lomonaaeren

Thank you again for all the reviews! After this chapter, there will be a timeskip of four years, so as to move the story forward a bit.

Chapter Twenty-Eight—Thestral Edges

Tom stepped into the small forest near the edge of the Fortius grounds, or what looked to be a small forest. Once inside, it expanded abruptly, and the trees around Tom rustled and turned towards him. Tom had the impression of small eyes peering at him from the trunks.

He knew they weren’t real. The trees had ways of keeping track of intruders that made eyes seem tame.

Tom smiled, and began to walk.

When he reached the center of the forest, shadows stirred and cantered out to meet him. It was a tall female thestral, with an even thinner and more skeletal body than usual. The matriarch of the herd slowed, considered him, and then scraped one hoof on the ground, the signal they had agreed on that meant he could approach.

Tom bowed his head and stepped towards her. “Great one, I require a donation of an aura.”

The thestral snorted. Other members of the herd were melting towards him now, walking without a sound. Tom remained calm, ignoring the way that they pressed in near his back. They could do that if they wanted. They hadn’t violated the truce that had obtained between him and the herd for decades.

They wouldn’t unless they hurt him. Meanwhile, there were multiple ways that Tom might end up violating it. But considering how much humans were in control of the relationship with thestrals everywhere else in the world, he thought this a small sacrifice.

One of the smaller stallions caught his eye and trotted forwards. He was perhaps three years old, from his size, and had the odd silvery edging to his wings that some of those descended from the Hogwarts herd revealed at that age. He bared his teeth and came to a halt a few feet away from Tom, ducking his head and eyeing Tom’s arm.

Tom knew this particular gesture. The young stallion would donate edges of his aura for a taste of Tom’s blood.

It always comes back to blood, in the end, Tom thought, as he drew his wand and carefully cut the side of his arm. Magical creatures want it, it seals bargains, stupid people like Lucius use it to make a distinction between humans…

The thestral thrust his head forwards, trembling with eagerness, and latched his teeth onto Tom’s arm. As he drank, his tail twitching as if he were still a colt, Tom took out one of the prepared crystals from his pocket. He extended it slowly to the side, making sure that both the thestral feeding on him and the matriarch could keep track of everything he was doing. The last thing he wanted was to try and fill the thing, and then find it shattered by a back kick of powerful hooves.

The stallion feeding twisted one ear towards Tom, but didn’t move, and the mare didn’t shift. Tom held the crystal towards the thestral’s side and concentrated, not with his wand but his will, to draw the darkness and coolness of the aura that hovered around the stallion into the crystal.

There was a shimmering, chiming noise. The crystal began to glow with a dusky grey. One of the other thestrals came near to watch, but didn’t interfere, and then Tom just had to remain and watch as the crystal filled up to a certain point. He braced himself against a tree as the blood loss began to tell on him.

When the crystal was full of the glow that they would need to trap Grindelwald, or the creature wearing Grindelwald’s form, Tom retrieved it and bowed. The stallion let out a remarkably human-like sigh and separated his fangs from the cut in Tom’s arm. Tom cast a spell that would bandage the wound and clot the blood with a shaking hand.

The matriarch walked beside him out of the forest. Tom thought she probably wished to make sure that he left, but it was comforting to know that her presence also kept the rest of the herd from following and trying to take his blood from him by force.

When he reached the edge of the forest, he turned around and bowed deeply. The matriarch flapped her wings at him in acknowledgment, then turned and launched herself from the ground, soaring back towards the center of the forest. The sensation of being watched faded as Tom stepped past the outer trees.

He shook his head with a faint smirk as he took the orb to Lavinia. The purebloods claimed that their way was easier: exercising domination over goblins and thestrals and house-elves, hunting unicorns, forcing dragons into submission with multiple Stunners, completely ignoring the existence of merfolk and centaurs when they could and treating them with contempt when they couldn’t. It was “easy” in that it didn’t require them to think.

It was also an easy way of making enemies, many of whom Tom had allied with or recruited to his side of the war.

And all I pay is a little in blood and humility. What I gain is incalculably more.

