The Vandamere Incident

Chapter 12

The Vandamere Incident

By the time Moody left the Auror training headquarters, the sun had already set. He walked down an unnamed street in London's East End, holding a paper with directions scribbled in Reuben's chicken-scratch. He turned down a seedy alley that stank of sewer and mildew from the day's rain. At the end of the alley, there was an unmarked wooden door. He stood outside briefly, listening to the sounds of merriment within. He opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He was greeted by the smell of tobacco laced with alcohol and cheap perfume.

Moody had never been inside a Muggle pub before, so he had no frame of reference to size up this new experience. He took out a small notepad and started making notes of everything he saw. Most of the tables were compressed along the periphery of the pub, making room for the crowded dance floor. The band on the stage played an odd sort of music, a syncopation of rhythm that pulsed through the air and made swirls and eddies out of the thick smoke. In the far corner stood a group of gents engaged in a game of arrows, managing no less with a pint in one hand and a dart in the other.

Moody meandered to the bar. While he waited, his attention was drawn to a couple walking up a stairway leading to a dark room veiled by beaded curtains. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to face the 'mature' redhead seated on a stool behind him.

"Would you like to dance, luv?"

Moody smiled nervously at her. "Maybe later."

After ordering a pint of Guinness, he retreated to one of the empty tables in a remote corner. The seat wobbled as he sat down to wipe the sting of the smoke from his eyes. When he took a sip from his beverage, he lingered on the acrid taste that rolled across his tongue. It was an unexpected sensation...a clear departure from the butterbeer he was used to. In the interest of remaining inconspicuous, he gulped it down rather than spitting it out. This assignment was going to be harder than he'd thought.

"Well, you're certainly new to these parts, Guv'nor."

He looked to the young woman standing across the table who smiled at him. Her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, a few random strands caught among her prominent cleavage. She walked around slowly, fanning her heaving chest, and rested a hand on the back of his chair.

Moody was careful to keep his gaze above her neck. "Is it that obvious?"

"Let's see," she said, tapping the fan's handle against her full, red lips. "Clean-shaven, tidy clothes, manicured nails... I would say you stick out like a sore thumb in 'ere."

"Really? And here I am trying to achieve the opposite."

"What for?" She folded the small fan and innocently stowed it away in her bodice. It was an impressive feat, considering how tightly the material clung to her body.

Moody cleared his throat and continued, "Truth be told, I'm trying to learn how everyday people such as yourself behave in a social setting."

"Like an experiment?" she asked with her head cocked to one side. "Are you a student?"

"Of sorts," he said with a slight grin. It was true enough.

"A bit of advice, then: if you walk into any place in Cockney, you'd best speak Cockney and not the King's English. It can be off-putting to blokes who just come in to relax after a long day."

"You don't seem put-off."

She leaned in closer. "It's one of my endearing qualities to be amenable to all types, regardless o' social persuasion."

These Muggle women are certainly a friendly lot. Moody's grin graduated to a smirk as he retrieved his notepad and pen and began to dictate aloud, "So, adopt the local raiment and customs of the inhabitants... check. Any other advice?"

She laughed. "You're cute." She pulled out the chair next to him, raising an eyebrow when Moody stood up to receive her. "And polite," she said, taking her seat. "Buy a girl a drink, dearie?"

"Of course." He flagged down a nearby barmaid and sat down. "Is this place always so lively?"

"More so when the sailors are on shore leave," she said with a wink. "So, what do you do for fun besides watching others having it?"

He snorted and took a sip of ale. He pursed his lips and swallowed. "It's hard to remember when I last had a good time doing anything."

"Good times are in short supply these days. People have to make their own."

He nodded in agreement. "That doesn't explain what a nice girl like yourself is doing unescorted in a place like this?"

"Well, I'm not alone anymore, am I?" She rested her chin in her hands and looked at him with eyes that sparkled in the dim light. "And what makes you think I'm a nice girl?"

"It's in your eyes." He took another sip. Fortunately, the smoke in the air had dulled his taste buds, making the beer more palatable. "Your eyes are by far your best feature."

Her brow lifted. "My eyes? Is that all?"

"A woman's eyes never lie."

She smiled and blushed. "I... don't remember the last time a gen'leman complimented me eyes."

"Haven't spoken to many gentlemen, have you?"

"Blokes of your type usually go straight to the streetwalkers rather than suffer the ambiance of a place like this."

