CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
FOREST OF DEAN

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

DRACO THOUGHT HE WAS going to be sick. It was a foreign feeling, this swooping sensation that tugged at his gut like a fish hook yanking at the lip of the slimy animal’s mouth. It reminded him of Quidditch; that grand drop from Heaven back to Earth, chasing the flash of gold just out of his reach, pushing himself quicker; his body and mind seemed to separate into two warring entities.

Staring at the human body in the corner of his living room, it hit him like the slap of his father’s hand against his cheek. The skin was pale; if he were to touch the outstretched arm stained in blood that was not quite dry, his fingertips would come back frozen from the cold. He knew who it was without a doubt. She was older than him by two years. The girlfriend of one of those Weasley twins (remind him why he hated them again…) Her dark braids were pulled up high in a way he had long since gotten used to overlooking in passing each day. She wore a long satin dress that was ripped carelessly at the hem.

Dressed up to celebrate, now presentable for death.

Solana Thomas was gone from this world and onto the next one, and she was on his living room floor, and Draco wasn’t remotely prepared for the crushing, suffocating ache of sorrow that twisted his heart. He resented the stinging prick of tears behind his eyes, blinked them away until he saw stars. He hated her and the lot of them, but he’d barely lived yet and neither had Solana. Now she never would, and her brother (who was Draco’s age) would grow up with a ghost for a sister.

Draco’s mind was plagued by Dean Thomas, by Freya McKinnon and Fred Weasley, and everyone else he’d seen in Solana’s orbit.

Did they know? Had they seen it happen?

Would they hold him accountable for the horrible mistreatment of their sister, their friend, their girlfriend?

Maybe Draco would hold himself accountable. Silent as a mouse, he was. Willingly biting his tongue and averting his eyes. Ever since that night in the Astronomy Tower, something deep within him had shifted. This -- everything -- was wrong. But he wasn’t fighting. He was on the wicked side of history, yet he’d made himself too comfortable to change now… right?

Yes, that was it.

“Just get rid of her,” his father said at last. His lips were pulled back in a sneer of disgust. He glanced over Solana with disinterest; then, under his breath so only his wife and son would hear him, he muttered, “Fools, the lot of them. She would’ve died immediately. Why they even bothered to bring her here…”

When they couldn’t torture anything out of her, went unsaid but rang true.

Instinctively, Draco lowered his head, but that didn’t stop the sounds that followed him into hiding. The impatient scrape of limp limbs being dragged from the room. The slap of wet blood that would forever stain the mahogany floorboards. Of a fire starting in the large kitchen grate.

Oh.

There was bile in his throat.

He’d rot in Hell for this.

He looked up at last and swore he saw Solana’s body yet to be moved. Eyes open and gazing at him. Pleading, judging. Ridiculing him for even feeling a fraction of her pain. He blinked and she was gone, but he had a feeling the image of her wouldn’t leave him for a long time.

He’d rot in Hell and he’d deserve it.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

THE FOREST OF DEAN was dark with shadow as the day drew to a close. Freya stood in the shallows of the river, her jeans rolled up around her calves. She had her hands on her hips, keenly watching as Dean, Dirk Creswell and Ted Tonks waded in further searching for signs of fish to eat.

“Anything?” she called out, pushing her hair out of her face.

The wind was strong today, making it difficult for her dad and the goblins, Griphook and Gornuk, to keep the fire from blowing out. She could hear Fraser and Griphook exchanging curt words behind her, both walking on eggshells around the other. Theirs was a reluctant alliance but a necessary one. The same could be said for Gornuk. Freya didn’t really understand how Ted -- who was Nymphadora Tonks’ father and a muggleborn, she had learned -- nor Dirk had come across them, but both had refused to part with them when they found Freya, Fraser and Dean only the day before, and that was that.

“There ought to be a few salmon in here,” Dean insisted, careful to keep his voice low in fear of it echoing. Fraser and Ted made sure to enchant the nearby area when they decided to settle in for the night, but Freya never fully trusted they would hold. Just look at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and the result… Quickly, she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. “Or do you think it’s too early in the season?”

“We’ll find out,” Dirk decided, pulling out his wand. “Accio salmon!”

Freya snorted as several fish quite literally leapt out of the water, one slapping Dean right in the face when Dirk ducked aside. “That smell is going to linger.”

“Shut up, Freya,” he muttered, grabbing the fish by its tail and waving it in her direction. “Want me to chase you with it?”

“Don’t you dare,” she pointed a finger at him.

He made to move towards her and Freya all but sprinted out of the water, Dean and Dirk’s laughter following her up the incline towards the others. A moment later, once the three men had gathered enough salmon for the seven of them, they set to work cooking over the flames Fraser was constantly feeding with twigs.

“Grab the plates, Frey,” her dad grunted with a vague glance over his shoulder.

“Sir, yes, sir,” she muttered but did as he asked.

Their supplies had expanded in their new life on the run. August had faded into September, then October, then November. Before they knew it, Christmas and New Years would be upon them. Freya was simply going through the motions, letting each day lead into the next without much meaning. Healthy? Maybe not. Necessary? For now, yes.

