Archive of Our Own

“What’s in Bavaria that the German Ministry can’t handle?”

Aveline ignored her, slamming a file onto her desk and falling into her chair.

Hawke lifted an eyebrow. Growing tensions within their own Ministry had made organisations outside of England...uncooperative, and the captain’s fuse was growing shorter by the day. “I'm only saying it's terribly far to travel for a few dead bodies.”

“You know they never call me for the normal ones.” But her lips were still tight about what Thicknesse had brought from upstairs. Aveline loosened her tie, running her fingers through her hair. The circles under her eyes were darker than last week. “There’s a Portkey that’ll take us from Reading.”

Hawke pulled at the corner of her lips with a hand. Talking about cases didn’t used to be so difficult. “That can take me, you mean.”

“What?” To her credit, Aveline looked genuinely surprised.

“The Portkey will take me from Reading.”

“I’m not letting you work this case alone.”

Hawke took a steadying breath. “I know it took a lot to get me back on your team. Come on,” she needled, “don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you.” Her laugh came out sharp. Hawke could hear the noise stop behind her. She didn’t turn, closing the door with a swipe of her wand through the air. Aveline looked at the door, chagrined. “Don’t trust you not to get hurt. I wouldn’t trust anyone without a partner after what happened.”

“I knew what you meant. No need to placate me.” Hawke sat in the chair across from her, hands over her knee loose and relaxed. “I appreciate it, but you can barely stand, Thicknesse is breathing down your neck about the Americans, and I know half of that paperwork is fallout from my suspension. Can you just let me do this for you, please?”

Aveline breathed heavily through her nose before sitting in her own chair and putting her tie to rights. “You’ll have the aid of one of our contacts.” She passed a file to Hawke. “Merrill’s the one who brought this to us. I want her eyes on this if at all possible.”

“Sabrae?” Hawke flipped through the papers. She hadn’t sat in for the briefing. She hadn’t been in anyone’s good books for a few months, and she was barely tolerated by the rest of the force. She’d been following the murders though. You didn’t have to be in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to hear about those. “Why does that name sound familiar? Witness?”

Aveline shook her head. “Magizoologist. Was studying Wendigos when this turned up.”

“Cannibalistic monster. Tell me, would that be a step up from what we normally deal in?”

No one here really appreciated Hawke’s wit but sometimes, sometimes , she could pull a small chuckle from Aveline. Today was not one of those days. “She won’t be there for combat support, but she’s handy in a fight if it comes to that.”

“Sabrae...I swear I’ve heard that name….” A muffled ringing sounded from her pocket, and Hawke pulled out her planner. Bethany: Diagon Alley , it read. “I have to go. Bethany’s grown again apparently. God love our genes, but we’re tall.”

“Hawke,” Something must have shown on her face because Aveline reached out to place a hand on her elbow, “she’ll be fine.”

“The sooner she’s at Hogwarts, the sooner I’ll believe that.” Hawke slid the planner back into her pocket.

“Send her my love, and...tell her to mind her professors.” Aveline said, following her to the door.

“Mind her professors?” She snorted, “Whoever’s left after last year.” Hawke knew she was pressing a button where Albus Dumbledore was concerned.

“Is she really any safer out here?” Aveline’s jaw tightened. There was something dark behind her eyes that Hawke recognised. She never wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.

“I joined this Department because you thought I could do some good for,” she placed a hand over Aveline’s and lowered her voice, “my people here. You convinced me that I still can, and if you don’t think that’s a possibility anymore...what was the point of bringing me back?”

“You do good wherever you are, Hawke.” Aveline sighed, “But I told you, after Lancashire, it was up to you. I gave you a choice.”

“Am I being sent to Grainau as a punishment?”

“No, but it might be a good opportunity to think.” She lowered her own voice. “Is the Ministry really where you want to be right now?”

“What’s in Bavaria that the Germans can’t handle?” Varric pulled down a book.

“That’s what I said!” Hawke made a noise at the back of her throat. “I think it has more to do with cleaning up our own messes than anything political.”

“That'll be a nice change.”

She had her case file open on Varric’s desk, studying the victim’s faces. “Looks like a normal attack to me.”

“That’s normal?” He stared down from his ladder, using a switch on the side of his bifocals to zoom in on one of the pictures before turning away with a shudder.

“For a werewolf, yes.”

“Issue?”

“Wrong time, wrong season, wrong territory. Wrong everything, really. And we’ve got a magizoologist there to counter it.”

“So,” he hopped from one ladder to the next, eliciting a small noise of approval from Hawke, “human attack made to look like a werewolf.”

“Yes, but why?” She flipped the file shut with a roll of her eyes. “I hate the complicated ones.”

“Killers or cases?”

“Both. Say what you want about You-Know-Who, but at least his ethos is simple.”

“Haha,” Varric half-turned his head and shot her a look, “try following his network for a week. Simple, my ass.”

She smiled lightly. Varric had set up shop in Knockturn Alley ages ago, but he’d been her inside man regarding the comings and goings of corruption at the Ministry going on three years now. All he asked in exchange from her was a heads up when someone was going to knock on his door and a little extra muscle if it came to it. She saw herself as getting the better end of that deal.

In any case, if there was anyone who knew how tangled Voldemort’s web was, it would be him.

“Any news on that front?” she asked lightly. Varric jumped from the ladder, landing on both feet with a thud from two rungs up. He reached under his desk for a button Hawke knew was there, and shutters closed in the windows beside the door.

“Could you?” He made a swirling motion with his finger and Hawke produced her wand. “You’ll want them all for this.”

She cast the strongest Silencing Charm she knew and gave him a thumbs up.

“Mad Eye is dead,” he said, fiddling with her stack of papers.

It was difficult to be shocked anymore, but she found it somewhere within herself. The old codger had seemed nigh impossible to kill. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Can’t say who else, but I know it had to do with Potter.”

“Doesn't everything?” She snorted. “Did you read yesterday’s Prophet?”

“I don’t read that swill.” His tone said that he had least glanced at the headlines.

Hawke cut her eyes away. She couldn't blame him for his anger. The near daily barrage of lies, the cover-up of Death Eater sightings on the road to where they now were. She knew they had been lies; she had helped to fabricate some after all. They kept her position secure, and if she was safe, her people were safe. Sometimes, she thought, you had to play the long game.

It had all been going smoothly until Lancashire.

"How they're reporting the funeral.” She knocked a knuckle against the wood. “It's rubbish.”

“I can’t believe you’re sending her back.” Varric made a clucking noise with his tongue. She sighed. They’d had this conversation before.

“I’m not sending her. She’s an adult. I can’t very well stop her.” Hawke ran a hand over her brow. “Besides, Hogwarts is...safer.”

“They killed Dumbledore inside Hogwarts, Hawke.” Varric sat across from her. “Nowhere is safe.”

She leaned in to whisper. “They’re watching me, Varric. All the time. And if they’re watching me, they’re watching her. I can’t risk it.”

“They’re not watching you now.” He clutched her hand. “Go get your sister from whatever shop she’s at, likely spending way more money than she should be, bring her here and we’ll go. Right now. You can even do your job! The snowy alps of Bavaria await!” He laughed, almost boyishly. “It’s on the list, in case you’re wondering.”

“I seem to remember it being one of the last on the...” Breath filled Hawke’s lungs as realisation struck. “That’s it, Varric, you genius!”

“Compliment accepted. Should I ask why?”

“Sabrae! The Bavarian safe house!” She pushed at his hands. “The list, the list of safe houses and contacts, get it. I need to check something.”

Varric held up a hand to calm her, moving to pull a sheet of paper from behind one of his many books. “Latest contact….Daisy aka Merrill Sabrae. She your contact for this?”

Hawke nodded. “Bodies found at the base of...Kreuzeck mountain. That’s only six hours from Ohlstadt. Coincidence?”

“Not sure.” Varric tilted his head. “Who assigned you?”

“Aveline, straight down from Kingsley.”

Varric's brows drew together. “I thought she took her orders from Thicknesse.”

“After the mess of the last few months we just do what's asked of us.” Hawke pitched her voice lower to imitate Scrimgeour. “In these trying times, cooperation between divisions is not only greatly appreciated, it is necessary for survival.”

Varric laughed, sharply, looking back to his papers. “She’s one of the few I have a real name on, this Merrill. Rivaini put me in touch with her.”

“Lucky us. How often do we get to scope out possible honeymoon destinations?”

“A honeymoon, is it?” he asked archly.

Hawke's hands were still tingling from where he had held them. Her eyes settled on them if only so she didn’t have to stare at that damnable gleam in his eye. “What do you call running away to a semi-foreign land with your business partner in the dead of night?”

“In these circumstances? An evacuation. Quick getaway. Strategical retreat. But I raise no objections to honeymoon.”

“You’re right about one thing.” She slowly pulled her hands off the desk and reached for her wand. “Bethany is probably spending more money than she needs to.”

