History of the World Volume XXII Chapter 2 The Rule of Turpin – Healing Revolution
The practice of herd-healing methods on the Muggle population was first proposed by Senior Healer Cecil Ross. He proposed three adjuncts to improve Muggle health. Teaching them to clean themselves was perhaps the best received of the three. It required little commitment from the Healer community to instigate and though it met with only limited success amongst the Muggle populace, was considered a positive move.
His second proposition, cull the weak and elderly, was met with less enthusiasm by the Muggle community. Some proponents of the good health practice blame Muggle religion for the riots and subsequent unrest in the trial zone...
Dry desert wind curled through the many towers of the Emperor's fortress. On clear nights, the tower tops filled with witches and wizards, who lifted their golden telescopes to study the stars. Most towers held social circles, intimate groups studying the future together, but the tallest tower held only one witch. She preferred to study alone. Her thick, black hair fell in a neat plait down her back, and she wore simple comfortable cotton robes for this activity. There was no one to impress here, no need for silk or brocade or jewellery.
Gazing through her telescope, the woman anxiously chronicled the position of the planets. Mars ascending, conflict ahead. Venus in opposition, love tested. She lowered her telescope and lifted a hand to her chest, where a fluttering uneasiness had lingered for days.
She was the Emperor's seer, Spero, a name almost no one knew. Her identity was simply an extension of Turpin, like a limb or another eye. But she hadn't told Turpin of the unease in her chest, not yet. She needed to find the source of the flicker of change, before the chaos was upon them. Seers learned patterns, and Spero knew not to ignore her feelings. The last time she felt change coming this strongly, she was a girl of fifteen studying divination. That had heralded the Emperor's summons to court and her new life.
Fifteen-year-old girls fell into love easily, and Spero had loved perniciously since that beginning. After centuries of experience, she knew her feelings would never be requited. Turpin valued her, trusted her; he even coveted her body enough to bring her to bed from time to time, but he never loved her. He never would. But their endless dance of need and love and lust were a status quo Spero was quite content to perpetuate.
But the butterfly in her chest refused to be quieted.
She lifted her telescope and began searching for the moons of Saturn. Any clue of what might be coming; knowing might make all the difference.
"I didn't think the emperor allowed you out of court." Oscasia moved out of the shadows, dressed immaculately in white silk with gold baubles dripping from her fingers, ears, and dramatically-coiffed hair. "Anything interesting changing in the heavens?"
Spero let her telescope drop again, a resigned frown on her face. Few of Turpin's court would dare disturb her atop her tower. This particular priestess would linger as long as she liked. "Oscasia, to what do I owe this visit? Isn't the stone working?"
"The stone is functional." Oscasia folded her arms and sighed. "But the search is not going well. We've found them all, and within the epicentre, but only one in the hottest zone and none a high-risk according to Mabel. It is supposed to be smoother than this, easier. It reminds me of the beginning, when the stone was newly forged and I had to comb the world looking for the Reapers."
Spero tried to still the butterfly flapping madly in her chest as dull suspicion took hold. Was this the impending change? Were they going to finally find the seventh and complete the Reapers? Or were they going to lose one of the six? Was this a good butterfly of change or bad? "You must not have stacked the population sufficiently yet. Mabel's numbers only work if there are so many Muggle-borns in the hot zone that the choosing becomes easy. The smaller the population size, the more outliers there will be."
"I've stacked the population," Oscasia said coolly. "I have been doing this for some time now."
"Are you going to blame Mabel if a Reaper escapes the system? You seem to be the easiest to blame." Spero returned Oscasia's cool, angry look with a calm smile. "I like Mabel."
"You think you'll protect Mabel and throw me to the wolves?" Oscasia asked. "Be careful that you don't fall from favour. We might all end up executed if a Reaper were missed." Oscasia moved closer to Spero and actually caressed her unnaturally youthful cheek. "For now, I should head back down to the temple. I have never missed the rebirth of a Reaper. Would you like to join me?"
Spero shook her head emotionlessly, careful not to betray her disgust at the ritual Oscasia had long ago perfected. "My duty tonight is to study the stars. Which Reaper are you rebirthing tonight?"
"Fastosus; pride, and such a handsome boy this time – Cedric something or another. He had left school to start an apprenticeship. It took me weeks to locate him." Oscasia turned to walk away. "Are you sure you won't come?" She smirked when Spero shook her head. "You never could stand to listen to someone scream."
The hospital kitchen in Anuk catered to a variety of clientele, Healers and assistant Healers, patients and quarantined prisoners. Celia was solely responsible for feeding one group, and she started her days early. The main kitchen staff delegated her a fire, a pot, and the third rack of the oven.
Even in the chill winter a window was left open, allowing the room to breathe. Celia was loading her cart with the morning's breakfast, mash and a nice fruit cup, when she first saw the squirrel. He was a pretty little rat, with a slick, black nose and shiny brown eyes. He cocked his head to the side and chittered softly. A chill of pure pleasure shivered up Celia's spine, and she stole a piece of toast from one of the breakfast plates. She set the bread on the edge of the window sill, certain that the wild thing would scamper away. But he waited for his toast, and as soon as she'd stepped back he scurried forward to eat it. Little beggar's been trained for scraps at that window, Celia thought. Cute little thing.
