It was strange how clear her mind had been when she'd made the decision to go. Everything had seemed straightforward. Settled. But now, standing in the middle of her bedroom, faced with the reality of doing it, of actually running away, suddenly the idea began to seem crazy and impossible.
Suddenly it felt like she was crazy for thinking it up. Crazy and dramatic. Immature, even.
"But no," Helena corrected herself firmly. "I'm not running away. I'm just… leaving for a bit."
It didn't make her feel better; it still felt like she was running.
She picked up her drawstring bag. Charmed to be bottomless and weightless, it had probably cost the Longbottoms a fair galleon; and it occurred to her, with some shame, that she was being especially callous, using her fiancé's gifts to escape her fiancé.
But what was she to do? It was one of the more functional things she owned.
Inside it she had stashed, along with the least restrictive clothing she owned, a spare wand, an anything-plate purchased with months' worth of pocket money for the journey, and a beaded reticule holding the Gringotts key to her private account and as much gold as she could stuff in it.
On top of the clothes, she dropped in a map she had made, along with a small pocketknife. She also stuffed in her firebolt, which had been kept hidden under her bed all evening in anticipation of her secret departure.
Both the pocketknife and firebolt were gifts from her godfather, Sirius, the only person in her family who viewed her as more than just a precious commodity, an Omega to be bartered in marriage.
She would have liked to bring her father's invisibility cloak also, but it was in a chest in her parents' dressing room, and she didn't dare sneak into their rooms to borrow it.
What would their reactions be when they woke up and discovered she had gone?
Helena hesitated, then tore off a roll of parchment and scribbled a quick note.
Be back in a week. Don't worry.
H. J. Potter
Then she tucked her bag into one of the inner pockets of her travelling robe and prepared to climb out of her window, like a reverse thief in the night.
The grounds were dark and silent. Or would be but for the atonal chirping of crickets and the bright round moon that cast helpful light on Helena's sylvan surroundings.
Having long left the lovely stone pathways that arteried her family's estate and connected building with building, Helena was having to trudge through the long wild grass of unkempt countryside. She had been walking for over an hour and a half; through fields and gardens, and past mirrored ponds and dark woods, and was starting to regret not having just flown. But she had worried that flying would attract some of the magical creatures that lived in their lands. The snidgets in particular loved to chase after her and might create such a racket that it would wake somebody.
She was almost at the border anyway. The invisible perimeter protecting the Potters' ancestral lands was only about a hundred metres ahead.
Of course, the closer she got, the more nervous she got also. Every time that she stepped on a twig and it made a sharp crack, her heart would jump, in fear that the sound was one of their house-elfs appearing to ask her just what she was doing. But no house-elf came, and Helena crossed the border without incident, leaving behind all the wards that would alert her household of her exit if she had disapparated from within.
Then, only, did she pull out her wand, turn on the spot, and disappear.
She re-appeared a second later in Diagon Alley, close to the International Apparition Centre which even at two in the morning was bustling with activity. She joined the queue at the counter.
"Where to?" said the gruff wizard on duty when she'd reached the head of the queue.
"Forty-one, nineteen, nineteen, forty-nine," replied Helena with nervous rapidity. She had never, before now, ever visited Diagon Alley without an escort, and she was on edge with the paranoid thoughts worming through her head: Would they stop her from leaving? Would they call her parents? But It wasn't illegal, what she was doing, it wasn't…
"Mm, let's see, let's see," grunted the wizard as he thumbed through his notebook. He didn't seem in any hurry to report Helena to anyone; if he recognised her as an errant member of the nobility, he didn't care. "Forty-one, nineteen, nine- ah. Gotcha. They speak Albanian there. You'll be wanting a tranductor I s'ppose?"
"Yes." Helena licked her dry lips. "Edible please. I also want the minority languages. One weeks' worth."
"Mm. Unless you're trying to disguise yourself as a local, you better go with one of the wearable tranductors instead. Much cheaper."
She shrugged her acquiescence. "Sure."
Anything to hurry this transaction along, before she got cold feet and went back home.
