Flight of the Stars

Chapter Twenty-Six

Disclaimer: I have as much claim to these characters as Smaug had to the Lonely Mountain. I wish I had as much claim as Thorin Oakenshield, but alas.

"They say we are what we are

But we don't have to be."

~ Immortals by Fall Out Boy

o-0-o

The sun was already dipping below the horizon, submerging the cloudy sky in a glowing sea of orange and red. The clustered houses that lined the streets of Little Hangleton cast dark shadows across the cobblestone, hiding the potholes and rocks that stuck up at odd angles, creating easy tripping hazards for any who were brave enough to walk down its streets after dusk. It wasn't just the walking dangers that resulted in the streets completely deserted after nightfall, though. Drunkards lounged in every alley, pickpockets bumped into you when there was plenty of room for them to go around, and corners abounded with toughs looking for a fight. No, the streets of Little Hangleton were best navigated where you could watch your back.

Oraia had no choice. Her task was no easy one, and she needed to perform it when no one besides her target would be able to recognize her face. She walked quickly, keeping a hand clenched around her wand. Several of the Knights, including Abraxas, had insisted on accompanying her, but this was something she needed to do on her own. Those had been Tom's explicit instructions. No one could come with her. She jumped over a pothole and almost lost her balance. Oh, why had she chosen to wear heels? Flats wouldn't have created the same impression, of course, but they would have been far easier to walk in.

She paused nervously outside the entrance to The Twisted Imp. Lovely name for a lovely place. She could just hear the brawls going on inside. Everyone in there would be roaring drunk. She shuddered. She should have let Abraxas come. Tom would have never had to find out. No. She squared her shoulders, trying to calm her shaking nerves. She would do this. She had to.

Oh, Merlin, why had she worn heels?

Keeping a firm grip on her wand, she opened the heavy oak doors.

The tavern was even louder than she had anticipated. She weaved her way through drunks who slammed down large mugs of beer in their laughter, skirted around a fistfight between two especially angry men, and averted her eyes from impropriety occurring in dark corners. She was clenching her wand so tightly that her knuckles were white. Dear Merlin, she wanted to complete her task and leave as quickly as possible! This was the place for the roughest soldiers, not a dainty little pureblood who had never touched a drop of alcohol in her life. One extremely large man fell in her path, and proceeded to beat up whoever had pushed him. Salazar's bloody snake! She blushed at having allowed such a strong curse to pass through her head, but she thought it was deserved in this case. At this rate, she wasn't going to escape this place alive.

A raucous woman was standing on a table, singing a rather improper song that made Oraia's face heat. Mission or no, she would never set foot in this place again! She weaved past a few tables, her grip on her wand even tighter than before, if that was possible. If anyone so much as touched her, she would hex that person into next year! And never mind that this was a Muggle tavern! She would expose the Statute of Secrecy if it meant she would keep her decency, and Merlin help the man she was supposed to meet. She was going to have words with him, and none of them would be pleasant.

Her eyes scanned the crowd. Of course he wouldn't have any sort of way to tell her who he was. This whole task was a disaster. A complete disaster. Salazar, where was he?

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around, a hand on her wand, to see a young woman with dark hair. She didn't see much else, though, because the woman's eyes widened, and she grabbed Oraia by the arm and dragged her outside into the night.