Ch2.
Harry woke covered in a cold sweat. A rough cloth covered his body, but it offered nothing in the way of warmth. He blinked, and groaning, pushed himself up from the straw bedding. Soft light drifted in from frosted windows into the interiors of an unkempt cottage. The walls were stone, though overgrown in many places and cracked with the roots of vines and creepers. A large wooden table took up most of the centre, cluttered with books and glasses and bowls of dried leaves and flowers. In the corner was a fireplace and a cooking pot, both cool.
It reminded Harry of Hagrid's hut, though instead of Fang, there was an abundance of small, wood creatures, all existing in apparent harmony.
Harry spotted a rabbit, curled up on the firewood, its ears between its paws, and next to it, snuffling around a woven basket was a fox. Several birds, all of different hue and shape dotted the rafters and a family of squirrels had taken residence on the windowsill.
None of this detracted from the ache on his right thigh, where the black rider had cut him. Harry peeled back his thin sheet to reveal it had been bandaged. White fabric bound several leaves to his wound. The leaves were stuck together with some sort of paste, greenish in colour, and giving off a lingering scent. It wasn't unpleasant, but very pungent and earthy.
His skin around the wound was cold, numb and rubbery to the feel. Along the cut of the wound was only pain.
Harry touched it, shivering, and tried experimentally to lift his leg. A sharp jolt of pain left him breathless and light headed. No moving for now, then. That wasn't good. Without magic, who knows how long his leg would take to heal.
That was another thing. Harry blinked dully down at his lap, gripping his sheet in both hands. He didn't have his wand any more. It had been with him so long. His wand, holly with Fawkes' feather, the same one that matched Voldemort's, the same one that pulled out the ghosts of his parents. Even thinking about it brought a thick lead feeling in his stomach. He remembered the pain from when the rider sliced through it as his magic itself rebelled against the break. He looked around, searching for the pieces. Perhaps he could fix it, stick the two ends together like Ron did in second year. But they were nowhere to be found.
If his leg had been bad news, being without magic was something worse yet. Without his wand, he was ordinary. Worse than ordinary. He didn't know the language, he didn't know what in Merlin's name the riders had been. He couldn't protect himself. He wouldn't be able to get home.
His hope lay in Aragorn. The man had helped him, given him food, allowed him to travel together, fought against the riders, even risking his own skin to help protect Harry. In the short time that Harry walked with him, the man had proven a valuable companion. Harry suspected he himself was something of a burden, except when he let loose with his magic. What did the man think of that? Did this world have wizards of their own? A chill ran down Harry's back and the memory of a voice echoed in his ear.
The door to the cottage opened, squeaking on rusted hinges and in stepped a strange old man with a gnarled staff. Not Aragorn, as Harry had expected, but although the man was a stranger, Harry didn't feel threatened. He was bent over, dressed in dull brown rags, and with a trail of dried bird droppings down one side of his face. He lifted his pointed hat, revealing a matted nest of hair and gently reached up to pull out a handful of small eggs ensconced within.
Harry was sure the man must have noticed him, sitting up, but his attentions were firmly on the eggs. The man moved with a shuffling motion, so as to not disturb the animals resting in his way, leaned his staff against the doorway, and placed the eggs in a cloth lined bowl on the edge of the table. It was only then that he glanced down at Harry.
"Awake, are we?" the man said. An excited grin grew on his face and he shuffled over with alarming speed. "Good, good. Look what I brought you." He offered Harry the bowl of eggs, with an eager tilt of his head.
There were five in total, each about half the size of his fist, coloured a mixture of stone-grey and a deep purple.
"Thank you?" Harry said, stumbling over his Westron. "I- breakfast?"
The old man's eyebrows shot up behind the brim of his hat. He snatched the eggs away, and let loose with a barrage of words with a scowl. Harry caught only a couple words, not enough to make sense of the man's anger, but it was obvious the eggs weren't for eating. Or maybe he had gotten the word for breakfast wrong.
"Sorry," Harry said, lifting his hands. "I don't- My Westron. Very poor."
The old man bit out another harsh word at him before visibly taking a breath to calm himself. It was only then that Harry realised the animals in the cottage had all, as one, turned to train their attention on them. As the old man relaxed, so did the animals return to what they were doing before.
