Scourge of the Heathen- Chapter 2 (Patreon)

AN: Casting

I think this woman is gorgeous in whichever picture you see her in, but there is one in particular where she's wearing a blue dress that made me decide on her for Rowena.

Rowena- Anna Belik 

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. He didn’t even realize that he’d closed his eyes before taking the plunge. Opening them, the moon hung high and clear above him. It peaked through the boughs and leaves of the trees he found himself standing among, larger than he could ever remember. And not only that but the night’s sky was alight with thousands of twinkling dots of starlight. The great expanse of the cosmos hung above him with far more clarity than he’d ever seen before on a crisp and cool darkness of an early spring.

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. The owl echoed in the peaceful silence. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this… wasn’t it. Given the existence of the Veil, at the very least, he’d expected some afterlife. But everything around him screamed of the land of the living, though the air tasted richer, cleaner even. Who knows? This might be Valhalla, or even Tír na nÓg. I hoped to at least see my parents. He patted at his body beneath the cloak, “I seem to be alive though,” he didn’t know whether to be disappointed by that, “Veil of Death indeed.”

Looking around he saw that the Veil behind him was roiling on its surface. The archway looked no different, but it certainly wasn’t tucked away in the depths of London any longer. What in the bloody hell have I gotten myself into this time. He walked over to it of half a mind to step right back through. Maybe the second time’s the charm. The voice in his mind was no longer a whisper in that moment. NO!

The command had a strength he wasn’t expecting, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Disturbed by the sheer will of the voice, he asked to the air, “Hello?” There was no response. The voice was silent, satisfied that he listened. Great. “Nothing for it, I suppose. Might as well figure out where I am.”

Walking through the trees, his footfalls were silent on the soft ground. The wood was thick, and he could hear the skittering of creatures big and small as he passed. A badger hurried along just in front of him, scurrying away to its burrow with a fox in hot pursuit.

A cool breeze cut through the trees, rustling the leaves all around him. Then, just on the edge of the tree line, there was a new light, orange and red pushing through the shadow of the trees. Harry stopped and stared in the direction of the fire, before sighing, resigned. Let’s just hope they’re friendly.

The fire sat in the middle of a small clearing where two elms had been felled by lightning. Their trunks lay broken on either side of the fire, just high enough to use as a bench. Sitting on that bench was a woman, all clad in dark furs, with coal black hair in a braid. Her back was toward him as she spoke, voice light and velvety, “Beo þu gesund”

That wasn’t a language he recognized, not that he could speak any but English anyway, but he recognized a greeting when he heard it, “Hello.” His magic worked around them, as he willed it to translate for him.

The woman clearly felt it as she turned to look at him.  Her skin was snow white, and her eyes gleamed like freshly polished silver, “Now that is interesting.”

He edged around the fire until he stood across from the woman, her mere presence had him on edge, “My magic?”

“Yes and no. The feel of it is… unique. But that isn’t the only thing that is interesting.” She smiled at his confusion, “Sit, won’t you?”

It didn’t sound like a request, and something instinctual told him it would be unwise to refuse. He dropped his bum against the bark of the broken tree, “You wouldn’t happen to know where I am, would you?”

“Rockingham Forest,” she told him, “Quite a good distance from the town.”

Still in England then, but more than 150 kilometers from where I was. He pushed his hands toward the fire as another breeze cut through the trees. The fire whipped and flickered as he replied, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she looked at him intently, “How did you find yourself here, all alone?”

He didn’t question for a moment why the same was true of her, “By chance… or fate, I never know for sure anymore.” It was an evasive answer, but not an outright lie.

She laughed lightly at that, “Perhaps a bit of both then.” He felt as though she could see beneath the cloak as she looked him over, “Your cloak, quite the thing. Where did you get it?”

He could lie, but it seemed pointless. Anybody chasing the Hallows would find it difficult to part him from them, “From my father, and his father before him.”

“And it lasted so long? It must be of incredible quality.” There was something in her voice that told him she knew more than she was saying.

