Animo was afraid to open her eyes at the torrent of familiar smells swirling about her face. The sunbaked earth, buried beneath the foliage of oak trees. A faint hint of spice in the air from the nearby village. Even the dirt beneath her boots crunched in a manner that echoed of her childhood, when she and Gellert used to chase each other barefoot across the sand.
Drawing in a deep breath, she gathered her swirling emotions and attempted to shut them into a box, stored away for a moment when she could afford to let herself feel. Beside her, she felt the air move between herself and Tom as he stepped away.
She opened her eyes. A decrepit old house stood before them, the windows boarded and covered with jagged sheets of plywood. Several of the wooden shingles laid upon the roof were cracked and broken, their uneven surface coated in a layer of sand. The white baseboards of the walls were stained and as Animo stepped forward, her sole crunched against a shard of glass.
Tom was silent, seeming to understand where she had brought them.
Swallowing her pain, Animo turned back towards her housemate, attempting to keep her tone even. "I'm not sure if Gellert has been here, but perhaps he has left clues that will help Albus defeat him."
Tom responded with a stiff nod and she turned away. Despite their current state, Animo was grateful to have the wizard beside her. If there was anyone that could find Gellert's trail besides herself, it would be Tom.
Walking briskly towards the porch, Animo squared her shoulders, trying to avoided the bloodstain on the lowest step. Her father had once fallen down the porch after a late night at the pub, cracking his skull against the wood. She and Gellert had always steered clear of the mark, although Gellert had seemed to regard it with a dark malice that Animo was just beginning to understand.
She stopped in front of the door, uncertain whether she would be able to go inside. Had Gellert placed any protective wards within the walls? She doubted her brother would have wanted to return to a place where he felt so powerless. But Gellert was nothing if not unpredictable.
To her relief, the chipped porcelain handle turned easily beneath her touch and the door swung open of its own accord, the hinges screeching with the effort. Animo's mouth dropped at the inside. The small sitting room was laid exactly as she remembered, untouched by wear or age. Her mother's prize sofa sat in the right corner, decorated with a cheery throw that was charmed to wrap itself around the wearer. To the left was a battered lampstand, the copper dull and dark in the dim light.
Still, Tom said nothing. A bitter emptiness tugged at Animo's chest as she trailed her fingers along the oak coffee table, recognizing where Gellert had scratched his initials on one of the legs. He had received a particularly nasty beating for the deed.
Animo avoided the kitchen entirely, heading up the stairs towards the bedrooms. Hers and Gellert's door was firmly shut, a slight change in the well-preserved house. Their mother had always warned that a door left closed was a door better left open.
Her parent's bedroom door was ajar, as if someone had left in a hurry. Animo crept into the room and her boots made the floorboards creak. This was a place she had spent little time in, never liking how her father's presence always seemed to linger.
The bed itself was plain, draped with a white cotton sheet that was stained with smoke and whiskey. Animo's toe hit the edge of a glass bottle and she winced, kicking it back beneath the bedsprings. As she did so, her knee brushed against the edge of something cold.
Bending down, Animo tugged a metal frame from beneath the mattress, using her good hand. Her other arm was now entirely useless, hanging against her chest as Animo turned over the small portrait.
Her mother's porcelain face peered back at her, offering a small smile as she wrapped her arms around the shoulders of her children, who were waving frantically at the camera. A young Animo clambered for the center, shoving Gellert and sticking out her tongue defensively when he pushed her back. Animo's finger trailed over her brother's cheek, disappointed to feel crisp canvas beneath instead of flesh. She had never remembered him so innocent.
The image sank Animo to her knees as a sob caught in the back of her throat. The wall she had carefully crafted to reign in her memories burst, sending a torrent of pain through her chest. Animo buried her face in the mattress, sobbing at the loss that echoed in the emptiness of her heart. The loss of what her brother could have been. Of the Dumbledore who had raised her, who had never left her alone. For the mother that she had never truly known. For the boy downstairs who would not accept her love.
And Animo mourned for herself, regretting all the time she had spent in the shadows. She had been so careful to not let anyone see who she truly was. For even she was afraid of what she would find. Was Tom right? Perhaps she was no better than the people she was trying to fight against. She had given no one her trust, but had expected theirs in return. And played so many roles that Animo wasn't sure which was the truth.
Sinking against the wall, Animo clutched her injured arm closer to her chest, hoping the physical pain would ease the emotional anguish storming her mind. She had held out a hope that Gellert could be saved, that he would change his ways if they could be together again. She cast another look at the portrait, the colors smearing into a jumbled blur through her tears. Yet the Gellert she had met had tossed away the morality that he once retained. Control was the only thing he loved.
The floorboard beside her creaked and Animo tilted her head weakly, turning to see Tom regarding her with a cold air. She recognized it as his defense, the disposition he gave most of Hogwarts. It seemed that Tom too lived behind a crafted persona. But Animo wondered if he knew what lay beneath.
"If you don't get that treated, you're going to lose an arm." Tom curtly dipped his head in the direction of her charred shoulder.
Stiffening, Animo wiped at her running nose, standing to her feet shakily. She had never before felt so vulnerable. "My," she swallowed as her voice cracked, "my mother kept some potions in the kitchen. Perhaps I can find something."
