#went to LA … on purpose and of his own volition … are we back??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hippychick006 · 3 years

Text

Misha Panel

I’ve done this summary as it helps to have what Misha actually says to hand as more often than not, his stans misquote him. It’s also useful as Misha often changes things - as he appears to have done between his last virtual panel and this one. Note, I’m only focusing on the key parts where he talks about the show/Jared/Jensen. It is not free of anti castiel/misha comments where I disagree, though those are few and far between for a change. It’s long so putting under a cut...

- Misha confirms his filming finished in March prior to Covid [this comes up later in more detail]. Watching the last epiosode was an emotional experience for him. For him, it represents the end of a chapter of his life.

- Misha says fandoms not going anywhere [*hisses]

- Misha’s future work/projects?: working on senate race in georgia, publishing a book of poetry, couple of film projects he’s trying to get off the ground, one he’s not acting/directing in, the other he may act and/or direct

- Jack brought Cass back but we didn’t get to see it, what happened?: different ending originally that Covid restrictions made impossible to produce. Cool ending involved bringing back lots of cast members over the years. In the original ending, Castiel hadn’t gone to rebuild heaven, there was a different conclusion for him. Misha purposely did not read the last two episodes before they aired as he wanted to be an audience member. He knew a little about Castiel/Jack’s fate in the abstract, but because he wasn’t in it, he doesn’t know what the answer was. He thinks them rebuilding heaven was less boots on the ground and more at a spiritual level [so he’s talking at the metaphysical/spiritual plane level and not corporeal) so they are everywhere (e.g. in drops of rain as per Jack’s speech to Sam in 19). That’s what I’m understanding at least. He says that’s pure speculation though.]

- what qualities does castiel have similar to Misha?: there are a lot of similar qualities [backstabber comes immediately to my mind tbh]. Over time he and the character melded. Over time he evolved into something that didn’t quite fit in with either angels or humanity, he felt like an outsider which Misha has felt for much of his life. He became softer, more sensitive, he tried to do the right thing and be a good person. Oh wow, he says that in order to write to play to Misha’s strengths, the character had to “morph a bit”. I loved bad!ass Castiel, he’s my favourite Castiel!

- What one thing will he take with him from playing Castiel?: on a professional level, it was fascinating to play a character for so many years. He discussed with J2 recently that the characters really became part of them. He doesn’t think that will happen again, just due to length of time the played them. On watching Jensen’s death scene, he cried but it was more “That’s Cass’ friend Dean dying” It was weird to have a blurring of lines between yourself and your character but he thinks that’s what happened with all of them. He’ll take the character away, which will be a part of him forever.

- Misha made fortune cookes and put inside lewd and inappropriate fortunes

[I don’t get this next bit as earlier in the panel he says he didn’t read the last two episodes so didn’t know what was going to happen and gave the answer I documented above and now we have this next question where his answer seems to contradict that]:

- Is there anything more he can say about the originally planned finale?: He doesn’t want to be the one to reveal these state secrets, but what are they going to do, fire him? He feels someone might have said to him, please don’t reveal what was going to happen, but can’t remember for sure if it’s true. He says there was a version of Sam and Dean’s heaven that was populated with all of the people that were from their past that they have come to love. They could not do that because of Covid restrictions.

- Favourite behind the scenes memory of “The boys”: He doesn’t have a favourite memory, they were close friends for 12 years. They had laughing fits and fights and got pissed off at each other. Some of his fondest memories of being at work anywhere were working on Supernatural. He’s never going to be on a set again where there is so much mirth so he’s going to miss that for sure.

- he’s talking about Castiel’s wardrobe which is actually funny - e.g. original suit 3 sizes to big, sometimes showing blood and holes, sometimes being magically fixed, not wearing a tie, going back to wearing a tie... “Nobody complained about that too much...” [uh because some of us were watching other things and your own stans were looking at the background.] He stole some trenchcoats and has them in his closet.

- How do you prepare for emotional scenes?: it’s hard for him to get into that emotional state. To prepare for the Castiel’s declaration of love scene and taken by the empty, Misha needs to be off by himself and not chatting with people, so for that scene he sat on his own in a dark corner of the stage and ruminated on his own. Rob Hayter, stunt coordinator, noticed and stood sentinel and made sure no one disturbed him which Misha said was really sweet. Everyone stopped fucking around for that scene to allow them to do what they needed to do.

- How did you feel when you read the script when Castiel dies?: Misha knew for a long time that ending was coming, he’d been speaking to Rob Berens about it, he was really happy with it. It was the ending he’d wanted for Cass so when he read the script, he was really happy it had made it to the page [i bet it was Misha, how are those destiel sales going through your Stands company?]. It felt it was a little “risky and a little brave” for the show to do [on a fucking network that is number one in Glaad reviews? Are you being fucking serious right now?] He was happy to be a part of that [again sales] and have that character express love like that so he was happy with it.

[Okay, so notice in his last virtual panel 2 weeks ago, he was very happy, he’s now starting to do exactly what he did with Karla movie as he goes on to say...]

He’s seen “some people” [you mean lgbtq+ people?!] “complaining” about this is playing into the “bury the gays” trope which is an insidious and real trope in film and television storytelling in h/w over the years. Misha doesn’t think that’s what was happening with Castiel’s [he died second after the confession MIsha!] First of all Castiel isn’t dead, he’s in heaven working to rebuild it... [you didn’t know this 2 weeks ago, as far as you knew Castiel died and went to the empty]. So much good came from that declaration, because Cass was able to save Dean, which was essential to saving the world, so this declaration wasn’t so then fate strikes you down and you’re done forever. The declaration literally ended up saving the world. It was of Cass’ own volition, he wasn’t forced to do it, it was his choice, and he thinks that’s important, so maybe he’s naieve and doesn’t feel they are playing into that trope.

