These nice people were
taking her somewhere with better beds, they said. That was kind of
them. They were traveling cheap, they’d said, but they were going
out of their way for her and her curious red-headed companion.
Although, as they led her through the dark and narrow streets, wands
held out, she wondered why they needed to travel cheap if they had
magic. They could just conjure up decent beds for themselves, right? There were
spells for that. So this whole business of finding her a decent bed
seemed impractical at best. Why, she could conjure up a bed herself!
Except that, when she shook sleeve, her wand didn’t fall out into
her hand.
Sparrow’s heart began to beat faster. Where was her wand? How could she have possibly left it?
That thing practically clung to her hand. In fact it did cling
to her hand, when she wasn’t laying it beside the
Fetching Stick. Wait a minute, what was the Fetching
Stick? How could a dog-chewed length of branch do anything magical?
And whose wand always lay beside it?
Sparrow rummaged in her pocket, hoping that she’d left the wand in
there. But all her fingers found was the handle of a hand mirror, and
a curious wooden ball.
At once all her memories came back to her.
She caught herself from stiffening in shock, or looking around
wildly. The last thing she wanted to do was give these bloodthirsty knuckleheads a
reason to wipe her memory again, or chuck her to the lethifolds. More
than that, she didn’t want to give them any reason to wipe Wren’s
memories again – if they had? She caught Wren’s eyes, and saw
there only a look of
innocent curiosity. She stole a glance at the figures in front of
her, but they weren’t looking back. Furtively she signed to Wren,
"You alright mate?"
Wren only frowned in confusion. They opened their mouth to speak –
but before they could say a word, Robin had yanked the Remember Ball
out of her pocket and pressed it into Wren’s hand. They startled,
the ball flying out of their hand and off into the shadows. Sparrow nearly
darted after it, only catching herself when she saw Wren’s eyes
glowing orange. Frantically she signed, "cool it, cool it, don’t
blow our cover." A sorry farewell to Wren’s greatest work yet,
but the march continued, and Sparrow had to be there, holding her
friend’s hand, as the glow faded from their eyes and they put on a
look of blank calm.
Not that Sparrow found it easy to be calm herself, as she was still
wondering where the hell her wand had got to. But then her frantic
worry was replaced by sudden tension, for a great hand was upon her
shoulder – she looked up into a face shadowed by a hood, body
obscured by a grey cloak. Only their eyes gleamed out of the
darkness, glaring down at her –
But for an instant, the eyes of the figure had rainbow irises.
Sparrow nearly gasped, but the figure put a finger to their lips, and
signed, "Follow. Make no sudden move. Don’t worry, I’ve got
your wand." The figure clapped their hand on Sparrow’s
shoulder again, jostling her a little. Out loud they said, in the
high voice of the so-called Smith, "Get a move on, you two, no
sense keeping everybody waiting."
"Wouldn’t say I’m in a hurry," said the gruff voice.
"We’re going to have to explain this."
"Well Phineas Yaxley," said the so-called Smith, "I’ll
be perfectly willing to shoulder the majority of the blame for
this little deviation from the plan. But let’s get it over with
quickly, shall we? And you, Carrow, you’re looking a little
reluctant as well. Come on then."
Sparrow’s heart had slowed at the affirmation her wand was near,
even in the midst of being made to walk faster. Yet when she heard
the name "Carrow", it set off alarm bells in her head –
Wilhelmina had called the man "Dolph" just earlier. If this
was the actual Rodolphus Carrow, then she was in the captivity of one
of the most formidable Wizards in Britain. Worse – he might not
even be high in the seniority of whatever operation was occurring, if
he’d been sent out for this collect-a-captive mission. Sparrow’s
heartrate quickened once more.
And on top of all that, Wilhelmina was playing some manner of game
with the entire business, she was some sort of double agent, some
infiltrator, and yet she hadn’t seen fit to sign any word to
Sparrow of what she was
up to. So Sparrow’s only real reassurance in this moment was Wren,
if they weren’t about to go off bang again.
