Vocan Orbis

The next few days were close to the worst Imogen had ever experienced—only surpassed by the days following her parents' deaths. Ginny made sure Imogen was given a draught when her headache still wasn't gone the next morning and she mostly acted as though nothing had happened with Imogen, only occasionally having more chores for her to do as per her grounding. It was James that made it hard. He spent most of his time in his room and when he did come out for meals, he wouldn't even look at Imogen, let alone talk to her. "He's being an idiot," Lily said hourly, but it didn't make Imogen feel any better.

Imogen spent most of her time searching through a handful of books in the house trying to figure out what that circle of light was. On the third evening since coming back home, Imogen found a passage on something called a vocan orbis. She read through it three times.

Not much is known concerning vocan orbis, except it's description as a ball of light. They may come in a variety of sizes and colors and have been said to be a creation to bridge the worlds of life and death. Used as a method to request the presence of a loved one far away.

She flipped through the next few pages, but that was it. Three sentences. Vocan orbis. That's what she had seen. Her eyes read the phrase "bridge the worlds of life and death" half a dozen more times. Excitement coursed through her.

"Dad?" she called. He had to know something about this, right? It was in a defense book. Maybe Ginny would know. Imogen moved off her bed, walking towards the door. "Dad? Ginny?"

She yanked open her door and there was James, his face blank as he glared at her. Imogen's mouth was open as her breath caught. "Hi," she said.

"Mum and Dad are at that fundraiser tonight," he said.

"Oh," Imogen said. She had completely forgotten. "Right… James—"

"I need my broom," he interrupted.

Imogen swallowed and nodded. She turned into her room again, throwing the book onto the bed. His broom leaned against the corner next to her dresser. James stepped inside, leaning back against the doorframe as she grabbed it. "Thanks," he said as he reached for the handle, but she didn't let it go.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

He didn't try to pull away, but let the broom stay between them, each of them holding on with one hand. "Yeah, well, I did have a couple questions." He finally looked at her. "Like about when you figured out you enjoyed having Lorcan as a body pillow? Was it in your study sessions? Or during prefect duties?"

"James, I didn't—"

"Or about how you were too tired our first night at The Burrow to spend time with me, but you suddenly found energy to go spend the night elsewhere? Was the barn cozy that night too?"

"I wasn't with Lorcan then!"

"I guess that was my mistake for believing that whole Guilded Mariposa bullshit. Tell me, Imogen, if he had taken you to the Room of Requirement, would you have put the brakes on with him too? Because, you know, I felt like I was trying to do the right thing because you weren't ready, but now that I know you turned me down because someone else had just worn you out already—"

"Stop it! Why are you saying that?" Imogen was trying not to cry, but she was having a hard time of it. She let go of the broom. "James, I'm sorry! But there wasn't anything going on with Lorcan! He's just my friend!"

James swallowed, taking back the cool demeanor on again. "It's okay, I'm over it," he said. "I have a date with Shanna Read this weekend, actually. She's in your house right? So go do whatever you want with Lorcan." He walked out of the room.

Imogen folded in on herself. She fell to the ground, sitting against her bed rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees. She heard her door close and Lily's arms were around her a moment later.

"Shhhh," Lily directed, rubbing her back. "He's such a liar, Imogen. THE WORLD'S BIGGEST PRAT! Shanna Read is spending her holiday in Rome, everyone knows that. She wouldn't shut up about it. HE'S A MANKY MAGGOT! Besides, it would serve him right if he did take her out. She's an idiot. Seriously, I don't understand how she's in Ravenclaw in the first place. USELESS GIT!"

Lily kept up with encouragements punctured with shouted insults for the next twenty minutes before Imogen gained control and caught her breath. "I'm okay," she said shakily. "I'll be alright."

"Imogen, that wasn't right, the things he said."

She wiped at her eyes. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep there."

