History of the World Volume IV Chapter 67 The Rule of Turpin – The Turpin Family
The Emperor Turpin never produced an heir. Though he has had many concubines over the years, having partaken of the Elixer of Life he is unable to father a child. He has at times bestowed his name on his most trusted advisors and valuable acolytes.
The most recent addition to the Turpin family is a clan of Arithmatists. Originally their family name was Lestrange. Their arrangement with the emperor allows for automatic inclusion of any in their direct line to the third tier. The long-term effect of this situation has been the slow extinction of the family. Recently, measures were taken by their matriarch, Mabel, to remedy this situation...
Someone had painted the dorm room pink, Isobel thought dreamily. She blinked and cuddled down into the soft bed enjoying the warm cocoon of the silky covers and thick downy comforter. With a start, her eyes opened wider and her mouth went dry. This bed wasn't like any she'd slept in before. It was too big, too soft, too silky.
She gazed out from under the covers nervously and realized that they hadn't painted the dorm pink. This strange pink room did not exist in the group home. Isobel would stake her life on it. She had explored every single inch of that drab place. There weren't any pink, red, blue, or green rooms there, only grey in various states of peeling disrepair.
The pink reminded her of Dolores Umbridge, and Isobel began to wonder if she had somehow accidentally Apparated herself to the woman's house? Maybe she'd give the unpleasant old girl a nice case of the red-itchies, Isobel thought with an ungenerous smirk.
She hadn't noticed at first, but there was a soft, steady grumbling sound. Isobel pulled the covers over her head and listened nervously. Someone was snoring. What if she really had accidentally Apparated and she really was at Dolores Umbridge's house and that was her snoring. The bed was certainly big enough to be hiding another occupant.
I'm not a baby.
I'm not a baby.
Isobel pushed the covers back and sat up, prepared to come face to face with the squat, mean woman who had told her how little she was worth. But it wasn't Umbridge snoring. It wasn't even anyone in bed with her. An old man was slouched in a chair at the bedside. He wore a bright purple vest and his fingers were stained all different colours. Isobel stared at the snoring man, no longer frightened. White-haired men in purple vests weren't scary, but this one was a mystery.
Reaching out a hand to shake him awake, Isobel noticed her almost rash-free hands and realized that the horrible itch had gone. He had to be a Healer, Isobel decided then. They must have had to send some of the kids for better Healers, and she was lucky and got one that cured her. If he was a Healer, then the pink room had to be some sort of hospital room.
Deciding to let her saviour sleep, she slipped out of bed quiet as a mouse and sank soundlessly up to her ankles in the softest carpet she'd ever encountered. This had to be some kind of Class I hospital with rooms designed just for children. There were stuffed animals on every surface, interesting looking books on the white shelves, and chests that had to hold other treasures. Isobel crossed the room and looked out the window into a large ornamental garden. The trees' leaves had gone orange, red, and brown, and the grass was mostly dead, but it still looked inviting to a girl who hadn't stepped outside in what felt like forever.
Healers didn't usually let a girl who was just recovering from a serious illness wander around outside, but Isobel wasn't of a mind to let anyone tell her no. She crossed the room again, this time heading for the exit.
With her hand on the doorknob, Isobel's stomach sank. The harmless Healer had stopped snoring. She turned back, mildly dejected that her attempt to explore was being interrupted. His eyes met hers over a pair of gold-rimmed bifocals and he smiled at her more warmly than any nurse or teacher or Healer ever had. Isobel crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the door. "Hey."
"Hi Isobel, good morning." He took out his wand and with an efficient swish set her rumpled bed covers to making themselves. "My name is Bart, but I'd like it if you called me Grandpa."
"Grandpa?" Isobel made a confused face. "I can't call a Healer Grandpa."
"Of course not, but I'm not a Healer. I'm a painter... and a Grandpa."
"You're weird," Isobel declared.
"I am," Bart agreed. "Would you like to accompany me downstairs to get some breakfast. That muffled banging you can just hear through the door, that's Grandma trying to boil water."
Isobel let the oddly non-threatening man usher her through the door and down the stairs toward the banging noises. "If you aren't a Healer and this isn't a hospital, then why am I here?"
"I think that's a story to tell after breakfast, wouldn't you say? I'm starving."
Isobel rubbed her stomach that was suddenly rumbling at the thought of food. "I guess."
