Fantastic chapter image by the talented avra @ TDA
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Rowling’s work.
Cast List
Nymphadora Tonks - Gretchen Mol
Sergeant Alan Brodie - Edward Woodward
Murron - Leelee Sobieski
Mary MacFarlene - Zooey Deschanel
Kentigern Rook - Gabriel Byrne
Chapter Eight Shifting Shadows
The taproom of the
Honeybee was much more crowded than it had been the previous evening. Tonks and Brodie returned to the inn in the late afternoon and had dinner in the back. They were both exhausted.
“How’s your hand?” she asked, watching him as he tried to close his stiff fingers over a fork.
“Not so bad,” he replied. “I’m quite surprised, actually. “Whatever that Murron rubbed into the bite really helped.”
“Oh.” Tonks picked at her kidney beans unenthusiastically. Once more, the islanders had succeeded in violating the Statute. Magical medicine, which she assumed Murron had used, was never to be administered to Muggles unless supervised by a licensed healer at St. Mungo’s.
“Did you learn anything from Mr. Rook?” Brodie asked in return. “We ought to have stayed longer. I wish I could have asked him a few questions.”
Tonks realized that he was criticizing her, but doing it politely at least. She hid her frown behind the rim of her cup. “Not really. His grandmother bought the island in the late 19th century, though the shares reverted back to farmers at the time of her death. He claimed to know nothing of the vandalism. It’s all…well, it’s all rubbish, frankly.”
Brodie glanced at her. “Rubbish?”
Tonks shrugged. She was feeling very disheartened at the moment. When they had first returned to the inn, she pulled Dermott aside and asked if he had received any messages from Kingsley. Much to her disappointment, not a bit of news had come in all day.
As soon as she had the opportunity, she would try to contact Kingsley through the Floo network. It wasn’t like him to ignore her, especially considering the urgent nature of her situation. Until she got through to him, however, Brodie was the only back-up she had.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” she said, feeling rather awkward about the whole thing. “You got that fox off me. It’s really my fault that you were bitten.”
“It’s fine.” Brodie stopped playing with his food. “Don’t you remember what they taught us in the Police College?”
“Uh?”
“The safety of yourself and your partner is top priority. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, just as you shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”
Tonks stared at her empty glass, the ice cubes shifting within as they melted. “Still…thanks.”
Brodie shook his head. Like her, he seemed eager to drop the matter.
The noise from the tavern bubbled over into the next room. People were laughing, shouting and chattering away in pleasant staccato tones. Suddenly, a man stood up on a table and cried, “Hail the queen of the May!”
“Hail!” The patrons all replied. Glasses were raised in a toast.
“What was that all about?” Tonks asked. She turned around in her chair and glanced over her shoulder at the lively group.
Brodie touched his lips with a napkin. “Something to do with May Day, I would assume. It’s only a day or two away, isn’t it?”
“What’s that? A harvest festival?”
“No, that’s in the fall,” Brodie corrected her. “May Day is a fertility festival, or at least it was back in the old days. It has to do with springtime and rebirth. Haven’t you ever seen it celebrated with maypoles and Morris dancing?”
Tonks nodded. She was vaguely aware of the tradition, though it certainly wasn’t popular in the wizarding community.
“It’s still important in rural regions such as this,” Brodie continued. “In fact, they can get positively medieval about it.”
“Do you think the vandalism could be related?” she asked him. “Maybe some sort of May Day prank?”
“Possibly, although that’s something I would relate more to Halloween.”
“Are there any rituals involving animal sacrifice that you know of?” Tonks asked, remembering what Mary had said about the dead chicken and the goat Brodie had found earlier.
“In pagan culture, yes,” Brodie replied. “But certainly not today.”
“Hmm.” Tonks fluffed her flat hair with her fingers. “It’s something to keep in mind, though.”
Brodie seemed a little less convinced. Frowning, he threw down his napkin and stood. “I’m going to speak to the patrons,” he said. “Perhaps one of them heard something of Mr. Spens’s goat being attacked. Although there seems to be a policy of hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil on this island.”
“Good luck,” Tonks said wryly. After Brodie left, she pushed her plate away and sank down in her chair. She had absolutely no appetite and would much rather crawl up to her room for a nap than ponder the complexities of a seemingly unsolvable case.
Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be an Auror. When it came down to it, she was unable to make any headway in what should have been a simple case.
Three years of training wasted, she thought, rubbing her aching temples vigorously.