It was a time like this Sparrow very much wished that she was in the
arms of her beloveds. Though when they arrived – how they might
even arrive, Sparrow could not know – they would be walking into
that prepared trap, because Sparrow was bait they could not ignore. What she could do, however, was
warn them well ahead of time, with a method of communication that her
captors could not possibly intercept, even if they had been informed
of it. She gave Wren’s hand a quick squeeze, then closed her eyes,
concentrating on her thoughts of Jill, hoping that Jill was close
enough by now that Sparrow’s ending could reach, hoping that she
had enough magic left for the attempt.
In but a moment, a humanoid figure made of fire appeared in her
mind’s eye, on the background of a starry sky.
But nearly as quickly, the figure shattered into a million fragments
and disappeared, and the waking world returned to Sparrow’s sight.
Stumbling in her daze, Sparrow was suddenly
shaken by a rough hand. She found herself staring into the face of
Wilhelmina’s fearsome disguise. Once more that rainbow iris winked
into existence, and then faded to black again. She subtly shook her
head.
"Alright," said Phineas. "This
is a good spot to avoid being seen."
"If your apparition wasn’t so damned
flashy," growled Dolph, "we could do this from anywhere."
"At least I can actually do it," said
Phineas.
Apparition. She’d been told the school had
taught it, once, but in these latter days the age limit had been
raised to nineteen and it was only taught on Ministry premises. If
she and her friends could learn it on their own –
Further thoughts were cut off as Sparrow felt a
large hand grab her wrist.
…
Sparrow had eaten a decent portion for dinner
that evening. It all came back up onto the cobblestones as she knelt
on the hard street.
Cobblestones. Wait, it couldn’t be –
Sparrow lifted her head. There above her were
the tall, steeply leaning upper stories
of shops and tenements. At the street level, street lamps glowed
dimly, their light at low levels for this late hour. Still, they
revealed enough of the street for Sparrow to see the dim shapes of
the clutter before familiar storefronts – where the brass globes
and telescopes of Chister’s Astronomy Accoutrements glinted in the
faint golden light, where the great glass windows of Monsieur
Malkin’s Robes bore a slight glare that obscured the mannequins
just behind them, where the tall storefront of Weasley’s Wizarding
Wheezes,
once towering two
stories above its companions, was now matched by the many tenements
that had been built up to accommodate the influx
of Wizards from the increasingly unsafe muggle world.
For this was Diagon Alley, center of Wizarding
London, the heart of Wizarding Britain and now, for good or for ill,
the decisive majority of its population, where once it had been far
more scattered. Here on the street stood the dregs of that society –
people conjuring tents, tucking themselves beneath outdoor
tables, trying to dimensionally extend alcoves. Not everyone who had
made it to the city had made it into actual accommodations.
And even those who had been here for a while,
well. Far in the distance loomed a great domed structure, silhouetted against the
night sky, where the Ministry had planted itself next to Gringotts,
right on top of Knockturn Alley. There was all the sympathy in the
world for the Ministry fleeing the flooding of its underground
location; there was none for Knockturn.
Why the Ministry building was dark, Sparrow
could not tell. Normally there were at least a few windows lit, where
interns and junior undersecretaries burned the literal midnight oil.
Was it a bank holiday? Sparrow
hadn’t been paying attention to matters of levity very much, these
days.
And there was one more thing Sparrow was
missing. For she had grown fairly well used to the lingering scent of
a large population confined in a limited area. The interior of
Hogwarts always had that mild whiff of collective body odor,
especially on rainy days. Diagon Alley normally had it even stronger,
even in the small hours of the morning –
And it wasn’t like the place smelled as empty
as the windswept downs of Wiltshire, there were still the
street people. But the scent was, for the first time in Sparrow’s
living memory, muted.
The people around had stopped settling down for
the evening and were peering closely at Sparrow and Wren, pointing at
them, whispering frantically to their neighbors. Some of them were
drawing closer. Some were hiding behind large objects.
"Get lost," snarled Dolph. "All
of you, disappear, or we’ll sic the wolf
on you. None of you saw anything. Get out of here."
