A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 7: Hiding in Plain Sight

Leather boots softly scuffed the dirty cobblestones as Arcana silently appeared in a shadowed corner of Knockturn Alley with a frown etched upon her pale face. She shrank back further as two uniformed Aurors passed by heedless of her presence. They were nervous and clearly wanted to be elsewhere, but were trying to appear alert for anything suspicious. That is, anything more suspicious than normal. The Ministry must have been getting twitchy to put Aurors on patrol where Magical Law Enforcement wizards usually walked.

After giving the Aurors time to move on, Arcana slipped into the narrow street and quickly glided through the twisting passages to Ironcraft Antiquaries, though few knew it by that name, as the faded, grime-coated sign by the door had been unreadable for several decades. Arcana left the deserted street, uneasy with the nervous energy in the air. The wizarding world was feeling the first pains of war.

Jeriol's apprentice, Darien, was at the counter once again, this time pricing and inventorying a pile of small bones. It looked as if someone, probably Darian, had attempted to dust the shop recently, as the easy-to-reach places had been swabbed with a cloth. This basically had the effect of pushing the dust around instead of removing it. The depths of the shelves, the crevices, and the more dangerous artifacts remained untouched and coated in grey. Dusting the place magically would have been a recipe for disaster.

"Oh, uh," Darien stammered awkwardly, much to Arcana's annoyance. His fear was not amusing today. She strode straight up to him and glared.

"Where is Jeriol?"

Darien shrank back. "Here, uh, one moment." He stumbled over a wooden crate and hastily trotted down the stairs.

Arcana leaned against the counter and pushed the little bones into an arcane pattern from a long-dead nomadic desert clan while she waited. It would be a true wonder if even Jeriol could recognize that obscure design. It was things like this that made her feel too old. Two sets of quick, stomping footsteps heralded Jeriol shoving past a tattered curtain, followed by Darien, who was cowering behind his master. Jeriol had the look of an irritated wizard interrupted in the midst of casting something complex.

"If you will come down, Lady Arcana," Jeriol said, seeming to quash his aggravation with thoughts of certain profit. Arcana nodded and followed the wizard down the steep stone steps.

"You didn't have to scare Darien witless. The boy can't afford to lose any of what he does have."

"I've not had the easiest couple months, wizard." Arcana frowned at his back, though it threatened to morph into a cold smile. "Still, I will try not to damage him as a favor to you."

"Much obliged, Lady," Jeriol replied wryly as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned back to Arcana, irritation having melted. "Do you have time for tea?"

She frowned, "Remember what I said last time, Jeriol."

"I know, only business," he seemed to sigh. "But tea has become integral to our dealings," he added hopefully, "and I have been holding something for you to look at."

"Oh? Well then, wizard, tea it is." Arcana sat down in her usual chair, glancing about the room and finding nothing new of interest. "I can dally a few minutes. I am not expected until this evening."

Arcana spotted the well-hidden flinch. Jeriol was right to be worried about the Dark Lord. Voldemort - Arcana frowned at the name - had his Death Eaters coming and going at all hours lately.

"You are looking well," he ventured carefully, Levitating a tray with the newly-brewed tea over to Arcana. She took her cup and sipped.

"Was worse before it got better," she let slip while savoring the tea. Arcana sneered at herself for her error and tried to ignore the sadness in Jeriol's eyes. "Not a word, wizard."

Jeriol shook his head and stood. He reached up to a high shelf and withdrew a narrow box from behind some spellbooks. "The fire sand arrived late last month, and I was finally able to find the ice dragon egg shards, but I thought you would like to look at this," he said, handing her the box, "knowing your interest in such artifacts."

Upon opening the case, Arcana recognized the artifact immediately and scowled. Any fae ever confronted with the pointed end of a tainted steel weapon would never forget the sight. The dagger was long and thin, designed to easily slip between the ribs and pierce the heart. This one had several sharp barbs tilted toward the hilt that would make sure the weapon would not slip out prematurely. Many wizards had carried similar blades during the Dark Days, but this one was older and of fae workmanship. It was from the last great war. She had killed her own kind with a similar blade. How it came to be here was impossible to imagine.

"Blade of the kinslayer," Arcana muttered. "Days darker than you could imagine. Fae killing fae."

"But the laws," Jeriol interjected.

Arcana glared at him sharply. "Wizards don't know everything about the fae, and I will keep it that way. How much?"