“You know where to find me when you’re penniless.” He pressed the button under his desk to open the shutters once more, and she canceled her charms.

“Thanks, Varric, you always know what to say.”

“I hate that you had to travel all this way. If they're sending the Ministry...it's You-Know-Who, isn't it?”

Merrill’s face was so delicate, her eyes so clear and pretty, Hawke found it difficult to smile back at the witch without blushing.

“We don't like to say that without the Mark.” Hawke rallied her courage to smile anyway. “For all I know, it could still be you.” She continued when she saw Merrill hadn’t taken offense to the offhand comment. “Er, or wild animals. Our job is to work backwards and find out. But since foreign ministries are writing off any strange death as the work of the Dark Lord...well let's just say we've been moving a lot of people.”

“Your superior told me how to set up a proper perimeter around the bodies.” Merrill explained, watching Hawke stretch out her wand arm, testing where the spell began.

“Good job,” Hawke said, pulling out three palm-sized boxes and walking around to set them at the corners of Merrill’s spell.

“What are those?”

“Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Nutty Nutcrackers, guaranteed to blow your nuts off,” she said in her most enthusiastic imitation of the lethal salesmen. “Sometimes I can buy the defective ones for cheap.”

“What’s wrong with these?” Merrill eyed the boxes warily.

“They work with smells sometimes. The fireworks are meant to give off a nut-like aroma. Get it? Nutty?” Hawke grinned, and Merrill grinned back, albeit weakly. “Fairly sure this batch got mixed in with the stuff they make dungbombs with. Nifty enough for a personal investment, don't you think?”

Merrill opened Hawke’s pack, reaching her arm in to pull out an entire box of defective products. Her eyes went wide. “I'll have to see this shop for myself sometime.”

“Come to England...though now might not be the best time.” Hawke clapped. “Let's see these bodies.”

Hawke let her quill take notes as she estimated time of death and who these wizards could possibly be. With no identification and no contacts at the German Ministry, her hope of returning to England before Bethany went back to school in September was looking slim.

Merrill let her examine the faces in silence for a few minutes before she spoke. “You took a while to get here if you don’t mind me saying. Shouldn’t things like this be done immediately?”

“In this case, the environment preserves the bodies.” Hawke ground her teeth together to keep from saying everything she wanted to. She remembered whose side Merrill was on; she was likely furious. But she also remembered Merrill didn’t know who she was at all, so she couldn’t help her for feeling such. She decided to throw her a bone.

“The Ministry regulations have shifted in recent years. In field work like this, at the end of every investigation, we turn in our wand, and every spell we cast is sorted through. Which is where the Weasleys’ shop comes in handy. Our Department Head sees no need to...waste our time unnecessarily.”

“He wants you to write off cases.”

“We’re not to be improperly utilised.” She lowered her voice although there was no one to hear her for miles. It was habit at this point. “My superiors will be very happy if I come home with a report that says ‘Wendigo’ and not ‘Lord Voldemort’.”

Merrill took in a shuddering breath at the name, nodding in quiet understanding.

“They would have done better to fashion them after Wendigos. They're more populous in the region.”

“And they’d have got away with it?” Hawke picked up one of the man’s hands.

“Oh no, I’d have spotted it instantly. They’re amateurs. But it would have been nice to see some effort.”

“Merrill, I understand your pain. Prior Manibus.” She ran her wand over the tips of the nearest man’s fingers. “Odd. Last spell was cast days ago.” She toed carefully around the other two bodies, checking both of their fingertips. “Them as well.”

“Here,” Merrill said, on the end of a sigh. She reached into her pack, pulling out three wands, “I’m fairly certain these were theirs.”

Hawke stared at the wands, each broken down the centre, then to Merrill clearly waiting to be scolded, and took them from her hand.

“I would say we could repair them, find a lead, but the cores are missing.” She held the longest, a ten-inch reed, to her face. It was similar to her own, and the thought left her cold. She turned it this way and that, reading the small etching in the wood on the bottom. “Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe.”

“Mykew Gregorovitch,” Merrill said. “He's retired. And a bit cranky, I hear.”

“I can handle cranky.” Hawke stowed the reed with the other two wands. “He sold these. That’s a lead.”

Gregorovitch lived three blocks from his old shop and was nearly impossible to find. Flashing her department badge got a few more answers from the locals, but the closer she got to her destination, the more she found her feet on shifting cobblestones and the heaviest warding she had encountered since her years at Hogwarts. She felt guilty changing the stone’s consistency, but after being lost for three solid hours, she and Merrill shot out a quick succession of Lapis spells to deal with the problem.

They were greeted at the door with a hex.

Hawke and Merrill threw themselves to opposite sides of the house, shooting wide-eyed looks at one another. Hawke recovered first, but Merrill’s own wand was raised half a second after. At least Aveline was right about combat support.

“Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement,” Hawke shouted, “erm, of England! Disarm or I will disarm you!”

Another hex soared past Hawke’s head. Either he had terrible aim or he was hiding just...there .

Hawke rolled from behind the small hope chest protecting her, wand aimed to the far right corner. “Expelliarmus!” she shouted, landing on her back looking up at the ceiling.

“Accio Wand!" She watched Gregorovitch’s wand soar across the room and into Merrill’s waiting hand. Hawke stood, wand arm raised. She could see Gregorovitch rubbing his fingers in the shadows behind a writing desk.

“I did warn you,” she said evenly.

“Go away!”

“Do I need to put you in a body bind, sir?”

Gregorovitch let out a great breath, stepping forward with raised arms. Hawke lowered her wand. Merrill did not.

“Mykew Gregorovitch?” she prompted. After a grunt, she continued, “I’m Marian Hawke. British Ministry of Magic.”

“Was expecting someone else.”

“Like who?” She thought of the layers of protective wards. Images flashed behind her eyelids; the bodies and the broken wands. “A killer? Death Eater, maybe?”

The man remained silent, settling himself behind the desk.

Hawke huffed, digging into her pack to remove the three wands. “Do you recognise these?” She placed them on the desk in front of him. “No cores, but I can tell you the descriptions of the three wizards plus rough age estimat--”

“Don’t bother.” He pushed his glasses up in a way that reminded her of Varric. “Those are mine. Special-made for boys that used to work for me in the shop.”

“That’s very helpful.” Hawke placed her pad and quill on the desk next to the wands. “I’ll need their names and next of kin, please.”

Gregorovitch let out a gruff sigh but snatched the quill up and wrote the names next to each wand’s description. “Is that it?”

“A few more questions, sir.” Hawke motioned for Merrill to lower her wand. “Who did you think was coming through that door?”

“The Dark Lord.”

Hawke silently tucked the items on his desk away. It felt as though her hands were moving through molasses, but her lips moved automatically, years of Aveline’s drilling finally paying off. “If you truly believe your life is at risk, I am obliged to place you under official Ministry protective custody.”

“You're not my ministry,” he scoffed.

“Nevertheless this is my case.” She snapped her pack shut. “And I’ve a strong suspicion you’re related to it. I would be remiss in my duties if I were to leave you here.”

“I am not leaving my home.”

“If you're not comfortable with the protection that the Ministry provides, I know somewhere you can go.” Merrill raised a tentative hand.

“There, see? You even have alternatives! That are not here ,” Hawke pointed out.

“You children can't protect me any better than I can protect myself.”

“And a very good job you’re doing of it. You realise it could have been anyone from the Ministry flashing their papers at your neighbors? Why are you hiding so close to home? So close to civilians you’re putting in known danger?”

“Look at the world, girl, we’re all in danger.” He slammed a hand on his desk. “He is after information. Information that I do not have, I might add!”

Hawke spread the pictures from her reports in front of him, a small slap in the quiet room.

“Hawke, don't…,” Merrill said feebly.

“These men may have died because Death Eaters were after information,” Hawke hissed. “I don’t care whether you have it or don’t. And I’m betting,” she stabbed one of the mangled faces with the tip of her index finger, “neither do the people who did this.”

He placed a hand on the pictures, pulling them closer by a few degrees. He studied them carefully, then pushed them away, head bowed.

“I'll go with you.”

Hawke let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“He will keep looking for me.” Gregorovitch stood a little shakily, motioning to the door. “How will this help my people?”

“I think I can help with that,” Merrill spoke from the corner of the room. “But you may not like it….”

“I can't believe you just keep these around.” Hawke dragged the Wendigo cadaver in by the armpits. It was surprisingly heavy for how light it looked. She threw it on the ground across from the oldest of the three wizards’ bodies, now wrapped in Gregorovitch clothing and clutching his broken wand.

“You keep your case files, don’t you?” Merrill asked, spreading what looked to Hawke like real blood across the floor in messy, yet perfectly contained arcs near the bodies.

Gregorovitch leaned over. “Do you really think this will fool the Dark Lord?”

“I’ve no idea, honestly.” Hawke bit her thumbnail. “I do know two things. He’ll be very angry, and you’ll be very alive.”

