ISLAY ISLAND
Deep blue waves were pummeling the black beach, licking the gray rocks covered with moss. It was not raining and the sun seeping through the whitish clouds blessed the peeled coast with some light.
The wind ruffling the yellow grass was cold and salty.
As if an invisible hand had suddenly tied a knot in it, the landscape suddenly twirled then relaxed, spitting out four figures who rolled into the wet sand.
Then everything was as quiet as before, except for the sound of the rough wind and the shrieks of the seagulls.
Terrence stood up, feeling his nose and cheeks, looking for his glasses that had slipped off. He staggered a few steps, then dropped to his knees, holding his stomach, rocked by violent nauseas.
Behind him, Wendy straightened painfully, white as a sheet, a hand cupping her mouth. She stumbled to the water's edge and threw up too, holding herself to a rock.
- "I hate apparating..." Scorpius mumbled. He was sprawled on the ground, arms outstretched, his face the same color as his hair.
- "What an horrible way to travel..." stammered the girl when she was done emptying her stomach. She rinsed his mouth with some clear water remaining in a cleft of the rock.
- "Do we have to get our Apparition license?" Terrence rasped, coming to them in unsteady steps.
Scorpius sat up carefully.
- "No... well, I suppose we do… I don't know... apparently you get used to it after a few times..."
His eyes fell on the small bony figure remaining motionless, half buried in the black sand.
- "Hey, you okay?" he asked, reaching out to touch the lean and pinkish shoulder sticking out of the dirty tunic.
Wendy stumbled up to them.
- "Kreacher, you okay?" she asked worriedly, turning to her the body of the old elf.
- "Do you think he was too old to apparate with us three at once?" Terrence muttered, also approaching and exchanging a quick glance with Scorpius who frowned more anxiously than annoyingly.
- "Wake up, we're there", Wendy begged, touching carefully the big flabby ears and the hooked nose.
Terrence knelt beside her and put his hand on the skinny chest of the elf.
- "He's breathing!" he cried with relief. "He's just passed out."
They shared the same small strangled laughter, which broke off with a gasp when a shadow loomed over them.
- "What are you doing here, kids?" said a stunned voice. "How did you get here?"
Scorpius kept his eyes obstinately lowered. Wendy buried her head in her shoulders and Terrence clumsily stood up to face the man dressed in a long dark cloak and armed with what seemed to be a long cudgel.
- "Uh ... we ... well ... it's ... we just came to see a friend", he mumbled, trying to see under the thick hood the hidden features of his interlocutor.
His neck was tingling as he felt inquisitive eyes drilling through him.
- "A friend?" repeated the man whose deep voice was tinged with irony. "On Islay Island?"
- "Albus", quickly muttered Wendy, still sitting in the sand with the elf in her arms, not looking up. "Albus Potter. He's the one we came to see."
There was a moment of silence, only disturbed by the sound of the rolling waves. Then someone called up from the bare hill, waving with both arms.
- "Ahoy! Ahoy!"
The man with the dark cloak turned with a grunt.
- "For heaven's sake, Dean, stop asking to be a target..." he muttered.
He replied in a brief gesture of his cudgel, then turned back to Terrence.
- "Can you carry your elf or should I levitate him?"
- "We'll take care of him", Scorpius retorted, annoyed by the condescending tone.
He lifted Kreacher in his arms – the elf was much heavier than what one would have expected from such a scrawny creature - and followed the other three.
Seagulls were hovering above the sea and the wind gusts were much more violent at the top of the hill. Grains of sand and salt whipped their faces.
- "So?" asked the young man with pale blue eyes hopping on site as if he was not hot enough in his aviator jacket lined with sheepskin. "What is it? Muggle fishermen?"
His face was riddled with freckles and he had a turned-up nose under a mop of copper curls like Fabius Macmillan. He was probably no more than twenty.
- "This is trouble", growled the man with the cloak, hustling him down the hill. "By the way, keep waving your arms like a fool and you'll make a great shooting exercise for the Scaly."
- "Oops", Dean chuckled, winking at Wendy who was not looking.
She was gaping at the vast encampment spread out in the muddy plain, on the other side of the yellow hill.
- "Wow", breathed Terrence.
Stakes were planted in the slope, topped with shredded long black banners in which flapped the wind. There were several big tops, tarnished and dented, and lots of smaller pointy tents with little chimneys puffing out small wisps of smoke. Long dark streaks were plowing the land through the camp and something that looked like a dump of broken boats stood to the west.
Down the rocky path, the teens turned the eyes away from the bells hanging on the stakes with striped bodies of eels, like horrible totem poles. The dead fish smell was unbearable when the wind calmed down.
