14. Afternoon of the witch-hunters

A town more likely to lull a wizard into complacency would be hard to imagine: the secluded streets of Totlingham breathed affluence and ease, its heritage palpable in the sympathetically restored old buildings that dotted every square, lane and alley, while its slightly genteel inhabitants browsed its quaint shops and enjoyed leisurely lunches in its pubs and restaurants.

Water was ever-present in the town, its medieval centre crammed into a finger of land overlooking the River Severn. Every street and lane that ran off its High Street and Market Square ran towards the riverbank, to the north shore and south shore, as locals called them. On the north shore, the wharves housed a marina and fishermen's cottages that served as second homes for boat owners, while the south shore was taken up by a river walk, overlooked by extensive Georgian and Victorian villas. A network of narrow lanes extended out beyond its medieval core, lined with Georgian and Victorian houses, interspersed with sympathetically built modern houses.

Totlingham was Florian Whittaker's adopted hometown: in the fifteen years he and his wife Dora had lived there, they had managed to raise two talented magical children. He commuted every day to the Ministry of Magic in London; she ran a successful owl order business from an office in the attic of their house.

Florian Whittaker was tall and thin, with greying reddish hair, round glasses and a slightly ruddy complexion. There was nothing about his dress or demeanour that gave him away to the muggles. Overall he exuded an air of propriety and solid education, much like many of the inhabitants of the town.

He was on a couple of days leave from the Ministry. After running an errand for his wife, he had been at liberty to wander the town centre, browsing in the odd antique shop, or drinking a pint in one of its many ancient inns. Dora had been good enough to tell him not to hurry back. You need a little time to yourself dear, she had said that morning over a leisurely breakfast. By lunchtime of that day, his owls had all been dispatched and the books were up to date, so he had strolled into the old town for a spot of lunch and what the muggles called a real ale. Having finished lunch, he had dropped into his favourite antique shop a few crooked gable ends down from the White Horse Hotel. He never ceased marvelling at the myriad strange devices invented by the muggles over the centuries to carry out tasks a wizard could solve with the merest wave of a wand. He was on his way back home, a small silver cigarillo box weighing down his pocket as he went.

A common ringed by a tall, ancient wall separated the water-bound old town from its more recent districts. Florian Whittaker's route home took him past the lower side of the common, along a quiet stretch of road lined by a row of tall Victorian houses.

A young woman was leaning against the wall, mobile phone in hand. She looked to be gazing up at one of the houses on the other side, or perhaps even up into the sky. His footsteps on the cobbled road announced his presence, making her look round lazily at him. Did she just smile at me? Surely unlikely. Those days are gone. His pace slowed for no particular reason other than that the effects of his lunch had started to creep up on him. The road began to slope very slightly uphill, slowing his pace further. Another figure gradually came into sight, coming down the hill in his direction. It was a man of around forty, unshaven with close-cropped hair and wearing a tracksuit. He stared off into the distance as he passed by. At that point Florian felt a fleeting movement at his side. Although the feeling was almost indiscernible, he instinctively reached into his pocket. The cigarillo box was gone — the man in the tracksuit must have stolen it!

The fear of confronting the thief made him hesitate. Then the fear melted away, replaced by anger at the man's brazen cheek. He turned sharply — the thief was no more than a few metres away down the street.

'Hey, stop there!' He called out in a steely tone of outrage. The thief paused and turned back to face him, the hint of a smirk on his face.

'You just pickpocketed me!' said Florian, striding down the road towards the thief, 'I felt it.'

'Is that right?' said the thief, an amused look on his face. 'And what am I supposed to have taken?'

'A silver cigarillo box,' replied Florian.

'What's a cigarillo box?'

'Have a look in your pocket and you'll see just what it looks like.'

The man reached deliberately into the trouser pocket of his tracksuit. He seemed to feel around for something in his pocket, then pulled his empty hand out and held it up.

'Nothing in my pocket, mate,' he replied curtly.

'I don't believe you,' said Florian, now certain that the man was the thief.

'Well, I'm certainly not going to let you rummage around in my pocket, if that's what you're hoping for. What's more, you haven't got any witnesses, so I suggest you get lost before you make me lose my temper.'

