Spells in Silence (Harry Potter)
- Thread starter Silently Watches
- Start date
Very good way to shit yourself to death foraging without knowledge.
Last edited:
- Location
- US
This is so unique and enthralling!
Ch. 8, The Field
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
The soft creak of a squeaky hinge drifted through the room. The sound, quiet as it was, was still enough for Hazel's eyes to pop open. By the time the man in the yellow apron had stepped fully into the room, she was surrounded by grey smoke and watching him rummage through boxes of pots and pans and blankets. Only once he grabbed whatever he was looking for and closed the door again behind him did she let the spell fall.
She had never been the deepest sleeper, not living in the cupboard under the stairs as she had, but living on her own and wandering from place to place had only sharpened her sleeping ears. Waking up to any nearby sound meant she would never be caught when she was at her most vulnerable. The last thing she needed was for a well-meaning meddler to stumble upon her and start making arrangements that she had nothing to do with.
This was not the first time she had woken up when somebody decided to do something in her sleeping space without knowing she was there, and she was sure it would not be the last.
With a sigh, she picked herself up from the corner she had chosen early in the morning as her place of rest and peered out through the window. The sun was sinking fast, which meant it was time to move on. Upper Milton was the last town for a while, because next she had to make her way through the Mendip Hills. She had been tempted to wait until the daylight to start her trek, if only because she had never been to a national Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty before, but that was also the reason she decided to stick to her nighttime schedule. It was far easier to avoid anyone who might ask awkward questions when there was no one else awake and walking around.
She quickly changed her clothes, but unlike before Glastonbury she did not shove her dirty clothes into the backpack. Now she could send waves of blue magic running over them to get rid of every speck of dirt before they took their places next to clothes that were similarly clean with a wide smile on her face. Of all the spells she knew, this was rapidly becoming one of her favorites. It was not as incredible as her jumping or her healing, but it was just so very useful in her day to day life.
Casting her eyes around, it was relatively easy to find the puffball that was her friend sitting on one of the metal shelves a few feet away. Come on, Morgan. Wake up. The feathers ruffled slightly at the sound of her mental voice, and after several seconds her bird pulled his head out from under his wing. He blinked at her a few times before tucking his head back out of sight.
Morgan, she told him more sternly this time, one hand propped on her hip. Let's go. We have to get moving.
His head came into view again, and he blinked blearily at her. It was clear what he would be telling her if she could speak bird.
Yes, I know it's night and you're a daytime bird. Once we get to Bristol, we can do daylight traveling, but not while we'd be noticeable. He only looked at her for a moment, and she sighed. I promise we'll go back to doing daylight stuff, okay? Promise. We just need to get there first.
With a low warble, Morgan shook out his wings and fluttered over to her shoulder. He might very well fall asleep on her while they were walking, but that was fine. She did not need him to be awake so much as she did not want to risk leaving him behind.
She did not have to walk through the store to get out, for which she was thankful. She instead left via the same access door that she had used to get inside as the sun was coming up. A map of western England was in one of the pockets of her backpack, and she pulled out it and the compass she had 'borrowed' from the same store. Turning herself to face north, she checked the map and started walking in that direction but just a little to the right.
Bristol was not her ultimate destination – there was still plenty left to see throughout England, and that was not even counting the sights she was sure existed in Wales and Scotland – but it was a reasonable place to stop and do some more research about what was still waiting for her and start planning her next steps. It would also be the largest city she had ever set foot in. Half a million people? She would have no problem at all vanishing in that.
Rather than walk on the road itself, she followed along not even a dozen feet to the side. There were a few trees scattered around, but even without them it would be easier to hide from any approaching cars if she did not have to get off the road first. Not that she really had to worry about that happening once the sun had fully disappeared and she was reliant on her electric torch for light. That she was fine with. From what she could find and checking with her map, she should be able to get from Upper Milton to one of the towns on the edge of Bristol over the course of tonight, and from there she could go to Bristol proper tomorrow.
The crescent moon rose higher in the sky as the hours passed. Hazel rubbed her eyes for a moment, and when she dropped her hand something caught her attention from the edge of her vision. She squinted at it once she was fully looking at it, but even then she was unsure of what she was looking at. The closest thing she could think of was a little campfire, flickering in the night, but it was not the normal yellow and orange she was used to. It was a bright pale blue of all things. It was not natural.
Might it be magical?!
Without a moment's hesitation she left the side of the road and walked towards the field. The fire could not be that far away, maybe a couple hundred feet. That would not take long to cross, and when she got there, maybe she would get some answers.
