Viviane clapped her hands over her ears as the sound sharpened into a piercing whine.
The buzzing was growing steadily louder, swelling until it was almost unbearable. The ground itself trembled as though answering the world's scream, fissures zig‑zagging across the villa's walls. And yet, the strangest thing was that no one around her, not Artorius nor any of the policemen of the urban cohorts, seemed to find any of it the least bit unusual, save for…
"I'll see you at the end," Merlin said, nodding in her direction.
"What are you—"
An enormous fissure yawned beneath Viviane's feet, and before she could react, she was falling into the earth's depths, the opening above her drawing inwards until the light of day dwindled to a mere pinprick. The air rushed out of her lungs as she plunged into a pool of shockingly icy water, at the bottom of which gleamed twenty-four golden lights. Before she could make heads or tails of what was going on, the world seemed to flip on its head, and she burst out of the water.
The twenty-four lights were above her now, twenty-four constellations shining brightly in the starry night sky amongst a myriad of celestial bodies. One of these constellations was the source of the ringing, the rune of distress…
"Naudhiz…!"
The dream shattered around her like glass, and Oleandra's eyes flew open.
"Gllk!" Oleandra choked out.
The first thing she noticed was the faceless monster straddling her; the second, and rather more pressing, was that the eerie creature's hands were currently clamped around her throat, steadily squeezing the life out of her.
Oleandra's oxygen-deprived mind scrambled to recall a spell that might save her, but everything remained a maddening blur. A phantom pain pulsed through her frail body, as though her very nerves were aflame, further distracting her with its dull pounding. Her eyes bulged as the creature's grip tightened, unmistakeably intent on ending her life. If she lost consciousness now, she knew there would be no waking from the next dream…
That's right, the dream… she had seen many wondrous sights in her dream…
Oleandra groped blindly behind her, hoping to find the headboard; her fingers brushed wood, and with her throat constricted, unable to shape Viviane's words aloud, she thought them with all the strength she had left: Duir, oaken rune, protect me!
The faceless monster's grip loosened as Oleandra's flesh took on the durability of the oak and her skin the roughness of bark, allowing her to draw in a shaky breath. Clarity returned to her mind, though her body was still screaming in agony.
"THURSAAAAAZ!" Oleandra roared.
The Giant's Strength rune's might filled Oleandra's weakened limbs, and she seized the monster's delicate wrists, snapping them in half through sheer grip strength. Overcome with rage, she threw the faceless creature off her and mounted it, raining blows down upon its frail body, until…
A cloud drifted idly aside, and pale moonlight spilled into the room, washing it in a cold, silvery glow. The darkness receded; Oleandra recognised the place as a St Mungo's ward… both she and the monster wore hospital gowns…
"…Tonks…?" Oleandra murmured in muted horror.
When Oleandra had stripped Tonks of her Metamorphmagus talent, she had accidentally taken her face along with it. Skin had sealed over her eyes, nose, and mouth, leaving her eerily smooth, like an unbroken egg. Tonks must have been brought here after the wedding, but the Healers, it seemed, had done little to help; a straw poked into her throat to allow her to breathe was the only thing keeping her alive.
Tonks literally had the concept of having a face stolen from her; even if someone were to draw a smiley face on the blank canvas that was her head, the ink would vanish instantly… The Healers, she supposed, had long since given up trying to restore her facial features through Human Transfiguration.
Oleandra's breath suddenly caught in her throat. Tonks' belly had a slight swell to it, almost as if…
"What have I done…?" Oleandra choked out.
Tonks was pregnant; five months along, by the looks of it. She was dangerously thin and spindly; she must have given everything she had to her unborn child, even though she could barely breathe, let alone eat and drink properly. The Healers must have magicked food into her, but she had clearly continued withering away…
Oleandra laid a hand upon Tonks's head, and her features returned, one by one, to where they belonged. Mouth, nose, eyes… Tonks's lids fluttered open, and a faint smile touched her lips at the sight of Oleandra's stricken face. She then coughed up some blood, and she sighed.
"Oh good," she said weakly. "I was worried I had the wrong bed… lucky for me, you had a lot of visitors, yesterday… winter holidays, you know…"
Oleandra glanced out of the window, eyes widening in shock. Snowflakes swirled outside in the wind. How long had she been unconscious?
"I'm… I'm sorry," Oleandra stammered. "I didn't realise… I would never, if I had known… it was an accident, I didn't mean to take so much from you…"
Tonks chuckled weakly.
"Don't tell me… you of all people have regrets, Oleandra Greengrass?" she croaked. "I was under the impression that you were… ready to do anything for the sake of your… ambition."
Oleandra's head hung low in shame.
"Has my magic served you well, Oleandra?" Tonks asked suddenly.
Oleandra nodded.
"Then… you owe me…" Tonks groaned, cradling her belly in pain. "You-Know-Who… he's come here… to St Mungo's… tonight…! he's trying to lure Harry into a trap, using… Ron… as bait!"
That was why Tonks had chosen tonight to attack; the Healers had all been sent away. A silent Caterwauling Charm had been laid upon the floor to alert her caretakers should she leave her bed, so this had been her only chance to strike.
"I heard the Healers gossiping about it, it's not the real Ron, so don't bother…!" she gasped. "If you truly aren't who people think you are, Oleandra Greengrass…"
Tonks squeezed Oleandra's hand.
"I understand," Oleandra said in a low voice. "I'll save Harry."
Tonks sighed in relief… and as the air slipped from her lungs, so too did the rest of her life.
She was dead.
Oleandra was suddenly seized by a quiet certainty. Guided by instincts as old as the world itself, she laid her palm upon Tonks's swollen belly and drew the unborn child from her womb, taking it into herself… just as the Lady of the Lake had once taken Lancelot from his parents, fifteen hundred years ago.
After all, what sort of Fairy would she be if she hadn't spirited away a human child at least once?