*

“I think that you’re all right to join regular classes.”

That was what Theo had been waiting to hear, all these long weeks while he was catching up on magical history and, essentially, being tested to make sure that he didn’t have the same kind of bigoted beliefs his father had practiced. Theo had seen his sisters during that time, but hadn’t regularly eaten or visited with any of the other students. That kind of socialization was limited to awkward conversations in passing.

Now, for the first time, Professor Johnson was escorting him into her regular History of Magic class, where the other first-years sat.

Theo took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as everyone turned to stare at him. His father was a terrible human being, but he had some good advice about making sure that you appeared strong in public. Strong, proud, but also approachable. Theo kept repeating that to himself as Professor Johnson led him to a desk in between a brown-skinned girl with beads in her hair and a pale-skinned boy with hair that looked as if it had been used in a Lightning Shock ritual.

“We have a new student joining us this morning,” Professor Johnson said calmly. “Theo Nott. I expect you to treat him kindly unless he doesn’t treat you kindly.”

Theo clenched his hands under the desk. That was unfair. She suspected he would cause trouble—

No, she suspects that you were raised in such a way that you might run around shouting “Mudblood!” all the time. And she did say that they would get in trouble for being unkind to you, too.

There was a murmur of response, and Professor Johnson walked to the front of the classroom. “We were focusing last week on how the pureblood regime became so entrenched in the Ministry in particular. This is the last Minister who was elected before the current one, Lucius Malfoy.” Her wand flickered.

Theo twitched a little as the image of a tall woman with extremely curly blonde hair appeared in the air in the middle of the room. Binns had certainly never done anything like this in Hogwarts’ history classes.

“Her name was Millicent Bagnold,” said Professor Johnson briskly. “She was elected on a platform of promising more equal rights to Muggleborns along with purebloods, but also increasing the staff of Obliviators in the Ministry and other means of protecting the Statute of Secrecy. There were purebloods who saw her as a good choice, and those who saw her as a pawn.”

Theo studied the woman’s face. She was glancing around and blinking, a little like a slower version of a photograph. When she was staring in their direction, or maybe just the direction of the most people in the class, she smiled and waved. Her smile was a practiced politician’s smile, Theo decided. He couldn’t really tell anything about her from it.

“You will probably not be surprised to hear that Minister Bagnold’s term was one of the shortest in Ministerial history,” said Professor Johnson. “She was suspended within thirty days on a charge of spreading lies about pureblood families.”

Theo twitched. This was suddenly sounding familiar, although he didn’t think his father had ever given the name of the Minister involved.

Professor Johnson glanced at him and paused as if she thought Theo would add something, but went on when he didn’t. A twist of her wand changed the image of Bagnold into one of a woman in shackles, walking hollow-eyed between two cloaked figures Theo thought must be Unspeakables. “Minister Bagnold was tried, very quickly, by the Wizengamot, and it was said that multiple other charges were applied due to finding evidence of bribery, corruption, graft, and sympathizing with Muggleborns among the papers in her office. The trial was held overnight, and the next morning, she was sentenced to the Kiss.”

This time, the cloaked figures that swooped in from one side of the image were definitely Dementors. Theo folded his arms in his lap and held them there as he watched one of them descend, with a yawning, rotting mouth, on the picture of Minister Bagnold. Her head thrashed back and forth and her heels drummed on a floor of shadowy stone. Then the picture faded, and Theo remembered to breathe.

“Of course, that made it easy for Lucius Malfoy, playing Ministerial Advisor at the time, to be voted into power at the insistence of the Wizengamot.”

The image changed again, the grey turning into yellow and melting upwards. Theo swallowed a snicker when he saw how much of it became the shiny hair of Draco’s father. He was standing in front of a cheering crowd of indistinct figures, head bowed in that humble way that Theo’s father had made fun of him for.

Stop thinking so much about Father, Theo told himself sternly.

“And Minister Malfoy has been in power since. There are, technically, elections held, but since only purebloods are eligible to vote and there are procedures in place to accuse anyone the Minister doesn’t like of crimes on a regular basis…you can imagine how it goes. Yes, Miss Brenn?”

