Harry cracked open his eyes, then rolled on his back to escape the glaring sun. He stared at the blurry stone ceiling, overtaken by the confusion of waking up in an unfamiliar place, until the last vestiges of sleep fled, and a smile found its way onto his lips. The furs underneath itched, and the floor was bumpy, but after the harpies had left—not much for cuddling, that lot—he slept like a log.
He located his glasses, rose, and stretched. The fire in the hearth was long gone, but the cave walls were dappled with sunlight streaming through the gaps in the curtain. His clothes lay in tatters around him, as did several brown and white feathers. He absently scratched his pubes, flicked away a piece of white fluff with a snort, then materialized his wand and set about cleaning up and repairing his garments.
Once dressed, he strode up to the curtains and parted them to let in more light. A fresh breeze blew the stale air out of the cavern, making him shiver. He studied the rusty bars before him, now latched with a lock, then tapped them with his wand.
The door screeched open, and bracing against the wall, he cautiously stepped out onto the ledge. There was nothing but open space between here and the faraway mountain peaks, not a shimmer betraying the presence of the barrier that veiled the eyrie. Far below, spruce trees pointed skyward like tiny candles, sprawling down to a fog-shrouded valley.
He inched forward, wanting nothing more than to inhale a lungful of crisp air and scream it out, but spying a handful of winged figures beneath the fluffy clouds scudding overhead made him reconsider. Giving in to a different urge, he unzipped his trousers and relieved himself. With a self-conscious look skyward, he retreated inside.
Whistling a tune, he explored his humble abode—and humble was indeed the right word, for there wasn't much to it beyond what he had glimpsed yesterday. Besides grimy kitchen utensils, which he promptly charmed clean, the shelves only held moldy books in foreign languages. The most interesting discovery was a nook in the back, where crystal-clear water was constantly falling from the ceiling and draining down a hole in the floor.
He sniffed the stream before taking a gulp, grimacing when the cold stung his teeth. A shower sounded good, but he would have to figure out a way to warm the water as it flowed. A runic array centered around Kenaz, perhaps...
A jangle of metal jarred him out of his musings. Stashing his wand, he stepped into the main cavern to find two harpies standing at the entrance. There was a silence as he and the guests looked one another over.
Neither was someone he recalled seeing before. Besides the petite builds and aquiline features typical of their kind, they shared further similarities that suggested a close relation: flaxen hair that fell to their wiry shoulders, tiny freckles sprinkled across their pert noses, and tawny plumage that glowed warmly in the sunlight.
At his curious gaze, the shorter of the two draped a wing over her front and averted her eyes, her cheeks tinged pink. A twig was sticking out of the windswept tangle that was her hair.
The taller had hers in orderly braids and stood with proud confidence. Her bare chest heaved in a rather distracting manner, and her hand clutched something grey and furry. Noticing his interest, she lifted it; it looked like a dead rabbit.
"Break-fast," she intoned.
"Oh joy," he deadpanned. "Please tell me you're going to cook that."
His sarcasm was clearly lost on her as she merely nodded and hopped toward the shelves with gentle flutters of her wings. The second harpy's gaze lingered on him fleetingly before she followed suit, giving him a wide berth.
The pair made short work of skinning and gutting the rabbit, employing their talons as much as the knife they borrowed from the shelf. Harry observed with queasy fascination as the shorter licked the blood off her fingers in a manner that could almost be called dainty until the other slapped her hand.
"What are your names?" he asked. "I'm Harry, but you probably already know that."
The taller harpy lifted her gaze off her grisly work and warbled a series of notes.
"Er, scree-eee-ee..." Harry pouted as she burst out in laughter. Their language appeared to be all about modulation, and he had little hope of replicating it with his tongue. Turning toward the smaller harpy, he said, "I take it you don't have a human name either?"
Her yellowish eyes widened at the attention and she ducked her head.