Now what do I do?
Her mum had always hoped she’d take up some bureaucratic work with the Ministry, though Tonks honestly couldn’t even see herself keeping a simple filing system together. She had a hard enough time matching up all her socks.
Well, she could always apply for Hit-Wizard instead of Auror. The testing process was supposedly much less rigorous and she was sure she could at least scrape by.
But oh, I really wanted to be an Auror.
Tonks scowled, frustrated by her own depression. She was acting as though the case were already over and done with. There was still time and Brodie seemed to have a few solid ideas.
She noticed he had left his case notebook on the table next to his plate and decided to take a gander. Perhaps the notes he had jotted down would spark something in her mind. Certainly Brodie wouldn’t care if she had a peek? They were partners, after all.
Snatching up the notebook, she flipped it open and skimmed through the first few pages. The Sergeant had only scribbled down his first impressions of the island along with the names and addresses of those he had interviewed. There was also an account of how he found Mr. Spens’s goat and some mention of his fruitless talk with the school boys.
In reading Brodie’s notes, Tonks deduced that his impressions were much the same as hers. Finding nothing of use, she studied the small sketches he had made in the margins of notable landmarks and places about Willoway. There was a drawing of the docks and a surprisingly accurate map of the streets surrounding the green which was quite similar to the one he had lent her earlier in the day.
Near the back of the notebook, she found a detailed sketch of the green at night. Brodie, with his meticulous attention to detail, had included everything from the may pole to the children loitering around the trees.
But there was a small, indistinct drawing in the bottom hand corner that confused her. At first, she could barely make out the figures, which were made up of harried, uncertain pencil strokes. Squinting, she turned the notebook on its side and studied the picture from a different angle.
A gasp shot through her teeth.
The sketch was of a cloaked woman standing before a cauldron. Her long hands were outstretched and tiny droplets rained from her fingers.
Tonks snapped the notebook closed and set it back next to Brodie’s plate.
He had seen magic.
She clenched her jaw. The situation was becoming dangerous. If Brodie had sensed something…of he had guessed that…
“No luck.” The Sergeant strolled back into the dining room, his bandaged hand held carefully against his stomach. “There seems to be some sort of celebration going on--I couldn’t even get a word out of the landlord.”
“Oh.” Tonks sat up slowly. “Pity. We should, umm, we should-”
“I think we should set up a routine foot patrol tonight,” Brodie said, pacing before the table. “It will be difficult with only the two of us, but it seems as though most of the criminal activity takes place at night. It might be our last shot to catch something.”
Tonks, for once, was completely speechless. “Fine with me,” she managed after a moment’s hesitation.
In the taproom, another raucous toast was raised.
“Hail the Queen of the May!”
Brodie was methodical in organizing their evening patrol. The
Honeybee would serve as a de facto headquarters and the green was their striking out point. They would each take a side of the common and move through the streets until they met by the main road leading out of the village. Afterwards, they would switch beats and meet up again on the opposite side of the town by the docks.
Brodie had packed torches and police radios, although he was surprised that Tonks did not have a truncheon of her own. She assured him that she was quite safe and wouldn’t need it so long as he was close by.
“Are you certain you don’t want my truncheon?” he asked her as they were heading out from the
Honeybee at half past nine. The inn had emptied within the last hour and most of the revelers were still out on the green.
Tonks waved him away with impressive confidence. “I’ll be fine, really. You shouldn’t worry about me.”
“I’m not doubting your capability,” Brodie put in as she smiled at him. “But we are rather outnumbered.”
They both glanced at the celebrants on the green who were clustered about a small bonfire. The islanders were singing in slurred, lisping voices,
Gently, gently, gently, Johnny
Oh gently, Johnny!*
“Honestly, Sergeant,” Tonks chuckled. “I think I can handle myself.”
Brodie frowned slightly and watched the staggering singers. “Quite right.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Shall we get started?”
Tonks swung her torch carelessly by her side. “No time like the present. Take care of yourself, will you? One maimed hand is enough for today.” Her tone was perfectly jovial, although underneath, he thought he detected a hint of real concern.
For a moment, he was taken aback, unaccustomed to having someone worry about him. How strange.
Nonetheless, he quickly gained his composure, turning down the lane that accessed the main road.
They separated at the head of the green. Brodie looked over his shoulder only once and watched Tonks stroll off in the opposite direction. Left alone, he set off down a side-street and walked between two rows of neat shops.