Settled into one of the second years' study rooms, Hermione looked over the schedule Harry had written out again and shook her head critically. "There is no human way for you to survive this. You'll flunk out in a term. This coach wants you to practice Quidditch three nights a week and Saturday and Sunday all day. When are you supposed to study?"
Burying his head under his arms Harry made a noncommittal sigh.
"He can do it," Ron said. He pointed to Wednesday. "He just has to get all his studying done on Wednesdays and Sunday nights. Simple. I can't believe he pulled you for real Quidditch. You're twelve!"
"It's ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "There are reasons he isn't allowed to pull Class I students for Quidditch. A Class I education is so much more valuable, more important than a game. The stupid coach thinks he can flunk you out and get you full time that way, but he can only do that if you let him."
"And what exactly are you suggesting I do?" Harry's muffled voice asked from behind his arms. "I can't quit Quidditch. I love it. But there is no way I can keep up with my classes and practice as much as Coach Otto has scheduled."
"You can do it." Ron glared at Hermione. "Stop with all the negativity. This is a big deal. He can do both. It can be done."
Hermione rolled up the bloated schedule and replaced it on the table. "I don't think so. Sometimes, you have to choose what's more important to you." She took a deep breath and opened her Dark Arts textbook. "You should study while you have time. If you're really going to try to do both, you can't afford to bury your head in the sand and moan."
"Finally, a sensible comment." Ron opened Harry's book and prodded his friend into a normal sitting position. "You haven't a moment to waste. Get reading."
After three stacks of pancakes Isobel pushed her plate back. It had been days and days since she'd had an appetite or could remember eating, but now she was too full to move. Taking a moment of satiated contentment, she stared across the table at her benefactors. The couple was a bit odd from what she could tell from watching them. Her instinctive trust for Bart hadn't yet been shaken. His wife Melinda on the other hand was a lot stiffer and far more scary, but she made good pancakes.
"Are you sure you've had all you want?" Bart asked. "There are more where that came from. You're too skinny."
"Nah, I'd rather talk about who you guys are, and why I'm here. Did you take in any other sick kids or what?" Melinda and Bart exchanged a look and Isobel frowned. They had been shooting each other lots of looks. "I'm nine, not a baby."
"Of course you aren't a baby," Melinda said. "And we didn't take in any other children, just you."
"You aren't trying to adopt me, are you? I have a brother, and we aren't going to get adopted unless it's together. You might as well take me back now unless you want a twelve year old boy, too." Isobel put her napkin on her plate and jumped down off her chair. "Thanks for taking care of me and all. The pancakes were great."
"We aren't adopting you," Melinda said with authority. "You didn't belong in that home. You have living family. I'm your grandmother. Bart here is your grandfather. And we will be taking in your brother as well."
Isobel stared at the two of them as though they had grown another set of heads. The both of them were smiling at her, but she couldn't make herself smile. "How can you be my grandparents? Where have you been?"
Bart's smile turned sad, and he dropped to a knee. "We thought the two of you were dead, as I assume you've thought us. But now that we've found you, we're going to take very good care of you and reunite you with your parents."
It's a cliché in orphanages, the dream of finding wealthy, friendly family that would make you pancakes and love you. Faced with the dream, Isobel was having a hard time wrapping her head around it. Why would these people lie to her though? What if she was having a really good dream? Maybe she died of the rash disease and this was heaven?
Bart opened his arms, obviously offering a hug. Isobel stared back at him, but moved forward a slow step at a time. When his arms closed around her, enveloping her in a spicy smell, Isobel buried her head against his soft, warm shoulder. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to be their granddaughter. "When can we get Harry?"
"Very soon," Bart said. He cast a glance over his shoulder to Melinda, a silent challenge about her decision to wait. "Very, very soon."
The transportation circle was configured for the Quidditch training camp, but the instructor who had come down to activate it was long gone. Harry had refused to enter it, and Professor Tudor had better things to do than stare at an indecisive student. It was his first night of real Quidditch practice and he was missing it. What was wrong with him?
Harry heard someone coming down the stairs but didn't move from his position staring at the circle, broom over his shoulder. Lisa, pristinely coiffed and smirking sharply, stopped on the last step and cocked her head to the side quizzically.
"Green, what are you doing here?" Lisa asked. "Aren't you supposed to be practicing Quidditch?"
