immortals

it might be your wound

but they're my sutures

It was one thing to not fully comprehend something, it was another entirely to not know anything about it at all. Andromeda knew that she was at the crossroads of the two. If she went one way, there was the chance that she wasn’t going to know anything more than she had before. Anything more than they knew right now. And if she went the other, there was a whole world of things that she had to try and comprehend. She was going to have to make a choice though, and there was really only the one to make. To try and understand, to try and make sense of what it was that she was going to learn from this. What she was going to use it for.

For good. They were going to use it to learn. They were going to use it to try and understand what Blair had done for her, and what it meant. They were going to try and understand how they could use it to fix… All of this. Andromeda didn’t think that she was willing to give it that much of a go. She didn’t think anyone outside of the residents of this castle needed to know about it at all. She was going to guard this secret with everything that she had. She would tell Rodolphus, when she was sure that she understood enough to explain. She would work through that now and try and figure out what to say. How to explain.

It wasn’t going to be easy, and it likely wouldn’t go over well. This was magic. Even a magic that she couldn’t control. A magic that they couldn’t explain. A magic that, like air, or fire, or water, wasn’t truly coming from her. It was coming from something else entirely. Elements couldn’t be explained, and she knew that this was something similar, there was just some part of her that had decided that that was true, regardless of whether or not Rabastan had been able to prove it in the last six hours. She doubted that he had found proof of anything, but they had something that they hadn’t had before. They had hope.

She had needed that, they had needed that. They all needed something to hold on to. Something that was going to make it a little easier to pretend that there was a light at the end of this tunnel still. “I saw her heal Davina once. It was minor, I don’t even remember what it was. Something that seemed so trivial at the time. And she could take my headaches away with just a touch. She didn’t even have to touch my head…” That part she had forgotten until now. She hadn’t had to touch her head to take her headaches away. She had always just touched whatever part of her was closest.

His question worried her. She didn’t want to think about being connected to her in some profound way that was keeping her alive. She just wanted to be alive. She just wanted to be, and not worry about it. Part of her wanted the naivety of yesterday back. But that was never going to happen. She knew now. And she didn’t know why it had taken her so long to think of it? Why it had taken her so long to think that she should try… Maybe because they didn’t have magic. Maybe because there was no reason to think that it was going to work at all. But it wasn’t the same type of magic. It couldn’t have been.

There was something hanging in the air between them. Something heavy, like all of a sudden, she was drowning, and she didn’t know how to pull herself back to the surface. Death was something that she was intimately familiar with. And for years she had always seemed to know. Aptly named, after all. She had to wonder if her mother hadn’t been a little clairvoyant in that moment. Laima. The goddess of fate. Childbirth. Marriage. And Death. Andromeda had, at one point or another, embodied all of those things.

When he asked for her hands Andromeda shifted on the settee so that she could tip them towards him. They were much the same as they had always been before. “They are fine. Unchanged. I feel unchanged. Though we know that’s not the case.” Something in her had changed, something had changed nineteen months ago. “Should I feel different? I fixed your arm; my arm is fine. My hands are fine. Except for in the moment, I hadn’t felt anything more.”

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Immortals

it might be my wound

BUT THEY'RE your SUTURES

The Lestrange's mind twisted over itself, musing and meandering over all he had seen and learned. Questions still far outweighed answers, much so. But with the Foundation and this new flame of hope flickering inside him, Rabastan believed that magic could be reclaimed. He had promised to keep Andromeda alive--and she had promised to restore his magic to him. He believed that meant those promises with the entirety of themselves...and just as important was that, he believed that they were capable of fulfilling those promises. 

Whatever Blair had passed on or gifted to Andromeda, it made her even more capable as a healer. They might not understand the means or limitations or consequences even of the magic, but they would figure it out. Experiments had formed in his mind and Rabastan was more than willing to play guinea pig to explore what could and could not be done. Others were not viable to use, unless they were to kill them after. The secret had to be kept... and while murder could be excused in some circles, there were potential consequences. The Lestrange had actually made efforts to not perform any potentially punishable crime since the meeting Andromeda had shared with the Order.

