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Chapter Text

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there were three students at Hogwarts who were the best of friends, close as family. They went through thick and thin for one another; knocking down mountain trolls, fighting giant serpents, defending against dementors, dodging dragons, organizing a resistance, and falling in love. They spent years battling, learning, and laughing together. The bonds they created with each other, both magical and ordinary, still remain to this day, only growing stronger with the passing time. The three friends never stopped trusting each other, not even when all seemed hopeless. They were family from the moment they met. 

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there were two hunters and an angel; a family created from pain and love. They died and cried and fought for one another more times than any single person could count. They hunted creatures of hatred and fear, never wavering in the face of death. No, death held no power over these three. They loved each other as families do, and fought just as much. But in the end, they always came back together. They always carried on. Family didn’t end in blood for them.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was an elf, a dragon, and a boy. They grew closer as the years passed, changing from allies to friends to family. They cared for each other as much as one can care for another; their love kept them together even when they were worlds away. Even in the face of despair they found solace in their world- a grass ship, a blue scale, a whispered name of truth. They fought for freedom in the face of tyranny, and in the end they were still whole. They were the friends that never died.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a detective and a doctor who couldn’t get enough of danger. They flirted with death and, after a while, with each other. One was never far apart from the other and their love grew with each passing day. They knew pain and death and a deep, bone aching loneliness, but most of all they found comfort in each other. They knew family, and in time they knew love.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, they were two brothers, inseparable it seemed by everything but time itself. Their natures differed as much as the sun and the stars, but even that couldn't stop their comradery. They fought as siblings do, tricked as friends do, and apologized as much as family can. They never gave up on each other, no matter what happened. They were brothers; they were family. A royal family, but a family nonetheless.

And once upon a time, so long ago that it seemed to never happen, but not so long ago that it could be forgotten, there lived two girls. These girls were not special- at least, not to the world around them. They were special only to each other, for they loved one another more deeply than the tallest tree’s roots. Their love was like the geysers that shoot from springs in the dreary summer heat; like the lava that bubbles and rushes from the earth’s surface in waves. They were one when together and two halves of a broken piece when apart. And they were not alike, these two girls. They were different in their own ways, but that never comes in the way of love, does it? Every word, every touch, every kiss meant more than the world to them, because they were each other’s world. And in the end, they were more than family. They were one.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful day, the kind that one just had to enjoy.

The sky was a pale blue without a single cloud to fill it. The kind of sky parents force their kids to play under. The long golden grass danced as a faint breeze whistled through the air, stirring up pollen and dust from the ground like metal flying to a magnet. A large golden sun sent down rays of warmth from its throne in the sky.

The girl gave a gasp, like a fish returning to water. The first thing she heard was her heart beating steadily, giving off a loud ka-thump, ka-thump in the silent air. She sat up, looking around. She was in a field, under the one tree for miles around. It was a tall oak with long, still branches that reached out as if to hug the world. Its trunk was as wide as five people standing side by side and as tall as six men. 

The girl tried to recall how she had got here. What had she been doing? She couldn't remember. In fact, she didn't even know who she was; she couldn't conjure up a single memory. She started to panic. What had happened?

Resting in the grass next to her was a sheathed sword. The girl cautiously pulled the blade from its cover and admired the glittering silver metal. It was deadly; meant for battle, not decoration. Runes were etched onto the blade and she realized that she was able to read them. Moonlight. That must be the name of the sword. But how could she read the runes? The girl put the sword back in its sheath, then stood up and instinctively slung the weapon over her shoulder. It fit perfectly along her back, its weight supported by her shoulder blades. 

She patted down her pockets and felt something beneath the dark leather jacket that hung close to her frame, so she reached into it to pull out a long wooden stick. It was made of dark wood that was smoothed and polished to a fault. Gold edged the handle and side of the stick, curling around the end like a snake. How odd. She put it back in her pocket, not willing to throw away any of her possessions yet.

Finally she observed her surroundings- nothing seemed out of place. The only thing that stood out in sight was the tree she was under. It felt so familiar here, so excluded form the outside world. The girl studied the oak closer, placing one pale hand on its trunk. As she did so, she remembered her name.

Emily Rose.

The golden field stood still in time, holding the mysterious girl in its peaceful clutches. Despite the warmth of the sun and her jacket, Emily shivered. She had a strange feeling, as though someone was standing on her grave.

She wasn't the only one.

Castiel blinked, trying to get the weariness out of his eyes. Though angels aren't supposed to get tired, Cas knew from first hand experience that hanging around the Winchesters would make anyone exhausted, even if they were an ancient celestial being. He was sitting in the Men of Letter's bunker with Sam and Dean, reading up on the lore about Lucifer. They were paying particular attention to possession and what kind of powers his grace gave him. The Devil had been causing so much trouble that Dean had been worried that they would never stop him, but a few days ago Lucifer had gone mysteriously silent. They were taking this opportunity to do as much research as they could, but nothing serious had popped up yet. Sam had gone to get a beer when Cas heard it: angel radio.

Alarms were going off in Heaven, sounding through each angel's head. Whoever was in charge of Heaven now was sounding the alarms for a high level threat. The limited amount of angels left were all contacting each other through the radio. They were talking about the dead... rising? Dead people, demons, angels, and everything in between, seemed to be returning to Earth. That was impossible. But they were talking about- 

Cas jumped up from his seat, his heart pounding. Dean looked up from his book, frowning slightly. "You okay there, Cas? You seem a little spooked."

Cas could barely hear him. His mind flashed back twenty years ago, when he had seen her. The powerful girl with the flaming red hair and silver eyes. The girl with the fire inside. She was back, along with hundreds of dead people. This was no coincidence. 

"I... I have to go, Dean," Cas muttered. He turned and started for the door, but Dean stopped him.

"Whoa, whoa, you can't just take off like that," said the hunter. "What happened?"

Castiel just shook his head. His loyalty to the Winchester brothers came first, he had proved that time and time again, but he couldn't drag them into this. This was something Cas had to do without his friends. Besides, they could get hurt. Ironic, yes, but Cas still didn't want to involve them.

He especially didn't want to see Dean hurt.

"I'll explain later. Just... don't try to follow me," Cas warned him, his gravely voice low and urgent.

Dean looked into the angel's startling blue eyes. "Alright. But don't do anything stupid, Cas."

*****

Dean turned to Sam who had returned with his beer.

"Where's Cas?" asked the younger Winchester.

"Apparently on a secret mission," answered Dean, grabbing his car keys. "And we're gonna follow him."

The Elven Kingdom had been peaceful for seven years. Seven. Years. Ever since the war with Galbatorix ended, the elves had generally been at peace. Though the lose of their late queen, Islanzadi, had effected all in the great forest, life had moved on. It always did, except for Arya. She had taken up the mantel of queen when her mother died and had also become one of the new Dragon Riders. She kept herself busy so she could keep the grief away. It helped when Eragon would pop over once in while since he had found a way to visit Alagesia from wherever the hell he was now. It's good that magic can do things like that.

Arya was relaxing against her green dragon, Firen, when she heard it. The voices. A commotion was stirring in the forest, making the wind dance with words. Arya stood up, her black hair getting tousled in the wind, just as a messenger raced onto the field. She was reluctant to leave the warm side of her dragon. It was one of the few times she was alone, free of responsibility. 

"Your Majesty," the messenger cried with a lot more excitement than an elf normally showed. "There is something that requires your attention."

As always when trouble reared its ugly head, Arya thought of the time when... when...

Arya still had trouble thinking about it. The cold body, pale and heavy in her arms. No warmth left in it. No fire. The field where they left her, the downpour of rain almost drowning them. It had been one of the worst days in her life. After that, Arya was no longer the perfect daughter. She fought with her mother constantly, especially after her father, Evandar, was killed. Finally having enough, Arya had joined the Varden as a rebel and fought the tyrant Galbatorix in the war. But, like all great adventures, it ended and she returned home. Now everything was different.

But some things never change. Sometimes, adventures must be undergone even when one is unwilling. It was the way of the world.

Arya walked briskly after the messenger, who lead her to the Menoa tree, where Eragon had once found a sheet of star metal. It seemed like millions of years ago, when they were still free of responsibility and the weight that comes with ruling. A huge crowd of elves were crowded around the tree, but they made room for Arya. Their faces, which were usually impassive and blank, were full of shock and confusion. When Arya reached the base of the tree, she understood why.

Standing there, looking as regal as ever, was Islanzadi. And she was very much alive.

Harry laughed as Ron finished another joke, his glasses almost falling off his face. Pushing them back on, he glanced around the Burrow, warm and homely as always. Ginny was talking to Hermione and Bill, her long red hair tucked in a neat braid down her back. They had been together ever since the Battle of Hogwarts ended three years ago, and were visiting the Burrow with Hermione and the rest of the Weasley family. It had been a long while since they had all been together, what with their new jobs and restoring the peace of the wizarding world and all. It was august, so Hogwarts would be starting a new term soon. Hermione was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and would be leaving soon to teach. Harry and Ron were taking a well earned break from their new jobs as Aurors, so the time to get together was well thought of.

He still wondered if taking a job as an Auror suited him. Maybe he should have become a teacher like Hermione. At least then he would still get to be at Hogwarts.

Everybody was in a good mood; Bill had just announced the birth of his second child with Fleur. The whole family was celebrating and having a good time, until the patronus came. It was a graceful lynx, and everyone immediately knew it had come from Kingsley. 

The lynx swirled in the air, wisps of white smoke melting around it. It landed in the middle of the main room, its light feet leaving no marks on the bright carpet. The lynx turned to face Harry, it's bright head tilting to one side. "He's back. He's back. Tom Riddle has returned," Kingsley's deep voice echoed from the silver animal.

Harry couldn't breath. He couldn't move, couldn't think or speak. He had dreaded those words ever since he had killed Voldemort, though he never thought they would come true. He felt like a hand had curled around his throat, forcing all the air from his lungs. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley gave a little shriek and all eyes turned to Harry. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath. 

"We need to go to the Ministry. Now," Ron said, grabbing Harry's arm. "Don't assume anything until we know what's what."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed it again, suffocating in confusion and terror. 

"I'm coming too," Hermione stated. The three of them locked eyes, not needing any more words to communicate. They were the best of friends, the wizards and the witch. They understood each other better than anyone else could. And Harry knew that they would face whatever would happen together, as they always had. The trio hurried to the door while the rest of the room burst into a frightened chatter. Ron reached for the handle, but the door swung open before he could touch it.

And in the doorway stood Fred Weasley.

Sherlock had been pacing across the luxurious room for an hour. What was taking Mycroft so long? The older Holmes brother had dragged Sherlock and John in the middle of the night to the Diogenes Club, and had kept them waiting for sixty-four minutes and twenty-six seconds with no explanation what so ever. It was infuriating. 

"Maybe we should just leave," John suggested from where he was sitting by the fireplace. "I mean, we've been here for- what, an hour?" His short frame was silhouetted by the flickering flames behind the grate, his cropped blond hair turning a soft orange in the light. The doctor was turned soft by the late hour and warm fire.

Before Sherlock could reply the door swung open, and in came Mycroft. His cold brown eyes settled upon his younger brother and his face twitched slightly. What was the emotion trying to break through the ice man's face? 

"So sorry to keep you waiting, little brother, but I just had a long talk with the Prime Minister to deal with," Mycroft drawled, settling himself in an empty chair and gesturing for Sherlock to do the same. Sherlock sighed and sat in one, folding one long leg over the other. The three men faced each other in a sort of small triangle, non equal to the other.

"So, what's all this about then? Or did you just drag me here for a laugh?" snarked the younger Holmes.

Mycroft had done this once or twice, but never for as long a time before. The older Holmes would not look at Sherlock, and instead fixated his gaze on the fire.

"A recent disturbance has caused... disruption... on many levels of the government," Mycroft stated. "Scotland Yard is being notified as we speak, but this problem can not just be handled by the police. The E.U will be involved, as will the FBI."

That was a statement. If the Americans were getting involved with British problems, than something big must have gone down. Maybe it was terrorists, or another nation threatening nuclear war. These were only of few of the detective's deductions.

"Alright," said John, leaning forward slightly. "But that still doesn't explain why you called us here and won't let us leave."

Mycroft shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That's because part of this disruption poses a particular threat to the both of you." 

He finally raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's, who felt a strange sense of foreboding and almost asked his brother to stop. 

"You see, hundreds people are back from the dead, including Jim Moriarty."

Loki looked out of the window, his breath fogging up the glass. His shoulder was freezing cold from its contact with the window, but he stared out at the grounds anyways. His green and gold leather armor was splattered with mud and now melted frost from when Stark had knocked him to the ground.

He was in a heavy lock-down in the Avenger's facility after arriving there with Thor. Midgard wasn't very different from the last time he had been there. The same old problems, same old boring people and cities. His brother had assured him it would only be this way until he could talk to Stark, who had almost killed the trickster god when he walked through the gate. Hence the mud. They had stuffed him in the 'secure guest room', and so there he was now. Apparently, the Avengers were not as forgiving as Thor.

But why should they be? They had no reason to trust him, even Loki would see that. He wasn't known for playing well with others, after all.

Something big was going down in the yard. Loki saw people arguing with each other, their hands waving about as though swatting flies. The new Avenger, a young boy with messy brown hair, was holding up a smart phone to Captain America, pointing at the tiny screen as he spoke. Whatever news the boy was showing him, Loki could tell it wasn't good. 

He heard loud footsteps and turned his head to see Thor enter with a glowering Stark and Banner flanking him. Loki smiled, opened his arms as if for a hug, and said, "So, what's the big decision, then? Am I allowed to join the team?"

Stark glared at him and crossed his arms over the glowing metal piece in his chest. Banner seemed too preoccupied to notice what Loki had said.

"Loki," Thor said a little frantically, and something in his voice unnerved Loki, causing his smile to flicker. "Something's happened. We don't know exactly what, or how, but..."

Loki had a deep, internal sense of foreboding, and almost asked Thor to stop.

The thunder god took a deep breath, then finished his sentence. "The dead have risen. We don't know how, or why, but with them is... her." 

Loki stopped smiling. 

Chapter Text

Arya and her mother sat around a small table by the Dragon Rider's hut. The long green grass tickled their feet with each passing breeze. Giant, ancient trees surrounded the small clearing, their strong branches waving at the sky lazily. There was a slight chill in the air, which was unusual for that time of year. Firnen, the emerald green dragon Arya was bonded to, rested nearby, curious about the appearance of the old Elf Queen. Arya studied her mother- she couldn't believe she was real. Her neat raven-black hair, much like Arya's, swayed in the wind. Her cheeks had a pink tinge to them, a sign that blood still flowed through her veins. News had reached the forest of the elves about the appearance of the dead. Apparently, Islanzadi was not the only one to have awoken, which was extremely troubling.

Islanzadi was looking at the green dragon, her forest green eyes soft in the light. Those were also a gift she had passed to her daughter. She was methodically tapping the edge of the wooden table, sending a light tap tap through the afternoon air.

"Mother, I am only saying..."

"No, Arya. We can not get our hopes up."

Tap tap.

"But if we just checked-"

"I said enough. We have more pressing matters than... than past events." 

There was a pause. Tap tap.

"All our lives we have been taught that no magic can raise the dead. It is in our history books, our songs, our art, even our very souls. All who have tried before have failed, it is known throughout the world. How, than, has this happened? How have you, and hundreds of others, returned from the grave?" Arya asked softly. 

Islanzadi stopped tapping and sighed. She wouldn't look at Arya. "I doubt that we will ever know, my child. Death is always the final obstacle for beings such as us. It is the one constant thing in this world. All we can do is try to find this source of... astonishing power, and neutralize it."

"Even if that means you might die again?"

Her mother stood up. "We can not dwell on matters such as this. All we can do is try." She looked down at Arya and frowned slightly. "And I will need you to do most of the trying."

Arya matched her mother's frown. "What am I supposed to do? Travel throughout the land and ask if anyone is raising the dead?"

"You will go to Midgard."

Arya stared at her mother. "What?" 

"We need to know exactly how far this, ah, event has spread. If people are returning from the dead there, than this is much worse than I fear."

"When... when would I leave?" she asked.

"First light tomorrow," said her mother. "I will take care of the kingdom until this crisis is fixed."

Arya stood up, suddenly angry. "All my life I have done as you commanded. I went where you sent me, did what you told me to do. After you died, I carried on your legacy, doing my duty even after you were gone. I have fulfilled a promise I never made, because I thought that this was to be my future. So, tell me, why should I just hand everything over to you, and do as you bid me, like the way it was before?"

Her mother did not answer immediately. Instead, her eyes trailed the path of a bright blue butterfly as it passed over their heads, landing on a nearby flower. "During the end of that battle, when I knew I was going to die, I thought about the day you were born. You were a tiny baby, and were so light I thought the wind might carry you away. Your father had never been so happy. He held you in his arms so gently, so softly. You looked so peaceful there. I knew I would do anything necessary to keep that peace there. We elves pride ourselves on our advanced brains, but even we must sometimes succumb to emotion. During that battle, I thought of your peaceful face that day, and knew that the only way to keep you safe was to give myself to the void. To death. So I did."

She took Arya's hands, staring deep into her eyes. "I am asking you to trust me, because right now, I am in the middle of a storm. We of the royal line have sacrificed so much for our subjects. We try our best; do what we can to make the world a better place. All I can do is try to keep this peace, but to do that I need you. So, my child, do you trust me?"

Arya looked away, her gaze drifting to the golden sun that filled up the sky. Trust. She had always been wary with her trust. But she thought of what her mother had said, about wanting to keep the peace. The only way to solve this problem would be to work with her mother. So she said, "I will go, then. But I have one request."

"And what would that be?" asked Queen Islanzadi.

*****

"Eragon, please. I need you for this," Arya pleaded through the scrying mirror. "This could cause a lot of damage, and I-"

"The dead are back? How? And who?" roared Eragon from the receiving end of the mirror. The blond Dragon Rider seemed to be taking the news pretty badly. Arya knew that he was thinking of his father, Brom, who had died a few years ago. Couple that with the fact that Eragon was still young and rather inexperienced, his reaction was poor to say the least. 

"Yes, I'll explain everything later, but I need you to come with me to Midgard. I need backup and I trust you the most."

"What the hell is Midgard? And why would you even want to go there? Shouldn't we focus more on problems closer to home?"

"Please, I will explain everything later, but this could be a matter of life and death for many, so we must leave quickly."

Eragon seemed to call down a bit. "Say I do come. How long will it be? I can't leave the dragons for long."

"It is only a quick check up. We shouldn't take more than a few days," Arya told him, not sure if she was lying or not. She hoped it would only take a few days.

Eragon was silent for a moment. "Alright, I'll come. But I can't take Saphira. She needs to be here to protect the dragonets."

Arya nodded. "Then Firnen will take us. Meet me at the turn of the river where we first parted in two days."

"I will see you there. I have to go, I think Blasmer set the west tower on fire again," Eragon turned to go, then glanced at her again. "Are you ok, Arya?"

She blinked at him, trying not to let him see her emotions. He had become a lot better at reading her over the years. "Of course I am. I am just a bit shocked about the dead, that is all."

He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded, "If you say so," and left.

And with that, the mirror darkened, and Arya was left staring at a blank piece of glass. She carefully set the mirror down and left the old hut. Islanzadi had long since returned to the palace deep in the heart of the forest. The sky outside was black and filled with twinkling silver stars. She looked out at the dark field of grass and sighed. It was getting colder every moment, the darkness thickening with each passing second. 

Arya looked up at the great northern star, its light casting a brighter glow than that of the stars around it. It twinkled down at her in an almost secret way, as if to say, Go, you have my blessing. 

She had to find out if Emily was still alive. Whatever it took, she would find out.

And if she was, Arya would protect her. No matter what.

*****

"So this is it?" asked Eragon.

They were standing in the middle of the great plains before a tiny circle of stones. In the middle of the circle was a small ripple of air, almost as if there was a rip in the world.

"This is the entrance to Midgard," Arya answered. She had been here a long time ago with her mother, on their way to find Emily. That trip had not been fun, and Arya sensed that this one would be equally difficult. 

Arya and Eragon both had their swords as well as a small pack of supplies. Eragon didn't look much different from the last time Arya had seen him. His blond hair curled at the temple, his brown eyes full of warmth. He seemed more mature than when he had left. His journey, rough as it was, hadn't been able to take away the kindness that Arya had first experienced in Gilead all those years ago. He was a good friend, and could be something more, with time.

They approached the ripple carefully, their movements identical.

"So... we just go through?" Eragon questioned, peering at the rift.

Arya nodded. They looked at each other, then stepped forward into the rip. Together, as always.

They stepped out into a golden field under a giant oak tree. Arya's heart fell. She knew this place. 

This was where they had buried Emily.

Loki sat across from Banner in the food hall- what did the humans call it? A kitchen. The metallic surfaces were so different from the wooden halls of Asgard that Loki had grown up in. Different too from the cold stone slabs of Jotunheim. Loki was shocked. He hadn't spoken since they told him about Emily. How could she be alive? He thought she was dead. That's what Heimdall told them all those years ago. 

Now she was back, and the Avengers were in pieces. Dead people were appearing left and right. Not as zombies, but as they had been before they died. The human's news was full of sightings and stories of supposed dead people. No one could offer an explanation. No one knew what was happening.

Even Loki, the god of mischief, was at a loss. This wasn't supposed to happen. Emily was supposed to have died, end of story. Time would move on, and Loki would go about his usual tricks and laughs in the safety of knowing she was gone. Out of his reach. He wouldn't have to worry about seeing her; she couldn't come find him. But now time had stopped, and everything was far from what it was supposed to be.

Even the dead had surprises.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Banner clearing his throat. "So what are we supposed to do? I mean, who is this girl and why should we care?"

Thor glanced at Loki, who glared back at him. Thor knew who Emily was, if only the, ah, bare minimum of the facts.

"She's kind of an Asgardian legend," said Thor. "She can breath fire and has other magical powers. Very powerful. Very dangerous."

"Spooky," mumbled Stark.

"Indeed," agreed Loki. "But she hates Asgard, and Midgard as well. She tried to burn it all down, but failed. Odin killed her before she could destroy mankind."

This was a lie. That is what Odin told his subjects and the rest of the nine worlds. When Emily had entered Midgard, her presence had sent a flare through the nine worlds. They had been confused as to where this powerful girl had come from. Odin had put up a facade to keep his subjects calm, but the fool of an old man should have known it wouldn't keep forever. However, the Avengers didn't question his short tale. They didn't know enough to challenge him. 

"Well, maybe she's changed," drawled Stark, who was standing by the counter. "I mean, everybody seems to be changing these days." He glared at Loki. Apparently, Stark could hold a very long grudge. 

"No, she won't have changed," Loki shot back. "It's not in her nature." He hoped they couldn't see his hands shaking in his lap. The words hit closer to home than he would have liked.

"We need to find her," said Thor, his one eyed gaze sweeping across the room. The thunder god didn't look so godly in the grey modern kitchen. He looked tired.  

Stark and Banner nodded, but Loki kept his head still. He was scared; scared of what might happen now. Scared of what they might find out.

Thor was still making plans with Stark when Banner got up from the table. "I'm gonna go talk to Cap. Make sure he knows what's up."

The doctor had been strangely quiet the past few minutes, too lost in thought to participate much. He seemed to be lost in the 'coming back to life' concept. The man could turn into a giant green rage monster, but apparently zombies were beyond his comprehension. 

"I'll come with you," said Loki, grinning. "I'd love to talk to him again, and I could use the chance to stretch my legs." The mask slipped on easily, a second layer of skin for the god.

Banner looked unhappy at this, but Loki was already standing up. "Come on Banner, let's go greet the patriot."

Banner grumbled curses as he walked out of the room with Loki on his heels. Stark and Thor were too deep in conversation to notice them leaving.

As they reached the main doors down the hall, Loki grabbed Banner and pinned him to the wall. He quickly pressed the knife he had stolen from the kitchen against his throat.

"Don't make a sound," Loki breathed. Banner tensed, the monster inside of him raging for control. "Go on. Turn into the hulk. Show me that you have no control."

Banner didn't move. He didn't want to prove Loki right.

"Now open that door, nice and easy," the god commanded. 

Banner gave a stiff nod, and Loki moved away from him. Banner walked to the screen by the wall and entered a code. With a small beep beep, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Loki grinned. "Nice job, Banner."

He knocked the scientist out and left the building. He wouldn't stand still any longer. It was time for action.

The consulting criminal gazed out at the busy London streets, the familiar bustling and busy setting simply glazing over his view. The light through the tall window created a pale reflection of him. His dark eyes seemed to stretch into an eternal abyss that swallowed up the streets and buildings through the glass. His gaze consumed the entire city, destroying anything in its path.

His hand clutched an old newspaper that announced the official death of the demon of London. "A terror now in the ground," it said.

But Jim Moriarty was very much alive.

How, he did not know, but he was determined to find out. And how did the famous criminal of London, the man who almost beat the notorious Sherlock Holmes, feel about death? It had been a minor inconvenience. 

He stood very still by the window, his eyes following the fast moving figures that flew across the ground, thinking, thinking...

The board was set, the table laid. His newly created operation (started from scratch in the past few days), had been setting everything up nicely. He was waiting for just one more piece to add before he could start. Only one more move to make.

The door suddenly opened, and in walked his business partner, Loki. 

"So, it's true. You are alive," said the god, tilting his head, his hands on his hips. The magic that rolled off Loki still felt unnatural, one of the only things in the world that unnerved the criminal. But it was also intriguing; a source of power that could provide unlimited resources. 

"But you knew that already," drawled Moriarty, never turning from the window. "That's why you're here. I assume you want something?" 

"I want the same thing you do," said Loki, who sounded unnerved, as he always was around the criminal. He had that affect on people. "Revenge." 

There was a pause from Moriarty. Then, "Yes, I suppose revenge would be nice. But I have a better idea."

"Oh? Do share."

"You want to make her pay, don't you? But she doesn't know about us yet. She doesn't know the whole story, right?" He turned to study the god. "Don't you think that's a pity?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Don't you think she should know the truth?"

Loki's eyes widened. "Oh, I see," he thought for a moment, biting his lip. "She won't believe it."

"Not at first. But I know how to set her on that path. And once she gets there, she won't be able to turn back until we tell her what she wants to hear."

"Fine. But the end game is still the same. Emily dies," Loki told him. 

There wasn't much emotion in the conversation. It sounded like they were talking about the news, or the results of a sports game. Like it didn't matter enough to show a reaction. They were both superb actors. 

"Of course. In the end, she will die. Permanently this time. But first, let's have some fun."

Loki nodded. He looked the criminal in the eye one last time, then turned and headed out the door.

Moriarty turned to look out the window again. "Let the game begin," he whispered. The smile that split his face was like blood on ice. 

Chapter Text

Cas drove all day and night, stopping only for gas. His mind raced while he drove, trying to block the terror that was building up in his chest. If Rose was back, than did that mean other people were returning? And if people were rising from the dead, what about angels? And... demons? 

If his brothers and sisters could return from the dead, maybe the angels were not doomed to extinction. As for the demons, did that mean Crowley would return? He didn't know if that was good or bad.

And what about Lucifer? his mind whispered. 

Cas suddenly saw something in the road and braked hard to avoid hitting it. As the car swerved to the side, Cas saw red hair glowing in the view of his headlights. He pushed open the door, drawing his angel blade from his pocket as he did so, slowly approaching the figure. Before he got far the figure turned to face him, and Cas almost dropped his blade in surprise.

"Rowena?" he yelled, unable to keep his shock hidden.

"Oh, for all my luck, I have to meet you," sighed the witch, her Scottish accent familiar. Her brown eyes sparkled with tiny lights of anger. She was wearing a tight, ankle length black dress, the same dress she had been wearing when she died. Her curly ginger hair fell over her shoulder as she lifted her chin and said, "Are Sam and Dean with you?"

"Ummm... no. It's just me," Cas murmured. "Didn't Lucifer kill you? How did you... wait..." He realized that Rowena must have been brought back by whatever mysterious force had returned Rose from the dead.

"Well, all I know is that I woke up a few miles from here. I don't know how I got here. The last thing I remember was the Devil standing over me as I burned to a crisp," Rowena said, looking at his car instead of his eyes, a slight tremor to her voice. "Where are you headed without your precious hunters?"

"Angel business," Cas muttered.

"Well, could you at least lend me a ride to the nearest town?" she asked sweetly.

Rowena's appearance confirmed his suspicion that other people were coming back from the dead. He looked at the witch and sighed. Cas owed Rowena for saving his life, he couldn't turn her down now. 

"Just get in. I'll give you a lift."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "I see you haven't changed one bit, Castiel," and got into the car.

Though he was running short in time, Cas kept his word and drove as fast as he could to the nearest town, which consisted of maybe fifteen buildings and a couple of barns. Ah, the beauty of Kansas. He drove into the gas station, then turned and glared at Rowena. "Will you go now?"

"Of course, tweetie pie, I'll get out of your hair," she said, raising an eyebrow at his dashboard. "Might want to stock up on some gas while you're here, though."

Cas shook his head mutely, opening his car door. He stood in the afternoon breeze, squinting at the horizon, the wind playing with his short black hair. His tan trench coat, spotless as always, waved out behind him like a cape. He could have been a remnant from some long forgotten age, existing only in those quiet moments that stretch for longer than they seem.

"I'll say it again, angel, you really are the good looking one," Rowena purred from the other side of the car. Cas turned to look at her, his sky-blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm just teasing you!" she laughed. "Look, Cas, I know we've had our differences, but if you find something on people like... like me, just give me a pop and I'll come over."

And, with a wink and a swish of her dress, the witch turned and walked into the town, disappearing almost immediately. Cas stood there, looking after her for a moment, then started to fill up the tank of the car. Once he was done, he walked inside the store to pay. 

It was a small, messy place with a few aisles of snacks and whatnot, complete with a tiny counter, behind which stood an old man with a few grey hairs on his head. Out of date lotto cards made up the centerpiece of the large rack hanging on the counter. Crates and boxes were stacked up against the walls, taking up most of the unoccupied space. There were only two other people in the store; one a pale young man with short, wavy blond hair and sharp cheekbones, and a dark-haired woman with a proud figure and bronze skin. Both were tall and oddly dressed in leather jerkins and pants. They both had long scabbards attached to their belts. They seemed out of place in the dingy little store, as if they had sprung from the pages of a book straight into reality. They were out of this world.

The two strangers looked up as he entered, and his eyes met with the woman's startling oak-brown ones. Something about her gaze unnerved him. Cas started to slide his angel blade from his sleeve, never taking his eyes off of the woman.

"Will you be payin' anytime in the next week, young man?" the cashier asked loudly. For such an old man, he could really shout.

Cas blinked, then turned to the old cashier. "Uhh, yes I'd like to pay for my gas." The sudden interruption reminded him of the urgency of his situation. He handed over the cash to the man, then turned around and found himself face to face with the strange woman. He tightened his grip on his blade.

"You are not normal," she announced, her pupils slitting like a cat's. Cas saw her hand slide to the top of her scabbard, where the hilt of a sword lay. Behind her, the blond man did the same. "Who are you?" she asked. Her voice had a strange musical cadence, almost like a spell. Cas blinked to stay focused.

"You don't seem very normal either. Are you from around here?" Cas shot back. 

The blond man interrupted the woman before she could answer. "We are looking for a girl named Emily. She has red hair, silver eyes, and a silver star on her forehead. Have you seen her?" His accent was vaguely British but blurred slightly, as though from a distorted record. His blue eyes had a fire in them that Cas had seen in few people. There was a magic to him that seemed to seep out of his very essence. 

Cas opened and closed his mouth twice. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"We are looking for a girl named Emily Rose. Have you seen her?" the woman growled.

Cas let the blade fall fall openly into his hand, ready to fight. If these alien people were looking for Emily, then word had gotten out faster than Cas expected it to. They could be minions of the Devil, or something equally terrible. Whoever they were, they were after Emily, and that was bad news.

"Oi, you talking about a girl named Emily? I had a couple of strong lookin' men walk in here 'bout an hour ago asking the same question. Haven't seen anyone like that. We don't get much people here, so I usually remember who comes in and all," the cashier interrupted, his voice breaking the tension. 

"Where did they go?" Cas asked without turning around. 

"They went north up the road. Who is this girl, anyways? Some sort of convict?"

Cas sheaved his blade and turned to walk out the door. Before he got to it, the woman grabbed his arm. "We are coming with you," she stated in a commanding voice.

He shook her off. "No way, find your own way north."

"Please, we want to help her. I know Emily, I've known her almost all her life. If she really is back, I have to know. I have to help her."

The sincerity in her voice caught Cas off guard. He looked deep into her eyes and saw that she meant it. For better or for worse, this woman wanted to help Emily. Cas imagined going up against Rose alone, and gritted his teeth. He could use all the help he could get.

"Alright, follow me." 

Emily stopped at a four way intersection, frowning. Which way should she go? There was nothing but wheat and fences in every direction, with no landmarks or signs of any kind. The sun was almost directly above her, so she didn't know what direction she was heading in. She ended up doing eeny, meeny, miny, moe, and turned left. As she walked, Emily took the sword off of her back and attached it to her belt. Her back was starting to hurt from the bouncing of the heavy metal. She tried to concentrate on regaining a memory, any memory at all, but her mind was blank. The golden field was about an hours walk behind her, but Emily didn't want to stick around in that creepy place. It felt off there, like the world was slowly unbalancing under her feet.

She was lost in thought about that feeling until the twig went snap! Emily paused, twisting her head to look around. At first there appeared to be nothing. Then she saw the figures in the wheat patches, slowly walking toward the fence that separated the road from the grain field. How did they sneak up on me like that?  Emily wondered as she stood and watched the figures approach. No point in running if she didn't know where she was going. There were five of them, each wearing a gray coat and holding a short silver blade in their hands. Emily drew her own sword in response.

"Who are you?" she demanded, ready to defend herself.

The lead figure, a man, stepped forward. He had dark chestnut skin and wore a long grey coat that nearly touched the ground. His head was completely bald and his eyes were stone-grey. "Put down that sword, Rose," he demanded, ignoring her question. "Before someone gets hurt."

Someone is going to get hurt wherever I put this down or not, Emily thought. She didn't speak, but narrowed her silver eyes instead.

"We can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Surrender and answer for your crimes, or we will use force," the man warned.

Something sparked inside of Emily, a tiny fire lit by her anger. These mysterious people would never listen to anything she said even if she tried to explain her situation. She had a gut instinct that they were dangerous and would kill her at a moments notice. She raised one pale eyebrow. "Bring it on, baldy."

The five people charged. Emily sliced her sword in a wide arc at the first one to reach her and cut him on the shoulder. The move had been born out of pure instinct. He staggered backward, screamed, and a jet of blue-white light escaped from his mouth. The unconscious body fell to the ground with a thump. Before she could fully process this, Emily ducked as the second and third people reached her and swung at her head. She dropped and rolled, coming up on one knee and stabbed upward, aiming true at one's knee. The same scream and blue-white light escaped him too; the same suddenly unconscious body falling to the earth. Emily stood up and blocked the next jab from the third man, then feinted right and stabbed him in the bicep. Emily heard something behind her and turned to see the fourth man lunging at her. She instinctively opened her mouth, and breathed a wreath of flame onto him. The man dodged, but his coat caught on fire and he stumbled away, frantically swatting at the flames, then with a whoosh disappeared completely.

Did I just breath fire?

Suddenly, she felt a hot jab of pain in her left arm as the bald man stabbed her in her shoulder. She turned, eyes blazing with anger, but before she could stab him a gunshot rang out in the air, and the man fell at her feet with a flicker of light, a bullet in his head. His body lay sprawled on the ground, mouth agape and eyes empty. The odd thing was, there were burns on the ground around his body, starting from his shoulders and stretching out ten feet in either direction. They looked like... wings. 

Emily looked up to see two men, one tall with long brown hair, the other bulky with startling green eyes, standing a few yards away. The bulky one had a gun in his hand. She fell to one knee, clutching her shoulder, more in shock than in pain. What had she just done? How the hell had she known how to use a sword or breath flames? She started to panic, her breath coming quicker and quicker. What was happening?

"Hey, hey, are you alright?" a concerned voice asked. Emily looked up and saw the tall man crouch down next to her. She looked into his eyes to see worry and... fear. This man, a stranger, was afraid of her. That hit hard, hard enough to bring her back to reality.

She looked away from him, down at the ground where ash lay. 

"Who are you?" the man asked, drawing her attention again. 

"I... my name is Emily. Emily Rose," she answered in a calm, clear voice.

"How did you get here, Emily?"

"That's it, though, isn't it?" she said, gritting her teeth. "I can't remember."

He blinked, startled. "You don't remember? Really?"

"I woke up about two hours ago in a field without a single memory. I only know my... my name."

The men exchanged a glance. "How did you do that to those angels? I've never seen anyone blow fire like that before," the short man asked in a skeptical voice.

"I don't know," Emily answered honestly. She had no clue on how she had done that. It had been instinct, just like her use of the sword. 

"You should come with us. There are more of them around here looking for you, I bet. You're going to want someone to look at that shoulder, anyways," the tall man said, offering her his hand.

Well, Emily thought. What other option do I have? She took the man's hand and stood up.

As she got a clear look at them, she started to notice little details. Both men had strong, calloused hands that constantly drifted to their weapons. They didn't have a military build, but rather a rowdy country boy air that said they were not very disciplined. So well armed and used to fighting and danger, but not military or part of a large fighting force. Their flannel shirts were clean but well worn, similar to their other clothes. No wedding bands or other rings adorned their hands, so neither were married. The way they looked at each other and moved told her they were related. Brothers, since the closeness in their age and features eliminated most other relative relations. The way they moved, walked, and spoke brought only one word to her head. Hunters. But what they hell did they hunt?

Whoa, stop it, she told herself, trying to slow her whirling brain. She didn't know exactly what just happened, or how she had noticed all those little details. Maybe she was just observant. Really, really observant. 

"I'm Sam, by the way. That's my brother Dean," the tall man told her, nodding his head at the other, interrupting her thoughts.

Huh. So I was right, she thought.

As they walked down the road to where their car was, Dean asked, "By any chance, have you seen a tall, black-haired man wearing a trench coat anywhere?"

"No, I haven't. Sorry," Emily replied, confused by the question. Dean nodded, looking strangely troubled. The three of them got into an old black car and drove off into the ending afternoon under a clear blue sky.

Harry Apperated on the side of a road in America, his wand at the ready. The Ministry had sensed an alert here and had sent them, the Aurors, to investigate. Kingsley thought that the person they were looking for, some convict girl, might be here. The setting sun blinded his eyes for a moment, too bright against the blue sky. Fields of golden grain waved at him from behind a fence, their tall stalks visited by dragonflies and other insects. Ron appeared next to him, looking around in bewilderment. "Bloody hell, what happened here?"

On the ground were four unconscious bodies and one man with a bullet through his head. There was blood staining the grey pavement, and the faint smell of smoke filled the autumn air. Harry cautiously approached the man with the head wound, staring down at his blank face with nausea. Next to him was a small, short blade that shined in the sunlight. Harry picked it up and studied it. He had never seen anything like it before. 

"Oi! This one's awake!" Ron called from across the field. Harry and the other two Aurors hurried to his side. A man with bright blond hair was lying on the ground, breathing heavily. One hand was clamped over the stab wound in his arm, which was sending a steady trickle of blood down his side. 

"Help him," Harry commanded. "He needs medical attention immediately, and he might know something about the attack. Make sure the others will live then wipe their memories. We don't need word of this spreading to the Muggles."

A few Aurors went around and pointed their wands as the unconscious forms, softly whispering spells. Two other Aurors did as they were told and started to fuss over the man's wound. He slowly lifted his head, meeting Harry's gaze. The man's eyes glowed with a supernatural blue light. Harry took a step back and the man gave a little laugh. "Don't waste your time on me, boy," he gave a rasping cough, and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. "You should be going after that damn girl."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. "Who are we supposed to be going after?" Ron asked.

The man glared at him. "Emily Rose, of course. Isn't that the reason you're here?"

Harry stood still, not wanting to break the man's gaze. For a long moment, they just stared at one another, then the man's eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out. "Get him to the Ministry, now!" Harry commanded.

The four of then Disapperated, and the only thing Harry could think about were the man's glowing blue eyes. One thing was for sure: he wasn't human.

Chapter Text

Emily squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable in the large, cold bunker. The grey interior was depressing, for Emily did not like the underground. It made her feel trapped and pressed in. Across the table she was at sat Sam and Dean Winchester, one relaxed and one stiff. One was tall and one short, both with equal expressions of suspicion and curiosity. Their eyes of brown and green were unsettling from across the metal surface, as there was nothing for her to hide behind.

"You don't remember anything?" asked Sam.

Emily stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "As I have said before. Many times. NO," she spat, annoyed. Her arm, which had been bandaged and cleaned by Dean, still throbbed slightly whenever she moved. The pain, however, was nothing compared to her annoyance at being interrogated by these strange men.

Sam put his hands up, surrendering. "Ok, ok, I just wanted to make sure."

"Sooo..." said Emily, as Sam leaned back in his chair again, taking a sip of his beer. "Are you going to explain what just happened to me in that field, or..."

Sam nodded at Dean. "So, the deal is... Dean and I are hunters."

"So you 'hunt' gingers with amnesia?" scoffed Emily, sure that these guys were pulling her leg.

Sam sighed. "No. We hunt demons, werewolves, vampires, and other types of supernatural monsters or beings."

"Are you're saying the things that go bump in the right are real?"

Dean nodded. "And more. Cas, our friend, is an angel. And those men who were hunting you, they were also angels, though not as friendly."

Emily noticed that her mouth was hanging open, and she shut it. "And I'm supposed to believe that?" 

"You can breath fire, have a sword, and mysteriously woke up in a field with no memory TODAY," Sam said. "You really can't believe this?"

Emily thought for a moment, turning over the events from the past hour in her mind. "What I believe and what I do not believe is based on my experiences. Since I have no experiences I should rely on proof. I have all the proof I need from today. So yeah, I guess I can believe in the supernatural."

The brothers were quiet for a second. Then Dean, giving her an appraising glance, said, "Since you seem to be a great thinker, let me ask you this. Why do you think those angels attacked you?"

"How should I-" Emily started before Sam interrupted her.

"Dean, we can't ask her that. You heard her before, she doesn't know anything. Leave her be."

"I'm just saying, Sam, we need to know the full extent of this. If angels are after her, what about demons? What about Lucifer?"

"Lucifer?" Emily asked, bewildered.

"Yeah, the Devil," Dean said. "Look, he's lose and pretty freaking powerful right now. Who knows what he could be up to?"

"Yeah, no. Why would the Devil be after me?" 

Sam shuffled in his seat. "Well, that's the point, we don't know. You can't remember anything, and we have no info what so ever on him. Anything could be possible, but it's just as likely he isn't after you as he is. You have power, and believe me, he won't let you go unnoticed."

There was a pause.

Emily frowned, trying to gather her thoughts. "Am I safe here, then?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look that Emily didn't like. "Well, they may look for you here, but this place it very well protected. It's the safest place you can be right now, if angels are hunting you."

She slowly nodded. She wasn't exactly scared, more like curious. "Alright. Enough of this crap right now. If this truly is the safest place for me, than can I get some rest? I'm exhausted." This was true. The state of constant confusion and action was finally taking its toll on the young girl.

"Yeah, of course. I'll show you to the guest room," Sam said, standing up and giving her a kind smile.

Dean pulled out his phone. "Go ahead, Sammy. I'm gonna go look for Cas. He isn't answering any of his calls, and what with the events of today, I don't think he should be wandering off on his own."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was already heading to the door. "See you later, kid," he called back to Emily, and left. The iron door closed behind him with a loud thud, the sound magnified in the large, empty bunker.

Emily sat on her bed, leaning against the cool wall, thinking. So far today, she had battled to the death against supernatural beings, been hauled off to a secret bunker, and told that the Devil exists and may be after her. Not to mention all of that happening with her having no memory. It had been a very stressful, very emotional day. They may look for you here. No matter what the Winchesters said, Emily did not feel "safe" in this cold, quiet bunker. If she was being hunted she needed to know exactly what was happening to her. She didn't think she would be able to accomplish that here.

Emily stood up swung her sword onto her back again, then silently crept out of the room and closed the door behind her, sneaking down the hallway.

She couldn't stay here, in this place of sadness and isolation, its bland ways surrounding her at every turn, the constant presence of death and emptiness in the air. She had to find out for herself, no matter what, who she was and what she was getting into. Or worse, what she was already in.

She walked through the kitchen into the main room. Some books from earlier were lying on the table, looking old and musty. A takeout bag and a pile change sat next to the books. Emily stuffed the cash into her pocket. As she reached the middle of the room, a voice called out behind her.

"Emily, what are you doing?" Sam asked.

Emily turned to face the hunter. "I'm leaving. I can't stay here, Sam. You and Dean have been very kind to me, but I have to know what's happening and I don't think I'll find out here."

Sam gave her a small, sad smile. "You remind me a lot of Cas, trying to head off on your own to fix your problems. Emily, we want to help you solve this. We can help you find out who you are, I promise. Here, you can be safe. But out there, anything could happen," he took a step forward and held out his hand. "At least stay until Dean and Cas come back, then we can work this out together."

Emily looked out at his outstretched hand, wondering if she should take it, wondering if they could really help her. Something deep down inside her told her that they couldn't. They couldn't help her with what was about to come, even though she didn't know herself what that would be. She had to do this alone. Or so she thought.

Sam took another step toward her. "Please, Emily. Stay. If you go out there, you will get hurt. Don't do that to yourself." His eyes told her he was completely sincere, in wanting to help her and of knowing the pain in the outside world.

"Something tells me I'm gonna get hurt no matter what," Emily said in a small voice. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am."

She reached out and hit him in the head with one of the heavy books on the table. He fell to the ground, and Emily checked to make sure he was unconscious. She stood up, looking down at him.

"I'm sorry," she said again, then turned and walked out of the bunker into the cold, clear night.

She should have listened to the hunter.

Dean drove to the little town he and Sam had passed earlier when following Cas. They hadn't stopped there, but had kept driving on ahead and had eventually run into Emily. Now, Dean decided to drop by it in case Cas had stopped there. It was a place to start, at least. He pulled into the little parking lot by a gas station and got out of the Impala into the cold evening air. He headed up the main road, deciding to look around first. The light summer breeze didn't do much against his coat and flannel, but the people around him sure gave him funny looks. They muttered as he passed, wondering what a stranger was doing in town at this time of day. Didn't he have better things to do? He stopped a few and asked if they had seen a tall, black haired man wearing a brown trench coat anywhere. None had, and some even neglected to talk to him. 

He made his way to the gas station where his car was parked and decided to pay it a visit. It was a small, dingy store with no customers. The person behind the counter, an old man with almost no hair on his head, looked up as he entered. 

"Hello there, young man. You be needin' some gas today?" he asked Dean.

"No, thanks," Dean told him. "I'm just looking for someone. A tall man, with short black hair and blue eyes wearing a trench coat. Seen him anywhere?"

The old man squinted at him, as if trying to see his face better. "Yeah, actually, I have. Fellow came in earlier today, lookin' for some girl, and left with a young man and woman. Said he was headin' north."

"A young man and woman? Who?"

The man shrugged. "I dunno. One had blond hair, the other black. Both were askin' about that girl your friend was lookin' for."

Dean nodded. "Thank you. Oh, and if anyone else comes in asking about that 'girl', it would be best not to say anything." And on that note, he turned around and went back to his car. Dean pulled out his phone and tried Cas's number again. 

"Dean?" Castiel's gravely voice sounded from the phone.

"Cas! Finally, I've called you like six times. What happened? You alright?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Look, I'm doing something really important right now so I don-"

"I know about Emily, Cas. That is who you were looking for, isn't it?"

Cas was silent for a moment. "How did you know that?"

"Sam and I followed you, you were acting really suspicious."

"DEAN!"

"Relax, relax, she's fine. We found her fighting some angels, so we took her back to the bunker. Sam is with her right now."

"Where are you then?"

