Chapter Text
Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, she was desperately clutching her wand, as if it were the last thing holding her together. The screaming and cheering of the crowd was as though muted. She could only hear her blood pounding in her ears. She looked around, her chest constricted, her throat tight. She never thought she would be in a more terrifying situation than her encounter with a basilisk two years earlier.
Ron had abandoned her, convinced that she had betrayed him by defying the ban and entering that cursed tournament. Most of the school mocked and hated her, only her fellow Gryffindors seemed to support her. If she survived today, it would only be because of Hermione's intelligence and help.
The arena was circular, its dusty dirt floor uneven. Numerous large limestone and granite boulders littered the floor. Some were only waist-high, others taller than her. From time to time, a gust of wind raised thick clouds of ochre dust.
On the other side of the arena, nestled between huge rocks, was the nightmare. A gigantic shadow with scales darker than a starless night. Powerful limbs ending in sharp claws, long enough to rip a bear apart with one blow. Its thick shoulders, spine and crest were covered with long, vicious spikes. At the end of its tail, whipping through the air, were countless long spikes reminiscent of the cruelest flails of the dark ages. Two orange-red eyes, glowing like embers, shining with unhealthy intelligence were focused on her. She was facing one of the most terrible killing machines in existence, and one that was determined to not let anyone anywhere near her brood.
Iris swallowed, a furtive golden glow had just told her that the egg she had to retrieve was indeed under the belly of the terrifying reptile. She was a fourth year, she was far from having the magical skills of a witch as admirable as Fleur Delacour, she wouldn't get out of this alive by going head on. The strategy she had devised was the only one that would allow her to see a new dawn.
"Accio Firebolt." She whispered, not willing to raise her voice and potentially piss off the dragoness further. Nothing happened for several minutes, until finally, a hiss of air was heard. Her trusty broom was in the air between her legs in the blink of an eye, and she didn't hesitate before taking to the sky.
She hovered for a moment, watching the Hungarian Horntail. It was still watching her out of the corner of its eye, but seemed determined not to move one step away from its nest. Iris sighed, terror clenching her stomach. The creature would have to see her as enough of a threat to give chase and leave her eggs exposed.
"Confrigo!" She screamed, shivering with delight as she felt the wave of magic flow through her and concentrate in her wand before releasing a powerful fireball. It split the air in an instant before exploding on contact with the dragoness in a deafening shockwave. As she had expected, her spell had done no damage to the thick scales. But now the creature's attention was totally focused on her. Iris could see from here the dragon's body tense up, its eyes ablaze. It didn't take long for Iris to search her memory to figure out what other spell she had with effort and difficulty anchored in her magic over the last few years that could force the dragon to take her seriously enough to leave its nest.
"Frigerio multica!" she shouted as she repeated the familiar zigzagging motion of her wand. A dozen frozen blades, glinting as if struck by moonbeams, flew towards the beast before crashing into and around it, slicing and freezing in their path.
This seemed to be a little too effective as the dragoness roared so powerfully that her ears whistled before spreading her huge black wings and hurtling towards the sky with terrific speed.
Iris barely had time to gain enough speed with her broom to narrowly dodge the torrent of flames, whose purplish glow momentarily took the brilliance of the sun.
Had she not had the best broom on the market between her thighs, she would have been cooked, both literally and figuratively. The Horntail was in pursuit, the sound of its wings beating the air like hurricanes. Iris couldn't cast a spell, all her concentration had to be on her broom, praying that she wouldn't end up impaled, burned, ripped off, swallowed or torn apart.
The pair rose high into the sky, the witch and the dragoness in a fiery, deadly dance, circling each other at breakneck speed, neither able to gain the upper hand.
Narrowly dodging a blow from the terrifying spiked mace serving as the beast's tail, Iris swooped to the ground, pushing her inertia and the broom's enchantments to their maximum. The dragoness was on her heels, but Iris knew she would be faster. She had to.
