Hunting For The Sun

Once Upon An Untainted Memory

Timbers crackled as the fire raced along their tarred surfaces and I was scared, crying.

'Meg, you must go somewhere, hide away and not come out. Promise me?' she demanded urgently, taking her smallest dagger and slashing the sides of her gown for easier movement, binding the loose waist in and ripping the sleeves off. She reversed the little knife and handed it to me.

'Keep this, in case.'

I slipped it into the waistband of my jeans, eyes swimming with prickling tears.

'Arianwen!' father cried from where he stood at the window, his face bathed in orange light from the fires below. 'Hurry!'

His silver stubble shone in the glow, making him look like a fiery redhead again. He turned to me, his harsh eyes reflecting the carnage below, although he tried to hide it from me.

'Go well, Meg,' he said gruffly, hesitating before ruffling my messy, wavy hair with a callused hand. He swept past me, taking mother's hand. I watched as the door slammed, cutting me off from them.

Flames were licking under the door long before I started to move. In a fit of panic, I ran to the window, shoving the shutters wide and clambering out onto the ledge. I wobbled madly, clinging to the slatted wood. Below was a bloodbath. I saw mother and father running down the road in the distance, father still clutching her hand. My hands clenched the rim of the shutter until my knuckles went white, and then I turned away. Heaving my small, seven-year-old frame up onto the roof of our house, I blinked the tears away. They drizzled down my cheekbones like warm summer rain. Right now, it felt like I may never feel that again.

I scrabbled across the tiles on my hands and knees, my long hair flopping aimlessly over my back and dangling down by my face. My jeans ripped immediately, unable to take the strain of the tiles. As I reached the peak of the roof, ready to take the leap across the eaves to the flat roof of our neighbours' extension, flames began to lap over the rim of the tiles. I heard shouting in the room below and an incessant banging began on the tiles a few feet behind me. I gave a slight, involuntary scream and pushed up onto my feet, skittering down the back of the roof and dropping off the other side.

I was not in any way ready for that, and a shriek of terror escaped from my lips. Animal panic gripped me and I flailed my small arms wildly, trying to grab for something.

It was all over almost before it began. I crashed onto the flat roof, throwing my body weight forwards, to my mortal advantage, I realise now. I crashed hands-first onto the gravelled platform and coughed, badly winded. My knees and palms stung brutally, embedded with chunks of grit and bleeding. Tears still streamed from my eyes, burning my face on the way down and running into my mouth, spreading salt over my tongue.

As soon as I could, I rolled onto my knees, wincing sharply at the pain, then on to my feet. I stumbled, barely able to walk, let alone run. Still, I kept going. I skidded to a halt at the left corner of the square, ugly extension. A few feet down was a wall. I dropped onto it, my ankle snapping over as I landed badly. I lifted it instantly, smacking it back down in the right place again before dropping onto my backside to slither over the side of the wall and into our garden.

I ran down the moon- and fire-lit lawn, my ankle putting up with the pain because it had to. I hurdled the little raised brick flowerbed, crashing to the gravel path beyond, then running down it for a while, stumbling and faltering. I lifted my chin up and pushed myself harder, endeavouring to continue. There had to be more left in me than I bargained for.

I dodged the red tree in the middle of the lawn, taking a flying leap over the small hedge and crashing into the gate. The air I drew in and out of my lungs in a frenzy was sooty and relatively useless, burning my throat on every breath. My breathing was harsh, ragged, and black dots corrupted my vision. My numb, tingling fingers fumbled with the catch on the gate until I finally flipped it open, running out onto the stream bank beyond.

The rain had been high this year, halting instantly with the onset of summer. In this month of May, it was late on a hot night, just recently dark. I gazed in horror at the crashing stream, lapping at my feet even as I stood on the bank. I had sailed a raft down it last time the rains were high... the raft!

I ran along the bank, holding my arms like a cage crossed with a snow-plough around my face. The bushes and ivy still whipped at my cheeks and shoulder ferociously, but I chose to ignore them. A slash ran down my forehead and across my cheek, welling up with blood like my tears, backlit by the fire across the raging creek.

I shoved the rotten shed door aside, stepping into the musty darkness within. I reached out a hand to fumble for the raft. My hand brushed against cold, curved metal, and I knew I had found it. Propping the door open with my foot, I began to drag the craft out, tipping it onto its side and hearing the sloshing of the water where we had forgotten one of the bungs on the oil-drum. My ears pricked up as I heard shouts and the sounds of splashing further back. Roughly at our back gate, I estimated.

