The title from chapter three was from…West Side Story. Congrats to: Courtney Dax, Raiko Toho, Anne Flint, Raspberry Seltzer, and TryDefyingGravity.

AP Week starts today. Although…lucky for you all, there'll still be regular updates because I'm ahead in my chapter writing.

I'm also doing a fifty Wicked one-shot challenge on the side (for Livejournal), so I'll be working on that as well. I'm not posting it here, but I'm just letting you know that I'm going to be splitting my (limited) writing time between WotW and fanfic50.

Chapter 4: Alas For You

Ron smirked as he watched uniform clad Gale Force run frantically about the city in an attempt to locate the rioters. That afternoon had been a relatively small outburst, but the officers had been searching alleys and bars, markets and streets since the crowd dispersed. They hadn't a clue as to how the culprits managed to escape so quickly – little did they know that the Death Eater had supplied them with a Portkey that would transport them back to their hideout.

Ron had yet to actually visit the hideout, but he knew of its location outside the city. He wondered absently about it, being that Markku had invited Ron there to discuss their next plan of action against Glinda. He was supposed to send out one of his men to escort the redhead.

On the other hand, forming an alliance with these people proved a wise choice for necessity. Ron sighed contently, reclining in his hotel room chair and mulling over where he stood in the plan, and how much closer he became to his goal with every executed operation. The room provided for him in the hotel was luxurious, and with good food in his stomach and a strong constellation of allies, he would soon be revitalized enough to cause Thropp a satisfactory amount of pain.

He grabbed for the newspaper that was delivered to his room. He had given it no more than a glance until now. "Wicked Witch of the West Cause of Recent Terror Attacks?" blared the black and white headline. There seemed to be a photograph of the witch in question beneath the headline, but the figure was not animated as Ron was used to, and someone had scribbled crudely over it before it arrived.

The redhead snorted as he crumpled the paper into a ball and launched it into the fireplace at the foot of his chair. The only thing he invested real care about in this world, he reasoned, was completing his part of the bargain to coexist with what was promised to him. He would ask Markku about anything notable later.

Speaking of which, where the hell was he? Markku's escort was at least fifteen minutes late; a most shoddy presentation if one was to convey their seriousness about their job. As the thought crossed his mind, a knock sounded at the hotel room door.

Meeting him was the same man Ron had cursed as an example. He was wearing his hood tightly over his head. The Death Eater recognized him by his horrible posture, but when he thought about it, Ron realized that he had never seen any of Markku's men with their faces exposed.

"Come with me," the man ordered, his voice low and clearly displeased in having to spend time with Ron. The redhead didn't budge. Service to Lord Voldemort had made him paranoid about imposters and traps.

"How do I know if you're on my side?" he countered. "You don't suppose I'd trust any old bloke – prove who you claim you are."

The man shuffled in exasperation. "How?" he demanded.

"Tell me something about the night we closed the deal that no one else would know if they weren't there," challenged the Death Eater, resting a hand on his wand.

"You exploded a table," shrugged the man. "There's some woman you want to torture, and Markku wants to watch."

Ron nodded, persuaded by the information. "Let's go, then." As they walked down the hallway, walls painted and carpet colored emerald, Ron asked, "Are we going to the hideout today?"

The man stiffened, whirling around to almost pin Ron again the wall. "Are you crazy?" he roared. "Shut up about our business, especially out in the open!"

"Have you forgotten the extent of what I can do?" Ron advanced coldly. "Speaking to me like that, I'll have to bet you wanted another taste of the Cruciatus."

Growling, the man didn't answer. Instead, he led the way through the Emerald City, past hundreds of stores level to the street, and on occasion, tall, magnificent buildings. After a considerable time, they slowed to peer at an old building, out of place with its grey body and barred windows, surrounded, almost to the point of layering, with barbed wire.

"Southstairs." The man nodded curtly at the building before hurrying on, slowing his pace, but never reaching a full stop. Ron observed the place thoughtfully, thinking of different strategies on how to slip past undetected. The only entrance seemed to come from the front gates, which were heavily guarded.

