave her energy, even zest. Finally, she found her own wand and changed them, approaching the last living witness.

He was crouching on the ground, with a bloody nose. She kicked his wand away.

"Which one are you?"

In the Lumos light his face looked completely white, like a square cube of ice, his eyes reflecting flashes.

"Za-Zabini".

"Oh, you're ugly", she lingered, "I don't recognize you. Where's Grindelwald?"

"I would rather die than tell you".

"Come on. Don't you want to satisfy the Cutter?"

His face frowned with confusion.

"Who?"

Orlaith was jabbed with the arrow of reality.

"Alright. Alright. Anyway, I need to know about Credence. The obscurial boy. Where is he? Is he with him?"

Zabini was dying. He sighed, weakly. She poked him with her wand.

"Tell me. Where are they? Why are you so close to Hogwarts?"

Zabini kicked on the ground because his body refused to die.

"Imperio".

The wizard stiffened up, looking in front of himself. His eyes were filled with fog.

"Where is the obscurial?"

"With Grindelwald".

"Where is it?"

"I don't know. They are on the move".

She shivered a bit with biting cold. She started jumping on one place.

"Alright, have you seen him?"

"Who?" he asked, dumbly.

"Obscurial! Obscurial!"

"Long ago".

"How was he?"

"Dark", Zabini whispered. "Like the death himself. Half-shadow and deadly. He doesn't speak much".

She let go of him, allowing him to die. She wished there was a hippogriff nearby that could carry her home.

She usually sang while she walked outside Hogsmeade. The spring was drawing near, and the Qilin was growing. This little girl has grown no less than ten inches since August. She ran around on strong, sure legs now, and could jump almost the height of a human.

Orlaith sang to take her mind off things. She was picking the first flowers to make the vitamin potion for the baby. Lily of the valley, while it was very young, lacked any poison but was rich with the spring water that was instrumental for growth of even-toed animals; magical and non-magical alike.

Thawing made the world ring softly, along with her song. There was a lot of water closer to the east side of Hogsmeade; she was careful not to step into a deep puddle of grass and ice.

"Orlaith!" someone called her. From distance, she didn't even recognize him. Limping, grey, hurrying, it was Aberfort, but she only understood it when he was close. Orlaith avoided meeting him; she didn't know why. Perhaps she didn't want to see shadows on his already disappointed face. She felt uncomfortable in his presence; he was always grumpy, unfriendly and uneasy. This, now, was the fastest she'd ever seen him move.

"Albus, wants to talk to you".

"Why didn't he send an owl?" she asked, picking up the basket with flowers. Aberfort, without a warning, made the basket levitate and pushed it in front of him.

"He's in Berlin, would take too long. He's in the mirror. Let's go".

"In the mirro- oh, the mirrors" she gasped.

They ran down the slippery hill, their feet squishing the melted snow, wet through and through. Still violent, the air was swishing in her ears, but refreshing. Her mind wandered off to the baby as they passed the place where she knew her house was. Not even Aberfort knew where she lived and what she hid there.

They finally made it to the Hog's Head Inn, through the narrow, snaking streets of higher Hogsmeade. The basket landed on the table inside with a boom, and Aberfort showed her the way to the mirror that hung above the bar.

She saw the head and the shoulders of Albus. He was preoccupied, snow on the soles of his hat.

"Orlaith", he said, with relief, "how is the baby?"

"She's fine, she's growing really fast".

"Good". He looked somewhere beyond. Behind him, Orlaith saw the snowy alleyway, narrow and empty. It looked like Dumbledore was standing in a dead end and peeking to see if any people watched him.

"I saw Credence", he said quickly. Her heart boomed right into her head with a hammer.

"In Berlin?"

"Yes. Grindelwald sent him to kill me. I have to admit, he got to the task rather half-heartedly".

"And how is he?"

"Angry, and very strong. It looks like he's using the obscurial masterfully already. Listen, you need to be ready the next month with the baby".

"For what?"

Aberfort was busying himself behind her back, between the tables. He just walked there, from chair to chair, throwing looks at the window.

"Can't tell you. Grindelwald found a way to see the nearest future, and he's always one step ahead of us. We can't know what each of us is doing".

"But now he'll know what I'm doing".

"He won't", Dumbledore shook his head negatively. "You're protected. Just be ready and... are you practicing?"

She nodded.

"You tend to be very messy in the heat of fight, Orlaith. With Grindelwald, even if one spell hits you, you die", he warned.

She nodded, acknowledging his rightfulness in worrying.

"You can give Aberfort a match, how do you think?" he suggested. "Just in case?"

Aberfort, upon hearing his name, stopped fidgeting and listened. Orlaith looked in her pouch that she wore on her belt.

"I won't even ask what case it is, Professor", she sighed. Aberfort approached her and took the simple looking match from her.

"What's it for?" he asked, without much interest. It looked like everything his brother did, Aberfort met with incredulity.

"You won't find my house without it", she clarified. That didn't help him much as he gave her the same sceptical look.

"Do not lose it", she said, firmly.

"Orlaith", Albus called, after short silence, "you need to know two things. He asked about you".

She felt like crying. How did she go from 'I need to protect this boy' to feeling her heart long for him? She didn't even consider him at first, thinking that then, last year, she was enfatuated with his bravery, with his sudden appearance, a familiar face in dire need. He took her by surprise by being so fairytaleishly noble, and their meeting was so quick. Now, she felt his absence every day, and the guilt weighed on her.

"And he is dying". Albus was grave. His eyes switched to his brother.

"No", she said. No, I refuse that. "You said he was angry and strong".

"Not in a good way".

"You said he was using the obscurial masterfully, not the other way round..."

"Orlaith... it's agony".

She sniffed through her nose.

"I'm sorry, but he doesn't have long. He's thinning, the obscurial is eating him alive".

She clenched her fists.

"No".

Albus opened his mouth, closed it. Aberfort was silent next to her. She noticed that he looked at his brother with eyes full of disappointment.

How come, she wanted to say, that I am more upset with the death of your son? Ah yes, you didn't want him.

"You told me obscurials can be healed out", she muttered instead, "you told me that if there are people who'll care about him, we can do it".

Dumbledore sighed.

"He's been alone too long".

"That's because..." she stopped herself. "Dumbledore, I have ancient magic. I can help".

"Do not make the mistake Isidora Morganach made, thinking that this kind of magic can solve everything", he reminded.

She didn't know what to say. There were so many untapped opportunities. There were wizards from other countries, obscurial specialists, there was Newt, after all. Albus could almost read her mind, saying,

"I'm sorry. He is my nephew. If there was something I could do for him, I'd be in the middle of it already".

She turned to Aberfort.

"Why are you so quiet? He is your son".

He didn't dare to look back. Just started at the match in his fingers, and walked away silently.

"This is ridiculous", she puffed, "don't expect me to give up on him".

Albus nodded.

"Would never. But don't have hope, Orlaith. It will destroy you".

That evening, she took a slow walk home, thinking. The flowers in the basket looked tired. It was raining a little, and wet, the wind was doing its last winter deeds, bringing pebbles, leaves and someone's kerchieves from place to place like it was autumn. Orlaith decided to stop at Honeydukes to get something for tea, and realized she didn't have any friends. No one to send an owl asking how she was, or call her for a coffee downtown. Exiting the shop with her hands full, she collided with a lady in a pale purple raincoat, with braids neatly laid upon her head. The woman looked distraught, a little confused. She is most curious, Orlaith thought, looking at how her eyes were running all over the place.

"Sorry", Orlaith said, "balance not good with my hands full".

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I wasn't seeing where I was walking at all".

Suddenly, the woman grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled under the light of a streetlamp. Orlaith saw her face, long and petite, with big teeth but a very nice nose that somehow correlated with her composition.

"Are you a Peverell by any chance?" she asked.

She doubted a little. She was a Peverell on the paper, on the portrait that's been found at the mansion. But she wasn't sure.

"I think..."

"I have a message for you. Hi, I'm Matilda, Matilda Crockleporne", the woman gave her hand, not realizing there was no way Orlaith could shake it.

"I'm going to be teaching Divinations at Hogwarts, starting next year", she smiled.

"Oooh", it made sense now. Orlaith smiled without enthusiasm. She wanted to be at home, crying her stomach out and holding her baby.

"But I came to Hogsmeade beforehand, because I felt that I needed to give a message to a Peverell. So, are you?"

"I'm the only one around, for sure", she shrugged.

"Great. I need to tell you - "don't prevent the tree from growing".

Orlaith bit her lip, utterly annoyed. They stood there, both, silent.

"Does it mean anything to you?"

Orlaith hummed.

"Well, I love trees. Wouldn't prevent them from growing, but... I don't know".

Matilda appeared ruminating.

"No, that's all. I don't have any context".

"Do you ever. Thank you, nice to meet you, I need to go now", Orlaith bowed to her awkwardly and made her way back into the street. She knew she was being rude, but she couldn't take it. This feeling of irritation was eerily familiar: when you're feeling the most ignominious, there is going to be a foreteller in your face, giving you nothing but confusion.

Credence was lying in his bed. Mara, the night demon, had just sprung from his chest as he woke up. He's been seeing only bad dreams for weeks. And when he woke up, another nightmare welcomed him in the shape of dark-red drape over the bed. Casting out any light. He didn't know what the time it was, but through the window, pale dust was entering the room. His back hurt, so he got up slowly, not to sprain a muscle. His skin was cold, no matter how long he rubbed his shoulders.

He thought he knew what he was doing when he joined Grindelwald. Then he thought he had things to do, to kill time, as he was given various grim, soulless tasks. Kill this and that. Then, he realized why Grindelwald couldn't take on Dumbledore by himself. He felt like a tool. But it wasn't the worst thing he could be. He used to be an abomination and an object. So, instrument at least had a function. And then, when he saw his uncle in Berlin, he realized he didn't care. He thought he was angry with the Hogwarts professor in his brand new clean coat and with his perfect trimmed personality. But he didn't feel real hatred towards him. He was just tired. Dumbledore's voice echoed in his head ever since he's come back, and he was sure that Quieenie was tired of listening the same thing again and again, on repeat. When she looked at him, her little pale face twisted like she was about to wail. He was sure she wanted to tell him how sorry she was.

