#it's common in elf circles for family to be given permission to call them by their baby names - it's more platonically intimate

[ride-a-dromedary]

Since Larian won't give it to me I'll give it to myself, but I like to believe that Halsin had siblings as part of the familial package, whom were all child named after animals (including Halsin himself), and in my mind he had four:

-An eldest brother (the only of them besides Halsin who got old enough to reach his awakening and name himself, though Halsin is ashamed to admit that he can no longer immediately recall the name he chose - he had been Kan for so long, Halsin cannot easily think of him as anything otherwise)

-An elder brother and sister (Cath and Gyrah, who were infinite blessings - or curses depending on who you asked - upon their family for being twins, and just shy of reaching maturity)

-And a later arrived younger sister (Who they all called "pup" because her name was Ly, and the nickname stuck so persistently that she would joke it would end up being what she changed her name to. She could only be bribed into doing things with the promise of toffee apples, which were a rare treat for them when their father traveled outside of the forest)

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XXII (Harry Potter xFem!Oc)

A/N: My uni is really out there asking me to write formally like I’m so kind of scholar, thank god they can’t see me cry about it– But! luckily dear Mel is having a much lovelier time, this is sort of a ‘break’ from emotional madness that Mel always carries around lmao enjoy!

Words: 1,930

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

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Chapter Four: A Lovely Morning.

"So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall... What, you think he was lying to me?"

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry and Ron together.

"Now boys," Mel sighed, "you can't possibly be thinking of that idiot, who has the time for something as stupid as that?

"Draco Malfoy has it," Harry turned to the twins, "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle."

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf," said Harry.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said Fred.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house..."

Did Erick have one? Now that she thought about it, Mel didn't know a lot about his life outside school, of course, she knew he didn't like to travel and that he was a pureblood, but nothing else.

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried-"

"Oh, were you?" The girl huffed.

"-When you didn't answer any of our letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first-"

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes -"

"Who?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room... I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge... You're driving too far west, Fred"

"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing the answer.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"We didn't have a choice though, little lady here kept nagging until we agreed to help her get you, she's a pain-"

"Sod off, Fred," Mel scoffed, "I'm not ashamed about it, unlike you, I care"

"The point is, we made a plan and we got this old thing out of the garage without telling our parents"

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The what?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friend's tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks."

"What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office -and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up -"

"But your dad - this car -"

"Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"I think he's lovely," Mel smiled, "he's kind and interesting, the first days we spent there he asked me and my mum all kinds of questions about our muggle life, I like him a lot..."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes... Just as well, it's getting light..."

Few minutes passed until they were finally reaching the house, the sky was starting to clear, and Mel was feeling rather sleepy. She was pleased to discover that flying cars didn't make her sick, but she wasn't comfortable sleeping on the backseat, so she couldn't wait to get to her bed.

"Touchdown!" said Fred.

"It's not much," said Ron once they were out of the car, he was talking about his house.

"It's wonderful," said Harry happily.

He was always so sweet.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry -along with Emily- and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top-"

Mel crashed into him, she hadn't noticed his movements coming into a halt, too distracted by her own weariness.

"What's-?" She looked up, feeling her heart fall to her stomach.

"Ah, "said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them.

"So, " She said.

"Morning, Mum," said George.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone- could have crashed- out of my mind with worry- did you care? - never, as long as I've lived -you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job -"

"This looks like entirely not my business," Mel muttered, trying to escape from the woman's screams.

But it wasn't long until she crashed against another body, this time her mother's.

"Oh, bloody hell," Mel mumbled.

"Mel Dumbledore," Her mother said in a thin, angry whisper, "you better have a good explanation"

"Bars," Was all she said.

"Bars," Emily's frown grew, "oh lady, you are in so much trouble"

Emily took her to Charlie's room and scowled her endlessly. Mel was ashamed, she had never lied to her mum like that.

She had hidden information, yes, but never lied to her. She was guilty, but every time she thought about Harry finally safe, she couldn't help but feel all giddy inside.

Ginny appeared a second after Emily had left the room to go and fetch her a plate with scrambled eggs before starting the day (she wasn't going to let her sleep at all) and sat eagerly at the edge of the bed.