The closer she walked to the fire, the more obvious it was that something was off. The fire was growing larger in her view, but not as much as she would have expected. It was almost as if it were moving away, though not as quickly as she was moving towards it. Picking up her pace, she started jogging and then running. She had to get there before whoever's campfire it was vanished. It might be her only chance to talk to somebody else who was like her!
Now that she was running, she was actually making progress, so of course it would be at that moment that the fire winked out of existence. No!, she screamed, her eyes still focused on the last spot where she saw it. This could not be happening. Not when she was so close to answers!
Her torchlight fanned this way and that, and finally it landed on something. Hazel knelt to take a look at it and frowned in confusion. This was not a campfire. It was a single thick stick, and while one end was thicker and wrapped in half-burnt cloth, it would not explain the size of the fire she saw. Nor would anyone carry a burning torch close to the ground like what she saw. Old fashioned torches like that were meant to be held up in the air—
Something hard and heavy smashed into the back of her head, and all she could see were stars.
Falling to the ground, she heard Morgan twittering in anger, and she blinked quickly to try to get her vision to clear. When it did, she almost wished she had stayed blind. The creature that had hit her now loomed above her as best as its short stature allowed. Its wrinkly face split into a smile that revealed yellowing triangular teeth that sat below a long, crooked nose and glowing eyes the same blue as the flames that lured her out here. Its dirty fingernails, what few were visible, were long and curved like claws. One hand was wrapped around a thick wooden club, and the other came into sight from behind its back along with a shimmering green knife. It giggled and jabbered something in a language that was most definitely not English, the slight movements of its head shifting a long hat that reached almost to its feet and was the same brownish red color as rust.
Or long-dried blood.
It's a red cap, she thought in quickly mounting terror. It's a red cap!
The murderous fae raised its knife higher, the direction of its gaze at her chest telling her just where it planned to plunge the sharp blade, when a ball of yellow and blue flew screeching into its face. The red cap yelled something undoubtedly cruel at Morgan and waved its club to ward him off, and that was the opportunity she needed. Pulling her legs to her chest, she kicked out and slammed both feet into its stomach. The force was enough to double it over, but where she had hoped to knock it to the ground all it did was take a couple of small steps backwards. She pushed herself to her feet, only one thought on her mind. She had to get far, far away from this thing, and now.
As fast as her scrambling was, the red cap was faster. She was not even fully upright when the red cap leapt into the air and brought its club down, this time right into her face. The blow itself, heavier than the red cap's size would have suggested, drove her to the ground, and then searing pain erupted around her nose and her left eye. An instant later that eye started stinging as something hot and wet dribbled into it.
Squeezing that eye shut, she turned her head to keep her right eye on the fae that was again advancing on her, its earlier smile gone and a snarl in its place instead. Hazel pushed herself backwards with both arms with all the haste she could muster, her torch lying on the ground where she had dropped it when the little monster clubbed her in the face. The more she crab-walked away, the less of the torch she could see, and without that light the less of the world she could see.
If she was hoping to hide in the shadows, she was going to be disappointed. The red cap kept stride, not chasing her down but not losing any ground either. It was toying with her, waiting for her to tire herself out or just until it grew bored. Then it would kill her and, she assumed, eat her.
Morgan swooped in to her defense once again, but the red cap batted him away with little difficulty now that it knew he was there. Her one good eye flicked from the red cap to the line of grass lit up by the beam from the torch. She needed to get out of here, but it was not going to let her stand up and run away.
She did have another option, but she had never tried doing it when she was almost laying on the ground like this. It might very well simply not be possible.
But did she have anything at all to lose right now?
Her right eye focused on the red cap again, who had apparently noticed that she had something in mind. She could no longer see its expression, but she could see its head tilting. She could see its left hand raising the knife again. Had it grown bored already? Did it intend to keep her from trying whatever plan it could see her brewing?
Baring her teeth at it, the closest she could get to a grin, she shoved herself backwards again—
—and landed on the grass behind her torch. Snatching it up, she screamed in her mind, Morgan!
The red cap spun around looking for her, and she pushed herself to her knees at the same time its eyes fell on her. Morgan, get your rear end over here! The red cap started running at her, its little legs covering far more ground than they should have.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She could not abandon Morgan here. Who would get to her first?
The redcap was halfway to her.
She pushed herself fully to her feet.
A quarter of the way to her.
She pointed the beam square at its face, hoping to blind it, and took several steps backwards to get a little distance.
Ten feet from her.
A tiny weight landed on her shoulder, screeching all the while.