The sound of multiple people disapparating in
quick succession was akin to a firecracker. Those who could not
disapparate scampered through doors, into alleys, under carts. One
person jumped into a rain barrel. Another one waved their wand and
slowly faded out of sight. Dolph flicked his wand at them, and there
was a sharp snap as the Wizard yelped and jumped into the air,
losing their disillusionment charm. They too scurried away.
"Riffraff," said Dolph.
"But once we secure our foothold we can put them with the rest."
"Remind me where we put the rest?"
said the so-called Smith.
Dolph gave Smith a look of exasperation. "Are
you meaning to tell me that you could possibly have forgotten?"
"I’m terribly busy," said the
so-called Smith. "You know many things I’m doing, how much I’m
dealing with our contacts, traveling here and there – not
everything remains in my memory, Dolph! Cut me a little slack, if
you please."
"You saw us transfiguring them," said
Dolph. "You participated."
To this the so-called Smith could only shrug
and wear an expression of indifference. "I transfigure a lot of
people. It all blurs together. And that doesn’t answer the question
of where." The so-called Smith practically snarled the
last word, raising the eyebrows of both Dolph and Phineas, who
exchanged glances. "I want to know," continued Smith more
calmly, "so I can have my fun with them. You know, like a muggle
scientist? They love their mice. They love what they can do with
them."
Phineas grinned. "Yes, I see what you
mean. Don’t worry, we’ll get to them shortly."
"Ooh," said Sparrow, "Do you
have prisoners? This sounds delightfully roguish. A real
swashbuckling adventure."
"We’re bloody poy-rats," said Wren,
putting on a thick West
Country accent. "Arr. Where be the gold?"
Dolph and Phineas slowly turned to regard
Sparrow and Wren with looks of grave disdain. Sparrow had certainly
intended to make herself sound like a naïve idiot – and Wren had
played along masterfully, she made a mental note to give them a
high-five later – but she realized that she had not well calculated
the effect of her words. For Dolph and Phineas were both shaking
their wands out of their sleeves.
But before they could cast anything,
Wilhelmina, the so-called Smith, laughed heartily. "Yarr! Aye,
Miss Jones, we be having a jolly good game. And when we release the
enemy, they shall capture us!" She shrugged. "Plenty of
play-acting these days, there be little else to do in these gloomy
times."
As Dolph and Phineas looked at Wilhelmina with
utter bewilderment, Sparrow clapped her hands in merriment, hoping
that her playing along would work. "A marvelous jest! So glad
you could take us in, Mister Smith!"
Phineas and Dolph were looking deeply
suspicious, while Wilhelmina looked nervous. But then she laughed
again. "Ah, Miss Jones, I can imagine that you would assume the
most generic name for my play-acting. But did you know, my name is
actually Mister Smith? It is the most extraordinary coincidence!"
"Hang on," said Wren, "is your
first name actually Mister?"
"Never did get your first name,"
muttered Phineas.
"By a strange quirk of family history,"
said Wilhelmina, "my family frequently uses the name ‘mister’,
as our talent for water magic runs in the family. So yes, in fact, my
first name is Mister. I always like to say I’m a mystery." She
winked.
∫∫∫∫∫∫ WATER MAGIC! BY GOLLY, I’VE
GOT ANOTHER IDEA. ∫∫∫∫∫∫
⋄⋄ FOCUS. ⋄⋄
"Water magic," said Wren out loud.
"That’s mighty convenient! For mighty Sparrow is a pirate
captain, and we could use a water mage in our crew!"
Sparrow’s ear erupted in pain as Dolph
twisted it, along with Wren’s. "Stuff the kids games and let’s
get a move on, shall we, Captain Jones?" He fairly
dragged the two of them along the street, towards the Ministry.
…
There wasn’t even any light on in the main
hall. Nor was there any water running in the fountain. Normally this
place would be lit with magical fairy-lights until midnight, and it wasn’t quite that
late. The only light was from the wands of her captors, as Dolph
dragged Sparrow onward, never releasing her ear. She hadn’t any
time to consider where the lights might have gone.
