Dennis did not get to head into the field to investigate his latest ghostly case that day or for the next six. Mr. Odpadki teamed him with his daughter Sasha to dispatch some of the trickier jobs the man accepted. Furthermore, Sasha knew how to handle Kate and even earned her muggle driver's license. The owner of the company worked with the rest of the crew to see to a long list of rather mundane collections. The fact Dennis got sent with the boss's daughter to complete the dangerous work did not endear him to the other collectors. He neither looked nor sounded the part. However, the Odpadki's came to respect his cleverness and ability to manage complex magic when dealing with unknown quantities in the trash business. Although Dennis privately lamented the lost time, he did enjoy working alongside of Sasha. Thus, the days passed in a more or less normal and pleasant manner.
Early on Monday morning, he visited Gringotts where he deposited his wages from the past week. The amount Dennis worked meant he earned twice what he normally did in a month. However, the young wizard rose early to travel westward into a country he knew might be hostile toward him. Try as he might, Dennis could never quite shake the proper English pronunciations he learned at Hogwarts. His vocal mannerisms often singled him out, and most muggles assumed he attended a private school, which he did. Thus, his plans to head to the Galway region of Ireland meant he needed to monitor how he sounded. Furthermore, he planned to spend at least two days on his investigation, and it took place in an environment profoundly foreign to him.
"Now, then, lad, so good of you to wait on me," Father Quinn said and extended a hand.
Dennis accepted the greeting. He arrived at roughly seven in the morning and got a breakfast before heading to the local parish. There he waited inside the church for half an hour. Dressed in only muggle variety clothing with his backpack filled with common muggle notepaper and pens (although Dennis truly preferred muggle pens), he looked the role he set about to play. Shaking the hand of the priest made him feel a bit queasy, but he disguised his ill-ease.
"No, thank you, Father Quinn, for seeing me so early. Sorry I missed our meeting last week, but… well, there were bins to haul," Dennis replied and completed the ritual.
Father Quinn, a man lodged firmly in his fifties with graying hair and small paunch covered over by the traditional black clothing, seemed affable enough. Father Quinn took a seat next to Dennis on the pew. Dennis scrambled to extract a notepad and a pen from the backpack.
"So, what's this interest of yours in the Parkowen Banshee? You don't look or sound the type who'd go in for a story like that," the priest inquired.
"I, um, sort of got a taste for local folktales and think, maybe, someone should be writing 'em down. Had a mate in school from Kenmare who used to tell me some of the stories. He mentioned the Parkowen Banshee a couple of times, but I never could find any background on it," Dennis fabricated a good portion of his cover story on the spot.
Around him the old sandstone walls of the church echoed with their voices. Plaques on the wall depicting the Stations of the Cross gazed back at them, while the somewhat dim overhead electric lighting gleamed off the pews that got polished by human activity from untold decades of use. A hymnal lay on the bench a short way down from where Dennis sat. He kept his eyes fixed on the priest instead of on the alter or the windows depicting various Biblical scenes. The large cross hanging in the nave behind the alter seemed ridiculously too realistic. Dennis knew himself to be a total stranger in a completely strange land.
"Well, as you've probably read, the wail of the banshee heralds the death of a loved one in a family, but what supposedly resides over in Parkowen isn't a ben síde. Something angry's been living there for who knows how long now, and folks'll not be wanting anyone to go raising it," the man of the cloth told him.
"It's not connected with a family then?" Dennis queried as he made of show of scribbling down every word the priest uttered.
"There are some very sad tales of loss from the homesteads here and about, but this… maybe you might want to call it a spirit instead since doesn't seem connected to any one location. It roams about."
"You've seen it?"
Father Quinn shifted his eyes around as if searching for any who might be listening in on their chat. A small frown settled on his round features, and his brown eyes did not blink. It became clear to Dennis the man did not expect to travel down this particular conversational path.
"Rather heard it, or what the folks say is the spirit. It wails like a banshee, but… it's bit more like calling out to me. Sounds lost, angry mostly. Brings up terrible feelings in your gut when you hear it. I'd not be wanting you or anyone else to get an earful," Father Quinn intoned in a guarded voice.