After a small, terrified hesitation, I set back to work pulling the raft out in a frenzy of renewed vigour. I jumped down onto a submerged rock which we had used as a landing platform when the river had been more of a stream. I knew it was there. From my new position, icy water soaked into my jeans and T-shirt. I gritted my teeth against the cold, dragging the raft over the damp turf and dirt of the bank. It swung in a reluctant circle, skittering out onto the water and getting caught my the current immediately.

I hooked my elbows over the edge, lifting my feet up to be carried with it. I dug my fingernails into the soft wood, dragging my body up onto the platform as it sloshed ponderously downstream. It tipped precariously high, almost flipping over on me, until I flung myself up from a rock on which my feet became caught briefly.

I scrambled to the middle, overwhelmed with relief. My knees stung viciously still, but I ignored them, folding my legs under me and untying the paddles from the edge of the craft. I could still hear crashing in the undergrowth behind me, but I was getting further and further ahead.

'You say that was Kelwaedd's house?'

'Yeah...'

'The master wants him alive.'

'You think this is him, ahead of us?'

'It's not worth the risk of not following whoever it is. The Dark Lord would kill us all.'

The conversation was distant, but held devastating clarity to my ears. These people were going to follow me until they caught me. Simple as that. I began to paddle frantically, thankful that the craft was narrow enough to reach down either side. I remembered clearly that the creek pitched downhill over a small waterfall before running down into the centre of London. After that, it got very fast. I swallowed in anticipation. I had never been allowed to go down there. Father had never let me. I began to paddle frenetically, watching the dark tree-line ahead, watching as it dissipated, leaving me with the skyline of London in flames.

As I broke out of the trees for a short way, paddling fast alongside a road filled with bodies of the dead and the dying, my ears were wreathed in screams. Flames drank at the blood red of the sky, clouds of dark smoke obscuring the tops of the towers. The white dome of St Paul's ran with blood like some gruesome fountain. A column of fire reached to the highest tower, tracing its golden aura over the streets below, clear, even at this distance. Ant-like people milled around below, and the constant clash of swords and the burnt sugar stench of magic filled the air.

The water began to bob in preparation for its smooth spill over the lip of the small dam, then the resulting journey down about five other little dams, putting it on the level of the Thames. I tied the paddle up quickly with slick, icy cold fingers and braced myself across the deck, gripping the two sides and raising my head to see where I was going. Water began to splash over the rim, running across to my chin and soaking into my clothes, stained by the sky.

I began to panic again, wondering if I should move before the waterfall, when the level suddenly fell away under me and the speed dropped us vertically down the ten foot dam. I screamed, screwing my eyes shut and pressing my chin against the damp wood, clenching my teeth. My legs began to bunch up underneath me, trying to flip me over. I hooked my toes over the back edge, stretching to my utmost to reach that far.

The front edge of the craft hit the water, sinking enough to submerge my head and send water spiralling up my nose and down my throat, before rising with a sluggish roar of displaced water, flipping forwards so that I was on the underneath. The temptation to scream rocketed through my system. I had no air and no hope. Soaking wet, my fingers began to slip and lose their tenuous hold on the edge of the planks.

There was a booming crash that sent a jarring shock through my bones, and I felt the back end of the little raft rising up again, that roar as the water ran back between the oil-drums and sloshed down my back. My head lifted laboriously out and I snapped my chin up, gasping for oxygen through the plastered strands of my dark hair. The raft scraped its bottom along the rim of the dam, turning sideways before becoming caught between the two rows of drums and shrieking as metal on metal will. It then flung itself entirely off the edge, dipping sideways, this time, and pushing me under the fall of water spilling down the edge until I raised my hand for a fraction of a second to push away from the smooth metal wall inside.

I bobbed along the turbid water for about a second before skimming the next level and crashing flat-on into the next level of water, sending smooth sheets of liquid out to the sides. I coughed through winded lungs, spewing water and saliva onto the wood before me. I chanced a brief glance at the next dam. It was a little further away, so I lifted my hand to scrape the water away from my face before gripping tightly again. I counted back. This one would be the fourth. After this, two more to go.

This time, I crashed over the edge and flipped all in one move, rolling back up instantly, gasping for air and coughing on the freezing, grubby water which filled my mouth. The screams were growing closer, louder and more frequent. I passed several crashed cars where a bunch of Death Eaters stood, poring over a map.

