Unplottable Island
Chapter 16: A Different Escape
Tim woke up late the next day, to his utter horror. He had just enough time to pull on his robes back on over his clothing (the ones he'd fallen asleep in) before running around to get his books, mentally reviewing every concept of Mythological Monsters that he'd studied the night before.
"Tim? Are you still in here?" It was Hermione Granger, looking much more polished than he and in a better mood. "You'd better get out here—Neville and Dean are already holding targets."
"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" he asked, annoyed.
"Because Harry covered you with that," Hermione said, pointing. A cloak lay crumpled on the ground near Tim's feet, close to the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room.
"What is it?" Tim asked, picking it up. It was as light as a feather in his hands, silky like water between his fingertips. "It's very pretty."
Hermione fidgeted. "Er—don't tell him I told you this, but it was your father's Invisibility Cloak. He would have told you, I'm sure, but I think he wanted to. Come on—we're going to be late!" She grabbed Tim's arm and they climbed out of the portrait hole.
They began the long, though simple to navigate, walk to the grounds outside. "How late were you up studying?" Tim asked Hermione. "You were still awake when I went to sleep."
"Not that long, I just read it a few times and quizzed myself on it. Dreki are fascinating creatures, really." Hermione shuffled through her bag, coming out with a book. "I found that in the library." She opened it to a page she had marked and handed it to Tim. It was a rather fanciful ink-pen drawing of a slim dragon-girl propped against the neck of her dragon, looking out from a high place over a valley.
"It doesn't look real," Tim said, handing her the book back and tucking the Invisibility Cloak into his bag. "It looks like a pretend drawing."
"But it isn't," Hermione said. "It was done a year or two ago. According to the source, the artist actually was a Dreki. The Dreki in question—their name isn't mentioned—gave the picture to a few dragon handlers out in Scandinavia. All they know is that the female in the picture's name is Something-or-another Razi. Their names are so harsh," she said.
"I think that Razi is a pretty name," Tim replied. "And I thought nobody ever sees Dreki."
"They usually are drunk or think that they are drunk if they do."
Tim glanced sideways at the shorter girl beside him. "How much research did you do? It sounds like you raided the library last night." Hermione looked away. "You did, didn't you? He was only going to quiz us on that one book."
She blushed and glared at the floor. "I know. I just wanted to get ahead."
Tim raised his eyebrows. "Ahead? Hermione, you are ahead. Way ahead of everyone, even the Ravenclaws." He shoved her gently. "You don't need to work as hard as you do. Why?"
"Why what?" Hermione said crossly.
"Why do you run yourself dry working so hard? Let up sometimes."
"I work hard because I want to do well," she snapped. "And it's only Harry and Ron who want to hang out with me anyway, and they're usually off somewhere together. Or Harry's off mooning over—never mind. Anyway, there isn't anything else to do."
"Mooning over who?" Tim asked curiously.
"Look! Neville looks terrified—oh no! I wish that they wouldn't make him do this!" Hermione's hands flew to her mouth, fingernails biting into her face.
Neville indeed looked like he'd rather be covered in warts than out holding a target for someone to shoot at—Tim was relieved to see it was Lux, the one person who could actually aim. Neville was in more danger of being shot by Parvati Patil, who was handling the bow as if it were deadly python and complaining loudly of how she'd just done her nails the night before.
Hermione started forward then shrank back. "Oh god. Oh my god. What on earth are they doing?" she quavered, pointing at another group a little further out on the grounds.
Tim followed her pointed finger. Another group of mostly boys stood out in the middle of the field holding various weapons—mostly swords, but a few sturdier figures held what looked like Dreki scythes. "Looks like sword practice to me," he said casually.
"But they'll be hurt!" she squeaked.
"Oh, don't stress it. Harry can take care of himself."
"What?" Hermione squealed.
