Portia Smith and the Prophecy of Harry Potter - ddommett - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Hogsmeade

Chapter Text

It was dusk. It was raining. An autopod vehicle rolled slowly to a stop along the muddy street and the trunk popped open. Portia Smith jumped out of the passenger side with her small case and quickly jumped under the street awning. Her mother exited the driver side, quickly grabbed a large suitcase from the trunk, and dashed across the street to the door of a rundown inn. The trunk closed smoothly by itself. Empty of its passengers, the autopod continued on its way with a soft whine.

"Portia!" her mother called, opening the inn door. "Come on." Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared inside at a slant as the suitcase bumped on her hip.

Portia stood in the gloom, dry under the awning, gazing at the building in the last dregs of sunlight. She squinted through the rain at the only identifying sign on the building. An old weathered plank of wood with a carved picture hung from a post. It looked like it was the head of a pig? A large drop of rainwater fell from the awning and landed with a splat on her black hair. She looked down at the thick layer of mud on the street and then at her as yet clean shoes. With a deep sigh, she ducked her head and ran.

As she opened the door, a grey and white cat walked past her feet saying " 'Scuse me. Gotta go out for a bit."

"OK," then remembering the weather she added, "Careful, it's raining pretty hard. You'll get soaked."

"Don't worry, I know a few tricks to stay dry. I hate getting wet. I'll be back later." He side stepped around her to hug the wall and hurried off.

Most normal people would have thought talking with a cat to be most strange, but to Portia, it was perfectly normal. However, she had never told anyone about this; she just had the feeling that people might think she was odd, and she didn't want that.

"Did you say something Portia?"

"Oh . . . er . . . nothing Mum. I just said it's raining pretty hard now."

"Well come all the way in and close the door." She flapped her hands in a come hither manner. "Close the door. It's warmer and cheerier in here with a bit of a fire going."

'Here' was the public room of the inn, and the meager fire in the fireplace didn't look like it was capable of providing much heat, but at least the room was dry. Well, dry except for one leaky spot on the ceiling that was dripping into a wooden pail. A lamp hung over a well worn bartop; the only other light was provided by a single candle at a table where two people sat in shadows. There were no other customers.

She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell? Cows or goats or something?"

"Never mind that now. Go on upstairs. The rooms on the second floor are for guests. I already put my suitcase in the first room on the third floor; yours is the second door on the left."

As Portia remained still and staring around with a wrinkled nose, her mother gave her a gentle nudge on the shoulder. "Go on."

Portia walked past the near end of the bar and up a dim flight of stairs to the next floor landing, which was entirely in darkness. There was some light coming down from the floor above, so she continued towards the flickering light and reached the third floor landing. There, an old oil lamp was hanging on the wall from a big rusty nail. It produced a lot of smoke and a little light.

She gently pushed the first door open and saw her mother's belongings. She closed the door and moved to the next one. She pushed the door open and fumbled for the light switch. After reaching further and feeling nothing on the wall, she remembered her holophone. Turning on her holophone gave a dim light. She could see the outline of a bed, and a little table and chair under a window, but there was not even a table lamp anywhere.

So, leaving her case on the floor in the doorway, she went back downstairs.

"Um . . . there's no light."

Her mother, Mrs. Smith, was talking to a sleepy-eyed, unshaven man behind the bar. "Portia, this is your Uncle Duncan. He's not really your uncle. He was your," her voice wavered, " . . . your father's cousin."

"Hello," Portia said. Duncan gave her a sideways look but didn't say anything.

Portia quickly repeated her statement to her mother about the lack of a light in her room.

"Oh. That's right. Here," said her mother, as she retrieved an old oil lamp from behind the bar. She lit the wick and said, "Take this."

Back in her room, the lamp cast long shadows. She placed it on the little table, and then put her head right up against the window glass to peer down at the muddy street in both directions. The rain had stopped and a hole in the clouds allowed for a little moonlight.

She had just sat down on the wooden chair at the table and closed her eyes for a brief moment when she heard a tapping on the window. The grey and white cat was outside, tapping on the glass with a paw. He said, "Let me in".

She opened the window and closed it, as he seated himself on the table top. "Thank you."

His underbelly was mostly white; a big splotch of grey marked his head and shoulders and most of his back. His tail was all grey. He started to clean his fur by licking his front paws.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Smokey."

"Oh. My name's Portia. Portia Smith."

"Very pleased to meet you Portia." Smokey started to clean the fur on his head by licking his paws and running his forepaws over his head and ears. Smokey seemed to act like it was perfectly normal to have a conversation with an eleven year old girl.

"Um, you're not the reason for the smell downstairs are you?"

He instantly stopped and stared at her with big green eyes. "Certainly not! That's goats that is. Do I smell like a stinky goat?"

"No. Of course not. You don't smell at all." She started to stroke him from head to tail, which caused him to sit up straighter and half close his eyes.

"So why are you staying at the Hog's Head?" asked Smokey.

"Oh is that what this place is called?" Portia stopped petting and sat up a little straighter herself. "Well I guess we have nowhere else to go. My aunt used to own it but she died. My mum inherited it . . . when my dad died."

"Oh . . . I'm sorry . . . well . . . welcome," said Smokey.

The AI agent on her holophone spoke up in a mild voice, "Ten percent charge remaining. Please charge me."

Portia looked at all four walls in her room, but she couldn't see an electrical outlet anywhere. She even looked under the bed.

"Mum," implored Portia, as she burst into the public room with a horrified look on her face, "there's no outlet in my room. I can't charge my holophone!"

"We'll just have to share dear," her mother replied.

"You mean I have to charge it in your room?" she said, her voice getting higher to match the rising disbelief on her face.

"Well dear I don't think there is one in my room either. I mean we'll have to share an outlet somewhere else in the inn."

Portia set off to look in a few rooms but was back in moments. "I can't find any outlets! I don't think this place has electricity!" She was really starting to look a little wild with worry.

"It must have electricity. The television plugs in."

"What's a television?"

"It's what they had before holovision."

"Huh?"

Portia looked up, and sure enough, there was a television plugged into a single outlet in a plastic box, mounted high up on the wall. The television was big, bulky and had a bulging glass screen that showed two-dimensional moving pictures. It was nothing like a holovision. It didn't project a 3D scene that a person could view from any angle. It was one of those old tube televisions that you saw in really old shows and must have been a hundred years old. Sparking sounds came from inside it. It was showing a football game on its pitiful screen, and everytime a player scored a goal, a wisp of smoke shot out of the top of it.

She went back up to her room feeling very dejected indeed. She sat down on the rough bed in her room and stared down at her holophone. She flopped back on the bed, closed her eyes, and held a hand over her face. She felt numb. Her mother poked her head into the room.

"Did you find an outlet?"

"Yeah, but it's up high behind the television and I can't unplug the television," moaned Portia.

"Well why don't you take a nice relaxing bath? You'll feel better . . . with the viewing and funeral, and then the long ride here, it's been a very long day," her mother suggested. "I think I'll lie down for a bit, I'm getting a terrible headache."

"Maybe . . . I guess so . . . "

After lying morosely for about ten more minutes, Portia sat up, gathered some clothes and lit an oil lamp. I can't believe I know how to light an oil lamp, she thought numbly. She went down the hall to the bathroom, placed her clean clothes on a small wooden chair, closed the door, and locked it with a big rusty key.

"Eww. What's that foul stench?" she said in a low voice to herself. She held the lamp higher to see more of the bathroom; there was mold on some of the walls, the ceiling was peeling, and the tub was rusting in spots. Some green fungus, growing low down in one corner, seemed to be the likely source of the smell as it seemed to get stronger as she approached and peered down; she quickly stood up and backed away.

She balanced the lamp on the edge of the tub; it was only then that she realized there was only a single tap that, when turned on, ran cold water into the tub. She went to find her mother.

"Mum, there's no hot water tap for the bath!" she stated wide eyed.

"Oh yes I forgot to tell you, you're going to have to heat a pot of water on the fire and tip it in."

Portia stared for a moment, blinked a couple times in disbelief, then turned away and headed to the kitchen.

It took a long time for the water to boil. She lugged the pot upstairs and tipped it in to mix with the cold water in the bath. Slowly she lowered herself into the water. She held her breath and gritted her teeth, but neither helped much. The water was still cold and after splashing it over herself for a few minutes she could stand it no longer.

Shivering, covered in goose bumps, and not caring if she was any cleaner, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel. She just stood there, shivering. To her great and sudden surprise, the door opened with a click. Grabbing her towel tightly with a frightened squeak, she turned around. Her eyes wide as saucers, she saw, not a person, but closer to the floor, Smokey, who was poking his head into the room.

"Smokey! Don't do that!" She stepped over and pushed the door shut; the back half of Smokey barely finished slipping into the room before it closed. She turned the key and locked it again.

"What are you doing?" Smokey asked.

"Taking a bath," Portia said. "Or kind of . . . trying . . . " she muttered, and she turned back to face the chair holding her clothes.

Smokey looked in alarm from her to the tub. "In water?" he said increduously.

"Yes. Very cold water . . . for the last time ever . . . "

She picked up a piece of clothing; she shrieked and threw it to the floor. She scrambled into the tub, splashing water everywhere while somehow managing to hold onto the towel and stood in the relative safety of the iron tub.

"What was that? Was that a rat?" she whispered.

"That's just Fred," said Smokey calmly.

"What? Fred? It was a rat under my clothes!" Her heart was pounding.

"Yeah, that's Fred. Don't worry about him."

"But you're a cat! Don't you eat rats? Catch him and get him out of here!"

Smokey looked a little amused and said, "Nah. Fred's OK. He lives here too."

"Where is he? Where did he go?"

"I think he ran out through a crack in the wall."

She remained in the tub while trying to shine the light into each corner for closer inspection. Her heart rate was lessening.

"He's definitely not here," Smokey reassured her.

It took Portia all of about three seconds to step out of the tub, dress, unlock the door, and skip back to her room where she sat on her bed with her feet off the floor and her arms holding her legs close to her chest. She was damp and shivering.

She huddled under a blanket and slowly warmed up. She closed her eyes for a moment and never noticed as she passed into sleep.

Outside, across the street and under the awning, four pairs of lamplike eyes stared unblinkingly up at the little oil flame in the window. Tux, Sunshine, Maddy and Sir Boofhead sat there with their tails curled around themselves, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"The poor little thing," commiserated Sunshine. "So tiny and thin. She looked exhausted. And to come to such a place as this." She shook her head slowly.

"Poor both of them if they're the new owners," chimed in Sir Boofhead.

. . .

Portia woke up. She didn't remember falling asleep, and now she stared around the dark room wondering where she was. "Oh. The Hog's Head," she sighed. She shivered a little under the thin blanket. The room really was dark, as the clouds were blocking what little moonlight there was, but the window was the brightest thing in the room. Holding the blanket tightly around herself, she shuffled over to the window and took another look outside. No stars were visible.

As she stood there half-asleep, someone screamed. It made her break out in goose bumps all over. She was fully awake now. The scream came again although only half as loud this time; it was followed by some grumbly moaning sounds and what sounded like footsteps on the ceiling above her.

What was that all about? Maybe it had been more of a screech than a scream? The footsteps continued; Portia stood stock-still, staring up and imagining that she was following the footsteps with her eyes. No more screams occured for some minutes.

Portia padded back to the dark shadow that was her bed and sat down. And then stood right back up. She had sat on something! It was a pair of fluffy ear muffs that had appeared! She put them on. Not only did they block out noises like footsteps but they were cozy warm too. She yawned. She lay back down, curled up on her side, and was asleep in moments.

Without any curtains on her window, Portia woke to a bright morning sun. Downstairs, she found her mother in the kitchen, with dark sleep circles under her eyes, looking over an old ledger book. Duncan was also up early, and he was just removing a kettle of steaming hot water from the fire.

"Is that a book made with paper?" Portia asked her mother with a look of astonishment.

"Yes."

"What's it about? It looks like it's hand written."

"It's the accounts book."

"Huh?"

"It shows if the inn is making any money." She let out a big sigh.

"Oh. Is it making a lot of money?"

"No. In fact it owes a lot of money. Even though your father owned half, he let his sister -- your aunt -- manage it, and I'm afraid she let it go into a lot of debt."

Duncan poured some coffee into a stained mug for himself and a colourful teacup on a saucer. Duncan shot Portia a nasty look and picked up the teacup and saucer as if daring her to take it from him. He disappeared out the back door, and when he returned moments later, he was no longer carrying the teacup or the saucer. With a grumpy look at her, he picked up his mug and slouched out into the bar.

"Coffee. Coffee. Coffee."

No one else heard this, but Portia thought, That's a weird voice. It's coming from outside.

The kitchen had a back door to an alley, and stifling another yawn, she went outside. There, a grey striped tabby cat was lapping at the teacup sitting on the saucer on the ground.

It stopped lapping, stuck its tongue out a little and inhaled cool air. "Ow. Hot. Hot. Hot! Wow. I think I've burnt my tongue." It whined and ran around.

"Wait for it to cool silly," Portia said.

"That's the second time this month," the cat said as it approached the teacup and started to blow on it. After a few blows, he took another couple laps. "Yeow!" it lisped, jumping back and shaking his head.

Just then Smokey appeared rolling his eyes in symbolic resignation. "Boofy does this ALL the time. Just can't wait."

Near the back door were a couple of rubbish bins and one of them was making a noise. She startled as she took off the lid and it fell over on its side. "There's something in there!" she squeaked.

Smokey peeked in. "Looks like a baby raccoon."

"What? It can't be! Raccoons live in America."

Smokey shrugged. "Probably just a very large rat," he said with an unconcerned air. Sir Boofhead, the tabby cat, was blowing on the coffee and taking a tentative sip.

"What's it doing here?" Portia said as she eyed the rubbish bin. Smokey shrugged again.

"I'm going back inside. This place just keeps getting weirder." She went back inside the kitchen. As the back door was closing she heard Smokey calling out cheekily, "See you tomorrow when you burn your tongue again."

In the kitchen her mother was cradling a warm mug of tea and staring at the book.

"Why do they put teacups of coffee outside?" she asked her mother.

"I think it's just what your Great Auntie Flo did for years. When she got too old, Duncan started doing it for her."

"Well it's weird. There's a cat trying to drink from it."

"Yes dear." But her mother didn't seem to be paying much attention.

"Mum?"

"Yes dear?"

"I really miss Dad."

"I do too. Very much." Her mother looked up at Portia with a great sadness in her eyes.

Her sad eyes dipped back down to the accounts book, and with a deep sigh, she continued, "I'm going to have to find a job as soon as possible. If we don't pay some of this debt we may lose even this place."

"I can help. I could get a job."

"No. Portia you're much too young," her mother replied. "But maybe you could help around here. Help spruce the place up, goodness knows it needs it."

"OK Mum."

Her mother continued, "I noticed a lot of dirt out front when we arrived, why don't you sweep out there? Ask Duncan where the brooms are kept. I'm going to go to that big grocery store and apply for a job."

"Yeah right," Portia muttered under her breath, firmly thinking to herself she would not bother asking grumpy Uncle Duncan for anything.

After some breakfast, her mother left for the grocery store, and Portia began looking for a broom to sweep the front of the inn. She glanced around the kitchen, but there was no corner that held even a grungy old mop. She wandered out into the bar. Duncan was standing behind the bar just staring at nothing and doing nothing. She gave him a cautious glance and skirted around him.

She went into the hall, and under the stairs was a closet. Peeking into the cramped dimness she saw a few spiders, a feather duster, and two brooms leaning against the wall. She grabbed a broom, shook a spider from it, which scuttled further into the closet, and brought it into the light. It looked like it was made of twigs! Oh well, she thought. It'll work.

As she exited the hall, her holophone chose that moment to murmur, "Power down." She took it out of her pocket and looked at it forlornly. Then she looked up and saw the television was off. With a furtive glance at the lethargic Duncan she dashed upstairs and grabbed her charger. She stood on a bar stool and unplugged the television. Happy to see the holophone charging, she got down and picked up the broom.

Out on the street front, she swished it around. The dirt rose up into clouds of dust, but she couldn't seem to get the dirt and debris to actually sweep in any direction. This was made more difficult because the twigs on the head of the broom were bent from a long time of the broom leaning against a wall. She tried holding the broom at an angle, but it made no difference. Finally, tired of coughing and rubbing dust from her eyes, she gave up.

Duncan was sitting on the customer side of the bar drinking now from a different mug. The tingling sound of a bell rang out in the silence. What was that?

"That'll be Mum," griped Duncan. Portia continued to the hall. "Go see what she wants."

Portia paused. "What?"

"Go see what Mum wants."

"Who? Me?" asked Portia.

"Yeah." He took a drink.

"You mean Great Auntie Flo?"

"Yeah."

"But . . . umm . . . I doubt she even knows who I am."

"Doesn't matter."

She stared at him. The bell tinkled again.

He looked up and glared at her. "Go on."

"I don't even know where she is . . . " Portia stammered.

"Fourth floor," he grunted. And that was all she got from him as he went back to his drink.

She shoved the broom into the closet and headed up the stairs.

It was a good thing no one was staying at the inn because Portia had no idea what room her great aunt might be in. She walked up to the top of the stairs and knocked on each door until she found a non-empty room. It didn't take long. A door very nearly directly above her own room was closed, and a dim light peeked underneath into the dark corridor.

She knocked timidly. No answer. Letting out a tense breath and telling herself to relax, she knocked again, louder this time.

"What?" called an elderly woman's voice.

"Auntie Flo?"

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"Come in. Don't just stand outside. I can't hear."

Portia turned the doorknob and pushed the door open a little. She tried to peer in without entering.

"Umm, Auntie Flo?"

"What? I can't see you!"

Portia opened the door fully and stepped into the room. It was a large room. The curtains were closed but two fiery torches hung brazenly on a wall, and a bright fire was roaring and warming the room nicely. The room was really hot, and the room smelled of body odor and sweat. Great Aunt Flo turned out to be a thin but tall woman with florid skin, sitting in an armchair near the fireplace. She had teeth like a horse, (and breath to match if Portia had to guess), and greasy unwashed hair, but surprisingly didn't look much like Duncan who was fat with beady little eyes. Her eyes rolled around, and her adam's apple bounced up and down her skinny neck as she spoke.

"Who are you?" she squawked at Portia.

"I'm Portia, Your . . . well you're my great aunt."

Great Aunt Flo stared at her. "What do you want?" As Portia stumbled to say anything quickly, she added, "Come on. Hurry up. I haven't got all day."

"Umm, well you rang the bell and I was sent up to see what you needed."

Great Aunt Flo squinted her eyes. "Who sent you?"

"Uncle Duncan."

Great Aunt Flo snorted. "That lazy lump," she muttered to herself.

But then she looked back at Portia, "So he's got you doing his dirty work has he?" She gave Portia an appraising look and took in the dust in her hair and grimey marks on her face where she had rubbed it with her sleeves. "Though it looks like you're not afraid of getting dirty. I like that. You're no namby pamby."

"So . . . " Portia began.

"What 'cha say your name was?"

"Portia."

"And you're my niece you say?"

"Yes . . . well great niece I guess."

"Darren's daughter?" Flo enquired.

"Yes but he died in a car accident," Portia mumbled.

There followed a long awkward silence; Flo seemed to be staring out the window or at least at the window since the curtains were closed.

"I used to read the news every day," Flo reminisced. "They'd fly right through the window into my lap." Flo looked at Portia. "They haven't done that for years now. I wonder why?"

Portia was feeling distinctly uncomfortable just standing here and listening to the insane ramblings of an old woman. No wonder Duncan didn't want to come up here.

"Do you read?" she barked at Portia.

"Erm, not much I guess," answered Portia.

"Like books?"

"Not really."

Great Aunt Flo leaned back in her armchair. Head lolling slightly to one side. "I used to love to read. In the sitting room . . . that was my favourite," she reminisced to the ceiling. "Sometimes he'd pop up in the fire and tell me things."

As her aunt's mind waffled along random tangents, Portia looked around the room. There was a large dresser with a layer of dust on top, a large mahogany wardrobe in the corner with gold handles, a stack of old hardcover books on a bedside table, and a marble mantel holding numerous photos in silver frames. On a small table next to the chair was a tiny silver bell. She was brought out of her reverie by her great aunt addressing her loudly.

"My cardigan! Little girl! Do you hear me? I said my cardigan!"

"Huh?"

"My cardigan!" Great Aunt Flo was pointing a long bony finger in the rough vicinity of the corner wardrobe. "My red cardigan. Before I freeze to death!"

How anyone could freeze to death in this room Portia surely couldn't imagine, as it felt quite hot and stuffy. She opened the wardrobe and saw long dresses in floral patterns, long dark hooded cloaks, various multi-coloured blouses, and a few pairs of slacks or trousers all hanging neatly from hangers. There was even a bright green, tartan patterned vest that had to be the ugliest piece of clothing she'd ever seen. And right in the middle of the wardrobe was a scarlet red cardigan. She took it off the hanger and rounded to face Great Aunt Flo who waved her closer with both hands.

When Portia gave it to her, she didn't put it on, she just draped it across her chest and slouched down a little further in the big armchair. Up close, her great aunt smelled worse and Portia stepped away to the window. She moved a curtain to peek outside but closed it rapidly as Great Aunt Flo let out a wild shriek. Once closed, her great aunt made no more noise.

Portia had had quite enough. She dashed out and closed the door quietly. "If we do get any customers, I sure hope they don't meet her or they certainly won't ever come back," she whispered to herself. "Oh yeah, and she can get her own cardigans from now on instead of getting me to climb all those floors . . . "

Chapter 2: The Portrait

Chapter Text

Wanting to help her mother to spruce up the inn, Portia got the feather duster from the closet and dusted the bar top. There was a second set of rickety stairs behind the bar that she followed up to a sitting room. It had clearly been the room where her Great Aunt Flo had spent most of her time and done most of her living. The strange goaty smell persisted here too. There were a couple of old plush armchairs, so well used that the arms were shiny with decades of rubbed in body oils. She decided then and there that she would never sit in either chair. There was also a couple of very solid looking end tables with numerous stain rings in the polish. Honestly, didn't anyone who lived here clean anything?

One window was covered by rags pretending to be curtains. The floor was grimey, and opposite the window was a fireplace. A thick layer of dust covered the mantel. Above the mantel was a large oil painting of a blond haired girl who stared over the room with a sweet, unfocused gaze.

Portia looked around the room thinking, I don't know where to start. She thought for a moment that she caught sight of movement out the corner of her eye. She turned towards the fireplace. Nothing moved in the fireplace, but she took a couple of steps forward to examine the painting. It wasn't as grimey as the rest of the room. There was an old corroded looking brass tin on the mantel, and she peered onto the top of the mantel and dragged a finger across it. Her finger came away with a glob of dirt and dust. "Ergh!"

She looked up at the painting. The girl in the painting winked at her!

No. It was just a trick of the flickering candle light. Or was it? She must have imagined it. But as she continued to look at the painting, she imagined the girl's eyes were a little more focused and almost looking at her instead of out over the room. And was that the smallest trace of a smile at the corners of her mouth?

Portia brushed her finger rapidly on the side of her jeans and reached tentatively to touch the painting. As her fingertips approached the frame, there was a soft clicking sound, and she yanked her hand back quickly where it thumped against her chest.

The painting had swung out toward her a little. When nothing else happened, she cautiously reached out and opened it further, revealing a cubby. Inside was a broken piece of glass and two books.

First she examined the glass. It had sharp edges and looked like it had been part of a mirror. Then she picked up one of the books and read the title: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander. The other book, Hogwarts, A History by Bathilda Bagshot, was much larger and had many more pages. Both were yellowed with age.

What she thought was amazing was that these were not ebooks that were displayed or viewed on a holopad or holovision; these were genuine old books made with many pages of paper bound together. She had rarely seen such things and found the touch and smell of the pages quite intriguing. Completely forgetting her earlier promise to herself, she sat in the closest armchair and began to read.

She started flicking through Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them . It was weird to read such an old book because it used old letters of the early 21st century alphabet that no longer existed in the modern alphabet. At first she thought that the title was 'Fantastie' and the last letter had been smudged but she thought it more likely that it was meant to be 'Fantastik' . And the word 'Mithikal' was spelled as 'Mythical' and 'Kreature' was 'Creature' -- again the strange 'c' symbol appeared quite often making the reading more difficult, but she did her best to interpret the ancient, misspelled, odd words based on the context.

It was all about mythical animals; some of them she had even heard about from story books and holo-movies, like dragons and unicorns, but there were many more -- some like manticores sounded as dangerous as dragons, but the fairies were described quite differently than she had always imagined. She was just reading about centaurs (kentaurs? surely this word should be sentaurs? sentors?) and thinking it would be fun to meet one when she heard a noise from the stairs.

Portia jumped up, grabbed the books, and ran out the door. There was no one there, but to be safe she thought she better head to her room where she could more easily hide the books.

All thought of cleaning was completely forgotten.

Portia found Hogwarts, A History to be very interesting indeed, but it couldn't actually be real. Apparently, Hogwarts was a school that taught magic to boys and girls who were wizards and witches. It was a very large, secret castle hidden in the mountains somewhere, a long distance from all non-wizards. It was a prestigious school over a thousand years old and had been founded by four great wizards. The school motto was Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus, and nearly all wizarding families sent their magical children there.

According to some law from hundreds of years ago, it was important to remain hidden from non-magical people, and so it was protected by spells; some spells made the castle look like ruins to non-wizards, and some would cause non-wizards to suddenly remember forgotten appointments and they would dash away.

Students would live most of the year at Hogwarts, going home for important holidays and summer break. In seven years, they would study subjects such as Arithmancy, Charms, Divination, Herbology, Astronomy, Transfiguration, Defense against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures. It was the best school for preparing a young person for a career in the wizarding world.

"It all sounds wonderful," Portia murmured. "So much more interesting than the actual schools we have now with boring subjects like Mathematics and Geography and English."

The following day Portia kept thinking about the portrait. Curious whether she had overlooked anything else left in the hidden space behind the portrait, Portia decided to take a more thorough look again. She walked through the bar, up the narrow stairs, and approached the door to the sitting room with a little trepidation. Peering in, it looked dark and gloomy as usual, and most importantly, empty of anyone else, so she entered.

The portrait was still there; the blond haired girl stared into the room. Carefully she walked right up to it and looked right at the girl's eyes. But the girl in the portrait did not blink and made no movement at all.

She reached out and grabbed the frame. As before, there was a click and the portrait swung open.

"Oh damn," Portia muttered, realizing she had not remembered to bring a candle. Well, she thought quickly, I can use my holophone.

Holding the holophone as her light source, the space revealed itself much deeper than she had guessed. It was not shallow. In fact she couldn't even see the back of it. Standing on tiptoe, and stretching as far as she could, she could only feel along the edge and her hand came away very dusty and dirty indeed.

To make up for her lack of height, she needed something to stand on. Portia grabbed the arms of the closest armchair, spun it halfway around and pushed it against the fireplace.

Good thing it's already disgustingly filthy, she thought. I don't feel at all bad about stepping on it with my shoes.

When she stepped on the cushiony surface and looked in, she nearly fell over backwards in shock. There was no back wall! Instead, she was looking down a tunnel. A low ceilinged, very dusty tunnel.

Unworried about what the dust would do to the knees of her jeans or her hands, she climbed right up the back of the armchair and into the tunnel. There were stairs on the other side of the portrait that she had to crawl down crab-like, but once down, she could stand in the tunnel.

The tunnel went on for quite a way, but soon a bright light shining in from the end allowed her to turn off the holophone light and put it in her pocket.

Finally, she stepped out into a stone room. One whole wall was gone as if an explosion had ripped it away and the bright sun was shining through the opening. After the tunnel darkness, she squinted at all the debris and fallen stones where the wall had collapsed. It looked like she was standing in the ruins of a castle.

There was a nice gentle breeze at this height, and best of all, the rubble was quite climbable right down to the ground. Taking a few steps onto the springy green grass, Portia turned around to look at where she had just come from.

"Wow!"

"Where am I?"

"What IS this place?"

She was looking at an old castle. It was immense. Tilting her head and craning her neck, she still couldn't really see it all, so she turned around and started to walk towards the woods from where she hoped to get a better view of the edifice. Everything was lush and green. Picking up a stick, she used it to push aside long weeds and the odd spider web strand. Her shoulder length hair swayed in the cool breeze and she passed a few cherry trees and apple trees and even what looked like a tree bearing peaches. The fruit made her realize how long it had been since she had last eaten.

On reaching a small clearing, she turned back to look at the castle. It had at least two tall towers and many windows. Or at least it used to have many windows. It was heavily damaged. Built of grand grey stones, there were many blackened, ragged openings where parts of windows and walls should have been but were no longer. Much was ruins, yet parts of it stood tall and proud.

I'll take a picture, she thought, taking her holophone out of her pocket. Except that it didn't power on automatically. She shook it, tapped the screen and said clearly to it, "Turn on." But the holophone would not turn on.

Just then her stomach gave a rumble.

"I guess I should get back for dinner before anyone misses me and I get in trouble." She pocketed the holophone.

Waving her stick in the air nonchalantly, she looked up at a juicy, ripe apple and said, "I wish I could eat that apple."

Suddenly the breeze picked up, blowing the strands of hair around her face back; the apple broke from its stem and sailed smoothly through the air and right into her hands.

"Blimey! Yer a witch!"

She was so startled she jumped off the ground, dropping the apple and her stick; she landed so awkwardly that she fell over. Eyes wide with terror she scrambled to her feet and swivelled to face the direction from where the voice came.

"Wha . . . ?"

There, a short distance away, sitting against an apple tree, was the largest man she had ever seen. Even sitting down he was much taller than her, and his broad shoulders were at least twice as wide as any normal man's. His thick grey hair stuck out wildly in all directions making his head look larger than any of the bushes, and an enormous beard covered half his face. But his dark eyes seemed alight with a friendly twinkle.

Her heart was hammering. "Wh-what did you say?" she stammered.

"I said," replied the giant, "yer a witch." And after a pause in which she just stared open mouthed, he added, "A real one. Don' think I've seen a real witch or wizard roun' here fer many years."

"I don't understand."

"It means yeh can do magic." The giant made to stand up. Holding onto a walking stick the size of a small sapling, and bracing against the tree, he groaned to his feet. "It means yeh're no' a Muggle."

Portia took a few steps back, getting ready to run away. The giant was about three times taller than her. But he was smiling down at her from his massive frame. Without thinking Portia blurted out, "You're enormous!"

He chuckled, "I always 'ave bin." His head was even with the apples in the tree he stood under.

"Do you live in the castle?"

"Nah." He shifted his huge feet and leaned a little more heavily on his walking stick. "I live up in the mountains. In a cave act'ly. But I like to come down here somedays an see 'ow the trees an' everythin' is doin'. See," and he pointed through the trees to where she now noticed she could see parts of a large hut, "I used to 'ave an 'ome righ' there. I planted most o' these trees."

He turned to the hut and took a couple steps, saying, "I sat down for a mo'. I must'a fell asleep."

"Who are you?" asked Portia.

"Yeh sure are an inquisitive lil' thing," he chuckled as he continued towards the hut. She could feel her face becoming a little flushed at this remark but the gentle breeze felt nice and cool. "But I guess tha's good in a young witch."

He paused and then said, "I'm Hagrid. Reubus Hagrid. And I used to be the groundskeeper here."

"Groundskeeper?"

"Yeh. Fer Hogwarts," then he added with a proud smile, "I was a teacher too."

"That's Hogwarts?" Portia blurted looking back at the castle ruins.

"Wha's lef' of it yeah."

"That's really Hogwarts?"

"Don' yeh believe me?" Hagrid looked bewildered.

"I just read about it in a book."

"Yeh can've read about it. It's not in any books."

"I did. I found a really old book that said it was a magical school for wizards and witches."

"Well I don' remember no books," he muttered.

"I didn't believe it though," she said.

"Oh Hogwarts was real all righ'. The bes' school there ever was." They had reached the hut. "I brought down some rock cakes from meh cave. I could make us a cuppa."

Portia hesitated, looking up to the sky where the sun would be setting soon. "I should get back before I'm missed too long. But can I come back tomorrow and talk to you again Mr. Hagrid?"

"Course yeh can. An' jus' call me Hagrid."

She suddenly smiled, waved a tiny hand, said, "Good-bye Hagrid," and turned away at a half jog.

Hagrid opened the hut door while shaking his head and muttering, "A real witch. I can' believe it."

Portia ran through the long grass, stopped to pick up the apple and stick she had dropped, then climbed back up and entered the tunnel.

She made her way down the tunnel, only pausing once when the light entering behind her was truly too dim to see anything, to power on her holophone.

She popped out the portrait hole, climbed down the armchair, and stood in the sitting room. It looked like no-one had entered while she was gone. She pushed the portrait closed and moved the armchair away from the fireplace into its usual position.

Funny, she thought. The old ruined castle, the trees, and meeting Hagrid all seemed to have occurred days ago.

When Portia entered the public room, her mother was there.

"Oh my lord! What have you done to your jeans?" cried her mother.

Portia looked down to see that from the knees down, her jeans were filthy. "Um," she said little guiltily.

"Well never mind that now. I need your help in the kitchen. Wash your hands, they look filthy too. Then, chop the vegetables and add them to the stew. I've got to get this fire going out here."

Glad she didn't have to work on the fire, as it looked like rainwater had poured down the chimney and soaked everything, she went into the kitchen.

She found a big pot in a cupboard and carried it outside. Right beside the back door, a single old pipe ran up out of the ground to a tap screwed to the wall. Smokey was sitting nearby.

"Oh hello Smokey."

"Hello," he replied, looking at her and the pot suspiciously. "What are you doing with that?"

"I'm going to wash my hands."

"With water?" Smokey seemed quite alarmed now.

"You won't believe what happened to me," Portia started to say about her afternoon, but at that moment she turned the tap on, and water fell to the ground splattering everywhere.

"Oh my lord!" Smokey exclaimed indignantly and streaked off.

There was no soap, so she rubbed her hands as clean as she could while trying but failing to keep her shoes clear of the ground splatter.

It took some time to clean and cut the vegetables with a blunt knife, after which her hands were quite worn out.

Mrs. Smith exhaled, put her hands on her hips and said, "Well done."

Portia looked up with a small smile.

Her mother said, "You start your new school tomorrow. It's called Our Lady Cearra Secondary School. I hope you like it."

"I doubt it," Portia said to herself but a little louder she said, "OK Mum."

Her mother continued, "And tomorrow is my first day too -- at the grocery store. I don't know exactly what I'll be doing, but we sure need the extra income for this place. You should probably get up to bed. I can finish up here. You don't want to be tired on your first day."

"OK Mum." Portia was quite happy to get a break from the work but wasn't sure she looked forward to starting a new school.

After handing a bowl of stew to Portia, her mother lifted the stew off the fire and carried it out to the public room. She was busy ladling it into a couple of bowls as Portia went up to her bedroom, with a candle lit from the kitchen fire in one hand and her bowl of stew in the other.

Portia's bedroom was in darkness, and oddly enough, walking in with her candle seemed to make it darker, as if it enabled her to see just how dark the shadowy corners really were.

She felt tired, but was too excited from the afternoon's adventure and wanted to read more of Hogwarts, A History now she knew it was real. Smokey sauntered into the room, tail high in the air, and eyes as wide as saucers in the dim candlelight as she was just retrieving the book from under her bed.

"Did you know there's a secret passage behind the portrait in the sitting room?" she asked him.

"Portrait?"

"The picture of the girl. Above the fireplace."

"Oh that. Well, no. But then I hardly go in that room. No I didn't know there was a passage."

"Guess where it goes," she said excitedly.

Smokey sat down on the floorboards, curled his tail around his body so the tip twitched in front of himself and said, "I'm quite sure I don't have the foggiest idea."

"Hogwarts!" Portia took a spoonful of stew, blew on it, and then tasted it.

Smokey just stared at her with his big green eyes.

"You don't know about Hogwarts either do you?" she said through a mouthful of stew.

"Obviously not," said Smokey primly.

She swallowed awkwardly. "Well neither did I. Until yesterday that is, when I read about it in this book." She spooned another mouthful of stew from the bowl.

She proffered the book and held it down in front of his face. He stretched out his neck and sniffed it. "Smells old."

"It is. It's called Hogwarts, A History and it's all about Hogwarts. I didn't believe it until I actually saw it with my own eyes today."

Smokey didn't look all that impressed. "And what is a Hogwartz?"

"It's a magical castle. Listen to what is says in the first chapter. 'Founded over a thousand years ago by four of the cleverest witches and wizards of the age, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin, Hogwarts is the largest and most prestigious school for young wizards and witches.' "

Then she added, "Well it was. It's all in ruins now apparently." In spite of her excitement to read more about Hogwarts, the day's exertion had tired her more than she realized, and she fell asleep with the book open.

"Hmmm," mumbled Smokey, "a school dedicated to teaching magic."

Chapter 3: Andrew

Chapter Text

The morning sun shone through the window. Portia awakened to find herself slumped at the desk where she had fallen asleep with her cheek against the window. She yawned; she rose, picked up Hogwarts, A History, and hid it again under her bed. Smokey was no longer in the room, having wandered out hours ago to do whatever cats do at night. Being already dressed, she went down the stairs to the kitchen.

