Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.
Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.
Chapter Two
"Well that's great," Harry said. He leaned over and put the glass of water back on the bedside table. Even the little motion seemed incredibly painful to him and he couldn't suppress the wince that came with moving. "But who are you?"
"You are quite astute, aren't you," the Sorceress said.
"I guess," Harry said, wincing a little bit more. "You're still not answering the question though."
"You need something for the pain," she said.
"No," Harry responded with more certainty than she would have thought him capable of at that moment. The vehemence in his tone surprised her.
"Oh? You're not in pain?" she asked.
"It's not that," Harry said quietly, wincing as he spoke.
"I see," she said quietly. "You're afraid."
"No!" he said, as if ashamed of the thought.
"It's alright to admit it," she said warmly, smiling at him. She sat on the edge of the bed and caught a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror above the empty dresser. Again, a wave of unfamiliarity rushed through her. Something was missing on her face as well. There was one where there should have been two? Or was it one where there should have been none? The Sorceress had to remind herself that it was something she could investigate later.
"No," Harry said quietly, and then frowned at her as she sat on the bed. A mistake, she thought. She didn't appear that much older than him. He'd probably never been in a situation similar before. She'd have to bring his attention back to the matter at hand.
"So why don't you want something that will make you feel better?" she asked.
"There's quite a few reasons," Harry said.
"And those would be?" she asked.
"It's not very intelligent to take strange potions from someone you don't know," Harry said.
"There is truth in those words," the Sorceress said. "But if not for me then you'd be dead."
"I couldn't have been that injured," Harry said.
"You've been asleep for a week," she said.
"What?" Harry asked, seeming astonished by the news.
"What do you even remember?" she asked.
"I was competing in the Triwizard Tournament," Harry said. "I'd out dueled Krum. He attacked me. But I beat him. It was close though. I vaguely remember seeing the cup. And then I just limped toward it. I took it and something pulled me away. I remember landing someplace dark and then I slipped and…I guess I must have hit my head or something."
"Does it hurt?" the Sorceress asked, gesturing to his head.
"A bit," Harry said. "But I'm still not going to take anything you offer until you tell me who you are."
"That information is virtually worthless to you," she said.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"I can tell you anything. I could tell you I'm a nereid, or an ancient sea witch, or a foreign princess living in exile, or your arch nemesis, or anything and you'd have no Earthly idea if I'm telling you the truth. So, the answer serves you no real purpose," the Sorceress said.
"You could always just be honest, you know," Harry said.
"Perhaps I have been," the Sorceress responded.
"Does this amuse you?" Harry asked.
"A bit," she responded. "But I do think you will feel better if you get some type of medicine into you. And some food as well."
"Food does sound good," Harry said begrudgingly.
"Any preference?" she asked, knowing full well that she didn't have the provisions to cater to requests.
"I, uhm, you don't have to do that," Harry said, his voice growing gradually quieter as he spoke.
"And if I don't do it, you'll starve which would make my efforts the last few days worthless," she said, standing from the bed and smoothing out her dress. Harry blushed and looked away from her.
She returned to the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards, part of her regretting eating a chunk of his chocolate bar. She did have some fruits and vegetables though. Enough to make something passable.
The Sorceress summoned a bowl to her as knives started chopping some cucumbers and tomatoes. She found some olive oil and mixed it with a little bit of red wine vinegar before adding salt and pepper. She tasted it and frowned before digging out a lemon. Magic juiced it for her as she found some feta and popped a small piece into her mouth before mixing it in with the chopped vegetables. She drizzled the dressing over them before sliding the bowl away from her.
That wouldn't work as a full meal though. She knew she didn't have any meat. She did have a few figs though and some nuts. She put them onto a plate and shrugged, regretting that she'd been too indolent to visit the mainland and stock up. But she'd never needed a lot of food.
The Sorceress transfigured a tray and placed her creations onto it before carrying them back to the bedroom. Harry was sitting up. He'd finished the water on the bedside table. His eyes flashed to her as she entered, worry evident on his face. She tried to quell it with a smile as she put the tray down in his lap.
"Thanks," he muttered courteously. So at least he had manners, she thought. She nodded and took the glass of water from the table and refilled it.
"Sorry it isn't much," she said as she returned with more water. "But it's all I had."
"It's fine," he said quietly. She pressed her lips together, unconsciously moving them toward one corner of her mouth. Harry seemed to notice as he quickly continued. "Better than fine really, these must be very fresh."
"Well I'll find something better for later. But for now I'll leave you to it," she said, turning toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked. She paused in the doorway.
"I'm going to brew you a pain potion. They're best if fresh. And I think that by the time you have some food in you, you may be more receptive to the idea of sleeping it off," she said.