"I'm out looking for you. I'm at a little town right by where we found Emily."

There was a pause, and Dean heard some muffled words from the other end of the phone. "Cas?"

"Stay there," Cas answered. "I'll come and meet you."

"Alright, but before you go, can I ask one thing?"

"Fine."

"Who is Emily?"

There was a long end of silence from Cas. "She's bad news, Dean. Really bad news."

Emily thanked the woman in the car- she had given Emily a ride to a small town called Alma, just inside of Nebraska, saying "Oh, what's a little thing like you doing wandering around these parts? Let me give you a ride home, darling." She watched as the car drove into the distance then headed into the town, clutching a newspaper in her hand. She found a little diner opened 24/7 and got a table. It was pretty early in the morning, so not many people were there. The only customer was a young man sitting by the window, sipping some tea.

Something about him seemed a little off. He looked normal enough, with shoulder length black hair slicked back on his head, and eyes the colour of frozen coffee. He wore a black and white suit with a long overcoat, which was a bit odd in the summer heat. He looked up as Emily entered the diner, nodded, then went back to his tea. Emily ordered a small coffee and sat at a booth in the back of the restaurant. The waitress brought her coffee then went into the back.

Emily looked at the newspaper she had gotten from the woman earlier. She had been examining at it all morning, but still couldn't process what she was reading. Under the headline was a picture of a smoking building, all in ruins. She read the article again.

Bombing in Britain: The Next Shell Centre?

Last evening, an explosion was heard across London as the Heron Tower exploded. One hundred and sixteen people were killed and another fifty-nine injured. There had been a meeting between three rivaling firms, so more people were there than regular. Half of the building has been blown off, leaving a huge smoking mess in central London.

Eye-witness Peter Crown says, "There was this huge boom, and I felt the ground shake. I turned around and saw the tower smokin', with fire blazing out the windows." 

Scotland Yard says that the explosion was caused by a pack of very high powered explosives hidden in the center of the building. Though unsure of who caused this crime, a suspect has already been named. The same sort of bombing happened about twenty-five years ago, but on Shell Centre. Most citizens will remember how the building exploded in the same way that Heron Tower did, killing ten innocents. However, found at the center of the burned building was a young girl, who admitted to the crime while laughing. She mysteriously disappeared before being arrested, and the police never found out who did it. Only her description remains. (See: Drawing 1A)

Now they have accused her of the more recent bombing. Detective-Inspector Greg Lestrade says, "This is the same style as before. We warn anyone who sees this girl not to approach her, but to call the police immediately. At the moment, we have our best people out looking for her."

Another suspect named is the criminal James Moriarty, one of the country's most top wanted men. Though his death was confirmed by the government months ago, rumors of his death being faked have already begun to circulate. There have been no more suspects named as of now.

This crime is so great that the famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, has been called in to help find the culprit. He is best known for- (Continued on page 3).

Emily had read the article about Sherlock Holmes. He had solved some of London's most puzzling cases and had gotten famous over the internet along with John Watson, a former army doctor. Emily wasn't scared of him though. From what the papers said, he didn't seem to have any special powers like those angels who had been chasing her. He was just really smart. Besides, she was in America, far away from him.

Emily knew she hadn't bombed Heron Tower. But from what the paper said, she had been found laughing in the center of the first bombing scene. Had she really done that all those years ago? Was she a killer? She didn't think so, didn't want to believe that she was capable of something like that. But the fact remained that she couldn't remember.

Someone slid into the booth across from her, and she looked up to see the man who had nodded to her when she came in. He looked at the paper she was reading, and smiled. His smile was serpentine and wolfish at the same time. 

"Ah, I heard about that. It's such a pity no one has been arrested yet," said the man, nodding at the article. His accent was very British, his voice smooth and entrancing like a lullaby. 

Emily didn't say anything, instead folding up the newspaper and laying it to the side.

"Do you think they will ever catch the person who did it? The police, I mean."

Why are you talking to me? she thought

"I wouldn't know," she finally said. "As I just don't care."

The man laughed. "What a philosophy! But you do care, deep down, about what happens to those people, don't you? After all, it's human nature."

"You talk as if you aren't human."

The man raised an eyebrow. "But I am not, Emily. And nor are you. You know that."

They faced each other, a small, defiant girl against the tall, devious man. They both sat slightly leaned forward, their hands clasped on the table in front of them, their feet planted firmly on the ground. Emily was starting to get a bit worried. She didn't say anything, but her eyes must have betrayed her feelings.

"Oh, you don't remember?" A slow grin spread across the man's lean face, and he leaned forward even closer. "That is wonderful. You don't remember who you are?"

"I... who are you? How do you know my name?" Emily demanded, trying to focus.

He grinned and spread his arms. "I am Loki, dear girl. God of mischief."

There was a moment of silence, and the only thing Emily could think to say was, "Gods are real?"

Loki's grin faded and he leaned back slightly. "Let's just cut to the chase. You want to find out about your past, I assume? I can help you with that. I can give you secrets you never thought were possible, or magic that dates back before the existence of this planet. All you have to do is come with me."

Emily did not answer immediately. Even though she could see this man was dangerous, she felt slightly drawn to him. It was hard to admit to herself that for a moment, if only a moment, she was tempted. Maybe this man could help her, even if it was unintentional. But he also scared her. The angels and the threat of Lucifer didn't seem real enough to her, so she couldn't really be scared of them. This... man, god, whatever he was, was an ancient, powerful being seemingly capable of anything. When she looked into his eyes, she couldn't see very much, only a small spark of curiosity and... was that contempt? Maybe. If she followed him, what would happen?

Besides, she didn't think she should trust strange men. 

Emily stood up abruptly, but the man leaned across the table and pinned down her arms.

"Let go of me," she snarled. 

The man leaned closer to her. "Oh, you can go, but if you leave I will kill that dazzling waitress. But if you stay, and come with me, I will let her go."

Emily hesitated for one moment, then stopped struggling. "Why are you doing this?" she hissed.

Loki laughed, his voice soft and silky. "Oh, if you only knew," he said, then glanced at the paper "Just be glad I found you first, Emily. Many others will try to hunt you down, and will offer you much less appealing deals than mine. Some may come bearing gifts, some with malice, and others under the guise of help."

"Well, I refuse your offer," Emily said, breaking free of his grip. "As you seem to be under the latter."

"I'm not finished," hissed Loki.

"Don't care," said Emily, starting to walk pass him.

Loki caught her arm. "Your situation is still the same. If you go, that waitress dies."

Emily stared straight into Loki's cold eyes, then wrenched her arm free and walked out of the diner, the little bell tinkling as the door shut behind her.

The waitress came out from the back and smiled at the god. "Do you need anything else, sir?"

"Yes, darling. I would like one more thing," the stranger said, smiling up at her.

His knife was in his hand when he stood up.

Dean and Cas walked through the town, arguing.

"I told you, Dean, they won't hurt her."

"Yeah, well, how do you know that, Cas? You just picked up some random people off the street, talked to them for five minutes, then decided they could be trusted with finding Emily?! What if they want to kill her?"

"I told you, they won't do that. You didn't see that woman's eyes when she pleaded for a ride. If anyone can help her, it's them."

"Well, I still think you shouldn't have let them wander away will nilly, looking for the most powerful person we have met in a long time, and that's saying something. Do you even know their names?"

"No."

"Damn it, Cas."

They stopped at the corner, turning to glare at each other. Cas had come back to meet Dean, only for them to receive a call from Sam saying that Emily had run off. Cas had given the two strangers his car so they could look for Emily, while he and Dean searched some of the towns nearby. They had done more arguing than searching for the most part, though. Now, they were in a small town called Alma in Nebraska. 

"She won't have been here. Why would she head to Nebraska?" Cas asked.

"I dunno, but a lot of people come this way and it's not too far off from the bunker. We should just check it out."

They walked down the street, continuing to argue.

"Look, if we don't find her today, then we'll met back at the bunker and figure out something else," Dean said.

Cas reluctantly agreed. They rounded the corner and Dean pointed out a tiny diner.

"Let's try there, see if anyone saw anything, maybe get some pie."

Cas nodded and they entered the diner. They immediately knew something was wrong. No one was in there, at the middle of the day, except for a tall man leaning against the counter. He was wearing green and gold leather armor, and had slicked back black hair. By one of the tables there lay the body of a waitress, a nasty bump on her head. She was unconscious, but otherwise unharmed.

Cas flicked his arm and his angel blade landed in his hand. Dean drew his gun and pointed it at the man.

"Who are you?" demanded the hunter.

The man walked toward them, smiling. "I am no one of consequence to you. Leave now, and maybe you will live."

Cas hissed, "Wait, I know you."

"Do you?" Loki stopped in front of Cas and raised an eyebrow. "Oh my, you're an angel, aren't you? I haven't seen one of you around in a long time."

"Where is Emily?" Cas growled. "Did you do something to her?"

"Oh, I did nothing to Emily. She was the one who hurt me, she declined my kind offer of help. My poor feelings. I think she's getting to be a bit suspicious, but maybe it's just bad influence," the man sighed. "But you," he leaned forward, his face right in front of Cas's. "How do you know about Emily?" 

Dean growled and pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet sailed through Loki and hit the window.

Loki laughed and disappeared. "I'm sure we will see each other soon." He had been an illusion.

Cas didn't move, but stared at the spot where the god had vanished. Dean took the angel's shoulders and made him face him. "Cas, who was that?"

Cas wouldn't look at him. "We need to find Sam. Now." 

Chapter Text

Harry stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the man kneeling in the center of the room. They were in the Ministry of Magic, in the same courtroom Harry had been held on trial all those years ago. Ron stood next to him, shocked and confused, with Hermione on the other side of him, her eyes dark and focused. They all stared up at the Prime Minister, Kingsley, who struck an impressive figure on the raised dais.

The shouting died down as Kingsley stood up, banging a hammer against the desk.

"Order, I call order to the court," he roared. "This man, Uriel, has claimed that the dead are rising. And among them rises Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort."

Almost everyone in the room flinched at the name and some muttering broke out.

"Now this is absurd," continued Kingsley over the noise. "The dead cannot be brought back. No magic can do that; it is the foundation of our world." 

"But we have proof," Ron shouted, stepping forward. "Minister, may I call a witness to the trial?"

Kingsley nodded and behind Ron, hidden by the crowd, stepped out Fred Weasley. The crowd gasped and murmured like a well oiled machine.

"My brother, Fred, returned to us earlier today, just before we came to the Ministry," Ron stated. "He died in the Battle of Hogwarts three years ago, but is back, with no meddling of ours. This can't be a coincidence."

Kingsley stared at Fred, his face a mask.

"I don't know how it happened," Fred said in a quiet voice. "I just woke up on a hill about a mile from my house and behind me was a tombstone that had my name on it. I don't remember how I came back, but I do remember how I died, and everything before it."

Ron nodded at his brother, and Fred returned to the crowd.

"Very well," said Kingsley. "It seems that we have a behemoth problem in front of us. But before the court takes action, does this man have anything else to say?" He pointed at Uriel.

Uriel laughed. "I am not a man, you pathetic meatbag."

The room was dead silent.

"What do you mean you are not a man? You are here, so you must be a wizard, so therefore a man," said Kingsley.

"I am not one of you. You dirty, worm crawling humans. I am an Angel of the Lord," Uriel said definitely.

No one spoke for a long moment. "Excuse me," said Harry, stepping forward. "Did you just say you're an angel? Angels aren't real."

Uriel turned to look at Harry. His eyes glowed blue, the same blue Harry had seen before, and wings appeared on his back, spreading wide. They were silver.

"You have no idea what is real and what is not, Harry Potter," the angel snarled. "And you have no idea what is coming for you."

Kingsley stood up. "Take this thing away and lock him in the most secure room we have until we figure out what to do."

Uriel gave a laugh as they started to drag him out. "I hope Emily Rose finds you before Riddle does, you roaches."

The guards stopped and no one made a sound. "Oh, didn't you know? Emily Rose is back, and all of this is her fault," laughed Uriel, his blue eyes boring in Kingsley's brown ones. 

"What do you mean, this is Rose's fault? Is she among the living again?" Kingsley asked in a low, dangerous voice.

The man kept laughing, the sound coming from deep in his throat. "Emily Rose lives again, Minister. She is the one we were hunting before you and your men interrupted us. I was angry at you before, but now I hope you burn in Hell for this!"

"Take him away!" shouted Kingsley.

The guards dragged the laughing angel out, the door slamming behind them.

"This meeting... is adjourned until further notice. I will meet with all Aurors in an hour," Kingsley ordered in a wavering voice.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione in shock. "Who's this Emily Rose?" he asked, "And why is Kingsley so concerned about her?"

Hermione shook her head. "The name sounds familiar, but he said this is all her fault, so did she bring back the dead? No magic can do that."

"I don't know if, or how, she did it," Harry muttered, "but the Ministry needs to find her and get some answers."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Honestly, the 'angel' thing sounds like a load of dung to me. That guy is just crazy."

Harry would have agreed with Ron, but those blue eyes and silver wings were still fresh in his mind. If angels were real, what else was out there?

Harry and Ron were chatting in their office when Kingsley arrived. Fred had returned to the Burrow so that he could tell the other Weasleys about what had happened, and Hermione was waiting outside for them. Hopefully, Ginny would start to gather as many Order of the Phoenix members as she could. If Voldemort was back they needed to be prepared. 

Kingsley called for their attention. All of the Aurors turned to face him. "Because of recent news, I will need you all out in the field," Kingsley began. "Some of you will be out looking for Rose and Riddle, and some of you will be protecting wizard establishments."

He started to call out names for assignments. Most were out in the field, but a few would be guarding places like St. Mungos and the Ministry. Finally, Kingsley called out Harry's name.

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, you will be stationed at Hogwarts until further notice."

"What- sir, shouldn't I be out there looking for Voldemort?" Harry demanded, outraged, as Ron nodded furiously next to him.

"Potter, there is a high chance that the Dark Lord will immediately try to find you and kill you. We cannot lose you and Hogwarts needs protecting. Also-" Kingsley said, stopping Harry before he could interrupt. "It is possible that Rose could go to Hogwarts, so we need Ministry members there. This matter is not open to negotiation. I expect weekly updates from everyone and please contact the Ministry immediately if anything important happens. Good day to you all."

And with that, the Minister walked out of the room.

"Well," said Ron, turning to Harry. "At least we'll be with Hermione. It'll be like the good old days."

"Yeah," muttered Harry, lost in thought. "Except in the good old days we almost got killed a lot."

Ron laughed, and Harry was thankful that Kingsley had posted him with his best friend. He had a feeling that he and Ron were going to get a lot of trouble soon.

As they headed out of the room to talk to Hermione, Harry wondered about this mysterious Emily Rose and what she meant for the Wizarding World. He hoped it was good.

Sadly, Harry Potter did not have the best of luck when it came to hoping.

*****

Hermione was waiting for them in the lounge room outside of the Auror offices, irritated and worried. "I've been thinking over this Emily Rose business," she stated as they sat down across from her in the heavy armchairs. "And I think that we should look into this more." 

Harry and Ron looked at one another, confused. "What, like try and track her down? Why in hell would we ever do something like that, especially when Voldemort is on the loose?" Ron asked.

"Because," Hermione sighed, "What if she is connected to these... these... miracles? What if she can tell us what happened with Fred and Riddle?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The Ministry is already doing that. They have people in the field looking for her right now."

"Harry," said Hermione, exasperated. "Name one time the Ministry has ever done any sort of job correctly. Ever."

There was a pause. "You have a point," said Ron. "But even if we wanted to go, Harry and I can't. We've been posted to Hogwarts and we can't do anything about that."

Hermione looked down at her hands for a moment. "What if I went alone? I could try and track her down, maybe find out what she's up to. If I can find her, I can call you two in since it is Ministry business, so we won't be breaking any rules, technically."

"Hermione, why do you want to find her so badly?" Harry asked.

"I know I've heard her name before, but I can't think where," Hermione looked up and meet his eyes, determined. "I have to find out who she is. We have to get to the bottom of all this, and I think Emily is a good place to start."

The three of them looked at each other for a long moment, weighing the odds and outcomes.

"Fine," Harry finally said. "Just don't do anything stupid, please."

Ron snorted. "Like she ever has."

Ron had been right before. This was just like the good old days.

Emily walked down the craggy stone streets of the city, a light breeze whistling through the flaps of her leather jacket. It was late evening, so the busy streets of London were crowed with late goers, tourists, and parties. The tall buildings that held numerous flats rose up from behind the traffic lines of cabs and buses, which filled the air along with the everyday clamor; the occasional siren faintly whining in the distance. London was truly a sight to behold.

Ok, maybe it had been reckless going to the city where she was being hunted, but Emily had wanted to get away from Loki and hiding in plain sight seemed like her best option at the moment. She had sneaked onto a plane the other night from the nearest airport and had been wandering the streets ever since. Besides, as long as she was here, she could try to dig up some research on that bombing she was convicted of.

As she rounded the next bend, she became aware of someone behind her. Quickly walking down the block, she crossed to the other side of the street and turned the corner. A moment later, the figure did too. Emily was being followed. She picked up her pace and looked behind her to see someone wearing a grey hoodie with the hood up. She started to jog up the street, twisting through the London crowds as fast as she could. As she hurried down the block, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that the figure was running after her, and gaining. Making a quick decision, Emily ran through the next corner and ducked inside a building with an open door next to a busy cafe called Speedy's. She stuck herself to the wall and held her breath. She waited a few minutes, then poked her head out of the door frame but saw no one of suspicion. 

Emily stepped back into the building, looking around. A set of stairs led up to what must be a number of flats and a small corridor led to a little kitchen. No one seemed to be around. As she caught her breath, she became aware of the sound of a violin. It was a soft, melancholy piece that floated through the silent air like petals in the wind. She moved up the stairs, closer to the sound, and stopped outside of the open door to flat B. No one seemed to be inside it, but where was that sound coming from?

She walked into the flat, her feet making no sound on the large carpet spread across the floor. Two chairs faced each other parallel to the fireplace, a table to the side of one. A couch slumped against the wall nearest to the door, with a bright yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall above it. A skeleton bull's head was mounted on the wall across from her, a pair of headphones placed on its horns. The room led off to a little kitchen area and a door stood off to the side.

She stopped in the middle of the room, looking around her in awe. This room was filled with memories that she had no part of, but hummed with meaning all the same. The music suddenly stopped and Emily whirled around. A tall, lanky man with black curls and some slight stubble, dressed in a blue dressing gown and slippers, stood in the kitchen with a violin in his hand. He tilted his head at her and said, "Emily Rose. What an honor."

Sherlock stood by the window in his bedroom, softly playing his beloved violin, thinking. He was thinking about Moriarty's return and what that meant for London. Would the criminal try to take over the city from underground? Would he try to take over the government? Or was he laying low, planning his revenge against Sherlock?

He started to play slower, the sweet melody switching to melancholy in just a few beats.

But if Moriarty was plotting revenge, then what would he do? Sherlock shuddered to think about what terrible things he might have in store. Forget being bored, this case might kill him. And how did Moriarty come back in the first place? Sherlock was so certain that he had killed himself, but what if he was mistaken? The very idea seemed preposterous.

But then, what if what Mycroft told them was true? When his brother had told them that Moriarty was alive, he also explained that other dead people were back as well, which was why many nations' governments were getting involved. They didn't know who was responsible for this, if anyone could be responsible for such an act, and were not close at all to finding out.

He sighed, resting his instrument at his side. Maybe a change in scenery would help him think. He opened his door, stepped out into the kitchen, and stopped short.

A young girl, who looked to be about sixteen, stood in the center of the room. Her curly hair the colour of flickering flames came down past her shoulders, and a silver star stood on her brow. She was pale as ivory, and was wearing a black leather jacket. Her eyes were a sparkling silver and something about her felt so familiar to Sherlock, but he didn't know why. He had never met this girl before.

Her eyes met his and he was thrown back in time to a memory he couldn't fully remember. Her gaze pinned him to where he stood, taking in his appearance with narrowed eyes. But her eyes were the wrong colour, weren't they? Why was she so familiar?

And then he recognized her. The papers had done a pretty good job of describing her, and why wouldn't this girl come visit him, the detective who supposedly was to bring her down. "Emily Rose. What an honour," Sherlock told her.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, confused. Apparently, she didn't know who he was.

"You're not here to see me?" Sherlock questioned. 

The girl shook her head. "No, this was an accident. I heard that music and I just followed it here. Why? How do you know my name?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm the detective in charge of bringing you in," he said cheerfully, propping his violin on the table. 

"Oh," the girl bit her lip, her right hand on her hip. "Maybe I'll just... leave?"

"Well, as long as you're here, you might as well sit and have some tea."

Emily gave him an appraising look for a moment, then gracefully settled herself in a chair by the fireplace. Sherlock snorted and went into the kitchen to make a batch of tea. He handed her a cup and settled himself into the chair opposite her, blowing on his drink to cool it. There was still something off about her, something he couldn't place. The way she looked at him, the way she walked and moved, even her speech sounded familiar to him. But he couldn't place her, no matter how hard he tried.

"So," the detective started, crossing one long leg over the other. "What brings you here?"

"Wait, I'm confused," she said, ignoring his question. "Why are you not calling the police to arrest me? Aren't I wanted for some crime?"

Sherlock let out a small laugh. "Why would I ever involve the police in this? They are slow, useless, and extremely annoying. Besides, it's obvious you didn't do that bombing."

Emily's look of shock was priceless. "I... I didn't? I mean, I know I didn't but how did you come to that very nice and... convenient solution?"

"You are just a child, it was obvious as soon as I saw you that you do not have the malice to do something like that. Your shock at meeting me shows that you didn't expect me here at all, which means you aren't going after anyone involved in the case- even more innocent. Of course, this could just be a facade, but I doubt it. I know when someone is lying. Also, I examined the limited evidence that was left at the crime scene and the footprints in the ash are very curious. They go from a man's down to a girl's in two strides, with no trace of more than one person. This alone would be enough to satisfy me, but I must also consider the way the deed was done. Why would you openly show yourself in front of the tower, when you could have been normal and hid? Maybe you're mad, but I threw that out after meeting you; you are very much sane, I would think. So no, I do not think you had anything to do with that tower exploding, but someone went at great lengths to make it seem so."

He said all of this very fast, barely drawing breath until the last word was uttered. Emily sat there, stunned for a moment. She watched as the detective took a sip of his tea, still staring at her.

"That wasn't natural," she said slowly. 

He smirked slightly. "Not many things are at the moment."

"Why does everyone I meet have to be weird?" Emily muttered to herself.

"Any idea who would want to blame you?" he asked, ignoring her muttering.

"Well-"

"Sherlock, you hoo!" Came a cheerily voice from the open doorway, and an elderly lady popped into the room, holding a small metal container. "I brought you some leftover soup, thought you might be-" Here she stopped as she caught sight of Emily, then shrieked and dropped the container. Soup flew everywhere as the woman screamed, "YOU! YOU! WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock roared, jumping up from his chair. "What is the matter with you? She's-"

"OH I KNOW WHO SHE IS," Mrs. Hudson shrieked. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KILLED THE AUROR SQUAD ALL THOSE YEARS AGO. MY BEST FRIEND'S SON WAS IN THAT BUILDING WHEN IT EXPLODED, AND ALL THEY COULD FIND OF HIM IN THE END WAS HIS RING."

Auror squad? Emily thought as she stood up beside Sherlock. Apparently, the detective was on her track of thought. "What's an Auror squad?" he asked, but Mrs. Hudson wasn't finished.

"I"M CALLING THAT MINISTRY RIGHT NOW, THEY WILL SET THINGS RIGHT! YOU. STAY. RIGHT. THERE." She hurried into the kitchen, opened a draw, and took out a mobile.

Just then, the door burst open again and two men, one with black hair and one with red, stormed into the room. They each held a long stick, which they raised and pointed at Emily in unison.

"Miss Rose," the black haired man said, "My name is Harry Potter and this is Ron Weasley. We are bringing you in on suspicion of bombing prominent buildings in London and the use of magic in front of Muggles."

What the hell is a Muggle? Emily's mind reeled.

Before she could respond, Mrs. Hudson scurried back into the room. "How on earth did you get here so fast? I was just about to call you!"

"With a phone?" Harry Potter asked.

"I'm a squib, dear, my options are limited. Just take her away."

Emily noticed that the sticks the men held looked a lot like the one that was in her pocket. She wondered if they were connected.

"Wait," Sherlock intervened, stepping forward. "She didn't do it. I can prove it, just don't take her into custody."

"This is none of your concern. Just come quietly Rose, and this will all be over soon," Ron said.

"Harry! Ron! Wait!" cried a new voice as a young woman with bushy brown hair burst into the room. She wore a grey hoodie and jeans that paled against her warm brown skin. "Don't take her to the Ministry!"

Emily gaped at her; the woman had been the figure following her, she was sure of it.

Harry turned to face her, shocked. "What? Hermione, she's dangerous. You said so herself, if you found her you'd call us and we would take her in. Well, you found her, so let's just get this thing over with."

"No, we can't, not yet Harry. Please, just listen to me. I think I remember where I've heard her name before, but I need to check something first. Also, I just got a message from McGonagall. We have to get to Hogwarts. Now."

"What about her? We can't leave her here," Ron said, gesturing to Emily. 

"Take her with us, whatever it takes, just go!" And with that, the woman turned on the spot and disappeared with a loud crack! The two men pushed Sherlock aside and grabbed Emily by her arms. She opened her mouth, wherever to breath fire or speak she did not know, because the men turned like the woman did and the world twisted into a black void. They were gone.

Sherlock stared at the spot where Emily had been, then turned to face Mrs. Hudson. "You have some explaining to do," he growled.

Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms and glared at him. "Like I've said before, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

Chapter Text

Sam was getting worried. He had tried calling Dean and Cas about a million times, but neither had answered him. Maybe they were busy, maybe their phones had run out of juice.

He didn't think so.

Sam couldn't wait in the bunker any longer; he had looked for Emily, found no trace, and had been waiting in a very hard wooden chair for the last three hours. What a life. So, he set out to find any trace of Dean, Cas, or the girl with the flames.

He had been driving in one of the extra Men of Letters' cars for about twenty minutes when the road exploded. Sam swerved hard to the right and managed to avoid being hit by the blast. When the smoke finally cleared, Sam got out of the car and looked at the spot where the explosion had happened. A crater fifteen feet wide had been created in the road, and lightning flickered around a tall, bearded figure who stood in the center. The figure stepped forward, and Sam saw it was a very muscular man with short blond hair and a clean cut beard, holding a spear. One of his eyes was covered by a leather patch and the other flickered with purple lightning. He wore a brown leather jerkin and jeans. In short, he looked like a very fashionable pirate with weather issues.

"You," the man spoke in a thunderous voice. "Are you looking for Emily Rose?"

Sam's voice seemed to have stopped working. "I... um... who are you?"

"Are you working with Loki?" the man rumbled, ignoring his question. "Hmm? Are you in cahoots with that shit-faced dolt? HUH?"

A very muscular, very tall man was angry at Sam for some reason, and in all his years as a hunter, Sam had never faced anyone like him. The man was scary.

"I'm not! I'm not working with this Loki to find Emily! Why do you even care?!"

The man narrowed his eyes at him. "Hmph. I don't believe you, mortal. You're coming with me." He strode across the space between them, grabbed Sam's arm, and pointed his spear to the sky.

And before Sam could do anything, he felt a great tug in his gut, and all he saw was colour.

They landed in front of gigantic metal gates and Emily breathed in the cool evening air. The two men still had a tight grip on her arms. After waiting for her head to stop spinning, Emily looked up and sucked in her newly found breath. Set against the night sky was an enormous castle, its windows spilling out a glowing yellow light. It was beautiful and strangely familiar. Emily had been here before, she was sure of it, but of course she couldn't remember. Harry pointed his wand at her wrists and chains appeared around them, restricting her hand movement. 

"Don't try anything," Harry said, glancing at his watch. "Just follow us and you'll be fine."

"What is this place?" she asked, as Ron opened the gates and started to walk up the path. 

Ron frowned. "It's Hogwarts. Didn't you go to school here?"

Emily shook her head. This was a school? It seemed pretty extravagant. She didn't believe that she had ever been accepted to a fancy school like this. The dirt path that led up to the school was occasionally lit with small, floating balls of light so they could find their way. Before long, the odd trio reached the doors to the castle. The men pushed them open and in they went.

Emily's eyes were assaulted with beautiful statues, carvings, and the overall warmth of the castle. She could see some staircases from the end of the hall and they were moving. She could hear people talking in what must be a huge hall hidden by a pair of double oak doors next to them, the scent of food filling the air.

"Ron, take her the dungeons and lock her up," said Harry. "We'll figure out what to do with her after we talk to Hermione." The bushy haired woman, who must be Hermione, hadn't appeared at the castle with them, but maybe she had gone in another way. There was sure to be many doors in the behemoth building.  

Ron nodded and tugged Emily toward the staircases. The other man walked to the room where the smell of food was coming from. Something about that room seemed important; she needed to go there. She tried to see what was in there when he opened the door, but Ron was walking at a fast pace. They traveled down the staircases until they reached the very bottom, then entered a dark hallway lit by a few flaming torches. Ron lead her to the end, which opened into a small chamber complete with holding cells.

Emily suddenly twisted her arm out of Ron's grip and smashed her head into his. He fell to the floor, dazed. She quickly turned and ran out of the hallway, back onto the bottom floor, shutting the door behind her. She looked down at the chains, opened her mouth, and breathed fire onto them. The chains melted off of her hands, but the heat and fire didn't hurt her. It just tickled a bit.

Emily ran up the stairs, back into the entrance hall. She could hear shouting from the room that Harry had entered. She hesitated, glancing toward the doors that led to the dark grounds, wondering if she should escape. But there was something in that room that she needed to see. Something, or someone. Emily threw the doors open and stepped inside. The room immediately hushed and everyone turned to look at her.

The first thing Emily noticed were all of the people sitting at the tables, their faces full of surprise and worry, like a crowd held at gunpoint. 

The second was Harry Potter, who was standing by a tall man with shaggy black hair. He was staring not at her, but at the man, his eyes full of hope.

The third was the woman standing in the center of the room. She was as tall as Emily was short, dark as the girl was pale, with skin the colour of hammered bronze. Her raven black hair fell to the middle of her back, and her leaf green eyes bored into Emily's silver ones like lasers. Her face was filled with shock and... was that hope?

The woman walked until she was right in front of Emily, her eyes not leaving her face. She placed one graceful hand on Emily's cheek.  

"Emily," she breathed. There was something so familiar about her, so close, that Emily could feel her heart breaking in two as she stared at the woman.

"Who...?" Emily asked, her voice so small that it might as well have been a whisper.

"It's me," Arya said, a single tear falling down her face, her voice breaking. "It's your sister."

Arya and Eragon had been driving for hours when they finally found the wizard. They hadn't been able to find Emily and were finally forced to stop in a small town when they ran out of what the blue-eyed man had called "gas". They entered a tiny shop and had found him reading a newspaper in the corner.

"Excuse me," Eragon asked. "Could you tell us the way to the nearest barn?"

The man looked up, his silver beard glowing in the light. "What ever for?" he asked. His crescent moon spectacles glittered strangely in the light as he peered over them.

Eragon and Arya looked at each other. "Umm... for transportation," said Eragon. 

"My dear fellow, where have you been? No one uses animals for getting around anymore! They use brooms, and the Muggles use those fancy cars."

"Our 'car' ran out of 'gas'," Arya told him, as Eragon said, "What's a Muggle?"

The man smiled kindly at them. "A Muggle is a non-magical person, so not a wizard or witch; the owner of this shop is one. As for your car, I can not help you there," he tilted his head at them. "Are you two Muggles?"

"We are Dragon Riders" Eragon said curtly. He didn't seem to like being called non-magical.

"Eragon," hissed Arya, angry. He should know better than to tell people that. They were in a different world, a world that didn't seem to have dragons.

"Ah, so my instincts were right. You are not from this world, are you? I guess what with recent events, this really isn't that surprising," said the old man, his eyes twinkling sadly. "So, may I ask, what is your destination?"

Arya and Eragon exchanged glances again. "We are looking for a girl named Emily Rose. Do you know if she is alive? And if so, where she is?"

The man's smile died. "Do you mean this girl harm?" he asked plainly. 

"No, but we need to know if she's alive. I'm her sister, so if you know where she is than please tell us," Arya pleaded. She didn't know why she was telling this man about her sister, but he seemed so strange, so out of place like them, that she had to at least try. She had to find Emily, even if that meant visiting every town and city in the damn world.

The man stared up at her, those grey eyes examining every inch of her. He blinked, nodded his head ever so slightly, then got up and gave his newspaper to Eragon. "I don't know where she is, but I can bring you to some people who might be able to help you. And in the meantime, this might give you some information."

The paper had a picture of a smoking building on it, with the headline "The Next Shell Centre?" on it. Arya say Emily's name in the article below and her heart fell. What had Emily done?

The man walked toward the door, then turned around. "Oh, and my name is Albus Dumbledore. Welcome to our world, Dragon Riders. You may find it lacking, but give it a chance and with a little bit of hope, I promise you will grow to love it. I do."

Then the man left, giving the two Dragon Riders no choice but to follow. The castle he had taken them to was unlike any Arya had ever seen, and had never hoped to either. It was full of secrets, and, as it turned out, memories.

Arya looked into her sister's eyes, trying not to cry. Emily took a step back and Arya's hand fell away from her face.

"Sister?" she echoed. "Who... who are you?" Emily clutched her head. "Why can't I remember you?" she said angrily.

"Emily... what happened?" Arya asked. Her sister still looked the same: silver eyes, fiery hair, and a silver star set on her brow. There were no signs of death, no wounds of any kind. She was alive again. "Are you well? How did you... what did you do? How did these people come back? Oh Emily, what did you do?" Her voice broke on the last part.

Emily shook her head and continued to back away. "No, something's wrong, something's wrong something's wrong something's wrong WHO ARE YOU?" she roared, still clutching her head. Her eyes were full of panic, her teeth gritted and lips thin.

Arya felt Eragon come up behind her. "This is your sister?" he asked softly. He looked at her in surprise, a little bit of hurt on his kind face. She felt bad that she hadn't told him about her having a sister. It was usually too painful a topic to bring up.

Arya nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Why can't she remember me?

"Something's wrong with her," Arya whispered. "She should be able to remember me."

Harry Potter, the man who had stormed in a bit before Emily, marched up to her other side. "How did you get free?" he yelled at Emily, pointing his wand at her. "Where's Ron?"

With excellent timing, Ron burst through the doors, rubbing the side of his head.

"Oi!" he shouted at Emily. "Get back here!"

Emily's hands were still clutching her head, but now her eyes were closed. Meeting Arya seemed to have caused some sort of painful reaction in her mind.

"No, no," she muttered. Her silver eyes flew open and met Arya's gaze, and Arya didn't see her sister there. There was a stranger in her skin.

"What..." the elf whispered, but found that she couldn't get any more words out.

Harry advanced and Eragon tried to stop him. "No, she doesn't know what's happening, don't hurt her!" 

Harry punched him in the face, a punch born out of fear and confusion. There were strangers in his home, Ron had been hurt, and the man that had killed his parents had returned again. He wasn't in the mood for games. 

Eragon staggered backward, cursing at him. At the same time, Ron ran forward but tripped on his robes. Arya leaped toward him and put a knife to his throat. She wouldn't let anyone hurt Emily.

Noises erupted all around the hall and people got up angrily, yelling threats into the air. Some ran forward to pull Eragon off of Harry, but ended up getting hit and joined in the fight. Arya punched anyone who neared her. The noise grew to an almost unbearable level in the hall.

"STOP," roared a voice from the center of the crowd, and a bolt of flames shot into the air, disappearing before they hit the ceiling. "EVERYONE. SHUT. UP!"

It was Emily. People backed away from her, until the only ones left near her were Harry, Eragon, Arya, and Ron. Eragon and Harry were no longer fighting but were looking at Emily with apprehension. Arya backed off of Ron, staring at her sister. 

Emily's silver eyes were shining with rage and flames flickered along her arms and torso, not burning her clothes or skin. She glared around the room, everyone quailing under her fierce gaze.

"I don't know what's going on," she growled. "You people randomly arrested me for a crime I did not commit. Someone wants me dead more badly than I can imagine and apparently the dead are back. I don't know anything because I can't remember a single thing. And now everyone is fighting for no reason when there are much bigger problems at hand. So. Shut. Up." 

No one made a sound. From the table at which he sat, Dumbledore raised one bushy eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. Emily's glare fell upon Harry. "Now tell me, how do you know me, and who are you?"

Harry took a shaky breath, adjusting his glasses. "My name is Harry Potter. I work for the Ministry of Magic and I'm a wizard. I know you because my job is to bring you in for the murder of innocent people with the use of magic."

"So wizards are interested in this bombing too?" demanded Emily. 

"Of course," Harry said, puzzled. "I mean, you're a witch and you did this, so we have to take charge. It's the Ministry's job to quiet magical threats."

"First of all, I'm a what? And second, I didn't bomb anything." 

"A witch, or wizard, is someone who can perform magic. And we have eye witnesses for that bombing," said Harry.

Emily shook her head. "You better find those eye witnesses, because they lied. Someone really wants me dead, so I'm thinking that they must be trying to get you to kill me." 

Harry walked to the nearest table and sat down, rubbing his forehead. "I'm starting to get the feeling that you're telling the truth. But I'm supposed to bring you in."

Arya stepped forward. "You can not. We must bring Emily home, right now. We need to fix this 'dead rising' problem."

As Harry opened his mouth to speak, Emily asked, "Who... who else here was dead?" 

There was a pause, then about a quarter of the room stepped forward. She saw a red-haired man standing next to an identical version of himself, a woman with bright pink hair, a man with tired eyes and grey lined hair, a man with a glass eye, the man with the long, shaggy black hair, a man with a long silver beard, and many, many others. They all looked at her with a fixed weariness. 

She looked around at them all. How had these people come back? And more importantly, why?

Who am I?

She turned toward Arya. "You better-" and promptly passed out.

Chapter Text

Dean and Cas were silent for most of the drive back to the bunker. Dean had originally tried to draw some information out of Cas, like who the hell that man was and how he was connected to Emily, but Cas hadn't said a word. Now, Dean was worried about how Cas had reacted with the man, as though he knew him. That couldn't be good. They finally arrived back at the bunker where they had planned to meet Sam.

"Sam," Dean called as they opened the door. "We're back with some bad news." There was no answer. "Sam?"

Dean walked through the halls of the bunker, calling out his brother's name, but there was no reply. He finally came back to Cas and told him, "He isn't here. He should have been back by now."

Cas blinked slowly, as if coming out of a trance. "Maybe we should call his cell. He could have gone looking for us."

Dean did as the angel suggested, but no answer. He tried the number four more times and no one picked up. "Damn it," he muttered. "We better track the phone."

They did, and after a few seconds, a tiny red dot appeared on the mobile map. "What the hell!?" Dean murmured, staring at the dot. Sam's phone was in New York. 

"Come on," Cas said, dragging Dean to the door. "We have to find him. I don't like what this means." 

Emily woke up in a small cot, staring up at a stone ceiling. Her head pounded, wherever from the pain of seeing Arya or from hitting it on the floor when fainting, she didn't know. Arya...

She sat up and looked around at her surroundings. She was in a small cell, like the one Ron had been leading her to, furnished with a cot and a wooden chair. In that chair sat Arya. As Emily looked at her, her head started to pound again so she closed her eyes, tilting her chin to the ceiling. With her pale skin and glowing red hair, she looked like one of the old Renaissance paintings of fallen angels.

What the hell just happened? 

"Emily."

She opened her eyes at the word, not looking at the one who said it. "What?"

There was a pause. "How are you?"

She gave a humorless laugh. "I fainted and woke up in a cell. I'm doing just great."

"Why did you faint?"

"The pounding in my head just got to be too much, I guess. It's not as bad now but it's still there."

Another pause, then, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"     

"I'm sorry for overwhelming you like that, Emily. I... I didn't know you lost your memory. I was just so relived to see you alive, so I'm sorry if I shocked you."

"Alive? What, was I in some sort of danger when you last saw me?"

Arya gave her a strange look. "Emily, the last time I saw you was at your funeral."

Emily turned to face her, eyes wide and body tense. "M-my funeral?"

"Yes. That's why I was so relieved to see you; I thought you were dead. But with every other deceased person returning, I guess you did too."

I died, she thought. I died. How?  

"I'm sorry, Emily," Arya repeated. 

And suddenly anger was coursing through her body, filling her head with vicious thoughts. 

"Oh, you're sorry?" Emily's eyes bore into Arya's, ignoring the increase of the pounding in her head. "You're sorry, is that it? Well listen up, Arya, you don't really get to be sorry right now. I woke in a field only one day ago, got attacked by angels, or so I'm told, was carried off to a secret bunker, convicted of killing hundreds of people, got a death threat basically, and was kidnapped by wizards. I don't know who anyone is, or who I am, but everyone seems to know me and mistrusts me for one reason or another. I don't know what is happening right now, and won't be able to unless everyone stops feeling sorry for me and just comes clear. And now, apparently, I died and came back to life." 

Her voice cracked on the last line, stumbling over the words "I died".

Arya's face was masked in shadows. Before she could reply, footsteps reached their ears and Harry and Hermione walked into the room. Arya stood up and crossed her arms. "What are you doing back here?"

"It's ok, we just want to ask her some questions and maybe answer some of her's," Hermione told her kindly. Arya gritted her teeth but sat down. Emily's words seemed to have had a very strong affect on her. She didn't know if it was a good one or not.

Harry stared down at Emily so she stared back at him, quickly clearing her face of any emotion. His bright green eyes reminded her of the oak leaves resting in the summer sun in that golden field. "Ok, Emily, Hermione and Dumbledore have convinced me not to hand you over to the Ministry immediately, but that doesn't mean I can trust you."

Back at you, wizard boy.

"You said before you have no memory. Is that true?" Hermione asked. 

Emily nodded. "A day ago I woke up in a field with no memory of any kind; I only knew my name."

"Why were you in London?"

She paused before answering, choosing her words carefully. "I met two men who told me I might be in danger, so I decided to try to get far away from where I appeared. I took a plane to London and wandered around until I met the man you found me talking to." She didn't even attempt to tell them about Loki, not until she could trust them.

"Who is he? The woman who was with him, Mrs. Hudson, is a known squib in that area, but who's the man you were talking to?"

"He's the detective who's in charge of the bombing case I'm blamed of."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You were having a cup of tea with the man who is supposed to bring you in on murder?"

Emily raised one fiery eyebrow. "He said he didn't think I had anything to do with the bombing. Also, he was, well..." She wanted to say weird, but that seemed an understatement for Sherlock Holmes.

Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "The worst thing about this situation is that I believe you. I don't know why but I don't think you're lying, which complicates things a lot." He looked up at Hermione and sighed. "I think you're right, Hermione, we have to dig into this case more before we tell the Ministry we found her. I trust Kingsley, but with Voldemort on the loose we need to be extra careful. This dead rising thing..."

He looked back at Emily, his jaw set. "You should get some sleep for now. We can answer some of your questions later, but for now you should rest." And with that, he and Hermione left. Arya gave her one last look of hesitation, then followed the wizards.

Emily sighed and lay back down on the cot. She was so tired of being questioned constantly. So, so tired...

The last time I saw you was at your funeral.

She shut her eyes and slowly fell into the realm of sleep.

Don't you trust me, Emily?

*****

"Come on Emily, you are going to miss it!"

Emily opened her eyes to see Arya standing next to her, tugging on her arm urgently. They were standing on a rainbow bridge that seemed to float in the inky black sky around them, lighting up the darkness with its many colours. The bridge was connected to a marble dome with a hole in the roof and a huge golden palace that shone with magic and beauty.   

The red-headed girl gaped up at the sight, not sure how it could be real. Arya tugged her across the bridge toward the palace, a smile spreading across her face.

"We are going to miss the fireworks unless you hurry up," she said, laughing and racing toward the palace until Emily could no longer see her raven-black hair spreading behind her.

"Arya!" Emily called. The elf didn't answer.     

A loud boom made her look up. Green and golden shots of light bloomed in the stary night sky, followed by red and silver. She stepped toward the edge of the glowing bridge to get a better look at the fireworks, transfixed. 

"Emily Rose. Pleasure," a voice like a stone grinding against sandpaper purred. She turned to see a tall, lanky man standing next to her. He had dirty blond hair and a quirky smile, and was wearing jeans with a crisp white t-shirt. When he turned to face her, she saw he had red eyes. 

"Who are you?" Emily demanded. She was caught off guard by his gaze. Those red eyes looked like fresh blood.  

"I'm hurt. Those Winchester brothers didn't tell you about me?" 

Emily looked back up at the crackling fireworks, thinking. She felt strangely calm. Maybe she had been through so much in the past day that her brain just couldn't be bothered with any more fear. "You're Lucifer," she said. "The one Sam and Dean are hunting. The Devil." Another firework burst in the sky, forming weird images like a necklace, a snake, and a gun. 

He laughed. "Guilty-y-y." He followed her gaze to the fireworks and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. 

"So are you here to offer me a deal?" Emily asked.

"No, no. I'm just here to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, Rose," Lucifer said, his voice ticking like a bomb.

Emily turned to look at him again. "Bullshit."

The Devil grinned as he met her gaze. "Believe whatever you want, Emily. I really did just come to meet you. You shouldn't believe what Sam and Dean tell you, I'm actually a really nice guy!"

Emily gave him a Bitch, really? look.

His grin twitched. "What? I'm telling the truth. Or, at least, my truth. You see, dear Rose, everyone has their own truths. They may be different from the truths of others, but to them it's all the same. I believe I'm a nice guy, so I am telling the truth. Just because you don't like it doesn't make it any less true to me."

He stepped back and a crown appeared in his hands. It was silver and delicately carved in the shape of roses, with tiny rubies placed as petals. He held it out to her. 

"What is that?" she asked, not able to tear her gaze away from the crown.

The Devil slowly turned the crown, letting the light catch on it from the fireworks above. "Your memories. I can give them to you, if you like. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but the words were stuck in her throat. She just stared hungrily at the crown, not able to hide how much she wanted it. Her memories.

Lucifer sighed and the crown disappeared. "I'll give you time to think about it. If you want to contact me, just drop by Hell. Do what you want, Rose, but know that I'm not the only one who wants to meet you. You would do well to remember that."

He gave her a wink. "See you soon."

Another firework burst overhead, silver and in the shape of a star.

*****

Emily woke up, sweating and breathing hard. She was alone in her cot, still in the cell she had fallen asleep in. She sat up and put a hand to her head. Sam and Dean had been right, Lucifer was looking for her. Did he know where she was?      

He has my memories.

So, first Loki, now the Devil. Who else would try to seek her out? She really didn't want to find out.

I really did just come here to meet you. Just because you don't like it doesn't make it any less true to me.

She got up and adjusted her leather jacket, still distracted by her thoughts. The leather was comforting against her cold skin. She tore off a bit of cloth from the cot and tied her long, curly hair into a pony tail. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she exited the cell and started up the stairs. Her mind raced as she climbed the cold stone steps.

So she had died. The very idea made her skin crawl. The idea of death, of not existing, scared her more than Loki and Lucifer put together. But she was only, what? Sixteen, seventeen? She didn't even know her own age. She was too young to have died at the very least. 

When she reached the top of the landing she found Hermione waiting for her. Her bushy brown hair was the same shade as her sparkling mahogany eyes. The light shone on her ebony skin, causing her to almost glow. She wore a grey pant suit with sneakers, with a small beaded-bag tied to her hip. She gave Emily a warm smile. "I thought you'd never wake up. Come on, I'll give you a small tour of the castle since you don't remember it." 

They started down the corridor leading away from the Great Hall and up a moving staircase. 

"Yeah," said Hermione, catching Emily's look of astonishment. "Some of the staircases here move. You'll get used to it after a bit."

Do you really? Emily's mind drawled.

They moved up another flight of stairs and exited into a small corridor that looked out into a courtyard.