She handed each of them a plate and a set of cutlery before sitting down between Fraser and Dean.

“So, you three have been on the run, how long?” Ted gestured to the trio filling their plates like a well-oiled machine.

Fraser barely looked up from his food. “Three months, give or take a few weeks. I’ve lost count.”

Dirk let out an impressed whistle. “And we’re the first group you’ve come across?”

Freya shrugged, chewing down a large chunk of salmon before clearing her throat to answer. “We’ve had a few close calls with Snatchers, but you’d be surprised just how easy it is to disappear when you don’t want to be found.”

Whenever they’d thought someone was catching up to them, they’d move. Every crack in the night could’ve been someone apparating. Even the hush of the breeze might’ve been whispering voices. Life on the run had fuelled her father’s paranoia -- and by extension, Freya’s too. She’d nearly killed Griphook when he, Gornuk, Dirk and Ted accidentally stumbled across their previous camp late the night before. Tensions still lingered, not that Freya was all that bothered.

“And you guys?” Dean turned the question back on the others with his eyebrows raised curiously.

“Six weeks… seven… in truth, I forget,” Dirk sighed.

Dirk used to work in the Ministry for the Goblin Liaison Office. Freya recalled seeing his name in the paper a few times. It seemed even former Ministry officials weren’t safe from the call for muggleborn witches and wizards.

“Met up with Griphook in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gornuk not long after,” he continued. “Then we ran into Ted a week or so ago. Nice to have a bit of company.”

There was a pause filled by the scrape of knives against plates. Fraser had cleared his first, followed by Freya, who made a cutlery pile off to the side of the fire.

“What made you leave, Ted?” Fraser asked.

“Knew they were coming for me,” he said. “Heard Death Eaters were in the area and decided I’d better run for it. Refused to register as a muggleborn on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I’d have to leave in the end. My wife should be okay, she’s pureblood.”

Ted’s wife was Andromeda Tonks. Freya recognised her as the estranged sister of Death Eaters Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Despite her status as a traitor, Ted was right. Andromeda, in the current circumstances, would escape unscathed. Her muggleborn husband who she left her family for? Not so much.

“I’ve got to say, Dirk, I’m surprised we’ve run into you,” Fraser admitted.

They hadn’t had much time for talking the previous night. It was well into the early hours of the morning when their camp was interrupted and their initial discussion was determining if they’d stay together for a bit, then where they’d move along to. Now that they were settled, it gave them an opportunity to share what was happening in the world. The salmon in Freya’s stomach suddenly felt heavy.

“Word was you’d been caught.”

“I was,” said Dirk. “I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it. Stunned Dawlish and nicked his broom. It was easier than you’d think; I don’t reckon he’s quite right at the moment. Might be confunded. If so, I’d like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it. Probably saved my life.”

“And where do you two fit in?” Fraser arched an eyebrow at the goblins, a question Freya was sure her dad had been biting his tongue to keep from saying sooner. “I had the impression the goblins had chosen to stand with You-Know-Who.”

“You had a false impression,” Griphook answered simply. “We take no sides. This is a wizard’s war.”

“How come you’re in hiding then?”

“I deemed it prudent,” said Gornuk, his deep-set eyes narrowing. “Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy.”

“What did they ask you to do?” Ted asked, piquing Freya’s interest. It proved the goblins’ aloof attitudes weren’t entirely reserved for herself, Fraser and Dean. This was a wizard’s war and even the wizards who had chosen to ally with them weren’t privy to their trust.

“Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race. I am not a house-elf,” Gornuk sniffed.

“Right…”

“What about you, Griphook?” Fraser turned to the other goblin.

“Similar reasons. Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognise no wizarding master.”

He added something under his breath in Gobbledegook that only Dirk and Gornuk understood.

“What’s the joke?” Dean asked as Gornuk laughed.

“He said that ‘there are things wizards don’t recognise either,’” Dirk translated for them.

Freya frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I had my small revenge before I left,” Griphook left it at that.

“Good man -- goblin, I should say,” Ted amended hastily. “Didn’t manage to lock a Death Eater up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?”

“If I had, the sword would not have helped him break out,” Griphook muttered.

Gornuk laughed again and even Dirk gave a dry chuckle this time around, though he did try to hide it behind his fist.

“Care to let us in on the whole joke?” Fraser challenged, sitting back with his arms folded.

“Yes, yes,” Ted agreed, though much more amiably than Fraser. “It’s clear we’re still missing something here.”

“So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it,” Griphook smirked.

“Surely you, Ted, would’ve at least heard about it,” Dirk directed at the man. “About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?”

“Never heard a word,” Ted frowned.

“I take it that ol’ Severus didn’t want the Prophet catching wind of this?” said Fraser.

“Hardly,” chortled Dirk. “Griphook here told me.”

“Do you know who was responsible?” Freya asked while sharing a cautious look with Dean.

They both had a few suspects in mind who would attempt something so risky. Naturally, they were right on the money.

“Well, Griphook heard about it from Bill Weasley who works at the Bank--”

Freya’s head snapped up, her breath hitching.

