4. Ghost of the Highlands
Accompanied by more laughter, the candles suddenly spluttered to life again and the pearly white, semi-translucent figure of a man walked through the fireplace and planted itself on the hearthstone. The apparition had long, wild hair and a densely tangled beard, and wore a long-sleeved tunic that fell in pleats at its knees. The original color of its garment was unknown, but there was no mistaking the silvery stain above its heart, bespeaking a violent end. It bowed, saying, "Hamish a--"
"Our resident ghost," cut in Eilidh acidly, "and resident expert at curdling milk, putting out candles, and frightening Muggles."
With a chortle, the ghost rose above their heads and swooped down from behind, causing the girl to shriek and clutch her backside.
"And pinching lasses," the ghost cackled, circling the pair while Eilidh let forth a string of curses that Remus was certain she hadn't learned in school. After a moment or two, it settled itself in front of them, assuming a cross-legged position while floating several feet above the floor.
"Whiskey and wenches," it sighed heavily, "that's what I miss the most."
The girl turned away with a toss of her head and busied herself shaking out the white linen cloth for the table. The ghost regarded Remus with narrowed eyes, stroking its beard thoughtfully.
"Remus, is it?" rumbled the ghost after a moment.
"A right nosy bugger, he is," Eilidh interjected.
"You may call me Hamish," it said indignantly to Remus, "and you're not to listen to the tales told by that one."
"Ha! You're naught but a four hundred year-old lecher!" she retorted.
"Three hundred and fifty, my lass," Hamish corrected with a chuckle, then addressed Remus, "and you would be Dumbledore's boy."
"I am here at his request," he replied carefully.
"And you're to search for wee Dark creatures in the parlor. Well, get on with it, lad. Let's see how you go." With that, the ghost uncrossed its legs and floated up to the ceiling, hovering near the center of the room and peering down at them.
Remus couldn't help but smile as he walked about the room with his wand held out, inspecting shelves and cabinets whilst casting certain spells intended to reveal the true nature of things seen and unseen. He'd had enough experience with ghosts at Hogwarts Castle to conclude that Hamish was indeed the genuine article. Whether or not ghosts should be included in the pantheon of Dark creatures had been a subject of much debate among wizards over the ages. Being considered a Dark creature himself, Remus didn't think that the distinction could or should be terribly sharp.
He stopped in front of a small mirror with an ornate, gilt frame where he beheld the image of his pale, thin face surrounded by graying brown hair tinted gold by the candlelight. As he watched, the mirror's surface grew cloudy and his reflection dissolved into white mist. He stepped back as Hamish's broad, grinning face formed itself out of the fog.
"Mirror or scrying glass? What say you, lad?" challenged the ghost as it popped out of the mirror to stand before him.
"A simple mirror, nothing more," Remus concluded.
"Right you are!" it replied gleefully. Trailing Remus as he slowly walked the length the room, the ghost went on, "What lurks in yonder fireplace?"
"The fireplace and chimney are perfectly ordinary, but--" He hesitated, feeling and then seeing the large silver candelabra that Eilidh was polishing on the central table. He gave it a wide berth as he made his way to a waist-high wooden cabinet that held a crystal decanter and a half-dozen glasses on top.
"Have you caught the scent of a Dark beastie, lad?"
"Mmmm," he said, shifting his attention to the doors of the cabinet. Hamish winked out and reappeared on the top of the cabinet with a loud pop, leering at Remus and rattling the glasses slightly to produce a faint musical tinkling.
"What it is?" Eilidh said, coming up from behind him with the candelabra held out in front of her like a weapon.
"Er, put that down, please," Remus said uncomfortably, then continued in a more professorial tone, "Surely you know how to defeat a Boggart, Miss MacDermott."
The ghost cackled and rocked the cabinet more, while the girl set down the silver and said, "Oooh, no. I do not care for Boggarts. They always turn into the Banshee when I come upon them."
"Your course in Defense Against the Dark Arts has certainly been deficient. There is a simple charm--"
Before he could finish, the cabinet, which shuddered with increasing violence, flew open. Hamish zoomed upward, then dived down to hover at his shoulder. The dim interior of the cabinet seemed to hold nothing but dark bottles of liquor and more glasses. Eilidh, shielding herself as best she could behind Remus, peered inside timidly then gasped as a silvery ball took shape above the open doors.
