Heroes of Magic and Might
Chapter 17 – Off the beaten path
…
Tink, tink, tink.
"Hmm."
Tink, tink, tink.
"Yes, I see."
Tink, tink, twang!
"Oh! That hurt."
Dumbledore cringed under the discordant twang of the pickaxe; one of several he had working at his new project, now one less as he examined the broken tip.
"Interesting," he mumbled, drawing up closer to examine the point of impact that had done the job.
"Good morning headmaster," someone called in passing.
He waved a good morning, withholding a verbal one due to a lack of name. It came to him after the young man was out of earshot, "Thomas, that was it."
He'd been relearning a great many names of late. Being out in the open air had done him a world of good but it had also brought to light, at least to him, just how disconnected he'd been from the student body. If he weren't so busy, he may have found time to feel ashamed.
As it was, he simply allowed people to introduce themselves again as they felt necessary, most were more than happy to. Not many expected him to remember them; that expectation was purely his own and one he damn well intended to live up to.
There was much to be said about being Albus Dumbledore; strangely enough, most of it was said by people who were not Albus Dumbledore. He found it funny at times the things people assumed about him; books for Christmas when all he wanted was socks being just one example.
The sad part was, at some point, he'd started believing bits of it himself.
"Good morning headmaster."
The greeting lacked something in the way of tone, but that was to be expected from this one. Ronald Weasley had not been in the best way for some time now.
"Truly a lovely morning, don't you think?" the headmaster offered.
"Spose," was the lackluster response.
There was much the venerable wizard could have said, in fact wished to say, would have said, and did say about a month ago. Now he held his peace; what could be said had, all that remained now was action.
"It's quite the conundrum this, wouldn't you say?"
"Spose so."
"The hardness doesn't appear to be uniform either, you see."
The young ginger looked disinterested at the broken pickaxe. It worried Dumbledore. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who needed a project.
"How have you been Mr. Weasley?"
"Fine."
A faint growl of frustration was mercilessly silenced. The boy had gone to the trouble of approaching him yet all he gave were single word answers.
He was lost, that was the problem. Didn't know what he wanted or what to do with himself, so he just moped. If only it was just him.
Ms. Granger thankfully appeared to be stabilizing; this he attributed largely to Neville Longbottom. Others were more subtle, but he had noticed a distinct change in several, Anna DeWinter for example, the young adventurer's Jones and Croft.
Everyone was handling his departure in their own way, though none as poorly as Ron Weasley now that he, Dumbledore, was no longer hiding in his office.
"Good morning headmaster."
"And a very good morning to you Ms. Bones."
The cheerful Hufflepuff carried a large basket which, if history was any indicator, contained his lunch.
"I know it's a bit early, but we're a little short handed today. I put a stasis charm on everything," she explained.
"That will be fine, thank you."
"Well good," she said. "Ronald, you don't look busy, come with me."
"Huh, wha—I hey!"
The old man snickered quietly as the cheerful young lady dragged the dour young man off.
"Very good Ms. Bones, very good."
There was little he could do for Ron Weasley, but he wasn't the only person with a vested interest.
Turning his attention back to his broken pickaxe, he was distracted by an odd beam of light, drawing his attention to the horizon where long, dark clouds loomed.
"That looks a bit ominous."
"Eadmaster!"
"Ah, Hagrid." The big man stalked up, casting his own look at the horizon, "What do you suppose?"
"Late afternoon I reckon, maybe early evenin."
Dumbledore nodded. "Rain perhaps. Difficult to tell from here."
"You want I should bring'em in."
"I don't think that's necessary just yet. We'll keep an eye on it. When it gets closer, we can make a decision. No sense in losing time for being overcautious."
"Little rain never urt anyone."
This was not entirely accurate, though the half-giant could hardly be blamed for his ignorance.
A little rain had hurt more than a few who were sensitive to such things, like vampires. Though not as painful as fire, and less un-life threatening than falling into a river, rain, particularly heavy rain, could be quite uncomfortable for those sometimes-called Nosferatu.
"You alright back there?"
"I've been better."
The wagon they were using had no cover, being of the open variety, and as one of the open variety it proved no protection whatever from the elements. For Harry this was little concern. The rain wasn't heavy, more a thick misting than anything else. He could handle being wet, and his new outfit possessed a certain water resistance, the cloak anyway. Rosebud on the other hand.
"Bet your glad I made you that umbrella now."
"I was glad when you gave it to me."
It wasn't fancy, just some sticks and one of the leftover cloaks he'd fashioned into a simple carriable rain shield, also good for keeping off unwanted sunbeams which had been the initial thought.
"And how's our puppy enjoying the ride?"
The rough looking wolf looked up for a moment before laying his head back in Rosebud's lap, "He says your horses need work."
