THE NEXT GENERATION:
A Sequence of Events
A History
Lunar Requiem: The Dawn of a New Era
Saturday, May 2nd, 1998. After three long years, the Second Wizarding War came to an end with the defeat of Lord Voldemort and his following of Death Eaters. The Wizarding World rejoiced. Victory abounded. Peace was restored.
But in its wake, another war was roused. A war the public never saw coming.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Healer H. Pollingtonious approved the distribution of Vaccine Vivifica by the hundreds to those injured during the war. It was administered to survivors on both sides of the battle, beginning May 2nd and throughout the multi-year revitalization phase following the war. This was a vaccine that was amidst clinical trials and developmental research. A vaccine that was unfinished and unapproved. It was thought that Vivifica would boost the immune system of wizards and witches alike, reversing ailments from devastating traumas, beckoning healing to those lingering on the brink of death. And it worked- to an extent.
As of June 1, 2022, there have been 138 individual reports of unusual side effects, including but not limited to: heightened paranoia, insomnia, involuntary twitching, silver allergy, ear aches, light sensitivity, dry mouth, dizziness, reduced energy levels, increased body hair, iron deficiency, jitteriness, tooth ache, and lunar cycle sensitivity. Every single one of these reports have come from individuals who received the Vaccine Vivifica, or individuals who are children of mothers who received the Vaccine Vivifica.
But alas, the Ministry of Magic has swept all 138 of these reports under the rug. Why? Because 150 is the magic number. The International Healers Society requires 150 incident reports before they can issue an investigation into adverse side effects of any drug administration. In other words, the Ministry of Magic does not think that those 138 individuals are significant, much less the hundreds of those who go unreported.
But rest assured your concerns are valid. Brothers and sisters, we hear your cries. We see your struggles. We think you are significant.
For twenty-four years, the Ministry of Magic has ignored their responsibility to correct their wrong-doings. We should not have to wait to see twenty-five.
It is time for a change.
It is time to stand up and take action.
It is time for the Werewolf Alliance.
But in its wake, another war was roused. A war the public never saw coming.
In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Healer H. Pollingtonious approved the distribution of Vaccine Vivifica by the hundreds to those injured during the war. It was administered to survivors on both sides of the battle, beginning May 2nd and throughout the multi-year revitalization phase following the war. This was a vaccine that was amidst clinical trials and developmental research. A vaccine that was unfinished and unapproved. It was thought that Vivifica would boost the immune system of wizards and witches alike, reversing ailments from devastating traumas, beckoning healing to those lingering on the brink of death. And it worked- to an extent.
As of June 1, 2022, there have been 138 individual reports of unusual side effects, including but not limited to: heightened paranoia, insomnia, involuntary twitching, silver allergy, ear aches, light sensitivity, dry mouth, dizziness, reduced energy levels, increased body hair, iron deficiency, jitteriness, tooth ache, and lunar cycle sensitivity. Every single one of these reports have come from individuals who received the Vaccine Vivifica, or individuals who are children of mothers who received the Vaccine Vivifica.
But alas, the Ministry of Magic has swept all 138 of these reports under the rug. Why? Because 150 is the magic number. The International Healers Society requires 150 incident reports before they can issue an investigation into adverse side effects of any drug administration. In other words, the Ministry of Magic does not think that those 138 individuals are significant, much less the hundreds of those who go unreported.
But rest assured your concerns are valid. Brothers and sisters, we hear your cries. We see your struggles. We think you are significant.
For twenty-four years, the Ministry of Magic has ignored their responsibility to correct their wrong-doings. We should not have to wait to see twenty-five.
It is time for a change.
It is time to stand up and take action.
It is time for the Werewolf Alliance.
A Vision - Helena Jakobson
The room was cold, unnatural and unreal. It was quite obvious that Helena wasn't in her own mind anymore. She was somewhere else. This place wasn't for her - which screamed it as she walked across the rubble of broken buildings. Cries could be heard all around her, and Helena trembled as she listened for the whisky voice of The Woman. There was Helena, and there was The Woman. The Woman was often something that scared Helena as she struggled to sleep at night.
Destruction was everywhere. Death was everywhere. Lives were ruined as parents mourned over their dead loved ones, and the heat plastered Helena's orange hair to her neck. As her feet crunched over broken glass and her heart hammered in her chest, Helena saw a family up ahead, crouched together and holding on for dear life. Wind whipped her hair against her face, a gust picking up and nearly knocking her off of her feet. It was ridiculous, debris flying past her and slamming into her legs and arms, slicing them open and knocking her against the street lamp. As she wrapped her arms around it to keep the wind from knocking her over, Helena's wild eyes followed the destruction as it intensified, and cars and roofs and couches and lamps and dog houses flew everywhere.
The tornado was almost on her whenever the rain started, screaming down with a vengeance while swallowing the tornado whole, causing her to gasp in response and hold on tighter to the lamp while the window whipped the cold water against her cut up body, splashing mud against her one instant and cleaning her off the next. Squeezing her eyes shut, Helena was vaguely aware the last thing she remembered was falling asleep in their house and the dream starting. The water was so intense Helena wondered briefly if you could drown in these dreams, and as the water lapped at her ankles and moved up to her calves, then her thighs, Helena felt a scream building in her chest as she saw a house take float and angrily come towards her. Her eyes closed, the water at her neck, as it was about to make impact, then it shifted again.
When her eyes opened, after nothing had happened, there was sunshine. Birds were chirping, and she was standing upright. She was in a meadow of red roses, the putrid too sweet smell lacing its way into her nose. There was a rainbow in the distance. The rain had washed away the fear and made everything clean.
At the edge of the meadow was a dark forest, looking suspiciously like the one at Hogwarts, and the Woman entered the clearing. She was terrible looking. Her red hair was ratty and her face was grim. It was always half shadowed by the darkness of her hood. Helena felt her heart pounding, and she writhed, becoming aware she was waking from this dream. The Woman opened her black hole of a mouth, and as Helena opened her mouth to scream the dream abruptly ended.
Sweat was plastered to her forehead as she looked into the cold blue eyes of the female Beaumont, waiting in anticipation. Helena tried to speak, but the Woman's voice leeched out instead as a vision of black hair whipped across her eyes, two hand in hand.
"They will come out victorious as the others will fall...
By the time they learn of their intentions it will be too late,
and with their victory
comes the suffering."
Helena started coughing, her lungs straining against her ribs as she gasped for air. The details of the vision was leaving her, and she noticed the journal standing open on her nightstand, a picture of a solar eclipse perfectly detailed. Helena struggled for several moments, holding her chest, letting it out.
Something was coming, something bigger and more sinister than she had ever known. But, as she had seen it, the saviors were alive and well. And they weren't going down without a fight.
Destruction was everywhere. Death was everywhere. Lives were ruined as parents mourned over their dead loved ones, and the heat plastered Helena's orange hair to her neck. As her feet crunched over broken glass and her heart hammered in her chest, Helena saw a family up ahead, crouched together and holding on for dear life. Wind whipped her hair against her face, a gust picking up and nearly knocking her off of her feet. It was ridiculous, debris flying past her and slamming into her legs and arms, slicing them open and knocking her against the street lamp. As she wrapped her arms around it to keep the wind from knocking her over, Helena's wild eyes followed the destruction as it intensified, and cars and roofs and couches and lamps and dog houses flew everywhere.
The tornado was almost on her whenever the rain started, screaming down with a vengeance while swallowing the tornado whole, causing her to gasp in response and hold on tighter to the lamp while the window whipped the cold water against her cut up body, splashing mud against her one instant and cleaning her off the next. Squeezing her eyes shut, Helena was vaguely aware the last thing she remembered was falling asleep in their house and the dream starting. The water was so intense Helena wondered briefly if you could drown in these dreams, and as the water lapped at her ankles and moved up to her calves, then her thighs, Helena felt a scream building in her chest as she saw a house take float and angrily come towards her. Her eyes closed, the water at her neck, as it was about to make impact, then it shifted again.
