Chapter 2: The Long Night

Rising out of the tear drop valley, the track soon passed between the grasp of finger-like rocks before falling steadily down into lush green woodland. Here the Pindus Mountains, though still rearing up on either side, gave in to gently rolling foothills. Ancient beech and ash trees rose out of a soft undergrowth where many species of wild flowers, ferns and mosses grew. The track picked its way carefully downhill, following the course of a young stream, chattering away in a narrow channel between mossy banks. Several miles below the valley head this wooded land gave out into a wide area of tilled ground. The mountains arced out to surround this plain. At the centre, in a slight hollow, lay a village, wood smoke gently rising from its many chimneys. The houses were small, only one or two storied with red tiled roofs. Many were built from traditional dark timber, their sharp gables hiding small sash windows and patterned tiles. Set at the end of a small side street there stood the skeletal ruins of a small church. A single remaining arch rose from the ground where it looked over a small cemetery set behind high whitewashed walls.

This was the village of Ohridska, where the stream, now several feet wide after descending through the lush hills, wound its way between the houses. The sun still stood high in the south western sky, but the labourers returning from the fields signalled the afternoons close and the start of yet another idyllic summer evening. The village green, with the stream running through it was the focal point of the small community. Here stood the inn, and several small shops including the butchers and grocers. As the sun started to cast elongated shadows, people bustled about hurrying to finish their daily business. As they went to and fro they were wary of a certain feeling they associated with the valley not more than five miles away to the south.

In the very centre of the green where the earth rose up slightly there stood an ancient oak. Its roots had run rampant around the area, twisting and coiling in and out of the ground. In places they had formed rudimentary seats which had become the ideal place for the older villagers to meet and sit and talk with one another.

As the day drew to a close, two men could be found sitting, deep in conversation below the oak's spreading boughs. One had a full head of silvery hair complimented by a bristling moustache and a round face that bore deep lines where it had oftentimes cracked into laughter. The other was slightly younger with a face less troubled by the years, though his head was almost entirely bald.

"Yes I tell you" the grey haired man was saying "He passed through not two hours ago. I had just returned from my usual afternoon walk – you know the one, up past the Krasniki's place – I was heading past the church when out comes this stranger. Took me back he did, what with his strange get up and all"

"The church?" the younger man asked

"Yes, I think he had been wandering around the cemetery" the older man replied.

"Did you speak to him?" the younger man enquired

"Well, in a way I suppose I did. I said 'Good afternoon' to be polite and all, but the look he gave me back wasn't half queer. Had a sort of maniacal look in his eye, you know the look old Mother Istogu gets when Luan comes home late?"

The bald man nodded

"Well, that was the look in his eye. As though he had murder in mind, you know?"

"And what did he look like?"

"Well, he had this great big cloak on – it looked pretty travel-worn to me. His hair was black and looked in quite a state. But what really struck me were his eyes. He was wearing glasses, though they had seen better days, but behind them were these brilliant green eyes"

"Green you say?"

"Yes, bright green. The way the forest looks in the springtime. You know – full of youthful energy"

The two men sat in silence for a moment, thinking of their days as young lads, playing in the very woods that that stranger had disappeared off into only a few hours ago.

Slowly, the younger man came out of his dreams

"Anyway, what business did he have going off…that way?"

"I really don't know, it has been a long time since anyone went off towards…that place, and even longer since any…."

"…returned" his friend finished the sentence for him, nodding his head slowly.

The two friends exchanged knowing looks. As they went on to discuss more village gossip the younger man realised that there might be more to this mysterious stranger. His friend told him that yet again the bus from Korce (the villagers' only real contact with the rest of the world) had failed to appear. This was the fourth time in two weeks, and murmurings in the inn's common room told of strange happenings. There had been unexpected mudslides on the road and trees uprooted, thrown across the highway. The two men shook their heads, grumbling about the times they found themselves in. When they were youths, only the head of the village had journeyed to Korce and no-one had heard of tarmac roads.

As they talked the deep purple of late twilight stole across the ground.

"Anyway, look, it is getting late. I really ought to be getting back", the older man stood slowly, stretching his back as if unbending a stiff piece of wire. Picking up his stick that had been resting against the trunk of the tree, he walked slowly away from the green and into one of the now silent side streets.

The other man had remained and now sat staring vacantly at the stream drifting by just beyond his feet. Every so often his mouth formed words but no sound came out. His face was contorted as he furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

Even though it was now nearly midnight, and the sun had finally disappeared beyond the western hills, a faint twilight hung around the green. It was still the middle of summer, and one of the longest and hottest any of the villagers could remember. Soon enough the sun would be crawling back above the horizon to mark the beginning of yet another sweltering day. A thought crept briefly into the mans head, suggesting he go home, but he dismissed it as he felt the cool night breeze rustling in the leaves above him.

This is the night

He thought, determined to sit out and see what further events the hours of darkness had in store for the village of Ohridska.

***

Two hours passed with very little happening. There had been a heated argument in a house on the opposite side of the green, but the sounds of anger and rage had died down a good half hour ago. Endri, the old man, was still sitting on the root gazing up to the silent peaks beyond the sloping roofs of the village. The last time anyone had ventured up…that way, the night sky had been disturbed by arcing lights and strange sounds. It had looked somewhat like how his Norwegian cousin described the Aurora Borealis. Although, Endri thought, not even that empyreal phenomenon could rival the spectacle he had seen above Aquastilla. However, this night, there had been nothing - only the hooting of an owl in the upper branches of the oak had kept Endri from drifting off completely.

Maybe he won't return

Endri thought to himself. It certainly had been a long time since he had left the village. Even if his business was…delicate, he should easily have walked the five miles back down from the valley by now.

