CHAPTER 9: Eagle
hunting.
"Statues, safe boxes and painted walls no
one knows what happened
She threw herself from the window of the fifth floor nothing is easy to understand
Sleep tight tonight that was just the wind outside
I want some caring I'll run away from home May I sleep here with you?
I'm scared I had a nightmare I'll only be back after three a.m.
My son will be named after a saint I want the prettiest name
You gotta love the people like there was no tomorrowBecause if you stop and think - there isn't
tell me why is the sky blue explain to me the great fury of the world
my children look after me I live with my mother but my father visits me
I live on the streets, I have no one. I live anywhere.
I lived in so many places I've lost track I live with my parents.
You gotta love the people like there was no tomorrow
Because if you stop and think - there isn't
I'm a drop of water I'm a grain of sand
You say you parents don't understand you But you don't understand your parents
You blame them for everything, And that's absurd. They're children, just like you are
What will you be
when you grow up?", Pais e Filhos (Parents and children) Legião
Urbana.
Curitiba, February of 2003.
Sirius
was late. Again.
It was an overwhelmingly hot afternoon of
late summer. What was that, thirty-two, thirty-three degrees Celsius
in the shadow? Thank God for the breeze though - it made things more
bearable. The trees of the small wood kept Arien calm and content,
breathing in their warmth and affection. If she felt like
disappearing into wide, wild, untamed woods, she could always run to
the mounts and just stay there for a day. It was one of her favourite
trips - to get an old train at the train station and cross the mounts
and the virgin forest to the coast cities. Arien never made it to the
ocean though- hadn't built up the courage yet. So she always landed
one stop before.
Tanguá Park was huge, full of trees
and deserted - all that she wanted. Absentmindedly she wondered if
she'd have any time to visit the open environment university after
her 'counselling time.' She had dressed casual- it was too damn hot
to play dressy. Trousers and a white T-shirt, sneakers and she was
ready to whatever it was Sirius had in store for her. Looking
wistfully at the river she wondered if it would be wise - 'not, not
wise. Prudent.' - to wear off her shoes and just let her tired feet
on those waters.
Her tutors still got to her nerves. They
seemed to believe no leisure should be allowed in times such as
these, when they needed their skills at their sharpest. She was the
rebellious child of the lot, of course; fighting tooth and nails for
her right to go out every week, receive calls on her cell phone in
between classes and even - oh the blasphemy! - had a life of her own.
After all, if it was so blatantly obvious they may not make it, she
wanted to enjoy her time in its fullest.Then the sun set,
spreading its golden and reddish glory through the sky, and she heard
the faint 'pop' of an apparition. He was pretty much - well,
pretty much Sirius. A white chemise and black trousers, his coat
thrown over his shoulder, held coolly by two fingers, looking as much
as if he had just taken a cold shower, neat and unwrinkled. He stood
there by her for a while, taking in the view before him, and she
didn't hurry to take him off his reverie.
"This is a
place I could get used to." He said, after a long time; and she
emphatically nodded her agreement.
"May we start?"
he asked after another minute's silence.
"Yes, sir,"
She answered, looking up at his eyes.
He turned his back to
her, walking to a more secluded area - not that it was needed anyway,
but better safe than sorry. Then with no warning -or so he thought,
because his shoulders tensed slightly, and he took in a soft deep
breath - he started throwing curses at her, attacking and blocking,
breaking her defences down, exposing her failures, polishing the
jewel. It went on for hours, and it was well into night when they
stopped, struggling for breath.
"I think there's a
possibility, " he gasped, "you may be ready before
April.
"And then?" she demanded, still holding her
wand. He had the weird habit of pretending to stop the attacks and
then start all over, trying to catch her off guard.
"And
then you'll enter the real inferno."
"Lovely."
"I'll
bring you to your new home in a few weeks. Be prepared." And
with that, he apparated.
"I had a feeling you'd say
that." She muttered to the trees, before apparating herself to
the safe spot nearest the Training Centre...
''
France,
April 4th of 2003
The trip had been a nightmare.
Arien
had argued - passionately- with Sirius for the first time about how
she was supposed to get in France. He insisted on her apparating
there, and she insisted on doing it muggle way. By plane. So she made
a big kick-out party, stuffed her books and her clothes in a trunk
-knowing too well she'd have to buy a new wardrobe by the time she
landed. Her savings wouldn't last long at that rate.
She
picked a chair at the corridor, and took loads of drinks to numb
herself, trying hard not to think there was an ocean beneath her. It
had been folly, she should have built the nerve to see the goddamn
sea while she was still in Brazil travel for a weekend to one of
those gorgeous north- eastern beaches they all praised about, and be
done with it. Instead she sat on her chair, clutching her bag, drunk
herself to stupor and worried to no end. How bloody smart.
And
now, god only knows how many hours later, she lay on a not-so-fancy-
hotel's bed and tried hard to think what to make of her life. Arien
couldn't go on like that. She had to face it while she still had the
guts. The elf wondered what would happen if she had to track a D.E.
to the coast? Probably just be awestruck and get herself killed.
Was
that worth the risk of hearing the call of the Ocean?
Making
up her mind, she sent her luggage to the G.Q. in Toulouse, and asked
the hostess what she recommended Arien to see.
Bien.
Marseille. Canes. Nice. Monaco, thought she didn't put much heart on
that last advise. Clearly patriot, placing the places in her own
country above all others.