"Still active then, huh?" Dennis pressed on.
"Not as much as it used to, but… yes, three or four times a year it makes itself heard."
The young wizard thought for a moment and managed to come up with a good question, so he asked: "Do you think it's connected to any specific date or time of year?"
The man blinked and said nothing. Dennis waited since he could not decipher the reaction. Following a few motionless seconds, the priest's right hand floated upward and started to rub his chin.
"Funny that. Never gave it much thought, but seems to me it comes around wailing mostly in the fall. Sometimes it shouts out in the spring, but it's in the fall we hear it the most. Near 'round the old harvest time," Father Quinn recited in a distant-sounding voice.
Dennis nodded and made more notes. A picture began to form in his mind. The ghost called Mother of the Fen, because she looked dirty and drowned and inhabited the lower halls near the dungeons, also wailed during the fall season. Argus Filch routinely took refuge in a utility closet on the opposite side of the castle when she began her yearly mournful sounds. Two weeks later, Mother of the Fen would stop and return to silently moping through the halls. She never talked to faculty or students, and Peeves needed to threaten her to speak with Dennis. Mother of the Fen gave him scant information except to say her woe originated around Maigh Cuilinn, or what the British called Moycullen. The ghost always referred to her plight as her woe, and it became the second biggest clue Dennis managed to cull.
"Father, ever hear of something called Mother of the Fen? Séamus mentioned it once, and I thought it might be connected," Dennis said as he randomly connected bits together.
"That could be a hundred different ghosts if you wanted to believe that sort of thing," the man grunted. "Lad, it's all boggy and swampy 'round these parts, and do you have any idea how many souls it claimed?"
Dennis shook his head and quipped: "Bet it'd be a great place to hide a body."
"Oh, now there you're right on the spot, Dennis. During the times when the British tried to lord over us, many a good people went missing. Wasn't just them. Go back a thousand years and you've got the Vikings tramping through here, and then Normans and the like. The Bruces made a showing, and the number of times we rose up against the British invasions is almost too many to count. Son, we've had wars enough in these parts to last to the next millennia without ever raising arms again," the priest said in a mournful, slow fashion.
"More ghosts than living?"
"Aye, but only a few ever make themselves known or heard. What you go calling the Mother of the Fen could be any number of lasses or ladies what got dumped in bogs at the hands of a mad lover or husband… soldiers even. You start raising the dead 'round here, and you'll find yourself with an army before you know it!"
The last few statements by the priest put a damper on Dennis' expectations. One thing he knew for certain about the people of the British Islands came in the fact they almost delighted in slaughtering one another. Jealousy and passions contributed the grim reality. It seemed the magi followed suit with their muggle counterparts from time to time. The young wizard never understood war, never understood why others sought dominion over one another, and certainly could not understand tyranny in all its forms. The task he accepted at Peeves' behest seemed more daunting than when he first set out to solve the mystery of Lord North. At least in the case of Lord North he found not only the victim, but a victim more than willing to assist with uncovering the facts. Mother of the Fen did not want to talk about her situation at all, and her laments could shatter an eardrum at times (and offered the real reason why Peeves wanted Dennis to assist).
"I take it, then, I'd be looking at countless stories 'bout who the wailing spirit might be?" Dennis asked to confirm his sobering conclusion.
"Dennis, it'd take you years and years to jot down just the basic facts. You don't have enough lifetimes to write all those stories, and I'm thinking you'd just as likely give up effort after some while. It'd be too bloody depressing, and pardon my English," Father Quinn flatly stated.
Dennis let his mood settle onto his face.
"It's a fine thing you'd be wanting to do, lad, but there's limits to what one person can do," the man continued with greater sympathy. "But I'll tell you what. You take yourself over to Parkowen way by heading west on the Baile Árd road. You'll come up on an auto service place, and there's a road just passed it on your left. Can't recall if it even has a name, but go down it. At the end, look for the Mergin place. Tell Gam Mergin I sent you, tell her what you're looking into, and she'll spin you a few tales worth telling."
"How far it is from here?" Dennis asked and brightened a bit at garnering a new lead.