Harry snickered, "Oh does he now?"
"Yes, he does."
"So that's not just you being critical of my transfiguration."
"Not 'just'."
He couldn't argue the point on logic; this was why he resorted to sarcasm.
She was right though; they weren't very good. Part of transfiguration, the most important part in fact, was the ability to visualize what you were doing. Harry, growing up as he did, had never seen a real horse in his life. Pictures in books, a statue or two, but never the thing in the flesh and that showed in the beasts pulling the wagon.
They weren't awful—he thought. They were horse shaped, they looked alive—from a distance. The devil, as they say, was in the details, and that's where they fell apart. The most obvious problem was their coats, dull and gray as the rock he made them from. The heads also weren't quite right, and the eyes didn't move, which is why he'd added blinders so they couldn't be seen.
Even the reigns he pulled on were merely there for show. The transfigured beasts weren't real enough to respond to them and were being actively controlled by his magic.
"We should get real horses as soon as we can," the vampire commented.
"Have you got money?"
"I never said we should buy them."
He let out a heavy sigh at the suggestion, "I'm not comfortable stealing—if I don't have to. Besides, real horses need to be fed and watered and led by someone who knows how to use these things."
"My but you do complain a lot."
"I don't wanna hear that from 'you'," he retorted.
She pretended he hadn't spoken. "Doesn't much matter I suppose. There's not likely to be any good horses around here. We're on the outskirts of what passes for civilization. That village probably doesn't even have a half dozen dogs, never mind a horse."
… What?
"What village?" he said, pulling their wagon to a stop.
"The one I've been smelling for about twenty minutes now," she said casually. "Doesn't seem like it'll be on the road, probably a path up here somewhere."
"And you didn't tell me about this sooner because?"
"Didn't think I needed to," she said all full of faux innocence which easily repelled his chastising stare.
"We need to have a talk about communication," he said, spurring the horses back into motion, "In the meantime, what can you tell me about this village."
"Not much," she said. "There's a smithy of some sort. They do fishing as well, their smoking them. Hide tanning, you never forget that smell. If I were to guess, probably a few dozen people, fifty tops. You're going?"
"Well, yeah, why not?"
"Quite the optimist, or is it just ignorance I wonder?"
Harry scowled, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Small villages in the middle of nowhere don't get a lot of visitors. You may find the reception to be less than you expect, or more, if you catch my drift."
He thought he did, but, "You think they might attack me?"
"Possibly. More likely they'll just stare a lot, hustle the children indoors, that sort of thing."
"Like I was some sort of delinquent," sounded familiar.
"You're still going."
He nodded, "It may be stupid," and he could admit it probably was, "but I've got to see for myself."
It was more than just idle curiosity. Rosebud had told him of things, people, magic, that was totally different than what he knew. It wasn't likely these people would be powerful wizards, but they also weren't from Hogwarts. He might learn a great deal if he paid attention.
Not a quarter mile up, the well-worn dirt path appeared, and Harry stopped the wagon.
"You coming?"
"In a manner of speaking," she said, hopping down, followed by the wolf. "I see no reason to take the chance of them finding out what I am. I'll stick to the woods. Try not to get into too much trouble."
"What's 'too much'?" he wondered sarcastically.
She didn't bother to answer as he reverted the horses to a pair of stones and shrunk the wagon to the size of a toy. Leaving the wagon and his bag with the vampire, he strolled down the old dirt road at a casual pace.
Unlike the little vampire, his senses were only that of a human, slightly better with enhancement, and he didn't want to accidentally run into someone and make a bad first impression.
That's why someone ran into him.
The bushes shook and the man came bolting out of the underbrush in a panic, barreling blindly into Harry and sending them both sprawling to the ground.
"What the bloody hell!" Harry exclaimed, shoving the man off. "Why don't you watch where you're going."
But the man didn't answer, and a moment later Harry saw why when the bear came charging out the brush as well.
He hadn't even time to curse, flinging himself at the stranger who froze in panic. The bear charged through empty space and Harry landed with his passenger some ten feet out of harms way.
He didn't stop to see if the man was alright as the bear had already spotted them, having smashed through several small trees before coming to a halt. It didn't charge again, given its size it would have taken some time to get back up to speed, but approached at a walk, roaring fiercely.
The man wailed like a dying old woman, proving he was, for the moment at least, still alive. Harry paid him no mind, entirely focused on the bear, and boy was there a lot to focus on.
It wasn't quite as large as the Caladonian boar, but it was a very near thing, making him wonder how it would handle magic. Its coat was thick and coarse, blackish brown all the way to its snout which was a pale cream color.