"Oh," he frowned. She raised her brows at him. It was like he was afraid of her leaving. And then it clicked. He was afraid of being alone. While he didn't know who she was or what she wanted, there was a comfort in not being completely alone in a strange place.
"I'll be just down the hall," she said. "If you need anything just yell, I'll hear you."
"I don't like feeling helpless," he said. She noticed he'd stopped eating and the worried expression had returned.
"Then you've got a problem for the next few days," she said. "Because unless you let me help you, you're not going to get better."
"What happened to me?" he asked.
"Lots of detrimental magic," the Sorceress said. "I'd hoped you'd be able to give me more details. When I got you here you were bleeding internally, unconscious, and heavily bruised and had a few assorted burns on your body."
"I see," he said quietly. He didn't seem to know what to say. She watched as he speared a piece of cucumber and ate it.
"I'd hoped to save most of this for when you were a bit more rested. But I haven't managed to diagnose that yet. I am, sadly, not as gifted medically as I would like," the Sorceress said.
"But I feel okay," Harry frowned.
"You are not," she said. "I merely managed to freeze it for the time being. The injuries will catch up soon."
"Then we should go to St. Mungo's," Harry said.
"I do not think magical travel would be good for you," she said.
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"Because I can't be certain that everything will stay where it's supposed to if there's still foreign magic attempting to harm you," the Sorceress said. It was easy enough to lie to him. She wondered if he'd have enough general medical knowledge to see through the ruse. Judging by his expression he did not.
"Oh," he said, staring down at a tomato and picturing it as part of his insides that didn't quite make it back to where they should have. He brushed it off of his fork and ate another cucumber and a square of feta instead.
"You aren't in immediate danger," the Sorceress said. "It will just start to be painful soon. And it isn't very smart to continue the stop gap methods. But with you coherent I'll be able to get a better read on what's going on. I would think within a week you'll be fine."
"That doesn't sound too bad," Harry said.
"It will almost certainly be a painful week," she commented.
"I've had worse," he responded confidently.
"Then you should eat up while I go and brew," she said. And this time she didn't wait for a response.
Once in her laboratory she spent a few moments vanishing the potions she wouldn't need. She'd perhaps been a bit overzealous when she'd started. She kept a batch of the skin salve on simmer, just in case the bruising didn't go away.
The Sorceress waved a hand and started to clean the used cauldrons. She watched as soapy sponges flew into the room and scrubbed away. She let the cleaning continue while she gathered up some more supplies. Her stores were lower than she would have like and the garden was in utter disarray. But given how long it had been unattended that shouldn't have surprised anyone.
She had enough for a few doses of a basic pain potion as well as a concoction of her own design that should heal internal injuries. She should have started forcing him to drink that earlier. But there was always the choking risk when they weren't conscious.
Which would have been fine, she thought. But that wasn't a pleasant thought so she shook it out of her head before she started to work on the potion.
She took out all of the ingredients she'd need and started with the water base on a low simmer. She had about forty-five seconds before she needed to get the chopped salamander tails into the water. She plopped them down onto the cutting board and picked up the fine silver knife. She leaned over it ready to chop with alacrity. But recent memories flooded to the front of her mind and instead she took a deep breath before chopping slowly.
She finished with just enough time and moved on to the two drops of dragon blood, letting them dilute slowly amongst the tails as she started organizing the herbs she would need, adding them a pinch at a time.
It was more work than just tossing them all together but it would increase potency of the batch and given that she was short on most ingredients it seemed better to make a stronger potion than a weaker one.
In the down time between adding in the ingredients she took a mortar and pestle and started to grind some valerian roots. It should have only taken a few moments but it took her longer than that as the tools felt odd in her hands.
Eventually she dumped about a quarter of the powdered root into the potion. It would add a drowsy component and put him to sleep. She hesitated with the mortar over the potion, her eyes on a couple of more roots laying next to the cauldron.
It wouldn't have any effect on taste, she thought, if she were to add five or six more into the concoction. And that would be all it would take. He'd drink it down without question, and then he'd never wake up. Problem solved.
No, she thought. It wouldn't solve any problems. It would just make enemies for her more powerful than she was capable of dealing with. And it wouldn't be right.
But that thought struck her as incorrect. Well both of those thoughts. The first one made her want to laugh. Enemies more powerful than her? Such a thing didn't exist. Such a thing would never exist. And the second one? Who cares if it's right or not, the point is that it would be done. And that was far more important.
No. You brought him into your home. You offered him hospitality, Xenia. You can't kill him while he's under your roof. The Gods do not take kindly to such things.
