Book 5: Marcus Montefiore and The Crown of Horns
Chapter 8: Merry Christmas, The War Has Started
"A very merry Christmas, and a happy new year. Let's hope it's a good one without any fear."
"Wake up!" yelled Raleigh.
Marcus's eyes snapped open. He peaked over the side of the bunk bed to see Raleigh jumping around on the floor below.
"Wake up!" yelled Raleigh. "It's Christmas! And Mother's back! And it's Christmas!"
Marcus slipped to the ground below. Raleigh grabbed him in a hug.
"Merry Christmas, Bunny." said Marcus, not letting go.
"Merry Christmas, Snuggles." said Raleigh, squeezing tighter.
"Wake up, Ron." said Marcus, putting his clothes on. "It's Christmas."
"Let me die." groaned Ron.
"What's wrong?" asked Raleigh.
"Ron is at home to Mr. Hangover." said Marcus. "He made very merry last night after we raided Hogwarts."
"You raided Hogwarts?" said Raleigh.
"Yes," said Marcus, "We stole a cache of wands, forestalled the burning of London, and we're in deep trouble with Dumbledore."
"Can you still come to the party?" asked Raleigh.
"Party?" groaned Ron.
"Mother decorated the whole courtyard and told the house elves to make a feast." said Raleigh.
Marcus reached into Ron's bed and pulled him out.
"Please just kill me." he said.
Marcus dragged him outside and looked down at the courtyard. Everyone in the Bastion was milling around down there. The concrete pillars were covered in festive wrapping paper. There was a huge tree standing in the middle of the courtyard. It had been decorated with faeries that were prancing around the branches. Trays full of hors d'œuvres were making their way around the party, held aloft by house elves that had been sadistically dressed as Santa's Elves. Marcus could hear laughter and strings of Christmas Carols echoing up to their floor.
After Ron got a hangover cure from Poppy they wandered into the party.
"Cynthia really knows how to throw a party." said Ron, grabbing a pastry from a passing house elf.
"She has no clue how to throw a party." said Marcus, holding on to Raleigh's hand. "She found someone who could and smuggled all the stuff in here."
They wandered further into the depths of the crowd and found a line of people. Marcus wondered if they were starting a conga. They walked ahead and found that the line terminated in front of Cynthia. After months of her absence, people were lining up to see her. Most of the refugees had never even heard of her before they were brought to the Bastion. They all wanted to meet the legend and give their thanks.
"...can't tell you how grateful I am." they heard Mrs. Cauldwell say. "We would have been dead in the street if you hadn't set up this Sanctuary."
"It was really a group effort." said Cynthia, putting a friendly hand on Mrs. Cauldwell's arm. "And thank you for the help your giving in Islænfąrn."
"Well, it's not much." said Mrs. Cauldwell. "I can't do magic."
"Everyone has something to give." said Cynthia. "Every job is important. Merry Christmas."
Mrs. Cauldwell hurried off and the next person in line stepped up.
"She's more famous than Harry Potter." Harry said, stepping up to them.
"And she looks better in a swim suit." added Ron.
"Words can hurt, you know." said Harry in mock anger.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." said Hermione. "You look better with your swimsuit off." she nudged him playfully.
"What?" asked Raleigh.
"What do you want for Christmas?" asked Marcus, hoping to change the subject.
"Mother's here." said Raleigh. "That's enough for me. If we ever get to the front of the line." he added bitterly.
Diego swooped down and picked Raleigh up in a hug.
"Merry Christmas, Bunny." said Diego.
"Merry Christmas, Daffodil." said Raleigh.
"I brought someone to see you." said Diego. He stepped aside to reveal Draco. Half of his face was slightly red, like his skin had just been healed magically. He was walking with a stiff gate.
"Merry Christmas, Draco." said Marcus. "I see Santa gave you an ass kicking for Christmas."
"It was actually Molly Weasley." said Draco. He turned to look behind him. Marcus followed his gaze to where the Weasley family was standing. They were catching up with Bill and Charlie that were visiting from the Berlin Cell. Molly was holding Ginny to her side. And not letting go.
"It's not fair." said Draco. "All we did was hold each other."
"It's the duty of every mother to be suspicious of teenage boys." said Cynthia, walking away from her line of admirers. She hugged them all in turn.
"It's good to see you again." said Marcus. "Where did you get that?" he indicated her outfit. Her dress was a red and green candy cane pattern, a sharp deviation from her black and white wardrobe.
"I'm bringing Christmas cheer." she said. "Diego thought it might raise morale if I dressed like a floozie."
"I feel better already." said Ron, grinning. He held up his console to take a picture.
"Merry Christmas, Ms. Montefiore." said Arthur Weasley, coming over with his family. Molly kept Ginny behind her. Draco shifted behind Diego.
"Hello Arthur." Cynthia said, hugging him.
"Thank you for bringing Bill and Charlie here." said Fred.
"Christmas is a time for families." said Cynthia. "I also brought this."
A house elf brought a tray of champagne glasses. The glasses were filled with water that twisted and shimmered, like a liquid aurora.
"I don't think I should have any more." said Ron.
"It's not liquor." said Cynthia handing him a glass. She held her own glass up.
"To being alive." she said. "Let's keep it that way."
"Cheers." everyone said.
Marcus took a sip. It tasted like...something. Kind of like...happiness...or maybe...love?
"What is this?" said Molly breathlessly.
"I got this from a Himalayan Monastery." said Cynthia. "It takes three years to distill enough for one bottle. It's the Milk of Human Kindness."
"I thought that was a figure of speech." said Dumbledore, walking up with McGonagall. He took a glass and had a drink. "Nope." said Dumbledore. "This is the real deal. I like your outfit, Cynthia."
