Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
She won't stay away from wizards forever. I just want to give her time to establish in her own mind what she can do before we throw her at wizards and their assumptions.
Spells in Silence (Harry Potter)
- Thread starter Silently Watches
- Start date
- Pronouns
- First/And/Last
since she's in France maybe she could stumble across the alchemist Nicholas Flamel (the guy that made the philosophers stone) notebook/spell book in a random bookstore. The story could have his notebooks ending up in muggle hands over the years and hazel accidentally stumbles across them and notices the magic on the book with her eyepatch monocle.
also does her magic bag also stop time for the items placed inside it not just increasing the inner size and reducing weight or is stopping the time of things placed inside an upgrade she'll learn later.
also does her magic bag also stop time for the items placed inside it not just increasing the inner size and reducing weight or is stopping the time of things placed inside an upgrade she'll learn later.
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Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
The guy lived a long time, maybe he left a small safe house with some stuff, a simple muggle repelling charm and simply forgot about it forgot about it, although it definitely could have fallen into muggle hands and used as a fiction about alchemy or something.
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Recall that at this time, Nicolas Flamel is STILL ALIVE.
Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
He could still leave his stuff all over the place, this book might have belonged to him, 300 years ago.
- Location
- Somewhere that's on a map
You know, the longer she wanders, the more confused the wizarding World will be when she encounters them.
After all, they live a relatively civilized lifestyle, where magic meets their needs and they can interact with the muggle world without fear of danger from either them or the dangerous creatures they learned to defeat as teenagers. They are the undisputed masters of their enclaves and can live the way they want to, far away from serious danger.
And then the girl who lived shows up again. A wandering witch who manipulates magic without a wand, communes with nature to perform spells and talk to spirits, who hid herself away from prying eyes as she sought the wellsprings of her powers and is deeply, intimately aware of just how dangerous the magical world really is.
She would be a living anachronism to them, a stark example of the kind of life that used to be lived by all mages a thousand years in the past, both incredibly advanced in her abilities yet absurdly limited when it comes to discovering and casting new spells.
The strangeness of her glasses, the cobbled-together look of her bottomless bag made from burlap and kept together with rope & glue, the clothes so saturated with magic they might as well have been conjured...
And that's before her weirdness is taken into account. She seems to just know things, things she isn't supposed to know. The way she would interact with people just skips several important steps...
All in all, she'll likely be even more of an alien to them than her canon counterpart.
After all, they live a relatively civilized lifestyle, where magic meets their needs and they can interact with the muggle world without fear of danger from either them or the dangerous creatures they learned to defeat as teenagers. They are the undisputed masters of their enclaves and can live the way they want to, far away from serious danger.
And then the girl who lived shows up again. A wandering witch who manipulates magic without a wand, communes with nature to perform spells and talk to spirits, who hid herself away from prying eyes as she sought the wellsprings of her powers and is deeply, intimately aware of just how dangerous the magical world really is.
She would be a living anachronism to them, a stark example of the kind of life that used to be lived by all mages a thousand years in the past, both incredibly advanced in her abilities yet absurdly limited when it comes to discovering and casting new spells.
The strangeness of her glasses, the cobbled-together look of her bottomless bag made from burlap and kept together with rope & glue, the clothes so saturated with magic they might as well have been conjured...
And that's before her weirdness is taken into account. She seems to just know things, things she isn't supposed to know. The way she would interact with people just skips several important steps...
All in all, she'll likely be even more of an alien to them than her canon counterpart.
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Ch. 12, Compiègne
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
The monster stared at her for a moment longer, then it opened its mouth wide and roared.
And then it started running right at her.
Despite the danger and the long teeth coming towards her, Hazel's mind did not focus on this twisted creature. Instead a memory came to mind, a memory of another monster that had tried to kill her. It might have had a knife instead of long claws and been shorter than her rather than gigantic, but the red cap was no less dangerous to her than this monster was.
Maybe, she thought as she swung the beam from her torch away from her attacker, she could use the same strategy to keep herself safe.
By the time the monster was halfway to her, she was no longer there. Instead she sat in the crook of a tree where the trunk split into two thick branches. Morgan twittered at the sudden pressure and translocation, but she shushed him with a gentle pat. She had not left the forest; she had not even left the sight of the creature. She was now simply ten feet or so above above the ground. If it could jump this high, her torch had already found a branch on another tree that was twice as high as the two she sat upon.
And if it could climb, she was a short hop from Calais or anywhere she had been in England.
The monster skidded to a halt when it realized its quarry was suddenly missing, and it whirled around. Then it did so again and again, and she could almost imagine the confusion it was obviously feeling. Not once did it look up, still convinced that she was down below where she had been before. She was also getting… something from it. Not thoughts, not like a person, but not the vague emotions she felt like she was able to pick up in Morgan's song and behavior either. It was more like when a person was feeling an emotion so strongly she could almost feel a shadow of it as well.
This thing, whatever it was, was angry. Madder than she had ever felt from Uncle Vernon, even.