Merrill was obviously new at the spy game and only belatedly realised she had given away the existence of her safe house. Still she handled the situation with grace, producing a piece of braided string from her back pocket and tapping it with her wand.

She had a cute set up in Ohlstadt. After the travel sickness from the Portkey wore off, Hawke took a moment to appreciate the care that didn't typically go into safe houses: knick knacks and pictures and half-finished food product in the pantry. Merrill obviously spent a good deal of time here. She spread her files out on the writing desk in the main sitting room (a good, solid cherry, Gregorovitch felt inclined to point out, and Hawke wondered if this was going to be a thing with the wizard) and got down to the most undesirable part of her job: the fine art of Ministry redaction.

She left the table when she felt her eyes prick and lose focus, which was around the same time Merrill decided they should all have dinner together, and Hawke discovered that Gregorovitch did have a thing with wood. This should not have surprised her, but it also didn’t make for scintillating dinner conversation. Luckily the literally hundreds of ways a Graphorn can kill its prey, told in Merrill’s sweet soprano, was a bit more interesting if...vivid.

Halfway through cleaning, Hawke dropped a plate as she heard a fourth voice call from the other room.

Varric’s face was in the fireplace.

“Varric!” She felt the events of the previous day (was it really only a day?) threaten to spill out of her. She knew the risks though and kept it as simple as possible. “We were right. Coincidence, my foot. I think Kingsley sent me knowing there might be a hit on Gregorovitch.”

“The wandmaker?” Varric tried to look past her. “He's with you?”

She nodded. “He's in the other room. He’s high maintenance.”

As if on cue Gregorovitch called to her, “Girl! There is too much sugar in this tea!”

“Mykew?” she heard Merrill ask. “Are there any trees you can produce sugar from?”

“What an interesting question! It is clear which one of you is running this operation--”

Hawke rolled her eyes, ignoring both of them.

“Hawke, I’m glad everything worked out on the case, but this isn’t a social call.” The tone got her attention. “I need you to listen to me.”

“Okay.” Hawke leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

“Don’t come back.”

It only took a moment to understand. “What stage are we at?”

“Six.”

“We’ve made it that far down the list?” She could feel the panic welling in her chest, her mind scrambling. “I've only been gone a day…”

“Daisy will know where to go. Don’t worry about Sunshine,” he said. “And don’t tell anyone where you are. I’ll speak to you soon.”

Then the flames died.

“Hawke?” Hawke jumped as Merrill laid a hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t say how long the witch had been there, but she had clearly heard enough. “Hawke, tell me what I need to do.”

“Daisy.” She turned to her, and Merrill immediately snapped to attention. “Grab Gregorovitch and everything you can fit in a pack as big as mine. We have to move.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“It's another six hour hike before we reach Halblech. No Apparitions in or out. We can rest here tonight and make the trip tomorrow.”

They had been walking for four hours in what Gregorovitch called ‘brisk’ weather, buffeted by large lines of spruce (‘Difficult to work with for the more inept wandmaker.’) and pine trees (‘You can’t get the wands wet, you see, it leaves the magic unbalanced! Pine’s a particular problem.) that gave way to acres of withered rapeseed. There were only so many Heating Charms someone could place, and the come and go of protection from the biting wind left Hawke cold to her bones. She was more than happy to set up camp for the night.

“Thanks for trusting me.” She settled around the pile of wood Merrill had gathered, lighting it with the tip of her wand.

“Any friend of Rivaini’s.” She shrugged. “And I miss the outdoors.”

“It’s nice out here.” Hawke considered the quiet stillness of the snow. “Almost makes you forget the rest of the world’s gone to shit.”

Merrill coughed, and Hawke filled a cup of tea for her. “Do you know what’s happened exactly? Why do we need to run?”

“Relocate.”

“Relocate, sorry,” Merrill corrected quietly. She eyed Gregorovitch’s cot over Hawke’s shoulder. “Is it...was You-Know-Who really looking for him?”

“I don’t know about that.” Hawke bit her lip. “Stage Six is something else entirely. Full Ministry takeover. Do not Floo into official channels. Abandon first wave safe houses.”

Merrill’s eyes widened, her cup shaking between her hands.

“I made that face when Varric suggested it.” She chuckled. “Do you really think it could happen? I think those were my exact words. Silly.”

The other witch set her cup down. “Do you have any family who…?”

“A sister. Varric. Some friends.” She stared at the flames. “You?”

“No. No, none.” She sat up a little straighter. “Actually, there is someone if Varric could get a message out?”

“I don’t know when we’ll talk to him.”

“That’s fine. Just...if he can.” She was blushing. She pulled out a signed picture of a woman Hawke recognised immediately as the Beater for the Tarapoto Tree-Skimmers, Isabela Prieto.  “She’s Muggle-born, you know?”

“I had heard.” Hawke handed the photograph back; it winked at her as it traded hands.

“I went to school with her.” Merrill smiled, tucking the picture to her stomach. “Castelobruxo.”

“No offense, but I wouldn’t have you pegged as a Castelbruxo girl.” Hawke narrowed her eyes, waving a hand. “Then again you don’t sound like you’re from these parts, either.” 

Merrill laughed. “My family traveled a lot. We were closer to Mahoutokoro when I was of age, but I always knew I wanted to work with animals. Castelobruxo has the highest placement rate for magizoologists.”

Hawke was left stunned, imagining eleven year old Merrill weighing the pros and cons of different schools across the globe based on only a potential career. “Well,” she said, “You’re staring at one of the finest Beaters Hufflepuff House has ever seen.”

Merrill tilted her head.

“It’s...it’s in Hogwarts,” Hawke explained, and Merrill made a noise of understanding. “It seemed really important at the time, I have to say.”

“Beaters are wonderful!” Merrill gave a little clap. “It’s not all beating balls and smashing things. The really good ones have to employ very clever strategy! Isabela’s told me all about it. What about your sister? Does she play for Hubblemuff?”

“Erm, Hufflepuff. And...no, she’s in Ravenclaw. Different house.”

“Oh, does that happen often?”

“Sometimes, yeah. I told her she could blow that Chang bird out of the water, but Beth’s more interested in her studies.” Hawke laid down, and Merrill tossed out the rest of her drink.

“Do you think Mister Tethras will get there before us?”

Hawke felt her stomach drop. Of course he hadn’t told her. Why would he? “I doubt it, unless you’ve a Portkey in place.” Merrill paused in her shuffle to lay down. “Varric’s a Squib.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know a lot about England, but I know names. The Tethrases are old. Pure-blood.”

“All that and then some. Family tree as pure as they come, but you won’t see a Varric on there.” She sat up on an elbow. “Tethras is a formality, really. He’d been disinherited years before I met him.”

“How dreadful.”

“It has its advantages.” She lay back down, closing her eyes and pillowing her head on her hands. “Great for being a spy.”

“But what can he do without magic?” Merrill covered her mouth. “Oh, that was awful. He’s done so much, and here I am...I meant what I wrote in my letter. I’ll protect anyone who comes to my home; half-bloods, Muggleborns, Squibs, you name it, ‘til I die.”

Hawke hadn’t read a letter, but she believed her. “I’m sure you’ve heard my last name. Hawke?”

Merrill nodded. “Your father?”

“My father. Married a Muggle and ta-da,” Hawke waved a hand up and down her body. “Half-blood. Two more healthy children after that. Twins, a boy and a girl, a half-blood and a Squib. We used to joke that Bethany and I sucked up all the magic before Carver could get to it. Others weren’t so jovial about it.” She cracked her knuckles. “I joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to protect my family.”

“The Society for the Support of Squibs set my brother and mother up in a nice little place in Lancashire while Bethany went to school. Merlin, the first year those two had to say goodbye at the platform it was tears all around.” She smiled at the memory, and Merrill smiled back, a little unsure.

“Now,” she sat up, “my favorite book series at the time was The Portrait Series by T.I. Brian. Muggle detective fiction, can’t get enough of it. It’s hard to find Muggle lit anywhere in Diagon Alley, but I got word that a little shop in Knockturn was cranking them out.”

“Oh, good?” Merrill’s brows drew together.

“I thought so too. I even got my hands on a signed copy.” She stared up at the stars, remembering the words. “The SSS has been infiltrated. The Hawkes are not safe.”

“What happened?” Merrill asked. Hawke realised she had stopped speaking.

“I arrived on scene to a Dark Mark above my supposedly safe house.” She bit her lip, a little embarrassed. “I may have turned up at the Society for the Support of Squibs, fantastically smashed, accidentally set fire to the draperies, and found myself suspended without pay.”

Merrill winced.

“It took me...a long time to work my way back up to my old position. I used the time to track down Brian, also known as Varric Tethras.” Merrill grinned, and Hawke was happy the woman’s face could light up after such a grim tale. “He wasn’t hard to find. I suppose he wanted to be found.”

