Blue Dragon School

Chapter 3: The Uninformed Guests

The doors of the 4x4s opened and they all piled out. The air filled with groans and grunts. They walked around, stretching their legs. A few stood, arching backwards and stretching out muscles that hadn't moved in about 110 miles. Some walked around a bit, getting life back into their legs. Paul, without much ceremony, ducked around the side of the building and relieved himself.

They were all talking and joking like only newly arrived vacationers can. One whole week away from offices, factories, deadlines and work-a-day doldrums, they were eager for the fun to begin.

Mike dug out the key and took the padlock off the old wooden door. Keith dropped the tailgate of his truck and started pulling out his chuck boxes and his long, thin gun case. Some of the rest helped with the unpacking, while some just stood around laughing and joking. Paul cracked the first beer and drank half in one gulp, enlistinga few comments and jokes from his fellow hunters.

They had come up to this land for eight years now. Friends would come and go, but Keith and Paul were here every year.

They found this place in the mid-eighties. Driving around the woods during deer season they unknowingly turned onto the long driveway and followed it. They poked around the main buildings, the stables, the barn and the outbuildings. It was Keith that had the idea of using it as an unofficial hunting camp. His logic was simple. One: nobody was using it. Two: almost nobody ever came up here. Three: it was a shame to let it go to waste and Four: it didn't cost anything. He was four square against using the main house, despite his friends teasing him that he could have a hunting 'mansion' instead of just a cabin, but he persisted. He never forbade anyone to go up to the main house, but he did have a way of making his displeasure known and not many people liked to upset Keith.

He settled on using what was probably a large work shed. It was still two times as big as they needed, but it was the smallest building on the grounds. They occupied the back half. They had installed a new cast-iron stove, complete with chimney. They repaired the sagging roof, fixed up the windows, bricked up some crumbling masonry and added ten sets of old deer hunter standards... bunk beds. The place could now sleep twenty, though they only had eight this year. Over the years, his fellow hunters had donated tables, chairs, gun racks, some ugly and goofy paintings to hang on the wall, mismatched silverware, pots, pans, plates, dishes, lanterns, flashlights and the various other sundries that turned this old work shack into their cozy-if-shabby home away from home. They'd even built an outhouse, complete with moon shaped window in the door.

Some people worried, including Keith's wife. Nobody knew they used the place. They had no permission from anyone. But he wasn't worried. If anyone ever bought the house, unlikely but still, if they did, they would probably be pleased someone had taken care of part of the place and improved it. Maybe they'd let them stay on in the fall and hunt the land.

Flashlight beams flickered through the still air inside the cabin as they went inside. Nathan sat at the table and slid the gas lantern toward him. He grinned; it was in exactly the same place he'd left it last year. He checked the mantle and began adding fuel.

Chloe, the only woman tomboyish enough to hunt with them without dying of testosterone poisoning, lit a fire in the stove and started feeding it sticks out of the kindling box. The rest started hauling in gear. Guns in the racks, luggage on the beds, chuckboxes and coolers against the wall. Nathan got the gas lamp going with a hiss and clean white light filled the room. The buzz of activity filled the cabin. After about half an hour of lugging and stowing, they began to settle down around the tables. The first beer cooler was broached and Keith started on breakfast.

Outside, Paul sat on a log bench with his young newlywed brother-in-law Mike. They were well into their third beer and laughing. Mike had been a nervous wreck till now. This was his first outing with Paul. He didn't know if they would get along very well.

But Paul was funny, telling jokes and hunting stories. Between that and the Miller, he felt far more relaxed.

"So who lives in that house?" Mike asked, gesturing across the wide lawn.

"Well, used to be two people, Jack and Shit, but Jack moved out," Paul chuckled. "Naw, nobody lives there. I don't know why, it's a cool old place. But we've never seen anybody else up here but us."

"That's weird. Nice country like this." Mike swung his hand around. "You'd think somebody'd have bought it. Wonder who used to live there?"