Had this man some sort of control over the animals?
"Sorry," he said again but he didn't have time for whatever this old man wanted. "Where is Aragorn?"
The old man blinked. "Who?"
Harry's jaw dropped. "A man. With me?" Aragorn wasn't dead, was he?
"Ah, him. He's gone. Left days ago."
Harry stared. Gone? Days ago? How long had he been asleep? Why did Aragorn leave him here with this crackpot old nature-lover?
The old man raised his eyebrows before he turned away, cutting the conversation short. He shuffled over to the rabbit on the firewood and crouched down to scratch between its ears.
Harry opened his mouth. And closed it again, scowling down at his leg. He gritted his teeth and tried to move it again. Maybe if he could force through the pain, he'd be able to get up, catch up to Aragorn somehow. He bit back a snort. There was no way he could keep up with such an injury, but nor did he want to stay with this crazy old man either. Not that he was ungrateful. It looked like this cottage was his, and maybe the healing cream was his work too. Harry looked the man over again. Alright, so maybe the old guy wasn't so bad.
Speaking of which. "Who are you?" Harry asked.
The old man gave no indication of having heard him. Still crouched, he was mumbling something to that rabbit. The rabbit seemed to be listening. Then with a snap of the fingers, the rabbit shook itself, leapt up a small cabinet and escaped through the half open window. Harry watched it go with something bordering on awe.
There was definitely something going on here.
"Who? Oh, well, I suppose you can call me Radagast. Radagast the Brown," the old man said. "Been a while since I had to introduce myself," he said with a bemused smile.
Harry nodded. Brown was right. Every inch of the man was brown. He was overall very much an earthy type. He cleared his throat. "Radagast. When Aragorn be back?"
"Don't know," Radagast said. By the tone of things, he didn't much care either. The man busied himself ruffling through a set of drawers, pulling the top one open before slamming it shut, then going to the second one, before back tracking again to more carefully peruse the first. Radagast mumbled under his breath, one word over and over again, before he made a satisfied noise and pulled out a tattered grey pouch.
Harry bit his lip and tried to find the correct words for his next question. "The riders? Away?"
All he got was an annoyed look as the man hunched over the bowl of eggs with the pouch. Radagast tugged the drawstring loose before carefully tipping some of the contents into his palm. It looked like red sand but Radagast hissed as they touched his skin and hastily drew the bag shut. Then, cupping both hands together, he let the sand trickle over the eggs.
Nothing special happened, but the man nodded, satisfied. Radagast looked up. "Riders? I chased them out. You've Fluffsy to thank for that."
"Fluffsy?" Harry asked, rolling the word around his tongue. Then the old man's words registered. "You? Chased?"
"Oh yes. I won't sit and ignore it when my friends are killed. I don't take kindly to those who would eat my friend's children either," Radagast said with a pointed look at the eggs.
"Oh," Harry said as he realised what those eggs were. The snakes that had helped him and Aragorn had attacked the rider. That was the last Harry remembered of them. "They. All dead?"
Radagast dipped his head and took a shuddering breath. "Yes they are," he said. The care with which he brushed the eggs told Harry he really did feel their loss. "Tacrines are loyal upon all else, to each other and to their children. One would not allow another to be harmed without doing all it can to prevent it. Alas, the ring-wraiths are too strong a foe for such a young den. They threw themselves into the fight, hoping their eggs would be spared." Radagast looked up. "A fight you drew them to. You bought their evil here."
The cottage grew dark. Shadows crawled out from Radagast's feet and the man became larger and grander than anything Harry had ever felt, beyond even Dumbledore or Voldemort. A terrible power pressed down on Harry, making him gasp for breath, one that could easily have crushed him. But it did not. He didn't know how he had mistaken Radagast for an old man.
As the pressure eased, so did Radagast back into his guise. Harry swallowed and pushed himself back up from where he'd shrunk into the bedding.
"But you wouldn't have known. You sought out the trees for their protection" Radagast said, hunched over again. Brown, again. "Still, I would have cast you out along with them if not for the way the Tacrines welcomed you into their kinship. Even I had to spend several long months gaining their trust." The not-man peered over at Harry. "Tell me, how did you do it so easily?"
