I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ITS CHARACTERS. I DO NOT MAKE MONEY OFF THIS PIECE OF FANFICTION.
Arthors notes: I'm finding a pattern with my writing. I work on it mostly sundays and post late sundays or early mondays. So you can except a chapter once a week. Also I like to add an additional name to the Kitsune/Gumiho... in this story I like to call them Foxae. A wizard/witch term labeling the creatures a form of a demonic fox, but freely linked with magick as a Fae creature. Thus the Foxae. Alas if you haven't noticed I like using the word Magick instead of magic. They are different, I believe the word magic is for parlor tricks and magicians. Magick is the force of energy that links life and death to the world as a mysterious power...
Reviews:
AlwaysLaughing1: oh diffidently. i've already planned that -.o
Ruby Silken Sun: yes major fall-out. draco will always be a wizard, though a bizarre one at that. and well yes i want harry to train as a pathfinder too! :P
addictedtowolfsbane: no worries it is going slow but strong ^^
Warnings: some cursing. violence.
(Towards the end of the First School Year)
~ * THESE FLEETING MONTHS * ~
Draco sits awake, staring into the pond in a dull state of consciousness. He feels distant from everything. Weak and fuzzy under the warm sun that casts its rays across the garden, setting off an ethereal glow. The boy can easily mistake it all for a dream if it isn't for the throbbing pain of his wound. Leaning back into the furred body of the fox-lady, Draco let her run those glass nails through his hair. White hair drapes casually over his form, five long tails curl around him protectively.
At first he had fought her, desperate to get away from the mothering thing. He cannot fathom such a rare magickal creature as the Foxea even existing in the United Kingdom. Their kind, Gumiho and Kitsune alike are Asian folklore legends. Yet here they are, deep in the Forbidden Forest.
The boy had been frightened seeing her cross form; humanoid body covered in fur with long fox ears and five whirling tails. Her heart shaped face is more realistic then her counterparts, but still set with those creepy pale eyes that watch him with an alien grace.
A normal response from a demon fox should have been to rip him apart and devour his liver! But she is strange, probably even considered strange by her own kind. For she treats him as nothing less than her own child. And there is the deep unsettling truth. She is sick. In the mind. Broken and hungry to raise a child that she had lost.
Draco cannot escape her. Oh he has tried. He had screamed and beat her with his fists… then she started singing, an overpowering sound that dove into his form. Every note sunk in deeper than the last forcing Draco to relax into her ministrations. Such a sweet painful voice filled with hope and love. He can only lie against her, dumbfounded as she did what she wished.
From there she had proceeded to pack the open wound with spices and chewed plants, dulling his nerves and taking up a slow healing process. As his leg healed naturally, Draco used it to count the days that drifted by from its progress.
He dozes in and out, through passing weeks as she feeds him many different things from the garden; Myrtle berries, stringed onions, sweet roots, walnuts and stripped fish. With each bite, Draco loses his train of thought more and more. His mind begins to unravel as his body thrums in tune with the grove. Some sort of magic weaves through his very being, like a heavy spell working him into a floating journey of unending time.
At one point he panics, realizing that fairies also did similar tricky things to humans. Whisk them away, feed them, love them, and then devour or let them rot away happily. But alas, his thoughts are once again dispersed like tiny drifting pollen, scattering to undefined locations. He slowly blinks, eyes heavy and focused on the distance.
What day is it now? He glances down at his leg. His wound flush and shriveled into a large peeling scab, the edges pink. Four, maybe five months? The gore-ish hole is now almost completely healed. A soothing melody drifts from behind and Draco eases deeper into her furred chest, not in the least bit uncomfortable after countless days of such closeness. Never had his own mother treated him to so much affection. But as the thought of the dimming woman came, the flash sweeps itself away.
A sigh leaves his lips and he wanders back into the land of dreams.
~ * point of view change * ~
Today is the day.
Harry stands outside of the castle with pride mounting on his shoulders. In droves, the students scurry down the stone steps taking their things to transportation. The Hogwarts Express, off in the distance lets out a shriek as steam climbs into the sky. With a smirk Harry peers in its direction, but instead leaves his baggage at the foot of the stairs and sets off towards the Lagoon.
He takes his time, weaving through chattering groups and hurrying bodies around the castle and onto its grassy grounds.
