Illusions of Choice

Additional Disclaimer: Original elements (characters, locations, plot, etc.) are property of Methylethyldeth.

Author Notes: Methyl has escaped the pit of flesh-eating slugs unharmed once again! Thanks to the beta astraia_ourania for pointing out the bits that needed fixing. Without her there'd be several "Huh? What was that? Maybe Methyl has been drinking too much firewhisky," moments in this chapter. Now Methyl has no excuses to avoid editing chapter three.

Enjoy!

The thick morning mist clung to everything it touched, leaving silver dewdrops in its wake. Mossy branches stretched up into the swirling grey, their green leaves shivering, though there was no wind. Down at their roots, dappled light danced on dewy ferns and glinted off of Arcana's white hair. High magic sank into her body with each step, trickling, flowing, surging through streams that had grown parched during her exile in the mortal world.

Stiff boots and heavy robes weighed her down, binding her to some role she had never wanted. She remembered feeling the emerald moss soft under her feet - that was how it was supposed to be. It had been long ago, or maybe just yesterday. She couldn't recall just now, but that didn't matter.

Arcana reached up and tore through thick fabric, leather, and metal as if it had no substance. The discarded clothing vanished. She threw her head back and arched her back, singing silently to the sky. Somewhere beyond the mist the sun was shining, and she could almost hear its silvery whispers. The green earth rumbled contentedly, drawing Arcana back down, and she ran just to feel the wind caress her skin. She leapt off of a rocky ledge, her long braids flying behind, and landed softly on hands and feet. This place she remembered, yes, but was it here before? No matter. Places did not always stay put, and that was the way of things.

The waterfall sang its way into the pool, just as it always had, and Arcana smiled. Silver willow trees stood nearby, like old friends, their branches swaying in the still air, watching over the shimmering flowers that crowded in their shadows. There were no birds in the trees though, and that was odd. There were no fish in the pool, no faerie under the rocks, no singing on the wind. There was no wind. There was only silence.

Arcana shivered, suddenly cold. She crouched at the edge of the pool and wrapped her arms around her knees. This place was lonely now, somehow broken and wrong. Tears burned in Arcana's eyes, and she pressed her cheek to the mossy ground, trying to force her memories to live once more.

A rough hand seized her ankle, and the stench of brimstone cut through the morning mist.

"No!" Arcana screamed, not needing to turn around to know who was there. She kicked and thrashed, but the demon Xhal Thos just began dragging her away.

Fighting no longer amuses me. Be still, little fae! The demon's voice pounded in Arcana's ears and sliced through her mind.

She screamed and dug her claws into the soft earth, but it gave way. The mossy ground blurred into red, barren rock, and all evidence of her green world was banished, as if it had only been a dream.

A dream, another dream . . . it was back in her dreams!

Xhal Thos dragged Arcana over sharp rocks by her ankle, her bones grinding together with each step the demon took. She screamed out for aid, screamed to wake up, screamed curses and obscenities in a dozen languages. Blood stained her hands from scrabbling at the ground and her mouth tasted of dust. She kicked at the demon, and Xhal Thos jerked her ankle. Something cracked, and Arcana screamed again.

I should have known that wouldn't silence you.

"Please, anyone! Please, help!" Arcana shrieked, uncaring of which language had crossed her lips. Xhal Thos laughed.

Finally, I cracked that pride. It took long enough.

"My lord!" Arcana screamed to the red sky. He had promised to protect her. Where was he now?

Xhal Thos growled, and Arcana grabbed her Dark Mark with her right hand, begging for help. The demon shook Arcana by the ankle.

Silence, fae!

Searing fire stabbed through Arcana's brand, and Xhal Thos raged, yanking her ankle until her knee broke with a sickening crack. She screamed.

The world blurred, turning dark and tangled. Arcana fought the bonds that held her fast, and then suddenly fell, landing hard on her back. The ground - no floor - was cold, but soft like a rug. Arcana's raw fingers ran over the fibers, and the room flashed into focus. She weakly tugged at the bedsheets that wound around her body and then let her head fall to the floor. She laughed, but it was not a merry sound.

