Ch4.

The journey to Fieldell was mostly unremarkable. The Tacrines continued to grow with the aid of Green-tuft's unobtrusive care, and Harry's leg continued to grow more painful as the effects of Radagast's poultice wore off. But he still managed to walk, and get himself up in the morning, and best of all, the nights were quiet with no signs of danger.

No sign, that is, until the morning of the third day, when he looked upon the townstead where he'd enjoyed his first hot meal with Aragorn, and found it in ruins.

Green-tuft poked her head out, tasting the air. "There's been fire here, but some time ago."

Harry nodded. They were still a fair ways away from the walls themselves - though now they were hardly suited to be called walls - but a quick change in the wind brought the scent of ash to him as well. It wasn't unlike the huts he found on the river's edge, on the first day he arrived in Middle Earth. All that could be burnt had been burnt, although there must have been some rainfall to quell the flames before they got out of control. The thick rain from a week or so ago, Harry thought. Which means the destruction must have occurred before then.

"I came here once, before I met you. The people were nice, though I couldn't speak to anyone at the time. They didn't deserve this," Harry whispered.

There was still hope. As Harry neared the town, the marks on the ground he mistook for erosion from the rain revealed themselves as tracks for large wheels. Possibly large wagons, and more than one. Some of the people must have survived, then, and left. The silence in the place made it clear that none had remained.

It wasn't that the buildings weren't worth salvaging. With a good dozen strong men, and a plentiful source of timber in Mirkwood nearby (though chopping it down was not without its own risks), the town could be rebuilt. As Harry wondered the abandoned streets, sidestepping wrecking and hoping to not come across any bodies, he found the reason in the form of a single mass grave towards the eastern edge. Going by the size of the trench, many, many had died.

Harry pursed his lips, a hollow feeling in his chest. For the most part, it was for the sake of the people, those who had died and those who were still alive, but some of his sorrow was for himself. The first part of his plan in tracking down Gandalf had failed.

Or had it?

There were still tracks from the survivors. He could follow them. They must have headed to another town. They would have had a week's head start. And they had wagons, and possibly horses, while he was limping along with a bad leg and three snakes.

Harry shook his head. There was no time to fixate on the negatives. He had a path and following it would be up to him.

With a final lingering look at the grave, Harry turned and followed the wagon trails out north. The rest of the day was again, spent walking. He was thankful that the ground was soft enough to take on tracks, but not so soft it made every step a chore. The wound in his right thigh pulsed with every move and Harry shuddered to think that Radagast was right in saying it was as healed as it ever would be. Surely there were greater healers than that old wizard? Harry didn't have much confidence in that, but living the rest of his life in constant pain was unbearable.

He looked down at the ground. He didn't need to bear such a load just yet. Right now, it was one step at a time. That was all he needed.

That night, he found a small outcropping of rocks, with a slight overlean. He chanced a fire, using some dried reeds and one of his red berries as a fire starter. Green-tuft murmured her appreciation as she curled up near the flames, and Harry brought out the two Tacrines.

Their growth had been exceptional the past few days. From when they hatched, no thicker than his pinky, they were now twice as large. Their scales had hardened into smooth, coloured discs, and there was more of a gleam to their eyes.

The two were still wrapped around each other. In the time that Harry had seen them, they'd never separated.

"I don't think your brothers and sisters will be joining us," Harry hissed to them. The three other eggs lay unresponsive in his bowl and showed no sign of hatching. One, to his horror, had started to mould.

He held out his wrist and after a moment's hesitation, the Tacrines slithered over and wrapped themselves around.

"I'll have to give you some names, I think. Can't keep calling you first-hatched and second-hatched," Harry murmured. "Let me see if I can tell you apart."

While at first, the first hatched was much larger and longer than the second, the difference shrunk as they grew. Now both were roughly the same size, though there was one distinguishing characteristic to tell them apart. There was two white streaks along the belly of the first-hatched, starting from its head and widening before merging together at its tail. The second-hatched had no such streaks, although there was more variation in shades on the scales of its back. Both were coloured a mix of blue-green, and speckled with brown. Harry suspected that if let loose on the forest floor, or on the branches of a tree, they'd be virtually invisible.

"Streak," he said. "Streak and Shade, after your markings. You'll take after Green-tuft."

The newly named Tacrines shifted on his wrist like they understood, or at least heard his voice.