"Riddikulus!" Remus cried and there was a loud crack that made the girl jump backward. The bright white sphere shimmered and for an instant the shadowy patterns of the mountains and craters of the moon coalesced on its face, then rippled and vanished, to be replaced by a leering replica of Hamish the ghost.
The girl erupted into giggles and shrieks, joined by ghostly hoots from above. Remus laughed, too, as the ghostly Boggart exploded with a second sharp crack, sending thousands of glittering white shards flying outward like an erupting snowball.
"Aye, laddie," it chortled, flying in circles around Remus and the girl, "You shall pay for that roguish trick."
Remus sketched a bow to the ghost, trying to keep a straight face.
"Drink with me, you will!" it cried and plunged into the open cabinet, now Boggart-free.
A moment later, a dusty, brown bottle floated out of the interior, wobbling and sloshing the contents as it made its way through the air. A glass followed the bottle's flight. Both hung in mid-air in front of Remus as the cork popped out and the bottle floated on its side, pouring a thin stream of amber liquid into the glass. Eilidh scowled and grabbed the bottle, while Remus merely stared, fascinated by the ghostly effort at drink service. He caught the glass as it began to fall, however, just as Hamish winked into sight.
"Usquebach," the ghost pronounced, "that's whiskey to you bloody English. Go on, drink up, lad."
"But, I don't--" protested Remus.
Saying, "Och, what kind of a man are you?" the ghost dove into the glass, making the whiskey splash up the sides as it passed through. Remus' fingers went numb, as if they'd suddenly plunged into arctic waters. He set the glass down and massaged his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them.
The vapors, whether carried by some ghostly means or merely by air currents, hit him with an overpowering smoky aroma, like the smell of wet clothing drying over a peat fire on a cold winter night. He wondered how anyone could drink something so unpleasant, a reaction quite opposite the ghost's.
"I do miss a wee dram from time to time," it sighed, reforming its pearly figure in front of him and making a loud smacking sound. "Aye, such a tragedy it is--the whiskey's been getting better since my death and I can but barely taste it."
"Wasted on the likes of you," Eilidh grumbled as she put the bottle back in the cabinet and closed the doors forcefully. "Perhaps Mr. Lupin knows a spell that'll keep you out of the liquor cabinet."
"And what about you, my girl?" countered the ghost angrily, flying up and hovering near her face. "You've been known to take a nip when the old man's not looking."
"Please," Remus interjected, wondering how to separate a ghost from a human in a fight. Surely it wasn't harder than keeping Slytherins away from Gryffindors, and vice versa. "I have work yet to finish here. Perhaps you'd care to continue this discussion somewhere else?"
"Get you gone, lass," chuckled Hamish. The ghost backed away from the girl and said archly, "There is work to be done here."
Remus did not like the sound of that, as he'd hoped to have some peace to complete the task that Dumbledore had set for him. Ghostly assistance was not part of his plan.
"You can have the old pain in the arse," she sniffed. "Bloody helpful, he is."
Eilidh turned to go, grateful to leave. She stopped with her hand resting on the door knob, puzzled about something, and said hesitantly, "One question, if you please: when the Boggart came out, why wasn't it scary?"
"Why indeed?" mused Hamish. The ghost drifted in front of Remus, staring at him suspiciously.
"You'd be surprised, Miss MacDermott," he said, stepping around the ghost and holding the door open for her, "about the things that will scare people."
"But it was just the moon, right?" she persisted.
Before he could reply, a cold blast tore through his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, grabbing the back of a chair to keep from collapsing. Eilidh directed angry words at the ghost as it flitted above them, but Remus waved her away.
"Please go," he coughed, still feeling chilled and numb where the ghost had passed through him.
When she had gone, closing the door behind her, Hamish drew up beside him. "Och, you're a queer one," it laughed, regarding him steadily with dark, empty eyes. "Is Dumbledore daft?"
Remus couldn't answer that, but was starting to question his own mental health.
~~~~~~
"Wake up, laddie."
Something cold brushed his nose. Remus sat up with a start. He had been dozing in front of a fire, but all else save the fire was alien. Instead of the oak planks of his cabin, dark wood paneling flanked the stone fireplace. He sat in a big leather armchair, not the simple wooden chair that his grandfather had built.
"No time for a nap," said the voice again. "They'll be arriving soon."