Father Quinn tilted his head back and said: "Oh, not far, but a fair way by foot. Two miles and some, but not more than three. It's a straight drive across, so you won't get lost. And the lane you'll be turning onto isn't much of one. No chance you'll be getting lost on that, either."
The young wizard's noggin slowly bobbed up and down as he wrote down the directions. Father Quinn seemed to make a point of not getting lost, and Dennis wondered if the references served as an unconscious warning on the part of the priest. He could never explain to the older man why ghosts and specters did not frighten him. Although Dennis never saw Peeves at his worst when in a fit, even the idea of a raging poltergeist did not put off the young wizard. After all, he came armed with magic and years of experience dealing with spirits.
"Any chance you got some records I can look if I find out more from this Missus Mergin?" Dennis inquired and glanced up.
"First, never call her Missus Mergin. Call her Gam or just Mergin. There's a Mister Mergin who hasn't come back 'round these parts," the priest stated in a wily fashion. "Second, most of our records are in Galway… or at least what's left of 'em. Fighting, fires, and floods took care of most records. You might go thinking this an old church, but it's been rebuilt so many times I doubt it's even a hundred years old by now. Took the war of independence to make sure it didn't get burnt to its bones again."
The younger man took on a solemn expression and said: "Can't say as I approve of how the crown treated the Irish. Let the people be, I say."
"Then you're one of the few English I've ever heard express it like that," Father Quinn replied with a slight surprised timbre in his voice. "Makes you the odd man out from your countrymen I suspect."
Dennis shrugged in a noncommittal manner. He started to put away his notebook and pen when a separate thought struck him. He turned his face toward the priest.
"Um, two more questions if you don't mind?"
Father Quinn nodded.
"Any taxis around here? I came by bus," he asked and lied.
"Sure, we got a cab or two drifting 'round Moycullen."
"And some place to stay for the night? I'm thinking I might go searching around up in Oughterard tomorrow."
"Well, Moycullen House is where you want to stay. There's also Portarra Lodge, but it's a bit pricier. But I'd say you be well taken care of in either place. Me, myself, would go with Moycullen House," the priest said and winked following his last statement.
Dennis smirked at the man and zipped his backpack. He stood, and Father Quinn did as well. The younger man extended his hand to the older one, who accepted it in a soft, warm graps. The each squeezed a little.
"Thank you, Father Quinn, for all the information. It was really kind of you to spend this time with me… and for rescheduling," Dennis said with complete sincerity.
"You seem a fine enough lad, Dennis, and it's nice to hear someone showing interest in these parts… even if he is English," Father Quinn rejoined with another wink. "The world's changing now that we're in the new millennia and all that to-do in America. Sad that. You'd think we'd be done with all that killing by now."
"Are we ever?"
A solemn silence took over for a moment. Then, Father Quinn squeezed Dennis hand and shook it a final time before releasing the hold. The priest looked at the young man as though finally getting around to noticing details.
"I'm willing to bet you've more than a touch of Scottish in you," the older man commented.
"You'd be right about that 'cept I don't really know when my family came down from the highlands. I think a sheep farm somewhere ran its course and forced the move," Dennis relayed as much about his family history as he thought responsible.
"Well, a pleasure, young man. Now, see your way to Gam Mergin, and I hope you find the stories you're after. God be with you, son."
"Thank you, and you, too, Father."
The man clapped him once on the shoulder and smiled. Dennis nodded his head. He then edged out of the pew and aimed for the main doors. Halfway to his destination a light trill of a whistle started, and the priest lurched into a song.
Dennis spent a short while wandering around Maigh Cuilinn, and he kept the Irish name firmly in mind as he remembered all too well the power in words, to get a lay of the land. He found a bedroom community where people could travel north, south, or west to reach employment in a reasonable amount of time if traveling by car or bus. The L1313, or Church Road, served as the main thoroughfare for the town, bisected by the N59 that they called Clifden Road. The L1313 turned into the L1320, alternatively Baile Árd Road, west of N59. It all seemed amazingly quaint to Dennis, and he did not use the term in a disparaging manner. The people he passed on the streets greeted him in friendly ways, and no one seemed overtly suspicious of him. Memories of Séamus Finnigan sprang up as he strolled about the town. If Maigh Cuilinn served as an example, then Dennis understood why his old schoolmate always wanted to return the Emerald Island.
