Ashes and Dust

"You didn't have to do that," she murmured, her young voice filled with gratitude and annoyance. Ash crouched down, gently dabbing at the bruise on his dark-skinned cheek with a damp cloth.

The boy shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips causing his dimples to show in full force. "Someone had to teach those bullies a lesson. They can't keep picking on you."

Ash huffed and rolled her eyes as she sat next to the boy on the basement steps, a place of temporary reprieve from the constant yelling and violence offered above. 

"I can fight my own battles, Alex." 

The boy wiggled his tongue against his baby tooth, now knocked loose, and grinned at her, "Maybe I like fighting them for you." His face got serious for a moment as he reached out his finger and poked the bruises on her wrists, "Jacob Hawsworth is going to learn to keep his grubby hands off of you." 

She swatted his fingers away and brought the damp cloth to his busted lip. 

"We can put worms in his bed next time." She giggled the words out causing Alex to have a fit of giggles himself. 

The sound of harsh footsteps descending the steps caused their laughter to die out immediately. They straightened up without another word, the damp cloth squeezed right in her grip, with only a glance in each others direction. 

They heard her sneer before they got the courage to turn and face her. The woman's voice echoed in the basement staircase. 

"You think you can just protect her, boy?" the woman sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. Ash reached out and gripped Alex's wrist to toe them together against the woman's wrath.

"You're nothing but trouble, just like our dear Asha." The woman spit her name out with such venom she wondered if it was possible the name could burn her, "How many times will I have to put you in your place?"

She could feel Alex's pulse underneath her fingers, could feel it increasing as it always did before he did something stupid. 

Alex stood from the stairs, Ash scrambling up to stand beside him as she always did. She saw the defiance lacing his brown eyes and she squeezed his wrist harder. 

Alex stood his ground, a fierce protector standing tall. "It wasn't our fault! Jacob Hawsworth—"

The woman's anger flared, her face contorted with rage. With a swift motion, she reached out, her hand connecting with Alex's cheek in a stinging slap. The sound reverberated in the stairwell, and Ash flinched back as if she'd been struck herself. 

"Don't touch him!" 

She yelled the words out, her high voice cracking as she stared up at the woman through teary eyes. The woman reached out and yanked her arm away from Alex and began dragging her up the stairs, the rage a living thing now coating the hallway. 

"Do you know what happens to naughty children, Asha?" 

Ash jolted awake, the taste of a scream lacing her throat. Her erratic breathing calmed as she took in her charred surroundings— the Room. She was safe. She was not in that place anymore. 

Her throat burned as she ran over the memory in her mind. She hadn't thought of Alex in years, not since Fig found her, not since her world became much more complicated than being dragged into an office and—

She snapped herself from her thoughts and stared at the unopened bottle of firewhiskey in her lap. Her fingers traced the cork before looking up at the worsening scorched walls around her. She yanked the cork out with such ferocity she was surprised it didn't fling from her hand. The amber liquid burned as it went down and she stood shakily from the worn armchair. 

She was supposed to have Divination today. She snorted as she took another drag from the bottle. Divination class seemed like an overwhelming waste of her time in light of the news she received yesterday. 

Harlow was out, and more than that someone had gotten him out. 

Another swig and she was moving across the room. She stalked to the stairs on the far right side of the Room and headed down, bottle in hand. Her eyes glanced around the perfectly intact bedroom suite and the trunks lining the walls. 

She knelt down and threw open the first chest and let her eyes roam over the contents. She pushed aside trinkets, galleons, and old letters. Her fingers grazed across the messy scrawl of one letter, the S on the front causing an ache in her stomach. Her eyes caught the thick black leather trousers and hooded long sleeved shirt and she pulled the garments from the trunk. 

She smiled softly as she stared at them— October, flying on Highwing, Natty flying beside her. 

Her smile faded as she shrugged the leathers on, slipping her wand into the strap around her thigh. She needed information on Harlow, needed to find out if he was coming for her again, and needed to do it as soon as possible. It didn't matter that Sebastian didn't think she was capable anymore, and it didn't matter that part of her wondered if he was right. She grabbed the bottle from the floor and took another swig, a clear head wasn't in cards for this plan. 

