Keeper of the Keys

"My heart is loud," was the first clear thought he had now for the past several hours.

Whenever he attempted to rise, the world shrank and distorted around him dully. His whole body was empty, except for the thump thump thump of his heart; it rang in his ears, it flooded his throat with cruel persistence. He cradled his head and wondered vaguely when the throbbing would stop. It was getting dark; though the snowfall had largely subsided, the wind made the trek all the more bitter. He didn't know where he was, but it hardly mattered any more. All that mattered now was not having to sleep in this cold. He hugged himself and exhaled sharply. His breath came out as a miasma of warm breath in the surrounding white bareness.

The harsh winter terrain seemed to mock him in his search for some sort of human life. He had expected to find a village maybe, atleast the lone cottage. There was nothing except for the total remoteness of this white plain, broken only by the occasional pine tree.

The tree where he had woken up had shaken loose of all the snow in its branches and poured it nicely onto his sleeping head. When he had first gotten past the initial grogginess of waking, he hadn't even been sure if all of his body still worked. First the legs. He gave a slight twitch. Good. Then the arms. With incredible effort, he raised them above his head. He pinched himself. It hurt. Good. Then, with a sudden surge of panic, he patted himself over, feeling for the familiar protrusion of his wand. Deep in pockets aaaaaand...yes! It was there all right. The familiar almost-weightless feel of it, its smooth sandalwood body, its 31 and half centimeters. Yes, this was right. Unlike the wand, much to his dismay, the sturdy broom he had ridden here was broken beyond repair. He squatted down to get a better look, picked up one of its pathetic fragments, tossed it towards the tree trunk in frustration. He had probably crashed the broom into it, a decent Tinderblast. He sighed. And yes it was a little outdated, but not too much. When he got back to office they'd - No. That was hoping for too much. If he got home.

It had been a direct route from London to Durmstrang. Something urgent, but he wasn't supposed to know what. Against the rules. But it was hopeless to look for the package now. The rules had landed him here. No one was allowed to owl or apparate during the war. One of those things about Grindelwald placing exploding hexes in the mail of important officials and whatnot. A scarf sent from your grandmother was no longer a heartwarming keepsake; it could possibly transform into a snake while you were sleeping and strangle you. Books in the mail would open their now fatal pages and bite their recipients in the jugular vein. And so on and so forth. Delivering mail via broom was a thankless task - although someone more physically apt than all four feet and six inches of Philander Hagrid should have been assigned it. Or Phil, as everyone at work called him. He was the good-natured sort, and it showed in his broad face: a too-large nose and a readily smiling mouth. He blushed easily, but right now it was the cold reddening his face.

These one-night ordeals were the worst. And during the holidays too. Rain or shine or snow or evil scourge on the part of dark wizards with too-long names.

All of the guys at work would be safe asleep by now, not half-way across the globe. They'd be in bed with their young wives, maybe finishing up the last touches on the children's gifts in the early morning. And a dog curled up at the feet of their bed. Named Spot. To be sure, that was what they'd be doing. But Phil didn't have any family. His father had passed away maybe four, five years ago, with his mother following suit. They had been frail, snowy-haired people anyways. Died in their sleep, which was a blessing since the war would only start in the three following months.

He was getting to the point where he was sweating heavily under his thick cloak, but the cold biting at his face and fingers curled securely around his wand was beginning to sting. "Lumos." A small yellow light appeared on the tip of his wand. It was black out now. It felt like he'd been going in circles for hours, when he noticed a thin rope of grey in the night sky. He quickened his slow pace and ran towards the smoke, despite the soreness in his legs against the heavy, wet snow. Suddenly, a cave was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time. The fire was nowhere to be seen, but the owner had to be close. Probably someone as lost as he was, right? He'd worry about it later. For now, the only important thing was...putting his head down...on the nice, soft earth.