The green knife swung at her in a horizontal line right at her belly, a blow that would gut her—
—if she were still there. The full-body squeezing sensation swept her away from the field and back to the storeroom where she had slept. Her backwards momentum continued, and she toppled over a low stack of boxes and fell to the ground as brightly colored packages of dried noodles spread out around her.
Wings flapping pulled her attention back to her friend as he landed on her chest and narrowed his beady little eyes at her. She let out an explosive breath and dropped her head onto the hard concrete floor. Okay, okay. You were right, she admitted. Trying to walk to Bristol tonight was a terrible idea. We'll make the trip in the morning.
Morgan tweeted in victory.
Oh, shut up, she told him with a silent sigh. You didn't know there were red caps out there, either. You can't claim credit for that.
…Thank you. Morgan stopped his song and looked at her again. She gave him a weak smile and reached up to stroke his breast feathers. For charging in and distracting that thing. He could have crushed you in one blow, but you still tried to keep him off me. That was very brave of you.
This time his call was even prouder.
Picking the songbird off her, she rolled over and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her face was starting to ache now that she was no longer in terrifying mortal danger, and she staggered out of the room on shaking legs and into the main store. She needed to find a bathroom and see just how bad she looked.
The answer, Hazel discovered a minute later, was awful.
Poking her nose lightly with a finger, she winced and then winced again at the pain the first one caused. Her nose was smushed flat and already starting to swell, and at some point after getting smacked in the face it had started bleeding. Not a little bit, either; the entire front of her shirt, a cute green with horses on it, was now stained red. Blood was smeared over the left side of her face, too, leaking out from a long cut above her eyebrow. Even the lens of her glasses on that side was covered.
First things first. Resting the fingers of her left hand on her cheek beneath her glasses, she half closed her eyes and let brilliant green lightning flicker over her face. Her nose was yanked straight, causing her to gasp, and then it and the skin around her eye turned red then purple then yellow before they went back to the same color as the rest of her.
Even if that was still a few shades paler than she was used to seeing.
Pulling her glasses off and balancing them on top of the pipes leading to the toilet, she twisted the faucets of the sink so she could splash ice-cold water over her face and scrub away the flakes of dried blood. Only when she was starting to shiver did she blindly fumble around for her glasses and stick them under the water as well. She rubbed and rubbed the left side, but the more she did the more she frowned. What were all those bumps?
She pulled the sleeve of her shirt down over her hand to dry the glasses, and once they were back on her face she peered closer at them to find out what was wrong. The answer was immediately obvious. A spiderweb of cracks crisscrossed against the entirely of the left lens. Closing her right eye to look just through the left, she immediately opened it again. There was no way she would be able to see out that side. Everything was just too jumbled together.
Okay. I can fix this, too, she told herself. It was not the first time she had fixed these, though at least now she could blame someone other than herself. She pulled her glasses off, and lightning again erupted from her fingertips. After several seconds she cut it off with a frown. That had not felt right, but there was only one way to be sure.
Putting them back on her face, she scowled. No. That was not right. Instead of fixing itself like it had before, getting rid of the cracks entirely, the left lens was… smeared, was the best way she could describe it. It was all in one piece, but all the lines of the cracks were now thicker streaks of a light grey. It was just as impossible to see through as before she tried fixing them, except now it was because she could not see anything through them rather than because the world was shattered like a broken mirror.
What was wrong? She had done this before, back in Shervage Wood and again in Cornwall. What was going on? Was it something the red cap did when it attacked her? She thought harder, remembering what they looked like before they were broken as best as she could. Maybe she just was not focusing enough.
Lightning coursed through her hands, and she tried to hold back the frown at just how wrong this felt. Only now that she was paying attention could she notice how different trying to fix her glasses was to healing herself. Her face had felt warm, as if her magic was sinking into the skin and bones and gently shifting them back where they were supposed to be. With her glasses, it was more like the lightning was wrapping around the plastic and doing its best to put it to rights, but the force behind it was just too much and instead was crushing and cracking her glasses even more.
She brushed a finger over the lens again, and this time there was no hiding her frown. It was no longer cracked, and she doubted it was smeared, but now she could feel ridges of raised plastic dancing over both sides of the lens. She put her glasses on again and stared; where before it was just the lens that was a problem, now the frame itself was warped and twisted. It looked almost as if her spell was starting to melt it.
How in the world was her spell doing so much damage to her glasses and yet could heal her body with no problem? It was not just her that her magic could heal. Even putting that sapling back together had been easier than her glasses, and that was when she had come up with this spell in the first place!
Thinking through her memory, her face gained even more of a pallor. Running out of the bathroom, she looked through the aisles of the store until she found a pack of long wooden skewers meant for grilling. She ripped the package open and pulled one out, then she snapped it over her knee.