When her eyes opened, after nothing had happened, there was sunshine. Birds were chirping, and she was standing upright. She was in a meadow of red roses, the putrid too sweet smell lacing its way into her nose. There was a rainbow in the distance. The rain had washed away the fear and made everything clean.
At the edge of the meadow was a dark forest, looking suspiciously like the one at Hogwarts, and the Woman entered the clearing. She was terrible looking. Her red hair was ratty and her face was grim. It was always half shadowed by the darkness of her hood. Helena felt her heart pounding, and she writhed, becoming aware she was waking from this dream. The Woman opened her black hole of a mouth, and as Helena opened her mouth to scream the dream abruptly ended.
Sweat was plastered to her forehead as she looked into the cold blue eyes of the female Beaumont, waiting in anticipation. Helena tried to speak, but the Woman's voice leeched out instead as a vision of black hair whipped across her eyes, two hand in hand.
"They will come out victorious as the others will fall...
By the time they learn of their intentions it will be too late,
and with their victory
comes the suffering."
Helena started coughing, her lungs straining against her ribs as she gasped for air. The details of the vision was leaving her, and she noticed the journal standing open on her nightstand, a picture of a solar eclipse perfectly detailed. Helena struggled for several moments, holding her chest, letting it out.
Something was coming, something bigger and more sinister than she had ever known. But, as she had seen it, the saviors were alive and well. And they weren't going down without a fight.
A Vision - Katariina Jakobson
It started in the woods.
Katariina's eyes opened, and her feet danced over the dirt. She was running.
What was she running towards?
Her lungs, they burned, but the desperation to reach her destination was written deeper than the burn, deeper than her skin. It was written in her blood. She knew better than to ignore the intuition of something written so deep.
The silence of the forest was only broken by her running footsteps, and the wind blowing with an eerie whistle. Her bold, blue eyes flickered upwards in the dark night, and their gaze fell upon a stone cottage, resting quietly on the side of the mountain. Hundreds of miles away from all civilization.
Solitude.
Knowing now what she was to do, she followed the clearest path, hissing in pain as her bare feet made contact with twigs and rocks. She looked down, frowning at the state of them. Muddy, bloody, and sore. Pushing through, they covered the ground as fast as she could manage them, still unsure of what it was she was running towards beyond the doors of the cottage. But it didn't matter what she found behind the door. She had to get there. That cottage was the key to everything, her heart screamed. As she burst inside, she cried out, her voice sounding in desperation.
"Hello?! Are you here?!"
No answer.
Of course. Who would be there to answer?
The room was nearly empty, save for a square cut couch, resting against the wall, underneath the windows. /Lock all of the doors and windows. Lock the windows, lock the windows, lock the windows./ Her voice of instinct was taking over, and she allowed the fear boiling up to guide her. Fear was a necessary thing. She turned around, and dashed back to the door, throwing it closed, and bolted every bolt she could find. The windows around her slowly filled with darkness as less and less of the forest outside became visible.
/Click./
/Click./
Window after window was flung shut by her determined hand, and she moved swiftly around the room. The last window fell shut, and her gaze turned up a narrow stone staircase, with no holds on the side. Could she go anywhere but up?
Taking deep breaths, she moved up, one stair by one, as if she were floating towards the heavy wooden door awaiting her at the top.
Again, this question screamed at her. What was she running towards? Could the answer be here?
As she pushed the wooden door open, her eyes took in the dark forest outside. The room itself was walled entirely in the clearest of glass, so that one might almost walk directly into it. The floor was narrow, rimming a deep, dark hole, down which another staircase led.
Katariina's curiosity bloomed, and she could not help but follow the path of the steps, down into the darkness below. She could hear the rustle of the leaves as the wind blew in gusts around her, and she descended. Down, down, down in the depths of the deep, dark unknown. Her breath echoed all around, and icy water slid around her ankles, hugging them.
A well? A well, in a cottage? She slowly turned around, observing her surroundings.
Then, a chill, colder than any of her premonition chills, colder than ice settled over her as her eyes fell on the hooded figure sitting before her. She recognized this figure. Where had she seen it?
"Thank Merlin, I'm not the only one out here. I was beginning to think I'd never see another human again."
Her words were met by silence.
The rustling of the leaves above grew louder, and her eyes flickered up towards the glass room above.
"It's just the wind." She looked back, and inhaled sharply. It seemed the wind hadn't only attracted her attention. The hooded figure had looked up towards the glass room above, and it's hood had fallen back.
A girl.
A pale skinned, bruised, sickly girl. Her skin was bruised, but her eyes were clear and bright as they fixated on the sight above. Her lips turned up in the most haunting of smiles, and her eyes flickered back onto the new guest in her well.
"He'll be here soon. This is where he'll do it."
Chills. She knew where she'd seen this hooded figure, from all around. The house in Estonia. Outside Hogwarts. In the caves of the WA.
"Three May Be, but One will see.
Destruction comes, the end, she'll leave.
The wicked waters of the well
May spell a time of safety's dwell
Hold on to your rigid defense.
The end has come
Let terror commence."
The chill grew colder as she was struck with a sudden realization. The Hooded Girl, she was dead. Wasn't she? Katariina's eyes remained glued on her, her heart pounding. A sickly smile spread across the white-blue skin of the hooded girl's face, a knowing smile. She was answering Katariina's thoughts. The creak of an opening door sounded above, and Katariina knew it wasn't a good noise, she knew that well now. Terror struck inside every bone in her body. As she whipped back towards the hooded girl, a scream escaped her lungs. The girl was gone. A low cackle sounded from above.
With a heavy intake of air, she awoke from the Seer state, shaking. Tears were streamed down her face.
It was clear, now.
She hadn't been running towards something.
She had been running away.
Katariina's eyes opened, and her feet danced over the dirt. She was running.
What was she running towards?
Her lungs, they burned, but the desperation to reach her destination was written deeper than the burn, deeper than her skin. It was written in her blood. She knew better than to ignore the intuition of something written so deep.
The silence of the forest was only broken by her running footsteps, and the wind blowing with an eerie whistle. Her bold, blue eyes flickered upwards in the dark night, and their gaze fell upon a stone cottage, resting quietly on the side of the mountain. Hundreds of miles away from all civilization.
Solitude.
Knowing now what she was to do, she followed the clearest path, hissing in pain as her bare feet made contact with twigs and rocks. She looked down, frowning at the state of them. Muddy, bloody, and sore. Pushing through, they covered the ground as fast as she could manage them, still unsure of what it was she was running towards beyond the doors of the cottage. But it didn't matter what she found behind the door. She had to get there. That cottage was the key to everything, her heart screamed. As she burst inside, she cried out, her voice sounding in desperation.
"Hello?! Are you here?!"
No answer.
Of course. Who would be there to answer?
The room was nearly empty, save for a square cut couch, resting against the wall, underneath the windows. /Lock all of the doors and windows. Lock the windows, lock the windows, lock the windows./ Her voice of instinct was taking over, and she allowed the fear boiling up to guide her. Fear was a necessary thing. She turned around, and dashed back to the door, throwing it closed, and bolted every bolt she could find. The windows around her slowly filled with darkness as less and less of the forest outside became visible.
/Click./
/Click./
Window after window was flung shut by her determined hand, and she moved swiftly around the room. The last window fell shut, and her gaze turned up a narrow stone staircase, with no holds on the side. Could she go anywhere but up?
Taking deep breaths, she moved up, one stair by one, as if she were floating towards the heavy wooden door awaiting her at the top.
Again, this question screamed at her. What was she running towards? Could the answer be here?
As she pushed the wooden door open, her eyes took in the dark forest outside. The room itself was walled entirely in the clearest of glass, so that one might almost walk directly into it. The floor was narrow, rimming a deep, dark hole, down which another staircase led.
Katariina's curiosity bloomed, and she could not help but follow the path of the steps, down into the darkness below. She could hear the rustle of the leaves as the wind blew in gusts around her, and she descended. Down, down, down in the depths of the deep, dark unknown. Her breath echoed all around, and icy water slid around her ankles, hugging them.
A well? A well, in a cottage? She slowly turned around, observing her surroundings.