Rabastan was very keen on staying out of Azkaban. If that meant no killing or torturing, he just wouldn't murder or maim. He could control himself despite what many tended to believe about him. He was much better at avoiding psychotic impulses now that Bellatrix was not constantly whispering in his ear. He had more important things to focus on anyway. Motivating, encouraging, and assisting the researchers at the Foundation was far more worthwhile than any murderous mayhem he might make. Rabastan had no desire to torture now that he was without his magic. The pleasure and high that came from performing the darkest curses could not be experienced. What was the point?

And now this--this mystery was far more interesting to unravel than indulging in violence. He listened intently, eyes locked on the woman as she spoke about what she had observed with Blair. "But she did have to touch you?" Rabastan asked, his facial expression as inquisitive as his tone. If contact was mandatory, perhaps that spoke to the nature of the capability. Any detail they could nail down as an absolute certainty would be one more truth they could rely on. They needed as many of those as they could manage. 

The limitations of what Andromeda could do were of less interest to him than the consequences. His theories on her abilities hinged on the notion that the damage was taken into the witch. If that was the case, it was imperative to limit the intensity and regularity of damage healed.

He leaned closer as she presented her hands. His pale eyes narrowed in focus and he scrutinized the skin covering her palms. He saw no discoloration. There were no signs of any damage at all. "I don't know," he admitted when she asked if she should feel any different. There was so much he did not know. "There is so much unknown." His voice hovered between excitement and frustration. He wanted the answers, but he delighted in the mystery. It was a grand puzzle to solve and these were the sorts of things he lived for. "Do you think the capacity would be limited to physical wounds? Or could it extend to magical ones? It is not appropriate for us to test in front of the boys, but I have several cursed objects, minor magic, capable of incapacitation," and more than that, but only after a longer period of time. There was no need to share that bit. "If you would like to try your hand at curse healing."

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immortals

it might be your wound

but they are my sutures

She didn’t have any reason to believe the things that she did. She hadn’t really thought about any of this, until it had dawned on her that she might just have something that she didn’t think about before. That none of them had thought about before. Magic was a part of them, and yet, this was not. This was something else. It was in her, but it wasn’t her. It was something else entirely. It was something that she couldn’t put her finger on. It was something that she couldn’t explain. And she didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t know how to fix it or change it.

All she could try and do was explain it, and so far, it seemed that she couldn’t do that either. She didn’t know. She hadn’t had any sort of idea what it was that was happening. She hadn’t really known where to start, and she was cursing herself for not paying more attention to what it was that Blair had done in the past. That had been the reason for going to the attic this morning. She had wanted to know what she could find, and what it was that she was going to be able to discern, from anything that Blair might have written about.

Journals were such a personal thing, and yet, she found herself reading through Blair’s, looking for any details that she might have left behind. Anything that could have told her what it was that she was looking for. Telling Rabastan about it was something that she probably shouldn’t have done until she had known more, but when the thoughts had plagued her, and she had had to share them with someone. She had needed to share them with him, because he could help her make sense of them. And she knew that he would be awake.

That had pushed her to him, and now he knew. Now he shared this with her, and they had to figure it out. They had to make sense of it so that she could tell Rodolphus. Because she wanted to be able to explain it to him. She wanted to make him understand what it was that they were dealing with. She wanted to make sense of this for all of them, to find out if there was a way that she could repair them. If she could find something that was going to act like a cure… At his question though, she nodded. “Yes. Every time that I saw it, or experienced it, she was making contact.”

That seemed to be the common denominator in all of this. The thing that was the same throughout all of the cases that she could remember. It was the one thing that she knew for sure. She had to touch someone to fix them. But she didn’t know how to fix them either. Andromeda had no idea what she was doing, she had no control. Not really. She could heal him, and she couldn’t hurt herself. But she could be hurt. The bruises that formed on her skin… She knew that the ones on her hips were there right now. The shape of Rodolphus’s hand on her thigh, she could retain the injuries. But she couldn’t inflict them on herself.