She raced between the rocks of the arena towards the nest, this was her chance, a few metres, a few seconds, and it would all be over. Her hands closed on the egg, a smile came to her face, the entrance to the champions' tent where she was going to crash at full speed was only a few meters away. A shadow in the corner of her vision, the air expelled from her lungs. Unimaginable pain. She felt herself shatter against one of the arena walls as her consciousness left her.
oOOOo
Cushions on her back, paper against her fingers, her hand turning the pages mechanically, but her mind was elsewhere, unable to focus on the black letters on the white page. The room was small, holding only her bed, a window overlooking a garden she didn't know and a countryside that reminded her of nothing, a bedside table, a wardrobe and a shelf. There were two wooden doors, one opening onto a small bathroom, the other... she didn't know. She had woken up the night before, alone, in this room, her body aching, thin and weak. Her mind was muddy, a headache splitting her skull. A house elf had come to bring her food, and seemed to be in charge of helping her to the bathroom when she needed it. She tried to ask him questions, but he remained silent.
She wondered what she was doing there, why she wasn't under the familiar white sheets of the Hogwarts hospital wing, where her friends were, why no one was there? The worst thing, however, was not the questions that plagued her, nor the throbbing pain to which her whole body seemed subject, nor the loneliness. It was the unbearable feeling of emptiness that haunted her. It was as if something incredibly important had been taken away from her and she could only vaguely remember the echo of the name. Her wand was not there, the clothes she wore were not hers, she felt alienated. And, always, that hollow feeling of something missing. Like a vast invisible hole in her chest.
She was startled, someone had just knocked on the door she had been too weak to try to open so far. She hesitated for a moment, but since it wasn't as if there was much else she could do except perhaps try to pretend to sleep, she summoned up her courage and croaked in a weak voice. "Come in." Perhaps this would give her the answer she so desperately wanted.
The door opened silently, testifying to well-oiled hinges. She was not surprised by the figure that entered. An old man, dressed in midnight purple, silver stars sewn on his robe, a long silver beard, drawn features, large half-moon glasses, a pointed hat on his head.
"Hello Headmaster." She said weakly with a half smile. She felt hollow, exhausted, too weak to feel any more emotion or pretend to be well.
"Hello Iris my dear. I'm glad to see you've finally woken up." He replied with a sad smile, his eyes lacking their usual twinkle before sitting on the edge of the bed and turning towards her.
"Headmaster, where are we?" was the first question that came to her mind.
"At my cottage, not far from Inverness."
"Why am I not in Hogwarts hospital?"
"The school had closed for the summer holidays over a month ago. It's August 1995."
"August..." she repeated in a daze. "But... the tournament, the tasks, Hermione... I... I..."
"I'm so sorry. The dragon hurt you badly. We had to transfer you immediately to St. Mungo's and put you in stasis. You remained in a coma until you woke up yesterday.
Iris was confused, why was she no longer in Hogwarts, was her situation so serious? Suddenly she remembered something that made her blood run cold... She didn't want to believe it, she didn't want to think about it, she didn't want to consider it... but... she had to know.
"Headmaster, the tournament, I had to participate in it, not being able to do so or any refusal... meant me losing my magic..." she finished in a barely audible whisper. Her throat knotted, the pit in her heart, the feeling of loss more intense.
"I'm sorry, Iris. When the second trial started and you weren't there, your contract was broken, the Goblet of Fire took your magic. Nothing can give it back to you, I'm so sorry." He said, his eyes downcast.
"I need to... I need to see it. To touch her... To be sure." She said in a broken voice, her throat clenched.
Dumbledore pulled from an inner pocket of his robes the long wand of holly and phoenix feather, her companion and ally. He handed her the handle reverently and Iris took it in a trembling hand.
... Nothing, not a warmth, no response, just emptiness, a piece of inert wood resting between her fingers. The corpse of her wand, forever inanimate between her fingers. The infinite emptiness in her chest became all the heavier.
The dam inside her broke and she burst into tears. She felt as if her heart had been ripped out of her, her soul snatched from her. That her life was a void, that nothing made sense anymore. That her values, her goals, her dreams were gone. She clutched the old wizard's robes, felt the fabric soak with her tears as her body shook with sobs. She felt a hand on her hair and another on her back, squeezing her, reassuring her in a silent assurance that all was not lost.
She couldn't tell how long she cried in Dumbledore's arms, but she could tell that she felt washed out, empty, and bare as a pebble in a stream. Minutes, or hours later, Dumbledore's voice echoed through the room again.