A fond look sweeps over his face spotting Hermione and Ron wave as he goes by. After his run-in with the Pathfinder several months back, Harry had knuckled down and strove to make as many O's as possible on his practical exams. He didn't want the burly Leader to shoot him down because of his grades, so Harry had done everything he could to one up the man. Everything.
Rounding on the lake, a slight frown twitches across his lips spotting the small group of Slytherin's under a lone tree. They had built a shrine for Draco Malfoy and even a small funeral-like proceeding after only the third week. At first Harry had been furious. How could the blonde's friends give up so easily? How could they accept a death in their close nit group? But then he eased up seeing Pansy Parkinson break down a good many times. They wanted to move on. They didn't want to hope and fear every day of their lives. They just needed closure.
Watching the troupe move away to get their things for the summer, Harry skirts towards the tree whilst stuffing both hands into his pockets. Under the shade he stares at the little table holding two candles on either side of a jar of stones. Each stone came from a single anonymous student wishing the classmate joy in the afterlife. Harry had not been one of them to place a stone.
Stubborn and rebellious, Harry still to this day believes the other boy alive. Just waiting for someone to save him. But the Pathfinders are only sticking around until the next school year. After the havoc of Lucius Malfoy being recognized as a Death Eater, the Ministry ceased its donation to pay for the Pathfinders, effectively eating a hole into Snape's pocket. Instead they tried to entice the dodgy group into going after the two older Malfoy's who disappeared not long after, silently announcing that Draco wasn't worth saving and his parents where better put in Azkaban for the safety of the Wizarding World of course. A few did take the pay and go off much to Harry's disappointment. Yet the tall Leader named Strider remained, holding down his two companions and taking minimum wage from Dumbledore who also put them up in the castle whenever they so desired.
Harry still has a chance to save Draco Malfoy.
A breeze tickles across his cheek and Harry reaches up to take off the thin frames. They were empty, no longer holding the thick glass inside. He dosen't really need the lenses anymore. Nor the frames, but they were just comfortable to wear... Months ago he had begged Madame Pomfrey into setting him up with eye treatments. She had been skeptical at first. But he went back, time and time again wanting her to set up an appointment so badly she finally gave in not a month after his exams, she actually took him herself to his sit-in.
Paid and forced into a chair Harry had to say it became incredibly surprising when the elderly doctor entered the room. He winced then, and winced at the memory of such an irritating encounter. The Amazing Five Steps of Staton R. Winderwind:
1. The balding man had started things off with counting the centimeters from his palm to the tips of each of Harry's fingers.
2. Then he had peeked inside both of Harry's ears, making sure to yank on them.
3. After searching for ten whole minutes he had plucked the longest hair off Harry's arm.
4. He had even made Harry recite Bardley's Baddest Beddied Buddies four times!
Enough! Harry had thought at the time. Just fix my eyesight!
The senile fool took Harry's glasses off and turned to the pristine table laid out with odd looking food. Harry groaned believing the man was about to start eating lunch or something! What the hell was going on?!
Popping in this and that into his mouth, the elder munched and came back to look at him. Harry waited, long tense moments.
5. Finally, without warning, the old man spat purple liquid at the boy's face!
With a jolt Harry let out a howl of anger he had never felt before. He tried desperately to rub the spittle from his face, but it kept getting rubbed into his eyes making them burn and tear up. Faintly aware he was being handed a towel, Harry snatched it and scrubbed manically. Not long after he blinked at the annoying figure of the man. Harry swore he was going to connect his knuckles to that grinning face until he realized that he could see. He could see. Crisp and clear with every tiny detail!
The conclusion of Staton R. Winderwind and his Amazing Five Steps for Eyesight Therapy!
Harry had sat gawking as Madame Pomfrey clapped at the Genius Wizard and dragged Harry from the room. Least to say, the experience had been damned foolish. Fred and George had made him retell the story dozens of times, and the mischievous twins had burst into howling fits of laughter every moment they could. Maybe if it had happened to someone else Harry would have laughed just as hard, but since it's at his own expense he only gives a grieving smirk.
Most importantly, this day, months later his eyesight is fixed. He is ready to confront the man named Strider, which whom will hopefully be his teacher in preparation to becoming a Pathfinder.
Twirling the frame on a finger Harry sighs and closes it neatly to place it on the table. A tribute; Draco indirectly changed his life. Draco became his reason to want to be a Pathfinder. Draco fixed his eyesight. Draco gave him hope.
