Meghan Creevey (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 41)
Title: Meghan Creevey (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 41)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: The final showdown
Notes: This is the penultimate chapter for After the Flaw: Oligarchy. However, because of help_haiti obligations, I won't be starting the final chapter for at least a few more weeks. Expect it sometime late February, but I'm not laying that as a firm date.
I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowling.
Lycanthrope / Previous Chapters / After the Oligarchy
The young boy lay on his bed, a hand-written note on his lap. His shoes were still on, the top button of his uniform robes loose around his large neck.
As far as overweight kids went, he wasn't exactly tipping the scales. But in a world populated by cruel children, he was fat. He was teased a lot for his size, mostly by Slytherins like Pritchard and Baddock. Even some of the older Slytherins joined in whenever he entered the Great Hall. Malfoy and his friends loved to tear into him, and it wasn't exactly like Crabbe and Goyle were going to win any beauty contests.
Beyond the Slytherins, there were others. Some particularly nasty Ravenclaws, like Ackerley, loved to poke him as he walked down the aisle in Potions. The worst, though, was in Gryffindor, his own House. Peakes always seemed to never look him in the eye, even though he was beyond friendly with the rest of their fellow third-years. And he always seemed to hear snickers from Natalie MacDonald and her friends whenever he scooped himself another helping of mashed potatoes.
It was alright, though. He knew this was only temporary. They were jealous. His marks were so far and above theirs that all they could do was target his more... physical deficiencies. Soon enough, though. Just a few more years he'd be out of this school. He'd be out in the real world.
And out there, he knew, the world was run by people just like him. The people mocking him now would be sucking up to him in no time flat.
"What are you reading, Nigel?"
Nigel looked up from the note to see a tiny kid standing in the entryway, a look of anxious excitement on his face. Of course, there was always a look of anxious excitement on the kid's face. Even though Dennis Creevey was in the same year as Nigel Melling, Nigel couldn't help but think of him as a kid. Dennis never seemed to quite act his age. He was always excited, always curious, always friendly. He was one of these people whose leg bounced when they talked. He was also one of the few people in Nigel's year who actually regarded him as something more than a cheat sheet or a psychological shooting range.
"Nothing," said Nigel, slipping the note under his pillow. Hesitated, wondering if Peakes would go digging after he left. Slipped it into his breast pocket instead.
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" said Dennis, pulling down the zipper of his Muggle jacket then pulling it back up again. "You're going to be late!"
"Late for what?"
"Dennis, come on!" came a voice from downstairs, just as excited. "We're going to be late!"
"I'll be down in a minute, Colin!" Dennis yelled back to his older brother before turning his attention back to the room. "The match, Nigel! The big one! We're taking on Hufflepuff! Harry's going to beat Zacharias for making fun of us during the Slytherin match!"
"Oh, right," said Nigel slowly. "That."
"Are you alright?" said Dennis, stepping in. "That letter really get you down?"
"Kinda," Nigel shrugged. "News from home. Nothing massive."
"Well, the match'll help you feel better," said Dennis with a firm nod of positivity. "Cormac's replacing Ron, remember? Everyone says he's really good. He can't be as good as Ron, but everyone else says he is."
Yeah, I just bet, thought Nigel. McLaggen probably fueled that rumor himself. Hell, probably started it on his own. One of the biggest meatheads out there. Always trying to give me diet tips, served with a heaping helping of condescension.
"Go ahead of me, Creevey," he said. "I'll be down in a minute."
"Alright," said Dennis, hesitating. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Right as rain," said Nigel. "Go on."
Dennis stood for a few more seconds, obviously debating with himself over whether to pursue the matter further. Then, gratefully, left. Nigel focused on Creevey's footsteps as they clicked down the stone hallway, down the stairs, and away. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out the note. He opened it, smoothed it on his thigh, and read it again:
Nigel,
This is your Aunt Mildred. I hope this letter gets to you quickly, as there is no other way that I have found to get in touch with you.
Nigel, there has been an accident. A terrible accident. Your mother and father are gone. They were driving home from dinner, and there was a drunk driver, and th
I'm sorry, I'm having difficulty writing this. You need to be told this in person, I know. That's why you need to come home as quickly as possible. Your parents never told me where your school is, only that it is very secluded and very old-fashioned, otherwise I would have called you on the telephone immediately. I can pick you up myself, only you must send me the address so I can find it. I was told to send this to a post office box number, I do not know where you are.
Nigel, I am so sorry I'm sure words can't You must feel Nigel, please come home. As your godparents, you can stay with us as long as you need, since you've now been put into our care. Talk to your headmaster, I'm sure he'll allow you to make a phone call considering the circumstances. The sooner you come home, the sooner the healing can begin.
Love always,
Aunt Mildred
Nigel sat still, reading and rereading the note.
His parents were dead. His parents, his Muggle parents, were dead, and Nigel felt...
Felt...
Well, how did he feel?
He knew how he should be feeling, of course. Shock. Anger towards the drunk driver who killed them. Gut-churning agony and depression. He should be curled up into a ball, sobbing relentlessly.
So why wasn't he?
When his great uncle died three years ago, he and his mother and father attended the funeral, the only one that Nigel had ever been to. He had barely known Uncle Wade, but the few times that he had met him, the old man seemed alright. Nigel was sad to see him go.
He felt that same sadness now. But shouldn't he feel more than that?
I should go talk to Professor McGonnagal, he thought. Now that Aunt Mildred and Uncle Anthony are my guardians they should know about the magic world. McG can send them an owl, they can come pick me up at King's Cross, and I can... can...
But he didn't want to bother McGonnagal with this. There was the big Quidditch match happening right now. Nigel had seen her making friendly wagers with Sprout just this morning. This would definitely put a damper on her day.
Maybe Granger or Weasley? Surely not Dumbledore, this was way beneath him.
And the more Nigel thought about it, the more he felt... Well, could he afford to leave school right now? What with finals coming up and all? And they had cancelled the last Hogsmeade weekend, but maybe they were going to reschedule after the whole Katie Bell thing got cleared up. He didn't want to miss that.
Going home would be a lot of work for a lot of people. He'd fall back in his classes. He'd be...
Inconvenienced?
There it was, right there. Nigel felt sad that his parents had died, sure. But more than anything he felt like leaving to go to their funeral would be more trouble than it was worth.
It's not like he and his parents had been getting along very well. Ever since he had received his letter from Hogwarts three years ago, Nigel had felt a growing disconnect within their home. He had tried, of course. His first holiday back, he had been beyond giddy. He told his parents about the school, the teachers, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and, of course, the magic.
Much to Nigel's surprise, though, his parents didn't quite react the way he had expected. Instead of being open to the ideas of the new world that had been revealed to them, they seemed to... shrug it off. Almost like everything Nigel was living was some... some LARP? Some sort of elaborate, grandiose Dungeons & Dragons fantasy camp that was merely a place for their money to go that was a little better than public schools, some sort of unique method for teachers to get students excited about their education. Nigel was liking it, and that was fine, but they still expected him to go off to Muggle university when his seventh year was finished.
That next summer, Nigel was more wary. He tried to explain to his parents the danger that was suddenly in the world with the return of You-Know-Who. Again, they shrugged it off, but with a little more concern this time. Not concern for their safety, however, but concern over their son's well-being. Like he was coming home with ideas that weren't proper, that weren't... real. Like parents that were realizing their child was treating a favorite computer game like it was reality. Nigel knew he could convince them to appreciate his new life if only he could actually show them something. But he was underage, so that was out of the question.
In the end, Nigel responded to his parents concerns the best way he could. By the end of that first summer, he barely spoke of Hogwarts to them. Barely spoke of magic to them. By the time last summer came around, his second summer home, he barely spoke of anything to them. Instead of bothering them with tales of evil headmistresses and friends taking part in secret Armies that he himself had never been invited, Nigel spent most of his time in his room, diligently reading and re-reading his textbooks, as well as the stacks of books he had purchased at Diagon Alley. He learned more about the wizarding world and wished that he could get out of his Muggle house and properly practice the spells those books preached.
Hermione Granger could attest.
Now, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he felt less sad and more... relieved. His fraying ties to his parents had been symbolic of his fraying ties to the Muggle world. He would have to go somewhere over the summer, of course. Go to his aunt and uncle's, since they were now his legal guardians. Deal with them for the next few years, then leave his old life as soon as he became Of Age.
Unless...
Nigel picked up his wand. Tapped the letter. "Incendio," he said, and the paper burst into flames.
I don't know what happened, Aunt Mildred. The letter just never got here. Must have been lost in transit.
There would be questions, of course. And there would be disputes. Aunt Mildred would want Nigel to go to a different school, closer to their home in Bath. She wouldn't think much of a school whose students disappeared for months at a time without any communication, not even able to be told that their parents were killed. He'd have to do something about that if it happens.
Memory Charms? Maybe. The Trace might be an issue, though. It was a good thing he had been studying up on it.
He might even be able to find a way to bypass it.
Yeah, thought Nigel, standing up and pulling his jacket from its hanger. It'll all work out. It should be fine. He was destined for bigger things, and he didn't want anyone to stand in his way.
After all, they were just Muggles.
---------
"Can you feel it inside you? The power?"
"I... I don't know."
"It's there," said Nigel Melling, Prospero, Mask of London, Protector of Iceland and the British Isles, now and forever. He was seated on the floor of the room where Meghan Cullen had been kept. He was cross-legged. Meghan Cullen sat across from him, seated the same way. She had been given new robes, their cut similar to Prospero and the rest of the Oligarchy, but sporting a deep royal purple color instead of the plain blacks of the others.
She felt uncomfortable in it. She still didn't know what she was doing, or why she was doing it. Well, she knew why she was doing it: she felt that, no matter what this wizard seated in front of her said, her life was in danger. If she didn't go along with what he asked, she was dead, plain and simple.
But a part of her, a small part of her, didn't believe that. More than a small part, in fact. Because she had some idea of the power Prospero and the others wielded. And she also thought back to the looks of befuddlement, shock, and helplessness on the faces of the Hogwarts professors that could only stand helplessly by during her various magical outbursts over the last two and a half years.
Hogwarts couldn't handle her. Couldn't help her the way she needed help. Maybe the Oligarchy could.
They're the bad guys. Don't think that. They're evil. They're... They're...
But Prospero didn't seem that bad. He seemed like he genuinely wanted to help her.
Didn't you just say say they were going to kill you?
Well, yeah. Maybe. But...
"You're conflicted," said Prospero with a nod.
"Is it that obvious?" Meghan said with a helpless chuckle.
"Even if I couldn't read your mind," he said, "it's obvious. It's coming off you in waves."
"You can read my mind?"
"Legilimency, yes," said Prospero. "It's a difficult skill, but I believe it's something that you yourself will be able to do effectively someday, Meghan. In fact, from all we have learned of you, I doubt there is anything you won't be able to do effectively."
Meghan suddenly felt self-conscious again. She tried her best not to think. Wait, that's stupid, how can I not think, it's--
"Occlumency is also a skill you have the capability of learning," said Prospero with a chuckle. "But don't be concerned, Meghan. I'll stop reading you for now."
"Um... How do I know you're stopping?"
"You probably don't," Prospero shrugged. "But well-trained wizards can recognize when they're being searched. If you can recognize how your mind feels while being Legilimensed versus when you're not-- But I apologize," he said. "I don't want to overwhelm you too early. First we must help you control the magic that is in you. Hone it, channel it, make sure it doesn't strike out on its own like it did in the greenhouse or your old home."
"How did you know about--"
"We just know," said Prospero simply. "After that, after you know you are not a danger to yourself and others, we can then move on to sharpening those skills into something much more powerful. Powerful enough, even, to shape the world the way you want to shape it."
