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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16640 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Hermione and Draco meet the mysterious Senor Canaro and are exposed to the true horrors of Dark Flux. Meanwhile Draco receives some devastating news...

10. Los Rojos

Hermione closed her eyes, clearing her mind of all thoughts.

'No strange reds to report,' she said assuredly. She snapped her eyes wide open. 'Not that it means anything, of course. There's got to be a logical explanation for what happened.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' Draco said. 'You might have some kind of latent psychic ability. A form of synthesiser, or whatever it is the Muggles like to call it.'

'That's Synesthesia, Malfoy, and it's a neurological disorder,' Hermione said snippily. 'Nothing at all to do with Seers and all that rubbish.'

Draco glanced at the tall, dark house with the peeling, black shutters, where Senor Canaro lived. 'That's as may be, but something about this place gives me the creeps.'

Hermione had to agree. Even the air seemed thicker, more stagnant here.

They rang the doorbell and waited impatiently.

A house-elf wearing nothing but a scruffy blue dishcloth answered the door and quickly ushered them inside. 'Senor Canaro awaits you,' the elf squeaked haplessly. He eyed them both with such a pitying, mournful expression on his careworn face that Hermione was instantly inclined to think badly of his owner.

Inside, the house was much larger than its outward appearance belied. It was also surprisingly noisy, alive with the cacophonous din of birdsong emanating from what Hermione presumed had to be an aviary located further indoors.

The hallway was dark and dusty, so much so that Hermione had to suppress a coughing fit at the very moment when Senor Canaro hastened towards her, hand outstretched in greeting.

He was a tall, spindly-looking man with an oversized egg-shaped head capped by a scraggy-looking mop of hair and a long, knotted beard.

'Buenos Dias!' Senor Canaro exclaimed. 'I am so glad to see you. I have moved our meeting to this hour because I have most important business this afternoon. I hope this time is agreeable for you both?'

Hermione and Draco both nodded polite assent and allowed him to usher them over the threshold into a long, dusty corridor.

'We won't take up much of your time, Senor Canaro,' Draco said.

'Of course, you are here for the memory, no?' Canaro said, addressing Draco. 'And I have also some information which may be of interest to you.' He now looked at Hermione, his eyes narrowing quizzically. 'And your companion.'

'Oh, of course, please excuse me,' Draco apologised. 'This is Mrs Weasley. You were expecting her husband. But he is indisposed.'

Canaro grinned, baring a set of twisted, yellow-stained teeth and blackened gums. 'A fair substitute, no?'

Draco smiled weakly in response while Hermione could barely suppress the urge to open the front door and run away.

Canaro led them along the corridor, turning left into a large bright room with a pitched glass ceiling. The sunshine streamed through this window in a most unforgiving manner, highlighting the ankle-deep detritus of old food and bird droppings on the floor. Hermione could barely stop herself from retching at the fetid stench which assailed her nostrils.

The room was adorned with a plethora of bird and animal cages; some were strung from the ceiling or walls, or were balancing on rickety sideboards and shelves. The piercing clamour and chatter of birdsong that greeted them in this room was almost deafening.

There was a rectangular black table placed in the middle of the room, weighed down with green glass jars containing various liquids and powders of dubious origin. Hermione couldn't help but recoil at one large bell jar full of snakeheads, while another contained a pulpy bubbly mixture which she eventually identified as frogspawn.

The table was also strewn with crumbs of bread and a rind of blue cheese. There was a putrid-looking ham-bone slapped on a tin plate. Its meat was tinged petrol-green and host to a cluster of black flies. Hermione realized, too late, that she was eyeing this disarray with unabashed distaste and Canaro was watching her with alert, beady eyes.

Canaro roughly swept his arm across the table, dispersing breadcrumbs and cheese rind onto the floor and slapped his hand on two chairs which he had pushed closer to the table, bidding Hermione and Draco sit down.

'Thanks, Senor Canaro, but we'd rather stand,' Draco said in a voice of cold civility. Hermione's mouth twitched in amusement. She guessed she could rely on pristine, fastidious Draco to be as repelled as she was by this scenario.

'Quite right,' Canaro beamed. 'No time for the relaxation, no? Let's to business. Directamente.'

