ro781727: How the Trace works and is applied is extremely inconsistent throughout canon. My headcanon is that it is applied to the wands themselves when on Platform 9 3/4, so the main use of the Trace is to keep wizards of school age from casting magic all over the place when they are on holiday. There are other ways to detect magic to some degree, primarily for Apparation without a license or in front of Muggles or magical events big enough that the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes needs to be called in, but these methods are not person-specific like the Trace.

"Sign language": A few people now have asked whether Hazel will learn sign language. There are two big issues I see with this. First, the majority of people do not know sign language, so she would have to go out of her way to find people who could understand her. Second, she has no reason to go looking for it. She already has a means to communicate: writing, which everyone can understand unlike sign language. It also isn't like she's deaf and needs to know sign language to be communicated to. She can hear just fine, she just can't speak back.

So no, Hazel will NOT learn sign language unless someone can point out a major benefit to her that I'm overlooking.

Chapter 6
The Ruins

The sun had already vanished below the horizon not quite an hour before when Hazel set foot in the town of Tavistock. There was nothing special that drew her to this place; it was simply somewhere to stop and rest for the night. She had initially planned to sleep in a little village called Peter Tavy, which was along the more direct route from Wistman's Wood to her next destination – and was supposedly haunted to boot! – but taking stock of her supplies she had found that she was running out of food again. Tavistock was not a large town, but it was bigger than Peter Tavy and would have somewhere she could stop to grab stuff to eat.

Street lamps were already lighting up the streets, and she kept a wary eye out as she wandered down the pavement. She was not worried enough about being seen to cloak herself in the grey smoke of her invisibility, but neither was she interested in the police coming to find her. School may have started already, and there was no way she was giving up her newfound freedom to sit in a classroom all day. Truant officers were therefore a legitimate concern.

The wind blew again, colder even than the last time and with a dampness that spoke of coming snow. She ducked down an alleyway and huddled against the brick wall. She had spent a few nights out in the elements since leaving Little Whinging, but when the worst weather came through she always tried to duck into a building to sleep. She did not trust herself to get through a snowy winter night without some kind of cover. That seemed like a wonderful way to turn herself into a popsicle.

Without warning, the door on the opposite wall a little ways deeper into the alley opened up, and an older man wearing a black apron and a white shirt stepped out. The large rubbish bag over his shoulder was flung into the dumpster nearby, and he turned enough that his eyes fell onto her.

"Dear god!"

Hazel flinched back at the sound of his thought. That was a sharper reaction than she had earned since leaving Privet Drive. She should have made herself invisible.

A moment later, the flash of fear left. There was nothing here to really fear. If he tried to do anything, she could always teleport somewhere else in a single jump. Not to mention that other than the Dursleys, most adults preferred to ignore her. So long as he stuck to yelling at her to go away, she would be fine.

"Calm. Calm," the man continued in his own mind. "Can't scare her away. Hello, little one." He raised one hand slowly in a tiny wave, the care of his movement odd but fitting with the voice he had used when he finally spoke to her. It was the voice of someone trying to tease a wounded kitten out from behind a box. "Mighty cold out here tonight, isn't it?"

She gave him a strange look back before surreptitiously looking down at her clothes. Was something on her that was making him react so strangely? Her jeans were dirty from several days out on the road, and her coat had grime shoved deep into the creases of the puffs, but she did not look that bad.

He must have noticed her look because his face crinkled and his small frown grew. "I think I have some soup left inside. Good thing I didn't dump the pot yet. Be nice to get something warm in your belly, wouldn't it? Come on, girlie. Please just come inside. All I want to do is help."

That last thought drew a blink from her. Most of his thoughts were throwing up red flags of stranger danger, but that put everything in a different light. There was little chance that could be a trap, though. It was not as if he routinely came around mind-readers. She took a single step closer, then a second.

"There we go. That's a good girl. Come on, lass. Don't want you freezing to death."

Thinking the matter over again, she shrugged to herself and approached much less tentatively. It was not as if he could do anything to trap her here even if he wanted too. She had jumped from a locked cupboard to the kitchen the night she left the Dursleys. It followed that she could get out of any locked room.

The man stepped backwards when she got closer, holding the door open for her until she crossed the threshold. The room she entered was full of gleaming steel counters and cooking things and strange gizmos, obviously the kitchen of some restaurant or something. "Have a seat," he said, pulling a stool closer to one of the counters and grabbing a spoon from a plastic rack. "Not the broccoli and cheese. Too rich for her stomach. I'll be right back. The beef soup. That'll do."

