A/N: Apologies, but I don't know why this chapter took me this long to write. Lack of motivation, perhaps.
All Follows and Faves: Thanks a lot for your support, means the world.
Chapter 30: All That Glitters
Unedited...
~.oOo.~
Warlock Elfed Pettigrew and Lady Fae Agnes Pettigrew
request the pleasure of the Malfoys' company
to dine on Saturday next, at two o'clock.
- O -
An answer is requested.
...
#6 'Grew Cottage, Landers Down, Merseyside
~.oOo.~
"Aha! Would you look at this," Vivian Quinn-Malfoy chuckled gleefully. "This week, Elfed seems to have promoted himself to the title of 'warlock'!" she snorted, shaking her head lightly in deep pity. "Oh, the poor sod," she said, holding the invitation delicately between her gloved fingers and scanning the gold leaflet with a fantastic scorn.
Maera Depraysie gasped. "Vivian!" she chided, albeit stifling a smirk that was threatening to burst out of her mouth. "A Lady shall never speak so derisorily of a wizard of such eminence," she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Estelle Rowle scoffed from the side. "Oh, would you get off her back? Like you can blame Viv, seeing as the couple have shown no shame in entrusting upon themselves important titles they know nothing about," she rolled her eyes, while magically shaping her nails with her wand.
"Not to mention this has been the third invitation in three weeks from the Pettigrews!" exclaimed Rue Parkinson, scrunching her nose annoyance. "Wonder where she's getting all the money from all of a sudden."
"And have you noticed her recent outfit choices?" asked Lydia Thornton, her eyes glinting with malice. "I mean, wasn't the hippogriff fur coat a bit much?" Everyone around her snorted in response. "Must have cost her a fortune."
"Oh, and do you remember the phoenix tail hat and the Arabian silk robes she'd worn last week?" squealed Maera, high-fiving Lydia at the same time. "I mean, does she need to be schooled on how to show off her gold too now?"
Rue scoffed from the side and rolled her eyes. "She HAS no gold, don't be delusional, Depraysie!" she leered darkly. "She couldn't afford a pinch of salt a month back and now she's hosting a string of parties, clowning around in plush hats and robes?" she exclaimed, grinding her teeth in disgust. "Unlike any of you dimwitted hags, I refuse to fall for her lies and antics!"
Vivian frowned, surprised by the aggression in her tone, even as the table stiffened around her.
Maera narrowed her eyes curiously. "Lies?" she asked.
Rue shot her a glance before dramatically lowering her cup and bringing that look on her face that she typically wears right before dishing out the town's most guarded gossip. "Alright, to be frank, a little tittle-tattle has been doing the rounds for some time now, and it would positively make your blood run cold if you heard it," Rue said to Maera, making several eyebrows shoot up.
Maera, though, merely gave an exhausted sigh. "Merlin's beard, here we go again," she said, exchanging glances with Estelle and Lydia on the side. "Behold the great Lady Rue Calliope Parkinson and her preoccupation with the burgh's most absurd claims ever!" she guffawed, her voice bearing blatant derision, while the others burst into mean sniggers. Rue's face fell at once quite unsure how to react to such spiteful words. "Well, go on, then, tell us what you know, pet," she leered as if speaking to a child while delicately puffing out smoke from her pipe.
Rue, for her part, pretended as if nothing offensive was ever said a moment ago and continued on with a forced straight face. She sighed heavily before opening her mouth. "Well, apparently," she started, blinking distractedly, "Fae's been going around town telling everyone the tale of how Elfed recently discovered a chest of gold that was magically hidden under their chimney and how it had once belonged to her late mother..."
Lydia shot an exhausted glance at Maera and rolled her eyes before the two broke into not-so-subtle giggles.
"However," Rue bit out, gulping down her rage, "all of us here know better than that to trust the words of Fae Pettigrew," she muttered, eyeing them all dourly. Vivian, however, paused at once, struck with curiosity. And going by the looks from the rest of them, Rue knew this time, she suddenly had everyone's rapt attention. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice to a near whisper before speaking again. "If word in the streets is to be believed, many think her actual mysterious source of gold is literally from a world beyond our reach..." she smirked, giving them knowing looks.
Vivian blinked. "What d'you mean?" she shot out, her eyes ablaze with inquisitiveness.
Giving her a cold, triumphant look, Rue spoke again. "I'm sure all of you must have heard about the Hidden Kingdoms?" she said, still speaking in riddles. "And about the missing Hufflepuff heirloom...?"
A shockwave ripped through the table as the words slowly sank into their heads.
No one spoke for a while and simply gaped at the haughty face of Rue Parkinson.
And then chatter exploded at once.
"WHAT?!"
"That's preposterous!"
"Absolute rubbish!"
"How in the world could she have POSSIBLY achieved that?"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" Vivian hushed everyone, holding up her hands and looking positively rattled. Turning towards to the brunette on her right, she raised one eyebrow and squinted dangerously into her face. "How do you know this?" she hissed quietly.
Rue's eyes darkened even more as she dove into the story. "About exactly a month ago, the Strongbarks were apparently taking a stroll down Knockturn Alley when they ran into a hooded witch," she said, pausing dramatically and looking each of them in the eye. "She seemed to be in an awful lot of hurry, they say," she added, raising her eyebrows pointedly at the rest of them.