'The memory? Relating to this reported outbreak of Dark Flux?' Draco said in clipped, business tones. 'That would be a good starting point.'

'Si, Si, Senor. Espera un momento,' Canaro said, reaching for a small glass vial with silvery liquid swilling inside which was balanced precariously on top of a high sloping shelf.

He brushed against Hermione who had to quickly turn away to avoid gagging at the acrid stench of old body odour that assailed her nostrils. She collided with a low bench, springing back in alarm as her hands alighted on a glass box glutted with thick-bodied, shiny black spiders. She crashed heavily into Draco who was standing behind her, inadvertently crushing his toes. He winced in pain.

'I'm so sorry,' she whimpered, steadying herself with one hand on the table which was greasy to the touch. She instantly retracted her hand, wiping it vigorously on the back of a chair.

'Aqui esta,' Canaro mumbled, grappling with the slippery vial which slid slowly from his grasp. Draco darted forwards, hands outstretched, only just catching the memory before it fell to the floor.

'Great. Where's the Pensieve?' Draco said sternly, tightly clutching the vial.

'Follow me,' Canaro chortled, leading them back to the hallway, then down a dark corridor to a small, shadowy enclave, which hosted a granite plinth supporting a black marble Pensieve.

'Senor Malfoy. Please excuse my appalling rudeness for not asking after your father's health?' Canaro said, baring his teeth yet again in an unctuous grin. 'He has not been well, no?'

'He's much improved,' Draco said, tracing the runes decorating the rim of the Pensieve with his index finger. 'Thanks for asking.'

'It's just that I hear from our old associates that he has become quite the stranger these days.' Canaro fixed his beady-eyed gaze on Draco, who continued to find the Pensieve's hieroglyphic symbols an object of intense fascination.

'This memory, Senor Canaro,' Hermione interceded brightly, 'was made by whom, exactly?'

Canaro sucked his teeth thoughtfully. 'A Senor Asusto. He is a Porteno – which is to say he is from Buenos Aires – but for much of the year, he lives in a town called El Calafate which is close to where the incident took place.' He emphasised 'incident' with lugubrious relish, again exposing his stained teeth and some blackened gum for good measure. Hermione was beginning to feel a little queasy and was eager to volunteer first to enter the Pensieve, just to escape the sight of him.

From the look on Draco's face, however, he seemed equally keen to escape Canaro's attentions.

'So how did you procure this memory?' Hermione asked. 'This Senor Asusto, is he a friend?'

'He is a business associate of many years. He approached me with the memory because he was feeling very burdened, you see, by what he saw and experienced in Santa Maria. He hoped I would ensure the relevant authorities on the matter were informed,' Canaro explained.

'Is he still in Buenos Aires?' Draco asked. 'Can we speak with him?'

Canaro vigorously shook his head. 'He had to leave Argentina on urgent business. He was here just one short hour. Time only to give me the memory and a single cup of Mate.'

'That's a shame,' Draco said ruefully. 'Do you know when he'll be back?'

Canaro shook his head, a regretful expression on his face.

'So has the Ministry here in Argentina, already sent a delegation to Santa Maria?' Hermione asked.

'I've no idea. I certainly haven't told them about the incident,' Canaro said, 'and I can't speak for Senor Asusto.'

So just who were the 'relevant authorities' Canaro was charged with informing? Hermione wondered dubiously. The fact that Draco seemed wholly unperturbed by this development indicated that he knew exactly whom Canaro was referring to.

Canaro took the memory in the vial from Draco, unstopped it and swirled the silvery liquid into the Pensieve.

'As for what Senor Asusto saw in Santa Maria that fateful day, it is perhaps better you see for yourself… but I should warn you, Senora,' he rasped, placing a leathery hand on Hermione's arm. 'This memory is… muy desagradable.'

Hermione forced a brave smile, trying to extricate her arm from his clasp as subtly as possible.

'I've probably seen worse.'

Senor Canaro blinked slowly, a sorrowful, reptilian expression on his face. 'Quizas, Senora Weasley. Perhaps. As you choose.'

Draco turned to Hermione. 'Ready?'

Ready for what? Hermione thought. Surely he wasn't entering the memory with her?

To her surprise, as she plunged her face into the Pensieve, she felt his hand close around her own.