She decided for Canes. Côte
D'Azur. Against the wise advise of the landlady the elf rented a car
- but her timid, careful driving seemed to confuse the natives. Oh,
bugger, Arien wasn't that good of a driver. Actually, she was a
horrible driver. It took her ages to get to Canes, in a nice,
reliable Volkswagen, carrying only a simple bag with her, a couple of
robes, a wizarding cloak, a black Dior dress that cost more than she
liked in Brazil - she hoped clothes were not that expensive around,
but wasn't too hopeful- a two pieces swimsuit, a pair of jeans, two
slacks and some blouses. It was going to be a short break after all -
she hadn't warned Sirius of her presence in the country.
Not that Arien'd be
surprised if he already knew.
The very first thing she tried
to find was a nice hotel - easy task, it was still the beginning of
spring. She found a good Inn in which she could stay for a couple of
days. It was in the Boulevard de République, and it was the
closest to the ocean she'd ever been; the sear breeze was making her
feel unease and rather weird. She wanted to cry. She could have run
away, if she had the chance, but it was far too late for that now.
Then she changed into her swimsuit and walked down the street to the
beach.
The walk took her a great deal of time - both because
Arien had to beware the absolutely crazy French driving style, and
because she was not quite herself right then. After forty-five
minutes, she got the glimpse of it.
Huge, proud, beautiful,
dazzling blue. It was all she ever thought it would be and more.
Arien was so much in awe a car almost run over her at the very last
avenue, the Boulevard de la Croisette. She kept on walking thought,
not stopping till the water licked her feet, still in her
sandals.
Arien was in love. She had been a fool, but then
again she was often a fool. Far too impulsive, too curious, too
reckless, too volatile. May be it had been a mistake, but it no
longer mattered. The ocean was before her, in all its supercilious
glory, roaring softly like a spoilt king, mysterious, enthralling,
fascinating.
'Beware three things in this life, my child';
her father had said often to her, even before she had the ability to
comprehend what he was talking about. He didn't mind- repetition
would mark his words in her heart like hot metal against flesh; ' the
king, the ocean and love. Be specially wary if they smile at you.'
Glauco Antonius had been nobody's fool.
And then, alone in the
clear morning and her soul naked before the sea, she raised her voice
in an old song, one her mother sang often, and she knew her aunt
might sing it too.
Then she cried her heart out. Arien was
overwhelmed by love, longing, and hurt. It was like a religious
conversion. She knew she would never go to Valinor, and honestly, for
the moment, she couldn't care less. All the Valar could go to hell
for all that she cared. And nevertheless the Sea called her. She
heard its song, deep, ancient, wise and visceral like life itself.
The elves believed it was the echoes of the first Song, the Song of
the Ainur who created the world by the direction of Eru, kept in the
deep abysms of the oceans. It might be. The problem was that she
didn't believe in the Valar any longer. She had a deep unsettling
feeling, at first. Something unknown and scary, that she tried to
bury deep within herself in fear of what it might unleash. First
herself.
Then the Acromantulas.
What, or who, after all
she'd seen and lived, could assure her the so- called Valar were not
but powerful wizards who travelled through the Portal to Middle-earth
many millennia ago? It wasn't as if she had any testimony other than
of the elves- easily impressed by people who were able to cast light
from the darkness, - but that was an easy spell, any first year could
perform... shaping the earth? A good transfiguration master could
handle that with a hand in his back.
Creating dwarves... a
good obliviate spell, and they'd believe whatever you want them
to.
But Arien felt the presence of Eru there. Right there, all
her doubts about the divine were vanished as if they never were. All
the dark thoughts she had when she was half crazy in the inner
solitude of her room, overwhelmed and claustrophobic, gone in a
heartbeat- with no real logical argument, no scientific proof, but
the soothing, earth-foundations-strong-certainty that bloomed in her
heart. There was Eru, and He loved her lots.
She would be all
right. It would all be well in the end. She just knew it.
Toulouse, France, two weeks later.
Arien had had to pull herself off the coast. Literally. Return the car and take a bus to Toulouse. There had been nobody to pick the elf there, of course. So, she just called the French equivalent of a Knight's bus- the ministry would pay for her travelling, though which Ministry was not quite clear. Arien wondered if they had reached some sort of pact.
Under her Auror training, she hadn't been told much. They were the baddies, they were downright mean, and they played dirtier than dirt. Period. Due to her - this far still - secret abilities she knew that both sides were drawing to exhaustion. Wizards had a long lifespan- but now one could hardly see an old wizard in their wizarding communities. They were dying in lots. Muggles were scared to death, not a single idea of what was going on. Poor dears- the hypothesis of a war was increased to stratospheric levels after the attacks of September 11th of 2001. The forces of 'peace' were hunting whomever they could blame, reliving old grudges and opening new opportunities for war... for petrol, for pride, for bravado, for doing something even if they were not really sure of what that something was- or if it would be effective, or rather arise more grudges.
She decided she would apparate next time. That goddamn trip took more toil than she liked to admit.
Hogwarts had been quite much a medieval, gothic castle. Impressive, imposing, magnificent.
The Boinas Verdes Auror training centre had been warm, cosy, and homely.
The Palace was different. It was... well. How could one say it? It reminded her of Draco: impeccable, aristocratic, elegant and always irreprehensible. Renaissance style, she'd venture. The palace itself was a bit far away from the city, in a strikingly beautiful estate, but you could reach it in a half an hour car's ride.
