A Bitter Wind

Chapter 1 - The Stranger

It was a strange wind blowing, that night. It told of new things to come and of old, half-forgotten memories, to all who know how to listen to it. It blew through the sleepy little village of Ottery St. Catchpole from dawn until dusk and longer, creeping it's way into coats and cloaks of even the heaviest, most tightly woven material, freezing the people beneath them with a cold that was almost bone deep. Almost no one was walking the streets anymore, as what little warmth the day had held had disappeared when the sun had gone down; only the last-minute Christmas shoppers were left, hurrying from one shop to the next, frenzied by the need to finish up and go home to their families in time for Christmas Eve dinner.

A solitary figure walked through the streets, dressed in a long, black cloak that rippled in the wind. Seemingly unaffected by the cold, the mysterious person strode briskly through the village, hooded features obscuring any indication toward their identity. They walked purposely toward the end of town, where an ancient cart track that wound through the hills surrounding the area began. Reaching it, they walked on, noticed by no one.

The stars were starting to appear as the cloaked figure made it's way down the winding, decrepit road no one used anymore. The wind was blowing harder now, and the unknown person moved faster, as though afraid they wouldn't have enough time. After a while, they came to fork in the road. The right led straight on, obviously the more used path. To the left was a road so seldom used, it was barely distinguishable from the frozen ground around it. At first glance, it wasn't even visible - one had to know it was there to see it. The figure turned left.

It was obvious no one had used the path in years. Dead leaves covered it, and ivy grew like wild. Fighting their way through the undergrowth, they finally made their way through the thicket of trees, to a clearing. In the middle was a lopsided house that looked to have been abandoned for years. It leaned sideways, looking for all the world as if it were about to collapse, and the windows were all broken. The front door was gone, and the paint was chipped and flaking. Inside the house, it was bleak as well. The wind whistled through the broken windows, unsettling the dead leaves that had gathered there. A tree root was growing through the kitchen window, and spider webs covered the broken furniture. The place reeked of loneliness, as only an abandoned building can.

Outside, the lone figure stood for a very long time, staring at the decaying remains of the structure, black cloak blowing in the bitterly cold wind. Slowly, a single tear rolled down their pale cheek, sparkling in the moonlight.

-----

The stranger was walking the streets of the tiny village again. There wasn't any indication of where they had been for the past few hours, not even stray leaf sticking to the hem of the cloak. They were walking slower now, as if savouring the sight of the tiny houses and shops that were so rural in appearance they might have sprung out of the ground. In front of a tiny pub at the heart of the village, the recluse stopped, as if debating whether to go in. Pulling the cloak's hood even farther down, they opened the door and walked in. Sitting at the corner table, the hooded unknown watched as a cheery girl around fifteen walked over, wearing an apron.

"Happy Christmas Eve, stranger. May I offer you something warm to drink? It's a cold night out," she said, smiling amiably.

"Could I get a hot cup of tea?" they asked, in a controlled voice that betrayed nothing about them.

"Certainly. I'll be right back," she said warmly, and left.

There was almost no one else there. A couple of old men sat arguing in a table near the wall. At the counter there was a single man with dark skin, drinking something that looked a great deal like whiskey. There was a man and a woman talking softly at a small table near a blazing fireplace. They were the only ones; most of the tables and chairs were empty.

The mysterious figure put a white, thin hand in the pocket of their cloak and took out a picture that had been folded over many times, the crease marks permanent. It was a very worn photograph, the edges ragged and the colours faded. The person looked at it for a very long tine, watching the moving figures smile and wave back.

"What's that you're looking at?" The voice of the girl made the person jump and shove it back into the pocket, quickly so the girl wouldn't see it.

"Nothing, it's nothing," they responded gruffly, again in the rehearsed voice that revealed nothing, not even gender.

"A sweetheart, maybe?" The girl winked. "It's alright, it is. I understand." She set down the tea on the table.

When she got no response, she winked again and walked away.

Sighing, they realized they didn't want tea and pushed the saucer away. Tea had always been good on Christmas Eve when they were a child, but that had been a long time ago and they knew they should have known that. Slowly, they drew out the photo again and looked at it again, a wistful expression on their hidden face - a look no one was able to see.

The woman by the fire looked over suddenly, pity written along her plain features as she imagined a Christmas without anyone to spend it with, as this poor soul in front of her was obviously going to have.

"It's so sad to see people that lonely on Christmas," she whispered to her companion, squeezing his hand. "With only a worn picture as company, it must get terribly depressing..."

But the loner didn't hear her. Instead, they were staring out the pub window, where the night sky had clouded over and begun to yield enormous snowflakes, as if nothing in the world were more important than watching the snow cling to the frozen ground. Absently, they reached up with one hand and began twirling a long lock of dark brown hair, lost in thoughts and memories.