Then, a chill, colder than any of her premonition chills, colder than ice settled over her as her eyes fell on the hooded figure sitting before her. She recognized this figure. Where had she seen it?
"Thank Merlin, I'm not the only one out here. I was beginning to think I'd never see another human again."
Her words were met by silence.
The rustling of the leaves above grew louder, and her eyes flickered up towards the glass room above.
"It's just the wind." She looked back, and inhaled sharply. It seemed the wind hadn't only attracted her attention. The hooded figure had looked up towards the glass room above, and it's hood had fallen back.
A girl.
A pale skinned, bruised, sickly girl. Her skin was bruised, but her eyes were clear and bright as they fixated on the sight above. Her lips turned up in the most haunting of smiles, and her eyes flickered back onto the new guest in her well.
"He'll be here soon. This is where he'll do it."
Chills. She knew where she'd seen this hooded figure, from all around. The house in Estonia. Outside Hogwarts. In the caves of the WA.
"Three May Be, but One will see.
Destruction comes, the end, she'll leave.
The wicked waters of the well
May spell a time of safety's dwell
Hold on to your rigid defense.
The end has come
Let terror commence."
The chill grew colder as she was struck with a sudden realization. The Hooded Girl, she was dead. Wasn't she? Katariina's eyes remained glued on her, her heart pounding. A sickly smile spread across the white-blue skin of the hooded girl's face, a knowing smile. She was answering Katariina's thoughts. The creak of an opening door sounded above, and Katariina knew it wasn't a good noise, she knew that well now. Terror struck inside every bone in her body. As she whipped back towards the hooded girl, a scream escaped her lungs. The girl was gone. A low cackle sounded from above.
With a heavy intake of air, she awoke from the Seer state, shaking. Tears were streamed down her face.
It was clear, now.
She hadn't been running towards something.
She had been running away.
A Rally Cry
Long time, no see, my friend..
Katariina's vision had alarmed Keith more than he could express, and he sprinted up the stairs to the Owlery and fastened a letter to his owl's foot, sending him on his way, and Keith returned to his classroom. He could wait. He would wait forever, if he had to.
A week passed, another week passed, and Halloween was on the weekend, and finally the owl returned to Keith with no return letter, but Keith didn't expect one. He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed though, considering. Standing in the castle in the dead of night, Keith felt guilty for the way he treated Victoire. It wasn't her fault she was pulled into this, whatever this was. After she had left, Keith began going through the files she had left. There wasn't much to really say what was going on, but Keith felt like they were incriminating. He was anxious about that, thinking of the 22 year old who had two babies and a lot going for her. She could go to Azkaban for this... It could be considered treason.
But he continued reading the files until he knew what the words would say before he even read them, and he recognized every detail in the dead's face. He needed /them/ to explain this to him.
The answer came on the third night. A large black hawk swooped into his office, making him jump up from his desk. Wide eyes followed the hawk as it used it's long, pointed beak to remove a letter from its talons, and giving him a stern look the hawk took off the way it came. Keith tentatively grabbed the letter, reading through it with his heart sinking in his chest, fear in his eyes.
Hello, old friend. Your cottage, 10pm.
~LB
Standing over the fireplace in the small cottage, Keith tried to not tremble nervously. He had no intention of coming home to his cottage during the school year, but he didn't want to bring this home - to Hogwarts - to Gregory. His heart was pounding and his forehead clammy.
Keith opened the cottage door, stepping into the dark house. A cold, frozen breeze washed over him but he didn't turn on any lights as he passed the small table in the entrance way, not looking at the portrait of his sister. After she had died, Keith took all the photos of her down and only kept one, so he didn't return to his perpetual state of darkness. Right now though, sitting in the darkness, Keith couldn't even look at her picture, let alone allow himself to be sad for even a second as he walked over to his fireplace and grabbed some wood, placing it inside and using his wand to set it. The room warmed significantly as he stared into the flames, his blue eyes were staring forward, mesmerized by the burning wood.
There was a shift in the atmosphere, and Keith's hair stood on end like he knew something was watching him. He stood from his crouch, his back straightening, and took in a deep breath. Well, here goes nothing.
As he turned around, Keith noticed how the shadows from the fireplace were cast long and sinister, and the air smelled breezy, like a window was opened. The first thing he noticed was his height. He hadn't ever remembered him being so much taller than him, but there he was with his wiry build and height, and Keith felt his nerves calming slightly. He looked good, healthy, but paler than he had ever seen him. Keith felt the familiar ache in his chest he often felt after they had stopped being friends.
"Long time no see, my friend..." He spoke from across the room, his voice was darker, deeper. It oozed the things he had been through.
Keith felt a pang of annoyance at his words.
Keith dropped his eyes, shaking his head in anger, "Kira died, and you didn't even have the decency to come to the funeral." He wasn't just upset about this. He was upset that he had been working for 16 years to bring him out of hiding so he could participate in society without being ostracized yet he never had to decency to even respond to any of his letters. His best friend, and he treated him like this.
"For that I am eternally sorry, my friend." His blue eyes seemed to darken, and he stepped forward, closer to Keith. It was as if he knew what was going on in his friend's betrayed mind.
"Alexander Beaumont, you son of a bitch." Keith looked up quickly, and the two closed the distance and embraced. Once Keith dropped his arms, he couldn't help the look of sympathy that crossed his face, "I saw her obituary, Lex. I am so sorry." Oh, how it was so easy to just forget what he had been through all of these years!
He looked as if he couldn't handle even the mentioning of her, and he shook his head in response, "Past events, Keith. I try to not dwell on them. Wherever I go destruction follows. Listen, I need something from you, please."
Keith wondered briefly what he meant by that, but didn't press. "Victoire Weasley has been asking about you. I've told her nothing." Keith finally said, looking at his oldest friend.
"How'd she find out you knew me? Peculiar... It's about that, Keith. What we've sent her to do. This potion is dangerous - it hurt a lot of people, made me the way I am..." To demonstrate, Alexander turned his entire hand into a claw, returning it back to normal immediately, "And the Ministry is just keeping quiet about it, and they want to silence her about it. We - moreso I - need you to rally whoever you've gathered over the years, and help us. We can't let what the Ministry did to their people go unnoticed. Please, Keith, will you do this? People have died keeping their mistake a secret, and more people have died being poisoned by it. Weasley understands. I hope you can too... My siblings, myself included, we all need you now. More than ever."
Keith only had to think for half a second. Lex was the reason he had done all of his werewolf rights work, and he was one of the only people (Gregory included) Keith would jump in a fire for. He knew Lex felt the same. Keith had never discriminated against him, or saw his werewolfism as a curse. He always thought it made him a better person, a stronger person. A good person. He had complete faith in Lex, so following him blindly could be done quite easily. He grasped Lex's arm after it had returned to normal, noting how cold he felt to touch, and shook quickly, "Of course, Lex, I'll gather the masses I've met. Just give me the details to get them." Keith made a mental note to write to the Danko family immediately. They would want to know. So would Roy, and Harmony. So many people to write to, so little time it seemed.
Lex breathed a sigh of relief, his resolve faltering a little as he remembered how Keith was so loyal to him. After all of these years, and he was still loyal to him. He hoped it lasted, especially with bigger forces at play here. "It's bad, Keith. Let me divulge what we know about it..."
Keith returned to the castle shaken, rain having beat him the entire walk back, and his wet shoes slid against the stone corridor as he raced into his classroom and slammed the door. The dripping wet Professor peeled off his coat, letting the sopping wet article splash against the floor. He raced upstairs and locked his office door, grabbing an entire roll of parchment and beginning the letters, detailing the ideologies of the Werewolf Alliance, what the Ministry was keeping from them, the works.
A week passed, another week passed, and Halloween was on the weekend, and finally the owl returned to Keith with no return letter, but Keith didn't expect one. He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed though, considering. Standing in the castle in the dead of night, Keith felt guilty for the way he treated Victoire. It wasn't her fault she was pulled into this, whatever this was. After she had left, Keith began going through the files she had left. There wasn't much to really say what was going on, but Keith felt like they were incriminating. He was anxious about that, thinking of the 22 year old who had two babies and a lot going for her. She could go to Azkaban for this... It could be considered treason.
