CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE DWARF WITCH PURSED her thin lips, her sullen cheeks shifting slightly as she pondered on an adequate response to present to me. Anger pulsated in my veins. I despised being held at bay. If I found her answers lacking, I would carve them out of her like a pumpkin on all hallows eve, leaving her empty and truly shallow—a hollow hull of a body.

"The old man knows where The Elder Wand is—or at least, he used to until someone—," The woman started and halted, realization flooding inside her. She knew now that that someone had been me. I wondered how long she had spent thinking over who had erased Gregorovitch's mind clean. 

"Who was it that found the wandmaker?" I pressed, my glare on her intent, "Tried to search his memories and blew his house up?" 

"N-no," The witch shook her head. "Albert found the old man in the wreckage of his house. We didn't blow his house up. Word had spread amongst the acolytes that The Elder Wand's presence was known to Gregorovitch, it reached us so I had Albert get him. By the time Albert got to him, his house was already smithereens and his mind was blank. Nobody else here knows about Gregorovitch or the existence of the wand. Only a handful of acolytes and us." 

"And you intend to do what with The Elder Wand?" I hissed switching to German and translocating myself. In a second, I was right next to her. And she felt it. I saw her stiffen as a gush of wind moved a piece of her thin dark hair. "Willst du es erwerben? Willst du es benutzen?" 

"W-we thought," She began to answer in German, voice slightly shaking. In her native tongue, I could sense her better. Any lie she would tell won't go by unnoticed. "If you didn't come to claim your leadership, we could—" 

"I claim my leadership," I broke through, cutting her short. The admittance shot a wave of thrill down my body, along with a simultaneous dread, and I couldn't tell which feeling was stronger. What was I doing? What had I done?

"If any of you even think like that again, you will pay." 

The witch swallowed, nodding once as resolution masked her features. "That is great, then. There will be no fight over The Elder Wand among the acolytes, now that we know it belongs to our leader. You." 

I turned my glare away from her, my eyes unfocusing on a wallpapered wall in the distance. The Elder Wand belongs to me. The statement didn't sit right. The part of the deathly hallows didn't belong to me, but I needed it. Need isn't the same as having something belong to you. Once I had used the wand to my fill, I will not keep it. I will have no need of it after that. 

But who was it then who had approached Gregorovitch the night I was first at his house? If the acolytes had gotten to him after I had wiped his memory, then who was that wizard who had almost gotten the answers that night? Somebody else knew about The Elder Wand and Gregorovitch, and it could be anyone. 

"Show yourself to me, Dominique Marie Grindelwald," The dwarf witch let out, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to maintain her composure. "The reflection and successor of the great Gellert Grindelwald, and the leader of the acolytes. Tu seras notre lumière d'orientation." 

She had switched to French, trying the same trick with me that I had pulled on her. I swallowed and exhaled a controlled breath. Then I turned to face her, drew a rune in the air, willed my spell off, and appeared. The dwarf's eyes widened at the sight of me, the rune dissipated like mist and the glow on my fingers lightened and went away. 

"Heuristics," The witch gasped, her lips apart, eyes dazed. 

"You knew I had it. Vous en avez toujours été conscient," I spoke, my voice plain, giving her the conversation in the language she wanted. Her being aware of my magic would explain her examinations in my memory. It would explain the numerous times she had grabbed my chin and observed me in depth when I was a child. It would explain her face so up close and personal in my head.  

"Grindelwald knew you had it," The woman composed herself. "He told a select few of us. But none of us knew you would learn to use it." 

I raised a brow in scorn. "The great Grindelwald underestimated me then, as did you and the others." 

"He did not," The dwarf rose to defend her old leader. "He searched high and low for someone who could teach you. He tried to teach it to you himself, but he had none of it in him. Heuristics could only be taught by someone who had it in themselves too." 

I didn't say anything, keeping the urge to scoff at bay. 

"C'est bien que tu l'aies appris," She continued. "Grindelwald would be proud when he finds out." 

My eyes whipped towards her, sharp anger in my gaze as she blanched.

"I don't want his pride." 

She visibly swallowed, anxiety rolling off of her. She no longer had any of the sternness she had shown when she had first tranced upon me in this room. All of it had evaporated away, and it was her fear that had made it so. I wanted that fear to be stemmed from me and me alone, but I could tell in the dwarf's manner and her eyes that it had a lot to do with my connection to Grindelwald and what I was to him. 