"Iris, I have more to tell you. You need to know what's going to happen now. At the end of the Thwizards Tournament, Voldemort has returned. And with you having lost your magic, your mother's love spell will no longer protect you in Privet Drive."
"I won't go back to my aunt's house?" She asked with a glimmer of hope in her chest.
"No, it's not safe for you there anymore."
The Durleys had never hit her, never beaten her, but they were still horrible people she never wanted to see again. As the wave of relief at not returning to that house of misery, another aspect of what Dumbledore had said struck her. "Voldemort is back?"
"Yes, the Ministry won't admit it yet, but Cedric Diggory's disappearance and Severus's word are evidence enough."
Perhaps it was the instability of her situation, the fact that she was completely lost, the terrible hollowness in her chest, but she saw it as a way to make sense. "I want to fight, I want to help fend him off, I'm sure I can do something." She said with renewed determination.
What Dumbledore said then shattered her. "Iris, listen to me. This is not your war or your battle anymore. You are a muggle, you are no longer part of our world. You must accept that. For your own good."
"Hermione, Sirius, the twins, Neville, Luna, my other friends, I... This is my world Headmaster! I have nothing but bad memories among the muggles!" she cried as loud as her weak voice would allow.
"They think you're dead." he said in a voice as calm as the most terrible blast.
She felt herself turn pale. "What do you mean?"
"Iris, you can't do anything against a wizard now, you're not part of our world anymore. They think you're dead, the whole magical world thinks you're dead, dead in St. Mungo's after the second task."
"Why? Why would you do this?" she choked, lost in a sea of despair.
"For their protection, for their sake and your's Iris. If Voldemort had even the slightest clue that you were alive, he would stop at nothing to get to you. He would capture your friends, try anything to find out where you are. You humiliated him Iris, and muggle or not, he'll do anything to get even. Knowing you're alive is a risk you wouldn't want anyone you care about to take." He said wisely.
Iris nodded her head painfully. She didn't like what Dumbledore was telling her in the least, but deep down she knew that the old wizard was right, that as a muggle, the wizarding world was no longer her own, that it was better to do everything to keep her friends and family safe, even if it meant never seeing them again.
It would take time for her to accept this, to recognise the reason in the old wizard's words she realised.
"What will become of me now?" She asked more to stop thinking about the huge hollow in her heart than to really know.
"I have prepared a new identity for you, you will be Nora Pedersen. Harald Pedersen, a squib friend living in Norway has agreed to become your guardian. He will provide you with food and lodging, and will cover expenses. You already have a place in Bjertnes high school. You will have all the support you need to reintegrate into the muggle world."
"I... I see... I think I... that I... need some time alone... please..."
Dumbledore gave her a sad smile and stood up, he was walking towards the door but stopped. "Iris, put this under your pillow." He said before handing her a small flat grey stone covered in runes. "With this, in a few days you will speak Norwegian as if it were your native language. I wish you a good rest. I'll see you soon." He left the room, closing the door gently behind him, leaving Iris alone with her thoughts.
She stared at the door for a moment before placing the stone on the bedside table. Then, she turned over and screamed into her pillow with all her might, letting her tears flow freely again.
oOOOo
A week had passed. A week spent between tears, fury and long hours spent in an almost catatonic state. A week during which Iris had recovered a little, enough to walk, move, run or punch her pillow to provide an outlet for the rage she felt at her abhorrent situation.
Every morning she took her wand in her hands, hoping to feel the warmth of her connection to her magic again, only to have a piece of dead wood between her fingers.
She missed Hermione, she missed that idiot Ronald, Sirius must be even more depressed than he already was, the news of her pseudo death must have hit him hard. The eternal calm surrounding Luna and Neville's kindness would be nothing more than a memory. All would be in danger now that Voldemort was back, and there was nothing she could do about it. Dumbledore was right, she was no longer of their world, disappearing from their lives completely and forever would be the best way to keep them safer than they were. Without her, Voldemort would have no reason to make her friends prime targets.