"I don't want to... to... shape the world," she said. "I know you all think I'm some important thing, but--"
"But you want to be helped," said Prospero. "You want to be able to walk down the street without feeling like you're going to kill someone with a miscast spell."
"Yes," she admitted, the word unbidden but true.
"Then that's what we want, too," said Prospero, resettling his posture. "Close your eyes. Calm yourself. Breathe deeply and slowly."
And she did. And she tried. And she did and did. This time, she thought she felt something.
There was a boom as the door blew open behind her. The zap and whistle of spells flying over her head and slamming into the wall around the fireplace. Prospero leaped to his feet as Meghan spun around.
Nine wizards and witches entered the room. All were dressed in black robes much like Prospero's, and five of the six were wearing black bandannas that covered their faces above the nose. The sixth, Meghan noted with a shock that had been noticeably dulled by the various shocks that had happened in her life over the last few hours, had the face of a dog or a fox. The wizards were dueling with each other, three on six.
Prospero raised his wand. Meghan could see him hesitate a moment, as though trying to figure out which of these fighters were the ones he should be siding with. Then, with a flourish, he tossed a spell at the wizard dueling with the fox woman, and entered the fray.
Meghan, meanwhile, was paralyzed. She knew that if she didn't move soon, hide under the bed or behind one of the plush chairs, one of these spells would be sure to hit her. Or she might even be trampled by the mass, oblivious to the small shape seated on the floor. But she just... couldn't... move.
Two bodies on the ground now, Meghan counted. Now three. And now she was moving. Not by her own volition, but by invisible hands that had grabbed her beneath her shoulders. She cried out in surprise as she was dragged away from the fight, her bare heels skating across the rough-hewn stone.
"You're Meghan, right?" a voice said in her ear, quietly enough for only Meghan to hear over the din of battle.
"Y-Y-Y-"
"Don't worry," said the voice as Meghan's drag stopped beside the bed, which suddenly flipped up onto its side. "We're here to get you out of here."
"Who?" said Meghan, looking around, yearning for a wand. "Who are you?"
She shrieked as the head of a young woman with short, blond hair appeared in thin air. Like the other Oligarchy fighters, the upper half of her face was clad in a black bandanna.
"The good guys," the head said. "You don't know me, I know, but--"
There was a twang from Meghan's left as one of the more powerful spells collided with what she could only assume was one of the bed springs. The head flinched back, then vanished as though the wall and portrait behind her were pulled down over it like a cloth.
"Get under here," said the voice, and Meghan felt an invisible cloth drape over her head. She could see the whole girl now, a few years older than Meghan and dressed in black Oligarchy robes.
"What's happening?" asked Meghan, trying to back away from the girl. "Why are you fighting each other?"
"We're not with them," the girl whispered, grabbing Meghan's wrist. "We're with the Ministry. That's Professor Ogden and Mr. Malfoy out there--"
"Malfoy? Scorpius?"
"His dad," said the girl. "Now, quiet, if they think you're already gone--"
"Kitsune," said Prospero from the other side of the bed as the spells died down, "what's happening? Are these the-- Kitsune!"
"Thank you for the help, Prospero," said a female voice. "We couldn't have taken them out without your assistance."
"What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning," said the female voice, Kitsune, "is that the Next leaves."
"Impossible," said Prospero. "And I would suggest pointing your wand away from me, Kitsune, if you want to keep your throat."
Meghan pulled away from the girl far enough to peek around the bed. Prospero faced the fox-faced witch, their wands pointed at each other. Only two of the other wizards were still standing, their wands also pointed at Prospero. One of them, Meghan could see, had the long gray horseshoe mustache that was distinctly Professor Tiberius Ogden.
"She does not belong here," said Kitsune. "Not under the supervision of the Oligarchy."
"Of course she does," said Prospero. "The Oligarchy has been searching for her for decades. Now that we've found her, you can't possibly think--"
"The Oligarchy is not what it once was," Kitsune argued. "You cannot tell me you have not seen it, Prospero. The Next is extremely powerful. Now that we have her, can you seriously believe that Atrytone and the others will simply allow her to live her own life, to run the Oligarchy as she deems fit? The world?"
"Of course they--"
"They want to control her," said Kitsune. "To contain her. Ammit, Atrytone and the others. They want to hold her, to unleash her at their whim. They don't want her to lead. They want to use her like a trained dog, or... or a nuclear bomb. To use the mere threat of her as a method to force the Muggles to bow to our will. To their will."
"Impossible!"
"You're a fool if you think otherwise, Nigel," Kitsune said, stepping forward, nearly nose-to-snout with the wizard. "We leave. Now. The four of us: You and I, Gungnir and Manbo. We take her far away from here and teach her as the Next should be taught."
"That was not the agreement," said Ogden, turning his wand towards Kitsune. "We're taking her home to her mother and father."
"Her mother and father," Kitsune said, snorting derisive laughter. "Of course."
"Kitsune..." said Prospero warningly.
"There was no agreement made between us, Ogden-san," said Kitsune. "Ogden-sensei," she corrected with more than a touch of sarcasm. "We both agree that she should not be here. We have assisted each other in reaching this room, and I have assisted in keeping you alive, as Gungnir has respect for you all. Well, for most of you," she added with a look to Draco.
"Yes, I get that a lot," said Draco with a roll of his eyes. "Well, whether we are taking the Muggleborn or you are, the fact remains that we're standing here chit-chatting while there are probably other Oligarchy on the way. So shouldn't we be not here when they arrive?"
"Half-blood, actually," said Kitsune. "Meghan Cullen is a half-blood."
"He didn't call her a Mudblood. I'd consider that progress from when he was a boy," said Prospero with a dark glance at Malfoy.
"But he's right," said Ogden. "We need to leave. Meghan?" he called out. "Victoire? You can bring her out, we need to move."
"Come on," said Victoire, grabbing Meghan's arm. Meghan hesitated, her brain still working.
That confirmed it, didn't it? The Oligarchy always seemed to know more about her than even she did. They knew she was a half-blood, so didn't that prove that she was one? Her father, Patrick Cullen, was a wizard. It was why he had freaked out years ago when she received her letters from Hogwarts, and he was most likely the anonymous Muggle who had been interviewed by the Dispatch.
But why did he hide it? Why didn't he tell her? And where was he now?
"Come on," Victoire repeated, pulling the cloak aside and standing up.
"Are you unhurt, Meghan?" asked Prospero as she and Victoire came from around the bed.
"I'm fine," said Meghan with a nod.
"Take us to the exit," said Ogden to the two Circle members.
"You're in no position to give orders, sensei" said Kitsune.
"I said--"
"According to Weasley, your only method of escape has been destroyed," the fox continued. "There is no entrance and exit except by Apparition from only three points within the entire facility. Even if you do find any of our Dualkeys, how do you know they are not the ones that we have, say, perched precariously at the lip of an active volcano or set inside the Dementor vaults? We hold all of the cards, and we will not allow you to take the Next."
"But I don't want to stay."
The group turned as one to face Meghan, who tried her best to steel herself against their gaze.
"I want to go home," she said quietly. "I want to go back to my mother and my... well, I want to go home."
"Meghan," said Prospero as calmly as possible, "you don't understand your precarious position. Hogwarts cannot help you."
"Of course we can," said Ogden defensively. "Meghan, don't listen to them--"
"They haven't been able to help you yet," said Prospero. "They can't even comprehend the levels of power you hold within you."
"But why can't you help me?" said Meghan. "Can't I... Can't I have both? Why does it have to be you or them? Can't I be with them and have you teach me how to control myself? Why do I have to be with you and you alone?"
"It is not that simple anymore," said Kitsune. "The Oligarchy shattered the Statute of Secrecy, and caused more death and destruction than anyone could have imagined. We are fugitives. The Circle of Thirteen is broken; we cannot protect ourselves the way we once did, and we cannot re-enter wizard society. So you must come with us, into hiding, or you will live your life as you have been living it: uncontrolled. A danger to yourself and to others."
"But... But you're fighting against the Oligarchy!" said Meghan, looking between Prospero and Kitsune. "You said it yourself, you don't want me to be the... the killer that the others want me to be! You didn't want so many people to die, right? Couldn't you just... tell them that?"
"In a fantasy world, yes," said Kitsune, looking at Ogden. "Unfortunately, that is not how the real world works. They will not, what is it the Americans say, let us off the hook."
"We don't want bloodshed," said Ogden. "But we will take her from here, with or without your permission."
"Then you will die," said Kitsune simply.
"Enough," said Prospero sharply. "It is Meghan's choice to make. However, I would like to introduce her to one more person before she makes her final decision."
"She is not going anywhere with you," said Ogden, redoubling his grip on his wand.
"You will want to talk to our guest, as well," said Prospero to the headmaster.
"And why is that?"
"Because if you want to try to arrest us as criminals," said the Mask of London, "you will definitely want to bring our guest to justice, as well."
---------
"They're in the dungeons."
"What?" said Dean, turning around as to look at Ted Lupin as the two of them followed Gungnir down the stone hallway. His hand was wrapped tight in bandages and soaked in a green concoction of Healer Cruz's making.
"Vic just, um, just called," said Teddy. "They've moved on to the dungeons."
"Are they holding Meghan there?"
"Meghan's with them already," said Teddy. "The three of them, Meghan, Kitsune, and Prospero. They're all going to the dungeons."
"Why would they be going there?" Dean asked Gungnir, who had slowed down while listening to the conversation.
"They are going," said Gungnir, "because, I believe, Prospero is introducing Meghan Cullen our trump card."
"Your what?"
Gungnir opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped short as a bolt of energy flew from behind them, missing him by inches and igniting a nearby drapery. The three spun to find Oligarchy, maybe a dozen, running towards them.
"Sustoti!"
"Parar!"
"Hyud! Hyud!"
Quite the international bunch, thought Teddy dryly as he, Dean, and Gungnir leveled their wands at the charging witches and wizards. He could feel his heart, already beating with nervous energy, speed up as a new bout of adrenaline poured into his blood.
"Stupefy!" yelled Dean, taking one of the wizards down.
Teddy quickly clicked through his list of spells in his head. Stun? Kill? Could he?
kill
His mouth twitched. The hand not holding his wand clenched. He snarled.
tear feed kill
No!
"Expelliarmus!" he screamed out instead. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"
One wizard went down. Another. By his hand or Dean's or, most likely, Gungnir's, he couldn't tell. Spells flickered past him, but he was untouched. Luck? Gungnir again? The guy had power. He might be protecting all three of them with shield spells while still taking his former students, former colleagues, down one by one.
get in there tear them apart
The back of his neck was prickling. His nails
(claws)
were digging into his palm. And were his canines getting longer inside his mouth?
"Trykk!" Gungnir roared, pointing both his wand and spear forward. At once, all of the remaining attackers flew back down the hall, piling on top of each other after bouncing off of the far wall sixty feet away.
"Come," said Gungnir as though he had just brushed a fly off his shoulder. Dean nodded and turned to follow him, then looked back at Teddy.
"Lupin," said Dean, putting his hand hesitantly on the boy's shoulder. He was shaking, pale, and sweating. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing fast and shallow. Almost panting.
"Calm yourself, Theodore," said Gungnir. "The varulv is still inside you, wanting to get out. Do not let it control you."
"Yeah," Teddy rasped, his hands clenching and unclenching. Dean looked anxiously back and forth between him and Gungnir, but the powerful wizard just shook his head.
After maybe thirty seconds, Teddy opened his eyes. He still looked sick. He did, in fact, have the same look Dean had seen his father, Remus, wear after coming back to class after "sick leave". But he looked better than he had, at least.
"I'm okay," Teddy said with a quick nod before turning to Gungnir. "Take us to the dungeons."