The girl on one side of Theo put her hand down. “Why did people stand for it?” she demanded. “I know people—Muggle people—who would protest things that are one half that bad!”

“I am afraid that neither our educational system, as it is at Hogwarts, or our press are calculated to encourage independent thinking,” Professor Johnson said, her voice soft and dry as desert sand. “And the ones in power by that point were purebloods. Remember that Albus Dumbledore was the last truly powerful half-blood to hold an important office, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he allowed his fears of civil war to force him out of that. When Malfoy said that the people supported him, it looked as if they did, because purebloods were the ones in the Wizengamot, writing for the Prophet, and making speeches about the will of the people.”

Brenn glared at her desk. Theo said nothing. He supposed he would have had the question himself, if he had grown up with Muggles.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

The boy next to Theo lowered his hand. “Were there any rebellions?” he asked. “I mean, I know that Professor Riddle is making a huge effort at revolution, but there must have been other people before him that tried, right?”

Professor Johnson gave him a sad smile. “Yes, Mr. Potter. There was the Muggleborn March, the Last Stand at Hogwarts, the incident where several prominent half-bloods took over the Prophet offices, and a raid on the Department of Mysteries itself. We’ll be talking about those in more detail over the next week.

“But all of them were defeated, through a combination of laws that the Ministry had already passed to give purebloods something so near complete power there was no difference, greater violence than the protestors or attackers were prepared to use, or sheer weight of numbers.”

“There are more purebloods than Muggleborns?” asked someone on the far side of the classroom whom Theo thought might be the Granger girl he had met once before. “I thought it was the other way around. I thought, because pureblood families generally have few children and they want to keep themselves an exclusive minority…”

Only sort of, Theo thought, wincing as he thought about the efforts to have more children that his father had ranted about more than once. Theo always listened when his father spoke, because he had to, and this was one of the only things he thought Father right about. Using Transfiguration and potions to create more children was a warping of the laws of magic.

“The other way around,” Professor Johnson said, her face as dry as her voice. “But so many Muggleborns have been killed in the harvests and Hunts in the past few decades, or perhaps simply refused the invitation to Hogwarts, that the numbers have been reversed.”

What could someone do with that information? Theo thought. If we could get it out that there are more Muggleborns than purebloods, probably more half-bloods than either, or at least more half-bloods than purebloods…

That did cause him to have a bit of a problem envisioning the next step, because since Minister Malfoy’s regime controlled the paper and the wireless and Hogwarts and the Ministry, it would be hard to make people believe that number. Theo frowned to himself and missed the next part of Professor Johnson’s speech, but he paid attention when Granger asked another question.

“What would happen if we started telling people all this, Professor Johnson?”

“There are some who would believe us, and some who wouldn’t, Miss Granger. But there are indeed people working at Fortius whose job is to come up with the best ways to phrase and spread that information.”

Theo sat up. Professor Johnson glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but since he didn’t say anything, she went on answering questions from other people.

Theo’s mind was whirling. He had wondered in the first days he was here if he really belonged at Fortius. Everyone else seemed to have a special talent or be doing something that would help the revolution Professor Riddle was planning. Theo didn’t have a talent. He thought he might be fairly powerful once his magic really recovered from his father’s draining, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Now, he thought he might know.

If I could work with the people trying to write that information—I might be good at it. I really might. At least Professor Snape gave me Outstandings on my essays and said they were really good.

He lingered behind when the other students departed the classroom. Professor Johnson gave him a small smile as she straightened what looked like a stack of essays on her desk. “Is there something you needed, Mr. Nott? I hope I haven’t gone too fast and confused you.”

“No, professor.” Theo took a deep breath. “Do you think that I could work with the people who are finding out ways to get the truth out there?”

“Hmm, possibly. I know that there are some people who wouldn’t think you a fit for the job given the way you grew up.”

Theo leaned a little closer to her. “I grew up learning how to spot bollocks when I heard it, Professor. Especially since my father also spouted justifications to leech me.”