Luck stayed with him as he found a taxicab and soon learned the location of the Moycullen House took him nearly half the way to the Mergin Residence. Force of habit mean Dennis converted some of the wages he deposited in Gringotts into muggle currency, and nearly got caught up short when the bank goblin as him if he wanted Pounds or Euros when he mentioned Ireland. To be on the safe side, Dennis got a quantity of each. His travels around England and Scotland gave him a fair understanding of how much he should expect to spend. However, mentally converting Galleons to Pounds to Euros became taxing. Thus, he did not think to quibble when the desk attendant at the Moycullen House quoted him a price, and Dennis paid it in full. Once shown to his to his room and given a quick description of services offered by the House, Dennis went in search of Gam Mergin.
Father Quinn spoke the truth. The Mergin residence hunkered down at the end of an unnamed lane. The green pasture behind the two-story house got cut into paddocks by low stone walls that appeared as ancient as the land. A few sheep loitered in one paddock while a group of chickens bolted around the house when Dennis' cab rolled up. Further afield in another paddock two cows stood in bucolic splendor silently chewing cud. Once again Dennis got struck by the pastoral tranquility of the scene. It made greater sense to him why the Irish fought so hard for their independence and why they fiercely guarded it. He paid the taxi driver who looked rather suspiciously at the Mergin house, but thanked Dennis for the generous tip. After which, Dennis stood alone facing the farmhouse. With the sound of the taxi backtracking up the lane, the young wizard headed for the front door.
Following the third knock, and older woman suddenly appeared when the door flew open. She appeared comfortably padded on all sides, pure white hair got piled in buns atop her head, and eyes greener the Harry Potter's bore into him. The mixed ruddy-sallow skin common to the Irish people sported wrinkles, but did not seem onion-paper thin. A broad nose hovered over rather thin lips. The gaze from the woman, however, could drive nails through a sheet of steel. Dennis almost bowed to her.
"Uh, hi. Yes, my name is Dennis Creevey, and Father Quinn, ah, suggested I should talk you… if you're Gam Mergin," he halting introduced himself.
Her eyes swept up and down his thin frame. Dennis wore a simple winter jacket of canvas lined with fleece, a flannel shirt, and comfortably worn denim jeans. Sturdy hiking boots shod his feet. The trusty backpack hung from Dennis' right shoulder. He looked more muggle than most muggles. The woman scowled a bit.
"I am. What of it?" She grumbled at him, and proved to be the first less-than-hospitable person he met. "And what's Quinn doing sending you 'round here?"
Irish brogue crowded her accent and words.
"It's, um, 'bout the Parkowen Banshee. I'm collecting local stories about…"
"Piffle and tosh! You're a bleeding wizard. I can feel it rolling off you," she roughly interjected.
Dennis goggled at the woman.
"Don't be twit and come on in. Then, ye can tell me what you're really about."
Gam Mergin spun one heel and headed down a central corridor that seemed to divide the house into halves. Dennis trotted after her once he wiped his feet on the mat outside the door. He closed it as he followed the woman. She led him to a combined dining and kitchen area dominated by a large cast-iron stove and an equally large dining table where six or even eight people could sit for a meal. At the moment, a collection of jars filled with various substances sat arranged as if someone conducted a chemistry experiment. Dennis halted at the entry.
"Sit at the table if you're inclined to. Bet you'd be wanting a bit of late morning tea?" The rather blunt woman intoned, but it did not sound inviting.
"I'm fine, ma'am," Dennis declined.
"Not going to poison you, lad"
"No, ma'am, don't think you would, but I had all I wanted this morning."
Despite his statement, she filled two mugs with a black liquid and brought them to the table. She set them down in two relatively open spots on the table. Dennis realized he would be forced to accept her offer, so he walked in and sat. He glanced around the area and noted the odd assortment of equipment, gadgets, and gear. Try as he might, Dennis could not discern the function of most of it. All the while the woman's eyes continued to burn holes into him.