"My younger sister." The taller trilled a melody that evoked a feeling of soaring through open skies. "She... shy, yes? Bad hunter." A frown briefly crossed her face before she returned to preparing the rabbit.
"Right then, you're Braids, and she's, uh"—he ran his eyes down the younger's body—"Peaches."
The older touched her elaborately braided hair and snorted. "Silly human."
Stooping over the hearth, she splayed her fingers out and tensed until producing a tiny spark that she deftly directed into the wood shavings her sister had placed inside. Said sister kept mouthing her new moniker to herself before noticing Harry's attention and curling herself into a feathery ball. Braids gave an entirely human-like huff but let her be, now stuffing vegetables and herbs into the rabbit and spitting it to roast over the burgeoning fire.
"We wash," she declared. Rising from her squat, she trilled at her sister, who gave Harry a skittish glance before unfurling her wings and scurrying after.
He watched their firm backsides disappear around the corner, then sat back with a sigh. Eyeing the bloody carcass dubiously, he checked his secret supplies and found only a couple of premade meals remaining. Well, he would have to try the harpies' culinary efforts eventually.
The steady burble of water that he was already getting used to was interrupted by splashes and girlish squeals. His sustenance-related woes forgotten, he sprang to his feet and crept toward the source of that delectable noise. The harpies had no qualms about prancing around naked, so sneaking a peek or two should be perfectly fine, right?
He found Peaches wiggling under the waterfall while her sister groomed her spread wings. Braids warbled chidingly, and she stilled briefly only to squirm again when her sister's fingers combed through her feathers. This earned her a swat on the bottom, and she squeaked before cupping her hands and splashing water in her sister's face. The elder sputtered, her braids hanging limp, then bared her teeth and sloped her wings, directing a chilly stream at Peaches' midriff. She wasted no time in retaliating, and both girls dissolved into giggles as they cavorted in the water.
Braids was the first to freeze and gape at Harry. Peaches followed her gaze and let out a startled peep, attempting to sidle behind her, which proved difficult given the size of the nook.
He grinned. "Don't mind me. Please, continue."
Exchanging a glance, the harpies swept out a wing each, and an icy gush slapped his face, knocking his glasses askew. Blowing water out of his nostrils, he stumbled back into the cavern.
"Why, you little..." Peals of laughter rang round the back; he scowled, then smiled despite himself. "If that's how you want to play..."
Glancing at his damp robes, he steeled his resolve. The water had been bollock-freezing cold, but men didn't balk when such perky prizes awaited them around the corner. He hurriedly divested himself of his clothes, took a deep breath, and rushed in.
His eyes registered the harpies' surprise before reflexively squeezing shut as frigid water doused his head. A shriek—nay, a manly scream—escaped his throat, and he braced his palms against the slippery rock, resisting the urge to bolt back. Straightening up, he squinted through the water shedding off his spectacles at the sisters on his either side.
Peaches squeaked as he turned around, brushing warm flesh and damp feathers. There wasn't room to swing a Kneazle, but he wasn't about to complain: besides being a feast for the eyes, the closeness of their bodies took the edge off the biting cold.
"Refreshing," he said, trying to suppress his shivers. "Hey, wanna see a magic trick?"
"You not have wand," Braids said, her brows furrowing.
"Oh, I don't need it for this." He interlinked his fingers, forming his palms into a sphere and allowing it to fill with water. "Check this out."
Braids gave him a skeptical look before leaning in. He squeezed his palms, squirting a jet of water that hit her between the eyes. She jerked back, and he snickered at her peeved expression.
"Gotcha."
She crossed her arms and gave an unimpressed trill. By the time he realized the sound wasn't meant for him, it was too late; the second enemy pounced, her soft feather tips whisking down his ribs. As he howled with laughter, Braids chucked a palmful of water at his face. Sputtering, he groped behind him until his hands squeezed pliant flesh, and Peaches retreated with a cheep, freeing him to counterattack her sister.
