CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

"ARE WE IN BRITAIN?" GABRIEL CHEVROLET, his dark forehead glistening with the sweat of his labor inquired plainly, resting his elbow on the handle of the spade as it stood erect, dug half deep in the soft ground.

The Beauxbatons boy had taken up the task, along with the two Durmstrangs, Viktor Krum and Zubair Dimitrova, to dig the grave for Bridgette Monet. Since it had been his careful search that had led to the decent resting spot, the boy had resorted to directing the process, assuming himself rightfully to be the only present Beauxbatons student to contribute so.

Elias Dupont sat on a boulder beside me, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent, eyes fixed on the forest ground in concentration—anything to avoid looking at the white shroud covered body lying on the floor as arm's length away.

I rested my own head against Elias' shoulder from time to time, directing my thoughts to Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, both young and damaged boys left back at the camp—in no better position than they had been before.

Yordanka Hristova had offered to stay back, to keep watch over them. I didn't understand it, for there was nothing to keep watch over. Harry Potter's consciousness was still with me, trapped in a rune until I employed the use of a proper way to direct it back to him. And Draco Malfoy couldn't move without any external help. None of the boys were likely to go anywhere of their own accord in their present states, let alone present a need to be under surveillance in light of Elias Dupont's protection charms.

Viktor Krum had been the first to agree, offering the Durmstrang girl a mere stern nod before hoisting Bridgette Monet's covered up body with Zubair Dimitrova, and following Gabriel's lead.

The funeral procession was to continue without Hristova, and I could only look at her with a dull intrigue, wondering why, in the short period she had spent with Bridgette and I, the almond skinned, bold Durmstrang girl couldn't be convinced to put aside her prejudice and our initial disagreements, just to pay a moment's worth of respect.

"It isn't that," Elias offered to me when I had expressed my distaste, shrugging gently as we had walked alongside.

"Look at her," He threw a glance backwards at our receding camp site, Yordanka's form was a dark figurine watching us go away.

"She has something against funeral processions, I suppose. C'est une peur refoulée. A certain trauma, from having been to too many of them I gather."

I had blinked in confusion and surprise, before my resolve morphed slightly in regret. I hadn't thought of that.

Whatever Hristova's trauma had been, Krum knew of it and had had the decency to not force her or even argue back to suggest anything else.

My eyes wandered to Zubair Dimitrova, the boy's facial expression still had not changed. He had shut himself out, choosing not to reveal anything to anyone except to his own peers. Suddenly, my chest ached with the divide.

Even after facing death eaters together, and losing one of us, the divide between the Durmstrangs and the Beauxbatons still raged. We were a ragged bunch thrown together due to circumstance.

"She was nothing to you," I had screamed those words in Viktor Krum's face back at the Schalun castle ruins.

Perhaps she had been something to him. Perhaps, in the time that I had gone with Elias to London, Viktor and my best friend had conversed, or shared a fleeting joke. Perhaps he liked her enough from that one joke to not think of her as vain and frivolous as Bridgette had at times appeared to even those who knew her the longest.

I loved Viktor Krum, and Bridgette Monet had loved Zubair Dimitrova, we had both fallen in these uncertain loves around the same time—with a similar surprise. Yet the divide still hadn't been crossed. There were still walls built between the Durmstrangs and us, walls that had spray painted words like 'familiarity' and 'contempt' blotched all over them.

For some reason, those walls were proving to be stronger each hour of realization. And every time I leaned my head against Elias' shoulder as the grave was being dug, I knew that there was comfort in familiarity, and those walls were using that fact alone to maintain the divide.

"Yeah, I guess so," Viktor Krum let out when Gabriel repeated his question, briefly glancing upwards at the boy as the latter stood high outside of the grave.

"What do you mean you guess so?" The French boy scrunched up his face in irritation, the fact that he was digging a grave forgotten in the midst of his annoyance.

"Are we in Britain or are we not?" The boy pressed, before glancing at Elias and me. "I suppose that should've been the first question asked before we had let a Durmstrang haul us over here."

Technically, I had done the hauling and Chevrolet knew that, but the place had been decided upon by Viktor and thereupon was where Gabriel's quip was to land.