"Harry's here," She commented.

"I know, Ginny," Mel yawned, "I was there..."

"I ran as soon as I saw him!" The little girl hid her face in embarrassment, "he saw me in my nightdress!"

"Don't worry about it, Harry's silly, I'm sure he didn't even notice"

"My brothers won't stop teasing me about it"

"If your brothers tease you I'll make sure to give them hell, all right?" Mel offered.

Before Ginny could reply, Emily walked in. The little girl stood up and quickly left the room, afraid of the woman's reaction.

However, Mel's mum seemed much more relaxed now.

"Harry looks skinnier than before if that's even possible..."

"They put bars on his window and locked him up," Mel said gloomily, "they also put a cat's door so they could pass him food while he was in there. A bloody cat's door, mum"

"A what!?" Emily walked around the room in pure outrage, "I swear- If I could, I swear I would take Harry away from those monsters- starving him to death!"

"I couldn't leave him there mum, I'm so sorry"

"I know you did it thinking it was the best thing," Emily passed a hand through her hair, "but you could've been caught, you could've had an accident! What would your poor mum do without you?"

"I'm sorry," Mel looked away, "I know I let you down, I hate lying..."

"It was a good cause," Emily hugged her daughter, "I spoil you too much, but you're a sweet girl, you could never let me down"

Moments after hearing Mr. Weasley's arrival and his argument with Mrs. Weasley, Mel peeked through the door and came face to face with Harry and Ron, climbing up the stairs in silence.

"Oh," She opened the door completely and got out of the room, "is everything alright downstairs?"

"It'll be," Ron shrugged, "want to join us? I'm about to show Harry my room"

"Sure," She followed them.

When they got to the third floor she heard a door slamming closed and jumped on her place.

"What was that?"

"Ginny," said Ron, then he turned to Harry, "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally, when Mel arrived we could barely spend time together 'cause Ginny was always around"

"She's so nice," Mel beamed, "I'm so happy she'll go to Hogwarts this year, that way I won't miss her as much"

"The day you tell us you can't stand someone, that day I'll be surprised," Ron shook his head.

"Don't tease her," said Harry, "she's just being a good friend"

Mel smiled at him and kept going, completely missing Ron's confused expression at Harry's reply.

Once in the room, she let herself fall on her friend's bed and closed her eyes, sighing happily.

"I could take a nap, just five minutes..."

She opened her eyes slightly to watch Harry as he walked through the room and observed everything around him, she felt Ron sitting next to her, waiting nervously for Harry's verdict.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning..."

"This is the best house I've ever been in," Harry smiled widely, "I mean, after Mel's house, of course."

She only smiled in return, her eyes finally giving up and closing, falling fast asleep.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

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[readbookywooks]

