V. The Pembrey Woods

🙞 27 September 1989 | Carmarthenshire, Wales 🙜

A long, crooked path braved inside the forest. The trees' shadows mimicking mockeries of humanoid shapes. Staring at the trail ahead, Harry took a short moment to take out his journal before moving on. Opening it, he crossed the third written entry - 'Pembrey Woods'.

Having solved most of his immediate concerns over the past month, he was now on a mission to find others like him.

His lead was the supernatural, hoping it would lead him to his objective. Ghosts, spirits, creatures - he would gladly accept anything, so long as it was magical. Taking advantage of the more extensive libraries he had now access to, he researched various places associated with myths and legends.

It took him all over Britain, the distances greater than he'd ever travelled. For that, he was thankful for the training he had previously. His 'popping' distance increased the more he practised it, making his voyage much shorter in duration.

On his journey, he went north of Cornwall to Tintagel Castle. A fortress which, according to 'Historia Regum Britanniae' (one of the first accounts of Arthurian legend), was said to have been the birthplace of King Arthur.

Then he went to Salisbury Plain, Wiltshire, to visit Stonehenge. Contrary to modern history, myths told that the monument had been a magical stone circle called the Giants' Dance, brought from Africa to mount Killarus in Ireland by a band of Giants.

Supposedly, Merlin had later transported the stones from Ireland to Britain, rebuilding them as a memorial for the dead.

Of course, as far as his luck went, Harry had found nothing out of the ordinary in either place. No signs, no evidence, not even an inkling of magic. Still, he did not let that discourage him.

'In for a penny, in for a pound,' was his motto.

The wind whistled, travelling amidst the trees' canopy. It reminded Harry of why he was there. The Pembrey Woods was a forest said to have walking corpses, as well as malignant spirits of the past World Wars which lingered on Earth.

It could be that people mistook gnarly branches for humanoid shapes, but something told Harry it wasn't so simple. There was something in the air. A sensation that unsettled him - made him feel as if being watched.

"Omen, scout ahead. Tell me if you see anything," he told his raven.

Alongside his words, he sent a slew of images and sounds to Omen through their connection.The bird took flight immediately, firing off into the sky in a burst of speed.

Compared to when they had first met, the raven seemed to have become even quicker in the past month. Omen's feathers glided in the air as if pushed forwards, and the strength behind his wings bewildered Harry.

Still, he wouldn't complain. After all, Omen's air sovereignty - coupled with his sharp eyesight and hearing - made scouting much easier. Speed just hastened the process.

Before long, Omen disappeared into the horizon, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. In the ensuing silence, he distinctively noted, with discomfort, the poor smell of his clothes and body. It wasn't often that he found a private bathroom he could use to clean himself.

'I hope there is a spell for that,' so far, he didn't have any success in creating one. It would come down to finding other people like him who could serve as proper guidance. Most likely, having an instructor would be much easier than 'reinventing the wheel', as they often said.

'There must be others,' he comforted himself for what must have been the tenth time, 'Aunt Petunia did compare me to my Mom, after all. She must have been like me.'

Before Harry could dive any deeper into his thoughts, Omen came back. He bulleted from behind the dark canopy of trees, a cry of distress warning of danger.

With practised ease, the raven flew before settling down on Harry's left shoulder.

"Show me," he said, expression hardened.

Immediately, a barrage of images and sounds came through his link with the bird. They were disconnected - jumbled - but it didn't deter Harry from understanding them. He was already used to the unique way that Omen thought.

He saw stumbling people. They had a rotten smell, and their skin was a grey, dead palette. They walked in uneven patterns, spread all around the forest. Deeper, inside the encroach of the Pembrey Woods, Harry could also see a derelict cottage rotten by the annals of history.

If he were any less observant, he wouldn't have noticed the unusual behaviour of these 'people'. They were almost like worker ants, mindlessly doing tasks inside an anthill. Some of them collected herbs. A rare few killed animals caught in traps.

It didn't matter, all had a task to do.

'If Pembrey Woods is the anthill, then...' The image of the old cottage flashed inside his mind, 'Then that is the heart of the colony.'

He pictured the old building, imagining himself 'pop' there without difficulty. His magic went through motions that it already was familiar with, but then it suddenly stopped. It didn't bounce any barrier of sorts like it once did when he first experimented with Omen.

Instead, it dissipated, as if the place he wanted to go to didn't exist. Trying again, this time targetting the vicinity of the house, brought the same results as before.

The cottage and its surrounding area were unreachable through magic. He would have to walk there.

