I am dissonance waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune

Hogwarts had been an illusion. From a practical standpoint, she’d been much better off back then than she was now, ousted from her pedestal and teetering over an ever thinning tightrope. Still, Emma knew things weren’t altogether that different anymore – the rules were the same; it was the scenery that’d changed.

When she felt a gentle hand at her shoulder, Emma stiffened at the familiarity; it was as if those seven years had all come rushing back.

“Benjy,” she breathed, his name sounding sounding more like a long forgotten question than an acknowledgment. Dazed, Emma turned to look over at him, eyes both seeing and unseeing. The taste of blood in her mouth was strangely the most comforting sensation in between the grisly sight of her fallen professors and the reemergence of ghosts from the past. After another’s moment’s worth of blank staring, she seemed to regain her bearings, “I’m fine. My day’s looking a lot better than theirs at any rate.”

His words, emphatic and concerned as ever, stirred something within her that she couldn’t be sure was altogether positive. Benjy had been one of the few people to ever catch a glimpse past the mask of her Hogwarts days. He’d been on both sides – treated with grudging fondness and ruthlessly belittled – and for some reason he’d always stuck around. It was a curious phenomena, one she’d never been able to decide if she appreciated or resented him for. “Take that up with Macnair, I hear he’s always up for a bit of constructive criticism.” Her gaze swept over the surrounding area carefully, noting that not many people had eyes for anything that wasn’t currently splayed across a bloodied stage. Still, it was best to not linger. With a cautious tilt of her head she motioned for Benjy to follow her a little ways off from the exhibition. If anyone thought to ask what she was doing with a muggleborn, she’d claim a pressing question about the apothecary business. Emma cleared her throat, “How’s life been treating you, then?”

She hadn’t needed to give him those moments of kindness; she hadn’t needed to even acknowledge his existence, but she had, and that was what he took forwards with him on the days where harsh words dripped past her dark red lips.

The sound of his name was like a ghost, hauled forward from the depths of time, from another life. It seemed at times as though Hogwarts was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream they’d all jointly imagined. The horrors that surrounded them now ripping away the sanctuary of peace that had enveloped them within those walls.

“I think everyone’s day is looking better than theirs, unfortunately,” he replied, his gaze steady on the corpses of his beloved professors. “Which is saying something, considering the amount of misery that is hanging in the air around us.” Brown eyes glanced over meeting blue, his chest feeling tight as he stood beside her. He would not cry. A reaction is what they all craved.

Sliding along through the crowd, he moved with her off to the side, not a single person disturbed by them, all of them focused solely on the message the Death Eaters had left behind.

This was what happened when you hoped.

“You know, I would tell him he’s doing a sloppy job, but I would like to keep my own head for the time being,” Benjy retorted, pushing his fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his head. “I’m rather fond of it and I don’t think I could put my mother through that after everything that’s happened.” With a sigh, he glanced back towards the stage, eyes lingering on the prone form of his Head of House. “She’s the one that saw my talents, you know.”

Trying to shake off the growing sickness as it gurgled and grew inside of his gut, he focused his attention on Emma, deciding it was important to move forward.

“Oh, you know. Mum died. Depressing, tragic, gave up healing for a while so I don’t have to see...,” he gestured behind him towards the corpses, letting out a huff of air. “A lot of good that did me.” His teeth pressed hard into his bottom lip, pain shooting through his system, screaming at him to stop, lest he break skin. “Now everyone is going on about those flyers and I just want to live a peaceful existence. Seems like a dream now.” With furrowed brows, he looked across at her, eyes wandering over delicate features. “My real question is, how can you stand it all? How have you been surviving?”

It was difficult to tell which of the two had brought on the shivering first: the frigid cold and biting wind… or the strewn corpses on display, their blood still painting the snow red. 

