Chapter One
Wizard in a Strange Land
Published 7/22/2013
=ooo=
"Do you think we have enough, Mark?" Lucas McCain asked his son. The two of them were several miles north of the McCain ranch house, in a wooded area fed by a small stream that kept the grass greener than some of the surrounding areas where there was nothing but shrub and rocks. Small game was fairly common in this area, about an hour's ride north of the ranch, and Mark came here every so often to trap rabbits. Today Lucas had joined him in an impromptu father-son outing.
"I think so, Pa," Mark McCain decided, looking at the brace of rabbits he'd caught in his snares. Mark and his father had just finished making the rounds, checking his traps, and had come up with four rabbits — quite a catch for one day! "Do you think Lou would like to have some rabbit stew with us tonight?"
"We can ask her, Mark," Lucas said. "We should go into town anyway, to pick up some dry goods."
Mark nodded, but he suspected the reason his father wanted to go into North Fork was more about seeing Lou Malloy, the woman that owned the general store, than picking up dry goods.
The look on Mark's face might have made Lucas guess what he was thinking, because he added, "Maybe you'd like to invite your friend Lorrie to dinner, too?"
For a moment Mark had the look of a deer caught in a hunter's sights. "Well — maybe," he finally stammered. "I suppose if her ma and pa say it's okay." He glanced at the rabbits. "Maybe I should set a couple more traps…"
Lucas chuckled. "What we have now is fine, son," he said , grinning. "I just thought it would be nice if you had someone there your own age."
Mark smiled in reply, but he'd gotten the impression his pa was teasing him a bit. He liked Lorrie, and he knew she liked him, but he wasn't quite sure yet just what he was going to do about that. It was also pretty obvious his pa and Lou liked one another, and Mark liked her a lot, too, but he didn't know what his pa planned to do about that, either.
And there was a certain advantage to having Lou over for dinner. "Do you think I can ask Lou if she'll bring one of her pies along for dessert, Pa?" Mark asked as he put the brace of rabbits in a sack to tie to his saddle. "She makes a mighty tasty apple pie, better'n you or me."
"You can ask her, son," Lucas said, checking his own saddle in preparation for the ride home. "But it would be impolite to expect her to make a pie for us just because we're asking her over to eat."
"Yes, sir," Mark said. He was about to climb into his saddle when a glint of light in the trees behind them caught his eye. "What was that?"
"What was what, son?" Lucas asked, looking in the same direction Mark was looking. "What did you see?"
"Something shiny behind a tree," Mark said, pointing in the direction he'd seen the flash of light. "It might've been off a pair of glasses — I thought I saw someone's head poking out from behind a tree."
Lucas unsheathed his rifle. "You stay here, son," he said, then moved off in the direction Mark had pointed out. If someone was out here watching them — Lucas couldn't think of any good reason why someone to be doing that.
He moved slowly through the trees, watching carefully for any movement in his field of vision. There was a risk if more than one person was hiding in the woods, so he kept close to trees as he walked, using them as partial cover.
There was a soft crack some distance ahead of him, and McCain slipped behind a tree, putting it between him and the sound. Someone might've stepped on a branch. He scanned the area in front of him, looking for any indication that someone was moving…
There! Another glint of light off to his left! Whoever was watching him didn't realize that his glasses were reflecting the afternoon sun off them. Lucas moved toward where he'd seen the light, his rifle at the ready. Finally he reached the tree where he'd last seen the light, and he stepped around it quickly, pointing his rifle at the person behind it.
Behind the tree was a young man with unruly black hair, wearing glasses and strange-looking clothes, pointing at stick at McCain. "Don't move!" McCain said sharply, then realized the young man was unarmed except for the stick in his hand. "Who are you?" Lucas asked in a gentler tone. The boy looked at him warily but appeared unafraid. Lucas lowered his rifle so it was no longer pointed at him.
"Where am I?" the young man asked, his stick still pointed at Lucas.
"Where are you?" That seemed like a strange question — how would this boy not know where he was? "How did you get here?" Lucas asked in turn.
"I don't know," the boy said, glancing around. "I was — near my home, with my cousin and — we were attacked by Dem — er, by — er, someone — and I —"
"Hold on a second," Lucas cut him off. He recognized the boy's accent as English, but he wasn't sure if any English families had settled near North Fork. "Where do your parents live?"
The boy's expression took on a saddened look. "My parents are both dead."
"Oh, I'm sorry," McCain said apologetically.
"It was a long time ago," the boy replied, as if he'd heard the same comment from many other people. "Sorry. I'm Harry Potter, I should have said earlier —"
"I'm Lucas McCain," Lucas said. "How long have you been out in these woods? Are you hungry or thirsty?"
"A bit hungry," Harry said. "I haven't eaten yet today. In fact I don't remember the last time I ate." Because my aunt and uncle don't like to feed me very much, he didn't add aloud. No use mentioning his troubles to a perfect stranger.
McCain held out a hand, beckoning Harry forward. "Let's get back to where my son Mark is. He's about your age. We can head back to my ranch, then go into town and have a talk with the marshal about what to do about you."
Harry nodded and followed the tall, strangely-dressed man out of the woods. Until he figured out where he was and how he'd gotten here, he would have to be very careful and watch out for Death Eaters or whoever had sent those two Dementors to Privet Drive to attack him.
Back at the horses, Lucas found Mark sitting on a log waiting for the, watching curiously as he and Harry approached. "Mark," Lucas said, "this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my son, Mark."
Mark had never seen someone dressed like Harry was dressed — he was wearing a baggy, dirty shirt with no collar and no fastenings in the front. It looked like a nightshirt except it was too short; it reached only halfway down to the ground. And on his feet were something like Indian moccasins except they had laces on them like regular shoes. But if his pa was introducing them, he must think it was okay, so —
"Pleased to meet you," Mark said, standing up and extending his hand. Harry looked at it, then started to raise his own until he realized he still held his wand. He hastily jammed it into his back pocket and shook hands with Mark.
"Harry's coming back to the ranch with us," Lucas told Mark. "Then we'll go into town and have a talk with Micah. Do you think he can ride double with you until we get home?"
"Sure, Pa," Mark nodded, then smiled at Harry, who was looking at the horses with some uncertainty. He watched as the tall man and his son mounted their horses. Mark reached down offering his hand to Harry, to help him up, but Harry just stared at it. "Ain't you ever ridden on a horse before, Harry?"
Harry had in fact ridden on things a lot more interesting than a horse; he'd been on a hippogriff a few years ago, and regularly rode a broomstick in his Quidditch matches. And he'd seen horseback riding on the telly, but he'd never actually been on a horse before. "Not yet," he said.
