For international wizarding travel, nothing was more convenient than a Portkey.
Unfortunately, most Ministries of Magic strongly disagreed.
Portkeys were too difficult to monitor unless they had been officially produced and registered by a magical transport authority, with both their origin and destination recorded.
So for most law-abiding witches and wizards travelling from one country to another, the practical choices were fairly ordinary.
Ships.
Planes.
Of course, anyone who thought Muggle transportation lacked sufficient magical flair was perfectly welcome to cross borders on a broomstick or flying carpet.
Assuming they could endure the distance.
And the weather.
And the possibility of being spotted and arrested by Aurors.
John and the others had once travelled that way regularly.
Later, they simply started making illegal Portkeys of their own.
Anything was preferable to dealing with a Ministry.
That was precisely why John, Yule, and the rest of the family had to avoid Aurors while Mary didn’t.
Mary’s travel records were legal, documented, and traceable.
At least on paper, there was nothing suspicious about her.
She had a child to raise, after all.
David needed a legitimate identity.
More importantly, he needed to be able to attend school without every Ministry in Europe treating him like an international fugitive.
On the plane, David stared gloomily at the magazine in his hands.
The petty scandals and everyday concerns of the Muggle world failed to hold his attention for more than a few seconds.
Mary noticed his expression.
“Do you want to talk about it?” “I’m fine, Mum.” David pressed his lips together.
“It’s just…” He glanced down at himself.
“I didn’t even get to pack my things.” Then he sighed.
“And where am I supposed to go to school next year?” Mary reached over and squeezed his hand.
“Your grandfather will arrange everything.” David gave her a doubtful smile.
“Grandfather can barely arrange his own life.” “It’ll be all right.” Mary smiled and ruffled his hair.
“It will.” David leaned back in his seat.
“All right.” He looked towards the window.
“I hope so.” Far below, the aircraft roared overhead and disappeared into the distance.
John Rowle stood in an open field beside his younger brother.
Both men watched the plane vanish.
Then they looked at each other.
And shrugged.
At their feet lay more than a dozen unconscious Aurors.
John glanced down at them and smiled disdainfully.
“Let’s go.
Someone will come along and clean this up.” He waved to Yule.
A moment later, both brothers Disapparated.
Really.
Aurors.
Not much of a challenge.
As far as John was concerned, money could be lost.
A deal could fail.
But a duel?
That was unacceptable.
These people had known perfectly well that he was involved.
Instead of running for their lives, they had actually continued the pursuit.
What had given them that kind of courage?
A troll?
London, England.
Charing Cross Road.
David climbed out of a taxi behind his mother and followed her towards a small pub that Muggles seemed to overlook without even realising it was there.
He pushed through the shabby entrance.
Inside stood rows of simple old wooden tables.
Beside them, beneath a Tudor-style arch, a huge fireplace burned brightly.
The rest of the pub was every bit as old-fashioned.
The brick walls had been roughly whitewashed.
There was no proper ceiling, leaving heavy wooden beams exposed overhead.
Tall trefoil windows let in remarkably little daylight.
Even in the afternoon, candles were needed to keep the place from sinking into gloom.
A blackboard displayed the lunch menu in white chalk.
Roast suckling pig.
Game pie.
Pickled eels.
David looked around.
He had no idea why such a rundown pub had so many customers.
The moment he and Mary entered with their luggage, half the room seemed to turn towards them.
David resisted the urge to glare back.
What are you all looking at?
Did none of these people have jobs?
The faces around them were shadowed and curious, some openly staring while others tried badly to pretend they weren’t.
Mary clearly had no intention of stopping for lunch.
As they walked through the narrow aisle between the tables, whispers began to spread behind them.
David tried listening.
He caught fragments here and there, but the murmuring blended together like insects buzzing at the edge of his hearing.
The barman was a bald, hunchbacked man dressed in a coarse grey-black robe.
He looked rather frightening.
Then he smiled.
Somehow, that made things worse.
“Welcome back, Mrs Rowle.” “Thank you, Tom.” Mary offered him a brief smile, though she looked distinctly uncomfortable.
She didn’t seem to know how to hide how abruptly she and David had returned—or how badly the day had gone.
David didn’t think their situation was particularly humiliating.
They had simply come back to Britain in a hurry.
That was all.
Mary, however, was clearly bothered by everything that had happened since they arrived: the Ministry trouble, the suspicion, the unfair treatment.
And now the atmosphere inside the pub wasn’t helping.
After exchanging a few words with Tom, she took hold of their luggage and headed for the courtyard behind the building.
Tom, meanwhile, tugged awkwardly at his chin and attempted what was probably meant to be a kindly smile at David.
It was terrifying.
“Staying for lunch, young Rowle?” “Thank you, but…” David searched desperately for a polite excuse.
Nothing came.
So he settled for following his mother and offering another vague word of thanks.
What he really wanted to say was: Thanks for asking.
Just got off the plane.
Pub’s awful, world’s too small, everyone knows everyone, and I’m already tired of it.
But that probably wasn’t suitable conversation.
The rear courtyard was enclosed by a filthy brick wall.
David caught up with his mother and glanced back towards the pub.
“The standards of the British wizarding community could use some serious improvement.” Mary raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t expect everyone to treat you with admiration.” She drew her wand.
“Not unless you’ve done something significant enough to earn it.” She tapped a brick above the rubbish bin, counted across, then tapped another.
A small hole appeared in the wall.
The bricks shifted.
The opening widened until a broad stone archway stood before them.
David could still hear the whispers growing louder inside the pub.
As he stepped through the entrance, he glanced at the rubbish bin and casually nudged one loose brick aside with his shoe.
Then he looked up.
“Wow.” A crowded magical street stretched out before him.
He was so distracted by the sight that he barely noticed the arch behind them shrinking until it became an ordinary solid brick wall again.
“Come on,” Mary said.
“Susan is waiting for us.” She walked ahead with the luggage.
David followed more slowly, his attention constantly jumping from one shopfront to another.
Calling the place a street was generous.
It was more of a narrow lane.
The shops had been built with apparently no concern for symmetry or architectural taste.
Some were tall.
Some were tiny.
Others leaned at angles that made David wonder whether magic or stubbornness was the only thing keeping them upright.
Then again, perhaps that was only natural.
Wizards, in David’s experience, were often careless, recklessly confident, and surprisingly lacking in practical common sense.
Still, the alley had everything one might need.
Cauldrons.
Tea rooms.
Robes.
Magical farming supplies.
And dozens of other shops packed into the cramped space.
David had visited magical markets in France and Sweden.
Those had been wider and far more crowded.
But there was something about this narrow, chaotic little place that felt warm and lively.
He liked it.
There weren’t enough people to make the alley truly crowded, but the crooked buildings and winding layout made it impossible to see from one end to the other.
David followed his mother, taking everything in with open curiosity.
Until they entered an almost completely empty shop.
“Oh!
Mary, I’m so sorry!” A young woman in purple wizarding robes hurried out from the back.
The moment she saw them, her face lit up.
She opened her arms and embraced Mary tightly.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come and meet you.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS SYSTEMATIC_MANIAC Enjoying the novel?
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