She headed back to the main room, grabbing her satchel and broom— and dropped the firewhiskey bottle onto the low couch. Her fingers brushed over the polished wood grain; it had been months since she'd flown. She turned back to the Room with a last glance at the destroyed space and whispered. 

"Leave the scorches, fix the rest." 

She turned to the floo by the door as she heard the quiet rustling of the room putting itself back together, and she wondered how long it would be until she destroyed it again. 

She laid her hand on the stone and felt the green flames surround her. The familiar whooshing sounded in her ears, and was soon replaced by the quiet sounds of Hogsmeade. She cracked her eyes open, taking in the cozy sight of the village.

She needed information, and there was one place she knew where she could find it. She pulled the black hood over her head as she stalked down the back alleys of Hogsmeade. She moved quietly, her head swimming slightly from the whiskey, it wasn't long before she caught sight of the familiar outline of the Hog's Head. 

She slipped into the building, her eyes focused on the floor as she found an empty seat at the bar. Her gaze flitted around the room with care as she listened to the hushed conversations around the pub. 

She smirked as she saw the now charred portrait of Ferdinand Pratt, a mouthy prat who'd deserved her wrath fifth year when she'd left him in this dump. Seems like someone burnt him after all. She turned her attention back to the counter in front of her as she rapped her knuckles on the wood, a mug of ale sliding to her with ease. 

She sipped the stale drink as she listened. 

Conversation flowed around her for what felt like hours, her ears picking up bits and pieces here and there from the tables and booths at her back. 

 "—he still owes me a new wand you know—"

"I'd say a fwooper feather would fix your problems—"

"Ten galleons says Chudley Cannons take it all this year-"

"He's going to be furious. If we don't get the profits from those furs tonight, he's going to be furious."

Ash felt herself tense as she heard those words. She sipped her ale, still on her first mug, and kept her eyes focused on the dark stained counter beneath her mug. She swam through the medley of other conversations as she focused her attention on the rough voices from the back booth. 

"We'll get him the profits. The camp outside Cragcroft has enough furs for at least twenty galleons if not more." 

She heard the other man scoff before he replied. 

"Harlow needs more than twenty galleons."

Bingo. 

She dropped a coin on the ground and let out a dramatic huff as she got off her stool to grab it, no more than a drunkard dropping their things. As she reached down to pick up the Sickle, she let her eyes snap over towards the two men. Her peripheral vision captured glimpses of their gnarled faces and rapidly exchanging glances.

The men seemed unaware of her presence, and she scooped up the coin and paid for her drink. She slipped outside, grabbing her broom from where she'd left it by the door, her dark hood covering her face as she leaned against a neighboring building. 

She waited, her mind swimming from the alcohol in her veins. She nervously ran her fingers across the broom handle as she rested her weight against the stone wall. She came for information, but this was too good of an opportunity to waste. 

Nearly an hour later the two men stumbled from the Hogs Head, paying no attention to her dark-hooded figure across the way. They walked to the nearest Floo and disappeared in the green flames. Fuck. She blinked through her fogged mind. She didn't think about them taking the Floo. 

Cragcroft. That was the hamlet they named. She could wait a minute or two, Floo behind them, and then fly over the nearby woods to find the poachers camp. She nodded to herself, this should be easy. What was a poacher camp to the Hero of Hogwarts?

Her hand brushed the Floo before she could change her mind. She felt the world tilt and spin before she landed in the midst of the little hamlet. The sun was high in the sky— if she was smart and sober she'd wait until nightfall to scope the poacher camp. 

Instead she clutched the broom between her fingers and slid her leg over before launching up into the sky. The wind ripped her hood back and whipped strands of blonde hair around her face. As she soared up she felt the hint of a smile creeping across her face. God she missed flying. It was one of the first joys of magic she had gotten a taste of, a joy she'd never really forgotten. 

Ash flew high above the small hamlet until the residents looked like little more than ants. She scanned the view beneath her as she flew over the wooded hills. 

