The Lost
by: Neri Esle
Chapter 3
September 12, 1981
"Up!"
She hadn't expected her broom to jump into her hand on the first try, but she was surprised that it had moved at all. Quickly, Helen glanced around at the other first years around her. Ivy's hadn't moved. Min, Helen's fellow Ravenclaw, had more luck, and her broom hovered just under her hand for a moment before dropping back to the ground.
There was a great shout of excitement. Helen saw one boy... a Gryffindor with light brown, curly hair and an enormous grin... raising his fist in triumph, his broom gripped in his other hand. So far, it looked like he was the only one who had been successful.
Suddenly feeling annoyed that a stupid piece of wood should outsmart her, Helen commanded, a bit more loudly, "Up!" Her broom rose off the ground and hovered a few feet closer to her hand... before dropping back to the ground.
To her left, Holly let out a stream of curses when her broom began to slowly sink to the ground.
"Ms. Baker, if I hear words like those from your mouth again it will be ten points from Ravenclaw!" Madam Hooch barked.
Third time was always the charm, Helen told herself. She took a deep breath, glared at the stupid broom at her feet for a few moments, and willed it into her hand. "UP!"
"HA!" She hadn't meant to shout it, but the smack of wood against her hand surprised her, and she gripped the broom before it could think of drifting back to the ground again. Looking around excitedly, she saw more than a few people watching her jealously. The Gryffindor boy who made it on his first try winked at her, and she blushed and looked away, feeling a bit more eager to begin. Was this something she would be good at?
Helen gripped her broom and watched everyone around her struggle. A silvery-haired, miserable-looking Slytherin girl got hold of her broom just after Helen had. Gilderoy's broom was spinning on the ground as he stuck his arm out, commanding "Up!" fruitlessly.
Finally, poor Ivy snatched her broom up before it could sink any closer to the ground and held it against her with red cheeks as Madame Hooch prepared them to mount and fly their brooms for the first time.
Helen gripped her broom with both hands, jittery with nerves. Across from her, a tiny Hufflepuff girl looked ready to faint. The Gryffindor boy whose broom obeyed him immediately was standing on his toes, as if they were the only thing holding him to the ground.
Helen jumped as Madam Hooch's whistle blew, and she pushed off the ground with her feet, feeling a bit foolish, like she was jumping with a broom between her legs.
Only she didn't land.
"Whoa!" Min let out an excited squeal as she rose alongside Helen. Down the row, the Gryffindor boy actually raised a fist in triumph, floating the highest of them all.
The silvery-haired Slytherin girl's miserable face broke into raucous laughter as she watched Gilderoy prancing around below, his broom losing twigs with every skip.
"Ivy!" Helen hissed down. Ivy looked up, her face red and anxious. "Don't be scared! It's not scary!"
"It won't… I can't…" Ivy sounded close to tears.
Instinctively leaning forward, Helen gasped as she began to descend until her toes touched the ground gently next to the distraught Ivy.
"I can't do it!" Tears sparkled in Ivy's green eyes. "My parents aren't wizards… I don't know how to do any of this!"
"It's okay," Helen reassured her as more and more students rose up around them, Madam Hooch barking orders in the background. "Plenty of famous Quidditch players are muggleborn! Just… pretend you're riding a horse. My Mum says it's like that… a skinny, flying horse."
Thankfully, Helen saw Ivy's eyes narrow in determination. She took a few steadying breaths and held the broom still. By now, she and Helen were the only ones left on the ground.
"Just… just know you can do it, and then…"
"And then liftoff!" The Gryffindor boy swooped by their heads, laughing triumphantly. A moment later Madam Hooch flew by, shouting for him to slow down.
"Nice and easy," Helen reassured Ivy, standing next to her.
Ivy took a deep breath, her eyes closed. Helen waited, saw Ivy's knees bend slightly, and together they pushed up…
…and kept going up!
Ivy opened her eyes and gasped as the ground slowly fell away. She let out a screech as Gilderoy flew rather too close, chasing a feather he saw in the breeze.
"Class! No flying away! Descend now! Back to the ground!" Madam Hooch shouted as most of the students zoomed around the air, exhilarated with their newfound freedom.
"This is.. this is absolutely… amazing…" Ivy was wide-eyed, wind blowing her short hair all over. Helen laughed at her expression. Ivy looked over at Helen, and broke out in the first grin Helen had seen her make. "We're flying!"
