Feast!

Feast!

Chapter 1: Baffling Buns

~o~

Far along Diagon Alley, pressed between the white walls of Gringotts and the red bricks of a second hand bookshop, stood a baker's shop. The narrow front was dark and the sign above the doorway that had once proudly announced "Bradley's Bakes ~ the magic's in the mixing" now peeled. But the small square window panes sparkled and the door was painted a fresh and welcoming green. More often than not it stood open an inch or two, allowing the aroma of fresh baked bread to reach the noses of the wizard folk

Edna Bradley didn't count herself as one of the wizard folk; she was over eighty-five years old and born a squib. This had never bothered her. Seeing her four brothers grow into skilled wizards made her happy, and when she was twelve she found that she too had a talent - one that her family encouraged. Edna Bradley had become apprenticed to a baker on the Muggleside, and when she had learned enough she came back and slipped, like many others in her situation, into the magical community. Edna was happy here, up to her elbows in flour, breathing in the yeasty air and nibbling on the raisins and candied orange peel that filled the jars on her laden shelves.

Never married herself, Edna had a busy life. Her brothers had been most productive, and so she was often surrounded by grandnieces and grandnephews - witches and wizards all. Perhaps there was a reason that even when a very nice wizard asked for her hand back in the 1930's, she had refused. Though her family never believed in it, there was still a stigma about her kind, one that she felt uncomfortable about spreading. Yet those who knew her wares couldn't help wondering if there was a trace of magic about Aunty Edna - how else could a crust be so light, a fruitcake so moist?

Rising before dawn, Edna had set to work. Halloween was one of the busiest days of the year, and even as the first rays of sunlight chased the Nargles to their dens, the brass bell on the front door rang, calling her out of the kitchen. She reached for a tea-towel, wiping mix from her gnarled hands as she went, slowly, but not yet needing a cane.

"I might've known it'd be you, Tom," she beamed as her customer laid a soft brown hat on the counter. "Who else is up afore eight round 'ere?" She placed her tea-towel on the counter beside an empty cake stand. "What can I do for you?"

"Cauldron cakes, Edna. I've a young crowd in tonight. They're coming through Muggle London, one of them has Muggle parents, and then they're coming to the Cauldron. Can you believe it?"

"Anyone'd think they'd never left school the way they carry on today." Edna shook her head as she sucked air in through her yellowed teeth. "How many, Tom?"

"Thirty should do, along with everything else I ordered."

Edna smiled, "Send someone over through the day. I'll make sure the cakes are my last batch. They'll be done about seven. I'll throw in some Baffling Buns too."

"You're a blessing." He picked up his hat. "Will you be in for a snifter later?"

"I don't think so. Halloween's not really my time. The Cauldron won't miss me tonight, Tom."

The rush continued through the day -

- "That pink and yellow cake with the marzipan? Of course, Minister - it's a Muggle favourite too - Battenburg they call it!"

- "Yes, Mrs Figg, I'm telling you it was the 'eadmaster hisself - bright as rain first thing this morning to pick up 'is order for 'ogwarts - cares about those students he does. My nephew, well, great-grandnephew actually. Well, he's ..."

- And now Edna looked forward to settling down for the evening with a nice cup of tea. There was plenty of time while the Baffling Buns finished baking in the huge, clay, onion-shaped oven that stood in the centre of the kitchen, a narrow flue rising up through the floors above. Edna shuffled from the stove with the kettle, her slippers making little sound on the tiled floor. With a heave she poured water over dried dry leaves before setting down the kettle and popping the lid on the pot. Edna smiled to herself and eased into her rocking chair to sit amongst the cushions. She relished the silence. She drew a checked blanket across her knees and tucked it in at the edges, covering all trace of the flowered skirt below.

"Ahhhhhhh," she sighed.

Just as her eyelids began to droop, the shop bell rang.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," she muttered, dragging herself to her feet. "Perhaps I'm getting too old for this." She patted her grey bun back into shape. "I'm coming," she called as she emerged into her shop, "I'm coming!" The room was illuminated only by the lamplight that spilled through the windows, making orange squares on the floorboards. Edna blinked. She peered at the cloaked man standing near the door. He wasn't a regular and he hadn't bothered to lower his hood, but one got allsorts round here.

"Can I 'elp you?" she asked sleepily. "I dozed off for a while, should've been closed by now."

"Just ... browsing," replied the man, peering at the display of decorated dragon cakes that stood in the window.

