North Wind Rising
Notes: HAHA! I have returned, better than ever! BWAHAHAHA! Much THANKS to everyone who reviewed!! Here's that new chapter that I've been dallying on!
To malu: I appreciate the recommendation! But I'm not making any guarantees, and I never recalled saying that this story was to be H/Hr! *evil laughter* I had never given this couple a thought when I first began this story, but now that you mention it, I've begun to consider some possibilities, and it'd certainly add a kick to what Stripes has got planned! But, yeah, I can see where you're coming from: I did make Herm a main character. Because she is! She's going to be Harry's first friend in Hogwarts!! (Have I said too much? Well, it's all in this chapter, I think! ^^;)
If you can believe it, I didn't want to end this installment where it is right now, but I felt that without that last part it was a little on the short side, and I really had no place else to put it anyway, so…I stuck it in, and hopefully it won't bug the readers as much as it bugs me. XD
To ears91, richelle, Riyo, and the maniac (you know who you are!!! XD), much thanks again! Keep it up!!
Just a heads-up: there's going to be more cursin' in the next few chapters, so consider yourself warned if you aren't very comfortable with swears. (I hear gasps!) Yes, Stripes has most of chapter 4 written, but I shan't post it until I've got number five down pat, but fear not! It shall not be a very long wait! (I hope!)
Anyhoo. Enjoy!!
Disclaimer: Yeah. Alright. I know I don't own it. No doubt you do too.
Chapter Three: The New Acquaintances
Harry put the rake down and wiped his brow.
Gardening was hard work.
He walked over to the makeshift table he had constructed out of a large box, by the back door, and poured himself a cup of lemonade. He popped a biscuit into his mouth and surveyed his morning's work.
The garden was fine, much better than it had been yesterday, but the soil looked a bit too dry and that maple tree was certainly not growing as well as Harry would've liked. He'd have to give it a good spray later, the bark was too brittle.
The hot noon sun beat down on his back as Harry reached down for the rake again and headed towards another shrub of weeds.
Back to work, Harry, you have a schedule to keep.
Hermione crossed her arms as she walked. What an Awful day it'd been. Awful with a capital A.
The children would simply not be quiet; the entire classroom was up to the brim with rumours of the New Stranger in Town. It had been impossible to get them to concentrate on their schoolwork. Of course that Millicent was no help, always acting snooty and starting fights between the richer kids and the poorer. Hermione had had to give up her lunch hour to watch over Christopher and Miguel. And this sparked up even more hyperactivity, so Hermione had ended up assigning bucket loads of homework to make up for the wasted day, and naturally the children would go complain to their parents, and it was her ass on the line again.
(Ha! The mayor couldn't scold her for cursing if he didn't know she was doing it!)
And what ridiculous rumours that were flying about, too!
Eyes of glittering jewels indeed. As if anyone could have gemstones for eyeballs. And she was certain that the newcomer wasn't a distant relation of Hagrid's, though she hardly knew anything about him. The King of Thieves? A Tsar of Russia?? The whole town was just a pot steaming with outrageous lies.
Miss Granger was not in the best mood.
She had woken up late that morning, her hair refused to behave – it chose to frizz up even more than usual – she had forgotten to pack a lunch, not that it mattered anyway, the schoolhouse door was going to fall off its hinges if it was slammed again, and those Creevey brothers would simply not listen to reason!
Spy on the Stranger? How ludicrous! The boys were already in enough trouble as it was to try and publish an article in the town newspaper about a complicated theory involving homework and spinach.
Hermione kicked a large stone hard with the tip of her boot and watched it fly over a fence.
"Ow!"
"Oh my goodness!" Hermione rushed over to the sound of dismay and found a young man kneeling in the dirt, one hand holding a trowel and the other rubbing the back of his head.
"Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to – I didn't know you where down there, I couldn't see you!" Hermione's string of apologies was interrupted.
"It's quite alright, miss," the man said as he stood, "just gave me a jolt, that's all." He smiled at her.
Hermione suppressed a squeak that bubbled up on her throat.
