Sky Watch

Sky Watch-

Present day:

Up.

Turn. Spin. Swoop. Glide.

Lie over the broom, shoot for the stars.

The nights are cool. Above the castle, it is almost as if the wind is biting into my skin, taking pieces of me with it. I shiver as it slips under my cloak, like hands delving into the soft folds and stripping it away. The wind gets inside me, clawing at me from within, curling and twisting around the memories I have so carefully hidden.

But I ignore the cold, ignore the urge to race after my fallen cloak and pull it back. I let it flutter down, melt into the darkness. Go higher, go faster, forget it all. I strip off my gloves and throw them away, let my fingers tighten around the broom. Cold. So cold. My fingernails are turning blue from the cold, my knuckles white from holding on so tightly. I move into the wind, fighting its pull on me, forcing myself not to just give in and go down.

Forcing myself to remember.

*

1944:

There is little hope left. Albus Dumbledore is leading a rebel cause against Grindelwald. The towns below me are nothing but ruins, smoked-out shells in which Muggles and Wizards alike lie, side by side.

Dead.

The alliance between the Muggle dictator, Adolf Hitler, and Grindelwald is weakening. Their communications are terse, short statements, always encoded in runes. In Muggle hands, these statements mean nothing. The locations and dates are decoys, to throw off the soldiers and lead them into traps.

In Wizard hands, they tell another story. The codes are notoriously difficult to crack, taking hours, days even to decipher. The messages are cleverly put together, words scrambled, spelt backwards and halfway, lines muddled up. Piece by piece, they let us know that Grindelwald will now attack Russia and not France, that Hitler is impatient, that the promise of power the two had wagered is now useless.

They let us know where Albus should strike next.

In all this, there is someone who is needed to capture the birds used to deliver these messages. Someone who can fly fast enough to catch up with the speedy owls, who is willing to risk freezing to death on a broomstick, just waiting for an incoming message. There is someone needed to pass messages between the Wizarding front and the Muggles, from base to all other camps.

The members of the Sky Watch.

These messengers of war are few. The children who are chosen for these missions are orphans, children who are bred by rage and a thirst for revenge. They come from the bombed out villages, hunger in their eyes, desperately seeking some role in the conflict, some reason to die.

And they do die. They die in the most horrific ways, shot down with Muggle guns or a well-aimed Killing Curse. Their bodies fall like cursed rain on the terrified cities; the only consolation is that at least they are dead before they hit the ground.

Rice. Shah. MacDougal. Roberts. Moon. Sen.

All dead. We remember them, but in official records they are nothing but numbers.

CA10032. WY32876. RD49270. RD29985. SF01902. AL48297.

Statistics.

They flew well, but not well enough. Now, only three are left. The three best, the ones who fly higher and faster than anyone could ever imagine. They are the ones who have escaped from danger, time and again, emerging with the valuable scraps of information that will help us win this war. They are a battered side's only hope.

Day. DL11893. Three hundred interceptions. Lost the use of his left hand on a mission when hit by a bullet. His disability is of no consequence; he can only use one hand but that has never deterred him.

Asif. WY20947. Expert code cracker and flier. Has no recollection of his past, result of a memory charm cast on him by an enemy. Assumed to be part of the original code team captured and murdered three months into the war. Able to decipher the hardest runes.

And then, me.

Hooch. XI32860. Commander of the Sky Watch. Orphan, no idea of family. Expert record; has never been caught on any mission.

I have never let myself be caught. In the sky, no-one can tell who I am. I hide under the cover of night, slipping between the lines, Disillusioned until I do not know where I end and the sky begins. I am the best of the Sky Watch; I am the best of the wartime messengers. I can see as well as any owl in the darkness, searching them out from the shadows and plucking them from the air. I destroy their messages after memorising them, and carry the information myself. I am a secret-keeper.

I have never let myself be caught. In the barracks, I hide, sleeping alone and away from the rest of the crew. They do not like me. They did not want me here in the first place, but they had no choice. Very few people want to fly. Very, very few of them are women. I am the only girl on the team, the only female in the entire barracks. As standard, I cut my hair short, hide myself in uniform. Another boy in a boy's world.

I will not have them think me weak. I have learnt to put myself away, simply be. Just as all Watchers are supposed to act, I remain as a name, a number on the roll call sheet, a blank face, a harsh voice.

Under darkness, we unfold to one another, shed the skins of war and become children again. We talk, never looking at one another, simply voices in the night. We tell our hopes and dreams to one another, fleeting moments of reality. It is the only true liberty we allow ourselves.