With a happy smile, she finished loading her trolley and headed for the doors of Quarantine.
She had descended the tunnel and was walking the aisle delivering food before she spotted the squirrel again. His bushy, grey-ticked tail bouncing along behind him, he jumped from her trolley and darted down the hall.
Ceilia's mouth fell open, and if she could have spoken, she would have cried out. The poor creature had hitched a ride with her, looking for more food undoubtedly, and he had trapped himself in a windowless dungeon. She wrung her hands and stared after the lost thing.
She would have to lock the door on the way out. There was just no way around that. Maybe the squirrel would ride back out? Celia delivered another tray of breakfast and another, all the time trying to spot the poor lost squirrel. As she was finishing the first row, she turned and spotted him, peering through a room's food slot. The creature turned toward her and she could have sworn he bowed.
The squirrel jumped down and, like a charging bull, headed toward her at full speed. Before her eyes the air around the squirrel shimmered, and instead of a tiny mammal racing at her, a short man was barrelling towards her. He tackled her into the wall and with a crooked smile on his face, he whispered, "Sorry, love."
Edgar ripped the key off the mute Muggle's belt and cracked her skull against the wall firmly, knocking her out. Master key in hand, he unlocked the room he'd just had a peek into. Sirius Black, his Captain, turned to face him, paler and a bit thinner, but seemingly okay. He smiled nervously, suddenly worried that he might have miscalculated his rescue attempt. "You aren't actually nuts, are you captain? You know this is an asylum?"
A grin spread over Sirius' face and he shook his head. "Do I look crazy?"
"Honestly, no more than usual, sir," Edgar replied, returning Sirius' smile.
Since narrowing his classes down, Professor Riddle met only two groups of second-years, a group of four and a group of three. Normally Harry and Draco would pair up for practicing in other classes, but as the other two members of their class were Hermione and Lisa, they tended to split up so the girls didn't kill each other.
Riddle stood between the pairs with his arms crossed. "I expect you have mastered shielding by now. It should make practicing the different stunning jinxes more challenging. I want you to each treat this like a duel. Neither of you is assigned to attack or defend. You must do both appropriately. Only use shield charms and stunning jinxes. Questions?" Hermione raised her hand, and Riddle ignored her. "Begin!"
"Griposlanks." Harry cast quickly, exploiting Hermione's wand hand, which was pointing toward the ceiling. Her knees and elbows flew together and she tumbled to the ground.
"Point to Green," Riddle said. "In polite duels, combatants bow first, then attack. Of course, I've never been in a polite duel that mattered."
Harry soaked in Professor Riddle's praise. As unpredictable as everyone warned that the third tier wizard was, Harry loved this class, and the hint of danger it brought, best. For her part, Hermione was frustrated and more than a little angry with him, he could tell from the glare she levelled at him from the floor. That much anger generally meant he had sewn up the duel. She lost clarity with her temper. Making spells work became very difficult without clarity. Riddle paced between the two pairs commenting occasionally, but after Harry had stunned Hermione for the fifth time, Riddle stopped them. "Switch pairs," he said. "Draco take Hermione. Harry take Lisa." As Hermione switched sides, Riddle scolded her. "You can do better. Anger can be a tool. Breathe and let it cool. Cool anger is a diamond."
Harry had his hands full duelling with Lisa, making it hard to keep up with the other pair, but he thought Hermione was faring better with Draco. Riddle didn't stop to scold her again anyway.
After class, Riddle motioned for Harry to stay behind. He went behind his desk and settled into his seat. "You made her angry on purpose. You knew her, and you used her weakness to ensure your victory."
Standing there, with Riddle's unflinching blue-eyed gaze on him, Harry wasn't sure if he was being congratulated or scolded. Hearing Riddle say it like that, that he knew her and used her weakness against her, Harry felt his cheeks go pink from shame.
"Do you know why I teach first and second year Dark Arts?" Professor Riddle asked. "You don't see many third tier wizards clamouring to teach here."
"I assume you like to teach." Harry paused for a moment, thinking about the conversation he'd had with last year's second-years in the spring. "And there's a rumour that you're looking for an apprentice."
Without betraying a hint of emotion, Riddle cocked his head to the side. "I'm watching you," he said. "You can go."
Hermione was waiting for him outside, and if he couldn't quite tell whether Riddle was pleased with his actions, he knew exactly how Hermione felt. He didn't stop walking to greet her, instead continuing a steady pace toward the Great Hall and dinner. "Low blow, Harry," she snapped. "I'm of a mind to break your nose again."
"Breaking my nose is a favourite pastime of yours," Harry said, without any real fear. Hermione talking about violence wasn't dangerous. Quiet Hermione was the girl who maimed her enemies with her fists. "I shouldn't have hexed you before you were ready, okay. It was unfair and low, and I feel bad."