"Yeah," Harry said. Except Hermione was right. Sometimes you couldn't do everything. Sometimes you had to make a choice about what was more important. And as much fun as Quidditch was, and as great as it was to fly, Harry didn't want to spend his whole life flying. There were more things in the world, things he hadn't even fathomed yet. He wasn't going to flunk out for Quidditch.
"I knew it." Lisa stepped down and out onto the circle. "I recognized you on day one, quietly trying to get along with everyone, working hard to prove that you deserve to be here. Even with the class's number one, you weren't satisfied. You want to claw your way out of that dirty group home, put on a gold armband, and drink the elixir of life." Lisa crossed her arms over her chest, her sharp, grey eyes seeming far more mature than twelve-year-old's should. "I grew up amongst those of the third tier. And most of the new arrivals are the hungry ones, the ones that had to fight to get there."
"I can't tell if you're complimenting me or mocking me. I'm not power-hungry. Not being ready to narrow my future career options to professional Quidditch player at the age of twelve isn't that strange."
"Yes it is. Haven't you seen your little friend, Ron? Most of the boys and quite a few of the girls would gladly let the Quidditch program flunk them out."
Lisa grinned, never an overly pleasant expression on her – Harry got the impression that she was the hungry one when she smiled like that. Everyone thought she was lucky to have grown up on the third tier, guaranteed a place there from birth, but Harry wondered what it had been like. He wondered if Lisa thought she was lucky. "Fine, I'm weird. I'll see you in class tomorrow."
"See you, Harry." Lisa waved delicately and spun away.
James pulled a thick leather-bound book from the shelves of his personal library. Embossed silver letters spelled out, Universallexikon. He flipped through its blank pages familiarly. It was a very smart book, one that had helped him through school. James turned to the first page, and wrote in a neat scrawl, Source: National Library in London, Topic: Bog Golem Curse. He closed the book and waited a few moments while the cover warmed under his hands. When he opened the book this time, the pages were crammed full of writing and pictures on the topic he had requested. James flipped through, looking at the pictures first. The animated sketches of the cursed form, an inhuman frog-thing, left him nauseated and terrified. The words accompanying the pictures did little to assuage his fears.
This wasn't a curse like lycanthropy. This was a permanent change, an end of self that never went back. Just thinking about Lily trapped as a monster in a bog, forever lost to him, made James so angry that he wanted to hit something. He had never wanted to destroy anything the way he wanted to end the Reapers. More than an outlet of retribution, their deaths could permanently end their curse on his wife.
James turned the book back to the first page and removed the words he had written there. He thought for several moments about where he wanted to pillage his information. Some libraries were blocked from smart books like his. The public libraries were unlikely to hold the information he most wanted though. Finally, he scrawled Source: Private Library Malfoy Manor, Topic: Turpin's Reapers.
This time the book filled with page upon page of red-eyed demons. James flipped through this material slower. While he wasn't completely disinterested in the litany of crimes that the Reapers had committed against man and beast, he was looking for more important information. What was a Reaper? How were they made? How could they be destroyed? When the Malfoy library came up dry on useful Reaper information, James tried others, Greyback, Black. He even tried to gain access to the Turpins' library, knowing that theirs was unlikely to allow his book to steal a single line of text.
When he heard the front door open and shut, James closed the book and headed toward the entry hall. The enchanted door should only allow access to well meaning friends, but Lily was still upstairs asleep. James held his wand at the ready, just in case. A figure in a flowing, face-obscuring hood and cloak stood ominously in the dim entry hall. "Identify yourself," James barked, ready to cast at any aggressive motion from the uninvited guest.
The figure lifted his hands, showing them to be empty. He pushed his hood back and smirked. "I guess it's a good thing I stopped here before heading back East looking for you again." Sirius waited for James to drop his wand as recognition hit. "Dumbledore doesn't know where you are. It isn't like you to linger on the missing list after an attack. Unless...Is Lily with you? You both made it out okay."
"We both escaped with our lives," James said quietly. "We're just taking a moment to get our bearings before reporting in. You know?"
"Believe me, I know." Sirius crossed the room and hugged James, thumping him on the back, his undeniable relief at finding James and Lily alive overshadowed by the news he had to deliver. "I was worried about you. Now, I need a sofa and a fire and something wet, preferably Firewhiskey."
"I can provide those," James replied. He led Sirius back to the sitting room and pulled out a decanter of Firewhiskey. "It isn't safe for you to be wandering about in broad daylight in London. The sheriffs are looking for you, and now the Reapers have marked you for hunting as well. They were searching for you when they raided the Red Fan."