Jeriol looked nervous.

"Gold isn't an issue, old man. This is leaving with me." Arcana snapped the knife's case closed and slipped it into her robes.

"Seven hundred galleons," he half-choked, eyes drawn to the place from which the case had vanished.

"Fine," she confirmed coldly. "There is enough in the account. Just withdraw it with the rest of my purchase." Jeriol was somewhat mollified by her acceptance.

"And the rest of your business, Lady?"

"Same as last time. Double of the usual, and those egg shards and fire sand as well." Arcana closed her eyes and drank her tea, signaling that she was through talking. Jeriol's robes rustled, and the door clicked shut, leaving her in peace.

When he returned, Arcana was staring at her empty tea cup, wondering whether he had spiked it with anything. She was not so open with other people.

"I would never dare drug your tea, Lady." Jeriol gave her a strange look.

"I've been around the Dark Lord too long," Arcana sighed. "He wouldn't be above it, if it produced the desired results." She shrank her thoroughly wrapped parcels and tucked them into a couple pouches. "I must be going." She sensed nearly an hour had passed, and she had several more stops to make.

"Take care, Lady Arcana." He looked down at the short fae, and Arcana could feel his genuine worry.

"Watch out for yourself, too, Jeriol," she warned. "The Aurors are as wand-happy as the Death Eaters these days and perhaps even less sane."

Arcana quickly left the shop, not stopping to see Darien's reaction to the bone pattern, but a pausing moment at the door to check for passersby. She dodged another patrol of Aurors who were more alert than the first group, and found a shadowed spot to Disapparate. Arcana reappeared in the cellar of a small cottage deep in a forest in the English countryside. This well-concealed abode had served her well over the years when she had nowhere else to live.

Carefully laid stone floor, plastered walls, and thick wooden rafters were all free from the dust and grime that plagued Ironcraft Antiquaries and far too many other wizarding establishments. Arcana did not store anything here that would react adversely to a few cleansing spells. There was always the chance that her cottage would be discovered, but it was quite useful for a quick backstage change. Doffing her hunting garb and laying it on a polished oak table, she debated the best course of action.

It would be prudent to get the knife out of her immediate possession as quickly as possible, but that would mean either a trip to the Misty Isle or to an old Gringotts vault, and she was not eager to exercise either option. Though the Misty Isle would be her preference, she did not have time to go today. She would need to trust in the discretion of the goblins.

Arcana closed her eyes and cast the glamour that would disguise her fae features and allow her to pass freely through Diagon Alley. She knew the glamour's appearance well enough that she did not even bother checking it in the mirror. On automatic, she slipped on a strange conglomeration of Muggle and wizarding clothes, creating the perfect image of an eccentric and paranoid witch that was rumored to practice the old Druidic rites. Arcana had carefully crafted the character so that any peculiarities would be disregarded as the result of long isolation with the Muirgheal clan, which was a completely fictitious family that Arcana had invented for her own uses a few centuries ago.

A silver-grey wand of orwanar wood inlaid with mithril was exchanged for a holly wand of wizard construct. It would do for basic spells, but might shatter if she let much High magic touch it. On second thought, Arcana stuck her regular wand into a hidden pocket of her open robes, just in case there was trouble. Trouble was one thing she could count on following her everywhere. She could always claim the exotic wand was an artifact she was studying, if unfortunate enough to be searched. The Muirgheal clan was known for studying esoteric magic, and it would fit the story well enough.

Eyes that were now pale, steely blue narrowed in thought as Arcana affirmed that everything was in its proper place for the show. Satisfied, she nodded to herself, and then Apparated to Diagon Alley.

The streets were full of bustling witches and wizards in a near-dizzying array of robes and Muggle clothing. There were also an unusual number of children wandering around with and without adults. Upon hearing a passing mention of Hufflepuff, Arcana then remembered it was almost September and that all the little miscreants were stocking up for school. She had been out of contact with the world for most of the last couple months and had forgotten about Hogwarts.

She was nearly run over by a group of young boys and girls that, having escaped their parents, just had to plaster themselves against the window of the local broom shop and ogle the newest racing brooms. Arcana sighed and put on her dark glasses to block out the bright rays of the sun that had just come out from behind the clouds.

