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Curse of the Reapers by deanine

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Chapter 16 – Fair Trade

History of the World Volume XXXI Chapter 2 The Rule of Turpin – Vociferor

The village of Tarsus in south central Turkey was once a popular get away for the wealthy of Europe. People came to see the temples and pray, to bathe in the springs and soak in the fountains. War came to Tarsus in the summer of 1408 AD. One of the town's most prominent proprietors, Marcus Gumm, was complicit in hiding nearly ten thousand rebel troops prior to an assault on the capital. After the rebellion was stamped out, the Legion was set upon Tarsus as the most visible supporter of the failed action.

The temples were burned, the fountains destroyed, and from the meagre ashes that remained, Turpin rebuilt Tarsus for a new purpose. It was constructed for special executions, long executions. Turpin had always contended that death was a kindness, and true punishment could only be enacted on the living. His charge to the wardens of Tarsus was simple: The men and women I send you should suffer until they beg for death. And they should continue to suffer until their screams turn to madness. Only then will they be rewarded with release.

Among educated scholars Tarsus is now known by its Latin name, Vociferor. More commonly it is simply called the Field, or the Killing Field.

Some prominent wardens include...




Remus woke to the smell of fish and smoke long before he pried his eyes open, so that when he finally peeked at the world, he wasn't completely surprised to find himself in a fish salting house. The wooden walls were stained and warped from years of moisture and slime. Staring at a pile of fish heads and the worker producing that pile, Remus cleared his throat. "Excuse me? How long have I been here?"

"Longer then me," the worker said without breaking from his systematic motions. Position a fish, cleave the head, remove the guts, filet it in two clean cuts, and drop it in the salt bath. Precise work with a sharp knife could be dangerous, and Remus decided not to distract the man any more if he could help it. He headed outside quietly.

It seemed Nyt had saved his life, but decided to keep his gold for saving her crew. She probably reasoned that they were even, since she fished him out of the ocean. Remus frowned darkly. He would have negotiated a discount, but even wolves had to eat. Without money he was better off at the bottom of the ocean. There was no way he was going back to live with the other wolves. Yes, they gave him sanctuary when he was young and alone and hunted, but the code they lived by didn't quite agree with him. He was a man before a wolf, and he refused to live any other way.

It was too soon to visit his parents again. He had left his earnings from Dumbledore with them, and they would welcome him home as always. But they were safe and anonymous in their village in France. His every visit threatened that.

"Remus, where do you think you're going?" Nyt called from across the rutted street. She glanced around to time her crossing between the carts and horses and darted to Remus's side. She was still young and pink-haired, and she was smiling. "Good thing you're finally awake. We can't afford to linger here much longer."

"We can't? Where exactly are we?" Remus spun slowly, but the rundown fishing village wasn't a familiar one.

"We're halfway to Turkey." When Remus didn't smile she rolled her eyes. "Italy then, a little town called Lecce. You'll be wanting to get paid, and I've got to fetch one last crewmember. He's our Secret Keeper, and while I could go get your coin, I can't rightly leave him to his fate. Can I?"

"He's meeting his fate in Lecce?" Remus looked around skeptically. "And why would a captain let anyone else be her Secret Keeper?" It would take quite a lot of trust for a smuggler to trust someone else that much. This other crew member was family or a lover, had to be. Not that either could really be trusted in any case. Nyt was much less intelligent than he had given her credit for.

"Well, might be that I exaggerated my position a bit when we were first negotiating. William, our captain, will honour my deal, but we have to save him too. You don't have to help."

No he really didn't, Remus thought. "If you think I'm letting you out of my sight before I'm paid, you have another thing coming. Where's your captain, Nyt?"

"He's in Tarsus, Turkey." Nyt's eyes flickered away nervously, and Remus knew why immediately.

"Your captain was sent to Vociferor? You really think you can save him from The Killing Fields?" Remus didn't smile or waiver in his gaze. "You're insane."

"I assumed you already knew that about me. Coming?"




How could one person surround themselves with so much pink? Isobel pondered. The classroom she was slouching in had pink walls and drapes with round pink flowers. The professor's desk had pink trim painted on, and an overfull vase of pink carnations sat on the surface, scenting the room with its pink sweetness. The woman behind the desk stood quietly, her pudgy sausage fingers locked together over her round stomach, which of course was covered in a pale pink sweater.

The other students hadn't yet noticed the professor's stare. They were still chattering and punching each other, but her silent gaze was noticed fairly quickly, spreading through the class like a disease. Everywhere it reached, mouths closed and children sat down. No one wanted to be the last person standing. That unlucky student might get a detention, and detention with Dolores Umbridge was not to be courted lightly.

"Hem hem," Professor Umbridge said to the now quiet, motionless class. "We have finished your skills orientation work up. Since we know you are far less than a Class I or II witch or wizard, we can get you started on your own path earlier without wasting your time in history or Latin. You should all be proud. You will be taught skills, honorable professions. And those professions will be tailored to enhance your limited abilities."

The professors who had questioned and prodded and measured them for most of the summer were coming around with envelopes. A flat piece of correspondence addressed simply, Isobel Green arrived on her desk, but she didn't rip into it like so many of the other children. She waited for Professor Umbridge to step away from her desk and dismiss the class. Then she grabbed her letter and made a run for the exit.

Harry was going to be so disappointed.

"Izzy! Wait!" a tallish chubby girl called. "What does your letter say?"