"And that's supposed to mean something?" Estelle snapped impatiently, but her curiosity could not be denied.
Rue bit her tongue once again and continued on. "Mrs. Strongbark says she saw the faintest glint of a gold-something in Fae's hand that had the distinct carving of a badger on it... A gold like she had never seen before..." she whispered. A streak of shock fell around the table. Because everyone knew at once what she could be referring to.
Vivian's whole body was shaking in complete and utter disbelief now. "Hufflepuff's missing heirloom?" she repeated faintly.
Rue nodded. "That's what they suspect..."
"Wait just a minute!" started Lydia, shaking on the spot. "How can a little cup of metal possibly fetch her a fortune?" she cried.
Everyone glared at her exasperatedly. "It's an heirloom from the Hidden Kingdoms, for heaven's sake, Thornton!" hissed Estelle. "It's enough to buy a whole country!"
"Besides, it's made of Windsmere Gold..." whispered Vivian, shaking ever so slightly. "The most enchanted metal to ever exist..."
Rue nodded. "Exactly. A grade of metal that is higher than even Leprechaun Gold... Imagine what the goblins would give to have a drop of Windsmere Gold to make our coins out of...?"
"But... The heirlooms, they... It was all just a myth," Vivian stuttered, still feeling too dazed at the thought. "It cannot be... They don't exist!"
"You speak too soon," tutted Rue, her smirk and confidence returning. "Just imagine... What else could've fetched her gold enough to last three generations all of a sudden, eh?" she asked, sneering slightly. "There's NO other way she could afford all those pearls and gems and silver cutlery that she serves tea in while having us over."
"Heavens to Helga, she really did it this time, didn't she?" exclaimed Lydia. "That sneaky little coot actually managed to steal the heirloom—?"
"—Right from under Dumbledore's NOSE?" screamed Estelle, her eyes burning with fury.
"MORE importantly..." cut in Maera. "She's actually risen to our level now with a bloody fist-sized cup?"
"Or higher..." breathed Estelle, looking equally gobsmacked.
"Next thing you'll know, she'd be showing up at our doorstep, seeking a familial alliance!" blurted out Maera.
Estelle gasped. "She wouldn't!"
Rue scoffed. "She would if she wants to find a suitable witch for her abominable son?" she spat out, making everyone freeze on the spot in revelation. Vivian, who had gone oddly quiet, simply listened to them all even as her mind was racing in the back. "That old bat has always wanted a noble pureblood young woman for her son! Explains all the jeweled daggers and swords that got sent to our Manor last Monday as 'gifts' from the 'Grews!" she spat out.
Vivian cocked an eyebrow with a sly smile on her face. "Awww, it must be awfully tiresome, mustn't it, Parkinson? To be fawned upon like that?" she mused sarcastically while holding pure venom in her eyes. "You think you're part of the 'elite' too, don't you?" she snorted, pouting in mock pity, invoking a wave of sniggers from the onlookers. "Perhaps you think she's after your daughter's hand? Upgrade her own social standing with a Pettigrew-Parkinson alliance?" she chuckled, making the rest of the witches around roar with laughter.
Rue's face turned a brilliant shade of red. This was not the first time she had been insulted like this. For some reason, despite belonging to the Sacred Twenty Eight, the Parkinsons have always been the butt of all Pureblood jokes in the fraternity and Rue could just not understand why...
And even as the rest of them giggled away at Rue's expense, Vivian mentally kicked herself for getting so fork-tongued with her own friend like that, but the haughty stare in her face revealed nothing.
"Ohhh! I'm just teasing, Rue, surely you must know that!" Vivian cackled while elegantly dabbing away her laugh tears, hardly sounding at all apologetic. "You are one my closest friends after all, I'd hardly ever think of you as a non-noble wizard family after all the blood money the Parkinsons possess..."
The others continued to giggle away incessantly despite how miserable Rue looked. "Of course," Rue nodded submissively, despite the hot, red magma of rage that burned inside her. Blinking back tears, she slumped back into her chair, stiff as a board, while the others chatted away just as merrily as they were a second ago.
"To echo what you said, however, I too find it oddly strange that she has gotten so awfully clingy and desperate to be in our company," Vivian mused, taking in a sip of her tea. "Fortunately, I only have a son, so I wouldn't have to worry about breaking her tiny heart as would the rest of you..." she smirked.
"All said and done though, the question still remains," started Lydia, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Will the Malfoys be honouring the invitation?" she asked, smiling and casting a pointed stare in Vivian's direction.
Everyone around the table fell quiet and sordidly turned theirs heads in Vivian's direction, waiting for a response. Everyone, including Vivian, knew this little tea party was hosted by the Depraysies for the sole purpose of knowing who intended to go to the Pettigrews' and who didn't, but none were going to be blatant about it, of course.
Before Vivian could reply, however, Estelle shrugged from the side and said, "I heard on the grapevine that Walburga has already accepted the invite." Maera's jaw dropped and Rue quickly exchanged shocked glances with Lydia even as everyone nervously surveyed Vivian on the side. She had gone absolutely livid in her seat, her eyes blazing with fury at the mention of Walburga's name. "It'd be a shame if the Blacks turned up for the luncheon and the Malfoys didn't," Estelle added, slyly taking a sip of her own tea and boldly staring into the blood-red eyes of Vivian.