"There's always a first time," Mark grinned. He slipped his boot out of the stirrup. "Put your left foot in there," he said. "Then grab my arm and swing your right leg over the horse."
Harry did as he was told and found himself seated behind Mark. "Hold onto me," Mark said, and they started off.
As Harry rode away with the tall man and his son, behind them, another pair of eyes watched from within the darkness of the woods. He had not arrived in time to take the boy; a shame, since it would make retrieving him that much more difficult now that he had been seen by others. The eyes melted back into the shadows, then disappeared altogether with nary a sound to mark their passing.
=ooo=
Harry found riding behind Mark on the horse unsettling until he got used to the rhythm of its gait. "It's not too bad, is it?" Mark asked over his shoulder.
"It's fine," Harry said. "Thanks for helping me."
"You're welcome," Mark replied. "But what were you doing out there in the first place? The nearest town's over 10 miles away. How could you get out there without a horse?"
"I don't know," Harry said again. He couldn't tell Mark or his dad about Dementors. And he had no idea how he suddenly ended up in this place while trying to get him and Dudley away from them.
"What's that stick for?" Mark suddenly asked. "The one you're carrying? Were you dowsing for water?"
"Uh — no," Harry said automatically. "Er — what's dowsing?"
"It means looking for water," Mark said, then frowned. "You mean you never heard of dowsing for water?"
"No," Harry admitted. Was it some sort of magical ritual? Were these people wizards who'd never had a formal education in magic like he had? "Is that like — you know, magic?"
"Some people think so," Mark said, laughing. "But I seen it work before."
"Have you?" That made Harry wonder what Mark would think if he showed him something… "Watch this," Harry said, taking his wand out of his back pocket and pointing it to one side. "Aguamenti," he said, and a thin stream of water poured out of the tip of his wand. After a few seconds Harry ended the spell, disappointed that the stream was so thin. The air must be very dry out here, wherever they were.
But Mark was staring wide-eyed at what he'd just seen. "Holy cow, what did you do?" he whispered, nor wanting his father to overhear; he wasn't even sure that what he'd seen was real.
Harry realized his mistake. Mark wasn't a wizard and didn't mean real magic when he'd mentioned it earlier. But Muggles also had a kind of magic — maybe that was what he meant. "Sorry," he said quickly. "It was just a trick. An illusion."
Mark relaxed, then grinned. "That was a pretty neat trick, then! You'll have to show it to my pa."
"Sure," Harry agreed, planning to avoid that if he could. They rode the rest of the way to the McCain ranch in silence.
=ooo=
After washing off and changing into new shirts, McCain hitched a fresh pair of horses to the buckboard and the three of them drove into North Fork. It was the end of summer vacation and school was set to start next week, so the streets were full of boys and girls enjoying their final days of freedom, doing the sort of things boys and girls do that amuse or irritate their parents and other adults. Mark waved to a couple of his friends they passed on the way down the main street, and McCain came to a halt between the general store and the marshal's office.
"Mark, here's the list of things we need," Lucas said, handing his son a scrap of paper. "Have Lou get them ready and we'll be along to help you load the buckboard. Harry and I are going to visit Micah."
"Pa, I kinda wanted to tag along with you," Mark said, a little disappointed.
"We'll have plenty of time to talk afterwards," Lucas said. "I think we'll have dinner in town tonight after all."
"But what about the rabbits?" Mark protested. "I still have to clean them and —"
"I put them down in the food cellar," Lucas interrupted. "They'll keep until tomorrow. Now go on to Lou's. In fact," he added, reconsidering, "why don't you take Harry with you, introduce him to Lou and show him the general store?"
"Yes, Pa," Mark said, grinning. "Come on, Harry, Lou has some pretty good candy!" He and Harry dashed off in the direction of the store.
"Don't buy more than nickel's worth!" Lucas said loudly as they ran off. "And don't spoil your appetite!" Mark waved a hand in acknowledgement and kept running.
Micah Torrence walked out of the marshal's office, having heard the conversation outside. "Afternoon, Lucas-boy," he said amiably, glancing at the two boys running into Lou's general store. "Who's the boy with Mark?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Micah," Lucas said, turning toward him. We found him out in the grove at the north end of our property — Mark and I were up there trapping rabbits and we came across him. He was hiding in the woods and couldn't tell me how he got there. He said his name was Harry Potter — that made me wonder if he might be related to Scully Potter — you remember him, don't you?"
"Sure," Micah said. "He shot Ted Bennett, the sheriff of Marietta, about a year ago. I was bringing him to North Fork to stand trial when we ran into each other and you had your little mishap with that snake in your bedroll."
Lucas remembered that too. "Potter might've gotten off with life for helping me get clear of that snake, but he tried to kill you and you shot him. Do you think he had a son before he died? The boy told me his parents were dead."
"I don't think so," Micah said doubtfully. "Potter wasn't the kind of man to settle down, even temporarily. But I can take a look at the boy and see if there's any resemblance to Potter."
"We're having dinner tonight at Madera House," Lucas said. "Maybe you'd like to join us?"
Micah raised his left hand and rubbed his chin, thinking. "I'll stop by while you're having dinner. I've got some things to take care of before then."
"Good," Lucas nodded. "I'll see you later, then." He walked down to the general store where Mark and Harry were staring hungrily at the containers of candy lined up on a counter, and Lou was looking over the list of dry goods he'd given Mark. "Hi, Lou," he said as he walked in. "These two boys giving you any trouble?"
"No," she said in her slight but ever-present Irish accent, "but they've been loitering about for quite some time without buying anything, not even a piece of hard candy between the two of them!"
"They may have to wait a bit longer, then," Lucas said, grinning at her. "They'll spoil their appetites for later if they have any candy now."
Mark turned around. "Pa, can we get some candy for later, after supper?" he asked, hopefully. Harry had turned around as well, looking as hopeful as Mark did.
"I suppose so," Lucas said. "But mind you don't have any until after supper, hear?"
"Yes, Pa," Mark said, and he and Harry went back to discussing what pieces of candy they should get.
"So where did he come from?" Lou asked softly as Lucas stepped closer to the counter, so the boys wouldn't hear. "Mark's little friend?"
"We found him up in the north grove," Lucas answered just as softly. "Says his name is Harry Potter. Ever hear of a kid with that name before?"
"No," Lou said. "Should I have?" she asked.
"Just asking," Lucas said. "If Micah and I don't find someone he belongs to I don't know what we're going to do with him."
"Hmm…" Lou said thoughtfully, staring at the boy as he and Mark debated what candies they should buy for later.
Lucas recognized that tone. "Now don't you get any ideas about keeping him yourself, Lou!"
