Disclaimer: It's a rental.
Rating: PG-13
Better-Late-Then-Never Spoilers: Forgot to mention a few things, and so I feel it best to correct that error here. For Buffy, not much, but Spike and the slayer don't see each other anymore, Spike's chipped with NO soul, and… yeah, that's about it. For Hp, Harry recognized but never told anyone, besides his friends, about the Malfoy's at the Tri-wizard tournament, and you can expect me to blow away everything that happened in Ootp, and "make" my own fifth book free of any prophecy crap. My rambling is done, and you may now go on to read the fic. Bye!
Author's Note: As the situation dictates, I will tend to slip in and out of third person in my writings. I choose the path that best benefits the scene, and will continue to do so. If, however, you, the reader, become extremely annoyed by this, just write to me in feedback and I'll do my best to stop.
Feedback: Can't write without it!
*********************************ShadowElfBard*************************************
11:01pm
The Leaky Cauldron
Willow's POV
I enter the bar and immediately after the doors close behind me, I realize that things have decidedly gotten weird.
There are people here, dressed in robes and pointy hats. There are what I believe to be hags, wizards, and yes; even witches…and they're drinking beer. Oh goddess.
I force myself to calm down, as my darting eyes and racing heart are attracting attention, and I keep my head down as I walk over to the bar, my mind trying to rationalize what I see here, even despite my years on the Hell mouth.
Okay, there are a number of possible explanations. One: they take the name of this tavern way too seriously. Two: It's some sort of costume party. And three: I am truly in a London bar for magickal folk. Not much to choose from is there?
I'm trying to keep a shocked and extremely curious expression from my face as I sit upon a stool near the bartender, still clutching my suitcase. The bartender, who's just come back from filling an old woman's order, squints his eyes, as though I'm strangely familiar but he can't place his finger upon it. Finally he seems to give up, shrugs, and grins at me.
"What'll it be then? Some butterbeer to warm your insides?"
I shake my head absently, watching as a man, who I can only assume is a wizard, brews a potion upon his table.
The bartender notices how inattentive I am, and follows my gaze to see what I'm so amazed at. His face scrunches up in confusion, and he shakes his head softly. He then looks me over, curious as a result of my strange manner.
"Pardon me for asking so ma'm," he says, finally succeeding in drawing my attention towards him. "But did you just come back from a costume party or something?" his grin widens. "You look an awful lot like a muggle."
Baffled, I quirk my eyebrow at him, but before I can respond, loud, almost thundering laughter demands my notice. I spin in my stool seat and am faced with the largest man I have ever seen in my life. He's nearly three times my size, and has a thick black beard and caterpillar eyebrows. He's dressed in an equally large brown, shabby coat, and only the kindness that twinkles in his eyes keeps me from drawing forth a means of protection.
"Don't mind Tom 'ere, he likes to have a bit o' fun with newcomers," the large man said warmly. He sticks out a large hand. "Pleased to meet you by the way. Name's Hagrid."
With a mustered confidence I greet him in a handshake, keeping my face nearly expressionless. "Willow."
He drinks deeply from his mug before talking next. "Willow is it? Interestin' name. Course there's lots of those round here." He seems to size me up. "You here getting' supplies for school? You look a year or two old to be a student." Then he winks playfully. "Though with that hair you could be Weasley relative coming to visit…"
"Well, actually I think I've come here by mistake. I… I was looking for a bank."
He blinks at me for a moment or two, and then bursts out laughing. A few heads snap our way, but then notice that it's only Hagrid, smile knowingly, and return to their drinks and conversations. After he's stopped laughing, Hagrid grins at my puzzled face.
"I'm sorry, it's just that I realized you're an American. We don't get too many of them 'round here." He scratches his beard thoughtfully. "Looking for a bank you say? Well the closest one's Gringotts on Diagon Alley…"
Once again, I'm frustrated to say, that I'm not understanding anything. "But I thought that this was Diagon Alley."
He gives me an almost pitying look. "It is, but not the main part." Realizing that I'm still not following, he sighs loudly and stands up. "Come on."
After a few seconds of deliberating, I rise and follow him, bringing along my luggage. He leads me out a back door into an enclosed, walled courtyard, undecorated save for a trashcan and a few weeds.
He approaches the wall by the trashcan and starts counting bricks with an umbrella I hadn't noticed he held. His eyebrows are knotted in concentration, but after a few taps they relax. That's when I notice that the bricks he touched, and all the other bricks, are moving. They wriggle and melt and move and quiver, and soon an archway, big enough even for this giant of a man, appears. With wide eyes I look on, gazing at a cobbled walkway past the arch that twists and turns until it's out of sight.
Hagrid points with one finger. "To find Gringotts you go down the path till you reach the broom store, and then turn right at the glow lamps and follow it past Knockturn Alley (wouldn't want to end up there, no sir) and after passing Bernie Botts just head left and continue down till you reach the large white building. You can't miss it."