Arcana groaned and rolled onto her side, shaking with the dregs of fear, almost expecting Xhal Thos to be glaring down at her with a wide grin on its wretched face. Arcana looked up, and found the Dark Lord glowering at her, arms crossed over his chest.

"You said it had stopped, Arcana," the Dark Lord hissed. "I cannot be bothered to break these demon illusions at all hours of the day and night."

Arcana sat up and drew the blood-smeared sheets around her body. She must have torn off her nightclothes while dreaming. Blood oozed from deep gashes in the palms of her hands, just like it had in the dream, and her ankle hurt. Suddenly, she needed to stand, at least to get up upon the bed, but the weight of the Dark Lord's his eyes held her down. He scowled.

Xhal Thos had been angry too. So very angry.

Arcana's Dark Mark warmed, and she looked up.

"It had stopped, my lord, mostly," Arcana said, looking away from him quickly. She tucked the sheets under her arms and lay her shaking hands in her lap. The wounds were slow to close.

"Mostly?" he asked, irritated.

"It was only an echo of what it had been, and surfaced rarely, and I slept several times without trouble, my lord." Arcana took a deep breath and reached down into the magic of the land. A veneer of calm slid over the tattered remains of terror. "Without your potion, my lord."

The Dark Lord raised his hand. Arcana closed her mouth, bowed her head, and shifted to a more comfortable position, accidentally pulling the sheets off of her ankle. There were bruises, and Xhal Thos' fingers were clear amid the discoloration. Arcana suddenly felt ill and stretched deeper into the land. Her vision swam with magic. She had thought that the worst of the demon's filth had been purged, but it was still close. Far too close.

The Dark Lord crouched down and grasped Arcana's calf, pulling her leg straight. She winced at the sharp pain that shot up from ankle to knee. His hand was cold. Arcana's fingers twitched with the instinctive urge to tear it to shreds. The Dark Lord tapped his wand on Arcana's ankle, his expression darkening. There was something he was not telling her. She could tell.

"Is this consistent with your dream?" His wand vanished into his black robes.

"Yes, my lord, but it was worse then."

"And these are the first physical effects?" The Dark Lord's eyes locked onto Arcana's, and the world was awash in a haze of his red-black magic.

"Yes, my lord."

The Dark Lord's rage burned black, but it was not directed at Arcana. Her Dark Mark hummed softly as his magic ghosted along their link, searching for further damage to . . . his property. The shock of the nightmare numbed her anger, but she still keenly felt the ache of shame.

"Can you set the bones?" The Dark Lord's fingers grazed the bruises on Arcana's ankle. Wisps of his magic sank into her flesh, and she shivered.

"Yes, my lord," Arcana said. "It would be easier if Shelly could bring my potion."

"You already have a potion brewed for mending bone?" the Dark Lord asked sharply. Arcana bit back the bitter laugh dancing in her throat.

"Of course, my lord. You know I react badly to most readily available potions, Skelegrow derivatives included, and I've learned to be prepared." The Dark Lord's magic flashed red with anger, but he only nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Continue searing the bite wound at dawn. Your lord will provide you with sleeping potion for another week."

"Thank you, my lord." Arcana bowed her head.

"And you will inform me if this echo persists at that time."

"As you wish, my lord."

The Dark Lord stood and snapped his fingers. Shelly appeared, flustered and with a wooden spoon still in her hand. She bowed low to the Dark Lord, and then saw Arcana.

"My . . . oh hunter Arcana!" Shelly caught herself and stared forlornly at Arcana, the muscles of her jaw working. She thought that the Dark Lord had done this, Arcana realized. "Oh, Shelly will fix everything." Shelly gripped the spoon tightly with both hands. "That is what Master wishes?"

"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed. Shelly bowed, banishing the spoon, unceremoniously plopped down on the floor next to Arcana's outstretched foot and gently ran her hands over the bruised ankle.

"I will leave you in good hands then, my fae," the Dark Lord said before Disapparating. Arcana scowled at the place where he had stood, cringing when the bones in her ankle shifted under Shelly's hands.

