CHAPTER ONE

TRIGGER WARNING: death, slight gore

Magic is the one quality of the universe that defies all laws of existence.

Magic, unlike anything else of human essence, is a phenomenon that belongs to mystic beings, and has roamed Earth even before the creation of homo sapiens. It is the root of all products, and present in the amalgam of connections between every single reality. There are multiple types of sorcery, customarily divided by wizards into two main categories— dark and light.

That, however, much like any other adjective attributed, is subjective based on the person describing it. Dividing something into good and evil is a fallacy, for everything falls into one endless pit of grayness that mixes together to form a society. Magic is much like that, and to assume that the "heroes" use light, whereas the "villains" use dark, is only a misconception.

In some circumstances, those who see themselves as righteous are just as iniquitous as the antagonist, and to state that they should be idealistic and ethical is only an idea inforced by fairytales and fables. And, as we know, those are nothing but fiction, and do not represent the real tales of wars and crimes.

Sometimes, the hero gets to be a little twisted, a little macabre. Perhaps, they go insane, and if they enjoy killing, then— well, what is wrong with that? Their magic has dark origins, and even when they use it rightfully, it still wreaks havoc against the angelic, and dissipates light from the soul. They are not perfect; they are not a role model, nor have any redeeming attributes. No, they get to be the hero because they were selfish enough to understand that, at the end of the day, their survival depends on helping the "right" side.

***

July 1944, Godric's Hollow

"— as Grindelwald continues to gain momentum in Western Europe and the attacks on Hogwarts persist, the wizarding world can only hope that the Department of International Magical Cooperation will start their defensive strategy soon enough. With the Statute of Secrecy being threatened as such, the silence from officials has certainly been unsettling. Could this be the fall of magic as we have come to know it?"

The sound of bacon being deep-fried in an oily pan filled the lonesome restaurant that still stood open in Godric's Hollow, one of the few wizarding villages in the West Country of England. The owner, a robust man that smelled of acridness and one-too-many Butterbeers, hummed an idle tune as he swayed by the cooker, stirring the food with a wooden spatula that was cracked in the middle.

His eyes rushed to the corner of his small business, where one wizard was contemplating out of the window with unfocused eyes, yet his hands gripped the Daily Prophet with vigor, crumbling the pages in appeared irritation. The owner tried to glance at the title and scoffed sardonically as he observed the moving portrait of the Malfoy heir.

"ABRAXAS MALFOY SETTLES DOWN WITH MYSTERIOUS LADY?"

The door flung open, and in stepped a graceful witch, body cloaked by a red robe, and face hidden behind her hood, yet strands of auburn hair peeked through the material as she sashayed through the wooden tables, pushing the chairs to the sides with a simple flick of the wrist. She sat down at the same booth as the oddly infuriated boy, who only spared her a quick glance before pressing his lips.

Light flared in from the window and hit the woman's face with subtlety, exposing half of her face to the world, and her beauty illuminated from every trait as she glimpsed at him with intrusiveness.

"Well?" his voice rang through the room, and then he glanced at the owner before casting a silencing charm around their perimeter, ensuring that no ears peaked their way, "Did you find the address, Scarlet?"

The witch, Scarlet Norberg, crooked her head with quizzical eyes, noticing the tautness in the boy's body, then sighed profoundly as she pulled the newspaper from his grasp. Her frail hands flipped the pages with a tiresome stare before her fingers finally settled on one page, lips pulling in a faint smile.

"This your girl?" she inquired, yet the wizard was having none of it, and furiously pulled the piece of news away, "She is a pretty one."

"Did you find the address?" he muttered again, yet even in such moments, he was the personification of calmness. Regardless of the circumstances they had faced in the past year, Felixius Parkin was as gentle as the breeze of the solstice, and with kind eyes, he regarded her as she pulled out a small note from her rouge robe and handed it to him.

The Blood Witch turned her head to the window as he quickly jotted the street name and number she had obtained in his notebook. The month of July had just settled over the English fields, bringing humidity to rule over the tiny village. Mothers dragged their children down the streets in a hurry, trying to avoid the unbearable hotness of the Sun as much as they could, and some ladies carried around dainty umbrellas, lacey and white as their skin.

Scarlet took a napkin from the table, then wiped the trails of transudation that had formed on her temples and down her jaw, grimacing at the unsettling sensation of warmth. A nordic woman of origin, summers in Sweeden had never felt so suffocating, and none of her clothes were fitted for such temperatures.