She threw her backpack on her left shoulder, feeling rather self-conscious in such a formal ambient. Dammit, she doubted she'd felt this ill at ease if she went straight into a Lorien's pomp ball - assuming they had such a thing. She climbed the stairs before the main doors warily, and stopped before a beautifully sculptured statue of some Greek goddess. She didn't really care which one. Not that she didn't feel drained to arts, she did, but she sorely lacked either the time or the patience to go deep into studying it. It was far more useful to her to bury herself into ancient and Modern Curses, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Astronomy, Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, Comparated History of Magic, Poisons, Potions, Logic, Combat Strategy and such than art theory.
She was obviously meant to give the statue a password. This was no mere wizarding building, this was the spine of the resistance in the Mediterranean sea, as much as Wales was the spine for the British islands and Switzerland, Germany, Iceland; Malasartes was the spine for Latin America and so on. But what the hell was the password?
"Liberté" said a voice behind the door. She groaned. That much for impressing your boss at you first day's work. She wondered if she was really a Ravenclaw. She couldn't think of any other Eagle who got into that much shit as she did.
And guess who opened the door?
"You're late." he said, looking rather elegant in dark grey robes. What's with dark men and dark clothes? Couldn't he dress an unsuspecting baby blue for a change? Or red? Or orange? Or...
"Arien, we don't have all day..." Sirius brought her back to reality, secretly pleased she had been staring. She didn't skip a heartbeat from then on, passing through him as if she'd lived in the Palace all her life. ((Consider cutting this))She had buried her mother's lessons in etiquette and composure under years of cool practicality and the last months of joyful, detached, informal behaviour- even when her passion about magic and learning hadn't decreased one bit, her attitude towards the world, life, death, friendship had. She was no longer the same and she knew it. It excited and frightened her, the swirling speed in which her life and personality were changing- the pace of humans. Even if she wasn't one of them in body, they were slowly claiming her soul. And despite all of it, despite her faded jeans and very common blouse, she could enter the palace like an elven princess; her head high in the air, the grace and aura of one borne to command and to be followed (By all the stars in the sky above, anything but that! She couldn't think of anything which scared her more, Voldemort included.), her movements fluid and cat-like. ((End of cutting section))
Sirius had no choice but notice how the male employees of the Resistance seemed to be drawn to the redhead as moths to the flame. He had not met a single man who had not turned to stare at her, at least. The woman was tall, beautiful and athletic and a man had to have a damned strong personality and figure not to be towered when she pulled her Princess facade. But Sirius was both. With long purposeful strides he matched paces with her, hell bent in showing to that brilliant but inexperienced and rather conceited young Auror who was the man in charge there. He silently led her to her rooms, and then she gasped, her façade dropping immediately.
It was nothing like any
room she'd ever occupied before. It was huge, ostentatious and
luxurious – most of her things had been sent over prior to her
departure from Brazil and were already unpacked and organized in her
wardrobe. She had a huge bedroom, a bathroom with an adjoining
dressing room and even a little living room to herself, which would
work as a working room as well, in where her dozen hundreds of books
were already placed in alphabetical order, flowers in a vase over a
little tea table, some armchairs, a sofa and a nice hearth, as long
as her desk. Two or three people could have lived there - or her
whole female class, in fact. And comfortably. She just wasn't used to
having all that room for herself.
He mused her astonishing
look as he watched her- she still looked the same she did when he
first saw her in Hogwarts, the last class before it was closed for
the war. God only knew the havoc it would be when it was over- all
those kiddos who missed education and would have to begin late.
Misfortunes of war.
Sirius tried to remember how old his
charge was. Eighteen, nineteen? So goddamn young- still looked like
sixteen or seventeen, her face still somewhat cheek-rounded with
youth. Yet they needed her, they needed every skilled Auror they
could put their hands on. Arien was brilliant- make no mistake.
Hermione was brilliant too, even more, and far more down-to-earth,
but the red-haired had an innate talent for hunting people down that
was appalling. She often reminded him of Dumbledore- as if she were
omniscient. But then again, her age shown in the way she hushed when
she needed to slow down. She sorely lacked the experience. Hermione
was off to Russia, anyway, hunting Death Eaters with Ron, Harry and
Susan, his wife, plus a team of another four Aurors. His heart ached
for those young lives risking their necks- lives he knew, lives he
loved, lives that were familiar for him. Lives who were family.
He
had this eight amazing scholars, who had all the potential to become
Aurors Voldemort himself would fear. It was necessary. Dumbledore was
dying, not now, of course, but he wouldn't last too long- another
decade, with luck. With lots of luck. Albus was already past 170
years, and that was a memorable age, even for a wizard. They
desperately needed to prepare the younger generations, make sure they
could go on their own.
"Be ready in two hours. We'll meet
at the Rouge Saloon and start getting acquainted with one another."
The tips of his lips twitched ... two girls, six boys; it would be
hell to rule those hormone-driven individuals. It was a tough job,
but someone needed doing it, and Leal was holding the strategic part
far better than he did.
She dazzled him an iron-melting smile.
The girl obviously had no idea of the power she held. "I'll be
there in one hour."
"Good. See you then." He
closed the door behind him, and quick as a lighting bolt, she
searched her dorm up and down and back and forth for signs of curses
or hexed objects. In twenty minutes she had been through it, and
picket a carefully chosen dark red dress robe for herself. A quick
shower was all she needed.
