The Globe Trackers

Gertrude woke up with the soft sound of garbage trucks rumbling in the distance as they approached her mound. She stood up slowly, yawned, and pulled aside the makeshift curtain she had set up as a door for the little hodgepodge she called home. The sun was just rising in the toxic-fume-purple sky, not too chilly or dark to wander outside, yet not late enough in the morning to be too warm - the perfect time to start scavenging.

Ah, thought Gertrude, some garbage trucks were already pulling away from the mound; very good - it means fresh food, and possibly some other valuables, had already arrived. She passed the big metal trash can sitting by her doorway that contained smoldering, smoking embers and had kept her warm last night, and started clambering down the small garbage mound where she lived along with a few other scavengers.

'Is it Wednesday?' she thought. 'I keep losing track of the weekdays. Yes, I think it is Wednesday, isn't it? I think I should go down to Unemployment today, see if they have anything for me. I might even bludge some cash out of them, too. Oh, there's Freddy!'

'And good morning to you, too, Gerty!' said the short, ragged-clothed man with the hoary-looking top-hat coming into sight from her left.

'Oh, dear,' thought Gertrude. 'Was I thinking out loud again? I was certain I ...'

'Yes, you were, Gerty. And yes, it is Wednesday.'

They both laughed, then went on their casual descent down the mound, taking the inveterate precautions they'd been forced to learn so well in the last year, but continuing their argy-bargy from yesterday over how to predict what garbage trucks from which areas dump more valuable stuff. When they reached the fresh piles, they said goodbye (Freddy saying with a smile that he'd meet her later at Unemployment) and went each their own ways, looking for anything worth picking up and saving for today, or for a rainy day.

It was nice, thought Gertrude, that there were no territorial disputes between people here any more, not like in the past. But then she remembered the enigmatic incidents about a year ago that had led to this dwindling in population - the mysterious deaths; people running away screaming and bleeding; strange-looking things moving by themselves, infesting the place; small, vicious-looking creatures swarming entire sections of the mound with their colonies - and she suddenly wasn't sure if it was worth it.

Still, she survived. Like many others, she'd learnt where not to go at what times of the day, what precautions should be taken where, and when to keep her voice down. Less human competition meant that those who had the guts to stay had more food and possessions. And seagulls meant no competition anyway because they were afraid of her little 'clan' on that mound.

But today seemed alright. She started foraging - a clean-looking apple here, a large phone book with good, flammable pages there - the mound was a treasure trove of new things to find.

She then saw Sam - a heavy-built, brown-haired man wearing a tuxedo he had once 'persuaded' another bum to lend him. She didn't like his attitude, hectoring others for their possessions. Still, he was part of her clan, so she kept her criticism of him to herself. Or, on occasion, to people other than Sam.

He was wearing a fine-looking chain on his neck, holding the ornament attached to it in his hand, spitting on it and polishing it, walking towards her with casual insouciance. She didn't remember him wearing that when he walked by her last evening, so he must have found it this morning.

He spotted her from about forty feet away, waved and called, 'Hey, Gerty, look what I found!' She wasn't sure whether to answer or continue foraging, as if to mark her territory here, so she just paused and smiled back.

But then something else caught her eye - a figure ascending the mound from her left, some fifty feet behind Sam, wearing a black cloak cap-a-pie, holding a small, translucent sphere in one hand. It was very close by, and she wondered how it was possible for her to have missed the figure approaching.

'A hood? In this nice a weather?' she thought, and continued watching the figure. Sam was saying something like 'Practically new! Looks expensive, too!' clearly oblivious of the figure approaching him from behind.

And then there was another figure, broader and a bit taller, standing some forty feet to Sam's left, holding the same weird object; and this time Gertrude was certain that the figure had simply not been there a second before, because she was looking in that general direction just now.

The figures were holding these things in front of them in their hands, these things that looked like crystal balls, as they were advancing. Were they 'following the leads' of these balls, like compasses? It certainly looked that way to her, from her over-viewing position. Moreover, they seemed to be walking straight up towards Sam; even as he moved along, they seemed to have changed their trajectory to follow him.

She couldn't say why, but the surroundings suddenly seemed to Gertrude a little quieter - the rumbling of trucks became softer, birds were chirping less. She had a bad feeling about this. Whatever reason they may have to behave that way, she thought, maybe it's best to keep out of their way until they are gone. Slowly and unnoticeably she ducked behind an old, rusty dishwasher lying on its side on top of the garbage pile next to her.

Sam then paused, obviously having spotted the hooded figures, too. The figures stopped, looked at each other, and the first one gave an ever-so-slight nod.

The other figure continued towards Sam, held out one hand and said in a man's voice, 'That locket around your neck - hand it over. Now.'

'I smell trouble,' thought Gertrude, taking care this time to keep her thoughts to herself. 'With that kind of demand, they must either be policemen or robbers, and I've never heard of a flatfoot in a hood like that, nor did I see them flashing any badges.'

Sam must have thought the same, since he took a step back, clutched the locket tighter in his hand and said, 'But that's mine. I found it.'

Without argument, the man reached into his hood and, quite expectedly, took out something long and pointy. Gertrude had never seen a mugger holding such a thin, fragile-looking dagger before.

Soon enough, the other figure took out another pointed stick.