"For another matter," Harry said to Green-tuft. "You know I'm horrible at these things. Are Streak and Shade girls or boys?"

Green-tuft lifted her head just slightly from where she stared into the fire. "The one you've named Streak is male. Shade is female. And those are entirely unfitting names, I'll have you know. In fact, I have-"

Harry bit back a smile. "I didn't think you were that into names. And what were you going to say? You had what?"

"I said nothing."

"Really?"

"Be quiet, speaker, and let me bask."

Harry snorted. "As you wish. But they're staying Streak and Shade. When they learn to speak, they can change it, but I don't think they will. I think it suits them just fine." He used one fingertip to stroke the Tacrine's heads.

A moment's silence passed, then, when Harry thought Green-tuft had drifted into sleep, he caught the faint hiss of her voice, "You would," and was caught off-guard by the tenderness he heard in It.

&&&pagebreak&&&

The next day started off with the promise of a hot breakfast. Harry had found the nest of a waterfowl, tucked away beside the wagon tracks and had pinched the trio of eggs within. Then, feeling a little guilty, he returned one and covered the nest up so it was a little more hidden. This was mocked relentlessly by Green-tuft.

"It's the bird's own fault it didn't hide the nest properly. You should have taken all the eggs. That's how the world works," she hissed.

Harry shrugged. "The nest was probably well hidden, only the wagon passed by and flattened some of the reeds. That's why I was able to find it."

"Is the wagon not part of the world? Where lies the falseness in my words?"

"Do you want an egg or don't you? There's only two and I'll gladly give one to Streak and Shade if you keep hammering me."

Sure enough, Green-tuft kept her silence after that.

Harry set up a flat stone a short distance from the nest and used a berry to raise the heat.

"It's not that I don't get what you're saying, Greeny," he said as he took the eggs out of his pocket. Harry blinked. He placed the eggs down and reached over to his left wrist. His left wrist where Green-tuft usually curled. Where she wasn't curled right now.

From back the way he came, he heard a frantic buffet of wings and a faint, alarmed hiss from his wayward companion. Harry was on his feet in an instant, ignoring for a moment his pain and stumbled as best he could back towards the nest.

"Green-tuft!"

Over the lip of the reeds, he could see the white tipped wings of the waterfowl, and a curved, crested beak. Then, in a moment, the fury stopped as the bird heaved itself up into the air.

Harry's heart leapt up as he saw her, grabbed by the waterfowl's claws. Green-tuft flailed, twisting as she tried to manoeuvre for a strike as the bird brought greater and greater distance between them and the ground. She let herself dangle, then shot upwards at the bird's legs. A squawk rang out and the startled waterfowl let Green-tuft drop. She writhed as she fell.

"No!" Harry couldn't move. She was too far away for him to catch, falling too quickly. She couldn't survive the fall! It was too high. She needed to be harder, need to resist the impact.

Green-tuft needed to be harder! Hard as stone.

She made a thud as she hit the ground. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, frozen where he stood. Then, with a head clouded with fear, he pushed through the reeds, looking for and dreading the sight of her mangled body.

The bird squawked above him, echoing, relentless, but everything faded when he got to the site where Green-tuft fell. The reeds had been bent, their stalks snapped, broken by the force of the impact. Unbroken, lying in the middle of the wreckage, was a stone cast of his Green-tuft.

Perfect in every way, lying at an odd angle as Green-tuft had frozen while in the air. Every scale was picked out by the hands of a master carver, the hint of fangs from slightly open mouth, and the curve of a tail searching for a support.

"No," Harry murmured, reaching out a shaking hand. Had he done this? Had he made her hard, turned her into stone? But she wasn't turning back-

And yet, the stone eased under his fingers at the very thought. Colour seeped back into her scales, and she stirred.

"Speaker?" A lurid hiss, while she was still half-stone.

Harry couldn't find the wards he wanted to say.

"Speaker? What happened? I was falling. The bird. The bird! Quickly, speaker, hide so it doesn't get you."

Harry shook his head. The last vestige of stone disappeared from Green-tuft's body. The light returned to her eyes and in a second she had wrapped herself on his wrist again. He held a protective hand over her and rubbed the tip of her nose.

"Don't worry about the bird. I'm much too large for it. You're safe, don't worry." As he muttered reassurances, his mind spun. He'd turned Green-tuft into stone. Without any wand or spell or even knowledge that he could.

