Bludger took her eyes away from her task and looked at the sleeping
form
beside her. It seemed a shame to wake him. He was deep in sleep, and
for
the first time in three days, she had gotten a glimpse of THE scar.
His
woolen stocking cap had been tugged back when he had shifted down
his
makeshift pillow a few minutes ago, and now she could see, in the
pool
of moonlight on his forehead, the beginning of a jagged cut striking
out
from under the thick wool rim. Interesting. It was smaller and
sharper
(and more frightening) than she had imagined.
But what really distracted her from her job was not the appearance
of
his forehead, but the fact that he was snuggled right up against
her.
He was a right cuddler, this one. It happened every time he slept.
He
started out a respectful distance, maybe a foot and a half or so,
burrowed
under their shared scratchy wool blanket. But within fifteen minutes
of
falling asleep, he would close the gap. Right now, he lay flat on
his
back, and she could feel the contact all the way down the side of
their
bodies: his solid shoulder and his elbow jabbed her ribs a little
uncomfortably—but
it was worth it, for she got the warmth of his hip, and the full
length
of the outer side of his long leg. Even his foot flexed toward her,
and
if she stretched out, she could sort of rest her toes on the top of
his
heavy boot.
She resisted a wild thought to kiss him right now. His face wore
shoe-blacking
and three day old stubble. Kissable, nonetheless. She could plant a
very
light one—maybe he wouldn’t wake up. Oh well, she sighed. We’re
not
supposed to get involved with colleagues. She was a professional
after
all. Eyes to the task, Auror! she reminded herself. Patience.
Persistence.
And one day, I will have my revenge, she thought. Your days
are
numbered, Lucius.
She had lain on her stomach for two hours now, since midnight,
peering
through the night scope. No movement whatsoever. Even the sheep were
motionless,
asleep and huddled up against the south side of the beautifully
built
dry-stacked stone wall that lined one side of the field. No secret
meetings.
No Death Eaters. Her eyes were tired and her concentration was
flagging—she
should wake him up.
He stirred a little and turned on his side, pressing a knee into
her
hip and resting his forehead and the bridge of his nose against her
forearm.
Bludger smiled and wondered if she should tease him that he
subconsciously
snuggled with male colleagues, too, on overnight surveillance
assignments.
She wouldn’t cuddle with Mad-Eye even if the temperature dropped
to
sub arctic levels. Padfoot, definitely. Mad-Eye, no.
“Greenhorn,” she whispered, nudging him a little. “Wake up, it’s
almost
your shift.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m up,” he mumbled, rolling away from her and feeling
for
his glasses. She heard him fumble in the darkness, the soft
whoosh
sound of the tea canister being opened and water pouring. “Tea?” he
asked
her groggily.
“No thanks.”
“Calor maxima,” he murmured at his teacup, and she could hear the
water
come to a boil. “And don’t call me ‘Greenhorn’. I told you, that’s
not
my code name.”
As if a code name would conceal your identity. “I
know,
but everyone else calls you that. And it irritates you so. Gotta do
something
for entertainment around here.” She shifted herself into the warm
patch
of ground he had just vacated, and readjusted the blanket. The cold
seemed
to pierce the very weave of her clothing. She placed a quick warming
spell
on the blanket.
“Well, it’s a leftover from my teen Auror years—a nickname. Don’t
use
it,” he ordered firmly. He settled in beside her on the mossy slope,
on
his stomach, in the depressions their bodies had created in the soft
soil
over the last three days. Cradling the tea mug in both hands, he
lifted
his head to the scope. “I take it nothing’s happened.”
“Three days and three nights now of nothing.” She shook her head.
“Either
our insider gave us a bad tip or they’ve sent us here too early.
You’d
think if the Death Eaters were going to act, it would be tomorrow,
on
the solstice—when the circle’s magic is at its most powerful.”
“Yeah, but then there would be all those Muggles around:
Druid-worshipers
or Paganists or whatever they call themselves.”
“Perfect spot for a mass killing of Muggles, then.”
“Maybe. They could kill Muggles en masse any time, though. I think
this
is something bigger. Maybe Lucius has found somebody who knows how
to
harness the magic from these stone circles.”
“Then shouldn’t we all be covering Stonehenge, instead of this
obscure
one in the middle of Cumbria with all its wimpy stones? Surely
Stonehenge
is a far more powerful circle.”
“Believe me, Stonehenge is covered. Mad-Eye’s put about ten Aurors
on
that job.” He looked over at her for a moment. “I’ve got a theory,
actually.
Castlerigg is the only circle that is supposed to have all its
original
stones. The more well-known circles have been partially knocked
down,
and the stones have been broken or even stolen over the years. This
may
be the only one with its magic still intact. So…anyway, I talked
Padfoot
into sending a couple of us up here, to protect this circle.” He
turned
back to the scope.
