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Hollow Ash | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:Harry/Ginny, Neville Longbottom, Other Genres: Drama Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Extreme Language, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Sexual Situations, Spouse/Adult/Child Abuse, Violence, Violence/Physical Abuse Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 131 Summary: When a mysterious woman comes to the Auror office claiming to be the victim of a terrible crime, Theia and Harry want to do everything they can to help her. The problem is, she has no memory of what has happened. As they piece together the sinister events, their own troubles and traumas rise to the surface, causing them to question who they really are. Sequel to The Aurors. Hitcount: Story Total: 41630; Chapter Total: 2201 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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‘I actually have a question for you,’ he said one visit. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. ‘Did you trust me?’ She lost control of her neutral expression and rolled her eyes. ‘What is this, rubbing it in? Of course I fucking did.’ He ignored the bitterness of her voice. ‘I have to admit it was easier than I thought it would be.’ She tried to ignore the humiliation, but her cheeks grew warm and her eyes wet. ‘I just feel astoundingly naive,’ she said at last. ‘But you understand now?’ ‘Of course I do,’ she said quickly. ‘Things have changed now.’ He nodded, looking satisfied. ‘I just wondered why, that was all.’ ‘I don’t know. Let it all get to my head, I suppose.’ ‘What?’ ‘The glamour of it all. Being an auror. Working with Harry Potter. And then you made me feel attractive and that had never happened before. I suppose I thought I had finally transitioned from duckling to swan.’ ‘I always liked that story,’ he said brightly. ‘Well I don’t,’ she replied dully. ‘Not everyone becomes a swan, do they? And not everyone has to either.’ She eyed him carefully. ‘What did you think you would grow to be? Not in prison, obviously.’ ‘No, not in prison,’ he said, unconcerned. ‘Before Hogwarts I thought a milkman like my dad. And then after… I don’t know. I never knew enough about the world to know what I could be.’ He looked at her. ‘You always worked really hard at school, didn’t you? You were in Ravenclaw.’ ‘Yes,’ she said coolly. ‘And did you get to where you imagined?’ he asked. ‘Well I’m visiting my ex in prison,’ she said. ‘So no, not really.’ ‘That’s the problem with Ravenclaws,’ he said. ‘Sometimes you do have to listen to your heart instead of your brain.’ ………………………….. She found Harry in the Ministry’s gym that morning, puffing and sweating over a wooden rowing machine. ‘This is unusual,’ she said to him. ‘I didn’t believe Susan when she told me you’d be down here.’ He glanced grumpily up at her. ‘Losing my stamina without Quidditch,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Felt winded chasing Teddy in the garden the other day. Just embarrassing.’ His face screwed up as he pulled at the rower. ‘What are you doing in so early anyway?’ ‘I was thinking about what Ornella said.’ She folded her arms and leaned against the wall in front of his machine. ‘When she was talking about her youngest. “He doesn’t come into it”. Bit of an odd thing to say isn’t it? Why would a baby come into anything?’ Harry nodded, though his eyes were fixed on his hands. ‘I thought that too. Especially when she wouldn’t let us see him.’ ‘So we should get a warrant,’ said Theia. ‘Get Bessie down there to do her thing and confirm his blood, see if the baby is really Marcy’s.’ Harry panted a few times before answering. ‘I’d love to. And we will. But we need more evidence than that before we can go in and force a birth test.’ He looked back up at her. ‘Can you find confirmation that her baby actually died? That would mean checking Muggle records I think.’ She nodded. ‘Sure.’ The rhythmic whirr of the machine stopped as Harry gave up, letting his feet drop to the floor and resting his elbows on his knees. ‘There’s something else I’d like you to look in to as well - Marcy’s intelligence.’ ‘Eh?’ ‘Everyone in the Loney talks about her like she’s a kid, or spectacularly dim. But the woman’s middle aged, and Ginny said she was a bit of a whizz at the cryptic crossword. Something doesn’t sit right. Oh, and you may as well look up any past cases from the Loney.’ ‘All right. What are you going to do? You better not interview anyone else without me.’ ‘I’m going to speak to the Healers about Marcy. We need to find out when or if she can go home, and there were a few other things Ginny told me that seem a bit unusual. We can interview the others in the Loney tomorrow.’ ‘You don’t want to speak to them first? What if they all talk about us, or one of them gets spooked, or-’ ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, in that breezy way that always irritated her. He had an annoying tendency to only explain his reasoning when he felt like it. ‘Plus, I have a meeting with Robards this afternoon, and loads of paperwork to do, plus arranging the next trainee intake, and Ginny and I have to go to St Mungos for a check on the baby so I don’t really have time.’ He gave a great, exhausted sigh and wiped sweat off his brow. She looked down at him, smirking. ‘Look how unfit you are.’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Forget sitting on a broom, I don’t see how that would ever do anything. You’re clearly just not getting chased by Death Eaters enough anymore That’s what you get for being promoted to a desk job..’ ‘I’m still your boss,’ he warned, but she was already walking away. ………………….. She shifted uncomfortably in the waiting room of the police station. Her transfiguration was good, so the uniform looked right, but without Harry there she felt rather exposed, and despite her knowledge of muggle society she was nervous about slipping up. Ben, the friendly police officer that had helped them initially, smiled at her as he entered. ‘Hello again, Theia.’ She smiled back. ‘Ben,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I was hoping you could give me directions to the nearest hospital? Regarding Marcy.’ He beamed at her. ‘I can do better than that. Tony just started his shift, so I can give you a lift if you like-’ ‘Oh, there’s no need, just the name of the nearest hospital is fine- ‘It’s no bother, I don’t have anything to do-’ ‘Really,’ she said desperately, ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble, I just-’ But he was making his way around the cluttered reception desk, grabbing his hat off a peg on the wall. ‘It’s no trouble at all,’ he said with a firm smile, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Right,’ said Theia awkwardly. ‘Thanks.’ He walked her out to the carpark and all she could think about was how irritating it was. It would have been far quicker to apparate, and yes, given that she didn’t know this area at all she may have got slightly lost, but they really were in the middle of nowhere. Goodness knows how long it would take. The police car clicked and whistled as he pointed his keys at it, and Theia opened the passenger door, feeling a little like she wasn’t allowed there. The car smelled like a bakery, and there was a nodding pug on the dashboard. She looked disdainfully at it, but Ben didn’t seem to notice. He pressed a button on the radio and jazz music blared out, he sang along enthusiastically as he reversed. Fucking hell, she thought with a feeling of resignation. The quiet village passed quickly, and they were soon trundling along a narrow road, the coarse grass of the fells either side, dotted with sheep and occasional clusters of trees, dry stone walls running alongside them. ‘We got to run to the rock, please hide me, I run to the rock…’ Ben sang, and then he glanced at her. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit pale.’ ‘Car sick,’ she muttered. It was true. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been in a car. Being catapulted back into muggle life clearly didn’t agree with her. The feeling was certainly not helped as the car went over a small bridge. Her stomach seemed to leap unpleasantly as they crossed the silvery stream. As they crossed it, she looked up the slope it trickled down from. In the cool, misty light of the morning, half hidden in the shadow of a crag, an ash tree spread, its roots reaching like fingers for the water. ‘Just look at the horizon and you’ll feel right as rain soon,’ he said kindly. ‘You like Nina Simone?’ ‘Huh?’ He gestured to the radio. So I run to the river, it was bleedin', I run to the sea... ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Er, yeah. I suppose.’ She hesitated. ‘Not really heard it before.’ ‘Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, Aretha Franklin, love ‘em all, I do. I’d love to do a tour of the states, for the music, you know,’ he said happily. ‘What sort of music do you like?’ She racked her brains for anything muggle. ‘All sorts, really,’ she said in the end. ‘This is good,’ she added, so that he didn’t think she was rude. ‘Oh, you’re one of those,’ he said with a grin. ‘Sorry?’ ‘One of those people who doesn’t like music much so you just say you like everything.’ ‘That’s not what I was doing,’ she lied. ‘I like music.’ She turned away. ‘I’m just no good at remembering song titles or singers and stuff.’ ‘That doesn’t make sense to me,’ he said. ‘You seem like the sort of person who remembers everything.’ ‘I mostly listen to classical,’ she invented wildly, desperately trying to remember whether the singers she knew were muggles or wizards. Everything was so muddled. ‘You’re just saying that to sound smart,’ he teased. ‘Yes, you should try it sometime,’ she tried to tease back, but she worried that it came out harsher than she meant. ‘Don’t need to, I think you have the brains enough for both of us.’ He slowed the car down, and she saw that it was to pass a dog walker on the narrow lane. Ben and the walker waved at each other as they passed. ‘Do you know everyone round here, then?’ asked Theia. ‘Well, yeah, there’s not that many people here to know.’ ‘But not Marcy?’ He took one hand off the wheel to rub his chin. ‘Well, now that you mention it, I was looking at her picture on the noticeboard the other day, and she might ring a bell. Still can’t place her, mind, but I’m sure I’ve seen her before.’ ‘We met Pauline Swindlehurst yesterday,’ said Theia. ‘And her daughter Ornella.’ He didn’t say anything, but his face tightened. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Nothing,’ he said. Go to the Devil, the Lord said, go to the Devil… ‘There must be something,’ she said, with a slight laugh in the hope it would make him feel comfortable. ‘Did you meet the old lady?’ he asked. ‘Adella Swindlehurst?’ ‘Pauline’s mother? Briefly, why?’ He looked almost embarrassed now. ‘She’s one of the ones that gets accused of witchy stuff by the people in the village,’ he said. ‘Can’t pretend she doesn’t give me the creeps either.’ ‘Witchy stuff? Like what?’ asked Theia, ignoring the clapping on the song. Outside, though the sky was a bright morning blue, dark grey clouds hung low at the tops of the peaks and crags. ‘Silly, really,’ he said. ‘Just silly stuff. But for such an old woman with joint problems and cataracts she hasn’t half crept up on me sometimes. I could swear she appears out of thin air. Not to mention,’ he added with a darker tone, ‘before he retired, our old Roy Pickering swore he was called out in the middle of the night to find her in the middle of the fells with a sheep, all it’s guts out.’ ‘That’s ghastly,’ gasped Theia. Ben shrugged and gave a shake of the head. ‘That’s what Billy said. She said she heard it screaming and found it like that. But there weren’t any dogs nearby, and there’s nothing else round here that could do that.’ ‘Was she covered in blood? Did she have a knife?’ ‘No, no, nothing like that. She wasn’t charged with anything. And this was decades ago. Billy might’ve been telling stories.’ Despite his reassurances, Theia felt cold. Although it had apparently been years ago, she could see clearly the old woman, as withered and wrinkled as she was today, standing in the moonlight over a screaming sheep. She couldn’t help but imagine the coarse grass soaked and dark, the wool matted and shuddering, the little old woman staring straight at the person that had come across the gruesome scene. Soon civilisation started to appear; lamps and paths, a roaring motorway and lorries parked at service stations. Terraced stone cottages eased their way into Lancaster city, but before they reached the river Lune they passed a pleasant green university campus and finally a complex of drab looking buildings. ‘Lancaster Royal Infirmary,’ Ben announced. ‘Thanks,’ she said. As she was about to leave the car, she stopped, turning back to face him. ‘Can we meet up again soon?’ she asked. ‘To disc-’ ‘Yes,’ he said immediately. ‘Anytime. Really.’ There was a pause. ‘Great, thanks!’ she half shouted at him, and then she left, her cheeks burning. She hurried through the large revolving doors, and was hit immediately by the plasticky smell of the hospital. The woman at the reception desk was stern faced, but in a competent sort of way, and Theia tried to approach with authority. ‘Good morning. I’m here as part of an inquiry into a woman we believe may have been a patient at this hospital recently. Marcia Staindrop.’ The receptionists expression didn’t change. ‘Do you have ID?’ Theia handed over the fake police ID that Susan had provided her. The receptionist nodded and picked up a phone, holding it between her ear and shoulder as she continued to type. Theia looked around in the meantime. The muggles around her were mostly relatives and visitors she imagined, as none of them seemed visibly sick, apart from one bald lady sitting despondently in a wheelchair. Theia wondered if magic would be able to heal her, and if it could, whether she would even be allowed to. Her mother had always said she didn’t like hospitals, but Theia had always thought that was stupid, because who did like hospitals? ‘Smells of death,’ mum had always said, and Theia had always responded with, ‘well yeah people die in there, and anyway it doesn’t, it smells like bleach.’ What was death even supposed to smell like anyway? She had seen dead bodies before, and been in the morgue, and all she had ever smelt was either decomposition or bleach. Besides, people got born in hospitals too, and had fake boobs put in and casts put round broken legs and things removed from their arse, no one ever mentioned any of that. They just imagined old people slowly succumbing to the inevitable. ‘Madam,’ said the receptionist loudly, and she suddenly realised that the receptionist had been trying to get her attention. ‘The doctor you need to speak to is Dr Lynch. Here’s the ward,’ she scribbled down some directions on a post-it and handed it to her. ‘They know you’re coming.’ Theia thanked her and headed off, squeezing between someone in a wheelchair and someone in crutches on the lift, washing her hands with stinging foam at each doorway. Dr Lynch was a thin, glum looking man. Theia didn’t have the impression that he was busy when she met him, but he assured her he was. When Theia explained the muggle version of the situation, he turned to a boxy computer in the corner of the office and typed silently. ‘Did you gain consent from the patient?’ he asked dully. ‘For me to break confidentiality?’ ‘No,’ said Theia. ‘But under section 29 of the data protection act, if it’s in the public interest you are able to disclose information that may be relevant. As she feels that there has been a crime committed against her and she has been as cooperative as possible, we feel it’s reasonable.’ She rattled off her practice speech smoothly - as Susan had advised, it was more believable than pretending they had full consent. She was almost disappointed that he didn’t seem impressed that she knew about the data protection act. He sighed.‘Can’t say I remember her, but yes she was a patient of mine.’ ‘For maternity?’ ‘This isn’t a maternity ward,’ he said stiffly. ‘Didn’t you read the signs?’ ‘Neurology,’ said Theia. ‘That’s brains, isn’t it?’ She could tell he wanted to roll his eyes. ‘Yes. Although it is marked down that she was pregnant and was opting for a home birth. Her notes say that she was offered a community midwife but she declined.’ ‘Is she allowed to decline that?’ ‘Well it’s a free country, isn’t it? You can’t force someone to take medical help unless they’re not of sound mind.’ Theia hesitated. ‘But… this is the neurology-’ ‘She has early onset dementia,’ said the doctor. ‘Unusual in such a young age but not completely unheard of.’ ‘I see,’ said Theia. ‘That would explain a lot. And there’s nothing that indicates any conditions before the dementia? No learning difficulties or illnesses?’ ‘No,’ he said, but his voice slowed. ‘She has been in a lot though, for all sorts of things. She had physical therapy for her hip, treatment for pneumonia, some broken bones....’ ‘Nothing about suffering a miscarriage or still birth? Or having a baby at all?’ ‘No, although she would have had it by now.’ He hesitated again. ‘I don’t feel comfortable saying any more without the patient’s consent.’ ‘I understand. Who brought her in for the dementia?’ ‘I don’t know, we didn’t record that. Probably a family member or if it was early enough she might have come in herself. Want me to print this off for you?’ ‘Yes please,’ said Theia, pleasantly surprised. ‘That would be really helpful.’ ‘Good,’ he said brusquely. ‘Now are we done? I have to deliver some news to a family.’ She suddenly realised how tired he looked. ‘Yes, thank you so much, Dr. You’ve been very helpful.’ He gave a curt nod and walked out, leaving her waiting for the whirring of the printer to stop. *** Back at the Ministry, she found herself once again in the records room, though she was unable to find what she was looking for. Her fingers fumbled over the worn edges of the folders, names and places and code words for operations long past filtering past. One of the Unspeakables was in there too, no doubt looking up something mysterious. A stark raving average looking man that was no doubt intelligent, but she could tell immediately that he had all the personality of a glass of water. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, and he barely glanced at her. ‘Am I missing something? I’m trying to look up past cases in the Loney but there’s nothing under L.’ ‘Might be some in the dump room.’ ‘Sorry?’ ‘They’re still repairing and reorganising files destroyed in the war. In the dump room.’ He pointed to a door she had never noticed before, tucked in a shadowy corner. He turned back to his file and ignored her. She felt an odd sinking feeling in her chest, maybe because she hated the thought of knowledge being destroyed. The door was too small, so she had to crouch to go through it, straightening up into the most peculiar room she had ever seen. She thought at first it was snow; the floor was inches deep in tiny shreds and scrunches of parchment. Her feet sank into it, well past her ankles. But rather than parchment-snowflakes falling down, they fell softly up, dancing under the vaulted stone ceiling and occasionally joining one another. With magic, the old documents were slowly healing. She knew that not all of it would be possible. Documents had been burned. She had seen it. They