Jigoku no Yami: I have no plans to bring the Powers back into play. Not right now, anyway. We'll have to see what the muse cooks up.
Mad Elf: It wasn't that she couldn't find any stories where wizards were proactive. It was that there was little to nothing in the books she looked through where there was any explanation about the mechanics behind their magic. Also, to be totally honest, I intentionally avoided any books where the wizards were of a more blaster-y flavor. That isn't the direction this story is going.
kyuubi7: Hazel won't be doing any enchanting with runes, though she'll become quite adept at a different process to reach a similar outcome. Whether runes come up in some other format is something I'm still working out.
"Mage Hand!": Indeed. I'm actually surprised so many people recognized it off the bat like that, because I certainly wouldn't have before this year. Mostly because I've never played D&D, nor I was ever interested in it until I saw the trailers for Baldur's Gate 3. Finding out that this cool-looking game will run on D&D rules is the only reason I know anything at all about the franchise.
"I hope Hazel doesn't lose the skills she's learning when she goes to Hogwarts": Oh boy. I'm just going to keep my plans to myself for a little longer. It'll be more fun that way. XD
Chapter 4
The Stones
The sun had set below the horizon in front of Hazel several hours ago, yet still she walked through the deep darkness. Using the railway as her road was turning out to be a double-edged sword in ways she had not expected when she first picked it. Her initial thought had been that it was a fairly direct path to get where she wanted to go, and unlike the streets there would be no one driving along who might stop to find out where a nine-year-old was going and why she was traveling in the middle of the night.
Those advantages were still present, but unlike the smooth surface of a road, it was rough and unsteady as gravel switched to wooden ties and back to gravel. She was never sure which one her feet would hit next, providing a constant urge to keep the beam from her torch fixed firmly at her feet.
Something rustled in the dark to her side, and the torch's beam flew towards it only to reveal nothing at all.
As her heart rate slowed down just a little she took a deep breath and resumed walking. That was the reason she could not just watch the tracks. The night along the railroad was not silent the way it was back in Little Whinging. Back with the Dursleys, once the neighborhood went to bed everything was quiet. Here and now there were always rustlings or an owl's hoot or what she hoped was just the wind creating an eerie whistle. Sounds that distracted her and demanded the attention of her light.
The wind for sure this time blew again, funneled through the opening along the course of the railway and sending icy knives into her. Between her puffy coat, her gloves, and her scarf, everything between her nose and her waist was warm, but it did little for her legs and absolutely nothing for the top half of her head. Should have grabbed a cap too, she thought as a shiver worked its way through her thin body. Stopping in the middle of the tracks, she stomped her feet for almost a minute to get some warmth moving around instead.
Hazel would be lying if she told herself that she was not considering turning around and walking back to Greater Whinging. Not because she planned to stay there long term, but because she had nothing with which to try warming herself up. She had no lighter nor matches to start a fire, and certainly no heater to blow warm air onto herself. Closing her eyes, she made yet another go at trying to imagine a fire springing up. Nothing happened, and she had the same results once more when she pictured a nice hearth.
Mental keys and hands she could manifest with no problem. The creation of fire, on the other hand, was eluding her no matter how hard she tried.
How could I have forgotten something to start a fire?, she chided herself, though she knew the truth behind the answer. She was used to having somewhere warm and dry to spend the night, whether that was Privet Drive or the library. Never in her life had she ever spent the night outdoors. Of course she could not know everything she would need right from the start.
Unfortunately, this left her with two equally unpleasant options. First, to keep walking through the dark, doing her best to keep warm, and hope that by the time she was ready to fall asleep she found someplace that had a lighter. Second, to 'jump' back to the Tesco, break in, and look for matches. It was dark enough out here that she could not guarantee she would be able to return to where she was, which meant she would have to give up the hours of progress she had made and restart her trek from the very beginning.
The idea of turning back was enough to spur her forwards. She could not turn around, not now. If she did, there was no telling where she would stop, and all that waited for her at the end of that road was Privet Drive.
The beam from her torch flickered.
Hazel's eyes grew wide, and she struggled to take her backpack off. The torch had looked like it was growing weaker for the last couple of days, so this was not unexpected, but could it not have chosen a better time to fail on her?! Finally off her shoulders, the bag dropped to the ground.
And the light went out.
Come on, Hazel begged as she turned the torch off and tried to turn it back on again. Anything to eke even a few more seconds of light out of it. No matter how many times she slid the switch, though, it remained stubbornly dead. Come on!
