𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

You are bad at this

That Wednesday was a particularly horrible day to be in Manchester. The weather was terrible: winter was well on its way, bringing a tedious, rainy cold to the city. After a good week of meticulously hunting down every last trace of Beatrice's presence with Alecto, Lorraine was bored out of her mind. That was uncommon for her, as she usually enjoyed a good hunt; however, Alecto's company had her on her last nerve.

"Appare Vestigium," Alecto whispered, for the umpteenth time that day, with a discreet flick of her wand.

"Again? That's unnecessary."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Help yourself, it's not like you are here to assist me."

If eyes could stab, Alecto's glare would have pierced Lorraine's skull. However, she didn't say a word and kept on looking around.

"What if," said Lorraine, "It's useless?"

"What if it's not?"

She didn't reply, gritting her teeth. The weather, as well as Alecto's company, bothered Lorraine to no end. Such a tedious, cold, grey humidity would be the end of her, she could feel it. Moreover, the continuous squabbling between them had become exhausting.

Alecto was insufferable. She needed to prove herself so badly that she'd become an obstacle, with her total lack of planning and groundless complex of superiority. Lorraine had grown to hate everything about her: she was needlessly bossy, her voice was grating, and she was stubborn to the point of obtusity. Alecto had elected herself as the leader, acting like Lorraine was her hound; and for a while, Lorraine had indulged her idiocy. It was almost funny... until it was unbearable.

On that specific day, she had finally run out of patience. She was done, and it was time to take the matter into her own hands. "Whatever. You're doing it wrong."

"What do you mean?!" Alecto snarled, glaring at her as the portrait of pure contempt. 

That's it. 

That was the last straw for Lorraine, who smiled and condescendingly explained: "What I mean is that you're a mediocre witch, an even worse strategist, an agony of a hunting mate, and that's why you were locked up in fucking Azkaban. In other words, this," Lorraine gestured vaguely in Alecto's direction, "is painful to watch. You are bad at this. Stick to your actual assignment, will you?"

Alecto was flabbergasted. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Shut up and do your fucking job, not mine."

"This is my job! How dare you-" Alecto's rage could be unnerving, and Lorraine knew it well; however, she also knew that Alecto's technique was nothing compared to hers, so she just cut her off with a shrug: "You're disposable, Alecto. Maybe you should think about that before you even try coming for me."

Alecto didn't reply, and that slightly alarmed Lorraine: she wasn't new to backstabbing, and maybe she'd gone a little overboard. However, she was right. Alecto's method was highly inefficient, if not counterproductive, for several reasons. First of all, they were after the magic traces left by someone who'd lived there for at least a year, amongst other magical creatures, no less: on that basis, it was unreasonable to follow every single trace. Alecto was prone to be led astray, as history testified, and this search made no exception to the rule. It would have taken an eternity, and Lorraine was done with playing around.

Without any warning, she raised her wand to the sky.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Lorraine's plan was simple. One of the many faults in Alecto's so-called strategy was that she didn't know Beatrice, her magic, or her thought patterns - whereas Lorraine knew them like the back of her hand. She had raised that child, developing her own magic alongside hers: she'd recognize Bea's magic footprint amongst thousands, with no hesitation, not even a look. Alecto, on the other hand, only knew about how the footprints looked - but she didn't know the kind of magic leaving them behind. Moreover, Lorraine had an ulterior advantage. Beatrice was her blood sister, and not only were they shaped by the same experiences and traditions, but their wizardry came from the same mold. For that reason, their magic footprints resonated with each other.

Unbeknownst to Alecto, all of Manchester's operations had obviously been a big farce. A show. Of course, Lorraine had already found Beatrice, and she'd even done her the favor of visiting her in advance; she had known immediately, unlike the crowd of incapables Narcissa persisted in keeping in their ranks. 

What a mass of tools. 

However, their incompetence helped her to postpone the inevitable confrontation with Beatrice, which Lorraine was all but looking forward to. 

She let out an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes. Her wand lit up with a dim, red light, quickly scanning their surroundings, and Beatrice's energy instantly reached out to her. 

Quick and easy. 

"What kind of-" Alecto began, startled by Lorraine's suddenly mute spell-casting, but a harsh gesture shut her up. Lorraine began to walk in long strides, dragged by Beatrice's call; that mild note in her ear was all she could focus on, rushing towards her magic. Alecto couldn't but run after her, demanding an explanation, but to no avail: she was simply background noise to Lorraine, who carelessly kept her wand pointed upwards. In about fifteen minutes, there they were: exactly where they had started, at her last place of residence. However, the trace was nowhere near her old apartment. 

Lorraine climbed the stairs in a rush, dragging Alecto with her, to breathlessly arrive at the top of the building. An ample terrace, full of empty, rusty clothes horses, welcomed them; and in a corner, on a raised pillar, was the last glimpse of light left by Beatrice's wand. 

Leading them right to her final destination: Hogwarts.

"Told you."