“You shouldn’t have to have told me all that,” Merrill said, obviously still scolding herself. “But...thank you.”

“Yes, thank you for keeping an old man awake even later,” Gregorovitch mumbled from his cot a few paces away. “Go to bed, chattering girls!”

“You can tell me more about Isabela in the morning, deal?” Hawke whispered, flipping over and recasting her Heating Charm.

“Deal.” Merrill giggled.

It was eerily quiet, and Hawke stared at the canopy of pines they had made camp under, counting the leaves until she felt her eyes droop with weariness.

“Hawke?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry about your family.”

“Thanks, Merrill.”

“Pius Thicknesse is the new Minister.”

Varric’s face greeted them from the fireplace in Halblech. It seemed as though he’d been waiting for a while by the speed of his sentence.

“Thicknesse?” Hawke leaned forward on her knees. “That explains so much.”

“He’s implementing new evaluations for Ministry employees. I’m glad you got out of there when you did.”

Hawke thought of Aveline and took a deep, steadying breath.

“On a more positive note, Sunshine is safe.” He attempted a smile. “Hello, Daisy.”

“Hello!” Merrill leaned over Hawke’s shoulder to wave.

“Sunshine, Varric! Where is she?” Hawke’s breath felt stuck in her chest.

“In your heavily warded house with friends. Not even I can get in there now,” he said, looking haggard. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“These friends…?”

“Hogwarts students. Apparently they still want to go back for some unfathomable reason. Sticking it to the Dark Lord I suppose.”

“Well, she can’t!” Hawke laughed, a little hysterically.

“She’s an adult and--”

“Oh, fuck what I said! I’m saying no now!” Varric blinked, and Hawke fell onto her backside, closing her eyes. “Merlin, why didn’t we leave with you?” She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll Floo in and out, quickly and-”

“No, you know the plan, Hawke, no using the Floo.”

“Just a Fire-Call then! Just like this! Or bring her to yours, and let me see her!” Varric bit his lip. Hawke took a deep breath. “Dammit.”

“Things aren’t looking much better out here if it makes you feel better.”

“No, it does not make me feel better, Varric.” She crossed her legs. “And you in Knockturn Alley.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, “you’ve no idea where I am.”

She smiled. “Cheeky. How long before you’re here?”

His eyebrows drew together. “We’ll see.”

“Mister Teth--Varric,” Merrill caught herself, “if you could...there’s a Beater for the Tree Skimmers, Isabela Prieto. Could you find out if she’s safe?”

Varric let out a long, near pained sigh. “I won’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

When Merrill disappeared, Varric spoke again, “You never got to tell me about Gregorovitch.”

“Really? Right now?”

“Middle of a war, we may not have another chance.”

She sighed but felt herself smile regardless. “Remember that scene you scrapped in Kill to be Killed? With the body swap? Because it was too unrealistic?”

“You’re joking…”

It was an excruciating week before they heard from Varric again.

“How am I supposed to get to Bavaria?”

“I don’t know. I figured you had thought of that when you set up the safe houses!”

Varric sounded unusually calm. “I can do more from here.”

“You told me to stick to the plan.” She felt her back teeth grind against one another. “This isn't the plan.”

“It is now.” Hawke opened her mouth to protest. “What if Sunshine needs a way out?” She froze. “That's what I thought. Please, trust me.”

“I'm still here, aren't I?”

“Yes, you are. Unfortunately I need to be here.” He pulled the tie from his hair, letting it fall across his shoulders. Hawke felt her pulse quicken in her throat. She let a quick breath escape before he locked eyes with her again. “In the meantime, I’m sending two contacts your way, names of Rivaini and Fenris.”

Hawke rubbed at her eyes, dragging a hand up through her hair. “Fenris. The one who gave us intel on the Americans?”

“The same.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “They’re bringing a friend so it might get a little crowded your way. No fighting, promise?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He coughed.

“I promise, mother.”

The flames died to embers, and she buried her face in her knees.

“Aveline?!” She gripped the larger woman by the shoulders and pulled her in. “Thank Merlin.”

“Thank Kingsley,” she said, pulling away with a smile. “When he found I hadn't gone with you, he sent me after.”

“Must have been a shock.”

“I almost ran into those blasted Weasley products at the crime scene,” she groused, “and only two bodies.”

“It's not in the report, but I can explain-”

“No need,” Aveline thumbed over her shoulder, “your friends picked me up. We got the whole thing sorted.”

Hawke leaned around Aveline's shoulder to see two figures dusting off the snow. The one unrecognisable to her she pegged immediately as Fenris. He was dazzlingly handsome in a way that drew you closer. Her intel told her this was because he was Veela, but that didn't stop her staring.

The other of the pair was Isabela Prieto.

“Isabela!”

Hawke moved Aveline to the side as Merrill ran down the hall that housed their rooms at full speed and straight into Isabela’s waiting arms.

“Kitten!” Isabela lifted the slight witch off of her feet, and Hawke heard her laugh a little breathlessly.

“I was so worried!” Merrill pulled out of her arms. “I can’t believe Varric was able to smuggle you here!”

“About that,” Isabela scratched the back of her neck, using her other arm to guide her back down the hallway, “let me get unpacked, and I’ll explain everything.”

“Fenris?” The remaining man gave her a little nod. “I’m Hawke, nice to meet you. You’re bunking up with Gregorovtich. I hope you like wood!”

The group lived in surprising harmony, but at week three with no word from Varric and the realisation that Bethany would be off to Hogwarts soon left Hawke itching under her skin.

Hawke came down in her house robe, one of the few luxuries she had packed, and Fenris wordlessly held out a mug full of tea. Potterwatch was broadcasting from the radio in the centre of the table. “I hope you’re getting more from that than I have been.”

“They’ve managed to set up a sophisticated network,” Isabela said sounding proud.

“They’re going to slip soon.” Fenris glared at the box.

“Have a little faith, Fenris!” Isabela slapped his back and he turned his glare to her. She motioned to Aveline, patiently taking notes by hand. “Red has the right of it.”

“Royal is Kingsley,” Aveline said, scratching something down in the margins.

“Like I could forget those dulcet tones?” Hawke sat her cup on the table. “Turn it up.”

Severus Snape has been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts. We advise all students there to plan their responses carefully as we have heard that "Slytherus Snape" has implored a number of Death Eaters to take care of discipline at the school!

Grim times, indeed. And it's not just Hogwarts that's suffering. The new wizarding order is also affecting the Muggle world...badly.

While Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering, they continue to sustain "heavy casualties".

“Slytherus Snape?” Hawke shot the device a look.

“They had a really funny one last broadcast.” Merrill coughed into her hand from the doorway. Hawke offered her tea to her, and Merrill cupped the drink with a grateful smile. “Something about Prickus for the Minister.”

“I’m sure Bethany’s fine, Hawke.” Aveline put her pad aside, shooting Hawke a reassuring smile.

Hawke was hit with a wave of unease at the familiar words.

"I need some air.”

Hawke only realised as she closed the door to the cabin that she couldn't leave so much as storm out and found herself stuck outside with nowhere to go.

Gregorovitch was there too on the porch of their small cabin, examining the wands again. He stowed them away at the sight of her, pulling out a bit of spruce and his small knife instead. She lowered herself to the ground next to his seat.

“I'm sorry about your boys.”

He paused in his work, casting her a sidelong glance. “I lived through the first war and I can tell you, you won't survive long carrying around guilt like that.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Snape is far better at surveillance with all of Dumbledore’s old resources in his pocket. I’m going to have to go black to keep eyes on Sunshine and you.”

“You don’t need eyes on me,” Hawke growled. “Tell me where you’re at, and I’ll Apparate there.”

“Too risky.”

“How is it risky? Half the problem solves itself!”

“You don’t know everything that’s happening, Hawke.”

“Then tell me what I need to know,” she said, her tone clipped and impatient.

He paused to consider for a moment before speaking. “They can trace your magic, and I need to keep the houses clean, especially with Gregorovitch in one of them.”

“Varric, I have to do something. I'm losing it over here. I can't help my sister, I can't help you. You won't even tell me where you are!” She quieted as the fire danced away from her exhalation. “I promise not to throw myself into anything, but if you don't get me a safe way back to England, I'm coming over my own self, and I don't imagine you'll appreciate that very much.”

Varric’s face flickered in the flames, silent.

“Varric?”

“Give me three days,” he said before the flames shot up and died out completely.

“Dammit, Varric!” She scrabbled forward and felt her hand burrow into soft ash, hot to the touch.

Isabela must have been waiting by the door, for a moment later she was standing beside her. “That doesn’t bode well.”

“Yes, thank you, Isabela,” she snapped. “Sorry…”

“It’s all right, everyone’s worried.” She rested a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “His communications are shorter these days.”

She looked up and saw the witch was stripped of her usual sweater, opting for a lighter fare. “Going somewhere?”

