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SEVEN
——DARK HORSE
"WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT, MISS STARK?" Dumbledore's eyes glistened behind his spectacles. Effie's mind protected itself from Dumbledore's inquisitive Legilimency—no revered wizard doesn't know Legilimency.
What Effie said next nearly made his eyes pop out. "Do you know more of horcruxes?"
Dumbledore splutters, "That's very complex Dark Magic, Miss Stark," He frowned, and then fixed his spectacles.
"I've come to a conclusion that Riddle uses it to keep himself alive—I mean there has to be something, didn't it?" Effie reasoned, going off on a tangent about it. "There is no spell or potion that could bring back the dead. So my only answer is that he used horcruxes."
"How did you come across this, Miss Stark?" He sounded weary, but that must've been the tiredness from trying to sort out everything at the Ministry and make Potter un-expelled, being shitted on, and on top of that, he couldn't read her.
"He is the Prince of Dark Arts, wasn't he?"
"That's a rather large deduction."
"But professor, this is how I found out about fake Moody, just—just hear me out," Effie defended. "It sounds crazy. . . and barbaric. . . and insane, but that's the only plausible reason I could think of. Now please, professor, if you haven't any information on horcruxes—"
"In fact, I do, Miss Stark," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again. "I will certainly be looking in on it," A thick book appeared in his hand. Of course. He hands it over to her, "But I must ask you to keep quiet about it. Only your father and Miss Weasley can know."
"Noted, professor," Effie nodded, glancing down at the book. "I hope you don't mind of my affinity for the Dark Arts, for if one is to defeat a monster, then one cannot simply stay the same. Sometimes, it does take one to become a monster to defeat its opposing, monstrous enemy."
"Alas, but it takes one to remember, that not all monsters do monstrous things, Miss Stark," Dumbledore reminds her, and smiled kindly. "I best be off now."
Clutching the book to herself, Effie nodded. "Thank you, professor."
"Did you get what you wanted?" Eleazar asked once Effie exited the study after Dumbledore left.
She showed him the book, then quickly explained what she talked to Dumbledore about. Eleazar had a thoughtful look on his face, not questioning her about it.
The whole day in Grimmauld Place was spent trying to make it inhabitable for humans—spraying doxies, emitting glass cabinets, some more creepy little dark things. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut.
There was also a heavy locket that Effie found—it shocked her the first time she found it, and so decided to keep it for future preference.
She'll ask Kreacher later.
Several times, Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it.
Potter finally got a chance to talk to Effie when he found her in the boxing room, beating the shit out of a heavy bag after another therapy session with Remus. She pivoted and twisted on her spot each time, a loud grunt escaping her lips every time she hit the bag.
"Er—could we talk?"
"So, talk," Effie prompted him.
He sat down on the bean bag Ginny has occupied more often times than not, "Why didn't you tell anyone about fake Moody?"
Effie let out a bitter laugh, "Who would believe me, Potter? Fake Moody was careful—I mean, he managed to get me to inhale poison the whole year, didn't he? So I was suffering from night terrors and hallucinations—parasomnia, since I nearly stabbed Ginny in my sleep—they would've passed it off as tiredness."
"You see, Potter, because of what happened, I'd been barely sleeping the whole year," She shakes her head, reimagining Crouch Jr's face on the heavy bag and it only ignited her fury. "I got addicted to amphetamines. I was suffering from severe sleep deprivation, prone to hallucinations. When I found his Polyjuice Potion, he was quick to change it to Firewhiskey. So tell me, Potter, who would've believed me without proof?"
"What about Dumbledore?" Potter retaliates, his brows furrowed.
"He wouldn't have taken me seriously," Effie rolled her eyes. "I was very sleep-deprived—not to mention, therapists in California thought I had the same disease mum had; frontotemporal dementia—basically makes you think everyone's after your life."
Potter frowned, "Are you. . . okay, now?"