But even then, I do not rely on anyone, not even the rest of the Watch; I do not trust anyone except myself.

*

1945:

The end of the war is near. I can feel it. The message I carry to Albus is one of victory; it will help him deal the final blow to Grindelwald. Hitler has already taken his own life, the coward, and the Muggles rejoice; our own celebrations, though, will have to wait.

I feel the weight of the message I carry pulse through me. The knowledge I have is vital. This is my most important mission. I must not fail or the Wizarding World as we know it will cease to exist.

I act purely for selfish reasons: like others, I lost my parents because of Grindelwald. It is only a fortunate side-effect that my revenge will also mean victory for the side of the light.

The trenches are still dug, hollowed-out pockets of earth that harbour vermin and human corpses. I am far above them, but I imagine I can smell them until here. I steel myself, ignore it. Detached. I have seen this sight much too often to be bothered by it anymore.

Perhaps that is why I become careless. After all, there is- ought to be- nothing below me other than dead waste. I take a moment to indulge myself, flying low. My partner for this mission, Asif, looks over at me, frowning. He does not understand the sudden lightness in my heart, that this war is finally ending. He does not understand the pride at knowing the secret that will make Grindelwald fall. It is entrusted to me, and me alone... I hold the key to my revenge, the key to saving the world.

I have lost so many, I lie I have become detached. But I am not. Asif shouts and I turn. I suddenly see him flying at me. For a terrible second, I think he has been hit, and my voice rises in alarm. I scan the ground below for movement, preparing to defend myself in case someone rises and should hit me, but there is nothing alive there, just the bodies I have been seeing all these years. I prepare myself to dive the second I see Asif fall, my mind switching into a mode that I had all but shut off the moment I joined the Sky Watch. After all, we must watch out for each other, and to lose him now, with victory so close... I will not have one from my own Watch snatched away that easily...

What I don't expect is Asif's deep voice, muttering a spell, and the stinging jet of light hitting me in the chest. I feel my arms seize up, my broom falling from my hands, my body being pulled down by gravity. I cannot move, cannot even blink. I cannot close my eyes on the picture of Asif, smirking at me as I fall before he speeds off.

Traitor! What are you doing? No, no, you can't be... don't do this! Don't do this, you bastard, don't take this away from me...

I yearn to scream the words as I fall, but I can't. I cannot do anything but wait to hit the ground, my body tensed for the slam into the ground. And then the impact, falling straight into a trench onto the piles of bodies and sinking into the decayed mass, passing out with a whiff of death stashed in my mind.

*

'Up, girl! Up!'

I open my eyes. I cannot see. My mind is fuzzy, the voice sounding through the haze. There is a laugh, then the feeling of someone placing their hands on my arms and shaking me hard.

'Wake up, you stupid bitch!'

I open my mouth, but no voice comes out. I am pulled up, the hands that were shaking me now moving away. I blink, try to see where I am, then realise I am blindfolded. Little chinks of light flash through the material, where it slips a bit so I can see for all of a second before the folds slip back into place.

'Is the little chicken-hawk awake yet?'

The voice is sickening, familiar. Asif. The rest of the group laugh. I strain to hear the voices, to make out who else might be there, but I cannot recognise anyone else. I try to get a bearing on my surroundings, but that is near impossible. It is cold in the room, impossibly cold, and the light that makes its way through the loose blindfold is flickering... wandlight? Or a candle?

Footsteps. They are soft, almost muffled, as if on earth. I feel a breeze blowing, and realise that I am not in any room, but in the open. I need to know where I am. Details will help me find a way out of here, but there is so little I can do while I am blindfolded and my hands are lashed to my sides. I can only listen, listen and wait for something small. Clues to where I am.

The blindfold is ripped from my eyes. I blink, once, twice, wondering. This is not a place I recognise, although I thought I knew every inch of this country from flying over it so often. There are no trenches, no trees, no nothing... just a wire-mesh fence and the furrowed land around me. It is covered in footprints, small and large, most of them converging in a line by the fence.

I look up to see Asif's face peering at me. He looks different now, bigger, swarthier. He leers and walks towards me in a confident swagger.

'Thought you could do it, little chicken-hawk? Thought you could play with the big boys, tell them what to do?'

Anger. I am furious. A member of my own Watch...

'Give me the information, now. Give it to me, and I promise they won't hurt you. At all.'

A spy. How long had he been spying? Who knew. And so convenient... apparently no memory, nothing to put us onto the fact that he might not be acting in our interests at all. Not until now.

