North Wind Rising
Notes: Ok! Here we go again! This chapter was actually finished in September (augh, I know!) and it has been sitting in my folder waiting to be proofread before stripes had the heart to post it. . Sorry for the delay Riyo-chan! If it wasn't for your constant, impatient demands, you might not be reading this now! Haha…stripes is very lazy and doesn't dedicate herself to her works as some very good authors do. Yikes.
Moving on. Hopefully, this will be the most boring chapter of the series, and I'm not sure that anyone would actually get through it without skimming several paragraphs (I know I would) but I had to establish some concrete roots into the ground before I let the plant blossom. (Look, another metaphor! And it actually makes sense this time! ß Ignore this, it's an inside joke…eheh…yeah, sorry.) So, read this and get it over with now, and you can not be confused later. Ok? Hope you like! And don't forget to comment and stuff!
Disclaimer: No, I don't own them. …yet.
Dedication: Ooh, fancy. Ahem.
Stripes has decided to dedicate this chapter to the lovely Star Girl, who goes under many aliases, and if not for her non-stop NOWNOWNOW's, this chapter would not be possible. I think. Anyways, just wanted to tell you that I appreciate the support!! *Hug* ^__________^
Chapter Two: The Mysterious Stranger.
Along the southeastern hill that stood unwavering besides Hogwarts, there was a smooth, curving valley, where one might choose to pass through in order to gain access to the main road leading towards the village.
It was in this valley that a hooded stranger was currently traveling; his cape billowing ahead of him, reaching for the air that he had not breathed yet, and the cloth was flapping and streaming so horribly that the stranger struggled to hold his trunk and bags firmly; the wind was so strong.
The hooded stranger was cloaked in black, so that he blended in perfectly with the shadows of the tall pine trees spread sparsely along the ground, also leaning with the force of the wind, and he stepped so quietly that even the crickets barely noticed his presence, and they continued to chirp. Their songs were lost within the howl of the wind.
The only thing that gave away the stranger's solid form was the occasional deep sigh emitted from his lungs, at which time a pure white bird would swoop down and fly alongside him, hooting softly, wings level with the stranger's covered head.
The stranger's shadow stretched out on the ground before him. The sun was rising… The stranger's grip on his belongings tightened, and he quickened his pace.
"Not much longer, eh, Hedwig?" He murmured.
The majestic owl hooted approvingly, and took off with a quick beat of her wings, and rose up to the lightening skies.
This one had been and exceptionally long journey, the person remembered, and there the entire time was the North Wind, pushing him on, surrounding him. The stranger could barely feel his back; because the wind had blown it so numb.
But now…
He was almost there.
The stranger raised his too-tired eyes to the canopy of the trees, eyeing the blue colour that trickled through the dark green.
The stranger sincerely hoped that this town would turn out better than the last one. His ribs still hurt when he took one too many breaths and there were still some faintly solid marks along his back, where the wooden handle had hit. He gulped. What would Albus think of him now? Whimpering about past things like a sniffling baby. The stranger gave a ragged sigh and winced. He had not yet fully recovered from the heavy blood loss yet, but hopefully he'd be able to make it to the town intact. The North Wind was behind him, after all.
He trusted the North Wind. When it called to him, it would beckon, and he would follow it like an old friend.
Because, when one got right down to it, there was no one else.
"What's been up with this wind, Tom?"
"Beats me, Stan. It'd be that El Nino comin' round again, I reckon. Whenever funny weather's a happenin', El Nino sure to be the cause of it."
A low whistle.
"Sure glad the streets ain't waterlogged, though, I'll tell ye. It'd make them rocks as slippery as banana peels, I'll tell you what."
"More tea?"
"Yeah, sure."
"So, I heard that—"
The door flew open, slamming against the stone wall. The wind's wild voice howled through the room. A person, wrapped in a thick cloak, holding bits of luggage stood there, his dark silhouette outlined by the muted morning light.
The figure stepped into the room, dumped his belongings to the ground and struggled to push the door close against the relentless wind.
The door finally clicked shut as the cloaked man leaned on it, and the cries of the wind died down the silence. The only sounds in the pub were now the heavy breathing of the newcomer.