This was the Stranger? He certainly was nothing she had been not-really-but-unintentionally-expecting. His eyes weren't made of gems, but they were damn well a good second best. They shone like two studded emeralds, outlined by thick black lashes that matched his messy hair. The glasses perched on his nose must be magnifying the colour, because no one could have irises with vibrancy like those ones.
"Miss?"
Hermione blushed. She hadn't realized that she'd been staring.
"Sorry, I drifted off. Had a very tiring day," she said.
The Stranger shot her a sympathetic look as he took in the dark rings around her eyes and her hurriedly-brushed hair. "Say no more," he exclaimed. He held up a finger. "Stay right there. I've got just what you need." And dashed off into his house.
Hermione was intrigued. What an odd person. Energetic and friendly were her first impressions, which was a plus. And he seemed to be doing a good job on the backyard too.
She didn't have tome to continue her thoughts as the Stranger suddenly reappeared. He crossed the grass and handed her a cookie wrapped in a napkin and three daisies tied with a yellow ribbon.
Hermione stared.
"Go on, take them," the Stranger urged. "They'll make you feel better, I promise."
Hermione couldn't resist. She reached out and accepted her gifts, but had no clue what she did to receive them.
"Thank you, but I really don't deserve this…I kicked a stone at your head, after all," she said, feeling a slight bit awkward.
"Don't worry about it. It was no trouble. I'm glad to be of help; you've had an exhausting day, from what I see."
Hermione nodded.
The stranger smiled. "The name's Harry."
Hermione bit into her cookie, and couldn't help but grin back. She was feeling better already. "Hermione Granger."
Harry put the vase down and slumped into a nearby chair.
"Whoo…tiring."
Hermione sighed into her teacup from beside him.
"I know what you mean. Moving in is no easy job. I'm surprised that you've done so much so quickly without anybody's help."
Harry smiled. "I've had the experience, I suppose."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother to question further when Harry did not elaborate.
The two friends looked around at Harry's newly renovated store.
It had taken them the better part of the weekend, but they had managed to get the basic units down and firm, some decorations up, and gotten all of the old appliances working again.
All that was left to do was to fill up the store with cookies and cakes and flowers and paintings on the wall.
Really, the whole thing was working remarkably well.
When Hermione had first volunteered to help her new friend set up his house, she thought all she'd had to do was put this chair in that corner; put that lamp on this table, and so on and so forth.
Harry had already managed most of those dull and back breaking tasks, and so Hermione instead found herself involved in activities involving rags, sponges, mops, and the occasional paintbrush.
It really was worth it. Despite all the blisters and headaches and dropped furniture, the room did have a very appealing quality to it. Once Harry started stocking up his supplies and had the room feeling used again (as it hadn't been, in more than a while), she doubted that a single person would be able to resist the Now Open sign that would be put up on the bay windows in a few weeks.
She really couldn't wait until Ron got home.
Helpless schoolmistress indeed, Hermione scoffed. She showed him.
"Here."
Hermione started at the steaming cup of golden brown liquid that was suddenly placed in her hands. The rich smell rose slowly in the air, wafting its aroma all around her, and Hermione took a deep whiff, and sighed.
"Ooh, hot chocolate…"
Harry smiled. "I thought you'd like it. I added a bit of coffee too, just to perk you up."
Hermione took a sip and let the sweet taste warm her tongue.
"Harry, you are a saint."
Harry grinned jokingly. "I'm glad you've finally realized; it took you long enough."
Hermione dumped her books onto Harry's counter and grabbed a chocolate biscuit. It took her three seconds to snarf it down.
"Hungry much?" Harry's soothing voice drifted from the kitchen.
"Ergh, I had to skip lunch, the Creevey boys got another set of detentions. I swear, they are the most mischievous little horrors ever to grace the Earth." Hermione snapped, taking another two cookies.
"Then by all means, help yourself," Harry laughed, knowing full well that the dish was already empty.
When he entered his sitting room, Hermione had already spread out three textbooks and was scribbling furiously onto a set of papers with red ink.
"You should use green." Harry remarked over her shoulder.
Hermione's hand paused. "I beg your pardon?"
Harry slung his rag over his shoulder and replaced the crumb-less plate on his counter with one filled with éclairs.