It was no secret that the Blacks and the Malfoys had loathed each other for generations, because they were indisputably two of the biggest, most powerful families to ever exist in the wizarding world, and one always thought one was purer than the other. The Blacks and the Malfoys had consciously avoided ever forming an alliance or familial bonds by getting their daughters married off into the other's family solely to avoid mixing of their magic and blood and thinning out their own power. Yet, if one were to be entirely honest, the Black bloodline was dizzyingly more enchanted and magical than any existing wizard clan today, but Vivian, of course, would never admit to it, even to herself. She always prided in the fact that the Quinns had favoured the Malfoys since the beginning of time. It was with sheer persistence that her mother had finally managed to get Septimus Malfoy's consent to get Abraxas and Vivian married.
As with Walburga, though, aside of family politics, the pair of witches had an undercurrent of mutual loathing for each other and neither could tell exactly what triggered it or since when they have felt this way for each other, but the raw passion was indubitable.
"Had to bring her up, didn't you, Rowle?" Vivian asked Estelle scathingly.
"I am merely stating facts here, Malfoy," Estelle shrugged coldly while allowing her wand to stir the contents in her cup.
Vivian's eyes flashed dangerously now. Watching Estelle through the bridge of her nose, she picked up her eagle feather quill and said, "If you must know, I am going too, Rowle," she hissed menacingly while scratching her signature on the golden leaflet. "NOT because Walburga Black is going," she barked out even as the invitation rose high up in the air and burst into flames, "but because I want to test Parkinson's theory of Fae's gold and it belonging to the Hufflepuffs!" she spat out, stabbing her friends with a blood curdling glare.
~oO Hogwarts
"Alright, Pete, tell me everything," Isabella huffed, resolutely sitting down in front of him.
Peter looked anxious, chewing on his fingernails and avoiding full eye contact with her. "You promise to not yell at me after I've told you?" he muttered, looking an awful lot like a rat caught in a trap.
Isabella groaned in frustration. "For the thousandth time, yes, I promise!" Isabella bit out with a frown. "Just tell me before I let my imagination run wild, alright?"
Peter sighed and finally looked up, his features etched with worry. "Alright, fine," he conceded, slumping against the stone wall he was sitting under. "But you're definitely going to hate me for this," he said, not looking at her.
It was lunch time the following morning and the two of them had stolen out of the Great Hall and into the Astronomy Tower without anyone else noticing. They hardly had another twenty six minutes left before their next class started and Isabella was determined to wring out every ounce of truth out of Peter's mouth before the day ended; because she knew the longer this remained a secret, the graver the situation was bound to get.
"Remember that time when you, Clay and I had taken that Astronomy class late on a Wednesday night?"
Isabella nodded. "That was when I saw the cup for the first time, yes," she said.
Oddly, she thought she saw a faint flinch flash across his face, but before she could be sure, it was gone...
"Well, I'd originally intended to owl it to mum as soon as I... well..." he closed his eyes as if he had suddenly been consumed with guilt, "...as soon as I got out of the Hospital Wing. But something or the other kept distracting me and I forgot all about it until it fell out of my bag that night," he said, tearing his eyes off the floor again to meet hers. "The next day, Clay and I hiked up to the Owlery first thing in the morning and owled the cup over to Landers Down right away."
Isabella nodded thoughtfully, resisting the urge to smack him upside his head. "Okay, did anyone spot you along the way?"
"Well," said Peter, screwing up his face in concentration, "Er... No one apart from Filch..." he said, nervously. "I, er... ran into him just outside the Owlery."
Isabella paused and stared, a sudden dread streaking through her. "Oh, what a relief, you only ran into Filch!" she ground out sarcastically. "Why, this is such a nightmare!" she wailed exasperatedly. "The grumpy old man would sniff us out in seconds, Peter!" she said, smacking him hard on his side.
"I know!" Peter wailed frustratedly. "Merlin, I didn't think of that at all, this really is such a nightmare!" he mumbled, looking highly strung.
Isabella rubbed her face irritably. "Alright, fine! Just tell me what happened to the cup."
Peter looked up nervously, his face paling by the second. "Mum sold it."
"WHAT?" Isabella yelped, her heart jumping right into her throat. "SHE SOLD IT?"
"Yeah."
"For how much?"
Peter looked up and at her, dead in the eye. "A quarter to a million Galleons."
The silence that followed that statement seemed to slam into them like a train.
"What?" she asked, weakly.
"You heard me," he muttered. "Mum actually claims it was worth a lot more, but no one believed her when she said this was the heirloom everyone was looking for... They reckoned at best it might've been Aztec Gold, a cheap replica, and sent her away. All except one..." he said and looked up. "About a month ago, she drew up the courage to visit a shop down at Knockturn Alley and tried her luck again. And just as she had expected, the wizard gave it one look and knew at once what it was. Took him less than a second to buy it from her..."
Isabella frowned. "Why was she so scared of visiting the shop?"
"Because the wizards that run the place are known to deal with unusual and ancient wizarding artefacts," he said. When Isabella didn't look convinced, however, Peter added, "Dark objects..."