He knew where he was now, and knew who (or what) had been speaking. He looked around for the ghost, but the public room of the lodge was empty. A half-eaten bowl of mutton stew and a plate of scones sat on the table beside him. He must have dozed off while waiting for the arrival of Dumbledore and the rest. There were voices coming from the hall, indicating that his ghostly alarm clock had not been playing tricks on him. He sat up and brushed crumbs from his robes, but didn't rise, feeling too muddled from sleep, still in the grip of vague dreams that he couldn't remember but couldn't shake off either.
Doubts about the merits of coming to Scotland and of standing before this committee descended upon him like a roc--that enormous magical bird sometimes glimpsed in Mediterranean lands--landing on a flimsy hut. He would be crushed.
After all, who except Dumbledore would trust a werewolf to guard a dragon?
Last night there had been something--urgency, concern, and unexpected fragility-- in the old wizard's voice that had infected him, bringing back to the surface the outrage and sense of injustice he had felt so often when Lord Voldemort or his supporters menaced the order and security of the wizarding world. And there was the matter of the family secret that no one had bothered to tell him. His mother's people had been dragonkeepers, it seemed. Did that really make him suitable for the job?
He stood, stretched, and put on his hat, then nearly collided with Eilidh who had come running from the kitchen. They stood at the doorway together and watched as MacDermott bustled about, taking the cloaks from two wizards, one of whom had just emerged from the fireplace. The purple cloak belonged to Albus Dumbledore, of course. The tall, thin wizard was unmistakable with or without his cloak.
"Oooh, who's that with Professor Dumbledore?" whispered Eilidh, watching the other wizard hand a jet black cloak to the innkeeper.
"Not sure," Remus murmured. "The heads of the departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Magical Creatures sit on the committee, but I don't know which he is."
The unfamiliar wizard seemed like a candidate for Magical Law Enforcement. He was shorter than Dumbledore (and considerably younger), but broad and powerfully built with the stiff carriage of a terrier hunting for rats. His dark brown hair and mustache were clipped short, precisely and neatly.
"Where are Ferguson-Smith and this Abernethy fellow?" he said gruffly to Dumbledore.
"She will arrive soon; her secretary assured me that she would end her meeting early," replied the old wizard pleasantly. "As for The Abernethy, have you seen him today, MacDermott?"
"I have not seen him myself, sir, but I'm certain he'll turn up."
"Time is being wasted," grunted the shorter wizard, flicking dark glances around the room, taking in the details in a way which suggested an inherent paranoia and suspicious nature.
Definitely a candidate for Magical Law Enforcement, Remus concluded. When the man's dark eyes--deeply set in a pale, square face--fell upon him, he was surprised at what he glimpsed there: something very old and unexpectedly reptilian.
"Well, I think he's rather good looking," murmured Eilidh, blushing as the man regarded her momentarily.
"Don't stand there gawking, girl," boomed MacDermott, noticing the pair in the doorway. "Take the gentleman's cloaks."
The girl giggled nervously and hurried to take the cloaks that her father thrust at her. Remus detached himself more slowly from the doorframe and came forward.
"Remus!" Dumbledore peered at him over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "You look rested. Any trouble in getting things ready?"
Before he could reply, the other newcomer thrust out his hand, saying, "Michael Naughton, Magical Law Enforcement."
"Remus Lupin," he replied simply, unsure of how he might describe himself so succinctly: Unemployed teacher? Werewolf for hire?
Naughton had a firm, hard grip and seemed slightly surprised that he didn't cause the other man to wince. His eyes narrowed as he inspected Remus' face closely, prolonging the handshake as if he were waiting for a confession of some sort.
"Mr. Lupin has kindly agreed to assist me," Dumbledore said vaguely, with a nod toward the parlor door. "Shall we go in and wait for the others?"
Grateful for the old wizard's intervention, Remus nodded his head and disentangled himself from Naughton's grip. He led the way to the door and took out his wand to undo the locking spell he'd placed on it earlier. When the other two had entered, and seated themselves around the table, Remus followed. He sat in a chair next to the fireplace, uncertain of what his status would be in the proceedings.
"Tea," queried the innkeeper as he came in with a plate of biscuits and cakes, "or shall it be something stronger?"
