Chapter Nineteen: Runaway

Chapter title taken from the Kanye West song.

"Welcome to London."

Hello dear readers! Here is another flashback chapter, taking place immediately after the last one.

My world was muted: though the fire blazed in the corner, licking away the bodies, I couldn't hear it; my heart beat was denting my chest. And on the other side of the room I saw Emma, wide-eyed in horror, screaming her tiny little lungs out. The crimson flames drifted throughout the floor, moving ghost-like to the bodies. I extinguished it, then dropped to my knees and let out a disgusting, lingering sob.

The sniffling in the corner snapped me out of my grief, forcing me to stand. Emma had her head on her knees, shaking uncontrollably. I reached out my hand to her.

"Sissy," I said in a small voice. "We have to leave-we can't stay here." I stepped closer in order to pick her up but she recoiled and shoved me.

"Go away!" she screamed, tears burning down her cheeks. "Leave me here!

"What?" I asked in shock. "No-we have to leave, you'll die here!"

She whimpered, staring at the remains of our parents in the other room. "I want to be with them."

"But you can't sissy they're-they're not getting up," I finished meekly. "We have to get out of here." I grabbed her hand but she pushed me away again, backing herself into the corner by the toilet.

"No! You did this!" her voice rattled as she glared at me. "You killed them!"

My heart sunk out of my chest. "Why would you say that?" I stammered.

"You left us! They didn't want you to leave! But-but-you left anyway!"

"But sissy I didn't do this," I tried to explain. "I love you! I love all of you!"

Emma shook her head violently, shutting her eyes and covering her ears. "LIAR! You don't love us!" she stood up, pointing her little fingers in my direction. "I don't want to go with you."

"Emmy please," I begged, unable to control the flow of tears. "I can't leave you here, I didn't do this-"

"I hate you." The words cut me like a knife, deeper than any spell could have. She looked me dead in the eyes. "I hate you for ruining our family." She stepped closer, preparing to run at me.

"Obliviate!"

The spell hit her square in the chest: her eyes rolled back, and her frail body slammed into the ground.

"Ernesto!" I stuttered into the phone in the phone booth, unable to control my sobs. I had ran to our secret phone booth, contacting him via my identification card-we had magicked them to change only through our will, and to alert the others of any emergencies, triggering an alarm only they could hear in order to make a phone call, similar to a Muggle beeper.

"Que paso?"

"They c-came after me!" I cried. "They knew who I was from when I was down there-they came for revenge-they were looking for me b-but they k-killed my parents instead!"

"What?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "I am so sorry Rosalind-I can't imagine-" The audio scratched as I heard him searching for paper. "You need to leave. Take your sister but destroy your wand before you do."

"What? Why?"

"There have been rumors that Americans are tracked by their wands so the government can keep tabs on everyone. Guess who they got the idea from."

"That's how they found me."

"I think so...they've come after a few of us. Jorge and I are fleeing to Australia. We were going to leave next week but we'll have to push it up now."

"Where can we go? Emma is so small I don't-"

"Mexico. I know a wand maker there who is reliable. He can get you into another town with an airport. We'll fly you to London."

"London?" I asked quietly. "I don't know anyone there. I can't be without a wand I might as well be a Muggle-"

"I know. But we can't all go to the same place."

I sighed out another stream of tears. He was right. Hogwarts was a boarding school anyways, once Emma was old enough she would be away for most of the year. Away from me.

"Tell me what I need to do," I pleaded.

"Burn the house down. Only take what you need."

With Ernesto's help we left the only country we knew and walked into Mexico. I instructed Emma not to speak to anyone and we kept to ourselves, fearing our American English and Salvadoran Spanish would out us. Ernesto sent several Patronouses our way to direct us, leading us to the Mexican wand maker. It had only been a few days but I felt like a lost a limb without my wand. I felt like a Muggle.

"Sissy?" Emma had asked as we stepped inside a small plane at the airport. "Where are we going?"

I buckled her seatbelt and lowered myself to her height. "You know that I love you right?" She nodded. "And you know that I would do anything to keep you safe right?" She nodded again, two fingers in her mouth. "We're going to our new home. We'll be safe there." She smiled shyly as she always did when she was unsure what to say, gripping my hand tightly.

A hilly horizon peaked through the rain clouds, a calming drizzle pattering on the rooftop. The plane began its decent, illuminating the cobble stoned streets. Emma buried her face into my side as we departed, navigating customs with our magicked and expedited Muggle documents.

"Miss Rosalind and Emma Morana," the customs agent eyed us as he scanned our documentation. American and Latin American wizards flew via plane all the time. Rumor had it that Europeans were a bit more antiquated.

"I see your reason for seeking asylum is gang violence," he continued, stamping our papers. I wasn't aware that gang violence was pervasive in the States."

"It's not yet," I began to explain. "But it is the reason our parents were murdered. Everything you need should be in that packet."

The thin man glanced up from his square glasses. "I apologize. My condolences." He shoved the packet towards me, explaining programs we may or may not be eligible for. "Hopefully in a few years you both may naturalize." He gave her a warm, sincere smile. "I wish you both luck."

I nodded, head bowed in a feeble attempt at a smile. "Thank you." With Emma in hand, we walked with our small bags into the crowded airport, maneuvering our way out to Muggle London: a vastly different city than either of us had experienced. According to Ernesto's directions a Charring Cross Road was close by-a road with a pub leading to Wizarding London, where he had tipped an ally of our arrival.

We stepped into the dingy pub, creaking floorboards beneath our feet as I approached the counter where a balding old man stood cleaning glassware with a dirty rag.

"Hello," I said upon clearing my throat. "A tequila on the rocks please."

"Ah," the bar man grinned. "I was wondering when you two would arrive." He filled the glass to the brim with the frothy liquid. "Have a pint, I've heard you've got quite the interesting story." He extended a kind, wrinkling hand. "The name's Tom. Welcome to London."

Thanks to Ernesto, Rosalind and Emma were able to flee, but life isn't any easier yet. As always, thank you for reading!

Next chapter: I Never Told You What I Do For a Living.