Her mother, looking very tired, had already started a little fire and was heating a pan. As she made some scrambled eggs for Portia, she said, "I'll walk you to school as it's your first day. And it's just a few streets." She picked up a plate and tipped the eggs onto it. "Here, sit at the table."

"Can I have some toast too Mum?"

"Certainly, I think I saw a toasting fork around here somewhere." Mrs. Smith looked on a shelf under the counter. "Here it is." And she speared a slice of bread and propped it over the fire. "Take it off in a minute. I'm going to get some water."

Portia couldn't see any jam or butter for the toast, so she ate it dry while finishing her eggs.

When it was time to leave, she grabbed her backpack, which was mostly empty, and together, she and her mother stepped out into a street of sunny warmth.

After a couple of turns and street crossings, they saw a sign, 'Our Lady Cearra Secondary School, Hogsmeade' out in front of a grey brick building.

It was a large, ugly grey building that was only 20 years old. Together, with the other school buildings, it had been built during a special expansion phase to modernize Hogsmeade village. The style clashed garishly with the much older and quainter buildings in the center of "Old Hogsmeade". Portia stared up at it and her heart began to beat a little faster. What would the teachers be like? Would she get picked on? Would she make friends?

She looked around at some of the other children who were arriving. They all wore uniforms of grey knee-length skirts (or grey trousers for boys), white blouses with striped ties, grey jackets, white socks, and black leather shoes. Portia imagined everyone was looking at her, conspicuous in her jeans.

They were met by Deputy Headmistress Mrs. Bunnings at the main door.

"Hello Annette. How lovely to meet you," said Mrs. Bunnings. "I see you found our school. I hope there was no difficulty?"

"Nice to meet you. No. No problem at all."

Before her mother could introduce her, Mrs. Bunnings looked down at Portia and said with a big smile, "And this must be Portia. Hello and wonderful to meet you." Her eyes moved over Portia, paused at the dirty knees of her jeans, and her smile became a little frozen in place.

"Hello," Portia replied, looking up at her.

"Well are you ready to meet your teacher?" Mrs. Bunnings didn't wait for a reply but turned to Mrs. Smith saying, "I'll take good care of her from here." After a quick goodbye to her mother, Portia was following Mrs. Bunnings down a long hallway.

They passed lockers, posters, noticeboards (Do's and Don'ts of How to Properly Wear Your Uniform), glass fronted cabinets, and pieces of student artwork taped to the walls.

When they were parallel with a side door, Mrs. Bunnings hardly slowed but turned abruptly, and neither did she knock, but opened the door and walked right in to the classroom. Portia followed her and found herself being stared at by twenty pairs of eyes from the already seated students.

"Miss Elliot, this is Portia Smith." And with a parting, "Portia dear, this is Miss Elliot your home room teacher," Mrs. Bunnings left, closing the door behind her.

"Well aren't you a tiny little thing?" Miss Elliot observed. She too glanced at her stained jeans and mud spattered shoes. Portia couldn't think of anything to say so she remained silent. A few students seemed to be looking at her shoes, and a few rows back a blond haired girl was tittering behind her hand to a girl beside her.

"Class, say good morning to your new class mate Portia Smith."

"Good morning Portia," intoned the class in a forced monotone. Portia could feel herself getting warm.

"Tell us a little about yourself."

All Portia could think about was that her face must be burning up red.

"Where do you live?"

"Umm, the Hog's Head Inn."

"And what is something you like or enjoy doing?"

"Umm, I guess I like cats."

"Wonderful. Now how about you take that empty seat back there." Miss Elliot pointed to a seat behind the blond girl who had been whispering to her friend. Portia rushed to it and exhaled in relief as she sat down.

"OK class, take out your holopads for today's lesson. Let's get started."

Not having a school holopad yet, Portia could only vaguely follow along by looking sideways at the boy's next to her. The holopad lay flat on the desk and projected a three-dimensional image a few inches above the surface. The current application, discussing world geography, contained a yellow dragon showing major rivers around the world.

The morning was very boring.

She was looking at a boy two places over when IT happened. He was a little pudgy and very pale; he had very blue eyes and wavy brown hair that looked like it had not been combed since getting out of bed. In fact, she felt quite sure she could deduce what side he had been lying on all night just by examing the wild swirls on his head. His nose was round and his lower lip stuck out slightly while he focused his gaze very intently on the flickering 3D display.

All of a sudden, a little flame appeared to come out of his holopad, which at first she thought was just part of the display. Then more flames appeared on all sides, and then there was a small boom as the holopad erupted with a fireball and tall flames shot to the ceiling. There were shrieks and yells as students jumped in desperation to get away. The boy himself stayed relatively calm and in his seat. He continued to stare at the holopad. As quickly as it had erupted, so too it ended. Charred, a little melty around the edges, the app was still running on the screen.

Miss Elliot rushed to his desk admonishing him.

"Andrew Rainsberry! What have you done? Why'd you do it? You naughty boy!" She grabbed him and almost started to shake him. She started to frisk him while asking "What did you use? A lighter? Matches? Where are they?"

He remained silent, his expression a mixture of fear and sullenness. She grabbed the toasted holopad, shoved it at him and said, "Take yourself up to the headmaster's office! That's the second time this month." With his book bag and holopad, he hung his head and made for the door as she typed on her own holopad, saying, "I'm texting him to let him know you're coming."

Portia watched all this with wide eyed shock.

"Everyone back to your seats please."

Portia hadn't moved; she was now staring up at the big black spot on the ceiling.

Andrew did not return to class, but was sitting in the corner of the lunchroom when they had lunch. Portia hadn't met or made friends with anyone. No one else was sitting near him. She decided to sit close to him, noticing he wasn't eating.

"Did you mean to start a fire?"

"No," he replied tersely, staring at the tabletop.

"And this has happened before?"

No answer.

"I think you can do magic," she whispered while leaning closer. This time he glanced up and looked at her suspiciously before returning to the tabletop.

"I might be a witch," she whispered. "I made an apple fall into my hands." She leaned back in her chair and added, "And I can talk to cats."

She started to eat slowly; she didn't feel very hungry really.

After a long period of silence, Andrew moved a little and muttered, "Anyone can talk to cats."

She put down the half eaten biscuit in her hand feeling indignant, and ready to proclaim her truth, when he turned to look right at her and said calmly, "Understanding what they're saying - that's the real trick."

Portia blinked.

"I have to go to class now," Andrew said abruptly, and he grabbed his things and left just as the bell rang to end lunch.

Everyone else seemed to know where they were going, and Portia quickly found herself alone wandering the halls.

Chapter 4: Hogwarts

Chapter Text

The next day, her mother left early to work at the store. This left Portia alone in the Hog's Head.

"Hey Smokey, wanna see the tunnel behind the portrait?"

"Don't you have to go to that school place?"

"Nah, today is remote learning and I can't get a good signal here, besides, I don't have a holopad."

"What's a holopad?"

"It's like a holophone with a bigger screen and it connects you to the global AI."

"What's a global AI?"

"Oh . . . um . . . nevermind. But do you want to see the tunnel?" she said with enthusiasm.

"I'm curious," replied Smokey.

She happily jumped up and ran down the stairs, behind the bar, and up the rickety stairs into the sitting room. Tail in the air, Smokey followed swiftly and silently on his paws.

"Oh wait, I'm getting a candle this time so my holophone battery doesn't die."

She was back a moment later with a lit candle from the bar. Smokey was sitting and looking up at the portrait. "That's Ariana," he said.

"What?"

"The girl in the picture - her name's Ariana."

"How do you know that?"

Smokey gave the equivalent of a cat shrug. "I heard someone talking about her years ago."

"Ariana," Portia repeated looking into the girl's eyes as the girl stared into the room.

"Well, watch this, I'll open it." She reached out, but before she could grab the portrait, it swung open by itself.

"Wow!" Smokey jumped onto the mantel. "I didn't know this was here." He took a careful sniff. "Hmm, smells like dust." He headed down the tunnel.

"Hey! Wait for me!" Quickly, she pushed the armchair over and scrambled up it, into the tunnel once more.

Smokey, being a cat, had no difficulty seeing the way, and he led her all the way until they exited in the ruins. Portia blew out the candle.

"So, Smokey, this is Hogwarts. What do you think? Isn't it fantastic?"

"Well . . . it is definitely ruined," replied the cat, stretching his neck to look around at the rubble and missing walls.

"Follow me. I'll show you the apple trees; you get a really good view from there of the whole place." Portia set off through the long grass. Once in the clearing past the apple trees, she turned around and said, "See? Look how big it is!"

"It is large indeed," Smokey said. His large green eyes were wide in wonder, and he turned his head to see from one corner of the castle to the opposite corner. "So this is Hogwarts," he muttered quietly to himself. "I never thought . . . "

"Let's see Hagrid. His hut is just over here."

But the hut appeared unoccupied, as the curtains were drawn, and nobody answered when she knocked.

"Maybe it's unlocked," suggested Smokey.

She tried the handle and it opened easily. She pushed it open a little. "Mr. Hagrid? Are you home?" There was no response. "It's me, Portia."

Smokey pushed past her legs and waltzed in.

"Smokey! You shouldn't go in there!"

"Pfft, I'm a cat. I can go anywhere." Still, he didn't go much farther. It was one large room, and he stared around at the gigantic bed in the corner, the fireplace, and a pair of old boots so large he observed dryly, "Well I certainly wouldn't want my tail to get stepped on by those."

"We shouldn't be here," she whispered. "Come on, let's explore the castle." Smokey scooted out and she shut the door.

They walked through room after room in the castle. Many rooms were lit by the sunlight streaming through giant, gaping holes. When their feet disturbed the dust, the motes rose in little tornadic swirls in the bright rays. Some rooms were half gone, the effects of the weather quite apparent and destructive.

"Ugh. Lovely," grunted Smokey.

Down a hallway, they peaked into doorways that led into classrooms. The remains of wooden desks, chairs, parchment, and quills littered the floor. It was quite exciting every now and then to discover a room that had undamaged walls and was not open to the outdoors. One of these rooms was filled with broken glass, and a couple of large cracked jars sat on shelves.

"Don't go in there, you'll get glass in your feet," she warned Smokey, as he peered around her legs.

Another held a couple of rusty cauldrons. "Oh they're empty," said Portia with disappointment as she peered in. "Smells musty," commented Smokey.

Back out in the hall lay the blasted remains of a stone statue. "Looks like it might have been a statue of a woman?" Portia guessed, but Smokey had padded into the next room that was quite large and had glass cabinets on all the walls. From his height near the floor, Smokey asked, "Anything in 'em?"

"No. They're all empty. I wonder what used to be displayed here."

Just then they heard a muffled, deep rumble that made them freeze in place. "What was that?" whispered Smokey.

With her heart hammering, Portia whispered back, "I don't know."

They stood still. Silence.

"You don't suppose this place is haunted do you?"

"You mean ghosts?" Smokey's eyes rolled around the room and his tail was shaking.

"No," she whispered. "Ghosts don't exist." Or did they?

When the sound did not repeat, she nodded to a doorway on the opposite side and said more confidently, "Let's see what's through there."

"Oh. It looks like this was the main entrance hall."

"And that's where the main doors were," added Smokey. A big gaping doorway opened to the outdoors; the splintered remains of one door hung sadly off rusty hinges.

"Look at the beautiful stairway Smokey."

"There's no chance of getting up there now though. They're half gone," Smokey observed looking up. "We'll have to find another way up if we're going to explore the upper floors."

"And we can't go down. Just look at those giant stone blocks."

"Well I can fit through that gap. I wonder what's down there?"

"Probably the dungeons?"

"Urgh," grunted Smokey "In that case I'll stay up here. I have no desire to explore smelly, disgusting dungeons."

From the entrance hall, they came upon two intact, massive, intricately carved wooden doors set into an arched doorway. Portia tried to open them but they didn't budge. "Maybe they're blocked from the other side?"

Smokey put his nose to the razor thin crack between the doors, "Well - "

BOOM!

The doors shook like a charging rhino had hit them. Portia screamed; Smokey jumped three feet in the air, his hair sticking out wildly, and as one, they turned and ran for the front door. A loud rumble, as if the whole castle was falling, followed their screams and yowls as they sprinted outside. Without a backwards glance, they ran around the corner of the castle and scrambled up to the tunnel entrance. Portia picked up her candle; holding it in a shaking hand she nearly burst out crying and wailed, "I forgot matches."

Smokey didn't wait; he shot off down the tunnel. She took off too, following him into the darkness.

Back in the sitting room, she slouched in a chair, panting as her heart rate slowly returned to normal.

"What do you think that noise was?" she asked Smokey.

"Something big hit the doors. They shook. I know because my nose was just about touching them."

"An animal?" she suggested as her breathing calmed a little more.

"A very BIG animal!"

"Maybe it was a rock or block of stone that fell against the door?"

"No." Smokey was adament. "I could briefly hear snorting and movement."

"Maybe a cow or bull got stuck in the castle?" she suggested.

Smokey just shrugged. "I don't know. There wasn't much time to find out . . . "

Later that evening, Portia was sitting at her table in her bedroom with Hogwarts, A History opened in front of her.

"What does 'Apparate' mean? And why can't you do it in Hogwarts?" she wondered.

Outside, three pairs of unblinking eyes were staring up at her candlelit window from where they were stationed on a roof across the street. Three pairs of ears were listening intently.

"It's real. Hogwarts. It really exists," said Smokey.

"Hogwarts?" asked Tux.

"It's real?" asked Sunshine.

"I saw it. It's huge," said Smokey "Well, I mean, a lot of it is in ruins but we even explored some of it."

"So it's real after all," mused Sunshine. "It's kind of hard to believe . . . "

"Oh, and she says she saw a giant . . . "

"A giant what?"

"Just a giant . . . person . . . you know. A giant." Smokey's eyes grew a little larger as he gave this detail.

"Of course everyone looks big compared to her. She's such a little thing," Sunshine commented.

"Never heard anything about a giant," stated Sir Boofhead. "Have you Tux?"

"There were some legends about giants . . . even centaurs and werewolves . . . "

"Werewolves . . . " scoffed Smokey. "You've been watching too much human holovision."

Tux glared at him.

Chapter 5: The Magic Umbrella

Chapter Text

Portia was having a nice dream about walking through tall, green grass with a nice, sweet smelling cool breeze when she was awoken by something poking her face.

Smokey poked her again. "The giant is back."

Portia struggled up onto her elbows. "What?"

"The giant you called Hagrid -- he's back at the cabin."

She stared, uncomprehending. "What do you mean? How do you know?"

He was staring back, not blinking. "Sir Boofhead told me."

She sat up against the headboard. "Sir what?"

"Sir Boofhead."

"Sir Boofhead?" She started to giggle.

"Yes. Sir Boofhead."

She was giggling uncontrollably now. Smokey sat back stiffly and looked as affronted as a cat could be this early in the morning. "It's considered bad manners to laugh at one's name," he admonished.

"Sorry," she managed to say, as she struggled to rein in the giggles. "Is that really his name?"

"Yes," Smokey uttered, barely moving his mouth. There was a long silence.

"Um, who is this Sir um . . . " and she let out a little giggle, "Boofhead?"

"Well really, I'm not sure I want to answer any questions if you're going to behave all silly and such." He started nonchalantly licking his forepaws.

"OK, OK, look I'm not laughing anymore. I promise I won't laugh."

After another silence, Portia asked, without any hint of humour, "So who IS Sir Boofhead?"

He put his paw back down on the sheet and replied simply, "He's a cat."

"Oh," she said, but then realized this didn't really explain anything. She looked confused. "But how does he know Mr. Hagrid's back?"

"He went down the tunnel to explore for himself."

"You told him about the tunnel?"

"Yes."

All of a sudden, she had a thought. "Oh, you can open the portrait?"

"Yes," sighed Smokey, in a tone that implied she was being especially dim this morning, "we cats can do all kinds of things."

"Well I guess I better get up there."

"What a good idea," he replied, with eyes innocently wide in mock admiration.

As she walked down the tunnel, she asked Smokey, "So why did Sir Boofhead come down here anyway?"

"Oh, we felt it was important to learn more about Hogwarts," he replied airily.

He was already bounding down to the grass and making a beeline for the old cabin.

Smoke rose from the chimney and clanking noises came from inside the cabin as Portia knocked. Suddenly all noise abruptly stopped. In the silence, she raised her tiny fist and knocked again. "Hello? Mr. Hagrid?"

There was a sound of footsteps and the door opened. When he saw it was her, Hagrid opened the door fully, holding a gigantic, ancient crossbow at his side. "Yeh nearly gave meh a hear' attack."

Her eyes goggled at the crossbow, and she said rather meekly, "I'm sorry I startled you."

"Don' ma'er," he said, looking over her and all around the outdoors, "Jus' didn' realize anyone else was 'round 'ere."

Then he looked down from his enormous height and smiled, "I was jus' abou' ta make sum tea, would yeh like a cup? Come in."

"Yes thank you. I didn't have any breakfast yet," Portia said as she stepped inside.

"An' who's this lil' fella?" asked Hagrid, as Smokey scooted through with his ears back, his tail just barely avoiding getting caught in the closing door.

"His name's Smokey, Mr. Hagrid."

"Jus' call meh 'Agrid," he said, adding, "no' used ter anythin' else."

"Um, OK."

"Smokey hey?" Hagrid bent down and picked him up in one giant hand. "Tha's a good name for 'im." Smokey looked so small sitting in the palm of Hagrid's hand as he was raised a few meters up to eye level with Hagrid.

Smokey leaned forward, sniffing Hagrid's face. "My Lord! He's got more hair than me! And he smells like a chimney. HE should be called Smokey."

Portia giggled. "He says YOU should be called Smokey."

Hagrid smiled genially, "I were messin' with the fire before you arrived. You know, startin' it the ol' fashion way as it were."

Hagrid paused suddenly. He screwed his eyes shut and let out a mighty sneeze that shook the walls. "AH CHOO!" Smokey stared at him with shocked wide eyes, ears flattened, and the fur on his tail sticking out.

"Oh yeah, I'm a bit allergic to cats sometimes," said Hagrid.

Portia stared around the cabin. It was one large room with an enormous bed in one corner piled high with old blankets, firewood logs, strips of leather, an old white umbrella, and an old garden hoe. A nice fire was crackling under a black cauldron in the fireplace, and in front of that was a large wooden chair with many tooth marks on a couple of the legs. A large wooden table stood against the opposite wall. It held a small pile of dirt covered vegetables that she assumed were turnips and carrots.

"Well, le's ge' tha' tea goin'," said Hagrid, as he put Smokey on the table; he picked up a tea pot of water and hung it over the fire to boil.

"Do you live here all alone?" asked Portia.

"No' here. Bu' Fang's up in meh cave up the moun'ain. He's a boarhound. His full name is Fang the Fourth. Bu' I jus' call 'im Fang. I came down this mornin' to check on meh garden an' meh frui' trees. Though' I migh' make some jam for meh rock cakes."

"Why don't you just live here?"

"Well . . . I did a long time ago." Hagrid retrieved the boiling water, poured it and some tea leaves into a chipped tea cup and a large mug. He sat down heavily at the table and stared misty eyed at nothing across the room. "I's bin so many years . . . "

"What happened?"

"I don' think I even know where to begin . . . "

Smokey was wrinkling his nose at the vegetables. Portia tried to sip her tea and glanced up to the ceiling where some glistening strands hung down. Hagrid reached up, grabbed the strands, and laid them across her hands. "Feel them? Tha's unicorn hair. Dead useful fer bindin' things an' stuff. Unbreakable."

"Wow." It felt like finest silk. "There really are unicorns?" she asked.

"Yep."

"And was Hogwarts really a school for witches and wizards?"

"Yep."

"What happened to it?"

"Well . . . it were abou' an 'undred years or more ago . . . " Smokey jerked up in such surprise that he lost his balance and fell off the table. Portia choked on her tea and started coughing. Fortunately, being a cat, Smokey landed on his feet.

"You're that old?" she blurted out in shock. Then, remembering her manners, she said guiltily, "Sorry, I shouldn't've said that." She clamped her hand firmly over her mouth.

"Don' worry. I'm qui'e a lo' older'n tha' to be hones'." He stood, scooped the vegetables into his enormous hands, and limped to the fire where he tossed them into the cauldron. "How abou' I show you roun' Hogwarts?"

Her face lit up. "Sure, that'd be great." Even Smokey was nodding his agreement.

Hagrid picked up the white umbrella from the pile on the bed, muttering, "Jus' in case." Then he grabbed what looked like a small tree trunk leaning beside the door. This was his walking stick! He looked at her and grinned, "Meh knees aren' wha' they used to be."

So they trekked up to the castle: Hagrid in limping strides, Portia jogging to keep up, and Smokey following through the long grass.

Hagrid started talking.

"When I were gamekeeper, Hogwar's had the greates' wizard in the world fer a headmaster. Dumbledore. Grea' man, Dumbledore. Used ter always ask meh to do importan' stuff . . . "

They walked down a long hallway.

"Tha' classroom was fer teaching transfiguration."

"What's that?"

"Err, I think it was all abou' turning things in'o other things."

"Oh that's helpful," said Smokey sarcastically.

"An' this was a charms classroom," said Hagrid as they peered into the next room.

"What's charms all about?"

"Erm, I dunno," replied Hagrid.

"Oh good grief," said Smokey. Portia glared down at him.

"Is it like transfiguration?"

"Nah. It's different."

"How?" she asked.

"Err, I don' rightly know I guess," he replied.

Smokey stared at her pointedly with raised eyebrows.

They had now walked into the room with the glass display cases. It had no windows or damaged walls to let in light.

"Lumos," said Hagrid, and the white umbrella glowed with light. Smokey was very impressed by this. Hagrid continued, "This was the trophy room. Achievements by head boys an' head girls, house awards, Quidditch teams . . . someone took 'em all . . . years ago . . . "

"It all sounds so magical!" Portia said. "What did you teach?"

Hagrid turned to her and said proudly, "Care of Magical Creatures. No one knows more'n meh abou' magical creatures."

"Magical creatures?"

"Yeah, yeh know . . . bowtruckles, unicorns, hippogriffs, nifflers, manticores . . . the usual . . . "

Well, Portia didn't know but she was too amazed to form a sentence to say anything.

They exited to the front entrance as Hagrid whispered, "Nox," and the umbrella went out. Again, Smokey was duly impressed.

"Now we're gettin' near the grea' hall. It was magnificen'. Grand. Enchan'ed ceiling. Shoulda seen it at Christmas an' Halloween . . . " He tried the handles but the grand wooden doors wouldn't budge.

Smokey glanced at Portia nervously.

"I don' understand," Hagrid muttered. He pointed his umbrella at the doors and mumbled something but still nothing happened.

"Um, Hagrid . . . ?"

Hagrid beat on the doors with his walking stick and they rattled and shook.

"Um, I don't think . . . " she began to say, but he didn't hear her. Smokey started backing away.

Hagrid turned to her, saying, "Here, yeh hold this for a mo'. Ta." He held out the umbrella for her. She took it, and he turned back to the doors, leaned his staff on the wall beside them and grabbed the door handles with both hands.

Twisting the handles, he placed his shoulder against the doors and heaved. The doors held, but the old wood seemed to bend unnaturally. Afraid of getting skewered with hardwood splinters, Portia took a couple steps backward. Smokey was already back as far as possible, nearly outside the room, staring up at the ceiling nervously.

Hagrid pushed and strained, and suddenly one of the doors opened slightly as if something heavy on the other side had started to give way. Now, he applied his great frame to the single door and with his giant strength, slowly pushed the door open inch by inch until the opening seemed wide enough.

He stood, panting, while wiping great beads of sweat from his very red face. "Blimey . . . mus' . . . be . . . summat . . . heavy . . . "

Hagrid picked his staff up and said, "Lemme show you the Grea' Hall." He had to squeeze sideways through the opening, but the others followed easily.

Hagrid continued, " 'Course years ago it had an enchan'ed ceiling . . . "

All three stopped immediately and stared in horror. A startled, and very angry looking dragon, was staring back at them. Massive and deadly, its eyes held them frozen in place, as it roared and a great flame leapt across twenty feet, hurtling toward them.

Hagrid yelled. Smokey's jaw fell open as he tried to mew, but no sound came out. Without thinking, Portia thrust out the umbrella like a sword and pressed the button in the handle causing it to open. The flames hit the umbrella and they splashed! Around the sides of the umbrella, burning orange flames rolled outward and above them as if they were inside a protective bubble. For ten seconds or more the flames roiled around them while the dragon roared, then suddenly the flames stopped.

The dragon now looked shocked and surprised. Before it could take another breath, they scuttled and scraped, (Smokey shot like a fuzzy bullet), through the door back into the entrance hall. A blast of hot air hit the door, slamming it shut behind them.

They stood in the entrance hall, staring at each other, listening to their hearts pounding and listening to the roars of the dragon.

"Did ya see tha'? A dragon. A real dragon! In Hogwarts!" said Hagrid excitedly. "I can' believe it! Sure gave me a scare though, I feel like meh heart's outside meh chest."

"I feel like I need a sandbox," Smokey commented, his tail shaking violently.

Portia just stared silently at the half closed umbrella in her hands. It wasn't even singed.

"Wha' made yeh think of doing tha' with the umbrella?"

Portia looked up at him open mouthed and just shrugged, "I dunno, it just happened."

"Tha's magic tha' is. I knew you were a witch!" Now that he had more of his breath back, Hagrid was sounding more excited than exhausted. "Blimey! A real dragon! I wonder how we can get closer without it seein' us? Get a closer look. I didn' get a good look but I think it might be a Hebridean!"

Now that it was all over and her heartbeat felt almost normal, Portia was starting to feel a little unwell.

"Um, Hagrid? I think I ought to go home." She handed his umbrella back.

"Oh. Righ'," Hagrid looked a little disappointed. "Yeah le's go back. We can see it again later." He looked back over his shoulder wistfully as they exited.

As he limped out through the broken front doors, with Portia and Smokey trailing, Hagrid muttered to himself, "Jus' wait'll I tell Fang."

. . .

Back in the sitting room, Portia sat in an armchair. She just stared straight ahead, feeling drained. The whole ordeal with the dragon had been such a shock. Smokey was sitting on the hearth looking significantly more relaxed.

"I can't believe it Smokey."

"Can't believe what? The dragon? Or that we're alive?"

"Well," she replied, pausing, "Both. I guess. But mostly I mean I never would have believed that dragons were real. You know, you read about them in stories, but it's always just a story. Or a myth."

"Hmm," said Smokey.

"In stories, there's always a hero with a shield who is battling the dragon. And it was SO large! Did you see how enormous it was? It was like, ten times bigger than an elephant! And so quick to breathe fire."

"Hmm yes, I'm aware of its largeness," Smokey said dryly. "But did you see what it was sitting on?"

"No. What?"

"Well I suppose I am a lot closer to the ground . . . it was treasure. Gold coins, gems, and other things . . . "

"Well, honestly, I had my eyes squeezed shut. I thought we were gonna die."

"It's a miracle you had that umbrella. How did you know how to do that?" asked Smokey.

"I don't know," she said "I was thinking we needed protection and . . . I just reacted."

For a long time neither of them spoke until Smokey suddently broke the silence. "I'm hungry," he blurted.

"OK. Me too."

Downstairs in the kitchen, she made herself a cheese sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and broke off a chicken drumstick for Smokey who happily trotted after her up to her bedroom.

She ate slowly while Smokey gleefully tore strips of chicken off the bone and ate them. After a while, they both sat back with a simultaneous sigh that said, "Ah, that's better."

Smokey lay down and closed his eyes. Portia reached into a pocket and pulled out the strands of unicorn hair Hagrid had handed her. If dragons can be real, why not unicorns? she thought. As she turned it this way and that, it glistened and sparkled in the light.

On her desk was the stick she had carried back from her first foray to the Hogwarts grounds. She picked it up. It had the tiniest of holes in one end and when she examined the other end, she could see a tiny hole there too. Curious if the hole went all the way through the stick, she picked up a single strand of unicorn hair and threaded it into one end. It slid perfectly smoothly without any bunching up until it poked out the other end. She twitched the stick and two little stars popped out the far end; they shone brightly for a few seconds before winking out.

"Wow," she whispered out loud.

"Hey Smokey!" He opened one eye a little.

She waggled the stick at him and four or five bright little stars flowed out.

"Wow!" Smokey exclaimed, waking up fully and sitting up.

In a grand gesture, she swung the stick wildly in a big arc above her head and hundreds of stars shot out. They formed a nice arc until the unicorn hair slid out the end of the stick and they abruptly ended. The unicorn hair floated gently to the ground.

"How did you do that?" asked Smokey goggling at her.

"I used the unicorn hair," she answered, as she picked up the strand now glistening on the floor. "I put it inside this hollow stick."

She threaded the unicorn hair back through, then put the stick on the desk saying, "Wait a minute, I'm gonna see if we have some tape."

She dashed out the room and downstairs. Under the bar she found a roll of something called 'Spellotape'.

She came back in and wrapped each end of the stick with spellotape.

"It looks like a magic wand," she showed Smokey.

"Oh, that's a wand," he muttered, and he had a queer thoughtful look on his face.

She swung the wand, and it emitted hundreds of beautiful tiny stars that hung in an arc in the air. As they winked out over the next few seconds, she said, "Wow. They're beautiful."

"Can you make it glow like Hagrid made the umbrella glow?" Smokey wondered.

"What was that word he said?" she asked. "Was it lumos?"

She turned out the lamp. The room was bathed in some moonlight but was otherwise quite dark. "Well here goes," she breathed deeply.

She held the wand firmly in front of herself and said in a confident whisper, "Lumos." The tip of the wand emitted a light that quickly grew brighter until her whole room was lit, and she could see everything clearly. Smokey watched as she waved it like she was carrying a flaming torch.

"I wonder how I turn it off?"

"I think he said 'Nox'," replied Smokey.

"Nox."

The room was dark once more.

"Lumos."

The wand shone brightly.

She played with the wand for a long time, turning it on and shining it around the room, then turning it off and creating bright sparkling stars. Eventually, exhausted, she lay on her bed, muttered, "Nox," and fell asleep instantly.

Smokey quietly snuck out of the room.

Chapter 6: The Black Knight

Chapter Text

Her wand lay untouched under her bed as the next few days were busy with school and chores around the inn. One day she found herself wandering the halls of the school. Lost.

"Who are you?"

Portia looked up to see the Headmaster, Mr. O'Brian, looking at her sharply.

"Er . . . Portia Smith."

"Oh yes, the new girl," his eyes roved over her unclean jeans but his expression softened slightly. "And what are you doing in the hallway? Why aren't you in class?"

"Umm . . . I don't know where it is . . . sir," she said meekly.

He stood tall, frowned a little and stared down his bulbous nose at her. "What class?"

"Art," she said even more meekly.

He frowned a little more. "That way," he said pointing over her head. "To the end. Right."

As she turned to go the way he indicated, he added grumpily, "Mind you get to class on time from now on."

She walked a little faster, reached the end of the corridor, turned right, and at the end of the hall was the art room.

She entered.

Mrs. Green, the art teacher, wearing a long sleeved, flowing dress of many swirling colours, was walking among the many art tables where the students sat, pulling art equipment from their bags. Large art-sized pads of stiff paper were making their appearance, as were paint brushes and tubes of acrylic paints.

"Today, we start the section on shading. Choose an object or scene, something simple . . . And remember what I was saying last time about light and shadow . . . "

Spotting Portia in the doorway, Mrs. Green smiled at her, waving her over with a bejeweled hand saying, "Come in dear. You can take a seat right here next to Helen and C'Nestra. Don't have your supplies yet? Not to worry, I have a spare sheet you can have but you'll have to make do with some class paint tubes I'm afraid, unless someone is willing to share." She headed up to her desk at the front of the classroom to fetch the paper and paint while Portia sat at the indicated table.

Helen and C'Nestra Spellman turned out to be twins and they stared at her dubiously, especially her clothes. They were identical: long blond hair, pink hair ribbons, and blue eyes. They also wore identical looks of disdain. They were whispering behind their hands and giggling as Mrs. Green returned and placed some supplies on the table. Up close, Portia could see that all the colours on her dress were from years of wiping her paint covered fingers on her clothes.

"Darren! What are you doing walking around?" Mrs. Green asked a boy walking past the table.

"Just borrowing a brush from Dallas."

"Well sit please. Now is not the time to be wandering around the room. Everybody should be making a start on their painting."

"Mrs. Green can you help me?" called a brown haired girl at the back of the room waving her hand in the air.

Examining the tubes of paint, Portia didn't have many colours to choose from so she didn't quite know how to start. Nor did she have a clue what she should paint, and what about light and shadow?

Helen, who sat closest to Portia on her right, was looking at Portia out of the side of her eye; C'Nestra, sitting on the furthest side of Helen, was watching while still whispering to Helen. Portia had no idea what they were whispering; she chose to ignore them, and they soon turned to their own work.

Portia was looking around the classroom for some inspiration of what to paint. A white board? A table? Those were very ordinary. What about something from the inn? A fire in a fireplace? No she didn't have any orange or red paints.

She glanced out the windows at the blue sky and remembered Hogwarts. Maybe she should paint a picture of a castle? But that seemed rather a tall order with all the crenellations, arched windows, suits of armour, tapestries and tall towers. Yes, a grand castle sounded very interesting but too ambitious. Maybe she could go for a knight in shining armour.

She opened a tube of sky blue paint and painted half the sheet blue, then opened a couple of green paint tubes and painted the lower half grass green.

She didn't have any silver paint but she did have black and a medium grey, so she chose to make it a black knight. He was kind of short and dumpy, a little too round to be a great warrior perhaps, owing to she had made his legs a little disproportionately short for his body. His head was a bit too large for his body, and his face was hidden inside a full face plate helm that was very square and only had a slit for his eyes. He held a long grey sword that was far too big but somehow was held aloft by one skinny arm.

"My word! That's great work!" Portia jumped a little. Mrs. Green had walked up behind her and was looking at her painting over her shoulder. "That's really well done. What's your name dear? Portia?"

Portia nodded silently.

The teacher picked up her painting to show the class and said, "Everyone, take a look, see the perspective? See the shading?"

Portia looked around. Helen and C'Nestra had chosen to paint pictures of horses; Helen's horse was brown and flat like a cartoon and had a very long nose like a short trunk; C'Nestra's horse looked more like a cow with four legs sticking out at odd angles . . .

"Look at the texture in the grass, the glints of sunlight on the armour; you can almost believe this knight might come alive any minute. Well done indeed!" She placed the painting back in front of Portia on the table and moved along to critique C'Nestra's oddly legged creation.

Portia looked at a boy to her left; he was painting a bright blue car. She felt a few drops of liquid hit the back of her hair and she turned back to see her painting dotted with splatters of red paint; Helen was cleaning her brush vigorously in a glass of water that looked suspiciously tinged in red.

With an inward sigh, she got up and went to the side of the room to tear off a paper towel, and as she returned, the bell rang to signal the end of class. When she got to her table, there was a big black line painted diagonally across her picture. The twins were giggling and rapidly packing up their things; they darted to the door and glanced back at Portia before disappearing through it with their hands over their mouths.

Portia tried rubbing the black mark but it only smeared into a wider mess.

Her next class was in the home room, and she knew where that was. Portia couldn't wait to tell Andrew about the dragon and her wand.

She whispered in a low voice so no-one else could overhear, "I saw a dragon a few days ago. Up at Hogwarts . . . " and she proceeded to tell him the story. Oddly enough, he didn't disbelieve her, or question the existence of a real dragon, but listened avidly to everything she said until the teacher called for quiet and she had to stop and face the front.

"Homework please," said the teacher, and papers (special worksheets for homework in this case) were shuffled forward, from student to student, towards the teacher. Portia had completely forgotten all about schoolwork the day before and so had nothing to hand in. Feeling her face going red, she hung her head, passing other students' homework forward and hoped fervently that the teacher wouldn't notice there was one less paper than there should be.

Lunch provided a much better opportunity to continue her story.

" . . . and the strand of unicorn hair fit perfectly in the wooden stick. It really works. It produced stars when I waved it, and I did two spells with it: one called 'Lumos' that makes it shine like a light, and 'Nox' to turn it off," she finished breathlessly in a whisper where they sat at their own table.

"Let me see it," said Andrew. "Can I try?" he asked before she could answer.

"I didn't bring it with me. I didn't want a teacher to see it or take it away."

"Oh. All right." Again, he did not question the truth of her story. He accepted the existence of a magical wand as if it were commonplace; the fact she had made it herself was not questioned.

He looked a little downcast. "I sure wish I could see a dragon," he added.

"Come on over after school. I can show you everything and you can try doing magic with my wand."

"Do you really think it will work for me?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't it? You already do magic without it right?"

Andrew was looking considerably happier now.

"Oh, but I can't come over today. I have to do my chores."

"Well, why not tomorrow then? There's no school tomorrow. We can go down the tunnel and I can show you Hogwarts!"

"And we could see the dragon!" he said excitedly.

Portia looked at him apprehensively, "Um, I don't know about that. It is really scary and dangerous."

