Florian Leffoy (prince_florian) wrote in lightning_war, @ 2008-07-15 15:04:00 |
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Current mood: | thunderstruck |
Monday afternoon, 14 September 1942, at Malfoy Manor in Tintagel and the Moody house in Trevena...
Alastor Moody knocked nervously on the door to Endymion Dashwood’s room, his broom in his other hand and Lucius Malfoy trailing behind him. He hoped that whatever had sent Endymion back to bed wasn’t serious; he didn’t really want to go poking around his old house with only Lucius around as back-up, even though he did have a perfectly good excuse for being there.
Endymion—he hoped it was Endymion, anyway—made an appalling, groaning sort of noise behind the door. Lucius’ response was to sniff the air and test the doorknob before Alastor could suggest that maybe it would be a good idea to check for wards.
“Luce…”
Lucius looked up at him and grinned, as the door opened easily. “Most people don’t ward their doors when they stay here,” said Lucius. “And the only people who could ward me out of a room in the Manor are Yvon and Mamma, anyway.”
Alastor followed him into the little sitting room. The door to the bedroom was open.
Endymion lay sprawled on the bed, fully dressed except for his shoes, which were lying in the middle of the sitting room floor. He had the same black satin mask covering his eyes that he’d put on before he went to sleep the night before.
“Endymion?” Alastor asked softly, standing in the doorway. “Are you all right?”
Lucius darted past him, padded over to the bed, and sat down on it. When Endymion registered someone else’s weight on the bed, he sat bolt upright and pulled the mask off with one hand, his wand in the other.
Lucius giggled.
Endymion applied a pillow firmly to the top of Lucius’ head, which only made him laugh harder, and Alastor too.
Endymion scowled, looking warily around the room. “M’fine,” he said, glaring at Alastor. “It’s just the two of you? There better not be a Jenny in here!”
“Of course there isn’t,” said Lucius. “Valeria’s gone. She went with Keresek and with Santino’s men to Londinium. They took Moruith, too.” He set his broom down by the edge of the bed and looked at Endymion appraisingly. “Wake up.”
“I know that look,” Endymion said in a dark voice. “If you even think about tickling me, I’ll transfigure you into a ferret! And I will know.”
“I’ll have you know, I make a very cute ferret,” Lucius said loftily. “And I wasn’t thinking about it at all…‘til you brought it up.”
“He actually does,” said Alastor, though he preferred not to think about the circumstances under which he’d found that out. “We were going to go search my house. Do you still want to come?”
“I thought I told you to come by yourself,” said Endymion, getting up and walking over to splash water on his face from a pitcher and basin. He glanced back at Lucius, his face red and his hair dripping. “No offence,” he said, “but I didn’t ask Jonathan either.”
“Jonathan isn’t here,” said Lucius, who shrugged, got up from the bed and went to sit down in the windowsill. “Don’t be silly, Endymion. I know everything we’re liable to run into, in the air and in the forest.”
“Unless there’s something in the woods that shouldn’t be,” Endymion said curtly, and twisted his hair back, shaking the drops of water out of the tail before he shook it loose.
Alastor seized on the opening to change the subject, not wanting to admit he’d forgotten what Endymion had said about coming alone and not particularly wanting to wonder if Endymion’s long hair was as silky and fine as Dylan’s was. “There might be. I found a dead house elf out there this morning and another one got into the Manor.”
“I’m not afraid of those things,” said Lucius, rolling his eyes. And he wasn’t, not any more, not now that his Maman—well, host mother—was gone. Sometimes he still thought affectionately of Gabrielle Lestrange, but all in all, he was beginning to take Yvon’s point about the term ‘Maman’ and the term ‘host womb’.
“You should be,” said Endymion, who was beginning to wake up. “They have to be bound, and they obviously aren’t bound to you or your mother.”
Lucius winced, but he didn’t want to think about that, so he didn’t.
“We should look for more of them while we’re out,” said Alastor. “They’re obviously spies. Somebody wants to know what’s been going on here.”
Lucius frowned. “Endymion,” he said. “You are the last person I…well.” Would have expected to treat me like a child, whatever that means? But what if he’s not? What if this is just treating me like the heir to the throne…? Lucius didn’t like this train of thought, but of course Endymion meant to protect him.
Endymion groaned and looked down at him. “I’m not trying to treat you like a child,” he said, in a softer voice. “Honest, I’m not. But I told Alastor to come by himself. Not that it matters, I like you just fine. I don’t really want to have to fight something off, though, because you’re the Heir and I’m just a…changeling.” He frowned and crouched down to look Lucius right in the eye. “What if she sent them to take you back to her in Londinium, so she could make your mother do what she wants because she has you?”
Lucius’ eyes went wide, and he shivered a little. “Do you really think that’s likely?”
Alastor looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought you didn’t want my sister around. I never thought there’d be anything out there that might hurt Lucius.”
Endymion frowned. “I didn’t either, till…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged.
“Till you found out about the house-elf?” Lucius supplied helpfully, although he still wanted to go with them. He liked Liane, and he knew he ought to spend more time with her, but she was with Bella and Melina now, and they were discussing things that he had no interest in, like sewing—as much as he loved fine clothing, he wasn’t very interested in making it.
Endymion nodded. “Among other things. It’s been a rough morning,” he admitted. “You missed all the excitement, Alastor.”
“I always do,” Alastor sighed. “What happened?”