I blink.
"It was nice ter meet you Willow. Take care of yourself." Then he waves, turns, and walks back into the bar, leaving me alone to face the archway, and what strange things lied behind it.
That man has just performed magick, magick on an enchanted wall no doubt, and that means that… well, it means something that I'm not yet prepared to think aloud.
And now back to the more pressing situation. I need to exchange my money, of that there's no doubt, and I don't want to wander all night… so, Gringotts. Hmm. It's worth a shot.
So with a shrug, I head off down the cobblestones.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Where am I?
I gaze around the street once more, my anger rising. Go left at the… and right at the…. Head down to the… avoid the… ARGHH!!! I hate being lost. I don't like losing control of the situation, ANY situation, and this is one of the ones at the top of my list. I'm alone in a strange and foreign place that smells so strongly of magick that I'm a hair away from giving in to temptation, I was given the worst directions in the history of directions, and I feel like I'm in high school again as a result of all the stares my attire is receiving. Yeah, like *I'm* the weirdly dressed one.
The only slightly good thing seems to be the fact that a small amount of old willow-ness has returned because of my stress.
Whoop. Dee. Do.
Muttering heatedly under my breath, I retreat from the glow of the lamps I was standing under, and head off down an alley. If I can't find the place maybe I can ask a passerby for help. I can't see how much more damage can be done tonight, and, after all, what's one more spot of bad luck anyway? I've had enough as of late to be used to it by now.
As I travel farther and farther down the stone road, my mind briefly suggests heading back before an almost primal need silences it. I'm surrounded, completely surrounded, by dark magick. It emanates from the stores, the people, and I can taste it in the very air I breathe. Before, the other suggestions I'd been teased with trying to follow Hagrid's instructions, that was child's magick. That was infant's play… when compared to this.
This, this is ecstasy. This is a senior-junkie-held-from-grade-A-stuff addiction. And who am I to ignore its call?
With a small smile that's not wholly innocent, the witch inside of me rises up; hungrily gazing with a scrupulous eye at all this fortunately found alley has to offer. There are occult shops and cursed items, and people with dark energy. Soooo many people, and soooo much magick. My eyes briefly close as I take it all in with joy. Then, better late then never, a previously bound conscientious breaks free and battles down the dark urges within me.
With wide eyes I realize how close I was to throwing aside what little control I'd been trying to build up, and shame floods through me. Self-loathing is not far behind and I feel like I want to tear my hair out in agony. I begin to curse myself for my weakness, all the while trying to block myself off from the aromas and tantalizing suggestions whispered into my ear by something far more seductive than any human will have to face. And, as a result of all that's going on, I don't notice someone's approached until I hear the voice.
"Hello."
Startled, I spin around and take an involuntary step back to allow space for me to either fight or flee. Survival instincts are just so helpful aren't they? But, the strange and unthreatening sight that greets me causes rationality and curiosity to hold me in place.
In front of me is a man and a boy, both near identical copies of the other. The man is a little taller then me and perhaps only ten years older, and the boy is about Dawn's age, roughly fourteen or fifteen. Both carry themselves in a confident manner, though perhaps a bit too haughty for my liking, and are dressed in fine, black, and clearly expensive robes. They have blue-gray eyes, chilling and dangerous, and though the man wears his long and the boy wears his slicked back and short, their hair is the same light, almost bleached blonde shade. If it weren't for logic, I would swear that they're Spike's relatives.
The man gives a small bow, a diminutive and carefully hidden smirk on his deceptively handsome face. "I'm sorry if I startled you. It was certainly not my intention."
I shake my head softly, trying to ignore the chills that rose up my spine when I heard his smooth and unsettling voice. "No, it's all right."
I can smell the dark magick coming off of him, and unlike me I doubt he's trying to turn away from it. And so I stand up straighter, my chin held just a tad higher than before. It's best to watch your footing when staring down a tiger. Be confident, but be ready to either fight or run if it doesn't work.
The man looks amused while the boy, who I assume is either his clone or his son, is nothing more than bored and annoyed. For a moment he meets my gaze and he looks ready to curl his lip into a sneer. He decides against it though, and settles for a glare.
Such a charming child.
"So… do you have a name?" I ask, folding my arms against something other than the frigid air.
The man nods his head. "Yes, of course, forgive me. My name is Lucius. Lucius Malfoy." He indicates the boy. "This is my son, Draco." He raises an eyebrow. "And your name dear?"
I clear my throat. "It's Willow."
"Willow? A good name."
Were my eyes not already looking upon his I would have missed the momentary spark of recognition that he so hurriedly hid. This man is slick all right.
Lucius then looks at me quizzically. "So what might a young lady such as yourself be doing here in Knockturn Alley?" ever so subtly his grin changes into a leer. "I've heard this lane to be quite… dangerous, at times."