"I don't see why. I for one think this place has a certain charm. I'm actually glad I came."

"Me too." She reached tentatively across the table and placed his hand in hers. "Would you like to dance first? Or would you rather go up to my room now?"

The beer in Moody's mouth trickled slowly down his throat as he finally comprehended the significance of her words. He took another glance about. There was a girl either at every table or on the arm of every gent, all dressed seductively, and all smelling of that same cheap perfume.

He put the glass down and gulped hard on the remaining beer that swished in his mouth. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you a... working girl?"

She looked up at him, amused. "I provide a service to the community, yes."

Moody felt his jaw clench. Note to self: kill Reuben.

She eyed him warily. "You didn't know?"

"No, and I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression, but I'm already spoken for," he said, presenting the engagement band on his finger.

She snorted. "So are the rest of my Johns, dearie. It doesn't matter to me. "

"It matters to me, I'm afraid."

She looked at him with that same glimmer in her eyes. She reached out and grazed his cheek with her fingertips. "Aww, you're in love. So why aren't you with her, then?"

"Strange as it sounds, I am just doing research. The fact that I wound up in this place was just the luck of the draw, I suppose."

She withdrew her hand. "You mean, all that playful banter... you weren't trying to chat me up?"

"Of course not."

Her brow furrowed. "Why not? You don't think I'm attractive?"

Moody averted his eyes. "No...I mean, I think you're lovely."

"Lovely? The last woman I heard a man call 'lovely' was me grandmum, and she had a wooden leg. Never, ever call a girl lovely!"

"I certainly didn't mean it like that."

She sat up straight with her hands on her hips and pouted. "Honestly. You're rubbish at this!"

"Really, I meant no offense, madam."

She looked down upon him with a stern expression, her bottom lip trembling before giving way to laughter. "Relax, lover-boy, I'm just 'avin' a bit 'o fun with you."

Moody laughed heartily. "You are a wicked little minx, aren't you?"

"Sorry about that, but as I told you, I'm not a nice girl." She took his hand in hers again, tracing the creases of his palm with her fingertips. "Y'know, they say there are no accidents. When a man is missing something in his life, his heart often leads his head without him realizing it."

He placed a gentle hand atop hers and replied firmly, "Trust me, this was an accident."

She bit her lip. "Well, isn't she the lucky girl?" She got up from her chair, smiling when Moody stood up as well. She started to walk away, but changed her mind and circled behind him. When he sat back down, she came about and slid into his lap nearly causing him to drop his drink. She nestled comfortably against him, crossing her legs and exposing the garter belt clasped to her fishnet stockings. She took the glass from his hand, had a sip, and placed it on the table. She leaned in; the wetness on her lips moistened his earlobe as she whispered, "If you ever grow bored, lover-boy, come back sometime and have spot o' tea with me." Satisfied, she left him without another word.

As he watched her walk away, Moody loosened his collar and finished his drink quite accustomed to its bitterness by this point. He left the bar shortly after, clenching his jaw again. He imagined that Reuben was having a good laugh at his expense back at his dorm. The night was still young, however, so Moody decided to take advantage of this rare night of freedom. Surely he could find a legitimate pub in the area to complete his assignment.

A bell tolled in the distance. Moody stepped lightly to avoid the puddles of dirty water between the cobblestones. He stopped briefly to check the bottom of his shoes. Satisfied, he looked up and noticed a sign at the foot of a small bridge; it read, "Vandamere Park".

It wasn't much of a park anymore, marked by a small plot of undeveloped land that had fallen into disrepair. The few trees that shot above the weeds swayed noisily in the night breeze. He mistook the sound of footsteps for windswept debris, so he was surprised when a young boy brushed past him. He turned with a start and inadvertently knocked the youth to the ground.

The boy looked up at him. "I'm sorry, sir."

Moody grinned. "Completely my fault," he replied encouragingly and extended a hand to help the boy to his feet. When Moody met the youngster's eyes, he was taken aback by the angelic features which shone even through the grime on the child's face.

The boy trembled as Moody continued to hold his hand. "Do you 'ave the time?"

The question brought Moody back to the moment. He let go of the boy and pulled out his watch. "About ten 'til the top of the hour."

"Crikey! I'm going to be late," the boy exclaimed before scampering off.

Moody put his pocket watch away and drew his jacket in tighter as he watched the boy disappear into the darkness.

