Chapter One: Enchanting August
A heat wave can transform a large city like London, and everyone agreed that this was the worst heat wave ever. Muggles locked themselves in their air conditioned boxes while everywhere swimming pools were being shut down; the water having reached boiling point. In fact, hordes of people were escaping the city and heading out the cooler atmosphere of the country. Merely stepping on the sidewalk barefoot earned you third degree burns and a ticket to the hospital. The number of sunstroke and sunburn victims being admitted was extremely high and doctors were beginning to reminisce of winter, where, all they ever had to worry about was frostbite and pneumonia. If London actually managed to get snow for the holidays. Anyone who had free time was heading to the water, or the mountains or even the marshes to get out of the city, where the heat and polluted air were a deadly combination. That is, everyone who wasn't working…
Daemon Pendragon adjusted the large box of filed he carried under his arm as he jogged down the hallway, trying not to spill the coffee pot in his other hand. He dodged the people in the hall as he hurried, both the files and the coffee needed to be in the Department of Magical Sports and Games. If he was late they'd probably give him a penalty or allow a Quaffle to be thrown at the head. Most of the ones who worked there were a little batty if not cheerful.
Daemon's official title was General Assistant, but everyone at the ministry, himself included, knew that it was a nice way of saying he was a go-fer. A lowly person who could be asked to do anything by anyone. Whether it be filing, cleaning or doing children's homework. It was an odd career choice for a seventeen-year-old fresh out of Hogwarts but as Daemon would explain, it hadn't been his idea.
Known to his friends as "Twitch" for his jumpy nature and inability to sit still for long, Daemon had graduated with good marks in everything. He had even taken NEWTS which meant he was qualified for any job. The only problem was, he had no idea what that job would be. He had left Hogwarts feeling lost, with nothing lined up. He had gone home to his family feeling like a failure. So, his father had gotten him a job at the Ministry where his dad worked. It was only temporary, just until Daemon made up his mind, but it was already late August and there he was, still being a GA. It was hard seeing his friends working in stores and joining Quidditch teams while he sat on the side lines. Daemon had no wish to become a forty year old GA, unmarried and living in his family's basement. He'd probably be bitter, whining about the good old days and eating his father's packaged food that needed only a flick of the wand to become a bad tasting meal that reminded him, unpleasantly of Dragon's hearts. If that were his life he's probably go crazy and try to blow up the ministry. They'd all talk about that Poor Daemon Pendragon who could have been something great, if he'd only made up his mind. That was not a life he saw himself in.
In the Department of Magical Games and Sports Daemon was greeted by a Bludger club careening toward his head. No, the employees who included mostly retired players and wistful spectators had not become that hostile about cold coffee. Although, in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office he had had a stapler pitched at his head. Which, he thought was quite a large misuse of a muggle artefact, especially since it had left an angry red mark on his forehead. Not even bothering to avoid the club Daemon set his delivered box and pot carefully on an empty desk as the bat whisked harmlessly through his head. The ghost holding the club, a pot-bellied man with a moustache that drooped down and framed his buckteeth, roared in disgust. Daemon cringed as ghostly spit passed through his body, travelling at break neck speeds through a snoring wizard and a picture of Minister Fudge on the wall, who had been vigorously cleaning his ear. The Minister took offence and began to angrily shake his fist, while the witch in the next frame over cackled merrily.
"Really Reginald," Daemon said sternly, addressing the ghost who was now taking experimental swings through the snoring wizard's head. "Was that necessary?"
"Sorry m'boy," answered the ghost, who had a terrible memory problem but hid it by using non-specific names like lad and miss. "From up here your head looks just like a bludger." He was also quite near sighted, which had led to his early death when he had taken a swing at a bludger, only to discover that it was actually a large, and rather angry bird of prey. Reginald fell on his head and died instantly his tombstone said, Reginald Scott, who died taking one for the team. No one seemed to remember who had one the game. Daemon shook his head and left, wondering how his head even remotely resembled a bludger.
