Chapter 35: Shadows of LughnasadhNotes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ophelia approaches a new stage.
CW: Mental Assault on a Minor, Panic Attack, Internalized Ableism
~~~~~ Ophelia Meadowes ~~~~~
Shadows of Lughnasadh
~~~~~ Ophelia Meadowes ~~~~~
August 1st, 1995
"And they won't mind that I–"
"If they did, they'd be hypocrites, Ophelia," Mahalu chastised her, albeit gently. "You'll see what I mean when we get there. Minerva's going to meet us there, so we should be just about ready," she added, sighing a little.
The black dress Ophelia had gotten for her birthday was gorgeous. It had a sort of diamond pattern to it, with full sleeves and a skirt that stopped just past the knees. It was simple, yet absolutely beautifully made - and almost certainly tailored to her figure. She guessed that Mahalu had gotten her measurements either with a spell or by asking Grandmother. The black cloak she wore over top had silver fastenings, and was lined with soft black fur on the inside. Adding in a pair of black stockings and black flats had her looking good, and if she needed the warmth there was a rune on her wheelchair that would make it give off warm air.
She was getting used to it, she had to admit.
The meeting place was apparently in Norway due to the fact that one of the people wasn't doing too well with their physical health. Maybe that was why Mahalu said them judging her for her wheelchair would be hypocritical? She didn't know.
She'd elected not to ask their names ahead of time, since it felt like a test of her patience and discretion. Maybe she was wrong, though Mahalu had seemed to relax a fraction after Ophelia had told her as much. So… maybe not.
"You've got your wand?" Mahalu asked. She still seemed tense.
"Yes," Ophelia told her, figuring telling her mentor to relax wouldn't really work out. "It's right here," she lifted the rosewood wand from its hiding place in the seam of her dress. A slim wand pocket had been charmed into it.
"Good, good," Mahalu muttered, dusting herself off again despite the fact she was immaculately dressed in a women's-cut suit, sans the blazer. "Sorry you're missing the Lughnasadh Ball that the Abbotts are hosting," she added, despite having apologized for the same thing several times already.
Ophelia shrugged. "There'll be more Balls," she replied. "I've… I've gotten better at trusting my friends and family. I know they'll probably invite me to another one. And they don't blame me for any of this. They were just… worried," she said with a tiny shrug, idly turning the Abbott Ring she'd been given.
Grandfather had been incredibly anxious about her safety, so he'd pulled an old ring out of the Abbott Vaults that carried some protections. It had left her incredibly touched, really.
"Is everything going to be okay, Mahalu? You seem… well, really anxious," Daphne asked, her brow furrowed.
Daphne had been Ophelia's choice for who to come with her, as she was pretty sure she'd need someone who could keep her calm. Daphne was the best at that - Hermione was too likely to be excited, Hannah was a bit volatile, Grandfather's confidence could be dangerous in this setting, and Sirius was too reckless. It helped that Daphne had been given a 'proper young lady's upbringing', as she often described it.
Considering she was already carrying herself with dignity and poise, and her dark green dress was flawless? Ophelia had to admit she felt more relieved than she had already been for choosing Daphne. Her girlfriend's blonde hair had been coaxed into a tasteful braided bun while Ophelia's own had been carefully brushed out and left black.
That was the other thing. Her metamorphmagus abilities she'd seen on her Lineage Test had awakened. Her eyes turning grey at her birthday party had been sudden, but a bit of emergency guidance from Tonks had gotten her sorted. So far she was just keeping a mental image of 'herself' in her head, and it helped.
Still, having that ability would be useful. It was just regrettable that Tonks had confirmed it couldn't morph away damage caused by Dark Magic, so… it couldn't be used to fix her shoulder and arm. Nor could it vanish scar tissue, as apparently a mage's scars often held their own magic… so she couldn't clear her skin of the blemishes her relatives had left her, either.
It left her feeling rather sour towards the ability, if she was being honest. But knowing that she would be able to turn into a variety of 'big cats' now with her Animaga abilities had cushioned the blow. She'd shifted into Stripes, but also attempted a lioness - and it worked.
Otherwise the only other change she'd made was something that had given her an absolutely gargantuan amount of euphoria. It had taken her a little bit to accustom herself to the new 'plumbing', but every time she thought of it she'd been grinning like a fool. Tonks had admitted to having a similar experience when he changed his own 'plumbing'.
Mahalu's voice shook her out of her thoughts.
"If I'd had it my way, Daphne, Ophelia wouldn't be meeting these people before she was in her twenties," Mahalu said shakily, a sharp furrow to her brow and a pained expression on her face. "At least then she'd be stronger than a few of them. But as it stands, I'm the only protection you both have, and that is… not enough."
"Not enough?" Daphne asked, stunned. "But… but you're insanely strong. How could it not be enough? Are there really that many of them?"
Mahalu gave a dark, mirthless laugh. "It isn't the number that's the concern, dear. It's the fact that three of them are stronger than I," she replied, causing the blood to drain from Daphne's face while Ophelia felt a chill run down her spine.
"How much?" She found herself asking, even though it wouldn't matter. If Mahalu was panicked, then it was–
"Enough," Mahalu replied tersely, unintentionally finishing Ophelia's thought for her.
She placed a hand on each of the girls' shoulders. It didn't escape Ophelia's notice that Mahalu's hand seemed just a tad slick with sweat.
Talk about inspiring.
"Here we go," Mahalu muttered.
The world twisted around them as Ophelia's study vanished from view, replaced with a surprisingly bright grey and black room that seemed to be some sort of reception hall. There were staircases to the left and right ahead of them, and of all things there was a magical elevator in between them. Well, that explained why judging Ophelia for using a wheelchair would be hypocritical.
Her mouth ran dry when she felt a sudden pressure. Not in her mind. It wasn't Legilimency. It wasn't an aura, either. It was just… magic. Pure magic. The same that rolled off of everyone, even Mahalu, Minerva, and Dumbledore. The problem was that she was used to those three, and they often kept it skin-tight. This person wasn't bothering to do that.
She turned her head and saw a tall man with short-cut blond hair, and a marring scar on the left side of his face - partially covered by a blood red patch over that same side's eye. He wore muted orange and red robes and his right eye was a colour Ophelia only attributed to Mahalu and Tom until then. Red.
This man was a Dark Lord.
"So this is the notorious 'Girl-Who-Lived'?" He drawled, a familiar accent in his voice. Spanish, like Remus - then this was… right. She recalled how Remus had mentioned a Dark Wizard who had his eye scratched out by his older sister, Flavia.
Ophelia inclined her head, doing her best to keep her Occlumency shields up and not buckle under the pressure. "Ophelia Meadowes, a pleasure. This is my partner, Daphne Greengrass," she greeted him, her hand shaking only the tiniest bit as she gestured to Daphne, who was pale but at least remained poised and stony-faced.
The man peered at her thoughtfully, appraising her. After a moment, he held out his hand and she held out her own. He twisted it with surprising delicacy so he could place a kiss at the air above the back of her hand. "Sombra Reysino, Dark Lord of the Iberian Peninsula and Western Gaul," he introduced himself, a ghost of a smile appearing for a fraction of a second. "Should you get the chance to meet Flavia Lupin, tell her she has quite the right hook," he said with a dark chuckle as he let go, stepping back and grinning wolfishly. "Her and her brother proved to me that werewolves aren't to be trifled with," he said by way of explanation before he turned his focus to a glaring Mahalu. "Oh calm down, Xochitecatl - you know full well this should have been expected," he told her blithely, shaking her hand in greeting.
Mahalu scowled. "She shouldn't have been invited, Sombra," she hissed before letting go. Reysino flexed his hand when she released it - Ophelia noticed a bit of pain in his expression. "She's far too young."