"Shelly will fix Lady Arcana, and then get her potions, and then draw a bath. Yes, a bath will be good, and then Shelly can clean things up and . . ."

The house-elf's chatter ran over Arcana's ears, and she concentrated on being glad that the dream had only been a dream. Unfortunately that did not make her ankle hurt any less.

*** *** *** ***

Sharp pain shot up Arcana's leg, and the belt slipped out of her hand, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Her broken ankle had kept her off her feet for two days, the cracked bones not responding well to either her potions or Shelly's magic. Arcana shifted her weight to her good foot and summoned the belt with a crook of her finger. She wrapped it around her waist and pulled the leather through the buckle with deft fingers. A frown crept onto her face. The sun was already up, and she could not dally.

"Lady Arcana should be resting," Shelly admonished Arcana. The house-elf was perched precariously on a haphazard pile of blankets at the end of Arcana's bed, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Shelly, I will rest. After I return."

"The Master wouldn't want Lady running about--"

"And by the time you can tell him, I'll have gone."

Shelly sighed and wrung her hands.

The Dark Lord had left the fortress last night and had yet to return. Since the demon summoning, the Dark Lord's war had occupied most of his time, and he had mostly left Arcana to her own devices. She could probably visit Jeriol and be back before he noticed her absence. The freedom was refreshing after the last few months of having the Dark Lord hovering over her shoulder, but now Arcana kept catching herself anticipating his next order or tracing the brand on her left arm as she stared into the fire.

"I'm out of supplies, Shelly, and the Dark Lord would be displeased if my next hunt was delayed," Arcana explained. Shelly fidgeted uncomfortably, playing with the collar of her uniform. Jeriol should also have red maiden rose hips in stock, which Arcana needed to brew a new batch of her blood replenishing potion. At least those were her official reasons for the visit.

Arcana tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and pulled on her cloak, taking time to adjust her gloves rather than looking Shelly in the eye. It was easier to hide from house-elf intuition if one avoided eye contact, and if Shelly suspected anything, the Dark Lord would learn of it. In a fit of paranoia he might recall the blood he had left on Arcana's hands. The results of that would be worse than anything that could happen if she asked Jeriol about blood magic. She hated trusting him in such a delicate matter, but she had no one else to turn to, which just made it worse.

"Let Shelly look at it once more, Lady." The house-elf gazed up at Arcana, pleading with her large, round eyes.

"You checked my ankle not ten minutes ago, Shelly," Arcana snapped, tearing her thoughts away from blood magic and death. "It'll do for now." The bones were stabilized and healing, albeit more slowly than desired. "I'll return shortly, Shelly."

"Be careful, Lady."

Arcana managed a small smile and nodded to Shelly before leaving, refusing to let the house-elf's worry poison her resolve.

Knockturn Alley was dark, damp, and bitterly cold. Arcana slipped out of the shadows and onto the nearly empty street, causing ugly rats to skitter away from her boots. The leering wizard in his voodoo booth looked up from the entrails of a freshly slaughtered chicken, and a gaggle of hags, huddling around fire, muttered curses and followed Arcana with hooded eyes. She gripped her wand - her fae-crafted wand - just in case.

Turning a corner, Arcana slipped on a patch of dirty ice and a spike of pain drove through her right ankle. She tossed lanky black hair out of her sallow, glamoured face and tugged the hood of her cloak forward, silently cursing all demons and Dark Lords. A door creaked open, and an emaciated vampire peered out and bared her long fangs. Arcana's hand tightened on her wand, and the vampire sniffed the air, her eyes going black. The sun brightened, and the vampire flinched, darting back to safety, and let out a hideous cry of hunger. Arcana quickly walked past before the clouds thickened again.

Much to Arcana's disgust, the heavily warded door of Ironcraft Antiquaries was locked, but she sensed both Jeriol and his apprentice inside. Arcana banged on the door with her fist, careful to avoid the strips of tainted iron that bound the heavy oak. Her gloves would protect her skin, but the metal still felt wrong.

"We're closed," Darian's muffled voice called through the door.