“Hmmph. That’s a lightweight theory, I’d say.” Bludger shivered and
pulled
the covers up under her chin. “You know, it’s a lot warmer
down
south at Stonehenge. We could be getting a lot more sleep if we were
taking
shifts with ten other people, maybe even Apparating home for a
bath.
Remember baths?” Her partner chuckled softly. She continued,
“And
then we’ll miss all the action when the Death Eaters show up.”
“Come on, Bludger.” He grinned good-naturedly. “Who wouldn’t want
to
spend three days in this gorgeous mountain setting: no tourists—just
the
occasional Muggle fellwalker and lambs playing in the fields.
Anyway,
it isn’t a lightweight theory.”
He gave her a brief lesson on what was known about stone circles,
and
how scholars had tried (and failed) to better define the magic that
resulted
from the relative positioning of the stones with the sun. Little was
known—the
ancient wizards of the Druidic cultures didn’t leave records,
written
or pictorial. Castlerigg Stone Circle, however, was the only circle
where
the magic was strong enough to register a pattern on wizard
instruments.
“So how do you know all this rubbish? Your hoity toity Hogwarts
education?
They didn’t teach us that tosh at vocational magic schools, you
know.”
“Watch out, Bludger, you’re revealing personal information about
yourself.
And I didn’t learn it at Hogwarts. I happen to have a friend who’s a
walking
encyclopedia, a proper academic. It’s her theory that sent us
here.
She told me all about it just before we left on Sunday.” He smiled
to
himself.
“Okay,” she challenged. “So, what if you’re right, or she’s
right.
And twenty Death Eaters show up here instead. Are you prepared to
take
them all on?”
“I am if you are.” He spoke grimly. Bloody hell, she
thought.
Fine. I’m game.
“Unless,” he continued, “we call for back up.” He smiled at her
then,
with an expression like he was going to surprise her with flowers or
something.
“With this.” He pulled out of his robes a small rectangular silver
container.
It glinted dully in the moonlight, and she could see it had a flip
top
and a hinge.
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s like a mobile fireplace,” he said wondrously, and handed it
to
her. “This is just the prototype.”
She turned it over and opened the flip top. “It looks sort of like
a
Muggle cigarette lighter.”
“Except it’s magic—there’s powder in that little wheel,” he reached
over
and pointed to the tiny, rough edged cylinder that would be flicked
with
the thumb. “You can talk to any wizard’s fireplace in the country.
Supposedly.”
“Is this ministry-issued equipment?”
“No. It’s being developed privately, by a clever bloke who tinkers
with
Muggle stuff.” He said it proudly, as if he were the clever bloke.
“Isn’t that against the law?”
He coughed as if he were trying to keep from laughing. “Yeah. Well,
it’s
inspired by a Muggle product, and apparently that’s allowed.”
Bludger flipped the top open again and flicked on the flame.
“Whoa! Stop.” he cried softly, turning from the scope and moving
his
hand to close it. You’ll wake my friend.”
Too late.
“Every…Everything alright?!” came a sleepy male voice from the
lighter.
Bludger looked over at Greenhorn, and he nodded. “Go ahead,” he
said,
“put your lips into the flame and speak.”
The flame was green and cool when her lips touched it. She spoke:
“Sorry
to wake you. Everything is A-okay. Over.”
“Who the hell is this?” came the voice, fully awake now, and
Bludger
could just see the chin, mouth and tip of a longish nose moving in
the
flame of the lighter. Cool.
She brought the flame close again, eerily imposing her own lips
upon
his image. “Uh…my partner was just demonstrating your new
gadget.”
“At…2:30 in the morning? Dammit, let me speak to him.” Bludger
smirked
guiltily and passed over the lighter.
Greenhorn cleared his throat, and leaned into the flames, while
keeping
one eye focused steadily through the scope. “Sorry, mate. Just
wanted
you to know that we’re out here, making the world safer, so you can
sleep
at night.”
The face let out a breath of relief. “Oh, bugger off. I thought you
were
in trouble. Who’s the woman, and why are you awake right
now?”
The mouth–in-flames spread into a roguish grin at the second
question.
Bludger thought she could see freckles on his features. He was cute
(at
least the part she could see was cute).
“I’m working, thank you. And watch your language. She’s a
colleague.”
“Oh-ho. You’ve never told me there were female Aurors. And
this
one looks young and attractive—she’s got good lips anyway. Where do
I
sign up for your job?”
Greenhorn snorted. “When your Significant Other gives you
permission.”
“Yeah, well… when I’m coherent I’ll come back with a crushing
reply.”
The mouth yawned. “Don’t wake me again, you idiot, unless it’s an
emergency.
Have fun with Miss Lips.”
“She can hear you, you know.”
“Oh.” The mouth went sheepish. “I guess I need to develop a volume
control
on this thing. My apologies to Miss Lips. And…be careful, mate.
Alright?”
