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Hollow Ash | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:Harry/Ginny, Neville Longbottom, Other Genres: Drama Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Extreme Language, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Sexual Situations, Spouse/Adult/Child Abuse, Violence, Violence/Physical Abuse Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 131 Summary: When a mysterious woman comes to the Auror office claiming to be the victim of a terrible crime, Theia and Harry want to do everything they can to help her. The problem is, she has no memory of what has happened. As they piece together the sinister events, their own troubles and traumas rise to the surface, causing them to question who they really are. Sequel to The Aurors. Hitcount: Story Total: 41624; Chapter Total: 1722 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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She was in those familiar drowsy minutes, between sleeping and waking, where she would willingly give all her possessions for just a moment longer of sleep. That was where she was never sure of anything, and thoughts of her mother and Dennis and home would swirl, confused and unclear, gradually becoming devastating as she woke and remembered. This morning it was slightly different, as she slowly recognised the sound of soft sobbing, and felt the aches and tiredness that came from sleeping on Marcy’s battered old sofa. She sat up in her groggy haze and looked towards the closed door of Marcy’s bedroom. The memory of sea spray, moaning wind, and Dennis’s voice prickled at her mind, but she felt too tired to think about it, so she imagined a song instead, the drawl of ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone easier to hear than the screech of the gates and bars of Azkaban. Was she going mad? It was always a possibility. She made a cup of tea in the muggle way, her wand abandoned on the coffee table, and then with shuffling steps she brought it to Marcy. She didn’t say anything as she handed it to her, and Marcy didn’t say anything in thanks; but she didn’t have to. She looked up gratefully through her sobs, and when Theia sat beside her on the bed, Marcy rested her head on her shoulder, and Theia leaned back. ‘Do you think I wouldda been good at it?’ Marcy asked, after a long time. ‘Being a mother.’ ‘Of course you would,’ said Theia, though she wondered. Until she had found out she was a witch, her mother seemed to have all the answers. Her words of wisdom and sage advice had guided Theia through fall outs with friends and unpleasant teachers and scraped knees. After that, they had simply felt like slogans and proverbs. Theia now knew an entire world her mother could not, and so it became clear that her mother was just guessing. It was not that her mum was bad at being a mother, but the pair of them had been bad at the relationship Theia now guiltily felt they ought to have had - though she knew in her heart that now that she was gone it would never have been enough even if it had been perfect. She would never have been the daughter her mother deserved, and her mother would never be able to understand what her daughter needed. Would it have been the same for Marcy and her son? Would he have been magical, away to a world Marcy could never experience? Or trapped here in the Loney with her, a sinister and isolated world itself? ‘Yes, he always said so,’ said Marcy thickly. Theia broke the hug apart and looked down at the tearful woman, jolted out of her thoughts. ‘Who said so?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Marcy immediately, but Theia could tell she was lying. Marcy reached out and grasped Theia’s hand. ‘Thank you. For everything. Giving up your day to be here.’ ‘I couldn’t leave you,’ said Theia. She frowned. ‘Did you know all this would happen?’ Marcy gave a shuddering breath. ‘Wasn’t expecting it all to be so bad.’ Now Theia moved, kneeling down in front of Marcy and clasping her hands, staring into her tear-filled eyes. ‘Marcy, tell me honestly. What happened here? What’s all this about?’ Marcy closed her eyes and sobbed. ‘They said after, we could be together.’ ‘Who? After what?’ ‘He was so small!’ Marcy wailed. ‘So small. I shall never forgive myself.’ Her distress was so vicious, her sobbing so uncontrolled, that Theia felt unable to press any further, despite her frustration. She squeezed Marcy’s hand and muttered, ‘Drink your tea.’ Rising and turning quickly so that Marcy would not see her thunderous expression, she left the room to go to the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder that she would make breakfast, all the while resisting the urge to go and shake Marcy. She ripped open a pack of sausages and threw them into the pan - she had let the oil get too hot and they spat immediately. Stabbing each with a fork, she glanced occasionally out of the window at the foggy crags and hollows of the Loney, ignoring Marcy’s continued crying. She did not like this job, she had decided. She had spent so long wanting to be good at it, that by the time she actually was, she had seen it for what it was and the disillusionment had corrupted her. Like Harry she was tenacious and determined, but she couldn’t let go of things like he could. She found that she was crying over the sausages, and she almost laughed for how pathetic it was. She knew what day it was, but found that it bothered her less than she was expecting. She did not miss Mum today any more than normal, only the life she could have had if Dennis had not come into their lives. She was collateral damage, the means to an end - she had merely picked up part of Harry’s life. She had been so excited when she had seen her name next to his on that first day. He moved from one trauma to another but still managed to move forward, doing normal life things, while she waited and obsessed over the events of last year. And now, Marcy. This woman that was several years older than her but demanded Theia’s protectiveness and pity. Theia had always had such patience for her, which was perhaps why they had connected, but now? Now she felt contempt rise unwillingly in her throat. She prodded the sausages again, blinking away the tears. She heard Marcy shuffle in behind her. ‘I know you’re not telling me something, Marcy,’ she said coldly. ‘It’s not because I don’t want to,’ said Marcy, and Theia was staggered by how grown-up her voice suddenly sounded. Theia took a calm, steadying breath, and dished up the sausages. She could feel Marcy’s presence just behind her, but found she couldn’t move. ‘So what is it then?’ she asked. ‘If you want to, what’s stopping you?’ There was no answer. ‘You remember something,’ Theia accused. ‘I don’t know if you have been lying all along, or you just remembered something now.’ Her voice grew harsher. ‘But I’m sick of it.’ There was no visible movement in her face, but Marcy’s expression seemed to change somehow. ‘You have no idea,’ she said, and an icy prickle crawled up Theia’s neck. ‘You can’t know the pain I feel. The grief.’ ‘I assure you I can,’ said Theia, louder than she meant. ‘I lost a child.’ ‘I lost a mother!’ ‘It’s not the same, everyone loses their mother eventually!’ Marcy’s voice broke and she turned away. Theia’s heart was thudding, she could hear the pounding in her ears. ‘You’re not special, duck.’ said Marcy hollowly, and Theia blinked back tears. ‘All we’ve tried to do is help you,’ Theia said at last, when she could bear the silence no longer. ‘From the start we have been patient with you. Helped you when no one else could be bothered. When it wasn’t clear what you even needed help with.’ She could see Marcy’s shoulders shaking. ‘I can’t,’ she said thickly, then a great, shuddering breath. ‘Then what do you expect me to say?’ asked Theia harshly. ‘I can’t help you, and just being a friend isn’t part of my job description. The Ministry won’t just pay for me to make you breakfast every day.’ She went back to the sausages. Tipped them onto a plate. The fat dribbled slowly across the pan. Marcy told her. …… When they arrived just outside the anti-apparation zone, the sky above the fells was shifting from spring day to night, the dark grey clouds edged with streaks of pale blue and pink, the air cold but still. They were hidden amongst the abandoned houses Ornella had pointed out to them when they had first met her - they were just the shells of buildings now, long since emptied of furniture and even floorboards, all the traces of people gone except for the graffiti and discarded vodka bottles that indicated it was occasionally a teenage haunt. It occured to Harry that families once lived here, that though the Loney had always been a small place it was once at least regarded as another wizarding dwelling, like Hogsmeade or Godric’s Hollow or Upper Flagley. He knew very little about the dragon pox epidemic she had spoken about; Binn’s had never taught them anything beyond the 18th century. Another heave and a splatter, and Harry turned to glance again at Ben, who was hunched over and leaning with one hand against one of the old stone cottages. He felt guilty taking Ben on another side-along apparation, but the vomiting was nearly over now and between heaves Ben was assuring him that it was fine. ‘You’ll get used to it eventually,’ said Harry. Ben groaned. ‘How much more is there going to be? Don’t you guys have buses or anything?’ Harry paused. ‘No,’ he lied. ‘It’s this, the floo or flying.’ He didn’t think it was a good idea to explain the concept of the Knight Bus, or why he didn’t want it barraging into the Loney. Ben pulled himself up, hands on his hips, eyes closed and breathing in the cool evening air. ‘Flippin’ heck,’ Harry heard him mutter. ‘I’m fine now, I’m fine.’ ‘No rush,’ Harry said, pulling the parchment out of his pocket. ‘We put an anti-apparation spell on the whole area, so we have a little walk to go. Take your time.’ Ben threw up again. Harry read the letters again as Ben retched. One from the Ministry. One from Theia, received just before he and Ben had left the Burrow. Now he had more pieces of the puzzle it seemed so obvious, as though he had known all along. ‘Right,’ said Ben firmly, though he still looked a little pale. ‘Now I’m ready. Which way?’ Harry gestured further down the valley, and they began to walk, the first of the evening frost crunching under foot, Ben swilling and spitting the water Harry conjured for him. ‘Can’t pull any toothpaste out a hat, can you?’ he asked. Harry chuckled. ‘One of the gaps in my abilities, I’m afraid. Mind you, I forgot-’ He waved a wand over Ben and soon he was bedecked in the scarlet robes of the Auror uniform, the buttons glinting in the dusk. ‘I feel like a redcoat,’ said Ben. ‘Or one of them muppets that stands outside Buckingham Palace. Liking the cloak though. Bit Lord of the Ring-sy.’ ‘I’ve only transfigured your clothes in appearance, it won’t last long,’ Harry warned. ‘I’ve never been much good at it. For proper stuff you have to go to someone who knows what they’re doing and can make it from scratch.’ He told Ben about Diagon Alley as they walked; Harry could remember his own amazement and bewilderment when he had first seen it all those years ago, and he delighted in Ben’s questions and wide eyes. A flutter of excitement pulled at his chest - the baby growing inside Ginny would probably never be excited or amazed at Diagon Alley, but would perhaps question him like this about Hogwarts. Finally, in the increasing gloom, they spotted the silhouette of their destination - squat and hardy in the ground, warm yellow light shining from two windows like eyes. A curl of smoke was just visible from the chimney. As they approached closer, they could see another man, with robes of dark blue, standing watch by the door. Harry dismissed him quietly, suggesting a break of an hour to get himself some dinner, and the man nodded gratefully and hurried away. ‘Our law enforcement department,’ Harry told Ben, as they watched the man walk off into the mist. ‘I thought that was you?’ ‘Think of it like he’s a regular policeman, I’m more Scotland Yard.’ He noticed Ben’s excited beam, and cautiously asked, ‘remember your role?’ ‘Course,’ said Ben swiftly. ‘Don’t go off script.’ ‘Promise.’ They knocked on the door of the tiny cottage, and deep, booming barks sounded. ‘I already gave you a cup of tea!’ came an irritated snap. ‘Mr Osman,’ called Harry. ‘It’s Harry Potter, from the Auror department. I have a few more questions.’ The door opened, and the scrambling labrador jumped up at Ben, who looked surprised but unconcerned and unmoved by the paws clumsily battering his chest. Mr Osman did not call his dog off, but scowled at them both. ‘May we come in?’ ‘I told you, I wanted a lawyer before talking to you any further.’ ‘And I believe you saw one,’ said Harry pleasantly. ‘I’m told you said she was a useless flobberworm.’ Osman finally grabbed his dog’s collar and pulled him down. ‘She was useless. Wanted to know all my private business.’ ‘I would appreciate it if you allowed us to talk to you,’ said Harry. ‘If you insist, we can find you another lawyer, but I think we would all rather we got this over and done with, wouldn’t we?’ Osman grunted, and stepped aside, allowing them to enter the cottage. ‘Where’s the other one?’ he asked. ‘Ms Higglesworth?’ asked Harry. ‘Busy. This is another one of my trainees, Ben.’ As predicted, Osman didn’t seem to care, but it gave Harry enough time to look around the dimly lit cottage. Cottage was perhaps an exaggeration - it reminded Harry of Hagrid’s hut, but darker, colder - less loved. The thick stone walls held rusted sconces and cobwebs, the flagstone floor was filthy with muddy footprints, and everywhere was clutter - objects of great use or no use at all were shoved into every corner and piled precariously on shelves. Under the small kitchen table were bowls for the dog and a torn up tennis ball. Osman limped over to a chair by the fire - his leg seemed worse than ever - and sat heavily, his face still like thunder. Max the dog trotted over to his side and flumped onto the floor at his feet, panting happily. It was clear that he was not going to offer Harry or Ben seats, so Harry conjured them both some padded dining chairs; Ben did an excellent job of avoiding looking impressed, but then Harry supposed that he may well be used to magic by now. ‘I’m glad you finally let me go home,’ said Osman abruptly, reaching down and scratching the labrador behind the ear. ‘Everyone has been placed under house arrest, Mr Osman,’ said Harry. ‘That Proudfoot bloke said it was you. Said you gave the order to let me go home and then had to allow the others too. I ‘ppreciate it,’ said Osman gruffly. ‘He shouldn’t have told you that,’ replied Harry, making a mental note to buy Proudfoot a pint. ‘But I am glad you’re more comfortable here. I hope we can get all of this over and done with soon.’ He thought he saw Osman’s chin tremble, but his face was immediately as stony as before. ‘Don’t know why I’ve been dragged into any of it at all. Just because I picked up a bike. Fuck’s sake.’ ‘Want a drink?’ Harry asked, and Osman gave a sharp nod. ‘Not got anything in, mind.’ ‘That’s all right,’ said Harry. ‘I can summon something from home.’ With a flick of his wand, a half full bottle of firewhiskey was on the rough wooden table, along with three glasses with a handful of ice cubes. ‘So what is this?’ Osman asked. ‘You pretend you want a chat and just come to get me drunk?’ Harry smiled. ‘Pretty much. It’s one of my favourite methods, I’m just not really allowed to do it.’ ‘That why this ‘un’s here, is it?’ Osman asked, jerking a head a Ben. ‘Higglesworth’s a goody two shoes,’ said Ben, and Harry was impressed with his improvisation skills. Osman snorted. ‘Women.’ He surveyed Harry with tired eyes. ‘Back in my day, you would have just skipped all this and just kicked the shit out of me if you suspected something. Saved the whiskey for later as an apology.’ ‘Reckon I’d have sent law enforcement for that,’ said Harry. ‘I’m not really good at the muscle stuff.’ Osman raised the glass to his lips but paused. ‘Got that potion in it, I expect?’ ‘We don’t use veritaserum anymore, Mr Osman,’ said Harry calmly. ‘It’s unreliable. Just a big waste of everyone’s time. I promise it’s just whiskey.’ Osman still looked suspicious, so Harry took the glass from him and set it back on the table, along with his own and Ben’s. ‘Take your pick,’ he said. ‘Shuffle them if you want.’ Osman rolled his eyes. ‘Fucking hell, I believe you.’ He took back his own glass and drank from it, the ice clinking quietly. He swallowed and glared at Harry. ‘How old are you now anyway? You’re still just a kid, ain’t you?’ ‘Married with one on the way,’ said Harry. ‘I think I’ve ticked off enough grown up boxes by now.’ ‘Older than your parents were when they died, I reckon.’ Harry wanted to say ‘what an odd thing to say’, but settled for, ‘knew them, did you?’ ‘No, but I know Ornella’s ‘bout the same age.’ ‘Ah yes, her claims of a special relationship with my dad,’ said Harry, unable to keep an edge out of his voice. Now Osman laughed, shallow, and hoarse. ‘Relationship? Stalking campaign would be more apt. Like all the men she wanted. Mad bitch. No wonder she could only get a Muggle in the end.’ ‘Do you know the Muggle she had the children with?’ Harry asked. ‘Yeah,’ said Osman casually. ‘Gordon McAlindon from down t’pub.’ Ben gave a sharp intake of breath, but thankfully Osman was drinking again so didn’t notice. ‘Complete bastard, he must have put two and two together and worked out they’re his, but he pretends he doesn’t know.’ ‘And does he have anything to do with this?’ Harry asked. Osman thought for a few moments. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s just a Muggle.’ ‘So what is going on, Mr Osman?’ Osman drank again, his face lined and weary, his grey beard scratching against the glass. ‘You think you’ve seen dark magic, Potter. You have no idea. And you’re just a kid. You wouldn’t understand it anyway.’ ‘There’s a lot that was never made public,’ said Harry. ‘Yeah, everyone’s figured that out,’ said Osman irritably. ‘You’ll end up just like Dumbledore, some mysterious old maverick that no one really knows ‘til you drop dead, and by then no one will really care anyway.’ He leaned forward, one elbow on the table, the other hand that was grasping the whiskey glass pointing unsteadily at Harry. ‘You weren’t here for his first rise. Don’t know what the fuck your parents were thinking having a kid amongst all that, but you weren’t here. You weren’t here for all the shit before that either, the desperation people had, the illnesses. Entire families gone from the pox.’ ‘We saw the abandoned houses,’ said Harry. ‘And Ornella pointed them out before. Looks like the Loney was hit hard.’ ‘Yeah, just me and the Swindlehurst’s left now,’ growled Osman. ‘Fuckin’ hell.’ ‘Is that why you’re scared, Mr Osman?’ asked Harry. ‘Fuck you, you little shit, I’m not scared. Just fed up.’ Harry took the whiskey bottle, and topped up their glasses. ‘Seeing so much death fucks you up,’ he said, as the amber liquid tinkled softly into the glass. ‘I know that. And you can shrug me off for being young, but you know that I know that. And Mr Osman, you might try and protect yourself by being alone and loving animals that you can accept will die after a certain amount of time, or by pretending that you don’t care at all, but you know as well as I do that fear doesn’t stop basic human nature.’ ‘Which is?’ asked Osman with a sneer, leaning back in his chair. ‘Come on, Boy Who Lived, tell this old man what basic human nature is.’ ‘I knew a man like you, Mr Osman. He was bitter and angry and he lashed out. Then I found out the reason and it made sense.’ Harry checked his watch, and then looked over his shoulder at Ben, who gulped and leaned forward. ‘Mr Osman, I’m part of the team that does blood magic work. As you may be aware, recent advances in this branch of magic mean that-’ ‘Get on with it,’ snapped Osman. ‘You’re the father, Mr Osman,’ said Ben. ‘Of the baby in the tree. We know this, we have proof.’ Osman didn’t say anything. He didn’t react. Simply took another drink and scratched his dog’s ear. ‘I think you and Marcy love each other, don’t you, Mr Osman?’ said Harry. ‘At first I thought it might be manipulation, grooming, even abuse, but Marcy is an adult, we all forget that sometimes. And the seashells, the postcard, the fake anger you’ve had for her - I think it’s all love.’ ‘No,’ croaked Osman. His eyes were watering. ‘You don’t need to deny it anymore,’ said Harry. ‘You couldn’t admit it before because you’d worked out that Theia and Marcy had connected. You didn’t want to give anything away. Girls talk.’ ‘It’s not true,’ said Osman. The hand that held his whiskey was trembling, the ice rattled against the glass. Harry glanced at his watch again, and then turned to Ben. ‘I think they’ll be here now,’ he said. Ben nodded and rose. The dog rose too, and started barking, wagging his tail as he scampered to the front door. Ben opened it, and there, waiting outside, were Theia and Marcy. Marcy stepped through, her eyes wide and afraid in the candlelight, the dog jumping up happily at her. Her gaze was fixed on Osman, who had risen too, unsteadily, leaning heavily on the table. ‘Oh, Alf,’ she gasped. His face trembled and creased, tears were now falling into his beard. Marcy rushed towards him, and they embraced, both crying, gripping each other tightly. The age gap was clear; Osman was in his late fifties at the very least, possibly his sixties, and everything about him seemed grey next to Marcy, who wasn’t exactly colourful herself. But he pressed his lips against the top of her head and she kept her arms wrapped around his waist. ‘I must inform you both that the pair of you are under arrest for the murder or abandonment of baby Asher Staindrop,’ said Harry calmly, who had still not risen from his chair. ‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence later in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence.’ ‘I’ve missed you,’ Marcy whispered up at him. ‘I didn’t remember it, but I missed you.’ ‘My darling,’ Osman said quietly back. ‘My poor darling.’ Theia stepped forward, and leaned against the wall. ‘Marcy’s filled me in, Mr Osman, and I wrote and told Harry. About how you both fell in love, and Pauline Swindlehurst didn’t approve. The walks through the fells and along the beaches. How you had plans to leave the Loney together. But she couldn’t tell me any more.’ ‘We was going to go to Ireland,’ said Osman, his voice shaking. ‘Across the sea. Away from this place.’ ‘So what happened?’ Harry asked. ‘You must tell us, because at the moment it doesn’t look good for either of you.’ ‘I can’t,’ said Osman. ‘We can’t.’ He looked down at Marcy. ‘Do you remember?’ ‘Only bits,’ she cried. ‘Just scraps, Alf. I feel more than I remember.’ He took her face in his rough hands, swaying slightly on his unsteady leg. ‘If you can’t remember, my darling, I won’t be the one to tell you.’ Max the dog was unsettled - he whined and paced up and down. Osman winced, and Marcy looked down at his leg. ‘Sit down!’ she exclaimed. ‘Please, love, I know how much pain it causes you.’ Still tearful, Osman sat heavily in the chair again, Marcy crouched beside him. Harry picked up Osman’s whiskey and handed it back to him. ‘Come on now,’ he said. ‘You must have known it would come out eventually.’ ‘If you hadn’t come meddling, we could’ve left and it would’ve been fine,’ Osman said, his voice thick. He looked at Marcy, his eyes filled with tears. ‘What did you have to go to London for?’ he asked. ‘Why did you do that?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she said, sobbing and shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry, love, I don’t know. I don’t remember. I didn’t remember. Anything.’ ‘We were so close,’ he said. ‘So close to escaping this.’ ‘Someone has already made a confession,’ said Harry. ‘Oeric admitted to all of it and claimed the baby as his own. Something tells me he wouldn’t cover for you two. So what’s going on?’ Osman stroked the side of Marcy’s face with an aged hand. She looked up into his face adoringly, but both of them had the expression of one walking to the gallows. ‘You’ve been kind to me, Mr Potter,’ said Osman. ‘And especially to Marcy. I don’t know much about you, but what I do know… I think you will rather regret it.’ |
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