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strangeness & charm.
act one, are you satisfied?
chapter seven, promises, promises.

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THE DARK MARK
the quidditch world cup
august 1994

      VIKTOR KRUM PACED BACK and forth in front of the massive fireplace.

      His hands, hot from the live fire's flames, were clasped tightly behind his back. A tight expression hardened his features, and the knot in the pit of his stomach was causing such severe nausea that his head felt as though it were filled with air.

      "This calls into serious question your decision to enter the Triwizard Tournament."

      Viktor's Senior Manager sat on the sofa a few paces from the fireplace, his knuckles white as he grasped his hands tightly in his lap. Harlan Veryan leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his knees, and watched Viktor's repetitive motion with increasing unease.

      Viktor didn't pause, but his head snapped to face Harlan as he continued to pace.

      "I will not recall my name for the tournament," He said shortly.

      Harlan dropped his head into his hands momentarily before he looked back at Viktor with weary eyes.

      "Viktor, this is dangerous. If they are capable of such an attack on the Quidditch World Cup - with, mind you, every damn Ministry official in attendance – who is to say Hogwarts isn't their next target? The Cup makes Hogwarts look like candy."

      The Quidditch World Cup had been five days prior. News of the event had been splashed across the front cover of every news outlet in the Wizarding World, but much to the Quidditch teams' dismay, it wasn't due to the fantastical ending of the match.

      A mere two hours into a peaceful sleep, Viktor had awoken to his teammate, Vulchanov, shaking him so violently that he had nearly fallen out of bed.

      "It's them, Viktor. Deatheaters," Vulchanov had said, his face so pale it had glowed in the pitch black room like a lantern. Raw, unmasked terror had cloaked Viktor's heart at his teammate's words. The two had scrambled through the quarters awakening every living body.

      When it had dawned on Viktor that the only way out of the stadium was to traipse through the scenes of terror taking place above, he had blasted the windows clean from the wall and allowed the team to escape through the forest. The image of the Bulgarian National team's staff tent colored red with flames was still burned in the front of his mind.

      "I won't do it, Harlan," Viktor repeated with increased fervor.

      Harlan groaned with a shake of his head and stood to match Viktor's height.

      "What– what is it? I really must know. Is the fame associated with being an international quidditch star not enough for you, now? Why, on Merlin's green Earth must you make this suicidal grab at glory–"

      "I have enough of that," Viktor said tightly. "And... I appreciate it. But, this tournament is something else."

      Harlan sighed. "Explain it to me, then."

      "I don't know how."

      Harlan placed a palm to his temple. "Great Merlin."

      "I will recall my name for the tournament if we have reason to believe that what happened at the Cup will happen at Hogwarts," Viktor said, his Bulgarian accent thickening as his voice softened. "But not until then."

      His manager's lips pressed tightly together, stress riddling his forehead.

      "Fine, then," Harlan said after a long pause. "But, Viktor."

His eyes found Viktor's and held them intensely. "I've been against this from the start – and truly, I cannot even begin to describe to you how furious the other officials were. Magnus nearly shot up in flames. If you are doing this, I expect your highest focus. Nothing distracts you. I need you at the top of your game for the summer season, and in order for you to do that, you have to do well in this tournament."

Viktor nodded, inhaling deeply. A tightness spread across his chest.

"I need your word, Viktor," Harlan asked softly.

"You have my word." Viktor's eyes bore into Harlan's like a nail through a piece of plywood.

The two men watched one another for a few more seconds. Then, Viktor turned his back to Harlan and faced the open flames of the fireplace once more.

"I heard that the staff tent burned. Did everyone make it out?" Viktor asked after a moment, and it was by no conscious power of his that the face of the dark-haired woman he had met only hours before the chaos swam to his mind.

Harlan nodded tiredly behind Viktor's back. "We all made it out. A few of us suffered minor injuries, but they were superficial. Nothing a few days of rest can't fix."

A short exhale of relief left Viktor's nose before he could stop it, and though it hadn't been meant for Harlan's ears, the man across from him looked up at the sound. Harlan's eyes burned holes through Viktor's shoulder blades like two hot, branding irons.

