The Battle of Perfecto

It was not until seven days after his death when the letter bearing the information about Don Rage’s wake was dropped on their doorsteps. It was in a handsome, black envelope, sealed in silver with the Tremaine Family Crest (a silver raven holding a wand in its talons and a triangular amulet hung from its neck).

The letter told them of the death of Marcus Hidalgo and his younger brother, Gordon Rage—although the details of how such a dreadful thing had happened were left out. The dates for the memorial service and the funeral were also included.

It was today, on the third hour of the afternoon.

Kristoff checked his watch and swore loudly when he realized it was already two-thirty. He hurriedly put on the mourning clothes he’d been wearing to all the funerals he had to attend to in the past week, and he Disapparated.

He reappeared, smartly dressed, at the edge of a forest. Tall pine trees surrounded him in every direction, mist swirled around his ankles, and the lonely cry of crows filled the air. He conjured a heavy cloak and wore it over his mourning clothes, wrapping it around himself warmly. As he did, there were several cracks! and witches and wizards appeared in almost the same spot as he did. He recognized them from the battle, wearing dark clothes and heavy veils, holding crutches and silk handkerchiefs. He nodded at them in greeting and began to walk towards the forest.

In the seven days that he waited for the invitation, he had been thinking about the fact that it was his wand that Don Rage had killed himself with. Don was an asshole for leaving him with that kind of emotional baggage and it was this resentment that kept Kristoff sane. If he could blame the dead guy, he couldn’t possibly inflict damage upon his own self.

In any case, he couldn’t bear to wield it after that, so he had resolved to surrender it to the Aurors for evidence and bought himself a new one.

Along the way, he saw Pryce, clad in a billowy black dress. Dodging trees and skipping over roots, he caught up with her.

“It’s ridiculous, this walk,” he said, matching strides with the witch. “Why can’t we Apparate on the actual spot?”

Pryce gave him an admonishing look. “The walk is for respect,” she said, “It would be quite rude if we just popped in there out of thin air without a proper entrance. Besides,” she adjusted the veil over her face, “There might be Muggles attending.”

She looked up and saw several winged men descending from the sky slowly and landed on the soft brown earth, scattering the mist. They folded their great gray or brown wings behind them and preened their crest feathers. She noticed them wearing a black ribbon around their arms, as a sign of mourning.

“See,” she said. “Even the Mulawin take their time to walk.”

Kristoff frowned. “Wait, how come the Mulawin are here when they weren’t in the battle seven days ago?”

Pryce shrugged, but she looked disturbed by the question. “Oh, Kristoff don’t—!”

But Kristoff was already striding towards the eagle-men, his newly procured wand out. He recognized one of them.

“Aguiluz!” he bellowed.

The Mulawin with the most impressive-looking crest turned around and looked at him.

“Yes?” he said tentatively, bowing his head slightly.

“How dare you show your feathery faces here,” Kristoff said, “Where were you when we fought Hidalgo back in Perfecto? Why were the Ravena there and you weren’t?”

“Please,” Aguiluz raised his hand in a show of peace. His feathers have become ruffled from distress. “There is no need to shout.”

“YES, THERE’S A GODDAMN NEED TO SHOUT!” Kristoff bellowed, sparks flying out of his wand. “ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

*

In the middle of the forest was a wide clearing, bordering its edges were the tallest of pine trees. Standing in the very middle was a stone pedestal. Propped upon it were two white coffins, laying parallel to each other. White flower petals—lilies, daisies, roses, and the like—were suspended in mid-air, surrounding the coffins like white curtains.

A hundred chairs were set up around the coffins, and upon which already a lot of witches and wizards were already seated.

Junix touched the marble lid of the coffin tentatively. It was cold, like the corpse encased within. Pulling out his wand, he cast it in a circle, murmuring, “Orchideous” and a wreath of white flowers appeared at the foot of the pedestal, resting with the others.

Shadows shifted above him. He looked up and saw, among the trees, dark shapes moving between them. Golden pinpricks glowed every now and then, as though from lampposts. He squinted and he could just about see an enormously grotesque face as the light caught it.

It’s the Kapre… he thought, a chill running up his spine. If they’re here, who else is?

He heard shouting. He raised his hood, covering his battle-scars and looked around for the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from the entrance of the clearing. Around him, the mourners were turning to check the commotion. Pulling out his wand, he made towards it.

There was a flurry of feathers and stray curses, and Junix was barely able to shield himself. Witches and wizards who passed the scene were decidedly ignoring it, giving the brawlers a wide berth and slipping into the clearing.