The Burrow

"Ron." breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you -? What the -?" Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair . Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers. "All right, Harry?" asked George. "What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles--" "It wasn't me - and how did he know?" "He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school--" "You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car. "Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with--" "I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now - look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so--" "Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us." "But you can't magic me out either--" "We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me." "Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry. "If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car. "Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back." Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys'bedroom. When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window. "Get in," Ron said. "But all my Hogwarts stuff - my wand - my broomstick--" "Where is it?" "Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room--" "No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry." Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock. "A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow." There was a small click and the door swung open. "So - we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George. "Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing. Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough. At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window. Uncle Vernon coughed again. "A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push--" Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car. "Okay, let's go," George whispered. But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice. "THAT RUDDY OWL!" "I've forgotten Hedwig!" Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door - and it crashed open. For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle. Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as they could. "Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!" But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd slammed the door shut-- "Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon. Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window. "See you next summer!" Harry yelled. The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. "Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings for ages." George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost. "So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?" Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when he had finished. "Very fishy," said Fred finally. "Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?" "I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall." He saw Fred and George look at each other. "What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry. "Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?" "Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly. "Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me." "Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?" "Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry. "I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who." "And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You- Know-Who's inner circle." Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy... "I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf..." said Harry. "Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll be rich," said Fred. "Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing," said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house..." Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously? "I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first--" "Who's Errol?" "Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes--" "Who?" "The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect," said Fred from the front. "But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed him." "Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George, frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a load of time shut up in his room... I mean, there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge... You're driving too far west, Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel. "So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing the answer. "Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it." "What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?" "He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office." "The what?" "It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime for weeks." "What happened?" "The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office - and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up--" "But your dad - this car--" Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad." "That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes... Just as well, it's getting light..." A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east. Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees. "We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole." Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees. "Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's house. It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW . Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard. "It's not much," said Ron. "It's wonderful ," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive. They got out of the car. "Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, Mum, look who turned up in the night!'and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car." "Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top--" Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other three wheeled around. Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger. "Ah , "said Fred. "Oh, dear," said George. Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket. "So ," she said. "Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice. "Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper. "Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to--" All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them. "Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -" "Perfect Percy," muttered Fred. "YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died , you could have been seen , you could have lost your father his job--" It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away. "I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast." She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her. The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard house before. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens , and You're late . Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck." Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and " never would have believed it." "I don't blame you , dear," she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now adding three fried eggs to his plate) "flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you--" She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. "It was cloudy , Mum!" said Fred. "You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "They were starving him, Mum!" said George. "And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for him. At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again. "Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer." "Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time. "Blimey , I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and--" "You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again--" "Oh, Mum--" "And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car--" But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've never seen a de-gnoming--" "That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject--" And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned. "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden--" Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests . There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him. "Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book..." "Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper. "Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it." Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, exactly what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting - but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs. "Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron they crossed the lawn. "Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods..." There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. " This is a gnome," he said grimly. "Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome. It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down. "This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them -you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes." He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge. "Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump." Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off - until-- "Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet..." The air was soon thick with flying gnomes. "See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put." Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched. "They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here... Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny..." Just then, the front door slammed. "He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!" They hurried through the garden and back into the house. Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn. "What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned..." Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed. "Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly. "All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness..." "Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George. "Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face... But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe--" "LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?" Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife. "C-cars, Molly, dear?" "Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly ." Mr. Weasley blinked. "Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find... As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't--" "Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!" "Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?" He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. "Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about--" "Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?" "Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed..." "Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom." They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it closed with a snap. "Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally--" They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM . Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically. "Your Quidditch team?" said Harry. "The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league." Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun. Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys'hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost nervously, as though waiting for his opinion. "It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning..." But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever been in." Ron's ears went pink.

[ljwilder-blog]

a lovers tale, part 48

When the news reached the camps, carried by messengers bearing Baidenese flags, there was rejoicing to be had. Celebration, embraces. Naturally, the captains took the celebration with a slight grain of salt, brows knitting as they were forced to ponder the fineries of wrapping up camp and returning to home. But creased brows and unsure faces could be saved for when it was time to deal with the issue. For now, there were songs and celebrations. For now, people were able to breath and rejoice. Even as the departure of the Baidenese from the north had transpired, there was a lightness of heart that was foreign to them. Naturally, Zanil had seen to the penning of the treaty, proper, and overseen the signing of it. Drunel, serving as interim advisor, had acted similarly, for it was the signatures of the kings and their advisors that were mandated by the wording of the script in elegant hand. Even though their return to Baiden should have been the finale of the chaos of war, there were still many manners to attend to. After all, someone had the duty of escorting the elven prisoners to the Circle of the Gods for the exchange of them and the wolves of Vitnir Hall. There was also the fact that Iolas would not be part of that exchange and the fate of the elven bastard lay wholly in the hands of Mercurius and those in his pledge.

It was only after a few days had passed and the agreement as to who would be escorting the elven captives to the Circle of the Gods for the exchange had been made that Zanil approached Mercurius where he lingered in the courtyard. Snow still fell and likely more than Arric or the Vairan healers had seen (save, perhaps, those that had grown up in other countries before studying the arts in Vaira). Tahvaen was seated on a paddock’s gate while Brenner circled the warhorse around it in long strides, kicking up snow like sand. It was a light snow, not a frozen snow; it was too cold for the snow to melt and become ice. It made little impediment upon travel and so it was enjoyed if only for the aesthetic. Nearby was where Mercurius lingered with Arric, the younger king bedecked in maile that had clearly been leant to him and armed with a blade.