The sun's bright light cast shadows across the treetops as Ash maintained a discreet distance from the ground. She looked for the telltale signs— small clearing, campfire smoke, lack of animal movement. 

It took two hours, causing her head to slowly sober up, and her thighs to quake from misuse from where they tightly clasped the broom. Much long than it would've taken in fifth year— she was rusty. 

She spotted the small poacher camp tucked in a ring of oak trees. The pungent smell of magic and desperation hung heavy in the air as she descended on her broom. Sunlight was spotty through the thick trees, giving her a bit more coverage as she slunk through the underbrush. 

She landed far enough away from the site that her footfalls didn't garner attention. Ash tucked her broom against a gnarled oak and crept towards the camp. Five men, no Ashwinders. Though Agent Singer assured her the Ashwinders were no more anyway; all had been taken care of, the auror had promised fifth year, with no thanks given to Ash or Natty for their help in the matter. 

Ash's hand hovered over the wand strapped to her thigh— incapacitate one, take out the rest. She'd need information. Her fingers brushed the twisted wood and she felt her hand shaking. Merlin, how long had it been since she'd used it for more than a simple charm? 

She watched as the men unloaded crates from a wagon, their hushed voices flitting around. Her ears strained as she ducked behind a tangled bush. 

"The furs need to be loaded into the cart—" One of the men grunted, and she could tell he must have been lifting something heavy from the strain in his voice. 

"Where are we keeping the silver?" A second asked, less winded, his voice gruffer than the first. 

Her heart started pounding. The silver? She leaned closer in the bush, moving aside briars so she could glimpse the camp. Once she could see, her eyes fixated on the crates dropped by the small tent. She could just make out a glimmering from one box—

She heard the snap of the twig underneath her and fear coated her tongue as three of the men snapped their heads in her direction. 

She saw the blinding red blast thrown haphazardly near her and she rolled out of the way, leaves sticking to her clothes as she moved. Ash burst through the bush, the men scrambling for their wands at her sudden appearance. She saw the recognition and fear spreading across each of their faces. She'd earned a reputation amongst the underbelly of Wizarding Britain— one of gnashing teeth and deadly spells. 

"If it isn't our local Hero—" 

The jagged red spell came hurtling towards her as the man sneered, and Ash's reflexes kicked in. She dodged to the side, narrowly evading the blast of magic, but overestimated her roll. She landed in the midst of the camp; her wand felt almost numb in her fumbling fingers as she tried to cast anything. Panic began to rise within her as she realized that her once formidable skill with a wand had waned after disuse. 

She tried to send a disarming spell at the dark-haired man to her right, but hit the tree far to his left. This missed attack drew confusion from the men as they sent spell after spell her way. Soon that confusion transformed into recognition as they saw her new lack of magical prowess. 

"You seem to have lost your edge, girl."

Smirks replaced initial fear-filled grimaces, and their attacks became more aggressive and precise. The balding man to her left reared back his arm, "Reducto!"

She twisted to the side, dodging the spell and tried to dig deep inside her, tried to drag any of that explosive ancient magic from her depths. She was met with only panic burning in her veins. Her heartbeat was louder than the curses thrown at her. 

She was flagging already, badly. 

She heard the jeers of the men, mocking her inability to defend herself. The realization of her vulnerability burned deep within her. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to fight back, to find a way to regain the upper hand.

Two of the men had circled behind her. She yanked her body around to face them, her wand like a dead weight in her hand as she tried to— 

"Diffindo!"

Ash felt the spell slice into the back of her ribs and she screamed. She fell to her knees, her wand clattering from her hands as she tried to clutch at the wound. Deep— from the way the blood starting seeping. 

Laughter was the only sound she heard besides the roiling in her veins. 

"We can't kill the witch, the boss needs her—"

"Didn't say he needed her intact."

The dark-haired man yanked at her hair, pulling her head back, and she felt his wand poking into her neck. 

"Scream again for me, pretty, and I'll heal that wound of yours. Give us some time to play. What do you say—"

She felt her magic explode from her in a shockwave, the power sending her reeling. The blast left her skin burning—her lungs raw. Even with her eyes closed she saw the flash of white flame as erupted from the abyss inside of her. 