They frolicked until his fingers went pruney and numb. The falling water barely felt cold anymore as he sagged against the wall, gulping down air.
"C'mhere, Braids," he said, beckoning. "Warm my hands for me."
She snorted and tossed her hair. "Spring water cold for human?"
"Now, now, you don't want to have to tell the queen that her precious consort froze his fingers off, do you?" He unceremoniously tucked his hands under her glistening wings, causing her to gasp and squirm. "That's incredible. How do you guys stay so warm?"
Biting her lip, she threw her arms up. Taking that as an invitation, Harry slid his palms lower, marveling at the heat of her slick skin. She leaned closer, her face a mask of fierce concentration.
"Now I show magic."
He froze, his gaze darting around the nook. Coming to a realization that the flow of water had stopped, he craned his neck back and gaped. Wisps of vapor were leaving Braids' outstretched fingers, suspending the water above their heads in a sphere.
A rapidly growing sphere.
Nearly dropping to all fours, he scrambled outside. "Oh shi—"
A rush in his ears was his only warning before a torrent slammed into his back, flattening him against the ground, and his mouth opened in a yell, immediately filling with freezing water. He felt a twinge of panic, but the water quickly drained, leaving him coughing and groaning.
He flipped over. Braids towered over him with an insufferably smug expression, while her sister peered over her shoulder with what might have been concern.
"You don't know how to hold back, do you?" he wheezed, catching his breath. "Fine, you win this t-time."
She nodded as if that had been the only possible outcome, then ran her eyes over his supine form with shameless curiosity. When her gaze drifted to his crotch, she trilled and tipped her head; Peaches stared with rapt fascination until she noticed him looking back and hid behind her sister.
He sat up cross-legged and covered himself. "It's n-normally bigger," he said through chattering teeth, making Braids giggle. "Don't suppose your mighty magic can dry somebody?" He cast his gaze around, rather doubting that beast pelts made good towels.
Braids rolled her eyes. "Watch."
Clasping her hands together, she sang until wisps of wind emerged at her feet, gaining speed as they spiraled up her legs and torso carrying away the moisture. The wind spun above her head, tousling her hair, before exploding in a spray of cold water. Puffing her feathers, she experimentally flapped her wings.
Harry applauded. "B-brilliant. Can every one of you do that?"
"This... careful magic. Not many can." Her face soured. "Others say is silly. We not weak to cold like humans."
"Well, I'm just a weak human, so d-do me—whoa!"
He danced on his tiptoes as wind snaked up his body, tickling his skin. Another outward spray left him mercifully dry if not one bit warmer. With numb fingers, he hurriedly slipped into his clothes, then crawled to the hearth and stuck out his hands. A delicious smell was wafting off the roast, and juices dripped onto the hot coals now and then with an appetizing sizzle.
"Is it done yet?"
Braids shook her head, making her frizzy hair sway. "Little longer."
"But I'm hungry," he whinged.
She rolled her eyes. "Elders teach make food for weak humans. If you eat raw meat, you get sick."
He drew back the hand he had been extending toward the spit. "Well, we wouldn't want that."
Squatting down next to him, Braids pointed a long-nailed finger at his chest. "This is?"
Glancing down, he saw that he had left his dragon scale pendant outside his robes. "Oh, just a little trophy. You feathery ladies are in the presence of the world's youngest Dragonslayer." The harpies stared at him mutely. "You know dragons, right? Huge, ferocious beasts that breathe fire. Rawr!"
Braids burst out laughing. "Queen tell story of time dragon fly through barrier. Tribe fight long, long to drive it off. What one wingless ape do?"
"Defeat it with my awesome magic, naturally." He pretended to flourish a wand, adding some sound effects for good measure.
She shook her head. "Lie. Magic not hurt dragon."
Kneeling a little distance away, Peaches warbled softly. Braids turned to reply, and the sisters conversed in their melodious tongue until the elder faced him again, looking somewhat surly.
"My sister... want know how you fight dragon." She snorted. "She silly."