Daemon was tall and slim with yellowy, blond hair that was slightly singed at the ends because he had tried to save a visit to the haircutters by using his wand to give him a trim. He was lucky it had almost singed his eyebrows off. His eyes were a muddy brown and his pale from spending his summer inside. Although a few freckles had still managed to appear on his nose, but that was normal. Probably the most interesting thing about Daemon's appearance was his left hand where, due to an unfortunate occurrence at a duelling practice in his third year, part of his pinkie was missing. From the tip to the first joint had been blown clean off by Amelia Stoakes. Madame Pomfrey had been unable to fix it back on as the missing part was never seen again, so she made the skin heal over the end faster and gave him something for the pain. For quite a while after that his friends had teased him, calling him "Nine Fingered Twitch" and asking him if he reckoned Amelia Stoakes had a thing for him. Maybe, they teased this was her way of showing it. Daemon took all the jokes with good humour nature, knowing that if the positions had been reversed he'd have been laughing it up too. In a twisted and rather weird way it was quite funny. Although, it was getting rather annoying to explain that a thirteen-year- old girl had did this to him. He was considering saying that a chimera had bit off or something like that. Just for a change.
In the extreme August heat Daemon was sweating considerably. The back of his grey robes was damp and stuck to his skin uncomfortably. The ministry was sweltering and all the people in their heavy cloaks and robes were feeling the heat. In the hall he passed a short, plump witch who's twisted hat supported a large, black raven. The woman had the bird busy, fanning her head with its wings. Daemon recognised her as the lady who had given him a galleon to pick up an order of robes. That had surprised him because usually people didn't pay him to do speciality errands. They just understood that it was his job. Now, Daemon almost wished he had a hat like that, although maybe not so feminine. The trailing black bows and acres of lace that festooned the hat were a bit much.
It was the end of another workday and as Daemon exited the Ministry he decided to pay a visit to his old friend Brook Drabardi who worked at Flourish and Blots. There was nothing much waiting for him at home. All three of his younger siblings were gone to friend's houses for the last week before school. His family included his father, twelve year old Greta, thirteen year old Will and fifteen year old Iola. His mother had died shortly after Greta was born. During the school year Daemon's house was going to seem empty. Greta had probably felt like that two years ago when everyone else was in Hogwarts. He had already said goodbye to them, knowing he wouldn't see them until Christmas. Now it was just him and his father who always seemed to be working late. It was odd, they worked at the same building but they never saw each other. Being at home alone was lonely and he always did his best to keep out of there as much as possible.
Daemon just caught Brook as she was leaving, they decided to walk about the alley for awhile. The two had been best friends in Ravenclaw, where both had shown they were quite clever. Chris, who had been his other best friend, even though he was in Griffondor had been signed by the Magpies and was off training.
"So how have you been Twitch?" Brook's voice was light but she looked concerned as she touched his arm. She probably thought he was doing nothing, wandering about, trying to make up his mind. It stung Daemon to think that, but it was mostly true. As he watched her jet-black hair streaked with purple bobbing beside him Daemon couldn't help thinking that it reminded him of a particularly colourful skunk.
"Fine you?" Then, Brook was off on a tangent about how she had been promoted and how people would try to return books with wand burns all over them. Daemon couldn't help staring at her as she talked, she really was quite attractive with her ivory skin and her eyes that were blue-violet like the sky right after the sunset. Daemon had a crush on her in younger years but soon he grew out of it. He had never bothered to tell Brook, it would only be awkward, considering he had a girlfriend at the moment.
Outside, not a breath of wind touched the cobblestones. The heat hung like a blanket in the air, making his hair limp and his feet sweat. Even after the sun set and the moon rose it was still hot. The thin crescent was nothing more then a slit of light in a dark, endless sky. Still, the head stayed and both Daemon and Brook were sweating in their robes as they walked. Then they stopped by statue of the witch Morgan Le Fay, who had water streaming out of the end of her tall, wooden staff. The stars were reflected in the water which Daemon's mum had used to say meant the water was covered in a thin layer of star glass. There had been more but he couldn't remember. Still, the word Star Glass wound around in his brain bringing up memories of his mother. Fireflies buzzed around their heads, alighting in a crown of light on Brook's head.
"This has been fun Twitch." She said as she stared at the fountain.
"Yeah, it has." Daemon answered, suddenly having the urge to kiss her, which confused him. He forced himself to think of Molly, who worked at the Ministry too. They had been dating for the whole seventh year. He would have left then because he had begun to feel guilty but he noticed something in the water. It was a dark shape floating in the fountain and Brook was looking at it too, her mouth forming a question and Daemon pulled out his wand. He muttered "Lumos," and by the suddenly bright light splintered the darkness showing what the mysterious object was. Brook began to scream and Daemon joined in, their voices rising over the hushed rooftops, sounding the alarm.
For there, floating face down in the water was the same plump witch Daemin had seen in the hall, only hours ago. Her hat was gone, probably flown away and her skin was ashen as she lay there. Dead.