"Yesterday, Harry told me this place was a school. Why aren't there any students?" Emily asked. The sun was high in the sky, so it must be close to noon. She really had slept awhile.  

"Hogwarts has been closed for the time being. What with all the chaos, no one wants to send their children away right now," Hermione answered, leading her down another flight of stairs.

"Hogwarts?"

"The name of this school. Hogwarts is a place where young witches and wizards can come to learn magic in safety. It's like a second home to many, really. There's a variety of subjects that are taught here, ranging from mildly informative to a bit dangerous. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"And I went to school here?"        

Hermione nodded. "Professor Dumbledore, who used to be the headmaster here until he died, says you did. And if you're a witch, than you probably ended up here." She turned to face Emily. "Do you have a stick of wood, by any chance? It might have some carving on it, or other detail."

Emily put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the dark stick she had woken up with. "Yeah, I found this in my pocket when I woke up the other day."

Hermione took it and examined it carefully. "You're a witch alright. This is a wand, which ever witch and wizard has. It's used as an instrument for our magic. Most wizards can't perform magic intentionally without a wand." She gave it back to Emily and they continued walking.

"So you really don't want to hand me over to the Ministry?"

The older witch sighed. "I don't think we should, and Professor Dumbledore agrees with me. I don't believe you bombed those buildings, and I don't think Harry or Ron does either. They're just scared. I mean, you can breathe fire. I've never heard of anyone who could do that before."

Emily was silent for awhile.

Hermione took her around the school, showing her all the different classrooms and dormitories and sections of Hogwarts. Maybe some would find it boring, but Emily was fascinated with every detail. She had been here, once. She had walked these halls and took these classes, had even slept in one of the four dormitories. But she couldn't remember any of it.

"So there are four houses here," Hermione explained as they started back to the great hall. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"I wonder which one I was in," Emily said.      

Hermione shot her an appraising look. "I don't know. You could have been in any of them, really. It can be hard to tell sometimes."

They reached the Great Hall again and Hermione said, "Come on, let's get some lunch. You must be hungry." 

Chapter Text

They entered the feasting hall, Emily a bit more hesitant than Hermione. Her dream was still fresh in her mind and the stares everyone gave her when she walked in didn’t help with her nerves. She followed Hermione to the far right table where many people from the night before were sitting, eating and talking in turns. Professor Dumbledore was speaking to a man with shaggy black hair and clean cut beard. At least five red-haired people milled about, and Emily guessed they must be related.

Hermione sat down next to Ron and Harry and poured herself some coffee. Everyone looked on edge and nervous, but they all clearly felt safe in this castle and around each other. They were like one big family. Emily was the estranged cousin who was never received a holiday card.

Emily sat down in an empty space between Hermione and two boys with red hair who looked exactly alike, except one was missing his left ear. Across the table from her was Dumbledore.

Everyone went silent as soon as she sat down and turned to look in her direction. Emily poured herself some coffee and slowly drank it, annoyed by the attention. Arya, who was sitting on the other side of Dumbledore, frowned at her, as though sensing something was wrong. She ignored the elf as deftly as the others. 

“I think that you should know who everyone is,” Hermione said into the silence. More than one person tensed and shot glares at Hermione. They obviously didn't trust Emily any more than she trusted them. “That’s Sirius,” she pointed at the man Dumbledore was talking to. “Those are the Weasley twins, Fred and George.” She pointed at the boys on the other side of Emily and they both winked at her.

Hermione went on and on. Tonks was the woman with pink hair and changing facial features. Remus Lupin gray hair and tired eyes. The man with the peg leg, one eye, and lots of scars was Mad-Eye Moody. The Weasley family were the red-heads. There was also Professor McGonagall, a stern lady with grey hair pulled into a tight bun.

“Everyone here, besides you and your, um, friends, are part of the Order of the Phoenix. We fight against the dark arts,” Hermione told her, despite the frowns and muttering that came from the others. Clearly they disapproved of Emily getting to know their secret organization as much as they disapproved of her getting to know their names.

"Cheers," Emily drawled when she'd finished, raising her cup to the table in mock support. 

There was a long silence following her comment.

“So,” Emily cleared her throat. “What’s happened while I was out?”

She could hear Harry frown at her words. “Nothing, and that’s the problem. There has been no news besides more reports of dead people being alive again. Riddle has been completely silent so far and no one knows what’s happening.”

“Yay?” Emily said, taking another gulp of coffee.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and Emily thought she saw a smile hiding behind his silver beard. Sirius, however, was not as amused. “Yay? That’s all you have to say? You caused all of this!”

Emily stared at him. “I did not. Maybe instead of blaming me for every problem you stumble across, you should try and find whoever did bring back the dead. Like Riddle or-” She cut herself off, not wanting to bring up her dream.

There was a pause. “Miss Rose, did you perhaps, ah, have some sort of dream? A dream unlike the usual ones?” asked Professor Dumbledore.

“Maybe?” she muttered, berating herself for bringing it up and wondering how Dumbledore could know that.

“A maybe is more than nothing,” he said, nodding his head at her. “What did you dream about?”

Emily looked down at her goblet, swishing the remaining drink around in it. The brown liquid looked like mud, complete with little grains of coffee ground the size of pebbles. “I was on a rainbow bridge. A man appeared next to me. He told me he was here to meet me but I didn’t believe him. He- well he told me that he wasn’t the only one who would come looking for me and that I should be careful. Then he offered me my memories and disappeared.”

There was more silence as Dumbledore stroked his beard. “I see. Do you know who this man was?”

“I- well, yes, but this is going to sound preposterous,” Emily admitted, looking up at him. “He's the Devil.”

Dumbledore froze. He seemed to be the only one to do so. Ron snorted and said, “Really? Like from the Bible? That is crazy.”

“You can do magic and I came back from the dead, but the goddamn Devil is too crazy of a concept for you?” Emily snapped.

Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. “Miss Rose, you said you have no memory, so how do you know that this really was the Devil?”

“Albus, you don’t actually believe her?” Sirius demanded, outraged.

“I do, because I myself have met the Devil a long time ago. But, Miss Rose, how did you know it was him?”

Emily didn’t want to say. She didn’t think these people would harm the Winchesters, she was just distrustful by nature. But if she didn’t offer evidence they would think she was lying. “Those two men I met when I woke up, they told me something like this might happen. They’ve been looking for him for awhile.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said and stood up, starting to walk down the hall. “I must go now. Miss Rose, I will see you later. But one more thing.”

He turned to look at her again. “The two men you met, were they the Winchester brothers?”

Emily’s open mouth must have answered his question. “Ah, I see now,” he said.

And with that, he walked out of the hall. A few other Order members left as well, including Sirius and Lupin.

“Wait, hold on,” Arya said. “Now you’re being hunted? We must leave for home now.”

Hell no, Emily thought. I'm not going anywhere with you.

Ron seemed to be on the same page as the girl. “Oh no you don’t. We have to get to the bottom of that bombing and what is actually happening right now. She can’t leave until we do.”

“That is not your decision. Emily is my sister and she has to come home with me. You think this world is the only one with problems?”

And I really don't care.

“We can’t let her go without solving this! What if she is responsible?” Harry said.

Everyone else joined in the argument, causing a clatter of noise.

“Ok, STOP!” yelled Hermione and the table fell silent. “Look, this might help. I told you that I had heard Emily’s name before, but I couldn’t be sure until I checked the library.”

“Typical,” murmured Ron.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and drew a newspaper clipping from her pocket. “You know that time we tried to find out the Half-Blood Prince’s name and I looked through all of those old Prophets? Well, I remember reading something about a bombing and it mentioned you, Emily.”

She gave her the article and Emily read through it. Most of the article talked about how this was all some big plot of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to spread fear throughout the nation. There was a description of “ ...A girl with red hair, silver eyes, and a star on her forehead was found standing in the middle of the crime scene with a smile on her face... surrounded by dead bodies of wizards and muggles alike…”

“Just like this time,” Emily muttered, disturbed by the similarity of the events. She pulled out the newspaper with the article of the more recent bombing and handed it to Hermione. She looked up at Arya. “Look, whoever is staging these bombings is trying to pin the blame on me. I have to find out who is doing this before I do anything else.”

She turned her gaze to Harry. “I don’t care about stopping this, it isn’t my problem. But I do want to know who is doing this and why. Maybe it will help get my memory back.”

Hermione scanned the second article. “This might be a place to start. This passage says that the current bombing is being blamed on both you and someone named James Moriarty. And the detective in charge of the case is Sherlock Holmes.”

She looked up at Emily. “What was the name of the detective you met with in London?”

The tension in the car was palpable. Even the most clueless person could sense that something was deeply amiss. Cas and Dean had been driving for the whole night to get to New York, but they were still far away.

The sky outside was slowly turning a pinkish hue when they pulled into the gas station. Next to it was a small bar that seemed to still be open. They got out of the Impala, stretching and groaning as they popped their stiff joints.

“Fill her up, will you? I’m gonna go get a drink,” Dean mumbled to Cas, tossing him the keys to the car. Castiel rolled his eyes but did as Dean asked.

Dean walked briskly into the little bar, determined to keep himself awake by drinking some booze. Maybe not the most efficient way to keep from sleeping, but it was certainly the most refreshing. The bar itself wasn’t that impressive, filled only with a few very late goers and a young man who was cleaning glasses behind the bar.

The barman smiled at Dean as he sat down at the bar and ordered some whisky.

“What brings you here? You’re not a regular,” the barman noted, handing Dean his drink.

“I'm on a road trip, figured I could use a break,” Dean said, draining half the glass with one gulp. The barman refilled the glass and Dean drained it again.

“You with anyone?”

Dean whipped at his mouth. His eyes felt strangely droopy. “Just a friend.”

He started to feel woozy, as though he were about to throw up. Something was definitely wrong. Dean stood but his knees were too weak and he stumbled. He tried to support himself with the bar table but was quickly losing consciousness. The hunter fell to the ground, unable to move.

The last thing he saw was the barman kneeling over him, smiling. “Don’t worry, Dean Winchester, the boss doesn’t want you dead just yet.”

His eyes turned into black orbs and Dean had time to think, Demon, before losing consciousness.

*****

Cas finished filling up the car and carefully replaced the nozzle where it belonged. He was just about to follow Dean when his phone began to ring.

“Hello?” Cas answered.

“Cas, thank god. Dean wasn’t answering. Is he with you?”

“Sam? Where are you, are you alright? We’ve been looking for you everywhere. What happened?”

“I’m fine. You guys were taking so long that I went out to find you, but I, um, ran into someone.”

There were some muffled voices from Sam’s end. “Anyways, where are you guys?”

“We’re about a days drive from New York, trying to find you,” Cas said. “You are in New York, right?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. Look, how about we meet up in Upstate New York near Lake Ontario, East Bay. I’ll explain everything later.”

“Alright. But Sam?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Just be careful.”

“Sure. Always.”

Cas put down the phone, thinking. If Sam had run into someone and was in Upstate New York… well, at least he was safe.

He walked toward the bar knowing that Dean would want to hear this immediately. When he opened the door no one was there. The only sign of life was a knocked over shot cup on the floor. Cas knelt down and picked it up, turning the glass in his hand. It was still warm.

He stood up and sniffed the air. The smell of sulfur assaulted his nose.

“Demons,” Cas growled, turning to head out the door. Sam would have to wait.

I’m coming, Dean, just wait for me.

“Are you sure you knew where you’re going?” asked Harry in a tired voice.

They had been wandering around London for an hour now, trying to find out how to get to Baker street. The wizards had agreed to let Arya and Emily go to London to search for Sherlock Holmes so they could find out the truth about the bombing (just as long as Harry accompanied them).

“Look, it shouldn't take much longer. It has to be around here somewhere,” Emily replied, annoyed.

They turned off the busy street onto a row of apartment buildings and Emily spotted a familiar looking cafe banner.

She pointed it out. “There! Next to the cafe.”

They made their way down the busy street, trying not to get lost in the sea of people. Arya was completely overwhelmed, staring at the nosy machines and towering buildings with wide eyes. Coming from a world where there was no electricity or any modern technology and being shoved into London without any warning was a huge shock. She was so lost that she tripped over someone’s leg and fell toward the ground.

Emily caught her, pushing the taller woman up straight before she could slam into the pavement.

“Thank you,” Arya told her, but Emily just rolled her eyes and turned to follow Harry.

Why is she so mad at me? the elf thought, frowning.

They reached the cafe and stopped in front of a door with the number 221 on it. The metal knocker on the door was oddly crooked, but none of them tried to fix it.

“This is it?” Harry asked skeptically.

Emily nodded and pushed open the door. The three of them walked up the little flight of stairs to the place of their destination.

They exchanged a hurried glance, then Emily reached up and knocked once on the door.

“Come in,” said a voice. They pushed open the door and entered the flat.

It looked exactly the same to Emily, except instead of the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes sitting in a chair by the fireplace, there was instead a short, blonde, broad-shouldered man reading a newspaper.

He looked up at them as they came in and said, “Oh, hello. Are you all clients?”

“Clients?” Harry echoed.

The blonde man nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, but you might have to come back later. Sherlock isn’t here right now and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Actually, we just came here to talk to him,” Emily said. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, not really. He does this quite often though, wouldn’t be too worried about it,” the man said. “So you’re not here for a case?”

“In a way, yeah, I guess we are. I met Sherlock the other day. He said he wanted to help me so I came by here to follow up on the offer.”

The man studied her more closely. “Who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Emily.”

“John Watson, Sherlock's flat mate,” he said, shaking her hand. He glanced at Harry and Arya. “Who are you two?”

“I’m Harry Potter.”

“Arya.”

“Grand,” John said, picking up his phone. “I can try to call him, if you like. Might actually pick up.”

Emily shrugged her shoulders. “I guess.”

“You can take a seat on the couch if you want.”

Harry nodded politely and did so, and after a moment Arya joined him. Emily, however, leaned against the wall next to the window and stared out into the busy London streets. John dialed a number on his phone and held it close to his ear, one arm crossed across his chest.

Emily observed him. He was short but obviously had some muscle, more so than an average gym goer does. He had a quiet patience around him that is usually found in hospitals and secretaries; he had even spoke to them like patients.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked him, tilting her head a bit to the side.

He blinked at her, startled. “Yeah. I was an army doctor until a few years ago when I moved in with Sherlock. How did you-”

He was cut off by the phone. Sherlock must have answered it.

“Hey, Sherlock. No, it’s fine here. A girl named Emily just came ‘round, said she was looking for you. Said you wanted to help her? Oh, ok. Great. Okay, bye,” he finished, then hung up. “He said to hold on, he should be here in a few minutes. Want some tea?”

Harry and Arya nodded so John went to the kitchen to make some. Emily continued to stare out the window, her thoughts turning to what Loki had said. Many others will try to hunt you down, and will offer you much less appealing deals than mine.

She was starting to see what he meant by that and only hoped no one else was after her. It was all very startling, to wake up with no memories and be told that dangerous people were after you for reasons you did not know. Her past was becoming an ever increasing mystery, one she hoped Sherlock would be able to help her solve.

At that very moment, the door opened and in sauntered Sherlock himself, taking off his purple scarf and long black coat. He saw Emily at the window and stared at her with a strange, almost hesitant look that was deeply unsettling, as though he were trying to pick her in a lineup.

“You’re back, along with some of the same company,” he finally said, pulling up a chair in the middle of the room and placing his long fingers under his chin, leaning forward slightly.

John returned to the room with a tray of tea. He handed one to Harry and Arya but Emily declined hers. So did Sherlock, but John looked used to that already. He pulled up another chair besides the detective and sipped his own cup carefully.

“So, what exactly do you want my help with?” Sherlock asked, ignoring John's question.

Harry turned his cup slightly. “We want to know if you know anything about the bombing that happened. Maybe who did it, or why?”

“As I told Emily yesterday, I do not believe she blew up that building. I have yet to name any real suspects, as this case seems to be of an abnormal sort.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arya asked. 

John scoffed. “He means that it’s harder for him to solve than normal cases so it’s more of a challenge. Anyways, we won’t be able to get any real clues until the police open up the crime scene to us again. It’s closed for the time being.”

“Why?” said Emily.

“They’re afraid there could be a gas leak, so no one is allowed to go near for a bit,” John explained, sipping his tea.

There was an awkward pause during which Sherlock studied Harry and Arya, his brow furrowed slightly. Then Emily, remembering the article, asked, “What do you know about James Moriarty?”

The reaction was not one Emily would have expected. John and Sherlock froze, turning to stare at her in shock and trepidation. John glanced at Sherlock, biting his lip and drumming his fingers on his knee.

After a long moment, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and crossed one long leg over the other. “How do you know that name?” He was giving her that strange, unnerving look again. 

“It was in the paper. The article said he was also a suspect, but that he may be dead? It was kind of confusing. Do you know who he is?” she asked.

Sherlock wouldn’t look away from her. He seemed to analyze every bit of her, never blinking. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you know if we could find him? Maybe he can give us some answers.”

Sherlock let out a cold, humorless laugh. “You don’t go looking for Moriarty, he finds you wherever you like it or not. And god help you if he does. He is a spider in the center of a giant web that controls London and its inner workings. He is insane, unstoppable even by death it seems. Yet he has one of the most brilliant minds the world has ever seen. You don’t want to go looking for him, Miss Rose.”

Emily blinked at him. She didn’t see why they seemed to be so cautious of him. People’s fear of Voldemort and Lucifer seemed clear- they were powerful magical beings, but Moriarty was human. A very smart human who was a dangerous criminal, but human all the same.

“Even if he is dangerous, I still need to know what happened and who is responsible for the bombing. Someone has to know something, at least.”

Sherlock got up and started pacing, his fingers still under his chin. Harry and Arya looked on with wide eyes. “Maybe. Just maybe. But no… it can’t be. What about the Ministry you were talking about earlier?” he directed at Harry.

Harry looked startled for a moment. “Well, that’s why we took Emily in the first place. She could have used magic to blow up the building and we had to take her in anyways for suspected murder.”

“Hold on, you’re saying she can use magic?” John scoffed, nodding his head at Emily. She suspected he still didn't know or believe that magic existed.

Harry nodded while Arya said, “Not very well, as I recall.”

Emily tilted her head at her supposed sister. What the fuck? What did she mean by that?

“I can look around, use some contacts, cash in some favours,” Sherlock interrupted. “I will find out who did this and keep you updated, as long as you don’t go looking for Moriarty.”

“Fine," Emily snorted. "I don't need more enemies anyways."

Arya rolled her eyes.

Sherlock looked out the window as the three strangers left with the star blessed girl in the lead. John joined him, his arm brushing Sherlock’s.

“What did you think of all that?” he asked softly. 

Sherlock was silent for a moment, his eyes training on Emily until she disappeared into the crowd completely. “I think The Game has begun.”

John closed his eyes and grabbed Sherlock's hand. They stood there for a long time, held together by their entwined fingers, watching London move below them like a behemoth beast.

Chapter Text

Hermione watched the young man pace the length between the house tables, occasionally scratching his clean shaven face or glancing expectantly at the great oak doors. He was very odd; different in a way from both wizards and Muggles. He seemed almost ancient, like the giant beach tree on the grounds that sat next to the lake. Not old, exactly, but burden by years and memories rather left forgotten. His presence disturbed her.

“How long are they going to be?” Eragon asked, still annoyed at being left behind. Harry hadn't wanted to attract too much attention, and had only let Arya along to go see the mysterious detective because she wouldn't take no for an answer.

“They haven’t even been gone an hour, calm down,” Ron replied, not even looking up from the card game he was playing with Fred.

“They better not be gone much longer,” the stranger muttered, throwing himself on the bench across from Hermione.

Most of the Order of the Phoenix members had gone with Ginny to the Burrow and were busy organizing up a defense in case Riddle planned to attack the wizarding world. So far, there had been no more news of the Dark Lord. Hermione wasn’t even sure how they knew he was back. The rest of the teachers at Hogwarts had stayed in case anyone needed refuge in the days or weeks to come. But now, only Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Eragon were left in the Great Hall.

Eragon was studying Fred, his eyes narrowed slightly. Apparently this boy got suspicious fast. “So, I’m still a little confused. Arya didn’t really explain this whole ‘the dead are coming back’ thing to me. Did you say you don’t remember anything about how you came back?”

Fred sighed, laying down another card. “I’m not like Emily; I remember who I am. I can remember my whole life up to the point when that wall fell on me. My world just went black, and the next memory I have is waking up in front of a grave with my name on it. I had my wand with me.”

“Yeah, we, uh, buried you with it,” Ron told him, putting down his cards and turning to look at Eragon, blinking fast. “Look, we know about as much as you. People who have died recently are now appearing again, exactly as they were before they died. They don’t have any scars, blemishes- nothing. Tonks and Lupin said the same thing as Fred. No one knows what’s going on.”

“What about Emily?” Fred asked. There was a long period of silence following his question as each person inwardly asked themselves the same question: What about Emily? Why was she the one exception, and why did so many people seem to dislike her?

“Do you know anything about her? I mean, Arya did say they are sisters and all,” Hermione asked Eragon.

He shook his head. “No, I never even heard her name until the other day when Arya asked me to come here with her. She might have died before I was even born.”

“Weird,” mumbled Ron, glancing at Hermione. It seemed odd that Emily had come back with all these other people but couldn’t remember who she even was. Only others like Dumbledore could testify for her previous existence and character.

“Speaking of weird, Ron, you never told me how the Ministry knew Riddle was back. You just said he wasn’t dead anymore,” Hermione said.

“Well, the Ministry said he blew up a building or something. They said he left a message- ‘Lord Voldemort has returned’. No one’s seen him though.”

“Wait, blown up a building? Like Emily?”

“Hold on,” Eragon interjected. “You mean that someone else is using bombs? Why hasn’t that been on the news?”

Ron looked down at the table, deep in thought. “You’re right- there hasn’t been anymore news of other bombings. Does that mean Voldemort bombed that building in London and Emily is just getting the blame?”

“This makes three people now accused for the bombing and one of them can’t even remember anything,” Hermione speculated. “Something isn’t right. Why is the Ministry going after Emily if they think Voldemort did it? And why do the Muggles suspect Emily but also named another perpetrator: Moriarty? Didn’t the paper say he died too?”

“Not to mention that dream Emily had. If you ask me, something else is going on, something much bigger than a bombing,” Fred said. “I don’t know what’s happened since I died, but I do remember when Voldemort first tried to take over. It wasn’t like this. I agree with Hermione, something isn’t right.”

There was a pause, then, “Do you think Emily’s dream could have something to do with all... this?” Eragon asked, gesturing vaguely with one arm at their incorporeal problems.

Ron shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I think this Satan deal is a bit shady, though. Why would he have anything to do with the bombing? And why would he appear in Emily’s dreams?”

“Well I don’t know about you, but I’d rather do something besides sit around and wait for them to come back. I say we go try and find this Satan guy, see what he wants with Emily,” Eragon said.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Where would we even start?” 

“Those men who found Emily,” Hermione remembered. “Didn’t she say they were trying to track the Devil? They might be able to help. Could you take us to the place where Dumbledore found you?”

Eragon nodded. “Yeah, sure. It’s somewhere in a place called Kansas.”

There was a stretch of silence as the inhabitants of the room realized they had just agreed on something

“Great,” Fred said, standing up and stretching. “You three go look for the Devil, I’ll go home and tell everyone where you’ve gone. Try not to go to Hell.” And with that, he walked out of the great hall, waving goodbye as he left.

*****

Hermione had never been to America before. She didn’t like to travel abroad much, and whenever she did she stayed in Europe. Her first impression of Kansas was not one of delight. Its never ending farmlands filled with corn were so different from the lush, full vegetation of the countryside in London. Different too from the cool air of fall that always settled upon wizards and Muggles alike; instead it was merely lukewarm. The leaves on the few trees were turning brown and yellow, occasionally falling from the short limbs onto the ground with their brethren. Many a fallen leaf blew across the deserted paved road. The emptiness and loneliness surprised her.

They had Apperated into the forlorn state of Kansas under a stormy afternoon sky. Grey clouds the colour of smoke filled up the heavens in an endless abundance. The wind was stronger than usual, and the smell of rain pushed against the witch’s nose.

Eragon looked around, his hair whipping in the stormy wind, seemingly undisturbed at the magical transportation he had just undergone. This troubled Hermione, who was now questioning the origin of the blond man with greater interest. How was he not shocked by the magic they had performed?

“This is it. This is definitely around where we were looking for Emily. How did you do that?” he asked, turning to look at Ron and Hermione.

“What? Turn up here, so close to where you remembered?” Ron said, scratching his short stubble. “In Apperating, which is what we just did, you concentrate on the place you want to go. You just thought of this area so when Hermione and I Apperated, we all ended up where you wanted to be.”

Eragon nodded his head thoughtfully. “Your magic is very unique. I should like to study it one day.”

“You can’t, unless you’re a wizard,” Hermione told him, glancing up at the sky uneasily. “Come on, we had better get going before this storm breaks. Lead the way, Eragon.”

As they followed the pale haired man, Hermione wondered if this was such a good idea. She didn’t dislike Eragon- he was actually quite a nice guy- but she didn’t fully trust him either. He was a stranger to them; a non wizard in a sea of problems that might just swallow them up. She wondered if following him was the right thing to do.

The right thing to do. Was there still such a thing?

They walked down the paved black road, never encountering any cars of people. Eragon led them down the road for about twenty minutes before they reached a four way intersection. He stopped, looking hesitantly down the three paths.

“Which way do we go?” Ron asked impatiently.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember which direction we went,” Eragon answered, pushing back his wind blown hair with his right hand. Hermione noticed, for the first time, that there was an odd mark on his palm, shaped like a spiraled oval.

Before she could question him on it, the heard a very loud vrooooom and turned to see a black car speeding very fast towards them. Ron and Hermione jumped off the road but Eragon was not as quick. The driver must have spotted him, because the car started to slow, but was going too fast to stop completely. As a result, Eragon was hit in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

“Whoa!” yelled Ron, hurrying to Eragon’s side. The Dragon Rider answered with a small moan.

Hermione tuned to the car, a black Chevy Impala, as the driver got out. Sky blue eyes latched onto her as the man walked toward the small party.

“Are you alright?” he called to them in a gravelly voice before stopping short at the sight of Eragon. “Wait, I remember you!”

Eragon moved himself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as Ron supported him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?” the driver shot back. “You’re supposed to be looking for Emily.”

“Yeah, well, we found her.”

“Found her? Why didn’t you-”

“Hold on,” Hermione interrupted, pointing at the driver. “Who are you? How do you know Eragon?”

The driver glared at Eragon for another moment before turning to her. “My name is Castiel. I gave him and his friend my car so they could look for Emily. They were supposed to tell me if they found her, but apparently not.”

“We might have, except we kind of ran into her unexpectedly. If you really want to know, she's somewhere called London right now.” Eragon grumbled, rubbing his head.

“London? Why?”

“Long story,” Ron interrupted. “Look, we only came here to ask the people who found Emily about something we think could be important.”

Hermione studied the blue eyed man, talking in his well worn clothes and tousled hair. He looked human, but her years in the magical world had taught her that what seemed human wasn't always so. He had a presence about him; an unnatural aura that reminded her of the man held on trial at the Ministry. What had he called himself again?

Castiel looked shocked. “Sam and Dean? What could you want with them?”

“We want to ask them about a dream Emily had,” Ron said, helping Eragon up. 

Castiel shook his head and started to walk back to his car. "Sorry, I can't help you. I've already wasted too much time here."

“WHOA, whoa,” Ron said, following him with Hermione and a limping Eragon behind him. “You can’t even tell us where they are?”

Cas stopped with his hand on the car’s door. “I don’t rightly know where they are. That’s why I have to get going.”

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. This man might be their only chance to find out about the Devil and the reason he was interested in Emily. They needed to know what was happening, preferably before they got to know first hand.

“What if we help you find them? Then they could tell us what we want to know and everyone can go their separate ways. A win-win,” Hermione suggested.

Castiel studied her, his blue eyes skeptical. But behind that was a troubling, worrying expression that seemed to eat him up inside.

“Fine,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “But I’m warning you, this is going to be dangerous. There's a chance you could die.”

Ron looked taken aback for a moment but Eragon just plopped into the back seat and collapsed, still clutching his stomach.

Hermione sighed and climbed into the passenger seat. There was a deep rumble and the sky broke overhead. Fat drops of rain hit the windshield. Cas glanced at her, his mouth set in a thin line. He already looked like he was regretting bringing them. Then, with another great vrooooom, he started the engine and drove into the great, dark storm that filled up the Kansas sky.

The giant boom that echoed through London was like a stone hitting the calm surface of a pond. Ripples spread across the surface, getting increasingly bigger the farther they spread. When the people of London heard the explosion, they screamed and panicked, the bombing of Heron Tower still fresh in their minds.

Emily stopped as her eyes found the explosion, the sound hitting her ears barely a moment later. They had only been walking for twenty-five minutes, how could they already have found trouble? Harry let out a yelp and clutched something in his coat pocket, his eyes darting around. Arya stood like a statue, her eyes fixed on the place where the explosion had happened, just like Emily. The three locked gazes and ran toward the explosion.

They flew past stopped cars, dodging panicking pedestrians running in the opposite direction. The explosion hadn't been far away- barely more than six blocks. Smoke and dust clouded their view as they neared the site. People appeared from the cloud of smoke, coughing and limping from various injuries. Emily ran over to one woman stumbling out of the exploded building, her hand over her mouth.

“What happened?” she inquired, helping her to a bench, yelling over all the noise. Harry and Arya followed her, coughing from the smoke.

“I… I dunno,” the woman coughed. “We were just in the building’, normal stuff, when it just suddenly, I dunno, exploded. I couldn’t see nothin’ but found me way out the front. Some ain't so lucky.”

Arya gave the woman the cloth her hair had been tied back with. “Here, take this and cover your mouth. As soon as you can, get out of here.”

The woman nodded gratefully, pressing the leaf coloured cloth to her face. Emily looked at the thick cloud of smoke covering the building, flickers of flame breaking through at the top. A shrill scream was coming from within. It sounded like a child. 

Something flashed in her mind, a blurry image of a figure on the ground, yelling in pain. Without thinking she ran toward the entrance to the building, her arm over her mouth.

“ROSE,” Harry roared, taking a step forward, but found himself blocked by a slender arm.

“Don’t go in there,” Arya shouted over all the noise. “The smoke could kill you.”

“But Emily-”

“She’ll be fine. I think.”

Arya stepped back and held her left hand up, palm facing the burning building. There was a strange mark on it, like a swirled oval. She started to mutter something under her breath and the mark began to glow.

Harry grabbed her arm and forced it down, glancing around him furtively. “What are you doing?”

Arya tilted her head at him, eyes narrowing, and wrenched back her arm. “I’m trying to help. This spell will clear up the smoke a bit, hopefully allowing anyone inside a little more protection.”

“You can’t use magic here. There are too many people watching!”

“Do they fear it? Why can I not perform a spell?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “They don’t even know magic exists. If they did, we would have a lot more problems. Just, no magic.”

Arya raised an eyebrow but didn’t try to perform anymore spells.

*****

Emily ran through the smoke and flames, her nose and mouth buried in the sleeve of her leather jacket. Her eyes watered from the fumes and her nose stung from the smell of ash and smoke. She pushed through the half collapsed door, trying to find the source of the screams.

She heard the sound again, straight ahead. Pushing past smoking rubble, she ran toward it. Flames danced before her, blocking her path. Without thinking, she jumped, sailing right through the fire and landing on the other side unharmed. Not stopping to contemplate the wonder of not being burned to a crisp, she continued to run toward the screams.

Emily finally found the source of the sound. A young boy, no more than the age of eight, lay on the ground, his right leg pinned under some rubble. His dust covered face was streaked with tear lines as he looked up at her. He reached out a hand, crying, “Help me, help me please!”

The girl crouched down by the rubble, trying to move it so she could get his leg out. It wouldn’t budge. The smoke was getting thicker and thicker, and she heard a bellowing crash from her right. The boy was coughing terribly and Emily was having trouble breathing herself now.

Standing up, she grasped the rubble from the bottom and pushed her shoulder against it with all her strength, lifting as she did so. With a crumbling sound, it slowly started to move. Emily strained against it, her arms screaming, until the boy’s leg was completely free. She dropped the rubble, panting, her head pounding.

The boy tried to get up but his crushed leg was obviously broken. He was crying in earnest now, interrupted at random intervals by rasping coughs. Emily slid her arms under his legs and back and lifted him, barely feeling his weight. She ran as fast as she could back to the entrance. Just as she caught sight of the crushed doorway there was a loud crack, and part of the ceiling caved in, spilling flaming wood and stone right in front of her.

Emily stopped, coughing, her eyes watering. Through the flames she saw the dark silhouette of a man, standing right at the entrance to the building. He looked like a demon; just a silhouette of black through the smoke, the only colour coming from his blinding white teeth as he smiled at her.

There was another rumble and the ceiling ahead completely caved in, blocking her view and the entrance. She looked around, trapped. Rubble and fire seemed to block her at every turn. She couldn’t jump through the flames with the boy, but she couldn’t go back either. Emily spotted a small ray of light cutting through the fallen ceiling. She ran toward it, almost passing out from the smoke. She pushed past the stone, cutting her shoulder on a piece of corroded metal sticking out of the pile. The boy clutched her jacket, his head buried in her shoulder.

She could see the ray of light more clearly now. Emily ran forward, following it, the tiny piece of sunlight creating a luminous path through the smoke and dust.

Almost there, she thought. I’m almost there…

*****

Arya pointed at the smoking building, her eyes wide. “Look!”

Climbing out from the pile of fallen debris was Emily, covered in sweat and dust, a young boy in her arms. She hopped down from the rubble and walked toward them.

“How stupid are you?” Harry asked when she reached them, coughing tremendously.

“He needed help,” she croaked, looking down at the boy. “His leg, look…”

Harry inspected the blood spattered leg of the boy. It was broken- crushed, even. The loud sirens of a firetruck assaulted their ears and a moment later they were surrounded by three men in fireman uniforms. Emily handed them the boy and they rushed off with him. Other men ran toward the building, no doubt trying to save more citizens from the fires.

“Emily, that was an incredibly brave and foolish thing to do,” Arya apprehended her, mouth thin and nostrils flared.

Emily tried and failed to wipe to dust and ash off her face. “Some would say bravery and foolishness is the same thing.”

She tried to remember the image she had had right before she ran into the building. Was that a memory? Was she starting to remember her past? She couldn't picture much, just a young boy lying on the ground, masked in shadow. She was pretty sure he had blond hair.

Harry sighed. “Seriously, what were you thinking?!”

“That I couldn’t stand here and let a child die!” Emily snapped, glaring at him. “Are you going to scold me for saving a life now?”

A loud whirrrr interrupted their conversation, causing the three to look up. A small, glossy black plane with a large blue A on the side was hovering above the buildings, looking for a place to land. It did so right in front of them, people clearing the street as to not be crushed. The door opened, a ramp sliding to the ground, and out stepped two men.

The first was short, with spiky brown hair, wearing a suit and sunglasses. On his wrists were two metal bands. The second was a tall blond man with icy blue eyes. He wore a green muscle shirt and a dark brown jacket. The first man pointed at Emily, commanding, “Don’t move!”

Emily stared up at them in confusion, her mouth slightly open. 

The two men walked down to them. The first man stopped in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Did you do this?”

It took her a moment to realize he meant the burning building. “Wha-No! Of course not!"

Who the hell are these people?

The second man raised an eyebrow. “See, Tony? Told you she didn’t do it. She’s just a kid.”

Tony turned to glare at him before focusing back on Emily. “Shut up, Rogers. Look, we’ve been looking for you for awhile now-”

You and the rest of the world, Emily thought.

“And we want to talk to you. Just talk, I promise.”

“Why have you been looking for me?” Emily demanded.

Steve sighed. “Because your friend, Sam Winchester, told us you might be in danger. Right now you are the prime suspect in two bombings. We can’t be sure you didn’t do these bombings, but we also can’t rule out the possibility that you are being blamed for this. Especially after what Sam told us.”

“Wait, Sam Winchester? How does he know you?

And he's not my friend, her mind whispered.

“Long story,” Tony said impatiently. “Are you going to come with us or not?”

The sound of police sirens reached their ears and Emily suddenly became aware that she, a prime suspect in the recent bombing, was standing right in front of a recently exploded building. She really wanted to know how Sam had come into contact with these people and what he had told them about her. Besides, she didn't have anything better to do.

“Fine,” she sighed, walking toward the plane. “Who are you people anyways?”

“I’m Tony Stark, and that’s Steve Rodgers. We’re the Avengers.”

“No idea what that is,” Emily said, following them up the ramp, Arya and Harry behind her. “And I honestly don’t care.”

It had been one hell of a day.

Cas stopped in front of an old warehouse compound, quickly turning off the engine and getting out of the old car. Hermione did the same, opening the door for the still hurt but slightly better Eragon, glancing around. It had taken them two hours to get there with Cas never going under 80 miles per hour. She felt slightly carsick.

Castiel led them down the row of rusty storage compounds, no one in sight. They stopped in front of one with a large red three on it. Leaning against the door was a tall, good looking man wearing a blazer over a white t-shirt, talking to a ginger woman sporting an ankle length black dress.

Cas stopped at the sight of the man. “Balthazar?”

The good looking man looked up, a wide grin spreading across his face at the sight of him. “Cassy! So good to see you- alive and all. How you been?”

Castiel hugged him, surprising Hermione. She didn’t think he was the huggable type.

“You’re back,” Cas noted, stepping back.

Balthazar nodded. “Yup.” He had a British accent, mixed with a slightly French pronunciation on the hard consonants. “Been trying to find you. Heaven is a mess, can you believe? Just a bunch of brought back to life angels all mumbling and bumping into each other. I thought it best to try and fine you. Luckily I ran into charming Rowena and she brought me here.”

The ginger woman, Rowena, nodded. “He made quite the case. I’ve brought what you asked for, dear. Summoning a portal to Hell isn’t too tricky, and I’d do anything to save poor Dean.”

“Wait, we’re going to Hell?” Ron floundered.

Cas turned to them, his mouth set in a grim line. “Yes. While searching for Emily, my friend Dean was captured by demons. I’ve come here to rescue him. I did tell you it would be dangerous.”

“Hell is a real place?” Eragon asked, adjusting his sword belt nervously.

Rowena snorted. “Yes dearie, though it isn’t pleasant, believe me.”

“Do you still want to come?” Cas asked.

Hermione glanced over at Ron. His expression was uneasy, clouded with doubt. However, if they wanted to find Sam and Dean, they had to help Cas.

“Yes. Let’s go,” Hermione said, her jaw set.

“Good,” Castiel turned to Balthazar and held out a slip of paper. “I can’t help with Heaven right now, or explain about the dead. If you want some answers, could you try and find the people on this list and bring them to the bunker? I will try to explain everything then.”

Balthazar took the paper, scanning it. His eyes widened slightly. “I’ll try, Castiel. But be careful there, won’t you? I know he’s down there and God knows what he wants. And I understand,” he said, grabbing Cas’s arm as he started to walk past. “About waiting. Dean always comes first, I know that. He always has.”

Cas looked down at the hand on his arm and nodded, swallowing hard. He started to follow Rowena to the warehouse, Hermione, Ron, and Eragon in suite. At the entrance, he turned and said, “I’m sorry, Balthazar. I’m sorry we couldn’t save you.”

Balthazar smirked at him. “Nothing to apologize for, Cas. I’m sure you know what it’s like.” And, with a whoosh, he disappeared.

“What the-” Eragon started, before shaking his head and following Castiel into the warehouse, giving up on getting any answers.

Rowena had drawn a complicated circle on the wall in white chalk. She busied herself with putting some vague ingredients in a cup, muttering old words over it. She beckoned them over, red smoke now rising from the goblet.

“Now when I open up the entrance to Hell, it will only stay open for a short amount of time. You must be quick if you don’t want to be trapped.” She caught the annoyed look on Castiel’s face and rolled her eyes. “It’s the only fast way to get there without catching his attention.”

Hermione wondered who this “he” was. Both Balthazar and Rowena seemed to be afraid of him, and seem to expect they would meet him down in Hell.

“Let’s just go,” Cas muttured.

Rowena faced the circle on the wall, chanting over the goblet. There was a sudden bright red light and all the sound was sucked out of the room. A moment later, a tall oval appeared in the wall, showing a dark staircase leading down.

Castiel drew a short metal blade from his belt. “Let’s go.”

Eragon drew his sword, Hermione and Ron their wands. They followed him down the dark staircase into the depths of the unknown, Rowena watching them go.

They seemed to walk down forever, the darkness getting deeper and deeper. Hermione started to get chilly and wrapped her arms around herself as they walked. Ron, on the other hand, seemed to be sweating. He pushed his damp hair from his head and asked, “Why’s it so hot?”

Cas glanced back at them. “Hell is designed to fit itself to each person’s worst sensations and memories. If you don’t like the cold you will be chilly. If you hate the desert you will be as dry as a shell. The only thing Hell always is, is dark. No one likes the dark.”

They pressed on for an indefinite amount of time before finally reaching flat ground. Hermione squinted to see, the only light coming from tiny flaming torches. Shadows creeped along red bricked walls covered with frost and ice. Thick fog blocked what little view they had ahead. Tunnels and doorways seemed to be the only structures that made up the dark, uninviting landscape of Hell.

“This place looks like the basement in Malfoy Manor,” Ron murmured besides Hermione. He must have been seeing something different from her, something that brought back bad memories. She knew all too well how he felt. His hand slipped into hers and she felt a bit better. This place was alien, scary, and desolate, but at least she had Ron with her.

Eragon stepped to her other side, his lips pursed. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” he asked them softly.

“It’s too late to turn back if we aren’t,” Hermione answered. She studied the blond man. He had followed them, two strangers he had met merely a day ago, into Hell on a hunch. Maybe he could be trusted, given time. Either that or he was completely insane. 

The four of them faced the darkness together, weapons drawn and faces grim.

“This way,” Cas said, walking straight ahead. They followed him closely, not wanting to get lost in the fog.

Faint screams of pain and madness sometimes reached their ears, unnerving all except Castiel. He seems too focused on the task at hand to notice the other’s discomfort. After a turning down a few tunnels and doors, Hermione started to hear a clamor of voices from ahead. Cas gestured for them to be silent and they crept forward.

They stopped next to a large column as thick as three men standing side by side. They were on the edge of an immense throne room, looking down at an unnerving scene. Eight men dressed in black suits stood in a line facing a large black and ruby throne. It seemed to grow from the ground, made of black stone as dark as ebony, with blood red glass stabbing out from it in an intense fashion. On the throne sat a man with dirty blond hair and chiseled jaw, wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. He was directing the men in front of him, his words not reaching them from their vantage point. He admitted a dark and unnerving presence, as though he was holding a chainsaw in front of a crowd. His smile was all teeth.

“Who is that?” Ron whispered to Castiel.

Cas gritted his teeth, staring at the man on the throne. “That’s Lucifer, the Devil.”

There was silence. Then, “You can’t be serious,” Eragon said quietly.

“Believe me, I am. Don’t raise his attention, the fact that he hasn’t sensed me yet is already too suspicious. The men down there are demons.”

His eyes scanned the room and fell upon a column on the opposite side of the room, behind one of the tables by the lined up men. Tied to it was a dark haired man struggling to escape his bonds. Castiel’s eyes were pull of pain and longing as he stared at the man, and Hermione wondered about the history between them.

“Is that Dean?” she asked softly.

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Ok, here’s the plan: You and Ron stay here. Eragon and I will sneak over to Dean. When I give the signal, you will create a distraction and-”

“CASTIEL,” a voice roared, interrupting him. They looked down and saw Lucifer smiling up at them. The demons all had blades in their hands, and Dean had frozen at the outburst. His gaze found them and his eyes widened. His shook his head mutely, his mouth gagged.

“It’s so nice of you to join us! I knew you would come. But where’s Emily?”

Cas dropped down to the wide room, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s face. “She’s not here.”

The Devil pouted. “What I pity. I was hoping for someone with more power, but an angel will do for now.” He snapped his fingers and the demons charged.

Hermione did something stupid. She attacked. She and Eragon yelled in defiance and jumped off the ledge, landing besides Castiel and attacking the men. Ron scrambled to do the same. Eragon charged, holding his sword, and shouted, “BRISINGR”. White hot flames enveloped his dark blue sword and he started to slice and jab at the three demons attacking him. The other five ran at Ron, Hermione, and Cas. Hermione and Ron shot spells at them while Cas stabbed one and, dodging the rest, ran toward Dean.

Lucifer tsked and lazily waved a hand. Cas flew backwards, hitting the wall with a groan. Eragon, who had dispatched the three demons attacking him, yelled and charged the Devil. He held out his palm and shouted something, and a chair flew from the table and hit Lucifer in the face. He then started to attack. Eragon’s swordsmanship was excellent; Lucifer seemed to be having trouble dodging his attacks.

Cas picked himself up from the ground and hurried toward Dean. A trickle of blood ran down his head, caused by its impact with the wall. He stopped in front of the hunter and gently took off the gag.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked.

“I could say the same to you,” Cas shot back, untying him from the column.

Dean turned to face him, cocking his head slightly. “You’re bleeding.”

“What else is new,” Cas grumbled, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go.”

He waved at Hermione who had just knocked out a demon with a fist to his face. She and Ron had stopped the rest of their opponents.

“Let’s go!” he shouted. “Eragon!”

Eragon was having a bit of trouble. Lucifer was blocking every jab, stroke, or stab he aimed. He almost seemed to be doing it with ease now. “Go!” the Dragon Rider shouted, pressing harder. “I’ll meet you back at the stairs!”

Not wanting to waste time arguing, Cas started to run, Dean right next to him. Ron and Hermione followed rather reluctantly.

Lucifer yelled, blasting Eragon back a few steps. He raised his hand, the gedwëy ignasia on his palm starting to glow.

“Stenr huildr!” Eragon commanded, and the stone floor around Lucifer rose up, encasing his legs and torso in rock. Knowing he wouldn’t be trapped long, Eragon ran after the others, stumbling after the loss of energy from his spell. He stopped in the corridor, suddenly realizing he didn’t know where to go. He tore through a door on his right, running down the corridor as fast as he could. Heading left, he burst through another door into a small room.

It had a stone ceiling with one light bulb hanging from it. A wooden table was set against the wall across from him, papers and books strewn across it. He approached the table, confused as to why this room was here. Folders and binders pinned with dates lay scattered all over the ground. On top of the mass of papers was a single sheet of loose-leaf paper. On it was what appeared to be a list of names. Eragon picked it up, studying it. The only name he recognized on it was Emily Rose, underlined twice.

His head jerked up as he heard someone calling his name. Stuffing the list in his pocket, Eragon ran out of the small room, following the voice. He ended up finding the others; Hermione had been the calling for him.

“About time, let’s get out of here,” Dean said, starting to climb up the stairs. The rest of them followed, running up the dark stairway. After awhile, they exited into the warehouse, breathing in the fresh air. Rowena stood up from the chair she had been seated in, and when all of them had exited the stairwell, she flicked her hand and closed the doorway.

The five of them stood panting in front of the witch, clutching their sides. Eragon sat against the wall, coughing as each breath hit his hurt ribs. Cas knelt next to him and pressed a hand to his forehead. His eyes glowed and Eragon felt the pain subside.

“I never said sorry for hitting you with a car, did I?” The angel said, helping him up.

“What now?” asked Ron, running a hand through his damp red hair.

“Well, we need to go find Sam. He’s in New York. Once we find him, we can tell you what you want to know,” Cas told them.

Dean nodded, but Hermione noticed that his face paled slightly. “New York, here we come.”

The plane ride was uncomfortable to say the least. Emily and Tony were annoyed to be in such close proximity to each other. Arya always marveled how quickly her sister could rub others the wrong way, always unwelcoming and sarcastic to anyone she met.

Emily was still covered in ash and dust, though she had wiped most of it off her face by now. Arya still thought her sister had been extremely foolish to go running into a burning building, even if it was to save a child. Something was bothering her, that was obvious to Arya. She had known Emily long enough to sense when something was amiss. Something had happened in that building that had upset her in someway, but for now Arya didn’t think she would get to know.

