Double Dog Dare! -- Episode 38
Frances

Margo woke abruptly in her cell. The delicious cold of the stone slab on which she reclined seeped up through her robes and for a short moment she reveled in it and the rough texture that assaulted her backside. Comfort was for the weak.

In an instant, she was pulled back to the thing that had awoken her. Janet. Something was wrong with Janet. She tried to feel worry or sorrow but these were foreign to her. She could only feel anger.

All her life she had been surrounded by weak creatures. Those horrible Slytherins with their petty interests and ambitions. They responded to her enticements but they could never share her vision. Even her husband was now no more than a gibbering idiot, cowed by the Dementors. But the biggest disappointment by far was the Dark Lord. She snorted at the appellation. How she and Janet had laughed….

And now Janet, too, had failed her. The only person whom Margo looked up to, the only person with real strength was somehow gone.

Stupid Janet.

Margo felt the walls encroaching so she left the cell. The Dementors who walked the halls gave her a wide berth. She stormed through the passageways until she found herself standing at the Gate. The dark blue swells reflected her mood. What now of their plans? How could Janet have done this? How could she be weak?

So much had been sacrificed so that the two sisters could achieve their goal--little things like other people’s lives but larger things, too. Margo thought back to her girlhood and a game she and Janet used to play. The magazines sparked instantly in her memory and focused her anger. Finally, they had even had to give up that too.

Margo pulled out her wand and began to blast boulders with such magical force that they shattered into countless tiny pebbles and rained down onto the water with the sound of fluttering wings. Her anger ripened until she was nothing but a series of explosions that grew and grew.

She felt it before she saw it. Something penetrated the wildness she’d unleashed and it grabbed hold of her mind. She stopped the little destruction and looked out across the ocean, past the waves lapping the shingle she’d created. And then she saw it.

It was a tiny point of black near the horizon but as it neared, it took the form of a bird. Margo knew it for what it was in an instant. If she could have felt joy, she might have. Instead, triumph blossomed in her breast. She slipped the wand into the folds of her robe and stretched out her arms to welcome her sister to herself. In the end, Janet had not disappointed her completely.

The bird was so close now she could see the glint in its eyes. Janet’s intelligence, Janet’s ruthlessness lived there. In a moment, it would all belong to Margo. She threw back her head and laughed.

In the instant that she took her eyes off the bird, Margo missed seeing the larger form fall from the sky. Talons outstretched, the falcon hit the black form with an enormous force. The smaller bird began to tumble down through the sky and the falcon returned for another pass, eager to catch it up and carry it home. But as the black bird fell, it seemed to unravel, bits of feather and ash breaking off and floating down to the sea.

Margo looked back just in time to see the falcon winging away as what passed for Janet’s soul disappeared in a tiny puff of black smoke. She answered the kak-kak-kak of the irritated falcon with an unearthly cry of her own.

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Having left off feeding treats to Pigwidgeon, Jason was entertaining himself for the moment with a deck of self-shuffling cards when a trio of Weasley boys busted in. Their scorn (“Where’d you go?”) turned to admiration when they heard he’d actually jinxed You-Know-Who with the Pyroflatulus. Then, four red heads bent together over the bat as they began their complaints of being left out of things by the adults.

“Haven’t we proven ourselves?” George asked.

“Who foiled DeWitt?” Fred replied. “And who got Dumbledore back to Hogwarts?”

“Exactly,” said George. “And Jason has faced him and escaped. Sounds like you gave him what for with that bat, too.”

Jason nodded. “Too right.” Then thought, What am I saying? He had no real interest in facing Old Snake Head again. Still, he didn’t want to appear cowardly in front of his cousins. He pulled a shiny piece of fabric from his pocket and began polishing the bat.

“Any of you know the Locating Spell?” Ron asked. “We could leave right now.”

Disappointed heads shook round the circle.

“What’s that you have there, Jason?” Fred asked, pointing to the material.

Jason stopped and considered what he was doing then dropped the cloth to the floor. “Aw, shit! That’s one of the strips I tore from You-Know-Who’s robe when I tied him up. Mr. Hooks said we couldn’t bring him in ourselves. I must have stuck it in my pocket.”

George grabbed it up and examined it. Fred leaned in. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, dear brother?”

“I reckon I am,” George replied then added with a flourish. “Ron, release your owl.”

“Why?”

“If we were to send You-Know-Who a letter,” began George.

“A fan letter, a chain letter or simply a postcard while on holiday,” Fred expanded upon the idea.

“But he did not want to hear from us,” George continued.

“That letter would simply not go through, no matter how the owl tried,” finished Fred.

“But if we have something of his,” George purred.

“Something we only wish to return to his possession,” Fred offered generously

“Then that trumps the protections he might set up on his post.” George finished triumphantly.

“Hence, ergo and quid pro quo, we have this simple strip of fabric without which the Dark Lord has a distinctly non-functional robe. If we were to return it to him, we could track your owl, Ron, and confront him ourselves.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” George said admiringly.

“But how would you keep track of the owl?” Ron asked. “I didn’t think post owls showed up on any sort of tracking devices.”

“They don’t,” confirmed George. “But we have something better.”

“What’s that?”

“Broomsticks!” said Fred and George together.