Florian was seething. At the mention of witnesses, he glanced around for the young woman he had seen earlier, but she had gone. Then a thought presented itself to him: I'll make him turn out his pockets. He wouldn't have to lay a finger on the man. He had the power to make him do whatever he said.

'You turn out your pockets now,' he replied, his voice colder and calmer. 'Or I'll empty them myself.'

The thief scowled.

'If you try sticking your hand in my pocket, I'll cut it off,' he replied, no longer amused.

There's nothing else for it. The Muggle will learn the hard way.

He fingered his wand, which lay still in his pocket.

'Accio cigarillo box', he said. The words slid gently out of his mouth into the empty street. Suddenly it struck him how preposterous the words sounded together. He regretted saying them, regretted even buying the object in the first place. But the incantation worked and the cigarillo box lifted itself out of the thief's pocket and floated towards Florian with an almost jovial bounce.

The man was running in the opposite direction by the time the cigarillo box arrived back in Florian's hand.

'Witchcraft!' he was yelling. 'Witchcraft! Black magic!'

The words rebounded around the empty street then died out. Then away in the distance, the call went up again, but this time several angry voices mingled together. As more voices added themselves, the clamour seemed to grow louder and closer.

'Witchcraft!'

What have I done? He looked around him for a moment, wondering if the Ministry would swoop down to mop up the mess he had caused. There would be consequences for him at work. However, for the time being there was only silence. The next moment came a roar of voices moving in his direction. He set off running. Home was the only place to go.

Moving faster than he had done in years, he was soon back in his own neighbourhood. The streets were reassuringly quiet, although admittedly they were never busy. In any case, the chants of 'witchcraft' were out of earshot. He didn't yet have a plan, other than to seek shelter in his house. Which wasn't a very good plan, as there were plenty of people about town who, if asked, could very easily point the way to the Whittaker house.

He turned the corner onto the lane that led to his house. The neighbours' houses were silent and inscrutable in the warm afternoon. He was still alone when the upper floors of his house came into sight. But as he turned the last corner before home, he caught sight of a figure standing in the street outside his house. It was the young woman he had seen earlier, possibly the only witness to the incident. Why is she standing outside my house?

'Can I help you?' he said, out of breath.

The woman smiled at him, her long blonde hair tousled slightly by a breeze that had just blown up.

She gestured at Florian's house. A large red 'X' had been daubed on the front of it.

'What's this about …' he began, his heart pounding in his chest.

'Just witchcraft,' she said serenely. Florian's heart sank. A wand suddenly visible in her hand, the woman took a step towards him. Then the front door of his house opened. Both Florian and the woman turned. The next moment the woman dropped to the ground, floored by a stunning spell, and another unknown young woman, this one with red hair, stood on Florian's front door step, her mouth coiled into a scowl of concentration.

'Get in here quick!' she said in a loud hiss.

Florian glanced down at the woman sprawled on her back in the street.

'Forget about her,' said the red-haired girl. Florian nodded and ran up his garden path and into the house.

His wife and two children were waiting for him in the living room, along with a rather grim-looking man in a brown suit. Is he from the Ministry? He'd never seen him before. The red-haired girl who had stunned the witch was standing next to him. She looked vaguely familiar, presumably from the Ministry corridors.

The man in the brown suit stepped forward, a grave expression on his face. The pursed lips seemed ready to chastise.

'I've made a terrible mistake!' Florian blurted out.

'It's alright dear,' said Dora. 'The Ministry is here to help us.'

'My colleague Argenta here is from the Ministry,' said the man. 'I'm external.'

Since the man seemed in charge, it was possibly a good sign that he wasn't actually from the Ministry.

'But you're a wizard?'

The man in the brown suit hesitated for a moment and seemed to check his pocket.

'I am,' he replied, with bleak certainty.

'Can we know your name?' asked Dora.

'Isaac Edwards,' came the reply.

'Well, Mr Edwards, the thing is that I did magic in front of a muggle,' Florian began.

'You needn't worry about that,' Isaac Edwards replied. 'It will have been a set-up, I'm sure.'