There had been no time to talk to her sister since they had left. The constant motion of events had prevented her from telling Emily about her past. The longer she waited, the more she seemed to hesitate. If Emily truly didn’t remember anything, would she be happier?

Would she even believe her if she told her the truth?

Her attention was drawn to Emily as the plane hit a spot of turbulence and swerved sharply, causing the girl to grab her upper left arm.

“Emily, is there something wrong with your arm?” she asked, concerned.

Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s just a scratch I got from some rubble. It’ll be fine.”

“Not if it gets infected,” Steve Rogers said, walking over to her with some bandages. “Take off your jacket and let me clean it.”

She sighed but did as he asked. As Emily threw her jacket next to her, Harry pointed at her arm and exclaimed, “Where did you get that?”

Emily looked down, frowning. On her left forearm was a dark black tattoo of a snake coming out of a skull. “I dunno. I didn’t notice it until now, and we all know I can’t remember how I got it.”

Harry looked extremely troubled. “That’s the dark mark. It is not good that you have that.”

“Why? What does it mean?” Tony asked, intrigued, from where he was sitting.

“There’s this really bad wizard named Voldemort. Not good news at all. That's his chosen mark, used to spread fear. All of his closest followers, his inner circle, have that tattoo on their arms.”

Emily tilted her head at Harry. “Voldemort? Isn’t that the same wizard you guys were blaming for the bombing along with me?”

Harry nodded. “And if you have that mark, well…”

“Then I must be in cahoots with him? That before I died, I was one of his followers? Who knows, Harry. Certainly not me, but I would love to find out,” Emily said calmly.

She didn’t seem upset at all at the news that she was sporting the mark of a dangerous wizard on her arm. She didn’t really seem to care.

What the hell did you do when you left? Arya thought, staring at her sister. When Emily had been sent off to school in Midgard, they had had no idea what she was doing until she died. They had buried her there and left, and Arya had never thought she would see her sister again. Since the moment she left the forest to the other day when Arya saw her again, Emily’s life was a complete and utter mystery. And since Emily herself could not remember a thing about her past, anything could be possible.

Absolutely anything.

“So, where exactly are we heading?” Emily asked Tony once Steve was done bandaging her arm.

“To our compound in New York. Your friend, Sam, is waiting there,” he answered.

Emily raised one lava-coloured eyebrow. “How did Sam meet you guys, exactly?”

“He was brought there by a member,” Steve said. “He had some pretty interesting things to say about you, as well as some other topics. Supernatural creatures, for example. The Devil.”

“What are the Avengers?” Harry asked.

“It’s a team of, well, superheros. We save the world,” Steve informed them. “Tony and I are the founders. We try to keep up with worldly threats, which is why we were in London looking for you, Emily. A couple of others were searching in America. We wanted to find you after that bombing. We were told by a team member that you might not be fully human, so we had to make sure you weren’t a threat.”

Arya stiffened at the words 'not fully human', but didn't say anything. Not yet, she told herself. Wait until things calm down.

“I’m sure finding me in front of that building didn’t help much,” grumbled Emily.

Tony snorted. “Yeah, well, we’ll decide what to do when we get back to the compound. It shouldn’t be long, this plane can go over 750 miles an hour. I designed it myself.”

Arya didn't know what that meant, but Harry seemed impressed. All of these new machines and technologies seemed so unreal to her, like a dream a child invented.

“Wake me up when we get there,” Emily yawned, closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat. She was asleep withing minutes. 

Chapter Text

A blue sky. Green grass. A tall beech tree next to a lake, its branches swaying in the breeze.

A whisper on the wind. A soft laugh that echoed through space like a shout in a cave. A smile. Blue.

Emily opened her eyes to the dim pink sun setting on a dusky sky, the stars starting to creep out in tiny silver bunches. Her head was pounding and she couldn’t make sense of what had happened. Was that a dream? A memory? She didn’t know.

A large compound composed of a few buildings and training facilities was visible beneath them. A large blue A, like the one on the plane, was set on the side of the largest building. They set down on a landing pad just to the side of it.

Emily followed the others off the plane, a chilly breeze playing with her hair. Autumn was much more present here than in Kansas. They entered the large building through a set of glass doors that opened automatically for them.

Rogers led them through the massive compound, built like an expensive training facility combined with a business building, to a large room with a kitchen, a comfy sitting area with couches and chairs, and a fireplace. One wall was made of nothing but glass so they could see the sun setting through the trees. A couple of people milled about in the room. A boy sat on the kitchen counter eating a bagel, talking to a tall guy with a metal arm and black hair. Sam Winchester sat in one of the chairs, chatting to a curly haired man wearing glasses and a purple shirt. A tall, extremely muscular man with short blond hair stood at the glass wall, staring at the sunset, deep in thought. One of his eyes was covered with a dark eyepatch.

He turned as they walked in and his electric blue eye locked with Emily’s silver ones. He walked toward them, never breaking his gaze. Emily opened her mouth to ask what he was doing when he suddenly grabbed her neck and pinned her against the wall.

“THOR!” the purple shirt man exclaimed, jumping up. The young boy in the kitchen dropped his bagel, wide-eyed.

Thor’s eye were full of suspicion and unfounded anger. “How dare you come here?” he growled. He looked her up and down, his scowl deepening with each passing second. "What the hell do you want?"

“Ack… don’t… know…” Emily gasped, unable to breath properly.

His grip tightened. “If you’re working with Loki-”

Emily’s eyes flashed and she suddenly kicked him away. As he stumbled backwards she grabbed his arm and pinned him face first against the ground with her knee pressing against his back, twisting his arm across his shoulders.

“No,” she growled. “I’m not. Are you?”

Thor laughed without humour. “Don’t be stupid. He left to find you, didn’t he? I can see what you are, Rose. I know what you can do."

“Tell me then, because I certainly don’t."

“Alright, let him go,” Rogers interrupted, dragging Emily off Thor. The girl threw back her head, staring at the ceiling, her feet dragging against the floor.

Thor got up, glaring at her. “Why else would he leave? I thought he had changed, but apparently not.”

“I am not working with him,” she spat, wrenching her arm from Rogers. “I am not working with anyone, much to the surprise of whoever I meet. I haven't done anything wrong yet you still seem to be mad at me. Why would Loki even be after me?”

He blinked. “Don’t expect me to believe you don’t know.”

Anger that had been slowly building up ever since she woke up in that field filled her like water rushing past a dam. It was anger at being threatened, questioned without reason, and generally treated with great suspicion. It was anger at her ignorance of her own life.

“I DON’T KNOW,” she roared. “I don’t remember anything about my past. You’re not the first person to say something like that to me and you probably won’t be the last! I don’t know what the hell is happening right now and being attacked isn’t helping! For fucks sake, I’ve been threatened so much in the past few days I don’t even know if I’ll live to see tomorrow. So either tell me why you just attacked me, or shut. The hell. UP.”

Silence enveloped the room as she finished. Thor looked slightly taken aback.

“Let’s sit down,” Arya said, grabbing Emily and leading her over to the chairs. Sam stared up at her, eyes wide with surprise. Emily sat across from him and Harry settled himself in a chair next to her with Arya standing at her shoulder, arms crossed. The boy at the kitchen counter was still goggling at her.

“How do you know this... Loki?” Arya asked, every inch of her radiating frustration.

Emily glared at her. “When I left Sam and Dean, he found me in a diner in Nebraska. He told me who he was and offered to help me. I refused. He said he wouldn’t be the only one to come after me, and he was right.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, leaning forward slightly.

“You know that Lucifer guy you and Dean were talking about? He came to me in a dream the other night.”

Sam tilted his head at her. "He knows you exist? That doesn't... how can he?"

“Why are you here anyways?" the young girl shot back. "Do you know these people?”

“He kidnapped me and brought me here yesterday,” said Sam, nodding at Thor.

Thor sighed. “I already said I was sorry. If I had realized who you were, I wouldn’t have blamed you of working with Loki. I just saw you and your brother helping Emily and I jumped to conclusions. But when I found out you were a Winchester, I couldn’t let you leave.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “How do you even know me?”

Thor looked surprised. “You don’t remember? The hotel, when the Devil was trying to start the Apocalypse? I was one of the gods present.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said, his face paling. “Yeah, uh, I remember.”

Stark was staring at Emily with an appraising look. “So let’s get everyone on the same page. Monsters and supernatural creatures are real, as well as the Devil. Loki escaped and immediately went after Emily, who ran away and ended up in London with those two,” he pointed at Arya and Harry. “Yeah, by the way, gods exist too. Two bombings have happened since you came back from the dead, Emily, and in the more recent one we found you right in front of the building. You were known, before you died, as the suspected bomber of Shell Centre but were never caught. There has been only one other suspect in the more recent bombings: the criminal James Moriarty, who I have not been able to get any information on. Shield has failed me once again.”

“Actually, there’s another suspect,” interrupted Harry. “The wizard Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort. He also returned from the dead, and we think he may have something to do with this. But we're not sure yet.”

“So now wizards exist?” Rogers said, staring at Harry as though his head was on fire.

To Harry’s surprise, Thor answered him. “Yes. This boy and Emily are both wizards, but not like your friend Strange. There is a very large number of them in the world but they are kept secret for the welfare of Muggles.”

“Cool!” the boy at the counter yelled. The man with the metal arm was studying them, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Wait, how do you know all of this stuff? About wizards and demons and everything?” Harry asked.

Thor’s gaze returned to the window where the sun had completely set. Silver stars punctured the inky black sky, lighting up the heavens. “In Asgard, my father had the responsibility of keeping up with threats across the nine worlds. As his heir, I was aware of the many mysteries that surrounded this world and others. Wizards, the Devil, monsters; I knew of them all.”

“So what-” Emily began, but at that moment a small beep-beep sound came from Stark’s pocket. He pulled out a phone with its screen flashing.

“There’s two men at the gate asking to be let in,” he informed them.

Sam stood up and took the phone from him. “It’s Cas and Dean! Let them in.”

Stark shrugged and did what was asked. A few moments later the door opened and Dean walked in with a man Emily had never seen before. He had midnight black hair and sky-blue eyes, and was wearing a tan trench coat over a small suit with a backwards blue tie.  

The strange man glanced around the room, taking in everything. His eyes settled on Emily, and he froze. “You.”

Emily stood up, facing him. “Yup, me.”

He kept staring at her. She thought he was going to yell at her, punch her, or starting going off about how terrible she was like everyone else had done so far.

Instead, he held out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She shook hands with him, completely taken aback. “Um… yeah, nice to meet you too, I guess.”

Arya rolled her eyes, mumbling something Emily couldn’t hear.

“Good to see you again, kid,” Dean said, eyes on Thor, his words for Emily. “Nice to see you’re not dead.”

Sam hugged his brother. “The same goes for you.”

Dean patted his back, leaving the hug quickly, his eyes never leaving the god. Thor himself was studying the newcomers with a confused look on his face.

Cas turned to Harry. “You must be Harry Potter. Your friends, Ron and Hermione, told me about you. They were going to come here with me, but they received an urgent message and had to leave. They said they would explain everything to you later.”

“I’d better go too, then,” Harry said, but was stopped by Stark.

“Not so fast. Before anyone leaves, we need to figure out what to do with her,” he pointed at Emily, who rolled her eyes. “You all get a say because you can testify for her whereabouts from the past few days.”

Banner, the man in the purple shirt, studied Emily. “What were you doing to London, again?”

She studied Banner. His eyes darted around constantly, as though afraid of a sudden attack. He obviously had a temper based on the way he fidgeted- impatient for something to end, or scared? His well ironed clothes, pristine glasses and short hair pointed to either a scientific or medical career. She guessed scientific because he fidgeted too much to be a doctor and didn't have the quiet patience most medical degree owners, like John Watson, wore.

“I was wandering around when I noticed someone following me. I ran into a flat to lose them and I met the detective in charge of the bombing cases,” she explained, sitting down again, resigned to a long and boring conversation.

“And he just… let you go?” asked Rogers skeptically.

Emily sighed. “Yes. He didn’t seem to think I had anything to do with the bombings. He said he would help me find out who is doing them, though.”

“So how did you two find her?” Stark asked Sam and Dean.

This led to a very long explanation of the past few days, with Emily and the others recounting their experiences to the Avengers. Emily told them everything except the man she had seen in the burning building. She didn’t know who he was, and didn’t think the others would be too pleased by him. Besides, they didn't need any more reason to distrust her.

“So, now that you know what’s happened, do you really think I bombed those buildings?” Emily asked the room, weared down by the long talk.

Everyone was staring at her now. They all seemed weary, as though just realizing how much they didn't know about her. It was as if they had put all worry and suspicion aside to come together and distrust her.

The unfairness of it all swallowed the young girl up.

Cas, Arya, and Thor were the only ones who weren't looking at her with intense curiosity. They looked worried and even a little frightened- maybe of her? They knew something that the rest of them didn't, and they sure weren't sharing it with her.

Emily’s story could considered to be full of holes by someone who hadn't met her, but everyone in the room had to admit that it seemed highly improbable that this child had bombed two of London’s most prominent buildings in a span of two days while being closely supervised (most the of time). Still, the tiny embers of suspicion and doubt lay in every one of them, ready to ignite at the slightest provocation. Not only that, but there was definitely something going on with her. It was no coincidence that she was back along with the rest of the dead. Loki and Lucifer did not target her on a whim.

The question was: why?

“Your story is a compelling one,” Rogers said after everyone had finished speaking. “I don't think you bombed those buildings.”

Stark nodded. “Maybe you didn't do those, but something's still going on with you. You're trouble, that's for sure."

Wonderful. I hadn't noticed, she thought. 

“I agree,” Cas said. “And after what Lucifer said about you, well, let’s just say you better watch your back. Something’s going on that we don’t know about, and I’m afraid of what could happen if we don’t find out what it is soon.”

Thor said nothing. He just stared at Emily the same way Sherlock had, as though he had seen her before but couldn’t place where.

Emily stood up, stretching. “Well if you’re not going to chuck me in prison, I think I’ll go. I am not going to sit around until someone tries to come kill me.” She didn’t care about their decision anyways. Even if they had decided she was guilty, she would have just run away.

They didn’t matter to her.

“Hold on,” Stark said, pulling a phone out of his pocket and tossing it to her. “We won’t shadow you unless you give us reason to, but we should still keep in touch. Call us if you need any help, or if you see Loki.”

Emily stuffed the phone in her pocket and headed for the door, firmly deciding to never use it. Arya, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Harry followed her.

As she reached the door, Thor called out, “Guard your fire, Rose. You’re going to need it.”

Emily turned to meet his gaze. How did he know about the fire inside of her? His blue eye, like a fork of lightning across the dark sky, was set with grim determination.

She slowly nodded at him, then turned and left.

As they walked out into the cool night air, Harry said, “I have to return to Hogwarts. If Hermione and Ron left for a message, it must have been something big. You should come with me, Emily. I can't let you wander around by yourself."

She shook her head. “No. I'm not going back there right now. If I go I can't find out about my past." She turned to Arya, her eyes glittering. "You have a lot to explain, sister."

Arya turned away from her, facing Harry instead. "Will you bring a message to Eragon? Tell him I won't be back just yet. And if you'll let him stay, tell him to try and find out more about what's happening."

"Look, I can't just leave Emily with you. If the Ministry catches her she will go to jail," Harry said.

"Well, what if I came with you?" suggested Sam. Everyone turned to stare at him. "What? Dean and Cas can look after Emily and I can go to this Hogwarts place with Harry. That way we'll be able to communicate easily and maybe I'll be able to find some more lore on Lucifer. It's a win-win."

Harry studied him with surprise. “No Muggle has ever set foot in Hogwarts as far as I can tell. But it's as good a plan as any, I guess." 

His troubled expression told her that he was getting increasingly desperate. If the dead were really back for good, with the Devil and a dark wizard at the lead, than old rules didn’t apply. Surviving was all that mattered.

“Fine. Sam, you go to the wizard school and see what you can find. Cas and I will take Emily and Arya with us,” Dean said.

As they parted their separate ways, a strange thought squirmed into the front of Emily's wary mind. 

How does Dean know Hogwarts is a school?

“You’re not really just going to let her go, are you?” Steve asked.

“Of course not,” Tony said, watching Emily leave from the window. “That phone has a tracker in it. We need to keep an eye on that girl; there’s something unnatural about her.”

Thor snorted, gazing up at the stars above. If he concentrated really hard, he imagined he could see the faint glow of his home. “You have no idea.”

Sam and Harry appeared in front of a set of iron gates, the moon high above them. Sam blinked, startled.

“Yeah, that was Apperating. It’s a bit rough the first time,” Harry told him, unlocking the gates with a wave of his hand.

Sam couldn’t see anything besides the gates. He had a sudden urge to turn around and get as far away from this place as he could. He took a step back, but stopped as Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

“When you step through these gates, you’ll see it. Just- trust me.”

Sam swallowed and nodded his head, following the young stranger through the steely iron gates. He stopped, frozen by the view that unfolded in front of him.

A huge castle rose from the darkness, its many windows filled with a shimmering bright light. A large lake sat next to it, a little light reflecting off its dark surface. The path up the castle was lit by hundreds of floating yellow lights. He had trouble taking in the majestic sight; in all his years as a hunter he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Harry led him up the path to a set of great oak doors. As he pushed them open, warm light spilled out onto the grounds, warming the chill air momentarily. Inside lay a huge opening hall set with marble stairs and more floating lights. Another set of huge doors were open to the side, many voices streaming out of it.

A young red-haired woman stood waiting for them. When she saw Harry she ran to hug him.

“Harry! We’ve been waiting, what took you so long?” She looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Sam. “Is that a Muggle?”

Harry stepped back, glancing over at Sam, who was still staring in astonishment at the decor. “Er... yeah. Ginny, what’s happening? Where are Ron and Hermione?”

“You brought a Muggle here? A Muggle? Harry, why?!”

At that moment, a loud shout came from the room next to them, “I DON’T CARE WHAT THE MINISTRY THINKS IS BEST, HE’S COMING FOR US ALL AND YOU KNOW IT!”

“Malfoy?” Harry gaped. The three of them hurried into the hall and Sam stopped in shock once again. Hundreds of floating candles filled the air under the night sky, no ceiling in sight. Four tables took up the huge hall, another one set on a dias at the end. Around twenty people were staring at a shouting match in the center of the hall.

They all turned to see who had entered. “Harry!” Hermione called. She and Ron were two of the three who were arguing.

A tall, blond haired man with a long nose and grey eyes turned to glare at them. He must have been the one shouting.

“POTTER. Where were you? And who is that?” he sneered, pointing at Sam.

Sam opened his mouth to answer but before he could, Professor Dumbledore walked over and shook his hand. “Mr. Winchester, I was wondering when you would come to us. It is an honour.”

Sam blinked, startled at this welcoming. He wasn’t the only one confused.

“Is he a Muggle? Harry, what were you thinking?” Ron said.

“Winchester? Wait, are you Dean’s brother?” asked Hermione.

Sam nodded. “Um, yeah, I am. How do you know that?”

“Never mind who he is,” the blond haired man interrupted. “He’s a Muggle. He can’t be here!”

“Why are you here, Malfoy? Don’t you have anything better to do?” Harry shot back.

Malfoy's already white face got even paler, resembling that of a ghost. “My parents are dead.”

There was silence. “Oh,” Harry stammered through his shock. “H-how?”

“Voldemort murdered them. He came to our house last night and killed them. And they’re not the only ones.”

“That’s why we left. We had to see if it was true,” Hermione said, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “He’s killed nine wizards in the past few hours.”

“Why hasn’t the Ministry done anything?” Harry growled.

“I think,” interrupted Dumbledore, “that you have forgotten their more pressing matter: Miss Rose.”

Murmurs filled the room at the mention of Emily. Sam wondered how these people knew her, and why.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry muttered. “About her…”

“There was another bombing,” Hermione said.

Harry sighed. “I know, I was there.”

Malfoy looked between the two of them and guessed the truth. “Hold on, are you saying you know where she is and you haven’t informed the Ministry? I knew you were dimwitted, Potter, but this is insane!”

“She didn’t do it!” Harry exclaimed. “You have to trust me on this, all of you. She didn’t do those bombings.”

“Oh, should we trust you like we trusted you when you said Voldemort was gone for good?” Malfoy shot back.

This must have been a blow because these was another stretch of terse silence. After a few awkward moments, Sam said, “Look, I know you don’t know me and think that I shouldn’t be here, but Harry is right. Emily is innocent.”

Malfoy just glared at him.

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Let’s not fight about this now. The Order of the Phoenix is looking into the murders even if the Ministry isn’t. Mr. Malfoy, we welcome your help and offer you our sympathies, but to win we must not quarrel with one another. If you wish to leave, you may do so at any time, but we would be most grateful if you would stay and help.”

Malfoy shot one last look of contempt at Harry then threw himself onto a bench, fuming. Harry sighed and turned back to Sam. “Sorry about that. I guess everyone is trying to deal with their different problems. I’m gonna have to look into that, so I don’t think I’ll be able to help you much. Just keep me posted on Emily.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll just look around and try to find something,” Sam answered.

“Hold on,” said Hermione. “Harry, when was the last time you slept?”

Harry looked surprised. “Um, I dunno. I’ve been so busy the past few days.”

“That’s it, before you go off ‘being the hero’ you’re going to get some sleep. We can sort everything out in the morning,” she ordered, pushing Harry toward the doors. Ron followed them, yawning. A few others followed them out, no doubt going to find a place to sleep as well.

Sam sat down at one of the tables, his mind too preoccupied for sleep. Professor Dumbledore sat down across from him, his eyes twinkling over half-moon spectacles. “Did you know that you are the first Muggle to enter Hogwarts in over seven hundred years?”

“I don’t even know what a Muggle is,” Sam admitted.

Dumbledore smiled. “A Muggle is someone who can not perform magic.”

“But I’ve done magic before. Spells and summonings and stuff like that.”

“Our magic is different. A witch or a wizard is someone who is born with magic in their blood. They can perform magic through the use of a magical instrument, usually a wand. That is to say, they do not need to use supernatural beings or a certain language to access magic.”

Dumbledore tilted his head up and pointed at the night sky above them. “For example, that ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky outside at all times. The founders of this school enchanted it together, to represent that even here we are subject to what happens in the outside world. The spell will never fade as long as those with magic in their blood reside at this school.”

Sam looked up at the silver stars, twinkling in the inky sky. How had he and Dean not known about this type of magic? They were hunters; they knew so much about supernatural creatures and magical beings, yet even they didn’t seem to know everything. What else were they missing?

“Mr. Winchester, I think you had better tell me what has transpired since you met Emily Rose,” Dumbledore said softly.

The hunter looked into his piercing silver eyes. He had a feeling he could trust Dumbledore. It wasn’t easy to explain, but the old wizard seemed so steady and, well, there. It was as if he had sat in the hall since the beginning of time, and would continue to sit there long after everyone Sam knew was dead.

So he started to tell him everything, as short as he could. Still, it took most of an hour to explain the events of the past few days. Dumbledore never interrupted him. The sky above seemed a bit less dark by the time he finished, the stars starting to vanish.

“I see,” Dumbledore said when he finished talking. “I fear this is much worse than I previously imagined. You said the Devil is involved?”

He nodded. “That’s what Harry and Dean told me. It’s also part of why I came here. I was wondering if I could use the library to read up on some lore, maybe try to find out more about Emily.”

“You are very welcome to. If you go down the hall and take two rights at your first chance, you should find it. If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask.”

Sam nodded, standing up. “I do have one question, actually. How do you know who I am?

Dumbledore gave him a small, sad smile. “Oh, I like to keep track of important people in the world. You, Dean, and Castiel are certainly three of them.”

Sam left him sitting there, twiddling his thumbs and staring up at the stars; Dumbledore was definitely odd. He followed the directions to the library. It was huge, filled to the brim with hundreds of thousands of books. Long tables filled the center and other reading spots were crowded in among the many shelves. A few candles were lit but no one was at the main desk. He walked in, stunned at the amount of knowledge the room held.

At one of the long tables was Hermione, pouring over a stack of books, her dark curls glowing softly in the candlelight. She looked up as he entered.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I wanted to try to find anything about Emily or Lucifer. I saw him, Sam. I don’t know how we got away.”

“From what Dean told me, it sounded like he let you go, but that doesn’t make sense,” Sam said, sitting across from her and picking up a book. “I wouldn’t be too worried about it, he doesn’t want you.”

“He wants you, though,” Hermione said, looking up from her book. She saw the look on his face and added, “Castiel told us.”

Sam fiddled with a page of his book. “Yes, he does. And Emily, by the sound of it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because she’s so powerful. But me… well, let’s just say he won’t get what he wants.”

The sound of paper and the crackle of the candles was the only sound in the library for a bit.

“Who is Voldemort?” Sam finally asked.

“He’s a dark wizard, well known throughout our world. Harry killed him a long time ago, when he was only seventeen. Voldemort tried to take over the wizarding world and killed countless Muggles and wizards. We thought he was gone forever, but now the dead are back. He is back.”

“And he’s trying to take over again?”

“Well, we don’t really know,” Hermione said. “No one’s even seen him as far as I know, except for Malfoy.”

More silence, then, “Why does everyone act like I shouldn’t be here?”

“Well, no Muggle has ever set foot in this castle for as long as anyone can remember. Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe place for wizards, built to keep non-magical people, which is what a Muggle is, away. So by bringing you here, Harry is basically breaking every rule that the wizarding world stands upon.”

“But he told other Muggles about magic. Is he supposed to do that if magic is secret?”

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I don’t know why Harry has done what he’s done, but I’m sure it’s for a good reason. He's is a good person. Usually, if a Muggle discovers magic is real, we erase their memories of it. But right now, with the dead coming back, I don’t think the normal rules apply, do you?”

“No,” Sam said. “No, I don’t think they do.”

The two of them read for the rest of night, finally falling asleep in the early hours of the morning on top of the old, dusty books.

Harry and Ron decided to sleep in one of the Gryffindor dormitories, all of which were empty due to the school closing. Despite being extremely tired, Harry couldn’t go to sleep.

“Ron,” he whispered to the dark room.

“Hmm?” his friend answered. Apparently, Ron couldn’t sleep either.

“Do you trust Emily?”

There was a pause. “Yeah, I think I do. I know she’s a bit suspicious, but I don’t think she wants to do us in.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. He was silent for a moment. Then, “She has the dark mark on her arm.”

“What?” He heard a rustle fabric as Ron moved to sit up in bed. 

“I saw it, plain as day. I don’t know how she got it and of course she can’t remember, but it’s there.”

“Blimey. Do you think… I mean, could she be…”

Harry stared up at the dark ceiling, tiny slivers of light dancing on it from the windows. “I dunno. I don’t think she was ever a Death Eater. I mean, she’s really young. But we don’t know.”

There was a long silence, both boys locked inside their own heads, thinking.

“Something isn’t right,” Harry whispered. “There’s more going on than what we know, there has to be. The dead, the Devil, Emily; there has to be something, or someone, behind all of this.”

Ron didn’t answer. It took Harry a moment to catch the soft snores coming from his bed. He closed his eyes and in a few minutes, he too was sleeping.

Sherlock dug through another stack of papers, surrounded by boxes and files from years ago. The hustle and bustle of Scotland Yard was so distracting, but he tried to concentrate anyways. His long fingers flipped through a file from twenty years ago, when the bombing on Shell Centre had happened. There was a description of a girl, describing Emily exactly, as the main suspect. But that had to be impossible; how could Emily be the same age as she was twenty years ago?

“How the hell is magic real?” John asked, yet again, from where he was sitting across the room. Sherlock sighed, trying hard not to roll his eyes. John had been asking that for the past half hour, ever since Sherlock had dragged him down to ask Lestrade for files on the bombings and told him about his conversation with Emily.

“I mean, that’s just children’s stuff. Magic isn’t real, everyone knows that. It’s make believe.”

Sherlock tossed a book over his shoulder, continuing to search through the boxes. “There is no logical reason for this, none at all. I doubt they are telling the truth, but that just makes the case all the more interesting.”

“What if they’re just insane?” the doctor scoffed, joining Sherlock at the boxes.

“I doubt it,” Sherlock said, shrugging off the idea. “They don’t act like it. There’s something we’re missing, that’s all.”

They searched in silence for a bit. Sherlock flipped through the other files, searching for anything about Emily or Moriarty. The file on Shell Centre didn’t list any other suspects. It was strange, really, that the case hadn’t made any sort of progress. The bombing of one of London’s most important buildings should have been made a top priority, but the case had never been solved. Apparently some thought it had been caused by a gas leak, which was absurd. The evidence clearly stated that the building could have only sustained that much damage by some sort of high teched bomb. So what had happened?

“Do you think this is Moriarty?” John asked, breaking his train of thought. The doctor still seemed distracted but he focused on Sherlock as he talked, searching his face as though looking for some hidden answer.

Sherlock sighed, starting on a new box. “There is a huge possibility it is- that’s why I told Lestrade he should be named as a suspect. I don’t know how he survived on the roof but it is clear that if he is alive, he would do something like this. Maybe it’s part of another game, maybe he just wanted to cause chaos. I don’t know, and that’s the problem.”

At that moment, Lestrade walked in, his face tired and rugged. He obviously hadn’t been getting much sleep since the bombing. “You found anything yet, Sherlock?”

“Not much. This case is getting stranger and stranger the more I dig into it.”

Lestrade scratched his unshaven cheek. “Well, that’s not very reassuring. We’re not much better off than you, I’m afraid.”

John glanced at his watch. “Maybe we should-”

He was cut off by a loud boom from outside. The three men hurried to the window and saw a large column of smoke rising out of the city.

“Shit,” Lestrade yelled, hurrying to the door. “Not another one. Come on, John, Sherlock…”

The three of them hurried out of the station, getting into a car with Donovan (Sherlock was not happy) and set off full speed to the explosion, a multitude of cars and fire engines in their wake.

It took them a bit to get there; everyone was panicking, causing horrendous traffic. When they finally arrived they were greeted with the smoking, fiery remains of a tall building. People were screaming, running away from the building, while others clutched their throats, the smoke causing an outbreak of coughing. Sherlock followed Lestrade and John, studying the smoke and flames.

“It’s just like last time,” he yelled over the noise.

Lestrade squinted against the smoke. “There has never been this scale of sequenced bombings before. Whoever is doing this is well resourced and planned. It’s almost like a pattern.”

John had run over to a woman leaning against a bench, coughing into a piece of green cloth. He was trying to get her to leave.

Sherlock joined him, helping the woman get away from the smoke. “Did you see anything?”

The woman coughed for a bit, then said, “Not really. I was in the buildin’ when it exploded. I got out, but not many did.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious go in or out of the building?” John asked.

She shook her head. “Not before it exploded. But after, this girl and ‘er two friends appeared. The girl ran into the buildin’, even though ‘er friends tried to stop ‘er. She came out a bit later with a little boy and gave ‘em to the firemen.”

John glanced at Sherlock. “What did she look like?”

“She had red hair, like fire, and a weird star on ‘er forehead.”

Sherlock frowned. “And where did she go after she rescued the boy?”

“This plane came down and two men came out and spoke to ‘em. They left with ‘em and flew off not five minutes ago.” As she finished her sentence, the woman broke out into another fit of coughing and they helped her to the paramedics.

“So Emily was here,” John said as they walked back to Lestrade.

Sherlock fixed his gaze on the burning building, thinking. “Yes, but not when it exploded by the sound of it. I’m guessing they heard the explosion and were close by, so-”

“Doesn’t this make you even a tiny bit suspicious? She was sighted at all three of the bombings, Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned to face him, annoyed. “So? Who would do something like that? Stay behind at a crime they committed not once but three times, and not get caught? It doesn’t add up, John!”

“Jesus Christ, why can’t you use some level of caution?” the doctor growled, throwing up his hands in anger.

“Why should I? Why does she scare you so much anyways? You saw her, do you really think she could do something like-?”

“BECAUSE SHE REMINDS ME OF MORIARTY!” John yelled, his face inches from Sherlock’s. “Because this is just like last time, when you thought you could handle him but you were wrong, and he almost killed you. You didn’t use any caution then and look where it got you! You jumped off a roof for god’s sake!” He paused, closed his eyes as if to recompose himself, then opened them again. “Just, don’t go into this thinking you know everything. Treat her with some caution at least. Don’t be hard headed.”

Sherlock was stunned into a moment of silence, not expecting such an outburst from the doctor. “A bit rich, you telling me to not be hard headed,” he finally said. “But I do see your point. I’ll try to be more careful, if that’s what you really want.”

John nodded, appearing somewhat satisfied. Before either could say anything else, Lestrade approached them.

“Sherlock, there’s something you need to see,” he said. He led them to the front of the building, where a note was stuck onto the ruined door. It hadn’t caught on fire yet, so it must have been put there recently. Lestrade pulled it down, read it, then handed it to Sherlock without a word, his face a mask.

The only thing written on it were the words: Miss Me?

John stared at the paper with Sherlock, horrified, then looked up at Lestrade. “Does this mean Moriarty did this? He’s really back?”

Lestrade let out a bone weary sigh. “We don’t know. Probably, but we can’t be sure until we get more evidence.”

Sherlock stuck the note in his pocket and started to head toward the cars. He hadn’t reacted to the message at all.  

“Hey, where are you going?” Lestrade called as John scurried after him.

“To visit my brother,” answered Sherlock.

Chapter Text

Harry poured himself another cup of coffee. The warm brown liquid shimmered and sloshed around the cup like waves under a ship. Ron pushed a plate of bacon toward him.

“You have to eat, mate,” he said. “Just because You-Know-Who is back doesn’t mean you get to stop eating.”

Harry sighed and stared down at the bacon. It was arranged into a smiley face, but the end of one of the pieces was broken off so it formed a little bacon smirk instead. “Believe me, I know. But we still don’t know how the dead are back and I can’t concentrate on anything else. I mean, no one’s ever done this before. What could have happened?”

“Maybe it was that psychopath you’re protecting,” Malfoy drawled, sliding onto the bench across from them. “The one who helped bomb those buildings.”

Harry leaned his head against his hand and stared at Malfoy. “Let me guess. You think she’s working with Voldemort.”

Malfoy winced at the name. “Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. I don’t care as long as she didn’t help kill my parents.”

“Tell us what happened, Malfoy,” Ron said, leaning forward with a frown.

There was a pause.

“We knew he would come for us when we heard the news. We had betrayed him before, and if there is one thing he can’t stand it’s betrayal. So my parents locked themselves in their house while I helped the Ministry try and track him down. No one had seen him though. It was like he had disappeared again. So yesterday I returned to my office to find out that all the Goyles and Crabbes had been murdered in their beds,” Malfoy took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “So I rushed home, only to find my parents lying on the floor. Dead. It didn’t take a genius to guess what happened.”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. They had never liked Malfoy much. He had been a stuck up asshole during their time at school together, but he had seemed to get better when they all landed jobs at the Ministry (not that they interacted often). They couldn’t help but feel pity at his story.

Besides, Harry knew what it was like to lose his parents.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Harry said, truly meaning it. Ron nodded next to him.

“Yeah, well,” Malfoy muttered, staring down at the table. “They won’t be the last to suffer if we don’t do something about it.”

“You said You-Know-Who killed the Crabbes and Goyles. Why? They didn’t betrayed him in the second war,” Ron said.

Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t know. He only killed twelve people: five wizard families and three Muggles. Only two of those families didn’t betray him. The rest ran and rejected him during the Second war.”

“So he’s going on a revenge spree?” Harry said.

“Seems like it.”

“Who’s going on a revenge spree?” a familiar voice called out, and a moment later Hermione Granger slid onto the bench next to Ron, followed by Sam Winchester.

Malfoy frowned at the new company, his grey eyes cold. “Where have you two been?”

“Researching, and we’ve found something,” Hermione told him. She turned to face Harry and Ron. “Remember how Emily went to school here? Well, there are almost no records of that. She definitely stayed here for six years. But get this: three days before her first year at Hogwarts started, a building in London was bombed. It’s the same one in The Prophet that we found earlier. Not only does the person they named as prime suspect look exactly like Emily, but they never caught her. The Muggle police have been looking for her for the last twenty years, but the Ministry didn’t care about her until the Heron Tower bombing a few days ago.”

“Why was she only at school here for six years?”

Sam leaned forward, his mouth set in a thin line. “She was killed on Christmas Day, somewhere in New York City. A bullet through the head.”

There was silence at the table for a moment.

“Who killed her?” Harry asked softly.

“We don’t know,” Hermione said. “On the same night she died, a nearby theater was bombed. The police were too busy with that to investigate one murder with almost no leads.”

“Another bombing?” Malfoy said. “How many is that now? Five?”

Hermione glared at him. “Four, and there’s no need to get suspicious about the last one. Apparently the one in New York was traced back to James Moriarty, the other suspect in the Heron Tower bombing. He could have done the other two as well.”

“Who is he anyways? Is he a wizard?” Ron asked her.

“No, he’s a Muggle. Apparently he’s one of Britain’s top wanted criminals. He died a couple years ago, though we don’t know how.”

“And now he’s back, along with Emily,” Sam muttered.

“Hold on,” Harry said, holding up a hand as if to stop the flow of words. “When I went to see that detective with Emily and her sister, she asked him about Moriarty. The detective said he’s really dangerous and super smart, or something like that. He warned us not to go looking for him.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to do?” Sam said.

Malfoy stood up. “well you can all do whatever you like. I’m going to find my parent’s killer, even if I have to do it by myself!”

And with that he stormed out of the hall, the big oak doors slamming shut behind him.

Hermione sighed again. “We’re in over our heads in all of this. We do need to find Voldemort, he’s right about that.”

There was a moment of silence, then Harry stood up. 

“I’ll try to talk to him,” he said, leaving the table and the doubtful expressions on Ron’s and Hermione’s faces.

*****

Malfoy was in the courtyard, sitting on the side of the fountain, his head bowed as though in prayer. He looked up as Harry stopped ten feet in front of him.

“Well?” asked the once rejected Death Eater. “Come to act the hero again? Going to talk me out of doing something rash?”

“That depends. Are you planning something rash?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Harry remembered their sixth year at Hogwarts and grimaced. “Well, you’re right about that.”

There was a pause as they both reminisced about simpler, if not as dangerous, times.

“Why don’t you do something rash with us?” Harry said into the silence. 

Malfoy looked up, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Look, we’re both on the same side in all this. We want to stop Voldemort. So why don’t you help us instead of going off on your own? You’ll be better protected and we’ll have a better chance of defeating him if we all work together.”

Malfoy just stared at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him before. 

“You know what, Potter,” he said slowly, “I do believe that’s the first time you ever asked for my help.”

He stood up and held out his hand. Smiling, Harry shook it.

“Call me Draco from now on.”

*****

The two men returned to the great hall to find that Eragon had joined Ron, Hermione, and Sam at the table. The alien man had spent most of the night meditating on the Hogwarts grounds, lying against a tree with his eyes closed like a rag doll.

“Er- who is this?” Draco asked to no one in particular as they sat down.

“Eragon, Malfoy. Malfoy, Eragon,” Ron said distractedly. “Eragon came back with Hermione and me, he’s here to help.”

“So what are we going to do about Voldemort?” Harry interrupted before Draco could make some scathing remark.

Hermione drummed her hand on the table, lost in thought. “Well, we should go to the Ministry and find out all we can. If anyone knows where he is, it’ll be them.”

“If there was any news about Riddle, we would know by now,” Ron said. “All the Aurors would, but Harry would be the first.”

Hermione nodded and continued. “We could also try and investigate the murders. Why did Voldemort attack these particular families?  Why did he kill a Muggle family? Is there a connection?”

“Fine. I will go investigate the Muggle murders. The rest of you can try and find the Dark Lord’s whereabouts,” Draco said.

“You can’t go alone,” Harry reasoned. “What if it’s a trap?”

“I’ll go with you,” Hermione said. “You’ll need help if the police are there, and I’m a Muggleborn.”

Draco grudgingly accepted the offer. 

“I’ll go to the Ministry and try to find out something on the other murders,” said Ron. 

Sam leaned forward. “And I need to return home. If what Hermione and I found is correct, then we might have the answer to how the dead came back.”

“Really? What did you find?” Harry asked.

“There’s an entry on Lucifer in this book,” Sam told them, placing a hand on a large, leather bound volume that looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day for centuries. “It’s really old, but it mentions that the Devil, trying to influence Christ, raised the dead to show him the extent of his power. In the tale it describes the dead as ‘bearing the same resemblance to their once living selves; not a scratch or mark upon their raised bodies’. It’s not much but it’s somewhere to start.”

“I’ll take you back and help if you need it,” Harry responded.

With that, they all set off to their separate destinations, each lost in thought and preparations.

Eragon was left sitting alone at the table, baffled by the day’s events. “I’ll just… wait here then,” he said to empty air. 

The old headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, was not one to let him sit in silence, however. The ancient wizard sat down across the table from Eragon, lacing his long fingers together. His half-moon spectacles slipped down his nose, and the twinkle in his eyes was all the more prominent to the Dragon Rider. 

“Mr. Eragon,” the wizard started, smiling. “You are good friends with Emily’s sister, I take it?”

Eragon nodded. “Yes. Arya and I have known each other for years now.”

“Did you ever meet her sister?”

“No,” Eragon said slowly, frowning down at the table in thought. “Arya never even mentioned her. Her mother didn’t either…”

“You know Emily’s mother?”

The question was asked with so much interest that Eragon’s head shot up, and he locked eyes with the old headmaster.

“Why? Do you know her?” Eragon asked quickly.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Only by reputation, I’m afraid. She is, of course, the first person to have ever entered from your world to this world before. And the consequences of that… well, look around you. See where Arya is now; where you yourself have landed. Look at how the world has reacted to the child that came from her unanticipated trip.” 

“Emily? What, you think she raised the dead?”

“No, because that is not possible. Whoever brought the dead back to life has power beyond that of a human being. I was referring to the allegations brought against Emily- the bombings. Whether or not one believes she is responsible, you cannot overlook the fact that almost everyone is wary of her. The mix of your world and ours has produced something which no one is prepared for: a child so distinct that her very presence causes chaos and disruption.”

Eragon struggled to wrap his mind around this concept. “But… is it her presence that really causes chaos? Could it not be other people’s disposition to her that inspires such a reaction? Maybe she is not to blame in all this, maybe she is the one pinned with the blame because she is so distinct, not because of her involvement. Did she ever cause trouble as a student here?”

“No more so than any other Hogwarts student,” Dumbledore mused. “In fact, compared to the school’s history of troublemakers, she was an angel. But one cannot remain a pupil their entire life.”

“I suppose not,” said the Dragon Rider quietly.

Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “What troubles you, child?”

A short time ago, Eragon would have protested with such a brand. He had seen his fair share of war and carnage, and was past his sixteenth name day. But seeing this ancient man in front of him, with his silver beard and history of magic, he couldn’t help but feel small. Like one of the ants he had observed long ago in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. 

“It’s just… how can the Devil be so interested in Emily if he’s never even met her? How has he heard of her and what does he want? There is no way he just wants to hand her her memories and not want anything in return.”

Eragon pulled out the piece of paper her had found in hell and smoothed out the crinkles. “I found this when we went to rescue Dean Winchester from hell. I don’t know any of the other names on the list, but it seemed important, somehow.”

Dumbledore stared down at the paper for a long time, then looked up at him, his face still.

“Where did you find this, exactly?” the old headmaster asked. His voice was quiet but full of some emotion Eragon couldn’t identity. It scared him.

“I-in Hell, in a room filled with papers. It was on top of this folder, but I don’t know what was inside it. Why? What does it mean?”

Dumbledore took the paper and slid it into his robes. “We will speak no more of this for now.”

Before Eragon could respond to that, Dumbledore left the table and strode out of the great hall, just as the rest had done. The doors shut behind him with a loud bang, and Eragon was left alone once again.

“Arya, Arya!”

Arya turned and saw her little sister racing toward her, holding a flower in her hand.

“Arya, look what I found! Isn’t it beautiful?” Emily gawked, holding up her tiny hands to reveal a white rose cupped in her palms.

Arya smiled down at her. “It is beautiful. Where did you find it?”

Emily pointed to the nearby wood, a couple of rose bushes peeking out from under the trees. “I found them in there! I couldn’t get very far though, the thorns kept getting me.” Her face made an almost comical pout, her lips and nose scrunched up in disappointment.

Their mother, as though sensing complaint, walked over to them, her regal head held high in disdain.

“Emily, how did you get so filthy? You’ve ruined your new clothes and you only got them today! How could you be so careless?”

Emily stared up at her mother, her six year old face puzzled and hurt. “I was only trying to pick a rose. Look how pretty it is!”

She held up the white rose to her mother, hope splashing across her face. Islanzadi gave the flower one scornful look then knocked it out of Emily’s hands and onto the ground.

“Stop fooling around and get back to your studies,” the queen demanded. She turned on her heel and strutted away, accidentally crushing the flower beneath her foot as she went.

Emily stared down at the rose, her lower lip starting to tremble. Arya quickly picked it up and tried to fix its broken petals. She cupped Emily’s hands and pressed the white flower into them, trying to cheer her sister up.

“Look, it’s still fine. It’s still beautiful,” she cooed, brushing dirt off the once pristine white petals.

Emily stared down at the crushed flower. “I don’t want it. Mother ruined it!”

Arya glanced around them, then grabbed Emily’s hand and led her over to the rose bushes. She picked another rose, this one blood red, then knelt and gave it to her sister. 

“Look at this one, it isn’t ruined,” Arya said, her eyes at level with her sister’s. “This one is red, just like your hair.”

Emily dropped the crushed white rose to hold the red one instead. The abandoned flower lay in two pieces on the ground, its petals ripped from the stem. Emily turned the red rose around, her silver eyes wide with awe.

“Wow, it’s really pretty,” she whispered. She reached up and placed the rose in Arya’s hair, right behind her ear. “There, now it’s even prettier!”

Arya smiled and gently touched the soft petals of the flower. She took Emily’s hand and walked her back to the glade.

Emily plunked herself on the ground, wrapping her hands around her knees. “Does Mother not like me?”

Arya bit her lip, not sure how to respond to that. “Well, Mother is very busy all the time, you know that. I’m sure she has a lot going on right now and she just lost her patience today.”

“So she still loves me?”

The innocent question made Arya’s heart twist. She pulled her sister close and wrapped her arms around her, as though to protect the little girl from all the pain in the world.

“Of course Mother loves you,” she whispered into Emily’s fiery hair.

I sure hope she does.

*****

“Wake up,” a familiar voice said, “We’re here.”

Arya’s eyes flew open, the memory from long ago fresh in her mind. Emily’s tiny face, so innocent and trustworthy, haunted her thoughts. Where had that child gone?

She lifted her head from the window, the side of her face raw from prolonged contact with the glass. It was turning light outside, the first rays of dawn piercing through the dark sky, chasing away the stars. Emily’s head poked through the window from the other side of the car, staring at Arya. She looked much different from the tiny child Arya had once consoled over a crushed flower.

The silver star on her head glowed in the semi-darkness as Emily said, “Come on, we haven’t got all day.”

Arya cautiously opened the car door, still wary of the strange machinery. The two men, Dean and Castiel, waited by a metal doorway set into a small hillside. She followed Emily to where they stood, tall and stocky as two pillars. 

“Where exactly are we?” the elf asked, arching one dark eyebrow.

“A safe place,” said Cas, opening the metal door with a strange key. “Where we can get some answers, hopefully.”

Arya caught the suspicious look that faced over her sister’s face. It still pained her to look at Emily. She was overjoyed, of course, that her sister was not dead after all but rather alive and seemingly whole. Yet Emily was different. It wasn’t just the absence of her memories that had changed her. In spite of the loss, or maybe because of it, Emily seemed more closed off. She had never been the open type, that was all too true to Arya, but she could usually tell what her sister was feeling. Now, Emily was a closed book and Arya the librarian who couldn’t seem to break the lock.

They followed Dean and Cas down a dark set of stairs that led onto a metal balcony overlooking a large room full of books, tables, lamps, and a giant telescope at the far end. Cas stopped short at the metal banister as his eyes fell upon a small crowd of people, all of whom turned to look up at the new arrivals. Dean stopped short at the banister too, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. He didn’t look very happy.