A traitor. Wanting to steal secrets. Wanting Grindelwald to win. I vow I will not let him know this one, precious piece of information. He can't get it out of me, no matter what he does.

'Come on, just tell me. Your other secrets came easy enough... won't you share this with your dear old friend?' He leans closer to me as he talks, kneeling before me. I see his face changing, putting on the smile that I know, thinking it might persuade me.

As if.

I motion for him to come closer. He does; perhaps he thinks I want only him to hear the secret and no one else. I can see it in his eyes- all I am is a silly girl, easy enough to be duped, easy enough to carry away. I let him get closer, close enough to smell alcohol. He has been celebrating. But too early. Closer... closer...

I take a deep breath and spit at him. He hisses and jumps backwards, staring at me. I stuggle to keep my face blank, my voice even. Watch mode.

'Fuck you. Fuck you if you think I'm just going to tell you.'

I expect him to get angry. I expect him to react, perhaps jumping at me, perhaps lashing out. But he does not. He only smiles.

'I thought you might not want to share that little secret with me. No matter. I'll get it out of you another way,' he says. He moves back against the fence, leaning against it, lights up a cigarette from his wand. I can see the others now, mere boys who look at me and then at him, as if waiting for a signal. Dogs, waiting to be released, bodies tensed, the scent of prey invading their senses but restrained by a leash of command.

He takes a puff from it, blows out the smoke. He looks over to me.

'Now, what should we do to you, little chicken-hawk? You see, I want that information. I need it. My Master wouldn't be pleased if I went back without it.'

Another puff. The smoke dissolves into the air, wisps that float about and hide themselves in the darkness. The faces of the boys are closer now, close enough for me to see the hunger in their eyes. A tight circle, only broken where Asif stands, off, smoking.

'Now, if I tell headquarters that you're dead...'

'You can't kill me.' I sound braver than I am. He laughs.

'I know I can't, although I'm sorely tempted to. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Death... unfortunately, you lose your usefulness if you're dead. They certainly won't give me the information.'

Time. A little more time. The boys come even closer, and now I can hear them breathing, panting, just waiting to spring. I can almost envision what punishments they have for me, but they are all useless. I will resist. I will not tell, I will not tell...

The first boy reaches me. I feel hands on my shoulders, crushing down. I wonder if this is the punishment... it isn't anything, just a light touch from a dirty boy. Nothing, nothing... his hands move over the back of my neck, slip under the collar of my shirt.

'Will you tell me?'

I shake my head. The first button of my shirt flicks open. For a second I have to stop myself from moving, from showing any indication of alarm. I have been in this boy's world for so long, I forgot that there is still one method they could easily use against me, the method they have used to subdue and torture so many women. The hand slips further. I know what they are trying now, and I grit my teeth. Damn him! Damn him!

'Now?'

'No.'

The next button is slipped open. A couple of the boys snort, staring through the open shirt. The boy behind me places a rough hand on my breast and pinches it, but I do not give him the gratification of a response. Detached. Cold. Unresponsive.

'You've got to talk sometime.'

The next button. And the next. The boy is kneeling now, and he places his other arm across my throat, a chokehold. His hand moves over me, and I try to ignore the rising panic, not believing that he is resorting to such base tactics...

'Pity. I was beginning to like you.' He blows out a last cloud of smoke, then crushes the cigarette under his heel. 'But if you won't tell me what I want to hear...'

'I'll never tell you, you bastard.'

He shrugs. 'Fine. Have it your way.' He raises a hand and clicks, and immediately it is as if the boys have been released from cages, leaping forwards and onto me, their bodies pressing down, Asif's laughter in my ears.

*

I have learnt to detach myself from everything around me, to ignore it all. This is no different. I do not feel them, but instead imagine that I am elsewhere, that I stand far away and am simply watching. It is not me that they are raping, but some other poor girl who wandered into the wilderness. I simply watch, disinterested, feeling nothing.

Hands. On my breasts, over my body. A laugh in my ear. Eyes looking me over. Someone forces my legs apart. Sticks his face in, rubs his nose against the material of my pants. I watch, an outsider, floating above. I watch as he laughs, as another pushes him away, demands a 'turn'. I watch. My belt is undone. Hands. Inside my pants. Fingers that push their way up into me. Still watching. Others back off, stand in a tight circle, no gaps. This one wants it all. He rips off the rest of my clothes, looks over me as if I am a piece of meat he wants to devour. Pulls off his own trousers. He positions himself over me. I am looking down on him.