Endymion frowned, because he wasn’t even sure how much of it he could tell Alastor even without having to explain what he’d done.
Lucius decided to be helpful some more, in the hope that they wouldn’t make him stay back. “Well,” he said to Alastor, “you did meet Liane.” Alastor nodded. Lucius made a face. Did sex really make you this stupid? “We don’t have new cousins turn up every day!”
Endymion finally laughed. “Her father, Domitian, is one of the things that happened. I thought Lady Malfoy would declare him outlaw.”
“Why?” Alastor asked, wide-eyed. “What had he done?” It had to be serious, to do that to family—even family she’d only just met.
“She can’t do that, Alessio would kill him,” said Lucius. “Possibly even on crutches. Possibly just with his eyes.”
Endymion almost laughed, then turned to Alastor. “He’s Yvon’s half-brother, and Mrs Parkinson couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Oh,” Alastor said in stunned realisation. “I don’t blame Alessio, then. I’d do the same, if that had been Dylan.”
“If that had been Hadrian, I would make sure whoever had done it lived for a very long time,” said Endymion. “In agony. But I don’t know that he knew exactly what she meant to do. Then again, I don’t know that he didn’t. I doubt he was as ignorant of her purpose as he claims to have been.”
Lucius glanced at Endymion shrewdly. “Unless she does declare him outlaw, Alessio can’t just kill him. At least not as long as he ever wants to leave the Bois des Malfées. He wouldn’t be outlawed here for that, but they might try and put him in Azkaban once he went back to Londinium.”
Alastor made a face. He wanted to be an Auror. But he didn’t want to have to throw someone in gaol for something like that. He was beginning to understand why Hadrian had decided he’d rather write the laws than enforce them.
Lucius shrugged. He understood why there had to be different laws in different places, and he even understood why it was a bad thing for kings and queens to kill their subjects out of hand, no matter how much they deserved it. But it was damned inconvenient sometimes. “I don’t blame him for wanting to, not a bit, and I don’t like Domitian. But I do like Liane.” He sighed. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”
“No reason not to,” said Endymion. His voice softened a little. “I think she is afraid of him, but he’s still her father, and the only person on earth that she really knows.”
“I know how that feels,” said Alastor glumly.
“No, you don’t,” said Endymion. Liane loved her father, she just…didn’t like him much. But there was an affection there, even when she thought he was being criminally stupid, which was apparently rather often, that Alastor didn’t feel for his own father. And Alastor had loads of friends, which was something Liane didn’t have. “Even I don’t. You know what it’s like to hate your father. But not to be as alone as she is. She hasn’t been to school since Beauxbatons was safe.”
“Well, yes,” Alastor agreed. He hadn’t expected Endymion to take him quite so literally. “But still, I could talk to her, I guess. Is she going back to Hogwarts with us, or is she staying here?”
“I think you’ll like her. Who said we were going back to Hogwarts?” Lucius asked, and peered out the window suddenly at a flash of black in the sky. “As far as I can tell, Mamma’s dead set against it.”
“But we have to go back eventually,” said Alastor, puzzled. He loved the Bois, but he liked school, too—and Dylan was at Hogwarts.
“Not the way it looks right now,” said Lucius, frowning. What had the choughs found now? There was one in the sky, flying in lazy circles. He wondered if he could catch a mouse outside for it before they took to the sky themselves. The Manor cats were pretty good at keeping the mice outside where they belonged, but sometimes you needed a mouse, as a tip for an owl or a raven. Lucius liked the rats at school, and had even got one of the dungeon rats half-tamed. (It appalled Jonathan, but that was half the fun of it.) But mice were stupid.
“Is this because of whatever’s been happening there? Dylan said he’d tell me when we got back.” Alastor was starting to be annoyed—mostly with himself—at just how much he didn’t know. He looked out the window, trying to see what had caught Lucius’ attention. But he was just watching a large raven fly lazily around in circles, looking at it curiously as if he expected it to do something interesting.
“I’m starting to think she never intended to send us back,” Lucius said grimly, still watching the raven and still processing the conversation, even while half his mind was occupied with thoughts of catching mice. “And I know you miss Dylan, and I know that Endymion misses Hadrian; and I have friends of my own that I miss, and am worried about.”
“I know,” said Alastor. “I’m just tired of being in the dark.” He watched the raven for a bit. “Do you think it’s found something else?”
“I think it’s here to tell us something,” said Lucius, “but Mamma had to go to Londinium and so did Nico, and Yvon’s not here either.” He frowned. “I hope Domitian’s not around. I don’t like the idea of him being somewhere around if I’m in charge, and I am, because Charis is…not,” he said, frowning again at the lack of a proper word for it. “If I opened the window, it might come inside.”
“It might,” said Endymion softly, and stroked his head where he felt the crown on it. “But…”
Lucius looked up at him, and slid an arm round his waist, hugging him hard for a moment before letting go. He understood, even without being told, without the right words.
Alastor looked at them curiously. There was something going on that he ought to have understood, but didn’t, and that was frustrating. “It’s just a messenger bird, like an owl, right? Or is this another one of those things I don’t know about?”
Endymion shook his head slowly, then glanced at Lucius. “Are you sure it’s safe? To let in, or to go out there?”
“It’s a chough,” said Lucius. “I think… It could be the message, not the messenger.”
“What does it mean?” Alastor asked.
Lucius cocked his head to one side, wondering why Alastor didn’t understand when he was a blood relative, and Endymion wasn’t. Endymion laughed.