Except you know that's all bullshit. And anyway, you wouldn't kill him. He'd just be in a very long coma. The lack of sustenance would kill him. Hardly your fault. A simple accident really, just the misjudging of his metabolism. A mistake anyone could make when brewing.
Except the Sorceress did not make mistakes when brewing. And she did not harm her guests. She put the mortar down with a loud clang and forced herself to continue on the potion. There were only a few more ingredients before the halfway point where she'd have to let it boil for five minutes.
Her head was starting to throb. She brought her hands to her temples and started to massage herself, trying to pressure away the oncoming headache. But she knew it was fruitless. She'd either need alcohol or sleep to get rid of that pain she knew was coming. There was just too much in her head, too many new things. Too many things that didn't make sense.
Perhaps that's why she was focusing on the boy. There was something both familiar and unknown about the innocent resting in her spare bedroom. And focusing on his recovery had distracted her from her own problems.
She squeezed her eyes closed as she tried to massage the pressure out of her skull. She knew it would be futile. The headaches were becoming a more common occurrence and typical remedies had proven useless.
So far only sleep had really done anything. But that wasn't an option for a few hours yet. She checked on the pain potion as it simmered and started on another cauldron.
This potion was trickier and had a much smaller success window. She only had about fifteen minutes to make the entire thing and judging from her ingredient store only one attempt at it tonight.
It started with grappa. She took a swig of it before pouring the rest of the bottle into the cauldron. She let the taste linger on her lips and tongue for a moment before she summoned a few grapes from the kitchen and threw them into the cauldron. They wouldn't have quite the desired affect but it should be close enough. It was a trick he'd taught her years ago. The exact ingredients were less important than people thought. One really only needed something similar to get the desired result.
Some nutmeg and honey went in next as she lost herself in the routine, reflection on the man who introduced her to the wonders of potions. The first images that flooded through her head were of a fat old man with a silver moustache.
That was wrong though. She didn't know that man. Except she did. There was memory there through the foggy unfamiliarity of her mind. But it wasn't right. That man could brew potions, sure. But she felt no affection for him.
She dug deeper into her own mind, absentmindedly throwing a dragon liver into the cauldron as she did, until she found him. She could remember him clearly. Perhaps too clearly for the time that had passed. She could see him still. Tall, thin, neat black hair and icy blue eyes. Sad eyes and a sad smile. Eyes that stared off to nowhere far too long. A pang shot through her at the memory of those eyes.
He'd taught her so much. Magic, potions, enchanting, philosophy, art and oh so much more. She sprinkled the powdered slug onto the top of the purple liquid in her newest cauldron as she lost herself in her memories. It shifted to a pale lavender and she immediately cut off the heat and waved a hand over it to cool. Her head continued to throb as she used the magic.
The Sorceress prepared two cups of potion and returned to the guest bedroom. The boy was still leaning against the headboard of the bed. His eyes immediately shot to her as she entered the room. She put on her best and brightest smile and wasn't disappointed when he blushed and looked away.
"Potions done," she said brightly as she noticed that he'd eating all of the food she'd prepared and added. "Probably not the best after dinner drink but better than nothing."
"I'm starting to hurt pretty much everywhere," he admitted and she had the strangest feeling he was accustomed to injuries and had learned that admitting to them often led to recovery quicker than hiding them.
"Well the green one will mask the pain and the purple one should help deal with the internal injuries," the Sorceress said as she approached him with the cups.
"Which should I take first?" he asked. He still eyed them cautiously but seemed to have come to the conclusion that if she was going to poison him she'd have just done it with the food.
"The purple one," she said. He nodded and downed it in a couple of gulps. He gagged a bit against it and washed it down with some water. He then drank the majority of the pain potion without question. His eyes immediately drooped.
"You made it drowsy," he slurred.
"Of course I did," she smiled.
"I don't want to fall asleep here," he frowned.
"You will only get better if you sleep," she said.
"But I don't…" he started.
"Shh," she said as his eyes closed. For a moment she worried she might have had too heavy of a hand but his breathing regulated and he slouched down against the pillows. She waited a few moments, watching from afar, until she was positive he was asleep.
When she was sure she was asleep she walked toward the bed and leaned over him to tuck him under the covers. She brushed some of his matted hair off of his forehead and realized she should have probably offered him a shower or a bath before knocking him out. She looked to the potions. He'd only downed about three quarters of the pain potion. She brought the rest of it to her lips and drank it.
The icy liquid shot through her and straight to her head. She felt the chill of it try to fight against the throbbing ache behind her eyes. It dulled it to a bearable amount but she knew she'd have to sleep it off.
