CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE BOY WAS AN ENIGMA in that moment, with his thick round glasses and his frail form defiantly standing under the weight of all our varying looks—tainted with anger, confusion and disbelief in equal measure. Words were on my lips, but they were torturously foreign to each other, as though I had suddenly learnt a language I had no idea on how to navigate. I wanted to grab his thin arm and force him to look into my eyes and repeat his claim again. I wanted him to prove it to me, I wanted him to produce Voldemort in front of me and say, 'There, I told you he was back.'

But that was foolish, a stupid, stubborn fantasy my incredulous mind was grappling at. It would make sense, but why would it make sense when the death eaters themselves were not aware of their lord's presence? Or had he only chosen to reveal himself to a select few, the ones Harry Potter suggested were ordered to look for me?

"How do you know these things?" Viktor Krum blurted out, and I glanced at him. The skin on his face was pinched red at firmer points, and his jaw was tighter than it had been when he had pinned me against the wall moments ago. His fury was a halo, surrounding him and thickening the air like lead.

"How in fucking hell would you know these things?" He brought his hand over his head, running it over his changing buzz cut. I stilled slightly, he clearly hadn't had the mental capacity or time to shave. But why did I like him like this? Unruly and frustrated, tethering back and forth on the brink of furious madness?

The portraits around us on the walls shifted as wizards and witches inside stirred and some awoke, wide eyes glancing to and fro as observations and quite exclamations of surprise slowly hummed in the air—desperate attempts to break down the reasons for this thick of the night conference that was made up by a very unlikely party. Two Beauxbatons, two Durmstrangs and a Hogwarts student.

Krum whipped out his wand and murmured a spell, and it rendered every hearing ear in the portraits within our earshot temporarily deaf. I watched as the wizards and witches struggled, grabbing their heads and pulling at their ears in panic. They quietened down once they realized they couldn't even hear themselves.

"I—I see them," Harry Potter stammered, and I saw him flinch slightly at Krum's tone.

The Bulgarian seeker looked at the boy, before forcing a scoff of disbelief. "You won't be clear will you? You won't be fucking clear—"

"Krum," I let out sharply, my eyes bearing into his in a glare, and he reluctantly yanked his jaw shut.

I turned to look at Harry Potter. The boy who lived. He was just a regular boy. He looked as though he had just come out from having had enough of wizards chess with his friends, or had tossed aside a piece of homework because he had deemed it boring.

"What exactly did you see?" I asked him, my tone soft as pity engulfed me in a wave. The unwavering defiance in his eyes as he peered up at me was enough for me to at least consider everything he had to say.

"Tell me, please," I started, realizing just then how hard my own heart was pounding. His words made sense, but I feared the truth in them.

Harry Potter swallowed, his eyes briefly landing on the ground before he met my eyes again. 

"I saw him torturing Gregorovitch. Legilimency, but—he was being forceful and it was taking longer because the wand maker was attempting occlumency. Then he was furious because he found nothing. He was angry. He suspected the foul play of heuristics."

"What else?" I exhaled, my chest tight.

"He had broken into the wandmaker's house," The boy shut his eyes briefly, trying to remember or picture what he had supposedly seen. "There was rubble everywhere. And I—he sensed—your magic."

He paused, looking up at me curiously, a hint of caution in his calculating eyes. If he had been even just an inch taller than me, instead of only barely reaching to my shoulder, my composure would have wavered faced with his sight—faced with the knowledge that he saw something that nobody else but Viktor Krum and I had seen, that too from an angle neither of us could fathom.

"What did he sense?" I asked, my tone plain, as I waited.

"A creeping coldness emanating from around Gregorovitch," Potter answered instantly and I swallowed. The boy really had seen the scene unfold through Voldemort's—or the intruding wizard's eyes. He might be wrong about everything else he had claimed, but this? He had gotten this right. I could feel it.

"Zubair," Viktor Krum's voice cut through as I glanced at him. He was looking at his friend. Dimitrova stood still, arms folded across his chest and eyes fixed on the scene. "What the fuck does he mean?"