The wizard pulled out a catalog from which she selected a bracelet with an eagle charm, and he slid it to her over the counter. "That'll be your portkey too," he said. "All in it's gonna cost you thirty galleons and nine sickles."
Helena pulled out her reticule and counted out the correct amount for him. She took the bracelet and proceeded to the departure area and then into an empty cubicle pointed out to her by a security witch.
"You've read the list of items prohibited for export?" asked the witch in a bored tone. "You're aware you'll be subject to local laws in your destination country? Sign here, here, here. Great. Safe travels."
The door was closed on her. Helena stood in the harsh artificial lighting of the cubicle, clutching the bracelet with sweaty hands.
She was going to go overseas on her own! She was going to have an adventure! And she was going to, if all went according to plan, return a different woman.
There was a jerk behind her navel, a sensation of being pulled forwards and upwards, and then the world swirled.
The magical town of Qytet Yll was a bustling historic wizarding settlement situated on elevated ground on top of a hill. From its highest point, one could gaze at the muggle city spread out below like a pastel sea. The peaks of Mount Dajti loomed in the distance.
Helena had been in Qytet Yll less than two days and already she was utterly charmed.
She had spent the first day and a half exploring. She'd joined a gastronomic walking tour that had taken her through the markets to taste the best spicy veal stews, hot oozing pastries, stuffed peppers, stuffed figs, and glazed cakes of milk or lemon or honey and walnuts. She had got herself pleasantly lost in the sprawling labyrinth of stores that vended their exotic ware, emerging only when her arms were filled with the most striking trinkets to have caught her eye.
But now it was time to get serious. According to her calculations, she ought to be in position tomorrow night during the blood moon, which meant she needed to be in the forest in the correct spot well before then.
Helena dodged a hippogriff-pulled carriage, a yellow tram, and a few cyclists going the opposite way. Crossing the roads in the magical quarters of Tirana, it seemed, was a daily exercise in survival skills. Everyone went whichever direction they pleased, in whichever manner of transport pleased them.
She walked briskly until she reached a storefront advertising itself as a travel agency. A bell rang deep inside when Helena opened the door to enter.
A young man barely older than her stepped out from the staff room, wiping his hands on his shirt and smiling jovially at her. "Please, please, sit." He gestured towards one of the desks. "How can I help you?"
Helena sat. Moving pictures of lakes and mountains and ruins and wizarding villages covered the walls and tables. She ran her eye over them, stopping at a red-toned picture of a bird in a tree. "I'd like someone to take me to one of the parks, please," she said.
He sat across from her. "Certainly, certainly, Madam. Albania is home to some of the most beautiful natural destinations in the world. You can join a tour to see Butrint Mag, and then-"
"I'd like to go to the Shades of Red Forest in Theth."
"Ohoh, young madam knows what she wants. There are two-day or four-day tours departing for Theth every Friday." He handed her a timetable.
Helena's heart dropped. "No, that won't work. I want to be there tomorrow. Are there any private guides that can take me?"
"By tomorrow?" He scratched his cheek and frowned. "Funny. Our Theth guide just took someone there last night. They haven't come back." He checked his ledger. "The fellow also needed to be somewhere in Shades of Red by tomorrow. You don't happen to be connected, do you? Frenchman by name of Vol de Mort."
Helena shook her head. "No. I'm English. If no one's available, I'll check with another agency."
The young man started protesting. "There's no need for that, Madam! I can take you there myself. The other agencies don't really know the place, believe me. They all say they do but they're talking nonsense. I'm Rudi, by the way. What time would you like to go tomorrow?"
After they had settled the time and price, Helena walked out of the shop and back into the lively clamour of the streets of Qytet Yll. She walked absentmindedly, head down, going over the Grey Lady's story once again, and repeating to herself the description of the spot where the exact tree could be found.
"A clearing, a single tree. Only accessible after- Argh!" She had almost run right into another person.
The person, a man of hefty muscular proportions, grasped her immediately by the upper arm. Helena, in an effort to regain her balance, put her hands on his chest, then looked up, an apology on her lips.
It was lost immediately, as the scent of his pheromones hit her and she gazed, stricken, up at him.
Alpha.