---------
The bruised and beaten man pushed himself far into the corner as the iron door was thrown wide. Kitsune stepped inside, Prospero close behind and Meghan, Ogden, Victoire, and Malfoy taking up the rear. The five were all able to fit inside the cell, although it was a rather tight fit.
"Ah, good," said Kitsune, the tip of her wand lit. "You're awake. You have a visitor, Dennis."
"Don't," said the man nervously, his face turned away. He was shaking all over.
"We're not here to hurt you, Dennis," said Prospero. "We have someone who wants to talk to you. Someone who needs to talk to you."
"Don't."
"Stand up," Kitsune ordered. "Stand up and face us."
Meghan stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide as she got her first clear look of the lump of ragged clothes in front of her.
"Daddy?" she gasped.
Patrick Cullen's head whipped around. His eyes met Meghan's. Then he spun away just as quickly.
"Not real," he muttered, rubbing his arm with his hand. "Not real not real not real."
"Daddy!" Meghan cried out, running forward. Three steps in, though, she was stopped as though running into a wall.
"not real not real," Patrick continued to mutter as Meghan frantically pressed her hands against thin air.
"What is he doing here?" asked Ogden, stepping up beside Meghan. "What the hell is he doing here?"
"He's our prisoner," said Kitsune simply.
"For what?" Ogden yelled. "You have no right to hold--"
"Because he's a criminal," said Kitsune. "We just happened to find him before the British Ministry did. And they should be grateful that we did."
"A criminal?" Meghan said, turning to Prospero. "He's not... What... He's my dad, he hasn't done anything wrong!"
Prospero shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Meghan, but he has."
"Has what? Talked to a newspaper? That's a crime after what you all did?"
"If only it were that easy," Prospero sighed sadly. "Do you want to tell her, Dennis, or should I?"
"Dennis," Meghan murmured. "That's his name? How do you know all of this?"
"Wait a minute," said Draco, slowly moving forward. He squinted, bent at the knees, and lifted one hand out in front of him, blocking his view of Patrick. Like he was covering up the scraggly beard that Meghan's father had developed over his time of incarceration.
"Creevey?" Draco said carefully, "Dennis Creevey?" He turned to Meghan. "You're Creevey's girl?"
Malfoy's words seemed to break Patrick's mental block more than Meghan's. He turned around and jumped to his feet, his face twisted in anger.
"Malfoy!" he roared, charging forward. Draco stepped back reflexively, but needn't have worried as Patrick slammed into the invisible barrier separating him from the others in the room.
"What are you doing with him?" he yelled at Meghan. "Get away from them!"
"Calm yourself, Dennis," said Prospero, stepping forward.
"Stop calling me that!" yelled Patrick. "Malfoy, what did you do to her? You and your son? Did you turn her? Make her a... a... I'll kill you!"
"I said calm yourself," said Prospero, waving his wand once.
"Don't hurt him!" Meghan yelled as Patrick was thrown hard against the back wall. As she cried out, they felt a rumble beneath their feet, a thin shower of dirt raining down on them from the grimy ceiling. Ogden and Victoire pointed their wands at Prospero's head.
"Try that again and you're dead," Ogden said to the Mask. "You could have killed him."
"That wasn't me," said Prospero, glancing at Meghan. "Now, as I said, we have captured Mr. Creevey--"
"That's not my name!" Patrick said, trying to yell as he pushed himself to his hands and knees, but only rasping with the wind knocked out of him.
"--because he was trying to commit massive violence against wizards."
"That can't be true," said Meghan. "I mean, it just can't! You must have made a mistake!"
"Dennis?" said Prospero, crossing his arms and looking down at the man. "Your daughter says we made a mistake. Did we? Were you or were you not intending to invade Diagon Alley loaded down with Muggle weaponry?"
"It... It... It wasn't like that," Patrick stammered.
"Spare us the innocence," Kitsune snarled through her vulpine teeth before turning to the others. "After Creevey gave the interview to the newspaper, he left his wife in Thurso. Fell in with a group of other former witches and wizards known as the Broken Wand. They shared his hatred of our kind and agreed with him that something needed to be done to strike back. They forged a plan to attack Diagon Alley. They had magical blood in them, so entering the grounds would be much easier for them than for the Muggle soldiers that had tried previously."
"Luckily for us," Prospero continued, "we were able to infiltrate their organization by Imperiusing one of the men. We knew when they were going to strike. We stopped them just outside of the Leaky Cauldron."
"They were fully armed," said Kitsune. "Guns and incendiary devices. They were clearly planning to cause as much chaos as possiible, to kill as man of us as they could."
"It wasn't like that," said Patrick. "I left Ellen to protect her. We... We were only going to... strike critical areas. The wand shop. The store with all the spellbooks. Gringotts. The plan wasn't to kill innocents."
"Yet innocents would have died," Prospero snapped. "What you planned could not have happened without loss of life. And you can't tell me that the Broken Wand would have had a problem if that had happened. Many of your compatriots wanted blood."
"You killed thousands!" Patrick screamed. "Your... Your Oligarchy killed thousands of Muggles! So what if one or two wizards died? The scales wouldn't be--"
"Is this who you want to go back to?" Kitsune said to Meghan, who had covered her mouth with her hands. "A school that cannot help you, a Muggle mother, and a father who wants us all dead? A father who blames you for the destruction of your home? Who hates us with the very fiber of his being?"
"Stop it," said Victoire. "Stop it, she's only a kid!"
"He wanted to keep you as far away from us as possible," Kitsune pressed. "From the moment you received your first letter to Hogwarts, he has done everything he could to keep you from your power. From your destiny. Do you think he will stop trying now? That if you go back to him everything would be better? No. He would do everything he could to keep you from us. He would kill us all if he could, wouldn't you, Creevey?"
"Is that any different than what your kind does?" Patrick spat. "You don't have disagreements. You don't argue. You just kill each other. Dumbledore and... and my brother--"
"Your brother died for you!" Prospero yelled. "Colin came back to Hogwarts because he knew that Voldemort had to be stopped! That there was a better world in store for us all! He died for the greater good!"
"Fuck the greater good!" said Patrick. "He was only sixteen and he died so Potter and the so-called good guys could win, yet here we are: Wizards ruling the world, humans dying by the boatload, and my only daughter joined up with the Death Eaters."
"The Malfoys aren't Death Eaters anymore, Daddy," said Meghan quietly. "Scorpius is... really nice. You met him. You know he's not evil."
"A tiger never changes its stripes," said Patrick.
"You said there were others," said Ogden to Kitsune and Prospero. "Did you capture them, as well?"
"We didn't take any more prisoners," said Kitsune with a mysterious twitch of her lip.
"Are they dead?" asked Victoire. "Did you kill them?"
"That would depend," said the Mask of Osaka. "What is the average lifespan of a garden slug?"
"You Transfigured them?" Ogden snapped.
"Only into what they truly were," Kitsune shrugged.
"And you let Creevey live because he was Cullen's father?" said Draco. "Thought you could, what, use him as leverage? Come with us or he's dead?"
"Ammit and Atrytone thought as much," said Prospero. "We captured him before Meghan was chosen, when we simply had our eye on her. And they had decided, even if she wasn't the Next, he could still be used to make her join us. Forcing obedience through threats to one's family is an effective tool. As you would know from experience, Draco Malfoy.
"I, however," he continued as Malfoy flushed, "thought more of Dennis. It still amazes me how someone could turn away from his destiny like he did. I thought I could convince him to come back to our side. After all, we did know each other once. He used to love magic."
"And you're surprised that you couldn't turn me back?" said Patrick with a vicious sneer. "You always did seem a little off, Melling. Why do you think Colin and I never invited you into the DA?"
"You were in Dumbledore's Army?" said Meghan.
"That was a long time ago, love," said Patrick. "I'm not that man anymore."
"Why not?"
The dungeon cell fell silent as Meghan stepped forward and bent down to her father, putting her hand on his shoulder. Kitsune stepped forward, her eyes wide with shock, but Prospero grabbed her arm to hold her back.
The power, he thought with some amazement as he raised his hand and touched the invisible barrier, still holding strong. She walked through it like it wasn't even there, without a wand, and she doesn't even know she did it. The power in her...
"Why aren't you him anymore?" Meghan asked quietly. "Why aren't you Dennis Creevey? I know your brother died, but... but Prospero was right, he died for the right reasons. You can't hate them all because of him, you just can't."
"It's not that simple," said Patrick, shaking his head.
"I know it's not," said Meghan. "But... But why are you making it that simple? There are good and bad wizards, just like there are good and bad Muggles. And I've met so many wizards who were on the right side. Professor Longbottom and Mr. Thomas. Kayla's family, Rose's family, Al's family. They're all really nice people. You can't hate all of them, can you? You can't hate all wizards."
"Meg..."
"You can't hate us all," she said, tears pricking her eyes, "because then you'd hate me, too. Do you hate me, Daddy?"
"Of course not," said Patrick, gently touching his daughter's cheek.
"I'm a witch, Daddy," said Meghan, taking her father's hand. "I know you've spent the last... the last five years trying to ignore that, the last three years trying to get me to break my wand and join the Muggles again. But I can't. I can't stop being who I am, broken wand or not. Even if I break my wand, I still have the power inside me. Just like you do."
"I'm not a wizard anymore," said Patrick. "I broke my wand long ago."
"I didn't have my wand when I accidentally killed Sparky," said Meghan. "I didn't have a wand when I burned down our house. But I wasn't a Muggle when that happened. I was a witch. And you're still a wizard, Daddy, even without your wand. You're still one of us."
"No..." said Patrick. But there was doubt in his voice.
"I need to be trained," said Meghan. "Prospero, Mr. Melling, he's right about that. Whether its at Hogwarts or with Prospero and the others, I don't know. I'm too powerful to live a life as a Muggle. I have to be with them. But I can't do it without you, Dad. Mum misses you. I miss you. Why can't you come back? Why can't you... Why can't you be a wizard again, even if you don't have a wand? Why can't you help teach me?"
"It's... It's too late for me," said Patrick, tears forming in his eyes as well. "The Ministry... After what I've done, They'll never let me out of Azkaban."
"I think we could make a case for you," said Ogden. "A few years at the most for conspiracy, which might be settled low considering the Ministry's case load. You didn't actually do anything, after all."
"How would you know?" said Patrick, tilting his head to look at the headmaster.
"Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," said Ogden. "I know a thing or two about wizard law."
"Alright, fine, we are taking him with us," said Kitsune. "We have to move now, though. We have been alone for too long. I doubt that will last much longer."
"Meghan?" said Prospero cautiously. "You've come to a decision?"
"Yeah," said Meghan, standing up and helping her father up. "I--"
"What have we here?"
There was a shape in the doorway. Many. The shadow of Ammit, Mask of Cairo and Steward of the Circle of Thirteen, fell over the group. Two wizards flanked the crocodile-faced witch, with two more standing behind them. Their wands were all drawn.
"These are the traitors?" said the witch. "I suppose I should not be suprised. Where do you think you--"
Her words were cut off as both Prospero and Kitsune struck at once. Prospero pushed back with one spell as Kitsune slashed across with another. The two wizards beside Ammit fell with blood pouring from their throats, the two behind her flung hard against the wall. Ammit, however, raised her wand to protect herself and merely skidded back a few feet on her heels, although she seemed disoriented by the quick attack that Kitsune and Prospero were able to push their way out of the cell.
"Draco, take them," said Ogden, motioning to Meghan, Patrick, and Victoire as they felt the air shimmer around them, Prospero breaking the protective spell separating Cullen from the others. "Victoire, lead them to Ted and the others."
"What about you?" said Meghan.
"I'll catch up," said Ogden. "Run." He then stepped out, joining the two rebelling Masks outside.
