Chapter 4
The Mangy Manticore was indeed mangy, but what else would you expect a pub at the outskirts of Liverpool to be? Day by day and night by night ships laden with goods from Ireland, Canada, the US and many, many more parts of the world arrived bringing with them their crews. The seamen are a rowdy bunch. Even in the Muggle world they are hard to control. In the wizarding world, however, it was nearly impossible. Gaylord Williams ducked as a tankard whizzed by his left ear. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened - actually it hadn't since this occurrence WAS ordinary - he took a sip from his own mug and continued with his conversation. "Hasn't got much longer. That Sirius Black, I mean." Frank raised an eyebrow quizzically. As one of the Aurors who had caught the man in question he was all the more interested in Black's fate than most witches and wizards. "How come?" Not on to let a chance at being in the centre of attention, even if it was only of that of just one person, slip Gaylord postponed his answer by a good half-minute, first by taking another sip of his beer and then by delicately wiping the foam from his beard with his left hand.
He burped. "I've seen 'im, yesterday. He upset Cybele." Frank wasn't the least perplexed by this phraseology. It was an inside joke among Azkaban guards and having spent many evenings with his friend Gaylord he'd heard it more than enough to figure out its meaning. A bit of knowledge of Roman mythology helped, too. Cybele, the Phrygic Goddess of Fertility, had once had a lover. This man had had the stupidity to cheat on her. The goddess had seen only one punishment fit for her lover: to drive him insane. All of Azkabans inmates had or would sooner or later join said lover in his state of derangement. Though, Frank had to admit to himself that it was a surprise Black hadn't cracked earlier than that. He'd already seemed quite demented upon his arrest. "Went on about rodents. Clawing at the wall trying to kill an imagined rat. Had to knock him out or he'd have killed himself. Not that the world've missed him." 'About a rat?' Now, that was funny. The Auror had seen a bleeding rat shooting away from the scene of crime. That Black would remember the rat and not the victims of that day showed just how inhumane he was. "Deatheater scum." Gaylord snorted. "Yeah."
~~**~~
Peter was hungry, and wet, and tired, but foremost he was hungry. Life as a rat had its perks but mostly it was awful. Having to steal food from chickens was just plain degrading. Even for a rat, not that he was a real one. The house the fowl seemed to belong to was definitely build by a wizard. Peter doubted that anything but magic could have held that construction together. It looked like it might crash in on itself any minute. Architectural mastery could only do so much. Peter would know. His father had been an architect, after all. One of the finest.
His stomach rumbled drawing his attention back to the task at hand: how to get past the hen to the nest. An egg, even an uncooked one, would be like heaven right now. The hen cocked her head at him and started to cluck angrily. Peter froze in his step. 'Not good.' One may not believe it but those chicken beaks really hurt! He ducked behind a tray to rethink his options. He needed a distraction but what? While deeply involved in the process of plotting a shadow fell on him suddenly. Peter swallowed. 'Double not good!' With fear in his small eyes he raised his head. A red-haired boy loomed over him threateningly. "Mum! Mum, look!" 'Oh, no.'
~~**~~
When he left the pub in the early evening hours the sleet that had so constantly drummed down upon the earth had finally ceased. All afternoon long the downpour had lasted turning the world from the beautiful wintery white into an ugly muddy brown. It had been rather depressing Frank mused, but then the tales of a wonderful white Christmas were just that - tales. He smiled grimly. That sounded cynical even to him. It was definitely not the mood one was supposed to be in on December 24th, after all, 'tis the season to be jolly and his wife and son deserved to have him near them in good humour. With that thought stuck in his mind he Apparated home.
The house was wrapped in darkness. Even the fireplace had been extinguished but the briquettes still glowed ominously throwing shadows on the walls. Frank took a good look around the room he had just Apparated to. As always, in the centre of it there was the couch, next to it a table, a few pictures hanging on the walls, various other things standing here and there. It looked like always but Frank couldn't banish the feeling that something was off. The curtains were drawn, he suddenly noticed, but there was something else. The hairs on his back began to stand up. Quickly he turned and drew his wand. Squinting across the room into the left corner he could just make out the frame of the door which connected the living-room with the aisle. What else he saw made his heart stop.
~~**~~
Blood. Blood everywhere. On the wall, on the floor on his hands even. His head throbbed. There was a bump the size of a sickle on his forehead. He touched it gingerly but withdrew his fingers quickly. The tips were raw, the skin shredded away. Scratches on the wall. Claws - like marks of claws. That couldn't have been done by a rational human being. That was the doing of a madman, a raving lunatic. He started to laugh. At first it was a gurgle in the back of his throat but the volume rose steadily till he was laughing hysterically. 'He's here. I've seen him. He's here! Peter's in Azkaban, I'm sure.'
