Chapter VII: Sea and Riddle
When the breath escaped his lungs, it fell out in a clattered exhale. It returned in a shaky inhale, his chest screaming from being forced to stretch just that minuscule amount.
"I could do this all day, Comrade." someone said. "But I do not wish too." He wanted to laugh at that. There were few things Ivan Braginsky enjoyed more than watching ministry employees twitch, well maybe that and sunflowers and alcohol.
Another shaky breath. His eyes trained expertly on the rips in his slacks, the bangs of his white hair, but he dared a smile. "You're not as clever as you think. Your tricks are the same. Your desires never change. They're not as awesome as ours." His head lifted, despite the way bolts of white-hot pain nearly blinded him from the action. Sneering at the violet-eyes in front of him, eyes that dared look innocent, eyes that would haunt him for many, many years. "You're not getting that file, you stupid son of a bitch."
Ivan grinned, chills seeping down his spine like a river of dark water, then spreading across his arms, chest, legs. The cold gripped him like a curtain of winter. "You are right. All I need is him." Before he could come up with another witty remark, Ivan's wand was pointed at his chest, over his heart.
"Crucio."
This time, all he saw was blissful darkness.
Alfred was pretty sure that Arthur getting fired had not been part of the plan.
He was also pretty sure that Arthur disappearing had most definitely not been part of the plan either.
His back had started to ache from where it was cramped against the back of the desk. Arthur's boss was taking his sweet time talking to the witch and returning the file they'd nearly nabbed off of the desk. Alfred cursed, he would probably be stuck as a hunchback the rest of his life if this man didn't leave in the next few minutes.
"Sir," the witch began, her voice small. "I'm not sure I understand."
Arthur's boss scoffed and threw his hand over his shoulder. "Good. Because that file is something that could destroy the ministry's reputation as we know it. Britain would be the joke of the wizarding world. Foolish Kirkland would probably bring it right into the Kontrabanda's grimy hands." He picked up a newspaper from his desk, a freshly-printed copy of the Daily Prophet. Alfred managed a glance at the cover, the front page a story about a missing auror. He felt sick thinking about what Arthur's photo was the one on the cover.
He didn't even know where Arthur was. He'd been standing hardly five feet from Alfred minutes before, when there was a pop, and when Alfred blinked he was gone. He could be anywhere, risking his life or in trouble, or even just lost, and Alfred was stuck here, uselessly cramped under a desk with a pile of books that barely covered him up.
"Don't you think sending him too the Centaur's Office was a bit extensive?" The witch asked.
"I'm afraid, Arthur Kirkland already knows far too much." Arthur's boss continued "But, perhaps now he'll finally learn not to stick his blasted nose where it doesn't belong."
The witch was silent as Arthur's boss shoved the file back into a large box, only feet away from Alfred's foot. He curled up even tighter, hands covering his mouth. The box latched shut and Alfred watched as Arthur's boss slipped the key inside a potted plant. Alfred raised a skeptical eyebrow. Even a muggle could think of a better place than a plant to hide a key.
"What was in the file?" The witch asked, glancing around. "Was it the Kontrabanda? And what they want?"
Arthur's boss gave a grim nod. "Yes. Kirkland seems too think they are actually back. Which is preposterous. I defeated the leader, Ivan Braginski myself a few years ago, saw him fall cold. Never did find the body. Someone claimed to have sent it through the veil.
"You don't find this the least bit suspicious?" The witch said.
"None. The man who claimed to have done it is a very trusted advisor of mine and a very talented auror at that. Nothing close to Potter, but still a damn good Auror. I'd trust them with my life." He paused too light a pipe with his wand. Alfred didn't even know they still made pipes. "What is in that file is nothing that will concern any of us again."
The witch looked more than a little tempted to argue otherwise, but wisely chose to remain silent. Gawain took a puff from the pipe before he grabbed a different bunch of papers from off the desk and walked out of the room. "What we do need to worry about is that german auror who went missing." He tapped the paper with his wand before opening the door, the witch following behind with hesitant footsteps.