"Which shop?" asked Isabella.
"Borgin and Burkes..."
Isabella froze. "Borgin?" she repeated, feeling the hairs on her hand stand on end. "As in, Dylar Borgin?"
Peter merely nodded. "Why, d'you know him?" he asked.
"What? No! No, I don't. I just... I'd heard the name somewhere," she said, her mind racing towards Claiborne at once. Her head spun. This was getting more and more complicated. Gritting her teeth, she looked up. "Talk to your mother. Tell her she NEEDS to get the cup back. At once! No excuses whatsoever!"
"WHAT? Izzy, no..." Peter breathed desperately. "Izzy, a lot's riding on the gold we got from the sale!" he yelped. "Our social standing, our dignity in society, a future for me, EVERYTHING! Besides, there's no way she can convince them to give her the cup back..."
"I DON'T CARE, Peter!" yelled Isabella, frustrated beyond belief now. "I don't know what or HOW, but you need to get that cup back somehow, or the Ministry would gobble us all up alive!" she shrieked.
A light thud from the back snapped the two of them awake.
"What was that?" demanded Isabella, swinging around and looking beyond the doorway, petrified beyond words now. "Is someone there?" she called out, except her heart was hammering against her chest.
The pair exchanged one frantic look before bolting out the door and hurtling down the stairway. Isabella was sure she heard something fall to the floor a second ago and it could've been ANYONE!
"THIS WAY!" yelled Peter and dashed down the spiral staircase on their right, chasing after the sounds of fading footsteps bolting ahead of them.
"GET THEM, PETE!" shrieked Isabella, struggling to keep up with his speed. "GET THEM, GET THEM OR WE'RE DOOMED!"
"Stop running! STUPEFY!" Isabella heard Peter yelling followed by a whoosh of a spell and a thud of body against the stone floor.
Huffing and puffing, Isabella finally reached Peter, clutching her aching sides, gulping in a ton of air. "What...? Who is it...?" she blew out before stopping dead in her tracks. "Carlyn?!" she screamed, looking frantically between a shell-shocked Peter and a hysterical-looking Carlyn Broadmoor, Peter's ex-girlfriend. "Was that you behind the door?" she demanded, dropping to the floor next to the pair.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, I'm so very terribly sorry, I didn't mean to intrude at all! I... I just... I just needed to see Peter and... and Lia told me he might be here with you since she saw the two of you sneak out of the Great Hall about an hour ago, and... and... Well, I just... I thought..." Carlyn huffed, shaking uncontrollably from head to toe. She was clutching a flask to her chest so tightly, her knuckles had turned white with pressure. Catching her breath, she closed her eyes to collect herself before speaking again. "I just needed a word with Peter," she pleaded, looking wide-eyed up at the two of them. "I swear to Merlin I didn't know I'd be running into such a big conversation..."
Isabella's heart was thrashing inside her skull now. "So you heard it all?" she asked, stupidly wishing Carlyn would say no.
"I heard enough," replied Carlyn.
Isabella's world flipped over entirely. She couldn't believe any of this was happening... In fact, this very instant, she wished she could just run away to a place far, far away and never return, her head spinning with disbelief.
"Good Godric, Carlyn," Peter swore under his breath, his mind racing too. "What are you doing here? Why were you looking for me?"
Carlyn's eyes shot up at once, her features screaming with panic. Blushing furiously, she wrung her hands together. "Oh, er... No reason," she stuttered, "just needed a private word," she said, shaking even more now.
Peter's eyes widened, and not a second later, she found him fiercely locked in an intense stare-match with Carlyn...
Isabella frowned, her mouth contorting with a revolting realisation. "Oh my god," she muttered under her breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, because by the looks of it, Peter was already mentally undressing her... "Okay, I'm sorry, Broadmoor, Pettigrew," she said, clapping her hands together and smacking them awake, "but I'm about THIS close to having a panic attack!" she roared, holding up her index and thumb fingers together for emphasis. "So, can we please rekindle old emotions later and focus ON THE BLOODY PROBLEM?" Isabella shrieked.
"Okay, okay, fine!" Peter said jumpily. "Er... Listen, Callie..."
"No, both of you listen to me!" Carlyn cut in. "Fortunately or otherwise, I know what you two are dealing with and I think I can help..."
Isabella's eyebrows shot up at once. "What? How?"
"Let me break this down first," she said, holding up her hands. "Okay, Peter, you said your mother sold it to Borgin and Burkes, correct?"
"Uh huh," Peter nodded.
"Well," Carlyn said, suddenly dropping her voice to a near whisper and looking around to check if they were completely alone.
Isabella noted the distant padding of footsteps down the hall indicating the usual scuffle before the start of class. They desperately needed to hurry...
"Izzy, you remember that time when Regulus smuggled in the bunch of Portkeys to the Hidden Kingdoms...?"
Isabella's mouth went completely dry now. "H-How do you know about that...?"
Carlyn growled frustratedly. "The whole school knows about it! That's not the point! The point is..." she said, leaning closer, "d'you know how he brought them in?"
Both Peter and Isabella shook their heads.
Carlyn's eyes twinkled sinisterly. "You must know that Hogwarts's walls are nearly impenetrable... Nearly... But it's not impossible," she smiled. And there was something about that smile that sent raw chills up Isabella's spine. She didn't sound like an innocent fourteen-year-old at all...