Chapter 7: Portia and Andrew Explore Hogwarts

Chapter Text

The instant Portia awoke the next day, she remembered her promise to show Hogwarts to Andrew. So after breakfast, she stepped outside and sat under the Hog's Head sign, tapping her wand on her knees while she waited. About ten feet from her was a bundle of clothes bunched up against the building wall; snoring sounds emanated from it, and she looked at it apprehensively. She wrinkled her nose a little at the smell of stale beer but decided the vagabond posed no physical threat. Still, it wasn't a good look for the Hog's Head, having smelly drunks lying in the street. No wonder they had so few customers coming into the inn.

Smokey waited with her. "Are you sure you can trust this Andrew?"

"Of course. I told you, he can do magic already by himself."

"That's right. The 'pyro' kid." Smokey squinted down the street where a pudgy kid was approaching.

She stood up as he arrived. He was looking at the wand and said in a loud voice, "Is that your wand? Can I see you cast a spell with it?"

"Shhh. Someone might hear. And yes it is my wand but I don't want to do anything out here, someone might see."

"Sorry," said Andrew and he looked properly chastised.

"Let's go to the sitting room," she suggested. "Smokey, go inside and check that no-one's around."

She cracked the door a few inches, and Smokey disappeared inside; a moment later, he stuck his head out and said, "All clear."

Quickly, they ran behind the bar and up the rickety stairs into the sitting room. She closed the door and the room was in semi-darkness.

"Watch this," she said, and she waved her wand. Stars shot out of her wand and lit up the room before winking out.

"Wow," said Andrew admiring them.

"Here, you try," and she handed him the wand.

He grabbed the wand and swung it as she had, but nothing happened. He swung it again, still nothing. He looked at her and she gave a half shrug. He waggled it back and forth quickly but it produced no stars.

"Maybe . . . " she began, but then she stopped. With a small frown of disappointment, Andrew had chopped the air as if the wand were a sword and a few little flames appeared on the tip; they jumped off the tip and fell to the floor in a graceful arc. Fortunately the flames flickered out before landing on anything flammable.

"Wow!" they both exclaimed together, and Andrew looked at her, positively glowing with excitement. Smokey jumped up on an armchair to watch more closely.

Andrew tried another longer, sword-like swing, and this time a great many little flames appeared. Popping rapidly from the end of the wand, they cascaded to the floor in a continuous stream of heat and light. Again, they didn't burn long.

"He really is a pyro," joked Smokey.

Concerned about the carpet becoming burned, Portia and Andrew got down on their knees to inspect the spot where the flames had landed.

In spite of its threadbare state, there was no scorch mark, and they breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't worry," said Smokey "I would have smelled if the carpet was burning."

Andrew couldn't understand Smokey, and he said "Lucky, nothing burned. But pew! This carpet really stinks."

"I know," said Portia, "Smokey says it smells like goats."

Andrew faced the stone fireplace and swung the wand nearly as hard as he could, and the biggest flame yet streamed out across the gap between him and the fireplace where it splattered against the back of the fireplace.

"This is fun," he grinned at her.

"Try saying 'Lumos'."

"Lumos."

The wand shone just as brightly for him as it did for her. He waved it around, lighting all corners of the room.

"Now say 'Nox'," she instructed.

"Nox."

The wand stopped glowing. The room appeared extra gloomy in the dimness.

"This is amazing! Can you make me one?" he asked excitedly.

"Yeah sure," she said happily "I have some more unicorn hairs, but we'll have to find a stick with a hole down the middle."

"Where'd you get that one?"

"I just picked it up on the ground the first time I was at Hogwarts."

"Do you think we could find one for me there? I wonder if its special?"

"Let's go and look around. I said I'd show you Hogwarts."

Portia pushed Smokey's armchair over to the fireplace, and careful to avoid Smokey, stepped on the seat cushion and reached up to the portrait. She grabbed the frame and swung it forward.

"There's the tunnel," she announced proudly. "Come on." She climbed in.

Then Andrew climbed in without having to be asked twice. "I wish my house had a secret tunnel."

"Hand me the wand, we'll need a light," Portia said.

He gave her the wand, and she said "Lumos". The tunnel was now brightly lit, and as they set off, Smokey pushed past to lead the way.

A bright, sunny, blue sky greeted them as they exited the tunnel at Hogwarts.

"Nox," she said, and the wand went out.

As they stepped off the stone rubble onto the grass, Portia pointed to the ground and said, "This is where I picked up that stick I used for the wand."

"I don't see any more here," said Andrew looking at the ground also. But then he looked up at the trees, it was early autumn, and the leaves were still dark green with just a few beginning to turn yellow. He said, "Maybe we should break some branches off?"

"Well, I don't know. How would we even get up there?" she asked.

"He could always burn the tree down," Smokey said wryly. Portia shot him a look that said, "Shut up". He gave her a "What?" look.

"Besides," she said, "I don't even know if these are the right kind of trees. I mean, I don't know if a wand has to be a special kind of wood, or even what kind of wood that would be." She looked at her wand closely, but she couldn't tell what type of tree it came from.

Andrew looked back at the castle. He too had to crane his neck around as she had, to try to see it all. "It sure is a big castle. Look at those towers! Have you been up there?"

"No."

"Bet you can see for miles from up there. I'm gonna take a picture."

Andrew pulled his holophone out of his pocket, but it didn't turn on automatically. He shook it; he tapped it. "That's weird," he said. "Turn on," he spoke into it. Still nothing happened. "The battery must be dead, it usually tells me when it's low."

He frowned, then said, "Does yours work?"

"It should," she replied, pulling hers out; hers would not turn on either.

"Mine isn't turning on either. Did both our batteries run out do you think?" she said.

Andrew just looked up at the castle while he slowly slid his holophone back in his pocket.

"Well anyway," she said, "let's ask Hagrid about the wand and if it needs to be a special type of wood. Maybe he can tell us what mine is."

But Hagrid wasn't in his hut. No smoke rose from the chimney, but they could smell a kind of burnt smell. They knocked a couple of times to be sure.

"Well, he did say he lives most of the time in his cave. He must not come here every day," Smokey reminded her.

"That's true," she said.

"What's true?" Andrew asked.

"Oh that's right, you can't understand Smokey -- he was just reminding me that Hagrid lives mostly in his cave."

"Where's his cave?" asked Andrew, looking around as if he should be able to see it nearby amongst the trees.

"I don't know. He never told me except that its somewhere up in the mountains."

"Hmm, I might ask Boofy to search for the cave," Smokey pondered out loud.

"Well let's explore the castle. Let's see the dragon," suggested Andrew.

"We can see Hogwarts. But I'm not going near the dragon unless we find some way to keep it safely away from us. It's really big and really scary," she answered.

So they entered Hogwarts.

When they reached the large entrance hall, Portia pointed to the large double doors that led to the great hall and whispered, "The dragon is in there but I don't dare open those doors or go in there."

Quietly, Andrew tiptoed to the doors and carefully placed one ear against them.

"I can't hear anything," he said.

Smokey was near the door and said, "I can hear breathing," as he looked back at her.

"Smokey says he can hear it breathing."

Andrew stepped back from the door and looked up and down it.

"Don't even try to open it," Portia said. "Or we'll all die."

"I just wish I could take a peek," Andrew said a bit wistfully.

"We might be able to find a hole in a wall from another room, or maybe go up and spy on it from above," suggested Portia.

"Just remember, dragons can fly," Smokey said. "For that matter, I bet dragon flame can go through holes in walls too."

Andrew walked to the foot of the giant marble staircase that led from the entrance hall to the upper floors. "It's a pity this is broken. Is there another way up?"

"I don't know. After the dragon attacked and we got away, we left."

"There must be another way up, let's look for other stairs," Andrew said enthusiastically.

So they proceeded in the opposite direction, away from the marble staircase, past the doors to the great hall, and down another wide corridor. They passed more doors to classrooms, most were quite damaged, as if they had suffered multiple explosions. A few were somewhat intact and even had some panes of glass in the windows that were uncracked. They peered into each room; the rooms were empty and cold, or else filled with stone rubble and debris. Sometimes they would see a fallen statue in a room or in a hallway. Made of stone, these would appear in reasonable condition after so many years even if cracked into a few pieces. A hallway sometimes held a very rusty suit of armour on a stone plinth. One room had hundreds of little niches around the walls and many windows. As they walked across to look out a window to discover what they might see, their footsteps made crunching noises. Portia bent down to look closer.

"Ugh, looks like lots of little animal bones," she said.

"Eww!" exclaimed Smokey and he danced on tiptoes out into the hall.

"Don't be a scaredy cat," Portia admonished him.

"I'll wait right here, thank you very much," Smokey replied from the other side of the doorway.

The castle was huge, and they began to realize how little of it they had explored. Once they came across a large area with a very high ceiling. There were openings to halls or rooms on the floors above. There had obviously been stairs at one time that would take a person up to them. Maybe they had been wooden stairs that had burned or rotted and crumbled over the decades.

"If only we had a ladder," Portia wished out loud.

Finally, they came to some circular stairs that led up into darkness.

"Look! Stairs!" exclaimed Andrew.

"And they don't look damaged," said Portia.

"Let's see where they go."

"Lumos," said Portia, and she led with her wand shining the way.

They climbed to the next floor; the stairs continued up. They climbed to another landing; still the stairs continued.

"Well, which way should we go?" asked Portia.

"I say let's see what's at the top," answered Andrew.

So they continued all the way until they reached a stone archway that led outside. Above the arch, carved in the stone, it said "Astronomy". They stepped through.

"Wow!" they both said simultaneously.

"This must be the tallest tower in the castle!" Andrew exclaimed.

"You can see for miles," Portia agreed.

"Look! There's a lake. Did you know there was a lake?" asked Andrew.

"No. It's beautiful. Look at the forest, so green and goes on forever." The forest was indeed very green with just the odd tree here and there turning yellow for contrast.

Smokey jumped up onto the parapet beside them.

"Oh look," Portia pointed down at the ground, "there's Hagrid's cabin."

Neither of them saw what Smokey was looking at -- what looked like a large, black horse with wings was flying over the forest tree tops in the distance; soon it dropped into the foliage and out of sight.

"What's that?" asked Andrew, pointing to an area of trees. There were three metal hoops sticking up above the tree canopy.

"I don't know," replied Portia "They look like three circles. Oh look! There's three more over there." She was pointing a bit further over and behind the first set of three.

"Why would there be giant hoops so high up in the air?"

"Beats me. We can ask Hagrid when we see him," she suggested.

They stayed up there for a while, enjoying the view of everything they could see until eventually Portia noticed the sun was getting low.

"We'd better head back before it gets dark."

"Yeah," said Andrew, "we never did find a way to see the dragon from an upper floor."

"But we haven't even explored more than a small part of Hogwarts yet," she said with encouragement.

"I vote we explore the parts that DON'T have dragons in them," quipped Smokey, jumping down and following them back into the tower and down the spiral stairs. They made their way through the castle and back to the tunnel.

They crawled through the portrait hole over the mantel and jumped down into the sitting room. Portia closed the portrait, said "Nox", and pushed the armchair back. Smokey headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Portia called to him.

"Cat things," he replied vaguely, and he scurried his little grey body out of sight.

"I wish I could talk to animals," said Andrew as he observed her side of the exchange. "Hey can I try the wand one more time before I have to go home?"

"Sure," she handed it to him.

"Lumos . . . Nox . . . " the wand worked perfectly well for him. Now he pointed it at the empty fireplace. He closed his eyes and concentrated, imagined a nice merry fire, and with a 'Pop!' a fire appeared in the fireplace.

"That's really cool!" Portia said. "How do you do it?"

"I don't really know exactly. I just sort of imagine a fire," he said, shrugging.

Portia sat in one of the armchairs and sank down tiredly into the cushions. Andrew sank into the other and they both stared into the flames, mesmerized by the dancing and flickering flames. The fire was lighting up the gloom and warming the room nicely.

"What's that?" Andrew asked.

"What?"

"That tin," said Andrew as he pointed beside the hearth. There, sat a grimey brass tin, which she had never paid attention to.

"I don't know."

He stood, took two steps, bent down, and picked it up.

"It says 'Floo' on it," he said. Twisting the lid and looking inside, he reached in with his hand and withdrew fingers covered in green.

"It's just dust." He dusted his hand off and some light flecks of dust floated into the fire. The flames turned green for a moment.

"Hey," said Portia, "that's really pretty."

"The dust turns the fire green," said Andrew curiously. He reached into the tin again, this time deliberately grabbing a pinch of dust, and he threw it into the fire. The fire turned bright emerald green and the flames shot much higher. The cozy heat emanating from the fire disappeared, and the fire burned green and cool for a few seconds before returning hot and red once more.

"Cool," Andrew said.

"Literally," said Smokey from the doorway, as he sauntered back in.

"Well I better go, my Mum'll be waiting for me," said Andrew.

"And I'm hungry," said Smokey. So they went downstairs. She said goodbye to Andrew and headed into the kitchen with Smokey close on her heels making recommendations on what would taste good about now. 'Raw kippers' was one of his suggestions.

That night Portia dreamed she was atop a tall tower overlooking a beautiful land; she waved her wand and floated gently down to the green grass, which turned out to be flames that tickled her around the ankles.

Downstairs, no one was awake to see a grey cat jump nimbly up to the common room bay window, unlatch it with a paw, and sit back to allow three cats to enter: a small ginger cat, a black and white cat who looked amazingly like a little man wearing a tuxedo, and a large grey striped cat. They sat around a table long into the night and talked in low voices. If someone had been around, and if that someone could understand cats, they would have heard the words 'cave', 'wands', 'Hogwarts', and 'magic', mentioned more than a couple of times.

Chapter 8: Portia and Andrew Explore Hogsmeade

Chapter Text

Portia entered the school library.

Mrs. Finch was at a desk, pushing some old paper books around and stacking them in ways that only she understood. Mrs. Finch was short, a little fat with flabby arms, and had greying hair, cut short; she wore a simple floor length green flowery dress, and reading glasses hung around her neck on a long plastic chain. Looking down her long hooked nose at Portia, she said in a haughty tone, "What can I do for you child?"

"Um, I was told to come here and get a school holopad. I don't have my own."

"Wait here," Mrs. Finch said in a bored tone, and leaving her stacks of books, she disappeared into a nearby room.

Portia glanced around the library. Closest to her were rows of desks with holovision terminals; behind that, were shelves of virtual reality headsets; behind that were shelves with real paper books. She squinted her eyes but couldn't read any of the titles from where she stood.

An announcement of, "Here we are!" signalled Mrs. Finch's return. She was carrying a large holopad with dark orange rubber grip around all four edges, and on the back was a large white sticker with the number 49 written in black ink. She plonked it face down on the desk and typed into her computer while muttering, "forty-nine . . . serial number . . . date . . . name?" Mrs. Finch raised her eyebrows and looked over her reading glasses at Portia.

"Portia Smith."

More typing, then she flipped the holopad over and turned it on. She faced it to Portia.

She explained, "Hold your thumb over the print reader." Portia did so. Mrs. Finch read her the rules: Use this for school work only. Do not play games. Do not search any inappropriate terms - the complete list is available upon request. Do not drop it. Do not break it. Do not loan or give it to another student . . . Portia's eyes had glazed over by this point, but she managed to look alert when Mrs. Finch finally finished and handed it to her.

She gladly left the library with the holopad under one arm.

She entered her classroom, sat at a table, and began to use her holopad. She thought she could hear a couple of giggles coming from other people but when she glanced cautiously around, she couldn't see anyone giggling.

But then whispering started.

"Do you see that?"

"I wouldn't be seen dead using one of those."

"So old and slow."

And the whispering became louder.

"I think they're three years old."

"They look so ugly."

"Like what a baby would use."

The whispering just turned into loud speech when C'Nestra started boasting.

"Urgh. I wouldn't stand for it. My father went straight to the store to buy the latest model." (Many were standing around admiring her holopad as she operated it.)

"Look how thin and light it is. And it is in special Lilac -- just anyone can't get one of those, you have to know somebody. It has the most memory and the most speed and power. The AI knows all the latest."

Everyone was now standing around and admiring C'Nestra's holopad.

"Oh yes. I too went straight out with my mother and bought a slim holopad. I refused to use such a cheap thing," said another girl.

Portia could hear every word and she felt her face getting warm. She leaned forward to allow her hair to hang around her face to try to cover it up. She tried to focus on her screen and pretend they were not there. She was very happy when class ended and dashed out the classroom, covering the holopad with her arms.

"Portia Smith!"

Portia turned around to see who was calling her name with such angry authority. Mrs. Bunnings was quickly approaching with a frown.

"Portia Smith!" she repeated. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that you were to have purchased your uniform by today. We simply cannot allow you to show up in ratty old clothes every day." Mrs. Bunnings looked down at her jeans, which weren't even clean, not having been washed for days. And poking out from under her jeans were the sneakers that she wore. Her classmates filed out of the classroom staring at her.

"I'm sorry," Portia replied, "I forgot." It was true, she had forgotten, but so had her mother.

"You forgot? That's no excuse. I expect to see you in proper uniform tomorrow or it'll be detention."

"Yes Mrs. Bunnings."

With a disgruntled, "Hmmpf," Mrs. Bunnings bustled off to berate another student, leaving Portia repeating over and over in her head to try and remember to tell her mother she needed a uniform.

Considering their penurious situation, Portia hoped the uniform wouldn't be too expensive.

Of course she forgot all about her uniform.

Her mother bought fish and chips for dinner for just the two of them, and that night, they had an early meal in the kitchen, eating with their fingers. As she raised an especially crunchy chip to her mouth, Portia watched her mother in silence. Her mother, who was usually talkative and asking about her day, was rather quiet; she had placed her holophone on the table and was playing holo-messages.

One holo-message projected a short message in big, bold letters. It was bright red and flashed on and off in the air. Portia had to read it in reverse from her side of the table, but she could only read the words "Final Notice," before her mother, holding a piece of fish in her hand, swiped it with her pinky finger to move to the next message with a worried expression on her face.

The next message was a holo-clip showing the upper half of a professionally attired young lady, who was speaking. ". . . it is with regret that I must inform you that your extension request has been declined . . . thanks you for choosing us and please consider us for your future business financial needs . . ."

Mrs. Smith placed her uneaten fish on her plate and pushed the plate away from her.

"Is everything OK, Mum?" Portia asked, as she picked up two chips and rubbed them into some salt.

"Oh yes," sighed her mother, wiping the grease off her fingers. "It was a long shot anyway." She gave Portia a weak smile. "So, how was sch --"

Just then, Portia's holophone AI blurted, "Reminder, Portia you need a uniform." Portia looked up at her mother who said, "Ooh, I've been so busy, I keep forgetting. We better go now."

The uniform store was a couple of streets over from the Hog's Head and turned out to be a little old store. A bell tinkled as they opened the door.

The front of the store was full of modern clothes, tightly packed on racks. A nice middle aged lady with glasses welcomed them and upon learning they had been sent on the special errand of uniform hunting, said, "Come on through to the back, I've got just what you need."

They entered the back room; Portia was shocked to see Andrew sitting in a chair, reading a comic on his holopad. It was one of those vintage comics that were two-dimensional and didn't even move. You had to literally read words on each page.

She stopped, and he looked up.

"Oh, hello," they both said simultaneously.

Then, after a short pause, they both asked, "What are you doing here?"

Andrew said, "This is my Mum's shop. That's my mum," and he inclined his head in the direction of the lady who was waiting on them, cautiously swivelling his eyes from Portia and her mother to his mother.

"Well, I'm getting my school uniform."

Andrew's mother chimed in, "This must be the new student you were telling me about?" She queried Andrew with a look. Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to Portia and her mother with a measuring tape in hand. She took a few quick measurements of Portia and then hung the tape around her neck, looked suspiciously in Andrew's direction, noticing he was back into his comic. She leaned a little closer and whispered conspiratorially to Portia's mother, "I'm so glad . . . Andy doesn't seem to have many friends . . . the other students tend to think him a little odd I think . . . "

"I don't think he's odd," said Portia innocently.

Andrew's mother smiled at her warmly. A little louder she said, "I've got your size right here," and she opened a cabinet. She grabbed out three white shirts, three grey skirts, a tie in the school colours, and a jacket, also in the school colours -- grey.

Portia gave her mother a little look of concern, and her mother was blushing slightly, as she asked how much it all came to and if she could pay in installments.

"Not to worry," Mrs. Rainesberry assured her. Again, she lowered her voice slightly but still kept her tone bright and cheery. "Anything for a friend. I can send a bill later and we can work something out."

Mrs. Rainesberry turned to her son and said, "Drew. Why don't you put that down? I'm sure you've read that one a hundred times. Why don't you and your new friend enjoy this nice weather outside?"

Andrew looked up and slowly said, "OK".

Portia glanced uncertainly at her mother. "Go ahead dear," her mother said. "Just be back before dark."

"What should we do?" Portia asked as the tinkling shop door closed behind them.

"I could show you around Hogmeade since you're new to town."

"Where to first?" she asked Andrew.

He shrugged. "I don't really know. We could go down the old main street. It's a bit run down though."

They started walking aimlessly but in the general direction of the old main street.

It certainly was a little run down. The shops looked quite old: peeling paint on old wooden doors, faded lettering, worn stoops, dirty windows, and those little brass bells that were hit by the top of the door to announce a customer, had worn inch deep trenches in the wooden doors.

There were clothes stores, newsagents, convenience stores, and a few empty store fronts. A rather large empty store was painted dark green, and along the top of the front, in faded cyan lettering, was the original name. "Honeydukes," said Portia. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Andrew answered, "It's been empty for as long as I can remember."

They pushed their noses right up against the glass windows, cupped their hands around their eyes to ward off glare from the sun, and stared into the old store. It looked very dusty. The inside was full of shelves from floor to ceiling around all the walls, and in the middle of the store were round wooden tables, which must have held whatever merchandise the store used to sell long ago.

Peering through the dusty gloom, they could barely make out some old advertising on the walls. A ripped half poster read, "Bertie Botts Every," and a yellowed, hand written sign read, "Chocolate Frogs, 3 sickles each."

They moved on, passing a few more clothing stores.

A tiny empty store was all in red. It looked like an old post office from their vantage point through tall, thin, tinted windows. There were little cubby holes all around the walls, and they went all the way up to the very high ceiling.

"They must have stored parcels or big bundles of letters in those cubby holes," said Andrew.

They walked until they reached the end of this part of town and walked up a small hill. Over the other side of the hill was an old fence. The fence was around a big pile of debris; it looked like a house had caved in on itself and collapsed. The ground was muddy, and a large bulldozer was parked nearby.

They leaned on the old fence.

"I wonder what that was," said Portia.

"The Shrieking Shack," replied Andrew.

"Oh."

"I've never been here before, but guess how I know."

"How?" she asked but then noticed Andrew was pointing down at a old sign on the fence.

The Shrieking Shack - One of the most haunted buildings in all of Britain. Witnesses would claim to hear all kinds of ghostly noises and otherworldly howls coming from the shack during certain nights of the year when there was a full moon. These fanciful tales led to the rumours that it was inhabited by werewolves (a ridiculous superstition indeed). Nevertheless, it became known as the 'Shrieking' Shack to the local folk of Hogsmeade.

After they both read the sign, Portia said, "Looks like they're clearing the land. I wonder what they'll build here now."

"Probably houses."

"Well I wouldn't want to live in a house that was built in such a haunted location."

"Why?" Andrew asked.

"Well what if the new houses are all haunted?" she said, looking at him with wide questioning eyes.

"I wish they hadn't knocked it down," said Andrew. "I would've liked to come out here on a full moon."

Portia shuddered at the thought. "Not me," she muttered under her breath.

Chapter 9: A Tour of the Grounds

Chapter Text

The next few days were busy with school and work around the inn. The weather had turned quite nasty as well with buckets of rain coming down at a slant and quickly turning the street into a muddy river. Smokey didn't venture outside, choosing to sleep by a warm fire or sit on a window sill and watch the world through the raindrop warped glass panes in relative comfort, staying warm and dry.

Portia was not so fortunate. Her chores and duties had her bringing in buckets of water from the outside water tap, cleaning floors, and tossing dirty water back out into the street.

"What's the point?" she would mutter to herself, when coming in from outside, dripping water from her nose and mud from her shoes, the floor was covered in muck again. Smokey would just turn and look at her in these moments before going back to his vigil. He was no help whatsoever.

"I'm a cat," he would say haughtily when she prompted him. "Cats don't do water."

"Cats don't seem to DO anything . . . " she grumbled to herself, as she headed into the kitchen to peel vegetables. If he heard her, Smokey ignored her. He closed his eyes for a well deserved cat nap.

The weather broke on the same day that she had no chores, and she and Andrew were back through the tunnel to explore Hogwarts again.

They could hear deep booming barks as they exited the tunnel. "Nox," Portia said, deluminating her wand.

"It sounds like it's coming from over there," Andrew said nervously.

They paused, wondering if it was safe for them to continue, but they didn't hear any growls.

"Hagrid's cabin is over there," said Portia, pointing.

Hagrid was sitting outside his cabin, drinking from a mug the size of a bucket, and holding onto the largest, scruffiest dog either of them had ever seen or imagined. Portia, Andrew, and Smokey paused at the sight of the dog.

"Don' worry, Fang won' hurt yeh. I could tell from 'is bark it were friends comin'."

Portia was staring at the gigantic dog; Andrew was looking back and forth from Fang to Hagrid.

Portia ventured, "I hope you don't mind, I brought a friend -- this is Andrew. He can do magic too."

"A young wizard eh? Yeh can do magic?"

Andrew swallowed and said breathlessly, "Yeah I can make flames."

"Tha's righ' useful that sort o' magic is. Yeh needs fire for all sorts o' things."

Hagrid let go and Fang the boarhound bounded to Andrew and licked his face with a tongue the size of a dinner plate, causing Andrew to screw up his face and lean back while trying to fend Fang off with his hands. Fang then turned to Portia, licked her face, nearly pushing her over completely while delivering Andrew a solid whack up the side of his head with his big tail, and causing his hair on the side of his head to stand up.

"Down. Fang. Get off 'em," Hagrid commanded. Then he chuckled as he looked at them both and said, "See? He likes yeh already."

But now Fang noticed Smokey, and a greater contrast in size there could not be, as the great boarhound bent his nose to Smokey's, and they sniffed each other. Had Fang wanted to, he could have opened his jaw and swallowed Smokey whole in half a gulp.

"I've never met a boarhound before," said Smokey.

"How about some tea?" Hagrid asked.

"Yes please," they replied simultaneously.

"Well help yerselves inside. There's hot water in the kettle, mugs on the table, and if yer wouldn' mind also bringin' out the bottle o' whiskey on the table, ta'," said Hagrid. "I'd get it mehself only meh knees are really achin' an' I jus' sat down."

The copper kettle was so large it took both of them to lift and pour.

"Hagrid? What are these on the plate?" Portia called out to him.

"I baked some rock cakes. You can 'ave some."

They came out, each holding a mug of steaming tea in one hand and a rock cake in the other. They sat on a log but learned quickly they weren't going to be eating the rock cakes anytime soon as they couldn't make a dent with their teeth. Andrew tried soaking them in his tea unsuccessfully.

"So what you two bin up to?" Hagrid asked. He opened the full whiskey bottle and emptied all of it into his giant mug. "Medicinal," he explained as they watched.

"My Lord," Smokey muttered, watching this with wide eyes.

They told Hagrid how they had explored the castle looking for a way to sneak a peek at the dragon and how they ended up on top of the tower.

"Yep. That'd be the Astronomy tower all righ'. Tallest tower in Hogwarts fer lookin' at the stars an' stuff."

"We tried to take pictures while we were up there but our holophones wouldn't even power up," said Andrew.

"What's a helafone?" asked Hagrid, and he took a long drink from his giant mug.

"You know, like this," said Portia, pulling her holophone out of her back pocket and showing it to him.

Smokey, noting Hagrid's bewilderment, was looking rapidly from Andrew to Portia and to Hagrid and back again.

"An' yeh can take pictures with that? Like a camera?"

"You can do lots of things with it," she explained. She spoke into it, "Turn on," but nothing happened. "It's doing it again. It won't turn on."

"Huh. After all these years, I guess some o' the protections still work," Hagrid muttered half to himself.

Portia and Andrew were staring at him.

Hagrid explained further, "Yeh see, Hogwarts had powerful enchantments to protect the castle, an' Muggle things won' work near it. I guess some o' the spells are still working."

Smokey was quick to ask, "What's a Muggle thing?"

"What do you mean Hagrid? What's a Muggle thing?" asked Andrew.

"Well," Hagrid paused his speaking to put his mug on the ground. Fang promptly stuck his nose inside the mug, and they could hear him lapping the whisky and tea noisily. Hagrid groaned a little as he straightened back up.

"Well," he started again after taking a sighing breath, "a Muggle thing is anythin' that is made by a Muggle."

"Muggle?" asked Smokey.

"A Muggle?" asked Andrew.

"What's a Muggle?" asked Portia.

"Potter's scar!" exclaimed Hagrid, slapping his forehead, "I didn't think. 'Course yeh wouldn' know abou' these things."

"Here you," Hagrid pushed Fang's head out of his mug, "leave some fer me." He picked his mug up and drained most of the remainder in another long swill. Fang licked his lips.

"A Muggle is what we call a non-magical person. Yeh can do magic so yeh're a witch. Everyone who can't do magic is a Muggle."

"I can do magic," said Andrew, anxious to prove himself and reaching for the wand in Portia's hand. He waved the wand and balls of fire shot out of it and spluttered out before hitting the ground.

"Yep. That makes yeh a wizard all right." Suddenly Hagrid looked very concerned, "Listen, yeh haven' bin doin' magic have yeh? 'Cause it's not safe. Yeh don' wanna be doin' magic."

"Why not?" asked Portia in surprise.

"It's jus' not safe that's all," Hagrid repeated. "Well, o' course if it's just little stuff . . . Yeh are underage an' all . . . Whatever yeh do, don' ever let a Muggle see yeh doin' magic."

"Why?"

"Some don' like it; it scares 'em. There were bad times once . . . " Hagrid drifted off into a long silence.

"Muggles can't do any magic?" asked Andrew.

"Nope," said Hagrid "Muggles don't 'ave a single drop o' magical blood in their veins."

"Oh. Then why can we do magic?" asked Portia.

"Well, often, a wizard family has magical children. An' sometimes a witch or wizard child comes from a Muggle family. It jus' happens sometimes," Hagrid said.

"Well my mother can't do magic, and my father couldn't either," mused Portia.

"And no one in my family is magical," said Andrew.

"And everyone in my family was a cat," Smokey said smartly, but Portia paid him no attention.

"Well like I said, witches and wizards are often born to Muggle families. Much to their surprise," said Hagrid with a smile.

"Well I thought my comment was funny," Smokey mumbled under his breath.

Portia suddenly remembered her questions for Hagrid about her wand. "Hagrid? Do wands need to be made from special wood, or sticks from special trees?"

"I don' really know. Never made one mehself. I know I've seen holly, oak, willow, mahogany, and a few others . . . "

"Do you know what this one is?" She showed him her wand.

Hagrid took it and peered at it more closely. "I dunno. Looks a bit like willow maybe." He gave it back.

"Do you know where we could find more like this?"

"A long time ago, there was a grand ol' willow tree on the Hogwarts grounds bu' it died a long time ago. Maybe bits of it are still lyin' around."

"Can you show us?" Portia asked with a bit of hope shining in her eyes. "We want to make a wand for Andrew."

"I'm the Hogwarts Grounds and Gamekeeper," said Hagrid proudly. "How about I give yeh a tour of the grounds, eh?"

Both Portia and Andrew nodded eagerly.

"All right Fang. Help me up." Hagrid grabbed Fang around his scruffy neck and Fang stood up and pulled forward, levering Hagrid up as Hagrid let out a long groan. "Arrgh. Tha's great Fang." He turned to his cabin, limped a couple steps to where his tree trunk staff leaned. With his walking stick in hand he said, "Le's go."

They marched through the trees; Fang zig-zagged in front.

Again, Smokey followed last, almost lost among the long grass.

Soon, Hagrid stopped where the trees were a little thinner, and there stood the trunk of a massive old dead tree.

"It was called a whomping willow," said Hagrid grinning, "an' yeh sure didn' get within range of its branches or else yeh got a good whomping too."

"What?" asked Portia.

"You mean it would actually hit you?" asked Andrew, with a look of horror on his face.

They walked all the way around the dead trunk, staring up at it and trying to imagine it when alive. Hagrid stood in one place leaning on his staff, while Fang followed his own nose through the long grass to various points of interest to a boarhound.

Portia and Andrew kept their eyes open for any similar, suitable willow sticks that might have been lying on the ground, but they were disappointed.

Portia looked at her wand, "It's a pity I don't know a spell to find things."

Andrew spun around to ask Hagrid, "Do you know a spell for finding things?"

"Nah. I were never too good with spellcraft. I on'y were good at certain things. Lemme show you the lake."

Hagrid led them in a different direction. This time, Fang bounded ahead and was soon lost to sight. Everything was very overgrown, but Hagrid was so large he cleared a path for them.

As they passed through an overgrown area, Hagrid gave them a warning.

"Mind now. Watch yehselves, don' go jus' over there," he said, stopping and pointing with his staff. "There's a copse o' young whompin' willow trees. The big one must ha' dropped some seeds before dyin' an' these ones sprouted. See those branches? They look thin but they can still give a person a mighty whack."

Portia and Andrew ventured a little closer as they scanned the ground for potential sticks. A clicking sound warned them, and they took a step backward as a thin branch swung down and hit the nearby ground with a thwacking sound.

Fang bounded out of the bushes and started to lift his leg on one of the saplings only to give a surprised yelp when the branches bent down and thwacked him on the body. He ran out of range of the branches that were now all swinging wildly as if the trees had fully woken up from a comfortable sleep.

"Yeh silly dog Fang," said Hagrid with a smile. "They always getcha don' they? When ya' gonna learn?"

But Fang was so big the branches couldn't do any real injury to him yet, and he happily gamboled away again with his tongue hanging out.

"Still, give 'em a few more years an' they'll be big enough to bother 'im. Maybe then he'll leave 'em alone."

It was not much further and the trees opened onto the lake.

Standing at the water's edge, the lake looked very pretty.

"How big is it?" asked Andrew.

"I don' know really. Big enough fer a giant squid that used to live in it."

"What?!" the others chorused.

Hagrid gave a deep sigh and said quietly, "But tha' were many years ago. I 'aven't seen the giant squid fer decades I reckon."

"Giant squid, yeah right," said Smokey doubtfully.

Portia looked around for Smokey. He was standing behind them, far back from the water's edge.

"That's right. I'm doing just fine right here where I am," he assured her before she could say anything.

"Smokey doesn't seem to believe you," Portia said to Hagrid. But Hagrid didn't hear her; he seemed lost in thought, as he looked over the lake.

"I used ter take all the firs' years to Hogwarts by boat across this lake," he said. "I'd take 'em from the train to the boats, an' they got to see a great view o' Hogwarts in all its glory. All lit up an' everythin'. It was somethin' in those days I tell yeh."

Andrew was looking anxiously for any suitable stick on the lake shore that looked like it might do for a wand, but again nothing seemed good enough. Everything he picked up was too old and feeble. He really wanted his own wand.

"An' there's the Quidditch pitch to show yeh," Hagrid announced.

"The what?"

"The Quidditch pitch. Come on, I'll show yeh. It's this way," said Hagrid veering away from the lake now and limping while leaning on his staff.

"What's a Kwidipitch?" asked Andrew.

"Probably another imaginary sea creature," Smokey muttered sarcastically as they walked past him.

"Well, it's where they played Quidditch isn't it?" replied Hagrid.

"Quidditch?" said Portia.

"Tha's right," said Hagrid and he paused mid step to look at them. "By Potter's scar! I've done it again. Clean forgot that yeh don' know about the ol' wizard world. Quidditch were the sport of wizards. Played on broomsticks. Hogwarts students played it to try an' win the Quidditch Cup."

Smokey was looking very skeptically up at Portia, trying to catch her attention, but she made a point not to look at him.

Soon they stopped amongst a group of trees.

"Here we are," Hagrid stated with a smile. They looked around at the trees.

"What? These trees?" asked Andrew.

"No. Look up. See those three poles and the three hoops at the top? That's where the players had to hit the ah," Hagrid stuttered, "the ah, well I don' remember the exact name, but it were like a large red ball tha' they had to pass through the hoops to score. An' the opposite team would try an' stop 'em. An' there was two other balls that would try an' knock 'em off their brooms. Great game. Great fun to watch. Oh yeah, bludgers, them was called."

"Bludgers?" they asked simultaneously.

"Yeah. It's comin' back to meh now. There are seven players with brooms on a team. Three of 'em try to get the . . . the . . . well it's a big red ball through the hoops at the other end. Ten points fer each score. Two players, the beaters, have clubs and they hit the bludgers. The bludgers are two black balls, slighty smaller, that are magicked to hit people and knock 'em off their brooms. Well the beaters fly around an' try to hit the bludgers at the other team. A keeper tries to stop the other team from scorin'. And the last player would catch the snidget, a small gold ball tha' had wings . . . no wait I got that wrong, it was called the snitch and once it was caught, the game would end. Great game. Lots o' fun." Hagrid was smiling.