"Go away, Joey," Isobel commanded. "I haven't looked."

"You have to look." Joey held her letter up triumphantly. "I'm a greenie. My natural tendencies lean strongly toward plant care. I'm going to be a gardener!"

"Great, you get to dig in the dirt and encourage plants to get up and grow with plenty of natural fertilizer." Isobel rolled her eyes. "I can see why you're thrilled."

Joey's smile vanished, and she frowned coolly. "You know what your problem is? You think you're too good for class III or IV, but you aren't. You'd be lucky to get as nice a skill-set as greenie. I hate to think where they've put you with your attitude, but I doubt it's going to be pleasant." Without giving Isobel a chance to respond, she spun on her heel and joined a cluster of other students and their open letters.

Wanting to scream at someone didn't mean she should scream at her friends, but Isobel didn't even try to apologize. Joey didn't know anything. It wasn't that she thought she was better. She just couldn't bear for her big brother to find out she was less.




Far removed from London on a quiet, scantily populated mountain, George practiced his Transfiguration. Using his wand without speaking, he glared at the stone resting motionless on the ground. He was going to Transfigure it into a bird, and he was not going to say the bloody incantation to do it. Moody was pleased with few things, but his student's transfiguration work had been a positive point. And George was determined to make the man release him before the summer was over. Fred was still out there waiting for his brother to find him. Moody was just another obstacle on that road.

His Master, Moody, was out getting supplies today, and with a little practice, George would be ready to impress when the old codger made it home.

At least that was the plan before his afternoon visitor crashed through the trees. A troll, tall and grubby and gray, stalked into the clearing, sniffing at the air. George stared without moving as the lumbering creature clomped its way toward Moody's kitchen where dinner was simmering over the fire.

George considered making a run for it, but Moody's orders had been rather specific about him not going anywhere, and he couldn't disobey his master, as he'd proved through repeated trial. Trying to get out of the yard was unlikely to result in anything but his untimely death at the end of the troll's spiked club.

This was an opportunity, George decided suddenly, a chance to prove to Moody that he was ready to be released. He thought about it for several seconds, trying to think of a spell or jinx or anything that he could cast with complete confidence and disable a troll. Then it hit him.

Now that he had a spell and a concept, George extended his wand and concentrated on making the effect big enough to handle his rather large target. Think huge, George told himself, think really big. "Evanesco," he hissed, not bothering with wordless magic as he needed every possible flicker of strength he could put into the spell. If he hadn't cast this well, there would be an angry Troll headed his way rather soon. But he needn't have worried. The ground under the troll's feet literally vanished and the lumbering creature fell out of sight with an earth shaking crash.

George was so excited with his obvious triumph that he didn't notice how well he'd cast the spell until Moody's hut started to list toward the opening. The Troll had been close to the hut, and George's vanishing spell had removed most of the dirt actually supporting Moody's home. "No," George said. "Stay."

But the hut didn't listen. With a groan of timbers, the dwelling split down the middle and crashed into the hole on top of the troll.

The tantalizing smell of rabbit stew still wafted on the wind. "Well isn't that just lovely," George said.

"I disagree. It isn't lovely, but it's functional," Moody growled from the cover of the trees. He moved forward, surprisingly quiet despite his awkward, limping stride. "Nice work. I think you might almost be ready to move forward."

"Ready to move forward?" George's face lit up. "I've been ready for months."




A new transportation circle appeared in the main hall of the group home. Hermione took note of it on her way to breakfast, and decided it could mean only one thing. Summer Quidditch was over, and the players would be coming home. Normally, Hermione picked the spot she studied by where Isobel was likely to go and find trouble, but this morning she grabbed her Transfiguration text and slipped into one of the window seats in the entry hall. The drapes where ancient brocade and so dusty that they had abandoned all colour for grey, but it was a nice safe spot to watch and read.

The Quidditch players started arriving before she finished the introduction to chapter thirteen, Transfiguring Ceramics and China. Hermione closed the book and devoted her attention to watching the players return. An entire summer on a broom seemed to be a fairly good activity for putting colour in one's skin and a smile on one's face. Hermione's own hands were positively pasty. She had spent her days reading and studying.

Harry was going to be very much behind on his summer reading, Hermione decided with an internal snort. When he finally did appear, he fitted right in with the other players. His smile was in place and they welcomed him into their lingering group. Harry had a tendency to do that: slide into groups seamlessly, make friends. It wasn't that Hermione was jealous of that ability, but she wished her friend wasn't everyone's friend sometimes. She had no desire to interact with a dozen Quidditch players, but she had planned to say hello. His gregariousness was making her life too difficult.

She could have sworn he glanced her way, then he broke off from the other Quidditch players and headed for her comfortably secluded window seat. "I could have sworn I saw a bit of brown bushy hair winking at me over here," Harry joked. He pulled back the curtain and joined Hermione without an invitation. "So why are you lurking over here?"

"I'm not lurking." Hermione held up her closed Transfiguration book. "I was studying before the commotion."

"Okay," Harry said without conviction. "Good summer?"

"Passable. I read some essays you should try." She slid one out of the back of her text and passed it over to Harry. "I was going to reread that one today when I finished with chapter thirteen." She patted her textbook.

He glanced at the title, Current Educational Darwinism, a Tool for Efficiency or Oppression? By Melinda Potter. "Wow, I would read it, really, but I haven't finished my Ecology reading yet, or that Spell Casting essay. I'm sorry?"