"I said why don't you use green ink? It's a lot more soothing on the nerves, and I'm sure no student appreciates getting a test back with angry red marks all over their hard work." He raised an eyebrow.
The school teacher flushed.
"Well, that's an idea, I suppose," she admitted.
"Yes, I like to think so. I'm sure even purple or blue ink would help relieve stressed minds of children, not to mention yours."
Hermione made a note on the edge of a scrap piece of paper, and asked Harry something that had been on her mind for a while.
"So, have you decided on a name yet?"
"On the shop? As a matter of fact," Harry produced a large slab of polished wood lying next to the wall and flipped it over, "I have."
On it, The Phoenix Feather was gracefully carved out of the grain, with swirling curlicues framing all around, and a single golden feather painted on the right side. The overall effect was very pleasing, and the shining yellow of the feather make the darkened font stand out bolder.
"It's gorgeous, Harry!"
Harry shrugged. "It's not bad."
Hermione's eyes shone as she took in the sign. It was so artistically fashioned…it seemed like something right out of a fairy tale book. But what a cheesy name!
She said as much. "What a cheesy name, Harry! The sign is lovely, but The Phoenix Feather?"
Harry's éclair was halfway in his mouth. "Call me a sucker for the arts then."
"What put this title into you head?"
"I dunno…" Harry murmured, licking his fingers. "Just an old childhood memory, I suppose."
~
"Harry, what are you doing?"
"Flying!"
"You are standing quite firmly on the ground, Harry. Both feet, I see."
"Well, I can pretend, can't I?"
A chuckle.
"Come over here, Harry. And bring your feather with you."
Harry caught his blue jay feather from the air and toddled over to Albus as quickly as his little feet could.
Albus lifted the child and placed him on his lap.
"Look, Albus, it's a blue feather! I found it this morning! It can fly!"
Albus Dumbledore plucked the offered object from the grasp of six-year-old hands.
"Can people fly, Albus?" Little Harry asked, green eyes opening wide.
Albus Dumbledore sighed, and stroked his white beard.
"Well, yes and no, Harry," he said finally.
"Oh, I see," Harry replied, not at all doing so.
His guardian laughed. "Tell me, Harry, do you believe in Phoenixes?"
Harry scrunched up his nose. "No, I saw one once in Dudley's fairy tale book and I asked Aunt Petunia why the bird was on fire and she said it was a phoenix and never to mention this again because no such bird existed, then Uncle Vernon threw me into my cupboard for saying in-ina-inpro'piate things."
"Ah."
"Don't you get it Albus?" Harry scolded, wagging his finger at twinkling blue eyes. "Phoenixeses are magic stuff and there's no such thing as magic."
"No such thing as magic?" Albus peered over his funny-shaped glasses. "Why, everything in the world is magic!"
"Naw," Harry said, fiddling with his buttons. "I'd have noticed by now, if it were real, I'm over six whole years old! Not much gets by me these days!"
Albus Dumbledore ruffled Harry's mop of hair affectionately.
"Harry, if you don't believe in magic, then how are you ever going to experience it?"
"Oh yeah? If magic's so real, why don't you prove it?"
The challenge acknowledged.
"Alright," Albus said, "I will."
He blew Harry's blue jay feather—white at the tip, dark at the edges—up in the air, and waved his hand around it, causing it to twirl…
It begun at the roots. A ever-so-slight change in colour, so little that you were sure it was just a trick of the sunlight, then the intensity would creep out, slowly enveloping the blue; the more yellow that seeped in, the longer the feather seemed to stretch, and the bigger Harry's eyes got, until he could open them no more so he dropped his jaw instead; and when the feather drifted down – down, landing softly in Harry's outstretched hand, all the old blue was gone, instead it was a larger, lighter feather, that was shining gold and sparkled a warm red hue.
"Wow," Harry breathed.
Albus was silent, but his eyes were shining merrily.
"That, Harry," he murmured to the young boy, "is magic." He pointed to the feather, still light as air at Harry's fingertips. "And that, is a Phoenix feather."
~
Harry sighed. His eyes were glazed over and a whimsical smile played his lips.
