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SIYE Time:11:05 on 28th March 2024
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Hollow Ash
By FloreatCastellum

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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: 41487; Chapter Total: 2034
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Read this chapter in bed, with the lights off and a window open xx




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It was one of their first visits. Before she could stick to the plan and hide her true feelings. Not that he ever seemed to take much note. ‘It’s always cold in here,’ he said. ‘Drives me mad.’

‘I thought you liked the cold,’ she said. ‘You went into all the Nordic countries.’

‘That’s different,’ he said. ‘That’s a warm kind of cold. Cosy. Not like here. This cold is unforgiving.’

‘Well,’ she said, unable to resist, ‘that rather suits a prison, doesn’t it?’

He nodded solemnly. ‘I always thought hell would be hot. All flames and smoke. But actually I think it’s very cold, and damp. Not pretty. Not snowing. Not even big thunderstorms like we get here sometimes. Just biting cold and horrible damp.’

‘You would know all about hell, Dennis,’ she said sourly.

‘Yes, and so would you,’ he replied.


***

It felt like a constant battle to keep Marcy’s home warm. Though Theia had lit a fire in the grate and placed several jars of magical blue flames around the living room, the hot air seemed to escape through the stone walls quicker than the flames could replenish it. Forget putting another jumper on, Theia was kitted out in a scarf, mittens and woolly hat, with one of Marcy’s many tartan throws wrapped around her.

If Marcy thought it was odd, she didn’t mention it, but she certainly seemed more used to the cold than Theia, with only a bobbly jumper and throw over her knees.

‘How did you like Judy, Marcy?’

‘Judy?’

‘The young lady who came to visit today.’

‘Hmm? Oh! Yes. Very nice.’ Marcy was knitting, somehow the clacks of the metal needles made Theia feel even colder.

‘Harry and I went for a walk around the village while she was here,’ said Theia conversationally. ‘Down into the valley.’

‘Oh, where Alf lives,’ said Marcey cheerfully.

‘Sorry?’

‘You know, with the short grey beard.’

‘Oh, Ralf Osman. Yes,’ said Theia. ‘But I wanted to ask you about someone else we met. Oeric.’

The knitting seemed to lose its rhythm, and Marcy’s mouth twitched. ‘Oh,’ was all she said.

‘Do you remember him?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, but she didn’t sound certain.

Theia leaned forward, her mittens around her mug of tea. ‘He seemed so angry. Is he a horrible man?’

‘I don’t really remember,’ said Marcy stiffly. She looked at Marcy intently, and for the first time since meeting her, she didn't look like a child at all. Her voice sounded authoritative, even motherly. ‘Don’t go there though, at least not alone.’

‘Why not?’ asked Theia.

‘Just don’t.’ Suddenly she winced, clasping at her leg.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Theia, alarmed.

‘My knee hurts,’ Marcy complained. ‘And I can hardly see this knitting.’

‘Yes,’ said Theia sympathetically. ‘The Healers said you have cataracts, remember? They’ve given you a potion to lessen them a bit, but it won’t get rid of them completely. You’re very young to have cataracts though, Marcy. Do you think someone might have cursed you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marcy. Even in the dim light, Theia saw the lips quiver, the hands tremble, and the knitting being slowly placed in her lap. Then, a muffled whimper and Marcy had burst into tears.

‘Oh! Marcy! Don’t cry, it’s okay!’ exclaimed Theia, rushing over to her side.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong,’ said Marcy through heaving sobs. ‘Only that something is. Terribly wrong. And the guilt, oh the tremendous guilt!’

‘Guilt about what, Marcy?’

But Marcy couldn’t stop. She was babbling now, tears streaming down her face. ‘And all these aches and pains what I never had before and all getting worse. And I might have agreed to it all, but it’s not fair, really, when people don’t keep promises. These things round here are dangerous, you know, we were warned not to go to the tree-’

‘What tree, Marcy? Who didn’t keep promises?’

‘-And now Ornella gets what she wants and I’m left with nothing but misery and no memory of what’s behind it all-’

‘The baby, is that what you mean?’ asked Theia, gripping Marcy’s arm without realising. ‘Ornella gets the baby?’