"No you aren't." Hermione snatched the essay back and sighed. "Of course you would come back from Quidditch camp and try to fit an entire summer's worth of homework into one week." She threw the curtain back and jumped down. "You should really go see your sister. She missed you, and we won't be here long."




Commissioned portraits were a major challenge of Bart Potter's existence. The wealthy always wanted their lives preserved through legacies like children and portraits. Of course paintings you intended to enchant and give life required truth of subject. You had to do a good, near lifelike likeness. And for the bucktoothed, overweight, and pimple-ridden of his clients, that often meant dissatisfaction. Not that he was complaining. Bart drew a fine camel-hair brush along the jaw line of his current commission. He worked for a living just like Melinda had for all those years. And while she had retired, he hadn't... yet. He wasn't ready to take down his shingle and just paint for fun. For fun: the idea just bled some of the purpose out of his daily ritual of heading to the studio.

A paying customer's portrait wasn't about art. It was his job to minimize the negative, emphasize the positive, and still get a nice solid animation out of the finished project. After spending the morning trying to minimize Madame Kachadoria's gargantuan overbite, Bart was ready for a nice break, some sugar cookies, and maybe a spot of tea.

On his way downstairs he passed Melinda's study and glimpsed her pacing the floor. Another vitally important position paper had sparked her inspiration. With a frown he continued toward the kitchen. His wife had been worked up for weeks, studying, reading, and writing with almost every waking hour. It wasn't unusual for her, but she wasn't talking about what had her excited, and that wasn't typical. Bart was accustomed to being his wife's sounding board. She had always liked to hear her ideas. They crystallized when she said them aloud. At least that was what she had always claimed.

Setting the teapot on the burner, Bart's frown deepened. Maybe she had a new sounding board? Albus Dumbledore, maybe? Lighting the burner with his wand, he paused over the sugar biscuit jar and patted his paunch thoughtfully. Maybe he would leave off the biscuits for now. Losing a couple of pounds wouldn't be a bad idea.

"Making tea?" Melinda threw herself into a kitchen chair. "Please make a bit for me."

Bart nodded. "Of course. How is the new project coming along?"

"Very well," Melinda said. "I've completed the second draft, and I'll be turning it in to Albus soon."

"You've been spending a lot of time at his tower lately, working. He must be very helpful for getting your ideas out." Bart turned back to the biscuit jar and pulled out a few of his favourites. "Biscuit?"

Melinda stared across the kitchen at her husband, suddenly achingly aware of the secrets she was keeping from him. But she knew her Bart. If she told him that his grandchildren were alive and having dinner a few miles down the road, he wouldn't be able to wait for Albus's carefully planned depopulation. He was too passionate to listen to logic when it came to his family. "I've been writing a series of articles about Rutilus Terminus, a minor plague that struck the Americas seven years ago. Some medical scholars think it will reemerge this year, on its anniversary. I'm just exploring the possibility for a few publications."

"A few publications?" Bart snorted, not quite believing Melinda's explanation. "From socialist revolutionary, to sports journalist, to medical gossip monger? I'm having a hard time following the plan behind your retirement."

"Retirement isn't required to make sense," Melinda said.

"No, I suppose not. But there should be some rest involved. Don't you think?"




Remus, Nyt, and a small band of her smugglers didn't travel to Tarsus and simply launch a raid Vociferor, not at first. Remus urged cautious planning, so they made camp nearby and settled in to watch the Field function, to formulate a plan. For seven days, they watched the Wardens come and go. Men and women in flowing, crimson robes came and went at seemingly random intervals. Some did their work at night. Some stayed inside the enclosure for days at a time. Though it was an open field only bounded by walls, no sound or smell ever escaped the boundaries. Warded for containment, Remus assumed early on.

"I thought crimson was an educator's colour," Nyt had said one night.

"It is," Remus had replied. "They are teaching Turpin's final lesson."

Eventually a plan was formulated. Two of them would infiltrate the Field wearing the crimson robes of a Warden. Together they would locate William, and using a bit of spell-work, ensure that he was taken out at dawn with the dead. The rest of the team would wait at the pyre where the dead were burned and save him from the fire.

Remus felt uncomfortable wearing the red robes and gold armband of his disguise, but he stood still and waited for Nyt to finish dressing. She emerged from behind a bush, not only clothed in her disguise, but wearing a new older face and darker hair color. She adjusted her armband and fidgeted with the flow of her robes, ruining what should have been an intimidating effect. Her eyes will give her away, Remus thought fleetingly. She couldn't extinguish the light there.

"You know these fake gold third tier armbands are enough to get a girl sentenced to this place," Nyt said as she nervously twisted hers again.

"I've been under a death sentence since I was fifteen," Remus replied. "They can't exactly kill me twice." He frowned at Nyt. "You need to stop fidgeting. Field Wardens don't fidget or smile or..."

Nyt's eyes went suddenly hard and she stopped fidgeting abruptly. "You don't think I can do mean?" she asked coolly. "Don't worry, wolf, I survived my cousins. And they could eat a measly little Warden for breakfast. I know how to blend in with evil."

There was no need to argue the point. The change that had come over her face was sobering, but Remus still had a niggle of doubt in his mind. Could she really fake this when they were faced with whatever was behind that gate? Could he? "We should both keep our hoods up," Remus cautioned. "They don't seem a social lot, but there's no reason to announce our identities."