[You were absolutely playing into that trope Misha and you didn’t give a shit as you did no research on playing an lgbtq+ character so sincerely fuck off]

He’s glad that Castiel got to express that and have that ending. He thinks thats kind of important and he’s proud the show did that. [again fuck off, this was done for you and it showed] He thinks its a conversation they will continue to have as they continue to dissect it going forward [nope, consigned to the dumpster fire I’ve put the majority of the rest of Drabbernatural in]

- Do you think you will ever get an SPN tattoo?: He doesn’t have any but he’s thinking about getting tattoos relating to his children. Is that a sign of desperation that a true hasbeen will do? Should he get a tattoo of Jared and Jensen’s face. He could get a tattoo of Castiel’s face on his abdomen. He’s saying probably not. If they want to get one, totally supportive of that

- what is his favourite moment of the finale?: Dean’s death scene, masterfully executed, excellent performances from both Jared and Jensen in that scene and made him cry

- best memory of your last day on the supernatural set?: everyone being really sweet, lot of tears from cast and crew. The last scene he shot as Castiel was the last scene of the day on a Friday. Him, Alex, Richard S and Jensen all had to get to Las Vegas for a fan convention the next morning. They shot late and finished at 1.30, it was Cass goodbye and Misha’s goodbye to the show. He said they had to get a chartered flight because of the early flight [not sure why he’s saying this as I thought it was Jared’s plane they all travelled in?] He’s talking about going back - because of the issue with the plane - and they are all texting family, saying they love them, so it was such a strange night, he’d said goodbye to Supernatural, he said goodbye to Castiel and later on said goodbye to his kids because they thought they were going to die that night. :(

[Going to add that this puts to rest that Misha was due back for 19 and 20 even before covid, it confirms he was not going to be in either episode, though I maintain, they may have shot an extra scene while they had him to slot into 19 or 20]

- do you think Cass and the other angels got their wings back?: Yes, probably, they have Jack who is the new god. What a long and miserable experience that was of not having wings. Cass was so powerful when he started, he could snap his fingers and teleport and time travel and lost that with his broken wings and they didn’t come back. He doesn’t know why they didn’t fix him as Castiel would have been a much more powerful ally if he didn’t have to drive around in the pimp mobile [uh, for the same reason Sam lost his powers, deus ex machina]. He tells the story of Jared pressing buttons in the car causing the hydraulics to fail costing $10000 of repair.

- in your opinion, what colour are Castiels wings?: shit, I don’t know, I always thought they were black, but now that you’ve said that, they are rainbow coloured, how about that?

- What is the worst joke Jared and Jensen did to you?: [*cough fans looking for things to complain about or hate Jared on]: Jared and Jensen, as you know, they are not good people. He talks about directing an episode and they got excited in the week before, they were going to break into his apartment and steal his furniture, they had all kinds of nefarious plans, the crew tipped him off and told him to watch his home and car keys. They put a fish under the seat in his car and one of the crew told him. Jared removed the canvas on the director’s chair and laid it across so it looked like it was still the chair. Misha fell for that at least 5 times. That was pretty frustrating. Jared kept messing up his lines (which Misha said Jared never does) and Misha was directing in another room, Misha eventually went to see what the problem was and that’s when Jared pied him in the face. Everyone in the crew was complicit in the “assault”. Jensen brought him another shirt, said, “I’m sorry man, that’s sucks, that was too much.” Jensen then pied him in the face.

- What is the real story behind the handprint in the finale?: Um I don't know, but I think it was a nice touch, that was a really lovely callback that worked well. I can’t remember how we came up with that, or was it in the script, I can’t remember. Wasn’t it a good callback to the very beginning. [Again, this appears to differ from what was being reported two weeks ago so might need to go back to that panel if I can get access to it]

-What’s your favourite memory from offline/online panels?: It’s much more fun to be live and in person. I don’t know, I have had some really fun... [PANDERING ALERT COMING UP] Jensen and I have some really fun panels together in Rome. I don’t know why but we always just seem to have a real hoot there, talks about the resume off, they really enjoyed that. He had pizza delivered to a creation panel once. He talks about the Saturday night special and he can’t wait till they can get back to that.

[NOTE CYNICAL PART OF THIS IS FOR HIS FANBASE TO ONCE AGAIN CLAMOUR FOR MORE JENMISH PANELS. I DO NOT TRUST THIS MAN AT ALL]

- What was your favourite version of Castiel to play?: he had the most fun playing Lucifer because Mark P had left a great template to play Lucifer [you took the worst parts imo but Mark fucked his character up too]. He enjoyed playing the human parts of Castiel because it was fun to explore how to be human for the first time. Overall, just regular Cass. He wouldn’t have wanted to trade regular Castiel for other iterations. [A great question would be badass Castiel v late season wooby castiel preference]

#anti misha #anti castiel

32 notes · View notes

inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

Text

Moonlight Chapter 25: Osâmbritul

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina Rated for Mature Audiences Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content Chapter 25/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Four+

Chapter Twenty-six+ >>

Draco Malfoy sat rigidly in the chair across from Severus’s desk, silently glaring at the top of the professor’s head. Severus kept the boy waiting on purpose while he completed his notes from Magick Moste Evile, both to give himself time to control his unwieldy temper, and in the hopes that Draco might be made uncomfortable enough by the pregnant silence to betray something. Draco’s pointed face was paler than usual, punctuated by dark smudges under his eyes. Though he draped himself across the chair in an imitation of his incarcerated father, Severus recognized the all-too-familiar signs of the insomnia that was undoubtedly plaguing his protégée. In spite of his promise to Narcissa that he would do all in his power to protect and aid her son in his impossible mission, he had, since the beginning of term, accomplished nothing on that front. The few forays he had made at gaining Draco’s confidence had been sullenly rebuffed; and even his attempts at investigation had brought nothing to light.

Notes completed, Severus slowly closed the book and slid the brown package that had caused today’s disaster across the top of his desk. With deliberate care he unwrapped it before Draco’s eyes, observing the boy for any minute twitch. He was certain that Draco was responsible for this unforgivably sloppy assassination attempt, but he felt a twinge of pride at the way the boy maintained his impassively angry facade, even when the gleaming opal necklace lay completely exposed before him.

“I believe you know what this is, Draco,” Severus said, searching Draco’s face while the boy scrupulously avoided his eyes.

“An early Christmas present, sir?” Draco retorted.

“Detention. Wednesday night. I will not take cheek from you.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s a cursed necklace from Borgin and Burkes and it almost killed that Gryffindor cow, Katie Bell. Everybody in school knows that by now. What’s it got to do with me?”

“You know very well what it has to do with you. If this is your brilliant plan to assassinate one of the greatest wizards in the world, I have truly failed you as a teacher.”

Draco flushed at the rebuke and glared at his mentor. “Sometimes I think Aunt Bella might be right about you, sir. How can you be on the Dark Lord’s side and still call Dumbledore great?”

“I realize you are far too young to grasp this concept, but only fools underestimate their enemies. Unfortunately, at the rate you are going, I doubt you will will live long enough to gain that wisdom.”

“I had nothing to do with it!” Draco insisted. “I wasn’t even in Hogsmeade today, ask Professor McGonagall. And as for the necklace, why don’t you talk to Cassie Borgin about it? It came from her uncle’s shop. She’s more likely to have planted it than me.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing a member of your own house?”