The man with the cloak muttered some indistinct words before they passed under a wooden archway topped with a reptile skull and they had the impression they had gone through an invisible curtain of water.
There was nobody, but they constantly felt watched. A seagull cried over their heads and Wendy jumped, clinging to Terrence's arm. Big drops of sweat were streaming down Scorpius' forehead. Dean whistled between his teeth, a sound that seemed crudely out of place in the heavy silence.
- "Here we are", finally said the man under the hood, stopping in front of a big top.
He lifted a piece of fabric and shoved them inside the tent.
oOoOoOo
It was still night, but morning was beginning to embroider a gold thread on the jagged mountaintops. The sea, on the other side, was shaded with pink shades like a diluted painting.
Albus took off his forehead from the fogged window and turned to his father.
- "How much longer?" he asked, sitting back down on the leather seat.
Harry smiled encouragingly. The compartment lantern, swaying with the jolting of the train, was casting shadows on his face.
- "An hour or two until Kennacraig, then we'll take a Muggle ferry."
- "They haven't taken them down yet? Tch. I s'ppose they'd do fine hostages if needed..." Charlie muttered without opening his eyes.
His arms crossed on his chest, he had dozed for a while, his legs crossed on the seat opposite, his sheepskin vest thrown over him like a blanket.
- "After the ferry, we'll walk to Cornabus", Harry continued calmly, ignoring the interruption to smooth the anxiety he had seen like a flash in his son's eyes. "There, we'll find people waiting for us."
- "Why can't we just apparate?"
- "You can't apparate in the Hebrides, Al, it's impossible", patiently answered his father. "No more than we can use a portkey. Don't ask me why. I just know that it's at least a good thing, in the sense that it protects the camp from unwelcomed surprises."
He reached out and ruffled Albus' dark curls.
- "You should get some sleep. You didn't sleep a wink since the beginning of the trip."
The teenager shrugged.
- "You neither…"
Charlie cracked open an eye.
- "Stubborn just the same", he muttered, amused.
They did not hear him. Harry was lost in the study of his clasped hands, elbows on his thighs, and Albus was watching him silently.
The beard his father had shaved a few days earlier was starting to grow back in a dark stubble. There were new wrinkles on his forehead, a crease that gave a bitter fold to his mouth, and a few gray threads in his unruly black hair. His shoulders were sagging a bit and for the first time in his life, Albus realized his father was no longer a young man.
Colonel Harry James Potter.
Auror.
Albus remembered the father of his childhood, often gone to work, but always available when he came home – a playhouse built in the big tree, animated shadows behind a large white sheet in the garden, stupid throwing watermelons contests in the summer heat and the breeze that carried away their kites.
His memory had only registered confused snatches of muffled arguments behind closed doors or quickly wiped tears on his mother's cheeks - but it was not important. It was not his father.
But it was.
Colonel Harry James Potter.
Auror.
The man who had never let them suspect his battles, his past, his courage. Quiet and humble, he who had saved the world from a tyrant came to comfort them against imaginary bogeymen, with the same loyalty.
He had always wanted to be like his father, not even knowing how much of a hero he was. And now…
- "Are we going to fight today?" Albus asked softly.
Harry lifted his head.
- "I don't think so. Don't worry, Al. Everything will be fine."
His eyes were smiling, but his tensed face said "I won't let you risk your life."
The teenager leaned back in the seat, propping his backpack against the windowsill to use it as a pillow. He closed his eyes. His father nodded approvingly, then went back to the grim contemplation of his hands.
Charlie was snoring, as if he was fast asleep, but he was perfectly awake.
"Nothing can be done, Harry.
He will have to fight alongside us.
Even if we could win without the help of a dragon, when his kin will feel his presence, they will come to him.
You won't be able to protect your son forever... "
Dawn was breaking behind the window, tearing off the clouds, and everything that was familiar was disappearing a little more with each rail, in a shattering sound of steel.
Albus slept a bit aboard the ferry, on the shoulder of his father, while Charlie watched the sea, standing with his hands on his hips on the bridge, splashed with salty wind that rustled in his red hair.
It was beautiful on the island and the long walk on the road unrolling between two flat shingle walls proved more pleasant than they had imagined. There were no birds in the high and clear skies, not even a seagull. People waved their hands to greet them when they passed near a house and Charlie ventured several tasteless jokes about whiskey distilleries and the fireworks that would occur if a dragon took a fancy in breathing out a torrent of flames a little too close to the Muggle territory. Albus hungrily devoured a trout at the pub where they stopped for lunch. The woman who brought out the dishes suddenly asked him why he was not at school and, in panic, Harry came up with such an unbelievable story that Charlie laughed to tears. Albus had had a sip of the Muggle pint of beer served to his uncle and his head was spinning a bit.