'What do you mean?'

'As concisely as you can, tell me what happened.'

Florian recounted the theft of the cigarillo box, his impetuous use of magic in front of a muggle, the immediate gathering of a mob, and the mysterious woman who had just been stunned outside his house. Isaac Edwards gave a series of short, curt nods in response to the account.

'The theft of the object from your pocket was done deliberately to get a reaction out of you. The woman lying in the street outside your house is a rogue witch working in collaboration with muggle witchfinders. Most probably a mild imperius curse helped you to overreact to the theft.'

'Sorry to interrupt,' said the witch called Argenta, 'but we don't really have much time on our hands.'

'What do you mean?' asked Florian.

'The mob will be here very soon.' It was almost nonchalant, the way she said it.

'How are we supposed to deal with a mob?' said Dora with alarm.

'There's not many of us, but we'll be ok, said Isaac Edwards.

'And you have one more now,' said a new voice. 'For what it's worth.'

Florian wheeled around. Hermione Granger was also standing in his living room. 'They're here, by the way' she added. 'Magical detection spells are already in place. Somebody tried to curse me as I arrived.'

'So you made it then!' Argenta remarked, apparently not surprised to see her. 'Did Demelza tell you?'

'She did,' Hermione replied.

'Goodness me, Hermione Granger!' Dora Whittaker exclaimed. 'What an honour to meet you!'

'Um … er … thanks,' Hermione murmured. She was no longer used to that reaction.

Argenta went to the window and raised a corner of the net curtain.

'Poppy Bailey's back on her feet,' she remarked. 'She's just over the road, under the oak tree. I can't see Skelton and Chloe Goodwin, but they must be in position nearby.'

Florian Whittaker approached the window and Argenta pointed to the young woman who had been waiting for him in front of the house. She was once again standing calmly on the grass verge on the other side of the lane as if she had never been stunned.

'They'll be sealing the house with enchantments,' said Argenta. 'In a few minutes they'll be here.'

'The mob?' asked Florian. Argenta nodded.

'Now is the time to leave, if you want to,' said Isaac, walking over to the window himself. 'We can blast a hole in their enchantments and get you out.'

Florian Whittaker shrugged and looked at his wife.

'Is there any chance this is all a misunderstanding?' he asked the gathered wizards.

'Virtually none,' said Argenta.

'You can wait five minutes for them to arrive, but by then it's likely there'll be no leaving,' replied Isaac Edwards.

Dora Whittaker shook her head and said in a despairing voice:

'Are they really going to burn our house down?'

'It may not be as bad as that,' replied Isaac. They may just smash the windows and daub the walls with anti-witchcraft slogans.'

'Let the children leave,' she said. 'We'll stay and fight.'

'No Mum! Come with us!' said Eldra, their daughter.

'The idea isn't to fight them,' said Isaac. 'The idea is to escape them.'

'We can rebuild any damage they do,' said Florian Whittaker. 'Let's not waste any more time.'

'Right,' said Isaac, 'Hermione, would you mind trying to keep whoever gathers outside at bay? Argenta and I will try and get around the sealing spells, as we have more experience of that kind of magic. You only need to keep them busy for about three minutes or so. That should get us enough time to have a way-out in place. The portal out of here will pass through the cellar door off the back of the hall. You'll need to pass through it at a 45o angle.'

Hermione nodded. So you do do magic after all.

They were interrupted by the sound of smashing glass.

'Did someone just throw a brick through our window?!' shouted Florian.

'No, Dad,' called out Eustace, the Whittakers' son. 'It was a curse, I think'.

'We should get started now,' said Isaac to Argenta. Argenta turned to Hermione.

'Are you sure you can handle them? There could be quite a lot of them.'

Hermione looked grimly towards the street.

'I'll be ok,' she said.

'I could help too,' came a new voice. They wheeled round. Harry Potter was standing in the hallway. He had apparently just walked in through the front door.

'What are you doing here?' Argenta exclaimed.

'How did you know there was an operation going on here?' Isaac added.

Hermione just stood in silence, staring at him. The entire Whittaker family was gawping at him too.

