The Phoenix and the Serpent

Chapter VII: Bloodhound and Caracal

Harry woke to the gentle swaying of the carriage and to a dull ache on his forehead. He moaned, touching his fingers to his scar. It did not hurt so much, not like the flaring pain he had sometimes felt over the past year, but it was nevertheless persistent. He rubbed at it for a moment, still half-asleep, then remembered what had happened and where he was.

He forced a blank look on his face as he glanced up at the person sitting across from him in the carriage. Mad-Eye Moody was wordlessly cracking open some chestnuts from a bag on his lap. They had exchanged no more than dozen words since yesterday, something Harry found oddly reassuring. Barty Crouch Jr. had been kind and accommodating to him once, only to try and kill him in the end. This Moody, brusque and uncommunicative, suited him just fine.

Beside the old man sat a large golden aerial-like object Harry had seen before--one of the Auror's Dark Detectors. Harry found this odd. The old man apparently did not have any sort of luggage with him--how had he been carrying this device?

Moody's magical eye, as always, was darting watchfully from place to place, but his real eye had been giving him a sidelong glance.

"You all right?" he asked. His voice was as rough as the carriage wheels grinding into the gravel path.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

Moody grunted as if he had expected this answer, then said, "Potter, if you have strange dreams during our journey, any at all, I want you to let me know, as you have with Professor Dumbledore. Information on Voldemort's movements will come in handy, not to mention it might save our lives."

"All right," said Harry, though he did not feel all right with that. What the old man said made good sense, but Harry was not about to share with Moody every dream he just had.

(Not if it involved Ginny.)

Harry bit his lip, trying not to think about her.

Truth to be told, the pain on his forehead was already vanishing. And even if it wasn't, there wouldn't be anything to talk about. As usual there had been only deep darkness. Well, there was one thing he could recall, and it was hardly worth mentioning. Just a strange, sharp clicking sound.

Harry leaned back and rubbed his eyes. They had been traveling for two days now. Moody had been using circuitous back roads in and around the Forbidden Forest. They had not used a black Hogwarts carriage, but an ancient, rickety hold-over from the Victorian period. Its constant swaying, even on flat roads, caused Harry to nod off several times during the journey.

Moody turned to stare out the window, and for want of anything to do, Harry looked out as well. The morning sun filtered through the forest canopy, welcomed by the chirping of hidden birds. It was already too late for mist and still too early for it to be warm. Harry had hoped they would pass a sign or familiar landmark, but only trees and tall grass marked their path. Maybe they weren't using a main road?

"Where are we going?" Harry asked. It was about time he got an answer.

He saw Moody twitch. He looked sour--that is, from what Harry could discern of his face, more sour than usual.

"We're meeting up with the other half of your bodyguard retinue. Lives 'round these parts."

That's right, thought Harry. What was his name again? Daniel Oaks, that's it. Harry was about to ask another question, but the whinnying of the horseless carriage cut him off.

"Finally," Moody grumbled as they came to a halt. Putting on his hat, he threw the carriage door open, letting sunlight in. Harry got up to go but Moody stopped him.

"No," he said. "Whenever getting off a vehicle, the bodyguard always goes first. Then he signals for you to follow after he's checked everything out. Remember that." Harry sat back as Moody picked up the Dark Detector beside him and got off. He took a few paces forward, turning his eye this way and that. Finally, he signaled for Harry to come down.

They had stopped on top of a rise. Further on the path wound down to a small village surrounded by forested hills. A sign to their left read 'Evensdale'.

"So," asked Harry as he scanned the distant rooftops, "where would his house be?"

"He doesn't live in the town--that's some comfort for the folks here. We'll find him through there." He indicated a narrow grassy path with his staff. "Now hang on a moment and let me put this thing away."

Moody put down his Dark Detector, reached into his coat and took out a wooden trunk so tiny it fit snugly into his palm. He tossed it onto the grass before him. Even before it hit the ground, the trunk swelled to fifty times its original size, landing with a heavy thump. It looked exceptionally strong--its edges were lined with bolted steel and the lid had been fitted with seven different keyholes. Harry recognized it as the same chest he saw in Moody's office. An image raced back to mind--that of Moody, Stunned and deathly pale, a prisoner in the trunk's seventh compartment.

"Like it, do you?" Moody asked, noticing Harry's interest. "It's my war trunk. Built it myself about a decade back." The words would've carried a hint of pride, but Moody's expression was dour. Perhaps, thought Harry, he'd been thinking the same thing I was.

"I keep everything I need in here," Moody went on, "Dark Detectors go into the first compartment." He spoke in a low, commanding voice. "One."

The lid sprang open, revealing more devices inside. As with most magical containers Harry had seen, the inside of the trunk was more spacious than the box's dimensions allowed for.