"Yeah, we've all been wondering that," Kevin agreed, "but Keith thinks if we go asking around town, somebody might get suspicious."

"Did you ever go inside?"

"Yeah, couple of times. Back when Keith an' me first came up here, we poked around inside for a good hour. Fuckin' spooky lemme tell ya."

Mike chuckled again,"Maybe that's why nobody lives there - maybe it's haunted?"

"Yeah right. Maybe that's what we'll do for your camp initiation; we'll lock you in there for a few hours, let the ghost getcha."

Mike laughed nervously and let the subject drop. This was the first he had heard of a camp initiation.

Keith walked out the front door, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"Hey, dingleball," he said to Paul, grinning.

"Yeah, what do you want, ugly?" he laughed back.

"Did you get the water out of the truck?"

"What? Isn't it inside?"

"Nope. It must still be in your truck. Go get it, I want to make coffee."

"Dude, I hate to break it to you, but there is fuck all in my truck. I was just in there."

"Oh shit, did we forget the water?"

"Shit."

"Shit."

Paul scratched his head. Keith stared across the lawns at the house.

"You want me to go into town and buy some at that Kwik Trip we drove by," Paul offered.

"Nah. That'd be a good hour trip. Screw that."

Keith thought a few seconds, still looking at the house.

"Screw it. We've got some empty jugs in the back from last year. Do you remember when we went in the big house that first year? There was a pump in the kitchen. Why don't you and Mike go get us some water and bring it back?"

"Hey, I got a better idea, why don't Mike and I go up to the big house and get water from the pump in the kitchen?"

"Get going, smart-ass."

Keith walked back inside. Paul set down his beer. Mike kept looking back and forth between the door and Paul, waiting for someone to say it was all a joke. Paul got up.

"Ummmm... you want me to go up to the house? With you?" Mike asked nervously.

"Yeah, c'mon," Paul said over his shoulder.

They walked down the side of the building till they came to an old, heavy door. Paul yanked it open. The unused half of the shed was filled with broken lumber, old broken school desks, three-outta-four legged tables and the various other detritus that invaded spaces like this. Kieth had stored a few hardy items here in the back. A few hand tools, some rope, a deer sled and a collection of empty white milk jugs strung onto a rope and hanging from the ceiling. He pulled four of them down and closed the door behind him.

They started walking across the lawn toward the big house, Paul in the lead, Mike following reluctantly behind.

Paul turned.

"Scared?"

There it was, the question that tested manhood; Mike's rational brain was screaming all sorts of warnings, but he ignored them. This was his big, tough, deer hunting brother-in-law. He wasn't going to look like a pussy in front of him.

"Nah," he replied quickly, trying to walk with more confidence.

Paul looked at him for a second. He wasn't stupid. He could see the kid was shaking and he wasn't about to say anything, but on the way past his truck he stopped, digging inside for his deer rifle. He loaded it, clicked on the safety and handed it to Mike.

"What's this for?"

Paul started walking again, not looking at him when he spoke.

"Every time I go for a walk around here without a gun, I see a damn deer. It's like they're waitin' for me, teasing me. I'll carry the water, but if we see a deer, I'm goin' to be ready. Besides, it'd chap Kevin's ass if we bagged one while going for water."

Mike didn't answer back, they both kept walking.

By now, the early morning light was starting to turn the sky from black to a dusty blue. Birds were chirping all around them.

The house actually had four or five doors. The big front doors they'd never been to, the greenhouse doors and two or three small porch doors hidden around corners or tucked between wings of the building.

It was a little eerie. Paul went to the same door that he and Kevin had been to years back. It wasn't locked. It hadn't been then, either. It creaked like a bad horror movie as Paul pushed it open. The both stood there for a minute, staring into the dark house.

Paul slipped his flashlight into his hand and whipped around, clicking it on under his chin and sticking his face into Mike's. Mike jumped back, almost falling off the porch.