"There were four balls at one time?" Andrew asked.

"Yep."

"Did it hurt if you got hit by the bludgers?" asked Portia.

"Well . . . it weren' pleasant I guess. Best to avoid them if yeh could."

"Did anyone ever get hurt?" asked Portia.

"Oh yeah. Lots," replied Hagrid. "All sorts o' broken bones, falling off brooms, midair crashes, foul play, even some magic curses if the ref weren' lookin' their way. Like I said, great fun to watch."

"I think someone got hit a couple times too many with the bludgers," said Smokey. Portia glared at him.

"Did you say they played with brooms?" asked Andrew looking up at the hoops way above him.

"Yep. Broomsticks."

"But how did they get up there?"

"They flew," said Hagrid looking bemused at Andrew.

"They could fly?" Andrew squawked in disbelief.

"Well they were flying broomsticks," Hagrid said simply.

"You mean flying on broomsticks is a real thing?" Andrew blurted out.

"O' course," said Hagrid in a tone as if to say this was the most normal everyday thing that everybody did.

Portia just stared around in shock; her mouth was open like a letter 'O'.

Now that they looked around, they could see the stands around the pitch where spectators sat and watched the games.

"It's all so overgrown," Hagrid muttered, "trees growin' on everythin'."

They wandered slowly to the other end and looked up at the three hoops at that end.

Andrew and Portia were looking around as if expecting to see flying broomsticks leaning up against the trees.

"Did you ever play Hagrid?" asked Portia.

"Nah. Never were a broomstick that could 'old meh."

"Where do you get a flying broomstick?" Andrew asked.

Hagrid just shook his head, "Nowhere. Yeh used to be able to buy 'em from special Quidditch shops but that were years ago."

Portia and Andrew looked disappointedly at each other. They had both been picturing themselves soaring gracefully through the air on broomsticks.

"Come on, I'll show yeh the school greenhouses. That's one part of Hogwarts that's still working seeing as it's all plants."

As they approached the greenhouses, they could see a lot of glass panes were broken. In fact many were entirely gone. Large trees grew right up through the roof. Vines grew all over the window frames. Large pink flowers hung from vines across the ceiling. Half broken pots lay on their sides, and a few ancient, rusty garden tools were leaning here and there.

"Watch yer step now, some o' these plants are a bit dangerous," Hagrid warned. "That one there is Devil's Snare, stay away from its tentacles." Portia gave a little squeal as she looked down and noticed its tentacles squirming across the ground to try and reach her. She stepped out of its reach. Smokey put his nose right up to the tip of one of the tentacles to smell it. It wriggled a bit and Smokey moved away to follow Hagrid.

The next greenhouse had a twisted tree growing right in the center. The bark on the trunk was purple and the leaves were a dark red. Around this tree were tufts sticking up out of the ground, and Hagrid pointed to them saying, "Mandrakes."

Thump! Something hit the ground to their right. They turned to the sound and saw a small tree with a branch raising up from the ground. "Ah. That looks like a whompin' willow - a young 'un by the looks of it. Stay clear of its branches," said Hagrid. Sure enough, the young whomping willow knew they were there, as it flailed more of its branches and another hit the ground with a thump.

There were many other varieties of plants here, but Hagrid couldn't remember them all. "Herbology wasn' quite my thing. But if I remember rightly . . . " Hagrid led them into a third greenhouse. "Yeah, that's right."

A giant plant, almost 6 foot tall, and looking a bit like a cactus was before them. It was covered in what looked like large boils and was pulsating slightly. "Mimbulus Mimbletonia, if I remember righ'," said Hagrid.

Both Portia and Andrew wrinkled their noses in disgust.

"What are those things?" asked Andrew, pointing to the pulsating boils.

"I dunno what'cha call 'em. But you squeeze 'em see? For the pus. Useful stuff."

"Eww!" Portia clamped a hand over her mouth and headed back outside, barely able to mutter, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

They didn't see any more in that greenhouse.

Their tour of the greenhouses over, Hagrid yawned widely and began to limp back to the cabin. Fang bounded up to him for a scratch behind his ears. They must have been feeling sleepy as they all were yawning now. The fresh air and all the walking seemed to have tired them out.

"Not a single bit of catnip anywhere," Smokey said, but no one paid him any notice.

Back at the cabin, Portia asked Hagrid, "So you don't know of any trees for wands?" Andrew looked on eagerly.

"Sorry. But I tell yeh what, I think I might 'ave some old books at meh cave. I'll 'ave a look an' see if any of 'em 'ave anythin' useful."

"That'd be great. Thanks Hagrid," said Portia, and Andrew looked a little more hopeful.

"Well yeh two'd better be off. Yeh don' wanna be here after dark these days. Where did yeh say yeh lived again?"

"The Hog's Head."

"Ah, used ter go there qui'e a bit in my day. Still got butter beer?"

"Err, I don't know. Never heard of it. I can ask."

"Ah, tha's a pity."

"But why don't we want to be here after dark? Don't you live here too?"

"Oh no. I on'y come here in the day. Nope. Things live in the forest. Bad things. Dangerous things an' sometimes they come out an' roam around. No me an' Fang'll be gettin' back up to meh cave while the sun's still shining. But here, take a couple o' rock cakes each back with yeh."

They each accepted two rock cakes and put them in their pockets.

Chapter 10: The Ladder

Chapter Text

Sighing, Portia put down her stylus and looked up from her half finished mathematics homework. Seated at her desk, her bedroom window framed a grey, gloomy day. Still, she'd rather be out there doing something, anything other than homework inside.

Smokey was sitting sphinx-like on her desk, his eyes shut, taking one of his twenty or so daily naps. His ears twitched. She reached out to stroke his fur when she was startled by movement at the window.

An orange, fuzzy head appeared on the window ledge, followed by a ginger body, and finally, a bushy tail. The cat tapped on the glass. Smokey's eyes came open immediately, all pretense of sleep gone.

Portia opened the window. "Hello. Who are you?"

The ginger cat slunk in and stood on the desk. "Sunshine," it replied.

"What are you doing here?" Smokey asked.

"Oh, I guess you know each other?" asked Portia.

"Yes, and I'm here with a message for you." Sunshine had a very soft cat voice and a little bell around her neck that tinkled.

"Who would want to talk with me?" Portia said raising her eyebrows.

"Andrew, of course."

"Why didn't he just text me?"

Sunshine just shrugged and held out the folded paper on which the note was written.

Portia took it, unfolded it, and read: "I tried texting but you never answered." (Oh I forgot to charge my holophone.) "I don't know if this will get to you as I've never tried this before but I figured if you can talk to cats and understand them, it might work. So I'll give this to Sunshine and ask her to find you at the Hog's Head Inn. She seems to be listening to me. Anyway, come over when you can, I have something to show you."

"Oh," Portia exclaimed looking at Sunshine, "you belong to Andrew's family!"

Sunshine stopped licking her paw and glared at her, looking quite offended. Smokey snigg*red. Sunshine said haughtily, "Cats don't belong to anyone but if you mean do I live in the same house as Andrew and his family, then yes."

"Well do they feed you?"

"I fail to see the point to your question," Sunshine said stiffly. Smokey snigg*red again.

"Never mind. Well, I might as well go now. I'll finish my homework later." Then Portia asked, "Anyone want to come with me?"

"I have things to discuss with Smokey."

"What things?"

"Cat things," Sunshine said airily, "not the least of which is his sense of humour . . . "

. . .

Not knowing what she'd say if Andrew's parents answered, Portia knocked on his door. Fortunately he answered. "Great! It worked. Sunshine gave you my message."

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot to charge my holophone."

"How can you forget?"

"Well there aren't many outlets in the Hog's Head, I have to find somewhere else to charge it."

Andrew stepped out and closed the door behind him. "I have something to show you. It's round the side."

She followed him and he stopped, pointing down at an old wooden ladder that lay against the side of the house in the weeds. He looked at her expectantly.

"A ladder?" she asked.

"Yeah, for Hogwarts."

"Why? What for?"

"We can use it to get to the upper floors where the stairs are missing," he explained.

"Oh. Yes, I see. Great idea Drew!"

"I just hope it's long enough to reach."

She picked up one end and he the other. It was quite heavier than it looked. They carried it to the Hog's Head, and trying to ignore stares from a few undesirable looking louts, who were hanging out in front, they awkwardly dropped it around the side of the inn.

With a cautious eye on the louts, one of which was holding a hat out to a man, who stepped briskly into the street to walk past, she half whispered, "Can you get out tonight after midnight and help get it into the tunnel?" she asked.

"I think so," he replied, and with that, Andrew crossed the street and headed for home.

. . .

Portia sat on the edge of her bed. She had cracked her door slightly and was listening intently to all the noises in the Inn, particularly those made by Duncan as he locked up. It was well past midnight, and Portia, feeling anxious, didn't want Andrew showing up and knocking on the door before everyone else was in bed. Nor did she want him to leave if he thought it was too late, so she had sent Smokey out the window with a note for Andrew to sit outside the front door.

Finally, she heard Duncan's footsteps as he went into his room on the fourth floor. All seemed quiet and dark. She counted slowly to a hundred. Then, with a whispered, "Lumos," she lit up her wand and quietly snuck downstairs.

She drew back the throw bolt on the front door. She slowly opened the door, and it made a loud creaking sound. She paused immediately and listened for any movement upstairs. She tried opening it a little more and it creaked again, really loudly. Trying something different, she swung it quickly and forcefully all the way. She grimaced as it creaked loudly anyway. Fortunately, it seemed no-one had heard anything.

As Andrew walked in he said, "That door really needs oil. You should oil it."

"I know that now," she hissed angrily, frustrated at the thought of getting caught. "I don't know if we have any."

"OK, let's go," she said. They each picked up an end of the ladder and proceeded through the door. They passed behind the bar and up the rickety stairs. They entered the sitting room, Andrew first, and then realized they had a problem on their hands.

"Oh no!" Portia whispered "It's too long! I can't even get my end into the room."

"Well I can go a little further," said Andrew, huffing with the effort and the weight of the old ladder. He pulled, and with a loud thump, his end of the ladder hit the far wall.

"Shh!" she hissed at him, "You'll wake everyone."

"Well this is as far as I can go now."

"My end is just barely in but I can't get past the door. I can't even close the door to get it past. Wait," she whispered, "it's too heavy, I've got to put it down."

It slipped from her hands and landed with a thud. She cringed and Andrew froze. They both remained quiet, hearts thumping in their chests, trying to listen to the house for any evidence that other people had heard.

Andrew carefully lowered his end and came over to where she stood panting.

"We could push your end over a bit and then the door would close," he whispered.

With the door closed, they then could swing her end over to the other corner behind the door. They wrestled with the ladder for the next half hour, but they could not get it turned around to where it could go down the tunnel. All the while the girl in the portrait watched them with an empty look on her face; her eyes seemed to follow them with a mild curiosity. Exhausted, Portia leaned her back to a wall and sank down to sit on the floor. Andrew sat in the second armchair.

"I wish I knew a shrinking spell," Portia whispered forlornly between breaths. "What are we gonna do?"

"I can see if my dad has a saw and if he does, I could bring it tomorrow and cut it in half."

"We can't just leave it here! What if someone comes in here?"

Andrew shrugged, "What else can we do?"

"I've never seen anyone else come in here -- we'll have to chance it."

The following day around noon, Andrew showed up carrying an old hand saw. "Look what Dad had hanging in the shed," he said triumphantly, showing it to Portia.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea. What if someone hears? We'll get in trouble. And, I've never sawed anything. I wouldn't know how."

"What's to know? I'll do it. I'll do it very quietly," Andrew reassured her.

Behind the closed sitting room door, they surveyed the wooden ladder. Andrew chose a spot midway between two rungs and started sawing. Almost immediately the door swung open, and in walked Smokey with an incredulous look in his face. "What are you doing?" he said quite loudly.

"Shush Smokey," Portia hissed. "And close the door."

"Someone'll hear. You're going to get in trouble!" said Smokey.

"We will if you don't close the door," she hissed.

Smokey started to push the door. "No wait!" she interrupted. "Go and keep a lookout at the bottom of the stairs."

"And what do I do if someone comes along?"

"Figure it out. Just stop them." And before he could wipe the stunned look off his face she had pushed him out and closed the door behind him. She could hear him muttering, " . . . what can a cat do . . . " as he went downstairs.

It took a lot longer to saw the ladder in half than they thought it would. The saw was very blunt and kept binding. Eventually they were done. Portia scuffed the pile of sawdust with her shoe, spreading it around where it mingled with all the other dirt on the old carpet.

Portia stuck her head out the door. "Smokey," she whispered loudly, "you can come in now."

He ran up the stairs and into the room. "Ah, the smell of sawdust . . . "

"I reckon we should put both parts of the ladder in the tunnel so they're hidden and then we can take them down to the other end," suggested Andrew.

Once inside the tunnel, Portia said, "Lumos," and gave her wand to Smokey saying, "Here, you carry this so we can both carry the ladders."

Smokey set off down the tunnel with the wand; Portia and Andrew picked up the first section of ladder and followed. When they reached the castle, it was raining heavily and they left the first section in the tunnel on the floor. Feeling very tired, they returned for the second section and brought it to the castle. The rain was torrential; they were too exhausted to do anything else but head back to the Hog's Head.

With the horrible weather, chores, and tedious schoolwork, they had no opportunity to go back to Hogwarts for the next few days, but a week later, Sunshine showed up with a message from Andrew, and it read, "I can come over now."

"Great! I'm done with my stuff too." Portia flipped over the note and wrote on the back of it: "Come over." She folded it up and gave it to Sunshine who jumped back out the window and headed for home.

Soon, Andrew and Portia were at the end of the tunnel picking up the first section of the ladder.

"Let's take the pieces to Hagrid and ask him if he has some rope or something to tie it back together," Portia suggested.

It was well into autumn and most of the trees had turned yellow, some were bright orange. The door to the cabin was closed so they dropped the first half on the ground, went back for the other section, and placed it next to the first.

They knocked on the door. There was no answer but they could hear a noise. It sounded like snoring. Then they heard a loud snort.

"That's definitely snoring," said Andrew, "he must be asleep."

"Hagrid!" they both called loudly.

When he didn't answer and the snoring continued, they opened the door slowly. Hagrid was seated at the table, his massive shaggy head on the table, which held at least a dozen empty whiskey bottles and Hagrid's bucket sized mug.

"Hagrid!" Portia yelled and she grabbed one of his arms on the table and shook it as hard as she could.

Hagrid woke up. "Wha's tha'?" he asked, as he raised his head.

"Hagrid wake up. It's us!"

He sat up a bit and barely opened bleary eyes to look at them. "Oh, 'ello," he muttered, "jus' lemme take a sip," and before they could stop him, he picked up his mug and took a long drink.

"Uh oh, this isn't good," muttered Andrew. "We're not going to get any help from him."

Hagrid was leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes.

"Hagrid! Do you have any rope or something?" Portia said very loudly.

"No, don' think so."

Andrew and Portia looked at each other.

"Wha' for?" he asked while struggling to keep one eye open.

"To fix the ladder . . . join it back together."

"Ladder? Wha' ladder? Why no' jus' repair it?"

"Huh?" queried Portia.

"We're trying to repair a ladder we cut in half," said Andrew.

"Yeh know," said Hagrid kind of waving a hand in the air in a circular motion, "Reparo . . . " and then his hand fell, his chin dropped onto his chest and he started to snore.

"What did he say?" asked Andrew goggling at Portia.

"It sounded like 'Reparo'. Don't know what that means," she replied.

"Maybe it's a spell?" suggested Andrew.

Portia was looking at Hagrid. "Should we move him to his bed?"

"There's no way we can lift or carry him," said Andrew. "He'll have to sleep where he is. He'll be OK."

They stepped outside and glanced around but couldn't see anything outside the cabin that could be used to join the ladder.

Portia absently tapped part of the ladder and said, "Reparo". The ladder moved! It started to flip over!

They gasped and looked at each other with open mouths and wide eyes.

"It IS a spell!"

She repeated the word and tapped the ladder, and it started to flip again before falling back flat again. Again, they stared at each other in amazement.

"Here, let's put the halves together," Andrew said, taking charge by grabbing one end of a ladder section and dragging it around so that the two cut ends were together. "Now try it," he said eagerly.

Portia authoritatively said, "Reparo!" and tapped the ladders right where they touched. The two sections became one single ladder. It was just as if the ladder had never been sawn in half.

"Amazing," whispered Portia in awe.

"That's much better than tying them together with rope," said Andrew. "That's three spells I know now!"

They could hear Hagrid snoring. They glanced at the cabin and then down at the ladder. "Let's take it up to the castle," Portia said.

Grabbing each end, they hoisted it onto their shoulders and made their way slowly up the grounds past many yellowed bushes and into the castle. Fortunately, the castle had big, wide corridors and maneuvering the ladder was easy. When they came to the entrance to the main hall, they put it on the floor. Portia rubbed her shoulder where it had rested.

They looked up at the remains of the grand marble staircase that led upstairs.

"I'd say we can lean it there," said Andrew pointing at a spot, "and we could climb up to the next floor."

Once on the second floor, they had a whole new area to explore.

There were classrooms with desks and chairs, rooms that may have been teacher's offices, blackboards on walls, and of course, more than a few rooms opened to the outdoors via giant holes in the walls.

Each room was very dusty and covered in decades of dirt but yet seemed quite clearly emptied of any material that was not dirt or debris. There were many signs of animals and birds having existed at one time or another in various rooms. There were bird droppings on benches and shelves, and nests of twigs and grass in some niches. Tracks of mice or rats traced across the rooms from hiding spots to mouse holes in the walls.

They were both excited to explore but were feeling a bit disappointed at not finding anything like a wand or a magic hat.

"I guess everything was cleared out years ago," said Andrew gloomily, as they walked around yet another classroom.

"It's too bad," agreed Portia, leading the way back out into the corridor.

They continued to climb up stairs to higher floors, passing partial remains of ancient framed paintings on the walls here and there.

Eventually they came to a large painting that hung miserably from the wall on some half broken hinges; the canvas was all but gone, hanging in tatters. But behind this was a round hole, big enough for a person to climb through, leading into another room.

Ducking their heads, they climbed through the hole.

"I wonder what's special about this room?" Andrew wondered aloud.

"Maybe it was a secret room?" suggested Portia. "It was hidden behind a large painting after all."

There was a large stone fireplace but otherwise the room was empty.

"Another empty, gloomy room," sighed Portia.

"I think I can fix the gloom. Hand me the wand," Andrew said. He pointed the wand at the fireplace, screwed up his eyes, and concentrated. There was a small popping sound, and when he opened his eyes, there was a bright little fire crackling and lighting up the room. "Why didn't I think of doing this in all the other rooms?"

Portia looked quite impressed. "You do that so well," she said, as she got closer and held out her hands to warm them by the fire.

There were two spiral staircases leading up and Portia headed up one of them. She was about halfway up and Andrew had just stepped onto the third step when the stairs suddenly turned into a large slide, and they came slipping and sliding down to end in a pile on the floor.

"What was that?" Andrew exclaimed, as he rolled over and sat up.

"What caused it?" Portia asked, standing and brushing dirt off the front of her clothes.

They stared at the spiral slide.

"Are they magical stairs?"

"Or," said Andrew with a half smirk on his face, "maybe it's a magical slide. Maybe we're supposed to go up one spiral and slide down the other."

"Well why not have them be a permanent slide? Why make them stairs at all?"

"Should we try the other stairs?" asked Andrew.

"You go first this time."

Portia watched as Andrew slowly ascended, and he called down as he reached the landing at the top, "Made it!".

Portia proceeded up cautiously, but nothing happened, and now she and he could enter the room at this level.

"Oh. These look like beds. This must be where the students slept."

"Dormitories," said Andrew.

"Nice view from the window," she said. "You can see all the grounds nicely from up here."

Andrew was about to turn away from a four poster bed to look out the window when green sparks shot out of the wand.

"That was weird," he said, looking to her. Portia didn't answer, she stared at the wand.

While they were watching, a green spark formed at the end of the wand and inflated like a bubble until it let go and floated down to the floor, burning bright green until it popped suddenly.

"How are you doing that?" she asked.

"Dunno." He waved the wand back and forth like a dog wagging its tail. Nothing else came out of it. He pointed it at the window and then the bed; nothing happened. He pointed it at the floor, and again, a large green spark blew up like a bubble from the end and floated down to land on the same floorboard as the previous one.

"Is it trying to tell us something?" Portia wondered.

Andrew got down on the floor. "This floorboard's loose." He pried it up and felt inside the space. He pulled up a cloth bag.

"Look! I found something," he exclaimed.

She got down on her hands and knees to see closer, as he opened the bag and tipped out the contents. Out fell sixteen little white figures and sixteen little black figures. It was a chess set! As they watched, the pieces began to move all by themselves. They slowly stood up, (some gave some moans and groans as they got up) and began to separate into their colours, white to one side and black to the other. Each colour formed two rows of eight pieces and faced each other across a small distance.

"Do you know how to play chess?" Andrew asked.

"Nope. Never played."

"I don't either. This must be some kind of magical chess set though."

"It's amazing! They look just like real soldiers. Look at the king's crown," she added.

"And the queen's crown. The way they move and talk! This is brilliant!" Andrew was talking breathlessly as he admired his find.

Portia put her hand into the space under the floorboard and felt around.

"There's something else . . . feels like coins." She pulled out her hand and showed him some very tarnished coins. One was a big coin of gold; a medium sized coin was shiny silver; there were three smaller coins that might have been made of copper or bronze. They looked like no coins they had ever seen before.

Andrew shone the wand into the space and verified it was indeed now empty.

They heard a low rumble of thunder and looked up to the window. The previously blue sky had clouded up with dark clouds. Perhaps it was about to rain.

"Let's look for more stuff," Andrew said, eyes alight with excitement. He swept the chess pieces back into the bag, and they both stood up. He waved the wand around the room, and he walked around the room again, pointing the wand at the floor, but no more secrets were revealed.

"The stairs went up further. Let's try the next floor," Portia suggested.

They went up, entered a similar room containing beds, and Andrew walked all around and pointed the wand in different directions, but nothing happened. They got down on the floor and looked under beds, stamped their feet on floorboards, but found no secret compartments.

"Let me try the wand," Portia asked.

She too walked all around the dormitory, pointing her wand at the floor, walls and beds.

"Oh well let's go up to the next floor," she said.

Again, she held out the wand while carefully walking around the next dorm room, but nothing was revealed.

They heard another rumble of thunder.

"Here, let me have a go," said Andrew holding out his hand for the wand.

As soon as she handed him the wand, sparks flew out the end, and again a large spark bubbled out of the wand tip and flew straight across the room to the wall, and it stuck to one particular stone. It hung on the wall, shining brightly for a few seconds before dimming and disappearing.

They hurried over to the stone wall and inspected the spot.

"You hold the wand light on it," Andrew said, handing the wand to her, "while I try to pull the stone out. I bet there's a secret compartment behind it."

He managed to get a finger on a corner and moved the stone slightly. Bit by bit, he withdrew the stone.

"What a pity . . . we don't know a spell . . . to move . . . the stone," Andrew panted as he worked at it.

Finally, he got it out enough that he could grab it with both hands and remove it completely.

There were lots of things inside: rolls of blank parchment, rolls of parchment with writing on them, quills, dried up ink bottles, a tiny set of brass scales, some cards, keys, some stones, a couple of little stoppered glass bottles with coloured liquid in them, a chocolate frog wrapper, some newspaper clippings, and an old photograph.

Shaking with excitement, they both reached in to grab the items, and they oohed and aahed over them.

"This parchment is SO fragile. It's ancient," squeaked Portia, as she gently unfurled a roll of parchment.

"It's from back in the days when they used pens and paper for everything. You know, like you see in those old two-dimensional movies they show in history classes. Looks like someone's homework," she said.

"Look at this old black and white photograph! Did you ever see anything like it?" Andrew shoved the photograph under her nose. There were three teenagers in the picture, smiling and waving at them; two of them had large owls sitting on their shoulders. As they stared, transfixed by the moving pictures, one of the owls spread its large wings and flew out the edge of the picture.

"I wonder who they are?" said Portia. "They certainly look like they're having fun, and what's with those owls?"

"Dunno. But it's wicked!"

Andrew picked up the scales and keys. "I guess this was for weighing stuff, but look at these keys! They're all different colours and look -- this red one is shaped like a claw and the green one has a skull on it."

"I wonder what's in these," Portia said, peering at one of the glass bottles and holding it up to the light. She shook it a bit and watched the liquid swirl inside the glass.

Just then they saw a bright flash of lightning that was followed immediately by a loud crack of thunder, which sounded like it was in the room with them. They both jumped inches off the floor.

"Oh," shrieked Portia. "It's getting really late."

"Quickly, let's check out the last floors."

They dashed up the stairs only to find that the dorm above was ruined. Most of the walls were missing and they could see the gathering storm clouds. The wind was really howling now.

Halfway up to the next floor, the stairs were blocked by huge fallen stones. They could go no further.

The storm was raging now and they had to almost shout over it.

"Well," Andrew shouted, "It's time to go back."

Hoping to beat the rain, they hurried down the spiral staircase, down the floors, and down the ladder to the front entrance hall. Too late, the rain was lashing down in torrents; the wind was driving the rain in through the front doorway.

They filled their pockets with stones and keys and stuffed parchment under their shirts in the hopes of keeping their findings dry, and then, with screams they dashed outside, round the castle, and scrambled up to the tunnel. They were completely soaked before they got halfway there.

But they could appreciate Andrew's unique magical skill with fire. As they entered the sitting room, shivering, and with rivulets running down their foreheads and off their noses, Andrew pointed the wand at the fireplace, and a fire appeared, instantly warming them and the room.

Almost immediately, the door clicked open a few inches and Smokey entered. He walked right up to the fire and sat down so close you'd think his ears would catch fire. "Ah, nice and warm," he mewed, starting to close his eyes in pleasure.

A voice spoke from Andrew's pocket, "Andy, where are you?" His holophone was working again.

"Uh oh, my Mum's looking for me. I'd better go . . . " He dashed out and down the stairs.

"Bye!" she called after him.

"OMG Smokey, you're not going to believe what we found."

Smokey was wearing a most unusual expression on his face - his eyebrows were raised almost higher than his ears.

"What's that look for?" she asked.

"The 2020s called . . ." he replied cryptically.

"What?" She was thoroughly confused now.

". . . they want their OMG back," he said smugly.

It took her a minute to get his joke. "Oh. Ha. Ha," she said slowly and sarcastically. "Very funny."

"Anyway," she continued loudly as he began to speak, "you won't believe what we found."

Portia kneeled on the hearth in front of Smokey and began extracting items from her pockets and the parchment from under her shirt. In spite of her efforts, the soaking rain had made its way through her shirt to the parchment, which was partly damp and wet. She was careful with the fragile and wet parchment; she could see some ink had run and blurred, but it wasn't all bad.

She held out the parchment to Smokey, who sniffed it with his only comment being, "Smells like wet paper."

She showed him the quills, coins, cards, and keys. She showed him the photograph. "Look how the people move in the picture!"

"Is that how witches and wizards dressed back then?" asked Smokey. "That's kind of nutty."

"They must have," she replied. "They all have on black robes and hats. And there's a couple of pet owls, see?"

"You know, I'd always heard stories from other cats that they had a lot of owls in those days. I wonder why?" Smokey closed his eyes to go to sleep.

"Andrew found a magical chess set. The pieces look like real soldiers and they can walk and talk all by themselves. But we don't know how to play chess."

"I do."

"Really? You do? I didn't know cats could know things like how to play chess."

Smokey opened one eye and took a deep breath, preparing a smart reply, but then thought better of it and just sighed, and closed his eye again.

Portia, now completely dry, sat by the fire and carefully unrolled all the parchment and separated all the soggy pieces. In almost no time at all, the fire had dried them nicely, and she started to read the ones that had been written on.

Chapter 11: The Midnight Wand Plan

Chapter Text

When Andrew arrived the next day, she rushed him up to the sitting room; once inside, she closed the door and locked it so no-one could overhear them.

"I was right," Portia said to Andrew. "The parchment was someone's homework. See?" She brandished a piece of parchment and pointed to a heading at the top that read, 'Herbology - How to care for elderberry'. Halfway down, someone had drawn a sketch of a small tree with bright red leaves.

"Looks like the tree we saw in the greenhouses doesn't it?" she said. And she rushed on excitedly, "But that's not all, listen to what they wrote below . . . "

'The branches of the elderberry tree are highly prized for wands, providing just the right amount of stiffness and flex to support even the most powerful magical cores. Once a tree has reached the age of seven years, branches holding exactly three leaves can be taken. The branches must be harvested at midnight when the moon is full. Do not forget to pay homage to the bowtruckles or else your efforts may be in vain for they love the elderberry and make it their home.'

"I think that tree in the middle of the greenhouse is an elderberry tree and we could make another wand from it!" she said.

"That's fantastic! I could have my own wand?" he said breathlessly.

"But," Portia warned, "if this is true, then we have to do it at midnight."

The door opened with a click, and in walked Smokey. "Do what at midnight?"

"Smokey!" Portia said exasperatedly, and she quickly closed and locked the door again. "How did you get in?"

"What's at midnight?" Smokey repeated.

"Getting a branch from an elderberry tree for a wand and it has to be done at midnight. Why? Is that a problem?" she glared at him accusingly.

"Not at all. Cats do lots of things at midnight. Why's the fire out? You should light it."

Andrew was bemusedly following by hearing just her side of the conversation. Portia handed the wand to Andrew. "Smokey wants a fire." Andrew pointed the wand at the fireplace, and it instantly burst into a crackling fire. Smokey squatted down on the hearth and closed his eyes.

Andrew looked down at the wand, "Boy, can't wait to have my own one of these."

"We also have to make sure it's a full moon." Portia then added, "Smokey, do you know what a bowtruckle is?"

"What a what is?" Smokey asked opening his eyes.

"A bowtruckle."

"No, never heard of it. Why?"

"Well apparently we have to placate bowtruckles as well. I think they might be something that lives in trees."

Smokey grunted and closed his eyes.

Portia turned to Andrew, "We could do it tonight. Do you know what the moon will be tonight?"

Smokey answered "Full moon was three weeks ago."

"Smokey says it was a full moon three weeks ago."

"I can check on my holophone," Andrew said pulling it out of his pocket.

"Trust me, cats know the phases of the moon. It won't be full for another seven days," Smokey said in a superior tone.

"I never get a good connection in here," Andrew complained. "I'm going outside to check it, I always get a better signal out there."

He was back in two minutes. "Yeah. Full moon was three weeks ago. We have to wait another week."

Smokey muttered something very quietly they couldn't hear.

Andrew was so excited about the plan for getting his wand that he wanted to count down the days, hours and minutes; he kept giving Portia regular updates several times a day.

Finally, on one of their in-person school days, Portia said, "Andy, you don't have to keep telling me how many days, just tell me when it's going to be the full moon."

But he didn't stop and finally, on October 31st, when they were walking home from school, Andrew informed Portia that it was to be a full moon that night.

"Let's do it tonight," Portia said.

"I'm in," Andrew assured her.

"Come over to the inn tonight. Send Sunshine up to my window and we'll figure a way to sneak you in."

Andrew left with a big smile. He was getting his own wand!

Portia was sitting at her desk with the window open when Sunshine jumped through the window and landed right in front of her.

"Andrew's just down below."

Portia leaned out the window and looked down. She could see his shadowy figure amongst the darkness on the street, and she whispered, "Go around to the back door. I'll meet you there in a second."

She dashed downstairs, through the kitchen, and opened the back door to see Andrew grinning from ear to ear. He was really excited to be getting a wand!

"Come on in," she beckoned. "I'll check if it's all clear."

While he quietly closed the door behind himself, she peaked out the kitchen door. No-one was there except Smokey. "Smokey! Quick, see if anyone's behind the bar or on the stairs to the sitting room," she whispered.

She closed the door down to a crack and peered through with one cautious eye while she waited.

Smokey came back. "All clear."

Portia waved Andrew over, and they quickly and quietly moved behind the bar, up the stairs, and closed the door.

"You might want to lock it," Smokey advised.

Portia locked the door, pulled out the wand, and with a flourish and a "Lumos", they set off for their midnight adventure.

Tail high in the air, Smokey trotted happily beside them. He paused at the end of the tunnel to look up at the sky; it was partly cloudy, and in a gap between the clouds, hung a full moon.

"I think the greenhouses are over in that direction," Andrew said pointing through the dark trees.

"I thought it was more around there." Portia pointed in a different direction.

They wandered around, but it all looked so different at night. "Let's try a little more that way."

They turned and walked some more and soon came upon a large, dark shadow.

"I think that's one of the greenhouses," Portia said in a whisper.

But before they took two steps toward it, they heard a noise that made them jump out of their skin. It sounded something like a howl and was coming from the thick forest.

They spun around, and Portia held out the wand but they didn't see anything dangerous. Their skin was covered in goosebumps, and Smokey's hair stood out making him look like a giant, grey hedgehog.

"It sounded like it's not terribly close to us," Portia said in an almost inaudible whisper.

"Yeah, but if I can hear that, then it's still too close whatever it is," Andrew said in a whisper. "I'm not sure we should have come here afterall. Wait, could that be the dragon?"

"Doesn't sound like a dragon," she replied.

"Well yeah, but do any of us really know what a dragon sounds like?" muttered the grey hedgehoggy Smokey.

"Well let's get into the greenhouse," Portia suggested.

They continued forward. It was one of the greenhouses.

"I just thought," said Andrew, "Make sure to stay away from all the plants. We don't want to get too near that devil plant or whatever it's called."

They heard the creature howl again, and they paused in their steps. Crunching noises came from the forest as if branches were being broken and there were faint clicking sounds.

"I think it sounds like it's moving away," whispered Portia.

"I thought it sounded closer," Andrew whispered back.

The grey hedgehog said nothing, but its eyes were as big as saucers.

Still frozen in one spot, they looked around the greenhouse in the dim light of the moon.

"I don't think this is the one," Portia whispered. "Let's try the next."

"I think this is it," Andrew whispered hoarsely, as they approached the center of the next greenhouse. The light from the moon was enough to see the withered looking tree and its similarity to the drawing. The leaves looked black unless they shined the wand light upon them, and then they looked a dark red.

"Find a good branch. This one looks good," said Portia, shining her wand on one particular branch.

"I thought you said it had to have exactly three leaves on it?" said Andrew. "That's got four."

"Oh. Well, how about this one?" Portia said, shining her wand on the next branch. "That looks good too."

"Yeah. Now let's find one for me to grab."

Portia shone the beam of wandlight around the tree.

"How about that one?" Andrew asked, pointing to a nice sized branch at his shoulder height.

"Yes that looks good. Smokey, do you think its midnight yet?" Portia asked.

Smokey looked up at the position of the moon between gaps in the clouds and replied, "Near as I can tell . . . I think so."

"Let's hope this is right. OK let's do it."

"I hope this works," said Andrew.

They reached out and snapped a branch each. Instantly, some of the branches jumped into motion. With ear splitting shrieks that pierced the night air, bundles of sticks moved in tandem, and with what could only be described as sharp claws on the ends of long fingered hands, the creatures struck out wildly, narrowly missing Portia's hand, which she drew back instinctively, but one caught Andrew's thumb with a deep gash. It started to bleed profusely.

"Aaargh!" Andrew yelled and pulled back his hand to his chest. He grabbed his thumb tightly with his other hand.

Two creatures that looked a bit like little stick figures jumped down from the tree and started running for the forest still shrieking shrilly.

"Oh my! That looks bad!" Portia whimpered in shock and fear, as Andrew opened his hand to look at his thumb. Blood was flowing freely, and as he clamped his hand tightly on it again, blood squeezed between his fingers and ran down his wrist.

Then they heard howls. Heavily padded feet were thundering towards them. Portia squealed in fear and Andrew yelled incoherently, as a huge black shape appeared and reared up on many tall legs blocking the moonlight and making clicking sounds.

A small blur on the ground darted in front of them; Smokey hissed and yowled. Their temporary paralysis was broken, and with their hearts in their throats, they turned and ran. Out of the greenhouse and into the trees, they ran blindly in the darkness. The wand light provided little useful light. As Portia pumped her arms while running, they could only see random flashes of light, as the wand light went in all directions. The creatures were chasing them and crashing through the vegetation. It sounded like there were more creatures off to the side of them.

Portia and Andrew were panting heavily when something hit Portia in the face knocking her to the ground. Something hard walloped Andrew on the back sending him stumbling. They had run right into the copse of young whomping willow trees! Fortunately for them, the whomping willows didn't like the creatures any more than them, and they could hear the creatures howling in pain and clicking angrily while branches rained down upon them.

But then they heard a sound that truly froze their blood. It was the sound of huge beating wings, as a shadow passed over them and paused. They could feel the wind from the wings blowing their hair. Then a fiery blast of fire shot down from the sky. The fire lit up the trees and caught some on fire. It lit up the whole area, and they could see the underbelly of the dragon.