"Peachy!" Harry exclaimed, swiveling her way and making her eyes widen. "You believe me?"
She lowered her gaze to the hands clasped in her lap, her tawny wings draped over her sides, and gave a tiny nod.
"Whatever your sister says, you're the one who has more sense between the two of you." He crept toward her on all fours, raising a palm when she made to scoot back. "No, no, stay just like that. I'm going to tell you all about my amazing exploits."
Before she could react, he rested his head in her lap and smiled contentedly as his gaze swept over her namesakes. Squeaking, she shot her sister an imploring glance, but Braids seemed more amused than anything. Peaches lowered her hands to his head as if to push him off, then clasped them before her chest, going pink in the face.
"It was about five years ago," he said, lifting the pendant to admire the light playing across its ebony surface. "My school organized a tournament, like those gladiator games of old. Picture a vast arena, a dragon chained at one end, and a lone wizard standing at the other, thousands in the audience screaming for either's blood." He turned his head a fraction. "Oi, translate for me, will you?"
Braids huffed but sang melodically, sketching a circle in the air. As Harry spun his tale, Peaches stopped squirming, only her gaze moving between him and her sister. He wasn't sure how much she understood—or believed—but having someone hang on to his every word was gratifying nonetheless.
A silence fell after Braids warbled out the last notes. Peaches stared down at his pendant, her lips parted as her hand stretched absently toward it. Harry proffered it to her, but as their fingers brushed, she chirped and drew back, shaking her head so frantically droplets of water sprayed from her damp hair.
"Is good tale," Braids said. "Like tribe songs. But is only tale. Not even queen can split sky and call ice goddess."
He gave her an impertinent grin. "Maybe I'm stronger than her then?"
"Maybe you so hungry you go crazy," she scoffed. "Come eat."
He raised his head an inch, then slumped back onto Peaches' soft thighs. "Feed me."
Braids tilted her head sideways.
He pointed at his mouth. "Ahh."
She laughed. "Silly human. You not newborn chick."
He gasped. "You mean you don't know?"
Her brows furrowed as she turned fully toward him. "What?"
"This is how humans eat," he said, struggling to keep a straight face. "It's our sacred custom."
She goggled at him, and it took all he had not to burst into laughter.
"If you don't feed me, I'll grow frail and useless to the tribe. Sorry, I thought someone as worldly as yourself would know something that simple—"
"I—I know!" Her gaze alternated between him and her sister, who was observing the exchange with bemusement. "I learn all about your kind... Yes, I feed you now. Like human custom."
He failed to stifle his grin. "Please do."
Winking at Peaches, he lazed in her lap while her sister cut the rabbit into pieces and piled them atop a chipped plate. Bringing it over, she gripped a boneless strip of meat between her talons and extended it solemnly toward him.
Harry's mouth watered at the scent. Lifting his head, he closed the last few inches and snatched the morsel from her fingers. A rich smoky flavor filled his mouth, and when he bit down, the erupting meat juices nearly scalded his tongue.
"Oh, man..." He swallowed with relish, then licked his lips. "You really can cook, Braids."
She averted her gaze, her hand rising to toy with her hair. "This—this is nothing. Next time I hunt something bigger."
"Looking forward to it."
Nodding, she picked up another slice, her feathers rustling slightly with the motion. He caught her greasy fingertips between his lips, giving them a lick as he took the food; Braids startled before shaking her head and offering him another piece with a small smile.
"Won't you eat too?" he asked before accepting it.
Braids eyed the plate. "If is too much, then we finish. But you must eat and keep strength!"
He laughed. "Got it."
It didn't take them long to polish off the plate, even though the harpies only nibbled on the less-cooked pieces, preferring to taste blood as Braids so eloquently put. They also turned their noses up at the vegetables, opting to stuff them down Harry's throat, so the generous meal left him heavy and languid. He was struggling to muster enough willpower to check if there was any tea among the goods from the village when Braids began fumbling with his belt buckle.