"Get to the point, Broadmoor," Isabella whispered, shivering slightly.
"There's a way to get in and out of this school without anyone noticing. There's a way to send things in and out without anyone noticing... That's how the Slytherins have been getting their hands on Dark Objects all along... That's how any student has been getting their daily dose of prohibited potions and draughts in vials. The Vanishing Cabinet..."
Both Peter and Isabella froze in place, their minds imploding with this new information.
"Explain," Isabella simply said.
"The Vanishing Cabinet was built in the eighteenth century by a pair of frustrated friends, one belonging to Ravenclaw and the other belonging to Slytherin. The Slytherin boy desperately needed a Memory Potion ahead of his NEWT exam and his friend decided to help by building a secret cabinet that would travel between his house and Hogwarts and allow them to sneak in and out whenever they needed more supplies. That house was located somewhere in the heart of Knockturn Alley. After the two boys passed out of Hogwarts, they decided to return home and convert the house into an antique shop. Today, that place is known as Borgin and Burkes."
Isabella realised her mouth had been hanging open for too long now and decided to close it.
"Okay... But, er... I still don't know how we're going to get the cup back," said Peter.
"I think I have the answer to that," said Isabella, making the other two swing their heads in her direction.
"How?" asked Peter curiously.
"We just have to convince them to give it back to us..."
Peter and Carlyn stared at her, their expressions of incredulity more than evident in their faces. "Izzy, are you mental...?" started Peter.
"Claiborne can talk to Borgin," Isabella continued as if she hadn't heard him, her mind running at break-neck speed now. "Convince him to part with the cup... That's the only way."
Peter looked mad with confusion now. "Claiborne? Borgin? Why would she talk to Borgin and why the BLOODY hell would he listen?"
Isabella sighed feverishly. "You'll know soon enough," she said, swaying under the weight of all the secrets she was juggling at the same time.
...
It was all but a miracle that Isabella hadn't yet chewed her arm off in anxiousness throughout that day. In fact, she was shaking and shuffling so much during Transfiguration that McGonagall almost suggested she go down to the Hospital Wing and got herself checked. To top it all, her friends were growing more and more curious about her and Peter's strange behaviour around them. Because, the minute the whole gang got together, the pair of them would immediately panic and steal away into the shadows to discuss retrieval strategies of the damned cup.
"I still don't get it, Iz," Peter was saying late that night as they sat around the fire pretending to get their Astronomy homework done. "Why would Borgin listen to Clay?"
It was a quarter to one at night and most of the Common Room had cleared up already, including seven of the ten fifth-years in the Gryffindor tower. In fact, the look of absolute displeasure on Lily's eyes when she assessed Isabella's deplorable homework situation slapped her harder than a possible bash from the Whomping Willow.
"It's not my place to tell, Pete," Isabella said. "Where is Clay, anyway?" she asked looking around, only to find Claiborne stomping down the stairs with her hands laden with a heap of parchments, books and quills.
"Alright, you two, here are all the notes that you need for your essays tonight," she said, looking slightly sour herself. "Mind you, Lily was not pleased. And why are you two dressed to go hiking? It's almost bedtime," she said stifling a yawn.
"Clay," Peter said urgently. "We didn't call you here to help us with homework," he said bluntly making her eyes fly open. "We're going somewhere and we need you to come along..."
"What?" Claiborne asked frowning curiously.
"He's not joking," Isabella said solemnly. "We're going to get Hufflepuff's cup back and we need you to help us."
Claiborne's frown got tighter as she realised the pair of them were indeed serious. "Wh-What's going on?" she asked, making Isabella's stomach churn painfully.
Isabella and Peter spent the next fifteen minutes narrating the whole story of how Peter stole the cup and sent it to his mother, who later sold it to Borgin, and how Hogwarts and the shop of Borgin and Burkes are connected via a cabinet, and how with Claiborne's help and a little bit of persuasion, Borgin would willingly part with the cup.
"WHAT?!" shrieked Claiborne. "No way! NO. WAY! Are you mental?"
"Clay, you have to do this for us!"
"I'm not doing anything! Izzy, you're bonkers! BONKERS! And you! HOW COULD YOU, PETER!" she screamed, hitting him hard on the side. "Is this the big secret that you two have been keeping from us all, all this time? And is this how you're 'dealing' with it, Iz?"
"Clay, there's no other way!"
"I don't care! I'm not letting you two monkey around like this and I'm DEFINITELY not talking to Dylar about anything!"
"You know his name?" asked Peter, making Claiborne stop dead in her tracks. "D'you know him personally?"
Claiborne and Isabella exchanged tense looks. Isabella bit her lip. This was all because of her... Merlin, help, she thought to herself.
"Clay?"
"Look..."
"Why does Izzy think Dylar Borgin would simply hand us over the cup if you talked to him?"
Claiborne glared at Isabella even as a cold silence fell around them. Isabella knew her face a was a molten mess of emotions, but there really wasn't any other way, was there?
This was not going well.
"Clay?" Peter insisted, letting her know he was definitely not going to let this slide.'
Wringing her hands together and still glowering in Isabella's direction, she sat up straight in her seat. "Because... Because we—our families—are pretty close..."