Viktor's jaw tightened, his knuckles pale on the spade hilt he held. But he didn't look up and acknowledge Chevrolet's jab.

"I'm sure you didn't mean anything untoward by that statement," The Bulgarian seeker let out, his tone hard.

"Oh, but I did," Gabriel constricted his voice, thinning his tone as though he was talking to a child.

"In case it slipped your mind, Britain is the last fucking place we should be in. If you're looking to flex your stealth and wield your shiny sword one more time because you have the nagging idea that maybe none of us paid attention the first time, you should be asking us how we feel about the imbecilic urge first. Should you not?"

Elias perked up, his eyes tearing themselves away from the ground to glare at Chevrolet.

"Tu es entrain de blaguer," Elias hissed. "Really, Chevrolet? You are going to do this right now?"

Gabriel's eyes hardened as they dropped to the grave. Sufficient digging had already been done.

"I'm going to do this whenever it's needed," The boy glared back at Elias briefly before bearing his eyes down at Viktor.

Zubair Dimitrova worked right behind Krum, noiselessly, trying to ignore what was happening in his periphery.

"You and Dominique are wallowing in sorrow, and I get that. But there is no way in hell I'm letting fucking Durmstrangs take advantage of us."

"Advantage?" Viktor tossed his spade out of the grave, hard, as the metal thing tossed amongst bushes and out of sight. He hoisted himself up with a small grunt.

He jumped up and straightened himself, coming face to face with Gabriel as he slapped his hands together to get dust off.

"I'd rather not take anything from you let alone the advantage," Krum sneered. "Besides, you have none of it."

"Viktor," I spoke, suddenly cautious.

The Durmstrang turned to glance at me, his ebony eyes softening.

"No," Gabriel snapped, his eyes turning onto me with hard irritation in stark contrast. "Don't come in between, Dominique, you fuel this fucker's ego for no reason. I asked him a simple goddamn question and he thinks it's beneath his dignity to answer to me."

The boy turned to face Viktor, who was now increasingly riled up, tight fists made at his sides.

"You and Bridgette fueled these fuckers' prides when I warned you from the start. Look where it got her."

I gasped, Elias Dupont jumped to his feet, but before any one of us could do or say anything to Chevrolet, Viktor Krum was roughly pushed aside and Zubair Dimitrova's dark fist crashed into the Beauxbatons boy's jaw.

Gabriel stumbled backwards at the impact, his upper body thrown off briefly as his feet maintained their stance. His dark hand held his face as he brought it back, blood could be seen gushing out of his nose and it told me that Zubair had purposefully not really aimed at the boy's jaw at all.

The Bulgarian beater stood with his own eyes emanating twice as much hate as Chevrolet's own held at present.

"Keep your tongue on a leash, Chevrolet," Zubair seethed then, words hard to speak through the clenching of his teeth. "I will not hesitate to kill you, the next time."

That was all the boy said, his butter smooth voice was held back then, as he gestured to Krum and the both of them moved towards Bridgette Monet's covered dead body, ready to lift her into the ground.

My chest felt raw, as though at present I had been stabbed everywhere but there. It felt empty, as I looked at the boy my dead best friend had possibly loved more than she had loved most things in life.

Gabriel Chevrolet backed off, his tongue parting to speak but no words leaving his mouth. Krum and Dimitrova lifting up the cadaver had switched off every other miscellaneous emotion in its periphery.

I couldn't help but wish Zubair had said more to Gabriel. I couldn't help but wish he had truly and generously defended Bridgette. I wanted him to name drop her, acknowledge her loss with his words, so that perhaps I would know maybe a semblance of what had gone between them—so that maybe I could feel truly involved in what had been Bridgette's short life.

It was selfish. I wanted Dimitrova to do it more for me than for himself, because at present I felt wretched. I felt like I had pushed Bridgette Monet so far that now I could never find my way back to her.

The cadaver was in the grave, and then it was covered up with Gabriel Chevrolet silently helping the two Durmstrangs, keeping his distance from them as his hard eyes focused on the work and his nose still bled from the earlier occurrence.