Andromeda drew in a deep breath when he said that he didn’t know. He was right, there was far too much that was unknown. There was far too much that they were going to have to try and understand for themselves. Experiments. Research. That was all that they had to do now. It was the only way that they were going to learn anything. As if he had read her mind, he spoke again, and she found herself thinking over his words. “On you?” She knew how his mind worked, she knew that he was not only suggesting this, but offering to be her test subject himself. He was right, of course, there would be nothing cursed around the boys. She wouldn’t do that. But if she couldn’t fix it…

One eyebrow arched at him in accusatory questioning, “And just how long do I have to heal you, before these ‘objects’ cause permanent damage?”

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Immortals

it might be my wound

BUT THEY'RE your SUTURES

Rabastan could so easily get caught up in his own mind. He could lose himself down a tangent of thinking. It could take hold of him and he'd follow it as far as he was able. This had always been the way with him. It was why he could lose nights and days down in the crypt unraveling the secrets of Death. In another lifetime, he might have been an Unspeakable, delving into the most mysterious questions available to humanity.

But as it was, he had taken a different path. He had followed his brother and his late first wife. He had taken that path. He hadn't chased after Andromeda. He had not found someone else to build a life with. Those decisions had cost him decades. Almost a quarter of his life, he had spent in Azkaban. Locked away, more often than not in complete solitary, he had only had his own mind--and it had even turned on him. He was doing better now, but it was constant work and effort. He saw his psychiatrist. He took his potions. He had his bad days--but he got up from them and kept moving forward, back towards the man he once was. It was a struggle, but he still had his curiosity. He still had his intelligence. He still had fractured pieces of himself that were getting cobbled back together. Slowly, but surely. He was on his way to being himself, his true self. 

There was a new battle to be fought with that with the loss of his magic. But his shrink didn't seem to think it was the worst thing that could have happened to him. She had the opinion that the Bellatrix he had seen, the whisper in his ears, that she had been all a conjuring of his mind. A manifestation of madness---and while that series of words did surely describe the late Black witch, he did not believe that he had just made her up. She had been there. She had come to him. Some sliver of her--some part of her that refused to pass on. She might have manifested as a full ghost, but she was still here. She would come back when he had his magic again. She would try to pull him back under her influence. But he would be stronger. He would not succumb. He would not forget that she had left, that she had turned from him when he could be of no use to her. He would remember and he would not let himself slip into the catonia that gave her power. 

He didn't want to play with the dead these days--not when parts of the living were dying. Magic had been murdered. But they were going to resurrect it. They were going to restore it. He and the woman across from him--and the other brilliant minds they drew into the Foundation. They were going to conquer this unknown adversary. They had to. He was not going to live seventy odd years like a squib. 

Rabastan made a little face when Andromeda said that Blair had only ever healed through physical contact. Why would the mastery of aether require such a limitation? "Just because that was what that was witnessed does not mean that it was the only way. Maybe she believed it was. Maybe it even was for her--but just as I learned to master magic without a wand, there is no reason that you could not learn to master this new magic without contact." Or so he thought. Contact was just like using a conduit. It was to focus the ability. That was a consideration for the future, though. If Andromeda had to use the crutch of contact for now, then so be it. There were many more things for them to figure out and worth through about the limitations and capabilities of her healing abilities. 

There was so much unknown. Rabastan was eager to learn all that they could. When she asked him if he meant for the experiment to be performed on him, the Lestrange gave a definitive answer: "Yes." No matter what it meant for him--he wanted to be the guinea pig. He wanted to experience the healing. He could not let it be someone else. Not just because they needed to guard this secret. Obliviation could erase memories. Murder could be covered up if it came to that. But he didn't want to just see Andromeda heal someone. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to have every detail of information that he could gather. As long as he could be the one she healed, he meant to be. Which was why he put forward the idea of cursing himself... It was much more dangerous than just slicing open his skin. Magical damage was far more complex than simply physical. 

