Chapter 1
It hadn't been a very good day for Harry James Potter. A particularly gruesome detention with Umbridge and her blood quill and another useless Occlumency lesson with Snape were to be blamed for that, but of course, those strange dreams about the door at the end of the corridor hadn't helped in the slightest either. They had become much more frequent in the latest weeks, enough that his initial curiosity had long since been replaced by an almost maddening frustration.
His throbbing headache, stinging forearm and sleepy mind were a constant reminder of how much he needed to be left alone and in peace.
But peace was as far from Harry as it had ever been, because the most annoying, irritating and obsessive boy in the whole world was walking next to him, as he made his way through the hallways of Hogwarts, headed to the Gryffindor Tower.
"And then they say you sliced it as if it were a little grass snake," Colin Creevey was saying slightly breathlessly, trying to match Harry's fast pace in order to stay as close to him as physically possible. "The Basilisk's head fell to the ground and you stood on top of it, the Gryffindor's sword by your side and the Headmaster's Phoenix on your shoulder. You looked at the monster for a moment and then wiped the blood off the blade on its scaly skin!" the boy continued very enthusiastically and dramatically. "On its skin! Wow! I so wish I was there! The portraits didn't want to tell me anything else, but they were snickering at the time so I don't know if they were completely serious… were they, Harry?"
The boy-who-lived continued to ignore the fanatic boy like he had done for the last ten minutes. He had made the mistake of nodding once at the beginning of this torture, but that had seemed to rile up Colin as if he had tossed oil on fire, so now he feared that even rolling his eyes would have unpleasant effects. What did the fourth year want anyway? An autograph? Another photo? The bloody head of the Basilisk? Maybe if its eyes were still working their magic, he could think about actually showing it to the rabid fanboy…
Stumbling through the dark hallways of Hogwarts, he finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. He had never longed to see her so much in his whole life. He was a wreck inside and outside. His hair was messier than ever, and the last time he had checked his face today, it resembled that of a sick eighty-year-old man instead of that of a young and relatively healthy fifteen-year-old boy.
Colin stopped his monologue long enough to jovially shout the secret password and let them enter the Common Room, before resuming again, not really disheartened by Harry's silence.
The boy-who-lived glanced around the room, smiled at his former Quidditch team assembled around a table and then made his way to the fireplace, Colin in tow.
His two best friends were apparently studying, Hermione happily buried under a pile of books, while Ron seemed uncomfortable with his only one. They looked up at the sound of Colin's voice and with just a meaningful look on Harry's part, they immediately took their cue.
"Sit down here, Colin. We'll talk to you," Hermione said.
"But-but-" the fourth-year tried to object, but was dragged down to the couch by Ron's long arms.
"I was there too, against the Basilisk I mean," the Weasley added with a goofy grin. "If I hadn't accompanied him, Harry wouldn't have come out of there alive." He paused for a moment. "Or with a working brain, anyway."
"Who says my brain is working right now? Sometimes I think getting obliviated by Lockhart wouldn't have been so bad," Harry groaned, only half-joking. "I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Harry."
"Night, mate."
When he reached the top of the stairs, the boy-who-lived turned around and mouthed a grateful "Thank you" to Hermione who just smiled at him before stepping into the conversation to correct Ron, likely for saying something over the top.
Harry smiled to himself. They were good friends.
The boy-who-lived sighed tiredly as he opened the door that led to his dorm. Dismissing his uniform and kicking it away in a corner - too tired to put it neatly in his trunk or night table - he wore his Gryffindor red pyjamas and slipped inside the comfortable bed, closing his eyes with a contended sigh.
He really hoped that damn door stayed where it should and away from his dreams for the night. He was tired enough already and just wanted to truly rest until morning. He punched his pillow lightly until it felt right and then curled his legs near his body in his favourite position.
He fell asleep in no time.
I dreamt of total darkness for what seemed like hours. I drifted through it like a bodiless spirit carried around by invisible currents, completely powerless in the face of those wandering forces. Strangely enough, there was no dreaming of amenity or fears, of things I would forget the second I woke. There was no naked Cho Chang either… or nightmarish Umbridge, thankfully. My mind wandered purposelessly and without worries, something that hadn't happened very often in the last period of my life, especially after the snake's attack on Mr. Weasley some weeks before. I was totally aware of that fact, though, and of the blackness surrounding me and almost soothing me with its stillness.
It was good to rest properly again. Of course I should have expected it wouldn't have lasted long.