She left the guest bedroom and moved back into her laboratory. She cleaned up the remnants of the potions and straightened up what was still out as she felt the drowsiness hit her. Her eyes drooped and she did as much of an inventory as she could. But eventually the exhaustion won out and she left the laboratory and moved to her bedroom.
She shrugged the dress off of her shoulders, letting the garment vanish as it hit the floor before collapsing face first into her pillows. She rolled, cocooning herself in the soft, furry blankets before sleep took her.
Harry recovered faster than she'd anticipated. She chalked it up to her own skill, but she knew there was a sort of natural resilience in there as well. Whatever the Krum boy had done to him did have some lingering detrimental effects.
She'd kept him on a potions regimen that he took without much debate. She could tell that he wasn't overly happy about it, but that he did feel better after he took them. She knew he thought there was something in them that was keeping him on them to keep him there. But, despite the cleverness of that idea, she wasn't.
Still, in the last week, he'd managed to get up and about. And, despite himself, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Which, frankly, wasn't very hard to do on a Greek island.
Even she managed to relearn some of the more basic pleasures it offered. Morning walks through the small wooded area around her home were always a good way to start the day. Even if the native foliage wasn't providing much for her stores.
But her garden was coming along. And, to her surprise, he seemed interested in helping in it. Perhaps interested was the wrong term. He helped largely, she assumed, because it gave him something to do for a few hours a day. Even if even the little bit of manual labor wore him out.
He was getting stronger though. Another week, she thought, maybe ten days, and he should be back to normal. Faster if he could remember what actually happened to him and she could use more than generalized potions to counter it.
And she could fill the afternoon with trips to the small town that built up on the shoreline. It wasn't much of one. She would have never allowed for it to exist had she been around. But now she found it useful. The muggles were friendly and didn't ask a lot of questions and had plenty of food for sale.
She hadn't let Harry wander toward the town yet. It sounded mildly sinister in her head. But it was a good forty-five minute walk to and from and she didn't think he had the strength yet. He struggled even walking down from the house to the beach.
He would have liked the town though. And given that they were all muggle he wouldn't have to worry about any unwanted attention.
The muggles never wandered up toward her house in the hills. So, the ancient magics were still holding just fine. That gave her some pause. She couldn't help but wonder just how powerful that magic must have been. It actually scared her to think about it. Which made her laugh at the absurdity of it. Something that scared her?
Yet it was powerful, ancient, and almost unnoticeable. By all accounts it shouldn't exist. Yet here it was. And she couldn't help but wonder about how it actually existed.
Except she knew how it existed. She knew who cast it. She knew everything about them, every detail in their casting, and every weakness, every strength, every possible bit to know. It was all right there.
She let her mind wander away from ancient magic and to the other ways she killed afternoons. There wasn't anything quite as refreshing as a swim in afternoon sun. And then drying off on the warm beach after.
Her skin didn't seem to like it quite as much as it used to. The pale, milk-tone of it simply turned a lobster red at first. But a little salve and some balm and it had darkened to a more acceptable color.
"Emily?" a soft voice asked. She sat up and looked around, wondering what two fools had decided to intrude on her island and disturb her lazy sunbathing. But there wasn't anyone in front of her, walking up from the water. And only Harry could have come from behind her.
"Emily?" it asked again. And then it dawned on her. That was her name. Or kind of her name? Or had been her name. It was confusing up there. She turned to look at him.
"Good afternoon Harry. Did you enjoy your nap?" she asked as she propped herself up on her arms only to notice he was starring. She frowned and remembered she was wearing something similar to what she noticed the muggles at the beach near the town wearing. It was both revealing and unnecessary in her mind. But she didn't want to distract the boy at all. So a quick thought transformed the towel she rested on into a coverup and she stood.
"It was fine," Harry said. "Although I hate taking them."
"Nonsense," she said brightly. "Naps are wonderful."
"Maybe," he said. "But less so when you don't want to sleep any longer."
"Did you want to go for a swim?" she asked, changing the subject. She didn't know if he should, but she could save him before he drowned.
"I'd love to," he said. "But I don't think I should get in the water. I'm tired again."
"Should we walk back up to the house?" she asked.
"I want to sit for a bit," he said. He sat near where she stood and looked out over the water. She waved her hand and an umbrella set up behind him and a blanket underneath him. She sat next to him and peered out over the water as well.
"This place is beautiful," he said.
"It is," she agreed.
"You haven't told me exactly what it is," he responded.
"It's my island," she said.
"That's not exactly helpful," he said. "Does it have a name?"
"Lepsia" the sorceress lied quickly, figuring he didn't have enough knowledge of Grecian geography for it to have any meaning to him.
