"Why did she want ingredients for Amortentia?" I ponder aloud as we walk away from the flower shop.
And why does it upset me so much?
"Why did you want ingredients for Amortentia?" I proceed to ask.
"Those herbs behind her counter looked like peppermint, that's what made me wonder," she claims. "But as for your mother, we shouldn't be jumping to conclusions, Tom. Maybe she had something else in mind with those ingredients."
"Seasoning food?" I suggest in tired lethargy. "Certainly not …"
"We'll find out and –"
"You know what I think? I think there's a reason why I am the way I am."
"Tom …" She takes a deep breath before shaking her head. "No. No, listen – what are you like exactly?"
"Amortenia makes will-less," I quote Hogwarts' Potions Master. "Slughorn's words. It's basically akin to an Imperius curse in that respect, every touch, every kiss – nothing but forced … Unthinkable where such a spell might end. Obviously, it leads right here. To me." I shrug, quite impatiently so. "To me. Without conscience, without feelings …"
"Have you already forgotten last night? Or all our time together before?" She gives me a soft smile. "Tom, it's far too early for such theories, and we don't know enough about your mother yet either. I'd suggest we have a quick cup of coffee over there –"
"All you think about is food!"
"Coffee is something to drink," she corrects, eternally unimpressed. "Cake is what you eat. And I'd take that too, to be clear …" I'm about to lose my patience, but she just follows up with, "Why don't we think about our next steps while eating and drinking something?"
"Sure!" I snap. "Coffee and cake will certainly help. And if my complete lack of a conscience has nothing to do with my theory, then we need not worry! We still have common madness to offer – for which my uncle is apparently known."
"You know how rumours spread in villages," she says, waving it off. "Maybe these are just strange stories people tell each other. He might just as well be a nice man and –"
"Harper, the flower lady surely didn't warn me not to take you there because he's such a nice fellow!"
"But she also has no clue I'm a witch and perfectly capable of defending myself."
"You won't accompany me there, I can't allow that, you –"
"You're not my father," she lets her voice cut across mine. "You don't get to dictate or forbid me anything. I go where I want – and it just so happens that I want to go to the forest with you."
Briefly I bury my face in my hands and groan in utmost annoyance. "Why are you so bloody stubborn …"
"I could ask you that as well. Where do we start? The Riddle family or the Gaunts? The agony of choice …"
"Harper, you're not listening!"
"You're not listening. We came here, you and me, and I'm not leaving you. So – shall we flip a coin?"
I shake my head in wary disbelief.
"Come on," she says. "Heads, Riddle family, tails, the Gaunts. Here." She hands me a pound and when I make no move to toss it, she just does it herself.
"See?" she says, "Tails. The forest's calling …"
"Coffee first," I moan, ushering her across the street. "We both need it."
"Oh, suddenly we both do? Not that I complain …"
With its red bricks, Little Hangleton's social centre is at least architecturally Georgian. The outdoor tables, above which a faded café sign sways in a gentle breeze, are all occupied.
But not really when I want a table.
"Sir, were you just leaving?" I ask an old gentleman who's been reading the newspaper all alone – exactly at the very table I find most tolerable.
"Stop it!" Harper insists as though she was sensing my silent Imperius.
But the old man is already nodding in his trance, getting up with his newspaper in hands.
"What a timing, why thank you," I say, then I give Harper a nonchalant smirk. "Look. A table!"
"No way …" She suppresses her anger with all her might when she sits down with me. Soon, however, she hisses, "This is unacceptable!"
"Oh dear, are you going to leave me? And not accompany me to into the woods? I'm deeply troubled, too bad …"
"We'll talk about that later," she announces in a whisper.
In mock surprise I nod. "I'm not your father and can't tell you what to do, but you want to have serious conversations with me later as though you were my mother? Pretty inconsistent, don't you think?"
"Not at all, you're as subtle as a brick," she whispers, taking great care not to cause a stir among the older guests around us. "The ministry –"
"Morfin's doing," I interrupt her. "He really is the black sheep of the family …"
"Your behaviour is outrageous!"
"I guess it's self-service here – so you'll surely revise your opinion when I come back with coffee and cake like a cavalier," I say, getting up again. "Sugar? Cream?"
"All the sugar and cream you can get," she meekly replies. "And no apple pie, I'm –"
"Allergic to apples, I remember."
As I'm making my way through the outside tables, I immediately sense that a bit too many pairs of sceptical eyes are on me. I get that, for better or worse, tourists are always interested in everything, but I'd still expect people to avoid staring for the sake of politeness. But two ladies even whisper, fully engaged. It makes me greet them out of spite. Caught off guard, they clear their throats, yet I have long since entered the small café.
Too many people and lively conversations inside – of course. The more affluent souls of this village in the middle of nowhere seem to enjoy gathering here in the morning, and they're far too busy to notice me.
I wonder what it's like to chat so light-heartedly about trivia, rumours and the weather. To me it seems almost more shallow than anything else, but the possibilities for defining distraction are probably as varied as the ocean remains mysterious.
When I finally return with coffee and pastries for Harper, she has long since made friends with the two old hags. So on one hand I want to get out of here as soon as possible, but on the other I wish to postpone our visit to the woods for as long as I can.
A true dilemma.
After about half an hour we decide to go on anyway. And while Harper's still saying her well-intentioned farewells, I already stroll to the end of the outdoor area to watch them from the narrow main road.
My mind is racing, ever since the flower shop. How do I stop Harper from joining me. How can I make sure she's not following –
My train of thought derails at once when someone bumps into me out of nowhere.