"You shouldn't," Hermione said bitterly. "You're playing Riddle's game. He doesn't want us to play fair. He expects that kind of behaviour, or couldn't you tell by the way he fawned over you."
"I said I'm sorry, okay." Harry stopped walking and stared at her earnestly. "I won't do it again."
"No." Hermione shook her head adamantly. "It won't pay to play honourably in that class, for either of us. I just need to know that you can see, that you care that it wasn't honourable."
"I wasn't honourable," Harry agreed. "And I do care."
"Then we're okay, and I can let your nose remain intact this time." Hermione offered him her hand, and she actually smiled. "But I'm not playing fair in there anymore either. In Riddle's class, we play as dirty as he'll allow."
Harry nodded. "Agreed." And they shook on it.
Before she let go of his hand, Hermione added, "From now on, I'm pairing with Malfoy." She walked past Harry looking entirely too pleased with herself. Harry watched her go, a shocked expression plastered across his face, but all in all it wasn't a bad thing. She and Draco could work out their frustrations with each other in the semi-controlled environment of Riddle's Dark Arts lessons, and he could hex Lisa, someone he was less intimately acquainted with. He only wondered how Draco would take the news.
The sound of the upstairs shower signalled to Lily that James had decided to break their self-imposed seclusion. For days they'd lived quietly, washing up in the first floor bathroom, careful not to properly open the house and signal their occupancy. Lily curled on the settee, listening to the tinkle of their shower, and tried to decide what to do with herself.
Part of her wanted to stay home, to seal the doors and windows against the world, and nurse her wounds. James would protect her, his beautiful delicate wife. She rubbed her fingers together and frowned. Except she was tainted, cursed. Lily made herself stop checking for a layer of slime that wasn't there, and she clenched her hand into a fist.
Hiding away from the world would be easy, but she didn't want to hide. She wanted to punish the Reapers who cursed her. She wanted to end them.
When James came downstairs, still damp from the shower, Lily was already dressed and waiting. "I'm going with you to see Albus."
"Okay." James crossed the room and slid his hand intimately across her jaw and over her red fuzz-covered head, the soft bristling of newly-grown hair tickling his fingers. He knew she could grow her hair back in a night with a charm, but she hadn't. And she hadn't yet spoken about what had actually happened to her. "Maybe we should talk about some things first."
Lily removed James' hand from her head, where he'd been stroking her affectionately, and shrugged. "I told you what happened."
He had asked to talk about things, and she had jumped to what had happened to her, what the Reapers had done to her. It reconfirmed James' worst fears, that something terrible had happened, something she had yet to share. Not arguing with her sketchy story for the last few days while she settled and healed had been intentional, but James had no intention of letting Lily keep what had happened to her from him forever. "Just tell me what happened. They hurt you."
"They hexed me," Lily said simply. "I told you."
"They hurt you." When Lily tried to walk away, James took her by the arm and pulled her back around. "We're going to destroy them so they can't hurt anyone again. I swear it."
The word hurt had a simple meaning to Lily's ear. James thought she'd been sexually assaulted, raped. She could read it in his eyes and in the clench of his jaw. Lily actually felt a laugh bubbling inside her, a hysterical laugh that she'd have a hard time containing if it got out. She made herself breathe, and the words started coming. "I think he wanted to rape me, the red-headed Reaper. He had a feel, before his girlfriend intervened. She..." Lily stumbled over the word, but she stared James in the eyes, determined to be strong and honest at last. "She cursed me. It hurt, as if I was being boiled from the inside out." James blinked at her and her sudden declaration. She held her hand out to James, palm up. "I saw my hands first, slimy and grey. My eyes turned yellow and my spine twisted until I couldn't stand."
"Lily..."
She shushed him, unwilling to pause in her confession. James took her perfectly normal hand into his and rubbed it with his thumb in soothing circles as she continued in a calm detached voice.
"I was changing into a monster, a Bog Golem. I could barely speak. And the slime. There was so much black ichor pouring off my skin and out of my mouth." Lily pulled her hand back from James' ministrations. "Even as I lost my body, the worst came from inside. I very nearly lost my mind. I..." Lily remembered the safe feeling of the water, digging and eating the slugs, the empty instinctual purpose that had almost extinguished her. "It was the most degrading, most..." She wrapped her arms around her chest squeezing herself tightly. "I can't even explain it."
James stepped forward, trying to touch Lily, trying to comfort her, but she moved back away from him farther. "I should have told you days ago. I would have except, it isn't over. Curses tend to linger, and this is a curse, not a hex. The Healer who helped me gave me a potion; he taught me how to brew it." Lily spun away from James and went to the kitchen. She pulled out the now half-empty bottle of white liquid. "It keeps me human if I drink it every day. And if I don't, I'll turn back into that Golem, a mindless monster." She held the bottle close. "Body, mind, and soul, safe by virtue of my elixir."
James took advantage of Lily backing herself into the pantry and closed the distance between them.