Yet there were other lights, that Sparrow could
see, down various hallways. Shifting glows and gleams off marble
flooring and polished walls, accompanied by distant sharp crackling
and booming, the floor occasionally vibrating. And a small light from
one of the hallways, swiftly moving towards them.
"Aldous Finch-Fletchley!" barked
Wilhelmina. "Report!"
"Why do you keep using full names this
evening?" muttered Phineas.
Finch-Fletchley marched up to Wilhelmina and
gave a quick bow. "Captain Smith. Things did not go quite as smoothly as we had hoped. We didn’t manage to
obliviate everyone...you can see the results, we’ve got a bit of
resistance left."
"Let’s go and clean it up then,"
said Wilhelmina. "Shouldn’t be too difficult."
"Resistance!" said Sparrow. "My
goodness, this is quite a realistic game you’re playing!"
She’d hoped to sound like the naïve idiot
again, but this time, instead of producing mere looks of disdain, it
caused Phineas and Dolph to stare daggers at her. Dolph produced his wand –
only for Wilhelmina to force his hand down. "No wasting time,"
she said. "Patil and Carrow are arriving in precisely ten
minutes. Get Jones and the ginger to the courtyard, I’ll handle
things here."
"Patil and Carrow!" said Sparrow. "My
goodness, both my old friend and my old enemy! Are they joining our
game?"
"It must be quite the game," said
Wren, "if they’re coming all the way from Hogwarts."
"Shut up," growled Dolph, and he
shoved the two of them forward along the great hall, out of sight of
the shifting glows.
Eventually they made their way to an inner
courtyard, where grew many tall trees, many more than Sparrow
typically saw in one place – the Ministry had taken at least one
cue from Muggles, and grown its own manner of Paradise Garden. Sparrow had only been
permitted access to this space once before. Not because its access
was exclusive, but because, as a newly-minted witch with a newly-won
wand, she hadn’t the skills necessary to keep herself safe from the magical plants
hidden within the mundane ones.
Nor, as a muggleborn, had she the knowledge to
watch out for them – she had been shown in with strict supervision,
specifically to see before her eyes the dangers of the world she was
entering. Snapping jaws of flowerheads on stalks striking out of
hedges; writhing vines that would wrap up the unwary; a tree that
would shoot
out spikes if you so much as brushed it. All manner of tricky little
devils.
Whose was the voice of the little angel she
could hear whimpering out of the darkness now? And whose was the
voice of the woman, whispering, "don’t struggle, honey, they
said if we don’t struggle we would be fine."
Whose indeed? Two voices
Sparrow knew well. She could only hope that it some some trick, some
illusion – yet the wand-lights of her captors fell upon a certain
middle-aged woman, her pre-teen daughter on her lap, and a certain
middle-aged man, his little son on his lap.
All of them with green vines winding around
their arms, their legs, their necks.
"Goodness," breathed Sparrow,
desperately trying to keep her voice from shaking. "What a
strange game this is indeed! Very realistic. Tell me, Mister Carrow, might we
interrogate the prisoners? I want to do some nice torture." She
laughed evilly for good measure.
Dolph made no reply but a grunt, as he shoved
Sparrow towards her family. Phineas had taken Wren by the collar and
roughly thrown them forward. Both of them wound up closer than
Sparrow had intended to the vines – too close, as Sparrow felt
something creeping up around her calf. By the time she thought to
shake it off, her leg was stuck fast, and the other one was already
being ensnared. Sparrow looked to Wren, whose legs were already fully
bound, the vines creeping up their arms. She looked to her mother,
whose expression of stoicism could not fully hide her fear. The vines
about her neck were tighter than Sparrow had even guessed.