Another howl came from deeper in the woods, and with a snap and a snarl the creature took off running on all fours towards the sound. The obvious explanation for what she was dealing with hit her, and she slapped herself on the forehead for being so dumb. Was this a werewolf?! She looked up at the moon, and sure enough, it was full.
I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to find actual, real life werewolves when we came to France, she told Morgan. I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised, though. I mean, we already know that fairies and dragons are real, so why not werewolves? And it sounded like it isn't alone.
The real question in front of her was what the next step would be. This forest sounded like there were multiple werewolves within it, the exact number impossible to tell from where she sat. Wandering around on the ground did not sound like the smartest or safest strategy for staying uneaten, but this werewolf had not once looked at her despite her torch still shining bright. If she stayed up in the trees like she was, she should be safe. She could not guarantee it, but it seemed like it was likely.
Her other option was to come back after dawn. Werewolves had not been one of the subjects she had researched, but from what little she knew about them they only changed under the full moon. In the light of day, they should be normal people. She hoped so, anyway, but she would have to keep an eye out in case they could change at will or something.
It wouldn't be too risky for me to stay up here, would it, she asked her friend. I mean, worst case scenario we jump back to Calais for the night if they do start chasing us. There shouldn't be that much danger in just looking.
Decision made, she teleported from her current tree to the one she had been eyeing as her next step when running. That vantage point allowed her to find another tree that looked like it could bear her weight and was in the direction in which the werewolf had run, and she jumped to that one before finding a fourth tree. The recurrent howls of the wolves served as her guide, and she moved again and again, thirty or forty feet at a time, just following the sounds. She had to stop a couple of times to let the headache that was threatening to form settle down, but eventually her relatively straight line of travel let her catch up.
Hazel stopped and stared at what she saw below her. In the middle of the woods stood a clearing, but it was not empty. What had to be a dozen or more little huts or shacks were scattered throughout the space, some pushed against the edge of the tree line while others were placed proudly near the cluster of fire pits that marked the center. None of the buildings were tiny, not really, but from what she could see even the largest could probably be squeezed into the living room of Number 4 with only a little difficulty. More interesting to her were not the buildings, but the creatures who milled around between them and around the still-smoldering fires.
Werewolves. Lots of werewolves.
She pressed herself more tightly against the tree to make sure she would not risk falling out and watched with wide eyes. It was hard to tell just how many of them there were down there, partly because they all looked more or less the same and partly because they kept moving around and snarling and clawing at one another. It did not look like an all-out brawl, not as far as she could tell. The closest comparison she had was one time when she saw a couple of dogs fighting, which involved a few bites before one of them backed off and ran away.
What was happening in front of her looked… kind of like that. The biggest difference was that none of them were running away so much as backing off and picking a fight with a different werewolf. Sometimes one would run off, normally followed by several others, but after just a few minutes most or all of them would find their way back. Surprisingly none of them were lashing out at the shacks, but then again buildings did not usually fight back, so maybe that had something to do with it.
She looked up at the sky again. The moon was not quite to its highest point, which likely meant it was not midnight yet and there was still plenty of time for the werewolves to frolic. Despite her sitting here watching them, none of them had yet to notice her. Was it because she was still hidden amongst the branches a couple of trees back from the actual tree line? She did not know, and no matter her curiosity this was something she was not all that eager to test.
What do you think? Stick around for a couple of hours to watch some more, then jump back to town to get some sleep? This place is definitely unique enough I should be able to get back without any trouble. Morgan had no answer for her, and she looked out the corner of her eye to find him fluffed up and sound asleep on her shoulder. She shook her head with a smile. You are no help at all.
Hazel's eyelids itched, and she rubbed them for a bit before blinking them open. The sun was just coming up, the first beams of dawn hitting her face and explaining why she was waking up now. She yawned and tried to stretch her arms, but as she moved she felt herself start leaning to the side and then fall backwards. She came free from whatever had been supporting her, and despite her arms desperately wheeling about for a second there was nothing around her but empty air.
Then something very strong hit her very hard in the back.
She lay on the ground just trying to catch her breath as Morgan scolded her overhead and memories came back to her no longer sleeping brain. She had been in a tree, presumably the one whose branches were stretched out above her. She had been in a tree because she was watching a pack of werewolves, and she had fallen asleep. And she had been in that tree all that time because she really did not want to get eaten!
Adrenaline surged through her veins. She rolled off her back to her feet, her legs curled up beneath her and just waiting to jump through space to somewhere – anywhere – safer than here. One growl, one flash of fang, and she would be gone.
Raising her head to look over a bush, she stared at the sight before her. It was obvious that werewolves could not remain transformed in the light of day. Grey skin was lightening into pink and tan, and the overlong limbs were receding into more normal proportions. The sparse hair on their necks and upper backs shifted and slid into place on the tops of their heads and changed back to human colors. Throughout the clearing were groaning moans and creaking bones as distorted anatomy shifted back into place.
