Chapter 21
I wasn't lucky enough to actually escape the Slytherin Common Room with that sorry excuse. Fortune never seemed to swing my way on the best of days, and this was not my best day.
There was a reason I had yet to win a bet once in my entire life. If I bet on myself to lose the tournament I'd probably cause some horrific space-time anomaly when the universe tried to reconcile how it could both make me lose the bet and the competition at the same time.
I felt my ears beginning to bleed ten minutes into Altair's lecture about why I needed to take this competition seriously, for both our futures. It was as if both he and Abiel had forgotten that I was the person who'd seen my life flash before my eyes when I was dropped into an arena with a thousand pound cockatrice prancing around the arena. Who was it who's heart actually stopped when they accidentally grazed said cockatrice? Who out of the three of us had been poisoned in the last four months? I think I had a far greater appreciation for the stakes than they did.
He only let up when we entered the Great Hall and Cass materialised at my side.
"We'll finish this discussion later," Altair said with an air of grudging promise, continuing past me to his own table while Cass and I sunk down on the Hufflepuff benches.
Cass spared me a quizzical glance as he loaded his plate with heaps of fresh, out of season fruit. "I never did ask, how do you even know him? We don't share any classes, or even friends for that matter."
My mouth went dry and I forced myself not to glance back at Altair.
"I don't even remember you guys speaking once before the year started," he continued, passing the plate on to me.
I grabbed ahold of it out of habit, not really thinking about what I was doing until it was already firmly in my hands. At my dumbfounded expression, Cass chuckled.
"You're haven't been eating again," he explained, closing my fingers around a fork and guiding it down over the mound of food. "Nerves, right?"
I batted him off. "You wouldn't eat, either, if you'd just been poisoned."
A dark shadow fell across his face. "No, I don't think I would."
It wasn't just the poison, though. It was everything, and bringing up the night I met Altair certainly didn't do my stomach any favours. It sounded cliché to say that the day I officially met him had started off like any other, but it was true. Miserable, but true.
As I had every day prior since I'd returned from Hogwarts for the summer, I'd found myself arguing with the matrons of the orphanage about whether or not I would be allowed to return to my "boarding school". Naturally, they had no idea of the exact nature of Hogwarts, nor that their opinions on my return were entirely irrelevant. As far as they were concerned, I'd been attending the private boarding school for the last several years, and come autumn my brother would be granted admission, too. Bizarre, they said, that both of us randomly got accepted when we had nothing to our names, no family, no money. They never pressed the point. Fewer mouths to feed for ten months hardly seemed like a bad thing to them.
This last summer, however, they had a change of heart. Why did I need so much education, they asked. Most girls my age had either settled down into marriage, went off to a nunnery, or found odd jobs around the city. They couldn't remember any other girl they took care of getting that extensive of an education( and they couldn't see the point.
The matrons meant well. I knew that. They thought I was wasting my time going off to school during the supposed prime years of my life. I made it quite clear that I didn't agree, the spark that lit a thousand arguments.
So after dutifully taking my punishment for talking back and general disobedience, I snatched Thomas away for a walk before he could get me into more trouble than I already was in by defending me. Like them, he meant well, but a person had to pick their battles, and they could do a lot more damage against an eleven year old than they could against me.
We stayed out for hours and still he steamed over the injustice of how I'd been beaten for refusing to cave in to their wishes, so we stayed out for a few more. It wasn't a particularly bad beating, barely a few blows to the cheek. I already moved on. I'd taken much worse over the years, as had most everyone else, since physical punishment was a common enough practice.
I ought to have known then he'd be a Gryffindor based on the way he wanted to go back and pulverize them, even though he didn't even come up to their shoulders.
I couldn't help laughing. "Would you relax?"
He stomped his foot in righteous indignation. "But it's not fair!"
"It's not like they can stop me from going back to Hogwarts," I said, pulling him behind me through one of the seedier areas of London, near the docks. "And then in a few months I'll be of age and won't need to come back here anyway."
He stopped in his tracks and panic flickered across his expression. "You're not coming back?"
"I can't. I'm almost too old for their care anyway. I doubt they'd let me return at all."
His breathing picked up just as a gust of wind began churning around us. I knew better than to think it was natural based on the chill creeping down my neck.
"Thomas, you need to calm down," I warned levelly.
"I— I know, but I can't." His eyes grew wide, pleading. Terrified.
If anything, his panic coupled with my helpful advice to stop panicking only seemed to make him panic more. Pebbles rose up to eye level around us and floated weightless in the air, impervious to the harsh gusts of wind. I had to cover my ears as metal posts curled inward like steel and iron vines with horrible screeching sounds.
I reached for my wand— to do what, I don't know— before recalling how it was still packed safely away in my trunk.
It was always a gambled for a witch to go without her wand, but just where was I expected to hide it within my thin scrap of a dress? With the witch trials in full swing, it would have been mad to be caught with one. It had seemed an unnecessary risk, considering I still had several months to go before I turned seventeen and could legally use it outside of Hogwarts. Why risk it being seen if I still couldn't use it?
