Spinner’s End

           ManymilesawaythechillymistthathadpressedagainstthePrimeMinister’swindowsdriftedoveradirtyriverthatwoundbetweenovergrown,rubbish-strewnbanks.Animmensechimney,relicofadisusedmill,rearedup,shadowyandominous.Therewasnosoundapartfromthewhisperoftheblackwaterandnosignoflifeapartfromascrawnyfoxthathadslunkdownthebanktonosehopefullyatsomeoldfish-and-chipwrappingsinthetallgrass.

           Butthen,withaveryfaintpop,aslim,hoodedfigureappearedoutofthinairontheedgeoftheriver.Thefoxfroze,waryeyesfixeduponthisstrangenewphenomenon.Thefigureseemedtotakeitsbearingsforafewmoments,thensetoffwithlight,quickstrides,itslongcloakrustlingoverthegrass.

           Withasecondandlouderpop,anotherhoodedfigurematerialized.

           "Wait!"

           Theharshcrystartledthefox,nowcrouchingalmostflatintheundergrowth.Itleaptfromitshidingplaceandupthebank.Therewasaflashofgreenlight,ayelp,andthefoxfellbacktotheground,dead.

           Thesecondfigureturnedovertheanimalwithitstoe.

           "Justafox,"saidawoman’svoicedismissivelyfromunderthehood."IthoughtperhapsanAuror—Cissy,wait!"

           Butherquarry,whohadpausedandlookedbackattheflashoflight,wasalreadyscramblingupthebankthefoxhadjustfallendown.

           "Cissy—Narcissa—listentome—"

           Thesecondwomancaughtthefirstandseizedherarm,buttheotherwrencheditaway.

           "Goback,Bella!"

           "Youmustlistentome!"

           "I’velistenedalready.I’vemademydecision.