We all started walking back then, leaving the grave marked with an intricate headstone that Elias Dupont had conjured up with his wand. The boy's attention to detail led to a beautiful tribute of marble and stone, etched with Bridgette's name and her years of life. Underneath, I had Elias write down a quote from the muggle philosopher she had adored. It was a phrase he had written to his lover, and in many indescribable ways, the prospect of it winding up on Bridgette Monet's headstone was odd, but Elias Dupont did not question and neither did I.

"Are you alright?" Viktor Krum jogged up to me as Elias offered me a small smile before walking on ahead.

"It still doesn't feel real," I shrugged, my voice small. "I feel like she'll be at the camp with Harry when we return."

Viktor exhaled, a muscular hand wrapping around my back and pulling me to his side as we walked. I turned my head to see Zubair pick his way amongst the brushes a distance behind us, lagging behind on purpose, his head bent down in concentration.

"Viktor, I'm sorry for—," I began to say when suddenly a crackling noise sounded to our left, a noise similar to a handful of branches being broken under a single clumsy and unaware footstep.

Viktor immediately pulled out his thick wand as we stopped in our tracks. Zubair glanced up—jostled out of his reverie—his startled eyes meeting Krum's as the former pulled out his own wand and held it high in the direction of the noise.

Elias Dupont had also stopped ahead, his own wand at the ready as his eyes met mine. I couldn't see Chevrolet on the path ahead, the boy had long disappeared—perhaps in his haste to cater to his wounded nose and equally wounded pride.

The brushes were thick and opaque around us, and in his attempt at finding the burial spot, Gabriel Chevrolet had picked out a path from amongst these hard brushes, cutting out a straight way from our campsite on the rock plain to the burial spot.

But Elias Dupont's protection spells only catered to our campsite, and we had long exited that safe circle.

We were all paused, waiting for another sound, and as I stood with a rune on the surface of my mind, my fingers twitching and ready, another clumsy footstep came along with a jostle of another person's.

Viktor pointed his wand at the high brush behind which the footsteps were nearing. From the sound of it, there were two people, and in our present state of four, I was certain we could deal with them.

By their footsteps it could be ascertained that the two people approaching were no professional killers. There was a certain nonchalance and carelessness in the way they were picking their way noisily through—as though the thought of running into someone else here seemed ridiculous to them. Surely such persons had not come all this way looking for either Harry or me.

Viktor Krum sensed that. He had deduced the threat according to his own calculation, yet he still refused to take the risk as his wand held unyielding.

I sucked in a quiet breath as the brush tore apart then as Viktor murmured a spell, having had enough of the daunting wait, revealing two very familiar faces—one more so than the other.

"Are you serious?" The burly Hogwarts Quidditch keeper, Oliver Wood exhaled a small laugh, his unruly and messy hair falling into his eyes as he examined the shocked four of us.

"I think your blessed compass does work for something, mate," The boy spoke to his companion.

I blinked in surprise, my eyes landing on Oliver Wood's unlikely companion. A tad shorter than Wood, the boy still stood tall, his thin ivory face and blond hair—the latter feature a mess as compared to the picture of gelled perfection it had been the last time I had seen him.

"I did tell you," Lucas Benjamin, the Ilvermorny year seven headboy, managed, startled surprise morphing into a pleased version of that same sentiment.

The thin boy, who had given us the risky yet memorable party on the eve of our departure, looked every bit an adventurer in his current state. With a brown backpack strapped to his back, his infamous dark blue headboy badge pinned to his chest and all sorts of miscellaneous items hanging from the belt of his trousers, Lucas Benjamin looked as though he was on a mission to conquer the lands he was traipsing currently on, before respectfully leaving once his traipse was over.

Oliver Wood in stark contrast, looked as though he had woken up for lunch and taken the wrong door, only to wind up trailing behind someone who, for a change, seemed to know what he was doing.

"Well," Elias Dupont exhaled, the first to recover, tucking his wand back onto his person as he shoved his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. "This is a surprise."

