Ch.1: Behind the Horizon
The three individuals sped down the alley as the echoes of their feet bounced off the brick walls. They stopped to catch their breath, looking around to make sure they weren’t being followed.
There was a man, a woman, and a boy. The man wore a brown jacket, with black trousers astride his thin legs. His hair was short, and patches of gray lay here and there. The woman wore a long, dusty blue dress that seemed to be almost brittle. Her hair was also gray and wispy, as if, if it were to be touched, it would break off.
The round-faced boy, who was breathing heavily as though suffering from an asthma attack, walked forward. He pulled out his wand from his navy blue trousers, then faced the brick wall that made the alley a dead end; it had chipped paint graffiti on it, although anyone passing by could still make out the words etched on it: The Horizon.
The boy turned his back to it, walked backwards, and vanished behind the wall. The other two quickly followed after him. Inside was an old, dusty shack. In the front was a main desk; an old register lay on. Next to the desk, there was a tall, black shelf that was empty and clearly needed a good cleaning. The remaining floorboards in the shack were moldy and disintegrated. There were also four short, waist-high shelves, all with white cloths covering them.
“Did you retrieve it?” asked the man, addressing the woman who stood in front of him. She pulled a plastic case containing a tear-shaped, metal object out of her right pocket, and a small sack of pink powder out of her left.
“What’s that?” the boy questioned, pointing to the pink powder.
The woman slipped them back into her trousers and replied, “Well, nothing, dear. I think it best that we don’t discuss such things. At least, not here.” She rubbed the boy’s brown hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
His eyes left her smiling face and saw a moving figure in a dark corner on the other side of the shack. The only things that were visible from this distance were his crystal blue eyes. The two older wizards raised their wands and illuminated the room.
“Hold on! It’s me!” A man with dark red hair advanced into the lit area. He wore a long, red cloak and had hair that met his thick, black belt. His face held a few scars, and his eyes were livid.
“We don’t have that much time. If he knows, we won’t have any hopes at all.” The red-haired man spoke with great seriousness, pausing at the end of his statement as if he did not want the boy to hear the rest.
“Relax, relax, Phelyx. We’ll have enough time,” the other man reassured him. “Maybe you should pay your old friend a visit…?”
With a quick nod, Phelyx Apparated out of the room, leaving the other three behind in the old shack.
A street about a mile long stretched out before him when he reappeared. He looked to his left and read the nearest sign: Fingle Frankleton. Phelyx set out down the street, searching for a familiar house. At long last, he stopped.
He stood before a large-sized house. It was dark green, with silver borders around the windows. The shrubbery was trimmed and the grass were neatly cut. He walked up the driveway stealthily.
The crackling of a fire reassured him that there was someone still awake in the house. His hand pushed back his hair, and he pulled out his wand to guide himself down the path of the twisted driveway. He heard a voice that was not quite what he had expected. He looked down at the residence, one belonging to ‘Yaxley,’ to make sure he was at the right address.
He slowly peeked his head through a window on the side of the house. Once his eyes saw the two people in the room, he immediately knew whose voice it was that he has heard. The second man in the room, the person Phelyx had actually been expecting, bowed before a black-cloaked man with piercing scarlet eyes.
“I apologize for the inconvenience, my Lord. My daughter, Rebecca, is a little distraught this evening,” Yaxley said in a fearful tone as he lifted himself up. dusting his blue-and-white striped pajamas.
“All is forgiven, Yaxley. I presume everything is in order?” Voldemort looked up at him in a curious fashion, as if he was expecting a negative answer. He rubbed his long fingers on his pale, lifeless skin and rested his arms back on the sides of the chair he was sitting in.
“Of course, my Lord. I made sure of it.” Yaxley gave a little smile, clearly hoping for an approving remark from the man before him.
“Lastly, your daughter, I suppose, is keeping quiet.” Voldemort spoke again, this time in a very sarcastic tone. “I would hate to return over spilled secrets.” His cold and distorted voice filled the room.
Yaxley was apparently lost for words, but nevertheless made sure to show no emotion to the Dark Lord.
“Surely you don’t expect me to allow a traitor to live, do you?” Voldemort looked right into Yaxley’s eyes, as if all his thoughts were written there for the world to read. Luckily for Yaxley, however, his high proficiency in Occlumency prevented that from happening.
“I’m sure she is able to be trusted,” Yaxley breathed, in what felt like his last breath. He didn’t completely stand by what he said, but he planned to make sure this, at least, was factual. There was a sudden silence; it felt like a cold knife slicing open a sensitive part of his skin. Yaxley couldn’t bear to look Voldemort in his eye for shame on behalf of his daughter.
There was a sudden noise at the window that caught the attention of both Yaxley and Voldemort. Voldemort nodded his head in the direction of the window as if ordering Yaxley to check it out. Yaxley, therefore, made his way toward the window with his wand pointed in its direction. Everything seemed normal outside, as far as he could tell.
He looked out at the small, red bird sitting on the nearest branch of a tree hanging over the window. He gave it one last look before returning to the sitting room where the Dark Lord was.
Yaxley glanced back at the velvet armchair; this time, no one occupied it. He looked around for a minute before dashing down the hall, hoping to get back up to bed without making a disturbance.
After returning to his human form, Phelyx started towards the door before he heard another voice whispering inside the house. He let out a long sigh, and returned to the side window.
A very uncomfortable-looking woman with a purple nightgown and black slippers came into sight. Her lengthy jet-black hair swayed back and forth while she guided Yaxley back into the sitting room.
“Yaxley, what in Merlin’s beard are you doing down here?” she asked in a raspy voice.
“Preservia, why are you out of bed?” Yaxley replied. The questioning response aroused her temper.
“How dare you wake me from my sleep with your nonsense? I heard voices. Who was in here?” Her raspy voice developed into a yell that didn’t lessen in volume.
“We received a visit from the Dark Lord,” Yaxley said. All of a sudden, she returned back to a calm state - the constant visits from the Dark Lord were no surprise to her, but she still showed no remorse for her uprooted argument.
“Well, goodnight.” She climbed back up the stairs.
After waiting a few seconds for more possible interruptions, Phelyx advanced to the front door and proceeded inside.