Chapter 3
Chapter 2: Mission (Unwillingly) Altered
At that moment, Howl wished for nothing more than the ability to simply melt into the walls. Or the ground. He wasn’t feeling particularly picky at the moment. Being held at wandpoint by a roomful of irate wizards does have that effect on a person.
Hands lifted slightly up in the air to show them he was unarmed and more or less harmless, Howl gazed silently at the robed mob as they glared back menacingly. Being in a roomful of angry magic users was a decidedly new experience for him as he usually did his best to avoid being in such a situation. He knew how to deal with a roomful of angry women, really, how could he not? He had even mastered the ability to deal with malicious mothers, annoying aunts, and, probably the worst of the lot, wicked, purse-wielding grandmas. But a whole group of wizards all at once? Never.
And ironically, he had gotten into such a state by attempting to do a noble and semi-heroic deed. Hmph, well, at least now he had another excuse for Sophie if she ever got it into her head to cure him of his cowardice; wizards simply didn’t appreciate being saved by someone as noble and handsome as he apparently. Actually, their jealously was rather heartwarming, now that he thought about it.
It was that feeling combined with the discomfort of being given about a dozen evil eyes at once that prompted him to make the first move.
“Who are you and what was your role in the attack?” snarled the most scarred and fashion-impaired of the lot.
Or not. Howl frowned. These people were rude. Not only had they unfairly kidnapped him, but they were now interrogating him! And they even had the gall to interrupt him before he even had a chance to speak. How perfectly uncouth. If there weren’t nearly a dozen wands being pointed right at him at that very second, then he would have told them so. No, really, he would have.
“Well, aren’t you going to answer?” The same rude man asked, just as curtly as before. His mismatched eyes, both of them, were trained on Howl, though the grotesquely large blue one did have a tendency to spin wildly before refocusing on the magician. This gave him the appearance of being somewhat demented. The stringy hair and wooden leg helped a bit as well.
Howl briefly considered bowing, before dismissing it as unnecessary. If these folk were going to be rude, then he really didn’t see the need to carry out any social necessities himself. Plus, they were probably paranoid enough to think he was reaching for a weapon.
“I am Howell,” he said instead, attempting to appear harmless. Though he tried his hardest, it didn’t seem to be working judging by the thick tension in the room. “I was merely at the bank to acquire some money, just like everyone else there.”
The scarred man, the leader perhaps, scoffed. “Likely story. Now tell the truth.”
“I have,” Howl replied, a tad miffed at being deemed a liar so easily. And he hadn’t even been lying for once. The nerve of the paranoid old man. “I simply wanted to convert my money. That’s it. No evil intentions whatsoever.”
Scarface didn’t like the answer, judging by the growl that emitted from his throat. Thankfully, another of the wizards stepped in before Howl got hurt.
“You remained at the battle site,” the man, a tired-looking brunette, said calmly. His clothes were easily the most threadbare in the room. Howl was seriously beginning to think that all wizards in this country had some sort of inability to comprehend of the meaning of fashion. “When all others did not. And you aided the Death Eaters in their escape. You have to see why we don’t believe you.”
Though the man was considerably politer than his colleague, the hard glint in his amber eyes challenged Howl to just try and deny the charges. He was just as, if not more, dangerous than Scarface. Wonderful. This was just shaping out to be a bloody perfect Day of Freedom, wasn’t it?
“I did not assist them,” Howl insisted, crossing his arms. Ignoring the way everyone in the room flinched at the sudden movement, he continued, after making a mental note to not move again. He had no wish to be cursed by an overly zealous wizard. “I simply did what was required to stop me from losing a limb, or worse, my looks.”
The brunette’s lip twitched a bit at that, but before he could respond, pink haired Tonks cut in. “Speaking of that, how in Merlin’s name did you do magic like that without a wand?”
“He did what?” Another of Howl’s assailants asked, half surprised, half disbelieving.
…Damn, he’d been hoping they’d forgotten about that. Though it probably was too much to ask for, given that that had been the reason he was in this whole mess in the first place. Think Howl, think. What would Sophie do?