"Oh? Now you're tellin' me what my business should be?" she said, getting fired up. "I'll thank you to mind your own, Mr. McCain!" She subsided as she and Lucas realized Mark and Harry were staring at them. "And that goes for you, too, Mark McCain! Hasn't your father told you it's impolite to eavesdrop?"
Mark held up a nickel. "I — I was just going to say, me an' Harry figured out what we wanted," he stammered. "But we can come back later…"
"Oh, nonsense," she said, hurrying over to the counter where she kept the candy. She picked out Mark and Harry's selections. "That'll be five cents," she said, accepting Mark's nickel. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said graciously, covering her snappiness earlier.
Mark and Harry both thanked her, then Mark turned to his father. "Pa, can I show Harry around North Fork a while before we eat? We promise not to eat any of the candy," he added hastily.
"All right," Lucas agreed. "We'll meet at the hotel at six o'clock to eat."
"Thanks, Pa!" Mark nudged Harry in the arm and the two boys disappeared out the door. Lou and Lucas watched as they ran across the street and out of view.
"Are you sure that's wise, Lucas, setting those two boy loose on the town like that?" Lou teased.
"They'll be fine," Lucas said. "Besides, if anyone recognizes Harry we might get lucky and find out where he belongs. Oh, by the way," he added. "Mark caught some rabbits today and we wanted to invite you out to have rabbit stew with us tomorrow evening."
Lou smiled at him. "Well, I think that can be arranged, Lucas. I might even bake a pie to bring along with me."
Lucas chuckled. "Mark was thinking of asking you to do just that! How'd you know?"
She smiled enigmatically at him. "Oh, we women have our ways of knowing what men want."
=ooo=
"So what is there to see around here?" Harry asked, looking up and down the main street of North Fork. The Bank of North Fork, across the street from the Marshal's Office and the General Store, was a place he understood, having visited Gringotts several times, as well as the stables down the street, but he didn't know what a "Madera House" or a "Livery" was.
"Well, not much," Mark admitted. "But I wanted you to meet a couple of my friends and maybe show them that trick you do with that stick of yours."
"Oh." That was something Harry didn't want to show around much — it would be hard to explain how he was making water without using real magic. "Well, I can only do that trick once I, uh — I have to get it ready ahead of time."
"Oh," Mark looked disappointed. "Well, can you do any other magic tricks?"
"Um," Harry fidgeted, trying to think of something simple he could show Mark, something that would look like a Muggle illusion. "I'm, er — I'm kind of just learning some new things —"
He stopped as three boys suddenly ran up to them. "Hey, Mark!" the biggest of the three, Tommy, called out just as they reached the pair. "Ain't seen you much this summer! Who's this?" he asked, pointing at Harry.
"This is Harry," Mark said. "We found him out in the woods. Pa's trying to find out who he belongs to."
That was probably not the best thing to say to three bored boys looking for something to do. "Lost, eh?" Tommy smirked at Harry. "Sort of like a lost puppy, aincha?" The other two boys had moved into position around the new kid, surrounding him in preparation for having a bit of fun.
Harry didn't say anything but Mark frowned. "Tommy, you know what I meant! That ain't nice!"
"Hey, what's this?" another boy, Billy, suddenly reached out and grabbed the wand out of Harry's back pocket. Harry reached for it, but Billy backed away from him, holding up the wand for the others to see. "He's carrying around a stick!"
"Give that back!" Harry said, holding out his hand.
"Whyn't you come and get it?" Billy taunted, waving the stick in front of him.
"Give it back!" Mark said loudly, then ran toward Billy to take the stick from him, but Billy threw it to the third boy, Joe.
"Oooh, it's a nice stick," Joe said mockingly. "Maybe I'll just keep it!"
"It's not yours!" Mark shouted. "Give it back!" He started toward Joe, who threw the stick to Tommy. "Give it back, Tommy!" Mark said angrily. "It belongs to Harry!"
"Come on, McCain, it's just a stick," Tommy sneered. "You can pick up dozens of 'em off the side of the road."
"No!" Mark said. "It's like a magic stick! Harry can do tricks with it!"
"Oh, really?" Tommy said scornfully. "Well maybe I'll be able to do a trick with it, too!" He waved it about like a magician's wand. "Hocus pocus! Abracadabra! Presto change-o!"
Mark suddenly reached out and grabbed the wand from Tommy's hand. "Stop it — what —!" Mark and the other boys froze as red sparks shot out of the tip of the wand. Mark instantly dropped the wand as if it were red hot. The three boys turned and ran away as fast as they could.
"What — what happened?" Mark asked, looking at Harry. "What did I do?"
Harry stared at Mark, a very surprised expression on his face. "Mark," he said breathlessly, softly enough that only Mark could hear him, "I think you might be a —"
Lucas and Lou ran up at that moment. "What was that shouting about?" Lucas asked sharply.
"It was Tommy Meadows and a couple of his friends, Pa," Mark answered. "They were picking on Harry."
While Mark was talking Harry crouched down unobtrusively, picked up his wand and stuck it in his back pocket. He hoped Mark wouldn't mention it — it would look suspicious if a fight had started over a stick.
"I see," Lucas said. But he could also see there was more to it than that. Mark looked as white as a sheet and Harry had a guilty expression on his face. "But there was something else, wasn't there?" he pressed. "What is it?"
"It's —" but Mark had no idea what to say. He looked at Harry, pleadingly, hoping he would finish what he had been saying. I might be a — a what?
Lou, who was watching from behind Lucas, asked, "It's what, Mark?" Mark just shook his head, hoping Harry would answer.
Harry was looking at Mark's expression. His eleventh birthday, the day Hagrid told him he was a wizard, had been the greatest day of his life. All the strange things that had been happening around him for the previous ten years had finally made sense. But he wasn't even entirely sure Mark was a wizard — Harry's wand had sparked when Mark touched it, but Harry had no real idea what that meant. For all he knew it could have been him that made the wand shoot sparks because he saw Mark touch it. What would being a wizard do to Mark?
"Maybe," Harry said quietly, "we should go somewhere private and discuss this."
=ooo=
The marshal's office wasn't exactly what Harry had in mind for privacy, especially with the marshal in the room with them. At least the woman, Lou, had gone back to tend her store. "Alright," Lucas said, very seriously. "Let's hear what's going on."
"Pa, I —" Mark tried to begin, but the tall man held up a hand for silence.
"I want to hear what Harry has to say," Lucas told him.
"Er — this might be something only family should hear," Harry said slowly, looking at Micah, who was standing to one side, arms folded across his chest, listening carefully.
"Micah's like family," Lucas said quietly, and Harry saw a slight smile cross the marshal's face.
"Okay," Harry nodded. He took a deep breath, let it out, then said, "Mark might be a wizard."