Something creaked in the woods, invisible in the inky blackness, and Hazel's heart raced as she crouched next to her backpack and set the torch down by her feet. She had put batteries in the bag when she was shopping, but like an idiot she put them with the cans and clothes and everything else in the main pocket! Her hands shook when she finally found the zipper, and she reached into the backpack. Can, can, jeans maybe, something sharp that was probably the can opener— Where were they?!
Her desperately searching fingers finally touched slick plastic at the very bottom of the bag, and she pulled out the pack of thick batteries she picked up specifically for her torch. Grabbing both sides of the shell, she pulled and tugged with little hope for success. She had seen Uncle Vernon struggle with these all the time until Aunt Petunia convinced him to use a pair of scissors, and she knew she would not have any more success with her skinny twig arms. Giving it up as a bad job, she instead put her hands on the ground and walked them around until her fingertips found the edge of a pointed stone that felt thin enough to poke a hole in the plastic.
A shuffle of feet to the side made her jump, and she grabbed the stone and pushed the point of the stone into the plastic until it broke through. Two, three, four more times she did this until finally she could wiggle her fingers into the shell and violently ripped it apart.
Something, no doubt the batteries she needed so desperately, clattered onto the ground.
Hazel's heart leapt into her throat, and she threw the rock to the side so she could feel along the ground again. One hand found something far too smooth to be plain stone, and then the other hand found another. She needed a third hand to pick the torch back up, so instead of putting the batteries back down she shoved them into the pockets of her jacket. The torch was right where she left it, and she hastily unscrewed the head and swung the body of the torch to the side where the sound had come from.
Even if she expected them, the cracks of the batteries hitting the ground made her jump. There was no telling what was out there, what animal lurked in the shadows that thought she would make a tasty midnight snack! Her torch was now open for her, and she grabbed the first battery. Have to get this right. Have to get this right. Where's the bump, where's… There! Bump on the top, in the torch, and the next one. Not this end. Other end, found it. And in! Both batteries inside the plastic case, she screwed the head back into place and flicked the switch. Bright light shot out of the light bulb, and she swung the beam in the direction where she heard all the noise.
Her light found nothing. Nothing whatsoever.
Her panting breaths were clearly visible in the now bright air, and she hugged herself and took several slow, deep breaths in the hopes that it would force her heart to stop pounding quite so hard. It was fine. She was fine. There was nothing out there in the woods that wanted to eat her. The creaking and rustling she had heard was probably just the wind or some tiny animal like a mouse or something going about its business.
The last two batteries that had flown out of the package were easy to find, and this time she put them in one of the little pockets on the side of the backpack. She needed them to be easier to find the next time her torch decided to give out on her.
The brighter beam illuminated more of the train tracks and the woods to the sides, and it was with steps that certainly were not in any way faster than before that she continued on down the railroad.
It was still early in the morning, hours probably before the sun would rise and turn the starry sky blue, that the tracks shifted to the side and split off into a pair. The reason for the change became clear the closer Hazel came: she had reached the first rail station on her trek. Another shiver ran through her body, the cold coming with greater frequency the entire time she walked, and with a silent groan she pulled herself up the short wall onto the platform. This was as good a place to look around for some kind of fire-starter as any. If she found nothing, she could just keep on moving.
Walking to the front of the train station, she shined the beam of light into the night. At the very edge of the light she could see something glinting, though not well enough to determine just what it was. Hazel shrugged to herself and started walking. Her steps grew quicker the closer she got, her excitement filling her up.
It was a petrol station, and petrol stations had boxes of lighters just waiting to be bought. Even better for her, the building was dark.
She ran to the glass door and swept through the interior with her light. Sure enough, a box of plastic lighters sat right there in front of the cash register. A tug on the door proved that it was closed for the night and locked securely. No one would be able to get in without breaking through the glass.
No one without magic, that was.
Setting the torch on a brick windowsill so the light was still on the handle of the door, she dropped her backpack to the ground and took several deep breaths in with her eyes shut. She knew what she was doing. She had experimented with it back in the library. Besides her teleportation and her ability to read minds, this was the skill she had practiced most. Once she felt herself settling into a sense of calm, she opened her eyes again and pictured what she needed.
Before she closed her eyes, there had just been the handle and the keyhole. Now, there was something else added to the scene. An almost transparent key floated in the air, old-fashioned in design with thick teeth on the end of a long stem. The head of the key was not a ring like old keys she had seen pictures of. No, the head of this key was a cartoony skull wearing a smile.
Her magic could unlock any door. It was only appropriate it take the form of a skeleton key.