"That didn't help," Harry said.
"I didn't think it would," she smiled. He glared at her.
"How did I even get here?" he asked.
"I don't know. I told you already I found you on the beach," the Sorceress said.
"I was in England," he said, almost angrily. "And then I'm just here."
"I'd like to think there are worse places to be than this," she said, turning her gaze from him and off toward the wine-dark sea.
"I…" Harry sighed. "It is. But I still don't like being cooped up. I want to go home."
"You've mentioned that you don't really like your relatives," she said, remembering a few nights earlier when she'd pried that information out of him as he'd commented the view was much better than at home.
"I don't," he said. "But I like being cooped up less."
"Cooped up?" she frowned, looking down the beach and then back up the hill toward her rather large home.
"You know what I mean," he sighed. "If only you had an owl so I could send them a letter or something. Or could make a portkey."
"Sorry," she frowned, looking demurely toward the ground and putting her best practiced pout on. It worked.
"Oh it's fine," he said, sounding immediately flustered. She didn't respond. She pulled her knees up to her face and wrapped her arms around them, directing her gaze anywhere but at Harry. She made sure he broke the silence.
"Can I ask about that?" he asked.
"About what?" she responded.
"How is it that you can brew anything, wave your hand and transfigure anything, but can't make a portkey or Apparate?" he asked.
"I can Apparate," she snapped defensively. "You just have to know your destination and I don't know enough places outside the island to get you back home."
"Sorry," he said, visibly biting his tongue, his lips pressed together in an expression she could only call concern.
"And I've just always been good at potions and transfiguration," she shrugged, as if that was the only possible answer.
"How old are you anyway?" he asked.
"Twenty," she said. She'd simply said the first number that popped into her head. It was as good of guess as any. And people didn't often hesitate when giving their age. It wasn't until she said it that it occurred to her she should have led him around with comments about how rude he was to ask.
"Kind of young to own an island," Harry said. The boy was quicker than she'd expected. He
"Own is an interesting word," The Sorceress responded.
"Yet you call it yours," Harry said.
"Yes I do," she smiled.
"And that's all I'm getting out of you on that one, aren't I?" he asked.
"For now," she nodded.
"Alright then," he said and it was his turn to pout. She gazed at him in her peripheral vision and he looked sad. It sent a pang through her.
"Did you take your potions after your nap?" she asked.
"Yes," he sighed, the annoyance evident in his voice.
"And how are you feeling?" she asked. She'd asked the question three to five times a day for the last week and he responded much like any other annoyed teenager.
"Fine," he said.
"Fine as in up to attempt the trek to town?" she asked. His head immediately perked up as he turned to look at her.
"What?" he asked.
"You were complaining that my cooking doesn't incorporate enough meat," she started.
"Any meat," he corrected. She glared at him.
"So I was figuring you could come shopping with me and I could make something more to your liking this evening."
"What if I can't make it?" he asked.
"You'll make it," she said. "We'll just have to take it slow."
"I thought I was a prisoner here though," he said.
"A prisoner? I've not stopped you from going anywhere," she said.
"No, I suppose I've been the only one stopping me right now," he sighed.
"And a trip to town will do you good," she nodded and stood. A hand wave turned her cover-up into a white sundress.
"I think you're right," Harry said, standing as well. He wobbled as he stood but regained his balance quickly.
"Are you sure you're good?" she asked. "It is a long walk."
"I'm willing to risk it," he sighed. "Could you Apparate us closer?"
"Yes," she said. "But I'm worried about exposing you to too much magic since I don't know what happened to you. A lot of the darker curses grow more severe if you travel magically. Most people's instinct after they think they're in the clear is to rush to the hospital. It's not often the best solution."
"That's clever," Harry sighed. "Mean, but clever."
"I thought so too. Anyway if I didn't think you could make it I wouldn't have suggested the trip. You're recovering nicely. Worst case I leave you to fend for yourself in the forest for a night," she said jovially.
"Nice of you," he responded.
"Well I have a big warm comfortable bed. You can't expect me to willingly sleep on dirt," she responded.
"Of course not. What was I thinking?" Harry shook his head. She just smiled at him as they started down the path from the beach toward the town. She didn't push him very hard. But still, by the time they entered the market of the town he was rather winded. A few of the store clerks gave her brief waves as they wandered about.
She'd been a bit worried about Harry as they approached, but when he moved into the town he caught his second wind. She watched as he perked up at every stall, every bit of food, and every new experience.
He was visibly uncomfortable at first. But he adapted quickly and was interested in everything. It took most of the shopkeepers a few moments to realize he didn't speak Greek. She stepped in for the couple that didn't speak English.