I soon found myself forcefully dragged down a funnel of darkness, a small light at its end. Something was pushing and pulling me towards a very precise direction. I recognized it soon enough. That blasted corridor, again. I could already outline its walls, its ceiling, and at the end of it, the door.
I gritted my teeth in anger. I was tired of that useless dream!
My floating dream-self squeezed his eyes shut and willed to get out, to dream of something else, to wake up even. Better do something useful while awake than something not only useless but also tiring while sleeping.
I started fighting the alien force that was trying to drag me to the door, struggling against it, snarling and trashing around in such a wild way I surprised even myself. I took strength from the frustration I had built up with all those nights of non-peaceful sleep, from the tension of the last stressful year, of all my life. I fought like there was no tomorrow and I really felt like it was actually true.
And then something started stirring, and a strange warmness slowly wrapped around me like a heavy blanket. My scar started burning atrociously, but it was a different kind of pain than when Voldemort was near. It hurt all the same, but it felt… it felt like it was because of me this time and not because of him. I heard a scream of rage and pain, unmistakably Voldemort's, and I grinned despite the surprise and the pain, because it was about time I scored another point against that bastard, even if it was just in a dream.
I squeezed my eyes closed and kept on fighting, and soon, I realized I was winning.
Although my efforts were the same, my struggling had somehow doubled in strength and intensity, and that alien force acting against me was slowly crumbling under my massive attack. With my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing hard and laboured, I kept on pulling and pushing and trashing, just because I knew it was the right thing to do.
Then through the effort and the pain, I felt something break. A terrifying, prolonged screech erupted in my head right as… something was torn, severed from me. I saw it even through my closed eyes, a dark, vicious ball of filamentous smoke that withered and shrunk till it disappeared completely.
And I felt like myself again, though I had no idea I had not been myself till that moment. It was like that time Parvati gave me that Indian massage of hers and when she finished, I no longer felt that couple of aches I didn't even know I had. It was unsettling in a good way, especially because there was no more burning sensation, or pain, neither in my forehead nor anywhere. I felt clean, and happy, and whole.
I felt great.
But I had no time to elaborate the thought any more than that, because that inhuman scream finally stopped, leaving me basking in the sounds of cars' engines, claxons and running water. The change was so sudden my eyes snapped open and I looked around, still somewhat expecting a long windowless corridor and a door at its end. I was pleasantly surprised at first, for there was none of that.
A brief moment of general contemplation followed, in which I realized I was under some kind of bridge, either at night or late evening, while facing what looked like a river in some kind of town, with cars and people passing above and behind me. Then my attention was inevitably directed towards the creature standing on top of the water right in front of me.
She had the semblance of a woman, the most beautiful one I had ever seen, but she most definitely wasn't. She seemed to rise from the river itself like a mythical siren, only completely human, with hip-long red hair flowing down her pale skin and luscious body. She was very tall, leaning forward in a manner reminding a much deadly predator, and she was smiling a very dangerous smile I was sure any man could have fallen prey of. She was practically naked, the silver gown she was wearing all but see-through in the most strategic places, and visibly aroused, the tips of her perky breasts clearly showing through the silken fabric of her dress. Her golden, vertical-slitted pupils were alight with physical pleasure and hungry lust as they looked down at me.
I couldn't speak, couldn't think straight. That creature was simply something out of a dream, although not necessarily a good one, and I found myself wondering what this one would be in that small part of my brain not completely overloaded with shock.
"There you have it, child," she said in a husky tone that sent chills down my body. "It's done. I fulfilled my part of the bargain. I've given you the power you need to defeat DuMorne and his little demon, after which you will be mine."
There was something in her voice that made me sure that wasn't a good thing, as much as it sounded, but I still was unable to talk or even peel my eyes off her. Her right hand went slowly to her stomach and started seductively slipping downwards.
"I will enjoy that moment, my sweet Harry," she continued, arching her back. "And the centuries afterwards."
She had barely said those words when a thundering roar resonated to my right, making both of us turn in that direction. The woman let out a half-surprised and half-menacing hiss while I could only gasp aloud, once again shocked to the bone.
There, at not more than twenty feet from us, stood the most horrible creature that could probably exist.
It was... 'foul' maybe was the best term. It had an anthropomorphic shape, erect on just two feet, but it was at least nine feet tall, even with slightly hunched shoulders. It had a brown hard-looking skin and strong defined muscles on its arms and legs that ended with paws as big as my head. Dozens of gems of different colours littered its body like large spikes of stone, glittering against the light of the streetlamps above the bridge with different shades of blue, red and green. A talon as long and sharp as a crooked short-sword, started from the end of each limb to reach out over the still impressive claws in a fashion reminding me of some of Dudley's old dinosaur toys I had stumbled upon when I got his second bedroom.
