A Thousand Tiny Wonders

Chapter Three

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jemima hissed as the three witches crouched in a shadowy corner of knockturn alley. Hetty shushed her and peeked her head around the side, Leanne following her lead.

Mr Yaxley was in a shadowy corner himself, and the person he was talking to had a hood obscuring most of their face making them difficult to identify.

"We need to move closer!" Leanne whispered to Hetty, who nodded in agreement.

"Closer?!" Jemima whisper-shrieked, though went ignored by her two determined friends. "This is not going to end well, is it?" She muttered to herself, then noticed the other two had already begun to creep closer, and hurried after them.

They slipped from shadow to shadow, crouching and tip-toeing in order to remain obscured by the steady spurts of milling customers and the grey fog which seemed to permanently reside over the more impious alley. Eventually they snuck just close enough to the shadow-shrouded pair that they were just about able to hear whispers of their conversation, carried over by a light breeze.

"Can you hear anything?" Jemima whispered to Leanne, who nodded quickly while shushing her. Jemima huffed and concentrated on remaining hidden, trusting her friends to fill her in on whatever they heard.

She watched, however, with a great weight growing in her chest as her friend's faces seemed to become ashen and eyes wide. Nothing good resulted in expressions such as those, Jemima thought, only to inwardly scoff at herself, nothing good ever occurred in knockturn alley.

Movement from the shadowy figures of Hetty's dad and whoever his mysterious companion was caught Jemima's eye, and she watched as they dispersed in two different directions, holding her breath as Hetty's dad passed their dark corner with the swift swish of his cloak.

"Let's get out of here." Hetty said after at least a full minute of tense silence, her voice slightly more rough than usual, unsure in a way that Jemima was unused to hearing from her self-assured slytherin friend.

"What was that about?" She whispered frantically to Leanne as they hurried after Hetty, footsteps less cautious than when they entered.

"Later." Leanne squeezed her hand, but Jemima felt cool dread drip down her spine despite the comforting gesture. Whatever they overheard, must've been really really bad.

The three young witches hurried out of the gloomy alley and into the sunlight, however Hetty did not stop or slow, she barged onwards, seemingly without direction. Leanne and Jemima struggled to keep up, footsteps hindered by cobblestones and shoppers and the occasional cat. That was until Hetty barged right into a certain stern-faced transfigurations professor.

"Miss Yaxley!" Professor McGonagall seemed about to launch into one of her scoldings that even older students dreaded, however the look on Hetty's face stopped her, morphing her previously-disgruntled features into those of concern. "Whatever is the matter?"

Hetty just shook her head and looked at her feet, obviously fighting tears. Leanne placed her hand on her friend's shoulder, her expression somewhere between the concerned teacher's and distraught student's. Jemima was the last to catch McGonagall's attention, and she simply stared at the scene in front of her, both confused and utterly dreading the answers to the questions bubbling up in her mind.

"How about a cup of tea?" The teacher offered, shepherding the three students towards one of the tearooms which lined Diagon Alley. They followed, shoes scuffing against stone as their limbs each seemed heavier than before, weighed down by knowledge in the case of Hetty and Leanne and by suspense in Jemima's case.

Once they were all settled at a table with a steaming cup of tea in front of each of them and a plate of biscuits in the middle, McGonagall looked at the students expectantly, waiting for them to explain their state.

"We were in Florean Fortescue's, when we saw Hetty's dad, Mr Yaxley," Jemima began to explain what she knew first, allowing her friends a little longer to collect themselves and arrange their thoughts, "and when we saw him go into knockturn, we decided to follow him–"

"I decided to follow him." Hetty corrected, lifting her gaze from the teacup in front of her, speaking for the first time since overhearing whatever she overheard. "It wasn't smart but... I was suspicious, I wasn't sure what he was doing here so I suggested that we follow him, and we did, and we overheard..." Her gaze lowered back down to the cup, fingertips tracing the floral pattern, ignoring the stinging heat.

"He was talking about you-know-who." Leanne provided, twisting her hands in her lap and shifting uncomfortably. "About him being back, talking about loyalty and being a servant and a bunch of stuff."

"The person he was with, he called him Augustus." Hetty added, looking at McGonagall again, "I think he's one of the ones who escaped from Azkaban, Rookwood maybe."

McGonagall looked thoughtful, taking a moment before responding, "Do you remember anything else about what they were talking about?" She prompted, eyes scanning the girls quizzically.

"Rookwood mentioned something about an object." Hetty provided, "I didn't catch everything they were saying though." She shrugged.

"What you did was dangerous and careless," McGonagall began, then sighed, "but I'm sure you're well aware of that."

"We had our suspicions about your father, Miss Yaxley, unfortunately this confirms our fears." She frowned and seemed to consider something momentarily, "Assuming you agree, I believe there is a safe place for you to stay for the remainder of the summer holidays."

Hetty nodded, wiping her eyes hastily and sitting up straighter, "Thank you, professor."

"Can't Hetty stay with me?" Leanne frowned, and Jemima echoed the question, wishing they could stick together, especially in the wake of this uncomfortable news.

"I think it would be best if Miss Yaxley were to stay in a more secure location, due to the nature of this revelation." McGonagall softened after looking at the friend's crestfallen expressions, "But I suppose if your parents are agreeable, you both could join her."

Leanne and Jemima nodded enthusiastically, a small portion of the weight holding them down lifting. If they could be together, then things would work out okay in the end.

"My Mum should say yes." Jemima nodded to herself, convinced her mum wouldn't mind since she was barely home anyways.

"Mine too." Leanne agreed.

A silence descended over the small group, more comfortable than before yet still holding a dark tint which seemed more and more prominent these days. Things were darker, after all, and that darkness was more obvious as they got older. This year would be different than those before, they could feel it in the breeze and hear it in the general hum of conversation which drifted around Diagon Alley, slightly lower in tone than before. Times were changing, and their blissful youth was coming to an abrupt ending. Or perhaps it already had, the moment they realised that 'young' was not a synonym for 'indestructible'.