Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Part 2/Chapter 9

There were changes at the Ministry of Magic. Kate had retired, and so had Manfred. Jonathan Johns was now the head of the Auror Department, and a round and pompous man called Theodore Laurie was Minister for Magic. Problems of crime were beginning to increase again, and the enlarged Auror Department was finding more to do. Once Laurie was in charge, their search for Bellamy became more determined. Long ago, Laurie's father had been cured by him, one of those easy cures he could do in his sleep. It would have been forgotten by Bellamy five minutes afterward. But Theodore Laurie would never have been born if Bellamy hadn't been around to cure his father. It didn't matter if Bellamy was confused, as long as he could still do his cures. And it didn't matter if he wanted his freedom, or was miserable, as long as he was docile when handled, and not dangerous to others.

A day after Bellamy's departure, aurors were in the French village, quizzing hospital staff, and quizzing the local gendarme. They were appalled to discover how close Bellamy had come to potentially brain damaging shock treatment. And just in case he fell into their hands at some time in the future, they visited the notorious institution, and ensured that their shocking equipment would never be used again. A few days later, the psychiatrist had a special visit from a very old and skilled witch, who used hypnosis laced with a touch of magic. That psychiatrist might not help his unfortunate patients, but at least he was less likely to damage them in order to pay for his annual Christmas holidays.

There was that other thing. There was indisputable evidence that Bellamy had been flogged. It was hard to believe that he had allowed it, and easy to tell themselves that Bellamy needed to be looked after by the Ministry that cared for his wellbeing. Surely they'd be able to find him. He was on foot, and had little or no money. The French police were giving all cooperation, and within days, there was a widespread manhunt. Bellamy's enemies soon heard the talk, and some of them, too, searched France for their target.

Bellamy had a good start when he left the hospital, and walked a long way before morning. His wallet was gone, but there'd been a couple of unopened payslips tucked in a pocket of his backpack. Not much money, but enough until he found a job, maybe in the next country. He kept out of sight for a couple of days, although buying himself a meal whenever he came to a town, and a loaf of bread and a few apples, which went into his backpack.

Three days after he left the hospital, he noticed two policemen turning into the street ahead of him. He faded back around the corner, but there was something else. He paused, almost scenting the air. At the far end of the street, two men stood. They were dressed in ordinary clothing, just apparently standing, talking. Bellamy chose to brave the policemen, using the cover of cars and bushes until both the aurors, and the French policemen were out of sight. But more big men watched and waited for him in towns and villages all over the country.

Bellamy didn't know who hunted him. He'd forgotten that he was unique, and wanted by wizardry. He'd forgotten that others would be trying to kill him. But he knew he was hunted. He took to the fields, avoiding roads, and only travelling at night. He was sleeping rough, and didn't replenish his food supplies when they ran out. He must not be seen. With the lack of care and the lack of regular food, the healing of his remaining wounds was retarded. He would bear scars. But it seemed that he was quite prepared to be scarred, and quite prepared to starve himself rather than be taken where he didn't want to go. His dreams were troubled, but even in his sleep, he whispered, hiding. Every night, he walked, taking himself as far as he could from those who hunted him.

Beth, a long way away, felt that he was in trouble, but it seemed that he hid even from her. She could tell little more than that he was alive, and was hiding. She would be unable to find him herself, in spite of her telepathy.

She took a hand in the end, trying to convince Laurie and Johns to stop hunting him, explaining that he knew he was hunted, that they were most unlikely to find him, but meantime, he was starving. They were making it impossible for him to live. They concluded they were getting close, and redoubled their efforts. He could so easily have been lost to Wizardkind forever, either killed by the one who'd flogged him, or brain damaged beyond repair by the profit-driven psychiatrist.

Beth went to Adrian for help, as her own magic had gone. The result was some convincing evidence of the death of the great wizard. Aurors were recalled, medj police were advised, and the manhunt was called off.

Bellamy, now in Northern Italy, woke from a daytime sleep, well hidden in a cold and uncomfortable bed, in the middle of a patch of prickly berry bushes. He breathed a sigh of relief. The pressure of the hunt no longer weighed him down. But he staggered when he rose, and the light running shoes he wore had become paper thin. He could buy himself some food now, and he started walking again. After a while, he was back in the rhythm of it, and didn't stagger as much.

It was nearly winter. There was little seasonal work available and Bellamy was very thin, sometimes staggered, and frequently trembled in his weakness. He found no work, and there was very little money left, certainly not enough to replace his shoes when they became unwearable. Barefoot, he started heading south again. His feet might not be as cold in the south.

