#choice 1

“Harry?” 

He groaned and then winced. His head hurt. He reached up to rub his temple not that it seemed to relieve any of the pain. 

“Harry? My boy are you alright?” 

“What happened?” He asked, his head was a mess. It was like his thoughts were cloudy and when he tried to remember what happened, everything was just fuzzy. 

“You fainted.” The headmaster said, sticking his hand out to help Harry up. He fainted? why didn’t that sound right? And where was Madam Pomfrey? Shouldn’t she be here if he fainted? He shook his head, trying to clear the doubt. Why would the headmaster lie? 

It took him two attempts to find his feet and when he did he grabbed for his wand. Which made him feel silly. Again he shook his head, though he didn’t put it back in his pocket. 

When he looked at the headmaster, he noticed the man watching him carefully. His blue eyes on Harry’s wand.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Dumbledore asked and Harry nodded. His head felt like it had been kicked in but other than that he felt okay. 

“Then perhaps you should put that away?” The headmaster smiled when he said it but something about the tight smile and pointed look was off. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end.

“What am I doing in your office Professor?” Harry asked, the wand still held tight in his hand. Dumbledore frowned and Harry felt sweat start to build on the base of his neck. Why couldn’t he shake the unsafe feeling? 

“I asked you here to talk about you’re classes this year, you don’t remember?” Harry shook his head no and winced at the pain that vibrated through his skull. 

“You wanted to drop divination, I believe?” The headmaster asked. Harry thought about it. He had been thinking about dropping that class this year. It was pointless and he was sick of listening to crap predictions about his death. 

“Yeah?” He said, still not really sure. He moved to sit in one of the large chairs before him. His legs shook and he ended up leaning against the back, not quite able to make it all the way. He tried not to notice the way the headmaster tensed when he moved, or the fact that Dumbledore's wand was in his hand resting in the old man’s lap. 

“Well do you know what you wished to take instead, my boy?” Dumbledore asked. And Harry was stuck with the oddity of it all. The way the headmaster was sitting on the edge of his desk, the way they both held their wands, and the cautious look the man kept giving him. Not to mention the nagging voice in the back of his mind that kept reminding him he would have gone to Professor Mcgonagall if he wanted to change up is classes. 

“Runes.” Harry blurted out. It wasn’t a class he had any real interest in but it was the first thing that came to his mind. Right now he didn’t care about what class he would be stuck in, he wanted out of the headmasters office. 

I see.” The headmaster said tilting his head to the side. “That is a complicated class Harry, are you sure?” 

Frustration filled him and Harry pushed away from the chair, “Ye--” His head exploded and he grabbed it crying out. 

He fell to his knees all the while clutching his head. 

“Harry?” He heard the headmaster say through the ringing in his ears. An image of said headmaster pointing his wand at him crept through his mind, followed by the man shouting a spell at him. Harry gasped and fell forwards, hands going to the floor to keep him from falling face first into the carpet. 

Fuck, he cursed inward, remembering what had happened. He moved his right hand trying to subtly feel for his wand on the floor. He had dropped it, because of the pain a second ago and he needed it. Only he couldn’t find it. 

“Harry, what happened?” He heard Dumbledore get off his desk and tried not to tense. 

“My…head?” he stuttered out. “I think I need to see Madam Pomfrey.” 

“Stand up, Harry.” Gone was the caring gentle tone. Harry cringed, and looked up at the man he once trusted. Once again he found the headmaster’s wand pointed at his face though this time the man holding it seemed just as shocked as Harry. 

“How?” The headmaster muttered, as he looked Harry over. Then something sparked in his eye and the old man sneered, “Tom.” 

“Tom?” Harry asked confused, his right hand still searching the damned floor for his wand. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Dumbledore told him, “Now stand up!” The order was harsh, something akin to Harry’s uncle’s tone when he was pissed and wanted to take his anger out on Harry. Only this time Harry didn’t think he would be able to run away until the anger faded away. 

