Disclaimer:
Silly me and silly you,
We got beat up and we got sue'd,
'cause Colfah didn like us much at all,
Since we stole his book that's out next fall.
Pathetic also. But hey! It's two in the morning, I'm trying to escape my parent's notice and I'm on a caffeine buzz! It's high time to get this massive update over with. I'm pretty much sick of making it up as I go.
Chapter Twenty-One – Further Collisions
Holly checked her moonometer. Granted, it did stop whenever she came out of the grove, but thanks to Foaly's technology it would automatically check itself against the US's Global Positioning Satellite system. The GPS was one of the few things Americans did right—that, according to Foaly, and their television shows.
Six thirty-six. Or, in Mud Men time, roughly ten. Trouble hadn't come back yet.
She frowned, picking herself up off the ground. Her knee ligaments groaned from the leap she had done yesterday from McGonagall's room, another testament to her frugal usage of magic. The only oak by a bend in a river was nearly twenty miles away, and up and down several large ridges. By the Book's definition it was barely a trickle, but Foaly had said it was fine. Granted, it felt like a thousand miles when they had walked it after the incident with the Whomping Willow, but the return trip had been wonderful. Nothing quite like running hot, even if one had to be careful with their magic.
Still, Trouble had said he'd start back as soon as the sun had fallen far enough down to not risk skin damage. That meant he should be back by now.
She mentally cursed herself, tossing the now-empty berry bucket into their hut. Pretty or no, she spent far too much star-gazing now-nights. If the mission kept going at this rate, she would have an eternity to stare at the stars at Howler's Peak when Artemis Fowl took over Haven with his new toys.
Holly checked herself, looking for any stray technology. Anything brought into the Hogwarts perimeter was dead weight, and could even break down entirely when they got too close to the 'intense anti-magical positive polarizing field', as Foaly has called it. Hand it to Foaly to make relatively concepts sound more complicated then an Apache verb conjugation table. What he undoubtedly mean to say was 'place where the Mud Men magic's too thick for our stuff to work'. Then again, with Foaly, who knew?
She scowled at her reflection in the stream as she passed it by. A bit earlier this evening she had answered Foaly's nightly transmission, and he had said that the Council was trying to pull her and Trouble from the job. Granted, she wouldn't mind reinforcements, but she wanted to be the one that wrung Artemis' scrawny neck. Not Ash or that idiot Lili…
Her scowl deepened into the sort the teacher sent her to the time-out corner for when she was ten. One of the idiots on the Council—Saffron, by the sound of it, or maybe Muscaria—had actually recommended Lili for the job. Lili, the moron that couldn't even hit the bullseye at point-blank range. Lili, the bimbo that put Grub to shame. Stupid, stupid Lili that got her test scores bumped because she was related to Frond. Frond hadn't even been that good of a monarch! He was the one who screwed up our relations with Wizards to begin with—Honestly, selling spare body parts for crackpot African voodoo artists?
Accelerating to a light jog, she faded into the woods. She had some Trouble to find.
Her concern, however understandable, was unneeded. Trouble was having fun.
Fun in the normal sense, even. Who said that risking life and limb was the idiot's polo?
Trouble was not an idiot, after all. Just… cocky. And plenty of people could be accused of that.
All the same, he was having a great time. Sneaking around bare meters from enemies certainly got the blood rushing, along with the difficulty of holding on to the creaking rafters without attracting attention. Plus, he had to put his mediocre mapping skills to use. The challenge was invigorating, and certainly more interesting then listening to Foaly blabber on about politics in the Council.
He yawned, carefully aiming his mouth so it didn't knock any dust into the corridor below. A scruffy cat looked up suspiciously, large pumpkin-orange eyes glowing with the dull light of the moon. Trouble held his breath for a few minutes, and the cat looked back down at the floor, prowling for mice and miscreants alike.
Trouble nearly smiled. That cat was so stupid. It was probably too used to Mud Men that could only hold their breath for around a minute apiece—and easy feat for Fairies. Granted, its hearing was undoubtedly more acute then his, but that didn't mean it knew how to properly use it. For Frond's sake, the cat had a brain half the size of his own!
His face steeled again, and he lightly jumped to the next rafter, deft fingers snagging a loose nail on the ceiling. His feet dangled dangerously close to the pine supports below. If he dropped down to fast, the air current would upset the dust and—
D'Arvit, Trouble, stop it, he ordered himself, face breaking out into a sweat as a particularly sharp edge began to bite through his skin. You're acting like a girlie.
Letting his arm muscles relax, Trouble eased himself down onto the smooth gray surface.
It was a descent any four-year-old gymnast would be proud of, but, nonetheless, it created little disturbance in the thick dust below. A few molecules drifted down lazily, but Trouble's excellent eyesight failed to notice it.
tap
Trouble bent his knees, presenting the smallest silhouette as he could towards the sound. Footsteps. Damn cat! It alerted that janitor! Damn damn damn
He leaned towards the wall, fingers sliding along the curve of a knot. The nearest window was thirty feet away, too far to make in one jump… The janitor was smart. After it got done with the floor it would start on the rafters.
Putting all his weight onto the slight ledge, he neatly flicked his feet up into the air, catching the next rafter up. Dust spiraled down around him, but in the dark Trouble hoped that the notoriously poor vision of Mud Men would serve him.
Tap Tap
He blinked when he was fully hanging from the rafter. The next set of supports was gone, for one reason or another. He couldn't make the ten foot leap without revealing himself.
Trouble looked towards the source of the sound. A silhouette was slowly coming around the corner, crouching over as if it were it a bloodhound. He had ten seconds before it reached him at the most.