"Heuristics when performed, leaves behind a feeling of coldness. A chill, if you will," Dimitrova uttered, tilting his head slightly as he looked from Krum to me. "You can sense how recent it has been, depending on the intensity of the coldness. It is often mistaken as the wind, depending on what season it is."

I turned away from his stare, bringing a hand to my elbow. My exhaustion was getting to me, and my head needed a desperate rest from everything.

"But she can mask it," Dimitrova continued, and I stilled, but didn't offer him a glance. "She can hide the fact that she performed something."

I heard the hidden sentiment in the air—But she had forgotten to do it then.

"Harry, do you know anything else?" Bridgette's voice came next and I turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable, reined in, and I wanted to know what she thought of this new development. I wanted to know if she thought my magic was cursed too.

"Anything about the whereabouts of V-Voldemort?"

Of course, she had believed it was Voldemort.

"No," Harry Potter shook his head. "He was angry, he was flying away from the scene. But I think he was headed to—to Malfoy Manor."

"Malfoy Manor?" I repeated, never had I heard of a more unsuspecting location. "What is that?"

"Where is that?" Bridgette cut in, her tone desperate. "You have to tell us every little thing you know, Harry. If Voldemort's looking for The Elder Wand—"

"Stop," I cried, having had enough of the name being force fed to me. "Stop saying that."

"There is no proof that he is back," I turned to look at Harry Potter, a look of pity marring my eyes as he pursed his lips, disappointed and irritated.

"Can you give me proof, Harry Potter?" I cried. "How can I just believe what you say?"

"Because you were there," The boy uttered in defiance. "I saw your wand lying in the distance at Gregorovitch's place, in the rubble. He saw it too but he ignored it because it didn't mean anything to him—he was at a wandmaker's house. But I have seen your wand before. I've seen you using it at practice, I've seen you carry it around."

My breath hitched. 

"Voldemort is back," Harry Potter started again, his chest swelling as he forced strength into his frail form. "And I think you should do what you were planning to do before I revealed myself. Find The Elder Wand before he does."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. There was someone, someone powerful enough to wield the wand and go to undeniably large extents to acquire it. It could be Voldemort, or it could be someone else entirely. I still wasn't sure. If my grandfather was here, he'd tell me it was my disbelief clouding my senses. He'd tell me that I was sick, that I manipulated myself. He'd look at me in disgust, and then he'd walk away. Out of the two interactions I had ever had with my grandfather, this had been the most prominent one, prompted by a seven year old Dominique who refused to understand that caterpillars turned into the gorgeous winged creatures she saw circling over the mulberry bushes.

Perhaps the only love I had ever received in my life had been from my great uncle, the dark wizard I was brought up to hate. Perhaps this was why I refused to believe in Voldemort. Two dark wizards cannot coexist, and Grindelwald was still alive, even if his time was presumably over, even if he was in captivity. Two dark wizards have never coexisted. But how do I tell everyone this? How do I make people understand this simple fact that they were blocking out willingly?

"It must be as powerful as they say it is," Harry Potter swallowed. "I could sense his desperation, his helplessness. He needs it."

"Who else knows about this?" Viktor Krum's deep voice reverberated then, directed at the boy, frustration and determination in his tone. "Who else have you told?"

"N—no one," Potter hastened, "I'm not supposed to be seeing the visions. I'm supposed to be practicing occlumency with Professor Dumbledore to block them out."

The Bulgarian seeker nodded slowly, eyes fixed at the boy. "Then that is what you are doing. You didn't talk to us about this. You don't know what the fuck we're doing. You don't approach us until you have something concrete to say. You got that?"

The boy nodded hastily.

"But we need to know where he would be," Bridgette broke in, urgency in her tone. "If he's looking for Dominique, we need to know where he is."

Harry Potter looked at us, his eyes landing on me again.

"I can keep tracking him through the visions. I can keep note whenever they come to me. Occlumency doesn't work for me anyway."

I narrowed my eyes on him. "Is this—is this because of your mark?"

He raised a shaking hand subconsciously to touch his forehead, his fingernails were red and bitten too far down.

"I believe so."