She's searching for you

He was sitting on his bed, freezing to death. His toes barely moved on the stone floor. Outside, below the edge of rocks, snowstorm fell down deep into the abyss. Phoenix was circling through the gusts of it. As he noticed the bird, Credence stood up and walked towards the window, opened the lock. The air stung him in the chest, for several seconds he couldn't breathe. Phoenix flew towards him, and he stepped away. He watched the beautiful, mirthless bird fly through the room.

"Why are you here?"

It didn't say anything but sat on his shoulder, little steady paws pricking his skin.

"I know".

It was hard to stand. There were better and worse days; on the better ones he felt the waves of strength that made him overwhelmed with desire to move and fight. Today was one of the worse days. He felt his illness very clearly, he could hear the obscurial devouring his bones. It thought it was silent, but Credence heard it; the snapping, clicking sound coming from the inside. He went to the mirror, sent the bird to the door. In the fog where his face was usually reflected, he wrote with his finger,

I want to see her

An owl was clicking on the window gently. But Orlaith was sleeping, and seeing a dream about a giant spider, one from the forest, with a hair brush in one leg, and a wand in another, and a mirror in the third, and a brick in the forth. As it snapped its jaws at her, cornering her between a sharp rock and a broad cobweb placed there specifically to trap her. Her wand was missing. Click-click-click the jaws said. She was calling for Sirius Black, who wouldn't be born for good twenty-five years yet. She just had the idea that his dog form would be a tremendous companion on her forest raids.

She woke up when the spider jumped, and saw the baby standing beside the bed. It was looking at the window.

She patted it on the head and opened the window. The little grey owl gave her her leg, and Orlaith untied the note.

"Do you guys want breakfast?" she asked, but then she read it.

The three of them ran downstairs, the Qilin baby happier than the two others. She raced for her plate and started drinking immediately. Orlaith took the owl on her arm and put on her coat; took some treats for the bird and ran out of the house.

It was raining; March was almost over, and it was crying heavily, like a capricious child. There were few people in the streets, everybody was warming to the fire inside. She ran through Hogsmeade, and the owl eventually took off from her hand after munching on biscuits a little. She watched its gliding flight above her head, as they both headed for the Inn.

Orlaith didn't knock on the back door through which they usually entered the Inn. Aberfort was sitting, waiting at one of the ever-empty tables. The season was over, and the next one hasn't begun yet. In the misty, humid space of the house, she smelt his sweat and the old wood.

"Where is he?"

"In Austria", Aberfort replied, unaffected. Orlaith froze in place.

"What? Wh- why did you send..."

He motioned towards the mirror.

"He wrote to me".

"You talk to him through the mirror?" she wondered. The anger was brewing inside of her silently. How funny it was. By the mundane tone he said it, it was obvious he had access to Credence all this time. And nobody bothered to let her know.

"Yes. He said he needs to meet you. Give me the location and the time".

"Do you still have the match?"

"Yes. When and where?"

She rubbed her forehead, sweating under the coat from running.

"There's this place in Northern Ireland. It's very well protected. I'll draw you a map".

As she was leaving, she wondered if the mirror messaging has been corrupted and whether Grindelwald could write messages instead of Credence. But she wouldn't care. She trusted her own rage, forgetting about what Dumbledore said.

"Orlaith", Aberfort called when she was at the door. Her name sounded so rough, foreign in his mouth.

"Do you think he can forgive me?"

She pressed her jaws.

"I wouldn't. But I'm not him".

She really didn't know.

At night, she made sure the baby fell asleep, and the house was protected. She checked it three times. There were many variants now. It could have been a plot to lure her out of the house and seize the Qilin, or Aberfort in the morning could have not been Aberfort. Maybe Grindelwald already knew about everything. She was blinded. As she dressed and did her hair, she put on her hoop rings she wore at the time she was at the circus. The road out of Hogsmeade was shorter if one went straight from the back of the house, past Potions and Lotions, up the hill to the woods. She disapparated from there and spent the next three hours walking through the wet Irish forest. She cut the branches and cleared the bushes where she could. Worry was tearing her ribcage apart. But it felt just like a tale from the book. In the moonlight, as the restless day strom had quietened, the woods stood vigilant and wet; the birds cooed gently from the distance, and her steps were softened by the damp, awakening earth. Soon, this will be paradise again, with ladybugs occupying one tree trunk in thousands; with diagonal rays of sunlight on the webs, and small animals racing in the tall, thick moss. She was quite tired whe she finally realized that she was at the edge of her own protective dome. She needed to eliminate all protection for Credence to be able to find her. But first, she decided to enter and check if everything was alright. Approaching the pond in almost complete darkness, she was guided by the glow from the water. The moon was hidden behind the clouds. Her heart was beating so loudly it was obvious to anybody who could be there.

There was someone watching her, next to the big stone that stood above the water. Her eyes adjusted to the enchanted light, and she saw it was Credence.

They shouted at once, simultaneously,

Revelio!

Nothing happened. So, he had somehow found her well-hidden pond. She had no doubts the protection still stood, as she, herself, had to trace the edge of it with magic. But he had already been waiting for her, and the spell didn't disclose any charms. She ran towards him, whispering his name. Credence was taller, it seemed, although she knew it was impossible. His pale face was absolutely infernal in this aquamarine light. But his eyes were the same, cautious, distinctly dark. His hair was long and messy, as if he was trying to hide his face in it. She took his hand and he clenched it.

A little smile cut his face and warmed it up.

"What are those?" he asked, instead of greeting.

"Bluetails. They're very rare. They glow in water".

"But it's fish. They're always in water".

"Exactly", she smiled, realizing that she's crying. She embraced him, and Credence didn't push back but accepted it. His hand laid on her back, fingers light like a kiss from the gust of wind.

They sat on the stone where it was the lightest. Orlaith was examining his face.

"How are you?"

Credence made himself look normal.

"Alright".

"Let me see your arms".

"No", he stopped her hand, catching her fingers and lightly stroking them. "I'm fine".

"Dumbledore said..."

He chuckled.

"Dumbledore says so many things I can't believe half of them".

"What do you mean?"

"I guess, nothing".

It didn't feel like a place to talk about their mentors. But there was nothing else to talk about it. Orlaith asked him where he was kept; and how to get him out; and how he got out this time. He mentioned that Queenie was invasively miserable but supportive, and that he, actually, owed her a lot.

"I'm sorry you had to do it", Orlaith said, meaning his capitulation to the Lord.

"I don't regret it".

"I bet you do".

He looked at her hair and the glimmering earring. She could feel his smile with her skin.

"I don't".

Orlaith was looking at his palm when he turned her own and touched the old burn scars.

"They're almost gone".

"Yes, the medicine the elf gave me was good. I kept it. It really removes the scars pretty quickly".

Credence raised her hand to his face and kissed her palm.

Bluetails scurried in the water, gathering closer to them, curious to look back.

"Don't go back", she said, after a while. Credence shook his head slowly.

"He'll know where I am. Now I need to be there".

"What for?"

Credence didn't reply. Instead, it felt like he was gathering strength to say something else.

It was strange. She knew he was Aurelius by birth, but he didn't look that at all. The other name felt so natural on him. She was going to ask about it, but Credence said,

"I brought him a Qilin. I killed his mother and stole it. Almost killed Scamander in the process".

His eyes were now waiting. She had known about that, but was still taken aback by his firm tone. She looked at his face, whithered, sick. It was agonizing.

"You should hate me for that", he helped. "He killed the baby".

His stare was empty, the sharpened features of his face making him look like one of the statues in the basement levels of Hogwarts, the ones surrounding the Slytherin main room entrance.

"Why did he need the Qilin only to kill it?"

"Yesterday he resurrected it with necromancy".

She wished Dumbledore was here to help her think.

"Why?"

Credence shrugged.

"Why aren't you mad?"

"All of you Dumbledores are trying to make me give up on you. I won't do that. Think, Credence".

She said it the same way she said to him, Credence, my friend, listen to me. Taking him by the neck and making him get himself together. A matter-of-fact tone she used, to tell him he still mattered, was lovely. He felt warm for the first time in a long time. He felt the chthonic power of obscurial ease up a little.

"There will be election for the new leader of magical world soon", he said. Apparently, they both thought about the same thing, but not quite identical. Credence's eyes narrowed, as Orlaith's, in turn, widened.

"He sees the future. We can't have a plan".

She shook her head in agreement.

"Just go with it. And hold on until we meet".

Credence looked at their interlocked fingers.

"I don't think we will. What Dumbledore told you is true. I'm more obscurial now than a human".

Orlaith forced herself onto his shoulders, grabbing him, hugging, burying him in the wave of her hair, her fingers stroking his head.

"No, I need you".

He closed his eyes. The concept of that was unclear to him, but he made himself believe.

"Alright", he pressed his forehead against hers. "Then, when we meet, what?"

"Don't have any plan", her smile flashed in the blue light. "But improvise".

"Trust your rage?" he smirked.

She couldn't speak, as if she was the weaker one. Credence knew he had to go, but alternatively, dying right at that moment was a good enough compensation for his life.

Chapter Text

She mostly spent her days crying and nights, hunting. As she watched the baby run around in vivarium, she realized that the better Qilin felt, the less of Credence there was. Still, this was an exchange on a different plane of reality for her. She couldn't imagine betraying this creature, not even for Credence. This didn't mean he didn't matter. Orlaith needed everything to fall right into place.