"This isn't my first trip to the fair." Nyt pulled her hood up and walked sedately toward the path that led the gates of Vociferor.

Remus stared after her, his heart pounding faster now. This was completely crazy. They were just going to walk into the emperor's Killing Field, rescue the smugglers' captain and walk back out. They were out of their mind to consider it. Yet Remus pulled his hood up and followed after Nyt.

Those ominous unguarded gates loomed close all too soon. Tall and neat and black, they threatened silently. Remus felt a slight tingle as he passed through the wards at the gate, and entered the dark screaming world of Vociferor. The smell of long overdue death -- human waste, blood, and sweat mingled together in a stifling miasma that choked Remus. He had to fight to keep his face impassive and his stomach contents in place.

There were corrals along the hall containing individual witches and wizards, but Remus didn't look at them. Nyt had passed them by. They weren't the man they sought.

Though he could turn away from the scenes within the corrals, he couldn't turn away from the near continuous screaming. Some screamed for obvious reasons. There were wardens in their corral, exacting their punishments. Others screamed alone in the dark, perhaps reliving the horrors of their inhumanely drawn out execution. Remus wanted to lift his hands to his ears and scream his own screams, to block out the terrible sound, but he kept walking steady and slow, keeping sight of Nyt.

Their interminable walk ended when Nyt abruptly stopped and entered a prisoner's corral. Remus considered following her, but he had learned from their slow trudge through the maze of Vociferor that wardens worked alone, and he didn't dare draw attention by breaking from that norm. He couldn't exactly linger in the passageway either. Thinking quickly, Remus entered a room across from Nyt and her captain where he could observe and be ready to move.

At first Remus ignored the unconscious man strapped to the table at the center of the room. But his eyes strayed toward him again and again. He was another broken, bloody travesty - mercifully unconscious. A thick mat of greasy black hair obscured his face, and medicinal poultices covered his wounds, healing him to suffer again.

Remus was glad of the obstructive hair, glad to not have a face or eyes to associate with this moment of horror. Remus wasn't sure he would be able to walk away and not help a man with eyes.

A strange, terrible thing happened as Remus stood watching. The man groaned and shifted. His matted hair fell to the side revealing the sallow, beak-nosed profile of a man Remus had quietly hated for his entire adult life. Severus Snape, the man who sold his identity to the werewolf hunters, who sold Remus's life for a silver armband, lay before him. Tortured beyond any punishments Remus had imagined for him, Severus wore no armband today.

Drawing his wand was instinctual and nearly instantaneous. Remus started down the line of his wand and forced himself to just breathe. No curses came flying off his lips as he had often imagined they would. In his childhood fantasies, Severus was wearing his ill-gotten armband and smirking disdainfully. This broken creature, Remus couldn't bring himself to punish further.

Quite suddenly, Snape's eyes opened and he jerked wildly at the sight of the red-robed figure hovering over him, wand-extended. But he didn't scream. For a moment Remus wondered if it was presence of mind or if his ability to speak had simply been damaged, but then Snape stopped struggling and started chuckling. "Am I finally dead then? They've sent the dirty wolf to escort me to Hell." Snape laughed again, this time until he was coughing and gasping for air.

For his part Remus said nothing. The tremor in his wand hand alone betrayed his engagement in the moment.

"Angels of death should not tremble so," Snape scolded, his face hardening. "I must conclude that you are not my freedom, Wolf, but a fake, a facsimile set to confuse my mind, to torture my soul as you've tortured my body. You think you can torture me with regrets! I have no regrets!"

"Spoken like a man with nothing but regrets," Remus whispered. He lowered his wand and turned toward the door's window, to make sure Nyt was still occupied with her Captain. "I'm not here for you, Severus. Our encounter is an unhappy accident. I've no intention of killing you or punishing you. Vociferor seems to torture far more efficiently than I ever could have."

"You would leave a man in this place?" Severus whispered after a moment. "At the very least you should kill me, wolf. Killing is in your blood. You know you want to kill me. I stole your life." The smile growing across his face danced with a strange hopeful mania. "Kill me!"

"There are hundreds of men and women in this place, hundreds. Why would I choose to release you, when I daren't help any of them?" Remus crossed the room in three steps. "You'll die when the Wardens tire of flaying you alive, not before."

"Wolf," Snape hissed the word like a profanity. "I can barter my release. Valuable information is in my head. I was a spy, a spy for Albus Dumbledore. Protect him and his pitiful revolution. Follow your nature, wolf. Kill your enemy."




A bowl of miso soup sat untouched and cooling in front of Lily. She rested her head on her fist and watched the bartender cleaning a stack of glasses the Muggle way with a white cloth. Living in a Vietnamese brothel wasn't as uncivilized as she had expected. The dancers had loaned her some clothes as she hadn't packed for a protracted stay, and the walls were surprisingly soundproof. Of course, living here hadn't been the plan, but leaving James was difficult. Lily knew that she should go back west and continue her traitor hunt with Sirius. She had written a dozen times with no response from him. It was her responsibility to finish. Besides, the sooner she got Sirius free to come east, the sooner James could come home. Newly resolved to leave, she took a quick sip of her soup. She would wait until James and the rest returned, and then she'd set out for home.