“I think Mamma got something she wanted,” Lucius said after a moment.
Endymion laughed again. “Is he always this cryptic?” he asked Alastor with a wry smile. Maybe if Alastor thought he didn’t understand what was going on, either, he wouldn’t figure him out.
“Always,” Alastor answered with a smile. “But it sounds like good news, for a change.”
Endymion looked rather pleased with himself.
“It’s a message. A message that the North is with us, that they’re here with us now in these times.” Lucius’ voice had drifted far away as he spoke the message, but then he snorted. “Are we going to Alastor’s house, or are we going to sit around here and think about ways to get sent back to school? I know which one I expect to be more productive.”
“House,” Alastor said firmly. “I still want to know who’s behind that Howler.”
“So do I,” said Lucius, and looked Endymion straight in the eye. “Don’t you worry about me. I know Hadrian’s not here, but Alastor’s about his equal. And I’m a lot more dangerous than you think I am. Heir or no, changeling or no, I don’t expect you to get between me and something that could actually hurt me.” He glanced at Alastor. “That’s my cousin’s job anyway.”
“Right,” said Alastor. “Anything that wants you has to get through me first.” There was a flash of silver in his eyes that mirrored Lucius’ eyes.
“You are both rather appalling sometimes,” said Endymion, but he seemed mollified. “Very well, then, let’s go.”
“Where’s your broomstick then?” said Lucius, and set about opening the window. It was really too bad that he couldn’t get a mouse. The choughs had been very good about not hunting in the Bois, which didn’t belong to them, and had only eaten things that were already dead and didn’t belong in the Bois, anyway.
Endymion’s eyes widened in absolute horror. “I don’t own a broomstick,” he said very quietly. “I haven’t been on a broom since…about second year.”
“We’ve got more,” said Lucius with a shrug. “I gave my second-best one to Liane to use until they got hers back from Londinium, though.”
Endymion turned to Alastor with an expression of sheer, oh-god-rescue-me, terror. “I don’t think you heard me correctly the first time,” he said, in a quiet voice that even he didn’t really believe sounded calm.
“I don’t think Endymion likes flying,” said Alastor loudly and firmly, hoping to grab Lucius’ attention away from the sky and the bird in it. From the look on Endymion’s face, he thought that was an understatement.
“Well,” said Lucius, “four years is an awfully long time not to go—” He blinked, and looked up at Endymion. “Second year. That’s when they stop the lessons at school. That’s the last time you flew?”
“Yes,” said Endymion sweetly. “That’s the last time anyone tried to make me fly. Look, you’re not going to win this. Even Potter gave up.” He pointed out the window. “Flying on broomsticks is a mad thing to do. I don’t even like flying carpets, but at least on a carpet you can’t see what’s not under you. Do you know what would happen to you if you fell out that window?”
“That’s why one doesn’t,” Lucius said quietly. “I always take my broom when I have to go up on the roof, in case I slip.” He blinked. “If you aren’t careful, people are going to think that you’re afraid of heights.”
“Are they,” Endymion said calmly. “Well, that would mean they’re not entirely stupid. Wouldn’t it? Of course I’m afraid of heights. Or rather, of falling from them. Falling from heights can kill you.”
“We could fly close to the ground,” said Alastor tentatively. He didn’t really understand what Endymion was feeling, but he got the sense that appeals to logic probably wouldn’t work.
“Are you under the impression that I’m afraid people will think I’m a terrible coward?” Endymion laughed. “Darling,” he said, patting Lucius on the head in an entirely dismissive way, “they already know.”
Lucius stared at Endymion, absolutely irritated by that pat on the head, which felt entirely different from the previous one. “Do you know how long it would take to walk?”
“Perhaps we ought to get started, then,” said Endymion, although he’d walked down there before. Of course they’d been on a nature walk then, and it had taken several hours. But he hadn’t cared, because he’d been looking at rare plants in the Bois—things he normally only saw shrivelled and dried and chopped up, growing wild and unbounded and free. “I’ve heard fresh air and exercise are good for the soul. Goodness knows, I wouldn’t know.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Alastor, “but bring your broom anyway, Lucius. You can fly and keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
“We could get the flying carpet,” said Lucius after a moment. “But it’s awfully slow. Only Lady Goyle knows the right commands to make it go fast, and she’s not going to tell you if I’m around. Still, he could lie in the middle?” They could get a mouse on the way to the Goyles’, too.
“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that, and I don’t want to be,” Endymion said firmly. “Not with you two anyway.” The last time he had been on a flying carpet, he had been too drunk to hear the demons whisper that it would only be a few moments of glorious weightlessness, and then he’d be free of all pain. Which was the only way he could ever be got on a carpet. Also, Rohan Chakravarty had been blowing him, or maybe it had been Rohan that he had been blowing, which meant it was Carey Travers who’d been blowing him. Things like that had a way of making you forget your troubles. Even if his arse had got ungodly cold up there, despite Carey’s best efforts.
“All right,” Lucius said doubtfully. “We could go on the straight tracks, I suppose, you’re close enough to being one of us. And it’s too near the Manor for there to be anything out there that’s not ours but choughs.” Alastor nodded, then looked at Endymion to see if there was any objection to that plan.
“Fine,” said Endymion. “I suppose you’re afraid you’ll miss dinner or something.” He grabbed his cloak and followed them out of the room, noticing unhappily that Lucius was still holding onto his broom. He’d really wanted to go on that walk again, too. Black valerian. He had been hoping that Lucius would give him permission to gather some.