To her surprise, Tom rolled his eyes as he motioned for her to sit down. "Do you really think I carry nothing on me?" A bit of his usual arrogance crept into his tone and Animo was rather thankful, his pompous air soothing her rattled nerves. This was a Tom she knew how to handle. "Honestly, Grindelwald," he reached a hand into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a small leather satchel. "I am rather adept at dangerous encounters."
Animo tried to force a small smile, although she continued to clutch her arm. She had never felt so helpless.
"I can't exactly help you if you're blubbering in a corner." Tom stepped forward briskly, surveying her arm with the detachment of a healer.
Turning away from his expectant glare, Animo swallowed once more, knowing that she needed to pull herself together. Albus could return at any moment. Using her good hand, she fumbled with her robes, peeling the hardened remains from her skin. She looked down at her emerald sweater, stained with soot and blood. There was no way that she could bear the pain of lifting it over her head.
Tom reached forward, his hand hovering just above her neck. At his unspoken question, Animo dipped her head slightly, trying to keep her cheeks from flushing as Tom muttered a severing charm, splitting the woven yarn down the middle. Animo had worn a handful of revealing outfits in his company, but never had she felt so exposed. Goosebumps scattered along her bare midriff.
Tom sucked in a sharp breath and a small crease formed in between his brows as he observed her arm. Wincing, Animo craned her neck to scan the seared flesh. From the top of her bicep to the base of her elbow, her skin was black and crisp, reminding her of leather. The skin above her wrist was less cursed, spotted with blisters and the occasional smear of ash. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows could still be deciphered amidst the patchwork of charred flesh and Animo swallowed, trying not to remember how Gellert had burned it into her skin.
"What were you thinking?" Tom's tone was biting as he ran a hand in the air above her arm, sending a wave of relief through Animo's muscles. "The effects of Fiendfyre are rarely reversible."
"He was about to burn down Hogsmeade," Animo protested, although her stomach lurched at the possibility of losing her arm. She remembered Gaunt's ring and the way Albus's hand had shriveled as the curse spread throughout his veins. "I didn't know what else to do."
The muscle in Tom's jaw twitched. "You could have refrained from collapsing a bar on the top of my head." He pulled out a strange-looking vial from his satchel with a flicker of his fingers, uncapping the cork with ease. Animo pulled her gaze away, not particularly eager to see what sort of concoction Tom would place on her flesh.
"I was trying to protect you—" she hissed as several droplets of the solution hit her arm. It was as though the tips of needles were being driven into her skin, penetrating deeper the longer the solution lingered.
Tom was unbothered by her reaction, his gaze focused as he delicately angled the vial over the worst of the burns on her elbow and repeated his administration. "And I'm really the sort of person you need to protect?" The sarcasm was evident in his tone.
"From Gellert? Yes." Animo winced again, scrunching her eyes as she leaned against the wooden bedpost, feeling the serrated oak scrape into her back. She didn't bother to add that Gellert would have targeted Tom had her brother realized how much Animo cared for him. The extent of her feelings was best left unsaid. She had no desire to be at the mercy of Tom's manipulations once more.
"Don't move," Tom pulled away, stowing the vial back into his pocket. "Vampire's blood will help regrow some of the more damaged tissue, but it takes time."
Animo was too exhausted to open her eyes, the pain still taking the form of burning needles across her bicep. "Vampire's blood?" she cracked open one eye, "and what would you need that for?"
Looking rather irritated, Tom stood from the bed, his pressed robes brushing against the dusty floor. "I thought perhaps it would be a key towards immortality."
A small smile softened Animo's grimace. "Thomas the vampire."
"It was in my much earlier years of planning," Tom rolled his dark eyes, "and it's now going to save your arm."
Animo sobered, glancing back towards her elbow. Her gaze was hazy, but the blackened flesh hadn't seemed to have improved. "You should head back to Hogwarts."
A strong breeze tore at the window shutters, causing a large clatter as the wooden boards swung into the frame. Tom flung out his wrist, causing the iron clasp to latch shut. "Because you can so clearly take care of yourself."
Though Tom's tone of derision was familiar to Animo, his words stung. Once again, she felt the faint pinprick of tears at the back of her eyes, although her chest still resounded with an empty defeat. She had failed. In the face of stopping Gellert, she had stumbled. Instead of confronting him, she had fled. Whether Albus would have ever admitted it, she had always known that her childhood had been spent in preparation for today. And what had she accomplished? She was left grasping at the threads of her past in the very place she had hoped to forget.
"How am I ever supposed to stop him?"
Animo had known Tom would have no answer, but she still couldn't help voicing the doubt that plagued her thoughts. She glanced up to see the boy lingering in the doorway, a sort of begrudging hesitation in his stance.
"The thing most irritating about people like you," Tom shook his head, a handful of dusty curls drooping above his eyes, "is your ability to find a loophole in every situation." A wry twitch curled the corner of his lip. "To you, the rules of life are unapplicable."
Before Animo could fully understand what that meant, Tom had disappeared back through the doorway. Her response died in the back of her throat and Animo let herself sink back into the pillow beneath her. The starched cotton was coated in a layer of sand that billowed up into the air with her weight. The granules stuck to the roof of her mouth, leaving a bitter taste that was yet another reminder of how long the house had stood unoccupied.
Animo straightened her shoulders, quickly regretting the action as another wave of pain raced up through her muscles. She was determined to let her memories remain carefully buried for a bit longer. Instead, her mind settled into a terse emptiness, aimlessly drifting in thought before she fell asleep and the world faded away.