Please don't let me be right.
Bright green lightning flashed over the two halves of the skewer, reconnecting it and sealing the seam with not a single issue. Concentrating on it as she was, she could also feel how the magic was reacting.
Her spell had sunk into the wood and pulled it together from the inside.
Hazel slid to the floor, the skewer still held tightly in her hands. She could heal herself and a tree, fix a piece of dead wood. All living things, or at least that had been living. Plastic and glass had never been alive. They were manmade, artificial.
And she had already been pretty sure that she and her mum were from a druidic line.
The skewer twisted in her hands, threatening to break once again. She could fix natural things without any problems, but that was because it was from nature where she got her powers. Plastic was not natural. Was nature just too strong for her glasses to hold up when it was trying to fix them?
She took a deep breath in and let it out. Okay, Hazel. You can deal with this. Bristol is a day's walk from here. Get there, and you can figure out what to do about your glasses. There should be a solution there. Somewhere.
The image of the red cap came to mind again, and she looked at the pointed tip of the skewer. She had one more quick stop to make before she bedded down for the night. Just to be safe.
She had never been the deepest sleeper, not living in the cupboard under the stairs as she had, but living on her own and wandering from place to place had only sharpened her sleeping ears. Waking up to any nearby sound meant she would never be caught when she was at her most vulnerable. The last thing she needed was for a well-meaning meddler to stumble upon her and start making arrangements that she had nothing to do with.
This was not the first time she had woken up when somebody decided to do something in her sleeping space without knowing she was there, and she was sure it would not be the last.
With a sigh, she picked herself up from the corner she had chosen early in the morning as her place of rest and peered out through the window. The sun was sinking fast, which meant it was time to move on. Upper Milton was the last town for a while, because next she had to make her way through the Mendip Hills. She had been tempted to wait until the daylight to start her trek, if only because she had never been to a national Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty before, but that was also the reason she decided to stick to her nighttime schedule. It was far easier to avoid anyone who might ask awkward questions when there was no one else awake and walking around.
She quickly changed her clothes, but unlike before Glastonbury she did not shove her dirty clothes into the backpack. Now she could send waves of blue magic running over them to get rid of every speck of dirt before they took their places next to clothes that were similarly clean with a wide smile on her face. Of all the spells she knew, this was rapidly becoming one of her favorites. It was not as incredible as her jumping or her healing, but it was just so very useful in her day to day life.
Casting her eyes around, it was relatively easy to find the puffball that was her friend sitting on one of the metal shelves a few feet away. Come on, Morgan. Wake up. The feathers ruffled slightly at the sound of her mental voice, and after several seconds her bird pulled his head out from under his wing. He blinked at her a few times before tucking his head back out of sight.
Morgan, she told him more sternly this time, one hand propped on her hip. Let's go. We have to get moving.
His head came into view again, and he blinked blearily at her. It was clear what he would be telling her if she could speak bird.
Yes, I know it's night and you're a daytime bird. Once we get to Bristol, we can do daylight traveling, but not while we'd be noticeable. He only looked at her for a moment, and she sighed. I promise we'll go back to doing daylight stuff, okay? Promise. We just need to get there first.
With a low warble, Morgan shook out his wings and fluttered over to her shoulder. He might very well fall asleep on her while they were walking, but that was fine. She did not need him to be awake so much as she did not want to risk leaving him behind.
She did not have to walk through the store to get out, for which she was thankful. She instead left via the same access door that she had used to get inside as the sun was coming up. A map of western England was in one of the pockets of her backpack, and she pulled out it and the compass she had 'borrowed' from the same store. Turning herself to face north, she checked the map and started walking in that direction but just a little to the right.
Bristol was not her ultimate destination – there was still plenty left to see throughout England, and that was not even counting the sights she was sure existed in Wales and Scotland – but it was a reasonable place to stop and do some more research about what was still waiting for her and start planning her next steps. It would also be the largest city she had ever set foot in. Half a million people? She would have no problem at all vanishing in that.
Rather than walk on the road itself, she followed along not even a dozen feet to the side. There were a few trees scattered around, but even without them it would be easier to hide from any approaching cars if she did not have to get off the road first. Not that she really had to worry about that happening once the sun had fully disappeared and she was reliant on her electric torch for light. That she was fine with. From what she could find and checking with her map, she should be able to get from Upper Milton to one of the towns on the edge of Bristol over the course of tonight, and from there she could go to Bristol proper tomorrow.
