Montague's Journey

Chapter 3 - Prometheus and the Angel

Inhabiting a Golden Snitch, locked inside a Quidditch trunk, Montague gave into the darkness and imagined himself asleep. He "imagined himself asleep" because it was impossible to sense whether or not he was sleeping. If his snitch eyes were "open" or "on," it was pitch black and silent; if his snitch eyes were "closed" or "turned off," it was pitch black and silent; and, if he was asleep, how would he sense anything at all? If the Bludgers snored, he might have an audible point of reference, but they made no sound. Even his snitch skin offered no sense of movement or change in temperature. It was as if he was a particle of dust floating in the vacuum of space.

The lack of sensory input was unsettling. Time had no meaning. He may have slept; he may not have. He was only aware that he was thinking and that reassured him of his continued existence. He began to ask himself an endless stream of questions:

Where am I? Is anyone looking for me? What am I? What condition am I in? If I'm really inside a snitch, then where is my body? What did those Weasley bastards do to me and how in the Merlin's name am I going to get back to Hogwarts so I can pulverize their arses?

While it calmed him to be "conscious," the fact that he had no answers just drained him of hope. For all he understood, he could be spending the final hours of his life trapped in a Quidditch trunk. Thus, when a sparkling light burst into view, he felt very afraid.

Multi-colored rays spiraling like a kaleidoscope ripped across the sky, and the heavens appeared to open like an oyster shell above him. Montague squinted and turned away from the inexplicable brightness. (He was quick to appreciate that he had somehow attained eyes with which to squint.) Though not fully adapted to the glare, his new eyes were able to decipher his surroundings. What he observed eased his initial fear and relieved his claustrophobia.

Montague found himself in human form chained to a wall at the top of a tower. The tower was like the astronomy tower at Hogwarts; it was open to the sky and stone parapets of various heights were built around the circular perimeter. He was wearing a rumpled Hogwarts uniform and lacked shoes and socks. Montague felt a chilly breeze swirl through the tower, and he wished he had a toasty pair of socks. He attempted to cover his feet with his robes, but the manacles at his wrists stubbornly reminded him that he was bolted to the tower wall. Still, he considered his condition far better than being locked in a trunk.

Chained like Prometheus awaiting the punishment of the Gods... Are the vultures on their way to do the liver-picking tango?

On cue with his surreal thought, an eagle screeched overhead. From the exact location that the light first split the sky, a white, winged horse - not an eagle - with a gold mane and tail was bearing down upon his tower prison. Its eyes were piercing silver; its hooves and wing tips were electric blue. It called out again in its unique sound: a strange mix of an eagle's cry and a horse's whinny. Unsure of what he was seeing, Montague rattled his head and blinked several times to clear his vision.

Montague was positive he had never come across a magical beast such as this one. He had memorized every one in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and the special companion edition Fantastic Beasts and How to Subdue or Kill Them by Walden Macnair. It was definitely related to the mythical Pegasus; however, its color, size, brilliance and the fact that it wore a harness of gold medallions around its neck indicated that this beast (or being) was something special. It gracefully landed a few meters away with only a whisper of noise. Up close, Montague could see its coloring was not pure white, but a shimmering mix of blue and white: a reflection of the sky from which it came.

The beast ruffled its wings, tucked them snuggly against its back, then shook its golden mane as if casually throwing off the weariness of a day's journey. As it cantered across the stone floor, a different musical note softly resonated from each of its hooves, making an improvised four-note melody like wind chimes wafting in a lazy breeze. Montague could feel the stones rippling like water underneath him - they seemed touched by the creature's presence. The creature cast Montague a wary eye and paced back and forth in front of him. Each time it switched directions, it keenly tossed its silky tail in the air.

Montague squirmed under the beast's scrutiny. The creature approached him and sniffed at his feet, and Montague retracted his legs slowly. Though he welcomed the beast's warm breath on his cold feet, it had occurred to him that the horse-eagle might be considering his toes as a potential mid-day snack. He pulled his legs up to protect himself as best he could in his imprisoned state.

The beast looked up, stepped backwards, then tossed its long nose up in the air several times. Montague watched in amazement as it reared up on its hind legs and started to transform. In a few seconds, a young woman stood in the place where the winged horse had been.

I must be dreaming.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he promptly went into Cupid's arrest. His heart beat as fast as his former snitch wings; his brain screamed, "Grab her! Hug her! Kiss her! Buy her black lingerie!" but his body remained petrified. He'd thought the beast was a stunning sight, but this young girl would put a Veela out to pasture. Her features matched those of the winged horse: dreamy, liquid silver eyes; silky, long golden blonde hair; robes of electric blue and a strange necklace of gold medallions.