Moody limped over, gently lowered his Dark Detector into a space reserved for it, and secured it with leather straps. He closed the lid and said, "In the second compartment I keep stuff I need when I'm traveling." He spoke again in a stern tone, "Two."

The lid opened once more, revealing, among other things, a rolled-up sleeping bag, several pots and pans, and half a dozen flasks of water. It looked like soldier's survival kit.

Moody reached down and started rummaging through the contents. "Here we are," he said, pulling out a large metal disc.

Harry stared at it. "Is that a shield?"

"Yeah," Moody replied, "got it from a German friend." He pointed to the grassy path again. "We've to walk a bit further that way. Road's uneven, so this leg of mine's apt to slow us down. You won't mind if I rode, will you?"

"Er, no, I guess," said Harry.

"Good." Moody tossed the shield onto the ground. With a muttered word he shrunk the chest back down to its original size and tucked it into his coat. "All right," he said, "let's get going." He hobbled onto the shield. It then rose a foot off the ground and began drifting forward as easily as a leaf on a river.

"Well?" Moody said, looking back at the bewildered Harry. "We haven't all day."

Harry mentally shook himself and followed Moody down the road, which meandered its way into the forest.

After many hours sitting in a cramped carriage, Harry found the stroll enjoyable. The breeze was light and cool against his cheek. Autumn had come here like a passing parade; every tree was aflame with auburn and gold, and a crunching, multi-colored carpet covered their way through the forest. Squirrels scampered up on the high branches, gazing curiously down at the intruders. Barely just visible through the canopy of leaves, an arrowhead of ducks steadily pointed south.

After a few minutes of walking, they came upon a crude wooden sign pounded into the grass. It read:

If you can read this,

YOU'RE TRESSPASSING! GET LOST!

By order of

THE CARACAL

Beneath the name was a crude painting of a skull rudely sticking out a tongue. Instead of crossbones, behind the skull were a pair of black and white wands.

Harry stared as they passed it, then asked, "Do you know him?"

Moody turned both eyes on him.

"I...I was asking if you know him. Daniel, that is."

"What's it to you?"

"Well..." Harry paused, a bit miffed at the rudeness. He was entrusting his life to these two men, so he had to know more about them, even just a little.

"I'm curious, that's all," he said instead.

Moody grunted and faced forward. "Yeah, I know him, though I bloody wish I didn't."

Harry blinked. "Oh." He thought for a moment, then asked, "Is he a member of, um...you know."

"What?"

"The Order of..."

"Hush, boy!" Moody hissed, whirling about. "Don't you talk so openly about it. Best you keep your mind on more important matters." He turned back, then muttered over his shoulder, "Mind you, he has absolutely no part of it. We're not that desperate for members."

Further on was a clearing and another sign. This time Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It read:

GO AWAY! DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!

And that goes double for smelly old bats

who have cue balls for eyes

"Buffoon," Moody grunted as he swept past the sign.

"Why does he live out here instead of in town?" asked Harry.

"Because he's hiding from the Ministry!" Moody growled. "As he very well should be!"

"Hiding? What's he in hiding for?"

"He's a law-breaker, that's why! There, I won't sugarcoat it. If the Ministry finds out he owns a wand, there'll be in a whole mess of trouble! I should have had my head checked for agreeing to do this! Not worth all this--even if he is a Duomancer!"

"A what?" asked Harry, but the old man did not reply. He was looking up the low hill before them, at the top of which was another sign. It read:

Well, since you're so eager to see me--

EGGS for Sale

3 Knuts each

30 Knuts a dozen

From the hill the road meandered to small wooden house at the edge of the clearing.

"Well, here we are," said Moody as he dismounted from his shield. As he took out his trunk again to put the shield away, he paused and said, "One thing, before we go talk to him."

"What is it?"

Moody kept his eyes steadily on the cottage. His voice was oddly low. "...Don't ever mention Hogwarts to him. If the topic comes up, feign disinterest."

"Why?"

Moody looked at him impatiently, as if the answer were obvious. "'Cause he doesn't want to hear about it." He finished packing, then turned back to him.

"Don't tell him who you really are either. Let me do most of the talking. The less he knows about this mission, the less likely for him to screw things up!" And he hobbled towards the shack. Completely bemused, Harry followed.

The shack looked haphazardly built, with wooden boards crisscrossing themselves on the roof and a few more lashed to the walls for good measure. Harry couldn't tell for sure, but the house even seemed to be tilting to one side. Surrounding it was a wooden fence covered from top to bottom by a wire mesh. Through the mesh Harry spied the white bodies of chickens, clucking and scratching the ground for food. In the middle of the fence, a small gate was latched shut. Beside the gate stood a tall pole. Harry looked up and saw several metal arrows racked up along its length, looking like many weather vanes strung together. The arrows were all blank, except for three. One had the word 'BUSINESS' written in bright yellow. Beneath that, another arrow read 'TROUBLE' in deep fiery letters. The very last arrow pole read 'MOODY' in large, letters of drab brown.