“What are you talking about?” he asked before suppressing a wince. Damn, damn, damn. The oldest excuse in the book. Sophie would never say that. What the heck had he been thinking?
Predictably, the wizards were not impressed with his defense.
“You sent an entire row of magic flames right back at them,” The man who had been in the bank with Tonks said, giving Howl an immensely distrustful look. “Without even drawing your wand. Tell us how you did it if you weren’t collaborating with the Death Eaters in the first place.”
“I don’t know,” Howl said, trying to look confused and worried. It was an annoyingly easy expression to put on. “I just panicked.”
The tired brunette gave him a hard stare. “It’s not entirely uncommon,” he said slowly, not once looking away from Howl. “Wizards and witches have been known to exhibit extraordinary amounts power when in danger.”
The man from the bank scoffed. “He wasn’t in any danger.”
Howl started to protest but surprisingly Tonks beat him to it.
“He was in a bank that was in the process of being overrun by Death Eaters shooting curses and fire left and right,” she said, lowering her wand slightly. “And he’d been just blasted into a wall. No danger at all?”
The man scowled but didn’t say anything. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Scarface.
“Don’t lower your guard, girl” he snapped at Tonks, startling her into jerking her wand back up. “There is no proof that he’s telling the truth.”
“There’s no proof that I’m lying either.” Howl put in, oh so helpfully.
Scarface glared in a rather unnerving manner, both eyes aimed straight at Howl. He had to focus extra hard to not fidget or show any signs of discomfort or fear. Well, any more signs than were necessarily expected from a man kidnapped by a group of wizards on a trip to the bank. Hopefully the wizards would write off the quivering of his legs as a result of being thrown into a wall, because they were not shaking in fear. Really.
“Listen here, boy,” Scarface growled. He continued, right over Howl’s protest that he was not a boy. “I don’t trust you. You’re lying about something and I will find out what.”
Remembering what Megan always said about blinking and liars, Howl kept his eyes wide open. Bugger, this man gave paranoia a whole new definition! Granted, he had reason to be suspicious, but still. Scarface must have loads of enemies, true and fictional, with that wonderful attitude.
“I’m a witness,” Tonks said suddenly. She turned to Scarface, a determined frown fixed on her face.
“To—” the tired brunette started to say, taking a step towards her before halting himself. Tonks didn’t look at him.
“I meet him just before the attack,” she said to Scareface. “He was right next to me, and I had my back to him during most of the fight. He could have taken me out anytime he wanted. But he didn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing,” Scarface growled out, fixing his relatively normal eye on the girl. The blue one was still fixed on Howl, who was watching the exchange with slight surprise. He really hadn’t the faintest clue why Tonks was suddenly speaking in his defense, though he really wasn’t about to complain anytime soon.
“It means he isn’t a Death Eater,” Tonks insisted, crossing her arms and managing to knock over the chair next to her. She ignored it, as did everyone else, too caught up in the argument to spare it more than a passing thought.
The permanent frown on Scarface seemed to grow deeper. “Think girl—”
“I’m not letting what happened to Snuffles happen all over again!” she snapped, angrily.
Well, that made absolutely no sense to Howl, but it seemed like he was the only person lost. The tired brunette flinched visibly at her words, and all of the other wizards gave various signs of discomfort as well. The most surprising reaction however, in Howl’s humble opinion, was that of Scarface. His face seemed to go slack for a moment before the frowned marred it again. If Howl hadn’t been paying acute attention to the exchange, he would have missed it.
“Fine,” the scarred man, growled finally, looking none too pleased. “We won’t do anything until Albus talks to him. Blasted girl.”
Tonks seemed to cheer up considerably by this. “Thanks, Mad Eye.”
He glared at her. “If he kills us all in our sleep, it’s going on your permanent record.”
“Of course,” she replied, her lips twitching.
Howl decided it was a good enough time as any to enter the conversation.
“Can I ask who this Albus is?” he inquired, rubbing his arm which had started to throb unpleasantly some time ago. “And why and when I must meet him? I really do need to return home soon.”