The tower dungeon felt her radiance also. All around him, green ivy sprang to life from between the stones and rapidly covered the both floor and walls. For some reason, it did not breach the space in which he sat, but instead formed a perfect circle around him. He watched the ivy thicken, bloom spectacular white flowers and sprout tiny red... radishes? A tree as thick as the Whomping Willow soundlessly pushed its way up out of the floor just behind the young girl. When it reached a height of ten meters or so, its growth slowed just enough for the girl to sprightly leap into a niche formed by two thick branches. The tree continued expanding its reach upward and outwards. When it finally settled, the strange visitor was perched a meter above the ground in her cozy nook, custom built for her dainty figure. She appraised the transformed space and threw Montague a Mona Lisa smile; she could have been impressed, amused or completely unmoved by her spell work.

Montague could only gape slack-jawed in reply. Not only was he captivated by her beauty, but by her incredible display of power. She didn't even wield a wand. Certainly anyone capable of such magic could blow apart his bonds and port him back to Hogwarts. She was everything he dreamed of needing moments ago. She was his angel come to guide him out of the darkness. He scrambled to his knees and looked imploringly up to her. Oddly, the chains seemed feather-light as he held out his arms to the powerful witch and shook the sleeves of his robes back to expose the manacles. He leaned forward and waited in anticipation of her blasting him free. He must've looked like a crup begging for table scraps, but it didn't matter to him in the least: he was going to be free soon.

The angel-rescuer sat and pondered him without blinking, completely unaware of the heavenly status that Montague had prescribed to her.

"Hello," she said from her throne.

Montague, still enamored by her aura, could only gulp and squeak out a noise that resembled a "hi."

She looked quizzically back and forth at his outstretched arms and then directly at him.

"Did Mr. Filch catch you putting Spell-O-Tape on Mrs. Norris's feet?" she asked in a tone of voice that implied he was certainly guilty.

Montague was caught completely off-guard. He was moments away from mindlessly confessing when his Slytherin "Lie or change the subject: you're going to get in big trouble" defense mechanism sounded its internal klaxon and broke the enchantment. He found himself faced with an entirely incomprehensible question from a very pretty girl.

"Erm... Excuse me?" he asked.

"Mr. Filch was stomping all over the school this morning saying he was going to lock up and whip whoever put Spell-O-Tape on Mrs. Norris and threw her into a suit of armor. Was it you?" she explained in a dreamy, mild alto voice. She gazed attentively upon him with her strange misty eyes.

Merlin's shit! She knows about Spell-O-Taping the caretaker's cat! She must have been reading my mind the moment she arrived. She's a strong Legilimens! Is this a test? Is admitting I taunted the cat a condition for my release? This isn't making any sense. Who is this witch?

The chains on his extended arms suddenly lost their mystical weightlessness. He slowly lowered his arms to his sides and contemplated her peculiar arrival and her odd accusation. He decided he would lie and change the subject.

"No, it wasn't me," he stated tersely. At least not this time. "Who... who are you?"

His visitor gave him a stern look.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she replied and absently grabbed at the nearby switches hanging from the willow tree. She broke them off the tree and starting weaving them together. The branches rapidly grew back.

"Hello, Miss Lovegood. I'm Montague," he offered. "Are you a Hogwarts student?"

"Yes. Fourth year, Ravenclaw. And you can call me Luna," she said without looking up from her weaving.

A fourth year? How did this attractive, formidable witch escape my notice? Heck, how did Malfoy miss her? I need to win this witch over and get out of here.

"Luna, that's some pretty impressive magic for a fourth year," he said in his most complimentary tone.

"Why thank you," she beamed. "Of course, it's easy to do anything here," she added with a light laugh.

"Of course," he answered with a mock laugh of his own. As charming as his laughter sounded to him, Luna wasn't fooled. Her wary silver eyes - appraising him with the same certainty as her Pegasus form - turned on Montague with clear skepticism. He promptly shut up.

Alright, so much for flattery.

Luna returned to her weaving project and made no attempt to converse or assist Montague. Montague, knowing his lies and insincerity weren't scoring any points with this beauty, broke Slytherin tradition and tried a more direct approach.

"Luna?" - he waited for her to glance up from her task - "Where exactly is 'here'?"

"I can't describe it precisely," she said vaguely. She set her weaving project down on her lap and looked reflectively up to the sky. "I was flying to France to witness the first meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards when this tower," she gestured to the room at large, "popped up in the middle of the countryside. I was surprised to find you here; I don't meet many people in my dreams."

Dreams? Flying to France? Confederation of Wizards?

