A/N- This story takes place during Harry's third year at Hogwarts. Italicized words are Moa's thoughts. "Solsbury Hill" was written by Peter Gabriel.
Escape
The trees were a blur as the girl ran through them, a stitch beginning in her side. Dirt and leaves crunched under her feet as she darted past these trees as fast as she could. Her insides screamed at her to preform the spell right now, but her mind told her different. She needed to stop running and she needed to hide so she'd have time to calm down and preform the spell correctly. But she was afraid to stop, and she could barely bring herself to dart her eyes across her surroundings as she ran, in a pitiful attempt to find a hiding spot worthy of fooling Deatheaters.
"She's down there!" shouted Severus Snape in his greasy voice, and pointed a pale finger at the girl. She looked like a dot to him, scampering through the foliage. The runaway child looked up, following the sound, and was greeted by a dark figure flying low on a broomstick, slicing through the sky. His broomstick looked as if it was almost touching the treetops. All around him were similar figures, all on the lookout for Voldemort's daughter. A full moon was hanging far above them, dead in the sky.
Goosebumps flew up on the daughter's skin. This wasn't going to work! How could she possibly expect to give her father's most trusted servants the slip?
The leaves on the treetops all around her shot off their branches in various directions. The girl suddenly became aware of the cause. Spells were being cast at her, but the thick plants far above the child's head were keeping them from reaching the forest floor. With every explosion of leaves, the scene around this juvenile lit up for a moment, showing her the way.
The timberland grew denser the farther she ran. It wasn't long before the frantic child was forced to slow her pace down, unless she wanted to trip over a root and feel a face full of forest earth. Strangely low branches slashed at the adolescent's travel worn clothes. Her wild black hair was constantly pulling her back, getting caught on half the things she passed by. She couldn't see the night sky anymore, which added to her alarm. She didn't know where her enemies were, which gave them the upper hand if they played their cards right. Straining to hear past the noises she made as she ran through the thicket, she listened for her enemies. She found that she could no longer hear the their voices.
Where are they?
She knew it would be futile for them to try and catch her through an aerial attack. They would soon discover that and begin searching for her on foot, possibly through aparating.
Could they have already gotten off their brooms?
This thought made Voldemort's daughter shiver violently, causing her to stumble. The farther she went, the darker this particular forest of Argentina became. Spells were no longer being cast at her, and finding her way became increasingly difficult.
God, can't I go any faster!?
She tried to shake the feeling that the Deatheaters were getting closer and closer to her with each passing second, to no avail. She could hear the sound of a river somewhere in the distance, and she wanted nothing more than to pull a plug and watch the water drain out. Every sound the forest made seemed to whisper to her enemies where she was.
"I have to do this now!," her mind panicked,"If I don't hurry up they'll find me! Then they'll take me back..."
Suddenly the girl's mind envisioned a place full of black smoke and tents home to Deatheaters. The air was thick with dark magic, and the grass covering the ground was at its last stages before death.
The clouds were dark, complementing the white lightning that occasionally streaked across the sky. Muggy faces covered in silver masks contorted into expressions of fear or admiration as the Dark Lord's voice rippled across the clearing. The Deatheaters standing at attention were all adults, apart from two children. These two girls stood together, standing stock still, ignoring the slight rain that began to fall. While fear began to drown the black haired girl's heart, the other radiated courage. It was amazing how different they were, making it almost unbelievable that they ended up having the same goal in life.
Their Lord, Voldemort, continued his speech, casually making his way towards his followers. If one were to somehow find this hideout, he might find it strange to see a group of people risking the elements to listen one man. He was dressed in white robes that appeared to be intangible. The man's snakelike eyes bore carefully into his young targets as he spoke. His footsteps made not a sound as he came closer and closer towards the two girls...
The sound of a branch breaking sucked the adolescent out of her memories and back into the present. The source of the sound came from her right, and the girl froze for a second before springing into action. Whether it was a Deatheater or not, she would never learn. Without thinking, she followed her only plan, her one shot out of this life. Voldemort's daughter had never actually performed this spell before, but sheer desperation and luck made it work.
"Portus!" she exclaimed, her voice full of fear. A tree directly in front of her was hit square in the middle. Going with her instincts, she stretched out her hand and ran full force towards it, hoping beyond hope that it would work. She didn't even have time to brace herself as she was flung outside of "home" in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and sent traveling to the first place that came to her mind.
I hope Layla knew what she was talking about. This place better be safe.
The girl was on the floor, her arms and legs sprawled out and her back hurting from the sudden impact. The floor under her was hardwood, but it felt soft as a Soft Tree Fern's trunk. Ruffles were under her hand, it was the start of a long rug.
During these examinations, the child's eyes stayed shut. She did not want to find out whether the girl she could only find through her memories had been right. In the end, the feeling of being watched forced her eyes to automatically open. The first thing Voldemort's daughter focused on was a pair of eyes, half hidden behind half moon spectacles.