“If you are to have a standing army, Arric,” shouted Mercurius from one side of the small training area that they were currently in, “you must learn properly how to handle a blade.”

“Your highness.”

The voice of the advisor rang clear even over the king’s shouts and the sound of hooves upon the ground beneath the layer of snow. Stilled was the horse for the moment save for a snort that resulted in an exhale of mist skyward, the thrown spear landing against the practice dummy with a precise whang. Zanil had been seen only little since the return to Baidenese lands and even less had he sought Mercurius out. It was the afternoon with the sun high in the sky, Elfreda tasked with escorting the elves north with a company of her men. Save for Faeron, the tailor who had spoken with the king. It had been at his own request that he remained and planned to travel to Vaira. That is, once spring dawned. Correspondence with Arrendel had communicated those plans, for travel in the winter would be very hard upon those not used to it. Allow them rest and reprieve at the expense of the country they had aided, those healers who returned from the war. Mercurius had consented to as much, though there was indeed talk of his potential ulterior motives lying in Arric.

Though Zanil was likely the only one aware of it, Abigail watched, seated in a high window with a warm drink cradled in her hands and a smile on her face. She was not to be reigning queen in peace for the first time.

“If I may have a moment?”

Within its sheath did the king’s own blade rest, idle at his hip for the first time with no intention to be drawn since the beginning of the war. Lazy was the hand that was raised to Arric to signal him to for the moment put aside thoughts of training as the king strode towards his advisor. “You’ve my attention, Zanil. What is it?”

“I would request privacy for this matter, Mercurius. If that is not too much to ask.”

Though black brows were drawn tight, there was a nod given to him as the two walked towards the open archway that would lead them indoors. A breezeway was passed through, meticulously devoid of snow, and once the heavy wooden door closed behind them and they were within the hall, the footfalls of the advisor were still. “I would like to know what exactly you plan to do insofar as Iolas is concerned. There is only so long that you can avoid the subject, and we are coming to the end of things. Once the prisoners are exchanged safely, then he will be the only lingering remnant of the war.”

For the moment, the king found himself gazing only at the back of the advisor’s cloak. It was the thick wool that the people of Baiden tended to favor during winter, drawn around him, though the hood was down. “A decision must be made, you know.”

“He will be put to death--”

“Please, lend your attention to me.” Interrupted. Upon the king’s face was an expression that was rather taken aback, but a nod was given. It was permission for him to speak freely as the king’s arms folded over his chest. “I have a suggestion regarding Iolas. And… I’ve news to share with you that I have intention to keep secret.

“Much of my time since the council has been spent upon my own self-reflection. Many, may generations, many years I have spent with the Rosenlied family. I am sure I have been a constant in many lives of Baiden. However…” a pause, a low exhale. Mercurius felt the weight upon his heart for he knew what was to be said before it was even spoken, “I believe it best if I resign myself to my own private pursuits upon the ascension of your heir to the throne, Mercurius. I have recalled who I am and why I am here. I knew it all along, but I quelled it. But now it is time that I choose one to teach the ways, one to carry on when I am gone.

“I chose Iolas as my protege, if you would grant it. I will train him to serve your heir as I would have, I will instill the loyalty in him. It is there. I swear to you, loyalty to a cause is deep within him though now he is without cause to serve--”

“You expect me to grant my consent to this?” Naturally, he had expected the anger. Such was the manner of Mercurius: he grew angry with ease, he expressed it forthwith. His jaw tightened and he shook his head. Oh, the war had aged him. Even in this dim light Zanil gazed upon hair that was tinting to grey in a few strands. His father had greyed rather early, as well. “To even entertain the idea that the man who started this war will serve my heir as advisor? You must have taken an injury to your head if you think…”

“Please.”

Never in his life had he heard the voice of the advisor plea with him. The weight that dragged his heart down served to clench about his heart, to wind tight a spindle-fingered grip around the beating muscle. Slightly the head even canted as his brain almost seemed to struggle to process the notion that, truly, Zanil was pleading with him.