Of all the things Harry might have said, those words were not what Lucas and Micah expected. "A what?" Lucas said, confused. Micah had pushed his hat back on his head and was scratching it perplexedly.
Mark, however, leaned forward looking very interested. "You mean I can do magic?" he asked. "That was magic you showed me earlier, wasn't it, Harry?"
"Magic? What?" Lucas was looking back and forth between the two boys with concern. "What did he do?" he asked Mark.
"He made water come out of that stick he carries," Mark said, now getting excited. "Can you do it again, Harry? Show them!"
Harry was beginning to panic. He'd wanted to talk to Mark alone, find out whether strange, unusual things had been happening around him like they had around Harry when he was younger. If Mark was really a wizard he had a right to know so he could decide what he should do about it, but blurting out that Harry could do magic had made things a lot more difficult to explain. Lucas McCain had an almost fearful look in his eye; some Muggles believed that magic was evil. And yet, Mark seemed very interested in the idea, and while Harry still had no idea where he was, he had to expect that some Muggles here, wherever he was, would feel the same way. "It's not something we show to many people —"
"So you're saying you can work magic?" Micah cut in, a troubled look on his face. "Real magic, not just illusions and sleight-of-hand? And Mark can do it, too?"
"I can," Harry nodded. "I don't know about Mark yet. My wand sparked when he touched it — that usually means he has the ability to do magic. Like this," he said, pointing his wand at the long object on the marshal's desk and saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Lucas's rifle lifted slowly into the air. Mark, Micah and Lucas all stared at it, mesmerized, as it rose to chest level and righted itself. It hung there for several seconds until Lucas reached out, snatching it from the air and levering a cartridge into the firing chamber. He pointed the rifle at Harry.
"That's enough!" he said in a tight, angry tone. "My son is no devil worshipper!"
"Pa, no!" Mark shouted.
"Lucas!" Micah said warningly. "He's just a boy!"
"I don't know what he is!" Lucas hissed. "But anyone who can do things like that … isn't human!"
Harry had taken a step back from Lucas, hands held non-threateningly in front of him. "I'm as human as you are, Mr. McCain. I didn't know I was a wizard until I turned eleven. And being a wizard has nothing to do with any devil — it's just that some people can do it and some can't."
Lucas shook his head, unconvinced. "It's — not — natural!" he spat at Harry, not lowering his rifle. The barrel of the weapon he held jerked toward the door. "You go on, boy — get out of here."
"Pa!" Mark said pleadingly. "No! Please!"
Lucas ignored him. "Go back to where you came from!" he snarled at Harry. "Get out of our lives!"
Harry looked at Mark, then Micah. Mark looked desperate for Harry to stay, but the fierceness of his father's reaction had cowed him into submission. The marshal expression wasn't hostile, but neither was it sympathetic. Too many people here were against him, Harry decided. He slowly backed up until he reached the door of the marshal's office.
"I'll go," he told Lucas. "I guess I understand — it's hard, sometimes, to accept new things. I just hope I can find my way back home." He opened the door a crack and slipped through it and outside, closing it behind him.
Mark started to run forward but a sharp "Mark, stop!" from his father halted him in his tracks.
He turned back to Lucas, a defiant expression on his face. "You're wrong, Pa. Harry wasn't bad, I could tell! You keep telling me I have to learn how to accept new things, things that seem different or wrong to me. I guess that doesn't apply to you!"
"This is different, Mark," Lucas said, finally lowering his rifle now that Harry was gone. "Magic is wrong — it's evil, you know that — the Bible tells us not to suffer a witch to live!"
"Suppose it's a different kind of magic?" Mark argued. "Harry said it didn't have anything to do with the devil!"
"That's just what a devil worshipper would say!" Lucas shot back. "Mark, don't argue! You're not to go after that boy or try to find him, you hear me?"
Mark looked angry, but finally gave a small, reluctant nod. "I said," Lucas pressed. "Did you hear me?"
"Yes, Pa," Mark gritted out. "I hear you."
"Good. Now go wait in the buckboard. After I talk to Micah we're going home."
"But what about dinner with Lou —" Mark spoke before thinking. It was not the right thing to do at that moment.
"Don't argue!" Lucas growled. "Do as I say!"
Mark turned and yanked open the office door, slamming it shut behind him.
Lucas finally relaxed a bit, turning to his friend Micah. "Did I do the right thing, Micah?" he asked.
"I don't know," Micah answered honestly. "I don't know if I can believe a boy like that could be a devil worshipper."
"I don't know, either," Lucas agreed. "But you saw what he did with my rifle! I couldn't take the chance!"
"The question is," Micah said thoughtfully, "if he isn't, if that was just a magician's trick, we've turned away a young boy in need of help. And if he is, what have we let loose among us?"
Lucas had no answer for that. He shook his head, then walked out of the office leaving Micah by himself. Micah sighed, trying to decide what to do next, then picked up his hat and walked out onto the sidewalk just in time to see Lucas and Mark drive away in their buckboard. Mark was leaning as far away from his father as he could and still stay in his seat.
Micah took a deep breath the walked down to the livery where he kept his horse. Maybe he would take a ride up toward that grove of Lucas's, see if he could find anything of interest up there. And if, along the way, he happened to find young Harry Potter, well… they'd see what happened then.
=ooo=
A few minutes earlier —
Harry closed the door to the marshal's office, then turned and walked quickly down the wooden sidewalk toward the end of town. What would he do now? He had no idea, but perhaps he should go back to where the McCains found him and look around, see what he could find out —
"And now where are you off to in such an all-fired hurry?" a woman's voice spoke from behind him. Harry stopped and turned. It was the woman from the general store, Lou Mallory. She had come outside her shop and was giving Harry a quizzical look. "Aren't you having supper with Mark and his father?"
"No," Harry shook his head.
"And why not?" Lou put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a penetrating stare, as if she expected him to answer.
"Mr. McCain asked me to leave town," Harry replied honestly.
"Whatever for?" Lou demanded.
"It's — kind of complicated," Harry said, not wanting to explain further.
Lou looked toward the marshal's office, then stepped out of the doorway. She pointed inside. "Come with me," she said.
Harry hesitated. What did she want with him. "Hurry up!" Lou insisted.
Harry shrugged and walked into the store. Lou came in behind him, pulling the door closed after her. A moment later they heard the door to the marshal's office slam. "Get in the back room," Lou urged, pointing to another door, and Harry ducked into the room.
Lou was watching through the store windows. "If Lucas comes in here just stay quiet and let me talk to him — I want to know why he's trying to send you away!"