‘Yes, a healthy baby-’

‘This is good, Marcy, you’re really helping, can you remember anything else about the baby-?’

‘And now I can’t see anything and I think it’s only going to get worse only I don’t know why-’

‘The baby, Marcy,’ urged Theia. ‘Tell me more about the baby.’

‘-Or why Alf won’t, and not to mention all these people coming in and out of my house with not so much as a by your leave, and, and…’ Her words became incomprehensible, wracking, heavy sobs. Theia felt a rush of guilt for pushing her too hard.

‘I’m sorry, Marcy,’ she said soothingly. ‘Why don’t I put the soup on, eh? Make us some nice dinner.’

Things calmed as they ate, and soon Marcy was nattering away about her puzzle book as though nothing had happened. Perhaps, thought Theia, she had forgotten that she had said anything at all.

The evening darkened and the wind picked up. Marcy was unfazed, though she tried to tune the old wireless and got nothing but static before giving up and returning to her knitting. Part from boredom, part to keep out the cold, Theia ambled around and around the little living room.

She didn’t like the windows. They were too dirty to see out of clearly, just faint shadows and shapes of the fells outside, and she still felt that she was being watched. Perhaps it was just the memory of when she had been here with Harry, and had briefly seen a pale white face staring at her. She wished she could draw curtains or blinds, but Marcy had none, so before long she was making herself jump when she caught her own reflection in the dark glass.

It was when Theia realised Marcy’s calendar was out of date, and corrected it, that Marcy said anything interesting again.

‘Motherin’ Sunday this weekend,’ she said, nodding at the bright yellow daffodils on the calendar.

‘Yes,’ said Theia distantly. Her chest felt tight. Of course it was. At least she would be stuck here.

‘Got any plans?’

‘No.’ Mothering Sunday always took her by surprise. She was never sure if it was March or April and it would always be a mad dash to the petrol station to buy the least petrol station-looking flowers she could find and a Cadbury’s milk tray. She would try and make it up to her by writing something soppy in the card, but they both knew she had forgotten so it never rang true.

‘I always nip round me mum’s,’ said Marcy cheerfully.

Theia’s heart sank even further. Had Marcy forgotten that her mother had died all those years ago? Could she really tell her? Was it ethical? Maybe she meant she visited her grave.

‘You do?’ she tried hesitantly.

‘Aye, with Ornella.’

‘Oh! Pauline.’ When Marcy nodded, Theia almost laughed with relief. ‘That’s nice. You must get on really well then.’

‘I’d do anything for her,’ said Marcy. ‘She took me in when no one else wanted a squib like me.’

Theia sighed, and went to sit in the armchair opposite Marcy. The lamps weren’t bright enough to light the entire room, so it was hard to see Marcy’s expression when she looked down at her knitting. ‘What do you remember about that, Marcy?’

Marcy’s face fell. She was silent for a long time, then finally, ‘I couldn’t do magic. What a waste.’

‘But you’re not a waste, Marcy,’ said Theia encouragingly. ‘Pauline didn’t think so.’

‘No,’ said Marcy. ‘And Pauline was lovely. We went on trips to the seaside. Morecambe Bay. Collecting seashells. And into the city. One day we even went to London.’

‘That sounds lovely.’

Marcy nodded, but she wasn’t smiling. ‘I’m tired,’ she said at last.

‘All right,’ said Theia. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

Marcy didn’t need the help, not really, but Theia guided her to her room anyway, lowering her voice to a whisper and dimming the lights.

She went back to the living room, and with a flick of her wand the sofa became a more luxurious bed. It was earlier than she usually slept, so perhaps that was why she stayed awake for several hours, staring at the ceiling.

The little cottage was creepy at night. The dying embers of the fire threw unsettling shadows on the rough stone walls, the wind outside howled and moaned, the old pipework would occasionally make terrifying clunks and screeches. She tried to close her eyes and block it all out, but the noises just seemed to get louder and more frequent, she thought she might be going mad, how could she have forgotten it was mother’s day next weekend-

Her eyes snapped open. She had been drifting in and out of sleep, she was sure of it, but now she thought she may as well do something useful. In the low light, she pulled some parchment and a quill towards her and began to write.

