Chapter 10: The German and the Game
Song: Hippie Sabotage – "Devil Eyes"
Lee's Charger rolled to a stop in the West Edmonton Mall parking lot, and Lee cut the engine. Walking through the mall, Lee could hear intrigued whispers following him, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see people's heads turn to watch him pass. Lee paid the onlookers no mind as he made his way down the hallway with the Authorized Personnel Only door.
Lee tapped his wand against the door and it swung open. Walking through, Lee emerged from the hallway on the other side of the door, into Galleon Plaza.
Since Lee's first visit, Galleon Plaza had changed dramatically. Shops moved around the massive building according to the current state of affairs in the magical world. At the moment, ward-construction agencies took pride of place. The current US President was causing severe concern in the magical communities, and most Wizarding families wanted extra protection, just in case. Lee walked into one of these shops: Fitz-Willis Wards.
The air inside the shop was pleasantly cool, and the white walls were covered in framed photographs. The photos showed an older gentleman, presumably Fitz-Willis, shaking hands with various different people.
"Sir?" someone asked. Lee turned to see a young woman emerging from a side door. "Can I help you with anything?" the young lady asked, walking over to Lee.
Lee nodded. "I'm here to see ward-master Fitz-Willis."
"I'm sorry," the woman shook her head. "My father died a year ago. I've been running the business ever since. I'm Bronwyn Fitz-Willis."
"Pleasure," Lee replied, extending his hand. "Lee Taylor."
Bronwyn shook Lee's hand and sat down at a desk. "What can I help you with, Mister Taylor?"
Lee pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "I need a prison ward combined with an extension charm and a muggle-proof failsafe, constructed small enough to fit a car trunk."
Bronwyn's eyes widened as she looked over the plans Lee had drawn up. "You're a very skilled ward constructor," she replied, surprised. "Why did you come to us when you could have made this ward yourself?"
"It's important that I do everything legally," Lee replied. "Let's just say I have a rather…odd relationship with the Canadian and American magical governments, and they would use any excuse they could find to take away the asset I'm planning to apply this ward to."
"Fair enough," Bronwyn nodded, folding the paper and placing it in a folder. "Do you have the asset with you?"
"I left it outside the Plaza, in the parking lot," Lee replied. "It's a black Dodge Charger."
Bronwyn nodded. "Impressive. I'll be done in an hour. Is there anything else I can do?"
Lee smiled. "Surprise me."
Lee left the Charger's keys on Bronwyn's desk and left the shop with his moneybag a fair bit lighter. Walking along the row of shops, Lee turned inside Weisfeldt Antiquities.
Inside the store could not have been more opposite to the clinical sterility of Fitz-Willis Wards. Instead, the small antiques shop seemed to get more and more cluttered as Lee swept his gaze around the space. The tinkling of a bell drew the hunter's attention. A short man in a brown leather coat exited a storeroom and stood behind the shop's counter.
"Herr Taylor," the man smiled, speaking in an extremely thick Germanic accent. "So good to see you again."
"Good to see you too, Andrei," Lee nodded, shaking the man's hand.
Andrei Weisfeldt had run his family's antique shop for decades. The store sold enchanted items and magical artifacts, and no matter what you were looking for, the store always seemed to be equipped for the seeker's needs. A few years previously, a gang of thieves working for an anti-muggle hate group had robbed Weisfeldt's store. With nothing to sell, the bank had put pressure on Weisfeldt to declare bankruptcy. Lee had tracked down and punished the group responsible, saving the store. From then on, Weisfeldt had been a close friend and ally of Lee.
Weisfeldt leaned forward over the counter and scrutinized Lee up and down. "Something is different about you, Herr Taylor. I can't quite tell what."
Lee looked around guiltily. "I could never sneak anything past you, old man," he sighed. "I need as much information as you can find on horcruxes. I also need to see any that you have in your vaults."
Weisfeldt scratched his chin, deep in thought. "Only two reasons to say such a thing, Herr Taylor; either you are hunting a man who uses such devices, or you have made one of your own."
Before Lee could say a word, Weisfeldt's eyes widened in shock. "You have made one?"
Lee sighed. "Yes, I did."
"And who, may I ask, did you kill in order to make such a device?" Weisfeldt crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow.
"Markus Knight, the rogue alchemist," Lee replied. "He had it coming."
Weisfeldt shook his head, a concerned look on his face. "Had you told me about this, Herr Taylor, I could have given you some advice. As it is, things could have been much worse for you."
"Why?" Lee asked. "What did I do wrong?"
Weisfeldt pulled an ancient-looking book from under his desk and opened it. "The horcrux," he began to read aloud, "Is an ancient and evil method of securing a piece of one's own soul from the forces that would seek to destroy said soul. The first horcrux was created by Herpo the Foul, using the soul of his first-born infant son. Since then, it has been proven that the purity of a soul sacrificed to create a horcrux will have an inversely proportionate effect on the creator."
Weisfeldt shut the book with an audible thump and leaned back with a thoughtful look.
"So what does this mean?" Lee asked, tilting his head.
Weisfeldt cleared his throat. "It means that if you use the sacrifice of a corrupted soul to make a horcrux, there will be far less negative effects than if you had used an innocent soul, such as that of a baby."
Lee's stomach turned at the thought of killing a child. "That was Voldemort's mistake, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Weisfeldt nodded. "Voldemort created a horcrux inside baby Harry Potter, and by doing so, he made something so evil that he practically cursed himself to die."
"So what does this mean for me?" Lee asked, slightly worried. "How bad will I feel the negative effects?"
