Pouring ice-rain, howling wind. Slippery, sticky mud. Blood everywhere, flying from sword-cuts, running from wounds, spraying from slashed veins, mixing with the mud and the ice. Booted feet churned the mud, bodies slipped and slid and fell and rolled in it. The ear-splitting clang of iron on iron mixed with the roar of battle and the groans of the dying.
Helgarda Ungarnsdottir hefted her broadsword in both hands, fixed her eyes on the neck of the barbarian in front of her, and beheaded him. She screamed in triumph and whirled to slice off the raised sword-arm of another, whose blood flew out and coated her arms and her sword. She wiped blood out of her eyes with her dripping sleeve. Three of the enemy encircled her, she crouched, broadsword in one hand and dagger in the other. A glance found her father's powerful figure, whirling a double-bladed battleaxe around his head. She shifted her weight, testing the three menacing warriors. A hand seized her hair and bent her head backwards. The sword descended towards her throat: "Ungarn! Fath—"
"—er," and she lay still, the breath knocked out of her. She waited, unmoving, until her heart ceased hammering. She hoped the enemy thought her dead. Her ears rang from the shrill screech that had accompanied her fall. Gradually her hearing returned, but not the noise of battle. She willed sensation into her hands and felt that they lay upon dry leaves, not wet, slick mud. She listened, and heard no battle cry, no screams. She slitted her eyes open, and saw not the bloody ground of her father's holding, but oak and maple leaves of red, orange and gold, floating down from the huge trees in an autumn forest where she seemed to be.
A bird sang somewhere. She smelled mushrooms and forest herbs and, after a while, wood-smoke. She sat upright, her wet, bloody clothes clinging to her stickily. There was no one around; she was alone. Where was she, what was this place? A moment ago she had been fighting not just for her life, but also for her father's kingdom. Her sister-in-law, Gudrun Sjogrunsdottir, crouched in a cave with her brother Erik's children, Leif and Birgit; she prayed they were safe. Erik was somewhere on his long-eyed ship; she prayed for his return. Although her brother was mighty in battle, he was not home to stand with their father. She was the thane's daughter, and fight she would to her last breath. Ungarn! Where was her father? Without her, could he and his men hold off the greater numbers of barbarians, determined to kill him and take his land and his hall, his busy seaport and his fleet of ships?
She rose shakily, holding on to the trunk of a soaring ash tree. She looked around. She was near the edge of a forest, and she could see some farmland in the distance. "Ungarn!" she called. "Ungarn Helmansson! Father!" Nothing. Nothing but the call of a bird broke the silence. She looked about for her sword, but it and her battle dagger were nowhere to be found. She was unarmed, defenceless. Slowly she walked forward. This is not my father's holding," she thought. This is not even our land; I am somewhere else, but where? She looked upwards through the brilliant leaves: blue sky, bright sun. It was autumn here– but at home it was almost the end of winter! Helgarda looked at her blood-smirched hands and clothing. She felt her hair: stiff with blood; her coronet was still on her head, caked with blood. I must find the people here, and hope that they are not barbarians, she thought. First I must make myself presentable. Anyone seeing me, a maid covered in blood, would run away screaming!"
Her ears led her to a small stream, trickling and babbling over stones. A tiny, beautiful roe deer drank from the clear water. As she stood, holding her breath so as not to disturb the creature, the deer raised her head and looked at her with wise brown eyes, unafraid. She knelt and pulled some tender plant leaves, and held them out. The deer approached and delicately ate the leaves from her hand. As she did so, the blood disappeared from Helgarda's hand. It evaporated from her clothing, her face, and her hair. The roe deer sniffed Helgarda's forehead with a soft black nose, then ran off into the forest.
Helgarda swung her braid of hair over her shoulder. Clean, shining yellow-blonde hair, neatly plaited – no blood, no mud. She took off her coronet: the thin red gold circlet shone, the small garnets in it glittered, blood red. She looked down at her skirt and knitted tunic: clean. Even her boots were clean! She looked closely at her hands: callused from hard work, but clean, the nails neatly trimmed and clean beneath. She stared after the little deer. There was surely magic at work here. Good magic? She stood up and began to walk resolutely towards the farmland she had glimpsed through the trees. Wherever I am, I am not home. I can only hope to find my way back in time to save my father.