Alfred only dared let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding until the door on the other side of the room clicked shut, and their footsteps and voices faded away. He crawled out from under the desk and cringed when he heard his back pop.
Alfred turned around to face the odd-looking plant that Gawain had hidden the key in. It had large pincers, that loosely resembled a venus fly trap, and an unsightly wrinkled face etched into the thick stem. The face glared at him, before spatting out a wad of dirt that landed near Alfred's shoe.
You know, at this point Alfred had stopped being surprised.
"I don't know what in the blazes you think you're doing here muggle, but you better get the hell out of here." The plant's voice was nasally and deep, but the scowl reminded him slightly of Arthur's. Although, he was pretty sure that Arthur would jynx him if he ever found out that Alfred had just compared him to a house plant.
"Look," Alfred began and the plant frowned at his accent. "I need that key. It's uh, highly important. So I think it would be best if you just handed it over-" he reached forward to dig into the dirt around the plant when one of the pincers came down on his hand and pinched, drawing a fair amount of blood. He drew back his hand sharply with a strong hiss and curse.
"Ouch! Dude, a polite no would have been just fine!" Alfred grimaced, covering up his bleeding hand. The plant shot him a smug glare. Maybe he should just turn the pot over and the whole thing over with.
"Look okay, I really need that key, so I think it would probably be best if you don't make me uproot you here."
The plant's smug smile turned thoughtful for a moment before it transformed into a smirk that instantly made Alfred's stomach drop uncomfortably. The plant clicked a pincer. "I will if you can answer this riddle."
His stomach plummeted even further as if he'd just been thrown over the side of a cliff. Riddles had never been his strong point. In fact, if asked to answer a riddle or write an essay on Shakespeare, he'd probably take Hamlet. He was sure that he didn't have much of a choice and he sighed. "Alright."
The planned grinned. "Lovely. You get three guesses." He nodded even as a fresh quell of nervousness worked it's way up his spine. "What is brown and sticky?" He asked.
Well, about a million options ran through his head. Caramel, maple syrup, mud, the goop at the bottom of Arthur's oven, melted beans…
He also knew there was no way a riddle could be that easy. Brown and sticky, brown and sticky, brown and sticky…
God, who invented riddles?
The plant drummed its leafy hand against the edge of the pot, his eyes wondering boredly as he vacantly pretended to check his watch. Bastard. Brown and sticky, brown and sticky… Sticky! Of course!
"A stick!" Alfred exclaimed. "It's definitely a stick."
The plant threw a handful of dirt at him, the scowl back and nastier than ever. "I'll tell you, telling that sort of joke is enough to keep every girl away from you for at least ten years." He rubbed the back of his neck before remembering the whole reason why he'd had to solve that riddle and talk to a plant. "So, Mr. Plant, where is that key?"
The plant grumbled some more, but finally pulled the key of the dirt and placed it in Alfred's outstretched palm, he pulled his hand away before the plant could change its mind, and rubbed the dirt off with a corner of his shirt. "Thank you."
The plant nodded stiffly while Alfred leaned down and opened the chest. About a dozen different locks clicked open and the chest slid open carefully. Inside, there were mounds and mounds of old books and other case files that appeared similar to the one on the Kontrabanda. There were also a few sketchy looking objects, and what Alfred was nearly sure was an actual unicorn horn.
He ignored the other objects and carefully picked up the file on the Kontrabanda that they needed before shutting the chest closed, relocking it, and burying the key back into the pot. The grumpy plant watched him the entire time, and just as Alfred was turning to go the plant called out to him, "Wait!"
Alfred spun and sent the plant a questionable look as it shifted again inside the pot. "Yes?"
"I know how you can get out of here."
This caused Alfred to pause. He was hoping he could find the visitor's entrance and leave that way, but something told him that was a one-way deal. He didn't know any other way out of here for someone who didn't have an ounce of magic in his blood.
"If they see you here they'll probably wipe your memory after a lot of extensive questioning." The plant explained, his voice was softer and his squashed-in eyes kept glancing around. "But if you're careful you can reach a staircase on the fourth floor, 'Department for the Care and Regulation of Magical Creatures'. On the second hallway to the left, there's a portrait of a mermaid. I want you to talk to her and tell her Sir Foliage sent you."
