A/N: This is for assigment #3 on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I chose mythology, task #5 Ares - write a story set in wartime. It's also forthe February writing month and is 948 words.
Isabel Malkin stood in the middle of her empty shop and sighed.
The witch wished that things hadn't come to this, but she had no choice but to flee. It was only a matter of time before she slipped up and said or did something that would land her in Azkaban or worse.
Diagon Alley had been quiet since the announcement that You-Know-Who was back in June 1995, and it only grown worse. Since He had taken over she had very few customers come in the actual shop as many of her patrons had either sent in measurements for their children by owl, or brought them in so she could make the robes as they shopped for other supplies. A number of parents had stated that they wanted their children to stay at home where they knew they were safe.
Since then business had been very slow as people did not want to venture out. The majority of her customers were known Death Eaters and it took all of her strength to be polite and courteous to them.
The very idea of what they stood for made her blood boil. Her grandmother, Elizabeth Malkin, was muggleborn and a very talented dressmaker. It was from her that she had learnt her craft, and it was also Elizabeth who had originally owned the shop. It had been left to Isabel as she was the only one who followed in her footsteps.
It didn't matter how powerful, hardworking, or how much a witch or wizard contributed to the world they lived in, all they cared about was blood. The injustice of it all made made her angry.
It broke Isabel's heart to see many muggleborns which had been subject to the Muggleborn Registration Committee begging on the side of Diagon Alley. She would help if she didn't fear for her life so much.
A month earlier she had witnessed a mother tortured in front of her young son for giving them a few loaves of bread to share, and one of the beggars killed for trying to defend the mother. It was a horrific sight to behold which was only made worse when the culprit walked away laughing.
At times Isabel felt selfish for not doing anything more to help them, but each time she remembered what happened the one time she tried and the incident with the mother and pushed the feeling away as anxiety and terror replaced it. There was nothing she could without being punished and the thought of their punishments terrified her.
One time she had left several sets of robes on her doorstep when she left in the evening so they would have something new to wear instead of the rags they had, but when she returned the next day they were being tortured and questioned about where they had got got and being accused of stealing.
Isabel hurried down the Alley to her shop when screams started to fill the air.
As she rounded the corner it was to see Travers subject one of the muggleborns to the Cruciatus curse.
"I didn't steal them. They were left on her doorstep," the man said laboriously.
Isabel's blood ran cold. They obviously though that they had stolen them robes she had left out for them.
"That is still classed as stealing! You will be punished for this."
"Ask her, please!" the man begged.
Travers studied him a moment and nodded stiffly.
It was obvious that he was going to do what he wanted no matter what either of them said.
Isabel pretended not to notice what the conversation was about and started walking towards her shop.
"Madam Malkin, may I have a word please?" Travers called.
Turning around she saw that he had a barely concealed grin on his face and that he was relishing the thought of being able to punish the man properly. It made Isabel feel sick.
"This...thing claims that the robes he's wearing were left on your doorstep last night. Do you know anything about it?" he asked with thinly veiled disgust.
"I left them on the doorstep for anyone to have. They were custom made for someone who no longer wanted them and I didn't want them to go to waste," she explained.
"You could have sold them again," he accused.
"Not with the design that they requested."
"And what design was that?"
"A number of phoenixes sewn onto the pockets. The patron did not want to be associated with the rebellious group fighting against you. I saw no harm in giving them away to those who do not have wands as they are no danger to society," she said hoping that no more repercussions would come from her actions.
Travers eyes her critically before saying, "I will let it go with a fifty galleon fine this time, but next time you are found to be aiding mudbloods it will be more than a fine."
"Thank you."
After he walked away she turned to the muggleborn on the floor and said, "I'm sorry. I never meant for you or the others to get hurt for something I did. I was trying to help and I've only made it worse."
"Don't worry about it. You've done more than most," he replied gruffly.
The decision to leave had not been an easy one, but she knew that it was the right thing to do. There was no way she could carry on living in Britain under Yo-Know-Who as she was sure it would kill her.
She hoped and prayed to every deity that Harry Potter would succeed in defeating Him, and that she would once again be able to return to her home.