The rest of the trip was made in silence, although before seeing Southstairs there wasn't much conversation anyway. Ron figured this man to be merely a pawn. Maybe he would become something more under Morrible's rule, but until then, Ron remained his superior.

They finally arrived at an unimpressive two-story cottage on the edge of a forest, the outskirts of the city quite close. The man stepped in front of Ron and knocked twice on the damaged door, paused for a time, and then beatit another four times. The man who answered was not hooded, striking Ron as the first time he had seen an ally.

"Weasley." It was not a question, but more of a scrutiny. He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Markku has been waiting for you. Go down the hall to the last room on your right." He turned, unresponsive, and practically disappeared in what was probably a living room.

Ron followed his instructions, closing the door behind him upon entering the room. Markku was already waiting, eliciting a stare from his naked face. His eyes were the most noticeable trait, an unforgiving blue that never warmed. His hair was ebony, shagging to the nape of his neck and cloaking his weak jaw, with a nose seeming too large for his face and a mole on the side of his mouth.

"So…" Ron began, seeing that the other man would not say anything of his sudden indiscreet method.

"So…" Markku repeated. "First, Weasley, I want to thank you for the work you've invested for us and our cause these past few days. Out success has been greater than before."

Ron grinned. "You're quite welcome. Of course, I expect my own reward eventually."

"In due time." Markku waved a hand, but nodded in agreement. "Now, if I may, we will discuss out plan of action."

"Next plan?" Ron frowned.

"Yes," Markku clucked impatiently. "We've succeeded in setting Lady Glinda on edge, and now, I believe we should increase our actions. Make everything bigger. We've caused enough riots that now, we have to intensify our warnings. I hope you saw Southstairs on your way over?"

"It looks as though the only way to access it would be to stun or kill the guards at the beginning and just magically unlock the gate," reasoned the Death Eater.

"And you think it'll be that simple?" Markku asked genuinely.

"Magic tends to simplify everything," Ron drawled smugly. "A well placed killing curse will take care of the guards. Since the jail isn't magically enhanced, breaking Morrible out shouldn't be too inconvenient. Not a problem."

"The Gale Force is under heavy training: their weapons fire very quickly." Markku held up a finger in reminder. "Faster than you can cast a shield. What will we do about their guns?"

"If we know what we're doing, we can disarm all of them before attacking," Ron shrugged, unconcerned at the mention of guns. They seemed almost childish to him in the face of a wand, even more so looking at the quality of Oz's blast-from-the-past society. "You really shouldn't be concerned. If the men are rounded and know what to do, it'll be a cinch."

"It's settled, then," Markku confirmed. "Soon, we break into Southstairs."


"…And so yesterday, I walked in on Fiyero and Hermione kissing in my rooms. My rooms!" Elphaba was saying to Glinda, watching as the blonde's eyes widened in surprise.

A wide grin spread across Glinda's face. "Did they…you know…"

"Glinda!" Elphaba chastised, though she was smiling. "Not that I know of, and you shouldn't be asking anyway! I think I scared them off, though; they've both been candidly avoiding me all day. Fiyero actually ran when he saw me coming down the corridor."

"Or, you know, they could just be searching for another place to make out," Glinda suggested. "I assume you've changed your password now?"

"Of course," Elphaba said. "Fiyero's got another thing coming if he thinks my rooms are open to the public."

Glinda giggled. "It wasn't a very public thing they did." Her voice lowered huskily, as though expecting others to be listening. "Elphie, do you remember when we made out in Fiyero's rooms and got ourselves kicked out?" Elphaba's absent smile transformed into a wide-open grin, baring her teeth at the memory. That was the day their feelings for one another were confessed wholly, and they became a couple. The blonde turned smug. "I take it from that expression that you remember very well."

"How could I forget?" Elphaba replied. "It's one of the memories I use to cast a Patronous, actually."

Glinda looked touched, a blush creeping up her neck, when someone banged on Elphaba portrait door. "Ignore it," the green witch ordered firmly, more to herself than the blonde. "We've been interrupted enough already."

Glinda opened her mouth when a furious flurry of fists connected with the portrait door. "Elphaba, it's Fiyero! I'm sorry, all right? It was Hermione's idea anyway. Just let me in!"