"What happened? I was… cold. I don't remember. Did you catch me?"

"No. No, I didn't. I was too far away."

"Then how?"

"I don't know. I think I turned you to stone."

Green-tuft hissed in wordless alarm. "You did what? I am not a stone! A stone is without life, without thought, without feeling. I could never be a stone."

Without life, without thought? A shiver ran down Harry's back. She was right, of course. What he had done was true petrification, turning an animate creature into inanimate stone. It wasn't like petrificus totalus, or the basilisk's reflection. Transfiguration at this level tended to be permanent.

He looked down at Green-tuft, happily – or not so happily – curled up on his wrist, obviously not made of stone. He wasn't hallucinating. It had happened. Somehow, he had managed to save Green-tuft from the fall by turning her into stone. And she had turned back again. All without his wand.

Harry bit his lip. This was something he had to investigate. Whatever he was doing, it was nothing he'd ever learned in Hogwarts. He wouldn't even have thought this was possible. But in a new land, where so much was different, who was to say what was and was not possible? So with a shrug, and an air of anticipation, Harry returned to the tracks from Fieldell's wagons and continued on his way.

A fair distance from the nest and where all the previous excitement occurred, Harry used another rock as a makeshift stove-top, trying for another chance at a hot breakfast. He took an egg, cracked it onto the hot rock and grimaced as a half formed chick flopped out of the shell. He turned away, feeling his stomach roil.

He'd somehow forgotten what eggs were like in the wild. All those fried eggs, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs he'd made and eaten... His stomach rolled. He couldn't stand to look at the mess he'd made.

In the end, Green-tuft and the Tacrines had an egg each. They weren't nearly so fussy about it all. Harry still made a point not to look, though Green-tuft loudly described in excruciating detail which part of the unborn bird it was swallowing.

Harry munched on a handful of nuts and a couple bits of an engorgioed berry and tried not to feel too disappointed. Perhaps that night he'd give a go at fishing. He knew about fish. He wouldn't be squeamish then. Would that he could petrify fish as they swam around his legs, and pick up the stones and thaw them over a fireplace. What a great fisherman he'd be! With that thought sating his hunger for now, he started up again, reluctantly picking up an amused Green-tuft, and letting Streak and Shake ride on his other wrist.

By late afternoon, the wagon trails had taken on a new character. Instead of before, with sets of parallel lines scouring the earth, one pair had taken on a kink. Harry followed the kinked trail for a few minutes, noting how it tended to curve to the left before getting dragged back. He was thinking about the poor driver who had to deal with that when he heard voices on the wind.

He looked up, startled and drew to a stop. Was it a trick? Was it Green-tuft? No, it had sounded like a grown man, though now that he'd stopped, he couldn't hear anything. Harry looked around, in case he was being snuck upon, but there was-

Again! A voice carried by the wind. Raised, with inflections of anger.

He couldn't possibly have caught up to the survivors already. They had a full week's head start on him. He frowned and looked at the tracks. Though there was that one wagon struggling to keep straight. Spurred on by the hope that he wasn't as far behind as he thought, Harry hurried on through the reeds. He ignored the pain in his leg and used his walking stick to beat out a path through the reeds.

It was not long later that he came across the camp. He'd been hearing voices for a while now, and mixed in between the regular clanging of a hammer on metal, and a few barks. There were three wagons in total, dumpy wooden structures poking out from a small copse of bush. Nearby, crowded around a modest fire, sat a handful of men and women. Half a dozen horses were tied up to pegs around the camp site and a pair of dogs, no more than puppies, scuffled in the dirt.

Harry crouched in cover and watched from a distance. The atmosphere in the group didn't look good – not that Harry expected anything else. Having their town destroyed, their families killed, and now their wagon waylaid? He'd be downright pissed. It was with some trepidation that he spoke with Green-tuft.

"They're there."

"Yes, I can smell them," she said.

"Should I go over?"

Green-tuft flicked her tail. "That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you're a coward or not."

Harry gritted his teeth. "That's not exactly fair. There's… fourteen of them. And some have swords. I can't very well defend myself from all of them at once. And for all I think they might be survivors from Fieldell, who's to say they're not the attackers? Or bandits? There's no guarantee they're the good guys, Greeny."

"My words don't change."

"You keep saying that."

"And still they remain."