He spelled the glasses to stay perching on the table, unmoving and apart of the shrine. Turning towards the Lagoon he spots the tents set up on the other side. Each step leading to a new destiny Harry follows the trail towards the Pathfinders.
~ * point of view change * ~
He stares quietly from his seat upon a crate listening to the terrified little breaths from the woman across the room. Her frame shakes horribly, crying and forcing herself not to make a sound. She didn't want to upset him. To upset that side of him. A frown slips across his features. Standing, Lucius stumbles to her side, looking down on Narcissa's form sitting on the cold floor. Easing himself down he throws an arm over her, letting her know they were alone. Blissfully alone for the time being.
Narcissa started slightly, turning to look into his eyes. No sign of possession. No sign of their desperate Lord taking control and making Lucius into a monster. A shiver sweeps over the both of them. Narcissa keeps her sobs almost non-existent. Frightened and so full of loss for the son they aren't even able to search for.
The Ministry looked for them. Froze their accounts. Took all their property. Hunt them like dogs.
Lucius had snapped weeks ago, falling in and out of consciousness as the Dark Lord possessed his body making him do horrible things. They had gone to friends, only for them to shrink away from Lucius. Lucius would become enraged, bringing the monster out of him, hurting or killing everyone. Narcissa should have run away. But she loved him still, and worst of all…
Clutching her stomach Narcissa gave a meek cry. Lucius brings her closer apologizing over and over. How could he let Voldemort do such vile things? And to his wife no less? Now she is pregnant and it takes everything Lucius has not to put his wife out of her misery. But those thoughts are foreign and strange. Those are thoughts that belong to him.
Lucius peers up. For the moment he is in control of himself. No blackouts or visions he cannot stop. Lucius looks around the tiny cellar they had snuck into. It belonged to some muggle's adjoining basement. It is a dry place out of the storm raging outside, mirroring his heart. Howling and screaming, trying to tear free of his body and mind. He grinds his teeth together. Where ever Draco is, he's gone now. And if the boy is still alive he is better farthest away from him. Away from Voldemort. Lucius knows what he has to do. He needs to get Narcissa somewhere safe and leave her, before the Dark Lord finally takes over his mind for good. The days are drawing closer. More and more he's losing time.
"There is one place." He whispers.
Narcissa's lost eyes turn to him. "Lucius…"
He squeezes her. "A place for you to stay."
She nods and they leave the cellar to face the storm together.
(Two months breeze by)
~ * point of view change * ~
Draco's eyes snap open.
For the first time in half a year he is fully conscious. Instead of the hazy dream that keeps him tired and drossy, Draco is wide awake with his senses overloading. At first it is too much.
He can see all the tiny details of the world around him, down to the odd swirling light that slips through the lake-reeds and air alike. He smells a million different things, each giving him an impression of its taste and image in his mind. His heart is pounding in his ears, a clear marching beat that makes him cover both holes with his hands. The sound becomes muffled and his eyes fall down to the ground, watching as a troupe of ants go by. A surprising realization dawns upon him. He removes his hands and watches in fascination as the pounding noise is in fact the tiny ants moving along in their orderly line. His eyes follow one ant in particular, passing its brothers and sisters it marches along under leaves and over the ground. Away and away, but Draco is staring quiet closely, when he blinks he finds himself sitting where he was and the one ant clear on the other side of the pond! What sort of magick is this?!
Standing in awe Draco moves slowly around the grove. Unhindered from his wound that is now fully healed he studies the garden.
Everything is so vastly interesting and hard not to notice. His eyes find a mass of glitter bugs dancing over the body of water. No sooner had his sight fallen upon them that his hearing also intensified opening all the channels to and from his mind. Draco recoils from the bugs in utter shock and falls to his raw bum. He blinks madly and looks up again pushing himself onto his knees. The bugs continue to dance and Draco listens with a face filled with confusion as tiny voices rise and sing with joy. They are truly singing and dancing!
"Lost kit is!"
"Yes sis, kit lost in mind."
The two familiar voices snap Draco back into himself. With wide eyes he looks up to see the fiend maidens just outside the grove. They both sat on a low limb, their long hair acting like tails to swoosh by their feet. The blonde and redhead peer at him openly, not ashamed of nudity.