She needed to contact Jill, to warn her that
this was a trap. She closed her eyes, and
concentrated on her thoughts of the girl, bringing the image of a
flaming figure to her mind even more swiftly than before – yet once
again the vision shattered. Sparrow’s eyes flew open. She
shook her head, unable to believe that her efforts couldn’t be
working, if Jill was supposedly so close. She closed her eyes again,
this time concentrating on her thoughts of Jocasta – swiftly
bringing the image of a green glowing figure to her mind – and yet
this vision also shattered, and her eyes flew open again. Nothing was
working. Why was
nothing working?
Her head turned at the sound of many snaps and
cracks. Into the courtyard were apparating many people, all of them
robed and hooded in black. Dolph was making an exasperated sound at
the sight of them. "Merlin’s Beard, do you all have to
look so lugubrious? We’re supposed to be getting a job done,
not playing with costumes."
"Intimidating people is part and parcel of
the job," said one figure, marching towards Dolph. "Especially
when we move on to dealing with muggles. As for your job,
Dolph, I notice that you seem to have caught two people who aren’t
the actual target. Are you going to be bringing us the Patil girl in
a moment?"
"Smith says the Patil girl will be
charging at us in ten minutes," said Dolph. "We can just
set up a rune trap –"
"Which Smith is our actual expert at,"
said the one figure, "which we’re going to need, because Patil
is that much to handle, which is why you were supposed to capture her
the easy way. And where is Smith, then? You seem to have a knack for
bringing us everyone besides the people we need this evening."
"Busy doing even more of your own work for
you," said Phineas. "Between handling all the contacts,
practicing rune traps, and mopping up the last of the resistance,
they’re doing most of the work, lazy bones."
"Yaxley, if you speak one more word out of
turn –"
"It was even Smith who caught the
speeding ginger," said Phineas. "And who made all the
arrangements with the howlers, and laid the curse on Hogsmeade. And what
have the rest of you been doing but sitting on your fat arses?"
As the conversation devolved into loud
bickering, Sparrow saw an opportunity to speak with her mother. With
the vines twining around her neck, she tried to turn her head, only
managing it slightly. She tried to pull away the vines about her
neck, but her arms themselves were being entangled. "Mother,"
she said through gritted teeth, "we’re all going to get out of
this, I promise."
"That’s a very polite way of referring
to me," said Mother, "but where is your actual mother?"
"Yeah," said Robin. "Who are
you? You look really cool."
Sparrow froze, no longer struggling against the
vines. "Are you...are you playing a
joke?"
"Are you?" said Mother. "But you
don’t sound joking. Where are your parents? What are you doing with
these awful fellows, so late at night?"
Sparrow’s heart began to beat faster.
"Mother, please –"
"I really wish I could help you,"
said Mother. "If I wasn’t tangled up in this mess, I would
adopt you straight away. But you can see we’re all a little
occupied. Oh! What’s happening to your eyes, dear? Where’s that light coming from?"
Everything had gained a golden tint, and
Sparrow’s heart was beating like a rabbit’s. At the same time,
the air was becoming hot and humid. Sparrow struggled to turn her
head towards Wren, and she could just see the orange glow surrounding
them.
In the meantime the bickering from their
captors had died down, as Dolph’s voice had prevailed above all
other argument. "We’ve got three minutes left!" He shoved
Phineas toward some of the low bushes. Overhead, there was a distant
roar, such as Sparrow had only heard rarely – the roar of a dragon.
"Scratch that, we’ve got zero minutes left! Forget the rune trap! Get to cover and
ready your wands!" All the people in black scurried into the
shadows.
"Father," whispered Sparrow, "please,
for God’s sake, tell me you remember me."
"I am sad to say I do not," murmured
Father.
"Lark?"
"I guess I’m just a little birdbrain,"
said Lark. "I’ve got nothing."
Sparrow took a deep breath in, wishing that it
could possibly slow her racing heart. But with her final hope flown
away, she knew that the energy roiling within her core could not be
held back any longer. Only long enough to whisper a few more words.
"I am sorry, Mother, Father, Lark, Robin – I have failed you."
"How did you fail us?" said Mother.
"We still don’t even know who you are."
"Precisely," whispered Sparrow. "And now, you don’t
even have a chance to plug your ears. So all I can tell you to do is
shut your eyes."
