It was somewhere between being very late and very early in the slums. At almost 4 the streets were still and the buildings dark. Along Clark Street nothing moved. Despite the stillness there was a certain amount of tension hanging over the whole area. There was something large happening, all though what remained to be seen. Despite the tense night, there was one building that was fully lit. One of the newer centers of power in the neighborhood had light shining out from the foggy windows and under the door. Inside the Hanged Man an impromptu meeting was taking place.
"Pamela, You know I wouldn't say this lightly, but he seems ok." The words were spoken by the elderly Cathleen Dowell. Of all the people crowded into the room, she was the only one who seemed perfectly relaxed. Everyone else was clearly on edge. They were waiting, all though for what hadn't been made clear yet. The focus was on the purple haired woman sitting at the bar with a too full glass of whiskey.
"He seemed ok this summer and look at how that turned out." The woman spit out. The couple dozen people or so winced at that. There was no denying this summer had been hard on everyone, but unsurprisingly Pixie had been dealing the worse. Hell, even Harry was dealing better. At one of the tables in the corner Sal and Jo exchanged looks. After a second, Sal stood up and walked over to the woman.
Carefully he draped an arm over her shoulder "This summer was bad, but this kid, Draco or whatever, he's not a threat." Rather then reassuring her it seemed to make things worse.
"Not a threat? He's a teenage death eater who just got a new toy. Yeah no, god damn threat!" The last word was punctuated with the crash of the whiskey glass against the wall.
The room stood eerily silent for a minute, all eyes were focused on the broken shards of glass. Finally Pixie broke the silence.
"Shit." With that she collapsed back into her stool. Sal took a place next to her.
"You know you will have to replace that." Pixie looked up.
"I know Andre." You could almost hear the eye-roll in her tone. The middle-aged man shook his head softly and put down the block of wood he had been nervously carving.
"I think," he said softly, with only the slightest trace of his Italian accent "that we should think about this more calmly. And possible with clearer heads." motioning toward the broken glass. Both Sal and Joe looked guiltily at their beers but didn't say or do anything.
"Now, would someone explain to me what precisely is going on with this so called bond? I'm afraid I don't have quite the grasp on this that others do." His tone was so mild mannered it was hard to remember why anyone was mad in the first place. He may not have been one of the great power brokers among these people, but he had respect enough and that was what was called for. Quietly the assembled settled into chairs and turned to look at the woman hanging in the back.
"Why you all lookin' at me?" The words held little bite and were spoken with a thick Somalian accent. The speaker was a beautiful older African woman who clearly commanded respect among the room. Like all members of this group she had a hard face, and eyes that had clearly seen too much in their lifetime.
"Aziza, if you wouldn't mind sharing. I believe you are the best informed on this subject." Andre said calmly, with the small bow that comes only from worldly Italian men.
The woman surveyed her audience for a second before taking a seat provided for her.
"Very well. We will talk about the old magic. Then, we talk about more important issues. The world isn't sittin' still because our Doite-Vite got himself into trouble. Again." The room shifted awkwardly. It was true. The situation with Harry may be serious, but there were things going on in the slums that couldn't be ignored.
"You said that the Veela is claiming that Harry is a perfect mate?" Aziza asked, looking at Jo. The man gave a single nod.
"Huh. Wizards. Dere ain't no perfect mates. All Dere is, is magic. Some people got more, some less. And it's all different. Jay, go get me a drink." She said all of this almost completely to herself while rolling a cigarette. Everyone knew, however, that Aziza was talking to all of them. She was a storyteller at heart and it was all part of her show. She owned a magical supply shop and in the slums was one of the experts on magical practices of all sorts, especially those that were ancient and powerful. She was also terse, hard to read, and as sharp as a tack. Once her drink came and her cigarette lit she turned to her audience.
"Magic ain't one thing. Each person is different, it need different dings. Wizards: Dey want to make rules. Dey want dis magic too make sense. It doesn't. In any case, wizards have a story about de perfect mate. Dey say dat the perfect mate can be bound do any one. Dat a perfect mate can be enslaved. What dere talkin' 'bout is the magic of individuals. Magic that calls."
"I'll kill anyone who try's to enslave Harry." The words were spoken softly with absolutely no emotion. No one in the room doubted pixies intent. Aziza however just gave the younger woman a look.
"Sit down child. You don't even know what you're fighting yet." When she was sure that Pixie wasn't going to burst out again she took a long drag on her cigarette and continued.
"Harry's magic is sensitive. It's like his heart. Harry wants love, so his magic wants love. More love den we all can give." She surveyed the small crowd to make sure that her words were getting through. "Dat perfect mate; dat ain't real. All dere is is magic. Harry's needs more power to dake care of dat boy, to keep him safe. So it calls. It calls to whoever has the power, no matter who's got it. And it will bind. One way or another dat magic is gonna give it self up. Doit-vite won't survive without it."
The room sat silent for a minute. Then Pixie got up.
"That's it. I knew this was a mistake. I'm bringing him home."
Softly Aziza called after her "It ain't gonna help anything child." Pixie stopped, her back still to the room. Aziza continued, "It's magic girlie. It wants dat bond. You try and stop dat now, and you're in for a world of trouble."
"He's my brother in every way that counts. I'm not leaving him with those bastards."
Aziza gave her a long look. Since Pixie had come here Aziza had watched out for her, in her own backhanded way. She knew Pixie. She also knew the guilt that the young purple haired woman carried around with her.
"Oh child," the older woman sighed "you can't help him. You got a place here, and you know as well as I dat Vite's path don't lie in this house. You gotta let him go." She smiled softly "Besides dat veela, he gonna be even more protective den you."
"You've seen something?" The question held just the smallest bit of hope.
"I've seen what I've seen. You gotta let go now."
For a moment Pixie looked at the door considering. Finally she went back to her seat and Sal and poured herself another drink.
"Ok. We watch him though." The last comment was directed at Jo, still nursing his beer in the corner.
"I'll put some people on him." He said shortly.
Quietly the Older Italian interjected "Aziza, what does this mean? Exactly."
Aziza gave a hard smile. "It means dat Vite's magic will bind itself. He's too powerful and don't got enough training to stay on his own. Even if he got trained his magic would still look for a protector after what dat bastard did. At the moment, it sees the Veela as its best bet. But if dey don't bind his magic it'll find someone else. And I'd bet you my hand it won't be anyone good."
There was little anyone could say after that. At the bar Pixie clutched her glass, as if the amber liquid would save her. At her side Sal stood, trying to guard her from the world. Off in his own place Andre had picked up the block of wood again, trying to see the image that moments ago had seemed so beautiful. As for the rest of the motley clan, each was lost in their own thoughts about one of their own.
They all may have stood like this longer if Cathleen Dowell had not quietly stepped forward from her place to the side. "Pamela, we're not done yet. When your ready there are other matters to discuss."
Pixie nodded. While her family business may have taken up most of the night so far, there were other matters to attend too, ones that (at least to the rest of the dozen or so people gathered) were more pressing.
"Right." She said, any of the sad softness wiped from her voice. "Jay, what can you tell us?"
The tall baby-faced man that had been hovering behind Aziza cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and stepped into the center of the room. For a moment his pale eyes observed the eclectic group in front of him. Then he opened up his battered briefcase, pulled out some old, grimy papers and began.