~~**~~
"One wrong move and she's dead." Frank was frozen, he couldn't move, he couldn't blink, he could hardly breathe. The Deatheater who had just spoken was pressing the tip of his wand to Ava's temple. He was left-handed Frank noted detachedly. Like in a film he watched a second Deatheater raising her wand and disarming him. He took in every detail of their appearance. The man was burly, about six feet tall, he wore a wedding ring. The woman was about his own wife's height. She had the same ring as the man. 'A married couple.' An import detail for the clarification of their identities. He quickly went through the list of suspects. No Auror had come across these people, yet, as far as he knew.
On the edge of his field of vision he perceived movement. Almost in slow motion he saw a third dark wizard flick his wand. Ropes sprang out and slung themselves around him. With a jerk he realised that he was falling backward. As he hit the ground the bubble burst. Ava was lying next to him, bound as well. How she came to be there he couldn't tell.
"Where is he?", The Husband asked. "Where is that traitorous rat?" Frank's face was set with determination. It was the kind of expression someone wore who knew that death was near and didn't want to give his tormentor any satisfaction. "Even if I knew whom you were blabbering about I wouldn't tell you.", he spat and truly he had no idea whom they meant. It couldn't be the Potter boy, it definitely wasn't Voldemort, and everyone knew where Black was right now. "Oh really?", The Wife smiled cruelly. "Maybe this will help your memory. //Crucio!//"
Ava screamed and trashed, writhing in pain while the three Deatheaters watched in amusement from next to the fireplace. Anger flared up in Frank. "Stop it!", he shouted above her cries. They stopped and only faint whimpering was heard. He couldn't bear looking at Ava so he rested his gaze upon the third black clad figure. The statue was somehow familiar. "Well?", The Wife gained his attention. Trying to flee was out of question, he would try to stall. Perchance someone had heard his wife and flooed the Ministry. "I tell you what I know." He swallowed. "Good." The Husband nodded. "So, where is Pettigrew?" Frank's brows furrowed. Pettigrew was dead. Killed by Black. He said so out loud. The Wife pointed her wand at Ava. "Don't mess with us!", she hissed. "The little rat loves his own pathetic life too much. The whole thing was a set-up."
'A set-up.' It was a clear as chrystal then to Frank, what really had happened on Halloween that year. Not Black, but Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters. An innocent man was locked up in Azkaban and the real culprit had disappeared without a trace fearing the wrath of his fellow Deatheaters for being partly responsible for their leader's downfall. 'That little...'
"I'd gladly tell you where he is," and he meant it. He wouldn't mind selling the traitor to them for the followers of Voldemort punished treason severely. The atrocities Pettigrew would suffer if they found him would make him yearn for the horrors of Azkaban. "But I don't know." The Wife's voice was thick with anger and her eyes glinted dangerously. "If you insist."
~~**~~
Twelve times it had chimed. Twelve times it had perturbed the eerie silence of house that hardly ever was - but it was night. The children had gone to rest. The fowl were asleep. Even the Ghoul remained quiet. Molly studied the clock. All in all it had 8 hands, rather unusual for a clock, but the item itself wasn't normal either. Instead of simply telling the time it had an additional function. It indicated the whereabouts of the family members and this was the cause for Molly's current discomfort. Seven hands of varying length were pointing at a small sign that read home. It was the eighth and longest of the lot that worried the mother and wife. It was stuck to the position of Mortal Peril.
It came as a shock and as a relief when it finally started to move. Molly almost thought it was a trick her eyes played on her but as she heard a soft //Pop// from behind her she knew it was true. "Arthur." She hugged him possessively. "Please, don't ever do that again." Her voice betrayed the tears that were rolling down her face as pressed it against her husbands chest. "Hush." His voice was raw. He had been shouting out curses for the last few hours while the Ministry employees tried to get a horde of dragons under control. Someone had free them from a reservation. "I don't want to be in that fellow's shoes when we catch him.", he commented as Molly set a steaming cup of tea in front of him. "But that's not all that has happened tonight." His wife sat down next to him at the kitchen table and took his hand in hers. Whatever it was it had to be dreadful. She squeezed tightly to reassure her husband. Arthur took courage from it but his voice still bore an unbearable sadness. "The Longbottoms have been attacked."
Chapter added on .... 2003. Reviews will be answered in Chapter One entitled "Author Notes, Disclaimer, Answers to Reviews, etc." Constructive criticism welcome! Please, review!
