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The Other World Part 2

Hello, everyone.

Welcome to Part 2 of this short story epic that I’ve written. I must warn you it’s considerably longer than Part 1, but it had to be, given the subject matter. It also gets very heavy. I almost shed tears writing this multiple times. And I hope that passion is reflected in my work here today.

What else can I say except this is for you @hogwartsmysterystory. Consider this my thanks and appreciation to both you and Ethren.

If anyone needs a bit of back history for my MC please go here

Enjoy, guys!

Entering the classic wizard shop had been simple enough. Tom the barman was still there and the same tapping sequence still existed to actually get in. At least that hadn’t changed.

As it was with the previous two institutions he had visited, any damage caused by the war to Diagon Alley was already repaired and the streets were alive and full of busy shoppers, running children, and nervous parents once more. There were still a few wanted posters up, but David didn’t pay much attention to them, as they were only reward information for the capture of a few unseemly looking men and one haggard, scowling looking young witch.

His primary destination was Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore that had almost every kind of publication imaginable. Other than the Hogwarts Library itself, it contained one of the largest assortments of knowledge in all of England, including history. If there was a place he could find some answers in peace, it was there.

As he walked along the cobblestone streets, David gave more thought to his situation and tried to consider the facts of what he knew instead of going completely bonkers. He was clearly in the magical world of the UK. Hogwarts, the Ministry, and Diagon Alley existed, and the war had taken place much in the same fashion as he remembered. The time was a year into the future…except this wasn’t the future. If that were the case, why was Talbott alive, he reminded himself. Why were some of the names on the monument unfamiliar? Why was there no record of his existence in the halls of his own government? And what did this American with the last name ‘Whitecross’ have to do with this?

Surprisingly enough, the last question was the one David felt most intrigued by. He couldn’t explain why, but he was sure that whatever happened in this particular instance had a lot to do with the name he saw on the monument. The fact that Talbott wore a miniature American flag only added to his suspicions.

This is really fucked up. I still want to believe Talbott was pulling the other one, but there was no lie in his eyes. The bloke I knew…there’s no way he’d turn me away like that.

Walking into the pristine bookstore didn’t arouse the same sense of excitement and wonder he felt as a teenager when buying new schoolbooks or investigating the disappearance and motivation of his brother, but he appreciated the vast collection of books and editions all the same.

I wonder what Jacob would say if he could see me right now? Probably tease me relentless and give some cryptic advice on how to get out of it

Though he did miss the usual familiar, cheerful greeting from Madam Villanelle, who politely nodded in his direction and treated him as a brand-new customer, it only emboldened him more to find out why no one in this crazy world knew who he was. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to come up with a plan. One of the perks of being a pure blood, even from a minor family, was that it was much easier to trace your family lineage through the centuries than it was for half bloods or those who were muggle born. Thanks to Merula and her own resources, he had managed to trace his lineage all the way back to the time of William the Conqueror and the Norman French invasion. With any luck, he’d be able to find out the fate of his family and that of his mother, father, and brother as well.

David quickly found the book he was looking for, the one his wife bragged about all those years ago when they were children: Quibus Sunt Pura- A List of the Oldest Families of Great Britain by Linesrta Quint. Unlike the Sacred Twenty-Eight, who’s criteria was much stricter courtesy of the pure blood supremacist Cantankerous Nott, this book covered a much wider berth of material. The author in question also wrote the book as a purely academic, historical exercise not a means to propagate an exclusive group of people above all others. It revealed that many more wizards than just twenty eight specific families carried a great deal of history, including his.

Remembering almost fondly how Merula single handedly showed him more about his family history than he knew before, he reminded himself that finding his wife was a top priority as much as his own peace of mind. He needed to know where she was and if she existed as well. It was all information that could be gleaned by this one book.

Summoning water in his hip flask and taking a swig, he set to work in reading the introduction and scouring the index for the last name ‘Grant’. Strangely, however, he could not find it. It was usually right after the summaries of the ‘Gaunt’ and ‘Gamp’ families. But as he flipped back and forth, there was no mention of anyone of his last name having existed in magical England nor anywhere else for that matter.

Not a good sign.

Flipping about a dozen pages more, he came across the ‘MacMillan’ family expose and saw that his mother’s side of the family was intact, including all of his cousins. But there was no sign of Heather MacMillan having ever known or married John Grant.

David’s heart and pulse began to race. He thought back to what he and Merula discovered all those years ago: that his common ancestor Robert Graund had settled in England after the successful invasion of William the Conqueror, who unknowingly employed many Norman French wizards in his service, including Robert. Over time, the name became Anglicized to ‘Grant’ and each male whether by a pure, half blood, or muggle born woman also produced at least one magical son through the centuries. Certainly not as ‘pure’ as the bigots would have it, but then again that was the least of his worries.

Going back over to the front of the introduction, David finally found what he was looking for: the name Robert Graund. Apparently, alongside other pure blood families of French Norman descent: Malfoy, Lestrange, Rosier, etc. Robert had also taken part as it was before. But unlike before, there was also a miniature cross next to his name with a brief note that he had died during the famous Battle of Hastings, a decisive conflict that eventually led to William being crowned King of England.

David ran his hands through his hair once more and leaned back in his chair at the realization.