The Sorceress managed to shop, always a few paces behind wherever Harry was, while he explored the market. She picked up the few ingredients that were available to her in the town and discreetly sent them back to her home. Once she was done she walked next to Harry.
"So, what's catching your eyes then?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "It all looks so good. But it's mostly fruits and vegetables. The peaches smell amazing."
"They do," she agreed. "But let's find a butcher then. I think there was a sign down that way."
"Okay," he agreed, walking toward where she gestured. She walked at his side and a few streets later they did see a local butcher shop. The butcher spoke no English but she translated. Harry spent more time peering at his young, blood-splattered young helper who may have been the butcher's daughter, than picking out meat.
Still the shop's pickings were a little slim, or perhaps simply too eclectic for Harry's tastes. She bought the few things he picked out, formulating menu ideas in her mind while the butcher's daughter packaged it all up neatly in white paper. Harry attempted to talk to her while she worked, but the language barrier was too much for them to do anything more than stammer and blush.
Which was a shame, she thought. Perhaps a pretty young Greek girl would be just what he'd need to stay more interested in remaining on her Island. With the way the girl blushed when he spoke, or looked at her, she had to be remotely interested in him. Perhaps she could fix the language barrier and use that to her advantage.
The butcher; however, seemed less interested in this. As she got a better look at the man she figured her initial guess of daughter was incorrect. There wasn't much of a familiar resemblance past hair color.
The man barked at her, ordering her to the back of the shop, as she finished wrapping up their meat. She jumped nearly out of her skin as she left. Harry, she noticed, made no attempt to hide his staring at her backside as she left the room.
The butcher watched her go with a possessive familiarity. Perhaps she was a relative. A niece perhaps. The man glared at Harry while she paid. The young wizard seemed to notice the man's gaze and did his best to look inconspicuous in the corner.
An icy chill rushed through her as other thoughts filled her head. No, she thought, that wasn't right. But the pounding was coming back behind her eyes. They were memories. Her memories. She'd seen looks like that before.
The man tried to chat with her while she paid, asking probing questions about her time on her island and her relationship with the boy. She almost answered him honestly but when she opened her mouth no words came out. Instead the icy chill seemed to permeate through the room.
She paid and took the meat before quickly moving out of the butcher shop. The late-afternoon sun warmed her some. She stared up at it as if trying to absorb the last vestiges of warmth the day was offering, or perhaps burn away the pain building behind her eyes.
"Are you okay, Emily?" Harry asked. The memories flooded into her head when he spoke that name. The sights, the smells, the sensations all returning far too quickly. She took deep breaths but it didn't calm her as she'd hoped.
"I'm fine," she said.
"You don't look fine," he said as he stepped around her.
"I was just reminded of something I'd forgotten about," she said, focusing on the words as she spoke, bringing her mind out of those memories. She realized she was still holding the groceries and she sent them back to the house and wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to quell the chill that spread through her.
"Something to do with why you don't eat meat?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. She paused and looked at him. She realized he was blaming himself for something he had absolutely no clue about.
"I eat meat," she said. The sentence felt strange on her tongue. But it wasn't a lie. All of her knew it wasn't a lie.
"I haven't seen you," he said.
"I like fruits and nuts more," she shrugged as the sun shifted underneath the buildings, blocking out the warmth. For a moment she thought she felt another pair of eyes on her. But she ignored it and started walking, perhaps too quickly, toward the harbor where she knew it would still be in the sky.
Harry caught up to her a moment later, breathing hard again. She frowned, immediately regretting her actions. But she stood in the sun just the same, letting it fight the lingering chill in her bones.
"I don't know that I'm going to be able to walk all the way back," he said. She turned her attention to him. He looked a little woozy on his feet. She looked around and spotted a small restaurant down by the water.
"Well, let's grab a bite to eat over there and see how you feel after you get some food into you," she said.
"Okay," Harry said, walking with her to the small restaurant. She got them a table down by the water and sat with her back to the ocean, the sun beating down on her neck. She could feel the tingling burn of overexposure on her neck and scoffed at the weakness in this skin. But it counteracted the chill and she still relished every moment of it, even if she'd have to brew balm before she slept.
"Well this seems nice," she said. A waiter approached them. He spent longer than he'd have liked looking at her, but she ignored him and ordered a bottle of wine for the table.
"Don't get out much?" he asked.
"Not much lately, no," she said.
"Me either," he admitted. "They only let us out a few weekends a year at school and I never go out at home."
"Something we should both work on then," she said, smiling warmly to attempt to make him feel more comfortable with being out.