He lowers his mouth to mine, kisses me roughly. This, I feel. For a second, I am sucked back into myself, am unable to stay detached as I find myself back in my body, staring into the eyes of a wild man. He laughs as he pushes himself into me, tearing me apart.

I scream. He laughs. I scream louder. I have said I will never cry. But I am crying. I can't help it. I try to ignore it, ignore him, but I can't. I feel helpless, stupid, sick.

But he is not the only one. The night is not over. The rest take over, one by one. I cry out again. They move harder, faster, trying to kill me with the force. I float away, return to looking down on myself as they rape me in turns. No, not me, never me, cannot be. I am not so lifeless, not so passive, simply lying there as they each claim my body and mark it. I am not the girl who gazes with blank eyes as they pull at my short hair, as they all jeer.

'You wanted to be a boy, was that it? Do you want it like a boy?'

They turn me over. I feel nothing. I watch from miles away. One pushes my shoulders down, another delves inside me from behind now, pulling me back with the pain. I resist. Something tears. Warmth. It lets him in deeper. It lets me loose. I imagine myself flowing away with the blood, escaping into silence where their words are irrelevant, where the sharp smacks of wet skin mean as little as flies being swatted with newsprint.

I wonder if I am dead. No, not dead.

Not yet.

*

He returns in the morning. I am naked, bleeding on the ground. He laughs.

'Ready to tell me, little chicken-hawk?'

I shake my head. 'Never,' I croak.

They can break me, but I will not tell. I will not tell. I think of my secret, tuck it away in the back of my mind where they will never find it.

It is the only thing that will keep me sane.

*

He does not touch me. It is the work of the boys to wear me down in readiness for him. He will not dirty himself, will not touch me until he is ready.

He comes close, though. I see him licking his lips. He is a man, too. A defenceless woman is fair game.

But he will not touch me, he will not... unless...

They take too long, I hear him complain. They are not doing enough. An excuse. He is tired of watching, of waiting. He thinks he can peer into my mind, thinks he can take me apart, piece by piece, and take away the secret to his Master's downfall.

'For the last time, tell me!'

I do not respond.

'Say something, you little bitch!'

I do not respond.

He kneels before me, and the boys race to watch. Two of them hold my legs apart. I let them. I am used to this. I am used to this. He spits on me. I feel the trickles of dirt making way for him, preparation. The boys provide the sounds I need to distract me as he slips inside.

I do not look at him, only at the sky. It is inviting me. I sail off, away, leaving him my empty body.

He knows my tricks now, and he slaps me, brings me back.

'No... no you don't...' he pants.

Shit.

Rough. Dirt swims into my skin, into the scratches left from every other time. Cold. I shake. I cannot leave, I cannot escape. He holds me back, forces me to look at him, to see his eyes. The pain is overwhelming. I slip into a new shell, one that is black and numb. No. He will not let me. He knows my tricks. He knows. He will not stop, will not stop, will... not... stop...

I bite my lip. Blood. He lowers his mouth to mine and laughs as he tastes the blood, then slams into me so hard that I feel as if I have been split in two. I crack down the middle, lose myself, bleed into the earth and hide there.

Am I dead?

No.

But broken.

*

I am on my stomach. My face is pressed into the mud. The rain is falling, cool drops against my sore skin. The boy on me is asleep, still inside me. They have fucked me so many times in these few days that I have lost count, that I have forgotten what it is to hurt because I am dead to them now. They are animals, I have decided, animals who feed and fuck and fuck again because it is in their nature to do so.

Every morning, the bastard comes. He asks me the same question. I always have the same answer.

'Are willing to talk yet, little chicken-hawk?'

'Go fuck yourself.'

I hate him.

In the afternoons, I am given food. Just to keep me alive. Basic necessities.

At night, the ritual begins. At night, I switch off, let myself lie there like a doll and not care what they do. They play with my body, but I am not there. They cannot hurt me if I do not exist. I only come back to life when they tire of me and leave, throwing me away to let me recover for the next round.

The bastard is the only one who knows how to break me. He comes two, three times, always with his questions, always keeping me pinned to reality. I don't know... how much more... I can take...

There are footsteps, footsteps and voices near me now. I wonder what time it is. Afternoon? Evening? No... morning... a dark morning...

The voices stop. The boy on my back stirs, his breath hot on my neck before he raises himself and pulls out of me sharply. I make no sound.