She understood, her mind following the headmaster's reasoning, but her heart howled like a lion in a cage at the injustice of the world. She had lived a miserable childhood, only to find herself thrown into a world of magic and wonder, dangerous and full of dark secrets, but a world where she felt she belonged, where she had people who really mattered to her and for whom she hoped she mattered just as much. And suddenly she found herself banished, expelled from a world where she should have always belonged.
And every day, every hour, every minute, every second, with every tick of that cursed old clock, she felt this abominable emptiness, this unfathomable hollow in her heart and her psyche. That absence that magic had always filled. Her blood and spirit link with her parents, of whom only her mother's green eyes and red hair reminded her on the smooth, cold surface of a mirror. Evaporated, vanished like the mist of a spring morning in the sun. Her magic had abandoned her, left her broken, a puppet with its strings torn off.
That afternoon, her last link to the magical world she had loved so much would disappear. Dumbledore would send her to this Mr. Pedersen. In another country, far from magic, far from her world. The amulet she had received had worked, she had marvelled at being able to learn a language at the mere cost of a violent headache that had lasted a day, but soon enough, the cold, hard reality had returned, reminding her that this would surely be one of the last magic that would ever touch her.
Her few belongings had been stuffed into a suitcase, a taxi was waiting, she would take the ferry from Inverness to Oslo where Pedersen would be waiting. Using only muggle transport was safer according to Dumbledore.
She closed her suitcase, it contained only a few clothes and toiletries. All her other possessions had been left to Sirius or her friends. She felt both sad and reassured to know that Hedwig would be with Hermione. She was sure that she would be well looked after. She just hoped that the noble owl would get along with her friend's feline. It hurt terribly to have to part with her wand for good, but as Dumbledore had said, taking anything personal with her would be far too dangerous, or worse, would lead her friends to believe that she wasn't really dead. And that, Iris could not afford. The mourning would only be harder if they kept the false hope of ever seeing her again.
She had asked Dumbledore if she could touch her invisibility cloak, her father's legacy, one last time, but he had refused, Sirius apparently couldn't part with it, as it reminded him of his godchild.
It was with a heavy heart, not to say broken, that she took her light suitcase, and under Dumbledore's sad gaze boarded the taxi. The engine hummed, and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she watched her mentor's figure disappear behind a bend in the narrow country road. She let her gaze drift over the Scottish landscape, she had never imagined that she would say goodbye to them like this. Its hills, its mountains in the distance, the wild highlands... So many things that would soon be nothing but memories.
A few hours later she found herself leaning against the stern of a ferry heading for Oslo. She watched with bitterness as the jagged coastline of Scotland slowly shrank. She thought she saw the high astronomy tower of Hogwarts in the far distance... a broom in the sky... cheerful echoes of voices far away. Nothing more than mirages of an era she had to accept as over.
It was only when the Scottish shores had disappeared below the horizon, now indistinguishable from the foam of the waves, and the freezing wind from the open sea was biting the skin of her fingers and face, that she finally resolved to look away, and went back inside the ferry.
...
On the quayside of Oslo harbour, she soon spotted the figure of a tall man. He was well-built, dressed in a large blue coat, a woollen cap firmly screwed on his head. A short, greying beard adorned his jaw. His face was square, his nose thin and sharp, steely blue eyes sunken under thick bushy eyebrows seemed to scan the crowd intently. The first thing Iris thought of when she saw him was an old bear, he looked exactly like the picture Dumbledore had shown her.
He didn't seem to have seen her, given the way his eyes swept over the passers-by, he seemed to be expecting someone taller than his poor five feet. She approached him shyly, looking like a bear only made him more intimidating, he must have been almost two metres tall! Perhaps he had a little bit of giant's blood she thought for a moment before forcing her thoughts away from the subject for fear that the slightest mention of magic, even in the strong confines of her own skull, would cause her to crumble. She couldn't afford it, not here, not now.
"Sir?" she asked, gathering her courage. He looked down, and a warm smile spread across his face. Given the man's appearance, this reaction surprised her somewhat.
"Nora, is it?" he asked in a baritone voice.
"Yes, you are Mr. Pedersen, aren't you?
"Call me Harald," he replied jovially before giving her a bear hug. Surprised, she froze, not knowing how to react, too emotionally destroyed to string two thoughts together in her head.