Reysino rolled his eyes as he turned around, heading to the left side stairs. "Perhaps," he agreed. "But Abigail said the same when a sixteen year old upstart from Brazil appeared on the Council of the Americas," he pointed out with another sharp grin as he headed up.
It didn't escape Ophelia's notice that he ignored Daphne completely. She gently took her girlfriend's hand and gave it a squeeze. Daphne returned it, but she didn't seem too upset. Ophelia couldn't blame her; the attention of a Dark Lord wasn't exactly fun.
She didn't get the chance to ask Mahalu why there was another Dark Lord here when another pressure appeared after the telltale crack of Apparition. Worse. This one was worse. While Reysino had been a bit weaker than McGonagall's, this one was stronger. Not quite as much as Mahalu's, but close. Very close.
The one that appeared had chocolate brown hair pulled into a bun and features that were indistinguishable as male or female - as well as severe burn scars on their neck and scarring across and between their eyes, though the blood red irises that contrasted with their deep blue robes were proof enough that they were also a Dark Liege. Ophelia felt a pit in her stomach as she realized what kind of meeting this was.
A Dark Liege summit.
The newcomer brushed themself off with a bored expression before they glanced at the trio. "Oh! Mahalu, good to see you," they greeted her neutrally, their accent sounding vaguely German. They shook her hand politely, but Ophelia noticed that they ignored her in addition to Daphne.
"Knochenbrecher," Mahalu replied icily. "You seem to be looking a little peaked. Anything I should know about?" She hissed, a sharp look on her face. It hit Ophelia then that this person was most likely the one that had suggested she be invited, considering Mahalu's open animosity. Or it was something else, but considering Mahalu subtly positioned herself between 'Knochenbrecher' and Ophelia, she doubted it.
"I'm fine, Mahalu," they replied dismissively, flexing their hand when it was released. "Nothing important." They glanced at Ophelia and it was by sheer instinct she threw her Occlumency shields up at full force, but she couldn't help gritting her teeth and giving a soft gasp of pain when it felt like a searing hot iron stake had been driven into her head. Her shields held. Barely. "Interesting," they muttered before turning around and heading up the stairs, leaving Ophelia to gasp for breath and fight not to whimper as her head throbbed.
Mahalu gritted her teeth before placing a hand on Ophelia's forehead. She bit back a groan of relief as a cooling sensation spread through her mind. "Damnit. Had to be Knoch," she grumbled. "They're not one of the two, but they've got… support , so I can't openly oppose them," she said by way of apology. "Let's go upstairs before this gets worse."
Ophelia nodded weakly, her hands shaking a bit as she wheeled after Mahalu. All three made their way onto the elevator.
"Are you okay?" Daphne whispered worriedly, a hand on Ophelia's shoulder.
"They used Legilimency," Ophelia muttered in response. "Worse, I don't think they were trying very hard. My head's killing me."
"Knoch's not good at subtlety," Mahalu cut in. "But don't talk much. Especially not about these people. Your minds aren't secure, but if you keep your tongues in check nobody will say anything. We all hate each other, but we at least pretend we don't."
Ophelia nodded mutely while Daphne looked like she'd just been force-fed spoilt milk. "Lovely," she groused as the elevator - which was an amazingly smooth ride - stopped, "so it's just like the Galas I've been to, but worse."
"Pretty much," Mahalu agreed as they made their way down a long marble-floored hallway, the only sound being that of Ophelia's wheels and the other two's heels clicking against the stone. "At least you know how to keep your head down. I doubt any of them will give you a second glance, Daphne. Keep it that way."
Daphne nodded again, once again a forced look of neutrality on her face while they stopped at a large set of double doors.
"Here we go," Mahalu muttered before pushing them open.
It took every microbe of effort Ophelia had in her very being not to vomit at the pressure she experienced.
The room had a single black, round table in the middle, but was otherwise unfurnished. The head was empty. There were two spots without chairs, and one was occupied by a woman with ash-brown hair in a wheelchair of her own. Silver, unlike Ophelia's dark brown. She was dressed in a suit, and had a single, white scar horizontally across her face, just below the eyes that were as blood-red as nearly every other pair in the room.
Reysino and Knochenbrecher were also present, both looking bored. Meanwhile there was at least one familiar face in Minerva, but all she did was nod in acknowledgement.
The reason that Ophelia felt sick, however, was that there was another familiar face. Tom. He sat next to Minerva, opposite the empty spot. He acted as though he didn't recognize Ophelia, merely nodding to Mahalu and looking back at the table. Oddly… subdued.
Mahalu sat in the other chair opposite the empty spot while Ophelia - at Mahalu's nod - rolled over to stop between her two mentors and tentatively engaged the brakes. Daphne stood behind her and didn't speak - it was obvious they didn't consider her worth their time. If she weren't so utterly terrified that her hands were trembling, Ophelia would have been a bit angry.
As it was, she was just hoping she'd survive. The pounding of her heart in her chest had her wondering if it would burst, and her own hands were frighteningly slick with sweat. She didn't know how she was supposed to withstand all this pressure. She was at a loss to why Daphne seemed nervous, but was able to stand. It didn't make sense. If Ophelia had tried, messed up knee or not she would have collapsed. Her wheelchair was the only reason she'd not crumpled to the floor.
Was… was Daphne too weak, or something? Was the pressure being aimed at Ophelia specifically? She didn't know, and she was honestly terrified to ask.
The doors opened again as someone entered. Ophelia's eyes widened just before she gagged and clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from vomiting.
'What the fuck is that?' She thought fearfully as she looked at the woman who entered. She had scars all about her face and a pair of rectangular glasses propped atop her head. She was tall and slender, wearing jeans and a hoodie of all things, and her eyes were somehow redder than the others'. Her hair was black and cut in a somewhat short, choppy style. But Ophelia was struggling to consider the woman human. She couldn't be human. She looked so young, as if she'd just graduated Hogwarts or some other magical school. But she was just a little stronger than Mahalu, of that Ophelia was certain.
She glanced at Ophelia and arched an eyebrow before changing directions abruptly as she walked over, her expression curious. Perhaps more surprisingly, she spared a glance to Daphne before looking back at Ophelia. "Huh. You're talented. Nice," she mused before holding a hand out. Ophelia's own shook and trembled as she reached out and took it. "Ah, are you anxious? Heh, don't worry about it, kid. Nobody here means you harm," she said with a wink. "You or your partner. I'm Vasilka, by the way - Vasilka Atanas. Dark Lady of the Balkans."
Ophelia opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't. She winced and fought to force her voice out, excruciatingly painful as it was. "O… phe… lia… Mea… dowes…" She managed before coughing as her throat constricted and she winced.
Vasilka frowned before she tilted her head and her eyes widened. "Oh my…" She looked up sharply. "Rein in your magic, fools, she can actually sense it," she barked, and suddenly all of that pressure was just. Gone.
Ophelia coughed again, hands going to massage her throat as she gasped for air, looking around in bewilderment. Knochenbrecher, Reysino, and the unidentified woman all seemed shocked while Mahalu and Minerva's expressions were ones of… relief, yet surprise? Tom still seemed subdued, but Vasilka's eyes were shining with excitement.
"Ohhhhh, you are good," she murmured brightly. "You and I should stay in touch, Meadowes - it isn't just anyone who can feel magic the way one would the wind or water," she said with a maniacal gleam to her eye as she patted Ophelia's cheek and moved to her own seat. It was adjacent to the empty head seat.
"Sense magic…" Knochenbrecher mused, gaze fixed on Ophelia once again. Their eyes seemed to be… frighteningly focused, and a smile that almost seemed nervous appeared on their face.