As soon as possible. He did not want to get dragged into the circumstances that surrounded the bank fiasco anymore than he was at the moment. Actually, he wanted to be involved less than he was at the moment. He wanted to walk away, and enjoy the rest of his Day of Freedom far, far, far away from these kidnappers.
“None of your business.” Mad Eye, though Howl liked the name Scarface better, snapped. He was the only one who still had his wand trained on him, the others having lowered it sometime during the argument.
Howl frowned. That was hardly fair. “If I’m going to be held here against my will, than can I at least know why?”
“No.” Mad Eye smirked at Howl’s growing annoyance. The magician’s fear had more or less dispersed when it became apparent that Tonks would not allow them to harm him. Now, irritation at being kept against his will was beginning to overpower whatever dread was left.
“So, what do we do with him for now?” the man from the bank asked, mainly to stop the argument from growing any worse. He had seen enough people fight with Mad Eye to willingly let anyone, potential enemy or not, walk into it naively.
“Let me return home.” Howl declared, just as Mad Eye said, “Stick him in the hippogriff’s room and see how long it takes for him to talk.”
“We’re the good guys,” one of the wizards piped up, grinning. “We aren’t allowed to do that.”
Mad Eye glared at the poor man who had spoken as the tired brunette entered the discussion. “No, but we can put him in one of the old bedrooms on the second floor for now.”
“Do I get a say in this?” Howl asked, not at all pleased with the direction the conversation was going. He was not going to allow himself to be locked in a room for who knows how long. He glanced at the sole wand still pointed at him. If that thing wasn’t stuck on him, then he’d try harder to weasel his way out of this. Unfortunately, the paranoid man did not seem to want that to happen.
“Prisoners get no say,” Mad Eye informed him with a sardonic smirk.
What happened to innocent until proven guilty? Howl wondered. Sure, that only applied in the States, but really, he hadn’t given them that much reason to think he was threat. Hell, he barely had any idea what was going on! It was obvious by this point that there was something bigger going on than just a bank robbery. Something much bigger. Definitely something he was going to stay out of as so as they let him go.
“Not a prisoner,” the brunette interrupted, with a slight smile. It wasn’t at all pleasant. “More like, guest for an extended period of time.”
Which was basically just a nicer way of saying prisoner. Howl didn’t like diplomacy when he wasn’t the one using it. No he did not.
“Do you want to do this the easy way,” Moody grinned in a not so nice manner. He was looking much too pleased with everything, in Howl’s opinion. “Or the hard way.
Howl sighed heavily, feeling very much like a man walking to his own execution. “Lead the easy way.”
*~~~~~><><><><><><~~~~~*
Morgan stared longingly at the cookie on the table in front of him. It was a chocolate chip one, with extra chocolate chips. Just how he liked them. He shifted his gaze from the dessert to his mother for a second before turning to stare forlornly at it once more.
It looked soo good, and it smelled soo good too. And look at all those chocolate chips! So many! All dark, and big, and so yummy-looking. He had to have it!
He glanced at his mother again and saw with relief that she had her back turned to him, doing something on the stove. Finally! He slowly leaned forward on his chair and reached out a hand…almost there…just one more inch—
“Freeze.”
He froze.
One hesitant glance up through his bangs revealed that his mother wasn’t busy with the stove anymore; she was now busy glaring at him. Nooo, why couldn’t she have waited a few more seconds? He’d almost had the cookie!
“What did I say about the cookie, Morgan?” She demanded, in what his father called her 'Schoolteacher’ voice. Morgan didn’t really understand why, his mother was way scarier than his teacher could ever be.
“But I want cookie!” he whined, sticking out his lower lip and looking as pitiful as he possibly could. His father had been giving him lessons. Unfortunately, Sophie was as impervious to his act as she was to Howl’s.
“And you will get the cookie,” she said, crossing her arms. “When you tell me where your father went.”
Morgan scowled. “But I don’t know!”
“Yes you do.” His mother replied calmly, tapping a foot on the floor. “I know you helped him, Morgan, so just tell me and I’ll give you the cookie.”
“I did! I don’t know!” He slumped down in his chair.
“Yes you do, and please sit up properly, child. You look like your father when he’s in one of his moods.”