"Why hello there Moa," Albus Dumbledore said in his soft, kind voice.
This startled Moa, and she scrambled to form words.
"How do you know-"
Dumbledore held up a hand,"Never mind that Moa. For now, you need to rest," He then held his hand out, gesturing for her to grab it,"You look quite shaken. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
Moa didn't take his hand, she almost didn't hear what he spoke. Her mind was spinning, and she was still getting used to the fact that she had escaped.
"I...I made it," Moa muttered. Her words rang true, whether she truly believed them or not.
Dumbledore let his twinkling eyes fall over Moa, examining her. She looked battered and worn to the bone. He felt almost afraid to touch her, she looked as if this would cause her to shatter to pieces. Her pale skin looked fragile, and seemed to have been born bruised, but never left to heal. However, her dark, hazel eyes looked hard. They portrayed a dam, holding back a river full of pain and destruction. She was a tough kid, and it wouldn't be easy to gain her trust. Albus Dumbledore was sure of it. So he decided it best be to remind her of why she chose to appear at his place, rather than anywhere else.
"Layla spoke of me, did she not?" he questioned calmly.
Moa hesitated, analyzing Dumbledore from head to toe before giving her one-word answer.
"Yeah."
"And you escaped using Portus, am I correct?"
This shocked Moa.
"How did you know?" she inquired suspiciously,"Were you there?"
Dumbledore sighed, there was so little he could explain to her! He wasn't willing to give Severus Snape away, for he didn't trust this girl anymore than she trusted him. So, how to satisfy a teenage girl's questions without actually telling her the answer? You lie, of course.
"All in good time, Moa. There are much more pressing matters to be discussed. Did anyone follow you? Did they touch you when you grabbed the portkey?" Dumbledore watched Moa as a whole while he talked, ready for the unpredictable.
"No... no one grabbed me," when Moa noticed Dumbledore still watching her, she added,"I'm sure of it."
Moa had no idea why she wanted to please this man. She couldn't really be sure whether he was an enemy or a friend, not yet.
But Layla wouldn't let me down.
A thought creeped into Moa's head, accusing her of being at the wrong place. But this had to be him, how else would he know her name?
But how would he, or anyone ever know what spell I used to escape with? Unless he had been there himself... or had talked to one of the Deatheaters! Maybe there really was one about to spring on me right before I did Portus!
So Moa asked a question that would determine everything.
"Who are you?"
Dumbledore answered automatically, without pausing to think.
"Albus Dumbledore."
"Really?" Moa's voice was full of mistrust.
Dumbledore closed his eyes, taking a moment to find a way to prove to Moa that he was really Albus Dumbledore. It didn't take long for the perfect idea to come to him. He pointed a wrinkly, knarled finger over Moa's shoulder.
"Do you see that Phoenix perched behind you? Layla Bridget was particularly fond of him. You see that ribbon tied to its ankle? Why don't you call his name and take a look at it? Go on, you know it."
By now Moa had turned around, startled to find that this large bird had been sitting just behind her this whole time.
Dumbledore put his hands on his hips, and encouraged her,"Well?"
Moa's eyes cascaded over the birds body, the color of flames. It looked like his feathers were dancing, glowing brighter the longer Moa looked. But her eyes didn't stay there for long, for what she was really curious about were its' ankles. They were bright yellow, a perfect match for the ribbon tied to one.
She gave Dumbledore a quick, wide-eyed glance before calling the name she only heard through Layla's stories.
Moa's mouth went dry,"Fawkes."
The bird did not leave its' perch, but it flapped its' wings lightly in recognition of its' name. Without thinking, Moa cautiously reached out with both hands. In slow motion, she moved her body forward, eyes never leaving the ribbon. It was impossible for her to not close her fingers around it, to carefully untie it from this strange creature's ankle. Moa had recognized it at once, but didn't allow herself to believe that this was really hers until she saw the writing on the inside. In Moa's fancy, flowing script it read,"When you find your Solsbury Hill, climb up to the top. I love you. -Moa"
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Climbing up on Solsbury Hill,
I could see the city light.
Wind was blowing, time stood still,
Eagle flew out of the night.
Solsbury Hill was the name Layla and Moa decided to call this song. It was first heard by Layla, hiding behind a tent during a quiet game of hide 'n' seek. Layla was fourteen and Moa only ten then. Layla was straining her ears, thinking every sound she heard must be Moa approaching, keeping her tense and ready to sprint in the opposite direction. But as she lay crouched behind the carnival like tent, she caught the sound of a woman's voice, singing. It was a Deatheater, waring away the time as she was sewing a deep tear in her worn cloak, using magic of course. Layla saw all this from peeking around the tent, lost in the lady's sing-song voice and the strange lyrics. Minutes went by as she sung it over and over again, almost as if she wanted Layla to memorize it.