So that’s what happened. My first ancestor was struck down during that fateful battle. Therefore, no one in my family beyond him even exists. Including me.

But there were some parts he still didn’t understand, namely how he could go from existing one day to fast forwarding a year later where he didn’t at all? There was no logic in it. He knew the veil within the Department of Mysteries carried many secrets that even the Unspeakables didn’t fully understand. But did it transcend more than just life and death itself? What if perhaps the archway didn’t merely lead to a path beyond death, but other possibilities relating to time and space?

Peering around him, David took a deep breath and rationalized everything once more. Almost everything about this world was exactly the same as it was yesterday. Except today Talbott Winger was alive and there was no trace of him or anyone in his family having ever walked the earth.

“I must be insane,” he muttered to himself. “This whole place is insane.”

But the reality kept biting him until he could no longer deny it. Unless the world was playing an extremely sick joke, the only other possible explanation was that somehow, he had ended up in an alternate timeline or scenario where his very family had died almost a millennia before it could actually take root. Thereby the events he experienced at Hogwarts, as an Auror, a bounty hunter, and at the Battle of Hogwarts never took place. Which lead him back to two more avenues.

“Merula.”

Turning the pages to the ‘S’ section, it didn’t take long for him to find what was looking for: the Snyde Family crest and information. And it was just as accurate as he remembered. Merula’s own common ancestor was actually of Danish-Norse origin, a wizard Viking to be exact, who settled along the area of modern East Anglia only fifty years before William the Conqueror’s invasion. He traced his finger right down to the modern names, specifically her father, mother and aunt: Matthias, Lyra, and Lucretia respectively. Sure enough, Merula’s name and birthdate was there but that’s not all that was written. In tiny black letters below was the name ‘Alaire Whitecross b. 1997’.

David was absolutely convinced now that whoever this ‘Ethren Whitecross’ was, had to be related to Alaire in some way but the implication was becoming abundantly clear. If he, David Grant, had not existed in whatever realm this was, logic pointed to Merula being involved with another person. And in all likelihood this American was it.

There were several other factors to consider, however. If his hypothesis was correct, how had this person died? How had he gotten involved in the first place? And what was Merula’s role in all of this? And if Alaire was her son, where was he at the moment?

David quickly closed the book and stuck it back on the shelf. Even among the circumstances, he still loved Merula no matter which universe she was in. At the very least, he wanted to make sure he was safe, sound, and happy no matter if she was married or taken by someone else. It was too important.

Then, a sense of déjà vu hit him for more than the first time that day. His own Merula was effectively shanghaied into the ranks of the Death Eaters. Could the same have happened here too? Suddenly, his stomach again dropped multiple notches below his belt as he recalled the poster of the haggard witch he had passed by earlier.

“No..” he whispered in horror.

Rushing outside, not even bothering to say goodbye to Madam Villanelle, David ran about fifteen paces outside on the cobblestone street, narrowly avoiding two small children running in front of him before finally coming upon the wanted poster he sought.

What he saw nearly crushed him.

Wanted for crimes against the Ministry and Humanity:

Merula Snyde

Age 26

167 cm

Offense: Ex-Death Eater under You Know Who

Status: Missing/On the Run

Any information about her whereabouts should be sent to the Auror Office of the Ministry straight away, and any assistance will be rewarded with a sum of 1000 galleons

He didn’t want to believe it. No part of him wanted to believe this was the girl he had fallen for all those years ago. Technically speaking it wasn’t and the unkempt appearance only contributed to his feeble denial. Though far from being a girly, girl, Merula always kept herself moderately groomed to a certain degree. This person couldn’t have been further from that image: her porcelain skin and soft features were gaunt and much thinner, permanent bags seemed to be fixed underneath her eyes, the normally chin length bob a tangled mess of brown that went far past her shoulders.

But there was no mistaking that tuft of orange on top of that mop, nor the vivid violet eyes. He’d know them anywhere. It was her alright and no amount of disbelief could change that fact.

“Merula,” he whispered. “What happened to you?”

Resolve surged through the Auror once more as the search for information took on a whole new dimension. This wasn’t merely about himself anymore, no this was much bigger. He needed to find this version of Merula and talk to her. He was sure she could reveal the true story of what occurred in this world and why. She was the key to everything, including the American on the monument that was becoming increasingly relevant.

Snatching down the poster, David pocketed it and began heading east. If Merula was a wanted witch with a dark past, she was sure to be in hiding somewhere. And if that place was England, he knew the exact spot where dark and outcast magic folk loved to congregate.

It was time to leave the serenity of Diagon Alley for the dirt and grime of Knockturn Alley.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In all honesty, going to one of the foulest areas in the British wizarding world was far more of a hunch than anything else, but he did have his reasons.

The first was Merula’s own history with the place. In his own world, she had discussed in detail her encounters in Knockturn Alley and all the times she visited with her parents as well as unsupervised instances. The amount of run ins they experienced together while at Hogwarts only added to that notorious history.

Second was his own experience as an Auror. Make no mistake, if someone wanted any information or news about the underworld, this was the proper location to do so. The trick was getting people to talk. Some would loosen their lips for a few extra galleons, but the dark, blackened alley ways held their own code of honor, one that was extremely hostile to outsiders and law enforcement. A man in blue had to be very careful with how they approached things.