“Cas, there you are. What took you so long?” a tall, skinny man in a dark blazer said. “I gathered everyone here, like you said. Charlie, Bobby, Gabriel, Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Rowena…”

Cas’s mouth seemed unable to close as he gazed around the room, eyes wide with shock. Arya guessed that those in the room before them had been brought back from the dead like Emily based on the angel’s peculiar expression.

Dean slid next to Emily and muttered, “It’s a party.”

Emily snorted and everyone turned to look at her. Arya saw a few eyes widen in surprise as they landed on Emily. Did they know her?

“Cas,” the man in the blazer said slowly, “Is that who I think it is?”

Castiel glanced back at Emily before answering the man. “Yes, Balthazar. I can explain-”

“How do you know Emily?” interrupted Arya.

Balthazar’s mouth deepened into a puzzled frown. “Who doesn’t? She’s one of the most powerful and wanted people in the world.”

“Well, as I don’t even know who I am,” Emily said scathingly. “Maybe you could fill me in on what makes me so special.” She turned to Arya and frowned. “And you, since you apparently know me so well.”

A terse silence filled the bunker, unexpectedly broken by Dean’s booming laugh. He slapped Emily on shoulder and said, “You’re all right, kid.”

Emily’s faint amusement and confusion was not shared by all. Cas and all the rest looked puzzled, while a red-headed woman on the ground struggled with minor concern. Was the man acting strangely? Arya assumed he was just like every strong, bully of a man who expected to be in charge all the time. She had met far too many of those during her travels in Alagaesia. 

She was wrenched out of her thoughts as Cas said, “Follow me. I’ll explain everything and you all can fill us in on what’s been happening in the rest of the country.”

The sound of footsteps accompanied some murmuring as the crowd moved deeper into the bunker, out of sight of the main room. Cas started to follow but stopped as Dean didn’t move.

“Dean, aren’t you coming?” Cas said, his head tilted sideways in confusion.

“Nah, I’ll stick with the kid. You go on and tell me what they say later.”

Cas stared at him for a moment as if he wanted to say something else, then turned and disappeared into the depths of the doorway.

As soon as the angel was gone Emily plunked herself onto one of the chairs at the table, stretching out her legs and arms. Arya joined her, gracefully settling herself into the seat opposite her sister.

“Emily, you are right. It is high time I tell you about your past, at least the part that I know,” the elf said.

Emily paused, caught in mid-stretch. “Really? You’re actually going to tell me?”

“Of course. You are my sister after all, and I want to help you in any way I can.”

“Well then, do start.”

Arya’s leaf green eyes followed Dean as he walked around the room, examining the shelves of books. She was sure that he was listening to every word they said, and for some reason that unnerved her. However, she had told Emily she would talk, so talk she would.

“I was born much earlier than you, as our mother’s first child,” Arya began. “You were born many years later, when I was an adult, but not as my full sister. You see, we do not share the same father.”

“Who is my father?” Emily asked immediately.

“That I do not know,” she answered softly, her eyes still focused on Dean. He was now leaning against a bookshelf, avidly listening to their conversation. His brown eyes met hers with no trace of apology.

“Our mother never told anyone who your father was, but that was no surprise. A bastard child was a big deal for your family. You see, our mother, Islanzadi, was the Queen of the Elves.”

“Hold on, her mother is a queen?” Dean interrupted. “Of the elves? There aren’t any elves here!”

Arya frowned at him. “We are from Alagaesia, a magical world that holds many species of race you humans call ‘make believe’. Yes, our mother was the Queen of the Elves, and had ruled them for many hundreds of years. Elves live much longer than humans.”

“Wait,” said Emily, holding up her hand. “You said ‘was’. Why isn’t she queen anymore?”

“She was killed in a recent war and I was left to take her place. However, the problems here have repeated themselves at home. Mother, along with many others, has risen from the dead. That is why I came back to Midgard. I was sent to see if what was happening at home was repeating itself here, and it seems so.”

“How did I die?”

Arya shook her head. “I do not know. Our mother sensed your death and took me to Midgard where we found you. You had a head wound of some sort, though I did not recognize it.”

“It was a gunshot,” Dean said. “I saw it in the paper. You were shot in the head in a back alley on Christmas Eve.”

“We buried you under a tree in a field far away from there and I never saw you again. Until, of course, the other day,” Arya finished sadly. 

“How did I end up at Hogwarts?”

“We do not know how, but an owl found its way to Alagaesia with a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts for you. Our mother sent you there and there you stayed until you died. I do not know anything of your time there but perhaps others might.”

There was a touch of silence on the room as Emily took in what had been said.

“So I’m the bastard child of a queen and an unknown man who went to a school of magic and was shot in an alleyway?” Emily said slowly. “God, none of that sounds right at all.”

“Well, it is the truth. When we get your memories back, the gaps will fill and everything will make sense. I promise.”

Arya looked at her sister, who still had a puzzled expression set on her face. “Do you have any other questions?”

Emily looked up to meet her gaze. “Why can I breathe fire?”

“I do not know,” answered Arya softly. “If our mother did, she never told me. You were born with the ability to create fire, but we do not know how or why. Is there anything else?”

Emily shook her head, deep in her mind.

“If you are sure, I will go join Castiel and the others. I would like to be aware of current events,” Arya said, standing up and, when no one said anything, walked out the door.

Emily leaned forward, still pondering her (half) sister’s words. So she was a… princess? That did not seem right. She imagined telling the Avengers that and half smiled- that would be an interesting conversation.

She looked up as Dean slid into Arya’s vacated chair. The hunter was staring at her the same way Arya had, like she was something they had lost and then found years later. It was odd. Something about Dean had changed since she last saw him, but she couldn’t quite figure out what. It was like the presence of his mind had changed; instead of hard and steady it was slippery and all over the place. Had something happened to him?

“So,” said Dean, interrupting her thoughts. “Now you know about some of your past. What do you think of it?”

“I dunno. Everything seems… off. Like I’m looking through a keyhole into my past- I can only see bits and pieces.”

“Hmmm… well, I’m no expert, but I think you’re missing something big. I mean, who the hell shot you? Do you think you made any enemies?”

Emily stared at him. “I wouldn’t know even if I did, but I don’t think wizards use guns, so whoever killed me probably didn’t attend Hogwarts.”

“Maybe Arya knows who did it and isn’t telling you.”

Those ten words hit Emily as though fired from a gun.

“Why would she do that?” the girl asked, confused by the proposition. “It doesn’t make sense for her to lie and it’s unlikely she would even know because she lives in another world.”

Dean tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Emily’s face. “Do you know that for sure?”

She just stared at him, astounded by the accusations slipping from his mouth like rain on a window.

“Why do you care, Dean?”

“Well,” the hunter said, leaning forward slightly. “I don’t like her. She’s so strange and alien that I can’t see her helping us out of the goodness of her heart. I know she says she’s your sister and all that but something’s missing from her story. I don’t trust her, is all.”

Before Emily could respond to this, the door to the bunker opened and in walked Sam and Harry.

“Potter!” Emily exclaimed, surprised to see the wizard. “What are you doing here?”

“He wanted to come back with me to find more about demons and angels and everything else we have to deal with,” explained Sam, walking down the metal staircase and patting Dean on the shoulder. “How you holding up, Dean?”

“Hmmm,” answered Dean, casting Harry an appraising glance. 

Sam shot Emily a questioning look and she just shrugged in response.

Don’t ask me, she thought. I’m too tired for this crap.

“We, uh, found something,” Sam continued. “It seems Lucifer has raised the dead before. We don’t know exactly how, but we think we know some of the ingredients he used, so it’s possible he’s responsible for… all this.”

“What do you mean, ‘ingredients’?” Dean asked.

“Apparently in order to raise one soul, you have to exchange something of equal value. So if you died right now, we could bring you back by killing someone else. If Cas died, we would have to kill another angel to get him back. An equal exchange, that sort of thing,” explained Sam. “But to bring back millions of people… well, we don’t know how he could have done it, but we have some theories.”

Harry sat down next to Emily and ran a hand through his hair. “To bring back such a multitude of people, Lucifer would have to sacrifice a very powering being, or beings.”

“Like an angel?” Emily asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, something bigger. Technically he would have to murder hundreds of angels for this level of necromancy to occur, but according to Sam there aren’t enough of them left for that. No, we were thinking more along the lines of a god.”

“A what?” snapped Dean, glaring at Harry. 

Emily saw Sam shoot his brother another confused glance before answering the question. “Yes, a god. Not THE god, the one who appears in almost every major religion as the creator of the universe, but a minor deity. Someone like Thor, for instance.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call him minor, but I see your point,” Emily said. “So you think Lucifer killed a god and used their power to bring back everyone from the dead? What’s the motive behind that?”

“We don’t know, but it’s a start at least,” Sam said, stifling a yawn behind his hand. “Where’s Cas?”

Dean pointed at the kitchen door and Sam disappeared behind it. About two seconds later they heard a loud yell.

“GABRIEL? WHAT THE FUCK?” Sam’s voice boomed from behind the room.

“Sam!” came the muffled reply. “Hey, good to see you buddy!”

More cursing and muffled conversation sounded from the kitchen, but after awhile it quieted.

“Well, that was interesting,” Emily murmured. “I’m going to go sleep now.”

As she left the table, she felt the gazes of both Arya and Dean on her, and the unspoken truths in each of them. 

Chapter Text

Sherlock slammed open the door, briskly walking through without announcing himself. John scurried after him, closing the door behind him. He was concerned for Sherlock- he had barely looked at John the entire ride to Mycroft’s office, instead staring off into space and muttering under his breath. The consulting detective had been acting odd since he had met Emily. John was starting to get worried: what was wrong with Sherlock?

Mycroft didn’t even look up from where he was sitting as they burst in, instead gesturing with a hand to the two chairs in front of his desk. John sat in one, hands clasped in front of him nervously. As always when he was with the two brothers, he felt extremely self conscious about what he did and said. Compared to them his intelligence was small, his input always ten steps behind.

Sherlock threw the note down on Mycroft’s desk, leaning over it to glare at his brother. “Did you know this would happen?” His voice was even and betrayed no emotion, but his eyes were cold.

The older Holmes didn’t even look up from the file he was holding. “Yes, I expected something of this sort to occur soon. I’m sure you did too, brother dear. Now, why don’t you sit down?”

Sherlock threw himself into the chair next to John. He closed his eyes and within a matter of seconds his face was clear. John marveled at the way he could just shut off emotion at any time. He sometimes wished he could do the same. Like now, for instance.

“So, what does this mean? Is Moriarty after us again?” John asked, leaning forward slightly.

“We don’t know,” Mycroft sighed. “This is the second piece of information we have that shows he is alive. Besides that, we don’t know anything about his plans.”

“What about the bombings? Couldn’t he have done them?” 

Mycroft bit his lip, the only sign of emotion on his pale, empty face. “Possibly. It does fit some of his past crimes. He likes to-”

“But you don’t think he did it, do you? You think it was Emily Rose,” Sherlock interrupted.

Mycroft stared at his brother, frozen, his eyes wide. “How do you know about her?”

“She came to see me the other day, on accident. She wants my help,” he answered, never taking his gaze off his brother’s cold brown eyes.

“That’s it?” Mycroft let out a tiny sigh, looking relieved. “Well, partly. I believe she may have a hand in this.”

Sherlock snorted. “You’re not stupid, are you? If you’ve met her, you know she couldn’t have done this. Why would you ever suspect her?”

John stared at the verbal match between the two intelligent brothers. They always liked to fight but this time it was more pressing. Sherlock seemed... mad.

“You don’t know anything about it,” Mycroft snarled, one eyebrow lifting on his otherwise still face. “How could you be so naive, trusting a stranger who just walks into your home asking for your help. She could be working for anyone!”

“For Moriarty, you mean?”

“Ok, hold on,” John said, holding up a hand to stop the argument. “Look, I don’t trust Rose either. But maybe we should focus on bigger problems, like Moriarty?”

Sherlock glanced at him and his expression softened slightly. “There’s nothing we can do until he reveals what he wants. We just have to wait,” he turned back to his brother, frowning. “So what do you know about Rose?”

“Almost nothing,” Mycroft answered, his gaze drifting to one of the large paintings on his wall. “She died twenty years ago in New York, shot in a back alley.”

“So she’s one of the people who... died and came back to life?” John said doubtfully.

Mycroft nodded.

“Who killed her?”

“We don’t know,” Mycroft bit off each word with extra annoyance, frowning at the doctor. 

“Where did she live? Any family?” Sherlock pressed.

His brother sighed, drumming his fingers on his knee. “She has no family connections that we know of. She lived in a little cottage in Ireland before she died, completely alone.”

“Send me the details,” Sherlock said, standing up and straightening his coat. “Let’s go, John.”

He walked out of the door, not waiting for John to follow. John stood to leave, but stopped as Mycroft said, “Look after him, Dr. Watson. Don’t let him make any stupid mistakes.”

John turned to study the tall, lanky man. “Is he in any danger?”

“I fear we all are. Just, look after him,” Mycroft sighed, watching as the doctor nodded and left to follow the detective. He lifted his head, as if in prayer, and closed his eyes. Thinking. Always thinking.

Sherlock hailed a cab as John caught up to him outside. “What are we gonna do now?” John asked.

Sherlock just chewed his lip, his eyes drifting to a far off place. A ring came from John’s pocket and he pulled out his phone to see Lestrade’s number illuminated on the screen.

“Lestrade? What is it?” John asked.

Lestrade’s husky voice issued from the phone. “We need you and Sherlock down at the station. Now.”

“Ok, we’re coming.”

John put away the phone at the same time a cab pulled up. 

“Lestrade wants us at the station,” John said as they climbed into the cab.

Sherlock snorted. “You go, if it’s that important. I need to drop by Baker street.”

“Why?”

“I need to check something. You go talk to Lestrade and tell me what he says later.”

John knew there was no point in arguing- once Sherlock had his mind set on something there was no force on earth that could stop him.

*****

Sherlock opened the door to Baker Street, alone, checking to make sure no one was following him. He ran into Mrs. Hudson on the base floor, causing her to almost spill her cup of tea.

“Sherlock!” she shrieked, catching the cup before it could fall. “What’s happened? I heard on the telly there’s been another bombing. Where’s John?”

“Off with Scotland Yard. Mrs. Hudson, have you seen anyone strange leave or enter this flat while we were out?”

She shook her head. “Can’t remember anyone like that. But will you-”

“Sorry, can’t chat,” Sherlock yelled over his shoulder as he raced up the stairs. He entered his flat and shut the door, just to make sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t follow him.

The detective checked every corner and room of the flat for any intruders. He wouldn’t be taking any chances with Moriarty back and Mycroft probably watching his every move. He went into his room and opened the closet. He dug in the back until his fingers brushed against a soft wooden box. Flicking the latch on the box and sitting on the edge of the bed, Sherlock opened the lid and lifted out a small black handgun. 

The package had been delivered earlier that morning, with no return address or identification. Now he had a pretty good idea who had sent it.

He opened the gun to check if it was loaded. One bullet was lodged in the wheel, all ready to be shot. Sherlock tossed the gun back in the box with disgust.

What kind of game is this? What does he want me to do, shoot myself?

He looked down and noticed a white slip of paper peeking out from under the gun. Frowning, he picked it up and smoothed out the wrinkles. The only thing written on it was: Rose Cottage.

Rose Cottage? What the hell is that?

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock threw the note back in the box with the gun and put it back in the closet. Stretching, he walked back to the kitchen and threw himself in his usual chair, deep in thought.

Mycroft told them the dead were back. But how could such a thing happen? Magic, in any sense of the word, could not exist. There was just no logical explanation for it. Wizards, demons, gods, and miracles; all were figments of the imagination, designed to serve as excuses for the horrors of real life. 

His fingers twitched as he remembered the two men appearing from thin air into his flat, leaving again with the same crack and taking Emily with them. If he had an imagination, he would have put such an occurrence down to that, but magic was more plausible than an imagination to him. So had it all been real? 

No, no no no. It must have been a trick of some kind. He had run into those kinds of things before, and they never lasted long under close inspection. Maybe if he saw the men again he could find out how they had tricked his mind. Yes, that was a good plan. Wait and see, just wait. 

But the image of Emily’s eyes, the hidden power that lay deep in their silver depths, still haunted the back of his mind. She was an alien, a concept completely beyond his comprehension. And yet, and yet... there was something so familiar about her, so agonizingly close, but he couldn’t place a finger on it. It was like trying to recall the name a long dead relative that you only knew as a small child. You would recognize them on sight, but without description they became an amorphous blob. He just couldn’t remember what, or who, she reminded him of.

And the question still remained: How had Moriarty survived?  

A loud thump thump thump from the stairs drew the detective’s attention away from his thoughts. A moment later, John pushed open the door, his face pale and haggard. 

“You need to see this,” the doctor said, pulling out his phone and handing it to Sherlock. He was standing so close that Sherlock found it hard to concentrate on the phone. He frowned at the screen, which showed a video about to play. 

It became apparent as soon as the video started that it was of the bombing that happened only a few hours before. It was clearly filmed from some surveillance camera placed far enough away not to be affected by the bombing, but close enough to see what had happened. 

He watched as three people stopped before the flaming building, arguing with each other. He recognized them as Emily and her two companions. Pushing pass the others, Emily ran into the building. Arya raised her hand as though to stop her, but Potter pushed it down and exchanged some words with her. A few minutes later, Emily emerged from the building with a boy in her arms, just like the woman had said, coughing violently.

He glanced up at John, who was biting his lip while watching the video over his shoulder. “What is so important about this? That woman with the headband told us all of this already.”

“Just watch, Sherlock.”

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the video. A sleek black plane landed in front of the trio, a large blue A on the side. Two men stepped out and talked to Emily, and after a short time they all boarded the plane and left. Right after the plane disappeared the camera cut out, then slowly fizzed back to life to show Moriarty in the center of a plain white room.

The criminal smiled coldly into the camera. “Miss me?”

Sherlock froze, his gaze fixated on the screen in front of him. 

No no no no no.

“Dear, dear, dear. What a mess for Scotland Yard to clean up! I do hope something like that doesn’t happen again. But then, who knows how long it will be until another horrible bombing hits our beloved city? So!” Moriarty continued, clapping his hands together with an insane glint in his eyes. “I’ve decided to helllllp! There is a little town up in Ireland that just might help you find the culprit in these terrible crimes. Sherlock, dear, I believe you might know where it is.”

John glanced at Sherlock, who tried not to meet his gaze. Moriarty must be talking about that slip of paper he had found in the box. 

“And remember: If you can’t find the culprit soon, who knows when the next bombing will be! Better hurry up!”

And, with a wink and a smirk, the camera turned off and the video stopped. 

“I had to convince Lestrade not to drag you in for questioning,” John said after a moment of silence. “He’s not happy right now, what with Rose and Moriarty. He wants to know why you might have the name of the town and how Moriarty could know that.”

Sherlock carefully placed the phone on the table as though it might explode and leaned back in his chair, thinking. There was no escaping it now- The Game had truly begun. Moriarty had said so himself that if they didn’t go to the town and solve whatever mystery he had placed there that another bombing would occur. They would just have to do what they did last time and try to stay one step ahead of the consulting criminal. 

So why did he feel like he was missing something?

John was still waiting for an answer. “Sherlock? You want to get out of your mind palace and say something soon?”

Sherlock slowly lifted his head to meet John’s piercing gaze. “Moriarty sent me a piece of paper. It had the words “The White Willow, Salix” written on it. I assume that is the place he is referring to.”

“That’s all he sent you?” John asked, raising an eyebrow to show his disbelief.

“ Yes,” growled Sherlock, standing up and grabbing his coat, not meeting John’s eyes. “Just search it up and we’ll go and find whatever he wants us to find.”

John took a step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Hold on. You don’t actually want to go along with this, do you?”

Sherlock stared at him, trying to ignore the warm feeling that was spreading down his shoulder. “You heard what he said. If we don’t go along with his game, the bombings will continue! I thought you of all people would want to save as many lives as possible.”

“Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock. It’s just- well…”

“ What ?” Sherlock growled, utterly annoyed.

“Well, I thought- and Lestrade agrees with me on this!- that Moriarty was saying that if we don’t find out what she’s up to, Emily will continue to bomb buildings.”

Sherlock just stared at John, dumbfounded. “What do you-”

“Look, I know that we have no reason to trust Moriarty and that we never will, but look at the facts,” John pleaded. “Emily was seen at all three bombings, and no one knows who she is or what she wants!

“Are you seriously suggesting that Moriarty and Emily are working together?” Sherlock sneered, taking a step back and dislodging the hand from his shoulder. 

“It makes sense! Why would Moriarty actively draw attention to the bombings if he wasn’t trying to trick us? What if the key to Moriarty is through Emily?”

Sherlock held up his hands as if to stop the flow of accusations. “None of that makes any sense. First of all, why would Emily ever work for Moriarty? What’s her motive? And even if she was, it would make no sense for Moriarty to blame the bombings on her. That would just make it easier for us to grow suspicious of her.”

“We don’t know why she would be working for Moriarty,” John shot back. “But if you really bought the whole ‘no memories’ excuse than maybe you aren’t as smart as you claim to be!”

They glared at each other for a moment, the small, golden-haired doctor against the tall, lanky detective. 

“I do believe Emily’s story,” Sherlock finally said, his voice surprisingly soft. “There are many things we don’t know about her yet, but I find it hard to believe she is working for Moriarty. If he is truly back, which he apparently is, then he will try to destroy us, to trick us and tear us apart. The best thing we can do right now is to do what he says until we have a plan.”

John looked at him for a long moment then grabbed his coat. “Fine. I’ll look up the address, but we’re not finished with this.”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat, following John out the door. He placed a hand on the doctor’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze, trying to convey all of his emotions with one touch. But even that was impossible for the great detective. 

Cas watched Dean idly browse the shelves of books, his fingers brushing lightly against the leather spines. He picked one blue volume and returned to the table with it, casually opening it up and flipping through the pages as though vaguely interested in what it had to say. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Dean read a book without being told to do so by him or Sam.

The angel entered the room himself then, closing the door to the kitchen and choosing a seat across the table from Dean.

“I brought you a beer,” Cas said, placing the cold beverage on the table between them. Dean gave him a small smile and moved it to the side, not bothering to open it. Ok, reading books for fun and rejecting alcohol? Something was up.

“Are you ok, Dean?” asked the angel hesitantly. “You’ve been acting odd ever since we got back from New York.”

Dean didn’t look up from his book. “I’m fine, Cas. Just been busy with all our problems. As usual.”

“Ok. It’s just… well…”

“Do you want something from me, Cas?” Dean asked smoothly, closing the book and finally looking up at him.

Cas stared at him, confused and conflicted. What was he talking about? He just wanted to know if Dean was alright.

“I- I just mean’t-” the angel tried to say, but Dean cut him off.

“We don’t let you stay here to ask questions, you know,” the hunter said icily, still staring him straight in the eye.

Cas opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out. What the hell was going on?

“The only reason you’re here is to provide angelic backup,” Dean continued. “Why else would we keep you around? You don’t really think we care about you?”

Dean’s hazel eyes stared deep into his soul, wrapping around Cas’s worst fear with icy fingers.

“No, no you said- you said we’re family.”

Dean laughed, a great booming sound that hurt Cas’s ears and heart. “Do you seriously believe that? Oh Castiel, I never would have took you for stupid! How could I ever love an angel?”

Cas couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak or blink or run away. All he could do was stare into Dean’s eyes as his heart started to break into tiny little pieces. 

As they stared at one another the silence was broken by a loud siren, the emergency lights coming to life and throwing the whole room into red shadows. The flickering lights hid half of Dean’s face, turning him into a monster from a horror movie. Something flickered behind his eyes. 

They both jumped to their feet as Sam came running into the room, his hair rumpled from sleep, eyes wide with surprise. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Sam asked with alarm.

Before either of them could so much as shake their heads, Harry Potter ran into the room closely followed by Arya, both of them obviously just roused from bed.

“What the hell is that noise?” shouted the wizard over the sirens.

“Something’s attacking the bunker!” Cas answered, raising his voice to be heard. “We have to do something!”

A loud boom sounded from the doorway and they all turned to look at it. Another boom echoed through their ears, and this time they saw something hit the door from the other side.

“Could it be demons?” Sam yelled.

Cas shook his head. “I can’t sense them. It’s not angels either. Whoever it is, the bunker seems to be warded against, or else they would be in by now.”

Another boom hit their ears and Emily scurried into the room, sword in hand.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” she shouted. 

Cas glanced at Dean, who seemed the most calm in the room. In fact, he didn’t look scared at all, but rather mildly intrigued, as though this were a play being acted out on stage.

With a resounding boom the metal door flew open and in spilled seven people, all with wands in hand.

“They’re wizards!” Harry yelled, eyes wide with shock.

Cas felt Emily move, stopping right behind him.

“When you can, take Dean and Sam and hide,” the girl whispered over his shoulder. “The Ministry shouldn’t bother with you, it’s me they want. You’re just Muggles to them if you keep your head down.”

Cas nodded. He knew Dean and Sam didn’t stand a chance against highly trained wizards, but Emily, Arya, and Harry might. He tried to step closer to Dean but stopped as the wizards in the doorway pointed their wands at the small crowd.

“No one else move,” the man in the lead said. He had neat blond hair split down the middle and skin almost as pale as Emily’s. “Come quietly and we can do this without injury.”

“Zacharias,” Harry pleaded, wand in hand. “Don’t do this. Hear me out and this will all make sense, I promise.”

Zacharias sneered. “Save your words for the Wizardgamont. You’ve been helping a known convict and have not seen fit to report your actions to the Ministry. No one knows what’s been going on, Potter, and this won’t help you one bit.”

The Auror didn’t seemed pleased or triumphant as he shot down Harry. He looked more disappointed than anything, as though Harry had failed him. 

Cas took another few steps as the Auror spoke until he stood right next to Dean. The memory of their conversation still burned fresh in his mind as he whispered into the hunter’s ear, “Get Sam and follow me when the fighting breaks out. We can’t take them.”

Dean looked down his nose at the angel and murmured, “Fine by me.”

Seriously? Cas thought, frowning. No protests? He was grateful that Dean wasn’t trying to get himself killed, but the hunter never gave up without a fight. Why was he acting so odd?

“Put down your weapons and leave the Muggles to us,” Zacharias continued. “Please, Potter. No one wants to fight you.”

In response, Emily opened her mouth like a snake and fire flew from her throat straight at the Aurors. They yelled and threw themselves out of the way, throwing up shields with their wands to block the flames. 

Cas grabbed Dean’s arm and shouted, “SAM, COME ON!”. The three of them ran from the room as fast as they could, dodging streaks of lights. They raced down corridor after corridor until they reached the library. Sam locked the door and pushed a table against it, but Cas doubted his efforts would keep out the wizards. 

“How did they find us?” Dean panted, staring at the door.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. They must have followed Harry and me, but I can’t see how.”

Dean glanced down at Cas’s hand still attached to his arm and wrenched it out of his grip. Sam looked on with wide eyes and caught the angel’s gaze before he could look away.

What’s going on? The hunter mouthed. Cas just shook his head in response. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to now.

Dean, in his new fashion of trying to get as far away from the angel as possible, settled in one of the chairs and crossed one leg over the over, closed his eyes, and didn’t move a muscle. 

“Dean. Is there um… something you want to tell us?” Sam asked slowly. 

“No,” the older Winchester replied, his mouth the only part of him moving. “Why?”

“You’ve been acting really strange.”

Cas nodded. “Did something happen in Hell? Or in New York?”

Dean didn’t answer them. He just sat there, as still as any of the corpses the brothers made of monsters every day.

Sam shot Cas a We’ll talk about this later look and sat down on the floor, back against the wall.

Cas tried to use the brief moment of silence to think up a plan in case the wizards found them, but his mind wandered away from him. As usual, it decided to settle on Dean.

Dean Winchester was, by no means, a perfect person. But there was something so distinct about him, so human , that Cas was fascinated with. Perhaps it was his constant rebellion to God’s divine plan; to reject anyone who told him what to do because it was his destiny. The ability to find another way even if it destroyed him (which it often did), was something Cas rarely saw in humans. Not to mention the constant devotion to his family.

Then there was his hair, short and always ruffled; the deep brown of chestnuts roasting on a fire. His eyes, two hazel orbs held down by dark bags more often than not, always calmed the angel like a cup of hot chocolate on a chilly winter night. Cas dwelled on that bawdy yet gentle smile often, often trying to bring it back to the hunter’s face. 

As often as he wanted to ask, Do you look at me the way I look at you?

But no, he could never ask Dean such a question. The hunter was many things, but not that. Not…

A loud bang interrupted the angel’s thoughts. Sam jumped up with wild eyes but Dean didn’t even flinch.

“They must have left,” Cas said, and Sam immediately moved the table away from the door.

The three of them hurried to the main room of the bunker and stopped short. 

It was a mess. Tables, chairs, and shelves alike had been blasted about like confetti from a cannon. Stay bits of paper and wood lay scattered throughout the room, and Cas could swear he smelled smoke.

“Arya!” cried Sam, crouching down next to the unconscious form of the elf. Cas placed a hand on her forehead to will her awake and her eyes flew open with a gasp.

“Where’s Emily?” she demanded, leaping to her feet. “Where is she?”

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Sam said. “The wizards must have taken her. Harry is gone too.”

Arya started to head towards the door but Sam held her back. “Whoa, wait a minute. You can’t go out there by yourself. You don’t even know where they took her.”

The elf’s look of disdain could have made the sun sweat. “I will find her. I will not abandon Emily.”

Cas was surprised at the emotion in her voice. Whatever her faults, Arya truly cared for her sister.

“We can’t get her back if we don’t know where she is,” Cas reasoned. “For all we know, Emily is on the other side of the world right now.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Arya demanded.

“We wait.” Dean’s deep voice rang out from across the room. “We wait for help from the other wizards, the friends of Harry Potter. I bet they’ll know soon enough what happened. They can help us find Emily.”

This seemed to appease Arya. Though a frown still graced her regal features, she wasn’t likely to go galavanting off on her own if it meant missing information like that.

“What do we do if the wizards come back? The ones who took Emily and Harry, I mean,” said Sam.

Arya raised her hand, and her palm started to glow. “I can help with that.”

Ancient words of a magic Cas did not know flowed from her mouth. With each sentence, Arya’s palm glowed brighter and brighter, until the whole room was alight with its glow. Cas could sense new wardings and shields being placed around the bunker, meant to protect the inhabitants from outside threats.

As Arya finished her chanting, Sam quietly asked, “What kind of magic was that?”

“Where I come from, it is called the ancient language. The words of power make up its vocabulary, and one cannot lie when using it. Those with training such as myself may also use the words for spells or enchantments,” Arya explained, running a hand through her dark hair. She looked weary all of a sudden, as though she hadn’t slept in days.

Dean’s eyes sparked with a mysterious light. “Can Emily do that?”

“No,” Arya said firmly. “Though I suspect she may be gifted in the magic those wizards practice, she was never able to use any spells from the ancient language.”

Cas didn’t like the way Dean was looking at Arya, as though she was an interesting new puzzle to break apart and solve. 

“Now what do we do?” the angel asked hurriedly before Dean could question the elf more.

Sam pulled out his phone and started to dial. “Harry gave me a number to call in case I ever needed him. Said someone would be able to help.”

As Sam held the phone to his ear, Cas turned to Arya and said, “I think you better tell me what happened.”

Rose petals bathed in moonlight. A fire that crackled with merry flames. The warm sound of evening chatter and drink. And a stranger, with a smile so delightful, and eyes so intriguing.

Warmth. Peace. Adventure.

Queen Islanzadi gazed out at the forest of Du Weldenvarden, her mind lost in memories best left forgotten. Except she couldn't forget them, not anymore. Not with Emily back.

Wind pushed the branches of the ancient trees to dance, waving at the Queen of the Elves as though in tribute to her deeds. Her mistakes. 

If she dared to go, would she meet the stranger again? If she dared to go, would she ever come back?

Chapter Text

A blue sky. Green grass. A tall beech tree next to a lake, its branches swaying in the breeze. 

She was lying with her back to the ground, one arm pillowed behind her head, staring up at the clouds above. Figures seemed to form from white fluffy shapes that swam across the sky like swans. The golden sun sent warmth deep into her bones and made her feel like she was on fire. 

She turned her head, the grass tickling her ear, to see another girl lying next to her. Her face was blurred, but she could see that the girl had short, cobalt blue hair and skin the colour of a chestnut. She looked down to see their hands intertwined on the ground between them, pillowed by the soft grass. 

She blinked, trying to make out the girl’s face. All she could see was blue. Blue blue blue. Every article of clothing the girl was wearing was blue, from the studs in her ears down to her shoes. But her face remained smudged like a watermark on a painting.

A voice was weaving in and out of the air, distorted by some invisible force. She thought she caught her name. 

“Oh Em-”

Emily woke up with a start as sirens screamed in her ears. Everything around her had turned red. She placed her feet on the cold floor, clutching her head. 

What the hell was that?

But she knew this time. It was a memory.

The sirens screamed and screamed in time with her beating heart until the only thing the girl could see was blue hair and red lights. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Emily quickly pulled on her shoes and then grabbed her sword and raced toward the front room of the bunker. Memories or not she had to focus on the immediate threat and how to turn those bloody sirens off. A loud boom echoed through the empty halls of the bunker that drowned out the sound of her feet pounding along the floor.

She ran into the front room and saw that everyone else had already arrived.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” she shouted over the noise. Her headache was getting worse and worse with each piercing sound and flash of light.

There was a final boom and the door to the bunker flew open. Seven people with wands in hand strode into the room, taking no time to point them at the small party on the ground.

“They’re wizards!” Harry yelled.

No shit, Potter, her mind reeled, and she fought from letting the comment escape her lips.

She slowly walked forward to stand right behind Cas, putting her lips close to his ear and whispering, “When you can, take Dean and Sam and hide. The Ministry shouldn’t bother with you, it’s me they want. You’re just Muggles to them if you keep your head down.”

Cas nodded his head slowly then took a cautious step toward Dean. Across the room, Arya’s eyes locked on Emily.

Don’t do it, the elf’s eyes pleaded. Emily glared at her.

“No on else move,” said the man in the lead.

“Zacharias,” Harry pleaded to him, and Emily’s gaze moved to rest on the green eyed wizard. So Harry knew this man? “Don’t do this. Hear me out and this will all make sense, I promise.”

“Save your words for the Wizardgamont. You’ve been helping a known convict and have not seen fit to report your actions to the Ministry. No one knows what’s been going on, Potter, and this won’t help you one bit,” Zacharias sneered at them.

Ah, so I was right. This is about me. 

“Put down your weapons and leave the Muggles to us,” Zacharias continued. “Please, Potter. No one wants to fight you.”

Emily honestly didn’t care; she opened her mouth and shot a bolt of flames right at the wizards. She knew they would be able to dodge the fire easily, and sure enough her flames were stopped by an invisible force before they could touch her opponents.

She heard Cas yell, “SAM, COME ON!” as she charged at the first wizard with her sword. Harry shot bolts of light out of his wand as she dodged and spun around, trying not to get hit by an offending spell. Arya sprang forward with her knife, swiping at the nearest offending wizard. Emily managed to stab one wizard in the kneecap, but as she pulled back her arm she felt a spell hit her in the shoulder, sending her to the ground. She lay on her back, paralyzed, her sword skidding away from her rigid hand.

She couldn’t move a muscle. It felt so claustrophobic, not being able to move. She hated it instantly.

Emily heard muffled noises from her right and assumed Harry had been restrained as well. Firm but careful hands hauled her up, still in her immobilized state, and steadied her on her feet. Now she could clearly see the room. Harry had his hands tied behind his back and his glasses were cracked, but other than that he was fine. The wizard Emily had stabbed was cursing as he pointed his wand at his knee, and crisp white bandages wrapped themselves around the injury. Two unconscious wizards were being revived by the stairs; probably the work of Harry. Arya lay on the ground near the table, still graceful even when unconscious. She must have been hit by one of the Ministry’s spells, just like Emily. 

“Sir, what should we do?” asked one of the wizards holding Emily’s arm. “Do we leave her like this?”

Emily glared at him as much as she could in her immobilized state, trying desperately to break free.

Zacharias smoothed back his hair, staring thoughtfully at her. “Put a band on her mouth, a fireproof one mind you, and tie her hands. It’ll be easier to transport her that way.”

The wizards holding her nodded and in an instant her mouth was covered in a strange black material, her hands tied behind her back with the same substance. They also took her wand. After she was securely tied, the wizard holding her lifted the immobilization spell.

“What are you going to do with us, Zacharias?” Harry asked. He seemed calm, much calmer than Emily thought he would be. Maybe he could get them out of this somehow.

“We’ll be taking you to the Ministry, Potter. Straight to the Minister himself I expect,” Zacharias answered stiffly. “Let’s go.”

“Sir, what about the Muggles?” the witch holding Harry asked. Emily glared at her.

Zacharias looked at the door to the kitchen, then to Arya’s still body. “Leave them for now. The important thing is to deliver these two to the Ministry safety. We’ll come back if need be.”

Emily saw Harry close his eyes with relief. With any luck, the hunters and their angel wouldn’t stick around here after they left. If the Ministry didn’t wipe their minds, Arya and the Winchesters could try and rescue them, if she really meant that much to her half-sister. 

She was forced to walk up the cold bunker stairs, out into the dark night. She had time to blink once, trying to adjust herself to the change of light, before she felt her captors turn on the spot, and everything vanished.

They appeared in the middle of a large atrium, its walls surrounded by green fireplaces spitting out wizards and witches every few minutes. A large golden statue of a wizard, a witch, a house elf, a goblin, and a centaur was placed in the center of a fountain. Streams of clear water fell from the tip of the wizard and witch’s wand and the ears of the goblin and house elf. Gold and marble shone from every surface: a symbol of power and might.

The wizards forced them to walk down the glittering hall, and as they passed the crowd of people quieted, watching their progress with wide eyes. Most of them were staring at Harry, but a few watched her pass with terror on their faces.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen fear as people looked at her. The Avengers, angels, Order of the Phoenix members; all had stared at her like she might lash out and cause them harm. It was unsettling, but it made sense. If she truly had destroyed Heron Tower, Shell Centre, and the two other buildings, their fear would be quite rational. But there was the nasty sticking point she couldn’t escape: she hadn’t bombed those buildings. Even though she couldn’t remember anything from the time of the first two, she knew she hadn’t had anything to do with the newer bombings. And yet… and yet there was something else about the way people stared at her. Not the wizards around her, their minds fresh with the horror of recent bombings, but people like Dumbledore, Thor, and Castiel. They looked at her with more caution than fear. It was like they knew who she was but didn’t want to- like she was a bad grade they didn’t want to receive.

As she walked through the now quiet crowd of wizards, she wondered what they knew that she didn’t. Loki and Lucifer knew whatever it was too- she was sure of it. What if they could tell her?

The Ministry wizards directed Harry and Emily down the hall and into a semicircle room where gates guarded elevators from the crowd. They rode one of the elevators up to the highest floor, and the gates opened with a pleasant ding. Harry blinked in confusion as they were shepherd along the carpeted wooden floors, countless office doors gliding past their sides.

“Where are you taking us? This isn’t protocol for prisoners,” he asked Zacharias.

Zacharias glanced at him then looked away quickly. “Special orders. The Minister wants to see you.”

Emily didn’t like the sound of that, but maybe it would be easier to escape if she wasn’t locked in a cell.

The odd party soon reached the end of the hall, which led into a circular room with three fancy office doors. The one in the center held a golden plaque that read Minister of Magic on it. It was that door that Zacharias opened, and in they went.

Emily’s first impression was of walking in the sky. Windows covered every wall but the one that held the door. Even the roof was made of glass, and when the sun was out the room must have shone with light. But dark heavy clouds had replaced the once blue heaven, and the room was cast in shadow. 

Her second impression was one of eyes. Eleven pairs of piercing eyes turned to latch onto her, all of them narrowed and suspicious. Five chairs stood on each side of a large wooden desk set in the middle of the room. In each chair sat robed wizards and witches with matching frowns and bagged eyes. Sitting at the regal desk was a tall, dark skinned man without a single hair on his head. He had kind if slightly tired eyes the colour of amber, flecked with gold. He wore a pair of purple robes embroidered with golden symbols and lines that trailed down his arms and legs in intricate patterns.

“Mr. Smith,” the man at the desk said in a deep commanding voice. “Thank you for bringing them to me. Please send someone to see if Mr. Weasley is to be found.”

“Yes, Minister,” Zacharias answered, and a moment later there was one less person in the room. The bind around Emily’s mouth was starting to hurt now as it had been slowly been absorbing the unnatural heat from her body. She hoped they would take it off soon. She was no fool; even if she tried to use her fire she would be vastly outnumbered by the other wizards. Best to wait and consolidate her power if she wanted to get out of this mess.

“Mr. Potter,” the Minister of Magic rumbled. He was not angry, but rather disappointed as he directed his words at Harry. “According to our reports, you abandoned your post at Hogwarts to apprehend a wanted individual, neglected to turn her in or inform the Ministry of your actions, and have performed magic in front of Muggles without following proper procedure. And if that was not enough, you brought a Muggle to Hogwarts. A Muggle, Potter! You have broken countless rules and endangered the secrecy of our world that protects and defends us. Explain yourself.”

Harry glanced around the room, as though looking for an ally. It seemed to Emily that he knew some of the people in the room. A young woman with blond hair and wide eyes gave him a look of confusion and pity. A man with a scar on his neck wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I can’t explain everything that I’ve done,” Harry said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “We were all scared. We never thought the dead would come back. It’s supposed to be impossible. And I never believed that Voldemort would live again.”

Almost everyone in the room winced at the name. Emily’s frown deepened as they did so; who was Voldemort and why was everyone so afraid of him?

Harry continued in earnest. “We wanted to get to the bottom of all this, so we tracked down Emily and brought her to Hogwarts. All we wanted to do was find out who she was and what she was after. But Emily lost her memory, and we didn’t want to bring her in until we knew who she was.”

“You keep saying ‘we’,” Kingsley interrupted. “Who was with you?”

Harry glanced at Emily before answering. “Ron Weasley, sir.”

Emily wondered why he didn’t mention Hermione. Perhaps he wanted to protect her since she was not an Auror, but if the Ministry had witnesses then they would soon know that Hermione was not innocent in this mess.

“I see,” was Kingsley’s reply. 

Harry waited a moment before continuing. “I only brought a Muggle to Hogwarts because I believe he can help us find out how the dead came back.”

“There was no other reason?”

Harry glanced back at Emily again, who didn’t meet his eye. “No, sir.”

Kingsley sighed heavily and rested his chin on his hands. “Do not lie to us, Potter. We know who the Winchesters are. They have come close in the past to discovering our magic. And now, thanks to you, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Rose, they know about Hogwarts.”

“Dumbledore knew who they were before I brought Sam to Hogwarts,” Harry said slowly. “What’s so special about them?”

“Never you mind,” snapped the witch with blond hair. 

“No, Ms. Bones,” Kingsley said, holding a hand up to stop the witch. “He deserves to know. The Winchesters hunt magical creatures, or as they refer to them, monsters. As you are aware, the magical community holds werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, and other types of ‘creatures’ in its numbers. However, creatures that are wizards are much different than their Muggle counterparts. 

“For example, a wizard that is a werewolf is entirely human unless under a full moon, when the wizard transforms into a wolf for the night. During recent years, a potion has been made that will keep a wizard’s mind with them when they transform, so no harm will occur. With Muggles it is entirely different. Most werewolves only turn under a full moon, but over the years some have been known to turn during half moons. These werewolves retain wolfish qualities even when they are human, unlike their wizard counterparts. Sadly, the potion that saves so many wizards and witches from monthly torture does not work on Muggles. We do not know why, but it may be due to the genetic differences in wizards and Muggles.

“Here in the United Kingdom, we do not suffer from Muggles inflicted with these ‘monstrous’ aspects. The British Men of Letters, a secret organization of 'monster' hunters, has long since purged the non-magical community of any werewolves, vampires, and the like. In America, however, there is not as much restriction. Muggle monsters prey on their defenseless neighbors, and the only force left to stop them are hunters such as the Winchesters. Though until recently they remained ignorant of our magical world, their experiences have introduced them to other magic, so they are not as helpless as Muggles.”

“Sir,” Harry interrupted suddenly, his face a study in confusion. “What do you mean by ‘other magic’?”

At this question, the other witches and wizards stirred about restlessly, exchanging hurried glances with each other. Bones leaned down and whispered something into Kingsely’s ear and he shook his head in response.

“You recall, I would think, the man you brought in a few days ago who was held on trial?” the Minister began again. “It seems that he is not, in fact, a man.”

At this point, Emily’s head shot up. She had heard enough from Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the past few days to know that Harry and Ron had apprehended one of the angels who had attacked her. It seemed that the Ministry had found out what he was.

Kingsely noticed Emily’s sudden increased attention and nodded to the wizard standing next to her. “Take off the bindings on her mouth. There is no need to be afraid of her here.”

She felt the wizard comply and a few seconds later, her mouth felt the cool touch of air again and she gratefully wet her lips. The dark material had absorbed so much fire from her that even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to fight off this many wizards. So instead, she focused herself on the conversation.

“He’s an angel,” she said, swallowing once to get her voice in order. 

Harry looked from her to Kingsley in a shrewd manner. “I heard him say as much during the trial, but you can’t be serious.”

“The angels want to know why the dead are coming back,” continued Emily, ignoring Harry. “They seem to think I had something to do with it. The angel you have, I think he’s one of the ones who attacked me after I woke up.”

“There is no such thing as angels,” Harry repeated earnestly.

“I’ve been told that angels are also looking for the devil,” Emily finished, still in her fashion of ignoring him.

Kingsley tilted his head at her. “And how do you know this, Miss Rose?”

“The Winchesters told me.”

“What else did they tell you?”

There was something dangerous in Kingsley’s voice. There was a wrong answer to this and Harry knew it. The Minister knew something that they didn’t, something he was afraid the Winchester might know. That Emily might now know. 

Emily sensed it too. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly and when she spoke, her voice was flat. “That I should we wary of the devil. That’s all. Why, is there something you would like to share?”

The other ministry workers glared at her and murmured under their breath. They did not approve of her snarky attitude.

“Sir,” Harry burst out before anyone else could speak. “This cannot be real. Angels cannot be real, putting aside the Devil! There has to be some sort of… of mistake.”

“I wish that to be true, Harry, I really do. But angels, demons, the devil- all are as real as you or I,” Kingsley shook his head, his deep voice filling up the otherwise silent room. “Is it a secret? In a way I suppose so. Muggles know of the existence of supernatural beings, but most choose not to believe in them. It is the same way they deal with magic. But in the wizarding world, such beings are ingrained in our history and society. How can we change a table into an elephant, or fix a broken cup with a flick of our wand, without believing in werewolves, vampires, and yes, Harry, angels. But the existence of the latter is not common knowledge. It is not hidden, but neither is it taught as necessary public knowledge. 

“You see, there is some information in the word that is too dangerous to be given to everyone. Some truths are hidden to protect others, because the possession of them in certain hands would have disastrous consequences. So we protect ourselves as best we can, and hide what we do not understand from view. Out of sight, out of mind. 

“But sometimes we cannot ignore these problems. Like now, for instance. We did not trust you with the existence of the supernatural, and look where it has landed us. You committed treason, Harry. You disobeyed our direct orders because what you saw conflicted with what you were told. In truth, part of this is not your fault. But you still chose to act as you did and that is where our problem lies.”

As soon as the last words left his mouth, the door opened and in walked Ron Weasley.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” said Ron, then noticed Harry and Emily and froze in place.

“Mr. Weasley. Excellent timing,” Kingsley said briskly. “I would like you to explain why you and Mr. Potter here have broken Ministry regulations by harboring a known criminal.”

Before Ron could speak, Emily said, “Minister, why do you think I bombed those buildings? Isn’t more likely it was a Muggle, since the buildings targeted are Muggle establishments?”

