Note:
So here's chapter two. This is as far as I got when I originally posted this story over on SDN. There is a third chapter currently in progress, which I will post as soon as possible, but probably not until after Christmas.
Chapter 2.
Demona moved quietly between the small rows of weather-beaten grave stones, examining each name even as she listened carefully to hear if anyone approached. A few of the names on the gravestones she couldn't make out, even with her superb night vision, but most were still legible. If the stories were correct, somewhere in this cemetery might lie the remains of the three Perevel brothers, the makers of the legendary Deathly Hallows.
She was nearly at the back of the graveyard when she heard a clear pop. She paused, listening intently. It had come from behind her, from the direction of the little cemetery's gate. She crouched low, straining to hear the sound of low voices coming from the path near the gate.
"And what exactly is it that you hope to find here, Albus?" A woman's voice, quiet but sharp.
"We must determine if the child is still in the village", a male voice replied. Demona tensed at his words. If he was looking for the boy...
There was a few moments' silence. Demona carefully looked around the nearest tombstone, trying to spot the interlopers. She could make out a tall figure in a cloak standing just inside the gate, and she thought she saw another, shorter figure further back in the shadows. A cloak, like the wizard in the ruined house...
"This way!" The man's voice suddenly rang out, filled with hope. Demona tensed as the figure moved swiftly through the little gate, another, slighter shadow swiftly following him. She caught a murmur of the woman's voice, but she could not make out the words. The encounter, however, had deeply unsettled her, and she was prepared to be her immortal life that they were heading in the direction of the little hollow where she had left the child, along with the items she had taken the previous night, out of the wind and bundled in a blanket that she had removed from a clothesline on the edge of the village.
Her first thought was to abandon the child and the items, finish her search, and be glad that the strangers had not remained in the cemetery. If those two were in fact both mages, she was not too proud to admit that she would have likely been outmatched in a fight. On the other hand, the Hallows, if they were here, were not going anywhere. It would be foolish to abandon assets that she already possessed on the off-chance that it might hasten her acquisition of another weapon, however powerful. So, snarling under her breath, she waited for a moment, listening until she was sure that there were no humans nearby, then climbed swiftly over the rail around the little cemetery and ghosted across the lane and into the undergrowth on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow.
It took her perhaps twenty minutes, alternating between running and gliding, to circle 'round the village and reach the small copse of trees where she had concealed the boy, along with the magic books and wand. She smiled slightly as she saw that they were still undisturbed, the child hanging in an improvised sling from a low-hanging branch, the books and wand concealed in the undergrowth beneath. She was not a moment too soon, for no sooner had she finished bundling books, blanket, and child into the bag that she had brought with her (intending to carry the Hallows back to France with her), moving carefully so as not to endanger or wake the child, when she heard a shout, and dropped to a crouch just in time to avoid a bolt of red energy. It struck the tree behind her as she snarled, eyes flashing white, then spun and, snatching up the bag, leapt half-way up the nearest tree. Something struck the trunk, just below here left talon, and made the whole tree quiver as a sound like a bell chimed loud and clear, and silvery light flooded the grove as she clawed her way higher up into the tree, her heart beating faster than it had in years.
"No Albus, you'll hurt the child!", she heard a woman's voice shout, and the spells ceased flying, though the luminous silver light remained. Racing along one of the lower branches of the great evergreen tree, she glanced down and saw a tall, old man with a long, flowing beard dressed in a purple robe; and beside him a woman in black robes, perhaps a little younger than the man, with short grey hair tied in a bun. Both were staring up at her, and both held a wand in their outstretched hand, pointed directly at her.
The old man strode forward, haloed in silver light which shone from the tip of his wand, his eyes blazing with fury. His voice thundered, louder than seemed possible, and Demona shivered despite herself.
"RELEASE THE CHILD! RELEASE HIM, IF YOU CAN UNDERSTAND MY SPEECH, AND YOU MAY LEAVE THIS PLACE UNHINDERED!"
For a moment, she actually considered it. Then she laughed, the sound harsh and cruel, scorning the arrogant human who thought that she would ever be fool enough to trust to his mercy.
"Too late!", she yelled, then sprang from the tree limb and into the air, trusting to her enemies' concern for the child to keep them from simply shooting her out of the sky. A gust of wind wafted beneath her wings, carrying her up and away from the pair of magi. She must have misjudged their desperation, or their confidence in their own skill, for she heard a crack and felt something brush past her and banked sharply, her heart beating just a little faster than it should have. Orange light flared behind her, and something hot coiled momentarily around her right leg. Then she was soaring over woods and fields, lit only by the light of the Moon, the only sounds the whistling wind, and the crying of the child, and the occasional flap of her wings.
Professor Minerva McGonnagle stood shivering beneath the trees a few hundred yards outside the village of Godric's Hollow, gazing in the direction that that... that thing had vanished, the anger and fear and grief and shear frustration threatening to overwhelm her. If only she had been a little faster, or Albus...
She glanced surreptitiously at the old headmaster, standing beside her. He stood, still and silent, his wand still outstretched before him from when he'd cast that last spell, staring out into the night. His expression looked... lost, and afraid, and it frightened her more than anything that she had ever seen, even the terrible creature that had just escaped them.
"Albus", she finally said softly, and had to swallow and take a deep breath before she could continue. "Albus... was he... are you sure that that thing..."
For a long moment he did not answer, simply stood there, gazing into the darkness. Then...
"Yes", he said, so softly that she almost couldn't hear it. He slowly lowered his wand. "that creature had the boy. It... she... had Harry."