"VELCOME!" he said in his best Count Dracula voice.

"Knock it off!" Mike said sullenly, following him into the house, the rifle over his shoulder.

They followed the beam of Paul's Maglite. Though it was growing lighter outside by the minute, it was dark as midnight inside the house.

"Which way?" Mike asked.

"This way," Paul said from ahead.

"Are you sure?"

"Nope."

As they walked, Mike noticed something odd.

"Hey. There's footprints in the dust."

"Yeah, so?"

"Thought you said nobody ever comes up here."

"I said nobody ever comes while we're here. Far as we know, people might have the same idea we got. Maybe somebody used it this summer."

"Yeah, but these look really fresh..." Mike trailed off.

Paul ignored him. They'd found the kitchen.

This did look different than the last time they had been here.

Three big wooden crates were stacked against the wall. The table had been cleaned off and a brass tea kettle sat on a suspiciously clean stove.

"Hey, maybe you're right. Looks like somebody has been here."

Behind him. Mike took the gun down off his shoulder and turned it around, slipping his finger onto the trigger.

"Who'd you think it was?"

"Beats me. Probably somebody came out and stayed here this summer. Like I said, using it as a free vacation house," Paul said, dismissively. He started to pump the tap.

Mike wandered over to the boxes. One of them was open. He squatted down to look through the contents. Bags of coffee, tins of tea bags. Looked like a couple boxes of cookies. He wondered why anyone would leave perishables. Maybe they'd forgotten?

Toward the bottom of the box he found a few brightly colored wrappers.

"Chocolate Frogs," he said.

"What?" Paul asked, now filling up the water jugs from the pump.

Despite being alone, Mike shot a suspicious look over his shoulder and started to crack open the package.

It jumped when he opened the last flap. Right at his face.

"Whoa!" he yelped, falling over backwards to get away from it.

"What?" Paul said, turning around.

"It jumped at me!"

"What did?"

"The chocolate!"

"Huh?"

"I swear it jumped at me. I opened up some of their candy and it jumped at me!"

"Oooooo-kay," Paul finished, unconvinced.

Then he heard it. So did Mike. The flip-flop of feet on the wooden floor, coming up the hallway.

They looked at each other.

It is a simple fact of life that a house elf that puts his master or mistress to bed at night and stays up to fold pajamas, lay out toothbrushes and arrange slippers... but still sees to it that breakfast is waiting when the master awakes... probably doesn't sleep much. In fact, your average house elf only sleeps four hours a night.

Zinks walked into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes. For a second, he stared at the blurry figures in front of him. He was about express wonder that some of the faculty hadn't slept when the shape of them made him stop. He pawed around his chest till his fingers found his glasses.

They stared at the little creature, mouths hanging slack, eyes wide. Paul still held a half full water jug under the pump. Mike was still on the floor.

Zinks finally got his glasses on and squinted at the hunters.

"What the hell..." Paul breathed.

The three stared at each other. Paul was dumbfounded; Zinks was stuttering and Mike; startled, scared and confused, made a fateful decision.

"DON'T MOVE!!" he said loudly. Almost as an afterthought, he got up and pointed the gun at the house elf.

Paul looked back and forth between them.

Zinks, still stuttering, took a step backwards.

"I said DON'T MOVE!" Mike said again.

Zinks froze. Bulbous eyes wide as saucers, staring at the firearm.

"I... I say... is that... that... oh... dear... is that one of those... gones?" he finally managed.

"Yes!" Mike asserted. "What are you?"

"It talks!" Paul blurted, astonished.

"What are you?" Mike said again urgently, taking a hurried step forward, gun barrel leading. He was confused, and the more confused he got, the more panicked he became.

"B...bb...b..b..bb... but...s...s..sirs..."

Zinks was quaking. Muggles, he thought, muggles in our house!