Several inches of snow later, one of the old men hobbled over at poked at the person in the cloak with a cane. "Do you play chess?" he asked, squinting.

"Chess?" they repeated, caught off guard.

"Yes, chess, you dimwit! Are you deaf?" he snapped.

"I used to play. I don't anymore," they answered in short, clipped words.

"Well, it's time you started again. I'm Edward, not Ed, or Eddie. Now, come with me," he barked.

"Sir - Edward - you don't understand. Chess was something I played when I was very small, not anymore. I don't even know the rules anymore." The neutral voice was back.

"Hogwash. It's Christmas Eve; no one should be alone on it, and you're about the loneliest person I've ever seen. My friend has fallen asleep on me, and I always play chess on Christmas Eve. It's tradition, something you probably wouldn't know anything about, considering your age. Don't look at me that way, that ridiculous cloak doesn't hide everything, no matter what you seem to think." He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw stubbornly.

"Alright, I suppose I'm not going to be left alone until I agree to play you, am I?" the clocked figure asked with a sigh.

"First, I want to know your name, and I want you to take off that absurd cloak."

"I won't take off my cloak, especially not here, but my name is Seamus Finnigan."

"Poppycock! If you're an Irishman, I'm a mermaid. I'm from Dublin, I can tell my own a mile away. And, besides that, you're no more a man than I'm a woman, unless there's something I wasn't told. Now, again, what's your name, girl?" Edward growled.

The girl under the cloak sighed again and dropped the rehearsed voice. "My name? I really don't know anymore... These days I go by Rachel - Rachel Todd. I suppose you could call me that."

Edward finally smiled, something that transformed his old, tired face into something almost pleasant to look at. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down. "Why won't you take off that hood?"

"Because it's too dangerous. I thought you wanted to play chess?"

"I do, I do. You just remind me of someone I once knew, though she was a good deal smaller than you are... Now, would you like to be black or white, Rachel?"

"Black."

"Alright then, black it is. Move your tea, please."

With that, he pulled the folded chess board from under his arm and set it on the table, as Rachel pushed the cup of now cold tea to the side. Edward started setting up the pieces, meticulously making sure each piece was exactly in the centre of it's respective square. With a sudden change of her mind, Rachel discreetly touched her finger to the cup of tea and whispered, "Calefacto," under her breath. Instantly, the tea grew warm again. Edward didn't notice.

"How long has it been since you played?" He looked up.

"More than two years, at least. Someone I used to know was a genius at it. He was always trying to get me to play with him, so he could improve his strategies, but even he quit playing after a while..."

"Why's that?"

"I don't really know," Rachel lied.

Edward nodded, as if he knew the reason. He moved out a pawn.

They elapsed into silence and Rachel moved out her first pawn, diagonal from Edward's piece. Outside, the streets were completely bare now. Not even the most dedicated shoppers were gone, safe in their cosy homes from the biting cold and snow that was falling faster and thicker with every passing moment. The stars were no longer visible, instead hidden behind a thick veil of clouds that were showing no sign of dissipating any time soon. Far below them on Earth, the wind blew even harder, and Rachel Todd sighed as she sat in the Clover's Leaf Pub of Ottery St. Catchpole playing chess, wondering why she was talking to an old man she hardly knew - talking more to him than any other person she'd come across in the past two years. Why was she even staying in this place she shouldn't have come to in the first place?

-----

"Checkmate!" Edward exclaimed for the fourth time that evening.

"I told you I wasn't very good, but you didn't listen." Rachel had pulled her hood so that Edward could see her face, somewhere in the middle of the multiple games they had played. Now, as she said this, she was smiling and her now visable golden eyes were dancing.

"You're really not that bad. I'm just brilliant," he said, grinning cheekily at her like a ten year old boy. "So, are you ever going to tell me your real name?" He looked at her, clearly curious.

"No. Don't take it personally, though. I haven't told anyone my real name for years. I can barely remember it myself."

"Ok, then tell me why a girl your age has an engagement ring on."

"Girl my age? I'm a full eighteen years old, I'll have you know."

"That's still pretty young to be engaged. Who's the lucky guy?"

"No one. An old boyfriend I left behind along with everything else." Rachel looked away, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes any moment. What was with her tonight? It was just one big bout of tears after the other, it seemed.

"You miss him, don't you?" Edward tilted her chin up toward him, grin replaced with a look of concern.

"Sometimes. We were in love; engaged to be married this year. I know I hurt him when I left, so I kept the ring on, as a kind of silent apology." She shrugged, looking at the sapphire mounted on her finger.

The room was empty now, except for the dark skinned man at the bar, whom Rachel figured to be asleep by now. He had been drinking an awful lot of whiskey, after all.

