Tales of a Hufflepuff: Prank McKite and the Song of Meridian

Tale of a Hufflepuff: First Year -- Prank McKite and the Song of Meridian

Chapter One: Birthday Presence

'Oi, son,' A soft tenor broke through the dream of the softly sleeping boy. 'Wake up. We've been owled.'

This woke the child. 'Ow...' His lips ceased to function momentarily, then he opened his mouth wider to the scent of new spring in the air. 'Owled? Who, Dah? Not Mum?'

'Nah her, son. Get up. It arrived last night.'

Prank McKite unzipped his sleeping bag. He was not exactly what one would call a normal boy. He had very straight, very red hair that was so intense in color it didn't seem entirely natural, and clear glass green eyes that reflected his every mood. But it wasn't his looks that made him special. Really, one look at him would have turned most people off him immediately, he had been living on the road with his father for several years now, and it showed in both his lean body and dirty appearance. But it really was who his father was that made Prank understand that he wasn't exactly destined to live this way forever. That was because Prank's father was a wizard. He had been trained at Hogwarts, the best school of wizarding and witchcraft on the planet.

Prank clambered out of his bedding, ignoring the funk it did tend to give off. It was enchanted to stay warm, but not uncomfortably so. It was also extremely kind to the back. He'd been living on the road since...since, well, shortly after his little sister was born, six years ago. He pulled himself free and opened the plastic bag that contained his boots. He jammed his feet into them, and brushed his hands against his sides. Lyon Walker, his father, sat on a rock near the remains of their fire from the night before. Lyon could still be considered fairly good looking, he was nearly thirty, with a scruff of blond hair framing his good-natured face, bottle blue eyes shimmering pleasantly despite the dirt that dulled his countenance. Prank took a deep breath, excited at both the refreshing chill to the air and a certain knowledge that made him smile. The boy's eager expression made his father return the grin. 'Happy birthday, son.'

Prank held out his hands. He knew better than to expect a present, but Lyon always had one, no matter how poor they were. Lyon liked to call it 'being under the radar'. After feigning that he had nothing for a moment, the wizard withdrew a small letter.

'Nothin' else?' The boy made a face, trying to see if there was more.

'A few more things, but how about ye open that first.'

The two Irishmen glared stubbornly at each other for a moment before the boy took the letter and opened it quickly. Prank's eyes flicked up hopefully.

'And read it!'

'Yes, dah,' Prank grinned, knowing that they were only playing, plus it was quite a privilege to get to open the mail. In fact, this was the first time he'd ever been allowed as far as he could recall. He turned the envelope over as he withdrew the note. The address made him pause.

Prank McKite

Under the Radar

18 miles Outside London

Grove near the Winford's duckpond

He opened the letter, and slowly began to read the strange cursive hand aloud. Once he had finished, he looked up at his father. 'How did they know, dah?'

'I think they knew from the time you 'borrowed' me wand and lit half of Washington State Park ablaze.'

Prank laughed, as did his father. He grinned. 'So, getting to go to Hogwarts is me present, then?'

Lyon shook his head. 'Ye'd be going, even if it weren't yer birthday. I'd asked if yer letter might be delivered a bit early to celebrate, if they could manage. I wasn't sure if they would, so today, I'd planned to show ye something special.' He pulled out a crushed beer can and set it on a rock. 'We've got half an hour before this activates. Quick, let's get this site cleared up before anyone notices.'

* * *

There was a rush, like the sound of water rushing, a horrible jerking sensation, then a moment when Prank wondered if his heart had stopped, and with a friendly little 'pop' sound, he found himself standing in a strange platform area.

'Please, disembark to your right!' A voice called, and Lyon took his son's hand and lead him down a small flight of stairs, just in time to hear the announcer call, '7:20 from Crookshead hill!' There was another 'pop' and a group of witches appeared. Prank felt a bit self-conscious, wondering what he must look like to them, dressed as a very poor Muggle who had been living on the road for who knows how long.

