Post by Trevor Williams on Mar 27, 2012 15:00:24 GMT -8
17th December 2011
8:30 p.m.
Gone....
Trevor must've thought that word fifty billion times by now in an attempt to wrap his mind around it which went unsuccessful.
But how...?
The man clutched the arm rests of his leather chair tightly, his knuckles white, though he hardly cared. He was numb right now, not wanting to fathom the concept that now was so true. Layla and Katya would not be coming home for winter holiday this year and certainly not of their own fruition, and he could do nothing but wait now, wait and plan the certain, torturous death of the one who took them.
The Guard had been called to the Diagon Alley station to investigate and some had been set on duty to intercept owls and other messenger birds. They would send an owl as soon as something was found that was useful--if anything useful was found. He realized this was like searching for a needle in a haystack and most of his foes would be smart enough not to send an open letter about their plans or if they hadn't been smart enough, such letters would have already been sent and over with. Still, it was all he could do to cling to hope.
He'd lost his children again.
Maybe he should never have gone back for Katya. Maybe he should have let Amie keep Layla when he'd found out about her. Surely the pain they were likely going through would be far less right now. He doubted whomever it was was treating them well. Callid certainly wouldn't. Fierro? Who the hell knew? (Though how could he have found his way back into the wizarding world? Not impossible, however.) The Order? If they had finally become so not-self-righteous as to take his children, he couldn't say for certain. SAVIOR? Who knew for them, too. They were mostly against slavery. All their riots and protests tended to circle around that part of everything. So, theoretically, even some Death Eaters could be part of it.
He hated uncertainty. He wanted to know now what had happened. He wanted some major clue to be found on the train as the Guard who were left on train duty continued to scour it for clues. He wanted some major miscalculation to have been made in the grand scheme of things.
He needed to go to Hogwarts. He needed to question the teachers personally. How could he trust the Imperial Idiots to do so properly? Except Sark, but Sark could only do so much. Besides, the school was effectively on lock down. The students who were staying for the holiday had been forced back to the castle with their escorts and could no longer come and go. He could question them on his own tomorrow. Right now, he needed a drink. The man pushed himself up from his recliner only to jump with a start and draw his wand as the sound of rapid rapping on his rear window drew his attention. His heart caught in his throat, and the relatively unfamiliar feeling of fear began to take over.
Calm down. They'd just kill you. They wouldn't mess with you. Besides, no one knows where you live.... At least, almost no one.
Trevor swallowed hard and then took a slow, deep breath and released it. He didn't feel much calmer, but he had to pretend he did. It was the only way to overcome this. Determinedly, Trevor marched toward the window, breathing in relief as he saw an owl bearing a letter with Teague's familiar script. He took the letter, gave the owl a treat, and then opened the letter. Promptly after reading, the man disapparated.
8:45 p.m.
"What's going on?" Trevor asked as soon as he briskly stormed into his office. Everything went silent much to his annoyance, so he stormed over to his desk where he was finally given an answer.
"A letter from Hogwarts, sir," a young woman stated, reaching for the copy on the desk. "We made a copy and sent the other one back on its way. The owl's being tracked, of course."
Seemed the Imperial Idiots weren't all completely useless after all, though he did wish there had been some delay in returning the letter. He took the letter and nodded, glancing over it to the name. Not recognizing it as that of a professor, he looked back to the girl. "Any idea who sent this?"
"Well, we did some research. Not a student, sir."
"Yes, or a professor," he stated impatiently.
"R-right, sir. It's a slave."
"Whose?"
"Professor Faber's, sir." Well, that was a name he knew well, but he hadn't expected it to come up in this context. "But I think the addressee is of more interest than even the fact a slave sent it, sir. And, of course, the content, but sir, I thought you kill--"
One look silenced the girl, and Trevor walked to his seat behind his desk and sat, expecting to be able to read in silence. Much to his annoyance, it seemed every eye was on him, however. Frustrated, he looked up at them. "Leave."
Everyone scattered hurriedly as though he had just performed a curse. That was more like it.
The man's eyes turned promptly to the letter in his hand as soon as the click of the doors closing had sounded.
"Casey," the letter began. "I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m so, so sorry. I just don’t know who else to turn too…." Seemed some things never changed. Once a hero, always on the look out for another chance to be one. But how had he even ran into a slave? Thought for another time, however. He continued to read. "I’ve been having these dreams, nightmares. I ignored them at first – I thought that was best. I thought maybe they would just go away but they haven’t. And recently they got worse." Seriously, this girl needed to hurry up. She kept beating around the bush with far too much set-up. Who cared she was terrified?
"My dreams have started coming true. It all started with a Slytherin dropping a book down the stairs and …. And now…" He sighed impatiently, hoping she would actually write something worthwhile with her next words. "Casey, I saw Lord William’s daughter. She was crying and, I… I don’t know. Then there was this man who wasn’t a man and – I don’t know!! Just tell me what’s happening to me, please. There is no one else I can talk to and I’m scared I’m in trouble. Tell me what to do… Please… I’m sorry, Seren xx."
Trevor sat in silence for a few moments, uncertain what to feel, though he was almost completely certain the anger he felt boiling inside him was hardly unnatural. Honestly, this girl had been having dreams for Merlin only knew how long, and she hadn't thought to leave an anonymous letter warning him or something? Of course, she had mentioned it started with a Slytherin dropping a book and that coming true. Hardly impressive, but it was a hint to start paying more attention to her dreams, hadn't it? So, she should have sent some warning about the daughter thing, which had been who knew how long ago? After all, if her dreams had been coming true....!
The man clenched the paper tightly in his hand, working it into a tight ball. It seemed Hogwarts wasn't off the menu for tonight, after all. He had a slave to question.