A/N Short disclaimer; although the characters are based on Harry Potter, the styling of this particular series is loosely based on A.C. Doyle's Holmes shorts. The characterisations of locals, in the same flavor as that style, are exaggerated stereotypes and colorisations and not necessarily meant to represent actual people; in other words, no real Orcadians were hurt or abused in the creation of this novellette. Happy reading! JCWriter.

P.S. There will be 2 chapters today as well; with the remaining 2 chapters published tomorrow.

VIII

Jennifer hadn't really spent much time in Muggle pubs, so played it safe and went for a port, despite the fact it was heavy compared to her tastes. The town saw their fair share of tourists from all over, so she hoped not to seem too out of place. She made a point of taking a booth near enough to the bar she could hear but far enough away from the door she could monitor the rest of the people going in and out.

No one spoke above a low murmur for a long time, and Jennifer decided she had come too early; ordering another drink and wondering if she shouldn't take the precaution of putting a sober potion in the next one. Smoke began to fill the room and she found herself thinking of her husband's pipe, wondering not for the first time what might be keeping him. Her stomach started to bother her, and she was debating leaving the place when a rather large number of men came in, many dressed in jeans and faded shirts, some of them smelling rather fishy indeed. Perhaps now she'd finally learn something, she thought, reluctantly ordering another drink.

"How's the fishin,' mates?" the barkeeper asked companionably, pouring out some pitchers.

"Best as can be this time a year, I s'pose, Charlie," one of the trawlers said. "Be better without the demmed tourist nuisance this time o'year." Several of the others agreed.

"Come now, a few tested anglers shouldn't worry you none."

"It isn't that so much as the fact they get in the way…there's boats all over this time of year, even far out, and more blips on the screen than wot I can count. One of these days we'll haul up the nets and find a diver or two in them," he said, several of his friends chuckling in agreement.

"Stay away from Scapa Flow then…"

"That's just the point, Charlie, they've moved out into open waters now, up north near Stronsay on heavy fishin' grounds, thanks to all those tides and that faulty light causing all those wrecks and all…"

"Now how can that light fail? It's solar powered these days, and it can't be for lack of sunlight," another of the fisherman said. "I think it's just tourists not knowing the area."

"True enough, that's part of it, I'm sure, but it can't be all of it. I know at least one trawler caught in that…"

"And Dickie McGee had three too many that day," another snorted, a few others chuckling in agreement.

"Well, being that he wasn't born Orcadian, I'm still counting him as a tourist," the first trawler said, getting another round of chuckles.

"Well, being as I count on those tourists as I do, I can hardly complain," Charlie said with a slight smile.

"What's trouble for us is good for you eh?" said the first, raising his half-full mug. "Just keep 'em comin' and we'll overlook your obvious lack of sympathy."

"Keep him comin' fast enough, and he'll forget altogether," the guy sitting beside him snickered, the others agreeing. "Uh no, here comes that old geezer again."

"Good, I wanted to talk to him anyhow," the other said, making a point of brushing off his hands and getting to his feet, leaning on the bar. "I'll have words with you, Beatey Cates!"

Jennifer turned with curiosity to see an old man with a sailor cap at the door and then did a double-take, squinting at him. He was a wizened, rail-thin man who was missing a finger on his gnarled left hand and walked with a curious limp as if one of his legs was just a bit longer than the other. Despite his appearance his eyes were sharp, as she saw clearly when he flicked his eyes in her direction before focusing in on the young, well-built man taking offense at him.

"Words with me, do you say? Now, what words would you have for me, Docharty?"

"Being that I thought I saw the Burgess up near Stronsay way today. I thought you kept those charters of yours close to home!"

"Now, then, if a pair of rich 'Wegian anglers goes looking for pollack grounds, I gives it to them. I'm no more rich than you are…at least I wasn't this morning," he said almost cheerfully as he heaved himself up on a barstool beside them and made a subtle gesture.

"Well, you convince them to stay around here, then. What will they do with it if they have a good catch, I ask you? They waste the meat and mount 'em on their walls as if they didn't just commit a cardinal sin. We fish for the masses, to feed our children and our countrymen, and we don't need no touring boats getting in our range."

"I think you fish as much for your pockets as I do, Mr. Docharty," Beatey said smoothly. "And if I had some advice, it would be to find another fishing ground, for I've found something today in a fish's gut that's likely to cause a stir indeed."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Like this!" he said, bringing something out of his pocket. As the trawlers gathered around, Jennifer began to lean back to try to see around them, accidentally catching the attention of the bartender. She signaled him then, as if her actions had been simply to order another drink. "There, what you make of that?"

"It don't look Viking," Docharty mused.

"Course it is, what else could it be?" the man said behind him. "There's all those old burial grounds up there…or maybe it fell off some old wreck who knows where…could be from anywhere if it were in the belly of a fish."

"That may be," the old man agreed. "But I thinks I might look where I found it to see if I can get lucky again."

"Listen you! You had better not be telling anybody else of this find of yours! Keep it to yourself, that's what's good for all of us."

"And what am I going to be tellin' the pawnshop then when they asks where I got it?"

"Pawnshop?"

"Yes, I'm thinkin' it might be worth enough to help me get a better berth," he mused.

"A lot of luck you would have with that! We make five times what you do and we're still far from the main dock."

"Longevity has its benefits, after all," Beatey said with a partially toothless smile.

"Take my advice and put that thing away in a safety box or something, and no more displaying it like a trophy! Who knows who saw you flash that thing." The group looked around the bar and several of their eyes went towards Jennifer who seemed to be staring at the bubbles in her drink.

"Well, all right, mate, maybe I will for now," Beatey said reluctantly, putting away the item in his hand and getting up. "But if this isn't just a fluke, it won't be long before it happens to someone else."

"We'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen again then," Docharty said, the others agreeing whole-heartedly. "Another round for us, Mr. Pole," he added, and Charlie turned to draw them some more drinks.

As the old man turned, Jennifer couldn't help but catch a flicker of triumph crossing his face. But the seaman seemed instantly aware of the scrutiny and, before she knew it, limped over to the table, while she made a half-hearted attempt at finishing the drink in front of her.

"There, now, missie, you look familiar! Weren't you on the docks yesterday?" he said casually.

"Renting a sailboat," Jennifer explained with a nod. "But I don't recall seeing you down there."

"I wouldn't expect someone with your looks would remember someone like me," he laughed good naturedly. "But where are your consorts? What's a lady doing down here drinkin' tumbler-fulls by herself?"

"Easy to explain, sir. I happen to be waiting for my husband, but he seems to have forgotten me," Jennifer said.

"I find that hard to believe, missie, but if it's true, dump him," the old man said, and Jennifer couldn't help but to grin. "And the next time you need a boat, tell your lads to come see me instead…I'll make sure you catch your fish."

"Just keep 'em in local waters," Docharty said gruffly from the bar, despite the fact he hadn't looked in their direction.

"I'll take you wherever you like," Beatey reassured her, putting his card on the table. "'Evening miss. It'll be nice doing business with you. 'Evening lads," he added, but didn't get much in the way of a response as he hobbled out.

Jennifer gazed after him for a long time before she picked up the card, but as she slid it across the table something fell into her lap that was underneath it. Curiously she picked it up, carefully looking around first to make sure no one was watching before inspecting the item in her hand. It was a simple gold ring.