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A shattering. A single crystalline moment of perfect calm, incongruent with the chaos of the battle. A gasping intake of breath, that was as long as the peace lasted, before the bottom fell out of her world and she lost herself in a grief that was never ending. That’s how she recalls it, anytime she manages to fall asleep. She doesn’t remember much of the days after Pietro was killed, throwing himself in the line of fire to protect Hawkeye and the child he had been clutching. She had lost herself in a haze of agony, and could barely recall anything, except for the perverse joy she felt, holding Ultron's mangled heart in her hands, up until she saw her binak lying there, on the dirty floor of a helijet, his body pale as porcelain. Seeing him there, his constant movements forever stilled, cleared her vision, her agony sharpening, solidifying, lodging in her chest. She had fled the Avengers as soon as she could see the way clear, her lack of American citizenship allowing her to slip away in the commotion of the Sokovia Accords.
She roamed the countries of her youth, still lost in that gaze of grief, sleeping in alleyways and occasionally in hostels. In was on a crowded street, in yet another nameless Slavic downtown that she saw him. A young man, standing outside a rowdy bar, his back to her, smoking a cigarette. She saw his bright white hair, artlessly tousled in an unconvincing attempt at nonchalance, and her mind went blank. She felt that same unnatural calm settle over her, and her feet began moving before she could command them. Stopping before him, her head tilted to the side, she stared at him, yearning to see a wide smile break out over his face, feeling the calm slip away as piercing green eyes met hers, where dancing brown eyes should be. The sweet bite of rage nipped her brain again, crescendoing when he spoke, the harsh guttural tones of the local dialect hammering her heart.
A cloud covered her brain, and when she came back to herself, she was surrounded by a crowd of drunken party-goers, some with their cell phones out, the not-Pietro in a heap across the street, being tended to by distraught men in too tight jeans. She saw the destruction to the shop window, knowing instantly that she had lashed out in her rage, sending the doppelganger crashing into the industrial strength panes. She didn’t need to think this time, to know that there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do for the man, the tilt of his neck telling the story immediately. Turning wild eyes back to the crowd, she knew that she needed to get away. Focusing slightly, she sent another wave of flashing red light out into the crowd, focusing on those tiny pieces of technology that would alert the Avengers to her current location. Satisfied that they would be unable to prove any wild stories they might share of the night’s events, she took off, dashing from one back alley to another, until she made her way to a train station, feeling no guilt at manipulating the ticket office clerk into giving her a one way ticket on the train leaving in mere minutes. Slipping into her seat as the train pulled away, her eyes slipped shut as the adrenaline faded, and she spent the five hour ride to Burgas in her first dreamless sleep in almost nine months.
Draco’s brow furrowed as he spotted the unfamiliar script on the outside of the envelope in his inbox. The paper was of the finest quality, rivaling his own, but the handwriting wasn’t one with which he was familiar. He cast a wandless Revelio , although in truth he was unconcerned that any malicious spells would’ve made it past the Auror spell checkers. Potter was hyper-vigilant to threats, a favorable trait in the Head Auror, a less welcome trait in a friend. His tendency to see evil where it wasn’t made being friends with Witch Weekly’s Heartthrob-Who-Lived a bit of a chore. He had come to enjoy spending time with the git, however, especially now that Pansy took up so much of the Weasel’s time, freeing Draco to get to know the real Harry. Opening the letter, his eyes fell to the signature before he even began to read. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the formal signature of HRH Viktor Stanislav Ianevski Krum, the wizard having received his full title following the death of his father. He leaned forward as he began to read, his right hand taking notes as he made his way down the parchment.
