Post by alexander on Jun 8, 2012 20:09:16 GMT -8
beginning tuesday, october 18th | starting at 4:23 a.m.He knew what he had to do. He should have done it ages ago, but for some reason, something kept him behind. In actuality, Alexander knew the reason: he had grown far too attached to Lissianna, far too absorbed in the idea of leading a normal fake life; far too interested in following fantasy. But it was too late for that. People knew who he was, people who could get hurt or worse. Innocent ignorance couldn’t save Liss, and a mutual dislike wouldn’t keep Gideon’s tail covered. If anything happened to either of them, it would be his fault. So he had to go through with it. He had to get out of town and never come back, cut off his ties with the world and continue to run. The cities and towns were too guarded; Hogsmeade had been a lapse in judgment.
It had taken months, but he would try to undo the damage.
He had to.
It hadn’t been difficult to inform the landlord that he was leaving. The man hadn’t asked any questions, he knew better than that, writing it off that the young man was a restless wanderer. The brunette paid the fee for breaking the contract, stuffed his few belongings in a bag, and took off that night. The small owl he had purchased weeks before was caged and tied to his rucksack, silent save slight noise when she grew hungry. The folks at work had been mailed to inform them that he could no longer work, that he was moving, three days before his departure. He made sure to specifically say that he was simply moving and had found another job somewhere larger. They would never hear from him again. They would never even grow suspicious. If anything, they’d be thankful that they could hire someone more reliable. Denver Macintosh would fade from the minds of all, a ghost, no memory spells needed.
Where would he go now? He had no idea. Traveling hadn’t been that difficult the first time, but that was when he had been convinced it was safe to go out. He still had been a rebel. No matter how many times he told himself that he could pretend to be normal, his face was the same. Eye patches didn’t stop that, especially not when he had discarded his only minutes before. Perhaps it would be safer in the muggle world, but he nearly doubted that. If he was caught, he would be taken in, and the memories of all witnesses would be wiped. That was the reality of hiding. Anyone who saw anything could easily forget it. Anyone who knew anything could easily be tortured, but he would never try to erase the memories of others, even if he had a wand. He wanted to find his family, but he couldn’t do anything if he was arrested again.
He wanted to say goodbye in person to some of the people – or the person – he knew he’d miss, but that was a risk he couldn’t take. If he said goodbye to anyone, they might try to convince him to stay. Or worse, they might try to figure out why he was leaving. They could sell him out. Instead, on the edge of town at four in the morning, he simply nodded in the direction of the village. It was doubtful he would ever see it again. In fact, it was doubtful he would ever be granted the luxury of seeing a normal city again unless he was shackled and broken. There was probably some hope in his mind, but honestly, most of the hope came from the slight glimmer that perhaps he would keep from causing more harm. He wanted to say something that would sum up his goodbyes, but no words came.
Silently, he turned and left.
Alexander McCarthy was back on the run.
The first night was a reminder that things were not normal, not fine. Had he been able to perform magic, he would have been able to extend his rucksack. Everything he owned had to be carried. He could feel all of the weight. That was one advantage to his situation, there was very little he actually had to bring with him. Some matches, a couple of yards of rope, a map, a water bottle he’d swiped from a coworker that could magically refill, a few articles of clothing, a compass, a bar of soap, and a book of edible plants. He had some money, a variety, though it wasn’t enough for anything nice. When the sun sunk below the horizon, he was wandering in a forest, surrounded by who knew what.
He couldn’t remain on the ground without any defenses. It’d be easier for other people, or worse, magical beasts, to get to him. Without a wand, he could do very little. How did muggles even do it? Even camping seemed like such a different universe, one with tents that didn’t expand and fire that wasn’t instant. Backpackers carried all of their belongings with them, roaming around in what seemed like the wilderness. Yet, they seemed to enjoy it. Of course, they weren’t aware of what could be lurking in these forests. For the most part, muggles seemed untouched by the dangers of the wizarding world. He slid a charcoal gray pullover on before managing to climb up until he felt he was out of range of anything that couldn’t climb. He slipped the rope from the bag, looping it through his belt loops before securing it around the trunk.
It wasn’t the best, but it would suffice.
Huddled in a tree, the first night began – the first of many. Several like it followed as he made his way south, every step one further from Hogsmeade and the world he needed to get out of. He would spend his time wandering along the forests and roads when he found them, just far enough from marked cities that he knew he would be out of reach, not deep enough to be in the territories of the most dangerous creatures. The book helped him to find what he could eat, but some days grew unbearable, in which he would find a muggle village with an inn to refuel and recharge. The names he used changed so often he couldn’t remember them. He kept his head down, his face hidden. Soon, those nights spent in trees blurred with the ones spent in run down inn rooms, forming together. When the money began to run out and the nights grew colder, he would make fires and pull on an extra jacket to keep warm. He would survive.
Alexander McCarthy knew he was lucky to be alive.
That didn’t make him feel any better.