There and Back Again: A Potter's Tale

The bell of the old church in Godric's Hollow was tolling six o'clock in the evening. The overgrown cemetery behind the church was deserted, as was usual for that time of the day. The stooped caretaker, the surpliced priest, the prim undertaker--all had gone home for the evening at their appropriate times. The only living creature visible was a small robin perched in the holly tree overlooking the graveyard. He twittered and chirped happily, as if enjoying the final moments of sunshine in the warm September weather.

Suddenly, the robin fell silent. The gate of the cemetery had swung open, and three teenagers walked through. All were wearing knapsacks, and all were looking around furtively, as if unsure of their surroundings--or wary of being followed. The leader, a young man with messy black hair, waved his companions over to a certain headstone just beneath the robin's perch in the holly tree. Soon, all three were in a huddle before the headstone; black, brown, and red hair mingled with each other in the tight circle. The black-headed boy seemed to be crying, while the red-haired boy and the brown-haired girl were in the process of comforting him.

Just as the robin opened his little beak to resume his chirping, the graveyard's peace was further disrupted by the arrival of six masked persons in black robes, similar to the one worn by the priest who came to church every morning. But these were definitely not priests, the robin knew immediately; with a shout, they leaped over the fence surrounding the graveyard and made a rush towards the three figures by the headstone.

The two boys and the girl immediately separated and pulled out long sticks of wood from their pockets; their attackers did likewise, and soon the graveyard was filled with loud cries, flashes of light, and smoke. When one of the spells went awry, it more often than not struck one of the many gravestones and sent chunks of rock flying in every direction. The poor robin was so frightened that he could hardly fly away fast enough.

TABA TABA TABA TABA TABA

"What--in Merlin's name--do we do now?" Ron panted as he, Harry, and Hermione sprinted through the woods, ducking under branches and leaping over obstacles as they ran. They had just escaped the Death Eaters by jumping over the back fence of the graveyard and into the dense forest surrounding the graveyard. But they knew they couldn't run forever: they were getting short of breath already, and the shouts of their attackers were not far behind.

"Find cover!" Harry shouted back. He was at the head of the line, with Hermione next, and Ron bringing up the lead. Streaks of dried tears were visible on his cheek, as were the light scratches from the brambles and branches they had passed in their hasty retreat.

"But where? The only option for cover would be in the trees, and then we'd be really stuck!" cried Hermione. Her bushy brown hair was bushier than ever, with the added decorations of many tree leaves and twigs.

"Look! There's a house, just up ahead!"

Sure enough, Harry was right. The trees ended in front of a large clearing. Right in the middle of it was a small log cabin, only slightly bigger than Hagrid's hut back at school. The chimney was smoking merrily, and the sound of angrily-clucking chickens could just be heard, as well was one long moo from a cow.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron bolted the rest of the way to the front door, where Harry proceeded to pound on the wooden door with all his might. "Is anyone home?" he yelled. "Please, let us in, there are Death Eaters after--"

The door swung open, effectively stopping Harry in mid-sentence, revealing a young woman dressed in wizarding grey robes and a midnight blue cloak. Her dark, elegant tresses fell to her shoulders and gave her an added sense of grace that, with her majestical features, made one feel as if one was standing before an ancient queen. But her features were not cold and hard; rather, they were warm and full of life, as if she was used to laughing often, but also filled with a great sadness. And her eyes--they seemed to shift hues as one looked into them, from flinty steel to warm grey and back. Harry and Ron were mesmerized; even Hermione was impressed by the woman standing before them.

The woman broke the spell by ushering them inside and closing the door behind them without another word. Harry, Hermione, and Ron found themselves in a spacious room that served as parlor, kitchen, bedroom, and study, by the looks of it. In the fireplace, a black kettle bubbled and smoked away; the smell coming from it was delicious. A wooden bookshelf loomed over the small bed in the far corner, complete with titles that even Hermione had never seen before.

Their observations were distracted by their hostess, who had until that point observed them with those changeable eyes of hers.

"Harry Potter." Her voice was a trilling soprano, sweeter than honey to the ears. "I know who you are--indeed, who doesn't in these evil days? But who are your companions?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," said Hermione, who was the first to recover her voice. She pointed to the furiously-blushing redhead next to her and added, "And he's Ron Weasley. Forgive him for his lack of manners--ow!" Ron had elbowed her in the ribs with a glare.

"Indeed." the woman's eyes glimmered with laughter. "You mentioned Death Eaters before you came in?"

"Yes." Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead. "They attacked us behind the old church across the woods and followed us here."

"How many?"

"Six." Ron finally got his words back. "Six, but I don't know if we lost any on the way over."

"Hmm. . . half a dozen Death Eaters. Well, I think I shall manage." The woman closed her eyes for a second before opening them quickly. "They'll be here in a minute. Stay inside--I'll go out and meet them."

