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UnBroken	By : OddDoll Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 6172 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Unbroken
By Odd Doll
Chapter 11
Phoebe Apparated into Diagon Alley in front of Gringott's Bank, ducking in before anyone could notice her and heading for an ornate desk under a hanging sign that read 'Transfers.'
"I need to make a transfer/withdrawal from my account in San Francisco," she told the goblin working the desk.
"San Francisco, eh? Do you have your key for that account?" he asked in a voice thick and sour like curdled milk. He squinted at her as if memorizing all of her features.
She removed the key from her ring and gave it to the goblin. Lifting his half-glasses, he peered at the small iron key, sniffed it, and then gave it a sharp bite with his long pointy teeth. He let out a small 'humph' and set the key down on his desk at a precise right angle to the edge of his ink-stained blotter.
"We also require picture identification for foreign withdrawals," he said with anticipatory glee.
"I have it."
His face fell as she handed him her Muggle passport. He studied the passport at length, glancing back and forth from the photograph to Phoebe's face. Once he had determined to his satisfaction that she was indeed the woman in the picture, he turned the pages to peruse the entry stamps. He ran a long bony finger down each page and muttered the name of each country. Phoebe shifted from foot to foot and tried not to sigh with impatience. Under normal circumstances she found the goblins' mistrustful behavior amusing, but today she didn't have the time.
At last the goblin scowled in disappointment and said, "It seems to be in order. How much do you require?"
Once she had her pouch full of galleons tucked into her purse, Phoebe headed for Madam Maulkin's. She kept her head down, but the street was almost empty and no one seemed to make note of her. Thankful that the changing weather gave her an excuse, she purchased a long cloak with a deep hood, donning it before leaving the shop with the hood far forward to hide her face. In her new disguise she walked to the far end of the alley. Even her manner was a disguise, tentative and meek, and although to be a good dominatrix required a bit of acting, she didn't need to test the limits of her acting skills. She was scared, plain and simple. In the years since Lord Voldemort's return, Diagon Alley had become something of a neutral ground. To Phoebe, this meant that it was open to everybody and safe for no one. And what she planned to do next would expose her to yet more danger.
Phoebe stood in the dark confines of the back doorway to The Leaky Cauldron and surveyed the room, inhaling the scents of old tobacco smoke, firewhisky, and furniture wax. Pale, weak sunlight shone through the leaded glass windows from a low angle, illuminating little more than the dust motes hovering in the air. Before she drew attention to herself by remaining in the doorway too long, she moved to the long bar. It was not yet ten a.m., a terrible time to arrive if she wanted to escape notice, but time was critical. She couldn't wait until the crowds arrived. One ancient wizard sat at a corner table, huddled over a long-stemmed pipe and an eye-opener. It depressed her to see people drink in the morning; she averted her eyes. No one else was in sight, except the bartender.
She perched on a stool and ordered a butterbeer. Old Tom went for a mug in no hurry, just as he had back in her student days when she had roamed Europe with her wizarding friends on her summer holidays. There had been Lord Voldemort then, too. I've come full circle.
"Four knuts," Tom said, placing a pint in front of her. It slopped over onto the counter and Tom wiped up the spill with a snowy white towel.
She opened her purse and extracted the folded pound note she had prepared before leaving the motel. The edge of a slip of white paper peeked out from between the folds, just enough so that she could be sure Tom would not miss it.
"I'm a bit low on coin. Would you mind taking Muggle money?"
Tom took the pound note and held it flat in his palm. He made a little pouty frown. "Let me go check on the exchange rate."
Phoebe sipped her butterbeer and pretended to be calm. The old man with the pipe wheezed and coughed. She glanced over at him and saw his beady black eyes watching her from under fluffy gray brows. She told herself she was probably the most interesting thing in the room.
To give herself something to look at other than the old man, she took her wand and used a spell to change the color of her nail polish. Twelve colors later Tom ambled in from the doorway behind the bar, saying, "I don't have the current rates, but someone will be here in about a half hour. You want to run a tab until then?"