Its face was where the similarities with a human being were nowhere to be seen. Pointed, rotten teeth grinned down at me from a wide wolf-like muzzle, and the creature snapped its jaws open and close once as I looked, showing an abnormally lengthy tongue and another set of teeth behind the first one. Its yellow eyes shined as much as the lights of the cars passing by behind it, but they looked pretty small beside the huge dark gem set right in the middle of its forehead. Strangely enough, the creature had no ears that I could see, and two very small nostrils hissing out steam into the cold night air.
I stared open-mouthed for a long second and couldn't help but shudder slightly under its dangerous gaze.
That was when the presence made itself known to me for the first time.
It was a strange experience, one I had never felt before. It vaguely reminded me of Snape's legilimency attacks but much less obtrusive and not painful at all. Someone slowly surfaced in my brain, almost like a twig emerging from underwater and floating there. It felt as if that someone had always been inside my head and had hesitantly decided to come out and play.
I scratched that thought immediately. The presence wasn't out to play at all.
Fear crept up to me in a steadily increasing wave that left me sweating and trembling after a brief moment. I inevitably took a step backwards and almost dropped down as my knees threatened to give out. I managed to keep my balance, only stumbling slightly, but the fear kept on rising inside me.
It wasn't my own. It wasn't mine that devastating terror that had started gripping my stomach and weakening my legs, that sickening dread that was bringing whimpers to my mouth.
It was the presence's.
"Bloody hell," I all but whispered, and as I said those words, I realized for the first time that there was something strange about me and about my voice.
I couldn't linger to the thought, though, for the ugly beast up the hill let out another wild roar before launching towards us on all fours, faster than any thing that size should ever be. In no more than two seconds it was right upon me, his left foretalon extended to rip my head off.
It got two inches away before it was stopped.
A bluish torrent of light suddenly shot past me, roaring in my ears and burning my skin. Pain almost like brief electrical shocks registered in my brain, and I realized my eyebrows had been singed by the passing energy. As I recoiled away from that dangerous pillar of light, I saw it hit the creature squarely in the chest, neatly lifting its huge body off its feet. After I had rolled on the dirt beside the river, I looked up only to see its hideous form sprawled fifty feet away, grunting and hissing quietly in the distance.
I stared for a few seconds before turning to where the attack had come from. The beautiful woman was still standing on the water, a slender hand raised forward, its fingers curled almost in a claw. Light was gathered around the tips, glimmering and flickering like a flame and setting a blue shade in the eyes of its owner. The woman's expression had turned murderous as she positively snarled at the downed beast, her perfect face now scrunched up into a terrifying mask.
"That crazy fool!" she hissed angrily a second later, glancing at me. "What was he thinking, summoning He Who Walks Behind to this plane and letting him roam free? To get to you?" She hesitated a long second before slowly lowering her hand, the mysterious light disappearing from her fingers. "Run, child. You have to run now. You didn't told me just what kind of demon your guardian had summoned. The magic in your hands isn't nearly strong enough to scratch any Outsider, let alone the most potent of the Walker demons."
I gulped loudly and for the first time since this bizarre dream had started, I actually tried to talk, struggling against my dry mouth and the still terrified presence in my head.
"What- what the hell is that?" I asked, glancing at the creature that was finally standing up. He Who Walks Behind she had said…
The woman looked at me strangely as I said those words, tilting her head to the side with an almost bewildered expression.
"What's with the accent?" she questioned unexpectedly, before shaking her head a second later. She looked up at the beast as well. "No time for that. I can only slow him down as I am now, after the power I granted you as according to our bargain. You have to get as far away from here as possible."
I shook my head as if to clear it of the cobwebs littering it, but my body had apparently decided to simply bypass the brain. I turned around and ran, not once looking back at the surreal scene I had left behind. An angry roar resonated again from the demonic being but I ignored it completely as I moved away from the bridge.
I ran until my lungs burnt and my legs ached. It's incredible what adrenaline does sometimes. I ran at full speed for something like ten minutes and didn't feel any tiredness at first. I was even forced to go up hill and to the side of a road at one point, but I didn't slow down at all. I was passing by people, sprinting on the concrete sidewalk and letting wind batter at my face and just couldn't stop. I realized I wasn't in a place I knew as I did, but I didn't let my attention linger on what I was seeing any more than what was necessary.