Since their last meeting two months have flown by, and Dumbledore's promise of changes within a month might have been just a ploy after all. Grindelwald's acolytes didn't have it easy in the woods. They died in such numbers that it was time for the Lord to get concerned, but apparently, he had other business to attend to, and never showed up. Orlaith was ready to fight him, messy or not; the earth was on her side. As May came, the powers returned to the nature, and it woke up. She was teaching animals to fight back. She was training defense spells on whoever she happened to meet at the Forest in the wrong hour. Speaking of criminals, of course.

Orlaith decided, while she was obediently waiting to Dumbledore's attack! to get the matters in order. Especially she wanted to apologize to Matilda something-porne for her unfriendly demeanor.

She's been to the castle more or less reguralry, with all the baby walks, but rarely in the daylight. As the warm May wind dried everything up, and healed some of her soul, the road to Hogwarts also was made better, without deep pools of water and heaps of dirty leaves. One day, as the baby still slept, Orlaith escaped the house and flew for the castle. On a broom; it was finally warm enough. She flew fast, like she used to; watching the glimmering water below her, rippling with the glimpses of sunlight. The castle stood in front of her an unpenetrable mass. She even flew around it a couple of times, feeling the wind in her hair, trying to stop herself from thinking she could pull quidditch. The field stood, undisturbed, with its flags, bannerols and tabards fluttering in the wind. The world was laughing happily, again for the coming summer. The summer that awaited everyone, no matter where. She had no idea that even at Nurmengard, where the severe weather always held, the ice broke off from the rocks, and the winds ceased just a little, letting the warm air gather. Which made the Lord incredibly concerned at last.

She flew through the hallways of the castle like she was a fifth-year student; gathering surprised looks with her bright hair, and the flowers in it, and with her colorful dress. The poor pupils had still to wear the black uniform, and she looked like a ghost in flesh, unhinged. Children were preoccupied with the exams, drawing near, inevitable. That was one of the things she missed about studying.

She actually encountered the Headmaster himself, as he was pondering at the portrait of a naked hag on a broomstick, flying over a village at night. The moon was yellow in that painting, the witch's hair was obsidian black. She smiled coyly at everyone who looked at her.

"Oh, greetings, Peverell".

Orlaith sometimes couldn't express how proud, refreshed and excited it made her feel, when someone called her that.

"I'm thinking about removing Bella from this corridor".

She gave a look to the witch, who waved in return.

"Are the boys getting too agitated?"

"You have no idea. Always sheer commotion at this exact spot", he turned to her, adjusting his little reading glasses and examining her appearance.

"Isn't this whole summer look too immodest for studies?"

"I have graduated, Headmaster. Under Black".

"Headmaster Black. But didn't he make it known on your graduation certificate, that your results were satisfactory at best, and you ought to still catch up even after?"

"My results were excellent, Headmaster", she forced herself not to laugh, "Black just hated me because I didn't call him Headmaster".

"Headmaster Black".

He shook his head, closing his eyes.

"So, are you still studying, or not?"

"Not anymore, Headmaster".

"But I hear you've been practicing in the woods. Again".

His stern stare made her rise on her tiptoes.

"Uh... yes?"

"Without supervision? A witch of your abilities would act unwisely if she elected to train her duelling skills against the actual criminal, pugnacious enemy".

"Would you like to join me, Headmaster? I think I've located a specific hollow where they think it's absolutely comfortable to plot invisibly. Have you got my owl, by the way? Was Professor Dumbledore made aware of Grindelwald's alliance present so near the school?"

Dippet brushed her off.

"No Grindelwald acolytes have been to Hogwarts yet, thanks to you. Why bother anybody else with it?"

She bid goodbye to him, leaving the wizard next to Bella. If he is so sinile now, she thought, what happens in thirty years' time?

She reached North Tower without other adventure and found the rope ladder hanging suggestively. She shoved her head into the class and looked around.

"Professor?" she didn't want to let her know that she didn't remember her last name.

There was shuffling behind the door, then, Matilda showed up, in a purple trapezoid dress with long, light sleeves.

"Hello?"

"Do you remember me? I'm a Peverell you'd been looking for. We met at Hogsmeade and you gave me a prophecy, and I was rude to you".

Her eyes lit up with recognition.

"Ah, yes! Come in".

She climbed up and found herself in the Divinations class. Of course, with every new teacher the interior always changed, but this time, little to nothing seemed different. There were still crystal balls and books neatly placed on the shelves. The flying candles were now without fire, sleeping. Some empty cages were on the tops, aimless. Maybe it was more purple, understandably.

Matilda offered her a coffee, and they sat at the round table in the middle of the room.

"Were you any good at this subject while you studied?" Professor asked curiously as they made it half through their drinks.

"Complicated. I happen to be a kind of a prophet", she confessed, "but in all the wrong places. Very often, when I needed to glance into the crystal ball, I saw instead what I already knew would happen".

Matilda looked at her knowingly.

"Where have you travelled from?"

"Far away", she nodded. She suddenly felt warm, she realized, she'd underestimated this woman. Matilda didn't ask too many questions, but was politely inquisitive.

"Was it in the form of dreams, or visions?"

"Books", she replied. Matilda was impressed, although, Orlaith always felt sad when she needed to talk about it. The sight of an empty house on the autumn street flooded her head every time. The house she'd left, without saying goodbye.

"So, Professor", she decided to lead the conversation away while it was comfortable, "you told me not to prevent the tree from growing. Have you, maybe, got any more insight into that?"

The soothsayer clicked her bracelets on both hands.

"I'm sorry, but no. The initial message, too, was very foggy, uneven. It looked like something that could be changed, or, on the opposite, set in stone".

"Future can't be set in stone", she argued, "I've already changed it".

"Well. Do you want to try for yourself? If we ask the right questions, maybe you'll understand more".

She nodded. They put away the cups: luckily, Matilda didn't suggest reading the future on coffee grains. She draped the windows quickly and moved one of the crystal balls towards them.

"This is the one where I saw it first. I'm sorry, only I can use it".

"That's fine", Orlaith consented. Matilda touched the ball tenderly, like it was a baby calf. Orlaith thought of her own, sleeping at home. She might have already awaken. But she never got scared when she was alone; she just waited for her in the kitchen, where it smelt the best.

"What do you want to ask?" Matilda offered, looking inside. To Orlaith, the ball looked absolutely transparent.

"Don't prevent the tree from growing. What did it mean?"

There was silence as Matilda peered inside. The she started speaking slowly:

"A boy. Dark-haired, thin, very pale, he looks lost. He's alone... do you know him?"

"Credence. What about him?"

Matilda shrugged.

"It's just him. I'm sorry. You know the spirits won't just explain everything to you in detail. The veil is heavy, and it's not easy to hear through".

"I understand", she mused. Matilda looked at her with compassion.

"You look like a person who's had a lot of fights to carry these flowers in your hair".

"I'm about to have more".

Something caught Professor's eye as she moved back to the ball.

"Oh. Oh!" she gave Orlaith a look of amazement, "why are you keeping a Qilin at home?"

Ice-cold fear touched the back of her neck.

"What about it?"

"Someone wants to take it".

She all but stumbled down from the rope-ladder. Damn forbidden zone of the castle, she needed to run so much to even get to the territory where she could fly, to say nothing about apparating! Her breath in her throat, Orlaith told herself that prophecies weren't immediate; and that, in fact, of course anybody would want to take Qilin away. If they knew it existed. Newt made sure nobody, but them four, knew about it. Stairs after stairs she flew, knocking off students and rubbing against the corners; finally, she was in the yard.

"Accio broom!" she screamed, and soon, her broomstick was racing to her with pleasant whooshing through the air. Jumping up, she only made it as far as the field outside, and she disapparated immediately. Then, another course of running through Hogsmeade. Nobody could know where it was, no one, if only Aberfort hasn't lost the match. As she reached the house, her chest was stabbing with pain, knees giving in. She turned the key in the lock and threw the door open.

Qilin was lying on the sofa at the back of the kitchen. Upon seeing her, the baby got down and trotted towards her, happy.

She fell on the floor, hugging the creature. She was trembling.

"I love you. I love you so much, baby, you know I love you".

Just to be sure, she checked the second floor and the wardrobe, and used revealing charms. Nothing came of it, which was good. The feeling of unease wouldn't let go though. She felt paranoid. She didn't know what, something still hovered above her. She tried to think what Matilda told her, and made no more of it.

The rest of the day she was just cleaning, letting the birds in, to play with the baby, and feeding cats outside. It was a good day, and she dreamed to take the Qilin to the field, but it was impossible. Evening came, and she decided to go at least to vivarium, the one where she had the ocean, to let the baby play in the water. She put on her evening cloak and made it upstairs to pick up the Invisibility Cloak. Qilin looked a bit tired, so, she was in two minds.

Then someone knocked on the door.

That was not normal. Even understanding it was Aberfort, she felt unhappy. What might have happened that he came himself instead of sending an owl?

Orlaith came downstairs with her wand in her hand, just in case. Waited for another knock, but it didn't come.

She walked up to the door and listened. One time. They knocked just once, scaring her.

She said to herself, you. You, Orlaith, are the Cutter, the Witch. Are you going to be afraid of a guest at your door?

She opened it and stepped back to have better swinging ability.

It was Credence.

Something felt heavy and tragic. Against the homely fire and the light of the house, he looked like a ghost. Still the same face, but white, with blacker eyes than ever. Without a smile, it was mocking her. Orlaith thought he really was a ghost, sent by Grindelwald to break her, and it meant that Credence was dead. He looked like he was resurrected with the Stone.

He stepped into the house quietly, closing the door behind him.

"Hello Orlaith", he said gently.

"What are you doing here?"

It was really him, but very, very barely.

She noticed he had his wand out, too. She instinctively stood her back against the set of stairs where, above, in the bedroom, the baby was already lying in her little bed.

He looked up through the ceiling.

"How did you find my house?"

"Just like I penetrated the dome at the pond", he replied, "I seem to sniff you out easily, even when you try to stay hidden".