But he continued reading the files until he knew what the words would say before he even read them, and he recognized every detail in the dead's face. He needed /them/ to explain this to him.
The answer came on the third night. A large black hawk swooped into his office, making him jump up from his desk. Wide eyes followed the hawk as it used it's long, pointed beak to remove a letter from its talons, and giving him a stern look the hawk took off the way it came. Keith tentatively grabbed the letter, reading through it with his heart sinking in his chest, fear in his eyes.
Hello, old friend. Your cottage, 10pm.
~LB
Standing over the fireplace in the small cottage, Keith tried to not tremble nervously. He had no intention of coming home to his cottage during the school year, but he didn't want to bring this home - to Hogwarts - to Gregory. His heart was pounding and his forehead clammy.
Keith opened the cottage door, stepping into the dark house. A cold, frozen breeze washed over him but he didn't turn on any lights as he passed the small table in the entrance way, not looking at the portrait of his sister. After she had died, Keith took all the photos of her down and only kept one, so he didn't return to his perpetual state of darkness. Right now though, sitting in the darkness, Keith couldn't even look at her picture, let alone allow himself to be sad for even a second as he walked over to his fireplace and grabbed some wood, placing it inside and using his wand to set it. The room warmed significantly as he stared into the flames, his blue eyes were staring forward, mesmerized by the burning wood.
There was a shift in the atmosphere, and Keith's hair stood on end like he knew something was watching him. He stood from his crouch, his back straightening, and took in a deep breath. Well, here goes nothing.
As he turned around, Keith noticed how the shadows from the fireplace were cast long and sinister, and the air smelled breezy, like a window was opened. The first thing he noticed was his height. He hadn't ever remembered him being so much taller than him, but there he was with his wiry build and height, and Keith felt his nerves calming slightly. He looked good, healthy, but paler than he had ever seen him. Keith felt the familiar ache in his chest he often felt after they had stopped being friends.
"Long time no see, my friend..." He spoke from across the room, his voice was darker, deeper. It oozed the things he had been through.
Keith felt a pang of annoyance at his words.
Keith dropped his eyes, shaking his head in anger, "Kira died, and you didn't even have the decency to come to the funeral." He wasn't just upset about this. He was upset that he had been working for 16 years to bring him out of hiding so he could participate in society without being ostracized yet he never had to decency to even respond to any of his letters. His best friend, and he treated him like this.
"For that I am eternally sorry, my friend." His blue eyes seemed to darken, and he stepped forward, closer to Keith. It was as if he knew what was going on in his friend's betrayed mind.
"Alexander Beaumont, you son of a bitch." Keith looked up quickly, and the two closed the distance and embraced. Once Keith dropped his arms, he couldn't help the look of sympathy that crossed his face, "I saw her obituary, Lex. I am so sorry." Oh, how it was so easy to just forget what he had been through all of these years!
He looked as if he couldn't handle even the mentioning of her, and he shook his head in response, "Past events, Keith. I try to not dwell on them. Wherever I go destruction follows. Listen, I need something from you, please."
Keith wondered briefly what he meant by that, but didn't press. "Victoire Weasley has been asking about you. I've told her nothing." Keith finally said, looking at his oldest friend.
"How'd she find out you knew me? Peculiar... It's about that, Keith. What we've sent her to do. This potion is dangerous - it hurt a lot of people, made me the way I am..." To demonstrate, Alexander turned his entire hand into a claw, returning it back to normal immediately, "And the Ministry is just keeping quiet about it, and they want to silence her about it. We - moreso I - need you to rally whoever you've gathered over the years, and help us. We can't let what the Ministry did to their people go unnoticed. Please, Keith, will you do this? People have died keeping their mistake a secret, and more people have died being poisoned by it. Weasley understands. I hope you can too... My siblings, myself included, we all need you now. More than ever."
Keith only had to think for half a second. Lex was the reason he had done all of his werewolf rights work, and he was one of the only people (Gregory included) Keith would jump in a fire for. He knew Lex felt the same. Keith had never discriminated against him, or saw his werewolfism as a curse. He always thought it made him a better person, a stronger person. A good person. He had complete faith in Lex, so following him blindly could be done quite easily. He grasped Lex's arm after it had returned to normal, noting how cold he felt to touch, and shook quickly, "Of course, Lex, I'll gather the masses I've met. Just give me the details to get them." Keith made a mental note to write to the Danko family immediately. They would want to know. So would Roy, and Harmony. So many people to write to, so little time it seemed.
Lex breathed a sigh of relief, his resolve faltering a little as he remembered how Keith was so loyal to him. After all of these years, and he was still loyal to him. He hoped it lasted, especially with bigger forces at play here. "It's bad, Keith. Let me divulge what we know about it..."
Keith returned to the castle shaken, rain having beat him the entire walk back, and his wet shoes slid against the stone corridor as he raced into his classroom and slammed the door. The dripping wet Professor peeled off his coat, letting the sopping wet article splash against the floor. He raced upstairs and locked his office door, grabbing an entire roll of parchment and beginning the letters, detailing the ideologies of the Werewolf Alliance, what the Ministry was keeping from them, the works.
A Statement
Solar Salvation: The Keepers of the Peace
In the year 1998, our parents fought against the Death Eaters. They wondered if they'd get to go home to see their children, or if the last time really was the last time. They got their wish when the Wizarding World was saved by the selfless acts of Harry Potter. Of Neville Longbottom. Of the fast actions of Healer H. Pollingtonious, who created a vaccine, Vaccine Vivifica. Despite surpassing clinical trials, this vaccine was a major medical breakthrough for those in the wizarding world.
All was well. And peace?
Peace Everywhere.
People enjoyed luxuries they once thought were fantasy. You could walk down the street without being looked down upon. Blood status classes were ancient, archaic thinking. The wizarding world was restored. Potions were more beneficial, Healers were growing in abundant numbers, becoming more innovative.
But a group, lurking in the shadows was waiting. Biding their time. Awaiting Armageddon. This peaceful realm is at stake, with the threat of these rebel groups. They threaten to take up arms. We will NOT bow to any master, not after almost 26 years of peace. The Wizarding World belongs to us, the commonwealth. The people.
If 26 years of peace after a devastating blow to the commonwealth has taught us anything, it is that war never changes. Do not allow yourselves to be romanticized into these rebels' backdoor thinking. Restoration of peace is imminent, important, imperative.
We are the commonwealth, and we don't acknowledge these False Gods shrouded in hoods and darkness. Nor do we acknowledge their claims.
Remember where you stand, and who kept the peace for two decades.
Do you really want another war?
All was well. And peace?
Peace Everywhere.
People enjoyed luxuries they once thought were fantasy. You could walk down the street without being looked down upon. Blood status classes were ancient, archaic thinking. The wizarding world was restored. Potions were more beneficial, Healers were growing in abundant numbers, becoming more innovative.
But a group, lurking in the shadows was waiting. Biding their time. Awaiting Armageddon. This peaceful realm is at stake, with the threat of these rebel groups. They threaten to take up arms. We will NOT bow to any master, not after almost 26 years of peace. The Wizarding World belongs to us, the commonwealth. The people.
If 26 years of peace after a devastating blow to the commonwealth has taught us anything, it is that war never changes. Do not allow yourselves to be romanticized into these rebels' backdoor thinking. Restoration of peace is imminent, important, imperative.
We are the commonwealth, and we don't acknowledge these False Gods shrouded in hoods and darkness. Nor do we acknowledge their claims.
Remember where you stand, and who kept the peace for two decades.
Do you really want another war?
A Dilemma, Part One
Victoire ran a comb through her thick blonde hair in the mirror, trying to not look too critically at herself as she did so. She had been off work for almost 4 months now and it was time to return – they offered to give her a whole year off but she missed helping people. She would miss her two beautiful babies more.