"But--but that'd be six against one! Outrageous odds!" Ron blurted. "If we help, that'd be six against four, which would be--"

"Trust me, Mr. Weasley," the woman interrupted. "There are things that are more important than numbers." She flicked back the edge of her cloak to reveal a sword belted to her waist and smiled. "I'll just show them some proper Godric's Hollow hospitality before sending them on their way again."

"A sword?!" Hermione gasped. "Don't you have a wand? They'll cut you down otherwise!"

"I beg to differ, Miss Granger," the woman snapped. "I shall be the one doing the cutting. Now, stay here!"

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

The woman had a hand on the doorknob, but turned back at Harry's question. She flashed him a gentle smile. "My name. . . is Neva," she said quietly. And with a swish of her cloak, she opened the door, stepped outside, and closed it behind her with a soft click.

Immediately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran to the windows on either side of the door. Harry took position on one, while Ron looked through the top of the other, with Hermione peeking out from beneath Ron's body. Neva was standing a good six feet away from the door with her back towards them, waiting.

Within seconds, the Death Eaters filed out of the trees and formed a semicircle around her. Their hoods were pulled far over their heads, making them look rather like a herd of dementors. The three inside the cabin held their breaths anxiously.

Neva was the first to speak. Her voice floated through the walls of the cabin, muffled but distinct. "And what brings six servants of the Dark Lord to my humble home today?" she asked, much in the same tone as one would ask about the weather. "When have I merited such an honor as this?"

"Just give us Potter, woman," snarled one of the Death Eaters. Harry thought it sounded like Dolohov, but he couldn't be sure. "We know he's in there--we tracked him and his friends all the way here."

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken." Neva inclined her head politely. "There are no potters here, but I will gladly recommend you to someone in the village square for your earthenware needs, if you so desire."

"Is she barking mad?" Ron whispered in horror. "How can she think of back-talking to the Death Eaters like that?"

"Enough blather, woman!" another voice commanded, this one definitely belonging to Lucius Malfoy. "Just hand over Harry Potter and his little friends, and we won't hurt you. But should you resist. . ." Malfoy laughed cruelly. "I can't promise you anything but a slow and painful death."

"Indeed?" Neva's voice remained calm, but her shoulders tensed visibly beneath her cloak. "And what would you do with this Harry Potter, should I find him inside my cabin by some strange chance?"

"Take him and his friends to the Dark Lord for further--punishment," said a voice that Harry recognized as Snape's (with more than considerable anger).

Neva tilted her head to one side, considering. "Well, in that case. . ." She deliberately took one step forward. The Death Eaters dropped a step back cautiously. "If you want him. . ." With a flash of steel, she drew her sword. "You'll have to fight me!"

"Aww, an itty-bitty little girl like you shouldn't play with sharp toys like that," taunted a sing-song woman's voice. Harry's blood boiled. Bellatrix. . . "She could get hurt--especially if her parents aren't around to watch her."

"And thanks to you, milady," Neva shouted, the first time her anger was revealed, "they're both dead!" With that, Neva swung her sword down on Bellatrix, stopping the blade just before the edge touched the woman's head.

Bellatrix screamed as fire poured out of the sword's tip and set her robes and hair on fire. Hermione's cry of "It's a spelled sword!" was nearly lost in the wild cries of agony that Bellatrix was producing. The other Death Eaters tried to put out the fire, but all water spells were in vain; the water seemed to be repelled by the fire itself. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all but gagged as the smell of burning flesh entered the cabin. Fairly soon, Bellatrix's screams subsided into nothingness, and there was nothing left of her but a pile of charred robes. The other Death Eaters were clearly horrified.

"Now," Neva said quietly, making her words all the more dangerous, "I give you two options. One, you run back to your master like the sniveling fools that you are, and tell him that Neva Underhill bows down to no one. Or two, you stay here and fight me, and I swear I shall make you die a painful death--and believe me, I have my ways. Tell me, what is your choice?"

Two of the remaining five Death Eaters responded by sending Killing Curses at her. Neva parried them with her sword, deflecting both spells; one struck its original caster, who promptly dropped dead in a flurry of robes. Before the second would-be killer could even move, Neva had cut him down with her sword. Hermione couldn't hold back a gasp as the man fell in two pieces, his blood staining the grass around him. Neva raised her free hand, and the other three Death Eaters were thrown backwards by an invisible force. They landed on their backs, panting and fearfully gazing up at the woman in grey and blue towering over them.

"Get out of my sight!" she snarled. "And if I should find you here again--" she held up her sword menacingly, "you know what awaits you."