After a hurried meeting with Harry, a trip to his flat, and a stop by the International Port Key office, Draco was striding into the Gendarmerie office, his Bulgarian counterparts. Clearing his wand and notifying them of his intentions, he headed out into Muggle Sofia, to survey the scene. Viktor had informed him of the string of incidents that had been popping up across the Balkans, wild bursts of an unidentifiable magic, always with a pale man in the center of the destruction. The culprit had yet to be caught, and the Southeastern Europe Ministry of Magic was eager to get to the root of the attacks, the unfamiliar magical signature causing an almost palpable sensation of fear in the Gendarmerie office leaving a bad taste in Draco’s mouth. He had been personally chosen to investigate, not only because of his record with the DMLE, but for his uncanny resemblance to those men who seemed to be the catalyst for the attacks. Casting a quick Warming charm, he sped up as he made his way to the square where the last incident had taken place.
Wanda pulled her scarf tighter, attempting to block out the winter chill. She had just arrived in town, the tendrils of darkness already curling around the base of her skull. She no longer tried to fight the compulsion she felt to hurt those who reminded her so much of her binak , her survival tied to feeding the rage she still felt, now almost two years later, that her brother would throw away his life on another, would leave her alone, untethered. They had never been separated, nestled next to each other from their first flickers of life. Left here, alone, without him to tease, cajole, or even annoy her out of the terrors of her mind, she was forced to do whatever she could to quiet that roaring darkness. Being sure to keep her head down, she began to survey the crowd, knowing that tonight she would need to find a new target.
Later that evening, Wanda made her way out into the crowds, their obvious joy at the festive time of the year causing the rage in her heart to pulse as the cheesy pink and red decorations fluttered in the breeze. She closed her eyes to block out the unwelcome reminders of love in all its forms, taking a deep breath to focus herself. Once she felt centered, she opened them again, a dark smirk curling her lip when she spotted the bright white shock of hair further down the street.
Draco stamped his feet, his warming charm wearing off for the second time that evening. He was frustrated, both with the lack of any useable leads in the case he was chasing across the Balkans, and with the rowdy crowds flush with love. Draco didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but was it truly necessary to fill the streets with their boisterous demonstrations of devotion? He had already witnessed no fewer than three proposals, and he was getting ready to call it a night when something very strange happened.
Wanda slipped behind the tall man, her eyes calm as she took in his features. She followed him as he strolled along the busy street, trying to find a shred of remorse for what was to come. No longer content to simply lash out at those who reminded her so much of what she lost, she took her time, realizing that savoring the experience, drawing out the terror, kept her own demons at bay longer. This man was handsome, his features aristocratic, somehow seeming out of place in the slightly impoverished metropolis she found herself in now. When his wandering took him to a back alley, presumably as a shortcut to his next destination, she knew she needed to ask. Calming her mind, she breathed out, focusing only on the man she stood behind. Small tendrils of red light snaked out of her hands, tracing their way up his neck, disappearing into the base of his skull. She closed her eyes, readying herself to search for the images that would allow her to bring this stranger as much pain as she still carried with her, but her eyes flew open in shock when she encountered an all-encompassing white mist, obscuring everything. She lashed out when a pair of cold, slate gray eyes met hers, a dark smile curling his lips.
Draco knew the instant he had been targeted, his Auror senses on high alert already, but even if he had been off-duty, years spent with the Dark Lord as a roommate had taught him to been keenly aware of his personal space. He took the opportunity she presented to travel to a less populated area, not wishing for a public takedown. Spotting an alley, he made his way toward it, hoping it wasn’t suspicious to be wandering down a dark alley at this time of night. He had been waiting for an attack, and felt ice race down his spine as an intrusion to his mind was initiated. Draco was an accomplished Occlumens, courtesy of his acerbic Godfather, so he was unconcerned. The magic felt off, however, it had a heat to it that he had never experienced before. Hearing the gasp of shock behind him as she hit his mental walls, he spun on his heels, bringing his face down to level with hers. He felt a cold smile touch his lips as he contemplated his quarry, this faceless terror he had spent the last four months tracking. She opened her eyes just then, the sudden shock of him being prepared for her had her lashing out, blasts of energy striking Draco in the chest and throwing him almost fifteen feet. Casting a Stupefy at the woman, his own eyes widening when she repelled the spell with her bare hands. Draco threw up a shield charm, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Was this wandless, non-verbal magic? It felt elemental, not the steady, sure magic with which he was so familiar. They launched an offensive at one another, neither gaining any significant ground, but Draco’s eyes narrowed when he took a blow to the shoulder from a bike rack she had sent careening his way. She had no finesse, practically spitting in an unrealistic rage. His shield faltered, and he took a chance, casting a bombarda , followed quickly by a petrificus totalus while he knew she would be distracted by the bright white light of the exploding charm.