“No,” said Lucius. “Yvon and Alessio are coming back from Mungo’s. I want to see them when they’re better. I want to see Alessio walk on both legs again. And dance when Yvon plays the fiddle and sings.”
Endymion laughed mirthlessly. “No offence,” he said, “but I don’t expect they’ll want much company for a day or two.”
Alastor gave him a knowing grin. “At least.”
Lucius rolled his eyes at them both. “Maybe they’re not sixteen any more.” If he were Yvon—or Alessio—he’d be thoroughly sick of staying in bed.
“No,” said Endymion, patting Lucius’ arm as he herded them both out the door, “but being together makes them feel that they are.” He turned to Alastor. “They went to Mungo’s this morning. Yvon’s completely recovered, and they think they know how to fix Alessio’s leg, but they can’t do it here.”
“Completely?” Alastor shook his head in amazement. “I knew he was better, but I hadn’t heard that.”
Endymion nodded. “The first time I saw him today, he was carrying Alessio. Like he was weightless, which he probably is, given that he’s hardly eaten or slept in the past few days.”
“That’s amazing,” said Alastor. “What happened? Yesterday nobody had any idea what was wrong.” Yesterday they’d thought Yvon was dying, but Lucius had been so upset that Alastor didn’t want to say it out loud.
“I suppose they figured it out,” said Endymion breezily. “I always heard that Laurens van Rensselaer was brilliant, you know.”
Lucius considered this and said nothing. It was supposed to be a secret that Valeria had healed Yvon, and Alastor…wasn’t discreet, sometimes.
“He must be,” said Alastor. “I’d never thought about it, but of course Healers would have to be good at Dark Arts too.”
Endymion shrugged. “So, why don’t you tell us why you think your mother wants to keep us here, Lucifer?”
“Alessio dreamed that something would happen and I would be there,” said Lucius, frowning. “Maybe she thinks if I’m not there, it won’t happen?”
“What were you doing in the dream?” Alastor asked.
“Mostly managing not to burn,” said Lucius, “although it wasn’t a terribly coherent version of the story I had. I was helping people get out of a tower. I thought it might be the Astronomy Tower at school, but it really looked different…”
“That sounds lovely,” said Endymion, scowling.
“Maybe it was just the falling tower from the Tarot card,” said Lucius cheerfully. “That just means that something’s going to fall apart around me, not that I’m literally going to be in a falling tower. And he was so afraid Yvon was going to die…”
“That does seem like a pretty good sign you shouldn’t be there,” said Alastor.
Lucius shrugged. “I wasn’t dying,” he pointed out. “In fact the way he made it sound, I was saving people.”
“Wouldn’t you really prefer to avoid this scenario?” Endymion inquired pointedly. “If I were your mother, I’d keep you home too. You’re going to make me think you were mis-Sorted.”
“Oh,” said Alastor worriedly. “But if you’re helping people, maybe things are worse if you aren’t there. You can never tell, with prophecies.” It didn’t surprise him that Lucius would be helping; he was a Malfoy, and they always looked after their people.
“You can never tell with Alessio’s dreams, either,” said Lucius.
Alastor shrugged. “I didn’t even know he had dreams like that.”
“Nicodemo doesn’t like him to talk about them,” said Lucius. “Nicodemo wants everyone to think he’s normal. Whatever that means. Alessio definitely isn’t any kind of normal I’m aware of, but neither am I, and I really don’t care.”
“Suddenly everyone’s a prophet,” said Endymion cheerily as they finally got outdoors. “If Valeria starts to have visions, though, I am still going to laugh.”
Alastor laughed. “If she had visions of things exploding, I’d think it would just be wishful thinking.”
They were quiet for a while after that. Lucius darted off once when he spied a field mouse at the edge of the night garden, leaving Alastor holding his broom, but it didn’t take him long to catch it.
“And people say I’m a cat,” said Endymion.
Lucius stuck the mouse up into his face, and it wriggled. He meowed at Endymion. Alastor laughed.
“Ew,” said Endymion loudly, and made the face that Lucius had been hoping for.
Then they came to the edge of the forest, and then they were on the track. Endymion could see it now, a faintly silvery line across the ground and in the underbrush that hadn’t been there in August, except that it had been, he just hadn’t seen it. As they followed it, which Lucius and Alastor did easily, they seemed to cover the ground much faster than they ought to have done, but there were shadows at odd angles that didn’t make sense, and sometimes it seemed to get so dark he could almost see stars, as if they were walking through night.
Endymion fell silent, and kept closer to Alastor than he might have done otherwise. Lucius finally did get on his broom and fly above them, following the track. The raven that he had been watching began to fly along above them, and he held out the mouse. The raven took it from his hand.
“Is he talking to that bird?” Endymion asked, even though he knew perfectly well what the answer was.
Alastor glanced up. “Looks like it.” He pretended not to notice how close Endymion was staying to him. He hadn’t been on the tracks that often himself and still found it odd, but for Endymion’s sake, he didn’t let it show.
Endymion looked up again. “That’s…rather charming. I think they must be playing. I think sometimes we bore him, poor thing. The ones his own age bore him worse.”
“I imagine so,” said Alastor. “It’s only when I think about things like how unfair it is that he can’t have a broom that I even remember he’s a firstie.”
