Author's Note: Written for...
Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Team/Position: Montrose Magpies, Chaser 1. Task: Write about what happens to muggle-borns if Voldemort wins. Prompts: "Who cares? We could be dead in a couple of hours.", "Everytime We Touch" by Cascada, blush
Stories of Color Challenge. Prompts: crimson, ghost white, powder blue, baby pink, chestnut
Without You
The Leaky Cauldron lacked all of the warmth and charm Reg had known all his life. Witches and wizard sat huddled together at tables, talking in hushed voices as their eyes darted around the room fearfully. Children once ran through the pub with regularity, but Reg couldn't imagine bringing his own here anymore.
He made his way to the bar, feeling the eyes following him. He wondered what they must think of his unkempt appearance; sweat and dirt-covered robes, shaggy hair, full beard. A year ago he couldn't have pictured himself looking so bad, but self-grooming was not top priority when you were on the run.
There were two gentlemen seated at opposite ends of the bar. Reg took the stool next to a man with a crimson paisley bandana tied around his neck. He waved away the unfamiliar barman and leaned in to the bandana-clad man.
"Where have you taken the muggle-borns?" he whispered in the man's ear.
The man pulled back from him, taking his half-empty glass with him. "Don't know wha' you're talkin' 'bout," he slurred. Reg could smell the whiskey rolling off him in waves. Despite his distaste for alcohol, he let himself lean in further so no one but the man could hear his words.
"You're Aaron Mulligan. You're in charge of transporting the muggle-borns."
Mulligan's glassy eyes seemed to focus on Reg as he started shaking his head. "No. You have the wrong man."
"The people I spoke with seemed fairly confident about your name - and your choice of apparel." He reached forward and tugged on the knotted bandana as his other hand slid down to grip the handle of his wand. "Tell me where to find the muggle-borns."
"They'll kill me."
Reg took a breath. It wasn't in his nature to be confrontational, let alone threatening. All he wanted to do was go back to his kids and forget that men like Mulligan existed, but he couldn't. He had to stay strong if he wanted to find Mary.
"I'll kill you myself if you don't give me what I want."
Mulligan believed the lie, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool. "Tartarus."
"What's that?"
"It's what they call the mudblood prison."
"And you take them there?"
"Aye."
"Where is it?"
When Mulligan paused, taking a sip of his drink, Reg pulled out his wand and jabbed it into the man's side. From the corner of his eye, Reg could see the bar patrons turning their heads away purposefully. Not even the barman batted an eye.
"Tell me," he forced himself to sound menacing. He had practiced on the way over.
"It's on a little spit of land, off the southern coast of the Isle of Wight," Mulligan rushed out, sitting stock-still. "You need an enchanted boat to get to it. And someone who knows how to get there."
"Lucky I've found you, then."
:-:
It was the middle of the night when Reg apparated himself and Mulligan to Ventnor Beach, and there was no one around.
Reg allowed himself a moment to appreciate the scenery as they walked to the water's edge. He had spent many holidays on the Isle as a child, and he and Mary often talked about bringing their family there. But there was always something taking up their time: work, parties, war. Now the Isle would forever be tainted by Mary's imprisonment - or death.
A tiny rowboat waited for them in the water. Reg forced Mulligan in, and they glided across the clear water in silence for a half hour.
Their destination didn't appear until the boat reached the rocky shore. Reg wasn't sure what he was expecting of the prison. He'd seen pictures of Azkaban fortress with its dark, crumbling stone. The fortress screamed of confinement and pain, and seemed the sort of building You-Know-Who would emulate to keep his captives in.
Instead, Tartarus was a four-storey mansion with ghost white walls and creeping vines.
"It looks like a hotel," Reg said quietly.
"Probably was. You don't need much to keep 'em locked up once you revoke the wands, do you? And it's only until You-Know-Who has them executed."
"My wife is in there."
Mulligan shrugged, pulling a flask out of his robes. "That's your fault, isn't it? Marrying an abomination."
Reg felt himself getting angry but tried to put it out of his mind. Mulligan was a fool, but he wasn't responsible for what had happened to Mary.
He stumbled out of the boat quickly and looked back at his transporter.
"I don't suppose you'll be here when I come back?"
Mulligan snorted. "Chances are you're not coming out of there, so why bother?"
Reg turned his back to the water and marched to the black iron gate that surrounded the building. There were trees and tall plants covering much of the land, and it was enough to give him shelter from anyone who might be watching from inside. The lock on the gate was simple to deal with. Charms had always come easily to Reg and he was thankful for his one and only skill now.
From the gate he could see two guards sitting outside the front doors of the prison, talking so loudly that their voices drifted back to him. They weren't paying any attention to their surroundings, and Reg figured he could probably have gotten so far as to stand at their feet by the time they noticed his presence, but that would have meant fighting them face to face, and defence wasn't his strong suit. He would need better cover.
He travelled from tree to tree until he was at the side of building, well out of sight of the guards. Reg peered around the corner, watching the guards for a moment before letting loose a long string of jinxes. When the two men lay petrified, jelly-legged and covered in boils, Reg snuck past them and into the building.
It was surprisingly bright inside considering the building's current use, and it was strange to pass by powder blue and baby pink furniture on his way to the stairs.
There were no one in the hallways, and Reg wondered if everyone thought as Mulligan had, that muggle-borns weren't worth the trouble of guarding once their wands had been taken away. And maybe they were right. Few wizards could perform wandless magic, so once wands were out of the picture, how different were wizards from muggles?
All the doors were numbered, but otherwise all looked the same. It was impossible to tell who was in which rooms, or if they were occupied at all. Reg opened them, one after the other, as quickly as he could cast. He warned the captives that spilled out about the guards downstairs, then moved on to the next floor when he saw that Mary wasn't among them.
He had more luck on the next floor, three doors in.
The room appeared empty at first and Reg nearly moved on before he heard a short cough.
He had to walk to the end of the room to see her huddled in the small space between the dresser and the wall with her dark chestnut covering her face.
"Mary?" he whispered in disbelief. Her head shot up, and it pained him to see the fear in her eyes before she recognized him.
"Reginald. What are you doing here?"
"I had to find you. I couldn't let you go like this." He pulled her to her feet, wincing as he noticed the bruises that covered her bare arms.
"It was my choice, Reg. Turning myself in was the only way to save you and the children ... oh, God, the children! Where are they?"
"It's alright, I sent them to your cousin's. He'll get them out of the country, don't worry." Reg allowed himself a moment feel relief that he had somehow managed to pull it all off, to find her in one piece. He brushed back her hair, blinking away tears. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"
"Who cares? We could dead in a couple of hours, or sooner!" she said frantically. "You should have just let me go."
"I'm not going to let that happen. I need you by my side, Mary. You're the strong one. I don't know how I've made it this far without you." He smiled at the light blush coloring her cheeks. Mary rarely blushed.
The sweet moment was broken by cursing and screaming and the couple poked their heads outside the room to see guards storming up the stairs.
"Reginald, if you've got an escape plan, now would be a good time to put it into action!"
Reg pulled her back into the room, locking the door behind them. He pulled out the family's last galleon that they had somehow managed to save after six months on the run.
Mary stared at the small coin in horror. "Please tell me our lives do not rest on a galleon."
He smiled at her. "My dear, you know how good I am with charms." He tapped his wand to the galleon. "Portus!" The coin trembled in his hand and briefly glowed blue. When the light faded, Mary was smiling too.
"A Portkey?"
"On the count of three."
They each grabbed hold of the coin and counted down together.
When the door was blown open a moment later, the guards found it empty.