Professor Johnson gave him a sad smile. “All right. Let me introduce you to Laurentius and a few of the others. At the very least, they’ll be able to tell you what some of their plans are, and you can decide whether or not that’s where you want to concentrate.”

Theo could feel his heart beating painfully hard as he stepped out of the classroom beside her. He wanted to prove himself good and impress them. But he also wanted to know the truth and spread it and learn how to make it so that people would swallow it. Because he had grown up hearing purebloods were better, and it had taken him several years to realize there wasn’t much proof backing that up, and to hear the same logical mistakes in those arguments that his father had carefully taught him to recognize in others.

I want to know the truth. That’s the world I want to live in, no matter what it says about me or purebloods.

*

Hermione knocked on Professor Elthis’s door and nibbled her lips hard as she waited for an answer.

“It’s not locked, Miss Granger.”

Hermione wondered for a second how Professor Elthis had known it was her, and then dismissed that notion. There were probably portraits or alarm spells or all kinds of ways she could have known. She edged the door open and also edged into the room, looking around. There were new crystal pendants hanging from the ceiling, singing softly to themselves.

Professor Elthis was sitting behind her desk, looking a little grey-faced and tired. Hermione paused. “I can come back if this isn’t a great time, Professor,” she offered uncertainly.

“No, it’s all right. The Headmaster asked me to complete a difficult task that I just recently finished.” Professor Elthis waved her to a chair. “I must say, Miss Granger, your essay on the ethics of Legilimency was extraordinary. I do have a few suggestions for you to present a more logical argument, but those are minor.” She slid the essay towards Hermione across the desk.

Hermione’s fingers twitched to pick it up right away, but she made herself hold her hand still in her lap. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Professor, I made my decision.”

Professor Elthis didn’t need to ask which one. She sat up a little. “Did you.”

“Yes. I—I want the darker path.”

Professor Elthis watched her with more expression than Hermione had ever seen on her face, maybe because she was tired. “You realize what you will be exposed to in developing your weapons?” she asked quietly. “You will need to look at memories of torture, of rape, of murder, and possibly of less pleasant things.”

“Yes. I—I know that. But I want to do something I could be good at and—” Hermione blushed hotly. The next thing she had to say was sort of pretentious-sounding, even in her head. “I want a path where people will be watching me and can keep me good. You’ll probably tell me if I’m going wrong more quickly than if I was on a different path and doing something with Legilimency that’s not as—as fraught.”

Professor Elthis’s eyes softened. “You fear that you might do other things in the future like invading Professor Lupin’s mind without enough consideration?”

“Yes. Or at least I could, if I’m not being watched. I didn’t grow up in this world. I don’t always know what the limitations of magic are. I’m trying to learn, but I think I need more adult supervision.” By now, Hermione was so hot with embarrassment that she was afraid Professor Elthis would probably laugh.

But the professor simply nodded and said, “That is a fine sense for a budding Legilimens to have. I promise that you will be watched over and guarded as you walk this path, Miss Granger.” She stood up and came around the desk, holding out her hand. “Let me shake your hand and welcome you to the ranks of people practicing this most delicate of the mind arts.”

Hermione smiled as she shook the professor’s hand, and watched eagerly as she walked over to a bookshelf. “This ethics text, yes, and this one,” Professor Elthis murmured. “And this one on developing resistance to pain, and compartmentalizing memories…”

Hermione bounced a little in her chair. She had the feeling that she was going to be very happy during the next few years.

*

Tom stood near the edge of Malfoy Manor’s grounds. He supposed he should have been able to guess that the thing calling itself Grindelwald was hiding there, but he had asked Harry to reach out with his war wizard’s senses and confirm it. The last thing he needed was to waste the orb that Lavinia had so carefully prepared on snaring someone who wasn’t his prey.

Now, Tom closed his eyes and dug with his magic and will into the orb in his hands. The lingering feel of Grindelwald’s magic, entwined with the young thestral’s aura, surged into his body. Tom hissed as it settled into his veins and began to burn. Both creature magic and this other magic were so foreign to his own being that he couldn’t carry them for very long.