Carefully he stood up. He tried not to show the old man how scared he was, after all he had stood against Voldemort, he could stand against Dumbledore. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked, “You can’t obliviate me, clearly.” He was a little surprised by his own mockery.

The Headmaster’s gaze narrowed, “no, it seems I can not.” With a swish of his wand Harry found himself tossed into the chair he had been leaning against before, ropes appearing to hold him down. 

“You bas--” He tried to shout but another wave of Dumbledore's wand and he couldn’t make a sound. 

The man moved behind his desk, Harry watched as he searched the shelves for something. 

“You must know Harry, this is not what I planned. You seemed to have a habit, my boy, for ruining my best laid plans.” The man shot Harry a cold look before he turned away to look at a shelf full of small glass bottles. 

Potion bottles, Harry’s mind supplied and his heart started to race. The headmaster was going to kill him. He could feel it in his bones. It didn’t matter what the wizarding world would think, Harry had a feeling the ‘leader of the light’ would twist it around to make him look like he died a hero, then use it for his own means. It made him sick to his stomach, how had he not seen it before, Dumbledore was using him. And now that Harry knew, he couldn’t be allowed to leave. 

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wanted to beg and plead, but even if he wasn’t silenced he wouldn’t have. He had never begged for his life from the Dark Lord he wouldn’t do it now. 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and hope filled Harry, before Dumbledore could call them to enter or tell them to get lost the door opened and Herminore stuck her head in. Her eyes widened when she saw Harry and he tried to call out to her for help. 

“Professor?” She asked, entering the man’s office. The door closing behind her. 

The headmaster turned to look at her, he gave her a grim smile, “A small hitch in my plans, my dear, nothing that can’t be handled.” Harry’s blood ran cold as his best friend just nodded her head in acceptance.

“Well, his disappearance from the common room wasn’t missed, Sir, that’s why I am here. Some of the others are starting to ask where he is.” Harry cursed and shouted, though it was all muted because of the headmaster’s spell. 

“Tell them he is in detention. I believe he has been serving a number of them with Professor Umbridge.” 

Hermione nodded, “I’m sure Ron can come up with a good enough lie to convince the other.” She said and turned around and headed for the door. “Goodnight, headmaster.” She said and then she was gone. 

Harry stared at her completely lost. How could she betray him? She was supposed to be his friend. He could feel tears falling down his cheeks. First the headmaster and now Hermione, possibly Ron as well. Was it all a lie? Were all his friends lying and betraying him? And why? That was the biggest question rattling around in his brain, why? 

“Ah, here it is.” The headmaster said suddenly breaking Harry out of his heartbroken thoughts. 

He watched as the man crossed the room and only stopping before Harry, a small purple bottle* in his hands. 

“Drink this!” The man demanded and Harry couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows because seriously? No way in hell was he going to just drink something the headmaster wanted him too. What the hell was the man thinking?

“You know, Harry, there is a very efficient spell, that medwiches use to feed potions to unconscious or uncooperative patients.” The headmaster waved his wand over the bottle muttering something before pointing his wand at Harry’s stomach and then Harry could feel it, the sudden weight of something filling his stomach. He tried to struggle against the ropes holding him but it did no good. 

“Now.” The headmaster leaned down and grinned into Harry’s face. “Mutatio Interiorem Bestia.”

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and the caverns grew still with an eerie silence. Though they could not see the sky, ancient dials whispered the moons orbits and instructed the Jadebloods when it was time to rise and time to rest. There were no lingerers now; the murder was a fresh memory that shook many to the core and scared them off from mingling in the corridors. It was one thing to kill, but quite another to make death a work of art; it was not the Jadeblood way, they were not clowns at a circus or artists carving a subject from stone. No, they were caretakers, nurturers, and what they witnessed had went against everything they were told to be.

Though when you have lived long enough to see countless generations come and go, and remained privy to the slaughterhouse, these things do become numbing. Avonis slipped out of his dorm quietly, though not secretly. He was aware of the guards' suspicious stares burning holes into his body. This was fine, and he much welcomed the eye contact; he had everything to hide and nothing at all.