“He is going to be Seeker, isn’t he?” Endymion mused. There was something comforting about discussing trivialities in this eldritch sort of place. “After Reynard’s gone, anyway. Everyone was so surprised that Charis didn’t go out for it.”
“It would be a shame if he wasn’t,” said Alastor, “even if that does mean there’s no chance of my House winning the cup.”
“I don’t care nearly as much about Quidditch as I am supposed to,” Endymion said, shaking his head. “But I bet on it sometimes. I didn’t even go to the matches when Hadrian and I were broken up.” He hated going up in the stands to watch, but sometimes he managed, if Hadrian really wanted to go, and held his hand underneath their cloaks. He had never wanted to die when he was with Hadrian. No matter how loud the voices had got.
Alastor grinned. “That’s one nice thing about Ravenclaw. Nobody even notices if you don’t show up for a match.” He’d been looking forward to sneaking off with Dylan while most of the school was off watching Quidditch.
“Ha! I bet Davies does!” Endymion shook his head. “I am just glad Hadrian doesn’t play. I think I would spend the whole game with my heart in my mouth,” he said quietly, even though he knew, sort of, that the demons wouldn’t be there to tell him how easy it would be for Hadrian to fall, and for his world to end. “At least the cricketers keep their feet on the ground.”
“I can’t even imagine Dylan playing either of those,” said Alastor.
“Of course you can’t, he can’t breathe,” said Endymion. “Poor thing.”
Alastor nodded. “Did I ever thank you for dealing with that dog?”
“It’s understood,” said Endymion, smiling. “Flint’s been keeping her cat out of trouble since I did that, too, have you noticed?”
Alastor grinned. “If there’s ever anything I can do to return the favour, just let me know.”
“All right,” said Endymion cheerily.
Alastor waved at Lucius and called out, “How much further?”
“While yet!” Lucius called down. “We could go a bit faster.” Endymion kept glancing off track, thinking about those black flowers he liked, probably, and it was slowing them down.
“I miss Londinium at times like these,” Endymion said with a shrug. “As much as I do love your wonderful mother, you can walk wherever you need to go and if you can’t there’s always a hansom to rent!” His tone was teasing.
“Your mother too now,” Lucius called down to him, just as the chough swept a foot or two over Endymion’s head.
Endymion ducked, grabbed Alastor’s arm, and stared at it, sputtering, as it circled back up into the sky. Lucius was laughing.
“Everyone’s a critic,” Endymion grumbled. “You told it to do that!”
Lucius just laughed. “They don’t take orders from me!” he said, and threw up his hands. Endymion squeezed Alastor’s arm, which he was still holding.
“Don’t do that! Hold onto your broom!” Endymion sputtered.
Lucius did a barrel roll above them. The bird followed him.
“I’ve only been to Londinium to buy school things,” said Alastor, and tugged him back to the track. “I can’t imagine living there.”
“I like it,” said Endymion. “But there is loads of iron. I suppose it’ll start to bother me, someday.”
“If you can see the track? Absolutely.” Alastor nodded. “It’s annoying, but I can handle it if I have to. Which I suppose I will, because Dylan couldn’t possibly live out here.”
“No,” said Endymion flatly, “he couldn’t.”
“I’d do anything for him,” said Alastor.
“I know,” said Endymion. “I know exactly how that works.”
“Whoever sent that Howler is going to suffer,” said Alastor, scowling. “They wanted to take Dylan away from me.” Nothing could excuse that. Nothing.
Endymion sighed. “No. They wanted to hurt you for being what we are. There will always be people like that. It’s not personal, not if it’s that, which doesn’t mean you can’t hate them. If they’d wanted to take him away…they’d have done something to him. Telling your little secret wouldn’t hurt him at all; his parents already know and don’t care.”
Alastor didn’t see that there was much difference; he couldn’t imagine anything that would hurt him more than losing Dylan. Then the rest of what Endymion said sunk in and he paled. “You don’t think they really would, do you? Do something to him.”
“I don’t know,” said Endymion. “People like that hate us all. They’ve been known to kill us. In the Muggle world, it’s done by the law. But even here people murder us once in a while.” He made a face. “Stupid Muggle ideas. Whoever sent that letter to your father hated you particularly, though.”
Alastor nodded. “I can’t imagine who that could be, though. I mean, I’m sure I’ve got enemies, but not like that.”
Endymion gave him a sidewise glance of disbelief. “Alastor, don’t be ridiculous. There are a lot of people who hate you at school.”
Alastor considered that for a moment. “Yes, but enough to do that? Even some of my enemies were shocked!”
“Who? Only the very unimaginative ones. Maybe they wished they’d thought of it first,” said Endymion. “It’s rather an obvious thing to do to you.”
“Only to someone very confident that they’d never get caught,” Alastor said fiercely.
“People are always confident they won’t get caught when they do things,” Endymion said, trying to be gentle and wondering why in the world Alastor was always so stupid about his personal life. “Otherwise they wouldn’t do them.”
Alastor thought about that for a while. “All right, I’ve got enemies, and maybe I am predictable, but whoever did this had to also know what my father’s reaction would be. That’s why I think it’s Fran. I don’t know why Lucius thinks it’s Dursley. I’ve never done anything to him.”
“Are you sure?” Endymion asked, glancing at him sidewise. “Alastor, you beat people up for the strangest reasons.”
“Only if they’ve done something to deserve it,” Alastor protested.
“Funny thing,” said Endymion, raising an eyebrow. “Most of them didn’t think so.”