"That doesn't explain anything," Peter replied curtly.
"Pete—"
"—The real reason, Clay. You owe it to me," Peter said, fiercely locking eyes with her. "What's he to you?" he asked, getting straight to the point.
Claiborne seemed to have stopped breathing entirely now. "We're... friends—"
"—But you're special?" Peter cut in.
Claiborne looked like she'd rather have him stick a fork through her skull than probe into this matter this much.
"Why would he do just about anything for you, eh?"
Claiborne merely blinked, sitting stalk-still in her chair, her face completely drained of all colour. And even if she managed to tame her eyes to reveal nothing, her overall demeanour said it all: she was caught.
Watching the internal battle raging within her left Isabella completely heartbroken and ridden with guilt. None of this would be happening had it not been for her and her big mouth, wouldn't it?
Leaning forwards, she placed her hand on Claiborne's and gave it a big squeeze.
"No more running, Clay," Isabella whispered, knowing fully well that this was the last thing she wanted to hear. "No more hiding... No more secrets," she said, locking eyes with Claiborne even as a stray tear dripped down her cheek simultaneously. "Just do it. Say it."
"Yeah, say it," said Peter and savagely raised an eyebrow at her, no doubt bracing himself for the worst.
Claiborne looked up, her eyes brimming with tears, but oozing with determination at the same time. Squaring her shoulders, she sat up and said it in one breath.
"Because he's head over heels about me..."
Peter blinked, confusion etched in his voice.
"What?"
"We're engaged to be married at the end of my seventh year, Peter."
A defeaning hush fell between them.
And although Peter's face was nearly devoid of all expressions, Isabella knew he had been rendered completely speechless—possibly, for the next five years...
"B-But, wait! Just wait till I can properly explain myself, though, alright?" Claiborne sputtered out and practically shaking in nervousness. "Don't hate me... PLEASE don't hate me yet—"
"—Save it, Clay," Peter muttered, his features frozen in utter and complete disbelief. "Think I've heard enough—"
"Peter, PLEASE!" Claiborne wailed, grabbing hold of his robes in desperation. "It's not like that, I SWEAR—!"
"What IS it like, then, eh? What else could it possibly BE LIKE?" Peter roared.
"IT'S COMPLICATED—!"
"—Does Remus know?" Peter simply asked, knocking the breath out of her completely.
"I—" Claiborne started, but stopped abruptly, having no energy to form words anymore.
Peter glared at her, his comportment hard as a rock now. "Such a fool he's been to have idolised you..." he whispered, shaking his head lightly in disbelief even as Claiborne's face glistened with tears. "You were his best friend. His whole world, Clay..."
"Peter, please," Claiborne whimpered. "Just let me explain to you—"
"—There's nothing left to talk," Peter cut her scathingly. "Everything's finally clearing up, actually..." he huffed, a sarcastic scoff escaping him.
"Pete, now's not the time," Isabella started numbly.
"Of course," he scoffed mordantly whilst casting an unforgiving glare in Claiborne's direction. "Of course!"
"Honestly, let it go! We have bigger problems at hand," Isabella said.
"Ha! Easy for you to say!" Peter growled nastily. "Ever been lied to, Izzy? Backstabbed...?"
"Would you calm down?"
"How the bloody hell am I supposed to CALM DOWN, Iz?"
Isabella let out a frustrated growl. "LATER!" she screamed, making her voice echo off the walls. "The pair of you will have all the time in the world to deal with this later, but right now, time's ticking and we have got to MOVE IT!"
"I'm a horrible person!" Claiborne sobbed from the side.
"YES, you probably are, but right now, you're our only hope, Clay, so suck it up and DEAL WITH IT!" Isabella yelled desperately. "Clay, Borgin would do anything for you and we desperately need him to do this for us this time. That is if we want to ever dream of staying outside of Azkaban, of course!" Isabella said, speaking really fast and completely losing track of her thoughts. "I need you, Clay, I need you to pull yourself together and come up with a plan to help us..."
"Yeah, no time for that, we need to leave now," Peter muttered glowering at the large wall clock behind him. "Callie might've arrived at the decided spot already."
Claiborne let out a roar of frustration. "This plan is never going to work, Izzy!" she yelled, angrily wiping away her tears.
"I know, but we must at least try!" screamed Isabella, stunning her into silence. "Bagnold is this close to decoding the truth about what actually happened that day in the Hidden Kingdoms, Clay... We can't let her win."
Claiborne chewed on her lip thoughtfully (Isabella noticed how Peter was still gaping dazedly at Claiborne). With a resigned sigh, she gritted her teeth and spat out, "Alright, fine! But I'll hate you FOREVER for this, Isabella Williams!"
Isabella, though, nearly cried in gratitude.
"I love you too, Clay," she whispered, pulling Claiborne into a bone-crushing hug.
.
"Do you see her?" whispered Isabella.
"I think I see something moving..." stuttered Peter nervously. "But this is Hogwarts. That could be anything..."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Pete!" Claiborne hissed, sounding even more petrified than him. "That's her, Izzy, let's go..."
The three of them inched forwards towards the dark figure at the end of the corridor, crouched low inside the Invisibility Cloak.
"You know, I just realised something rather profound right now," Claiborne said shakily.