The mob of wizards at Flourish and Blotts was almost painful to see, knowing that she would have to brave the bookstore soon. The last time the place had been so absolutely packed was when that vain fop Gilderoy Lockhart had a book signing. If that fool had regained half his sanity, assuming that he could have been considered sane before the backfired memory charm, and was holding another book signing, it might be worth it to blow her cover and put the poor bastard out of everyone else's misery. Even the Dark Lord might forgive her that.

Underneath the hectic and colorful atmosphere there was tension and an underlying stench of fear. Everyone was trying to go about their daily business like nothing was wrong, but they all knew that a war was brewing around them, and that they were powerless to stop it. Aurors were visible, patrolling the streets, and undercover security forces attempted to blend into the crowds or to nonchalantly lounge on balconies drinking tea and reading the paper.

It didn't take long for Arcana to weave through the crowd to Gringotts where the goblins standing guard at the door glared at her suspiciously. She walked past them without a thought, since they scowled at everyone that entered. In fact, the only expressions that the Gringotts goblins seemed to wear were varying degrees of scowls and the occasional nasty grin. Arcana didn't care as long as they did business with no questions asked. Besides, the goblins had plenty of reasons not to be a happy lot.

Gringotts, like the rest of Diagon Alley, was busy today. Impatient customers fidgeted in several long lines and muttered about poor service. Unsurprisingly, the iron chandeliers were still full of cobwebs, which made Arcana wonder if neither goblins nor wizards deemed cleaning worthy of their efforts. The disguised fae strode purposefully past all the lines and up to a goblin whose grimace was even dourer than the rest of those having to serve human customers. He was occupied with counting out and weighing piles of gold coins on a tarnished scale.

"The line is on your right," he growled without looking up. "All customers must wait for service."

"I believe my investment in your bank still warrants me efficient service, Reglick," Arcana replied coldly. Reglick the goblin finally looked up and recognized his customer. "If not, I can take my business elsewhere," Arcana added with a raised eyebrow.

"No need, no need, Miss Muirgheal," Reglick quickly assured Arcana with a grunt that barely passed for words, but with less irritation than usual. "Bad day," he grumbled. He scrawled down his final measurements before locking the gold in a small safe.

The goblin folded his gnarled hands on the counter and leaned forward. "What is your business today, Miss Muirgheal?"

"Withdrawal," Arcana said, placing one standard brass key in front of Reglick, who snatched it up quickly. "Deposit." Arcana placed a second silvery key in front of the goblin, who handled this one with much more care. "And verification of transactions," Arcana finished.

Reglick was still holding the silvery key, a strange and guarded look replacing the normal scowl. "You are sure you know how these vaults are opened?"

"Yes," Arcana said briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She would speak about it no further in the open.

"Very well," the goblin replied, slightly off balance. "Follow me, Miss Muirgheal. I will attend to your business personally."

Reglick's head vanished as he climbed down from his chair. Goblin feet scuffled behind the counter for a few moments while many locks engaged with complicated clicks and clacks. A small door opened in the counter directly below where Reglick had sat and the Goblin shuffled out, sending a scowl towards the several long lines of witches and wizards that were rather peeved at the preferential treatment Arcana had received.

If the considerable amount of gold Arcana had invested in the bank did not warrant her the same treatment as the old wizarding families, the silvery key she gave Reglick would have done the trick. That key opened one of the ancient fae vaults held within the bowels of the caves below the bank.

Goblins most likely originated in the fae realms, though no one knew for sure. One group, the Gringotts clan, had made quite a fortune doing business with both the mortal world and the fae realms. They acted as intermediaries for trade, as well as handling banking, investments, and high security storage. They were not in favor of the creation of the wizard-made Barrier between the mortal world and the fae realms, the completion of which was a major cause for the many goblin "rebellions" that were fought in the following centuries.

Many goblins had never left the fae realms within the memory of the fae, and no small number of those clans were quite happy and playful, but considered mostly insane, though insanity, the human definition at least, on its own was no great hindrance there. Arcana pitied the poor fae that was given charge over the goblins in the realms. The little monsters had been running amok for a millennium when the High Council finally reached it's wit's end. They assigned Jareth, a bit of a rogue mage who had become bitter and reclusive after the war, to control the goblins. He became known, rather jokingly, as the Goblin King. Jareth was not pleased with the wizards' Barrier either as he lost most of the profits he made from Gringotts. The Barrier also denied him his chosen entertainment. He had been quite famous for making mortals run through his Labyrinth.