“Well, of course not,” said Alastor, though he was starting to feel a bit uncertain.
“Did you beat him up? I’ve noticed he’s not very popular around here,” said Endymion. “And I heard Aelia say that you had. She was very amused. She seems to think she set the whole thing up!” Aelia actually hadn’t said it out loud, but as amused as she was, he was fairly sure she’d told someone, who’d tell someone else.
“Well…yes,” Alastor admitted, “but he was bothering my sister!”
“Did she think he was bothering her? Jon says she likes him,” said Endymion, whose pace had begun to pick up as they walked down the track. Maybe he’d get his nature walk again on the way back.
Alastor scowled. “She didn’t know what he was after. He fancies her. And you said it yourself, she’s been making entirely the wrong kind of friends!”
“I’m not defending him,” said Endymion calmly. “I’m just pointing out that he is in fact your enemy, and that you do have rather a lot of them.”
“Oh,” said Alastor, somewhat mollified. “Well, if it is him, he’s going to wish he’d never so much as looked at my sister.” Even as he said it, he felt a bit uneasy. This particular enemy had already proven to be someone who didn’t fight fair. What else might they come up with?
“Because beating him up has worked so well as a preventive,” Endymion said gently.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Alastor asked, genuinely curious. “Because I’m not going to let him get away with this.”
“First let’s find out if Lucius is right,” said Endymion. “But if he is…then I think the first thing you need to do is let Mean Miss Marvell know, as we discussed before.”
Alastor nodded. “I don’t want to get on her bad side.”
“Yes, and as you pointed out before…she’s not going to be pleased that he did this.” Endymion smiled.
“No.” Alastor’s grin promised trouble. “Bet she’d come up with something even worse than I could imagine.”
“I think just losing her faith and affection would be terrible for him,” said Endymion, tossing his hair back over one shoulder. “Possibly more than he deserves.” The thought of it made his stomach ache, which was stupid, because he didn’t like Dursley, and Dursley would have wished much worse on him!
“You think so? After everything he’s done?” Alastor considered that for a moment. “It’s true he hasn’t exactly made a lot of friends. Aside from my sister, and maybe this will show her what he’s really like.”
“He’s very lost, don’t you think?” Endymion said as they came to the wall of the briars. He looked up at it speculatively.
Alastor shrugged. As far as he was concerned, Dursley had brought all his troubles on himself.
“Don’t get me wrong. He’s a disgusting lump of a Muggle, but Marvell took him out of their parents’ house and came here, and he doesn’t know anyone, and apparently he can’t go back.” Endymion shrugged. “I imagine that’s pretty damned awful. He does make it worse. But he probably doesn’t know how to do anything else.”
“Why not?” Alastor asked, curious despite himself. “I can see why Marvell wouldn’t want to go back, but what’s stopping him?”
“Where is he going to go?” Endymion stared at Alastor. “Can we let him go back? I mean, really. He knows too much. Who in the Muggle world could he go to, if their family won’t have him?”
“I didn’t know his family didn’t want him,” said Alastor. Not that he’d ever tried to find out. It gave them something in common, to his dismay; he really didn’t like the idea about having anything in common with someone like Dursley.
“I gather they don’t want any of them,” said Endymion. He reached out and touched the briar, playing with the green leaves. There were berries, impossibly red; he wanted to eat them, but knew that he probably shouldn’t. “Is it really poisonous to outsiders?” He stroked one of the long thorns, carefully. It was odd to be able to touch it and not to hear voices. “Would it put me to sleep for a hundred years? Probably not. I’m changing, every day that I’m here. And I’m trying to go out, not in.”
“You still shouldn’t touch it,” said Alastor nervously. “It’s part of the Bois’ defences, and I don’t want to have to explain it to Hadrian if it turns out you’re wrong.”
Endymion laughed. “No. I suppose only Lucius should touch it, and you.” He stepped back. “I don’t like Dursley. I don’t think he doesn’t deserve what you do to him. I just…pity him. For all that he hates me.”
“I suppose I should, too,” Alastor said slowly. “Grandfather said Aurors need to be fair. But I can’t, not with anyone who hurts me or anyone I care about.”
Endymion shrugged. “Fair is for Gryffindors.”
Lucius swept down on his broom, and waved to the chough, which flew lazily away. The briars opened for them. Alastor walked through the briars, then looked around to get his bearings. “Not far now,” he said, leading the way into the woods.
“No, I should imagine not,” said Endymion. “We came down here before.”
“Yes, when we ran into Fran’s Muggle boyfriend.” Alastor scowled. “Even if it wasn’t her behind the Howler, I bet she was glad it happened.”
“I’ve no doubt of that,” said Endymion. He followed Alastor and Lucius through the briars, inhaling the heavy scent of flowers and berries. Some of the bees in the briars flew in formation around them as they passed through the thorns. Endymion knew they were watching. They didn’t have minds of their own, but together, they were a mind, and the patterns they flew in told stories.
Alastor grew quiet as they approached the house. There was something strange about sneaking around like this—even though he had a perfectly good excuse for being here, it still felt like sneaking—and he didn’t want Lucius or Endymion to know that it was making him uncomfortable.
Endymion knew, of course, but said nothing.
“What were you talking about down there?” Lucius asked after a little while.
“Planning what to do once we find out who’s responsible,” said Alastor.
“I’m sure you’ll make him regret it,” said Lucius. “Or her.”