**x**

Father Tarzia lived in Rome, and helped homeless men. He kept hearing about the young man who was starving to death, and twice caught a glimpse of him. He wondered why he refused to come for the free meals that were provided every day. The other homeless men were also cold, and often hungry, and they had their own demons, but they knew where to go for help. The priest began to think of the mystery man as something akin to the feral cat he put milk out for every day. He so seldom saw the little female and she seemed impossible to tame. He called her 'Chat.' For some reason, he thought the man he sought to help might be French, and started to think of him as Jean.

Nearly a fortnight after Father Tarzia first heard about the young man, one of his regulars took him to where he sat, leaning against a wall. The priest was surprised that he appeared clean, not even bearded. Father Tarzia went and sat beside him. Suffering from starvation, the clouds of confusion had taken over almost entirely. He stared into the distance, and didn't answer when he spoke. Gentle persuasion was ignored. Finally, a firm command to get up was acknowledged. He tried to rise, and the father knew why he'd finally been able to come close. The man was too weak to stand, and only collapsed again onto the footpath. Rome was a modern city, the priest thought. How could this man have come so close to starving to death in a civilised country?

The car was brought close, but even before the priest tried to get him in, he brought him some bread and a mug of soup. Bellamy was hesitant, and Father Tarzia told him, "Eat, Jean!"

He ate, and when the priest asked him what his name was, he looked confused a moment, before saying, "Jean. My name is Jean."

He responded well to orders, and was helped into the car. Back at the small shelter, Father Tarzia put him to wait in a small internal courtyard. There was a bit of greenery, a table and chairs, and most importantly, the priest would be able to see if he tried to leave. And then he made a call. The man was too far gone. He wanted a professional to see him in case specialist help was needed. Maybe he should be in hospital, but then again, maybe this man was frightened of hospitals, and frightened of professionals. It wouldn't be the first time he'd struck that.

Bellamy rose from the seat where the priest had left him, and took a few steps before collapsing again. He pulled himself to the wall, and leaned his back to it. The last wounds on his back were still open, even after all this time, but Wizardkind was very resistant to infections of all types, and the wounds were clean. When the father returned with more food, he found him with the small cat on his knees. The cat was purring, and Bellamy smiled as he gently stroked her skinny frame. The father said a prayer of thank you, knowing in his sensitive soul that the cat might provide an anchor that would keep the homeless man close to him, at least until he was strong again.

As the priest had feared, Bellamy was wary of the doctor and nurse who arrived to see him, and started to back away, looking around as if for an escape. But he was too weak to walk more than a few steps, and when firmly ordered, he did as he was told. He didn't speak, and only started to tremble when he was asked questions. So they just dressed the open wounds, took note of various scars, including the remaining traces of the whipping, and gave their opinion that no useful purpose would be served by taking him to a hospital. He was better with Father Tarzia.

Bellamy was shown to a bed in the dormitory that sheltered over a dozen homeless men. In the morning, Father Tarzia thought that he'd lost him again. But old Vito pointed, and the priest investigated. He'd returned to the courtyard, and now curled up against the wall, with the little cat nestled against him. It appeared that two feral animals were being tamed, but it might be a slow process. Chat vanished as the priest approached, and the starvation thin man started to tremble the moment he woke.

He was provided with new shoes, thick socks, and a coat. After a while, he consented to sleep under cover in a small alcove near the courtyard. The shy cat could join him there. Still no-one else could approach the cat, but the priest thought that at least Jean seemed more tame. He was a little suspicious of that name, and asked him a few times what his name really was. After receiving three different answers, he gave up, and called him only Jean. The young man seemed perfectly happy to answer to Jean.

Once he was stronger, Bellamy started to help with the work of the place, washing dishes, preparing food, cleaning, tidying. He was a long way from the man who'd once left his clothes abandoned on the floor for someone else to pick up, and left the kitchen in a mess when put to the unfamiliar effort of making his own sandwich. The priest started paying him a very small wage, from the donations that kept the shelter going. Bellamy respected money these days. When he had money, he could buy food, and his small pay was carefully hoarded. The cat became tamer, finally allowing the priest to stroke her. She still kept well away from the other men who used the shelter. She was no longer nearly as thin, and liked to be close to Bellamy. Bellamy was no longer nearly as thin, either.

He stayed with Father Tarzia all the winter. The priest had him checked by a nurse a few more times, but it never occurred to him that the simple man should be institutionalised, or that maybe the police should be informed.

Vito thought the cat was really the devil, who wanted to get him, and one day he cornered her. Father Tarzia found Bellamy stroking her dead body, tears running down his face. There was a tiny patch of bare dirt in the courtyard, and the priest helped him make a grave for the little cat. Afterward, with a bit of show that might impress the simple man, he made a prayer, blessing the grave. He told Bellamy that he had to stay, in order to make sure that the grave was looked after, and the courtyard kept tidy. But Bellamy looked past him, his gaze unfocused, vague.

In the next days, Bellamy started wandering further, taking his backpack wherever he went. One day, he didn't come back. Father Tarzia prayed for him.

***chapter end***