I make no noise at all. I feel like I have forgotten what it is to scream. So I make no sound when suddenly a body drops before me, skin squelching into the mud. I make no sound when I hear a sharp crack, bones breaking. I make no sound when the footsteps come running, or when I feel a hand on my arm. Someone drags me up, then lets go again. I fall, lie there. More noise. Not mine. Shouts. Someone else falls. A spell. Two. Three. Crackling over me, smoke, spells, fear, fire. And silence.

I make no sound. Curled up in some dark corner of my soul, I do not know, do not care what is happening.

I make no sound, not even when I hear someone gasp and call out a name. I simply cannot reply. I lie, limp, let someone hold me and wipe the mud from my face. A name. He repeats it.

'Speak to me! Hooch!'

Names. I am... I was... I am. Hooch. My name. I am Hooch.

I know his name, too. Day. The last member. He holds me with his right arm, drags me back. His eyes are wild.

'Who did this to you?'

I open my mouth. Nothing. I suddenly begin to tremble. I am scared. I look into Day's face, I try to remember. The secret. He does not know. What if... no, not him too! He will surely break me, he will, he will...

'No, will not tell, never... never...'

'Calm down! Hey... HEY, listen!'

'Get away... he... no... you... he...'

'I won't hurt you. I WON'T HURT YOU! Listen to me, please, I won't...'

He is different. He does not act like the animals. He is human, he is familiar. But I cannot tell. I will not tell, I will not...

'Albus...'

'What? What is it?'

'Albus... must get... quick...'

'We need to get you to a hospital!'

It burns in my head. I had hidden it away so none of them could get it from me. Secret keeper. It fights now, fights to get out, swimming in shame and relief. I press it back. Not the time. Not now. But I cannot just let it rot there and die. I need to tell Albus. I need to get out of here...

'ALBUS!'

'Okay, we'll take you... but...'

'Must... understand... he needs to know...'

I feel as if I am dying. There is someone else now, someone who wraps me in a blanket. I want to sleep, but I cannot, I cannot, I cannot... need to get to Albus, need to tell him...

I hear something rush over my head, a soft whoosh of white that darts out of sight as I try to see what it is. I remember it... messenger...

'Albus...'

'Hush. He's coming. He's coming.'

There are tears on my face. No, not mine, they cannot be mine. I do not cry. That is the rain's job. Boys do not cry.

I have learnt my lesson, though. I am not a boy. I am breakable. I have paid my price in this war. Now I will end it. The white messenger returns in the form of a cloudy young man, places his ear to my mouth, his hand over my heart.

I tell him. I let out the secret and fall back, suddenly light. It is over. It is all over.

I do not cry, but my cheeks are wet, and my throat is raw and even as Day places a hand over my eyes I tremble in relief.

It is over.

*

Present day:

In the air, I have always found my escape. Flying above, simply watching. Nothing can happen while I am watching. Everything fades with the cold: the old scars under my clothes; the fear of being touched. The secrets that left burning scars on my memory are erased, locked away and hidden under icy claws.

I breathe out, looking over the castle and at the lights shimmering in the lake. I sweep around the turrets, going faster and faster, watching out for any sign of activity.

I pass a window. Albus is staring out, and as I swoop by, he nods, turns back in.

I am the only one who can do this. I take a quick look around, make sure everything else is secure. There is nothing to fear now, but we need to be on the lookout. They say Voldemort could strike the school anytime. Albus does not want to take any chances. He has reformed the Sky Watch. He did not want me on it, but I insisted. I won't have anyone take my place.

'No. Not this time. I'll send in others.'

'I can take it. The children are more important.'

'I can't risk it.'

'I've lived through hell.'

'I don't want to make you live through it again. They know what happened to you...'

'You don't have anyone else.'

Looking down, I feel an odd twisting in my stomach. I am most comfortable in the air, but even now I am afraid when I see a shape swim up to me out of the darkness. I hold myself still, ready my wand, laugh when I find it is only a bit of cloud.

It has been too long.

It will never be long enough.

Up. Down. Feint into the darkness, rise again to be free. I will not be held down. I will not forget. I will not lose out again.

I let out a short, sharp breath. A small cloud forms before my mouth, like smoke from my lips. The broom vibrates below me as I take it higher, away from the ground.

Down there, anything can happen.

In the air, I am safe. The air takes no prisoners.

I take one last look around, make sure everything is ready. I wait for the next person on watch to report as I secure the wards on the castle again, the bonds gleaming like wire-mesh in the moonlight.

*

fin

*