Elphaba gave Glinda a steady look. "What do you make of this?" she asked. "Should I let him suffer a little while longer?"

"As lovely an idea that is, Elphie, you should probably let him in. I have no trouble with him having an aneurysm trying to pry open the door, but he'll keep pounding until we've absolutely no peace to talk. I just can't let that happen," the blonde said matter-of-factly. She laughed. "Do you really think it was Hermione's idea?"

"No," Elphaba replied immediately. "Hermione's too careful, and besides, this is something only Fiyero would think up. He was probably planning on it ever since he caught us doing the same thing. Anyway, he's the only other one to know the password."

The pounding became more frantic, and Elphaba placed the mirror lightly on her armchair. "Stop it!" she commanded, her voice rising to a yell. "I'm coming already!"

Glinda was left to her own devices for the time it took for Elphaba to open the portrait door and yell at the prince. "Fiyero, I was…no, am talking to Glinda. If it's important, talk fast, but anything otherwise and I'll throw you out."

"May I come in?" Fiyero asked meekly, hoping that the green witch wasn't still furious about Elphaba's Room Incident, as he'd begun to call it even outside of his mind.

Elphaba grumbled, but stepped aside. It wasn't as though she was really angry with Fiyero, but rather, she was annoyed that her privacy had been invaded. Of all the possible places to hide, they had to choose her rooms. "Just don't touch or do anything," she finally warned.

Smiling, Fiyero sauntered into the living room and spotted the mirror on the chair arm. He picked it up. He looked fascinated at the device and grinned at the blonde. "Hello, Glinda!" he said jovially, receiving a genuinely pleased smile. "How're you?"

"Fine," Glinda replied, amused. "And I assume you to be the same, considering what Elphie told me about the antics going on in her rooms."

"She's turning everyone against me!" Fiyero cried dramatically, turning to the green witch. "Elphaba, I thought that you were my friend!"

"Not anymore," Elphaba scoffed, her face completely unchanging, although Fiyero knew she was toying with him.

"I'm hurt," Fiyero said, still grinning. "I may have to go to the Hospital Wing." Even if Glinda weren't tangibly present, whenever the three were together happily, it was a reminder of times long past, of when their troubles were irrelevant. The days where society did not interfere with them personally, and worry came in the form of the next History essay or exam in Life Sciences.

Elphaba shook her head and, snatching the mirror from Fiyero's grasp, clutched it to her chest before remembering someone was there. "Was there a reason for you to come here besides to drive me insane?" she asked the ex-scarecrow.

"There might be," Fiyero said before being overtaken by seriousness. "Snape asked me to see how the Dreamless Sleep Potions were helping you."

"You can tell him that they've been really helpful," declared the witch. "I haven't had anything quite as bad as those nightmares since I began using them."

"Although, Elphaba, you can't continue to use them much longer," interjected Glinda. "They're issues you eventually must work out on your own. I want to help you through it when you run out of potions."

"Of course, Glinda." Elphaba rolled her eyes where Glinda couldn't see. "Whatever you say."

"She's right," Fiyero agreed, sitting on the edge of Elphaba's bed, relieved she didn't stop him after the other day. He certainly wasn't going to complain, being that bedside privileges were much more comfortable than having a conversation and sitting on the stone floor.

"Quiet," Elphaba snapped. "I know what I'm doing, okay? The way everyone is warning me, it's as if I have no self-control. I'll be fine." Not only had she slept full nights, but Elphaba's color was returning. No longer was her complexion pale green, but her verdant hue was looking normal and healthy.

"You do look much better now, and well rested," Glinda commented timidly.

Elphaba turned her nose up at her ex-boyfriend, eyebrow raised in triumphant question. "You see? Even Glinda agrees that I look fine."

"That doesn't mean that you're completely healthy." Fiyero glared at Glinda for making Elphaba complacent. "What exactly are you going to do when the potions run out, then? Snape won't allow you any more."

"I suppose I'll 'work out my issues'," grumped Elphaba. She sighed loudly, "Okay, let's talk about something else."

Fiyero was about to object, but caught Glinda glaring at him in warning and decided to initiate another subject instead. "So, uh, Glinda," he coughed. "How are things in Oz? Elphaba won't tell me anything."