Mike finished his trek across the kitchen, now shaking with anxiety, stopping with the gun barrel pointing at the elf's head.

Paul seemed to come to himself a bit.

"Hey, Mike... just relax man. Take it easy," he said.

"What the hell is it? Huh? What the hell is it? Where did it come from? Where? Where did you come from?" Mike said in a rush. The arm holding the gun was shaking.

"It's an alien or something! A damn alien! Is that what you are? An alien!"

Mike was shouting now in a wild, breathless panic.

Mike didn't believe in aliens, or magic, or anything out of the ordinary. And, as happens to such men when their world view is shaken, he had slipped inexorably over the deep end. He started pressing the gun into Zink's head, who had backed up to the wall.

"Whoa! Mike! Calm down!" Paul pleaded, starting forward with his hand out.

Now, three things happened at once.

There was an almighty CRACK as Tara apparated into the middle of the room in her bathrobe. Paul jumped and swatted the gun barrel. Mike started and pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, punching a splintered hole in the wall next to the house elf's ear. Zinks cowered, hands over his floppy ears, rolling himself up into a ball in the corner.

Mike swore and chambered another round, spinning to find the source of the noise that had startled him.

Tara, who habitually woke at six in the morning regardless of when she had gone to bed, had intended to start the day with strong coffee and biscotti; instead she found two roughly dressed Muggles in the kitchen, one of which was now pointing a gun in her general direction. Tara was, as perhaps betrayed by her love of muggle clothing and cuisine, muggle-born. She knew what the man was holding.

She screamed.

Mike shouldered the gun.

"Shut UP!" he screamed, panic in his voice.

Paul narrowed his eyes, glanced once at the new arrival and grabbed for the rifle.

"Give me the gun!"

Mike let go, leaving Paul holding the gun by the barrel.

"Now calm the fuck down!" He bellowed in Mike's face, who retreated.

Tara retreated as well, backing into the table, confused and wrong-footed. Paul turned to her.

"Lady, who the heck are you? What is that thing?" he said, gesturing over to Zinks, still cowering in the corner.

"It's a House Elf," she said quickly, her eyes searching Paul's face. "Who are you?"

"Is this your house?" He asked, ignoring her question.

"Yes! We just bought it."

"Shit!" Paul finished, looking shaken.

"What's a house elf?" Mike asked, belligerently.

The situation might have calmed after that point, but for a red beam streaking from the darkened hallway and striking Paul in the chest.

He crumpled, the gun hitting the floor with a thud.

Mike panicked again, staring at the limp form of his brother-in-law on the floor.

From down the hallway, a tall form thudded toward them, heavy boots beating thunder on the floorboards.

Mike did a three point turn, looking from the hallway, to the gun, to Tara, cringing against the table. The mental calculation was quick and simple. He dove for the gun.

Rian trampled into the room, wand at the ready, looking around.

Mike managed to scoop up the rifle and spun on his heel.

Time seemed to slow as Rian watched the barrel of the gun swivel around toward Tara. He lept, not toward the hunter, but between the hunter and Tara.

"NO!" he bellowed.

Another panic shot went off.

Rian was spun around, his wand whipping across the room with a clatter. He landed hard against the stove, blood pouring down his arm from a mangled hole in his shoulder.

Tara dove beneath the table and Mike stared at the blood now pooling beneath the redheaded man, the gun held slack in his hands.

There was silence. Tara peered out at Rian from between the table legs, eyes wide at the bloody mess of his arm. Rian, still conscious, grasped his bleeding arm and looked between his assailant and the gun in his hand. Mike just stood, breathing hard, as the bluish smoke rose slowly toward the ceiling.

Finally, Mike shook himself and looked at Paul, still unmoving on the floor. Without thinking, he kicked him.

"Wake Up! Wake up dammit! Please wake up!"

Finally, Rian spoke.

"He'll wake up in a minute. He's just stunned." He tried to keep his voice steady but he could hear the pain in it.