"Time to go, kiddies," said Draco, grabbing Meghan's arm and dragging her up as Victoire slipped her arm around Patrick's slumping body.
"Come on," said Victoire. "Ted's on his way, but we have to go."
Ammit and the two surviving wizards had recovered by the time the four slipped out of the cell. Ogden, Prospero, and Kitsune stood between the Oligarchy and the escapees, and Meghan could feel the crackle of potential magical energy flowing from the six of them.
"Get in touch with your boy, Weasley," said Malfoy, slipping an arm under Patrick on his other side.
"They'll be here soon," said Victoire. "We'll run into them quick."
"If they didn't run into Lizard Lady on their way here."
"I'd know," she said simply.
"Bloody hell, you're short," Draco groaned, practically lifting Patrick off his feet to keep from bending over double in his assistance.
Patrick snorted laughter. "Draco Malfoy trying to save my life," he said. "Wonders never--"
BOOM
Thrown forward. To the ground. Bodies fly overhead. Kitsune lands in front of them. Her mask is gone. Victoire can see half of her face, young and striking. The other half is gone in a red mess.
Twenty feet away is Prospero, Mask of London, feebly stirring.
Ten feet away is the body of Tiberius Ogden, just as lifeless as the Mask of Osaka.
Victoire's vision tints with terror. She scrambled forward, grabbing the headmaster's arm and dragging him towards her. Frantically feeling his neck and his chest.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts was dead.
"Meghan Cullen!" Ammit's voice echoed from the far end of the hall. "You are the Next! The Oligarchy belongs to you! You belong to the Oligarchy! The first to leave shall be the first to die, and you shall not leave us!"
Meghan Cullen, Meghan Creevey, stood up slowly. Stood before her father, Victoire, and Draco. Faced Ammit across the span of fifty feet.
"I don't belong to anyone!" she screamed. "I am the Next, and I am ordering you to leave me alone!"
---------
It was amazing what a tiny bit of training could do, even if Meghan didn't know it.
Prospero had done more for Meghan Cullen in those few minutes of meditation than Hogwarts had done for her in two and a half years. She was still a long way from normal. The control that she needed was still years away from this day. But the modicum of focus that he had subtly implanted in her while she sat cross-legged and eyes closed, using a powerful combination of Imperius and Legilimens, had been enough to keep those behind her from the same harm that had befallen Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy just hours before.
In front of her, the very walls rippled.
Things moved quickly, in slow motion, from there.
Ammit was hurled backwards, her mask blasted from her face as she was caught in a magical wind stronger than a hurricane. She hit the far wall so hard that the stone cracked.
The last remaining wizard standing beside her leaped into the air. His body shifted its shape.
Meghan blacked out. She was able to control her aim more. But that didn't mean her body was prepared to deal with the discharge. Her legs buckled beneath her.
Patrick Cullen looked up to see Meghan fall. Looked up to see an enormous bird, a great black hawk, regaining its composure after being buffeted by the crosswinds, hurtling towards her. Its huge talons were poised to strike.
Patrick leaped forward to save his daughter's life.
Spikes in his chest. Hammers against his ears. A sharp vice clamp against his neck. A tear. Warm liquid down his shoulder.
He fell back.
The hawk screamed in triumph.
A flash of green, and the hawk was gone. Instead a man lay dead on top of him. The corpse was rolled off, and Patrick was staring at the ceiling.
"Prates," said a deep voice. "An animagus. Very powerful. It is a shame he died for such a purpose."
"Ted! You're okay!"
"Holy shit."
"What happened?"
"Ogden? Oh God, Professor Ogden!"
"He's gone. He's gone..."
Patrick tried to move. The pain on the side of his neck had gone beyond debilitating and straight into a kind of numb he knew could only be from shock or blood loss. His clothes felt sticky down the entire right side of his neck.
But he had to know that Meghan was safe. He came to his knees
Movement from all around them. Shifting. Rumbling.
"Holy crap," said the voice of a young man, wary. "This place looks like it's going to cave in on itself."
"We must leave," said the deep voice. "Now."
"Meghan," Patrick croaked, his eyes glued to the unconscious girl before him.
"Meghan Cullen..."
The voice from the far end of the dungeon passage was one that wanted to be strong. One that would be strong again and very soon. It was hurt, badly, but it wasn't done fighting.
Steward Ammit was recovering.
Patrick grabbed the hem of Draco's robes. "Get... her out...," he said, feeling surprisingly weak.
"That's the plan," said Draco. "Lupin! Thomas! Grab Creevey!"
"No," said Patrick, shaking off the two men. "Just going to... slow you down."
But he knew it was more than that. He knew, deep down in that part of his body that knows when its time is up. He knew that the blood was coming too fast. He knew that he wouldn't make it to Mungo's in time.
He knew what he had to do.
Patrick looked around the group that had formed around him and his daughter. Draco had Meghan, unconscious, cradled in his arms. A boy, not much older than twenty with striking blue hair, had Victoire balanced against his side. Dean Thomas, his hand mangled and bandaged, was looking down at him with a mixture of pity and sadness.
But Patrick turned his attention to the blond behemoth of a man, bearded and ponytailed. He wore the robes of the Oligarchy, and had visited Patrick more than once during his time of captivity. Unlike most of them, he had always given off a... well, not a vibe of goodness, but...
"Gungnir, right?" he said.
"Yes, Patrick Cullen," said the wizard.
"You made a promise to protect the Next."
"I did."
"Still going to... keep that end of the bargain?"
"I shall do everything in my power to keep her safe."
"Good," said Patrick. As he nodded, fresh blood poured from his wounded neck. "Do that."
"Your wounds," said Gungnir. "We could..."
Patrick shook his head. Raised a gore-covered hand to silence the wizard. "I'm not going to make it," he said. "I... I probably shouldn't make it. I've... I haven't been... I..."
His mind was growing fuzzy. His vision was graying. He slapped the wound. Sharp pain coursed through him, awaking him temporarily with a groan.
He turned to Draco. Bent down to Meghan. Kissed her cheek.
"Make sure she knows I loved her," said Patrick to Malfoy. "Make sure she... Make sure she knows I'm sorry for... for everything."
"Yeah," said Draco with a nod. "I can do that."
"She knows I'm a wizard," he said, nodding to himself. "No more secrets."
"Mr. Cullen," said Victoire. "You don't have to..."
"That witch is going to... wake up soon," said Patrick, motioning down the hall. "And she's... going to be... mad. I need to stop her. At least long enough... for you... to get her out."
"We both do."
Prospero limped to the group. His wand was still clutched in his hand, even though blood was pouring down his arm. His hood was pulled back, his mask gone forever. Prospero no more, Nigel Melling forever.
"I'll help him, Garrett," he said, putting his hand on Gungnir's shoulder. "You and Allison get to train her if she wants you. Can you accept that?"
"Gladly," said Gungnir.
"Then get your arse out of here," said Nigel.
"Go," said Patrick, motioning the others away.
"Good luck, Mr. Cullen," said Victoire. "Thank you."
Patrick shook his head. "That's not my name," he said with a small smile.
Victoire nodded. So did Dean. He watched as they left, carrying his daughter, his life, his pride, to safety.
Nigel bent down beside Kitsune. As he did, dizziness nearly took him, but he forced himself to not fall. He picked up her wand. "What do you think, mate?" he said as he came back up. "Remember how to use one of these?"
Dennis Creevey took the wand in his hand. He felt the energy coursing up his arm. It wasn't his wand, of course. His was broken long ago. This one felt unusual. Unnatural. But he could work with it.
"Like riding a bike," he said. He was fading fast, but what was this strength keeping him from passing out? Keeping him from dying right here and there? Was it the magic again? Or was it simply that he knew he was going to die for what was right? That he was going to leave this world just as his brother did? That he'd be seeing Colin soon?
"How you doing down there, Layla?" Nigel yelled to the recovering Ammit. "You awake yet? Ready for round two?"
"Traitor," said Ammit. She gained her feet. Her mask was gone as well, blood dripping from her forehead down her regal, Egyptian face. "You have destroyed the Oligarchy. You have lost the Next."
"The Next is going to change the world," Nigel said with a weak shrug. "In the end, how can we control that?"
"You won't... leave alive," said Ammit, eyeing her wand inches from her on the ground.
"Probably not," said Prospero. "But it's worth it. What do you think, Dennis? Got any favorites?"
"Well," said Dennis Creevey with a grin, "there was this one that... that Ginny was always good at."
"Go for it," he said. He pointed his wand at Ammit. So did Dennis. Ammit dove for her own wand.
"Reducto!"
"Confringo!"
Two spells flew from their wands as a third flew from Ammit's. They collided in mid-air and bounced to the walls.
The sky fell.
---------
"What was that?" said Ted, spinning around as a deep rumble came from downstairs.
"That was Nigel and Dennis," said Gungnir. "Come."
"Fuck," said Dean with a moan, his eyes unable to pull away from the stairs they had just ascended. "Poor Dennis."
"It is over," said Gungnir. His voice seemed to carry something that he hadn't felt in years: Relief.
"Where are we going?" asked Victoire, grabbing Dean and pulling him onward.
"Back to the hospital wing."
"You're not taking us out of here?" said Draco. "Thomas, my hands are full. Pull your wand on him."
"I am taking you out of here," said Gungnir. "But the hospital wing comes first."
"But--"
"Shut it, Malfoy," said Dean. Draco did so.
The six ascended the long stairs in silence. Crossed down hall after hall in silence. For some reason, they were not stopped. The halls seemed eerily empty. Whether they had been evacuated, abandoned during the fights Dean didn't know. It might just be that there were wizards and witches, young and old, hiding from what they knew would be a lost battle.
We'll have to come back, he realized. The Oligarchy may be gone, but there are still people left here who have nowhere to go. Criminals and kids both. And we'll have to come back for Dennis. And Tiberius. And everyone else.
Eventually they reached the hospital wing. Healer Cruz was gone. Gungnir walked directly to the only filled bed. He pulled the covers aside, exposing the young black woman. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a large beer stein, setting it on the bed.
"We will turn ourselves in," Gungnir explained. "Allison and I both. We both agree that we must answer for our crimes, and that we will be considered examples for the Oligarchy as a whole. I hope that our cooperation will grant us some leniency in the coming months, but I also understand this may not be likely."
"I can't say one way or the other," said Dean. "This is International Confederation territory, not the Ministry."
"As it is," said Gungnir. "We both wish to help the Next in whatever way she requires of us. We also wish to do our part to reconstruct the new world, to use our talents as they should be used. It would be much easier to do this after we serve whatever sentence is decided of us than if we lived as fugitives for the rest of our lives."
"So it's that easy?" said Draco, with a skeptical arch of the brow. "We leave, you turn yourselves in, happy ever after? Why do I doubt that?"
"There is no happy ever after," Gungnir said slowly. "I think we can all agree on that. Not after everything that has happened. And we will not turn ourselves in right away. There are a few more things that need to be done first, a few people I need to meet with, and I would prefer to do it without the distraction of the authorities."
"I can't promise that, either," said Dean. "Sorry, Gungnir--"
"Garret," said the Mask of Trondheim. "My name is Garrett."
"--but so much of this is out of my hands. I'm still not much more than Muggle Relations."
"I do understand," said Garrett. "The best I can do is hope. Shall we leave?"
Six entered the Oligarchy's hideout. Seven left. Garrett, formerly Gungnir, carried Allison, formerly Manbo. Draco Malfoy carried Meghan Creevey. Victoire Weasley and Ted Lupin stood side by side, their hands clasping each other for comfort. Dean Thomas stood silently, his eyes closed, wondering what would happen next.
Garrett's deep voice carried them away.
"One, two, three."