“It is.”

Silence fell between them, even the animals of the wood had gone still. It was eerie as she didn’t seem to blink, “I saw the oddest thing, just a few short minutes ago. It’s the reason I made this fire, you see. It takes a great deal to surprise me, but you managed it when you walked out of one of Death’s Doors.” Harry swallowed thickly, as she leaned forward, and he noticed for the first time that she didn’t cast any shadows, “Such a thing shouldn’t be possible. Not for a mortal.”

“I…” After years of fighting, and the deadly adventures that preceded them, Harry didn’t often feel fear anymore, but sitting across from Death, he could feel a tendril of it creep up his spine, “Just walked through, I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Most would expect death.”

“I’ve always been an exception to the rule,” even at the times when he didn’t want to be, “and nothing say that would’ve been so bad.  There are things far worse than death.”

“How true.” She smiled at him, though it wasn’t comforting in the slightest, “But then, I found something even more interesting. You sit here bathed in my magic. Your cloak, your wand, even that stone on your finger, all of it is mine and yet not.”

So, there’s at least some truth to those old legends. “I came by them honestly, I promise.”

“Oh, I know.” She assured him, “If I thought you stole them from me, you wouldn’t be breathing any longer. But I would remember gifting such things to a mortal.”

“You’re Death.” or at least some physical representation of it, “So, you’ve been around how long?”

“Since the first star was born. Where there is life, there must be death.”

“Eternity is a long time to remember every little thing.” He quipped, mouth dry.

Death chuckled at that, “Oh, very good, but wrong all the same. I’ve forgotten nothing.” She leaned back, hands dropping to the wood beneath her.

Harry wasn’t surprised, “I believe you,” Which means one of two things, “It’s funny, there’s a legend or a rumor, that said any who gathered these three items would become Master of Death?”

The laugh that bubbled up from her chest was high and cut through the still forest like a sword through flesh, “Oh that is rich. No, no, I’m afraid I have no master, mortal.”

Harry shook his head, wry smile on his lips, “I can’t say I ever believed it myself.”

Her fingers tapped against the trunk,  “They may not make you Master of Death,” she couldn’t help but laughed again at the very implication, “but they were definitely crucial to your survival. I was serious, going through the Door should have meant death. None of that explains who tampered with it or why?” She said the last more to herself.

“Sorry?” The Hallows were the working theory for his survival but it didn’t explain the change in location. And it would seem that voice in my head isn’t Death, they sound nothing alike.

“Magic,” she told him unhelpfully, “not mine and not yours. I have my suspicions. Very few people can find the Doors, and even fewer can alter them.”

“Mind telling me those suspicions?”

Eyeing him, she smirked, “Yes, I think I do. You’re out of place, by a good distance I’m willing to wager. I want to see why for myself. It’s terribly intriguing.”

“I grew tired of being other people’s pawn years ago.” He growled out in his frustration, “If somebody is playing with me, I want to know.”

“Too bad,” She told him without a hint of remorse, his anger not bothering her in the slightest, “Now, there is one thing I need from you.”

“I don’t suppose I have much choice in the matter.”

“No, I’m afraid you don’t, master.” Death taunted him as she held out her hand, “The cloak.”

Harry’s jaw ticked in irritation, “It’s been in my family for generations.”

“And yet, it’s still mine.” Her cloak shifted to be entirely translucent, a perfect match for the material around his shoulders, “And so long as you wear it, you are hidden to me. Had I not been at the Door when you arrived, I might never have known of your arrival. As I said, I’m intrigued and, I can’t have my own pesky cloak getting in the way of my curiosity.”

There was a small, stupid part of him that wanted to argue with her, but he stamped that down. Resigned, he grabbed the cloak at his shoulders and pulled it over his head, “Any chance I’ll get it back?”

“Who knows? Maybe someday. Fate will have to decide.” She grabbed the cloak and as she draped it across her thighs, it sewed itself back into her changing, endless shroud. He was left standing in an old pair of jeans and tattered black shirt, both cleaned a thousand times over with magic .