Draco retreated and tried to cover his misstep with more anger. “No. I’m only saying that it could have been anybody.”

“Go back to the common room and stay there for the rest of the night. If I hear of you leaving, you will spend enough time in detention to make any other tasks impossible.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco spat, pushing himself noisily out of the chair.

“And send Miss Borgin here when you see her.”

Draco slammed the office door in answer and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. While Draco was firmly on the path to becoming an angry young man, he was still young enough to be a scared boy as well. It was a dangerous combination, and Severus was beginning to doubt that he would uncover Draco’s plans before the boy managed to kill someone—or himself.

The last grain of black sand in the top of the hourglass on his desk trickled down onto the gleaming heap below, and Severus irritably tore his mind away from the innumerable problems plaguing it at the moment. The antidote he was brewing for Miss Bell hissed and foamed on his private workbench. It was the perfect slate blue color when he went to check its progress, and he began adding bits of unicorn horn, stirring laboriously after each addition to ensure complete emulsification. He did not actually expect this potion to revive her; but he believed it would not hurt her either. Avoiding the tedious trouble of transporting her to St. Mungo’s and dealing with her potentially irrational parents was well worth the attempt.

He had just finished adding the unicorn horn when Miss Borgin’s cautious knock announced her.

“Enter,” he said, returning to his desk and flipping the hourglass.

The door opened quietly to admit Cassandra Borgin, a plain slip of a girl with mousey, but neatly plaited, hair and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose.

“Draco said you wanted to see me sir?” she said meekly, taking the chair that Draco had vacated without any other indication of nerves. The amount of time she’d spent in detention during her fifth year as a result of her daring to be the lone Slytherin to join Dumbledore’s Army had done much to cure her fear of her Head of House. And the gumption she had displayed by her willingness to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts by any means—even those illicitly provided by Harry Potter—had caused Severus to reexamine her overlooked potential.

“Miss Borgin, am I correct in assuming that you, like the rest of the school, are privy to the details of Miss Bell’s injury?”

“Yes sir. Everyone’s saying that she was cursed by a necklace from Uncle Orestes’s shop.” Her eyes flitted over the opals on his desk and she added, “That necklace, in fact.”

“Do you know anything about this?”

“Sir, the last time I was in this office you warned me not to be caught making trouble again. My memory is not so short that I would be taking chances. Besides, what do I have against Katie Bell? I don’t even like Quidditch.”

“But you were in Hogsmeade today, were you not?”

“Yes, sir. I was with Morgana Mulciber and Freya Flint the entire time.”

“Did you see anything?”

“No, sir. We went to Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot’s today. We missed the whole thing.”

He steepled his fingers and studied her in silence, and she returned his gaze with a calm, open one. Only the constant clasping and unclasping of her hands betrayed her discomfort, but it was enough to prompt him to continue the interrogation.

“I should think that this unfortunate event will put your uncle under some inconvenient scrutiny.”

“He’s dealt with such things before. Luckily the shop can’t be held responsible for damage done by items after they are sold.”

“How fortunate.” Her busy hands were still—that must not have been her worry. Time to try another direction. “But your uncle is a canny man of business.”

“Yes, sir. He is.”

“From all reports, you are keeping pace with your classwork. Do you still make time for your music, or has that become a casualty of the demands of N.E.W.T preparation?”

Her hands started clasping and unclasping again—good. “I…I still play, sir,”

“And when you play, you must be so enraptured by the music that you are oblivious to whatever conversations may be occurring in the Common Room at the same time.”

“I…I don’t know, sir.”

“Because if you were to happen to overhear anything that I might find interesting I would be most disappointed if you failed to share it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“See that you do. I should hate to see our House pulled down by its own members.”

She was bursting to ask him something—he could see it in her eyes—but he did not attempt to dip into her mind to discover what it was. He would be shocked if she were not at least nominally versed in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency. Better to have her think she could trust him, and come to him with the information he desired of her own volition.

“I understand, sir.”

“I expect that you do. You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He gave his attention to his book, and he kept his smirk to himself when she paused at the door and turned back to him.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Miss Borgin?”

“I’m not sure if this would at all interest you, but Draco Malfoy has been acting, well, strange since term started.”

“How so?”

“It’s hard to explain…he hasn’t been studying like he used to. I mean, he always used to act like he didn’t have to try to get good marks and like he owned Hogwarts, but he also was always the last one to pack up his books and leave the Common Room at night. I’ve barely seen him open a book this term. At least, not one for class.”

“Miss Borgin, this is exactly the sort of interesting information I wished to hear.”

She nodded once and said firmly, “If I hear anymore, I’ll be sure to pass it on, sir. And I won’t get caught.”

“I would expect no less from you, Miss Borgin. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Cassandra shut the door softly behind her and Severus sat back in his chair, rubbing his aching temples. The worm of conscience turned in the back of his mind, calling into question whether it was justifiable to set a student to spy on her own housemates, but he pushed it away. There were simply too many lives at stake to neglect any possible advantage. He glanced at the hourglass; another twenty minutes before the antidote would be ready. With a sigh of resignation, he pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket, finding the message from Miranda that he had been dreading all day.

WISH ME LUCK the mosaic spelled out. Luck indeed. He wished she’d been free to come back with him after the disaster in the caves, or better, that she had never gone to Romania in the first place.

YOU DO NOT REQUIRE LUCK YOU REQUIRE SKILL WHICH YOU HAVE he sent.

The tiny pieces of cut stone rearranged themselves immediately with a reply; she must have been waiting for him.

I WISH YOU WERE HERE THE FEASTING AND DANCING EARLIER WERE TO DIE FOR AND THERE IS GOING TO BE A PROCESSION TO SEE CATALINA AND ME OFF TO THE LAND OF THE IELE

His stomach twisted uncomfortably and he wondered if he would ever become accustomed to Miranda’s penchant for plunging headlong into danger.

IF I HAD MY WISH YOU WOULD BE HERE RATHER THAN ON A RECKLESSLY DANGEROUS MISSION IN ROMANIA

He could almost hear her roll her eyes in her reply.

BECAUSE THE UK IS SO SAFE AT THE MOMENT DONT FRET I WILL BE BACK THERE WITHIN THE WEEK

SEE THAT YOU ARE OR I WILL COME LOOKING FOR YOU

GOOD

He slid the case back into his pocket and watched the final minutes of sand pouring down through the hourglass. The memory of their parting embrace crashed over him so strongly that he swore he could feel her warm arms wrapped around his neck. And what if that were the last embrace allotted to them?

