Crosswinds.

[Robert Shaw]

21 October, 2009
11:38 am

He had made himself a hard man to find as he contemplated which move to play on each of his real world chess boards. Corrion had grown soft; almost cowardly in his ambitions to find him – he was waiting and Robert knew it but there wasn’t much choice left but to play his game oblige him a prize. He had been a good dog for all this wonderful time after all, in a way he deserved it. Raynor…the bane of his existence on the other hand; that was a much more difficult board to read, it always was and yet every smart move he made seemed to do nothing but aggravate his superior. In battle; muggles conserved their ammo so they could live longer; pulled punches to leave more time to control captives…but he wasn’t a muggle and neither was their battle so perhaps that was why his analogy only infuriated them.

What did it matter? Why should that bugger of an unknown soul care how he ran his crew if it got pleasurable results? They had wanted his ideas so they wouldn’t have to do anything, so if it failed a single person was expendable. He held no quarrel playing the scapegoat because he knew they would never have to call him one and yet here he was now…exactly that. Hmph. He’d never called London’s streets much of home; and certainly not the muggle sides of them but they were that home now and yet now beneath the noontime summer sun that is exactly what they were. The muggles were hardly an enemy, inferior yes but overall defenseless. There was no danger from them and his idealisms had blinded him from that fact for so long; too long. And although the owl flying in the daylight drew questioning stares from a few patrons of the cobblestone walk it too went otherwise ignored, even by himself…

Until it dropped parchment onto his graying head.

Robert.

Many years ago you were brought into our ranks. You were recruited for your brain, for your belief and your potential dedication. It goes without saying that your recruitment was a wise decision; your mind was then and is now a small piece of the Deva’s foundation in the British Isles but I’m afraid that although your mind is still sharp as a blade that your ideals and dedication have come under heavy question these last months. And I’m afraid, Robert, that your small toying and taunting of the Ministry do little to defend the claims of uselessness that have been raised. Even basements do have windows, after all.

I suppose Robert that this enough dancing and I should cut to the chase. This is the last you’ll hear from me, from the Deva. By the time you get this you may be dead…if that’s the case then I’ve wasted a good deal of ink, if not…know that your days are now numbered and Cross Manor is no longer a place you may call sanctuary.

The Voice

His gray eyes had read it only once…before tucking it into his pocket and continuing on his way. It wasn’t news to him, he’d known this was coming weeks ago…he just wasn’t sure when. History was repeating itself within the Deva, the brief ruling of planning minds was dead and the result was going to be bloodshed. Innocent bloodshed wanted no part of on his hands. Muggles would always be inferior, half-bloods always impure and blood traitors always simply that but he would not become part of a second round of atrocities.

Present Day

31 October, 2009
5:29pm


That had been ten days ago, now it was Hallow’s Eve.

Ten days that a bounty had been on his head and yet here he still stood in a world where the only sanctuary was the ground his feet were able to cover. Tch. That damn well wasn’t much was it? They’d gotten close a couple of times...Liverpool, Essex, the sods even had him followed to Dublin where they were just as likely to be killed by muggles as he was. Were they daft enough to think this would make him switch sides? Change his convictions? How the hell did you pick a side in a war where both sides wanted you dead and neither would buy a notion of sudden neutrality? And Merlin forbid he should try and carve a third side into this war… Yes, he could claim muggles are suddenly okay but only if they like American SPAM or some other cockeyed notion of the sort. No! They’d recruited him for his mind because none of them could really THINK...because they were all gits and he was a strategic genius.

Really the only reason he was alive was that he had unfinished business with the other side…with Raynor’s side…or maybe it was with his side. Maybe he did have his own warped third front in all this mess to some extent…he had his own reasons for sparring with Raynor but was that enough to make a one-manned crusade? Was it possible to have a mesh of both sides as his core? Sure why not? If sociopaths could make it work out every ruddy day; why couldn't he? They called him one often enough.

Darkness wouldn’t fall for another several hours at best but even the enveloping shadows which he could use so well to his favor would provide little haven for him now. All eyes were hunting; all friends were foes and safety was the most relative word in his vocabulary so why did he choose to retreat the single place where it was guaranteed everyone would fire whatever spell they knew if they saw him – even if it wouldn’t do any harm? Well quite frankly unfinished business was unfinished business no matter how the stories got bent and sometime within the next six months someone was likely going to give him a nice pretty green light to look at. The short version is that when a man knows he’s all but dead; odds don’t matter and loose ends simply shouldn’t be allotted to exist.

He was certain he’d left them there in Dublin too, but it was possible that someone still was watching him even now. Here under the shade of the willows, elms and birch; here where every step was just as dangerous for them as it was for him. Here in the daylight…

Here…three meters up in a tree.

[Closed.]

[Tamis Raynor]

All Hallows Eve. The day of the dead. It was the one day where all the worlds melded together and existed as one. The day of the year where magic reached its climax. While it was a day for celebration and remembrance, it was also a day for caution. For not only did the magical potential of wizards and witches increase during the twenty four hour interval, but so did the abilities of every other magical creature. Therefore, for the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the thirty-first of October was the day of the ultimate headache.

Every year there was a handful of students that had the grand epiphany that on this day, the most dangerous day to venture into the forest, that they were going to play chicken with its inhabitants. Usually the groundskeeper, caretaker, and a couple other staff members were sacrificed as designated bouncers to keep students from loosing limps. This year, Raynor had decided to torture herself with the task. She was not feeling particularly festive and could use the fresh air.

Mist clung to the floor of the Forbidden forest like a shifting blanket, rolling in ominous clouds over dirt and root. Practical leather boots shattered twigs underfoot as Tamis picked her way between the twisting patterns of trees. It was not quite dusk, but already the forest was succumbing to shadows.

A delicate hand brushed against the hard bark of a tree, as if trying to absorb the essence of its rough exterior. Even as a student, Tamis had always found the wonders and mysteries of the Forbidden Forest comforting. To her, it had always seemed to have a mind of its own; a living entity where every tree, every strand of grass, every unicorn, and every dangerous being was a part of its soul. Not that she was claiming that it was a horcrux. It was just the definition of magic.

Shaking her head, the Headmistress let her hand slid away and leaned against the tree, allowing her head to fall back and her hair to entangle against the grains of bark. She would regret that latter, but for now she was content. Memories of romping through these woods with a mischievous gleam in her eye and a non-too-sensitive appreciation of peril. Everything about Hogwarts had seemed like home to her then. But what about now?

It was no secret that Raynor appeared to have disappeared from the public eye – or any eye – since the start of the school year. People knew she was there, but no one ever actually saw her. Rumors were flying. Just what was the Headmistress hiding from?

It was a question she was continuously asking herself. And one she feared the lone paths of this forest couldn’t answer for her. But... someone else could.

A cold sensation prickled down her spine. As if a ghost had suddenly walked through her. The Headmistress stood upright, ridgid with tension. She was not alone. She could feel another person... somewhere close. Which meant, it could only be one individual.

"I know you are there," she declared into the silence.