"Don't shrink away from me." He kissed her possessively. "You're okay. It's going to be okay."
Lily let James kiss her, but she didn't let the embrace linger. "It will be okay," she said firmly. "I've been cursed by a thing, and to properly free myself, that thing needs to die. The Reapers are hunting Sirius. I'm ready to start hunting them."
James opened his mouth to argue, to tell Lily that she had to stay home and be safe. She had to stay home and drink her potion and let him handle the Reapers. But he closed his mouth without speaking. If he told Lily to back away from this, he'd just be sending her to face it alone because he knew she wouldn't listen. "Okay, we can do this together. I'll tell you what I know about Reapers."
"Good," Lily said, determined to remain composed and focused. James hadn't turned away from her, and he hadn't told her she couldn't help. They were going to handle this together. They were going to handle the Reapers.
"I need these titles, please," Hermione said. She handed Madam Pince a list of the essays she wanted, and sighed as the older woman faded back into the unbound collection to comb for them. Hermione's eyes slid around the dusty room, over the books on the shelves, the maps on the walls, and finally to Madam Pince's desk. A flyer covered in a pretty, red script caught her eye, and Hermione lifted it out of the clutter.
A French group home in Paris, located just south of the red light district, was recently quarantined by health professionals. A highly virulent plague, Rutilus Terminus, has resurfaced. It afflicts the very young at a morbidity of nearly one hundred percent in a very short period. In approximately sixty percent of those afflicted, death is the final outcome. So far the disease has shown no signs of affecting adults or even the elderly.
Health officials assure us that stringent quarantine procedures will keep the disease from spreading, though a warning and fact sheet is being distributed through the French countryside and neighbouring countries.
Early signs of illness:
- Low grade fever
- Red pustular rash on extremities
- Disorientation
Signs of late stage disease:
- High fever
- Delirium
- Painful pustular rash over up to 80% of the body
The development of lower respiratory signs is associated with a grave prognosis.
Please contact an official Imperial Healer division if you suspect this disease may be present in any of your wards.
Hermione wondered if the plague was affecting the Muggles too. She thought of her cousins, and hoped nothing would spread to their corner of the world. Being a sick Muggle was an unpleasant state to be in. The real Healers weren't interested in helping, and the Muggle doctors were worse than leaving well enough alone in most instances.
Hermione replaced the scroll of parchment on Madam Pince's desk and resolved not to worry about a plague she couldn't control. She could see some of the unbound essays from here, massive mounds of papers. How anyone found anything back there was a complete mystery. Everything was jumbled onto the shelves in a seemingly random pattern, that the crazy old librarian alone seemed able to figure out. Finally Madam Pince returned from the stacks, an armload of rolled parchments in hand. "Three day loan on these," she told Hermione. "Are you sure you want them all?"
Hermione nodded curtly and took the papers. "Thanks."
No one else in her class quite understood why Hermione spent so many hours scrounging out unbound essays and position papers to read. Everyone else in class read the Empire's texts and the Emperor's law and they took those words as the truth. Well, Hermione wasn't buying that truth. The Rule of Turpin addressed Muggles as a different species, more like cattle than men and women. Whereas the social revolutionaries in her disintegrating, unbound essays thought differently.
The study room where she'd left Harry and Ron working on Spell Crafting was just ahead and she backed in, careful to protect her armload of documents. When she turned to drop them on the table, she received an unpleasant surprise in the form of two snobs.
Draco and Lisa had dropped in and they were flanking Harry. She despised the both of them, and the fact that Harry was willing to chum up to them made her want to knock some sense into him. Couldn't he see what they were? They were the bad guys! They were Turpin’s good little bigots, using their power to lord over everyone.
Hermione dropped the documents dramatically onto the table and took her seat next to Ron. "What page are we on?" she asked, though it was obvious no one was studying.
Ron turned to her, wide-eyed. "Big news on the Quidditch front. The Westies just lost two Seekers, one to retirement and one to Antarctica!"
"So?" Hermione asked.
Draco and Lisa exchanged condescending eye-rolls, and Draco answered. "That makes our friend here one of the top five Seekers in the Westies recruitment area."
"Even if by some freak of availability I was the best they could find, they won't choose me. It won't happen. I'm too young and Class I. They can't pull a Class I student for Quidditch fulltime before fifth year. National Seeker would have to be fulltime."
"True," Lisa said. "But they'll put you through your paces nonetheless next practice. If you don't want to embarrass yourself, you should probably find some time to break in your new broom."
Harry nodded. "Embarrassment in front of the Westie coaches wouldn't be pleasant."
Draco sighed disgustedly. "You're so lucky, it makes me sick. Of course you're a Seeker when there's a national Seeker shortage." He looked to Lisa. "Where's the national Beater shortage?"
Lisa laughed serenely. "If you want to play Quidditch professionally so badly, maybe there will be a shortage after fifth year, when you could actually play. That would really be lucky."