She swallowed a scream.

"Credence..."

"I know what you have here. I need it".

She put out her hand and stopped him from coming closer.

"You can't have her".

"When Grindelwald found that another Qilin survived, he was very unhappy with me".

There was something very off with the way Credence spoke; maybe it was already difficult for him. Orlaith felt her ugly helplessness in her throat.

"He told me if I don't get this baby, he'll kill me".

She had to bend her arm because he was now standing closer already. She clutched his shoulder.

"I can't", she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I can't let you have her".

Credence lowered his head to meet her eyes.

"You said you wouldn't give up on me".

And nothing more. If he shouted, blamed her, that would be easier. Credence took the first step of the stairs, moving her with his body. Orlaith clutched on the banister, trying to push on his shoulder, but he was surprisingly strong. There was feverish glint in his eyes. He only looked whithered; in reality, although the obscurial already shone through him, in temples, cheekbones and knuckles, Credence stood is ground very firmly.

"You'll need to kill me, my love", she said. Her head was bowed, his breath on her forehead. She tried to push him as hard as she could, but there was no strength in her limbs.

"I will".

She felt his arm going down with his wand, and their fists touched.

"Look at me".

She raised her eyes.

In a moment something struck her. His eyes expressed nothing, could not. She realised, if Credence has discovered her location, Grindelwald must know it, too. His wand crisscrossed with hers, giving it a light shove. Then he jumped back to the door, and they pointed at each other.

A couple of non-verbal spells met in the air, exploding in fiery flashes. She stepped up to have a better aim and shot, trying to get him; but every spell, Credence broke mid-air, sending one in return. Orlaith ducked, allowing an orange curse bash a hole in the wall behind her. Credence stepped closer, and she forced him to retreive, showering him with superficial blinding curses. He ran deeper into the kitchen, and she followed. Wondering what she is supposed to do next. One, two, three, five, ten curses, bouncing off of each other. They fought symmetrically, guessing each other's movements as they went.

"You'll need to kill me", Credence said, standing in the destroyed kitchen, among the shreds of wood.

"No!"

Credence tilted his head like he was annoyed. She recognized the mist appearing around him, and jumped back as he started to turn into a black cloud of shadow and fire.

"No!"

She ran upstairs. Qilin was trembling in her bed, looking up at her for help as she stumbled next to it.

"You'll be alright, baby, you'll be fine".

She could feel the floor vibrating under her feet as the cloud grew. The obscurial moved with a howl that sounded like a thousand tortured voices. All of those voices belonged to Credence.

She reached for the Invisibility Cloak lying on the bed, holding the baby with the other hand. She just managed to grab it with the tips of her fingers when the swirl of chaos crashed the floor and sucked her inside.

Aberfort ran like he has never run in his life. He ran and ran through the valley, forgetting he could apparate closer to the gates of Hogwarts. He has completely forgotten he was a wizard, for the first time in his life. He was just human now, running through the heavily scented fields of lupins, skimmias and rapseeds; towards the castle that shone brilliantly above the dark sleeping lake. In the middle of May, Hogwarts celebrated almost every day to prepare students for the rough season of exams. By the time Aberfort finally made it to the gates, it was almost midnight; many teachers have already gone to bed, to say nothing about students. He thundered into the hall, then made it towards the stairs. He was looking for his brother.

He was lucky and knew it as Albus usually went to sleep extremely late. At ten minutes past midnight, he was still in his office, not a sign of exhaustion on his face, in his white and silver jacket, writing something at his desk. However, as he heard heavy steps from the outer class, he was ready for the visitor.

If Aberfort was a horse, he'd be covered in foam.

"She's gone", he panted with a wheeze. Albus got up to his feet.

"They're gone. Aurelius... he found them".

They apparated right to the bridge leading into Hogsmeade. It was even faster than taking the secret tunnel into the Honeydukes. As they ran through the streets, Albus held his brother by the forearm, not to let him fall. Finally, the eastern side of the village was less lit than the center. That's why they chose this house for her. From the distance, Albus could already see the shambles of the dwelling, in the place where the house used to be.

"No, it's not supposed to look like that..." he uttered. They approached hurriedly and Albus sent several Lumos light balls to hover above. The breath was caught in his throat. Something wasn't adding up. Someone betrayed them. He turned to his brother, grabbing him by the collars.

"Where's the match, Aberfort?" he shook him well to stop his eyes from rolling around in their sockets.

"It's here!" Aberfort roared. As he reached for his pocket to demonstrate it. "Here!"

"Did you tell him? Through the mirror?"

"No! He doesn't speak to me, almost never!"

He was gasping for air, thinking, intensely. Something wasn't adding up.

He used the revealing charm to try to peek into what happened here, but the house had been protected too well. It meant, Credence managed to get inside even while the dome still stood. How? If even a Dumbledore spell did not let him see what was transpiring here in the last moments before the explosion.

"Go, send an owl to Newt, gather everyone immediately", he said. Aberfort was panting like a dog. He wasn't tired anymore, but tearing apart. Albus barely thought about how he must be feeling, knowing that his son is in the middle of this.

He stood there for a couple of minutes, deliberating. Then he turned and walked back, towards the bridge.

In fifteen minutes' time everybody was gathered at his office. Newt was the most panicked, understandably. His old ticks were coming out as he paced around. Albus wished Theseus supported his brother a little, even just to stop him from being a moving target. Eulalie was intently watching something on his desk, as she always did when thinking. Her lips moved a little as ideas rushed through her brain. Bunty was staring at Albus, completely lost. She also looked like she blamed him. Jacob collapsed into the chair with red draping, gazing in front of himself, mouth slightly agape. Albus wondered if the muggle had lost his mind.

"Alright", he clapped his hands, and Bunty jumped with surprise.

"Let us not deviate from hope".

"How?!" Theseus exclaimed. "We've just lost both our magical creature and our most powerful asset".

Newt sighed like all life left him.

"Bunty, will you please, give Newt a chair", Albus asked softly. She hurriedly took the zoologist by the arm and led him to sit him down next to the desk.

"How could he have done that", Jacob murmured. "I thought he was... on our side".

"He had joined Grindelwald last year", Eulalie reminded.

"He only did that to protect Orlaith", Newt replied slowly. His eyes were teary.

"Here's the thing I don't understand", Albus said. "There are no bodies and no blood".

Aberfort shrugged.

"He obviously turned. He might have just dissolved them both completely. And died, too".

Theseus was rocking in place.

"The question is", Eulalie said suddenly, "what we do right now. Election is in a week". She looked at Albus intently. He nodded.

"We do what we planned. Everything stays the same".

"But we don't have the Qilin", Newt squealed. Finally, Theseus approached him, and patted him on the shoulder, his hand stiff. That was an endearing gesture from him.

"Grindelwald might not know it. If he had sent Credence to pick up the second baby, and Credence died on the spot, he never gets it, either. We go with the suitcases anyway and see what happens".

"That's barely a plan, Dumbledore".

"The plan was not to have a plan at all", Albus retorted.

"And when we're up there?" Theseus asked. "And we don't have the second Qilin to show people that Grindelwald had been lying?"

"We fight. We do our best to shower him and his acolytes, and we move on as we can".

There was a collective sigh.

The room was sad, divided. The candlelight was dying slowly below the ceiling. Something didn't add up.

The morning of election was cloudy, a bit cold for a June. The clouds swarmed the sky, promising a storm that would rock the land. Cold winds stabbed the earth and the village, and people, dressed too lightly for this uncharacteristic weather, were bundling themselves tighter in their colorful cloaks. In the middle of the square, where the stairs were leading up towards the Election Podium, was much hotter, the wind unnoticed. People hurdled, crowded, pushed and pulled, paced and yelled their happy slogans, chanting, organizing in separate, orange, red and green groups. Then, on the stairs, the wind ferociously attacked again, tearing the hats from the heads, flapping skirts around the legs, slapping magicians on the faces. A butterfly was struggling to fly up. In this howling vortex of cold air, it flapped its wings with fading strength, thrown around by the gusts of it; the desperate attempts almost paid off as it managed to fly up and up slowly, gradually, while there, on the top of the stairs, the dramatic revelation has already begun. Someone managed to catch it carefully in unclosed fist, and put the butterfly just behind the layer of their black and white striped blanket serving as a coat against the wind. Inside, finally in the warmth, the butterfly landed on a wet, little nose and looked around. A strange creature looked at it back and cooed soflty.

Up there, on the wide round place, Albus Dumbledore locked his eyes with Gellert Grindelwald. The green fireworks were exploding in the air, shattering the sky, as Gellert's face was being translated into all the magical sanctuaries where people watched. He was now the new leader of the magical world.

Newt was wriggling in Mr Pewdence's hands, trying to liberate his working hand. He looked at Eulalie quickly, asking, now what? She stood not far from him, equally guarded, but she wouldn't let them grab her shoulders. Jacob laid on the ground, his face white like snow, a thin trickle of blood dripping from his nose.

There was a soft snap characteristic for apparition. A couple of gasps later, people divided, and a figure stepped up from the last higher steps, towards Grindelwald. He was frail, dressed in all black, his hair covering his face almost completely.

He locked eyes with Grindelwald whose nostrils flared from how livid he became.

"So", he said quietly, "you're alive".

Aberfort shook in his place, his feet scratching the stone, but Albus garbbed him.

Credence said nothing but looked at the wizard for a couple of seconds. Then he raised his wand, slowly, and gently moved it in the air. From the tip of the wand, streams of red smoke flew up towards the wizard and formed a huge word, visible enough for the broadcasting, above his head.

L I A R

Gellert dismissed it with an impatient twitch on his hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"He's lying to you!" Newt screamed. "This Qilin is dead! It's been resurrected through necromancy, it's corrupted!"

Rumble moved through the crowd, people swayed like one liquid body.

"Bring him here!" Grindelwald snapped. Newt was dragged in front of him, Dumbledore aware of every movement.