"Shut up..." Mike said softly, compulsively nudging his fallen companion with his foot.

"Rian..." Tara hissed. "Rian... what is... are you alright?"

"Lad," Rian pleaded, making calming gestures toward Mike, "why don't ye put that thing down?"

"Shut up," he said again, slightly louder, still nudging the unconscious form, but getting no response

"Ye don't know what yer gettin' into here. It's not what you think," Rian asserted, stretching out his blood-covered hand toward the young man.

"SHUT UP!" he screamed, his ragged voice filled with fear.

Rian eased, his hand returning to his bloody wound.

Noise filtered in from somewhere nearby in the house. A thunk and a clatter. A few footfalls and a voice...

"Paul! Mike! You okay? Did you shoot something? We heard your gun go off."

On the floor, Rian slumped and muttered, "Spanking good, more muggles..."

He exchanged a look with Tara. She glanced at her waistband, where her wand was tucked. Rian shook his head slightly and glanced at the gun in Mike's hand, then glanced at the ceiling. Tara nodded and retreated further under the table.

Mike called, "IN HERE!" in a desperately relieved voice. Soon, more footsteps could be heard coming closer.

Three more men entered the room, a fourth hovered in the door frame. Some carried guns.

There was a quick visual audit taken by them all. One of their friends lying on the floor, unmoving. One stranger lying against the stove, bleeding. Something small and gray curled in a corner and another figure hiding in the shadows under the table. One gun in view, held by Mike who was now looking at them like a sanity lifeline.

A burst of voices erupted.

"What the hell happened?"

"Mikey, what did you do?"

"Who the hell are these people?"

"Oh, man, did you shoot that guy?"

"What's wrong with Paul?"

Mike, disjointed and shaken, tried to explain. He stammered and skipped, adding more confusion. One newcomer was staring at Zinks, trying to decipher the shape his eyes relayed to him. Someone crouched down, peering under the table at Tara who had frozen, afraid to take on so many armed men. Someone knelt down and inspected Paul, still out.

All the while their voices got more and more urgent.

Someone owned the house. They were trespassing. Mike had shot someone. The police would come; they would be arrested for trespassing. Mike would go to jail. They were in trouble.

"But that guy shot Paul! He shot something at him!" Mike asserted.

"What? He shot what at him? There's no bullet hole."

"I don't know! It looked like a laser or something. And look at THAT thing!" he cried, pointing at Zinks. "It's an alien or something!"

They were skeptical, but they all looked at Zinks, who was still huddled up, now peering through his fingers at the people standing in the kitchen.

"What," said one of them slowly. "the hell... is THAT?"

They all bent down, peering at Zinks, who was trembling.

"It's an alien, an alien. Look, it's got... like... big ears... and... stuff," babbled Mike behind them, still half panicked.

In the corner, Rian shifted uncomfortably.

Shen proceeded into the room.

It wasn't a walk; it wasn't a run. It definitely wasn't a bold and glorious charge such as Rian had made. It was the quiet but efficient walk of someone who has something important to do.

"Impedimenta." With one word, Shen sent a hunter, who had bent over to poke at Zinks, flying forward, his head thumping the wall before hitting the floor next to the house elf.

Confusion erupted.

Mike fumbled with his gun, sweaty hands slipping as he shouldered it again. But as he swung it around, the barrel swatted Shen in the arm. He had stepped right into his face, his feet almost on top of Mike's, too close for the long barrel to point at him. Shen smiled and looked down; so did Mike.

"Stupefy!" Mike flew back, his gun clanging against the stove as he dropped.

The two remaining hunters in the room looked at each other and moved. One, deciding he wanted no part in this strange firefight, bolted for the nearest door. The second swung his rifle off his shoulder and started chambering a round.

Shen's eyes flickered between the two of them for just an instant. He pointed his wand at the fleeing figure as he reached the doorway and cried "Locomotor Mortis!"

