"Quickly!" the old woman whispered again, looking around.
No use for it, Harry thought. If they stayed out in the open, they would be caught for sure. And fighting them off with magic would bring down the aurors on them. With a quick glance at each other, Harry and Riddle hurried inside after her.
Behind them, she barred the door and motioned them to a back room, drawing close the white embroidered curtains along the windows.
Much of the room was taken up with a quilt covered bed, but a low padded bench covered with fur was pushed up against the wall. A faded sepia photograph of a large family stood propped up on top of a wooden dresser.
Overlaid rugs covered much of the floor, bringing in bright pops of cover.
Tucked in the corner was a sewing machine and chair, a basket of full of mending besides it. The mismatched patterns of a half-finished quilt peeked out underneath a green sweater missing a sleeve.
The old woman tapped her cane on the wooden floors, drawing back their attention.
Their rescuer was small, shorter than even Harry, and appeared to be entirely made of fabric. Strands of gray hair peeked out from underneath a black scarf that tucked into the big folds of a black coat. A long dark purple skirt touched the floor. It was so complete that all you could see was a floating face, wrinkled and stern. Sharp brown eyes watched them.
"Young ladies. What do you think you are doing, running around and causing such trouble?" asked the woman with a look that could rival Professor Mcgonagall. Under the weight of it, Harry disconcertedly felt like she was eleven again and caught out after hours. How could someone they met moments ago sound so disappointed already? Harry wanted to wince.
Riddle rolled her eyes and was reaching for her wand, but Harry shook her head not yet.
The movement had not escaped the woman's notice, however, and her face softened.
"You are safe, children, no harm will come to you while you're here. You must wait until night to escape."
"Thank you for your kindness. My name-" Harry started.
"Do not tell me your names!" the woman said forcefully, "You may call me Plaka. Now sit, sit. I'll get you something to warm you up."
Riddle looked at the woman suspiciously, but nodded in agreement. Harry didn't mind. The little house smelled delicious and it's not like they could go back out soon anyway.
Soon they were being herded into chairs and cups of hot tea shoved in their hands.
"Your Albanian is very good. No one would guess that you were from the West if they heard you," Plaka said.
"Oh! That's, um, great," Harry said.
"But you are going to get yourselves re-captured," she gave a look to the short links of chain that had slipped from Riddle's pocket, "and shot by the secret police if you keep going around dressed like that."
With that dire proclamation, she had turned around and was already bustling about. She pulled out a wooden trunk from underneath the rickety looking bed and started bringing out folded clothes, holding each up for closer inspection.
"You can have some of my granddaughter Drita's things. They should fit well enough."
She ran her hand through Harry's messy hair and gave a tsk.
"This will not do at all. Such modern styles young people have today! It makes you stand out too much."
She pulled out a faded looking red and white scarf and wrapped it around Harry's head, letting it hang over her shoulders and cover the offending short curls.
"That's very generous of you and we could use the help," Harry hesitated, "but won't your granddaughter mind if we took her things?"
"Such a thoughtful girl, but my Drita will not mind. During the first war, she and her husband's entire village were all killed."
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.
"Don't worry, child, it was a long time ago. No, my Drita would have been thrilled. Spies, in our tiny village! I would have had to haul her back to stop her from running off with you."
Harry mouthed "spies?" to Riddle, who gave an imperceptible shrug. Harry took that as a "just go with it." Plaka didn't seem to notice and continued rummaging through the clothes.
"She sounds fun," Riddle added in.
"Always getting into trouble that one. Such a good girl at heart, but the village didn't know what to do with her when she was young. She and her brothers would go off hunting together in the forest. Once a traveling tinker tried to swindle them and she hid a toad…"
The afternoon meandered into evening, Plaka plying them with hot tea and homemade bread buns and telling stories about the adventures of daring Drita and her four mischievous brothers. Strong Orik who once felled the tallest tree in the forest, studious Armend who wanted to study in the city someday but they had no money for it, bold Berkim who always worried his poor grandmother by climbing too high up in the trees, and small Hajat who would trail after them through the woods.
The stories were all from their youth. What had happened to her grandsons? Were they safe in the village still or had they been war casualties as well? Harry couldn't bring herself to ask.
The whole scene made Harry's heart ache and reminded her of Molly. Harry liked to think they would have been treated the same if they had stumbled into the Burrow. Would she have given them corned beef sandwiches and told them of Fred and George's pranks?
Riddle appeared to be listening and quietly storing away any geographic or other useful information that came up.
Near evening, a rough knock boomed throughout the small house. All three women froze, listening.
The knock came again.
Plaka motioned them to get low behind the bed. She adjusted her scarf and dusted off her apron before picking up her cane and hobbling off towards the other room, closing the bedroom door behind her.
They strained to hear the muffled sounds from the other room. It sounded like a group of people, all rowdy shouts and riled up blustering.
"Should we make a break for it?" Harry whispered.
Riddle shook her head.
"No, she could have betrayed us at any time if she was so inclined. Be ready though in case they try to search the house."
Harry nodded and clutched the wand in her pocket. Riddle's shoulder leaned against her as they crouched low behind the bed. She could feel the watchful intensity radiating off of Riddle, but found the steady weight oddly reassuring. Riddle would gladly betray her in a heartbeat if the situation benefited her, but in this quest, they were partners. Equals. Maybe even acquaintances, if Harry wanted to go that far.