The Mangy Manticore was indeed mangy, but what else would you expect a pub at the outskirts of Liverpool to be? Day by day and night by night ships laden with goods from Ireland, Canada, the US and many, many more parts of the world arrived bringing with them their crews. The seamen are a rowdy bunch. Even in the Muggle world they are hard to control. In the wizarding world, however, it was nearly impossible. Gaylord Williams ducked as a tankard whizzed by his left ear. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened - actually it hadn't since this occurrence WAS ordinary - he took a sip from his own mug and continued with his conversation. "Hasn't got much longer. That Sirius Black, I mean." Frank raised an eyebrow quizzically. As one of the Aurors who had caught the man in question he was all the more interested in Black's fate than most witches and wizards. "How come?" Not on to let a chance at being in the centre of attention, even if it was only of that of just one person, slip Gaylord postponed his answer by a good half-minute, first by taking another sip of his beer and then by delicately wiping the foam from his beard with his left hand.
He burped. "I've seen 'im, yesterday. He upset Cybele." Frank wasn't the least perplexed by this phraseology. It was an inside joke among Azkaban guards and having spent many evenings with his friend Gaylord he'd heard it more than enough to figure out its meaning. A bit of knowledge of Roman mythology helped, too. Cybele, the Phrygic Goddess of Fertility, had once had a lover. This man had had the stupidity to cheat on her. The goddess had seen only one punishment fit for her lover: to drive him insane. All of Azkabans inmates had or would sooner or later join said lover in his state of derangement. Though, Frank had to admit to himself that it was a surprise Black hadn't cracked earlier than that. He'd already seemed quite demented upon his arrest. "Went on about rodents. Clawing at the wall trying to kill an imagined rat. Had to knock him out or he'd have killed himself. Not that the world've missed him." 'About a rat?' Now, that was funny. The Auror had seen a bleeding rat shooting away from the scene of crime. That Black would remember the rat and not the victims of that day showed just how inhumane he was. "Deatheater scum." Gaylord snorted. "Yeah."
~~**~~
Peter was hungry, and wet, and tired, but foremost he was hungry. Life as a rat had its perks but mostly it was awful. Having to steal food from chickens was just plain degrading. Even for a rat, not that he was a real one. The house the fowl seemed to belong to was definitely build by a wizard. Peter doubted that anything but magic could have held that construction together. It looked like it might crash in on itself any minute. Architectural mastery could only do so much. Peter would know. His father had been an architect, after all. One of the finest.
His stomach rumbled drawing his attention back to the task at hand: how to get past the hen to the nest. An egg, even an uncooked one, would be like heaven right now. The hen cocked her head at him and started to cluck angrily. Peter froze in his step. 'Not good.' One may not believe it but those chicken beaks really hurt! He ducked behind a tray to rethink his options. He needed a distraction but what? While deeply involved in the process of plotting a shadow fell on him suddenly. Peter swallowed. 'Double not good!' With fear in his small eyes he raised his head. A red-haired boy loomed over him threateningly. "Mum! Mum, look!" 'Oh, no.'
~~**~~
When he left the pub in the early evening hours the sleet that had so constantly drummed down upon the earth had finally ceased. All afternoon long the downpour had lasted turning the world from the beautiful wintery white into an ugly muddy brown. It had been rather depressing Frank mused, but then the tales of a wonderful white Christmas were just that - tales. He smiled grimly. That sounded cynical even to him. It was definitely not the mood one was supposed to be in on December 24th, after all, 'tis the season to be jolly and his wife and son deserved to have him near them in good humour. With that thought stuck in his mind he Apparated home.
The house was wrapped in darkness. Even the fireplace had been extinguished but the briquettes still glowed ominously throwing shadows on the walls. Frank took a good look around the room he had just Apparated to. As always, in the centre of it there was the couch, next to it a table, a few pictures hanging on the walls, various other things standing here and there. It looked like always but Frank couldn't banish the feeling that something was off. The curtains were drawn, he suddenly noticed, but there was something else. The hairs on his back began to stand up. Quickly he turned and drew his wand. Squinting across the room into the left corner he could just make out the frame of the door which connected the living-room with the aisle. What else he saw made his heart stop.
~~**~~
Blood. Blood everywhere. On the wall, on the floor on his hands even. His head throbbed. There was a bump the size of a sickle on his forehead. He touched it gingerly but withdrew his fingers quickly. The tips were raw, the skin shredded away. Scratches on the wall. Claws - like marks of claws. That couldn't have been done by a rational human being. That was the doing of a madman, a raving lunatic. He started to laugh. At first it was a gurgle in the back of his throat but the volume rose steadily till he was laughing hysterically. 'He's here. I've seen him. He's here! Peter's in Azkaban, I'm sure.'
