First Cursed
I follow Dumbledore back to his office after Fudge and his newly silent toad have departed.
“You impressed Cornelius,” Dumbledore finally says once we’ve settled into our chairs, Fawkes unexpectedly swooping down to perch on the arm of my chair and nuzzle my temple before retreating to Dumbledore’s side to croon at him. I know why a second later when that terrible memory of New York is newly hazy again and now easily re-locked into the box of my darkest memories.
“But did I impress him enough to keep him from revisiting every other day?" I ask, letting myself slump into the chair a little.
“More than,” Dumbledore assures, stroking down Fawkes’ chest. “The story about New York…”
“True,” I sigh, wincing. “Two hundred and two thousand years later and it’s still in my top ten list of worst memories. But we stopped it. Idiot sorcerers and their cult followers who try to pull that kind of thing off don’t deserve to rule the world,” I huff. “In my opinion,” I add.
“But you bound their magic?” He clarifies.
“Personally? No. I just knocked them unconscious… after maybe breaking a few arms, but…” I shrug. “They’d healed by the time the magical transport team showed up.”
Dumbledore hums, sounding almost approving.
“And you’ll begin working on the countercurse—“
“Soon,” I cut off, flashing a ‘hush in here’ look at him that he seems to read just fine, but now looks a bit more worried. “Professor Snape was unhappy to hear I’d be working it, though," I add.
“Oh,” Dumbledore says mildly, the corner of his lip lifting up, though he's wincing a little too. “I know,” he assures. “He came to see me.”
I wince in return, but grin too at Snape’s grouchy protectiveness. But I’m already feeling the preemptive weight of the tasks to come.
“How much will this truly take out of you?” Dumbledore asks quietly. “You have a habit of understating your efforts… and the resultant effects.”
I send him a wry look. “As I said yesterday, nothing that I won’t recover from. But if it’s a full fourteen students that are cursed…”
Dumbledore nods in silence, studies me for another minute more and sends me off to dinner.
***
I get kidnapped on my way to dinner.
Sort of.
Tonks pops in beside me like she’d just apparated there, grinning like a fiend and a minute later has marched me up to the Defense classroom where Lupin, Snape and Flitwick are waiting with a small feast and… a cake?
“I’m betting with all the reality hopping, you forgot,” Lupin chuffs with a half smile. “Happy Birthday,” he murmurs, tugging me into a brotherly hug.
Wow. I actually had forgotten, but now I smile wide when Flitwick flicks his wand and gives us all party hats. I smirk when Snape finally discovers that his is hot pink and glowers at Flitwick (who seems pleased with his own yellow and purple-swirl hat) until the man relents and switches Snape's hat to a respectable brushed silver and Slytherin green.
It’s an amazing dinner, short as it is, and it’s me who bails just after cake with the obvious excuse of needing the extra sleep for the days to follow, though I do take a quick minute to pass my Identity Charm off to Tonks, who promptly flips it on to ‘test it’ and it’d be way more weird if I couldn’t see her essence just under the disguise.
Flitwick is impressed, so I take an extra five minutes to draw a visual spell out and go through the steps I’d used in creating it, then another five for the added personality influencing and another five after that for the added schedule, homework, and friend reminding additives until Snape, looking both disturbed at how a version of me is almost snuggling into Lupin’s side (who looks equally weirded out by Tonks-me’s near-snuggling too), finally drags me out the door and accompanies me back to the basement Hufflepuff hallway in case I get waylaid again. But he also barely scowls when he mutters both a good night and an extra happy birthday before stalking off again.
I find another chocolate, elf-made statue (this one of me and a handful of my favorite elves sitting in a circle, gossiping over mugs of cocoa) that I spell impervious and leave on my bedside table.
I fall asleep smiling.
***
For me, reverse engineering a curse is kind of like creating a potion from scratch; you begin with a basic, desired outcome and skip backward step by step. In the case of curses, you keep skipping back until you find the pattern of set points (the recurring bits that are all but magically welded into place), note it's surrounding elements and half re-work each layer forward to see if they change. Standard curses don't change, which makes reversing even a large and elaborate curse a mere series of continual, patterned steps.
But it's me who's working it now and right here at Hogwarts where 'dull' is practically a crime and that's all that's needed to throw me a curveball so wicked that I'm scowling and snarling at the new magical 'codex' hovering between my hands only an hour after I've started.
“Ohhh no you don’t, little fucker,” I growl under my breath, glaring at the curse that's evolving as I watch. It's not the first evolving curse I've ever encountered, but--
“Language,” Snape chides teasingly from the lab doorway, looking a bit amused until he sees my upset and frowns. “What is it?”