Pausing only momentarily to catch his breath and cast a healing spell on his shoulder, groaning as the bone reset, he made his way quickly over to the strange woman lying on the sidewalk, her eyes burning with a rage he hadn’t seen since Molly Weasley took off after his aunt. Unsure of how long the spell would hold, he cast an incarcerous , confident that whatever her strange magic was, she would be unable to break the magical ropes. Pulling a Portkey from his pocket, he grasped the Muggle paper cup in his hand, and attempted to hold onto the woman in the other. She was fighting against his bonds so ferociously, he knew that she would be harmed if they attempted to travel with her now. Pulling out his wand, he met her eyes as he spoke, chilled at the depth of suffering he felt there.
Wanda met his slate gray eyes, truly terrorfied now. Her rage suddenly fled, leaving behind the overwhelming and aching loneliness that had invaded her nights on her worst days after the battle at Sokovia. Suddenly she didn’t even care what may happen to her. Who was there to be concerned for her? What would it even matter? Her days at Hydra had been full of pain, but she had always had Pietro there to cheer her up, even as she was cleaning the marks from his pale skin. Now she was alone, and hopefully she would be able to join her binak soon. The man flicked his wrist and a stick appeared. He looked into her eyes, an oddly inquisitive sadness there.
“ Stupefy,” he murmured, and just before everything fell to a welcome blackness, she felt a tugging in her belly, along with a sudden jerk backwards.
Wanda opened her eyes, instantly on alert. She was no longer bound by ropes, but her hands were covered in what appeared to be metal mittens, a chain at the wrists connecting her to the wall of what appeared to be a cell. She closed her eyes, feeling for the weak points in the metal bonds. She was struggling to find it, the mittens appearing to be forged from a single piece of metal, but just as she found it, she heard a noise outside her cell door. Standing quickly, she hurried to the edge of the limits of her chain, getting as far away from the door as possible. The same light haired man entered, and she felt the fire of her rage ignite again. He entered the room, and as soon as he was close enough, Wanda sent a blast of energy to the weak point in the mittens, focusing the surge on the tips of her thumbs. They fell away and she jumped on him, grasping his head with her hands, desperate for an outlet for the rage and grief she felt swirling around inside her. Her eyes met his as she once again encountered that white mist, and she howled in rage. He planted his feet on the ground and lunged up, flipping them, grabbing her chin and crying out “ Legilimens! ”
She stilled instantly, and Draco was overwhelmed by the force of the darkness he felt there. It was like she had a Dementor living inside her mind. He caught an image of a man who looked shockingly like him, bleeding profusely, when suddenly, with a primal scream, he felt himself expelled from her mind, and her person. She crouched on the floor, blood trickling from her nose from the force of his intrusion, sobs wracking her body. He stood from the heap he had been thrown into, taking a cautious step toward her, when she curled up in on herself, a red light, with the same elemental feel as her magic before, covered her like a shield. Backing up, he realized this was beyond his scope. Closing the door behind him, he sighed, knowing what he needed to do, and dreading the cost.
A soft voice filled Wanda’s ears, and she opened her eyes. There was a woman standing before her, with large expressive eyes and riotous curls. She was surrounded by a warm glow, and Wanda felt calmer than she had in months. She relaxed slightly, and the red light surrounding her flickered out of existence. The woman moved slowly, never breaking eye contact as she made her way to the bed. Gesturing towards the bed, she sat down after Wanda nodded her consent.