The forest ended, and Helgarda found herself on a broad path that led through green fields planted with wheat and other grains. Someone must be nearby to farm these fields, she thought. They must not fear, for they have no rock fences. Or the deer do not eat the grain. She plucked a long stalk of oats, heavy with grains, and chewed on it as she walked. She rounded a copse of trees, and stood stock-still. She faced an enormous structure – she had never seen its like. Did people live in it? She had heard of, but never seen, castles. A powerful king must have built this one; who else would have slaves enough to bring the countless stones and mortar them together to build a hall the size of a mountain?
Slowly she approached. It was beautiful, with large windows with arched tops, carvings over the many doors, colourful banners fluttering from the tops of looming towers. There were people - children, from the look of them, wearing black robes over their odd-looking clothes, playing on the green fields surrounding the castle, throwing balls or smiting them with mallets, rolling hoops, tumbling, sitting together in small groups. As Helgarda walked closer, she could hear their laughter. So, this was a peaceful place, with happy children!
One of the children, a girl with thick, curling brown hair, looked up from her scroll as Helgarda neared. The child stood up, her dark eyes enormous, took a stick from her robe, pointed it at Helgarda and shouted something unintelligible. Helgarda smiled and knelt, to be closer to the child. "My name is Helgarda, daughter of Ungarn," she said. The little girl took a deep breath, once more pointed the stick at Helgarda, and said something else, also unintelligible.
"Mayhap we don't speak the same language," Helgarda said. "I don't understand you."
"Now you do," said the child. Helgarda sat down hard with surprise. Magic. How else could she suddenly understand a foreign tongue?
Helgarda remembered her manners. "I'm glad to meet you," she said. "And I'm glad we can talk together. What is your name?"
"Hermione Granger," said the girl. "You don't look like a Muggle. What are you?"
"What am I? I'm the thane's daughter," said Helgarda. "I don't know how I came here. A few minutes ago my father and I were battling the barbarians, and I thought I would die. Then I found myself in that forest back there. I was covered in blood, but a little deer came to me and ate leaves from my hand, and the blood disappeared."
"Yes, very well, someone magicked you here. What are you?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"I told you. I'm the thane's daughter. Ungarn is the most powerful thane in Nordland. The barbarians from the east have invaded our country, and they want my father's holding. I have to get back there to help him to protect it. My brother is out to sea; his wife is trying to keep his children safe. What's a Muggle?"
Hermione gathered up her things from the grass. "I think you had better come with me," she said.
"Not so fast, young lady," said Helgarda. "Before I move from this spot, I must say that you, who are old enough to know better, have shown no hospitality to a stranger. If you were lost in my land, I would greet you cordially, bring you to my father's hall, introduce you to my family, seat you at supper (and give you the best of the food) and ask you to tell your tale. Don't your people teach you children anything?"
Hermione looked down. "I'm sorry, Helgarda," she said. "You must understand the consternation I felt upon seeing you. After all, I've only seen one giant (well, half-giant) in my life, and here you are, another one, and obviously not a Wizard, or you wouldn't be lost. Muggles are people who aren't Wizards, but you couldn't be that either. Please, come with me. This is Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and we're students. Our Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, will surely be able to help you. And," she added, a dimple appearing in her cheek, "it's almost dinnertime. You'll love the food." She held up a hand, Helgarda took it, and together they set off for the entrance to the great hall. Giant? Half-giant? What did the child mean?
"Hey! Hey! Hermione!" They stopped to see who was shouting. Two lads came running, full tilt, both carrying brooms. Were they serfs? They were wearing black robes like the other students', like Hermione's. They fetched up in front of Helgarda, their eyes round. "Cor!" said the fellow with red hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose. "You're a giant. I mean," he corrected himself, "a half-giantess. Wow."
The other boy had dark hair and an engaging smile. He held up his hand: "I'm Harry, and that's Ron. Pleased to meet you." Well, Helgarda thought, someone here has some manners. What is that on his face, sitting on his nose, in front of his eyes? I mustn't stare, it's rude.
"I'm Helgarda Ungarnsdottir," she answered, and took his hand.
Harry looked up at her: "You're Norse," he said. "I don't think you're from now, though."