Slowly, he straightened, and pulled off his hood. Emerald green eyes blinked groggily, adjusting to the dim candle light of the room's interior. The young man raised a hand to push his round glasses up, and ran his fingers through a head of messy black hair, attempting feebly to flatten it. Then he smiled, a friendly smile, and spoke.
"Good morning, I'm looking for a place to stay," he said softly. He had a gentle voice.
Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, shook his head to revive himself, and adopted a formal tone than regular customers were used to, the one that he saved for business matters.
"May I ask what size you'd be preferring, sir?"
The stranger put a finger to his chin. "Um, well, a fair sized one, I suppose. I want to open a shop on the main floor, see, but I need it to have enough space for sleeping quarters and things upstairs."
Tom thought for a moment, turning over possible houses in his head. One thing good about being a property manager in a small town was that there were not many places free, so he needn't look them up all the time.
"There are a couple suitable options, sir," the landlord murmured, as his inquirer made his was to a stool and sat gratefully on it, "is there a date you'd be needing your room by?"
"Well, today, if that's possible," was his sheepish answer.
Tom grinned. There was something distinctly charming about this boy – and he had to be a boy, for he barely looked a day over 18.
"No problem, no problem," Tom said. "Are you partial to any area in particular?"
"Er…I haven't really seen much of the town yet," the boy admitted. "But a place with strong windows and a sturdy door would be nice. And a garden."
Tom's eyebrows rose. What peculiar requests. He had been referring to areas, like near the river or the forest…but strong windows?
A sudden thought struck his mind.
"Ah! Young lad, I might have just the place for you!"
The boy's eyes lit with excitement, as the old bus driver beside him clucked softly.
"You'd not be thinkin' 'bout Hagrid's old spot, eh Tom?" He asked, draining the last drop of tea in his cup.
"Aye, that I am, Stan. I think it'd be perfect for our young sir here."
"Why then, what are we waiting for? May we go see it now?" The boy exclaimed.
"Now?" Both older men voiced at the same time.
"Sure! The sooner the better, I think. Unless it's too much trouble. But the wind is about to let up now!" The green eyed youth jumped off his stool gracefully and walked to his bags. He glanced over his shoulder at his bewildered audience. "Is it alright? Can we go?"
Stan smiled toothily, enjoying the kid's enthusiasm.
"Sure, boy! Hop on my bus, I'll drive you there myself!"
"Now Stan –"
"Aw, hush, Tom. I'll be fine. Got no customers right now anyways. You stay here and keep an eye on the Cauldron. We'll come back if young…" Stan looked pointedly at the guest.
"Oh. Harry. Name's Harry."
"Right. If Harry wants to sign the papers, we'll come back," and Harry nodded in agreement. "'Sides," Stan joked. "I'm a much better salesman than you ever were."
Tom snorted, but allowed his old friend's plan to carry forth despite the fact that Stan had retired from their partnership many years ago.
Harry waved goodbye as the two of them left the pub.
In a good five good minutes of riding Stan's rickety Knight Bus, they arrived at number 11, Gryffindor Square.
The building was located in the middle of a large plaza of buildings, with large shrubs of weeds on either side of the house, and smaller, well-kept homes a fair distance away. Down the street, the path opened up to a courtyard, and there was a beautiful fountain built in the centre, its water glistening in the sunshine.
'Hagrid's old place,' as Stan called it, was of generous proportions. A large set of oak doors was its opening and there was a great bay window, dirty from its lack of cleaning, to their right. It was easily two stories tall, and the roof overextended to the front steps, so someone could stand there comfortably in the rain and stay dry.
Stan slipped a key into the heavy padlock and pushed the doors open. Their entrance brought the creaking of floors and they were met with a barrage of dust. The sunlight shone through the spotty glass windows and illuminated the main area, revealing a half empty room with a few odd pieces of furniture lying around and a huge desk across the left side, anchored to the floor. There was a staircase behind a set of doors to the rear of the desk, and a small kitchen and dining room behind another. Harry was overjoyed. This place held lots of promise, he was sure.
"It's gorgeous," he told Stan. "It's so roomy and well built! Why would anybody want to move out of here? I'm surprised that no one has bought this place yet, it's been untouched for years!"
"T'is true, Harry," Stan replied. "It's a great house, and Hagrid loved it. He took good care of it when he resided here, and there used to be many flowers growin' in the garden."