She glanced at the front page of the newspaper again, "I remember her visiting— Della, was it not?" her voice carried out like a screech on the boy's ears, who had just stuffed the small notebook back in his pockets, "I thought she was muggle-born."

Felix sighed, then bit down on his lip to prevent himself from showing his annoyance with the witch, "She is," he remarked, then his eyes flew to the picture.

"So," continued Scarlet, curious as always, "What is she doing with the Malfoy heir? I thought he was overly prejudiced, at least that is what Varya says."

The wizard stayed quiet as the owner brought out a plate of bacon and eggs, the lower part of the meat burned too crisp, and the smell was intoxicating as it traveled to his nostrils. Even so, he immediately stuffed a full-fork in his mouth, some part of it to avoid conversation, some part because he had not had anything to eat since yesterday.

For the past few months, they had been tracking down the Cloak of Invisibility from their secluded location in the Alps, and the moment they had gotten a sniff of a track to follow, Felix and Scarlet had decided to run ahead of the rest of the group and see if there was any truth to it.

They never traveled in significant numbers— it had become too dangerous with Grindelwald's rise, and his acolytes had been searching for Varya everywhere. Even so, they had all traveled to Godric's Hollow. It seemed too good to be true, their first proper lead in months, and they knew that if they had found out, then so had the Dark Wizard.

"Will you stop pestering me?" Felix complained, then set his utensils down to grab his glass of water and gulp down the food that had stuck in his throat. He found it harder to breathe as he watched Scarlet pick up the newspaper and unfold it, eyes drawn in suspicion.

Her nose scrunched in distaste before calm eyes settled on him, "I am naturally curious," she admitted, her honesty as edged as always, "And it does beg the question, do you not think so? She has been answering our letters less and less, and now this? Something is not right."

"Della has been pinning after him for years, you bloody siren," he derided, then took in her autumn hair, grimacing at the way she reminded him of a wicked little fox that had paraded herself around Hogwarts' hallways for years, hair pressed in tight, bouncy curls, shoes polished with Italian wax, and skirt hiked up enough to tease yet not fluster.

Of course, Norberg was nothing akin to Elladora Selwyn, their resemblance ending with their favoring of the color red, and where Selwyn wore the Devil's cardinal, Scarlet's came from another origin entirely— her peculiar powers, which to this day made Felix shiver with uneasiness.

"Fair," the girl compromised, "But Malfoy would never allow himself to be photographed with a muggle-born. Admittedly, her face is not visible, but still— something is off. I know it. You know it. Even Varya knows it, she said—"

The boy raised a hand to quell her, his eyes suddenly turning more dismal, "Varya is not in her right mind, and you know that. She needs rest."

Scarlet ceased her talking at that, leaning back into the old booth as her back pressed the leathery material. She pursed her chapped lips, unwilling to admit that the wizard was right. Indeed, Varya was not in the best state, yet her thoughts were still clear regardless of her other problems.

But such discussions had been forbidden a long time ago, especially around Felix, who continued to blame himself for what had happened even when all of them had explained that he was the last person who should feel culpability. The witch yearned that things had not become so strained, yet after almost fourteen months on the run, all of them had lost a bit of sanity—some more than others.

Ananke had tried to use her powers to grasp Varya's emotions, to find the deep roots of her troubles, yet the search came empty, and that had been stressful in itself. There was no feeling the empath could not decipher, yet the unusual agony that had taken over the Obscurial seemed to have no beginning nor end.

They felt helpless watching their leader crumble to insanity with each passing day, and had tried their best to keep her under control by covering her missions. It was for that reason that Scarlet had joined Felix today, yet she knew that hiding Varya from the world would not work endlessly.

"We have to head back," blurted Felix, obviously bothered by the conversation. He should have gotten used to Norberg's frankness by now— there was nothing the girl would be too shy to ask— yet it never ceased to rattle him, "It is getting late, and we have to run this by the rest."

The witch nodded, and with a snap of her fingers, the plates zoomed past their heads and right into the kitchen, earning a surprised yelp from the owner. She placed a few Knuts on the table, then tied her pouch by her utility belt where she carried all necessities and dragged her hood right back up.

It mattered not that the warmth of July would boil her to bits; the girl still felt much safer when covered by her robe, walking around the market much like a ghost, her attire's magic making her untraceable to the human eye. Only Felix managed to keep up with her, as he had gotten used to her unusual evasiveness, having trained his mind to perceive her figure as it sauntered between the old plaza.