Lycanthrope / Previous Chapters / After the Oligarchy
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: The final showdown
Notes: This is the penultimate chapter for After the Flaw: Oligarchy. However, because of help_haiti obligations, I won't be starting the final chapter for at least a few more weeks. Expect it sometime late February, but I'm not laying that as a firm date.
I own these characters. The others belong to JK Rowling.
Lycanthrope / Previous Chapters / After the Oligarchy
The young boy lay on his bed, a hand-written note on his lap. His shoes were still on, the top button of his uniform robes loose around his large neck.
As far as overweight kids went, he wasn't exactly tipping the scales. But in a world populated by cruel children, he was fat. He was teased a lot for his size, mostly by Slytherins like Pritchard and Baddock. Even some of the older Slytherins joined in whenever he entered the Great Hall. Malfoy and his friends loved to tear into him, and it wasn't exactly like Crabbe and Goyle were going to win any beauty contests.
Beyond the Slytherins, there were others. Some particularly nasty Ravenclaws, like Ackerley, loved to poke him as he walked down the aisle in Potions. The worst, though, was in Gryffindor, his own House. Peakes always seemed to never look him in the eye, even though he was beyond friendly with the rest of their fellow third-years. And he always seemed to hear snickers from Natalie MacDonald and her friends whenever he scooped himself another helping of mashed potatoes.
It was alright, though. He knew this was only temporary. They were jealous. His marks were so far and above theirs that all they could do was target his more... physical deficiencies. Soon enough, though. Just a few more years he'd be out of this school. He'd be out in the real world.
And out there, he knew, the world was run by people just like him. The people mocking him now would be sucking up to him in no time flat.
"What are you reading, Nigel?"
Nigel looked up from the note to see a tiny kid standing in the entryway, a look of anxious excitement on his face. Of course, there was always a look of anxious excitement on the kid's face. Even though Dennis Creevey was in the same year as Nigel Melling, Nigel couldn't help but think of him as a kid. Dennis never seemed to quite act his age. He was always excited, always curious, always friendly. He was one of these people whose leg bounced when they talked. He was also one of the few people in Nigel's year who actually regarded him as something more than a cheat sheet or a psychological shooting range.
"Nothing," said Nigel, slipping the note under his pillow. Hesitated, wondering if Peakes would go digging after he left. Slipped it into his breast pocket instead.
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" said Dennis, pulling down the zipper of his Muggle jacket then pulling it back up again. "You're going to be late!"
"Late for what?"
"Dennis, come on!" came a voice from downstairs, just as excited. "We're going to be late!"
"I'll be down in a minute, Colin!" Dennis yelled back to his older brother before turning his attention back to the room. "The match, Nigel! The big one! We're taking on Hufflepuff! Harry's going to beat Zacharias for making fun of us during the Slytherin match!"
"Oh, right," said Nigel slowly. "That."
"Are you alright?" said Dennis, stepping in. "That letter really get you down?"
"Kinda," Nigel shrugged. "News from home. Nothing massive."
"Well, the match'll help you feel better," said Dennis with a firm nod of positivity. "Cormac's replacing Ron, remember? Everyone says he's really good. He can't be as good as Ron, but everyone else says he is."
Yeah, I just bet, thought Nigel. McLaggen probably fueled that rumor himself. Hell, probably started it on his own. One of the biggest meatheads out there. Always trying to give me diet tips, served with a heaping helping of condescension.
"Go ahead of me, Creevey," he said. "I'll be down in a minute."
"Alright," said Dennis, hesitating. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Right as rain," said Nigel. "Go on."
Dennis stood for a few more seconds, obviously debating with himself over whether to pursue the matter further. Then, gratefully, left. Nigel focused on Creevey's footsteps as they clicked down the stone hallway, down the stairs, and away. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out the note. He opened it, smoothed it on his thigh, and read it again:
Nigel,
This is your Aunt Mildred. I hope this letter gets to you quickly, as there is no other way that I have found to get in touch with you.
Nigel, there has been an accident. A terrible accident. Your mother and father are gone. They were driving home from dinner, and there was a drunk driver, and th
I'm sorry, I'm having difficulty writing this. You need to be told this in person, I know. That's why you need to come home as quickly as possible. Your parents never told me where your school is, only that it is very secluded and very old-fashioned, otherwise I would have called you on the telephone immediately. I can pick you up myself, only you must send me the address so I can find it. I was told to send this to a post office box number, I do not know where you are.
Nigel, I am so sorry I'm sure words can't You must feel Nigel, please come home. As your godparents, you can stay with us as long as you need, since you've now been put into our care. Talk to your headmaster, I'm sure he'll allow you to make a phone call considering the circumstances. The sooner you come home, the sooner the healing can begin.
Love always,
Aunt Mildred
Nigel sat still, reading and rereading the note.
His parents were dead. His parents, his Muggle parents, were dead, and Nigel felt...
Felt...
Well, how did he feel?
He knew how he should be feeling, of course. Shock. Anger towards the drunk driver who killed them. Gut-churning agony and depression. He should be curled up into a ball, sobbing relentlessly.
So why wasn't he?
When his great uncle died three years ago, he and his mother and father attended the funeral, the only one that Nigel had ever been to. He had barely known Uncle Wade, but the few times that he had met him, the old man seemed alright. Nigel was sad to see him go.
He felt that same sadness now. But shouldn't he feel more than that?
I should go talk to Professor McGonnagal, he thought. Now that Aunt Mildred and Uncle Anthony are my guardians they should know about the magic world. McG can send them an owl, they can come pick me up at King's Cross, and I can... can...
But he didn't want to bother McGonnagal with this. There was the big Quidditch match happening right now. Nigel had seen her making friendly wagers with Sprout just this morning. This would definitely put a damper on her day.
Maybe Granger or Weasley? Surely not Dumbledore, this was way beneath him.
And the more Nigel thought about it, the more he felt... Well, could he afford to leave school right now? What with finals coming up and all? And they had cancelled the last Hogsmeade weekend, but maybe they were going to reschedule after the whole Katie Bell thing got cleared up. He didn't want to miss that.
Going home would be a lot of work for a lot of people. He'd fall back in his classes. He'd be...
Inconvenienced?
There it was, right there. Nigel felt sad that his parents had died, sure. But more than anything he felt like leaving to go to their funeral would be more trouble than it was worth.
It's not like he and his parents had been getting along very well. Ever since he had received his letter from Hogwarts three years ago, Nigel had felt a growing disconnect within their home. He had tried, of course. His first holiday back, he had been beyond giddy. He told his parents about the school, the teachers, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and, of course, the magic.
Much to Nigel's surprise, though, his parents didn't quite react the way he had expected. Instead of being open to the ideas of the new world that had been revealed to them, they seemed to... shrug it off. Almost like everything Nigel was living was some... some LARP? Some sort of elaborate, grandiose Dungeons & Dragons fantasy camp that was merely a place for their money to go that was a little better than public schools, some sort of unique method for teachers to get students excited about their education. Nigel was liking it, and that was fine, but they still expected him to go off to Muggle university when his seventh year was finished.
That next summer, Nigel was more wary. He tried to explain to his parents the danger that was suddenly in the world with the return of You-Know-Who. Again, they shrugged it off, but with a little more concern this time. Not concern for their safety, however, but concern over their son's well-being. Like he was coming home with ideas that weren't proper, that weren't... real. Like parents that were realizing their child was treating a favorite computer game like it was reality. Nigel knew he could convince them to appreciate his new life if only he could actually show them something. But he was underage, so that was out of the question.
In the end, Nigel responded to his parents concerns the best way he could. By the end of that first summer, he barely spoke of Hogwarts to them. Barely spoke of magic to them. By the time last summer came around, his second summer home, he barely spoke of anything to them. Instead of bothering them with tales of evil headmistresses and friends taking part in secret Armies that he himself had never been invited, Nigel spent most of his time in his room, diligently reading and re-reading his textbooks, as well as the stacks of books he had purchased at Diagon Alley. He learned more about the wizarding world and wished that he could get out of his Muggle house and properly practice the spells those books preached.
Hermione Granger could attest.
Now, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he felt less sad and more... relieved. His fraying ties to his parents had been symbolic of his fraying ties to the Muggle world. He would have to go somewhere over the summer, of course. Go to his aunt and uncle's, since they were now his legal guardians. Deal with them for the next few years, then leave his old life as soon as he became Of Age.
Unless...
Nigel picked up his wand. Tapped the letter. "Incendio," he said, and the paper burst into flames.
I don't know what happened, Aunt Mildred. The letter just never got here. Must have been lost in transit.
There would be questions, of course. And there would be disputes. Aunt Mildred would want Nigel to go to a different school, closer to their home in Bath. She wouldn't think much of a school whose students disappeared for months at a time without any communication, not even able to be told that their parents were killed. He'd have to do something about that if it happens.
Memory Charms? Maybe. The Trace might be an issue, though. It was a good thing he had been studying up on it.
He might even be able to find a way to bypass it.
Yeah, thought Nigel, standing up and pulling his jacket from its hanger. It'll all work out. It should be fine. He was destined for bigger things, and he didn't want anyone to stand in his way.
After all, they were just Muggles.
---------
"Can you feel it inside you? The power?"
"I... I don't know."
"It's there," said Nigel Melling, Prospero, Mask of London, Protector of Iceland and the British Isles, now and forever. He was seated on the floor of the room where Meghan Cullen had been kept. He was cross-legged. Meghan Cullen sat across from him, seated the same way. She had been given new robes, their cut similar to Prospero and the rest of the Oligarchy, but sporting a deep royal purple color instead of the plain blacks of the others.
She felt uncomfortable in it. She still didn't know what she was doing, or why she was doing it. Well, she knew why she was doing it: she felt that, no matter what this wizard seated in front of her said, her life was in danger. If she didn't go along with what he asked, she was dead, plain and simple.
But a part of her, a small part of her, didn't believe that. More than a small part, in fact. Because she had some idea of the power Prospero and the others wielded. And she also thought back to the looks of befuddlement, shock, and helplessness on the faces of the Hogwarts professors that could only stand helplessly by during her various magical outbursts over the last two and a half years.
Hogwarts couldn't handle her. Couldn't help her the way she needed help. Maybe the Oligarchy could.
They're the bad guys. Don't think that. They're evil. They're... They're...
But Prospero didn't seem that bad. He seemed like he genuinely wanted to help her.
Didn't you just say say they were going to kill you?
Well, yeah. Maybe. But...
"You're conflicted," said Prospero with a nod.
"Is it that obvious?" Meghan said with a helpless chuckle.
"Even if I couldn't read your mind," he said, "it's obvious. It's coming off you in waves."
"You can read my mind?"
"Legilimency, yes," said Prospero. "It's a difficult skill, but I believe it's something that you yourself will be able to do effectively someday, Meghan. In fact, from all we have learned of you, I doubt there is anything you won't be able to do effectively."
Meghan suddenly felt self-conscious again. She tried her best not to think. Wait, that's stupid, how can I not think, it's--
"Occlumency is also a skill you have the capability of learning," said Prospero with a chuckle. "But don't be concerned, Meghan. I'll stop reading you for now."
"Um... How do I know you're stopping?"
"You probably don't," Prospero shrugged. "But well-trained wizards can recognize when they're being searched. If you can recognize how your mind feels while being Legilimensed versus when you're not-- But I apologize," he said. "I don't want to overwhelm you too early. First we must help you control the magic that is in you. Hone it, channel it, make sure it doesn't strike out on its own like it did in the greenhouse or your old home."
"How did you know about--"
"We just know," said Prospero simply. "After that, after you know you are not a danger to yourself and others, we can then move on to sharpening those skills into something much more powerful. Powerful enough, even, to shape the world the way you want to shape it."