"That is good," was all Viktor managed to say. Then, silence.

...

Nora had been curled up in her childhood twin-sized bed for the better part of a week, but she had hardly slept.

Her body was so exhausted she could hardly move, yet every time she even attempted to close her eyes to seek rest, all she saw were fiery, hot flames engulfing canvas. The memories flooded her every sense and clawed at her stomach.

Blinding bursts of green light illuminated the scene before them. A mob-like group of wizards, tightly packed and moving quickly, was marching slowly across the field of tents. Black hoods and masks hid the faces behind the monstrosity, and Nora's stomach fell to her feet with a sickening thunk.

Deatheaters.

Nora found it suddenly difficult to breathe, and it was no longer due to the mounds of ash from the burning canvas of the tent lingering in her airway.

High above the group, hanging midair, were four figures flapping uselessly, helplessly. Two of the figures, she suddenly realized, were very small – children. Their pleading cries for help sent bile rising quickly into Nora's esophogus.

The crowd beneath the figures had wands pointed at them as though commandeering them through a sick game of puppets.

"Hurry," Came Harlan's voice from the front of the group, and Nora distantly felt Ruth's fingers enclose around her wrist before pulling her along quickly.

As the group passed behind another burning tent, the faces of the floating figures came fully into view. Nora's knees swayed beneath her as her body fought the urge to fall to the ground.

They were muggles.

She knew in the way they were dressed, still in their cotton nightclothes, knew by the terror-stricken confusion pasted glaringly on all four of their expressions. They'd had no warning.

Thick, hot tears pricked Nora's eyes. Her body was dead-weight, dragging behind Ruth — fumbling and useless — and she could do nothing but watch.

One of the four figures in the air, an older man, cried out in anger as one of the wizards below flipped his wife upside down, revealing her layers beneath. She scrambled to cover herself with her nightgown as her face blushed deeply.

And for a moment, as she watched the man's face contort in torment, Nora saw her father's face. She saw him hanging there, tossed around like an inanimate toy. She saw her mother, a squib, deemed invaluable to the Wizarding World, no better than a muggle, hanging upside down, her face beet-red.

"Oh, my god."

A sob constricted Nora's airway, forcing her to choke on her own breath. She felt herself pull away from Ruth suddenly, felt her feet carry her toward a simmering campfire. Bile simmered in her stomach as she leaned over the dying embers, but it refused to rear its ugly head.

Contractions tore across her cramping stomach as she dry heaved. Her neck burned hot as the blood drained from her head.

"Nora! Nora, come on," Came Ruth's panicked voice from behind her.

Nora's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Tears blurred her vision. The shadow that fell over her face, shielding her from the bright flames of burning tents, signalled to her that Ruth had appeared at her side.

"Nora, I know, but please." Ruth's voice was filled with desperation like never before.

Fear grasped Nora's heart with frigid, cruel claws. Her limbs trembled as something stronger than adrenaline rushed in an onslaught through her veins. Inhaling in sharp increments, she blinked rapidly in an effort to rid her eyes of moisture and backed away from the circle of stones in front of her with a small nod.

Ruth's hand found hers instantly, and once again, she found herself tugged along at a pace so fast, her feet were surely levitating above ground.

The group had met the Bulgarian National Quidditch team and the remaining team officials in the forest. In the chaos, Nora had lost sight of Krum, but when the group was finally able to emerge the woods safely, she had caught sight of him and the rest of the team on broomsticks, flying towards the eclipse followed by a team of security.

Her chest felt hollow and her stomach lurched as the memory of the muggles twisting in mid-air, tortured by the group of wizards beneath them, plagued her body.

Nora's fingertips gingerly traced the lightweight bandage wrapped around her wrist. The burn she'd received as they had fled the tent was hardly there, even directly after the fact, but the mediwitch at St. Mungo's Hospital had insisted upon treating it.

"Nora! Tea's ready, darling."

The echo of Siobhan Cleary's voice from the bottom of the staircase drew Nora from her daze.