"What are you doing?" he asked, slowly raising his head.
She spared him a glance before returning to her task. "I bring food. Now we mate." Her tone implied he was stupid for asking.
"Of course," he murmured, grinning, "how silly of me."
Harry's days settled into a routine. He would wake up with the sunrise, go through his ablutions, and await his visitors, who would alight in his cave multiple times throughout the day bearing food and expecting just one thing in return. It was rare for the same person to drop by more than once, so his memories of their faces and the nicknames he christened them with blurred after the first dozen or two.
The queen came by once more, and never after that. Haughty as she was, he found himself missing the conversation, for few others could string together a sentence in English. Lenka being one of their number, he often wondered what she was up to, as he had not seen her since coming to the eyrie. It wasn't until two weeks into his stay that he found out.
It was afternoon, those few hours when he had time to himself, which he usually spent reading or tidying up. Satiated in every sense of the word, he wasn't much bothered by living in a literal cave, but there was no reason not to make the stay as comfortable as his admittedly amateur household spells permitted.
After meticulously vanishing the dirt off the floor, dusting the pelts, and scrubbing the cutlery, he found himself with nothing more to do. Frowning, he glanced at the books on the shelf, then the sad attempt at a rock carving on one wall; neither activity appealed at the moment. At last, he looked at the sliver of sky visible through the bars and perked up.
It was as good a time as any to repair his Firebolt.
Reclining on a bear rug propped against the wall, he materialized the broomstick and eyed it tip to butt. As his earlier cursory examination had revealed, the shaft wasn't fractured nor crooked, and the damage was limited to the tail. Most twigs were bent out of shape, and some were broken, hanging on by thin layers of bark.
He straightened a single twig and tapped it gently with his wand, smiling when the fracture in its middle mended. With nearly a hundred to go, he had his work set out for him, but he wasn't about to rush. A blanket Repairing Charm would've restored the broom enough to be steerable, but unless it was cast perfectly, there was a risk of introducing flaws—and he had grown too attached to his Firebolt to subject it to such a quick and dirty solution.
He was perhaps a third into the task when a rhythmic whooshing noise came from outside. Tutting, he stowed the incompletely repaired Firebolt away and rose to his feet, peering curiously at the cave mouth. It was unusual for anyone to come at this hour, even more so considering the visitor was alone, as he could tell by the sound.
As he was walking up to the entrance, a shadow flitted across the sunlight streaming in through the parted curtains. Shielding his eyes, he regarded the slender figure battling with the door barring her entry. Only when she stepped into the shade of the cavern did he recognize her.
"Lenka!" he exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug.
She stood stiff in his arms. "Hello... Ha-Harry."
He drew back sheepishly. Perhaps his greeting was too enthusiastic, but he hadn't seen a familiar face for weeks. "Er, come in, then. Would you like some tea?"
She looked like she was about to say something else, then did a double-take. "You have tea?"
He nodded. "There were a few tins among the supplies from the village. It's surprisingly decent... still not as good as British, obviously."
Lenka seemed hesitant, but when he ushered her in and gestured at a bear pelt, she knelt on it with a sigh. Stealing glances at her, he filled a sooty teakettle from the waterfall, hung it above the hearth, and fed the small fire a few sticks. It didn't take long for the water to boil, and soon they both held mugs of steaming black tea.
Grasping hers with both hands, Lenka brought it to her lips, inhaled the aroma, blew on the tea lightly, and took a delicate sip. A rare smile graced her face, fading when she noticed Harry's amused gaze.
"What?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Nothing. You just looked like you were really enjoying that."
She trailed a nail along the chipped rim of the mug. "Tribe not have this drink... I live with humans too long."
"Nothing wrong with having a vice or three," he said in a knowing tone. "Drop by for a cuppa whenever you want."
Emotions warred on her face before she took several hurried gulps, winced, and set the cup down. "No time. If others see, they lock me also. You want escape, yes?"