Junix pointed his wand at the ruckus and cried out: “Immobulus! ”

Aguiluz and Kristoff seemed to freeze in time. Aguiluz’s talons did not move any closer towards Kristoff’s face, while the wizard’s fist was a mere inch from the Mulawin’s gut.

“What is going on here?” he asked the immobilized duo.

“This man,” Aguiluz pointed with his eyes, “Assaulted me out of nowhere!” He had a cut on his cheek and his left eye was beginning to swell.

“Out of nowhere, my ass!” Kristoff yelled. “We were severely outnumbered in that battle! If you had showed up to help us, maybe Don didn’t have to make the decision to use the amulet! He didn’t have to die!”

“Enough,” Junix said. “We are here in honor of our friend’s death. Conduct yourselves properly.” He waved his wand and returned to them the ability to move.

Junix turned away but Kristoff unceremoniously grabbed him by the arm and wheeled him around. “It was you!” he yelled now pointing his wand at Junix’s chest. “You bewitched the amulet so it would strangle Don! You weakened him…killed him…”

“Kristoff!” Jolo who had just Apparated nearby had grabbed Kristoff by the shoulders, trying to pull him away. “Think about what you’re saying! You were there, weren’t you? Don killed himself. It’s no one’s fault! And besides, how could Junix have bewitched the second amulet when Don is protected by the shield-amulet?”

“I saw him wave his wand before Don had put the blasted thing on,” Kristoff said, seething. “I should have known you were up to something. You’re a Death Eater, after all.” He said the last statement loudly, causing several of the mourners to gasp.

The ex-Death Eater simply stared at the taller wizard with cold eyes.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I used a slow-acting Confundus Charm to confuse the amulet about its wearer. If, as I had hoped, Don was to be attacked by simultaneous spells, the Charm would act and convince the amulet that it should kill its wearer for its own protection.”

“I knew it! I knew—!”

“But I failed, didn’t I?” Junix interrupted, his voice as quiet and as steady as before. But he was now pointing his wand at Kristoff as well. “I heard that Don had somehow managed to break away from the string before it killed him. And that it was by your wand that he finally found death.” He sneered.

Kristoff looked enraged. The tip of his wand began to glow, burning a hole on Junix’s shirt-front. Junix opened his mouth to cast a curse.

“Enough,” said a voice, and there was a bang. Kristoff and Junix were blasted off in opposite directions, their wands flying into the air. Jolo had managed to cast a Shield Charm over himself and avoided the same fate.

Dave caught the wands deftly, and pocketed them. Beside him Aly blew out smoke from the tip of her wand and slipped it into her sleeve.

“Honestly, it’s like you’re not attending someone’s wake!” she said, rounding up on the two, who were now lying on the grass, soot covering their faces. “You two gentlemen better conduct yourselves properly or there will be more than that to look forward to.”

“But—!” Kristoff began to argue.

“No!” Aly broke him off. “Don is dead. Whether or not it’s Junix’s fault or yours is irrelevant. He is dead and the world will know less grief because of it.”

“How can you say that?” Kristoff said, standing up. “I happen to know you’re his closest friend.”

“I am,” Aly said, rising to full height. “But there is no denying the madness that had overpowered him that day. And Merlin knows the chaos he would have been able to wreak if he had not been stopped immediately. You saw him! One wave of his hand and thirty people were killed! It pains me to admit it, but yes, the world is a little better now without Don and Hidalgo. Especially Hidalgo.” And she strode off, the hem of her black cloak billowing, the mist scattering in her wake.

*

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. There was an old wizard who claimed to know the brothers when they were still kids and how pure they were of spirit, wouldn’t hurt a fly. And it was unfortunate that the cruelness of the world had corrupted such innocent minds, and how its ferocity has ruthlessly taken the lives of two young men, especially Don, who was barely out of his twenties, and Hidalgo, who had a son.

Those who really knew him, of course have resorted to recounting their stories of mischief and adventure to one another while the old wizard droned on and on.

As the afternoon wore into the evening, more mourners appeared from the edges of the trees. Most of them were not human. There were men with horses for head and hindlegs, there were creatures wrapped in so much cloth you could barely see their skin. The kapre had emerged from the shadows and came closer to the crowd, the golden light of their cigarettes like stars overhead.

There were several ladies dressed in fabrics of purest white. Although they looked to be only very attractive women, something about the glow of their skin and unnatural bounce of their hair hinted that they were something else. Tears were flowing silently from their eyes, and when it dropped away from their faces, it turned into crystal dust and was lost in the mist billowing around the ground.

“Devatas,” a voice said from beside Kristoff. He turned around and saw a bandaged man sit beside him. On his right hand he wore rings, which were glowing dully. He too was looking at the white-clad women with interest.