With an Herculean effort, he pushed this useless sentiment to the back of his mind, to keep his tattered conscience company. He bottled Miss Bell’s potion with a steady hand, and headed to the hospital wing with a heavy heart.

Merlin, he was ready for this whole bloody business to be over.

*****

The midnight procession twisted along the dirt road, stretching through the forest all the way back to the church in the Merry Cemetery from which they had set forth some time ago. Miranda and Catalina were near the front, just behind the icon bearers and the priest, and just before Ileana Lupul, Nicolae Dragnea, and Charlie Weasley. It seemed as though the entire population of magical folk had descended on Săpânța to see the resolution of the long trial. Miranda and Charlie in their dress cloaks were plain in comparison to the sea of colorful embroidery and dyed wool around them. The choir chanted hymns and prayers as they made their way through the chilly autumn night, and Miranda marveled once again at the casual way that the Statute of Secrecy was ignored. The non-magical people of Săpânța had turned out in support of their magical brethren, and Miranda was sure that their good will would do as much as anything else to bring the captive children home safely.

The moon had almost reached her zenith when the clerics and laymen ahead of the champions fanned out around a dusty fork in the road. The trees surrounding them were already naked, and their leafless branches reached out like gnarled fingers towards the little humans below. Doamnă Lupul led Miranda and Catalina forward, and the rest of the procession began to crowd in untidy clusters, whispering and attempting vainly to see the main event.

Miranda and Catalina knelt before the priest, who blessed them both in a voice that rumbled from the depths of the earth. Whether it was from the cold, or the magic, or the excitement; or all of this combined, Miranda shivered deliciously. She had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the year, and all of her work was about to come to fruition. But no—she was about to step into another world altogether. She had been waiting for this moment for her entire life.

“{The time has come.}” Doamnă Lupul said as the women rose to their feet. “{Remember, you must gather the children and return to us by noon, or you will all be trapped in the Iele’s realm.}”

A ray of moonlight pierced through the trees, so bright and thick Miranda was sure that, if she touched it, she could break a piece of it off to hold in her hands. It shot down into the road, throwing bits of dirt into the air as it plunged into the dry earth. Doamnă Lupul stepped forward, shaking back her wolfskin cloak and rolling up the sleeves of her finely woven blouse. With a manic gleam in her eye, she thrust her hands into the moonbeam, and sucked in her breath through gritted teeth. Her booted feet dug into the ground as she forced her hands apart, tearing open a human-sized gash in the air itself. Task completed, she stepped back with her hands extended, and a thick, black liquid oozed off them, dripping onto the ground with an unappealing plop. Nicolae hurried forward, bearing a bowl of water that the Cezara might cleanse her hands of the primordial glop. The moon continued its celestial arc, and a jagged, pulsating rip remained behind for the adventuresses to pass through.

“{God be with you,}” panted Doamnă Lupul, winded from her effort.

Miranda and Catalina exchanged a glance, gathered their offerings for the Iele, and entered the ragged door together.

*****

The world on the other side of the crossroads was flooded by an unnerving, monotonous steel-blue light that emanated from nowhere that Miranda could ascertain. The usual division of land and sky was likewise absent. The ground upon which they stood blurred into the distance, but no comforting curve denoted the horizon. A tangled mass of brambles covered the covered the ground before them, save for a narrow path that twisted through the uninviting mess to a white castle gleaming in the distance. The air was hot and sticky, and within minutes both Miranda and Catalina had stripped off their cloaks and rolled up their sleeves.

“{That must be the place, yes?}” Miranda said, eyeing the elusive structure that wavered in the heat.

“{It must be,}” Catalina agreed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and studying the empty sky above them. “{There are no stars. How will we know the time?}”

“{We’ll just have to go as fast as we can.}”

This was easier said than done. The heat hampered their progress, and they were soon gasping for air even at a walking pace. Miranda’s clothing stuck to her sweaty body, chafing her skin and fraying her temper. As they approached, the castle seemed to recede into the distance rather than become any closer. Miranda wondered if the whole thing were a mirage and they had missed some important point. What if there were some trick or riddle that they needed to understand in order to gain entrance to the Iele’s home? What if it were like in a fairy story where the unappealing bramble actually held the treasure they sought? Would they wonder forever here in this purgatory and never reach either the castle or their home?

All at once, the castle was upon them. Miranda had the wild thought that she and Catalina had been walking in place and the castle had moved instead. Up close, the building was iridescent rather than white. Its walls were formed from dragonfly wings, woven tightly together, and they, like the doorway between the worlds, pulsed like a giant, disembodied organ. As the women approached, the middle of the thing peeled open with a wet, slurping sound, and Miranda was suddenly very thankful that her Papa had insisted she learn to overcome her squeamishness at an early age. Somehow she doubted that the Iele would look favorably on guests that vomited at the sight of their storied home.

The churning in Miranda’s stomach only lasted long enough for she and Catalina to enter the forbidding place. Inside the castle was a lush forest, as cool and green as any earthy paradise. A rainbow of birds played among the branches, and a low, enchanting music washed over the enclosure. The base of each tree was guarded by a burly, jackal-headed man. They stood at silent attention, watching the intruders with dull, disinterested eyes.

“{What do we do now?}” Miranda whispered.

“{We wait. They will come to us,}” Catalina replied.

These words had barely left Catalina’s lips when out of the forest floated a marvel of a woman; so painfully beautiful that it hurt to look at her. Like the Sânziene, her dark hair and her simple white garment flowed out around her as though she were drifting in water. Her feet hovered above the forest floor, and she smiled graciously at the human women with pointed teeth. Miranda’s neck prickled in warning, and she was sure that this creature was far more dangerous than her brawny guards.

When the Iele did not speak, Miranda and Catalina knelt as one, spreading their offerings before the fairy woman; the gilded cage with the sorrowful birds of paradise, the bouquet of flowers from the Sânziene’s mountaintop, and the bottle of water from the river beneath the One Wood Church. The Iele waved her hand indifferently over the treasure, vanishing them with a lack of ceremony that made Miranda bristle. With barely a gesture inviting them to follow, the Iele turned and floated back into the forest, leaving the women to scramble clumsily after her.

The forest was so thick that they had to go single file through it; hurrying after the Iele until Miranda lost all sense of direction. The further they went, the more Miranda’s neck pricked her, and her hands started sweating despite the cool. At last the forest path opened into a wide clearing beneath an undulating dome of dragonfly wings. A little pond sat in the center of the deserted place, ringed with laceflowers and lilies of the valley. The Iele led them up to the edge of the rippling water, and vanished without ever saying a word.