There was no way the teeth of this key would be able to fit in the keyhole if it were real, but all it was was an image in her mind. It slid into the hole without issue and turned. A soft click was audible, and when Hazel grabbed the handle again, this time the door swung open invitingly.
She grabbed her backpack with one hand and her torch with the other, the door propped open with one foot. A beeline to the lighters, and she grabbed two of them before thinking about it a moment longer. Three more came down, and all five of them made their way into the pocket on the other side of the backpack from the one she put her batteries into.
Hazel nibbled on her lip for a moment, indecision warring within her. The Tesco where she had gotten her new clothes was a huge business. Uncle Vernon had certainly complained about how rich the company was. This petrol station did not look anything near the same. She did not want to steal from the people who owned this, not if she could help it. Reaching into her bag again, she pulled out the thin sheaf of bills she took with her from Privet Drive and slapped a five-pound note on the counter where it would be easily seen.
There. Now she wasn't stealing. She paid for the lighters.
Locking the door behind her, she made her way back to the train tracks. There were a few more miles she wanted to cover before the sun came up and she looked for a place to rest. Except now, she could actually stay warm while she slept, even if she was stuck in the middle of the woods.
Hazel kept her eyes on the coach as it trundled down the road. She knew from prior exploration that this road led all the way back to the nearby visitor center, and based on where the sun was in the sky, this should be the last group leaving the monument. So long as she could avoid being spotted, she would have all the time she wanted without being bothered.
Over to the west, in the direction of the setting sun, stood the tall pillars of Stonehenge.
The emptiness of the plain meant that Hazel did not even need to bother with her 'ignore me' smokescreen. She simply walked in the direction of the massive monument, hopping over the knee-high rope that marked the edges of where normal tourists could go. She did not want to stand here ten feet from the nearest stone. She needed to be right in the middle of the structure.
Stonehenge was on the top of her list of places to visit for a couple of reasons. One of them was simple, accessibility. Most of the places she wanted to visit were to the west of Surrey, and of them all this location was the closest. She pretty much had to pass Stonehenge on the way to anywhere of interest, so she might as well visit here first. The other reason was the history of this place. According to an old book she found in the library, it had been built by the druids, the priests and sorcerers of the ancient Celtic people. If what she read was true, they had also used it for human sacrifice, which was… icky and something she hoped was not necessary for big amazing pieces of magic. If it was, she would have to rethink whether she really wanted magic to be a main focus of her life.
Just the thought of what kind of person she would become if she dived headfirst into murder and human sacrifice made her queasy.
Regardless of its original purpose, she had to wonder about how even after years of study, nobody knew how the heavy stones that made it up had been moved from wherever they were carved. Something so extraordinarily difficult that it bordered on the impossible? That sounded like the work of magic to her.
Hazel stepped through one of the square archways and into the center of the stone circles. In the dying sunlight, this place was magnificent and awe-inspiring. But did it hold secrets for a desperate magician? That was the question of the day, and so far, nothing was jumping out at her.
Maybe it would just take time, and thankfully, she was well prepared for that. Under one arm was a good-sized collection of sticks and branches she had picked up off the ground before the woods ended and the plains began. It had taken her a couple of hours yesterday to figure out how to get a fire going with her new lighters and how to keep it lit, but she thought she had the hang of it now.
Sure enough, it only took her twenty minutes and five attempts at lighting it this time to get a little fire burning!
With her fire giving her warmth, she pulled her coat tight around her and sat on the ground with her legs crossed under her and her back against one of the fallen pillars. Her experiments with her magic hand proved how useful meditation was. Perhaps this was what she needed to get any information from these ancient stones. Or maybe once the night finally fell, something would show itself. Anything at all would be nice.
The sun sank beneath the horizon. Night took over the sky. Nothing at all happened among the massive stones.
She let out a sigh. Not surprising, but it was disappointing. Perhaps meditation would get her somewhere. Closing her eyes, she let her breathing even out and her mind clear. She wanted to be receptive to any signs or secrets this place wanted to share with her. With the fire warming her, it did not take long for her to sink into the place of calm where her meditation was supposed to take her, and she waited as patiently as she could for any hints or whispers. Surely something would come her way. Surely.
Soreness in her side and back nudged her, and after several minutes she opened her eyes and blinked in surprise. Why was the world turned sideways? Why was the sky bright? The fog in her brain slipped away, and she blinked a few more times before pushing herself upright, cursing herself in her head. It was morning! Somewhere in her meditation, she had just fallen asleep instead!
A moment of panic surged through her, and she staggered to her feet. If it was daytime, that meant there would be a tour group coming up any minute. She would be arrested for trespassing, and the police would probably make her go back to the Dursleys!