The man's legs slapped together and he dropped in the door frame like a polled ox, his head smacking the pine floorboards.

But now the second hunter was raising his rifle, aiming at Shen. A second before the gun fired, Shen whipped his wand back and yelled, "PROTEGO!"

The gun went off with a roar. The shot forced Shen back, winding him, but the bullet bounced off, tearing through a wall.

The hunter stared, unbelieving.

Shen straightened, breathing hard.

"How the hell..." the hunter muttered.

Finally managing to get his breath, Shen pointed his wand again. "Expelliarmus!"

The gun zipped out of its owners hands and firmly into Shen's, who tossed it behind him.

The hunter put up his hands.

"Thanks," Shen said, sounding relieved. "That makes it easier. Don't worry, you won't remember a thing." And with a wave of his wand, the last hunter slumped to the floor, a sleeping charm working far better than a glass of warm milk.

Silence descended.

Shen scratched his head. He was still in his bedroom attire, silk pajamas and fuzzy slippers. He turned and bent down over Rian, who was grinning.

"Nice," he said shortly.

"Thanks," Shen said, dismissively.

"Where the hell did they come from," Tara whispered loudly from under the table.

Shen pointed his wand at Rian's arm.

"Ligaria Sanguisa."

Bandages spun out of his wand tip and wrapped tightly around Rian's bloody arm, binding the wound. Rian pumped his arm a few times, wincing. "Thanks."

Rian stood, slipping slightly in his own blood. Tara began to extricate herself from under the kitchen table. Shen surveyed the room and spotted Rian's wand lying next to one of the doorways. He strode over and bent to pick it up.

As he did, he felt something cold touch his ear.

He glanced up. Hiding outside the room, behind the doorway, was another hunter. His barrel was now inserted right into Shen's ear.

They looked at each other. Shen thought he recognized something in the hunter's eyes. A professional, efficient look. No fear, no panic, no anger. The look was very, very serious. He froze.

"Drop the weapon," Keith said.

Shen thought quickly.

"What weapon?"

Catching sight of the gun, Tara and Rian started forward, Tara's wand was now in her hand.

"STOP."

They did.

From beyond the door, Keith's voice was calm.

"I don't know what those things you're carrying are, but I know what I saw you do with them. It's a weapon and if you don't drop it, I'll have to shoot you to keep you from using it on me."

Shen grimaced. Smart muggle, he thought. He dropped his wand.

"Stand up."

Shen stood up.

"Turn around."

When he did, Keith stepped behind him, gunpoint now at the back of Shen's head. He now had a human shield. After a second, he peered out around his hostage, taking in Rian and Tara, standing in the middle of the room.

"I don't care what it is, but drop that stick, Miss."

"No," Tara snapped back.

The hunter tightened his grip on the gun and slowly cocked the hammer back.

"I don't know who you all are, but I am not letting anything happen to my crew. Those things are weapons and before you get a chance to use it on me, " he warned as he clicked the safety off his shotgun, "I'm going to use this on him."

Tara took a few deep breaths, steaming. She seemed to be weighing her fear and her anger. She shot a look at Shen, who stared back placidly at her and then at Rian, who looked back, scared.

Finally she came to a decision.

"Shit!" she barked, rather unladylike, and flipped her wand onto the floor, crossing her arms over her chest in huffy frustration.

By now, two of the hunters, including Paul, were groaning and starting to make signs of movement.

"Paul, get up. Get up Paul."

With a muzzy shake of his head, Paul got his hands and feet under him.

"What the hell just happened," he said, rising.

"Paul, look at me."

Paul turned, eyes again taking in the scene. Three men down, three strangers, one gun, one hostage. Keith looking very serious.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked.

"I don't know," Keith replied. "I don't care. We're getting out of here."

Paul nodded.

Keith said, "Get them up. Get the guns. We're leaving."