“{I don’t understand,}” Miranda said, frustration creeping into her voice.

“{Look,}” Catalina said grimly, pointing to the pond where twenty silver fish darted beneath the surface of the water. “{The fish are the children.}”

Miranda blew out her breath. “{I take it this is what the Changeover Potion is for?}”

“{No. We will give them that at the doorway between the worlds.}”

“{But how do we change them back into children? I think their parents might object to having them come home in this condition.}”

“{You brought your net, yes?}” Catalina was already pulling her own unicorn hair net from a pocket.

“{I did.}”

“{We will each catch half of them, and pull them out together. Vasile said that should break part of the spell.}”

“{Should break it?}” Miranda circled to the opposite side of the pond, and retrieved her own net from a hook on her belt.

“{Just fish,}” Catalina ordered tersely. “{We’re wasting time.}”

Miranda crouched down amid the beautiful, deadly flowers decorating the shore of the pond and cast her net.

She did not like this. She did not like it at all.

*****

Severus was in a foul temper when he landed at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries early Sunday morning. Minerva had bestowed him with the unenviable task of escorting the still unconscious Katie Bell thither for further treatment. As they spun into the triage station by way of the portkey from the Hogwarts hospital wing, a tall woman in Healer’s robes and a black headscarf was in place to catch Miss Bell and lay her on a waiting bed. By the time Severus’s head had stopped spinning, the Healer was briskly examining her new patient.

“Peace be upon you, Professor Severus,” she said as she gently probed and prodded.

“That is unlikely to happen anytime soon, Healer A’isha,” he replied in a voice scratchy from lack of sleep.

As usual, she was unfazed by his lack of civility. “Has there been any change in her condition?”

“No. Not since she was brought to the hospital wing yesterday.”

“What have you…”

“Katie!”

A shrill cry interrupted the Healer, and Severus turned to see a bull of a woman barreling into the room with a spindly man on her heels. Severus barely had time to brace himself before Mrs Bell accosted him, baying for blood and explanations.

“Let me see her!” Mrs Bell tried unsuccessfully to push past Severus. “How did this happen? What are you going to do about it? Who is responsible?”

“Mrs Bell,” Severus said, breaking her name into several unappealing syllables in order to gain her attention. “We have no further information than was owled to you this morning. It would be best for you and Mr Bell to wait in the lobby until you are called.”

“Like hell we will,” Mrs Bell growled.

“Breathe, Greta,” Mr Bell said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let the people do their jobs.”

Mrs Bell shook off her husband’s hand “That’s my baby! And why are you here instead of Professor McGonagall?”

Merlin preserve him from irrational parents. “Professor McGonagall’s duties as deputy headmistress prevent her from leaving school grounds during Headmaster Dumbledore’s absence,” Severus explained tersely.

“Dumbledore’s not even there? With You Know Who gadding about? No wonder students are getting cursed! Do you even care what happens to them? These are our children that we trusted you to protect!”

“I assure you, madam, we are doing everything within our power to protect them.”

“Well it’s not working, is it?”

“Considering your daughter’s devotion to Quidditch, I would think that you are no stranger to her being injured. Fortunately, Miss Bell is possessed of a remarkably thick skull.”

Mrs Bell went white with rage. “You’re head of Slytherin house, aren’t you? I’d bet my broomstick that one of your students knows all about this.”

How dare she? Severus opened his mouth to give the avenging harpy the set down of her life, but Healer A’isha intervened, leaving Katie’s side to slip between the warring pair.

“Good morning, I am Healer A’isha Shafiq. You are Miss Bell’s mother, am I correct?” she said in a stern, but pleasant tone.

“Yes, I am, Healer Shafiq.” Mrs Bell drew herself up to her full height, but her lower lip was quivering dangerously. Severus assumed that fear of sending Mrs Bell into further hysterics was the only thing that kept Healer A’isha from launching into one of her passionate explanations regarding proper forms of address. Or perhaps she had finally mellowed enough to accept British niceties without protest.

“Then you must be eager for answers, as are we all. I requested Professor Snape accompany your daughter himself. He is an expert in curses…”

“I’m sure he is,” Mrs Bell spat.

“Greta!” Mr Bell cajoled.

“…and I wish to speak to him about what he has attempted thus far,” Healer A’isha continued as though the others had not spoken. “Perhaps you would both be so good as to wait in the lobby or the cafeteria while I make my preliminary examination and settle your daughter in a room. Then I will be able to give you more information than I can at the present time.”

Mrs Bell wavered, tears glistening in her eyes. Mr Bell took her by the arm and she allowed him to start to lead her away, but then she yanked her arm out of his grasp again and turned on the potions master.

“You brought her here by portkey, didn’t you?” she demanded.

“Yes, Mrs Bell. We have a portkey in the hospital wing at Hogwarts that comes directly to triage,” Severus said impatiently.

“Traveling by portkey is dangerous for an injured person!” she all but shrieked. “You probably hurt her even worse!”

“Mrs Bell,” Healer A’isha said sharply, “while you are correct that traveling by portkey is unadvised in the case of broken bones or certain internal injuries, it is perfectly harmless in your daughter’s case. She has not been physically injured. Indeed, it is much better that the professor brought her in this way, rather than lose precious time taking her all the way outside the wards at Hogwarts to Apparate her here. Surely you agree that time is of the essence.”

“I…” Mrs Bell’s voice trailed off and tears started rolling over her cheeks.

“It’s not a Quidditch injury, Greta,” Mr Bell said soothingly. “Why don’t we go upstairs and get a cup of tea.”

“I don’t want any tea,” Mrs Bell protested.

“I know, but they’re terribly slow in the cafeteria, and by the time we’ve had a cuppa, the Healer will be able to tell us something about Katie.”

Mrs Bell eyed Healer A’isha suspiciously.

“I will take good care of your daughter, Mrs Bell. I promise.” Healer A’isha said calmly.

Mrs Bell’s face crumbled as she gave way to tears, and she allowed her husband to lead her off in search of tea—or perhaps something more bracing. Healer A’isha turned back to her patient and resumed her examination as though nothing had happened.

“Merlin, Healer A’isha, how do you stand it?” Severus muttered when the Bells were out of sight.

“It happens all the time, Professor Severus. What good does it do to let fly my temper when I am strong enough to curb it?” she replied. “Now tell me everything you can about this child and the curse.”