Godric's Hollow was a quaint village, with few townsfolk parading the streets during such hours of the day, especially during the Global Wizarding War, when Grindelwald's men often visited such locations to gather supporters. It was a clash of two absolute oppositions, and the good and the bad mixed into the pot with a little too much baking soda, which resulted in volcanic relishes. One could only wonder what would happen when all would implode.

The promenade down Church Lane had always been the highlight of Felix's journey, and after being in the same location for the past few days, he had memorized every corner and every turn— some houses had a rustic appeal, with small framed windows and bands of wood that ran up and down the walls, eventually leading to the oddly shaped roof that was made out beams of oak. The summer season had brought in a diverse variety of flowers and fruits, and he found himself grabbing a few berries from a nearby bush and throwing them on his tongue, sighing pleasantly at the bittersweet taste.

Then, right at the end, there was one small cottage that had become a piece of history itself— the estate of the Dumbledore family. Or what had been left of it when they had relocated, anyway. There was not much to it, as the bloodline had moved in a hurry after Albus' father had been imprisoned, yet it still held enough reputation to attract a few wanderers here and there.

When Felix had reached out to his old Transfiguration Professor about residing in the house, he had been more than a little reluctant, although an explanation had not been provided. Varya had argued that Grindelwald might know of the location, but Parkin insisted that there was nothing a few protection spells could not fix. Besides, it would have been better than a group of six young adults marching into the single pub in the village and renting half of it.

Scarlet waited for him in front of the door, always a fast-walker, and the boy glanced at the way she stood there, pausing for him. Even by her body language, it was painfully apparent that she was a probing and erudite person, with her hands clasped in front of her and her pointy nose sticking towards the stars, eyes dashing from side to side to analyze the sky she had been fascinated with ever since her arrival.

The North had more stars, she would argue with them, yet they were much the same, and gazing at them would remind her of home. Her parents, leaders of the Blood Covent in the Scandinavian peninsula, had agreed to send her to join Varya's team as a favor to Newton Scamander, who had saved their territory from an enraged Sweedish Short-Snout dragon a few years back.

"Well, go in, then," muttered Felix, irritated by the way she stood blocking the door, and just as he was about to open it and step inside, the witch grabbed his sweater sleeve and dragged him a few steps to the right— the throwing knife barely missed his head.

"Oh, I am so terribly sorry," came a luminous voice from inside, and then Indra Myung's upper body fell forward as she hung from one of the ceiling beams, snow-white hair dusting the floor as she swayed back and forth with docile eyes, "I only meant to kill this pestering fly that was buzzing around, and failed to realize that there were people outside."

Then, with a simple kick of one foot, she did a salto off of the supporting beam and landed gracefully on her bare soles, locks of white spiraling in the air before cascading down her back softly. Her loose pants clung to her hips and ruffled as she moved across the floor, and Felix still found it odd how she always wore such attires around them. It was almost as if the energetic girl was always ready to hike mountains and battle demons.

Scarlet scoffed, "Ananke would have your head for using your knife set inside."

Indra smiled nonchalantly, then advanced to them and seized their arms, dragging both sorcerers into the small kitchen they had been sharing, "Better not tell her then; I have had enough of her nagging as of now. If I wanted to be scolded for dirting the lobby, I would have sent an owl to my mother."

The witch smiled at her own jest before hopping on one of the counters and taking out a few of her knives. She started sharpening them eagerly, the unpleasant sound of metal against metal clattering in the room and making Felix wince. He grabbed the set from her hand regardless of her displeased whimper, then put it in one corner and turned to the two witches.

"Where is everyone else?"

Scarlet shrugged before heading straight to the cupboards and pulling out some cherries, while Indra glanced around the room in confusion, almost as if she had not been aware that people were missing.

"Varya is up in the study again, writing an endless amount of letters that she will never send," she shrugged, then joined the Blood Witch in tasting the sweetness of the cherries.

Felix frowned, then nodded reluctantly and wondered if he should go and face his closest friend. They had barely spoken in the past few months as the girl had continued to get drearier with each day, and her refusal to interact with anyone had put some distance between the pair. Even so, the boy cared for her deeply, and he could not help but wonder what the cause of it all was.

Sure, it had been stressful to chase the Deathly Hallows. They were running against time itself, and around every corner, there had been acolytes of the Alliance to jumble their plans and put them under pressure. But Varya was the strongest physically and mentally, and none of them had fallen quite as she had.

"Perhaps, we should deal with this on our own," he began, yet immediately snapped shut when the two witches gave him a shared glare.

