This chapter is dedicated to ginny37, who helped me to design a new arrival and consequently caused me to redraft the plot!

Seven: Ice
Hermia Smith was sitting in the Three Broomsticks, listening to Jago’s impassioned plea.

“Oh come on my Beautiful Girl, it’s my Christmas party. How can I have my Christmas party without you? I just can’t! It won’t be a party without you, it’ll be a bunch of people in my house drinking my booze and eating my food. Besides, it will give you a chance to show off your birthday present.”

She raised one skeptical eyebrow at him. “You’ve never had a problem partying without me before now. Besides, Elspeth will be there, you won’t even notice me.”

“She wants you there just as much as I do. It’s simply not a party without you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you up to Harwood?”

“Me? Nothing.” Jago’s face was a picture of unconvincing innocence.

“Don’t make me hex you.”

He frowned slightly and pulled her towards him, into a hug. “I just want you to cheer up a bit, you’ve been so down and it’s almost Christmas.”

She sighed and took a long drink of mead, draining her glass. “Well, if I’ve got new dress robes to buy, I need to get going.” She shrugged off his arm and stood up. “See you later.”

She walked away from him without a backward glance. He watched her go, wondering if his friend would ever let her guard down and actually tell him how she was feeling.

~

Standing in the ballroom of Jago’s decadent home, Hermia knew that plenty of the wizards there were staring at her. The sweetheart neckline on her new teal silk robes exposed her alabaster complexion, against which her chocolate brown curls gleamed. On a long silver chain a beautiful deep blue sapphire hung just above her waist. The robes skimmed her hips closely. She knew exactly how attractive she looked and she couldn’t help but smile as she saw one or two of the boys that she had gone to school with receiving scolding looks from their girlfriends.

Across the room she saw a wizard she didn’t recognize, following Jago towards her. Tall, black and impossibly handsome with a short afro and eyes that twinkled in the candlelight, there was something familiar about his broad stature and easy smile.

Jago slid his arm around her waist and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Tell, this is my Beautiful Girl, Hermia Smith. BG, this is Tell, other wise known as Wilmot Shacklebolt.”

“Good to meet you Hermia.” His voice was slow and deep. Wilmot took her small hand and brushed the back of it lightly with his lips. His long index finger curled around her wrist and slid under the hem of her sleeve, causing her pulse to quicken. A thrill of electricity shot through her and she blinked at Jago, whose expression was one of victory. He melted into the crowd. Wilmot straightened and she stared up at him.

“It-it’s good to meet you too, Wilmot.” She allowed him to take her hand and lead her onto dance floor.

*****

Jago sat in a small, private back room of a wizarding restaurant, in a small village some where in Aquitaine. His uneaten poule au pot sat on the table, stone cold. He glanced at his watch and realized that he had been sitting there for three hours. On the floor behind his chair were two cages which were covered with thick cloths so that the creatures within them would be quiet. The room was silent and he could hear the kitchen staff talking through the wall as they prepared for the evening service. His eyes were unblinkingly trained on the door. He was unconsciously picking at the skin on his thumb and only stopped when he realized that he had made it bleed. Although he was only fifteen, he slipped his wand out of his pocket and healed the wound wordlessly. He resumed his silent sentry duty.

Finally, the door opened quietly and a small figure with long dark hair slipped into the room, followed by a woman with a long blonde plait. Jago sprang out of his seat and crossed the room to pull her into a hug but he saw her flinch and stopped half way, arms stretched out to her. “Hi.” He said quietly.

She nodded at him but wouldn’t look at him. The woman spoke. “Hello Jago, I’m Susan Bones, I work for the British and Irish Ministry of Magic. Hermia has agreed to come to England where we can hide her until we find the people that we are looking for. She wanted to come and say goodbye.”

Tears had formed in Hermia’s eyes and Jago wanted more than ever to pull her into a hug, but didn’t dare. Instead, he tentatively took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. He saw her tears begin to fall and finally the question that had been churning over and over in his mind spilled off his tongue.

“Did Thea, umm, did she die?”

Hermia seemed to sag and then she fell against him sobbing. He stroked her hair and held on to her tightly. Susan spoke again. “Yes, she died a few hours ago. She managed to tell us what happened. Hermia isn’t to blame.”

“Y-y-yes I a-am. He wanted me, b-but s-she wouldn’t let him. She g-got in the w-way.” Hermia’s voice was broken, she took faltering breathes in an attempt to steady herself. “I was so angry when h-h-he hurt her I-I-I-I-I-I-”

She looked between Jago and Susan. The words tumbled out in a whisper.

“I killed him. He told me who my mother was and I killed him.”

“Who was your mother?” Jago didn’t really want her to answer that question but he knew that she wanted to tell him.

“Morgana.”

Jago reeled at the news but worked hard to keep his face impassive. Hermia’s mother was a dark witch? One of the darkest ever? One of her Agents, Emil Nequam, had killed his own mother before Jago’s third birthday. He blinked rapidly, steeling himself.

“I brought you something. Well, someone.” Still holding her hand , he led her to the cages and pulled off the covers. Perched inside the cages were two fledgling tawny owls. “They’re sisters. There’s one for you and one for me, they’re from my father’s owls. You can choose which one you want. That way, no matter where we are, we’ll be able to communicate. They’re family, like us. She’s instead of an easter egg.”

Hermia looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. She bent down and considered the owls. They were both beautiful, fluffy feathered little things. They had both perched as closely together as possible, despite being in separate cages.

