Lost: Young Man, Answers to Harry

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Bill Weasley felt a thrill run through him as he took in his surroundings. He was standing on a wide Parisian street, flanked by almost two hundred other witches and wizards, and the air was electric with the excitement that was building as the crowd marched. They were here to protest the French Ministry of Magic's new legislation on werewolves, and they didn't care who saw them – wizards, muggles, or otherwise.

The French Ministry was very concerned about this recklessness. Despite long negotiations, the organisers of the protest, the French pro-werewolf group that called itself LUNAR (Lycanthropes Unifiez le Nerf Actionner pour la Reconnaissance), had refused to hold the protest in one of the tiny all-wizard magical shopping districts. Instead, they were marching on a public Paris street, in front of every bemused muggle they passed.

And there was plenty to see. Huge banners, many bewitched to flash bright colours or to move and change their words, were hoisted above the heads of the crowd. They bore slogans such as "MY BEST FRIEND IS A WEREWOLF!", "SAVAGERY – IN THE PAW OF THE BEHOLDER" and "DON'T JUDGE ME BY MOONLIGHT!" Placards with the symbols of pro-werewolf groups were held high and waved back and forth, and many of the protesters were wearing shirts or badges with the French word MARQUE crossed out by a vicious red slash.

"Come on, Bill!" Iolanthe grabbed his hand and dragged him into the crowd, her dark curls bobbing eagerly. It was she that had convinced Bill to come to this rally. Iolanthe had always stood up for the underdog and she loved a good cause, or anything she could rebel against. It was just another thing the love-struck Weasley adored about his girlfriend. Iolanthe was a head shorter than Bill, and she was rather buxom young lady with a wide smile and a hawk-like nose. For the occasion, she had bewitched herself a T-Shirt that glittered with the thick black words FUR FRIEND. Bill draped one arm around her as she raised her fist and began to sing with the crowd.

The English speakers in the march were calling, "NO ROPE FOR THE LYCANTHROPE!", a swelling, roaring chant that rolled over the bystanders and flowed ahead of the marchers to their destination, a large square where a podium had been erected. This chant was almost overwhelmed by the chorus of "Vous êtes fou!" from the French werewolf supporters. One girl, dressed in a lime green cloak with the words I LOVE LYCANTHROPY! Embroidered across the back, sat on her friend's shoulders, waving a flag upon which was written "HEY! YOU'RE A CARNIVORE TOO!"

At last, the growing crowd reached the square and gathered around the podium. A woman dressed in scarlet and gold robes was standing in front of a magical microphone, shooting sparks into the air to get attention. Officials from the French Ministry were desperately rushing back and forth, trying to convince the crowd to stop the spells and charms being performed in broad daylight. At last, the chanting faded away and the woman on the podium began to speak.

"Thank you all," she called in a heavy French accent, "eet fills my 'eart wiz joy to see so many passionate witches and wizards 'oo 'ave arrived today to support our cause. My name ees Anne Laurent and I am ze leader of Wives of Werewolves United," at her words, screams and cheers broke out from a cluster at the back who were waving flags with WWU printed on them. Anne Laurent raised her hand and there was silence once more, "but truly, a more accurate name would be ze Widows of Werewolves," she said to the still crowd, "for so many good women 'ave lost zere good 'usbands, sons and brothers, and so many kind men 'ave lost wives, sisters and daughters, to ze prejudice that 'as saturated our society, our 'omes, and even our Ministry, which in its blind corruption seeks to cast out ze innocent werewolves…"

She went on for several more minutes, switching to French each time she finished a paragraph in English, her speech occasionally punctuated by more cheers and flag-waving. Iolanthe cheered loudest of all, waving her arms since she had no flag.

"…but for now I will concede the stand to Mallory Algernon, ze prezident of PAWR, the People Against Werewolf Repression, who 'as travelled from London today to speak to us…" Anne Laurent joined in the clapping as a blue-robed man stepped up to the microphone. A group of young students at the front raised an enormous banner that half-blocked Bill's view. It had a picture of a sad-looking young man with a chain around his neck printed below the words "WHO'S THE ANIMAL NOW?"