Unless something…happened

Endri thought this was very likely. Since the beginning of the summer a sense of dread had been growing amongst the villagers. Such a feeling had not been known for four years, even in this isolated part of the world. That time the villagers' worst suspicions had been confirmed when the body of a young woman had been found in a shallow grave just up the track towards the valley. She was from England and had travelled to Albania for her summer holiday. Staying at the inn for a couple of day's rest bite, she had quickly made a good impression on the locals. She was in her middle ages and had a curious habit of forgetting things almost immediately, especially when it came to her occupation. Despite this she was well-liked and so it was with great sadness that the villagers had carried her down to the village and given the body a decent burial. She now rested in peace in the churchyard.

Months after the lingering horror had disappeared, rumour came back to them that a sorcerer of some sort had been hiding out in the valley. Apparently he had moved on to England, or so the rumours told.

For Endri it was too much of a coincidence that this sense of dread had returned, closely followed by a mysterious stranger in odd get-up? Had he gone up the track to meet the same fate as had befallen that poor woman?

***

Another half hour had passed and there was now a definite lightness tainting the eastern sky. Endri, his insides engaged in harsh debate through the night, had finally made his mind up to head up the track towards Aquastilla and see if he could find any trace of the stranger.

As the light gradually increased Endri's spirits rose. He sniffed the air, sensing a freshness which had long been absent. His nostrils, accustomed to the lurid stench of swift decay which had come with this feeling of dread, flared as they took in this new cleanliness. The night air seemed to move as though the dread feeling that had hung over the village was being dispersed on the breeze blowing down from the mountains.

Invigorated by this, Endri took up his sturdy walking stick and traversed the green. He only had to pass a few houses, including a recently abandoned one on the left hand side before he had left the village. Striking up the overgrown track that followed the stream falling from the slopes ahead he made his way into the forest.

Ten minutes of laboured climbing brought him to the crest of the first hill beyond the village. Pausing, he turned back to face northwards where he could make out the village nestling in its peaceful surrounds. Taking a deep breath, he studied its angular roofs, wondering whether he hadn't made a mistake in doing this. Although the village was sanctuary, the old man was beginning to understand that something was calling him on, up into the mountains. He still stood a moment, his head bowed in reverence. This was the spot where that woman had been found. Even now, four years on he still had vivid memories of that day.

After one last look around the quiet spot, Endri once more turned southwards and continued on his way. As the sun crept slowly into the sky, the forest around him came to life. Birds struck up song above him, and gentle rustlings began to disturb the undergrowth. His hesitant steps took him through clumps of thyme and marjoram that, as they bruised, released their heady scents into the air. It seemed that the world was rejuvenated, newly born in that moment for him. The forest canopy let chinks of brilliant sunshine through and the dappled shadows played on the greens that surrounded him.

Then, in the distance, beneath a spreading beech, upon a carpet of crocuses there lay what seemed to the old man a sleeping childlike figure. Endri checked his steps as he came upon this sight. Swathed in a stained and muddy cloak the figure appeared to be that of a grown man, huddled in a foetal position, his knees drawn up below his chin. The rest of his face was obscured by the hood of his cloak.

Endri took a few tentative steps closer, pausing a few feet away from the man. His awareness, heightened by his revitalising walk through the forest, could detect that same sense of horror that had been felt in the village for the last few weeks. However, as he stood there, his heart beating dully against his chest he decided that the feeling had changed. That this trepidation was just a memory, a memory of terrible things not long passed, but gone all the same.

Not another one…another one can't be dead

Endri thought to himself furiously as he kneeled down by the head of the man and drew back the hood. He was shocked to see a face that seemed ten years older than it ought to have looked. The cheeks were hollow, large dark marks showed under the eyes. For a moment, Endri thought him dead, but then he noticed the skin. Although it was pale there was a definite clamminess to it that suggested sickness rather than death. Further removing the hood, Endri revealed jet black hair that was pasted across the forehead, glistening with freshly beaded sweat.

It was clear to Endri that this man was very ill. There was no hope of Endri carrying the man back to the village, and it would take too long to go for help. Instead Endri tried to make the man as comfortable as possible. Gently he pulled his legs out from under his chin. This allowed the man to lie flat on the ground. As Endri was doing this he noticed that the man was sweating even more profusely. He needed something cool. Away to his right, Endri heard the stream that he had followed up from the village.

Tearing off a corner of the stranger's cloak, Endri cautiously made his way down a steep bank to where the stream chattered away amongst the moss and ferns. Stooping down he put the rag of material into the water and let it soak through. With a twist of his hands he drained the excess moisture and then with the help of some sturdy roots pulled himself back up to where the ill man lay.

A shudder ran through the seemingly lifeless body as Endri pressed the cooling rag to the man's forehead. Seeing this motion, Endri smiled, and noticed a slight warm breath against his hand which was close to the young mans barely open mouth. As he watched, something akin to a smile started to curl up the bloodless lips and the man's eyelids flickered open.

Endri stared at the man's green eyes.

Just as Pjeter described them

As this thought past through Endri's mind the man managed to focus his eyes and draw them up, away from the green forest floor and up to the elderly man's time worn face. The curl of his lips grew more apparent, and his eyes, dull until now, seemed to brighten with a new energy. His mouth moved slightly, and he mumbled something unintelligible.

"What is your name?" asked Endri

The man, still pale and clammy looked back at him, now with a slightly wary expression.

His pale complexion suggests he is not from these parts

And so Endri, whose daughter taught English at a school in Korce, hesitantly repeated his question, this time in English

"What is…you name?"

Comprehension appeared on the mans face and lifting himself slightly on his elbows he spoke, his voice hoarse

"Potter", the man choked, "Harry Potter".