Once he got to the bottom of the stair, he froze, and his father looked back at him. 'Well, c'mon then.'

He saw the abashed look on his son's face and squatted down, looking up mischievously under a ratty fringe of hair and asked, 'Worried about what others think o' ye?'

Prank made a face. 'I think I'd better. Ye don' seem to care.'

'Very funny!' The man drew out his wand, and began to wave it. 'Reparo, reparo, reparo,' he fixed holes in Prank's clothing, and his own, then with a snap of his wand he stood up, pointing his wand at himself. 'Balineus!' There was a moment of liquid about him, which clouded, and hit the street, then again at Prank with the same spell. He could feel it digging into his face and skin, soaking and then thoroughly drying him in one go. The dirty water hit the street a moment later.

'That was terrific, dah!' Prank was about to speak further when he saw what had happened to his father's hair. It was now in a truly horrible cloud. Prank touched his own and thanked his lucky stars that he'd had the common sense to tie it back. It stuck out in a little tuft at the end. Prank jammed his hands in his pockets (still a little damp, but at the very least, quite clean) and walked out into the busy alleyway, glass-green eyes absorbing information while he attempted to keep himself from gawking too much.

It was totally engrossing. He'd been in wizarding hidey-holes before, but nothing quite so extensive as this. He knew what it was, of course, his father had mentioned it many times before. Diagon Alley, located somewhere in London, protected by magic, and a great place to pick up wizarding items of all sorts. As they walked down the cobblestone path, Prank looked up at his father. 'But, dah...ye don' any money for this sorta thing.'

'Yer right, boy. I don't.' He turned into a darkened store. 'But don't worry.'

'Okay,' Prank breathed as his eyes came to adjust in the darkened fortress he had entered. Gnarled beings glared at him momentarily from changing stations, quills a-scratch on parchment. Prank remained silent as his father led him to a certain booth. The goblin grinned wickedly down at him, then looked up at his father. 'What is your business this morning, sirs?' It hissed.

'I've come to collect funds due my son for his education, as per my pre-nuptial agreement with my wife,' Lyon told the creature. He withdrew a set of papers and unfolded them. One of them was Prank's Hogwarts letter, the other was a contract of sorts. The goblin looked down at Prank and asked him his name.

'Prank McKite.'

The goblin then held out the contract to Prank's father. Lyon touched his signature with his wand, it hummed with a soft, golden light.

The creatures' piercing black eyes seemed to bite at Prank's heart. He let dangle a coin from a chain. It touched the paper, stealing in the light of the signature of Prank's father and glowing in a similar way. It then activated the flowing script of his mother's hand in a glowing green, then took it in as well. The coin hummed with a sinister power and a red light.

'You recognise that if this boy is not your and your wife's son, this child will be...harmed by this?' There was a certain pleasure in the being's voice.

'I do.'

Prank looked up at the shining coin held out before him, then at his father, who nodded reassuringly. The boy reached out his hand, trying to ignore the terrible feeling he had about it. There was a bright flash, and the two colors, gold and green, leaked down into his skin. Prank trembled and drew his hand back. The goblin withdrew the coin, and turned away a moment. Prank looked at his hand, wondering at it. Magic was still mysterious, even if he'd used it quite a few times by accident, and had seen his father perform a wide array of spells over the years. He wondered what would have happened if the coin had not been right to touch. He considered asking, but then the thick, clawed hand of the goblin was outstretched, holding a key and a purse.

'You may put as much money into that purse as you like, boy. It is the only way to take money out of your cell. But if you try take money from your purse when you are not buying something for school, it will not open. And it will only open for you.' the dark eyes had flickered over to his father now. 'So you are aware.'

Lyon grinned, unconcerned. 'Thanks for your help.' He clapped a hand on Prank's shoulder. 'C'mon kid, let's go fer a ride!'