"Unreasonable," spoke Indra, her melodious voice as symphonic as the first cries of nature in the morning, when the sun barely peeked over the horizon, "If this is truly the location of the Invisibility Cloak, then we must go there with full force. God knows what will happen if we reencounter those Austrian folks."

Norberg nodded from the side, her hood finally falling off of her head, and her face stood beautifully against the dimly lit room. Her eyes were round and protruding, the cerulean sky reflecting in her melanin lacking irises, and their spectrum of colors wavered with the light that seemed to radiate off of Indra. Scarlet's hair was a deep woody color, a mixture of earthly tones and reddish nuances, and it fell right until her collarbones in fine locks, straight and silky. She was the tallest girl in the group, and her unmissed robe made her seem a phantom in the night as she paraded around the house with awareness.

Regardless of the day, she seemed to always wear at least one red article in her attire, whether it be her knee-length skirts or her flowy blouses, and everyone knew that it was the mark of her coven— the Blood Sanctuary in the Scandinavian mountains. Sweedish of origins, the girl had grown up in the deep woods ever since she had blessed the fauna with her existence, and that made her an extremely observant and grounded being— amongst the beasts of the forests, one always had to be cautious.

Her magic was unusual for most modern sorcerers, and although spells still required blood or sacrifice sometimes, specifically dark magic, her grimoires carried charms unlike anything else. From blood-bending to powerful curses, there was nothing she could not use. Felix had always been disturbed by the idea, and had watched her boil enemies alive from the inside out in moments of high intensity.

"It could be dangerous to bring her with us," the boy tried to reason, yet the girls were having none of it.

"We know you are trying to protect her," argued Scarlet, "But locking her inside her room will do her no good."

"So you want a repetition of last time?" Felix questioned, and for a witch skilled with sanguine magic, she sure knew how to raise his blood level without any charm, "How many more should die when she has an outburst?"

"If they happen to be the enemy, then I cannot bring myself to care," her tone was final, and with that, she grabbed the bowl of fruit and stepped back into the common area.

Their conversations always seemed to end with one of them storming off, as both thought they knew what was better for the Obscurial. Even if Felix had known her for longer, there was no denying that Varya and Scarlet had grown incredibly close over the past months.

He glanced at Indra for support, but the petite girl only ignored his stare as she pretended to be far more interested in a cherry peduncle she had found on the table. Her cheeks had flushed rosy from his gaze, and Felix sighed deeply before nodding to himself. Fine, he would talk to Varya.

Running a hand through his soft hair, the boy grabbed the railing of the stairs and dragged himself up each step, trying to motivate his brain to come up with coherent words to tell his friend. Even so, when he stood in front of the study door, hand raised to knock on the wooden frame, Felix found that he had forgotten how to talk to her.

"She wants to be left alone," sounded an eery voice through the corridor, and Felix flinched despite himself. He should have gotten used to it by now, yet the coldness of the shadows that flickered in Lev Myung's presence still surprised him in such moments.

The Hogwarts graduate darted his eyes around the perimeter, trying to spot Indra's brother, yet puffed in exasperation when he saw nothing. Then, he glanced towards the end of the hallways, where light seemed to diverge almost as if something had chased away anything of angelic ubiquity, and darkness collected in on itself with precipitate, umbrae swirling unnaturally.

Then, the molded body of a boy materialized itself out of nothingness, and on his cold, pale skin pulsated dark veins as he crafted himself from shadows, their tones coloring his blood as if he had been birthed out of void. With each step, the blackness retracted, and his eyes flickered from Tasmanian to their usual muddy color— dull and hostile. Lev walked much like any other soldier that had been discharged from the war would, hands swinging by his sides before he halted right in front of Felix.

He was clad in all black, and the former Ravenclaw discerned that he had never seen the shadowmancer wear anything except obscure colors, almost as if he purposely tried to be a dramatized metaphor of voidness. His stygian hair fell around his head, and it had grown to his ears in their months of knowing each other. Lev's eyes were similar to his sister in color, but if hers were to be described as feline and flirty, his were more venomous, and always held some nerve in them. His features were chiseled and refined, and he was beyond doubt attractive.

Parkin had always thought himself to be tall, standing well above most boys his age, yet Lev still towered over him with almost half a whole forehead. He blinked monotonously as he glanced down at the former Ravenclaw, and then frowned at his recalcitrant stare.

"And how would you know that?" inquired Felix, disliking the way Lev always seemed to know everything about Varya. Their similar powers and brooding had created some unspoken camaraderie between the two, and if truth were to be told, Parkin had grown quite envious of their peculiar friendship. He had always been the girl's closest male friend, yet with the weird tension that had settled between them, there was no telling where he placed in the ranking now.