The unknown woman looked at Ophelia as well. "Brynhildr," was all she said, and Ophelia knew that must be her name. She nodded in response, and Brynhildr's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.
"You'd better prepare yourself, girl," Reysino drawled. "Allegrata's not the type to play gentle."
Ophelia barely managed to keep her expression neutral. 'Allegrata?! That's the Dark Lady of Italy and the Mediterranean!' Her thoughts panicked, but she didn't have time to dwell on it when she was suddenly slammed with a sensation that was somehow significantly worse than all the pressures she'd been feeling previously combined.
Whatever this woman was, it was not even remotely close to mortal, much less human.
The woman had tanned skin and her heels clicked sharply on the floor as she strode into the room, her body language… aggressive. Highly aggressive. While Ophelia was using every Occlumency shield she had and fighting not to collapse as she shivered and shook, the woman didn't glance at anyone as she took her seat, also adjacent to the head spot. She didn't even acknowledge Vasilka.
Her eyes were red in the same way that blood was. Her makeup flawless, her scars thin and faded. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was also dressed in casual clothes. A loose charcoal jumper and black slacks.
She finally bothered to glance around the room when her eyes met Ophelia's. She didn't even have time to consider if her Occlumency would work before she felt memories racing through her head.
...Duelling Tom in the Graveyard, unleashing Mjølnir against him as wicked bolts of lightning lashed out wildly…
...Meeting Reysino and the others, shaking but holding strong even as the pressure overwhelmed her…
Dimly, she became aware of the pressure from this woman vanishing like it had been some lie. A trick.
...Meeting Mahalu for the first time. Being terrified and subdued in the presence of a Dark Lady whose magic was so clearly overwhelming, but also rather interested and excited…
...Meeting Minerva for the first time as a firstie, her shaking and trembling as she felt impossibly small in the castle that was inundated in this woman's magic…
...Vasilka's expression of interest in her abilities, and a desire to correspond afterwards…
Unlike Knochenbrecher, this woman's Legilimency left no pain - it actually felt gentle and tender. Ophelia was surprised, but while the woman still seemed agitated, she was looking at Ophelia with… respect. She also paid a cursory glance to Daphne, but her girlfriend didn't stiffen as one normally did under Legilimency. She pursed her lips tightly and looked at the woman, but didn't speak.
The woman was quiet for a long moment before she spoke. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ophelia. I am Allegrata Lombardi, Dark Lady of the Mediterranean and Ruler of Magical Olympus," she introduced herself, though there was the most microscopic hint of a smile on her face.
Many seemed alarmed at her cordial greeting, though Vasilka had a knowing smile on her face.
Ophelia nodded. "Likewise, Lady Lombardi. I am Ophelia Meadowes, it's a pleasure," she replied, her throat dry.
Allegrata's lips twitched again. "You may refer to me as Allegrata," she replied. "Expect my letter in due time."
Ophelia shuddered as she knew what this meant. Two unknown Dark Ladies had taken an interest in her and wanted to know more about her. She supposed she should just be grateful they hadn't scanned her entire mind to learn about her, and Allegrata's own search had been surprisingly non-invasive. "Thank you, Miss Allegrata," she said.
The woman beamed a little, but said no more.
All but one chair was occupied, and Ophelia knew what that meant. It was the head that was missing. The strongest. She fought with every fiber of her being to shore up her Occlumency shields in preparation—
~~~~~ Ophelia Meadowes ~~~~~
She woke up with a jolt, gasping for air.
What the fuck was that?
If the room had been a tidal wave and Allegrata alone had been a hurricane on top of that, the one that had knocked her unconscious had been all that on top of an earthquake, a volcanic eruption, and a nuclear warhead. It had been sheer, unadulterated power.
She felt a hand on her back and saw it was Daphne, looking terrified. She nodded weakly at her girlfriend before looking up, her cheeks flushed with shame. Nobody seemed to be judging her, however.
The head seat was now occupied.
The man was young, in appearance. Perhaps in his twenties? But looks were deceiving, especially with wixen. His eyes were a vibrant crimson that no other pair present could hope to match - not even Allegrata's. His pale white hair was tied into a bun, long and curly. A scar went down the left side of his face and resembled the scratch of some animal.
His black turtleneck and pale grey blazer seemed oddly casual despite being fairly formal, and he studied her with a thoughtful expression.
"My apologies, Miss Meadowes," he told her, with no distinguishing accent present in his voice. Numbly, she realized Allegrata had been the same. "I was unaware you possessed Magic Sense," he continued, his expression perfectly benign. "I am told you withstood your consciousness with all but myself. Consider that a testament to your strength and talents. It would be no mistake to consider me beyond the pale, even by the standards of Dark Lieges."
Ophelia swallowed the lump in her throat and managed a forced smile. "It's okay, sir. I wasn't exactly aware I was, either. I've always been under the impression everyone feels… well, what I feel," she replied, wincing a little at how her voice trembled and cracked.
The man gave a low chuckle. "Very few do, Miss Meadowes. Your ability is one I share, so should you have questions now or in the future, feel free to reach out. As for introductions…" He gave a wry smile, and Ophelia noticed that for some reason Mahalu seemed very relaxed. Maybe she trusted this man? "Mykola Harkusha, Dark Lord of the Wixen Slavic States of Europe, Keeper of the Eastern European Border, and Head of the Dark Lieges of Europe. It's a lot, I know," he added with an amused chuckle.
Despite the fact this man was very obviously the most powerful in the room, Ophelia couldn't help smiling a little. He reminded her a bit of Grandfather. "Ophelia Meadowes, Mister Harkusha. I'm afraid I don't have any fancy titles to my name, being… well, equivalent to muggleborn and with no feats," she admitted with a fierce flush.
Harkusha raised a bemused eyebrow. "While I suppose you're no Grey or Dark Lady of yet, don't assume titles are so important, Miss Meadowes," he told her. "And as for your blood status…" He shrugged, "What of it? No wix here is pureblooded. Allegrata, Vasilka, and I are all either Muggleborn or born to Muggleborn wixen like yourself. I'm aware the Isles have their… issues," he said, eyes flicking to Tom and making him flinch. Tom. Flinch. "But don't let the ideologies of the insane and inbred trick you into thinking their beliefs are so widespread."
Ophelia nodded shakily. "Yes, sir. Thank you," she replied, feeling chastised.
Harkusha chuckled softly, waving his hand absently. A variety of glasses appeared, one at each spot - except Ophelia's, which had two. One for her and for Daphne. "As you're minors, it'll be water for the both of you," he told them cordially before waving his hand. Their glasses filled with water while bottles of varying kinds of alcohol floated to the others. None shared a bottle. "Don't blame yourself, Miss Meadowes - I am fully aware of how some have a tendency to try and break the confidence of talented wixen. Had he not been 'pureblooded', the Flamel brat would no doubt have never been encouraged to accomplish what he has," he added, a thoughtful look on his face before he took a sip of his drink.
Ophelia was a bit surprised. "Nicholas Flamel? I… I've seen the Philosopher's Stone, I think," she said, frowning a bit. "Or maybe a fake. It didn't feel… right."
Allegrata leaned in, eyes gleaming. "You may not have. May I?" She asked.
Ophelia was a bit surprised, but nodded. Immediately a memory flashed painlessly through her head.
...Pulling the stone out of her pocket, a deep knot in her stomach as she turned to flee, realizing that she couldn't afford for Voldemort to find her under her cloak…
"Hmm… interesting. It's a fake," Allegrata confirmed with a snort. "Makes sense. That ingrate always was terrible at parting with his belongings, even as a kid."