Harry licked his lips. "I asked." He'd seen Radagast talk to that rabbit. Surely he'd have the same skill with snakes? Whatever that not-man was, he had a great affinity with animals.
"Asked?" There was a sharp glint in Radagast's eye. "You spoke to them? They answered back?"
"I… yes."
Radagast stilled, his eyes widened and then the biggest laugh burst out from his chest. The not-man started into a dance, kicking his heels up uncaring as he sent his animals sculling under stools and benches for shelter. "Oh blessed day, what a marvellous gift you've given me." He dissolved into a language that wasn't Westron and continued singing his praises, laughing between words before he suddenly skidded to a halt. "Wait right there," he said to Harry. "I'll be back. I have to test this out!"
Then he was off, the door of the cottage swinging shut behind him, and Harry was left alone, slightly wide-eyed. That was a different reaction than what he usually got when people discovered his parseltongue. But it figures that someone like Radagast would be excited. An excited Radagast was much preferable to an angry one.
And perhaps that excitement would lead to Radagast's goodwill. Perhaps Harry could find a way back home after all. Who was he to say what Radagast could and could not do, especially after that display of power earlier. Harry didn't know how, but even without summoning storms or felling giants or bringing the dead back to life, he knew without a doubt that there was power in his healer.
Radagast returned before Harry could do much more than poke idly at his leg. With him, as evidenced by the agitated hissing, was a snake. It wrapped around the man's fingers, trying to find a route away, but Radagast was careful to transfer it from hand to hand.
"What is this, where have you brought me? Let me down at once!" came a tinny of a hiss. Quite a young one. Still small.
Radagast gingerly held it out to Harry. Offered it, even. "Go on, talk to it. Calm it if you can." The snake was a faint blue in colour, barely as thick as Harry's thumb.
Harry shuffled over, mindful of his injured leg. Even the slightest bump sent shivers of pain up his spine. He leaned over, hovering just outside of striking distance.
"Hey, little one," Harry said. He Radagast as the man leaned in. The snake perked up, its head bobbing as it looked in one of Harry's eyes and then another.
"Sorry, we didn't meant to startle you," Harry said. "You're safe. The other man just want-"
"You speak!" the snake said, rising up a full half of its body to stare at Harry. Then it ducked down, embarrassed. "I interrupted. Apologies, speaker. You were saying?"
Harry grinned. "The other man just wanted to see if I was telling the truth or not. He was quite as surprised as you when I said I could speak."
"Well of course you can. We're talking right now, aren't we? Is that human causing you any trouble? I could bite him for you. I didn't earlier because I was afraid he'd fall over and crush me. That oaf."
Harry bit back a snort. Radagast leaned closer, watching in fascination. "What is it saying? What are you saying?"
"He didn't like being picked up. I said you wanted to test me."
Radagast raised his eyebrows. "Fascinating. Ask him something else. Like what does it eats."
Harry relayed the question back to the snake.
"Anything I can catch. I caught a flying worm one day ago. It was very fast. I was very proud. I'll be eating more of them from now on."
And then relayed the answer back to Radagast. Harry was feeling a little put off with all this back and forth, when all he really wanted to do was ask after his broken wand. Radagast was insistent though. His eyes lit up and he nodded along.
"Ask if the flying worm had scales on its back or if it was soft and squishy. I could narrow things down just a little more."
Harry sighed and hissed Radagast's ridiculous question back to the snake. And then, for the heck of it, he asked the snake its name.
"Name? I'm me. My nest mates called me the third born, or green-tuft after my colourings. That had been enough."
Indeed, the snake had a faint streak of green running down its nose, shaped so it looked bordering on fur.
"Green-tuft it is, then," Harry agreed. "I don't suppose you saw two… sticks?" Harry cut off, realising how ridiculous he sounded. "Special sticks, I mean. They'd be smoother and straighter than twigs or branches, about this long, this thick. One end would be something of a handle, the other thinner and tapered."