'I ran into Demelza,' he replied quickly.

'What a good hire she was,' Argenta remarked, smirking first at Isaac then at Hermione.

'By the way,' Harry continued, 'I just saw a mob of about thirty people who'll be here in about two minutes. And they don't look like they're too keen on wizards.'

'At least you managed to get in,' said Isaac. 'That means the house isn't sealed.'

'I had to break a sealing charm on the front door to get in,' said Harry. 'Quite a strong one.'

'Well, do you mind going back out there and helping Hermione to hold them off?' said Isaac.

'After all,' Argenta added with a smirk, 'the two of you probably work well as a team.'

Neither Hermione nor Harry replied.

Isaac and Argenta ushered the Whittaker family out through the dining room. As Harry and Hermione went back to the front door, they could already hear Argenta and Isaac start up an incantation. Harry turned to Hermione.

'I'll go out first. Cover me. That should draw the others out into the open.'

'Ok,' she replied. 'But how come you decided to …?'

A grin stole across his lips.

'For a bit of practice. And for old time's sake.'

He pushed open the front door, firing a barrage of curses at the young woman standing under the tree. A flurry of counter-curses greeted him in reply. He ducked behind a bush into the Whittakers' front garden, narrowly avoiding fresh curses fired down from above. The front door flew open again and he felt the air behind him scorched as Hermione fired in the direction of the other two wizards. He heard a scream and a smart-looking witch came crashing down in the road in front of him. The witch falling off the roof distracted Poppy Bailey just long enough for Harry to leap over the Whittakers' garden fence and dispatch her with a stunning spell.

'Harry! Left now!' cried Hermione behind him. Without thinking he followed her instruction, throwing himself to his left. A moment later, a curse blasted a small hole in the tarmac where he had been standing. He rolled over and turned so that he had a good view of the sky. He looked up and saw the handsome figure of Charlie Skelton standing on the Whittakers' roof, wand in hand. Suddenly he seemed to be dancing, as he dodged a series of curses fired by Hermione from the garden. Harry leapt to his feet and sent his own volley of curses in the direction of the roof, but Skelton evaded them all.

'Isaac's portal!' Hermione cried, gesturing to Harry to get back inside the house. He ran as quickly as he could, especially as one of the witches was back on her feet and firing curse after curse in his direction, shattering the windows of the Whittakers' sitting room and blasting a hole in the front door. Hermione flung open the smouldering door and pulled Harry inside. They fell in a heap on the mosaic floor of the Whittaker's entrance hall. Another curse smashed through the door and exploded into the wall above their heads, so they crawled the length of the hall until they reached the door to the cellar. As they did so, they could hear the roar of a crowd approaching. Now a brick came crashing through a window, landing a few feet from them. Harry reached up and opened the cellar door. Then he hauled Hermione to her feet and they jumped through the open doorway hand in hand, remembering to angle their jump accordingly.

They disapparated as they passed through the doorway, emerging into the light on top of a church tower. Isaac, Argenta and the Whittaker family were already there, looking out over the streets around the church.

'Nice work,' remarked Argenta. Her normally pale face was flushed.

'Where are we?' asked Harry, steadying his footing. He was a little too close to the tower's low balustrade.

'Still in Totlingham,' said Isaac. 'The Whittakers' house is just over there.' He pointed down from the tower.

It was easy to make out which road the Whittakers' house was situated on. The narrow road was filled with a large crowd, some with scarves tied around their mouths, chanting and banging an assortment of loud objects. Some were throwing stones at the house, while others were loose in the garden, and presumably inside the house as well.

'I wonder if the mob saw any of that wand battle,' remarked Argenta. 'They might not take it very well if they find out they're being helped by actual wizards.'

As they watched, one protester threw a tin of red paint over the house's façade. The Whittaker family itself looked on in horror.

Florian Whittaker turned to Isaac.

'Why? Who really hates wizards this much?'

'These people,' said Isaac grimly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tract, which he handed to Florian.

'It was stuck to a lamppost in town.'

''Respected local man practises witchcraft'' he read in a dull voice. ''Whittaker family implicated in ritual murder of local woman'. What murder?'