Remadora and Raelyn were her life for the first four months of their life. Having a baby, having two babies, changed Victoire for the better. She was a better person and she knew it. She never thought, never imagined, she’d be able to put two needs before her own – specifically whenever they’d wake Edward and herself at every hour of the night. Now, Victoire was more patient. More understanding. Even situations with Brooklyn that happened in the past embarrassed Victoire – because now she knew how she should have responded. That guilt was unavoidable. You can’t change the past, you can stare into it as long as you’d like, but ultimately you couldn’t change it.
“How do I look?” Victoire asked her mother, who took it upon herself to watch the babies while Victoire was at work. Teddy had left for Hogwarts already.
Fleur stared at Victoire with glossy eyes, her blue eyes filled to the brim with intense love. She was holding Rae, who had been fussy all morning. She looked Victoire up and down, a little scornfully due to her hatred for pure white everything. Fleur believed instatement clothes and the all-white uniform of St. Mungo’s made her feel sick. Victoire self-consciously adjusted the knee length white skirt, clicking her white wedges together once.
Fleur gently set Raelyn back down in the crib and stepped forward quickly, brushing a strand of Victoire’s blonde hair behind her ear and fixing a stray piece that had twisted over her part. When she stepped back, Fleur was satisfied and so was Victoire. The French didn’t like to each other if something was amiss, and Victoire was often the one most critiqued by her Mum.
“You look tres belle, mon amour.” Fleur nodded, and Victoire grinned and hugged her.
“Je vous remercie, Maman. I will see you when I get off work.”
“Have a magnifique day, Belle.”
Victoire stepped onto the 3rd Floor. Everything looked the same as she had left it four months ago, but she felt like a stranger here for some reason. Everything had gone on normally. Typical for a hospital, and Victoire was humbled with the thought of the world not revolving around her again.
“Vickie!” Dawson cried, hurrying over to give her a hug, “Welcome back!”
“Thank you,” Victoire smiled while returning his hug.
She knew that it wouldn’t be busy today, especially for their specialty. Most Healers on the 3rd Floor hung out in their offices and avoided working like the plague. But today, Victoire was interested in starting her research – she had received a pretty prestigious grant to study properties of potions and origins and work on writing a new textbook – all while trying to invent new healing salves and tonics. She had been eager to get started since she was awarded the grant, but she was unable to do anything with it because of her pregnancy. Now that she was good to go, Victoire walked into the prestigious new lab and flipped the lights on.
Everything was new. The equipment, the potions, the cauldrons, even the uniforms. There was an office in the far left corner where Victoire had moved hers to, so she could be closer to the lab. It was dank, with high ceilings, sterile, and white. Everything was white.
Victoire expected to be slow her first day back, but Dawson poked his head in, “Vic, an owl showed up for you.”
She hurried out after Dawson, and almost recoiled. The owl looked more like a hawk, with angry slanted eyes and brown feathers and sharp talons. If she hadn’t known better, she’d of thought somebody did that on purpose. The letter was lodged in the beak of the beast, and Victoire took it. As soon as the letter was freed, the beastly bird opened its large wingspan and took off out the opened window, heading north.
It was heavy for a letter. She took it back to her lab and shut the door, leaning against the frame and opening it in one quick slice. A small note was in the envelope, as well as a vial with a very old label on it. With a start, Victoire realized the date was May 2, 1998. The Battle of Hogwarts. Curiosity was getting the better of her now. She studied the vial – the potion was smoky looking. Gray but not terribly gray, thick, and it had a curious glint in it, as if something were swimming around in it.
The note, written in ridiculously elegant script, read: "Worth looking into, Healer Victoire. I promise, the plot will certainly thicken when you’re done with it. All our love, The Beaumonts."
Confused, Victoire looked at the vial again. What did this mean?
Victoire would certainly find out.
Remadora and Raelyn were her life for the first four months of their life. Having a baby, having two babies, changed Victoire for the better. She was a better person and she knew it. She never thought, never imagined, she’d be able to put two needs before her own – specifically whenever they’d wake Edward and herself at every hour of the night. Now, Victoire was more patient. More understanding. Even situations with Brooklyn that happened in the past embarrassed Victoire – because now she knew how she should have responded. That guilt was unavoidable. You can’t change the past, you can stare into it as long as you’d like, but ultimately you couldn’t change it.
“How do I look?” Victoire asked her mother, who took it upon herself to watch the babies while Victoire was at work. Teddy had left for Hogwarts already.
Fleur stared at Victoire with glossy eyes, her blue eyes filled to the brim with intense love. She was holding Rae, who had been fussy all morning. She looked Victoire up and down, a little scornfully due to her hatred for pure white everything. Fleur believed instatement clothes and the all-white uniform of St. Mungo’s made her feel sick. Victoire self-consciously adjusted the knee length white skirt, clicking her white wedges together once.
Fleur gently set Raelyn back down in the crib and stepped forward quickly, brushing a strand of Victoire’s blonde hair behind her ear and fixing a stray piece that had twisted over her part. When she stepped back, Fleur was satisfied and so was Victoire. The French didn’t like to each other if something was amiss, and Victoire was often the one most critiqued by her Mum.
“You look tres belle, mon amour.” Fleur nodded, and Victoire grinned and hugged her.
“Je vous remercie, Maman. I will see you when I get off work.”
“Have a magnifique day, Belle.”
Victoire stepped onto the 3rd Floor. Everything looked the same as she had left it four months ago, but she felt like a stranger here for some reason. Everything had gone on normally. Typical for a hospital, and Victoire was humbled with the thought of the world not revolving around her again.
“Vickie!” Dawson cried, hurrying over to give her a hug, “Welcome back!”
“Thank you,” Victoire smiled while returning his hug.
She knew that it wouldn’t be busy today, especially for their specialty. Most Healers on the 3rd Floor hung out in their offices and avoided working like the plague. But today, Victoire was interested in starting her research – she had received a pretty prestigious grant to study properties of potions and origins and work on writing a new textbook – all while trying to invent new healing salves and tonics. She had been eager to get started since she was awarded the grant, but she was unable to do anything with it because of her pregnancy. Now that she was good to go, Victoire walked into the prestigious new lab and flipped the lights on.
Everything was new. The equipment, the potions, the cauldrons, even the uniforms. There was an office in the far left corner where Victoire had moved hers to, so she could be closer to the lab. It was dank, with high ceilings, sterile, and white. Everything was white.
Victoire expected to be slow her first day back, but Dawson poked his head in, “Vic, an owl showed up for you.”
She hurried out after Dawson, and almost recoiled. The owl looked more like a hawk, with angry slanted eyes and brown feathers and sharp talons. If she hadn’t known better, she’d of thought somebody did that on purpose. The letter was lodged in the beak of the beast, and Victoire took it. As soon as the letter was freed, the beastly bird opened its large wingspan and took off out the opened window, heading north.
It was heavy for a letter. She took it back to her lab and shut the door, leaning against the frame and opening it in one quick slice. A small note was in the envelope, as well as a vial with a very old label on it. With a start, Victoire realized the date was May 2, 1998. The Battle of Hogwarts. Curiosity was getting the better of her now. She studied the vial – the potion was smoky looking. Gray but not terribly gray, thick, and it had a curious glint in it, as if something were swimming around in it.
The note, written in ridiculously elegant script, read: "Worth looking into, Healer Victoire. I promise, the plot will certainly thicken when you’re done with it. All our love, The Beaumonts."
Confused, Victoire looked at the vial again. What did this mean?
Victoire would certainly find out.
A Dilemma, Part Two
Victoire couldn’t sleep at night. She knew Teddy was catching on to her constantly changing moods and her sullen silences, but he knew she wasn’t one to be pushed into telling what was on her mind. She took solace in holding the twins in her arms after a long day at the lab.
One the 6th Day Victoire phoned to tell Fleur she wouldn’t be coming home at the usual time, and she changed into a pair of black pants and a button up blouse. She needed to figure out who these Beaumonts were, and why they had thrust this potion into her hands. She set out to the health records part of St. Mungo’s, using her badge and her clearance card for research to get inside. The archives were in the thousands, shrunken down to the size of a 3x5 notecard. St. Mungo’s disposed of nothing when it came to patient records.
