Internum Conflictus
Alex
"I think we should add a run, all the way up to high A sharp and then back." Alex said, grabbing the sheet music from the piano stand.
Ash groaned, rolling her eyes as she so often did now that she was twelve. "We already have a run near the beginning! You just like hitting all of the keys."
Alex grinned, "Then it's a call back! It's stylistic."
She pinned him with a look, one she had perfected over the years, "Fine. But only if we add an A sharp major chord theme throughout like I wanted."
Alex stuck out a hand between them, "Deal."
She shook it, her face breaking out into a matching grin. Alex squatted onto the floor beside the bench and began scribbling in the notes. The difference between his and Ash's scribbling was significant— each of his notes were separated, each swipe a careful pull of the quill. Ash's however, God she had horrid handwriting. Alex thought she did it on purpose, some sort of defiance against the proper handwriting girls of her age should have acquired. She never admitted to that however. Instead she would smirk, and claim being left handed was the cause. The thought brought a quirk to Alex's mouth as he continued to write.
Ash was silent as she scooted off the bench and plopped beside him. Unusual, considering most days she talked his head off from sunrise to sunset.
"What's wrong?" He asked, glancing up as he added the tail of an eighth note on the scale.
She chewed on her lip, swiping the quill from him as she added the next note, "What happens when you turn eighteen?"
"I'll instantly become a millionaire, have five wives, and make regular appearances at Buckingham Palace." He retorted, pinching her arm.
Ash swatted at him, "I'm serious," she sighed and leaned back against the bench, "When you turn eighteen—"
"That's four years from now—"
"Let me finish, you ass." She dipped her finger in the ink well and flicked it at him, covering his dirty white shirt in a layer of black dots. "When you turn eighteen, I'll only be sixteen. You'll be a legal adult, and out of this place. And I'll still be here." She looked down at her lap, her hands bunching up the fabric of her cotton dress.
Alex sat up, furrowing his brow as he looked at her. He shifted positions, sheet music now forgotten on the floor as he leaned back against the bench beside her. He threw an arm around her shoulders, "The moment I turn eighteen, I'm adopting you and taking you with me. It's you and me."
Ash looked up at him, her green eyes wide, "Promise?"
Alex squeezed her shoulder, "Promise."
Alex woke, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as soft sunlight streamed in from the windows. He hated that fucking dream. It was the third night in a row in which he'd dreamed of the orphanage. Last night it had been his first beating from the Headmistress. He preferred that to this— to any memory of her.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood. He'd been back from Bulgaria for three days and hadn't been summoned once for the next mission. He wasn't complaining, he had been going nonstop since Romania.
"Mipps?"
At the name, a house elf popped into the room. One ear was torn at the base, and flopped around horribly with every shake of the elf's head. Mipps bowed low, hands wringing together as he spoke, "Does Master Rookwood require something from Mipps?"
Alex slipped his boots on, tugging the laces tight, "Breakfast. Two trays."
Mipps nodded rapidly, causing that foul ear to flop, "Yes sir, right away." He was gone in a blur and moments later two trays of fruit, porridge, and sausage sat on the small coffee table near the fireplace.
___•___
He knocked twice, levitating the trays of food behind him, before entering.
She was sat in a wingback chair near the hearth, lit and roaring despite the summer heat just outside. She stared into the flames, dressed in full black uniform. She didn't turn when the door shut behind him, didn't so much as blink.
Honestly, Alex didn't why the fuck he was bringing her breakfast, let alone a tray for himself.
He stepped further into the room, his boots clacking against the marble floor with every step.
She killed his uncle.
He kept walking into the room.
He had never seen her eat. He was sure she did, just as she slept or took care of any other basic need. But he had never witnessed it. Never witnessed anything but her blank stare.
He conjured a breakfast table, low enough that she wouldn't need to move from her chair to eat. He levitated the trays to the center of it, before settling himself in the wingback catecorner from her own.
She stared at the assortment, red eyes roving over everything mechanically. Her blonde hair was pulled tightly back in a braid, fingernails manicured without a trace of dirt underneath them. A pampered pet.
Alex slipped out his blackthorn wand, settling his fingers along the grooves of the handle, before filling the empty glasses with water. She continued to stare, hands loose at her sides.
"Eat."
At his command she lifted her eyes from the tray. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the depthless red stare. Something shimmered behind her eyes, as if the magic itself was sentient. He stared back.
She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of sausage before taking a bite. Two chews, a swallow, and then another mechanical stab, chew, and swallow. He didn't know why he was here. Why he was torturing himself like this. She killed his uncle, destroyed his chance with a real family. That unkempt anger began itching under his skin.
"I hate you." The words slipped out behind clenched teeth.
Stab, chew, swallow.