After a couple of minutes it was over, and the clearing was filled with a bunch of naked people. Thankfully for her peace of mind none of the naked adults started doing anything gross, just started walking towards the different cottages with a few but not all hiding their private parts from view. They came back out a short time later in ones and twos, now dressed but not in normal clothes. Most of them were wearing either long shirts over trousers or colorful but not fluffy bathrobes.
Bathrobes that looked a lot like the ones the men she saw in front of the Greater Whinging library were wearing, now that she thought about it.
Hazel was more than just a little bit curious, and she started walking towards the little settlement now that more people were walking out of their huts. Interestingly, almost all of them were walking in the same direction away from the village, at a right angle to the path she was using to approach them. Where were they headed?
Her foot landed on a twig, and it snapped beneath her weight. The sound caught the attention of one of the men who was dressed in a homespun tunic. Their eyes met, and she sighed and raised one hand to wave towards him. It was not as if she planned on staying invisible, not when she had so many questions to ask.
"A child? What is a little kid doing this deep in the forest this early in the morning?" His face suddenly paled, the blood rushing out even from the top of his bald head. He started talking in French, which she understood not a word of, but thankfully his thoughts continued to flow unhindered and intelligibly. "H-Hello, little one. Please don't be bitten, please don't be bitten. What are you doing out here? She doesn't look like we mauled her, so she should be okay, but…"
Reaching into her satchel at her side, she pulled out a notebook and a pen. "Bonjour," she wrote, one of the very few words in French she knew before coming here. She thought for a moment about what to say next, but finally she decided that honesty was probably the best choice. She just hoped he could understand English because she did not yet know enough words to hold a real conversation with anybody. "I was wandering around looking for signs of magic when I found this place."
The man blinked at her writing and then looked more closely at her. "English? What is an English girl doing out here of all places? Now I am glad my mother insisted I spend my time learning other languages. But what does she mean, 'signs of magic'? That would mean… Is she a Née-Moldus? How would an English Née-Moldus even get here?"
This time it was her turn to blink. 'Nemoldoose'? What in the world did that mean?
"Hello," he said again, though this time in English with a thick accent. "You have better… What is the word? …fortune if you go to Paris. Where was— no, that is not it – is your… families?"
She was already scribbling something else down, and before he could continue muddling through she held up her note. "I can understand you when you speak French. I just can't write it yet. What's in Paris?"
"Oh, thank the Circles. I was not looking forward to having to talk to her in a foreign language. At least with writing I can take my time translating. Paris is where most of the wizards are," he continued, though his mouth was again babbling in French. "Where the main business areas are, and the shops, and the government. I am surprised you made it out here without stopping there first."
Most of the wizards? Business areas? Government?! All Hazel could do was stare at him for several long moments. When she thought she would find living mages, she was expecting maybe a few families living near each other on land passed down for generations, training themselves and experimenting away from prying eyes. That was the easiest explanation for why stories of magic died out hundreds of years ago. If this man was to be believed, and she could see no reason why he would lie to her, then there were not a few select families of sorcerers.
There was an entire society that had somehow escaped notice, possibly for centuries. Somehow in the course of four months, she had completely missed them in England. Were they only in London, a city where she had never gone? Was it her those two men in the capes and robes had been looking for?
Why, if her parents lived in this separate society, was she kicked out when they died?
"Dear me, where are my manners? My name is Jean Luc, by the way," he continued, offering his hand to her. She numbly put her own in his to be shaken with a soft pat at the end. "What might yours be?"
"Hazel," she eventually wrote.
"A pleasure to meet you. Why is she writing everything down?" he then asked himself before his eyes cut back to her book and then to her mouth. "Unless she cannot speak, perhaps? It would be strange for that to be the case, but I cannot think of any other obvious reason why. It is not as if it is a fear of interacting with strangers, or she would not have walked up to us. Are you alright, little one?"
His question shook her from her thoughts, though calling them that might be overly generous. Numb stupefaction would be more accurate. Right. Information first, be shocked at how wrong I was later. She gave him a nod and started writing again. A few times she crossed a word or a line off, but eventually she turned it around to show him. "I had not heard anything about a magical culture in Paris. Or anywhere for that matter. Do you think there is something like it in England? Why do all of you live out here instead of there? Do werewolves like living in nature better? Where did everybody go just now?"
A hundred more questions had bubbled up as she was writing these down, but she held back. Maybe if she could speak it would be easier to ask about everything she wanted to know, but whenever she had tried doing so in writing before, the person she was asking had gotten a glazed look in their eyes and quickly made their escape. Smaller chunks were better.
"That is a lot of writing. I do not know anything about English wizards," he told her, "except that they exist. If you wanted to go looking, I would start looking in London, but I know nothing more than that." She nodded along; that made sense, she supposed. He licked his lips nervously. "How does she already know we are werewolves? And why is she so calm about it?! I thought even Moldus knew about us and would want to run away. You are right. We are werewolves. We do not live in Paris because, well, we are not exactly welcomed there. Wizards are afraid of us, not without good reason. That they leave us alone here is miraculous on its own. My friends have left to go to work. Sadly the same jobs that will take us would be quick to fire us should anyone show up late, and being in pain after a full moon is not considered a valid excuse to take the day off."
