The Red Shoes

Hogsmeade, June 1998

Our eyes sparkle with enchantment while our noses press longingly against the shop window. When have we ever seen such beauties? Smooth and shiny with delicate soles, dainty lace straps and sleek heels well over three inches high. Worthy of a princess.

We are princesses; or so we were brought up to believe. Descendants of everlasting lines of aristocratic families immortalized in endless portrait galleries decorating the mansions and manors of our noble forefathers. Daughter of X, wife of Y, mother of Z. Virtue, Honour, Tradition, Toujours Pure.

Of course, we eagerly await the day when we will follow in their footsteps, but to be honest, we don't mind waiting just a little longer. Especially on such a lovely morning when we are strolling through a sunny Hogsmeade, shopping and merrily gossiping away about the latest rumours in school. True, Hogwarts seems pretty empty without all those Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to pick on, but we try not to notice it too much. It's all for the best in the long run.

It's just us girls today; the boys have stayed home to study for the exams. We should probably study as well, but we don't feel like it. Do our NEWTS really matter that much? We know what we're going to become anyways, so....

Things are slowly returning to normal in the village; stores reopen, damaged buildings are being repaired or replaced by new ones. The air seems fresher, the sky bluer and the first touch of summer is creeping over the green hills. This is our last Hogsmeade weekend before we graduate and we intend to make the most of our final days of freedom.

Some members of the Blood Legion are patrolling past us as we stand by the shop window. We blush and giggle softly, but apart from that, we take no notice of them. Since the change of power the forces of the new regime are ever-present; young men strutting around with important faces and an air of suaveness not reflected in their clumsy manner. We've become so used to them by now that we can easily ignore them.

*

Three young school girls with their pretty noses against a shop window. Giggling. Shyly averting their glances. The middle one's okay looking: a cute, round face on top of a cute, round body. And she's got these large brown eyes. Puppy dog face if I ever saw one.

Isn't it fascinating how much respect a uniform evokes in civilians?

I know them all by sight, though I don't recall their names. My time in Hogwarts is long past; I have moved on. I'm becoming a part of something bigger now, although I still have a long road before me. And it's going to be a hard one.

It's not only those little tests and dares they make me do. It's the way they look at me, the way they talk to me, the way they fall silent whenever I enter a room. I know they don't accept me. Not yet. I'm young and I'm new. And most importantly, I went to the wrong school. I'm from Hogwarts while all of them graduated from Durmstrang. They're way ahead of me: in the Dark Arts - in everything.

But some day things'll get better. If only I try hard enough, they will. I'm no longer a child; I am a man. And I'm wearing the red robes of the Blood Legion....

*

The red shoes. Which one of us will wear them to the graduation festivities? Who's going to be the belle of the ball, the lucky girl causing all heads to turn and voices to whisper as she glides gracefully over the dance floor?

In our minds we are already comparing their deep rich red to the colours of our dress robes; will they match or would it be better to get new ones? Are they even the right style?

It's hard to tell. We don't really know what's in fashion anymore. Of course, we welcome the change of power, knowing that all those vulgar plebeians will finally be put in their place, but in secret we are wondering when the newspaper ban is going to be lifted. We don't really care about news and politics, but it is so cruel that we should spend our final days of girlhood without fashion magazines and make-up tips.

Well, it's all for the best in the long run, isn't it?

A strange little creature brushes past us, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. It's an ugly little thing covered in dirt and we shriek and try to get out of the way before it touches us. We wonder whether it's one of the beasts that half-giant bred while he was still at Hogwarts, because nature itself could never create such an abomination.

What is it anyways? It looks like a little pig running on its hind legs; a pig with a fat snout and large ears protruding from its matted blond hair.

"Haven't you ever seen a squealing piglet, ladies?"

"Adrian?"

It's really him. Our former Quidditch Captain; we haven't even seen him since his graduation. He's one of them now, a member of the Blood Legion. Wearing their crimson robes and their smug demeanour.

Being part of something bigger has changed him. Short haircut, confident strides, well-polished boots shining under long billowing robes. He even holds himself differently; straighter, more self-assured.

Like his companions, he carries a wooden mask at his belt; a symbol of those times when the followers of the Dark Lord still had to hide their faces.

They don't do that anymore....

*

There's no need to hide behind masks now that we're the ones in power. I can hear my companions laughing and egging me on as I raise my wand for another spell. The little piglet squeals and tries to run, but we're forming a circle around it so it can't get away. Whenever it makes an attempt to slip through a gap between us, one of my companions pushes it right back into the middle.

They're cheering at me. They're truly cheering at me. It's the first time they've ever done that.

*

We're covering our ears as Adrian releases his next spell; the loud crack of an explosion sounding as a violet flash shoots out from his wand. The little creature is thrown to the ground and the Red Robes applaud and cheer even louder as a pig's tail curls out from under the dirty dress.

She's struggling to get back on her feet; it looks like she's hit her knee on the road. Her little dress is all dirty and torn now; a dark spot slowly blossoming on the light fabric.