"That's ridiculous," Lily said. "Come on, Imogen, it's obvious there's nothing going on between you and Lorcan. Even Mum realized that once she'd calmed down. And if James is too blind a jealous toerag to see how much you care about him, he doesn't deserve you."

Imogen stood, opening her window for some fresh air.

"Come on, let's do something else. Uncle George gave me some mood changing nail polish to test for him," Lily suggested.

They passed the rest of the night sitting on Imogen's bed—doing their nails, seeing if they could force the color to change, and talking. They fell asleep head to toe on top of the covers, but someone must have come in and turned out the light, because when Imogen woke in the dead of dark, the only light was a green orb floating near the window. Imogen almost jumped. Lily laid out spread eagle with her head at the foot of the bed. Imogen carefully moved, stood, and followed as the orb floated out the window, staying still like it was waiting for her. No song from it tonight. Just the green light and Imogen had a horrible impression that this was her last chance to heed it. She remembered the book and it's description. "Used as a method to request the presence of a loved one far away." How far was "far away"? A hundred miles? Two hundred? All she knew is she needed to follow it.

Imogen carefully opened her closet, finding a medium sized satchel. She didn't want to take much. Almost everything she owned had been given to her by Ginny and Harry. She put on some jeans and a t-shirt and a hoodie over that. She threw some clothes into the bag. No room for the book. Besides, that would feel like she was stealing. She dug under her bed for an older pair of running shoes. Imogen wondered if Lysander was right that they'd have a trace on her wand. She'd have to leave it behind, just in case.

"What are you doing?" Lily asked quietly. Imogen froze. "W-what are you packing a bag for? Imogen, where are you going?"

She sat on the corner of the bed. "I have something I have to do," she said.

"Is this because of James?"

"No," Imogen said. She wondered for a moment if James were speaking to her would she even attempt this? Yes. But she probably would be going into his room right now to convince him to come with. "No, it's… something else. It has to do with my parents." She didn't dare to elaborate more. "I'll be back, though."

"Imogen—"

"Look, I can just make you forget this conversation or you can let me go," she said. "Either way I'm leaving."

Imogen couldn't see much detail in the dark, but Lily was wiping at her face. "When are you going to be back?"

"I don't know for sure," she admitted.

"Imogen, shouldn't you talk to Mum and Dad—"

"There's no time," Imogen said. If she went to get them, the light might be gone before she got back. Even if it wasn't, she didn't think they would let her follow it if they knew. She scrambled for the compact mirror on the side table. She placed her hand over it, whispering an incantation and it glowed, emitting an image of Imogen in its surface. "Here. Take this." Lily reached for it. The image didn't change, but kept Imogen's face in the center. "That way you can know I'm all right. Just… don't tell anyone?"

Lily still looked unsure, but finally nodded, turning on her side as she watched the mirror. Imogen renewed her packing and found a scrap of paper to write a short note. When she pulled open the top drawer looking for ink she saw a locket James had given her for her 16th birthday. It had a picture of the two of them inside and a design with an eagle and lion intertwined engraved in its metal. She closed the drawer. He didn't want to have anything to do with her anymore. She shouldn't want it, but she did. After writing the note, Imogen gave in and opened the drawer again, digging out the necklace. She unhooked the clasp, putting it around her neck.

Lily sat up when Imogen turned, ready to leave. She threw her arms around Imogen's neck. "You're the best sister I could have ever asked for," Lily said.

Imogen felt her resolve shift, but a melody had started from outside. "You too," she said. Lily let go, hopped off the bed, and left her room. Before Imogen could second guess herself, she crawled out of the window where the light still waited for her.

"Harry! Harry!"

James groaned, turned over, and clamped a pillow over his ear to block out his mother's yelling. Doors opened and slammed and they weren't even trying to be quiet for anyone who wanted a lie in.