I didn't respond. I wanted to say something, tell him that I believe my own mark is letting a dark wizard control me in ways I couldn't fully measure too. But what in Merlin's name would I be doing? Gathering a co-host for my impromptu sympathy club for people wronged by dark wizards? Harry Potter's issues were his own, they didn't coincide with mine, they would never coincide with mine.

"Dumbledore—," Bridgette hissed suddenly, bringing me out of my reverie. "Ugh, he's such a— if he knows Harry can see Voldemort, and if he's teaching him occlumency, why would he not come outright and say it? So that the wizarding world can guard itself? They trust Dumbledore, he can warn everyone."

"He doesn't want the ministry to panic," Harry Potter shifted on his feet. "Or, maybe he doesn't believe me too."

Zubair Dimitrova uttered a small laugh, shaking his head slowly. "Well, your shit's messed up." 

"It's all fucking messed up," Viktor Krum spat, grinding his teeth.

He paused then, exhaling a deep breath as his ebony eyes turned to me, gaze pinning me in fury.

"See what you've done?" He hissed, "I told you whoever it was will come after you, and now they know you're heuristic—"

"That is no concern of yours," I cut him short, eyes narrowing on him. "You want to get to that wand, that's what we'll do. You don't need to worry about me."

"I don't want anyone doing anything for me," I turned around, eying the boy who lived.

Then I stopped, and took in a breath, composing myself.

"We leave tomorrow," I swallowed. "None of you can apparate on Ilvermorny grounds and I need some time to rest my magic, then we'll head to the Austrian Alps—to Nurmengard."

"Tomorrow," Bridgette nodded, "I'll get as much information on the castle as I can, in the meanwhile."

Viktor Krum met my eyes, his fury morphing into a resolved expression as he turned to look at Harry Potter.

"Say nothing," He started firmly. "Do nothing. If you see something in your head worth mentioning, you come to me."

Harry Potter nodded, and then tucking himself under his invisibility cape, he disappeared. I looked on after him, the point where he had vanished. A peculiar possession, but who was I to judge? Something did irk me though, a feeling of unrest prodding at me as I had watched the silver thing cover his form entirely.

I ignored it, throwing the two Durmstrangs and my friend one last expressionless glance, I walked away, the stone floored hallway making my every step louder than it had to be. I felt suddenly as though I was going backwards. This wasn't supposed to happen. Nothing was happening according to my plan and it frustrated me, infuriated me. I felt their eyes on my back as I departed, no words left at present to say to any of them.

Hatred ebbed away at me. This was not about saving the wizarding world for me. Yes, it was a consequence I could breathe easy with—or perhaps be praised for. But I wanted The Elder Wand for myself first. Merlin, I needed it for myself first.

Viktor Krum would not let me have it, he was the reason I would risk it all for nothing. I would be made to risk everything to get to the wand and not even get to fucking hold it, before he snatched it up and handed it over to the government. But if he thought—assumed—I would comply, he was wrong. He was so wrong.

I made my way forwards, taking hallways I hadn't taken before. I didn't know where I was going, I just needed to get away. To my dorm was not an option, I wouldn't be able to think clearly knowing that Bridgette could return at any moment. I should be grateful that she hadn't inquired anything of me—hadn't accused me of hiding my heuristics, yet.

Her fury, it seemed, had only been prodded by the fact that I had attempted to make her forget me. A strange feeling ensconced itself in my stomach, a warmth that felt entirely foreign to me at present.

Conscious of my surroundings, I found myself headed towards a tower just outside of the dark moon washed courtyard. A lone tower that stood tall, yet disconnected from the Ilvermorny castle building. Why hadn't I noticed it before?

The solitary tower caught the light of the moon and its bricks gleamed silver under the attention, against the black night. Slowly, I made my way towards it.

My uniform shoes stepped on the gravel on the ground. I had forgotten I had changed out of the clothes I had worn to Hamburg, Germany. I had switched out of Flora Fischer's dress after I had left Viktor Krum in his inflicted state. Then, I had quickly changed into my blue uniform before Bridgette had dragged me out on her mission to get to the library. I had decided that it wouldn't do for anyone else to catch me in casual clothing.