Unfortunately for David, time was not on his side and he desired answers. The sad fact of the matter was, there was a distinct possibility Merula may not have remained in England after the war. Anyone on the run from Aurors wasn’t likely to stick around for long. He remembered Kingsley falsifying all those reports about Sirius Black being on some tropical island and Fudge buying it hook, line, and sinker.

However, assuming this version of his wife was still kicking around somewhere, this was the best place to ascertain that information, if anyone had it. Pulling the black hood over his head, he tried to give himself the appearance of someone who was collecting a bounty not an Auror making rounds. It helped that he did not have the blue robes on, but even so, it paid to have eyes on the back of their head.

That brought back memories of Mad-Eye, another painful loss he wasn’t prepared to deal with at the moment. After all, he was the personal mentor of a certain pink haired witch that became one of his best friends…

“Watchoo lookin at?” growled a short, squat, white bearded patron with a fish eye.

Snapping out of his daydreaming, David responded quickly and decisively.

“Nothing,” he responded. “Not unless you’ve seen this woman. Then we have business to discuss.”

He held up the poster of Merula and the dwarf like man gave it a good glance over.

“Ain’t seen head or tail of ‘er. Personally, me thought the Ministry already rounded up the last o them Death Eaters.”

“Apparently not. If you do see her, let me know. I pay rather handsomely for information of this kind.”

That definitely intrigued the man.

“Ye got yerself a deal.”

As he shuffled along his way, David grabbed another random person, this time a hooded witch and showed her the picture.

“Have you seen this woman?”

The hood fell back to reveal the face of a rather grotesque looking banshee, who began to screech as though she were being tortured.

“AREEEEEEEECCHHHHHHH!”

“Bloody hell! SHUT UP!”

He shoved the banshee away in an effort to reduce the attention he had unwittingly drawn on himself. This wasn’t going well thus far. Even the most transient, unsavory looking characters didn’t appear interested or knowledgeable about his wife. The longer he stayed here, the more likely he was to become a target and the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in a scrum in this Godforsaken place.

You taught me well, Rakepick you miserable bitch. Thankfully, Kingsley and Mad-Eye taught me better.

He was just about to take his questioning to another part of Knockturn when he noticed a middle aged woman in a black cloak staring at him and the poster he was currently holding. It dawned on him that she recognized the picture but before he could say so much as a word, she dropped everything she was holding and sped off into the street.

“Hey! Come back!” he shouted, immediately taking off after her.

The crowd was thick and various people shouted at him for shoving them, but he didn’t care. Just as long as he was able to keep the woman in his sights, he’d catch up to her eventually. He was only about five steps behind her, when she suddenly ducked into a side street in an attempt to shake him loose.

“Trying to do this the hard way, eh?” he muttered to himself. “We’ll see about that.”

The woman thought she could lose him by utilizing the maze of narrow streets and alleys that Knockturn was well known for. Unfortunately for her, David knew just as well as any of the sleazeballs who sold black market poisons on the corner and prepared a plan to cut her off. Using his superior speed and agility, he booked right knowing that the woman was trying to reach a secret passageway that led onto Piccadilly St., where she would blend in more easily.

Muttering incantations, he pointed his wand at the sky and a puff of golden smoke filled the air.

“That oughta keep you here.”

Sure enough, his guess was right. He took a left and then another left peering around the corner where the woman was attempting to use the passageway but she was too late. She had nowhere to run and there was no way out.

“You don’t strike me as the completely unscrupulous type but it would be better if you simply gave up now,” he told her.

The woman’s response was to send a cutting hex his way, which he easily dodged.

“Or not. Either way, you’re not going anywhere.”

David the saw woman try to apparate, but it was to no avail.

“Yeah that’s not going to work,” he said in the casual tone of someone scrapping butter over a biscuit. “Temporary anti-apparation ward. Really comes in handy in these kinds of situations.”

Realizing now that she was completely trapped the woman raised her wand, her arm shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Stay back,” she said in a thick cockney accent. “I’m warning you.”

A silent disarming spell was all it took to send her last line of defense spinning into the air, which David caught before grabbing the woman by the wrists and pinning her against the wall.

“I’m only going to say this once,” he growled, his voice full of steel, hazel blue eyes boring into the woman’s light green. “You tell me the information I need to know about this person, and I won’t have to break your wrists and arm today. Start talking.”

“I swear I don’t know anything,” the woman pleaded.

“That’s why you ran away once you saw the picture, right? Listen, I’ve had a very rough day and I’m on my last leg of patience with other people’s shit. So I’m only going to say this once more. What do you know about this woman?!”

David, sensing that she was no longer a threat to him, eased his grip slightly, allowing some of the iron in his eyes to subside. She wasn’t the type you had to scare to death in order for her to talk. Just enough to know that you mean business.

“I seen her bout few weeks back. She comes around every so often looking for supplies and other things like that. She gives me no grief, so I don’t tell no authorities.”

“And you know that she’s Merula Snyde?”

“Aye,” the woman nodded, still nervous at the much bigger man maintaining a firm hold on her. “She was one of them Death Eaters. One of the few to escape gettin thrown into a bloody cell in Azkaban. No one knows how she did it.”

