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The Internet was not created for children, and I see no reason to hand it to them now |
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Recollection By Taleya
Chapter Two
He’d floo’d into Hogsmead from the nearest networked house, running the thin line of exhaustion, not trusting himself to apparate with his precious cargo. He’d had some vague idea of walking to the castle, but knew that he would never make it. Walking and sleeping where he fell was nothing new, but he had a child to take care of. And she needed somewhere warm and safe to rest. He staggered into the Hog’s Head, unmindful of the way all conversation stopped dead the instant he entered. He was far too used to that sort of thing now. It was a little known fact that the Hog’s Head had rooms for let. So little known in fact, that the innkeeper himself was ready to swear it wasn’t so. A clumsy handful of galleons reminded him and Harry was soon fighting the overwhelming urge collapse face-down onto sheets that smelled distressingly of mould. Other things to consider first. He’d never been around a child of this age before. Could they feed themselves? Did they even eat solid foods? He ordered whatever they had with a jug of milk and stared at it for a while. While he was debating with himself the little girl tired of waiting and solved his dilemma by picking up a roll from the table and chewing on it. Right. Answered that question. He wasn’t really that hungry – more tired than hungry, but he forced down a bowl of stew for the look of things. The little girl watched him quietly as he ate, green eyes studying his every move. It was an oddly familiar stare, and it unnerved him. He distracted himself by working out the next stage of his actions. He was tempted to ask the little girl who her parents were but he wasn’t sure if she could even answer him. Failing that, some of the children had been taken by force. He didn’t want to face the consequences of asking a little child who her parents were to find that she had watched them killed in front of her. Finally he gave it up as a lost cause and just leaned back against the wall, working the fabric of the blanket between two fingers. Hogwarts blanket, Hogwarts crest. That meant a link to the school, but not necessarily that the parents were past students – the blanket was too new. Teachers then. But who? One of the staff? He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Filch procreating. Dumbledore, McGonagall, all too old, so he focused on the younger professors. Hooch? Maybe Hagrid and Madame Maxine had made it after all – no, if the little girl was theirs she would have most likely broken the chair. Snape? Snape… He steered his mind firmly away from that subject, shaking his head a little to dispel the thoughts. A sudden weight made him look down. The little girl had clambered into his lap and was settling down, hands reaching for the blanket. He let her have it, a smile rising and fading as she cuddled it possessively to her chest, then stared up again at him, that same oh-so-familiar penetrating gaze. She seemed to be searching for something in his face – he didn’t know if she found it or not but she seemed satisfied, leaning against his chest and blinking sleepily. Cradling her in his arms, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the bed. The toddler sighed as he pulled back the sheets and laid her down, stirring in her sleep and shifting closer, pressing her face to his chest when he kicked off his shoes and clambered in behind her, wrapping an arm around the tiny form protectively. He was already oddly fond of his little companion, feeling in some strange way that she belonged to him. Dangerous thoughts. He stared over her head at the wall, listening to the sounds of drunken singing, the occasional curse and clatter of spilled tankards, one hand unconsciously reaching up to gently stroke the dark hair tucked under his chin. Hard to believe that a little up the road, across the grounds was the castle. Safest place in all the wizarding world. Home and heart to some of the greatest wizards in history. “Nearly home…” he whispered, to the sleeping form curled against him or to
himself he couldn’t tell. “Nearly safe…” |
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All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
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