Black Roses

Pearls in a Fishbowl

The staring went on for a while, and I refused to blink or breathe for the entire time. When the leading witch finally relented, it was with huge relief that I took a gulp of air and squeezed my eyes shut tightly to return moisture to them.

Kingsley and the witch with the wound on her face were discussing something in hushed tones, having moved slightly away from the group.

My eyes darted back and forth between the aurors sat around me, taking in their appearance. The youngest was a brown-haired man with delicate features who I guessed was in his early thirties. The other two men had to be mid-forties at least, and both had grey hair and an array of scars across their faces. In fact, the only way I could tell them apart was by their eyes. One had watery blue irises, the other brown.

The two witches were very different indeed. The younger had a smooth face with a single angry scratch on her forehead, and mousy hair that was cut in a bob. The other woman had long, pure white hair, held back in a ponytail, her pockmarked skin displaying signs of physical torture over the years. Her eyes were piercing and very pale, and her swirling pupils were white, suspended like pearls in a fishbowl.

Something about those otherworldly eyes made me shiver. That witch had a story, a past, and a terrifying one at that. How many times had she fought battles and won? How many times had she spat in evil's face and lived? How many times had she stared death in the eyes, only to be snatched back from the brink?

"Black?"

Upon hearing my name, I came to as if from a dream, tearing my gaze away from those eyes that dragged me in like a vacuum. I didn't recognise the voice, and turned my head from side to side, searching for the speaker.

"Black?" the young wizard asked again.

I looked at him, sizing him up, a slightly unfortunate habit I had developed after years of defending myself against... everything, really.

He was slight and skinny, and I could probably take him in a physical brawl, but I could tell by the way he sat that he was naturally graceful, and the general air he exuded was one of potent magical power. I wouldn't want to face him in a duel.

The wizard must have noticed what I was doing, because he cleared his throat impatiently. I looked up at his face, feeling exactly the way I did that time when McGonagall found Seamus and I up a tree smoking some cigarettes he'd smuggled in after the Easter holidays. The actual smoking had been disgusting, but the giddy, rebellious feeling of sitting there - legs dangling fifteen feet in the air, choking helplessly as I attempted to draw on my first cigarette - had been the most amazing sensation of freedom and, somehow, peace.

I was, of course, high as a kite at the time, but that was beside the point.

"Black? Do you actually have a voice, or are you mute as well as deaf?"

It was a woman's voice this time, the woman with the mousy hair. She had an exasperated, intensely annoyed expression on her face.

Dumbly, I shook my head.

The wizard leaned forwards and spoke in a slow, overly-pronounced way, as of he were speaking to a mentally challenged five-year-old.

"Hello. We are aurors. Welcome."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the childish act. "Hello," I replied pleasantly, with self-control that would have made Hermione proud.

The speaker glared at me, and one of the older wizards gently nudged him out of the way. He smiled at me with his brown eyes and I smiled back.

"Don't mind him. He's just nervous," the wizard extended a hand. "My name is Theodore Lyre."

I shook his rough hand and felt less edgy. The other aurors (except for the young wizard and witch) held out their hands too, and offered their names.

The other wizard with the blue eyes was named Anthony Vega. His manner was firm and friendly, but his eyes were somehow vacant, as if he were living in another world entirely.

The woman whose eyes had so intrigued me was called Gwendolyn Llanwellyn, and she spoke with a soft Welsh accent. I took an instant liking to her, although her strange pupils unnerved me a little.

After quite a few heated murmurings, the remaining witch and wizard sullenly told me their names, although they could not bring themselves to shake hands with me.

As it turned out, they were twins, although I had assumed that the witch was older by the grey streaks that were attacking her once-brown hair. They were called Io and Titan Cassini (names which I considered to be rather pretentious - even if I was called Morwenna).

Light chatter followed, initiated and almost solely consisting of Theodore attempting to lighten the mood. He did have his work cut out, what with the twins staring moodily at me and the shadow of a dangerous task ahead of us. I got the idea he frequently had to deal with such situations, and I pitied him.