Green-tuft didn't look much impressed. "Two sticks? Perhaps. Tell me, human speaker, have you seen two trees in the forest?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, sorry. Stupid question. So, where are-"
"Well, what did he say? Crunchy or soft? I want to make sure I get the right food for our new friend," Radagast interrupted, a stern look on his face.
"Food?" Harry asked. "Keep Green here?"
"Of course! How else are you going to teach me to speak to him and the other snakes? That was going to be our deal. I even got you these eggs to trade! And healed your wound. Probably saved your life as well. It's not too big a price to pay, now is it?"
Harry blinked. He didn't even know if parseltongue could be taught. It just came so naturally to him, he didn't know if it was magic or some innate skill. The hisses had to be made a certain way, and the differences in inflection was so precise Harry suspected any endeavours at teaching the language to a non-speaker would be long and tedious.
"Never taught before," Harry said, frustrated he didn't know more words. "You seen my... stick? Special." He frowned. "When black horse man attacked."
"Not a problem. I've never healed someone stabbed so deeply with a Morgul-blade before, but you're doing quite well." Radagast paused, then looked closer into Harry's eyes. "Strange. Does your healing abilities come from the same source as your fire?"
Harry edged back, wary of Radagast's sudden intensity, and bit his lip at the pain the movement caused in his leg.
"Was this stick an artefact in your possession?" When Harry still didn't answer, Radagast stood. "Decide now or never if you trust me, boy. I've healed you and kept you in my shelter. I give you my word I want nothing from you but your skill with the snakes. But in return, I must be sure you are not a creature of the darkness, that you bear no ill will to me or my friends."
Harry's eyes widened. "I'm not dark! Never dark. Never." He gripped the sheets, setting his mouth into a stern line. He ached to climb to his feet, challenge the old man eye to eye, if not word for word.
Radagast seemed unmoved. "Perhaps," he said, running a hand through his beard. "Perhaps you tell the truth, yet my powers lie with the animals and plants of this world. Not that of men. Perhaps you are as you say. In any case, I am satisfied you tell the truth about your snake speech. Teach me, and do no harm to those around you and you'll continue to receive my care. Your leg still pains you, doesn't it?"
Harry nodded and scowled. "How do I know you are not dark?"
"So you are capable of talking in complete sentences? Me? I don't give two hoots about all that. My brothers would be more inclined to the ways of the free creatures. I? I am Radagast the Brown. My place is here. Now, enough talking. I shall make up another poultice, and you shall teach me to talk to Greeny here."
Radagast nodded down at Harry's lap where the small snake had spooled up. Green-tuft didn't seem interested at all in the human talk, but, sensing Harry's gaze, lifted his head up and flicked out his tongue.
Harry held out a hand and the snake obediently climbed up and curled around his fingers.
"Mmm, much warmer," Green-tuft hissed.
Harry pushed himself back so he leaned against the wall of the cottage and watched as Radagast busied himself retrieving items from chests and baskets and little cubby holes around the room.
"I hope you'll protect me against the creatures in here," Green-tuft said, flicking his tail against the inside of Harry's wrist. "I can feel them watching me. Sizing me up. Much better to be hidden away, someplace dark and warm, where prey is smaller and more numerous."
With a wary glance around the room, Harry shifted so the snake would be hidden from the larger birds in the rafters. "You can crawl up my sleeve if you're afraid," he hissed. "It'll be safer. The birds won't attack me."
"That is a good idea, speaker. Be wary yourself."
Radagast came over with a wooden bowl half filled with the same pungent green paste hat was dressing Harry's leg. "Those will have to be washed," he said, nodding to Harry's bandages. "Unwrap them and use them to smear this on your wound. Don't use your hands. What's the word for hello?"
Harry blinked. He snuck a look at Green-tuft. "Hello," he hissed. The snake peaked his head out of Harry's sleeve.
"Yes?"
"Don't worry," Harry hissed. "The old man wants to be taught to speak. You can ignore me."
Radagast twisted his mouth, pursed his lips, and made a try for the correct hiss. It sounded like… a human trying to hiss. Harry shook his head. "Hello," he hissed again. Radagast's second attempt was no better than his first. Harry hissed the same word again and again, as he started up on unbandaging his leg.