After his argument with Imogen in her room, he found himself face to face with Lily—little and terrifying Lily who sneered at him. Thank Merlin she couldn't do magic right now. There was a tentacle hex she had a reputation for around school. "You're an arse," she said, then walked passed him into Imogen's room, closing the door behind her. Lily's yelled insults weren't anything compared to hearing Imogen crying. He thought if he made her feel like he did when he'd seen her with Lorcan, he would feel better than this. Instead, he wanted to go in there and apologize. Grabbing his wand, he went out the door before he could cave. Didn't she deserve this? Even if she didn't want to date Lorcan, she wouldn't listen to him when he'd told her Lorcan liked her. And he was right.

He'd spent the night in a local pub, talking to the bartender and getting thoroughly wasted. "I loved her," James had slurred towards the end. "I loved her, and I thought she loved me."

"One more on the house," the bartender said. "To young love and never running away from it." James raised the glass and stopped. It was Fritz smiling back at him. Fritz? How? He shook his head and when he looked again, the bartender was the same pudgy middle aged man he'd talked to all night. Instead of taking a drink, James put the glass down and walked out.

James arrived back home around two in the morning. He didn't hear anything from Imogen's room—insults and tears were silent now. Quietly, he cracked the door open. Imogen and Lily were sharing the bed, fast asleep. Lily was sprawled out, but he trained his attention on Imogen, curled up with her knees close to her chest, and her lips barely parted as she took easy breaths. His heart hurt and he didn't know of any potions or charms that could fix it. Maybe there's a plant for that, he thought wryly.

"James?" He turned around. His parents had just come in, both dressed up and looking tired. His mum, who had a white block of hair in the front that usually framed her face, looked sophisticated with the white strands looping into a knot of vivid red on the back of her head. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I just noticed the light was on," he said, flipping the switch and closing the door. His mother was looking at him knowingly, but walked over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, saying she was going to bed. His dad waited as she walked down the hall.

"You have to let this go," Harry finally said.

"She was the one who went off to spend the night with some other guy."

"Yes, perhaps," Harry said. "But how long are you going to get drunk instead of an apology?" James didn't respond and Harry clamped his hands on James's shoulders. "I love you, but you're acting stupid, son. Go get some sleep." He patted his cheek and walked away.

James did just that, but it looked like they didn't care if he got sleep now. Growling, James rolled out of bed.

"What do we do, Harry?" Ginny cried, a tremor in her voice. "What do we do?"

James knit his brow as Ginny's crying grew louder. Lily was peeking out from her room, head and shoulders in the hallway. She turned towards James. Her eyes were red and swollen. Quickly, she went back in, closing her door. Albus sat in an armchair looking sick and James worried about what he was going to find out. Harry rubbed Ginny's back on the couch, both of them in their pajamas.

"What's going on?" James asked.

Ginny didn't move, sobbing into her hands. Harry picked up a piece of parchment from her lap, handing it over to James.

There's something I need to do. It can't wait. I'll be back as soon as possible.

Please forgive me.

Imogen

"Where would she have gone?" Ginny asked between shuddering sobs.

James dropped the paper and ran. He took the front door, running barefoot up the main road. An old woman working in her garden was the only one out and her eyes followed him, though James didn't care. His mum's words kept ringing in his head. What are we going to do? Where would she have gone? When he stopped, he was in the middle of a field of wildflowers, running right into the center. "Imogen!" he shouted. "This isn't funny! You can come out now!"

Some birds sang from the trees and he looked around the clearing, waiting for some kind of movement. They came here together often. It was a place to talk, a place to be away from his mum's random chore assignments when they were caught snogging somewhere, and just a place to be together. The family came up once a year, maybe, for a picnic, but James and Imogen spent hours and hours here. Surely she was just having a moment. She was upset and going someplace to be alone rather than stay in the house. And here, their place, would be where she'd come. "Imogen!"

James fell on the spot and into the grass, digging his fingers into his hair, trying to think. Where else would she be? What did she need to do? Why didn't she tell me? What were the chances this sudden need to do something alone cropped up since coming back home? Who would she have told? Lorcan. That's who. He'd go have a chat with him. Then he remembered last night. When he'd come home and looked in on Imogen—her peaceful sleeping form next to Lily's.

