The Bloodstone Monarchy

Chapter-3

The Thought Train Doesn't Make Pit-Stops

And time is on your side, its on your side, now

Not pushing you down, and all around

No it's no cause for concern

Stuck on the end of this ball and chain

And I'm on my way back down again

Stood on the edge, tied to the noose

Sick to the stomach

You can say what you mean

But it won't change a thing

I'm sick of the secrets

Amsterdam- Coldplay

    Malia was packing her trunk and trying to fold various shirts and skirts, but never doing it right. It was Sunday, the day after her expedition into Diagon Alley. She had mulled over the events of yesterday, relishing certain thoughts, discarding others to be sorted into the far spots in her mind. Sorted, as she soon would be. Thinking about something else seemed a pleasantry she could never afford. She made it work, at least halfway by thinking of yesterday, but letting the bad thought nag and threaten. Malia concentrated on the conclusion of her minor adventure.

        She and Klaus were searching for Camilio. Of course, it hadn't taken long to pick out his rainbow head from the crowd of normals. Klaus had bid her a contrite farewell outside the Leaky Cauldron. Malia felt as though he didn't exactly like how their meeting had ended. It didn't really matter now, she doubted she would have much to do with him and her mother was more than sure. Just as Malia was sure of her mother's presence in the room.

    She was sitting in a straight backed mahogany chair that was upholstered in fine Italian silk. Malia hated the chair, a foreign object that seemed to integrate itself into her couches and chaises.

    Malia's mother was a small thin woman with the same crimson hair and sharp nose Malia had inherited. She had watery blue eyes that darted smoothly at every sound. Her movements were fast and precise. Before she was wedded to Cornelius Fudge at twenty her maiden name was Catley, thus Malia's prefered name. Mrs. Fudge had strong morals. Everything was done according to custom, tradition and a few rules that came from her very own mind. She was not opinionated in the public eye, this was not her role as Minister's wife, she reserved her preaching for her husband and daughter. A daughter who in her mind, had never needed her guidance so badly. Mrs. Fudge knew that her daughter did foolish taunting things, although she didn't condone it. Mrs. Fudge curbed her own thoughts, it could be saved later.

    Malia breathed a shuddering breath, feeling the tension in the room. With her mother, she almost always felt it. It wasn't like with her father. She got annoyed with him from time to time, but she always felt like she was the adult and he was the child. She was always in control. But her mother's presence made her want to scream with fury and exaltation at the same time. If Malia had found the words she would have described her mother as icy water. But even then there would still be questions about the personality she never revealed. Questions about why she never got angry or upset.

    Malia packed a little faster. Her mother carefully wedged a white bookmark into the novel she had been reading and folded her hands over the book on her lap.

    "I am so very glad you're attending Hogwarts," Mrs. Fudge's eloquence never failed to astound Malia.

    "Is that so?" Malia replied. Her mother smiled,

    "Yes, Dumbledore is a good man, he has helped your father's career a great deal. A great deal." She said with finality.

    "I can't wait to start classes with Harry Potter. I know him you know. I met him yesterday." Malia grinned as her mother's absent smile fled from her lips.

    "No. Oh no. Malia that boy is not what you think. Your father may have thought highly of him once, but now... just don't get involved dear." Malia's mother didn't show the slightest bit of maternal concern or affection as she said this. Only vague distaste.

    "Yes.. " Malia uttered. Another disapproving stare came her way. As her trunk clicked shut Malia's mother spoke sharply.

    "Well goodbye then. Come give your mother a kiss."

    Malia pretended not to hear and left the room before she was stopped.

    Thirty minutes later she found herself amid many bustling students on platform nine and three quarters. Of course, she didn't recognize any of these students. That was another privilege she wished she could buy. She began to unload her trunk and Lucifer's cage from the trolley. A hand clapped down on her shoulder and she spun around. Standing in front of her were none other than Monty and Cynthia, the dynamic duo themselves. The shock went through her in a matter of seconds, slowing her mind and delaying her reactions. It took her a little while to gather her wits. Monty smiled sourly.