The crescent moon rose higher in the sky as the hours passed. Hazel rubbed her eyes for a moment, and when she dropped her hand something caught her attention from the edge of her vision. She squinted at it once she was fully looking at it, but even then she was unsure of what she was looking at. The closest thing she could think of was a little campfire, flickering in the night, but it was not the normal yellow and orange she was used to. It was a bright pale blue of all things. It was not natural.
Might it be magical?!
Without a moment's hesitation she left the side of the road and walked towards the field. The fire could not be that far away, maybe a couple hundred feet. That would not take long to cross, and when she got there, maybe she would get some answers.
The closer she walked to the fire, the more obvious it was that something was off. The fire was growing larger in her view, but not as much as she would have expected. It was almost as if it were moving away, though not as quickly as she was moving towards it. Picking up her pace, she started jogging and then running. She had to get there before whoever's campfire it was vanished. It might be her only chance to talk to somebody else who was like her!
Now that she was running, she was actually making progress, so of course it would be at that moment that the fire winked out of existence. No!, she screamed, her eyes still focused on the last spot where she saw it. This could not be happening. Not when she was so close to answers!
Her torchlight fanned this way and that, and finally it landed on something. Hazel knelt to take a look at it and frowned in confusion. This was not a campfire. It was a single thick stick, and while one end was thicker and wrapped in half-burnt cloth, it would not explain the size of the fire she saw. Nor would anyone carry a burning torch close to the ground like what she saw. Old fashioned torches like that were meant to be held up in the air—
Something hard and heavy smashed into the back of her head, and all she could see were stars.
Falling to the ground, she heard Morgan twittering in anger, and she blinked quickly to try to get her vision to clear. When it did, she almost wished she had stayed blind. The creature that had hit her now loomed above her as best as its short stature allowed. Its wrinkly face split into a smile that revealed yellowing triangular teeth that sat below a long, crooked nose and glowing eyes the same blue as the flames that lured her out here. Its dirty fingernails, what few were visible, were long and curved like claws. One hand was wrapped around a thick wooden club, and the other came into sight from behind its back along with a shimmering green knife. It giggled and jabbered something in a language that was most definitely not English, the slight movements of its head shifting a long hat that reached almost to its feet and was the same brownish red color as rust.
Or long-dried blood.
It's a red cap, she thought in quickly mounting terror. It's a red cap!
The murderous fae raised its knife higher, the direction of its gaze at her chest telling her just where it planned to plunge the sharp blade, when a ball of yellow and blue flew screeching into its face. The red cap yelled something undoubtedly cruel at Morgan and waved its club to ward him off, and that was the opportunity she needed. Pulling her legs to her chest, she kicked out and slammed both feet into its stomach. The force was enough to double it over, but where she had hoped to knock it to the ground all it did was take a couple of small steps backwards. She pushed herself to her feet, only one thought on her mind. She had to get far, far away from this thing, and now.
As fast as her scrambling was, the red cap was faster. She was not even fully upright when the red cap leapt into the air and brought its club down, this time right into her face. The blow itself, heavier than the red cap's size would have suggested, drove her to the ground, and then searing pain erupted around her nose and her left eye. An instant later that eye started stinging as something hot and wet dribbled into it.
Squeezing that eye shut, she turned her head to keep her right eye on the fae that was again advancing on her, its earlier smile gone and a snarl in its place instead. Hazel pushed herself backwards with both arms with all the haste she could muster, her torch lying on the ground where she had dropped it when the little monster clubbed her in the face. The more she crab-walked away, the less of the torch she could see, and without that light the less of the world she could see.
If she was hoping to hide in the shadows, she was going to be disappointed. The red cap kept stride, not chasing her down but not losing any ground either. It was toying with her, waiting for her to tire herself out or just until it grew bored. Then it would kill her and, she assumed, eat her.
Morgan swooped in to her defense once again, but the red cap batted him away with little difficulty now that it knew he was there. Her one good eye flicked from the red cap to the line of grass lit up by the beam from the torch. She needed to get out of here, but it was not going to let her stand up and run away.
She did have another option, but she had never tried doing it when she was almost laying on the ground like this. It might very well simply not be possible.
But did she have anything at all to lose right now?
Her right eye focused on the red cap again, who had apparently noticed that she had something in mind. She could no longer see its expression, but she could see its head tilting. She could see its left hand raising the knife again. Had it grown bored already? Did it intend to keep her from trying whatever plan it could see her brewing?
Baring her teeth at it, the closest she could get to a grin, she shoved herself backwards again—
—and landed on the grass behind her torch. Snatching it up, she screamed in her mind, Morgan!
