The Sallow Saga (Volume 3) A Hogwarts Legacy Fanfiction

Chapter 8. A Tempest of Thornes

Garreth and Poppy landed heavily in the middle of a graveyard. The sky overhead was overcast and the sharp clatter of horse's hooves on cobble stone roads indicated that they were not too far away from civilisation. There was a rather grand mansion on top of a hill that overlooked the sombre setting they found themselves in. Nothing nearby however, seemed to suggest the drama that Beanie's fob watches had detailed.
Opting to start their search in the nearest vicinity, Poppy and Garreth started to duck and dive around headstones, looking for clues. Garreth's search brought him to a large catacomb where a hooded statue stood ominously holding a scythe over the gateway. Shuddering at the coolness that traversed down his spine as he looked up at the granite figure, he hurriedly moved away toward the outer area of the resting grounds, where he was presently joined by Poppy. As they surveyed their surroundings a small group of muggle women wandered by, watching them both warily. Garreth wondered if they smelt of magic, judging by the way the way the women wrinkled their noses and walked by. Poppy snorted at his side and falsely preened in mockery of their mannerisms.

Garreth shook his head in contempt, some muggles could be so snooty sometimes. Rolling his eyes, he returned to his desperate hunt for clues. Poppy followed suit by peering behind the neatly tended shrubs that lined the railings. More muggles walked by and cast disapproving sideways glances at their antics, one even tutted loudly as Poppy dove headfirst into a hedgerow, emerging with a victorious squeak as she held on to a torn piece of cloth.
"Yes?" Garreth grunted defensively at a group of men who had stopped by the wrought iron bars to watch and point at Poppy; "can I help you?"
"Your missus is a little unhinged mate," the leader of the group drawled, nudging a couple of his mates who giggled, "we saw 'er petticoats n' all sorts when she went hedge divin', there."
Poppy flushed violently red, and straightened her skirts; she looked positively mortified. The derisive tones only fuelled Garreth's anger, however. It was all he could do to muster a modicum of resolve.
"Is it common practice for gentlemen to stare, mock and lech over a woman who has lost her loved one's handkerchief, these days? Forgive me, I must have missed the memo." He glared fiercely at the men.
The gang sneered back, furious at being publicly shamed by a stranger; "'choo want t' start somethin' mate?" the ringleader of the group snarled.
"Oh I rather think I'd finish anything with you before you'd even consider it begun," Garreth snarled viciously back. In a sudden wave of anger, he whipped out his wand and, pointing it at the group of gobsmacked thugs, uttered, "imperio!"
Poppy gasped sharply and stared as the men's faces suddenly glazed over, before they slouched away, humming keenly, staggering, and swaying as if drunk. Garreth lowered his wand and looked somewhat ashamed of his actions before glancing cautiously toward Poppy.
"I just convinced them that they were too drunk to be out in public and needed to find a space to rest their heads," he reasoned; feeling a little uncomfortable with the unapproving look she was giving him, for using an unforgivable curse. Her look intensified.
"They'll come to no harm, I assure you – it was either that or they stay there and continue insulting you. At which point they really would have come to harm! It's bad enough knowing Beanie might be in trouble, I don't like the thought of you being mistreated too, Poppy!" He folded his arms, defensively.

Poppy softened her gaze and rested her hand on his arm, comfortingly. Cautiously, she presented him with the torn piece of cloth. The fabric was a rough textured blue and green tartan. Garreth recognised it instantly from Beanie's cloth dress. Unknown to the group at the Gilded Perch, he had freed Beanie months ago, however out of loyalty and devotion to him and his friends, Beanie had refused to relinquish her role. Her only acceptance of her freedom was to wear the tartan colours of her family, instead of the traditional mouldy pillowcase. She was vehemently proud of her tartan gowns, so for a large chunk of it to be torn and abandoned in a hedgerow... Garreth's anxiety picked up as his imagination started to overwhelm him.