This was why.
Our little disturbance didn't go unnoticed. Already people were pouring out of nearby pubs and neighbouring buildings to catch a look of the commotion.
My brother's hand burned as I retook it, but I didn't let go. Together we pushed past stunned onlookers and reached the edge of the growing crowd just as the first frantic shout of "Witch! She's a witch!" rose into the air.
"Run, Thomas," I urged, ice in my veins. "I'll distract them. Just run!"
"What about you?" He dragged on my arm, weaving his fingers in and out of mine fearfully. "I can't go, not by myself!"
I checked the alleyways as we darted past, hoping for a place to hide. There were none, not so much as a single rubbish pile. Squeezing his hand in a bone-crushing grip, I pressed on, but Tom couldn't move his shorter legs fast enough to keep up and went crashing onto the worn cobblestones. After lifting him doggedly back to his feet, I whipped around until we stood face to face. My knuckles brushed his cheek, stealing precious seconds as a hive of pounding steps closed in.
"Go," I whispered. "I'll catch up."
"You won't," he protested, shaking his head furiously.
"I will, but there's no time." I couldn't help the way my voice cracked and could only hope he didn't hear it too. I flipped him around and shoved him as hard as I could away from the direction of the growing mob to give momentum. "I'll meet you back at the orphanage."
I watched him until he slipped out of sight, and then waited. I waited for the first heads of our pursuers to peak around the corner and lock onto me before I burst into a sprint of my own down a separate street from my brother.
In a way, it was a lucky thing, this witch prejudice. Between an eleven year old boy or a sixteen year old girl, it was obvious who they'd think were behind that display of magic, and I was, although terrified, grateful for it. I was far better equipped to slip the crowd than he was. Had they gone after him, we both would surely be caught.
They might still catch me anyway.
In the distance, overlapping shouts of "Witch!" sliced through the otherwise calm evening air, growing closer by the second, and louder as more joined the increasingly thoughtless mob. I started down an alley— a shortcut back to the orphanage if I was lucky— only to be shocked into a halt when I heard the rumble of steps coming from that direction as well. They'd thought to split up.
That second of hesitation before hurriedly retreating back out of the mouth of the alley cost me dearly.
I felt him before I saw him, the rough, roving hands, the coarse tunic washed one too many times, the musky scent of coal smoke rushed up my nose as I crashed into a his chest. The force of the collision sent me reeling. I reached for something, anything to keep me standing, but the man was the only thing close, so I landed with a breath stealing thud on my back.
The cobblestones were cold and damp beneath my fingers, their chill slithering up my arms. I twisted around to scramble to my feet, not anticipating the blow to my gut. Against my will, my arms gave in just as another kick found its home in my stomach.
"Stop," I choked, fighting for air. "Please! Please stop!"
"So you can cast a spell on me, witch?" he growled, swinging his leg back again and aiming for my head. "Crime against nature!"
I shielded my face just in time for the kick to crack the tender bones in my arm. I protested, "I'm not! Witches don't exist!"
That only seemed to enrage him more. "Did I imagine what I saw? Did I imagine you making everything float? Huh? Did I imagine that unnatural wind?"
He matched each question with a fresh kick and it was all I could do to just to keep my head and neck safe.
More footsteps alerted me that someone else had finally caught up, though I could barely hear it through the magnified pounding of my own heart. If there was ever a time for accidental magic, it would be now, not that I was ever so lucky.
"Over here," the man called, placing the worn bottom of his leather boots against my throat. "I've got her."
I couldn't see who he was talking to. Every attempt to twist my head caused him to renew pressure on my windpipe, crushing it closed. There was no use anyway. Soon the rest of the mob would catch up and I... I didn't want to think about it. Despite myself, images of witch burnings from History of Magic came back unbidden, except those witches weren't foolish enough to be without their wand.
Stupid. Stupid! Stupid!
I could almost feel the flames licking my legs already. The searing of my own skin would be the last thing I'd ever feel on this earth, the scent of my own cooking flesh. Maybe if I was lucky they'd let me drown, just throw me in the Thames to prove my guilt or to die. Certainly that was easier than building a pyre.
"A witch?" the newcomer asked, sounding winded. Sounding urgent.
The man grunted affirmative. I could do nothing but stare up at him, into his dark hazel eyes that held too much hate. He might have been handsome once, could have even resembled Damon, if my friend was thirty years older, but hate twisted his features into something ugly and cruel.
"I didn't do anything," I pleaded with my limited breath, each word coming out hoarse. "I would never hurt anyone."
My thoughts grew foggy as he increased the pressure on my jugular. My head weighed a ton and became a trial just to string two thoughts together. All I wanted— all I needed— was to close my eyes against the wave of exhaustion weighing me down.
No, I couldn't die, not like this. Not like a beaten, defeated animal. I was neither. I was difficult. Trouble always found me, so I devoted myself to finding it right back ten times worse. If I was to die, I'd at least live up to those expectations.
I couldn't die when my brother still needed me. Not like our parents had done.