Emma’s blank gaze remained fixed on a patch of cobbled earth a mere inch or two away from the stage; it was soaked in crimson, the steady pitter-patter of blood dripping from their victim’s severed neck beating against the ground in eerie motion. It was all she could make out – everything else was just white noise. 

Hope is not dead. We fight in Dumbledore’s name; join us.

Right. 

She was distantly aware of her uncle’s presence looming behind her shoulder, but whatever else he might have been trying to say or do, along with others still loitering around the scene of the crime, felt strangely insignificant to her. Sentimentality, it’d been said, had never quite found its way into the Burke family gene pool and sure enough, even standing there, staring at their blood with her stomach feeling as though it’d been weighed down by frozen bricks, Emma’s compassion towards her former professors was sparse. Instead she simply felt… cold. Exhausted. Vindicated in the absolute worst of ways. Hope was nothing but another pipe dream they’d do well to stop chasing.

“Looks like the Alley’s down another man.” Caractacus noted stiffly, and though she didn’t have to spare a glance his way to know his expression would be as inscrutable as ever, Emma suspected the sight of Hagrid’s mutilated body hadn’t been an easy one for him to swallow; the man had been one of them, after all. 

There was a sharp, shooting pain along the side of her mouth and she tasted rust. “… Looks like.”

Caractacus sniffed, kicking off snow from his shoes. “Ah, well…” He turned his back on the bloody scene and stared straight ahead. “Mieux vous mourrez que moi.”

Emma finally raised her eyes from the pool of red, the sound of her uncle’s retreating footsteps growing fainter by the second. They found themselves drawn to the pair of limp bodies on stage and, unaware that she was being approached from behind, she smiled something small and mirthless, tone grim as she translated to herself, “Better you die than I.”

While he felt numb and hopeless, an anger rested in the far reaches of his body, nestled in firmly against the curve of his bones. It was something he would never acknowledge, the sad ache of loss curling thick over his entire being like an old and worn blanket.

Grief was something he was familiar with, grief was something he could handle.

The forms of his old Professors lingered upon the stage, their corpses still fresh; the metallic scent of blood pouring over the street. He felt helpless in a way that overcame him, making his muscles feel weak inside each limb, legs refusing to pull him away from the scene he despised most.

In his mind’s eye, all he could see was his mother. Her soft hair, cascading over his legs as he held her prone body against his chest. The way her eyes stared blankly, an empty shell that no longer housed one of the women he called home. Life was so fragile, so special. It didn’t deserve this treatment.

The crowds had begun to part, but he didn’t move, couldn’t move, until his gaze landed upon a familiar form a few feet away. Dirty blonde hair cascaded down her back, her shoulders tense, her face turned away --- but he would know her anywhere, familiarity hitting him like a punch to the gut.

Heavy feet brought him closer, each step a weight that dragged him down, pulling his soul towards the earth, trying to rip it out from inside of him. But he held on, tight and unyielding, knowing that giving up was not an option.

With long pale fingers, he reached out, enclosing his hand upon her shoulder, keeping his touch light.

“Emma,” he managed to say, the word caught in the back of his throat, thick like honey. “Hi. Are you okay?” He asked, Benjy’s concern moving to envelop his friend before him. He knew from experience, her ability to bottle her emotions, as if they were tincture she could keep bound tight and locked away in the dark.

“They should really move those bodies. They deserve a funeral. They deserve... more.”

“In order to stay the best in the field one must stay on top of the latest developments, no matter how ill thought out they may be. Don’t you agree?” Why else would Severus subscribe to all the international potions journals and religiously stalk the new arrivals at the bookshops? Just for the fun of it? No, his curious streak and his need to better himself pushed him to take in as much information as he could. After all, you could not always tell what would come in use further on down the line.

“Happy endings are for children’s books, not for real life.” Nothing was ever as simple as fairy tales made them out to be. The muscles in his jaw twitched at Benjy’s mention of the so-called revolt, his blood on the verge of boiling, the memory of the Dark Lord’s reaction to the flyer incident still fresh in his mind. “Whoever was responsible is foolhardy and has as good as signed their own death warrant once their identity becomes known.” He sniffed, his expression less than impressed. Dumbledore was a fool and clearly his followers fared little better than he did. “It’s moronic.”