Harry,

Sorry to send you this at this hour, but I can’t sleep and I want to make sure I don’t forget anything.

The most important thing to note, I think, is that Marcy mentioned Ornella getting what she wanted while she was left with nothing. I am sure this is something to do with the baby. Is this enough evidence to get a test done?

She also seemed unnerved when I mentioned Oeric and warned me to stay away, though she said she couldn't remember anything else. I got the impression she was not scared for herself, but worried for me, or perhaps disgusted? Either way, I think it is worth taking a closer look at.

She spoke about her relationship with Pauline and it sounds very close. Perhaps they didn’t neglect her after all, though I am certain there is tension between her and Ornella.

Will discuss more tomorrow - please could you bring Judy or someone again to give me another break? I want to tell Ben about the bike and would prefer to discuss the case with you out on the fells where we are less likely to be overheard.

Thanks,
Theia

Theia had brought her owl to Marcy’s, and though she was out hunting, she had prided herself on her ability to train her little barn owl well. She opened one of the heavy, rusted windows, sending flakes of dried paint everywhere, and raised her wand.

Though she couldn’t see or hear it, her nifty little spell sent out a very high pitched shrill.

Within just a couple of minutes, her owl’s white breast fluttered out of the darkness, and he landed on the sill.

‘Sorry buddy,’ she said. ‘Take this to Harry, would you? I won’t disturb your hunting again.’

He gave her a gentle nip, but took the letter and vanished into the darkness.

Theia watched him go, leaning out of the window to feel the cold air on her skin. Her eyes began to adjust to the moonlight, and she could see the outlines of the rocky hills, the ripple of the heather in the wind, the dirt track-

And a speck of candlelight.

She was alert now, her stealth training kicking in as she ducked below the window frame, just peering over the edge.

But the candlelight wasn’t coming towards her, it ran parallel to the cottage, up the dirt road.

Her heart was thudding, she allowed herself the briefest of glances to the clock - it was three in the morning. Who was outside at this hour, walking so rapidly up the track?

Finally the light was close enough that she could see, and she felt frozen in fear.

The little old lady, Pauline’s mum, her ancient face set in fierce, evil determination. She walked rapidly - her thin white nightdress and wild white hair billowing around her in the cold night wind, her gnarled hand fiercely gripping the bare candle, wax dripping down onto her leathery knuckles. It was the speed with which she was walking that frightened Theia, the unnatural, upright, determined walking from a woman she had only seen before as frail and unable to move. Her bare feet striding over the cold hard ground made Theia think of bird claws.

And her face, oh her face… Theia couldn’t describe the horror. Perhaps it was the candlelight casting low shadows, making the eyes look even more sunken and skull like. Perhaps it was the expression of hatred though there was nothing around her. There was something deeply disturbing about it. Something wholly wrong.

The old woman walked past. Though she realised she was trembling, Theia hurried to the door, forcing her feet into her boots as quickly as she could and throwing on a black cloak.

She went outside, but hadn’t left the tiny front garden when she felt conflicted. Should she leave Marcy alone in the house? Suppose it was a trick? Someone had been watching her before. Or was it simply that she was afraid?

The candlelight was moving so fast that it was nearly over the hill. She had to decide now. What would Harry do? He would follow her, obviously. But what would Robards do? He would say that Theia was there to protect Marcy.

The wind bit at her. She wasn’t sure if she was shaking or shivering. Her teeth gritted, she watched as the speck of yellow and flashes of billowing white around it vanished over the crest of the dark hill, out of the Loney.

She let out a shuddering breath and was ashamed to realise that she was relieved. But rather than going back to hide, she raced around the perimeter of Marcy’s little cottage, checking the windows were closed, throwing her wand’s light into the clumps of heather in case a dark shadow lurked there. She looked up at the roof, because she thought she saw movement, but it must have been a shadow or cloud or whiff of fog passing over the damp slates.

Finally, she returned to the house. She crept in to Marcy’s room to find her sleeping soundly, and then sat in her doorway until sunrise, wand gripped tightly in her hand.
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