Ophelia fidgeted a little, but smiled a bit. "Well, I guess it's good that he isn't going to… er, pass on after all. Dumbledore said he would since the stone was…" She trailed off at the furious expression on Allegrata's face, paling.
"I knew that bastard was on my territory!" She snarled, slamming a hand onto the table. Her magic remained under control, but her fury was obvious. "He's been banned for decades! I should have believed Perenelle. Fanculo!" She swore loudly, causing Mykola to give her a sharp look.
"Contain yourself, Allegrata. Dumbledore will be dealt with in due time," he chided her before giving a glance to Ophelia. "Apologies, Miss Meadowes - we of the Dark have little patience for the machinations of manipulators," he told her with a slightly apologetic look.
Ophelia managed a shaky smile. "It's okay. I can guess that Miss Allegrata's upset is pretty justified," she replied, pursing her lips a bit. "I have my own reasons to not be very fond of Dumbledore."
The room became oddly silent for a moment, and Ophelia shuddered when she saw the absolutely furious look Allegrata gave Tom. "Yes, I can imagine why," the Dark Lady hissed, knuckles paling as she clasped her hands tightly together. "Dumbledore has a tendency to assume his ideologies are infallible, thus absolving him of any guilt for his actions. Hah! Francesco Zabini thought the same until I usurped him. No doubt Dumbledore will get his own comeuppance," she said derisively, giving Ophelia a surprisingly mischievous grin.
Ophelia was a bit surprised at the familiar surname. "Zabini? Is… Blaise Zabini is my friend, um… Is he descended from…?" She trailed off, not really sure how to pose the question.
"He is, Ophelia," Minerva confirmed. "Though from what I understand he and his mother are nothing like their ancestor," she added with a sharp look to Allegrata.
The Italian shrugged, clearly not fussed with whatever happened to Chiara and Blaise Zabini. "I loathed Francesco, but that hardly applies to his descendants," she said by way of clarification.
Vasilka was the next to speak up, cutting in and changing the direction of the conversation. "Ophelia, your spell - the lightning one Minerva told us of. 'Mjølnir'. Why did you invent it?" She asked curiously, a wicked grin on her face. "From what I understand there are few spells quite so mighty."
Ophelia felt her cheeks burn. "Oh! Well, it was a bit silly. Nothing special, honest - Hannah just showed me a video game in one of the electronics-safe classrooms, and I tried to replicate a spell in it," she explained, shrugging her shoulders a little. "I didn't really expect it to be so… flashy. I just wanted to have a bit of fun."
Vasilka was quiet for a moment before she cackled with laughter, and a couple of the others seemed stunned.
"You made the spell… for fun?" Reysino asked, aghast. "But it rivals Fiendfyre!"
Brynhildr seemed pensive, not really speaking as she seemed to pale a bit. Meanwhile, Knochenbrecher seemed… pleased, somehow. She wasn't exactly sure why, however.
Harkusha studied her thoughtfully, his gaze boring deep even without the use of Legilimency. Or if he was, she was unable to tell. "Tom clearly made a mistake when he set your life on the path it went so many years ago," he mused, giving the man in question a sharp look. "A young lady of your talents should be more confident and proud, Miss Meadowes. The achievements you downplay are not unlike those I myself showed at your age, so long ago. I am the one who created Fiendfyre and Roarfrost, you see - Allegrata and Vasilka have shown similar promise in their youth. I'm aware you've had your fair share struggles, my dear - more than. But your feats are exemplary. Take pride in them, young lady."
Ophelia flushed so fiercely she wondered if her cheeks may have actually turned red with how embarrassed she was as her shoulders wriggled and her legs squirmed. "Um… o-okay. I'll… try," she said with a grimace, unable to admit that he'd been quite right that she downplayed what she did. Hannah and Daphne were more than clear that she did that.
"With the right guidance, you'll succeed," Allegrata told her, giving an appraising look to Mahalu followed by an approving nod. "Now I suppose we should get to why you were invited - beyond merely sating our curiosities."
Reysino spoke up, then. "Tomas Gaunt has failed in his attempts to be recognized as Dark Lord of Britannia," he drawled. "At the very least, he does not qualify in the eyes of those present. The public's opinions are of no consequence."
Tom winced, looking pained - though he made no effort to object. It struck Ophelia then that she hadn't even noticed his magical energy compared to the others. Was he truly that much weaker than every other Dark Liege present?
'Yes,' her thoughts told her. 'He is. You could tell the moment you felt his pressure in the Graveyard that Minerva alone was stronger. As for the Dark Lieges here, every last one is leagues beyond anything Tom could muster.'
"Quite," Harkusha agreed to Reysino's words. "Which is why we've invited you, Miss Meadowes. You were brought to this table as an interview. While you've got some requirements to fulfill, you passed this stage with flying colours. While we won't force the matter…" His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and once again she felt as if her soul had been laid bare even without Legilimency. He could read her in a way she wasn't sure anyone else could. "We believe you would be the most suitable option for keeping the Isles in line."
The room went dead silent.
Ophelia knew better than to ask if he was joking. Harkusha didn't strike her as the type to joke about something like this. She shakily placed her hands on the table, clasping them together.
Dark Lady of Britannia.
They wanted Ophelia to do that. After everything she'd suffered because of the very Dark Lord two seats to her right?
"Why?" She asked, tone grave. "Why me? What… what would I even do?"
"Stop men like Tom and Dumbledore from rising to power," Vasilka replied breezily. "Handle… messes such as Death Eaters and blood purists. Whatever you like, really. Just don't cross borders, don't aggravate the ICW, and make sure the Ministry knows you're not to be crossed. Other than that, all you have to do is attend these rather drab meetings four times a year where we discuss semantics. On odd years we meet on Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Samhain. On even years we meet on Ostara, Litha, Mabon, and Yule."
Allegrata grinned ferally. "Otherwise? Do whatever you want. Within reason, perhaps, but there really are no limits. Especially if you work from within the shadows. I have only been known to the public for a mere three decades, after all," she added, chuckling darkly.
"It is your decision, Miss Meadowes," Harkusha added. "But the Isles need to be kept and maintained. Think about it. Even if you decide not to, we'd still like to keep in touch. As much talent as you have, power and influence are bound to follow. From the ways Mahalu has praised you, I believe you will use them wisely."
Ophelia swallowed and gave a shaky nod. "I… I'll need a bit of time," she managed, wincing a bit at the tremor in her voice. "It's just… a lot."
Harkusha nodded in understanding. "That's perfectly alright, Miss Meadowes. You're hardly the first to be shaken by such an offer," he added, giving a knowing smirk to Vasilka, who rolled her eyes.
Suddenly Brynhildr flinched. "Oh, fuck-" She managed just before the doors opened.
Ophelia shuddered as she realized she didn't sense any magic. She turned and saw… someone who brought a freezing chill to every cell in her body. She didn't need her magic sense to feel an absolute, primal terror when she looked at this woman.
Whoever she was… she was the least human, least mortal being Ophelia had ever been in the presence of, despite her outward human appearance.
Pale white hair accented with blood red that extended to her waist, and burn scars on her jaw and throat that looked incredibly faded. Flawless makeup that made no effort to conceal said scars. Very feminine, beautiful features that looked mature and youthful at the same time, in a way that seemed similar to Harkusha's, yet… different. As for her eyes…
War. Death. Destruction. Those were the only words Ophelia could consider to describe the redness of those eyes. Eyes that appeared to see into her very existence… and those of all others present as well.
Harkusha's voice sounded mildly annoyed somehow as he greeted and named her in one breath.
"Evening, Hildegarde - party crashing, are we?" He asked, his tone icy.
"Something like that," the woman replied in a husky tone. She sounded ancient despite the fact her voice was one of a woman in her thirties. There was age and history in her voice that transcended the base senses.