"Excuse me." He said, putting her back down. "I... my friend explained your situation to me... and... I'm somewhat emotional," he finished, rubbing the back of his head, a tinge of pink on his cheekbones.
She found herself somewhere between laughter and tears, exhausted, on the verge of collapse because of the situation itself and her insensitive reminder, but also amused by the reaction of this bear-man. He took her back into his arms and held her close, patting her back. "I'll show you to your room and you can rest, okay? I know you need it. The bus is coming soon."
The ride went on in a strange mood, Harald trying to speak up regularly to lighten the spirits, but obviously not knowing what to say that wouldn't be inconsiderate of him. In the end he just let the silence settle.
The bus drove for a long time, in a narrow valley bordered by a forest of pine trees. A narrow, winding road. Finally, they both got off at a stop on request, indicated only by a wooden sign and a small hut. A small forest road led into the woods, and for the first time since her arrival, Iris... No, Nora felt fear. Was Harald as friendly as he seemed? She swallowed her suspicion. There was no need to worry, he was a friend of Dumbledore's, and so far he had given no reason not to trust him. And anyway... if she died here, in these woods, she wouldn't have to feel the horrible chasm in her chest anymore.
Harald was waiting for her, his hand outstretched towards her. She looked at him for a moment, wondering what he could possibly want.
"Give me your suitcase, I'm not going to let you lug it home." He said with a kindness in his eyes that disarmed her. She gave it to him and murmured a thank you.
"You're welcome," he said with a smile, loading the suitcase on his shoulder and starting to walk down the path.
She followed suit, grateful that Harald seemed to make an effort to walk at the same pace as her and not leave her behind with his long strides.
A good half hour later, Iris was red with shame. She was on Harald's back, and he was carrying her as if she were some kind of backpack. Several months spent in a coma had not been good for her stamina it seemed. After the day she had had, she had managed to walk for five minutes before Harald took pity on her and loaded her onto his back. She could only be grateful, even though she was so ashamed that she chose to bury her face in Harald's cloak instead of facing reality.
"We made it, min lille bjørn." He said in his baritone voice as he set her down. They had arrived in a clearing on the hillside, she could see the sea in the distance between the treetops. Slightly off-centre was an old wooden farmhouse painted red. The roof was strangely covered with a thick wild lawn. In front of the house she could see a vegetable garden where flowers, vegetables and other herbs were growing. The place was as beautiful as it was quiet, although being alone with a stranger in such an isolated environment did not reassure her.
Perhaps to calm her anxiety, perhaps to satisfy her curiosity, she heard herself say. "What do you do for a living, Harald?"
"Forest ranger. A tough job, it doesn't pay much, but I like it and I'm proud of it." He replied, staring into the distance.
The interior of the house was comfortably rustic. Small rooms organized around a central wood stove. The furniture was obviously old, but well preserved, the large sofa in front of the stove made her want to sit in it and not move for at least a decade. Hanging on one wall were a few photographs. One of them struck her, Harald was there,
his face beaming, obviously a few years younger. Beside him stood a tall woman with blonde hair and great beauty.
"She was Ingrid, my wife. She left about ten years ago." He said sadly.
"I'm sorry..."
"You have no reason to be." He said, ruffling her hair affectionately.
She gave him an offended look as she tried to make her hair look acceptable but failed miserably, which made him laugh... the dork...
"Your room is upstairs, follow me." He said as he headed for the stairs.
The room was simple, but cosy and comfortable. A window overlooked the garden, the forest and the ocean in the distance. There was a small bed with blue sheets, an oak wardrobe, an old bookshelf, and a rustic desk with a candlestick and a potted marsh mint on it. Harald placed the suitcase in a corner of the room and then went to the door. "I'll let you get settled in. Let me know if you need anything."
"Yes..." She murmured, collapsing onto the bed as Harald closed the door gently behind him. She felt empty, hollow. She was in mourning, she realised with a sob. Grieving for her life, for her friends, for the little family she had left... She would have to consider them as dead as she was for them. For such was now her life…
oOOOo
When the king of the day steps down from his throne.
When he relieves us of the weight of his crown.
When the shadows lengthen, gaining life and losing form.