"Tea will do for me," said Dumbledore, "but I should think sherry and whiskey will be wanted when the others arrive."
"Brandy and absinthe," drawled Naughton as he inspected the room intently, probably looking for hidden traps or lurking Dark creatures.
With a worried nod, MacDermott withdrew and Remus could hear him hissing instructions to his daughter outside the room. Presently, he heard another voice, a woman speaking in a crisp alto tone, saying, "Good to see you, MacDermott. Are the others here? Hope I'm not too late."
One down and one to go, Remus thought. This must be Ferguson-Smith, the head of Magical Creatures. But when the woman entered the room, passing her tweed cloak to the hovering innkeeper, Remus realized with a shock that he knew her.
"Ah, Ariadne," cried Dumbledore, jumping up and taking her hand, "we have just arrived ourselves."
Ari Ferguson of Ravenclaw, that's how he remembered her, a tall large-boned girl who even then had a fascination with Magical Creatures of all sorts. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had done lessons in Care of Magical Creatures together during his fourth and fifth years at school and he had become friends with Ari, after a fashion. Whatever friendship there was between them had fallen apart during seventh year through a series of events that he hadn't thought about in years, and did not wish to relive, even in memory. He was fairly certain that she had not forgiven him. He was probably free to tell her the true story after all these years, but hoped that he'd never have to.
He tried to put those memories aside as he rose, forcing himself to smile, and said, "Hullo, Ariadne. It's been a long time."
Although she was still thin and angular, her once-freckled face had changed in the years since school, becoming weatherbeaten and craggy. Her hair, brown streaked with blond, was no longer the wild mess it had been, but hidden discreetly under her hat with no hint of disorder. The blue eyes now regarding him with a piercing stare were the same, however, and about as friendly as the last time he'd seen her.
"Lupin, I didn't know that you'd be-" Turning to Dumbledore, she murmured in confusion, "You didn't tell me that this... that he was the one you spoke of."
"Let the past be forgotten, Ariadne," Dumbledore said in a surprisingly forceful tone as he stepped between them. "We must all stand together in times such as these. Remus possesses unique talents, as I shall explain presently."
She glared at Remus while listening to Dumbledore, her arms crossed and her lips set tightly in a thin line. With a nod to the old wizard, she took her seat. From the table, Naughton had watched this interchange closely, although his stony face gave no hint of a reaction. Remus sat down as well, more certain than ever that this committee would have none of him.
Tension in the room was diffused slightly when MacDermott came in with drinks and there was the usual fussing over who would have what. Ariadne wanted tea and a glass of sherry, while Naughton contented himself with the large snifter of dark amber liquid set in front of him.
"Let's get on with this, Dumbledore," Naughton said as he set down his glass forcefully, causing the drink to slosh violently. "You've dragged me away from the Ministry--and you know what a state it's in these days--without a sufficient explanation. I didn't even realize that I sat on this committee until you showed up in my office this morning."
"The committee has not met in some time," replied Dumbledore, unruffled by the gruff manner, "and you are new to the job. Considering the fate of your predecessor... well, I hardly think that he had time to explain all the duties to you."
"Yes, yes," he growled, waving a hand dismissively, "but where is Abernethy? Can't we get started without him?"
Remus felt a chill on his legs, in spite of the heat from the fire, and looked down to see the ghost poking its head out from under the chair. He looked up quickly to see if any of the others had noticed. Dumbledore nodded pleasantly in his direction, but gave no clue as to whether he could see the apparition.
"Well, laddie, about time to show them what you can do, eh?" chuckled the ghost softly. "But I think you'll be needing some help."
Oh, no," Remus whispered, "I'm sure that we can get along fine without--" But the ghost vanished and at the same time the candles in the room spluttered and then flared brilliantly. Remus didn't think that things could get much worse, but he'd forgotten about the unique talents that Hamish possessed.
As the candles flickered, Naughton cast suspicious glances around the room. "See here, Dumbledore," he said as he rapped on the table with his knuckles, "have any of the usual security measures been taken? The room could be crawling with Dark creatures! We could be vulnerable to any manner of attack, including by the Dark Lord. You should have allowed me to bring some of my staff."
Dumbledore raised a hand to silence the Magical Law Enforcement chief, while giving a slight nod to Remus.