Honestly, I was too busy freaking out.
'This isn't right,' was the thought looping in my head as I fled from everything and anything. But that's the thing – you can't really escape your own body, and that was what was causing me so much trouble at the moment. Eventually, I couldn't help but notice all the odd things about my wild run. Stride way too long, feet way too big, arms way too jerky. A rucksack was hitting my back at every step and something that felt like a book's corner was jabbing me annoyingly on the left hip. Almost as a test, I tried speaking even through the panting. Only a small moan came out but it was enough to ascertain that the voice wasn't mine either.
I stopped after that, the momentum of my run forcing me to walk another fifty feet. I was on a very crowded sidewalk now, with big, pricey-looking shops on both sides of the street and cars honking madly in the traffic. Couples cooed as they passed me by, giggling in each other's ears and holding hands, while larger groups checked the display windows and chatted away at a slower pace. I looked at them feeling a bit lost and more than a little rattled by what was happening. Some were staring right back, my dirty and sweaty appearance attracting their attention, not to mention my singed eyebrows.
Glancing sideways at the shop on my right, I caught a glimpse of my reflection on its perfectly shiny glass-door as someone opened it. When it closed a split of a second later and the image disappeared, I walked up to the display window and stared at myself.
A black-haired stranger looked back at me with a mystified expression on his angular face. He was lean and tall, like 6-5 or something, with currently wide, black eyes and sharp features. He looked more or less fifteen, maybe older, and was wearing a plain blue T-shirt under a jeans jacket and some jeans pants that had clearly seen better days. There was no scar on his forehead, of course, but he looked ridiculous without eyebrows, anyway.
"Hell's bells," I whispered under my breath, and immediately wondered where that expression had come from.
This wasn't my body. This wasn't me. Was it a dream? Another vision like the one about Mr. Weasley? At least I wasn't a snake in this one but it was shocking nenetheless. It was also inherently different for in that case, I had been the snake thoroughly, for the whole duration of the vision or whatever that had been. This time around instead, I was still myself, only inside someone else's body.
What was happening? I clearly remembered going to bed in the safety of the Gryffindor tower. Where was I now?
"Do you need anything?"
I struggled to stop looking at my reflection and to turn to the voice. A salesgirl was staring at me from the doorway of the shop, with a half-sceptic and half-questioning expression on her cute face. I shifted my eyes back and forth from her to the display window and eventually noticed it sported women's shoes.
That led to another discovery as my eyes lingered on the strange prices of each piece. They then started roaming restlessly, soon settling on a nearby gift shop and following the letters on some pretty big tablecloths hanging out in a little stand.
"What the-"
I walked up to the shop and peered down at the countless souvenirs displayed outside. Alongside cowboys' hats and sombreros, snow-domes with an old building in miniature inside and postcards of different locations, a single theme dominated the whole stall.
San Antonio, Texas.
Basketball jerseys of some guy named Robinson read San Antonio on the front, and so did pictures and drawings of some fort called Alamo. Everywhere in the stall the American city was acclaimed and praised.
I tried to look around, but my head started spinning dangerously and I found myself stumbling forward. A young man nearby took my arm and steadied me.
"You alright, man?" he said in a heavily American accent. "Why doncha sit down for a moment, huh?"
I looked at him as if he was crazy, before turning around wildly, trying to pay more attention to the pieces of conversations I could hear from where I was. What I recognized as Southern American English resonated all around me, with the occasional foreign language of some tourists. I freed myself from the man's grip and took a step back.
"Sorry," I said dazedly, still pretty much out of it. I started walking away under his concerned gaze.
I walked for a few minutes, trying to get my head around the situation and failing. My breathing had calmed down to normal, but my legs now ached horribly and I decided that the man's advice of sitting had its merits. After turning a corner, I continued down a road that housed less shops and more taller buildings, and I eventually plopped down on the stone steps of a staircase leading up to the entrance to one of them.
Once settled there, I started to gather my thoughts.
I was… not in Scotland? Not even in Britain? That was… logical, now that I thought about it. I was only wearing a light jacket and it was really hot. Even considering my wild run, I would have been freezing if I were anywhere near Scotland. The weather was way too good, way too warm for Britain in general, not this time of the year anyway.
I tried to breathe in and out calmly. Okay, I had been taken off guard a little and the discovery had been unexpected, but there was no reason to panic, really… not because of that, at least. I put the matter aside for the moment and started focusing on more pressing issues, instead. I pulled out my jacked and folded it neatly on my lap, marvelling slightly at the unmarked forearm I had uncovered.