“But you think it’s Dursley, don’t you?” Endymion raised an eyebrow.
“He was gloating about it,” said Lucius. “There’s a difference between the way people look when they’re pleased and surprised something terrible happened to someone, and the way they look when they planned it.”
Alastor scowled. The more he thought about everything Dursley had done, the more angry he got.
Endymion made a face. The bees—and Alastor—had made his head begin to throb again. After a moment he pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a long swig of it, and then he made a worse face. Lucius gave him a slightly sceptical, entirely disapproving look, then shrugged.
“It’s not booze,” said Endymion.
“I’d gathered,” said Lucius. “Or rather it isn’t entirely booze. And it can’t be good booze, or you’d not have dissolved lavender and willow bark in it.”
“Gods, no,” said Endymion. “It’s a waste to dissolve herbals in good liquor. The congeners interfere with them anyway.”
Alastor looked sideways at Endymion and pulled his own flask out. “Don’t see that it makes much difference,” he said. “Booze is booze.” He took a swig and started to put his flask away, then reconsidered and held it out in offer to Endymion.
Endymion sniffed it. “I can’t decide if that would make matters better or worse,” he said, shaking his head, but finally he took a tentative sip. “At least it sears the taste off your tongue.”
Alastor gave him a reluctant grin. “You’d think someone could find a way to make the things that are good for you taste good.”
“I’ll work on that after I’ve managed to recreate the Philosopher’s Stone,” Endymion said flippantly.
Alastor smiled, momentarily distracted. “What, you think that’ll be easier?”
“Yes,” said Endymion. Lucius giggled.
“I’ll hold you to that, then,” said Alastor.
“Somebody’s been in there,” said Lucius as they neared the house. “Look.”
Alastor looked up, startled, and pulled out his wand. “Someone’s forced the wards,” he said after a brief inspection.
“You’re surprised?” Endymion inquired, leaning against the low stone wall around the garden.
“A bit,” said Alastor. “What would anyone want out of my house?”
“It’s a staging point, isn’t it?” Endymion shrugged.
Lucius frowned. “Maman loves Alastor’s mother and she’s friends with Mrs Parkinson…” The frown deepened into a pronounced scowl. “And those were her husalps.”
“Mother could have got in without forcing the wards,” said Alastor, and grimaced. “And I’m sure she would’ve let Gabrielle in if she asked.”
“Depends on who warded it last. Keresek’s been here,” said Lucius after a moment. “That’s his mark, those lines chalked up there.” He pointed at some chalk marks on the lintel over the door. “If he warded this place against her, then she would have to have broken them down. And somebody did. That doesn’t feel like his work does it?”
“No.” Alastor looked around suspiciously. “We should still be careful. If he got in, or she did…someone else may have.”
“I wasn’t about to suggest being anything other than careful,” Endymion said in a falsely light voice. “I was going to suggest that for all we know, there’s someone in there still.” In fact he was rather sure of it. Or rather he was sure there was something. “Maybe we ought to go back.”
“There’s not time,” said Lucius. “Whoever it is will do whatever they’re doing and be gone by the time someone gets here. I’m holding the crown for my mother and Yvon, I say we go in, it’s what they’d do.”
Endymion frowned, and was about to point out that neither of them was eleven years old, but Alastor nodded. “I’ll go in first, then.”
Endymion pushed Lucius between them; Lucius looked back at him, wide-eyed, and shrugged, but followed Alastor in and let Endymion bring up the rear, although he was sure that Jon would have had something funny to say about that. And then Endymion snickered and pushed him a little harder. “Heir or no heir, don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered.
“Nico told you to stop that,” Lucius muttered right back. He didn’t want Endymion to be found out by Alastor; it was bad enough that Charis knew.
Alastor looked back over his shoulder at them and glared. “Shhh. We’re supposed to be sneaking.”
“Because that was completely quiet,” Lucius whispered back. “Anyone who’s in here knows we’re coming. Unless they’re deaf.”
Alastor started to answer, and then realised that would just prove Lucius’ point. He checked the door for traps, opened it carefully, and looked inside. Nothing, but then he expected that if anyone was there, they’d be hiding somewhere farther inside.
Endymion still thought they ought to go back up to the Manor, but even if they sent Lucius back on his broom it wouldn’t be fast enough to get anyone else here, and there could be something other than choughs in the air, where Lucius would be alone. The sensation of being watched was almost palpable, like a heavy hand, flat at the back of his neck, but he couldn’t read whatever it was. Not human.
Alastor led the way into the house. Little had changed since the last time he was here, which made the idea that something might be lying in wait for them even more unnerving—but his mother’s pianoforte was gone, and here and there were drawers and cupboards emptied, their contents spilled out on the floor without care. They didn’t even have a plan—should they search the house first, or just look for the letter and leave? What did Lucius think they would do if they found whatever was here? Then he looked up. There were pixies in the rafters. There were never pixies in the rafters when his parents lived here. They hated the church bell, for one thing, even though his father almost never let it ring.
“Several people have been here,” Lucius announced in a calm near-whisper. “And a whole lot of piskies.” He looked up toward the rafters. “There are still piskies here.” He made a whistling noise, and two or three blue pixies came down. “Shoo,” said Lucius, and watched them go out through the window. He knew they wouldn’t go far.
“How—?” Endymion rubbed the back of his neck. At least the sensation of being watched had lessened. Lessened. But not gone. “Do you see anything else alive in here?”