Jobs, ugh. When she grew up, she promised herself she was not going to have a job. She was going to just learn everything she could about magic. It sounded like a much more interesting life. All she had to do was figure out how to live without stealing food all the time.
Still, she could not help but wonder what kind of jobs a werewolf would have. Did they do something that needed a lot of physical strength? She had always thought werewolves were supposed to be super strong and had great senses. Or maybe they used those senses to be investigators and detectives? That would be kind of wicked, actually.
Jean Luc shook his head when he saw her questions written down. "If only that was the case. We take what jobs we can find, what jobs they will let us take. Menial work. Gisèle probably has the best job of any of us, and she had to go to the non-magical world even to find it. At least her boss does not exploit her overmuch because she does not have any of the documents Moldus carry around."
That last bit did not make much sense to her, so she ignored it in favor of the part in the middle. "Why can't you get good jobs?"
"We do not have wands or formal education. Most of us, anyway, and the government is perfectly happy keeping us unread and stupid. It is not enough that we are cursed already, they need to make things harder."
She scowled at his last thought. That sounded too much like the attitude Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had towards her. If it were not for the law telling them they had to send her to school, they probably would have kept her in her cupboard forever except to do chores. "Then why not make wands? Or learn to do magic without them?" That should not be too much of a burden. In just a few months, she had learned to do so much; surely they could learn to do anything they needed over the course of years.
The laugh Jean Luc let out was faintly mocking and very bitter. "I wish it were that simple, little Hazel. To see the world as a child again. If it were that easy, it would not be such an obstacle. Magic is impossible without a wand, and the way of wandlore and wandmaking is a rare and complex skill."
Hazel's lips curled into a frown. Magic was impossible without a wand? That did not sound right. Not right at all. She was living proof that wands were not necessary, as was her mother. Aunt Petunia's memories of her mum and all the magic her mum had done made that fact clear.
Then again, the stones of Shervage showed two different groups of magic users. One of them had wands. Those must have been the wizards he is talking about. But the others… She wrote another question. "Do wizards use staves too, or just wands?"
"Staves? You mean like a walking stick or something? No. Not that I've ever heard of, anyway."
She nodded, already back deep in thought. Wizards used wands, not staves. So who were the men and women on the Shervage stones who held a staff in their hands? Those must be the druids. Wizards needed wands to do any magic. She and her mother did not, so they could not be wizards. Therefore they had to be druids. It was just logical.
Maybe Mum wasn't part of the wizard's society at all. That would explain why she left me with her sister when she and Dad died. She didn't have any magic friends to give me to. Maybe there was no one else who could take me, and she thought Aunt Petunia would still be a better choice than sending me to an orphanage even with all their fights. Considering the things Uncle Vernon said and thought about them, that isn't terribly surprising.
"I have my own question," Jean Luc said, pulling her away from her conclusions. "Where are your parents? I'm sure they're worried that you've gone and wandered off. How long has she been missing, I wonder? They have to be just absolutely beside themselves with fear."
"I don't have any family. They're all gone." Which was close enough to the truth. "I'm a wanderer."
"Oh." He looked at her with rising sympathy. "I… should really take her to Paris. They can make sure she gets back home to England. Or at least find her a foster family here. The Republican Guards already have their eyes on us, though, and if she is seen in the company of a couple of werewolves, they will assume we are trying to kidnap her. Werewolves are guilty until proven innocent. I cannot just drop her off and leave her there either. What to do?"
Her pen was already writing, and she soon held up her notebook. "If you're thinking about dropping me off somewhere, I'll just slip away and go back to wandering. I go where I want. But if you're scared about me being HERE, I can move on. Thank you for all the information."
"No, that would be even worse," he said with a shake of his head. "You can stick around here for a while. That will give me more time to figure out what to do with her. If she goes off on her own, she might wander into something that is even less friendly like a vampire or a hag or just the kind of people who would prey on a little girl on her own. I'm sure we can find something to do to keep you from getting bored."
Supposedly the French term for Muggle is "non-magique", which feels incredibly phoned in like somebody didn't want to spend more than 5 seconds thinking about it. Instead the werewolves and other French wizards will use the term "Moldu", which is the word used in the French translation of the books,and will call Muggleborns "Desmoldus" meaning "from Muggles" because I couldn't find a good source for what word was actually used. So a reviewer over on FFN said the French translation for Muggleborns is "Nées-Moldus", which seems to be accurate. I have to assume the singular is "Né-Moldus", which may also not be right. It isn't like I ever tried to learn French.
And then it started running right at her.
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Despite the danger and the long teeth coming towards her, Hazel's mind did not focus on this twisted creature. Instead a memory came to mind, a memory of another monster that had tried to kill her. It might have had a knife instead of long claws and been shorter than her rather than gigantic, but the red cap was no less dangerous to her than this monster was.