'A ride?'

'Ye'll see.'

* * *

A meagre bowl of soup and a shared sandwich at the Leaky Cauldron served for lunch. Lyon was currently writing a list of things for Prank to do while he looked for some short-term employment. He seemed remarkably nervous as he did so, but as he was prone to fits like this, Prank paid it little heed. He was more concerned with the magical purse he now owned. And it really knew what was educational and what wasn't. He'd gotten his books already, and while the purse relinquished the money easily for that, spells wouldn't pry it open for a feast at the Cauldron. Not that either of them had assumed the goblin was lying. They'd proven that when Prank attempted to take a few knuts in his pocket instead of in the purse. He'd been stuck in the cell until they had been removed. It was quite fun then, when they realized that Prank (for Prank was the only one who could enter the cell) could throw money at the cell door, and it would bounce back.

But there was so much. Prank's jaw had dropped, and while he recognised it wasn't any form of Muggle money (his father had to deal in it, because it was easiest to get basic supplies with it) he knew that it's worth had to be substantial. When he'd inquired about it, Lyon hadn't lied, but had been vague, and reminded him that even though there seemed to be a lot it had to last over seven years. Seven years was hard for Prank to understand, not to mention what seven years would be like living away from his father, the man who for many years had been his best friend and only companion. Prank's getting into Hogwarts had been a matter of great importance to Lyon, and though he had never been clear why that really was, there seemed to be some relief that the letter had come.

Prank had a distinct dislike of feeling out of touch. He'd always been very curious, but his father's strange ways, and the fear of his mother (who was a bit mad, after all) had stunted his ability to supply himself with everything he felt he needed to know. He'd been across most of North America and parts of Europe, living on the road, eating out of tins. Glass-green eyes flashed warily about the shadows of the tavern, not really finding any satisfaction for themselves. His father, while at first had been very particular (he had often smoked a certain weed that tended to make him quite relaxed...and on occasion, rather paranoid) but had stopped not long after the first major fight Prank had witnessed between his parents. He still recalled the sounds of the curses, the smell of raw spells striking the earth as the witch and wizard fought. There had been several since, but Lyon would often transfigure Prank into something small enough to put in a pocket, and Apperate away. But when the fights weren't going on, he would often sit with his father, and learn about Herbology, which was Lyon's chosen field of study, and learned to read (which he did in a full and voracious manner) and write. Certainly, Prank would never have a full Muggle education, but there was little need for it, should he choose to work in the wizarding world. And therein lay his freedom. If he had the will to, he could become self-sufficient and live a much better life than Lyon could ever provide.

Prank wondered if the wizarding world would really accept him. They seemed to have so much, and he and his father had so little. And even though Lyon was great at charms, and was an expert in medicinal herbology, they could never stay in one place long enough for local magic folk to get used to them. At the very most they might have a month or two before rumours of Prank's mother would find them and they'd be back on the run.

Prank looked up. 'Dah?'

Lyon looked up from the resume he was writing in neat script and smiled pleasantly. 'What is it son?' He looked down. 'You haven't eaten yer sandwich.'

Prank grinned and picked it up. 'I will.' He looked at it, then his eyes returned to his father. 'Why does mum want to kill ye?'

Lyon's cheeks colored and he frowned. 'Well...that's complicated.'

'So?' Prank would not be satisfied with that.

'Yer mum...she's from...that is to say that...she's...she lost her head, not long after yer sister, Puffy, was born. Muggle doctors call it post-partem. I knew that she'd always wanted a girl, just one. She never paid ye much heed, even before Puffy, and I'm sorry for that.' The man's cheeks twitched a bit more. 'I'm probably more sorry that I was on the 'Weed for most of yer first years.' A tear formed in the man's eye. He straightened, sniffed once, then continued, 'But either way, when she got pregnant the second time, she seemed to be more happy then I'd ever seen her before. It was like all that silence, all that misery was gone. Then she had yer little sister.'