had made displays of it. Some pieces of parchment here were singed, as if they had been rescued from the bonfires. But perhaps there would be something. Rather than organised shelves, loose papers and rolls were piled in twisting, haphazard towers of varying heights, many taller than her. Her brow creased in weariness. How on earth would she find anything in here? But she only needed to think ‘Loney’; the towers seemed to reorganise themselves, shuffling and spitting out papers into a new pile before her. ‘Well why can’t you do that in the normal record room?’ she asked the pile of paper, but as she bent down, she saw why. It had merely piled up everything it thought she might be interested in; anything that was in her mind. No doubt the Unspeakable was clever enough to clear his mind and find what he wanted, but she as she leafed through the documents much of it was irrelevant and confusing, the magic seeming to snatch keywords from her mind and throwing everything it could at her. Every now and then, some pages would leave and some would reshuffle or be added to the pile, and it only seemed to get worse the more frustrated she got. She tried to pick up a chunk and take them out of the door, but as she approached it, they flew out of her hand and back to the pile. So she sat cross legged and tried to breathe deeply and slowly. There were photos here too, she realised; almost all in black and white and torn up or missing patches or faces burned out. She thought she saw one of her dad when he was young grinning cockily, no doubt a mugshot from some minor trouble when he was young, she knew there had been plenty. Lots of half mugshots and scenes of Azkaban, snippets of dragon-poxed faces slightly stirring, crime scenes that were perfectly, eerily still. Some pieces seemed to show the inside of a house, so normal and still that she stared at them wondering why it was even showing them to her. Then one piece, no bigger than the length of her thumb, showed half a dark-haired figure slumped on the floor and she realised she was looking at a murder scene. The papers too, endless words and tables and graphs, the faint lines where they had been ripped like cobwebbed veins, the orange and black sears clouding. Diagrams of plants and blueprints of buildings; it was not just the auror department that had lost so much it seemed. She found the HR records of people she knew - she couldn’t resist stopping to read when Dawlish popped up - and some pieces of parchment were in some sort of code she was certain came from the department of mysteries. ‘Loney,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I only want the Loney.’ There was a great noise like a deck of cards being shuffled, and everything was a blur of parchment around her and all the parchment was rearranged again. She sighed, and prepared herself for the most painstaking research of her life. *** ‘The dump room?’ Harry said, his eyebrows raised. ‘Who sent you in there?’ ‘I dunno, some Unspeakable bloke.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Makes sense. They think everyone can do occlumency. That’s the only way you can get anything out of it that makes any sense.’ ‘You can do occlumency, can’t you?’ she said brightening up. ‘I read about it in your biography, the one Rita Skeeter-’ ‘George shouldn’t have bought you that, it’s not funny,’ he said warningly. ‘But yeah, I can, but I’m rubbish at it.’ Then he looked awkward. ‘I end up looking for stuff I shouldn’t, too. That’s a room for people with no past.’ ‘It was hard to navigate,’ she admitted. ‘But I did find something interesting on the Loney.’ From her robe pocket she pulled out a wad of parchment pieces. ‘It’s not clear, and half of it is missing… But I think there was a disappearance there. In the sixties. Never found.’ ‘Er… I don’t really want to open up a cold case right now,’ he replied, looking slightly alarmed. ‘When I asked for pass cases I meant in the last couple of years.’ ‘In a tiny little place like that? It could be connected.’ ‘To a woman losing her memory?’ He looked dubious, but she stubbornly held out the parchment fragments. ‘All right, I’ll look into it,’ he said. ‘Anything else?’ She told him about her meeting with the doctor, and he listened intently, his brow furrowing. ‘Well that’s a worry… The Healers want her to return home and Robards doesn’t think there’s enough cause to keep her in any sheltered accomodation.’ ‘What?’ she said furiously. ‘We’re meant to just send her back?’ ‘Well, yes,’ replied Harry. ‘But… I did suggest a bodyguard. To keep an eye on things and continue the investigation… Maybe living with her for a time.’ ‘Who would agree to that?’ Theia asked, half laughing. ‘What a drag.’ He stared at her. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I mean it, Harry, I’m not doing it. I won’t. Not a chance.’ |
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