Let's just go, okay? Please let's go away; this isn't funny anymore; we don't want to watch this; we're turning our heads; we're looking away; let's just pretend it never happened. Let's go back to the shop window and wonder what brand the red shoes are. We haven't figured out what....

A curtain is moving in one of the windows, but we can see no face behind it, only shadow. No one wants to show their faces. The street is suddenly empty. Silent, deserted, except for us and the circle of Red Robes.

And the child....

She's looking at me, now. She's raised her head and she's looking at me. She can't speak; she can't even cry because the lower part of her face has been transformed into a pig snout. It's only her eyes that are crying, silently, desperately, without a sound. Tears are running down her cheeks where her rosy human skin is changing to bristly pig's hide.

Those are human eyes looking at me and I know I can't turn away from their silent plea. There's no going back to the world of red shoes. I can hear my friends talking to me, I can feel their hands trying to pull me away, but it's like they're on the other side of the door. The other side of the mirror I just walked through. There's a voice of warning suddenly screaming inside me but I can't ... I don't....

"Adrian?"

*

I can barely hear her voice amidst all the racket, but I can feel her tugging on my sleeve as I raise my wand arm again and I turn around to face her. There's something in that voice that makes me want to listen to her, something that makes it louder than the laughs and cheers of my companions, but what does she expect me to do? Go against my companions? Forfeit the position I struggled so hard to achieve? Be a sentimental wimp, a turncoat, a traitor? It's not that I enjoy doing this; it's just that I have no other choice. I'm a part of something bigger now, I can't just ... I don't....

"Adrian, come on, you've had your fun...."

*

And I'm running past the red robes right into the middle of the circle and I'm picking up the child. I don't think I'd ever touched a Muggle in my entire life; I would rather wear the same robes twice in a row that touch something so disgusting ... why does she feel no different from a wizard child? She doesn't even smell any different - she smells like sweat and some fruity children's shampoo.

"Pansy, don't ... don't do that...."

There's fear in Daphne's voice and nothing but panic in her eyes. She doesn't dare step any closer; she's grabbing onto Tracey for support.

"Please let me pass."

*

Maybe they'll just do it. Maybe they'll just step aside and let her go away. My companions are too surprised to act yet and I'm certainly not going to start anything. I'll just wait and sit it out.

I look at their faces, some amused, some even a little impressed by the girl's courage. And all are confused, waiting for someone to show them what to do. Someone to lead the way.

I could be that someone....

*

I can't believe my luck as Adrian steps out of my way, allowing me to leave the circle. As I walk past him, I stumble over something; a leg suddenly stuck out by someone; a leg stuck in my way on purpose. I'm falling and I don't dare open my eyes as a sharp pain jabs me in the side; someone's kicking me. My eyes are closed; my face hidden in the child's long hair while she's wrapping her thin arms around me. Another kick and another....

*

I'm a part of something now, I don't have any choice; I just don't. You should've thought of that before you decided to play the hero. Should've thought of that before you became a blood traitor! It's not my fault, it's not our fault. We're just doing what we're supposed to do! We are the Blood Legion, the elite force of the Dark Lord. He puts our trust in us and we will not disappoint him. We don't go soft on Muggles, and most certainly not on blood traitors. They are the worst. They have brought such great shame to the wizarding community, but now their time is over. Their time is over for good. We're living in a new age now.

We kick her, once, twice, but then we drag her to her feet and give her one last chance to drop the Muggle and walk away. She doesn't. Instead, she's drawing her wand on us.

Stupid little girl!

There's blood on her robes and she's screaming at us, wanting to know whether we can tell her blood from that of the Muggle. What's with all the rubbish about pure-blood and Muggle blood if you can't even tell one from the other? Does she really expect us to answer that? How naïve can she be?

We're raising our wands and she's just standing there, clutching the Muggle brat to her chest. It's no longer moving; it's probably dead by now, and it's most certainly not worth losing one's life over. But that's what she did. And we would gladly shoot a couple of killing curses at her, if our master hadn't given us specific orders what to do with scum like her.

We don't really understand it, but understanding is not required. Only obedience.

*

The sun has gone out like a candle and it's growing dark around me. I feel cold, so cold; my breath forming a cloud in front of my face. What is happening to me, am I dying now? Is this the end?

No, this is much, much worse than death. Death leaves you with a tiny ray of hope; just enough to wonder whether there isn't at least a little bit of sense to all of this and whether there might even be a new beginning. Somewhere, somehow.

In the clutches of the Dementors there is no hope. Only darkness.

Shadows, silent faces. Dreadful memories waking up inside me. Cold making me shudder. As long as I can still feel my arms, I'm holding the child. Her face is human again; all traces of the cruel spells have disappeared. I hope she's in a better place than the one I'm going to.

Then she's gone, too, and there's only nothingness.

I'll never dance in those red shoes....

*

We are not watching; we have turned our faces away. We hear her scream once, before everything is silent again.

She's still breathing, but the light has gone out in her eyes. We aren't looking back. We're marching away, our red robes billowing behind us.

In secret, we are glad that we didn't have to do it ourselves.