"Her shadows," Lev answered shortly, then his eyes darted to something behind Felix. The boy turned to catch a glimpse of what the other wizard was observing, yet saw nothing. When he glanced back at the Korean boy, he was staring at him lethargically yet again.

"Of course," Felix puffed, "Her shadows."

He had not meant to come off so bitter, yet he saw that his reaction had not gone unnoticed from Lev's slight smirk. There was something that had always bugged him about the shadowmancer, almost as if he was on the wrong side of things, and much more belonged to the elitist group Felix had faced most of his years at Hogwarts. He was not one for stereotypes, nor empty judgment, yet it was so infuriating to be in Lev's belligerent presence, especially when compared to his sister's briskness.

"Lev, come see this right now! Scarlet is using blood-bending to control my knife throwing— Oh! Oh, no! I broke the vase!" Indra's voice rang through, and her brother immediately turned his head to the source, eyebrows knitting together in concern before he stepped back into the shadows and vanished utterly.

The former Ravenclaw stood alone in the abandoned hallways, one hand still placed on the door as he debated entering, yet something told him to listen to Lev. Varya was unwell, and bringing her into this would only cause her to break down yet again. He could not have that.

So, he turned around and walked right down the staircase, and then into the common area, where Norberg was using her magic to mend the vase back to its original shape, guilty looked stretched on her porcelain features. She had taken her red robe off for once, which allowed her humble clothes to stand out even more. Her hair was now pulled in a braid that fell down her shoulder blades, and she bit her lip in worry before placing the artifact back where they had found it.

At Felix's entrance, Indra's pupils snapped to his, and she yelped before dashing behind her brother, who rolled his eyes at her behavior. Parkin sighed sincerely, then pulled out the piece of paper he had written the address down on, and waved it in front of them.

"We have to investigate this," he announced, then his eyes darted to the staircase to check for any movement, "We need to go now, while it is still dark and nobody can see us."

"What about Varya and Ananke?" questioned Indra, yet she moved across the room to grab her set of knives and place them in her belt and shoes. Her hands immediately went to her snow hair, tying it up quickly, and her boots clanked against the wooden floor as she hurried into action.

"Varya is not coming," decided Lev, and Felix shot him a grateful look, "And Ananke is out; if we wait for her, we might lose our chance to grab the Cloak. We do not have time for such things. We are always—"

"—running against time," completed his sister, much as she always did. Although they had been born only one year apart, their sibling connection was unlike anything Felix had ever seen, and they fought as a unit rather than two separate wizards.

Scarlet seemed reluctant, but after glancing upstairs and seeing the locked door to the study, she knew there was no time to wait. So she grabbed her cape and clasped it around her neck, then pulled the bow from the hanger on one of the walls. The girl needed no arrows, for she conjured them with each shot, and they were made not of steel, but of powerful blood magic that would immediately clot the victim's system.

Lev transferred across the room like an apparition, almost as if he glided on the floor instead of walking, and then every shadow in the salon moved with him before he vanished into thin air. He was not gone, they all still felt his presence, yet he was hidden beyond darkness, and with the night sky setting in, his powers only grew stronger.

Perhaps the most mundane of the group would have been Felix, yet despite his lack of peculiar sorcery, he was unmatched at Western magic, and in a group of outcasts such as them, it became its own strength. So he made no move to grab a weapon, nor did he fade into the obscurations— he only ever needed his wand, and sometimes power did not require flashiness.

They strode into the night gallantly, Lev trailing through the blackness of the night, Scarlet disappearing behind her illusion, and Indra and Felix sauntering forward assuredly, eyes flinging around to spot any sort of movement that would indicate an intruder. The boy glanced at the only visible companion he had, and thanked her for not disappearing as well, because he knew that Indra was just as skilled as the rest.

As a lumomancer, she could have ridden the waves of moonlight, or the flicker of the lamp posts as they sparkled like stars scattered amongst the street, impaled on bars of metal that rose to the sky, and yet the pixie girl continued to walk along with confidence, knowing that the slightest shift in light would alert her of enemies, and their throats would be slit before they could ever mutter a spell.

When they had first met, Felix had not thought much of her— she was frail, smaller than the other three women on the newly formed team, and with the zephyr of summer in her luminescent eyes, she seemed to be a broken piece of Heaven itself. Angelic in appearance and as luminous as an apollo, Indra had been the spark of mysticism that had motivated the group in their pursuits.