“Don’t.” The boy stated, slumping down even further and crossing his arms liked his mother had. He didn’t look like his father. He wasn’t anything like his father. It was his mean father’s fault in the first place that he couldn’t have his cookie. He wanted his cookie!
“Alright,” Sophie said when it became apparent that Morgan wasn’t about to spill the beans. She simply turned around and resumed cooking the meal that her no good husband was supposed to be making.
Morgan immediately went for the cookie again.
“One more inch and you shall be eating solely vegetables for the next month.”
Her son shot back so violently that she feared for a second that he may fall out of his chair. But he recovered in time to glare at her with as much power as he could.
“I want my cookie,” he whined as loudly as he dared. “I want my cookie. I want my cookie. I want my cookie…”
Sophie turned her focus on the task in front of her and blocked out the whining. She was going to behave as an adult, she reminded her as she dumped a pile of diced carrots into a pot. No losing her temper, no taking out the scissors and cutting up all of Howl’s good suits, and definitely no raging about her stupid, no-good, idiot husband. Someone had to be a good example for Morgan, and heaven knew Howl would never come close to earning that title.
“Oh, just give him the cookie!” Calcifer piped up, poking out from under the stove where he had been amusedly playing audience to the entire show. “He’ll go on for hours if you give him the chance.”
Sophie put the pot on him, forcing him back under. “No, Calcifer. Not until he tells me where Howl is.”
“He really doesn’t know,” the fire demon said, more for the sake of his own sanity which was sure to suffer should Morgan be allowed to continue his chant. “I heard their entire conversation and Howl didn’t mention where he was going.”
He froze as Sophie pinned him with her glare. Even through an inch of metal, steel, wood, and various foods and liquids, he could feel it. Bugger, he probably should have kept his mouth shut.
“You know where he is?” she demanded, stepping back to get a better look at the demon.
“Err…” He attempted to discreetly edge as far back as he could without upsetting the pot. Yes, definitely should have kept silent.
“And you didn’t care to mention this five hours ago, why?” she continued, her voice deathly calm. The air around her seemed to crackle. Calcifer really hoped that he was simply being overly paranoid.
“I think your food is burning. Quick, check.” Just in case, he shrank back even further.
“Where is he?” She wasn’t yelling yet but somehow her deathly calm, I’m-not-insane-no-matter-how-much-evidence-there-is-stating-otherwise voice was so much worse.
“Sophie, I’m serious, it’s burning!”
“Calcifer.” She picked up a glass, filled it to the rim with ice cold water, and looked at it.
The fire demon decided Howl wasn’t worth it. “Oh, all right! He’s in London! Happy now? Just put the water down!”
“Thank you.” She said serenely before turning to dump the pot of burned food into the trash. She conveniently ignored Morgan snatching the cookie and stuffing it in his mouth. After all, there really was no point in keeping the cookie from Morgan now that she had the information that she wanted.
“Now, just tell me where ‘London’ is and how to get there—” She broke off when she saw that the stove was empty. That little coward of a demon.
Morgan watched silently, licking the melted chocolate from his fingers, as his mother visibly attempted to calm herself down. Personally, he really hoped that he had inherited her temper. Making Calcifer edgy like that had been just plain wicked.
Oblivious to her impressed offspring, Sophie took a deep breath and reminded herself of all the reasons why she was, and would have to, deal with this as an adult. Normally she would be well into a full blown out rage at this point of time, but she was determined to be adult about this. She had calmly found out where Howl was. Now she would, still calmly, go and collect him. And only then, once she was sure that Morgan was not around as a witness, would she let out all of the rage that was currently burning within her.
Oh, she wouldn’t kill her husband, Morgan needed a father all. But she would be making sure that he never, ever pulled such a stupid stunt again. Ever.
*~~~~~><><><><><><~~~~~*
Approximately four hours after he was condemned to his jail cell slash dusty, old room that had certainly not been used for years, if not centuries, Howl got a visitor. The only positive thing he could really say about it was that it wasn’t Sophie. Though, by the end of the meeting he would find himself wishing that it was.
“Good afternoon,” The old man said, coming into the room without as much as a knock.