She heard no screams. The man who'd had a grip on her hair was no longer behind her and as she looked up through blurry eyes,  she saw the carnage. 

There were body parts hanging from the trees, the crates and tents destroyed and burning. Blood coated the scorched ground around her like a mist. 

Ash panted hard, her hand immediately reaching to grasp at the wound on her back and she cried out as felt the sinew and muscle beneath her fingers. Bad—this was bad. She needed a potion and—

And she didn't pack any. Didn't pack any because she had given the last to Ominis. Horror spread through her bones. Not like this— it couldn't happen like this. 

She tried to calm her panic and pressed her hand as best she could against the gash. She shakily crawled across the gore around her, pulling herself with one hand. Her eyes focused on that hand as she crawled, she didn't have time to think about the bloody matter around her. The movements ripped at her wound and caused her to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood. She grasped her wand. She'd always been rubbish at healing charms, relying heavily on potions fifth year for any minor injuries. Healing charms required a precision, a delicateness, that she had never possessed.  

"A-Accio br-broom."

She gasped the words out with as much intention as she could muster and waited until she heard the soft whoosh as it drew near. She needed to get to Cragcroft, to the Floo and then...

And then she'd figure it out from there. 

She tucked her wand shakily into the strap around her thigh and reached up for the floating broom. This was going to hurt. 

She pulled herself upright and gritted her teeth as a scream forced from her throat. The motion ripped at the wound and she felt the blood run faster between her slick fingers. She sucked in a steadying breath and threw her body onto the broom horizontally. She nearly lost consciousness from the pain. 

She laid her head against the handle as she pulled upwards with one hand, the other pressed tightly to part of the wound stretching from the back of her ribs down her side. 

She lifted up through the trees and the wind blew back her sweat slicked hair. She could see the sun descending as she flew to Cragcroft, a mercy that less people would see her in this state. 

She flew as fast as possible, her core working overtime as she held on with only one hand, her body weight basically flush against the handle. She could feel her head getting dizzy, her eyes having to blink harder now to stay focused. She'd lost too much blood. 

She nearly sobbed in relief when the small hamlet came into view nearly an hour later, an amount of time that would've killed a person either no magic flowing through their veins. She nose dived for the Floo, pulling up barely in time to save herself from crashing into the rock. She didn't even dismount her broom as she reached out a blood covered hand to the flame and was sucked into oblivion. 

She crashed to the cold floor, the green flames dying around her. Her broom clattered beneath her and Ash stifled a cry of pain. She blinked through the growing haze in her brain and noticed the familiar set of stairs and classroom. The Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. 

She didn't have time to question why she brought herself here and not the hospital wing, though deep down she knew why. She didn't have the excuses she had last year when leaving castle grounds and killing dark wizards, not anymore. 

She dragged herself to her knees and blinked at the empty halls, curfew had just begun. Another mercy. She crawled towards the wall beside her and took a deep breath before hauling herself to her feet, her nails cracking as she dug them into the stoned wall. She let out only the slightest cry at the pain, and nearly tumbled down the stairs as she descended. So close, she was so close. 

She felt black creeping into her vision and she clenched her jaw in defiance of the yawning darkness beckoning her. Her feet carried her down even when she could no longer register the steps beneath her. She turned at the bottom of the stairs, her hand reaching out to steady herself on the adjacent wall as the blood dripped down onto the cold floors. So close. 

She needed to take a breath, but she knew if she stopped she wouldn't find the strength to move again. She drug her feet the extra few steps and fumbled to bring her wand from her thigh holster. The blood made the wood slick in her fingers and she almost dropped it as she waved it over the clock gears.

Her feet brought her through the opening portal and dark passageway, and she fell to her knees when she entered the dimly lit haven she loved so dearly fifth year. 

The black creeping in on her vision narrowed her view to barely a pinpoint as the blood spilt from between her trembling fingers and she looked up towards the back of the room where she knew she had tucked extra Wiggenwelds. 

As she lifted her head to search with the last of her fading vision, she saw his brown eyes looking back.