Regardless of her outrageous positivity, the girl's battle cry had been one that rivaled Sparta. She was agile, perhaps the quickest on her feet, and her knives would have been enough to have giants fall before her. Yet, there was more to the witch— her light-bending had had her melt people's eyes on several occasions, and she created illusions on their retinas as if it was the merest magic trick in her book.

"What was the name of the guy again?" she questioned suddenly as they turned past the Church and walked towards the town center, where only drunken men stumbled on the pavement as the bartender kicked them out of the pub.

"Fleamont Potter," answered Felix, his Scottish accent twisting the words. Yet, it all sounded fascinating to the foreign girl, who grew red at the way his hair fell over his forehead as he glanced ahead with determination.

The Potter home was a beautiful house that radiated of allure, with a garden that reached the wooden entrance and led to the pavilion, where a sign stood to readily welcome visitors inside. The cottage was lit in the windows, and Felix glanced at Indra with spectacle, unsure of how to approach the situation.

Scarlet appeared from their left, striking red against the blackness of the scenery, and her pouty lips fell as she took in the family home. She was not sure what she had expected, but it had not been this.

"What are the chances of him just giving it to us?" asked Indra, hopefulness dripping from her low voice, and her two companions shot her a perturbed look, "Slim, then."

Felix opened the gate, and it creaked with rust as they stepped on the stone path that trailed to the entrance. He sought to gaze around for any sign of Lev, yet sighed with impediment when the boy refused to appear to the wandering eye. Even so, the trio continued to walk to the door, and they stopped in front of it with apprehension.

"Hide your weapons, lest they think you are here to rob them."

They all flinched at the shadowmancer's voice as he stepped from behind one of the tall trees in the garden, walking between the bushes with his hands behind his back. Even then, his steps fell harsher than those of ordinary civilians, and he stopped to regard the house with intrusiveness. Lev's figure, dressed in black attire completely, blended in with the midnight horizon, and only apricot lips and soft skin glistened in the moonlight.

Felix nodded reluctantly, and Scarlet and Indra mumbled insensibly before stuffing their weapons behind their robes. Then, the oldest boy raised his hand and knocked on the door, a slight tremor in his fingers. It felt wrong— it all felt wrong without Varya to instruct them.

The entrance swung open, and a middle-aged man with ruffled dark hair and rounded glasses stood in the frame, his colorful sweater scratching against his red neck as he gazed at them with bewilderment, "May I help you?"

It was Indra that took a step forward, their designated people person, and all it took was an eye-smile to shake away the man's reluctance, "Sir, we are here on important business, and we were wondering if you had a minute to chat?".

Then, a woman came from behind him, and with her the smell of cherry pastries that made Felix's mind spin with homesickness, "Who is at the door, Fleamont?"

Fleamont turned to glance at her with a love-struck smile, "Do not fret, Euphemia. Just a few kids that seem to want to discuss something. I shall handle this."

She nodded reluctantly before heading back to where her pastries were cooking, yet Felix could see her over the man's shoulder, glancing at them with mistrust. It was only fair— after all, a couple of teenagers had shown up on their door-step at midnight. Fleamont moved to the side and welcomed them inside, and yet only the two girls and Felix stepped in.

The boy glanced around for Lev, but when Indra placed a hand on his forearm to stop him, he knew that the boy had become one with the night, and was now probably slipping through every dark corner to look for the Cloak.

Fleamont moved the stack of books from the couch, then dusted off the cover before signaling for the three to sit down. They did just that, and the boy could not help but let his eyes wander around the living room.

There was a fireplace by the window, right in the corner of the room, and around it were shelves of endless books and family photographs, some that seemed recent, some that seemed old. One thing that was odd was the lack of children in them, and the boy could only assume that the couple had not given birth to their off-springs yet. The room was cozy, and the faintest fragrance of sweetness transversed from the kitchen around the perimeter, encompassing the teenagers and settling their beating hearts.

"Did Dumbledore send you?" asked the man eventually as he sat down on the chair beside the fire, staring at them from across the small room, and one leg fell over another as he leaned back comfortably.

The three exchanged a brief glance, and then Felix nodded reluctantly, "So, then you are aware what we came for," his voice carried out, and he saw the displeasure strike the man's face as he puffed in irritation.

"Very much so," he stated, and then, with a flick of his wrist, he brought forward a box from the corner, and it opened before the three, revealing something that made their heart susurrate with greed— the Cloak of Invisibility.