After she'd returned by Portkey with a large group of wizards, Nora had been all but held under lock and key by her parents in their London townhome. At first, she had desired nothing more than to spend every waking moment with her parents after the Cup scare, and they had happily obliged. Siobhan had fretted over her for the first three days, and her father had bombarded her a plethora of baked goods, but they, as well as Nora, soon recognized that their daughter required peace and quiet in order to properly heal.

Bonnie had owled Nora the second she had stepped foot in her parents' home. She had insisted Nora write her back at once to assure the Taylor girl that she was, in fact, alive. When Nora had finally sent correspondence, Bonnie had owled back immediately, this time with a four-page monologue. Half of her friend's second letter detailed her concern; the other half begged for details on what it had been like to stand in Viktor Krum's presence. Nora had yet to respond.

She had also received an owl three days ago from Harlan, detailing his sincerity relating to the incident and had asked how she was faring. Once he had been assured that her well-being was accounted for, he had sent paperwork for her to begin on while the team recuperated from the Cup scare.

That said paperwork now sat on her makeup vanity across the room, filled out and ready for owl delivery. Resting atop the stack of parchment was a neatly folded, recent edition of the Daily Prophet. An image of a bumbling Bertha Jorkins flashed tauntingly beneath the headline, Terror At The World Cup and an image of the haunting, green symbol against a black sky.

      To only add to matters, the paper bearing the news of her old coworker's disappearance had been delivered the day after Nora had returned home. Chills erupted across Nora's skin as she gazed at the image – she had she most unsettling feeling that Bertha's disappearance during her holiday in Albania wasn't much of a coincidence following the disaster at the Cup.

      Shaking away thoughts of the terrorizing images of Bertha and the World Cup, Nora wrenched her eyes away from the newspaper, pushed herself from her mattress abruptly and threw the duvet away from her legs. The scent of strong, fresh tea wafted through the air as Nora made her way down the short staircase into the foyer. When she reached the bottom landing, she stopped short.

Siobhan Cleary stood in the foyer, facing the door with such shock upon her face, it was as though she had seen a ghost.

"Mum?" Nora beckoned softly, worry tracing her brow as she crept to her mother's side.

Nora's eyes followed Siobhan's gaze, and her stomach fell to the floor. There, a few feet beyond the exterior of the door's glass window, stood Gertrude Liu. Nora's aunt made direct eye contact with her sister through the window, but as Nora stepped into view, her gaze shifted to her niece.

Siobhan exhaled sharply; Nora couldn't read her expression, and it worried her exponentially.

The three women stood for a moment as though frozen in time. With a glance at Siobhan, Nora realized her mother was decades away from moving from her place. She hesitated one moment further before she stepped forward, turned the door-handle, and allowed the door to swing widely into the space.

Gertrude swallowed thickly; her fingers picked nervously at the strap of the navy handbag slung over her shoulder.

Nora cleared her throat. "Auntie."

Her aunt inhaled deeply, then nodded towards the doorframe. "May I?"

"Please."

Once Gertrude was positioned well within the threshold, Nora closed the door softly. Her eyes danced around the doorways, halfway expecting her father to interrupt the exchange.

Siobhan and Gertrude held one another's gaze with something Nora couldn't quite place. Her mother appeared guarded and resolute, while her aunt appeared nervous and unsure. Nora had never seen Gertrude so timid in her life. Her aunt's hands held tightly to her arms as she crossed them over her chest, and she stood rigid as she refused to move any further into the room.

"Siobhan," Gertrude said softly, acknowledging her sister with the dip of her head. "May I speak with Nora for a moment? ...Alone?"

A muscle set in Siobhan's jaw, and despite the things she could have done, she simply pressed her lips together and nodded once.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything," She replied, and at last, her eyes fell to Nora's. A twinkle of solace within the depths of Siobhan's gaze reassured her daughter, and Nora smiled tightly at her before her mother turned her back and retreated from the room.

The two women stood in silence for several heartbeats. Then, Gertrude cleared her throat, and her voice splintered as she spoke.