A little smirk played over his lips as she questioned further about the length of time that could pass before he would be permanently changed. Her concern was appreciated. There had been few in all his years that gave much thought to what happened to him.  "There would be plenty of time. If you can't do it, I'll go to the hospital. All will be well."  He could not say with absolute certainty how long that he would have, but hours certainly at the very least. And they would know, quickly enough, if it could be done or not. He would make sure to use an object that had been cursed with well understood magic that could easily be reversed by a spell damage healer. The wizard had a particular artifact in mind, in fact. He had collected it not too long ago--not because it was needed. It wasn't. He had no legitimate purpose for it. But the notion was interesting. It was a quill that pricked the finger, to be used for blood signatures. But that was not what made it special--there were no shortage of blood quills. This one had a hex applied that would incapacitate the person who had used the quill. He understood it to be something akin to the catatonic states he had been frequently drawn into during his first few years out of Azkaban and during his time in prison.

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IMMORTALS

IT MIGHT BE YOUR WOUND

BUT THEY ARE MY SUTURES

Magic was a tricky subject these days, and Andromeda knew that. She was well aware of the almost taboo nature of something that was physically a part of them. It was not something that they chose, or purchased, not something that had been presented to them as an option. Magic was a part of them. It was part of who they were, and how they lived. Magic was in their blood, it was in their very DNA. And though Andromeda knew that that alone was a tricky concept for some mages, this was different.

This discovery that she had made, it had very little to do with practiced magic. It was as though she carried a part of Blair with her. Something that she couldn't quite understand, at least not yet, not on her own. Andromeda had heard of no stories of magic being transferred from one person to another, of taking on someone else's abilities. But then again, she had never heard of someone like Blair, or someone doing what the other witch had done.

Andromeda was alive, and that alone made all the difference in the world. She shouldn't have been. There was no logical reasoning behind her being alive and Blair taking her place. The universe had accepted a life for a life, and yet the magic remained. Housed in her. She couldn't help but wonder if she had used it unknowingly? When Davina had had Ava, everything had gone smoothly enough, but when Jack had been born...

Would the littlest Krum have made it if someone else had delivered him? And even so, was it her that had saved them both, or had it been the magic that she hadn't known that she had? Was that what had kept her from falling as ill as everyone else during the epidemic? She had had a fever for one day, some chills, but she had been fine. The only true effect had been the loss of her magic. And even so, it appeared that that truly had not been lost either. Not entirely.

She raised her eyebrows at the suggestion that she learn to harness the magic without contact. Blair had lived with it in her for a lot longer than Andromeda, and she had needed that physical contact in order for it to work. "You suppose to tell me that it is that simple? I always used my wand, I never learned wandless magic. The precision I needed to be a superb surgeon came from the delicate use of both wand and scalpel, at least in this world." Her accomplishments in the muggle world were done entirely without magic, and for a pureblood witch, she was surprisingly proud of that.

Still, learning to master whatever this was, without the use of physical contact was something that she had not considered. Granted, she hadn't considered all that much at this point, but still. It was something that she had thought to be a limitation of such an unprecedented power. They knew next to nothing about this, and already he was thinking the world of her, for her. There was a lot to consider.

Rabastan's suggestion had not been lost on her. She knew him well enough to know that if they were going to be conducting experiments, he was the one that was volunteering to pay the price. Andromeda's question remained though, would that be the only price? There was sure to be something else, something had ti catch up to her sooner or later. Otherwise where was the sort of cosmic balance that she had come to instinctually believe must occur?

"You're sure?" She knew that he was. He wouldn't allow this to happen in any other way, and she had come to him. Andromeda had been banking on his investment in such an experiment. While performing experiments on him was not her first choice, she understood the desire for the first hand accounts. While she could describe what she felt, someone else on the other end of this might not be as truthful as they needed them to be. This way they had first hand testimony from both sides.

That did not stop her from voicing her concerns though. Cursed objects were not something that they were equipped to handle here in the castle. Not without the aide of magic anyway, and she had no idea if what he was suggesting would work or not. There had been very little indication of Blair's abilities in what she had read of the journal so far, and while she could rely on her instincts as much as possible, she had wanted some kind of assurance. Something that meant she was not killing him if she failed.