"I took precautions." Sirius tossed back the sifter of burning amber liquid. "And I'm aware of the many people hunting me. But we have a lot to discuss and I don't know where to start. Is Lily here? She should be here. But maybe this would be easier between us and you can tell Lily." Though he had specifically requested a sofa, Sirius started pacing nervously instead of sitting. He had to tell James and Lily about their children. It was red-letter news, life altering news. Their children were alive! And they missed almost a decade of those children's lives while they were raised in a group home. The good by far outweighed the bad, but Sirius wasn't sure the appropriate way to break it. Just say it? Would James and Lily even believe him?
"Hey Sirius." Lily padded into the room barefoot and took a seat on the sofa, hugging a cushion to her as though she was chilled. "When did you get here? How did the rest of the questioning go? Apologies for abandoning you mid-list. James wouldn't let me leave, and I didn't fight him very hard."
Sirius stopped pacing. "Lily, unfortunately I didn't personally finish the list. I got sidetracked on Pettigrew."
James took a seat next to Lily and wrapped an arm around her, sharing his warmth. "Pettigrew? Not Peter? Why did you get sidetracked with him? Weren't you looking for traitors?" Sirius nodded. "And didn't you have something to tell Lily and me?"
James had no idea what her list had been about, but Lily's heart started thudding painfully at Sirius's quiet, uncertain look. Sirius was looking for a traitor who helped Oscasia steal children. Was Pettigrew a traitor then? Had Oscasia found her mole to start stealing children in one of James's old friends?
Sirius became very still and he smiled. "Peter was and is a traitor. He has been taking money from a witch named Oscasia. In return he fed her information about the children in our camps. He helped her steal them as quietly as possible. He's in custody now and has been thoroughly questioned." Sirius caught James eye and held it for this next part. "Of the children that we know Peter sold, your children, Harry and Isobel were two. We think they were among his first."
"Peter sold…" Disbelief, grief, and anger flashed across James face in rapid succession. "You're telling me that Peter killed my children? This witch Oscasia started that fire because Peter told her there would be children there?"
"No, no one killed your children. They were kidnapped." Sirius sank into the chair across the room and stared sadly back at his closest friend in the world. "Peter helped her, and this witch took your children so perfectly and efficiently that you never even looked for them. They're alive, James, both of them, alive and well."
When James made to rise, his face flushed with disbelieving anger, Lily grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. "It's what she does, James. I should have seen it, should have suspected when we first started studying her. But I never even considered." Lily wrapped her hand around the charms on her neck and thought of all the dreams of her children, children that weren't spirits. She closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of her son holding her as she fought to stay awake and alive as the bog golem tried to drown her mind. Her son was alive, and she could hold him again, really hold him.
James stared at Lily, his mind spinning. Did she believe Sirius then? Could he be right? God, how could he be right? Peter sold their children. When Lily opened her eyes, she didn't look scared or breakable like she had just the night before. Her eyes were bright, calm, and certain. "Do you know where they are?" Lily asked.
"No." Sirius shook his head. "Albus does. The son of a bitch locked me up while he planned a sly scheme to take them all back without the empire knowing. He's started it now. The plan was to send your children to James's parents until the two of you could be located. For all I know, they're already there."
"Then we should be there too," Lily said firmly. She looked to James. "Send your mother an owl and tell her that we'll be calling in an hour. I'm going to get dressed." She looked at Sirius, a strange, joyful smile curving her lips. "Thanks."
James thought she looked solid and powerful, but when Lily reached her room, she could barely button her robes she was so completely shaken. Her hands wouldn't be still so that she could work the small pearls into their loops. Her children were alive. Lily wanted to climb out on the roof and shout for joy. She wanted to find Peter Pettigrew and Oscasia and strangle them slowly. She wanted to hug her children and kiss them and tuck them safely into bed. Lily wanted so many conflicting wonderful and terrible things all at once that she was shaking with the need to satisfy those desires.
It took her twice as long as usual to get buttoned properly into her pretty London-town robes. She paused at the mirror, to make sure the rich, green velvet bodice was actually buttoned properly and that her hair looked presentable. She touched the ear-length curls that she'd grown out overnight. Melinda would have too many reasons to pick her apart today. Lily wasn't going to face her mother in law in less than proper attire.
