Legacy:
Wren examines the aftermath of the Winchester Massacre.
WC: 1,192
Written: 17 April 2019 completed
Who: Wren, Verine, Piper. Sparrow and Anthony mentioned.
When: Wren is 18/19 yrs. Summer 2054?
Tags: [Unconfirmed] [death]
Notes:: House layout is probably inaccurate with floor plans -_-" Wren picked his way through fallen shingles and burnt grass. He passed the plot of valerian he and his mother had plotted almost four years ago. That was gone now. The double redwood doors with inlaid ivory--a gift a fellow author had given to his great-grandfather or something-- was singed and cracked down the center. Inside, the foyer was rubble. Chandelier glass littered the floor and what furniture left intact was scorched. Something had exploded here. Then afterwards--the collapsing ceiling probably-- had caused the chandelier to fall. Wren had never liked that chandelier.
“Lumos.”He found the first body on the broken stairwell. Nothing remained of them--the body was charred beyond any hope of recognition and the dusty tatters buried in the nearby ash could have been robes or rags, family or friend. Or foe. He let his mind explore the space. There wasn’t even a blip of living mind on this floor.
Wren headed deeper into the house. Heat still radiated off twisted metal and the wood smoldered beneath his footsteps. He found a small body in the passageway leading towards the Library. Too small to be even a child, and half of their face had been seared off, but there was no mistaking the giant eyes and ears. Hobby. Wren closed his eyes, glad it seemed the surly caretaker had been killed before the blast or fire hit him.
He pressed on. The ceiling had caved in over most of the wizarding library, but the damage wasn’t as extensive here. Most of the things looked repairable. In fact, the wards around the chamber that Eliam Winchester used were still intact, and Wren let a little bit of peach-colored hope grow as he let himself in. But the room was dark, and silent. There was neither sound nor stirring from the rocking chair. Wren cast his wand’s light across the room. The book was peacefully shut, folded beneath pale ancient skin, and his great-grandpa’s eyes were closed. Wren let the peach-color out with a sigh and continued. This had been a long time coming. For Eliam’s passing to be tonight was just poor luck.
The damage got worse again upstairs. Scorch marks similar to what he had seen in the main building belied an unstable walkway. A few reparo spells helped out, and Wren recognized jinx marks burned into the walls that still stood-- signs of battle. Finally. Wren reached out with his mind again and dimly sensed a feeble mind nearby.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered, shifting some of the collapsed paintings and fragments of wall and roof aside. He found his grandfather buried there, wand still clutched in a stiff hand. Halfway down the hall was a cloaked stranger. Both were dead. Wren stretched his mind out again then called out:
“I know you’re there. Show yourself.”Nothing. Wren gave it a moment then pointed his wand at a dark corner not far from Anthony’s body, directly under the doorway to Sparrow’s room.
“I know where you are. You have three seconds. Two...One. Re--”“It is only Piper!” a high pitched squeak answered at the last moment. Whimpered. Wood creaked, and another small head came into view. The young house elf was covered in grime and the crown of flowers she always wore was singed and askew.
“Show me your hands,” Wren commanded, wand still raised.
Piper unclutched her hands, revealing a ball of dust and embers. After a moment, he discerned a tiny gray head poking out. Kethia.
“What were you doing, hiding back there?”“Masters told Piper to find the young mistress. But the dark witch was already here. Young Mistress fell outside, Master Anthony saved Piper. There was the giant boom, and then….” She broke back into whimpers.
“You hid,” Wren finished, reading the events from her mind. Another peach colored lump had turned to ash in his throat. The visions matched Sparrow’s from earlier, with less pyrotechnics.
“That’s enough. Be quiet and follow me.” Wren held his hand out to take the resurrected phoenix from her, but Piper put her grimey hand there instead, clutching the ashes to her chest. He didn’t correct her.
Sparrow’s room was trashed. Most of the room was blackened and hexes had torn holes through every piece of furniture that still stood. Where her window had been was now a gaping breach in the wall. Wren glanced down and noted glass splattered over the grounds. Outside, back towards the front, more figures were making their way past the gate. He found half of his sister’s wand caught in the rubble, pink fwooper feather torn and mired in soot. The sparkly ribbon she’d added around it crumbled into cinders as he picked it up.
Across the hall, his own room was somewhat better. Half of the room was covered in green sludge. The attackers had evidently blown up the cabinet with his potions equipment after blasting down the door. Wren stepped gingerly over the sludge, figuring there might yet be something salvageable. As he passed the wall, the darkness of the large picture frame hanging there melted away to show the silhouette of a cathedral, backlit by a crimson glow. Another fire. This one had happened a long time ago. A thin layer of dust covered the frame, but otherwise the magical frame was untouched. Wren ran a thumb along the bottom panel and came away without even a splinter.
Quae operati estis. What we have accomplished.
Another lump was forming in his throat, this one thick and black.
“Heh.” Of all things that had survived the attack on the estate, of course it would be a reminder of everything people had accomplished. Legacy. What remained beyond death. What he had thought he was entitled to.
“Heh. Heh. Ha ha ha ha!” Wren laughed, letting the shrill noise tear through his lungs and echo into the cold silence of the ruined estate. Now his estate. A graveyard.
“Hahahahaha!”----
Dawn crept, ray by golden ray, across the wreckage. Wren made his way back down outside. Sparrow was bundled under a blanket now, staring at the pyre of her home with dead eyes. She didn’t even flinch when he set the other half of her wand next to the broken half she still carried. Her broken arm looked freshly healed, and even the cuts and scrapes on her bare feet were healed and washed. His aunt and uncle were there now, from just outside of town.
“Wren, thank go--”“Have you called anyone, Aunt Verine?” Wren asked, his voice clear and chipper, as though he were simply asking who was coming to tea.
“The Ministry. They’re combing the grounds for survi--”“Only two,” he replied, shooing Piper out from behind his leg.
“You’ll find Mum and Grandmum in the dining room with most of our unfortunate guests, Dad and Grandma in the gallery with the more fortunate ones, Great-Grandpa at his rocking chair, and Grandpa outside my room.” He looked towards Winchester town, a little south of the rising sun.
“But first, could I get you to send a message to Payne Funeral Home and Mortuary?”
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