At the moment, all three arrows were pointing at them.

Moody looked up at the signs, then at the front door.

"Best get this over with then," he said, and shouted, "Danny! If you're in there, get on out here! You've someone to meet!"

The chickens scattered away from Moody, but nothing else moved. He drew a deep breath and boomed--

"DANNY, GETCHER LAZY ARSE OUT OF BED THIS INSTANT! WE'VE GOT WORK TO DO, YOU MILKSOP!"

Harry stared at Moody in shock, but he had barely enough time to puzzle over this behavior when another voice erupted from the house--

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A MILKSOP, YOU ASININE OLD GOAT! I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME--SHUT UP ALREADY!"

Harry's eyes darted to the shack's entrance as the door was thrown open, shaking the little house. "Well, this is really something!" the young man said, wiping his hands on a small towel as he stalked forward. "You were supposed to be coming later this afternoon. Change of plans, or are you making a hobby out of pissing people off?"

He appeared to be in his early twenties, lanky and quite tall--his head had brushed the top of the doorframe as he walked through it. His corn-colored hair was spiky and a bit uneven, as if he had tried to cut it himself and didn't quite do a thorough job. Sharp eyebrows floated over his deep gray eyes. He wore an off-white shirt and a loose pair of brown trousers. There was still a bit of shaving cream on his left cheek.

Moody growled, "'It is best to always arrive prematurely so as not to be anticipated by the enemy'--one of the fundamentals of the Auror's Way."

The young man stopped at the gate, looking about ready to hurl the towel in Moody's face. "Oh, put a cork in it! You came early to get some breakfast, is all!"

"You'd think that now, wouldn't you," Moody retorted.

"Ah, excuse me," said Harry.

Both pairs of eyes turned to him. Daniel gave a lopsided grin. "So, you're our precious cargo." He extended one large hand, which Harry reluctantly accepted.

Moody sighed and said, "Robert, this is my godson Daniel. Danny, meet--"

"Robert," Harry finished for him, "Robert Jerome Smith. Nice to meet you."

"Hey, great to meet you too," Danny vigorously shook hands, but his smile seemed to falter when his eyes fell upon the Gryffindor crest on Harry's robes.

Moody said to Harry, "Well, now that that's settled, let's go in and have some breakfast."

"Hold it!" cried Danny, scowling at the old man. "Thought you could pull a fast one, didn't you."

"If you got any more of that slop you're cooking, I suggest you share it," Moody replied. "There's a task that needs doing and we need to keep up our strength."

"Ah, yes, the fifth Article of the 'Auror's Way', isn't it? 'Never start on an empty stomach.'" Danny snorted and started back to his house.

"He's always like this," Moody explained as he ushered Harry through the gate. "Always. Pay no attention." Harry followed the young man towards the entrance, taking care not to step on anything unpleasant. The chickens ignored them and went about scrounging for food.

"If you don't mind my asking," Moody said from behind them, "what possessed you to start a poultry farm?"

"Well, I have to have some other form of financing," said Danny, running a hand through his hair. "I sell some eggs whenever I go to town. Just enough to keep me alive when the work's dry. Besides, my roommate likes 'em."

Moody's mouth fell open and his magical eye whizzed from side to side. "There's someone else here?"

"Like I said, my roommate." Danny cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Oi! Napoleon! Come on out here for a minute! We've got guests!"

Moody grabbed his sleeve. "You numbskull!" he hissed. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't alone! This mission's supposed to be a blasted secret!"

"Don't worry about Nap, he's safe. Oi! Nap! Where are--"

"Shut up!" Moody said, angrily shaking him. "Send him away this instant! You--"

Harry gave a startled cry and leaped backwards as the patch of soil he had been standing on began to crumble beneath his feet. Moody instantly spun around, wand in hand. They all watched as a mound of soil began to rise from the ground.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

The mound stopped rising, and a twitching, whiskery snout poked out of the soil. It sniffed the air for a minute, then vanished.

"Nap!" shouted Danny. "Get out here right now!"

The creature popped completely out of the hole, its shiny black eyes peering curiously up at Harry.

"It's--a niffler!" Harry stared down at the chubby little animal, which was wagging its tail so hard its entire backside swayed. As Harry bent down to look at it, the niffler suddenly pounced onto his arms. Harry stumbled backwards as it stuck its nose at his shiny watch.