"Credence", he asked, as gently as he could. Credence turned his face towards his uncle, pale, with eyes full of hatred.

"Where's Orlaith?"

The boy smiled but said nothing.

Before getting to the zoologist, Grindelwald moved his attention to Credence again.

"You haven't only failed me, but also betrayed? You, who had been thrown out like garbage, a circus freak. I took you in. I gave you what you desired the most, your history. I gave you your name, Aurelius. I gave you a home. And now you're dying, and looking at me, for what? You dare to raise your eyes at me".

Credence was smiling. Not a single time either Newt, nor Albus has seen him smile. Gellert's spell was so quick that no one was in time to react; even Albus. He's been too preoccupied with the unrealistic oddness of this appearance. Credence himself fended it, with a wide movement, sending the red flash away, above people's heads. Albus noticed something extremely curious, familiar, about this movement, the hand outstretched recklessly. And the wand - he's seen this wand before. He's seen this wand, dragon core, seven inches, extremely stiff, red wood. A smile of disbelief curved his lips as he raised his own wand to protect.

"Where's the second Qilin?" he yelled, in the high, shrill voice, to raise the wave in the crowd. He stood a little behind Aberfort, who stared at him curiously.

"Show us the second one!"

"Yeah! Show us the second one!" someone picked up. Several voices demanded the same. Grindelwald smiled like a knife.

"There is no second Qilin. You see the only one, the real one, in front of you. All this", he motioned towards Scamander, kneeled before him, "is just a distraction".

Credence sat on the steps, supporting himself with one hand.

"Excuse me! Goddammit! Will you- hey, thank you!" there was another high-pitched voice, as if from someone very small - a child, or a female house elf. Crowd grumbled, preoccupied, and people were finally making a narrow corridor, to let them through. Another person, covered in a striped back and white blanket, was stumbling upwards on the stairs.

"Oh, the-" Orlaith's hand caught herself on the steps, "these stairs, fuck", she mumbled under her breath, her voice unusually high with exhaustion. From the blanket, a butterly flew out and disappeared in the milky sky.

"Are there... two hundred thousand of them, or something?"

"What is this?" thundered Grindelwald. He was losing patience. She threw the blanket off her shoulders. Orlaith held the Qilin baby in her hands, snuggled against her chest. She was wearing a black shirt, not unlike Credence's, and dark trousers. In all black, which Dumbledore hasn't seen her quite often, she looked ever more menacing. Her long ginger hair flew in the furious wind, like golden Celtic song. She stood straight for a second, but then bent forward, putting her free hand to her knees, panting from the running. Credence watched her attentively. She waved her hand, motioning them to wait.

"These fucking stairs!" she yelled in thin voice, but it cracked. She's never cursed that much, in front of people.

"This is precarious", Grindelwald said with finality. "This is a ploy".

Orlaith let the Qilin jump off her arms, and it trotted joyfully around, paying little to no attention to the chosen leader. It ran around in circles, enjoying the weather, as Newt looked at her with tears in her eyes. Albus, without breaking the gaze from Grindelwald, walked up to Orlaith and helped her to get up. She jerked, suddenly, as if she didn't expect his help.

"How are you holding up?" he whispered. Her gaze was stern as she only allowed him to take her by the shoulder and raise to her feet. She immediately stepped away, closer to Credence. He met her halfway.

Qilin, meanwhile, was making her way through the crowd, towards Santos. The noble witch kneeled before the animal, bowing her head low. People started forming a circle around Grindelwald as his face hardened. He saw that the Qilin had chosen, and his own, barely alive, infernally blue, was now wandering aimlessly at the edge of the platform, unused. He opened his mouth to say something poisonous at the wands ponting at him, but was interrupted.

"Ow! Ah!" Credence talked for the first time. His face was bubbling and he grabbed on it, searching support in Orlaith. She, too, was shaking, grimacing. In front of the amazed crowd, the two seemingly changed places, and Orlaith was now holding onto Credence, and Credence stood where she had stood before. He was the one who had saved the butterfly.

"Ha! The most amazing thing I'd seen in a long time!" Albus laughed. He was so relieved. Meanwhile, Gellert finally recognized the girl.

"You. I knew the chains had meant something".

"Oh", she grimaced, "shut up!"

There was a swirl of spells. Green, blue, orange flashes flew towards Gellert, and he fended them all. Orlaith pulled Credence a little at the side, seeing that he was on his last leg. He was very pale, although visibly holding on. She searched for Aberfot with her eyes. He was making his way to them, but with the pushing crowd, it wasn't easy. She noticed Credence was, although he stood on one knee, looking closely at Albus.

There was a pause in the shootout, as Gellert tried to voice towards the wizards. Albus was impatient, clutching his wand, but he could only fight the servants, not the lord. The chain was choking him.

"You know, I wish I had broken your chains", Credence muttered. Orlaith followed his gaze.

"Accio!" he screamed, in the last burst of energy. Everything seemed to slow down. She felt that, together, they were something more. In between the moving bodies, preparing to attack Grindelwald again, she could see the long silver chain with the blood-red-hearted vile sprung in the air. Dumbledore was pulled along with it, barely keeping himself on his feet. She aimed as well as she could, which was relatively new to her; she just usually shot in wide bursts, hoping to shatter as much as possible.

"Reducto".

Golden lightning flashed out of her wand for she was the Golden Witch. Credence felt her shining next to him, keeping him warm, as he let her lean on his shoulder for support. The spell, released by her, wasn't just a breaking curse. It was her ancient magic that made it incredibly strong. It was so strong that it could destroy the heartbreak, the betrayal, the sorrow. It crashed into the vile, and the little glass bottle exploded in the air.

Dumbledore was free.

Aberfort finally grabbed Credence and carried him ten steps away, holding him in his arms. Their fingers unclutched, and Orlaith moved her wand towards the dark wizard. Dumbledore's blue, and her golden curses flew towards him, as he twisted as best as he could to avoid being hit, dancing like a fencer. She saw some familiar faces, the faces that visited Hogwarts, fall, and stepped closer. Credence's shirt was far too big for her, so, she rolled her sleeves very quickly. That second she spent on it cost her a would on her neck, burning like hell. She rubbed the spot and focused again. Let the surge of magic of the earth itself thunder down on him. She put her wand up, and people stepped back, watching. Gellert locked eyes with her. She threw her hand down, and the pillar or purple fire engulfed him.

"Dumbledore!" she screamed, holding the trap. He wasn't easy to keep, actually. She could feel his pushback, and was horrified. Albus shot through the purple, curse after curse, and soon, the others joined. The howling mass of the pillar held Grindelwald as he was forced to his knees inside. He managed to break the curse with Protego Diabolica, from the third try, no less; by this moment Orlaith had redefined all she knew about her skills. She had never, she realized, met a wizard of such power, and her careless, instinctive use of ancient magic was only good with crooks. Otherwise, focus just wasn't enough to defeat someone so masterful. But the ring of fire grew, fighting the blue flames. She was getting exhausted quickly, feeling the supportive curses around, but the magic drained her for energy. Blue dragon was growing, consuming the purple fire, and her anger was the last thing that still held up. She thought of Credence. Credence, the boy she refused to let go of, dying ten steps away from her. Someone who never knew love and yet, sacrificed his little freedom for her, twice. His sculpted pale face with heavy, dark, intelligent eyes. The way he made her feel as his hand touched her neck softly, almost with fright. She screamed and pushed, she didn't even put any words to the blow. She just pushed Grindelwald as hard as she could, like a child would push another child on the playground. He flew up, picked up by the purple flash, and was thrown off the edge.

Suddenly, it was all quiet. People rushed towards the end of the platform to see, but he was gone. Maybe disintegrated in the fire, or maybe, disapparated in the air.

She bent and held onto her knees, like Credence, while he was parodying her. All was quiet for some time. Someone was scratching their head. Orlaith panted, looked up at the stormy skies, felt the June cold on her face.

"Alright, you were right. And Black was right, I need to learn more", she admitted to approaching Albus. He smiled like she knew he would always smile at children he protected.

"That was quite a spectacle".

"Is he gone?"

"Gone, yes, dead - unlikely".

He patted her on the shoulder lightly. His hand was scarred from the chain.

"Thank you for that, by the way. That was the most exquisit job from you two".

She turned around to look for Credence.

"They had disapparated. To Hogsmeade, I presume".

People were slowly gathering around her, dozens of curious eyes, which she didn't like. She realized the broadcast into sanctuaries and places of viewership was still happening.

"Can I... also go, please?" she asked, huddling closer to Professor. He embraced her by the shoulder, and she clutched on Newt, too, to shield herself. They both held her.

"Yes, let's go. And you'll need to tell me where the hell you have been".

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A week ago, Credence landed himself, and Orlaith, with the Qilin, on top of the Astronomy Tower where she guided him. He swayed and fell on one knee because his head spun for a second. Orlaith collapsed, too, but managed to keep the baby in her outstretched arms. She quickly stood up and unfolded the Cloak.

"Are you alright? Credence?"

He took her hand and pulled himself up.

"Yes".

He was not. All his body was being bitten off by frost from his bones. The monster inside of him was raging, knapping. He couldn't lift his right arm. He let the night air soothe him a little, and then Orlaith threw the mantle over him. She stepped so close that he could see every freckle on her nose.

"What's that?"

"A family heirloom. You remember when Grindelwald - Graves - gave you that necklace? Doesn't matter. It's the Cloak of Invisibility".

He didn't ask where they were going, just looked around. He had to hold her around her waist not to let the Cloak slip off of his head. He found it uncomfortable and inappropriately fantastic. He couldn't even think while she was in his arms. In fact, the pain ceased just a little, and it became easier to breathe. He was staring around curiously as they sneaked down the winding stairs.

"Oh, so good it's the nighttime" she whispered, tickling his face with her hair. "No students".