''
((Consider cutting this section))
The red room wasn't red. It merely had lots of crimsons details in its decoration. Oval, with one pulpit in the further back, across the French doors. Ten or more armchairs laid in a semi-circle, one of them standing right before the pulpit. Some very nice canvas on the walls, Arien was surprised to realise those were muggle paintings; and big windows that showed the garden.She picked the second chair to the right of the head chair. It would still be close to the leader, without being too obvious, and give her space to watch her fellows unnoticed. Exactly fifty minutes after she entered the room, other young wizards entered the room, carefully picking their chairs and sitting as nonchalantly as they could. Arien stifled a smile. Same old games, new players.
On her left was Marc, from Beauxbatons - another dark beauty. Skipping the empty head armchair she found the only other female of the group, Marie, who was German, graduated in Durmstrang and went to Auror training in the renowned Abu-Simbel Institute of Magic. Blonde with brown eyes, now that was unusual in the Nordic pattern. Skipping another chair there was Paolo, Italian from Milan, dark hair and eyes, as well, but a bit shorter than Marc. Two inches, actually. Alexei was Russian and also from Durmstrang. Icy blue eyes and brown hair, and a good six feet tall. Pedro was Portuguese, graduated in Andalusia Academy of magic, honey coloured hair and brown eyes with flickers of gold. Miguel was from Catalonia, Spain, also graduated in Andalusia - and seemingly he was a friend of Pedro's, or at least a very friendly acquaintance. And finally Nicholas, from good old enchanting Greece, who graduated in Istanbul. The Kirin school of magic.
And her.
While she
mused the origins and peculiarities her blasted tutor entered the
room, so full of energy and joye de vivre she wanted to strangle him.
He quickly accommodated himself in the leader's chair and took an
impressively big file from his inner pockets- it had to be magic. To
enlarge the pockets or to diminish the size of the file, she couldn't
tell without a closer look.
And then he began his memorized
speech about how they were supposed to be each other's family from
that day on, blah, blah, blah. Cover one another's back, yadda,
yadda, yadda. After fifteen minutes of melodramatic bullshit- really
didn't become him, he was a far more restrained man, Arien thought
unkindly; he finally entered in the part of the speech that
interested her: the situation of the war as it was today and their
role on it. They'd have another month to get in sync, and then they'd
be released on the field to hunt down Death Eaters, always seeking
one clue as to where Voldemort had buried himself into, and when the
G.Q. had any big operation in mind they'd call several of those cell
units to attack together.
"Question?" All shook their
heads negatively. "You are dismissed." Sirius said,
absentmindedly, and they left the room. Arien didn't really want to
talk to anybody just yet, thought, she felt rather moody and not up
to being social. So the elf just stood outside the door, listening
their conversations as the group made their way back through the
corridor. The hell she'd say a word about who she was and where she
came from.
She glanced towards the red room and saw - or felt
- him sprawled in the armchair, all act laid down, as he relaxed a
little in those fifteen minutes of peace. In a few moment's Angie
would call him and report what news they had about the missions in
Russia, Sweden, Scotland, Nigeria, Peru and Canada. Then he'd have a
Floo meeting with Dumbledore, Leal, and dozens of Ministry's
representatives and their Unspeakables. If he could at least steal
those Unspeakables to the front, those privileged minds would do the
cause a world of good. But of course the ministries would hear none
of it. They were losing time, people, supplies. They were loosing the
war.
His hand reflexively reached for his wand while he spun
to grab and face whoever it was that got so close of him. When his
mind recognised the figure however, the anger he'd bottled up
exploded.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
he shouted. Her face remained carefully blank- from time to time she
could manage to do that, he registered - while she answered.
"You're
obviously too distressed to take any important decisions today- and
it's also obvious you'll have to make them. So I'm just relieving
some of your stress. This is an ancient form of magic... we call it
massage."
He groaned and complied, but stood still as her
hands massaged his scalp, neck and shoulders. Half an hour later, he
was feeling rather drowsy, and extremely relaxed- too relaxed
perhaps. But he was saved from absolute humiliation by the hearth-
the meeting would begin anytime soon.
Arien was not in the
room when he tried to shoo her out.
((End of cutting section))
''
((Actually, consider cutting this as well...))Fez, Maraca. 12th of May of 2003
Breathe, Arien thought. Just breathe.
Damn the breathing, those frigging bastards sent her ahead. Again. She was so pissed she wanted to use the real F-word. So there she was, preparing herself to have one hell of a headache in the next fifteen hours, because those stupid gits were so damn perfect to use their own skills and rotate the riskiest position of all among themselves. No. it had to be the f perfect Arien darling.
They had gone along nicely at first, really did. They were all worthy, witty, smart and damn powerful. Maybe the whole group was too homogeneous. But when Sirius told them they could start their tasks, locate and track and hunt , it all went down the hill. she could live with it if they tried a bit harder, thought. Leaving all the burden on her shoulders was no fun at all. The elf decided they ought to have a nice little chat as soon as the group came back into the Q.G., and she'd see to it.
And if they didn't
oblige... She was one of the best Aurors the light side had and if
they couldn't provide her a half decent team to work with, she might
as well work alone. Or else she wouldn't even reach her thirties- and
not because of the baddies.
What Arien wouldn't give to get a
transfer to Hermione's group. Oh, heaven.
The city was a
living hell. Teseus wouldn't have found his way out this labyrinth
with or without a rope. Streets were narrow, crowded, filled with
goods for sale. One couldn't find one's own shadow in that
market.
The elf tracked the Death Eaters and apparated half a
mile behind them- above an old man, whom she quickly obliviated. Her
lovely team- mates would tease her to no end, but what did
they expect in such a narrow and crowded way? Even magic has its
limits!