She glanced at her watch for effect. "Sure. I'm just killing time anyway. Do you have a paper I can read?"
He reached under the bar and brought out a creased copy of the Daily Prophet and set it in front of her. "I'll take another of these in a few minutes." She gestured with her mug and got up to move to a booth.
She couldn't read a word, holding the paper in front of her as she recited self-talk over and over in her head. If she kept busy, if she had other things to think about, she could keep panic at bay. Ironically, true disasters brought out her strength.
After twenty-five minutes she wiped the cheap ink off of her hands with a little paper cocktail napkin when a middle-aged witch with a long narrow face and small wire glasses approached her table saying, "I am so sorry to keep you waiting."
"No, no," Phoebe said, trying to stay in character. "You're early actually."
The witch sat down across from her and placed a big black handbag firmly at her side as if it might run away if she didn't keep a tight rein on it. She patted down the small black bun at the nape of her neck while her wand made an unobtrusive circle, putting a Muffalato spell on the booth.
The witch, whom Phoebe only knew by the code name Bellatina, sat very straight, her hands in her lap. She watched Phoebe for a moment with stern, narrowed eyes. "When you didn't respond to our initial contact, I thought we would never see you again."
"I never expected to see you again, either. But something has come up."
"Something that has bearing on our previous discussion?" Neither of them was ready to trust the other enough to speak in anything but a circular fashion.
"Yes. A person who has been helpful to your cause needs a healer. Fast."
"Would I recognize this person?"
"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you his name. Death Eaters are actively searching for him. For me as well, I'm afraid."
"So, what you want is for me to give you the name of a healer who will help him without asking questions." Bellatina pursed her prim lips. "And you expect me to trust you now, after having proven unsympathetic to our cause in the past."
Phoebe felt herself blush. "Yes. Although, I was never unsympathetic to your cause. I was just...afraid. In return for your assistance now, though, I will agree to carry whatever passengers you need to transport out of Europe."
"I see," Bellatina said, her tone mistrustful.
Both women sat silent. Phoebe listened to the old man's wheezy breaths and the faint clink of glasses being stacked on the bar-back while she tried to come to terms of the enormity of what she contemplated. Being a dominatrix, Phoebe was used to subterfuge. Most members of her own family had only the vaguest idea of what she did for a living. And she was used to risk. The steps she now took, though, brought her into a whole new arena where secrecy and grave peril stood at every turn.
I am in control. My state of mind is a choice I choose to make. She rolled her shoulders as if arming herself.
Trying to keep in focus, she said, "I'd need a place to take him to, too. He's going to need weeks, or more likely months to recuperate. I think...maybe I'll keep him near me." Be decisive. She told the coach in her head to shut up. "Some place in California, maybe?"
Bellatina shook her head. Her pinched, narrow face softened into an expression of grief. "Our American network is compromised. We've lost most of our safe houses, and the ones that are left are being kept out of contact until we find out where the leak is. Otherwise, I would probably have tried to contact you myself before now."
"Can we put him someplace here in England, or on the continent? I'd rather not do that. It would feel too much like I was dumping him, but it's most important that he be safe until he can defend himself."
She shook her head again. "We have no place. Not with this little notice."
Her fear transmuted into anger. "So, what am I to do? Take him home and put him in my guest room?"
"That might not be a bad idea."
"I have guests. Clients. I couldn't expose them to that kind of risk."
Bellatina gave her a moment to calm down. "Ms. Baher, think about this. The reason why we contacted you is more than because you use a private plane to transport people around the world. You are Muggle-born, and you work almost exclusively in the Muggle world. That makes you an outsider, an unknown, and a very valuable commodity to those of us fighting the Dark Lord. What's more, your, um, establishment attracts people from all over the world to interact with complete strangers in an atmosphere where secrecy is sacrosanct. It is an ideal situation for a meeting place, or a conduit, or even a safe haven."