Draco, on the other hand, is far less pleased being naked in their presence. He shrinks back remembering that they were the ones who put him in this situation. "It's you two again!" He glares at their fox faces knowing now from stories and lore what they are. He should have run from them the minute he saw the sisters in the trees months ago! Then he wouldn't be in this predicament.
"Oh! Awake now."
"Mm awake an' ready to play!"
"Come play!"
"Yes, yes lil' kit."
" Sis's, she 'n me wishin' play with you!"
"Bug off!" The boy growls, the two remained where they are confused. Ha! Look at their stupid faces looking hurt! "Why the hell would I want to play with you? You've tricked me! You've taken me away from my family and put me here!"
The two look at one another.
"Family, kit says."
The redheaded one peeks down. "Dumb family 'twas!"
"Yes dumb!" Yells the blonde female.
"Leavin' kit alone."
"In open."
"For all to see."
"For all to eat!"
The Foxae jump to the ground, doing well to stay out of the grove, but walking the forest line to the boy's other side. Their hair swept back over their rears and swished about annoyingly as they cast ginning faces at Draco. "Did a favor sis's did."
"Yes, didn't eat kit!"
"Didn't leave kit."
"Gave to five-tails."
"Now happy! Happy five-tails."
"Ask sis's to be kit's watchers."
"To play 'n keep kit safe!" Curling a hand towards Draco the redhead slashes the air.
Draco falls back into the soft body of the five tailed fox-lady. He looks up in fear, but those deep moonlit eyes ease him from panic as she lifts him to his haunches. The blonde boy gulps glancing between the foxfolk.
What was he still doing here? He should be running! Finding his family! Finding his fa- … his mo-… Draco frowns and starts to panic again. He couldn't remember! He couldn't remember their faces! It hasn't been that long, he should be able to remember!
Terrified he turns into the warm scent of the fox-lady and stuffs his face into the crook of her shoulder. The calm returns, this is a safe place, this is family? He shudders. I've been bewitched! His past is slipping away. The memory of his strict father and distant mother slowly disappearing from his mind. How could he betray them?! They are blood! "Noooooo…"
Distressed the boy grips those loose arms that cradle him. He can feel it now, his scent and magickal signature had broken away from his family and latched onto the Foxae. He had severed his link between maternal parents searching for someone to protect him, the fox creature had came to him and Draco let himself become bewitched. The sickening understanding became clear, he is no longer a Malfoy.
Letting out a sob the blonde boy curses himself and his fate.
Glass-like fingernails stroke through lengthening locks. "Shhhh. Good. Everything good."
The boy only shakes his head in anger and pulls away to stare at that smooth face. "You've tricked me! You made me believe I'm your child!" He tries to roll away but the creature holds onto his small arms.
"You. Mine." Her eyebrows cross in hurt sadness.
"I'm not your child! Your child died!" Draco shouts in retaliation.
As if struck she let him go.
He blinks surprised and looks at the three watching him with their alien eyes. Draco notices how he too is crouched as they are, as if their tendencies are already training him to become one of them. Frowning Draco slowly stands to his full height. He's a wizard! A Malfoy! Jaw clenching he looks at the creatures. The strange bond tying them together thins as if it's being pulled tight. He runs.
Turning Draco flees from the Foxae, dashing into the forest and not caring where he goes. He has to get away! From everything!
Inside the Forbidden Forest the scenery changes immediately. Darkness clings around him, his newly defined senses are wide open. He can now feel how menacing the forest truly is. Each shadow a threat, each figure in the mist a danger. Now he can hear the leaves laughing, see the eyes following him. Maddening! Everything is maddening!
A howl echoes off from the right and Draco cringes away, sprinting towards the left. His chest burns and limbs tingle, but not as badly as before. He should be cold and tired. Instead he can feel the heat from other creatures and is able to move away from them… he can push his body harder, insisting that it needs to keep going. Soon though, even with these new limits Draco clamors into a tree and slumps down to catch his breath.
In and out.
Shallow and deep.
He turns and finds that he is able to trace his own movements through the woods by the faint swirl of discoloration in the dim light. This isn't how animals track each other. This is something different. Like magick? What the hell is this?
Whatever thoughts linger are suddenly broken by the bizarre pressure of another creature being close by.
