"Och! These holes need mending. The poor lad!"
Fog filled his dreams. He stirred, for it almost seemed as if someone had spoken. Afraid that the endless fog would fill the waking world as well the dream world, he resisted opening his eyes.
"A wee book about dragons!"
No mistaking it this time. He heard a person or persons speaking, and with a heavy Scottish accent besides. He became aware of rustling noises, the sound of cloth swishing and of papers softly crackling. Slowly, as if coming out of a cloud, he remembered that he had completed his journey to Strathdraich Lodge late the previous night, somehow stumbling to the bed that the innkeeper had made up for him.
"None of that looking at pictures, my lad. Get back to putting them papers away."
He felt the crisp linen sheet and rough wool blanket against his cheek, so different from the soft worn sheets and quilt back in Wales, and tried to banish the lingering image of the cloud's center by thinking of the moon sparkling up at him from black water as he flew lower and lower, coming to rest at one end of a long finger of a lake. Loch, he corrected himself. He was in Scotland, after all.
Remus opened his eyes enough to take in the room with as little movement as possible. His muddled brain had not deceived him: there were two creatures moving about. Both had the form of men, but were only about three feet tall, topped with curly brown hair, and dressed in nondescript brown clothing. One was perched on a small table, squatting amid various pieces of parchment, probably his notes. The other stood at the open door of a large wooden wardrobe. Remus' clothing had been hung up and the little man was doing something to his robe.
"This here says that a Banshee appears only in the night. That's cracked! Have they never met Morag?"
"You should not be reading them things, but tidying up."
Taking in the rest of the room, Remus could see a bureau with a mirror and in the mirror's reflection, a tiny high window with plaid, starched curtains. Pictures, scenes of the Highlands he guessed, hung on the white walls of rough plaster. His wand lay on a small night stand next to the bed, he was gratified to see. Swiftly, he sat up and grabbed the wand, pointing it at the creature roosting on the table.
"You've seen a Banshee, have you?"
With a small cry of surprise, the little man hopped down to the floor and faced him defiantly, hands on hips. "Aye. That I have, sir, and I must say that your papers have got it wrong."
"Och, pay no attention," the other one replied hastily, frowning at his companion. "He's a bit too saucy for his own good, sir."
"You're Brownies, aren't you?" said Remus. He lowered his wand slightly and drew up his knees, wrapping one arm around his legs and staring in wonder. He noticed that even their skin was brown, the color of walnut shells, and their eyes, a dark, liquid chocolate. Both stared at him fixedly, one with frank curiosity and the other with a mixture of timidity and irritation.
"Gillean, at your service, sir," said the saucy one, bowing low and then continuing rapidly, "About the Banshee--"
"Beatham, at your service, sir," the other said shortly, bowing not quite so low.
"I'm Remus Lupin. Pleased to meet you."
"I do apologize, sir, for this one's mouth." Beatham gave the other a little kick to silence him. "It oft' lands him in a kettle of trouble."
"Not at all," Remus grinned in reply. "I would like to hear more about the Banshee."
Gillean seemed poised to hold forth at great length, but was interrupted by the sound of a knock. Remus glanced at the door, taking his eyes from the Brownies for an instant, and they vanished.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed slowly, still puzzling at the sight of the little brown creatures. His two shirts, one sweater, robes, and cloak hung in the wardrobe, looking somehow neater and, in the case of the cloak, less dusty. His boots had been polished, he noted, and rested on the wardrobe floor next to the empty valise. His hat, uncreased and clean for the first time in several years, stood stiffly at attention on the bureau. But no trousers. The knock came again.
"Just a minute," he called as he searched the rest of the small room, finding at last that his trousers had been neatly folded in one of the bureau drawers. He hopped on one foot to the door while pulling them on.
An older man stood at the door holding a ceramic pitcher and bowl. His bald head was as brown as the skin of an old onion. A beak-like nose jutted from his round face, throwing it out of balance. Dark, deep-set eyes held a momentary look of concern.
"Good morning, sir. I hope it's not too early to trouble you, but I heard voices. Did you sleep well?" he said hesitantly.