"Do you promise?" She knew them well enough to know that neither one of them particularly wanted to see a healer unless they had to. And in the past that would have been her. Being a healer meant taking care of her family, and while she was going to try to protect him in this, while she was going to try and do something to help him once he was cursed, she needed to know that if it wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to fight her about a healer. He was twice her size and without magic forcing him to do anything would have been nearly impossible.

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Immortals

it might be my wound

BUT THEY'RE your SUTURES

Rabastan had taken care to keep all his research on point last night. He had been unable to sleep. His mind had just been spinning way too fast for rest. He could have medicated--taken a calming drought and perhaps dosed on dreamless sleep. But he didn't want to. He wanted to chase after answers. Andromeda had given him hope. She had healed him. And he wanted to give her something. He wanted to have some information, some shred of an answer to give back to her. He had a little bit of information, but just like his approach to necromancy.

He wanted to read less and experiment more. Other people's experiments and commentaries could only be trusted so far. They weren't as meticulous as Rabastan. They weren't as detailed in observations as he was. He had pages written now detailing his experience when Andromeda had healed him. The sensations had been described. The depth and severity of the wound had been documented. Everything he could remember he had written down...and then, he had Ori pull the memory from his mind. He had watched it multiple times. There was little to visibly observe, though. Though he had been able to use the memory to get a very detailed measurement and description of the cut he'd sliced into his skin.

He wanted more data. More experiences to study. And he wanted to push Andromeda further. Yes, they had only just discovered this ability, this gift. And while he marveled in it--and was given so much renewed hope by its very existence. He was by his very nature a curious mind. He could not simply marvel at the magic. He wanted to understand it. He wanted to help Andromeda strengthen it. He wanted to facilitate her mastery of what she had been given--and push her to the very limits of what was possible with her gift. 

The logical next step was her attempting to heal a magical damage. Physical injuries were simpler in nature than those brought on by magic. Diseases were more complex than physical injuries, as well--but the only long term medical problems that Rabastan suffered from were of the mental variety. Those he had well managed now with potions and therapy, but in time, as Andromeda grew her understanding of her skills, perhaps they could discuss her trying to heal those--trying to fix the chemistry of his brain and his body's production of neurotransmitters. That was not easily confirmed, though. Perhaps they could bring in some muggle subjects with cancer and the like... Test her healing of those diseases-

It would have be so much easier if the subjects could easily be obliviated. He really was vexed by the absence of his magic. It was always an annoyance. He was trying very hard not to even begin to entertain the possibility that Andromeda might be able to heal his magical impotence. He couldn't let himself think that. He couldn't let himself hope that. It was too early. There was too much they didn't know--about the epidemic and about her abilities.

So, they would take the next step in learning about what she could do. They needed to see where the boundaries lay. She asked him if he was sure about subjecting himself to this trial, and he nodded. "Of course. It will be fine." He really did not mind to be the guinea pig. In truth, he was glad for it. He was greedy for the first hand knowledge and experience. He wanted to be the one to explore this with her. Of course, he wanted to be the one to do everything with her.

Andromeda was concerned for him. He could see the worry in her eyes. The glint in the warm chocolate depths of those captivating irises promised that she cared. It meant the world to him. He was a man starved for such things--and he had come to matter to her. He gave her an encouraging smile. A little nod of his head came with an affirmative answer. "I do promise. If I have to go to the hospital, it will easily explained. Just an accident mishandling of an object. I was careless. They can set me right in no time--It won't be anything of note. But it won't come to that anyway, because you are going to be able to do it. I have full faith in you." He wasn't going to bring a cursed object around the boys, but they could find an opportunity to slip off alone. Perhaps Faye could feed the little ones breakfast--or worst case, they could wait for nap time. That was still quite awhile away since it was still rather early in the morning.  He could be as patient as he needed to be, though... and spending time with the little ones was always a joy. He could push the curiosity to the back of his mind for awhile if he needed to and play with them. It was important to him to always show them kindness and care--no matter what else was going on or what might be on his mind. They deserved that. They were more important than anything else--no matter how fascinating it might be.