“I’m sorry?” Kristoff said.

“Devatas,” Jolo repeated, looking at Kristoff now. The bandages covered half of his face, and wrapped around his left hand. “Or diwatas, really. Fairies, if you will.”

“I didn’t know that Don was friendly with the fair-folk,” Kristoff mused.

“He was friendly with a lot of creatures,” Jolo replied simply, gesturing at the non-humans attending the wake.

Nodding, Kristoff returned to gazing at the women. Their bronze skin were smooth as marble, their black hair as light as air. Something about their grieving faces stabbed at Kristoff’s heart and he couldn’t bear to look any longer. Wrenching his eyes away from their beauty, he fixed his gaze instead upon the stark-white coffins before him.
*

It was already dark when the old wizard had finally finished his eulogy. He raised his wand and tapped each coffin in turn. With a soft rumble, they began to descend into the earth. Within minutes, they were gone from sight. The wizard waved his wand and the floating petals transformed into two elaborately designed headstones and set themselves over the brothers’ graves.

The Devatas began to sing a slow mournful song. Their voices carried into the wind, filling the hearts of the mourners with emotion and longing. It was a song of hurt, of loss, and everyone felt it. In time, the Mulawin sang with them in a mournful warble; pretty soon, the other creatures joined in, their voices weaving seamlessly, as though they were one practiced chorus. Wands were raised in the night; golden globes of light floated out of their wand-tips and surrounded them like brilliantly glowing bubbles.

*

Dinner was served. Long tables covered in white linen appeared around the edges of the clearing, laden with food. Witches and wizards gathered around them, talking to each other, mostly of how they knew either Don or Hidalgo.

Dave, who was piling his plate with several pieces of fruit, saw Aly talking to the Chief of the Philippine Auror Office and a man with round eyeglasses. Curious as to what they were talking about, he approached them.

“…checked Hidalgo’s wand?” Aly was asking interestedly.

The Chief nodded. “We did,” he replied. “We performed Priori Incantatem the moment you surrendered to us his wand.”

“What did you find?”

“Nasty stuff,” the Chief said, offhandedly. “Although we discovered some pretty nasty deeds done with the wand, none of them were, thankfully, to create Horcruxes.”

“Horcruxes?” Dave interjected. The three looked at him, surprised to find him listening in.

The Chief nodded, “Standard operating procedure. Had to make sure he really is dead, hadn’t we?”

“What about Don’s?” the bespectacled man asked, going back to the conversation. He had a British accent, and when Dave looked closely, he could just about make out the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

The Chief of the Aurors shook his head, “We were unable to recover Don’s wand from the scene.”

“It’s lost then?” the British wizard said.

“Oh, we found it,” the Chief said. “Just wasn’t able to recover it. It was shattered to splinters, you see. Not one piece was thicker than a toothpick. Quite irreparable.”

“So how can you be sure that Don doesn’t have any Horcruxes hidden?” the bespectacled wizard said.

“Oh, come on, now!” the Chief snorted. “Don, create Horcruxes? Don’t confuse him with Hidalgo, Mr. Potter! This is Don we’re talking about. The nicer of the brothers. It was just the amulet that made him bad in the end.”

But Aly and Dave had exchanged meaningful glances. What if?

*

“Seriously?” Kristoff said, almost spilling wine over himself. “Horcruxes?”

“You can’t deny it,” Dave said, “Don is talented enough to be able to create them. And, well, he wasn’t exactly as white as his coffin, was he? He certainly had tendencies.”

“Tendencies, maybe. But Horcruxes?” Jolo said incredulously. “Surely he wouldn’t go that far! Okay, he was, uhm, crooked most times but he wasn’t evil. ”

“Still,” Junix said, “It’s a possibility. Like you said, he certainly had the means. Whether or not he was too far gone into the darkness to actually create one…well, let’s just hope that he wasn’t.”

“But what if?” Aly said. “I saw him that day. He was casting the Cruciatus Curse like it was a simple Knock-Back Jinx. And Junix saw him use the Killing Curse without difficulty as well!”

Silence fell within the group. Could it indeed be possible that their friend had, in secret, created a Horcrux? Their very core debated against this possibility, but they knew that if there was a possibility that this sort of dark magic was performed, they couldn’t just ignore it…

“Oh, Merlin’s beard…” Kristoff rested his face in his hands.

Although they did not react as openly as Kristoff, they felt as he did. The weight of their new task fell heavily on their shoulders. They knew they must do it, for they knew they could not just hope for the best. They had to make sure. They had to be certain that the darkness that has overcome the Tremaine brothers has truly died with them.
*