“My name is Hermione Granger,” she began softly, her voice just as soothing as her presence. “Is there anything I can get for you? Within reason, of course,” she smiled, undeterred when Wanda continued to just stare at her. “I can’t imagine how unsettling this must be for you, but you must believe me when I say we just want to help you. Can you--”
Hermione broke off as Wanda burst out into laughter, the sound bitter and slightly manic, causing her to cringe inwardly at the memories in dredged up. She waited for the episode to pass, keeping a pleasant smile on her face.
“Why does it alvays start vith that phrase?” Wanda asked, tilting her head and peering at Hermione in a very Luna-esque way. “ We just want to help you,” she spat the words with a venom that chilled the air in the room. “First the Bengesko niamso and their fancy promises, to help us learn to control our powers. Then it was the Avengers, so eager to grant us freedom. Where did that get us?” She gazed beyond Hermione, her eyes unseeing and her face filled with pain.
“Us?” Hermione asked gently, not wishing to make the volatile situation worse.
Just as she feared, the red light began to swirl around the witch again, for whatever was causing the weird feel of her magic, she was certainly magical, and Hermione reacted quickly, snapping her wand at the woman while casting a powerful bewitched sleeping spell. Levitating the woman onto her bed, she covered her with a blanket before slipping back out of the cell. Spotting Draco where he was standing in the hall, she made her way over to him.
“Ferret,” she greeted, turning her nose up.
“Professor's Pet,” Draco replied, a haughty look on his face.
“Do you want to hear about what I do for extra credit, Malfoy?” she purred, enjoying the disgusted look that crept over his face.
“Ugh! No! That is my Godfather, Hermione. Please keep any and all tales of your deviant acts to yourself,” he shuddered, and she smiled. “So, are we in agreeance?” he asked, hunching his shoulders.
Hermione sighed. “Yes, I think so. She’s having uncontrolled bursts of magic, and I’m sure that is what the red energy is, but she seems to have it somewhat under control. Something triggered this,” she mused, biting her lip.
“Like a death?” Draco asked, an odd look on his face.
“Most likely,” she answered, “Why?”
“When I was in her mind,” he began, blushing when she glared at him, “I saw a man, I’m assuming he was the catalyst for the attacks. We bear a striking resemblance to each other. He was dead, bleeding on a dirty floor. He looked like he had been shot with a high powered weapon, multiple times. As soon as I uncovered that image she lost it, physically threw me off, I landed almost four feet away.”
“That would do it,” she murmured, “She is certainly some form of Obscurial, but without the weird photoplastic shape shifting. She has learned to manage it, been encouraged to do so at some point along the way, need to look up the Avengers and any German militaristic groups, but she lost whatever kept her grounded. I’ll do some research this week, just keep her in a magical sleep as much as you can. Have a Mediwitch out to set up maintenance spells for her bodily functions, as well as give her a check. Don’t mention the possibility of her being an Obscurial though,” she tacked on unnecessarily, Draco not needing that reminder.
“Thank you, Hermione,” Draco said, bending to kiss the top of her head. “Did you get her name?”
“No,” Hermione replied, her teeth back on her lip and a faraway look in her eyes. Knowing he had lost her to the mountains of research, he turned he toward the door and gave her a gentle nudge.
“Go on, I can see the pages turning in your eyes. Give Severus my regards?”
“Of course, Draco, see you this weekend,” she trailed off as she made her way down the hall, a dictaquill floating beside her already taking notes.
Turning back to holding cell 3, he thought of the fiery witch sleeping behind its door. Something about her spoke to him, and he wanted to help her heal.
“Good night, little scarlet witch,” Draco said, thinking of the vibrant colors of her magic. “We will figure this out, I promise you.”