“I cannot remain in Baiden longer, for my heart is elsewhere. Where, I do not know. That is what I go to seek--”

“In all your days that I have known you and likely in many that extend beyond my own knowledge,” began the king, advancing a few steps forward with a frown upon his lips, “you have spoken in riddles and stories. You have brushed inquiries off with wily smiles and fed half-truths yet never lied. But never have I heard of you pleading, Zanil. Nor have I heard the truth of your story. I will listen still to your request if you will grant me the truth of who and what you are--where it is you came from. Those are my demands. Until then, I will not consent to your tutorship of Iolas, nor will I consent to your departure from beneath the heel of the Rosenlied family.”

Sounds from outside barely penetrated the walls for a moment as they both stood, steeping in their own silence. Hands reached up to move argentine hair from the face that now faced the king, the look upon his face resolute. There was something that seemed almost somber, and the king was suddenly reminded of the feeling he got gazing upon statues of gods. A regality and a feeling of being entirely too small. His fingers curled into loose fists to stave off the strange, creeping near-anxiety.

“A fool could tell you I am not human. Nor am I an elf. I am longer lived than many of their lifespans.

“I am from the north. Those stories are not false, those origins. I found myself on the tundra after I cast myself from on high. Many years I spent among the elves in the north. Yes, I knew of the mounting threat when the first whispers of war were heard, when the news came of the Grand War to the north. But I was old by their standards even upon that time. I could not bring myself to come to Baiden, because of who and what I was.

“It was during the Grand War that I came. I was among those that came for war, yes, but I had no intentions of fighting. I became a slave among many others elves, for they operated under the common assumption that that was what I was. This was the way that I found my way into the Rosenlied house. When the slavery was abolished--it lasted perhaps thirty years after the Grand War--there were a number of elves who became servants. I was one of those. From there, my tale of working my way to become advisor is true. I am sure you heard the story.”

Ancient. The word was strange, unsettling. Time stretched back further than the human experience, further than his mind could grasp. And so did the life of Zanil. His nails bit into the flesh of his hands as his head shook: “You have not answered the question: what are you?”

“I will tell you first what I leave to seek. Then I believe you can place who and what I really am. Zanil was not was I was always called, but I am sure you will realize that soon enough.

“For you to understand what I am, I will tell you who and what Thrandir is. Rather, a knowledge of what they are will greater benefit to understanding what I am. I know well that you know the tales of the two lost gods--of Lisrael and of Tiados. Those that disappeared from the pantheon after their work was presumably completed. This? This was not the case, I am afraid. They did not indeed pass from existence after they work was done so much as they quarreled.”

The king’s brows were tight again as he listened to the words before he raised a hand, interjecting: “I do hope there is some sort of a point to this story, Zanil.”

“Do I ever prattle on aimlessly?” inquired the voice of the male. This action served well to silence the speech of the king as the advisor continued talking. “Tiados and Lisrael quarreled for months upon end and such is where winter came from. For in winter, things sleep. They neither live nor die. Spring marks the point upon which Lisrael departed from the quarrel and the world flourished into life under her appearance. Or, so the old tales go. In truth, seasons existed long before, the work of Sheala and Rzael. That I know to be true, but I am not one to deny the tales that humans believe.

“Lisrael disappeared and Tiados, in his grief, disappeared after her. Even the pantheon as they rule know now the location of Lisrael. But Tiados has remained in communication with them, albeing slightly infrequent. They see through his eyes as he walks among the people, the humans that they created. At least, they see through his eyes when he allows them. But they worry him, when they speak; they speak that he is becoming too human, that he has learned to love humanity in a way that is different from the manner that gods do. And for some time he turned from them, and had little to do with them. He closed the pathways through which they could see through him, and loved humans in the way that he deemed most fit.

“But then Thrandir came. Thrandir holds within themselves a fragment if Lisrael, a bit of her soul given to an ailing child. This bit of her soul moves, hope, body to body--soul to soul. It is not a part of any one person but Lisrael and yet it feels hollow. Incomplete. It seeks reunion with Lisrael for in death, that never will be found. In death, it finds only a new host. A child, usually, upon the brink of death at birth. This allows the soul to live on an search, eternally, for reunion with Lisrael.