"Tell me where Gregorovitch is," I flipped my loose hair off my shoulder, eyes fixated on her. 

"In the second basement," The dwarf muttered. "Two doors down from this one, there's a spare room. Behind the family portrait is the door to the second basement. Angus guards it. You can show him your mark and he won't bother you." 

I stilled at the mention of the mark, and the witch caught it. 

"None of us has it except Grindelwald," She spoke, as though clearly reading the questions in my head. "Your great uncle gave it only to his successors. Ones he deemed worthy." 

My eyes narrowed, but I had said nothing, bidding her to continue. 

"He gave it to your father first, since he had no children of his own," The dwarf glanced at the closed door briefly, as though anxious my father would suddenly turn up. "His brother's son looked to be the only heir. Then, your father—he proved unworthy. He disappointed Grindelwald." 

"Qu'est ce qu'il a fait?" My voice was plain, dead, with no emotion for any of the people mentioned. My father, my great uncle. Who were they to me? Just bodies I shared blood with, and nothing else. But there was still the curiosity, the questions on his abandonment that just refused to leave my head. 

"He married your mother," The witch articulated, rubbing her stubby hands together at the base of her stomach. "He fell in love with a witch who was not an acolyte, and one who never became one." 

"Grindelwald despised your mother, surely you must've sensed that." 

I scoffed, turning my eyes away. I more than sensed the hatred between the two. I felt it in my bones. 

"But then she gave birth to you, and when your great uncle saw you, he knew he had everything he had been searching for. So he marked you." 

"What happened to my father?" I asked, frustrated at how meek my voice sounded asking the question. 

As far as I knew, my father had disappeared even before I was born. My mother had no answers to give to me. 

"I'm afraid I don't know," The dwarf shook her head. "Grindelwald was furious with him. I never saw what happened to him as a result of that anger." 

My fists tightened at what she had implied, and I willed my anger away. It could be true, it could be the truest thing she had spoken to me since she chanced upon me. Grindelwald must've murdered my father like murdered many people in his life, and many of those that were outside of it. I felt the anger dissipate inside me, replacing with frustration. 

Then in a second I had drawn a rune, and raised my other hand in the dwarf witch's direction. A jolt of wind hit her as she was taken and slammed against the wall behind her. Her body stayed in the position as the mahogany wardrobe next to her shook briefly at the impact, her eyes wide with panicking irises, her limbs and muscles unmoving as she stood stiff. 

"You will stay like that for a while," I expressed. "I have things to do before you break the news of my arrival to the rest of the acolytes." 

Then I walked up to her wardrobe and pulled open it's doors. "Now, you do have something fancy, my size?" 

I glanced at her, receiving no response as was expected under the spell she was in. I shrugged, going back to digging amongst her portion of the wardrobe. Then I pulled out a silver sparkling dress as I spotted it. It had an off the shoulder neckline, and it was knee high when I held it up to my form, with full length sleeves. It had a big waist, but I figured I could make the adjustments needed. 

In moments, I had dressed myself in the woman's dress. I stored my old clothes in the extension pouch I had hid on me, before hiding it on me again. Then I adjusted the waist of the dress, effortlessly shrinking it to my size as the dwarf witch watched from where she stood stiff. I faced her vanity, admiring what I had done. It felt like the worst time to be wearing a pretty dress and attending a party—so I reminded myself that I was wearing an acolyte's dress and attending a death eater and acolyte party. 

Then I cast the rune to hide my form under a different face and body, like I had with Viktor Krum. Focusing, I made myself appear with the same features I had given Krum. This Luke Allington had a sister, did he not? It had been a miracle that I had managed to resemble the Bulgarian seeker with a possible acolyte or death eater that I hadn't ever seen. Or perhaps, it had just been the hair that matched, and these witches and wizards were too stupid and wasted to realize, having not seen the former themselves before. 

"Well?" I looked at the dwarf witch, Flora Fischer. "How do I look?"

I twirled a little for her, and the recipient remained just as still as she had been before, with just an anxious flitting of her fearful irises. I wouldn't kill her, and she knew that somehow, but she still feared it. The realization was strangely satisfying. Is this what dark wizards get addicted to? This fear emanating off of people around them? I shrugged the thought off. 