They could hear creatures screaming, but in that sustained burst of firelight, Andrew could see where the castle and tunnel were.

"This way!" he yelled, and he got up and ran. She ran after him, and they darted into the tunnel. A short distance in, they paused to get their breath.

"We'd better keep going," she said between half sobs. "We don't know if those things can get in here."

They ran and stumbled along the tunnel. Crawling through the portrait Andrew said, "I wonder if Smokey got away."

"Oh I hope so," she said, as fresh tears appeared in her eyes.

But just then, Smokey made his appearance right behind them. On wobbly legs, he slumped down on the mantel. As they collapsed into chairs, Smokey let his paws hang over the edge, and his flexible body slowly poured onto the floor where he just lay there breathing heavily.

Nobody said anything for a long time.

"I -- am -- never -- doing -- that -- again," Portia said breathlessly between dry sobs. "Never." They were stuttering and shaking from exhaustion and fear.

"What even w-were those th-things that chased us?" whispered Andrew, as he stared up at the ceiling from his chair.

"I c-couldn't s-see. All I saw were b-big b-black shadows. I wonder if the d-dragon killed them."

"B-better them than us," stuttered Andrew, clutching his thumb. "Now that I th-think about it, Hagrid d-did t-tell us that he doesn't g-go there when it's dark. Now we know why."

"We'll have to ask Hagrid what they are."

"And what about those creatures that came out of the tree?" said Andrew, looking at her with wide eyes. "Screaming! What was that all about? What were they doing there?"

"I think they were bowtruckles."

"Yeah well they sure cut me good. I dropped the branch. It's gone," said Andrew morosely, while taking a cautious look at his blood covered thumb and hands.

"Don't worry, I still have mine." She held it up for him to see.

"We don't even know if it'll work," he said dejectedly.

Portia looked at Smokey. "Are you all right Smokey?"

"Cats," he said in a low voice, "should NOT be out at midnight!"

"You were very brave," she said.

Even though Andrew couldn't understand Smokey, he added, "Yes you were very brave."

Smokey sat up a little bit, tucked his paws beneath himself and half closed his eyes. "Never again," he muttered. Then he opened his eyes, surprised at his thoughts and said very quietly to himself, "A full moon . . . Tux was right . . ."

"I'll go and get some water and a bowl," Portia said.

After washing all the blood off his hands, Andrew inspected his cut thumb. The gash was long and deep, but he could move his thumb, and it looked like it would heal cleanly.

All three of them gave a great sigh.

"Never again."

None of them slept well that night, and the following day when Portia came home from school, Smokey met her outside.

"Boofy brought you something. I put it in your room."

"Oh. What is it?"

Smokey didn't say anything, he just padded behind her footsteps, as she made her way up to her room.

On her desk, beside the branch she had gathered, was the slim branch that Andrew had dropped when the bowtruckle attacked.

"Boofhead went up and found it on the ground. He said it's perfectly safe in daylight."

"Oh, tell him thank you from me."

She picked up the first branch and cut it cleanly at about ten inches long. She neatly cut off the three leaves and the stems. It appeared to be hollow down the middle.

"Well here goes." She carefully threaded a unicorn hair through the elderberry branch and put spellotape over each end. She waved it around but nothing happened. "Lumos." It lit up. "Nox." The wand extinguished.

"That's good. It works," said Smokey where he sat watching from her bed.

"I wish I knew more spells," Portia said.

She used the third and last unicorn hair for the second elderberry branch: pulling off the three leaves, cutting it neatly to length, and putting spellotape on each end so the unicorn hair could not fall out. It too lit up with 'Lumos' but didn't seem to do much else for her easily.

"Oh well, I hope Andrew likes it."

He did. In fact he loved it. His face lit up like a light bulb, as he took it in his hand. It felt strangely heavier than he expected and a little bit warm. But, his face split with a smile from ear to ear when he waved it through the air, and a tidal wave of flames erupted in the shape of a giant rippling fan. Not only from the end tip of the wand, but emanating all along the length of the wand, the flames flowed, and for a while they all stared, transfixed, as he waved the wand in a figure of eight and made the flames dance in the air before him.

"This is the best ever!" he exclaimed in awe.

"Awesome!" said Portia.

Chapter 12: The Main Hall

Chapter Text

Andrew and Portia walked through the mostly bare trees. They were ankle deep in the thick carpet of big brown leaves that covered the ground, and each footstep kicked up the dry leaves with a tremendous rustling noise.

"Hagrid!" they called joyfully.

Hagrid was standing in his vegetable garden, surveying the very respectable pumpkins that were growing and a row of string beans that were looking a little scraggly.

They heard a deep bark, and Fang, who had been lying down and out of sight among the leaves, jumped up and ran towards them as Hagrid looked up. Fang bowled Portia over and then tried to slurp Andrew's face with his long tongue, which caused Andrew to duck and fall halfway to the ground. "Yuck!" Fang bounded back to Hagrid and began following some scent along the ground among the plants.

"Hello yeh two," Hagrid called in greeting. "What yeh bin up to?"

"Oh we have loads to tell you," Portia answered excitedly. But then she stopped and so did Andrew. They stared at Hagrid for a moment.

Looking bemused, Hagrid asked, "Wha's the matta?"

"Your face. What happened to you?"

"Oh it's nothin'. I'm all righ'."

His nose and cheeks were red, and the skin on his nose was peeling; his eyebrows were gone; some of his beard around his mouth was gone. They could see more of his face, as a lot of the hair that hung over his forehead was gone.

"But what happened?"

He grinned widely at them. "Well, ter tell the truth, I did a risky thing. I went ter take another peek at the dragon. I on'y wanted a quick peek. Jus' curious like what kind it might be an' if it were a male or female. Cuz' if it's a female, she might have some eggs in there."

"Oh Hagrid! That was really dangerous!"

But he went on quickly, "I pushed the door open real slow an' quiet an' tried ter peek my 'ead aroun' but it breathed fire before I could even get a look at it. I on'y jus' got meh head back in time." He shook his head slowly. "Can yeh believe it? I jus' wanted a look. Get an idea maybe if it was a she dragon with eggs or summat."

Andrew was goggling at him. Portia said, "A mother? With eggs? That would make the dragon even more dangerous!"

But Hagrid seemed to have stopped listening and had a far away look in his eyes. He looked at them brightly, "My cave is big enough. I could raise a dragon in it . . . fer a pet . . . from an egg . . . "

Smokey arrived just in time to hear Hagrid say this, and he froze, staring at Hagrid in shock.

"Oh but Hagrid, what about Fang?" Portia continued.

"He won' mind. Plen'y o' room."

"But a dragon would eat Fang! And you too! Look what this one did to your face!" she implored Hagrid.

"Nah. Jus' got ter raise 'em right. Yeh'll see."

Smokey and Andrew were looking sideways at Portia.

Smokey said, "I sincerely hope we never see."

Andrew said in a low voice, "Let's hope it's NOT a mother with eggs."

They distracted Hagrid by proceeding to tell him all about their explorations in the castle, the things they had discovered in the tower, and their narrow escape from the creatures of the night with some lucky help from the dragon.

Hagrid was shaking his head. "Yeh can' be in or aroun' the fores' here no more. Not once it's dark. Too dangerous. I won' anymore. Haven' for decades."

Smokey stopped licking his tail long enough to interject, "Oh, but he'd take a pet dragon?"

Andrew demonstrated his new wand with a few rippling waves of flames. Hagrid was duly impressed until some of the flames got close to the beans. "Careful! Watch the beans. They're already not lookin' so good." He picked a couple and look at them closely. "Think it might be slugs," he mumbled.

Then Hagrid turned to face them again. "Now what you saw in the tree, that'd be bowtruckles. Should'a brought some brown rice an' thrown it on the ground for 'em. Let's see yeh hand Andrew."

Andrew held out his bandaged hand.

"It's a pity, I don' know any healing spells fer people," he apologized.

"MEOOOOOOOW!" yowled Smokey.

Hagrid had stepped back and trod on Smokey's tail. Luckily the ground was quite soft in the garden. "Sorry," said Hagrid.

Frowning and curling his tail around his body, Smokey complained, "A pity he doesn't know a spell to heal a broken tail!"

"Well really Smokey, what's it doing sticking out so long anyway?" asked Portia.

Smokey frowned at her. "I'm going to have to clean it again now."

"We're going to explore some more today, want to come with us?"

"Reckon I might yeah, I'd like ter get a peek at the dragon."

They led Hagrid to the entrance hall stairway. "See, this is where we got up the stairs with the ladder. We think we should try using the ladder on the other side of the castle -- in that room with the high ceiling and the openings up the walls."

It was no effort for Hagrid to pick up the ladder, and they headed down the corridor.

"Yeah I think I remember -- there used to be many staircases here, and they could move about depending on the time of day," said Hagrid as they found the room.

"I reckon we could reach that landing there," said Andrew, pointing to an opening into an upper level a couple of floors above them.

"Right," said Hagrid, and he raised the ladder and sat the feet on the floor.

"I dunno tha' this ladder could 'old me," he said. "It's a bit light."

Andrew climbed up and disappeared into the darkness of the landing.

"Lumos."

His wand lit the landing as Portia reached the top. They both looked down as Hagrid put his giant foot on the lowest rung.

There was a loud Crack! and his foot slapped the ground.

The wooden rung had splintered and broken.

"Aah, though' as much. Not to worry though, I'll wait down here. Find summat useful to do." Hagrid, leaning on his staff, sat down on a large stone block and wiped sweat off his forehead with an enormous handkerchief.

Portia pointed her wand down the ladder and said, "Reparo." The lowest rung fixed itself as good as new.

Smokey started up the ladder, jumping nimbly from rung to rung to join Portia and Andrew. "Hmm," he said looking back down, "going back down might be a little tricky."

"We shan't be gone too long Hagrid," Portia called down. "And we promise to show you anything we find!"

Andrew was looking down at Hagrid where he sat on the stone block rummaging inside the pockets of his giant cloak. "What's he doing?"

Portia looked down, but it was Smokey who answered, "It looks like he just pulled out a packet of sausages from inside his coat. Pork sausages! I can smell them from here." Suddenly they all felt their stomachs give a rumble. "He's been holding out on us!" said Smokey in an offended tone."

"Oh, come on," said Portia, and she started down the hall.

They passed little of interest until they came to a smashed stone statue in the hall. Bending down to look closer, Portia said, "Looks like it used to be a gargoyle." Smokey sniffed at it but made no comment.

There was another smashed gargoyle a little further down the hall, and between the two gargoyles in the stone wall was an opening. A doorway led to a stone spiral staircase. They looked at each other, and without hesitation they climbed the stairs. Twice around the spiral and they reached the top where it emptied into a circular room. It was empty. There was a pair of oak doors with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin leading into another room. Smokey quietly padded after them.

This room was also circular; it had windows to the outside, which had lost their glass decades ago, and had a very high ceiling. The tall walls were covered in bleached, moldy, weathered canvasses -- the remnants of many large and oddly shaped portraits. A large, once ornate desk sat collapsed and rotten in the center of the room.

They stared around forlornly. "Another office?" offered Andrew. He pointed his wand at the desk and said, "Reparo." Nothing happened. "I guess it's been too long."

Portia pointed her wand at the desk. "Reparo." They jumped back as parts of the desk jiggled and the broken top started to raise up, but then with a sigh and a cloud of dust the desk collapsed further into a jumbled heap.

All of a sudden both their wands went out, and they were plunged into semi-darkness. The dim light making it through the windows was insufficient to enable them to make out any real details in the shadows, but one thing was clearer. The wall behind the desk was glowing green. It was very faint, but it was there.

Andrew stepped around the desk and pointed his wand at the wall. A large green sparkly bubble expanded from his wand tip until, about four inches in diameter, it detached and floated to the wall where it stuck.

The wall was made of smooth, finely fitted stone blocks, and there seemed no way to open or do anything to the wall. Portia pointed her wand and clenched her eyes shut, imagining the wall opening like a secret safe. Even Smokey tried to help; he leaned his feet up against the wall to sniff the bubble, and it popped. From where the bubble had been, an inky black nothing formed and quickly expanded into a large rectangular hole.

"Wow! Lumos!" They both shined their wands into the hole and the light fell upon a number of books that had been hidden many decades ago. These looked fragile but fortunately had not suffered the long years of weather or mold as had the rest of the room.

Smokey sat back and looked up wide eyed, as Portia reached in and pulled out Standard Book of Spells, (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk. She opened it carefully and looked at a few pages at random. "It's an instruction book for teaching spells," she said.

Andrew pulled out Ancient Runes. "Look at all these weird symbols," he said.

They took out many more books. Among them were Year with a Yeti by Gilderoy Lockart, The Cheery Book of Cheering Charms by Miley Cheekertonne, Advanced Potion Making, The Best Bestiary of the British Isles, Quantitative Quidditch: An Analysis, Cooking with Fungi, and History of Magic. There were a few books without covers and some books that had covers but all the pages were blank inside.

"I can't wait to read these," Portia said with excitement.

"We're going to learn real magic," said Andrew.

Smokey was sniffing some of the old pages and wrinkling his nose.

They picked up all they could carry and headed back to the landing with the ladder, intent on showing Hagrid what they had found. When they got there, they looked down into the big room and saw no sign of Hagrid anywhere.

"Let's dump the books here and explore in the other direction," suggested Portia.

So they stacked the books on the floor and set off in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" commanded Smokey. They had just poked their heads into a long room when Smokey froze. "I smell something . . . something burning . . ." He sniffed the air as they watched.

"I think I smell the dragon," Smokey said.

The room was partly damaged on two of the walls, and they stepped inside and approached a hole in one of the walls. They were rewarded, as this hole opened into the Great Hall, and they could peek right through.

They were two floors higher than the floor level of the Great Hall, and they both could put their heads simultaneously through the hole and view the hall below them. There were many scorched and blackened patches on the walls where the dragon must have practised its flames. The remains of a long heavy table lay on the floor among stone blocks and debris, and further away they could see the main doors, which they had snuck through once before.

But what really made their jaws drop, was looking down upon the mound of treasure. There were thousands of gold and silver coins piled up like a small mountain, red rubies the size of apples, glittering diamonds gleaming everywhere, sapphires as big as Smokey's head, and sparkling gems of all colours. There were shimmering opal necklaces, emerald earrings, and black onyx rings. Large gilded wooden chests overflowed with pearl strands and gem encrusted crowns. Ornate daggers, bejeweled swords and opulent sceptres were scattered on the mound.

What made them hold their breath as they looked upon this wealth was the size of the dragon, which lay curled up around the treasure like it was a soft feathery mattress. It was black and must have been 30 feet long, with razor sharp ridges along its back. It had a large head that rested upon its two scaly front feet, and each clawed foot ended in six inch long talons. Its wings were folded over its back, and they rose up and down with each breath. It was snoring.

They could see a large hole, high up in one wall, which must be how the dragon entered and exited the hall.

From where did the dragon collect all that treasure? Why? And even more perplexing, how did it go about gathering all that treasure in one place?

They made no sound, but suddenly one dragon eye flicked open mid snore, and with a loud hissing sound the dragon twisted around and spat a fireball directly at them. The flames shot so fast they barely had time to react. They pulled their heads back and fell onto the floor, as the fireball hit where their faces had been moments before, and they felt the wave of heat wash over them.

Immediately, Smokey jumped up into the hole they had looked through, and stood on the stones hissing and spitting at the dragon. They could hear the dragon hissing and moving around on the treasure below.

For a few moments, they stared in shock until Portia found her voice. "Smokey! Get down. You'll get killed!" she shrieked from the floor.

Somewhat to her surprise, Smokey did jump down, and he stood there looking straight into her and Andrew's still shocked eyes.

"You're not going to believe this," he said. "But dragons speak the language of serpents."

"The dragon talks?" she asked, bewildered.

"Yes, apparently."

"And you can understand it?"

"Yes."

Andrew couldn't understand Smokey's side of the conversation but was looking back and forth from Smokey to Portia, while he listened to her side of the conversation, and he got the gist.

"The dragon can talk?" Andrew asked.

"Yes," said Portia.

"And he can understand it?" asked Andrew.

"Yes, apparently," she said.

Now it was Smokey's turn to look back and forth between them, and he said wryly, "I told you, you wouldn't believe it."

There was a moment of silence. Portia and Andrew stared at each other. Smokey looked from one to the other.

"How?" asked Andrew.

Portia turned to Smokey. "How?"

"I speak snake language," he replied simply.

"He can speak to snakes," she said to Andrew and then added, "That's apparently the language the dragon speaks."

Again she turned to Smokey, "How do you know how to speak to snakes?"

"I speak the language of many different animals," he replied smugly.

"Oh. I didn't know that," she said.

"You never asked."

"Oh," she said again.

"Smokey can speak lots of different animal languages," she explained to Andrew.

Their heartbeats were now returning back to normal. Portia turned to Smokey.

"So what did the dragon say?"

"It said 'Who are you? Get out! What do you want?' and then it hurled the fire at you. When I jumped up there, I said we were just two humans and a cat. We were just exploring the castle."

"And then what?" she prompted.

"Then it used a couple of rather rude words that meant 'Go away'. It seems to be a rather bad tempered beast."

"Tell it we mean it no harm."

"Er, I think it knows we can't cause it any harm," Smokey said.

"Tell it anyway. Maybe it will stop trying to roast us."

Smokey jumped back up into the hole in the wall and made a range of hissing noises. They could hear the dragon moving around, but it didn't shoot fire at Smokey.

Then they heard the dragon hissing.

Smokey hissed some more.

Then the dragon hissed loudly and long. It was a sustained hissing that got louder and louder, turning almost into a roar.

"Uh oh," said Smokey nervously, and he jumped down. "That's some bad language. Those are some really filthy words."

They heard the beating of wings, and the wall shook as a clawed foot landed on the edge of the hole. They all jumped, yowled and screamed. A seering hot flame shot into the room, and they scrambled, crawled and ran on all fours out of the room. The flame continued and the room heated like an oven. Had they stayed in the room they most surely would have been roasted alive from that jet of flame through the hole. The flames stopped. Through the doorway they could see the room return to darkness yet some of the stones glowed red. The dragon took a breath and then the room lit like the sun as another burst of fire entered.

They jumped up to their feet and ran, screaming.

Hagrid, who had been asleep, sitting with his back against the wall, took one look at their faces and could tell immediately that something momentous had happened. Their faces were flushed, their eyes were wide, and they started talking rapidly.

"We found the dragon!"

"We saw it from a room."

"It's huge!"

"You could look right down on it."

"Smokey spoke to it."

"It tried to flame us."

"It talked to Smokey."

Even Smokey was meowing excitedly though Portia was the only one who could understand him, but she wasn't paying him any attention.

But Hagrid wasn't listening fully to what they were saying; he was staring dreamily with misty eyes at the opening at the top of the ladder.

"I wish I could 'ave bin there," he said. "I'd love to see 'im better . . . if only this ladder were stronger."

"Oh, we forgot!" said Portia, clamping her hand over her mouth. "We found a secret compartment containing lots of books. We left them up there."

Portia and Andrew described the spiral staircase and the circular room containing the now defunct desk.

"Sounds like the ol' headmaster's office," said Hagrid, though his attention was still focused at the top of the ladder. "Which way did yeh go ter see the dragon?"

"I'll go up and get the books," said Andrew.

"I'll go up and get them too," said Portia.

Her legs still felt a little wobbly from the running and excitement, but she made it up safely.

Smokey sat down, curled his tail around himself and said, "I'll watch from right here." His eyes followed them up the ladder.

They carefully reversed back down the ladder with their arms full of books.

Hagrid was pointing his umbrella at a large stone block. He muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa," and the block rose an inch off the floor. He moved his umbrella, and the block glided over the floor for a few feet before wobbling on its axis and crashing to the floor.

"I never was too good with this spell," Hagrid said to them. The stone block was now closer to the base of the ladder. "If I can jus' stack a few of these on top o' each other . . . they'll hold me . . . "

He tried again and the block moved a few feet closer.

"I reckon if I get some o' these blocks moved, I can make it so I can climb up," Hagrid said.

They dropped their books and tried to help Hagrid move some blocks. Even by pushing together they couldn't push them across the floor. They tried pushing a block once Hagrid had levitated it with magic, but their strength made very little difference, and they soon gave that up too.

After a few minutes, Hagrid had two large stone blocks positioned under the opening and had moved the ladder out of the way. The room had no further debris of any size, so they moved to other nearby damaged rooms to find other stone blocks for Hagrid.

"Oh my," Portia said, noticing the setting sun through a large crumbling hole in the wall. "It's getting late."

"Yeah, we really should go. I don't want to be here at night time again," said Andrew. "Especially now that we know how angry that dragon is," he added.

"Yeh're right. I should get up ter meh cave too while it's light," conceded Hagrid sadly. "I'll continue this tomorrow." He looked longingly up at the opening and hesitated before grabbing his staff and limping slowly toward the doorway.

Portia and Andrew picked up their books on magic, and they all made their way out to the entrance hall.

Smokey gave one glancing look back in the direction of the main hall, and muttering a curse under his breath, followed with his tail held high.

Back at the inn, Andrew didn't have to go home right away, so he stayed for some dinner, and afterwards they went up to Portia's room and started to flip through the pages of some of the books they had found.

Portia closed and locked the door to her room so they wouldn't be discovered.

They were sitting on the wooden floor when Andrew spoke. "Oh look, here's the spell for making fire. It's called 'Incendio'."

He pulled out his wand, said, "Incendio," and a controlled flame erupted from the tip and continued to burn like a match. He wiggled his wand, and it went out.

"Boy, that was easy! I didn't even have to concentrate or anything."

"Incendio!"

Andrew's wand burst into flame just as the door clicked open, and they looked up guiltily. Smokey walked in and stared at the flaming wand.

"Planning on burning something?" he said.

"Smokey!" Portia admonished. "Don't do that!" And she stood up and locked the door again.

"Doing magic?" Smokey asked, as he walked further into the room and sat down between them. "You know, as often as you start fires, you might want to learn a spell to put them out before you really burn something."

"That's a good idea," Portia admitted. "I'll start looking for a counterspell."

"Actually, it's right here on the next page. It's called Aguamenti. Hey, that makes me think. Why didn't we use magic on the dragon?" asked Andrew.

"Well I didn't think of it. Besides, do you know any spells for a dragon? Like how to tame it or stop it from shooting flames at us?" Portia replied.

"Oh yeah, that's true," he looked downcast. "Well I can make fire and you can do that shield thing. And maybe Aguamenti will work on dragon fire."

"Yeah but I don't know how to do the shield spell again. I don't even know how I did it the first time. Maybe it only works with an umbrella."

"Sure would be nice to get some of the dragon's treasure wouldn't it?" grinned Andrew.

"Sure. I just don't know how you'd survive what the dragon would do to you," she said.

They went back to flipping through the books. Portia had chosen The Standard Book of Spells, (Grade 1), as it seemed a logical place to start with simple spells, presumably for beginners.

"This looks like the spell Hagrid must have been using to levitate those blocks," she said.

Portia waved her wand in the manner described, pointed it at Smokey, and said, 'Wing ardeem leviasa.'

There was a sound like a popping noise. Smokey jumped up and twisted around. All the fur on his tail had disappeared!

"What the . . . ? My tail! All my fur is gone!" he yowled in a high pitch.

Indeed, without fur, his tail looked so skinny.

"I look like a rat!" He glared at Portia.

"I'm sorry. I must've done it wrong."

Smokey frowned, "Fix it! Now!"

"I'll fix it," she promised, and then started flipping through pages rapidly muttering.

"There must be some spell . . . the trouble is, I don't know what spell I did . . . is there a spell for fixing cat tails?"

Andrew picked up a different book and started looking in an attempt to help.

"There's spells for boiling water, talking to trees, curing someone who has carrots growing out their ears, healing a duck that always swims to the left, but nothing . . . oh wait! Here's one!" Andrew said excitedly.

Portia looked up at him hopefully.

"No, that's how to change the colour of your hair blue, doesn't say anything about growing fur."

Smokey was now sitting on his tail so no one could see it.

Andrew continued reading. "The tickling charm . . . Rictusempra . . ." he muttered. He pointed his wand at Portia.

"Rictusempra!"

Portia started giggling and held her ribs as if trying to fend off someone. Smiling and gasping for breath, she managed to point her wand at Andrew's smiling face and say, "Rictusempra."

Andrew rolled backwards on the floor, giggling and squirming all over to staunch the ticklish feeling all over his body. For a few minutes it was all they could do to roll around and take gasping breaths between all the giggling.

Smokey glared at them. He wanted to twitch his tail in anger but he didn't want to expose his tail.

Eventually the ticklish sensations withdrew, and with a deep sighing breath, Portia sat up again, blinked tears out of her eyes and turned to the books.

Andrew was wiping his eyes on his sleeve, as he said, "That was fun."

Then Portia said, "Oh look here's the proper word for a summoning spell like the one I did on the day I met Hagrid."

She pointed her wand at Smokey and said, "Accio." Smokey slid across the floor to her.

"Oh yes! That's helpful, make me slide all around the floor. That'll grow my fur back!" he snapped at her sarcastically.

Andrew tried it too. He pointed his wand at Smokey. "Accio." But nothing happened except for Smokey to turn and glare at him.

Andrew looked back down to his book guiltily. He said, "Here's an interesting spell -- Stupify -- the Stunning spell. We should learn that one." He looked up at Portia.

"I just don't see anything about reversing a spell that's gone wrong, or re-growing fur," Portia said. "Should we try 'Reparo'? It fixed the ladder."

Andrew just stared at her and shrugged.

She pointed her wand at Smokey and said, "Reparo!".

Smokey looked down at himself. "I don't feel any diff -- BURP!" Smokey belched loudly. "What? Now I can't ta -- BELCH! talk for burp -- BURP! -- ing? Oh this is -- BURP! -- just great! I'm -- BURP -- getting out -- BURP -- of here!"

Smokey ran out of the room. He really did look like a large grey and white rat with his skinny tail.

"BURP!"

Andrew and Portia looked at each other. They couldn't help it, they burst out laughing and fell to the floor in fits of laughter for the second time that night.

Chapter 13: Circle of Cats

Chapter Text

Portia didn't see Smokey the next day until the evening, and he was no longer burping and belching; the hair on his tail had even started to grow back. Now his tail looked close to normal, just thin. In another day his tail would be back to normal at this rate.

"Hi Smokey," she said cheerily, but he just glared at her grumpily.

"I'm really sorry about your tail. I promise I'll never practise casting spells on you ever again. Your tail looks almost normal again."

"Lucky," Smokey muttered.

They had only had one customer all evening; a scruffy man, with unkempt hair and yellow teeth, had stumbled in, ordered a beer, and then sat outside in front of the inn drinking slowly. Duncan closed up early, and Portia went to bed and lay there reading from The Standard Book of Spells, (Grade 1) but didn't get far, as she fell asleep quickly with the book open on her chest.

Smokey was genuinely relieved that his tail hair had grown back quickly; enduring snigg*rs from the other cats was not how he wanted to spend his evening, and so he went down to the main room in the middle of the night feeling less grumpy. He opened the window and in jumped Sir Boofhead, Sunshine and Tux.

Sir Boofhead had brought Guinness beer for all to share, and after pouring it into four shot glasses, which were the perfect size for cats, sat back in a chair with his feet on the table and his long tail swinging slowly below. Tux, looking stiff and proper as always, sat up straight and directly on the table, choosing not to touch his glass after sniffing the dark beer. Sunshine took a sip, and then turned to Smokey. "So, what's the news?"

Smokey proceeded to tell them all about the latest exploration and his short conversation with the dragon. When finished, he took a big gulp of beer, smacked his lips and said, "Ahh, that's not bad," as he held up the half empty glass for a closer look at the contents."

"It's something different isn't it? I like it," said Boofhead.

Tux pushed his towards Boofhead. "You can have mine," he said.

"I wonder why a dragon speaks snake?" asked Sunshine.

"I suppose they are closely related. They kind of look a bit like snakes -- they're reptiles," Tux said.

"But are dragons reptiles?" Sunshine continued.

No one knew for sure, and Boofhead drained his glass and reached for Tux's in the ensuing silence.

"What do the cards say Sunshine?" Tux asked.

Sunshine pulled out her deck of cards and started shuffling. Smokey was playing with a candle, slowly running his paw back and forth through the flame. Boofhead was watching Smokey.

She finished shuffling, slapped the deck on the table top and said, "Cut 'em."

While she took a drink, Tux picked up approximately the top half of the cards and placed them on the table beside the remainder. Sunshine took up the remainder and placed them on top of the others so there was one deck again.

They all watched as she flipped over the top card and placed it face up on the table.

"The dragon," she said.

The other three raised their eyebrows at this prescient indication. She flipped up the next card and placed it face up beside the dragon card.

"The shielded knight," she said.

Sir Boofhead was leaning back in his chair with his front paws behind his head; his large feet on the edge of the table were rocking him dangerously back on two legs. "Hmmm. No mystery here. Knight versus dragon."

She flipped the third card over, it showed the grim reaper.

"Death."

Sunshine flipped the fourth card.

"The mist of magic."

She flipped the fifth and final card and laid it beside the others.

"The fool." She sat back in her chair.

"Who's the fool?" said Sir Boofhead as he bounced ever more energetically back on two legs of his chair.

Tux stuck his head out and gave Boofhead a look. "You. If you fall off that chair and wake everybody."

Boofhead returned a withering look but nevertheless straightened the chair up and relaxed into a milder rhythm.

They sipped their drinks in silence, and by morning the table was clear and the window was shut.

Chapter 14: Diviners

Chapter Text

As Christmas approached, the weather got even colder and wetter. The skies were often covered with grey clouds threatening a drizzling freezing rain or some swirling snow. This day actually had a nice clear blue sky even though an early season snow storm had left the ground blanketed in white.

It was bitter cold as they visited Hagrid, and they wrapped their scarves tightly around their necks while squinting through the glare of the sunlight bouncing off the fresh white snow.

"I remembered something in the greenhouses . . . to show yeh. Yeh'll like this," said Hagrid.

"We will?" Portia asked dubiously, looking sideways at Andrew whose expression mirrored her own doubts. Still remembering Mimbulus Mimbletonia, whomping willows, and bowtruckles, they weren't exactly fans of entering the greenhouses.

"Sure. An' since it's almost dusk, yeh're in fer a real treat."

They listened to their feet crunching through the snow and ice on the ground, as they walked beside Hagrid. They had to add a skip to their walking to keep up with Hagrid's enormous but slow strides. They walked through a doorway they didn't remember ever passing through previously and then stopped.

"It's called a 'Longbottom Pine'," said Hagrid. "An' it only flowers in December, an' only at night. Yeh'll see wha' I mean in a mo'."

As they stood there, the air got a little duskier and the long shadows a little darker. Right in front of them stood a bright green pine tree, about eight feet tall, and perfectly shaped like a Christmas tree. From each branch hung ornamental fruit; they were little round globes that glistened in many different colours as if they were made of glass. As they watched, some of the globes began to glow, first red, then royal blue, green, yellow, and some orange. At first it was just a few, but within minutes most were glowing steadily, and then little pinpricks of light started to twinkle on the branches as if someone had sprinkled glitter on them. Soon, the whole greenhouse was bathed in its multi-coloured light.

They just stood there, all three of them smiling, their faces lit in hues of blue, green, and red.

"It's wonderful!" whispered Portia without taking her eyes from it.

"Fantastic!" added Andrew. "I wish I had one at home."

Hagrid grinned down at them.

There was a popping and fizzling sound, and a bright star shaped spark at the top of the tree burst into light, producing almost half as much light as the whole rest of the tree.

"Wow!"

After a couple of minutes, the star at the top dimmed little by little until it was merely the brightest item of the tree, and it sat there twinkling brightly.

"I thought yeh two'd like that. Professor Longbottom, a brilliant herbologist who taught at Hogwarts decades ago, created it," said Hagrid. "It'll shine like tha' till mornin' an' it'll light up each night in December."

"It's so beautiful," said Portia quietly. "I could look at it all night. I don't even feel cold when I'm near it."

"Yeah, well, we better not stand here all nigh'. Best get back indoors before summat from the forest wanders about," warned Hagrid. But they all stood there for quite a while in silence, just staring at the beautiful tree. It made them all feel very happy.

Back at the inn, over the next few days, Portia was looking forward to Christmas Day because the Hog's Head would be closed, and that meant no chores for her. She was looking forward to the vacation.

On Christmas morning, Portia woke to a mildly snowy day. She looked out her window and watched a few flakes flutter down from the sky and land on the window sill. In the kitchen, she found a package and a card on the table. The card was from her mother and read:

Merry Christmas,

I have to work the morning but we'll be together for an early dinner.

Love,

Mum.

P.S. You'll want to hang this in your window.

Hang it in her window? What could she possibly want to hang in her window? She could think of nothing.

She opened the package. A solar charger for her holophone!. "This is great!" she said out loud. No more unplugging the television or having to charge at school. With the Hog's Head in such dire financial straits she had not expected any presents, so this was indeed a nice surprise that made her very happy!

In a large metal cauldron on the benchtop, which they used as a sink, Portia found another envelope that had been opened. It was large and addressed to her mother. These days, almost nobody received messages on paper; it must be something very important. An official letter had been shoved in sideways, and she could read the heading: Foreclosure Notice. She placed the letter and envelope on the table.

Portia enjoyed a very quiet Christmas Day. She found an old tinsel string that she hung over the fireplace. Then she built up a fire (with a little help from Incendio!) and placed a chicken and some vegetables on hot coals where they slowly roasted for hours sending lovely mouth-watering smells all through the inn. She checked on it regularly and spooned juices liberally over the chicken. It was looking and smelling almost done by mid afternoon when Mrs. Smith arrived home early from her job.

Mrs. Smith said, "Mm, that smells wonderful! Good job," as she put her purse and a grocery bag on the bartop.

"Thanks for the present Mum! It's great!" Portia flew into her mother's arms. After a few moments, they separated and looked to the stairs in surprise.

They heard Duncan's voice, "We're nearly there Mum." He helped Great Auntie Flo down the last few steps where she paused and stared at Mrs. Smith and Portia.

Portia had never seen her Great Aunt Flo in any part of the inn other than her room on the fourth floor.

Great Auntie Flo was wearing a dirty brown dress that came down to her knees, thick soled leather shoes and ankle length tartan socks. Her shins were exposed and bare -- at least of clothing; they were pale and covered in black hairs. Portia couldn't stop staring, though she was repulsed at the sight. A bright pink feather boa was wrapped around her neck; her dark hair had been crudely pinned up, and she had drawn high, arching eyebrows above her eyes.

"Who are all these people?" she squawked.

Duncan, supporting her by one elbow, said loudly in her ear, "This is Annette, she was married to Darren. Remember?"

"Darren?" repeated Great Aunt Flo in confusion.

"He was in an accident, and this is their daughter. Remember Darren and Annette?" he shouted.

All Great Aunt Flo said was, "Oh." She just stood there, senescent.

"Here, let's get you started." Duncan led her to a table.

"Well," said Mrs. Smith, coming out of her state of frozen surprise, "I'll serve dinner. Portia, I can use your help while they get settled. Why don't you find a couple of bottles of wine behind the bar while I carve the chicken?"

When Portia placed a couple of dusty bottles on the table, Great Auntie Flo's face lit up. Portia went back to the kitchen; Duncan twisted a corkscrew into a wine bottle, as Great Aunt Flo eagerly held out a glass to be filled. When Portia returned, carrying a large bowl of roasted potatoes, Great Aunt Flo was finishing her first glass, and Duncan wasn't far behind.

The meal was quite enjoyable. The food was sumptuous, and Flo's face flushed redder and redder, as she consumed glass after glass of wine. It turned out the grocery bag Mrs. Smith had brought home was filled with tinsel and Christmas crackers. Great Aunt Flo joyfully insisted on pulling the crackers, and soon she was wearing two hats: a red paper cap, which perched on top of her hair, and a wide green crown that slipped down to hang around her chin. Portia wore an orange crown that appeared when Great Aunt Flo pulled a cracker with her that opened with a rather lame 'pop'. (Great Aunt Flo emitted a shrill squawk of surprise each time this happened.) Uncle Duncan wore the largest of all hats that came out of one of the crackers: a giant gold crown with red and green coloured paper jewels.

Finally, Portia sat back, feeling happily content with a stomach full of roast chicken and potatoes; Mrs. Smith had her elbows on the table slowly swirling her second small glass of wine; Duncan sat back patting his round stomach with his crown threatening to fall over his eyebrows; Great Aunt Flo was sucking on a drumstick after having chewed the cartilage off the ends.

Great Aunt Flo pulled the drumstick out and belched loudly.

"Bett'r out than in, I always say," she squawked, and then, giggling, she put down the drumstick and picked up her half full wine glass. Her eyes were glazed over, as she raised the glass and tried to tip the wine into her mouth, but her whole body was sliding to the side, almost in slow motion. She spilled the wine on herself and the table, and slid right off her chair, onto the floor, still giggling.

"Mum!" shouted Duncan, and he struggled to his feet and stumbled to her, while Portia and Mrs. Smith looked on in surprise. He pulled her up by one of her arms. She was giggling and still trying to get the wine glass to her lips, however there was little wine in it now.