Maybe, she thought as she swung the beam from her torch away from her attacker, she could use the same strategy to keep herself safe.
By the time the monster was halfway to her, she was no longer there. Instead she sat in the crook of a tree where the trunk split into two thick branches. Morgan twittered at the sudden pressure and translocation, but she shushed him with a gentle pat. She had not left the forest; she had not even left the sight of the creature. She was now simply ten feet or so above above the ground. If it could jump this high, her torch had already found a branch on another tree that was twice as high as the two she sat upon.
And if it could climb, she was a short hop from Calais or anywhere she had been in England.
The monster skidded to a halt when it realized its quarry was suddenly missing, and it whirled around. Then it did so again and again, and she could almost imagine the confusion it was obviously feeling. Not once did it look up, still convinced that she was down below where she had been before. She was also getting… something from it. Not thoughts, not like a person, but not the vague emotions she felt like she was able to pick up in Morgan's song and behavior either. It was more like when a person was feeling an emotion so strongly she could almost feel a shadow of it as well.
This thing, whatever it was, was angry. Madder than she had ever felt from Uncle Vernon, even.
Another howl came from deeper in the woods, and with a snap and a snarl the creature took off running on all fours towards the sound. The obvious explanation for what she was dealing with hit her, and she slapped herself on the forehead for being so dumb. Was this a werewolf?! She looked up at the moon, and sure enough, it was full.
I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to find actual, real life werewolves when we came to France, she told Morgan. I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised, though. I mean, we already know that fairies and dragons are real, so why not werewolves? And it sounded like it isn't alone.
The real question in front of her was what the next step would be. This forest sounded like there were multiple werewolves within it, the exact number impossible to tell from where she sat. Wandering around on the ground did not sound like the smartest or safest strategy for staying uneaten, but this werewolf had not once looked at her despite her torch still shining bright. If she stayed up in the trees like she was, she should be safe. She could not guarantee it, but it seemed like it was likely.
Her other option was to come back after dawn. Werewolves had not been one of the subjects she had researched, but from what little she knew about them they only changed under the full moon. In the light of day, they should be normal people. She hoped so, anyway, but she would have to keep an eye out in case they could change at will or something.
It wouldn't be too risky for me to stay up here, would it, she asked her friend. I mean, worst case scenario we jump back to Calais for the night if they do start chasing us. There shouldn't be that much danger in just looking.
Decision made, she teleported from her current tree to the one she had been eyeing as her next step when running. That vantage point allowed her to find another tree that looked like it could bear her weight and was in the direction in which the werewolf had run, and she jumped to that one before finding a fourth tree. The recurrent howls of the wolves served as her guide, and she moved again and again, thirty or forty feet at a time, just following the sounds. She had to stop a couple of times to let the headache that was threatening to form settle down, but eventually her relatively straight line of travel let her catch up.
Hazel stopped and stared at what she saw below her. In the middle of the woods stood a clearing, but it was not empty. What had to be a dozen or more little huts or shacks were scattered throughout the space, some pushed against the edge of the tree line while others were placed proudly near the cluster of fire pits that marked the center. None of the buildings were tiny, not really, but from what she could see even the largest could probably be squeezed into the living room of Number 4 with only a little difficulty. More interesting to her were not the buildings, but the creatures who milled around between them and around the still-smoldering fires.
Werewolves. Lots of werewolves.
She pressed herself more tightly against the tree to make sure she would not risk falling out and watched with wide eyes. It was hard to tell just how many of them there were down there, partly because they all looked more or less the same and partly because they kept moving around and snarling and clawing at one another. It did not look like an all-out brawl, not as far as she could tell. The closest comparison she had was one time when she saw a couple of dogs fighting, which involved a few bites before one of them backed off and ran away.
What was happening in front of her looked… kind of like that. The biggest difference was that none of them were running away so much as backing off and picking a fight with a different werewolf. Sometimes one would run off, normally followed by several others, but after just a few minutes most or all of them would find their way back. Surprisingly none of them were lashing out at the shacks, but then again buildings did not usually fight back, so maybe that had something to do with it.
She looked up at the sky again. The moon was not quite to its highest point, which likely meant it was not midnight yet and there was still plenty of time for the werewolves to frolic. Despite her sitting here watching them, none of them had yet to notice her. Was it because she was still hidden amongst the branches a couple of trees back from the actual tree line? She did not know, and no matter her curiosity this was something she was not all that eager to test.
What do you think? Stick around for a couple of hours to watch some more, then jump back to town to get some sleep? This place is definitely unique enough I should be able to get back without any trouble. Morgan had no answer for her, and she looked out the corner of her eye to find him fluffed up and sound asleep on her shoulder. She shook her head with a smile. You are no help at all.
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Hazel's eyelids itched, and she rubbed them for a bit before blinking them open. The sun was just coming up, the first beams of dawn hitting her face and explaining why she was waking up now. She yawned and tried to stretch her arms, but as she moved she felt herself start leaning to the side and then fall backwards. She came free from whatever had been supporting her, and despite her arms desperately wheeling about for a second there was nothing around her but empty air.