Hesitation reared its ugly head and stumped Harry with indecision. Never once had he faced such a situation before.

Should he continue ahead inside the forest, he would be walking, willingly, into a dangerous situation. And he wasn't fond of making stupid decisions.

He had no prior information, no safeguards, nor even a plan should he follow through. Yet, he couldn't take the step back. He couldn't back down, regardless of what his self-preserving instincts warned.

For two months, he had stumbled around Britain, completely blind. He was oblivious to the origins of his magic and how it worked. Even now, he had no actual leads outside of books and myths.

Ahead, however, hidden by the old trees and twisted branches, was the first actual evidence he found about the supernatural. It could lead him to other people like him. It could be his first step into the magical, hidden world.

Like a maggot wriggling underneath his skin, a tiny whisper tried to dissuade him again, but he clamped down on it like a French guillotine. Resolute, he set forward, steps cracking fallen twigs as he braved deeper into the forest. His objective was clear - the old cottage.

"Keep watch from above," he told Omen, who took flight instantly on command.

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A deluge of memories hit him - all of them having one thing in common, 'danger'. The deeper they went into the forest, the higher was the density of the walking corpses, as if they were protecting the heart of their colony.

Already, Harry had left the main trail behind. Using Omen's shared memories as guidance to find the cottage, he avoided confrontations with the dead bodies.

'It's all good. Anything goes wrong, and we'll be gone in seconds,' he reassured himself, heart palpitating. A cold sweat trailed down his back, and the woods were eerily quiet.

There was no wind anymore. Harry gripped harder onto the straps of his rucksack. All he could hear now were the snapping twigs at his feet. Tense minutes crawled by like that, in dead silence.

Then, he heard a sound, a rustle in the foliage. Turning around, he almost gasped in fright. There was no reason to, however. It was his raven, piercing through the canopy from above to deliver more information.

'You almost gave me a heart attack,' he almost laughed, but something else caught his attention first.

The cottage lay ahead, hidden by a few trees. Walking nearer, Harry almost did a double-take. Magic, he could feel it in the air. It wrapped around him as soon as he stepped closer to the cottage, like a barrier surrounding the old house.

'It must have been this that stopped me from 'popping' inside.'

Before he could grow excited, however, Omen robbed him of the opportunity.

His eery black eyes stared at Harry, unblinking, and the raven did something he had never done before. Omen opened his long, sharp beak, but no croak came out.

A voice nearly identical to Harry's, but raspier, sounded, and a deluge of emotions travelled through their connection as the bird uttered a single word - "𝔇𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯."

Harry slowly turned around, peering at the woods that now surrounded him.

A dozen humanoid creatures stared back at him, camouflaged by the grey bark of the trees. A single second passed, all frozen standstill, and then - they exploded into motion.

Immediately, Harry tried to 'pop' kilometres away.

His magic didn't work, however. The same barrier that had wrapped around him - gently - now restricted him like a coiled snake around his neck. It was oppressive, stifling.

Soon, he realised his folly. The barrier didn't only prevent him from getting in - it also stopped him from going out. To have assumed otherwise was his mistake.

The 'human' creatures were now mere seconds away from him, their eyes hungry with madness. Closer - more distinguishable - their bodies appeared emaciated, ribcages visible under their lifeless grey skin.

Harry didn't give any attention to that, however. Instead, he ran, Omen flying alongside him. His feet thundered, twigs and branches snapping as he no longer cared about subtlety. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, legs burning, and his magic never stopped in its attempts to get him away from there.

No matter how much he tried, however, the barrier continued taut, obstructing his path to safety. He couldn't 'pop' away, and he was being closed in by all sides.

So, he did the next best thing he could.

He went towards the house, unlocking it with but a fleeting thought. Instantly, he barreled inside as the door opened. Fueled by desperation, his magic snapped the door close just as he got inside, shutting it with a loud bang.

The creatures banged on the door, and he instantly realised how close it had been.

Heart still jumping out of his throat, he allowed himself a second to calm down. He closed his eyes, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

"Too close," he whispered as the banging outside subsided.

Harry's body felt like sagging in exhaustion as the adrenaline left his system, but he didn't allow it. He still had to get out of there-

"Gör..." A voice came from behind him.

Instantly, he turned around in fright.

"Was machst du in meinem Haus?" The man spoke, his ember eyes hiding a slight hint of surprise.

His face was slightly gaunt, expression set in a permanent scowl. Below the left eye, a burned patch of skin marred half of his left cheek.