Unable to listen to them chatter about their stupid game any longer, Hermione opened her text with a loud snap. "Do you even hear yourselves? You're talking about dropping out of school to play a game. Are you mad?"
"Mad?" Ron asked hoarsely. "It's Quidditch."
Albus lingered for a moment outside his office. His assistant, Percival, smiled at him in a strained, polite manner. "Could you fetch me some Fennep root from the store cupboard on the sixth floor?" Albus asked politely. Percival stopped filing and sighed at his own long-suffering.
"Yes, sir," Percival said.
Once his assistant was safely out of harm’s way, Albus rested a hand tentatively on the doorknob. Something was waiting for him inside; he opened the door prepared for anything. A pair of fine, black leather boots rested on his desk and the man wearing them lounged in his office chair. Despite his casual, relaxed posture and his careless half-smile, the man's furious black eyes warned that this wasn't a friendly visit.
"Sirius," Albus said. "How kind of you to drop by."
"Don't you mean unexpected?" Sirius extended his wand and rose from his seat. "I just spent the last God knows how many weeks imprisoned in an Asylum. Tell me it wasn't by your order."
Albus shook his head calmly. "It was by my order. It was for the best."
"Why?" Sirius was actually shaking with anger. "Didn't you say you understood that Pettigrew was the traitor, that he stole children? Did you let him go?"
"Peter Pettigrew is safely in custody, and the interrogation of Lily's list was completed in your absence." Albus met Sirius' glare easily, apparently unperturbed by the hostility that was boiling in his direction. "I had you quarantined because I know you too well to expect you to keep my secrets if you thought they would hurt a friend."
"Your secrets?" Sirius frowned darkly. Then his jaw went slack as realization hit. "You didn't tell James about his children? Senile bastard! WHY?"
"Because the reclamation of our lost children needs to be handled carefully and quietly, so that no child is left behind. If you bring the emotions of grieving parents into play, waiting becomes impossible. Because I was able to wait, all the stolen children will come home, without the empire ever knowing that their machination was subverted. We gain the upper hand, by knowing more than they think we know and acting cautiously."
Sirius wasn't shaking anymore, and his wand was still extended. "I think you should draw your wand and face me like a wizard. You're just like our loving Emperor. You hoard your knowledge, playing people's lives as though it were a game. This isn't a game."
But Albus didn't draw his wand. He gestured openly with his hands, almost inviting Sirius to hex him. "I have only ever done what I thought was right."
"And what do you think Turpin does?" Sirius barked. "He does what he thinks is right. We're living his Utopia right now. Haven't you read?" He gestured at the thick tomes, the Rule of Turpin history books that filled an entire wall. "What you think is right, is not good enough. Draw your wand, old man."
"No," Albus replied simply. "If you need to punish me, I will not stop you."
"Do you really think I'm too honourable to hex an unarmed man?" Sirius asked. "Don't you remember why you brought me back here to help Lily? I've stolen for this rebellion, tortured men at your orders, and even killed for you."
"You have given a great deal for our rebellion," Albus agreed. "Please, if you require payment from me, take your pound of flesh. I will not oppose you."
Slowly, Sirius dropped his wand arm. "I'm telling James and Lily about their children. And I'll find a way to tell the other parents if you don't."
"There is no further need to conceal anything from the parents. Their children will be home very soon. If I could find James and Lily, I would tell them myself." Albus settled into one of the chairs in front of his desk with a sigh. "Unfortunately, the brothel that James, your Dog Pack, and Lily were inhabiting was raided by the Reapers and burned. None of them have yet to report in."
"I know about the raid." Sirius laughed. "You don't know where Lily and James are? Pardon me if I don't believe you."
"It is the truth," Albus said. "I can only hope they came to no harm when the Reapers raided their temporary base. You should know that I believe that they were hunting you. You killed their compatriot, Gluto, and survived to tell the tale."
"Hunting me? Isn't everyone these days?" Sirius never let his gaze waiver from Albus, sparing the elder wizard no trust. "For the record, my dog pack made it through fine," Sirius said. "They're with me."
Albus smiled inscrutably. "And are you still with our rebellion? Or should I write to Moody that his Animagi are lost to us?"
Scowling, Sirius crossed his arms over his chest. As much as he wanted to spit in Albus' eye and walk, he couldn't. He'd committed himself to the removal of Turpin and Albus' army was the best, most organized chance at that. The removal of Albus could be handled after Turpin. "I'm not done with the Rebellion."
Dumbledore nodded seriously and pulled a scroll from his sleeve. "Perhaps you would like to see why I needed just a little more time."
Sirius accepted the parchment without breaking his scowl. Scrawled on the yellowed paper in a cramped, slanted script, Albus had given him a new list. Much shorter than Lily's list of possible traitors, this list was incredibly precious. There were families listed with children's names underneath. Sirius scanned down the list to James and Lily Potter. Two children's names were listed under them, with different dates out to the side of those names. "What is this? All these children were taken? How many?"