The ride down to the vaults had not improved since Arcana's last visit. While the high speeds, hard turns, and uneven tracks did not turn her stomach, they were annoying and effective as a security measure. It was impossible to keep track of her course through the labyrinthine and poorly-lit tunnels. Sensing the goblin's anticipation, Arcana took a firmer grip on the handholds by her unpadded seat and braced her feet against the floor. The cart jerked to a stop, nearly throwing Arcana out of her seat despite her preparations.

Reglick climbed out of the cart, lifting a large lantern and surveying the vault before him. "Vault 636," he announced in a gravelly voice.

Arcana nimbly hopped out of the cart and nodded, recognizing the cobwebs and the cracks in the walls. This vault was a fairly recent acquisition. "I think you have mastered the art of braking, Reglick." The goblin looked up and smiled viciously.

"Must take pleasure when I can get it." He handed Arcana the lamp, clearly pleased with the understanding between them. The wizards had sought total control over the unpredictable goblins ever since they had erected the Barrier, and Arcana fully understood the goblins' desire to get back at the wizards at every opportunity. They did not have her luxury of passing unnoticed and leading double or triple lives in the open.

Reglick deftly unlocked the vault and stepped aside for Arcana to enter. The lantern light was enough for her to see the glittering piles of gold filling about half of the space. She rolled her eyes, knowing it was futile to try to keep track of her finances by sight, but it was good to know that the Dark Lord had not reneged on paying her adequately. Arcana filled two leather pouches with galleons, glad for the featherweight charms on the bags. She then left the vault and said, "That's it, Reglick," before returning to the abomination of a cart.

The goblin locked the vault once more and joined Arcana in the cart. She nearly forgot to grab the handholds again before Reglick released the brakes and the cart rattled onward, deeper into the bowels of Gringotts. They went deeper and deeper, the cart speeding along dusty and unused tracks. The only light in these tunnels was provided by the wildly swinging lantern hung at the front of the cart. Arcana heard the distant hiss and roar of one of the guardian dragons the goblins kept.

The cart slowed, and then stopped right in front of a set of very powerful wards. A haze of dust rose around the cart, wisps of twisted magical monsters repeatedly materializing and then vanishing within it, drifting in and out of form like demented daydreamed visions. These ancient magical guardians would become all too real if the wards were breached. Even Reglick was nervous. It was clear that not even the goblins came down here often.

The goblin stood and made a series of complex gestures while whispering words of magic that wizards had long ago foolishly dismissed as inferior to their own. The dust guardians solidified for a moment, growling softly, eyes glowing of magic. They then bowed and faded into dust once more, satisfied that both Reglick and Arcana belonged in their domain. The wards did not fade, but permitted the cart to pass. Reglick's hands shook slightly as he drove the cart on further, slower this time. Despite what they normally said to wizards, the carts did not have just one speed.

After a few minutes, they began to pass by more vaults, much older than the ones used by the present day wizards. These were the first vaults ever commissioned at Gringotts. Vastly differing ornate doors shone with mithril, as if longing to be seen after such unmitigated, dark loneliness. Not one vault was numbered, each being identified by the particular fae that owned it. A pang of loneliness struck Arcana as they continued. She recognized more than a few of the sigils marking the vaults, reminding her of those she would never see again and one whom she knew no longer lived. She was a ghost out of her time, exiled and unknown.

A harsh screech broke the near silence of the tunnel as Reglick applied the brakes gently. The cart stopped directly in front of a vault without the slightest jerk. Arcana stared at the relic of her past, drifting in thought, until Reglick coughed to get her attention.

"You had better know what you are doing, Miss Muirgheal." Reglick leaned over the back of his seat and fixed Arcana with a dark stare. "I don't fancy myself gored by the thing guarding that fae vault. If you wish to leave now, no word will be spoken of this expedition."

Arcana solemnly regarded the very nervous goblin, who had every right to be worried. The fae vaults had originally been keyed only to the one who owned it. If the fae had offspring, it was possible for them to open the vault as well, if permission was granted. Fae, being secretive and fickle creatures, never gave the goblins proper records of such permissions.

"I know exactly what I am doing, Reglick." She let a hint of her old authority and power slip into her words, and the goblin flinched. Arcana did not mean to toy with him, but the less he knew of her, the better for both of them.