His body flaunted a young physique - still healthy and taut - but his posture was that of an older man. A few strings of white hair dotted his brown locks, and his clothes smelled like condiments and herbs.

For a moment, both man and boy stared at each other - one bewildered, the other anxious.

The man took a step forward, slowly as if trying to show he wasn't hostile. Harry flinched in response, still not capable of 'popping' away. The man raised both arms then, approaching the boy in the utmost unthreatening way he could.

Still, it didn't help that his expression had a permanent scowl, but such was his natural resting face.

After a brief, tense moment, the man reached the boy. Fueled by the ensuing silence, the man finally offered his hand for Harry to stand up.

"Freut mich... boy."

Taking the offered hand, Harry hesitantly replied - "Freut mich... sir."

What that meant, he had no idea.

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Before long, both sat by a small table in the corner of the room. The smell of coffee hung heavily in the air, its steam swirling up from two bronze cups.

"Uh..." Harry cleared his throat, "Is there sugar?"

"Zucker?" The man asked, falling back yet again to his mother tongue, "No sugar. Nur Kaffee."

"Right..." Harry frowned, grimacing at the bitter taste of the coffee, "I'm Harry. Your name?"

Immediately, the man's frown deepened - if that was even possible - and he paused. Both stared at each other, the coffee still hot, and Harry wondered if he had somehow crossed a line.

"Aldrik Roth Friedmann," the man - Aldrik - finally said.

"Eine Frage- A question," he shook his head, "How did you come here?"

'He seems surprised that I've found him,' Harry thought. Then, he reminisced about the walking corpses which guarded the house's perimeter, instantly understanding Aldrik's surprise.

'Makes sense, I wouldn't have been able to avoid detection for so long without Omen's reconnaissance.'

He gestured towards the raven at the other corner of the room, saying, "He scouted ahead."

The raven merely stared at the duo, perched on a wooden table filled with herbs and bottled specimens. To Aldrik, its unblinking eyes somehow resembled Harry's green ones. Both had eerily similar mannerisms.

"You're a Maj, then," he said, silently regarding the boy, "Your Vourmund- responsibles, where are they?"

"My parents?" Harry clarified.

"Parents, guardians - your responsibles." Aldrik shrugged.

At that, a blend of disgust and contempt flicked across Harry's expressions as he remembered the Dursleys, but it vanished just as quickly.

"I don't have any," he stated, refusing to admit outright that he'd left them.

Aldrik noticed the contrast between his words and expression, however. One would expect sadness from the boy for not having anyone to rely on, but Harry displayed disgust instead. The man couldn't help but have a slight suspicion concerning the boy's claims.

"Maj - What does that mean?" Harry asked, unconsciously shifting the topic of the conversation.

"Maj, No-Maj. Magical, ordinary," he shook his head, "You British have different terms."

"Are you from Germany?" Harry asked.

Aldrik merely shook his head, "I hail from there. Last year, left France, came here. I'm not used to the UK yet."

He then put his cup on the table, exhaling slowly, "Freut mich Gör. I must work now, so-" He made to open the door but was interrupted.

"No!" Harry immediately raised his voice, startling Aldrik, "Let me stay."

The incredulous expression that adorned Aldrik's face spoke of his utter bewilderment. It didn't inspire confidence in Harry, but he pushed on with his pitch regardless.

"I can work, please," the scowl in Aldrik's face deepened, "You don't have to pay me. Not even a penny. I just... I want to learn magic, and I have no one to teach me. I can even sleep somewhere else, come here during the day. I just want a teacher."

Aldrik stared at him, mulling over his plead for guidance. He spared a single glance at the bottled ingredients on his working station. There were human toes, eyeballs, and even teeth there. Outside, he distantly noted, were his modified Inferi, who carried out his tasks to the letter.

He wasn't suitable to be a teacher for a child - not at all. He could refuse Harry right then and there, commanding his Inferi to allow passage to the boy as he left.

But the boy reminded him of someone, a distant memory watered down by his 68 years of old age.

"Sehr gut," he eyed the boy, clicking his tongue in annoyance, "Eight in the morning, not later, not sooner. Sleep elsewhere."

A radiant smile broke on Harry's face, but Aldrik wasn't finished yet, "You will work as well. Also, I will register you to the Anti-Apparition Wards."

His expression turned more serious than it was already, "Passt auf, if you can, don't ever Apparate outside of the forest when you leave. The Underage Arrays don't cover the woods, so you won't be tracked in here."

Harry blinked his eyes, oblivious, "Apparate? Underage Arrays?"

Aldrik's scowl withered, already regretting his decision.