Walking slowly down the lane, Moody shuddered in response to an unusual chill in the air. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as if the Devil had tapped him on the shoulder. He thought he heard a voice but convinced himself that it was only the wind.

Taaaasty.

He scanned the area without turning his head. He reached slowly into his sleeve and curled his fingers around the hilt of his wand but continued along the path. He took no notice of the ice that crunched under his feet.

Waaaarm.

He lost his footing on the slick ground; the path's many puddles had suddenly frozen over. He could see his breath in the air. A sense of dread filled him as if something had sucked all the joy and hope from the world.

He curled his lip. Fuck!

Moody whipped out his wand and pointed it in the direction of rustling branches. He was a heartbeat away from summoning the exploding curse when the wand's light revealed the face of the boy that passed him earlier. His features looked even more angelic in the afterglow of the wand's light; his eyes were the deepest shade of blue Moody had ever seen.

The child's bottom lip trembled, tears streaming down his face. He had been hiding in the bushes in terror, living proof that one does not have to be magically inclined to feel evil in the air.

Moody lowered his wand. "Stay hidden."

Tasty... Warm... Tasty... Warm...

The foreign thoughts lingered in his mind like poison. He stood in the middle of the road to face their stalker. It was a Dementor: a predator of souls and the embodiment of despair. The thing drifted toward them slowly, quietly, shrouded in shadows. Moody stood his ground and calmly raised his wand while the Dementor came within range.

His stance was perfect, his grip sure. He knew the spell.

"Expecto Patronum!"

But nothing happened. He lowered his wand and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on a memory – any memory – that could serve to stave off the anti-joy that infected him.

Druella.

He focused on her smile, her kiss, and the expectation of feeling the warmth of her body next to his on their wedding night.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Nothing. "Bugger this!" He channeled his despair, turning it into anger. A stream of orange shot out from his wand and struck the Dementor in the chest. It lurched back and exploded. An eerie wail echoed through the air as pieces of dark matter splattered the ground.

The air was warm again. Moody heard footsteps and looked over his shoulder. He saw the boy running down the street. He started to follow but stopped upon hearing a second set of footsteps in the darkness. These footsteps were slow and methodical, like those of a hunter. Something was wrong. Dementors don't have feet, do they? He reached into his back pocket and gripped his backup wand tightly in his free hand, keeping it in reserve until he could determine the nature of the unseen stalker.

He shot at a blur that flashed past the edge of his peripheral vision. A loud "pop" preceded a hot, searing pain that caused him to scream. His left leg went numb, and he fell hard on his side. He rolled over onto his good leg and reached instinctively to feel his throbbing bum. He surmised quickly that the backup wand in his pocket had misfired: a dumb rookie mistake.

Ignoring the pain, Moody fired blindly at the sound of crunching leaves, stopping only when he noticed that he could see his breath again. His head snapped in the direction of the fallen Dementor. The scattered remains had moved together to congeal silently in the middle of the road.

He gasped when a gray, desiccated hand broke the surface of the dark, soupy puddle. The shriveled skin hung loosely and slid formlessly about, revealing the sinew and muscle that flexed underneath. The grotesque hand probed the ground as a second arm shot out of the goo. The hands braced themselves on the surrounding cobblestones and managed to pull the rest of the body upwards. The top of a hood slowly rose from the puddle, followed by the dead eyes that glistened just below its brim. Within seconds, the Dementor had emerged in its entirety.

Kiss the wizard/ Make him cry/ Kiss the wizard/ Watch him die.

Moody sat up as best he could, propping himself up on his good knee. He wobbled, dazed by his own hex, but still raised his wands, ready to face both the unseen entity at his back and the fast-approaching Dementor.

"Expecto...." His eyes fluttered as a creeping blackness threatened to render him unconscious. "Expecto Patro...."

"Expecto Patronum!"

Moody was revived by the booming voice, and he looked on in awe as the ethereal semblance of a Hawk dove from above and surrounded the Dementor with a silvery mist. The dark creature swatted at it in vain but was eventually chased off by the mighty Patronus.

"Lumos Maxima!"

At a second voice's command, light banished the darkness. Two wizards, dressed in black trench coats, came to stand on either side of Moody. Their wands held at the ready, they shot hexes into the surrounding bush. Moody eyed the Ministry badges on their lapels which designated them as M.L.E officers.

As relief replaced his anxiety, Moody finally allowed himself to faint.