It was a colossal moment, and their bodies were hit with a mixture of delight and fatigue. Fatigue because, after months of researching, they had finally come across one of the Deathly Hallows, and as they stared at it, they felt the weight of all of their training and hiding crash against their young shoulders. It seemed surreal, almost as if it was a mere illusion, a trick of the mind, and a game of their needing soul to finally tie one loose end. Delight because they had located the Cloak, and regardless of how they would obtain it, they knew half of their fight was over.

Scarlet's lacquered eyes traveled to the man, "We only want to safeguard it," she stated sincerely, "Grindelwald will definitely come for it; we suspect he is already on his way, and it will be much more valuable in our hands than in his."

Fleamont glanced between the three of them, and the turmoil stood like oil against water— painstakingly clear on the surface, "And how do I know you will not destroy or damage it? This is a family heirloom, and therefore it holds great measure in our history and pride. My father had it, and his father before had it as well. It has been passed through generations from Ignotus Peverell himself."

"We are here under Albus Dumbledore's orders," spoke Felix with clarity, and his eyes almost begged the man to end a little of their suffering, to let them regain some form of sanity, "And we can assure that it will go directly to him."

The man leaned in on his knees, and from the way he gazed at them, Felix could tell he was not a faulty person. He wanted to trust them, he truly did, yet such things did not come easy in times like this, when the world seemed to only breed schemers and manipulators.

"Very well," he replied eventually, and the three had to restrain themselves from crying from exhalation, yet Scarlet still gripped Indra's arm with euphoria, "But under one condition."

"Anything," breathed Indra, her eyes hopeful.

"As soon as Grindelwald is defeated, you will return this to me."

"Done," stated Felix, and when the man handed him the box, he almost hugged him. He cradled the package to his chest, and Fleamont nodded in approval before he gestured them to the door.

Just as the group was about to move, Lev materialized in one of the corners, scaring everyone as he moved across the floor with panic in his eyes, "They are here," he said rapidly, then with a flick of his hands, he shut the blinds on every window.

Right on cue, a knock sounded on the door, and everyone in the room froze. Euphemia wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron, then made to move to open the door, but Fleamont immediately stopped her with a hand signal. Then, he gestured to the back door that led to the forest-covered grounds, "Go. Now!"

"But—" Indra tried to protest, concerned for the safety of the family, yet she had no time to do anything as Lev grabbed her hand and pulled her away from any possible danger, leading the group to the tree-lined horizon.

The crickets sang a tune of obscurity, and moon rays faded through thick branches as they pushed and scrambled through heavily dense woods, trying to put distance between themselves and Grindelwald's men. Scarlet moved the fauna from their path, clearing the way, although they had little knowledge of where they were going.

The night twisted in on itself, and with every step into the forest, light seemed to fade from their grasp, making Indra drain in front of their eyes. The stagnant air chimed with anticipation, and their shoes cracked against the branches across the floor as black robes fluttered in the summer wind.

Then, the Myung siblings stopped in their tracks and exchanged a knowledgeful look, something between alertness and control. Both of their heads snapped in a singular direction— behind them, and right as they were about to open their mouths, a flash of green dashed through the woods, sending all of them to the ground in a frenzy.

Scarlet was the first one to recuperate, and her enlarged eyes glanced at Felix with panic, "Hold the box!" her scream resonated through the clearing, and then she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to his feet, darting through the trees as the acolytes chased them from behind.

Curses and hexes flew around the surroundings, and shouts of insults rang from behind as the four marched fastly away from danger, Felix clinging to the box that contained the Hallow as if life itself depended on it— it did. His head turned briefly, and he counted at least eight men that were running after them. He drew his wand out, then twisted on his feet before sending a tornado of black fire through the clearing. It was a spell that Varya had taught him early in their mission, saying that the efficiency of it was surreal.

It hit one of them in the chest, and screams of terror sounded as the fire engulfed the man's body, burning away at the epidermis rapidly as maggots conjured from the flames, eating the dead flesh left behind at a fast rate. The smell of charred tissue was intoxicating, and to this day, Felix still struggled with the way it seemed to poison his being— it was that which reminded him of how many his hand had been forced to murder, and he still grappled with the way pieces of his mind seemed to fall off with each curse.

But that was the truth behind it— they were at war, and while he had never intended his life to become as such, fate had played its tricks on the young man. He tried to dehumanize his opponents, to not think about the families he was ripping fathers and brothers and sisters and mothers away from, yet it never quite seemed to work. So he made stories for them; he gave each person he had killed a name and a background, almost as a form of punishment on his corrupted soul.