The early evening chatter in Vietnamese was like bird song: pretty, soothing, and nonsensical to Lily. But it was what brought her downstairs for dinner. The melodious chattering relaxed her. Lily didn't look up at first when the doors opened to allow six strangers in. Sure it was a bit early, but it was a brothel. People came and went, and they didn't appreciate being stared at. When the comforting chattering began to fade and finally vanish, Lily turned to see who had arrived. The six strangers wore matching black travelling cloaks, but the only feature Lily could focus on was their glowing red eyes. They were Reapers, she realized with a sickening lurch in her stomach. These were the monsters James and Sirius spent so many hours contemplating, trying to understand and destroy.

Her heart thudding in her throat, Lily looked down at her soup and wished that she'd taken dinner upstairs. As a group they claimed a corner booth, but one broke away and approached the bar. He sat next to Lily and barked a long list or orders in rapid fluent Vietnamese at the bartender. She was trying not to look, but Lily couldn't help staring out of the corner of her eye. He was young, too young, all red hair and freckles. He couldn't be more than sixteen. A Reaper?

The bartender nodded nervously and started setting bottles of sake out.

Cautiously, Lily set the money for her soup on the bar and slid off her stool, trying to escape. She barely made it a step when the young Reaper had grabbed her by the arm. Achingly aware of her clothes, and that she was dressed like an employee, Lily tried to breath normally. He shouted a question in a suggestive tone toward the bartender. God, he's asked what you cost, Lily thought with a sickening wrench. Her wand was in her pocket. He would get a surprise if he tried to bed her against her will.

The Reaper pulled her close, and ran a hand suggestively across her chest. He lifted a handful of her hair and breathed deep. Then as suddenly as he had begun to grope her, he stopped. Another of the Reapers, another child, this one a pretty blond girl, slapped him and turned a murderous stare on Lily.

She'll kill me, Lily thought. And her only chance to defend herself was hopelessly trapped in the inner pocket of the pale blue dress she had borrowed. The blond pushed her companion behind her, before turning her wand on Lily with a flurry of wordless hexes.

Lily choked on her screams as the spells hit her. They soaked through her skin, burning all the way to her bones. As though the infliction of agony were an aphrodisiac, the two Reapers embraced and kissed over Lily's writing form.

No one in the bar dared approach the suffering woman to help her. A Reaper's fun was not to be hindered. The music resumed tentatively and people went about their business cautiously.

Once the pain had passed, and Lily dared open her eyes again, the world looked different, washed out and colourless. She was still in the bar, now sprawled in the floor. Conversations had resumed, but they were strained and quiet. Using a nearby barstool, Lily was able to pull herself into a sitting position.

And she stared at her hands.

Her fingers looked swollen, knobbly, and they were covered in a thick layer of viscous slime. Lily gasped in a lungful of air and struggled to control her temper. She'd been hexed with some sort of slime skin because the bitch's boyfriend had groped her. Lily scanned the room until she spotted the Reaper who had done the casting. The woman was cuddled next to her lover, but she was looking toward Lily and giggling uncontrollably.

As much as she wanted to cast a few hexes at the psychotic creature, Lily mastered her rage and looked away. If half the stories were to be believed, she was lucky to be alive. Now she just needed to get word to James not to come back here. Using the barstool as a crutch, Lily was able to regain her feet, though she was too sore to straighten up completely. Her feet were swollen and grey as well. Her slippers now four sizes too small, were encased in the puddle of the slime she had secreted... as was her long red hair. Lily's breath caught in her throat when she realized that the curtain of hair that normally rested on her shoulders wasn't slicked down with slime and still attached to her.

The blond bitch was laughing louder now, obviously enjoying Lily's discomfiture. For her part, Lily straightened as best she could and headed to the stairs without speaking or touching her head. She refused to give that creature the satisfaction. Mentally shivering at the disgusting squishing her every motion created, Lily climbed the stairs.

As soon as she reached the landing, out of view from the bar, some of the girls rushed to her side. They ushered her to the room she had shared with James for so many weeks and quickly sealed the door. One of the girls had turned the mirror toward the wall. Lily winced to think how she must look for them to think removing the mirror was a kindness.

One of the dancers stepped forward with a Translation Conch. "We sent for the Healer. You will be okay."

Lily nodded and tried to speak, but her throat felt thick -- wrong. "Healer." She managed to choke around a long stream of slime that flowed from her open mouth. She winced at the sound of her voice but she had to speak now. She needed their help. "Warn James," she croaked. "Reapers."

The girls looked at each other nervously. But the girl with the conch nodded to Lily. "They always stop in the garden before coming in. I will intercept them."

The dancers hurried from the room. Judging from their stiff expressions, remaining in her company was not pleasant at the moment. Lily watched them go, hunched and terrified. The Healer was going to fix her, and at least James would be safe. She looked at her misshapen lumpy hands and shuffled resolutely to the mirror. If she were smart she would wait for the Healer and never look at what had been done to her, but Lily needed to know. She turned the mirror around and tried to stand straight. A hopeless endeavour, she realized quickly. She wasn't stiff. Her spine was twisted, curved. She grimaced, but it wasn't a human face grimacing back. Flat lidless, yellow, circles had replaced her human eyes under a layer of slime. Her grey skin sagged loosely on the new amphibian bone structure of her face. Her arms and legs had drawn down into spindly sticks with swollen, meaty hands and feet. Her breasts sagged down the sides of her newly grown, fish-belly-white bulbous abdomen. It had literally burst through the blue dress, shredding it.

A gut wrenching sob welled inside her, bubbling from her too-wide frog-mouth as a reverberating croak that she couldn't control for several long embarrassing moments.