She was pretending to be trying out some veils and
jewels, while she took a magic mirror and gave the coordinates. They
took three minutes to get there! Bloody murder!
Arien
didn't quit the mission and the hunt because she forced herself to
think of what might happen if those lunatics lost the Death Eaters.
An hour later, nursing a migraine and a sore leg she ordered Alexis
to take the surviving D.E. to the Aurors camping so he could be
interrogated. Right now Arien didn't give a damn if he'd live or die.
She was much more preoccupied with her own place in the war.
A
couple of hours later she sat fuming in Sirius' office. Her tem mates
told her she was over reacting. The hell she was. The fact she was a
good tracker didn't mean she'd be the only one risking her life. Her
almost eternal life, mind you.
He sat there looking
extremely pissed by her outburst, but she didn't back down. For
nothing in the world she'd back down when it was up to her life, for
some snobby cowards. No way.
"We here work in teams,
Arien." Sirius told her icily. She could tell it hadn't been a
lovely day for him either.
"Good of you to let me know,
but you'd rather inform them!" she spat venomously.
"Arien"
he finally lost it. That damn redheaded was absolutely impossible to
deal with.
"I'm not kidding, Sirius."
"You
certainly behave like a child."
"Do I? Really? Is it
wrong then to hold on to all that crap you told us about watching one
another's back? For chrissake, Sirius! I went in the den alone.
Frigging alone! And when I told them where the targets where,
they arrived four minutes later, like it was some bloody tea party!"
her voice was ringing louder and louder. "If they can't cope
with working as a team- a real team, mind you, then you really don't
want to know where I want them to go. Pair me with someone else-
preferentially someone who knows what the hell they are doing, 'cause
I don't want to get out killed."
"Death is-"
"Just
because I might die doesn't mean I'm jumping to it,
Sirius!"
He breathed loudly and laboriously. She had
burned her bridges. There was no way she could work in sync with them
in the immediate future, and they could not allow any of them to be
lost- not if it could be helped. The others were cold and indifferent
towards her, if not hostile and vengeful. No, that team was out of
consideration.
What the hell had gone wrong? He had picked up
the very best he could find
"We don't
complete one another, we compete with one another. And I really got
pissed up when I didn't find anyone watching my back. I want someone
I can count with, Sirius;" her piercing gaze bore into his own;
she suddenly looked much older than she was, almost as old as he
felt. "That's not a luxury, it's a necessity."
"All
right then", he gave in, wondering what on earth was going on
and what he would do of her" you cans stick with me for the time
being. Then we'll try to accommodate you somewhere."
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
He looked so drained and tired,
leaning against the wall. And yet he was still irradiating power and
self-assurance, his mind still racing even in his slumber, combining,
testing, imagining, solving several puzzles in his mind. She was too
tired to try reading anything, and for the very first time she didn't
want to intrude; because it hinted at something deep inside of her,
something she didn't want to examine. In spite of her casual flirting
with men her age, she didn't feel as attracted as with more mature
men. Maybe it was a soft cry of her elven inheritance, a longing for
someone who was wise and understanding. Maybe a lame attempt of hers
to replace a father she missed terribly. Or maybe she just wanted
some stability and comfort in a hostile environment. Whatever it was,
it was quite strong- and painful. Looking seventeen certainly didn't
appeal on her attractiveness on mature men, certainly not on the kind
of mature men she wanted to attract.
He should be almost forty
years old, but didn't look it. He was cool, and self-controlled,
introspective really. But he didn't play any games- he would either
say the truth or not to say anything at all. He was a man who called
the responsibility to him, who cared, who wasn't afraid of doing the
right thing.
Losing herself on the feelings of the moment, she
reached out for him and pulled his head down in a lingering kiss.
Soft, yet not too soft; the perfect balance between sweetness and
passion. A kiss she could savour for hours.
"Stop"
He choked after a while, startled at their behaviour. "This
cannot happen."
Her tired mind took some time to process
the information. "Why not?"
"I'm responsible
for you before the Ministry."
So what?
"Oh.
Well, I better go have some rest then."
"Yes."
He responded, still trying to calm his breath. "This cannot
happen."
She was too tired to intrude, and didn't want
to. But she did wonder if he was telling that to her or to himself.
Oh, man, Harry was tired of that.
Hotels, embassies, Ministries' cottages; all over the world. When would he be able to get a place of his own?
Thank god for Suzie, then. He'd never even dreamt in asking for half of the things she endured to be with him. In the beginning they had fought pretty bad because he wanted her out of the fire line- but you just don't tell a Hufflepuff to stay back and safe while you save the world.
He found out that Hermione had been awfully reasonable compared to Suzie.
And yet there they were, in another foreign country, in another wizarding hiding place, after another couple of crazy D.E. they were too smart to stay gathered in one place only. From time to time they met in some part of the globe to schedule their own attacks, and then disapparated as quickly as possible. They had too little people and resources to get them all at once. After all, most of the wizarding community were sensibly on the run.
Which, of course, made everything harder. The Resistance had not people enough. They must be defeating them, slowly and certainly; but they were still losing their own soldiers like flies.
And now that one other little blow on his already overburdened shoulders. Not that he wasn't happy- in the contrary. He was euphoric. In spite of everything, Harry felt he hadn't been this... this fulfilled, this whole, ever before. Not when Sirius explained him about Peter and asked his godson to live with him, not when they won the House Cup. Goodness, not even when he got married.
The point is, how would he protect his wife and his unborn children from the chaos?