A heat wave can transform a large city like London, and everyone agreed that this was the worst heat wave ever. Muggles locked themselves in their air conditioned boxes while everywhere swimming pools were being shut down; the water having reached boiling point. In fact, hordes of people were escaping the city and heading out the cooler atmosphere of the country. Merely stepping on the sidewalk barefoot earned you third degree burns and a ticket to the hospital. The number of sunstroke and sunburn victims being admitted was extremely high and doctors were beginning to reminisce of winter, where, all they ever had to worry about was frostbite and pneumonia. If London actually managed to get snow for the holidays. Anyone who had free time was heading to the water, or the mountains or even the marshes to get out of the city, where the heat and polluted air were a deadly combination. That is, everyone who wasn't working…
Daemon Pendragon adjusted the large box of filed he carried under his arm as he jogged down the hallway, trying not to spill the coffee pot in his other hand. He dodged the people in the hall as he hurried, both the files and the coffee needed to be in the Department of Magical Sports and Games. If he was late they'd probably give him a penalty or allow a Quaffle to be thrown at the head. Most of the ones who worked there were a little batty if not cheerful.
Daemon's official title was General Assistant, but everyone at the ministry, himself included, knew that it was a nice way of saying he was a go-fer. A lowly person who could be asked to do anything by anyone. Whether it be filing, cleaning or doing children's homework. It was an odd career choice for a seventeen-year-old fresh out of Hogwarts but as Daemon would explain, it hadn't been his idea.
Known to his friends as "Twitch" for his jumpy nature and inability to sit still for long, Daemon had graduated with good marks in everything. He had even taken NEWTS which meant he was qualified for any job. The only problem was, he had no idea what that job would be. He had left Hogwarts feeling lost, with nothing lined up. He had gone home to his family feeling like a failure. So, his father had gotten him a job at the Ministry where his dad worked. It was only temporary, just until Daemon made up his mind, but it was already late August and there he was, still being a GA. It was hard seeing his friends working in stores and joining Quidditch teams while he sat on the side lines. Daemon had no wish to become a forty year old GA, unmarried and living in his family's basement. He'd probably be bitter, whining about the good old days and eating his father's packaged food that needed only a flick of the wand to become a bad tasting meal that reminded him, unpleasantly of Dragon's hearts. If that were his life he's probably go crazy and try to blow up the ministry. They'd all talk about that Poor Daemon Pendragon who could have been something great, if he'd only made up his mind. That was not a life he saw himself in.
In the Department of Magical Games and Sports Daemon was greeted by a Bludger club careening toward his head. No, the employees who included mostly retired players and wistful spectators had not become that hostile about cold coffee. Although, in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office he had had a stapler pitched at his head. Which, he thought was quite a large misuse of a muggle artefact, especially since it had left an angry red mark on his forehead. Not even bothering to avoid the club Daemon set his delivered box and pot carefully on an empty desk as the bat whisked harmlessly through his head. The ghost holding the club, a pot-bellied man with a moustache that drooped down and framed his buckteeth, roared in disgust. Daemon cringed as ghostly spit passed through his body, travelling at break neck speeds through a snoring wizard and a picture of Minister Fudge on the wall, who had been vigorously cleaning his ear. The Minister took offence and began to angrily shake his fist, while the witch in the next frame over cackled merrily.
"Really Reginald," Daemon said sternly, addressing the ghost who was now taking experimental swings through the snoring wizard's head. "Was that necessary?"
"Sorry m'boy," answered the ghost, who had a terrible memory problem but hid it by using non-specific names like lad and miss. "From up here your head looks just like a bludger." He was also quite near sighted, which had led to his early death when he had taken a swing at a bludger, only to discover that it was actually a large, and rather angry bird of prey. Reginald fell on his head and died instantly his tombstone said, Reginald Scott, who died taking one for the team. No one seemed to remember who had one the game. Daemon shook his head and left, wondering how his head even remotely resembled a bludger.