Prank grinned. He was fond of his sister, even if he didn't remember her very well. This cute, chubby little baby, in the stick-like arms of his mother. Puffy had always seemed so happy, this little ray of light in the drab world he had lived in.

Lyon looked upwards. 'It hurt me, seein' the way she treated ye, like you weren't even there. You would be cryin' and when I told her about it, she would curse me, threaten to curse you. Finally, I read up on the topic -the post-partem depression- but she refused to get help, and I couldn't take her anymore.' He swallowed. 'So I decided to leave her, but I knew I couldn't leave you. So, we've been on the road,' He sighed, and looked vaguely uncomfortable.

Prank nodded seriously. He stood up, jammed the last few crusts of his sandwich in his mouth and picked up his new purse. He took a moment to chew and swallow before picking up his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. 'Where to next?' He grinned, knowing his father would as well. He hated to see anyone sad, ever. And he would do his damnest to fix people's depression. Of course, swallowing past the lump in his throat was hard, but he would never let anyone see his pain. His father always managed to smile no matter what, and Prank would be damned if he couldn't do it as well. Lyon picked up his own pack and the two men ventured forth. As they headed out, Lyon was almost bowled over by a tired-looking wizard in soft grey robes. 'Oi!' Lyon called, trying to keep his balance.

A calm grey eye flicked up to Lyon's face and a cool voice purred, 'Well, if it isn't the Hobbit Toker. Hit any grandstands lately?'

'Remus.' Lyon wrinkled his lips. 'Why can't you mind your own damned business?'

'Don't growl at me,' the man said with a mocking smile. 'You're the one who flew your broom into your own classmates.'

'I caught the snitch, didn't I?' Lyon was almost shouting now. 'Better than that git...' He almost said a name, but then a certain silence fell between them both.

The mousy-haired man looked down at Prank, giving the boy a certain chill in his heart, then back up to Lyon. 'I hope for your sake your boy has better manners than you. James Potter did a lot during the war. A lot.' There was a certain anger in the man's eyes now.

Lyon's face was hard, his lips parted, then closed again.

'That's what I thought,' The harsh man sneered, then with a flick of his tattered robes, he turned and disappeared into the tavern.

'Bloody Gryffindor bastard,' Lyon snorted, taking Prank in hand and walking back into the Alley proper.

'He's a Gryffindor?' Prank echoed.

'Yeah, they're all a bunch of glory-stealing jerks. They think the whole world revolves around them, and they chase Slytherins about, saying that Slytherins are the problem with this world. And while your mother...' He looked upwards and chuckled. 'might yet prove them right, I knew a bunch of really descent guys in Slytherin, who ended up getting caught in the mess with You-Know-Who, and two of them served sentences in Azkaban for it. They can be a bit snobbish, but if you're a pure blood they don't tend to mind you.'

'Dah...' Prank rolled his eyes, knowing his father could talk on a given subject and blithely assume that everyone in hearing range understood him completely.

'You'll understand when you get there, I mean, when you get to Hogwarts. The students live in different dorms, called houses. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw are in towers, Slytherin and Hufflepuff are in the dungeons. Anyways.' He pushed his hair out of his eyes. 'That man there was from Gryffindor house. I was a Hufflepuff and your mum was a Slytherin. Now I don't pretend to think that any house but Hufflepuff is worth a person's time, but ever since the war with You-Know-Who ended there was a whole lot of trouble that fell on a lot of people's heads. That beggar Lupin would accuse a Slytherin 'til he was blue in the face, but it was one of his own friends, from his own house, that betrayed James Potter.'

'Sirius Black,' Prank agreed. 'And little Harry Potter somehow destroyed He-who-must-not-be-Named, ending the war, saving the world, preserving the wizarding way of life...' he rolled his eyes, waving his hands in the air in a despairing manner.