Arcana and Reglick got out of the cart. Arcana gazed at the door she had designed an age ago. Fae runes of power were intertwined in a delicate pattern of vines bordering the door. Seven- and eight-pointed stars were etched near the top, as if picturing a night sky, all in silver on silver. A fierce unicorn, rearing up on his hind legs with his leathery wings spread wide, dominated the center of the door. Elegant fae script framing the beast shone brighter as Arcana stepped closer. Reglick removed the silvery key from a pocket, carefully slid it into the lock, and turned it.

The once still engravings came to life. The vines swayed as if in a light breeze, the runes and stars twinkled, and the great unicorn snorted in warning, lowering itself to stand on all four hooves. He glared at Arcana and Reglick with burning eyes. The goblin backed away in fear, and a sad smile touched Arcana's lips.

"I take the untrod path and dare to stand where no other will," Arcana recited the motto in the fae mage tongue that was inscribed upon the door. The smooth syllables were like a fine, icy fae wine upon her tongue. Reglick gasped at the sounds, unfamiliar with the old languages.

The unicorn snorted again and tossed his head high, recognizing voice and magic, but unsure of the appearance before him.

"Peace, old friend," Arcana continued softly in the same fae tongue. This mollified the unicorn slightly, and he seemed content to paw at the ground within the door. Arcana pulled off her gloves and willed her claws into existence. She slit her right palm and pressed it to the door. The runes glowed brightly and a strange sound of a thousand tinkling bells and unlatching locks echoed down the empty tunnel. Magic hummed around her, and she felt her glamour flicker and fade momentarily before solidifying again over her features. Fae magic could tear through her false appearance when the most powerful wizarding spells could not shake it.

The light faded as the runes returned to their twinkling state. Arcana glanced down at Reglick, who was staring up at her in shock. He had seen, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Goblins were notoriously resistant to memory charms. The mithril unicorn stepped out of the door, drawing her attention away from the goblin. The unicorn, which towered over Arcana, bent his head down to her level. She raised a hand and rubbed his nose, uncaring as her glamour cracked and did not reappear.

"Yes, old friend, I know it has been a long time," Arcana whispered once again in that haunting fae language. The vault opened with a hiss and the unicorn prodded her toward the entrance, prompting Arcana to chuckle. "Don't worry, Reglick," she switched to English, "he won't harm you. I will only be a minute." The goblin managed a stiff nod, and Arcana entered the vault.

She cast a lighting charm, and seven torches flared to life with white flames. The fae had little use for currency, so there were no piles of coins littering the floor. Magic, on the other hand, the fae used in spades. Artifacts and ancient chests filled the vault. Gilt spellbooks lined one wall, harboring magic that the mortal world had never seen. A large silver scrying bowl sat upon a pedestal, waiting to be used again. The contents of the vault seemed to include every rare fae artifact imaginable, from weapons and armor to silks and works of art. Most of the artifacts were little better than museum pieces outside the fae realms, though there were a few in her collection that were still potent in this world.

Arcana waded through the vault, pausing to run her fingers of the spines of the spellbooks, several of which she had written personally. She then knelt, and opened a wooden chest, trying to ignore the strange feelings she got from being surrounded by reminders of the dead past, from being assaulted by the remnants of a life she had tried to forget. Arcana removed the case from her robes and opened it. The dagger gleamed brightly like all fae-crafted weapons. She lifted it and held it in her hand for a moment out of respect and then replaced it, closing the case and laying it next to a brother knife of the same maker.

The unicorn was sad to see Arcana leave, but returned to the door as guardian. He tossed his head once more, and reared up again as Reglick removed the key. Arcana closed her eyes and the glamour reformed, allowing the fae to present a human face to the Wizarding world. The goblin silently handed both keys back to Arcana, and they made the long journey back to the surface.

It did not take long for Arcana to verify all of the transactions to and from her vaults. Reglick had provided her with a private room in which to look over the records. He conducted the business professionally, mentioning nothing of what he had seen in the vaults below, but something in his eyes told Arcana that he would remember this day forever, and betrayed a fierce hope that the fae would make things right again. She did not have the heart to tell him otherwise.

ooo ooo ooo ooo

Flourish and Blotts had cleared out somewhat by the time Arcana got there. Apparently there had been a book signing that morning, but it had not been for the fop. Arcana went straight to the back of a long line of stressed parents and excited children that were carrying loads of schoolbooks. Most regular patrons seemed to have decided to wait out the crowds. Two teenage students stood in front of Arcana, whispering about something undoubtedly foolish that they obviously deemed important.