It dawned on her that their plans for her went far beyond what was discussed in the initial meeting they had six months ago. At the time, Bellatina had approached her at her hotel and suggested that she might help smuggle refugees into North America. Phoebe told her she needed time to think about it but chose to let it drop. Phoebe studied Bellatina. The witch's expression bore not a hint of remorse for the depths to which she expected Phoebe to become involved.
"I'm surprised that you even managed to learn about me."
Bellatina's lips hardened into a severe, straight line.
"Never mind. I know better than to ask who. In fact, I don't want to know."
Bellatina smiled a little. "Now you're thinking."
Phoenix rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. For the umpteenth time in the last two days, she didn't know what to do. It made something shake inside her. Something that threatened to break loose if this went on for long. "So," she began, but she was at a loss for words. She shook her head. "It is all moot now, anyway. A particularly nasty Death Eater is out for my hide."
"It's moot all around then. Our last medical contact was murdered two months ago."
"Is it really that bad here?" Phoebe said in a shocked whisper.
"Ever since he took Hogwarts, the Dark Lord has been solidifying his power base. He has agents in nearly every major institution in Britain. His power here is near absolute. His strength grows overseas as well. At the same time, he has cut down his enemies, his enemies' friends and family, and those suspected of being enemies. Most of those not killed while trying to fight him are too afraid to take any more risks."
Bellatina's lips quivered with either rage or sorrow. Or maybe it was both.
"I'm sorry. The man I'm aiding might be in a position to help you, if he doesn't die of his injuries."
"I look forward to meeting him, I suppose. You can't tell me who he is?"
"No, but if you still have any sources, you'll probably figure it out. No matter what, though, once my life returns to normal, I will try to help you in any way I can."
Bellatina nodded, but said, "If it isn't soon, there will be nobody left to help."
Phoebe looked around the room to hide her discomfort at the witch's grim prediction. Two wizards sat at the bar, and a young couple occupied a booth on the other side of the room. "We should probably go. We've been here too long."
"I wish you and your wizard the best of luck." Bellatina stood and released the Muffalato spell. "It was nice meeting you Mrs. Bumgrumble. I'm sorry we can't do business together, but maybe the next time you're in London we can try again."
Phoebe stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder under her cloak. "I'd be happy to. Thank you for your time." They shook hands and went separate ways.
*****
Back in Diagon Alley, Phoebe headed toward the Apothecary. She purchased a few potions to ease Severus's suffering and possibly help with his symptoms, before heading toward the stationer's. As she neared the entrance, she heard a familiar voice further down the street. The street curved, and the sound was coming from just out of sight. She took a few hesitant steps in that direction, then a few more, until she saw Narcissa Malfoy coming down the street on the arm of a very blonde young man. As they walked, Malfoy waved a wand toward the ground, levitating bits of trash and fallen leaves.
"It's actually better than my old wand, I think," Malfoy said. "That bitch might have done me a small favor."
Phoebe ducked into the nearest door before the woman could spot her. Even with the cloak she would take no chances with that one. It turned out to be Flourish & Bott's, a large bookstore. She grabbed a book at random from the nearest stack. While pretending to browse, she watched as Malfoy and her companion strolled to the end of the alley, and disappeared into The Leaky Cauldron. With a sigh of relief she turned back to the shelf, and replaced "Magical Home Safety."
The title of the book gave her an idea. Phoebe walked to the back of the store in search of a clerk.
"Do you have any books of emergency medical care?" she asked the elderly man behind the counter.
"Yes, of course. We have several very good ones."
Phoebe ended up with four thick volumes, which she carried to a small reading area. Two of the books were too basic for her needs. The third looked promising, but the last was a gold mine. Written by a witch who founded a magical community in the wilds of Alaska, it covered every kind of emergency from bear mauling to appendicitis. Phoebe bought the book and returned to the reading area to study it more closely. Once she had a list of spells and potions that might help Severus, she went on her way.
After a stop at the stationer's to buy a large envelope, she mailed Villanova's wand back to him with a note of apology and an account of what happened after he was stunned. Before she stopped at the Apothecary she made a call to her pilot. It was time, she had decided, to take Severus home.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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UnBroken