Merlin’s fur-lined nuts! There were Muggles everywhere!
After the third roadblock that she broke up, Bella abandoned any attempt to keep a pleasant expression on her face. Better to grace them with the scowl that their inconsiderate behavior merited. She was pleased to see how many, especially children, moved out of her path that way.
Was that endless queue leading to Ollivanders? Bloody hell! What did all these Muggles want with wands anyway? Wave about a gnarled stick from the playground for all the magic they were likely to conjure up! Save a few galleons in the process, too.
Now, Trixie, her father’s mellow voice sounded in her ear, all dogs like to have their toys. You wouldn’t want them to chew on your slippers, now would you?
Perhaps if she blasted a few of them in the arse, they’d expedite their selections. Make that: prod them in the arse, she corrected herself with a grunt of displeasure. Her own wand wasn’t much good for anything else these days. That’s what she got for using one of Narcissa’s castoffs. It was long past time she replaced her stalwart walnut model since that blood traitor and his fuzzy-haired harridan had made off with it.
Those in queue made way for her to march to the front of the line without complaint. Probably thought she was the proprietress come with the key ring to open up. Much to her dismay, the queue snaked past the open archway and into the darkened shop interior.
Well, they were barking mad if they expected her to sandwich herself between badly-dressed Muggles and wait until she died of old age! She’d found her first grey hair last week and she was not about to watch the rest grow in while she twiddled her useless wand.
With sudden inspiration, Bella bustled around to the end of the lane and worked her way to the employee entrance. The Muggle who’d decided to rebuild each establishment so that it butted up against its neighbor was a royal idiot! Sure, nobody liked alleyways, but they were a necessary fact of life. Access, egress, and a place for the rubbish cans.
Bella was stumped. The side of the last building was connected to the wooden restraining fence, yet she was certain she’d seen the small slivers of private courtyards from the castle ramparts. The benches of the employee smoking area were unmistakable.
A a fellow Insider emerging from a nearby wooded area gave Bella an alternate idea. She’d just have to use the Muggle Floo system that accessed various parts of the village from a series of underground tunnels. Forget that it made her feel like an errant gopher for resorting to such an inelegant mode of travel. Of course Bella knew that Hogwarts castle was riddled with similar magical passageways, but she’d never fancied having to deal with the spiderwebs and other obstacles that likely loitered within.
If it wasn’t for her sodding wand, she’d just Apparate onto the back patio. Hell, if it wasn’t for her wand, she could bypass Ollivanders entirely!
Luckily, Muggles were squeamish as well as geographically challenged and she found the prosaic underground chutes and ladders meticulously labeled. Scrabbling up the narrow steps, she emerged in the back room of the store itself.
Hidden behind a tower of boxes, Bella hesitated as she heard the drone of voices from the next room. She remained perfectly still for a few more moments, allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the low light. Luckily, there were no other noises to indicate that anyone was stocking the nearby shelves. Admittedly, a Disillusionment Charm would’ve been ideal and once again Bella silently cursed her wanking wand.
Standing up, she was barely tall enough to see over the stack. But really, didn’t one bunch of boxes look the same as another? The narrow shelves that she recalled once rose to a height of twelve feet or more were absent. Nothing but smooth walls and boxes stacked in various rows along the floor. Likely, the interior renovations were incomplete, Bella decided. Can’t very well store the inventory without proper cubbies.
On the far side of the narrow room, an arched doorway with a brocade curtain beckoned like the maw of some foreign beast.
Get a hold of yourself, Trixie. Since when are you the nervous type? Acting like that imbecile Longbottom offshoot just because you’re surrounded by hordes even more inept at magic?
So what if the resemblance to the Veil of Death was uncanny? Most of it was a trick of the shadows, anyway. Yet there had been voices drifting from that damnable arch in the Department of Mysteries as well.
Get a grip, Trixie. So afraid you’re going to come face to face with your cousin, Sirius, on the other side? He’ll be the first wizard you’ve seen in days, won’t he?
How hard would it be to be to wrestle a ghost to the ground, anyway?
At the first sign of a hand pulling back the curtain, Bella crouched down and held her breath. She could hear footsteps and snatches of humming. Then a woman’s voice breathed, “There you are, you little devil!” Stealthily, Bella watched the retreating back of the employee return to the front of the store with her prize in hand.