Based on the muddled faces of those around her, Emily guessed she had thrown them off with her questions. 

“Do you have anyone particular to name as a culprit, if it was not you who did it?” Kingsley asked, setting his clasped on the desk before him and giving her his full attention.

“Well, what about Jim Moriarty?”

The audible intake of breath, so often found in drama plays and Hollywood films, filled the room as every Ministry member stared at her with pale faces and ruler straight backs.

Harry and Ron exchanged a worried glance but didn’t try to interrupt, unsure of how to salvage the situation or indeed of what would happen next. 

The man sitting to the left of Kingsley spoke into the tense silence. He was older than the Minister, with a mane of grizzled brown hair, kind of like a lion. “You claim you have no memory, Miss Rose, yet you know that name. How is that possible?”

Before Emily could answer Harry said, “We read about it in the newspaper, Mr. Scrimgeour. The Muggles also believe he had something to do with the bombings.”

“The Muggles also believe Miss Rose was part of the bombings, “Scrimgeour replied smoothly. “Perhaps they are in cahoots?”

Emily’s mask slipped and Harry saw a flash of suspicion and interest in her eyes. “No.”

“No?” Scrimgeour replied, raising one eyebrow incredulously. 

“I’ve never met Moriarty. And I have no desire to do so,” Emily said slowly. “Have you?”

The Minister tilted his head every so slightly. “Why would any of us have ever met him?”

“Well, you and your friends here seem to know something about him. Would you like to tell me what it is?”

“Emily,” Harry interrupted. “Stop it, please.”

Emily turned to glare at him. There was something in her that made her every action graceful, even a full hearted glare. It was… disturbing.

“You work for the Ministry, don’t you, Potter?” she said. “I’m sure that they tell you the reason behind every order they give you. That you never question why you do what you do, because you’re never left in the dark. That even when the dead start coming back, they don’t send you off to a school without any mention of their plans and the threats that they are facing because that would be absurd, wouldn’t it? No, I’m sure they would never do something like that to you.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it.

Emily look over him once, nodded her head, then turned to face Kingsley and Scrimgeour again. “You obviously know something that I don’t. About Moriarty, about the dead, about me. But it’s not just me you’re keeping information from. You’re scared of something.”

Kingsley was staring at her as though he had never seen anything like her before. His face was paler than Harry had ever seen it. Scrimgeour’s eyes were full of anger, but his hand twitched nervously in his lap.

“So,” Emily’s voice swept through the room like a snake about to snap its jaws around its prey. “What are you afraid of?”

There was complete silence in the room. Every eye was on the girl with the dark mark on her arm, the girl who had put them all down with only words. The girl who was too smart for her own good.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Oh.”

Chapter Text

Arthur Weasley had witnessed a great many strange things in his life. He had, after all, raised Fred and George. His youngest son had become friends with the famous Harry Potter, and oh the trouble that had brought. He had spent his whole life studying the life and inventions of Muggles, much to the disgust of his wizarding colleagues, and had discovered some truly remarkable things. For example, the use of electricity, which involved connecting wires to create an electrical current that powered so much of the Muggle world. Fascinating! Cars, buses, and aeroplanes? Remarkable! And don’t even get him started on rubber ducks.

But getting a call from a strange man who claims to know your son and Harry Potter, who admits that he could use your help to rescue a known criminal because he doesn’t know anything about the Ministry due to the fact that he is a Muggle, might be the strangest thing that had ever happened to poor Arthur Weasley.

“Well, I-I-” Mr. Weasley stammered, fumbling with his glasses.

San Winchester’s voice sounded from the wonderful Muggle invention Mr. Weasley insisted having in the house: a telephone. “I’m very sorry for the confusion sir, it’s just that Harry told me to call this number if I ever needed help and couldn’t reach him. You see, he was taken in by the Ministry not even half an hour ago on the grounds of treason, I believe, along with Emily Rose. We need your help to, well, get them back. 

Mr. Weasley dropped his glasses.

“Arthur?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice sounded from the kitchen. “Arthur, are you quite alright?”

“Ah-well I-” Mr. Weasley’s voice died away as Sam started speaking again.

“Sir, I know this must all sound insane, but we really do need your help. If you could help us find a man called Ron Weasley that would be a start-”

This time Mr. Weasley dropped the telephone.

“Sir? Sir are you still there?” Sam's voice boomed from the phone.

Mrs. Weasley shouted from the living room again, “Arthur? Arthur, what is going on?”

Mr. Weasley ran toward her voice, his mind afluster. Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Molly Weasley greeted him as he stumbled into the living room.

“Arthur? For heaven's sake what happened?” Mrs. Weasley demanded.

“Er- a man, on the telephone- wants to know- Harry- taken by the Ministry- treason- Ron too maybe-” he managed to stammer out.

Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the couch, forcefully planting him on it. “Calm down, Arthur. Tell us what happened.”

As Mr. Weasley told them what had just occurred, the three pairs of eyes pinned on him grew wider and wider, until he feared they would pop right out onto the floor in front of him.

“This is absurd,” Tonks said as soon as he finished. “Harry would never- alright he would do something like this, but not without a good reason!

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. “I don’t trust him. What if he’s a Death Eater?”

“Death Eaters don’t use telephones,” Lupin mused. “It’s beneath them. Besides, we would know soon enough if they were lying. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Lupin,” Tonks started.

“Don’t try and stop me, Tonks. It won’t work.”

Lupin exited the room and picked up the telephone. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Oh um, San Winchester, sir. Who are you?”

“My name is Remus Lupin. I’m a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Please tell me why you have called us and how.”

Sam told him the same thing he told Mr. Weasley. “So you see,” he finished plaintively. “We really don’t know what to do. Could you help us find them?”

Lupin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt so old all of a sudden. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of waking up from the dead and being thrust into all this trouble with barely a moment to breath in between. 

“Alright. We’ll help you. We’ll see where they are and try to find a way to de-escalate this whole situation. Don't try and do anything without contacting us. We'll be in touch soon."

“Thank y-” Sam started, but Lupin hung up the phone before he could finish. 

He returned to the living room where three expecting faces turned to meet him.

“It seems we have some work to do,” Lupin said.

It didn’t take very long to get to Salix by plane. Three hours after they exited Baker Street, Sherlock and John found themselves in a quaint seaside Irish town that would look the same no matter what century it was in. 

They wandered a bit before finally finding the welcome center, where an elderly lady presided behind the front desk.

“Hello dears,” she beamed. “How may I help you?”

John smiled at the lady; no doubt she reminded him of Mrs. Hudson. “We’re looking for The White Willow. Can you tell us where it is?”

“Oh, the willow! It’s our oldest tree and quite a beautiful one at that. It’s near the old rose cottage, if my memory serves me right.”

“Who owns the cottage?” asked John.

The woman frowned slightly. “Well, I don’t know exactly. The last person I remember staying there was a girl, but I haven’t seen her in years and years.”

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t need a look to register the significance in the woman’s words.

After a few more minutes of polite conversation the two men were driving on the road that led to their destination.

Emily’s home.

Sherlock was silent as he drove, letting his mind work as they veered down the almost empty road.

“Sherlock?” John said after a while. “What if this is a trap?”

“I doubt it. Why would Moriarty send us all to Ireland when he’s perfectly capable of reaching us in London?”

John winced at the words and Sherlock immediately regretted what he’d said.

“Let’s just drive,” the detective mumbled, putting more pressure on the gas pedal. He didn’t know how to apologize, and wasn’t sure if John wanted him to.

They drove for almost twenty minutes before they found the cottage. Small and quaint with weather beaten walls, the grey brick structure had an abandoned look one might find in ghost towns or dilapidated hospitals no longer in use. Sherlock felt melancholy just looking at it. Vines decorated with blood red roses from whence the place was named covered the walls, spiraling in wild patterns from their unrestrained growth over the years. 

A stream gurgled a few yards from the building, and leaning over its edge was a giant white willow. The tree seemed to reflect light off it’s gleaming bone-white surface, and colours rippled across its branches and leaves. An old wooden bench was placed against its trunk, forlorn and beaten down.

“This must be the place,” John said, stuffing his hands into his armpits and shivering in the cool autumn air. Sherlock resisted the urge to pull him close for warmth. John probably wouldn’t appreciate that. 

“You should go check the house,” Sherlock suggested. “I’ll see if there’s anything by the tree.”

John looked all too happy to get out of the cold and disappeared inside the cottage. Sherlock approached the tree with slight apprehension. The willow seemed to watch him approach; not hostile, but wary. It was… creepy.

The bench was old and worn down by weather, so much so that one of its legs was rotten. As Sherlock stepped under the long weeping branches, the wind seem to die down. The branches formed a sort of shield against the outside world; a sanctuary under the arms of nature.

Above the bench, carved into the white bark of the tree, was a heart. Inside the heart was written: E.R + R.F. 

Sherlock traced the letters with his fingertips, his mind reeling. This was obviously the type of thing lovers did, carving their initials into a tree. E.R must be Emily Rose, but what was the other name?

Who was R.F?

“Sherlock,” John called from the cottage. “Come here, I found something.”

Sherlock grudgingly left the embrace of the willow tree and walked back to John, still pondering the carved heart. 

The inside of the cottage was coated in a seven layer dish of dust. Cobwebs hung from the walls instead of paintings and the curtains were filled with moth eaten holes. Every inch of the room was a study in mold and allergies. 

John was standing by the fireplace, staring at three pictures on the mantle. Sherlock joined him, standing slightly too close, but John didn’t say anything. The good doctor smelled like coffee and honey, a smell so familiar it never failed to calm the detective down.

The pictures on the mantel had not escaped the ubiquitous dust. Sherlock stared at the first picture with interest. It was an old black and white photo, from at least twenty years ago judging by the quality. It showed Emily and a girl Sherlock had never seen before standing in front of what looked like the London Eye, their arms around each other. The strange girl was laughing, her head thrown back and eyes closed. Emily had the biggest smile Sherlock had ever seen on someone’s face. It was filled with warmth and happiness, something he hadn’t ever thought to associate with the fiery girl. He wondered what had caused her to smile like that.

The second photo was in colour and was of the same quality as the first. It showed the same strange girl who had laughed with Emily in front of the Wheel. In this photo she was looking directly into the camera, a soft smile decorating her face. She had dark skin and short, choppy blue hair. The photo possessed the same joy and warmth as the first picture.

The last picture was not a photo but a drawing so detailed it could have passed as one. It was of two people, one of whom was Emily. She was not smiling, but looked rather peeved. To her right stood a young woman, and with a start Sherlock realized it was Arya. She had one hand on Emily’s shoulder, and he wondered vaguely if it was in comfort or to restrain her. 

John picked up the second photo. “Who is this? How does she know Emily?”

“She must be R.F,” Sherlock mused. At John’s confused look he added, “Emily’s initials are carved into a heart on the willow tree with the letters R.F . I’m guessing she’s the girl in this photo, since it seems like they knew each other well.”

“Do you think she’s still alive? Is she who we were sent to find?”

Sherlock stared at the dusty mantel. “I don’t know, John. Maybe.”

John nodded and tucked the photo into his jacket pocket then pointed at the drawing.

“That’s the woman who came in with Emily and that man,” said the doctor.

“Arya,” Sherlock reminded him. “I think she might be Emily’s sister. Their faces… next to each other, they look a lot alike.”

John’s eyes grew wide. “Sisters? Seriously? It’s just… well… they don’t look that alike to me.”

Sherlock ran a finger down the mantel, coating it in dust. “Why did Moriarty send us here? This cottage must belong to Emily, but there are no signs of anyone living here in the past decade at the very least. We already know about her sister, so maybe the next clue is R.F…”

His voice trailed off as his train of thoughts hurtled down their tracks at lighting speed. Moriarty was trying to show them Emily’s past, he was sure of it. But why? Why did the consulting criminal want Sherlock to know what Emily couldn’t remember? 

“Let’s keep searching,” John’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You go upstairs.”

As Sherlock passed the doctor on his way to the stairs, John reached out and brushed his hand against Sherlock’s. The gesture was so tiny, so quick, that for a second Sherlock thought he must have imagined it. But when he stopped to look back as he reached the stairs, he caught John staring at him with longing and sadness.

Sherlock wanted to apologize. He wanted to wrap his arms around John and never let go. He wanted to grab his hand and run away from this place full of abandonment and secrets, to somewhere they could be safe. Instead, he turned and ran up the stairs, knowing he was a coward all the while.

The upper floor of the cottage was in the same condition as the rest of the house. He had to push aside a swarth of cobwebs as he reached the landing. A narrow hallway complete with three doors, one of which led to a bathroom, greeted him as he wiped the sticky webs from his fingers. Sherlock pushed open one of the doors and found himself standing in the starry sky you can only see at night in the countryside. 

He blinked, trying to orientate himself. Every inch of wall and ceiling was covered in inky black paint, over which was painted thousands upon thousands of tiny silver stars, twinkling with every movement he made as they reflected the fading light from outside. The floor stood out in its wonted wooden planks against such artistry. 

A small bed was pushed into the far right corner of the room, neat and made but decorated with holes from negligence. A writing desk, armchair, and dresser made up the only other furniture in the bedroom.

Sherlock picked up a photograph set neatly next to the bedside table. It was the same girl from downstairs but this picture… no… was the photo moving?

The more he watched it, the more Sherlock was convinced that the girl trapped inside the tiny wooden frame was as animated as a piece of film. She would throw her head back and laugh like there was no tomorrow, then lean forward and smile so soft, so obviously for a person she loved, that Sherlock found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her.

No. This had to be some sort of screen, enabled to play a gif of some kind over and over again. It was not, as some tiny part of his brain (the imaginative part) whispered, magic. Magic wasn’t real. It simply cannot be, he told himself.

Setting the picture down with exaggerated carefulness, the young detective made his way over to the writing desk.

A book lay on the desk. It was covered in dust, except for the top right corner, which was conspicuously dust free. How odd. The floors were clear of dust so they wouldn’t be able to know if anyone else had been here recently. But if Moriarty had wanted him to come here… could this book be a clue?

He blew on the cover, uncovering the title. A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. No. Now there were books explaining this nonsense? Why would Moriarty want him to see this?

He flipped through the pages, trying to find some sort of hidden message, but nothing popped up. Deciding to go through it more thoroughly later, he tucked it under his arm and went downstairs.  

John was still in the living room, looking at the pictures. The light from the windows shone on his blond hair, creating a halo above his head. He looked so steady, so kind, so… John that for a moment Sherlock couldn’t breath. He was caught in a strange emotion that he had never really felt before. What was that feeling flowing through his veins, making his heart pound and his whole body warm?

The moment was broken when John turned around.

“Did you find anything?”

“Just a book. Might see what it has to offer later,” Sherlock told him.

John nodded, his gaze sweeping the room, resting on the closed window. “Do you think she really lived here all alone? What about her mother, or her sister?”

“Who knows. Arya said that she wanted to bring Emily home, but I have a feeling she wasn’t talking about this place. Emily might have lived here, but this isn’t where she’s from. That is still a mystery I have yet to solve.”

There was silence for awhile as they both gave in to their thoughts. Sherlock found himself staring at the girl in the photo smiling next to Emily, her cobalt blue hair shimmering in the sun. She looked so happy, so young, and so content that for a moment, if only a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be like her. To not have to worry about psychopaths sending him guns and telling him to jump off a roof. To be able to stand next to the person he loved, beaming with happiness, without a care in the world.

“Let’s go,” said John.

Cas paced across the floor, in the bunker where so many memories lay. Here he, Sam, and Dean had watched Game of Thrones and drank beer. Here was where they had pleaded with God for help as his sister threatened to destroy the world. 

Here Dean had almost killed him.

“So now the Ministry has Emily,” Cas said, still pacing. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Get her back, of course,” spat Arya.

Cas turned to face her. The elf sat at the center table, all nerves and anger. Sam sat across from her. At the head of the table, far away from Cas, stood Dean, his eyes following the angel’s every step. Cas didn’t like it. 

“We can’t,” Sam sighed. “Not until we get more information. I told you, the man who I spoke to, Lupin, said he would scout out the situation first. We just have to wait.”

Arya glared at him. “I’m not waiting for a stranger to solve my problems. Either we all go, or I go alone. Which do you like better?”

“You can’t go alone,” Cas snapped. “I don’t care how powerful you are, a whole government full of wizards will be able to stop you. If you want to get your sister back, we have to have help.”

“I say we go.”

Cas’s head shot up. So did Sam’s and Arya’s. Dean was leaning forward with his hands on the table, looking the angel dead in the eye.

Cas stared into his eyes. Those hazel-green eyes he had always loved, that always looked upon him so kindly, were now full of… nothing. It reminded him of what Dean’s eyes had looked when he had the Mark of Cain. Anger, insane glee, but most of all, a blank emptiness.

Like Dean wasn’t there.

Something was very wrong.

“What?” the angel said.

From the way Sam was staring at his brother, Cas could tell that he saw it too. 

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam asked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Nothing’s wrong, Sam. I agree with the elf, that’s all. We shouldn’t wait around for other people to help us. I say the four of us go after those wizards right now.”

“Dean, this isn’t like you,” Sam said, casting a worried glance back at Cas.

“Sam is right,” Cas said, still looking straight into Dean’s eyes. “You’re stubborn, Dean, and arrogant, and fool-hearty. You think you can solve every problem by yourself. But even you know when you need help, and you’re never too proud to ask for it. You’re not stupid. You would never do something like this. You’re-” Cas struggled to control the tremble in his voice as he finished. “You’re better than that.”

Sam looked from Cas to his older brother, and his eyes widened.

“You’re not Dean.”

Silence. Arya watched the three of them- the angel, the hunter, and the strange man at the head of the table, with wide eyes. No one spoke for a long moment.

A grin slowly emerged on Dean’s face. It wasn’t a smile Dean had ever made before. It was a grin of malice, of glee, of trickery.

A ripple of green passed over Dean’s body, replacing the hunter’s stocky, muscular body with the lean form of a man with slick black hair and gleeful brown eyes, dressed in green and gold leather armor.

Cas inhaled sharply. “Loki.”

The god of trickery winked at him. “I was wondering how long it would take you to find out.”

Sam shot out of his chair and pointed his gun at the god. “Where’s Dean? How long have you been impersonating him?”

Loki held up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, Whoa, no need to be so demanding, hunter. He’s not dead, I promise. I believe the last time you saw him was in… Hell.”

Suddenly everything clicked into place. The way Dean had been acting last night; his harsh words and the way he looked at Emily. That strange moment when Cas rescued who he thought was the real Dean from Hell, when it really must have been Loki in disguise. It made him feel terrible to admit it, but he felt the tiniest bit of relief that the words ‘Dean’ had told him last night weren’t from Dean at all, but instead from a cruel god who just wanted to have a laugh.

“Where. Is. He.” growled Cas. With a flick of his wrist, his angel blade landed in his hand.

“Oh, Dean? Still in hell, I believe. Have fun finding him though, it’s quite a big place.”

“Who are you, exactly?” Arya asked, now on her feet. 

As Loki looked at her, a full on stare, Cas saw something flicker in his eyes. Was that… recognition?

“I am Loki, the god of magic, my dear,” he told her. “And you are Emily’s sister? Hmmm… yes, you look rather like... her.”

“Why did you try and impersonate Dean? Are you working with Lucifer?” Sam demanded.

Loki grinned at him. “My dear hunter, I can’t just go about explaining everything I do to you. I am not mortal, remember. And, to be honest, I’m having too much fun to ruin it all.”

With a yell, Sam attacked. A bullet sailed through the air, intending to find it’s mark in the middle of the god’s head. But Loki was quick and moved before Sam even pulled the trigger. A knife slide into each hand, and the god slashed at the hunter. Sam stumbled back, but before Loki could so much as raise a hand Cas slammed into him, and they both toppled onto the ground.

Cas landed on his back and hit his head with a loud thunk on the cold floor. A moment later a fist connected with his face, and all he could hear was a ringing sound. Another hit. Then another.

Suddenly the weight on top of him lifted and Cas gave a rasping cough, blood dripping out of the side of his mouth. 

There was a shout and a loud thump, the sound of two people running up stairs, then the slam of a door.

Cas forced himself to get up, his head still ringing. Loki was nowhere in sight. Arya was also missing. Sam was scrambling up from the floor, presumably from being thrown there. 

“Cas! Are you alright?” Sam asked, running over to where Cas was still sitting. “Your eye is swelling up.”

“Where did he go?” Cas coughed, trying to get up but failing due to the pain in his head.

The door slammed open again and in stormed Arya. 

“He got away,” she said.

Sam cursed and Cas closed his eyes. 

Arya walked over and knelt next to Cas. She placed a warm hand on his head. A moment later, the pain vanished and he felt his eye unswell. 

“Thank you,” he muttered.

Arya stood up, her gaze on the door. “What do we do now?”

If Loki was working with Lucifer, then it would be hard to stop him. But why? How did they meet? One thing was for sure. They were in deep trouble.

“We warn the others and find Dean,” Cas said, his heart aching at the thought of the hunter all alone in Hell. “But first things first: we need to rescue Emily.”

Chapter Text

They stopped as Sherlock’s phone started to ring. It was Lestrade’s number. “Hello, Lestrade. What is it now?”

“Sherlock! I’ve been trying to contact you for hours, haven’t you been checking your phone? There’s been a triple homicide and we need your help.”

“Hmmm. Dull.”

“It’s not, actually. There are no marks on them, no sign of violence at all. No one can figure out the cause of death.”

“Have you checked for poison, needle marks, or allergies?”

“Yeah and there’s none of that. They all seem to be in perfect health except that they’re dead,” the detective-inspector sighed, and Sherlock could picture him running a tired hand through his hair.

“Any eye-witnesses?”

“None that we know of yet, but the neighbors have been saying some shady stuff. The two that called us in swear they saw a glowing skull above the house.”

That piqued Sherlock’s interest. Three murders, no sign of death, and a glowing skull? This was certainly an odd case. He gestured for John to get in the car, doing so himself a moment later.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can. Send me the details in the meantime.”

“Right,” Lestrade huffed. “And you better start explaining the whole Rose thing to me soon.”

Sherlock ended the call without further comment as John started the drive to the airport.

“What was that all about?” John asked.

“There’s a new case. Strange one, tell you more when I get details.”

*****

Sherlock was no stranger to weird.

He was, after all, called a freak on a regular basis due to his unnatural abilities to deduce a person’s whole life story after one glance. He received vivid hallucinations every time he snorted too much coke and drank a quart of red bull during his most challenging cases. Or more often, when he was just bored. He chased down serial killers and psychopaths alike, and though he had never encountered anything like Silence of the Lambs, he had seen his more than fair share of weird stuff. 

So all in all, he was not easily perturbed by strange cases. This, however, was a kind of weird he had never encountered.

There was not a single mark on any of the bodies. He and John and five other specialists had thoroughly examined every inch of the three corpses for cause of death. Nothing. There was no sign of heart attack, poison, seizure, or any other inward fatalities. In fact, as a bewildered John informed him, you could not find three people in more excellent health, excluding the obvious fact that they were dead.

As the bodies were being continuously examined at the morgue, Sherlock and John explored the crime scene. The home of the now deceased family was old but quaint. Located on the outskirts of London, the small brick house was set in the middle of a neighborhood filled with copies of itself. The inside was just as ordinary. Blue pastel walls rose up above dainty wooden furniture and carefully placed decor. In short, there was nothing amiss inside or outside the house. No blood or other clues were to be found in the vicinity of their search.

“What the bloody hell is this?” John swore as they exited the house, their efforts entirely fruitless. A small breeze made the balmy night air slightly more bearable. 

Sherlock let his eyes wander over the small crowd in front of them before answering. “I don’t know. John. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“What did Lestrade say earlier? Didn’t the neighbors see something strange above the house?”

Sherlock snorted. “A glowing skull? Rubbish. Probably just a hallucination.”

“We should talk to them at least,” John said, placing a hand on Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock looked down at the hand, speech momentarily lost to him. John swallowed hard and removed it quickly.

“Uh- Yes, yeah. Sure let’s, um, go,” Sherlock fumbled, trying to get over the awkward moment.

The two witnesses were seated on a garden wall worn through with rose vines. The vermillion flowers popped out of crevices and holes like an infestation long since resisted. The witnesses were talking to two police officers. At least, that’s what Sherlock thought at first glance. The officers were dressed strangely; who would be wearing cloaks like that in this weather? Or in any situation?   

As they watched, one of the officers placed the tip of a long stick of wood against the head of each witness and murmured something. The witnesses blinked rapidly, then glanced about with glassy eyed confusion.

“ Excuse me,” Sherlock growled, coming to a halt in front of the officers. “What the hell did you just do to them?”

Now that he was right in front of them, Sherlock knew they were not the police. One had stormy grey eyes and platinum hair that made his already pale skin an almost sickly shade. The woman next to him had ebony skin and bushy brown hair the same colour as her eyes. They both were dark cloaks that concealed the rest of their clothes, but there was something else off about them. He felt the same unnatural aura seeping off of them as he had felt from Harry Potter and Emily Rose. 

“And who are you?” the pale man asked rudely.

John grabbed Sherlock’s arm to stop him from answering.  

“I remember you,” the doctor said slowly to the woman. “You were the one who burst into our flat and took Emily away. Hermione, right?”

Sherlock blinked and realized that John was right. How had he not realized that? How could he, who prized himself on his superior mind and deduction skills, forget a face so quickly?

Hermione seemed to recognize them too. “Oh! I thought you looked familiar,” she gasped. Turning to the pale man she said, “Draco, this is the detective Harry went to see, the Muggle in charge of the bombing case.”

Draco sneered. “Really? What are you doing here?”

“A triple homicide with no clues or cause of death? That’s much more interesting than a bombing,” the detective replied coolly. He felt John squeeze his arm slightly, warning him to be cautious.

“We know the cause of death,” Hermione told them. “The killing curse. Magic.”

John gave a small, humorous laugh. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

In response, Draco pointed his wand at John and murmured, “ Silencio .”

John opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t. He opened and closed his mouth in complete silence. 

“John?” Sherlock asked sharply. He grabbed the doctor’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “What’s wrong? What did you do to him?”

“Draco,” warned Hermione.

“Arlight, alright. It just seemed like the easiest way to show them, that’s all,” Draco sighed, pointing his wand at John again. 

“Fuck you,” John immediatly said, rubbing his throat. “Wha- just… fuck you.”

“ That was magic, Muggle,” sneered Draco. “Those with it can do unimaginable things, including killing without a trace.”

Sherlock stared from John to the man’s wand, his mind tearing itself in two. Every logical atom in his body was screaming at him that this was a trick, that this couldn’t be real, because magic doesn’t exist . But John… there was no way John could be part of this trick. John would never willingly participate in such a thing, and he had been by his side since they left Ireland. 

So the other explanation, as far from logical as it seemed, was that… 

“So Mycroft was right,” the detective breathed. “The dead really are back.”

Which meant that Moriarty really wasn’t dead. This was no trick; this was real . He turned and met John’s gaze, and saw his own horror reflected in the good doctor’s eyes.

Hermione frowned at him. “You know about that?”

“Yes. We’ve been trying to track down one of them for the past few days,” John said. “How did-”

Sherlock stopped listening to the conversation. His head was pounding at a fierce rate as though he had just woken up from a nightmare. The logical part of his brain was screaming at him that this was a lie; a facade that he could see through if he only tried hard enough. Magic isn’t real. The dead cannot come back to life. It defied everything he based his life around: science, cold hard fact that can’t be duped. The mere suggestion that it was all a lie, that someone or something had the power to bring back the dead, or that any magic existed at all, tore at his very core. No, it couldn’t be real.

But the spell on John, the two men disappearing in his flat, the terrible idea that Moriarty really was back…

He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

The detective blinked and found himself staring into the pale green eyes of John. The doctor’s hand was on his shoulder, his grip like iron.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked.

He was extremely aware of the warm pressure on his shoulder and had trouble speaking. “Er- yes, of course I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You slipped away for a moment,” John frowned. He opened his mouth as though to continue, but thought better of it.

Sherlock turned to Hermione and Draco and said, “But first, what did you do to those witnesses?”

Hermione sighed. “We were forced to wipe their memories. If a Muggle ever witnesses magic, then we have no choice but to wipe it from their minds. It’s how wizards keep safe.”

“Did you at least question them before you took away their memories?”

“Of course we did,” Draco sniffed. “They didn’t have much to tell, though. Both of them swore they saw a strange glowing mark in the sky, which must have been the Dark Mark. One of them thought they saw someone outside the house, but we found no trace of them.”

“Was it a man or woman?” Sherlock demanded.

“We don’t know.”

Sherlock grinded his teeth in frustration but managed not to lash out at the wizards. Really, their level of incompetence was as bad as the police. 

“If this was done by a curse, then however did this must have magic, right?” John asked. “Is it possible that whoever killed these people is also the one whos been destroying those buildings? They’re not exactly trying to hide their handiwork and we’re near enough to central London. I mean, how many murderous wizards could there be in London?”

“You’d be surprised,” Draco snorted.

Hermione studied John with a small frown. “Actually, you may be onto something. See, murder like these used to be the favorite pastime of an evil wizard called Lord Voldemort. He was killed years ago, but now of course we suspect he is back. But there’s something off about this.”

“What do you mean?” said Draco, sporting a small frown himself.

“It's just- Voldemort always wanted to be the center of attention. He never tried to hide what he'd done if everyone already knew he was at power. This murder, so soon after those bombings… it's like he doesn't even know they happened . Let's say for a moment that we know for certain that Voldemort didn’t destroy those buildings- why kill these three Muggles? If someone is commiting more noticable crimes, he wouldn’t just murder three people and go ‘Well, that should do it. My reign of terror is complete’. No, Voldemort would want to be the center of attention. It makes more sense that this is a sort of distraction, to lure us away from the bombings.”

No one spoke for a long moment. Then, hesitantly, John said, “Do you have any actual evidence to back this up?”

“Id have to check with Harry to see if there was any sign of magical interference at the bombings,” Hermione admitted. “But… not really. It's only a theory.”

Sherlock nodded. “I know all about those.” 

John’s face brooded more questions than strokes on a painting. Draco’s face warned off those questions, but Sherlock knew John wouldn’t care. Already tired of the soon to be stand off, Sherlock pulled his attention away from the conversation. His mind swirled together a confusing concoction of memories and theories. If Hermione was right, then where did that leave Moriarty? Had he just pinned that note to confuse them, or was it deeper than that?

Sherlock’s gaze drifted around the crime scene, taking in the bustle of police men, the cloudy night sky, and the dark rooftops of houses. Wait… the corner of the victim’s house, almost hidden next to the drain pipe. And there, on the pole, way above them. His head swiveled left and right as he saw more and more of them. One across the street, another by the door. There was even one hidden on the fence. 

Security cameras, all facing Sherlock, John, Hermione, and Draco. Way too many cameras for one ordinary family, way too many for a safe neighborhood. And they were all watching them.

His phone beeped in his pocket and Sherlock quickly pulled it out. There was a text from a blocked number. It read:

Tsk tsk, it seems you’ve gotten worse since I left! You should have been there AGES ago. But don’t worry, the real fun is about to start. I’d head back to London if I were you.

       -JM

Sherlock cursed and showed the text to John. Eyes wide, the doctor said, “What does he mean by that? How does he know we’re here? And what’s about to happen, Sherlock?”

“It's the security cameras, they’re everywhere! He must have placed them here, which means Moriarty knew this murder was going to happen! He’s involved somehow,” Sherlock murmured. “We have to get back to London, I don’t like what this means.”

The two of them turned away, starting back to their car, when Hermione cried out, “Wait! The name you said, Moriarty, I’ve heard it before. Is he really involved with this murder?”

“I don’t have time to explain!” Sherlock shouted. 

Draco started from Sherlock to Hermione, then nodded his head slightly, as though coming to a decision. “Then let us come with you. This is our case as much as yours. Whatevers about to happen, I have a feeling it’ll involve both of us.”

Sherlock glanced at John. The good doctor just shook his head. “We don’t have a choice, Sherlock. We’ll need them.”

Sherlock turned back to the wizards. “Fine. Come with us.”

The four of them hurried away under the night sky as the wind started to pick up.

“Would you please stop doing that?” Ron sighed. 

Emily paused in the action of flickering her fingers against the cell bars. “Oh? Is this bothering you?”

“Yes.”

Emily flicked it again.

“Stop it you two,” Harry interrupted before Ron could get out a proper curse. “That’s not going to help us.”

Emily glared at him from behind cold iron bars. The Ministry had placed them all in the holding cells next to the courtrooms; him and Ron in one, Emily in the other. Presumably to keep Ron from killing her, as he seemed now prepared to do. 

“What is going to help us, Harry? Your friends at the Ministry? Your faith that everything is going to turn out fine? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but all of that is what landed us in these cells,” said Emily coldly.

Harry just grimaced and exchanged a look with Ron. Emily had been acting strangely since their meeting with Kingsley. She snapped at them almost constantly, and her eyes were always unfocused as her mind ran down hidden paths. Harry watched as she ran a hand through her red gold hair, fingers absentmindedly tracing the star on her brow.

“Sarcasm won’t help us, so drop the sass,” said Harry. 

The air was cold and stale deep beneath the Ministry. It reminded Harry too much of his time spent at the trial in his fifth year, anxiously awaiting the verdict that would decide if he returned to Hogwarts or not. Except now, much more was at stake than his education.

The sound of footsteps brought all three of them to their feet, peering between the bars to see who was coming. From the small hallway that led to the courtroom, two people entered the cell room. It was Kingsley Shakelbolt and Arthur Weasley. 

“DAD ?” Ron shouted, rushing forward to better see his father. 

Mr. Weasley ran toward them, frantically motioning for his son to be quiet. 

“What are you doing here?” Ron gaped.

“To rescue you, of course,” Kingsley said. Except, his eyes were changing from dark brown to a light grey. The pallor of his face was getting lighter and lighter by the second. And the Minister of Magic definitely didn’t have pink hair…

“ Tonks ?” gasped Harry as the last bald patch on the former Kingsley’s head disappeared.

Tonks grinned and gave him a wink. “Wotcher, Harry.”

“Who the hell are you?” Emily asked. They ignored her.

Harry reached a hand through the bars as though to touch the witch. “You’re alive… you’re really, really alive !” Sudden tears formed in his ears and he hurriedly wiped them away. “How-”

“We’ve got no time to explain,” Tonks interrupted. “We’re here to rescue you three.”

“How? The locks are enchanted, everyone knows that,” said Ron.

Mr. Weasley held up a tiny, glinting object. It took Harry a moment to realize it was a hairpin. “I haven’t spent my whole life studying Muggles for nothing, you know.”

He stuck the hairpin into the lock on Ron’s and Harry’s cell and jiggled it around. A minute later there was a small click , and the door swung open. 

As Mr. Weasley moved on to Emily’s cell, Harry flung his arms around Tonks. 

“It's good to see you,” he murmured, smiling.

Tonks grinned and patted his back. “You two, Harry. I hope you’ve been keeping a good eye on my son.”

Before Harry could answer the door to Emily’s cell swung open and out stormed the fiery girl. “Well? Are we going to get out of here or not?”

“How? The whole of the Ministry knows who we are,” Ron said.

A different grin spread across Tonks’ face. It was mischievous, and promised trouble to anyone around her. “Yes, but with the Minister of Magic with you…”

Her hair started to fade, retreating into her skull. She grew taller and her skin turned from tan to a dark brown. And just like that, Kingsley Shakelbolt stood in front of them.

“...no one will question you,” Tonks finished as she ran a hand across her now bald head.

Emily was opening gaping at the witch. “How- how did you do that?”

“I’m a metamorphmagus. I can change my appearance at will,” Tonks explained. “Now, are we going or not?”

The five of them hurried away from the cells, with Tonks in the lead and Arthur in the back. There were surprisingly no guards along the bottom floor of the Ministry, which puzzled Harry. Even if Kingsley personally sympathised with them, the rest of the Ministry would want to make sure that they didn’t escape. So why the lack of security?

As they crammed into a lift, a resounding boom echoed from above. Harry and Ron exchanged an uneasy glance, but before they could do anything the lift started to go up. A strange sound started to reach them as the lift traveled upwards. It was faint at first, but the closer they got to the atrium the more it grew: the sound of people screaming.

With a pleasant ding the lift stopped and opened its doors to behold a horrible sight. Numerous figures in dark cloaks and metal masks were spread throughout the atrium, shooting spells into the crowd of Ministry workers as they tried to run away. Some were fighting back, but most were cramming into the fireplaces that would take them away from the battle.

“Death Eaters!” Ron shouted above the noise. 

A high pitched shriek mingled with an insane laugh caught Harry’s attention. He focused on the mighty fountain in the middle of the room where the sound had come from. There was a woman standing on the edge of the water, screaming and shooting spells at random. A woman with wild black hair, angry eyes, and tattered black clothes.

“WHERE IS HE?” Screamed Bellatrix Lestrange. “WHERE IS POTTER?”

Anger flared up in Harry. She had been dead for so long he had almost forgotten her face. But no, she looked the same as she had when she had killed Sirius. Alive.

He took a step forward, eyes fixed on his enemy. A hand clamped around his wrist before he could go any further. Turning around, he saw it was Emily who held him back.

“We can’t stay, Harry,” she said, silver eyes blazing. “You don't have your wand and I don’t have my sword. We have to go .”

Behind her, Mr. Weasley was nodding frantically. “She's right. They’re here for you, Harry.”

As much as he loathed to admit it, Harry knew they were right. Pushing past the crowd, he followed Tonks, now returned to her usual form in the midst of all the chaos, toward one of the fireplaces. Behind him, Emily, Ron, and Mr. Weasley hurried after him.

They were almost to their goal when Bellatrix screamed, “I SEE YOU, POTTER!”

A jet of red light whooshed past his head, narrowly missing his shoulder. Harry ducked and ran even faster. More jets of light split the air around him, and a few wizards fell to the ground as Bellatrix’s spells struck them. Ahead of him, Tonk’s had reached a fireplace. She was gesturing at them and yelling something, but through all the noise Harry couldn’t hear her. 

He turned to see where the rest of his party was, and immediately wished he hadn’t. All the Death Eaters in the atrium were heading toward them, pushing aside anyone who got in their way. On the fountain, Bellatrix was staring right at him. Her cold eyes met his, and for a moment, all Harry saw was blood red anger. Her lips curled into a sneer and she raised her wand. 

Harry didn’t wait to see what came next. He reached out his arm and grabbed onto Emily’s wrist as she ran toward him. Seeing his intent, she turned and grabbed onto Ron’s arm, who then turned and held onto his father. They ran, linked together, toward the fireplace where Tonks stood halfway in. 

Tonks reached out her hand as far as she could without leaving the fireplace. Harry sped toward her, his heart pumping faster then it had in years. He reached out his free hand, reaching toward Tonks…

A spell hit the ceiling above the fireplace and the ceiling started to crack. Large chunks of rocks freed themselves from the roof and sped toward the ground like large drops of perilous rain. Harry leapt forward, one hand still clutched around Emily’s arm like a viper, and grasped Tonks with the other. Then the world turned black.

Chapter Text

“You brought us here? Tonks, this place isn’t safe!” Harry fumed as he stared up at a wall of apartments that all looked exactly the same. 

“Give me some credit, Harry,” answered Tonks. “When the Order of the Phoenix received Ginny’s message about the return of You-Know-Who, we cast new spells around the house. The secret keeper is like it was last time, with anyone who is given access to the place being one of the keepers. No Death Eaters can get in, I promise you that.”

Emily glanced at the building. There was nothing special about the apartments, nothing that indicated a secret wizard hideout. The only odd thing was that there was an apartment twelve, then apartment fourteen. No thirteen in between. 

“Sorry, where are we?” she asked. 

Ron glanced between her and the apartments. “Oh yeah, you’ll need the name to see it. This is Number 12, Grimmauld place.”

As soon as the words left his mouth Emily saw what they meant. All of a sudden, there was apartment thirteen. It looked as bland and boring as the rest of its kind, but Emily could sense the magic that seeped from its door. 

Before she could say anything, like ask why their secret base was some random apartment building, Tonks walked up to the door and opened it with a flick of her wand. Mr. Weasley, Harry, and Ron followed her without hesitation.

Emily didn’t want to be left in the street, so she hurried into Grimmauld place. Her first impression of the house was of dankness. Musty cobwebs and paintings layered with dust covered the walls. Small, dark lamps provided the only light in the long hallway. A giant set of moth-eaten curtains covered one part of the wall. 

The wizards ahead of her walked quietly through the hallway, the padded carpet helping to silence their footsteps. Not knowing why they were so quiet, but not wanting to disturb the eerie silence of the house, Emily followed their lead. 

At the end of the hallway was a set of stairs and an old door that looked like it needed about seven gallons of cleaning supplies to even start to resemble wood. She could hear voices coming from the other side, but they were so muffled she didn’t know how many.

Tonks opened the door and stopped short, blocking the doorway. 

Harry and Ron glanced at each other then tried to crane their necks over her shoulder. 

“Tonks?” Mr. Weasley muttered. “What’s-”

Without a word Tonks stepped into the other room and stood aside, letting the rest of them see inside. 

Five people stood inside a wide kitchen complete with a long wooden table. Two of them Emily recognized from her first night at Hogwarts: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Standing next to them was a motherly looking woman with curly red hair wearing an apron.

The other two she had never seen before in her life. The man had untidy jet black hair that stuck up in the back just like Harry’s. He wore glasses on a long nose and had dark brown eyes. The woman standing next to him had long red hair that fell to the middle of her back. She had bright green eyes, just like Harry.

A choked sound came from the man, more a boy then anything, with the lightning scar. He stared at the man and the women with more hope and love then Emily even thought possible. Harry reached out a trembling hand toward the couple, tears starting to stream down his face.

“Mom?” he whispered. “Dad?”

Lily and James Potter held out their arms, and Harry ran into them as though he were one year old again. The three of them huddled close, each shedding tears as they hung on to one another as though they hadn’t seen each in a thousand years.

Something flashed through Emily’s head, and the Potters disappeared from her sight.

A girl with brown sugar skin waved as she ran away. She was in a busy train station, surrounded by witches and wizards as they exited a scarlet steam engine. A sign hung above her that read ‘Platform Nine and Three-Quarters’. The air was filled with steam and conversations.

The girl’s bright blue hair acted as a beacon as she ran through the crowd. Her face was strangely pixelated, and Emily couldn’t make out her features.

“I’ll see you next term!” The girl shouted, laughing as she ran.

Emily felt herself raise her own hand in farewell. “Not if I see you first!”

The blue haired girl grinned. She gave one last wave, then hit the wall. Except she didn’t fall back. She disappeared through the bricks as though they were made of smoke. 

And Emily just stared at where she had disappeared, hand still raised, as the train let out a high pitched whistle. 

Emily’s knees wobbled and she leaned against the wall, breathing deeply. Another memory, another glimpse of the mysterious girl. But why now? And what did it mean?

Someone placed a hand on her shoulder and Emily looked up to see the motherly looking woman standing next to her.

“Are you alright, dearie?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Um- I’m always- err… pale,” Emily said blankly. 

The woman frowned and led her to the table, then made her sit down. 

Harry gently pulled away from his parents, but still kept close to them. “How-how-”

“The same way everyone else is here, sweetheart,” Lily said. “We woke up in Godric's Hollow, on top of our graves. It took us awhile but we made our way here. We hoped to meet up with Sirius, and so we did.”

James looked between Sirius and Lupin, a wide grin spreading across his face. “After all these years, after everything that's happened… I don’t think any of us expected to be back together again.”

“You’re really here,” Harry said, as though stuck in a trance. “You’re really real .”

“Let’s sit down,” suggested Lily, and led him over to where Emily sat. The three Potters settled themselves next to each other, never letting go of one another. 

“Twenty years ago, just after your first birthday,” Lily began. “You were playing with your father in the living room. A man entered our home and we knew what was coming. James told me to take you and run, and so I did. I ran to your room as your father was killed with the spell that has claimed so many lives. I put you in your crib and tried to barricade your door, but it was no use. The man came in and ordered me to stand aside. I refused to. I wouldn’t let him take my only son, my pride and joy, right before my eyes. So he killed me. 

“You grew up without us, in the care of my sister and her husband, deprived of our love and attention. We watched you every day, as you grew from a small toddler to the man you are today. And we could never tell you how proud we were, as you saved our world time and time again. But now we are here, Harry, and we can tell you this: Your father and I love you more than anything in this world, or the next. We are so proud of you. And we are sorry. Sorry that we couldn’t be there for you, sorry that you had to go through everything you did. We are sorry that we couldn’t be your parents.”

The tears had returned to Lily’s face as she spoke, and when she finished the same path of emotion trailed down Harry’s cheeks. 

“I’d forgive you,” he cried. “But there’s nothing to forgive.”

James placed a hand on his son’s head and ruffled his hair as Lily squeezed his hands. 

Emily stared at the happy family, head still whirling with her new memory. She felt… jealous? Was she jealous of Harry reuniting with his parents? No, she was happy for him. He looked so content, finally with the family he had always wanted.

No, she was jealous of how sure he was of himself. With his parents, Harry knew who he was. Every doubt he had, every worry and pain, he could lay aside when he was with his parents. He wasn’t the boy who lived, the savior of the wizarding world. He was James’ and Lily’s son. He knew who he was, and that was what she was jealous of.

“I don’t mean to break up this reunion,” Lupin said kindly. “But we have some things to discuss. Tonks told me what happened at the Ministry. It seems that the Death Eaters are in control again.”

Ron nodded. “It seems that way. I hope Kingsley got out ok, but he would be their prime target. Him and Harry, of course.”

At the mention of Death Eaters Harry tore his gaze away from his parents and instead focused on Sirius. “Sirius, she was there. Bellatrix. She’s back.”

“Not her again,” sniffed the motherly woman.

“Mum, don’t start,” Ron sighed. 

Mrs. Weasley placed her hands on her hips. “I’m just saying, I took care of her once, and I can do it again if need be.” 

“Does that mean the Ministry won’t be looking for me?” Emily interrupted.

“I doubt it,” said Lupin. “You’re not one of them, and you seem to have extraordinary powers. They’ll want to know who you are and why you’re with Harry.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, then nodded. 

“Emily, can you show us your left arm?” Harry asked.

She knew what they wanted to see. If she refused to show them, they would just tell the room what was there, and then she wouldn’t be able to hide. There wasn’t really any choice.

Emily took off her jacket and bared her arm to them all. The dark mark gleamed brightly against her pale skin, the black ink a void that sucked in all the attention in the room. 

“You have the dark mark,” James breathed, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“So what? Does that automatically make me a Death Eater?” Emily snapped.

Sirius crossed his arms and glared at the mark. “Only Death Eaters carry the dark mark. It's a well known fact.”

“Well wouldn’t I have already joined them if I was one? If Death Eaters hate Muggles and Harry then wouldn’t I hate them as well?”

“Not necessarily,” Lupin said. Everyone turned to look at him. “ No one is born a bad person. Prejudice and hatred is made out of experiences , which are replayed through memoires. You don’t have any memories, so anything you believe right now is purely based on what's happened to you since you came back to life. If you were a Death Eater, you aren’t anymore. Not without your memories.”

Emily traced the mark on her arm as she mulled over his words. “But I do have some memories. Only two so far, but I have them. They are both about this girl… I don’t know her name, and I can never see her face, but she’s someone who went to Hogwarts with me.”

“When did you have these memories? Did you wake up with them?” said Harry.

She shook her head. “I had one when I was sleeping, and the other one I had just now when we walked in. I don’t know what they mean but I get the feeling they’re important.”

Everyone fell silent as she finished. Emily kept her head down, still tracing the mark, wondering about her past. Like always. 

“If you’re starting to remember your past,” Harry said slowly. “Then maybe you’ll remember how you got the mark. Is there any way we could trigger your memories?”

“I don’t know. The only time I felt my brain react was when I saw Arya for the first time. I saw her face in my head and knew who she was, but nothing else. Just that she was my sister.”

If seeing Arya has been able to invoke a reaction in her, then would going back to Alagaesia help her remember her past? Would seeing her mother help?