"… At least I could turn you to stone if things get rough."

"You'll do no such thing! I prefer to be me, thank you very much. Though I'm still not sure I believe you."

Harry sighed, gnawing his lips. He took a good study of the camp. Fourteen, he'd counted, though he couldn't be sure there weren't more people in the wagons themselves. A blacksmith worked, bent over an iron, sweat gleaming off his back from the fire. Some of the men and women worked with their hands, doing what, he couldn't see. Others were resting, talking. Occasionally, a shout would break out, the people would shuffle, and there would be a moment of tension before the conflict resolved, seemingly on its own. The smell of roasting meat drifted over and Harry's stomach rumbled.

The thought of food, more than anything else, made his decision. So perhaps he wasn't a coward, but a glutton instead, Harry thought, trying to ignore his misgivings. He stood, brushed his shirt and trousers down, and lifted a hand with a shout of greeting.

"Hello, the camp."

And then came a heart beat's embarrassment when his voice didn't generate any reaction. He'd been too soft. Harry cleared his throat, shuffled forward a few steps, one hand clutching his walking stick, the other still raised to show he was unarmed.

He tried again. "Hello, the camp."

This time, people heard him. The response was instant. People jerked around, a couple saw him among the reeds, raised their own shouts of alarm, and stood. Those with swords drew them or hovered their hands close to the hilt. The blades in the fire light were mottled with rust and barely gleaming, a far cry from Aragorn's weapon. These ones were poorly looked after, likely rarely used. Still, a dull edge was no compensation for a forceful thrust.

Harry stopped his advance, and in his sweaty palms he clutched a handful of his red berries.

"Who goes there?" Came the suspicious voice of a young man. The speaker stepped forward. The man must have been in his early twenties, with hair a dusky brown and a stern set to his jaws. In his hands he held a slim, curved blade, and from the looks of it, one of the best maintained. As he spoke, he lifted a hand to his eyes

Harry realised he must have been back lit by the setting sun. They would have a difficult time looking at him. He bit through a grimace, shouting back, "A traveller. I'd like to join your camp if you good people be willing."

"Traveller? Alone in these forsaken lands?"

"Not by choice. May I approach?"

A brief silence, then hushed murmurs as the men and women conversed amongst each other. A different man stepped forward, this one with a hunch to his back, and aided by a stick similar to Harry's.

"You sound young, traveller. How old are you?"

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth, but a stray thought caught him by surprise. With the Third Task at the end of the school year, and then the month or so he spent with Radagast… had his birthday slipped by him? How old was he?

"Well then? You got an answer for me, traveller?"

"I'm old enough!" Harry answered. "Please, I mean no harm."

Another hushed discussion. A few men put away their swords, seemingly as relieved as Harry himself. There were a few who didn't, the first speaker among them. An argument broke out, and Harry caught some snippets of words thrown around, many thrown by the young man.

"Stranger… intentions… burnt down."

It ended with him throwing his curved blade down and stomping away. Dramatic, though Harry couldn't criticise. He'd done about the same thing at Radagast's, hadn't he?

The old man waved him over. "You're welcome to join us, fellow traveller," he said.

Harry approached as beckoned, breathing out a breath he hadn't realised he held. "Stay still," he hissed to Green-tuft. "But not too still," he added as an afterthought. Who knows what had triggered the transformation before, but he didn't want to risk turning his friend to stone permanently. He said the same to Streak and Shade, though he doubted they'd understand.

As he neared, it became more and more evident that these weren't survivors from Fieldell. The lack of fishing equipment was the first thing. The people of Fieldell survived off the river, fishing for their food, and likely travelling by boat instead of wagon. For another, there was an overabundance of costumes. Colourful garments create by needle and string, embroideries by firelight, rope-makers, and one who created fanciful hairpieces, adorned with feathers and many coloured stones.

The old man caught his wandering gaze and offered a short bow. "My name is Maurius, I am the ring keeper of Maurius' Travelling Wonders. May you be welcome among friends."

Harry gaped.

"Perhaps you have heard of us? Of Phillipa, the contorting woman, or Dale, our strong man? He can lift the weight of an oliphaunt!" Maurius gestured to a thin lanky woman sitting by the fire, and then to a man who had so many muscles they tried to jump out of his skin. The strong man flexed, and flashed a grin.