That was code for: I don’t personally know but I’ve heard rumors. David knew all the tricks the backalley types liked to pull.

“Enlighten me.”

The woman lowered her voice to a quiet, hushed tone as though admitting it out loud could get her into trouble.

“They say the night she was captured, some Yank was watching over ‘er in a cell way up in a tower or some such. Then, when his back was turned, she slipped by ‘im and into the black of night. Been on the run ever since. No one’s been able to find ‘er or touch ‘er. Cept when she comes around buying food and what not.”

David tried to process this in his head. The American in question was supposedly dead, marked by a gravestone and subtlety confirmed by this world’s Talbott. But if an American had been watching her and she escaped, how then did this Ethren Whitecross die?

“She didn’t kill him?” he asked.

“Didn’t ‘ave a wand. Or so I heard. It’s all just gossip round this place.”

Gossip it may be, but it often held an element of truth to it. However, there was only one way to truly find out.

“Do you know where she is now? Any location she was last seen or frequents?”

“Last I knew, she was ‘iding out in a little hovel up in Liverpool. There’s a muggle pub up there called ‘Thomas Rigby’s’. Apparently, she’s pretty fond of the drink nowadays.”

That was all he needed to hear. Having no more use for the woman, he let go of her wrists and tossed her wand back toward her.

“Oi! Don’t I get a little something for my trouble? I have needs too ya know and make no mistake.”

“Not for chasing you down,” he called back over his shoulder. “Besides, what you need is a bloody bath.”

Ignoring her cursing and insults uttered to his back, David now walked with more of a purposeful stride than ever before. He was getting to the bottom of this, in fact he was so close he could taste it. The only premonition? Not liking what he found. In the center of his gut, he had a nasty feeling that this version of Merula did not share much in common with the one he left behind.

I just hope she didn’t join them because of….no, I’m not even going to go there

There was no time to waste. It was on to Liverpool.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

David didn’t try to waste time in finding other Merula’s residency. The city itself was far too large and industrious to pinpoint an exact location. But he did find Thomas Rigby’s rather easily. It was a cozy little pub- well lit, quaint, a standing and sitting barroom with numerous tables for patrons to sit, drink, chat, or mind their own business. If one was a witch or wizard seeking to blend in, there weren’t many spaces better to do so. There wasn’t a single patron in here looking for anything out of the ordinary. And why would they? It was a lazy, Sunday evening on a cloudy British day.

The twenty five year old knew that there was a chance of sitting here all night without so much of a trace of Merula. But he also acknowledged that very few other alternatives existed short of breaking into the Ministry and looking at her last known whereabouts and that was something he could not afford at the moment. He didn’t even know how was going to leave this crazy world much less solve the mystery of what happened. The universe seemed content to just take him along for the ride.

So in the meantime, he decided to take off his hood, sit back for a bit and sip on a few pints of Guinness while he waited.

When the waitress came over to give him his drink, he handed her two hundred pounds worth of notes and told her, “Just keep them coming until I say otherwise. You can keep the change.”

The blonde waitress, a woman who looked to be in her mid thirties, merely shrugged.

“Suit yourself.”

David began drinking and began lamenting that wizarding beer lagged far behind in its quality compared to that of muggles. It had been a damn good thing he learned how to use dollars, euros, and pounds during his time abroad. They were two among many things he had discovered.

In the old days, meaning the time before the war, David was at his most content sitting in a bar such as this one, drinking the night away with some friends. As he had many times that day, his mind wandered back to memories that were now too painful to consider anymore. It was tradition on every Friday he Tonks and Talbott would go to a London pub and see who could hold the most liquor. Strangely enough, Talbott was usually the one with the highest tolerance. Badeea didn’t drink, so their excursions were usually just the three of them. Sometimes, they’d get Penny, Tulip, Barnaby, Andre, Charlie, Bill, Ben, or even Merula to join in the festivities.

Those memories only served to bring back even older ones. Nights in Hogsmeade where he and the lads almost destroyed the Hogs Head Inn, Penny’s cocktails, the lampshade Tonks wore while dancing on top of a table, parties hosted by random popular kids in the Three Broomsticks, including one where Ismelda and Diego first got together.

Draining Guinness after Guinness, David couldn’t help but think back on those days and how fleeting they were. Almost the relic of another time, a universe that no longer existed, similar to his own predicament. They were rare moments where everything wasn’t so complicated…they were just teenagers being teenagers, growing up in the best way they knew how. No war, killing, mourning, or death. No one had to choose a side under the point of a wand.

But eventually, they all did. Things fell apart. Their island home and their entire world went to hell: Barnaby fled the country taking Ismelda with him in an to avoid the fate that would befall so many of their housemates. Diego too found England increasingly dangerous and went back to Spain. Rowan, always sensitive by nature, never forgave him for putting Merula before their own friendship and soon embarked on his own journey across the world and soon found a husband along the way (to no one’s surprise he had a bit of a resemblance to Bill). Charlie went off to Romania to tame dragons, Bill to Egypt to advance his curse breaking career. Chiara became a healer at St. Mungo’s, Penny a potions lecturer, Andre the starting Keeper for the Tornadoes, Tulip a freelance journalist for international publications….