James stood and started back home. He heard his dad talking in the kitchen. "She may be going to Diagon Alley. She'd have to if she needs muggle money. Let's contact George… and we'll have a notice put out with the portkey authority."

James was suddenly glad Imogen couldn't apparate yet. Rather than joining the brainstorming session, he turned to the hallway, going to Lily's room, bursting through the door. She sat on her bed, legs crossed, holding a compact mirror in front of her. She snapped it shut and looked up at him. "Where is she?" he demanded.

"How am I supposed to know?" Lily countered, the sneer from last night returning.

"You were in the room with her last night! I saw you!"

"I woke up in the middle of the night and came back to my room. She was still there when I left."

James had seen her lie easily enough before, and he was certain this was the lead they needed. "You know something and you're going to tell me."

Lily stood, gripping the mirror in her right hand. She was at least a head shorter than James, but you wouldn't know it the way she drew herself up. "Don't make me your scapegoat! Just because you pushed her away! I wouldn't tell you anything, even if I did know." Lily tried to shut the door on him, but James blocked her and grabbed her arm. She knew something and he was determined to figure out what. "Let go of me!"

"James, what are you doing?" Ginny asked coming down the hall. Her eyes were swollen and her nose was red. "Don't touch your sister like that."

Lily jerked out of his hand before he could let her go. "She was with Imogen all night," he said, looking at Ginny.

"Lily, is that true?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night and went back to my room. She was there when I left." Lily repeated before she turned to James. "He's just trying to find someone else to blame. After the disgusting things he said to her."

"James?" Ginny turned to back to him.

He turned and went into his own room, though he could still hear Lily filling their mother in on everything he'd said to Imogen while they were at the fundraiser. He was in for a lecture if he stuck around. Packing a bag and changing into fresh clothes, he walked out to the hallway.

"James," Ginny said. Eyes wide in disbelief, she looked something like a confunded owl. "Where are you going?"

"To find Imogen," he snapped, walking out the front door.

The sun was up and Imogen was getting too warm in the hoodie now. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and took a deep breath. The orb had lead her here, stopped and images appeared inside it. A train yard, from what she could tell. Signs were posted along the walls and they weren't in English, but in French. It looked grungy and unused. Nothing like the photos of train stations talked about in Muggle Studies. She reached out, trying to touch the orb and it zoomed away again.

"No! Wait!" she said helplessly.

After Imogen found a bench, she dug through her bag, pulling out a satchel of galleons, sickles and knuts, counting them out. One hundred twenty galleons and some change. Everything she'd saved since she was about twelve. Her stomach growled and she was wishing she'd thought of grabbing some fruit from the kitchen before leaving. The only place she knew to get muggle money was Diagon Alley, but she wasn't sure where that was compared to where she was now. It was near a train station, that much she remembered, but she wasn't certain it was King's Cross, like the school train.

For a moment she thought maybe she should just go back. Her feet hurt from a couple hours of walking and she was worried that she'd either be unable to find the trainyard or, worse, the green orb was gone forever. Had they seen the note yet? Would Lily keep her promise? The questions made her stomach churn and she knew she couldn't turn back now. Once she gave up there was no trying again.

There was an underground sign just across the street. She took the stairs down, watching as people entered one at a time. If she disillusioned herself, she could crawl beneath the entrance and no one would notice. Maybe. Stepping into a bathroom, she stuffed her sweater into her bag and brushed her fingers with her hair, splashing a little water on her face. Leaning against the sink, she thought about Diagon Alley. "Merlin!" she exclaimed when she realized. George was there. How often did he go to Gringotts? Did he still live near there? There were others who lived and worked in London that might recognize her.

