ᴅɪsᴘᴇʟ ᴍʏ ʙᴏʀᴇᴅᴏᴍ | ᴍᴀʀᴀᴅᴇᴜʀs' ᴇʀᴀ

Chapter 54: Following The Trail

"Padfoot! Padfoot, what are you, dead?"

James leaned over Black, straining his nose as hard as if trying to catch the smell of carrion. Sirius turned his dark eyes on him, and Potter hummed. Understanding slipped in his eyes, but he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

"That's what we decided," James sat back, glaring at Black with worried eyes. "We'll make a deal; Lily will make a deal with Narcissa about the meeting. If your cousin sent us a letter, it means she gives a damn. So, there is a tiny chance that she will help."

"Or it's a trap," Black snarled.

"We can't know for sure." James threw up his hands. "You know your sister better, so tell us what it is, mercy or revenge?"

Sirius pondered. "Narcissa wants to help. I want to believe it."

"It's nice to see that you didn't lose faith in your relatives," James snorted.

"But if she answers too late? Or won't answer at all?" asked Lily.

"Then we're in deep shit," James said.

The window flew open so sharply as if someone outside was waiting for the right moment on purpose, and an unfamiliar owl flew inside, scratching its claws on the coffee table.

Everyone stared at it, drilling the envelope tied to a bird's paw with their eyes. Slowly, Sirius extended his hand to the owl. Having measured him with suspicious black eyes, it gave a paw in reply. It seemed like a bird would allow no one else to touch it.

Carefully, fearing that the letter would crumble in his hands, Sirius unfolded it, scanned the lines and looked up.

"It's from Beata," he said. "Listen."

✨ ✨ ✨

The Forest of Dean

Beata sat in the chair, stretching her legs in front of her.

The Forest of Dean roared outside the window of the once dear home. It was so calm here as if it was a separate, wondrous little world where no one knew the word "war", where no one killed, no one hated, no one knew pain. Natural sorcerers always kept aloof.

Dumbledore staged a coup in this quiet community when he killed Gwendolyn with Serena's hands, but Beata still felt very unpleasant moods wandering around the communities. The sorcerers were nervous. And they pondered which side to stand on and whether it was worth it at all.

Beata felt disgusted about it. She saw a group of quivering old men and youngsters incapable of anything. The youngsters cuddled to their moms, asking what they should do. Moms looked at their grandmothers, and those squeaked that it was always better to stay away.

Neutrality. Beata didn't know the word.

She examined the situation from all sides and concluded that she couldn't stand aside and watch distraught, bloodthirsty creatures trying to bend the world for themselves.

Perhaps, youthful exuberance and desire to change the old world filled her. Perhaps, she felt the last bits of magic escaping her. Perhaps, she was just a human born at the wrong time and in the wrong family. Or she was just a human.

She made a choice and for the first time could say it was conscious. It wasn't peculiar to her, but the time for the child's plays was over.

She didn't speak to Sirius, nor to Emily, nor to her mother, but she had a persistent and terrible feeling she won't survive this war. This feeling beat inside, swelled like a sore abscess, and made her grow up. They all needed to do this in a short time. Children cannot win the war; they cannot defend their loved ones and their home; they are too careless, weak and naïve for this. They didn't have time to become adults, but no one asked their opinions.