"That sounds nice," he said quietly, turning his attention back to the menu and then frowning at it. She realized he probably couldn't read it and spent the next few minutes describing dishes to him while the waiter returned with their wine. He was hesitant to drink it but after trying it perked up quite a bit and drank almost all of his glass quickly. They ordered before the small talk resumed.
"Enjoy the trip to town?" she asked, leaning back in her chair.
"It's a nice little town," he said.
"I think I should be able to make a nice kebab with that lamb," she said. She noticed he blushed at the reminder of the butcher's shop.
"I've not had a lot of lamb. The Dursley's weren't huge fans and I didn't gravitate toward it at school," he said.
"Hopefully you like it. The selection wasn't that great," she said. "But the lamb looked good and the chicken should be fine."
"I hope so," he said. "I ordered chicken right?"
"Yes," she said. "And you seemed interested in some other type of meat while you were in the shop."
"I would have liked some pork," Harry said, clearly confused.
"No not that. The girl," she laughed.
"Oh," he blushed more.
"Anyone waiting for you back at school?" she asked.
"Like a girlfriend?" Harry asked.
"Exactly," she said.
"No," Harry said. "There was one girl. But another guy I know asked her out and they were dating."
"That happens," the Sorceress said.
"I discovered that," he said.
"Well, you should remember where that shop was and when you're feeling better wander down and chat with her," she said.
"We don't even speak the same language," he said, flushing a deep crimson.
"Like that matters," she said
"Seems important," he said.
"Hardly. Just grab a flower or two and sneak them to her with a smile. Do it for a couple of days and then try to find her outside of the shop and ask her to dinner," Emily said.
"That can't work," Harry laughed.
"It would work on me. I'll even teach you some Greek phrases," she said. Part of her scoffed at the notion. But it only took a few stray thoughts to quell that.
"Alright," he said, pausing as their food came. They ate quietly. She spent more time looking around the area than focusing on her food, picking at it here and there. But Harry looked famished and ate with alacrity.
She was only mildly surprised when she saw a familiar girl appear in the entrance to the harbor as she realized just who must have been watching them outside the shop. She looked uncomfortable in a shabby, but clean, dress. The girl scanned the crowd for something. But her eyes settled on Harry after a moment.
She took a visibly deep breath before starting down the rocky stairway to the water. She only made it a few steps before the butcher appeared behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair. He started dragging her up the stairs and out of sight. By the time Harry heard the commotion and turned they were already gone.
"What was that?" he asked.
"I didn't see anything," she said, stabbing at her food with her fork.
"Thought I heard something," he frowned.
"Oh, I didn't notice," she said. "So you were saying you'd like some pork?"
"I mean I always did like bacon in the morning," he said.
"I'll keep an eye out then," she said, her eyes drifting toward the empty pathway down to their restaurant.
"Thanks," he said quietly, blushing and looking down. They sat for a moment finishing their wine and then paying before they continued the conversation.
"How are you feeling now?" she asked.
"Really sick of that question," he responded.
"I can imagine. But it's an important question," she said.
"Better," he said. "Still tired but better."
"Think you can make the walk back?" she asked.
"Do I have a choice?" he asked.
"There's always a choice," she said.
"Well I think I can at least try," Harry said. "Besides those wooly blankets on my bed seem addictive."
"Addictive blankets?" she raised her brows. They'd been hers but felt too warm so she'd thrown them on his bed while he was unconscious and shivering. They were a soft, heavy furred blanket. She'd never even thought of doing something nefarious to them. Which, in hindsight, seemed like a wasted opportunity.
"They're incredibly soft and smell amazing," he blushed as he admitted to it. He certainly was honest, she thought.
"They were mine," she laughed. "A bit too warm for me though."
"I like them," Harry said, looking at every possible thing around them except for her.
"Maybe you can keep them as a souvenir. Something to remember little old me by," the Sorceress responded.
"Really?" Harry asked, his gaze snapping back to her.
"Sure," she said. "But I'm afraid they will not smell like me for very long if you're using them."
"I…uh," Harry stuttered, flushing an even deeper red as he tried to speak.
"I'm just teasing you," she said. "I take it there aren't many girls your age that do so?"
"No," Harry said. "At least not in a way that isn't…meaner."
"That could just mean they like you, you know," she responded.
"I doubt it," Harry said.
"You never know. Flirt back with them. See what happens. You're old enough for a fling or two," she said.
"I'm fourteen," he responded. She shrugged as if that simply proved her point.
"Are you ready to try to get back now?" she asked.
"I guess," he said.
"Then let's go," she said, leaving some money on the table as she stood. Harry nodded and followed her. She didn't try to push him on the return trip, which made it rather slow. But he at least managed to keep his breath this time, and attempt to hold a conversation.