"Let's get you up to your room," Duncan slurred. "Come on now."

Together they managed to stumble to the stairs and slowly make their way up.

Portia and her mother spent the rest of the evening sitting in front of the fire drinking warm cider and watching the snow flakes fall gently outside the windows.

"Mum?"

"Mhmm?"

"What does foreclosure mean?"

Her mother looked at her sharply. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I saw the letter . . . in the kitchen . . ." Portia felt guilty as she added, "I only read the first line, I promise."

"Well, never mind," her mother replied. "The truth is the inn isn't doing well . . . haven't had anyone book a room in months . . ." She trailed off, as she sipped her drink and watched the snow fall past the window. "But don't worry about a thing; it's Christmas!" She added, almost in an undertone to herself, ". . . it'll never happen." Portia noticed her mother didn't sound so confident though.

Portia didn't want the day to end, but they were both yawning by 9 pm and her mother had another early work day. Portia said good night, and they both headed for bed, leaving a mess on the table for Portia to clean up in the morning.

Portia went to bed that night feeling warm and happy and fell asleep while looking at her new solar panels hanging in her window.

She woke up suddenly; she sat up in bed, eyes wide and peering around her room, her heart beating fast and strong in her chest. What was that?

She dared not breathe, as she strained her ears in the silence.

Then a sound like the crack of a whip right outside her bedroom door made her nearly jump out of her skin, but she managed to stifle a scream before it came out her mouth.

"Are we in the right place?" whispered a hoarse voice.

"Think so. We'll see in a minute," replied a gravelly voice.

Portia gripped the blankets very tightly around herself and stared at her door. The voices sounded just the other side. Then she heard a very unexpected whisper --

"Lumos!"

She could see light coming through the gap under her door.

"Just a hallway -- you sure this is right?"

"Ha!" barked gravelly voice. "What a dump! But yeah I think it might be. Can't you feel it?"

"No. Not really," said hoarse voice.

Whoever they were, they were less cautious in their whispering, and their voices were above a whisper. And one of them used Lumos! Were they wizards? With wands?

"And you call yourself a diviner. Tut. Tut."

A diviner? Portia wondered.

"Aldous, you know as well as I, sometimes you can feel the magic and sometimes you can't," hoarse voice argued defensively. "I think you've led us to the wrong place."

"No. I can feel it. Cast the pointing spell."

A word was uttered, which she couldn't fully hear, followed by a moment of silence. Portia began to relax a little. If they were magical like her, maybe they were here to help her?

"See? What'd I tell ya?"

"By Potter's scar! It's pointing that way all right!"

"Yep. Let's go." And there was a swishing sound like someone was rubbing their hands together.

"What if they're not all asleep? What if we run into someone?" asked hoarse voice.

"Then we blast them," chuckled the one called Aldous.

Portia froze. She didn't like the idea of getting blasted.

"Oh I don't know . . . "

"C'mon, just keep your wand ready."

The two wizards moved off, and the light under her door dimmed. A floorboard creaked loudly, and she could again hear them arguing in loud whispers.

"Watch out! Are you trying to wake the whole place?"

"It's not like I can spot a squeaky floorboard!"

"OK. Come on but do try to be quiet!"

She heard them reach the stairs at the end of the hall.

Slipping silently out of bed and padding around in her socks, she followed them and was careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard, as she was quite familiar with it.

Reaching the stairwell, she paused to listen. It sounded like they were going right down to the ground floor, as they muttered about following 'where it was pointing'.

She crept downstairs and saw the wizards disappearing behind the bar and up the stairs to the sitting room.

She followed.

The sitting room door was open. Portia stood in a dark corner of the landing and observed through the doorway.

The two wizards were too excited to contain their voices to mere whispers anymore. They had their backs to her and were staring around the sitting room. Aldous, with the gravelly voice, was a bit shorter and wider and held a brightly lit wand; the other hoarse voiced wizard was holding a wand that was pulsing a sickly green light as he pointed it around the room.

"This is it! Where it all began! Look! You can sense the magical footprint from the past! The room has known magic!" Portia thought, Oh no. Were they going to discover the Portrait? And the secret tunnel? She glanced down and saw two gleaming eyes. Smokey had silently joined her; he turned his eyes to also watch what was going on in the sitting room.

"It all fits! This is where it all started to go wrong for moldy Voldy! This was the room. This is where the prophecy was made! And we found it." Aldous chuckled and held out an arm to squeeze the shoulder of the other. "We did it! Didn't I tell you?"

The taller man gave a mocking bow to his companion, raising both arms in mock praise, as he said, "I humble myself before the great diviner, Aldous Bletchley." He stood back up, gazing around the room. "I can't believe it. But it does feel right. I can just imagine them sitting in the armchairs and the aura of this room triggers the seeing . . . " He broke off. "Why does this room have an aura?"

"Maybe it was annointed with dragon or unicorn blood," replied Aldous. "Maybe this whole place is built on sacred ground? Who knows? Who cares?"

"But it's really strong. I can feel the hairs on my neck. It's as if we're being watched."

"Oh go on with your imagination, you scaredy cat. I tell you what, this is where she prophesized his downfall, and that started the whole thing. We are standing right at the beginning!"

There was a pause.

Then Aldous said, "You still got that memory?"

The taller, hoarse-voiced man reached into his cloak and withdrew something small and showed it to him. "Yeah, got it right here." He shook it. "Looking a little murky though."

"Make sure you don't lose it. Without it, this is all for nothing."

The taller man put it back inside his robe. Portia suddenly realized these two men were not wearing normal clothes but wizard robes!

"When did you say we'd do it?" asked tall hoarse voice.

"The night of alignment. We must practice the spells, and with the extra magical aid of Mars and Jupiter aligned with the moon, it'll be like we were there. He's gonna love it!"

"Well I sure hope he appreciates what we're doing."

"Oh, he will, don't worry, he will."

"What'd'ya think he'll do to this place afterwards?"

"The same thing he does to any place of residual magic -- destroy it. Ha ha," chortled Aldous. "This place and everyone in it will be gone!" He swung a hand out in a cutting, sweeping motion. "Razed to the ground."

Hoarse voice was snigg*ring and guffawing. "Spray it with bubotuber pus and burn it down."

Portia and Smokey were staring into each other's eyes, horrified.

Still laughing, the shorter wizard said, "Let's go." And with a sound like the crack of a whip he vanished. Another loud whip crack and the other wizard vanished, leaving them in complete darkness and shock.

Chapter 15: Diagon Alley

Chapter Text

Portia worried all the next week about the spooky visit from the two wizards, but when they didn't return she began to wonder if she'd dreamt the whole thing. Feeling relaxed, Portia started a nice hot roaring fire in the sitting room. She slouched sideways across an armchair, one leg over the side arm, as she read parts of Hogwarts, A History out loud to Smokey.

Every now and then, she reached into the "Floo" tin, took a pinch of the green powder, and tossed it into the fire, enjoying the sight of the flames shooting up high and giving the room a whole emerald green cast. Each time she did this, Smokey, who was warming himself on the hearth, glared at her.

"Do you have to do that?" he grumped.

"What?"

"Throw that stuff in the fire."

"What? It makes the fire look extra pretty," she said a little defensively.

"It makes the fire feel a lot colder," he complained.

"What? Does it? What do you mean?"

"Everytime you throw some of that green powder in there, the fire stops being warm," Smokey explained. "And I don't like it. I like the warmth."

"Really? It actually gets cold?" Portia swung her leg around and sat up straight.

"Yes. Really," snapped Smokey.

She stood up, got close to the fire to feel the emanating warmth, and threw some floo powder into it. Smokey was right! As the flames turned emerald green and reared up as tall as she, she could feel the warmth vanish. She held her hands out and tentatively put them in the green flames; they didn't burn! But after a few seconds, the fire returned to its normal colour and began to produce copious heat again.

For the next few minutes, she had fun (much to Smokey's consternation -- he glared at her with his ears back). She would put a pinch of floo powder in the fire, then step inside the emerald flames and read a couple sentences out loud to Smokey from Hogwarts, A History.

"This is fun!" she giggled.

Portia grabbed a handful of green floo powder, threw it into the fire and stepped into the cool, green flames. She turned to the next page in the book and found a small pamphlet someone had been using as a book mark. She picked it up and read the title out loud: "Welcome to Diagon Alley". All of a sudden, she began to spin. The book and pamphlet were ripped from her hands, and she tried to call out, as the last thing she saw was a warped image of Smokey, mouth open in surprise, before all went black. Her head was spinning. Her hands and elbows were hitting something hard, and she clutched them close to her body. She felt suffocated, as her body was squeezed tightly. She felt like she was going to be sick. And then the spinning stopped; she fell forward onto a stone floor and hit her head.

Groaning, she stared at the stone block an inch under her nose and felt the bruises developing along her arms from the battering she had endured. She had a lump on her forehead where she had landed on the stone.

"What was that? And where am I?" she wondered aloud.

She seemed to be in an old store. Large windows, glass long gone, gave her a view onto a street with what looked like many abandoned storefronts.

Slowly she got up and looked down at herself; she was covered in soot from head to toe. She rubbed her itchy eyes, but that just made things worse. She tried brushing off the soot, but half the soot stuck to her clothes. The fireplace she had fallen out of was stone cold.

Her heart hammering with a little anxiety now, she stepped out of the store and into the street. There was no traffic and no people; she was all alone.

The broken sign above the store said "Florea . . . cue . . ce Cream". It had been abandoned for a very long time; it looked terrible.

"What is this place? Is it part of Hogwarts?"

She slowly meandered down the street looking at the broken storefront windows and reading what signs there were. One was called "Robes for All Occ . . ." and another "Flour . . . And Blot . . ." She walked into these shops, but they were all quite empty, devoid of people and harbouring a great amount of dust and a sense of decay.

Presently she came to an area where the shops were just piles of brick and rubble. One solitary shop remained relatively undamaged, and the window still had glass in it. In the window was a crumbly cushion of indeterminate colour, and in large peeling gold letters, the sign read, "Ollivander's".

Moving on, she saw a large white building in the distance. Reaching it, she read, "Gringotts" on a large white block that had fallen from the roof and landed at an oblique angle. She didn't try to go inside, as it looked like the ceiling had completely collapsed.

She turned around to walk back down the street and saw, in the distance, a person!

It was Hagrid.

She hurried toward him. He was hurrying towards her, breathing heavily and limping with his walking stick in one hand and his other hand tightly clutching his umbrella.

"There . . . yeh . . . are . . . " Hagrid panted heavily as they got closer. "Thank . . . goodness . . . "

"Oh Hagrid, I'm so glad you're here. I think I'm lost. I walked into the fireplace when it was green and I got sort of sucked into it somehow and then I fell over. I think I passed out. And when I woke up I was in this strange place. Is this part of Hogwarts or something?" She said all this very quickly without taking a breath. Meanwhile, it gave Hagrid time to catch his breath.

"Nah. This isn' part of Hogwar's," he wheezed, leaning over on his staff. He coughed. He pulled out a tablecloth sized handkerchief and covered his mouth while he was seized by a fit of coughing.

His coughing subsided, and he could breathe well enough again to say, "Tha's better."

He looked down at her. "Phew. I'm no' as young as I used ter be. An' no yeh're not in Hogwarts, yeh're in Diagon Alley. Yeh're abou' a thousand miles away from Hogwarts."

Portia stared at him. "What?"

"This used ter be a real lively place full o' wizards doin' their bankin' an' buyin' stuff like cauldrons, owls, wands, flying brooms for Quidditch . . . yeh know -- yeh could buy everythin' a wizard needed."

She just gaped at him.

"Now look at it." He glanced at some of the nearby empty shops and buildings that were falling down. "Everythin' destroyed, no' a wizard in sight, bin like this fer decades."

"Did you say Diagon Alley? That was what I read on that pamphlet. But how did I get here?" she asked.

"Floo powder."

"Floo powder?"

"Yeah. Used ter be a common way fer wizards to travel. Yeh throw some in a fire - it has ter be in a fireplace - and when the flames are green, yeh step in the fire, say the name of where yeh're goin' an' it whisks yeh away an' takes yeh there." Hagrid was brushing soot from the front of his coat.

"That green powder in the tin is Floo powder? We thought it just made the fire green and pretty."

"Well never mind that now," said Hagrid and he looked around and up at the sky as if expecting something bad to befall them. "We should get outta here. Dunno who might be watchin'."

Hagrid started shambling down the alley leaning heavily on his staff. Portia took two or three steps to one of his. She felt much happier and safer now that he was with her.

"I still don't understand Hagrid, how did you know I was here?"

"Yeh cat, Smokey, he's real smart. Came runnin' into meh cabin, yowlin' an' meowin'. 'Course I couldn' understand 'im, but I knew somethin' were wrong, an' I grabbed meh umbrella an' followed 'im down the tunnel. Wasn' easy gettin' out t' other end, the portrait hole over yer mantel isn' really designed fer someone like me." He looked a little sheepish as he added, "An' I might 'ave broke the armchair when I stepped on it . . .

"An' Smokey kep' pointin' ter the pamphlet on the floor an' the fire in the fireplace. I guessed what must've 'appened, an' so I took what were left of the floo powder an' threw it in the fire. It weren' easy gettin' squeezed inter the fireplace but I managed, an' I told it Diagon Alley."

He shuddered. "I don' like travellin' the floo network, I always feel like I'm gonna suffocate or get stuck in the exit."

"It was terrible." She showed him the cuts and bruises on her arms and elbows. "I think it knocked me out 'cuz I woke up on the stone hearth in an old store."

Hagrid glanced at her forehead. "An' I can see yeh got a real nice bump on yer head there, better hope that don' give yeh a couple o' black eyes from it an all. Yep, an' when I saw all the new soot on the floor, that's how I knew I was right an' that yeh mus' be here somewhere."

They had arrived at a marble statue, or what was left of one. Hagrid stopped and stared, and then his shoulders shook, and tears started flowing down his cheeks.

"Hagrid what's the matter?" Portia asked in concern.

"He . . . he wa' one o' the best," Hagrid shuddered and sniffed, " . . . the bravest . . . " He leaned on his staff and Portia. "A great wizard," he blubbered.

Under the arm of Hagrid's great coat she read the plinth -- "The boy who lived, The wizard who died, The man who gave all, We shall never forget." Standing on the plinth, carved beautifully in marble, was the body of a wizard wearing robes. The head and one of the arms was missing.

Hagrid fumbled for his handkerchief and blew his nose. "Ah, don' mind me," he said between sobs. "See, this is why I don' come to places like this no more, too many things remin' me of good times an' sad times." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Who was the statue of?"

"Harry Potter," said Hagrid. He didn't add anything more; he just turned away and started walking again.

Now they arrived at an old brick archway at one end of Diagon Alley.

Hagrid tapped the wall behind the arch with his umbrella, and it melted away to reveal a short, dirty alleyway, into which they stepped. Hagrid led her into a back door, and she found herself inside an empty, very old pub.

"The Leaky Cauldron," said Hagrid. "It were famous in it's day, but look at it now -- destroyed."

As Portia looked around the dim interior it was just debris -- broken floorboards, crumbling plaster walls, demolished fireplace and mantel, and the splintered remains of a once beautiful old bar were lying in a pile on the floor with bits of broken glass and chunks of ceramic. Is this what the Hog's Head would look like if they couldn't pay the debt? she wondered. Would she and her mother have to live in someplace like this?

"I used ter stop in fer a drink now an' then." They paused to take in the grim surroundings. "Oh well, front door's over 'ere."

Portia followed, and they stepped out onto a busy street full of people walking purposefully to somewhere.

"See?" Hagrid pointed back the way they had come. Over the entrance, in very faded letters were the words 'The Leaky Cauldron', just barely visible after many years of neglect and weather.

Hagrid formed a large island in the current of pedestrians that broke and swirled around him on the street. Portia just had to stand on the lee side of him to be fully protected out of the way.

It didn't appear like any of the people even looked at The Leaky Cauldron or noticed it was there.

"Um, Hagrid?" she asked timidly.

"Hmm?"

"Is this really London?"

"Yep."

The magnitude of just how far she was from home was beginning to sink in, and she was scared.

"How . . . how are we g-going to get home?" she stammered.

"To be hones', I hadn' thought that far ahead. I was jus' worried abou' findin' yeh first."

Portia looked at his ancient, white umbrella. "Can't you do some magic to send us back?"

"What, Apparate? Nah, I never passed meh test. An' we can't use floo powder, I used the rest just to follow yeh here," Hagrid rasped.

"Can we buy floo powder?" Portia didn't sound very hopeful as she asked this question.

"Dunno of any place that sells it. Diagon Alley would've bin the place to buy it, an' yeh've seen what that's like," he replied, watching the pedestrians walk past.

"Where does floo powder come from anyway? Can you make it? Or do you just find it somehow like mining for gold and silver?"

"Er, I don' know exactly. Bu' I think yeh have to make it an' do some spells on it an' stuff," said Hagrid, as they began to meander along the street.

"Maybe Egypt," Hagrid continued. "Maybe floo powder comes from Egypt," he said slowly and thoughtfully. "I think I remember someone sayin' the ancient Egyptian wizards discovered it. But they died out thousands of years ago."

"Oh," said Portia unhelpfully.

"Pity we don' 'ave any of them around eh?" He gave her a warm comforting smile.

They were both silent in thought for a while as they sauntered along, came to a corner, and crossed the street when the traffic lights changed. Portia had to guide Hagrid across because as he put it, he didn't understand the red and green colours, and why did Muggles have to make traffic lights so complicated?

"This is London right?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well I think it has a museum where they have displays of ancient Egypt -- mummies and stuff -- maybe they would have information on how they made floo powder?"

"What's a museum?"

"It's a big building full of old stuff for the public to view."

"Never heard of it. An' yeh say they've got old Egyptian stuff there?"

"I think so. I remember seeing it advertised but I've never been to a museum."

"Well, we can try it," mumbled Hagrid. "Where is it?"

Portia had never been to London and had no idea where anything was, but her holophone was working, and in no time at all she was describing that it was a few blocks away, assuming Hagrid's knees could hold out that long.

"Ar, a little pain never hurt no-one."

"Oh," Portia said, "and my holophone says the museum is free. That's lucky because I don't have much money."

A while later, they were entering the front doors of the museum, as tourists of all kinds stared at Hagrid. It was a huge stone building with high ceilings and many floors, corridors, and exhibits.

"This is all free?" asked Hagrid, staring around the museum entrance. "I've really got to give Muggles more credit . . . the things they do without magic . . ."

They set off for the section on ancient Egypt, passing first through the section on dinosaurs.

Hagrid and Portia stood in front of a huge skeleton while Hadrid slowly read the placard in front of them.

"B-ron-'o-sor-us," Hagrid slowly read. "Lived during the somethin' or other period . . .

"Nah. I tell yeh Portia, the Muggles 'ave got it wrong. Now I'm not saying they haven't got some of it right -- sure there've been lo's o' creatures that've died out over the years. But this one's definitely wrong. It's been mixed up. That there is the body of a dragon, a Norwegian Ridgeback -- yeh can tell by the ridges along the spine. Those Pal-o-logists -"

"Paleontologists," she said for him.

"Yeah them, they got this wrong. The neck is about the right length but the skull is way too small fer a Ridgeback." Hagrid looked around as if he were looking for a museum paleontologist to complain to.

"I'm pretty sure the staff knew what they were doing when they put this together," argued Portia confidently.

Hagrid was still looking around.

"Now tha's more like the skull of a dragon, and i's about the righ' size fer a Norwegian too," said Hagrid, moving over to a large dinosaur exhibit. "See what they call this? Tran-osor-us."

Portia read the plate. "Tyrannosaurus. It ate meat. It preyed on all the other dinosaurs."

Hagrid was shaking his head. "Nah, tha's the skull of a Ridgeback, I know when I seen one, bu' they put it on the body of somethin' else. An' this is all wrong anyway, see those tiny fore-arms? That don' make any sense. Such a large creature never had such tiny front legs."

Portia had to admit, looking up at the skeleton, that it did look pretty ridiculous to have such a large body and head, but tiny little arms.

In a loud voice that made people look at them in shock, Hagrid said, "The Muggles really messed up eh?" Some of the Muggles gave him a sidelong glance, and muttering, left the room. A pimpled teenager mumbled something to his friend, who looked shiftily at Hagrid and snigg*red. Portia thought she heard the word 'neanderthal'.

Breathing heavily, Hagrid shuffled back to the Brontosaurus. "An' see up there near the shoulders, there should be attachment points fer the wings." He pointed upwards with his umbrella.

Hagrid spied a Pteranodon across the room and puffed his way over closer to it and read: "P-tera-no-don."

"The 'P' is silent," she explained.

"Wha'?"

"You're not supposed to pronounce the 'P' part. It's silent."

"Why pu' it there then?" Hagrid looked surprised. Portia had no good answer for this; she had always wondered the same. Words like these did not exist in modern English, but dinosaurs had been named back when Old English was still in use.

"Now these wings are abou' right - they might belong on tha' big skeleton - the Bronto."

They wandered back to stand in front of the placard that read 'Brontosaurus'.

"But Hagrid, these aren't just bones. They're fossils and they're millions of years old. They're made of stone." She thought she had him cornered with a very logical argument and basic fact.

"Well of course they are." Hagrid looked down at her with his eyebrows raised but not surprised at all. "They're powerful magical creatures. How d'yeh expect 'em to be impervious to magic if their bones weren' made of stone?"

At that, Portia stared back at the bones on display with new found respect. Could Hagrid be correct? Had the Muggles made a mistake? Hagrid did know an awful lot about magical creatures.

The next gallery they entered was full of artifacts, relics, and stone statues from ancient Egypt.

Some of the statues were life sized and some were enormous -- bigger even than Hagrid! They were all statues of important wizards called Pharoahs; some were portrayed standing and holding special long wands; some were seated on huge granite thrones.

"Ah. Im'otep," Hagrid commented, as Portia read from a placard explaining how the pyramids were built. "I've heard of 'im. He's famous fer what he did an' the magical discoveries he made." He scratched his ear, "I forget what those discoveries was . . . I never paid much attention in meh History of Magic classes."

"Well, it says he was the mastermind behind designing and building the pyramids. It also says they don't know exactly how the pyramids were built or how they got such large cut stones so perfectly aligned. The biggest pyramid was for a Pharoah named Khufu; he was a famous Pharoah. It was a tomb to bury him in when he was dead."

Hagrid scoffed. "All that, just to bury a dead wizard? Nah, yeh can be sure he had a good reason fer building a pyramid. Somethin' magical I bet."

"An' as fer 'em not knowing 'ow it was built, well it's obvious innit?"

"What's obvious?" she asked with a tiny smile of amusem*nt.

"Magic. That's what."

"But . . . " she stammered.

"Blimey, the things Muggles come up with to ignore magic." Some of the nearby people gave him a sharp look.

"Well they say slaves or builders built long ramps and they pulled the blocks up on oiled sleds," Portia read from the display.

Hagrid guffawed loudly causing everyone nearby to stare at him. "A hover charm. An' there's always Wingardium Leviosa. Yeh get ten or twelve wizards aroun' one o' those two hundred ton blocks -- lift it easy . . . An' they might've 'ad help from the giants . . . "

Portia, seeing some of the incredulous looks on people's faces, steered him further along the gallery so as to attract less attention. Though she wasn't sure how successful she could be at attracting less attention, given that Hagrid was so large he looked like he could pick up the huge stones single-handedly.

Now they were looking at sarcophagi and mummies wrapped in ancient cloth.

"That's kind of gross and scary looking, you can see their skulls and teeth and eye sockets," she said with a shiver.

"Eh, what's them?" Hagrid pointed to some large stone jars inside the glass displays.

"Canopic jars," she read. "The dried up remains of the mummy organs."

Hagrid was looking excited. "They look like floo powder pots."

"You think?"

"Keep a lookout . . ."

Hagrid looked left and right; no-one else was too near. He tapped the glass with his faded umbrella, and the glass vanished! With one giant hand, he picked up one of the large jars, lifted the top, and peered inside.

"Sure looks like floo powder," he said. "Here hold meh coat pocket open."

She glanced desperately around to see if they were being watched, then pulled out his large pocket. Hagrid upended the jar, tipping the contents into his pocket. A dusty powder poured out of the jar in a rush. A lot of it went into Hagrid's coat pocket, but a lot of it missed; it ran down his coat and hit the floor where it rose up in the air currents, forming a small cloud around them. Portia started coughing and let go of the pocket. Hagrid put the lid on the jar and sat it back in the display.

"Hagrid, we've got to get out of here. We're going to get in such trouble!"

Hagrid was brushing dust off his coat, which just added more dust to the cloud.

"What about the glass? Can you put the glass back?" Portia spluttered.

"Don' know how to do that," said Hagrid.

They quickly moved out of the gallery, leaving dusty footprints. Portia was half covered in dust, and Hagrid tried to help brush her off but only succeeded in knocking her over. They looked mostly clean as they exited the museum.

Across the street was an ice cream vendor. Hagrid looked out the corner of his eye at Portia.

"Wha'd'yeh think?"

As they waited in line to buy ice cream, Portia noticed an old peeling poster on the wall. It pictured a man in a suit and had the words, "Vote Caestor Fairbrother: For the Greater Good" written across it. The man had very cold eyes.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Hagrid just grunted, "Uh, some important Muggle I expec'."

When they reached the head of the line, they ordered, and Portia held her breath as she held her holophone up to the electronic reader. I hope there's enough money in my account. When the device gave a reassuring beep to indicate that payment had been successful, she smiled up at Hagrid. Hagrid smiled too, possibly because he had just been handed his ice cream, which looked very tasty.

Moments later, they were enjoying their raspberry and peanut butter ice creams and walking along the streets, back to the Leaky Cauldron. Hagrid led her through it, tapped the wall in the back alley, and instead of being in the hustling streets of London, they were now in empty, deserted, Diagon Alley.

"C'mon. I'm no' lookin' forward ter this mind yeh."

They entered the store with the fireplace they had come through. Hagrid pointed his umbrella at the fireplace and with a bang, a crackling fire came to life.

"Now, this time, say 'Hog's Head Inn' when yeh're in the fire. Here take a pinch of floo powder." He held his pocket open. She grabbed some powder and threw it into the fire whose flames rose up high and bright green.

"Oh. An' remember ter keep yeh elbows tucked in. Don' fall."

Portia stepped into the cool flames. "Hog's Head Inn." Everything swirled in her vision. The ash churned around her; she couldn't breathe, and then, feeling like she was about to be squeezed to death, she popped out of the fireplace in the sitting room, landing on all fours.

Coughing, she crawled away from the hearth and sat up. Moments later, Hagrid tumbled, nearly doubled over, out of the fireplace. His knees gave way, and he sat on the floor in the middle of the room holding his head as if to stop it spinning.

Smokey was there. "I brought up a mug of ale. I suspected you might need it."

Portia retrieved the mug and handed it to Hagrid.

"Ta."

Hagrid downed the ale.

"Ahh. Tha's better." Hagrid closed his eyes.

Smokey was looking anxiously between Hagrid and Portia. "Are you OK? What happened?"

Portia didn't quite know how they did it, but Hagrid was in no shape to climb over the mantel into the portrait hole, and somehow, with help from Smokey, she managed to get Hagrid down the stairs and out the back kitchen door, where he set out under the cloak of darkness for his cave up in the mountains.

Chapter 16: The Three Broomsticks

Chapter Text

Portia woke the next morning to her mother hammering on the door.

"Portia! I've got to leave now. Remember, today's a school day. Don't be late."

Portia had no memory of getting into bed; she had been so tired.

"OK Mum." As her mother's footsteps faded, she gave a small groan and half sat up, half rolled out from the covers and started to head to the bathroom.

"Uh oh," said Smokey, who was sitting on the floor looking up at her.

"And a good morning to you too," she replied snippily.

Smokey shut his mouth. And waited.

A scream came from the bathroom; Portia came running back into her room.

"OMG Smokey! My face! My eyes!"

"Yeah," said Smokey. "Getting hit in the middle of your forehead can give you two black eyes." He ignored her 'OMG'.

She sat on her bed, her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

"Doesn't happen to cats," Smokey added unhelpfully.

"Great. Just great. Everyone's gonna laugh at me."

. . .

Portia kept her head down as she entered the classroom; she kept her eyes on the floor and her feet, and when she took her seat, she stared at her desk, hoping nobody would look at her. She gave very skirting glances around to see if anybody was watching.

The mathematics teacher, Mr. Goodman, was writing equations on the board and asking students to solve them.

Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. She thought over and over. If she didn't make eye contact, he wouldn't ask her.

And then he did.

"Portia! How would you solve this?"

She quickly glanced up to see the board, and then looked back down and tried to hide her face behind a fringe of hair.

"Uh oh!" said Mr. Goodman. "What happened to you?"

Everyone in the class turned to look at her.

Again, she had no choice but to look up at him and answer. Clearly he had noticed her black eyes. He just had to call attention to my face. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? she thought to herself. Out loud she mumbled, "Accident".

"She looks like a raccoon!" blurted a boy named David.

The class roared with laughter.

Portia glared at him through her eyebrows.

"Oops. I don't think she thought that was very funny," said the teacher.

She glared at the teacher's back as he turned back to the blackboard.

For the rest of the day Portia avoided looking at anyone, hid her face behind her hair as much as possible, and nearly ran home when the final bell rang.

. . .

"Portia!"

Portia jumped. She had been having a lovely daydream while sitting in her room at her table and just staring out the window. She supposed she ought to be doing some homework, but she just could not motivate herself. Then, hearing her name being called broke her out of her reverie.

"Portia!" There it was again; her mother was calling from downstairs.

"I'm coming Mum!"

Slowly, and without much motivation because while she didn't want to do homework, she didn't really want to have to do anything else; she pushed her chair back and stood up. Smokey, sleeping in a ball on the windowsill, stayed right where he was, warm, comfortable and relaxed.

Oh to have the life of a cat, Portia thought enviously.

Downstairs, she found her mother mixing ingredients in a large pot, preparing soup for the evening. Portia sidled into the kitchen with her hair swinging over her eyes, looking down at the floor. She didn't want to have to try and explain how she got two black eyes to her mother.

"I've run out of milk to thin the soup," said Mrs. Smith. She ladled some up and let it glop back into the pot with a splash. Portia gave a brief, inward sigh of relief; her mother had her back to her as she spoke.

"Be a sweetie and go get some for me. Try that shop next door that just opened, they look like they sell everything, they might have some."

"What about money?"

"Take some money from my purse -- it's on the counter."

"And hurry back," her mother yelled to her retreating back as she left.

Well this wasn't too bad of a chore; it wasn't homework, and it wasn't scrubbing pots or pans or floors.

Portia wandered to the store next door. It didn't even have a proper sign over the shop. A number of large white cardboard pieces had been taped to the inside of the windows. On one was written, in large black lettering, 'Fuddlemint's' and across two more pieces was written, 'A Wee Bit O' Everything'.

She pushed on the door, and a bell tinkled.

She stepped into a very quiet shop, so quiet and muffled that it felt like a library. The shop was stacked with all sorts of unusual items; there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it all. It really was 'a bit of everything'.

One shelf held a stack of some kind of ancient electronic gadget -- 'VCRs' (whatever those were). Potted plants hung from another shelf in slings made from rough macrame. There were boxes of old postcards, pens and keychains. A rack of used, second hand clothing hung on a portable rack with wheels. Plastic toys and cloth dolls cluttered some more shelves. The store was packed from floor to ceiling, and the aisles were very narrow to walk down.

She gazed around at all this stuff, not seeing anything she actually wanted but finding it all very interesting. There was an ancient looking old clock covered in a thick layer of dust. At least she thought it was a clock. It looked like one of those old analog clocks from the past century with two hands pointing to twelve numbers around the edge. She had seen such things in very old holos, except this one had about ten hands, all frozen at different angles, and instead of numbers, it had words like 'home', 'work', and 'travelling', written around the edge. The glass face was cracked, and she couldn't read what was at the very top because most of the hands were pointing at the number twelve position. She stepped closer and put her face right up close to read, 'mortal peril'.

"Mortal peril?" she muttered to herself.

She pulled her head back, as she heard noises from the back of the store; it sounded like someone was moving around.

She moved further down the aisle. There were no shelves here, just old chairs and furniture stacked up that looked like they came from the past century.

Then there were more shelves. The lower shelves were filled with cardboard boxes crammed full of all sorts of objects. The boxes were crumbly and torn, water damaged, and more than a few looked like they had holes chewed in them. It certainly was not a good way to display merchandise to any customers. How could anyone tell what was in the boxes, and why would they risk touching such dirty things?

As she neared the counter, an item caught her attention. It was a large glass globe like a crystal ball. It was beautifully clean and clear. She picked it up and held it up close to her face. She could see the reflection of her nose, the windows, and the overhead lights, and also, it looked like a little person was inside moving around. Now the person in the glass seemed to be walking and growing in size. It was a woman.

"Hullo," said the person.

Portia jumped and nearly let go of the orb. Looking around, she saw the store owner, and she replaced the orb back on the shelf.

"What can I . . . Oh my! What happened to your eyes?" asked the shopkeeper with wide eyes.

"Hit my head," Portia mumbled.

"You've got some beauty of a pair of black eyes! Well what can I do for you?" asked the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper was a middle-aged lady with a kind, cheery disposition.

"Oh . . . um . . . my mother sent me next door . . . to ask if you sold milk," Portia stuttered. She fidgeted with the pound notes in her hand.

"Well, I only sell unique bits and bobs, collectibles, vintage things, sundries . . . wait, did you say next door?"

Portia nodded.

"Then you must be the new owners of the Hog's Head? I heard rumours about new owners," she smiled at Portia. "What's your name?"

"Oh . . . um . . . " Caught off guard about such a simple thing, Portia had to think about it for a second.

"Portia . . . Smith."

"I'm Penny. Penny Fuddlemint and this is my shop. We're neighbours! I've been so busy opening the shop I haven't had time to stop in."

"Oh," said Portia.

"Try the Three Broomsticks up the street. They're not exactly a grocery but they should be able to sell you some milk."

"OK," said Portia.

Something chimed in the back of the store. "Oh, that'll be my online order system . . . I must go . . ." Mrs. Fuddlement turned to the back room. Mrs. Fuddlemint called over her shoulder, "I'll stop in later at the inn and say Hi."

With a tinkle of the door bell, Portia exited Mrs. Fuddlemint's shop and traipsed up the street.

After a couple of blocks, she came to a nice, clean looking pub. She squinted up at the sign -- 'The Three Broomsticks'. There was even a bas-relief carving of three broomsticks beside the lettering.

Portia entered. She paused inside the door for a moment and squinted around. It hurt her eyes to squint. There was a nice cheery fire crackling in a large fireplace. Round tables, polished wooden stools, and chairs were spread across the room. All around the edges of the room were rectangular tables in comfortable booths. A young cleanly shaven man was standing behind the bar polishing the shiny bartop, and a young woman was weaving between the tables, carrying a tray of drinks to one of the few tables that had customers seated around it.

What a nice place! I bet the roof doesn't leak and I bet they have hot water, she thought. Why couldn't they have inherited The Three Broomsticks? She'd much rather live there. She took a furtive step towards the man at the bar.

The young man looked up, "Wow! You got some black eyes! I know, I know, I should see the other guy right?"

Portia just smiled at the lame humour.

She was still holding the pound notes rolled up in her hand. She asked, "Do you sell milk?"

"I think we have some in the back room."

As she waited, she could overhear some men talking at a nearby table. There was the gentle thud of a glass being placed back on the table, and then a voice said, "Well fellas, looks like the Hog's Head is about bankrupt. How're you all doing with your parts?"

Portia jerked at hearing this. Bankrupt? The Hog's Head? She didn't fully know what it meant but she knew it wasn't good.

"Oh yeah. I've been doing what ya told me. I stand down the street and hand out those free meal and drink cards to people so they go someplace else. They seem right happy too."

"Excellent. Well done. And as promised, here is your earnings."

Portia glanced cautiously around and saw a man in a suit. She could only see the back of him, and he handed a thick fold of cash to another across the table. The man across the table had long hair and wore t-shirt and jeans. He smiled as he took the money.

"Thanks Mr. W. I might be willin' to buy the next round at this rate."

"Just keep up what you're doing and I'll have more for you. And how about you Johnson?"

A really scruffy man in an old long coat sat next to the long haired man. He might have been a homeless person. His coat was riddled with holes, his hair was unkempt, and he looked like he hadn't bathed in a long time. He looked vaguely familiar; Portia wondered where she may have seen him before. He took a drink from his beer and replied, "Sure, most nights I get a few of my mates and we hang outside havin' a smoke. Darby even had the idea to ask people to put a little change in his hat. Got some too, but most people just pick up their pace and walk away." He smiled with a mouth full of yellow teeth and quite a few gaps.

"Good man. And here's some for you and your mates."

More money passed across the table.

Portia listened intently. She tried not to look directly at them and wished fervently that her eyes could see out of the side of her head. She hoped she was inconspicuous.

There was another man in a suit at the table; he was nearly bald and his beer was half gone.

"How about the banks Bobby? Got them under control?"

