ALLERFORD, SOMERSET, ENGLAND
Continued from before
Hermione was warm. She eased into wakefulness, stretching with care. She stretched a bit and a bit more and as she opened her eyes and the bedroom came into focus, she squeaked and tumbled into the floor. She stared around in wide-eyed fear, her heart protesting with painful thuds in her chest.
As the familiarity of the bedroom and the memories of Christie and his offer flooded in, Hermione leaned back against the side of the mattress, her hand over her chest, trying to slow her breathing. When she calmed down, she stood up, untangling herself from the covers.
Sunlight was trying to peek through the edges of the heavy curtains. Hermione gathered up a faded pair of high-waisted khaki pants and a simple blouse and headed towards the bathroom. Her limbs were lethargic and weak but otherwise she felt wonderful.
When she ambled into the kitchen a few minutes later, she found Christie on a stool at the peninsula bar. He was munching on cheese toast, his feet crossed at his ankles on the three-legged stool next to him while he perused a laptop perched on the edge of his lap.
"Welll, look who's alive. Morning, girlie."
Hermione rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her arms once more. She smiled at him. "Good morning. How long was I out?"
Christie chuckled. "Hmm, about three days now."
Hermione stared out the window, aghast. "Three days?"
"Aye."
"How on earth—"
Christie waved his hand in the air before him in a dismissive gesture and set the laptop on the worktop of the peninsula and turned it towards her so she could see what he was reading. "Never mind that, ye needed it. Now, how'd ye like t' see what's really going on?"
Hermione sat down on the stool next to him after he lowered his feet and her eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Christie?"
Christie leaned forward and grinned, his eyes intense. "I'm talking about a wee little thing called The Fifth Column, otherwise known as The Muggle Resistance."
Hermione's brain started whirring. The Muggle Resistance. The words were like a jolt of espresso to her bloodstream.
Christie grinned. "They're all in an uproar, you know. Ye should see the Americans. There's a hotheaded lot, no mistake." He paused. "There're plenty that just fall in line. But, there are people around the world who don't have enough sense t' stand down. Mind ye, I'm one of them."
Hermione skimmed through the forum. Titles jumped out at her. Emergency ONLY, Help needed; Black Market; Known Safe Houses, Lost and Found, The Fallen, and Ask a Rebel were a few of the many threads.
"How does it work?"
"Rumour has it that this one and a few other boards were started by the first rebels, what was left of The Order. Though, ah, no one knows for sure who, or anything. Everything is anonymous."
Hermione stood and took a step back, needing air. The Order was still active, it was out there, somewhere. All of a sudden, her whole body was shaking.
"Ye alright there, girlie?"
Hermione's hands rose up to cover her mouth and she was embarrassed to find she was about to burst into tears. She closed her eyes and nodded once, then stood there for a second, trying to breathe around the feelings that were choking her. Christie steered her around and led her to the living room. He made her sit down on the couch and opened a nearby window, letting in a cool breeze.
Hermione cradled her forehead, leaning in towards the wind. It took her a few minutes to gain control; she breathed in and out deeply through her nose, fighting off the almost-fainting spell the spike in emotion had caused.
"Tis a bit much t' take in. Aye, I know that."
Hermione leaned back against the couch after a few minutes and opened her eyes. She found Christie leaning back against the couch as well, patiently cleaning out his fingernails with a pocketknife. Hermione smiled. She smiled the biggest smile she'd possibly ever smiled in her life.
"I want to help."
"Aye." Christie's Cheshire grin expanded and his eyes looked more than a little fierce. "Aye—suspected ye would."
After a quick breakfast of pancakes (pancakes!) and warm ginger root tea, Hermione began to set up an email account.
"Sometimes, the best place to hide is in plain sight. We get away with a lot online," Christie smiled, "but still, never use your real name, though I doubt I'd be needin' t' tell ye that. Och, can hardly believe ye told me, especially right off, t' be honest."
Hermione nodded, blushing. "I had a strong feeling about you. That you were trustworthy. You...you reminded me of Harry and all of my friends, you know." She sighed. "Looking back now, it was a perfectly reckless thing to do."
It was a few seconds before Christie spoke, and when he did, his voice was filled with a great deal of respect. "Ye've made me day, girlie. Compared t' the likes of him! Trusty lad, wasn'ee?"
Hermione's throat clogged up and her voice was thick when she answered. "Yes. The trustiest."
"He's watchin' out for ye, ye know."
Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes, feeling as though she might burst into tears after all. "I...I think you must be right."
"Aye, 'course I am! Even a broken clock is right two times in one day."
Hermione smiled, then asked, "Christie, can you please tell me what's been going on? What I missed?"
He sighed. "I don't think I should tell ye all of it. It's too...ah, tis hard t' even say. You missed a lot while you were imprisoned." Christie paused and watched Hermione's face for signs that she couldn't handle what he was about to tell her. "Rumour has it most major cities are abandoned or overrun by gangs. But that's not the worst of it, not even close. There was an…an event." He paused. There was no good way to explain any of it. "People all over the world, they just disappeared."
Hermione trembled. "What-what do you mean? How could...?"
Christie sighed. "Tis...tis hard t' explain. Chowderheads everywhere were hollerin' about The Rapture and all sorts of nonsense, but their heads are full of hot air; more clueless than a box of dandruff, if you ask me." He grunted in annoyance. "This wasn't that. It was like…like an imitation. A power-play. For one thing, all of the politicians, poof, gone. Let me ask you, is there anything less convincing than a politician claiming to be Christian? Maybe a few are —maybe — but all of them?" He shook his head. "No, I knew it was never anything like that. Something else was going on. And cities were hit the hardest. Capitols. Anything and anyone that could stand in the way of you-know-who's rise to power."
Christie leaned back in his seat. "It sounds like I'm making it up, I know. The objective, in my opinion, was chaos. The Fall of Civilization. I guess I'm lucky I was never rich and powerful! But it was—it was a very scary time. The sun and moon turned red; I'll never forget that as long as I live. The skies rained fire, and water, it turned t' blood. Lord Whatsit, it was everywhere that he was gonna stop the death and the destruction. He lifted the plagues, as he called them, turnin' oceans and lakes and everythin' back t' water. The skies cleared. Many of those left worshipped him. Called him a hero. Called him a god." Christie shook his head. "I cannot brag about much, lass, but I can say I never fell for the act."
It took Hermione a few minutes to collect her thoughts and when she met Christie's eye, she was still in disbelief.
"We'll discuss it more later. It's a lot to adjust to. Now then. How about your username? What would you like to use?"
Hermione blinked for a moment, her attention coming back to the laptop in front of her. Her fingers drummed over the keyboard a few seconds without inputting anything. Then, she typed Melchisedec. Christie logged into the forum and sent an invitation to her new email address.
Hermione took notice of his username. "TwistinHay." She shook her head, at a loss. "What does that mean?"
Christie winked at her. "In Ireland, if yer twistin' hay, yer startin' trouble."
Melchisedec :: what Sara Crewe names the rat she befriends in The Little Princess.
Fifth Column :: clandestine group or faction of subversive agents who attempt to undermine a nation's solidarity by any means at their disposal.