She dug through the B’s, finding sixteen different Beaumont files and took all of them back to her lab. She locked the door behind her and sat down at her desk, letting out a deep sigh. Her surroundings were nearly complete chaos. Every file she could get her hands on about medicine during the Second Wizarding War was strewn open and pages were tacked to her wall. She was close to finding the source of this particular potion, something she dubbed Tonic B, after the strange note she had received from the Beaumonts’.
Victoire needed answers. And she rarely left a problem unsolved.
Every file she went through had a Death Certificate. Victoire was sighing in frustration by the last few files. Finally, finally, she opened a file that was empty. Except for a neatly written note in the same handwriting as the last, very elegantly scripted: “You’re looking for the wrong answers, Ms. Weasley. Keep looking. Here, I’ll give you a hint. Department of Mysteries, shelf H, row 7. Yours, Beaumont.”
Victoire nearly screamed in frustration. How’d they get in the archive room? Who were these people, if they even were people? Was it a family? A father and children? Were they married? What was the significance of this potion to these people? She swiped the note out of the folder and threw all of them on the pile of the other files she had come to collect. Grabbing her purse, Victoire left her lab in a dash, apparating to the Ministry.
“Uncle Harry,” Victoire sat down at his desk, trying to hide her crazy.
He smiled in surprise, his arm halfway through his coat sleeve, and sat down to face her, “Victoire! What brings you here at this hour? I was just heading out.”
“Do you think you could get me into the Department of Mysteries? I’m a little flustered and a little desperate. I’m working on a project right now – I think my mum probably told you about my grant.” Victoire smiled pleasantly, hiding her anxiety.
Harry adjusted his glasses, looking a little confused. “The Department of Mysteries? What does that have to do with medicine?”
Victoire didn’t have an answer. She wasn’t even sure if this clue was worthy of trusting.
“Please, Uncle Harry.” She bat her long eyelashes, her heart pounding. If he said no she’d be at another road block.
Harry sighed, “I don’t have jurisdiction over the Department of Mysteries. Let me speak with Draco Malfoy as he’s heading out and I’ll give you an answer tomorrow, okay?”
Victoire let out a breath of relief, “Merci, merci Harry!” Victoire flew out of her seat and threw her arms around Harry’s neck, kissing him on both cheeks and flying out.
She was this much closer to discovering this mystery, Merlin willing.
She was absolutely positive of a few things about this potion. It was a mistake. It caused an onslaught of symptoms that were inheritable. Some of the symptoms rendered the recipient unable to produce children, could cause insomnia, and probably sleepwalking. Victoire hadn’t figured anything else out yet, she had only stripped enough of it to see some of the properties. It was made in a hurry, mass produced probably, and possibly distributed. If she could figure out more about this potion, St. Mungo’s, the Ministry of Magic, and the Healer in charge had a lot of questions to answer.
If, and only if, this potion had any significance at all.
One the 6th Day Victoire phoned to tell Fleur she wouldn’t be coming home at the usual time, and she changed into a pair of black pants and a button up blouse. She needed to figure out who these Beaumonts were, and why they had thrust this potion into her hands. She set out to the health records part of St. Mungo’s, using her badge and her clearance card for research to get inside. The archives were in the thousands, shrunken down to the size of a 3x5 notecard. St. Mungo’s disposed of nothing when it came to patient records.
She dug through the B’s, finding sixteen different Beaumont files and took all of them back to her lab. She locked the door behind her and sat down at her desk, letting out a deep sigh. Her surroundings were nearly complete chaos. Every file she could get her hands on about medicine during the Second Wizarding War was strewn open and pages were tacked to her wall. She was close to finding the source of this particular potion, something she dubbed Tonic B, after the strange note she had received from the Beaumonts’.
Victoire needed answers. And she rarely left a problem unsolved.
Every file she went through had a Death Certificate. Victoire was sighing in frustration by the last few files. Finally, finally, she opened a file that was empty. Except for a neatly written note in the same handwriting as the last, very elegantly scripted: “You’re looking for the wrong answers, Ms. Weasley. Keep looking. Here, I’ll give you a hint. Department of Mysteries, shelf H, row 7. Yours, Beaumont.”
Victoire nearly screamed in frustration. How’d they get in the archive room? Who were these people, if they even were people? Was it a family? A father and children? Were they married? What was the significance of this potion to these people? She swiped the note out of the folder and threw all of them on the pile of the other files she had come to collect. Grabbing her purse, Victoire left her lab in a dash, apparating to the Ministry.
“Uncle Harry,” Victoire sat down at his desk, trying to hide her crazy.
He smiled in surprise, his arm halfway through his coat sleeve, and sat down to face her, “Victoire! What brings you here at this hour? I was just heading out.”
“Do you think you could get me into the Department of Mysteries? I’m a little flustered and a little desperate. I’m working on a project right now – I think my mum probably told you about my grant.” Victoire smiled pleasantly, hiding her anxiety.
Harry adjusted his glasses, looking a little confused. “The Department of Mysteries? What does that have to do with medicine?”
Victoire didn’t have an answer. She wasn’t even sure if this clue was worthy of trusting.
“Please, Uncle Harry.” She bat her long eyelashes, her heart pounding. If he said no she’d be at another road block.
Harry sighed, “I don’t have jurisdiction over the Department of Mysteries. Let me speak with Draco Malfoy as he’s heading out and I’ll give you an answer tomorrow, okay?”
Victoire let out a breath of relief, “Merci, merci Harry!” Victoire flew out of her seat and threw her arms around Harry’s neck, kissing him on both cheeks and flying out.
She was this much closer to discovering this mystery, Merlin willing.
She was absolutely positive of a few things about this potion. It was a mistake. It caused an onslaught of symptoms that were inheritable. Some of the symptoms rendered the recipient unable to produce children, could cause insomnia, and probably sleepwalking. Victoire hadn’t figured anything else out yet, she had only stripped enough of it to see some of the properties. It was made in a hurry, mass produced probably, and possibly distributed. If she could figure out more about this potion, St. Mungo’s, the Ministry of Magic, and the Healer in charge had a lot of questions to answer.
If, and only if, this potion had any significance at all.
A Quest for Answers
Anton led Victoire down deeper into the Ministry, deeper than she had ever been before. Her blonde hair was tidy and neatly pulled back, but if her appearances could explain what was going on in her head then she would look like she was homeless. It was hard, getting up every morning and putting on her work clothes and dragging herself out of the flat. She hated saying goodbye to her babies and her husband, but this matter was something she just couldn’t ignore. She was so close, so close she could feel it.
“Mr. Malfoy, I have Victoire here from St. Mungo’s requesting access to the Prophecy room.” Anton’s accent intrigued Victoire, but she was far past caring asking him where he was from. Right now she needed to find this damn thing.
Draco Malfoy in all of his posh glory sauntered out of his office. He was looking pale, but what ever changed about the Malfoy family?
“Heard you just gave birth from my boy, Healer Weasley. How’s motherhood treating you?” Draco attempted small talk, dragging his feet in opening the locked room.
Victoire hated small talk, especially from somebody who didn’t care. She wanted to ask how being a heartless grandfather was treating him, her mind suddenly on poor Brooklyn. But, she didn’t. She needed in this room terribly.
“It’s divine, Mr. Malfoy. My daughters bring me so much joy. I was a mother before the twins, you know.” She was gentle at that, referring to Brooklyn. Her first daughter that she loved more than anything in this world. That was why she was doing this. That was why she wanted to public to know what this potion was, despite not knowing herself. It was dangerous.
“We won’t follow you in, Healer Weasley. The Hall of Prophecies is something you ought to go at alone, you might be surprised by what you find or hear. Just rap twice on the door with your wand and Anton will let you out.” Draco ignored her little remark, nodding to the younger girl.