"Is that so?" Arcana muttered, and kept pounding.

"Leave now, or I'll activate the wards and there won't be any pieces left big enough to sell!"

Arcana looked at the wards - strands of gold and green and black - woven in a deadly pattern. Jeriol's work of course. She spun around and stepped up to the dirty display window, giving it a sharp rap with her knuckles. Darian swore, and a moment later Arcana had a wand pointed at her nose through the glass. He was braver behind wards. She snarled and he flinched.

"Last chance. Go now, or you'll be raven snacks."

Arcana planted her the palms of her hands against the window, feeling the wards humming like angry bees, and partially dropped the glamour. Silvery claws scraped against glass. Darian's eyes went wide, and he swore again, stumbling back from the window. He vanished from view and yelled something toward the back of the store. A few moments later the wards faded and the door unlocked with a series of loud clicks.

"Hurry in," Jeriol said, opening the door just enough for Arcana to slip inside. Jeriol locked and re-warded the door immediately. "You could have waited for a decent hour, Lady," he grumbled, and then swooped by her to peer out the window worriedly, wand still in hand. "Go check upstairs, Darian."

Darian bounded off to the back of the shop and through the moldy curtain. Wooden stairs creaked loudly with Darian's steps. Jeriol gave Arcana a quick nod before going back to watching the street. He was still in his dressing gown with his grey hair messily pulled back in a short braid and stubble shadowing his aging face. He finally sighed and leaned against the door jam, rubbing his temples. He looked ever older.

"We're not open for good reason, Lady."

"Which is?" Arcana raised her now clawed hands in a questioning gesture.

Jeriol looked at Arcana as if her brain had just flown out of her head on fluffy pink wings.

"The attacks were all over the . . . well I suppose you don't always read the Prophet, but you should have known since . . ." Jeriol trailed off and shuddered.

"So that's what he's been up to," Arcana muttered, a sneer twisting her mouth. Jeriol closed his eyes, but could not hide the waves of anxiety flowing off of him. "I'm not here to set the Dark Mark over your shop, old man. How about some tea? I think you need it more than me this morning."

"Of course, Lady," he said bitterly. "You must have been busy lately to be back so soon."

Before Jeriol could move, Arcana was standing in front of him, the tip of her wand under his chin. His wand fell and clattered on the floor, and he slowly raised his hands to the sides.

"I don't serve the Dark Lord. His murders are not mine. Don't think that they are."

"You have no one to worry about, do you, Lady?" Jeriol asked, sounding as tired as he looked. Arcana tilted her head to the side, prompting him to continue. "No family, no friends? None who could have died under the Dark Mark?"

"So that's what bothers you." Arcana relaxed, pleased despite herself that he did not think her a lowly assassin or that she took souls on command. Simple fear had twisted his words into accidental insults, and she could forgive that. "You all die, Jeriol. It happens. When is the only question, and there's little difference between this decade and the next to me." Arcana lowered her wand, and Jeriol shuddered. "Pick up you wand. I dislike war, if that is any consolation."

"A small one, I suppose," Jeriol muttered, bending down to retrieve his wand.

"It's all clear for now, master," Darian called from what Arcana assumed was upstairs. He came back down the creaking stairs, pushed aside the curtain and froze, one hand raised to wipe cobwebs from his hair. He reached into his waistcoat, and Arcana raised an eyebrow.

"She'd kill you before you decided what to cast, silly boy," Jeriol barked, straightening and returning his wand to its pocket. "Back to the inventory." He shooed Darian back through the curtain. "Every once in a while his Griffindor recklessness raises its head and roars." Arcana's lips twitched toward a smile.

"How about that tea now?" Arcana queried, moving away from the window and completely dropping the glamour. "And perhaps I could see today's paper."

"Of course, Lady. The cellar is better warded anyway."

Several cups of tea later Arcana settled deeper into the old chair and watched the flames dance in the hearth. Her supplies were stowed in her pockets along with several weeks of the Daily Prophet that Darian had failed to throw out. Their tea had long gone cold, and yet she still sat with Jeriol in his cellar. This was her chance to ask him about blood magic, but the words kept sticking in her throat. Though Jeriol was a storekeeper, his passion had always been old magic, the more esoteric, complex, and dangerous the better, and Arcana couldn't imagine him turning a blind eye to the power of blood.