Helgarda nodded. "I don't think so either. However, as Hermione has discovered, I am neither a Wizard nor a Muggle, and I don't know how I got here."
They entered the building, and were met by a nasty-looking individual who took one look at Helgarda and ran off as fast as his bowed legs would carry him, shouting, "Master Dumbledore! Master Dumbledore!"
"Am I so frightening?" asked Helgarda.
"Not at all," said Harry. "Not any more than Hagrid, and a great deal prettier." The children all laughed.
"Who is Hagrid? Is he Norse as well? That would be helpful, "Helgarda asked.
Ron laughed. "I don't think he's Norse, but he is a half-giant, and that should be helpful."
Helgarda frowned. "What is a giant? What am I a half of?"
Hermione stood still, and with her, the boys and Helgarda. People were coming into the great hall. They were certainly not children, and they seemed to be herding the children along. They were adults –and suddenly, Helgarda understood. She was half again as tall as any of these people. She looked down at Hermione, Harry and Ron. "Is that what giant means, bigger than everyone else? And a half-giant is half again as big as everyone else?"
"It does," said a bass voice in back of her, startling her. She turned and looked directly into a pair of bright beetle-black eyes. "Welcome, lady. My name is Rubeus Hagrid."
"Yes," said Helgarda. "You're the other one. " The man was as tall as her own people; she looked straight into his eyes, and through them saw her father. Suddenly, her strength left her. She swayed on her feet, and Hagrid caught her easily and bore her over to sit on a bench. She bowed her head forward on her lap and began to weep. "Father! Oh, Father! Bring me home!"
A lady wearing a pointed, wide-brimmed hat and a long gown of shiny green cloth hastened towards them, a white-bearded grandsire in tow. "We must help her, poor thing," she said. She sat down next to Helgarda and put a comforting hand on the weeping half-giantess' back. "I am Professor McGonagall," she said.
The old gentleman, who, Hermione whispered, was Headmaster Dumbledore, sat on her other side, and took her hand. "She's been hurled here from long ago and far away, " he said. "Her father's fighting a losing battle. I don't know what we can do, but we can try."
Hagrid offered a kerchief, and Helgarda mopped her streaming eyes. "Thanks, " she said to McGonagall and Dumbledore. "Everyone here seems so kind."
Dumbledore patted her hand. "We are kind people! Now let's go in and have dinner, and you can meet the students and faculty of Hogwarts. While you are here, you are one of us."
Helgarda stood up. Hagrid stepped to her side and held out his fist for her to place her hand upon, the old way, and together they walked into the dining hall.
The cheerful buzz of conversation amongst the students seated at the four long tables stopped completely as they entered the Great Hall. Master Dumbledore held up his hand, and all turned towards him: "Masters and students, we have a guest. She is a Norse lady, brought here by magic, and she will stay with us until we can find a way to send her home. " He gestured to Helgarda, who stepped forward.
"I am Helgarda Ungarnsdottir. I thank you for your hospitality," she said. Hagrid led her to his place at the Masters' table, and a chair appeared next to his. The Headmaster spoke a blessing, and food appeared on the tables. Helgarda was astonished. Never had she seen such a feast! Great platters of grilled fowl, roasts of meat that sliced themselves when anyone reached out for a serving; baked whole fish with bright red cooked lobsters garnishing them, boats of sauces savoury and spicy; vast dishes of vegetables wafting delectable aromas, loaves of bread dark and white, crocks of butter, whole wheels of cheese, and fruit piled high in footed bowls. The mingled smells made her mouth water, and she recalled that she had not eaten that day.
Helgarda stared down at the plate in front of her. Never had she seen such a plate – snowy white, thin as a leaf, with magical designs of flowers that bloomed, made seeds and bloomed again all around the edge. She drew her eating dagger from its scabbard in her girdle and set it down next to the plate, flipped the edge of the tablecloth over her lap as would any well-brought-up lady. She looked around for a serf, to wash her hands, and as she did so, a wee elf with basin and ewer appeared at her elbow. He poured water over her hands and handed her a clean napkin. She smiled her thanks. "Tak," he said. A Norse elf!
Helgarda waited patiently for her hosts to put food on her plate. After a few minutes, it occurred to her that customs might be different here. She leaned over to Hagrid: "Shall I help myself to food?"