"You're safe."

Nora wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but the rush of emotion from her aunt and the dampness – were those tears? – brimming the waterline of Gertrude's eyes were certainly not amongst any expectations she'd ever possessed.

"You heard," Was all Nora could manage to say.

Gertrude nodded. "Rather impossible not to. It's all Barty has spoken of since he returned." Then, "What happened to your arm?"

Nora's eyes fell to her bandaged wrist.

"The Bulgarian staff tent caught fire. When we were escaping, my hand touched some of the hot metal," Nora explained, and if she hadn't been watching so intently, she would have missed the way her aunt inhaled sharply.

"It's not bad," She added quickly upon seeing Gertrude's expression. "Really, it hardly hurt at all when it happened, but they bandaged me up to be safe."

"Well... that's good," Gertrude said softly.

Another beat of silence passed between them.

"Listen, Nora," Gertrude began. "I was rather harsh with you the other day, and the events at the Cup only made me realize that further."

Nora's jaw nearly fell open. Her aunt issuing an apology was something she'd assumed she would never see in her lifetime.

"As... severely... as I might disapprove of your decisions as of late, I do want to support you. I hope you won't view me with too much hostility."

Gertrude watched her expectantly. Nora wasn't sure what to say.

"I..." She began, blinking her eyelids as she wracked her brain for words. "Thank you."

Her aunt nodded, then her eyes fell to the framed photo that rested on the small table against the wall. In its depths sat a polaroid image of Frankie, Siobhan, and an eight-year old Nora sprawled out on a blanket at the beaches of Cornwall. Nora's parents had planned the trip for her birthday that year.

The ghost of a smile tugged at Gertrude's lips as she gazed at the photo; it was gone in an instant, and her eyes found Nora's once more.

"Well, I suppose I ought to be leaving," She said wistfully, checking the watch on her wrist.

With a half-seconds' thought, Nora stepped forward.

"You could stay for tea? Mum brewed a fresh pot a few minutes ago – I was just about to join her," She offered softly, and she damned the tone of hope that laced her voice.

"Oh, no, I'm meant to be meeting Cassandra to discuss this event at Hogwarts," Gertrude said quickly, and all hopes Nora had possessed were dashed in an instant. "Very, very busy day."

"Ah."

Gertrude looked as though there were more words she dearly wanted to release from her tongue, but she simply pressed her lips together in a tight smile.

"I shall contact your mother for your address soon," Her aunt continued, blissfully unaware of the fact that she'd brushed past Nora's pipe-dream so quickly. "And — I will do my best to behave a bit more fairly towards you, Nora."

"Oh... yes. Thank you," Nora replied, her voice falling flat.

Gertrude turned and twisted the door-knob, then pulled the oak door towards her.

"I appreciate you stopping by," Nora called after her aunt as the woman stepped over the threshold once more.

Gertrude turned over her shoulder to meet her niece's eyes.

"Yes, dear." Then, "Tell Siobhan I appreciated the invite."

The door closed behind her with a definitive thud.

Nora stood for a moment, reeling from the interaction in silence. With a shake of her head, she turned on her heel and passed through the doorway into the kitchen, where Siobhan stood not even five feet from the entrance. A smile crossed Nora's lips upon catching her mother's spying antics.

"What did she want?" Siobhan asked quickly, fumbling with a notepad and pen to cover her tracks.

Nora pursed her lips. "I suppose she wanted to make sure I was... okay."

"Odd."

Then, Siobhan's gaze softened as she observed her daughter closely.

"Are you?" She asked.

Nora flashed her a warm smile before approaching the older woman's side. With a deep sigh, Nora leaned against her and allowed her head to fall against her shoulder. Siobhan rested her own head on her daughter's, concern etched in her features.

"I will be."

author's note.
2 months later & here we
are! who's surprised?
absolutely no one.

in light of my unplanned 2
month sabbatical, i have
pre written the shit out of this
book, so expect more updates
on a wattpad feed near you
very soon!

more on fan fave aunt
gertrude's internal
monologue later 😚

thank you for reading!