The smell of rotten wood reaches his nose and Draco snaps his neck up to see a log. At first glance the log appears to be floating, but shifting his gaze he can clearly see the many stick-legs supporting it. Then two black beady eyes. An alarm goes off in his head and Draco takes a step back. The horizontal log takes a step forward. A horrifying feeling trembles down his spine, Draco moves slowly behind the less frightening tree while moving backwards on his hands and feet trying not to make any noise. A Stick Man! A real one! Alive and moving!
The sound of brushing leaves. A branch snaps.
Draco's heart is racing as he takes shallow breaths threw his nose. Painfully slow he continues his retreat, moving slightly to the right so he might catch a glimpse of the Stick Man from opposite side of the tree. One step… two… three. He freezes, eyes widening. It's gone.
Suddenly he feels exposed and glances up chocking out a cry at the sight of the Stick Man climbing upside down in the trees. Picking its way through the hanging branches towards him. His shout alerted the predator and the log drops down to him.
Instantly Draco rolls away, barely escaping a branch that whips over him. Back on his haunches Draco ducks again from another assault, but all those horrid legs were bound to get through his defenses. A burning sensation erupts across his side, pitching him over in a heap as the pain exploded. He is hit again and again. The backs of his legs, his back, his spine, his neck, and head. Curling in on himself Draco curses. A momentary pause and his eyes widen seeing the Stick Man positioning itself above him. The underbelly splits open and the smell of rotten wood and meat becomes stronger as rows and rows of needle teeth lower to meet him.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!" The keening scream rips from his mouth carrying long and far.
A branch whips out, lashing across his chest and face. The cut slices open his skin sending out a spray of blood. It hits the Stick Man, and it gave a deep groan in sick pleasure. Its teeth began salivating, the endless darkness of its insides begging to be filled with flesh.
A white flash came speeding through the forest and launched itself against the side of the Stick Man. The two dark creatures tumble to the ground.
Draco, one second staring up at his doom, blinks away another second as the tops of canopy trees meet his vision. The sound of peeling bark and hissing draws his attention to the side. He scrambles to his feet watching as the fox-lady and Stick Man battle it out. He can believe the Foxae following him, but defending him? Then he remembered, she had also saved him from the Heglinn. As if she truly cares…
The five tailed demon keeps low to the ground on her fox legs and human hands. Her tails rear up behind her like a scorpion's tail. The Stick Man lashes out and a tail matches it, sending the branch ricocheting away from her. Draco takes in the form of the creature woman. Her lips are peeled back showing her sharp teeth, but even past the feral look she still seems beautiful and delicate. Her white hair floats about her, pale body encased with the soft fur from her legs, up her sides and over her breasts. For all the inhumane qualities she still fought to protect her young.
Draco swallows, moving to hide under a set of bushes, ignoring the slight scratches and burning cuts. If he were to run the Stick Man will give chase. Maybe if he didn't interfere they will kill each other? Gnawing on his bottom lip Draco silently hopes for the mothering fox to win.
The Stick Man rushes the Foxae.
She jumps aside and he hits her as she falls away.
The scrape only angers the demon fox and she pounces in, slashing off another large chunk of wood. Thick sticky life-blood slops onto the ground. A hollow scream.
A branch whirls around and stabs through her upper arm. The Foxae lets out a pained shriek and retreats, hissing and snarling.
Unrelenting the log rushes again and the other rears back letting out a howl. The wave of invisible magick slams into the Stick Man smashing it into another tree. It struggles back on stick legs and awkwardly jumps up into the tree, swinging and hurling itself down on top of the Foxae.
In fear Draco whimpers as the five-tailed fox-lady is tossed aside with a ghastly crunch. It happened so fast!
In victory the log wavers on its legs, a strange chortling noise coming from it as it advances like a spider towards the wounded creature.
Draco lets out a shout breaking away from the bushes to swipe his hand before him, acting for all the world as if he is a wizard again waving his wand. Then he thought for a split second; I don't have a wand! But shockingly, a faint light sizzles at his fingertips. The magick crackling the air causes the Stick Man to turn at him with new interest.
Another unsettling sound issues from the log as it comes bounding to him.
Panicking Draco collects himself. Looking from his sparkling nails to the lumbering Stick Man he draws in both fear and anger. The blonde sucks in a breath and thrusts his arm at the offending creature. Up on three stick legs, five more make ready to stab the boys' body when Draco lets an incoherent snarl pass lips and hooks his fingers to his palms. The pale light sparks and a bolt shoots out striking into the Stick Man's body.
