A Fistful of Galleons

Author's Note: This is a story set in the American Old West, so it's pretty AU and some HP buildings have been reimagined to fit this time period. Also there won't be as many Britishisms.

The man in black jerked awake when he felt a hand jostle his shoulder. He shook off the remnants of what had been shaping up to be an odd dream and forced himself to full attention. Practised fingers hovered over his holster and he was near drawing when his eyes focused and he saw the timid train conductor peering at him.

"Sorry sir." The conductor gulped visibly and took several steps back. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"I don't startle." The man in black adjusted his hat until the brim was nearly touching his nose. Satisfied that his face was fairly obscured, he looked up at the conductor. "Can I help ya with somethin'?"

"No sir. It's just ... well ... Pig's Meadow is the next stop. And you'll need to come with me."

The man nodded and rose, subtly stretching his long legs. He'd been on the train less than a day, but the cramped seating made him feel like he'd made the trip locked in one of his mother's old steamer trunks. The conductor looked over his shoulder at him, started to speak, thought better of it and simply walked on. The man in black smiled; made another adjustment to his hat, and followed.

Walking through the compartments, the man in black saw all eyes bend toward him. He ignored the scrutiny and simply held on to one of the train loops as it rounded a corner and began to slow down. Chatter rose around him and there were more stares now - both at him and out the window. He glanced out the window, as well, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. In his view was the train station with the thestral coaches outside for hire. There was the old broomstick shed, too, for those who didn't want to ride to town in "comfort," and even some hippogriff stalls beyond there for those who had more than a galleon or two in his pocket.

But the man knew that the familiar sights that were raising a lump in his throat weren't registering at all with his fellow passengers. He looked round again and saw quite a few faces looking uneasily outside as the train ground to a stop. Still others were looking at him accusingly. The man caught a woman's eye and touched the brim of his hat sarcastically, grinning when she blushed scarlet and looked away.

Muggles, he knew, could not see Pig's Meadow. To them, it was just a large, empty space indistinguishable from all the other vast amounts of emptiness they'd traveled through. But they knew something was there. And they knew he could see it. So they knew he was a wizard, and so was the conductor, for that matter. He reckoned it made sense that a train traveling through magical territories would have at least one wizard or witch working aboard it, but a vague worry stirred in his mind. How had anyone known that he'd be on that train that day? Someone must have,

He read the mistrust and anger in the eyes of the Muggles and he squared his shoulders. The Muggles had fought valiantly when their world had been threatened, but the man in black often thought that Muggles should have been Obliviated to erase their knowledge of the magical world. It was easier that way, easier to go back to the days where Muggles thought wizards and witches were something out of their own legends.

"Pig's Meadow, this stop." The conductor beckoned with his head, and the man in black followed him down the corridor, both of them chased by heated glances and murmurs. He glanced back at the woman who'd glared at him and saw her staring hard out the window, disappointment coloring her pinched face. He sighed and wondered what it must feel like to know something was out there, but to be unable to see it, like a child pressing its nose against a darkened shop, just knowing there were sweets inside just out of his reach. it was a cruel thing, the man in black thought. It wasn't fair. If it had been up to him ...

He cut that thought off and stepped out into the hot sun after the conductor.

"You didn't have any bags, did you sir?"

The man shook his head slowly. "You know this town?"

"Just to pass through. I know the final battle was fought -"

"Never mind." He cut him off with a wave of his hand. He wasn't going to get the information he needed out of this timid git. "What time's the train leave this station goin' back to Muggle Territory?"

"A train leaves at dawn and at midnight."

He nodded. So that hadn't changed at least. The conductor waited expectantly, his shoulders drooping when he realised their conversation was over. The man in black felt a pang of remorse at how he'd treated the hapless conductor. There were no more stops along this route in magical villages. That one wizard was going to have to travel all the way to the end of Muggle Territory with a train full of mistrustful, angry Muggles. He didn't envy him.