"You really didn't know about last night, did you?"

"No," Arcana snarled. "He doesn't bore me with his war often these days." Discomfort shivered off of Jeriol like leaves falling in autumn. "What do you know of blood magic, old man?" Arcana abruptly asked before he could open his mouth again.

Jeriol gaped and stumbled for words. "What about it? Why?" He looked at her intently, and Arcana hated him in that moment.

"Two questions I won't answer. Just tell me what you know, and don't dally."

Arcana swirled her cold tea, refusing to acknowledge the mixture of curiosity and pity in his eyes.

*** *** *** ***

Arcana glared at Jeriol's back as they walked up the stairs. He knew something about blood magic, but not enough, nowhere near enough. He was familiar enough with her to see her disappointment, and his sincere apology had only made it worse. She'd had to bite her tongue to keep from cursing him, and as she had swallowed away the coppery taste Jeriol said that he'd sold his last rose hips the day before to a 'smelly hedgewizard with field mice stuffed in his pockets.' Her response had made him go grey and stutter another apology. Perhaps she should have listened to Shelly and stayed in bed that morning like the house-elf had wanted.

Guilt tugged at Arcana, and she stepped between Jeriol and the front door of his shop. "You know I didn't mean what I said, old man," she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Of course, Lady," he said stiffly. A wariness had crept back into his eyes that Arcana'd not seen for years. "Angliguard's Apothecary might have a jar or two of rose hips left. He's the best with out-of-season plants."

Arcana nodded in thanks, forcing a wan smile onto her face, and then slipped out of Ironcraft Antiquaries. She stepped around the frozen puddle that caught her earlier and shot a glare at the voodoo wizard. Diagon Alley was a place she'd prefer to avoid given the numerous Magical Law Enforcement patrols, but she wanted that new batch of blood replenishing potion brewed before she needed it.

Arcana pulled back the hood of her cloak as she crossed into Diagon Alley, hoping that it would make her look less suspicious. Anti-Apparition wards had indeed been extended to cover most of the Alley, just as Jeriol had warned. Arcana noted the unwarded spots as she walked down the sparsely populated street, concentrating on looking cold, miserable, and not suspicious. A pair of Law Enforcement wizards, bundled up in blue robes, nodded as they passed. Arcana nodded in return.

The nearest ward-free spot was fifty meters from Angliguard's Apothecary, and the next was much further. Arcana silently cursed the warding wizards for doing their job too well. The apothecary's door jingled merrily when Arcana pushed it open.

For the first time that day, luck smiled on Arcana and she handed Mister Angliguard thirty Galleons for the two small jars of rose hips, which she quickly shrunk and stuck into a pocket. He has assured her that he had placed the unbreakable charms on the jars himself, and Arcana was pleased to sense that the spells were well bonded to the glass.

"Good day, ma'am," Angliguard said with a tight smile.

"And to you," Arcana replied with a polite inclination of her head. She hurried around the cluttered shelves and out the door, which jingled cheerfully again.

Unfortunately the bells caught the attention of three Law Enforcement wizards who were loitering across the street in front of the Charming Café. The café was closed like most of the shops in Diagon Alley, and there was a despondent-looking note stuck to the inside of the door. The eldest wizard raised a small mirror and spoke into it while his shorter blonde companion hailed Arcana with a wave of his left hand. The third wizard, a reedy fellow with a shock of black hair, just looked cold. All three had their hands on holstered wands.

"Excuse me, ma'am. We have a few questions for you," the blonde wizard called.

Arcana blinked and looked around for someone else they could be talking too, playing surprised for a moment while debating the best course of action. With the Apparition point so far away she had best try to talk her way out of the situation.

"Oh, you mean me?" she said with a self-depreciating smile, crossing the Alley to the security wizards, hoping it made her glamoured appearance less severe. She had chosen the facade for Knockturn Alley after all. "Sorry, sirs. My mind's all a muddle, and today's been a mess." It was true enough after all.