The man turned away and hustled along the counter for a moment and around a corner deeper into the building. With him out of sight, she glanced around until she could see her reflection in the polished refrigerator. She frowned in confusion while looking it up and down. What had disturbed him like that? Sure, her cheeks were a little sunken in, the bones above more prominent than before, but not to the point that she looked like a skull or something.

He returned before she could think too much on that, a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. The plate had chunks of bread on it along with a glass of water, but it was the bowl that really caught her attention. Steam rose from it, bringing a scent to her nose that instantly made her stomach growl. The spoon was in her hand almost without a thought. Her eyes rose briefly to glance his way only to find that he was very intentionally not looking directly at her, as if he thought she would run if he watched her eat.

The spoon dipped into the soup, rose, and moved to her mouth. Flavors so basic and yet so foreign to anything she had eaten lately swept over her tongue. A second spoonful quickly followed, then a third and a fourth and a fifth.

"Poor thing acts like she hasn't eaten in a year."

His words hit her ears, and she slowed down enough to focus on what she was doing. In what felt like only seconds, she had downed half the bowl, and one of the pieces of bread was in her other hand dripping with broth after having been dunked in the soup. The flavor of beef, beans, and spices still danced in her mouth, and if anything her stomach felt even emptier than before she started eating.

Unease wormed into her belly alongside the food and squirmed. She had tried to avoid stealing as much as she could, which meant making the food she did take last as long as she could. Even before she escaped from her cupboard, she had gone a week without any food whatsoever. When was the last time she had eaten a full meal? A month? Longer, considering the Dursleys always gave her the smallest portion of whatever Aunt Petunia cooked?

On the one hand, no wonder she was hungry now. On the other, if she was wolfing down whatever was put in front of her, clearly she needed to eat more. And if that meant stealing more often...

"Don't worry about running out," the man told her, now sitting on a stool. His thoughts were not words, just a tide of sorrow. "There's plenty more where that came from."

She returned to her meal, though not quite as hasty as she had been. If nothing else, the slower pace let her savor the flavor.

Her ravenous appetite started flagging at the end of the third bowl of soup, and she waved off a fourth when it was offered. She was comfortably full now, even if she had no idea where she had just put it all, and she did not want to overstuff herself and tempt all of it coming back up. Only once she leaned back against the wall to the side did she look up and find the man still looking at her with sad eyes. A brittle smile came to his face. "Feeling better?"

Hazel gave him a nod.

"I bet. Not that it will do a lot. One good meal will only go so far." He leaned forwards, propping his elbows on his knees. "You know, you don't have to live out on the streets. If you want some help, I can get in touch with someone I know. She can help you out. Warm, dry place to stay. Food every day. I hope Karen still works at that shelter, anyway. It isn't a long drive from Plymouth. Might be able to come by tonight, or at the latest tomorrow. What do you think? Sound good? Please say yes. She can help get in touch with the girl's family too, I bet."

She shook her head, doing her best to ignore the last thought. He had no idea what her life had been like with the Dursleys. It was not a threat, that thought, just him trying to help as best as he knew how. She appreciated the sentiment, but he did not understand that that form of help was the last thing she needed. For the first time in what felt like a long time, she slipped the backpack off her shoulders and dug into it for her pad of paper and a

pen.

"I'm going somewhere," she wrote before turning it so he could read.

"Homeless, hungry, and can't talk. Terrible." The man nodded his head, acting as though his thoughts were not affecting him. "Going somewhere, huh? Family, maybe? Someone who can take care of you? It would be faster getting there by car rather than by foot. That way if there isn't someone there, somebody can still take you to safety."

"I'm enjoying the trip."

His bottom lip slipped into his mouth. "Should just call Karen anyway, but I don't know how I'd keep her here. Wouldn't do any good to call the police. Saw them chase that other guy out of town for no good reason. Don't want them near a slip of a girl like this. She looks like she'd get hurt by the wind blowing the wrong way."

The pen was already moving as she wrote out her next, and probably last, statement. "I need to get moving again. Thank you for the food. I really appreciate it." She held up the page long enough for him to read it, then slipped both the pad and the pen back into the pack. It was the truth. She did appreciate his kindness, accepting a total stranger into what she assumed was his place of business and giving her food just because she looked like she needed it.

But just because her freedom was hard, harder than she expected when she first set out, did not mean she wanted to give it up. It was better than anything else in her life had ever been.

"Agggh. At least take something with you. Come on." He waved for her to follow him to the rear of the building. "I can at least make sure she doesn't starve for a couple of days."

The rear of the building turned out to be its front, and she stepped into the brightly lit front of a deli. While she admired the red and white tiles, the man quickly sliced two loaves of bread and stacked them high with meat and cheese, followed up with fresh slices of lettuce and tomato. Once both thick sandwiches were made, he wrapped them up in wax paper and handed them over with a conflicted expression on his face. "If wherever you're going doesn't turn out right," he slowly said, "you can always make your way back. That offer to get you some help will still be here."