There was clear amusement in her eyes as she looked him over, “Oh, definitely out of place.” The sun was just starting to peak up over the tops of the trees on the eastern hills. As the light pushed into the clearing, the fire went out in a blink as Death stood, “Now I must be off.” Stepping over the tree trunk, she headed toward the forest.

“That’s it then? Just going to take the cloak and leave?” He knew that he was pushing his luck, but he didn’t particularly care.

She stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, “For now, yes… but as I said, I’ll be watching.” Without another word, she stepped into the forest and disappeared.

“Well fuck.” Harry muttered to himself. What a fantastic morning. I have no idea what’s actually going on and lost the cloak on top of it. Really great, Potter. “What next? What next?” He could trudge through Rockingham Forest for hours until he reached the actual town, but that didn’t sound appealing in the slightest. Could always apparate back into London, but there’s nothing there of any worth. The Veil was the only reason he’d gone to begin with.  Home, go home.

“Home?” The voice was no longer a weak whisper, but nor was it the outright command he’d experienced near the Veil. He was of half a mind to ignore it now. It hadn’t exactly led him to anything worthwhile. Just more questions so far.

But still, Harry only ever had one true home. The Weasleys did a good job of making him feel welcome at the Burrow, but a handful of weeks over the course of five years didn’t make a home. No, the only home he knew was in the Scottish Highlands, hundreds of miles to the north. He hadn’t seen the old castle in years, simply because it wasn’t safe.

The Inquisition tried to decimate it to no avail. The castle was built in a place rife with magic, and after a millennia worth of magical students came and went, it developed its own sentience. When that failed, they used it to lure unsuspecting magicals seeking refuge. Once people became wise to it, it became wholly derelict, and Hogsmeade nothing more than a ghost town. It wouldn’t surprise me if it becomes a tourist attraction. A testament to the defeated magicals.

Standing up, he ran a hand through his dark hair, “It’d be good to see it again.” Without another thought, he popped away. Snow crunched beneath his feet as he arrived in the Highlands. It was melting slowly in the early morning sun, the tops of the grass just peaking up from the white blanket. The south of the British Isle was warmer than the Scottish Highlands and his breath misted in the early morning chill.

But that wasn’t the oddest thing about his arrival. Looking up to the high hill, there was no magnificent, eye-catching castle, instead there was a hall made of smooth stones and a thatched roof. Nor was there any town in the valley below, not a single structure resided in the place where Hogsmeade should have been. The Forbidden Forest looked thinner, the trees younger. The only thing that appeared entirely the same was the Black Lake, dark and clear with just a bit of ice on its banks. The air was still thick with old magic, and the ley-line where the castle should be was still very much there.

“Great,” Harry shook his head and walked toward the hall slowly, “Death said I was out of place. I think it was a bit of an understatement.” I can only think of two reasons the castle wouldn’t be here. I’m either in an entirely different timeline, where it was never built to begin with or… I’ve been displaced a thousand years into the past. But why?

There was a footpath that led up to the hall. He passed a low wall that surrounded the hill and felt the press of wards as he passed through them. The hall was sturdily built, made of dark stone stacked and bound with magic. The door was made of strong oak and banded in iron, locked with something far stronger than a simple locking charm. There were small windows for light and Harry peaked in to see a pot was boiling over the top of an open fire, a large spoon spinning the contents on its own. Nobody’s home.

“And what was the point of sending me home, if there’s no home here to find?” Real bloody helpful. The voice was silent, and Harry huffed irritably. Unwilling to force his way into somebody’s home, he stepped away. Looking out across the valley below and to the forest, he had to say, it was beautiful as he remembered.

There was a light fog in the valley as the snow melted away. Harry walked down the hill with a very specific place in mind. He walked down to the Black Lake, just along the shore next to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He found a rock that he remembered well. It wasn’t as weather worn as the last time he’d seen it.  It was a spot he’d spent plenty of time at when he needed some time to himself. He cast a simple warming charm to keep the chill away and made himself comfortable.