Glinda frowned. "Actually, things are…normal. There haven't been any riots for up to a week now."

"I would place that as too quiet," Elphaba offered.

Glinda nodded earnestly. "Right," she said, "and I don't know why they've stopped. Nothing has changed, and no one's been brought into custody. I feel as though I should be expecting something."

"You think that Markku is organizing something bigger, potentially more dangerous?" Elphaba asked, while Fiyero watched thoughtfully. "Isn't there Gale Force searching for a hideout?"

"I've sent them on wild goose chases all around the city, but there's still nothing to go on," Glinda whined, resting her chin in her hand. "It's always as though they…disappear into thin air. I'm not sure what to do anymore."

"Just keep an eye out," Elphaba advised, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"If you hear anything strange, even if it seems completely implausible, take action immediately. We know from experience that if it's unlikely, it's probably true," Fiyero said, gazing over Elphaba's shoulder to look at the blonde.

"Oh, and tell me," stressed Elphaba, earning a slight smile, although Glinda still looked uncertain. Elphaba couldn't imagine the pressure the blonde was facing, having this havoc wreak her already frustrating agenda. The green witch wanted to reach out and touch her reassuringly, for when Glinda's face fell, she looked so vulnerable and hopeless that Elphaba wanted to physically turn it around. "Don't worry, Glinda. I have complete confidence that if anything happens, you'll be able to fix it." And if you can't, she added to herself, I'll come back and fix it for you.

Glinda mumbled Elphaba's name, when a bang came from behind Glinda, causing her to squeal and set the mirror down roughly in panic.

"Lady Glinda!" the intruder was urgent, sucking in air from running. "Southstairs has been broken into. You have to come immediately. The perpetrators are using magic; you're the only one who can stop them. I'll wait until you're ready. Please hurry."

It seemed as though the man left, because Glinda took up the mirror again, her face pale, and her friends' stricken. "Glinda, don't go," Elphaba choked. "If they're using magic…who knows what could happen to you? Hold on, I'm coming now."

"No!" Glinda shrieked, waving the mirror in frustration. "No. Elphaba Thropp, you do not leave England. If you do, I will see to it you're locked away. I'll do it, you understand me?"

"Glinda, Southstairs has never been broken into. No one has ever succeeded breaking into Southstairs before," Elphaba reiterated. "What if-"

"No, you'll do no such thing," Glinda growled. "I have to go. Goodbye." The mirror turned back into a tool for admiring oneself as Glinda vanished from view.

Elphaba slammed the mirror down and began to pace rapidly. "I can't stay here," she ranted, "not when I know Glinda's in trouble. What does she want me to do? Just stay here like a good little witch and let her get hurt?"

"No," Fiyero answered, attempting to remain calm. "She's supposed to be prepared when things like this happen. Wait for Glinda to contact you again. If you go rushing back, you don't know what to expect. It could be a false alarm. Glinda would murder you – she's a fierce little thing; has she ever been angry with you?"

"All the time," Elphaba smiled wryly. "Especially during the war, but…that has nothing to do with it! Fiyero, you know I can't just sit and wait here. I should go back. What kind of a girlfriend would I be, neglecting Glinda when she needs me?"

"A wise one," Fiyero replied, sputtering over his words. "Look, you have to trust her in that she knows what she's doing and her judgment is accurate. It's too risky, even if Glinda is in trouble. Going back will only create more work for her."

Elphaba paused in her steps to throw Fiyero a steady glare. "You know I won't just-" she stopped, realizing that, for once in his life, Fiyero was correct. "Here's my last word on the matter, then. If anything goes wrong, and I mean the slightest little thing, I'm going back."

"If you do, I'm coming with you," Fiyero promised, rising from his seat to face her. "I'll be right by your side, if anything goes wrong, for you and Glinda."

Elphaba sighed, moving back slightly to warn Fiyero off, who was about to clasp her shoulder. "Let's hope for our sakes that it doesn't come down to that," she muttered grimly.

Coming up: Elphaba takes rash actions. Kind of.

Yay! Now, the plot thickens! I'm excited for your reactions…

-Wolfie