"Then why did he leave?" Harry ran his fingers along the smooth mahogany desk, causing dust to fly in the air, dancing in the sunlight.
"Ah, that's a long story, son," Stan murmured distantly. "Hagrid was a top guy, no doubt about that. He loved them animals and was kind to everyone. But he…oh it's hard to describe…he was a bit – big, I guess, for a regular person."
"You mean he was fat?"
Stan laughed. "No! No, Hagrid was just big." At Harry's perplexed look, he explained. "He was nearly as tall as two grown men and three times as wide, I'm sure. A giant, if you will, Harry - though I mean not a speck of offense by it."
Harry frowned. Stan had to be exaggerating. But then, as he glanced upon the large wooden door the two had pushed open to air out the vicinity, he couldn't be that far off. Harry rather thought he'd like to meet this Hagrid.
Stan was still talking, reviving up old history that was rarely ever mentioned in the little town so early in the morning. His eyes held a far away look. "…the mayor didn't like 'im, no sir. Thought Hagrid was a freak and monster, too dangerous for his precious Hogwarts. Now Hagrid never harmed a fly, I say, but the mayor didn't listen to none of that. In church the following Sunday, Father Weasley mentioned of demons walking amongst us, bearing signs of evil, the size of ogres. And, well, after that, the town was so scared that Hagrid had no company t'all, 'cept for me an' Tom."
Harry ventured up the stairs, leaving his reminiscing companion, but still keeping one ear on Tom's voice. The second floor was a bit smaller than the first, but it had a plush queen-sized bed covered in a white cloth and a nice balcony in the bedroom, and the bathroom was certainly bigger than Harry was used to. There were two smaller rooms too, empty, save for a large sofa and armchair, also adorning white sheets, which Harry assumed that Hagrid couldn't sell when he moved.
"…caused a right old fuss, and it was clearly the mayor's fault, in my opinion, but the town was too damned scared to oppose him, is what. Idiots, all of 'em, but don't let the mayor hear about what I'm saying, I haven't thought 'bout all this seriously until now, I'm getting too old, or maybe it's because of that influence of that Miss Granger, nice lass. Oh, where was I? Yes, and to skip all the legal mumbo jumbo that the mayor accused Hagrid of, in the end, the poor bloke got evicted from his house."
Harry returned to Stan's side. "Hagrid got kicked off his own property?"
"Aye, sir," Stan said grimly. "We were sorry to see him go, but after the mayor's sting, he couldn't get a decent place anywhere else in town, so he had to pack up and leave. 'Course, then, everyone else was too frightened to live where an 'abominable ogre' used to dwell, so the place has been without human contact ever since. Been close to two decades now, I reckon. Me and Tom sometimes drop by to see how the old place is doin', but it needs an everyday touch, I say."
Stan sighed.
"So!" He said, brightening up. "How d'ye like it?"
Harry grinned. "I like it a lot. I don't mind it being Hagrid's place, he seemed a good person."
Stan's eyes were grave. "Aye, he was, Harry. But Hogwarts isn't run that way, y'see. And I must warn you: if you take this house, people'll be talking, mark my words. You'd be watched. It'd be in your best interest to be careful living here, son."
Harry looked thoughtful as he surveyed his surrounding once again. "It's fine," he concluded, after a while. "I think I can handle it. I'll take the house."
Stan's eyebrows shot up. "Well! Eager, aren't we? D'you even know how much a place like this costs, lad?"
"Well, it can't be that expensive, can it?" Harry said. "It's not been occupied for twenty years and no one has ever wanted to buy it. I think I can afford it."
Stan nodded approvingly. "You're a bright boy, Harry. Come on then, let's go surprise Tom. He'd lost faith in the place years ago."
Still chatting amiably, Stan and Harry left Hagrid's old place and closed the doors behind them, leaving the house in its tranquil old silence once more. But somehow, if a villager passing by happened to notice and look inside the dusty interior, shrouded with dark shadows and glistening cobwebs, perhaps they'd notice that the place looked a bit brighter.
"Here we are, Harry. Not too long, I would hope." Tom slid a few sheets of tanned paper over the counter, where Harry picked them up and looked them over.