He watched the conductor get back aboard and stepped back as the train bells whistled and steam puffed from the chimney. A movement caught his eye and he saw a young girl staring out of the window, slack jawed. She was not focused on him, however, and he glanced over his shoulder, noting that a hippogriff had broken away from the paddock and was cavorting near the thestral coaches. Two or three trainers kept the beasts from trampling each other and soon the creature was corralled and led slowly back to the stables.

When he looked back at the girl, he saw that she was tugging on her mother's arm, pointing frantically out of the window. But the mother, after glancing out the window herself, confusion evident on her face, spoke sharply to the girl, who cast a last, longing look out the window just before her mother pulled the shade down. The man in black bit his lip, anger and pity rushing through him. The young girl could see what was going on. She was a witch, obviously. But Muggleborn. And in these days and times, that was just about the same as being a Muggle herself.

Didn't used t'be that way. Thought the war bein' over would mean more than it has ...

The train roared to life, soon picking up speed. The man watched from beneath the brim of his hat until it rounded a corner and disappeared with just a puff of steam in its wake. Exhaling slowly, he turned around and leaned against a lone lamppost.

So, this was it, then. Here he was. Home.

And now what ...?

His eyes narrowed as he considered his options. It was a long walk to town from the station, and it was just gone noon, and hot as the underside of a newly fired cauldron. Still, he couldn't justify the expense of taking one of the thestral coaches, and he had to admit that he was out of practice on a broomstick. His mind wandered to his old mount, Traveler, now out to pasture way back in Muggle Territory. He remembered thinking that riding a horse would be child's play next to riding a hippogriff or even a broom. He also remembered, after Traveler had thrown him half a dozen times, feeling mighty stupid about ever having felt that way. The man's smile faded. It wouldn't do any good to think about Traveler or the adventures they'd had in Muggle Territory now. He was back amongst wizards and witches. His own people. High time he started acting like it.

The area around the train depot was fairly quiet save for the coach drivers and some young children who'd obviously come to see the train stop and depart. Young faces eyed him eagerly and he pulled his hat further down. They were too young, he reckoned, to know who he was, but he didn't want to take any chances on revealing himself. Not yet.

He chewed his lip, eyeing the dusty road into town. Maybe walking wouldn't be so bad after all. It'd give him time to think of what to say. He didn't doubt that he was going to be asked for his 'story' many, many times. It might've helped if he'd had a story worth telling.

A shrill voice nearby made him wince, and he turned sharply toward a thin boy with floppy brown hair waving a stack of parchment:

"EXTRY, EXTRY! READ ALL ABOUT IT! SHERRIFF POTTER TO MARRY GINNY WEASLEY TOMORROW AT NOON! GET YER MEADOW MIRROR HERE, ONLY TWO KNUTS! EXTRY, EXTRY ..."

The man in black took two long-legged strides and snagged a parchment before the boy could get a second wind. He gazed down at the picture of Ginny Weasley, identified as the main showrider of Pig Meadow's broomstick rodeo, with her arms wrapped lovingly around the town's main lawman, Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, fastest wand-draw in those parts. His green eyes glowed behind his glasses and his fringe hid the fading scar that was the only memory of his showdown with the outlaw Tom Riddle, better known as 'Black Mort.' The man in black stared at the picture and smiled in spite of himself.

"Mister, hey, Mister, that's two knuts," whined the thin boy at his elbow. "Two knuts, or I'm gonna haveta tell my Pa ..."

The man in black reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, sneering as he flipped it to the boy.

"Here. Tell him about that."

He expected the boy to grin delightedly at the money, and was shocked when the youth stared down at it and then up at him with distrust.

"This is Muggle money. We don't take that here." He eyed the man in black accusingly. "You ain't a Muggleborn, are ya?"

The hostility in the boy's voice caught the man unawares for a moment. "And what if I am?"

"Yes, indeed. And what if you were?"

It was a different voice. Older, a little weary. The man in black whirled quickly. He'd been expecting to see the child's father, but the person who had spoke didn't even look at the boy except to flip him two bronze coins and pluck the Muggle money out of his hand.