He twitched, cast his gaze around to make sure he hadn't left any incriminating evidence, then tittered. "What I want is irrelevant. Wingless ape, remember?"
"You not scream?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"
She glanced toward the entrance, then scooted closer to him. "I come to your friend first, try help him. He fight me and scream nonsense."
"Is that why I haven't seen you in a while?" he blurted out. "You were with Tony?"
"I lay with no one," she said impatiently. "When sisters make nest, I can fly. Carry a human alone is hard, but one at time, go only down..."
He let out a chuckle that at Lenka's vexed expression became full-blown laughter. When her feathers ruffled—quite literally—he raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Why would you break us out? I thought we were important to the tribe. Figured I was doing a pretty bang-up job myself." His lips curved into a grin.
Frowning, she mouthed the phrase 'bang-up job', then nodded. "Many sisters have young this autumn. The tribe survive until we receive new tribute." Her jaw squared and her eyes locked with his. "You save me, Harry. I not believe, I try to kill you, but you save me. Now... I save you."
He sipped his tea and gathered his thoughts. "Look... I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you don't have to do anything. Tony and I are exactly where we want to be." He met her nonplussed stare. "I don't want you risking your life either. No way your queen will let you off with a smack on the butt if you pull something like that."
She growled. "Why you not understand? If you not leave, we not get chance until next year. Maybe my sisters not trust me and lock me, and you stay until you become old!"
Harry reached out to pat her shoulder, but she smacked his hand away. He sighed. "We can take care of ourselves. You didn't hear it from me, but I might sort of possibly have a way out."
Her brows furrowed as she processed his words before her eyes widened. "You hide wand?"
"Neither you nor your sisters will find it, that's all I'm going to say," he said, winking. "And that's only a part of it."
She glanced around as if to disprove him, not appearing convinced.
"Besides," he continued, "even if we had to stay forever, there are worse places to spend a life in."
She shook her head. "I... not understand. You never see family. You not free."
Laying a hand on her shoulder—successfully this time—he spoke with gravitas. "You see, Lenka, if a man is dining on steak and shagging fit birds every day, there's almost nothing he won't put up with."
Her mouth formed an 'O', and she scanned his face as if gauging his seriousness. "But... we not like your women."
He grinned broadly. "Trust me, that's more of a bonus—doubly so for Tony."
She stared at him for a moment longer, then exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. "Then you stay."
"For now."
A silence ensued, which Harry used to finish his lukewarm tea. Lenka picked up her own mug and drained the dregs in one go. Glancing at the mug ruefully, she set it aside, then returned to scrutinizing him as if he were some rare creature.
"What is it?" he asked, not unkindly.
Ducking her head, she skimmed a hand down her flat abdomen. "I never meet so strange human. I hope... my daughters not strange." A faint blush crept up her cheeks as she peered at him with upturned eyes.
"Didn't you say you weren't going to—ooh."
Weeks passed. Even this high up the mountain, the weather warmed every day as spring gave way to summer. The flow of visitors dwindled to a trickle, their stays becoming shorter and their attitudes more aloof. Left with too much time on his hands and barely any company, Harry resorted to sending Patronus messages to Tony, but they all went unanswered. He curbed his restlessness until one morning the harpies didn't even deign to enter the cave, instead chucking a small furry carcass through the bars.
Harry nudged it with his toe. "Seriously, a squirrel? Doesn't even look like it has much meat on it." He greedily eyed the goat in the talons of the two harpies hovering before the entrance; its stew was the best meal he'd had up here.
"If you don't work, you need not eat much," one harpy said, her companion saving her breath.
He flashed her a grin. "Come inside and I'll be happy to work all day long."
She laughed, looking him up and down. "I'll come next spring, human."
The clapping of wings intensified as the harpies ascended laboriously. Harry pressed his face between the bars to yell.
"Next year? Oi! Aren't you going to cook for me?"