Suzie would have to listen to him this time. They couldn't risk it anymore. She would have to find refuge in one of the G.Q. and stay there with their baby till the world was a bit safer. But for the Potters, the world would only be safe when Voldemort was defeated.
Edwiges flied through the window bringing him another carefully attached letters. Mail was being severely surveyed those days. He'd got a letter from Ron and Mione, who had gone to Wyoming, to see the Yellowstone national park, relax and enjoy some very well deserved rest. Harry wondered if his friends would ever got married- Molly was ripping her hair out for her little Ronnie 'living in sin', but they didn't really mind it, and Hermione would use a fruit hat on her head a la Carmen Miranda before she did something of that importance just because someone else wanted her too. So far, they were doing awfully well, thank you for asking.
In the end, maybe making
it official wouldn't be necessary for them.
Arthur had been
killed at the Ministry. They had been stupid for keeping their top
heads in a so well known place. They should have known better. They
should have moved to a more secret place. Now they lost one of the
most supportive of their leaders. Unfortunately they couldn't have a
decent funeral. It would be too much of a temptation target.
Never underestimate Virginia Elizabeth Weasley - Malfoy. Nor Draco August Malfoy, either. Divine dragon - his name really didn't help much in the modesty field. Anyone who kept a secret from Molly Weasley for almost seven years deserves your admiration.
Forgetting his own worries for the moment, Harry reached out to write letters for his friends- his family.
''Vienna, Austria, April 15th of 2003.
Time to go back to the big bad ugly world outside.
Ginny didn't want to get out of her bed- it was so comfortable, so cosy, so warm with his body wrapped around her own. What time was it anyway? Six? Seven? It was far too early to be up, for God's sake! She would wake up later. Yes. She would go back to her wonderful dreams of her de-gnoming the garden with Fred, George and Ron, her father messing about some new muggle 'wonderful thing!' her mother bossing them around, Charlie with his big grin making fun of them, while Percy tried to repress his laughter, and Bill destroying tables on the yard.
Yes, that was wonderful.
And then it hit her- he wouldn't be in the garage ever again. In her slumber she forgot it. He was dead. Wasn't it supposed to fade in time?
Sensing her distress, Draco held her tighter. He was still the most handsome man she'd ever met, even with that dark hair and contact lenses he had to use every waking hour. They both had had to dye their hairs, unfortunately - they called too much attention. Hers was now a chocolate brown.
In all those years together, he'd never shown any sign of regret for leaving his parents, his family, and his life behind. She certainly couldn't have asked for a greater proof of love. He must be the second most-wanted young wizard among the D.E.
The Unspeakables, from the now Global department of Mysteries, under the lead of Albus Dumbledore, were as hated as the Aurors or more. The heads behind every attack, security plans, protection programs and war strategy in general, they had no hope for a quick execution if caught. The hatred have been quite well-shown when they got hold of Remus Lupin eighteen months ago. They forced him to contaminate several of the Death Eaters and then killed him slowly.
Harry had been
devastated.
The situation was a bit more desperate than they
let people outside the Light army know. They had not many people with
skill; experience and talent to lead them along till the end. Harry
was a very charismatic figure, but he didn't have the means to
coordinate a worldwide operation. Sirius maybe. Leal, Jean-Pierre,
Ali Abdul, Richter.
But if that took that long, and
Dumbledore's strength finally vanished before that big enemy we all
face someday; who would raise to lead them?
"This is too
early for such dark thoughts, darling." Draco mumbled. "Go
back to sleep. This is Holyday."
"I wasn't having
any dark thoughts," she protested.
"Yes you were,"
he said playfully, his eyes wide open now. His steel gray eyes, as he
hadn't wear on the lenses yet." You had a big ugly frown on your
forehead."
"I didn't."
"You did."
She had been down ever since the attack to the ministry. Or more
accurately, since the attack to the British Bureau of the Global
Government of Magic. An extreme measure, taken in face of the
absolute inability of the ministries to take care of the mess on
their own. Face it as a tyranny - but the tyrant was Dumbledore, one
who didn't love Power, and was certainly going to restore the order
of things after they got the house organized. It had been a risky-
and desperate - move; but so far things had been working well.
Bureaucracy had diminished to imaginary levels, actions were taken
promptly and effectively and, for the first time in a long, long
time, Draco actually hoped it would be over soon.
She made him
a pout. Lovely, wonderful Ginny, a lioness in lamb clothes. The
perfect match for his own slyness.
He crawled closer to her
and started to attack that little sensitive spot where her neck met
her shoulders - and her response was immediate, arching her body to
meet his in greater length.
"Mmmmm, this is too early
for..."
"What am I, a vampire?" he inquired,
biting her flesh in playful, lingering motions. She roamed her own
hands on his back and he forgot all previous thoughts of the war and
the Ministry. They still had plenty of time before they'd have to get
up.
''
Prague, Czech Republic, June 7th of 2003.
Not a month had passed and Sirius already wanted to kill her.
First her absolute hysteria when he told her to dye her hair. One would think he'd tried to kill her or something. He told her a light blonde would suit her features better- she would look really great in blonde hair; but again, the fool insisted on black. Well, she still looked stunning as a brunette, but that was hardly the point. She insisted on wearing her own clothes- far too provocative for his taste; to go out every now and then into the night of whatever city they were in at the moment, returning to the G.Q. almost at dawn. And - absurdly weird in a young lady her age- she would have a nap of 45 minutes and wake up fresh, rested and ready for a battle. Now that was something he didn't understand.