"NAP!" roared Danny, grabbing the niffler and holding him at arm's length. "How many times have I told you NOT to dig around the house! Shame on you! After all those lessons!" He began shaking the animal around like a cat punishing its kitten.

"Er, don't be too harsh on him," said Harry, brushing the soil from his robes.

Danny finished shaking Nap and set him down. The niffler walked around in circles for a minute, his little eyes boggling about.

"Sorry about that," Danny said to them. "He sometimes forgets his training when he's excited."

Moody put his wand away. "Where in the name of the godland did you get a niffler?"

"I made a wager with a goblin prospector who was in town last spring. He lost, of course, and took off before I came to collect. Left this little guy behind. So I took him instead."

"Well, it's against the law to own this critter!" said Moody. "They're very destructive to property!"

"Whose property, aside from mine? I live in the bloody forest! Besides which, I've trained him out of digging near my home." Danny grinned at Harry. "'Course, I had to rebuild my house three times in the process, but I did it!"

Nap had stopped circling about and was sniffing at Moody's shoes. Not finding anything shiny on him, he padded over to Harry again. As Harry bent down for a closer look, Nap immediately stuck his snout at his wristwatch.

"Guess he likes you," said Danny. "But then, he likes everybody. Makes a very poor watchdog, he does. Anyway, come on in. Guess I'll just have to make breakfast for four."

Harry and Moody followed him into the house, but then he bustled back outside and grabbed Nap, who was about to waddle in.

"NOT you. Not until you cover up that mess you made in our yard and pour the hens some water. Otherwise, no breakfast."

The niffler looked up at him, blinking its dark, wide eyes.

"Forget it, Nap. That won't save you this time."

Nap's ears drooped as Danny set him down. He waddled back into the yard.

Inside, Danny made them sit down while he finished shaving. Harry and Moody each took a seat at the table, which was so small Harry could reach each side without stretching.

Harry studied his surroundings. Danny's home was cramped with bric-a-brac and looked more like a curiosity shop than a house. The sweet scent of pine cones (several were strung up on a nearby clothesline) filled the air. To their left, directly beside a window, a slab of wood (which apparently had been a table once) hung a foot from the floor, neatly suspended from the ceiling by four stout ropes. On it was a single lumpy mattress and two feather cushions. Near this improvised bed were several stacks of magical tomes--Famous Wizard Duels And Those Who Survived Them by Justa Hasbin. Dodging Curses is Easy by R. Yewdaff. Stay Alert! by Justin Case. There were more titles stacked on the shelves. Warringden's Art of Wand Shielding. A Child's Guide to the Undead. The Wandering Swordsman. Into the West.

The place didn't lack for magical items one would expect to see in a wizarding home, but oddly enough there were also Muggle tools scattered throughout the house. A fat metal stove sat in the furthest corner, its slender pipe rising up to a hole in the ceiling. An assortment of cooking utensils lay on the tiny kitchen counter, including a small white egg timer. A wind-up alarm clock sat on the desk next to the bed, and through the window Harry could see a hatchet hacked onto a low tree stump.

Moody was looking about as well. "This is it? All those letters with you bragging about your own place, it was all just one room?"

Danny carefully scraped a safety razor across his chin, gazing into a mirror. "I'll have you know that while this place is small, it's very space-efficient. Right now, you're sitting in the dining room. When we're through with breakfast, it'll be the living room. At night it can be a guest chamber."

"If you say this doubles as the loo, I'll be staying somewhere else."

"No, the loo would be anywhere as long as it's forty yards from here." Danny wiped off the last of the cream on his face and washed his hand from a bucket. "There, all done!" He hurried over to a cabinet and began rooting about. "Where's that pan? Ah..." He stomped on the floor and a frying pan hurtled into the air. Danny caught it easily and set it down on the stove.

Within minutes, he had a kettle whistling and a pan crackling with oil. Harry had forgotten how hungry he'd gotten. He straightened up in his chair as Danny turned around, steel plate in hand.

"Here we go," he said, plunking it down on the table. Moody simply stared at it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's an egg," replied Danny. "Specifically, a fried one."

"I know that! All you got's eggs? What about bread? Cereal? Meat?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir, the buffet table just closed." Daniel turned to Harry. "How would you like your eggs? Fried? Scrambled? Soft or hard-boiled? I do all kinds."

"Fried would be just fine," Harry replied.

Mood was still scowling. "You're telling me you can't spare a chicken or two from the dozens you have, just for a decent meal?"

"That is precisely what I'm telling you," Danny replied. "I DO NOT eat my business partners. Now, are you going to tell me how you like your eggs or shall I give them to you raw?"

"Scrambled," grumbled Moody. "And get me three."