"Thank you." said Cynthia. "You can have it after I'm done."
"The mistletoe is a nice touch." said McGonagall.
"Mistletoe?" said Cynthia, confused. McGonagall pointed overhead. Cynthia looked up to see a sprig of Mistletoe hovering over her head. Then she noticed Fred Weasley standing slightly behind her, nervously nibbling at his lip.
Cynthia automatically drew her fist back. Diego leaned forward hastily.
"Fred and George have been working seventy two hour days at the stadium." he said quickly. "Because of their tireless work, we're very far ahead of schedule."
Cynthia didn't move for a moment, her brow furrowed in deep thought. She reached forward and grabbed Fred by the collar and pulled him into a kiss. His whole body tensed up, like he'd been shocked, then he went limp. After three minutes, Cynthia let go and Fred collapsed onto the ground. Marcus looked down at his unconscious body. A goofy grin was frozen on his face.
"I think he died of happiness." said Charlie.
"Where did you learn to do that?" asked Raleigh, prodding Fred with his foot.
"I was young once." said Cynthia.
"Ah, yes." said Diego. "The wild party days of the Pleistocene Era."
The party was in full swing. A few people brought out musical instruments they had managed to hang on to. Remus Lupin and Tonks danced boisterously to Jingle Bell Rock played on the Oboe, Xylophone, and Accordion. Silent Night played on the Electric Guitar wasn't a wholly unpleasant experience.
Kingsley found a slip of paper in his slice of Christmas Pudding that read 'I owe you one silver sickle.'
People were exchanging gifts by now. Dennis and Astoria each gave the other a package without making eye contact. Marcus gave Cynthia-
"A necktie?" she said, holding it up.
"Rabastian Lestrange was wearing it." said Marcus. "I enchanted it to strangle him to death."
"I love it." she said fondly.
Hermione gifted Marcus a copy of Simon Greenleaf's 'An Examination of the Testimony of the Evangelists'.
The line had formed in front of Cynthia again. She was thanking everyone in turn for their service to the cause. Diego pushed his way through the crowd, looking panicked. He walked up to Cynthia and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her gentle smile deteriorated into sheer terror and she ran towards the mess hall.
Everyone followed after her. There was a bottle neck at the mess hall doors as they all tried to force their way inside. Marcus picked Raleigh up and sat him on his shoulders so he wouldn't get trampled.
Inside the cramped mess hall, Cynthia was standing on one of the tables looking up at the wall where the BBC World Service was always playing. Right now, it was broadcasting a battle. It was a mountain range in failing light of sunset. The landscape was riddled by the bright sparks from gunfire. Jets were flying around in the sky above. One of them exploded. Marcus didn't see the parachute for an ejecting pilot.
"For those of you just joining us," came the voice of the reporter, "what you are seeing is a skirmish between the Russian and Chinese armies. An oil pipeline that crosses the border between the two countries was attacked earlier today. The military was called in to facilitate reconstruction, but both sides cried foul and a skirmish broke out. No one is sure who fired the first shot, but now both sides are all in and we've been receiving reports that reinforcements are being called in. This fight is definitely going to escalate. In an official statement from the Russian Premier, he said that Russia will make any sacrifice to protect the nation's fuel reserves. We're getting scattered reports that South Korea and India are mobilizing-"
And then a tank ran over the camera.
~o!o~
Boxing day, a thick coat of snow covered the courtyard. The stagnant air was bitterly cold. The Christmas decorations were gone. Cynthia was circling each of the concrete pillars, reading the cards that had been put up. By now, each column was twelve layers thick in memorial cards. Her console was pulled open to full size. The large flat screen floated in midair and followed her as she walked around. It was showing a live feed of the BBC World Service, which was covering a battle in Mongolia.
Marcus walked up to her from the warm shelter of the mess hall. He walked silently behind her, reading the memorial cards.
Felicity Kendal; December 11th 1995; Beaten to death by a gang of snatchers.
Thomas Moore; December 18th 1995; Shot with a killing curse.
Ben Maarten; December 20th 1995; Eaten by Inferi.
Cynthia reached back and took Marcus's hand.
"Did I ever tell you about my Grandfather?" she asked.
"No, mother." said Marcus.
"He died during World War II." said Cynthia. "I never even met him."
"For which country did he fight?" asked Marcus.
"None of them." said Cynthia. "He was poisoned with Zyklon-B in the gas chambers at Auschwitz."
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks.
"He was a teacher." said Cynthia. "Mechanical Engineering. His son, my father, was imprisoned at Birkenau. He moved to Britain after the liberation by the Russians."
They were silent for a while, staring at the memorial cards.
"How bad is it?" Marcus asked quietly, glancing at the console screen.
"As bad as it can be." said Cynthia. "The governments that aren't actively fighting are scared and preparing their military. Everyone is armed to the teeth and panicking. It's going to tip over."
Marcus mulled this over.
"Mother." he said.
"Yes, dear one?"
"I'm scared." he admitted.
She put an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close.
"I am too," she admitted, "but this is no time for fear. Now is the time for faith and determination. We still have the plan and it's coming along well."
"I don't know what the Hell the plan even is!" said Marcus, breaking out of his mother's grasp.
"Maybe not," said Cynthia, "but you know me."
"No I don't!" Marcus cried, wheeling around to face her. "No one knows where you're going or what you're doing. You always used to take us with you. Even if work took you to the other side of the world, you always took us with you. What are you doing that's so dangerous you have to do it alone?"
He stalked off into the mess hall.
"I'm killing people." Cynthia said to the empty courtyard. "Innocent people. And my children will not be a part of that."