“This place is too crowded for my taste. Too many people seeing this face that know it.” She motioned to the face in question. “Merrill and I are heading out within the hour. Enough room for three if you’d like to join us.”

“Where?”

“South America...ish.” She grinned.

“You spies and your secrets.” Hawke pushed her calf gently. “Just keep the line open, yeah?”

“Of course.” Isabela’s smile turned gentle. “I think Kitten’s taken a liking to you. So take care of yourself.” She dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “And get some rest.”

Hawke stared at the empty fireplace until another body sat next to her. She turned her head.

“You’re not going with them?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Fenris threw out his hand, starting the fire again.

“You can stay.” She sighed. “It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

On the third day after Merrill and Isabela’s departure, Hawke found herself reaching, more frequently, to her side pouch for the silvery powder she carried with her on assignments.

“Come into the kitchen,” Gregorovitch called to her, “we have toast. Again.”

She stared at the fireplace for a few more seconds. “I suppose I can take a break, but I want a line of sight to the--”

“I’ll watch it.” She felt Aveline’s hands land on her shoulders a little more roughly than necessary and steer her towards the kitchen. “You go eat something.”

Hawke sat, the young voices of Potterwatch entering one ear and out the other, a piece of toast hanging carelessly from her mouth. Fenris slid a jar of jam across the table to her.

Today we have Muggle author T.I. Brian here to explain a little bit about how to appear as a Muggle incognito. Mister Brian?

Hawke stilled. By the time she had reached across the table to pull the radio closer, a new voice, Varric’s voice was speaking.

...and you can say pretty much anything that won’t get you reported as long as you act insane, that’s what the Ministry guidelines say. But if you really want to pull off being a Muggle, here’s what you need to learn.

They listened to the broadcast in tense silence, Hawke’s eyes drifting to the doorway, convinced Varric were doing this as a distraction, some sort of trick.

And just like last week, we’re going to be playing a little game. T.I., would you like to do the honors?

Certainly!

“Paper! Quill!” Hawke’s arm shot out behind her, but Aveline was already at the door, items in hand and poised to write.

Castle, 1, Terror, Recluse, 5, 1, Badgers.

Good luck, listeners! Is there anything else you’d like to add?

Yeah, buy my books.

The laughter that followed unwound a small knot of tension in the centre of Hawke's chest and she set her fingertips to the place where her collarbones met. 

“Coordinates?” Fenris looked to her after the sound of Aveline’s quill stopped. The broadcast continued behind them as white noise, listing the names of the missing and the dead.

Hawke took the pad from Aveline. “Book titles. Parts of the fifth, seventh, and so on.”

“Seven books? Where does the man get that kind of time?” Aveline scoffed.

“Actually,” Hawke flipped the pad around to show them 51.73, 5.19 next to Aveline’s neat script. “He wrote nine. I’ll need a map for the rest.”

“Marloes.” Hawke rolled up the map, casting a quick Diminuendo on it before throwing it into her pack. “In Wales.”

“And no other instructions?” Aveline leaned across the table, using her elbows to balance.

“Nothing the other two said stands out.” Fenris shrugged.

“You got me out of my house,” Gregorovitch grumbled, setting down the wood he was working on. Hawke thought it looked a bit like a bird. “You probably saved my life, and I appreciate that. But you’re walking into an unknown situation. I won’t be walking with you.”

“I’ll stay.” Aveline stood up straight. “Watch over the place. It’s technically my case too.”

Hawke nodded, grabbing the rough piece of wood from the table. This close she could smell it was pine. “I’ll bring this back.”

“See that you do.” Gregorovitch sat back in his chair. “I hate unfinished work.”

Only when they were packed and alone on the porch did she speak to Fenris.

“I appreciate the company, but you don’t have to come with me,” she said. “Or did Varric send you to watch me?”

“I asked to be sent here. To help.”

She looked to the side, pulling on her pack.“What did he do to earn that kind of loyalty?”

“He didn’t. You did.” Hawke drew in a breath through her teeth, but Fenris interrupted whatever she was going to say next. “You saved my sister from the trafficker Dan Struthers.”

She didn't have to search her memory long for the name. Certain cases stood out more than others over the years. One of the wizards sent to speak on behalf of the American Ministry when they started to really panic, the situation with Struthers had left a particularly nasty taste in her mouth.

“You’re Varania’s brother?”

“No. Fenris has no family. Leto is Varania’s brother.” Hawke must have looked as confused as she felt because he went on to explain, “What my mother named me.”

“Varric told me Struthers was just some fellow from the American Ministry we needed to get off his scent.”

“Whatever the reason, you didn’t have to save his pet in the process.”

“I couldn’t just leave her.” She shrugged, cutting her eyes away. “Besides, he’s still out there doing terrible things. What good did I do, really?”

“You started it.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It was enough. I took care of the rest.”

She paused to consider before patting his hand. “Glad to hear it.”

“Remember: Leto. Not even someone Polyjuiced as me would know it.”

Hawke nodded. She was hard pressed to think of something no one knew about her. “My mother wanted to name me Garrett if I was a boy.”

“Cute.”

“Shut up.”

The Marloes Sands were beautiful at sunset. The sparkling of the sun across the water, vaguely reminiscent of the snow she’d just left, was the first thing that drew her eye.

The second was the house elf.

“I’ll be taking you to Shell Cottage,” it said as though the words held some weight.

“Never heard of the place.” Hawke shrugged. “Is Varric there?”

“I will be taking you to Shell Cottage,” the creature repeated, holding out a hand. Hawke waited for Fenris to step forward before reaching out to take its hand.

House elf travel was surprisingly easier than travel by Portkey, but the hollow feeling at the pit of her stomach remained as the creature walked them to the entrance of the cottage. A woman with two blond plaits down her shoulders stood in the front garden waiting for them. From the look she shot Fenris, he hadn’t been expected.

“Marian ‘Awke?” The woman held out her hand and Hawke took it, shaking lightly. “I am Shortsnout. Your room is eenside, upstairs. I will need to take your friend for questioning before ‘e can join you. Protocol.” She winced as Hawke drew her hand away. “You understand?”

“It's all right.” Fenris stepped in front of Hawke, turning slightly to face her. “I'll see you after.”

“You'd better,” she growled at his back as he disappeared behind with Shortsnout around the corner of the house.

Shell Cottage was more crowded than it had appeared from the outside, with purple flowers and shells littering every countertop. She peeked her head into the first door on the right to find a small, cosy kitchen; something was left stirring on the stove, and she took a step forward to see what it was.

“Marian?”

The voice came from the top of the stairs, and Hawke whipped around, eyes searching until they landed on its source. “Bethany?”

Hawke’s feet worked faster than her brain carrying her to the top of the steps in front of her sister. She wrapped her arms around Bethany, nearly toppling them in her elation.

“I knew you were safe,” Bethany said, somewhere near her shoulder. “They can’t touch you.”

“They won't hurt us again.” Hawke drew her in closer. “I promised, remember?”

“Varric got me out."

“I know. It’s how I found this place.” She pulled back to look at her. “Where is he?”

Bethany stilled in her arms, looking helplessly over her shoulder to a wizard in a dirty uniform she couldn’t place. Hawke stepped to the side, closer to him, and the man took off his hat, wringing it in his hands.

“We was informed by your friend to meet up at a very specific time and place for ‘im and your sister.” He coughed. “And that if he didn’t show, we was to assume the worst.”

Hawke felt her mouth go dry, and her mind blank.

“One sister, no ‘im.” The wizard’s lips made a popping noise.

“Are you saying…,” Hawke tried, but a tight feeling at the bottom of her throat choked out the rest of her sentence. She blinked and found her eyes blessedly dry.

“I’m not saying nothing, miss.” He smiled, and she could count every blackened tooth. “But usually the worst , in that line of work is...you know. Not good. And with him being a Squib and all.”

He probably thought he was being reassuring, not letting her get her hopes up. But all Hawke could feel right then was the desire to lunge at the man and knock his rotted teeth out. It must have shown because Bethany jumped at her side, hugging her tightly. Somewhere in her shaking, she found her voice again.

“Okay, okay," Her hand found the back of Bethany's hair and stoked gently downward. "Have you slept? No? Let’s go lay you down somewhere.”

“How did you get out?”

“I don’t know,” Bethany said, pulling a blanket up to her chin, her head pillowed on Hawke’s thigh. “The Order knows ways in and out of Hogwarts, but I couldn’t tell you--”

“Slow down, the Order?”

She motioned around the room. “Their name. That’s all I know.” Hawke motioned for her to continue. “I remember going to class. Potions, I think? And I ate...and in the hallway, he was just there, talking with the Carrows like they were old friends. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but….” She swallowed. “Sorry, it’s all still a little blurry. The Mediwitch thinks I was confunded.”

“That’s all right.” Hawke slid from her place to kneel on the floor beside the bed. “It’s probably best that you don’t know everything that happened.”

Much as I wish you did.