“I found this within Thrandir. And I felt again my heart’s desire, and the reason that I am here. Mercurius, I am the lost god Tiados. That is who I have always been, though I have dodged the truth for many a year.

“And I beg your leave to seek Lisrael so once again the pantheon can be whole.”

It wasn’t disbelief. The greatest problem that Mercurius did not disbelieve him. He could not dispute this, as facts lined up. Stories lined up. So with an exhale, he stated as much: “My greatest trouble, Zanil, is not that you are leaving. It is the fact that this is all plausible. This all makes sense. I do not doubt you. Not for a moment did I feel that you were lying, or that you were telling tales. Not for a moment.” To his sides did the king’s arms come to rest and from him he let loose a rather heavy exhale. His head even shook from side to side. “To know my life has been spent not only at the feet of a god but also by one’s side is certainly a change.”

Argentine brows rose in response to the statement. There was no shock no--anger, truly, and he had expected at least one of them. Exasperation was a nearer descriptor of the term for how, exactly, the king felt. This caused borderline confusion in Zanil as he looked upon him. “... That’s it? You ask me for no proof, nothing? You take my words that all your days you were besides the very god of death and scarcely bat an eyelash?”

“In Baiden, we have little fear of death. I am sure if worship of Tiados… of… you, was favored anywhere, it would be within my country. It may be a lie. This may all be a story that you have concocted, but I do not see what motivation you would have to lie. Besides…” And there was a slight shine within those eyes, the youth that had almost vanished through the trials of kingship and through the weight of war. A bright shine that honestly, Zanil had missed. “But if there is one thing I know about you that cannot be disputed, it is the fact that you do not lie. You may tell half-truths and spin your own version of reality, but you haven’t lied in all the days I have known you.

“As such,” as the kingly demeanor was upon him again, his fisted hand placed beneath his collarbone in the very image of the Baidenese salute, “under my authority as king herein witnessed by Zanil, my advisor, I decree that the warmonger Iolas, bastard son of Alden Rosenlied and my very own half-brother, will not be executed but instead be taken by Zanil as a pupil. Therein, his fate will be at the hands of Zanil hereto.”

His own eyes shone, bright, and for a moment within them were stars. The lips of the king parted, mouth agape for just a moment as he gazed upon him. It was truly a change from looking into the oft matte pupils (another rather obvious sign that there was something about him far greater than human or elf could beget) for in that instance, that ephemeral moment, Mercurius had the sensation he gazed into something far greater than he had looked upon in his life. A universe, perhaps. A galaxy. A whole world behind the eyes of the man he had taken for granted all of his days. Then he felt the nearness of the man in a way he never had before, a hand upon the back of his short-cropped hair of ebony and lips against his forehead through his black hair. Instinctively his hands rose to grip to the crux of Zanil’s elbow and in that moment, he felt the same sensation of his childhood. The innocence alongside the unsurety. When again Zanil’s eyes were upon his, they were matte and black as they had been every day that he had looked upon them. There was something comforting about the familiarity, and yet… how familiar were they, really? Until this point, there had not even been so much as an inkling of truth between them. He realized that now. Such a major secret…

“I will spend the duration of your and Abigail’s rule to teach Iolas and prepare him to serve as advisor to your children. I will not depart until I see him as fit for the role and, should that not be when their ascention has come, I will remain. But this will be at my discretion and no other’s…”

“Please,” as he shifted, standing now beside the slightly taller figure of the advisor with a hand resting between his shoulderblades. “There is no reason to give full disclaimers of your intent. You will do well. I trust that of you. You… would not leave the Rosenlieds in hands that you felt unfit.”

It was as though the advisor exhaled a breath that he was not even ken to the fact he had been holding. He may well have hold it during the full duration of the time he served the Rosenleids. Speaking the truth had been relieving as he conversed with Thrandir, to be honest of who he is. It had been so long, truly, that he may have forgotten what it was like.

“If there is no further discussion to be had,” spoke the voice of Zanil after a brief interim of silence between them, “then do you not have training to return to?”

Then a smile was on the lips of the king as he nodded. “In that you would be correct, Zanil. Thank you. For everything.”

part 49.

read from the beginning.