Alfred nodded, copying every one of his sentences into his mind. He had a strong feeling this might be his only chance to get out of here. "How will she help me?" He asked tentatively.
"There's a winding staircase behind her that should lead both up and down. If you follow it up, to the very top, you'll eventually push past another portrait into a bathroom. You'll have to be careful to not let any muggles see you come out, but you'll be on the surface."
Alfred's face fell into a thankful grin, and the weight of an elephant eased off his shoulders, one he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. Maybe someone really was looking out for him after all. "Thank you, Sir. Is there anything I can do to repay you? As the hero I am?"
Sir Foliage scoffed but smiled lightly. "No, muggle. Now go, go before you are found. There isn't much time before this place is swarmed with workers." Alfred nodded and gave a half sarcastic salute and another quick thanks, before he turned and ran out the room, his feet thudding against the wooden boards before bursting out of the door into the spinning room, the file kept close to his chest.
It took him only a few doors before he found the exit hallway, stumbling for a moment in the darkness before his hand caught on the wall, the door slamming shut behind him. It sounded like a bullet in the quiet blanket the corridor was wrapped in.
He allowed himself a quick glance up and down the hallway, but with a sigh of relief found it emptier than a poor man's pocket. He dodged quickly between the pockets of light the green torches on the wall gave before he reached the elevator, and the doors rattled open easily for him.
Alfred had never been a religious man, but when the doors opened and the elevator was vacant, he was sure that some greater force was watching out for him. He had no knife, or gun, or even a baseball bat of some sort. He didn't have anything to defend himself with, and he didn't think that a few punches could do much against men and women with magic that could do anything to him with only a flick of a wand. The file tucked inside his jacket seemed much heavier with those thoughts in mind.
He listened as the crisp voice announced each floor too him. Muggle elevators were much faster because they didn't stop at every damn floor there was, and each time the elevator opened Alfred felt his heart quicken and his limbs stiffen like bowstrings. He only ever saw a few people on a floor, and they never so much as glanced at him.
Finally, the grates opened to level four, "Department for Regulations and Control of Magical Creatures" and Alfred slipped out, amazed at how quiet he could be when he really wanted to be. Matthew would be proud.
This floor was much better lit than the department of mysteries and was divided up into many different hallways. He could hear squawking and odd noises, as well as human voices coming around a corner. He stilled, pressing himself against the corner, his hands balling into protective fists at his sides.
"Yeah, apparently the dragon went wild. Weren't able to control it." Said one of the voices, the accent sounded Scottish.
"Apparently not." Came the second voice. "Killed three muggles! Three! And with Beilschmidt missing, the ministry is in a lot of trouble right now. Wasting too many resources and trying too hard to cover everything up too..."
The conversation faded as the speakers walked past the corner and disappeared around another. Alfred's fists uncurled and he glanced back up at the sign labeled "Department of house Elves". When someone shouted "Hey, Muggle! Whatchya think yer doing here?"
Alfred spun around so fast that the man wasn't expecting the hard sock to the left side of his face. He stumbled back grasping at his face and pulling a wand from his coat pocket. Alfred kicked him hard in the groin, and the man gave a wheeze of pain before collapsing over, the wand falling from his grip.
Well, maybe a fist could do more than he thought.
He picked up the man's wand and threw it down the hallway before he turned and ran, his heartbeat a rush in his ears. His breath too loud. He was no longer sure where he was, he wasn't really sure of anything anymore.
Second hallway. That was right.
He dared himself to backtrack and ran down the second hallway from the elevator. The walls were made of stone and lit homely with crackling torches. There were no portraits, only rock. His heavy footsteps sounded like gunfire in his ears. There would be a mob with him if he didn't find this mermaid soon.
The hallway seemed to go on forever. The same stone brick walls and evenly spaced torches. It was almost like being back in the space chamber, he could go on forever and ever and never find an end.