"I'm Senior Officer Willard, ma'am," the eldest wizard said. "And your name?"

"Madrigal Roberts, sir." The name came easily to Arcana's lips.

"What is your business in Diagon Alley today?" Arcana gave him a confused look. "Just a routine check, ma'am. Nothing personal." Arcana would have bet gold that was a lie, even if she couldn't feel his magic shifting.

"Just restocking the cupboard, sir. It's desperately bare after my holiday up north, for Christmas and all, you know."

"Did you read the Daily Prophet today, ma'am?" Willard pressed, looking grim.

"No, I just got back . . ." Arcana trailed off and made a show of looking at their faces. "Oh no. Wh-what happened? I need to get home! What if--"

"Please calm down, ma'am," the reedy wizard said gently. "Just a couple more questions, and you can go."

"Please hurry. My family must be terrified. I hadn't said I'd gotten back, and what if . . ." Arcana bit her lip, portraying the emotions she'd seen contorting Jeriol's face.

"We'll be quick, ma'am," Willard assured. "What you were doing in Knockturn Alley?" Arcana kept the dark scowl off her face. "You were seen leaving there approximately one half hour ago." He glanced behind Arcana, and she sensed the approaching reinforcements. Running was no longer an option. If things got ugly there would be corpses on the street. Behind Arcana uneven footsteps sounded thunk, step, thunk, step, thunk on the cobblestones.

"An old friend of the family gives me a fair discount on local herbs I don't have time to get myself. That's all," Arcana said, the lies coming easily to her lips.

"Morning, Willard," came a gruff female voice from behind Arcana. Tension radiated off of the three wizards in front of her.

Arcana turned to see the scarred witch from Hogwarts she had assumed to be a professor, except now she was in Auror robes, standing beside Alastor Moody, with two more Law Enforcement wizards behind them. The witch glanced over Arcana, and the fae hoped her surprise did not show. Moody's electric-blue eye whirred around in its socket, looking at something behind him.

"Morning, Auror Moody, Auror Reynolds," Willard said stiffly. "Trouble?"

"Not yet. Just here checking on your trouble," Reynolds said.

"They're past Fortescue's," Moody grunted, his eye whirling back to focus on Arcana. It slipped over her glamour uneasily, as if wanting to look elsewhere. Moody squinted, pulling his scarred face into an uglier expression.

Willard and his companions stiffened. Arcana formed several spells deep within her mind, grounding her magic as best she could in the city. If the Dark Lord was going to attack Diagon Alley, she wanted out now.

"Not those Baners again," the blonde wizard groaned. "As if things aren't bad enough. Mad anti-purebloods, nosy bleeders the lot. Why can't they just keep to Bulgaria or wherever they're from?"

Arcana let her magic settle. If it was not the Dark Lord, she could still risk playing her game a bit longer.

Reynolds berated the blonde wizard for his lack of professionalism while Moody turned to Arcana.

"Show me your left arm," Moody ordered. Ice shot through Arcana's veins, but she did not let her fear show. The Dark Mark was invisible under her glamour, and no wizarding magic could crack that, not even Moody's magic eye.

"Uh, alright," Arcana said, with the confusion of someone that did not know how the Dark Lord branded his followers. She extended her left arm to Moody, who turned it palm up, pulled up her sleeve, and tugged down the elbow length leather glove. He held Arcana's wrist and poked at her forearm with his wand, casting revealing spells, his blue eye fixated on her glamoured skin. The Dark Mark was thankfully silent.

Moody let go, and Arcana fixed her glove and sleeve, molding her face into the picture of confusion and worry. He looked at Reynolds and shook his head. The witch scowled.

"What's with the long gloves, Miss Roberts?" Willard asked.

"It's cold, if you hadn't noticed," Arcana said. "I really need to get home. Are you done?" She put rubbed her palms together nervously, sensing a whirl of angry magic slinking nearer. The faint sounds a chanting mob reached her ears. The witch and wizards would hear it soon as well, and Arcana wanted to be gone by the time it got to this end of the Alley.

