The Valiant Never

Prologue: Through the Love of a Child

Dreams are but the grace notes of great actions.

Donovan checked the stray tear roughly with the back of hand. It wouldn't do for his mum to catch him crying like his little sister. It was all right for Katie – she was barely two. And a girl. But seven-year-old boys did not cry. No, they didn't. Not even when their best friend had gone away. Forever.

That's what his mum had said. Forever. Captain wasn't ever coming back. Ever. But he was right here, though, and Donovan couldn't quite grasp why. Why'd Mum and Daddy wrap him in an old bath towel – his face, too – and put him in a hole in the back garden beneath the Yew tree? He was so still, his black tail limp.

Donovan watched as his daddy refilled the hole Captain lay in with dirt and sod. How could Captain breathe with all that dirt on him? He, Donovan, could only count to twenty beneath the covers before it grew too hot for him. And Captain had no light – he was afraid of the dark, just like Donovan. And storms. Donovan looked up at the rain clouds edging in. Who was going to protect him out here from the rain?

Donovan felt his mum's hands drape his chest from behind. "He's in a better place, Sweetie," she said lowly, her voice tight. A better place? thought Donovan. His room was a better place than out here. His room where Captain would curl next to him at night, a wall-light keeping the monsters of the dark away.

Another tear spilled from his eye. He didn't bother to check it.

-o-

Donovan lay beneath his bedclothes, fits of agitation erupting from his small body. His dreams were restless, his physical form following his mind.

Darkness enveloped him, but he could see forms, shapes, and knew the sounds were coming from just through that heavy wooden door before him. Voices – grown-ups yelling, a dog barking frantically. Donovan heaved the door open and rushed in, knowing what he'd find.

It was a playhouse lit with wall candles, and the stage was down below him. But the actors didn't all stay on the stage; they were all about in the seats, yelling, throwing balls of fire at each other. They didn't look English; they must be desert people, he thought, their dressing gowns like those of the Arab sheiks. But his consideration for them disappeared when he looked upon the stage below. Captain? His heart paused in mid-beat. Had Captain returned to him?

Donovan called to his dog, but the great black beast did not, or could not, hear him. He was growling and barking madly at a woman there on the stage with him. She, too, was throwing fire and coloured lights from a lean torch at him. It didn't seem a game, thought Donovan. Not the way Captain was growling at her. It wasn't the way he played with Donovan.

Captain lunged at the woman, but she caught him with one of her coloured lights and threw him backwards toward the stage curtain. It looked just like when he flew back when the car hit him after he'd chased his toy ball into the lane.

No! Donovan ran to his dog. He wasn't going to let him go away again. He was going to bring him back home.

Captain hit the ground just as he parted the stage curtain. Donovan could see it was black behind the curtain. Captain was afraid of the dark. So was Donovan.

But it didn't matter; he wanted his best friend back.

He scrambled onto the stage, running for the stage curtain beneath which stuck out the tip of a furry black tail and a single padded foot, still and limp. Donovan hesitated, too afraid to stick his head behind the curtain for all manner of monster could be lurking there. But his best friend was scared, too, and Donovan had to help him.

He reached his thin arms through the curtain, as far as he could go without his face touching the cloth, and felt about. Coarse fur tickled his fingers and he grabbed tightly, his fingers grasping the furry flesh with but one single, determined purpose – to bring his friend back.

Donovan braced his foot against a stone wall at the curtain's side and pulled with all his might. He pulled, begging Captain to help him. He pulled, tears flowing for the love of his dog. He pulled, determined above all reason that Captain was not leaving him. He pulled.

And the curtain parted, and Captain slipped back through with a jerk, back to Donovan.

-o-

Donovan woke to his mum's calls for breakfast. He crawled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a yawn, the shaggy black fur falling from his fingers without notice.

-o-0-o-

Eddie Toilswell hated the night shift. There was no one about to pass the time, and the quiet of the offices gave him the willies after a bit. One never knew what was kept up in some of the rooms, and he hated clearing up others' spots of mess they'd left, breaking the rules.

Of course, Grayson Beard owed him a pint after Eddie's custodial duties of this past evening. Being night security did have its advantages, and racking up favours was one of them. This time it was Grayson's peccadillo upon Level Four that was going to wind Grayson in Azkaban for smuggling contraband, and land Eddie in St. Mungo's with a serious bite. The man was getting as bad as Weasley with his Muggle toys still on display, though he'd been promoted.

But Eddie didn't log in the finding of one large, mangy mutt flopped before Grayson's open door. No, the haggard creature looked death warmed over – it wouldn't surprise Eddie if it was close to it, illegal cross-breeding of magical creatures being what it was – and Eddie wasn't too keen on either being bitten while it ran loose in his patrolled corridors, or filling out the quadruple paperwork now necessary for anything 'out of the ordinary.'

So instead, Eddie took this as an opportunity for Grayson to owe him. With a flick of his wand, he'd levitated the creature to the Visitor's Entrance, programmed the booth and sent the bag of fur and bones to the streets of London. Better the Muggle dog catcher require a Memory Charm than Eddie need a new post for yet another 'out of the ordinary' report. Besides, the blokes on Level Three needed the work, now that You-Know-Who had disappeared again, leaving matters quiet. But then, the last time he had returned, it was here, late at night. The next day Eddie had started working the overnight shift.

Yes, Grayson owed him a pint.