"That's better." And Danny turned back to the stove and resumed cooking.

"Stingy whelp," muttered the old man. "Hasn't changed a bit, I see."

Just then, a chorus of clucking was heard from outside. Harry turned just in time to see a flock of chickens run past the window, with Nap closing in from behind.

Daniel served them their eggs and included a pot of piping hot coffee. Then he asked, "Since we'll be leaving in a few hours, why don't you tell me what we'll be doing for the next two weeks?"

Moody swallowed a piece of egg and said, "How much did Dumbledore tell you?"

"Only that I'll be acting as bodyguard for someone pretty important, and that we'll be going up north to a little Muggle town called Hillsdale. He had me check the place out and manually set the Portkey he provided. It's waiting for us right outside."

"What's the place like?"

Daniel slowly put his mug down. "I think you'd better take a look at it."

"What? Trouble?"

"Maybe. At least, there had been trouble. Like I said, you'd better take a look. That's your department after all, not mine. What I want to know is, what'll you be doing?" He asked, turning to Harry. "You don't seem the type to take a vacation there."

Moody said, "Robert here will be looking for something--"

"Why don't you eat for a while and let him do the talking."

"It's true," said Harry, straightening up. "I am going there to look for something." He pushed his plate aside. Being here had been, well, interesting, but did not want to linger. He had a long road ahead of him. "I'm looking for a jewel that belonged to my family. It's hidden in that town, and it's really important that I find it."

"Going treasure hunting, ay?" Daniel grinned and took a sip of coffee. "Sounds like a good time."

"We'll be working, Danny, not going sightseeing," Moody growled. "So you better keep--"

"Constant vigilance, yeah, I know. I already have a subscription, thanks."

Moody glared at him. "'Course you do, seeing how well prepared you were to receive visitors in the morning!"

Daniel slammed his mug down onto the table. "What I didn't expect was a visitor who expected to be treated like royalty!"

"Hah! You can hardly afford a peasant's pittance, since you're unemployed!"

"I do have a job!"

"Ah yes, the local egg salesman!"

"So, what is it you really do?" Harry asked, hoping to prevent another argument.

"Me?" Danny drew himself up proudly. "I'm what you call a professional solver of people's problems."

"Ah, I see," Moody cut in. "A hired thug, a hooligan, a stooge, a--"

"Private detective!" Danny retorted. "And I don't remember asking for your opinion!"

And they carried on and on. At some point, dawned on Harry that the rudeness and arguments between these two were more the rule rather than the exception. And that the most prudent thing was to not get caught in between.

A distraction came some minutes later as Nap, having finally finished herding the chickens, shuffled through the open door. He hefted himself onto the last empty chair, set his paws on the table, and wagged his tail expectantly.

"You let him eat in here?" Moody asked, eyeing him.

"Why not?" said Danny, all smiles again. "He's got better table manners than most people." He put a saucer with three poached eggs in front of Nap and gave him a pat on the head. "He only eats poached," he explained to Harry.

"Never mind," said Moody. "There's still one thing I'd like to know. How did Dumbledore convince you to help out?"

Daniel wiped his mouth and leaned back on his chair. "Oh, he didn't quite convince me the first time. When he asked me, I said I was busy at the moment and that I'd think about it. He was persistent, so I said I'd consider it if he sweetened the deal."

Moody's eyes bulged at these words. "You're not saying...?"

Harry needed no further clue to figure out what was coming. He slipped out of his chair and slowly made for the door.

Danny was saying, "'How much?' he asked me. So I said, since I liked him, I'd give him twenty-percent off from the going rate."

"You peddled your skills...you asked the greatest wizard of our age...for money?"

Harry eased the door open and let himself out. He was about to close it when he heard a faint scratching noise. Looking down, he saw Nap looking up at him with his meal in his mouth. In perfect understanding, Harry stepped aside to let the niffler out with him.

"...And it all came down to bodyguard duty for only 300 Galleons. Not a bad deal, ay?"

"Threehundred--!" Moody's face had gone an explosive red, his lips forming so many invectives he appeared to be choking on them.

Daniel looked at him quizzically. "You reckon I should've upped the discount?"

By then, Harry had shut the door and heard nothing more.

Harry leaned on the fence surrounding the little shack, looking out into the surrounding forest. Before that he had been watching Nap finish his eggs, but moments after doing so the little animal curled up onto the grass and fell asleep.

It was half an hour later when Moody lurched out of the shack. "I'll be checking out the surrounding area," he said to Harry. "Get some sleep if you like, but don't you go wandering about. We're by no means safe here."

"All right," said Harry.

With a curt nod, Moody hobbled to the front gate and walked towards the forest. A minute later, the door opened and this time Daniel stepped out.

