Dark, Twisted and Time Turned

Chapter 21: Apologies and Promises

(*Warning: language, smoking, drug use, discussion of violence)

We've lived in the shadows for far too long. You came today because of a craving and a knowledge that the old ways serve us no longer...you come today because you crave something new, something different. It is said that I hate Les Non-Magiques. The Muggles. The No-Maj. The Can't-Spells. I do not hate them, I do not. I do not fight out of hatred. I do not think of them as lesser. They are simply different from us. A different disposition. Of other value. We fight for freedom. For truth. For love. For all of humanity.

And our enemy stands at our gates, threatens our prosperity and beliefs. Our enemy only wants to destroy, to tear his foes apart. And he blames us! He blames us for his destruction, for his murders, if only to keep his hands clean. His blame is merely gloves; when he can no longer blame us, the blood on his hands will reveal itself.

I have felt a shift in the magics. There is darkness that has been brewing for several years, and I have felt the ultimate push just recently. There is power lurking; we must take it before the enemy. We must control it before the enemy. We have to master the power! You have my trust to find it. There is no end to this until we no longer see tomorrow.

Hermione wakes with a start, ears catching the gentle sound of a shower running. She knew the speech, she'd heard it before somewhere. She knew the speaker, Gellert Grindelwald. She'd heard several over the radio in her time, in honorarium of his fifty year defeat. In fourth year, September twelfth. She sits up, and she hears a shriek as Elle Dolohov turns away.

"Merlin! Put on some robes." She tosses Hermione's robes at her head, and she quickly slips into them. "I assumed you had at least a night dress on- are you dressed yet? Good. Liz will be out in a minute. Cynthia's washing quite a bit of blood and sweat off from last night. She ended up staying on the sixth floor, couldn't get back with a concussion."

"I see." Hermione climbs out of the bed, transfiguring it back into the couch. She turns the pillow back into Abraxas's jacket, breathing the scent of his cologne. Saffron, for sure. Cedar. Either way, it smelled expensive. It smelled like Abraxas. Elizabeth emerges from her bedroom in loose shorts and a collarded shirt, pinning up her braided hair.

"We're training today, Elle. You'll have to leave. Sorry." Elizabeth didn't sound sorry, but Elle kisses her anyways and slips out the door. Elizabeth takes her place on the chair. "Morning, Granger. I'll drop you off with Perseus before I go down; try not to drool over his casual clothes. He's a fine piece of work." She fans her face jokingly.

"You don't even like boys." Cynthia comments as she emerges from the shower. Elizabeth takes her wand out of her pocket.

"Oh honey, let my fix you up." Cynthia's nose looked fairly broken, and her eye was black. She seemed to have several bruises around her collar. "What did she do this time? Episkey."

"She got up on my neck again. Once she gets up on my shoulders, I'm done. She does her swing, drags me down, pins me with her legs. Can't move or I'll snap my neck." Cynthia sighs. Elizabeth fixes as many visible injuries on Cynthia as she could see, then lets the large girl go get dressed.

"She likes fighting too much. Likes the pay," Elizabeth mutters, putting her wand back into her pocket. "Lucretia pays anyone who wants to fight. Pays more if they win; she's fucked, she likes to fight until it hurts. She's done several fights where she's been knocked out. Two where she's had to go to St. Mungoes for internal damage." Elizabeth almost sounds pained. "Haven't figured out why yet."

"Oh, Lucretia pays the fights? I assumed it would be Fawley."

"No, Fawley has no interest in any of it. All Lucretia. She fights every Sunday night." Elizabeth glances at her watch. "Oh, I should take you to Perseus. He'll want to get in the training room before six." She leads her out into the hall, only going a few doors down before reaching what must have been Perseus's room. The inhabitant, however, were remarkably loud.