─── ☾ ───

"Well, that's—I didn't see it coming. I just, wow. I guess it's alright that you're the heuristic witch. I mean it makes sense for someone from Beauxbatons to be it—her—I guess, I think," Lucas Benjamin pursed his lips, forcefully shutting up his own ramble, his blond brows furrowed in concentration as he sat inside our camp, his overtly full backpack discarded to a side.

In brief words, he had been supplied the information—for it was hard to explain our isolation, Bridgette Monet's death, Draco Malfoy's crippled form and Harry Potter lying unconscious in the corner, without supplying the truth of what had occurred to all of us.

I worked through the last bits of heuristics before I could wake Harry up again, my eyes wandering to Benjamin's form as the boy's face fought to digest information Viktor Krum was giving to him.

Zubair Dimitrova was sitting nearby, a distance away from Yordanka Hristova. The former focused on the rug underneath him, his mind elsewhere as the latter eyed Lucas and Viktor. Elias was beside me, keeping an eye on the dazed Draco Malfoy, having offered earlier to help me out with both Harry and Draco were I to need him. Oliver Wood stood at a corner, leaning against the walls of the camp lightly. Chevrolet had framed himself at the entrance, his arms pinned across his chest as he looked at the Ilvermorny boy with a certain acceptance—after all, that boy had made sure Gabriel had had whatever he'd needed the night of that party.

"It's really crazy out there," Benjamin said in response to something Viktor had asked. Outside, the sky was darkening fast.

"The British ministry is basically gone, Hogwarts is entirely under death eater control."

"In a single night?" Elias let out, confused. "We listened to the radio just last night—at the castle ruin before those death eaters found us."

"Yeah," Oliver Wood added, his face thoughtful. "Professor Dumbledore's death left the headmaster spot open. Severus Snape took it. He invited all the death eater control. The student parents in the ministry folded, they were ready to do whatever just to garner their child's protection. So they agreed to do whatever Snape asked of them."

"Sucks," Lucas Benjamin nodded. "Albus Dumbledore's death really was the catalyst he who must not be named needed. A bunch of death eaters arrived at Ilvermorny shortly after that, threatening Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine. With the news of Dumbledore's death and the unwanted at the opposing side, the headmaster folded too. Ilvermorny's basically overrun too, a death eater called Arthur is taking over Fontaine's place. That's why I escaped. I didn't feel like continuing school anymore, not with death eaters controlling it."

"What do you mean by the unwanted being on the opposing side?" I perked up, my brows furrowing as I met the American boy's stark blue eyes from the distance at Harry's unconscious side.

"They are under he who must not be named's control, Miss Lavigne," The boy prompted. "Turns out they had been the entire time—well, most of the time since the preparation for the Huntlock began. He employed them to look for you, the heuristic witch. It isn't a surprise though, since they were the best choice at the time, lurking in the shadows as they do."

I blinked, I knew that. But what I didn't know was that they were still under his control. Why didn't Voldemort let them be after he had seen me in London at the gentleman's club? Couldn't he ascertain that I had left Ilvermorny and America? Why then keep the poor creatures under his constant abuse when he had no more to gain from them? Few of les dorés ever ventured far from America. Their distribution over the world had become limited centuries ago. If Voldemort kept his hold over them still, thinking that they would be of help elsewhere in other lands, he was mistaken. They would not be able to counter climate changes, having evolved in a specific one for centuries. It took rare ones, like Angus, who had been forced away and had shifted to its surroundings' commands.

"And we were ready to compete for those creatures," Yordanka Hristova hissed. "The Huntlock was a fucking joke, Viktor was right."

"Well, it wasn't supposed to be," The American boy shifted slightly in discomfort at the blatant disrespect of his school's tournament. Though he had left of his own accord, it was clear he held enough respect for his academic establishment—before it was overrun by death eaters, atleast.

"Why does he need the unwanted now?" I asked, "I am not in America, and he knows that."

"Couldn't tell you, Miss," Benjamin shrugged, "I think it's just a more the merrier strategy. The unwanted did help to cower Agilbert Fontaine though. I think he knows he can still get some use out of them. Numbers matter to him I guess and the unwanted have the natural affinity to serve, they don't fight back."

"Does that mean Beauxbatons is next?" Elias Dupont let out, his tone anxious.