"Well, if you could count nearly stabbing someone in my sleep, or hallucinating, as okay. . . "
"Did you ever tell anyone?"
"Ginny," Effie answers shortly. "She helped me try to stop with the pills—she listened, didn't make me feel crazy."
"Could you tell me more about the Order?"
So that's what this is about, she thought bitterly. "I'm afraid not, or else Mrs. Weasley and Sirius would really have my head if you know more than you need to—"
"You swore!"
"I swore that we would talk, Potter," Effie reiterates calmly, looking at him with a scolding look. "If this is what this is all about, then I cannot tell you more than what you heard last night. Good luck with your hearing."
Without further ado, Effie briskly exited the room, going for the showers. In a few minutes time, she was going back home.
Mrs. Weasley kept the others working very hard over the next few days. Effie elected not to visit for a few days, staying with Pansy in the constraints of her home and busying herself trying to know about the locket (she asked Pretzel to hide it, in the meantime) and horcruxes.
On the day of Potter's hearing, was when Effie made her appearance again. She looked to be in a much better state than the last few days, much to Ginny's approval.
"You're sleeping normally again?" She asked softly while they were in the kitchen with Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
"Yeah," Effie says, cuddling in her wool jacket. "There's still a bit of hallucinations—but they weren't as often, and the nightmares stopped."
"That's good to hear," Remus said to her with a kind smile. Effie supposed her dad was meeting with her aunt again.
"Maybe it's because your safest place is your home," Ginny told her, referring to some line Pansy said about this house being bad for Effie's (already) poor mental state.
"I've been using the lavender candles that Neville gave me last Christmas," Effie shared, blinking sleepily. "It's been doing a great deal of good for me, I guess. I barely leave my room now other than when I get paranoid and write everything down in a parchment."
"You think we should have a sleepover here with Pansy?" Ginny asked with a yawn.
"Ginny, the last sleepover we had, I couldn't even find my stuff because Pansy's things are all over the place," Effie complained. "I mean, I've told her a lot of times but—but why is she so messy?"
Ginny snorts, "She's marking her territory."
Sirius, who was listening for some kind of amusement that morning, snorted his coffee accidentally onto Remus's hands, "Sounds like a Sirius problem."
Silence.
"Sirius, it's five in the morning," Remus said with a tired and exasperated expression as no one laughed. Sirius rolled his eyes sassily.
"Aunt Darya got herself a seat in the Wizengamot," Effie murmured, placing her head on her arms. She was swamped, once again, by the thick wool jacket she had on—considering she was literally dragged out of bed by Ginny, and still wearing some pastel sweatpants, a white tank top that was tucked in it, and bunny slippers— "She'll oversee Potter's hearing, I think."
Speak of the devil, Effie thought as Potter entered the kitchen, already dressed and a bit pale out of nervousness.
Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a quilted, purple dressing gown, leapt to her feet the moment he entered.
"Breakfast," she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.
"M—m—morning, Harry," Tonks yawned. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. "Sleep all right?"
"Yeah," Potter says quietly.
"I've b—b—been up all night," Tonks said, with another shuddering yawn. She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process. "Come and sit down. . . "
"What do you want, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley called. "Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?"
"Just—just toast, thanks."
Remus glanced at Potter, then said to Tonks, "What were you saying about Scrimgeour?"
"Oh. . . yeah. . . well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions. . . and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t—t—too tired," Tonks finished, yawning hugely again.
"I feel for you," Effie muttered, curling up in her chair with her head on Ginny's shoulder.
"I'll cover for you," Mr. Weasley said. He was not wearing wizard's robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. "I'm okay, I've got a report to finish anyway." Then, he turned to Potter, "It'll all be over soon," Mr. Weasley said bracingly. "In a few hours' time you'll be cleared."
Potter said nothing.
"The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you."