With the exception of a few (Rowan being among those who stayed away), all had come back to fight in the end, which made Merula’s situation all the more painful. Her forced subservience to her parents, long after she had renounced them and their blood purist ways, was an act of cruelty that made David want to break the glass in his hand. Whatever her flaws and faults, joining the ranks of the Death Eaters was not truly his wife’s own choice, but an abusive sin enacted by Matthias and Lyra Snyde.

I hate them. I hate them both. I don’t even regret accidentally killing Matthias. He deserved far worse for what he did to her.

They were manipulative, sociopathic people. But even from a young age Merula was able to see through that.

The ringing of the bell signaled the arrival of new customers as the pub slowly started to fill up. There was no sign of her yet.

He continued his internal monologue. No, his wife was no more a Death Eater than he was. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever happened in the world he was in was much different than the outcome in his own. He was almost afraid to continue searching, but some other entity pushed him on, as though a cosmic force was actually trying to show him something.

He was already on his 5th Guinness when the door opened again. Just as he began to believe that the exercise was all for naught, there she was, standing in the doorway, completely cloaked but there was no mistaking those violet eyes nor the trodden black combat boots she still wore even into her twenties. And underneath the robes, she looked every bit as tired and worn down as the wanted poster.

By Merlin, is that really her? She looks as though she’s ten years older than she is

David supposed alcohol had a lot to do with that, after all the stuff was highly addictive. But there was more to it than that and it was plain enough on her face. There was a lot of turmoil hidden underneath the brown haired mess- anger, regret, denial, depression, and pain…so much pain.

“I’ll have my usual,” she said in a bored monotone, tossing out a couple of coins.

“Coming right up,” the barkeep announced.

He could have guessed what she ordered: a vodka tonic with a lime to top it off. Her favorite. Though there was no doubt this Merula had no idea who the heck he was, it also stood to reason she was just as clever as his own version. She would know if a wizard was either observing or following her. So he kept his head down and bid his time, resisting the temptation to look in her direction.

A couple of hours passed and the Slytherin kept downing more and more vodka tonics. By this time, David had ceased drinking, the mind needed to be clear for what came next and it would not be easy. But if she was intoxicated enough, he just might be able to get her to talk long enough before she inevitably tried to hex or kick him. Either way, he tried not to focus on the awful appearance and keep himself focused on the ‘why’ and not the ‘what.’ It did no good to do the latter.

Finally, at the stroke of ten, Merula paid for her last drink, hopped off the stool and made her way outside. David, having paid in advance, stood up, and also opened the door to the warm pre-summer air. He pulled his cloak over his head and faked as if he were going left but secretly veered right, careful to mask his presence with a concealing spell. The onset of darkness also assisted in avoiding being seen.

“Come on, just a little more,” he muttered to himself.

When Merula was about fifty yards away from Thomas Rigby’s and headed towards the River Mersey, either to hang on the railing, puke, or a combination thereof, it was time to make his move

With a small *pop he apparated from the corner of the street and almost directly behind her. Immediately, he was met with a wand to the face.

“I suggest you back off right now, wanker,” she spat viciously, though her words were slightly slurred. “Not unless you want to lose a nose and your cock in the same night.”

“You know it’s really quite impressive how many of those things you downed in a couple hours,” he responded dryly. But that had been the wrong thing to say as she sent a curse of unknown origin his way.

Yeah, that’s her alright. Probably thinks I’m trying to get in her pants.

“Do you think just anyone can sneak up on me?” she snarled. “Do you know who I am?”

“Believe me, I’m very familiar with ‘The Greatest Witch at Hogwarts.’”

There was a minor look of surprise on her face indicating that was a term she had not used in quite some time. Nevertheless, she remained hostile.

“I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you,” she said wand remaining directly pointed at his chest. “So whoever you are, mind your own business and hit the road.”

David internally struggled with the situation. On the one hand, Merula was still his wife, no matter which universe he found himself in….no, that was wrong. Scanning this woman up and down she bore almost no resemblance to the woman he’d left behind, either in appearance or temperament. She was an ex-Death Eater on the run and also a drunk. This was not someone to be saved or redeemed.

This is about closure. Something is going on here that’s bigger than yourself.

As much as it pained him, he could not give the impression he was a pushover or else she’d walk right over him.

Suddenly, quicker than Merula could anticipate, he disarmed her physically and grabbed her left arm.

“Hey! Let go!”

True to his prediction, she gave him a mighty kick in the leg with her combat boot but he stood firm, rolling back her sleeve to reveal the ugly, faded remains of the Dark Mark. The skull and snake were still there, but with Voldemort’s death it was already becoming gnarled and reduced, and soon it would be nothing more than a permanent scar- a black stain on all those who wore it.

“So it’s true,” he whispered harshly, pushing her away. “You did join them.”

Merula didn’t try to escape. She didn’t have her wand for one thing but the look on her face was nothing short of grim.

“A real genius you turned out to be. Didn’t you read the wanted poster before deciding to collect this bounty?”

“I don’t give a damn about the wretched bounty,” he replied, hurt creeping into his tone. “What I want to know is why.”

She held her grim, harsh gaze, unwilling to say more. But David hadn’t come this far to be denied now. If this was some lesson being brought upon him by the universe by Merlin he was going to learn everything.