"What's a wizard doing skulking 'round here?" She battered him with the question.
"So, you really are Gam Mergin?" He countered.
"Been married to Jimmy Mergin these past forty-three years, so what of it?"
"Yes, ah, so Missus Mergin…" Dennis managed to say, but halted when her salt-and-pepper colored eyebrows drew together and all but touched above the bridge of her nose. "Um, sorry, Father Quinn told me I, ah, shouldn't use that title, so Gam Mergin…"
"Just Gam'll do," Gam Mergin said, and it came out more as a threat.
Dennis got flustered and a touch irate as he said: "Look, I'm not here to cause trouble or whatever it is you think I'm doing. I'm trying to find out about a spirit I think might be related to one that's taken up over at Hogwarts…"
"Oh, one of them kind of wizards!"
"What the hell does that mean?"
Her laugh came out like wild boars fighting in a tin trough. On one hand it sounded friendly while, on the other, being altogether frightening. Dennis could not get a read on the woman. She seemed to want to keep him edge.
"Gam Mergin, do you want me to go away?" He asked in a small fit of pique.
"No, just can't imagine why your Ministry is sending wizarding folk over here? Did you tell the Irish office you're in-country?" The woman stated as if all the facts got laid bare.
"What? I'm not with the bleeding Ministry! I'd never work for that load of tossers!" Dennis blurted before he could think better of it.
"Oh, then who do you work for?"
"Rapid Removal, a rubbish collection service… magical rubbish, that it," he stated the truth.
Gam Mergin blinked at him.
"Listen, I really am here to investigate the Parkowen Banshee. My friend, Peeves, the Hogwarts' poltergeist, thinks our Mother of the Fen ghost is connected to this one. She's been floating around in the lower levels of Hogwarts for over three hundred years. I didn't get much out of Mother of the Fen when I tried talking to her 'cept Maigh Cuilinn and something 'bout her woe," Dennis explained in a rush.
"Let me see if I'm taking this right," the woman droned and leaned forward a bit. "You're an English wizard what doesn't work for the Ministry, but picks up trash instead? You're friends with a poltergeist at a wizarding school, and nosing 'round for some other ghost who you don't know much about? How old are you, boy?"
Dennis' head began to nod as he said: "Eighteen coming up on nineteen. Yeah, all right, it all sounds odd when you put it like that, but it's the truth! Who'd make something like that up?"
"And now we come to the meat in the soup," Gam Mergin snickered the words. "Unwind yourself there a little, lad. We get some odd folks coming to these parts every now and again, so I was just making sure. Plus, you being English and a wizard give me reason to doubt ye."
Dennis maintained his composure. He could not easily dismiss her concerns. However, a single question popped into his head.
"How'd you know I was a wizard? I'm not even carrying my wand," he inquired.
"Not all of us had to the fortune to go to a fancy school like you. Some of us got forced to learn on our own," Gam Mergin told him in a low voice. "And pretty damn foolish of you to go wandering through these parts without your wand. I'm not the only one who can sense a wizard, and some of those what can you wouldn't be wanting to meet when the moon hovers if ye don't have your wand handy."
The young wizard's mouth formed a small oh shape in surprise. Dennis got used to stowing his wand when venturing into muggle territory. The Ministry business concerning Cameron Vall made him all the more cautious. It appeared he truly did err on the side of caution if he took Gam Mergin's warning to heart.
"And what you're after shouldn't be trifled with… Dennis? You did say Dennis?" She further warned.
"Yes, ma'am. Dennis Creevey," Dennis confirmed.
"And you really are a rubbish collector?"
He nodded his head.
"Don't that just beat a bodach with an iron stave," the woman commented. She took her cup and sipped at the contents. The scent of strong black tea wafted around the table. "See a lot magic in that line?"
"Almost as much as aurors. Came up against a people-eating garden last week. Found the bodies of six once we got the plants under control. The Ministry took over. Had to tell them," Dennis said in a somber tone.