They could hear Lucas's footsteps down the sidewalk as he strode toward the general store. Lou put her hands on her hips, ready to confront Lucas the moment he came through her door. But instead of coming into the store, Lucas jumped into his buckboard sitting between the general store and Micah's office and drove away. Lou watched them disappear, then walked into the back room where Harry was waiting.
"Lucas looked upset as he was leaving," she told him. "What happened that got him in such a state?"
"I don't know," Harry said, not wanting to explain.
"Oh, of course you do, Harry Potter," she said sternly. "Don't try to kid a kidder. Tell me what happened." Then her expression softened. "Go on, then. I'll do my best to understand, whatever it is."
There was a compelling quality to her voice that inspired Harry to trust her. "I can — do things most people can't do," he told her.
"You mean," Lou said pointedly, "with that wand in your back pocket?"
Shocked, Harry opened his mouth but nothing came out for several second. Finally he blurted, "You know about wands?"
"Yes, I know about them," she said evenly. "What year were you born?" she asked suddenly.
The question took Harry by surprise. "Um, 1980," he said, uncertainly.
"Interesting. Do you know what year this is?" Lou asked. Harry shook his head. "It's August 1885," she told him.
"Er …" that left Harry speechless once again. It was over a hundred years ago according to that date! "I, uh, meant to say eighteen —"
"Oh, tosh," she snapped, dismissing the lie he was about to tell. "I know what you said, my lad." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me," she said, leading him into the back room of the store, where they took a staircase up to the next floor, stopping on a small landing in front of a closed door.
"Do you know how to open a locked door, Harry?" she asked him. Harry didn't answer. What did she expect him to do — say "hocus pocus" and have the door fly open on its own —
"Let me show you," she said, reaching into the apron she was wearing and pulling out — a wand?! Harry stared in shocked silence as she pointed it at the lock and said, "Alohomora!" The lock clicked loudly and she turned the knob, opening it and gesturing for Harry to go in. Giving her a perplexed look, Harry stepped into the room.
The room inside was very different than he'd expected. It was wide and spacious, much bigger than it should actually be, and Harry knew immediately that it had been expanded magically. The walls were covered in bright wallpaper and numerous portraits, all of them moving. The furniture was ornately carved and very expensive looking, with a large divan, a pair of sitting chairs, and numerous tables of various sizes scattered about the room, with lamps and knick-knacks spread over many of them. The carpet on the floor was thick and soft, whiter than Harry though a carpet could be. And along one wall —
Harry nearly gasped when he recognized the shelves filled with magical books of all shapes and sizes. Some of them he remembered from the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts Library. There must be a thousand books here! All this could mean only one thing. Harry turned to Lou —
"Yes," she said before he could speak. "I'm a witch, Harry. No, nobody here knows — not even Lucas." She smiled wryly. "As I suspect you've learned, he is not very tolerant of things that are beyond his understanding."
"But —" did she realize that— "Did you know Mark might be —"
"A wizard?" she finished. She smiled at him. "Yes, I knew," she said. "I've checked everyone in town to see if there were any more of us here. He's the only one I've found."
"Why haven't you told him what he is?" Harry asked her.
Lou motioned for him to sit. Harry seated himself in one of the chairs, and she took the one beside it. "I'm not sure it's my place to do that. There's no place out here for him to learn how to be a wizard, no one to teach him except me, and it would be hard for him to learn without a wand."
Harry hadn't thought of that. "It just seems like a waste," he said unhappily.
"I agree," Lou nodded. "I've wanted to tell him, and to help him find a wand and learn as much as he could about magic. He might have gone to a magical school back east. But it might be better if the boy never knows what he's capable of. On top of that, I'm not sure how Mark or his father would react if they knew I was a witch."
"He seems to like you," Harry offered. "Mark, I mean."
"Oh, he does, and I like him, and his father, too," Lou replied, smiling wanly. "But I haven't been in town very long, and I didn't make many friends when I first came here. I knew the railroad would be coming through here, and I sold my business in Denver and came out to North Fork to make some more money. Some people here still aren't too happy about me doing that. I can't take the chance that they might accidentally tell someone about me."
Harry gave her a quizzical look. "You don't need a lot of money, though, do you?" he asked. "I mean, if you know magic —"
"Magic isn't everything, Harry," she said with a shrug. "There's not much fun in taking advantage of people when you can do things they aren't capable of doing themselves. Besides," she added with an impish grin, "it's more fun to take advantage of them in way they can understand!" Harry just nodded, though he didn't quite understand her point.
"Well," she said, her manner turning brisk. "If we're going to figure out how you got here maybe you should tell me everything that happened just before you found yourself in our time."
"I don't know how I ended up here," Harry explained. "I was walking home with my cousin, Dudley. He's a Muggle, by the way — I stay with my aunt and uncle during the summer holiday. We were —" Harry shrugged "I guess we were arguing with each other when things went — strange, around us."
"How do you mean?" Lou asked, curious.
"Things went completely black around us," Harry replied. "Black — and cold. Dudley thought I was doing it, but it was — it was —"
"Dementors," Lou finished. Harry looked at her in surprise, then nodded.
"Yes," he said. "Two of them. My cousin knocked me down and ran away, but I finally cast my Patronus —"
"You cast a Patronus?" Lou interrupted, surprised. "At your age? How old are you, anyway?"
"I just turned fifteen," Harry said, a little defensively. "And I've been able to cast a Patronus for over a year now. My Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin, taught me."
"So you go to Hogwarts, then?" Lou asked. Harry nodded again. "Who's the Head there now?"
"It's, er, Albus Dumbledore," Harry replied.
"I've heard of the Dumbledores," Lou nodded. "Bit full of himself, that man is."
Harry looked confused. "You've met Albus Dumbledore?"
"Oh, heavens no!" Lou laughed. "I meant Percival Dumbledore! He was a few years ahead of me in school. He was quite the ladies' man, or so he fancied himself." She started to say something else, but suddenly shook her head. "Anyway," she went on quickly, "we're getting away from your story, Harry. What happened after you cast your Patronus?"
"I chased the Dementor away," Harry continued, "then I went after Dudley. The other Dementor was attacking him, trying to Kiss him —" Harry saw Lou's involuntary shudder; she'd obviously had dealings with Dementors herself. "I sent my Patronus after it and it flew away as well…" Harry stopped talking, a look of both confusion and concentration on his face.
"What happened next?" Lou pressed.
Harry cocked his head, trying to remember. "I'm not sure," he said. "The stars came back, I remember that… I could see normally again. But then something — hit me." Harry reached around, touching his back where the sensation of something striking him had left a memory in the corner of his mind. "I fell over and couldn't move, and everything went black again."
Lou frowned and pointed her wand at him. A moment later she said, "Looks like someone Stunned you," she said matter-of-factly. "Were there any other witches or wizards with you or your family?"