I entered the tower, its walls were cool, trapping the warmth inside. I sighed at the feeling, the inside felt like a warm embrace—like the aftermath of a bonfire. Slowly, I climbed the narrow circling steps, wanting to get only to the top and clear my head. The moon light seeped in through small window-like cuttings in the stone at equal distance to my left and right.

Gradually, I neared the top, and stepped up onto the tower's roof to find a wide space that had seemed smaller only from the distance below. The moon was now so close, a beautiful waning gibbous that seemed to have dark indentations which could be mistaken as eyes.

"Were you just planning on staring," I spoke after a pause, my eyes fixed on the moon. "Or were you intending to announce your presence?"

The figure behind me shuffled on their feet, and then they let an amused chuckle escape.

"I suppose both is not an option?" Oliver Wood uttered as he stepped into my periphery and I turned to look at him.

He looked radiant, a bright smile on his face that displayed all his teeth. A genuine emotion I couldn't place. What had my life become, for me to find these things so foreign? His hair, windswept, caught some rays of the moon elegantly, and his eyes—light brown before, seemed dark in this light.

"It isn't," I muttered, forcing a smile on my face as I clasped my hands at the base of my stomach. "I apologize for intruding. I didn't know someone was here."

"Ah, that's quite alright," The burly Hogwarts student waved a hand in dismissal, flashing me a mischievous grin. "I'd appreciate some company, especially one as refined as yours."

I offered him a nod, before walking over slowly towards an edge. The cool wind swept through my skirts, and threaded through my dark hair. I felt Oliver Wood walk up behind me, his footsteps clear in this soundless night.

"Are you alright?" He asked, the boldness of before changing.

I glanced at him over my shoulder, slightly irritated at his concern. They were useless, questions like these, especially knowing that I could never answer them honestly. I didn't have honesty at my disposal, I never had such a liberty. I wonder what it felt like sometimes, to open up to someone on a glistening night like this. To well and truly reflect whatever that was inside to a person beside you as though you were the surface of a lake, merely showing them their reflection.

"I'm fine," I spoke the words, then turned away to look at the view below.

Ilvermorny at night was a sight. Cascaded in darkness that was only balanced out by the mercy of the moon. I believed if the moon were to rest behind thick clouds, the castle would disappear, along with all those inside it.

"You're not," The voice came, intruding on my reverie.

I looked at the guy beside me, his form burly but in a submissive, inverted sort of way. As though he was for the cottages and fields, instead of for mountains, castles and the Huntlock.

"You're not fine," He shrugged when I hadn't responded.

"That is what you think."

"It is," He agreed, shrugging again, and it made me want to laugh.

I turned away to fix my eyes on the view again.

"Is it Viktor Krum?"

I exhaled a short breath, brows furrowing in surprise as I glanced at him again.

"If you want to talk about it," Oliver Wood frowned as he raised his brows. The variety of his facial expressions was intriguing, humorous.

"Why would it be Viktor Krum?" I asked, annoyance taking over my tone.

"Well, rumor has it that you both are a thing," He shrugged for the third time. "Ever since you were spotted outside of the library."

"Merlin," I sighed, resting my elbows on the edge. "People are so clueless."

"They are," Wood agreed, bobbing his head once. "So, is the rumor wrong?"

"Yes," I exclaimed, "Are you for real? I can't stand him. I'd duel him to the death on a battlefield if I could."

Oliver Wood laughed then, and it sounded like a welcome change to all the threats, consequences and daunting tasks looming over my form and crushing my soul. I hadn't intended to make him laugh, but I had learned long ago that if you said the darkest thing on your mind in an acceptable manner, people didn't notice it for what it truly was.

"He's a fool," The Hogwarts student shook his head. "He doesn't see what's right in front of him."

"What?" I asked softly, surprised.

"Well, you like him don't you? It is obvious that you do."

Irritation struck me, and I felt something constrict tightly in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps I had liked Krum once, but not anymore. Not after he threatened to expose my magic, not after he set his eyes on The Elder Wand, not after he sought out to risk everything I had planned, and not after he sifted through my memories forcefully—making himself the cause of the most unbearable pain I had felt in a while.