"There now. No problems I would expect, are there, Jake?"

The boy didn't say anything to the older gentleman. He glared at the man in black again and took himself and his wares to the other side of the platform, muttering. The man in black watched the newcomer watch the boy go. The newcomer was slightly tall and slightly bent. His voice sounded like cracked wood and he was dressed, despite the heat, in full robes, his hood pulled down over his face. The man in black felt suddenly uneasy around a person who was trying as hard as he was to conceal his identity.

"Appreciate that," the man in black said, touching his hat. "I just wanted to look at the front page anyway. You take it. You bought it."

"Oh, quite all right. I've already read it," the other man said conversationally. "Care to share a thestral coach into town?"

The man in black looked over his shoulder at where the coaches were waiting. "Planned on just walkin' into town. Thanks just the same."

"It's a very long, dusty walk," said the other man. "Besides, there are wand checkpoints all along the roadway. Taking a thestral coach in, you check your wand once and off you go."

"Wand checkpoints?" the man in black repeated incredulously. "Since when?"

"Since Pig's Meadow was put under a Disillusionment Charm again," was the answer. "The wand checkpoints are on Sherriff Potter's orders, and very good orders they are, too. So, shall we?"

The man in black shifted uncomfortably. "Reckon I don't have any wizarding money, and I suppose there's no place to change what Muggle coins I've got?"

The other man shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid not. And Gringotts no longer issues Muggle currency."

The man in black cursed under his breath. "Well, that's just brilliant. I've got a pocketful of Muggle money that's no good to me here."

"Perhaps not, but it would be good to me," said the other man. "I'm on my way to the edge of town so that I can Apparate into Muggle Territory. I would have the same difficulties as you in obtaining the correct coinage. Fancy a trade of what's in your pockets for what's in mine?"

"Well, I dunno ... won't you need some of it when you get back here?"

"If I'm successful in my errand, I'll be able to obtain plenty when I return," said the man in a kindly voice that the man in black found eerily familiar. "Come now, let's have a look at the colour of your money."

He shrugged and dug into his pockets for the last of his pay before he'd left Muggle Territory. He was a frugal sort and most of his expenses had been covered, so his stash was considerable. The other man removed a bulging pouch from deep within his robes and handed it over, cupping his own hands to receive the Muggle coins.

"Much obliged," he said happily. "I think you'll find that it's an even trade."

The man in black looked into the pouch and his eyes grew wide. "Mister, there's almost all Galleons in here. I didn't give you that much Muggle money, not enough to cover all this."

"It is plenty, believe me." The man poured the coins into a pocket of his robes and waved toward the thestral coaches. "Now shall we? I do have to hurry and I'm sure you'll want to get into town as soon as possible, as well."

The man in black wondered why his companion would think that, but he shrugged and followed. If he'd had his druthers, he would've taken a hippogriff into town. He never much cared for thestrals, even when they had been invisible to him. They were awkward, gloomy-looking animals, and the sight of them reminded the man in black of how much death he'd actually seen, both during the last battle and afterward.

He settled in next to his companion, and almost immediately, the carriage jumped forward and moved swiftly away from the station and along the dusty road that led directly into the heart of Pig's Meadow.

The man in black was relieved when his companion seemed to be nodding off to sleep rather than interested in idle chatter. It allowed him to continue reading the rest of the Meadow Mirror. The story on the wedding between Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley took up most of the space, but there were a few other stories here and there that he found interesting. One was a small item on the Governor of Magical Territories planning a meeting with the leader of much of the Muggle Territory over "property rights." Another was a short article on the disappearance of a goblin who'd worked in Gringotts, the third such "disappearance" in as many months.

"A nasty business, that," said a sleepy voice beside him. "About the goblins."

The man in black looked over at his traveling companion who somehow didn't look sleepy at all. "Yeah, seems kinda strange. Is this why Gringotts isn't handling Muggle money anymore?"