Back against the cold stone, he breathed the crisp air. It was odd having a moment of peace, of any kind. For six years, he’d been in constant fear of the next moment being his last.  And now, he was pretty damn confident he’d found himself more than a millennium in the past.  Small mercies, at least I don’t have to look over my shoulder for the Inquisition everywhere I go anymore.

The sun rose in the sky, the day growing warmer as it went. The snow melted and the light fog burned away in the light. Harry lay there just basking in the peacefulness of the morning. He knew full well that he needed to figure out what to do next, but for that brief moment, he was happy just to relax. It ended abruptly when he heard voices in the forest, coming nearer.

“Thig air adhart a-nis, chan fheum a bhith cho nàimhdeil.” It was a man’s voice, deep and gruff, speaking in what sounded like some form of Gaelic. There was chuckling from more men nearby, and something told him they weren’t friendly. With a grunt, he rose from his peaceful little place beside the lake, and headed toward the wood.

The Elder Wand was in his hand, but his translation spell was silent and wandless. A woman spoke then, “You aren’t here to sit at my table. Don’t play me for a fool. If Causantin wants my lands, he’ll need to send more than four men to take them.”

“Oh, he has plenty more where we came from. He’s king of Alba, he has men to spare. But it won’t take more than us to deal with some little woods witch.”

Harry wound through the trees, searching out those voices. He found them maybe twenty meters into the wood. There were four men, just as the woman said, and her back was to him. Her hair was chestnut brown and fell loose below her shoulders. She wore a heavy cloak and a simple dress made of soft, grey wool.

The men were thick-bearded and wearing heavy chainmail, beneath tunics. Definitely in a different time then.  Three of them were carrying heavy axes, and the fourth a sword. They approached the woman, their intentions clearly less than kind. A wand dropped into her hand from her sleeve. And before they could even come near her, lights started dancing from the tip in the direction of each of the men. Their eyes widened in surprise but four muggles alone were no match for the clearly skilled witch. They fell one by one, but that wasn’t what had Harry’s attention. It was the fifth and sixth man, approaching from the trees that the witch didn’t see that had him concerned.

When forced to choose between muggles and magicals, he’d decided to always choose his own. Without a second thought, the Elder Wand whipped in the direction of the two men. The spells were bright and quick and shot through the trees with perfect precision. The men fell to the ground thudding against the base of two of the trees.

They didn’t go unnoticed. Stumbling slightly, the woman whipped around to look at him, her breathing panicked despite her earlier calm. Pointing her wand in his direction, ready in case there was just another fight waiting for her, she asked, “Who’re you?”

“Harry, just Harry.” He tucked away his wand and held his hands up placatingly, “Don’t worry, not here to hurt you. Just heard voices and came to investigate. Didn’t look like you needed much help until I saw those two over there.” She glanced in the direction, seeing the two unconscious men before returning her attention to him.

Her eyes were midnight-blue and watching him intently, but she seemed satisfied enough to drop her wand, “And how’d you find yourself on my land, Harry?”

“Just looking for a place to rest,” he lied, “the lake seemed nice enough.” There was a necklace around her neck, it was a large bird’s claw on a fine silver chain. The bag around her shoulders was filled with some mushrooms that she’d foraged in the forest. If he were to guess, he would say that she was a teenager, though her bearing spoke of someone older.

“Well, I’d agree with you there.” She smiled slightly at him, but quirked an eyebrow at his odd clothing, “Thank you, for helping I suppose.”

“There are few enough of us. We ought to help each other when we have the chance.” Just as he said it, an eagle landed on her shoulder carrying a dead rabbit in one of its claws. It peered at him with intelligent, amber eyes.

“You’re not wrong,” she reached up and tickled the imposing bird of prey behind the neck, “You’re welcome to join me. I wouldn’t mind the company… I’m Rowena, by the way.”

Bloody hell... this is Rowena Ravenclaw… Harry could imagine Hermione’s reaction if she’d been there to see one of the founders in the flesh.