Looking out over the field, she expected to find a crowd of people looking back at her, maybe with a couple of police already in attendance. Instead, she was met with absolutely nothing. No people. No coaches. Nothing at all.
The terror receded, and actual thought took its place. She let out a quiet huff. She was worried about nothing. Of course there was no one here right now. There would not be anybody here until tomorrow.
Stonehenge was closed on Christmas Day.
She shrugged and scattered the ash and half-burnt sticks of her long-dead fire. Intellectually she knew she should be disappointed about being by herself and homeless on Christmas, but the holiday had never meant anything special to her. If anything, being alone and free was the greatest gift she had ever received. It was definitely better than being forced into her cupboard so the Dursleys could spend the day pretending she did not exist.
A few minutes spent gathering the rest of her belongings and sticking them in her backpack, and she was ready for the road again. She looked at the dirt on one side of her coat and her jeans and frowned. It might be getting time to find a building to stay in for a few days so she could wash her clothes, and she could restock her food supply at the same time. Plus, if there was a library anywhere near her, she could do some digging into whether there were any supposedly magical holidays. Yule was supposed to be around the same time as Christmas, right?
Birdsong from the trees distracted her as she was about to leave the plain on which Stonehenge was built. Over to the right, decorating the branches of three or four trees, was a large flock of bright blue and yellow birds singing to greet the day. She smiled at the cheerful sound they produced and the way they seemed to be keeping each other company.
Come to think of it, she thought after a moment, a lot of stories about witches and sorcerers talk about them having a familiar. I'd be a poor magician if I didn't have a pet of my own, wouldn't I?
Hazel tried to whistle the same tune the birds were singing but managed only a sputtering sound. Whistling was not something she had ever tried before, and this was a terrible first attempt. About the only good thing about it was that it had not scared the birds away.
If I can't sing them closer, maybe I can call them silently? It seemed to be worth a try. Birdies! Come here.
The birds continued their song.
Hey, she called with more force. She had never tried to talk to anybody in their own minds, not really, so maybe she was doing the mental equivalent of whispering. Over here! Come on, come here!
The singing softened, then fell silent. Even though the birds rustled in the trees, it did not look like any of them were about to fly towards her. If anything, it looked more like they were about to flee, as if something had spooked them.
She stamped her foot in frustration, and that was the signal the birds were waiting for. They sprang from the tree to the air with a great flapping of wings.
No!, she screamed. This was not what she wanted! All she wanted was for one of them to come over and be her friend! Her eyes caught one bird that was on the edge of the flock, and she all but shouted, You! Come over here!
The bird she picked out dropped for a second, almost as if its wings had stopped working, but almost before she could worry about it hitting the ground and getting hurt it started flapping again. It did not follow the rest of its fellows, however. Instead it wheeled around and swerved in her direction. Its flight smoothed out in the few seconds before it backpedaled and landed gently on her finger as soon as she reached out her hand. For a moment its eyes had a foggy greyish cast to them, almost as if they were covered by a film, but a blink and it was gone.
She gave it a smile and received a short twittering in return. When her other hand rose, it gave her fingers a quick look, but as soon as she touched its yellow breast feathers with the back of her fingers it puffed up and wiggled in place in delight.
Like that, do you?, she asked as loudly in her head as she could. Her question got another short snippet of song. She would take that as a yes. Do you want to stick around with me for a while? I can help you get seeds or fruit or whatever else you want to eat.
The bird cocked its head at her and jumped back into the air. It flew almost at her face for a moment, then it was out of sight. She sighed. Of course not. Nobody wanted—
A tiny weight dropped onto her head and shifted around in a circle before singing again.
The smile on her face was making her cheeks hurt, it was so wide, but she was not going to complain. We're going to be the best of friends, you and I. I just know it, she told the bird before hiking her pack higher on her shoulders. Now. Let's go! There's a whole world out there waiting for us!
You didn't think I'd make Hazel be completely on her own, did you? I learned that lesson already.
Before anybody believes the wrong information in this chapter or calls me out on it, Stonehenge was not created by the Celts. Modern methods have dated its construction to around 3000 B.C., long before the Celts migrated to the British Isles. It also seems to be a ritualized burial ground rather than a place of sacrifice; whether the Celts even performed human sacrifice is difficult to determine as the only records of that happening are by the Romans, whom nobody trusts to give accurate information about other cultures.
Hazel doesn't have that modern information, though. She read an old book with the old theories about its origin and purpose.
Silently Watches out.