'Right,' the wizard murmured. 'Have I told you that one before?'

Prank rolled his eyes. 'About a million times, dah. And that no Hufflepuff would have EVER betrayed one of his friends.'

'It's against our nature,' Lyon told him. 'Now, let's get you a wand.'

The blond man held open a door to a quiet shop and Prank walked in. There were dozens of boxes, like little drawers, stacked to the roof and on every wall. A wizened old man sat behind the counter, but stood immediately and smiled warmly at Prank, then up at his father.

'Lyon Walker!' He held out a hand. 'It has been a long time!' His manner was queer, Prank felt, but couldn't quite put a finger on what made him think that.

'It has, Ollivander.'

'Still serving you well, I hope? Yew and black phoenix feather...'

Lyon handed the man his wand. Prank started at this. The amount of times he'd been told that no man ever touched another man's wand, even in jest, were innumerable (this, of course, had stemmed from a long line of things Prank had done once he'd gotten his hands on his father's wand). The old man took the wand with a brief smile, continued his ramble, '10 and a half inches, oddly brittle. You've always been partial to wands that would crumble in another's hand. This one has lasted you much longer than the others.'

'Been living sober for the past few years,' Lyon intoned softly, his hand falling gently on Prank's shoulder.

The old man looked over his glasses at Prank and nodded slowly. 'I see. Still a wicked charm caster, aren't you?' He wiggled the wand for a moment, and it emitted a few blue sparks.

'Of course.' Lyon grinned, and took back his wand without comment. He gave Prank a reassuring squeeze. 'I'll be outside, if you need me.'

Prank was so stunned by the odd remarks between the two men, his father was already out of the door before he had a chance to realize where he had gone. He almost turned to look, but his curiosity now had the better of him. And he was about to get something he'd greatly desired for years. His first wand.

'What's your name, son?'

'Prank McKite.'

'Hyena's son?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Interesting,' the old man muttered, but didn't explain why. 'Extend your wand hand,' he told the boy, pulling out a measuring tape, which unfolded from his hands and began to take measurements of Prank even as he stood there. Dumbly, he held out his right hand, figuring his writing hand would be the same. Suddenly a wand was pressed into his palm and the tape was gone.

Prank looked at him. 'Is this it?'

'8 inches, holly and phoenix feather. Thick,' He nodded. 'Try it.'

Prank waved the wand, but nothing happened. He gave the man a curious look, and the wand was replaced with another.

'10 inches, mahogany and unicorn hair, dark.'

Prank waved this one as well. And again, nothing happened. He wondered if he were to try a spell, perhaps it would be better...but he knew that spells were tricky and he didn't know any small ones that wouldn't cause any harm if they misfired. The wand was replaced again. And again. And again. Prank felt as though he was just waving every wand he came across. Perhaps the letter was wrong, and he didn't have magic after all. But the old man, who had a habit of muttering to himself, always seemed to have another wand, another theory. A few others came in, were measured, and they joined into the foray. Waving. Nothing. Waving. Nothing. Prank had just handed a wand to a girl his age and as she took it she froze, stunned. Ollivander nodded, charged her for it and sent her on her way.

Prank was upset by this, that she should find one before him. It wasn't her fault, really, but he couldn't help his jealousy. Ollivander spoke then to the boy, who seemed rather embarrassed when he admitted how he had lost his last wand, in less than a year from the purchase of his first. Prank gave the boy an encouraging smile, considering how horrified he would be to lose his own wand. If only he could FIND it! He was now sitting on the floor, his head drooping. The boy found one not but five minutes later. Prank looked up and called out, 'What does it feel like!?'

The boy, who was older, and had broken his first wand while trying to ride a Muggle artefact called a bicycle, made a face. 'You just know it's right. Don't worry.' he gave Prank an encouraging grin.

