clxviii. death eaters
Elara knew something was wrong the instant she pried open her tired eyes to see Hermione leaning over her.
"What is it?" she asked, groggy and exhausted, but it only took a moment for her to register the difference in the noise coming from the campground. The singing—while not skillful to begin with—had changed to a different kind of caterwauling altogether.
"Something's happening," Hermione said, her voice high and crackling with tension, fear evident in her wide, gleaming eyes. She wrung her hands as Elara sat up and swayed, hearing the screaming bubble in the distance, joined by loud snaps and pops that didn't sound much like fireworks. "I can't—Harriet's not waking. I can't wake her, and I don't—."
Elara lurched from her bed and tore the sheets off in her haste, almost landing in a heap upon the floor. Hermione snatched hold of her arm, steadying her, and Elara came to the side of Harriet's bed.
The other witch had kicked her blankets down about her legs, the skin of her bare neck and face glimmering with perspiration. Her scar appeared inflamed and painful, the edges pink as if it had only just healed.
Harriet's eyes roved beneath her eyelids, a sliver of white visible through parted lashes.
Elara did not know what to do. "Harriet," she called, though Hermione would have already tried that. Outside, the cries of distress continued, and an ugly, simmering light warmed the tent's canvas walls. Had a firecracker sparked one of the tents? That didn't explain the screaming. It wasn't as if fire was an uncommon result in magic gone awry. Witches and wizards accustomed themselves to it rather quickly.
Elara had felt worse flames than what could be thrown by a bit of soggy fabric.
She stiffened her spine and called Harriet's name again, reaching out to grip her shoulders. Her skin felt scalding under Elara's hands.
"Get water from the tap," she told Hermione, who darted out of the room and returned seconds later, carrying a dripping glass. Without preamble, Elara took it and threw its contents in Harriet's face.
The girl came awake with a snarl and would have hit Elara if not for the hands still tight upon her skinny shoulders. Her fingers wrapped around Elara's wrists, nails biting the skin, lip curled as she stared ahead, unseeing—.
"Harriet!"
Harriet blinked as the haze dissolved from her glinting eyes, and she looked at Elara, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. Her response came as an articulate, "Huh?"
"Are you all right?" Elara asked, slowly letting the other witch go. Harriet had nightmares more often than regular dreams—nightmares that often left her sweat-soaked and confused, but Elara had never been unable to wake her before.
Fire glowed brighter outside.
We've more pressing issues to deal with at the moment than Harriet's bad dreams.
"…why am I wet?"
Before Elara or Hermione could say a word, a sharper, higher scream came from much too close to their tent, and Harriet startled, noticing the putrescent haze. The smell of ash triggered Elara's cough.
"What is going on?"
"We're not sure," Hermione replied, hurriedly tucking her fluffy hair behind her ears. "I woke up to use the lavatory, and I noticed the noise, and when I tried to wake you, you wouldn't open your eyes."
Another scream, a yell for someone to run, and the rapid patter of footsteps. The three witches exchanged startled anxious glances.
"Where's Sirius? We need to get him—."
Heedless of the water dripping from her hair and nightgown, Harriet staggered out of bed and hurried from their room, throwing open the door to Sirius'. Elara's father laid on his back, his breathing loud, and he barely responded when Harriet shook him.
They didn't have time for this and didn't have a second glass of water. Elara pushed forward and slapped him on the ear.
"Ow—fuck!" Sirius grumbled, covering his face with his arms. He squinted. "What the hell?"
"Sirius, get up," Elara snapped. "There's something wrong."
He sat up with a reluctant grunt, his eyes only cracking open enough to peer at the three girls gathered at his bedside. "They're just celebrating," he said—or, rather, slurred, the words hardly audible as he rubbed at his mouth and face. He passed the sounds off at first, but he kept listening, and when he heard the screaming, his eyes widened.
"What is that?"
"We don't know!"
Sirius rose and snatched his wand from his rumpled sheets, shoving his bare feet into his shoes. Elara and the others hurried to their own room to do the same, Hermione pausing long enough to yank on a jumper. They chased Sirius through the tent's main room and into the night.
Smoke crawled like morning mist through the grounds, and the fire had created unnatural daylight, streaming as the dawn does over the horizon. Except, it was not the sun blazing on the line of crowded tents.