As Harry took out a pen and began signing the legal forms, Tom and Stan had a chat about the remarkable weather lately. It had been windy - and at this time of year, too - with hardly a shred of sunlight to be seen through the clouds. Tom's aged back couldn't much more of these unseasoned surprises. This coming afternoon, though, Stan noticed, the skies were clearing up, and through it all, not a speck of moisture! It was a right strange situation, to be sure. The El Nino must be hitting worse than Tom thought. April's always had this sort of wacky weather, Stan mused. Something to do with how the world turns. Surely Tom had some more scones?
Neither men noticed Harry's secret smile. A few more minutes passed and the boy handed his papers back to the landlord.
"Oy, all done already Harry? You're a quick lad," Tom took the papers and skimmed it.
"Harry, you've left an awful lot of stuff blank!" Tom noticed, surprised. "You've got nothing written under 'surname' and nothing t'all about parental guardianship!"
"Oh, well, I don't really know my last name." Harry said.
"Don't know your last name! By golly," Stan nearly shouted. "Who in the wise world raised ye?"
"Oh, well, I was an orphan, you know, and was adopted by a man named Dumbledore. He was pretty old, to tell the truth, and died when I was thirteen. I've sort of been just traveling the world ever since. He left me a good lot of inheritance money, so I've always thought that I might as well enjoy it."
Stan blinked. The kid just got more interesting by the second.
Tom cleared his throat. "So no last name then? Wouldn't it be Dumdoor—Dundle…" He stopped, looking embarrassed.
"Dumbledore," Harry reiterated, smiling. "No, the orphanage didn't know my last name and my previous family didn't want me to take theirs, and Albus didn't feel it proper to give me a new name, thought it was unfair to me, so…I guess I've just been Harry my whole life."
"You're mighty independent for an eighteen-year-old," Stan cocked an eyebrow and Harry blushed.
"Well, traveling isn't at all as easy as I first pictured it to be," he admitted, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head.
"Ah, that'd be too true, young master," Tom acknowledged. "I remember once, when me and Stan were fifteen, ah…that was a long while ago, I can tell you, well, we were in the mood for some adventuring that summer…"
The story progressed, Stan getting slightly flustered at the memory of his young self taking so many silly risks, and Harry enjoying the tale immensely.
The three shared lunch, Harry finished with the formalities, gave Tom his first payment, and by mid-afternoon walked out of the Leaky Cauldron with the deed to his new house on Gryffindor Square.
The sun was shining, and Harry smiled as he realized that the wind had diminished to a gentle breeze.
Word spread quickly, by teatime nearly half the town had heard that a Stranger, a Young Boy, had purchased Hagrid's old place.
Lucius Malfoy walked along the paved streets, nodding to passing people and acknowledging quick greetings with those he knew better.
He had left his elegantly furnished office a bit earlier than usual today. He had heard from his Chief Advisor at lunch that a new villager had arrived overnight, and had purchased the house where the giant used to dwell. Lucius Malfoy was more annoyed by this news that he had let show. He had been hoping to demolish the place, and maybe set up another schoolhouse in its place. Goodness knows that the current one was getting nowhere.
His lips curled into a smirk as he remembered the spirited eyes of one Miss Hermione Granger as he had once hinted that she might be on the edge of losing her job.
But that wasn't important right now.
He wanted to visit the Stranger who had sparked so much controversy in his little town.
And perhaps, if need be, he'd have to be driven out of it by the week's end. After all, no one lived in Hogwarts without the mayor's approval.
Harry heard a knock on his door. Visitors already?
"Come in!" he shouted, hands being occupied with a few chairs he had purchased a few hours ago.
He put the chairs down and pushed them into a neat line near the wall. Harry heard the clipping tones of leather shoes on his hardwood floor, along with the light tapping of a cane.
When he straightened, he smiled at his greeter.
Dressed in an expensive and lavishly bordered suit with a matching cape, the mayor's image was nothing to sneer at. Every orifice on the man seemed to demand your attention and respect, from his silver, silk tie to his long, blonde hair to his white gloved hands, the left one resting on the head of a gleaming, jet black staff.
"You must be the man I've heard so much about," the mayor drawled slowly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucius Malfoy, the mayor of Hogwarts."
Harry extended his hand and the mayor took it. He had a firm grip. This man was not to be taken lightly.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mayor. M'name's Harry, just arrived here early this morning."