But the other magic did feel like a wizard’s, surprisingly. Interesting.

Tom waited until he was sure that the combined aura and magic had filled his body. Then he reached out to the sense of half-similar power in the Manor.

He encountered a strong sensation of surprise, and then resistance. Tom smiled grimly and dragged Grindelwald towards him.

He heard cursing of both kinds, and then Grindelwald stumbled out through a door that opened onto the grounds from the eastern side of the Manor. Grindelwald snapped his head around to face Tom. He was still struggling, even as the orb dragged him closer, step by step.

“You cannot imprison me in the orb, Peverell!” he snarled, since Tom was wearing his glamour again. “I have the Elder Wand! I cannot be stopped, cannot be beaten!”

Tom smiled, despite the increasing burning in his veins and the effort it was taking his magic to hold Grindelwald even this close. If the man thought that Tom was trying to trap him, he wouldn’t be looking in the right direction for the real trap that was about to spring shut on him.

“You—might be right,” Tom panted. Merlin, this was difficult. He had never encountered a wizard or witch so near to him in power except for Harry, and Harry was young and untrained and didn’t have the practice in focusing his will like this. “It was—a terrible—struggle to get you to—come this far.”

Grindelwald smiled at him, and for a moment, his magic fluctuated as if he was basking in Tom’s praise.

And Tom struck.

He forced the mingled magic out of his body and into Grindlewald’s. The tether that he’d used to bring him so far snapped. Grindelwald lunged backwards, his mouth open in a soundless gape that might have been snarl or laugh.

But sucked right into his body along with the magic Tom had been pulling on went the thestral’s aura.

Grindelwald stiffened. His eyelids fluttered.

Tom smiled at him.

“You cannot,” Grindelwald said, his voice a low croak. He yawned, and reached out as if he was patting at an invisible wall, trying to feel it and destroy it. He lifted his wand, but his hand dropped sluggishly back to his side. “You cannot—you did not feed me the Draught of Living Death. I would have felt that. I would have countered that.”

“No,” Tom said simply. But it was an interesting comparison. Thestrals were creatures of death, and Tom had fed Grindelwald the edge of a thestral’s aura, and the edge of death was a sleep.

Grindelwald staggered and fell to one knee. He glared at Tom through steadily lowering eyelids. “I will have my revenge,” he whispered. “You can’t keep me trapped like this forever.”

Tom didn’t reply, simply taking a step backwards while eying the Manor. So far, no one had come out to check on the disturbance, but he couldn’t count on Lucius staying away from Grindelwald’s side for long, even if Narcissa had decided or been told not to interfere with her husband’s new Lord.

“What—did you do?” Grindelwald was on his hands and knees now. His wand was on the grass. Tom moved a small step forwards, but the wand rolled away from him and hid behind Grindelwald.

Very well. Tom had accepted that he would not be able to retrieve the thing, although he had thought to try. Somehow, at least based on the foretelling of the star chart, Andromeda was associated with the wand.

“That would be telling,” Tom replied smoothly when he realized that Grindelwald was still struggling against his oncoming coma, apparently waiting for an answer.

Grindelwald opened his mouth for another question, but he had waited too long. His eyes shut, his head lolled sideways, and he toppled.

A shout came from the side of the Manor, although in a voice that sounded more house-elf than human. Tom whipped his cloak around himself, backed a step away to make sure that he was beyond the reach of any wards that would sting him, and Apparated.

He landed back at Fortius with a long breath of air. It was unknowable how long the coma would imprison Grindelwald—he would have to come to terms with its effect on his body and magic, and understand it, and overcome any fear of death he might have—but the magical theory Tom had studied said he had bought them a few years, at least.

And by the time Grindelwald woke again, Tom intended to have the war well in hand.

“You smell happy,” Belasha remarked as she caught up to him walking across the grounds of Fortius and slithered companionably beside him.

“I have bound an enemy,” Tom said, and smiled at her.

“The next best thing to defeating one.”

“Yes.” Tom caressed her scales, his mind centered on the thought stirring in the back of his head.

And next time, it shall be defeat.