"Oh yes. But my part's pretty easy. The Hog's Head is mortgaged up to it's ears. So far in debt it's easy to convince them to not lend any more money. If you-know-who is buying . . . they're ready to sign off on their interests."

The man with his back to her spluttered into his drink. "Do not refer to him as 'you-know-who'." He coughed to clear his throat. "Don't call him that -- ever."

Banker Bobby looked a little surprised.

"Anyway," said the man with his back to her as he raised his glass, "gentlemen -- " The others raised their drinks. "To getting rich!" They all clinked their glasses and took long pulls on their drinks.

"Here, I got you two bottles," said the young man as he returned. He waved his hand as she began to give him the money. "Keep it. It's on the house, you look like you could use a break."

"Thank you."

Portia left, feeling breathless and worried, clutching a bottle in each hand carefully.

Chapter 17: Timmy the Dragon

Chapter Text

"Hagrid?" they called, as they entered through the front entrance of Hogwarts castle. There was no answer.

"Maybe he's further inside?" suggested Andrew.

"Maybe," she replied, and she led the way.

In short time, they came to the room with the ladder, but the ladder was now lying down on the floor, and in it's place was a tall stack of stone blocks, arranged in such a manner that they looked like steps, albeit very large steps, which they could climb up. The top of each step reached nearly up to their waists, so it took some effort, but they made it to the top.

"Maybe we should've told Hagrid to use blocks more our size," panted Andrew.

Despite being much shorter than Portia and Andrew, Smokey had very little difficulty jumping from block to block. He seemed to float effortlessly with each spring as cats do.

They turned down a corridor and headed for the room overlooking the dragon.

"Gee, does it feel like it's getting hotter?" Andrew asked.

"I'm sure it is," said Portia pointing in front of them where they could now see a flickering orange glow. They could also begin to hear what distinctly sounded like humming.

Hagrid was in the room, and the room was no longer empty. Hagrid was wearing a bright green apron with large yellow flowers sewn onto it; the flowers looked like they had been knitted from wool. There were greasy, bloody smear marks all down the front. But strangely enough, Hagrid's apron wasn't the most repulsive thing in the room. A large deer hung by its hocks from the ceiling; its throat was slit and blood was dripping from the carcass into a large rusty pail. A large fire was roaring on a makeshift hearth in a corner, and a large boar was slowly revolving above the flames on a spit that was turning all by itself. Another corner held a crackling fire, over which sat a large black cauldron, filled with something dark red and bubbling furiously. Hagrid's crossbow was leaning up against a leg of a large wooden table, where Hagrid stood whistling, and sometimes humming, as he wielded a car door sized cleaver on a haunch of what might have been a cow.

" 'ello yeh two," he smiled in greeting. "Yeh here at the perfec' time! Got a real feast cookin' here fer lil' Timmy. You should see 'im scarf his dinner down like a good boy. I'm makin' him somethin' special today."

On the floor was a book titled Dining with Dragons. On the table, marked with giant sized bloody fingerprints, another book lay with its pages open to a recipe - Roast Rump for the Discerning Dragon: a flamed favourite for fiery fun.

Andrew stared up at the deer hanging from the ceiling; his head was tipped back and his mouth twisted in disgust.

Portia stepped closer to the table with a grim expression. "Hagrid, are you feeding the dragon?" she said in a very high voice.

"Yeah. He loves meh cookin'."

"Oh, and he's named the dragon . . . Timmy . . . Lil Timmy . . . " Smokey remarked to her.

Hearing Smokey meowing, Hagrid looked down and said, "Sounds like Smokey'd like some o' this!"

"Eww," said Smokey. "I think I'm about to vomit."

Hagrid's eyes followed Andrew's and he explained, "Yeh gotta let the blood drain out. Though' I might try makin' some smoked venison fer Timmy." He wiped the sweat off his brow, leaving a trail of blood across his forehead.

"Did you say Timmy?" asked Portia.

"Yeah. I though' it suited 'im. Though' I can make friends with 'im easy like if he had a name."

Andrew had now stepped up to the cauldron and was inspecting the boiling, dark red stew, or whatever it was.

"Here, watch this. Let's start 'im on a special treat." Hagrid carved off a three inch thick slab of dripping red meat, slapped it into a large bowl of white salt so one side was completely white, and then flipped it over and slapped the other side into a giant bowl of crushed black pepper. He carried it to the hole in the wall. Portia, Andrew, and Smokey poked their heads through the hole to watch.

"Timmy!" Hagrid called, waving the black and white slab. Then he whistled a couple of short whistles as if calling a dog. "Timmy! I got yeh some dinner!"

The dragon didn't move.

"He's jus' playin'," Hagrid chuckled happily. He tossed the slab down; before it hit the ground, the dragon's eyes and mouth opened lightning quick. It gulped the meat, and then spat it out onto the floor. With a roar, it sent out a jet of flame and charred the slab black all over; it reached out a claw, flipped the slab over and charred that side too. In a single snap of jaws, it swallowed the slab of meat and promptly went back to pretending to be asleep on its mountain of gold galleons.

"See?" said Hagrid.

He hummed happily and went over to stir the contents of the cauldron.

Andrew, Portia, and Smokey stared at each other in astonishment.

"Tha' reminds me, I got summat for Timmy."

Portia, Andrew and Smokey looked at each other, wondering what it could be.

Hagrid went to a corner and picked up a huge bundle.

"In case he gets cold," he explained. He tossed down one of the giant blankets from his own bed. It fluttered to one side, and a corner partially covered a segment of the dragon's tail. Timmy the dragon didn't move and showed no sign that it had even noticed the blanket.

"Hagrid, it can make it's own heat," said Andrew. But Hagrid hadn't heard and was humming again, as he went back to his chopping.

As they were peering down at the dragon, they noticed a small grey shadow moving at the far end.

"Is that a cat?" asked Andrew.

"It's Boofhead!" exclaimed Smokey.

"What's he doing? He's going to get eaten!" squealed Portia.

Sir Boofhead was slinking silently around stone blocks, getting closer to the dragon and the treasure hoard. With a roar, the dragon stood up and shot a jet of flame; Sir Boofhead barely dodged it.

Portia had her hands clamped over her mouth as she watched the dragon spin in a circle, flaming continuously, while Sir Boofhead ran for his life, managing to stay just inches in front of the edge of the flame. He dodged around the room, found a claw-hold on the wall from where they watched, and scrambled up their wall. They pulled their heads in and he jumped through the hole, landing in the middle of the room.

"Whew! Try doing that before your morning coffee!" he boasted as they stared at him.

"You really are a silly cat," said Smokey.

Chapter 18: All About Muggles

Chapter Text

The room was so hot from Hagrid's cooking fires, they were starting to sweat. Hagrid wiped his face with a huge handkerchief. His face was quite red, and he was breathing heavily.

"I'm boiling," said Andrew. "Can we go somewhere cooler?" he asked, as he pulled on his shirt collar.

They made their way down to the castle entrance. Any remaining snow on the ground had melted, and there were even a few green shoots popping up here and there as if they could sense that spring was around the corner. Hagrid's breathing calmed down after a minute in the crisp fresh air, and they started meandering slowly.

"Tell us more about Hogwarts, Hagrid," said Portia.

"It were a really grea' place in i's time. Fer more'n a thousand years it were the most magical place yeh can imagine." Hagrid had a far away look on his face as he said this.

"What about the students? Were they like us?" she asked.

"Lots o' students. Every year new students would arrive. I was in charge o' bringin' the firs' year students from the Hogwarts Express across the lake an' up ter the castle."

"Did they have to wear a school uniform like this?"

Hagrid looked over and down at her; she was holding her arms down with her palms out in order to display her school uniform blouse and skirt more plainly.

"Well no not like tha' exactly," he replied chuckling. "But they had to wear the Hogwarts uniform -- black robes and black hats."

"Black robes?" she asked in surprise. "Oh! I saw them in a photo we found."

"Yep. All magical folk wear robes. Excep' when they're disguised like around Muggles, then they wear Muggle clothing."

"But you don't wear robes," she said in an accusing tone.

"Well that's cuz I'm half . . . er . . . tha' is, I mean ter say I were never just a wizard. I had ter take care of the grounds an' all magical creatures an' stuff."

"Even boys? Did they wear black robes?"

"Yep, all student witches an' wizards wore black robes. Teachers could wear different colours bu' mos' wore black."

Portia was silent for a while. The only noise aside from the sigh of the breeze was Hagrid's laboured breathing.

But Andrew's curious mind was not satisfied.

"Um, what's the Hogwarts Express?" Andrew asked.

"Ah, tha' was the bright red steam train tha' brought all the students from London to Hogsmeade station at the start o' the year."

"A steam train? Like you learn about in history class?"

He chuckled again, "Well I don' know abou' yer class, but yeah, a real steam train. I think it might still be at Hogsmeade station. If it is, it hasn' run in a century."

"Wouldn't it be great if Hogwarts could be a real school again? And teach magic to witch and wizard kids again?" asked Portia.

"Yeah, but tha's impossible now," Hagrid said with dismay, shaking his bushy head and watching his step.

"Why?"

"Well, look at it, yeh can see the state it's in. All ruined . . . no teachers . . . no headmaster . . . " Hagrid paused his walking and waved a hand airily at the castle.

She gave a little sigh. "I wish I could have gone to a magical school like Hogwarts. What happened to it?"

Hagrid took a moment to reply, and when he did, his voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Muggles. That's wha' happened."

"You mean there were no Muggles before then?" Portia said in confusion.

"No. Muggles 'ave bin around forever -- as long as witches and wizards. Somehow they found out about us. About magic. An' they found out about Hogwarts. I dunno how bu' they did." He was shaking his head.

"They found out abou' Hogwarts an' somehow they found where it was! I never would o' thought it were possible."

"But why would that matter?" asked Portia.

"Well they attacked didn' they?"

"But why?"

"I don' know, maybe they were scared o' us an' magic. Maybe they thought we was their enemy." Hagrid stopped walking temporarily to cough and catch his breath.

"They had airplanes that flew in the air." He looked down at them. "You'll be knowin' about airplanes right?"

"Yes, we know about planes."

"Though' yeh would . . . anyway they dropped things called bombs an' missiles, which exploded like the bigges' magical curses I've ever seen."

His expression focused inwardly as he added, "It was worse than the battle with You-know-who . . . "

She looked avidly up at him. He continued.

"It was night an' I was in meh cabin when I heard the firs' explosions. Me an' Fang ran outside . . . well that was Fang the Second then . . . an' we couldn' believe what we saw. Grea' chunks of the castle was exploding. The noise! It made yer hair stand on end. Well me an' Fang knew there were no hope for it . . . so we ran . . . in'o the fores' . . . I didn' see it, but I heard later on that Muggles in special clothing an' helmets floated down from the sky; they could see in the dark, an' they had them metal wands called guns, an' other things. A lot o' witches and wizards died that night -- teachers, students, even many o' the young un's. I hid in the mountains fer a long time."

At this, he stopped and was quiet. Portia remained silent, lost in imaginings of the beautiful Hogwarts castle as it was destroyed, and the screams and moans of the people inside who lay dead and dying.

Chapter 19: The Nimbus 2001

Chapter Text

The next few weeks were so busy with schoolwork and helping in the kitchen in the evenings that Portia didn't have any time to return to Hogwarts or even read her books on magic. One evening she was hurrying to prepare food for the stew, when she heard a knock on the back door. It was Andrew.

"Hullo," she said, as she opened the door.

"Hello," he replied.

"I've got to get the vegetables prepped and cooking," she said breathelessly. She whirled around to face the table and knocked a bowl flying.

"Oh no!" wailed Portia.

The kitchen floor was a real mess of bits of dried tracked mud from their shoes, and now there was chopped tomatoes, sprigs of parsley, spinach leaves, and chopped mushrooms spread all over.

"Uh oh," said Andy. "Can I help?"

"We're gonna have to clean this up," Portia said. "Can you get a broom from the closet in the hall? I'll get the dustpan."

She was brushing the messy table into the dustpan, as Andy came back with a broom.

"They both had bent handles," he said. He started to swing the broom around to clean the floor.

Swish. Swish.

"This is a terrible broom," Andy said less than a minute late later. "The bristles are wrong. They don't catch much."

Portia looked at the spot on the floor where he had started. "Yeah, I think I noticed the same thing."

Andrew leaned the broom against the table.

She kneeled down on the floor and began to pick up some pieces by hand and place them in the dustpan.

"I'll just have to manually clean it up with my hands," she said resignedly.

"Hey! Look at this," said Andrew.

Portia didn't look up.

"What?"

"The broom!"

From the floor, she looked up through her hair. The broom was floating horizontally in the air, without any support.

"It did that when you said you'd clean up," said Andrew, eyeing it cautiously. He reached out a hand and touched the broom; it continued to hover.

"Do you think it's a flying broom?" she asked.

"Kind of looks like it, doesn't it? Maybe that's why it looks weird and doesn't sweep up well? Because it's not a normal broom?"

"But why did it suddenly hover in the air? It's never done that before."

And at that moment, the broom fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Uh oh." Andrew bent down, picked it up and held it at hover height again. He let go. It fell to the floor again.

Portia said, "And I was just cleaning up." As she said the word 'up', the broom rose quietly from the floor and hovered in midair. The broom handle slowly began to drift to one side.

This time Portia grabbed it with both hands and held it closer to peer at it intently.

"It looks like it has something written on it."

"Where?" asked Andrew, and he too tried to get a closer look, but he was too rambunctious to get his head closer, and the top of his head hit Portia's right above her right eye. Smarting with pain and tears rapidly filling her eyes, she dropped the broom and clasped her palms to her forehead.

"Andy!" she moaned in pain.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his head back.

She started rubbing her head furiously with her palms as if rubbing away the pain, sighed deeply, and then reached for the broom again.

"See here? It's really worn."

She rubbed it a little, but it made no difference to the years of dirt and wear. "It says Nimbos Zool."

"Here, let me see," said Andrew. Portia handed the broom to Andy.

"I think those are numbers -- 2001. I think it says Nimbos 2001."

"Well that's a weird name for a type of broom," said Portia. "Nimbos 2001."

"I'll go get the other one," Andrew offered excitedly. He came running back into the kitchen a moment later. "Yeah, this one has writing on it too. Same kind. The number is worn off but it definitely says Nimbus with a 'u'. I guess it's Nimbus 2001." He looked up from the broom into her eyes.

"You know what this means?" he said.

"We have flying broomsticks!" they both said excitedly at the same time.

"We have to try them out," Andy said. He straddled the hovering broom and pushed off. He shot forward rapidly, slid forward along the broom handle, hit the wall with a bang, and hit his forehead.

"Ow."

"We need a proper large area to try them," Portia suggested. "And I don't exactly have time for this right now. I've got to get this cleaned up and finish the food prep."

"Let's take them up to Hogwarts tomorrow?" suggested Andy.

"Definitely," she agreed.

Since the brooms were useless for cleaning, Andrew took them back to the closet under the stairs, and he helped Portia clean the kitchen before leaving her to her evening chores.

The following day was raining heavily when Portia woke, but she didn't care because she instantly remembered the flying broomsticks and couldn't wait to try them properly.

Andrew was excited too and arrived promptly.

"I had a great idea," she said, eyes flashing. "If we're going to ride broomsticks, let's do it properly with real wizarding robes."

"But we don't have wizarding robes," Andrew argued sensibly.

"Ah. But I saw some black robes in Great Aunt Flo's wardrobe that ought to be close. We just need to sneak in and borrow them."

Smokey was nearby, snoozing, and at this news he opened his eyes. "You're going to sneak into her room? She's crazy. She'll start shrieking and everyone'll come running to see what she's screaming about."

"Yes but there are two things you're forgetting," Portia explained. "One," and she paused, looking up at the ceiling, "she's quiet right now, which means she's probably asleep. And two, I have you."

"You think I'm going to sneak into her room? I'm not mental!"

"Just come up and take a look, OK?"

Portia, Andrew, and Smokey stood outside Great Aunt Flo's door. They were staring at it trepidly. Smokey looked up at her with his big green eyes. She took a big deep breath and slowly turned the handle. She turned it as far as it could go and then carefully, ever so slowly, pushed the door gently open. She turned the handle back and released it. She could now just push the door open, which she did, just wide enough, to admit Smokey through the gap. Neither of them could hear any noise from inside the room.

"It sounds like she's asleep," whispered Portia. "Go in and see." She flicked her hand in a motion toward the gap.

Smokey gave her a resigned look and cautiously headed through. First his head, then his body, and finally his tail, disappeared into the darkness of the room. Moments later, his head reappeared.

"She's asleep in her armchair."

Slowly, Portia pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Portia stood quite still, letting her eyes adjust to the dim room. She could see the back of Great Aunt Flo's head sticking at an angle a little above the backrest.

"Keep watching her," she said almost inaudibly to Smokey.

Silent as the cat that he was, Smokey walked around to the front of the armchair and sat down, looking up at Great Aunt Flo.

Portia tiptoed across the room to the wardrobe, looking over her shoulder, petrified that her great aunt would wake up. Very carefully, she opened the wardrobe. She located the black robes and pushed her hands between the clothes that pressed on all sides. Quietly, she began to take a robe off its hanger.

A loud grunting snore made her freeze. She looked over at Smokey whose eyes were as big as saucers. But her great aunt remained asleep.

She took a second robe off a hanger, and with her arms full of two black robes, she hurriedly tiptoed back to the door. Smokey joined her, and she drew the door mostly closed. Only then did she realize that she had forgotten to breathe the whole time she had been in the room, and she exhaled and inhaled very deeply a few times.

Not wanting to risk being seen now in the hallway carrying two black robes belonging to her great aunt, they hurried down to Portia's bedroom.

Smokey jumped up onto her window sill and curled up. "Time for another nap I think." He closed his eyes.

Andrew pulled one robe over his head and looked down at his arms. The sleeves were far too long for his arms; the hem of the robe dragged on the ground, and he couldn't see his feet.

"It's too big," he observed, while flapping his arms like a giant floppy-winged albatross.

Portia was already wearing the other set of robes and had rolled up the sleeves three times to allow her hands to poke out. She grabbed one of his sleeves and began to help roll up the cuffs to expose his hand.

"You just need to roll up the sleeves . . . and as for the bottom of the robes, I've got pins to pin them up higher so you don't trip over the hem. These robes were made for someone taller than us."

They finished rolling his second sleeve, and then Portia pinned up the hem so that the bottom of the robes were an inch or two from the floor. Andrew took a few steps around the room and verified his shoes did not in fact step on the robe.

They stood side by side looking into a mirror to see what they looked like.

"Very wizardly," Portia said.

"And you're very witchy," Andrew quipped.

"You know, my mother could make us some robes like this in our size," Andrew said.

"That would be nice," Portia admitted, as she raised a hand and examined the bulky rolled up sleeve in the mirror. "But," she continued, "we don't have time for that today. Smokey! What do you think? How do we look?"

Smokey, sleeping in a patch of sunlight, opened one eye a fraction and said, "You look like wizards. Short wizards. But wizards nonetheless. At least if I go by every picture I've ever seen of wizards."

Smokey closed his eye.

The robes had hoods, and they both pulled them up over their heads. Their faces were now in darkness; they stared into the mirror again.

"Very mysterious wizards!" Portia said.

Smokey let out a small snoring sound.

Andrew was wearing a half amused smile, as he took down the hood.

"Let's go."

Portia pulled out the two Nimbus broomsticks from the closet, gave one to Andrew, and they headed to the sitting room.

Walking down the tunnel to Hogwarts, each with a real flying broomstick over their shoulder, their growing excitement was palpable.

Flying broomsticks! They were going to ride on real flying broomsticks!

The sky was overcast, as they jumped down to the ground, but it wasn't raining. The trees were covered in little green buds, ready to burst into full leaves any day now.

"Should we try here? Or should we go to more open space like the Quidditch pitch?" Andrew asked.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "I guess it shouldn't matter if we're careful not to go too fast."

Andrew wasn't in any mood to be patient; he laid his broom on the ground, stuck out his right hand, and said, "Up!". The broom rose up and hovered horizontally beside him. Portia was watching avidly.

Andrew grabbed the broom with both hands, swung a leg over, which was a little awkward in his overlong robes, and seated himself as best he could. Leaning forward, and lifting up on the broom, he took off. He lifted steadily upwards, heading straight towards a large tree that he narrowly avoided by veering to the side. He wobbled unsteadily as he tried to turn around and succeeded in heading back to the ground where he landed heavily with a couple of hops on his feet, but he didn't fall off. He turned towards Portia and carefully took off again, this time flying level to the ground, and again he stopped, landing hard on his feet within a few feet of Portia who watched every action he took.

"How difficult is it?" she asked.

"You have to lean a bit, and pull the handle forward and away . . . I think that's how I'm doing it . . . "

He turned away again and started to take off again.

Portia now laid her broom on the ground, said "Up!" in a commanding tone, grabbed on, and straddled her broom. She kicked off and enjoyed rising steadily and found she could naturally direct it down a bit and fly level.

"Wow! I'm doing it!" she shouted to Andrew with a big grin.

Andrew was ahead of her, weaving through the trees, and she followed. With each passing minute, it felt more natural, and their confidence grew.

Soon they were flying quite fast, their hair whipped in the wind, and they darted in and around the trees, leaning like they were on motorcycles. (Neither of them had ever ridden on motorcycles.)

"Race you to the Quidditch pitch!" yelled Andrew.

"You're on!"

They were like two blurs now, shooting through the forest.

"Wheeeeeee!"

"Whoooohooooo!"

They reached the Quidditch pitch in moments. It had a lot of trees but was more of a clearing than elsewhere. Portia shot up in a high arc and rose above the tallest of the trees where she stopped in midair and looked around. She could see the three goal hoops at each end, the remains of the stadiums all around, and as she looked down, she watched Andrew speeding around the outer circumference of the pitch, doing a complete circuit, and avoiding any trees as he did so.

Portia pointed her broom to the ground, flew down, and landed lightly. It was fun, but as she got off the broom, she thought the comfort of sitting on a broom left a lot to be desired.

Andrew was still zooming around the perimeter of the pitch, weaving between trees. The Quidditch pitch had become overgrown with enough trees that it was now an obstacle course to fly around. She watched as he veered, slowed, and came to a stop next to her, wearing the biggest grin of his life. His hair was sticking up in a windswept way, and his eyes were watering from the cool air.

"Let's go and show Hagrid," she said, and pointed animatedly in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, even though she couldn't see Hagrid's cabin from where they stood.

"Hagrid?" Portia called, as Andrew knocked on the cabin door.

They both stepped back and stood up straight, ready to impress Hagrid with their too-long wizard robes and their flying broomsticks. They were both smiling.

But when the door didn't open and they didn't hear Fang's booming barks, or in fact any noise at all from inside the cabin, they lost some of their smile and a bit more of their posture.

"I guess he's not here," said Andrew trying to peek between the curtains at a window.

"Too bad. Well, we'll have lots of opportunities to show him. We're definitely coming back for more fun on the broomsticks. I wonder if I could make some kind of a comfortable seat for it," Portia mused while looking thoughtfully at her broom.

Just then, a few big splats of rain drops landed on their heads. It was starting to rain.

"You know," said Andrew, "We could get back much quicker if we flew. We might even beat the rain."

"There's not enough room in the tunnel for flying."

"No. Not in the tunnel. I mean just fly from here to Hogsmeade . . . we'd have to make sure we're not seen of course . . . but I bet no-one walks around here anyway."

Portia looked skeptical at the idea, but she also squinted up at the sky where a few more raindrops fell, and she decided it was an idea worth pursuing.

"We could try. But what if we get lost? Do you even know which way to go?"

"There's probably a path. People and students probably walked from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade all the time."

"Yeah, but that was years ago, and who knows how long it's been in ruins, any path would be overgrown long since . . . " she argued.

"Well we've got brooms. Let's take a look around."

Mounting their brooms, they started out, flying in the direction of where they assumed Hogsmeade must be. Eventually, they did find a very overgrown path, if indeed it was a path, that was right outside the main gates to Hogwarts. They took off down the path, hair and robes streaming behind them.

What was once a nice wide, clear path many years ago had become much more hazardous and overgrown with bushes, saplings and large trees. The saplings were still leafless, but numerous little evergreen bushes were sprouting little yellow or purple flowers.

Still, their skill on the brooms was growing minute by minute, and they sailed down the path, dodging and weaving with ever growing ease. This was fun!

Portia kept looking warily around, but they didn't pass anyone, and only when they got close to Hogsmeade, which happened rather quickly, did she call out to Andrew and suggest they walk from this point. They had travelled so quickly they had left the rain behind.

So, in high spirits, they unmounted their brooms and happily swung them over their shoulders and began to walk with a spring in their step. They could start to see the first houses of Hogsmeade in the distance.

They gabbled, giggled, laughed, and exulted in their afternoon's flying.

"I wish we could come back and do it again tomorrow," Andrew said.

"So do I," she agreed. "And this is much quicker than walking through the tunnel."

But moments later, they were to learn how this mode of travel was less desirable than walking down the long tunnel.

It happened as they turned down a street towards the Hog's Head Inn; full of excitement and chattering away to each other, they didn't notice the small knot of students from their school, hanging out in front of a cafe.

They heard someone call out, "Look everybody!" and froze mid-step for an instant before deciding they'd best keep moving.

"Oh my . . . "

"What is that?"

"Losers!"

"Hey come back!"

"Wooohooo!"

"Freaks!"

"Halloween was months ago dungheads!"

The peals of laughter continued. There were cackles and hoots. They heard the clatter of a rock thrown at their retreating backs.

Chapter 20: Gym Class

Chapter Text

The next day was an in-person schoolday. First class of the day was gym. Portia hated gym. She'd never been particularly good at anything athletic at her old school, and she didn't see any reason for that to be any different at this school either. To make matters worse, she had forgotten to put her trainers in her bag, so she emerged from the changing rooms in the school colours t-shirt and shorts but still wore her black leather shoes.

Her shoes drew some stares from the other kids, one girl even saying, "You can't wear those shoes. You'll slip and fall."

What else could she do?

She saw Andrew enter the gym from the boys changing rooms. He had sport shoes on, but they couldn't save him from a well aimed tennis ball that bounced off his head to general laughter from a group of boys nearby.

"Nice shot!"

"Get your big head out of the way!"

"Andreeeewwwww," jeered one boy, who pulled his face into a stupid expression with crossed eyes. "I heard you were wearing your mother's dress around town," said the boy leering.

Andrew meekly pretended to ignore him and went to stand near Portia, and they both watched the other kids get a little rowdier, as they waited for the gym teacher to make his appearance.

Mr. Vanes was the gym teacher. He was a big barrel chested man with a ruddy complexion, a continual glare on his face, and mean little blue eyes under some shaggy eyebrows. He used to play football. He walked into the gym and immediately started class by doing one of his favourite things, which was shouting.

"Right," he shouted to the whole class, "we're gonna be practising drills today, and to make it a little interesting, you're gonna divide up into two teams and have a little competition."

He pointed to the biggest, most athletic boy in the grade. "Cameron, you're a captain."

Then he pointed to another athletic boy who was the tallest. "Robert, you're the other captain."

The two boys stepped out of the group and closer to Mr. Vanes.

"One at a time, choose who's on your team," said Mr. Vanes. "Cameron first."

Cameron, without hesitation, looked straight at a kid who was the fastest runner, "Brett."

Brett went and stood with Cameron.

"Angus," called Robert instantly, and another tall kid with hair in his eyes sauntered over to Robert with a smile and high-fived him.

"Don't forget the girls," grumbled Mr. Vanes loudly. "Let's alternate, boy, girl, . . . "

Cameron called out, "Tracy," and a tall, fit looking girl with her hair in a pony tail stepped over to join him.

Robert then called, "Jenny," and another tall girl with wavy black hair and dark eyes joined him and Angus.

The choosing continued in this fashion, going rather quickly for the first picks, but then it slowed down after all the fit kids had been chosen; now the captains had to mull over each remaining pick. From choosing who was an asset to their team, they now had to consider who, from the athletic dregs of the class, would be the least liability.

Eventually, there were just three remaining: Andrew, Portia, and a short, very overweight girl. Everyone in the two teams stared at them. Reluctantly, Robert pointed to Andrew, "You", he said in a low voice, and Andrew headed over.

"You." Cameron pointed at the other girl, and she moved away leaving Portia alone but not for long because it seemed like everyone assumed she was on Robert's team, and Mr. Vanes started talking loudly again.

"Right. Team one move to that side of the field." Mr. Vanes pointed to his left, and as that group of kids drifted over, he shouted to the group that Portia was in, "You lot over there," and he pointed to his right.

"We're gonna start with shuttle runs to warm up."

A few students groaned loudly.

"So line up in the sideline. When I blow the whistle, you're gonna run across the field to the other side line and back again." He glared at them, "And you don't wanna be last!"

He blew the whistle.

Everybody took off running, as Andrew and Portia reached the other side and turned around, some of the students who played sport were already back at the start. They arrived at the start, panting and holding their sides, maybe not quite dead last, but nevertheless they tried not to look at Mr.Vanes.

"Again!" Mr. Vanes shouted and blew his whistle.

Exhausted after the third run, Portia was very happy when Mr. Vanes called for them to stop.

"Oh I'm so glad it's not everyday that we come to school," she half moaned.

Mr. Vanes was off explaining the next task. He had emptied a net full of footballs onto the ground. "Pair up. Get a ball. Form two lines ten metres apart and practice kicking and passing to each other!" he yelled happily.

Portia had never kicked a football in her life, and by the looks of it, neither had Andrew. After a couple of feeble kicks, which went nowhere toward each other, they just stood there watching the pair beside them, Robert and Angus, kick their football back and forth. It looked effortless for them.

Therefore they both jumped about two feet when a loud voice, emanating from directly behind them, shouted, "What are you two doing?" They turned around, looking terrified, to face a very red-faced Mr. Vanes.

He continued to shout, "What did I tell you? Thought you'd just take it easy eh? Well show us what you've got. Go on!"

Stepping apart slightly, Portia attemped to kick the ball to Andrew, but it kind of spun off the edge of her foot and dribbled a few feet to her left. A few of the other students started to laugh.

"Is that all you can do?" he shouted at them. Many of the students had paused what they were doing to watch.

"Which foot do you kick with?" he shouted to Portia.

"I don't know sir," she replied meekly.

"You don't know?" he shouted. "How come you don't know?"

"I don't know," she answered now with her heart pounding with embarrassment. "I've never kicked a football before."

"Well it isn't that one! Try the other one!" he screamed.

Not lifting her eyes from the ground, for she felt sure that her face must be burning red, she tried again, this time with her right foot. She completely missed the ball and just barely saved herself from falling over. The class roared with laughter.

"You!" Mr. Vanes turned to Cameron and said, "Show them the exercise I just had you doing."

Cameron expertly tapped his football on top with his right foot, then simultaneously switched his feet with a hop, landed on his right foot and tapped the top of the ball with his left foot. He rapidly repeated this a few more times.

"Now!" Mr. Vanes pointed a stubby finger at Andrew. "Let's see you do that!"

Andrew lifted his right foot and put it on top of his football. He tried to hop up but somehow landed both feet on the ball, which rolled in front, and he fell hard on his backside.

"Oof," he grunted.

Most of the class roared with laughter.

"Oh my lord!" yelled Mr. Vanes going even redder in the face if possible. "OK. You two girls." He glared at Andrew and Portia. "Go and sit down over there!" He pointed further off field to where the bins of sporting equipment were. Half the students in the class were still laughing, and a few were performing their own versions of wild kicks to the guffaws of the other students.

"Right. That's enough practice. Captains choose your eleven; everybody else, go stand over there," roared Mr. Vanes.

Mr. Vanes blew his whistle and the game was started.

It wasn't much fun for those students who weren't chosen to play, though some were quite happy to avoid sport. All they could do was stand and watch; some chose to sit on the ground.

Portia and Andrew sat slightly apart from the rest, not wanting to attract any more attention.

The students on the field were having a fun time running, kicking the ball, and yelling to their teammates. Mr. Vanes was running back and forth, refereeing and blowing his whistle.

"This is boring," said Andrew, and he stood up to stretch his legs.

Portia continued to sit, cross-legged, with her chin in her cupped hands and her elbows on her knees.

"Psst."

"Pssst!"

Portia turned around.

"Bludger."

Andrew had rummaged in the sports equipment bins and pulled out a black volleyball and a baseball bat. He smiled and mimed hitting the volleyball with the bat as he said, "It's a bludger!"

She smiled and joined him by picking up a second baseball bat.

He tossed the ball up and hit it with the baseball bat straight toward her; she stuck out her bat and laughed as it deflected it away.

"Bludger!" he called.

Then it was on! Giggling and laughing, they took turns trying to bat the ball at each other, yelling "Bludger!" as they did so. They both laughed when she hit a glancing blow off Andrew's head, and it made his hair stick up.

Andrew popped the ball up and swung wildly; the ball flew straight at Portia, and almost lazily, she swung her bat to hit it back --

"WHAT THE BLAZES ARE YOU DOING!?"

Too busy having fun to notice Mr. Vanes approach, and unable to stop, Portia hit the ball directly towards Andrew, but it reversed direction in midair. Like a rocket, the ball seemed to accelerate straight at Mr. Vanes, and with a SMACK it hit him right in the face and knocked him to the ground.

The whole class was watching. There was dead silence.

Mr. Vanes bounced back up and trounced on Andrew and Portia, getting right in their faces.

"IS THAT A BASEBALL? ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE HITTING A VOLLEYBALL WITH A BAT? I TOLD YOU TO SIT DOWN!" he roared, his mouth spraying spittle in his anger.

"DETENTION FOR YOU BOTH!"

He wiped his mouth and started to feel his nose, as blood began to run down his upper lip.

"NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Mr. Vanes turned to the dead silent class and roared, "CLASS DISMISSED."

Everybody scuttled away to the changing rooms.

After school, and feeling quite anxious, Portia and Andrew turned up at Mr. Vanes' tiny office adjoining the gymnasium. He held a couple of scrubbing brushes and mops and a very nasty grin.

"You two are going to clean this gym until it's spotless." His smile grew more evil. He threw the implements to the floor at their feet and stomped into his office, slamming the door.

Portia was pleased to see he had a big bandage covering his nose.

The floor of the gym was very dirty, and mopping only cleaned the loose dirt. Scrubbing on hands and knees was the only way to clean this floor and the hard scuff marks. They didn't want to face Mr. Vanes' anger if it wasn't clean enough, so they got to work diligently. This was going to take hours.

They had been scrubbing for two hours when a man entered the gym from the far end. He wore a grey suit and had white, tightly curled hair. He halted when he saw them, as if pondering something, then with a shifty look from where he had appeared, he moved jerkily onward and rapped on the gym teacher's door. Mr. Vanes opened the door, looked around shiftily, and then hurried him inside before closing the door quickly.

"That was weird," Portia whispered to Andrew.

"Who was that?" asked Andrew.

"I don't know but I think I've seen him before."

She couldn't help her curiousity. Portia crawled, with scrubbing brush in hand, as close to the office door as she dared.

Seeing this, Andrew followed and sidled up beside her, whispering very quietly, "What are we doing?"

"Listening," she whispered.

They could hear the murmur of the two men's voices. Then they could make out Mr. Vanes raising his voice, "I still haven't been paid for my part!" The other man spoke quietly, and they couldn't make out his words.

"Look, none of this would be possible without me!" shouted Mr. Vanes. "I got rid of them!"

"Oh I'd hate to be that other man right now," whispered Andrew.

"Shhhh."

"Soon? What's . . . supposed to mean? I've been waiting . . . most of a year." More shouting by Mr. Vanes. "I'm tired of waiting. I want my money!"

The other man's voice was getting louder, but Mr. Vanes was louder still, and he kept yelling.

"I demand! I did the dirty part. None of you had the stomach for it. And if I don't get what's mine right away, someone's going to pay! . . . Don't threaten me, you don't scare me . . . I'll kill you . . ."

Portia and Andrew missed what came next, as they looked at each other in shock. But then they heard the other man shouting.

"Shut up Vanes! Just shut up and listen. We stick to the plan. No. Shut up. The Hog's Head Inn has until midnight tomorrow to pay the debt. They can't. There's no way . . . "

"I don't care!" shouted Vanes.

"Shut up! They can't pay. They owe thousands! We've blocked all lines of credit. We've scared away their customers. And tomorrow we take posession. Legally! We kick everyone out to the street. We get paid. You get paid."

"But . . . " Mr. Vanes interrupted a little less loudly but the other man overrode him.

"And he . . . you know who I mean . . . will be very pleased with us!"

Portia wasn't listening anymore, she was staring at Andrew. Her mother was going to lose the Hog's Head? She and her mother were going to be homeless? The Hog's Head wasn't much, but it was all they had. Her face was pale white.

The two men were no longer shouting.

"What if they refuse to go?" asked Mr. Vanes.

"They'll regret it . . . for the rest of their short lives . . ."

Portia heard no more. Heart pounding, she slumped back against a table leg. A mop leaning up against the table slid along the edge and fell with a clatter.

The voices went silent.