"Enough that retrieving them will need to be handled very carefully," Albus said. "Those dates are estimated time of arrival, when my plan will return them home. We have seeded a plague through the group homes, a false plague that doesn't really kill anyone. We are going to use this plague to recover what was stolen."
Sirius stared down at the dates, aware of the meticulous planning that must have gone into Albus' scheme. Sirius could almost understand why the man had waited, why he'd held onto the truth a few extra weeks.
"You plan to fake the children's deaths and bring them home." Sirius scanned the dates next to the names. "The first wave will be home within the month."
"And the last, by the summer," Albus finished. "I have started notifying parents of their returning children already. As soon as James and Lily can be located, I will inform them of their good fortune."
A hollow feeling settled into Sirius' stomach. What if James and Lily hadn't escaped the Reapers' raid unscathed? What if, after all this time, their children were coming home to be orphans? Good lord, when he had become their godfather, he hadn't really ever thought he'd end up with the children. "If we haven't located Lily and James by the time we've returned their children..."
"Melinda Potter has graciously offered to take them in for as long as necessary," Albus said serenely.
For a moment, Sirius' temper flared again. How dare Albus let Melinda usurp his rights as the children's Godfather? But hadn't he just been in a panic over what he would do with two children? At least James' parents had experience, a home, and weren't wanted fugitives. "They know about this plan? I suppose you informed them in lieu of James and Lily since they're still out of contact."
"In a word...basically," Albus said.
"Basically?" Sirius returned Albus' list to him, his expression still cool, forgiveness still not granted. "Someone needs to find James and Lily, now. I'll see to that."
Oscasia's home looked nothing like the temple of her youth. The temple of Bastet was built around light and gardens and birth. Bastet was supposed to be a guardian of the sun, of mothers, but Oscasia had never really believed in a power greater than her own. Religion was a tool to control the weak, a form of ignorance. When designing her home in Turpin's capital she had created something better, a functional home, rich and safe and carved deeply into the earth.
She descended the stairs today, heading for her new temple, a sanctuary to her own power and achievement. After she hit the fifth sublevel, she began to hear the screams of the preliminary event of the evening. But she didn't continue to level six to help prepare the new Reaper, not yet. She slipped into a red sitting room, the Reapers' waiting room.
There were only five demons looking back at her today, wearing a mixture of children and adults that she had found for them. Fastosus was currently disembodied, and not because an enemy had killed him. His death came at the hand of his lover, Avaritia.
Again.
Pairing the demons off had seemed natural when she first engineered them. It was meant to help bond the group together and to provide them with another distraction through carnal release. Oscasia's nostrils flared at the trouble that decision had caused her. If she had to deal with another jealousy killing between Fastosus and Avaritia, she might have to punish them personally. Maybe they were soulless demons without consciences or inhibitions, but they were her creations, her children, and she had engineered them to possess intelligence and logic. From the back of the room, Saevio, one of the few who still inhabited an adult's body, spoke for the group. "We have been waiting for several days now. Is there a problem, Lady Oscasia?"
"There is no problem. I found your brother's new form." Oscasia frowned disdainfully. "But the new choosing place is still fluctuant. Fastosus' body was hidden out in the country apprenticed to a Master Charm crafter. The apprenticeships create too many hard-to-locate possibilities. I will put an end to them, but in the meantime, try to guard your bodies more carefully, lest you end up stuck here, waiting for weeks at a time for your replacement."
The Reapers stared back at her, calculation apparent in their faces. "Of course, Lady, the next Reaper who throws away a perfectly good body will answer to me," Saevio said quietly.
Oscasia didn't question that Saveio's threat would carry weight with his fellows. She had fashioned him as the strongest, the dominant demon, and he understood exactly what would hurt each of the other Reapers most exquisitely. "Excellent. On to business; the emperor would like you to help guard a shipment of sun stones from the east. They can't be conjured without great peril, and he requires this shipment most urgently. I left the details with your brother." Terrified screams, the last words of a boy Oscasia had found only that very morning. penetrated the thick stone walls. "He should be ready soon."
It was a beautiful autumn day, perfect Quidditch weather. White, puffy clouds dotted the blue sky, allowing the sun to warm the air without blinding a flier. Ron gazed wistfully out of the library window and let his mind wander. He wondered what Quidditch camp had been like. Lisa, Harry, and Draco were out there practicing what they'd learned. Had their team missed Fred and George this summer? All his brothers, Charlie, Fred, and George, had played Quidditch. Ron wondered where his brothers were now if they were okay. You would think one of them would pick up an owl from time to time and say hello.
Hermione snapped her Rule of Turpin text closed. "Quidditch." She sighed in absolute disgust. "If you're just going to sit and sulk, you might as well go outside and watch them play."
Ron started and glanced at his neglected homework. "I wasn't even thinking about Quidditch," he lied defensively. "I was thinking about my brothers, where they are and what they're doing."
"Oh." Hermione blinked and reopened her text. It wasn't Ron who had stopped studying this time though. She stared at the page without comprehending a thing. She knew where one of his brothers was, and she had a pretty good idea what he was doing. But she hadn't told Ron, or anyone, about Fred Weasley. "Are you worried about them?"