XXX

They found themselves standing at a deserted crossroads on the outskirts of a small ramshackle town, which appeared to be little more than a collection of single-storey scrubby houses with red-tiled roofs. There was one main thoroughfare wending its way through the town, but not a single vehicle or other living creature in sight.

'I'm guessing this is Santa Maria,' Draco said, screwing his nose up in dismay. 'Let's hope this is all one big misunderstanding. I don't want to be spending any time here if I can help it.'

'What are you doing here?' Hermione said in sharp tones, rounding on Draco. 'I thought you didn't trust this Canaro guy?'

'I just want this over with,' Draco said tersely, 'the sooner the better.'

'We were meant to watch out for each other!'

'And this must be the mysterious Senor Asusto,' Draco said, ignoring her protestations.

He pointed to a pale, young man with greased black hair, pinched features, and an impatient scowl. Heaving a forlorn-sounding sigh, the young man sniffed the overcast skies.

'I think he's been stood up,' Draco declared.

'Can't say I'm surprised,' Hermione mumbled to herself, thinking that he was a most unattractive-looking young man. Draco grinned.

The pale young man reluctantly trudged into the town heading for a café-bar, 'Bar Santa Maria.'

There was a sign positioned outside the bar announcing it was 'Abierto' which Hermione assumed meant open. This seemed far from true, however, judging by the bar's lack of customers. Indeed, the bar, the street, the entire town, seemed deserted.

Hermione cast a quick glance at their surroundings. There was a grey, monochrome quality to the place. The only sound was a faint whistle of wind whipping dust-clouds and sparse clumps of vegetation along the empty street. It reminded her of an archetypal scene from an old Western movie. The type of uneasy scene which invariably signaled the calm before the storm.

The greasy-haired young man seemed similarly concerned by the lack of life. He tentatively pushed open the bar's thick glass door which creaked loudly in the weighty silence.

Hermione and Draco followed him into the bar. As they did, however, there was a brief swoosh of silvery fog which momentarily distorted their view. And then the scene was as it was before, except Senor Asusto now seemed a little more aggravated and was calling out in Spanish.

But there was no response. He called again, a nervous frown on his face.

'Did you clock the fog?' Draco muttered to Hermione.

'It might mean this memory's unreliable. Perhaps it's been falsified?' she said, instantly suspicious of Senor Asusto.

'Or, it could simply indicate that Senor Asusto was so traumatised by what he saw that he hasn't been able to think straight since,' Draco countered.

'You think so?' Hermione whispered. 'But there's nothing here.'

'Oh yes there is,' Draco said with a heavy sigh. Hermione couldn't decide if he was sad to see the dead woman lying on the floor behind the bar or disappointed that this probably meant this was a case requiring further investigation after all.

Senor Asusto had also spotted the dead woman, and had hastened to her side. He was breathing heavily, his eyes darting frantically around the bar, surveying the empty tables and chairs and deathly still fruit machine as though he half-expected her assailant to leap out and grab him.

Hermione inched closer to the corpse, grimacing at the sight of it, yet knowing that this was precisely the reason she was inside this memory.

The young woman was lying prostrate on the ground, her body contorted, her eyes wide and staring. Her lips were curled back, giving her a strangely feral appearance, and her face, arms and legs – any exposed flesh – were covered in livid purple welts which oozed a black, tar-like substance. Most peculiar of all, Hermione thought, was the distinct bright blue glow that seemed to lurk beneath the dead girl's skin.

'That's gross,' Draco said. He looked at Hermione, his eyes blazing with indignation. 'See? You said there was no rash with Dark Flux victims. What the hell are those ugly great welts all over her?'

'Haven't you also noticed she's turned blue, Malfoy?' Hermione snapped in petulant tones. 'You never mentioned that as a sign of Dark Flux, did you? It's a kind of obvious marker.'

'The Paris outbreak. 2008. The victims were blue,' Draco stated.

'And since then?'

'There was another case, but I can't remember where. Maybe a couple actually. The skin discoloration was attributed to environmental hazards. I'll dig out the files when we get back home.'

Hermione shuddered. Home. It felt very far away. Far away from this poor, dead woman and this ghastly memory.

It all seemed too much for Senor Asusto. The pale, young man began shaking in distress, staring disconsolately at the woman on the floor at his feet.