But by the time Moa had found Layla, the lady had gone. To Layla's frustration, all she could remember of the unique song were the first four lines. It didn't matter much, the bit that Layla did manage to sing still fascinated Moa. After a while, the song became a sort of symbol for their friendship.
Layla Bridget was Moa Riddle's alter ego. She was a gangly girl, a few years older. She was blessed with bright blue eyes, and paired with her French Vanilla hair these made her look like an angel. The quirk about this angel was her dirty yellow ribbon she kept in her hair. she had always hated how her beautiful hair always got in her eyes, so the day she found this ribbon was the day she found God. After that she always wore it, even on windy days where a thin, worn out ribbon was futile.
Layla had always wanted to leave The Dark Lord. He had murdered her parents after he found out they were double agents, working for Albus Dumbledore. Surprisingly, instead of being frightened of making a fatal mistake like her mother and father, Layla bravely continued life. She wanted to follow in her parent's footsteps. Moa could never imagine why, and was scared for Layla. She didn't want to have her face the wrath of her father, like her parents did.
One fateful night, the sun was setting and most of the Deatheaters were out with Lord Voldemort. They were spying and figuring, working on their newest plot. Layla and Moa were resting in Layla's lonely tent, empty without her mother and father to share it with. With decision written across her face, Layla announced that she was going to leave that night, and never come back. Moa disagreed, saying it was too dangerous, she had no place to go and she was going to be caught. But Layla's mind was made up, feeling as though she was letting down her parents if she stayed. Moa knew she couldn't be stopped, and although it hurt, she didn't want to keep her from following her dream.
"Where will you go?" Moa had asked, feeling sadness drop through her like a bomb, ready to explode.
"To Solsbury Hill, Moa."
"But there's no such place!"
Layla raised her voice,"Moa, I hate Him."
A breeze traveled across the Deahteater's clearing, causing bushes to move and the tent to make a careful beating noise. Ripples rained down all along the walls of Layla's home. It seemed to remind the girls to stay quite.
Layla's voice grew softer,"There is for me. The Spes Mountains. Albus Dumbledore's house. My parents trusted him, so why shouldn't I?"
It took a moment for Moa to register what she was talking about.
"Layla, your parents..."
"I know what happened Moa," Layla had snapped,"But this is what I want to do. Anyway, I think my parents would be proud."
Moa couldn't think of anything to say to that. After all, Layla was probably right. So with new tears filled with pain and loss, Moa managed a good-bye. A small hug was shared between the girls, but Moa felt this wasn't enough. Just as Layla began to close her eyes and concentrate, Moa grabbed Layla's arms and shook her.
"Moa..." Layla started, wanting to leave already. The longer she stayed with Moa, the less passion she felt to escape The Dark Lord.
In reply, Moa roughly pulled Layla's ribbon out of her hair, and began to write on it. It was a note to remember her by, speaking of the song they always sang. Moa wiped away the few teardrops that began to appear on her cheeks as she watched her best friend aparate from her tent, leaving her old life behind forever. That night, listening to the pitter patter of rain drops, Moa had decided with a sickening feeling that she would never see her best friend again. She could follow her, but Moa couldn't bring herself to leave her own father. Her fear had outweighed her want to be with her friend.
Moa never met another person that could quite replace the void that Layla had left.
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"Where is she?" Moa Riddle questioned Albus Dumbledore, feeling off balance.
Dumbledore hesitated, but knew it was best to tell her of the fate of her friend.
"Layla died a couple of months ago, Moa," sensing Moa's next question, Dumbledore went on,"It was a trap, she was attacked by werewolves. She died fighting for good, something she always wanted to do."
Although Moa hadn't seen her old companion in years, sorrow enveloped her very being. Still, among it all, a surge of happiness for her friend completing her dream swam amongst her sadness.
"Why-why do you keep her ribbon like this?" Moa gestured to Fawkes' ankle with wobbling hands. She could never predict a reason why "a family friend" would degrade Layla like that.
Dumbledore collected his thoughts, wanting to stay cool in this situation, for Moa's sake.
"She tied it there before she left that day, I don't know why. I keep it there in her memory."
Climbing up on Solsbury Hill,
I could see the city light.
Wind was blowing, time stood still,
Eagle flew out of the night.
The song whirled around in her head along with images of Layla Bridget. She couldn't help but picture Layla, being killed by werewolves. Yet along with these disturbing images came memories of the young Layla from Moa's past, and Moa couldn't help but notice the similarities. Moa knew in her heart that she was following the same path Layla was. The thought kept coming to her, making Moa feel selfish and sick inside.
I shouldn't be regretting this! This is the right thing to do... no matter the consequences.
But the images of werewolves and Layla Bridget were weaved permanently inside Moa's head. She couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice.
A/N- Kinda love it or kinda hate it? Then lemme hear what you gotta say. Absolutely hate it or love it? Then I don't really care what you do. I'm looking for criticism or someone telling me what I'm doing okay at. C apish?