One of the larger tents collapsed, the displaced air throwing off sparks and embers as the smoke rolled. Elara coughed and covered her eyes against the flying debris, but not before she saw the line of figures dressed in black.
Spellfire popped and cracked, and a line of fresh fire shot over the field. Elara stumbled in surprise, but Harriet's hand on her arm kept her upright. The shorter witch kept a firm grip on her wand. The fire reflected off her spectacles.
"Are those—? Those are Muggles," Hermione gasped in horror, pointing above the moving horde. "That's Mr. Roberts!"
It was indeed Mr. Roberts, his eyes open in a blank, unseeing stare as he was levitated higher into the air, joined by a woman and two children who must be his wife and children. The marching group howled and jeered as the Muggles spun thirty, forty feet above their heads—falling only to be caught at the last second by another spell, thrown skyward.
"Where is the Ministry?!" Hermione shouted.
If there was ever a time for Gaunt or his thugs to make an appearance, it was now.
There were too many of them. Elara could hear shouts and angry hexes being thrown in the distance—undoubtedly by the Ministry and the event's security. Still, the group of marching wizards stood between them and the others.
All too suddenly, a few of those hooded heads turned in their direction, silver masks gleaming in the firelight. A wizard flung a curse—and Sirius shielded them, his swift Protego rippling under the angry red haze.
"Those are Death Eaters," Sirius said with uncommon severity. "I need you three to run."
"But—."
Another curse flew and struck his shield, solidifying and falling to the ground in a thick, sizzling ooze instead of dispersing. The grass hissed.
"Don't argue! Go to the woods—and stay together! Go!"
Elara turned as Sirius fired a spell in retaliation. Her mouth went dry, chest tight. She twisted a hand into Harriet's nightshirt and tugged her toward the waiting trees when the other witch hesitated, and Hermione snapped at them both to hurry. The drunken jeering grew louder at their backs.
Bodies shifted in the dark beneath the canopy, screams and cries of fear echoing in their ears. A sound like a bomb went off in the distance, and it trembled in the earth under their feet. The tightness in Elara's chest grew like a physical thing, hot and electric like thunderclouds building in her throat.
"Watch out—!"
The smoke filtered through the underbrush, shapes coalescing into bodies, silver masks in the lowlight—.
"Adhaerere Lentum!"
Elara didn't have time to react. Harriet moved with startling speed, her wand already raised, and the spell flew at the first Death Eater's face. Elara didn't have any idea where Harriet had learned that incantation, but the wizard shrieked when sticky black adhesive struck him in the eyes.
"Bugger!" the second wizard shouted. He lifted his arm—.
Harriet's wand danced in her hand. "Incarcerous Herbivicus!"
The dry earth cracked and burst as roots shot from the ground and tangled about his ankles. It brought the Death Eater to his knees and then dragged his head into the dirt, ignoring his frightened struggles.
Harriet snatched Elara's wrist and yanked her into motion.
The dark pressed close as they ran, the sharp brambles snagging against their legs. Pursuing feet pounded behind them—or perhaps Elara only heard the frantic, painful beating of her own heart. Blood rushed in her ears, and only Harriet's firm, unrelenting grip wrist kept her from falling when her feet caught on broken branches and bushes.
Elara had no idea how far they'd gone when they stopped. The air still hung thick about them, and though the smell of smoke and dust had settled, Elara still couldn't catch her breath.
She was having an asthma attack and didn't have Snape handy with one of his potions.
"Where—what—?" Hermione panted, the moonlight shining just enough to show how red her face had grown. "What—should we do—now? Sirius didn't say—."
"I don't know," Harriet replied. She wiped the sweat from her brow and surveyed their surroundings, taking in the shape of the trees, the traces of smoke billowing across the sky. "Elara needs to rest."
Elara took this as her chance to sit, heedless of the dead leaves and damp earth. She kneaded her hands against her sternum as if to force the muscles in her chest to loosen, but nothing eased the sharp spasm under her ribs. Her lungs prickled.
She didn't have any suggestions for what they should do. She was clueless—and no small amount of frightened.
Screams still echoed in the distance, filtering through the dense wood like thready bursts of wind, and they could hear the shock of booming spellfire.