It was painful work, having to pass the bandage underneath his knee every time, but as the layers disappeared, Harry started to worry about the expanse of black skin that was being revealed. The final layer of leaves, coated with the green paste peeled back and Harry stared in horror at his wound.
The actual cut was smaller than he expected, but like Radagast said, it was deep. The sword must have stabbed right down, probably to the bone. It was an angry red, the edges of his skin hadn't yet come together and it felt chilled as ice when exposed to the air. The skin around it was dead black, hardened and glossy.
"The wound from a Morgul-blade heals poorly, if at all," Radagast said. "If you had not been brought to me, it would have eaten through you whole body, made you like them."
Harry realised he'd stopped with his parseltongue. A shiver ran down his spine. There was no mistaking what Radagast had meant. Like them. The black riders. With their black cloaks, and inhuman shrieks.
But his leg didn't look anywhere near healed. It didn't look like it was ever going to heal. "How long?" Harry asked.
Radagast didn't answer. The old man held out the bowl of green salve. Harry stared at him, the soiled bandages crumpled in his hands.
Radagast sighed. "You'll likely walk again, if that's what you're asking. Anything more I cannot say. The pain will likely remain. There is damage I cannot heal."
Harry stared at him for a moment more before using the bandages to scoop up some of the green salve. "Will the pain lessen?" He asked.
With a shrug, Radagast placed the bowl beside Harry. "Perhaps," the man said. "Perhaps you will have to get used to it instead."
As Harry coated the length of his leg in the salve, he started to feel the icy chill retreat. He breathed out, finding it easier now, and brushed cold sweat from his forehead. The air had returned to the gentle warmth of spring. Radagast took the bandages, dumped them in a barrel of water across the room and returned back to Harry's side.
"It must dry for a few minutes. In the meantime, continue. I think I'm getting closer."
Harry nodded. Then he crossed his arms. "My stick," he said. He wasn't going to let this go, not if Radagast had any knowledge he could give him. And should the man press about why he was so interested in a stick, then Harry'll just have to explain to the best of his ability.
"I saw no stick. None special, anyway. In any case, sticks come and go as they please under the trees. Perhaps I used it for kindling. Perhaps a crow has taken it to build its nest. You say it is special, so I ask again. Is this stick of yours an artefact of power?"
Harry bit his lip. Radagast was right. He'd been out for days. Who knows what manner of creatures had passed by the Tacrine's den. He had to get out there as soon as he could. Harry didn't like the thought of leaving his wand out in the forest floor. He had summoned his wand once, with pure intent. Perhaps he could do the same again.
Radagast was still waiting for his answer, but Harry didn't know what to say. "Power, yes. In me. Create, change. Not dark. The stick helps." He shook his head. "No words. Not yet." He didn't even know if there were words in Westron for what he needed. Was there magic, wand, alternate dimension? It was frustrating, possibly more than being confined to his little spot on the ground.
Moving anywhere of his own volition would have to wait until his leg healed. Talking properly and asking the questions he wanted to ask would have to wait until he became more fluent. Both of those things depended on Radagast's good will.
So Harry continued to hiss a hello to Green-tuft, and continued listening to Radagast's complete bastardisation of parseltongue. The day grew long, and beside a short break to bandage his leg, the cottage was filled with hisses until the word started to lose all meaning, and sound like a foreign language even to Harry.
As the sun sat low, shining through the frosted windows, Green-tuft started to voice his complaints. "I don't believe that oaf would ever learn to speak. It was amusing, for the first dozen attempts. I don't believe I can stand this much longer, speaker. I'll leave by myself and fight off the predators as best as I can if you do not take me away."
With that, the parseltongue session was done for the day. Harry convinced Green-tuft to stay, and begrudgingly, the snake complied. Radagast made up a steam hot soup, and Harry didn't much mind the taste. It was a nice counter balance to the chill that had returned to his leg and as he ate, it took away some of the worries he'd been mulling over during the day.
As the light dimmed, Radagast lit two of several candles dotted around the room. The man took a seat by the cluttered table and pulled some sheets of paper close. Then he ignored Harry and started to write, mumbling to himself. Harry ran one finger down Green-tuft's back, and in the flickering of the candles, drifted off to sleep.