“You’d swear too if you found an actively evolving curse,” I huff, shift-stretching in place where I’m again yoga-posed atop my laboratory desk.
“Evolving?” He repeats, surprised.
“Yup. Slippery little suckers,” I complain as one visual point wriggles free of my left-hand grasp, then I viciously clap my hands together to hopefully shock it into compliance, then re-spread my hands and smirk. “Gotcha,” I murmur, satisfied when it’s more active points are now subdued to more of a broken crawl rather than a hundred meter sprint.
“Is that normal?” He demands and I flick a look at him before returning it to my work and he looks genuinely concerned.
“No, but I’ve encountered it in other realities,” I sigh. “This one’s just… tricky.”
“How long have you been at it now?” He asks, like he knows he’s interrupting (because he clearly is) but too curious not to.
“Only an hour, but I’m still learning the basics of it, which are generally pretty standard. These… are not,” I sigh, then smirk. “One hell of a puzzle though.”
“Ah,” he murmurs, leaning against the desk to watch, then shifting a bit until he speaks again. “If this takes longer than your predicted week… should we worry about Remus on the full moon?”
I blink, eyebrows climbing. “No? Once full shift is attained, it’s usually pretty smooth sailing after that. Wouldn’t hurt to have someone there if he feels the need for a run to burn the extra energy off, though,” I suggest.
I pin five of the nine visual base points before I realize I’m alone, having lost myself in the puzzle and by the time I’ve tackled the ninth, I’ve got two empty glasses of my preferred 'green ick' (it looks a lot like polyjuice potion, only green and sweet) at my hip and a general sense of ‘night’ from the castle above.
It’s not the hardest curse I’ve worked before, but that I keep needing to stun it into compliance slows me down more than I’d like. It’s not until I’m finally finishing the third upper layer that I see a pattern that has my blood running cold and since it’s a convenient spot, I pause the work and gingerly slide off the desktop, all the aches and strain sweeping in at once and hitting me hard enough to squeeze out a whimper— and hear a whimper in response.
Lupin, who’s been wolf-snoozing in the doorway to my hall, shifts human and crosses to me in three seconds flat to help steady me on my feet.
“Uh… hi?” I say and half of his stress lines seem to melt away all at once.
“Five days now,” he rasps like an accusation, looking both put-out and freaked-out.
Oh.
Well, that explains the added aches, but that’s sort of secondary. “I need to chat with a painting,” I croak, peering back at my desk and almost immediately have a large cup of calorie-packed ick shoved at me to guzzle down, then another cup of just water. “Really, help me in there, will ya?” I ask and still sporting a Snape-worthy glower of worry, Lupin complies.
With Lupin and I only a step through the door, Wyn’s already abandoning his easel and hurrying forward, looking concerned.
“What’s going on? Sev said you’re doing trance-work?”
I blink, surprised, at the name 'Sev' because since when are they on a first name basis?
“Reverse engineering a curse,” I huff. “I'm assuming you two have met?" I query, head nodding to Lupin.
"Yes," Wyn confirms, eyebrows bunching together. "Now, what's wrong?" He demands.
"This curse. it’s— familiar,” I finally decide on, leaning into Lupin’s side. “As in, intimately familiar,” I stress.
Wyn frowns more, head ticking to the side while his eyes narrow. “A thousand years familiar?” He asks, tensing.
“Yes,” I agree. “Tell me it’s a terrible coincidence because there’s no way someone’s reworking former work that should’ve burned a thousand years ago? Please?” I add, my voice rough with exhaustion and a sick sort of guilt.
“Do you know where it was last seen?" He asks instead.
“I flew a kite once,” I manage, my words slurring a bit while the strain of five sleepless days begins catching up. And I had flown a kite once, specifically flown one with Wyn, on the same field I’d later died on. I’d had it with me that night.
Wyn curses colorfully and the child in me snickers in the background at his inventiveness while the adult beats back the need to scream frustration because there were terrible, horrible things in that book—
Fucking hellfire, no wonder this curse is so nasty. Of course it is; it's based off of the curses I created.
***
I sleep on Wyn’s bed, apparently, presumably because it’s where I passed out and therefore where I wake. Wyn’s face is smooshed adorably against the frame where he’d dozed off and despite knowing there’s horrors I need to be battling back, I stay curled right there to watch him and remind myself it’s been worth it. He had a life afterward. A good life with children and love and that alone makes it, and will always make it, worth it.
I give myself five minutes, then sneak out to let him rest more (not that he technically needs it) while I take a much-needed break in the bathroom, then spell myself clean and into clean clothes. Oddly, Wyn and Snape seem to be having a glaring contest of some kind (like eight year olds, seriously) and I give it a solid minute of their collective unblinking attention before I interrupt it.