A slow grin spread across his face, and he stood up. If the janitor looked up, he was pretty much screwed. If not, he would have had his full share of adrenaline rush for the night. Either way, Holly was going to holler at him for being late.
Tap Tap TAP
An idea struck him just as he was getting ready to jump, and he threw his weight back. Five seconds down the drain as he tried to regain equilibrium. After rustling through his clothes for a few precious moments his hand came out, triumphant. It was only a spare bit of metal that had broken off his wing set during their jarring descent into the forest, kept in a pocket out of forgetfulness.
Without hesitation, he threw it past the approaching figure, and jumped.
There was nothing in his ears but the pounding of his blood as he leapt from one rafter to the next, trailing dust through the air. The stained-glass window gleamed with refracted moonlight, so close…
When he was ten feet from it he jumped, not even stopping to think that he was on the third floor. His body curled instinctually, shattering the entire window as he slammed into the delicate green-and-blue glass.
The ground rushed at him, barely giving him enough time to uncurl before he was rolling to his feet again. Regardless of Holly's warnings to save, his mesmerflickered on, making him only a shimmer that the raining glass happened to bounce off of.
When the pounding of his heart had subsided, he looked back. Silhouetted in the increasingly smaller window was the cursing janitor, shaking his fist at him. He looked angry for a very good reason.
Even as he sprinted into the dark woods of the Forbidden Forest, Trouble only found him thankful of one thing; Holly would never have to see that stunt of his. She would have had his head on a silver platter.
Artemis was, yet again, without anything to do. The hallways hardly provided adequate silence to think in, especially with these idiot students rushing off to lunch. There was no real hurry, either; Dumbledore always let lunch appear at exactly 12:05, and he had to be late or whoever that disappointingly uncreative poisoner would give his food a reputation that could count itself amongst any Yucca Mountain refuse.
He let his measured pace slow, easily stepping to the side before Draco could give him the kick in the derrière he had promised him during Herbology.
Artemis allowed himself the luxury of a grin, which was fortunately not noticed by passing students. Draco had been stupid enough to believe him when he said that the bite of a Mandrake would cure his acne problem. Cruel, yes, but Artemis was growing increasingly bored with his classes. Not all of them provided a The Calling-friendly environment.
Soon he was the only one in the hallway, although his own steps were lost amongst the tireless echoes of others'. Through the window he could see the burning of autumn begin, turning oaks and maples alike into roughly the hue of flames. This was only accented by the crisp blue sky of mid-September; not cloudless, but as close as most ever see. It was hard to believe he had already been through three weeks of this, however uninteresting the classes were. It was probably due to his extensive thinking through the cold hours of the night.
A glint of metal caught Artemis' eyes, and he picked up his pace again. There, leaning up against the wall, was a twisted piece of platinum.
Or titanium, more likely. Nimble white fingers picked it up, cradling it close to his eyes. It was People-make, without a doubt. He didn't even need the reassurance of Gnommish hieroglyphics for that. No human could forge titanium that thin and still have it stronger then a three-feet-across iron I-beam.
He smiled to himself again, and dropped the small chunk of metal into his only slightly worn black-leather bookbag. It was nice to know that, when the silence was deep enough to think in, he would have all these lovely mysteries to ponder. The Calling was a perfect preservation of the thoughts at the twilight of the Wizard-Fairy relationships. It had lain dormant for the last thousand years, but Fairies muddling with Hogwarts would certainly stir things up a bit.
Artemis didn't have any regrets at all for being the possible cause of the next interspecies war—he was only glad that he was going to be at the epicenter.
Hermione glared across the top of her book. Despite being of the somewhat petite frame she was, she still managed it—not an easy feat, considering the true object of her scowl happened to be on the other side of the Hufflepuff table.
One hand shoved a piece of toast into her mouth and her jaw muscles chewed on it vigorously, but her eyes never left the blank spot at Ravenclaw.
An elbow in the ribs broke the line of contact. Eyes watering slightly, she turned towards Harry. "What?"
Harry looked pointedly at the books Hermione was conspicuously sitting on. "Why are you watching Fowl again?"
Ron piped in, his mouth half-full of a turkey sandwich. "Why don't you just ask him out?"
Hermione's face slowly drained of color as she looked across Harry towards Ron. "How dare you imply that!" she seethed, face taut with anger. "That thing is the most despicable person at Hogwarts!"
Harry blinked. The headache medicine Madame Pomfrey had him take had to be getting to him. "What'd he ever do to you?'
Hermione resumed glaring at the empty spot in the bench. "Only acted like an arrogant dolt."
"So? Lockhart's like that every day and you don't complain."
Hermione managed to control her flickering eyes this time. "I shall not grace that with a response," she stated resolutely. The newly spread raspberry toast crumbled in her hands; she'd have to wash hre hands before touching the transfiguration book again.
Ron sniggered, but resumed eating animatedly. Harry, shaking his head, continued as well.
Hermione's eyes caught movement by the main doors to the Great Hall; Fowl. His pace quickened somewhat when he saw that the food was already out.
A frown creased her brow. He had been late to every meal so far with no excuses. She couldn't figure out why, but it had to be something foul.
She almost smiled. Bad pun. Her mind may not be the most creative one, but it certainly could generate odd things on occasion. Usually, it was related to the current source of idiocy in her life.
smiles weakly What can I say? I'm on a joint sugar-caffeine buzz.
A thousand apologies. I've only fixed up to chapter three so far.
Namárië,
Nallasariel the Weeper