'Ana,' he whispered hoarsely.

'He knows her!' Hermione gasped.

'Maybe she's the one who stood him up,' Draco said in a deadpan voice which sounded distant and strange. Hermione could barely make out his face beside her.

There was another silvery blur, a disorienting scrunching of the scene before them.

'Definitely something off here,' Draco grumbled.

The fog lifted at the precise moment when the pale, young man seemed to turn around, staring straight at them. Hermione squeaked in surprise.

'It's like he can see us!'

'Of course he can't!'

'Oh God, oh no!' Hermione shrilled. 'Look!' she said breathlessly, pointing a few metres beyond the woman.

There was an overturned basket, a pink blanket spilling onto the floor beside it. Hermione could see what she feared was a small, cold blue arm, poking out of the blanket.

Hermione felt herself totter. Her throat was suddenly dry and she couldn't hear what Draco was saying to her, above the whooshing roar of blood rushing to her head. She thought she might be sick.

'What's that?' she groaned. She felt rooted to the spot, hardly caring that Senor Asusto had brushed past her; a ghost in a dream, which was bubbling and fraying slightly at the edges, like singed, silvery celluloid.

Draco was of sterner stuff, she thought, or maybe more cold-blooded. Or maybe he was already convinced that this memory wasn't real. He approached the basket, and knelt down before it, examining its contents. He was very still.

'Is that… is that what I think it is?' Hermione asked in low tones.

Draco finally turned to face her. 'I'm afraid it is,' he said mournfully.

Hermione was struggling to stifle a hysterical sob clawing at her throat for release. But she hated the idea of breaking down in front of Draco, and it was this dread of losing control that enabled her to master her emotions.

'Can we be sure? I mean, there's a good chance this memory is a fake, isn't there?' Hermione hoped it was. She prayed it was.

'It's possible,' Draco said in a quiet voice.

Hermione looked at Senor Asusto who was now seated at a table, his head in his hands.

'I can't believe he didn't even look at the… the baby,' Hermione said, barely able to look herself. The sight was just too heart wrenching. Even if this wasn't real, even if this was a fiction, she feared the images of the dead woman and child she had seen in Senor Asusto's memory would be imprinted on her mind forever. She felt she was drowning, falling into a deep, sad emptiness, which threatened to overwhelm her. She thought of her own children, their pink, happy faces, warm with life, and her eyes drifted inexorably to the upturned basket.

'I want to get out of here,' Hermione moaned, aware of a gnawing ache inside of her. I want to go home, she thought inwardly.

At that very moment, the memory swirled and swooped, and they were thrown back into the comparatively welcome reality of Senor Canaro's shadowy house with its grim occupant awaiting them, a fixed, rictus grin on his face.

Hermione had to suppress an urge to charge at him, bowling him over, slapping that stupid smile from his face.

'Gracias, Senor Canaro,' Draco said. 'That was very… instructive.'

Senor Canaro nodded, his crinkled, reptilian eyes blinking slowly, surely. 'Reports say that three Muggleborns died that day. But the baby isn't listed as one of them.'

'Why not?' Hermione asked in thin, querulous tones.

'It was probably Muggle spawn from El Calafate,' Canaro leered.

Hermione was struggling to beat down the red-hot rage bubbling up inside of her. Draco glared her a warning.

'So where is this baby now? Has it been returned to the Muggle authorities?' Draco asked in cool tones.

Canaro shrugged. 'I presume that it would still be in the morgue in Santa Maria. Nobody has confirmed its existence, which means nobody has claimed it, even though it must have come to Santa Maria with somebody.' He grinned. 'A baby cannot walk into town all by itself now, can it?'

Hermione was horror-struck. She felt like something was crumpling deep inside of her, bearing down on her like a cold, leaden weight. How could they talk about such a thing in this detached, facile manner?

'Frankly, Senor Canaro, we're not convinced this memory was wholly authentic,' Draco said curtly. 'There were serious flaws in the imaging. Blurring, fogginess. All signs of memory modification. Senor Asusto didn't even acknowledge the baby even though he was standing just a few feet from it, so for all we know, the baby was a false memory implant.'

'It is possible, anything is possible,' Canaro said nonchalantly. 'Although I myself have not tampered with it, if that is what you are thinking Senor Malfoy!'