"I thought he'd never shut up," he said, grinning at Harry. "Some piece of work, isn't he? I thought it a joke when they said he was going to retire. He's never going to retire, the way he's so wound up all the time."

He strode up to the henhouse and opened the tiny screen door to free his chickens. "Right. Robert, do me a favor and knock over that sack of chicken feed next to you."

Harry turned to look at the tied sack lying against the fence post. "Just overturn it?"

"Yeah. Make sure it spills." Danny knocked over a sack and chicken feed came tumbling out. The chickens immediately flocked over and started pecking away. Mentally shrugging, Harry untied the sack and pushed it over, spilling its contents.

"There," said Daniel, "that'll keep them till I get back."

They were silent for a time as Daniel straightened up his lawn, until Harry thought of something to say. "So, why do you live out here?"

Daniel shooed the lone rooster off the roof of the coop, and said, "Many reasons. I like it here, for one. Well, that might be the whole reason. Sometimes living with people can be such a pain, you know? Out here you don't have any of them; no nosy neighbors, no bloody salesmen to bother you in the mornings, no nosy git to give you unwanted advice about your own business. I've got my own job and my own house. I've always wanted to live like this...Oh, for the love of...!" Daniel glared upwards.

Harry followed his gaze in alarm. "What? What is it?"

One of the arrows now had the word 'Weasel' written in bold, red letters, and was pointing to their left. In one swift motion, Daniel drew his wand from his belt and fired a curse at the grass outside his lawn. The shot rang throughout the forest. Something long, brown, and apparently with its tail on fire, darted out of the grass and into the safety of the trees.

"Damn weasel never lets up on my chickens," said Daniel, "Maybe that'll convince him to go into early hibernation. I'll have Nap keep an eye out once we're gone."

"How did you do that?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Do what?" Daniel said, sheathing his wand.

"Cast a curse without saying anything?"

"Oh. Never heard of 'mindcasting', Robert?"

"'Mindcasting?'"

"A wizard can mindcast a spell he's already an expert in using--all he has to do is say the words in his head while executing the wand motions. Of course, that takes years of practice. Haven't you seen a really good wizard move stuff around with just his wand? I bet Dumbledore does that a lot."

Harry recalled the time Dumbledore moved aside the tables of the Great Hall with a simple wave of his wand. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I have seen him do it."

"It's quite a status symbol, knowing how to mindcast spells. Plus, one can cast a lot faster that way. A proper dualist should know how to mindcast at least five spells, including the Wandshield. Grand Duelists--the kind that make the history books--they know at least twenty. I know ten myself."

"You must do a lot of dueling in your line of work, then."

"A 'lot'of dueling?" Daniel laughed as he leaned against his fence. "All the time, Robert, all the time. But I'm all right with that, because dueling's my life. That's what I was born to do. It's probably the only thing Moody and I have in common: we love to fight."

"He called you something, while we were on the road here..."

"Moody calls me enough names to fill the devil's dictionary."

"I didn't mean it like that. He called you a Duomancer."

"Ohhhhh, yeah, that's right." Noticing Harry's bemused expression, he said, "What, never heard of them? Well, let me show you. You're right-handed, right? Take out your wand and cast any spell with it using your left hand."

Curious, Harry took out his wand and changed grips. It was something he'd never tried before. He was about to cast a spell when Daniel quickly added, "Pick something simple. It's safer that way."

Harry nodded and pointed his wand at nearby twig. He hesitated. It suddenly felt awkward; the wand felt heavier, unsteady. Nonetheless, he gave it a try.

"Accio twig!"

To his surprise, the twig only quivered a little, then lay still. Daniel said, "Lucky enough. At least it didn't explode." With his left hand he drew the wand from his belt and pointed. "Accio twig." It shot up from the ground into his open palm.

Harry put his arm down. "Why can't I do it? Why can't I use this hand?"

"You were born right-handed, that's why. Your right arm's your wand arm--that's where the magic flows. Casting spells with your dumb hand is as hard as writing with it."

"But I can train to use my left, can't I? Right-handed people can learn to write with their left."

"So I've heard. You can, but it's tricky, and I hear the results aren't anything to crow about even after years of practice." He twirled the twig in between his fingers, then let it drop. "And even if someone does get it right, there's still one thing he can't possibly do."

"What's that?"

Daniel smiled. "Lend me your wand for a bit."

Reluctantly, Harry handed it to him. Daniel received it with one hand, drew his own with the other, and turned to a boulder some distance away from the fence. "Stand back," he said.

"What're you going to do?" asked Harry.

Daniel answered the question quickly enough. Pointing both wands at the rock, he shouted, "Diffindo"

Twin bolts of serrated lightning shot out of the wands and struck the boulder with a loud report. Harry immediately covered his face with his cloak. When he looked out again, the rock had burst into twenty smoking pieces.