    "I believe you have our little parchment. Now that you've been so kind as to er... hold it for us, could you please return it."

    Still trying to comprehend what was happening, Malia just frowned and shook her head in a very childlike way. Monty's eye twitched and Cynthia stepped in front of him aggressively.

    "Listen, you little sodder, that prophecy belongs to us and we're going to get it back even if force must be applied."

    The shrill voice seemed to revive her. Malia took a step back and swallowed to keep her voice from trembling.

    "Touch me and I'll scream. I swear it."

    There was a moment before the giant clock in the station chimed. Malia had to get on the train. She didn't trust herself with her new wand ( Ash, ten inches, dragon heart string ), so she simply kicked Monty in the shins and screamed before Cynthia could react. Monty tried to grab his leg in pain, but instead swayed and fell on Cynthia. Malia was running towards the train full tilt, trunk and cage in hand. She managed to get in the train before it left.

    She sighed with relief until she recalled she had another obstacle to conquer: finding a compartment. There were few people in the halls, most only wanted to stay in the compartments and catch up with old friends. Malia also wanted to play catch up with a certain scrawny black haired someone.

    Standing there with no one offering to help with her trunk, Malia began to feel awkward and shoved it in the shelf herself. After this she felt worse. She had nothing to do but find a compartment with students willing to let her in. Once again the meek feeling of subordination made her angry, and in her anger grew blunt confidence. She shoved open the door of the nearest compartment to find... a toilet. Somehow she had managed to find the only loo in the whole train. As the stink wafted closer, she slammed the door shut and tried to regain shattered confidence.

    It took a lot of asking around, but she finally figured out which compartment Harry would be in and raised her hand to let herself in.

    Suddenly a thought struck her. I should knock.

    And she did, twice, and as she heard rustling behind the door, she asked herself why she was chasing after a boy that didn't seem to have any physical attributes and when the answer repeated itself in her mind she smiled. Because he's famous. It wasn't that simple, there was more, she just didn't want to think as the door slid open a crack. She looked tentatively and instead of seeing the rims of round glasses circling green eyes, she saw bulky black square frames overshadowing darting electric blue eyes. Malia was at a loss for words.

    "Uhh, nice glasses Harry, and er- contacts."

    The door opened a little more and the boy shook his head.

    "Um, I'm not Harry and only a lay person would wear glasses over contacts." He ended with a sniff.

    Malia looked at him maliciously.

    "Well, uhh n-not that you're a lay person... I-it obstructs your vision. Heh heh."

    The weak little laugh issued by the boy only infuriated her further. She grabbed the door and pulled it open before the boy could respond. A swift glance around the room revealed that the boy was the only person in the compartment.

    "H-harry was here, b-before." The boy breathed. He stared at her as he said this, a very vulnerable stare that made his pupils look bigger. Malia let out a frustrated sigh and looked the boy over. He was small. He was regular height, taller than her even. But there was that essence that made him seem less significant than he was. That was the first thing she noticed apart from his eyes and gigantic glasses. He also had his brown hair all done up in odd little spikes. There was also something odd about him she couldn't quite place. It nagged at her for a moment and then she gave up caring. The boy seemed to be trying to stand as still as was humanly possible. Malia felt as though if she breathed he might topple over. She'd had enough. She turned around to leave and search for Harry when a bloke in a uniform blocked the doorway.

    "I need to get out, if you don't mind." Malia intoned as calmly as she could.

    "Nope," the man said as he shook his head. "No one leaves their compartments, we have to do a head count."

    Malia kept the fury low by putting on airs.

    "Well, you've seen my head and I don't think you'll forget it, so..."

    The man still wouldn't budge.

    "Sorry Miss," he said in a strained voice as he closed the door. Malia leaned her back against the door roughly.

