Chapter 13
Christopher risked a glance behind him again but did not see the boy with shaggy black hair and a pair of strangely familiar green eyes.
Who was that boy? Why had he looked at Christopher with that peculiar expression? Was he another one of the followers? The young man's emerald gaze haunted Christopher as he continued to walk, not really noticing where he was going. Why were those eyes so familiar yet so oddly disturbing?
Lost in his thoughts, Christopher didn't notice the grimy little man peek out of the doorway of a rather rundown pub whose faded sign proclaimed it to be The Leaky Cauldron.
"Oy!" the man said, waving a dirt-crusted hand covered by a fingerless glove. "Professor! Did yer git me owl?"
Christopher stopped and stared as the man stepped out onto the street. The short man was dressed in a colourless coat and labourer's pants, both were much frayed and patched. Over it was a brownish robe of sorts…
"I beg your pardon?" he said coolly, stepping back. "Do I know you?"
The man cocked his head and scratched a matted tuft of hair that might be brown after a few dozen washings. "O' course yer do!" he chuckled, revealing several missing teeth. "Ol' Jack 'ere 'as been 'elping wif yer… er… uh… duties for more'n five years now."
Christopher stared at the man intently. Could it be? Did this man know him? 'Ol' Jack' had called him 'Professor' but for all he knew it could be a nickname or perhaps he had once taught but no longer did.
The little man was speaking again, twisting a tattered and stained handkerchief in his hands. "…I know yer a busy wizard, Professor… but if it weren't no trouble, could I 'ave another spot o' that potion yer were fixin' for me little gel Matilda? O' course, 'er eyes'll never be quite as good as before but that stuff yer brewed for 'er 'as 'elped like Merlin's own magic…"
"I don't know what you're talking about-" Christopher replied with a scowl. The little man looked away with a hurt expression and, inexplicably, Christopher felt a stab of guilt.
"Stupefy!"
With an instinct that he didn't know he possessed, Christopher ducked, crouching so that his thin frame was folded double. Jack suddenly fell over with a thump, as if pushed violently by a giant invisible hand. A long, thin stick rolled out of his pocket and stopped a few feet in front of Christopher. Without thinking, he lunged for it and stood, facing the opposite direction where the shout had come from.
The other teenager, a boy with long brown hair, just as badly dressed as his counterpart, stood in a stance that reminded Christopher somehow of duelling.
The boy walked cautiously closer, his own dark stick clutched tightly in a hand that was pointed straight at Christopher's heart.
"No closer," Christopher warned in a dangerous voice, bringing the grimy man's stick… no… a wand… to bear. Disoriented for a moment by the returning memory, Christopher simply scowled blankly into the silence while the boy looked unsure. Now that he was closer, Christopher could plainly see that the teenager was younger than he had originally thought. He was certainly tall enough to be an adult but his face was still youthfully smooth and unmarred, almost like he had never shaved before.
The boy rallied his courage again and drew a breath while raising his wand. Christopher braced himself and raised the borrowed wand… but nothing came. He had no idea what to do with it. It's a magic wand you idiot! Say a magic word! But he couldn't remember any… and he had a feeling that "Abracadabra" wouldn't be enough. Also, the borrowed wand felt wrong somehow, almost as if it didn't quite fit into his hand…
Stupefy! Say "Stupefy" you fool!
"Stupefy!" Like a jolt of electricity, Christopher felt the spell resonate faintly inside him and go out through the focus of the wand. The spell hit the boy square in the chest and he flew backwards, landing with a sickening thud against a building's brick wall where he slid to the ground and lay still. Christopher waited for the horror to build inside him, the shame, and the guilt that he might have just taken a life. Surprisingly, he felt nothing except revulsion at himself when he realized that he had done this - and much worse - many times before. He couldn't pinpoint any single memory, it was more of a feeling, a knowing and a cool familiarity with violence.
Christopher looked down at the borrowed wand still clenched in his hand and felt a sudden urge to throw it far away. What kind of a man am I?
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell nearly knocked Christopher off his feet. The borrowed wand flew into the air, was caught and pocketed casually by the other teenager. This boy was obviously more confident than his colleague; his face revealed a maturity that the other teenager had lacked and by the effectiveness of the spell from his distance indicated a powerful talent that Christopher did not want to stay to investigate
Christopher risked a glance behind him again but did not see the boy with shaggy black hair and a pair of strangely familiar green eyes.