"I don't want to... to... shape the world," she said. "I know you all think I'm some important thing, but--"
"But you want to be helped," said Prospero. "You want to be able to walk down the street without feeling like you're going to kill someone with a miscast spell."
"Yes," she admitted, the word unbidden but true.
"Then that's what we want, too," said Prospero, resettling his posture. "Close your eyes. Calm yourself. Breathe deeply and slowly."
And she did. And she tried. And she did and did. This time, she thought she felt something.
There was a boom as the door blew open behind her. The zap and whistle of spells flying over her head and slamming into the wall around the fireplace. Prospero leaped to his feet as Meghan spun around.
Nine wizards and witches entered the room. All were dressed in black robes much like Prospero's, and five of the six were wearing black bandannas that covered their faces above the nose. The sixth, Meghan noted with a shock that had been noticeably dulled by the various shocks that had happened in her life over the last few hours, had the face of a dog or a fox. The wizards were dueling with each other, three on six.
Prospero raised his wand. Meghan could see him hesitate a moment, as though trying to figure out which of these fighters were the ones he should be siding with. Then, with a flourish, he tossed a spell at the wizard dueling with the fox woman, and entered the fray.
Meghan, meanwhile, was paralyzed. She knew that if she didn't move soon, hide under the bed or behind one of the plush chairs, one of these spells would be sure to hit her. Or she might even be trampled by the mass, oblivious to the small shape seated on the floor. But she just... couldn't... move.
Two bodies on the ground now, Meghan counted. Now three. And now she was moving. Not by her own volition, but by invisible hands that had grabbed her beneath her shoulders. She cried out in surprise as she was dragged away from the fight, her bare heels skating across the rough-hewn stone.
"You're Meghan, right?" a voice said in her ear, quietly enough for only Meghan to hear over the din of battle.
"Y-Y-Y-"
"Don't worry," said the voice as Meghan's drag stopped beside the bed, which suddenly flipped up onto its side. "We're here to get you out of here."
"Who?" said Meghan, looking around, yearning for a wand. "Who are you?"
She shrieked as the head of a young woman with short, blond hair appeared in thin air. Like the other Oligarchy fighters, the upper half of her face was clad in a black bandanna.
"The good guys," the head said. "You don't know me, I know, but--"
There was a twang from Meghan's left as one of the more powerful spells collided with what she could only assume was one of the bed springs. The head flinched back, then vanished as though the wall and portrait behind her were pulled down over it like a cloth.
"Get under here," said the voice, and Meghan felt an invisible cloth drape over her head. She could see the whole girl now, a few years older than Meghan and dressed in black Oligarchy robes.
"What's happening?" asked Meghan, trying to back away from the girl. "Why are you fighting each other?"
"We're not with them," the girl whispered, grabbing Meghan's wrist. "We're with the Ministry. That's Professor Ogden and Mr. Malfoy out there--"
"Malfoy? Scorpius?"
"His dad," said the girl. "Now, quiet, if they think you're already gone--"
"Kitsune," said Prospero from the other side of the bed as the spells died down, "what's happening? Are these the-- Kitsune!"
"Thank you for the help, Prospero," said a female voice. "We couldn't have taken them out without your assistance."
"What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning," said the female voice, Kitsune, "is that the Next leaves."
"Impossible," said Prospero. "And I would suggest pointing your wand away from me, Kitsune, if you want to keep your throat."
Meghan pulled away from the girl far enough to peek around the bed. Prospero faced the fox-faced witch, their wands pointed at each other. Only two of the other wizards were still standing, their wands also pointed at Prospero. One of them, Meghan could see, had the long gray horseshoe mustache that was distinctly Professor Tiberius Ogden.
"She does not belong here," said Kitsune. "Not under the supervision of the Oligarchy."
"Of course she does," said Prospero. "The Oligarchy has been searching for her for decades. Now that we've found her, you can't possibly think--"
"The Oligarchy is not what it once was," Kitsune argued. "You cannot tell me you have not seen it, Prospero. The Next is extremely powerful. Now that we have her, can you seriously believe that Atrytone and the others will simply allow her to live her own life, to run the Oligarchy as she deems fit? The world?"
"Of course they--"
"They want to control her," said Kitsune. "To contain her. Ammit, Atrytone and the others. They want to hold her, to unleash her at their whim. They don't want her to lead. They want to use her like a trained dog, or... or a nuclear bomb. To use the mere threat of her as a method to force the Muggles to bow to our will. To their will."
"Impossible!"
"You're a fool if you think otherwise, Nigel," Kitsune said, stepping forward, nearly nose-to-snout with the wizard. "We leave. Now. The four of us: You and I, Gungnir and Manbo. We take her far away from here and teach her as the Next should be taught."
"That was not the agreement," said Ogden, turning his wand towards Kitsune. "We're taking her home to her mother and father."
"Her mother and father," Kitsune said, snorting derisive laughter. "Of course."
"Kitsune..." said Prospero warningly.
"There was no agreement made between us, Ogden-san," said Kitsune. "Ogden-sensei," she corrected with more than a touch of sarcasm. "We both agree that she should not be here. We have assisted each other in reaching this room, and I have assisted in keeping you alive, as Gungnir has respect for you all. Well, for most of you," she added with a look to Draco.
"Yes, I get that a lot," said Draco with a roll of his eyes. "Well, whether we are taking the Muggleborn or you are, the fact remains that we're standing here chit-chatting while there are probably other Oligarchy on the way. So shouldn't we be not here when they arrive?"
"Half-blood, actually," said Kitsune. "Meghan Cullen is a half-blood."
"He didn't call her a Mudblood. I'd consider that progress from when he was a boy," said Prospero with a dark glance at Malfoy.
"But he's right," said Ogden. "We need to leave. Meghan?" he called out. "Victoire? You can bring her out, we need to move."
"Come on," said Victoire, grabbing Meghan's arm. Meghan hesitated, her brain still working.
That confirmed it, didn't it? The Oligarchy always seemed to know more about her than even she did. They knew she was a half-blood, so didn't that prove that she was one? Her father, Patrick Cullen, was a wizard. It was why he had freaked out years ago when she received her letters from Hogwarts, and he was most likely the anonymous Muggle who had been interviewed by the Dispatch.
But why did he hide it? Why didn't he tell her? And where was he now?
"Come on," Victoire repeated, pulling the cloak aside and standing up.
"Are you unhurt, Meghan?" asked Prospero as she and Victoire came from around the bed.
"I'm fine," said Meghan with a nod.
"Take us to the exit," said Ogden to the two Circle members.
"You're in no position to give orders, sensei" said Kitsune.
"I said--"
"According to Weasley, your only method of escape has been destroyed," the fox continued. "There is no entrance and exit except by Apparition from only three points within the entire facility. Even if you do find any of our Dualkeys, how do you know they are not the ones that we have, say, perched precariously at the lip of an active volcano or set inside the Dementor vaults? We hold all of the cards, and we will not allow you to take the Next."
"But I don't want to stay."
The group turned as one to face Meghan, who tried her best to steel herself against their gaze.
"I want to go home," she said quietly. "I want to go back to my mother and my... well, I want to go home."
"Meghan," said Prospero as calmly as possible, "you don't understand your precarious position. Hogwarts cannot help you."
"Of course we can," said Ogden defensively. "Meghan, don't listen to them--"
"They haven't been able to help you yet," said Prospero. "They can't even comprehend the levels of power you hold within you."
"But why can't you help me?" said Meghan. "Can't I... Can't I have both? Why does it have to be you or them? Can't I be with them and have you teach me how to control myself? Why do I have to be with you and you alone?"
"It is not that simple anymore," said Kitsune. "The Oligarchy shattered the Statute of Secrecy, and caused more death and destruction than anyone could have imagined. We are fugitives. The Circle of Thirteen is broken; we cannot protect ourselves the way we once did, and we cannot re-enter wizard society. So you must come with us, into hiding, or you will live your life as you have been living it: uncontrolled. A danger to yourself and to others."
"But... But you're fighting against the Oligarchy!" said Meghan, looking between Prospero and Kitsune. "You said it yourself, you don't want me to be the... the killer that the others want me to be! You didn't want so many people to die, right? Couldn't you just... tell them that?"
"In a fantasy world, yes," said Kitsune, looking at Ogden. "Unfortunately, that is not how the real world works. They will not, what is it the Americans say, let us off the hook."
"We don't want bloodshed," said Ogden. "But we will take her from here, with or without your permission."
"Then you will die," said Kitsune simply.
"Enough," said Prospero sharply. "It is Meghan's choice to make. However, I would like to introduce her to one more person before she makes her final decision."
"She is not going anywhere with you," said Ogden, redoubling his grip on his wand.
"You will want to talk to our guest, as well," said Prospero to the headmaster.
"And why is that?"
"Because if you want to try to arrest us as criminals," said the Mask of London, "you will definitely want to bring our guest to justice, as well."
---------
"They're in the dungeons."
"What?" said Dean, turning around as to look at Ted Lupin as the two of them followed Gungnir down the stone hallway. His hand was wrapped tight in bandages and soaked in a green concoction of Healer Cruz's making.
"Vic just, um, just called," said Teddy. "They've moved on to the dungeons."
"Are they holding Meghan there?"
"Meghan's with them already," said Teddy. "The three of them, Meghan, Kitsune, and Prospero. They're all going to the dungeons."
"Why would they be going there?" Dean asked Gungnir, who had slowed down while listening to the conversation.
"They are going," said Gungnir, "because, I believe, Prospero is introducing Meghan Cullen our trump card."
"Your what?"
Gungnir opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped short as a bolt of energy flew from behind them, missing him by inches and igniting a nearby drapery. The three spun to find Oligarchy, maybe a dozen, running towards them.
"Sustoti!"
"Parar!"
"Hyud! Hyud!"
Quite the international bunch, thought Teddy dryly as he, Dean, and Gungnir leveled their wands at the charging witches and wizards. He could feel his heart, already beating with nervous energy, speed up as a new bout of adrenaline poured into his blood.
"Stupefy!" yelled Dean, taking one of the wizards down.
Teddy quickly clicked through his list of spells in his head. Stun? Kill? Could he?
kill
His mouth twitched. The hand not holding his wand clenched. He snarled.
tear feed kill
No!
"Expelliarmus!" he screamed out instead. "Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"
One wizard went down. Another. By his hand or Dean's or, most likely, Gungnir's, he couldn't tell. Spells flickered past him, but he was untouched. Luck? Gungnir again? The guy had power. He might be protecting all three of them with shield spells while still taking his former students, former colleagues, down one by one.
get in there tear them apart
The back of his neck was prickling. His nails
(claws)
were digging into his palm. And were his canines getting longer inside his mouth?
"Trykk!" Gungnir roared, pointing both his wand and spear forward. At once, all of the remaining attackers flew back down the hall, piling on top of each other after bouncing off of the far wall sixty feet away.
"Come," said Gungnir as though he had just brushed a fly off his shoulder. Dean nodded and turned to follow him, then looked back at Teddy.
"Lupin," said Dean, putting his hand hesitantly on the boy's shoulder. He was shaking, pale, and sweating. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing fast and shallow. Almost panting.
"Calm yourself, Theodore," said Gungnir. "The varulv is still inside you, wanting to get out. Do not let it control you."
"Yeah," Teddy rasped, his hands clenching and unclenching. Dean looked anxiously back and forth between him and Gungnir, but the powerful wizard just shook his head.
After maybe thirty seconds, Teddy opened his eyes. He still looked sick. He did, in fact, have the same look Dean had seen his father, Remus, wear after coming back to class after "sick leave". But he looked better than he had, at least.
"I'm okay," Teddy said with a quick nod before turning to Gungnir. "Take us to the dungeons."