Harriet studied the way they'd come as if searching for more dark wizards. Her gaze remained keen despite the exhaustion weighing on them all. "We can't just wait here, and what about Sirius? What if he gets hurt?"
"There's less reason for him to be hurt if he's not trying to protect us. He should have been able to join the Ministry and others," Hermione said. "But what else can we do? We're going to get lost out here—and Elara can't keep running. The smoke—."
Elara made an effort to refute her, but it escaped in a wheeze.
The shrieks came again, nearer, chased by cruel laughter.
"We're not going to stand about and get found by Death Eaters or Gaunt's arseholes. I have an idea."
Harriet crouched in front of Elara, resting her hands on her shoulders. "Change into a dog," she said. "If you can. Hurry."
It was difficult, but Elara managed to pull on the warm, buzzing feel of magic lurking under her skin and tug it on like a familiar jumper. The shift overtook her, though it did little to alleviate the ache in her chest. Her shape might have changed, but dogs, too, got asthma.
Suddenly, skinny arms hooked under her belly, and Elara yelped as she was hauled against Harriet's chest. The girl started running again, and Hermione followed.
For several minutes, Elara concentrated on nothing but her own breathing, attempting to match it with Harriet's. It felt as if she were trying to inhale through a thick bit of cloth. It hurt in her lungs, in her chest, back, throat, and mouth. She could taste smoke on the back of her tongue.
Despite weeks shut up in Grimmauld Place, Harriet ran fast, even with Elara weighing her down. She was fitter than her or Hermione, but she kept herself from out-pacing the latter. Twenty minutes later, she stopped when Hermione, clutching a stitch in her side, could go no farther.
By then, they'd reached another part of the forest. The destructive noises had dwindled in favor of the more natural sounds of the breeze in the trees and the chatter of nocturnal insects. Crickets chirped in the grass, and somewhere an owl screeched.
Harriet lowered Elara onto a mossy log. Elara shifted—and immediately regretted it as her lungs stretched. She groaned and folded over her knees.
Hermione came to her side, and Elara tensed when she touched her back. "Are you all right? Oh, what a stupid question. You're obviously not all right. Here—." A wand entered Elara's field of view. "Anapneo!"
The spell worked for a moment, forcing her airways open for long enough for Elara to drag in two much-needed breaths before her throat started to close again. Hermione cast it again.
Meanwhile, Harriet dragged her necklace out from under her nightshirt, the bones clicking against the glass of the Atlas. Harriet gripped Hugh's skull and incanted, "Avolare."
The runes on the skull glowed red, and Hugh the crow appeared perched on Harriet's hand. He cawed.
Harriet used her wand to cut off a hunk of her messy hair, and Hugh clamped onto it with his beak.
"Go to Nicolas Flamel," she told him, and the crow took flight.
Hermione's head turned to watch the bird go, then looked at Harriet. "Master Flamel? Why?"
"We're near Trefud, kind of," the witch replied—and Elara realized she was correct. It hadn't occurred to her before, but both she and Harriet had been in this forest in the past. Harriet had gone through a large part of it in her quest for Hugh.
Elara choked—and kept choked until Hermione used the spell again.
"Wretched—smoke—!"
"Don't try to talk. Just breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth."
Harriet sat on the log next to them, adjusting the Argonaut's Atlas to lay on her lap. "Non Ducor Duco."
The Atlas enlarged, and Harriet tapped it with her wand again. "Search: Sirius Black."
Hermione fidgeted. "It's been a bit spotty when looking for specific people. The Charms are…complicated."
Harriet hummed under her breath, her face lit by the map's soft blue glow. Elara could see many dots and names but couldn't read the words. "He's with a bunch of people. I don't recognize most of them—but there's Mr. Weasley, and Barty Crouch."
"So he's safe."
"As safe as he can be around a bunch of Ministry blokes—ouch, bloody hell! It's getting hot!" Harriet almost jumped and dropped the lens.
Hermione sighed. "I told you, it's spotty."
"As spotty as a house fire. Merlin!" Harriet canceled the Atlas, and the glow dimmed. She settled once it cooled.
"What do you mean for us to do now, Harriet? Are we going to wait for Sirius to find us?"