"That's one reason," the other man said softly. "It's very nasty. Very, very nasty."

"Hmmm." The man in black felt suddenly uneasy. The other man's voice was so familiar, and he thought, just for a moment, that he could see a familiar twinkle in his companion's eyes. One he hadn't seen even before the last battle was fought.

"Are you in town for the wedding?" the other man asked politely, his face and the twinkling eyes suddenly swallowed up by the hood once more.

"Could be," the man in black answered guardedly. "Looks like it's gonna be quite a do."

"Oh, it's been a long time coming. Sherriff Potter and Miss Ginny have been besotted with each other for ages. It's going to be a lovely affair, and I'm sorry I have to miss it."

"What's your business in Muggle Territory?" The man in black felt very uncomfortable talking about the wedding. "Kinda dangerous over there for a wizard, these days."

"Yes," the other man said absently. "And in some ways, that is why I'm going to Muggle Territory. I made a promise, a very specific promise, and I must keep it, for the sake of the wizarding world and Muggles alike."

"Hmm," the man in black said again, and the conversation lapsed. His companion seemed to be dropping off to sleep once more and the man in black tried to relax and look around at the scenery. There was vast amounts of desert broken up by an occasional cactus or tumbleweed. In the distance, however, he could see a mass of buildings and broomsticks silhoutted against the sun. His heart pounded and sweat beaded on his brow. He couldn't believe it. After five years, he was finally home. It seemed like such a long time, but seeing the familiar outlines made the years drop away.

The carriage started to slow as they entered the city limits of Pig's Meadow. The man in black recognised Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and laughing children darting out with dripping cones. There was Madame Malkin's, too, and a stream of fashionable witches running in and out for formal robes. The man in black recognised a face or two, and he drew his hat down further. There was Gringotts, of course, oddly silent, and Flourish and Botts with a few loungers outside looking hot and cross.

"Staying at the Burrow, are you?" The voice was sharply curious this time. "Before the wedding, I mean?"

The man in black almost jumped, but he managed to make it seem like he was just shifting his weight. "The Leaky still rents rooms, doesn't it? Reckoned I'd stay there. Always did like the food."

"Yes, the kippers are especially nice," said the other man with a wistful sigh. "But the innkeeper's gone, now. Eloped with a Muggle three years back and sold the works to Miss Hannah Abbott. She keeps it now, she and her husband. She married Neville Longbottom last spring."

"Sound like the Broomsticks is in good hands."

"Yes, they are quite a lovely pair," agreed his companion. "They've converted the rooms upstairs to living quarters and I wouldn't be surprised if a nursery was in the offing, but they might open a room up for a friend."

The man in black looked over quickly. "Where do you get the idea that I'm a friend?"

"The same way I got the idea that you might be staying at the Burrow." The twinkling eyes were back.

The man in black shrank against the seat and pulled his hat further down. "Do I know you, stranger?"

"Quite well." The weariness was back in the voice and it was touched with sadness. "Quite well. But I think you already knew that, and I hardly think I'm a stranger to you. Well. Here we are at the pub. Your stop, I believe."

The man in black began to speak, but decided it wouldn't do much good. He hoisted himself out of the carriage and glanced over his shoulder. "Thanks for the newspaper. Good luck in Muggle Territory."

"Thank you. I have no doubt I'll need it," said the other man gravely. "And good luck to you here. It's been much too long. Welcome home, Mr. Weasley."

The man in black jumped back as the carriage hitched forward and then shimmered away like a hazy dream. He blinked suddenly. It was gone. Carriage, companion and all. The bright noonday sun beamed down on empty air and the slight whirl of dust where the contraption should have been. The man in black rubbed his eyes hard three times. Shaking his head slowly, he turned and saw the Leaky Cauldron, its dark, cool interior beckoning him. Glancing again at the last spot that he'd seen the thestral coach. Shaking his head again, he moved toward the Leaky, pausing at the doorway. With a deep breath and a sigh, he entered, but first made sure to remove his hat.