Minerva shivered, blinking moisture from her eyes, but she steeled herself and stood straighter, awaiting the headmaster's next plan. He always had an answer, no matter how hopeless things seemed, and though she sometimes chafed at his peculiarities, she knew that deep down, she had always counted on that reassurance, had counted on it ever since she herself had been a young student at Hogwarts and he had taught her transfiguration classes.
Dumbledore didn't answer.
"Headmaster", she began, hesitated, then continued. "What... what do we do now?"
He was silent for a moment longer, then sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"I will review my books, and contact my sources in the Ministry, among Voldemort's (she flinched involuntarily) supporters, and overseas. Whatever that creature was, it is nothing that I have encountered before, and that alone would be cause for concern, if nothing else had happened here tonight."
"But the boy!", she cried, her frustration boiling over. "What about young Mr. Potter?"
"I will do all that I can", Albus replied wearily. "At the very least, we know that he is alive." Minerva nodded, grateful for that blessing, at least. "It may be that Mr. Black can provide us with some answers", Albus added grimly.
She grimaced. Who would have believed that Sirius Black, of all people, had sold out the Potters to Voldemort, that he was the traitor they had spent the last year looking for? She shook her head tiredly. She had thought, when she heard the news of Voldemort's destruction, that the long nightmare was over, but now she didn't know what to think. The world wasn't making sense any more, and even Albus didn't seem to have any answers, only guesses.
Three Days Later.
The aptly-named "City of Lights" glittered like a great multi-coloured hive of termites beneath her as a warm breeze lifted her high over the roofs of the hotels and business and ancient buildings that lined the river Seine, toward the pair of great stone towers, black against the night, of the cathedral of Notre Dame. Despite the abundance of the human infestation, Demona smiled at the sight of the grand old cathedral, sitting on its island in the middle of the river, with the glittering city, ever-alive, spread out around it. She'd always been rather fond of Paris, she admitted to herself, or at least as fond as she could be of anything that the humans had built. It was not the easiest place to move unnoticed at night, but it was big enough that one could easily become lost in the backdrop of the city, and it had innumerable old stone buildings where a gargoyle could fit right in during the day. It was... not home, she had no home, and hadn't for many centuries, but it felt... comfortable. Familiar.
Soaring up to the very top of the northernmost tower, she alighted gently, gripping the stonework with her talons, then sprang nimbly down onto the roof. The child had fallen silent once they had left the cold, turbulent air over the English Channel and begun gliding over the fields of northern France. She had been concerned that the journey might prove too much for the child-human young were so fragile-but the night air was warmer over France, and less tempestuous.
She made her way down into a small, dark chamber inside the tower. A quick examination showed that the hideout had been undisturbed during her trip-humans seldom intruded here, and she had taken considerable pains to conceal the entrance to the chamber. She had few possessions-a few tools and utensils, needle and thread for repairing her garments, a small collection of books, mostly on history and magic. She suddenly realized that she had almost none of the things that she would need to take care of an infant, nor did she really know anything about how to raise a human child. She had studied humans as enemies, as potential hunters and potential prey, and children were a small province of that study. She wondered, not for the first time, if this whole idea had been a ridiculous mistake.
But it was done, and to abandon it now would be to waste the effort and admit defeat. So she placed the child, still wrapped in his blanket, in the corner of the room furthest from the door, then began to pace, considering what to do next.
The child would need food, obviously. What did human children eat? She knew that they nursed, like any mammal, in the first years of life. Was this child old enough that he no longer required feeding in such a manner? She presumed so-she had fed him from a loaf of bread she had stolen while in Godric's Hollow, and he had seemed to find the food edible. He would need clothing, as well. Currently he was still dressed in the clothes he had worn when she took him from his ruined home, but it would be easy enough to acquire some more off of an unattended clothesline-she had done it often enough before.
She would also have to teach him to read and write, to perform arithmetic and magic. She didn't know at what age humans normally learned these things, but she decided that she might as well start now and see how far he got. She would limit his knowledge of magic, however, to what he would require to assist her in her more complicated spells and rites, at least until she knew more of what he was capable of-and how far she could trust him.
She also knew that she could not remain here much longer. The encounter with the mages at Godric's Hollow had decided that. She did not know if they possessed the means to track her here, but until she did, she could not risk remaining in the great cathedral. Besides, this place had been her home for too long. Too many humans might have seen something, and sooner or later, as always happened, there would be stories. Stories of a statue that came to life at night, a mysterious and terrible creature in the dark. Part of her relished those stories, knowing that she had left her mark, that the humans feared her, even if they did not know her name. But they also made her too easy to find, if someone was actively looking. And someone always was. Hunters she could deal with, but two mages was another matter. She needed time, time to plan, to find new weapons and to choose her battleground. And that meant finding a new hiding place. She growled in frustration, once more regretting her rash decision at Godric's Hollow. However, it was too late to change that now. She would just have to make the best of the situation. She was, in the end, a survivor. Whatever the cost.
But all of that would have to wait. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and the Sun would soon be rising. After making certain that the entrance was closed off and booby-trapped, and that the child could not get out or trip the lethal trap, she crouched between him and the door, mostly concealing him from the view of anyone entering the room. She could see the darkness lightening, the first rays of dawn peering over the horizon. She glanced behind her at the sleeping infant.
"You had better be worth the trouble, boy."
Then dawns' light rose over the city of Paris, and she felt the familiar sensation of her skin hardening to stone.
Demona slept, and dreamed of fire and blood and steel, of betrayal and death, of friends and kin long lost and forgotten, and of hunters in the night.