"Have some sense of decency, Maurius, the boy's injured." A woman with grey in her hair stepped forward and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. Her hands were tough, though calloused in strange places. She glanced in concern at Harry's leg. "What's your name, dear? You're limping. Come on, we have a healer in our band. Tally can see what he can do for you."

Harry looked up in alarm. "It's Harry. And no, that's not needed. I'm alright, you needn't bother… Tally about me." For some reason, the thought of these strangers seeing the blackened skin of his leg made him uneasy. Actually, he knew exactly what the reason was. The sight of his leg lent itself too much to the work of darkness. And if they were to know the effects of a Morgul-wound, then Harry doubted their goodwill would last much longer.

"Nonsense. I'll not have you dying on me. Heaven knows we've seen-" she cut off, a stricken look on her face. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to bring it up." At her words, the few people who were listening in on their conversation looked away. Some ducked their heads, a grim set to their mouths. Others looked ill.

Harry looked around him, taking in their reactions and thought back to his own when he came across the burned townstead. "Were you the ones who buried them?"

"We were." The young man from before returned. He picked up his sword from the ground, turning it over in his hands. "A shame we hadn't arrived earlier, or I could have done something more than carry the dead and leave them rotting in the earth." He looked up, met Harry's eyes with a haunted look. "Have you seen destruction like I've seen it? The whole town, dead."

The grey-haired woman still had her hand on Harry's shoulder. Her grip tightened, though she didn't interrupt.

"Everyone was dead. How could they not be, bodies rent in pieces, bones crushed, eyes gouged. The flies and crows had been at them for days before we got there. They think you're a survivor. No, I know for sure there were no survivors in that town."

"Randel, that's enough." The grey-haired woman let go of Harry's shoulder and marched over to Randel. "You'll stop accusing our guest at once. Haven't you got eyes? He's only a boy. Barely older than your brother when-"

Maurius cleared his throat, stopping her in her tracks.

She turned to glare at him, uncaring that he'd raised his hands with a shrug.

"I only thought I'd mention our guest looks tired from the day, Selene," he said. "Perhaps you'd best bring him to Tally…?"

Selene, the grey-haired woman, nodded, shot another warning look at Randel, and reached out for Harry's wrist. There was only a split second to react and Harry danced out of the way. Or he would have if his leg hadn't buckled from under him and sent him crashing to the floor.

With a groan, he straightened out his leg on the ground, not liking the way it twanged as it moved.

"Speaker?" came Green-tuft's soft hiss. Harry didn't dare reply. When Selene had reached out for him, she would have grabbed onto the exact spot Streak and Shade had been resting. With Randel on edge, and the sword back in his hands, Harry didn't think it wise for his snakes to show themselves yet.

"Are you alright?" Selene asked, bending down to help him up. She hesitated before offering him a hand. Harry used his left, the one Green-tuft was wrapped around, and hoped she had the sense to stay still. Even taking the utmost care, he could feel how close Green-tuft's scales were to the woman's hand.

Then they hobbled to one of the wagons, Selene leading the way, and left the stares behind them.

"I'm sorry about Maurius and Randel," she said. "We're all a bit shaken up. Not that that's a very good excuse but in all my life I'd never seen such horror. If. If you don't mind me asking. I mean, you needn't say anything if you cannot, but perhaps I can... soften the news to the others."

"What is it?"

"Just... how did you live?"

Harry paused. "I arrived in Fieldell only a day ago. I didn't know th- my town was destroyed until then." He sucked in a breath. Why did he say that? What if they ask him about his family, about the town? He'd only stayed there for one night!

Selene's eyes widened. "So it's true? Oh you poor thing. I can't imagine dealing with the sight. Even after we cleaned things up a bit. Oh no, oh no. This won't do. I know Maurius was saying we'd take you in for the night and then send you off in the morning, but as I suspected, you've nowhere to go."

"Actually, I'm looking for-"

"I'll have to convince Maurius. Don't you worry dear, Aunt Selene will have everything sorted out. Now up to Tally you go. He'll do his best to get you healed up." She shooed him towards the built in stairs that lead to the wagon door, and picked up her skirt and hurried away before Harry could get another word out.

Harry bit his lip. He wasn't sure what good claiming he was from the devastated town would be. But perhaps it was for the best. The truth would be a little too outrageous, and it didn't help when he wasn't sure on the details of how he got to Middle Earth himself.