"In the current state of affairs, I wish to involve as few people in the Ministry as possible," said the old wizard gravely. "We have returned to the old, dark days of suspicion in which we scarcely know whom to trust. I have asked Remus to take responsibility for security and I believe you will find the arrangements more than adequate."
Remus rose, subjected to Naughton's withering glare, and said, "The room has been checked for Dark creatures and wards have been set. I will activate them whenever the committee wishes."
"Let's see these wards," Naughton commanded, standing up and pounding the table.
"But you are still missing a member of the committee," Remus said with a glance toward Dumbledore.
"Please proceed, Remus," said the old wizard mildly. "The Abernethy will make his presence known when he is ready."
Remus raised his wand, pointing to the four corners of the room in turn. Each glowed briefly with a soft blue light, like the final hue of sunset in a cloudless sky or the color of flax in full sunlight, showing him that the wards were ready to be activated.
Earlier, Remus had painstakingly created the spells now woven into the very walls of the room that, when fully activated, would prevent the passage of any and all magical creatures. On the nights of the full moon, these wards had served Remus well, making him feel secure that the wolf could not get out, nor could anyone else get in. It was this particular spell that Dumbledore had asked him to create here in the parlor.
A unique word of command was also worked into the spell so that only the wizard who created it could activate and deactivate the wards, making it difficult for another wizard to break. Remus turned away from the others, raised his wand, and whispered, "Dog Star." Immediately the room was filled with the peculiar blue light that did not appear to come from anywhere in particular, but shone from every point in space at the same time. The light flared and died in the time it took Remus to turn and face the committee members. A faint blue glow remained on the walls, but it quickly vanished as well.
Dumbledore seemed pleased, while Ariadne merely raised an eyebrow at him. Naughton took his own wand and jabbed it at various points in the room, sending jets of orange-red sparks flying at the walls and ceiling. None of his attempts to penetrate the magical fence were successful and he gave up after several grim minutes of trying.
"These will do," Naughton said brusquely, but his eyes lingered on Remus, narrowing with grudging respect and blatant curiosity.
There followed a moment of silence in which all present seemed to be waiting for someone else to speak first. In the end, the stillness was broken not by a word, but by rattling noises from one of the windows. Heads turned as the rattling became pounding accompanied by faint shouts.
"Open a portal, please," said Dumbledore calmly to Remus, gesturing fluidly toward the red curtains hanging over the window.
Once the wards were set, it was possible to create an opening in the fabric of the spell for a brief period of time and this Remus did by pointing his wand at the window and murmuring the word of command. A glowing blue rectangle pulsed to life and vanished, letting in--as Remus had feared--the ghost. Maybe Dumbledore was daft after all.
Hamish winked at Remus as he flew past, a broad grin on his luminescent white face. He then turned his attention to the committee. Dumbledore and Ariadne did not seem surprised to see him in the least, but Naughton was working up to a spluttering outrage.
The ghost beat him to the punch, however. "Dumbledore, what is the bloody meaning of this?" it raged. "You've gone and made a wall that'll stop even myself and there are not many wizards that can do such a thing."
"May I present Hamish Abernethy," Dumbledore said to the fuming Naughton, "the last surviving member of Clan Abernethy of Strathdraich."
"Time is being wasted, lady and gentlemen," Hamish said gruffly, in unrestrained imitation of Naughton's bluster. The ghost winked at Remus once more and took a seat at the table, or at least floated close to the chair. "Pour out a wee dram and let's get on with it."
Remus smiled and sat down, stretching his legs in front of the fire and relaxing for the first time all day. This promised to be a very interesting meeting.
~~~~~~
Thanks to Dave, Dorothy and Mio for beta-reading.
Apologies to my friend Dr. Ferguson-Smith: I borrowed your surname for this story because I've always liked the sound of it, and not because I believe that you bear the slightest resemblance to the character of Ariadne.
Note that this story was begun before Goblet of Fire came out. Certain inconsistencies remain and there's not much I can do about them. I hope that the story can be enjoyed in spite of them. There's lots more of 'Dragon's Glen' to come, but when it will get written, I cannot say. Other non-fanfiction writing projects tug at me, too.
In the meantime, go read 'Call of the Wild' or 'Boys' Own Camping Adventure.'
~ CLS (Revised 3/9/01)
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction based on characters created and owned by J K Rowling. No infringement of copyright is intended; if challenged in court, I will plead insanity.