"Why did you leave him, if it obviously hurt you so much?" he asked gently.

"I had to. It wasn't a choice," she said, staring at the fireplace.

"Perhaps it would be wise to remember an old saying - 'There is always a choice; you just have to look for it.'" Edward leaned back in his seat.

"Even if that is true, it's too late now. I couldn't go back if I wanted to," Rachel said, not without bitterness.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"If you're sure... So, what are your holiday plans?" he asked, changing the subject so fast Rachel was sure he must have gotten whiplash.

"I had planned on catching a train to Hamburg." She took a sip of her tea.

"Hamburg! What's there?"

"A city I haven't lived in yet."

"Ah, I see. Where have you gone on your travels, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Everywhere, it seems. Washington, New York, Seattle, Los Angles, Mexico City, Rio De Janeiro, London, Dublin, Paris, Florence, Amsterdam, Rome, Bombay, New Delhi, Beijing, Singapore, Tokyo..."

"Goodness! My dear, is there any place you haven't been?" Edward's blue eyes were twinkling.

"So far? Antarctica." She grinned.

"What was your favourite place?"

"I don't know. None of them, really. I've spent more time hiding than travelling, in truth." She sighed.

"Why did you come here?"

"Because it's Christmas time and I felt I owed the place a visit, even a brief one."

"Do you like being cryptic?"

"Very much," she said, bright eyes sparkling once more. "What about you, Edward? Any family?"

"No, my wife died years ago and we never had any children. My friend, the one over there who's still sleeping, is the only friend I really have, and he's really only my neighbour. Not the brightest fellow, either..." Rachel laughed.

"What was your wife's name?"

"Cassiopeia. I still love her, and I miss her terribly."

"I imagine so. I at least have the benefit of knowing the boy I loved is still alive and well. Or, I'm hoping he's doing alright." She sighed again and took another drink of her tea.

Edward gazed at her for a moment, as if looking into her soul and bearing it open so he could read it. She shivered. She hadn't felt so exposed in a very long time.

"Where were you before this?" he asked, finally.

"Madrid. I wasn't there for very long, however."

Edward nodded, twiddling with the white knight.

Rachel looked out the window once again. The wind was still blowing, even harder, if that was possible, and the snow was swirling through the air. The candle in the streetlight flickered momentarily. One of the houses across the small street was decked out in white lights, casting an eerie glow across the brilliant white snow that had collected along the foundation. Rachel felt a shiver go down her spine as the streetlight flickered once more. A very familiar shiver, one she'd been experiencing for a very long time now...

Rachel started breathing fast. She could hear it, in her head... the footsteps... They were still far off, maybe a couple of miles or so. Far enough that she could still slip out and get away easily. In any case, she realized she had lingered here for far to long, and she needed to get away, or Edward would be in trouble as well. Edward... That cinched it.

Rachel drained her cup and stood up. "Well, Edward, I think I should be going. I shouldn't have even come here, truth be told, and I've stayed far longer than I had intended to in the first place. Thank you for giving me a memorable evening." She smiled at him and leaned over the chess board, kissing his dry cheek quickly.

"Good bye, Rachel Todd. I hope you find your way back home one of these days," he said, looking at her sadly. "Happy Christmas."

She pulled the hood back over her face and walked to the counter, waiting for the barmaid to make an appearance so she could pay her tab. She heard the pieces being put back into their box distantly. She drummed her fingers against the wooden bar top, waiting. She heard the dark-skinned man get up from his stool and drop some coins next to his glass. She stared at the painting above the fireplace. There was something familiar about the castle depicted... Vaguely, she heard the door open and voices arguing. Still she waited, and stared at the painting. Wait... Were those windows flickering?

"

Interesting painting, eh?" The rosy-cheeked girl was finally back. Her voice ripped Rachel out of her reverie.

"Yes, interesting..." Rachel trailed off, forgetting momentarily to put her synthetic voice back on, while the girl rang up what she owed.

"Weasel?!" A new voice asked loudly behind her, turning the blood in her veins to ice.

"You're losing it, Malfoy. I'm Potty, not Weasel." This voice was familiar...

"No, you scar headed idiot! Weasley's younger sister... What was her name...Gerry? Ginger?"

"Ginny."

"Whatever. Isn't that her right there?"

Rachel slowly turned around, noticing for the first time who had come in arguing. Eyes wide with shock, Rachel stared at Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, both of whom were standing behind her. She instantly went even paler than normal.

Harry looked at her, his mouth parted slightly in surprise, face white with shock. "Gin?" he whispered, hope and pain written all over his face.

Rachel mumbled something that sounded distinctly like, "Fuck!" and dashed out the open pub door and into the snow-covered streets, without even a glance back.