Chapter 7. to the Goldcrest perch
Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, June 24th 1994
Time after the most festive new years eve most of Hogwarts staff could remember, flew by faster than ever before. January turned into February, into March and April, taking with it the ice and snow sculptures, replacing them with flowers and greenery. All over Hogsmeade, wassailed (encouraged with miled, delayed Herbivicus charm at Christmas) apple trees bloomed like never before, promising the most abundent harvest in a century. inside the school, both the professors and the students almost skipped in excitement too – well-ventilated classrooms, warm potions lab, healthier food, regular exercise and improved behavior of some teachers (or else!) and students (beware those donkey ears, Malfoy!) lead to grades skyrocketing to the unbelievable levels. This in turn brought the highest exam results in 200 years, even for OWLs and NEWTs. Shortly speaking, everyone was happy for one reason or another; even professor Snape, the ever snearing dungeon dweller, let a rare smile creep onto his pale face. Only two people, a boy hurridly packing his trunk in the Gryffindor tower, and a man accompanied by his ever ready house elf, had more than exam results to keep their faces shining. Their names were respectively Harry Potter and Marcus Longhurst.
He made that decision shortly after witnessing the boy's life out of school, if only a small fraction, not even half an hour of it. even though two weeks following that disastrous evening, he spent hunting Peter Pettigrew (well, Alexa hunted while he searched for food in his dog form one day, and another way round the other), his fitful sleep was plagued with nightmares of an obese whale like man, a woman resembling skinny, long-necked sheep, a walrus of a child and a floating, drunken balloon. Sometimes with no reason, those images changed into Dumbledor's face, repeating the same nonsense about the greater good again and again. Even though his faithful elf had succeeded in getting a job as a caretaker at Hogwarts, part that was Sirius Black whispered to him about that not being enough. When he handed Harry the safest broomstick there was, the Firebolt extreme enchanted by hand (money and contacts in the Department of mysteries can sometimes save lives) at Christmas, and got a hippogriff feather quill from the boy, his heart melted. No, this sweet, innocent child deserved anything but the Dursley nightmare, Dumbledor's schemes or obscure protections, or anything else for that matter, be damned.
Thus, a plan formulated in Marcus Longhurst's head. at first it involved number 12 Grimmauld place, a townhouse near Diagon alley, but some part of him hated that hovel even more so than number 4 Privet drive. Godric's hollow was also deeply out of question – the semi-ruined house needed a ton of repairs and was too wel-known to be safe. At the end, the only place he could think of was (former?) Longhurst keep, the nearly undetectable house in the isles of Scilly, currently home to one Regulus Black. Fortunately, the strict yet gentle unspeakable agreed to let him and Harry stay, not only this but any other summer til the child graduates. Of course, Regulus would be travelling with them from Hogwarts, clad in his usual grey cloak, to keep them safe if needed, but also to prevent any objections from the headmaster. In other words, Harry Potter was in for a long overdue childish, Longhurst style, and most importantly – safe summer.
"aren't we going to take the train?" – the same boy Marcus saw running from the Dursleys, asked in astonishment. It seemed that Alexa, Hogwarts head elf now, had told him enough about Sirius and Regulus Black, that he even didn't feel a need for presentations. In truth, Marcus took his time in winter to get to know Harry Potter, both directly and through his elf. Playing his part as Sirius Black, the wizard gained the boys trust quite easily, too easily. Even the recent professor of Defense against the dark arts and Blacks former friend Remus Lupin was wary about Marcus, but being a werewolf prevented him from interfering too much. Now seeing that flaming determination in Harry's eyes, intermixed with anticipation of the unknown, the wizard could only brush the disconcerting thoughts aside and shake his head: "nope, we will… a, here it is! Hey Hagrid! We will fly."
"fly?" – the excitement was coming from the boy's very soul. His eyes fixed on Hagrid and a motorcycle in his huge hands.
"yeah, isn't it great?" – useless remark, that one, but who could blame Marcus for feeling excited as a child seeing this wonder of magic the first time? fortunately, a part of him that was Sirius intervened again, passing on memories of driving the steel beast, both on the ground and in the air. Safer than any broom except maybe from his own Firebolt extreme and Harry's handmade equivalent, with a speed equal to that of a small airplane, it would reach the isles before dusk.
"it has only one seat", - remarked Harry as a matter of fact. "how are we going to fit on this thing?"
"oh don't fret", - Marcus was quick to assure the boy. "will be flying your new broom."
Faster than any of the adults could see, harry pulled his hand-enchanted Firebolt from a bottomless backpack (another gift from Sirius). Strictly instructed by his godfather figure to stick to Nimbus 2000 while playing quidditch, he had no chance to even try it properly. Now here he was, hovering in midair, preparing to make the funniest, most exciting journey home. Add the communicator helmets they will all be wearing (combined creation of Marcus, Alexa and the unspeakables), an illusion of the paraglider sail and invisibility spell, just in case, and it felt just like… magic.
"ready?" – Marcus asked, straddling the motorcycle.
"yes!" – both Harry and the unspeakable replied.
Then let's kick the tyres and light the fires!" – the wizard was beside himself from joy. "bye Hagrid! Alexa, we're leaving!"
The sun was about to set into the glittering sea, when the unusual trio of an airborn motorcycle and two broom fliers spotted the cluster of islands south from mainland Britain. Isles of Scilly, the home of Regulus Black and temporary safehouse for Harry Potter, were approaching at breakneck speed, wet rocks gliscenning in the sunlight, sparce trees swaying in the wind. Although they were flying for about five hours by then, over mountains and forests, past cities and villages, nothing fascinated all of them more than these remote, seemingly uninhabited rocky outcrops in the middle of nowhere. Marcus, wary though of such places since waking up at one, couldn't help but sigh in relief, remembering his childhood home a decade in the future; Regulus emitted a low whistle, looking at the patches of land from above; Harry, having nothing to compare the place with except from Hogwarts, half-shouted an astonished wow! Into a mouthpiece of his helmet. "wow indeed, it looks better this way than from the ground!" – Marcus replied unnecessarily. Not long after that they heard Regulus's voice: "descend you two, we're almost there!" sighing, both the motorcycle and the borderline legendary broom slowed down and lowered in front of bare cliff face.
"here we are", – Regulus continued after a while. "just fly through the rock, I'm swinging round to adjust the wards." True to his words, the cliff parted, letting them in not unlike a barrier in platform 9 and ¾. Inside that was not really inside, a garden of lush green grass and colorful flowers stretched towards the house, seemingly made of the same rock as the cliff itself. Grapevines lined the entrance, their branches creeping onto the roof. to the other side, a few apple trees showed their already walnut-sized fruits. A lone squirrel was skipping through the greenery, trying and failing to hide in plain sight. looking behind said trees, Harry could even spot what looked like a Quidditch pitch… through the cliffs edge, a small beach shone with last rays of the setting sun, the small rocks gleaming with a thousand colors. Alexa, her backpack swinging side to side, was pacing up and down by the waters edge, absorbing the paradise-like view and waiting for entry clearance. Finally, just before the emotional elf started reminiscing about her old home in the future, Regulus reappeared:
"welcome to the Goldcrest perch".