---------
The bruised and beaten man pushed himself far into the corner as the iron door was thrown wide. Kitsune stepped inside, Prospero close behind and Meghan, Ogden, Victoire, and Malfoy taking up the rear. The five were all able to fit inside the cell, although it was a rather tight fit.
"Ah, good," said Kitsune, the tip of her wand lit. "You're awake. You have a visitor, Dennis."
"Don't," said the man nervously, his face turned away. He was shaking all over.
"We're not here to hurt you, Dennis," said Prospero. "We have someone who wants to talk to you. Someone who needs to talk to you."
"Don't."
"Stand up," Kitsune ordered. "Stand up and face us."
Meghan stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide as she got her first clear look of the lump of ragged clothes in front of her.
"Daddy?" she gasped.
Patrick Cullen's head whipped around. His eyes met Meghan's. Then he spun away just as quickly.
"Not real," he muttered, rubbing his arm with his hand. "Not real not real not real."
"Daddy!" Meghan cried out, running forward. Three steps in, though, she was stopped as though running into a wall.
"not real not real," Patrick continued to mutter as Meghan frantically pressed her hands against thin air.
"What is he doing here?" asked Ogden, stepping up beside Meghan. "What the hell is he doing here?"
"He's our prisoner," said Kitsune simply.
"For what?" Ogden yelled. "You have no right to hold--"
"Because he's a criminal," said Kitsune. "We just happened to find him before the British Ministry did. And they should be grateful that we did."
"A criminal?" Meghan said, turning to Prospero. "He's not... What... He's my dad, he hasn't done anything wrong!"
Prospero shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Meghan, but he has."
"Has what? Talked to a newspaper? That's a crime after what you all did?"
"If only it were that easy," Prospero sighed sadly. "Do you want to tell her, Dennis, or should I?"
"Dennis," Meghan murmured. "That's his name? How do you know all of this?"
"Wait a minute," said Draco, slowly moving forward. He squinted, bent at the knees, and lifted one hand out in front of him, blocking his view of Patrick. Like he was covering up the scraggly beard that Meghan's father had developed over his time of incarceration.
"Creevey?" Draco said carefully, "Dennis Creevey?" He turned to Meghan. "You're Creevey's girl?"
Malfoy's words seemed to break Patrick's mental block more than Meghan's. He turned around and jumped to his feet, his face twisted in anger.
"Malfoy!" he roared, charging forward. Draco stepped back reflexively, but needn't have worried as Patrick slammed into the invisible barrier separating him from the others in the room.
"What are you doing with him?" he yelled at Meghan. "Get away from them!"
"Calm yourself, Dennis," said Prospero, stepping forward.
"Stop calling me that!" yelled Patrick. "Malfoy, what did you do to her? You and your son? Did you turn her? Make her a... a... I'll kill you!"
"I said calm yourself," said Prospero, waving his wand once.
"Don't hurt him!" Meghan yelled as Patrick was thrown hard against the back wall. As she cried out, they felt a rumble beneath their feet, a thin shower of dirt raining down on them from the grimy ceiling. Ogden and Victoire pointed their wands at Prospero's head.
"Try that again and you're dead," Ogden said to the Mask. "You could have killed him."
"That wasn't me," said Prospero, glancing at Meghan. "Now, as I said, we have captured Mr. Creevey--"
"That's not my name!" Patrick said, trying to yell as he pushed himself to his hands and knees, but only rasping with the wind knocked out of him.
"--because he was trying to commit massive violence against wizards."
"That can't be true," said Meghan. "I mean, it just can't! You must have made a mistake!"
"Dennis?" said Prospero, crossing his arms and looking down at the man. "Your daughter says we made a mistake. Did we? Were you or were you not intending to invade Diagon Alley loaded down with Muggle weaponry?"
"It... It... It wasn't like that," Patrick stammered.
"Spare us the innocence," Kitsune snarled through her vulpine teeth before turning to the others. "After Creevey gave the interview to the newspaper, he left his wife in Thurso. Fell in with a group of other former witches and wizards known as the Broken Wand. They shared his hatred of our kind and agreed with him that something needed to be done to strike back. They forged a plan to attack Diagon Alley. They had magical blood in them, so entering the grounds would be much easier for them than for the Muggle soldiers that had tried previously."
"Luckily for us," Prospero continued, "we were able to infiltrate their organization by Imperiusing one of the men. We knew when they were going to strike. We stopped them just outside of the Leaky Cauldron."
"They were fully armed," said Kitsune. "Guns and incendiary devices. They were clearly planning to cause as much chaos as possiible, to kill as man of us as they could."
"It wasn't like that," said Patrick. "I left Ellen to protect her. We... We were only going to... strike critical areas. The wand shop. The store with all the spellbooks. Gringotts. The plan wasn't to kill innocents."
"Yet innocents would have died," Prospero snapped. "What you planned could not have happened without loss of life. And you can't tell me that the Broken Wand would have had a problem if that had happened. Many of your compatriots wanted blood."
"You killed thousands!" Patrick screamed. "Your... Your Oligarchy killed thousands of Muggles! So what if one or two wizards died? The scales wouldn't be--"
"Is this who you want to go back to?" Kitsune said to Meghan, who had covered her mouth with her hands. "A school that cannot help you, a Muggle mother, and a father who wants us all dead? A father who blames you for the destruction of your home? Who hates us with the very fiber of his being?"
"Stop it," said Victoire. "Stop it, she's only a kid!"
"He wanted to keep you as far away from us as possible," Kitsune pressed. "From the moment you received your first letter to Hogwarts, he has done everything he could to keep you from your power. From your destiny. Do you think he will stop trying now? That if you go back to him everything would be better? No. He would do everything he could to keep you from us. He would kill us all if he could, wouldn't you, Creevey?"
"Is that any different than what your kind does?" Patrick spat. "You don't have disagreements. You don't argue. You just kill each other. Dumbledore and... and my brother--"
"Your brother died for you!" Prospero yelled. "Colin came back to Hogwarts because he knew that Voldemort had to be stopped! That there was a better world in store for us all! He died for the greater good!"
"Fuck the greater good!" said Patrick. "He was only sixteen and he died so Potter and the so-called good guys could win, yet here we are: Wizards ruling the world, humans dying by the boatload, and my only daughter joined up with the Death Eaters."
"The Malfoys aren't Death Eaters anymore, Daddy," said Meghan quietly. "Scorpius is... really nice. You met him. You know he's not evil."
"A tiger never changes its stripes," said Patrick.
"You said there were others," said Ogden to Kitsune and Prospero. "Did you capture them, as well?"
"We didn't take any more prisoners," said Kitsune with a mysterious twitch of her lip.
"Are they dead?" asked Victoire. "Did you kill them?"
"That would depend," said the Mask of Osaka. "What is the average lifespan of a garden slug?"
"You Transfigured them?" Ogden snapped.
"Only into what they truly were," Kitsune shrugged.
"And you let Creevey live because he was Cullen's father?" said Draco. "Thought you could, what, use him as leverage? Come with us or he's dead?"
"Ammit and Atrytone thought as much," said Prospero. "We captured him before Meghan was chosen, when we simply had our eye on her. And they had decided, even if she wasn't the Next, he could still be used to make her join us. Forcing obedience through threats to one's family is an effective tool. As you would know from experience, Draco Malfoy.
"I, however," he continued as Malfoy flushed, "thought more of Dennis. It still amazes me how someone could turn away from his destiny like he did. I thought I could convince him to come back to our side. After all, we did know each other once. He used to love magic."
"And you're surprised that you couldn't turn me back?" said Patrick with a vicious sneer. "You always did seem a little off, Melling. Why do you think Colin and I never invited you into the DA?"
"You were in Dumbledore's Army?" said Meghan.
"That was a long time ago, love," said Patrick. "I'm not that man anymore."
"Why not?"
The dungeon cell fell silent as Meghan stepped forward and bent down to her father, putting her hand on his shoulder. Kitsune stepped forward, her eyes wide with shock, but Prospero grabbed her arm to hold her back.
The power, he thought with some amazement as he raised his hand and touched the invisible barrier, still holding strong. She walked through it like it wasn't even there, without a wand, and she doesn't even know she did it. The power in her...
"Why aren't you him anymore?" Meghan asked quietly. "Why aren't you Dennis Creevey? I know your brother died, but... but Prospero was right, he died for the right reasons. You can't hate them all because of him, you just can't."
"It's not that simple," said Patrick, shaking his head.
"I know it's not," said Meghan. "But... But why are you making it that simple? There are good and bad wizards, just like there are good and bad Muggles. And I've met so many wizards who were on the right side. Professor Longbottom and Mr. Thomas. Kayla's family, Rose's family, Al's family. They're all really nice people. You can't hate all of them, can you? You can't hate all wizards."
"Meg..."
"You can't hate us all," she said, tears pricking her eyes, "because then you'd hate me, too. Do you hate me, Daddy?"
"Of course not," said Patrick, gently touching his daughter's cheek.
"I'm a witch, Daddy," said Meghan, taking her father's hand. "I know you've spent the last... the last five years trying to ignore that, the last three years trying to get me to break my wand and join the Muggles again. But I can't. I can't stop being who I am, broken wand or not. Even if I break my wand, I still have the power inside me. Just like you do."
"I'm not a wizard anymore," said Patrick. "I broke my wand long ago."
"I didn't have my wand when I accidentally killed Sparky," said Meghan. "I didn't have a wand when I burned down our house. But I wasn't a Muggle when that happened. I was a witch. And you're still a wizard, Daddy, even without your wand. You're still one of us."
"No..." said Patrick. But there was doubt in his voice.
"I need to be trained," said Meghan. "Prospero, Mr. Melling, he's right about that. Whether its at Hogwarts or with Prospero and the others, I don't know. I'm too powerful to live a life as a Muggle. I have to be with them. But I can't do it without you, Dad. Mum misses you. I miss you. Why can't you come back? Why can't you... Why can't you be a wizard again, even if you don't have a wand? Why can't you help teach me?"
"It's... It's too late for me," said Patrick, tears forming in his eyes as well. "The Ministry... After what I've done, They'll never let me out of Azkaban."
"I think we could make a case for you," said Ogden. "A few years at the most for conspiracy, which might be settled low considering the Ministry's case load. You didn't actually do anything, after all."
"How would you know?" said Patrick, tilting his head to look at the headmaster.
"Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," said Ogden. "I know a thing or two about wizard law."
"Alright, fine, we are taking him with us," said Kitsune. "We have to move now, though. We have been alone for too long. I doubt that will last much longer."
"Meghan?" said Prospero cautiously. "You've come to a decision?"
"Yeah," said Meghan, standing up and helping her father up. "I--"
"What have we here?"
There was a shape in the doorway. Many. The shadow of Ammit, Mask of Cairo and Steward of the Circle of Thirteen, fell over the group. Two wizards flanked the crocodile-faced witch, with two more standing behind them. Their wands were all drawn.
"These are the traitors?" said the witch. "I suppose I should not be suprised. Where do you think you--"
Her words were cut off as both Prospero and Kitsune struck at once. Prospero pushed back with one spell as Kitsune slashed across with another. The two wizards beside Ammit fell with blood pouring from their throats, the two behind her flung hard against the wall. Ammit, however, raised her wand to protect herself and merely skidded back a few feet on her heels, although she seemed disoriented by the quick attack that Kitsune and Prospero were able to push their way out of the cell.
"Draco, take them," said Ogden, motioning to Meghan, Patrick, and Victoire as they felt the air shimmer around them, Prospero breaking the protective spell separating Cullen from the others. "Victoire, lead them to Ted and the others."
"What about you?" said Meghan.
"I'll catch up," said Ogden. "Run." He then stepped out, joining the two rebelling Masks outside.