As they retreated back to the castle after the lesson ended, Ivy chattered nonstop.
"And once you said it was like riding a horse, well, then I knew I could do it! I have horses at home, you see. Thoroughbreds. I ride horses. Ever since I could walk. So maybe I could be… I could be really good at this! And what was that word you said earlier? Kiddle, or Kitch, or…"
"What… you mean Quidditch?" Helen asked.
"Yes… what is that?"
The silvery-blonde Slytherin girl suddenly brushed past Ivy and muttered something before pulling ahead and joining the rest of the Slytherins as they entered the castle. Moments after she joined them, they all looked back at Helen and Ivy, snickered, and walked faster.
Helen looked at Ivy and saw her frowning. "What?"
Ivy blinked several times, still frowning. "She said… mudblood. What's that mean?"
Helen gasped. Ivy looked at her quizzically, and Helen, trying to cover up her reaction, shook her head and shrugged. "No idea."
Helen could tell Ivy didn't believe her, but Helen wasn't going to tell her friend that she'd just been called the most derogatory term in wizarding language. How dare that Slytherin girl use that language! Just who did she think she was, anyway?
Helen found out in her next class with the Slytherins, paying close attention when Professor McGonagall took role. And Helen's heart sank.
Narcissa Black.
November 5, 1981
Skunk patronus leading the way, Grimes walked through the miserable corridors of Azkaban, shivering in the chill that was worst in the morning. Urlig and the few other wizarding guards had chosen the night before to celebrate the downfall of You-Know-Who; not only was You-Know-Who no longer a threat, but the Ministry would surely be increasing everyone's salaries at the prison, with the influx of Death Eaters that were arriving daily.
So while Urlig and the others were sleeping off a nasty hangover, Grimes, clear-headed and completely sober, went to inspect Prisoner 900487 more closely.
Thank Merlin, he'd stopped screaming. He hadn't shut up, oh no. He was muttering and whimpering in his sleep, his voice broken from days of shrieks. Grimes could hear as he approached, "Helen… Hel…en… Helen… Ab…gail…"
Grimes stopped in front of the cell, his skunk patronus circling his ankles affectionately. 900487 was on his side on the ground, knees drawn up in the fetal position, his face tense. He was too tense to be asleep, yet he didn't appear lucid.
Grimes drew closer, holding his wand out into the cell for more light. The muscles and tendons Prisoner 900487's face were strained and twitchy. Grimes thought he made out blood at the corners of the prisoner's mouth, as if he had bitten his tongue or lip. Perhaps the blast backwards had harmed him…
Like a disobedient pet, Grimes's skunk had wandered into the cell and now approached the prisoner.
"Hey… get back here!" Grimes hissed at his wandering patronus. This had certainly never happened before!
The prisoner's eyes flashed open, and Grimes's silver skunk scuttled back to Grimes's feet.
Grimes readied his ears for the onslaught of cries for "Helen!" that were sure to come, now that the prisoner was awake.
But the man just lay there, blinked, and turned his head slowly to look at Grimes. Grimes stared back.
There was several seconds of blissful silence, where all Grimes could hear were the waves outside, breaking against the side of the prison. Then the prisoner opened his mouth and Grimes's blood pressure rose.
"Where's Helen?"
An actual question! Not a shout, not a deranged demand… a civilized, actual question! And before he could stop himself, Grimes responded, "Who's Helen?"
The man's mouth tightened, his face tensed. Grimes thought he'd start shouting again. But the prisoner croaked, "My wife."
"Your wife."
The prisoner nodded. He seemed to be struggling with himself, as if deciding whether to start shouting again, or start crying, or continue with his few moments of sanity.
"You have a wife?"
The man nodded. Those were definitely tears in his eyes. "But…" He went silent.
"I can get a message to her." Stupid, stupid! Why had he suggested that? Grimes mentally punched himself. No way would Ulrig allow something like that!
And the prisoner was shaking his head, too, and tears were spilling down his face. "No… no, that would not be possible."
Grimes couldn't control himself this morning, and blurted out, "Why?"
"She's dead."
Grimes frowned. "Sorry."
The prisoner shook his head. "I think… I think I killed her."
Chapter 4 should be here soon!