It took a few minutes and some vigorous shaking, but slowly Paul and the other hunter managed to revive all of their companions but for the charmed gentlemen, who they carried. Dazed and confused, rubbing lumps and bruises, they began to plod out of the room past Keith, who had not relaxed in any way.

As the last of them left, Rian spoke.

"Now what?"

Keith grabbed the back of Shen's pajamas and pulled him along, backing out the door.

"Now we're leaving. I have no idea who or what you are, but I've got a feeling you're about as interested in calling the cops as we are. We're going to pack our stuff and go; we will not be back. If you try and stop us... well... you know what'll happen."

Leaving Rian and Tara standing alone in the kitchen, they backed down the hallway, toward the outside door.

After a few minutes of slow, careful procession, Shen chuckled.

"You know, we can't let you leave, friend."

"Oh yeah?" Keith said, still carefully picking his way down the hallway.

"You're not supposed to see this kind of thing. We can't let word of it get out."

"I don't see you in much position to stop it from happening," Keith snapped shortly.

From further in the house... a strange noise started... a woody, breathy flute being played.

Keith stopped. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a flute," Shen supplied unhelpfully.

Not being a particularly patient person, Keith rapped Shen on the head with the barrel of the shotgun. Shen yelped.

"I know it's a flute, friend; why the hell is someone playing a flute?"

Shen, rubbing his head, offered a bold face lie.

"I don't know!"

The hand on the back of his shirt tightened and pulled him faster down the hall.

As they rounded a corner, Shen thought he heard the patter of little feet from the nearby rooms. Keith stumbled on something in the dark hallway and his hostage noticed a little blue face, leering at them from around a nearby door frame.

"Hey, friend," Shen piped up quickly. "What's your name?"

"Keith," he replied, eyes searching for whatever he had tripped over. "What do you want to know for?"

"Keith, you might want to just give up now; it'll go easier on you."

But it was too late. His captor grabbed the back of his pajamas again and took a step backwards, failing to notice that someone had hastily tied his shoelaces together. Unable to catch himself, he toppled over backwards, his shotgun flying from his hand and turning a dangerous pinwheel in the air. Keith winced, expecting a concussive blast, but instead of the thunk of metal on wood, there was a strange 'swack' noise. He looked over quick enough to see ten little blue figures streaking off down a side hall, his firearm held aloft by their many tiny arms. Then they were on him. Two jumped onto his chest, bearing between them a huge roll of silvery duct tape. Two more grabbed his shirt sleeves and began to pull his arms apart. Two more began fastening his pant legs together with a huge silver safety pin.

Not wasting time trying to figure out what these strange blue creatures attacking him were, he began to struggle to get his arms free and sit up. After a few seconds, he managed to get his elbows underneath him, only to find another miniature blueberry-colored creature with a tiny brass crown leaping onto his chin, grabbing him by both nostrils and head butting him. He started to think that such a small creature shouldn't be able to hit so hard, but before the thought was fully formed he'd been knocked out, his head slumping back down with a soft thud.

Shen turned around to watch the Lilliputian moment. As the flute music played on in the background, the pixies cocooned their guest in a layer of duct tape.

Shaking his head and turning back toward the kitchen he muttered, "Told ya you should have surrendered, now yer ducted."

Rian and Tara, both looking apprehensive, walked around the corner to meet him.

"Did it work?" Rian asked, grinning and peering around Shen to the scene on the floor.

"Yup! Nice clutch save there big guy. Did they say how many more are out there?"

"There were two more outside, plus their five companions, but they will not be an issue. I have dealt with them," said a voice from the darkness. They all jumped.

Mandisa, her dark skin making only her bright eyes and bead necklaces visible in the lightless passage, had emerged from another shadowy door frame, wand in hand.

A few minutes later the teachers stood on the tiny porch, looking over the grounds toward the bunkhouse.