Then something very strong hit her very hard in the back.
She lay on the ground just trying to catch her breath as Morgan scolded her overhead and memories came back to her no longer sleeping brain. She had been in a tree, presumably the one whose branches were stretched out above her. She had been in a tree because she was watching a pack of werewolves, and she had fallen asleep. And she had been in that tree all that time because she really did not want to get eaten!
Adrenaline surged through her veins. She rolled off her back to her feet, her legs curled up beneath her and just waiting to jump through space to somewhere – anywhere – safer than here. One growl, one flash of fang, and she would be gone.
Raising her head to look over a bush, she stared at the sight before her. It was obvious that werewolves could not remain transformed in the light of day. Grey skin was lightening into pink and tan, and the overlong limbs were receding into more normal proportions. The sparse hair on their necks and upper backs shifted and slid into place on the tops of their heads and changed back to human colors. Throughout the clearing were groaning moans and creaking bones as distorted anatomy shifted back into place.
After a couple of minutes it was over, and the clearing was filled with a bunch of naked people. Thankfully for her peace of mind none of the naked adults started doing anything gross, just started walking towards the different cottages with a few but not all hiding their private parts from view. They came back out a short time later in ones and twos, now dressed but not in normal clothes. Most of them were wearing either long shirts over trousers or colorful but not fluffy bathrobes.
Bathrobes that looked a lot like the ones the men she saw in front of the Greater Whinging library were wearing, now that she thought about it.
Hazel was more than just a little bit curious, and she started walking towards the little settlement now that more people were walking out of their huts. Interestingly, almost all of them were walking in the same direction away from the village, at a right angle to the path she was using to approach them. Where were they headed?
Her foot landed on a twig, and it snapped beneath her weight. The sound caught the attention of one of the men who was dressed in a homespun tunic. Their eyes met, and she sighed and raised one hand to wave towards him. It was not as if she planned on staying invisible, not when she had so many questions to ask.
"A child? What is a little kid doing this deep in the forest this early in the morning?" His face suddenly paled, the blood rushing out even from the top of his bald head. He started talking in French, which she understood not a word of, but thankfully his thoughts continued to flow unhindered and intelligibly. "H-Hello, little one. Please don't be bitten, please don't be bitten. What are you doing out here? She doesn't look like we mauled her, so she should be okay, but…"
Reaching into her satchel at her side, she pulled out a notebook and a pen. "Bonjour," she wrote, one of the very few words in French she knew before coming here. She thought for a moment about what to say next, but finally she decided that honesty was probably the best choice. She just hoped he could understand English because she did not yet know enough words to hold a real conversation with anybody. "I was wandering around looking for signs of magic when I found this place."
The man blinked at her writing and then looked more closely at her. "English? What is an English girl doing out here of all places? Now I am glad my mother insisted I spend my time learning other languages. But what does she mean, 'signs of magic'? That would mean… Is she a Née-Moldus? How would an English Née-Moldus even get here?"
This time it was her turn to blink. 'Nemoldoose'? What in the world did that mean?
"Hello," he said again, though this time in English with a thick accent. "You have better… What is the word? …fortune if you go to Paris. Where was— no, that is not it – is your… families?"
She was already scribbling something else down, and before he could continue muddling through she held up her note. "I can understand you when you speak French. I just can't write it yet. What's in Paris?"
"Oh, thank the Circles. I was not looking forward to having to talk to her in a foreign language. At least with writing I can take my time translating. Paris is where most of the wizards are," he continued, though his mouth was again babbling in French. "Where the main business areas are, and the shops, and the government. I am surprised you made it out here without stopping there first."
Most of the wizards? Business areas? Government?! All Hazel could do was stare at him for several long moments. When she thought she would find living mages, she was expecting maybe a few families living near each other on land passed down for generations, training themselves and experimenting away from prying eyes. That was the easiest explanation for why stories of magic died out hundreds of years ago. If this man was to be believed, and she could see no reason why he would lie to her, then there were not a few select families of sorcerers.
There was an entire society that had somehow escaped notice, possibly for centuries. Somehow in the course of four months, she had completely missed them in England. Were they only in London, a city where she had never gone? Was it her those two men in the capes and robes had been looking for?
Why, if her parents lived in this separate society, was she kicked out when they died?
"Dear me, where are my manners? My name is Jean Luc, by the way," he continued, offering his hand to her. She numbly put her own in his to be shaken with a soft pat at the end. "What might yours be?"
"Hazel," she eventually wrote.
"A pleasure to meet you. Why is she writing everything down?" he then asked himself before his eyes cut back to her book and then to her mouth. "Unless she cannot speak, perhaps? It would be strange for that to be the case, but I cannot think of any other obvious reason why. It is not as if it is a fear of interacting with strangers, or she would not have walked up to us. Are you alright, little one?"