    "I'd give you this idiot's head on a silver platter if you'd let me get out of here," she murmured.

    The blue-eyed boy seemed to hear her from his spot on the seats, because he drew his knees up to his chest in a protective manner.

    Just as Malia began to feel desperate, the door opened once more. It was the same bloke, but instead of letting her out he slid a cage into the compartment.

    "I believe this is yours. You aren't allowed to put animals in the overhead shelves."

    Malia picked it up gently.

    "Well, at least I have some company now."

    She sat down across from the stuttering person. Malia suddenly remembered what had made her start this trip off badly in the first place. She pulled out the tattered parchment. Thankfully it was still in one piece. The dirty brown paper was so worn it shone. The letters were still legible, but in a language Malia had never seen before. This didn't really surprise her, as she only knew one language, but this one was so foreign. It reminded her of the alphabet, twisted into a silent code. Malia slid the text back into the pocket of her robes and proceeded to fall asleep. It seemed only a minute later that a loud noise awoke her. That boy dropped something. Malia gazed at his blurred figure blearily. He seemed even more unsettled than when she saw him last. He moved fast and often.

    Once he noticed she was awake he moved toward her, retreated a few steps like a terrier, then stuck out his hand.

    "I'm Pollocks Rocket," he blurted out. She noticed he didn't blink much.

    "Malia Catley," she said without returning the handshake. Malia suddenly realized what was strange about him.

    "You're American!" she cried as she sat up. Pollocks nodded.

    "Well what are you doing here?" Malia said indignantly.

    The boy looked abashed, but before he could answer his face became somewhat contorted and he let out a big honking sneeze. Pollocks whipped out a rather fancy handkerchief embroidered with red white and blue thread that showed the Union Jack.

    "Trying to be British?" Malia inquired.

    "Gift shop," Pollocks said as fast as possible. He recovered and pointed to her cat's cage. Lucifer's green eyes could be seen winking lazily through the window in the front of her cage.

    "I-is that a cat?"

    Malia scowled,

    "Take a wild guess."

    Pollocks shrank back, but still tried to talk.

    "W-w-well, I-I-I-I,"

    "What?" Malia interjected. "Is he making faces at you?"

    "I'm allergic," Pollocks said defensively.

    "Well just do a spell to stop your little problem for the moment," she said sternly.

    "I-I-I don't... My wand is in my trunk. Can you do it f-for me?" Pollocks sputtered.

    "So is mine," Malia lied through clenched teeth. Despite his awkwardness and unmistakable innocence, Rocket had hit a nerve. Point blank.

    Suddenly a huge screech deafened the teens. The entire train gave an almighty heave and before Malia could react, she was thrown right onto Pollocks. The commotion stopped and Malia sat entangled in his gangly figure. As he lifted his face to hers he uttered,

    "I think I'm gonna be sick."

    Malia struggled to get away. She grabbed her things and ran out of the compartment. Someone told her that the students trunks would be magicked to Hogwarts on the way out of the train. Malia decided to bring Lucifer with her. The fresh air hit her first then came the tidal waves of students were flowing out of The Hogwarts Express. She looked frantically for a familiar face.

    There, a flash of black hair, she saw Harry in the distance. She didn't call his name, but instead tried to push her way through the crowd. Not a wise choice. Pressed up against so many people she couldn't help who she touched. A boy with red hair much like her own caught her arm.

    "Looking for a little touch and go, love? Can't blame you though, in such a convenient situation who wouldn't?" The boy's dark eyes darted up to hers quicker than a flame flicker.

    "Dante, that's my name, easy enough to remember. Don't you think?" He laughed bemusedly as he slipped through the excited throng.

    "I wasn't..." But he was gone before Malia could defend any dignity she might have wanted to build here. Except that she really didn't care that much. Shady characters with devilish names were to be avoided if she wanted to enter the higher learning system and be accepted as well. Lesson learnt.