"Yeah." Ron nodded. "It's weird not knowing where they are or when they're coming back."
Hermione stared at him, wrestling with her instincts. The piece of truth she had found would just hurt him, but it was against her nature to hold back. When had she started worrying about hurting Ron? Wasn't the truth always the right answer? The truth was the only answer. "There's something you should see." She strode to the wall with the reference books, the Rule of Turpin Tomes and selected the book she wanted. Hermione pulled her chair close to Ron, and settled the book between them. "I found this a couple of weeks ago, and it reminded me of what you and Harry saw, what Fred looked like and how he acted."
Ron stared down at the page, at the animated illustration glaring up at him. Three wizards and three witches milled together, malice glinting off them. They each had a single glowing red eye over a black flowing tattoo. "Turpin's Reapers," Ron read. These weren't the same people that he had seen in the street all those months ago, but the eye was unmistakable. "What's a Reaper?" Even as he asked the question, Ron recalled campfire stories about red-eyed demons that possessed naughty children and then destroyed their families. George and Fred told Reaper tales especially gruesomely. They always liked to watch Ron squirm under the images of fratricide or torture that they could spin.
"A really vile enforcer from what I've been able to gather." Hermione flipped the page, where illustrations of dead, deranged, and mutilated people filled the spaces around the words, saying more with their motionless horrors than a printed word could possibly express. "They don't just kill or even torture. They are evil embodied, taking pleasure in atrocities. There are six of them and their names never change, though their faces do, Saveio, Gluto, Fastosus, Invidia, Irritum, and Avaritia."
"They called Fred Gluto," Ron whispered. "He wasn't Fred anymore though. I knew it when I saw him hex that old woman. I knew. My brother's dead, isn't he?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know what your brother is, except maybe a Reaper."
It seemed that would be the end of it for a long moment. Ron pulled the book into his lap and started reading the columns of words describing the amazing, effective Reapers and their services to the empire. "How long have you known about this?" he asked at last. "When were you planning to tell me?"
"I wasn't even certain that this was really what you saw, and I was going to tell you," Hermione said. "But then I thought, what good will it do? He'll probably just flip out like his brother, George, and try to fix something that can't be fixed, and I'll lose my class partner." The excuse sounded self-serving and stupid to her and Hermione flinched. She was turning into one of them, a lying, scheming witch. She sank low in her seat, ashamed and ready for Ron's full anger.
Something that can't be fixed, not with all the king's horses and all the king's men. Something that can't be fixed. "If anyone can save Fred, George can," Ron said. "And maybe I can't fix it, but you should have told me." Ron's face turned reddish and he glared down at the book in his lap.
"I should have." Hermione was still waiting for him to yell. Wasn't he going to yell at her?
"There has to be more to read in this library than Turpin's take on his Reapers. I bet if we looked hard enough, we could figure out what they are and how to help Fred." Ron gazed at Hermione expectantly, and she stared back, shocked by his composure. A half smile crept over her face, and she nodded.
"I've been trying to tell you and Harry how much is here for over a year now." She tapped the rule of Turpin book that they were supposed to be reading for History of magic. "If you look past the frosting of the official histories, there are a thousand other voices, different viewpoints on the same moment. You have to read them all to know the truth."
"So you'll help me?" Ron asked seriously.
"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "I'll help you."
The carers locked the roof access early. Normally it took a few weeks after the big kids, with their late-night snog-fests, had gone back to school before the staff noticed and sealed the door. Isobel wrenched stubbornly at the handle, then with a sigh, trudged back downstairs. They had a free day from studies, and she was bored. Normally she'd seek Joey out and find some game to occupy her time, but Joey wasn't speaking to her, hadn't been since their fight. Technically Isobel started their fight, but she had no idea how to fix things. While apologizing had occurred to her, it seemed too simple a plan to really work.
Well, she didn't need a friend to distract her. There was always the tree in the backyard. Assuming the boys hadn't taken it over, she could climb it and waste the day watching London over the fence or the other children in the yard. She liked to watch people. Harry called her a voyeur, whatever that meant.
The hall outside the back exit was crowded with the usual group that liked to play outside. The back door was open, but they were standing around in little clusters talking. It wasn't raining. What was their problem? Isobel wondered. She felt eyes follow her to the doorway, where she bumped her nose soundly on thin air. A smattering of laughter trickled through the other children. "Why's the door warded?" Isobel asked, rubbing her nose.
"So we can't go out," one of the boys quipped.
"Brilliant answer," Isobel sighed.
One of their Carers, a mousy brunette named Ms. Franz, strode into the hall, a determined expression on her face. "What are you all doing? Disperse yourselves immediately. If I catch another child malingering by an exit, they'll be on kitchen duty for a week." She clapped her hands. "Go on with you."