"No. That'll take too long." She glanced at Elara. "We'll start in the right direction."
"Where?"
"Toward Trefhud."
The right direction proved somewhere farther west, and they started walking. Elara hesitated for a moment before changing to a dog again, feeling too lightheaded and shaky on her feet to take more than a few steps. Harriet carried her again.
"You're gonna be okay," she murmured above Elara's head. She smelled of sweat and cinders. "It'll be fine. Just wait."
They traversed through the woods for another hour, and by then, Elara felt very nearly sick from the combination of her asthma and the gentle, rocking motion of Harriet's arms. Her grip grew shakier as her strength waned, and Hermione's footing became clumsier.
The older witch stumbled on a rock and hissed. "I didn't think to put on socks. I've gotten blisters everywhere."
Harriet snorted. "It's not as if you thought we were going to go for a run in the middle of the night." Coming to a stop, she eased Elara to the ground, and the trio all sat, fatigued and covered in small cuts and bruises from the foliage.
Everything looked the same. Elara would think they were going in circles if not for the Point Me spell.
They didn't say anything for a time—until Hermione growled and burst out in frustration. "What on earth were they thinking?" she demanded. "Honestly, attacking the World Cup! Security was impossibly high!"
"They're Death Eaters, Hermione. Not the most logical people."
"But were they?"
"What do you mean?"
"It just—it seems very stupid. Any of the Death Eaters who escaped the culling thirteen years ago had to use a lot of finesse or influence to stay free of Azkaban. So why would they risk it for a round of blithe terrorism?"
"Maybe they're recruits of Gaunt. Or Slytherin."
"That doesn't make sense, though."
Harriet rubbed at her temple and sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. I doubt we ever will."
Elara thought they both had good points; if Elara were the minion of a psychopathic Dark Lord, she wouldn't go about drawing attention to herself surrounded by Aurors, private sector security, and Ministry officials. Then again, Death Eaters were bigots, and by definition, idiots.
They fell silent again.
"Harriet?"
"Hmm?"
"…what were you dreaming of?"
Harriet blinked and looked at her, an idle hand stroking Elara's back. "I—don't know. You know I usually can't remember."
"But this was…strange. You wouldn't wake, and your eyes—."
Suddenly, something rustled in the leaves, and Harriet got pegged in the face by a whole bushel of evergreen needles.
"'Arriet!"
Mr. Flamel burst through the trees, following his Locater Effigy. His hair was wild from sleep, hastily dressed in robes thrown over his striped pajamas. The wand light burned Elara's eyes, and she whined, huffing another breath.
"Oh, Dieu merci," the alchemist gasped as he found them. He yanked Harriet into a one-armed embrace, still holding his wand in a white-knuckled grip. "Vous me terrifiez! What am I to do with you girls? You cannot even enjoy a game without trouble coming to get you!"
"You know what happened?"
"Oui. I exchanged messages with Albus asking why you might be sending me 'air in the middle of the night." He brushed the spot where the hair had been roughly cut. "A clever idea, petit oiseau."
He released Harriet and reached for Elara, carding his fingers through the fur on the scruff of her neck.
"And you, Elara? And 'Ermione?"
"Elara's ill," Hermione said, bending to scoop the Animagus up, staggering under her weight. "They set the camp on fire, and the smoke—."
Mr. Flamel nodded, exhaling a breath in relief. He ran a hand through his wild hair and then crouched to pick up a random pebble. Mumbling a spell under his breath, he waved his wand, and the pebble flashed blue.
"Let us get you three somewhere safe," he said. "Come 'ere. Hold my hand here, Harriet, and keep Elara close, 'ermione, yes?" He tucked Hermione and Elara under one arm and Harriet under the other. "Ready? Trois, deux, un—."
He pronounced an activation word in French Elara didn't catch, and the Portkey in his fist triggered. Hermione's grip tightened about her middle. The forest vanished in a swirl of color—and a moment later, everything went black.
None noticed the green skull spewing a writhing serpent as it rose against the sky. Elara and the others wouldn't know the Dark Mark had come to haunt the World Cup until the following day.
A/N:
Elara: *smacks Sirius*
Sirius, waking up: "I'm up, I'm up!"
Elara: *smacks Sirius again*
Elara: "Just making sure."