"Well, thank you for clearing that up," Montague mumbled to himself. He flipped his head back against the wall behind him with a hard thunk and looked to the graying sky for some assistance. Normally, he had an easy time charming pretty girls. However, Luna Lovegood seemed to be on a completely different floo network. Maybe that's the way it is with powerful witches. She could morph into a Pegasus, make plants and trees spring up out of solid stone and nearly read his mind. Why shouldn't her responses to seemingly simple inquiries be as puzzling as the riddles of the Sphinx?

Persuading her to help me is going to be more difficult than I thought.

Luna hopped down from her place in the tree and, with a newly fashioned basket, skipped over to the ivy on the walls. There she began collecting the large white flowers and radishes. When she neared the place Montague was bound, she hesitated and stared at the perfect circle of ivy that had formed around the place he knelt.

"What in Slytherin's name is this all about?" she shouted. Montague flinched at the unexpected outburst. Luna's voice had changed: she sounded for all ears exactly like his mother. "Reginald Francis Montague, stop this charade immediately!"

"What? What charade?" he vehemently shot back at her. "I'm chained to a wall! Can't you see that! Help me!"

Luna leapt back from where she stood. A few radishes toppled out of her basket and rolled into the vicinity of Montague. She responded to his heated gaze with a tilted head and furrowed brow.

"What... what would you like me to do?" Luna asked quietly in the alto voice Montague was first comfortable with. Her bewildered expression remained, punctuated by her protuberant eyes.

Montague took no notice of her confusion. He was more concerned with the strange bolt of anger that had just struck him when he had heard his mother shout. That's no way to charm a pretty girl, Montague. He took a deep breath and attempted to answer kindly.

"Well, would you please break these bonds?" he said lifting up his arms and nodding towards the heavy manacles at his wrists. Without moving any closer, Luna studiously inspected the chains, and then shook her head.

"I can't," she said calmly.

Montague grew impatient and rattled his chains in front of Luna.

"What do you mean? You just said it's easy to do anything here. You transformed this entire place into a living garden and you don't have the power to shatter a chain link?" he chided. Again, he found it difficult to level the tone of his voice. He could feel his temper rising uncontrollably.

Luna was still shaking her head.

"I can't because I am not the one who is restraining you," she explained. "Those chains are your own doing. You must feel really guilty about torturing poor Mrs. Norris."

"I did not Spell-O-Tape Mrs. Norris' feet," he shouted emphatically. The ivy that had sprouted around Montague reacted to his eruption. It shriveled away as if scorched by the defensive side of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Luna's protuberant eyes popped out even more as she watched the ivy burn to a crisp. She took another step back from Montague.

"Blimey, I wasn't even in the school this morning. It was probably Peeves," Montague continued scornfully. The chains on his wrists seemed to drag him down further into the stone floor. He let out a dispirited sigh, hung his head and sat back on his heels.

Why doesn't she simply blast me free and whisk me back to Hogwarts? Some angel she is! Why the Salem witch trial treatment over the stupid cat?

Montague heard Luna step closer, and he watched her surreptitiously. Luna tentatively reached out to the burnt ivy and, when she touched it, watched it turn to ash and drift away. She looked at the hand that touched the ivy and rubbed her fingers together, then lightly brushed some of the ash off her robes. Montague wondered what Luna found so fascinating about the ivy, but he dared not ask; partially because he didn't care, but mainly because he wasn't confident he could control his temper. Luna caught him peeking at her and broached the subject herself.

"Look what you've done," she said pointing to the ivy excitedly, as if she had just learned the first year magic spell of transforming lead into gold.

"So what," he replied with indifference, hoping it would compel her to drop the subject. His attitude did little to abate Luna's peculiar enthusiasm with the fried ivy. She seemed intent on explaining the anomaly.

"Montague," Luna asked, "do you know where you are?"

Montague rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I just asked you that question. You said we're in a tower in the middle of the French countryside."

"Yes, I know told you that," Luna giggled. "What I really meant was, do you understand where you are?"

Montague blinked twice. The anger that had been boiling inside him dissipated and a wave of cool relief rushed in to replace it. Luna had been entirely unhelpful up until this moment. But now, he marveled at how accurately she had just pinpointed the root of his problem. He was astonished at how easy it was for him to now reply.

"No. I have no clue," he answered plainly and unabashedly.

"You're in my dream, Montague. Or, maybe I'm in yours," she reflected as she glanced back to the seared ivy on the wall. "No, I think we're sharing a dream - which would be an amazing feat since only highly trained mind-healers have the necessary potions and skills to induce dream-melding. Isn't that... Montague?"

Montague didn't hear much of Luna's rambling beyond the part of being in a dream.

Well, at least now I know for sure that I've fallen asleep.

He promptly started slamming his head backwards against the stone wall behind him - slowly at first, then more rapidly.