Then her eyes drifted to look directly at Ophelia, and the chill down her spine became frigid.
"Hello, dear. Mind if we have a chat?"
Notes:
Introducing Hildegarde Caractacus. And letting Ophelia meet the Dark Lieges of Europe...
Who invite her to join them.
OH MAN. SHIT JUST GOT REAL, BABY.
Discord (we're a Community now!): https://discord.gg/w5k4TfFRGG
Next: Ophelia & Hildegarde have a chat.
Chapter 36: Ancient HistoryNotes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ophelia Meadowes meets the eldest witch in all of Europe.
CW: Death Mention, Casual Disregard of Life, Trauma & PTSD, Child Abuse Mention
~~~~~Hildegarde Caractacus~~~~~
Ancient History
~~~~~Hildegarde Caractacus~~~~~
August 1st, 1995 A.D.
Hildegarde poured the tea casually enough, amused at the girl's tension verging on trembling terror.
No surprise. Being called into a room with a stranger to speak privately without even your partner tended to cause anxiety.
"Feel free to prepare it however you like," Hildegarde told her, gesturing to the assembled pitcher of cream, jar of honey, and container of sugar cubes. She placed two cubes and a dollop of honey into her own cup, observing the girl's body language as she did so.
Ophelia was tense, her hand trembling rather heavily as she did so. A couple charms that took neither word nor gesture from Hildegarde ensured that the tea would not spill and neither would the cream. If the girl was surprised by how her violently shaking hand didn't cause a mess, she didn't show it. No doubt she was considering Hildegarde the same way little Mykola had back when they'd first met.
'Are you God?' The little black-haired boy had asked, a brilliant look of fear and awe in his eyes while his magic had swirled around him protectively.
Back then, she had laughed at such a proclamation. Now, with the words that had been brought into the world since? Now she knew she would have introduced herself back then as the Dark Lady of Europe. Instead she'd been 'merely' granted her homeland of Gaul when Reginleif, Salazar, and Francesco had divided up the continent - mercifully, her own suggestions had at least granted Mykola a seat. Later, she'd even gotten Francesco deposed with the help of that young Sicilian girl, Allegrata.
Those who caught the intrigue of Hildegarde Caractacus tended to be among the few that could be assured to live as long as they had. Mykola himself was proving to be her worthiest investment thus far, though clearly her foolish successor Pierre had finally proven the adage about stopped clocks to be true. Not only was Mykola's apprentice an extraordinary young lady, the Aztec girl from the west had set the stage for the girl sitting before Hildegarde to grow nicely indeed.
And if Hildegarde involved herself, she had no doubt this child would prove perhaps even more worthwhile an investment than Mykola.
The question was thus; did Ophelia Meadowes deserve Hildegarde's instruction?
"What are you?" Ophelia eventually asked, no genuine confidence in her voice. She was terrified, that much was plentifully clear. "Are… are you some kind of god? Are you the God?" She continued, desperate.
Hildegarde gave a throaty chuckle that made the girl recoil - an instinct all who heard her mirth shared. "No, child - I am no God. Clearly little Mykola's interest is well-placed, however. He asked the very same question when I first met him. I suppose in the eyes of one possessing Magic Sense, it shouldn't be surprising that the only word to use when near me would be 'God'. But I am no deity, however I am also neither mortal nor human. I am one of the very scarce few who have aged to a point even my immense levels of magical power cannot be easily contained by my form. Hence my white hair," she explained, gesturing to the pale locks.
Ophelia's eyes widened with understanding. "Mister Harkusha… he's close? And… Allegrata, her hair looked a bit pale near the roots," she muttered, frowning.
Oh yes, she liked this one. "Sharp eye, girl. Little Mykola is far younger than I, but he is also nearing that point. Allegrata… she's on her way, but she has some time to go," she admitted with a sigh. She liked Allegrata - particularly her amusingly fiery nature - but only when the girl had aged enough would Hildegarde trust in her strength the way she did little Mykola's. She decided to posit the same question she had to Vasilka when they'd first met. "How old do you think we are? Little Mykola, Allegrata, and I," she clarified when Ophelia startled a little.
The girl's brow furrowed deeply and she took a sip of her tea. She was still visibly on edge, but had at least determined Hildegarde wouldn't kill her. Not until she'd made an affront. Smart kid.
"Allegrata… she's close in age to the Flamels. She talks about them a bit like how someone would a childhood friend or something. So… actually, I don't know how old they were precisely. Six hundred? So… probably at least that much," she said with a grimace. "But I'd say she's older."
Hildegarde's grin reappeared. "Good eye. Allegrata is over six-hundred, true. And she is older than Nicholas and his wife, yes. She is probably around eight-hundred seventy by now," she confirmed, causing Ophelia to shudder a bit.
"Circe…" The girl muttered before shaking her head a bit. "Mister Harkusha is… older. By a lot. I don't…" She faltered as her eyes went wide while her eyebrows rose. "Wait… 'Aged to a point'... he's close…" She looked up at Hildegarde, shaking a bit again. "Is he seriously nearly a thousand years old?"
Hildegarde's grin became shark-like. "Well done, girl. Yes, little Mykola is nearly a thousand. He will achieve his Millennium Birthday in the year 2011, and at that point I have no doubt what power he has will grow exponentially," she explained while Ophelia paled and her eyes went wide. "Soon after, his hair will begin to gain the blood-red accents that you find in mine," she added, raising one of the very same locks.
Ophelia looked at her thoughtfully, and her eyes focused on the hair as well. She opened her mouth before pausing as she became pensive again. Hildegarde arched an eyebrow in wonder. While she didn't have to try hard if she wanted to see what the girl was thinking, she decided to wait and see. She still had her manners after all.
"I…" She screwed up her nose before sighing, "I don't know. Not exactly. My first guess was nearly fifteen-hundred, since only one half of your hair is turning red. But it's nearly all red, and it looks… even. Too even. So… I must be mad, but are you seriously nearly two-thousand years old?" She asked, obviously making a shot in the dark that she wholly expected to be wrong.
"Yes," Hildegarde replied, truly impressed. Because of how incredulous it was to her, Vasilka had defaulted to fifteen hundred. Still, it had been close enough that she'd earned Hildegarde's respect. But this girl…
This girl had her interest.
Ophelia looked as pale as she could with her complexion. "Merlin…" She muttered, before seeming to give an involuntary snort. She covered her mouth and looked horrified.
Hildegarde raised an eyebrow. "What? Feel free to speak your mind, girl - you've got my interest. I'm hardly going to mind an amusing thought," she prompted while also being genuinely curious what a modern teenager considered humorous.
Ophelia's cheeks darkened as she studied her teacup. "Well… I just thought that whenever someone says 'Merlin' you probably think of a baby whose nappy you changed," she admitted, cheeks flushing even deeper.
Hildegarde burst into laughter, not having expected that. "Oh! That's good! Hah! You're not wrong," she admitted, chortling as she shook her head. "I didn't change him, but he was a drooling baby when first I saw him, so I have to admit it's quite hard to separate those images."
Ophelia laughed softly as well, seeming to relax in mindset if not body language. "I guess you think of a little boy with Mister Harkusha, too… how does your mind not… fray?" She asked, brow furrowing. "Human minds have limits, and if you're over a thousand and 'not human', that could explain it, but what about Allegrata? Or Mister Harkusha? How do their minds…" She shrugged, "Stay intact?"
Concern. The girl was showing concern for Hildegarde. She was much more like little Mykola than Hildegarde had expected.
'Does it hurt?' The innocent boy had asked, concern in his eyes as he had raised his tiny hand to touch the burn scars adorning her jaw.