"Well, if you've five minutes there's a batch of Baffling Buns almost done. They're all I've left and they're meant for the Leaky Cauldron but if you'd like a few, Tom can spare them." Edna shook her head at the stranger, and turned back toward her kitchen muttering beneath her breath. "Browsing in a bakery indeed," she said. "Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Just as she reached the door he asked, "Have you been here long?" in a smooth deep voice with an accent that Edna thought might be foreign -- eastern European by her guess. She turned to see that he had lowered his hood and was staring at her with small black eyes. His face was thin and he wore a small beard on the end of his chin - very exotic, thought Edna, convinced now that he must be a Russian. "Only I have not seen this shop before," he added.

"Sixty years or thereabouts," she replied, smiling a smile that creased up her face, "It's well known hereabouts - being a unique establishment ... would you excuse me, I'll get them buns." Edna moved off into the kitchen and busied herself with her task, but then she heard the man still talking.

"A unique establishment, you say?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice carrying easily through the open door. "In these parts, go Muggleside and we're ten a penny, but I've no magic you see. Most don't mind that though, there was a little trouble back in '39 when that young Grindelwald character was putting hisself about - but that's be afore your time." She laid a plate of cakes on the counter and smiled at the man, she couldn't help thinking he looked even paler than he had a few minutes ago. Quickly she placed four of the buns in a brown paper bag and thrust it into the man's hands. "No charge this time," she said, "but tell your friends about me and that will be payment enough - and mind you don't go asking me for the recipe for them buns, that secret'll die with me.

"Th - Thank you," he stammered, as if she had just handed him the crown jewels. She watched him leave and was a little surprised that before he stepped outside his hood was back over his face.

"Takes allsorts," Edna chuckled, locking the door behind him. No more disturbances; now it was time for tea.

~o~

As he emerged from the little shop into a mix of lamp and twilight, the man breathed deeply as though he had been holding his breath. It was hot beneath his hood and he yearned to cast it off. He moved off quickly, not sure if anyone had seen him but quite certain that no one would be able to identify him. Turning the corner, he loosed the clasp at his throat and the hooded cloak slipped off his shoulders.

The brown paper bag crackled as he arranged the cloak over his arm.

It was too warm an evening to wear a cloak like this and too warm an evening for Halloween. He grimaced, feeling beads of sweat prickle on his forehead. Antonin wanted, -- no, Antonin needed a drink. There was a small bar just off Knockturn Alley where his 'friends' would be waiting his return, but he found that he wasn't quite ready to go back there.

Dolohov realised that he was standing still, staring at the paper bag clutched in his hand, and he had been for some minutes. His throat was dry.

A drink.

Swiftly, he turned back the way he had come, unable to prevent himself from glancing at the baker's shop as he passed. Now the blinds were drawn behind the windows, giving the narrow building the appearance of a face asleep.

~o~

The bar room of the Leaky Cauldron was crowded, but here Dolohov knew he could be anonymous - everyone passed through the Cauldron on their way to or from Diagon Alley. His breath came more easily as he picked his way across the room, and by the time he laid his cloak on a stool and his paper bag on the bar, he felt almost normal.

"You look like you seen the Grim," said a friendly voice. Dolohov raised his gaze and found that he was staring into the face of Tom, the innkeeper.

"Something like that," he muttered in reply. "Ogden's, a large one."

Tom reached below the bar and produced a glass and a bottle; as he pulled out the stopper Dolohov said, "Leave it, I have a thirst."

"As you wish, sir. I'll trouble you for a sickle then."

Rolling his eyes, Dolohov reached into his robes and produced a single silver coin. It clicked down on the bar and with one finger he pushed it toward Tom.

"Thank you, sir. We'll have quite a crowd tonight ... always one of the busiest - some of them - the younger ones - they'll party all night."

"I dare say," Dolohov said. Having swigged his first glass, he proceeded to pour another. "Good crowd for the show."

"Show?" enquired Tom. "There's no show, sir."

"Of course." He was pleased when the man departed and he could return to his own quagmire of thought. Feeling a pang of hunger, he reached into the bag and broke off a piece of bun. As he chewed, he mused on the situation, on the day, on the future.

With a cough, crumbs spattered across the bartop. Good though the Baffling Bun might taste, it was choking him. Without thinking, Dolohov threw another glass of Ogden's down his throat and he began to splutter again.

Cursing in a foreign tongue, he snatched up his things and stormed out of the Cauldron bar. He'd have no peace until it was done.

~o~

Head nodding gently, Edna dozed in her rocking chair. More often than not, these days she didn't reach her bed at night - hair in rollers and the rest of her comfortable in a heavy cotton night-dress, quilted dressing gown and pink slippers. Edna would settle down by the fire with a mug of hot chocolate, a single candle burning in the brass stand with the curved handle that stood on the worktop.