Lily slapped her slimy hands over her mouth and fought the waves of sobs threatening to roll out of her as croaks and rumbles.

High-pitched, gleeful laughter floated up from downstairs, and Lily lost her hold on her tears. Hysterical sobs filled the room with guttural croaks, and slime streamed steadily from her mouth, coating the floor until it trickled into the hall and down the stairs.




The smuggler's captain, William, looked like Hell. He was bruised and bloodied and unconscious. But he was alive, and that was everything at the moment. All this for killing a guard, all this for Maggie, Nyt thought bitterly. Back in England while the smugglers were in holding cells awaiting adjudication, a guard decided to have a little fun with the ladies. He stunned the wandless girls and entered their cell, but the genius didn't stun the men in the cell next to them. William got an arm around the pervert's neck, and didn't let go until the bastard wasn't breathing. He protected his Maggie.

"I told you being a gentleman was overrated," Nyt whispered. She stroked his thick brown hair back off his sweaty forehead, achingly aware that this would be the last time she'd ever touch him like this. She had loved him since she was a scrawny teenager, though he had never returned the sentiment in more than a brotherly way. Now he had Maggie, who he loved completely. And honestly, Nyt was tired of fighting for someone who had never even been able to see her. "Time to get you out of here, Captain," she said abruptly. Time to move on.

"Tardus Vita," she cast. A shimmer of blue settled over his skin. His heart slowed and his breathing seemed to stop. His life signs had slowed to the point that they were indiscernible from death. Now she and Remus just needed to walk away and let them discard this dead prisoner with the rest.

The gate behind her banged and Nyt spun, a hex on her lips, but it was just Remus. "Idiot, I could have hexed you," she snapped. "I'm coming. He's under."

"Not yet," Remus said. "We have a problem." He pointed to a red flag attached to the door. "Those turn black when the occupant dies. He won't be taken with the dead if we don't fix it."

Nyt didn't ask Remus how he knew about the flag. She reached under her robes and withdrew a small dagger. Then she split the seams holding the black lining of her robes in place and extracted a neat square of material. "Sticking charm and we're in business," she said.

Together they attached the black material over the red flag to keep from interfering with any possible wards. "Now we need to go," Remus said. "I want to be clear of this place before dawn."

Tweaking the droopy flag nervously, Nyt nodded. This time she let Remus lead the way, retracing their path through the maze of human misery until they were free, walking through fresh clean air. The predawn felt silent and strangely bright after the darkness and the screams of Vociferor.

Nyt continued to follow Remus, the terrible smells, screams, and images still fresh in her mind. She followed Remus and prayed that the remainder of their plan went forward smoothly. She didn't think she could walk into that place again.




Holding the translation conch, Pai was waiting when the Animagi appeared from the forest. She greeted them after the shimmer of their change had passed. "You can not enter," she said simply. "We are entertaining Turpin's Reapers. They seek your companion, the dog. We have told them nothing, but you must go, and you may not return."

"Thank you," James said. "But Lily? Is she still here? I have to make sure she's safe."

"She is safe," Pai lied smoothly. No woman would want her lover to see her in the state Lily was in tonight. "Go."

James sighed and nodded. "Did she leave a letter, any word?"

"She is going home," Pai replied. "She will see you soon." With that she turned away and hurried back inside. Croaking noises were trailing down the stairs, Pai noted quickly, as was an unpleasant stream of black slime. The Reaper who had cursed the westerner seemed to find no end to the amusement of listening to the croaks of pain. She was laughing with every other breath. Pai sniffed. The smell was no laughing matter. The slime was emitting an odour like a rotten cabbage baking in the sun.

At least the Healer had made it to the bar, she noted with relief. A young man, he was sitting and drinking. One of the youngest girls was on her hands and knees scrubbing the mixture of slime and hair off the barroom floor from where Lily had changed. Pai touched the Healer's elbow and bowed. They needed to do something about their guest before they were swimming in the disgusting slime.

He smiled at Pai and followed her upstairs, seeming to understand the need for caution downstairs without being told. He frowned at the slime they were forced to wade through but trailed the river to its source. Lily was curled in a corner of the room, sobbing out croaks and slime in an unending river. The Healer nodded to Pai and pointed to the door. "I will see to her." Pai took a moment to hand the Healer the Translation Conch before taking her leave.

With a sigh, he crossed to Lily's side where the slime was deepest. He took her by the arm, pulled her around, and slapped her soundly. The croaking stopped abruptly, though slime continued to flow languidly out of her open mouth. "I am the Healer, Heiko. What is your name?"

It took a moment, but her jaw started working. "Lily," she managed to strangle out.

The Healer winced and patted Lily's gooey shoulder. "I will do my best to keep the questions, yes and no, but you try to answer as honestly as you can?" Lily nodded. "Good. Those red-eyed creatures, are they really Reapers?" Lily nodded. "And this hex was performed by one of them?" Lily nodded again. "Did you hear the incantation? Any word could be helpful." Lily shook her head no.

The Healer smiled faintly and took a sample of the slime. He set his instruments from a small bag out on the table and began running tests on the black liquid. After a few moments he chuckled humourlessly, and turned back to Lily. "I'll tell you what I know, and I need you to try to help me put together what led to this. They have transfigured you into a form of Bog Golem. Fortunately, I recognize the species. They aren't the fashionable punishment they were a few centuries ago, but the witch who hexed you is ancient enough to have used something interesting. I'm assuming it was one of the witches, and that you used to be a reasonably pretty girl." He waited for Lily's nod. "Did you have an intimate moment with one of the men? The legends say the Reapers are paired and possessive, that they can be quite vindictive for the slightest offence." Lily nodded, unable to enunciate the groping that lead to her current state.