Tally, as it turned out, was barely older than Harry. The boy was crouched in almost darkness, and said nothing when Harry entered the wagon. The interiors were cramped, mostly because of the crates stacked along the walls, though there was walking space if he turned sideways. Tally had a small stool, though he ignored it in favour of leaning his shoulder against a crate in the corner. A single oil lamp sat unlit, on the ground.

Unnerved, Harry cleared his throat. "Hello. Tally?" He assumed this was Tally. There were no others in the wagon, and Selene had been quite firm in leading him here.

"Yes. I heard your conversation, by the way." Tally's voice was soft, and his clear words filled Harry with relief. For a moment he thought perhaps this boy was damaged in the head. "Close the door behind you. You're letting all the light in."

Harry shuffled in and let the door swing lightly shut. The space was instantly flooded with darkness. He reached out his hands and felt along one stack of crates, trying to recall the mental map of his surroundings.

"Better. At least you listen when I tell you to do something. The others. Ha. How do they expect me to create the correct mixtures when the conditions I work in are so horrid?"

A grinding came from Tally's corner so suddenly it made Harry jump. To anyone else, the sound might have sent shivers down their spine, but Harry had suffered through enough potions classes to recognise it as a mortar and pestle.

"Your work is light sensitive?" Harry asked.

"You're fast. Or maybe you've learnt the craft before?" Tally paused, and Harry thought he could feel the other boy's gaze through the inky darkness.

"It was a good guess," Harry said. As much as he'd like to apply the principles of potion making to whatever Tally was doing, so many plants were different in Middle Earth, the magic was different, and he didn't want to explain his knowledge. "But I wouldn't mind learning. I'm looking for someone who might be able to teach me, in fact. A wizard, Gandalf the grey."

Harry had no idea if Gandalf could or would teach anyone anything, but it felt good to get those words out. With the events earlier in the day, he was hoping a fellow wizard could shed some light on his magic as well. As far as Harry knew, teenage boys back in his world couldn't just perform wandless transfiguration by will.

"A wizard?" Tally snorted. "Wizards don't often take to messing with herbs. Theirs is a more flashy skill."

"In any case, do you know where Gandalf might be?"

"I've more things on my mind than keeping track of a wandering wizard. The wizard travels, and we travel. Whatever word we hear of his movements are likely too old to be useful, if you're meaning to catch him."

Harry absentmindedly rubbed the tip of Green-tuft's nose. This put a bit of a dent in his plans. Radagast hadn't mentioned that Gandalf liked to move around. Harry thought he could find a cottage in another forest, or a high tower, perhaps. Somewhere that he could head towards, and reach with time. Chasing after a wizard didn't sound like much fun, especially if Gandalf had the power to move faster than he did. With a sigh, Harry reminded himself that there wasn't many who'd be much slower.

"Are there places he likes visiting?"

Tally stopped grinding his mortar and pestle and let the silence stretch until Harry started to get uncomfortable.

"He frequents the towns in the north, but you seem very intent on finding the Grey. It's not that I don't get it, I do. My family was killed a couple of years ago, but these kinds of things are happening more and more. It's better to be glad those living are still living, and pray fortune continue to stand with us."

Harry took a deep breath, unsure how to respond. Tally talked as if he had resigned himself to be helpless to the wretchedness in the world. "Yet you're a healer," he said.

"Somebody has to be. And don't you have a leg or something you want me to take a look at?"

"Actually, I'm alright," Harry said. "I was limping, and the others thought I was injured. It's just a little sore from the walking." He didn't plan on showing his wound to anyone soon and he doubted Tally's skill at healing would match Radagast. As much as the brown wizard's apathy was infuriating, Harry recognised real skill when he saw it.

"Then why are you still here? You should get some rest. Mother Selene's put her mind to making you stay, so it's likely you'll pass with us over the mountains. There's only two more towns before the crossing. May fortune walk with us this year like the last."

The mountains! The distant peaks, capped in snow, that lay all the while to the west. These... circus folk aim to cross the mountains? And from the sounds of things they'd done it before, possibly every year. Harry shook his head. Perhaps there was a way past the peaks that made the prospect easier than he imagined.

Tally returned to using his mortar and pestle and Harry took that a cue to leave. His return to the gathering at the fire was met with side-long stares and a decidedly noticeable drop in conversation. Maurius was waiting for him, with Selene at his shoulder, a smug tilt to her chin. Randel was lingering in the background, arms folded, keeping a tight watch on things.