*****

“Come on, little guy, you’re the last one,” Miranda coaxed. Her net was full save for one shy straggler who kept darting away from his captured brethren. Catalina was sitting on her heels, waiting impatiently on the other shore, and all of Miranda’s limbs were so stiff that she doubted she would be able to stand up, even when she managed to catch the stray fish.

“{Are you finished yet?}” Catalina demanded, her voice tired and sharp.

Miranda ignored her. “Come on….Gotcha!” With a flick of her wrist, the net scooped up the final changeling. “{I am now. Ready?}”

Catalina shook herself and nodded. “{And…pull!}”

The exhausted pair heaved their nets out of the water together. At first, Miranda’s net lay on the shore, a shining, dripping mass of flopping silver fish. Her mind started racing in panic, but in the space of a blink she was granted a minor miracle. Before her eyes, the net pulled itself into a long rope, and each fish morphed into a solemn faced child, ranging from grammar school age to near adulthood. One by one, the children took hold of the rope and stared at her with bland, impassive faces.

When they did not bolt, she picked up the end of the rope and said, “{This way, little ones.}”

They followed her passively around the pond to Catalina and her matching brood. As Miranda reached her rival’s side, she could see that the younger witch’s face was wet with tears.

“{Gabi!}” Catalina breathed, her eyes riveted on the lanky boy at the head of Miranda’s group. He did not give any indication that he recognized his sister, he merely stared straight ahead, lost in a dream-like trance.

“{We’d better get going,}” Miranda said quietly. “{It’s a long way back.}”

*****

By the time they reached the path through the brambles, Miranda had reached the giddy stage of exhaustion. She had no idea how long they had been in this inhospitable place, but she had slept little before she and Catalina had departed on this final quest. She was fairly confident that they were within their time limit, and she wondered if Catalina would insist on a farcical duel when they returned to the crossroads. God willing, they could call the thing a draw. Perhaps, if Vasile backed them, they would stand a chance of settling matters like reasonable adults.

The trek from the castle to the door between the worlds seemed even hotter and longer than before. Miranda was openly panting by the time they reached the ugly rip, but the children tromped along as placidly as Madeline and her schoolmates strolling through the streets of Paris.

“{The potion,}” Catalina wheezed when they came to a halt at last.

“{I think you should do the honors,}” Miranda said with a tired smile.

She pulled a dark bottle and a metal cup from her bag, and handed them both to her comrade. Catalina’s eyes were shining as she poured the first measure of amber liquid from the bottle. She offered the cup to her brother, but he did not seem to notice the libation. With a grunt of frustration, she held the cup to his lips, helping him drink as though he were a small child. The first drops of the potion dribbled over his chin, but then he trembled, grasped the cup, and drank deep.

“{Catina?}” he asked, blinking his soft brown eyes at his sister.

She pulled him into a fierce embrace, nearly dropping the bottle. “{We’re going home.}”

Miranda’s throat was tight as she watched Catalina go down the lines, offering the potion to each enchanted child. One by one they blinked awake and, while they did not all recognize their liberator, one reassuring nod from Gabi was all that was needed to keep them in their docile lines. A haze of goodwill rushed through Miranda’s body, turning her bones to jelly. She let herself sink to the ground to rest and savor the moment.

A howl that would have put the Hound of Baskervilles to shame shattered the peace of the little band. The children who had already received the potion huddled around Gabi, wide-eyed with terror. Miranda shot to her feet, whirling to face the source of the harrowing cry. A pack of the jackel-headed guards was advancing on them, axes drawn.

“{Hold this,}” she said, handing her rope to Gabi and drawing her pistol.

“{What is it?}” Catalina asked as she distributed the potion to the final child. “{My God…}” She drew her wand, but Miranda waved her off.

“{No. You get the children out of here. I’ll hold them off.}”

“{But you’ll be trapped here!}”

“{No I won’t. I’ll take care of these mongrels and be right behind you. I have excellent timing.}”

“{No you don’t!}”

“{It has to be done. Goodbye Catalina.}” Miranda fumbled in a pocket, searching for her vials of Strengthening Solution.

“{But if I go back alone, Doamnă Lupul will back Voldemort!}” Catalina’s bluster ended with a broken crack.

“{I don’t give a shit about that right now. Just get those children home,}” Miranda replied firmly.

She tossed down one more vial than was prudent and started towards their pursuers at as quick a pace as the heat would allow. The potions and the adrenaline blended into a heady cocktail of berserker rage, and she leveled her pistol at the fiends. They fanned out into ranks as they cleared the bramble patch, and the instant the creatures were in range, Miranda started putting bullets between their eyes. Until the ammunition ran out, she brought them down in rapid succession. Apparently the things possessed no more brains than clay pigeons, for the ones behind trod over their fallen brothers with no concern for themselves.

“At least they’re stupid,” she muttered to herself as she spent her last bullet. She whipped out her wand, planted her feet, and started hexing for her life. “Sectumsempra!”

The curses ripped through the lines, and the jackel-men yelped as their flesh exploded. But, though not one of them made a move to protect himself, the unending stream started to gain on her. She backed away slowly, loathe to give up any ground. As sweat stung her eyes, she risked a glance over her shoulder, hoping that Catalina and the others would be gone, and that she might make a break for freedom.

They were gone. As was the jagged door. All that remained was an endless swath of steel-blue wasteland, an infinite army of drones, and her.

She flew at her enemies like a demon. No sense in making the inevitable easy.

*****

Catalina and Gabi emerged from the pathway between the worlds to a crisp, October day under a cloudless sky. Most of the procession was either still intact, or had reformed, waiting in worried, lethargic groups. As the first child came through, they roused themselves from their torpor into a flurry of chaotic motion, engulfing the bewildered foundlings and pulling them away to be petted and marveled at. Catalina was in an agony of anxiety as she watched the door between the worlds pulse, but the mass of humanity had caught her as well. Before she could start screaming, her father’s hand plucked her out of the crush, pulling her into the shelter of a poplar tree where Doamnă Lupul sat, calmly surveying the reunions, and Charlie paced in nervous agitation.

“{My, Catina! You’ve done it!”} Nicolae exalted. His arm was around Gabi’s shoulders, and his son smiled faintly from father to sister, as though he were still half asleep.

“{Where’s Miranda?}” Charlie demanded.

Catalina grabbed Charlie’s arm. “{She stayed behind. We were attacked and she stayed behind so that we could escape. We have to go back for her!}”

She dragged Charlie through the crowd, barely registering her father’s shout of protest. Her hand was inside the gateway as the sun reached the pinnacle of the sky. A blinding ray of light shot down into the earth, singeing her fingers. With a sharp cry, she jerked her hand away, cradling it to her chest. Tears blurred her vision, but she could tell, even before the sunbeam had dissipated, that it was too late. The door was gone.