“So… dunno what this is about, but I’m gonna call it a tie,” I decide. “Tell me everything.”
“You need to finish the counter-curse,” Wyn says and Snape nearly growls his protest. “Sounds like there’s definitely twitchy students upstairs.”
“You’ve only slept five—“ Snape starts to argue, but I cut him off.
“It might be my fault,” I interrupt him and that finally has his attention on me and not Wyn.
“Their fault,” Wyn argues furiously. “Not yours.”
Snape’s eyes are firmly on me and clearly unhappy, but there’s no accusation there yet, which is helpful, but there’s obviously worry I need to steamroll before he slows down the process.
“I do need to finish it,” I tell him quietly. “And it’ll go faster now because there’s a pattern to it I recognize.”
“And you clearly didn’t look in the mirror,” he argues back. "We can time tamper them--"
“How many?” I demand, lifting my chin and Snape drops his gaze, frustrated. “Please,” I rasp.
“Moody’s found seven students,” he admits. “And we’re pretty sure he is, too. But, we can time tamp—”
I’m sweeping past him before he’s even done speaking, my fingers brushing the wall and see Moody stalking from one class to the next, reading everyone while two students lay in the hospital wing looking fevered and ill, surrounded by worried parents and siblings.
An extra-large cup of my green calorie juice thrusts itself from the wall on my way past and I nab it up, then gulp it down as quick as I can, hop back onto my desk and begin working.
***
It does go faster this time, the undercurrent of knowing there may as well be a ticking time bomb upstairs fueling me. But the curse seems to realize (if it’s possible) that I’m damned serious and won’t be waylaid further and then it’s only another seventeen hours until I’m retesting and realigning and jogging exhaustedly for the steps, calling for a sled elevator and letting it zip me up to Snape’s office where he’s only half awake and looking about as well as I feel (which is pretty damn sickly). Still, he jerks to his feet and together, we stalk (Snape stalks and half-carries me) through the darkened, snoozing castle straight up to the hospital wing where I grab an exhausted-looking Pomfrey from her office and haul her to the first cot I find.
It’s a fourth year Gryffindor I think might be a Weasley based on the plump, red-haired woman sleeping in the chair at his equally red-headed side and I quietly demonstrate the counter-curse with emphasis on the pronunciation until a gentle spark of glowing blue sinks into the kid's chest and spreads, leaving him looking almost instantly better. Once done, I slowly follow after she and Snape while they do the work, one cot after another and it’s not until the end that I see Snape skip two cots ahead to work on Moody, relieved to see his entire body slump into true, relaxed slumber only a moment later.
I feel no guilt scanning them all, one at a time, just to be certain, but the mark that had been slowly drilling into their souls stills under the wash of the blue glow, seems to almost shrivel, then begin a slow fade. Moody was the obvious worst of them and I’d guess full recovery is a month or more, but without it actively attacking…
A gentle arm around my shoulders turns me, guides me to Pomfrey’s cot in her office and tips me onto it and once off my feet, Snape seems to have no reservations about not-so-gently shoving me horizontal with an added glare fierce enough to keep me there.
He settles into Pomfrey’s desk chair at my side and if I had to guess, glared me straight into sleep after a murmured ‘Rest now- it’s done’. But this time I sleep with the fading image of his soul in my head and fake-debate (because I never really would) whether or not to tease the hell out of him for secretly being a bit more Gryffindor than Slytherin.
(It doesn't surprise me at all.)
***
I slowly wake to a nearly-empty hospital wing with Dumbledore propped up on the cot next to mine, reading by the sunlight streaming in from the window behind him. His smile is warm when he sees me watching, then ticks his eyes up and back to the wall over my head and I wince when I stretch myself enough to see Wyn in his painting snoozing in the frame again, chin now pillowed on his crossed wrists and drooling a little.
Despite the slowly-fading soreness, I reach up to tickle Wyn's nose just to watch it scrunch up like it did when we were small. I do it twice more, grinning like a fiend until he pries an annoyed eye open, immediately spots me also awake and he visibly relaxes, relieved.
“No one should have to worry this much after they’ve passed on,” he gripes without lifting his head.
“You’re drooling,” I counter innocently and he jerks upright to wipe at his hands and chin while Dumbledore chuckles quietly.
“It’s good to see you awake, Miss Devons,” the man finally says, shutting his book and swinging his feet off the bed. “You’ve been asleep up here for more than three days now,” he offers. “I imagine you’ll have visitors again soon.”
“How are the kids? How is Moody?” I ask, stretching gingerly.