'I'm not accusing you –'

'You may ask your father. Senor Canaro is a man to be trusted, no?'

'I – I don't doubt it, sir,' Draco said in appeasing tones. 'But did you watch Senor Asusto make the memory?'

'No. No, I did not. He arrived with the memory. Una cosa hecha. Y ya esta.'

Hermione suddenly felt nauseous and clammy. She had a desperate desire to be alone. Until this moment, she hadn't really understood what they were dealing with; the true evil of Dark Flux and what it could do to its innocent victims.

She returned to Senor Canaro's potions room, overcoming her squeamishness at her surroundings if only to be bathed in bright, white sunlight, vanquishing the gloom of the darkened hallway. She could hear the droning murmur of voices in the distance. Hopefully, Draco was asking salient questions, arming them for their trip into Patagonia. She had no doubt now that they would go, if only to prove or disprove the veracity of Senor Asusto's memory.

Minutes later, the two men had followed her into the potions room.

Canaro eyed her beadily. 'I warned you, Senora Weasley. I told you that memory was not a place for women. Especially a woman with children, no?'

Canaro clicked his fingers and his slovenly elf appeared.

'Mate,' he demanded. He looked to his guests. 'Would you like a hot beverage? Tea or coffee, perhaps? Senora Weasley, you look quite pale. A piping hot cup of tea might be of benefit.'

'I'm quite alright,' Hermione said stiffly. 'Gracias Senor.'

After some pressure, Draco accepted the offer of ice-cold lemonade. The elf returned promptly with his drink.

'There is one thing I would like, Senor Canaro,' Hermione said. 'I need to send a message abroad.'

Senor Canaro gestured to the myriad birdcages strung up around the room. 'You may choose any bird you like, but if it is very long-distance, I also have a Great Horned Owl – it is a very special bird I can assure you - who might best suit your purpose.'

Canaro summoned his elf again and rattled off a list of instructions. The elf beckoned Hermione, who followed him up a long, steep staircase. The staircase led to a landing devoid of any furniture, its wooden floorboards old and creaky underfoot.

A large, handsomely marked owl with round orange eyes, sitting in a brass cage, was watching them approach, a look of undisguised contempt on its face.

Hermione was offered a piece of parchment and a quill by the elf and set to writing a note to Ron.

She told him that she had been forced to fly to Argentina, which had been a purgatorial experience, but that the hotel she was staying in was very grand, and partly made up for the flight. She made light of Draco's problematic wound but urged Ron to beef up security at home and at The Burrow. She then informed him about Senor Asusto's memory, sparing him the gory details, and suggested he comb through the available research regarding Dark Flux incidents to find out exactly where and when any blue-tinged skin colouring had been noted on the victims. Finally, she told him to hug the kids for her, to tell them how much she loved and missed them.

XXX

'It was one day after the Dark Flux outbreak that the six men arrived in Santa Maria,' Canaro was saying to Draco when Hermione returned to the potions room.

'All wearing bright red robes, you say?' Draco looked puzzled by this. He was fastening his shirt, indicating that he had shown Canaro his wound.

'I agree, Senor Malfoy. It is not the best way to avoid undue attention, no?'

'They sound like a religious order,' Hermione said, keen to contribute to the conversation which she guessed concerned the mysterious Los Rojos.

In truth, she was enormously relieved to hear that Los Rojos referred to real-life men and not inexplicable flashes of colour. She always preferred cold, hard facts to intangibles. Clearly, the red flashes both Ron and Draco had witnessed at the time of their attacks were these same red robes and the wizards wearing them. Draco presumably had a split second to catch sight of his attacker before being shot, while Ron had been quickly blinded by the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

Of course this didn't explain her own red flash… but she didn't want to think about that just now.

'There is something, perhaps, in what you say, Senora Weasley,' Canaro said, touching his nose in a knowing manner. 'I think Los Rojos are followers of this Dark Wizard who lives in the mountains.'

Draco silently mouthed 'Jeroboam' to Hermione.

'And there is something else muy raro, very peculiar, to take into account here,' Canaro said. 'Estos Rojos. They always know exactly where to go to ask their questions and take their photographic images.'