She smiled far more gently. Yes, she liked this one quite a bit.
"There are magical practices using the Mind Arts of Occlumency that allow you to assemble memories into books. The more you sense and are aware of, the less each book can contain, but limiting memories to the mindscape prevents the brain from being damaged," Hildegarde explained, quite pleased. "I keep specific memories intact, perhaps a century's worth. Others I compile into 'books' perhaps five years in length apiece and file away."
Ophelia seemed to relax and gave a relieved smile. "Good, that's good," she said with a bit of a nod. She managed a bit of a more nervous smile. "I have to admit, I didn't expect you to be so… approachable," she admitted.
Hildegarde chortled at that. "Allegrata thought the same," she replied. "Apparently little Mykola practically sung my praises to her when he brought her to me," she admitted with a melodramatic sigh.
Ophelia giggled a little before she tilted her head. "Why do you call Mister Harkusha 'little Mykola', but not the same with Allegrata?" She asked, curious.
Hildegarde shrugged. "I raised little Mykola myself as something of a grandmother. Allegrata's upbringing I wasn't so involved in. She considers him like her father, and she is certainly noteworthy to me, but we aren't close," she explained, tapping a finger against the table thoughtfully. "I heard their offer. Be honest about your thoughts, but don't speak of your qualifications. What do you think of becoming a Dark Lady?" She asked curiously. "And don't consider yourself limited to those stuffy Isles. Frankly, if I had it my way, I'd see to it that you became a replacement to my successor, Pierre."
"Pierre?" Ophelia echoed, confused.
"The others call them 'Knochenbrecher'," Hildegarde explained, rolling her eyes at the ridiculous name - it was ridiculous, a title granted by others; at least Pierre was the name they themself had chosen. "I was the Dark Lady of Gaul before I became bored with the work. Pierre was something of a bandage until I found a truly suitable successor."
Ophelia looked alarmed. "And… you'd want me? But you just met me!" She replied, shocked. "I… I won't say I'm not worth it, because you just told me not to, but why trust me?"
Hildegarde smirked. "You show a sharp mind and a compassion I see only rarely, even at my extended age," she replied gently. "I am the last of the true Gaulish people. I witnessed the fall of my homeland at the blades and wands of those vile Romans. Much as I avenged my people, Pierre only cares about the modern lands. They don't bother with the history of Gaul and the meaning behind the name. They allowed a part of my home to be taken," she said the last word with an angry snarl that made Ophelia flinch. "The Reysino boy did me a favor by killing the woman who took my homeland, but I have ordered him to keep the lands for the time being while I work on ridding myself of Pierre."
The pieces seemed to fall into place for Ophelia. "And if you don't have someone you approve of to install into place or get rid of Knochenbrecher to begin with, then there's a chance someone else could fill the void and cause problems of their own. And you can't take the role yourself because the improving methods of magical investigation and surveillance make it harder to stay hidden, like with Allegrata," she muttered, grimacing as she obviously understood and didn't like the situation any better than Hildegarde did.
"Precisely," the older witch agreed, twisting her fingers and sending a message to little Mykola, Allegrata, and the Vasilka girl. They wanted to stay in contact with Ophelia? So did she. It was time to make an offer the girl wouldn't want to refuse.
Ophelia grimaced before she gave a small sigh, her shoulders sinking. It struck Hildegarde then that she truly had been as abused as Mahalu's thoughts suggested. There was a beaten-down look to her that she had seen far too often in her long life. Child abuse was unfortunately something she was intimately familiar with. "My entire life is a mess because of a Dark Lord - Tom. Dumbledore just made it worse, but… I guess I just don't want to be like… them," she finished, voice soft and trembling a little.
Hildegarde nodded in understanding. A valid reason, and one that explained little Mykola's abject loathing of 'Tomas Gaunt'. "Understandable enough. I doubt you would ever resemble either of those men, from what I've seen - but if nothing else, I can see to it that you come away from this meeting with a worthwhile reward for your kindness and for humoring us," she added, a rare gentle smile on her face that she had only ever let little Mykola and a few others see.
Yes, including the other two she'd beckoned in.
The door opened and Ophelia looked up in surprise, but she seemed more curious than apprehensive. Evidently she'd determined the four present didn't mean her harm, even if they had a definite interest in her.
Little Mykola gave Hildegarde a long-suffering look. "Her partner's practically having a panic attack, Hildegarde. Congratulations," he snarked, causing her to give him an absent wave of her hand.
"Is Daphne okay?" Ophelia blurted out, her obvious worry superceding any anxiety she'd shown earlier.
Allegrata nodded. "She's fine, Ophelia. Mahalu and Minerva calmed her," she explained before fixing an irritated look at Hildegarde. She was lucky to be one of a small handful of those not yet a millennium old that Hildegarde didn't mind receiving such open annoyance from. "Though next time perhaps warn us, Hildegarde? The last you visited was six years ago, and before that, it had been several decades since you'd shown up at one of our meetings. Excuse me if I'm less than thrilled."
Hildegarde waved her off. "I do as I please, Allegrata. You know this," she told the girl with a raised eyebrow, causing the Sicilian to pinch the bridge of her nose and grumble expletives in Italian. Hildegarde's lips twitched at a surprisingly accurate question wondering whether the older witch had been dropped on her head as a baby. "Regardless, I believe it's nearly time we let the girl be on her way," she said with a lighter tone, standing.
"Oh… uh, thank you," Ophelia stammered. "For the opportunity, I mean. Sorry. Words aren't… easy for me," she muttered, looking pained.
Little Mykola waved her off gently. "We all have our struggles, Miss Meadowes. Don't apologize for your challenges. Just do the best you can," he told her, echoing similar words to what Hildegarde had told him when she began to care for him.
'Everyone has their demons, little Mykola. Do not apologize for them - fight them,' she had said, a grin on her face when he'd giggled at her brave words used to soothe him after a nightmare.
Ah… where had the centuries gone?
"I believe I'll be corresponding with you as well, dear girl," Hildegarde told Ophelia, a bit of a sentimental colour in her voice that had Allegrata and Vasilka looking surprised, while little Mykola looked like he'd had the wind taken out of him. Then he gave her a melancholic, warm smile that told her he knew she'd grown to like the girl. "For the time being, you can consider yourself a pupil of mine," she added, causing little Mykola to sigh dramatically while Allegrata coughed.
"Ugh, of course you beat me to it!" Allegrata scowled before grumbling. "Well, in that case, consider yourself on my list of interesting kids or something. Ask whatever you like in your letters, just be respectful. And… eh, here," she said, shrugging before she fished something out of a pocket. A runestone. "Have fun figuring out how it works. Don't worry, it won't explode anyone. Probably," she said with a wolfish grin and a wink before heading back out. "I'm sending Reysino and the others off and telling Brynhildr to go to bed. She knows better than to refuse me."
Hildegarde smirked. As much as she had loathed Reginleif, Brynhildr was hardly better - especially as she had been so bold as to try to flirt with a taken woman in a closed relationship.
Fool deserved the treatment she'd received from Mahalu.
"I'm too young to think about being a mentor, but we will keep in touch. I could use some friends," Vasilka said, grumbling the last bit. "By the way, I killed some fool named Krum. Thought it'd be important to you since his mind said he was the type you tend to lock up and throw away the key with."
Ophelia looked pretty nauseous at that, but managed a tight smile. "I guess it's for the best. He gave me some gross looks, and harassed my friend Angie as well," she explained, shuddering a little. "Guess I should get used to the fact that you all aren't the types to let problems… fester," she said the last word delicately, but to Hildegarde it was obvious the girl was innocent indeed.