"Yes. Very well, thank you." Remus moved aside to let him enter. "Forgive me. I was very tired last night and I don't remember your name."
"MacDermott. Orrin MacDermott, sir." The man set the bowl on the bureau and poured steaming water from the pitcher into it as he spoke. "Professor Dumbledore said you might arrive late, Mr. Lupin, so I had everything made ready for you."
"Quite an extraordinary thing," Remus said, still musing over his encounter with the little men. "Brownies were in my room when I woke. I've heard of them, of course, and seen a few, but I've never spoken to one until now."
"They did not bother you, sir?" MacDermott seemed concerned as he laid a towel and face cloth on the bureau. He took a bar of soap from one of the pockets of his leather apron and set it down as well.
"Not at all," Remus replied with a gentle shake of his head. "I quite enjoyed talking with them."
MacDermott fussed with the items on the bureau for a moment, then said, "I don't allow them in the guest rooms normally, sir. The poor wee things do like to be helpful. But in the season--summer, that is--we have Muggles staying at the lodge. They seem to like the idea that we have a ghost, but I do not think they'd know what to make of our Brownies."
"Muggles stay here?" Remus felt quite fuzzy-headed and was having trouble making sense of so much that was new.
"Aye," MacDermott answered. "We're a bit isolated here, but a few come on walking tours and take in the castle ruin--Abernethy Castle, that is. You can see it from the front of the lodge, quarter of a mile up the loch. But," he bowed his head sadly, "not many wizards care to visit. Dreadful curses there be on the castle, e'en after hundreds of years. Muggles can't feel them, but for our kind...." He shuddered, then straightened up.
"And yet you remain here. How is it that--"
"Well, sir, I must see to a wee problem with the plumbing," said MacDermott. "Bathroom's just down the hall, but it's not in working order." He gestured at the items on the bureau. "You can wash up here. Go down to the kitchen and my daughter will make your breakfast."
"Have you heard from Professor Dumbledore today?"
"No, sir. He told me day before yesterday there'd be a meeting of the committee this afternoon. I expect he'll send word."
Remus nodded as MacDermott made his way out the door. He quickly washed, shaved, and finished dressing, deciding to leave his wizard's robes in the closet until the time for the meeting arrived. Along the short corridor were several more rooms and one that must be the bathroom, judging from the clanging and pounding coming from behind the door. He then found himself in the entry hall, which he remembered from last night, with its dark wood paneling and big stone fireplace in which flames cheerfully leapt and crackled.
He hadn't seen much when he'd arrived, so he took a detour through the massive wooden front door. Outside an almost monochromatic scene in shades of gray confronted him, not at all like the fertile and sustaining green of Wales. The sky was a mottled color, from white mist hiding the tops of the surrounding hills to darker tones overhead. The loch mirrored the sky, appearing calm on its shiny surface but seeming darker and more menacing underneath. The hills--mountains perhaps but he could not see their full height--had steep faces of granite covered in some places with last year's brown turf. Only the grass at his feet, a green carpet that rolled down to the shore, held some color, but that, too, seemed to fade into gray in the distance.
The lodge sat on a gentle slope about three hundred feet from the southern end of the long ribbon of water that stretched northward into the mist. The loch nestled in the bulky arms of hills that flowed down from the unseen mountains lurking in the mist. Grassy slopes ran down to meet the edge of the water. Large pieces of granite were strewn near the shore like a giant's toys carelessly discarded after play.
To his left, the sides of the hills were particularly steep and bare, reminiscent of the faces of colossal statues--whether grim guardians or stern judges, he could not tell as their expressions had been worn away by time and weather. He could make out several smaller glens punching through the cliffs, the result of small streams coming down from the mountains to feed the loch. He knew that the Sanctuary--the mysterious place responsible for his presence at Strathdraich Lodge--lay up one of those glens, but he was having trouble reconciling the map he had seen briefly last night with the reality of the scene.