As it turned out, Tim was told to go out to the sword practice field. Harry was out there, as were several other Gryffindors. The other houses were equally represented, however. From Hufflepuff came Justin Flinch-Fletchly and another blond boy who looked slightly related. Draco Malfoy stood scowling, away from everyone else. The only two girls, one Gryffindor, one from Slytherin, leaned on their blades with ease. Several Ravenclaws greeted Tim with whacks on the back or a teasing, "Cho missed you!"
He was given a blunt sword and told to hold it out in front of him while Professor Gahlapault came around and corrected everyone's stance. That was how most of the morning went. It was boring and hard work holding out a heavy sword at arms length in front of him. Tim was extremely glad to be ambidextrous in those long hours—he could switch arms when one arm got tired, the other boys couldn't. Whenever someone lost the stance Gahlapault had given him, he (or she) had to do ten push-ups. Tim felt particularly sorry for those assigned to scythes, which required both hands.
After poses they moved to sweeps from side to side—slowly. One of the boys collapsed and was sent inside for water and a little rest. Madam Pomfrey had some severe words with Professor Gahlapault, and the penalty decreased from ten push-ups to five. By now Tim's skin was raw with sunburn and muscles he didn't know he had were screaming in pain. Everyone was very relived when Gahlapault announced a water break.
"Is he trying to kill us before we get the chance to get anyone with this stuff?" Harry panted, pouring half his goblet of water over his head and the other half down his throat.
Tim downed his ration of water, wiping sweat off his stinging forehead. "I'm just glad they found some water that was okay to drink. Can you imagine milk like this?" Everyone within hearing shuddered.
"Hey, Tim!" Cho called. "How's swordplay coming?" she jokingly ran him through with an imaginary sword.
"You don't want to know," Tim said, drying his face on his shirtsleeve. "How's archery?"
"Fun. We're popping balloons with arrows now, and Lux is shooting at targets thirty meters farther away than the rest of us. Neville practically is suffering a nervous breakdown. Professor Flitwick says that Lux will be starting moving targets any day now."
"Sounds fun," Harry said wistfully. "This is hard work."
Tim flexed his arm reflectively. "Would I look good with hulking great arms?" he asked. "Because at this rate I'm going to have arms like Gahlapault's soon." He growled and did a wrestler's pose.
Cho laughed, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. "You'd look stupid. A studious soul like you with big arms…" she broke off to giggle. "Well, bye Tim. See you, Harry." She went off to go see how Lux fared.
Harry watched her go. "Do you two always flirt like that?" he asked.
"Like what?" Tim asked. "Me and Cho are just real good friends."
" 'Cho, how would I look with hulking great arms'? Do you like her or something?" Harry asked angrily.
Tim looked at him, a little puzzled. "Harry, what's your problem? You're like that with Hermione all the time and I'm not getting worked up about it."
"It's too hot to get worked up," Harry said, avoiding the question. "I'm going back."
Tim watched his brother stalk away, pick up his sword, and practice several sideswipes at random tufts of grass. Just when you think you know someone, they go weird on you, he thought, and then trotted out to the practice green.
For the rest of her life, Biana didn't remember exactly what had caused that guard to trip.
As they passed a hallway, the company of guards detailed to take her stopped. One of the Dreki in front had tripped; falling sprawled out on the floor. Immediately Biana was forgotten as the others leaned down to assist their captain to her feet.
Biana bolted. She was a good halfway down the corridor before she heard her pursuers. Frantically she pressed on, her lungs heaving in the deep breaths of someone who knew how to run well. Maybe if she had concentrated a little more on where she went and not how she ran what had happened next might have been avoidable.
She ran out onto a shallow ledge, narrow as well. There was enough space for Biana to stand, low to the ground and looking around, panicking. There was no way out, no way out, just the hundred-foot drop to the ocean below. The mindless fear of a trapped animal overcame the dragon-girl. She felt her heart rate increase as the first of her pursuers spilled out onto the ledge.