But Prank was worried. The sun was setting and he still hadn't found a wand for himself. His arm was aching, and he really felt like he'd done something quite horrible to deserve being left here, alone, in such a hopeless situation. When the soft jingle sounded, signifying the older boy's departure, Prank felt his eyes burn. He began to cry silently, wand boxes all around him, hating himself for not being good enough to find a wand right for himself. And what was so wrong with him that no wand wanted him? His throat closed and he wiped at his face in irritation. He heard Ollivander begin to comfort him, but something in him wouldn't allow it. Prank stood, and his anger leapt from him.

He held out his hand. 'I want my wand. I want it.'

Ollivander began to hand him one, and Prank stepped back. He wasn't sure why, but suddenly he stepped on a wand box and slipped. His head hit the ground rather hard. And he saw it. He held out his hand. 'It's white...and...' He struggled to get up, and wouldn't let Ollivander help him. He headed for the boxes on the walls, his hand hovering over them...but then it was gone. That assurance that he could just find it by getting closer to it.

He bowed his head, and then held it. 'I-I'm sorry, sir...I think I'm going a bit mad...' Prank looked up with a hopeful grin, and rubbed the back of his head.

'Not as mad as some wizards. I had a man in here for four solid weeks looking for a wand. By the end I had to help him wave it, but he found one. But if you're right in saying that it's white...perhaps I can narrow things down a bit. Could you tell me something more?'

Prank was a little stunned to hear this, and allowed the man to lead him to a chair. He held his head and tried to understand. 'You mean you think I'm right?'

'I've had a witch walk in and tell me exactly what she thought her wand would be, and after a few tries, I found one quite close that was exactly perfect for her. Juniper and Phoenix feather. Strong. But as for you, what did you see?'

'It was white and thin. Longish...I guess...' Prank was horribly flushed. Here he was acting completely stupid and now he had the man on a wild goose chase for a wand that probably wouldn't work.

'Thin? And white?' the man was murmuring again, and changed the section he was drawing things from, he looked back at the boy. 'Your last name is McKite...and not Walker?'

'Yes,' Prank said. 'I think it's stupid. I should be Prank Walker, but my dah told me that it was important to my mum that I kept her name instead.'

'Well, names are important. Your mother (black pine and blue dragon whisker, 11 inches, slender) was a wholly remarkable woman. The McKites have a tradition of passing the family name through women, and each of those women had their own gifts. Your mother was amazing with mind charms and curses, just like your father is excellent at physical charms and enchantments. But you are another case entirely...it is up to me to find out just what you will be good at, guess correctly, and find a wand that compliments you,' He held out a wand. '14 inches, willow and dragon heartstring, very slim.'

Prank took it in hand. It certainly did look right. He waved it. Nothing happened. Ollivander reached for it, but Prank continued to hold it, gazing at it curiously. He considered, then put it in his left hand. Quite suddenly, ice slipped up his back, and he gasped. He wanted to wave it, but he feared doing so. He looked up at the old man, his eyes frightened.

'A sinister wand hand. Interesting.' He nodded. 'well, I think your father has waited long enough.' He charged Prank for the wand who paid from his school-supplies purse, wishing the terrible feeling from the first touch of his wand would leave his memory.

'Sir...?' He asked as he put both away.

Ollivander looked up. 'Yes, my boy?

'What do you think my wand would be good for?'

The old man smiled. 'Ahh, well...It's magic is subtle, so much so that it barely registers on my measuring devices...but therein lies its charm. If you are able to use such a wand, it demonstrates that you only need a focus for what power you have, something very thin. But as for what you will be good at...' the man's face turned hard for a moment. 'I shall hold off and see if my predictions are correct. You have a long life ahead of you, and I daresay that wand will serve you well. Have a safe journey, Mr. McKite.'

'Thank you, sir.' He pushed open the door, and found himself standing at the threshold of a war-zone. And he knew, quite suddenly, why he'd had such a foreboding lingering over him all day.

His mother had found them.

* * *