“Hello,” he said as he approached one of the guards. The guard stared at him expectantly, as if Avonis would make a move so suddenly. Avonis flashed a smile, hopeful to ease the tension, “Could you possibly escort me to Captain Risott?”

“You have business with him?”

“Why, yes, actually. He had claimed to want to speak to me.” The guard gave a displeased grunt. Avonis sighed, “I raised him. I am his ward.”

The guard looked to another on his left, the two exchanging glances before the latter nodding subtly. “Alright. Come with me.”

Avonis was thankful for the silence on the walk to the captain's quarters. Words were hard to come by in times like these, and Avonis was sure that when they had passed the crime scene both of them would be stunned into silence anyway.

Dhavra had been in the middle of a conversation with another guard. Upon seeing Avonis, Dhavra's expression softened, and the cold tone he was using for his peer had warmed. He dismissed both guards in the chamber and wrapped an arm around Avonis. He gave a cocky grin, “Ah, and here I thought you'd never show up.”

“I'm in no mood for quips,” Avonis waved him off and ducked away from his arm. “You have explaining to do, Dhavra.”

“Yes yes, very well,” the taller Jadeblood sighed and pulled Avonis to his desk. “I have patrols to make and protocols to run, but let's humor this.”

“Humoring? Is that what you call it?” Avonis took a seat on the opposite side of the table, never moving his sight from his son.

Dhavra spread his hands, “I didn't do it, Avonis.” There was conviction in his voice, an earnest tone; not too deep and gruff like when he lies. Avonis eyed him suspiciously, waiting for more. “It is fair that you seek me out on assumption. We both know my past time isn't very... clean. But I would not kill the mistress.”

“But grubs and Auxiliatrixes are fair game? That doesn't make a lick of sense.”

“Avonis, you know me. I don't perform with my meals. Whatever the hell that was back there belongs to some twisted freak.”

Avonis considered this for a moment, then with a defeated sigh leaned in and rested his arms on the captain's desk, “Do you have any leads on who did, then?”

“Mhm, the biggest suspicion at large is the Fuchsia.”

“Captain Mikari?” Avonis blinked. The Oterland Caverns had recently undergone an inspection, a semi-regular ordeal in which caverns undergo what is essentially a health and legal check-up to make sure the systems are upheld and in order. The inspector this time was accompanied by a personnel from the Fleet; Captain Kairos Mikari, who seemed just as enthused to be here as a cat in water. On one hand, it made sense; Kairos and the inspector were what are considered to be “Outsiders,” and Kairos' reaction to the body was... different. Unexpected. But just the same, what motive could Kairos have? Not only would it be legal for someone of their caste, but there would be nothing to gain from it.

But then again, what was there to gain from killing Kyllia to begin with for anyone? Avonis frowned. He knew the Troll in front of him had been wanting to move up even higher in the hierarchy for sweeps now.

“A convenient accusation,” Avonis said.

“Believe me, don't believe me, I do not care,” Dhavra waved him off. “Regardless of the matter, there's no present evidence for anyone involved.  Whoever did this is a fucking ghost. No prints, no witnesses. We're still in the middle of interviewing and going over alibis. All this hoofbeast shit frankly makes me want to hunt.”

Avonis pulled his brows together, “Another murder in the midst of all of this? Are you insane?”

“It can easily be chalked up as related to this case, if I play my cards right. Come on, aren't you feeling it too? We can hunt together, just like old times.”

Another invitation. Avonis had to admit the constant stress and tireless work forced him to use a lot more energy than usual, and his fangs as of late would ache with thirst. The elder Jadeblood shook his head, “How many times must I refuse you before it gets through your head that we are not meant to do any of this? At least be smart about this, Dhavra.” He paused, and gave a sad, slow blink, “I raised you better than that.”

“You raised me to be a killer,” Dhavra said, “And now you look at me with disappointment. Won't you make up your mind?”

“I raised you to be the best self you could be,” Avonis countered, but soon fell to sighs of defeat and slumped shoulders. “Have you seen Surlas since the incident?”