He obeyed her motions, stopping when she stopped, and whispering to the baby when it made noises. Slowly, because they were both adults, and with a baby dragon deer, while the Cloak was designed for only one person - made their way to the lower level. Suddenly, Credence heard conversation. They stepped to the wall, the Qilin between them, two of their palms covering its mouth carefully and gently.

Two students in green ties were treading down the hallway. They stood still while the two boys passed, and then, after a while, Orlaith grumbled,

"Of course it's Slytherin".

And pulled him further.

Finally, they were standing in front of an empty, flat wall. She took the Cloak off and rolled in under her arm.

"What is it?" he asked.

She couldn't hide how excited she was all of a sudden.

"This, Credence, is the Room of Requirement. One of the most tremendous places in Hogwarts. Take my hand".

He complied happily. A rare bird, ghostly bird of freedom was flapping its wings in his chest. Excitement for magic, something unfamiliar to him before, contageously, travelled to him from her. For a moment, he wasn't aching, or tired, or on the run. He was just a boy, looking impatiently, in wonder, at the wall which was changing, transforming, into a door.

She pushed the door, and they entered a huge, light, spacious room with thick red carpet on the floor, with high, tall windows in the ceiling, through which the impossible daylight was flowing; the walls were covered in portraits of witches and banners of birds, and animals, and statues of incredible beasts were in every corner. It was warm here, safe, quiet. Something bubbled peacefully on the intricatly ornamented purple potion desk at the wall; it was an amazing place. In front of him, across the room, there was what looked like a greenhouse entrance, which glowed with white light. As Orlaith let the Qilin go, the baby immediately raced towards the entrance and, in the soft pearl glow, she disappeared inside.

"We're safe here. Not even Grindelwald can find us here, the Room is hidden deep inside the castle, and no one can acess it, who hadn't been inside before".

There were steps leading up onto a little balcony. On either side of it, on the platform, were doors. The left one had the same ethereal glow, but it was somehow bluer. On the other side, the door was most usual, but with a sign of a fairy on it.

"You can stay here. Hey, I'll go pick up dinner".

He drew a breath, still looking around.

"Is this all yours?"

"Well, the Room provides me with what I need. But I designed some of it", she nodded towards potion tabel and two botanic desks with some sort of yellow flowers growing.

"Can I... can I sit?" Credence motioned towards a big, dark-red armchair standing next to a bookcase.

"Of course. Of course, hey, do what you want here. This is going to be our home for the next week, I suppose. Are you hungry?"

He wasn't hungry, he was awashed with the feeling he couldn't put to words. Most likely it was savage, reckless hope. As Orlaith disappeared under the Cloak and left the room, he changed his mind against the armchair. He wanted to see what the gates were, and followed the Qilin.

When Orlaith returned, she found Credence in the vivarium, watching the baby play. She brought her dinner, too, and the beast started stuffing her face. She was growing, and ate all the time now. Orlaith munched on banana bread and had left some food for him in the room. She pulled on his hand, breaking his sunbathing in the field.

"Leave her be", she panted, with a smile, "I want to show you the ocean".

They left the first vivarium and took the stairs onto the balcony. Credence awed at how many books there were here. They entered the second glowing gate, and at first, he thought, he had another episode for there was noise in his head. Blinking in the white sunlight, he realized that it was the noise of the ocean. Grumbling pleasantly, licking on the sharp grey rocks, it was reaching its waves towards him. Orlaith was already running towards the water while he stood, and watched her. She threw herself in the water in her clothes like she was suffocating without it.

The sun did not recognize his white, paperthin skin. He felt out of place here, a black ink spot on this harmonious beach. But he walked on, he removed his shoes and felt the sand under his feet, and then walked into the water to make sure it felt real. It was amazing how he had been kept in a dark tower in the land of eternal winter, where iron bit him, and only ravens circled above the chasm below his windows, and suddenly he was saved. He was utterly saved, he was happy, his shoulders bending forwards, as his knees caved in. He sat in the sand and was silent, tasting the salt of the ocean. Orlaith joined him soon, water dripping from her.

"It looks and feels absolutely real, doesn't it?"

He asked himself if it has all been a dream.

"Does anybody live here? Any animals?" he wondered.

"Only fish and very small crustaceans. And there, in the field, tiny beetles". She smiled. Her eyes were concerned, palpating his face. She gathered her hair into a bun. Credence looked at her neck and the sunbeams from her earrings on her skin.

She laid her head onto his shoulder, and they watched the waves until the sun started to roll across the water. The ocean was quietening, stepping back lightly, the shining changing from white to gold.

Several days have passed, and each day he was coming to the beach. There were cracks on his arms that wouldn't heal, the general weakness which he felt every day right in the morning. He knew what it meant, the boneache and the black visible through his skin. His body was only going to hold on long enough to go through with the plan which they now could finally discuss in detail.

In the bedroom, behind the door with the fairy sign, Orlaith slept in the bed to the left, with the baby curled at her side; and Credence slept in the right. In the evenings, days and mornings, they discussed what they would do. He watched Orlaith cutting the yellow and red flowers off the bushes with thin silver scissors; they dined in the next room where the narrow corridor led. In the oval shaped hall, the knight armour was displayed at the wall, and the banners: red, green, yellow, and blue. She explained that those were the four houses of Hogwarts, but Credence had already known about it. Grindelwald had told him a lot about Hogwarts, the place that Dumbledore had chosen over him. Still, he liked to listen to her as she spoke of Gryffindor. Most of the things in her Room were noble wine-red and orange, in the colors of her house. She said he would make the first Dumbledore who's destined for Slytherin. He asked why. She smiled like it was obvious. Your bravery is quiet, she said, and you're dark. You were right about it, you are dark, but your darkness is the darkness of the room where treasures are hidden. And you're smart, since you're reading my thoughts. In your pursuit of your name you almost turned over the mountains, and nothing could stop you. That makes you a Slytherin, the quiet menace, the undiscovered hero.

"And you're so dark-haired, you look like one", she shrugged. Credence found this playful categorisation entertaining.

"And what exactly makes you a Gryffindor?" he asked.

"Well, I am tremendously powerful".

He snorted right in his tea and apologized. Her smile turned into a laugh.

"You have- do you have any ancient magic by any chance?" he asked. "I don't think you've ever mentioned".

"That's what makes me a Gryffindor", she nodded, still laughing. "Dumbledore constantly tells me I'm too self-reliant and reckless. But it's really hard not to be, whent he earth itself helps me. Also, I'm a Peverell. All Peverells historically are Gryffindors, and they descend from the Gryffindor himself".

"The founder?"

"Uh-huh".

"But did you ever find who you were?" he remembered suddenly. He saw this question ruined her mood in an instance. She gave him an uneasy, doubtful glance. He got frightened.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Instead, she moved closer to him as if she wanted protection.

"I never did, no. I'm occupying the name, the body of an Orlaith Peverell who lived in the sixteenth century. She was, it seems, a lot like me, so I guess, I grew into the persona. But..."

She looked at Credence with trusting eyes.

"I have come into this world after I died. But I was born elsewhere". She put her palms up on the table and observed them. Credence, out of habit, dared to touch them, and she didn't pull away.

"I was born in the world with no magic, no magic at all. Just the planet full of... muggles".

She said the last word almost with disgust.

"I don't remember what it is".

"A no-maj. As a child, I used to read books about magic, but it was so painfully unreal. I grew up with these stories about this magical child who defeated the dark wizard. He was born just like me, thinking he was usual, and then found that he was a powerful warlock. That was the most amazing thing that happened to me. As I was growing up, I got so hung on these stories, that I spent all my time in the countryside, in the woods, looking for the special door leading to the world of magic. And I couldn't find it". She was grim as she spoke, as if she was old. What if she was old?

"Then I became an adult and realized it had all been just a story. Just a product of imagination of a writer. In our world, Credence, we didn't have dragons, and broomsticks, and prophecies, no purple enchantments, no elves, no wizarding schools. Just.... work, buses, taxes, relationships. You get up every day and go to work, and then come back and watch TV... and then go to sleep at night and listen to the traffic".

Credence thought of this world as almost amazing. If he had been born to a place where magic didn't exist, perhaprs he wouldn't have been abandoned. He wouldn't have turned out like he did, he would be normal.

"So... that's how you know the future? You read about... us... in the books?"

"Yes. But everything is different already. Because I didn't use to be in them".

He thought of the concept.

"The worst thing is that I started a family there".

He was taken aback.

"You... had a husband?"

Something like a thorn stung him in the stomach, phantom. Not the obscurial. Other type of pain.

"Yes. But the thing is, that life almost seems like a dream to me now. I forgot my name, or his, and I barely remember anymore... I think, with time, I'll start thinking that that muggle world was no more than a bad dream. A dream".

She looked at him.

"What if it was?" He mused, "just a long dream?"

She shrugged.

"Maybe. The view of the house doesn't seem to leave me. It was autumn, I died in September. I know I left them behind, and I feel... so awful".

He was shaken to his core. He wasn't sure even Grindelwald heard about things like that. There had to be some meaning to her having ancient magic now. She didn't look like a muggle at all, not even in her previous life. He witnessed her lower her shoulders.

"I'm sorry".

"I would not go back", she said quietly, "even if the hellhounds dragged me by my ankles".

They let the thought soar onto the soft carpet.

"Well", she let her hand snake onto his chest and felt for his watch in the pocket. Credence was still getting used to that. He would stay in place, not a muscle move in his body, in concern that she could be scared off. All the while sweat breaking onto his neck from expecting a blow.

"It's late, and tomorrow's the Day", she clicked the watch closed and gave it back to him, "I'll go wash in the river". He nodded, strange feeling of readiness in him. He knew this could be very well the last evening of his life.