“{No!}” Catalina’s strangled cry was lost in the riot of joyful conversation around her.

Vasile appeared, moving through the well-wishers and taking Catalina’s throbbing hand in his. He chanted a healing incantation as he rubbed his fingers lightly over her skin.

“{I take it our American friend is lost?}” he said when he finished his work.

Catalina nodded numbly. “{The Iele sent their guard after us and she fought them. We have to go back for her.}”

“{I’m sorry, Catalina, but that is impossible. It will be another year before we could even hope to reach her.}”

In the midst of the joy around her, Catalina felt like she had a millstone around her neck. Her limbs were like lead and she hardly noticed that Charlie now had her by the arm and was leading her to sit on an unoccupied tree stump. The midday sun beat down on her, a silent, accusing witness to her failure. The events in the other world played through her mind in a sick pantomime. She struggled for another answer, but was at a loss to think what else she might have done. If Miranda had not challenged the căpcăuns, they all would have been recaptured or killed.

Merciful God. What was Professor Snape going to say?

“{Catalina, well done,}” Doamnă Lupul said, dragging the young witch out of her mire of regrets.

“{Thank you,}” Catalina replied automatically. “{But Miranda should be here too.}”

“{Yes. We are sorry to have lost her.}” The Cezara’s voice was low and brittle. “{She will be not forgotten.}”

“{It is truly a blow for your cause, Domnul Weasley.}” Nicolae’s tone was just shy of mocking. As he stood before his daughter, with his son at his side, he looked like a conqueror awaiting his laurel wreath.

“{Am I the victor, then?}” Catalina asked, a spark of inspiration igniting in her darkened thoughts.

“{Who else has brought the children home?}” Doamnă Lupul replied.

Catalina licked her dry lips and lifted her eyes to the Cezara’s. “{Miranda and I have been working together since the day on the mountain. If she had not sacrificed herself today, we would not have escaped. Her cause is now mine. We will back the Order.}”

“Hear, hear,” Charlie said, clapping Catalina on the back.

“{How dare you!}” Nicolae growled, taking a step towards the weary champion.

“{Nicú,}” Doamnă Lupul warned. “{Your son is tired. Take him home.}”

The defeated boyar rounded on the Cezara, but he did not dare to argue.

“{You planned this, didn’t you?}” he spat.

“{Domnul Weasley, be so good as to take this letter to Albus and assure him of our support.}” She placed a roll of parchment into Charlie’s waiting hand, and turned to Nicolae with a wolfish smile. "{Nicú, I am very well pleased with your daughter. And I think that Vera would have been pleased, also.}”

The mention of his late wife’s name knocked the wind out of Nicolae, and he sagged like an empty sail. Gabi, suddenly more alert than Catalina had yet seen him, began looking around eagerly, searching for his mother’s face.

“{Father,}” Gabi ventured, when he could not find the one he sought, “{where is mother?}”

Nicolae avoided his son’s question and ordered brokenly, “{Come, Catalina. We’re going home.}”

“{No, father,}” Catalina objected quietly.

“{Catina?}” Gabi’s frightened voice finally roused Catalina. She dragged herself up from her seat, and went to embrace her brother.

“{Don’t worry Gabi, I’ll be back soon, I promise.}”

“{And where do you think you are going?}” Nicolae demanded.

Catalina looked at her father, her heart weighted down with the sorrowful knowledge of all that he had lost, and all that he might never understand.

“{I am going with Domnul Weasley, if he will allow it. There is someone who should hear the news of Miranda’s death from the lips of one who witnessed it.}”

Nicolae made a gesture of helpless frustration. “{Do as you like.}”

“{And I wish to join the Order.}”

Charlie grasped her hand warmly, and she could see Vasile behind him, hiding a smile.

“{Doamnă Dragnea, we would be honored to have you,} Charlie said earnestly. “{Would tomorrow be too soon to leave for Scotland?}”

Nicolae did not wait for any further humiliations. Gabi looked at his sister with a mixture of sadness and confusion, but hurried after their father, eyes still watching hopefully for the mother he would not find. Soon the pair of them were out of sight, concealed by the crowd and the forest beyond.

“{Are we too late for the afternoon portkey?}” Catalina asked. She did not want to witness her her father breaking the news of their mother’s death to Gabi. Not when she had her own horrible tale to tell.

“{If you hurry, I think you will just make it,}” Doamnă Lupul said gently.

“{Then there is no sense in waiting for tomorrow.}”

“{Agreed,}” Charlie said.

As they set off towards the Merry Cemetery, Catalina’s heart beat with a new vigor, strong and bittersweet. She was different now, and she knew, when she returned home, things would be different there as well. Perhaps, in time, her father would change too, and she could hope it would be for the better. But she was at peace with her choice, regardless of whether or not he decided to approve of it.

Soon the village was in sight, and the cross crowning the top of the church spire hovered over it, like a steadfast guardian. Catalina breathed a silent prayer for her fallen friend; begging that Miranda’s end was swift and painless; begging that her sins were forgiven; begging that she was finally at peace.

*****

If anyone dared to hand him one more wretched form to fill out, Severus was going to consign the whole of St. Mungo’s to the flames. Between consulting with Healer A’isha, placating Miss Bell’s hysterical parents, and fulfilling the demands of the hospital’s bureaucracy, the day was more than half spent. The weather was still abysmal, and he appeared outside the wards of Hogwarts in a cold, driving rain that did its damnedest to soak him before he could say Impervius. As he strode towards the castle, he postponed checking his cigarette case for news of his questing lover. She hadn’t bothered to send a message any of the other thousand times he’d looked already that day; why would there be anything now?

As he approached the gates, he saw a stocky wizard and two witches huddling outside them, waiting for admittance. His heart jumped into his throat when he recognized Charlie Weasley’s unattractive red hair and Catalina Dragnea’s dark bob. Breaking into a run, he reached the trio just as Minerva arrived, tapping the chains to allow them entrance. The second witch turned as she heard his footsteps, and he froze in his tracks at Nymphadora Tonks’s frown.

Charlie was saying something to him, but his blood was pounding in his ears so loudly that he could not hear what it was, nor what he said in reply. The Metamorphmagus and the Weasley followed Minerva towards the castle, and Severus became vaguely aware that Catalina had remained behind, watching him with a mixture of sadness and pity that turned his stomach.

