Chapter 7: Chat Under The Starry Sky (With Pot Pie)

(A/N: This one is sorta an intermission chapter, so it's shorter.)

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Sitting outside, the two of them sat there, listening as the crickets chirped and the grass rustled. Gale was lost in thought, mostly thinking of the applications of Rashomon, and the utter maturity that the "Stream Of Words" possessed.

They were sitting on a few makeshift log benches outside, with a campfire roaring and blazing, illuminating the surroundings. Nearby, the stream burbled slowly and continuously, with no end in sight. But that was a given. The stream was a stream and didn't simply stop flowing when it wanted.

Gale looked out into the wooded area, watching as the bushes rustled, a few unknown creatures rushing through the brush. The tall pine trees swayed with the wind, and in the close yet distant sky, a few stars had begun to shine, their bright astral forms more brilliant than anything he had ever seen.

Gale had always grown up in an area with a lot of light pollution and rarely got to see stars. This was a nice change of scenery…

"Nice, ain't it?" Jolting up, Gale turned his attention back to Aberforth, who was holding a pipe, a faint wisp of smoke trailing into the air.

"Yes….." Gale sat back, laying his legs on a neighboring log.

"Don't think you could see that in the city, right?" Aberforth scoffed, waving his pipe around. "Ya know, you really remind me, of me, when I was a lad."

Gale widened his eyes, wiping some non-existent dust off of his sweatshirt. "Really?"

"Heh." Shaking his head, Aberforth walked back inside, coming outside shortly with a large copper pot. It was a little hot, as the old man muttered about adding more cooling charms and such.

Hurrying over, Gale grabbed onto the pot handles, wincing a little at the burn. But it was nothing compared to being stabbed through the chest multiple times by a few non-human werewolves. The pot was sort of heavy, and he could feel the contents within swishing, so it was probably some sort of soup.

Aberforth beckoned for him to place it on a lone tree stump to the side, which he did. With a wave of his wand, the pot lid levitated to the side, and out of the pot, steam came. It was very hot, as the steam came up fast and unheeded.

Looking inside, Gale could see a crispy golden-brown crust of sorts. Sniffing, he widened his eyes as his senses were hit by something…. Heavenly…. The aroma was mouthwatering…. Swallowing some saliva, he closed his eyes. It was a rich smell, with the faint smell of baked potatoes and goat.

"What is this?" Turning, Gale swept aside his gold-tipped hair, amber-brown eyes staring straight into Aberforth's soul.

"Hm. An old family recipe. Pot pie, good stuff." Aberforth smirked at Gale's shining eyes. The young teen watched in a stupor as the old man grabbed a ladle, breaking through the crispy dough, and digging out some creamy chowder. He dumped it into a porcelain bowl. "Eat it with the dough. Tastes better."

Nodding, Gale grabbed the ladle, taking a bowl of his own, and pouring the chowder in. As steam tickled his face, he sat back down on a rough log, shifting as the rough uneven surface made his thighs a little itchy.

Taking a small metal spoon, he dined in silence. Taking the first bite, Gale widened his eyes in shock as he was hit by a myriad of flavors. The crunchy fresh crust, potatoes, carrots, cheese, there was so much…. Flavor. The soup was thick and creamy, though not too heavy of a consistency. It had a savory flavor, and the potatoes simply melted in his mouth.

Crunching on some slightly oversalted bacon, Gale felt warm inside as he sighed in relaxation. Today had been a complete drag for him. Fighting countless werewolf creatures did horrible things mentally.

They ate for a while, not saying anything. And then, Gale decided to talk. It was getting sort of awkward in here….

"So, Mr. Aberforth, how has your day been? Was the weather good? I was indoors most of the time….." That was the only thing Gale could think of.

He was horrible at conversation-starting. Usually, it was very basic or default. For example, "How's the weather today?", "Nice weather, isn't it?", "Do you think it'll rain today?", "sunny, isn't it?".

A whole lot of weather. It was a common topic.

"Eh. Not many folks coming by today, weather was decent." Aberforth said gruffly, his mouth still full of soup. "Say… I always see you staring into the distance. You seem a bit wistful. You home-sick?"

Gale stopped at this for a second, before smiling. "Sort of. I both miss home and don't. This is a nice place to live after all…. I want to go to Hogwarts sometime."

"Bah. Hogwarts… Place my god be damned brother works. I went there too. Though, I do have some fond memories o' the place." Aberforth chuckled and growled, feeling some conflicting emotions about the school.

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon... Their motto is quite blood-boiling." Gale muttered, watching as his sweatshirt sleeve warped about, tongues of shadow dancing, though it was out of Aberforth's vision.

"Indeed." Nodding sagely, Aberforth took another bite of the chowder.

"Moving on, since I have nothing to talk about, and I would not like to indulge in awkward silence…." Gale paused at this, thinking.

"..."

The two sat there, Aberforht looking at him expectantly.

*Cough!*

"Sorry….. I am horrible at starting conversations…." Gale twiddled his thumbs, sort of pissed. If someone talked to him first, he could chat all he wanted. Words came naturally to him. But talking to others? That was a whole different thing.

"Heh. Same here." Aberforth's eyes twinkled as he laughed.

"You seem completely fine….." Rolling his eyes, Gale pointed out the older man's nonchalance.

"Just tired. Gettin old after all…." Aberforth coughed, pointing at his face like that explained everything.

"Sure thing old man. Seem pretty spry to me." Shrugging, Gale took a sip of water, gulping down his throat.

"Should have seen me in the old days. Work of art." Parting his long tangled hair, he flashed a smile, displaying a row of gnarly yellowed teeth. Though surprisingly, he hadn't lost a single one…. How had he avoided cavities?

"Yes, yes, yes…. Your brilliant shining teeth probably illuminated the room." Gale said, not moving any of what he just said in the slightest.

"That they did. Completely charming." Aberforth, shameless as ever, stared into the distance wistfully.

"Whatever you say Aberforth. Don't know how you were back then, but one thing I know for sure." Gale smirked, grabbing the ladle and pouring himself some more chowder. "You are quite the chef…. Maybe not the most hygienic of culinarians, but still."

"God. Can you give one honest, wholehearted compliment?" Aberforth complained though a wide grin adorned his face.

"Anyway, on another note, how clean was the Sorting Hat back then?" Gale smiled, asking in curiosity.

"Bloody fool. Tryna change the damned subject? Fine."

The conversation went on and on, the two bantering back and forth throughout the night. Above, the stars began to reveal themselves, and a sea of shining jewels adorned the night's inky black veil.

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How did this one turn out? Was it bearable? Please tell me of any grammatical or spelling errors. I may or may not fix them. (Probably not.)

Is the story flowing well so far? Input is appreciated!