Sometimes, I kinda wish I wrote this story in third person.
The three of us sat cross-legged on the floor in Bell's tent, chatting: it was rare that Mr. Vaisey had allowed Scott and I to stay overnight by ourselves without adult supervision. Albeit he wanted us to spend the night sleeping in our tents before he came back the next day to pick us up, but I supposed there was no harm in passing the night with Bell. Besides, the Quidditch World Cup only came by once every four years: who'd sleep on a night like this? The screams of celebration at Ireland's victory at the finals still echoed around the campsite. It was safe, too: Bell's mother was in the other room of the tent, and had supplied us with snacks earlier. The night looked young.
"It's a pity we couldn't sit together at the match. Leanne and Emma were both sick today: Mom had two spare tickets."
Scott looked up from the Chocolate Frog card he was reading. "What happened?"
Bell waved nonchalantly at him. "Both of them had chickenpox: they should be fine now."
Nothing a few days of rest couldn't cure: I was glad to have already contracted it as a child. "To be fair, Bell, it wasn't like we wanted to avoid you: we only bumped into you on the way back to our tent."
Unwrapping a piece of taffy, she nodded at Scott. "Who were you rooting for today? Don't tell me you supported Bulgaria like Miles."
Scott clasped his hands dreamily, pretending to swoon. "What can I say? Viktor Krum's chiseled physique is irresistible!" This prompted a giggle from Bell.
Two could play at this game. "Into Quidditch players now, are we? Is that why you come down to watch me train?"
Scott whipped around to face me. "I don't do that!" he said, a little too quickly. "Besides, we all know it's Marcus Flint I'm after."
I smirked. "I still think he was the one lurking about the dungeons in our second year." Bell broke out laughing, cheeks flushing red.
She clasped her hand over her mouth, stifling her guffaws. Scott took the opportunity to pop another Chocolate Frog into his mouth, chewing loudly. He surveyed his card with interest, sliding it into his pocket. How come he isn't fat yet?
"Miles?" Bell was watching me with a curious spark in her hazel eyes. "What'd you want to do once you leave Hogwarts?" She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, but didn't break eye contact.
"That's an odd question to ask." I chewed on my lip. What was I good at? While Wood and Derrick would disagree, I had never considered Qudditch a great career option. It was fun as a sport, I couldn't imagine doing it professionally, all the time. That left my talents in Potions and Charms to decide my profession. Hogwarts Professor didn't sound like fun: I lacked the drive to impart wisdom or simply interact with hundreds of students. St. Mungo's was a popular, but viable option when it came to potion brewing. Many other jobs involved Charms too: from Auror to candymaker, but none of them held my interest for too long. Business was another option, though I wasn't thrilled by the prospect of managing my mother's Firewhiskey breweries.
Scott was the one to speak up first. "Probably not Quidditch for him." It seemed like he remembered my musings from last year.
"Not Quidditch. Probably a brewer, or cursebreaker or something." Bell seemed crestfallen.
"Oh, I just wanted to see if I could help. My mom manages the Wigtown Wanderers, and if you'd wanted some advice or a headstart in the industry, I was thinking she could help."
I nodded, not expecting her mother to be coaching such an illustrious team. It was rare for muggleborns to be highly successful in the industry, let alone coach one of the best teams in the league.
"I'll ask her if I have any questions. What do you plan to do, Bell?" This seemed to get her off guard.
"Chaser, what else?" She furrowed her brow, like I was daft for expecting any other answer.
"It's good to keep your options open. I'm good mostly at Transfiguration and Potions, like Miles, but that doesn't mean I have to limit myself."
Bell had a distant look to her as she digested Scott's words. "That's true. Thanks for the advice."
"What about you, Scott? Any future plans?"
Sheepishly, he scratched his hair. "Well, you probably already know, Miles..." His emerald eyes flitted to Bell for a moment. "Still hasn't changed. Wandmaker, maybe. Or work with muggles." He had done pretty well in Muggle Studies, and previously mentioned being interested in Muggle Relations. Bell considered this for a while, no doubt influenced by her heritage. It seemed she expected us, being Slytherins to voice our distaste for muggleborns or muggles in general.
Before either of us could comment on Scott's idea, Bell's mother walked in, her thickset frame making the small room feel even more cramped. A look of mild curiosity crossed Scott, and Bell looked up at her mother in surprise. "Mom! What's the matter?"
Mrs. Bell's voice was serious, her normally jovial and motherly tone replaced with a hard edge. "Katie, I want you to go to the Portkey we used yesterday. Take it back to the apartment now." Ignoring our looks of concern, she continued on. "Bring your wands with you. Use them if you must."
Uncertainty creeped into Bell's voice. "What's going on?"
"Katherine Anne Bell! You will go and take your friends with you back home! Do not ask any more questions!" With a firm shove, the three of us were ushered out into the main room of the tent. As Scott hesitatingly eyed the remaining food and bedrolls we had left in Bell's room, her mother was already making her way out of the tent.
"Go! And hurry!" With those parting words, Bell, Scott and I were left alone.
"Take out your wands. Mom seems serious about today, we might be in danger." Brandishing my wand from my pocket, I nodded at her. Scott did likewise, sliding his hemlock wand out of his robes. Bell already had her wand clasped tightly in her hands.
Scott nervously swallowed. "I wonder what's happening now. What do I tell my dad?" He looked to me for an answer.