When the horizon blazes with a cold fire and silent storm.
It is at the approach of this twilight.
When the first stars ignite.
That in our minds monsters are born,
That from the fog they stood on.
She put down her fountain pen, her notebook open in her lap, her gaze wandering over the treetops, watching the figure of a crow stand out against the red of the setting sun. She let her back rest against the trunk of the tree at the foot of which she had sat to write as she had become accustomed to doing. A month had passed. A month cut off from all that was familiar to her. Soon she would be starting a new year, in a muggle school, away from magic... among her peers.
She had hoped that time would heal her, but it did not. The hollow in her chest, the terrible emptiness she'd always felt was still there. As heavy and terrible as on the first day. She felt incomplete, aimless, without a reason for being... Several times already she had caught herself contemplating the possibility of taking a knife from the dining room. To touch the soft, fragile skin of her throat, to realise how easy it would be... that maybe not feeling anything anymore, going back to nothingness wouldn't be the worst thing. Because there was no point. The suffering would be brief, for an eternity of peace, anything to stop feeling, this terrible longing...
Harald had caught her one night, in front of the knife drawer, motionless, her eyes reddened. He had wanted to take her to see a psychiatrist, but what was the point? She couldn't talk, she couldn't open up, tell him about her magic, about all those wonderfully horrible adventures. About her broken childhood. Since then, Harald rarely left her alone, he often took her with him when he went to work in the forest, to show her what his profession consisted of, that there was beauty, that there were things to experience, to see, to feel. Reasons not to give up.
It helped, but only for a while. Soon the emptiness returned, relentlessly, inexorably. Why not become what everyone who mattered to her thought she was? One of the solutions she found was to write poems, to let her mind create something. Writing it on paper, reading it to Harald, seeing his face light up as he heard her little writings, it filled the void a little bit, enough to make the idea of continuing to live bearable again.
Perhaps she should also mourn Iris. Stop thinking of herself in that way. Iris Potter had died shortly after the first task, shattered by a dragon's tail. Like all the others, she would end up forgotten, in the streams of time. And besides... Nora Pedersen... It's a pretty name, isn't it? Right? she thought with a bitter smile.
oOOOo
Mathematics... Nora had forgotten how much more boring this subject was than Arithmancy... At the moment, she couldn't be happier to have chosen this as one of the electives at Hogwarts. Without it, she would have been completely lost, with huge gaps and years behind. Fortunately, Mrs Haugen was understanding and helped her catch up. But today, the second degree functions were giving her a headache.
She buried her head in her arms and let out a soft moan.
"Are you okay?" Mathilda whispered to her. Her tablemate. The pretty blonde reminded her of Hermione. A quieter Hermione, less headstrong and vindictive, but just as kind and dedicated to her studies even if disliked by some students because of her tendency to always try too hard.
She turned her head towards her, trying to smile, and ignore the terrible feeling of longing, the pain in her heart, the knot in her throat when she thought of her wild-maned brunette friend.
"It's gonna... just... this class is giving me a headache." She said with a small laugh.
"None of that, big girl." Mathilda replied, giving her a little flick on the forehead. "I want you to be in shape for later."
"I promise, I'll be better." She and Mathilda had taken to sitting in a small café in Oslo not far from the school after class to revise, read, or just chat. And Mathilda, who also had few friends in the school, really didn't like it when she was indisposed for one reason or another.
" You better be... " muttered Mathilda.
"Ouch!" exclaimed Nora, picking up the chalk that had just hit her forehead at full speed.
"No sleeping or chatting in my class, ladies!" Mrs. Haugen said in a stern voice, triggering laughter from almost every other student in the class.
"Excuse me ma'am..." Nora mumbled, rubbing her forehead and glaring at Mathilda as she hid her mouth behind her hand to laugh at her with impunity.
Another piece of chalk flew across the classroom to hit Mathilda's forehead, and she let out a small cry of pain and surprise. "You too, Miss Jensen!" Mrs. Haugen added to Nora's amusement.
oOOOo
It had been a nice day, she and Mathilda had spent a good hour in their usual café before parting. Nora was relaxed, and tried to ignore as best she could the eternal aching emptiness in her chest that had followed her for months now. The bus stop was not far away, just a few blocks and she could go home. Harald had promised her his speciality of chard and mushroom pie and she was looking forward to it.