"Thank you, thank you," Algernon waved down the ministry officials who were trying to restrain the flag-bearers, "it is a pleasure to be here today to support the French Werewolf community in their time of need. Most of you will remember my brother, Kyle, a man who was openly proud of his lycanthropy. Six years ago he was cursed to death by a crowd of witches and wizards who believed he was behind the mauling of a young girl who, it turned out, had been attacked by a common grindylow. Kyle was eighteen years old when he died – and I am here today to try and prevent the deaths of other young werewolves who already live in terror of discovery. If the French Ministry goes through with its plans to brand these blameless brothers and sisters…"

Algernon talked about the Ministry's intentions and about public ignorance for another few minutes. Interested though he was, Bill couldn't help being distracted by the colourful supporters around him. He saw that another crowd, a mix of interested wizards and curious muggles, was forming across the square, while the ministry officials tried to convince them to move one. A fight seemed to have broken out between one official and a heavy-set man brandishing his wand in a porky fist.

"Look," Bill nudged Iolanthe and she frowned as the heavy-set man pushed the official roughly aside and made a beeline for the podium. His face was full of grim resolve. When he reached the podium, a few protesters tried to stand in his way, but he fired a shower of black smoke into the air with a sound like a gunshot and suddenly all eyes, even Algernon's, were on him.

The man elbowed his way up to where Algernon stood and shoved him aside. Algernon grabbed the microphone and pulled it out of the man's reach, but the man had magically magnified his voice with a sonorus charm and he began to bellow out across the crowd.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves!" he roared, as the crowd began to rumble and sway in anger, "every one of these beasts, these monsters, should be put to the axe, and you fools are trying to help them?" he was English, but his voice sounded slurred, as if he was slightly drunk, "I ask you, where were was your help when a werewolf killed my Cosette? You should be ashamed!"

Bill's grip on Iolanthe's arm tightened, "we've got to do something," he muttered, "this guy is about to lose it."

Apparently Anne Laurent was thinking the same thing. She put her hand on the man's shoulder and said something to him in a warning tone, drawing her wand as she did so. The man paused, then suddenly twisted, grabbed the French woman's arm and before she could cast a spell, he had hurled her off the podium and into the crowd. A roar broke out as the protesters surged forwards, murder in their eyes.

Then the man raised his wand, cried a curse, and chaos broke out.

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Afterwards, Bill could not quite make sense of what happened. He could remember screams – whose screams, he could never quite figure out – and he clutched Iolanthe's hand as the crowd was ripped apart. Most of the protesters seemed to be dropping their placards and banners and fleeing, while the rest of them were clambering onto the podium, many with wands drawn, to try and subdue the man. As the crowd began to clear a little, Bill suddenly saw what had caused the panic.

The curse the man had loosed had cut a wide swath through the crowd, and people who had been caught in the blast lay where they had fallen. There was blood spilled across the tarseal of the road and the sharp smell of burning in the air. Bill and Iolanthe were pushed back and forth in the stampede, and her hand was torn out of his grip as he stared in horror at the bodies spread in front of the podium. Then he saw her swept away, across the road towards the shocked bystanders who were milling in panic.

Bill drew his wand and plunged after Iolanthe. He suddenly heard another rumble and turned to see flame engulf the podium, sending people flying. The man emerged through the smoke, and bent almost double he crashed forward, but he was still on his feet. People fled before him, or crouched to try and protect the wounded who lay around him. The man, who seemed to be half-stunned, ran in the only clear direction, which was towards the swaying crowd of muggles and wizard bystanders.

Bill looked back at the crowd. The ministry officials were trying to force the people back so that the man's path would be clear, while more officials drew their wands, trying to get a clear shot at him without hitting the crowd. Still more officials were rounding up protestors and stunning them where they stood, but Bill did not pay attention to this strange action.