She still treated every life as sacred. She glanced at little Mykola and checked his memories briefly after asking silently. It was interesting to discover the girl had already made her first kills. Four of them. Yet she was unaware of it, as her power had been unleashed recklessly and without abandon.
She knew the girl would need to be told that in time, but not just yet. Her queasy expression and the trembling that had returned told Hildegarde she was shaken just to know a boy she had heavily disliked but knew had been murdered by the girl in front of her. Considering the number of lives Hildegarde had taken herself, it was hard to remember when she'd last hesitated to kill, but it hadn't taken long. She didn't take a life easily or needlessly, of course - but she didn't hesitate if it would be more worthwhile than keeping her potential victim alive.
Little Mykola was next to step in, mercifully - cutting the tension with a kindness in his tone. "Go home and get some rest, Miss Meadowes - today's no doubt been intense for you. Something I can relate to from my own past experiences," he told her gently. "It was a genuine pleasure to meet you, and if you ever decide you'd like to consider me a mentor, I'd be happy to teach you however I can," he added, winking at Hildegarde who huffed and rolled her eyes.
Ophelia gave him a grateful smile and nodded. "Alright. Um… thank you, all of you. It was… intense, but definitely a good experience, I think. Meeting you all, that is. Er, Miss…" She frowned as she looked at Hildegarde, obviously unsure how to refer to her.
"Call me Hildegarde, dear girl," she said in response. "I'll likely call you as I please - I'm rather 'incorrigible', as little Mykola puts it."
Ophelia giggled a little. "Well, it was really nice meeting you, Miss Hildegarde. Thank you for the tea, and… well, it'll take me some getting used to, but I'd certainly like to be your, er, 'pupil'," she added, looking a bit embarrassed. "Hopefully I'll measure up. And… if you're sure it's okay, Mister Harkusha, I think I'd like to learn from you," she added, giving little Mykola a furtive smile.
Damn his approachable and friendly nature, making it easier for kids to like him than they did Hildegarde.
Little Mykola smiled and nodded before withdrawing a pendant from his blazer's pocket, pressing it into Ophelia's hand. "It's nothing too special, but you can use this to talk to me or Vasilka if needed," he explained. For her part, Vasilka looked quite excited. "And if I'm to be your mentor, you should call me Mykola, Miss Meadowes."
Ophelia nodded, smiling. "Alright, Mister Mykola," she replied, and little Mykola's eye gleamed with approval at her tact. Considering the girl had autism according to Mykola's memories of speaking to Mahalu and Minerva, she certainly was impressive. "Is… there anything else?" She asked, obviously more nervous than expectant.
"Not at all," Hildegarde told her kindly. "Vasilka can take you to your partner and the others. Have a good night, and if you ever need to send a letter, just send it to Hildegarde Caractacus," she told the girl, a glimmer in her eye.
Ophelia nodded, smiling nervously. "Er, right. Thank you," she said hesitantly before she took her leave with Vasilka, the door closing behind the Dark Lady of the Balkans and the Girl-Who-Lived.
The room was quiet for a moment as it was just Hildegarde and little Mykola, before eventually she chuckled and sat, her protégé doing the same.
"She reminds me quite a bit of you, little Mykola," she told him, a reminiscing smile on her face.
"I have to admit, I don't disagree," he said softly, tapping a finger on the desk. "She was out for perhaps a minute. Less. Her partner will be good for her - that was the only time she broke her composure," he added, his tone obviously approving.
"She did seem quite protective," Hildegarde agreed. "It's good. Having partnership like that will make her strong, though it will likely make her reluctant to join our number," she mused, shrugging a little.
She knew the girl would always be powerful, of that she held no doubt. But the draw of such longevity as hers or little Mykola's was the kind many would balk at - well, as long as they had loved ones. The girl may perhaps become a Grey Lady rather than a Dark one, but that depended on a number of factors, and Hildegarde considered that incredibly unlikely. Almost as unlikely as the girl becoming a Light Lady.
At least that would likely be an impossibility, to Hildegarde's relief.
"I'll teach her all the same. Watch her," little Mykola mused. "She's interesting and talented, I'd say it's enough to keep my eye. I had even less reason to observe Vasilka, and here we are."
Hildegarde chuckled. He certainly had a point.
"So what did she think you were?" He asked curiously, one eyebrow raised.
"What do you think?" She asked with a wry grin. "She asked if I was God, though she started with 'some kind of god'. I did say she reminded me of you," she pointed out at his disbelieving shake of the head.
Little Mykola sighed. "I suppose you did," he admitted.
"She also asked if our minds were okay," she added quietly, to which he looked at her with open shock. "I know, I was much the same. I couldn't help thinking of a little boy, holding my face and asking–"
"'Does it hurt?'" Little Mykola finished, a sad smile appearing. "It's been a great many years since I asked that question. I can't help wondering where–"
"The centuries went?" Hildegarde asked softly. His pained yet sad nod told her she was right. She gently took his hand into hers, squeezing it in a rare display of affection. "Mahalu rid the world of the people who hurt her. Some of them, at least," she amended softly. "I looked into it after Pierre informed me of her existence."
"I should have known they wouldn't keep their mouth shut," little Mykola mused, grimacing. "I certainly don't mind you knowing of or caring for Ophelia, but I would have preferred for her to know you were coming. I didn't realize until you were in the manor."
Hildegarde gave him an apologetic smile. "Apologies, little Mykola. But while I can tell she's been shaken by tonight, it will be a good experience for her," she said encouragingly before she became thoughtful. "Will she be invited to your Samhain meeting?"
Little Mykola nodded. "That's the intention. As she's now your pupil, it wouldn't be remiss of you to attend more regularly," he pointed out, but she knew it wasn't just for Ophelia he asked. He missed having her around, and small wonder. The two of them were family, in a way. Hildegarde only visited once a year, and even she had to admit it didn't feel like enough.
"I will," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry for my absence, little Mykola," she added, a sadness falling over her as she gave him a sad smile. "But even retired, my duties occupy me."
He leaned his cheek gently into the other hand she had raised to hold it, a sad smile on his face. "I understand, Močiutė," he murmured, using the affectionate Lithuanian title since they had privacy. "But it doesn't mean I won't miss the woman that told me to stay strong when I woke screaming from a nightmare."
"I know, little one," she whispered softly, regret coursing through her as a solitary tear slid down her face. "But remember that I am proud of you. Immensely so. You have grown into a young man I am proud to call my family. My greatest decision was to pick up that little boy hidden in a barrel," she murmured, thumb gently wiping away the tear that slid down his own face.
"Thank you, Močiutė," he murmured, smiling again, though the melancholy had hardly left. He gave a sigh before gently lifting his cheek away as he changed the subject, though he didn't release her hand. "If all goes well, that girl will at least get retribution from the men who ruined her life."
Hildegarde nodded in agreement, lips pursing a little. "What is it with men ruining the lives of children?" She muttered, not just meaning Ophelia.
"Karkaroff is dead," little Mykola offered. "Vasilka's been putting on a brave face, but…" His free hand closed into a tight fist as his expression became stony. "She's been crying. She's still getting used to having to kill those who would ruin lives just as her childhood was. Ophelia… she doesn't even know she killed some of Tom's Followers. I worry for her safety until she's ready to rid herself of Tom and Dumbledore," he admitted.
"You've only known her for a few hours," Hildegarde replied half-heartedly. She had the same concerns, of course.
"And?" Little Mykola replied with a mirthless laugh. "Maybe it's my sentimentality, but… you know how I am with abuse victims," he muttered, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Allie, Sombra, Vasilka… what's one more?" He half-joked, but it was clear the subject stung now just as it had nine-hundred-eighty years ago.
Trauma could affect even those who claimed to be immortal. Not that she'd forgotten that. She still had nightmares of watching her homeland fall in flames under the invasion of the Roman Empire.