To his surprise, the storefronts were not shuttered and locked as he had expected, but ablaze with candle light. Some proprietors were even busy hanging garlands of flowers over their doors.
May Day indeed, Brodie thought as he directed the light of his torch over the doorways. Unfortunately for him, he caught a couple of young lovers tucked into an alcove, taking part in what could be politely called a lewd act.
Had he been back on the mainland, Brodie would have ticketed them for public indecency, though right now, he had neither the time nor the manpower to support his threats.
Instead, he turned his torchlight back to the cobbled street and proceeded on. From the green, he could still hear the drunken revelers, their voices distorted and strained as the wind rose.
Gently, gently, gently Johnny!*
Brodie frowned. What useless nonsense. He was beginning to wonder if the residents of Willoway had become well and truly warped due to their isolation. Singing at all hours. Disrespecting law enforcement officers. It was enough to drive one…
Up ahead, a small dog-like figure crossed the lane…and promptly took the form of a human shadow.
Brodie stumbled to a halt.
My God…
my God!
Instinct gave way to rational thought and Brodie lurched forward into the dark. Twilight had fallen given way to night, skewing shades and light alike. He blinked rapidly and forced himself to take deep, calming breaths.
He must be mistaken…must have seen something else…
Fear leapt to life within him, terrible, maddening fear which edged his reason with delusion.
Something was horribly wrong. Horribly, undeniably wrong.
And it was this island…
Keeping his steps light and quick, Brodie steadied himself, heading off in the direction he had seen the fox, er, man go.
There was an explanation for what he had seen. Of course there was. His sanity depended on it.
A sheen of sticky, cold sweat trailed down his neck, leading a shiver up his spine. The street was silent,
wretchedly silent and even the strains of drunken singing had faded away into wisps of reality now lost to delirium.
But Brodie was determined…he would put things right in his mind again. He would see that shadows had a way of deceiving the careless eye. That superstitions could wreck havoc on the truth.
The cobblestones were slippery beneath his shoes and he lost his balance. Nearly tripped. Nearly fell flat on his face.
Stumbling, Brodie directed the meager light from his torch into the darker recesses of the street. The fox…where was that damned, bloody fox?
A figure stepped into the gutter. Brodie swallowed a shocked gasp.
“Are you all right, Sergeant?” The voice was a siren’s call out of the maelstrom.
He turned, the beam from his torch swinging widely. Murron was standing in the apothecary doorway, the light from within silhouetting her soft form.
“I…” he began, but trailed off. There was no justifying what he had just seen. Only a mad man could make sense of it and surely, he was not mad. Not mad at all. “Miss, did you see anyone come this way just now?”
Murron shock her head. “All things are quite silent, Sergeant. Everyone is out on the green.”
Absentmindedly, Brodie lifted his cap from his head and scratched his skull with bandaged fingers. “Was there really nothing? A fox, perhaps? Are you sure you didn’t see a wee creature pass this way?”
“Can’t say that I have, although Mrs. Buchanan usually puts her cat out around this time.” Murron leaned casually against the open door, so blissfully unaware of his wild confusion.
He dropped his arm to his side, letting the torch light puddle near his feet.
You saw nothing, Alan. Nothing at all.
With some difficulty, Brodie cleared his throat. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water, Miss?” he asked politely.
Murron nodded, shifting her shapely legs so that the shadows danced in the street. “Of course, Sergeant dear. Come in.”
He followed her inside the apothecary, aware that he was leaving his beat and, in essence, Tonks. But he needed to calm his nerves, to put things right in his mind in the comforting light of the shop, away from the dark, sinister streets.
And certainly, he would hear Tonks if she shouted for him. He had the radio after all.
Brodie had not actually been inside the apothecary during his time on the island and now he found himself charmed by the casual disarray of it all. As to why Willoway didn’t have a proper doctor he couldn’t guess, but judging from the state of his hand, Murron was as good of a nurse as any.
Passing between two large baskets of cut daisies, he marveled at all the tiny jars cluttered about the uneven shelves. Their labels were written in a curling hand and he couldn’t make out half of the names, although he assumed they would be foreign to him.
“Impressed?” Murron asked him. She was behind the counter, pouring water into a glass from a small tea kettle.
“You’re certainly behind the times,” Brodie told her, his voice repressed by an awed whisper. He was trying his best to make small-talk, distract himself from what he had seen…
Or what I thought I saw….
