𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - Viktor Krum [book 1]

23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE APOCALYPSE, THAT WAS what it felt, it seemed, lay on my dark horizon. My thoughts weren't scrambled though, they weren't fragmented, or rushing about my senses at the speed of light. I knew what I had to do, I knew how I wanted this day to go, and I knew I would make it bend to my will—regardless of the measures I would have to take for it to be so.

'You blend in. Hide your magic as you did with the Dementors—just don't stand out in front of them,' Aurelius' words pushed up front in my head.

I had inquired of Les dorés from him, hoping—wishing that perhaps he'd know more of their relationship with heuristics so that I may extricate myself from the Ilvermorny guest's line of vision. Why would he though? Barebone had been a puppet, puppets don't acquire things by themselves unless they were being fed it. It was clear, that if Grindelwald had any knowledge of the matter, he hadn't fed his head acolyte accordingly.

Aurelius didn't know, and so he had given advice blindly, like a chess move in the dark, not quite thought over at all. I had despised it, and irritation had bustled through my veins. Regardless, I felt bound to follow through, for I had no bright ideas of my own.

Time had clearly passed at Ilvermorny when I returned, parting ways with the former Credence Barebone, not knowing where he was going. He had talked of assisting me, to whatever length that entailed, I had no clue. But somehow, I was sure of his discretion, and that really was all I required of him.

I had been gone for no more than an hour, judging by Bridgette Monet's casual stroll outside of the bathroom and into the room with a toothbrush between her lips, and of course, by the clock that hung in our dorm.

"Dominique," She exclaimed at the sight of me, all spruced up in my sky blue uniform with the small remnants of dirt from the forest long abandoned, courtesy of the winds in my journey.

She looked as though she had tossed and turned all night, and I no doubt looked as though I had invented the sleep that had evaded her. It was a benefit really, having your composure just so that your interior did not coincide with your exterior. A benefit and a curse, for who really wants to look all put together every hour of the clock when in reality their walls were collapsing inside?