She was about to turn right when she saw something out of the corner of her eye that immediately caught her attention. It was a strange hunchbacked person wearing a large coat and hood walking down the street. Strangely, despite his more than suspicious appearance, no one seemed to have noticed him.
A shiver ran down her spine, something she hadn't felt for a long time... She had to know where this strange person was going. He passed between people as if nothing had happened, no one seemed to give him even a glance. She trotted along and followed him, keeping a certain distance.
He seemed to be in a hurry, and she had the impression that he was sliding along the ground more than running. His movements were most strange. His coat, cloak... was buckling strangely... She was on her heels when he turned abruptly into a narrow, dark alley.
She stopped dead in her tracks. The atmosphere was strange, muffled, the sounds of the city, the tumult of human activity seemed hushed. The alley was narrow, its floor paved, it seemed to curve strangely, its end was not visible. A light fog covered the ground. It was cold... A shiver shook her shoulders. The person had disappeared, there was no trace of them. She suddenly felt oppressed, as if she was not in her place.
She backed away slowly, and returned to the main street, the noise suddenly returned, no one even glanced in the direction of the narrow alley... Nora turned around, and walked quickly towards the bus stop, unable to shake the unpleasant feeling of being followed.
She didn't know what to make of it. The place screamed magic to her, and she was no longer part of this world. However... the impression she got was completely different from anything she had ever seen or felt when she was still Iris Potter, whether it was at Hogwarts, Charring, or any other magical place. It was... eerie. She shouldn't be anywhere near this place, something in her gut was screaming at her, even though the vast hollow in her heart was whispering otherwise and doing everything it could to arouse her curiosity.
oOOOo
She and Harald were comfortably seated on the wide sofa in front of the stove in which logs were gently burning. In the few months she had known the man, it would be a lie to say that she had not grown fond of him. Even if sometimes he reminded her bitterly of Sirius. The chard and mushroom pie had been delicious. She was leaning against him, a copy of the Times in her hands which she was dutifully scanning. As for Harald, he was holding a pocket book, a very sappy romance from what she gathered.
Her eyes scanned the pages of the paper for any news that might give her even a small idea of how things were going in magical Britain, but, as usual, there was absolutely nothing. She kept telling herself that she had to let go of her past entirely and live as Nora completely, but it just hurt too much. The day she no longer felt compelled to dissect the English papers would be a victory against herself...
She closed the paper... absolutely nothing. She sighed deeply and let her mind wander.
"What is it, dear?" Harald asked her.
She was about to answer that there was nothing, when she suddenly remembered the strange alley. "Today something strange happened to me..." she said thoughtfully.
"Oh, a new adventure with Mathilda?" he asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
"No, no, nothing like that." She replied, blushing up to her ears. "Just... I saw someone really weird in town this afternoon. I followed him for a bit and he disappeared into a really creepy alley. Not dirty but... there was something eerie there. It was..."
With a strangely serious look on his face, Harald rose to kneel in front of her and took her shoulders in his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. "Nora, I want you to promise me, never go near that alley again, okay? We're not from their world, and certainly not from that kind."
"What do you mean by that kind?" she asked. Stunned by Harald's reaction.
"It's not just wizards who... I've said too much. I just want you to know that it's dangerous. I don't know how you even saw that alley. Probably just bad luck. Just... don't go there again. Okay?"
"I promise..." she said in a small voice, still a little surprised and scared by Harald's reaction.
"Good." He said, his features relaxing again, a smile forming on his face.
"So you invited Mathilda to come to the house next weekend?" He asked, his eyes sparkling.
...
That night, as she lay on her bed, her eyes fixed on the knots in the wood of her ceiling, she couldn't close her eyes. A strange feeling in her chest. The emptiness, that loathsome abyss always present, forever... but... some of Harald's words echoed over and over in her head. Like a litany, something that stirred in her something she had chosen to forget and was afraid to even name. "There are not only wizards," she murmured in a breath, the lines of the wood on the ceiling taking on whimsical and disturbing shapes under her gaze.