Hermione gave him the most curious look.
Draco paused as his right foot landed on the cobblestones.
Should he?
Would it be worth the trouble?
Draco looked at his gold watch and tapped his foot, all the body signals a person would be making if they were waiting for someone. Draco was good at acting.
People passed him by on the street, not really noticing him, and if they did they were wise to keep their distance, because the scowl on the blonde's face seemed very real. And it was best not to mess with the Mayor's Son.
Ah, but the scowl on Draco Malfoy's face was, in fact, real. He was not in a good mood, this young man, because the fact was that he had been itching all day. There was one major thing wrong with that statement: Malfoys do not itch. The second: suppose under the circumstances there was a legitimate itch for a Malfoy to have, under no influence was he (or she) to scratch it. In public.
The worst part was it wasn't one of those simple physical itches too, where a few good swipes with nails would cure you of the ailment; this was a nagging itch, festering away at the back of Draco's mind, annoying him, taunting him, begging him to relieve it.
He was, he has realized to his disgust a while ago, curious.
Bah. Curiosity was not something that became a Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was curious, and the curiosity was eating him alive.
As a young child Draco had never wondered about things; they were usually just presented to him. This happened because of this, which happened due to that, and money controlled the world, and Daddy controlled money.
If he ever did perchance want an answer, his father would tell him the exact answer, not more, not less. And as Draco grew older he learned of more and more things from his books and about how useless and stupid it is to ask about things if you knew they were not relevant, and if you just were patient, every would clear itself in the end.
Naturally, being raised to be generally uninterested in everything brought Draco great hardship now, when all of the sudden he did find himself curious, and his father had just recently told him that the things he wanted to know affected him in no way whatsoever, and therefore Draco had no need to ask further.
He wanted to rip out all the questions and wonderings he felt inside his head, drag his fingers through them, and chuck them away to rot so they'd never bother the Mayor's Son again and life would go back to normal.
But –
I wonder how old he is.
Does he have white hair?
Is he fat?
Is he shrewd?
Would he be easy to walk over?
Is he a she?
What is he selling?
Why did he come to Hogwarts?
And the list went on.
Draco sniffed haughtily and decided to take the risk. So what if he was curious, and achingly so, to know more about the Stranger that had recently arrived into his town and set up a foreign shop? Draco Malfoy couldn't care less if he found out. He wouldn't care less.
So why was it that his feet were propelling him forward at a brisk speed, and stopping right under a rickety old building with giant wooden doors?
Look up, idiot.
Draco looked up.
The Phoenix Feather, eh?
And what have we here? Flowers, chocolates, biscuits, colourful wrappings in the display window. It did smell rather good.
In fact…maybe…
Well, the negative was that it had already been infected with Granger germs. That ticked him off more due to the fact that the school teacher had actually been in the shop than due to Draco being too good to socialize with the general working population of Hogwarts.
Draco debated whether to go in the new shop or not. On one hand, his father would be really angry with him, he'd never be able to leave then house again, and perhaps some money would be cut off his account. Damn. On the plus side, Draco would get something to eat. And chocolate was good.
Was it worth it?
The shop was pulsing with mystery, Draco mused. It was oozing with all the things in life that Draco had been brought up to disregard, like the feeling of a sweet candy on your parched tongue, and the comfort of old friends who'd recognize your footfalls, and the simple joys of being welcomed into a place without people whispering behind your back about why you were there. The shop in front of him promised all that, and more. Draco could tell. He was practically hypnotized by the aroma of chocolates already.
If Draco squinted his eyes a bit more, he could see the inside of the store, of its wooden colour, and the various colourful things that hung on the walks and adorned the countertops, too fuzzily displayed through the glass for a viewer to see what they were. You'd have to go in to see what they were.
Draco Malfoy wanted to go into the shop. Father never let him do anything these days. It was either study this or study that, or learn from this or disapprove of that – be a proper Malfoy, Draco, so you can make your family proud.
Draco was tired of it all. He wanted a change. A different perspective to view the world from. And the first step? He wanted to visit this shop that didn't have its door locked, with the smell of sweets and beckoning perfume, with that air of melancholy that practically screamed "Come inside! You need to see what mysteries await you! Open the door!!"