“{There is no sense standing in the rain, Doamnă Dragnea,}” he said flatly.

He set off for the dungeons like a man condemned, astonished that he was able to walk so easily considering he could not feel his limbs. Catalina matched his pace and mercifully held her tongue. His fingers pricked uncomfortably as he unlocked the door to his quarters, sensation returning in the form of pain. Catalina sat down stiffly on the edge of the sofa at his curt invitation. Like an automaton, he procured tea from the shelf above his desk, lost in the memory of the first time had led Miranda here. He had barely been able to keep his countenance then, his heart had been beating so erratically, electrified by her presence. Perhaps, if he shut his eyes very tightly, when he opened them and turned around, she would be sitting there on his sofa instead of the Romanian witch.

Merlin, Severus, pull yourself together. You’re not a schoolboy, and this is hardly a surprising ending for the whole misadventure.

Catalina took the tea he offered her, but didn’t drink it. He sat down in the chair opposite her, and stubbornly forced himself to take a bracing sip, even though it was scalding and his throat was twisted into a knot.

“{Miranda is dead,}” he said after the liquid had burned a path down to his bilious stomach.

Catalina shuddered, and for a moment he was terrified that she would start to cry—not so much because he feared her tears—but because he feared, if he saw them, he would no longer be able to contain his own. But the witch rallied and controlled herself, save for the tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“{Yes. I’m so sorry.}”

He nodded, once again astonished at his capacity for absorbing pain without dying. “{How?}”

“{The Iele’s guard attacked us at the door between the worlds. She fought them while the children and I escaped, but the door closed before I could go back to save her.}” Her tale was tired, like story worn out with telling.

Thoughts ground together in his mind and he struggled to make sense of them as they passed. “{You did…you did not actually see her die?}”

“{No,}” she said slowly. “{When I led the children out she was still alive and fighting,}”

“{Then…she may still be alive.}”

“{I’m sorry, professor, but I think that is impossible. I left her hours ago at the mercy of an army of beasts. And even if she were somehow still alive, we cannot reach her. The door is closed.}”

“{This is Miranda we are talking about. She has more lives than a cat. And if you are unwilling to search for answers, I am not.}”

Severus sprang up from the chair, knocking the teacup and saucer to the floor where it shattered on the stones. He trod over the pieces, heedless of the way they crunched under his feet, and attacked his bookshelves with a violent passion. One after another he tore the books from their places, pouring over the pages before casting them aside, unable to comprehend the slightest notion in his whirlpool of grief. The empty shelves mocked him, and he slashed his wand at them, causing an explosion of splintered wood. By the time the shards settled, his humiliation was complete, and he sat on the back of the sofa, weeping tears that were all the more bitter for having been restrained.

The room was filled with a mortifying silence, punctuated at intervals by his ragged breathing. As he gradually regained some measure of control, he wondered how difficult it would be to Obliviate Doamnă Dragnea without her noticing.

“{She was very brave,}” Catalina said when he had stopped his disgraceful sniveling.

“{She was very foolish,}” he countered petulantly.

Catalina did not dignify that with an answer, and he started flicking his wand at the mess of shelving and books. As the chaos slowly succumbed to order, he made a mental list of items requiring his attention in a vain attempt to prevent the overwhelming flood of memories from drowning him again. He had promised Healer A’isha that he would lend her his copy of Luma’at al-nuraniyya that had been glossed by wizard of Tamerlane’s court. He would have to take it to her himself; it was not the sort of thing he wanted to trust to an owl. There was a stack of essays on Boggarts by the dunderheaded third years that required marking. Miranda had smiled when he’d asked her what her Boggart was, and kissed him until he knew she was not going to answer. If he were to venture a guess now, he would say that it was small, enclosed spaces. He would ask her the next time he saw her.

Except that he wouldn’t. Because he would never see her again.

The books marching through the air to the repaired shelving clattered to the floor a second time. He stormed away from them, grabbing his still-wet cloak and flinging it around his shoulders. Catalina rose from the sofa, fetching her cloak as well.

He had to get rid of her. He had to be alone. He had to be anywhere but here.

As though she had read his thoughts, Catalina offered, “{Domnul Weasley asked me to meet him in Professor McGonagall’s office when we were finished. Perhaps there is someone who could show me the way.}”

“{I will take you,}” he said inhospitably, wrenching the door open and flinging himself into the hallway.

A snitch-sized ball of bright blue light darted towards him, and he recoiled from it to prevent a collision.

“What in Hades are you?” he growled, drawing his wand to threaten the devious thing.

“{Stop!}” Catalina ordered, and she had the gall to grab his hand to push his wand away. “{It’s a Spiridus.}”

“{A what?}” he demanded, for some reason resisting the urge to swat the overgrown, flashing mosquito.

“{A Spiridus. They help people who help them.}”

The witch was staring at the thing as though her mind were addled by it.

“{I can’t imagine what it’s doing here then,}” he sneered.

“{Be quiet, professor,}” she snapped.

“So you may commune with the spirit world? I suppose I better had,” he muttered. But he did fall silent, stacking up a score of insults in his brain, ready to launch them at the slightest provocation. The Romanian nodded to the creature, and it darted away, vanishing through a wall at the end of the passage. She watched it to the last, then turned to Severus, her face fixed with such an idiotic expression of hope that his own halfwitted heart lifted in response.

“{Miranda has a home here, yes?}” Catalina asked quickly.

“{Yes.}”

“{Then lead the way. That is where we will find her.}”

He knew it was futile, but he plunged into the downpour with Catalina at his heels. With every step towards the edge of the wards, his heart beat the refrain:

Merlin let her be there; let her be alive; let her be safe.

*****

End Notes:

Many, many thanks to Mr. Zingarella for Beta-ing this chapter. Any remaining mistakes are mine :)

Osâmbritul is a Romanian festival held during September and October that centers around the preparation of sheep for the winter.

You can read the tale of how Cassandra Borgin came to join the D.A. in my story, Rota Fortunæ.

Cezara= Caesar. This is the title of the leader of the witches and wizards of Romania.

Căpcăuns are dog-headed monsters that capture women and children.

Luma’at al-nuraniyya (Bright Lights) is a twelfth century text by the Sufi mathematician Ahmad ibn Ali al-Buni.

*****

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Twenty-Four+

Chapter Twenty-Six+ >>

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #snape #pro snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #snape x oc #severus snape #severus snape fanfic #severus snape fanfiction #romance #action adventure #second wizarding war #espionage #spying #ilvermorny #american magic #ocappreciation

10 notes · View notes