It approached without fear, as you'd expect of a creature that size. His mind raced through possibilities, ways to combat such a thing, when the realization he needn't kill the beast struck him. It hadn't been an option with the boars, but the bear might be less inclined to pursue his case if Harry could convince him it was more trouble than it was worth.
He went to work, slamming his hand into the ground and pulling out a crude sort of whip of gravel and stone he used to lash the ground with a deafening crack.
The bear staggered back in surprise, roaring in defiance, but Harry saw through him. He cracked his whip again and again the bear jumped. He repeated this several times, but he could see it would take more as the bear jumped less every time and looked like he might try charging again.
A quick look around revealed everything to be dripping wet, so he felt relatively safe in his course of action, extending his hand and shooting a long gout of flame.
That proved a sufficient bluff; the bear stumbled back and fled into the woods the way it had come.
"Well, that wasn't so hard," not by his usual standard anyway.
That just left the man, who seemed to be more shocked by what he'd just seen than the bear.
"You alright?"
"Whabudagneguabududududunnnnnnnuaaaa…" he gibbered incoherently.
"I think I'll take that as a no." There was enough n's.
"Nu—nununu, nununuNU!" he attempted again. Failing that, he did the only other thing his brain would allow and passed out.
"Hmm. Well at least he stopped screaming."
Giving the man a minute to rest he tried the good old slap them awake, and when that failed, he flipped the man over, conjured a bit of ice cold water, and dumped it down the back of his neck.
"YEEEEEEEE!"
That worked.
"Back with us now?"
"BA—ba, you, you—you!"
"Whole words, that's good. Would you like to try an entire sentence now?"
His sarcasm appeared to have gotten through because the man stopped gibbering and gave him a hard look as he tried to catch his breath.
"You're—some sort of wizard?"
"Yes, some sort," he admitted. "My name's Harry," he said, leaving the statement hanging for the other man to introduce himself.
He didn't, "You—you, I…"
"Are you alright?" Harry asked when the man looked like he might start gibbering again. "Just you out here or did you have friends?"
"Friends?" the word seemed to spark something, then the switch was flipped, "No, no, they, I mean, they're…"
His use of the past tense told Harry all he needed to know, "Didn't manage to outrun him?" he assumed.
But he was wrong, "No, no it wasn't the bear. They were, I mean, they jus…" then he stopped, looked at Harry like he'd just seen him for the first time, "but you're a wizard."
"Uh, yeah."
"You! You could stop them."
"Stop what?"
But the man didn't seem to have heard him, "We should speak to Karl, he's the village headman. Come, quickly."
Bemused but tragically curious, he followed the man who took off at a fast walk. The village wasn't far, only ten minutes before they saw smoke from the stacks, and then the stacks themselves.
Hogsmeade, he remembered, was also called a village. Hogsmeade was a bustling metropolis compared to what he walked into. A dozen buildings stood randomly spaced, only a couple looking as though they'd been actually constructed as opposed to just thrown together.
One such building was the smithy; even poor naïve Harry could smell it; the mass of melted slag outside the door was also a hint. His new friend made a beeline for the other, telling him to wait outside as he knocked and was given permission to enter.
Awkward did not even begin to describe his situation.
Rosebud had been right, they did stare, gawk one might even say. He'd been gawked at before of course; boy who lived and all that, but this was different. There wasn't that sense of pointless reverence, awe, and wonder.
Harry may not have been a vampire, but he knew fear, even if he couldn't smell it, and there was fear; fear mingled with that irresistible curiosity one can't help but feel in the presence of things like scorpions or tarantula. You know you shouldn't, but you can't help but wonder if you could get away with touching it. Just a little.
He was saved from a good stick poking when his new friend returned, followed by a very large man that made Harry blanch. At first glance he thought his uncle had somehow followed him, a second glance revealed this was not the case. The size was right, the general corpulence, but the face was wrong, it sagged too much, and the hair was dark rather than blonde and he had no mustache.
"This is him then?"
"Yes sir, this is the wizard."
There was a sense of unease when the man addressed him as such, like it was important in a way he didn't understand.
"Can't tell you how grateful we are you've come sir," said the large man. "Bout at our wits end I don't mind tellin ya. We would greatly appreciate your help."
"Help with what?" he asked foolishly.
"These 'sprites'," he said like it was a dirty word. "This makes seven they've taken. Soon there won't be none of us left. Please sir, won't you help us. Just name your price."
"I'll do what I can," he said, though he didn't know why.
All the warning bells were going off; 'WRONG' they clanged, 'WRONG'. It was a testament to his character that he was still, after everything he'd been through, so quick to offer assistance to strangers. Some would have called it noble; others would have called it stupid.
Whichever it was, he couldn't help that niggling suspicious he would regret it before everything was said and done. Funny how that niggling is so often right.