Daemon was tall and slim with yellowy, blond hair that was slightly singed at the ends because he had tried to save a visit to the haircutters by using his wand to give him a trim. He was lucky it had almost singed his eyebrows off. His eyes were a muddy brown and his pale from spending his summer inside. Although a few freckles had still managed to appear on his nose, but that was normal. Probably the most interesting thing about Daemon's appearance was his left hand where, due to an unfortunate occurrence at a duelling practice in his third year, part of his pinkie was missing. From the tip to the first joint had been blown clean off by Amelia Stoakes. Madame Pomfrey had been unable to fix it back on as the missing part was never seen again, so she made the skin heal over the end faster and gave him something for the pain. For quite a while after that his friends had teased him, calling him "Nine Fingered Twitch" and asking him if he reckoned Amelia Stoakes had a thing for him. Maybe, they teased this was her way of showing it. Daemon took all the jokes with good humour nature, knowing that if the positions had been reversed he'd have been laughing it up too. In a twisted and rather weird way it was quite funny. Although, it was getting rather annoying to explain that a thirteen-year- old girl had did this to him. He was considering saying that a chimera had bit off or something like that. Just for a change.
In the extreme August heat Daemon was sweating considerably. The back of his grey robes was damp and stuck to his skin uncomfortably. The ministry was sweltering and all the people in their heavy cloaks and robes were feeling the heat. In the hall he passed a short, plump witch who's twisted hat supported a large, black raven. The woman had the bird busy, fanning her head with its wings. Daemon recognised her as the lady who had given him a galleon to pick up an order of robes. That had surprised him because usually people didn't pay him to do speciality errands. They just understood that it was his job. Now, Daemon almost wished he had a hat like that, although maybe not so feminine. The trailing black bows and acres of lace that festooned the hat were a bit much.
It was the end of another workday and as Daemon exited the Ministry he decided to pay a visit to his old friend Brook Drabardi who worked at Flourish and Blots. There was nothing much waiting for him at home. All three of his younger siblings were gone to friend's houses for the last week before school. His family included his father, twelve year old Greta, thirteen year old Will and fifteen year old Iola. His mother had died shortly after Greta was born. During the school year Daemon's house was going to seem empty. Greta had probably felt like that two years ago when everyone else was in Hogwarts. He had already said goodbye to them, knowing he wouldn't see them until Christmas. Now it was just him and his father who always seemed to be working late. It was odd, they worked at the same building but they never saw each other. Being at home alone was lonely and he always did his best to keep out of there as much as possible.
Daemon just caught Brook as she was leaving, they decided to walk about the alley for awhile. The two had been best friends in Ravenclaw, where both had shown they were quite clever. Chris, who had been his other best friend, even though he was in Griffondor had been signed by the Magpies and was off training.
"So how have you been Twitch?" Brook's voice was light but she looked concerned as she touched his arm. She probably thought he was doing nothing, wandering about, trying to make up his mind. It stung Daemon to think that, but it was mostly true. As he watched her jet-black hair streaked with purple bobbing beside him Daemon couldn't help thinking that it reminded him of a particularly colourful skunk.
"Fine you?" Then, Brook was off on a tangent about how she had been promoted and how people would try to return books with wand burns all over them. Daemon couldn't help staring at her as she talked, she really was quite attractive with her ivory skin and her eyes that were blue-violet like the sky right after the sunset. Daemon had a crush on her in younger years but soon he grew out of it. He had never bothered to tell Brook, it would only be awkward, considering he had a girlfriend at the moment.
Outside, not a breath of wind touched the cobblestones. The heat hung like a blanket in the air, making his hair limp and his feet sweat. Even after the sun set and the moon rose it was still hot. The thin crescent was nothing more then a slit of light in a dark, endless sky. Still, the head stayed and both Daemon and Brook were sweating in their robes as they walked. Then they stopped by statue of the witch Morgan Le Fay, who had water streaming out of the end of her tall, wooden staff. The stars were reflected in the water which Daemon's mum had used to say meant the water was covered in a thin layer of star glass. There had been more but he couldn't remember. Still, the word Star Glass wound around in his brain bringing up memories of his mother. Fireflies buzzed around their heads, alighting in a crown of light on Brook's head.
"This has been fun Twitch." She said as she stared at the fountain.
"Yeah, it has." Daemon answered, suddenly having the urge to kiss her, which confused him. He forced himself to think of Molly, who worked at the Ministry too. They had been dating for the whole seventh year. He would have left then because he had begun to feel guilty but he noticed something in the water. It was a dark shape floating in the fountain and Brook was looking at it too, her mouth forming a question and Daemon pulled out his wand. He muttered "Lumos," and by the suddenly bright light splintered the darkness showing what the mysterious object was. Brook began to scream and Daemon joined in, their voices rising over the hushed rooftops, sounding the alarm.
For there, floating face down in the water was the same plump witch Daemin had seen in the hall, only hours ago. Her hat was gone, probably flown away and her skin was ashen as she lay there. Dead.