"That's enough for now," Heiko said. He returned to his bag and extricated a potion. "I want you to sip this throughout the night, every hour until I return tomorrow. It should help, but it isn't a cure. I know you don't want to continue to change, and this should stop the spell from progressing."

Lily's yellow eyes widened. She'd assumed the change was over. When she tried to stand, to go to the mirror and see if she had lost more of her humanity, she couldn't rise. The curve of her spine had twisted again so that she had to shuffle awkwardly on all fours, just to move. A choked croak bubbled out of her, the sound of her sobs.

"Quiet now." Heiko pushed Lily back into her corner as she croaked her horror. "You have to keep your wits about you and drink the potion. Don't sleep, don't miss an hour. Drink until I return." Heiko waited for Lily to stop croaking and nod her understanding. "Every hour," he repeated. "Now I fear the proprietor will throw you out at first smell. In your current state, the aroma isn't discernable, but you stink like rotting vegetables. If he comes tonight and you are expelled, go into the woods and let your instincts lead you to the river. Your instincts will be strong now." He smiled at Lily as though he could still see the girl who needed his help, through the hideous shell. "Keep your wits about you. Drink the potion. I'll find you if you aren't here."




It was already burning when Remus and Nyt arrived at the pyre. William was safe and being tended by his Maggie. The bodies on the pyre were just the dead, the lucky ones that Vociferor had finally released. Nyt made no move to rejoin the other smugglers or to interrupt Maggie's ministrations. She lingered back and watched with Remus beside her. "How did you figure out about the flag," she asked suddenly. "It was very convenient."

At first she thought that Remus wouldn't answer. He gazed silently at the blazing pyre as the bodies of the dead were consumed. "A man I once knew begged me to kill him. I took pity on him."

Nyt nodded and turned toward the flames, unable to find the right words to comfort or commiserate. The Field was far more horrible than she had imagined it could possibly be. It ate at her soul that they had walked past so many people suffering without helping them. Remus had risked their lives by acting, but she couldn't fault him for it. "What you did for your friend was a mercy. You can't feel guilty for that."

"I never said he was my friend," Remus intoned emotionlessly. "Hating him has been a constant in most of my life. Hating the dead, does that make me evil?"

"No wolf." Nyt hadn't expected such vehemence about the man he had killed. She hadn't expected hate. "Hating him, and still leaving him in that place would have been evil." She reached out to him, touched his shoulder. "You are..."

"I am a wolf." Remus shrugged her hand away. "And we kill our enemies, best not to forget it."




Heiko need not have worried about the proprietor casting Lily out. After the Reapers had their evening of fun, they set the brothel on fire and killed anyone who tried to extinguish their bonfire. Lily smelled the smoke, and potion in hand, she crawled to the door. But it was locked. They locked her in. She need only cast a simple Alohamora to open it, but when she fumbled her wand free from what remained of her dress, she couldn't make the magic work. Tears of frustration bled into the ichor on her face. With a frustrated croak she shuffled to the window and crawled out onto the steeply sloping roof. The slime exuding from her every pore worked against her, lubricating any chance she had of not sliding off in an uncontrolled heap.

From the ground, Lily croaked pitifully. At least she hadn't broken her neck. Lucky girl. She lifted her hand holding the Healer's potion, scared that it would be shattered and empty. All that remained of what had been a flask of bitter white liquid was a splintered stem. Unlucky girl. Another croak slipped past her lips, and Lilly licked what she could of the potion off the grass. Looking up at the burning building one last time, she scrambled forward into the woods. Moving as quickly as she could, Lily followed the smell of the river. Heiko had been right, her instincts were strong if she could smell something as subtle as the water when she was surrounded by the smoke of a burning building. She hurried, first awkwardly and slowly; running became easier as her change continued. She wasn't running so much as run-jumping by the time she reached the river.

The river was a safe place. Lily knew it was an instinct of her current form and not logical, but when she found the water, wading in made her feel calm, at home. She submerged herself past her broad mouth, leaving only her golden eyes and slit-like nostrils exposed. Her round belly cramped from hunger, and Lily moved instinctually digging in the mud until she had a handful of slugs in hand. Her rational mind seemed to be slipping away, taking a back seat to the instinct of this form. She watched and tried to exert her will, but Lily had no say in what was happening now. The slugs were sliding down her throat and now the croaks were coming not as sobs but as calls for a colony. The Bog Golem was seeking others of its kind.

Lily panicked, struggling to regain control. If she slipped into a colony of these things, Heiko might never find her. She wasn't going to live like an animal for the rest of her life. She wasn't going to live the life that the Reaper had planned for her. Lily screamed, human in her own mind, and silenced the creature living in her skin, for the moment.




James transformed from his stag form abruptly and spun around. "It's not right," he said. The other Animagi came toward him, transforming back to their human forms.

"Say again, Admiral?" Edgar asked. "What's not right?"

"Lily would never have delegated meeting us in the garden. She wouldn't have left until she was sure we were safe." James stared back the way they'd come. "Am I the only who is smelling smoke?"