To his right, a stand of trees caught his eye and made him realize how few trees there were in this glen. He wondered whether this was because they had long ago been cut down or because the climate was too harsh. The clump of trees--dark firs and the bleached skeletons of a few towering deciduous trees--stood near the water's edge, a quarter of a mile distant. Through the trunks and branches he saw the jagged outlines of walls and at least one tower, made of the same gray granite and stretching up toward the hills like a small child reaching for her mother. Abernethy Castle, he assumed. He strained to make out details, but the more he tried, the blurrier his vision became, perhaps because of the curse lying on the castle.
The shriek of an eagle, diving toward the lake's surface startled him. His gaze was wrenched away from the ruins and toward the bird, now pulling out of its dive with something struggling in its talons. It shrieked again, with carnivorous joy, and vanished into the mist with its catch. His fingers flexed involuntarily, expecting to end in claws, perhaps.
For an instant, he felt the talons gripping flesh and knew the anticipation of tearing the victim apart. How many animals had the wolf eaten in this way? At least a few in his student days at Hogwarts, as reported by his friends who were Animagi. In fact, Wormtail had taken to eyeing Remus suspiciously even in human form because of his tendency to chase small animals during the full moon (and perhaps his instincts were correct there). Padfoot had refused to hunt with him then, too human and too squeamish to eat rats and squirrels, although Sirius had more recently confessed to losing his distaste for rats after many years in Azkaban.
The eagle had long since vanished, and its meal was doubtless eaten, when Remus returned from his reverie, chilled and hungry. He turned away from the loch and took in Strathdraich Lodge, a solid stone building (made out of the ubiquitous granite blocks, of course) that had been no more than a dark hulk with a single lighted window when he'd arrived. In the morning's gray light, the lodge had a gabled roof of dark slate with chimneys extending upward in several places. Small windows of what must be the guest rooms nestled in the stone walls and a larger mullioned window was set to the right of the door, indicating a public room. Smoke curled lazily from the larger chimneys, unhurriedly melting into the mist. At the far right-hand side was the largest chimney, located in the kitchen, no doubt. The promise of breakfast drew him back inside.
He stood warming his hands in front of the hall fire until his stiff fingers had some life in them. He'd only meant to step outside for a minute or two, but the chill that lay on him indicated that he'd been outside for longer. He could distinguish two different sets of banging noises as he rubbed his hands and stared into the flames: a bass tone, accompanied by thumps and the occasional low male voice came from behind him, while a more alto-sounding clatter of metal accompanied by snatches of soprano song drifted to his ears from the open door next to the fireplace.
Through that door he found a tap room, a dark and comfortable-looking room with a small bar next to the mullioned window and a handful of little tables and worn leather chairs between the bar and the large stone fireplace. The singing had stopped, but had certainly come from the open door on the far side of the room.
Remus leaned against the door frame, taking in the large kitchen. The enormous fireplace opposite the door seemed large enough to roast a whole sheep, although a slightly more modern black cast iron stove squatted at one end of the room. Pots hung from racks; bowls and crockery filled the shelves, while on top of the long scrubbed wooden table in the center of the room was a metal pan that held a very large standing rib roast of beef. He didn't see the point in cooking it at all and was fantasizing about starting in on it straight away when a sharp voice interrupted his lustful thoughts.
"You'll be wanting breakfast, I suppose?" The speaker, who appeared to be a girl in her late teens or early twenties, had a cap of short black hair that curled around her ears and neck. Rows of tiny gold rings glinted from her ears--four or five pierced each one--reminding him of people that he'd seen on the London Underground. She had a prominent nose, but it did not overbalance her, as with the older MacDermott. Together with her full face and long neck, he had the impression of a graceful statue lurking beneath the last traces of adolescent baby fat. Her large, dark eyes regarded him steadily, waiting for an answer.
"Oh," Remus started, realizing that he had been gazing at the unroasted beef with a decided hunger. "Yes, I am rather...."
"Hrumph," she grunted as she reached for a skillet above her. "I got nothing better to do, except dress this roast, start the puddings, bake bread, then make up the rooms." As she spoke, she banged the skillet down on the stove. She wore black: not witch's robes, but black jeans and an oversized black tee-shirt that read "U2" in white letters and held the sullen faces of a rock band, if he remembered his Muggle culture correctly.
"I'm Remus Lupin, by the way," he said as he strolled over to the table. The roast glistened seductively.