The more talkative harpy spared him a glance. "No time! Tribe needs much food!"
He watched them climb higher and higher until the cave's roof hid them from view. Sighing, he contemplated the furry meal that they so magnanimously provided. If this was the extent of the tribe's hospitality for the better part of the year, there was no reason to stay any longer.
He regarded his home of the past month. He left his mark on the place—covert Cushioning Charms here and there, an enchantment for absorbing the smoke above the hearth—that he hoped would make the stay more bearable for the next poor soul, should Ján not heed his warning and seek a more permanent solution.
With a spring in his step, he strode over to the supplies from Zubrovec, ripped a sheet of lined paper out of a notebook, and retrieved a worn fountain pen. Kneeling awkwardly beside a shelf, he laid the sheet atop and penned a letter.
"Your feathery majesty... by the time you read this, we'll be long gone... promise not to betray you..." Oh dear, he was talking to himself. Loneliness was a scary thing. "And, should you wish, we'll be happy to help out again... Send reply through village elder... Love, Harry."
Drawing back, he tapped the pen against his lips. After a minute's hesitation, he scribbled a P.S. requesting to someday see his daughters. When he lifted the nib and considered the letter, the word jumped out at him from the page. Daughters... Would they want anything to do with him at all?
There was a weird squeeze in his chest. Huh. He would have to drop by St. Mungo's and get that checked out.
Rising to his feet, he swiped the letter off the shelf and walked over to his rock carving, which was originally meant to depict a harpy in flight, but now resembled a piece of highly conceptual art. Drawing his wand, he affixed the letter below the carving, and resisting the urge to go over it once more, turned away.
He swept his residence thoroughly to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything, then sat cross-legged before the fire and savored the last of his tea to pass the time until the afternoon. His gaze kept straying to the sky outside, the sun climbing toward its zenith too slowly for his liking, until he could no longer resist his mounting excitement and sprang to his feet.
Opening the bars, he stepped onto the ledge and inhaled the fresh air. His refurbished Firebolt materialized in his extended hand, and he was about to mount it before contemplating the expanse stretching out ahead and the sheer drop below.
"I'll show you wingless," he muttered.
Gripping his broom with both hands, he went back into the cave, took a few deep breaths, and bolted forward. The patch of the sky ahead grew rapidly as his feet kicked against fur, then hard stone, then nothing; his stomach did a somersault as he plummeted, going into a spin, rocky slope alternating with azure sky. Panic flooded him, but drawing strength from the familiar smoothness of his broomstick, he yanked it upward at just the right moment.
He whooped, leveling out of the freefall, the Firebolt handling like new. "I'm the king of the skies!"
Breathing heavily, he looked around, took out his wand for a hasty Disillusionment Charm, then set off around the enormous mountain in search of a cave on the opposite side that Lenka told him about.
As expected, there wasn't much traffic in the skies this time of the day: he only saw a lone harpy ascending from the forest below before he came across a triangular crevice in the mountain face. Flying closer, he caught a whiff of smoke, and sure enough, after squeezing inside and unlocking a barred door, he found Tony.
Landing softly on a carpet—not a beast pelt, but an honest-to-god shag rug—he gawked around. Tony's cave was that in name only: blue-and-bronze tapestries covered the walls, the fireplace was set into the rock, and the owner himself sat in a wing chair, sipping from a china cup with a serene expression. As Harry beheld the luxurious bed that dominated one corner, he was glad Tony wouldn't see his much poorer dwelling.
Canceling his camouflage, he grinned and cleared his throat. "Hey, mate. Miss me?"
Turning languidly to him, Tony lowered his cup. "Ah. I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Well, here I am," he said, taken aback by how utterly mellow the bloke was. "So, how's it hanging?"
Tony scratched his scruffy beard, which in Harry's opinion looked rather ridiculous. "Can't complain. They did snap my wand, but I'm mostly over it."