But couldn't she agree with him for one goddamned time?
They were quietly crossing the Wenceslas Square, to meet the very head of the Light Army, the head of the Order of the Phoenix , Albus Dumbledore. She had- again - insisted she had to be with him. Not that he minded, she was unbelievable good at spotting danger before it even had time to appear. He had learnt better than to discuss with her when she said: "there's danger here". Or "a threat is drawing near", or any other dramatic line with one effect: get ready 'cause we have a dark wizard near. He couldn't really blame his last trainee team for wanting her to go ahead every time- Arien was just that goddamn good.
He hated it when people said they looked like siblings. Or worse, parent and child. Thought he 'could' be her father.
The day was clear and hot- not overwhelmingly hot like in Brazil where she had buried herself and made him go to check her development every two or three weeks. They were both wearing muggle light clothes, jeans and shirt, in his case, and in her case a light summer dress, held by spaghetti straps and down to her knees. In his opinion -which she wouldn't hear, no matter what he did- she had to dress in something more discreet. He couldn't spot a single man in those streets that hadn't turned to watch her with greedy eyes. It was a mission, for pity sake, not a fashion exposition!
They finally reached the building, identified themselves and entered. Good. There he wouldn't have to watch over her all the time. Or not. Wasn't it Marcel Duras flirting with his agent? For pity sake couldn't she stop for a bloody minute?
"Arien!" he cried for her in the middle of the hall, not really caring about how many bureaucrat bastards got startled, "We must get going."
She nodded at him, in her most irritatingly knowing way, and turned to say goodbye to her flirt. Sirius just stood there, fuming, but trying his damned best not to show it. He couldn't bear to sink that low. When they entered Albus provisory room- the good old wizard was always moving, as not to endanger either himself or the people around him - he was planning the best way of killing her slowly. Tracker or no tracker, he would knock her out.
"Hello, children. How are you doing today?" the old wizard said, sitting behind a huge oak door. "Lemon drops?"
And then the unthinkable happened. She cried. His mischievous, clever, fiery tempered, efficient hunter broke down and cried. She was hugging Dumbledore so fast he couldn't say how she got there to save his life.
A good couple of seconds later, she pulled herself together, laughing and wiping her tears.
He cleared his throat.
"Dumbledore," he began, not quite sure of what to make of his unpredictable partner "we must discuss the next steps of the offensive."
"Oh yes, " Dumbledore went on his mode wise-and-powerful; "this must end quickly, Sirius. We don't have much time left."
Sirius knew exactly what he meant, and by the way so did Arien. She took out of her handbag a notebook and began writing furiously, as they talked and planned about next strikes, informations gathered in the Aurors torture room (a war is a war is a war). Most of the time- oh miracle- she kept her mouth shut, only interrupting here and there to make questions, or bring them back to trail in case she decided they were loosing their tracks, or in the very end to ask for her friends from Hogwarts. Some of her classmates had died, but that was hardly unexpected. He was really surprised to hear Molly Weasley had sent her a couple of sweaters - for past Christmas gifts. No mail had been able to reach her, as she was under Auror training and those places were as secret or more than Wizarding schools. In the end she asked the pile of presents and letters to be delivered in her quarters at the Palace - they lived there most of the time, and it was pointless to rent a flat.
"Where can we apparate?" she asked when they were outside the building.
"Just around that corner, we have a wizarding street. We can apparate from there." He replied.
"Do you have any team for me yet?"
"Not really. Most of the teams are forged when the Aurors leave the training. The next graduation will be in a couple of months. Until there, you're stuck with me."
"It's not that bad, really." She grinned.
"Not?" he arched an eyebrow and smiled, in spite of himself.
"No." Serious now. "Do you think you'd be all right if I could go to Rome tonight?"
"Why?" he didn't like the way his voice sounded. Did not like it at all.
"Today is a Saturday."
"And?"
"This is my day off."
"We don't have days off in a war, Arien." He said, already knowing it was a lost battle. Ever since she put her feet out of Hogwarts, there was no power on Earth who could keep her locked anywhere. He thought even Voldemort would fail in keeping her imprisoned.
"Save it, babe. We both know that I do have the right of going out once in a while."
"Do we?"
"Yes, we do. By the way, next time you ask your agents to follow me, do tell them to be discreet. I hardly believe we've made it this far with such visible spies." Her statement was supercilious and conceited, like herself. Damn, the girl could be a real bitch from time to time. "I understand that in the light of previous episodes everybody is suspected of being a double agent till absolute proof of their fidelity, but I do want privacy sometimes."
"You are working with one of the most important leaders of the Resistance, and have access to vital information. You don't really expect us to let you loose, do you?" he replied coolly. It took much of the self-control he acquired in both his Auror career and in Azkaban to keep his voice expressionless and blank.
"Modest, are we?"
"Water seeks its own level, my darling."
"Touché." A laugh. "But I am going to Rome tonight. Go see a play. Or a concert. Or dance. Haven't decided yet."
"Jesus, woman, is that all you can think about?"
"Why not? I've done my work; I can enjoy myself a little. Tomorrow we can be dead. A very wise wizard told me to enjoy what I have. And I lived by his words ever since." Who did it was obvious. He couldn't compete with Dumbledore. And yet he didn't like it when she left the palace, alone, and jumped in the bohemia of whatever city she had picked for the night. The girl was a vampire, sucking all the night could offer.
But he didn't like the idea of her alone in the night. Not that she couldn't take care of herself. It was just that...