"Biana, honey," the first said. "Come with us. This is just a routine security check, nothing to get scared about. Come here, with us. You'll be safe."
Biana shook her head, backing slowly away. She tottered on the edge of the outcrop, hearing the sea rush so many feet before. What would they do to her when she had nowhere else to run to? Would they torture her like the mortal Laura? Would they allow Voldemort to get at her again? There's no way she could get out, no way she could avoid the twisted human.
There's always another way out. Go the way they don't expect. Biana felt wild; not herself at all. "If you want me, come and catch me," she snarled at the advancing guard, and flung herself off the cliff.
She fell and fell, fell for a mile. The air whistled past her ears, and Biana instinctively tucked herself into a ball, praying that her dramatic exit would not end in her untimely demise on any rocks that might be below. The shock of the coldest water in the universe brought her back to reality. Her muscles tensed, and she plummeted through the depths, her feet meeting no rocks. Biana thrust herself to the surface frantically, her lungs squashed of any remaining air by the tremendous water pressure. She broke the surface with a gasp; sucking in lungfulls of good, clean air.
Zzzzzzzzzzztt! Zzzzzzzzzzzt! Zzzzzzzzzzztt!
Arrows zipped into the water around her. Biana didn't look back. A new sense of freedom filled her muscles, and she swam away with long strokes, away from her home, and away from Voldemort. That was all she cared about.
Laura and Snape, down in their cell, had other worries.
"She should have been back by now! It's been hours!" Laura ranted, pacing the cell impatiently. After only three whole days in Voldemort's cells, there was already a visible difference in her. She had lost a few pounds, but the silver streak in her hair seemed to grow wider by the minute. Her black robes flapped on her thin arms like a raven's wings as she took two steps, pivoted, and then went two steps the other way.
"Sometimes I think we should have left you tied to the cell bars."
"Sometimes I think it's you who should be tied to the cell bars, not me!"
Snape snorted. "Oh yes? And where were you for fifteen years, locked up in St. Mungos because of the shattering effect of the death of your brother?"
Laura flushed. "No!" she shouted. "And it's cruel of you to say so, you stupid Death Eater!" She kicked the wall as hard as she could, sending a cloud of loose mortar into the air. "Argh! I hate waiting for things to happen!"
"Then where were you?" Snape asked. His face didn't show it, but the comment about his previous servitude to Voldemort stung. "While I was using my time constructively?"
"Constructively? What were you doing, collecting scalps?"
"I was spying on Voldemort, if you insist upon knowing, while you ran and hid somewhere to let James take the heat instead of you!"
"That is not true!" Laura shrieked.
"Then what is?" Snape asked. "I don't really expect you to actually tell me, however."
"I don't see why I should tell you!" Laura said defiantly. "You're just like you were in school, a self-serving, snotty boy who cared for no one but himself!" She seated herself as far away from him as possible, facing the wall.
"That isn't true," he replied. "I spent much of the weeks before you're brother's death trying to prevent your family from being found. Even though James and I didn't get along, I still stuck my neck out for him—and for you, I might have you know. And how have you changed from in school? You were just a popular airhead obsessed with an unattainable boy and yourself."
Laura spun around to face him, her blue eyes red-rimmed. "Sirius and I loved each other. And we still do." She looked as the floor and rubbed her sleeve against her face, leaving a long smudge. "I'm sorry about what I said. I'm not sure if it's true or not, but I shouldn't have said it."
"Fine. I accept your apology. If I have to live within five feet of you then we might as well get along." Snape gave her a look, and then tossed her one of the slices of bread Biana had brought them. "Eat something."
She pushed it away. "I'm not hungry." Laura looked up and out the window.
"Liar. I'll eat it if you want. I'm hungry." Snape watched her for a while, and then tore the slice in half. "I'll save you some."
She didn't answer for a long time, but when she looked back at him, Snape could see that she'd been crying. "How long will we be in here?" Laura whispered. "How long?"
He didn't answer. There wasn't one.