"Oh, no," Harry said firmly, shaking his head. "My aunt and uncle barely want me in their house!"
"What else do you remember?" Lou asked.
"Nothing else," Harry said. "I woke up surrounded by a bunch of trees, and I heard people talking — I guess that was Mark and Mr. McCain — so I got closer to see who they were. Then they saw me, and Mr. McCain came into the forest and got me. I had no idea where I was and I didn't want to make any trouble, so I came with them."
"It's a pretty problem," Lou said, looking very thoughtful. "You're quite a long ways from England now, you know."
"And it's 1885," Harry added for good measure. "So just where am I now?"
"Here," Lou said, walking over a large pedestal globe of the world. She put her finger on England, then traced a path across the ocean to where North America was, stopping on an unremarkable area labeled "New Mexico Territory." "As you can see, you're quite a ways from your home."
"But how could this have happened?" Harry asked her, desperation beginning to creep into his voice. "That's thousands of miles and over a hundred years in the past! What kind of magic could do something like that?"
"Nothing I know of," Lou admitted, shaking her head. "We may have to write someone and ask for help, if you've any chance of getting back home."
"Who can we write?" Harry wondered. "Hogwarts is in Scotland, Beauxbatons is in France and Durmstrang is somewhere in Romania," he said, listing the magic schools he knew about. "Any of those places is an awful long way for an owl to fly!"
"There's a school in America, too," Lou reminded him. "The Salem Witches' Institute, in Salem Massachusetts."
"Oh," Harry said. He suddenly recollected the group of witches he'd seen at the camp for the Quidditch World Cup, sitting below a banner that read THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE. "Oh, yeah. Where's that at, then?"
"It's only about 1500 miles from here — we could have an owl off to them and back in a week or so."
"A week?" Harry repeated, nonplussed. "What'll I do until then?"
"Hmm." Lou regarded him shrewdly. "Well, school begins next Monday — I suppose you could go there for a few days until we hear back from the Institute — assuming they even answer our owl in the first place."
That panicked Harry a little. "And what if they don't?"
"Well, I suppose you could just stay here," Lou suggested. "It would be nice having someone else around who knows about magic." She was giving him an almost wistful look. "Would that be so bad, Harry?"
Yes! Harry wanted to say. His friends, his life, were back in the future — he didn't want to live in America a hundred years before he was born! He would be all alone here! "I —"
But, he suddenly realized, this woman, Lou Mallory, was all alone here as well, with no one like her around for who knows how far. He didn't want to hurt her feelings by suggesting he didn't want to be here. "I — er," Harry swallowed and started again. "I, I would like to stay around here and keep you company, Miss Mallory, but I feel out of place here. I don't know anything about the customs here or how things work. I'm afraid I might mess things up for you."
Lou smiled. "Aren't you sweet?" she said, touching his cheek. "Very considerate for a boy of your tender years." Harry felt his face starting to go red. "You know," she went on, "a lot of wizards in your place would expect any witch around to wait on them hand and foot, but I suppose things are different where you come from?" Harry nodded, not sure what to say to that. It seemed like witches were still more subservient to wizards than Muggle women were to Muggle men in his time, but he wasn't going to mention anything like that.
"I'll get to work on that letter after I close the store down for the evening," Lou said. "Then you and I can go have a nice dinner over at Madera House. I've got a new girl working in the kitchen — she's about your age, I think. And if you don't mind, I'll have you help the staff afterwards. They can always use an extra pair of hands cleaning up."
"Okay," Harry nodded slowly. "But what if someone like the marshal sees me and recognizes me? I don't think he wanted me around any more than Mr. McCain did."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Lou said with an airy wave of her hand. "I can fix things so they won't recognize you."
Fix things? Harry wondered what that meant. But before he could ask, Lou had glanced over at a large, ornate grandfather clock standing against one of the walls of the room. "Oh, look at the time, will you?! It's nearly six o'clock, time to close already! Well, come along, young Harry, you can help me lock the doors and sweep up before we get something to eat."
=ooo=
After the store had been dusted and swept (which went a lot quicker with Lou enchanting a broom to sweep out the back while Harry handled the front by hand) Lou took him back upstairs and had him change his T-shirt, jeans and trainers for clothing more appropriate to the time and place, as well as being cleaner than his old ones.
Looking at himself in a full-length mirror, Harry had to admit he looked a lot better now than he had before — his jeans were clean and new now, and fit him much better than Dudley's old hand-me-downs had. The shirt was new, too, though Harry had some trouble with the fasteners, they weren't the same as using buttons. And his new footwear — he hadn't been sure about wearing boots, but he decided the ones she'd given him suited him just fine.
"Well, don't you make a fine, strapping young man!" Lou said when he walked back into her front room. "Any girl in North Fork would be proud to be seen with you, Harry!"
"Thanks," Harry grinned. It did feel nice to be dressed in clean clothes that actually fit him. "Are we going over to eat, now?" He was beginning to feel rather hungry — he hadn't eaten anything in what felt like over a day now.
"We are," Lou said, studying him carefully. "But first, I think, we need to make you look a bit less like you." She took out her wand.
Five minutes later Harry was staring at "James Mallory" in the mirror, the name that he and Lou had come up with rather than continue to call himself Harry Potter. "James" was a cousin of Lou's who had ridden into town earlier that day on a visit from Denver. He had blond hair, though it was every bit as unruly as Harry's had been, and wore round wire-frame glasses instead of the horn-rimmed pair Harry normally sported. The heels on the boots also made him a couple of inches taller. "I don't know if this is going to convince anyone," he said, doubtfully. He could still see much of himself in the face that stared back at him from the mirror.
"Oh, tosh," Lou scoffed. "Only a few people even saw you as Harry Potter! Lucas, Mark, Micah, and those little ragamuffins who teased you. You'll do just fine. Now, let's go eat."
She led him down the stairs and outside through a back door to the shop, into an alleyway that took them out into a side road where they could see Madera House just up the way. "Now I'll get you squared away so you can eat," she told him quietly as they walked toward the hotel. "I've got to make sure things are running smoothly. I'll try and join you later."
"You're not eating with me?" Harry asked, concerned. What if he did or said something wrong?
"I'm sure you can feed yourself, Harry lad," she told him evenly. "Or should I say, James lad. Don't trouble yourself — you'll do fine."
She led him into the dining room, to a table near the back, and raised a hand to call one of the waitresses over. "This is my cousin James," she told the young lady. "Get him whatever he wants — we'll be putting him to work later in the kitchen."
"Yes, ma'am," the waitress, a young, blonde-haired girl, nodded. Lou gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder then hurried out of the room.