She looked so young and innocent. Young she was, but innocent... was there anything she took seriously but the war? That, thank goodness, she took rather seriously. They had been joining random tasks of Auror teams all over Europe and there wasn't a single mistake he could point out. Her reflexes were amazing, her intuition prophetic. But once she went off the fields, she was just another girl. Immorally smart, impossibly headstrong, reckless, stupidly proud, full of life and mischief.
She reminded him of himself, so many years ago.
And his younger self loose in Rome would be Apocalypse.
By the way she swayed her hips when she walked and tossed her shoulder length raven hair while she talked, she wouldn't do any different. If the kiss she gave him a month ago was any sign, she was a force to be reckoned. He had a hard time on keeping his cool, detached, emotionless facade near her. And he did not like the way she flirted with other men. But what did he expect, that she would wait for him patiently till that damn war was over so they could see if they wanted to pursue a relationship?
She flashed him her best smile. "See you in the morning, boss."
He found it very hard to sleep that night. She came back to the palace at seven in the morning, sweated, dishevelled and absolutely gleaming. Then she went to her room to sleep for a while and at eight o'clock she was in the Intelligence office, helping him in a meeting with Unspeakables where they would pass the instructions Dumbledore had given them, and start making arrangements for the final attack.''
Dublin, Ireland. July 15th of 2003.
Arien didn't even argued about going to explore the city, which was odd. Sirius walked straight to the bar that held the entry to their meeting point, and led them both into an imposingly tall and wide building. The man before them, their contact and guide for the night, opened the door and they finally reached a room that made the Great Hall look stuffy and small.
There were hundreds of wizards there, if not thousands. They were separated in delegations according to their origin country or blocks of countries. They could spot at least fifty delegations. Noiselessly their guide took them to one of the areas, marked in red ink on the floor.
Dumbledore entered through a hidden door and walked straight to the table in the centre, and sat in a tall chair that made sure all the room could see him, and he could see them all.
"My friends;" he spoke, his voice effortlessly carried through the room, " time has come in which we cannot remain as we are any longer. Time has come in which we have to strike back."
Arien frowned, and Sirius could almost hear her thinking. For a second he thought he had 'heard' her thinking! - 'And what do you think we've been doing, Dumbledore? Playing wizard's chess?'
Apparently she wasn't alone in that line of thought. Several people began arguing in muffled whispers.
"Silence!" his voice echoed again, and people obliged. "For many years now, we have kept ourselves in as much security as we could muster. We hunted them, we took hold of them from time to time, we interrogated and we protected ourselves. In the meantime, we are watching our families and friends being killed everyday. This cannot go on: we must strike now, take advantage that they are weakened by our attacks and vanish them for once. If we do not do so now, when we have the opportunity, time will come in which we ourselves will be much too weak to strike the final blow. And then, my friends, what will happen with the wizarding community?"
The question hung in the air. The answer was obvious: die.
"We took hold of a very high Death eater not too long ago;" he continued, after the dramatic pause "which is very close to Voldemort." Several wizards gasped and flinched by his name. "And we have replaced him by one of our very own faithful knights. He is now inside the den, passing us information that will allow a reasonably safe hit in the death eaters and Voldemort, giving us the opportunity to rip them from the face of Earth. His minions are diminishing, thanks to our constant efforts, but now we have a chance to end it all!"
The deafening sound of a thousand wizards arguing hurt her ears, and she clasped her hands over them. Arien didn't have to be a genius to put two and two together and come out with four. Who was the only knight crazy enough to enter the den as a double agent? Who was the one with experience enough to have a minimal chance of escaping alive? Who'd be the first to volunteer?
Her favourite Potions master, of course.
Dumbledore's voice rose in the air again, clearly replying to someone.
"This is a war and we are soldiers. What if tomorrow the war is over? Isn't that worth fighting for? Isn't that worth dying for?"
The delegations argued some more, then offered their help - the earthling equivalent of offering a Lord your sword in Middle-earth. After agonising fifty minutes, it was all settled, and she wandered around the delegations greeting friends and acquaintances from throughout the world. Some wizards from Boinas Verdes were there, some of her old Hogwarts mates. Harry was there, with his wife, who was five months pregnant, Ron and Hermione, and Carl and Sarah and McGonagall; and Ron introduced her to Bill Weasley, and some wizards he had done random tasks with.
She absolutely forgot the handsome dark wizard who brought her into that crazy place for the rest of the night. She was too relieved and happy about seeing her old friends again.
''
Dumbledore quote Morpheus in Matrix 2 reloaded (?)- yes, I know it's not exactly his style, but it was too good an opportunity to miss!
And the credits:
Lethbridge: http:www.city.lethbridge.ab.ca/profile/02b.htm (not that I had used, but.)
Czech Republic: ?id=81&cid=10429&subcategory=Tou ristAttractionsandSightseeing&subcat=TouristAttractionsandSightseeing& city=Prague&cont=Europe&contlink=europe.asp&category=VisitingtheCity&cat=V isitingtheCity&subcatid=17&stateProvince=&country=CzechRepublic
Canada: Curitiba I described by my very own memory.
France was a bit harder. I
got my info from these sites:
#cann
for the info about Cannes. I got a map of it at
Got the info about
Toulouse at: http:www.mairie-
toulouse.fr/ANGLAIS/LivingInToulouse/IndexBienvenue.htm
Marroch
I got out of a recent soap opera, which was an absolute success-, and
I shamelessly assume I watched every single piece of it- called , in
English, The Clone.