“All well, as best as Moody can report,” Dumbledore offers.
“Is he still here? I’d like to check him too, if he is,” I sigh, slowly sitting up and equally slowly pull my bare feet from the cot where I can stretch the worst of the kinks out. Dumbledore doesn’t even have time to answer before the hospital door is swinging open to admit Snape and Lupin who both pause with twin (hidden, in Snape’s case) looks of relief before they join Dumbledore and I. Snape stands at the foot of the bed, practically looming while he does his own visual inspection while Lupin just parks himself at my side and leans into me for a bit of pack reconnection and I tip my head to nuzzle into his arm until he practically sags with the sudden lack of stress.
“So… one minor crisis down,” I huff, still grumpy-guilty over how that curse had come into being.
“Minor?” Lupin repeats, side-eying me. “What is your definition for ‘major’ then?”
I pop my eyebrows up. “Loss of the New York City skyline. That was major.”
Dumbledore nods, understanding. “But this curse…” he muses inquisitively and gently.
“Familiar, in a way,” I admit. “Some curse makers use base formulas to begin the creation. It’s a bit like a signature, whether they realize it or not.”
“That’s how it was explained to me as well,” Dumbledore agrees, nodding once.
“If there’s more curses like this one, or by this maker, I’ve never seen them. But everything about the topmost four layers… those I recognized. Well, no. I recognized the pattern to them, which is worse,” I confess, my gaze boring into Dumbledore’s, ready for the possible verbal bitchslap.
His eyes darken a few shades, but there’s no accusation there. It automatically makes me wonder what he and Wyn may have chatted about while I recovered. But, priorities are priorities and so Dumbledore just nods.
“How bad could this get, then? Are the students safe here?” He demands, straightening further.
“They're as safe now as they were last month," I admit seriously, swallowing. “But until I scan the full student body and staff for additional hidden curses and tally up how many of those victims are still unaccounted for, there’s no telling if some students or staff are going home cursed. And if there are those unaccounted for…” I trail off because this can’t be all my decision. I’ve got an evil book to find, a basilisk to track down as well as find Wyn’s gallery, if there's time.
Snape huffs a sigh, arms crossing and frowning at me with an odd smidge of worry. “Now you want to scan them all? You’ve seemed pretty adamant about avoiding that so far. Very adamant, in fact.”
“Before we knew for sure this curse kills, yes,” I agree. “But we know now; I had to scan everyone in here the other night just to be sure that curse even stopped and they were recovering,” I shrug, slightly apologetic, then study the floor while I continue. “But if she taught herself that curse from studying others, and I’m pretty sure she did, anyone could be walking around with a countdown curse… or two, or three lurking in them, and potentially taking them home to their families.”
Dumbledore nods while both Lupin and Snape make unhappy sounds, Lupin’s a lot closer to a growl for a second or two.
“She needs to be found, sooner rather than later,” Dumbledore declares, then aims an expression at me that has Snape almost growling himself, but twin sharp looks from Dumbledore and I both quiets him, though his worried glower doesn’t lessen at all. Still, Dumbledore looks to me again. “If there’s a way we can help, now is the time to say so,” he says diplomatically.
I hear the sentiment under it and steel myself for the next part of this nightmare. “Scanning should come first, on the chance any of those possible countdown clocks are set to ‘soon’,” I advise, then tick my eyes up to Wyn. “Any chance you can help? Or is this—“ I wave a hand between us, “a proximity thing?”
“Proximity,” he sighs apologetically. “About forty feet in any direction, or I revert to being a shade.”
I nod while all the others raise eyebrows in surprise, but I huff at Dumbledore next. “Godric and Salazar... might help? One might read auras well enough and another might read souls,” I explain.
Dumbledore blinks his confusion for two full seconds, then his eyebrows bunch and lower. “Not merely shades, then?” He surmises with quiet fury.
Snape stares at Dumbledore like he’s amazed he even needs to ask, but Dumbledore misses it, too focused on Wyn shaking his shaggy mane with emphasis, then leans back into the frame, propped on his elbows, fingers threaded together under his chin while he speaks.
“Fun fact about some old fashioned secret-keeping spells? They only last for as long as the person, or… persons,” he emphasizes, “that created them still live. If a spell that, theoretically, was built and bound by, say, four people? The spell would weaken as each died off from old age. Unless, theoretically, they’d bound themselves to an object that’s nearly impossible to damage and too valuable to be either removed from it’s continued magical power source or scrapped somewhere and forgotten.”
Dumbledore looks a bit aghast. “The castle’s been sustaining them? While they’ve held the spell?”