The presence I had felt after the appearance of the demon by the river had long since gone back to the depths of my mind, but now I realized it was probably the real owner of this body I had somehow possessed. It made sense, sort of, more than the 'it's just a dream' excuse, which had unfortunately become very improbable by now. It wasn't just a dream for sure, and I felt like it wasn't a normal vision either, if the word 'normal' could be applied to that.
What to do, then? Someone waking my real body up in the Gryffindor tower would probably end this nightmare, but in the meantime? Could I try to contact Dumbledore or Sirius and get them to take me back to where I belonged? Back to Hogwarts? How had I ended up here in Texas, anyway? Was Voldemort to be blamed? He had certainly been involved in the early stages of the 'dream' before I had sort of kicked that dark, filamentous ball out of the way. Could that have been the cause of this odd situation?
Something was nagging at me, though, something about that demonic being who had attacked me by the river and even that beautiful woman who had saved my life. They weren't… they didn't, couldn't belong to my world, I had felt that immediately upon setting my eyes on them. Of course, logically, that 'demon' could have been an exotic magical creature I had never heard of, and that woman one of those powerful sorceresses of the East much rumoured about… but for some reason, my instincts, my magic, my very being didn't think so.
That woman… she had called me by name. She had known me. What else had she said? I shook my head lightly. It was difficult to remember when everything that happened to you was so deeply shocking you couldn't think straight. She had mentioned someone, DuLac or something, and hinted that he had been the one summoning the demon to get to me. She had also claimed to have given me enough power to fight DuLac, but not enough to defeat this He Who Walks Behind.
I nodded. That was it, pretty much the whole conversation. It didn't really help, though.
I watched as people walked by, oblivious to my situation, and couldn't help but sigh grimly. Why did everything happen to me? Why couldn't I lead a normal life, maybe not a muggle one but that of a normal wizard? Why was everything ever so complicated?
I stopped that train of thoughts and berated myself. I needed to stop being so miserable and try to do something about it instead. I decided I had to find out who I had ended up being and started checking my pockets. They were empty but for some change I found by rummaging in the jacket, and I examined it intently for a long second. American cents, I ascertained with slight confusion and disappointment. Normal muggle currency, then… the boy I had possessed maybe wasn't a wizard, which didn't make any sense considering what the woman by the river had said.
I pocketed the small coins and turned to the backpack, unzipping it with a resolute expression. Looking inside, I smiled excitedly in seeing a black wallet and quickly fished it to check it out. I ignored the money and went straight to the cards in the slots. The one I randomly chose was a library subscription and it sported a nice picture of the face that was currently mine, plus eyebrows. Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, it read below.
Well, that explained how that woman had known my first name. She hadn't. She had just thought she had been talking to this Harry Dresden guy. That also explained the comment she had made out of the blue about my accent. The American boy most probably had a far different inflection than the British one I had. I looked at the photo and at the card for a few seconds before putting it back in the wallet to continue my rummaging.
I discarded the thing after checking the other cards and money, and then went back to the rucksack. I pulled out a math book first and an English one then, looking them over quickly before putting them on the stairs' step beside me. Another school tome about science followed and finally the smallest of all of them. Only one sentence, written with golden characters, could be read on its grey cover.
Trasmogrification and Its Secrets.
I stared. That didn't sound muggle at all. Intrigued, I opened it to the first page and scanned it quickly, immediately realizing the book was about magic, after all. It seemed similar to Transfiguration, too, from the initial description and definition, but it wasn't exactly the same. I read ahead for some minutes and found myself engrossed by the odd take on the subject the book proposed. It almost looked like it dealt with a different kind of magic than the one I was used to, and I wondered if that was somehow related to the strange attack the beautiful woman had launched against the demon by the river.
I thought back at it. It had indeed been different from any spell I had ever witnessed or studied, but it had been magic nonetheless. The strange thing was that I had felt it like some kind of buzzing energy, not only when it shot past me in its bluish-torrent form, but also when it was lingering around the pale hand of its owner. That had never happened to me before. Spells didn't feel like anything unless they hit you. You couldn't sense their power from a distance or even when you performed them yourself. So that had been pretty odd.
Thunder suddenly rumbled ahead and I looked up sharply. Heavy clouds were gathered in the distance, lightning dancing inside them like flashy, blue beams.