'The Kelwaedd house? It's up that way,' said someone, pointing up the road towards my home. I was well past them by then, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see them rolling up the map and running up the road. No one spotted me.

I crashed sideways down the last two dams, ducking under briefly on the first before sailing smoothly onto a river, of sorts. Nothing looked too fast ahead of me, so I sat up gingerly. A small crossroad of rivers set me puzzling. I yanked the oar free, pressing it against the bank to hold me still long enough. I shook my hair out of my eyes, scraping at it with a bleeding hand. The one I was on ended here, that was obvious. The river running across my path flowed to the left, running down a series of rollers into a pipe and out into the Thames. A possibility, I supposed. The one ahead was an aqueduct, although I didn't know the name then. It kept going horizontally, suspended over the city on massive arches and columns. Beneath it was carnage, above it, the blood red sky, ahead, nothing.

I release the oar and dragged it fiercely through the water to get me across, pushing off the sides as I wavered. The wind was weak, really, but up here it felt pretty strong, pushing me to the left. I hooked the handle of the paddle over the two-foot wall, pulling myself through, almost slipping off the raft in my efforts. Eventually, I crashed between the two walls, racing along the shallow duct, pushing against the bottom of the trough, rather than the water.

Over the sides, I could see the city being destroyed. They were already blowing up Muggle buildings, as I found later, with the Muggles still inside. Every now and again, a throaty boom would shake my aqueduct, shuddering little stones off the wall and dislodging some cement. I pushed faster, the front of the raft dipping into the water in protest. I disregarded it.

In the distance, I could see the Ministry. The high walls around it were being laid siege to. Scaling ladders laid spidery shadows over the pale stone from this distance, and tiny black garbed figures smattered the fortification. Part of me just wanted to jump off the edge of this duct and not have to worry anymore. Mother and father filled my thoughts, crushing any glimmers of optimism.

I was still gazing at the gathering wasteland when the aqueduct simply dropped away from beneath me, stealing the raft from under my body and hurling it down, much faster than my tiny frame, to crash into a deep, deep reservoir below. I was screaming and screaming, the air snatched away from my lips like the trail of an aeroplane, white against periwinkle sky. My legs kicked in protest against this fall, getting me nowhere. I saw the raft bob up to the surface, its buoyancy defeating the fall. I felt a swell of pride that my little raft could survive that, then I realised that I was going to crash right into it.

My screams grew more hysterical, bounding off from the wall of water behind me and mingling with all the others, going unnoticed. The pungent air filled my lungs, and I began to grasp the fact that it was one of my last breaths. I began running through all my happy thoughts of my life, barely noting each before moving to the next. The hundred-foot drop gave me plenty of time when it was slowed - crystallised - like this. I closed my eyes, then glanced down again. Twenty feet, no raft.

No raft.

I took a deep breath, folding my arms in and crossing my ankles before plunging down, down, deep as the pool went, probably about fifteen feet. I kicked off the bottom with my trembling legs, spreading my arms to drag me up through the water. I broke the surface coughing and gasping, and quickly scrambled to the edge. Here was the end of the line for the raft, I thought reluctantly.

I took a moment to wring the water out of my shirt before stumbling down the street, my waterlogged and heavy jeans impeding my progress immensely. It was quieter here, tainted only by the distant noise. The street was littered with bodies, almost all dead. I picked my way through them, holding my head up high over the horrors of war. This was no time to say goodbye to my lunch.

I heard the jangling of the bell on one of the magical auto-trams that ran through the wizarding part of the city, where I lived and where I was now. I ran towards the cheery noise, seeing the tram coming towards me along the street, using the straightest path it could find. I started jogging to be running alongside it as it came, holding my hand out to snatch the bar at the end. I grabbed it, using my lack of momentum to lift my feet up and pull my body in after me, swinging around the pole to look out, proud of my rather nifty manoeuvre.

The tram juddered through steadily more crowded streets, a charm around the front pushing the dead bodies smoothly out of the way. I walked up to the front, hating the smell of blood and flesh on the air. When the baking sun came up, I knew it would all go rancid. Flies would gather, and everything would stink. It was a horrible way to think of all these people I had probably known before. There was very little chance that they'd be around to hear, though, so I saw no reason to stop.

I started to encounter more living people as the tram moved deeper into the city, towards the Ministry. There was fighting in these parts, so I moved to the window and knelt down where I could peer over without being seen. I jumped violently when the jangling of the bell announced the end of the tram's route. I could have cried. What was I to do now?