The Death Eaters didn't wait to hear more. They quickly scrambled to their feet (without a second glance at their fallen comrades) and ran, Disapparating as they went. As soon as they were gone, Neva turned back to the house, looking even more majestic with her grey eyes flashing fire.

Ron hurried to the door and opened it for Neva. "You're a mage!" he cried. "Why didn't you say so before?"

"Because no one asked, Mr. Weasley," Neva replied dryly, sheathing her sword and walking past Ron into the house. "And there wasn't much time to explain before those bumbling idiots who just left attacked us. Nor is there much time now, as I assume the remainder will be informing their master of my insubordination. I must get you three out of here."

"A mage!" Hermione gasped. "But. . . I thought they were long gone, a thing of the past!"

"Indeed not, Miss Granger!" Neva looked slightly affronted. "I may be the last of my kin, but I still exist! The bloodline of Telcontar does not fade like many others of its kind--it has been prophesied that the line shall never disappear, and so far it has not."

"Erm--excuse me, but what is a mage?" Harry asked, his head still spinning from the bloody sight he had seen.

"A mage," Hermione jumped in to explain, "is someone who is trained in the old ways of doing magic, before wands were invented."

"Precisely." Neva knelt by the hearth, manually packing some food and drink into a small rucksack. "Wandless, mostly wordless, magic is my main talent. I have the healing touch, as did the rest of my family, and I am also blessed with the Sight."

"The Sight!" Hermione breathed.

"Yes," Neva nodded, then stood and slung the rucksack over her shoulder. "The Sight. I can see things far away, things close at hand. . . perhaps even things in the future, if I should try hard enough."

"Which is exactly the reason why I had your family murdered."

The hissing voice from the doorway caused Harry, Ron, and Hermione to whirl around and Neva to jump to her feet. Voldemort stood there, his hood thrown back to reveal his pale, snake-like face. His red eyes glittered malice, and the bare nostrils widened a little, as if sniffing out a certain scent he was fond of. Through the window of the cabin, Harry could see the dozens of Death Eaters milling on the front lawn.

They had been surrounded.

"Neva Underhill, indeed," Voldemort whispered as he entered the cabin. The three in front were forced to the walls by a wave of his hand, leaving Neva standing alone and defiant. "I came here looking for you many years ago, or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't," Neva said through gritted teeth. "You killed my parents and my older brother. How could I forget?"

"Your parents and your older brother," Voldemort repeated, savoring every word. "Yes, I killed them, didn't I? But when I came that night, I didn't intend to kill them. . . I was really looking for you."

Voldemort leaned forward into Neva's face. "Our side needs powers like yours. Powers that will help us win the battle against Mudblood-loving fools like those you have hidden here--" he gestured to the three teens frozen against the wall. "Your family died only because they revealed they were blood-traitors, the worst of their kind. If you join us, we shall win, and I promise you that your--murders--of three of my best Death Eaters will be forgotten. If you don't join us, we still shall win, and then all retribution shall fall on your lovely head." Voldemort pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "What do you say, Miss Underhill?"

"Your promises are worthless," Neva spat, "and I can at least die working for the side I believe in--the side of the Light. I reject you utterly, Voldemort."

Voldemort seemed taken aback, but he quickly recovered himself. "Very well, then," he hissed, drawing his wand, "I'm afraid I'll have to finish you off like I should've done seventeen years ago. . . Avada--"

"Hostes omnes meo finio!" Neva shouted with her right hand outstretched, finger pointed directly at Voldemort's chest.

Voldemort froze. In fact, all the Death Eaters outside the house froze as well. They visibly struggled, but not one of them could raise a hand or lift a foot. Some tried to cry out, but their voices were locked within their closed mouths, and their tongues certainly wouldn't move, so they had to make do with wordless shouts and grunts. Harry was shocked, as were Ron and Hermione. Neva was using the diversion to busily scratch an intricate rune onto the dirt floor of her cabin with her sword. When she finished, she sheathed her sword and beckoned to them.

"Step into the rune! Quickly!" she shouted. "I don't know how much time we have before the Freezing Spell wears off. . ."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione wasted no time in complying. Once they had arranged themselves inside, Neva joined them, closing off the circle they had begun. She took hold of Harry's and Ron's hand and motioned for them to do the same. Then, once they were all holding hands, she began to sing in a strange tongue to a lilting melody:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aearon!

No sooner had she finished singing than Harry saw the world around him begin to spin and dissolve into a mirage of colors. Not a moment too soon, either; the spell Neva had cast was beginning to wear off, and Voldemort lurched toward the quartet with a blood-curdling cry as they faded out of existence. Harry felt like he was slowly melting away into a ghost of himself, until nothing would be left of him but perhaps his backpack and his glasses.

By the time Voldemort and his followers were completely free of the Freezing Spell, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neva had disappeared entirely.