"That's...that's amazing!" he said.

"The same spell at the same time, with a wand in each hand," Daniel tossed Harry's wand back to him and sheathed his own. "Comes in real handy in duels. Some wizards, you know, aren't very cooperative when you ask for information. Sometimes they get a bit difficult. Fortunately, most don't know how to block two spells at once.

"By the way--I'd like ask you something, Robert, if you don't mind."

"Yes?"

"Why do you reckon this trip may be dangerous? I mean, Dumbledore's stressed that this has to be a secret. I don't question his reasons for helping you; he's just being his old charitable self, I'm sure. But why did he call on Moody to go with you? Granted he's a beaten old horse, he's still a cut above those flatfoots from the Ministry. So this has to be something serious. Care to fill me in, then?"

Harry stared at him for a minute. Part of him did want to tell Daniel who he was and what was going on--after all, they were going to be working together for two weeks. But a significant part of him, the part of him that was tired of being the celebrity people gawked and whispered about, wanted to keep silent. Daniel had been open and friendly and treated him just like any other person, something Harry appreciated. He did not want that to change. He had this opportunity to be someone else; shouldn't he play the part to the hilt? Besides, Moody had warned him not reveal his identity to Daniel.

So he said, "It..it's a bit hard to talk about, really..."

"Try me."

"My Mum and Dad had this long-standing feud with a...a distant relative. He's an evil wizard, and he wanted something from them--maybe their money, or to get revenge, I'm not sure. Nobody could seem to do anything about him, however. He has it out for me too. And I think if he finds out I'm off to get my grandmother's jewel, he might try to stop me, or get the jewel for himself."

"What d'you need this jewel for?"

Harry thought fast. "Dumbledore said it has some magical properties. My Mum had talked to him about it once. He says it might be able to protect me, that it had charms that were attuned to my bloodline, so it would keep me safe from harm."

Daniel nodded, brows furrowed. Then he said, "You mention your parents in the past tense."

Harry turned his eyes away and didn't answer.

Daniel went on, "Does Moody know about them? Your folks?"

Harry shook his head.

"Yeah, okay." Daniel turned away, as if to look at something interesting on the wall of his house. "So, you're an orphan."

"...Yeah."

The other boy was silent for some time. Harry thought he lost interest, but then he turned around and smiled. "Don't worry. We'll keep this between us, all right?"

Harry returned the smile, though his was smaller and more subdued. "Right. Thanks, Daniel."

"Call me Danny."

"Danny. Okay, thanks."

Danny slapped his shoulder. "Well, why don't you go back inside and take a nap. When you wake up, look in the drawer beside the bed. You'll find some Muggle clothing there. Useful for disguises. Try some on and see what fits you."

"I will. Thanks again."

"We're leaving at three o'clock--don't forget." Danny opened his gate and strode out. Curious, Harry called after him. "Where are you going?"

"Out for some target practice! See you later!" He drew out his wand and hurled it high into the air as he walked. The shiny black rod spun rapidly as it rose and plummeted, but Daniel caught it behind his back without so much as a glance.

Inside, Harry washed up at the tiny sink and climbed onto the suspended bed, which he found to be more comfortable than it looked. Sleep came, but did not stay. He woke an hour later from dreams of floating dandelions and a sweet, familiar warmth in his hand. Outside he heard the distant noise of raised voices. As lunch was in doubt, he got up and reached for the cheese sandwich in his bag. After this simple meal he went back to sleep. He woke up again an hour later, sweating, scar itching and that faint click-click of something that had been seemingly close by. There was nothing there. After this he simply laid back, fingers laced behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.

Finally, at around two o'clock, he gave up trying to rest and got out of bed. He opened the first drawer of the cabinet nearby and found the clothes Danny mentioned. It took some time for him to figure out what to wear; it looked as if Danny had gone into a yard sale and picked out whatever caught his eye, regardless of appropriateness. Harry had to wade through several slacks, flannel sweatshirts, corduroy overalls, dozens of mismatched socks and other articles before settling for a plain purple shirt and a denim jacket and jeans. He neatly folded his Hogwarts robes and, after hesitating a bit, put it in the bottom drawer.

He glanced at his own hand as he drew back, and became absorbed by the sight of it. His disguise had given him a completely different one--the skin was tan, the nails a deeper shade of pink, and there appeared to be more wrinkles on the knuckles. He flexed his fingers, deeply aware of stretching skin and muscle.

'Here I am,' thought Harry, looking again at the Gryffindor crest, then back to his open hand. 'Here I am, now, by my own choice.'