“Please…” he said, his voice dry and cracked from all of the beer. “Please tell me that joining the Death Eaters was not something you did voluntarily. If you were forced, it’s not the same thing but I need to know that you did not do this by your own actions.”

It was yet another in a long line of cosmic twists and also another painful reminder of just how different this woman was from his own Merula. She didn’t need to say anything, her silence said it all.

“Why?” he repeated painfully.

“Because I couldn’t disobey my parents!” came the ragged shout. “Because people don’t change! It was war and I had to choose a side…”

“…and ended up choosing the side you despised since you were a little girl. You said so yourself, that mark was something you feared.”

“They manipulated me! I-I….DON’T YOU GET IT?!” she screamed in rabid fury. “I said the same thing to him all those years ago! There is no such thing as happy endings!”

It was all the confirmation he needed to know that this woman, whoever she was, couldn’t be further from the Merula Snyde he had come to love and lay his life for. The person standing before him sounded no different than the version he’d known in third or fourth year: petulant, narcissistic, angry, and blaming everyone for her problems except herself.

“You still had a choice,” he responded firmly, willing himself not to quiver as he spoke. “No one forced you to join Voldemort. And look what it got you.”

“What’s it to you, whoever you are?” Merula snapped, leaning against the railing as though unable to properly stand upright. “You sound just like him. Preaching about morality and choice as though any of us have it.”

They were coming to the crux of the issue now.

“Whitecross,” he said and there was immediate recognition of that name upon its proclamation. “What was your relationship with him? Where is your son?”

“So, you know about that too,” she huffed. “Are you some two bit author looking to make a buck on our life story?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter who I am,” David responded in frustration, knowing that there was no point in telling her the truth. “I just need to know what happened to Ethren Whitecross. Humor me and I’ll leave you alone.”

This seemed to do the trick as other Merula sighed and stood up a little straighter.

“We were….an item so to speak. Hogwarts sweethearts, dating pals, whatever you want to call it. He loved me.”

“But you chose opposite sides,” David confirmed. “He must have been an Auror or with the Order.”

“The latter of the two. He was always a magnet for adventure, especially during the curse breaking years. Then again what else do you expect from a Gryffindor?”

Though this universe had been the opposite of his in so many ways, David was starting to see some parallels as well. A Gryffindor boy falls in love with a Slytherin girl, dating while at Hogwarts, going on curse breaking adventures…it was all quite similar. And yet, so vastly different. The dynamic of their relationship had not played out as it did in his own world.

“How did he die?” David continued. “I was told he was guarding you in one of the Hogwarts towers when he turned a blind eye and allowed you to escape. But the memorial says he was killed on that night.”

“That wasn’t him.”

He raised an eyebrow, features turning into a confused frown.

“He’s the only Whitecross listed on that memorial. So either you’re lying or-”

“It was his brother guarding me you prat!” she cut across him. “Jaxson Whitecross. He wasn’t the only American there that night. He was the one who let me go.”

“Jaxson,” David breathed out. It was a name remarkably similar to Jacob, his own brother. “So if he was the one who let you go, what happened to Ethren?”

There was no mistaking it this time, tears were forming in the defeated violet eyes. A look of hatred formed on her sullen, hollow features but it was not a hate directed at him. No this hatred was internal.

“He was killed….protecting me.”

For the second time in as many days, David felt his body go numb. He knew that the person he sought was already deceased, but hearing how he was taken from this world made it that much more…potent.

“Protecting you?”

“Yes,” she answered, salty discharge streaming down her cheeks, managing to tell the story through emotional breaths. “I-I had killed two Death Eaters that were trying to do him in. But then reinforcements from the Order arrived including a herd of centaurs. One of them saw me and shot an arrow directly at my heart….h-he took it instead.”

And so the answer had been revealed at last. This was the connection that the universe had been trying to show him all along. The man who loved Merula Snyde in this world, died doing so without hesitation for a person that did not deserve it.

Sacrifice. The ultimate sacrifice.

“And your son,” he managed to choke out. “What of your son?”

“He lives with his uncle in America…I’m sor….I couldn’t take care of him. Not after everything that happened. I’m not a mother. I’m not anything except a lush anymore.”

It was the closest thing to an apology David heard thus far and he suspected that was as close it was going to get. At long last he finally understood. Stories had more than one way of playing themselves out. A choice made by one was not a choice made by someone else. This was the legacy of the world he currently stood in laid bare: Merula had refused to better herself and as a result the story of Ethren Whitecross ended in tragedy, not redemption.

How then, would his own conclude?

Looking down at the crying woman in front of him, a mixture of pity and supreme sadness weighed in his heart. He wanted to say that he was sorry and to help in any way he could. But this was a person beyond any sort of help he could give. And if he and Ethren had truly been similar, nothing he said would change that.

“Take this,” he said, tossing back her wand. “Though I doubt you’ll need it much. If my hunch is correct, no one will be able to harm you until the day you pass from this world.”

He began to turn to leave but before doing so, there was one more thing he needed to know.

“Merula,” he spoke softly. “Where is he buried?”

“O-on the shores of Lake Michigan in the United States. There’s a large house by the shore overlooking a grassy hill. He…he’s there.”

