The Third Wizarding War | Avenoir and Mnemosyne
Polly's knuckles turned white, blood pooling in her palm. Her teeth showed through her scowl, eyes burning holes in the boarded floor. She moved with a stuttering, determined clumsiness. Her mind was always abuzz with thoughts, feelings and sensations but today, it was blank. Words and actions pooled up within her brain and fell through the cracks, seeping out of her mouth in a series of muttered curses and frustrated expressions. To be injured so badly as soon as she entered this world... inexcusable. Utterly against everything she'd been taught, everything she thought she knew. So why now? Why was she hurt by that beast, surrounded by friendly faces, magicians and soldiers? Why hadn't she suffered the same way, or worse, hundreds of times before?
Obviously, because she entered the narrative. Once she became important, the authors started affecting her. Scars are best created on screen, don't you think?
Marcus blinked. Who said that?
"Oh, nobody. Just your friendly neighbourhood expository hallucination."
He put a hand to the cold stones, feeling a thin layer of grease gathering at the end of his palm as he swept his arm along the wall.
"So what are you going to say next?"
"To keep your hands to yourself. Grime doesn't come out of skin easily, you know?"
"We've been here before. Jacquelyn. Or Kyle, was it? This was the room where he met the masked demon."
"You remember, don't you?"
"I'm only a character. The author remembers, not me. I'm not real."
"Who's the expositor now?"
"We are. This is a conversation. Therefore, we have to say something important. Preferably, ending it with a cliffhanger."
"You'll forget all of this once you wake up. None of this will ever matter to you in your waking moments."
"Yes. But you'll tell me about it while I'm awake. That's why I'm the prince of nightmares, right? It's a pretentious title for a pretentious purpose."
"Quite. Your conscious self will be seeing some strange things soon."
"Hopefully, it's less boring than this inconsequential garbage. Might as well get on with it, by the way."
"Ah, yes. The memory you're meant to see."
He found himself in a field, flanked by gravestones and poppies. Red flowers, blooming in summer, the last of the springtime rains soaking into the ground. The smell of mildew and morning air, the stench of rotten flowers. He puts another one down in front of an unmarked mound of soil, unvisited except by him. He looks up and spots a girl. Mnemosyne. She's standing at a respectful distance. She doesn't want to intrude on Avenoir's moment. He sighs and hefts his bag, walking toward her. They meet where the field meets the trees, standing beneath the scant shade of a dead willow tree, beside a rotten green river. She offers him a slip of paper. He reads it. It's a ticket. He bundles his papers into a ball and tucks them into his pocket. They turn toward the rising sun and walk down a familiar trail. The field is their home no more. It has faded into memory.
And then Marcus blinked.
"Sorry, what were you saying?"
He's looking at Polly at the base of the stairs, propped up against a couch. She's still wearing a nightgown, provided by Beatrice. She doesn't look very dignified, struggling against the grinding pain of her bones scraping against each other. He spots a woman in the corner. Her arms are crossed and one of her eyebrows is raised. She lifts two fingers at him, gesturing at Polly. Marcus leans down and pulls her arm over his shoulder, propping her up against him. He's barely taller than the military woman and far less athletic, but he doesn't have an empty wound inside him either. Her mouth is half open in protest. He gave her no time to respond to his question. Oh no.
"Hey! Put me down! I can find my equipment on my own. As I was saying, you should go upstairs and keep an eye on Beatrice and Madi rather than coming down here. I don't need any white knights today, thank you."
Marcus shrugs. If that's what she wants. He drops her on a nearby couch, doing his best not to agitate her injuries or her emotions. He steps into the living room, not quite where Polly expected Beatrice, Madi and Link to be. Her hearing must be off. He pulls out a chair, as if he naturally belongs. He wears a tired look, even though he woke up only hours ago.
"Sorry, couldn't help but overhear what you guys were saying. So, some "Ganondorf" is running around, trying to take over the world, and he's back at Hogwarts? Maybe we should just tell AEGIS. They're closer, and in a better position to help. I don't see us getting very far, what with all the wear and tear this group has seen."
Polly stumbled toward the basement door, fumbling with the rusted latch before pulling it open. Her feet scuffled along the ground silently, as her body swayed from side to side, barely holding on. Magical healing was effective in some regards but it was highly primitive, and had little understanding of physical anatomy. Plus, she doubted whatever spells they'd cast were necessarily compatible with how her body worked; being from a different universe and all. The door swung open with a mighty groan, her heart freezing for a moment as the piercing sound echoed up and down the stairs. They were lit up with dim, golden flames but it did little to alleviate the sense of dread she felt. The longer she spent in this world, the longer she spent idling among these people and earning their trust, the more she dug herself into a battle she didn't want to fight. Ganondorf, Hogwarts, 836, AEGIS... possible allies and enemies, but not anything she was attached to. If she entangled herself in every conflict she saw, she'd never be able to gather the data she needed. Her equipment was paramount. She needed it, depended on it to survive.
The steps were unsteadily carved and the walls were of no help, slippery and coarse at the most inopportune moments. Her bruised and raw palms bled easily when she scraped them on the cobblestones, leaving trenches of foamy pink flesh whenever she tried to keep her balance. The spiral stairs slanted at a steep angle into the ground, leaving little room to manoeuvre her body into a more comfortable walking position. This was nothing. It was just her job. She could do this.
Minutes later, she found her gear, sitting among a pile of other garbage and refuse. Why had Beatrice left it down here? Perhaps to avoid theft, or maybe because she didn't understand what Polly had been carrying? Or maybe, because she intended to limit her access to it. Yet, it was surprisingly- if not suspiciously easy to find it. All of her clothes, gear, medicine and weapons were laid out in a neat pile at the base of the stairs, propped up against a wooden cabinet stocked with what appeared to be bottles of eucalyptus extract. This subterranean warehouse was too dimly lit to see much of, but from what Polly could examine, it was enormous. Shelves stretched into the dark, lined with tomes, tinctures and elixirs. This place was ancient. The dust coating on the walls, the cobwebs, the indescribable or unidentifiable stains on the floor... all foreboding in a manner that left her feeling even worse about being down here. She trusted Madison, Miria and Marcus- but Beatrice? Her trust was yet to be earned by that enigmatic witch.
She stumbled up the stairs and joined the conversation, now dumping her borrowed clothes on the back of the chair, now wearing a freshly cleaned set of explorer's equipment; boots, kevlar pants, thick shirt and padded vest included. It was a strangely drab and utilitarian set of garments compared to the more ornate, decorative clothing that everyone else wore. She gave a meaningful look at Beatrice, informing the woman that she'd recovered her gear from downstairs.
"So what's going on now? I'm interested in heading back to Hogwarts to see what we can learn about Ganondorf, unless Madi's injuries are too much for her to bear."
Rather unsubtly, Polly insinuated that her own state of disrepair was merely an encumbrance; showing a greater concern for a girl whose injuries appeared trivial compared to her own.
"Well, I don't think we should be going just yet. You've only been awake for less than an hour, best not to push yourself!"
"No. I'm fine with staying. I'm only saying that if we decide to move out, sooner is better than later. I don't think we should risk 836 or Ganondorf managing to gather momentum. I have my own reasons for wanting to meet them, and I'm sure you have yours."