But Draco could not. Not yet.
He was a Malfoy.
Malfoys were brought up, as his father had told him many times throughout the course of his life, Malfoys were brought up the best way that anyone on Earth could possibly wish to be brought up, with wealth and power and brains and an attractive appearance, and they learnt of dignity, and influence, and getting ahead in life, but most of all: control!
Malfoys do not give into temptation. Temptation leads to weakness which results in emotions which creates mistakes which will bring about failure and humiliation.
Those were two words you'd never, ever use to describe Draco Malfoy.
Inside, green eyes narrowed slightly as they watched the head of perfect blonde hair shake ever so slowly, and bob slowly away from view and down the street. It had been the third time this week.
Harry wondered why his visitor, the one with the longing, caged look in his eyes, the one who looked like the Mayor of Hogwarts, Diagon, why he would always stand by the door, lift his fingers to touch the handle, but never push it open. Harry didn't lock his doors during the day…
Was he waiting for the store to open?
He was almost finished, as it was. The flowers were blooming beautifully; his oven was working fine, and most everything was clean enough to eat off of. But Harry had noticed the boy outside watching Hermione once, when she bustled into his store, and he saw the blonde freeze in his tracks, and he saw the look of jealousy that flitted over his face for only an instant before it was gone again.
But no matter. Harry has things to do. Less than a week to go and the Phoenix Feather would be ready.
"Look, look! There he is!"
"Oh no—"
"Is it him? Can you see his eyes?"
"It is! Quick! Grab him!!"
"Aug – no, wait – stop! Hey!! No!!"
"Shut up, you monst—"
"I'M NOT A MONSTER!!"
"LOOK! What did I tell you? I told you, and no one believed me at first! But see! I was right!!"
"Oh dear God…"
"They're…his eyes…"
"NO! Let me go!! LET GO!!"
"Hold still, boy, you're only hurting yourself further."
"NO!! STOP IT! IT BURNS!!"
--
And the flames were so hot; he couldn't even feel himself bleeding. He couldn't hear himself screaming, and the boards – thick wood – slamming down and down and – ohGodpleasestopit – his ribs were broken, and his mouth was raw and – it hurts it hurts it hurts stop stop stop – and the voices: cruel and taunting – why were they laughing? Couldn't they see he was hurting? STOPSTOPSTOP!! IT HURTS!!
--
Sneering, "You're a freak" –
Jeering, "Get out of our town," –
Yelling, "You're the spawn of Satan himself!"
- NO HE WASN'T -
"Don't deny it! We've seen you do your tricks!! Keep that sort of witchery off of our land, you got that?" –
"Please, someone, kill him now, I can't stand to look at him further!" –
And oh God, he heard the children crying…
Don't cry, oh please…
PLEASE, don't do that – stop – please –
Harry screwed his eyes shut against the pain.
--
"What? What's – happening? AUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHH!!!"
"Don't – run!! Now!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEHHHHHHHH!!!"
And a thousand of their voices, built up in their crescendo, their echoes rising up towards the heavens.
--
The screams jolted Harry awake.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Harry gasped and choked, sitting up – take a deep breath – look, you're safe, you're fine – it's alright – JUST – calm down – JUST CALM DOWN!!
He stared at the clock hanging on the way, its small pendulum waving back and forth, back and forth; Harry ran a hand through his hair, and it came back damp with sweat.
From fear.
Harry closed his eyes and tried to slow down his pulse.
It was so real…
DON'T cry…
Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock's constant rhythm told Harry that his heart was thumping very quickly and very irregularly.
Harry let out a long breath. He hadn't had a nightmare like that in a long time. His mind was still reeling…
He laid himself slowly back down, and buried his face in his pillows. Go to sleep, go to sleep, you've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow. Hermione is coming over, and she is going to help put the flowers into pots, and it'd be alright, because tomorrow is going to be sunny and a great day.
Harry shut his eyes, and hummed a quiet lullaby to himself. His voice was scratchy – had he been screaming?
He stayed awake the rest of the night.
---------
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