“There will be a great battle,” Bethany said, yawning wide. “I wanted to fight.”

“I know you did.” Hawke ran a hand over the top of her sister’s hair. “Bethany, maybe you thought you could fight at Hogwarts, but--”

“It’s okay, Marian.” Bethany closed her eyes. “There are battles out here as well. I may even be able to help my friends.” She reached up to grab at Hawke’s hand. “It’s more important that we stay together.”

Oh thank Merlin…

“Right, right.” Hawke smiled, shaking her head a little in wonder. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Hawke waited until Bethany’s breathing evened out before delicately removing her hand and leaving the room.

“Hawke.” Her name in Kingsley’s familiar, authoritative tone had her turning like a shot. He was exiting a room down the hall, looking similarly exhausted. “Strange days.”

“Are they?” She found it somewhere in her to relax.

Kingsley gave her a wan smile. “Do you have Gregorovitch?”

She nodded. “He’s safe,” she said, then felt it necessary to add, “sir.”

“Good, that’s all I need to hear.”

“Thank you,” she thumbed behind her, “for my sister.”

“That was entirely your friend. Use of Potterwatch and our safe house in exchange for the location of any Death Eaters he might be hiding,” he said, and Hawke felt her throat constrict at the mention of Varric. “He was very...interesting. Wish I’d had a chance to know him.”

Didn't you have dinner with his brother last month? He lived just down the street from your office, you know?

A thousand retorts, each nastier than the next, died on her tongue. "I wish I had too, sir."

“Get some rest, Hawke.” Kingsley took pity on her. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

She went outside, instead. Fenris was sitting on a rock and staring out at the waves. His eyes were glowing faintly.

“It’s good to be near water again.” He brushed his toes in the sand. “You look awful.”

She pulled herself up on the rock beside him and tried to see whatever beautiful thing in the water that made his eyes shine so. She couldn’t; it wasn’t the ocean’s fault or the moon’s. Even Bethany’s steady breathing couldn’t bring her the comfort she needed now.

“Varric’s gone,” Hawke said, amazed she could sound so calm. “Dead, maybe.”

Fenris’ eyes slid sideways, studying her. “That’s rude,” he replied lightly. “And here we’ve come all this way to meet him.”

“I rushed him.” She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes. “I said I would...why would I say that?”

“You were worried about your sister. You spoke rashly. Varric responded rashly. No one is to blame.”

You won't survive long carrying around guilt like that. Gregorovitch’s words echoed in her mind.

“Obvolvio.” She slashed her wand through the air. “The Order of the Phoenix...what did Varric land himself in?”

“Severus Snape was a member until last year.”

“That's safe then,” she scoffed.

“Too many members all talking in person. I told you they'd slip up.”

“But Varric trusted them.”

“Only when he had no other choice,” Fenris countered. “I say we get as far away from them as quickly as we can.”

“They have Varric’s safe houses.” She drew her eyebrows together.

“So they claim.” Hawke stared at him. “They only asked for locations where Death Eaters may be hiding.”

She rubbed the muscles of her neck. “That’s another question; why would Varric be hiding Death Eaters?”

“We can't know everything about the people we love,” Fenris said. “Especially during war.”

“No.” She slipped off the rock, ignoring the way her chest seized at his words. “I protected him from people like that. He wrote about kicking around people like that! He saved Bethany, me, from people like that.”

“And, from what we've learned tonight, he also protected people like that.” Fenris sighed. “I'm sure there was a reason. When you find him, you can ask what it was.”

“I think I know where to start.”

While some parts of Diagon Alley still bustled with people (namely the corner that housed Weasleys Wizard Wheezes) despite the increasing number of boarded up windows, Knockturn Alley remained ever the same: dark and uninviting.

Still she found her pace quicken at the sight of Varric’s shop. She reached for the doorknob and stopped, not feeling the usual warmth of her magic welcoming her back.

“What is it?”

“My wards,” she explained. “They're down.” She pulled out her wand and brought in down in a quick arc. “Inspicere Stratum...there’s nothing.”

Fenris grabbed the doorknob with one hand, taking her elbow in the other. “Let's go inside.”

Everything looked the same, books neat and tidy if a little more dusty than normal. She let Fenris examine the place.

“Dark Magic’s been here,” he said, removing a book from the shelf.

“Are your Veela senses tingling?” She could see Fenris turn and imagined he was glaring in her direction, but she ignored him to bend under Varric’s desk. “We’re in Knockturn Alley. Dark Magic’s part and parcel.”

“This feels different.”

Runes she didn’t recognise were carved below the buttons she had seen Varric take advantage of on her visits. She pressed one experimentally, and the shutters at the windows closed. Fenris jumped.

“Sorry,” she winced, opening them once more. She pressed the next button and a shelf moved, presenting an entirely new, entirely full shelf of books. “Brilliant.”

“Unhelpful.” Fenris bent to look with her. “What’s that one?”

She shrugged and tried it. The shelves moved again, all of them this time, to reveal an open path. Hawke had seen this before. Varric had used it to store essentials and, during one memorable occasion, a colony of Imps.

“What’s back there?”

“Storage, I thought. Old books and the like.” She stood. “A few family heirlooms. Let’s find out how wrong I was.” She felt her magic seeped into the stones past the shelves. “No one’s been back here, at least.”

The path opened to a room lit by some kind of flashing rectangle on the ceiling that was painful to look at and most definitely Muggle. It was the mechanism on the back wall that had Hawke pulling Fenris towards her. “Don’t cast anything.”

“What…?” Fenris, wide eyed, seemed at a loss for words.

“Computers,” she explained. “They...they’re like magic for Muggles.”

“Muggle technology?” Fenris balked, taking in the scope the room. “How did he keep all this functional?”

“I have no idea.” She really didn’t. “Just don't touch anything.”

The side walls were mostly panels covered in holes, wires protruding from what seemed to her in a random assortment. She looked underneath the desk that housed a large grey box with a glass screen. A stream of neat cables fell in brilliant colors down the back wall.

“We were going to buy my brother one but decided against it. And none of them looked like this. Except that,” she pointed to the keyboard. She recognised its big letters that reminded her of Varric’s typewriter. She pressed lightly at a few of the grey keys.

“What happened to no touching ?” Fenris hissed.

“Let’s try Enter.” Hawke ignored him, jumping slightly as the glass lit up in front of her. Bright white letters across a black screen read, “Enter Password. That's simple enough.” Hawke leaned forward speaking into the vent by the screen. “Donnen Brennokovic.” She smiled back at Fenris. “Main character from his books.”

Fenris coughed, staring pointedly at the keyboard.

“Oh, of course!” She pressed the buttons at a painstakingly slow pace, and after misspelling Brennokovic twice, Password Accepted flashed across the screen and disappeared.

“What did you do? Did you break it?” Fenris leaned over her shoulder to press some of the letters.

“No!” She batted his hands away. “Wait a minute, Maybe it's a game?”

As she spoke, the screen lit up, pinpricks across the black glass. They studied the picture in silence.

“It really is magic.” Hawke stared at the picture in wonder.

“That's a map,” Fenris pointed out.

“Varric definitely didn't tell the Order everything.”

“I should hope not.”

Hawke tapped on the screen, a little dot of light in South America (ish , her mind added in Isabela’s voice).

“That’s our next move.”

“I never asked how Tethras found me, and I’m not going to start questioning his partner-in-crime.”

Which is good, Hawke thought, because I doubt Muggle computer magic is an answer that will hold much water.

Particularly not with the look Isabela had been giving her since she Apparated five miles away from she and Merrill’s supposedly safe house and walked up to the front door.

“I just need you to keep Bethany here for a short while, that’s all.” Hawke pulled out her most winning smile. “You did tell me there was room for three.”

Isabela pressed her lips tightly together in lieu of response.

“What about you?” Merrill stood from her place at the table to move closer to Isabela, in a show of support or to calm her, Hawke couldn’t tell.

Hawke bit her lip, considering how much she should say. But they were doing her a favor…

“I have questions. Varric was working with Death Eaters,” she explained. “I think he may have used them to get to Bethany. It isn’t much, considering the source, but it’s a lead. And we have all of Varric's contacts to work with. I'll figure it out as I go.”

Isabela gave her a searching look. “You’re very loyal to him.”

“He saved my family, of course I am.” Hawke crossed her arms over her chest.

“The way I hear it half of your family is dead. That doesn’t sound very safe.” Hawke glanced at Merrill, but the smaller witch was focused firmly on Isabela, shooting the woman a wounded look. Isabela turned to look down at Merrill. “What?”

If anything this question saw Merrill’s expression shifting from hurt to murderous. “Tell her.”

Isabela sighed.

“Tell me what?” Hawke straightened.

“Isabela knows where Varric is,” Merrill said before the other woman could open her mouth to stop her. After a moment, Isabela threw her hands in the air, seemingly defeated.