'One of Voldemort's victims,' said Hermione. 'The idea is to frame innocent wizards for murders carried out by the Death Eaters.'

'Where are we supposed to go now?' said Eustace Whittaker, as he peered over the edge at the antics of the mob.

'First we get out of here,' said Isaac. 'You'll probably want to go to the Ministry. Someone will help you find temporary accommodation. And put you in contact with a muggle lawyer.'

Suddenly some members of the crowd started shouting and gesticulating towards the top of the church tower.

'I think it's time we get to a genuinely safe distance,' said Isaac.

They left the Whittaker family at Muggle Relations. Demelza was waiting to take them inside. Hermione could see her give her a strange look. Because Harry's standing next to me. Isaac hadn't entered the Ministry. I suppose he could if he wanted.

'I'd better go and make a report,' said Argenta dolefully, following the Whittakers into the office.

The corridor was empty apart from her and Harry.

'I have to be going too,' he said, already half a step down the corridor.

'Harry, why so fast?' she called out in a low voice, taking a step after him. He stopped and looked back at her. She couldn't read his expression.

'I'm sticking to our pact. Demelza gave us a funny look when she saw us together just now.'

'Well what did you expect?' Hermione replied.

Her legs felt weak, so she reached out her hand to the wall to steady herself.

'Thanks for today,' she added.

'Don't mention it.'

She glanced at the closed door beside them, as if it was about to open. But no sound or movement came from it.

'I won't try to speak to you again when you're sleeping.'

He nodded numbly.

'It's probably for the best.'

No reply came to mind.

'People will be wondering where I am,' he added.

Say their names if you like.

She started to reach out her hand then withdrew it. He saw her gesture but said nothing.

'Bye Harry.'

'Bye.'

He was starting to turn away.

'Harry you were right,' she said.

He turned back, a quizzical look on his face.

'Right about what?'

'It can't go on like this. It's not enough after all.'

She wasn't sure she had intended to say the words out loud.

He paused for a moment.

'No, it isn't,' he replied. Then he disappeared round the corner.

When she reached the level her office was on she walked straight past it and out of her department. More than one glance was directed towards her as she crossed the atrium, heading for the flues. She realised she was walking very fast, and rather obviously walking out of the Ministry. Goodness only knows what sort of look I've got on my face.

The air in the alleyway was stale and polluted, but at least she was out in the open. She leaned for a moment against the brick wall, listening to the whirr of an air conditioning unit mounted on the wall across from her. She looked down the alleyway: people were passing quickly in the street beyond it, scarcely aware that the alleyway existed. Her heart suddenly beat quicker: why not here? She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the ground, her back propped against the wall. Then she began the incantations.

Once inside the Circle, the only noticeable change in the scene before her was the absence of the hum of traffic at the end of the alleyway. Instead everything was enveloped in a kind of numb silence. What a state I must look. She waited patiently for the transaction to be made. Her left arm was stiff and sore, so this time she planned to offer up her other arm. She looked up when she heard footsteps echoing down the alleyway. The light seemed to have faded, as if night was suddenly falling over the alleyway.

A pale, pretty blonde girl emerged from the shadows.

'Oh dear, what would your Mum and Dad say if they could see you now?'

'I might ask you the same thing,' Hermione replied from where she sat.

'I know who you are, by the way,' she added.

'It doesn't matter who I am,' the girl replied.

'People are worried about you,' Hermione continued.

'I know they are.'

'Doesn't that bother you?'

'Of course it bothers me. That's the whole point.'

'It makes you strong in the Circle, does it?'

'I don't have to tell you about things like that.'

Hermione smiled.

'No, Iona, you don't.'

Iona Deasy made no response to her name.

'Do you want to do this or not?'

'I do,' Hermione replied, holding up her arm.

The girl promptly took out a needle. Hermione closed her eyes. When she opened them, the operation was over. Iona stood silently a few feet away from her, her eyes fixed on her.

'Come and see what you paid for,' she said. She opened her hand and held it out to Hermione, even smiling as she did so. Hermione stood up and took hold of the outstretched hand. The alleyway vanished in an instant.