"Eilidh," she snapped as she set a bowl of eggs on the table, shoving the roasting pan out of his reach. "Eilidh-bloody-MacDermott, otherwise known as the one and only slave around here."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
She looked up from cracking eggs, wiped her hands on her shirt, and appraised him critically, deciding if his offer was more than mere politeness.
"I'm not much of a cook," he confessed. "Washing up and starting fires are my best talents."
"Well," she stammered, casting about the room, "the fire in the oven needs to be lit so's I can start the bread baking." She pointed to a stack of firewood on the floor and, above it, a large metal door set into a brick face next to the open hearth. "My dad says we must have a wood fire, as it makes the crust better."
Remus nodded and ambled over to the woodpile, amused by her continued staring. The metal door opened with a creak to reveal a brick-lined oven. He got to work with his wand, directing pieces of wood to float inside and settle themselves in neat piles. The oven seemed cold and empty, as if it had been many months since it had seen a fire.
"Do you live here year round?" he asked.
"No, only my dad--a real nutter, he is," Eilidh laughed bitterly. "Mum always spent the winters with my Aunt Mazie in Inverness. I used to be at school to south, but... D'you want a bit of bacon with your eggs? Oh, and we have no bread as yet, but I can warm up scones from yesterday."
"That'll be fine and I'd prefer steak, if you've got it," he answered, still thinking about the rib roast, "not cooked too long, please."
"Aye, we've plenty of beef since my dad had most of a cow delivered," she sighed and poked the eggs, now sizzling in the skillet. "That'll be something to look forward to, cooking the whole frigging side of beef."
"Easgann Academy, is that where you went to school?" Remus guessed, trying to get her off the subject of servitude.
"Til last spring, aye. You know it?"
"You could say that," he replied easily. "I taught there for a term, though it was some time ago."
"Huh, must have been 'afore my time," she grunted and looked at him sharply, recalculating his age, no doubt. "Was Professor Eelsworth the Headmaster then, too? He must be about a thousand years old."
"I taught Care of Magical Creatures while Professor Alicanth was recovering from a close encounter with a unicorn and, yes, the Headmaster looked to be a thousand years old." Remus wondered if he, too, looked ancient to this girl who could not have been more than seventeen.
"Don't know if I'll see that place again," she mused, more to herself, as she covered the eggs on the stove and banged a second skillet down, then went off in search of a steak. "He thinks schooling is great waste of time, but it's a sight better than slaving in this kitchen." She stopped short, poised to drop a thick steak into the skillet. "Oh, begging your pardon, I shouldn't be running on like this."
"School is an opportunity that shouldn't be missed," he said neutrally as he peered into the oven and prepared to light a fire. He believed what he said, yet knew that stepping into the larger world through the doorway of school could bring unexpected confusion and pain.
"Well, being a professor and all, you would say that," she grumbled and poked the sizzling steak viciously, "but my dad isn't--I wonder what century he's living in sometimes."
After Remus lit the fire and was satisfied that the wood was going to burn down nicely to coals, he turned back to the center of the kitchen where Eilidh was sliding eggs onto a plate and frowning down at the dish.
"Do you think that you could--"she said slowly, meeting his eyes, "maybe put in a word about how schooling is important and all that..." She ducked her head quickly and looked away, swapping one pan for another on the stove with a loud clatter.
"Oh, never mind," she scowled as she lifted the steak with a fork and dropped it with a careless gesture onto the plate. "Won't do any bloody good. Like all the MacDermotts, I was born here and I'll probably die here, too."
"Ah, don't be too sure," Remus said gently, forgetting his hunger momentarily. "Life can hold a great many surprises." Wasn't he living proof of that? He sometimes thought that his capacity to be surprised might be exhausted, but life had a way of sneaking up on him, as the last twenty-four hours had shown. Of course, he could have refused Dumbledore's offer and stayed in his self-imposed exile in Wales, but he had come. Was it merely his debt to the old wizard, the realization that he had nothing more to lose, or something more?
"Strawberry jam okay?" She interrupted his wandering and well-traveled thoughts, yanking him abruptly back to the reality of the kitchen, and the steaming plate of steak and eggs.