He imitated the woman and also raised his cup. The tea that fell into his mouth came close to making him gag due to its strength. Dennis almost needed to chew one of the strongest cups of tea he ever tasted, and the woman managed to best Hagrid in that arena. The young man wrestled with his own body to keep his reaction under control.
"I give ye it's a bit strong," Mergin said and raised her cup to her lips again. "But it goes a ways waking you up in the morning."
"How long has it been on the stove?" Dennis carefully inquired.
"I always set it up fresh the night before when I bank the coals. By morning it's good and rich and dark. It'll shake the sleep out of a body in a hurry!"
The glee with which she spoke about the tea seemed at odds with how she answered the door. Dennis suspected he passed some sort of test. It still amazed him she sussed him out as a wizard.
"If you don't mind me asking, Gam Mergin, how do you know who's magic or not?"
Gam tilted her head to the side and replied: "Can't rightly say. I've always been sensitive to it. There's this little prickling sensation on my skin only what happens when a caster is around. Felt you 'fore I got two feet to the door. Made me worried when ye didn't announce yourself right away."
"Secrecy rules, you know," Dennis mumbled and shrugged.
"I've never made a secret of who I am and no harm's come of it. Folk 'round here depend on what I can do with medicines and liniments for their animals. They know I can tap into the powers, but they also know I've never brung harm to anyone!"
The elder woman spoke with conviction. It preceded her words as a palpable force. She held him again with a gaze that turned into a vice.
"Now, I'm really interested to know why ye come after the banshee. That's not to be toyed with, lad," Gam Mergin easily switch moods and topics.
"I've already told you the reason, and I don't have anything more to add to it. Honestly, I don't have much to go on at all. I'm simply hoping to find something to bring Mother of the Fen some peace," Dennis stated his case again.
"Well, go back to the beginning and start slow. I'll give you a good listen," she suggested.
Dennis complied. For fifteen minutes he explained what he knew about the Hogwarts spirit. He added the parts Peeves told him. When Gam Mergin questioned the wisdom of listening to a cantankerous ghost, Dennis spent few minutes describing his relationship to Peeves without revealing the underlying cause. The older woman appeared to accept his reason. He then concluded with his conversation with Father Quinn conducted in the morning.
"Do this a lot, do you? Helping the ghosts?" Gam asked and zeroed in on one of the unspoken pieces.
Dennis spent another ten minutes telling her about Lord North, Lucia North Hughes, and the murder and banishment of the earl. Gam Mergin looked surprised to hear most of the story. She quipped she never before heard of a person lending such aid the departed. Once again, Dennis explained the haunts of Hogwarts lent him comfort and instruction without detailing the cause.
"I'm willing put up a fine ram you're not an average wizard if you had them teaching you. Never heard of the dead passing on what they know like that. I imagine there some powerful lessons in it all."
"Well, a lot the time it was Peeves throwing something at my head and telling me to duck. Kind of painful, but my reaction time got better," Dennis confessed.
Gam Mergin started chortling, but it did not last long. She became serious and eyed him without nailing him to the chair with her gaze. After a moment, the woman said: "Well, I s'pose I should let you in on what I know 'bout the Banshee."
Dennis quickly hauled out his notebook and pen. He flipped open to the right page and began to scribe abbreviated versions of the woman's stories. She told him the accounts of the Parkowen Banshee did go back several centuries, but could not pin it down to an exact date. Like Father Quinn, Gam Mergin confirmed the banshee to be most active in the fall and with appearances in the spring. It coincided, as Dennis speculated, with the harvest season. While the woman gave more details about where the banshee located itself, roughly half a mile to the northwest near a pond formed by a weak spring, she failed add any further concrete information. Gam even looked a bit sorry for the paucity of facts in her story.
"Now, I can tell you one thing more, and this you can't let anyone know I told you," said the older woman and lowered her volume. "Firstly, the banshee ain't a banshee 'cause it's not a woman. It's a man who doesn't look much older than you. It's a wailing spirit, sure, but not a banshee. Never once heard it predicted someone's death."
Dennis wrote down the information, and it mirrored what Father Quinn told him.
