Chapter 3
When the crowd of Muggleborns were stumbling to the fireplaces, three children stood together near the witch and wizards who had supposedly let everybody go.
Monica Church, Marcus Dawes and Lucy Zhang, all of whom had been waiting to be seen by the High Inquisitor and had been sitting down on the benches when it was announced that they were to all go home, had tried to move through the crowd to ask the shouting man where they were to go, as they didn’t know how to get out or how to go home.
A woman with dark brown hair had been arguing loudly with one of the wizards. Marcus decided he would interrupt them to ask, but as soon as the two had disappeared in front of his eyes, he grabbed onto the wizard next to them, while grasping Monica in his other hand. Lucy reached out at the same time to hold onto the wizard and the four of them flew through the nearby fireplace, landing in what appeared to be a public toilet.
Before the three children could get their bearings, they heard the woman shouting at the wizard who was snarling horribly, calling her horrible things. They didn’t know what a Mudblood was, but they guessed that it was a nasty thing to call someone.
“Hey! Let her go!” Monica shouted, causing the wizard to turn. The blood pounded in her head as the wizard turned to them and started cornering them inside a cubicle. The girls gripped Marcus’ hand and whimpered, as he gulped and shrank back.
But then the wizard fell to the ground. The children looked up to see the woman holding a broken sink part in her hands. “It fell off – too much pressure – too many people coming out of the seat at once,” she gasped, before she told them, “grab onto me.”
The children were too afraid to do so otherwise. As soon as they did, the woman turned on her heels and disappeared. Yet again, they were flying through the air, only this time, they landed in piles of leaves.
Despite everything, Lucy found herself giggling. “That was wicked!” she laughed, playfully throwing leaves into the air.
“Sorry,” Monica retied her hair-ribbon, which was coming loose, “what was your name?”
“Mary Cattermole,” the woman was looking around rapidly, “I couldn’t leave you there.”
Then she held her face in her hands and started sobbing.
Monica stopped tying her ribbon, Lucy stopped throwing leaves about and Marcus looked at her sideways. It was strange to see an adult crying right in front of them, let alone one they’d just met.
“Did we do something wrong?” Marcus asked.
Mary shook her head. “No. I – my husband was there. And then someone else – he looked like my husband, too. I – I have to get home. Get my kids. Stay here.” She disappeared again. The children were left staring at the spot where Mary had been.
“Where do you think this is?” Monica asked, looking to her left.
“Not sure.” Marcus got up and peered around him. “It could be anywhere.”
“Why do you think those people on the benches were crying?” Monica walked over towards a metal gate about fifty yards away.
“They didn’t look very happy,” Lucy agreed, “and the two that collected us weren’t very nice. It felt cold in there.”
Marcus nodded, before he called to Monica, “Hey, don’t go far! She said to stay here.”
“I want to go home,” Monica turned on her heel, her hands turning into fists, “I don’t want to be here. And – who knows what that woman’s really like.”
“Well,” Lucy stood up and ran over, “let’s just wait. If she doesn’t come back, we’ll go out and see what’s out there.”
“Okay.” Monica mumbled, clenching her fist near her mouth.
It was several minutes before Mary Cattermole returned. When she did appear, out of thin air with the leaves she had landed on skidding across the ground, she had three more children and an assortment of cases with her. One of the children was aged ten, another was one or two years younger and the third was aged six or seven. They all looked frightened, slightly dirty, as if they had been fighting, and a tiny bit weepy.
Mary straightened the hat she was wearing and tried her best to smile at the three children sitting on piles of leaves. In utter boredom, Monica had started pulling apart split ends and Lucy was drawing pictures in the sandy ground with sticks.
“Kids,” Mary tried to smile but found it rather difficult, “these are my children. Maisie, Ellie and Alfred. Maisie, Ellie, Alfred, these are…” she trailed off, realising that she hadn’t asked the first-years their names.
Marcus stood up, grinning at them. He held his hand out. “I’m Marcus. Pleased to meet you.”
Monica got up and shuffled her way over to Marcus, clinging like a limpet. “I’m Monica.”
“Lucy.” The other girl said as she stood up. Then she eyed the suitcases. “How come you’ve got suitcases and we lost ours at the station?”
“Yeah,” Monica mumbled, “I want my owl back. He was sweet.”
Mary sighed, pulling a thin strand of hair behind her ear. “Because we have to leave our home. This was all we could get at short notice.” Alfred sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve as he pulled a ragdoll shaped like a bunny close to his face.
Marcus, Monica and Lucy looked at each other, confused. “Does this mean,” Marcus began, “that we’re not going to the magical school?”
Mary Cattermole shook her head. “I’m sorry, loves. And you can’t go home. It’s too dangerous.”
“But what about my mum and dad?” Monica asked, her voice trembling, “They’ll be expecting letters back.”
“Look, there’s no time to explain,” Mary interrupted, “just hand my kids’ hands. We have to leave the country. I’ll explain on the way.”
The three children were hesitant to go with this woman, even if they were certain that she may have saved their lives. But they gingerly moved closer, Marcus and Monica yet again holding hands. They took Ellie’s shaking hand and Lucy took Alfred’s, who shook away, before grabbing Maisie’s jumper.
They landed on a wobbly surface, with the smell of seaweed wafting around them. Once Monica, Marcus and Lucy managed to get their bearings back yet again (and Lucy was certain that she might throw up), they saw that they were on a boat. A boat which had just left a harbour, it seemed, as some cliffs were in the distance.
Mary looked at the six children staring up at her. This was going to be tricky.