Sam appeared to have done some quick calculation, apparently decided that two odd-balls outnumber one, albeit a strong one, and started running away from them.

But then the strangest thing happened - he appeared to have tripped over something and fall face first into the dirt, except he didn't land on his face. Rather, he was lifted in the air, his feet as if grabbed by an unseen rope hanging from the sky.

Sam started kicking and shouting, and several trinkets came falling out of his tuxedo pockets onto the ground. He tried reaching for them but his fingers stopped an inch away, which made his fight against the unseen cord even more furious.

It was then that Gertrude realised that the hooded man was holding up his stick pointed at Sam. The other figure said in a nonchalant woman's voice, 'You have to show me how to do it some day,' then raised her stick and shouted, 'Avada Kedavra!'

Sam's struggle ceased abruptly, his hands and his tuxedo's rear end hanging off him like drapes.

'Wow!' thought Gertrude. 'I must ask them how they did that. I could use something as soothing as that for one of my headaches.'

The hooded man lowered his hand holding the stick, and Sam came plummeting to the ground, landing on his head.

Gertrude realised she was in some sort of dissociated daydream, and demanded herself back to reality - this couldn't happen! What she was seeing right now was impossible! And then it hit her - these hooded people must be ... no, there's no such thing as ...

Yes, yes they were. They were wizards and they'd just killed Sam.

Sammy was dead, no question about it. He was slumped on the dirt, curled up in the same strange position he landed, with his knees, hands and back of his neck touching the ground. He should have been screaming with pain, had he been alive.

The hooded man walked over to the pile that was Sam's body, pushed him with his foot so that he lay on his side, reached towards Sam's neck with his hand, then paused, made a sniffing sound, looked at Sam's lower body and said, 'If there's anything more revolting than a Muggle, it's a Muggle bum.' Gertrude saw what she thought made him say that - a dark, wet stain on Sam's old trousers, spreading wider and wider.

She thought about that funny word, Muggle - she'd never heard it before; it must have been part of that new slang trend, probably referring to someone who's been mugged. She felt a sneeze coming, and had to quickly shut her eyes and swallow in order to avoid it.

The man stood up, grease-black hair now showing from his hood, took a handkerchief out of his inside pocket in one hand, held it next to the stick that was in his other hand and said, 'Accio Horcrux!'

Sam's locket seemed to have been magnetised upwards by the stick, but the chain still held it down to his neck. The upwards pull was apparently so strong that Sam's heavy head had risen a bit from the ground. Then the chain snapped and the locket flew straight up through the air towards the waiting stick. With one swift motion, the man caught it in his handkerchief, then placed it back in his pocket.

'Are we finished here, Severus?' asked the woman.

'No, I want to know exactly how it got here. We should do some searching,' was the reply of the man apparently called Severus, and Gertrude cursed quietly.

'Don't you want to put it in a safe place first, before we're found?' asked the woman.

'This is important - there must be something here that can tell us how it left that cave the Dark Lord mentioned.'

Suddenly, something landed on top of Gertrude's head and screeched. Having been yanked out of that intriguing conversation, she gave a shriek and jumped back, her heart racing a bit faster, then a lot faster once she realised the hooded figures were looking straight at the dishwasher behind which she was crouching.

'Thank you, Quervo,' said Severus, and the crow standing next to her gave another screech and flew onto Severus' shoulder. It had a white serpentine stripe on its abdomen and a golden ring wrapped around its left leg, gleaming in the sunlight.

Gertrude was a long way from them, and yet she could tell right away that they knew she was there.

'You have fun with whoever that is, I'll take care of the Horcrux,' said Severus.

'But we still don't know how it got here, and you said it's important to find ...'

'No, you were right, Narcissa, we should take it to a safe place as soon as possible. So you'll excuse me if I don't lift up the witness for you, would you?'

And to Gertrude's horror, the woman called Narcissa replied, 'Of course. It's less fun if they can't run like the rats they are.'

As if having waited for that cue, Gertrude gave up on the dishwasher and started running pell-mell away from them. She fully expected them to go after her, but when she didn't hear any footsteps she allowed herself a quick look back.

They were still standing on the same spots they were a few moments ago. Severus said, 'I'll meet you back at Spinner's End, where I can ... teach you that lifting spell, and you can thank me, properly, for killing the old fool and covering up for Draco's hesitation. But do take your time with the Muggle.'

And then he simply vanished into thin air! This was shocking enough to paralyse Gertrude; even the crow with the serpentine stripe, now left flapping in midair where Severus' shoulder was just a second ago, gave a startled screech before soaring off to the east.

But then she saw Narcissa turning slowly to face her. Even from the great distance between them, Gertrude could see a vicious smile crack through the hood, and that wand rising menacingly towards her. She started careering away again, and a few minutes later she was about half a mile away. She couldn't believe how much energy panic could bring.

She stopped, panting, sweating, leaning back against the remains of an overturned, burned-up car, holding her trembling knees in her hands, looking down at the sunlit ground.

It seemed to her like a narrow escape, when suddenly, the shadow of a hood popped right in front of her on the ground, out of nowhere.

Before she heard the woman utter those strange words, before she even rose to look at her executioner, she had one last inappropriate thought: 'I hope I remembered to take a leak this morning - I wouldn't want wet clothes found on my body.'