Giving him a bright smile, she slipped the sandwiches into her backpack and with barely a second thought stepped forwards to give him a hug. He was surprised at the sudden gesture, but in her eyes he deserved it. Here he was, a total stranger, and in the last half hour he had been kinder to her than her own family or anyone who knew her growing up in Little Whinging. She pulled away and gave him a nod.

She highly doubted she would wind up taking him up on that offer, but it was good to have it in her back pocket just in case.

A few steps out the front door, she stopped and looked back at the deli. Was there anything she could do, any bit of magic that she had that would repay his kindness? None came to mind, but maybe there was something else she could do. Laying her hand on the brick wall, she closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.

This man is kind, she said to anything that might be listening to a little witch like her. He did a good turn for someone he didn't know out of nothing but the goodness of his heart. That should be worth something, some little reward. His business matters to him. Let it succeed. Let it grow and prosper, so his kindness is returned to him many times over.

Her eyes opened, and she pulled the backpack higher on her shoulders. She had no idea if that would work, but it was all she had to give back. Hopefully it would do something.

Waves crashed against the nearby shore, and a dark rain pelted ground that was normally safe from the water. Hazel had to shield her eyes to look out over the turbulent waters to find the narrow footbridge that led from the mainland to the tiny spit of land and the steep, narrow stairs that led higher to the ruined castle on the peak.

She almost wanted to slap herself. In hindsight, she really could have chosen a better time to visit the remains of Tintagel Castle.

The stone bridge was slick beneath her feet, but at least there was nobody else around. She had watched the ancient site for most of the day, and it was shocking how long people were waiting to take a look at the site. The crowds finally cleared out as the dark storm clouds rolled in, but even then she chose to wait until the staff were likewise absent. Considering she had seen people showing tickets to enter, they likely would not think kindly of her trying to sneak in.

Another wave washed over the stones and threatened to wash them away into the cold sea. She knew that was unlikely to happen this night, not when it had survived for hundreds of years, but nevertheless the flow of the water pushed her into crossing the bridge quicker than she had been. Once across the bridge, she just had to climb up a set of downright treacherous steps, and then she would be inside the remains of the castle where King Arthur himself was born.

As soon as she set her feet on the stairs, a nasty wind blew and forced her to huddle against the cliff face in which they were built. The stairs themselves were steep, uneven, and slick with the rain. She did not want to chance falling backwards and tumbling down. She could fix her glasses and a tree, but that did not mean she wanted to try doing the same with a busted skull.

Lightning flashed, glinting off the wet steps beneath her, and when the thunder cracked she took the last step and stood on the broken stone and the grass on the top of the island. Without the moon above, she had to rely on her torch for light, even if the frequent blasts of lightning provided its own eerie glimpse at the rest of the landscape. The unrelenting rain did not improve her visibility any.

Crouching down behind a ruined wall, she pulled the map of the site from her back pocket and opened it underneath her bent torso so she could keep it as dry as possible. Not that it was going to be any drier than anything else on her, and sure enough the colored inks were already starting to run through the sodden paper. She could still make out the overall layout of the island, but the small numbers were gone, so she had no idea what any of the structures actually were. She was essentially walking around blind.

Thunder burst around her once more, and she wiped her growing strands of hair off her face and glared up at the storm for a brief second before her glasses were too smeared to see out of them. This is a bad idea, she decided after a moment. It's too dark and too rainy to see anything. I don't know if I'd be able to find any signs of magic even if the were there. Nor did she think she could stop and meditate. The raindrops pelting her were distracting enough as it was, and the crackling storm above her had its own strange, almost frightening power that she expected would mask any subtle feelings of magic.

I should probably call it quits and find somewhere dry, but… Her torch focused on the ground and her feet moving carefully so as not to fall off the cliff, she reached the edge of the little plateau and shined the beam down at the bridge. A fortuitous flash of lightning lit up the sea and revealed a dark hole half-submerged on the edge of the island.

If she could not find any secrets within the castle, she had no option but to explore Merlin's Cave. It was not as if she were not already soaked to the bone. What harm could a little more water do?

The beam of the torch played along the edge until she found the stairs again, and she started the climb down. It was only a hundred or so steps. As long as she was careful, she would be fine.

Her left foot hit the edge of one of the steps, and it crumbled just enough for her trainer to slip off.

Hazel's eyes went wide as she felt herself start to fall.