His question shook her from her thoughts, though calling them that might be overly generous. Numb stupefaction would be more accurate. Right. Information first, be shocked at how wrong I was later. She gave him a nod and started writing again. A few times she crossed a word or a line off, but eventually she turned it around to show him. "I had not heard anything about a magical culture in Paris. Or anywhere for that matter. Do you think there is something like it in England? Why do all of you live out here instead of there? Do werewolves like living in nature better? Where did everybody go just now?"
A hundred more questions had bubbled up as she was writing these down, but she held back. Maybe if she could speak it would be easier to ask about everything she wanted to know, but whenever she had tried doing so in writing before, the person she was asking had gotten a glazed look in their eyes and quickly made their escape. Smaller chunks were better.
"That is a lot of writing. I do not know anything about English wizards," he told her, "except that they exist. If you wanted to go looking, I would start looking in London, but I know nothing more than that." She nodded along; that made sense, she supposed. He licked his lips nervously. "How does she already know we are werewolves? And why is she so calm about it?! I thought even Moldus knew about us and would want to run away. You are right. We are werewolves. We do not live in Paris because, well, we are not exactly welcomed there. Wizards are afraid of us, not without good reason. That they leave us alone here is miraculous on its own. My friends have left to go to work. Sadly the same jobs that will take us would be quick to fire us should anyone show up late, and being in pain after a full moon is not considered a valid excuse to take the day off."
Jobs, ugh. When she grew up, she promised herself she was not going to have a job. She was going to just learn everything she could about magic. It sounded like a much more interesting life. All she had to do was figure out how to live without stealing food all the time.
Still, she could not help but wonder what kind of jobs a werewolf would have. Did they do something that needed a lot of physical strength? She had always thought werewolves were supposed to be super strong and had great senses. Or maybe they used those senses to be investigators and detectives? That would be kind of wicked, actually.
Jean Luc shook his head when he saw her questions written down. "If only that was the case. We take what jobs we can find, what jobs they will let us take. Menial work. Gisèle probably has the best job of any of us, and she had to go to the non-magical world even to find it. At least her boss does not exploit her overmuch because she does not have any of the documents Moldus carry around."
That last bit did not make much sense to her, so she ignored it in favor of the part in the middle. "Why can't you get good jobs?"
"We do not have wands or formal education. Most of us, anyway, and the government is perfectly happy keeping us unread and stupid. It is not enough that we are cursed already, they need to make things harder."
She scowled at his last thought. That sounded too much like the attitude Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had towards her. If it were not for the law telling them they had to send her to school, they probably would have kept her in her cupboard forever except to do chores. "Then why not make wands? Or learn to do magic without them?" That should not be too much of a burden. In just a few months, she had learned to do so much; surely they could learn to do anything they needed over the course of years.
The laugh Jean Luc let out was faintly mocking and very bitter. "I wish it were that simple, little Hazel. To see the world as a child again. If it were that easy, it would not be such an obstacle. Magic is impossible without a wand, and the way of wandlore and wandmaking is a rare and complex skill."
Hazel's lips curled into a frown. Magic was impossible without a wand? That did not sound right. Not right at all. She was living proof that wands were not necessary, as was her mother. Aunt Petunia's memories of her mum and all the magic her mum had done made that fact clear.
Then again, the stones of Shervage showed two different groups of magic users. One of them had wands. Those must have been the wizards he is talking about. But the others… She wrote another question. "Do wizards use staves too, or just wands?"
"Staves? You mean like a walking stick or something? No. Not that I've ever heard of, anyway."
She nodded, already back deep in thought. Wizards used wands, not staves. So who were the men and women on the Shervage stones who held a staff in their hands? Those must be the druids. Wizards needed wands to do any magic. She and her mother did not, so they could not be wizards. Therefore they had to be druids. It was just logical.
Maybe Mum wasn't part of the wizard's society at all. That would explain why she left me with her sister when she and Dad died. She didn't have any magic friends to give me to. Maybe there was no one else who could take me, and she thought Aunt Petunia would still be a better choice than sending me to an orphanage even with all their fights. Considering the things Uncle Vernon said and thought about them, that isn't terribly surprising.
"I have my own question," Jean Luc said, pulling her away from her conclusions. "Where are your parents? I'm sure they're worried that you've gone and wandered off. How long has she been missing, I wonder? They have to be just absolutely beside themselves with fear."
"I don't have any family. They're all gone." Which was close enough to the truth. "I'm a wanderer."
"Oh." He looked at her with rising sympathy. "I… should really take her to Paris. They can make sure she gets back home to England. Or at least find her a foster family here. The Republican Guards already have their eyes on us, though, and if she is seen in the company of a couple of werewolves, they will assume we are trying to kidnap her. Werewolves are guilty until proven innocent. I cannot just drop her off and leave her there either. What to do?"
Her pen was already writing, and she soon held up her notebook. "If you're thinking about dropping me off somewhere, I'll just slip away and go back to wandering. I go where I want. But if you're scared about me being HERE, I can move on. Thank you for all the information."