"Good evening, James," the waitress said pleasantly, pulling a pad and a pencil out of her apron. "Do you know what you'd like to eat?"
"Um." Harry had no idea what he should order. At Hogwarts there was always a vast selection of items on the tables during meal times. In contrast, on Privet Drive he was hardly allowed anything to eat unless he snuck it out of the refrigerator late at night. "What do you have?" he finally asked.
The waitress went into her recitation. "Well, we have steak, chicken, beef stew, and you can get potatoes, beans, corn on the cob, peas. Oh, and we have apple or cherry pie for dessert, or peach or blueberry cobbler, thought the cobbler's made with canned peaches and blueberries, not fresh like the pies are."
"What's good?" Harry asked.
"Well, all of it's good," the waitress said, frowning at the question. "Lou wouldn't serve anything unless it was good."
"Well, I meant —" Harry decided not to press the point. "Can I have some steak and some potatoes and beans."
"How do you want your steak?" the waitress asked.
That was a strange question, Harry thought. "Cooked," he said.
The waitress gave him an impatient glare. "I know that, silly," she said with an irritated sigh. "I meant, how do you want it cooked — rare, medium, or well done?"
There were never any questions like this at Hogwarts. The steaks were always cooked just right for them. Harry shrugged and went for the middle choice. "Medium, I guess," he said.
"Very good," the waitress said, scribbling on the pad in her hand. "How do you want the potatoes, baked, boiled, fried or mashed?"
"Er — fried, I guess," Harry answered. More scribbling on the pad.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Some pumpkin juice," Harry said without thinking, then winced as he realized Muggles didn't normally drink that. "Er — I meant, milk."
"Milk it is," the waitress said after giving him a curious look. "I'll have that for you in just a few minutes." She smiled and hurried off through a doorway into the kitchen area.
Harry shook his head, not sure how he should process that conversation, then decided to ignore it for now and take in his surroundings. The room he was in was about half-full of people seated in groups of one, two, and three or four people. When he'd entered most of them had been eating or talking with one another. Now, he saw, many of them were glancing or gesturing in his direction.
Harry was no stranger to being whispered about. In fact it almost felt more unusual for people not to whisper and point at him in his presence. So he did what he usually did at Hogwarts — he ignored them and went about his business as best he could.
There was a cloth-covered basket in the middle of the table. Harry peeked beneath the cloth and discovered slices of bread, rolls and some crackers. And there was a dish of butter sitting next to it. Harry spread butter on a slice of bread and pretended to enjoy eating it while everyone's attention slowly shifted away from him back to the meals in front of them. By his third slice of bread, Harry was beginning to wish he had some milk to wash it down.
The waitress was coming back to his table, a plate of food and a glass of milk in her hands. "Here you are," she said, setting the plate and glass down in front of him. "I hope you enjoy them. Do you mind if I join you?"
Huh?
The waitress sat down without waiting for him to reply. "Actually," she said, "Lou told me to take a supper break and keep you company." She smiled sweetly. "I hope you don't mind. My name's Lorrie, by the way." She extended her hand toward him.
Harry's hand moved of its own accord, taking hers and shaking it. "Pleased to meet you, Lorrie," he heard himself say. "My name is, er, James, um, Mallory."
"Pleased to meet you, er-James um-Mallory," she said, and giggled. "Lou told me you were her cousin. Are you first or second cousins?"
"Uh, yes," Harry stammered.
"Well, which is it? First or second?"
"Um…" Harry stammered again. Pick one! his brain shrieked. "Er, second."
Lorrie giggled again. "Are you sure?" she asked, teasing.
"I'm sure," Harry nodded, his brain finally catching up with his mouth. "Sorry, it's just been a long ride and I'm a bit tired." Turn it around, his brain advised him. Girls like to talk about themselves. Both Ron and Hermione had imparted this bit of wisdom to him. "How long have you been working for Lou?"
"Oh, about a month now — thank you!" she added as another waitress brought her plate out to her. "Thank goodness, I'm famished!" She had two pieces of fried chicken, a small amount of mashed potatoes and gravy, and mounds of peas and a corn on the cob on her plate, and a large glass of water. "I really like working for Lou, I'm learning a lot about doing things in the kitchen. I think that's real important for a woman to know how to do, don't you, James?" Harry nodded agreement.
"My ma and pa settled here about a year ago," Lorrie went on, eating more than talking. We came from Denver, too — did you know that? We knew Lou up in Denver, too, she owned a nice saloon there — it was called the Gold Slipper as I recollect. I wasn't allowed in there of course but my pa was. I don't think he ever mentioned anyone by the name of James Mallory, though." She was giving Harry a curious look. "Isn't that a little strange, James? My pa never met you or even heard of you in all the times he went into that bar."
"Well…" Harry was busy trying to cut into the steak he'd been given. It was surprisingly tough; at Hogwarts you could cut the steaks with a butter knife! "I guess it's because I came here from Denver, but I'm not from Denver myself."
"Well, I can tell that," Lorrie sniffed. "You have an accent, after all."
"Well, of course…" Harry agreed, still distracted by the toughness of his meat. His plate suddenly slid away from him. "What —"
"Don't you know how to cut a steak, James?" Lorrie was giving him a reproachful look as she pulled his plate in front of her. She picked up a knife next to her plate and began cutting his into pieces. "Don't use your butter knife, it's not sharp enough. There you go!" She pushed the plate back toward him; his steak was cut into a dozen pieces.
"Thanks," Harry muttered, embarrassed to have a girl cut up his food.
Lorrie began chattering over her meal again. "You'll like North Fork, James, it's such a nice little town, nothing at all like Denver. There's a school here and the railroad will be coming through soon! Lou is friends with one of the well-known citizens here, Lucas McCain. Have you met him or his son, Mark?"
"Er — not yet," Harry hedged, talking around the meat and potatoes in his mouth.
"Mark's nice, I've gone riding with him a couple of times," Lorrie went on airily. "Maybe we could go riding sometime as well, James. Do you think?"
Harry stopped in mid-chew. He'd ridden broomsticks, he'd ridden a hippogriff. But he'd never really ridden a horse before, other than the trip back to the McCain ranch behind Mark. "Ah — er, sure, that'd be fun," he said without thinking. Oh great, he told himself. Now you've done it! Bloody hell, what a fix he'd got himself in!
"Swell!" Lorrie smiled brightly and patted him on the hand. She suddenly stood. "Well, I've got to get back to work. Do you want some pie or cobbler for dessert?"
"Sure," Harry's voice took over for him again. "Some apple pie would be swell." Swell? What did that even mean here?
"Okay, I'll be right back with some! See you, James!" Lorrie hurried away, back into the kitchen.
