𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 - 𝐡.𝐩.

01 | Hunt For A Portkey

Anger spiked in her rapidly and spread through her veins like venom. Her hand that wasn't in his grip twitched to pull her wand out of pure instinct. But she reminded herself that he was a Muggle and that she would probably go to Azkaban for deliberately cursing him.

The location itself wasn't favourable. The withered and wilted leaves of the plants which weren't under the sun's warmth, and the desolate park were a clear indication that people seldom took this path. Hence, the Portkey had been placed there. However, it wasn't a good place to be trapped with a robust boy who was intent on achieving her as a trophy.

Turning to him sharply, she spoke in a tone of warning, "Leave my hand."

He didn't.

"I'm saying this in the most polite way possible; leave my hand." 

He had the nerve to pull her closer, as a couple of hoarse voices sounded behind him. A group of three boys clambered into the street, catching the attention of the boy who was holding her wrist.

"Mate! What's the progress — ooh!" said one, spotting her standing in close proximity to their friend. "Well, well, Duncan, who knew you had the nerve?"

Duncan.

She scoffed loud enough for his approaching friends to hear, and while he seemed distracted in his gloating, snatched her hand from his loosened grip and stepped a considerable distance away.

"So Duncan, is it?" she said, and the next moment he was howling in pain, holding his bleeding nose where she had punched him. Examining her knuckles (which hurt slightly) with mild surprise registering on her features, she muttered to herself, "Huh, works."

Two of Duncan's friends cowered behind the third one who stormed towards her. "Why, you —" he started, but she cut him off.

"See, I'd love to stay and chat about how many more bones and ligaments I could break in your friend's body," she said, pulling out her vintage pocket watch from her pocket and checking the time, "but I'm in a real hurry." Her eyes widened a bit as she realised that only a minute was left for the scheduled time slot to activate the Portkey. 

As she muttered the time under her breath, she heard Twig panic. He really wanted those chamomiles.

Duncan's raging friend growled and charged at her, his surplus fat making him look like an Erumpent. She gracefully stepped to the side and he tumbled forward as she discreetly extracted her wand and used a spell to trip him, her lips only just moving. He tried to rise, but she stepped on his hand, making him scream out in pain. Duncan was still moaning about his nose, his two cowardly friends had scurried off sensibly, not wanting to end up with the same fate as their other companions.

"I'll let you go on one condition," she said as he seized hold of her ankle, grunting and hissing pathetically. Having lost all stamina after a while, he looked up at her, his eyes begging for mercy. "Scram," she hissed, lifting her foot.

Both Duncan and his friend didn't need to be told twice. They scampered like rats until they were out of her sight.

"Oh no," she murmured, looking at her watch again. They had exactly seven seconds before the Portkey was activated. Twig, reading the time too, determinedly unfurled himself and hopped down on the road, prancing towards the chamomiles. She followed him hastily and saw a few chamomiles fall and disappear under the others as Twig used his sharp hands to cut them. Reaching the football, she bent down and grabbed it, and Twig barely made it to her with four chamomiles tucked under each arm and two clenched in his mouth.

What happened in the next few seconds, she hardly knew. One moment she was holding the punctured football, the next she felt an uncomfortable sensation like having a hook somewhere behind her navel; and then she was tumbling freely through the air, straight towards a hilltop.

Twig screamed a high-pitched, horrified scream. His chamomiles were falling down! But opening his mouth was a huge mistake, as the two he had held in his mouth had now flown away too.

Holding tightly onto him, she managed to whip out her wand and perform a quick spell, narrowly saving herself from what could've been a painful experience. When her feet touched the damp, green grass at last, it wasn't her, but Twig who heaved a sigh of relief. She laughed at his eagerness to meet the fresh soil, observing him slide down her arm and jumping off her fingertips to fall on wobbly legs on the ground. As soon as his body came in contact with the friendly green around him, he sprawled out amongst the blades of grass, closing his eyes, feeling thoroughly content.

"Someone doesn't like travelling by Portkeys," she commented, and Twig gave a persistent nod which was surprisingly visible through the mist that surrounded him. "Come on, get up," She bent down and offered a hand to him to climb on and he reluctantly obeyed, wrapping himself around her fingers. He climbed over her hand, then moved to her shoulder and eventually ended up in her soft, silky hair, sitting just above her hair tie. "Comfortable?" she asked, and hearing his squeak of approval, set off towards the two wizards waiting a little ways ahead, talking to each other unenthusiastically.

They were dressed as Muggles, but crudely. One could tell easily that there was something off about them unless one knew what they were. As she spotted the one wearing a kilt and poncho, she started chuckling uncontrollably, making Twig, who had been fixing chamomiles in her hair tie, climb down to her shoulder to see what had her amused. She pointed it out to him as he squeaked his question. The next thing she heard was his squeals of laughter at the wizard's poor attempt at dressing as a Muggle.

"Say, Twig, the Ministry workers sure have developed a new sense of fashion, haven't they? I wonder if Fudge will be sporting the same attire..." she said, and Twig only laughed harder. "Hush," she told him as they arrived within a few feet of the two men.

Still giggling, he returned back to his safe spot on her hair tie, planting the rest of the flowers systematically in her hair. She neutralized her features as her feet stopped right in front of the two Ministry officials. They stared with awe-struck faces at her and unwillingly, a grin made its way onto her face.

"Morning," she said, holding out the punctured football for them to take. "I was wondering whether you could point me in the direction of the campsite under the name Delmar?"