“Now,” she breathed in deeply, “I was told that I had to leave the country. Maisie, Ellie, Alfie, I don’t know where Dad is. Monica, Marcus, Lucy, just please stay quiet and don’t ask questions; I don’t mean to sound like your teacher, but I have enough on my plate at the moment. Now, here’s the story we have to stick to. You three,” she looked at the first-years, “are Maisie’s friends from school. We’re going on holiday to
Norway for a week.”
“But it’s September,” Lucy pointed out.
Mary nodded. “Private schools go back later. At least, Muggle ones do, anyway.”
“What is a Muggle?” Marcus questioned her after cleaning his glasses. “We were called Muggles. It doesn’t sound very nice.”
Mary sighed. Even with all the persecution of Muggleborns, she never would have expected to end up on a ferry to her second cousins in Norway with the kids. And an extra three to boot.
I just hope you’re OK, Reg, she told herself as she herded the children into the cafeteria area.
Nearly six hours later, the ferry had docked in Brevik.
Cold, miserable and confused, the six children followed Mary Cattermole out to the dock. She somehow ushered them out in the confusion to the road. The three first-years wondered if she had somehow confused them, even if she didn’t have a wand, but they weren’t entirely sure.
Magic didn’t seem exciting any more. It seemed scary, forbidding and dangerous. All they wanted was to go home and they didn’t know why Mary Cattermole had taken them here, nice as she seemed.
Marcus walked in front, Monica gripping his hand anxiously. Lucy trailed behind them, glancing from side to side in case any cars came whizzing past. Or even worse, dangerous people, magic or otherwise.
Soon the Cattermoles and the first-years had arrived at a crossroads. Mary had pulled a road map from her pocket and was trying to hold it upright, grumbling as she did so. “This way – no, wait, it’s the other way. What does – ah! This is in Norwegian! Maisie, be a dear and see if you can read this properly, okay?”
Marcus held his hands over his stomach. “Mrs Cattermole? I’m hungry.” He tried not to sound as if he was moaning, but it came out that way anyway.
Mary’s strained expression was enough for all six children to feel bad. She was moments away from breaking down into tears.
“Mummy,” Maisie gave back the map, “they live down that way.”
“Are you sure, Maisie?”
Maisie nodded.
“Fine,” Mary breathed, “come on. It’s just a five-minute walk. Then we can eat, all right?”
Alfie sniffed and ran his nose on his sleeve. Ellie pulled her hairband out, having twisted it for most of the last hour. The three first-years moved closer together.
Mary sighed inwardly. If her cousins turned her away, she had no idea what she’d do.
She knew it was wrong bringing three strange children with her, but Mary thought that they’d be safer away from Death Eaters.
Hopefully, she told herself, if the Ministry find that they aren’t at their parents’ houses, when they finish interrogating them, they’ll simply Obliviate them of what happened. The parents might think the kids are still in school.
It was tragic that this was the best case scenario.
Her cousins weren't living there.
They had moved ages ago and no-one had told her. That was to be expected, of course, she hadn't seen them in years. But it still hurt, all the same.
Mary had absolutely no clue what to do.
Modifying memories and squatting in the house next door was all she could do for the next week.
But the children were utterly miserable.
"I'm scared," Monica had said when she, Marcus and Lucy were watching Norwegian television, "I don't want to be a witch."
"I think that it might not be so bad," Marcus argued, "Maybe the magic school has much nicer people than the judge."
"But what if it's not?" Monica blew hair from her face and started to walk to the stairs.
Lucy stood up and desperately grabbed her friend's hand. Monica stopped in her tracks, but didn't turn around. "Monica, we have to have hope. Everything will get better. Look, you said you lived in Giggleswick in Yorkshire, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, I live only forty minutes away! I live in another little village." Lucy tried to be optimistic, but she knew that Monica wouldn't smile.
"I live in a market town called Chatteris, down in Cambridgeshire," Marcus got up from the sofa, "but I'd be glad to have you girls visit any time."
"See? There's a positive side to everything," Lucy tried her best to persuade Monica.
The corner of Monica's lip curled in a short smile, but she stayed silent, instead going upstairs.
After a week, Mary went back to England. For two days, she searched around for the children's houses, then talked to their parents, pretending to be from the school.
Then she went back to Norway and took Marcus, Monica and Lucy home. She helped the children become their own Secret Keepers, as well as herself, hoping that this would be enough.
She kept telling herself that these weren't her children, that she shouldn't have to do all of this for them. But Mary didn't want to see another child wrenched away from their parents simply because of their blood status.
When the Second Wizarding War was over, when Mary revealed where they were, the Minerva McGonagall visited each of their families in turn.
"Marcus," she took a deep breath as she asked, "do you still wish to come to Hogwarts?"
"Sure," he smiled, his mother proudly holding him close and squeezing his shoulder, "I can't wait!"
McGonagall sighed to herself as she left. Even if just one Muggle-born child attended Hogwarts then they would have beaten the Death Eater regime. They wouldn't have been beaten down.
Lucy Zhang was also overjoyed. When McGonagall started to leave, she heard Lucy's parents excitedly cheering in Mandarin. This event was indeed a cause for celebration.
But she did not have luck at Monica's house. The girl sat on the armchair, refusing to have any of the tea from the floating teacups.
"It was the worst week of my life," she grumbled, "And what if people are nasty to me there as well?"
"After everything that happened over the last year," McGonagall tried to explain, "anyone who shows any sign of bigotry - from both angles, I might add - will be instantly expelled. There's no need to worry."
Monica still shook her head. "I'm sorry, miss," she mumbled, "I don't think I can go."
McGonagall noticed a letter addressed to Lucy Zhang on Lucy's desk when she left the room. She silently begged that neither girl would become jealous of the other.