The doorbell clanged, and Arcana glanced toward the front door, only to see what had to be the youngest Malfoy strut in along with his generation of bodyguards. Some things would never change. One of the teens in front of Arcana, a redheaded boy, swore rather creatively upon catching sight of the Malfoy brat. The other, a girl with frizzy brown hair, frowned at the blonde, but tried to hush up the redhead. In the midst of insulting the Malfoy line, the redhead turned around and noticed Arcana and her lack of books.

"Aren't you gonna buy something? It's a long wait," the redhead puzzled.

"Ron," the girl hissed, "stop being rude." Arcana sighed, understanding that this had to be part of some ongoing argument.

"I'm picking up subscriptions," Arcana ground out, hoping to stop the teens from bickering and giving her a headache.

They both looked a bit taken aback by her tone, and the boy muttered, "Sounds like she'd get along with Snape."

"Unlikely," Arcana grumbled, and turned away to read an advertisement for a book of improved household spells, hoping to deter the students from bothering her further. Thankfully the line moved before Arcana had read too many details as she felt her intelligence decreased with each pretentious word.

The stuffy bookstore and its noisy crowd soon began to grate on Arcana's nerves. When she heard the voice of the young Malfoy to her right, Arcana closed her eyes and suppressed a groan, knowing what was to come. As expected, childish taunts and sharper, more mature insults flew back and forth. Arcana's frown deepened when she realized the depth of the conflict.

Quick to anger, Ron started to draw his wand, but Arcana grabbed his wrist and prevented a nasty duel. "If you're going to duel," she hissed, glaring at each one of them in turn, "do it outside, or, better yet, in the middle of nowhere, so no one gets bothered while you kill each other."

Malfoy looked Arcana up and down with a sneer plastered on his face and whispered, "Mudblood whores should be silent." His eyes gleamed with a secret. "But you'll get yours soon enough." Arcana's anger flared and she released Ron's wrist to turn her focus entirely on Malfoy, silencing him with her eyes. That insolent child had gone too far. It was a pity she could not cast the Cruciatus Curse on him, as she could use the practice, but the consequences would not be worth those scant few moments of vicious joy.

"That is a new insult for me, boy," Arcana hissed back sharply, making Malfoy flinch. "Your ignorance is astounding," she continued quietly, shooting him a knowing look. Apparently her glare still worked wonders, even with the glamour. She could almost smell his fear.

"Now take your own advice and stop making a scene." Malfoy blanched, taking the bait. A stiff posture along with a few harsh words with the proper intonation would be a warning signal to anyone of his breeding. From his reaction, at the very least Malfoy thought Arcana was a pure-blooded witch - there was more than one old family that was very reclusive and almost unknown to society in Britain - and probably a dangerous one, which would soon lead him to thinking of the Dark Lord.

Arcana frowned in disapproval, and continued with a dose of disappointment. "Not very cunning, are you? Your behavior will be remembered, child."

Malfoy shot one last glare at the two in front of Arcana and then backed away, grumbling something unintelligible. He and his bodyguards wandered off to the back of the store, acting as if they had been the victors of the confrontation. Arcana nearly threw a tripping hex at them out of spite, but pretending to have connections to the Dark Lord when pretending not to have them was quite amusing in itself. A cold smile twitched at her lips. Oh yes, she would remember that fool human child.

Fingering the wrist Arcana had grabbed, realization finally dawned on Ron and he quietly exclaimed, "That was bloody brilliant!" despite a reprimanding glare from the girl, who was all too aware of what Arcana had said. Apparently Arcana appeared far too innocent to Ron for him to harbor suspicions of her allegiances. She hoped no one else in the store had taken an interest in that schoolchild squabble. The Ministry was already keeping an eye on Muirgheal whenever she appeared.

"Just need to play Slytherin games when dealing with Slytherins." Arcana shrugged apathetically, as Muirgheal's character dictated. No one really knew who supported the Dark Lord, so the Malfoy child was playing it safe by assuming she had influence. He was a fool, but he might not get himself killed as quickly as she had originally expected.