Flora Fischer could still see my real face and body, and so could Viktor Krum. The former because I had performed the disguising spell in front of her, and the latter because I had erased him from being affected—it wouldn't do to confuse the Durmstrang I had had tagging along, when I needed the extra hands to handle Gregorovitch's situation. I added one last extension, hiding the mark at my shoulder from everyone who saw me. 

The witch saw a cloud of skin colored mist temporarily cover the mark, and her eyes widened some more. I could tell that she saw it as disrespect towards her former lord. But I had no time to explain to her that I would resort to more disrespect if I could. 

Then shooting the dwarf witch a last glance, I stepped out of the room and shut the door, discreetly locking it from the inside with a softly spoken spell as I saw dark figures in the distance, dancing in the flashing living room. The music had been switched to a more slow beat, mixed with the clinking of glasses and the laughter and chatter of sharp nosed witches and stern eyed wizards. 

I made my way further down the hallway to the room the dwarf witch had directed me to. If there were portraits inside, the people in them could spill on me before my job was even done. Quickly, I murmured a protectant charm, sealing everything that was to happen inside, to remain inside, restricting every eye, ear and mouth inside.

Then I opened the door. Moving portraits hung on every exposed bit of the wall, and the floor was carpeted in green, with no furniture or other object in sight. I stepped in and closed the door behind me, and instantly I was surrounded with loud exclamations and hushed whispers. 

Who's she? 

She's not supposed to be in here! Does Flora Fischer know? 

Hey you! Get out! 

Trespasser! Eindringende schlampe!

I glared at the slit eyed old man who had spoken the last word in his thick German accent. He blanched, stepping back in his portrait with regret washing over his scraggly features. Schlampe. My anger blinded me. I raised a hand, drew a quick rune and murmured a spell, my eyes intent on his stammering figure. There was a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling in his portrait. The glass thing shook, and in an instant it crashed on top of him and a puff of smoke arose as shards of crystal and glass scattered every where.

Everyone else in their portraits fell silent. The smoke faded and the old man's form was seen, on the ground and bleeding out. Lifeless. The heavy chandelier had crashed straight through him. It stood erect, sticking out of his body when it couldn't penetrate his form further through, as his limbs lay still spread apart. A whirl of steam arose from his dead form, and I swallowed. 

Death in a portrait was absolute. The man will never be seen again, in any of his other portraits that existed. He will never appear again. I hadn't let him escape, his fear hadn't let him escape. But why should I feel the guilt for him too when he hadn't thought of me before opening his mouth? 

I turned to face the rest, some terrified eyes gaped at me while most portraits were now empty, having been abandoned. They wouldn't be able to open their eyes or mouths wherever they escaped to. My presence here was no longer their knowledge to tell. 

Then I made my way towards the large family portrait. It wasn't Flora Fischer's family, they looked to be her ancestors—all dwarves with grim looks plastered on their sand colored faces. They stepped aside as I shifted the painting with a flick of my wrist, looks of immense disapproval thrown my way as though I was but a stray cat sneaking into their pristine home, my form fresh out of a nearby dumpster. 

Ignoring them, I ventured past the door behind into what appeared to be dark hallway. Taking a few steps into the darkness, a vicious whisper sounded right by my left ear and then someone spoke at my right, voice so close I felt the hot breath on my ear lobe. 

"Who are you and what is your purpose here?" 

The voice was a heavy breathy whisper, and in the darkness, I couldn't make out the figure of the creature who had spoken, for it was not a man. The voice had come from higher up, as though the speaker didn't have his feet on the ground, but the opposite. 

With a wide gesture over my form, I rewinded the rune I had cast to hide myself, it temporarily erased it's effects and I offered the glimpse of my real self to my hidden interrogator. The dark hair, dark grey eyes, the dark deathly hallows mark at my right shoulder. 

There was a pause, before the voice finally sounded again, but this time, a respectable distance away. 

"I'm yours to command, my lady," The tone was less vicious now, it was resolved, stern. "Please proceed." 

I nodded, keeping my head straight and bending to pull out my wand from where I had hid it on my person. Lumos, I whispered, and a bright light formed again at the tip of my wand. Irritation coursed through me. Had my wand become that useless that I couldn't even think to use it for anything else? The urgency crept up in my form, I needed to fix it. In this world of wizards, witches and wands, I was not safe without one—regardless of whether I could do without it or not. 