~~**~~
"One wrong move and she's dead." Frank was frozen, he couldn't move, he couldn't blink, he could hardly breathe. The Deatheater who had just spoken was pressing the tip of his wand to Ava's temple. He was left-handed Frank noted detachedly. Like in a film he watched a second Deatheater raising her wand and disarming him. He took in every detail of their appearance. The man was burly, about six feet tall, he wore a wedding ring. The woman was about his own wife's height. She had the same ring as the man. 'A married couple.' An import detail for the clarification of their identities. He quickly went through the list of suspects. No Auror had come across these people, yet, as far as he knew.
On the edge of his field of vision he perceived movement. Almost in slow motion he saw a third dark wizard flick his wand. Ropes sprang out and slung themselves around him. With a jerk he realised that he was falling backward. As he hit the ground the bubble burst. Ava was lying next to him, bound as well. How she came to be there he couldn't tell.
"Where is he?", The Husband asked. "Where is that traitorous rat?" Frank's face was set with determination. It was the kind of expression someone wore who knew that death was near and didn't want to give his tormentor any satisfaction. "Even if I knew whom you were blabbering about I wouldn't tell you.", he spat and truly he had no idea whom they meant. It couldn't be the Potter boy, it definitely wasn't Voldemort, and everyone knew where Black was right now. "Oh really?", The Wife smiled cruelly. "Maybe this will help your memory. //Crucio!//"
Ava screamed and trashed, writhing in pain while the three Deatheaters watched in amusement from next to the fireplace. Anger flared up in Frank. "Stop it!", he shouted above her cries. They stopped and only faint whimpering was heard. He couldn't bear looking at Ava so he rested his gaze upon the third black clad figure. The statue was somehow familiar. "Well?", The Wife gained his attention. Trying to flee was out of question, he would try to stall. Perchance someone had heard his wife and flooed the Ministry. "I tell you what I know." He swallowed. "Good." The Husband nodded. "So, where is Pettigrew?" Frank's brows furrowed. Pettigrew was dead. Killed by Black. He said so out loud. The Wife pointed her wand at Ava. "Don't mess with us!", she hissed. "The little rat loves his own pathetic life too much. The whole thing was a set-up."
'A set-up.' It was a clear as chrystal then to Frank, what really had happened on Halloween that year. Not Black, but Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters. An innocent man was locked up in Azkaban and the real culprit had disappeared without a trace fearing the wrath of his fellow Deatheaters for being partly responsible for their leader's downfall. 'That little...'
"I'd gladly tell you where he is," and he meant it. He wouldn't mind selling the traitor to them for the followers of Voldemort punished treason severely. The atrocities Pettigrew would suffer if they found him would make him yearn for the horrors of Azkaban. "But I don't know." The Wife's voice was thick with anger and her eyes glinted dangerously. "If you insist."
~~**~~
Twelve times it had chimed. Twelve times it had perturbed the eerie silence of house that hardly ever was - but it was night. The children had gone to rest. The fowl were asleep. Even the Ghoul remained quiet. Molly studied the clock. All in all it had 8 hands, rather unusual for a clock, but the item itself wasn't normal either. Instead of simply telling the time it had an additional function. It indicated the whereabouts of the family members and this was the cause for Molly's current discomfort. Seven hands of varying length were pointing at a small sign that read home. It was the eighth and longest of the lot that worried the mother and wife. It was stuck to the position of Mortal Peril.
It came as a shock and as a relief when it finally started to move. Molly almost thought it was a trick her eyes played on her but as she heard a soft //Pop// from behind her she knew it was true. "Arthur." She hugged him possessively. "Please, don't ever do that again." Her voice betrayed the tears that were rolling down her face as pressed it against her husbands chest. "Hush." His voice was raw. He had been shouting out curses for the last few hours while the Ministry employees tried to get a horde of dragons under control. Someone had free them from a reservation. "I don't want to be in that fellow's shoes when we catch him.", he commented as Molly set a steaming cup of tea in front of him. "But that's not all that has happened tonight." His wife sat down next to him at the kitchen table and took his hand in hers. Whatever it was it had to be dreadful. She squeezed tightly to reassure her husband. Arthur took courage from it but his voice still bore an unbearable sadness. "The Longbottoms have been attacked."
Chapter added on .... 2003. Reviews will be answered in Chapter One entitled "Author Notes, Disclaimer, Answers to Reviews, etc." Constructive criticism welcome! Please, review!