This explanation seemed to satisfy Ron, who looked like he thought that Muirgheal was the most bloody brilliant thing he had ever seen, but the girl was still suspicious. Either way, it didn't really matter in the end, since nothing could be traced to Muirgheal, and if things got ugly, she could use another glamour when in England.

The student confrontation had taken up enough time that the two in front of Arcana soon went to a free clerk to buy their books. The girl's eyes darted to Arcana again, her mind working furiously. Arcana returned a stony stare, and the girl immediately turned away to catch up with Ron. Seconds later, a painfully happy family with a very small, smiling student finished paying and freed up another clerk. She would never get used to so many children in one place.

Arcana left Flourish and Blotts with a pocket full of shrunk academic journals, glad not to see those most troublesome teenage students. Grey clouds were coming in from the west and were veiling the sun, draining the cheer, which had shone through the tense air earlier that day, out of the Alley's summer atmosphere. Adults no longer tried to smile away their worries, but the hordes of children remained untamed and seemed diabolically bent on getting in Arcana's way. Several times she heard whispers about the Potter boy, which irked her to no end, since there was nothing she was more tired of hearing than rants about Harry Bloody Potter, except those coldly hissed reminders of her own situation of forced servitude.

The rest of Arcana's stops were mostly uneventful, save for the escape of a vicious little white, fluffy rabbit with sharp teeth from Magical Menagerie. Having several hours to spare, she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron and the stack of Daily Prophets she knew was sitting in a secluded nook. The wealthy purebloods and nastier Dark wizards did not favor the Leaky Cauldron, making a run-in with a Death Eater unlikely, but one of the Dark Lord's spies was sure to be keeping watch. The old, dingy pub was packed, and Arcana caught sight of a group of redheads including Ron. She should have recognized him as a Weasley earlier. Tom, the barman, waved her over.

"Been a few months there, Miss. What can I get ya?"

"Something light that doesn't bite back, and the best cold cider you have." Disturbing rumors had been circulating regarding the special features of certain fare that the Leaky Cauldron served, and Arcana did not want to prove their veracity.

Arcana maneuvered around clustered families and past a graying witch clutching a smoking mug to a half hidden booth in the back corner of the pub. Tall teetering stacks of newspapers in various states of order covered most of the semi-private nook. The collection was fairly complete since people did not come to the Leaky Cauldron to catch up on news, unless they happened to be fugitive fae that tended to get out of touch with the Wizarding world for months at a stretch. Arcana muttered a scrubbing charm before sitting, as the visible layer of grime indicated that the booth was used more than it was cleaned. It was irksome that no one had even bothered with an easy swish and flick freshening, but that was to be expected with wizards.

It took a few minutes to sort out a short stack of mostly useful papers. She had become well practiced at news gathering this way. No one paid her any mind either, since it was well known that the Muirgheals lived in virtual isolation. It was humorous to hear of the lengths the Ministry had gone to in order to track down the nonexistent clan. It was all misdirection in the end. Keep the Ministry occupied by one set of secrets, and blind them to another.

The news included few surprises. There was a lot of talk of the risen Dark Lord, though few articles dared to refer to his title - You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the occasional Lord Thingy taking its place - and none contained the dreaded name. It appeared that very little had happened during the time Arcana had been unconscious, and she already knew about most of the Death Eater activities that had occurred after she had awoken. Concerns were being raised about the capabilities of the Minister Fudge, with some writers calling for the appointment of a new Minister. Again, that was no surprise. Neither was the publishing of several articles declaring that Dumbledore should become more involved in the opposition. Clearly the existence of the Order of the Phoenix was still a secret.

The arrival of Arcana's meal disrupted her reading of a worrisome article about unrest on the Continent. Tom levitated a mostly clean tray down in front of Arcana. She had to admit that it did smell rather good. She tipped Tom well enough to be assured continued good service. He pocketed the coins and smiled oddly, displaying a set of crooked teeth. As soon as he had turned his back, she carefully poked at the food with a fork and sniffed the cider, just to be certain she would not be the victim of rumors. The meal proved safe and quite satisfactory and Arcana began to read again, fork in one hand.

The setting contained iron - she could taste it - but not the magically tainted iron that was poisonous to her kind. Upon hearing a cough and lowering her current newspaper, Arcana was assaulted by the sudden appearance of a face all to close to her own. Horned glasses that sparkled obscenely with cheap jewels seemed to magnify a pair of cold eyes that had been painted in appalling shades of blue, as was the current human fashion. Messy bleached hair fought to flee from its pinned prison, and a floating notebook hovered nearby with a quill pressed to the parchment, ready to write.