For the first time, he allowed himself to think about turning back. There were other ways to go, weren't there? Who would blame him if turned around right now and went back to Hogwarts? Who would want him to risk his life out there? Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, they'd all be happy to see him return...

These were all, of course, wistful, useless thoughts. They passed through his mind like the dandelions of his dreams and were soon gone.

You can't turn back, said a voice he had heard so often, in the darkest part of the night.

You can't turn back. You wanted to be here, didn't you? For a whole year you felt as if you were only half-alive, waiting until the waiting was almost a burning thirst in you. For a whole year you watched Voldemort torture and kill at his leisure, knowing that he had you, your stupidity, your naiveté, to thank for his return to the world. For a whole year you'd lay your head on your pillow wondering if the nightmares would come for you again, and when they did you'd wake up, angry and afraid and crying and needing to do something--anything at all--to stop to him.

So don't try to fool yourself. You want to do this. Go on. Strike a blow against the Dark Mark. Turn the tables on the Dark Lord. If you make it, Voldemort will never know what hit him.

Then you will have peace.

'Yes, that's why I'm doing this. For peace.'

"Goodbye for now," he whispered as he looked at the Gryffindor crest. Then he slid the drawer shut.

Danny came in as Harry finished making the bed. "All right, Robert? Go on ahead outside. I'll be with you in a bit."

Harry found Moody standing by the gate, pipe in hand. He was already dressed in Muggle clothing--a heavy brown overcoat, dark shirt and pants, and a large leather belt. He had somehow been able to fit a heavy boot over his clawed peg leg, and it looked almost normal. He looked Harry over, and nodded in approval.

"Now if we can get just going already," he muttered, tapping ashes from the pipe. "Time's a-wastin'."

Danny came out fifteen minutes later, dressed in a deep blue jacket and pants and a black and white striped scarf so long it stretched down to his knees. Slung over one shoulder was a crimson backpack. As he walked toward them, he was carefully adjusting the leather straps what resembled a Quidditch gauntlet around his left forearm. But before Harry could get a closer look, he pulled his jacket sleeve to cover it up.

At the gate, Danny picked up Nap, who was waiting for him by the footpath.

"Take care of yourself, Nap," he said. "I'll be gone for only two weeks, but I left enough food for you in the pantry.

"And I want you to behave! If I come back here and the house is leveled, you'll be really sorry, understand?"

The niffler licked Danny's cheek and gave low whine, as if to show how sorry he was to see the boy go. Danny ruffled his fur a bit longer, then set him down and approached Moody and Harry.

"We look like we're about to go to a costume party," said Danny, frowning.

"If it helps any," the old man replied, "I'll try not to be seen with you."

"Where's the Portkey?" asked Harry.

Danny opened the gate and stepped out. "This way."

They followed him around to the back of the house, where they stopped in front of the tree stump.

"Well, here it is," said Danny. He was looking down at the hatchet.

Moody scowled at it. "Couldn't you've picked something less obtrusive?"

"I'll take care of hiding it once we get across. Don't worry."

"Time-triggered, you say?"

"At precisely three o'clock, so get ready."

Harry checked his watch. It was 2:55. In less than five minutes, he realized, he was actually going through with it. His journey was really going to begin.

A noise to his left made him turn his head. Nap, ears drooped and paws braced on the fence, stared at them forlornly. He gave another low whine. Harry waved goodbye.

They waited. The waiting seemed interminable. Harry felt his insides shrinking in nervous anticipation. They would be on their own now. He had no idea what the other side of this Portkey might hold for him. Only that he had to see it through to the end.

"We can take two of them, you know," Moody was saying as he eyed the lawn. "Keep 'em in the cold box of my trunk so the meat won't spoil."

"For the last time," snapped Danny, "we won't be taking any of the chickens! Deal with it!"

At 2:57, Danny reached out and touched the handle. Moody grasped the axe head in one wizened hand, and Harry held onto the middle. They were all quiet.

2:59. Danny looked about and said, "Well, shouldn't we say something?"

"Like what?" muttered Moody.

"Some kind of cheer, or affirmation? Famous last words perhaps?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

"Exactly what would you say in a time like this?" asked Harry.

"I don't know. Something about teamwork, or a wish for luck or something. We are a team now, after all. Anything's better than keeping our mouths shut. Well, Moody?"

"I can think of better things to do than flapping our gums," said Moody.

"I bet you could," replied Danny, "like stuff yourself, for instance." He turned to Harry. "How about you, Robert?"

Harry stared at the hatchet and thought of the journey ahead. "Here I am," he said. "Here I go."

And before anyone could say anything else, Harry felt a familiar sharp tug somewhere around his navel, followed by the feeling of being yanked through the air, and Danny's yard vanished.

To be continued