Weisfeldt pulled up a chair and sat down with a satisfied sigh. "Some negative effects of horcruxes include the development of psychotic tendencies, loss of empathy, and an appetite for death and destruction. Since you used the soul of a mass-murderer to create your horcrux, the lack of purity in that soul means that you should be spared from the curse. Just let me know if you start to develop homicidal thoughts."
"I'm a bounty hunter and an Auror," Lee deadpanned.
Weisfeldt cleared his throat again. "Fair point."
Lee walked through the authorized personnel only door a short while later, emerging from the long hallway back into the West Edmonton Mall. Passing mall patrons gave Lee a few odd looks, but said nothing. Lee shrugged and headed for an escalator, towards a loud, muffled voice. On the upper floor, Lee made for the Tim Horton's shop at the end of the walkway. Standing in line, Lee sniffed deeply, inhaling the intoxicating scent of fresh-made donuts and roasted coffee. Past the Tim Horton's, a balcony looked out onto a massive indoor ice rink. Players streaked across the ice, relentlessly fighting for possession of the puck, and ruthlessly colliding with each other. Lee spied the logos of the Edmonton Oilers and the Calgary Flames on the players' jerseys. Above the action, the commentator's voice blasted from several hanging speakers.
Song: Corb Lund – "The Good Old Hockey Game"
Just then, the Edmonton goalie brilliantly saved a blistering slapshot. The heavily armored goalie's glove flashed up so fast, Lee could have sworn that time slowed down to accommodate. A resounding cheer echoed from the stands as the goalie heaved himself up to their full height and smashed the puck back down the length of the rink. Several lightning-fast passes between the Edmonton players saw the puck flying up the ice, into the corner of Calgary's goal. Lee joined in the roaring of the Edmonton fans as they cheered on their team.
A cleared throat behind him drew Lee's attention, and he turned to the counter. "Can I take your order, sir?" the barista asked, a little shyly. Lee smiled and passed the barista a slip of paper and a ten-dollar bill, before walking over and leaning against the balcony to watch the good old hockey game.
The referee dropped the puck on the ice to begin the second period of the game, and immediately the players attacked each other. The puck flew out of the scrum of bodies, and was caught by Edmonton's left defenseman. The player tore up the ice, heading for Calgary's goalie, when out of nowhere, the Flames' center jabbed his hockey stick forward and swiped the puck as they flew past. An Oilers defenseman tried to block, but a Flames player slammed into them with a loud crash, both players going down in a tangle of limbs leaving the center's path clear to the goal. A split second later, the puck was sent flying by a powerful shot, whizzing straight between the Oilers goalie's legs. Up above, the scoreboard changed to display the score; Edmonton: 1 – Calgary: 1.
Lee didn't even notice his donuts and coffee being placed in front of him, as he was angrily shouting with the crowd, booing at the Flames' right-winger that had tackled the Oilers defenseman.
Just when the situation looked ready to spiral out of control, the referees practically dragged several players away from each other by the scruff of their necks, and within a minute, the players assembled on the line, both teams glaring murderously at one another.
Barely a millisecond after the referee's whistle touched his lips, both teams exploded into action, throwing down hockey sticks and charging in, gloves raised. The puck flew off to one side, but the crowd roared as the players turned the game into a brutal, bar-fight-style brawl.
Fists flew and blood spattered the ice. The Oilers pressed forward, driving the Flames back down the ice toward their own goal. Lee watched excitedly as the players did their best to completely massacre the other team. Around the edges of the fray, the two referees and two coaches tried vainly to control their charges. Just then, the Oilers goalie waded in, his armor absorbing hits with the efficiency of a tank. The goalie pirouetted on one skate and smashed his other skate's heel straight into the head of a Flames player with a sickening crunch audible even over the roaring crowd. Straight after that, the buzzer sounded loudly over the rink, and the fight froze mid-swing. The commentator grabbed the microphone and shouted into it. "Gentlemen! Calm down, and let's get back to the game, shall we?" After ten seconds of dead silence, one Calgary player swung a punch into an Edmonton player's face. The entire Oilers team pounced on the offender, and chaos reigned supreme.
It took the entire reserve squad from both teams to pull the players apart, and a full ten minutes before order could be restored. Finally, the referees had finished swapping off injured players, and both teams had been set up on their lines. The announcer cleared his throat, sending a spot of feedback through the microphone. "Players ready."
The referee dropped the puck, and both teams charged forward. Even with magically enhanced vision, Lee could barely track the puck's movements between the players.
The Flames center charged up the ice, anticipating a pass, but the Oilers' right-winger swooped in and stole the puck from right under the Flames center's nose. A split second later, the Oilers' right-winger went down in a tangle of limbs, and another Flames player reversed the puck's direction. Up above, the clock ticked steadily downwards as the players careened around the rink.
Suddenly, the crowd roared. The Oilers' center broke away from the swarm, with the puck in his possession. Lee stood up from his chair and hollered as, with a final flick of a hockey stick, the puck soared between the Calgary goalie's legs, and the arena exploded with noise. Edmonton had just won the coveted Stanley Cup, and the team was now crowned as gods of hockey. The Oilers swarmed together in the center of the ice, jumping up and down and yelling themselves hoarse. Meanwhile, up in the commentator's box, the Calgary commentator had launched himself at the Edmonton commentator, and the two men were now trading punches.
After the Cup had been handed off to the Oilers' Captain, Lee finished the dregs of his coffee and sneakily summoned another donut into his hand. Walking out of the Tim Horton's, Lee bit down on the donut while humming to himself. "And the best game you can name, is the good old hockey game."
Author's Notes:
I hope everyone has been enjoying my little foray into the Wizarding World.
Next few chapters should be out soon. I'm moving into a new house, so I'm very limited in the time I have to write.
Leave a review if you like where the story is going.
-the Seacopath