Better to fix it now than later. She swallowed, closing her eye and running her fingers through her hair. When they were to the bottom of her ears, she closed her fingers together and everything below fell away. Imogen took a minute to test that length before she took another chunk and did it again, then again, and again. It wasn't perfectly even and just long enough, now, to tuck behind her ears.

She pictured a dark brown color and attempted to make her hair that. She ended up with a gradient that was the proper color at the roots, but ended in the same golden brown of Lorcan's hair.

Looking much different, Imogen examined the overall effect. At first glance she might not be recognized, but her face still looked too much like her. Especially if Ginny or Harry thought to get George involved, and Imogen knew that the way the Weasley family worked it was entirely possible. Going ahead with the disillusionment, she decided to make a trip to Flourish and Blotts first. It was much closer to the Leaky Cauldron and she could find a spell book to figure out how to change herself a little more.

The station had developed a bustle while she'd been in the bathroom and she had to wait until one of the attendants put an "out of order" sign on one of the units. At that point she had a space that she could crawl beneath without risk of being found or trampled. Then there was the train schedule and map. It was more confusing than the advanced star charts they'd done for O.W.L.s and she was looking around London, trying to remember exactly where the entrance was. There were two stops that sounded familiar. They looked close enough that if the one was wrong, maybe she could walk to the other.

She almost missed the first one, being stuck behind a group of people, having to shove herself through. One woman with a briefcase and wearing a suit started yelling at the man behind her for pushing and Imogen said, "sorry," as the doors closed. A man on the platform with her started looking around for who was talking.

Imogen wandered the streets of London for the next forty-five minutes until she finally saw the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. With a sigh, she undid the disillusionment, went in, and ordered a sandwich and a butterbeer. She found a spot in a dark corner to eat and was able to ask the time. Just past noon. She couldn't get a portkey since you had to show identification for that. She supposed she'd have to go the muggle way. There were advertisements in the underground for a train that travelled under water to Paris, it seemed, and she'd have muggle money soon.

Carefully, she left the Leaky Cauldron, following two men engrossed in conversation into Diagon Alley. Once she was in Flourish and Blotts, it was easier to keep herself out of sight. Going into the transfiguration section first, she found what she wanted quickly. She still couldn't change her face shape, but by looking at her reflection in a dusty window, Imogen widened her nose, added a mole on her right cheek, and made herself look like she was in her mid twenties (according to the book—she still looked awfully young to herself).

Next, she tried the defense area for more information on vocan orbis. Book after book was piling up and she still found nothing. The last book, an encyclopedia of spells, only added that it was first used in Belarus. What she had thought was a decent amount of money now seemed like very little. She was regretting the full meal at the Leaky Cauldron knowing she could have bought a whole sack of apples for the amount she'd just spent.

Putting the book back on the shelf, Imogen decided she couldn't wait another minute. She needed to get moving. How long did it take to get to Belarus the muggle way?

The queue wasn't terribly long for exchanges. She decided half of her money she'd keep as it was and the other half she'd exchange for muggle currency.

A very bored young man with flat, sandy hair called her forward. "Pounds or euros?"

"I-I'm not sure."

"You stayin' in London?" he asked and looked at her, lulling his head to one side.

"No," she said. "I'm… going to Paris, too."

He started flipping through a notebook of information. "Visiting from Australia?" he asked.

"Y-yes," she replied. It was as good a story as any. She did have an Australian accent, after all. "Just seeing a few places… nearby."

"How much?"

Imogen placed a large handful of galleons and sickles on the countertop and he counted them out, handing her both paper money and coins. "The paper have printed the amount in euros, anythin' below a five is a coin," he started in a droll, uninterested voice. "There's a pamphlet to sort through. The Ministry recommends becomin' familiar with all guidelines for muggle money use before you shop. Anythin' else I can help you with today?"

"Uh, no. Thanks," she said, taking the money. She shuffled through, trying to get the feel for how each looked. There were a lot more pieces in muggle money than in wizarding gold. How would she keep it all straight? Hopefully she wouldn't need more either, because she had no idea where she'd be able to exchange outside of Diagon Alley.