"Miss Muirgheal, what a surprise." The witch's falsely bright voice rattled Arcana's currently well-controlled temper. The quill started to write furiously. "My name is Rita Skeeter, with the Daily Prophet," she continued rudely without taking a breath. "Does the return of," she paused to glance around, and then whispered, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named alter your life of seclusion?"

Arcana glared up coldly at the witch who dared disturb her short respite from the very same Dark Lord. "My life is not your concern. Leave." The quill lifted, flipped to the next page of the notebook, and then started writing madly again.

"It is for the people, Miss Muirgheal!" Skeeter's painfully obvious lies mirrored the self-interested deception oozing from her mind. "In this state of unrest-"

"No," Arcana interrupted coldly, "it is for your own rumor mongering." Arcana's eyes darted to the frantically writing quill. "And if you don't stop that quill, I will."

Skeeter's eyes lit up with glee. "You don't support a free press then, Miss Muirgheal?"

Arcana smiled tightly, reining in her growing anger. The Skeeter woman must be daft not to notice the subtle power Arcana was displaying to dissuade her. "Let's just say I despise slander. Good day," Arcana dismissed the woman, and turned again to her reading. She would need to be less subtle with this one. With a thought, the false words vanished, leaving the recording parchment blank. A second thought reminded Skeeter of something urgent that she had to do, causing her to hurry off without even a goodbye. Some human minds, Skeeter's included, were almost too easy to affect. It was a pity that the Dark Lord was not among them as well.

Arcana finished reading without any additional interruptions. While she was thumbing through an issue of the Quibbler, Tom came back to remove the dishes. His agitated waddle and narrowed eyes were not a good sign.

"Ministry blokes at Alley entrance, and his eyes at the right end of the bar," Tom muttered while swabbing the table down.

He flashed a dreary grin, and Arcana slipped him more gold. Tom waved his wand and sent the dirty dishes flying toward the kitchen, nearly decapitating a tipsy, filthy hag. Understandably, the hag was most upset, and let the entire pub know how she had been offended by screeching at the top of her lungs.

Arcana suppressed a tight smile, silently thanking Tom for the well-timed distraction. The barman went to quiet down the hag, but his efforts only resulted in more screeching. Arcana did smile then, appreciating a good trickster, and muttered a few soft words to render her most uninteresting to everyone that saw her. The Leaky Cauldron had anti-Apparition wards for security, but Diagon Alley did not. She only needed to make it outside.

Arcana pulled her hood low over her eyes and walked toward the Alley entrance at a measured pace. No one paid her any mind as she passed, since the hag was still making enough of a racket to draw away their attention. She pushed the Alley side door open and nonchalantly strode past three watchful Aurors and one balding bureaucrat.

A few steps later, a wizard exclaimed from behind, "Wait! You, over there! I thought-"

Arcana Apparated, leaving the Aurors to calm down the now irate pencil pusher.

Three Aurors was more than Arcana had expected. The Ministry really was getting nervous. Muirgheal's purported ambiguous loyalties and refusal of Wizarding British citizenship had always been a thorn in the side of that paperwork-obsessed bureaucracy. In these times, Muirgheal now appeared to be a potential threat, and the Ministry surely feared that she would join the Dark Lord's ranks. Arcana thought it was all rather humorous really, but then again, she had never claimed to have a normal sense of humor.

Still, her stealth magic and sudden Apparition, meant as a declaration of non-involvement, should have painted the proper picture for both the Ministry and the Dark Lord's spy. The Dark Lord had not yet connected Arcana with Muirgheal and she wanted to delay his discovery of that secret for as long as possible. Any small freedom she had left was worth fighting for.

The damp, green smell of Slytherin's Valley cleansed Arcana's nose of the stench of London, where far too many humans lived in close quarters. The darkness was deepening as the setting sun fell further behind the low, dark clouds. Sporting her natural appearance, having removed the glamour and changed back into her hunting garb, Arcana tilted her face to the wind. Fall was in the air, as was the smell of rain. She quickened her pace and took a short cut over difficult terrain in order to reach the fortress before the heavens opened. The moment she stepped through the great doors, her Dark Mark seared sharply and Arcana sighed, her fleeting hopes for solitude quashed. It was time to play translator.