Hard, unforgiving stone slammed into her legs. Her chest. Her head. She spun as she fell, opening more targets for the stone stairs to bash and break. Something sharp stabbed through her leg and ripped a harsh gasp from her mouth. Halfway down, her hand finally caught a stair and turned her tumbling fall into a slide that ended another five steps down.

The end of the fall made the pain in her leg burn even hotter, so strong that tears were pouring down her cheeks and mingling with the rain. She looked down through her right eye, the only side that still had her glasses intact, and a wave of nausea swept through her when she saw how her leg was twisted the wrong way around below her knee. Something white and slicked with red had punched through the skin, and darkness creeped into the edges of her vision and threatened to make her pass out before she blinked and looked away.

There was no way she was walking on that. She was trapped here, in the middle of a storm with a broken leg.

The snap of bone she heard during her fall was familiar, and swallowing down the urge to throw up all over herself she reached down with both hands to hover just above the leg bone sticking through her skin. It was just like when she broke the sapling. She healed that. She could heal this. She could!

Scrunching her face, she tried to imagine the green lighting bursting forth from her hands to course over her injuries and seal them shut. She tried to imagine the pain shooting up from her leg all the way to her belly stopping. She tried to imagine being able to walk again.

Her hands shook, and water dripped from them, but aside from a few glimmers of light around the edges of the wound was nothing. There was too much pain, too much to distract her and steal away her focus.

Several minutes passed, and she looked up to a sky that was completely covered with clouds. Great sobs escaped her, but she could not stop them any more than she could stop her tears or the pain. The storm still rumbled, the thunder growing louder if anything, and she let loose a silent

scream of anger and pain at the heavens. A tiny growl eventually escaped at the very end, the air from her lungs passing through a tightening throat even if her vocal cords were useless.

It was the storm's fault she was like this! Why she was hurting and could not walk! She already could not speak, and now she was further crippled?! It wasn't fair! Her hands grabbed her ruined leg, her anger spiking further while the flashes in the clouds above came faster and faster. She did not want much! She just wanted her leg fixed!

A sharp crack shredded the air and made her ears ring, lightning striking scarily close and the thunder that followed nearly shoving her to the side into the rocky cliff. The storm unleashing the power she had already felt, clearly not pleased at being yelled at.

And in time with a second crack, emerald lightning erupted from her hands at last.

Perhaps it was the nature of her power. Perhaps it was how her spell seemed to be affected by the storm raging around her. Whatever it was, her healing was anything but gentle. A slurp came as the bone was all but yanked back under the skin. Her shin spun with as much violent force as had been used to break it in the first place. Pins and needles raced down her leg from knee to the tips of her toes and then bounced back harsher and faster all the way to her hip and lower back, another wave of nausea roiling in her stomach.

Gasping and grabbing still at her leg, Hazel stared down at where the break had been and was no longer. She bent and straightened her knee, then rolled her ankle around and around. Everything felt… fine. As if it had never been hurt in the first place.

Her glasses were still broken, so she reached up and found that the frame itself was still intact, if admittedly twisted on her head. It was the left lens that was ruined. Pulling the glasses off her head, she held them in her hand and forced the lightning out again. The plastic reformed, and the glass or plastic or whatever it was in the lens felt like it was regrowing from nothing until her glasses were once more restored to their former self. It was noticeably harder to do this than when she fixed them in Shervage Wood, and that worried her. Was there a limit to the number of times she could fix something? Or maybe it was just that healing her leg had used up too much of her magic power and she was running on empty.

That had its own worrisome implications.

The thunder started to soften, but the rain was still coming down in buckets, and understandably she had less than no intention of walking down the stairs after this experience. She pushed herself onto her feet and grasped the straps of her backpack. There was enough worry in her gut that she was dearly tempted to hold onto the rock wall, but she forced that away long enough to hop in place—

—and land on the island side of the bridge.

The sudden appearance created a splash in the air as she suddenly took up the same space as the drops of rain, and she did her best to shake off the extra water. For all the good it did, anyway. Now she was not in as much danger of being electrocuted by sudden blasts of lightning, but in return she was back in range of the waves.

Her gaze found the entrance of the cave, and she bit her lip. The entire reason she came back down so soon was because she wanted to get a look at a cave affiliated with Merlin, the greatest wizard she had ever heard of. That was before she broke her leg, though. Was she willing to risk another injury like that so soon?

Another wave hit the shore of the island with a violent crash, and she imagined herself being thrown into the cliff with that much force.

Nope. Not doing that. She gave the cave a sad look and a small wave. The shiver that raced down her spine added further weight to her decision. Sorry, Merlin. I'll come back to take a look at you later, maybe. But not tonight.

Some of this chapter was written in an emergency room lobby. I'll let you guess which part.

Silently Watches out.