"O'course!" he boomed, brandishing a lobster. "This time o'year, the lobsters is terrific!" He put the lobster on her plate.
"Thanks and praise for food and drink," said Helgarda, and piled her plate with roast fowl, fish, and some of the vegetables that smelled so delicious. She looked about for beer. Hagrid understood: he motioned to a House Elf to pour some of the spiced pumpkin juice into her footed goblet. "They don't allow strong drink here," he whispered. Helgarda nodded her head, her mouth full. "Shall I open yer lobster for ye?" Hagrid offered.
"Thanks, I can do it easily," replied Helgarda. She laid the heavy haft of her eating dagger on top of her lobster's thick claw, took aim and smote the haft with her fist. The lobster shell shattered, and she withdrew the tasty white meat with the point of the dagger and offered it to Hagrid in courtesy for his kindness. He blushed almost as red as the lobster and accepted the meat. This was, indeed, a most unusual lady!
Pleasant music sounded, and Helgarda looked for the bard. There was none, but a beautiful harp was playing itself on one side of the room. Magic. She took a piece of brown bread, which had nuts and raisins in it. As she reached for the cheese, she noticed a handsome grey and black striped cat pacing along the floor in between the tables. She turned to Hagrid: "What a fine cat! There will be no mice where she prowls." Hagrid laughed, his teeth white in his bushy brown beard. "Now, Miss Helgarda," he said, "That's no ordinary cat. Just watch her." As he spoke, the cat transformed itself into Professor McGonagall, pointed hat, stylish gown and all. Helgarda thought her eyes would pop from her head. She took a big swallow from her goblet. Professor McGonagall smiled as she passed; there was definitely a feline air about her.
Nobody at home will ever believe me, Helgarda thought, if I tell them about this place and these people. She looked around her as she ate her dinner. The students, all of them in black gowns over their clothing, sat at the long, long tables, each one under a different banner. She could see Hermione, Ron and Harry at a table under a red and gold banner with the device of a large, catlike beast. Was that the banner of their tribe? Next to them, another long table filled with students stood under a green and silver banner with a coiled snake on it. Another tribe? Her sharp eyes noticed three boys at that table; two had the thick, stupid look of the meanest serfs. They were receiving what seemed to be instructions from a pale boy with white-blond hair. He had the nasty expression of someone who disliked everyone and was greatly disliked in turn. Her hand itched to whack his skinny bottom. That was odd; she and her people loved children, would never strike them, only talk sharply to them if they misbehaved. She could feel evil radiating from him, a mere child. What kind of place was this, where children could be evil?
The adults, who were the Masters, sat at another table set crosswise to those. She and Hagrid were seated at the end of the Masters' table. Master Dumbledore she had met, and Professor McGonagall (when she was not a cat), and the rest were as odd an assortment as ever she had seen. A small woman dressed all in green, including her wimple and veil, talked with a stout man in a long, flowing robe whose colours seemed to change from minute to minute.
A tall, thin man all in black sat crouched over his plate like a spider, talking to nobody. Another woman (was it a woman? Her hair was chopped off at her neck, and she wore breeches) talked with a kobold. Surely a kobold, but carrying a large book and what seemed to be a mariner's compass. A wee man, the size of a dwarf but with proportionate arms and legs, was deep in conversation with a tall, thin woman who waved her hands about as she spoke. She wore many necklaces of beads and bracelets all the way up her arms, and had an abstracted air about her. Strange, strange people; I've never seen their like, thought Helgarda.
The kobold's compass reminded Helgarda of her beloved brother Erik. None had expected the barbarians to attack while winter still gripped the land, and so he had gone to sea. He had finished grieving the death of their mother, and it was time for him to travel and trade. Erik would have been amazed at this place, these people – and he travelled all the time!
She wiped her hands and mouth on her napkin and sat up straight, comfortably full. The other masters (most of them) turned to her and introduced themselves. Helgarda smiled at each one, and thanked them all for their kindness, hoping she would remember some of their names, which were mostly quite peculiar.
"I would tell you of my home," she said. "I am a bard, and perhaps you would enjoy hearing one of our sagas."