I reached down to my waistband and unhooked the dagger, watching the firelight along its smooth silver blade. I would fight, like my mother and father, like they had denied me the right to do. I would not sit back and watch my city go to the Death Eaters, our enemies. I stepped off the tram, running along the street with my dagger in my hand.

That was when the killing started.

The first man I ever killed was young. He was probably some crony. About seventeen, I reckon. Ugly. He was advancing on a woman, who clutched a baby to her chest and huddled in a corner. I gave a warrior-worthy yell, running as fast as my little legs would carry me and jumping to fasten my arms around his neck. He swayed, not prepared for my onslaught, and I plunged the dagger into his neck, just below his ear. The blade was sharp, but it still an effort to wrench it out of the bone, muscle and gristle. When I did, blood began to fountain out. I slithered back to the floor, stepping aside as he crashed to the ground, splattering rich, dark blood across my legs. The woman stared at me for a moment, then kissed my forehead, running away.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, pausing to throw up in the gutter before contemplating looting the body. Well, I did kill him, and if I didn't take it, someone else would. I filched his wallet from a back pocket and a nice long machete-like knife. It was like a sword to me, too big, really. I tied it to my belt and ran for it, wiping my hands on my jeans, not wanting to have 'dead person lurgi'.

As the carnage grew too much for a little girl of seven years, even a tough one like me, I climbed a fire escape and began to move above the streets, on the rooftops, balconies and galleries. Old habits die hard, eh? On one of these, after I had crudely disposed of three other Death Eaters, I saw a man ahead. He was garbed in black and stained with blood. Fires were flaring below, and I couldn't see his face. I took the machete silently from my belt and tossed it carefully in my hand, lining up. I drew my hand back and threw it with all my might at his back. He swayed, letting out a gasp of shock. I ran forwards, pushing him off the balcony.

I didn't bother to look at him. I had seen enough of this now. It was a waste of that knife, though. It was clearly much sharper than it looked. I shrugged, running back down into the street again.

Darting through tunnels and alleys, I managed to avoid sustaining any injuries apart from a gash across my leg, when I was running through a pile of dead bodies and one happened to be holding a knife... It had the fortunate side-effect of numbing my leg from any further pain, so I didn't bother with it.

My thoughts and plans lifted me from what I was actually doing for a while, and I didn't realise there was someone ahead of me until I crashed into her. I immediately stepped back, raising my dagger. When I realised that it was mother, I cried out in joy, flinging my arms around her. She was crying with relief.

'Oh Meg! I thought... I thought...'

'It's okay, mum! It's okay! I went over the roof into the garden and took the raft down the creek then across the big water thing on legs.'

'The aqueduct?'

I nodded vaguely.

'Oh my little girl! I'm so proud of you!' she exclaimed, kissing my cheek.

'Where's daddy?' I asked, clinging to her.

'I don't know where daddy is,' she said carefully. 'We'll look for him.' She noticed the dagger in my hand, coated with blood. 'Have you hurt someone?' she demanded.

'I've killed some Death Eaters,' I told her, unsure what I was meant to say.

She beamed at me, ruffling my hair. 'You're your father's daughter,' she told me, kissing my head again. 'Come on! Let's go and find him. We can tell him what a little warrior his daughter is! Taking the raft down the dams, I don't know...'

I held her hand as we ran through the streets. It all seemed like it was coming to a safe end when mother was there. Everything would be fine. My heart swelled with pride as I thought of what she had said about father being proud. I would have thought she'd be angry. Any conventional mother would... But then, my mother was never conventional.

'That's her!' yelled a voice, and I turned. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me up. Mother was grabbed too, dragged with me. I screamed and kicked, flailing my knife, but it didn't contact anything. We were taken into a warehouse, the screams dulled as the doors slammed. Both of us were dropped onto the floor.

'Not that one,' said a voice, or something like that.

I must have blinked - that blink that takes an eternity to end, a shocked blink - because when I opened my eyes, mother was dead. Blood was pooling around her and soaking into her white linen summer dress. I screamed and screamed, holding the dagger high. I managed to slash it across the stomach of one of them, but I was grabbed and thrown into a chair, opposite a pale, white-blond boy of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed all in black.

A tall man with long, equally blond hair turned to the boy. 'Are you ready, Draco?'

The boy nodded, looking at me. I saw his Adam's Apple bob as he swallowed nervously. Then they clamped my arms and legs into the chair and began to chant. I was aware of a lifting, then the puzzlement in my mind was relieved by total incuriosity which lasted for another ten years.