"You're in my way!" the irritated man mumbles, as though he simply hadn't seen me in the middle of the street before.
So equally as arrogant I frown. "Open your eyes, you should –"
Then I'm at a loss for words.
That doesn't happen often.
We just glance at each other, like we were struck by thunder. And it's as though we look into one and the same face. My own reflection will hardly differ from that in a few years, though I'll probably always remain leaner than the middle-aged man in front of me.
The world stands still for this moment of our mutual bewilderment, and his perplexed, searching expression might as well be my own. His eyes check my features in a flash, my proud gaze, the straight posture, even my hands – until he swallows hard, shakes his head and walks on like a robot.
Past Harper, she doesn't even notice him, past the chairs and tables and into the interior of the café.
And once again in my life, after this brief interruption, it's just as if he'd never existed.
"Tom, ready?" Harper asks, quite suddenly standing beside me. "What are you looking at? Do you need another coffee?"
"No." I try to shake it all off. "Certainly not …"
"And no more discussions about me not going with you?"
I'm too confused for that now. So I just let out a harsh breath and say, "Let's go."
"You haven't said a word ever since the café."
"Neither have you."
"Yeah," she confirms a little indecisively, "because I was under the impression you were lost in thoughts …"
I bleakly nod. "I was."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Her voice sounds almost a little worried.
"There are … too many sheep here," I lie.
She stops, clearly concerned. "Tom, come on, the Muggles here are all very friendly. Just because they can't do magic absolutely doesn't make them –"
"I'm talking about real sheep, Harper," I specify, pointing around us in a circle.
The wide plains of Yorkshire are quite a sight. Shiny green meadows covered in lilac flowers, it almost resembles a carpet. On the crest of our hill – we've been walking for maybe half an hour – we let our gaze wander over the oh so picturesque countryside and old ruined castles as far as the eye can see.
And sheep. There really are sheep everywhere.
"Oh." Harper shrugs her shoulders. "Yeah, there are … quite some sheep here, true." She starts moving again, despite eyeing me critically. "But it's hardly something so trivial that makes you that eerily silent."
"I simply don't know what to expect."
"I'm sorry, sure – you're right," she sighs. "None of this is easy for you."
"Feels like rain," I mutter, Harper just nods.
Where we are walking, the sky darkens. Above us is bright blue, but far above the forest, light will turn into shadows soon.
We pass small stone walls, more sheep and old barns, and as we notice a small stream at the edge of the woods, complete with a hut and a small water wheel, we stop for a moment.
"No one's lived here for a while, I guess," Harper surmises as she peeks into the smashed, old windows.
The crystal clear water keeps on splashing tirelessly over the dark, rotten wheel, right while I'd prefer not to breathe the cool air that surrounds us at all.
Trouble hovers in it. Realisation. A revelation of despair and suffering, of rage and damnation.
"In case that nosy flower lady wasn't lying, we'll soon be there," I say under my breath. "We can still turn around and never come back. I have a bad feeling, Harper, the closer we get, the more –"
"We're almost there," she says, taking my hands. "If you really want to, we'll leave again, but otherwise … I'll be with you every step of the way."
"That's exactly what worries me," I remind her, staring at her for a moment until I sigh and cup her face in my hands. "I can't let anything happen to you."
She nods. For the first time, I feel like she's sensing that this might not be smooth sailing.
"And when I say you have to leave, you leave. Without arguing –"
"Tom –"
"When I say you run, you run. As fast as you can. And you don't look back."
"But –"
"You don't look back!"
She gives me a soft smile, asking, "Are we Orpheus and Eurydice now?"
"No," I immediately reply, "you're the only thing I've ever cared about. And if the underworld dares to touch you, I know no mercy. So promise me that you won't let it come to that. Promise me you won't put yourself in danger. Swear it."
She gulps, biting her lip. "I swear."
But what's that truly worth when she loves me?
"So we're going on?" she asks, her gaze up in the dense treetops above us that paint everything in a greenish glow. "It's probably our only chance to avoid the rain anyway. You were right. There's a storm coming …"
"Of course, what else," I utter. "On we go then."
The forest path begins with a gravel road, but soon there's no more trace of it. Gravel turns into scattered stones until there's nothing but damp earth underneath our steps. The deeper we go into the forest, the more I get the feeling of it being a huge spider's web. And yet we don't stray from our path.
There's only one way, forward, and even though hardly any light reaches us, I soon see what appears to be my fate.
A shack, as lost as my soul, rotten and dark and far from all life. Moss-covered and mouldy, cladded with mismatched plates. There's a fence around the spacious, overgrown garden, as though there was still something to defend from nature or thieves. Here and there a roof tile is missing, the windows are either dull or all boarded up and there's not a soul in sight.
For it would be grotesque if anyone actually lived here.
Had to live here …
I can only imagine how paranoia intensifies in the middle of the night, in complete and deadly silence.
"This must be it," Harper whispers, yet I barely hear her.
If I could, I'd wrap myself around her like flames, burning everything that threatens her.
But we're already here – it's too late to shield her from the dark. We've unmistakably arrived in the green hell of the House of Gaunt.
"Do you think …" I hesitate. "She's hardly had to grow up here, had she?"
"Your mother?" Harper bites her lower lip, visibly troubled by the very thought. "I hope not, Tom …"
"Do you hear that?" I ask, pausing as I take her hand.
She soon nods. "Water."
"Yes," I confirm, and it makes me shiver. "So the river is close by."