The red cap spun around looking for her, and she pushed herself to her knees at the same time its eyes fell on her. Morgan, get your rear end over here! The red cap started running at her, its little legs covering far more ground than they should have.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She could not abandon Morgan here. Who would get to her first?
The redcap was halfway to her.
She pushed herself fully to her feet.
A quarter of the way to her.
She pointed the beam square at its face, hoping to blind it, and took several steps backwards to get a little distance.
Ten feet from her.
A tiny weight landed on her shoulder, screeching all the while.
The green knife swung at her in a horizontal line right at her belly, a blow that would gut her—
—if she were still there. The full-body squeezing sensation swept her away from the field and back to the storeroom where she had slept. Her backwards momentum continued, and she toppled over a low stack of boxes and fell to the ground as brightly colored packages of dried noodles spread out around her.
Wings flapping pulled her attention back to her friend as he landed on her chest and narrowed his beady little eyes at her. She let out an explosive breath and dropped her head onto the hard concrete floor. Okay, okay. You were right, she admitted. Trying to walk to Bristol tonight was a terrible idea. We'll make the trip in the morning.
Morgan tweeted in victory.
Oh, shut up, she told him with a silent sigh. You didn't know there were red caps out there, either. You can't claim credit for that.
…Thank you. Morgan stopped his song and looked at her again. She gave him a weak smile and reached up to stroke his breast feathers. For charging in and distracting that thing. He could have crushed you in one blow, but you still tried to keep him off me. That was very brave of you.
This time his call was even prouder.
Picking the songbird off her, she rolled over and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her face was starting to ache now that she was no longer in terrifying mortal danger, and she staggered out of the room on shaking legs and into the main store. She needed to find a bathroom and see just how bad she looked.
The answer, Hazel discovered a minute later, was awful.
Poking her nose lightly with a finger, she winced and then winced again at the pain the first one caused. Her nose was smushed flat and already starting to swell, and at some point after getting smacked in the face it had started bleeding. Not a little bit, either; the entire front of her shirt, a cute green with horses on it, was now stained red. Blood was smeared over the left side of her face, too, leaking out from a long cut above her eyebrow. Even the lens of her glasses on that side was covered.
First things first. Resting the fingers of her left hand on her cheek beneath her glasses, she half closed her eyes and let brilliant green lightning flicker over her face. Her nose was yanked straight, causing her to gasp, and then it and the skin around her eye turned red then purple then yellow before they went back to the same color as the rest of her.
Even if that was still a few shades paler than she was used to seeing.
Pulling her glasses off and balancing them on top of the pipes leading to the toilet, she twisted the faucets of the sink so she could splash ice-cold water over her face and scrub away the flakes of dried blood. Only when she was starting to shiver did she blindly fumble around for her glasses and stick them under the water as well. She rubbed and rubbed the left side, but the more she did the more she frowned. What were all those bumps?
She pulled the sleeve of her shirt down over her hand to dry the glasses, and once they were back on her face she peered closer at them to find out what was wrong. The answer was immediately obvious. A spiderweb of cracks crisscrossed against the entirely of the left lens. Closing her right eye to look just through the left, she immediately opened it again. There was no way she would be able to see out that side. Everything was just too jumbled together.
Okay. I can fix this, too, she told herself. It was not the first time she had fixed these, though at least now she could blame someone other than herself. She pulled her glasses off, and lightning again erupted from her fingertips. After several seconds she cut it off with a frown. That had not felt right, but there was only one way to be sure.
Putting them back on her face, she scowled. No. That was not right. Instead of fixing itself like it had before, getting rid of the cracks entirely, the left lens was… smeared, was the best way she could describe it. It was all in one piece, but all the lines of the cracks were now thicker streaks of a light grey. It was just as impossible to see through as before she tried fixing them, except now it was because she could not see anything through them rather than because the world was shattered like a broken mirror.
What was wrong? She had done this before, back in Shervage Wood and again in Cornwall. What was going on? Was it something the red cap did when it attacked her? She thought harder, remembering what they looked like before they were broken as best as she could. Maybe she just was not focusing enough.
Lightning coursed through her hands, and she tried to hold back the frown at just how wrong this felt. Only now that she was paying attention could she notice how different trying to fix her glasses was to healing herself. Her face had felt warm, as if her magic was sinking into the skin and bones and gently shifting them back where they were supposed to be. With her glasses, it was more like the lightning was wrapping around the plastic and doing its best to put it to rights, but the force behind it was just too much and instead was crushing and cracking her glasses even more.