Howl sat up quickly from the bed upon which he had half dozed, half sulked away the hours and turned to face his visitor. His first impression of the man was that he was just as fashion impaired as all of the other wizards he had met. His plum colored robes with scarlet crescents actually caused Howl to wince. Then he looked passed the clothes and decided that he didn’t like the man in them. At all.
It wasn’t just the clothes that caused this abhorrence, he wasn’t that shallow. It was the air that surrounded the old man and his amiable smile; his very presence reminded Howl vividly of Mrs. Pentstemmon. The same look of wisdom in the eyes, the same feel of power around them, and the same way of making him feel like an ignorant child without even doing anything. Just for that, Howl immediately disliked the badly dressed fellow.
Okay, perhaps he was just a tad bit shallow.
“I am Albus Dumbledore,” the man introduced himself when it became apparent that Howl was too busy gawking at him to respond. His eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as Howl tried to collect himself. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Howl, who had lost any desire to be polite to these people three hours and fifty eight minutes ago, shrugged. “It’s not my room, feel free to sit wherever you wish.”
“Thank you.” Dumbledore sat down at the only desk in the room, turning the chair so that he as facing Howl.
Howl didn’t respond, he simply stared gloomily at the old man. He hadn’t quite fallen into a sulk just quite yet, but he was getting there. The fact that there was finally someone around that would notice his tantrum was helping a bit. The old man let him sit in sullen silence for a minute or so before speaking again.
“May I ask for your name?’ he inquired, something very close to mirth coloring his voice.
“Howell Pendragon.” Since he had already used that name before, using it again wouldn’t hurt. Hopefully.
“Any relation to Arthur Pendragon?” Dumbledore asked, curiously.
“No.” Howl replied in a voice so heartbroken that it would have sparked sympathy even in Sophie’s heart. Okay, maybe a very small spark, but a spark nonetheless.
Dumbledore, however, did not seem particularly moved by Howl’s plight. “I myself often wish I was related to Augustus Dumbledore, inventor of Firewhisky, but alas, one cannot choose their ancestors.”
The general oddness of that sentence pulled Howl momentarily out of his frump to stare questioningly at the old man. Was he possibly insane?
“Now that I have your attention,” The old man smiled pleasantly again. Howl was reminded of the way Mrs. Pentstemmon would smile just before she made him physically clean all the tools in her workshop for telling a little white lie. “Would you care to tell me why you were in Gringotts this morning?”
Howl’s sulk deepened. “I just wanted to exchange my money.” He grumbled, knowing that the man would not believe him. It wasn’t like anyone else had yet. Oh the injustice of it all.
To his surprise though, Dumbledore merely nodded once and asked another question. “I see. You just arrived in London today I presume?”
Howl sighed and answered the unasked question. “Yes, my family lives in Wales.” Well, Megan did, and she was family not matter how many times she yelled at him about little things.
“What business do you have here?” Dumbledore not at all perturbed by how Howl was behaving. Which was rather other odd, considering that most people by now would be either worried about him, or thoroughly annoyed with him.
“I just wanted to see the town,” Howl made little effort to keep the whine out of his voice. He had good reason to whine, his entire Day of Independence had been ruined after all. “And relax a little, before returning to my loving wife and dear son.”
“You will be able to return to them soon,” the old man reassured Howl. “Once we have determined that you are not involved with today’s events, or endangered by them.”
“I already said I didn’t help them.” Then the rest of what the old wizard had said was processed. “What do you mean by ‘endangered’?”
Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. “By staying behind, and calling attention to yourself with that display of magic, your face has no doubt been noted by some of the Death Eaters. You may now very well be a target of theirs.”
For the first time in his life, Howl wished that he didn’t have such a handsome and remarkable appearance. He didn’t bother to ask the old man how he knew Howl was now being targeted. No doubt the information came from the same source that told him that Howl was just an innocent bystander. Up until those masked freaks decided to go after him because of his own foolhardy.
“Speaking of magic, would you like to explain how you managed to blow back magical fire without a wand?
He was a foolish wizard indeed. Though he was, at least, one with great fashion sense.