"Agilbert Fontaine, Igor Karkaroff and Olympe Maxime have all been summoned to Hogwarts," Oliver Wood said then. "If there's been replacements for Dumbledore and Fontaine, there will be replacements for Igor Karkaroff and Olympe Maxime too. The only strategy that is clear to me is this; Voldemort is trying to have all the schools under his control and that is proving to lead him to the wizarding governments efficiently."

"Don't say the name," Lucas Benjamin hissed then, his facial features contorted in alarm, as Oliver Wood shut his eyes briefly in reverence as though both of them had had this conversation before, and this wasn't the first time Wood had been reprimanded by Benjamin on the mistake.

"His name is being tabooed, I've heard," The Ilvermorny boy addressed us all. "They say its being tracked. That death eaters will overrun any place it is being spoken at."

"That's the most ridiculous fucking thing I've ever heard," Gabriel Chevrolet observed, managing a scoff.

"Well," Benjamin shrugged, pursing his lips. "I've heard it's true and I believe it."

"He sure does," Oliver Wood pursed his lips.

"So how did you both end up here?" Elias Dupont asked then, throwing a shoulder, his curiosity getting the most of him.

"As Benji here said—," Wood started, but was interrupted by the Ilvermorny boy as the American exhaled sharply in disappointment.

"Benjamin, if you please," The boy threw Wood a narrowed look.

Wood grinned. "Well, as Benjamin here said, he was on a run, hence his safety gear and precautional luggage. And I just—I guess I did the similar thing too, except I didn't pack as much. When Snape took over, I didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. So I just thought I should find you guys. I was thinking about Dominique—and how you all had the deathly hallows. And as everything in the ministry started falling to hell, I just thought I should seek you all out. I ran into Benjamin here a few miles back. I had taken to traveling on foot, since apparation is being monitored. And so had he I guess, else he wouldn't be here."

"How come you're in Northern Ireland?" Elias directed his question to Lucas, "It's a long way from America."

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I followed Professor Agilbert Fontaine. He was headed to Hogwarts. So I guess I just tracked him for a while before breaking off of the trail. I didn't want to get too close to Hogwarts. I decided to go north on a whim and I found Wood on the track."

"Great," Gabriel Chevrolet sneered once he deduced that everyone except him knew where we were at present. Northern Ireland.

"We're still in fucking Britain."

"Professor Fontaine was escorted to Hogwarts by the death eaters, I guess they didn't trust him to go on his own," Lucas Benjamin continued, letting out a thought off his mind. "He looked so defeated. He didn't speak a word his entire journey. I could tell. He didn't catch on that I was on the trail though. If he did, he wouldn't let on I guess."

"Why isn't anyone fighting back?" Viktor cursed then, irritation evident on his face. "What the fuck are they waiting for? For Harry Potter and Dominique to save them?"

The Ilvermorny boy swallowed in face of Viktor's outburst, before carefully curating a reply.

"There are rumors going around that he already has his hands on Harry Potter, and some say that he even has The Elder Wand and Miss Lavigne too—of course, they don't know it is her. The news of these losses and a possibility of a heuristic witch being in the evil wizard's tow is pretty morale losing. The news of Dumbledore's death especially has thrown the wizarding world awry. Britain doesn't want to put up the fight, they don't have the bearance for it. I wouldn't, I suppose, if I knew that my enemy had possibly all the powerful weapons. The fight wouldn't be fair, I think. And because of Britain's hesitance, I believe no other country is standing up too—America isn't."

"Fuck that," Viktor exhaled, running his hands over his shaved head in frustration. "This was what Karkaroff prepared us for. He always said that the wizarding world was weak, and that we needed to counter the weakness."

"Hm," Zubair Dimitrova hummed, speaking for the first time in a while. "That was why he was not liked by most outside of Durmstrangs. He spoke facts and Dumbledore and his British ministry of magic didn't like it. They questioned his teaching techniques—cowards."

"Dumbledore was never associated with the ministry," Oliver Wood argued. "They respected him just for the mere show of it. They never listened to him, didn't believe him when he privately urged them to believe Harry Potter's claims. That is why Dumbledore made the order of the phoenix."