She brushed a finger over the lens again, and this time there was no hiding her frown. It was no longer cracked, and she doubted it was smeared, but now she could feel ridges of raised plastic dancing over both sides of the lens. She put her glasses on again and stared; where before it was just the lens that was a problem, now the frame itself was warped and twisted. It looked almost as if her spell was starting to melt it.
How in the world was her spell doing so much damage to her glasses and yet could heal her body with no problem? It was not just her that her magic could heal. Even putting that sapling back together had been easier than her glasses, and that was when she had come up with this spell in the first place!
Thinking through her memory, her face gained even more of a pallor. Running out of the bathroom, she looked through the aisles of the store until she found a pack of long wooden skewers meant for grilling. She ripped the package open and pulled one out, then she snapped it over her knee.
Please don't let me be right.
Bright green lightning flashed over the two halves of the skewer, reconnecting it and sealing the seam with not a single issue. Concentrating on it as she was, she could also feel how the magic was reacting.
Her spell had sunk into the wood and pulled it together from the inside.
Hazel slid to the floor, the skewer still held tightly in her hands. She could heal herself and a tree, fix a piece of dead wood. All living things, or at least that had been living. Plastic and glass had never been alive. They were manmade, artificial.
And she had already been pretty sure that she and her mum were from a druidic line.
The skewer twisted in her hands, threatening to break once again. She could fix natural things without any problems, but that was because it was from nature where she got her powers. Plastic was not natural. Was nature just too strong for her glasses to hold up when it was trying to fix them?
She took a deep breath in and let it out. Okay, Hazel. You can deal with this. Bristol is a day's walk from here. Get there, and you can figure out what to do about your glasses. There should be a solution there. Somewhere.
The image of the red cap came to mind again, and she looked at the pointed tip of the skewer. She had one more quick stop to make before she bedded down for the night. Just to be safe.
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I completely forgot to respond to this so I'll do it quickly then go read the new chapter: I think there has been a fundamental miscommunication between us here. I don't want her to survive in the wild. Surviving on your own in the wild is difficult, to the point where I'd say it's beyond any pre-teen even if they have magic.
No, what I was looking for is were she tries to do it and then fail. It's easy, as an author, to dismiss plots that that you know are dead ends, even if the character you're writing might not have that experience to avoid that idea involved. You're probably well aware that foraging to survive is far more effort than it is worth, and require knowledge that your character doesn't have; but does Hazel know that?
I guess it's just one of those pet-peeves of mine: it's so common in fanfiction (and to some degree even in published fiction) that whenever a protagonist has an idea or a goal it's achievable and they succeed. It's far too rare that they try and fail, yet learn something in the process. That's what I was getting at: She doesn't want to steal so the natural solution is to find a way to not need to, but she doesn't have the knowledge required (yet) so she fails that and must return to stealing still. Failure also develops character in a way success don't.
Anyways, will read the new chapter now.
- Pronouns
- she/her
Welcome to Bristol. Remember to say "cheers drive" when you get off the bus, and you haven't truly visited (especially as a kid) until you've been down the rock slide up by the bridge.
Enjoying the travelogue style nature of the story so far. It makes it quite unique compared to most fics.
I think I might even prefer that she doesn't learn more magic than she has. Hazel is already pushing the boundaries of what would be a prodigy in HP fics. It feels like not much more of a jump to power wank territory. No issue with her being a super duper witch/druid hybrid, but I would prefer that happening post-school.
I think I might even prefer that she doesn't learn more magic than she has. Hazel is already pushing the boundaries of what would be a prodigy in HP fics. It feels like not much more of a jump to power wank territory. No issue with her being a super duper witch/druid hybrid, but I would prefer that happening post-school.
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Glad you're enjoying it.
I won't go into specifics right now, but suffice it to say that Hazel has her own restriction she has to deal with that will become very clear once she turns 11. She has another couple of spells to learn before then, but nothing earth-shattering.
The other thing, which I'm not arguing against but just pointing out something interesting, is the idea of wandless magic power wank. Which I'm pretty sure is a line I jumped back and forth over in the Black Queen series.
I was doing some research before starting this story on canon wandless magic, and doing so I found some stuff from Pottermore (which admittedly I don't consider full-on canon because it can and has contradicted stuff from the books) about how there are classes on wandless magic in the North American school and that the African school teaches purely wandless magic. I don't have any more information than that, and there really wasn't much of anything from the books about it, which implies that wandless magic really isn't objectively as difficult as European mages say it is.But again, Hazel won't be able to casually warp reality the way Jen did. She'll have her collection of wandless spells, the vast majority of which are relatively basic, and then she'll have other things to rely on.