Bella flattened herself against the wall and inched as close to the curtain as she dared. The voices were much clearer as she allowed the clerk to complete her transaction. Taking a deep breath for courage, Bella boldly pushed the curtain aside and strode into the next room.
It was as if she had stepped back in time. Here were the shelves stretching at impossible angles all the way up the walls and into portions of the gabled ceiling. A spindly ladder of metal and wood ran along castors the breadth of the shelves. Vividly, Bella remembered Mr. Ollivander himself scrambling like a spider to retrieve wand after wand for her to sample. Behind the counter that had reached to her eleven-year-old chin, a woman with long brown hair was dressed in elaborate wizarding garb that cinched her waist to an impossibly tiny radius. Even at a distance, Bella could tell by the way she handled the wands that she did not feel the pent up energy within their cores.
The pretend-witch looked up at Bella’s entrance and blinked her eyes in surprise. Meanwhile, the queuing Muggles issued a murmur of anticipation. Bella focused on the shopgirl and ignored the jostling of bodies through the front window as everyone vied for a ringside seat.
“I need to replace my wand,” Bella announced. A bit lame, but to the point.
“You’ve certainly come to the right place,” the shopgirl replied with an overly perky smile. “Ollivanders is known throughout the wizarding world.”
Just wait ‘til I get my hands on a new wand, Bella promised herself gleefully. Aloud, she issued, “Mr. O is out, then?”
Only a brief hesitation indicated that the clerk had not expected that. “He’s minding the premises in Diagon Alley,” she improvised.
“This shouldn’t be too difficult then,” Bella crooned. “I just need a replacement wand, same as before. The name’s Bellatrix Lestrange. It should be in your records.”
The whispers in the audience indicated that the name was well-known to them, if not to this saccharine poseur behind the counter. Bella licked her lips in anticipation as she tasted the keenness of the spectators in the charged atmosphere.
“Those parchments are still in Diagon Alley, I’m afraid. Our owl shipment of the copies was delayed due to the extraordinary distances involved.”
How far could it be from Hogsmeade to London? Bella pondered, but decided to cut the chit some slack. At least until she got her hands on a proper wand.
“Perhaps I can refresh your memory,” Bella coaxed as she allowed her fingers to caress the counter’s edge with unmistakable menace. She waited for the shopgirl to gulp noticeably before adding, “Walnut, dragon heartstring core, twelve and three-quarters inches.”
“Let me check in the back,” the shopgirl made as if to escape.
With lightning quick reflexes, Bella blocked her way before the fluttering brocade cloth. “Not so fast. Check those shelves behind you.”
Inches from Bella’s face, the shopgirl faltered. “There’s nothing there,” she supplied in a bare whisper.
“Have you checked?” Bella insisted lowly.
Barely moving her lips, the clerk explained, “It’s nothing but fake fronts. Nobody wanted to dust individual boxes up to the ceiling at day’s end.”
“I see,” Bella whispered. She spun around to peer at the towering rows of imitation wand boxes. In a voice loud enough to carry, she instructed, “I believe Mr. O kept the hardwood wands in this section to your far left.” She pointed with her defective wand for emphasis. Finally, something the bothersome stick could do.
“But you already have a wand,” the shopgirl sputtered as she took in the rapt faces of the audience for the first time.
“It’s defective,” Bella pronounced. “Couldn’t wring water from a rain cloud.”
“Could you demonstrate?” the clueless clerk suggested.
Bella swept her hawklike gaze over the assembled minions, lingering every few faces or so to heighten the suspense. “Any volunteers?” she drawled with a fair imitation of Severus’ inimitable timing.
As one, the crowd gasped and took a noticeable step backwards. Or rather tried to, as they were too tightly packed to allow for much movement at all.
Good, Bella thought with a wicked smirk. Lesson one: don’t corner your enemy unless you want them to fight back.
“No one wants to play?” Bella urged with barely banked glee.
“Not with a defective wand, I’m sure,” the clerk found her voice once more. “No one wants to regurgitate slugs for the remainder of the day!”
The youngest faces screwed up with displeasure and then smiled in anticipation.
“Perhaps something innocuous then,” Bella allowed as she racked her brain for a show-stopper. “Reducto!” she intoned, thrusting her wand towards the front display window.