"I think--" Willard started.

"One more--" Reynolds' interrupted, only to be cut off by a shrill ring.

Willard raised the small mirror again. Arcana heard the muffled voice of whoever was on the other end, but could not make out the words. Moody stared at her, his magic eye backwards in his head, watching the mob.

"We're going now," Willard announced. "That's you too, Reynolds and Moody. The Baners are really going at it this time." He looked down at Arcana. "You should leave Diagon--"

"Not yet," Reynolds interjected. Arcana tensed when the witch reached into a pocket in her robes. "There's something fishy going on, and I'm not letting you skitter off now. Bulderman."

The larger of the Law Enforcement wizards with the Aurors made a grab for Arcana, but she slipped under his arm. Bulderman grunted in surprise, and Moody's wand swung toward Arcana. The others followed suit.

"Just wait one minute," Arcana said frantically, backing away. "I'm not a Dark witch, and I'm not just going to sit around while some mad wizards come barreling through here!"

"The Ministry has authorized Aurors to use deadly force in the apprehension of suspected Dark witches and wizards," Reynolds warned.

"Seven to one, missy," Moody added. His eye darted between the approaching mob and Arcana.

Arcana's hands tingled with restrained power, and she shifted her weight ever so slightly, alert for the slightest provocation. Instincts reared, snarling, hissing, growling, and bloody visions flitted across her mind's eye. Arcana blinked them away and clung to reason. Could she take them all down before one Stunned her?

"There's no reason to worry unless you've done something illegal," Willard said, trying to placate Arcana. She reached down deep, grasping at the weak threads of magic running below the streets.

Reynolds pulled a Restraining Cuff her pocket, and Arcana nearly laughed in relief. A Restraining Cuff was just that, a cuff with a chain that could be attached to any convenient heavy object. There were spells on it, of course, but nothing of consequence. They thought that would hold her. What a farce. She'd add destruction of Ministry property to her "crimes" and slip away as soon as their backs were turned.

"I'm not a bloody criminal," Arcana exclaimed.

"You might be," Moody said. Arcana shot him a scandalized look.

"This'll just keep you from wandering off, Miss Roberts," Reynolds said.

"The Baners won't get this far," Willard assured Arcana, "and we'll get you home soon after that."

"This is ridiculous." Arcana frowned nervously.

"It is perfectly safe, ma'am," Bulderman said confidently, stepping forward to block Arcana should she try to run. That was amusing.

"This is abuse! I'll file report at the Ministry," Arcana complained. Reynolds and the wizards remained unmoving. Moody's wand hand shifted just enough to signal he was about to cast. "I suppose I can wait a bit longer," she said hurriedly, "as long as it's safe."

"Left arm," Reynolds ordered, extending her gnarled hand. Arcana let the witch close the metal cuff around her wrist, and cried out in surprise, but not because of the electric spark that zapped her wrist. It was tainted iron. The bloody Auror had tainted iron. These things were not supposed to be made out of tainted iron. The breeze tickled Arcana's nose, and she realized she had been upwind so she hadn't gotten a whiff as a warning.

Reynolds dropped the chain, and the free end sank into the cobblestones. Arcana nearly cursed the witch right there. Moody was squinting at her again. If he saw something it would mean her death.

"It's a bit of a shock, but that's it. Keep tight. I'll be back," Reynolds said gruffly. "Let's go," she ordered.

The Aurors and Law Enforcement wizards strode off toward the distinctly louder racket, leaving Arcana chained to the ground outside of the closed café. As soon as they were around the corner she summoned the lone flimsy table left outside with a flick of her wrist and drew her wand to transfigure it into a heavy stone bench. The bench would not look too out of place and would provide good cover when Ferril's Bane got there. Wizarding Law Enforcement was not going to stop them, but if she was lucky, they'd march right past.

Arcana settled behind the bench, out of sight, and slipped her wand back in a pocket, thanking the stars that they had not tried to search her. She examined the Restraining Cuff she had been stupid enough to allow Reynolds to attach. These things were not supposed to be made of tainted iron . . . at least they weren't last time Arcana had encountered one, and that had been some time ago, she realized belatedly. She'd kill Reynolds for this if it ever became convenient.