“Do they have names?” Jago shook his head. “How about Artemis and Araceli? Sisters in flight?” Jago smiled sadly as she lifted one of the cages.

“Come on Artemis, it’s time to go.” She followed Susan out the room, pausing only to kiss him on the cheek.

The door closed behind them. Jago sank back into the chair, crying.



*****

Ashtad made his way quietly through the townhouse after the elf had let him in, the shoulders of his heavy traveling cloak sprinkled liberally with snow. It was after ten o’clock and he wondered if anyone would be awake. He made his way up to the ground floor from the basement kitchen. Light streamed in through the stained glass of the grand front doors and into the hall. He opened the door to what he thought might be the dining room and stepped inside. Instead of the dining room he had expected, he found himself in a small study which contained a beautiful oak desk. The walls were lined with well cared for leather bound and hardback books and by the beautiful art deco fireplace, where the flames were dwindling, was a deep sofa. Ashtad felt as though a shard of ice had been plunged into his heart when he saw who was asleep on it. Curled up, in the crook of Wilmot Shacklebolt’s arm, was Hermia. She looked like a porcelain doll. Wilmot moved his hand protectively over her rib cage and the shard in Ashtad’s heart twisted with jealousy. He wanted his fingertips to be running over that teal silk, to feel her breathe under his hand. Thankful that they were both asleep, he stumbled backwards towards the door and collided with it. Hermia’s long eyelashes fluttered open in alarm and she stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I was looking for Elspeth.”

She gave a slight nod but before she could say anything he turned and walked out of the room, unable to look at Wilmot’s hand on her any longer without crossing the room and cursing them both into the middle of next month.

He found Elspeth, with fury still pounding in his ears, sitting in the dining room looking rather the worse for wear. He sat down automatically smiling over at Mackenzie Lark, the leader singer of The Ashwinders, who had raised his hand in gesture of welcome.

Elspeth yawned. “O-oh, I’m done in. You missed an excellent party Ash, where were you?”

“Work. There’s an emergency that I can’t really go into, but I’m heading off now. I might now be back for a while.”

“Field work? Have you been there long enough?”

“According to Mr Potter I have. He’s sending me out with John Smith. Teddy’s not happy.”

“I’ll bet. I’ve only seen Smith in passing and he gives me the creeps. You look after yourself.”

“I will. I came to ask you if you’d mind taking some gifts to my mum? They’re on the table in my kitchen.”

“Of course I will. It’ll be great to see her.” She smiled and yawned again.

Mackenize had started to pick out an old song on his guitar, his long dark auburn hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over the fret board.

“...remember what I lost like hot coals in my hand from days gone by
like Pandora adored the euphoria as her heart raced
like love lost you've got to try even in vain
feels like you'll go insane
but you're the hardest instrument that I've ever had to play...”

“So, how long have Hermia and Wilmot been together.”

Elspeth looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“They’re downstairs in the study. Asleep. He’s got his hands all over her.” He spat bitterly. His head was pounding as the image of the two of them swirled through it torturously.

“...in my heart I can fly
and I cannot disguise my love
there is no time to...”

“Ash, this is news to me but she’s not like that. If they’ve been talking and fallen asleep, it may just look worse than it actually is.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why am I explaining this to you? You two loathe each other, you always have!”

“...and I wouldn't know how to,
constellations tonight
are so fiercesomely bright, my love
I have no fear
I am Atticus now...”

“I don’t loathe her, I never did. We just got off on the wrong foot, which wasn’t all my fault,” He held his hand up to stall her as she she had opened her mouth to object, “I actually thought that things were changing that night in the Hobgoblin, but I stuffed that royally, didn’t I? And now Shacklebolt’s got his hands all over her.”

“...so why don't we fall into the waves?
can't you see how my heart yearns to misbehave?”

He looked at Elspeth and saw something approaching pity in her eyes. “I can’t stay, I need to get back to work.” He kissed her on the cheek and stood up. “Have a good Christmas. I’ll see you when I get back.”

She watched him leave, her sore head trying to workout exactly what he had just told her.

~

Hermia jerked awake as the front door slammed. She was aware of Wilmot’s hand on her stomach, curled around the sapphire pendant she was wearing. She shivered slightly, the fire had died out hours before and the room had grown cold. She was glad of Wilmot’s warmth. She was also aware that she was hungry.

“Wil? Wilmot? I think it might just be breakfast time.” She whispered, not really wanting to wake him. He was so handsome that she felt slightly uncomfortable talking to him. Their conversation had largely centered on him asking her questions and her trying not to answer them. He had tried to kiss her before they had fallen asleep, but she had dodged his lips and so he had ended up giving her a rather chaste kiss on the cheek. He slowly opened his eyes.

“Hmmm? Oh, good morning Miss Smith.” He let go of the sapphire and flattened his hand against her abdomen again. She wriggled out of his grasp and stood up.

“I need a cup of coffee” and a hairbrush she thought to herself, looking in the mirror.

“I’ll go see if I can find some. How do you take yours?”

“Black, strong and sweet” She said, without thinking. He broke into a huge grin, reflected over her shoulder.

“Really? That’s good to know.” Still grinning, he walked out of the study, leaving her to blush furiously in his wake.

So, I think we can all see that I am no graphics wizz!

The song is Atticus by The Noisettes, a band I absolutely love.

To see pics of Wilmot and Mackenzie, see the Tempestuous album on my profile page