“--One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.”

Freya longed to ask about him -- but her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it would burst right out of her chest and burn in the flames. Something would’ve been reported in the paper. She’d reminded herself of this every day. The Weasleys were notable right now. If something had happened to George -- or to any of them, really -- something would’ve been said. If Bill was still at work and Ginny was at Hogwarts, their lives had to have continued forward in the wake of Bill’s admittedly disastrous wedding. That was good… right?

“She and a couple friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword,” Dirk continued and Freya forced herself to pay attention once again. “Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.”

“Ah, God bless ‘em,” said Ted while Fraser, Freya and Dean remained impenetrably silent. “What did they think, that they’d be able to use it on You-Know-Who? Or on Snape himself?”

“Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Snape decided the sword wasn’t safe where it was. Couple of days later, once he’d got the say so from You-Know-Who, I’d imagine, he sent it down to London to be kept in Gringotts instead.”

This evoked the laughter of the goblins once more.

“I’m still not seeing the joke,” Dean sighed.

“It’s a fake,” rasped Griphook.

Freya’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yes,” nodded Gornuk gleefully. “It is a copy --  an excellent copy, it is true -- but it was wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by goblins and had certain properties only goblin-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Gryffindor is, it is not in a vault at Gringotts Bank.”

Freya had to admit, this did bring her some satisfaction. It pained her to know the Death Eaters were thriving in this new world order. At least something was working against them, no matter how insignificant it seemed at the time.

“I see,” murmured Ted. He looked worn-out. His hair was grey around his ears and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was a mirror image of what Freya saw in her father, down-to-the-bone exhausted. “And I take it you didn’t bother telling the Death Eaters this?”

“I saw no reason to trouble them with the information,” said Griphook smugly.

Once the laughter died down, Dean recalled just what Dirk had said. “What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?”

“Oh, they were punished, and cruelly.”

“They’re okay, though?” Fraser sat forward, brows furrowed.

“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I’m aware,” Griphook seemed indifferent to their sudden concern.

“Lucky for them,” murmured Ted. “With Snape’s track record, I suppose we should just be glad they’re still alive.”

“You believe that story then, do you, Ted?” Dirk asked. “You believe Snape killed Dumbledore?”

Fraser sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to believe Harry Potter had something to do with it.”

What Dirk said next would inevitably determine whether their group expanded in the following weeks. Freya glanced down at her father’s leg; even then, it was propped at an awkward angle. It seemed to twinge with phantom pain from the memories. His knuckles pressed against his thigh as his jaw clenched beneath his ragged beard.

“Hard to know what to believe these days,” Dirk muttered, the flames dancing shadows on his uneasy expression.

“You really are that stupid,” Freya laughed.

Dirk opened his mouth to argue but Dean was quick to add on after Freya, “We know Harry Potter. I reckon he’s the real thing -- the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot who would like to believe he’s that, son. Me included. But where is he? Run for it, by the looks of things--”

“What, like you?” Freya retorted. “Like all of us?”

Dirk, once again, opened his mouth to protest.

“Go on. Try to tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’d think, if he knew anything we don’t or had anything special going for him, he’d be out there now fighting, rallying resistance instead of hiding. And you know, the Prophet makes a pretty good case against him--”

“We’re done here,” Fraser glared, forcing Dirk into silence. “We had a resistance, Creswell, and it was shot to pieces by the ones we’re resisting against. You think I’d be risking my daughter’s life out here if we had somewhere else that was safe for us? Where the man who killed my family and the mother of my daughter couldn’t reunite us with them prematurely? Shut the fuck up.”

“You deserve to be lied to if you’re still reading the Prophet muck, Dirk,” Ted shook his head. “You want the facts, try The Quibbler.”

“The Quibbler?” Dirk exclaimed, eyeing Fraser as he stood up. “The lunatic rag of Xeno Lovegood’s?”

“It’s not so lunatic these days. You want to give it a look. Xeno’s printing all the stuff the Prophet’s ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they’ll let him get away with it, mind, I don’t know. But Xeno says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who’s against You-Know-Who ought to make helping Harry Potter their number one priority.”

“Harry’s a kid, Dirk,” Fraser spat, hiking his bag onto his back. Freya and Dean stood up without question, ready to follow him wherever he marched off to. “You said it yourself. You were on your way to Azkaban and you bolted. We can’t judge Harry for doing what’s best for him right now. No good in him getting caught and killed before he can finish what he’s started.”

“It’s hard to help a boy who’s vanished off the face of the Earth,” said Dirk, but his point was useless.

“Listen, the fact that they haven’t caught him yet is one Hell of an achievement. I’d take tips from him gladly. It’s what we’re trying to do, stay free, isn’t it?”

“Don’t waste your breath on him, Ted,” Fraser began to turn away. “You’ll be eating your words sooner or later, Creswell. I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so’ when it happens.”

They didn’t know it then, of course, but Fraser’s ‘I told you so’ would be long forgotten in the dirt of the Forest of Dean. They went their separate ways the following morning. By Christmas, everyone who sat around that fire would be dead or captured.