- Location
- Here
Let me guess: She's had an easier time learning wandless magic to start off in part because accidental magic flows more easily in youth, but she's still not putting enough structure into her magic (because she doesn't currently need to) and as she ages she'll start to need more of that.
Yeah, I am fine with less reality warping than what Jen got up to, at least while still a young student.
When it comes to the power wank, I am more concerned with relative power levels more than the wandless/wand dichotomy. There's only so much special magic skills you can give your protagonist before you have to start escalating everyone's else. So I am glad to hear that Hazel's wandless spells with stay relatively basic.
When it comes to the power wank, I am more concerned with relative power levels more than the wandless/wand dichotomy. There's only so much special magic skills you can give your protagonist before you have to start escalating everyone's else. So I am glad to hear that Hazel's wandless spells with stay relatively basic.
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
I can understand that. On the plus side, Hazel's skills (other than her Apparation/"jumping") are all at the same level as what a first or maybe second-year student should be learning. I know that it's hard to tell just how quickly in-story she's learning magic because I'm skipping the days of tedious travel, but so far she's learned 7 spells in about 3 months. That's not crazy growth, and it's not at a drastically higher level. She's just getting a head start.
How strong she WILL be relative to other characters is harder to determine because we're getting into an apples and oranges situation. Her skills will be "special" in that other characters don't learn them in canon, not that they can't; at the same time, she is deprived of what is, to a European wizard's view, an absolutely critical skill. Her magical style when she's 13, 14, 15 is going to look a lot different from Harry's in canon.
- Location
- France
- Pronouns
- She/They
Glad you're enjoying it.
I won't go into specifics right now, but suffice it to say that Hazel has her own restriction she has to deal with that will become very clear once she turns 11. She has another couple of spells to learn before then, but nothing earth-shattering.
The other thing, which I'm not arguing against but just pointing out something interesting, is the idea of wandless magic power wank. Which I'm pretty sure is a line I jumped back and forth over in the Black Queen series.
But again, Hazel won't be able to casually warp reality the way Jen did. She'll have her collection of wandless spells, the vast majority of which are relatively basic, and then she'll have other things to rely on.
One possibility to take into account is that canon and pottermore is still seen from British eyes, with all the lack of comprehension of other cultures it involve. Maybe there's also tricks to those kinds of magic the British just don't know about because they're not proper European magic. After all, if you told people the British cast magic using fancy sticks, that would sound ridiculous and probably very hard too, until you figure out the sticks are magic. Though frankly I wouldn't let canon stop you considering how little it fleshed out anything outside Britain.
- Location
- France
- Pronouns
- She/They
My assumption if you want to work with canon is that it's in fact exactly that and the population of wizarding Britain is extremely tiny, with everyone being either a rich rentier, an artisan catering to them or straight up bureaucracy mostly focused on maintaining the statute. There's literally zero hints of other schools to my knowledge and Hogwarts class sizes imply very low population, even accounting for the war.
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hogwarts also had a very large number of empty and unused classrooms.
- Location
- France
- Pronouns
- She/They
Inbreeding: not even once.
I've seen a few fics assuming Britain is in terminal decline and only propped up by the sporadic influx of new blood through births in the non magical world.
RoninSword
Sky God
- Location
- Canada
I tend to think the lack of seeing wider Wizarding Britain is just Rowling's failure. And the small class sizes at Hogwarts can easily be seen as a consequence of the last war with Voldemort.
As Nyvis says, there are a number of stories around where Wizarding Britain is basically dying.
As Nyvis says, there are a number of stories around where Wizarding Britain is basically dying.
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Could imply a few things.
There used to be a lot more students. The 2 war explanation. Some families probably fled Britain too, not all just killed.
The Founders expected the populace to grow, and it Didn't. Probably even shrunk. The inbreeding explanation.
It really is just a remodeled castle. The 'eh' explaination.
- Location
- France
- Pronouns
- She/They
Oh yeah. Despite numerous neat elements to build upon, Rowling does a lackluster job at tying it together into a coherent work, probably because that was never part of her story writing process in the first place.
Or magic is plain just dying
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You can basically roll that into inbreeding.Or magic is plain just dying
- Location
- Tromso, Norway.
I would like to take this moment to remind everyone* of a conversation in the second book, wherein Ron tells us that the majority of wizards are half-bloods and that they'd have died out ages ago if they didn't have "kids with muggles."* So no, inbreeding isn't an issue except in the very few families who still believe that nonsense.
*I'm not looking this up, but I think that's pretty much what he said.
*I'm not looking this up, but I think that's pretty much what he said.