He blinked and brought her face into focus, then nodded. As she spooned out thick globs of jam, she said wistfully, "I don't think life has a lot of surprises for me, except whether it'll be beef or mutton for dinner. I'll bet you've been places, though, even big cities like London."
He shrugged, but she only grew more animated, like a small child diving into a box of sweets. "Oooh, you have? I just knew it. London must be heaven, with all the shops and places to eat, and things to see. I'm dying to go there and see all of that."
It's just a city, he started to say, thinking about how big and noisy and dirty it was, how people refused to look at one another, how easy it was to be anonymous and then forgotten utterly. But he checked himself, not wanting to burden this girl with his own peculiar prejudices. He had said that life was full of surprises, after all.
"It's waiting for you to discover," he said kindly, "and I'm sure you will someday--after you finish school, that is."
"Hey there, girl," interrupted Orrin McDermott from the doorway, "quit your gabbing and let Mr. Lupin have his breakfast." He strode into the kitchen briskly, having changed from his plumbing clothes into robes of coarse, brown wool. "I do hope the girl has not been bothering you, sir," he addressed Remus. "She does have a way of going on when she should be working. And as for you--" His weathered face reddened and he jabbed a finger at Eilidh who flinched, but otherwise held her ground. "You should be properly dressed. I'll have none of this Muggle rubbish here, girl, when we have important wizards coming as guests. Get off and change into proper robes!"
She said nothing, although her face colored slightly and the look that she gave him as she swept out of the kitchen was sour enough to curdle milk. MacDermott didn't seem to notice as he fussed over the breakfast, picking up the plate and silverware and carrying them to a table in the tap room. He assured Remus that things would be set right shortly. For his part, Remus couldn't help but wonder if he fell into the class of 'important wizards' or whether MacDermott was just warming up for the arrival of the committee.
Such thoughts were driven out of his head as he attacked the steak, thinking of those spectacular feasts at Hogwarts in which all manner of amazing and delicious food appeared and where, for a short time, all things seemed within reach.
"I hope your breakfast is, er, satisfactory, sir," interrupted MacDermott hesitantly. He set a pot of tea on the table, then a cup and saucer.
Remus, mouth full of steak and head full of carnivorous thoughts, waved his knife vaguely toward the plate.
"And I do apologize for the girl," McDermott said, shaking his head. He sat opposite Remus and poured him a cup of tea. "She's a bit wild, I won't deny. Don't know where she gets these notions... but she'll be made to see some sense. Milk?"
Remus wondered just how MacDermott planned to make his daughter 'see some sense.' She would be better off finishing school and, when he'd taken the measure of the innkeeper, Remus resolved to argue her case. For now, he merely nodded toward the pitcher of milk.
"An owl from Professor Dumbledore just came," said MacDermott in a more businesslike tone. After pouring the milk, he took out several sheets of parchment from his robes and went on, "He says that he and the others will be coming up from London by three this afternoon."
"Two from the Ministry, yes," Remus said, "and The Abernethy will be coming, also, I suppose. Does he live around here?"
"Him?" the innkeeper shrugged. "I haven't seen him yet today, but he'll turn up. A bit unpredictable, that one is."
Remus tried to form a picture of the last surviving member of Clan Abernethy. All that came to mind was an ancient wizard in a tartan bonnet, or maybe a somewhat younger male version of Professor McGonagall
MacDermott cleared his throat and handed Remus one of the pieces of parchment. "I'm to let you into the parlor--that's where the committee usually meets--to prepare the room."
This note was sealed with red wax that bore the imprint of a large and ornate letter D. As soon as Remus touched the seal, it vanished with a small pop, leaving only a faint scent of sherbet lemon in the air. The familiar flowing, spidery scrawl made clear what Dumbledore wanted him to do.
"Will you be needing anything, sir?"
"What?" Remus had lost himself in the note, running over in his mind what he must do.
"To prepare the room, as Professor Dumbledore said... is there anything I can get for you?"