“No. But if there’s something from another court in here, I can’t command them to show themselves and they might be better at glamour than me.” Lucius shrugged. “Keresek wouldn’t have touched the religious books.” He pointed to an empty shelf. “Or taken the pianoforte.”
“You have a better one?” Endymion whispered back.
“Much,” said Lucius flatly. “Although I like my French double manual harpsichord much, much better. Even if it is really loud.”
“Mother loved that piano,” said Alastor, “but she’d never tolerate such a mess.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine your mother moving a pianoforte herself,” said Endymion, slumping against a chair, “and it’s not like she plans to come back.”
“Apparently not,” Alastor said bitterly. He wondered how long she’d even waited before leaving—not long, obviously, because he hadn’t had a single owl from her since he got the Howler. “I’m sure Gabrielle would have sent her elves along to help her get her things, but she wouldn’t have needed to break the wards.”
Abruptly the sensation of being watched disappeared completely, and Endymion stood up a little straighter, then frowned and ran out through the house, all the way to the back, and threw open the doors and stared out of them. “I’m sure I heard something,” he announced loudly, because he didn’t want Alastor to think too hard about his actions.
Alastor followed, confused. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Then clean your ears,” Endymion snapped, and put his hand up to his face, which was unpleasantly wet.
“Your nose is bleeding,” Lucius observed, and gave him a handkerchief. “Where’s this letter likely to be, if there is one? We should get out of here and tell Santino what we’ve seen. Keresek’s been here but he wasn’t the last person. Those piskies are going to come back, but they’re ours. And that’s fine. When they do, I’ll tell them to watch this place.”
“My father’s desk is most likely,” said Alastor. “I’m sure he wanted to have it in front of him while he wrote the Howler.” With one last confused look at Endymion, he headed back into the house.
“Endymion’s not feeling well,” said Lucius. “Hasn’t been all day. I think whatever’s making his ears so sensitive is also what’s making his nose bleed.” He gave Endymion a warning glance.
“You mean I’ve caught something?” Endymion sniffled.
“Yes,” said Lucius firmly, and tugged at his wrist. “Come on, we’re not leaving you here to face piskies alone with a migraine and a bloody nose.” He was having the unpleasant feeling that he shouldn’t have sent them away. But they would come back.
“Here,” said Alastor. The desk was just as disordered as the rest of the house, with papers scattered everywhere and spilling off onto the floor. Alastor picked a pile and started to sift through it. Most of them he didn’t have to look at; they were warded beyond what Dursley could ever hope to manage.
“We should take those,” Endymion suggested. “Just in case they’re important.”
Alastor nodded. It made sense, and he should have thought of it first. “We should just take everything and look at it when we get back.”
“Good plan,” Lucius agreed, and began to look for a bag to stuff the correspondence in. “Most of it’s probably rot about sodomy, but you never know what kind of letters your mother could have been getting, with her friends. I’ll go search her desk. I won’t try to break any wards, I’ll just shovel them all in a shopping basket or something.”
Alastor didn’t have an answer to that. “Might even be something important. Whoever tossed the place might not have found what they were looking for.”
Endymion stood there with the handkerchief pressed to his nose. “Whoever it was, wasn’t human…” He shook his head. “At least they weren’t all.”
“You don’t think?” Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Do you have anything left here you might want, Alastor?”
Alastor considered that for a moment. “No. I took everything important with me to school.” Besides, he didn’t think Endymion would appreciate having to stay here much longer.
Endymion smiled ruefully at him. “We should get out of here,” he said firmly. “I don’t…” Suddenly he looked down at the ground and frowned. He’d seen chalk marks under the edge of a rug. Maybe they’d been Keresek’s, but… He ran back into the parlour; the other two followed him. He toed the edge of the rug, flipping it back to expose more chalk marks. “Lucius, what’s that? Alastor, do you recognise that?” There were runes chalked out on the floor under the rug he’d moved with his foot.
Alastor shook his head. “That wasn’t there before. I can’t think why there would be a devil’s trap in our parlour, though.”
“The fireplace,” said Lucius. “See if it’s been set up for Floo.”
Alastor nodded and went over to check. “Yes. Someone’s been using it.”
“Keresek didn’t write this,” said Endymion. “I doubt that your mother did either, or anyone associated with her. But she broke the wards he set, and…anything could get in. If you two are done with those letters, I think we should leave right now. I know it looks like a devil’s trap, but it’s not. It’s meant to bring something here. What I don’t quite know is what it’s meant to draw, aside from trouble.”
Lucius looked up at him. “People take refuge in the church during lightning rains, don’t they?”
Alastor nodded. “All sorts of people. Even Muggles.”
“So if you wanted to kill them, you’d make sure you hit the vicarage,” Lucius said quietly.
Alastor’s eyes went wide. “The Abbotts came here to be safe. Their house was destroyed in the last lightning rain, but it couldn’t reach them here. We have to tell someone now!”
Lucius made a face. “For now,” he said softly, “I’m all of the someone we’ve got. And I think we’d better go back right away.” He glanced at the fireplace. Emiliano used Floo in the kitchens sometimes for deliveries, but it only worked when they were expecting things and lately they’d been living on their own stores, trying to ease the strain on the rest of the wizarding world. Even if Endymion had been willing to fly, three people couldn’t use one broom. “Back to the track,” he said quietly. “As fast as we can.”
fairlight, guywiththeeye and luxserpentis