“Varric’s alive?” Hawke seized on that singular fact, her chest lurching

“He was,” Isabela breathed steadily through her nose in a calm affectation, “a few days ago, after he rescued your sister.”

“Why didn’t you say--”

“He let us know about his deal with the Order before he left for Hogwarts in case things went South.”

Hawke waited. “And?”

“Things went South.” Isabela shrugged. “He knew how to contact you, Hawke. You have to wonder if there’s a reason why he didn’t.”

Hawke remained silent, arms falling to her side.

“But since you’re here and not safe in the marshes of England where you belong, all of that clearly doesn’t matter to you. I like that.” She walked over to one of the shelves built into the side wall and pulled out a rolled up map. “He’s at Malfoy Manor.”

Hawke pressed her mask tighter against her face, thumb rubbing against the whorls and shapes where her mouth should be.

“We weren't prepared for a full scale infiltration, but we managed to snag these.”

Hawke stared down at Isabela’s outstretched hand. A Death Eater’s face stared back.

“Raid nights, security’s lighter but they tighten up the wards, so whoever’s inside will be alerted of our presence as soon as we step on the Malfoy property proper,” Isabela said, shifting on her knees in the grass beside her. “Hopefully these clown masks buy us a couple of minutes if we’re spotted somewhere we’re not supposed to be.”

“Do you think he's still alive?” She was amazed when her words came out clear. Perhaps knowing Isabela couldn’t see her expression helped.

Isabela lifted her own mask. “Honestly?” Hawke nodded. “A good spy is an asset for whoever needs them. The Ministry fell, but the Dark Lord still needed intelligence. There are a variety of ways a pureblood Squib with unlimited, if questionable, access to the Tethras fortune could have made himself useful. But Varric is a spy, so he made himself indispensable. And, yes, even found a way into that school you English think is so warded up.”

He was just there, talking with the Carrows like they were old friends.

“If the question you’re asking is ‘can Varric take care of himself’, the answer is yes I think he can.”

“Then what was I for?”

Isabela raked her eyes over Hawke’s body. “Oh sweetie, really?”

Hawke grabbed Isabela’s mask, forcibly pushing it back on her face.

Hawke had seen Malfoy Manor many times in the paper and once during an investigation on the grounds. It did not prepare her for the decadence of even the sublevel that she and Isabela slipped into nor for the ruin that had befallen the house in the short time Voldemort had nested here. Mostly walking through the halls, her too big robe billowing out to each side, she thought the place felt empty. Still, she was glad to have her mind away from the more grim thoughts of what might await them.

They reached the end of a hall that split two ways; to their left a staircase, to their right a series of doors. Isabela led up the stairs, two at a time, and Hawke followed. The witch came to an abrupt stop at the top, Hawke holding the banister to keep from crashing into her back. She looked around Isabela’s frame to see what had her frozen.

A wizard in a mask and dark robes was dragging a child by the arm, a young girl by the looks of it, across the room. Hawke stepped up the stairs to stand beside Isabela quietly. The action caught the man’s eye, and he stopped.

“One of you!” He motioned to them. “Take her down to the others. I was supposed to have my snack break ten minutes ago.”

Hawke felt a hysterical giggle bubble up out of her. Death Eaters get snack breaks, she thought, do they have a tea lady? Are the benefits better than the Ministry’s, I wonder?

The man tilted his head at the noise, and the girl used the opportunity to break his hold on her, reaching forward to bite his hand. He let out an undignified squeal and tossed her away, cradling his injured fingers. The girl fell, slid, and recovered, sprinting for the door.

The man growled and lifted his wand. So did Hawke, and so did Isabela.

“Incarcerous!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Hawke watched green light soar across the room, faster than the rope she had conjured. Both seized the Death Eater and he fell motionless to the floor.

Isabela rushed forward, stopping the girl on her path to the door and whatever horrors waited for her outside. “Hush, hush.” She picked her up. “We’re the good guys, I promise.”

Hawke made it over to them by the time she had calmed. She lifted her mask as much as she dare, and Isabela set her down. “That man said there were others?”

A group of children all as young, if not younger, than the girl they had rescued stared out of the room she led them to with teary, frightened eyes. Losing the masks, Hawke found, helped exponentially.

“Right then,” Hawke nodded. “Let’s get these kids out of here.”

“You’ll have to watch the corner. We can’t afford to split up,” Isabela whispered. Hawke knew what she meant. We may lose our chance to find Varric. And she’s kind enough to let me think I have a choice.

“Go.” She repeated more firmly. Isabela nodded, motioning for the closest three children to follow her.

They did this for the next three, and the next, Hawke watching them disappear behind the column, searching her corner, then motioneing for the next set of children to follow. With six children left, Isabela rounded the corner once more, and steps sounded from the opposite end of the hall.

“Go!” She hissed to the last of the children, their small figures huddled together at the back of a small, dark room. Isabela shot her a warning look, rushing the children out and around the way she had come. “I’ll improvise, just go!”

She didn’t wait, turning the corner and running into a robed man. With his four stone on her and her three inches over him, they bounced off of one another almost comically.

He recovered first but seemed not at all fazed that she was in his way. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I already patrolled that way.” She thumbed over her shoulder. “If you want to double back.”

He stared at her. Or she assumed he did. His mask stayed looking in her direction for a number of seconds before he said, “I’m supposed to go down that hall.”

“But you see, there was a bit of trouble with one of the children,” she explained, latching onto a kernel of truth. “So...all sorted then?”

The mask stared at her, then shrugged and turned to walk away.

Wow…where did Voldemort find these guys?

“Well?” He turned back to her. “Are you coming?”

Dammit.

“Right. Absolutely.”

“Don’t think I’ve seen you on patrol before.” The man shifted against the tree he rested against to disguise whatever his hand was picking at on the back of his robes. Hawke looked away pointedly. “Were you one of them that had to clear out of the Netherlands?”

The Netherlands? Hawke grasped for some sort of response and landed on a grumbling, “Yeah. Rough.”

“Way I hear it, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

From what Hawke had learned on her small sojourn, much of Death Eater conversation consisted of quiet grumbling and the word ‘yeah’. It wasn’t so different from her usual patrol, bar the occasional slur (though that probably happened in her department when she was out of earshot, now that she thought about it).

The lack of intelligent conversation worked to her advantage as she kept her eyes turned towards the front garden and the Manor beyond. Security was still light, and that may have been why her eyes were drawn to one of the few unmasked figures nearing the Manor door. Or maybe, she later thought, it was one of those freak incidents that The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes ran into sometimes, where your magic got just that little bit ahead of you.

Whatever the reason, she recognised Varric instantly.

She put a foot forward to run before remembering the man at her side.

“What’s wrong?” His mask tilted towards her. “You have to take a piss?”

“Yes!” she squawked, latching onto his out like a lifeline. “The loo! The loo!”

“Merlin, fine!” He waved her away, turning his face down to examine his nails. “See if I try to be friendly to the newcomers from now on.”

She should have suspected finding Varric in a place as vast as Malfoy Manor, even knowing which direction he had gone, would be difficult work. But knowing he was walking had her pressing forward like a Nogtail after pig’s milk.

Much to her amusement, the first door she opened led to one of the most luxurious lavatories she had ever seen. She had barely shut it behind her before she was accosted, shoved against the far wall, the feeling of a blade pricking where she estimated her kidneys to be.

“No patrol this way,” Varric said somewhere close to her ear, and she knew at once he had to be standing nearly tiptoe to reach her, putting only more pressure on the handle of his blade. Despite all this, at the sound of his voice she felt the grief and worry she had tapped down on, trapped beneath her ribs, unfold itself in an almost feverish relief. “You’ve been following me. Why?”

“Would you believe it’s because I missed you, darling?”

“Hawke?” The blade disappeared, and two hands grabbed her by the arms, spinning her round to face him. She pulled her mask up to get a better look at him, and before she had a proper chance to register what was happening, she was pulled down into a searing kiss.

She responded automatically to Varric’s touch, moaning into the kiss, her hands grasping at Varric’s shoulders as she poured all of the fear and uncertainty over the last month into the action. She felt his teeth worry at her bottom lip and she gave a start of surprise then nipped back in response, pressing him backwards until he hit the opposite wall. Varric let out a soft noise, tearing his mouth from hers. Hawke startled, attempting to take in her surroundings again. A difficult feat in the face of her recently kissed partner, undone as she had ever seen him, shirt askew and hair deliciously unkempt.

He looked delectable.

“Hawke…,” he repeated, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “What are you doing in the Dark Lord’s loo?”

“You were gone,” she said, hands tightening on his shoulders as the worry that had left her came back like tiny needles scrapping her ribs with their sharpened tips. “I thought you were dead.”

He gripped her elbows, his eyes wide. “Why would you think I was dead?”

“You told the Order to ‘assume the worst’! I assumed the worst!” Her glare was accusatory but his face held no worry in it. “Oh, hell!” She leaned forward pressing their lips together once more.