That was the admittance of the world, the authentic proof that there was no good or evil, only various degrees of wicked, and he seemed to fall on a lower scale than the wizards that were chasing him, which made him appear righteous. Truthfully, at the end of it all, the winning side always decided who had been a hero and who had been a villain.

"Watch out!" was all Scarlet spoke before she pushed him to the side to avoid an Unforgivable Curse, and Felix's body slammed against a tree trunk as he let out a grunt. The witch pivoted on her feet, red robe slashing through the air like a sword, and her hand directed right at the person that had just attempted to kill them.

Her hands flashed of red fury, and with one twist, she brought out her bow, conjuring an arrow of insanity from her own, then plucked the string rapidly. The pointed end hit the man right in the chest, and he wailed and grunted as ripples of sanguine drenched his white shirt. Scarlet smiled bitterly, and that was her opening— to use her blood magic on someone, she had to have their liquid spill to the ground first.

Concentrated on her target, her lips barely muttered the curse before she watched his face redden as every drop of hematic slipped from his veins and into his skull, unbalancing the internal pressure until every vessel, every artery, every vein in his upper half imploded in on itself. His eyes spluttered on the insides of his cranium with a sickening sound. His body, half-white, half-red, fell to the ground and into the muddy grass as rouge continued to spill from every possible opening on his head.

There was no time for celebration, for another two wizards dashed to them, and Norberg only grunted an order at Felix to run— he had to protect the Cloak, not fight. So the boy got up to his feet and dashed through the trees yet again, passing Indra and Lev as they handled the Alliance with their own powers.

His legs were heavy underneath him as he struggled to continue, breath coming in heaps from his mouth as his fingers clenched around the box with neediness. Felix knew he had to make it, he had to bring it back to the Dumbledore house, and then they could travel back to the Alps and contact Albus.

A hand grabbed at his robe, and Parkin fell backward into the grass with a scream as he felt someone kick at his body. He rolled on the fauna before coming to a stop, and with a groan, he felt the way his side throbbed where he had been kicked. Eyes open, he glanced at the wizard that now stood above him, wand drawn to his face, and he could tell from the way the man's face twisted with delight at his pain that he could take his time in torturing the younger boy.

"Well," he began, his voice adenoidal as the wind intensified and ruffled his cloak in the night time, "What do we have here?".

He made to reach for the box, but Felix kicked away his body with a leg into his abdomen. The acolyte puffed as he held onto his stomach, then fury glossed his face as he watched the former Ravenclaw scramble to grab his wand from the ground. He booted it away, then slashed his own through the air.

"You little shit," he growled effervescently, then brought his wand down, "Avada—"

Then, he spattered on his own words, and Felix's heart drummed erratically as he watched the wizard choke on something he could not quite see. The man glanced down at his chest in confusion, and the blood spluttered from his lips as panicked eyes cruised the boy in front of him. It trailed down his chin and dropped to the grass rhythmically.

His chest began to move in weird patterns, almost as if his heart had come unhinged and was rapping against the cavity. Then, skin cracked open, and a hand pushed itself through the wizard's body completely, perforating organs and bones alike. Delicate, bloodied fingers clutched the man's heart for the world to see, digging nails into flesh with a sickening sound, and Felix watched the vitality drain from the man's face before the hand retracted itself through the figure.

The acolyte's body plummeted to the ground like a marionette that had had its strings cut off, and revealed one zealous frame that stood against the nighttime with blood covering her white nightgown. Raven locks fluttered through the breeze as shadows danced through the faintest moonlight, and feathery eyelashes flickered away the whiteness of irises that extended to insanity and beyond. Her apricot lips parted in a maddened smirk that spoke of instability, yet amongst all was the familiarity of a troubled girl that had conquered a parasite unlike any other. The demigod of timelessness, the one that had secured shadows in a tight leash and now controlled them to her unscrupulous desire— an Obscurial that had broken every law of the universe.

Varya Petrov dug her fingers through the organ in her hand, squishing it until it became nothing but a buddle of tissue and sanguine, and the sponginess of the myocardium seemed to melt to her power before she flicked it at the body. Her onyx eyes, infused with the slightest nuance of sand, flickered to her dearest friend, and she tilted her head at Felix's figure.

"Do you not love it when a ruthless woman breaks a man's heart?"

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Hi! Welcome back! I hope you have had a great week and will continue to do so. I am excited for this plot and I hope you are as well.