Irritation morphed into hatred again. No, I despised Viktor Krum with every fiber of my being. And if this wizard in front of me couldn't see that, then perhaps he was no wizard at all. 

"Are you the love guru of Hogwarts?"

Oliver laughed again, before his smile slowly faded. "No, it's just—I've been there before. That's all."

The irritation in me softened at that.

"What happened?"

The words were out before I could take a moment to think about them. I realized I didn't actually care, but perhaps something to listen to could help shut the racing thoughts in my mind. Having somebody talk could force me to listen, could force my attention away.

"Well," He pretended to dust off his Hogwarts robes nonchalantly. "It was my sixth year. I liked a girl a lot. Truly thought that there was no one for me but her. Turned out she liked my friend better." 

"That's rough," I murmured.

It was hard to relate to such a sentiment. I had never been in love before, nor was I indulged in such a notion at present. What even was love? A mere fancy privileged humans engrossed themselves in, ones that had no significant dark cloud tearing at their minds and hovering over their shoulders.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter now," He shrugged a single shoulder, and I wondered how many times in a day he responded that way to things. "It's history."

"Funny then, how you presume other people's indulgences matter," I shot him a look. "After only having seen them around."

He pursed his lips, before an apologetic smile broke through. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."

I turned away. "You shouldn't have."

"But seriously though," Oliver Wood cleared his throat after a pause. "You should smile, regardless of what is bothering you. You're stunning, a smile only just adds to you in ways you can't imagine."

Despite myself, I smiled, taken aback by his response.

"Merci," I spoke, not knowing what else to say. When was the last time I had gotten a genuine compliment before? It seemed as though with Oliver Wood, everything felt like the first time.

Looking at him, I couldn't help but compare him to Viktor Krum. The latter was so different, he was harsh, wore skins that he shed off like fur, a permanent scowl on his face and eyes bearing hatred into mine. Oliver Wood was soft, his eyes were soft, talking to him felt like I was being freed. Which wasn't possible, at least not yet, but that is what it felt like. Tell me, do you run towards feelings that drive favorable illusions, or do you slave away for illusions that make you feel nothing—at least not before they are conquered.

"Mon plaisir," Wood announced, theatrically and I let out a giggle.

"You have French?"

"Only just a little," He nodded his head. "And that was about it."

I shook my head, trying to keep my growing smile at bay.

"So, are you going with someone—," Oliver cleared his throat, nervousness taking over his features. "To the Lock Ball?"

"The Lock Ball?" I repeated, utterly clueless.

"Yeah, um, the celebratory festivity Ilvermorny is holding," He brought a hand to touch the back of his neck. A sudden cloud covered his demeanor, as though he thought I was derailing him on purpose. Did girls actually do that? Pretend to not know what something is because they don't want to be put in the spot? I could see it happening, but I couldn't see myself ever resorting to it. 

I knew there was going to be a festivity, it was what Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine had announced the day we had arrived. But I just didn't realize it had ventured so close. I hadn't even been attending practice lately, I don't even know now if I would be there to partake in a Huntlock at all. If I had to choose, I would be off retrieving The Elder Wand. That was for sure.

"When is it?" I asked slowly. "I'm sorry I didn't pay attention." I added quickly so as to eradicate suspicion. Why wouldn't I know the date of a ball when I had been at Ilvermorny the whole time? But I hadn't, and Oliver Wood didn't need to know that.

"In a week," He answered, "Actually, four days from now."

I blinked. Four days. And then the Huntlock will start too.

"So, are you going with someone?" Wood asked again, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"No," I spoke. "I'm not."

I don't even know if I'm going at all, or if I'll be here to attend such an occasion.

"Will you go with me?" He blurted out then, as though the words had been on the tip of his tongue for longer than anyone could anticipate.

I looked at him, as his eyes met mine. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He was nervous, and it was pleasantly appealing. The captain of the Hogwarts Quidditch team, a keeper—that was how he had introduced himself to us that day in the dark Ilvermorny hallway. Oliver Wood wasn't at all like the Bulgarian seeker haunting my every move. He wasn't like the Durmstrang pinning me against walls and demanding things of me I couldn't give, all the while his grip on my elbow tightening and tightening. Oliver Wood was different, and he was a welcome change.