"Yes, so I can see," cold eyes flitted up briefly to the mass of untidy hair that rested on Harry's head. Harry repressed the urge to run his hand through it.
"Tell me, Harry, how long are you expecting to stay here in Hogwarts? Are you hoping to make it your permanent home?" The mayor asked.
"Ah, well, that's a bit too far off in the future for my thinking," Harry answered. "All I'm looking for is a few months, maybe a year. I like it here, it's pretty. But to say that I'll stay forever? Our young adolescent minds don't take to getting anchored down at places, as I'm sure you know, Mr. Malfoy. I've learned not to have too many expectations at once."
The mayor smirked. "Strong words, Mr. Harry. It is not wise to expect more than can be given. May I offer a bit of advice?"
"By all means."
Lucius raised an eyebrow. If he didn't know better, he'd think that this boy was mocking him. But his face was the picture of innocence. Was he giving this Harry more credit than he deserved?
"Hogwarts is a good town, Harry," the Mayor said. "It has clean air, clean streets, and clean people. I intend to keep it that way. It's much safer for my town if everyone can feel pure and protected. I do not take kindly to things dirtying it up. I can very easily and efficiently get rid of the source, if one can understand my meaning. I'd much rather not have to, you can imagine, but for the sake of the town, troublemakers shall not be tolerated."
Harry smiled. "It's good that I'm not one then."
Lucius smiled back, his lips widening, but the mirth not reaching his expression. "I am glad to hear that…Mr…"
"Just Harry, Mr. Mayor."
"Alright then, Just Harry. Take my advice to heart, attend church regularly and obey the laws. Follow these rules and I'm sure you'll fit right in here."
Harry's smile faded slightly. "Ah, well, about that…"
Lucius raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes?"
Harry coughed. "I, um, I don't go to church," he mumbled, looking down.
Lucius stood very still for a moment.
"Ah," he said at last.
"If you don't think I'm overstepping some boundaries, boy, might I ask what faith you uphold?" The Mayor asked stiffly.
"Ah, well, I'm not an atheist or nothin', Mr. Mayor," Harry blurted, feeling quite intimidated. "It's just that I've never had the chance to attend a church in my youth, and I've slipped into the habit of sleeping in on Sunday mornings. I don't really believe in a particular God, sir, if you understand, but I'm not at all opposed to the idea of it. I'm just used to being independent, I think. It's spoiled me. There's not really much more to it."
Lucius Malfoy was intrigued, yet not exactly pleased. What a statement to make! His lips thinned.
Harry was quick, "I hope that's alright?"
Lucius did not smile this time, and met Harry's green eyes. "Of course, Harry. We accept a diversity of people here. There should be no reason to worry."
Harry looked relieved.
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got other business to attend to. I'll see you around town, Harry." Lucius opened the door.
"Oh, yes. Are you sure you don't want to stay for a cup of tea or something?"
Lucius spoke with a note of finality. "No, thank you."
"Ah, too bad. Thanks a lot for dropping by, though. I appreciate it." Harry held the door open and leaned against it.
Lucius stepped onto the sidewalk and brushed of his sleeves. "Yes, it wasn't a problem."
He looked over his shoulder before he took his departure. "Oh, and Harry?"
"Yes, Mr. Mayor?"
"You'd better be careful around these parts. I know, as the Mayor, that most people look fine on the outside, but you'd be surprised at how dangerous they can truly be. Don't be a fool, boy. Good evening."
And with that, he swept off, without awaiting an answer, his cape billowing behind him, his cane tapping forcefully on the stone pavement.
Harry watched him go, an unreadable expression on his face. His green eyes shone.
"Yes, that's good advice, Mr. Malfoy. I'll be sure to remember it," he whispered to himself.
Harry went inside and locked the door.
Dusk came, and the orange sun sank slowly behind the western hills, in a grand display of orange and red.
The wind's song had ebbed off completely now, and the leaves were still.
In his new bedroom, Harry blew out the candles and settled down in his freshly washed sheets and closed his eyes, glasses resting on his beside table. His body ached all over and his mind was buzzing with a million thoughts at once. He hadn't gotten a good rest in over a week, and one more minute awake might bring his system into overload. This would be a long, tiring, well-earned sleep for him, and for the first time in a long time, Harry had no nightmares.