“And is that such a bad thing?” She handed him the glass and watched him take a sip.
He considered her for a moment as he drained the cup. “I suppose not. After all, you did a fine job mending my hand.”
“You’re welcome.” Murron twirled a bit of her hair around her finger, her teeth dragging over her plump, lower lip. “Now tell me, what’s got you all flustered?”
Brodie was keenly aware of her eyes upon him. Her eyes were undeniably sultry, smoldering with the promise of something a decent man such as himself should ignore. And ignore it he would.
“Thank you,” he said, handing her back the now empty glass. “And I wasn’t flustered at all. A bird startled me…some chickens clucking on the green.”
“Aye.” Murron looked at him slyly. She turned around to put the glass back on a shelf, lending him a view of her rounded rump. “But you’re all red, Sergeant dear. You look like a baked lobster!”
Brodie smiled politely at her. “Sun burn, I expect.”
“Hmm.” And suddenly, Murron was leaning over the counter, loosening the top button of his collar.
Brodie stumbled backwards in shock, only to have her laugh at him.
“Oh, you’re so silly!” she trilled. “You’re buttoned up all tight. Can’t you breathe better now?”
“Well.” He didn’t know quite what to say. Instead, he adjusted his collar, loathe to admit that his uniform was indeed stifling. But he had greater things to worry about, like whether or not he dared to tell Tonks what he had seen.
How could he possibly expect her to believe him? In all honesty, he didn’t even believe his own eyes.
I saw a fox turn into a man, Constable, how do you fancy that? We ought to ring up the mainland constabulary and tell them we have a case of transforming wildlife here.
Willoway was starting to get under his skin. There was a distinct supernatural air about the place and he remembered encountering the brewing cauldron the night before, along with the schoolgirls who had been tossing about a rather strange looking stone.
But what would Tonks think of all this? Perhaps, this was yet another secret he would have to keep from her, although he hated doing so, convinced that he was violating her trust in his honesty.
Feeling conflicted and more than a little daunted, Brodie adjusted his cap, adopting the tone of a policeman once more. “I ought to be going, Miss,” he told Murron firmly. “Sorry to have disturbed you so late at night.”
“Oh it’s no trouble at all.” She was leaning across the counter, quite clearly showing off her assets in her low-necked dress. “But are you sure you won’t sit a minute? Just to catch your breath, eh?”
Brodie shook his head. “No, thank you. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”
He was halfway to the door when he felt her hand drop on his shoulder.
“Sergeant.” Her fingers deftly traveled from his shoulder to his lower back. For a moment, Brodie froze, only to be shocked back into life when she squeezed his bum.
“That’s quite enough, Miss!” he sputtered, turning around so fast as to dislodge a bowl of curious looking yellow seeds on a nearby shelf. They scattered all over the floorboards.
Murron, however, paid them no mind.
“You cannot be
that shy, my pretty Sergeant,” she said, tugging on his earlobe. With her free hand, she caressed the back of his tense neck.
An uncomfortable wave of heat stole over Brodie. His nostrils dilated and he caught the sweet, mossy scent that seemed to linger about her.
She regarded him from beneath heavily hooded eyes, a playful smile encroaching upon her full lips.
“Won’t you stay a while longer with me?”
Brodie realized then that she was a skilled seductress. She had laid the groundwork for her trap by treating his hand in Kentigern Rook’s kitchen, by telling him how brave he was and how very sharp he looked in his uniform. And even tonight, she had drawn him into her domain when he was at his weakest with promises of safety and comfort.
Lust inspired her every languid movement and he was rightly disgusted with her. None too gently, he took hold of her hands and threw them off his neck.
“Really, Miss,” he hissed angrily. “Where is your sense of propriety?”
Murron’s smile widened and she seemed ready to provide him with a suitable explanation of her own when a shout echoed into the shop from the street.
“Stop, dammit! And don’t you move a muscle. Stop! I said stop!”
“Tonks!” Brodie murmured, hurrying out of the apothecary with Murron on his heels.
Author’s Note: At last, this story is getting a bit scary and, I do promise, there is more to come!
As always, I must thank my dedicated beta, californialove, for her wonderful assistance. And also, I would like to thank everyone who took the time read/review so far. Your thoughtful feedback means the world to me.
The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. I hope you have a lovely weekend!
*These lines were taken from the chorus of the traditional English folk song, “Gently Johnny”, also featured on the soundtrack of the original Wicker Man
film. 
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