I looked around with the new found light, but didn't see the entity that had addressed me. Keeping my head fixed ahead, I ventured deeper inside the hallway and it opened up to a small candle lit attic room. The ground underneath was of marble, and my feet clicked against the stone, clear footsteps sounding in my periphery. 

I was still looking like myself, I hadn't covered myself with the spell to hide my real form again after I had shown it to the entity. No one else but Gregorovitch was supposed to be down here now, if the dwarf witch hadn't lied to me. And the old man would've seen enough foreign faces for me to push another one into his senses. 

"W-who is it?" I heard the familiar voice and soon Gregorovitch's form appeared in my vision. He held a candelabra high in his hand, and his old facial features were morphed into those of fear and uncertainty. 

"Mr Gregorovitch," I exhaled, approaching him quickly, lowering my wand just before it flickered and the light went out of it's own accord, and I barely kept the disgust and anger towards it at bay. 

I looked to the wandmaker. "It's me," I started, relaxing my features. "Do you remember me?" 

He should, shouldn't he? Viktor Krum and I had argued extensively in his presence while he had attempted to brew us a cup of tea. If that memory doesn't stick to a clean slate, I didn't know what will. 

Slowly, recognition streamed through his wrinkled features, and I relaxed some more. He did remember. 

"Ah," The old man let out, a finger held in the air. "Where is that handsome boy you were with? The tea went cold fast when you both went away."

I fidgeted, my train of thought derailing off it's tracks. Handsome. Krum was.. perhaps he was handsome. But he was cocky too, and I found myself no longer looking forward to getting rid of him now that the wandmaker was found. I cursed inwardly. Shut up Dominique, Krum's just a fool and you are worlds apart—your path with him ends here. 

"He's around," I swallowed, shaking my head to get myself back on track. "Are you alright?" 

"I'm good," The wandmaker smiled, "Though I don't recall this place or how I got here." 

I exhaled, calming myself. I wanted to give him his memory back, wiping all his years of it away had weakened his hold on retaining new information. But I couldn't at present. I couldn't trust these acolytes, even though they were now under my control, and these death eaters remained a mystery to me. 

"Angus," I turned towards the hallway I had entered in from, calling the entity's name. 

I took my wand out. Lumos, to better see his form, while Gregorovitch stood behind me perplexed. 

"My lady," The entity's breathy voice came from all around us, responding to my call in submission. 

"Show yourself to me." 

From the darkness stepped in a towering jinn, his head reaching to the very high ceiling of the attic that I did not notice before. A hybrid, a cross between a Halmasti and a jinn. With a giant wolf like face, Halmastis were flame spitting vicious creatures, and crosses with other species were scarce and rare. The jinn's skin was the color of cobwebs, his hair on his wolf like face was a dark ashy grey. The jinn's eyes were huge, white and slanted, no irises floating anywhere in his pools of silver cream. With thick hairy arms protruding from under his dark clothes, and equally thick stubby and dark haired legs from his pants, the jinn's vision instilled horror in me—and it wasn't because of how he looked. 

He could dematerialize into mist at will. Jinns could, they could take any form they wished, but their primary form, a Halmasti jinn's primary form was this. Though I hadn't believed a cross like this existed, before. The mist that helped him hide, the mist that helped him attack. That was how he had been hiding in that small hallway, that was how he had been made to hide. 

The jinn was one of les dorés. One of the unwanted. His kind were the reason they were preparing for the Huntlock games at Ilvermorny in America, an attempt to revert a legacy of abuse towards these creatures. Halmastis, Jinns, Azhdaars, Chumur Dekis—and many more dormant predators roaming the shadows of the wizarding world, that have always been hunted. They were vicious and dark, yet wizards had managed to cower them, to dominate them. But I thought it had stopped. 

Yet one of them was here, enslaved like a house elf, doing the bidding of an acolyte family, trapped in their house's attic. Anger flooded through me, but it calmed as I realized he was mine to command now. Hadn't he said so himself? 

That way, at least the Fischer tyranny over this magnificent creature would end. 

"You serve me now, Angus," I started, my voice levelled as the creature's eyes fixed themselves intently on me as he bent his head slowly. Pools of blank whites staring at me. 