Well, that did not have quite the reaction that Severus had been anticipating. “I am familiar with the tales, I read them as a child.” His eyes rolled. “Can’t say that I particularly enjoyed them. The tales are a little too preachy for my tastes. Although I have to admit that I appreciate the darkness of The Warlock’s Hairy Heart - however outlandish it may be.” He shook his head. “That is but the folly of man. The third brother was the only one who had the right idea.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, he leaned against the bookshelf, his eyes roaming about the colorful spines. “I expect that would be the case, yes. Though what do I know about it? I gave up healing, for the most part. The only thing I need to know is what potion and salve does what. Not really that complicated, if you ask me,” he commented, lifting one of his feet to scratch at the back of his other leg. “Do you consider yourself one of the best in your field? Should you be the one I recommend people to when they need the strongest potions on the market then?”

With a sigh, he pursed his lips, crinkling up his nose a moment later. “Yeah, expect that’s true the more I live. It’d be nice though, wouldn’t it? If we could all get our happy endings. Though I guess some of them would contradict one another. Would get complicated really fast,” he muttered, finding himself lost in thought as he considered the logistics of how it would be possible. Shaking it off, he blinked across at Sev, chewing down on his bottom lip. “Well, I would expect the feel they have nothing to lose. Why else would they go to such extremes? Think some people already feel dead the way things have been going. That’s when it gets dangerous, doesn’t it? When people feel like they’ve got no other choice, they tend to pace like starved lions. Just hoping no one waves a stake at them to provoke them. We don’t need any more massacres.”

His face lighting up, he let out a laugh as he tried to imagine a little Severus hunched over the tales. “You’ve read them? Wow, that’s unexpected. I would have thought they would be too unrealistic for you, even at that age. You don’t seem the type to stand for that kind of nonsense,” Benjy commented, giving him a smile. “Are you trying to say that you are intending to do as the third brother did? Perhaps we’re not all so clever as to hide from death.”

      Amycus chose to say nothing.

       False politeness was difficult, but it appeared that Benjy (so that was his name. Interesting) had a genuinely friendly nature (even more interesting).

       Amycus again halted suddenly as one of the pups pulled, keeping the leash tight against his body as he allowed the other to explore. No use in punishing them both for one’s mishap. “Amycus,” he replied calmly. He waited ten count and then moved again, observing the way the puppies caught on to his quiet instruction fairly quickly. Dog was difficult as a puppy. He had a tendency to chew and tug his leash every time Amycus stopped, leading him to purchase two so he could drop one every time the pup decided it was a game. At least these two weren’t as testy.

      Pale green eyes darted to Benjy’s footwear and slacks, noticing his attire in silence.

       “You are a w-wizard.” It was an observation, not a question. His gaze trailed up Benjy’s thin body to land on his face to study his expression.

        Amycus was silent for a moment as they walked along, stopping briefly when he felt a tug against one of the leashes. He wondered, how in Merlin’s name, Benjy would train five at once.

“Amycus? That’s an interesting name. Doesn’t it mean friend or something like that? I remember that it was in one of the books I used to read. It’s Greek, one of the sons of Poseidon or something,” Benjy rambled as he tried to remember the story from long ago. He’d taken a liking to the Greek mythologies before he’d gone to school, the idea of grand adventures and dangerous creatures captivating his imagination. He would often wonder if they were real, if the legends were actual tales of lives that had come before his own. Of course, they had all been tales; once he’d realized he lived in a world with adventure and dangerous creatures, the ideas stopped being so appealing.

Walking along, gripping the three leashes tightly, the dogs tried to pull towards his companion as they stopped walking again. He looked at Amycus curiously, blinking as he confirmed that he was a wizard, glancing down at himself to try and figure out what might have given it away.