"Emily isn't a very Greek name," he noted as they reached the halfway point of their journey.
"No, it isn't," she said.
"And you don't look much like the majority of people in the town," he said.
"Are you saying all Greeks look alike?" she asked.
"No, of course not," he flushed.
"Sounded like you were," she teased.
"It's just…you also don't have a hint of an accent in your English," he said. Of course not, you nitwit, she thought. But also, she realized it wasn't a bad point he was making as she'd only just picked up the language. She pressed her lips together as she thought of her reply.
"Good education," she said.
"Where?" he asked.
"Around," she countered. He sighed, coughing slightly against the effort as their path turned uphill.
"There's just something odd about you," he said.
"So you're calling me weird," she commented.
"Yes," he glowered, not rising to her bait this time.
"Well you're not wrong," she said.
"I have a problem, though," he said.
"Oh, are you okay?" she asked, putting as much concern into her voice as she could.
"I'm fine," he panted as they reached the top of the hill. He took a moment to rest against a tree. His eyes and pale skin stood out in the darkness. She wondered if she looked like as much of a milky ghost as he did or if she'd tanned enough.
"Then what's wrong?" she asked.
"I'm sure you know who I am," he said.
"Of course," she responded.
"So, you know who gave me this scar," he said.
"Of course," she said again, wondering if he was trying to bait her into something. Given the fact that he paused as if expecting more from her, she thought this must have been the case.
"Well it's not…I don't know that I should say common knowledge, as it was easy enough for my friend to look up. But she's more resourceful than most. But, her name is also Emily," Harry said.
"Is?" Emily asked, brows raised. "I was under the impression that you killed her as a baby."
"That's one theory," Harry said.
"And the others?" the Sorceress asked.
"I've encountered her since then," Harry said.
"That would make it seem like she wasn't quite dead then," she said.
"Mostly," Harry said. "But not entirely."
"So, you're accusing me of being her?" the Sorceress asked.
"Maybe," Harry said.
"Correct me if I'm wrong. But, she's, well, old. And I'm, well," she gestured at herself, figuring that it wasn't a lie if she didn't say it aloud.
"I've seen enough magic to know that something that frivolous may exist," Harry said.
"Looking young and pretty is frivolous?" the Sorceress pouted.
"I guess," Harry said.
"So, if I was…your arch nemesis…do you think that I would have found you washed up on a shore and nursed you back to health? Or go through all the effort of keeping you alive and healthy?" she asked. She turned away from him and resumed the walk to her home.
"Yes," Harry said, following after her.
"Why?" she laughed.
"I have no idea," Harry said. "Maybe she needs me alive for something. Maybe it amuses her? I don't think like you-know-who."
"Or maybe it's just a happy coincidence and you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," the Sorceress said, hating herself for the analogy.
"Shouldn't I be wary of Greeks gifting horses?" Harry asked.
"You know your classics?" she asked.
"I mean, doesn't everyone know that one?" Harry said.
"Fewer than you'd expect," she said.
"I guess. And I know you're not going to tell me anything I want to know. But If I could ask one more question?" Harry asked.
"Go ahead," she responded.
"If I knew who you were, would I be afraid?" he asked.
"Almost certainly," she said.
"That's comforting," Harry sighed, lagging a little bit behind her. She turned to watch him, walking backwards up the final hill to her home.
"Now can I ask something?" the Sorceress asked.
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"Had I answered any other way, would you have believed me?" she asked.
"No," Harry admitted.
"Then it doesn't matter what I say," the Sorceress said knowing she failed to mask the annoyance in her voice. She started up the steps toward the entrance of her secluded home, pulling her hair out of the braid. She knew full well he watched as she did and accentuated the sway of her hips as she approached the door.
"It matters to me," he said, stepping up the stairs after her.
"You made it back," she said.
"I did," he frowned, picking up on the sudden tension.
"You should go to bed," she said, kicking off her sandals near the door.
"I'm not that tired," Harry said. But by the time he'd removed his own shoes, knowing better than to leave them on, she'd already vanished from sight. He frowned as he stood in the middle of the entryway. And then flinched a little bit as he heard a door slam above him.
He knew he'd caused that tension. He knew he shouldn't have asked the questions he'd asked. He knew he seemed ungrateful for her efforts. But he hadn't been able to help it. Something about the whole situation just sat wrong with him.
The more he thought about it, the more his eyes started to droop. He knew there wouldn't be anything he could accomplish that night. But, even as he wandered toward his room, he felt stronger. It felt nice to be up and about and sure of his footing. He collapsed on the bed and thought that perhaps he wouldn't be there for much longer.