He grimaced. "Ouch. I got pretty bruised myself—"
"Not that." Tony took a sip from the cup, then adjusted his crotch with a pensive expression. "Well, that too, but I meant they literally broke my wand in half. It's your fault, by the way."
"My fault?" He crossed his arms. "This should be good."
"Your Patronus happened to float in when I was showing off my Transfiguration to the ladies and went all tentacle monster on them. As I was the only bloke with a wand in sight, they thought it was my doing, and..." Looking almost cheerful, he mimed breaking a stick. "Crunch, just like that."
"Couldn't you have fought—never mind, stupid question." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Look, man, I'm really sorry—"
"It's alright," Tony said, nodding graciously.
His eyebrows rose. "You seem awfully... accepting."
"Oh, I was miffed at first, but thinking about the big picture helped me put things into perspective." Setting the cup down, he clasped his hands. "We are the first wizards in centuries to reconnect with Beings thought lost to the world, and leave to tell the tale. A wand or two is nothing in comparison."
"Speaking of, we better get a move on before they wake up from their beauty sleep and find me gone," Harry said, latching onto Tony's only sensible words. Recalling what Lenka had said, he eyed him warily. "Er, you aren't going to resist or anything, are you?"
"Of course not," Tony said with zen-like equanimity. "All good things come to an end."
He straddled his Firebolt. "Mount up then, oh mountain guru."
Harry waited until Tony's weight settled behind him, then maneuvered out of the narrow cave. Rising into the open skies, he grinned as a breeze hit his face.
"How's freedom taste?" he asked, voice raised against the wind. "Another day and we'll be home."
"Yeah." Tony was shaking slightly. "Yeah, I can't wait."
Furrowing his brows, Harry glanced over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, it's just... funny. A letter managed to reach me a couple weeks ago, can you believe it? Poor owl was missing half its feathers." Tony laughed unsteadily. "They practically begged me to stay away from the Ministry until I got better. Spattergroit's scarier than I thought."
"That's great, isn't it? You get to keep your job."
"Yeah." Tony snorted, the hand he had around Harry's waist balled into a bloodless fist. "TSP reports, here I come."
He frowned, but chalked up Tony's behavior to nerves; they were dizzyingly high up, and in broad daylight to boot. Getting his bearings, he turned west, skirting the mountain to their right. As its looming bulk blocked the wind, muffled sobs reached his ears. Being a compassionate person, he approached the issue with discretion and tact.
"Merlin's balls, man, are you crying?"
"Pfft, no." As Harry began turning to look over his shoulder, Tony sniffled loudly. "K-kinda."
He brought the Firebolt to a halt, hovering above the alpine landscape. "Weren't you alright with leaving?"
"It's not the leaving that gets me," Tony said, his voice cracking. "See, at first, living with the harpies was a dream come true, but then I began to realize none of them cared about me... at least, not the way I did about them. Anyone with a working pecker would've sufficed." There was a sound of a nose being blown.
"Didn't take you for such a bloody romantic," Harry said, trying not to think about the entreating tone of his letter. He racked his brain for a way to cheer the crybaby up. "Oi, how about I get you a new wand?"
Tony chuckled through his tears. "No offense, but having another bloke buy me a wand would just be weird."
"That's not what I had in mind. How's a core from the harpy queen herself sound?" Extending his hand over his shoulder, he materialized a long, gleaming-white feather. "I intended to keep it as a souvenir, but your need is greater."
Tony gasped as he picked it up. "Where did you get this?"
"The queen enjoyed having her wings stroked, and..." He coughed delicately. "I went about it a little too enthusiastically."
"You brute."
He scratched his chest where the talon marks had since faded. "She made her displeasure known very vocally, I assure you."
Tony laughed, pressing the feather back into his palm. "Thanks, mate—really. Keep it fresh for me until we can get it to Ollivander's, alright?"
"Sure thing." Harry took one last wistful look at the harpy eyrie, then set course for the invisible barrier. "Buckle up, it'll be a bumpy ride."