"You no longer serve the Fischers," I spoke louder. "Do you understand?"   

"Yes," The jinn's voice startled me. The same breathy, heavy whisper, but it now had a body in front of me to support the notion. 

"Who do you serve?" I asked again, slowly this time. 

A pause ensured, before the jinn's thin lips parted and his voice engulfed my senses. 

"I serve Dominique Marie Grindelwald, to fight and die for," The creature spoke before he slowly lowered himself on a single thick knee, his head bowed towards me—though he remained higher than I could reach. There was dust on his shoulders, remnants of broken ceiling stones and residue on his dark clothes. His hair was dirty, matted and had all kinds of dust residue settled on top. How long has he been here? 

My jaw tightened when he spoke my last name. He was the second being I had heard it from in the last eight years. Twice in the same day. I didn't know what to feel. I never hated my last name, I only hid it to protect myself. It was never out of hate, because in the depth of my being I never associated it with Gellert Grindelwald. It was my fucking name and I had to hide it because of him. 

"You will take Gregorovitch away," I spoke, pushing my thoughts back. "Take him somewhere safe, hide him, and protect him from everyone, until I call for you." 

"Your blood, my lady," The creature spoke, head still bowed, as my brows furrowed. 

"I wish to take your leadership in form of your blood, my lady," The jinn continued when I didn't respond. "It is how we submit to heuristic witches and wizards." 

I swallowed. I knew les dorés had been around at the time of heuristics, when the magic was at it's highest on Earth, when practicing witches and wizards had walked freely around. But what I didn't realize was those witches and wizards had gathered les dorés loyalty. I didn't realize they associated like that, like this. Like a wizard with his house elf, submission and slavery. It disgusted me, but my time was running out and I had no option. 

I saw a shard of glass lying the corner, amidst the rubble of another mess the Fischers were harboring. I hurried over to it, my feet clicking against the stone floor. I picked up the sparkling shard and brought it over to my left palm. Inhaling a sharp breath, I brought it down deep and sliced open my palm and dark blood started oozing out of it. 

Approaching the jinn, I raised my dripping hand, offering it to him, my face clad in a blank expression. The jinn raised his head to look at it, then he bent deeper, until his ashy face was a mere feet away from mine. I closed my eyes and dropped my head. I felt the warm wet sensation on my raised hand afterwards, a giant tongue swiping my hand clean. He continued for a few moments, before the tongue retrieved and the jinn straightened up. 

Gregorovitch was scared stiff behind me, his face had lost all it's color and his eyes were wide as saucers as he looked at the creature. I lowered my hand and looked at my palm. The blood had been wiped clean, but the wound remained, sharp and aching.

A sudden feeling enveloped me and I shut my eyes tight, slowly swaying on my feet as I fought to regain composure. A vision pressed up in my mind, a vision of someone looking down at me from a higher angle, a vision of me with my head bent and Gregorovitch standing shocked behind me. A vision of me, but from someone else's eyes. I opened my eyes, and found the jinn's eyes on me. 

He could share his visions with me now. Giving him that ounce of my blood had enabled him to submit not only his loyalty but his intentions and actions to me as well. It felt.. depraved, to have him so fully in my control. This creature I was supposed to honor by competing in a tribute tournament for. Was I sick for this? Was I terrible for this? Would I be hated if this came out? 

I pushed the thoughts back. 

"Angus," I spoke clearly. "Take Gregorovitch. You answer to no acolyte, no death eater, no wizard or witch, except me." 

"Do you understand?" I inquired, my voice coming out desperate. 

This time, he didn't respond with words and a sensation gripped my form. His agreement, his intention, his loyalty, laid bare in my mind. I nodded, opening my eyes back again.

Only to see that Gregorovitch and Angus were long gone, leaving nothing but a sharp throbbing ache in my left palm. 

Quickly, I covered myself with the illusion rune again, casting myself under the different body and face I had chosen before. Then with my feet clicking against the stone floor, I made my way whence I had come, stepping into the empty portrait room and fixing my dress and hair with a swipe of the hand and making sure my charm was in place and hid my mark. Then I opened the door and slipped out of the room. It was time to join this wild party. 


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A/N:
And the plot thickens? I hope you like this chapter! I already miss not having Viktor in this one. He'll be back.. I hope lol <3