The few alert ones in the audience covered their heads, but they needn’t have bothered. With a dyspeptic spray of red sparks, the wand mocked Bella with its total worthlessness. Even so, the Muggles cooed on cue as even the shopgirl gasped in delight.
“How did she do that?” a little boy implored as he turned beseeching eyes upon his father. “This one’s brand new and it doesn’t do squat!” He brandished a newly purchased wand with a tiny grimace.
With impeccable acumen, the lad’s mother interjected, “That’s because she’s been to Hogwarts, sweetie. Like any skill, you have to take lessons before you can work magic.”
“Let’s go then!” the little imp demanded as he tugged on her sleeve. With an indulgent look, his father eased a little girl from his arms back into the pram before him.
“That’s right, folks,” the shopgirl announced as she resumed her place behind the counter. “Shopping for a wand is just the first step in a long journey. Everyone has to mind their lessons at school “ wizards included.”
As the Muggles reshuffled into a vague queue, the pseudo-witch motioned the next group forward.
Bella was closest to the main door as the other group started the stream out. “Just remember the name,” she declared with an evil smirk. “Bellatrix Lestrange. Trouble-makers and other volunteers welcome day and night!”
But instead of being intimidated, many of the impertinent Muggles gathered ‘round her instead, peppering her with questions until she didn’t know which way to turn. Quite a number of them pressed paper bills into her hands and pockets, whispering that she was ‘first rate’ and ‘the best yet.’
A bit overwhelmed, Bella escaped to the back of the shop just as the clerk entered looking for some inventory.
“You really were great!” she whispered with a broad smile. “Even had me convinced!” Seeing the Muggle money poking in all directions, she handily plucked the bills from Bella’s person and arranged them into a neat stack. Handing them back, she breathed, “We’re not really supposed to accept tips, but I won’t rat you out. You more than deserve it.”
Caught speechless, Bella barely managed to croak, “What about my wand?”
The clerk shrugged easily. “Take whichever you need as a prop; I’ll surplus it out. But I doubt any will work as well as that one. Those special effects geeks really outdid themselves this time.”
Still reeling from a sense of unreality, Bella dutifully worked her way through all the narrow boxes stacked within larger boxes arranged on movable pallets. Every single wand was a dud. No wonder Ollivander didn’t show his face!
But then again, he was selling useless wands to Muggles who couldn’t work magic. Why expend costly core materials when they would be just as inert in Muggle hands? The well-worn platitude about selling iceboxes to dementors came to mind as Bella considered that perhaps Ollivander had more business acumen that she’d originally supposed.
By late afternoon, Bella’s random entrance had been incorporated as part of the day’s schedule. Workers had secured the brass lantern which hung on a long chain to swing alarmingly from the ceiling’s apex each time Bella issued her Reductor curse. The shopgirl winked as she practiced working the tiny switch secreted in her pocket.
Great! Bella moaned to herself. She was matched with a lightweight poseur in the bargain. Granted, it was a definite improvement over Wormtail.
But it still didn’t solve her problem with her defective wand!
The fly in the pudding was so barking obvious. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Bella berated herself as she settled down to a nice plate of fish and chips behind the Three Broomsticks.
How did all these Muggles become so alarmingly familiar with the workings of the wizarding world? Not all, but many, even expected spells to yield tangible results. Yet she saw no evidence that anyone, herself included, could wield magic in this place.
Had those idiots in Potter’s entourage been successful against the Dark Lord then? Bella couldn’t imagine anyone other than those Neanderthals being short-sighted enough to abolish the Statute of Secrecy seemingly overnight.
Don’t jump to conclusions, Trixie. Why aren’t Muggles clamoring to learn magic? Has anyone threatened to imprison or torture you if you don’t share your secrets with them?
Not really. The prevailing attitude among the Muggles was one of playfulness, nothing more. As if they were all sharing a cosmic joke.
If there was no magic, then there would be no need for secrecy. Of course, then there would be no witches or wizards, either.
But how could magic be abolished? No government could pass an edict that superseded the laws of nature. No one had that kind of unlimited power. And surely, it was in the Dark Lord’s interest for magic to exist. Without it, he lost his hold over just about everybody, Death Eaters included. Without magic, the Dark Lord was nothing but a noseless carnival oddity.
Bella racked her brain, but no explanation made any sense. She needed to find a newspaper as soon as possible. Even a Muggle newspaper would allow her a few meager clues with which to begin.
Her patience was rewarded the next afternoon. One of the workers still toiling in restricted areas took a short lunch break and pulled out a rolled up newspaper from his rucksack. From a distance, she could only make out a portion of the title on the masthead: Orlando.
Almost immediately, she discounted that it was the name of the writer. So it had to be the name of a city. Somewhere in Italy, perhaps. Certainly the intensity of the summer sun was consistent with her memories of the Amalfi coast during her honeymoon years before. Many local residents were golden skinned like the residents of the Mediterranean. Problem was nobody was speaking Italian. Granted, Rodolphus had always insisted that the main problem with Italy was that it was full to bursting with Italians. It had seemed inordinately funny over endless goblets of local wine.
Bella held her breath as the construction worker finished with his paper and tossed it into the dustbin. It would not be there for more than a minute before the relentless sanitation workers spirited it away.
The instant the workman was out of view, Bella pounced upon the dustbin and retrieved her treasure. Certain that the spot was out of view of the Muggle crowds, she smoothed out the pages on the bench before her.
It couldn’t be! Her imagination reeled from the reality that was stamped underneath the banner. It couldn’t be 2010! It was ruddy impossible! She hadn’t aged a day and now she was supposed to accept that over a decade had passed? While she took a little nap, it would seem.
Well, no wonder everything seemed different, she mused. Almost familiar and yet not quite so. That alone was a clear symptom of the passage of time. Nothing ever stayed the same.
She stoically squared her chin before delving further. Lots of drivel about wars and government spending and corrupt politicians. Admittedly, some things never changed.
Nothing about any sites in Britain, no familiar names. Then what part of the English-speaking world was this? Where was this ‘Florida’ that kept cropping up everywhere?
Like gazing into a faded photograph, she reviewed the stultifying geography lessons of her youth. Another of her mother’s ill-conceived attempts to educate her girls before they were shipped off to Hogwarts. The region of Florida was located in America, across a vast ocean from the seemingly insignificant island of Britain as seen on the globe. Bella was across the pond, as the expression went. A land very different from Britain “ despite the commonality of language.
But she didn’t remember anything about magic not existing here. Vaguely she recalled the name of a wizarding school, the Yank counterpart to Hogwarts. Was it in Sleepy Hollow? Yes, that was it!
Of course, there was magic in America! There had to be. Magic existed the world over; her mother had been very clear about that. Magical spells and customs varied from one culture to the other, but magical children were born the world over. Not in large numbers -- wizards were still a fragile minority by all counts -- but their existence was universal.
It had to be. How could a country which had originated the term ‘witch-hunt’ not have a few of those very creatures among its population?
But if there were any magical beings in the vast continent in which she found herself, Bella had yet to find a sign. Perhaps they had been wiped out by an epidemic of some sort: dragon pox, malaria, rabies. Now that would have been news to the rest of the world. Surely something worthy of interest in the Daily Prophet….only the story would have likely run a number of years ago.
How’s that for circuitous logic, Trixie? If you had access to the Daily Prophet archives, you wouldn’t have been digging for some Muggle’s discards in the dustbin, now would you?
Maybe it was just the province of Florida that was a wasteland, Bella postulated. That name, too, elicited half-buried memories of childhood. This time is was her father speaking, expounding upon the virtues of the Statute of Secrecy. That had been a favorite topic of his.
As a case in point, he’d told his three daughters that a rather befuddled Italian named Christopher Columbus had attempted to glorify his name in history by sailing past the edge of the known ocean. His own sovereigns had thought him mad and laughed him out of the palace, but he soon found a sponsor in the Queen of Spain. Instead of winning her over with the promise of riches or an expanding empire or even a new source of servants, however, he had promised her magic. He was going to find the fabled fountain of youth so that the Empire of Spain, and its current queen, could rule forever. But as yet another example of Muggles’ unquenchable desire to harness magic for their own use, Columbus had died a broken man. It didn’t matter to him that he had found a new continent, land as far as the eye could see. He hadn’t found the fountain of youth. The area he’d visited was christened Florida for its lush vegetation.
If only old Chris could see what the last five hundred years had wrought, Bella considered wryly. Why these very islands on which someone had somehow rebuilt or transported Hogwarts and its environs had a bubbling fountain in the very center. Likely it was a Muggle invention; but as an homage to Columbus, it worked very well indeed. Face it, Chris: like many others, you were simply born in the wrong place and time!
Now that she had some answers, Bella was still uncertain where she fit in. There was still that nagging fear that Molly Weasley’s curse had somehow changed her into a Squib. It had transported her through time and space certainly enough. Could it also change the fundamental structure of her genes? Especially for Bella, that last one was a tough swallow.
Homesick, she decided. It was no more than ordinary homesickness. If she could just get back to her familiar haunts, everything would be sorted. Well, as sorted as they could be after twelve years’ time! Face it, Bella, you’re buggered!
With a long suffering sigh, Bella chafed at the notion that she’d have to earn a tremendous amount of gratuities before she could afford a transoceanic flight. She shuddered at the thought of being enclosed shoulder-to-shoulder with Muggles for hours on end with no escape in sight other than flushing herself down the loo. Best conform to current circumstances, she concluded. They really weren’t so bad.
Sure, she was in a plasticine environment surrounded by Muggles; but some of them, the Insiders as she’d dubbed them, weren’t so bad. They had certainly adapted to her eccentricities easily enough, even though they still thought of her as Angie Underwood, a method actress from New York City who had initially wired that she had landed a part off-Broadway and would be unable to accept this post. When Bella arrived in her stead, the reviewing committee had been so impressed by her authenticity that she had easily played along as if Angie had suffered a last minute disappointment in New York. Such tales were all too common in theatre communities the world over.
Her new colleagues had readily acknowledged that she wished to be called Bella at all times. Perhaps ‘B’ for short when they were alone, but never in front of the Visitors. It was an exercise in not breaking character for any reason, and Bella had been praised lavishly for her unwavering professionalism.
Even more surprising was that they had accepted her unequivocally. The caustic manner that her mother had dubbed antisocial they found to be immensely droll. They would laugh uproariously at her unique takes on life, even in those instances where the peculiarities of the Muggle world seemed incomprehensible to Bella. Her aphorisms often created a new lexicon of expressions that enhanced, rather than detracted, from the wizarding world they were studiously trying to emulate.
The first case had been when she discovered that the local premises of Gringotts Wizarding Bank were rather abbreviated, to say the least. Granted, there had never been a Gringotts in Hogsmeade when she was at school. She was absolutely certain of that even though most students rarely did their own banking. As it happened, Bella did. Or rather, her parents had encouraged her to interact with the goblins herself from a tender age. Why entering the bastion of money and privilege, as her father liked to say, always made Bella stand taller as the scion of a pureblood wizarding family. Even if she hadn’t needed to make a withdrawl, Bella would certainly have ventured inside any Hogsmeade branch for the simple pleasure of soaking up the atmosphere of wealth.
But as always in the new-and-improved Hogsmeade, as Bella had come to think of it, things were often less than what she expected. After waiting for a long queue of sightseeing Muggles to dissipate, Bella walked up to find that there was no bank at all. No marble floors, no golden cages behind which the crafty goblins sized up their customers, no sounds of the beaded counting devices used for toting up accounts. It was nothing but a tiny cubicle with a metal Muggle contraption that she had tagged ‘the aluminium goblin.’
Her co-workers had found her comments uniquely insightful and appropriated the term for their own use almost immediately. Some were even so detailed-oriented as to copy her singularly British pronunciation which added the additional ‘i’ that was omitted in common American parlance.
Even her living accommodations were not as unsettling as one supposed. She had her locker located along the underground ‘Floo’ network with everyone else. Surprisingly, the greenish wall tint reminded her of how the lighting in the Slytherin Common Room had been enhanced by the algae-festooned lake. Why it was just like trudging down the dungeon stairs in her youth, the camaraderie of the other Insiders not unlike that of her school chums.