"If you don't want to," He added hastily, "I totally get it. It's fine I can—" 

"I would like to go with you," I answered then, watching his expression change into surprise as he beamed at me, all his teeth on display. It was endearing, pleasant to look at. I didn't even know if I would be at the ball, but the idea of being there alongside a beaming Oliver Wood was a lightning concept, like the height of a sunset painting a previously plain sky. 

"Ah, that's—cool, I mean I didn't expect," He stumbled over his words and let out a nervous laugh. "I should stop talking."

I giggled, a freeness coursing through my tight veins, expanding my chest.

"No, it's alright," I supported my chin under my palm as a breeze blew through my hair. "Keep talking." 

"Really?" He raised a brow, grinning. "What do I say?"

"About you," I smiled. "Tell me more about you." 

He smirked, turning his eyes away as he fixed them on the landscape below us. "Well, for starters I love rock music, and I don't believe The Weird Sisters do it very well."

I laughed, biting my lip. "Do you listen to Peeved? I think they do rock very well."

Oliver Wood looked at me, his eyes focusing on me briefly as they glinted slightly in this darkness. "Merlin, I love Peeved."

I smiled. "What do you think of Hewlett?"

"I think he's a legend in music if there was ever one."

I exhaled softly. I had left all my Peeved, and other artists' vinyls in my dorm at Beauxbatons. Even when I had been there, I hadn't leisurely listened to a track in what felt like ages. I remember fifth year, listening all night to the soft scratching of the disk as it rolled on the record player. I had less to think about then, I was less worried about trying to fit in and hiding myself. The pressure only grew with time.

"Agreed," I sighed, then grinned slowly. "Also, I think he is very handsome."

Wood grinned back. "With his huge biceps and strong vocal cords? Hell yeah."

"Do you think he will leave Peeved someday? Start a solo career?"

"That would suck as much as it would be a hit," The Hogwarts keeper pursed his lips. "But I don't think he will. He loves his band, and says so in every interview I've seen and read."

"What do you listen on?" Wood asked after a pause.

"I have a crosley trola," I said, remembering its cream color and exactly where I kept it in my dorm.

"Muggle technology," He raised a brow, a curious expression on his face. 

"Yes," I glanced at him. "I didn't actually—"

I paused, not knowing what to say. I wasn't exactly gifted with luxurious things like a record player by my family. No one actually bought me anything, that wasn't a wand or my school books when I started. I had gotten the record player for cheap at a store on a Beauxbatons school trip in my second year. The man behind the desk had sold it to me for practically nothing.

"I got it at a store," I finished. "The man basically sold it to me for free. It works, so I didn't really feel the need to—"

"You can listen with me," Wood blurted out, touching the back of his neck again. "I brought mine to Ilvermorny. It's the latest model of noyz vic—that is, if you want to."

"I have a huge collection of vinyls too. Peeved, The Sectumsempras, Gorillaz, Maroon 5 and even The Weird Sisters, amongst others."

I turned away to look at the night clad scene below us. It sounded divine, to just shut myself off for a while and listen to music, losing myself in lyrics and beats like I used to. But I didn't have the time. I desperately wanted to, but I wanted other things more.

"I'll decline for her, Wood," A third voice cut through the air, sharp and heavy.

We turned to look, to find the dark form of the Bulgarian seeker, Viktor Krum, standing at the entrance of the tower terrace. How hadn't we heard him come up? How long had he been there, listening? His features were tightened to stoicism, his eyes narrow as he glared at Oliver Wood, sparing me only a brief glance. His tall and burly form was only partially lit by the silver moonlight.

"Why?" Oliver Wood asked, confidence in his voice etched with irritation at being interrupted. "Did she hire you to speak for her?"

Viktor Krum's fists tightened at his side, and his lips parted. Before he could speak, I turned to the brown haired Hogwarts Keeper, and offered a smile.

"I would love to listen to your vinyls." 

***

A/N: 
I'm already excited to write out the ball scene ahh, but it isn't coming for a long while so I'm torn lol. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter!