Elphinstone completely dodged London for the day. The city, usually bustling with life, threatened to bust at the seams when moods caught like wildfire. No, he’d temporarily drop his connection with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, thank you very much. No, today, he simply acted as a man in wrinkled trousers, plain shirt, Ivy cap, complete with his favorite pipe. He dug his hand into his pocket and fumbled around for a lighter.
–You make sure you’re not found,†said a familiar voice. A woman with a long grey plait down her back stared him down. –Enjoying your disappearing act?â€
Elphinstone looked up, his face expressionless. He pulled the square-jawed woman, a colleague, close to a brick wall of a small shop. It had closed hours ago. He took off the Ivy cap and ran a hand through his damp white hair. His healthy locks went with age, and his eyesight, too, but he accepted that a long time ago. The wrinkles, he supposed, came along as a bonus with arthritis and God’s knows what else awaited him down the road. He lit the pipe, balanced the pipe between his teeth, and took a long drag.
–Can’t shake you for nothing,†he said, drawing a hand over his eyes. Daedalus Diggle swept past him in a throng, aiming his wand at the sky, shooting stars across its black canvas. Elphinstone helped himself to a bottle and twisted its lid off with two fingers. –Not even overcast, too. Somebody better grab that fool.â€
–Elphinstone!†Amelia Bones rounded on him, half-exasperated, half-laughing it off. She rolled her eyes and muttered a woven insult he couldn’t quite make out in the shouts. –You’re just going to stand there? Really?â€
–Who’re you talking to?†He feigned confusion and offered her a glass of wine. Amelia accepted it, but held it aloft. He walked away from her, backwards, delighted in her mingled disappointment. He withdrew his pocket watch and checked the hour. –Elphinstone? Poor kid. What evil parents branded him with that nonsense? Besides, my dear, I’m retired, so this is your problem, Madam Bones.â€
–I hate you,†said Amelia, flailing in her anger as the sides of her mouth twitched.
With that, he slipped off his cap, offered Daedalus his off colour one, and disappeared successfully for the second time that evening. Elphinstone weaved through the witches and witches not caring if he got caught. If he did, he’d stop and chart for a minute, but what was there to say? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had met his downfall. Elphinstone didn’t know what to make of the story in the papers, but he supposed he’d that together in due time. He tossed the bottle of his flat, tasteless brew into a nearby bin and turned onto a street called Privet Drive. Perhaps the magical community really did need to rein their happiness in a little, but he wasn’t going to make that call.
He nodded at a woman who pattered across the street, her tattered slippers flopping behind her. She swung a drawstring bag, a thing he guessed was full of cat nip, but he wanted to stray away from hasty guesses tonight. Never mind that it ceased to matter. She looked a mess, this woman, and Elphinstone emptied his pipe in the damp pavement before he pocketed it, noticing her glare, and offered her an arm. She declined his company, but he insisted on it, so she pointed off in some direction and muttered something about Wisteria Walk.
–Long night?†He glanced over his shoulder at a masked figure yielding a plastic red-stained sword in one hand and a half-empty bottle in the other. Elphinstone took her hand, thinking the dodger would take them as some old married couple and quickened his pace.
–Mr. Tibbles, come, and you,†the woman called over her shoulder. A fat cat slipped under a car and a thin tabby cat stared at her. It looked affronted at being addressed as such, and Elphinstone stopped himself in mid-chuckle, reminded of some distant memory he couldn’t quite place. The tabby just sat there, letting the said Mr. Tibbles fall into submission of his own accord. –Come on!â€
The other cat trotted along, racing past the streetlamps. She fell in step with Elphinstone, and the mad cat woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Arabella Figg, accepted this. Elphinstone opened the door for her and locked it with a tap of his wand when she wasn’t looking. The ancient sitting was filled with cats, cardboard boxes, and, yes, more cats. He guessed that she’d just moved in, yet the place already carried a lingering feline musk. She rubbed her hands, offered tea, although she sounded as though she wanted him to say no, and rushed in the small kitchen to feed her meowing menagerie. She returned minutes later, tripping over a fat cat, and set a tea tray on a flowery ottoman. Elphinstone sank into the matching oversized chair and made to slip his wand away for safe keeping.
–No!†Mrs. Figg’s eyes darted to his hand as she peeked out the window to spy on a neighbor. –Are you mad? Don’t put that thing away, you idiot.â€
Elphinstone blinked, surprised he had guessed wrong. He had assumed, even though years of training in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement warned him against doing that, that this was nothing more than an old woman knocking on death’s door. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and placed his wand close by on the cushion. He thanked her for the tea, poured a little into the saucer, and placed it on the ottoman. The tabby cat, quicker and more alert than the others, helped herself to it. of course, this was a guess, too, taking a stab at the cat, but he went with it, and scratched the tabby behind her ears.
–She’s a stray?†Elphinstone figured this was the only small talk Mrs. Figg valued. He ignored his mistake and covered his tracks. –I’m sorry. I didn’t know any witch or wizard lived in these parts.â€
–I haven’t turned the power on.†She gestured at the candles littered here and there. Mrs. Figg set out four cups filled with warm mug to be shared among her cats. She brushed her hands on her nightgown and sat down next to Mr. Tibbles. She took nothing for herself and wrapped herself in a blanket. She sounded a little miffed, and Elphinstone took this anger to be aimed at the new addition. –I’m not registered, am I?â€
–Oh.†Elphinstone swallowed, felling he had worn out his welcome the second he crossed her threshold. He scooped the tabby into his arms and offered it a second draft. He got the message loud and clear, and he thought it was wise not to dwell on it. –So, do you like Wisteria Walk?â€
–Yes,†she said shortly. She glanced at a photograph on her mantelpiece, a forgotten memory of a tall man and his bride. No fire warmed the place. She looked at him expectantly, dropped her eyes to her fat cat. She sounded hurt. –You don’t remember me.â€
–No.†He spoke before his tired brain caught up with him. Elphinstone shut up quick, feigned innocence and ran her name through his memory. Should he know it? Figg. Figg. Elphinstone passed a shaking a hand over his eyes because the last thing she needed to know was a few nightcaps lingered on his breath. The tabby joined him and sat rigidly in his lap. After some minutes, to his embarrassment, a broken body flashed before his eyes, a man with his glasses askew. This sobered him. –Daniel Figg.â€
–Right.†She nodded. She stopped his apology before it formed itself in his mind. –Don’t bother. It doesn’t- it doesn’t matter. You got me out of there, and for that, I’m grateful. Mr. Urquhart, believe me. It’s all right. He worked under you.â€
–No, madam, he worked with me. Yes, Daniel, he whistled a tune, a good one.†Elphinstone paused, racked through his thoughts, raised his finger, and started a few bars of –Odo the Heroâ€. He stopped when the tabby cat lifted her head and silenced him with a look. He chuckled nervously, feeling saddened that he was so disconnected from this widow. –Yeah, yeah, he did that on Friday afternoons, ready for his drink at the pub, you know.â€
Mrs. Figg said nothing and offered to get him more tea. He had barely touched it, but he handed it over and watched her go back into the kitchen. Elphinstone didn’t want to stay long. He felt a vibrating sensation in his pocket and suddenly remembered a meeting with Barty Crouch and the new Minister of Magic. The tabby jolted him back to reality when it slipped on the ottoman and darted them four ferocious fellows who didn’t look too cheery at the thought of another mouth to feed. It sprang and its paw slashed through a flame of a toppling stubby candle. Elphinstone got to his feet and stamped the sparks out. He held the cat to his chest and fingered its singed paw gingerly.
–It’s not that bad,†he said, shifting the tabby under his arm. He scribbled a note on a fresh roll of parchment, wishing Mrs. Figg a good night and made a hurried escape. He checked his furry friend when they stepped out into the night. –You don’t want to there, anyway, my dear. The fat, he’ll eat you, and besides, I think she’s got enough. Come with me.â€
Elphinstone checked both ways before he crossed the road. He went down some ways, and turned on his heel. He wondered idly what the Minister of Magic would think with a stray being dragged into a meeting. He knew the roster: Barty Crouch, Cornelius Fudge, fair Millicent, and, Professor Dumbledore, perhaps, and maybe he, at least, would get a laugh.
He rolled onto his side cleared his throat. Sunlight peered through the light curtains, but he didn’t want to greet the morning. He blinked. Elphinstone had made it home around five in the morning, and he collapsed into the bed fully clothed. He’d had just enough energy to kick off his shoes. Before he had closed his eyes, though, he’d set a bowl of milk and the tabby cat on his pillow. He had cleaned and wrapped its leg. It had curled up as he’d drifted off. There was no bowl, and, more importantly, there was no cat.
A woman lay in its place, curled up at his side.
–I’m no fool,†he muttered, glancing at the ceiling. Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes and looked at him. –Don’t get me wrong, all right? I usually remember these nights.â€
She swung back, and he grabbed her arm; there was a bandage there.
–Minerva?†He fingered the injury as their eyes met. –Where’s my cat?â€
–I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.†She slipped her arm out of his touch. She sat up and took his brush off of the nightstand. She loosened her damp hair out of its knot and ran the bristles through it. Her eyes stared back at him through her reflection; they were bloodshot and puffy. –Did you sleep?â€
–You didn’t,†he mused, passing his hand over the damp pillow on the other side of the bed. –You want to talk about it?â€
She shook her head vigorously, holding back the tears. –I have to get back to the school.â€
–It’s the first of November, it’s Sunday morning,†he reminded her softly. Elphinstone had never done well with crying women, especially the widows, for he’d been a bachelor for a long, long time. He had no comforting words. He patted the bed. –Come to bed. Lie down.â€
She shook her head, but he waited until she crawled next to him. Elphinstone draped one arm over her and ran his free hand through her tangled locks. She didn’t face him; she didn’t her eyes away from her reflection. Elphinstone licked his chapped lips and considered his words carefully as he leaned over to whisper to her. He was painfully reminded of the young nineteen-year-old girl he had consoled after she’d lost her first case.
–It’s over-it’s finally over.†He kissed her cheek and closed his eyes, letting the past eleven years of hell wash over him. He laced his fingers through hers. –Thank God we’re together. How’s Professor Dumbledore?â€
–He’s fine.†She shivered next to him. –He’s just - he’s just fine.â€
Elphinstone took that as an answer, though he imagined there was more to it. Not wanting to brew an unnecessary migraine, he got out of the bed fifteen minutes later and took a shower. He didn’t understand why a teacher, a professor, held the wright of the world on his shoulders. The new Minister, good old Fudge, was an oversized toddler, tripping over his trainer laces with this new job. Sure, he got the appointment, and the plush office, too, yet he knew nothing. Elphinstone was no political man, but he’d gathered that much last night, or this morning, a few hours hence, whenever the briefing happened. Elphinstone pulled on a fresh set of robes and tossed the towel in the hamper when he walked back into his room.
–Minerva?â€
She had rolled over onto his side of the bed and buried her face into his pillow. Elphinstone walked over towards her, lifted the covers over her limp frame, and hung the emerald cloak in his armoire. He pressed his lips to hers when he saw a green flash out of the corner of his eye. A revolving head with perfectly parted hair and a handle bar mustache glared at him, the flying mustache bristles agitated.
–What’re you doing here?†This was Mr. Crouch’s usual morning greeting.
Elphinstone broke the kiss. –I’m on my way.â€
Crouch faded out of the flames. Elphinstone stepped into his shoes, the splattered ones he wore last night and took a ceramic pot off his fireplace. He fingered a pinch of fine green powder and threw it in the flames before he stepped inside the icy emerald heat and shouted his destination. He felt the breeze, the air dropping degrees rapidly. It tasted of the salt and the sea. A peaceful journey to a hellish prison, one he’d only journeyed to years before, and the mere memory made him feel queasy. He steadied his footing and cleared his head.
Elphinstone shared few words with the guards. A lot was said without speaking. The hooded figures floated above him, and many of the Dementors stayed rooted at the base; they stood as the walls to this place. A scabbed outstretched hand came closer, but it offered him no assistance. Elphinstone took a handkerchief out of his robes and covered his mouth. He walked down the dark corridors and took a fiery bracket off the wall. One of the Dementors pointed him towards the furthest stall to the right.
A young man with long dark hair sat huddled against the wall. He looked handsome, dressed in dark grey robes and matching shoes. He didn’t look up when Elphinstone entered his cell. He stared at the wall; he made no move when the doors slammed shut behind them. Elphinstone jumped a mile! He felt his heart pound against his ribcage. The young fellow, Sirius Black, smiled as though he were entertaining the party of the century. He laughed maniacally, and the joy, the madness, echoed off the walls.
–Mr. Black,†Elphinstone said. A rat skirted across the floor.
–Mr. Crouch got tired of me already?†Sirius spoke quietly, almost conversationally as another piece of vermin jointed their tight quarters. He looked up at Elphinstone and considered him. –He’s sent an old man to die with me.â€
–Mr. Black,†Elphinstone started again. He hugged the wall when some creature crawled near his leg. He dared not look down, for vermin carried diseases and made his skin crawl. –God.â€
–He can’t help you.†Sirius snatched up the rat and threw it at the wall. The thing fell, dead. –I’m tired of those, aren’t you? You’re ancient.â€
Elphinstone cleared his throat and lowered the handkerchief. –Sirius.â€
–Yes?†Sirius sounded exhausted.
–Talk to me.†Elphinstone reached out to take the young man’s hand, thought better of it, and lowered his hand. Barty Crouch had thrown this young man, this kid, into a cell without the slightest hesitation. Elphinstone had been there; he’d heard the ricocheted laughter. He stepped through the bodies. Sirius had passed into Azkaban with nothing. The handsomeness would inevitably break. –You didn’t kill those people. I’m here for you. We’ve all lost everything.â€
–Piss off, old man.†Sirius’s face hardened and he turned away. –You know nothing. Go home to your wife.â€
Elphinstone ignored that. He wore no ring on his finger. –He was your best friend. Why would you kill him? It makes no sense! James Potter and Peter Pettigrew –â€
–Go away.â€
–-and there is always hope.â€
Sirius erupted into a renewed fit and gathered himself after some minutes passed. He took Elphinstone’s hand and wrapped his strong fingers around his wrist. Elphinstone whitened, the color drained from his face. A voice inside his head got louder, screaming at him to arm himself. His weaker hand reached for his wand, but Sirius merely threw him back and the doors opened. His wrist snapped; he yelped in pain. Elphinstone fell backwards, hard onto the stone floor. The air went cold, and the temperature dropped, before Elphinstone knew it, seven, eight nine hooded figures converged on him.
–No.†None of them would dare risk their necks for a Ministry official. The skeletal flesh crept closer, and Elphinstone slipped into a warped depression. He deserved this. He was nothing but a lonely old man. He spoke to himself, his voice getting weaker and weaker. –No, no.â€
The locked jaw came closer … the happiness drained from him ….
A silvery form, a huge illuminated dog, shot towards them. Elphinstone slammed his head on the stone, screaming for dear life. The silvery spirit vanished, and cantered back, commanded by a growling tone. The inmates, the newer ones, peered out of their barred confinements, hoping to witness a death. The Dementors roused themselves with the decaying scent, and they knew when the end beckoned them. A scaly hand clasped his throat, constricting his air flow, crushing his wind pipe. He remembered his last kiss.
–I love … I love …†he stammered, scared out of his mind. This was it.
The Dementor loosened its grip and shrieked as its oxygen supply cut. It evaporated. Elphinstone closed his eyes and he and God had the first one-on-one he could recall in living memory. The other Dementors floated up ahead, ready to capture its cowering victim, this old, feeble man. Elphinstone rolled onto his belly, spent, and put his hands and feet to work. Shocked, he saw Sirius silhouetted in his cell; the prisoner waved the wand and broke the connection. He tossed the wand over to Elphistone and watched the man gather it, begging for his life on his hands and knees. Slowly, ever so slowly, Sirius inclined his head, or so Elphinstone imagined it, and he shook the figment from his mind as he crawled further out. When Elphinstone finally got outside, he opened his mouth and emptied is already empty stomach and breathed in the cooling sea breeze.