When he pushed her away this time, she went far more gently if no less reluctantly.

“We are beside Lucius Malfoy’s atrocious nightmare of a sink surrounded by Death Eaters.” He let his eyes wander briefly to the side. “I have to get you out of here.”

“We can leave anytime. These people are amateurs!” she said. “Come on, edge of the property and let’s go.”

“If I leave now, every bit of trust I’ve built up will have been for nothing.” Varric took a steadying breath. “I can’t risk that. I’m working on something too important here--”

“Is it to do with those kids?” Hawke cut him off. “Off the main room?”

Varric drew back. “What? Yes, how-”

“Rivaini and I took care of that.”

“Took care of?” Varric slid easily from her grip and moved closer to the door. “What do you mean you took care of it?”

“She’s not here anymore,” Hawke assured him, lowering her voice. “And neither are they.”

“And you didn't think to tell me that first?” he asked, sounding a little panicked.

Varric rarely panicked. She felt her own pulse quicken. “No, why?”

Before he could answer, a piercing wail sounded through the halls of the manor.

“Because the wards are set to do that when any one of them leaves.” He led her out of the lavatory and down the hallway. She pulled her mask back down as they entered an empty powder room. The wailing continued behind the door, but the cushioning along the walls almost muffled the sound here. Varric unlatched a window on the far side and lifted it up.

“A signal?”

“Head count,” Varric said. “Go on, while they’re distracted.” Hawke leaned against the window, arms crossed. “Those kids? There’ll be more. I need to be on the inside to help them.”

“No, you don’t.” She straightened. “I’ve seen your...Muggle magic, Varric, your computers. That’s how I found you. And that’s me not knowing how to do anything with it! You’re only here, because I got you stuck here.”

Varric stared at her like she was speaking a different language. He opened his mouth to speak, but she had heard enough.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you into rescuing Bethany. I’m,” she felt her jaw clench, “I’m so sorry, Varric.”

The way I hear it half of your family is dead. That doesn’t sound very safe. Isabela had said to her. Did Varric feel that way too?

“What happened to my family. That’s not your fault. You know that right?” Varric cut his eyes away. “If you’re doing this, helping me to make up for some kind of...guilt. Stop. Even if I had ever felt that way, you’ve more than repaid it.”

Varric sighed. “Infiltrating the Society for the Support of Squibs...on my watch? If I had magic, that never would have happened."

"Varric, if you had magic, you'd be a pureblooded prick like your brother who wouldn't give a toss about Squibs."

"Well I don't have magic, and Carver was one of mine, so the fact remains. I could have Apparated over and taken care of it myself. Or at least I would have been there." He ran a hand across his forehead. "Then you came barging into my shop, and I just…”

“You just what?”

“I lost my family, my job. Marian, you’re my best friend. I don’t have much, but I have that . I have to protect it.” He laughed a little brokenly. “And I don’t have a lot going for me in the protection department.”

She was left staring at him for too long it seemed because he continued, motioning again to the window.

“You have to let me do this.”

“No, I don’t.” She smiled, grabbing his wrist and dragging him closer. “Because I made a promise to protect my family. As much of a burden as that may be at times, you’re a part of that now. That puts you under my protection. So, sorry but I’m getting you out of here.”

She made sure to throw up a quick Silencing Charm before she threw him out of the window.

Hawke shot Varric a look when he hissed for the third time in as many steps.

“Stop complaining, I got an O on my Charms N.E.W.T.s so I know that Cushioning Charm was Outstanding.”

“This is a terrible idea--”

“Ssh ssh!” She pressed him down to the ground, throwing her wand up and to the right. “Habitum!”

She waited until the two straggling Death Eaters passed them before returning to a crouch and motioning for Varric to follow.

It felt like hours, crawling across the back garden of the Malfoys’ sprawling manor until they reached the edge of the wards.

“They feel different from when we came in.”

“Less stable when there are more people,” Varric said, standing and brushing himself off. “Don’t worry, if the alarm sounded it means Isabela made it out safely.”

“I’m more worried about how we’re getting out.” She stared through the invisible wall barring their passage. “And how exactly were you expecting me to leave?”

“Easy.” Varric motioned for Hawke to step through, and she obliged, expecting the feeling of a wall or a swarm of Death Eaters to descend. Instead she felt the same cool air on her face, soft ground beneath her feet. She took another step.

“How…” She looked around, then down at her body as if it had betrayed her.

“Pine.” He pointed at her pocket where the weight of Gregorovitch’s gift still rested. “Turns out with some minor, runic tweaking it works well against wards.” He rubbed his hands together, putting a foot forward. “My turn.”

“Wait!” Hawke cried reaching into her robes for the pine wood. But it was too late. Varric had crossed…

Nothing happened.

“I've toed outside the wards on every walk by. They don’t care about Squibs and Muggles coming and going. Easy to chase, I guess.”

Hawke let out a relieved laugh. “You scared the life out of me!”

Her laugh cut off abruptly at the sight of a two grey-green vines winding towards Varric’s feet. She lifted her arm without thought. “Arescetio!”

A bolt of white shot from the tip of her wand, and she let out a breath as the plants folded softly into themselves. As quickly as they disappeared however, three more shot out from the place they had been, one managing to hold steady onto Varric’s ankle, while the others ripped apart and angled up at her. She neatly dodged the first, aiming a spell at the vine attacking Varric.

The second vine grazed her wrist, knocking the wand from her hand.

She had no idea how far it had flown, spinning in a wide circle and narrowing her eyes to search the ground near her desperately. Beside her, Varric fumbled frantically for his dagger. He pulled it free from his belt and buried it deep into the plant.

She ducked as a flash of red flew directly at her face. It struck a tree behind her, and she slammed to the ground, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her hand groped desperately for her wand.

“Go! They can't find both of us. I won't be able to explain it!” Varric shouted at her, sawing into the vine around his ankle.

“You kidding?” she panted, rolling onto her side and pulling herself to one knee. “I just got here!”

Hawke abandoned her search for the wand, clasping the pine bird to her chest with her still stinging hand and reaching into her pocket with the other. She rooted around until she found the small, circular package she was looking for, pulling it out and examining the label carefully before setting it on the ground.

“Incendio!” she hissed, tightening her grip on the wood between her sweating palms. Please work, please work, please work, she chanted. On the ground in front of her a fire started, setting the device alight. She was suddenly very thankful that Fenris got around to teaching her at least one wandless spell.

The firework launched outward across the manor’s back garden and exploded in a puff of brown dust. In the ensuing chaos, spells zinged towards the sky, crossing paths and missing them entirely. She saw her wand in the fits of light, trapped under one of the withered vines, and dove, snatching it up and attacking the root of two of the plants still attached to Varric as he cut himself free of the last.

“Did you know,” she asked, breathing heavily, “that pine is also a good conductor for wandless magic? I learned a lot about wood.”

“What in Merlin’s name is that smell?” Varric raised a hand to cover his nose, using her arm to leverage himself up.

“Demon Dung Crackers.” She smiled wide, looking back towards the manor. “Defective batch.”

"Smells like it's working all right to me." Varric stared over his shoulder in horror. “Let’s go.”

“It’s called the Protean Charm,” Bethany explained, displaying a coin to the group of children surrounding her. “You won’t learn it until you’re older but some of us use it to keep in contact with one another.”

“At Hogwarts?” one of the boys asked. Bethany nodded slightly, and his face broke into a smile.

Hawke pushed off from the door frame. A warm breeze carried from outside through an open window. She stared out to see a few more children stand back as Isabela and Merrill hauled in a large, colorful fish.

“I hate the ocean.” She heard Varric’s low voice from the table and turned to watch him strip off his shirt. “It's sweltering inside. I only spent a few minutes out there, and look, I'm already burnt.” He pointed to his chest with its dusting of gold hair. It was indeed red, but burnt wasn’t the word that sprang to her mind. “How do you stand it?”

She gave him a pitying smile. “Cooling Charm.”

“Magic.” He shook his head in mock disgust.

“You hate the ocean, you hate the mountains,” Hawke mimicked, sitting at the table next to him. “Is there anywhere you do love?”

“England.” He picked up a book he had been writing in earlier. “London, specifically.”

“City boy,” she scoffed.

“And proud.”

“Did we just adopt fifteen children?” She turned her head to watch Merrill almost topple under the weight of the still moving sea creature. Isabela laughed as the children rushed forward to help. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“What they had in common was pureblood and, now, dead parents.” Varric put down his book. “Snape has access to the Hogwarts letters for next year,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hawke sank further into her chair. “They're starting early.”

“We’ll just have to start even earlier.” He placed a hand over hers. “No need for rescue operations. Get to the kids he hasn’t reached, get them to safety before they can strike.”

“We may have to work with the Order on this.” Hawke pointed out, and his expression turned slightly sour. She stared at their joined hands, running a finger across his knuckles. “You can show me what that computer of yours is capable of.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’ll be happy to teach you.”