'So do they carry cameras or some other type of machine?' Hermione asked, fishing for information that might indicate that Los Rojos were using 'scanners.'

'No se, Senora Weasley,' Canaro said. 'What type of machine do you mean?'

'Machines that look like guns?'

Canaro's wrinkled brow was puckered in confusion. 'I've not heard of this. All I know is that wherever there is an incident, they are there. They troop into town the next day or the day after that. This was what happened last month.'

'In Bolivia?' Draco asked.

'And in Ecuador. Last year.'

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. Ecuador was clearly news to him.

Hermione chilled at this. If these cases were proven incidents of Dark Flux, then this was a much more common occurrence than she had ever been led to believe – and this scared the life out of her. Not to mention the more immediate fact that so much Dark Flux activity was being reported here, in South America. This made her, as a Muggleborn, feel peculiarly vulnerable. Until today, she'd never truly thought of Dark Flux as something that could target and kill her. This had changed since entering that Pensieve.

'And are witnesses positive that Los Rojos aren't already in place before the Dark Flux strikes?' Draco asked, a little warily Hermione thought. Was he already fearing it had been found and weaponised? Were Los Rojos the perpetrators?

'There is no sign of Los Rojos until after los muertos,' Canaro said firmly.

Of course, this was only according to his own limited knowledge, Hermione thought. What could he know? Bolivia, Ecuador, even Patagonia were well over a thousand, if not many thousands of miles from Buenos Aires.

'So how do you get to know about these attacks?' she asked.

'I have my sources,' Canaro said smugly.

'If it hadn't been for Senor Asusto, would any of us know about Santa Maria?' Draco said, swilling the dregs of his lemonade slowly around the glass.

'It is in a very remote region,' Canaro said. 'As you will see for yourself.'

His eyes alighted on a small, blue bottle which was placed on a shelf behind where Hermione was standing. 'Senora Weasley,' he said, gesturing to the bottle. 'A Draught of Peace. Ready for your journey. Senor Malfoy has informed me of your condition.'

'Oh. Thanks,' Hermione said, her heart sinking a little at the thought of a flight to Patagonia.

'As for your other little problem, Senor Malfoy,' Canaro said. 'The mediwizard I would recommend to you is not in town today. Maybe when you return from Patagonia you can pay him a visit?'

Draco frowned in frustration. A flicker of pain scuttled involuntarily across his face. Clearly, any beneficial effects from the healing spell Hermione had cast on him earlier that day were wearing off.

'But I have a spare bottle of the potion I recommended to you,' Canaro continued in brighter tones. 'It might provide some small relief.'

'Thanks,' Draco growled. He pocketed the brown, glass bottle Canaro offered him without even glancing at it.

'I think you should try a little now,' Canaro said, his dark eyes twinkling, almost enjoying Draco's discomfort, Hermione thought.

Reluctantly, Draco removed the stopper, screwing his nose up at the smell of the potion inside, wondering if he trusted Canaro enough to actually taste the stuff. He cast a last, desperate glance in Hermione's direction and gulped back a mouthful of the potion, trying not to gag in the process. He then held his breath, waiting to see if he had survived. Once it was clear he had, he exhaled loudly, relief shining from his face.

'Well done, Senor Malfoy,' Canaro said. 'It is imperative you keep taking the potion. There is a very virulent magic inside of you. I can sense your blood crying out in pain.'

Draco grinned mirthlessly. 'That's cheerful.'

'Not really,' Canaro said bluntly, not understanding Draco's sarcasm. 'It is probable you will die unless you find somebody who can help you.'

'Oh. Right,' Draco said, momentarily lost for words. His face had drained of colour. 'Have I… got long?' he asked hesitantly.

Hermione found she was holding her breath, chilled by Canaro's words and off-handed manner.

Canaro beamed, baring his ragged gums. 'You have enough time to get the help you need, Senor Malfoy,' he said, nodding his head sagely. 'But I am confundido, bewildered by your condition. This type of magic is not supposed to hurt you.'

'Why's that?' Draco asked, a little shakily. Canaro fixed his reptilian, beady gaze on Draco's pale face and smirked.

'I think you know that already, don't you, Senor Malfoy?'

XXX

CHAPTER TRACK: "SPELLBOUND" by SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Thanks to Apurva & Lou.
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