Portia was too shocked to notice, but Andrew jumped to his feet and hissed, "Run!" Andrew grabbed her arm, pulled her up forcefully, and dragged her on stumbling feet across the gym.

The door to the office opened in a rush just as they exited.

They darted down the hallway trying to move as quietly as possible.

"Quick! In here!" Andrew opened a door to his left. It was a cleaning closet and contained a few brooms, mops, and buckets.

They darted in; he quickly pulled the door and closed it with a click. They stood in the darkness, trying desperately to breathe quietly.

As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they heard footsteps and low voices; the sound of footsteps grew louder, and they could see the shadows of shoes pass right by the closet in the glow of the strip of light from the gap under the door. As the footsteps grew quieter, they relaxed and began to breathe again. They listened until they could no longer hear anything.

"I think they're gone. Let's get out of here," whispered Andrew hoarsely.

"OK," whispered Portia.

She reached out for the door handle.

"Oh no! There's no handle!"

"What?"

"This is one of those closets that just has a handle on the outside!" she replied in a horrified voice.

"Let me try," said Andrew, and they switched places.

Andrew felt for a handle that wasn't there. In frustration he began beating on the door with his palms.

"Shhh!" she hissed. "They might still be nearby!"

"Maybe there's something in here we can use to pry it open," suggested Andrew.

They felt around among the handles of brooms and mops and even on the floor around the buckets, making a lot of clatter, but they no longer cared about any noise they were making.

His back against the wall, Andrew slid down to sit on the floor, his knees against his chest. Portia sat on an overturned bucket.

"We're stuck," she said in a small voice. "Locked in here."

They sat in silence and despair. They didn't know how long they had sat there when the door suddenly opened, and in sauntered Smokey, looking at them with curious eyes.

"What are you doing in here?" Smokey asked.

Portia and Andrew didn't offer Smokey any explanation. With pale faces, they desperately poked their heads out of the closet and looked up and down the the hallway, which was quite empty. "Let's go," Portia whispered hurriedly, and they took off running; Smokey had to turn and run to catch up.

All three of them dashed through the front doors of the school and headed for the Hog's Head.

"There's something wrong with Vanes. He's evil," Andrew said once they were headed down the street at a walk.

Portia was still pale and very upset. "What are we going to do? We're going to lose the inn after all the hard work my mother's done."

"How much does she owe?" asked Andrew.

"I don't know, but it's a lot. And Uncle Duncan and his mother, Great Aunt Flo, are no help at all. There's no way she can pay by tomorrow. Even if I had anything worth selling it wouldn't make any difference."

"Pity we don't know any magic spells to make money," said Andrew.

They turned down the next street.

"Yeah, I don't think the books we found mention anything about money. Anyway, you heard them, even if we have enough money by tomorrow, they'll kick us out anyway or we're dead." She started to cry.

"Not if you go to the police," said Andrew.

"What can they do?" cried Portia, "It's true, the inn owes a lot of money!"

"Maybe we could steal some of the dragon's treasure?" suggested Andrew.

Smokey opened his eyes wide and looked around at them.

"How?" asked Portia, drying her tears. "How do we walk into the hall and get some treasure with that vicious thing guarding it?"

"I dunno, maybe wait until it goes out hunting for food and then sneak in when it's not there?"

Smokey was listening to every word.

"Well, with the way Hagrid's been feeding it . . . I read that a dragon can go for weeks without eating once it gorges itself. It may not leave the hall for weeks."

"Maybe we can scare it out," suggested Andrew.

"More likely it will scare us out of there," said Portia.

"We could try tempting it out?"

"With what? It isn't going to be hungry for food; if we had treasure to tempt it, we wouldn't need its treasure. What else does a dragon want?"

They both fell silent.

After a few minutes Portia said, "I guess the best option is to fight it or scare it out."

"We could try a sleeping potion," said Andrew excitedly.

"How would we get it to drink it?"

"Oh, yeah."

They were slowly approaching the Hog's Head. Portia yawned. "I'm so tired." She paused. "Getting some of the dragon's treasure is the only plan we have," Portia said quietly. "Maybe we could stun it. You can do a pretty good stunning spell, and you're good with fire spells. I can protect us with the shield charm and maybe use the summoning charm to summon the treasure while the dragon's stunned."

"Don't let Hagrid hear you talk about stunning it . . . " muttered Andrew.

They stopped just outside the door to the Hog's Head. Andrew was now covering up a yawn. "See ya," he mumbled.

Portia said, "See you tomorrow," as she put a hand on the door, and Andrew started up the street.

Neither of them noticed Smokey crossing the street, muttering to himself.

Chapter 21: The Treasure

Chapter Text

The following day at school, Portia was quite depressed. Tired as she had been, she didn't sleep well and now felt drained and exhausted. She didn't even react when Mr. Goodman chastized her for not doing her homework the night before. Andrew had not done his homework either. This earned them both a detention after school.

During detention, she asked Andrew if he had thought of any ideas. "No," was his reply, and he shifted his eyes awkwardly around the room.

"I can't think of anything else to do," Portia said. "But I'm not going to just give up. I'm going to try and get some of the treasure."

"I'll help," said Andrew.

"Quiet," growled the teacher, who was watching over the detention room. They fell silent until they were allowed to leave.

They went directly to the sitting room of the Hog's Head and locked the door to practice Stunning spells and Shield charms. A few hours later, the sun had set, and they were feeling confident.

"Stupify!"

"Protego!"

A red bolt shot from Andrew's wand and bounced harmlessly off Portia's protection spell.

"Incendio!"

"Protego!"

A jet of flame shot towards Portia and was deflected.

"I think we're as ready as we'll ever be," Portia said finally. "That's enough practice. We've got to get there, steal the treasure, and get back before midnight."

Smokey was scratching his left ear as he said, "What if they don't accept treasure for payment? What if they only accept Muggle money?" he asked.

Portia didn't answer. She just went over to the portrait and opened it. They were a subdued trio, as they walked through the tunnel and then silently around the castle to the castle entrance.

Portia held a finger to her lips to signal 'quiet'; then, holding her wand up, she mouthed, "Wands out."

Andrew held his wand out in front and at the ready.

Smokey needed no advice, he was as silent as cats are.

They sneaked from the castle entrance to the great hall doors and silently slipped through.

They stood very quietly, trying to take up as little space as possible, as if that would make them unseeable to the dragon.

"You stun it with a stunning spell, while I get ready to use the shield charm if something goes wrong and it breathes fire on us," Portia whispered instructions to Andrew. Smokey slunk back behind them both.

Andrew pointed his wand at the sleeping dragon.

"Ready?" she mouthed.

He nodded.

He flicked his wand and half yelled, half whispered, "Stupify!" A red bolt of light shot from his wand and hit the dragon square in the middle of its body, but it had absolutely no effect.

With a roar, the dragon turned its head toward them, and a jet of flame shot out of its mouth.

"Protego!" shrieked Portia. A shielding bubble formed around them and between them and the dragon; the white hot flames flowed safely around them.

The dragon stood up and tried again, belching red hot flames all around them, but her protective spell held.

As it paused to inhale, Portia said, "Let's both do it at the same time."

"Stupify!" they both yelled simultaneously. Two red stunning bolts shot out and struck the dragon, sizzling. This too had no effect except to anger the dragon even more.

"Watch it!" yowled Smokey

The dragon spread its wings, opened its mouth wide and released the biggest, hottest jet of flame yet.

"Protego!" Portia, Andrew, and Smokey huddled behind her shield, and all screamed helplessly.

The dragon flapped its wings and fanned the flames. Andrew pointed his wand and shot flames back at the dragon, which bounced harmlessly off its scales.

Suddenly the doors behind them burst fully open, and Hagrid rushed in with his umbrella swinging wildly; he pointed it at the dragon, yelling some words that they couldn't hear. Yellow and green bolts burst from his umbrella, bounced off the dragon, and then richocheted around the room.

The dragon turned to Hagrid, and they could see its belly swell with another breath. It opened its mouth just as Portia yelled the only other spell she could remember, "Rictusempra!" and pointed her wand. A silver bolt shot from her wand and hit the dragon right in the mouth; it swallowed awkwardly, and a big cloud of smoke puffed out of its mouth and floated to the ceiling, as it looked around in shock.

Then it started to make a gurgling noise in its throat; it rolled back on its tail, opened its mouth, and started making weird panting noises; its belly started to shake and vibrate, and it held its forefeet over its belly as if to hold it in.

They all slowly lowered their wands. Andrew and Portia looked at each other.

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Hagrid. "I hope we haven' 'urt Timmy."

"I think . . . I think it's laughing," said Smokey.

Portia looked at Smokey in surprise, mouth half open.

Hagrid, who couldn't hear Smokey, said, "Oh I'll never forgive mehself."

The dragon was holding its belly even more tightly and was making strange barking sounds while its eyes were squeezed tightly shut. With each laughing bark, a puff of smoke shot out its nostrils and rose to the ceiling.

The dragon flipped over on its stomach and lay there trembling; one front claw was curled into a fist, and it beat its fist repeatedly on the floor, as it released ever louder barks.

They stood, numbly, with their wands at their sides, all thoughts of danger and safety forgotten. Hagrid took a concerned half step towards the dragon when it stopped suddenly and glared at them, its eye ridges creasing in a frown. It furled its wings, jumped up in the air, and flapped out the ruined hall into the darkness.

"That was weird," said Andrew, looking around at them all with a look of incredulity on his face.

"I never knew dragons could laugh," said Hagrid in a hoarse whisper.

But then they heard the flapping of monstrous wings; the dragon was back, and it landed with a great thud. It took a deep breath and stopped the barking laughter long enough to stare and glare at them.

Portia brought her wand up, but the dragon couldn't hold its glare any longer; it restarted puffing and barking and shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.

It kept trying to glare at them, but each time it would burst again into hacking barks of laughter. Finally, it picked up the huge blanket Hagrid had given it, which had lain in the corner unused, and spread it out on the floor. Convulsing and barking, it hurriedly began to scrape its treasure collection into the middle of the blanket. A huge pile of gold galleons, silver goblets, gold chains, gems of all sizes, and diamonds as big as their fists, was amassed on the blanket.

It yowled something that sounded very much like "Ouch" and dropped a jeweled dagger it had picked up. It stopped packing long enough to shoot them a glowering look, pulled all four corners of the blanket together, and leapt into the air with the bundle held in its rear claws. They could hear it barking and puffing, as it flew into the distance. The laughing barks quickly grew more distant.

A tear slid down Hagrid's face. " 'E's gone . . . Timmy's gone . . . "

For many minutes there was complete silence in the great hall.

Smokey crept over to the jeweled dagger on the floor and bent his nose to the bloody blade. "It must be sharp to have cut the dragon," he said.

Hagrid picked it up by the handle. "Dragon's blood . . . 'ave jus' the thing if I can find it . . . " He rummaged inside his coat pockets and withdrew a couple of small crystal vials with stoppers. They contained some bits of green dust that looked like floo powder, which he cleared by blowing into them, and then he held the dagger, point down, over each one, and collected a few drops of dragon blood in each vial. He replaced the stoppers.

"Powerful magic in dragon's blood," Hagrid said. "I can' remember the twelve uses o' dragon's blood but I know it can cure stuff an' protect you from fire." Hagrid looked slightly surprised, saying, "Huh, I guess that's why fire don' work against dragons."

"Well," said Portia, "the dragon took most of the treasure, but it didn't get all of it."

"Maybe there's enough here if we collect it all," said Andrew, as he picked up a couple of galleons.

Portia bent down and picked up a silver earring.

"Let's hope it's -- "

Sir Boofhead skittered into the hall; fur on end, ears back, and out of breath, he panted, "Trouble at the Hog's Head . . . Mrs. Smith injured . . . bleeding badly . . . "

"My mother? . . . "

Portia froze; her mouth open, she threw her hands over her mouth with a shriek.

"What'd he say?" asked Andrew looking alarmed.

"My mother's hurt. He says she's bleeding . . . We have to go now!" She threw the earring down and started to run, but Hagrid caught her arm.

"Take these." He handed her the crystal vials.

She and Andrew bolted from the hall. Smokey bolted after them.

Covered in sweat, dirt, and grime, knees and hands scratched and bruised, they scrambled out of the portrait hole. One of the vials fell to the floor and rolled out of sight, as Portia jumped down from the mantel. She ignored it; they quickly hid their wands up their sleeves and dashed down to the public room.

There, on the floor in a pool of her own blood, lay her mother, pale as a ghost.

Duncan, also white as a ghost, was slumped in a chair, his mouth agape, as he stared at the scene. Mrs. Fuddlemint was kneeling at Mrs. Smith's side, head bowed and holding one of her hands. Portia pushed her aside and cradled her mother, as she burst into tears.

"Wh -- What happened?" asked Andrew, staring first at Mrs. Smith and then around the room. Two men were standing back a little, the old television was smashed on the floor, a long bloody carving knife was lying near Mrs. Smith, and the front door was open to the cool night air.

"She tried to attack us with a knife," gibbered one of the men. Portia recognised him as 'Bobby', one of the men from the Three Broomsticks; he had a weak chin and a ring of grey hair around his bald head. He looked quite scared.

"We've called for an ambulance," said the second man calmly. He had plenty of curly white hair and seemed unphased by the situation. Portia recognised him as the man from the gym, who had argued with Mr. Vanes.

"She did not!" shouted Portia.

"She did!" bantered Bobby, and he looked furtively at his curly haired companion.

"It should be here any minute," said the second man, then he added in a very low murmur, "Although it may be too late for her. A pity." He winked at Bobby.

Portia's mother lay there listless; her pulse was non-existent. A gaping wound at her side oozed blood at a slowing rate, adding to the lake on the floor, in which Portia knelt.

"Come on. Come on," Portia moaned and started rocking back and forth, giving furtive glances at the door, hoping for the medics to appear in the doorway.

"Um, what about the dragon blood?" Smokey murmured quietly beside Portia.

"Oh." Portia pulled the vial out of her pocket, and said, "Here Mum drink this, it'll help". She prised it between her mother's white lips pouring the few precious drops into her mouth. Almost immediately, some colour returned to her lips; her face was less pale; her pulse was weak, but the blood no longer flowed from her wound. After another minute, she looked like she was merely asleep. Her breathing was calm, and she no longer looked quite so pale.

Portia glared up through her teary eyes at both men and accused them. "You did this!"

"We did not!" insisted Banker Bobby. "We merely came here, as is our duty to inform her legally, that her time was up. If she couldn't make the payment, she would have to vacate the premises immediately." He ran his hands down his prim, expensive shirt and vest. "She attacked us. Isn't that right Whittaker?"

Whittaker, the man with the white hair drawled, "She rushed at me with that knife, and I tried to back away, but we hit that stupid wall, and that thing," he pointed at the television, "fell down and landed on her. She fell on the knife somehow. She was very reckless and careless, and that's exactly what happened," he said haughtily.

"You caused this!" she screamed back at him. "You're horrible! What even gives you the right to come in here and say such things? You have no right!"

Whittaker was starting to get red in the face. "I have every right," he spat back.

"Yeah? How?"

He reached behind himself, picked up some pages from a table, and brandished them at her noisily. "This gives me the right! These legal documents that say the Hog's Head Inn now belongs to me, along with every other building on this street little girl!" he growled through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry about your mother, but you're all going to have to leave immediately."

Portia glared at the papers, and her lips moved noiselessly. Afterwards, everyone would swear that a gust of wind must have come in through the door, for the papers fluttered out of his hand and across the room to land in the fireplace. They burst into flames and were reduced to ashes within seconds.

"There!" Portia said spitefully to Whittaker. "Now you've lost it all. The Hog's Head doesn't belong to you!"

"You foolish child, that's just an official printout, the original's on file in Town Hall," Whittaker sneered.

"I'm on it," said Smokey, and he ran out the door.

Portia looked down at her mother and whispered to Andrew, "We're gonna need the other vial I dropped." She slipped as she rose from the floor; the bloody lake in which her mother lay had soaked into her clothes while she had kneeled at her mother's side. Once she gained her footing, she and Andrew darted up the stairs to the sitting room.

There was a noise in the front doorway just then, and everyone looked up, expecting to see the emergency medics. Instead, two men dressed in long cloaks entered with an air of authority. One was tall and the other was short. They were both holding wands openly and tapping them in their hands.

Portia and Andrew were just coming down the stairs when they saw the two men. They halted, and Portia hissed to Andrew, "Watch out! I recognise them. They're wizards." They quickly backed up the stairs fearfully.

The taller man's eyes narrowed as he looked around. The shorter man had a gravelly voice, as he took in the state of the room saying, "Well, well, well . . . "

"That one's name is Aldous," Portia whispered to Andrew.

The two men continued into the room. "Tut. Tut, what a mess," stated Aldous, as he looked down at Mrs. Smith lying on the floor amidst blood, shards of glass, and a broken television. He looked up at the bald man, who made a gulping noise in his throat, and added, "Can't even finish off an old woman . . . "

He looked at Whittaker who glared back with cold pale eyes.

He looked at Mrs. Fuddlemint who found her voice, "Now look here mister! How dare you say . . . "

"Shut up!" he graveled.

Duncan was staring at the wizard wordlessly.

"That's why we're going to plan B," announced a new voice from the doorway.

Everyone looked at the newcomer. He was a very old wizard, wearing wizard's robes of royal purple, and was holding a thick wand like a sword. He did not look happy.

"Plan B?" squeaked Whittaker, taking a step back and looking fearful.

"Yes. Plan B."

"Nobody told me about a plan B. There isn't a plan B," Whittaker stuttered, "My -- My Lord."

"There is now," said another new voice from the doorway.

Behind the purple robed wizard stood yet another man. This new man looked very much like the ancient purple robed wizard, same height, same age, same dark, intense eyes looking out from under silvery grey hair, but he was wearing a suit. He was dressed in Muggle clothes and by the looks of it, a very expensive suit and tie (purple) with bespoke tailoring.

He too, did not look happy; he held no wand, but held instead a cane with a carved ivory handle.

"Since you've completely bungled this whole operation and failed to achieve ownership of this," and he looked around the inn with disgust, "establishment. We're going to do this a more direct way." He pointed with his cane and swept it around the room in an arc.

"Make sure nobody leaves, Plex," he said through gritted teeth.

The purple robed wizard waved his thick wand and Duncan, Mrs. Fuddlemint, Whittaker, and Bobby seemed to freeze with glassy expressions. Mrs. Smith was already frozen still, but her eyes were closed.

Portia and Andrew backed into the sitting room, as the two diviner wizards, Plex (in his purple robes), and his twin in the suit, headed straight toward them and up the stairs.

The tall wizard entered the sitting room.

"Well, who do we have here? We have an audience."

"Get 'em outta here," gravelled Aldous.

"Never mind Bletchley, they're children," said the suited man loudly. "Let them watch, they won't remember anything. Just get on with it."

Plex, the ancient wizard in the purple robes, had his wand pointed at them fiercely. There was a flash of light, and it was as if invisible ropes had bound their arms and legs. Instantly, they felt weightless and light headed and began to float a few inches off the floor. They bobbed in the air, like two balloons; they couldn't move, and they couldn't go anywhere.

Portia looked up at the portrait, and the girl in the portrait winked. Shocked, Portia looked at the men. None of them had noticed this exchange.

Aldous Bletchley, the short diviner, stepped into the center of the room, between the armchairs, and turned around.

He looked at the purple robed wizard and said with a flourish and a deep bow, "Sir Plex."

The purple robed wizard nodded curtly.

He looked at the suited man and bowed, "Lord Caestor."

The suited man's eyes just bored into him.

Aldous continued unshaken. "We believe you're in for a real treat tonight. The planets are aligned, and together, with my good friend here, we will take you back to where it all began for Lord Voldemort. Prepare your minds and memories." He then waved to his tall companion saying, "Tor, if you would . . ."

Tor, the taller of the diviners, stepped to the window and yanked open the curtains. Moonlight flooded the room, and the purple robed Sir Plex closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "A conjunction in the stars," he stated with relish. "I can feel the magic."

"Yes!" exclaimed Tor in his hoarse voice. "Jupiter, Mars, and the moon are lending us their strength; and with this," he pulled a glass vial out from his robes with a flourish, "we shall recreate the most amazing memory, large as life, for your eyes only my lords."

Portia looked at Andrew. If her eyes could have, they would have given an audible groan at this lame attempt of showmanship and grandstanding.

The short wizard took over.

"Not for nothing are we known as the greatest magical diviners. We have worked long and hard to find this place. You can feel this room is filled with magic, and in moments you will see why."

Portia gave a quick frightened glance at Ariana in the portrait and unconsciously pushed her wand higher up her sleeve.

"Well, let's get on with it then," growled the well dressed Lord Caestor, leaning on his cane.

From inside his cloak, the tall wizard withdrew what looked like a grey bowl. He pulled a cork stopper from the top of the glass vial and poured the silvery, swirling liquid into the bowl. He swirled it a little, and then sat it down on a small table in the middle of the room.

The silvery substance took on a life of its own, and two small figures rose up out of it and began to spin around slowly. It looked like their mouths moved but made no sound.

Together, the two diviners waved their wands and spoke incantations. The beam of moonlight sparkled and seemed to focus on the bowl.

The two figures in the silvery substance separated and rose up into the air. Here, they sparkled in the moonlight.

The two diviners waved their wands, and with a great wooshing sound, the two figures expanded to life size.

On the left, was a young lady draped in shawls; around her neck were many long beaded necklaces, and both her arms and wrists carried numerous bangles.

"According to what we've found out, her name is Sibyl Trelawney, a Seer of very mediocre talent," said Aldous.

On the right, was a tall, old man with long hair and a beard long enough to tuck into his belt. The whole figure was silver, but somehow one couldn't help but think that this man's natural hair was silver; it just suited him. His whole bearing made one think "wizard". His eyes nearly sparkled; he wore rectangular glasses; he had a long, crooked nose. His face was friendly though, and he wore a pleasant smile.

"Albus Dumbledore!" whispered the short wizard almost reverently. "Legends tell he was the greatest wizard of his time. Almost as powerful as Voldemort himself. He defeated the great Grindelwald. He fought Voldemort. He was the headmaster of Hogwarts school for many years and supposedly instrumental in bringing the downfall of Voldemort. Gentlewizards, we are in the presence of greatness tonight."

The silvery glow of the two figures lit up the room. Slowly they began to drift sideways towards the sitting room door.

The wizards looked at each other quizzically as if this was unexpected.

The silvery figures drifted slowly right out of the sitting room, and the wizards followed. Outside the sitting room, the silver figures started to rise, and while they definitely looked quite solid, when their heads touched the ceiling they didn't stop rising. Like ghosts, they were sliding up through the ceiling. Already their heads had disappeared.

Looking horrified, Aldous gasped, "We got the wrong room. I don't understand how, but we got the wrong room."

"Quick! Down the stairs. We must go up the other way!" yelled Tor.

All four men ran down the stairs into the main public room. Like two balloons tied with invisible string from their ankles to their captors, Portia and Andrew were dragged along behind the wizards through the air. They tipped backwards as their feet shot forward, and they bumped and bounced against each other and the walls. Nobody else in the public room had moved -- the room was still frozen in place just as when they had left it many minutes ago.

Not caring or even noticing Portia and Andrew trailing behind them in their wake, the wizards ran up the other stairs and stopped in the corridor on the third floor. Weightless and helpless, Portia and Andrew were dragged along, wincing with each bump they endured. They felt dizzy, and they came to rest, arms locked to their sides, floating upright, their feet a few inches off the floor.

The silver figures were visible from the waist up, sticking out of the floor like squat statues that grew taller and revealed more of themselves, as they continued to rise. When their 'bodies' were completely above the floor, the figures began to move sideways again, their silvery robes brushing the floorboards. They entered an empty guest room and took up positions facing one another.

What would they see and hear?

It was the figure of Dumbledore that spoke first.

With a small courteous bow, the Dumbledore figure smiled most politely and said, "I thank you Miss Trelawney for your hospitality. A pleasure to meet you. Hogwarts will be in touch via official owl regarding the position of Divination teacher, but I'm afraid I really must be off now." He turned to the door and stretched out a hand, reaching for the doorknob.

Before anything else could happen, the figure of Trelawny opened her mouth, and a harsh voice issued forth.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES . . . "

The silvery Dumbledore figure released the doorknob and turned to stare at the other very intently with a surprised facial expression. His eyes were wide. The silver Trelawney continued in the harsh tone.

"BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES . . . THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . "

The silver Trelawny closed her mouth and seemed to shrink within her shawls a little, her eyes closed.

The silvery Dumbledore figure blinked, but his expression was thoughtful.

The two figures then froze in place, and their light began to shimmer. Then they began to fade. Within seconds, they looked like two pale ghosts and vanished entirely.

The room was pitch black, and nobody made a sound.

"Lumos," whispered Sir Plex, and his thick wand lit the room.

"Oh what a treat!" exclaimed Lord Caestor. His face was all aglow, and he was smiling widely.

"Worthwhile?" questioned the short diviner in his gravelly voice.

"Most definitely. Indeed I shall treasure this. It will take the place of pride in my set. I shall enjoy displaying this."

"We are pleased that you are pleased." Both diviner wizards bowed low.

"It is so important," continued Lord Caestor pompously. "It is so important to learn everything about Voldemort and his downfall . . . learn from his mistakes . . . now we can truly hear the prophecy in its fullness . . . how he must have felt upon learning what we have just learned . . . how he reacted to it . . . and how it related to Harry Potter."

Aldous said, "It doesn't directly refer to Harry Potter by name, and I have heard theories that the prophecy could have referred to another boy."

Caestor pointed with the head of his cane to Aldous and curtly replied, "Yes. My brother and I have read numerous works in the literature on the subject. I daresay more than anyone else -- we are aware of that particular theory."

"We have no desire to repeat the mistakes of the dark lord," said Sir Plex.

Both brothers were grinning evilly.

"What would you have us do now?" asked Aldous in his gravelly voice. "Seek out more memories? Learn more of the prophecy of Harry Potter?"

"We shall talk more later. Now has come the time to deal with this place."

The twins looked at Portia and Andrew. They stared back, terrified. They had almost forgotten that they weren't supposed to be part of this.

"What are you going to do?" Portia squeaked.

"Since I can't have this place," said Lord Caestor. He indicated his brother with a gesture of his cane . . .

Sir Plex sneered. "We're going to burn it to the ground. The whole inn and everyone in it. Say goodbye kids." He raised his wand; there was a loud bang and Portia and Andrew were flung back against the wall where they slumped down to the floor in a daze, free of their bonds and no longer weightless. They heard, "Burn it down. Burn it all. Each and every floor!"

And then cries of, "Incendio! Incendio! Incendio!" and the room burst into flames around them.

Portia could just barely see through the flames with squinted eyes. She saw the twins link arms, and with a crack! they vanished. With two more cracks! the other two wizards vanished.

The flames were spreading rapidly.

"Aguamenti!" she yelled, while pulling her wand out and pointing it at the flames. She aimed her wand at the closest flames, as water gushed out of the end of her wand tip.

Andrew pulled out his wand and yelled, "Aguamenti!" and added more water to the fight.

Each of them targeted flames around the room with their wands.

"Aguamenti! Aguamenti!"

Water gushed over the floor, the walls, the curtains, and the furniture. Within minutes, the flames, which threatened to engulf the inn rapidly, were put out, and Portia and Andrew stood gasping for air: shocked, scared, exhausted and relieved.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

They heard more sounds like a whip cracking, but these sounded a little muffled as if further away, followed by a dim roaring sound.

They looked at each other.

"Downstairs!" they both yelled, and they turned in one single motion, darted out the door with their ears still ringing, ran down the hall and took the stairs two at a time to come bursting into the public room. It was in flames. Duncan was slumped against the bar. Mrs. Fuddlemint had been thrown against the far wall like a rag doll. Portia's mother lay exactly where she had lain when they left, looking like she was peacefully asleep. There were no signs of Bobby and Whitaker, and the wizards were gone. The flames had engulfed the bar and walls. Black smoke was filling up the room at the ceiling.

Mrs. Smith was engulfed in flames. Portia tried to scream, but her throat seemed to strangle itself, and nothing came out.

This was a nightmare!

"Agua-" As she opened her mouth to recite the water spell, she caught a breath full of smoke and choked.

"Aguamenti!" yelled Andrew, and he started to cough as water poured from his wand to douse the closest flames.

Carefully, Portia muttered, "Aguamenti!" and water gushed from her wand, and now both of them were quickly putting a dent in the fire's progress. First, they concentrated on pushing the flames back from the people where they lay. Then they sprayed water on the flames that were on the walls and the bar and the furniture. Finally, all the flames were out. Water dripped from the ceiling and down the walls, steam rose from the floor. Fortunately, aside from black marks on the ceiling, and a few scorch marks on the bar, it looked as though they had responded fast enough that no significant damage had been done.

Andrew was already opening more windows to allow fresh air in.

Andrew went to help Mrs. Fuddlemint while Portia, tears streaming down her face, knelt down to her mother. Oddly, her mother didn't appear to have received any burns at all. She lay there peacefully as if she had calmly slept through the whole thing. Her clothing however, was quite wet from all the water they had sprayed around while putting the fire out.

Portia sighed with relief. Everyone was alive and the inn was saved!

Chapter 22: In Hospital

Chapter Text

For Portia, being with her mother in the hospital was like being on vacation. It had electricity. It was clean and warm and had a holovision wall.

Portia's mother was sleeping peacefully in her hospital bed. A doctor, wearing a very important looking white coat, had prescribed a simple sleep aid after examining her and stating that there seemed to be no permanent harm done. He did however, seem quite baffled at the reports of the amount of blood at the scene and couldn't explain how her wound had closed so neatly and completely.

With the worries about her mother off her mind, Portia sat in a comfy armchair beside the bed, with her legs folded up beneath her. She could even click the holovision remote from where she sat and watch the 3D holovision wall opposite; it was large, colour, and didn't give off any smoke at all. The nurses were very nice and had given her a snack with cheese and crackers and a chocolate milk drink.

Feeling content and worn out from all the night's events, Portia eventually fell asleep huddled in the armchair. Her holophone was dangling over the edge and hanging by the charging cable, but she still had her wand hidden up her sleeve.

She dreamed of a dragon that was made of paper and had giant, sparkling purple rubies for eyes; it kept giggling and changing the holovision channel until it burst into flame and flew out the window.

She awoke in a patch of warm sunlight coming through the window. Her mother was sitting up in bed eating breakfast from a tray brought in by a nurse.

"Hello dear," said Mrs. Smith in a cheery voice. "We didn't want to wake you. Want some of my breakfast? I can't eat it all. There's toast and jam." She moved over a bit and patted the bed beside her.

Portia climbed up and sat beside her in the bed, leaning against her, nibbling on some very tasty toast with lots of butter and strawberry jam.

Shortly after midday, they were stepping out of an autopod in front of the Hog's Head.

Under a dark threatening sky, they made their way into the inn, as a few large rain drops hit the pavement with heavy splatting sounds, and the autopod hummed away.

The public room was lit by one torch in a bracket, but without the flickering light from the screen of the old television, it seemed darker than outside on the street. Someone had removed the knife and remains of the television. The space that the television had occupied seemed very conspicuous.

"I think I'll go on up and have a little lie down," said her mother.

"Are you feeling all right?" Portia asked with concern.

"I'm fine. Just tired from the trip home."

They both climbed the stairs together; her mother went to her room, and Portia to her own bedroom.

Portia didn't know what to do with herself after all the excitement of the last evening; the rain was now pattering against her window, and with a sigh she flopped down on her bed listlessly. She felt the edge of the bed depress, as Smokey jumped up onto the bed, and she saw him drop a grubby, paper wrapped parcel, which he had been carrying.

"What's that?"

"Hagrid sent it."

She sat up, picked up the string tied package and began to open it. It was full of pound notes!

"Hagrid hoped it could help to pay the debts," explained Smokey.

"But," said Portia looking wide eyed at the thick wad of cash, "Where did he get it all? How did he get it?"

"He took what treasure there was left in the great hall to someplace that could convert it into Muggle money. Is it enough?" Smokey looked up at her with his big eyes.

"I don't know . . . I don't know how much we owe . . . and then there's the contract . . . I don't know how we'll get out of that."

"Oh I took care of the contract at Town Hall. It's gone," said Smokey. "Tux and Sunshine helped. You and Mrs. Smith won't be bothered by that ever again!"

Chapter 23: Welcome to Hogwarts

Chapter Text

The final weeks of school were full of drudgery, assignments, and exams. Portia was quite sure she had done very poorly in her exams and was already wondering how she could avoid seeing her grades when they were posted.

Finally, the first day of summer break arrived. It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear and blue; the sun shone bright and warm.

Portia slowly rolled out of bed and padded quietly across her room to stare out the window at the beauty. She felt so happy.

"There's a message for you."

She turned around in surprise and looked down at Smokey. She took a piece of folded parchment from him.

Meet me at the old station mid-morning.

Bring Andrew and bring your black robes.

It's important.

Hope you're well,

Hagrid.

"What could he possibly need?" said Portia. "And why do we need our robes? What's important?"

Smokey just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"I need to get a message to Andrew. Can you take it?"

"I can," said Smokey, who began to lick and clean his paws.

She wrote a note, gave it to Smokey, then opened the window for him to jump out.

Around 10 am Portia rolled up her black hooded robe into a tight bundle, tucked it under her arm, and quietly slipped out the back door of the kitchen. Andrew was waiting with his black robe slung over one shoulder and a half eaten piece of toast in his other hand.

"What do you think Hagrid wants?" he asked through a mouthful of toast, as crumbs fell to the ground.

"No idea. The note didn't say."

They headed down the street with Smokey following at a trot. The trees were covered with thick green leaves that rustled in a gentle breeze.

Soon, they reached the train tracks and turned down the lane to follow them up to the old station. They were parallel with the end of the old train where it sat rusting in the tracks, and they stared at each of the carriages as they passed. It looked so forlorn and decrepit, sitting silently in disrepair. They were on the platform and had reached the once bright red, but now rusty, engine.

"No sign of Hagrid," said Andrew.

"Hagrid!" Portia called.

"Hagrid! Are you here?"

They both called out for Hagrid.

Smokey was sniffing one of the doors to the carriages. "Do you think he's on the train?" he asked.

"You'd think he would have heard us calling if he was," said Portia.

"You don't think something's happened to him?" asked Andrew a little worriedly.

"Well, let's look," said Portia. She opened a door to the first carriage, stepped up, and proceeded down the carriage peering into each area. Then they heard . . . a voice from the other side of the train . . .

"Firs' years. Over here. Firs' years!"

"Hagrid?" they queried, and together they hurried off the other side of the train.

There was Hagrid, waving one hand, his other hand holding his enormous staff, with a big smile on his face.

"Well come on," he said. "But yeh better get yer robes on fer this."

Not quite sure what they should expect, Portia and Andrew pulled their oversized black wizard robes over their t-shirt and jeans and stood in front of Hagrid looking up at him.

"All righ', firs' years follow meh," said Hagrid, and he turned around and limped toward the lake where a small boat bobbed at the edge.

Hagrid held out one hand in a gesture of displaying the boat and said, "Step in an' I'll take yeh 'cross the lake."

Andrew and Portia stepped in carefully so as not to rock the boat too much, and sat down on one of the tiny benches.

"Come on Smokey!" called Portia.

"Yeah right!" snapped Smokey sarcastically. "I am not getting near that thing!" And to prove the point he sat his backside down on the ground.

Hagrid stepped in, sat down at the back, pulled his white umbrella out from inside his coat and tapped it against the edge of the boat. The boat moved away from the bank of its own accord and started steadily across the lake, which was nice and calm in the good weather. Smokey started walking along the edge of the lake.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' view o' it in a minute," said Hagrid.

And sure enough, they did. There, on top of a cliff, stood the castle of Hogwarts, still looking grand even in its ruined state with its many windows and tall towers. It looked grand and a little sad.

They were moving quickly now to the base of the rocky cliff where some plants overhung a cave entrance; they entered, and Hagrid had to duck his head to avoid hitting the top of the rock.

There was a torch burning near a stone landing, and the boat bumped up against the stones. Portia scrambled out first, followed by Andrew, and finally Hagrid stepped out onto solid ground. He grinned down at them. "Used ter do this every year ter bring the firs' years from the station."

He paused for a moment looking up a long set of stone stairs. Then, with some huffing and puffing, he led them up the stairs and onto the Hogwarts grounds. He marched to the castle front entrance and through the entrance hall . . .

. . . and they entered the Great Hall.

Portia, mouth open in surprise, stared around. Andrew's eyes were popping. The hall had been cleared of all debris. All the rubble and the stone blocks were gone.

A gigantic sheet, the size of a sail, with the word 'Hogwarts' scrawled in Hagrid's handwriting was hanging like a banner on a far wall. Underneath the word Hogwarts, in smaller scrawl was the school motto: Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. Burning torches were mounted in brackets around the walls. A column of sunlight shone through the damaged wall and landed brightly upon a large table in the middle of the hall. There were wooden chairs around the table and plates of sandwiches and flagons of pumpkin juice on the table.

From his great height, Hagrid looked down at them, grinning through his wild tangled beard.

"Firs' years, welcome to 'Ogwarts."