There was only one person left between the man and the line of ministry officials holding back the crowd. It was a little girl in short blue robes who had tripped and was lying on her side, raising herself onto one arm and blinking in confusion, shaking her blonde head and crying out in French. Bill saw the man blundering towards her, wand still raised, and sprinted to head him off. He reached the fallen girl before the maddened wizard and lifted her right off her feet. He turned and stumbled backwards as the man barrelled towards him, and then dashed for the safety of the crowd. A young, silver-haired woman struggling to get past a ministry official shrieked at him, "Gabrielle! Gabrielle!" her arms were outstretched.

Bill realised she wanted the little girl and ran towards her. He pressed the child into her welcoming arms and briefly took in the relief that was glowing on her beautiful face before he heard the man shout. Bill turned and saw, through a gap in the crowd, Iolanthe with her arm raised, waving to him.

And then there was a whoosh like water rushing through a pipe and the madman let loose another huge blast from his wand. Everything in front of him was engulfed in a wave of scorching magic.

Bill was knocked to the ground and his vision went black for the briefest moment. When he opened his eyes he scrambled to his feet, but his ears were full of ringing and he couldn't walk straight. People were fleeing in all directions and the madman was lying face-down, not moving. Then Bill saw Iolanthe.

She lay on her back, surrounded by the living or dead bodies of other bystanders, one arm stretched out as if still reaching for him. Her eyes were blinking and she shuddered, once, but there was blood spreading across her shirt and something had happened to her legs that he couldn't look at. He found he was running towards her, shouting.

Something hit him in the back and he fell so hard he nearly passed out again. A ministry official had fired his wand at him and suddenly ropes were wrapping around Bill's wrists, forcing his hands behind his back. Officials were swarming everywhere, yelling to each other, and one of them grabbed Bill's ponytail and forced him to stay down.

"You're under arrest," the official was shouting in French, which Bill did not speak fluently, "for participating in a violent gathering and the use of magic in front of muggles."

"Let me go!" he yelled, trying to buck the man off, but he was so dizzy and weak from the blast he could only struggle lamely, "she's hurt! Let me go!"

Nobody could hear him over all the screams and shouts. He watched Iolanthe shudder again, and her head tilted a little to look at him. He could see her breath coming in tiny gulps and blood flecking her lips. Another protester next to him was forcibly subdued but Bill did not even turn his head. He watched as his Iolanthe stopped shivering and lay still, her eyes half-open.

Someone was pulling him to his feet and marching him away, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Amongst all the panic and the shouts, all the people running back and forth, Iolanthe lay still and did not move, one arm still stretched out towards him.

"You idiots!" the protester who had been arrested next to Bill was shouting, and Bill realised the young wizard was English and looked vaguely familiar, "people are hurt! They need help – why are you bothering with us? People are wounded!" he had brown hair flecked with grey, and a kind face that was twisted in fury as he struggled with the official that was holding him, "let us help them! They're wounded!"

Another of the ministry men slapped the young protester so hard Bill saw blood burst from a split lip, "shut up, werewolf," he snarled, and then began to order his men in French, "take them away. All of the protestors you can find. They have brought this about, now they will pay for it."

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TBC

Very Bad French Translations (because I don't speak French, so feel free to correct me!):

Lycanthropes Unifiez le Nerf Actionner pour la Reconnaissance (LUNAR): This translates, very roughly, very badly, to "Werewolves Unite the Spirit (as in stamina, strength) to Work for Recognition".

Marque: this is the only word I could find that means "Brand" (as in mark) but in French it is used mostly for a company brand, or a trademark, or a score, and the dictionary went on to say it often means "high-class" or "distiguished", which, or course, fits the story not at all.

Vous êtes fou: I know this one is correct. It just means "You are being fools!" or "You are crazy!" since, after the LUNAR translation debacle, I didn't have the heart to think up a clever French chant for the protestors.

I guess, all in all, I should just have set this chapter in Japan, because at least I can speak Japanese and I know how to write a Japanese accent. Ah well, that's the way it goes. Lay your criticisms on me. Go ahead, I can take 'em.