He gripped his fork tighter, jaw clicking as he gritted his teeth, "I dreamt of nothing but killing you these last two years."
A bite of fruit. Then another. She moved onto the porridge, swapping her fork for a spoon without so much as a sound.
She was still staring. He was still staring back. Rage licked his insides like an untamed fire. There was a giggle somewhere lost in his memories, tied with the sounds of her screaming. He stood from the table so fast his chair tipped backwards.
"Say, 'I'm sorry.'" He hissed, his wand trembling in his grasp. She was still staring at him. Through him.
"I'm sorry."
It was cold, lifeless.
He picked up his breakfast and threw it at the wall, reveling in the crashing sound of cutlery and glass. His breathing was ragged, each inhale scraping along his throat like the broken porcelain littering the floor. Nothing but the sound of her spoon scraping against the porridge bowl filled the room. She moved on to the sausage. He could barely swallow down air as he stared at the mess on the floor.
A swish of his wand and it was fixed. He couldn't leave broken things in her chambers, lest Black's pet harm herself accidentally.
Alex turned, stalking from the room as she continued to stab, chew, and swallow.
___•___
"The influence in Bulgaria has been established. Romania has begun enacting anti-protest policies, and Hungary has begun implementing a registry for muggleborn citizens. The rings are working marvelously." The voice drawled from the Floo.
Black was rarely here, even at his own manor. No, the only times Alex saw him face to face these days was when something went wrong. He dared a glance at the wraith beside him. He had avoided her chambers for the past day and a half, sticking to his own instead. But this Floo call was not something to be avoided. She was staring unflinching into the flames, shadows dancing across her skin. A log popped in the hearth and Alex wrenched his gaze back to Black's face lodged among the flames.
"You're to report to Italy in two days. No explosions. Have some fun with this one, pet." Black drawled, amusement dripping from every word.
The connection cut off without another word, the green flames returning to an amber hue. She continued staring into the hearth, waiting.
"Go pack. I'll be in your chambers in five hours to discuss reconnaissance."
She turned without hesitation, stalking from Alex's chambers like a panther on the prowl. He took a steadying breath after she left, forcing himself to focus, to find that rage that was lodged in his chest.
One breath
Two breaths
He apparated, his room rattling from the brute force of it in his wake.
___•___
He didn't knock this time.
Alex barged into her room, carrying scrolls bunched in each hand. She was stood near the floor to ceiling window, staring out at the endless summer sky and gardens below. Still as a statue, only the occasional rise and fall of her chest signified life.
The breakfast table he had conjured yesterday was still in place, and Alex dumped the parchment on top, weighing each corner of the scrolls down with a sticking charm. By the time each was flattened, the surface resembled that of a war table. He used to envision himself a warrior, a general, leading armies in make-pretend battles. But this wasn't pretend.
"Come."
She turned from the window with cat-like grace, and stepped up beside him. She was close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Her body was frigid, even through the layers of clothing between their skin he felt the chill seeping through. He leaned forward over the table, cutting off the touch.
"This is Minister Rossi's Manor, as well as his office in the parliament building." Alex said, running a hand over the smooth scrolls. Her eyes, cold and distant, flickered over the intricate details of the map, taking in every entry and exit.
"When we arrive, you'll gather intel on the number of individuals in the manor and the Minister's daily schedule. We'll plan the attack for a week after arrival, location dependent on the information you secure."
It was no different than the last three missions. He knew she understood each word, that she will have memorized each map before day's end. He was done here, he needed to pack himself, and yet—
"Did you finish packing?" He asked, running a finger absentmindedly over the grand entryway sketched on the scroll.
Her eyes snapped up to his, and she gave a dip of her chin.
"Show me." He commanded.
She turned on her heel and walked to the small trunk near the foot of her bed. A flick of her wrist had the lid snapping open. Alex followed, with no real reason for his inquiry. Her trunk was near empty, with only a secondary set of black leathers, and an array of muggle weapons. Two daggers, a hook-like instrument, and pliers. All ornate, all gifts from Black to his most beloved toy.
It was a testament to Black's control that he allowed a once deadly force her own stash of weaponry. Alex glanced down at the silver wrapped around her wrists and throat, at the angry red skin underneath. A testament indeed.
___•___
The moon cast a silvery glow over the city, illuminating the time-worn architecture and winding alleyways with an otherworldly light. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of spices and distant laughter. The skyline was dominated by majestic domes and towering spires, starlight twinkling above like the gods were pleased with humanity for the city's beauty.
The city was a symphony of sights and sounds that echoed through the winding alleyways and bustling piazzas. The narrow cobblestone alleyways wound their way through the labyrinthine maze of buildings, and Alex followed their twisting path, hating every moment in this fucking place.
He swatted absently at a persistent fly buzzing near his head, the sound grating on his nerves like a discordant melody.