“W-what? Oh, well, yes... I expect since you’re not shocked by that you’re probably a wizard yourself? How did you know I was one?” He asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to itch his nose with his finger, his hand jerking to the left, nearly poking himself in the eyes as his pup darted.

“I’m all about respect! I think they respect me. Maybe. I mean, I feed them, I give them everything they need, so why wouldn’t they respect me? I’m certainly calm,” Benjy said, trying to analyze his own behavior compared to that of what Amycus was saying. He couldn’t see where he was handling the dogs incorrectly, he certainly felt in control of himself. He never missed an opportunity to reward the pups for what they were doing right. He imagined it was probably being hindered by having so many, but he figured that just meant it would take them a little longer to settle in to their proper behaviors.

       “It is pretty clear that the only one who didn’t underes-t-timate you was you yourself.” Amycus exhaled a breath of fog and watched as it evaporated into thin air. His ankle lifted to rest against his knee and he relaxed against the hard back of the curved, wooden bench. Foot bobbing, he observed the puppies individually. The sheer variety of their breeds would send even experienced dog trainers to the madhouse. From high-energy to sick-ridden to easily bored to a few that were clearly mixed everything, possessing Merlin knew what kind of dominant traits and personalities, it was the most eclectic group of dogs he’d ever seen. They got along now, as puppies, when they were too naive to start fights when all their brains could focus on was exploration and play. If their owner gained no control over them, they might eventually turn on one another. Some would be no more than fifteen pounds while others would top out at over one hundred. Amycus wondered what in the fuck this strange man was thinking. It was why he’d always considered compassion a weakness; it lead people to make foolish decisions based on emotions rather than logic.

       Pale, almost iridescent skin practically sparkled beneath overcast skies, accentuated by pitch-black hair surrounding his sharp face. Amycus studied his expression, the way heavy lids shielded dark eyes and an undeniable look of hope colored his expression. It was startlingly fascinating, the way he moved as though he was a composition of multiple ideologies. Beneath taut skin, veins rushed with blood. Beneath muscle, a heart twitched with nervous energy. Beneath bones, marrow kept him sturdy and steady. But what else made this man who he was?

“I like a challenge,” Benjy replied almost immediately, glancing down at the dogs around his feet. He knew it would be a lot of work to raise them, to be able to get them to behave, but he honestly didn’t mind. It gave him a feeling of purpose along with his work at the apothecary, something to look forward to when he wasn’t on the job to fill the silent hours alone. He’d needed a task, something to focus on, and he’d certainly managed to give himself that in spades. “It’s a good distraction. I used to have a lot harder job than just training dogs for hours on end, so in a way, this is almost like a vacation. I might not be succeeding yet, but I’ll get there with time and practice,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as his gaze moved back up to the man before him. “It sure beats watching people die for hours on end.”

He huddled in on himself, stomping his feet to try and warm himself up better. The chill in the air was biting and he couldn’t fathom how the man before him had his coat open. He expected he might catch a chill later, and the mediwizard in him wanted to comment, but he tried his best to bite it back, knowing that most people didn’t appreciate unsolicited advice. “What’s your name, by the way? I’m Benjy. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he offered, hoping that his forwardness would be welcome, considering they were the only two in that area of the park. He imagined the cold weather had likely driven most people off, though it was usually busier regardless of the temperature.

“Well they,” he paused as if finding the words. “they don’t seem entirely powerless.” One hand gestured grandly to the Alley around them, all but mummified in the Order’s rhetoric. He’d have to track down McGonagall later and pester her for information. Wondering about the who and the when and the how of it all was going to drive him to distraction. “It can’t just be one mad individual, with all of this. There’s got to be something more going on. Something they think can actually be done.”

He turned his eyes from Benjy and back to Frank. He wanted to nudge Frank again, another prod with his elbow that would translate to look at this, look at this, there might be something here! But even Sirius Black was better at subtlety than that. If just barely.