Then that’s where I’ll go

“Take care of yourself,” he said to other Merula, though in his heart he knew she wouldn’t. Whatever her future held, it didn’t involve proper self-care. It was out of his hands now.

Even now, I understand…that could have just as easily been me lying in a grave. He gave his life for her even when she was beyond all hope…he still loved her just as I would have.

He walked off from the docks and apparated away. There was one thing left to do.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Somewhere on the shore of Lake Michigan an unknown man arrived at a beautiful, melancholic scene.

David had never been to this part of the United States, his interactions being limited strictly on the east coast in cities like New York, Boston, Washington, and what not. But he resolved to visit again someday to the Midwest, because what he saw was truly mesmerizing. True to Merula’s word, there was indeed a large mansion overlooking a green hill which contained nothing save for a white marble headstone. Beyond the shore, were the waters of Lake Michigan in all its spring time splendor. In the distance, tall oaks and pines mixed together creating a deciduous-boreal forest, the scent of which could be inhaled even from the edge of the water. The oaks were at last in full bloom, creating a vivid green that contrasted wonderfully with the afternoon sun and the dark, turquoise sky. The air was clean…so clean. He truly envied anyone who grew up in an environment like this. America was always a much sunnier place than England, both figuratively and literally.

But that was not the purpose of this visit. David couldn’t explain but he sensed his time in this world was coming to an end.

Which brought him to this final task.

It hadn’t been hard to sense the magic surrounding this place and after probing with his wand, David detected only a minor muggle repelling charm by the gravesite, which thankfully wasn’t rigged with a caterwauling charm or any other such alarm. After temporary disabling it, David walked the length of the hill before arriving at the foot of the headstone. He silently read the writing of the deceased for the second time that day.

Ethren Whitecross

1973-1998

A proud American

A wonderful son & brother

You will be missed

“The father that never was,” David breathed out.

He took one more glance back at the mansion, ensuring no one noticed his presence. To ensure absolute privacy, he tapped his head with the disillusionment charm, rendering him completely invisible. After one more look towards the beautiful forest beyond, he began to speak.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he finally uttered, struggling to hold back the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what to say really. This whole thing is bloody crazy. You never knew me, and I only just learned about you. We’re literally from different worlds. And not just because I’m from across the pond,” he added with a choked chuckle.

“But at the same time, I feel a connection to you. I can’t explain it, but after the events of today and all the shit that’s happened, part of me feels like I’ve known you almost my entire life. And…I couldn’t leave without honoring you.”

He knelt down, taking another deep breath.

“Thank you. Thank you for the kindness and consideration you gave my wife. I know she’s not my wife but she’s still Merula and my love for her transcends worlds. No matter how difficult she was or how lost she became, you never stopped loving her. Even when she found herself in the dark pit of the Death Eaters, you never gave up. I only wish she had done the same for you before it was too late.

“Thank you, for making me realize…just how lucky I am. Before I arrived here, I genuinely thought there was nothing left to live for. But I was wrong, I have everything to live for. My wife is alive, so are scores of others. We have the opportunity to build a better world than the one before and we will. Through it all, I’m still here and so is Merula. That’s more than enough.

“Lastly, thank you for your sacrifice…the ultimate sacrifice. You gave your life so others could live, and the evil of Voldemort permanently ended. You did so out of love, and because of that your Merula will carry that protection for the rest of her life. People owe you so much more than just a memorial and a gravestone.”

Taking out of his locket, the one that contained the picture of his beloved wife, he clutched it tightly as he uttered his last sentence.

“I promise you for as long as I draw breath, your story will not be forgotten. I swear it on your grave, Ethren Whitecross.”

He reached out and touched the white marble and that’s when he felt it. The same overpowering, white hot sensation that threatened to rip him apart molecule by molecule and every action and thought seemed to run for an eternity. By the time he thought his mind would be lost to the pure chaos, darkness took him once more and there was nothing.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A thunderous force pushed David so hard, he fell straight back onto a hard stone floor with an incredible thud.

“AGH!”

Ignoring the pain he felt in his back and shoulder, he slowly lifted himself off the ground and tried to make some sense of his surroundings.

“Grant?” a voice called out. This one, however, was not mysterious or a whisper.

“Hello?” he called out.

The figure of Williamson made its presence known as he stepped into the lighted part of the room.

“Blimey, Grant what are you doing in here? This area’s off limits, you know that.”

Dusting off his robes and pocketing his wand, David saw that he was still clutching the photo of Merula that he had taken out only seconds earlier at the gravesite. But if he was back in the room of death that could only mean…

I’m back. Son of a bitch, I don’t know how but I’m back in my own world. And not a second from where I left it.

“Uh, Grant? David? Can you hear me? What’s gotten into you?”

Shaking his head, he pulled his focus back to the matter at hand, trying to give off the impression that nothing was out of the ordinary…which was a shame because he had never been very good at lying.

“Oi, yeah. Sorry, Williamson. I zoned out for a second.”

The smaller, dirty blonde Auror eyed him carefully.

“Just what exactly were you doing down here anyway?”

“Nothing,” David murmured. “Just…needed some time to think. I’ll be on my way.”

But Williamson held up a hand to stop him.