The warm glow of lamplight cast long shadows against the weathered stone facades. His own shadow followed him, bouncing along the walls with every flicker of light. He weaved down another narrow path, avoiding the main arteries of the city. He tugged his hood tighter atop his head, stepping over puddles of rain water with ease.
Despite the late hour, the city was alive with activity. Young siblings shared bites of ice cream. A boy and girl, their faces covered in the sticky substance. Not that they minded with their laughter echoing off the ancient walls. Further down, street performers entertained crowds with lively music and acrobatic feats, their performances illuminated by flickering torchlight. For a moment, he was reminded of a Halloween spent dressed as Doctor Frankenstein. He banished the childish thought.
As he made his way towards the outskirts of the city, moving from muggle to magical, the grandeur of the Italian Minister of Magic's manor came into view. Set against the backdrop of the moonlit sky, the imposing structure loomed like a silent sentinel, its ornate architecture standing in stark contrast to the surrounding buildings.
This was their second night in Rome. Their second night of reconnaissance. Alex disillusioned himself, his shimmering form twinkling in the nearby lamplight. He stepped back into the closest alley, and waited.
He knew she was inside the grounds, stalking her prey. Nothing more than a shadow— or more accurately, what lives beneath them.
They had five days of this. Five days of him waiting around like a dog on a leash. He had already checked the perimeter of the manor four times in the last two days, counting windows, doors, and tapping along the property wards themselves. The wards were strong; But no stronger than those around the Romanian minister's office, or the Hungarian minister's manor. And strength meant nothing to the wraith, not with her magic. Alex was sure she could melt through wards with a simple touch of her ice-cold hand.
Alex stared up at the villa. Twin towers flanked the entrance, their spires reaching towards the heavens. Carved marble statues adorned the expansive courtyard, their stoic expressions casting shadows in the moonlight. Ivy-clad trellises climbed the walls, their verdant tendrils reaching towards the sky in a silent bid for freedom. The intricately carved archways and ornate balconies spoke of a bygone era of luxury and extravagance, while the manicured gardens that surrounded the estate were a testament to the wealth and power of its owner.
It was wealth like this that made Alex's blood boil. Good. It was good that people like this would suffer. Alex knew if he had ventured deeper into the heart of the city he would've found slums so similar to those he grew up in. Would've found an orphanage or two overstuffed with children who would never know opulence like this.
His magic sparked at his fingertips, and he settled for twirling his wand as kicked off the alley wall for another walk around the wards.
___•___
Alex sat at the small table in his room, the thing busted and leaning to one side. He was sure if he so much as placed a hand on top of it, the whole thing would topple to the ground. The inn had only charged five lira, after all. Muggle, of course. Discretion was key when you were assassinating political figures. Alex snorted at the thought, and pushed back in the creaking wooden chair until the front two legs were precariously off the ground.
A pop of apparation sounded in the small room behind him, the noise hidden from the rest of the inn with the layers of wards he'd weaved around the small space. He turned, catching the wisps of smoke dissolving in air around her form.
She was covered in blood.
His chair crashed back to the ground as he stood.
Dark crimson stained her skin and hair, glistening against the stark black leathers of her uniform. The wicked daggers holstered at each thigh were also coated in a layer of red.
"Are you—"
Her fingers twitched at her side, a barely perceptible movement, and the blood vanished.
His eyes flickered over her, taking in her unblemished skin. No visible wounds. He hated the relief that washed over him. Alex gritted his teeth, forcing his gaze to the wall above her head.
"Successful?"
A dip of her chin.
"Casualties?" He asked, still staring at the stucco.
"The minister and his wife." Her cold voice answered. He could feel her eyes on him, and something about that gaze pulled his eyes unwillingly back to her own.
"You weren't harmed?" He rasped, not knowing where the question came from. He wished she had been. He wished she would suffer the way his uncle had. He wished he could cause it.
"No, sir."
The air in the room felt frozen, aching down to his bones. He left himself stare for a moment longer before he turned and nodded towards one of the small beds adorning the space.
"Sleep. Tomorrow we will report to Black."
As she climbed into the bed without protest, wearing the same clothing she had just butchered a family in, Alex stepped into the small bathing chamber.
He stared at himself in the cracked mirror above the stone basin serving as a sink. He didn't know how long he stood there, hands gripping the edges of the basin, eyes locked on his own reflection.
Something tugged deep inside of him, something that felt like piano music echoing in a basement, or the feeling of a whip flaying him leaving them with matching scars. Something that felt like finding his uncle's body, broken and bloody. Or a night jumping over bonfires in ragged costumes, their stomach's filled to the brim with sweets. He didn't know anything anymore. Nothing but a name, a name she had screamed over and over when she had been broken. A name that now rattled around his mind—
Sebastian.