"Second, and don't go telling others I told you this either, Dennis, but… well, it is connected to a family. The Flaherty clan lived on that land around the pond for a long time. A couple or three or four hundred years from what I gather, but they moved on to Galway sometime 'round the end of the second world war. Lost some of their boys in that fight and couldn't keep the farm running. They say old Missus Flaherty took it hard and wanted away from the memories."
"So, you think it's a possibility the Ban… this wailing spirit is a Flaherty?" Dennis inquired.
"My pa said once the Flaherties moved, the spirit got louder and more angry. It'll chase folk now in the fall if anyone goes near the pond when it's about. Some people think it's one of the lost sons calling out for his kin, but… that ghost has been there a long time, and a lot longer 'fore the Flaherties headed out," Gam Mergin said with a mix of varying degrees of certainty.
Dennis' hand turned into a blur as he copied down the details. He could feel a thousand other questions form in his mind; yet he also knew it likely Gam Mergin would not know the answers. Part of his brain said he stumbled on a secondary ghostly mystery. Nothing he heard from either Father Quinn or Gam Mergin connected the Parkowen Banshee, now a misnomer in his mind, to the Mother of the Fen ghost as Hogwarts. He frowned.
"Doesn't give you an answer, does it?" Gam Mergin summarized his thoughts.
"Not really," he admitted.
"Ye might want to spend some time going back to the haunt at your school. Get it to talk more if you can. You need its real name and why it's there. Find out how the person it was died," she offered further suggestions.
"You're right. I'm stomping 'round in circles, and it's getting me nowhere. Heck, if I could get Lord North to talk, and he had curse laid on him, then I can find a way to get Mother of the Fen to talk. She just doesn't want to. The problem is she starts wailing really loud when she gets upset and keeps it for days and say. Filch'll get on me if I get her too riled up."
He closed his notebook. When he looked up, he saw the woman eyeing him with an odd expression on her face. Dennis made a show of putting the cap on his pen.
"There's more to you than you're willing to say. I can feel you've got troubles of your own. Not so much what you said, but more with what you didn't. Not wanting to pry, but is all this doing for those that passed on for them… or for you?" The older woman deftly questioned him.
"Right now? It's distracting me from some personal troubles, as you guessed. There's not a lot I can do about it 'til the Wizengamot decides on a new hearing date…"
Gam Mergin let out with a thin whistling sound.
"Not as bad as it sounds. They think I breached the Secrecy Statute, and now they want to obliviate the memories of someone pretty close to me… a muggle," Dennis told her, although he could not determine why he felt compelled to do so. However, it brought a small sense of relief to recap his personal issues in such a succinct manner as it made the situation feel manageable.
"Never did have much tuck with all that secrecy stuff," Gam Mergin grumbled. "Around these parts people know what I am, like I said, and it does us all good to know."
"Be glad you don't live in London," Dennis quipped. Then he shifted mental gears. "But, Gam, the real reason I help the ghosts is 'cause they helped me. It's not my fulltime job, but something I like to do. No one else looks after them or even listens. It's amazing what I learned by just listening, and it did make me a better wizard."
"Then you keep to doing what you think you should do. Means you've got character and some sense of morals," the woman told him, and then reached over to pat his hand. "I suppose even ghosts need friends."
"Yeah, they do," he rejoined and started to smile. "I never really thought about it like that when I was student, but now… now… I see it for what it is. I miss a lot of them. I'm sort of the secret-keeper for Peeves. I actually know his whole story."
"Must be a trustworthy person if a poltergeist is willing to go that far with you. Not sure what you're going to do with what I've told you, but I trust you'll keep confidences?"
"Oh, I will. You'll be my mysterious contact in Ireland… and I won't even say Ireland!"
She chuckled at his response.
"Thank you, Gam Mergin, for sharing this with me. Maybe it doesn't solve what I'm working on right now, but maybe someday I can come back and see what can be done for the poor guy over by the pond. Maybe he just needs someone to listen," Dennis said.
"I'd go easy 'round that one, but it's good of you to think that way. Maybe when you get more miles under your feet. He's got some vengeance in him he needs to settle, and that'll take skill."
"Fair point."
"Now then, lad, any other stories you got an interest in?" She offered.