She had declined the offers to share a suite in a lush ‘condo’ (whatever that was) with a group of females. She needed to get away from Muggles at the end of the day, not rub elbows with them in an even more disconcerting environment. She’d flashed her wedding band as an excuse and they had relented. Bella still shuddered at the photos they’d shared: all those tiny units crammed into close proximity, neighbors above, below, and to either side. To tell the truth, it had conjured up images of gigantic termite colonies in Africa, but Bella had not shared that with them. Somehow she had sensed that would be going too far “ even if it was her unvarnished opinion.
Instead, she opted to find what accommodations she could within Hogwarts castle itself. There were certainly enough dead ends and alcoves that were only peripherally visible from the snaking Muggle queue. The furniture was comfortable enough and it made Bella feel that she was returning to familiar surroundings. As long as she picked up thoroughly behind herself, no one was the wiser.
And of course there had been the unforgettable incident with the self-acknowledged trouble-makers which had become legendary in a trice.
Once again, Bella had been caught short by the incomprehensible behavior of Muggles in general. Instead of taking her ritual warning at the end of the Ollivanders’ shtick as a sign to steer clear, a group of three gormless teenagers had actually sought her out in an unguarded moment.
Right in the midst of the milling herds in the High Street, the rogues had accosted her.
“Bella,” they brazenly intoned. “We’ve found you a volunteer. One who needs a bit of disciplining.”
She’d ignored the blatant innuendo as the crowd gave them a measure of space before jostling into a large circle to better view the floor show.
Bella looked the lads over with a contemptuous glare that just made them smile even more giddily. The two smaller ones shoved their wide-shouldered comrade forward and pointed their new wands at his mid-section for good measure. She sneered at the ragged trainers and short trousers that seemed to be the current uniform. The tops of his thighs and shoulders looked as if they’d encountered a malfunctioning rotisserie.
“We need you to sort him out, just like you said,” the small wiry one whined.
Actually, she’d said no such thing, not in so many words at least. In a land where the term ‘sort’ often conjured images of a three-legged stool and a ragged hat, she was not about to fall into that trap. But she had asked for volunteers “ never expecting anyone would be stupid enough to come forth. Obviously, she had underestimated the depths of their self-destructive tendencies.
Bella could feel the intensity of a hundred eyes boring into her back as she circled the ragged trio. The spectators were clamoring for blood “ or its equivalent. But without a functioning wand, she had only her words and attitude to convey the proper menace.
Boldy, she stepped up to the largest lad and placed her wand underneath his chin for emphasis. “Aren’t you a little old to be playing at children’s games?” she glowered.
He stared her down truculently. “The same could be said for you, sister.”
The crowded cooed their approval with whistles and catcalls.
“You’ve long out-grown the title of trouble-maker,” she hissed.
“How so?” the third companion demanded as he lowered his fake wand in confusion.
“Trouble-makers are this tall,” Bella spat as she held her hand about a meter above the pavement.
“What about this height?” The Muggle used his wand to indicate an imaginary spot a short measure above Bella’s hand.
“Miscreants,” Bella supplied.
Another notch higher the wand pointed.
“Reprobates.”
Next level.
“Hooligans.”
At Bella’s shoulder now.
“Delinquents.”
A few inches above Bella’s head and she growled, “Insurgents “ and well beyond my sphere of influence.” She deflected the wand with her own as if it were nothing more than a bothersome midge, which it was to Bella’s thinking. “At his age, you might as well buy him a black beret and be done with it!”
The companions chuckled at their mate’s expense.
“Always said you were hopeless, Bryce,” the wiry one attested.
Catching the eyes of the crowd, Bella intoned, “And if it’s sorting you gentlemen seek, I suggest you get yourselves a singing hat from Zonko’s.” At the tittering of laughter at her back, she added wryly, “Just don’t complain if it rejects you outright. Just because you place the Sorting Hat on a...” She hesitated as she took in his pasty jowls. “…bullfrog doesn’t mean that he’ll be accepted into Hogwarts’ hallowed halls.”
All three of the teenagers bent over with laughter as the spectators applauded with enthusiasm. With a disdainful toss of her long hair, Bella stalked past the edges of the crowd and dove for cover in one of the employee areas.
Within the hour, the insult du jour had spread like wildfire and Bella found herself striking up similar disparaging comparisons with all manner of wildlife. A feckless fox, a bull-headed moose, and a lugubrious anteater all felt the sting of Bella’s tongue.
She was enjoying herself immensely.