"No, that would be even worse," he said with a shake of his head. "You can stick around here for a while. That will give me more time to figure out what to do with her. If she goes off on her own, she might wander into something that is even less friendly like a vampire or a hag or just the kind of people who would prey on a little girl on her own. I'm sure we can find something to do to keep you from getting bored."
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Supposedly the French term for Muggle is "non-magique", which feels incredibly phoned in like somebody didn't want to spend more than 5 seconds thinking about it. Instead the werewolves and other French wizards will use the term "Moldu", which is the word used in the French translation of the books,
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I've gotta say, this is one of my favorite HP fics I've ever read. Keep doing what you're doing buddy.
- Location
- My room.
Hazel's going to teach them magic isn't she?
Hylas
Veni apud me, Frater!
Yep. Definitely. Haven't made any deals with poweful fae, discovered magical portals to otherlands, nothing like that.
A HP fanfic with rich, complex history prior to WW2? What sorcery is this?! Sidenote: I feel you would get along rather well with Hermione, Hazel.
- Location
- Hell
Alternatively, not well at all since Hazel seems to learn Magic as if it was an art, while Hermione was focused on following her books to the letter preferring to see Magic as a science.
They would butt heads on what is the right way way too often.
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
I could see it going either way, honestly. I've seen fanfic versions of Hermione where she rejects anything that isn't in the book, but I think if were shown that all the rules could be broken, it would go very differently than unsubstantiated claims. At the same time, for all her curiosity, I don't know how eager she would be willing to job off the boat of accepted knowledge and dive headlong into unknown waters.
Of course, that's canon Hermione. I don't have any definitive Plans for this Hermione, but I do have Ideas.
Dromeosaur
Feathery Raptor of snowy planes and frozen sea
- Location
- The land of Trees and Squirrels
This fic is simply perfect.
- Location
- Hell
Hilariously enough, you can probably change her right here and now. If I recall correctly Hermione and her parents go on vacation to Paris every once in a while. Who is to say that she does not meet up with a certain druid while she there and make certain deepset assumptions?I could see it going either way, honestly. I've seen fanfic versions of Hermione where she rejects anything that isn't in the book, but I think if were shown that all the rules could be broken, it would go very differently than unsubstantiated claims. At the same time, for all her curiosity, I don't know how eager she would be willing to job off the boat of accepted knowledge and dive headlong into unknown waters.
Of course, that's canon Hermione. I don't have any definitive Plans for this Hermione, but I do have Ideas.
Hylas
Veni apud me, Frater!
I totally want this to happen now, whether or not they end up getting along. I agree that as she's literally running from the magic police that there's a reasonable chance Hermione might not get on with her. But it would be a fun interaction.
- Location
- Somewhere that's on a map
"Hi, my name is Hazel. Sorry about this, but we need to run."
"Huh? Wait-ack!"
"Explanations later, running from the blue hats now!"
In the end, Hermione never did get her explanation.
She only complained about it every other day though, which was fine with Hazel. She didn't have much of an explanation to give-at least, not one that made any sense.
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Great! Except for the fact Hazel is mute, so Hermione would just be very very confused.
- Location
- Somewhere that's on a map
Telepathy solves all your communication problems. And Hermione would still be extremely confused nonetheless.
"Hermione, dear, listen. You're a bit too old for an imaginary friend."
"She's right there!" *Points at an empty space* " She's just hiding under a veil!"
"You're imagining her-ow! Something kicked me!"
"Oh haha, very funny Hazel. Now say sorry to Daddy! Good."
"I didn't hear anything."
"Well duh, Hazel's using mind magic to communicate."
"...Right."
- Location
- Hell
I meant more that her initial introduction to magic would not be Professor McGonagall turning into a cat and emphasizing the importance of studying books, but a mute druid her own age teaching her to talk to animals and showing her the benefits of creativity.
It could change her view on magic and its proper study, and it may not, but it would change her view of the world.
And more importantly, it can give her time. Most muggleborn do not get a chance to learn about magic until the few months before their letter.
I'm quite enjoying this - it's rare to see England fleshed out like you have, much less France, and every chapter is a treat.
Thank you!
On a side note, I wonder if hazel is going to try to make a staff soon? She does spend a lot of time wandering around magical forests, and could use a good walking stick.
Thank you!
On a side note, I wonder if hazel is going to try to make a staff soon? She does spend a lot of time wandering around magical forests, and could use a good walking stick.
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
Patience, my friend. Patience
Doomreaver
Fluffy Tail Enthusiast
I very much want to see Hazel's thoughts on verbal incantations done in poor-quality Latin.
Roth963
If I become inactive with this massage, I died
It's a prank some ancient wizard made that people took way too seriously.
- Location
- Here
There are, I think, two or three mentions in the books of Hermione and her parents holidaying in France. I don't think it ever specifies Paris – once mentions Dijon (in book 5), and I think the others don't get specific.Hilariously enough, you can probably change her right here and now. If I recall correctly Hermione and her parents go on vacation to Paris every once in a while. Who is to say that she does not meet up with a certain druid while she there and make certain deepset assumptions?