Harry, who never belonged anywhere, had always secretly envied Riddle's ability to project that she owned whatever space she happened to be in. Creepy and sinister manors, fancy and sinister glorified pawn shops, mysterious and sinister ministry hallways, wild and sinister forests. Even largely non-sinister places like Hogwarts and old women's bedrooms. You were clearly the one out of place if you had the sheer audacity to question Riddle's right to be there.
At some point in their very brief acquaintance, she had slipped into Harry's life with just as much ease and made herself at home before Harry could even guard against it.
Maybe it wasn't that strange though. Even in the future, their lives were tangled together in such a knotted mess that even their own various supposed-to-be-deaths only bound them tighter.
Harry watched the gap at the bottom of the door, looking for any signs of movement in the flickering lamplight.
The front door closed with a thud and the muffled voices cut off suddenly.
A moment later, Plaka came back into the room.
"They've searched the whole village and surrounding forest, but they think you must have already escaped. A while more and it will be safe for you to go," she said, settling back into her chair, scarves enveloping her once more, and launching into more village tales.
"Have you heard any legends about a lost crown?" Riddle asked during a lull in storytelling.
"Not unless you have come for the helmet of Skanderbeg."
"Skanderbeg?" Harry asked.
Riddle shook her head.
"No, it's not a helmet. It's a silver crown. It would have been lost 700 years ago."
Plaka eyed them both intently, before she sighed and seemed to give it up as a lost cause.
"It would have been better for you if you were actually spies and not treasure hunters. I would warn you against such things, but I know the look of a girl who will not listen. You will only be getting yourselves into more trouble if you keep asking people. I've not heard any stories about crowns nearby, but if anything was lost then it would be hidden in the valleys of the Accursed Mountains to the North. Wise people know to stay away," she said, emphasizing the last part firmly.
"No one has ever accused us of being wise," said Harry.
Riddle leaned forward, her eyes alight.
"The forests there are darker than the rest. Things and people have a way of getting lost there and not returning. It only took God a week to create the world, but the devil spent a whole day to create the Accursed Mountains.
One of my aunts came from a village near there. There is a forest in the shadow of the mountains, near where the river bends. They say that a long time ago the murdered body of a great lady was found there. For a long time afterward, there were stories of her ghost wandering the forest, but no one has seen any such ghost for a long time. The forest is dangerous for other reasons."
"Was it a tall, sad looking woman wearing a stained long grey dress?" Riddle asked.
Plaka shook her head, grey hairs falling out from her scarf, "That I cannot say. The stories only call her a noble lady."
Harry watched on amused as Riddle from then on slipped into charming Head Girl mode, all bashful smiles and offers to help with putting out supper ("Please, you've been so kind to us already.") and wheedling out every single scrap of information on the forest that she could get.
An hour later, Plaka pulled one of the curtains slightly aside, peering into the growing darkness. "It's almost time. Now, stand up straight, and let me have a look at you before you go."
She inspected them both, fussing and adjusting minor things until they finally met her approval.
She put a thick scarf around Riddle's neck and gave her a peck on the cheek. Riddle blanched at the touch and darted her head back.
"Oh, none of that. The days are getting warmer, but the nights can still get cold," the woman said with a laugh. A basket smelling of more fresh bread was shoved into Harry's arms and some more clothes into Riddle's.
"Now, off you go. I don't want to ever hear another word about you again. And remember, no one in this village has helped you. You won't, but you must get out of Albania while you can."
With that (and some mutterings that sounded suspiciously like "foolish girls"), they were bundled off into the night, their stomachs full for the first time in days and their arms weighed down with supplies. Their hearts though felt featherlight with the possibility of finally having uncovered a clue to the diadem's whereabouts.
Back in their cottage, Harry levitated the stiff bench to be in front of the fire and transfigured it into a pair of the comfiest armchairs imaginable. Just because she could.
Riddle eyed her own cheerfully floral chair disdainfully (Rude. Harry had even been nice and mixed in some snakes wearing jaunty little hats) before giving in to its squishy allure.
"So, Accursed Mountains?" Harry asked.
Riddle pursed her lips.
"I had hoped to avoid them. They are said to be rather unpleasant."
"Why? What lives there?"
"Vampires, werewolves, dragons, half-snake women that seduce men and eat children, giants, ogres, trolls, evil spirits that can suffocate people with their breath..."
"How big are these mountains? It sounds very crowded there?"
"...giant wolves that aren't werewolves, inferni and necromancers, hags, rusalkis — oh those are a bit like sirens without the singing, giant weasels..."
"The giant weasels don't sound so bad."
"They're man-eating," Riddle replied.
"Okay, okay. I get it. Scary cursed mountains are bad news and we should absolutely not go there."
"No, we absolutely shouldn't," Riddle confirmed.
Harry was relieved to hear such uncharacteristic reasonableness and really by now she should have known better as Riddle continued on, "We'll first need to stay here a few more days to recover back to full strength and gather traveling supplies."
A/N:"Accursed Mountains" sounds like the most made-up name ever, but from Wikipedia: "Prokletije (Cyrillic: Проклетије; Albanian: Bjeshkët e Nemuna, both translated as "Cursed Mountains") also known as the Albanian Alps (Alpet Shqiptare) as well as the Accursed Mountains is a mountain group on the western Balkan peninsula."
"Plaka" is the term/respectful endearment that you would call an elderly female relative.
Exposition Grandma: You two are the worst spies I have ever seen and I'm going to mother you whether you like it or not. Now eat some food already while I tell you all the local legends.