When she came downstairs, James and Sirius were huddled together in front of the hearth, deep in conversation. Lily watched them, and for the first time, she wondered if James had told his friend about her condition. She hoped he hadn't, but they were like brothers. If he was going to tell someone, it would be Sirius. The two of them looked up, similar grim expressions on their faces.
"Albus, it seems, took it on himself to decide when the parents should be informed of their children's kidnappings," James said. "He's known about our children for literally months. If we'd known, we never would have stayed away. You--"
"I would have been safe?" Lily glanced at Sirius nervously, uncertain of how much he knew. "Albus always has a reason for what he does. I'm willing to listen to his. And we can't blame him for things beyond his control, like the actions of a Reaper. Does your mother know we're coming?"
James nodded. "She should by now."
Lily gestured at the windows, and the drapes in all the rooms flew open. "Then it's time for us to make our official, social return to London. Sirius, I expect we'll have callers soon now that the house is open. You should probably make yourself scarce before we get back."
Sirius rose and nodded. "Give my regards to your parents, James, and my godchildren if they're there."
Squeezed into the pantry of a Muggle bar, Remus held his breath and imagined that he was invisible. On his shoulder, he could just feel the hot breath of the young woman smashed into his side. The Muggle patrons had gone deathly quiet as a black robed figured circled amongst them.
"You barkeep, have you seen this man?" Remus could just see the men as silhouettes, and hear the click of the wizard's leather soled boots. He prayed that this wizard was hunting a different set of fugitives than the two crammed in the cupboard.
"No sir, can't say as I have," the barkeep muttered. "Looks to be a wizard, and we don't serve many wizards here."
Remus wished they could just Apparate away. It would be so easy, except for the mark on their chests and the hounds of Vociferor pursuing them. Any use of magic, was like a signal to the hounds. They came to it like sharks to blood. Just when Remus was about to tell Nyt to Apparate away, they'd take their chances with the hounds, the wizard took his portrait and left the alehouse. Remus heard the conversations restarting outside and drew in a shaky breath. "That was a bullet dodged," he whispered.
"Yeah." Nyt tried to move back a degree and give Remus enough room to open the door, but she just ended up wiggling against him. With a gentle laugh, she groped for the handle herself as she had a better angle on it. "I think I can reach the handle." Nyt got the latch and they stumbled free. The barkeep and other Muggles carefully ignored them. The fact that they'd hidden at the sign of a sheriff deputy wasn't that unusual, and they were dressed as Muggles. If the patrons realized that they were harbouring wizards, they might be less accommodating.
"Are you blushing? You are the most pitiful mercenary wolf in the entire world." Nyt turned to the barkeep, barely containing her giggling. "We need a pitcher of your finest."
"I'm not blushing," Remus hissed, even as his pink cheeks betrayed him. "I can't believe you're laughing."
"Why? Not everyone gets depressed just because they're being hunted by supernatural demon hounds." Nyt smiled resolutely, settled into a vacant corner table, and waited for Remus to join her. "We've got them figured out anyway. We don't use magic, and the hounds can't find us."
"So, you're prepared to live the rest of your life as a Muggle?" Remus asked. "It's not an easy life."
"Until we figure out how to remove the mark, then I'll survive. We will figure out how to fix it."
It was hard to listen to her sometimes, talk about fixing the mark of Vociferor as though it were inevitable. Remus knew from bitter experience that not everything could be fixed. Some things had to be lived with. "Another full moon is coming, and I'm going back to the wolves for the transformation. They have their own Healers and they might know something about dealing with our problem."
"That should be interesting. I've never met another wolf." Nyt grinned. "I wonder if you’re a typical specimen and all the propaganda is really wrong? That would be something: honourable, blushing wolves, maligned by the empire."
"You're out of your mind," Remus whispered. "You can't come. They'd kill you or bite you, and don't expect them to let you pick. I'm going to take you to my parents to wait, okay."
Nyt's smile slipped off her face. "Your parents?"
Author's Note:
I've been away, figuring some things out, getting my head on straight, working, and getting healthy. Hopefully the chapter keeps the threads and will make sense in the grand scheme.
Gah! It has literally been months. I've missed writing and fandom. It's good to be back in the saddle though. This chapter, and the next couple of chapters are scary from this side of the screen. Reunions and catharsis are hard to get right. Hopefully this hits the right tone, and the next chapter will stay on track.
A million thanks are owed Kasey for betaing.