Does one plus one equal two? “Yup," I murmur and now Dumbledore glowers at me, mouth already opening to likely demand why I hadn’t yet informed him, but Wyn’s low, lion-like growl underscores his next words.
“And the main subjects of a magically kept secret are most tightly bound to not speaking of those subjects.” Wyn declares, "and therefore not responsible for the resultant outcome."
It still takes a few seconds for the words to really sink in and Dumbledore finally looks appropriately chastised and apologetic.
“Loopholes like theoretical concepts only go so far,” I add. “But speaking of separate memories from separate realities that happen to parallel other memories…” I offer a small grin. “Tricky, but I’ve done what I could. And realistically, what chance was there when we first met that you’d believe me over them? Or believe my words about them?”
Dumbledore’s face relaxes a bit more in understanding.
“So, some might be enticed to help if only to keep the school open and continually magical enough to keep things as they’ve been,” I offer. "I can check the elves, because they’re quick and aren’t as subject to curses like we would be. Usually,” I add, shrugging, then purse my lips while I think.
“What about those spectacles you spelled while we investigated Penumbra?” Snape asks, visibly disappointed when I’m already shaking my head and likely Wyn too.
“This is a different portion of sight. It’s a level deeper and some specific genetics are needed to see and not permanently lose your mind thirty seconds later. I could spell them, but it would be like lobotomizing anyone who put them on,” I explain, slumping my own disappointment. “But it can be the quick, easy way. Make sure everyone’s at dinner, guests included and I’ll take an invisible stroll through the Hall.”
“And finish with a migraine,” Wyn mutters, but a headache is a small price to pay and I say as much. No one looks happy, but no one argues, either.
“And then we’ll move on to our basilisk problem,“ Dumbledore decides.
“Um, no?” Wyn pipes in again, frowning as we all frown up at him. Then he points to me while addressing Dumbledore again. “She,” he says clearly, “will deal with the basilisk, or at least deal with her long enough to blind her,” he adds, “and then everyone can deal with her while hopefully keeping their hearts beating.” He blinks down at me, his frown twisting a bit. “Do you have anything against blinding? Or is it just killing?”
“I'm only against blinding for stupid reasons,” I agree. “Saving lives is usually smart.”
Dumbledore looks almost put out, but also agrees, then a flick of his wand sends a shot of silver light out and away and he smiles benignly. “I believe Tonks would very much like to be herself again,” he adds. “And then, lunch.”
***
Tonks and Lupin keep fake-casual brushing fingers as they walk down the hall and it’s insanely sweet. It seems all they needed to figure each other out was for me to keep my nose out of it. Figures.
Moody, clean-ish bill of health and all, is walking ahead of them with Dumbledore in a murmured conversation and me subtly brushing against Snape’s arm as we bring up the rear of the train. I hadn’t picked up that he’s got thoughts building up until he finally speaks.
“So... you scanned the whole hospital wing?” He demands quietly (read: nervously) and wow, I probably should’ve seen this coming. It’s ridiculous how self-conscious he is, but also sweet in a weird way, so I derail what I'm sure could otherwise be an angsty, embarrassing conversation before it leaves the station.
“If you mean to ask me what sort of mischief Percy Weasley has miraculously waylaid his twin brothers from doing,” I huff, “you’ll have to ask him yourself. I’ll never tell. Mostly because I can't, since my back brain filed and locked it away before I could even note it."
He makes a humming, disbelieving noise that’s at least a little amused.
“I had to make sure everyone was curse-free,” I defend. “If I happened to subconsciously glean something personal, it got shoved into a box and locked in a mental vault before I could even register it, like I taught myself to do two hundred thousand years ago and see no reason to change it up now. And if anyone ever gleans something from me in that way, I’d hope they’d do the same,” I sigh. “And, you know, not jump straight to offering me everything they have just to get rid of me faster,” I add softly.
He says nothing more as the Great Hall comes into view, but he's definitely more relaxed now and brushes my arm with his in a way that’s stupidly reassuring before Tonks insists on eating with me at the Hufflepuff table and drags me off, muttering about how she might sincerely adopt Annie because she, like me, agrees that Annie’s all kinds of awesome.
Between Moody and I, we scan everyone (Moody gets the staff and Slytherin's table while I get the rest) and find three more students with the soul-munching curse as well as Professor Vector, which leaves three potentials unless those curses were misfires or practiced on something or someone non-humanoid, like birds or rabbits. I still worry, but not nearly as much as I had two hours ago. Then, as Wyn had predicted, I spent an hour in Snape’s darkened office cursing how bright everything feels, even with my eyes closed, but the worst of it passes quicker than I thought it would (with the added help of my magical aspirin), so I call it a win.