She looked up at Harry and said, “I think I need to go home.”

Hermione was pretty sure Sherlock Holmes was insane. At least, in the way Dumbledore was insane- in a mad, genius sort of way. A weird glint lived in the detective’s eye, as though someone was shining a flashlight from inside his head. The way he examined a person, with a once over scan, and was able to devise everything about them from their job to their favorite hobby to where they grew up. It wasn’t magic, but it might as well be.

And he always looked annoyed. Especially now, with the four of them stuffed into a taxi cab, knees and elbows touching. 

“Are we almost there?” Draco whined. “I swear, this is the slowest way to travel in the world.”

Hermione sighed and resisted the urge to jab him in the ribs. She knew he was from a wizard family, and that he didn’t spend much time in the Muggle world, but they had more important things to worry about than their form of transportation.

 “Calm down, it’s not much farther. London is a big city,” John answered, with much more calmness then Hermione expected anyone to afford Draco.

They were heading to John’s and Sherlock’s flat. Until they knew what exactly Moriarty planned to do, they would lay low and try to figure it out. 

The taxi started to slow down, then swerved around something in the middle of the road.

“Oi! Bloody drunks!” the driver shouted.

Hermione leaned back her head to stare out the window. “What happened?”

“Some drunkard passed out in the middle of the street. Can’t see nothing with all this fog, so I nearly hit him.”

He was right. Rolls of thick white fog traveled through the streets of London, reaching as high as the rooftops. Ghostly limbs entangled every concrete surface in their grasp, hiding in every nook and cranny as though playing hide and sneak.

“This doesn’t seem normal,” Hermione muttered. “I don’t why but- I have a bad feeling about this.”

Sherlock snorted. “Relax. Fog can’t hurt you. London gets a lot of weather like this around this time of year.”

Hermione wasn’t convinced. She kept staring out the window, trying to discern something in the cloudy void beyond. She saw nothing. 

The taxi started to slow again and the driver said, “I think we’re about there. Just another block or so and-oh…”

His voice trailed off as the taxi slowed to a stop, the sound of rubber on mortar strangely amplified. As though it was the only sound in the city.

“What? What is it?” snapped Draco. He twisted to try and face the driver and ended up hitting Hermione with his elbow.

“Ow!” she shouted, but before she could berate him she noticed something odd outside. A dark lump lay at the edge of the fog, as though it had been spit out.

She opened the taxi door, closely followed by Sherlock, and ran over to the lump. As she drew nearer and a nearer the sinking feeling in her chest grew larger and larger. Hermione knelt down next to the lump, and turned it over.

It was a young girl, in a school uniform, with her eyes closed. She wasn’t moving, except for the slight rise and fall in the chest.

Hermione tapped the girl’s cheek slightly. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

The girl didn’t respond. She didn’t even flinch. Before Hermione could continue Sherlock called her name. She stood up and walked toward him, then stopped.

Another unconscious form lay before them, this one holding a phone and a spilled coffee cup. He looked as though he had tripped.

“Who- what happened?” Hermione whispered. 

Sherlock just shook his head. Then his gaze snapped forward, up the block to where his flat was. “Mrs. Hudson…”

Then he took off, running up the street as though being chased by the devil. Hermione, Draco, and John followed suit. They leaped over more unconscious forms, dodging cars left in the road and knocked over trash cans. It wasn’t long before they arrived at Baker Street.

Sherlock charged through the door and up the stairs. Hermione was right on his tail. Whatever he found, she wanted to be there to see.

The four of them burst in the detective’s flat and skidded to a stop, almost falling on top of one another in their haste. Right inside of the doorway lay the still figure of Mrs. Hudson, a duster in hand.

John cursed and knelt next to the unconscious woman, feeling her pulse and her temperature.

“I don’t think she’s hurt. It's almost like she's… asleep.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Draco murmured. “How did this many people fall unconscious at once. And why?”

“Moriarty. It must be,” said Sherlock. They all turned to look at him, but he was already opening the door. “Come on, I want to check something.”

They followed him up another flight of stairs, then onto a fire escape. Up and up they went, until they reached the roof. The fog was still present up high, but not as thick. 

Sherlock turned to face her then. “Can you cast some sort of spell? To clear some of this fog away?”

Hermione frowned. She didn’t approve of using magic in front of Muggles, but the only Muggles who were even awake were Sherlock and John, and they already knew about magic. It couldn’t hurt.

She raised her wand and shouted a spell to clear the air. At once, the fog in front of them started to recede. It kept pulling back, as though some invisible force was calling it home.

When the fog stopped they could see the city clearly for about a mile. And what they say made them gasp.

Unconscious bodies littered the streets. From rooftops to the sidewalk, in cars and in stores, it looked as though everyone had simply decided to stop moving. There was no sign of any life- nothing moved. The only sound was of the wind.

Hermione clutched her wand tightly. “London is asleep.”

Arya wasn’t sure how long it had been since the phone call. A phone call. Communication not involving magic that connected you instantly to whoever you wanted so long as they had a machine of their own. Absolutely horrifying, but intriguing. 

They had had no more word on Emily or the Ministry since then. Two hours of waiting in a cold bunker with two anxious men who didn’t want to be there was not her idea of fun. 

“How much longer are we going to stay here?” Sam demanded. “Dean is in trouble and we’re just sitting here!”

“I want to find him just as much as you, Sam, but we can’t leave until we know Emily is safe. We promised to help her, remember?” said Castiel. 

“But Dean-”

“Enough,” interrupted Arya. “Wherever Dean is, he’s alive. And if he’s managed to stay alive so far, another few hours won’t hurt him.”

Sam slammed his fists on the table. “How could you know that? He’s my brother, goddamnit, and I’m not going to sit by while-”

He was interrupted by a silvery white stag that flew through the wall to stand in front of them. The stag was transparent as its feet didn’t touch the ground, but Arya knew that if she tried to touch it her hand wouldn’t go through the mist. The room seemed to heat up with the stag inside, as though it was a blazing bonfire on a cold winter night.

Emily is safe. She wants Arya to meet her in the golden field as soon as she can. She wants to go home , Harry Potter’s voice rang from the stag.

As soon as it finished speaking the silver stag dissolved, wisps of light swirling through the air until it disappeared into the ceiling. 

“Er… what was that?” Sam asked into the silence.

Arya ignored him. She stared up at where the stag had disappeared, tension running out of her spine. Home . Where she knew what was happening, where she could finally help her sister. Home with Firnen.

She turned to face the hunter and the angel. “I must go. I must take Emily back to our world.”

“You can’t leave!” sputtered Sam. “You have to help us find Dean! I’ve seen you use magic, and part of this is your fault.”

“ My fault? None of this is my fault! I came here to find my sister, nothing more. And besides, my magic won’t be of much use to you. This world is different from my own. I’m only able to do the simplest of spells here. I can create thin shields, summon fire, and use other tricks, but beyond that my magic fails.”

Cas tilted his head. “Only little spells? You can block the spells the wizards were shooting and have superhuman speed and strength. Kind of like an angel.”

Glaring at him, Arya crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “In my world, I can move mountains. I can create wards that protect me from almost any kind of danger. I can transform the world around me to my liking. I can read minds, and control the mind of another with the blade of my thoughts. Here, I am as useless as… what was it those wizards called non-magic users? A Muggle.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide as she spoke, but Castiel only frowned.

“Can Emily do these things? Either here or in your world?” he asked.

“Not that I am aware of. Emily couldn’t use magic in our homeland. She could breathe fire, but that was it. It seems that the magic she possesses is similar to that of Harry Potter.”

“Even so, you could still-” started Sam.

“No,” Arya said firmly. “I cannot help you. My duty is to my sister, not to you. You will have to find Dean on your own.”

San sunk into a chair, head in his hands. “What are we supposed to do?”

Castiel sat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What we always do, Sam. We figure something out.”

Arya wanted to leave then and there. She wanted to race out the door and run as fast as she could (which was pretty fast considering she was an elf and a rider) until she reached Emily’s grave. She wanted to go home.

But these people had helped her. They were strangers in a foreign land, but they had helped her find Emily. Without them, who knows how long it would have taken her to locate her sister?

“Where do you think Dean is being held?” she asked.

Castiel looked up in surprise. “I-I don’t know. The last time I saw the real Dean was when we stopped at that bar. Then he was captured by demons. The Dean we rescued in Hell must have been Loki, because I wasn’t separated from Dean after that.”

“Then I would guess he is still in Hell,” Arya quoried. “The easiest way for Loki to disguise himself as Dean while making sure the real Dean couldn’t uncover his trick would be to wait until Dean was in Hell. That way, he wouldn’t have to steal Dean from the demons who captured him.”

Sam stood up and started pacing the room, his tall frame shadowed with worry. The dim light from the bunker lights made him look like a ghost haunting the halls of his home.

“But how did Loki manage to sneak into Hell? Lucifer would be able to sense him, he’s a god. Besides, he would also be watching Dean closely, so Loki would have a hard time switching himself with Dean without arousing suspicion.”

Arya frowned. She hadn’t thought of that. This world was so strange with their gods. In Alagaesia, species like the dwarves and humans believed in gods, but most elves did not. There was just no proof. But here, gods seemed as common as daisies. From Loki to Lucifer, every corner they turned seemed to have a god waiting and scheming.

Castiel interrupted her thoughts, his gravelly voice deep and sonorous. “What if he didn’t sneak in? We already know that Loki and Lucifer know each other. You and Dean said as much when you told me about that hotel with all the ancient gods. What if they are working together?”

“Why would they? What could they possibly have in common?” Sam said.

The three of them thought for a moment, and each came to the same conclusion.

“Emily. They both want Emily,” said Arya. 

But why did they both want Emily? How was she connected to these two gods? What had Emily done while she was away from Alagaesia that had attracted the attention of all these people? Arya needed to find out.

“Then you should go look in Hell first,” Arya concluded. “That’s your best chance at finding Dean. Even if he’s not still there, you might find something to help you.”

Sam glanced at Castiel, then let out a long sigh. “I guess we don’t have much of a choice. Thank you, Arya. I’ll remember this.”

Arya gave them both a small bow, then grabbed her sword and buckled it to her waist. Then she turned and started toward the bunker door.

The morning autumn air outside was fresh and cool against her skin. The sun was rising as Arya looked up toward the sky, hope filling up her chest for the first time since arriving in Midgard.

I’m coming, Emily. We’re going home .

Loki stared out at the sleeping city, absentmindedly chewing his lip. It all looked so quiet, so peaceful, that he was almost fooled into believing it was so. No, London was anything but peaceful right now.

“I see that it’s started.”

“Yes. And it’s going perfectly,” a low voice answered him. 

Moriarty sidled up next to him as quietly as the fog outside. The man’s dark eye reflected the pearly white substance outside. “So, how did it go?”

“It didn’t,” Loki said shortly. “She doesn’t remember anything. Every memory she had before she died- gone. I’m sure of it.”

There was silence. Loki continued to stare out the window.

A dark chuckle disturbed his ears. Looking around, he saw that it was Moriarty who was laughing.

“Oh, now that makes it much more interesting! Emily, without her past? Emily, not remembering how she died? That’s perfect. We can use this.”

Loki didn’t answer. He just kept staring.

How lucky she is, he thought. How lucky not to know the truth. But I guess that never lasts.

Chapter Text

The tranquility of the forest drew many to its comforting realm. The swaying branches of the elder trees, the wind whispering in the ears of those it passed, and the tranquil surfaces of lakes and ponds all contributed to the peace that enveloped the Kingdom of the Elves. Travelers far and wide would come to seek the peace of the forest, saying that the air would fill you with the sensation of your soul leaving your body, and that when you walked, your feet would hardly touch the ground. The forest was endlessly quiet. At least, that was how it had been when Arya had last left it. 

As soon as Arya pushed aside the moss blocking her entrance her mind picked up on several whispering tangents from around the forest. Strange sounds wove through the air, as though the very trees were gossiping to one another. Far away minds whirled about like dancers at a festival, except joy was not the leading emotion.

She hadn’t expected to land in Elesmera when she, Eragon, and Emily stepped through the rip in the world. After all, Arya and Eragon had left Alagaesia through a rip in the Great Plains, not Du Weldenvarden. So how had they entered the heart of the forest? 

“So this is Elesmera?” Emily asked as they emerged from the moss covered cave where the  rip made its home. 

“Yes,” answered Arya. “This is where you grew up. Until you went to Hogwarts, that is.”

Emily stared up at the trees that covered the sky with their bushy heads and swaying limbs. A shadow passed her face and she looked down so Arya couldn’t see what she was thinking.

Arya glanced at Eragon, who just shrugged, then set off through the forest. She could feel the presence of many minds not too far away from them. Using them, she navigated her way through the dense thicket of Du Weldenvarden. 

Eragon sidled up next to her and pushed a branch out of their way. “It’s good to be back, isn’t it?”

Arya nodded, knowing what he meant. The magic that flowed through Alagaesia, that flowed through them, felt comforting and natural compared to the magic of the other world. Midgard was flat compared to her home. Sure, there was magic in some places, but more in beings than in the essence of the world. Here, in Alagaesia, the very air shivered with magic. Nothing went untouched by it. She could feel the presence of those around her again, could summon fire and lightning and all sorts of spells. And best of all…

She could feel his mind, as clear and comforting as a cool pond on a hot summer’s day. He sensed her too, and the joy that shot between them was so intense she felt the air glow around her in reaction.

“Arya,” the dragon roared in her mind.

“Firnen,” she answered.

Their minds joined in an embrace only riders and their dragons could know. A weight that Arya hadn’t even known she'd been carrying lifted from her shoulders as she and Firnen joined together again.

“Where is my mother?” she asked.

“Where she always is .” 

Arya turned and beckoned to her sister, then bounded forward through the dense thicket of trees, leaving the other two to follow in her wake. Eragon kept pace next to her, his dark hair clinging to his face as they ran. Emily cursed behind them as she tripped over roots and slammed into trunks. It seemed she was not used to traveling through forests. 

It took about half an hour for them to reach the palace of the elves. Before them stood a magnificent building made of curled wood that seemed to melt out of the forest thicket. The structure of the palace was held up by some of the oldest trees in Du Weldenvarden, their branches forming floors or ceilings. Transparent leaves acted as windows and curtains.

As the party of three made their way toward the great wooden doors that marked the main entrance to the palace, elves started to emerge from the trees. They did not bow, even though two riders walked before them, but instead stared with wide eyes that seemed too big on their narrow faces. Arya ignored them, trying not to show how unnerved she was. The piercing looks were all directed at Emily. She had hoped that her fellow elves would have forgotten about her sister, but it had only been a bit more than twenty years. The blink of an eye, for an elf. 

The doors opened seemingly of their own accord. The three of them walked forward, Arya in the lead, upon a rug of petals and carved wood. At the end of the long room a few steps led up to a throne, majestic and regal as the woman who sat upon it. The woman had honey skin set with long black hair and deep green eyes. She was beautiful, strong, and the mother of both Arya and Emily.

Queen Islanzadi stood as they approached. She walked toward them, each step bringing her closer to their eye level. The two parties stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“My daughters,” sang Queen Islanzadi’s voice, as sweet as nectar from a flower, but as strong as the rocks in Tronjheim. “You have returned to me. Welcome, Arya Drottningu, Eragon Shadeslayer, and Emily Rose.”

Arya and Eragon both brought their fist to their chest and made the honorary greeting the elves used. Emily didn’t move a muscle, just staring at the woman who had birthed her. 

Arya hesitated, then stepped forward and placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mother, I have done as you asked. I entered Midgard and found that what is happening here is occurring there as well. And I have brought my sister home.”

“I can see that, daughter,” Queen Islanzadi answered. She ignored Arya’s hand on her arm and simply stared at Emily. Emily stared right back with a face of stone. 

“Do you not recognize me, daughter?” Islanzadi asked softly.

Emily blinked, once. A blink which contained a million emotions. “Yes. I remember your face now. And the tone of your voice. The cold clip of words as you scolded me. The way you would look at me, as though trying to figure out who I was. How you left the room as soon as possible when I entered. But no, I do not remember you, or this place. I have tried many times since entering this world, but to no avail. I woke up with no memory, and with no memory I remain.”

Islandazi studied her face, green eyes taking in every inch of her daughter, from the star on her head to the dirt on her boots. She said nothing, just inspected her like a painting in a museum, trying to figure out the meaning behind the piece.

“You have changed. You are not the girl you once were.”

Emily just stood there, as still as the trunks of the ancient trees, her silver eyes glittering with emotion. 

There was a pause in which Emily and her mother continued to stare at one another. Then the Queen sighed and gestured toward a door. “We have much to discuss. Come, daughters. We shall talk in private.”

Turning to Eragon she continued, “Shadeslayer, it is an honour to have you in our forest again. Should you need anything it will be provided for you. If you wish to contact Saphira there is a mirror in your quarters that will provide you as such.”

And before Eragon could so much as bow, the Queen swept away, leaving her two daughters to follow in her wake. Arya tried to catch his gaze as she left, but when she turned around, she found herself staring in the silver depths of Emily’s eyes. And she did not like what she saw. 

Emily didn’t remember Ellesmera. She didn’t remember the gnarled trees that curled far above her head like old, twisted joints. She didn’t remember Islanzadi’s regal stride, the way the light shone on her high cheekbones and soft nose. How was she supposed to recall the way the other elves stared at her as they made their way toward Islanzadi’s quarters, their cat-like eyes turned into round dinner plates as they caught sight of her. The whispers that moved through leaves and ears alike as she passed.  

She didn’t remember those things. And yet they felt familiar, and she knew that she had seen them before. Every movement of her eyes brought a strange twist in her chest and a squeeze to her head. It felt like someone was trying to dry out her brain by compressing it with a hot hammer. Walking through the palace was, in short, walking through deja-vu itself. 

As they entered the Queen’s chambers the strange feeling only grew. They were surprisingly minimalistic, considering that they were for a queen, but Emily had a strange feeling that nothing had changed since she had last stepped foot in these rooms. That was even more surprising considering that Arya had been queen for quite some time, and would probably have changed part of the decor. 

The feeling was still there as the three of them settled into high backed wooden chairs at a triangular table. Arya looked so much like their mother. Each had the high cheekbones and slanted green eyes, complete with straight black hair underlined with dark purple. They both sat tall and proud, every muscle poised with royalty. The only difference between them was that Islanzadi’s skin was of honey, and Arya’s a soft brown. In comparison to them, Emily felt about as similar as a worm to a dragon. She was paler than any of the elves she had seen, with light silver eyes that shone like stars. Her squared jaw was framed by curly red hair, a good sight lighter than the midnight heads of her relatives. Both elves towered over her, even when Emily wasn’t leaning back in her seat, legs crossed and posture slightly slouched. If there had been any doubt in her mind that she and Arya did not share the same father, she only had to blink. 

But Emily knew that Islanzadi was her mother. That strange feeling told her so. It was like someone was screaming from far, far away at her, trying to give her the memories she so desperately lacked. But the voice, far as it was, couldn’t be heard over the raging wind of her other thoughts, though she tried desperately to hear it. 

Islanzadi’s dark eyes stared straight into Emily’s as she said, “You have changed much since I last saw you. Then again, you were dead. And not much longer after that, so was I. How, I wonder, do the two of us sit here- cadavers as animate as Arya?”

The way she looked at her, it was like she expected Emily to know the answer. It was the same look Thor and Castiel had given her, the same accusatory glance that made no sense to her. 

“I don’t know,” Emily simply answered. 

Islanzadi lifted one regal eyebrow in response, then turned her attention toward Ayra. “I presume you were not able to discover the source of this… occurrence, while in Midgard?”

“No, I did not,” said Arya. “In fact, I came back with more questions then when I left.”

“Indeed? Such as?”

Arya glanced at Emily before turning to look her mother squarely in the face. “I want to know why you sent Emily away.”

Emily sat up straight, surprised. She badly wanted to know this herself, since she lacked the memory of when it happened, but why was Arya so concerned? Did she really not know the reason why Islanzadi had sent Emily to Hogwarts all those years ago?

Emily’s shock must have registered on her face because Islanzadi narrowed her eyes at her before speaking. “Do you really not know? You were there, after all. The day I brought her home.”

Neither Emily nor Arya spoke. They just stared at their mother, already transfixed by the words that leaped from her tongue.

“I had taken a short leave of my duties. You were still a child yourself, Arya, and I remember so clearly your face as I returned with a baby in my arms. A baby with flaming red hair, a color no elf can claim. You looked down at her and said, ‘What’s wrong with her? Why is her head on fire?’. You did not believe me when I told you you had a new sister. ‘She looks nothing like me!’ you would say, over and over again until you finally accepted the truth. She was only your half-sister.

“A bastard child is by no means a sin. However, a bastard is different among the elves. We do not marry- we partner for life, and a very long life it is. There is no official ceremony that separates the birth of a child from illegitimate to legal. But for me to bear another man’s child while my partner still lived… that is something I was never forgiven for. It is what hung over your head from the moment I pronounced you mine, Emily. No one could outwardly judge me for it, I was the queen. But you were only a child, and a wild one at that. You see, you do not possess the magic most elves do. You cannot manipulate the energy that flows through every living thing. You have a different kind of magic inside you. And for that you were judged.”

Islanzadi was looking at Emily now, with no trace of compassion or shame. “That is why I sent you away. You did not belong here. When an owl arrived with a letter that invited you to another world, another life, I knew it was where you belonged. Not with me. I made the mistake of keeping you, and the only way I could remedy it was by sending you away, never to return.”

A blazing heat surged through Emily. It started in her chest, spreading along her arms and legs until it reached fingers and toes. It spread up, through her lungs and neck and finally her head where the words stormed out, hot as any fire. 

“So you banished me?” she demanded, the heat making the shouting in her head louder. “You made the mistake of having me, then decided you couldn’t be bothered and just threw me away? How is that fair! You got rid of me because you couldn’t stand to know that you made a mistake, not because I didn’t belong! You’re my mother for fucks sake!”

She was on her feet now, hands curled into fists. She felt like she was on fire, and for just a moment, she imagined she could see the flickering of flames around her shoulders, beneath her clenched fingers. And then she realized that it wasn’t her imagination- the flames were real. Stepping back Emily collapsed into her chair, the fire disappearing as fast as it had arrived in her shock.

“There is a fire in you, daughter,” Islanzdi said after a moment of silence. There was still no emotion on her voice, though her face looked slightly strained. “You were born with it, and will surely die with it. If you are not careful you will use up that fire and it will consume you. And once it does, I fear you will die.”

Emily reached out a hand and summoned a tiny plume of flame. It illuminated the worried angles of Arya’s face, and the dark eyes of their mother. She felt strangely tired, as she had after the fight in the Winchester’s bunker. 

Islanzadi tapped the table once to bring back Emily’s attention. “There is also anger in you. Anger that was not there before. And if you are not careful, it will consume you as well.”

Emily closed her fist and the fire disappeared. The heat was still there, but now it only burned in the center of her. Where her heart was. She had been aware of it since the moment she woke up in that field, but now she knew what it was. 

“Why do I have this… this fire?” she asked.

“You were born with it. Perhaps it is some of the magic we elves are made from, formed into something else when you came into this world. Or maybe it is part of the other magic you hold, the one that the school Hogwarts teaches,” answered Izlanzadi. 

Fire. Magic. What was the difference? The energy that coursed through her veins, the heat that filled her during battle, was it the product of some ancient magic? Or was it just… Emily?

“Who is my father?’

Every noise in the room instantly vanished. The flickering of candles, the rattle of wind outside the window, even the quiet breathing of the three women vanished into one breath of air that stood still on the queen’s lips. 

Emily leaned forward, fingers digging into the wood of the table. “Who. Is. My. Father?”

Now Emily could see a glint of emotion in her mother’s eyes. It was sadness. 

“I do not know,” Islanzadi answered. “For your sake, I do not know.”

“What do you mean for my sake?” Emily snapped. “Why won’t you tell me?”

Arya was staring between her and their mother, a faint frown upon her lips. “Mother, she has a right to-”

“For your sake, I do not know,” Islanzadi hissed, drawing herself up to her full height. She stood there, gazing down at her daughters, the very picture of majesty. 

Emily opened her mouth to argue but Islanzadi cut her off. “No, Emily. That is my final word on this subject. We will speak no more of this.”

Before Emily could press her further Arya grabbed her arm and tugged her out of the room.

When the door closed behind them Emily pulled her arm out of her sister’s grasp and snapped, “Hey! What was that for?”

“Trust me on this, Emily, you do not want to push her. If she will not tell you something no force on earth will make her do so.”

Emily scowled and turned back toward the Queen’s chambers, ready to barge in and strangle her mother, but Arya pushed her against the wall and glared at her.

“Emily, if you want answers, this is not the way to go about it,” Arya growled. “I want to know the truth just as much as you but she's not going to give in. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You either calm down or I’ll lock you in your room. What is it going to be?”

Emily fumed silently, angry at being treated like a child. But she knew Arya was right. Islanzadi was not one to give into force. No one in her family was. She reluctantly held up her hands in a gesture of submission and Ayra let go of her. Turning, her sister walked down the hall, beckoning for her to follow.

“Come, you need rest. I’ll show you to your room.”

Her old room wasn’t far away. It was a simple apartment, no bigger than the Queen’s rooms, but was much messier. As Emily stepped into her childhood room, she realized with a start that it was filled with dust. Cobwebs covered the corners and furniture, and the air was thick with dirt that made her lungs convulse.

“Charming,” she coughed.

Arya sighed and held up a hand. Mumbling in the ancient language under her breath, she flicked her wrist and the dust and dirt vanished, leaving a relatively clean (if somewhat worn down) room.

“Once you left, mother locked the door to your chambers and forbade anyone to enter. And when you died, I did not have the courage to visit,” Arya said, sliding one elegant finger across an old wooden desk. “I'm afraid it is not up to our usual standards.

That was one way to put it. Even though the dirt had been cleared away everything in the room still looked worn down and old. The blankets on the bed were hindered with holes, the wooden furniture unstable and peeling. The room felt odd.

As Emily examined the room she realized what was wrong about it. There was nothing… personal about her room. There were no decorations, no books, not even a folded up piece of paper stuck behind the dresser. No clothes to speak of could be found. It was just empty .

“Who are you?” she found herself whispering.

“What?” Arya asked, turning toward her.

“Nothing. It's just… I can’t imagine growing up here.”

Arya sat down in one of the chairs at the table with a sigh. “Our mother must have removed some things from your room after you left. It wasn’t nearly this plain the last I was in here. You were always messy, you know.”

Emily joined her at the table. “Was I?”

“Yes,” a small smile graced Arya’s face as her mind traveled to long ago memories. “The caretakers of this place hated you. You would leave mud everywhere, one time even on the ceiling. You were constantly in places you shouldn't be. And your room was always covered with paper or bits of treasure you found in the woods. A strange looking rock, the broken piece of a stag’s antlers, a rainbow of flower petals spread across the floor. You seemed determined to cause as much trouble as possible.”

“Like when you gave me that rose?”

Arya’s face paled as though she were about to faint. “You- you remember that?”

“I dreamed of it. It was quite a beautiful rose, you know.”

There was something strange in Arya’s face as she looked at Emily. There was pain there, yes, but also a deep intensity. Her eyes pleaded with Emily, as though searching for something she had lost. It occurred to Emily at that moment that perhaps Arya had been different once. Perhaps the sister who had given her that red rose was still there, desperately trying to emerge, but afraid of being rejected. 

Emily leaned forward, capturing Arya’s gaze with hers. “Ayra, tell me the truth: why did you bring me back here?”

“Emily, this is your home, you belong-”

“No,” Emily cut her off sharply. “I may not remember my past but I am certain this is not where I belong. And you know that just as well as I. So. Why?”

Arya stared down at her hands, fingers trembling slightly. “You- I remember the day we found you in that alleyway. Mother told me there was something wrong, that you were in trouble, but I hadn’t expected to see you... to see… you looked so cold. There was a circle in the center of your star, and blood covered your face. There was nothing in your eyes. Nothing at all. And no spell of ours could bring you back. When we buried you I knew I would never see you again. I had failed you. I didn’t fight your leaving and then… that happened.”

She looked up then and Emily was surprised to see tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t lose you again, Emily. Those people, they want to hurt you. To kill you again. I can’t let that happen. So if there was even a chance that you were alive I had to bring you back, to where you could be safe .”

A single tear slid down her dark face and landed on the table. A perfect circle of darkness spread across the wood as the water seeped into its surface. It looked like a drop of blood.

“I think it's safe to say that I’m not safe anywhere,” Emily whispered. 

Ayra reached across the table and gripped her sister’s hands. “That is not true. I can protect you here. Here, I am a Dragon Rider, a princess, an elf. In Midgard, I am no more powerful than the Winchesters. Here you can be safe. I promise you, Emily.”

Emily thought about the night she ran away from the Winchesters, when Sam had given her the same promise. Here, you can be safe. We want to help you. And hadn’t Sherlock made the same promise? And Harry? Hadn’t they all told her they could help, that she was safe with them?

The truth is, she thought, I’m not safe with anyone. And no one is safe with me.

And Arya knew that as well. Looking into her eyes, Emily could see that. Arya knew just as well as the Winchesters, the wizards, and Sherlock that she wasn’t safe . How could you be safe if all the devils in the world knew your name?

Loki, Lucifer, Moriarty- they all wanted something from here. She was beginning to see why. Her own mother was afraid of her. She had done something in the past, something important, and she needed to know what.

“Even if that were true,” Emily whispered. “I need to find out who I am. And I can’t do that here, Arya.”

Her sister hung her head, took in a deep breath, then stood up.

“Rest. Tomorrow we shall talk some more.”

And then she was gone, and Emily was left alone in the old room, surrounded by empty memories. She stripped off her clothes and lay down on the bed, expecting to toss and turn the whole night, but the moment she closed her eyes she disappeared from the world.

*****

Emily was standing in the rain. She watched as it poured onto the scene in front of her, blurring the castle in the background. 

Four tall boys stood around a crumpled figure on the ground, laughing and shooting spells at it. They were dressed in dark cloaks that clouded their faces, so she couldn't get a good look at them through the rain.

The tallest one stepped forward and shouted something that was lost in the wind at the thing on the ground. Apparently unsatisfied, he kicked the figure, who gave out another anguished cry. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running toward the boys, her sodden red hair trailing behind her like a desolate flame. One of the boys turned around, opening his mouth to shout, but before he could she slammed her elbow into his jaw, then turned and hit him on the back of the head. He crumpled at her feet, unconscious. As the rest of the boys turned around, she pulled out her wand and shot a spell that hit one straight in the chest, stunning him, then ducked as another aimed a jet of purple light at her. She turned, still crouched, and stuck out a leg to sweep the legs out from under her attacker. He hit the ground hard and she hit him with another spell. She turned to face the last boy, but was paralyzed as a bolt of light hit her. She fell on her back, her arms pinned to her sides.

The tall boy from earlier sneered down at her, his hood soaking wet with rain. He kneeled next to her, and said something that was lost to the wind. The tip of his wand was pressed into her arm, and a sudden burst of bright light filled her sight. 

Suddenly, a dark figure flew into him, knocking him down. She heard a shout, and then all noise subsided. A figure moved on the edge of her vision and she saw the person who had been on the ground standing over her. It was a boy, with shaggy brown hair and piercing blue eyes, his robes tattered and muddy, with blood pouring down his face. He pointed his wand at her and Emily found she was able to move again, and scrambled to her feet.

The boy stared at her a moment then said, "What were you doing?"

She blinked at him, surprised. "Um, trying to help? You looked like you needed it."

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you help me?" His voice was ragged, almost broken. This boy, with a face that should have been regal and commanding, looked so beaten and broken that she couldn't help but pity him. The red and golden lion on his robes was soaked with blood, with the head partially ripped from the body. He stood partially hunched over, his wand arm protecting his stomach. He was no longer tall and proud, but bloody and bruised.

They stared at each other in the pouring rain for a moment, with Emily unable to answer his question. The boy's blue eyes were wet and red with tears, rain, and anger. Or was it shame? He turned and walked back toward the castle without another word.

She watched him go, then felt a rising pain start to web in her left arm. She looked down and-

Emily woke with a small shout. The screaming in her head was louder now, but as she tried to latch onto it it disappeared again, and she was left in silence. Yet another memory, this one just as confusing as the rest. She had been at Hogwarts, that much she was certain of. The boy had on Gryffindor robes. But who was he? And why had he stared at her like that, with a piercing anger that unnerved her even now? 

“God damn it,” she muttered. She was tired of this. Of only glimpsing small pieces of her past that made no sense. She wanted, no needed , to know what had happened to her. And this wasn’t helping.

Emily got up and found her discarded clothes cleaned and neatly folded on the table. Pulling them on she headed toward the door, but before she could open it in walked Arya, fitted in a new tunic and leggings, her long black hair braided neatly down her back.

“I heard you shout. Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Emily sighed. “Just had a weird dream, that's all.”

Arya’s eyes examined the room before she nodded and stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Since you are up, I want to show you something.”

Emily followed her sister out of the palace and through the forest. The morning was brisk and light, and a slight breeze rippled through the trees. Try as she might Emily couldn’t spot a single elf, and wondered where they were.

They emerged into a huge glade that overlooked the rest of the forest. A small, simple hut was set by the cliff edge, a small garden surrounding it. Arya stopped in the middle of the glade and turned her head toward the sky, letting the wind whip her loose hair around. 

“What-” Emily began, then stopped as she heard it. A boom that echoed through the air, steady and getting closer with each occurrence. She whirled around, trying to tell where it was coming from, then saw it.

An emerald green dragon emerged from the drop off, the sun glittering off his scales like gems. It landed in front of Ayra and she laughed, placing a hand on its head. The dragon gave a low growl and pushed her lightly with its enormous head.

Arya turned to a frozen Emily and beckoned with her free hand. “Come. I want you to meet my dragon.”

Emily cautiously approached the thing. It was well over the size of a house, its claws were longer than her torso. It was glittering, magnificent, and extremely dangerous.

“Emily, this is Firnen. Firnen, this is Emily, my sister.”

Emily held out one hand and Firnen sniffed at it, then gave it a little lick with its forked tongue. A strange presence pressed against her mind, and suddenly there was someone there, when just a moment ago it had just been her.

“Hello, sister of Arya,” the voice rumbled, deep and strangely musical. “ I have heard much about you. It is an honour to meet my rider’s hatchmate.”

“Um. Is he- did I-” Emily stuttered, and Arya let out a small laugh. 

“Dragons can communicate with us telepathically. I hope he did not startle you too much.”

 “I didn’t realize the dragons would be so… well, big ,” Emily admitted. “He’s beautiful.”

Arya smiled and scratched Firnen’s cheek. “He is.”

“I am.”

Emily let out a small laugh at this. “Funny, too.”

Firnen let out a plume of satisfied smoke and curled himself upon the ground, a bolder of precious gemstones. Arya lay against his side and closed her eyes, and for the first time in Emily’s memory, she looked peaceful.

“I always wanted to be a Dragon Rider. I wanted to help free my people and Alagaesia from the tyranny of Galbatorix. Firnen’s hatching was the happiest day of my life. I had been around dragons before, had even ridden one, but never before was I bonded with one. It’s- it is hard to describe. It’s like your soul has been intertwined with another so completely that you aren't sure where you end and they start. It is the most beautiful sensation in the world.”

Emily sat next to her and tentatively leaned against the dragon. He was warm and comforting, and she could see the appeal in being bonded with a dragon.

“Did any of the dragons return from the dead?” she asked.

It was Firnen who answered. “ No. No riders have either. Whatever magic has brought back the dead does not extend to us.”

Arya picked a blade of glass and shredded it in half with slow, automatic movements. “I was talking to our mother last night. It seems that those who have returned from the dead are only those who died after you.”

“What?” Emily said blankly. Those who died after her?

“What, indeed. Queen Islanzadi is certain though. She said not a single elf who died before we buried you has returned. And she would know, as she is older than you or I can imagine. It is odd. Elves, dwarves, urgals, and humans have all returned, but any magical creatures like dragons or monsters have not.”

“But why only those who died after me ?” Emily exclaimed. “That doesn't make sense!”

Arya shrugged. “I do not hold all the answers, Emily. But it seems that you are connected to this… this strange occurrence. After all, you are the only one we can find who returned from the dead without their memory. You are at the center of this mystery, that much is certain.”

Emily put her head between her knees and clutched her head. The more she heard the more she wanted to throw something. She didn’t want to be connected with all of this. Whatever this was anyways. All she wanted was to get her memories back.

“ Little one, ” Firnen spoke in her mind, surprisingly soft. “ Do not despair. You are not alone in this. I doubt you ever have been. ”

Arya placed a hand on her shoulder and Emily looked up into her sister’s face. She remembered the rose given to her all those years ago along with murmured assurances that she was loved. That wasn’t a lie. Whatever else might have happened, that was real.

Emily wasn’t sure who she was, or what had happened to her, or what would, but she finally allowed herself to begin to trust Ayra; her sister, the only one she knew for certain was telling her the whole truth.

“We should not have come back here,” Arya whispered. “You were right. You do not belong here. And I don’t belong in Midgard. But I won’t abandon you, Emily. I’ll help you find your memories, and I will do my utmost to protect you. You have my word.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Arya stood up and held out her hand. Taking it, Emily was lifted onto her feet. Arya reached down and traced the star on Emily’s forehead. Sadness flickered her eyes as she gazed down at her sister.

“Our mother was right about one thing: you have changed since you left this forest. I don’t know what it is yet, but you are not the same Emily I once knew. There is something tying you to Midgard. And we must find out what that is.”

Emily nodded her head, accepting this. Arya was right. There was something in Midgard that stabilized her, even if she didn’t know what. Here it felt like she was floating aimlessly in a void, with nothing to tie her down. 

Firnen lifted his head and turned toward the forest, letting out a small sound. It sounded a bit like a chuckle, but Emily wasn’t sure. Turning, she saw Eragon approaching them. He was dressed in new finery as well, his brown hair neatly combed and face clean-shaven.

He stopped before them, lifting a hand to rub Firnen’s head. “I thought I would find you here. I came to say goodbye.”

“What do you mean?” Emily said.

“You two are going back to Midgard.” He smiled at the surprised look on their faces. “I know you, Arya. You won’t rest until you solve this mystery. But I’m not going back. I have other duties. Duties that require me to stay here. I just wanted to wish you luck, and if you ever need my help, you need only ask.”

He shook Emily’s hand, then bowed gracefully to Arya. “Farewell, Arya Drottningu.”

Arya hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and hugged him. “Farewell, Shadeslayer. Take Firnen and my blessing. I know he misses Saphira just as much as I do. We shall see each other soon.” 

When he pulled back Eragon was smiling, but there was a hint of sadness there. He climbed onto Firnen’s back and with a final wave, they lifted off into the sky and flew far, far away. 

Arya watched them go until they disappeared over the horizon then turned to Emily and said, “Come. There is much to be done.”

The two of them walked away from the lonely hut on the cliffside, where riders and dragons once made their home, heading back to a world that didn’t belong to them.

Queen Islanzadi stood upon her balcony, watching her two daughters leave her forest. 

Arya and Emily looked nothing alike, except for the fact that they were exactly the same. Arya was made of oak wood that resided in the summer shade, its emerald leaves resting in her eyes, complete with raven black tresses. Her whole body stood in a frigid, regal posture that convinced anyone who met her not to get in her way. Emily was carved from marble shining in the moonlight, with star-like eyes and curly hair formed from molten lava. Her soul burned with fire hotter than a desert during midday on the summer solstice, hotter than the sun and the stars and all the planets in the sky. Yet despite their difference in appearance, anyone with eyes could see that they were sisters when they stood side by side. They both stood proud and tall, stalwart figures in the turmoil around them. They both could stop an army with the force of their glare. But most of all, they both had this look in their eye, like they knew exactly what was going to happen and didn’t like it one bit, and were going to oppose it with their whole being. And anyone who got in their way was going to pay. And as Islanzadi watched her two daughters walk away, she couldn’t help but agree.

Perhaps it was for the best that Emily left. She knew what awaited her child in that cold, magicless world where she had once stayed, not knowing what choice to make. Should she stop her? Should she follow and face the consequences of her actions, knowing it could only lead to sorrow? But if she went, if she stopped him… could she save Emily?

After all, Arya had said his name. And a name was more than enough for the Queen to know what had happened. She knew who had killed Emily, who would try again, but she knew deep in her heart she didn’t have the strength to stop it. She had given her life for one daughter already. She didn’t have the strength to do it again.

Goodbye, child, thought Queen Islanzadi. Oh, what a mess I have made of things.

Thor found him standing under a sweeping willow tree, right outside of the cottage. He looked the same: slick black hair, green and gold leather armor that fit his tall frame, his coffee colored eyes shining in the bright afternoon light. Loki didn’t turn to face him as Thor walked upon the leaf covered grass, the loud crunch echoing in the empty countryside. He still didn’t turn as Thor stopped next to him. Loki’s eyes were fixed upon the horizon. He looked deep in thought.

“I thought you would be here,” Thor said. The willow parted the light into tiny specks of gold that fell around their surroundings, forming a disco floor of fall on the trodden green grass.

Loki’s gaze didn’t change as he said, “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes, actually. You know a lot of tricks, but it’s always the same old pattern with you. Nothing’s really changed, huh?”

“Are you referring to who I’m working with?” Loki asked softly.

“Did you have to seek him out again?”

Loki lowered his gaze to the willow tree, still not looking at the thunder god. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect me to. You know who he is already, I assume. And you never did care enough to stop me in the past, so don’t try now.”

Thor sighed. “Is it true then, brother? About what you did?”

“Who told you?”

“Father did. He’s home, you know. And he’s waiting for us.”

Loki turned to face his brother. “I can’t go back, you know I can’t. He won’t ever forgive me, not after what I did.”

“Then why did you come here?” Thor asked sadly. 

They stood there, staring at each other, as a cloud passed over the sun. The world was suddenly darker, more dangerous without the light. 

Loki took something out of his pocket and gave it to Thor. It was a small picture frame with a black and white pencil drawing inside. The drawing was of a woman with dark skin and long black hair standing next to a small girl with large, innocent eyes and freckles. A star was visible on the girl’s forehead. Emily Rose. Unfolding the paper, Thor saw a proud looking woman with long hair and almond shaped eyes standing on the other side of Emily.

“I had to make sure it was her,” Loki whispered.

Thor looked back up at his brother. His brown eyes were clouded over with some emotion that he couldn’t place.

“Loki,” he pleaded. “Come home and end this. It can be like it used to, when we were kids. You don’t have to continue down this path. You know where it will end.”

Loki looked away first. “Nothing can ever be like it was. This is my only chance.”

He turned and walked away, disappearing as he passed the small river. As Thor watched him go, the cloud moved from the sun and light filled the valley again. Except this time it wasn’t warm. 

He glanced down at the drawing. There was a tear mark on the girl’s face, blurring her features. Thor stared into her blurred eyes as the wind blew through the willow’s branches. It sounded like laughter.

Chapter Text

There is a door standing in front of Dean Winchester. Its intricate wooden carvings are crossed on its chest in an expectant way. The handle stares at him with raised eyebrows, daring him to try and strangle its smug face. It taunts him in a way rope taunts a man in quicksand. He wished he could reach it. He wished he could break down the laughing guard of his cursed prison. He wished that he could have stopped Loki from hiding him here. He wished he could have a beer.

He hasn’t been here long, he knows that much. Just a few days. Maybe a few weeks. Perhaps a month. Or several. It is hard to tell time in the room with the smug door. All Dean can really be sure of is that he can’t move. It is as though invisible chains are wrapped around him like a straight jacket, restricting any form of movement, even his eyes. If he could move his eyes he would close them shut just so that he could look away from that horrible door. Yes, even being able to blink would be a blessing. To have a second of darkness to sooth his tired mind instead of the leering gaze of that handle. Of the thin edges of the wooden arms, the satisfied smile of its eyes. God, he missed blinking.

It is as this thought trudges through his brain that the door opens. Instead of staring at that horrible door, Dean stares at Emily Rose and Arya Drottningu, and he cannot think of when he has ever seen anything more beautiful.

“Emily?” Dean croaks, and it is only then that he realizes he can move again. Whatever power was restraining him must have broken with the opening of the door. Good. Serves that smug bastard right.

Emily frowns down at him. “Yeah, I don’t think we’re at the field, Arya.”

“The portal takes us where we need to go, not where we want to be,” her sister replied smoothly. “Hello there, Dean. I had hoped that your brother might have found you by now, but I suppose this is just as effective a way to recover you.”

“I-er- you talked to Sam?” Dean said. It felt so weird to be able to talk again, like he was trying to walk on a broken leg. “Does he know about-”

Emily cut him off before he could continue. “Loki disguising himself as you when you were trapped here by Lucifer? Yeah, we all know. Lets escape now and catch up later, huh?”

Before Dean could so much as nod, Emily had turned and exited the room. Dean started to follow but as he passed by the door he caught its smug look again. Even in defeat it still wouldn't leave him alone. Dean swung back his fist and punched a hole right through the center of the door. Now it had no face to leer from. Good riddance.

Arya raised an elegant eyebrow at him then gestured for him to follow Emily. As soon as Dean exited the room he recognized the horrible landscape of Hell he was becoming all too familiar with. Emily was already climbing a narrow set of steps that looked to be never ending.

“Do you know the way out?” Dean called to her as he started up the steps. The sound of their feet was loud in the otherwise silent spiral.

“No,” Emily replied.

Dean glanced back at Arya who let out a tired sigh. “We arrived here from another world, our homeland if you will. We stepped through a sort of portal and ended up in front of that door. So no, we don’t know the way out.”

Instead of trying to process that nugget of information, Dean focused on climbing the stairs. Maybe if he caught up to Emily, he could annoy her until she told him what exactly was going on. It worked on Cas and Sam well enough. 

They weren't climbing long before they came to a long, thin hallway, much like the one they had just escaped from. The only difference was that instead of a leering door, there stood the shadowed profile of a man.

Emily was the first to reach the hallway, and so was the first to see the man. She stopped so suddenly that Dean almost ran into her. Behind him, he could sense Arya’s presence as faintly as he could a cat’s. 

Dean knew who the man was before he stepped into the light. There was only one creature in Hell worth of note, and that was the Devil.

“Ah, Dean, nice to see you out in the open again,” smirked Lucifer. “I wondered how long it would take for Loki to be caught.”

He was staring at Emily in a way only rich men can look at money: greedy, possessive, and above all, evil. Dean did not like it one bit.

“What do you want?” the hunter snarled.

Lucifer placed a hand on his chest in mock surprise. “Me? Only to wish you luck in your upcoming endeavors. Believe me, you’re going to need it.”

“Either stop being vague or get out of the way,” Emily said. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The smile that spread across the Devil’s face made Dean want to blink, to see anything but that creepy grin for even a moment. It reminded him too much of that smug door. Based on the way Emily’s hands curled into fists at her side, he knew she felt the same way.

“Fine, fine, have it your way,” Lucifer sighed, snapping his fingers. A door appeared next to him and he presented it with a mock bow. “I’ll leave you to your adventure. Although, I do have a word of advice.” Here a nasty gleam sparked in his eye like a match in the dead of night. “Don’t scream.”

He vanished, and all that was left was the door he had conjured. 

“There is no way I’m going through that,” Dean said, arms crossed to further his point. “I don’t trust Lucifer one inch. That door will probably lead to a pit of spikes or something.”

Emily turned to glare at him. “What else are we supposed to do? Wait here until we starve?”

“We can go back the way we came and try to find another exit!”

In response to Emily’s raised eyebrows at his suggestion, Dean whirled around to find that the stairwell had disappeared. The only way out of the hallway was the conjured door. He cursed under his breath and marched toward the door.

“If I die, it’s your fault,” he said to Emily before opening the door. There wasn’t a pit of spikes behind it. There wasn’t any perceivable danger at all, in fact. No, when Dean opened that door, he found himself standing in the deserted streets of London. 

It was dark in the room, lit with only a small candle on the table between them. The light made shadows flicker across Jim Moriarty’s face as he smiled at Sherlock, a smile with too many teeth.

