Cups

Each gust of wind wrapped around Draco’s torso as he trudged forward, cords of air restricting movement and bellowing at Draco to go back.

Go back, go back, go back. The whispers came from Draco’s head, not the outside world. The wind was just wind, blustering by carrying fat raindrops to splatter against Draco’s water repellent jacket. Drop splatters didn’t sound like anything other than cold, wet, muck.

Draco lifted one Bulwark boot out of the marsh, leaning into the latest gush of wind before slopping his foot back into the choppy water. Naked tree branches whipped above his head in the wind as viciously as the whopping willow, forcing Draco further into the water to stay out of reach.

It was absolute shite to be traveling in such abhorrent weather. The sun was somewhere above, not yet set over the edge of the horizon, but you could hardly see its haze of light through the clouds and all the gray. Organic matter bobbed in the water and Draco prayed to whatever gods were listening that it was just bits of wood. Let it be wood, and not dugbogs with their finned paws and small, razor teeth.

Draco had conjured his own light. A flickering orb of purple blue pulsing ahead, drawing him into deeper water and deeper darkness.

Far down in Draco’s pocket was a map that charted the course he had meant to follow. He’d purchased it at the renounced Mappa Mundi where they assured him it came from the private collection of the renowned explorer, Elphias Doge. It was the tiny notes in jagged script lining the sides of the parchment that compelled Draco to make the purchase. Trek the winded path to extract spectral stone.

Wet marsh slop slapped up Draco’s legs, reaching as high as his back thighs, the thrash of water striking out against the heaving wind. Draco twisted round, too fast, he had to throw out his hands to keep his balance on the slippery underwater silt. His eyes flickered constantly, catching every flash of movement in the water but not seeing anything capable of creating a splash. His ears strained but nothing could be heard of the howling of the wind.

Go back, go back, go back, he imagined it said. The weight on his shoulders was likely just the wind blowing hard onto his back, but it felt like the prickle of beady eyes glaring because Draco wasn’t wanted here.

Draco’s fingers itched to pull out his wand and cast the wand lighting charm to reveal hidden things. Instead he pulled his fingers back, bundling his hands in his charm-warmed pockets, his right hand gripping the wand hidden there far too tight.

He turned back into the wind and marched. Forward, ever forward. The water deepening until it covered his knees and he had to lunge through the depths, worrying wind-driven waves would splash over his spelled breeches and strike icy against his less well protected chest.

His guiding orb pulsed, never swayed by the wind. Never dampened by the sheets of water pelting Draco from above, and bouncing off the marsh to pelt him from below. Doge’s notes hadn’t said a damn thing about rain.

The strain of constant movement burned his calves. The burning crept to his thighs. Each step was an ache. It was easier to shuffle a foot forward than to lift it. Unless it caught on underwater brush he had to push through, always aware this could be the time his foot tangled. This could be the time the brush moved on its own accord. His fingers ached from gripping the slip of wood that stood between him and true crisis in this wilderness.

The next step lurched. The mud beneath him sucked at his boot, yanking him down to his ankle. The spelled leather kept him dry but didn’t restrain the tight squeeze of pressure sucking at his limb. Draco tried to leverage the weight on his other foot to pull back. The added weight made his back foot sink, submerging him further in the icy water that lapped at his hips. His feet were devoured by sediment with no intention of release.

It was dark now. Proper night. Draco’s flickering eyes caught only vague shapes. Soft light reflections quivering in the unstable water. Draco’s purple-blue beacon hovered, otherworldly in its stillness as foliage thrashed around it.

Foliage. Trees. Land.

Draco peered at the shapes around the light, archiving individual angles of bare branches into his mind to anchor the location into his psyche. He layered the shadow of black trees over the shadow of hard ground in his mind’s eye and focused as hard as he ever had in his life. The crack of apparition was drowned out by the gail that whipped up at Draco’s escape.

Hard earth did not gently welcome Draco. His aching legs gave out and it was stone that greeted him when he fell. Hard, flat, cold stone. Not rough or jagged rock. Draco took the time to press his fingers into it as the wind picked up speed. Trees swayed and thrashed and scraped Draco with claw-like branches. Draco’s hood stayed firmly in place, his jacket protecting his head and torso like armor on a battlefield. He spread his fingers out wide, pushing his hand into the stone until it warmed under his touch.

The purple-blue light pulsed. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each time growing in luminance until the black stone under Draco’s hand tinged purple in its light and the minerals deep inside it sparkled under the light. Mostly white shimmers, gathering around the warmth of his fingers as if drawn to his touch. The shimmering pulsed under his hand on the same beat as his light. The same beat as his heart, elevated in force and speed.

Draco looked up and saw a small cavern of dark stone. The purple-blue light drawing out various hues, tricking the eye into thinking none were real.

But Draco looked, and Draco saw. He saw the reflection of light on the sparkling stone and the spaces that never shifted back to white. Small circles etched into the cave.

Draco licked his lips, hungry and eager. His eyes centered on one mark, one place, and he didn’t blink as he stalked towards it, wand at the ready, his teeth aching to bite out the severing charm he had practiced.

The ground lurched under his feet, hard enough to topple Draco. The entire world dimmed, like darkness growing darker. Even Draco’s phantasma orb shuddered under the strain of pitch black oppressive shadow.

Draco’s pushed on the ground, an effort to find balance and rise. The wind beat him back down, finally hard enough to hold him off. The black stone leeched Draco’s heat. Pulled at his fingers. Sucked on him. The sparkling minerals were back, lit up on the edges of Draco’s five digits that couldn’t hold him up. White, shimmering sparkles. Except..

“Diffindo,” Draco whispered in alignment with the swish of the index finger that brushed up against the blue-purple sparkles in the ground. He pushed at the edge of the severed stone and it popped out of the ground. He snapped forward and nabbed the piece of rock, clutching it in his fist even as the shadow loomed closer and all the shimmering stone surrounding him shook with the smothering force the would have squeezed the very air from Draco’s lungs given half a chance.

Draco pull his arms in. First the stone, then the wand. He squeezed his eyes closed so they didn’t pop out of his skull. A smile tugged at the lips that bit out the word to whisk him away.

Yellow hued light blazed bright in the manor where Draco landed. A grime-coated and bedraggled figure among the pristine, restored furnishings of the great house. Draco’s legs gave out once more, dropping him to his knees on a lush persian rug. Fire crackled in the hearth, eating up a mound of wood like the stone was still eating heat off Draco’s fingers.

Draco clung to it, his grin mostly teeth. Wind whipped wild outside the manor, rattling the windows, but no where near loud enough to drown out the sound of Draco’s victorious laugh.