Fae magic could not touch tainted iron, which was probably why it was poison to them in the first place. There was no way for Arcana to magically destroy the metal, and the cuff was actually tight enough that she could not slip it off over her small hand. Attempting even minor shape shifting would be far too risky, so that was out. The chain was firmly rooted into the cobblestones, and deeply too. It would take effort and eye-catching spells to pry that loose, but there was still the nasty built-in anti-Apparition spell - another wonderful surprise. She might have to sit through the protest and talk to Reynolds again, at least long enough to get the key.

The rally's chant was clear now in all of the languages in which they were shouting it, as were the demands of the Law Enforcement wizards. Moody's voice boomed over the protest only to be drowned out a moment later. To make matters worse, they were coming from the direction of the nearest Apparition spot. Arcana hissed an oath and examined the cuff with her second sight, finding that the locking mechanism was made of standard steel. Not one bit of magical taint. She smiled coldly. It was not the first time wizards had made that mistake.

Arcana whispered a careful spell to melt the lock and turned the cuff so the hot metal would drip to the ground. The cuff grew warm, and she narrowed her eyes, looking into the magic to hone the spell's precision.

A bright banner sailed overhead, loudly proclaiming the downfall of oppressive pureblood society in butchered English, and Arcana felt the first flashes of spellfire off to her left. A drop of red-hot molten steel fell to the ground, and Arcana's Dark Mark burned. She swore and tugged at the cuff, but it held strong. The Dark Lord was not summoning her, but he was summoning, and Arcana had a bad feeling that she knew what was going to happen next.

Another drop of liquid metal fell and sizzled on the cobblestones, quickly cooling to form a shiny puddle. Arcana pulled at the cuff, and it gave a bit, but not enough. A vicious curse hit the top of her transfigured bench, and she strengthened the melting spell, clenching her fist as the hot cuff scorched her glove. The rune-etched metal around the lock sparked, the spells cracking under the heat. Booted feet stomped in front of the bench, and Arcana ducked down lower. One last burst of power, and the lock melted completely and dribbled to the ground, hissing and steaming.

Arcana yanked the cuff open and dropped it in disgust, shaking her hands in a vain attempt to cool the burns under her singed gloves. She cast a quick Notice-Me-Not Charm and slipped out from behind the bench. A stronger spell might disrupt her glamour and make the situation far worse. She blended into the crowd and wove through it as quickly as possible, nearly colliding with Auror Reynolds, though the witch did not notice Arcana. There were more wizards with wands drawn then not, Arcana saw upon a quick scan of the mob, and then suddenly curses started flying.

A blue flash nearly took off Arcana's head, instead hitting a shop window and sending glass everywhere. She resisted the urge to brush the shards out of her glamoured hair and ducked around Bulderman, who was desperately disenchanting floating signs and vainly trying to halt the progression of the mob. Arcana broke out of the crowd and ran down the street, feeling for a spot in the anti-Apparition wards weak enough for her to break. One needed to show up fast because the Notice-Me-Not Charm would not be effective for long if she was the most noticeable thing around. Arcana's ankle throbbed, and gave way when she stepped on it wrong. She stumbled, grunting as pain stabbed through the mending bones, but she kept going. Shelly was going to yell at her when she got back.

A familiar Dark presence flooded Arcana's mind, and her Dark Mark burned again. The anti-Apparition wards bent, and the cracks of multiple Apparitions filled the air. The mob behind her screamed, and Arcana skidded to a halt as the street in front of her was suddenly filled with a phalanx of Death Eaters.

*** *** *** ***

Next: "Faerie Tales and Demon Filth." Death Eaters running about Diagon Alley is never good, especially when one that Arcana particularly despises is among their number.

Thanks for reading everyone. Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and how to make it better!

If you haven't gotten enough Methylethyldeth yet, she also resides on livejournal, where she posts regularly on a variety of topics. She doesn't bite visitors . . . often. :D