She gave Anton a polite smile and walked inside, hearing the heavy door shut behind her. Whispers and whisps of air made Victoire wish she had brought a jacket, the room making her hair stand up on the back of her arms. It was queer being in here, and she instantly detested it. She felt as if there were eyes on her, and she couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder as she neared the correct shelf. Shelf H row 7. A small glowing ball was sitting there soundly, cloudy air swirling inside. She tentatively reached out and picked it up, gasping as her body was drenched in cold sweat and her eyes went out of focus. She was transferred, transferred back in time.
Despite the cold room she felt suddenly very muggy and humid. The air was exploding with green jets of air and people were screaming and fighting. Hogwarts was on fire. With a terrible start Victoire realized this must be the Battle of Hogwarts. People she didn’t recognize were fighting, screaming, there were looks of terror everywhere Victoire looked. This was worse than she could of ever imagined. Something drew her to walk towards the castle, curiosity or some outside force. As she neared it, the fighting subsided like a blanket had been thrown over the battlefield. She turned, looking out across the burning grounds and terrified students. People she recognized as the younger versions of parents of students she knew, she helped with colds and abrasions when she interned at Hogwarts. She couldn’t help them now because she wasn’t really here.
With a start, Victoire screamed, covering her mouth in horror. Her eyes were instantly filling with tears as she saw his face. Her husband’s face, perfectly split down the middle between the two dead laying before her. Nymphadora and Remus Lupin were laying side by side, a ghost of pain still on Teddy’s mom’s face. They were holding hands. The last endearment they could give each other in the face of death. They were even more beautiful than the photographs could capture. Remus looked worn out, his robes tattered, while Nymphadora wore her best robes. Her hair was a startling shade of purple. She didn’t want to look away, but she was forced forward by her own curiosity, towards the castle.
Inside was much much worse. Especially since she couldn’t help anybody. Dead and dying, injured and healthy were scattered around the Great Hall. A familiar scream erupted from her grandmother and she forced herself to not look. She knew who was in there, she knew why Uncle George was often almost always drunk. She didn’t want to see him. Forcing her feet onwards, she paused outside a classroom. Ministry officials were running amok, an ancient Healer stepping forward with vial after vial of the same potion the Beaumonts had entrusted her with. Were they here? Victoire felt a prickly fear web its way into her.
“Hurry and distribute this to the injured! It’s supposed to speed up healing!” The ancient Healer demanded, passing vial after vial to anybody that would take it.
“Sir it hasn’t passed clinical trials yet!” Demanded her mentor, Hippocrates.
The Healer gave him a deadly look, “You want to tell the parents of the dead that we could of helped them but didn’t? Go right ahead.”
Victoire was struggling to see the scene in front of her now, the picture was distorted like an out of focus television. She was hearing less and less as she was drawn out into darkness. A hissing, deep and magnetic voice seemed to go through Victoire like she wasn’t hearing it, but absorbing it.
“The darkness cannot work with the light, while only one holds the answers.
The day of the dead will come,
And with it
their vengeance.”
Victorie felt the tug of a scream escaping her as she stumbled and fell, her hair sticking to her clammy body. Somebody had caught her from hurting herself, strong arms and musk reaching her nose. She was close to passing out. He smelled like the forest and he was tall, strong, and capable. Was it Anton?
“You have a lot of work to do, Ms. Weasley.”
The voice was none she had ever heard before. Catching a glimpse of handsome blue eyes, Victoire was set on the ground and suddenly he was gone. She couldn’t make out anything other than the eyes as she let her lightheadedness consume her.
“Mr. Malfoy, I have Victoire here from St. Mungo’s requesting access to the Prophecy room.” Anton’s accent intrigued Victoire, but she was far past caring asking him where he was from. Right now she needed to find this damn thing.
Draco Malfoy in all of his posh glory sauntered out of his office. He was looking pale, but what ever changed about the Malfoy family?
“Heard you just gave birth from my boy, Healer Weasley. How’s motherhood treating you?” Draco attempted small talk, dragging his feet in opening the locked room.
Victoire hated small talk, especially from somebody who didn’t care. She wanted to ask how being a heartless grandfather was treating him, her mind suddenly on poor Brooklyn. But, she didn’t. She needed in this room terribly.
“It’s divine, Mr. Malfoy. My daughters bring me so much joy. I was a mother before the twins, you know.” She was gentle at that, referring to Brooklyn. Her first daughter that she loved more than anything in this world. That was why she was doing this. That was why she wanted to public to know what this potion was, despite not knowing herself. It was dangerous.
“We won’t follow you in, Healer Weasley. The Hall of Prophecies is something you ought to go at alone, you might be surprised by what you find or hear. Just rap twice on the door with your wand and Anton will let you out.” Draco ignored her little remark, nodding to the younger girl.
She gave Anton a polite smile and walked inside, hearing the heavy door shut behind her. Whispers and whisps of air made Victoire wish she had brought a jacket, the room making her hair stand up on the back of her arms. It was queer being in here, and she instantly detested it. She felt as if there were eyes on her, and she couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder as she neared the correct shelf. Shelf H row 7. A small glowing ball was sitting there soundly, cloudy air swirling inside. She tentatively reached out and picked it up, gasping as her body was drenched in cold sweat and her eyes went out of focus. She was transferred, transferred back in time.
Despite the cold room she felt suddenly very muggy and humid. The air was exploding with green jets of air and people were screaming and fighting. Hogwarts was on fire. With a terrible start Victoire realized this must be the Battle of Hogwarts. People she didn’t recognize were fighting, screaming, there were looks of terror everywhere Victoire looked. This was worse than she could of ever imagined. Something drew her to walk towards the castle, curiosity or some outside force. As she neared it, the fighting subsided like a blanket had been thrown over the battlefield. She turned, looking out across the burning grounds and terrified students. People she recognized as the younger versions of parents of students she knew, she helped with colds and abrasions when she interned at Hogwarts. She couldn’t help them now because she wasn’t really here.
With a start, Victoire screamed, covering her mouth in horror. Her eyes were instantly filling with tears as she saw his face. Her husband’s face, perfectly split down the middle between the two dead laying before her. Nymphadora and Remus Lupin were laying side by side, a ghost of pain still on Teddy’s mom’s face. They were holding hands. The last endearment they could give each other in the face of death. They were even more beautiful than the photographs could capture. Remus looked worn out, his robes tattered, while Nymphadora wore her best robes. Her hair was a startling shade of purple. She didn’t want to look away, but she was forced forward by her own curiosity, towards the castle.
Inside was much much worse. Especially since she couldn’t help anybody. Dead and dying, injured and healthy were scattered around the Great Hall. A familiar scream erupted from her grandmother and she forced herself to not look. She knew who was in there, she knew why Uncle George was often almost always drunk. She didn’t want to see him. Forcing her feet onwards, she paused outside a classroom. Ministry officials were running amok, an ancient Healer stepping forward with vial after vial of the same potion the Beaumonts had entrusted her with. Were they here? Victoire felt a prickly fear web its way into her.
“Hurry and distribute this to the injured! It’s supposed to speed up healing!” The ancient Healer demanded, passing vial after vial to anybody that would take it.
“Sir it hasn’t passed clinical trials yet!” Demanded her mentor, Hippocrates.
The Healer gave him a deadly look, “You want to tell the parents of the dead that we could of helped them but didn’t? Go right ahead.”
Victoire was struggling to see the scene in front of her now, the picture was distorted like an out of focus television. She was hearing less and less as she was drawn out into darkness. A hissing, deep and magnetic voice seemed to go through Victoire like she wasn’t hearing it, but absorbing it.
“The darkness cannot work with the light, while only one holds the answers.
The day of the dead will come,
And with it
their vengeance.”
Victorie felt the tug of a scream escaping her as she stumbled and fell, her hair sticking to her clammy body. Somebody had caught her from hurting herself, strong arms and musk reaching her nose. She was close to passing out. He smelled like the forest and he was tall, strong, and capable. Was it Anton?
“You have a lot of work to do, Ms. Weasley.”
The voice was none she had ever heard before. Catching a glimpse of handsome blue eyes, Victoire was set on the ground and suddenly he was gone. She couldn’t make out anything other than the eyes as she let her lightheadedness consume her.