&&&pagebreak&&&
The next day dawned much the same. Harry woke to an aching stiffness in his right leg, an ache that never quite disappeared through the morning. There was another change of salve, further parseltongue teaching, this time alternating between several words, and instruction for Harry not to move. Harry talked to Green-tuft as he fed him some of the worms Radagast dug out from outside, and learned that 'he' was instead a 'she,' a female snake.
"It should have been obvious, speaker!" Green-tuft hissed in amusement. "My patterns are quite characteristic for a female of my kind."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course. You're right, I've been unobservant," he hissed. "Although how good are you at picking up human genders, I wonder?"
Green-tuft flicked her head. "Why would I be interested in something like that? Humans are rare enough in the forest, rarer enough to be worthy of attentions such as yourself, speaker."
"Call me Harry."
"Yes, speaker."
Radagast watch all this, listening closely even as he tended to his plants. The vines that grew into the walls, the prickly stems poking out of the ground were all watered and cared for. The cottage wasn't overgrown or unkempt, as it appeared, but in a constant state of growth, carefully manicured by its resident.
Occasionally, Radagast would shuffle to add to his notes. A compendium for parseltongue? What hints and clues the man picked up in Harry's casual conversation with Green-tuft was beyond the green-eyed wizard. But as the day continued, Radagast's pronunciation inexplicably began to resemble actual parseltongue words.
Radagast was hissing to himself on the evening of Harry's second day at the cottage when Green-tuft poked her head out from under Harry's collar.
"My word, he's starting to get it," she hissed.
Harry shared some of the snake's awe. It was a huge different from even last night. There had been some inherent difference between parseltongue and Westron. Some curl of the tongue, or trick of breath that made it impossible to translate by sound alone. But whatever it was, it sounded like Radagast was well on his way to overcoming it.
"You're getting it," Harry said to Radagast.
The man hardly looked up. "But not there yet," he said.
Harry shook his head. The single-mindedeness that Radagast had taken on the task reminded him of a certain bushy-haired brunette. It was a strange comparison, given all their differences, but an apt one nonetheless. Hermione would have love to learn parseltongue as well. Harry knew this for a fact, and the fact that he couldn't go back and offer to teach her was an ache as much as he leg.
The salves Radagast cooked up helped some, briefly taking away the chill and easing the toughness in the blackened skin around the wound. The pain still remained unchanged, though it was manageable if Harry kept still.
The end of the first week marked two events. Radagast's first parseltongue word was a strange choice. The man, through some deduction from the study of Harry's conversations with Green-tuft, had deemed 'paisley' as the word most easily pronounceable. The days leading up to it was filled with endless repetitions of something that very closely resembled 'paisley' but was not quite there. Radagast drove both Harry and Green-tuft mad with the constant hissing under his breath.
Then, mid-way through another hot soup dinner, Radagast paused, spoon hovering in front of his lips and locked eyes with Harry.
"Paisley," the man hissed.
Harry's jaw dropped. Green-tuft snaked out from under his shirt and flicked out her tongue.
"Paisley," Radagast hissed again. "Paisley, paisley, paisley."
Harry nodded. "That's right. You got it."
"He got it," Green-tuft hissed.
"I've got it!" Radagast said, crooked teeth showing from under his grin. And that was all the celebration the man offered himself. He left his soup unfinished and returned back to his notes, scribbling away, a small residue of a smile quirking the corners of his lips up.
The second remarkable event of the two came not long after. Harry was convinced the two were linked. The morning after Radagast's mastery of 'paisley,' he graduated Harry from keeping still. Instead, Radagast insisted he exercise his leg as much as he could. Not just his right leg, but his left, his arms, and his whole body.
"It's no good lying down for longer than is needed," Radagast said. "Too much and you might just become part of the scenery, consumed by the slow growth of a tree, or the ground itself. If not the animals around you."
So began a gruelling regimen of strengthening exercises. Harry didn't exactly feel weak, just cautious as Radagast suggested he try to stand.
"Use your good leg," Radagast said, over from the table.