What looked like seven wriggling soccer balls were strewn in a small clump some twenty feet away. The heads of their uninvited guests, sunk up to their necks in the soft earth, twisted and tugged, fruitlessly trying to free themselves.

Shen leaned on the railing and chuckled.

"This is why you never mess with the transfiguration teacher."

Mandisa, who had settled herself on another banister, arms crossed, looked sternly out at them.

"Apparently, we should have attended to the muggle repelling charms instead of moving in."

Shen turned back to her and said, "Yeah, but who could have predicted this?"

Mandisa smiled despite herself. "Well, let us hope no there are no more uninvited guests. We are hardly in a fit state to entertain. Shen?"

"Yes, Headmistress?"

"We will extricate these muggles one at a time, place them under controls and alter their memories. I trust you to come up with a plausible story. Whatever you do, see to it that they have no interest in returning."

Shen looked back into the darkened house, thinking.

"About that... Headmistress..." he began, as he took Mandisa's arm and walked away from Rian and Tara, chatting in low voices.

On the porch, there was an uncomfortable silence.

Rian was looking at his feet, Tara, the buried guests. They had only met each other but a few weeks before. They were the exact opposite of what the other one liked in companions.

"Thank you," Tara finally said, quietly.

"No problem, Miss," Rian replied, his voice cracking.

"How's your arm?" she asked, attempting to sound businesslike again.

He chicken-winged it, flinching. Blood was starting to ooze from the bandages.

"Hurts some, Miss, but I'll go get a potion from Thaddius. I'm sure it'll be alright."

"You're lucky you're alive. If he'd had time to aim, you wouldn't be."

"Ah, these muggles couldn't hit the ground if they threw themselves at it. Besides, I'm too lucky to die," Rian said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Tara frowned in disapproval as they both walked back into the house.

With four wizards covering them, the hunters were brought up one at a time from out of the earth. Shen placed them all under the full body bind and altered their memories before levitating them all over to the trucks. All except Keith. Freed from the duct tape, he was led away by Shen. Weaponless and open to suggestions, he agreed to a civil negotiation. The two of them, watched distantly by Mandisa and Tara, took a stroll around the lawns, talking. Eventually they both went to the bunkhouse, where Shen helped Keith load all their luggage and gear back into the trucks, maneuvering around his dazed and frozen companions, sitting still as statues in their seats. Eventually, Keith got into the driver's seat and Shen went around waking up the rest of the hunters, doing some final memory modification on them as well. He then shook hands with Keith, raised his wand and cried once again "Obliviate!" before they started their trucks and drove off.

"What were they talking about?" Tara asked as the trucks disappeared into the woods and they watched Shen make his solitary march back across the lawns to the house.

"Shoes and ships and sealing wax," Mandisa replied, smiling. "I think our Defense against the Dark Arts teacher has developed respect for that man. He wanted to offer him a fair explanation of what has happened to them."

Tara sounded confused, "But after he altered his memory, he wouldn't remember what he was told. It didn't make any difference."

"Oh, no. It did make a difference to Shen. He is a very good man. Even if the man did not remember a thing, he was still owed an explanation. Shen is very serious about what he owes."

But Mandisa knew that Shen had not altered the man's memory. He had implanted into each of them the idea that the house had been bought, that they had arrived and been greeted cordially by the new owners but had been told they were not allowed to use the land any further due to insurance reasons. But he had left Keith with the full knowledge of what had happened. He had agreed to propagate the story and to encourage the rest of them not to come up here again. They would find somewhere else to hunt; perhaps it was time to buy their own cabin. But Shen knew it was often better to have an active participant in a deception, rather than always trusting magic. Keith had agreed to keep the ruse and his silence. In return, as he drove home, he knew his world to be a bit stranger and more wonderful, a bit more magical than before.

Shen spoke as he walked the last few yards towards them.

"Well, I suppose I'd better talk to Rian about getting those Muggle repelling charms in place, eh?"