Knockturn Alley? So this is the place Hagrid warned me away from. Smart Hagrid, dumb Willow. No wonder he told me to steer clear.
"Actually, I'd been looking for Gringotts. It seems I've taken a wrong turn."
He chuckles, the sound hauntingly resembling dry leaves in an autumn wind. "Yes, you've taken quite a wrong turn indeed if you were searching for Gringotts. Quite a wrong turn indeed…"
He turns and points behind him with a black cane that had remained oblivious to me before. "Follow that way to leave here, and then turn right. Keep going straight and you'll reach the bank within minutes."
I smile softly. "Thank-you."
He raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to accompany you? It's no trouble."
I shake my head. "No, but thanks all the same. I- I think I can find it on my own." I nod my head. "Thank you again."
And then, never once looking back, I walk past them down the supposed path to Gringotts, ready to go find out where I am, and what the hell is going on.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Lucius Malfoy watches the petite but obviously powerful redhead walk away with something akin to regret. But, being strong of will and intelligence, he does not give in to his primal urges to run after her. Magick is powerful thing yes, especially the bonds it creates, but Lucius is the master of his magick, not the other way around.
But still he could not deny the temptation to ignore that, to simply let the calling within him be answered. It was, after all, such a powerful thing, and men more experienced than himself had fallen prey to it before. Unlike with magnetism, where the strongest bond was with like and unlike, types of magick sought those like itself, and that's how it's been since the beginning of wizardry. It's what made it so influential.
And Lucius had definitely heard the call and felt the pull. It amazed him that not everyone around him had felt it, (though he secretly thought it was because they were not as strong as him), but he hadn't stood still and questioned it. He'd been dropping off another load of… "Questionable" items at Burgin and Burkes, and had decided to indulge his son and let him browse the shop, when it had felt as if his entire essence had been wrapped in a warm lover's embrace that pulled at his heart and whispered promises of glory. He'd been set into a momentary trance that Mr. Borgin had finally shaken him out of with his incessant and decidedly irritating questions of worry. Once he'd come out of it he'd been a man on a mission, kamikaze or otherwise, and no one was going to stand in his way. He'd grabbed his son by the scruff of his robe and, despite the annoying and whiny protests he made in the beginning (before seeing that look in his father's eyes and realizing he needed to shut up), he'd followed without question.
He'd navigated his way down the dank and smelly alley by a feeling that burned at his core and intensified as he got nearer to the source. As he'd hunted down the cause of the sensation he'd been a jumbled mix of emotions. He'd been frightened, curious, driven, and had even had brief moments of an almost fanatic obsession to find what it was he sensed that was so seductively wonderful. And he had good reason to be like this, a reason that was the foundation for his fear.
After all, the only other times he'd felt this way had been when Lord Voldemort had summoned him. It was a terrifying revelation to even consider that there was someone near his power, let alone sense it. And as he'd drawn closer, the power slowly and painstakingly rising in intensity, he'd even feared for a few petrifying moments that it was Lord Voldemort, and that he was under disguise, and that by approaching him he'd accidentally ruin a grand plan of some sort.
But then he'd seen her.
Well, rather it wasn't her he saw, (though his mind did register the striking young woman), but her magick. The dark, swirling forces within her, the potential, the pure, raw, and unfocused power that seeped from her being and surrounded her like a morning mist. He'd become drunk on the smell of her, the mere sight of her. Such magick, a magick whose strength would only grow once she learned to control it. That magick was a realm of its own, it was more delightfully delicious than ambrosia, and it was wrapped in such a wonderfully innocent little package. But the best part of all was that she didn't even know it! She was completely and utterly oblivious to the effects it had on him, and, thinking back upon the stares she'd been receiving, on everyone around her. It was so perfect, so ideal, that Lucius had even doubted its genuineness. For to find someone with such power was a blessing in itself, but to find someone with such power who was unaware of its true potency was a gift from the gods! Sure she'd known that she had potential, he could sense that right off, but she'd had no idea, not even the faintest clue as to exactly how much she had.
And that worked just fine for Lucius. Because he'd decided that such a remarkable person should not remain anonymous forever, not with the opportunities that she could give the Dark Lord, and her finding out about it would be… disappointing.
"Dad," Draco says, reminding his father that he's not alone. "You spent all your time chatting with that insignificant red-head, and it's getting late and cold, and I still haven't eaten, and-"
Lucius sneers. "Be silent. It's not your place to question how I spend my time. We're going back to the manor now so stop your complaining. If you want food then order the house elves to fix you some when we return."
His son folds his arms and snorts the equivalent of a 'humph!' before sullenly following his father down the path into the night, wondering in the back of his mind just who the girl was, and why she was so important that her father took the time to assist her. But he put that thought away because, as his grumbling stomach reminded him, there were other, more important things to take care of.
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