"No sir," Edgar said. "We all smell it. And it just means we keep moving. She can't be back there now, can she? It's burning. We have to move forward."

James didn't answer for a long moment then he turned to the soldiers. Fire took his children. What if Lily was still back there? "I'm turning command over to Edgar. Get to safety. I'll find you at the rendezvous point." James returned to his stag form and raced back into the woods.




Bent low over his ecology essay, Harry scribbled frantically, while his sister sprawled at the end of his bed and kicked her legs. The steady jolts to his bed weren't helping him concentrate, but he was hard pressed to find the heart to scold her. He hadn't seen her in three months and he missed the pest. Harry stopped mid-sentence on his ecology essay. What were the odds that they'd have an ecology lesson first day back? He could just finish the essay when he made it back to school. With a definite snap, he closed his ecology text. "Okay, dwarf, what have you been up to?"

"Absolutely nothing," Isobel said despondently. "I wish you weren't going to school so soon. I swear you weren't here for two weeks all summer."

"Enjoy it," Harry quipped. "In two years you'll be in school with me and waxing nostalgic over the days when your brother wasn't in your face so much."

"Whatever," Isobel muttered. "Maybe I don't want to go to your school?"

"Right, cause everyone wants to go to class IV and weave rugs for a living, or better, herd Flobberworms!" Harry chuckled at his own joke, but Isobel frowned darkly.

"My friend Joey is going into Class III or IV as a Greenie Specialty. And she's happy."

Harry winced as though Isobel had just said her friend was sick or crazy or had bad personal hygiene. "Yeah, there were several kids in my age group that got bumped out of the real classes early. I almost envied them not having to learn Latin." Isobel still wasn't smiling so Harry decided to get her laughing. Nine-year-olds started Latin, and insulting each other was always the first thing they learned to do. "Vobis nidor tanquam oryx." He waited for Isobel to translate and get offended, but she just scowled at him blankly.

"Speak English you blockhead," Isobel commanded.

"Come on, Dwarf, you know that much Latin by now." Harry ruffled his sister's hair but she rolled off the bed and away from him. Her bottom lip had slid forward, threatening tears, and Harry threw up his hands. "I was just kidding. Sorry."

"Latin is stupid, and I don't need it anyway," Isobel announced. She stalked over to her bedside and pulled a carefully folded letter out from under her pillow.

"Dear Ms. Green, You received your strongest recommendations from Professor Kilgore. This indicates a pre... a predi..." Isobel abruptly dropped the letter as her voice cracked, and she raced away.

Worried and more than a little confused, Harry stared after his sister for a long moment. Then he took the letter and read it for himself. "...A predisposition for metal works and crystal growing." Her friend Joey wasn't the only one prematurely pulled from classes. Harry had never felt more foolish, cocky, or insensitive. He had assumed that Isobel would follow him wherever he ended up. "Izzy! Come back," Harry called. "I'm sorry okay!" The other kids in the dorm, many of whom were trying to finish their summer homework, glared at him for shouting. Harry ignored them as he sprinted after his sister. Isobel was already long gone, but Hermione was sitting there on the hall floor reading another essay. He didn't bother to ask why she wasn't on her bed or in a chair. Hermione studied where she liked when she liked. "Izzy?" he asked.

She took one look at him and the letter in his hand. Then she nodded at the stairs. "Try the roof. She likes it up there."

"Thanks." Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry made for the roof. The never-locked rusty door handle turned easily, and he found her. She was sitting under an eave, her knees drawn up to her quivering chin. They had an expansive view of Old London and its rotting roofs from here. Of course it wasn't exactly a safe place to play. The roof sloped slightly and there was no guardrail. But Harry didn't tell Isobel she was going to break her neck coming out here. He held up her letter and smiled. "This looks pretty interesting, and no stupid Latin either. I don't know why you're upset." He took a seat beside her and stared out at the roofs.

"It means I'm stupid and useless," Isobel said. A few of the tears that had been swimming in her eyes fell, but she didn't break down sobbing. She made herself breathe steadily, be strong.

"Nah," Harry said. "Divination stones don't tell you who's smartest. Hermione is smartest in our year and the stones didn't set her first in class."

"No, they set you first in class." Isobel felt too ashamed to look at her brother. He had to be so disappointed in her. "I'm sorry."

Harry put his arm around his sister and pulled her close. "I don't care about a stupid stone, or what class you're in. You are my sister. I love you and will be proud of you, forever. Don't ever apologize to me for who you are. You are perfect."

With her big brother holding her and her secret finally out, Isobel felt better. She felt safe. She didn't feel perfect, but Harry thought she was. And she couldn't help reciprocating that feeling.

Isobel just wished she wasn't always being left behind.




Author's Note:

Anyone who questioned whether James and Lily had been notified about their children, you read the clues last chapter well.

There is a lot coming at you in this chapter: Snape's death at Remus's hands, Lily's complete physical transformation at the hands of a Reaper, and the horror that is Vociferor. This is a dark chapter, in many ways another look at what makes Turpin's world unacceptable and inhumane. But I tried to sprinkle glimmers of light in. The bond between Harry and is sister is featured, as is his friendship with Hermione. George's hope to save his brother lives.

Yes, I left Lily at a cliff-hanger, one that I intend to resolve first thing next chapter. Next chapter will be about school and Riddle predominantly. Their time has come.

One final thing, forgive my brutalized attempt at a Latin sentence. I'm sure the grammar is atrocious.