"What do you mean?" said Robin.
"I mean just do it!" she shouted.
There was a golden light playing about her, mixing with the orange
light coming from Wren. "I’ll try to heal your hearing later,
just shut your eyes!"
"What the hell is going on with those
two?" shouted Dolph’s voice from the shadows.
∫∫∫∫∫∫ REVENGE. ∫∫∫∫∫∫
⋄⋄INDEED, MY FRIEND. DO NOW AS YOU WILL. ⋄⋄
In an instant, Wren was out of the vines, and streak of
orange light had shot straight at Dolph, striking him with an audible
thud and knocking the
man’s wand out of his hand. Before
Dolph
could grab Wren, they had already streaked away, slamming into a
figure that had stepped out from behind a tree, sending their wand
flying. They shot right back at Dolph, slamming into him again,
barely slowing down as he
spun around and fell. Jets
of light from multiple wands were shooting at the streak of light,
all but one of them missing, and the one that connected barely seemed
to slow Wren down. It was only when nearly every wizard that had been
taking cover had risen to weave a quick net of golden strands over
the general area of Wren’s rampage that Wren was at last contained.
Wren threw themselves at the strands, this way and that, but though
the strands gave, they did not yield.
Sparrow
yanked her arms and legs away from the vines, standing tall. She
whirled upon her mother and tore the vines away from her, and away
from the rest of her family in turn. ⋄⋄NOW
YOU MAY STOP YOUR EARS – BUT BETTER TO RUN. RUN FAR AWAY FROM ME.
GO.⋄⋄
Her
family hesitated a moment, her mother reaching a hand out for
Sparrow’s cheek – but Sparrow slapped the hand away.
She shouted –
Or intended to. But what erupted from her mouth
was not the sound of a human girl screaming. It was the sound of a
hundred trumpets, blaring
wild, discordant wails, no two notes the same, the echoes in the
space pounding upon her own ears, as brilliant golden light all about
her assaulted her eyes. Through the din she could just hear her
would-be-captors crying in pain, she could just see them clutching their ears, she could just see Wren
streaking among them, free again, knocking over those that had not
fallen.
Pain, all was pain, it was all she and her
adversaries deserved. She deserved nothing less than this, none of
these fiends deserved any less. Sparrow’s own family had been
ripped from her. She hadn’t been able to save them in time. She
could only watch them go, as they scampered right past the wizards
and out of the courtyard.
And now there were many new wizards apparating
into the courtyard, and very many of them were not bowing in pain at
the assault of the hellish fanfare, as they had donned earmuffs. They
were shielding their eyes, though, and the spells that they were
casting at Sparrow were often missing their mark – and yet, even
those that struck Sparrow were barely slowing her. Her legs only felt
a bit more stiff, her arms only weakly gravitated to her sides –
she could take a step towards them, and another step, thundering all
the while, and know that she would reach them long before their
spells got to her.
Yet her knees began to bend.
Two steps was too much for her after all. Her magical reserves, what
was left of them, were escaping her in a blaze of pandemonium. Her
legs were heavy, her throat was dry as a bone, her breath was running
out, and still she would not stop, she could not stop – she could
sink to her knees. She could see wizards creeping towards her, wands
at the ready.
But high above, there came another sound, that
Sparrow’s own cacophony could not cover. For a dragon’s roar was
approaching – growing closer, closer, closer –
A downblast of wind threw Sparrow and the
remaining Wizards to the stone.
A resounding thud sent everyone bouncing
a foot into the air.
Silence fell upon the courtyard, as Sparrow’s
bedlam ceased. She rolled onto her front and struggled to raise
herself on her arms, staring at the figure that had appeared.
A tall figure, a silhouette that should have
been impossible for Sparrow to see in the sudden darkness and her
current night blindness – yet one whose outlines she could see
clearly in spite of it all. A familiar brawny figure, out of whose
shadowed face glowed two red eyes, out of whose mouth licked flames.
A figure staring straight at
her.