Harry sighed to himself and went back to eating his meal. The week couldn't pass quickly enough for that letter to Salem Institute to get back to Lou! In the meantime, Harry would lay low, do whatever chores Lou asked of him, and keep out of sight.
"Hello, young man," a familiar voice above him said. Harry looked up into the face of Micah Torrence. Oh crap. "I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Marshal Torrence."
Micah looked at him expectantly, waiting for a response. "Hello, Marshal," Harry said, standing up and holding out his hand, as he expected a proper young man here in America would. "I'm James Mallory, Miss Mallory's cousin. I just arrived from Denver today."
"Oh?" Micah raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't remember seeing you get off the stagecoach earlier."
"I rode in on my own," Harry replied, using Lou's story.
"Oh, is your horse over at the livery?" the marshal asked him.
"Er, I don't know what Lou did with it," Harry said quickly. "She said she'd take care of it."
"Hmm," Micah looked around the room. "I see. Well, I'll talk to her later." He turned back to Harry. "By the way, on your ride today did you happen to see a young boy, black hair and glasses, walking along the road to Denver?"
"Er, no," Harry said, then decided to embellish that a bit. "Well, I saw someone sitting under a tree a ways off the road, but —" he pointed at his own glasses. "I can't see very far anyway."
"I understand," Micah said, then chuckled. "Well, thanks, James," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to meet a relative of Miss Mallory's." He reached up and tousled Harry's hair. "Have a good dinner." He turned and walked out of the dining room.
Brushing his hair back into a semblance of order, Harry sat back down and resumed his meal. Could he get just a few minutes alone to finish eating in peace?
"Well there you are!" Apparently not, Harry told himself. Lou had just come into the room from the kitchen. "How's the food?"
"Just fine," Harry said with a smile he did not feel. "I'll let you know as soon as I get a good bite of it."
"Well, James," Lou laughed softly though her voice carried around the room. "You're new in town and you're my cousin — you've got to expect a fair amount of curiosity from the good folks who live here, you know."
Leaning closer, she said much more softly. "There, that should stop most of them botherin' you now that they think they know who you are."
"I hope so," Harry muttered. "We'll see if I can fool Mark and Mr. McCain."
"You'll do fine," Lou said confidently. "Just don't go looking for trouble with them and you'll be all right — Ah! Look who's here, an' with dessert to boot!"
Lorrie had come up to the table with a slice of apple pie, with cheese melted over the top of it, and set it down on the table in front of Harry. "Hi, Miss Mallory," she said as she stepped back. "James and I had a nice dinner together," she said, beaming at both of them. "We're going to go riding sometime this weekend."
"Are you now?" Lou said, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "That should be fun," she said, winking at Lorrie as she walked away.
"See you tomorrow!" Lorrie said, then ran back into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with his dessert.
"Right," Harry sighed to himself. "I'm doomed."
=ooo=
Conversation at the McCain home that evening had been short and uncomfortable. Mark and Lucas each did their kitchen chores with a minimum of talking. With no homework Mark had only a few chores to finish before bed, such as bringing in enough firewood for breakfast the next morning, and sweeping out their bedroom and the front room.
Meanwhile, Lucas had occupied himself with reading the Bible. The incident with the Potter boy that morning had deeply bothered him — he was afraid Mark could be influenced by the lure of wrong thinking. He had done his best to teach his son the straight and narrow path of godliness, but it didn't take much to draw him away — Lucas had seen that several times over the years, though Mark had always listened to him up until now.
The timepiece on the mantle (a gift from Lou) chimed nine o'clock and Lucas shut his Bible with a sigh. "About time for bed, son," he said quietly. He'd noted Mark's silence through dinner, and knew his son wasn't pleased with how he'd treated the Potter boy, but nothing could be done about that now.
"Yes, Pa," Mark muttered, putting down the school book he'd been looking through. Last year's mathematics book, Lucas noted; Mark must've been very upset if he preferred looking through that book to talking to him!
Mark started toward the bedroom door, but stopped with his hand on the handle. "Pa?" he said tentatively, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, son — what is it?"
"Do you really think a witch is going to hell when they die?"
"The Good Book says so, Mark," Lucas pointed out. "That's what we have to believe."
"Would you really kill someone who was a witch?" Mark went on. Lucas could see where his questions were leading.
"If that person threatened us, I would," Lucas nodded. "The same as if someone threatened to shoot us."
"And what if it just turned out to be a magic trick?"
"A threat is still a threat, son," Lucas pointed out. "I would have to take it seriously."
Mark was looking at him very seriously now. "What if — what if I turn out to be what Harry said — a wizard? Isn't that like a witch who's a boy?"
"You're not a wizard, Mark," Lucas said firmly. "Harry was wrong about that."
"But," Mark argued, "what if I was a wizard and don't know it, like Harry said —"
"Mark, I SAID, YOU'RE NOT LIKE THAT!" Lucas bellowed, and Mark flinched back. "Look, son," Lucas said, more calmly than he felt, "I think Harry was just trying to impress you with the idea of being a wizard or a witch — whatever he calls himself — he must've done something to my rifle to make it float in mid-air, a magician's trick."
"But — the water from his wand," Mark pressed. "When I held his wand, Pa, I realized it wasn't hollow — he couldn't have poured water out of it!"
"He probably switched wands when you weren't looking, son," Lucas said, trying to explain away the incident as a trick — he didn't want Mark seduced into believing in magic whether it was real or not.
"Do you really think so, Pa?" Mark wasn't sure whether to accept his father's explanation or not.
Lucas nodded firmly. "Yes, that's what I think," he said. "Now let's get to bed — I should go apologize to Lou tomorrow for leaving without telling her why. And maybe we can fix that rabbit stew to make up for it."
"Alright, Pa." Mark went into the bedroom and changed into his nightshirt. Even though the day had been hot, the temperature had cooled down enough at night that nightclothes and a light blanket were comfortable for sleeping.
His father came in a few minutes later and put on his nightclothes as well, then slipped into bed and waited for Mark to say goodnight. But Mark wasn't in a very communicative mood tonight — he pretended to be asleep. After a few minutes Lucas sighed and turned on his side, sleep rapidly coming over his weary, troubled mind.
=ooo=
A/N: This is the first Harry Potter / Rifleman crossover on fanfiction dot net, as far as I can tell. I made it an explicit crossover so it would be easier to find. Harry has found himself over a hundred years in the past and thousands of miles from his home in England. How did he end up this far in the past and so far away from home? And who was the person staring at him from the woods where Lucas McCain found him? This will be a tricky puzzle to solve since Time Turners cannot send someone more than a few hours into the past — how far back that may be was never explained in the novels. Also, as far as we know, there are no other known methods of time travel in the Harry Potter universe.