A Plea
Keith walked into his classroom after a long day, hoping to get some papers graded and returned to the students by tomorrow. He was being horridly lazy, and he blamed it on Gregory keeping him up at ungodly hours just chatting. He didn’t regret it though, glad he had resurfaced from the black cloud he was under after the death of his sister. Whenever he looked up at the office from the classroom, he saw it wasn’t empty.
His stomach flipped whenever he caught sight of the silvery blonde hair, and he dragged his feet as he took the stairs. “Ms. Weasley, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked once he finally got to the top, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind him.
He took note of her tired eyes, her pale skin, and her hair falling out of the uniformly tight bun St. Mungo’s forced upon their women Healers. She was still wearing her white robes, but she had removed her make up.
“Keith.” She greeted, immediately walking over to the windows overlooking the classroom and shutting the blinds with her free hand, the other holding on tightly to a black bag.
“I-.”
“Tais-toi and don’t argue with me tonight, Keith. I have had a long day in my lab and I want to go home and see my babies. Sit. Down.” Victoire’s eyes were dark, and she pointed to Keith’s desk chair. He sat immediately, knowing better than to argue with her.
“I’ve told you before, Victoire. I know nothing about your Beaumonts.”
“I know you’re lying!” Victoire yelled, which made Keith stiffen in response. He stared at his desk pointedly. “You can keep it all a secret or you can help me, you fool.”
Victoire began removing items from her bag, which included a lot of files. She set them all out on the table and showed Keith her research. The numbers, the words, didn’t make sense to him. He was a skilled potions master, but he had never seen these properties before. Confused, he scanned the first file while Victoire kept adding more and more onto his desk.
“I can’t say I understand, Victoire…” Keith admitted, finishing with that file and placing it to the side while he grabbed another one.
“Well, neither do I. But your Beaumonts, whether they’re yours or not, have sent me on this wild goosechase, and let me tell you… It gets even more baisée from here.” Vic collapsed in the chair opposite of him, throwing her hands up.
“What does this mean?” Keith asked, ignoring the fact that he didn’t speak French. He held up a page about a patient seeing a Healer and having some bad side effects from a vaccination, and how it went to the Wizengamot and the family settled because they were offered a sum of money to do so.
“I wish I knew, truly. What do you know or what don’t you know about this family?” Victoire begged, “I am desperate. Something about them ties them into this potion I received, and then I was sent to this place,” Vic handed him the note one of the Beaumonts had left for her, which told her where to go in the Hall of Prophecies.
Keith’s eyes widened in the slightest at the note. He recognized his script anywhere. Neat and almost girlish, beautiful. It was definitely his handwriting.
“Oi vey, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Keith. Do you know what I saw there?”
“You should leave, now, Victoire.” Keith spoke over her, pushing all of the files back at her and standing.
“What? We were-.”
“No, we weren’t. I don’t know anything, I don’t want any part in this. Got it? Do what you have to do, but don’t you dare bring me into this.” Keith’s voice was shaky as he spoke, and he opened the door of his office, “Out, now.”
Victoire looked outraged as she gathered her research into her bag, looking at him viciously, “You’re no better than them, you know? No better at all. You’re impossible! Take these, they might change your mind!” Victoire threw one of her files at Keith, which hit him square in the chest and opened. The contents spilled all over his office floor as Victoire stormed out, nearly sprinting out of the classroom.
Keith waved his wand to collect them, looking at the dead faces of several people he didn’t know. What was her motive in showing him this? He closed the file, feeling sick, and sat down at his desk. Putting his face in his hands, Keith screamed into them. Why was he being dragged into all of this again? He just wanted out. His heart couldn’t take it anymore.
Reaching into one of his drawers, Keith pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured a hefty glass of it. Taking a huge gulp, Keith ripped the quill out of the ink bottle and began the letter he had so longed to write long ago. It took nearly most of the evening, but he finished it and sealed it, running – no – sprinting to the Owlery. He found his owl, tying the heavy letter to its foot and sighing heavily.
“Go where I promised you’d never go, Howard.” He jerked his hand away when the owl went for his finger, knowing he shouldn’t but he had to send this letter.
He had to know what was going on.
He had to be ready for what was to come.
His stomach flipped whenever he caught sight of the silvery blonde hair, and he dragged his feet as he took the stairs. “Ms. Weasley, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked once he finally got to the top, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind him.
He took note of her tired eyes, her pale skin, and her hair falling out of the uniformly tight bun St. Mungo’s forced upon their women Healers. She was still wearing her white robes, but she had removed her make up.
“Keith.” She greeted, immediately walking over to the windows overlooking the classroom and shutting the blinds with her free hand, the other holding on tightly to a black bag.
“I-.”
“Tais-toi and don’t argue with me tonight, Keith. I have had a long day in my lab and I want to go home and see my babies. Sit. Down.” Victoire’s eyes were dark, and she pointed to Keith’s desk chair. He sat immediately, knowing better than to argue with her.
“I’ve told you before, Victoire. I know nothing about your Beaumonts.”
“I know you’re lying!” Victoire yelled, which made Keith stiffen in response. He stared at his desk pointedly. “You can keep it all a secret or you can help me, you fool.”
Victoire began removing items from her bag, which included a lot of files. She set them all out on the table and showed Keith her research. The numbers, the words, didn’t make sense to him. He was a skilled potions master, but he had never seen these properties before. Confused, he scanned the first file while Victoire kept adding more and more onto his desk.
“I can’t say I understand, Victoire…” Keith admitted, finishing with that file and placing it to the side while he grabbed another one.
“Well, neither do I. But your Beaumonts, whether they’re yours or not, have sent me on this wild goosechase, and let me tell you… It gets even more baisée from here.” Vic collapsed in the chair opposite of him, throwing her hands up.
“What does this mean?” Keith asked, ignoring the fact that he didn’t speak French. He held up a page about a patient seeing a Healer and having some bad side effects from a vaccination, and how it went to the Wizengamot and the family settled because they were offered a sum of money to do so.
“I wish I knew, truly. What do you know or what don’t you know about this family?” Victoire begged, “I am desperate. Something about them ties them into this potion I received, and then I was sent to this place,” Vic handed him the note one of the Beaumonts had left for her, which told her where to go in the Hall of Prophecies.
Keith’s eyes widened in the slightest at the note. He recognized his script anywhere. Neat and almost girlish, beautiful. It was definitely his handwriting.
“Oi vey, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Keith. Do you know what I saw there?”
“You should leave, now, Victoire.” Keith spoke over her, pushing all of the files back at her and standing.
“What? We were-.”
“No, we weren’t. I don’t know anything, I don’t want any part in this. Got it? Do what you have to do, but don’t you dare bring me into this.” Keith’s voice was shaky as he spoke, and he opened the door of his office, “Out, now.”
Victoire looked outraged as she gathered her research into her bag, looking at him viciously, “You’re no better than them, you know? No better at all. You’re impossible! Take these, they might change your mind!” Victoire threw one of her files at Keith, which hit him square in the chest and opened. The contents spilled all over his office floor as Victoire stormed out, nearly sprinting out of the classroom.
Keith waved his wand to collect them, looking at the dead faces of several people he didn’t know. What was her motive in showing him this? He closed the file, feeling sick, and sat down at his desk. Putting his face in his hands, Keith screamed into them. Why was he being dragged into all of this again? He just wanted out. His heart couldn’t take it anymore.
Reaching into one of his drawers, Keith pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured a hefty glass of it. Taking a huge gulp, Keith ripped the quill out of the ink bottle and began the letter he had so longed to write long ago. It took nearly most of the evening, but he finished it and sealed it, running – no – sprinting to the Owlery. He found his owl, tying the heavy letter to its foot and sighing heavily.
“Go where I promised you’d never go, Howard.” He jerked his hand away when the owl went for his finger, knowing he shouldn’t but he had to send this letter.
He had to know what was going on.
He had to be ready for what was to come.
Never to suffer would be never to have been blessed
Somewhere deep in the shadows, there are those who mean us harm.
And then there are those willing to protect us from it.
And then there are those willing to protect us from it.