Harry scowled. He didn't see the old man coming to offer a hand. Over the course of the last hour, he'd managed to manoeuvre himself to a position where he had his left leg under him, ready to push up. But without something to help him balance, he was stuck. Radagast either couldn't see his predicament or the man didn't care.
Instead, Radagast tended to the sprained wing of a small bird, still covered in down. It chirped happily enough as Radagast bound a splint to its wing. Harry didn't even think it was in much pain. He snorted. He was going to show that old man. He didn't need any more of his arsine advice.
"Keep your head up, then. Don't look to the ground or you'll likely topple over."
What? Harry wasn't even looking at the ground.
Chirp.
Damnit, was that man talking to the bird all this time? Argh, that's what he got for being stuck with an animal lover. Harry gritted his teeth and used one arm to help bend his right, injured leg. The slightest movement brought on the pain, but it was better if he didn't have to contract the muscles themselves. The skin stretched as his leg bent, the hardened blackness threatening to split and crack. Harry let out the breath he was holding and felt his mouth go dry. Slowly, slowly, he pushed himself up, one arm outstretched to support himself against the wall, the other, trying it's best to protect his injury from getting jarred.
He made it about half way upright before his good leg gave way from under him. He collapsed, bumping his right hip and scrunched his eyes in agony.
"Ahh Melin!" Harry cursed, hunched over his leg. He breathed out through clenched teeth in short gasps, feeling his eyes water. He couldn't move for several heartbeats from the intensity of the pain.
Through it, he heard Green-tuft's concern. "Speaker? Are you under attack? Who is it? The oaf? Tell me so I can get revenge if you die."
Despite himself, Harry snorted. He peeled his eyes open and tried to relax his tense muscles. He swallowed past the dry lump in his throat and held out a hand to Green-tuft. "I'm not going to die," he hissed. "Not yet anyway. And even if I do, I don't want you going after revenge. You just stay safe."
Harry glanced up at Radagast who was still focused on the injured bird. "I'm just glad someone's looking out for me," he hissed to Green-tuft.
She slid away as Harry turned back to his legs. Strange, why had he collapsed like that? There had been no warning, nothing. He had just suddenly been unable to bear his weight.
"You're weaker now than you were before," Radagast said, stroking the bird along its head.
Harry sighed. "Who are you talking to?"
Radagast looked up, brow creased. "You think that bird understands Westron? Who else, boy?"
"My name's Harry."
"Well I didn't ask, did I? Now keep trying. You'll need to make better progress than that!"
"I've not given up," Harry said, indignant. As if he'd let this tiny obstacle get in the way of his progress. "Only… Why weaker now?"
Radagast stilled. "When you were struck by the Morgul-blade, you started to turn. Be drawn into their realm, take on their characteristics, just as they had turned before you. The ring-wraiths are at once stronger and weaker than ordinary man, though you would have received none of their strength."
Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. Morgul? Wraiths?"
"Another day. For a boy who can at least stand on his own two feet. Whatever I tell you before then is useless if you cannot even do that."
And that was that. Harry continued to strengthen his legs, learn to bear the pain, as Radagast continued to get better at parseltongue.
As the days went by, and Harry managed first to stand, and transfer his weight, and take his first step, he found the cottage became more and more like a home. But he didn't lose sight of his real home and at night, his dreams were of Hogwarts, and his friends, and feasts in the great hall.
Sometimes, he'd dream of darker things, but instead of Voldemort, he saw a great, flaming eye atop a dark tower and heard a fell voice –
"Harry Potter."
– only to wake in a cold sweat and remember none of what so terrified him in his sleep.
&&&chapterend&&&
AN: Thanks to all the reviewers! There's a couple guests as well who I'd like to reply to, but I can't. Some people raise interesting points I'd like to address.
Anyway, for people worried that Harry's going to have no magic, I can assure you that he'll get it back soon. Next chapter soon. Time skip next chap as well so we pass through all the language issues and leg healing.
This story is semi-planned out, but there's space for additions. Leave me a comment on things you want to see happen and if it's not too outlandish, I might be able to work it in. Anyway, if you enjoyed, leave a review! Seeing people fav and follow is a joy as well, but a review really spices up the day :D
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