“Breaking into a highly restricted area of the Ministry aside, that’s actually not the reason I came to see you.”

That gave him pause, as he stuck the picture back into his jeans pocket.

“What do you mean?”

“I come bearing news. The Minister has decided to release your wife, Merula Alice Snyde, effective immediately with no charges being brought to bear as of now. She’s free to go pending further evidence.”

David could hardly believe his ears nor dare to feed the excitement of his heart.

“She is?” he asked lamely.

“Yes. We’ve received new intelligence in the last hour or so, one that just came to my attention. It confirms directly that your wife was under the control of the Imperius Curse and that her actions were indeed not her own.”

As overjoyed as he was, David didn’t quite understand how this was possible. One moment Merula was looking at a life sentence in Azkaban and now she was free?

“How? I mean…how-”

“Two people, including one who was very high in You Know Who’s inner circle, have agreed to give testimony against any and all of his captured servants. One confirmed that Miss Snyde was indeed being controlled by Death Eaters Matthias and Lyra Snyde and is prepared to confirm that in court to the Wizengamot.”

“And just who is this informant?”

“That is confi-”

“Out with it, Williamson, who am I going to tell?”

With a sigh, his colleague relented.

“Lucius Malfoy. And his wife, Narcissa.”

Yup that confirms it

Williamson gave an irritated look and gestured towards the door.

“Look you’re really not supposed to be in here and I imagine you’ll want to see your wife now. She’s waiting for you in the lobby. Shall we?”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Jumping down from the giant rock that supported the veil, he followed Williamson out of the door and back towards the Atrium.

“By the way, I do hope that you didn’t touch that thing in there.”

David gave a cheeky grin and response.

“Perish the thought Williamson, old boy,” he in a fake posh tone.

Yes, teasing him would never get old.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn’t take long for David and Merula to reunite. The moment the spotted one another they ran into each other’s arms and embraced, hugging so tightly that neither one was prepared to let go.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear, tears running down his cheeks once more. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry about you prat?” Merula responded, wiping away tears of her own. “You saved me from being a slave. From my parents.”

“No, you saved yourself,” he affirmed to her, his forehead pressed against hers. “You made the choice. The right one.”

He kissed her, long and passionately, one that she returned.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “We’re all okay. We’re going to get through this.”

“Yes, we will.”

An awkward clearing of the through interrupted their tender moment and David realized Williamson was still there.

“Very sorry to cut in, but there is one other thing I needed to inform you of,” he stated.

“It can’t wait until after post-prison sex with my wife?”

Merula kicked him in the shins, which caused him to wince and hop on one foot.

“Just joking, dear.”

“I shan’t keep you,” Williamson said, completely unperturbed. “I only wanted to confirm your appointment with Minister Shacklebolt regarding your reinstatement to the Auror Office. He seeks to discuss the matter with you personally this Wednesday at ten o’clock. It seems he desires your return.”

Relief awashed the twenty-five-year-old as he looked towards the heavens.

Yes, everything was going to be alright.

“Tell him I’ll be there on the dot.”

“Wonderful, I shall inform him of your decision,” he turned to go but not before adding the smallest of smiles. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Many thanks, Williamson.”

With the last of the formalities concluded, he and Merula were set to exit.

“Shall we go home?” she asked him.

“Wherever the hell that is. I pretty much abandoned my London pad two years ago. I do hope no one’s trashed it.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she reassured him. “We always do. Now let’s get out of here. I never was a fan of the Ministry.”

“Wait.”

He stopped her. Before they did anything else, David had to get a good look at her…just to be sure. What he saw, warmed his heart. Yes, she was still covered in cuts and bruises from the battle, and dark circles permeated underneath her violet eyes. But instead of alcoholic self-loathing he saw they still radiated life. Her hair was still the cute little bob he adored as opposed to a tangled heap. Her posture gave no indication of defeat. She was not the broken Merula Snyde daughter of Death Eaters who gave up on herself, but a woman who had passed through multiple trials and won them all.

It’s still her, he thought joyfully. This is still the woman I fell in love with and will continue to love for all time.

“Uh, David?”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate that you want to bask in all of my beauty, but the staring is kinda off putting. Can I at least shower beforehand?”

David smiled.

“Of course. It’s just…I love you is all. And I’m the luckiest man in the world to have the ‘Greatest Witch at Hogwarts’ by my side.”

Merula laughed and interlocked her chipped, black polished fingers with his.

“Wow, it’s a been a long time since either one of us used that title.”

“I don’t see you complaining.”

Merula leaned in, a soft, but eager look on her beautiful features.

“I’m not,” and she gave him a gentle kiss. “I love you too.”

Together they began to walk towards the exit of the Atrium but not before Merula had one last question.

“Dave…you mentioned something earlier about me making the right choice. What did you mean by that? There was a funny look on your face when you said it.”

Clever as ever, she is

“It’s a bit hard to explain,” he said rubbing the back of his head as they approached the exit.

“Did something happen to you in the short time I was in a Ministry cell?” she joked to him.

The image of a marble white headstone appeared once more in his mind, the shores of Lake Michigan calming his heart as he squeezed Merula’s hand a little tighter.

“It’s a long story. A story that will never be forgotten.”

The End

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