We all looked at him when the Hogwarts boy paused briefly.

"It was his army—it is his army. He had brought some people together to fight off Vol—He who must not be named, and his death eaters," Wood glanced at the unconscious form of Harry Potter. "The order of the phoenix gathered at The Burrow, the Weasley's place. That was why Harry's friends were urging him to go with them."

"The order of the phoenix," I turned the words in my mouth. "Tell me about this mighty force, what have they accomplished?"

Oliver Wood blinked, his gaze faltering into mine as it dropped to his feet briefly.

"They too are thrown awry by Dumbledore's death. They require Harry, and—," The burly boy looked at me. "And you."

I turned away, choosing not to respond, my hand touching Harry's forehead as I waited for his body to cool down. I was in the midst of getting his body temperature just right before I brought his consciousness back. It was standard procedure, or the consciousness would overwhelm him entirely when faced with a varying temperature and his heart would not be able to take the shock.

Viktor Krum scoffed. "Harry and Dominique are not weapons, tell Dumbledore's army that, Wood."

Oliver Wood exhaled, his eyes bearing into Krum's. "I do not mean to offend, and I know how this sounds, but they are weapons. Weapons against he who must not be named."

"Dominique knows it, and she realizes it," The Hogwarts boy added, and I stilled briefly in my actions.

Viktor jumped to his feet, taking a few strides and nearing the Hogwarts Quidditch keeper.

"Don't come in here and pretend to know her, you fucker," The Durmstrang seethed. "You chose to leave with those kids. You chose to remove yourself from this fight, so you don't get to fucking pretend to know Dominique, or any of us. Is this why you decided to seek us out? To drag Dominique and Harry away? Did that stupid order put you up to it?"

"I'm not—," The burly gryffindor faltered. "I'm merely saying that there are people willing to fight, if we only just join them and increase our numbers. I left because I wanted to see the order of the phoenix, I wanted to see what their plans were—how they were deciding to go forwards. I have spoken to them and yes they did encourage me to come and convince you. I know those people, they are good and they are valiant."

"They have some numbers, Dominique," Wood addressed me then, ignoring Viktor's large form blocking the air in front of him. "They can help. They know about you, I helped them connect the dots. It wasn't hard for any of us to understand when you took Harry boldly under your wing. There was only one reason why you would want to protect him and have him by your side, if you were sought after by that evil wizard like he is."

"They seek to control her and Harry, just say it clear and plain," Krum argued, his jaw clenched.

"No they do not," The boy snapped, irritated. "They can help, be extra hands for you. They care for Harry, and Harry cares for them if you would only ask him."

I flared up then, an immense rage thundering inside me. My eyes whipped towards Wood's, meeting them in a glare.

"You think I'm keeping Harry forcefully? He chose to stay with me," I fumed. "I have things to offer him. I'm teaching him Occlumency, I can offer him protection—I—"

I broke off, realization striking violently at me. Harry Potter was in this state because he had been a victim to the Cruciatus curse. Instead of giving him the protection I had promised him, I had led him to his current state. His screams were still remnants of echoes being tossed around in my mind. My gaze fell on Draco Malfoy in the corner, the platinum haired boy—once bold, assertive and dominant in his own way—was now arguing in low tones with himself, his voice shifting and thinning as he pretended to be the other person arguing back.

"I can't let you make him a weapon," My voice was barely above a whisper. "I can't let your order make him a weapon. He's only—"

"You and him are our only chance of survival against he who must not be named, Dominique, you must understand that," Oliver Wood pressed. "The wizarding world has given up hope, but they don't realize that you both are here, and can give us all a chance."

I didn't say anything, fighting back the sharp ache in my eyes.

"Sirius Black," Wood continued, speaking the name. "He's Harry's godfather. He's one of the order. He was mistaken as a death eater after a conspiracy against him."

"He wants to talk to you. Just speak to him once, he can convince you to accept the help. He'll tell you that they aren't looking to control either Harry or you at all."

"That is what they say now," Krum blurted out furiously.

"Fine," I managed, to the Durmstrang's surprise. "I'll talk to this Sirius Black. I'll hear what he has to say."