"I got a lot of blank sheets, so what are some of your best ones?" Dennis gamely accepted.
Although Gam Mergin invited him to stay for supper several hours later, Dennis declined. He said he needed to sort through the information regarding the Parkowen Wailing Spirit and several of the other stories she told. His hand also felt cramped from the hours and hours of writing. Unlike many investigative magi, Dennis preferred to take his own notes with his own hand instead of charming a quill. The information seemed to sink deeper into his brain when he did. Thus, he packed is bag, grabbed his jacket, and began to stand. The woman also stood.
"Now, if you plan on coming back to look into the banshee question some more, I'd be interested in hearing what you do and have to say. High time for that spirit to get some rest," Gam Mergin said, and she accepted Dennis' offered hand.
"I will, Gam, and I am planning on coming back. I'd have to do some research first on land ownership and the general history of the area, but… well, maybe you can give me some pointers when it comes to that," he replied while shaking an impressive powerful hand.
"Records are scarce 'round here except for what people write in their Bibles, and literacy wasn't high on anyone's list 'til about a hundred years ago. I'll ask around and see what I can scare up for ye, but fires, floods, and wars took its toll."
"Father Quinn said the same thing."
"It's our lot in history, lad. We all know it, so you should, too. Maybe you might find other records, but probably won't be 'round these parts," the elder woman dryly stated.
Dennis grinned and said: "I've got a few places I can go look. Our kind, magical folk, we tend to write a lot of stuff down. There are records if a person knows where to look."
"Well, share that with me some time," Gam Mergin said and released his hand. "Been a pleasure, Dennis. Had me worried for a bit when I heard your voice and felt the magic come off ye, but you're not quite what I expected."
"And what did you expect?"
"Can't quite say now, but you definitely wasn't it."
They shared a smirk. With that, Dennis turned to walk down the hall to the front door through which his small adventure began. To find a witch in the backwaters of Ireland, a self-trained one at that, proved the most surprising. While he could not quite figure out how she developed her abilities, Dennis decided to save those questions for another day. At present, he felt as if he only moved a baby toe off of square one when it came Mother of the Fen. When he reached the front door, a slightly gnarled hand reached around him and seized the latch. Dennis stepped to the side. Then he whirled around.
"Mind if I try something first? Something magic?" He asked for her permission.
"If ye feel the need to," Gam Mergin rejoined.
"I, ah, need you to close the door."
She did.
"One of the things I studied with the ghosts and paintings was non-verbal and non-wand magic. Professor Artura really drilled me in it. I swear her portrait was probably as tough as the woman herself," Dennis informed his hostess.
"Got a wand in here somewhere," Gam told him and let her head loll around on her neck. It gave the impression she meant somewhere in the house in general. "Never quite knew what to do with it in the house, so I made do my hands. That what you're trying?"
"Nope. Going to see if I can disapparate without my wand. I'm staying over at the Moycullen House, so it's not that far. I think there's enough magic in my body to do it."
The woman blinked in surprise at him, and then stepped back two spaces. She gazed at him with serious questions in her eyes. Then, Gam Mergin said: "Read in a book somewhere bad things can happen with magic travel. Sure you want to do this?"
"Splinching," Dennis said the word and shuddered a bit, "but… I've been thinking a lot about wands lately. I know the Olivander family, and they've taught me a lot about them. I can do other non-wand magic, so maybe…"
And then Dennis closed his eyes and concentrated. He mentally pictured his room at The Moycullen House. He dredged up all the feelings that normally coursed through him when he disapparated. Once it seemed he got mentally prepared, Dennis reached out with his mind and tried to touch the magic he knew floated all around. He silently recited the spell to disapparate. For nearly two minutes he concentrated while his breathing grew labored.
"Well?" Gam Mergin asked him after a sufficient amount of time.
Dennis cracked open his eyes, gazed at the woman, and asked: "Got a phone so I can call a cabbie?"
The sound of Gam Mergin's laughter reverberated off the walls. The woman laughed at him and with complete justification. She turned and headed back for the dining area. Dennis followed in her wake feeling slightly foolish. It also punctuated the fact he did need to bring his wand with him when he traveled out in the field.