"No, nothing," he replied vaguely, tapping the parchment on the edge of the table. The old wizard asked a lot of him, tired as he was, but he would do his best. He put down the paper and took up the knife and fork, saying more forcefully, "I'd best get started right after breakfast."
Even though the Change always left him ravenous, Remus often had trouble eating for days afterward. It might be that the werewolf transformation left parts of him in some confused and twisted state; he wasn't sure and had found few others of his kind to question about this sort of thing. In consequence, he was usually weakened for days until his stomach consented to take food, even though his body screamed for nourishment, and this meant that he walked around like a ghost, pale and gaunt. On this day, and on the previous one, he had managed to eat reasonably well, perhaps owing to the peculiar influence of Albus Dumbledore.
Breakfast finished, he stood and surveyed the parlor. Like the hall and public room, it had a high beamed ceiling. A dark wood-paneled wainscot ran around the room with white plaster walls above. At one end of the room, a large stone fireplace dominated the wall. Opposite the door were two long, thin windows covered with red drapes that fell to the floor. A round table and four chairs sat in the center of the room with a couple of other chairs perched next to the fireplace. Bookshelves and cabinets occupied some of the space at the walls. A casual inspection of the books showed that they were very dusty and almost exclusively from the seventeenth century. Remus was poking his nose into the 1610 edition of Hogwarts, A History when Eilidh came in, carrying linens and an armful of candles.
He turned and closed the book, noticing that she had changed into brown robes and had traded her many gold earrings for a pair of conservative pearls. The sight of her dressed this way saddened him unexpectedly.
"Freed from the kitchen, are you?" he remarked and put the volume on its shelf.
"Hmph" was her only comment as she set her burdens down on the table. But she did reward him with a brief smile before taking up her wand and directing candles to fly through the air, coming to rest in the brackets set on the walls around the room. Remus crossed his arms and watched her.
"Nice work," he commented. "You've paid attention in Charms class, I see."
She blushed and nodded rather seriously, then raised her wand and lit the candles with a flourish. They spluttered to life, bathing the room in soft yellow tones. She stepped toward the fireplace and prepared to light a fire, but Remus stopped her, saying, "No fire yet. I'll light it myself in a bit."
"Do you think I cannot do it?" she said sharply, turning to face him with a mixture of confusion and defiance on her face.
"I have no doubt," Remus answered easily as he joined her in front of the fireplace, "but the room must be checked first, and that includes the fireplace."
"Checked? For what?"
A sudden bone-chilling gust of wind swept past them, extinguishing the candles and briefly swinging the heavy drapes. As quickly as it had arisen, the draft ceased and was followed by deep, rumbling laughter.
"For Dark creatures, of course," boomed a disembodied voice with a thick Scottish burr.
Remus raised his wand apprehensively, casting about the room for the location of the speaker. Eilidh, however, did not seem concerned. She set her hands on her hips and called, "Come out and show yourself, you sneaky bugger. You're no creature of Darkness, just a bloody pain in the arse."
~~~~~~
04 February 2000 to 04 February 2001
One year on fanfiction.net: What a long, strange trip it's been...
More that a year ago, I wrote a story about my favorite HP character merely as an exercise--without dreaming that there was a universe of fanfiction authors out there all doing the same thing. A year ago, I had no clue as to how my life would change on one particular morning as I sat at my computer and figured out how to sign on to ff.n and upload my first post. (Okay, I never did figure out how to have a cool pen name....)
Over the past year, I've had lots of wonderful feedback in the form of reviews and e-mail correspondences. I've met terrific people and discovered an amazing community that exists solely in the abstract plane called the internet, yet brings people together in the way that real communities always have.
Thanks to all of you who have read my stories and a special blessing to those who have reviewed and criticized. I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing.
I owe very special thanks to HHN and CLS, twins to me in ways that I cannot clearly articulate except perhaps in dreams or poetry. You've made the past year shine for me. Through your advice, encouragement, criticism, and fine examples, I've become a better writer. You're the best--and I count myself lucky indeed to know you.
Now, move along and read the next chapter...
~ CLS (Revised 4/25/01)
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction based on characters created and owned by J K Rowling. No infringement of copyright is intended, only a bit of fun.