Forgotten Bloodlines

[mehra1993]

Now I remember why I don't like Muggles too much. Shari thought as a homeless drunkard spewed vomit in a dark London alleyway from which she had just emerged. The trolley was gone...a necessary precaution for incognito travel from the Wizard World to the Muggle one. Her robes were stowed away in her trunk as well, and the trunk was getting rather heavy to carry. She watched as cabs zoomed by, cyclists braved the biting wintry winds and young and old walked briskly through the streets of this bustling metropolis. It was the pulse of Great Britain and it was great. A trembling thought crept into her mind...I have no idea where I'm going!

She needed to meet with Shane...but he had not responded to her latest owl and now she was worried. She supposed she could find the muggle aeroport on her own, but there were so many people here and it was too overwhelming to think and concentrate on where to go. And now that she was here, she could not use magic.

Diagon Alley. she thought. I need to get to Diagon Alley and meet Shane there. She swallowed back the growing lump in her throat, exhaled loudly, and set herself on a new path.

[shanebrimswold1]

My little charge... Shane thought as he sat upon a stool in the Leaky Cauldron. He was supposed to be in Diagon Alley waiting for Sharivah. He was to take her home...she didn't know it but plans had changed. She would not be flying out to (or as it had originally been planned...Side-Along Apparate with him to) India and Jhansi to stay with Mekharah. Something had gone wrong. Something he didn't want to think about but concerned Shari's grandmother Shakuntallah. He had received the owl from Sharikumar shortly after arriving at Wendelring from St. Mungo's...
My little charge... those words meant a lot more than just Shari at the moment. They had been used by Sharikumar in the owl.
"Sorry for the change in plans, Shane. Please take care of my little charge..." And now she was his little charge.

The wandmaker sipped his firewhiskey rather loudly. It seemed impertinent to dump Shari on himself and Brighid at this moment. Of course she could stay in the second bedroom in the apartment. How could he break the news to Shari? Especially with the hubbub and celebration going on outside in the Alley. He looked at his watch and saw that it was getting time to expect Sharivah in Diagon Alley. He chugged the last of the whiskey, the liquor sliding down his throat gave the sensation of magma frying everything in its path down from a volcano, and dropped a few silver and gold coins on the bar before heading to the back of the building and finding the secret brick wall. Tapping upon the appropriate bricks, Shane stood back as the wall reformed into an archway leading into Diagon Alley. The place was a mess with little witches and wizards and their families running all over the place with despicable smiles plastered to their faces.
There's no need for anger, Shane. He thought. He found a spot a reasonable distance from the gleeful audience but close enough to The Leaky Cauldron so that Shari would know it was him. He slipped into thought as to how he could smooth over the shocking story of her dead-yet-alive Grandmother in India. He didn't realize, so deep in thought, how shockingly close to Knockturne Alley he was, and perhaps that was a good thing?

[mehra1993]

Shari turned down a dark alleyway...well most of the alleyways here seemed dark but this one was dark and silent...shockingly silent...she had a faint idea that she was not supposed to have wondered down here, and being a second year and three years under seventeen, she couldn't use any magic to light her way. So, as things of this nature tend to pan out, darkness swallowed her. Looking behind her, Shari watched as the florescent electric lights from the busy London street faded into the blackness that surrounded her now. She shivered at the thought of suddenly being completely alone. She stumbled over something and the sound of her shoes on the cobblestones echoed down the alley. Gasping she tried to reach through the darkness to see what it was she had tripped on. Gladly, she felt the side of her trunk. If it had been a person...
She heard voices ahead...almost whispering. A dim light grew farther up the tunnel-like alley. It was strong enough to reveal to Shari that the alley curved and that it was not the barren alleyway she had thought it was. There were shops, desolate...abandon for the holidays perhaps...lining the curve in the street. A chill crept over her, biting through her skin and encasing her bones. She shivered in the realization...this must be Knockturn Alley. She knew she'd felt a bit odd walking in here. She decided that the foreboding feeling she had associated with something being wrong must have stemmed from her close proximity to this place...this seemingly horrible place. She wished, now more than ever, that she could just return to the light and make it to Diagon Alley...for everyone knew that Knockturn was full of unwanted surprises and that it was a side street to Diagon. Her pace quickened. The light, which had seemed so feeble moments ago, became stronger. It felt, as she stepped closer to it, that it had the power of the sun, strength enough to warm her but not enough to warm the place. A singular laugh echoed down the dark row from the same hidden source as the light. Then, in all her returning strength and confidence, Sharivah saw something move out of the corner of her eye...something bounded toward her at a breakneck pace and she had no way of ducking or defending herself. She stood, frozen with terror, her mind traveling miles per minute and concluding that this thing would definitely kill her. She took a millisecond to breathe and utter a Hindi prayer, bracing herself for death...

[shanebrimswold1]

Where is she? He thought, patience growing thin. Around him it seemed the world was rejoicing and laughing at his misery. What kind of father or protector acts as beleaguered as he? He thought he was woefully unfit for either job. Deep down inside there seemed to be something wrong. Something felt off. Around him, where once there was much festivity, it seemed like a great invisible bubble had formed which blocked out noise. The wind even seemed to whistle slightly, as though something eerie was about to happen. He felt like he was in a movie rather than in real life. A frown settled upon his face, a shiver rippled down his spine; the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand on end, and then it happened. The ground shook, his mind spun and he was not in Diagon Alley anymore. There was a tunnel, a long and dark tunnel, and it felt chill. The air smelled of spices and decaying bodies. He was pressed to go on by some invisible hand, pressed to walk toward the false light at the end of the tunnel. He stumbled over something…or someone…and he reached to the walls of the tunnel to brace him from a fall, but they did not and soon he was falling through darkness…falling and then flying…soaring over a plush green and gold landscape. The air smelled of flowers and fragrances he associated with the Orient or even…India! Now he could see it…the majestic Taj Mahal. The mountains of the Himalayas loomed before him, ominously, the land at the foot of these naturals wonders cowering in their shadow. He felt cold again. He began to sink…diving as if through water, only this was through air…thin air. He plummeted through and down and down until he saw a great lake form beneath him. Down and down he went, into the lake and then out of it again…back into the tunnel. The light was getting stronger, though he was not moving toward it. He could hear his name being called in the distance…Shane. He saw the ghostly figure of a mother and her child, her small baby girl, gliding toward the light. It was blinding him. Shane. He had an urge to see who the mother and child were. Shane? He put his arm up to shade his face from the light, as if doing so would simply block out the sun. Shane?? He gasped as the ghostly woman locked gazes with him and he stared into her familiar green eyes. SHANE!
He snapped back to reality. Someone was pulling at his sleeve.