Imogen was just organizing the bills by their amount on the way out the door when someone knocked into her shoulder. The money in her hands dropped and scattered along the steps. "Oh no!" she said, squatting and gathering it up quickly, glad there wasn't any wind.

"Sorry about that!"

She froze, looking up. James had just squat down near her, grabbing bills and coins in the space around him. His uncle, George, was helping too, as Imogen swallowed and busied herself with collecting, heat rising to her cheeks. While she looked different, she wondered how easily he could recognize her voice. Why hadn't she thought to see if there was a spell for that? She'd never tried to learn an accent other than her own. If only she had joined in when others in Australia would mimic Fritz's German accent. Eben and Taylor were particularly good at that.

Imogen had stuffed most of the money into her left hand. She turned to her right, reaching for a coin. James had reached a little faster and as his hand reached under hers, little golden sparks flitted from her palm on their own—like her hand recognized his and knew exactly what to do. She closed her hand into a fist, but James had stopped. He waited a moment, then they both stood. "Here you go," he said, holding out the money he'd gathered. "Sorry, again."

Imogen looked up at him just for a moment. He wore a curious expression. "S'okay," she muttered, then turned to George who had a little more and nodded her thanks.

As soon as she situated it the best she could (many of the bills now wrinkled and sticking out between her fingers), Imogen turned and headed down the steps, chancing glances over her shoulder. When James and George made it through the large double doors of Gringotts, she bolted.

There was something familiar in that woman he'd just knocked into, though James couldn't place it. He'd figure it out later. This needed to be done first.

"I already talked to Grandpa about the portkey situation," James said. "And he said he'd get on it."

"Are your parents meeting you here at some point?" George asked.

"No," James said shortly. He didn't want to think of what their next conversation would consist of. If he could bring Imogen home, then it wouldn't matter.

George ignored all lines, walking up to a tall man in expensive robes with fingers full of rings. "Hey there, Trevor," George said. "I have a favor to ask."

George explained the situation and Trevor lead them over to a kid in a cage that had a sign reading "exchanges" overhead. James doubted very much he would be any help. He had the look of having been stunned one too many times.

"Kent," Trevor said. The customer Kent had just helped walked away and they interrupted the queue. "Have you seen anyone that looks like this come through this morning?"

Trevor held out a photograph of Imogen. She was standing in the snow at Hogwarts, hands dug deep in her pockets, smiling, shyly biting her bottom lip. It was one of James's favorite pictures of her. Kent's dopey eyes narrowed in what James could only hope was concentration. "Nope," he said. "No one like that."

"Can we leave this photograph with you?" George asked. He held out his hand at shoulder level, "she's about this tall, small build, and she has an Australian accent—"

"Was she supposed to be meetin' anyone?" Kent asked. "'cause we jus' had an Australian woman come through just a few minutes ago. I remember 'cause we don't get 'em much here. Usually exchange theirs monies at home firs'."

"What did she look like?" James asked, a chill already tingling down his spine.

"Short brown hair, pretty face… 'bout that high, I think. Maybe a little shorter."

James looked at George, who didn't seem to understand, but James didn't wait or explain as he ran across to the exit. Once on the portico, he looked out over the crowds. He should have known when he saw those sparks. He took the steps down, thinking he might receive inspiration about where to look next, but by the time he was at the bottom common sense had kicked in. She was long gone by now. Gone from Diagon Alley, where she knew James was and they had no way to figure out her next move.

James turned around and hit a brick wall with the both hands, pacing as he covered his face. George was coming down the steps now. "She was right there!" James yelled, pointing towards the top of the steps. "Right in front of us!" Several people looked their way.

"You sure that was her?"

"Had to be!" James said.

"Well, onto Plan B, then."

"There is no Plan B! There was barely a Plan A!"

People nearby whispered behind their hands now. "Come on," George said. "Come back to the shop and we'll talk."