Orlaith was thinking about the next morning. They had already decided how they would apparate, how they could avoid being tracked while travelling. And what they would do. Late evening light in her impeccably realistic vivarium made the air relatively cold for the skin straight out of the river. As she walked out onto the grass and picked up he robe, she saw Credence at the gate. She jumped, putting the robe around herself quicky. She called his name, and he started moving. Something eerie was in the way he walked, without the usual stoop, planting his feet firmly into the ground. Unpleasant paranoic feeling crawled onto her skin as she found the baby with her eyes, grazing hundred steps away. She didn't have her wand, she wouldn't think of it. She trusted Credence completely, she knew him. As they approached each other, she decided there was something different. His face was ready and meaningful. He towered over her.

"I was in the river, Credence", she reproached him. He didn't stoop his eyes like he always did, but on the opposite, made them travel onto her neck and then back to her face.

"You need to be ready for tomorrow".

"I am".

"You need to be ready for my death".

He caught her hands which flew to his head.

"Credence, I told you-"

"I know, I know. You won't accept it, and you need me to fight".

In the silence between them his white hand let go of hers, and she touched the side of his face.

"But no matter how long I'm fighting, the obscurial is eating me. And I'm quite tired of fighting it".

Orlaith didn't know what to say. She was childishly opposed. She wanted to shake her head and stomp her foot. He held her wrist so softly, like she was an artifact.

"I want you to know something", he added. Taking her hand, he opened her palm.

"The elf wouldn't think of bringing you the ointment. I made it myself, for burns, from the slug-dragons we used to have at the circus. I sent it with him because I had been listening to your conversations with Skender".

Her throat was caught in a spasm.

"You took care of me".

He kissed her palm like he did before. He kept it to his face as if he was trying to hide. He used to have nothing, he thought. And now he knew who he was, and he had love. He had felt love, he had felt loved. And he was happy.

As his name left her lips again, he touched her neck, traced the invisible line to her shoulder, and back. They kissed, his darkness dissipating a little, with the warm summer fog. The powerful feeling of hope left him through the pores in his skin, for he didn't need hope anymore.

The light was leaving the sky. The need shoved them close to each other, and they held on, watching each others' eyes in the twilight. Now Orlaith didn't know what to say because she had said it many times. She needed him. She wouldn't let him go. She was stubborn, and selfish, and he just watched as she clung on his cooling hand.

"We go tomorrow", he said finally. "Don't be upset".

"I'm not upset", she argued. "Are you upset?"

"No".

The play of words made him smile a little.

"I was thinking. Do you have a Change-Up potion?"

Orlaith frowned.

"What's a Change-up potion?" there was again a spark of fun in her eyes. Maybe he made her drunk a little.

"It's the potion which makes you look like the other person".

"Aaahh. The Polyjuice potion".

"The Poly... juice", he chuckled, kissing her face.

"I don't. You know it takes a month to preapre it, right?"

She thought.

"But I can steal it from Sharp. He must have some in the Potions class".

"Do you need help?"

She looked sheepish but in the end, managed to get it together.

"No, you better stay here. Grindelwald must be looking for you. I'll be quick".

He let her hand slide off his shoulder, and traced her arm with his fingers. What if in a dream, he thought, watching her leave the vivarium, they were both very boring, non-magical? And there would be a lifetime of this, of him being able to hold her like that?

She shoved her head back suddenly.

"Oi! Why do we need Polyjuice potion again?"

"Well, to confuse everybody even further".

"But we'll need to be silent, because voices don't change".

"I know".

"And you'll need to act like me, you know?"

"So, a lot of cursing?"

She nodded energetically,

"A lot!"

Chapter Text

Credence was dying.

He was gathering his stuff, the leftovers of his mind, and leaving this place. Meanwhile, he was watching dreams. Finally, he's seen the obscurial for what it was: a chaotic, confused creature, just like him, unsure of what to do. It wanted in, and it wanted out. It yelled, and gnawed at him, and obeyed him all the while. It didn't really want to hurt him explicitly; most of the time it was just pacing with pain. It was a wound, with blood gushing out of it, and it felt nothing but pain, so pain, it shared with him. Perhaps he shouldn't have fought it to begin with, but it was now too late. The obscurial was turning its forming head, looking around through his eyes. And when it was seeing the ceiling and the window, he saw them, too. He saw faces. The bearded face, the dark face, the freckled face, the beautiful face. It recognized some of them. It remembered the face that it carried once or twice. It knew no language, but he saw this face talking to him, pressing on his chest. Him, it, Credence, the monster. She pressed on his chest, as if trying to keep it in, not out. She sang him a song that lulled him to sleep and he started seeing dreams. It felt like he spoke to her because she replied. She dictated the pictures he saw as he slept.

There would be a boy, she was saying, who will think that the darkness will take him. But it will fail, and the boy will live, because he's strong. And Credence, she was saying, you're even stronger, I think you're stronger. Don't let the darkness take you.

He saw the dreams of New York, and those were the nightmares. He saw the snowy streets, cold, hollow, beige and white. Wind bit his hands like a dog. His skin was breaking apart and dark blood came out in droplets. The wind was so rageful. It was so cold, and he didn't have a coat, and he knew, that at home, it was worse than hell, so he awaited death. The obscurial was dripping from behind his right ear, cracking his skull in two. Someone held his hand. It was a firm, dry grip, someone was shaking him. He was dying, and he didn't recognize them much; he looked at them without any emotion, like he was an empty casket with a face.

Don't fight, don't fight, Credence, the voice said. Let it go. Let it flow.

And he did.

Orlaith left the room and closed the door quietly. It was her birthday, in the middle of summer. She didn't feel like celebrating anything, held by life and death from two sides. Equally painful.

She went outside to look at the street, for a change. They kept the window open in Credence's room at the Inn, but it was still very dense there. Very stuffy. He was releasing so much energy that it ate oxygen. Everything that's been consuming him was predatory, flesh and spirit eating. Sometimes he would tremble and shake, sometimes he would wake up and look at her, or his father, or his uncle, without a trace of recognition. In his eyes, black mist was twirling, it was the obscurial. It's the creature that was opening his eyes and peering outside, at their faces. It was the creature that made his body dance on the bed. The voice used belonged to Credence, but it asked questions about itself. What am I, what are you, what year it was. Why is it so heavy that it can't get up. It was absolutely cemented to his body, and couldn't leave Credence, like he caged it. They were amalgamating.

She saw the older Dumbledore stroke his forehead and whisper. And the obscurial would rest, letting Credence rest, too.

There were people outside, crowded together in the dark street, like someone had used a deluminator on the streetlights. She walked on to see the stars better.

"Orlaith!" the voice called. It came from the group. She turned, looking at them, her eyes adjusting to darkness. Among them, she started recognizing faces. Oh! All of those faces she knew.

"Happy birthday?" Newt exclaimed, with a little bit of doubt.

Those were her friends. Albus Dumbledore, Newt Scamander, the Botanics teacher, Imelda Ginger, Lodgok the goblin, the farmer from the field, Mr Brance, and the serving elf from the castle, Purrypawn. Those were all her friends, she didn't have many. But they started shooting the fireworks in the air, illuminating the street in all the colors of the rainbow. The brightest one was the golden, forming a dragon up in the skies, that flew on, circling above the field, and then on and on, further into the forest. She saw the face of Tina Goldstein, her little nose crinkled in an amazing, wide smile. She'd never seen her before, but knew she existed somewhere. As they laughed, and yelled, and watched the lights, the thunder of the dragon shattered the houses. Credence saw the dreams of the circus tricks, with fire and magic, stars blown up in the air. Among the sparkles, he was seeing the golden sunbeams.

He woke up like someone pushed him with force. He opened his eyes, forgetting what day it was. It was very warm, unusually. Instead of the normal wooden bars on his ceiling he saw various witch amulets swaying on the strings. Weird, he thought, dangerous. If the mother sees that, she shall punish him mercilessly. He put out his hand, covered in old scars, and tried to reach them, but couldn't. Credence sat up, stood on his knees and started tearing them down. Those were the weirdest pranks he's ever witnessed; there was a small glass vile filled with some lilac powder; and a little soft figurine of an owl; and a glistening bronze symbol he didn't recognize. There was a small dream catcher, bright green and blue. He was in the middle of untying them all when he noticed that something was off about the room. It was spacious and light. He sat back in bed, confused, put his hands to his head to cancel out all sounds and think, and discovered his hair had grown much longer over the night. No, something was wrong.

He jumped from the bed and spun around in this unfamiliar room. It was nice; wooden table was propped against the window, and his bed was small but soft, with white sheets. He walked towards the mirror and didn't recognize himself at first. He looked ten years older than what he was supposed to be. The crack on his wrist wasn't itchy as it usually was, and he dug into the little cut with his fingernail. He cleared his throat because his mouth was so dry. Hearing his own voice, it suddenly stung him, like a recollecting spell. He was Aurelius. And he was ten years older. And he wasn't in New York anymore, but in Hogsmeade. He examined his face in the mirror. Apparently, he was also alive. So alive that he even looked healthier. His skin didn't feel cold, the black circles around his eyes went away. He moved without any ache, feeling the longing strength in his limbs. He smelt himself and nearly retched. The sun was dancing in his room, yellow pollen from the flowering trees on the floor. He stomped his foot, making it fly up a little; his hip wasn't hurting, and the pain that always punished him for sharp movements, never came. He looked inside and asked, are you still there?

I am, the obscurial replied, its voice deep and sticky.

Then why am I not hurting anymore?

I'm not hurting anymore, it echoed.

He ran to the shower, desiring nothing more than to wash away all the feverish, strange dreams off himself. He found some clothes in the wardrobe; shirts of his size, some pants, a vest, a black cloak. He put his hair away from his face into a tail on the back of the head. So that he could see better. He put on the white shirt because it fit him the best, and went downstairs, where he found Aberfort.