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IMMORTALS

IT MIGHT BE YOUR WOUND

BUT THEY ARE MY SUTURES

Losing magic had come in such a way that they had never really had a chance to prepare for it. But it wasn’t that easy in any case. How did you prepare to lose something that was a part of yourself? You couldn’t. You couldn’t prepare yourself to lose something like that, and she didn’t know how to balance it. She didn’t know what it was that she was going to do if it never actually came back. She was going to feel guilty. She was going to feel like she was responsible. And in a way, she thought that she was. She had been one of the few that had known that something was coming.

No, she hadn’t known what it was. But she had known that it was something. She had known that she was going to have to fight something that they hadn’t been prepared for, and she had kept the information to herself. Knowing it had been only because of Hesper’s vision, and before she had even had time to figure out what to do with all of that information, she had been met with the briefings that it had started. That whatever this was, had already taken its toll on her population.

Her population. They were her people. She was their Minister. And she couldn’t do anything to protect them. She couldn’t even do anything to help them. Whatever this was, she didn’t understand it. And Andromeda didn’t like not being the smartest person in the room. There were plenty of times when she knew that she wasn’t. But when it came to medicine, often times she was. And not about this. She couldn’t fix this. She didn’t even know where to start. But she knew that there were people that did. And so, she had built them laboratories. And she had procured them equipment. She had purchased an entire hospital, to try and make sure that people were working round the clock on this.

She wanted a cure, and she wanted to understand what had happened in the first place. Because she knew that she couldn’t be the only person with the words bio-terrorism on their lips. She knew that she was not the only one that thought that. But the question was more on a matter of who it had been, and why they had done it, than anything else. Well, that and if they could reverse it? Whomever had made this, surely had some clue how to destroy it? Right?

Andromeda was trying to wrap her head around everything that they had taken from them. She was still trying to process the loss of magic. And she had realized that there was magic in her yet. A magic that she hadn’t thought to touch before. A magic that she hadn’t tried. And one that she didn’t understand. Because it wasn’t one that she had always had. It was one that Blair had had. It was one that Blair had only partially known how to control. Andromeda knew nothing of it. Not yet anyway.

His assurances that he was sure meant very little to her. He would have given them anyway. He wanted to learn. She had seen that look on too many faces over the years. The craving for the unknown. For answers that they didn’t have yet. But she didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted to be sure that she could do this. And he was sure. He was so sure. Where his faith in her had come from, she had no idea. But she found herself trusting him… She found herself moving even closer to him.

Not now, she knew that he would never put the boys in danger. But she also knew that she wanted to try. She wanted it to be nap time, and not first thing in the morning. She wanted to try this more than she had wanted anything in a very long time. And she knew that telling him, in the depths of the night last night, was something that she shouldn’t have necessarily done. Propriety said that she should have told Rodolphus. But it hadn’t been Rodolphus that she thought would appreciate it. Or help her understand it.

He did though. He helped her understand it. And she nodded at his explanation. “Okay…” She could handle that. They could get him to a hospital, if she couldn’t do this. But she could. He believed in her. And she was going to hold him to that faith. Him believing in her… It meant more than she thought that it was going to. It meant more than she thought that he even knew. And she found herself leaning towards him. Closing the space that was already too close if someone were to see them. His belief in her had her gravitating towards him, it was like gravity had shifted at his words, and she jerked back.

He couldn’t be the star at the center of her solar system.

She couldn’t keep doing that. She couldn’t let that pull keep drawing her back in. But it was there. It was there in the words that he said, and the way that he looked at her. The way that he thought she could do this. The way that even with his desire to learn, he exercised patience on behalf of safety. Every move that he made was making it harder. “Okay… We’ll try it.” There, that was better. Words, she could handle words. “Their morning nap is at ten.” Until then they would just have to do something else. Try and occupy their minds with the information that he had found here. “Can you teach me?” She paused, and then her eyes moved away from where they had drifted to the boys, and back to him, “Wandless, I mean. Can you teach me what you want me to try and do with this?”

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