At Cornabus, they found a young woman named Aretho, sitting on a big stone, carving a spear with a sharp knife. She was dressed in a homespun cloak that did little to hide her beautiful long legs and her tempting cleavage. Her chestnut skin brought out her opalescent irises in the creamy white of her eyes. She was wearing dreadlocks adorned with red feathers and wooden beads, and Albus thought she was very cool, even if he could not help blushing when her shoulder grazed his.
The second part of the journey was more tiring. Aretho had them scramble through rocks, run across a plain where the grass was struggling to grow, climb down a cliff, trudge along a loch, then hike on top of a hill before finally getting down to the camp established in Killeyan.
Albus was opening wide eyes passing by the tents. Here, a shirtless man marred with scars, his hair tied in a ponytail, was washing himself as if it was not cold at all. Another was busy picking his teeth with a fishbone, immersed in a book. Farther, two women were training together, casting spells that looked like dangerous but beautiful fireworks. There, a pair of socks soaped itself in a bucket of dirty water. Three Aurors in their thirties were playing cards sitting on a blanket that was levitating above the muddy ground and hurriedly got up when they saw Harry who just smiled, amused. Someone was playing the flute sitting atop the dump of boats and stopped to wave at them.
The applause that had gradually begun to crackle was making Albus a little giddy, until he saw something that made his hair stand on his neck. He halted suddenly and Charlie, who was behind him, almost jostled him.
- "Hey, what are you doing, lad?" he protested.
The boy only pointed at the totems that lined the path up towards the sea coast, on the other side of the camp.
- "Oh", said Charlie.
He gently squeezed Albus' shoulder.
- "I guess they usually attack from there... You'll get used to it. You're only half dragon, remember? The eels won't affect you as much."
The boy nodded, not really convinced.
- "HARRY! BLOODY HECK YOU TOOK YOUR SWEET TIME!" bellowed someone enthusiastically, and Albus jumped. Then he smiled, because the tall man who was running to them, with dirty hair and a shaggy red beard on his gaunt face, was his uncle.
His father hugged Ron back warmly and Charlie shook hands with his 'little' brother who was a good fifteen inches taller than him.
- "Did you have a nice trip? We weren't expecting you before two o'clock, the Scaly began their embargo on the ferries. The Cal'mac resisted long, but I reckon the old Bercelak finally got his way with them. Did you sail out this morning?"
Harry raised a hand to stop the flood of questions
- "Wait, Ron, wait. Where is Maximilian Rottweiller? I have to report to him."
Ron stared at him, then he frowned and rubbed his neck wearily.
- "He's dead, Harry. He died the day before yesterday."
- "What?"
Albus winced at his father's anxious tone.
- "We manage to recover some of the message carried by the owl scorched last night, that's what told us of your arrival, but it's been more than three days since communications were cut with the Ministry, Harry", explained Ron gravely. "We were beginning to think they had abandoned us. The last supplying of food was one week ago."
A murmur ran through the crowd of Aurors gathered around them.
- "You mean you didn't know? I thought they sent you here because Hermione's muggle posted letter had reached the ministry... And what's the secret weapon the message was mentioning? I don't really get why you had to come with Albus either. Ginny and my mother must be in a tizzy. What is it? A fourth-year internship?"
Harry took a step back, feeling sick.
- "Anyway I hope others will arrive soon, one way or another, because we won't hold much longer now that MacFusty has a stranglehold on Muggle transportations", Ron continued, glancing puzzlingly at his nephew. "This old crackpot of Bercelak was laughing his guts out, last night. And the dragon expert, they should have sent him earlier if he could give us an opening against these demons..."
Harry looked around in shock, staring at the thin and tired men who were listening to the conversation without much hope.
- "They said fifteen brigades!"
The scarred Auror snorted.
- "Yeah, that's how much there were at the beginning. Now it's more like eight."
Albus swallowed hard.
- "Anyway, it's not a place for children", the man added icily.
Aretho nodded beside him, and so did many others. Ron cast a glance around him, feeling the hostility ride with incomprehension, and studied the clearly distraught face of Harry.
- "Okay, okay", he said, raising his arms to appease the murmur. "Calm down, mates. For now, we..."
A gong rang powerfully, cutting him, vibrating in the air around them. In a second, all wands were out.
- "What was that?" Harry gasped.
- "Someone made a breach in the magic wards surrounding the island", said the man with a ponytail, his breathing short and fast. "We must go!"
- "Wow - wow – WOW", Ron hollered as a whirl of golden sand suddenly billowed over the ground.
In a circle of wands aiming at him, his ears flattened back, his fur bristling with fear, his green eyes blazing and his fangs bared, the young black dragon caterwauled in anger.
TBC
Next chapter : HELLO, GOODBYE