At first, the man didn't move, but stared at him in dumb silence. Credence watched his face covered in lines form a grimace of amazement. He had a very old face, his father. He couldn't have been older than forty five years of age, but he looked sixty. His eyes faded with the constant darkness he dwelled in; they have lost its light from looking at that portrait of Ariana all the time. He was stooping, like Credence did, but the worst of all was his mouth. Almost upside down, always hidden behind his moustache, it was ever tightly shut. He didn't dare approach him even.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice still not awake completely. He coughed to hear himself better.

"Forty-one days, Aurelius. Merlin's blessing, you have got out. You have made it".

The man cried silently, clutching onto his shy misery. He held onto the back of a chair, hiding his face in his other hand.

Credence walked up to him, put his hand on his father's shoulder.

"Thank you", Aberfort wailed, grabbing his hand like it was an evasive, unwilling ferret. "Thank you, Aurelius, thank you".

The first thing he did was going into the field. How simply good it was, just to live. To breathe without a second breath echoing inside his chest. To walk without every step stabbing his spine. He let the sun kiss him, lifting his face up. From this spot, Orlaith's house was seen. Or, rather, what was left of it after they'd gone. He fixed what he could, put the roof in place, and gathered the pieces of glass and clay crockery, but he didn't remember where was what. He couldn't find the shreds of furniture as they were probably so light - the feathers, the draping - that they had flown away, or had been picked up by birds for their nests. But he was quite pleased with his work. Doing magic was easy. It was less now like bursts of his inner matter, and more like the magic itself. He had to focus to do it. And the wand obeyed him. The monster inside, a part of his soul, the little Credence dying in the cold with unwanted flyers in his hand, was slumbering in the safety of his ribcage as he finally allowed it. He saw his father watching him, always a house away. From the distance. As if he was about to drop dead all of a sudden. Maybe not now, not anymore.

"Um, dad", he asked, approaching. Aberfort flinched like he was hit on the face, "where is she?"

"She went away just yesterday. With Albus, they're looking for Grindelwald. She spent half of day, every day, with you. Albus had to drag her away from your bed".

"When are they coming back?"

"I think today. They aren't far. Go to the castle, maybe they've already returned".

He took a long stroll through the valley, paying attention to everything around him. The honeysuckle, and the bumblebees, the summer pollen in the air, and the black, awaiting mass of the forest, and, most of all, Hogwarts. The name she always said with a special tingle in her voice. He expected the grass and the flowers to whither when he stepped past them, but they did not pay attention. The world around finally accepted him. Credence still wasn't sure this was a promised future, but only clung on the strength, and feeling of having rested for a full life ahead. He felt timidly grateful, undeserving of this beauty, anxiety striking him. This was too good to be true. He could now cut off his old years with a sharp knife and never look back, things like that never happened to Credence. No, but maybe they happened to Aurelius?

The castle stood almost empty, and ghosts, who were not very numbered, prevailed in the halls. He walked quietly, feeling like he was intruding. Hogwarts was, unlike Nurmengard, light, and welcoming. The hallways were wide and made of white stone, and the portraits on the walls watched him with overt curiosity. The fountain in the hall through which he entered had statues of mermaids, who moved their heads as he walked by. There was a soft, barely audible hum to the castle, perhaps those were the walls snoring. He got lost in the unending corridors, the stairs, the unexpected turns. Finally, he noticed the sun started going down slowly. Credence froze in the middle of the corridor, unsure.

"Are you lost, young man?" a female voice asked him. He moved his eyes towards the sound with horror. She was flying on a broomstick, and she was absolutely naked. The witch smiled, eyeing him.

He quickly lowered his gaze.

"I- I'm looking for Albus Dumbledore", he said quietly.

"You're almost there. He's in the Defense class".

"I don't know where it is..." he confessed. The witch hummed and flew away. He stared at the empty frame for a second.

"Are you coming?"

"Excuse me, Bella, would you be kind and leave my painting?" another, unhappy voice called. Credence followed the sound.

"Peace, Formulonda", Bella replied, poison in her voice, "a little reminder of beauty won't hurt you. Follow me, pretty boy".

Credence swallowed, embarrassed for some reason. He walked faster, trying not to lose the sight of her as she jumped from one painting to another. Bella led him through the dim hallway, and then they were in a light one again; they took the stairs up and then entered a wide corridor.

"The big door on your right", Bella said, trying to catch his eye.

"Thank you", he mumbled, and hurried away from her. Now that he wasn't burdened with the feeling of life fleeting from him, he remembered how scary it was, to be seen. Oh, it was hot. It was too much for one day already.

He knocked on the door. There was no answer for a while, but then he heard Albus' voice.

"Yes?" curious, energetic. He didn't know what to expect, and so, as he opened the door, the light blinded him. He saw Orlaith, by the desk together with his uncle, and it finally got to him. This was all real. He really made it.

"Ha!" Albus yelled, clasping his hands together. His smile could break apart the stone. "Ha!" He couldn't say anything else.

Orlaith was at loss of words, but she moved instead. Her eyes, the way they looked at him, they were the most beautiful. Credence prepared himself for the collision as she jumped at him, with her arms open.

"Cre-he-he-dence", she cried. Her little body against his, he realized he had been stooping again, and instead, embraced her, straightening his back.

"I was just away for one day, one day", she was hollering. With the tears on her face, and her hair on her face, too, in the glimmer of her gold, she looked like the greatest thing he'd ever seen; maybe like the wooden spirit, or a mermaid from the hidden pools below the blue rocks.

"You look so healthy, Credence!" Albus noted joyfully.

"I guess I'm better", Credence replied.

"Better? You're absolutely, irretrievably, positively well. Do you feel any weakness at all, any pain?"

Credence shook his head no.

Orlaith let go of him, sniffing, wiping her tears away with a whole palm, like a child, and looked at him closely.

"That is just great", Albus admitted, "good job, good job Credence, and you, Orlaith. I had no doubt it would all work out".

She sneezed out of surprise, hiding her nose in her small palms.

"What do you mean!" she yelled and paused, "no doubts? You told me to leave all hope!"

Albus shrugged and tilted his head guiltily, with such a sheepish smile that Orlaith was stupified.

"Oh, you..." she finally uttered, "you absolute calculating, secret-keeping, people-manipulating, warlock chief. Did you make me, did you make me believe he'd die so that I, what?.."
"Oh, I didn't try to make you suffer, dear. But I did hold a little hope all to myself, I admit. I was really hoping it would work", Dumbledore responded apologetically.

"What would work?" Credence asked. Orlaith's face was moving with some unreadable expressions.

Albus looked at her with some hidden spell untold.

"Well? Don't you know? I thought you'd get it, Orlaith, since you know me through and through".

"Uh..." she puffed, frustrated.

"Love. The ancient magic", he clarified. "Only love could cure an obscurial. And I think I'd told you before at some point, but you didn't seem to pay attention".

She blinked.

"Love", said Dumbledore, "is the most powerful tool of ancient magic. It heals the wounds that would otherwise take the wounded to the world of dead. It shields us from the treacherous dark spells. Love is what cures even death itself sometimes. An obscurial could only be saved with love, from one side, and from the other. Your greatest strength was never your rage, Orlaith, although you seemed to think that. It was love that made the earth help you, the love you felt for the creatures that made the forest defend you. And you", he turned to Credence, "my boy, once you stopped fighting it, and pitied it, the part of yourself that had been nurtured by the lack of love, found its way back to your core. You never fight an obscurial. You understand it. You accept the love that will tame it".

They stood, dumbfounded, in complete awe of Dumbledore's speech.

Orlaith wanted to throw her hands in the air and yell, of course! Of course you are so simply right all the time!

They looked at each other like two schoolchildren, a little bit awkward.

"It would have taken immense strength out of you, of course", Albus added, giving Credence a proud tap on the shoulder. "You, being of our blood, a Dumbledore. You know you will be known as the boy who lived through one of the most trying conditions one could ever, possibly, have".

Credence scratched his neck, wishing he could stare at the wall and digest everything. Suddenly he saw Orlaith's smile leave her lower lip and the teeth biting into it. She gave Dumbledore a look of complete revery.

"What did you say?"

"That he's strong".

"No, after. The boy..."

"...who lived", Albus helped. "Why?"

She gasped, and then gasped again, and her stare became glassy.

"Oh. Oh..."

She gave Credence a desperate, loving look.

"Oh..."

Neither of them understood what's gotten into her. Orlaith looked like she was about to combust into flames on the spot. Thinking proccess reflected onto her face.

"I'll be back", she snapped suddenly, in a very shrill voice. Credence started getting worried. He looked at his uncle after she ran out of the classroom.

Albus was less concerned, - maybe a little, just out of politeness.

"She'll be some time".

"Does that happen often?"

"Once in a while. Do you want some tea? Will you please tell me how you feel now?"

They walked towards the stairs, Credence, throwing confused looks at the door.

Not a single word passable for print crossed her mind as she ran through the castle. Oh no, that was too much. She almost fatigued herself to death by the time she reached the Divinations rope ladder. She was being incredibly lucky - or Matilda didn't have a place to live? because the Professor was still there in the middle of July.

She didn't greet her, but shoved her head into the room, startling the soothsayer almost to death.

"Professor!" she shouted like mad, "I screwed up! I screwed up so much!"

Matilda clutched the dress on her chest in fright.

"What happened?"

Orlaith was stammering.

"The- the- the boy, the vision, remember, when I came to you, the tree, the boy!"

"Yes, yes, I remember that, miss Peverell".

Now, hearing this name was sure horrifying to her.

"The boy you've seen in the crystal ball, don't prevent the tree from growing! The boy!"

"Yes, what about him?" Matilda yelled, "the lost, dark-haired boy, what about him?"

"What eyes did he have?"

She tried to recollect what she's seen. Ah, it was easy for the child had very distinct, bright eyes.

"Green", she replied, "emerald green".

She let go of the ladder and crashed down on the floor, hitting her head on the stone. As she lay there, Orlaith watched the blurry bright opening of the class. Oh, she thought.

Uh-oh.