"We'll figure that out later. Once everyone's ready, we should hurry. How far away is the Portkey?" Bell's eyes widened.
"All the way across the campsite: about ten minutes. Let's go!"
The tent flapped fluttered as she pulled me through, Scott quivering behind me. The cool of the night air was a chill on my exposed skin. There was an arid smell of smoke, and Scott tugged on my shoulder.
"Behind! Look!" There was a steady stream of people ahead of us, fleeing from something behind. Two dark-skinned men hurried past me, gesturing in the opposite direction. Their eyes were wild as they gibbered at us, but their intention was clear. Bell pointed there too. "That's where the Portkey is, let's go!"
I could not tear my eyes from the sight behind our tent. What had previously been a gathering of a hundred-odd tents were now an inferno, the orange of the blaze lighting up the night sky. As thick smoke wafted up, I spotted the distinctive flash of white that indicated a Flame Freezing Charm. It sputtered upon contacting a burning tent, the Charm unable to quell the magical fires.
"We need to go. Now!" Bell's words were a demand. Shrill screams lit up the air as the three of us sprinted into the unknown.
"Bloody hell." Bell, Scott and I were crouched behind the smoldering remains of a tree. Ahead of us, three black-robed figures stood, their back to us. Two men dressed in muggle clothing dangled in the air, suspended from their ankles: as pink bolts of light seared them, the muggles let out screeches of pain. Even from our hiding spot, the rioters' barks of laughter were unsettling. There was a chill in the pit of my stomach: something was definitely off about them, like there was an inherent wrongness in their actions.
"What do we do?" Scott whimpered. His red shirt was soaked with sweat, and his eyes brimmed with redness. "They look dangerous!"
There was an odd gargle in Bell's throat, and her eyes hardened. "We can't let them keep doing this!" she hissed. As she rose to confront them, I quickly pulled her back.
"We can't take on four grown men! Let's get to the Portkey, like your mother told us to do!" Even as I said those words, one of the muggles collapsed onto the ground. Bell let out an indignant cry.
One of the trio must have heard Bell, for they spun around quickly, heads turning as they searched for the source of the sound. The moonlight illuminated one of their faces, and my insides curled. They had no faces, only silver masks under their hood, snake-like slits where their eyes should have been. Death Eaters.
"I see you!" As the tallest of the figures eager proclaimed his discovery, an acid yellow hex splintered the stump of the tree. We were counting on the shadows now to keep us hidden, but I knew any attempts to escape, short of Apparition, would be futile. "Come out now, and maybe we'll let you live," sneered another.
Trembling, Scott rose to his feet, shakily walking into the clearing. With a nervous sigh, I walked after him: what choice did I have? Disgust was evident in the glare Bell directed at me as she did likewise, and I suddenly felt hopeless.
"Well, well, well. Who do we have here? Another muggle? Or perhaps this one's a... Mudblood?" The Death Eater's voice was cold on the last word. His companion illuminated the clearing with a flick of the wand: Bell's face was a staunch visage of emotionlessness, while Scott visibly flinched.
I decided to play the only card I could possibly play, hoping it would get us out of here. Otherwise, it'd be up to me and Bell's wandwork to get us through the night in one piece. Hoping my voice betrayed none of the dread I felt, I looked into the mask of the nearest Death Eater.
"I'm Bletchley. Miles Bletchley." If my words had prompted a reaction from the masked man, it did not show. As the seconds of silenced passed, I braced myself for the worst.
The Death Eater's voice was surprisingly normal when he finally replied. "Gareth Bletchley was a good friend. It was a pity he fell in combat, but your father was remembered." Though he clearly intended it to be a compliment, I did not take it as such. The masked man continued,"You'd do good to honor his name, take up the Dark Mark. Go, now, we won't do you harm." Conflicted feelings rose within me: revulsion, relief, joy, but I suppressed them for the moment, preparing to sprint to the Portkey with the others as soon as they let us go. My father's name had saved us! Perhaps he had been good for something after all.
"I don't suppose the other two are Bletchleys now, are they, Mycroft? Gareth only had one child," pointed out a gruff voice from the hooded wizard beside him.
"They're with me!" I said a little too quickly. "Slytherins, I mean. Friends."
Even behind the mask, I could feel a twisted amusement behind the third Death Eater's words. "Let's see then, shall we? If you truly are Slytherins, where is the common room? Such a common question we ask, so few answers..."
For the first time since we had been found, Bell spoke up. "In the dungeons, near the Aqueduct."
The Death Eater paused for a second, then stepped forward. "You then!" His wand was raised to point at Scott. "What's the painting above the fireplace?"
"The Knighting of Sir Livius!" Scott sputtered. His pale skin was drained of colour, even as the Death Eater lowered his wand.
The three of them viewed us, a heavy feeling of dread still lingering in the night chill. The nod of the shortest Death Eater was nearly imperceptible, as he indicated a nearby patch of shubbery. "Go then. Safety is the glass jar behind those bushes."
Before we could take a step towards the Portkey, the Death Eater who had not spoken till now rose a hand, and we halted in our steps. Slowly, the sleeve of his robes peeled down revealing the bare skin of his arm. Silvery moonlight revealed an intricate tattoo of a snake coiling around a skull. The darkness of the Mark was stark against his pallid skin.
"The Dark Lord," he wheezed. "He will be back."
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