Sirius’ exuberance only heightened the excitement tenfold, almost tempting Frank to launch into battle strategies he’d formulated over a bottle of scotch in the darkness of his flat, but one brief sweep of the alley rendered him more sensible. “I would very much like to discuss who and how and why, boys, but-” one hand swept, lingering pointedly on the growing number of death eaters circling like vultures.

“Shall we take this conversation-” and this evidence, he added silently, all too aware of the pamphlets they all still held. “To a place more secure.” He winked at Sirius, chuckling in a delightful way he hadn’t been able to do in months. “I’d very much like to get to the bottom of this.”

“My apartment is around the corner. Failing that we could go to my work, but my coworkers include some people who might not be so happy about this news,” Benjy murmured, gesturing to the pamphlet between his fingers as he thought of Severus, knowing he’d likely sneer at the idea. He wasn’t there all the time, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to take his chances. “Come on, it will be quiet there and definitely no chance of running into anyone accidentally.” He turned to lead them down the street, folding the pamphlet in hand into a small delicate square before shoving it in his back pocket.

“Fair warning, I have a lot of dogs. Well, puppies,” he said off-hand, knowing it might come as a surprise when they entered and yips filled the air. “But, do you guys know anything about you-know-what? This...whole thing? Are you involved somehow or looking to be?”

Severus waited for the other man to stop with the incessant rambling and questions, a hand reaching into his pocket for his wand. How tempting it was to cast a silencing charm on Benjy, leaving Severus to collect his book in peace and get on with his day. No. He had to resist it. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and relinquished his hold on his wand. He looked back to Benjy with a tight-lipped, if unfriendly, smile. “To answer your questions; yes, it is a potions book. No, I don’t need your help looking for it. If you’re looking for a distraction, perhaps the fiction section might provide you with what you’re looking for.” And it was at the other end of the shop. He scoffed slightly. The binding matching his clothing - what on earth was Benjy going on about. “No, that’s not the book I’m looking for. I picked a copy of that one up last week.”

“Should be enough.” He grumbled, his hand gliding along the polished wood of the shelf. “The book I’m looking for..” He trailed off, his fingers latching onto the dark green leather of the spine. “is this one.” He pulled the book from the shelf, running a hand over the embossed lettering on the cover. “You want a book suggestion?” His eyebrows raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps you’d enjoy this one.” He removed a slim volume from the shelf and held it out towards Benjy. “A new illustrated edition of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”

Glancing down at the potions book in his hand, he shrugged his shoulder, placing it back on the shelf. “Oh, alright then, I suppose that makes sense. Wow, you’re really fast at picking these up, aren’t you? I guess when you’re dedicated to your craft, it’s important to know all the latest information,” he commented, his eyes scooting over the shelves, looking for any other copies of potions books. “Though, aren’t you always going on about how dumb a lot of them are? I swear I’ve heard you mumbling under your breath about changes that needed to be made to get things to work right. Why do you think that is?” He turned to face Severus again, looking at him curiously, shaking his head as he mentioned fiction. “As much as I love fiction, I’m trying to live more in the real world now. Fairy tales are just that...fairy tales. When’s the last time someone you knew got their happily ever after? Though, this whole revolt thing is rather crazy. I guess some people are trying to be the heroes of their own story. Is that maddening?”

He glanced down at the dark green leather, smiling as he saw the book Severus had been looking for. Reaching out he grazed it with his fingers before waving his hand at the suggested title for him. “No thank you, I already have that one. Got it the week before last,” Benjy commented, cocking a brow at him. “If you think that’s meant to be insulting, it’s not. Though I would suggest you pick it up. There’s a lot you can learn from those tales that perhaps you would find interesting. They are quiet fascinating. Especially the tale of the three brothers. There are many around now that could learn from the story of the brother that desired power.”