“London is dead,” the criminal said.

“London is alive.”

London is asleep.”

“No, London is awake .”

Moriarty laughed, a sound like thunder in the middle of a storm. The shadows filled his face so only bright white teeth were visible for a moment.

“Oh no, London is not awake. How can it be, when the dead walk its streets?”

“Like you?”

The teeth flared once again in the darkness as Moriarty laughed again. “Me and many others. Some you’ve met already. Like Emily.”

“Emily didn’t cause this .”

“Didn’t she?” a dark eyebrow, much too dark to be human, raised on a face paler then a corpse. 

Sherlock stared at Moriarty, heart thundering. It wasn’t true. No, no, it couldn’t be true. But magic was true. Gods were true. Moriarty was back. What else was he missing? 

The criminal pointed the gun at him. “You should ask her what is real.”

There was a bang, the sharp sense of fire, then Sherlock opened his eyes.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?”

John sat on the couch next to him, one hand pressed to Sherlock’s face. He shook himself slightly, trying to rid himself of that room in his mind palace. Hadn’t he sealed it up? Boarded it with iron and chains? 

“Sherlock, look at me.”

John’s blue eyes met his and slowly the panic edged away. Moriarty’s laughter faded into silence as John gazed at him, eyes promising him what he desperately wanted but knew he could never have.

“Sherlock.” A warm hand touched his and he realized they were shaking. John squeezed his hand and the trembling stopped. He tried to pull away but Sherlock held on tightly, still staring into his eyes.

Don't leave me, he thought desperately. Not you. Never you.

“Ahem.”

The two of them looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in front of them, a grim Hermione behind him.

“If you too are quite done, we need to figure out what's going in,” the wizard said.

John blushed and removed his hand. Sherlock frowned at the wizard.

“Well, I would love to hear your ideas. What's the input from our holy magic users?” the detective snapped.

Draco bristled at the insult. “Well do you ? You’re supposed to be a great detective, so get- well, detectiving!”

“Oh, a great detective, am I? Well let’s see: you are filled with self-loathing, always have been, probably daddy issues but let's face it from the way you talk you’re a rich little brat who never got a perfect life. You think you’re not worth a damn anymore because of your past choices but ohhhhh, how you want to prove yourself. You want to help save the world, to be the hero you always wanted to be. You’ve seen carnage, seen many things most people don't in their lifetime and you blame yourself for it. All that hate, all that self-loathing, is pushed out with sarcasm and bitter words. So, how is that for detectiving ?”

Draco stood very, very still. He was so pale that he looked more ghost than human. He just stared at Sherlock, the same stare he had seen on so many faces, filled with surprise, anger, and just a little bit of fear.

Then he jumped at Sherlock, not even with a wand, armed only with his fists and rage. Sherlock stood up to receive the fight but before either of them could do anything John stepped between them, one hand holding each man back.

“Stop this!” John commanded. “Look, we don’t have time for fighting amongst ourselves. We need to figure out what's happening and fix it, and fast.”

John pushed Sherlock back onto the couch and Hermione dragged Draco over to a chair. They both sat down reluctantly, glaring at one another.

John crossed his arms and stared down at Sherlock. “This is Moriarty, isn’t it? First the cameras at that crime scene, now this. It can't be a coincidence.”

“But both involve magic.” They all turned to stare at Hermione, who shrugged. “Well, they do. The murders at the house were done by wizards. And whatever is happening here, whatever put these people to sleep, that has to be a result of some potion or spell. I don’t know what, or how yet, but I know it has to be magic. And Moriarty isn’t a wizard, is he?”

A chilling fear gripped Sherlock as he considered her words. No, Moriarty wasn’t a wizard. Of that he was certain. But what if- and this was what made his face pale- if he was working with a wizard? Or wizards? That kind of power combined with his mind… that was truly something to fear.

The rest of them must have reached the same conclusion, because his horror was mirrored on the faces that filled his home.

John sat back on the couch, his knees shaking. “But who- who would work with him? And how ?”

“I think the better question is why ,” Hermione muttered. “I know that in the Muggle world Moriarty holds a considerable amount of power.”

Seeing the surprised looks on Sherlock’s and John’s faces she waved a hand and said, “I read the articles on him. I know all about what he's done. But the thing is, he has no power in the wizarding world. So, why would a wizard agree to work with him? What could Moriarty provide in return?”

Sherlock thought back to the bombings. The first one had happened the day the dead came to life. It wasn’t like Moriarty to announce his presence with a bang so early after his return to power. He thought of the footprints that changed from a girl’s to a man’s in just one stride. He thought of the video of Moriarty inviting him to play a game. He thought of the gun hidden in its package.

“Revenge,” Sherlock said softly. “He can provide revenge.”

“Um, revenge for what?” Draco asked as Sherlock leapt to his feet and started pacing.

“No, not what. Who . Who wants the kind of revenge Moriarty could provide? He has information I don’t even possess. He helps anyone who comes to him, for a price- wizard or Muggle it would seem. This is bigger than just the wizarding world. This involved someone who lives in the Muggle world as well. So, who is connected to both worlds?”

There was a pause as they all came to the same conclusion again. “Emily,” Hermione whispered.

Sherlock nodded. “Exactly. Now, who would want revenge against Emily?”

A loud bang interrupted their conversation. Sherlock jumped to his feet and ran to the window. Looking at the sky, he saw something that made his stomach turn. It was the Dark Mark, the same mark they had seen over that Muggle house. Except this time it floated above a tall, menacing looking building. 

Sherlock turned and ran out the door, out onto the deserted streets, the others following him quickly. This was the next step in the game. He just wished he knew what the stakes of losing were. 

“What does it mean?” John asked, looking up at the floating skull.

Hermione had her wand clutched in her hand. Behind her, Draco mirrored her stance. “It's a signal. Whoever killed those Muggles wants us to find them.”

Ahead of them, through the thick, unnatural fog, emerged a group of dark, masked figures. Guns were strapped to their chests, their fingers dancing lightly on the triggers. They created a barricade in the road, standing between Sherlock and the building with the mark. 

No one spoke or moved as the four of them stared at the group of gunmen. Then, Sherlock looked over at John. John looked over at him. They looked into each other's eyes and knew that the only way forward was what they had done so much the past few years: fight.

And so they did. All at once, as though from an invisible signal, the four of them charged the figures. Sherlock and John ducked behind a car for cover as the gunmen started to fire. Hermione and Draco blocked the bullets with spells, slowly gaining ground as they shot back into the barricade. Sherlock and John took turns firing over the car whenever they had enough cover. One by one, the figures dropped to the ground as a bullet or spell found them. Slowly, the barricade started to scatter as more and more of their members fell. They retreated down the street, out of sight of Sherlock. 

He and John ran forward, following Hermione and Draco down the street. The occasional bullet streaked past them and the tiny group had to stop to defend themselves. They were almost at the building when Sherlock saw them. Arya and Dean Winchester were fighting off another group of gunmen down the street. He was so shocked to see them there that he stopped dead in his tracks. A mistake. A great force smacked his shoulder and fiery pain shot through his body. Sherlock gave a startled yell and fell to the ground with the force of the shot. At once John was standing over him, shooting at where the bullet had come from. Then he dragged Sherlock to lean against a lamp and started to examine the wound.

“Shit, how many times have you gotten shot now?” John murmured as he poked the wound lightly. Sherlock hissed and John grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t have the tools to remove the bullet right now, so I’m just going to have to just bandage it.”

As he did so Sherlock saw Hermione and Draco approaching with Arya and Dean in their wake. They both had a few nasty scrapes but other than that seemed fine. 

“What are you two doing here?” Sherlock said.

Arya glanced at Dean for a moment then said, “It is a long story, one that can be told later. Right now we need to find Emily. I do not know where she went but I am guessing it has something to do with that skull.” She pointed at the Dark Mark, now glowing even darker than before.

Sherlock took John’s outstretched hand and stumbled to his feet. “Let's not waste any time, then. I have a feeling she’s about to meet Moriarty.”

The six of them turned toward the building and stared up at the glowing green skull. It looked like it was laughing.

They were barely two minutes out of Hell when the mark appeared. A bang shot through the empty city and Emily saw the skull and snake appear above a nearby building. It was the same mark that was branded on her arm. The mark of Voldemort. Except she had a feeling it wasn’t Voldemort waiting in that building. No, she had a strange feeling deep in her gut, as though something was pulling her toward that spot. Something important .

Without speaking, Emily started toward the mark. Behind her, Arya called for her to stop, but she didn’t listen. She knew they would follow her. She made it almost all the way to the building before Arya grabbed her arm.

“Emily, stop ,” her sister demanded. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

Emily shrugged off her hand and turned to face her. “I need to know what is in that building. I-I can’t fully explain it, but I have this feeling , like I'm so close to everything I could want. I have to know what's up there.”

“What if it's a trap?” Dean said.

Emily opened her mouth to answer him when she noticed the glowing red dot on the hunter’s chest. Dean looked at where she was staring and stiffened, eyes wide and lips pursed. Arya looked as if she were about to move but Emily pointed to her chest. Right over Arya’s heart was a small red laser dot. A sniper’s eye.

“Do you know what a gun is, Arya?” whispered Emily. “It's a weapon. Simple as that. It is used in the name of god, in the name of a country, or in the name of protection for the innocent. But everytime that trigger is pulled, everytime someone makes that conscious decision to shoot, someone ends up dead. It's not always who they intend. Sometimes the bullet is shot into oblivion, as its owner hopes desperately they don’t miss, though even they don’t know what they are shooting at. Sometimes they can see the light disappear from their target’s eyes as their gun hisses with satisfied heat. When a bullet finds its target it screams- a high, wet sound that brings pain and panic with it. Sometimes the bullet kills instantly. Sometimes it sits in a cage of flesh, slowly rotting and decaying as it spreads its poison deep into its host, until finally, with a sigh of relief and a whimper of fear, it finishes its job.”

Arya stared down at the bright, blood red, almost transparent laser that settled upon her heart like an unwelcome parasite. She seemed transfixed by the tiny dot that promised death if she moved. 

Emily held up a finger and pressed it to her lips. Be Quiet .

“Don’t. Move,” she said, then turned and ran toward the marked building. She couldn’t help herself. That feeling in her gut was growing ever stronger, so much so that ignoring it was harder than breathing. She knew Arya and Dean would be fine. They just weren’t supposed to follow her into that building. This was for Emily, and Emily alone.

She entered the building and started up a long, spiraling staircase. Her feet were muffled by a dark velvet carpet. She didn’t touch the banister, but she knew that it was ice cold. With each step she took, that feeling grew. By the time Emily reached the top of the staircase she felt like she would burst from the pain of not knowing. 

There was only one door ahead of her. It was a plain, wooden thing, with a small handle shaped like a diamond. Emily pushed it open. She entered a plush if spare room furnished with only a few pieces of furniture. A large window made up most of one of the walls. 

Emily faced the vast window that overlooked the city of London. So many people usually wandered its streets, so many of them oblivious to the chaos that made its home here. Magic, Moriarty, and monsters… how was the city still standing? Perhaps it was because it was the will of those powers for it to live, or maybe it just wasn’t time yet. Time for destruction, the desolation of millions, and death. Death, which she had cheated. Death, which had failed to do its one job.

She was aware of Moriarty standing behind her, could feel him studying her. He had cheated death as well. She might as well speak.

“I know your voice.”

“So you know who you are.”

“I know who you are.”

“Exactly.”

She looked at him then, turning so that her back was to the window. The light framed her figure, setting her hair aflame, and casting the man before her into shadow. His eyes were so dark that nothing was reflected in their irises. Only a blank, unnerving nothingness. 

Emily stood up straighter and clasped her hands behind her back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know my voice, correct?” Moriarty said, smiling. It showed far too many teeth and was about as far from joy as the sky was from the ground. “So you must remember me.”

“No, I don’t. Have we met before?”

The smile widened. “Once. Long, long ago. You will remember me. But first, I want you to tell me who you are.”

Emily wanted to hit him. She wanted to grab that shark smile and throw it out the window to flatten on the cobble streets below. She wanted to run. 

Instead, she answered him. “I’m me. Isn’t that enough?”

The smile disappeared. He started to circle her slowly, calmly. “No, no it is not. Tell me, Emily- what's your favorite color? What are you afraid of? What do you think of as you fall asleep? Who are your true friends? How are you at math? Have you ever felt the urge to kill? Why did you jump into that burning building to save a random child? Why do you look at me with such distrust? Why are you here?”

The onslaught of questions assaulted Emily as if there were physically there. They burrowed into her head until she felt like she was going to fall over from the weight of them. She closed her eyes, hiding the silver depths of her thoughts from her audience, and let out a deep breath.

“I’m here for the truth. My truth, Moriarty. Stop playing games and give me one straight answer: What do you want with me?”

Moriarty stopped in front of her. Emily opened her eyes and stared straight into the dark, soulless depths of his eyes. She didn’t like them. There were endless pools of darkness that threatened to swallow her up if she looked too long. 

Moriarty didn’t answer her immediately. There was a small twinkle in his gaze, as though she had surprised him. “I want a few things, Emily. First, I want to give you back your memories. Then I want to see what you do next. And I want to kill you.”

And suddenly there was a gun pressed against Emily’s temple. Right where the silver star made its home. She didn’t blink. She never took her eyes off of the man in front of her. It was like facing off with a rabid dog; if she showed any weakness it would tear into her without hesitation. But she was screaming inside, every once of her being demanding to fight back, to get away from the looming smile of death that was pressed against her head. The only thing keeping Emily in place was the knowledge that if she moved she would die. That, and what Moriarty had said about her memories.

They stared at one another for a long time, the fiery girl and the insane man. Neither blinked. Neither moved a muscle. It was as though time had stopped.

“No, you won’t,” Emily said softly into the silence. Moriarty raised one eyebrow and she continued. “You won’t kill me, not yet. You’re too curious. About me, about what I’ll do, about who knows what else. You’re just like everyone else I’ve met in the past few days. So either let me go, or prove me wrong.”

For a moment, Emily really thought he was going to pull the trigger. She thought it might have occured to Moriarty too, because his arm twitched ever so slightly. But then the gun was gone, and the insane smile was back on the criminal’s face.

“Very good, Emily,” he said. A shout came from outside. It sounded as though the others had finally reached the top of the stairs. “I believe it’s high time you remembered who you are. Or, that is, who you were .”

There was another shout, this time much closer as though from just outside the room. It sounded like her name. Moriarty raised a hand and for a moment, Emily thought she could see a star in his palm. Then he snapped his fingers. 

A door opened behind Moriarty. There was a dark room. There was something in there.

“Look,” he said.

There was a loud bang from where the others were trying to get in.

There was someone standing in the doorway.

“Look, and tell me what you see,” he whispered.

And her head split in two.

A shot rang out through the air. Then another. And another. A thick vout of fog filled the air and everything vanished.

She fell to the ground, gasping for air, vision blurring around the edges. 

Someone screamed and another shot rang through the fog.

Everything was blurring. Mixing into a concoction of confusion and darkness. There was a sharp, burning pain in her forehead, so intense it blew her vision away. Thorns were digging into her hands, her feet, her stomach and back, even her neck. She was choking on thorns and roses, stems of beautiful, blood red flowers exploding from her body like fireworks. Blood streamed down her body in waves. Or was it fire? It burned so hot she thought it must be fire, but it stuck to her the way only blood can. 

The sky was blue. The sky was black. The sky was on fire. The sky was full of stars. There were no stars save the one on her brow.

She stretched out a hand, grasping for the face in front of her. Blue hair fell across a soft face, tears streaming from blurred eyes.

“No- I-”

The thorns were in her head now and her whole body seized up in agony. The screaming in her head reached a crescendo, until the only thing that she felt or heard was that loud ringing sound. So familiar now, yet so foreign that all she wanted to do was claw it out with her own fingernails. Just to make it stop.

But no, there was another sound now. Another voice.

“Emily. Emily, take my hand.”

She opened her mouth to scream but no words came out. Fingers stretched out before her, trembling slightly. Her whole body must be aflame. But no, the fire wasn’t there. Where was her fire?

“Emily.”

She looked up, up, up into that strange, blurred face. Into golden eyes.

“Take my hand.”

The world was hazy, filled with white fog and creeping darkness and pain. But just ahead, up, up, up, through the screaming and confusion and lies and horrible, horrible emptiness, there was a pair of golden eyes.

Emily reached up with all her strength and grabbed onto the hand. Warm flesh surrounded her own and she was pulled to her feet.

Blue hair fell in front of golden eyes. She reached out a hand and brushed it away, tucking it behind a small ear. She reached out a trembling hand to the face, brushing her thumb against its cheek. It was wet with tears.

“Emily. Look at me.”

And she did. She looked into those golden eyes. And through the fog and the darkness, she saw blue hair. She saw warm brown skin. She saw tears. 

And suddenly, all she saw was a girl, no older than herself, dressed all in blue.

The blood was gone. So were the thorns. All that remained of the screams was a tiny whisper, pleading softly. She could almost make out the words…

...a name.

“Robin?” Emily whispered. It was a question filled with hope, horror, pain, and longing . An intense longing she didn’t even know she possessed. A longing filled with every emotion in the world, so tender it might have just been filled with the holiest of thoughts, and so hopeful it contained a thousand prayers.

The golden-eyed girl smiled, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m here, Emily. I’m here.”

The fog was gone. The darkness vanished. Before her stood seventeen year old Robin Felix, the girl from her memories. The girl who loved the color blue.

Emily opened her mouth to speak but the next thing she knew her arms were wrapped around Robin, and hers around Emily. And there was nothing but that soft burning flame burning around her.

They drew back, covered in tears. Emily cupped Robin’s face in hers as the blue-haired girl gripped her by the elbows.

“Oh, Robin. I’m so sorry,” Emily sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

The memories were coming back in droves now. Emily could feel them like thousands of tiny ants crawling around her brain in a scattered formation, trying to find their rightful place. But she forced herself to focus on the girl in front of her. Nothing else mattered but this girl.

Robin drew her in and their lips met. A different kind of fire burned in her now, one that was blue and raging with something other than anger. Something warm and tender.

Emily buried a hand in that bright blue hair and drew Robin in even closer, determined to never let go again. 

And all she knew for a very long while was total, heart-breaking bliss.

Chapter Text

When Emily Rose died it was with a bang. A loud, sudden sound that reverberated silently through the world with its significance. Or lack of, because who really noticed when that little girl was shot in an alleyway?

But they did notice.

Emily had lived in Midgard for almost seven years, and had seen almost nothing of what it had to offer. So during winter break of her seventh year at Hogwarts, she traveled to America to explore and experience.

It was Christmas Eve in New York City, ten minutes before midnight. And it was cold.

Emily checked her watch in the cab, then groaned.

"Can you go faster, please?" she asked the driver.

"Sorry miss, but there's lots of traffic tonight."

Emily slumped in the back seat. All she wanted to do was get back to the hotel and sleep for several long days. Sadly, she had not expected this amount of enthusiasm for Christmas, and so had to deal with the consequences of traffic.

As she opened her mouth to bug the driver again, a boom shattered her ears. The taxi screeched to a halt and Emily jumped out of the car, her heart pounding. Smoke and bright orange flames rose from a nearby theater. Gunshots peppered the air alongside people's screams as Emily ran toward the smoking building.

Could this be the Death Eaters? Voldemort still had plenty of supporters running amok, causing as much mayhem as possible. But no, wizards didn't use guns. And she was in the States. Terrorists could be in play, but why attack a random theater in New York? 

Emily ran down a side ally to escape the traffic and her phone started to ring. She had gotten one two summers ago, because Robin had insisted they should have a way of communicating over the holidays that was faster than birds. She didn't recognize the number but answered it anyways. "Hello? Who is this?" she asked, dodging a trash bin.

"Hello, Emily Rose," said a strange voice with a deep Irish accent.

Emily stopped running, frozen. Something about that voice seemed familiar... and threatening. She knew then that the voice meant danger, but she didn't pull out her wand.

"You really didn't think you could hide from us forever, did you?" asked the strange voice. 

"What? Who are you?" Emily demanded, a feeling of apprehension running down her spine. She still didn't pull out her wand.

"Ohh, you don't know? How curious. It's Jim Moriarty. Hiii."

Something in Emily's head twitched. She felt like she had heard that name before, when she was very, very young. 

Moriarty continued. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time, Emily. I hope you appreciate that."

Emily's heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to burst out of her chest. She didn’t know who this man was but she had a bad feeling in her gut. The last time she had felt like this was when her mother showed her the letter of acceptance to Hogwarts and banned her from Du Weldenvarden. 

And still she didn't pull out her wand.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying not to sound scared. She failed. 

"To say goodbye," Moriarty whispered, his words almost lost to the whirls of fire engines and police cars in the distance. 

A small sound. So small it might have well as never happened, but all too noticeable to its target. It was the sound of a gun being cocked. Emily whirled around to see a masked man, as indistinguishable as any stranger on the street, pointing a pistol at her. 

Emily dropped the phone and opened her mouth to blow flames, her hand shooting to where her wand lay tucked in her pocket, but it was too late. The man pulled the trigger and a bullet sailed through the air to land in the silver star on her forehead.

The last thing Emily felt was the light press of snowflakes on her skin as she sank toward the ground. 

The last thing Emily heard was the great chiming of the clocks announcing the arrival of Christmas Day. 

The last thing Emily saw was Robin, smiling in her mind's eye. 

*****

When Robin Felix died it was from heartbreak. The lapse of any emotion but pain that filled her up like a leaden balloon, weighing down her heart and mind and soul. What a silly thing it was, to love that strongly. She should never have let it happen.

But, as all things do in life despite our deepest wishes, it did. And she had to live with it.

It was a horrible day to go walking. In fact, Robin could not have picked a worse moment in time to go hiking on the cliffs overlooking her home. Perhaps that is why she decided to wrap herself in a thick woolen coat and brace the stormy, snow laden weather of late December. She could barely see three feet in front of her, the world a dark grey landscape that swallowed up everything it touched. It was only the muscle memory of climbing the path that led to the top of the hill that allowed Robin to make her way to the cliffs. 

Her Christmas present this year had been a letter from Hogwarts informing her about the death of Emily Rose. Oh, Emily. Robin’s grandmother had not been home at the time the letter arrived, stuck as she was in town due to the horrible weather, so no one was present for the ear splitting scream of pain that tore through Robin’s throat as she finished reading the letter. All that was left after the screaming finished was the feeling of black, deadening pain, consuming her just as the storm consumed the land outside. 

The tears that fell from her eyes froze before they made it past her nose as she walked against the thunderous wind. It wasn’t fair, Robin thought. First her parents, now Emily. Poor Emily, who had barely started to accept who she was and open up to Robin, was now dead. All across the sea, all alone.

Robin didn’t know where she was heading anymore. All she was aware of was the aching pain in her heart. It spread through her arms and legs, turning her nose into an icicle. Perhaps that was the cold. She was certainly cold enough inside to match the freezing temperatures surrounding her. 

Emily had never been cold. Emily had a raging fire burning within her at all times. She could warm Robin to the bones just by looking at her. She wishes Emily could be here, wishes she could feel that burning heat deep in her chest again. Emily isn’t burning anymore.

Robin didn’t notice that her next footstep was into empty air. It was only when she stumbled and started to fall forward that she realized she stood at the edge of the cliffs. Below her was a forest of deadly, jagged rocks, slowly merging into a quarry of snow laden trees. 

She would have been able to righten herself, to step back from the precipice and realize what was happening, if not for the colossal gust of wind that slammed into her back. It was enough to send her hunched form over the side of the cliff.

As she fell, Robin tried to scream. She tried to let out the desperate panic that numbed her brain as well as the cold. But all she could think about was lying in the soft green grass with Emily, their hands entwined, their smiles close together. And above them was a clear blue sky.

She felt a harsh impact against the back of her head, and the blue sky disappeared.

Chapter Text

Robin loved sailing. She loved cruising along the calm surface of a lake, the sun warming her skin, the gentle sound of water slapping against the side of her boat. She loved sitting against the mast and gazing up at the sky, lost in the peace of her thoughts. When she finished sailing she would always be sunburnt and tired, but the day on the water far outweighed her discomfort.

Robin loved playing basketball, whether by herself, with friends, or just watching didn’t matter. She loved racing around the court, dodging between her opponents with sweat trickling down her shirt, dribbling the ball away from greedy hands. She loved the moment when the ball hangs on the edge of the goal, tethering from side to side, deciding which way to fall. She loved the pounding of her heart as she raced across the court to block an opponent's move. She loved drinking cool, relieving water and laughing with her friends as they celebrated another game well played, slick with sweat, exhaustion, and happiness.

Robin loved reading mystery novels. Not the ones with the secret hidden twist at the end that no one could have predicted, where the detective astounds the world with their brilliance. She loved the cheesy, buy for a dime, generic books where every move and twist had already been written hundreds of times before. When asked exactly why she would read such a story, Robin would reply, “I like to see how the detective works it out. It’s not as exciting if I don’t get to see the detective’s thoughts!”

Robin loved strawberries, the ones where the juice dribbles down your chin when you bite into it; the ones that taste like summer and sun and love. The ones the color of blood that stain your teeth pink if you eat too many. She loved sitting in the shade of a tree, lazily popping a cool berry into her mouth to combat the hot summer sun.

But most of all, Robin loved Emily. She loved the way Emily smiled at her whenever their eyes met, the way her hair would fall in front of her face and the unconscious way she would push it back. She loved the way Emily laughed- throwing back her head and turning red with merriment. She loved sitting with her head on Emily’s sturdy shoulder, their fingers entwined and legs pressed together in that close comfort she only found with Emily. She loved when Emily sang along with one of their favorite songs, her beautiful voice only enhancing the music. 

She loved Emily, and Emily loved her. And that was more than enough.

All of this Emily was aware of as she sat with Robin on the steps of the raised pedestal in the great hall. She was aware of this because, from the moment she saw Robin step out of that shadowed room in London, she had her memories back. All of them. 

Emily could remember the forests of Du Weldenvarden, the swaying trees of green and yellow, the winding chestnut trunks that gave way to the magic of the elves. She remembered her mother’s disappointed gaze as she stared at Emily from her throne. Emily didn't even know what she had done to disappoint her mother. That pinning gaze had been present ever since Emily was born.

They had returned to Hogwarts as soon as Emily found Robin. Moriarty had disappeared through the smoke and gunshots, and no one knew where he had gone. Harry had returned to the Men of Letters bunker to bring Sam and Castiel to Hogwarts so that they could see that Dean was okay. Sherlock and John, Harry, Ron and Hermione, Dean, Sam, and Castiel, as well as Arya, stood before the two girls, looking down upon them.

Robin Felix was slightly shorter than Emily, with cobalt blue hair cut in the style of a boy. Large, golden eyes were set against her dark brown skin. She wore all blue- a blue shirt, a dark blue jean jacket, blue jeans, and blue sneakers. Around her neck hung a golden chain upon which was a silver ring engraved with intricate designs. Emily remembered that ring very well. It was one of the reasons she was sitting here, holding hands with the blue-haired girl.

Emily didn't want to face the crowd before them. She wanted time to herself, time with Robin, before she spoke to her assembly. The memories that she now possessed… she didn’t quite know what to make of some of them just yet. And she definitely didn’t want to share all of them.

It was the feel of Robin’s hand in hers that finally gave Emily the courage to speak. She lifted her head and stared into the eyes of those before her. “Before I begin, I want to set something very clear: everything I am about to tell you is the truth. I don’t care if you believe me anymore. What matters is that I know who I am now. Also, I cannot tell you my whole life story in a timely manner, so I will do my best to address the most important subjects for the moment.”

No one spoke for a while. Each face featured a different emotion; suspicion from Ron and John, curiosity from Sherlock, apprehension from Cas, interest from Sam and Hermione, wariness from Harry and Dean. And from Arya, there was only a blank nothingness.

“Begin,” Arya commanded. 

“First off, I didn’t destroy any of those buildings,” Emily said. “I have no idea who did, though I do have some suspicions. I never met, or even knew of the existence of, Lucifer or Loki before I died. Whatever knowledge they have of me was not firsthand, that much I know for sure. However, I did have the misfortune to meet Moriarty, but only once. He was the one who killed me.”

At the surprised looks on the faces before her Emily quickly amended herself. “Well, not personally. He sent a hitman to kill me. I only know it was him because right before I was shot he called me and, well, said he was going to kill me. Guess he succeeded.”

The frown on Sherlock’s face promised a cascade of questions Emily didn't have the patience for at the moment, and she held up a hand to stop him. Then, she pulled back her sleeve until her left forearm was bared. The Dark Mark curled its inky signature across her pale skin the way a writer trails ink on parchment. 

“This was given to me by my fellow students,” she continued. “I was in Slytherin while at Hogwarts, and I was one of the few who did not support Voldemort’s rise to power. There was a boy… I don’t remember his name anymore, but he was in Gryffindor. He was a bully. I came across a group of older Slytherins beating him up and tried to stop them. They petrified me and gave me this, as a reminder of my house and who I was ‘up against’, as they put it.”

Emily made sure to direct her next woods at Harry, who was biting his lip, looking deep in thought. “I am not, was not, and never will be a Death Eater. That is not who I am, and if you cannot see that already, than I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He simply looked at her, the girl with piercing silver eyes and magic beyond his comprehension, and nodded. 

Emily let her sleeve fall without much thought. Without realizing she was doing so she traced the star on her head. “I have one more important thing to tell you. It is about the dead.”

Arya’s head shot up. She stared at her sister with the sort of intent only found in those who stand at the edge of a cliff, debating how best to avoid danger. Her eyes seemed to glow as she waited for Emily to continue.

And so she did. “I- I don’t know exactly how but… I believe that I was the one who caused the dead to rise.”

“What?” Dean demanded as Ron cried out, “How?”

“I was afraid of dying.” The skeptical faces made a sly smile split Emily’s tired face. “No, seriously. I’m no fool- I knew my mother was hiding something from me when she sent me away. And I was blamed for a crime I didn’t commit in my fifth year. I was certain that someone was gunning for me, so I researched ways to keep myself from dying. I soon found that that was a path that would only lead to complicated and painful options that probably wouldn’t even work. So, I decided to try and find a way to bring myself back alive should I ever die. I found a way.”

Emily turned to Robin and said, “Can I see your ring, please?”

Surprise flickered across Robin’s face but she handed over her necklace, the silver ring at the end glittering in the candlelight.

Emily held it up so that everyone could see the ring clearly. “I enchanted a set of rings Robin and I gave one another to bring me back from the dead. Mine was gold, hers silver. They were intended to represent our shared bond. However, I think part of the enchantment malfunctioned. My ring was, to put it simply, connected to death so that it could be activated when I died. Robin’s ring is connected to life, so that the spell had an anchor to pull me toward. When Robin died right after me, the spells on each ring must have been canceled out, so I was stuck in death. Something, or someone, must have activated one of the rings to bring me back, but how the enchantment also brought back millions of others…. I just don’t know.”

“Where is the other ring?” Arya demanded, the glow in her eyes more of a glare now.

Emily sighed and ran a hand through her fiery hair. “I don’t know. I know I was wearing it when I died, but I didn’t wake up with it. Someone must have taken in.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam muttered, sinking onto a bench. “So this really is your fault, Emily.”

“I didn’t intend for any of this to happen! I just- I just wanted to live, I guess. To not die before I had a chance to experience life.”

She placed her head in her hands, rubbing her temple to alleviate the headache starting to build up in her skull. “But I wasn’t the one who eventually activated the rings. Whoever, or what ever, did that, must have had a reason . And they must have the other ring.”

“What are we supposed to do, then? How do we reverse this death spell?” John said, arms crossed tight over his chest. He looked uncomfortable speaking out, especially about magic. Emily couldn't really blame him. He had just found out magic existed, after all. This whole thing must be extremely confusing, not to mention terrifying. 

“We need to destroy the rings, don’t we?” asked Arya. She was still staring straight at Emily with those gleaming green eyes, an intense fire focused on one narrow target.

Emily ran a finger across the silver ring. It felt cool against her warm skin. The fire inside of her called out to it, and something in that ring called back. “Yes. They won’t be hard to destroy. Any crack or melt will release the magic inside of it. However, in order for the enchantment to be completely broken, the rings need to be connected again. If we try to destroy Robin’s ring on its own nothing will happen.”

But who could have taken the golden ring? Emily remembered clearly the feel of it against her collarbone as she ran through the streets of New York, how comforting it felt as she heard Moriarty promise her death. Had the hitman stolen it off of her body? 

“Do you remember seeing my ring when you buried me?” she asked Arya. She met that intense gaze evenly, refusing to step back from her sister’s power. She remembered everything, now. She remembered who Arya was, what she had done. Or hadn’t done.

Arya took a moment to answer. “I do not recall. I never knew of this ring’s existence until now, so I was not looking for it when we found you. Perhaps it was, perhaps it was not.”

Whoever took the ring knows its true value, that much Emily knew. Maybe it was Moriarty, who seemed to be playing with them. But if that was the case, why had he only just returned from the dead? And why try and kill Emily? She still didn’t know why he wanted her dead in the first place. 

Robin stood up, almost startling Emily off the steps. She had been so silent up until now. “Emily, let’s go.”

She grabbed Emily’s hand and started to march out of the great hall. Emily looked back and said, “We’ll talk more later, okay?” 

No one looked happy at their leaving, but any protests were cut off by the great oak doors that removed the hall from her view with a loud bang. 

Robin didn’t stop as they left the great hall. She just held tight to Emily’s hand, leading her up the grand spiral staircase and down endless corridors. Part of Emily wanted to stop her and end this horrible silence, but she knew she owed it to Robin to stay silent. Whatever she wanted to talk about, she wanted to do so in private. So she allowed the blue-haired girl to lead her up to a small alcove that overlooked the grounds. They had hung out there often during their school years. It was hidden from sight of the nearby corridor, but open to the elements with a stone balcony. 

Robin rested her arms on the balcony, leaning forward and closing her eyes to let the cool night air wash over her. Emily felt that same soft feeling in her chest as she stared at her friend. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robin asked the night air. There was no malice in her voice, just a plea for honesty. Emily knew she was talking about the rings.

I told you so many times, flashed through Emily's mind. 

“I was scared,” Emily joined her against the balcony, a slight breeze playing with her hair. “I-I didn’t know how you would react. You accepted so much of the strange aspects in my life, I didn’t want to push you away with the knowledge of what I had done.”

In so many different ways.

Robin stared at her incredulously. “You think learning how to raise yourself from the dead is the weirdest thing you’ve ever told me? Come on, Emily, you’re an elf! You were born in another world . Strange aspects are a part of you, whether you like it or not. I accepted that a long time ago, and to be honest, I like it. Life was always a lot more interesting with you around.”

“You-you’re not mad I didn’t tell you about the enchantment on our rings? That I caused all of… this?”

I told you about your smile.

Robin looked back at the sky. The wind tousled her short blue hair, and Emily had a strong urge to push the loose strands back behind her ear. She didn’t, though. Robin was answering her.

I asked you about your laugh.

“Do you know, when I woke up on my grave, I thought I was dreaming? I figured I was in a memory, reliving a world I no longer belonged to. My first thought was to find you. I knew that once I was with you I would be fine, memory or not. I went to your cottage. I knew as soon as I saw it that I wasn’t dreaming. There was no fire lit inside. You always had a fire going, even if we weren't there. I still went inside, because I had nowhere else to go.”

Robin turned to meet Emily’s gaze again. “Do you know what I found inside?” When Emily shook her head, she said, “There was a man standing in your living room, holding a picture frame in his hands. It was the one of you and your sister, remember? It was odd. He looked so familiar, but I had never met him before. I asked what he was doing there. He said, ‘You’re Robin, aren’t you?’ I said yeah, what of it, but he just tore off part of the drawing and replaced the frame on the mantle. I asked him what he wanted. He said, ‘Did she ever mention me?’ I didn't know what he was talking about, but I don’t think it really mattered. He wasn’t listening to me. He touched my shoulder and suddenly I couldn’t move. He stood in front of me and said, ‘I promise you'll be okay’. I didn't want to believe him, but there was something in his eyes that just.... it was empathy. Pure and simple empathy. The next thing I knew I was in a dark room. I must have been there for a few hours, and then the door opened and there you were. And everything was okay.”

Robin tucked the loose blue strands of her hair behind her ear before she continued. “Is everything going to be okay, Emily?”

I wanted to cry as you walked away.

Emily wanted to take Robin’s hands in hers. She wanted to wrap her arms around her and never let go. She wanted to run her hands through that tousled blue hair and kiss her until she forgot everything and everyone but the girl in front of her. But for now she had to content herself with staring into those piercing golden eyes, and tell her the truth.

“I don’t know, Robin. I don’t know how all of this is going to end. All I know is that when I’m with you, everything is more than okay. And that’s all I need to know, really. It’s all I’ve ever known since I’ve met you.”

I told you I loved you.

The love that filled Robin’s eyes made Emily’s heart melt in a million different ways in the span of time it took for her to draw another breath. Robin took Emily’s hand, the one still holding the ring, and traced the skin around the silver. Her touch sent shivers of warmth through Emily's body, and she felt that new kind of fire flow through her skin.

“Nothing matters but you, Robin,” Emily whispered. “Just say the world and we’ll leave. We’ll run so far away that no one will be able to find us again. We’ve been given another chance to be together. Let’s not waste it.”

Robin finally met her eyes. Gold and silver mixed until neither girl knew who was who, all that mattered was that the other was standing before them, warm and alive.

And you told me the same.

“No, Emily. I know you. You want to help these people, I do too. So we will. Together . Always together, agreed?”

Emily nodded, barely able to draw breath. Robin took the ring and tied it around her neck again.

“I love you, Emily.”

“Oh, Robin. I love you too.”

Their lips met for the second time that day. The kiss was different: the first had been desperation and relief, this one was full of tenderness and an overwhelming love that made them clutch at one another as though they only had a small moment to spend together. And if that had been true, it would have been enough.

The two girls stood in the alcove of the castle with their arms around each other, the moon rising in the clear night sky, as the stars twinkled their merry light above.

And it was more than enough.

Arya found them asleep on a couch in the Ravenclaw common room. Robin lay on top of Emily, her head resting on the other girl’s chest. Emily had one arm wrapped around Robin. The other was dangling off the side of the couch, fingers gently touching the dark blue carpet that made up the floor.

It was weird to see her sister like that. With someone so close to her, in an embrace that spoke of love. But the weirdest thing was the look of peace that lay across Emily’s face. Arya had never seen her sister look like that before, as though every worry in the world had been lifted from her shoulders, leaving only happiness behind. It made her heart ache with something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So this is where they are,” someone said softly behind her. Arya turned to see Hermione Granger standing in the doorway of the common room, her eyes on the two girls asleep on the couch. 

Arya pressed a finger to her lips and slipped past Hermione, closing the door behind her. Emily deserved a few more hours of that precious peace. It was the least Arya could give her.

Hermione gestured for her to follow. “Come on, everyone is waiting for us.”

“I take it Holmes and Watson are back from the hospital wing?” Arya asked as they started down the long staircase that led out of the tower.

“Yes. They managed to get the bullet out quite easily, even though Madam Pomfrey has never dealt with something like that before. Sherlock should be fine as long as the wound doesn’t get infected.”

Arya nodded. She had no love for Sherlock Holmes. She barely knew him and he seemed like an asshole. However, he was trying to help Emily, in his own way. He didn’t deserve to get hurt. None of them did.

Perhaps Hermione sensed Arya’s uneasy mood, because they walked in silence until they reached the library. 

It was a musty place, filled to the brim with shelves upon shelves of books. It was nothing compared to the library in Elesmera, but Arya knew it held a different kind of knowledge, one that dealt with magic she knew nothing about.

Hermione joined Harry, Ron, and Sam at a table piled high with leather bound books. Dean and Castiel sat on the other side of the table, reading one of the books together. They were strangely close. Sherlock and John sat a bit away from the others, talking softly amongst themselves. They seemed weary, which Arya could understand. They were the only people in the room who couldn’t use some sort of magic.

Arya pulled up a chair near the crowded table and crossed her arms. She felt apart from the others, as though there was an invisible barrier between them. Perhaps it was because she was from another world- a creature apart from anything they had ever seen before. Or perhaps it was because she still didn’t trust any of them, not really. 

“Right,” Sam said nervously, fingers tapping the wooden table in little startled bits. “Emily told us a lot tonight, but there is still a lot left unanswered. I, for one, would like to know why Lucifer is working for Moriarty.”

Sherlock snorted. “Probably because Lucifer has the one thing he doesn't- magic.”

“But Moriarty must be working with a wizard,” Ron interrupted. “Or else he wouldn’t have been able to cast the Dark Mark in London. Not to mention that freaky thing he did with sending all those Muggles to sleep. At least they’re all back to normal now.”

Arya nodded along with the others. She was glad no innocents had been permanently harmed in their endeavor. She had great respect for life since the war with Galbatorix. No one deserved to die just for being unfortunate enough to exist. 

“I would say that he is working with Voldemort, but I’m not so sure anymore. Professor Dumbledore and I were talking, and we don’t think Voldemort is actually back from the dead. It's a long story, but when I killed him all those years ago, I destroyed his soul completely. I-I don’t think anyone can come back from that,” said Harry, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.  

“So who is working with Moriarty?” Dean asked. “I mean, there can only be so many wizards in the world. Do you have any idea of who we’re up against?”

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her long black hair. “No, not yet, which is why we sent Draco Malfoy to investigate a few notable Death Eaters. He knows more about their inner circle than us, he should be able to find out who is assisting Moriarty.

Arya frowned slightly at her words. Why they were focusing so much on who was helping or not helping Moriarty, she did not know. “I fail to see how any of this is relevant. What we should be figuring out is how to stop these people from harming my sister, and how to fix this ‘dead rising’ problem. Emily has already given us a solution, we just have to find it.” The looks the rest of the room gave her as she spoke were not comforting. “What?”

No one spoke for a moment. They were exchanging converted glances with one another, as though trying to figure out what to say. All except for John and Castiel. Cas was staring at his feet, frowning, while John chewed his lower lip and stared right at her. He certainly had some guts, that one.

“It’s not that simple,” Sherlock finally said, and everyone, including Cas, turned their attention to him. “I may not know anything about magic or spells, but I do know revenge. Moriarty is after Emily for just that. What he wants revenge for, I do not know, but I intend to find out. From what you have told me, it seems that Lucifer is after Emily for the power she possesses, mostly her power to bring herself back from the dead, than for any personal reasons. We need to know if this wizard is working with Moriarty because they also want revenge, or if it is for some other reason. The more we learn about Emily’s past and what happened between her death and her awakening, the closer we are to stopping these people. This is nothing more than a case. There are clues we must find, mysterious we must solve, and truths to sort out from lies.”

“Exactly what I was going to say,” Dean grinned, causing Cas to roll his eyes as Sherlock glared at the hunter.

What Sherlock said made sense, even if Arya didn’t want it to. All she wanted to do was protect Emily, but she was starting to realize that she couldn’t just fight her way out of this. She had to listen to the others if she wanted to figure out the best way to help her sister. She had to accept their help.

“What about Loki? He was the one who impersonated Dean, and Lucifer admitted that he knew of it. And he told Emily that Moriarty was going to come after her. What’s his stake in all of this?” Sam murmured. 

No one seemed to know the answer to that. No one knew much about Loki, except that he was a god. It was Harry who finally said, “I think we need to talk to Thor. I don’t know where he is, but we should be able to contact him via the Avengers. If anyone knows what Loki is after, it’ll be him.”

Loki. When Arya had met him at the bunker, she had a terrible feeling of deja vu as she looked into his eyes. She had seen those eyes before, had she not? Yes, she was sure she had, but she just couldn’t place where.

“In the meantime, we’ll try and find Emily’s ring,” said Cas. “We can ask her more about it in the morning.”

The others nodded. Shortly after, John and Sherlock got up to leave along with Harry to show them to one of the dormitories. A few minutes later Dean wandered off, and after about four second of anxiously glancing at where he had disappeared, Cas followed him. Ron, Hermione, and Sam were left at the table, deep in conversation about the book Cas and Dean had been reading earlier.

Arya stayed still on her stool, thinking of a word Cas had used. We . For some reason, the use of such an inclusive word stuck in Arya’s thoughts, chasing around her brain like a dog does its tail. It was a we, now. They were a we. Everyone who had been in this room, as well as Emily and Robin, were part of something bigger than any of them on their own. They were a team, in a way. They were all that stood between total chaos and the world as they knew it.

Arya stood up and slowly left the room. No one noticed. She thought about Emily and Robin curled around each other, lost in dreams that they chased more fervently than anything in life. She recalled an image of Emily, straight backed and proud, bathed in moonlight, her silver eyes glowing with determination. She thought about the way Islanzadi started at her other daughter, as though she were a rabid dog about to attack.

And then she stopped in her tracks, hand clapped over her mouth to contain the gasp that begged to slip past her lips. Because Arya remembered where she had seen Loki’s eyes before. A white rose had been placed in her hair as she looked into those eyes. She had stared into those eyes and begged their owner to return with her to where they would be safe. Those eyes that held the determination, fire, and power that only one other person possessed.

No, Arya thought as the gasp escaped her lips, vibrating in the empty space around her until it sounded like a thousand voices screaming in her ears, screaming a truth she didn’t want to hear anymore. Oh, no.

Cas knew he shouldn't follow Dean. He knew, deep inside, of where it might lead. But he couldn’t help himself. Dean had been gone. Gone , and Cas hadn’t even noticed. What if they had never found the real Dean? He couldn’t bear to think about it, to think about a world without Dean Winchester in it.

As he stared at the hunter, silhouetted in moonlight that poured in from the open castle doors, Cas couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing that pierced his heart painfully.

Dean must have noticed his presence because without turning around he said, “Can I ask you something, Cas?”

Cas stopped next to him, staring at his friend’s face. It was bathed in soft moonlight, turning his eyes a weird grey color. He looked beautiful. Another pang of longing shot through his chest.

“Of course, Dean.”

“Do you believe we can do this? Stop Lucifer and the rest?”

Cas thought about the question for a second. He recognized what fueled those words, what was hiding behind the moonlight in Dean’s eyes: doubt. “Do you remember when Urial and I were going to blow up that town to kill a witch when you and Sam stopped us?”

Dean blinked at him, startled at the sudden change in conversation. “Uh, yeah, yeah I remember. You and that dick said it was the fastest way to keep a seal from breaking.”

“Do you know why I decided not to kill all those people?” Cas asked, and when Dean shook his head said, “It was because I knew I could trust you. How could a man willing to sacrifice his own life to save thousands be bad? You were so determined to save those people.”

Cas knew he should stop, but he was transfixed by the way Dean stared at him, his eyes filled with so much trust that they had to burst any second now, right?

“You are a good person, Dean. You are kind, determined, stronger than anyone I have ever met. You save people. You do what no one else will do because you know it’s the right thing,” Cas continued.

Taking a deep breath, the angel reached out and took hold of Dean’s hand. And Dean didn’t pull away. Dean just kept staring into his eyes, and Cas never wanted to look away.

“I love that about you. I love everything about you, from your weird flannel obsession to the way you always sing along to your favorite songs. I love how you walk into a room and immediately take control. I love how you take care of your family no matter what it costs, though sometimes I wish you wouldn’t.”

A small smile split Dean’s face at this, and all Cas wanted, for the rest of his life, was to be able to make him smile like that. To smile as though he was sharing a secret joke with Cas, to smile with that small glint of happiness he so rarely sees on the hunter anymore.

“Cas…” he started, but Castiel stopped him. He had to say this, even if it cost him the one person he had ever wanted to say these words to.

“I love you, Dean Winchester, and I believe in you.”

A tear ran down Dean’s face; he had never heard anyone say that to him before. Cas reached out a hand and wiped away the tear, and Dean grabbed his hand and kept it pressed against his cheek.

The hunter leaned forward and pressed his lips to Cas’s. The angel melted into him, and for a long moment they only knew bliss.

Dean pulled back slightly and whispered, “I love you too, Cas.”

Castiel grinned, tears pouring down his own face now, and pulled him close again.