She could feel the wind in her hair as the ground raced by a hundred feet below - up here, on the back of a broomstick, she closed her eyes and clutched the waist of the young man flying the broom - they flew laughing and talking and, and then a thunderstorm broke - but there was no rain...

... and no broom, and no young man. Edna blinked as the rocking chair creaked and shifted beneath her. But the thunder was still there, a sound like many fists pounding on a sheet of metal.

The door!

Shaking her head, Edna pushed herself to her feet, pulling her dressing gown tight around her as she peered at the clock - almost midnight. She picked up the candlestick and moved through to the shop.

"These days when people have anything stronger than pumpkin juice they can't control themselves," she muttered, snatching the keys from a hook as she went. "There'll be trouble when I get their names."

She could see them through the panes of glass in the door -- they no doubt found it very amusing to wake an old woman -- but Edna had never been one to be cowed by bullying, so she marched determinedly toward the door. She was halfway there when the door began to glow. She stopped, staring in puzzlement. As it split into a hail of shards and splinters, she fell back with a thud on the floorboards.

"Didn't you hear me knock?" The enquiry came from one of three cloaked men that squeezed through the doorway. Edna couldn't tell which, but it was a high pitched voice, empty of any feeling. She wiped her eyes, aware that there was blood mixed with her tears.

"There's no money," she spluttered, fingernails against her will scratching at the floorboards, as if seeking a gap through which she might escape. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against them repeating, "No money, no money," over and over again.

"Oh, we're not here to rob you," said the voice that belonged to the tall one. The other two remained silent as he approached her. "We're here to... will you look at me when I'm talking to you!" he spat suddenly, and Edna found that she was staring at the tip of a wand. Without warning, she flipped into an awkward sitting position, back rigid and legs stretched out straight in front of her. She couldn't even blink.

With a sweep of his arm, the man threw back his hood and looked once again at Edna, "Isn't that better, now that we can both see one another?"

It was not better. Unable to gasp or cry out, Edna felt a burning panic flood her stomach - she lived in wizard London, she knew the rumours, she should have been more careful - careless talk, someone had once said but she could no longer remember why. She couldn't move; she was trapped and those eyes were fixed upon her and they were amused and cold, certainly untouched by the stream of tears that stained the old woman's cheeks. He twirled the wand between long, white fingers, and seemed to follow her gaze to it.

"I was most impressed with your cooking," he said, like one passing the time of day, and in the air between them appeared a much-crumpled brown paper bag. A flick of the wand and it upturned, four Baffling Buns falling to the floor, bouncing over Edna's legs. "I thought it very kind of my friend over there to introduce us, don't you?"

Behind and to her left, Edna heard a scrape, like someone had started in shock. She couldn't turn but she saw that she was relieved of that callous red gaze, and for a moment she could breath a little easier -- then the thing's lips twisted into a half smile and his gaze fell once again upon her.

"Yes, most impressed. But I think the preparation lacks the magic touch. I would like to share a recipe of my own..." Again the wand began to twirl and he paced about the room, muttering to himself as he passed in and out of Edna's field of vision. "...sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty Mudbloods, baked in a pie. No, no. That will never do! Ah, patta cake, patta cake, baker's man, bake me a squib as fast as you can. Pat it and prick it and mark it with V..."

"MAD!" The word burst suddenly from Edna's lips and the man stopped pacing. He looked at her with something resembling surprise before glancing at his companions.

"Enough," he said. "Bring her along." Then he swept into the kitchen.

Edna felt herself being levitated and as she twisted in the air she caught sight of the other two. One stared impassively, but the eyes of the other were damp and glittering in the candlelight. Then as they moved out of the range of her vision she could see them no more.

He stood by the oven, contemplative, one hand swinging the rectangular metal door back and forth. He flicked it shut with a clang.

"I don't suppose you've ever Apparated, have you?" he enquired. "Transloction is very similar; the difference being that when one Apparates the power and memory of shape must come from within." As he explained, he rested one hand flat on the cold wall of the oven. "It's all very simple really." Beneath the long white fingers, the rounded terracotta began to glow red, the line of heat spreading out until the whole oven shone orange.

Seemingly bored, he flicked his wand at Edna and she vanished. In the same instant he nodded and the silent companions Disapparated.

Sonorus

, he whispered rapping the tip of his wand on the oven door.

A scream that would shift the dust from the darkest corner of Knockturn Alley tore through the night air.

Not a being in Wizard London could ignore that sound and in the seconds it took them to leave their cosy firesides to investigate, the bakers shop imploded. All they would find was a large onion shaped oven surrounded by blackened stumps where the walls had been, and the air shimmering with dust all lit by a glowing sigil - silver and green against the Halloween sky.

The Dark Mark was seen for the first time that night.