Instantly the creature is on the ground, withering in agony as the pale light erupts in hungry flames eating away its physical form. Its legs twist, slapping the ground in contorted thumps while slashing at the purple fire. This went on as the Stick Man tears itself to pieces and the energy ate it until it lied there twitching and becoming still.
Afraid to move Draco looks on. Until there isn't much left of the creature besides burning remnants. Huffing in a deep breath he shivers and searches the ground. Without hesitation he slinks forward onto his knees next to the wounded form of the Foxae. A pained sound croaks out from Draco's throat as he reaches forward. Is she dead? Is he alone? He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be near someone, to be loved. Tears prickle at his eyes and he shut them tightly holding back the flood. Why is he so stupid? The grove had been safe and he had ran blindly into the damned forest again! He hated himself!
A hand closes around his and Draco sucks in as the fox-lady sits up. Her deep eyes bear into him and her strong arms pull him closer kissing and petting. She hums in delight as he clings to her. No matter the danger she had come to his rescue. This demon… whatever her nature she loves him, and in a world with so much expectation and revulsion Draco finds himself wanting to hide away with her in the grove forever.
And they went back. She, moving gracefully on her fox legs and human hands. And him, crouching low, trying to mimic her moves every now and then. They pick their way silently through the Forbidden Forest. Now within hands reach of the other, Draco is free to look about knowing himself in safe company. The Foxae is already healed, her magickal body weaving skin and bones back together. Strong and confident she lets Draco explore a bit making sure he keeps to the path. Finally they reach the garden again and the boy can feel the familiar presence of the protected haven. He actually smiled at the demon and he felt their own connection solidifying into a bond of trust.
Acceptance blossomed within his chest. This is his mother now. This is his home.
~ * point of view change * ~
Do not move. Do not move one inch…
Harry hid in the dark stream, body submerged and his nose just above the water. He forces himself to breathe smoothly. Forces his body not to jerk which will send small ripples over the surface. He waits like this under the cover of roots growing out from a hanging tree and over the still waters. Lily pads and reeds hinder anything spotting his hiding place as he keeps both startling green eyes cast outward.
From the right to the left, from above then below, he sweeps his eyes taking in as much information as he can.
Right off the bank is a small fire with food roasting over a ready-made spinning rod. Next to it rests a pair of boots, unlaced and warming from the fires heat.
How Harry wishes for that heat. To let it burn through him and stop his shivering. He wishes for the food as well, but since the large form of a man sits comfortably at the fire there is no way for him to make a move. Of course this is all a part of Harry's training.
He had pushed himself hard over the past two months. Strider started with tracks and sounds. Smells and creatures. How to move, how to act. Harry ate everything up and begged for more. He tried convincing Strider for harder tests and more knowledge. Finally Strider had been so annoyed with Harry's insistence for more that the man had kicked Harry out of his camp and told the boy: You want harder training? Go out there in the woods by yourself and survive for a week!
Is that it?! Harry yelled back. The small group of four, including Harry had been spending time on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. During the day he was trained by Strider as the other two searched deeper for the Malfoy child, the nights Harry stayed protecting the camp as the three would go out in full force. So when Strider had tossed him out of their campsite he didn't feel as if the forest was a threat at all.
You little brat! Strider snatched the boy's wand and planted a foot in Harry's chest sending him to the ground.
Give me back my wand!
Shut it! Get moving kid! Out there into the forest you go!
For a whole week?!
Yes! Use all the skills I've been teaching you! Keep yourself alive without your blasted wand and hunt us! Hunt the Pathfinders and prove you're able to join us!"
With that… three hours from it being a whole week ago Harry had done as Strider said.
The first two days had been relatively easy. Since they weren't that deep in the forest he wasn't in constant danger. He had already learned what roots and grass to chew to keep up his energy levels. He knew what berries to eat and which leaves to sip dew from. Harry had already learned how to track and cover his on tracks, even how to change his scents and blend in with everything around him.
The third day became harder though. He wasn't as strong as before. The little of what food he found dwindling. He learned shortly that the Pathfinders were doing everything they could to make his efforts harder. They moved quickly through the woods losing him over and over, he found them almost on pure chance, as they would set up new camps. The men would then hunt him back, finding his stashes of food and stealing them, even going so far as to forage everything they could to keep him hungry!