While the man who caught me turned to address the other, I dug my fingers beneath his boot, hardly noticing how my nails clawed jagged ravines into the soft flesh of my neck, and pushed it away with all my might. Gulping down starved breathes of air, I rolled to my knees. It left him momentarily off balance, but just as I braced to lunge to claw his eyes out, a massive explosion shook the thought from my head. In front of my very eyes, he went flying into a brick wall and crumpled to the ground, motionless.
"Come on. There isn't much time," the same breathless voice from before said, only this time I could match a face to the voice.
To my surprise, I recognized both.
"You—you're that Seeker." I racked my brain for a name. "Um, Altair, right?"
He cut through me with a swift look. "This isn't the time."
He grabbed me by the collar and forced me to my feet. My chest ached sharply with each movement and I wondered if I'd broken a rib or two. That didn't stop me from running with him, though. A little pain beat an angry mob any day.
He led me down labyrinthian paths with such quick succession that even I nearly lost all sense of direction in the mask of darkness that had settled over the city.
"The orphanage," I managed to pant out. "I need— my brother— he—"
I didn't need to finish before he turned abruptly down a bystreet heading East. Even when all sound of pursuit dissolved into the deepening night, I couldn't rest easy. My nerves wouldn't allow it. I wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point I began pulling him.
Only two blocks away, I saw Thomas sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him in the exact opposite direction of where I told him to go. He was holding something. A wand, in full view of any passerby, but not just any wand. My wand.
I called out, "What are you doing here! I told you run away!"
His gaze snapped to mine, his whole face lighting up in relief. "Al!"
I shook off Altair and met Thomas half way in a bone crushing hug. It felt like my chest was splintering from the pressure and I was forced to pull away far too soon, coughing.
"Why do you have my wand?"
"Why are you coughing?" he tossed back.
"What if you'd been seen? The statute of secrecy alone..." a thought hit me with all the gentility of a train. I spun to face Altair. "What if someone saw you?"
Cyrus remained unfazed. "Someone did. I don't think he'll be much of a problem, do you?"
I gulped, immediately catching his drift. "You don't think that man's dead, do you?"'
He arched a brow. "Does it matter?"
I wanted to argue that of course it mattered, but a part of me— not even just a small part— agreed with him. It didn't matter. Not at all.
"Woah, you killed someone?" Tom looked between us with wide eyes.
My own eyes narrowed. "That better not be respect I detect in your tone, Thomas Lovett. Killing is wrong."
"You don't need to tell me that," he said with obvious annoyance.
I continued on talking to Altair like Tom hadn't spoken. "Won't the Ministry detect underage magic?"
"Do you know how many wizards live in this side of London alone? It's unlikely. Besides, I'm already of age."
"Right." I nodded absently, my attention drifting back to my brother. It seemed absurd, after what I'd just been through, but I arrived to an air of normalcy as I said, "It's time to get you back. You shouldn't be out so late. The matrons will have a fit again."
"You can't go back with him," Altair called at my back.
I didn't want to hear it. Even as my muscles tensed in acknowledgement of the truth of his words, I didn't want to hear it.
"He's my brother; of course I have to go with him."
"How many people saw your face?"
A dozen or so. "I have no idea."
"Then it's not safe," he stressed.
But I have nowhere else to go, I wanted to say, if only the words would unstick themselves from the back of my throat.
"I— I can't just leave him," I sputtered.
"You can and you will if you don't want to put him in even more danger. Putting as much distance between you and him is what's best for the kid."
"I'm not afraid," Thomas said immediately, offended at the very notion. "I'm going with my sister, where ever she goes, I go!"
My eyes shuttered closed as his words sent a fresh wave of turmoil through my heart. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that, in order to protect him, I needed to be far, far away. It went against every instinct I knew, every urge to hover. What if he did more accidental magic while I was away? Who'd take the fall then?
But if someone from that mob got a good enough look at my face and saw me walking around with him...
"Listen," I turned him to face me, my hands pressing down heavily on his shoulders as though to physically display the gravity of the situation, "I won't be gone forever."
He shook his head, shaking away the words. "No."
"While I'm away, you need to be really careful, extra careful, you hear me?" I shook him when he wouldn't meet my eyes and was startled by the tears forming there. My resolve nearly crumbled. "You can't afford to make any mistakes, since I'll be too far away to help."
The last words came out in a strangled whisper.
"No," he repeated.
"It'll only be for a month."
"But— but you only just got back!"
"I know, but this time you'll be coming with me when I head back to Hogwarts. It won't be forever." I prayed he'd understand. He needed to.
"Wrap it up," Altair cut in, darting anxious looks over his shoulder. "I think I can still hear them. We need to get out of the open."
I crushed my brother to my chest in a hug I imagined might have shattered a few more ribs. I didn't care.
"Go back to the orphanage," I rasped into his hair. "Stay safe."
"I won't!" he said defiantly, only clutching me tighter.
"Time to go!" Altair hissed, and grabbed hold of my arm by the sleeve, forcing us apart.
"I'll come get you on the first of September!" I called back at my brother as I was forcibly dragged away. "I promise!"
And we were gone.