"Uh huh?" asked Isabella.
"The Sorting Hat's a bloody sham," she heard Claiborne shaking her head fiercely. "I don't belong in Gryffindor. Not one bit!"
Isabella stifled a snort. "Oh, I agree. Hufflepuff would've been my choice for you too..." she chuckled only to earn a hard nudge to her ribs.
"Ah, bloody hell, there she is. Hey, Callie," whispered Peter and quickly stuck his head out to let Carlyn know they have arrived.
Carlyn immediately flashed him a sickeningly wide grin before squeezing next to them under the Cloak.
"Alright, Carlyn, lead the way... Where is this cabinet, eh?" Isabella asked, watching Carlyn hurriedly emptying a whole flask. When she met Isabella's eyes, she simply shrugged and said, "What? It'd be a long night, I reckon... Just keeping myself hydrated is all?"
Isabella and Claiborne exchanged glances. Carlyn surely was a loony...
"This way. Come on," Carlyn whispered and strode down the hall on the fifth floor. "I just hope that wretched Peeves does not ruin our night," she ground out rather too harshly.
And with that the group of four trudged on and on down several flights of stairs and winding corridors until they reached the first floor hallway.
"Blimey, we're just a floor away from Filch's office," breathed Peter. It was obvious that he was very aware of this fact going by the number of times he and his friends had pulled pranks on the poor soul.
"Pull your socks up, Pettigrew!" Carlyn hissed crossly and marched on, her strides becoming more and more keen.
Isabella frowned. She wasn't sure why Carlyn was so invested in this matter all of a sudden...
"In here, get in here!" Carlyn whispered irritably and shoved everyone inside a darkened classroom and slammed the door shut behind her.
"Would you be careful? You're going to wake Filch up!" Isabella hissed gnashingly.
"Oh, stuff it, Williams, the bloke's a bloody Squib!" she yelled back and threw the Cloak off her head. Giving the dim room one quick scan, she scuttled hurriedly towards the other end of the room till she was standing before a long and lean black and gold cabinet. "There... This is it," she whispered, running a hand along the intricately carved metal door of the Cabinet, her eyes glimmering hungrily. "Is everyone ready?" she whispered softly, turning around to glance at them.
But in Isabella's current nervous state, she was hardly even functional enough to nod in consent. Her stomach was churning and jolting so much at the thought that this time, they were actually planning on stepping outside of Hogwarts right under Filch's nose with a lunatic like Broadmoor...
"Okay, Clay, you ready?" Isabella asked. Ironically, she wasn't even remotely ready herself.
"You're going to kill me one day, Williams," Claiborne replied, striding grimly towards the Cabinet and sliding inside next to Carlyn.
The Cabinet was extremely lean and could hardly house one adult person, let alone four, which was why it was a miracle when the door shut on them all squeezed to death next to each other inside the dark, cold metal case. Wordlessly, Carlyn put her hand up and swished her wand in a slow circular motion. "Etherotum Appearo," she whispered.
At once there was a Blip! followed by an uncomfortable tug on Isabella's insides, an invisible cloud constricting her airway entirely. And for several seconds after that, she felt completely paralysed, so much so that she couldn't even move a finger. Screaming internally, she had just begun to regret her decision for ever having come on this stupid errand when her nostrils burst open, filling her lungs with a magma-like air. With another Blip! her legs hit solid ground again as if they had been de-shrunk once again, and before she could even comprehend what had happened, she felt herself get shoved and squashed next to four hard bodies.
Isabella's pulse quickened at once. Have they arrived? Have they really left the dim classroom they were in a second ago? Would the door really open into a strange room thousands of miles away from their school? Who would they come face to face with when they step out?
It was so dark inside the Cabinet that Isabella nearly forgot she was accompanied by three others in this very moment...
"Izzy, the Cloak," she heard Peter whisper from next to her.
Isabella quickly pulled the Cloak out of her pocket and threw it over the others' heads. Straining her ears, she could hear the distant mumbling of two individuals talking to each other outside the Cabinet - one voice belonged to a man and the other to a woman. They seemed to be deeply engrossed in conversation.
"What do we do?" she heard Claiborne whisper.
"Let's get out as noiselessly as possible first," Isabella whispered back and put a slight pressure on the door of the Cabinet.
It groaned loudly making her heart stop beating entirely. Holding her breath and wiping the sweat off her brow, she pushed at the door once again. The rust-ridden hinges creaked even more now.
"Just swing it open as fast as you can, Iz!" she heard Peter whisper. "Less noise that way."
Hoping and praying that he is right, Isabella inhaled, paused for a second, and then forced the door open. Miraculously, Peter had been right - it made hardly any noise this time!
Gasping with dread, the four of them straightened up inside the Cloak and looked around; it was a dimly-lit wizard's shop except the vileness of this place was so profound, it made the Shrieking Shack look innocent. Bloodstained wooden masks hanging off the walls, an assortment of jewelry on a mannequin that Isabella was sure would choke one to death in their sleep, staring glass eyes that looked straight into her soul, spiked instruments hanging from the ceiling ready to split their skulls in two, and to top it off, a bunch of withered hands that moved on their own accord on the counter—enough to scare the living daylights out of her.