"My aunt too, I think," Effie mumbled. "Amelia Bones is a decent human, you'll live. If it doesn't work out, Fudge has my aunt and my dad to—" She couldn't help her yawn, turning to her side and propped her feet up on Remus's lap (she didn't care anymore, she just wanted to sleep) and leaned back into Ginny. "—answer to. Merlin, why am I even awake at the asscrack of dawn. . . "
"Don't lose your temper," Sirius warned abruptly, even if he was amused with Effie. "Be polite and stick to the facts."
Potter nodded again.
"The law's on your side," Remus said quietly, casting a side-eye look to Effie, who had cuddled Ginny's arm and was lulling to sleep. "Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations."
Soon enough, Potter was leaving with Mr. Weasley. Since Granger and Ronald couldn't be awake in time, they gave him their goodlucks the night before, Ginny yelling it at him just as he followed towards the front door.
"Effie, let's get you home," Ginny nudged her, yawning as well.
"I can go stay with you in the meantime," Remus offered, knowing they had no adult home at the moment. At least while they caught up in sleep, they'll have an Order member on their end.
So when the trio arrived, Effie didn't even care to march up to her room. She simply collapsed into the couch with great exhaustion, Ginny following suit. Within minutes, the two girls fell asleep cuddled to each other.
Remus pursed his lips, suppressing his smile. They were good together, he thought, going off in the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Remus asked, a few hours later (well, it was seven in the morning now) when Effie strode down the stairs, still donning a wool coat and bunny slippers—although she changed her pants and her shirt—and was marching for the front door.
"You might as well go with me so I can show you," Effie beckoned him over, leaving the front door open for him to follow through. His reaction was the same as Ginny's as they reached the mailbox. "I know. Only dad, Pansy, muggles, and I can see what it really looks like. But, beyond the mailbox, magical folk can see us if we step there. They won't see us from here—to them, this is a junkyard."
Effie sifted through the mail, grabbing a large bag of clothes that Pansy ordered the night before—Remus grabs it, waiting. "I've never known a spell like that."
"Neither, but it's magic practiced from Croatia," Effie enlightened him, finding a crisp parchment. The addressee was another pureblooded family. "I suppose another pureblood wants to talk. I wonder what it could be now—after poison, would it be an assassination?"
"It might even be invitation to marriage," Remus says quietly, offering her a look of amusement. "Stark might be the only foreign pureblooded line that the families of the Sacred Twenty Eight never married into."
"I doubt that," Effie snorts. "I feel like it's to do with my aunt's latest arrival. If there's one thing I've learned around these pureblooded customs, they make women breeders, not leaders. Whatever it is, could be to undermine my worth."
"You never listen to it, would you?"
"Why should I? Girls are not toys you fuck in the park. You know Pansy and I once considered running a feminist club in Hogwarts," She said darkly. "Let's go back inside."
She read the letter again—then wondered, why on earth would Narcissa Malfoy be accompanying them? "No offense but none of them are good enough for you," Pansy commented after reading the letter. Ginny was beside herself, puzzled. "I mean, look at you. A literal queen, I doubt they can keep up with you without wanting to silence you."
"And you don't even like blond boys," Ginny bursts out, a tad frustrated. "That's Pansy's job!"
"Hey!"
Effie raised an eyebrow, "How'd you know?"
"I. . . " Ginny stammers, but then regains herself even if the tips of her ears were burning. "I observed!"
Pansy snorts, causing both girls to give her exasperated looks. "And you'd know exactly what she liked, would you, Weaslette?"
"Shut up, Pansy."
"Weaslette, shut doesn't go up—"
"Well, your jaw can!" Ginny snapped. Effie coughed, hiding her laugh before reluctantly puffing her inhaler. "Are you sure you're going to go, Effie? What if—What if it's a trap? What if they try to kill you?"
"They wouldn't," Effie said firmly. "Not unless they'd like to suffer Riddle's wrath. Besides, Nott failed in poisoning me—yes, Pansy, your future father-in-law tried—because he doesn't know the rule of poisons."