Little Mykola gently squeezed her hand, pulling her out of the brief flashback. "I've been seeing one of these 'Mind Healers'," he told her gently. "It… helps. We never paid much attention to mental health in the past. Have you…?"
Hildegarde couldn't help her smile. Even after all these years, he hadn't changed one bit, and it warmed her heart to see the kind boy underneath the visage of a weathered Dark Lord. "I've not seen a Mind Healer, but a therapist who knows of magic. They help," she admitted, unable to help her tiny smile at his look of relief.
"Good, good. That's good," he muttered, squeezing her hand again as his gaze focused on them. The red glow was quite strong, but she could still see the pale blues underneath, more in her mind than anything else. "Mine is privately hired," he admitted, chuckling softly. "They don't seem to mind, since they and their family are safely tucked away in Latvia, and I pay them well."
Hildegarde shook her head as a low laugh escaped her. "Clearly you take after me," she murmured ruefully. "Mine is rather safely hidden away in Bordeaux with a hefty paycheck of their own," she admitted.
They traded similar smiles, knowing neither had changed since their first meeting. If she was honest, she hadn't changed since she'd first resolved to become a Dark Lady - and indeed, she was still the same person at heart. The same young woman that had once hoped to help her home prosper, and to bring joy and health to as many as she could.
"Mahalu's good for Ophelia," Hildegarde mused, thoughtful. "Young and impulsive, but who wasn't at her age?" She said wryly, chuckling a bit.
Little Mykola laughed as well, shaking his head. "You'll never let me live that down, will you, Močiutė?" He asked rhetorically before rolling his eyes. "But you're not wrong. Particularly with Minerva there. Not sure why a fey like her cares so much for the wellbeing of human children… is what I'd like to say, but I suppose I can't."
Hildegarde winced. "Yes, those scars are rather telling, aren't they?" She muttered, free hand closing into a fist at the thought of the injustice Minerva had to have suffered. The mercy that she'd 'only' suffered such 'light' abuse did scarce little to curb Mahalu's protective nature that had led her power to skyrocket in such a short time. She could tell it helped that Allegrata treated them so normally, despite the fact there wasn't a chance in Hell she was unaware of Minerva's trauma.
Little Mykola smiled sadly. "No less telling than these," he whispered, hand gently cupping her cheek. He was still the only person she'd ever let touch these scars, and that would remain the case for a while yet.
"He is gone, little one. He has been for nearly two-thousand years," she whispered softly, squeezing the hand she held tightly.
"From the world," he agreed softly, but his finger gently reached up and tapped her temple. "But not from here. Just as she is not gone from here," he added, pulling his hand back to tap his own temple. "One day we may heal, but with lives as long as ours… we will see more like us again."
"And they will inevitably return to our minds," Hildegarde whispered in response, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Not exactly a confidence-inspiring speech, little Mykola," she told him wryly, but there was a tiny shake to her voice all the same.
"I've never been good at those," he admitted, smiling a bit. "I'm not a very charismatic man."
"Nor was I a charismatic woman," she pointed out. "We gathered respect due to our power. That's all there is to it."
Little Mykola was quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers to his chin. "This Statute… we've spoken of it before, yet its time has not yet come. It's been around since Abigail began her deceptions. Do you believe it can last? Mundane technology is improving faster than public magical protections have been," he murmured, expression troubled.
"If it does, there will be more children in need of protection," Hildegarde whispered, thinking of how Christianity and other religions had grown to decry and villainize magic due to wixen like herself. "The Trưng sisters have promised to keep Southeast Asia under protection when the time comes… and it will come. If our luck holds out, you will be a Millennium Wizard before then, and perhaps we can keep Europe safe with Allegrata and Vasilka's help."
"If our luck holds out, we'll have Ophelia as well," he added softly, his expression hopeful. "She has more than power and talent. She has a great deal of charisma. Even without her past, she drew my interest and favor," he pointed out.
Hildegarde nodded. Little Mykola was right. She could see how the girl was a natural born leader. Given time to heal and come into her own, it would be little surprise if she usurped Tom and Pierre both before she reached thirty, perhaps uniting Britannia with Gaul if all went well. Or perhaps she would simply be a powerful witch with good intentions that were in alignment with Hildegarde's own.
Either way, if it meant they could fix things - make them better - then Hildegarde did not mind. The priority was preventing more children from suffering like Ophelia. Like Vasilka and Sombra. Like Allie. Like little Mykola.
Preventing more children from suffering like Hildegarde herself had.
"Her mothers are in Azkaban?" She asked, eyes flicking upwards.
"Under Minerva's protection," little Mykola agreed. "She's ensured none will come to any harm at all. Tom seems to intend to organize a mass breakout. Take them into protective custody while 'rescuing' his purist followers he desires dead."
"I see," Hildegarde grumbled, a sour taste in her mouth. Once again, Tom claimed good intentions while damning others. The fact he considered himself better than Dumbledore was laughable. The fact both believed themselves better than Grindelwald was abhorrent and disgusting. "Is there any way we can… intervene?" She asked slyly, a smile forming on her face.
Little Mykola gained his own more feral smile. "I admit I have a few ideas," he said. "Some decent Fidelius Runes would keep them perfectly secure, though getting into Azkaban unnoticed wouldn't be the easiest. My breaking and entering skills have gone rusty," he admitted with a sigh.
"What of Vasilka? Has she mastered her 'magical hacking'?" She asked, thoughtful.
"Not yet, but in due time," little Mykola replied. "If the ICW would not hinder us, we could have ordered Pierre to stage a false invasion to act as a distraction."
Hildegarde hummed, drumming her fingers on the table again. "What if we got Ophelia to do it?" She asked, entertaining the idea. "She's got the power, and public opinion. The only issue is–"
"Her confidence," little Mykola finished, sighing. And so the conversation became a circle. "Dumbledore may be unwilling to budge… but we could have Reysino reach out to Flavia Lupin. She and her wife hold perfect control over their DMLE. Maybe they could work on freeing the women legally?"
"They're likely already trying, if they're people you think we could convince to help," she pointed out. "Besides, there's one alternative that could pay off far better."
"Which is?" Little Mykola asked, arching an eyebrow even as his eyes gleamed with unbridled curiosity.
"We let Tom play his game… and ensure Ophelia crushes him completely all the same," she said, a malicious grin appearing on her face.
"You truly haven't changed, Močiutė," he replied ruefully, before he sighed softly. "I suppose it's time we were on our way. Brynhildr is likely getting antsy about our prolonged presence," he mused, finally glancing at the room. The wards were thrumming with obvious anxiety.
They stood, looking at one another for a moment before Hildegarde opened her arms. They embraced tightly, her hands wrapping tightly around him while his did the same to her.
"I'll be seeing you more, little one. I swear it," she whispered.
"Thank you," little Mykola answered her. "I love you, Močiutė. See you soon."
"See you soon, little one. I love you, too," she whispered back hoarsely, her mind unable to help one last memory.
'Come back home, okay? I can't lose you,' the little boy had said fiercely into her stomach where his head had been buried.
'I swear it, little one. We are family. You aren't going to lose me that easily,' she had promised, earning the first smile she had seen on his sweet face. She had meant every word then, and that would never change.
No matter how much time passed, she would come home. Always.
Notes:
Even immortals are people. Time does not heal all wounds, it merely lets them ache for longer.
Discord: https://discord.gg/w5k4TfFRGG
Next Chapter: Another new POV.
Edit as of Nov 19th, 2023: Altered Allegrata's age to be 'around 870'. My notes and what I initially wrote in this chapter didn't sync up. 870~ish is how old she *should* be. My apologies.