The fourth day had been worse. Harry lost track of them all together. He had slept too long from exhaustion and they simply vanished. He didn't even know which direction to go. Wracking his brain, Harry went back through the basics and followed a river hoping that the men had stayed close to the water source.
On the fifth day Harry had wished he remembered the other bit of information about staying close to water. All creatures thirsted for water, so it was no surprise that in Harry's foolish attempt at finding the Pathfinders he indeed fell upon a small pack of Elle Folk. Tiny naked people; the men-kind had long hair and beards to their feet, their women counterparts had braided hair and danced about. Upon his intrusion, he frightened them and when he had stupidly stared at one of the females hollowed backs she let out a shriek of rage. What a blundering fool he was! Gawking at a female Elle's back was the worst offense he could have made! Harry had sprinted off with the Elle chasing him. Fear stabbed into his lungs. The Elle folk were incredibly fast and if they caught him, Harry would be torn to shreds by powerful teeth. Unable to rest or eat Harry spent the rest of the day running and hiding trying to shake the little devils off his trail.
He was completely miserable the sixth day. Sore, tired and hungry. Harry found an empty den to hide inside, he snatched two eggs from a nest and broke into an old log finding slugs. He needed the protein and as gross as it was Harry found he had tasted worse cooking from the Dursley's.
The seventh day Harry's luck turned golden as he found one of the Pathfinders moving through the underbrush. Being far smaller and quieter Harry followed the individual and tracked him for miles into the night. Now here he is, trembling in the water watching Strider take a sip of firewhiskey from his flagon.
Harry chews on his inner cheek watching and waiting.
The man lets out a sigh and caps his flagon, setting it by his pack. Running his fingers through his cropped hair Strider reaches over his head in a stretch and stands. Cracking his neck from side to side he moves off to the trees barefoot to relieve himself.
From the shadows Harry moves forward. Carefully he slides out of the water as the sound of piss splashes across the leaves of a soiled bush. Sneaking forward in nothing but his pants rolled up to his knees, Harry leans in keeping low to the ground. His fingers slip into the smallest pocket of the travel pack. Both green eyes watch the older Pathfinder sway on his feet.
He tries for the next pocket… The man lets out a grunt.
The larger pocket now. Sweat breaks out over Harry's form as he begins to rush. The stream of piss ends and the man shakes himself.
Shit! Harry pulls back and quickly hides behind the largest bush. Now sooner than he hid his form, Strider came lumbering back. The man plopped down on the log and shifts the fire. Damn it! I won't find my wand like this! Both hands clenching Harry turns away and sits back against a tree. Drawing himself close he fights the shivers trying to stay strong. He had to get his wand back. He had to prove to Strider that he can be a Pathfinder!
Shivering in the darkness Harry sat there hating his weaknesses and willing himself to remain calm. He is cold and hungry, but those things can wait. Protection came first. He needs his wand.
Time passes as Harry keeps himself alert. He listens to the crackle of fire. Smells the wonderful scent of food. Watches the glimmer of Striders veils glistening against the deep blackness. That had been a bit pleasing for Harry. He had been close enough to Strider when the man had cast his veils that Harry knew where and how to sneak through them. Under the water he had kept hidden and pushed through the curtain of heavily draped spells to get in and watch. He is proud indeed at his sneakiness, but if he can't find his wand anytime soon then it would all be for nothing!
"Kid."
Harry jerks and looks up with wide eyes at the man standing over him.
Strider's keen green eyes stare down into the shocked larger ones. He leans against the tree and nods at his pupil. Harry is in better shape than he would have hoped for; alive after a full week with no serious wounds or signs of clear starvation. The boy had only lost them for the better part of two days and was still able to find them again. Maybe if the kid gets more patience he'll become a great Pathfinder? He smirks at the brat. "Come join me by the fire."
^o.o^ End of chapter.
creatures:
Stick Man- a giant walking stick with many legs, two eyes spaced across its log form and an underbelly mouth. Is a master at blending in with its surroundings. Has a tendincy to stab its prey then lie upon it, devouring its victims with its slow rotating teeth which move inward its endless stomach. Considered as a magickal creature.
Elle Folk- tiny people who live in their Ellenmounds. The men protect their women and treasures as the women seduce men. They love to dance and enjoy the fairy type of play, but if you peer into the backs of the Elle women you will see a hollow and most horrid secret that immediatly infuriates the Elle. You will do well to seek your peace before death.