"Bloody hell, there's a rule for that?" Pansy raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, actually," Effie shrugged. "Poison is an art, and the essence of art is surprise. I tricked Nott, quite surprised the poison wasn't taking effect on me, and boom, he drank it himself."
"Merlin, that's morbid," Pansy says with a roll of her eyes, although Effie knew Pansy was noting it in her head. "Why are you so morbid?"
"I do have a dark counterpart, remember?"
"No, you're still the moral compass."
✨
EFFIE'S ARM WAS LINKED THROUGH ELEAZAR'S AS HE LED HER THROUGH THE FOREST SURROUNDING DARYA CARLYLE'S LIVING SPACE.
"Oh god, so this isn't creepy at all," Effie muttered under her breath, tripping for the nth time and luckily, Eleazar always catches her as he snickered.
"Phemy, if someone somehow managed to follow us, then we'd be able to lose them from our trail here," He explained.
"So the patio was completely unnecessary?"
Eleazar smirked a bit, "For underaged ones like you, yes."
Effie rolled her eyes, gripping his arm tighter. "Splendid—I see the light in the distance, that it?"
"Fortunately," He commented, the father and daughter duo walking a bit more until they emerged in front of a cozy-looking cabin. "That's just for cover. The real thing is the bunker. Cover your nose now."
The duo stepped inside, answering Effie's unsaid question when smoke engulfs them. Eleazar took out his wand, maneuvering the smoke into the Runic translation of their names.
A trapdoor opened up somewhere near Effie, causing her to grab onto her dad in case she fell. When they entered the space of the bunker, Effie wheezed, being forced to puff her inhaler because smoke inhalation was beyond her practiced breathing.
"Lillian!" Darya squealed, pulling her niece in a hug. Darya had dark hair like Eleazar, sharp jawline and dark eyes. Her hair was shoulder-length, curled in a retro way and lips painted red. She stood over Effie in all her feminine badassery vibe, although unlike Eleazar, Darya's voice was a mix of the French and British accent. "Oh, my favorite niece!"
"Aunt Darya, I am your only niece," Effie says, amused and allowed herself to sink in her aunt's embrace. "I'm sorry about Tatum."
"What did happen to Tatum Carlyle, sister?" Eleazar looked at her, half-concerned, half-relieved as Darya pulled him in a crushing hug as well.
"The Death Eaters," Darya says in a clipped tone. "You both are idiots for playing them into this."
"They won't suspect dad after what I did, I doubt they'll come after you as well," Effie says firmly. "Know your enemy, remember? How is he?"
Darya sighed, leading them further inside. "Making very little progress each day," She explained. "I've been using a mix of the muggle medical procedures as well as the magical way. The closest I've got is he's been breathing well on his own and his heartbeat is stronger, so I don't have to stay up worried he might go in his sleep. Although I am afraid that even if his body recovers, there is still dark magic hovering enough to kill a town that keeps him comatosed."
"He looks so much like Harry," Eleazar murmured as they looked over the comatosed man laying on the bed in the guest room.
"We should've left this to St. Mungo's," Darya remarked, although her expression was on the contrary.
"No," Effie disagreed, sharing a look with her dad. "If he really is who we think he is, then we need to keep him safe until he wakes up, and we can ask him what he remembers."
Eleazar backed up her statement, "Leaving him to St. Mungo's is too risky, we don't know who comes in and who comes out each day—for all we know, word might get out and. . . I don't even want to continue mentioning anything that might happen. Darya, I know I am asking a lot of you but we keep him here until he wakes."
"Isn't it about time that the Order finds out?" Darya says with a concerned expression.
"I do not completely trust in it," Eleazar admits. "Not even if it is founded by Dumbledore. It's too dangerous, members might one day be Imperiused and if that happens, each of our safety will be compromised."
"But then how long will it be?" Darya said with a lost expression. "How long—How are we even sure that he will wake? Unless someone here knows how to siphon out dark magic, we'll find ourselves a Sleeping Beauty situation on our hands."
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