Who was that boy? Why had he looked at Christopher with that peculiar expression? Was he another one of the followers? The young man's emerald gaze haunted Christopher as he continued to walk, not really noticing where he was going. Why were those eyes so familiar yet so oddly disturbing?
Lost in his thoughts, Christopher didn't notice the grimy little man peek out of the doorway of a rather rundown pub whose faded sign proclaimed it to be The Leaky Cauldron.
"Oy!" the man said, waving a dirt-crusted hand covered by a fingerless glove. "Professor! Did yer git me owl?"
Christopher stopped and stared as the man stepped out onto the street. The short man was dressed in a colourless coat and labourer's pants, both were much frayed and patched. Over it was a brownish robe of sorts…
"I beg your pardon?" he said coolly, stepping back. "Do I know you?"
The man cocked his head and scratched a matted tuft of hair that might be brown after a few dozen washings. "O' course yer do!" he chuckled, revealing several missing teeth. "Ol' Jack 'ere 'as been 'elping wif yer… er… uh… duties for more'n five years now."
Christopher stared at the man intently. Could it be? Did this man know him? 'Ol' Jack' had called him 'Professor' but for all he knew it could be a nickname or perhaps he had once taught but no longer did.
The little man was speaking again, twisting a tattered and stained handkerchief in his hands. "…I know yer a busy wizard, Professor… but if it weren't no trouble, could I 'ave another spot o' that potion yer were fixin' for me little gel Matilda? O' course, 'er eyes'll never be quite as good as before but that stuff yer brewed for 'er 'as 'elped like Merlin's own magic…"
"I don't know what you're talking about-" Christopher replied with a scowl. The little man looked away with a hurt expression and, inexplicably, Christopher felt a stab of guilt.
"Stupefy!"
With an instinct that he didn't know he possessed, Christopher ducked, crouching so that his thin frame was folded double. Jack suddenly fell over with a thump, as if pushed violently by a giant invisible hand. A long, thin stick rolled out of his pocket and stopped a few feet in front of Christopher. Without thinking, he lunged for it and stood, facing the opposite direction where the shout had come from.
The other teenager, a boy with long brown hair, just as badly dressed as his counterpart, stood in a stance that reminded Christopher somehow of duelling.
The boy walked cautiously closer, his own dark stick clutched tightly in a hand that was pointed straight at Christopher's heart.
"No closer," Christopher warned in a dangerous voice, bringing the grimy man's stick… no… a wand… to bear. Disoriented for a moment by the returning memory, Christopher simply scowled blankly into the silence while the boy looked unsure. Now that he was closer, Christopher could plainly see that the teenager was younger than he had originally thought. He was certainly tall enough to be an adult but his face was still youthfully smooth and unmarred, almost like he had never shaved before.
The boy rallied his courage again and drew a breath while raising his wand. Christopher braced himself and raised the borrowed wand… but nothing came. He had no idea what to do with it. It's a magic wand you idiot! Say a magic word! But he couldn't remember any… and he had a feeling that "Abracadabra" wouldn't be enough. Also, the borrowed wand felt wrong somehow, almost as if it didn't quite fit into his hand…
Stupefy! Say "Stupefy" you fool!
"Stupefy!" Like a jolt of electricity, Christopher felt the spell resonate faintly inside him and go out through the focus of the wand. The spell hit the boy square in the chest and he flew backwards, landing with a sickening thud against a building's brick wall where he slid to the ground and lay still. Christopher waited for the horror to build inside him, the shame, and the guilt that he might have just taken a life. Surprisingly, he felt nothing except revulsion at himself when he realized that he had done this - and much worse - many times before. He couldn't pinpoint any single memory, it was more of a feeling, a knowing and a cool familiarity with violence.
Christopher looked down at the borrowed wand still clenched in his hand and felt a sudden urge to throw it far away. What kind of a man am I?
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell nearly knocked Christopher off his feet. The borrowed wand flew into the air, was caught and pocketed casually by the other teenager. This boy was obviously more confident than his colleague; his face revealed a maturity that the other teenager had lacked and by the effectiveness of the spell from his distance indicated a powerful talent that Christopher did not want to stay to investigate