"Time to go, kiddies," said Draco, grabbing Meghan's arm and dragging her up as Victoire slipped her arm around Patrick's slumping body.
"Come on," said Victoire. "Ted's on his way, but we have to go."
Ammit and the two surviving wizards had recovered by the time the four slipped out of the cell. Ogden, Prospero, and Kitsune stood between the Oligarchy and the escapees, and Meghan could feel the crackle of potential magical energy flowing from the six of them.
"Get in touch with your boy, Weasley," said Malfoy, slipping an arm under Patrick on his other side.
"They'll be here soon," said Victoire. "We'll run into them quick."
"If they didn't run into Lizard Lady on their way here."
"I'd know," she said simply.
"Bloody hell, you're short," Draco groaned, practically lifting Patrick off his feet to keep from bending over double in his assistance.
Patrick snorted laughter. "Draco Malfoy trying to save my life," he said. "Wonders never--"
BOOM
Thrown forward. To the ground. Bodies fly overhead. Kitsune lands in front of them. Her mask is gone. Victoire can see half of her face, young and striking. The other half is gone in a red mess.
Twenty feet away is Prospero, Mask of London, feebly stirring.
Ten feet away is the body of Tiberius Ogden, just as lifeless as the Mask of Osaka.
Victoire's vision tints with terror. She scrambled forward, grabbing the headmaster's arm and dragging him towards her. Frantically feeling his neck and his chest.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts was dead.
"Meghan Cullen!" Ammit's voice echoed from the far end of the hall. "You are the Next! The Oligarchy belongs to you! You belong to the Oligarchy! The first to leave shall be the first to die, and you shall not leave us!"
Meghan Cullen, Meghan Creevey, stood up slowly. Stood before her father, Victoire, and Draco. Faced Ammit across the span of fifty feet.
"I don't belong to anyone!" she screamed. "I am the Next, and I am ordering you to leave me alone!"
---------
It was amazing what a tiny bit of training could do, even if Meghan didn't know it.
Prospero had done more for Meghan Cullen in those few minutes of meditation than Hogwarts had done for her in two and a half years. She was still a long way from normal. The control that she needed was still years away from this day. But the modicum of focus that he had subtly implanted in her while she sat cross-legged and eyes closed, using a powerful combination of Imperius and Legilimens, had been enough to keep those behind her from the same harm that had befallen Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy just hours before.
In front of her, the very walls rippled.
Things moved quickly, in slow motion, from there.
Ammit was hurled backwards, her mask blasted from her face as she was caught in a magical wind stronger than a hurricane. She hit the far wall so hard that the stone cracked.
The last remaining wizard standing beside her leaped into the air. His body shifted its shape.
Meghan blacked out. She was able to control her aim more. But that didn't mean her body was prepared to deal with the discharge. Her legs buckled beneath her.
Patrick Cullen looked up to see Meghan fall. Looked up to see an enormous bird, a great black hawk, regaining its composure after being buffeted by the crosswinds, hurtling towards her. Its huge talons were poised to strike.
Patrick leaped forward to save his daughter's life.
Spikes in his chest. Hammers against his ears. A sharp vice clamp against his neck. A tear. Warm liquid down his shoulder.
He fell back.
The hawk screamed in triumph.
A flash of green, and the hawk was gone. Instead a man lay dead on top of him. The corpse was rolled off, and Patrick was staring at the ceiling.
"Prates," said a deep voice. "An animagus. Very powerful. It is a shame he died for such a purpose."
"Ted! You're okay!"
"Holy shit."
"What happened?"
"Ogden? Oh God, Professor Ogden!"
"He's gone. He's gone..."
Patrick tried to move. The pain on the side of his neck had gone beyond debilitating and straight into a kind of numb he knew could only be from shock or blood loss. His clothes felt sticky down the entire right side of his neck.
But he had to know that Meghan was safe. He came to his knees
Movement from all around them. Shifting. Rumbling.
"Holy crap," said the voice of a young man, wary. "This place looks like it's going to cave in on itself."
"We must leave," said the deep voice. "Now."
"Meghan," Patrick croaked, his eyes glued to the unconscious girl before him.
"Meghan Cullen..."
The voice from the far end of the dungeon passage was one that wanted to be strong. One that would be strong again and very soon. It was hurt, badly, but it wasn't done fighting.
Steward Ammit was recovering.
Patrick grabbed the hem of Draco's robes. "Get... her out...," he said, feeling surprisingly weak.
"That's the plan," said Draco. "Lupin! Thomas! Grab Creevey!"
"No," said Patrick, shaking off the two men. "Just going to... slow you down."
But he knew it was more than that. He knew, deep down in that part of his body that knows when its time is up. He knew that the blood was coming too fast. He knew that he wouldn't make it to Mungo's in time.
He knew what he had to do.
Patrick looked around the group that had formed around him and his daughter. Draco had Meghan, unconscious, cradled in his arms. A boy, not much older than twenty with striking blue hair, had Victoire balanced against his side. Dean Thomas, his hand mangled and bandaged, was looking down at him with a mixture of pity and sadness.
But Patrick turned his attention to the blond behemoth of a man, bearded and ponytailed. He wore the robes of the Oligarchy, and had visited Patrick more than once during his time of captivity. Unlike most of them, he had always given off a... well, not a vibe of goodness, but...
"Gungnir, right?" he said.
"Yes, Patrick Cullen," said the wizard.
"You made a promise to protect the Next."
"I did."
"Still going to... keep that end of the bargain?"
"I shall do everything in my power to keep her safe."
"Good," said Patrick. As he nodded, fresh blood poured from his wounded neck. "Do that."
"Your wounds," said Gungnir. "We could..."
Patrick shook his head. Raised a gore-covered hand to silence the wizard. "I'm not going to make it," he said. "I... I probably shouldn't make it. I've... I haven't been... I..."
His mind was growing fuzzy. His vision was graying. He slapped the wound. Sharp pain coursed through him, awaking him temporarily with a groan.
He turned to Draco. Bent down to Meghan. Kissed her cheek.
"Make sure she knows I loved her," said Patrick to Malfoy. "Make sure she... Make sure she knows I'm sorry for... for everything."
"Yeah," said Draco with a nod. "I can do that."
"She knows I'm a wizard," he said, nodding to himself. "No more secrets."
"Mr. Cullen," said Victoire. "You don't have to..."
"That witch is going to... wake up soon," said Patrick, motioning down the hall. "And she's... going to be... mad. I need to stop her. At least long enough... for you... to get her out."
"We both do."
Prospero limped to the group. His wand was still clutched in his hand, even though blood was pouring down his arm. His hood was pulled back, his mask gone forever. Prospero no more, Nigel Melling forever.
"I'll help him, Garrett," he said, putting his hand on Gungnir's shoulder. "You and Allison get to train her if she wants you. Can you accept that?"
"Gladly," said Gungnir.
"Then get your arse out of here," said Nigel.
"Go," said Patrick, motioning the others away.
"Good luck, Mr. Cullen," said Victoire. "Thank you."
Patrick shook his head. "That's not my name," he said with a small smile.
Victoire nodded. So did Dean. He watched as they left, carrying his daughter, his life, his pride, to safety.
Nigel bent down beside Kitsune. As he did, dizziness nearly took him, but he forced himself to not fall. He picked up her wand. "What do you think, mate?" he said as he came back up. "Remember how to use one of these?"
Dennis Creevey took the wand in his hand. He felt the energy coursing up his arm. It wasn't his wand, of course. His was broken long ago. This one felt unusual. Unnatural. But he could work with it.
"Like riding a bike," he said. He was fading fast, but what was this strength keeping him from passing out? Keeping him from dying right here and there? Was it the magic again? Or was it simply that he knew he was going to die for what was right? That he was going to leave this world just as his brother did? That he'd be seeing Colin soon?
"How you doing down there, Layla?" Nigel yelled to the recovering Ammit. "You awake yet? Ready for round two?"
"Traitor," said Ammit. She gained her feet. Her mask was gone as well, blood dripping from her forehead down her regal, Egyptian face. "You have destroyed the Oligarchy. You have lost the Next."
"The Next is going to change the world," Nigel said with a weak shrug. "In the end, how can we control that?"
"You won't... leave alive," said Ammit, eyeing her wand inches from her on the ground.
"Probably not," said Prospero. "But it's worth it. What do you think, Dennis? Got any favorites?"
"Well," said Dennis Creevey with a grin, "there was this one that... that Ginny was always good at."
"Go for it," he said. He pointed his wand at Ammit. So did Dennis. Ammit dove for her own wand.
"Reducto!"
"Confringo!"
Two spells flew from their wands as a third flew from Ammit's. They collided in mid-air and bounced to the walls.
The sky fell.
---------
"What was that?" said Ted, spinning around as a deep rumble came from downstairs.
"That was Nigel and Dennis," said Gungnir. "Come."
"Fuck," said Dean with a moan, his eyes unable to pull away from the stairs they had just ascended. "Poor Dennis."
"It is over," said Gungnir. His voice seemed to carry something that he hadn't felt in years: Relief.
"Where are we going?" asked Victoire, grabbing Dean and pulling him onward.
"Back to the hospital wing."
"You're not taking us out of here?" said Draco. "Thomas, my hands are full. Pull your wand on him."
"I am taking you out of here," said Gungnir. "But the hospital wing comes first."
"But--"
"Shut it, Malfoy," said Dean. Draco did so.
The six ascended the long stairs in silence. Crossed down hall after hall in silence. For some reason, they were not stopped. The halls seemed eerily empty. Whether they had been evacuated, abandoned during the fights Dean didn't know. It might just be that there were wizards and witches, young and old, hiding from what they knew would be a lost battle.
We'll have to come back, he realized. The Oligarchy may be gone, but there are still people left here who have nowhere to go. Criminals and kids both. And we'll have to come back for Dennis. And Tiberius. And everyone else.
Eventually they reached the hospital wing. Healer Cruz was gone. Gungnir walked directly to the only filled bed. He pulled the covers aside, exposing the young black woman. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a large beer stein, setting it on the bed.
"We will turn ourselves in," Gungnir explained. "Allison and I both. We both agree that we must answer for our crimes, and that we will be considered examples for the Oligarchy as a whole. I hope that our cooperation will grant us some leniency in the coming months, but I also understand this may not be likely."
"I can't say one way or the other," said Dean. "This is International Confederation territory, not the Ministry."
"As it is," said Gungnir. "We both wish to help the Next in whatever way she requires of us. We also wish to do our part to reconstruct the new world, to use our talents as they should be used. It would be much easier to do this after we serve whatever sentence is decided of us than if we lived as fugitives for the rest of our lives."
"So it's that easy?" said Draco, with a skeptical arch of the brow. "We leave, you turn yourselves in, happy ever after? Why do I doubt that?"
"There is no happy ever after," Gungnir said slowly. "I think we can all agree on that. Not after everything that has happened. And we will not turn ourselves in right away. There are a few more things that need to be done first, a few people I need to meet with, and I would prefer to do it without the distraction of the authorities."
"I can't promise that, either," said Dean. "Sorry, Gungnir--"
"Garret," said the Mask of Trondheim. "My name is Garrett."
"--but so much of this is out of my hands. I'm still not much more than Muggle Relations."
"I do understand," said Garrett. "The best I can do is hope. Shall we leave?"
Six entered the Oligarchy's hideout. Seven left. Garrett, formerly Gungnir, carried Allison, formerly Manbo. Draco Malfoy carried Meghan Creevey. Victoire Weasley and Ted Lupin stood side by side, their hands clasping each other for comfort. Dean Thomas stood silently, his eyes closed, wondering what would happen next.
Garrett's deep voice carried them away.
"One, two, three."
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