"Darcie!" Madam Villanelle shouted. "Don't remain in the dark for so long, dear. Bring the book here."
"Aye!" an old, manly voice nodded in agreent.
Evening was about, and almost the entire Diagon Alley was deserted.
A gray blur had taken over the entire magical kingdom, along with the entire southern England.
The blizzard had arrived in the morning after days of light snowing.
Snow had piled up to the knees, the wind was hamring at the windows, and a chill was seeping into the very bones of wizards and muggles alike.
Such a cold bout of weather hadn't been seen for ages.
The muggles were calling it the Great Frost.
The Daily Prophet had even nad it the Little Ice Age, Darcie rembered, sitting on a stool in the backside of the main hall.
On her lap was the book — Dominating Dentors: A True History of Azkaban, already half-read.
As she heard her ntor's call, Darcie placed the bookmark and shut the book, though reluctantly.
I hope the visit hasn't been canceled, Darcie wondered.
However, a cold flush appeared on her cheeks when she thought of asking about it, knowing well that it would be nothing but selfish to force her ntor to travel in this weather.
It wasn't like they were going sowhere nearby.
They would travel to distant countries, like.
From today, Darcie's training was supposed to begin under the tutelage of various wizards and witches hand-picked by the Order of the Immortal Lotus across the globe.
Darcie jumped off the stool, shivering, and scuttled her way through the misting books.
When she entered the main hall, she found the manager, Mr. Pigplanter Hillam, and the assistant manager, Madam Villanelle, seated near the fireplace.
Darcie looked outside, the snow pouring like sheets of white rain. Hopeless.
"Co here, you!" Madam Villanelle pulled her in, tugging her winter coat. "Look at her skin, Mr. Hillam! Doesn't she look paler than usual?"
The manager of Flourish and Blotts Bookseller lazily lifted his head and gave a passing look to Darcie.
"She's alright," he mumbled, gaining a sharp look from Madam Villanelle. "Ahem! I an, you should take care of yourself more properly, no? How about a bowl of hot soup?"
"Thank you, Mr. Hillam," Darcie curtly replied. "I don't think I have the appetite."
Madam Villanelle regarded Darcie's face and smiled.
"It's OK," she said, pressing her naked feet toward the fire. "We can't indulge in soups, anyway. It's ti we leave for school. A lot of paperwork needs to be attended to, and Darcie's presence is a must."
"We are going?!" Darcie asked, astounded.
She had spun so fast that the black scarf around her neck seed to ripple as if it were alive.
Well, it was alive.
The black scarf was none other than the Familiar — Lilith, the Lethifold.
"Why wouldn't we?" Madam Villanelle asked, her gray, silver eyes beaming with amusent. "Tiny Ice Ages can't hinder great witches like us, can they?"
Darcie nodded several tis, thoroughly agreeing with her ntor.
"Surely the paperwork can wait..." Mr. Hillam added, eying the monstrosity of the blizzard raging outside.
The manager and assistant manager then began small talks, but Darcie had nothing to do with it.
Her mind had already gone to the wild fantasy she had been dreaming about her training.
Where would her ntor take her first? What kind of magic would she learn first?
We would go to the Hall of Portkeys, Madam Villanelle had told Darcie on Monday. From there, we would take the portkeys to certain wizarding communities outside England across the globe.
Generally, traveling outside the country using this way is prohibited. Not to ntion, heavily monitored. We don't have to worry about that, though. Milli (-the minister of magic-) would take care of it for us.
"Darcie..." the older witch's call woke up Darcie. "Let's go. Your clothes and other accessories are packed, right?"
"Yes, ntor," Darcie answered, her dark green eyes shining like two poisonous stars.
The two witches said goodnight to the manager and hurriedly arrived at the Brews and Stews restaurant, holding their frigid breath.
"Ah!" Ms. Crispe, the owner of the restaurant/hotel, gasped. "What in rlin's na you two are thinking, going out in this weather?! Villanelle..."
Darcie ran up the stairs, leaving her ntor to take on the motherly witch's reprimands.
When she entered her room, she found the neatly packed small green suitcase where she had left it.
On her bed.
"Dobby."
Crack!
A whip-like crack reverberated, and Dobby apparated next to Darcie, shivering within his thin red cushion cover.
"Miss Darcie!" the house-elf cried in joy, hopping up to her. "Dobby knew miss would call Dobby before going."
"Did you, now?" Darcie asked, pressing her brows. "Then where is the muffler you found in the room?"
The house-elf looked shaken.
"Dobby hid it in the wine cellar, miss," he whispered, looking down. "Dobby didn't want it to get dirty."
Darcie took a deep breath and sighed. "Listen. I am going... you rember what we discussed, right?"
Dobby puffed his chest, his large ears shrunken with cold.
"Miss Darcie need not worry," he squeaked, eying the suitcase with the library under Darcie's bed. "Dobby will not let anyone touch miss' suitcase."
Darcie almost smiled. "Well, I should go, then."
Dobby raised his tiny arms, trembling, and gave two thumbs up to Darcie. "Good luck, miss."
Darcie gave Dobby's head a soft rub, and hurried down, carrying her small, green suitcase.
Miss Crispe was waiting for her there, holding two bowls of hot soup.
*
*
Crack!
Shuuuuu!!
Madam Villanelle and Darcie apparated near a snow-laden street, the blizzard's wind howling over the city's sky.
The mont they appeared, Madam Villanelle took out her wand and cast a spell, isolating her and Darcie from the cold weather.
"We are here," she said, eying the buildings. "This weather is truly becoming a nasty thing, isn't it?"
"We are here?!" Darcie exclaid, hugging herself, looking around. "Where are we, ntor?"
The day had lost the last stretch of light, going cold and dark.
Street lamps had lit up, but amid the snowstorm, they felt as useless as a drop of water against a blazing fire.
Madam Villanelle didn't answer Darcie outright and began walking, casting the spell to keep the cold outside now and then.
"At first, the Six Seats had planned to begin your training from outside England," she said after a bit of a walk. "But then you ntioned your interest in Kabbalah and its concepts and Alchemy-related subjects. That got thinking and the plans changed."
Darcie's mouth had taken an O shape.
She had never thought that her casual words could bring about a change in the Six's plans. "Then..."
"The first organization is recomnded by both Orange and Purple Seats," Madam Villanelle shouted to compensate for the storm. "You will spend a great length of ti here, Darcie.
"Over eighteen months, I presu. Now, let warn that the two individuals who would see to your training are quite... exceptional."
Darcie's mind was hung up on the Seats nad by her ntor. Both Orange and Purple Seats?
Wouldn't that make this organization a recomndation from Hers Trisgistus and King Solomon themselves?
What kind of abnormal organization could garner the attention of such extraordinary figures?
And this organization, those two individuals, were here?!
User Comments
0 comments from readers