"Where... The bloody hell... Are we?" Peter whispered from Isabella's right.
"Borkin and Burkes," replied a lifeless Claiborne.
A thrill of fear ran through her.
"Is that Borgin talking?" whispered Isabella.
Claiborne merely nodded.
"Who is he talking to?" Peter asked, peering through the heaps of chests and boxes stacked up to divide the space into two; a storage space where the Cabinet stood and the main space where the counter was placed. Looking towards the counter, Isabella saw them—one very large man who had his back to them was sat on a high stool laughing and sipping on hot tea, talking to a short, extremely stout woman who seemed to have melted under the wizard's gaze. From whatever little Isabella could see of Borgin's face, she could tell that, despite his age, he was rather handsome with a goatee on his chin and long, jet back hair trailing the small of his back.
"That's Hepzibah," Isabella said, her eyes widening. "I saw her at the Founder's Day party the other day! She was there accompanied by a short, dreadful woman. What is she doing here in the dead of the night, eh?"
"And, Merlin's beard, is she making him drink Amortentia?" asked Peter, peering at the cups of tea in front of them.
"Bloody hell, it does look like it!" Carlyn replied. "This is just excellent timing then, isn't it? Go on, Jones!" Carlyn growled. "Get on with the errand already."
"But, what am I supposed to do?" Claiborne asked.
"Just walk up to him and bat your eyelids..." Carlyn started.
"While I create a distraction and separate him from the woman..." Peter cut in.
"And that's going to work?" Isabella asked weakly.
"Brilliantly! 'Cause Borgin looks like he's had an overdose of Amortentia already going by the dazed look on his face, it wouldn't take him a second to fall for Jones's charms and give her what we need!" said Carlyn.
And before Isabella could even form an opinion on this plan, all hell broke loose, because there was a shrill squeal from the other end of the room, followed by the crash of a tea cup. Isabella swung around to find Hepzibah hopping and skipping on the spot, her generous belly jiggling around her. When Isabella looked back towards her friends, she found Peter was missing and instantly knew what must have happened.
"Go! Go! That's your cue! Go!" yelled Carlyn, shoving Claiborne out of the Cloak and towards a hypnotised Borgin.
In the back, Peter was causing havoc inside Hepzibah's dress, driving her out of the store entirely. Her screams echoed through the narrow alley. Alarmed beyond words, Claiborne looked towards Isabella before dashing towards the counter where Borgin was sat; he was still looking very lost and confused and completely nonplussed about all the racket around him, almost as if nothing was amiss in his world...
"D-Dylar?" Claiborne called out uncertainly.
Dylar's head swung around at once. "Claiborne!" he asked, his eyes widening to the size of mini golf balls. "Heavens, it's really you!" he said, springing up at once and inching towards her, his eyes glazed beyond comprehension. And in his current state of intoxication, he didn't even once pause to question why or how Claiborne had suddenly appeared before him at half past one in the night. "How are you, my love? You haven't written to me in weeks!" he said, taking both her hands in his.
Claiborne, though, seemed to have lost all ability to speak as she stood there frantically looking between Dylar and a hysterical Hepzibah right outside the window. "What's the matter, love?" Dylar spoke again, his features melting and oozing with adoration.
"No, nothing!" squeaked Claiborne just as a shrill cry went up in the air as the large rat ran up Hepzibah's back, traumatising her inexplicably.
"Are you here to see me?" Dylar asked, his face lighting up as if hit by a a dozen hundred-watt bulbs.
"Y-yes! Yes, I am!" Claiborne, quickly thinking on her feet. "Actually, I am here for the cup that Mrs. Pettigrew sold to you a month ago!" she stuttered, getting straight to the point. "Do you... Can you tell me where it is?" she asked, watching the pink blob-mass of Hepzibha rolling down the street in agony.
And just for a second, a look shock crossed Dylar's eyes. It was in that instant that Isabella nearly lost all hope... With bated breath she watched on, suddenly very aware of Carlyn's presence next to her under the Cloak.
"Why, it's right here," Dylar blurted out, pulling out a tiny cup from inside his cloak.
Isabella's bottom completely fell off that very instant! What she didn't notice, however, was the sudden streak of light brown hair appearing on top Carlyn's jet black mane.
Claiborne seemed to have lost her breath as well as the gold from the cup glimmered less than a feet away from her.
"Nice and easy... Nice and easy..." Isabella heard Carlyn whisper from her side. Distractedly, she looked to her side.
Time stopped.
Because next to her wasn't the tall, dusky girl that had accompanied them all along anymore... It was a very, very unpleasant-looking woman, a foot shorter than Isabella, with matted brown hair, holding a look of manic hunger in her eyes!
Alarm bells jarred through her head, rendering her dizzy!
"WHO ARE YOU?" screamed Isabella.
The little woman turned towards her, her features overflowing with malice.
"The Maker," she whispered fiercely before bolting out of the Invisibility Cloak, grabbing the cup out of Dylar's outstretched hand, twirling on the spot and in the blink of an eye, had disapparated with a loud Pop! leaving Isabella, Claiborne and Dylar gaping in bewilderment. Out on the narrow alleyway, the screaming suddenly stopped, shrouding them all in a thick blanket of silence, indicating that Hepzibah had disapparated too...
They had been played all along.