“No, I have more important things to do than making sure his little feelings aren't hurt.” Avonis wouldn't have expected anything more; the two unrelated brothers often didn't see eye-to-eye.

Quite irritated, Avonis pardoned his leave and left the captain's office after exchanging a few more words about Kyllia's murder. The armory was semi-closed for investigation, being the source of the sword-wings of the angel. With permission from the captain, Avonis departed for it.

On his way there, he glimpsed a familiar Seadweller: the aforementioned Captain Mikari. Of course, Avonis wouldn't refer to their title to their face. It was all part of the little dance they played, and Avonis was sure that if there would ever be a time he would refer to Kairos as captain in front of them, that he would be a grand pain in the ass about it. The thought of teasing the aloof Troll brought a small smile to Avonis' face and a quick flutter to his chest. So much so, that he paused in the entry of a corridor and cast Kairos another glance. They seemed to be waiting outside of the Overseer's office; the Overseer and inspector were probably having a meeting inside. This brought an amused huff from the Jadeblood, and he rose his voice just enough for Kairos to hear: “woof.” The smile turned into a content smirk as Kairos scowled at him, though the upward tilt at the corner of their mouth was not unnoticed. Content, Avonis carried on further down the corridor.

Unsurprisingly, the armory was crawling with guards. He could not enter the armory in full, but he could see just enough from where he stood. To his surprise, two other Trolls he dearly loved were here, too.

“Surlas? Mehrri?”

Mehrri, as beautiful as ever, waved quietly. It was clear that she had been crying; her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were splotched with green. The youngest son turned, round eyes turning rounder at Avonis' presence. “Oh! Da! What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you both the same.”

“Being nosy, as per always,” Surlas offered a nervous laugh. He had always been a timid sort, though often his curiosity outweighed his apprehension. Whatever topic was presented to him as a child Surlas would exhaust every resource to study it. He had spent hours in the archives pouring over records and various documents. He would have been happier as a Memorand like his father, though Avonis was sure to better Surlas on the path of an Auxiliator-- a job Surlas does remarkably well. Very quickly Surlas became one of the most respected Auxiliators of the cavern, sharing the same pedestal as Avonis once did. “Mehrri wanted to see the armory.”

“Is that so?”

“I just want to know,” she barely got her voice out, “Who could do such a thing?”

“You should leave that to the investigators, darling,” Avonis held out his arm and Mehrri flocked to him, wrapping her arms around his chest and sniveling. He embraced her in a warm hug.

“I can't,” she sobbed. “Someone killed her. I have to do something. I'm so scared. They made her an angel.” Avonis nodded. Angels were agents of destruction, wraiths of anger that heralded the end times. With this in mind, Avonis froze, his eyes wide. Didn't this mean that Kyllia's death was a warning? That there would be more to come? He couldn't help but shiver; didn't Dhavra ask him to go hunting just moments ago?

“Merhii, Surlas, I need you to inform the Overseer of this.”

Mehrii blinked up at him, “What?”

Avonis held the girl close to him, comfortingly, “Dear, I fear that Kyllia won't be the last.”

Surlas stepped up, “What do you mean?”

“Kyllia was made to look like an angel, right?” He ignored the silent shaking of Mehrii's shoulders. “Angels serve the Goddess Spirit.”

The young woman sounded terrified, “Heralds...”

“So there will be more?” Surlas himself looked frightened as he and Mehrii exchanged glances. Avonis could have sworn there was something else there, something next to the fear, but there could only be so many things paired with such misery.

“You, guard,” Avonis gestured for one to approach. A burly man with uneven tusks. Avonis flashed him Dhavra's sigil: permission to do what he pleased here, within reason. It was meant to allow Avonis entry into the armory, but he felt as if the show of credential would allow the guards to take their claims more seriously. “Please escort these two to the Oversee'rs office. We have information regarding the case.” The guard nodded curtly and began to lead the two younger Trolls away. Avonis watched them with a pained expression of worry.