Viktor's gaze was shocked as it intensified on me and I could only muster a softness in my own in return.

"How long do I just sit and hide, Viktor?" I asked softly, "I'll hear what this man has to say—what this order has to offer me."

I turned to look at Oliver Wood. "Then I'll tell them exactly what I think afterwards."

"I understand what my heuristics mean for the wizarding world," I bore my gaze into the Hogwarts boy's. "I've known it long before this tragedy even struck. My great uncle told me every second I was with him—every sparse second that he could spare for me. I've known it all along. But still, I was forced to hide it, because I knew revealing it would have me locked up. I was threatened at times by those who found out—"

I swallowed, trying hard not to look at either Viktor or Zubair.

"And now when the wizarding world is in trouble, everyone is cognizant of what my heuristics could mean for them? I know I'm supposed to battle an evil wizard and save the wizarding world when, if this threat had not risen, the same wizarding world would've cut me open on a bench just to see how I worked."

"I know what I'm supposed to do, Oliver, and trust me, I've been thinking about nothing else. But nobody will force me, I swear to you. I will have nobody force me."

Oliver Wood nodded once firmly, his jaw tight and eyes flashing his warm understanding. I remembered then what I had liked about him. It had been his temperament to listen and understand. Unlike Krum, Wood didn't rush to argue or point out something I might've not considered, instead he melted into what I said, taking it exactly how I spoke it.

"How will this Sirius Black talk?" I turned my eyes to Harry's form.

"I can tell where we are and he can—," Wood started.

"No," I spoke. "You will tell no one our location."

Bridgette's outcome, Harry's and Draco's states were enough caution for me. Nobody would know our location until I was absolutely sure.

"Just get him a message," I swallowed, conscious of every word I was speaking. "Get him to send a piece of his hair back. I'll bring him here myself."

Oliver Wood stared, alarmed and surprised, but not willing to question my statement. In truth, I had never summoned an unmarked wizard or witch before. Angus and Flora Fischer were both marked by me. It would've been easier if this Sirius Black was too, then, I wouldn't have to have a piece of the unknown man in my periphery before summoning him. I wasn't even sure if it would work. Flora Fischer bled most times when I called her, her arm drenched in the blood of her own flesh, gushing out from the mark I had given her because I slipped and could not determine the adequate pressure it took to be just enough—my bottled fury finding a target every time I summoned the dwarf witch.

It wouldn't do to have a wizard tumble in our presence, battered and bleeding from head to toe.

"Now," I exhaled. "I need privacy. I have to bring Harry back."

I glanced briefly at everyone present inside the camp, and they all shifted, offering me nonchalant shrugs and determined nods alike as they moved to get up and exited one by one.

"I'll stay and help," Elias Dupont met my eyes and I nodded, grateful.

"Benji," Gabriel Chevrolet caught up to Lucas Benjamin as the Ilvermorny boy exited, slapping the thin boy's back roughly. "You got some cocaine?"

"Uh—," The boy managed in surprise, before he was caught upon by Zubair Dimitrova too.

Zubair's voice was low, yet in this silence he could be heard as plain as day.

"I'd like some too," He murmured. "Fuck, I really need the lift right now."

The two differing boys, who had earlier been dealing with a fist to a jaw and glares of hatred, were now briefly united in their quest to get high now that they were met with an adequate supplier.

"Yeah sure, I have some in my pockets," The Ilvermorny boy spoke, before his voice was indecipherable as they all walked out of hearing distance.

"I'll be right outside," Viktor shook his head at the exchange happening outside, before his eyes met mine with slight concern and determined understanding.

"If you need an extra hand," The Durmstrang swallowed, his eyes landing onto Draco Malfoy. The platinum haired boy had dozed off now.

Then, the Bulgarian seeker left, leaving Elias Dupont and me inside the camp as he closed the flaps of the camp temporarily, and I drew the rune with Harry's consciousness trapped inside, in the air above the chosen boy's unconscious form. 

***

A/N:
I wrote half of this chapter past midnight last night, I'll be editing it later if there are any mistakes <3 please bear with me at present