"Yes!" chorused two elderly twin sisters. "Please do sing for us!" Almost all of the masters clapped their hands, and she rose, her chair startling her as it pushed back by itself. The little Norse elf appeared at her elbow, bowed and took her sleeve between two gnarled fingers, conducting her to a seat a few feet to the side. A drum leaned against the seat; it was a type familiar to her. She looked to Hagrid in surprise; he winked and laid his finger alongside his nose, nodding.
Helgarda seated herself, took up the drum, and established a stately rhythm on it. Shortly she began her song, a stirring tale of the battle between a hero of her people and a fearsome ogre. The students swivelled around on their benches, and waved their wands at her. So they can understand the Norse, she thought. She was a skilful teller of tales; she had all of them in the palm of her hand, gasping as the ogre hurled blasts of fire; applauding as the hero fought them off. Helgarda ended the tale with a volley of drumbeats; the students cheered and applauded, and she bowed to all.
Master Dumbledore rose from his high-backed chair and came around to her as she returned to the table. "I haven't heard Beowulf sung so perfectly in a hundred years," he remarked. "You have a gift, young lady."
Helgarda bowed humbly. "Thank you, sir. I don't have a lot of time to practise the bardic arts, but I do love the old tales. My mother, Walfryda, you should hear her sing—" and abruptly she sat down, overcome by homesickness, grief for her mother, worry for her father and for her brother's children. She looked up, her eyes full of tears.
"Master, you are a great Wizard," she said. "Will you send me home? I don't wish to seem ungrateful, and everyone has been so kind and generous here, but I fear for Ungarn, and I must go home."
"I have begun my work," pronounced Dumbledore. "First I must find out how you came here, and then, why. Nothing happens without a reason, and the Dark Ones cause confusion and consternation for their own ends. They wish to change or control an event in your time, and my belief is that they got you out of the way so you would not prevent them from doing it. Or, they wish to change our world, here, and they will do it in your time."
Helgarda shook her head. "Master, I'm completely confused. Still, I will help all I can. I know nothing of magic, but perhaps – perhaps, our old sagas contain some clues."
"The child's exhausted," stated Professor McGonagall, at Helgarda's elbow. "Come, my dear. There's a lovely room in Gryffindor just waiting for you, with a private bath. A good night's sleep will do wonders, and tomorrow's another day." With surprising strength, she pulled Helgarda along towards the grand staircase.
Helgarda called "Good night," and the entire assemblage stood up and chorused, "Good night, Helgarda."
Hagrid's black eyes twinkled as he watched her go. He sighed deeply. "Lovely lady, she is. I hate to think of it, but I suppose she must return to her home." His heart had leaped in his bosom at his first glimpse of the comely half-giantess, with her blonde braid down to her heels, her fair face and noble carriage, and that selfsame heart had beat along with the drum as she sang the saga in her clear, powerful voice. Professor Dumbledore rested his hand on Hagrid's shoulder. His eyes were filled with compassion. "My good man, it's going to be hard for you to part with her."
Hagrid nodded. "After all these years alone – a beautiful half-giantess, a sweet and a good, kind lady –" He shook his shaggy head, and his eyes glinted with tears. "Master Dumbledore, I think I'm in love with her. I want to go with her if she must go back."
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I don't blame you, Rubeus, but your home is here at Hogwarts. I'd rather try to find a way to keep her here. Then," he pulled two pieces of candy out of the air, unwrapped one and put it in his mouth and handed the other to Hagrid, "I think of her poor father, who must be frantic at her disappearance, and the two little children, her brother's children…" He shook his head. "I'm off to my study, to assess the situation," he said. "Good night, Rubeus."
Hagrid sat for a few minutes, sipping at his goblet of pumpkin juice. A looming shadow at his shoulder made him turn around: "I've got just the thing for you, Hagrid. It's no example to the students to have you moping about over a hank of blonde hair and an overflowing bodice. Take this. It will restore you to your senses." The long, chemical-stained hand put a small phial on the table, a black cloak swirled, and the Potions Master was gone.
Hagrid scowled after him. "I won't take yer anti-love potion, yer mis'rable git," he huffed. He left the phial on the table, went out of the hall and walked back to his snug cottage. Fang greeted him with enthusiasm. He stirred up his fire, found his pipe, and settled down with the dog at his feet. "Ye'd like her, Fang," he said.