That's when he saw it. A painting. A break in the uniform walls and when he came to a stop in front of it, panting and huffing with his blond bangs sticking to his forehead he saw that the oil painting was in fact of a mermaid. She had no top, and instead, her dark blonde hair covered her breasts. She was perched on a rock, and behind the seas were dark gray and moody. A mirror was in her hands as she played with the ends of her hair and blinked at herself. Alfred was just about to clear his throat when she glanced up at him and he watched a coy smile fall over her round face and her eyelashes fluttered.
"Oooooh is that a muggle I see?" She called crawling over the rock, her violet tail shifting under her waist. "Haven't seen one of those in a very, very long time. What brings you?" She giggled. More like laughed, as her accent was distinctly French. "Unless you came looking for me. I'm sure I could," She glanced down his body and Alfred unconsciously took a step back. "Be of help."
"Actually I was looking for you!" Alfred explains with a sigh of relief. The mermaid raised a perfectly painted eyebrow at that. "You see, I've really got to leave, pretty sure an erm, nonmagical person as myself is not supposed to be her and I was told
She shifted again over the rock, dropping herself so she lay blinking up at Alfred, resting her head neatly in her palms. "Leave?" She purred, "So soon? Surely there is a good reason a muggle is here. Especially one so…" she waved her hand absently in the air, searching for the right one before plucking it down and turning her painted violet eyes back at him. "Dashing as yourself. What's your name, Cherie?"
He laughed. "My names Alfred. Sir Foliage sent me."
The mermaid narrowed her eyes and sat up slightly. "Sir Foliage? That old fraud doesn't know what's good for him. You better find someone else you can help you out of your trifle."
"Wait for ma'am, you've got to help me!" The sound of running footsteps further down the hall nearly made Alfred spit up his stomach. The mermaid seemed to hear it too but didn't so much as turn. "Is there anything I can do to help you out?" Alfred asked, his voice beginning to merge towards panic.
She tossed a lock of dark blonde hair over her shoulder with a "humf" and turned away from Alfred. This was probably the reason he was gay.
The footsteps grew louder. "Tell Sir Foliage he can shove his own pincers up where the surface doesn't shine-"
Definitely why he was gay.
The footsteps grew louder and Alfred's hands grew damp again. "If I'm ever down here again, if Arthur ever brings me back, that is, I will." He glanced towards where the sounds of the footsteps were coming. "I just, please-"
"Wait." She said turning around again. "Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"
Man, Arthur probably had no idea he was this popular, but Alfred nodded earnestly in return. "He's also a prick. Will you be seeing him soon?" And Alfred dare says she looked hopeful.
"Yes, yes I will I'll tell him to shove his wand wherever you want just I've really got to go." The footsteps were nearly there.
The mermaid pondered for another moment, before nodding. "Alright. Tell him just that, and Francine said it." Then she actually winked. "I still want to see you again, muggle." And without another word the portrait swung open to reveal a dark spiraling stone staircase lit by the same torches the corridor had been lit with. How cliche.
"Thank you." Alfred gasped as he stumbled inside behind the portrait.
"Oui, now go muggle, I shall hold them off." Then the painting promptly swerved shut just as the footsteps reached a climax and came to a huffing stop.
"Oi, portrait!" Alfred recognized the voice as the man he punched and felt his skin chill, his grip tightening over the file he clutched at his chest. "Did ye just see a muggle pass by? Heard he's sat everything up in chaos? Blue eyes, blonde hair, real good looking?"
Francine laughed. "Oh Mon Cher, you must be mistaken! A muggle cannot be within these walls. You best hurry along, or check into St. Mungo's to get your mind checked, something is clearly amiss."
The men cursed but moved past and Alfred allowed a grin to carve its way over his face. He tilted his head back against the wood of Francine's portrait to stare up at the underside of the staircase. Bless her. He wouldn't be left to forget everything down here.
His limbs seemed to drag as he started on the staircase and his eyes felt like closing. Now that the pressure had eased, the fatigued had stolen its place. He prayed he could find Arthur's flat because he was surely panicking at the moment.
He smiled and took another step as the stairs screened left. The folder feeling lighter in his grip. He'd made it.
Arthur's boss was definitely going to get a hard hook to the face once this whole ordeal was over.