The first thing Hermione saw was the jagged outline of a ruined stone wall against an overcast sky.

'Is this a castle?' she said.

'What's left of it,' replied Iona drily. 'This way,' she added, tugging on Hermione's arm and pulling her down the grassy slope that ran down from the castle wall into what looked like the beginnings of woodland. Hermione put up no resistance. At the bottom of the hill lay a dell dotted with scraggly clusters of trees, bereft of all their leaves. Without a word, Iona led Hermione into a copse that marked the boundary between open ground and woods.

A sad skeletal canopy of bare branches drooped down over them. The heavy grey sky was visible through the gaps between the branches and the air was moist and clammy. Although the trees were bare, a thick layer of damp brown leaves lay beneath their feet. Hermione cast about for some remnant of magic in that place, but could sense none.

'What are we doing here?' she exclaimed after a few moments.

'Sshh! Wait,' replied Iona. They stood in silence in the cold, damp copse until they heard soft footfalls behind them as someone trudged slowly across the leaves. Hermione began to turn around but Iona restrained her with a firm grasp of the arm.

'Just watch,' she said in a low voice.

A figure walked right past them and stopped in the middle of the clearing, under the bare trees. The figure was that of a man of perhaps thirty. He was tall and rather overweight and was carrying a large plastic carrier bag. He glanced around him, revealing a reddish, puffy face and glassy grey eyes, but gave no sign of seeing the girls. Then he put down the carrier bag and began rummaging in the inside of his overcoat. After a few moments he pulled out a wand, examined it in his hands for a few moments, then crouched down, clearing a space with his hands in the dead leaves. He muttered an inaudible incantation and a small hole opened up in the earth, into which he carefully placed the wand. Then, with another incantation, the hole closed up around the wand. He stood up and kicked some leaves over the place where the hole had been. Then he crouched down again, this time over the carrier bag, from which he pulled out a large black robe. He examined the robe, running his hand over a badge sewn onto it, a badge that Hermione instantly recognised as the Hogwarts crest. Then he stood up straight and threw the robe so that it caught on a bare branch and hung there. The wizard made a vague sort of bow in the direction of the robe, then turned and walked quickly out of the copse.

At first neither of them spoke. It was Iona who broke the silence.

'Did you enjoy it?' she asked.

'Yes, it was very entertaining,' replied Hermione drily.

'Did you get it?' said Iona.

'It was the moment a wizard abandoned his wand and Hogwarts cloak,' replied Hermione. 'By abandoning magic, the barrier between the magical and the non-magical weakened just a little bit more.'

'Very good,' said Iona. She walked up to the spot where the wand had been buried, and walked around it. Then she turned and looked up at the robe hanging from the tree. After a few moments a cold gust of wind passed through the copse, wrenching the robe from the branch and casting it down on the dead leaves below, so that it lay spreadeagled at Iona's feet. She leaned down and touched it herself, then let go of it and stood up.

'It's funny, isn't it?' she said to Hermione, turning and looking at her with a look of cool curiosity. 'Standing here, like you said, at the barrier between the magical and the non-magical. I used to stand on the other side.'

Hermione looked at Iona. She was trembling slightly, partly from the cold, but most from the sense of exhilaration at being in that place. She was strikingly pretty, only she was excessively pale and almost gaunt, and her eyes shone with a strange light. Surely she should be doing something other than prowling about on the borders between the magical and the non-magical.

'Is that how she seduced you?' said Hermione. 'With the promise of magic?'

The girl looked silently at her, but her gaze seemed to be directed inwards.

'Well, she delivered,' she said at last in a low voice. 'What has she promised you?'

The question took Hermione by surprise.

'I don't know exactly,' she replied. 'A kind of suffocation, I suppose.'

'And she can deliver that as well,' came the reply. Then the scene was gone and Hermione was back in the alleyway. Her head spun faintly, but the ill effects didn't seem as bad as before. Am I becoming immune to it? She rested her head against the brick wall. There was almost something relaxing about sitting there. In any case, there didn't seem to be anywhere else she could go.