Isobel rolled her eyes and followed the crowd that went for the stairs. Someone might at least bother to tell them why they all been grounded from outside. An explanation would make it all seem less unreasonable. Isobel stopped by her dorm and frowned. She and a smattering of her bunk mates seemed to be locked out of their bedroom too! A bold white sign on the door proclaimed simply, Do Not Enter. While she was standing there, a Healer in pristine white robes hurried out of the door, a blank expression on her face. She made an abrupt shooing gesture at the girls. "All of you stay back. Can't you read? Go downstairs immediately."
Isobel scratched at her arm and sighed again. All this oddness was making her tired. She turned to go, but the nurse latched onto her and looked at her arm with an expression of growing alarm. "Another one," she hissed. Isobel glanced down at her arm and the tiny red bumps that had appeared there this morning. She'd had worse rashes. Why was the Healer acting like that? "Everyone, show me your arms," the Healer commanded. The girls complied silently. There were two others with the same red rash, Amy a five-year-old and Erika a ten-year-old. The Healer took the three girls with rashes aside and finished shooing the other girls away. "Okay girls, this is okay," the Healer said. "You're going to be okay."
Immediately, Amy started bawling, fat tears steaming out of large grey eyes. Isobel knew exactly what she was feeling. The Healer didn't seem sincere or sure of their future well-being. She seemed really scared. Why did everyone have to lie to them all the time? Why not just tell them what was going on? Something was going on.
The Healer ushered them into the dormitory where four bunks were occupied by three boys and a girl, none of whom Isobel knew well. They were all quietly scratching at their arms. Isobel looked down and realized that she was scratching at her arm still, trying to quell the itch that was dancing there. "Are we sick?" Isobel asked.
The Healer smiled her fake smile and nodded. "You've caught a bug, but we're going to take very good care of you. Don't be scared."
Isobel glanced at Erika. who looked equally unimpressed with the Healer's sentiment. "What kind of bug?" Erika asked. "You don't lock the entire home inside because a couple of the children have chicken pox or a cold."
"Get changed and get into bed," the Healer said coolly.
Isobel opened her mouth to argue, but the tired feeling that hit her in the hall had redoubled. And she couldn't muster the energy.
Amy continued to cry.
Remus closed his eyes and curled under his cloak, trying to sleep. The grass here was soft and his campfire offered plenty of warmth, but a steady ache in his chest wouldn't let him sleep. A mark had risen there, over his heart: the green tracing of a scarab beetle, the mark of Vociferor. They had been foolish to think they could walk into the heavily warded prison and out again without immediate, intimate repercussions. He and Nyt and her captain were hunted, and would be for as long as they drew breath. It wasn't that he hadn't been hunted before, Remus thought bitterly, but the werewolf hunters at least were an evil he understood. God only knew what the wardens of Vociferor would do to punish their trespassers.
The decision to split had been Remus'. It made no sense to linger together as one target, and he'd told Nyt and William as much. The next day, he left without checking in. He just rolled out of bed, gathered his things and his gold and started walking. The burning on his chest intensified every time his mind drifted toward sleep. Perhaps this was the first level of their torture, sleep deprivation.
When Remus heard the first rustlings in the woods, he knew in his heart that he'd been found. The wardens were upon him, and he'd be damned if he'd be taken alive. Gripping his wand, he counted slowly to ten, then rolled to a kneeling position and starting slinging hexes into the night.
"Aaaaah!" With an ungraceful leap, Nyt tumbled into the clearing. For a moment he thought one of his wildly cast hexes had hit her, but no, she managed to avoid his spells and had tumbled from simple loss of balance, as he verified on close inspection. "Why did you do that?" she groused from her position on the turf. "Were you trying to kill me?"
"I was trying to protect myself from whatever was stalking me in the night," Remus said honestly. "Why are you here?"
Nyt rolled into a sitting position and shrugged. "William has his crew and Maggie, and he'll be fine as long as he keeps moving. You're on your own and marked by Vociferor, thanks to me. It didn't seem fair."
"You're here because you feel obligated to help me. You pity me and my terrible situation?" Remus shook his head. "I take full responsibility for my actions and their consequences. I absolve you of your obligation, Nyt. You'd best hurry back, before William leaves you behind."
"They sailed tonight with the tide, and I don't know where they're going," Nyt said. "And you can't just absolve me of my obligation. I buggered up your life."
Remus squatted next to her, an amused expression on his face. "Now, because you have falsely taken this obligation to protect me on and left your captain and crew behind, I'm obligated to take you on as a travelling companion?" Remus chuckled quietly and headed back to the fire. "I'm going to get some sleep. You're welcome to share the fire, and we'll figure the rest out in the morning."
When Remus curled back under his cloak, it was with his back to the fire, and the knowledge that Nyt was watching him. He closed his exhausted eyes, and this time, the twinges from the mark of Vociferor couldn't keep him from sleep.
Author's Note:
I don't feel good about this chapter. It feels hollow, but I don't know why. *sigh* Next chapter has a good bit of Quidditch and I'm not sure what else at the moment. I'm flying without my outline. O.o Yes, I strayed off the map again.