That storm… had it been there just a few minutes before? And more importantly, was it magical? I could feel it swirling and writhing above me, much like that woman's spell, but much, much more powerful. Thankfully, also much further away. I could feel the energy in the very air surrounding me and it made the hair on the back of my head stand up. It crawled against my skin like a hundred spiders, somehow playing on my senses and almost disorienting me. I even had to put down the book as I started panting. I felt like I was basking in timeless power with the impression that, if I opened my mouth, I could even taste it on my tongue.
It took me a few minutes to regain complete control of myself and I had to try and ignore the storm to do it. I put my jacket back on and tried to stop shivering as my body pulsed in rhythm with the brewing energy up in the sky. When I felt okay again, I forced myself to put away the book and get back to the rucksack.
There was one more thing in it, a white plastic bag with in the middle a red logo of some kind of American mini-market. Inside there were some pieces of chalk, what looked like a plasticine bar, a mirror, a notebook and the biggest wand I had ever seen.
It actually took me a second to realize it was a wand to begin with. It was big, as in both long and thick, and strange runes and sigils were carved on its wooden surface in a meaningless – at least to me – array of symbols. I picked it up carefully and turned it around to better examine it. Yep, the carvings didn't make any sense alright, but the thing couldn't be anything but a wand. Whether a working one or just a toy, I didn't know yet.
I looked around at all the passersby and frowned. I couldn't certainly use it in front of all these people, so I quickly gathered all my things and started walking away. A few minutes passed before I could find a desert alley, which suited me just fine. Of course, it wasn't the best of place to stay when a dangerous demon was after you, but I needed some secrecy. Finally alone and half hidden behind a big dumpster, I pulled the wand out of the bag and raised it.
I had given it some thought as I moved somewhere private, and now I knew what my first try at using magic would be. Feeling a little nervous but at the same time resolute, I tried to call the Knight Bus.
Nothing happened.
A few minutes passed before I gave up. Either because the wand didn't work or because I wasn't in Britain, the Knight Bus wouldn't arrive I told myself. Then I shrugged and moved on to a 'real' spell.
"Wingardium Leviosa," I chanted quietly, flicking the wand in the direction of a leaflet on the ground. Immediately, the runes on the wood lit up with a yellow hue and a hissing sound seemed to come out of them. As the colourful sheet of paper started floating in the air, a small wisp of smoke slowly lifted from the tip of the wand, which began trembling and warming slightly under my touch. I had the impression it was slightly more difficult than normal to control the simple spell, but that could have depended on the unexpected reaction of the wooden object which had surprised me quite a bit.
I cut the spell out after a brief second, happy that it had worked out fine but a little worried by the wand's strange response. That hadn't been right. It had almost looked like the object hadn't been made for it, but it had performed the spell correctly nonetheless. It wouldn't have if it had been just a toy or a twig.
The light on its surface disappeared in a matter of seconds and the wood went back to its original coolness as well. I put it away in my pocket, content to know magic was at my disposal, should I ever need to defend myself. I really hoped it wouldn't come down to that, though.
I looked around and went to sit on the fire escape of the building on my left, but changed my mind immediately, as I noticed all the pigeon droppings littering its steps. I grimaced at them and walked up to a large wooden crate at the back of the alley. After making sure the door beside it was locked, I turned the crate upside down, sat on it and tried to make myself comfortable. Picking up the plastic bag again, I fished out the notebook and opened it. What I guessed was Harry Dresden's handwriting greeted me from its white pages and I started reading it with a certain degree of interest.
As I expected, the notebook was about magic, Trasmogrification to be exact. It was in form of diary, in whose entries the wizard had written down his progresses with the practical exercises and some ideas about the subject. I pulled the mirror out of the plastic bag and finally realized why it was in there. Dresden used it to check out his face when he tried to change his appearance with a spell. At least now that made sense. I was still at a loss about what chalk and plasticine were needed for, though.
I was still examining the small mirror when the attack came, which was probably what saved my life. I was looking at its clear surface as it was pointed upwards when it showed me the reflection of a dark figure falling down upon me. I reacted on instincts and rolled sideways and to my left, just in time to avoid being crushed by the newcomer. A strangled cry escaped my lips as I quickly stoop up, wand once again in hand.
The wooden crate I had been sitting on was now only a bunch of splinters as the newcomer stood on top of its remainders, the colourful gems littering his body glittering under the light of the streetlamps. He turned his head in my direction very slowly, deliberately so, and fixed me with a piecing stare that had me shivering badly. His nostrils flared and he hissed menacingly, as his steamy breath went out in the night air.
I swallowed.
He Who Walks Behind had found me.