“Thanks, I will.’ Greenhorn snapped the lighter shut, and pocketed
it.
“So, who was that exactly? I mean, what is his name?”
Greenhorn shook his head. “I can’t tell you. He’s wanted by the
Death
Eaters, just as much as we are.”
“Oh,” she sighed, resignedly. Bludger was occasionally irritated by
the
‘no-exchange-of-personal-information’ policy of the Underground
Auror
League. It was for their mutual safety, of course. Some Aurors had
families,
children even, and a captured Auror could endanger everyone if
tortured
into revealing information.
“He’s cool,” concluded Bludger, as she burrowed back under the
blanket.
Greenhorn nodded. “He’s a good bloke. And a good friend.”
They fell silent for a while, and Bludger lay on her side, watching
her
partner’s profile through her half-closed eyes. He had not been what
she
had expected, this Boy Who Lived. She had expected a cocky,
egocentric
celebrity, or a haunted and brooding cynic. But he was so damned
nice—quiet,
serious most of the time, but generally easy-going.
She found it difficult to believe he was the one who had destroyed
You-Know-Who
at age nineteen. Nineteen! She reminded herself of his
reputation
among Aurors: he was quick-thinking, fearless and ferocious in a
fight,
and could suddenly exhibit the most extraordinary powers. She would
like
to see that.
Bludger shifted uncomfortably in the mossy hollow. She could not
sleep,
despite her exhaustion. She knew she was approaching that stage of
fatigue
that bordered on delirium. Turning on her back, she clasped her
hands
behind her head, and deliberately rested her elbow against his arm.
Why
not? she thought. He had cuddled up with her (okay, so he
wasn’t
actually conscious of it). Besides, the comfort of human contact is
so
infrequent in this business. Worse, he had not flirted with her, not
one
bit in the last three days. She couldn’t let him get away with that.
Usually, Bludger discouraged flirting from her male colleagues—it
was
their respect she wanted. But this young man…he was 21, right? Most
young
men flirted with her like a house on fire. Either he had more than
enough
female attention in his off hours or he was utterly devoted to
someone.
She suspected it was the latter. Yes, thought Bludger,
remembering
his private smile just ten minutes ago. That’s the object of his
devotion,
the walking encyclopedia. Bludger felt a trace of irritation,
alongside
her exhaustion. She wanted to ruffle his even-tempered exterior, to
mar
his unspotted fidelity to this witch, whoever she was.
“So what is your code-name, anyway?” she asked, though she
already
knew.
“Quickie. You know that.”
“And that is because of… your timing in the bedroom?” She was being
shameless
now. And delirious.
He turned his head ever so slightly in her direction, away from the
scope.
“It’s because I’m fast. A fast draw, a fast flier, fast deliverer of
multiple
simultaneous hexes.” Then he added wryly, turning back, “And that
joke
is entirely unoriginal—I’ve heard it a dozen times already.
“Hmmph,” she answered again, withdrawing her elbow from his arm. He
was
impossible. He refused to flirt, even with such a blatant
opener.
“So what’s the story behind your code name?” he asked, after a
moment.
“My Stupefy slams into you like a bludger from hell,” she
spoke
defiantly in his direction. She’d like to hit him with a
Stupefy
about now. “The Death Eater who gets hit with that doesn’t get
up
for a looong time.” Then, without skipping a beat: “So, is she your
girlfriend?”
“Who?”
“The babe with stone circle theory—the academic.”
“Oh! No. She’s seriously attached…has been for ages. Anyway, if she
were,
do you think I’d be telling you?”
“No. I suppose it would be endangering her life, to tell me
about
it.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She knew she should shut up and
go
to sleep, but she plunged forward recklessly: “Who would want
to
be the girlfriend of Harry Potter anyway? That would be like signing
your
own death warrant.” She gave a short bark of laughter.
She saw him wince—his brows furrowed behind the eyepiece of the
scope
and his mouth hardened. She had done it now: found a sore spot.
Bludger
immediately regretted her joke.
“You’re exhausted, Bludger,’ he spoke curtly. “You just used my
real
name. Go to sleep before you violate Auror protocol again.”
She could hear the hurt in his voice: a genuine profound pain. Oh
bollocks,
why had she said that? Perhaps he didn’t allow himself a
girlfriend
for that very reason. Perhaps he had even lost a girlfriend to the
Death
Eaters. She knew all about the pain of losing the love of your life.
It
was why she became an Auror; it was why she was here: to
avenge
the horrible death of her fiancé.
She rose on her elbow. “I’m sorry,” she almost whispered. “I
shouldn’t
have said that. Not just your name. I mean…about being your
girlfriend.”
He didn’t answer right away. She saw him blink once or twice into
the
scope. “Okay,” he said softly. “Now go to sleep.”
She lay back down. “Goodnight, Greenhorn.”
“Goodnight, Bludger.”