"Ahh, Harry, wasn't it? Well, I've been told you'd like to join the Travelling Wonders? Well it's good thing we have a space open for an enterprising young man such as yourself. Tell me, how is your hand at cooking?"

Harry glanced at the man by the fire place, sullenly stirring a large pot. "You already have a cook," Harry said.

The cook scowled. "You bet they do. And I've not heard a single complaint til today, I haven't." He waved the ladle about, still steaming. The people sitting nearby winced. "You know as well as I do I can handle the meals. Have been for three years and an extra pair of hands'll only muddle things up."

Maurius didn't look too surprised. With a hapless shrug, he spread his hands. "Well, sorry boy, guess there's no vacancy-"

Selene cleared her throat. Maurius cut off, looking annoyed. He half turned, as if to say something, but aborted the motion. "Ahh Randel, maybe you have a suggestion for where Harry can fit in our group."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Asking Randel? For all Maurius going on about being welcome, he sure didn't want him to join up. Dinner and then off the next morning, Selene had said. That was certainly turning out to be true.

Randel shot them a poisonous look. "Feed him to the dogs."

Harry glared right back.

"Nonsense." Selene was all sharp smiles and testy sweetness. "I'm sure there'll be something you can help out with, Harry. A young man like you will earn your keep in no time, isn't that right Maurius?"

The owner of Maurius' Travelling Wonders didn't look so convinced, but he nodded anyway. Harry was impressed. For a woman of Selene's age, she sure held great sway with the performers – moved quickly too. She was at Harry's elbow before he could blink.

She reached out to take hold of his arm.

There was no time to get away. Her hands closed just above his right wrist, right where Streak and Shade's entwined tails coiled. They stirred under his sleeve, and Harry watched as Selene's face twisted in confusion. Her hand recoiled, but it was too late.

With a startled hiss, Streak and Shade squirmed out of his sleeve. Harry tried to hide them away, but their frantic movements made even keeping them in his hands a trial.

Selene shouted, stumbling back.

In an instant, Randel was there, sword out and pointed to Harry, pulling Selene back behind him. "I knew he wasn't to be trusted. He tried to attack you, mother. Didn't you see? Get behind me. Men!"

With the order, some of the other armed men unsheathed their swords. The camp around them turned silent. Once again, all eyes were on him.

"No!" Harry cried. "I wasn't trying to do anything. The snakes are my friends. I've had them since they hatched. They're not going to harm anyone. I... I was the son of a snake breeder. But I never had the heart to kill them." Good thing he'd planned out an excuse beforehand, just in case something like this happened. He held Streak and Shade up to his chest while surreptitiously retrieving a couple of his fire starter berries. He wouldn't want to use them, especially against humans, but swords were being pointed at him.

Randel narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you. What use is a snake breeder in a fishing village?"

Harry scowled. "Not everyone in Fieldell went out on the river," he bit out. "You think every man, woman and child goes and scours the river for fish?"

"I... of course not!" Randel was lost for words.

Harry clenched his teeth to stop a grin. "What's not to believe then? I've had these snakes since they were hatched. They know me. See?" He held a finger up to Streak, who flicked a tongue and then stretched out and curled around it.

Selene pushed Randel's sword arm down. Randel let her, and down it stayed. His forehead creased with a frown, probably trying to poke a hole in Harry's story.

"A snake breeder, you say?" Maurius peered over. "Can you teach them to do tricks?"

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth, nothing came out. He glanced at all the swords still drawn around him.

"Put those swords away while I talk to the boy!" Maurius waved his hands and offered Harry an apologetic grin. "Sorry, Harry. Some people can be so rude. Now these snakes of yours. Tell me more about your work."

The swords went away, Selene pulled a scowling Randel off to the side, and Maurius beckoned Harry towards the fire. A spot was made for the two of them, and Harry shuffled awkwardly over with his walking stick and his handful of snakes.

Maurius sat first, leaving him a spot next to Dale, the strong man. Harry couldn't help but feel the choice was strategic. He settled down and was dwarfed by the large man to his left. His shoulder only came half way up Dale's arm, and he had a perfect view of his bulging biceps.

The others around the fire were a mix of interest and caution, some leaned forwards and around to get a glimpse of Harry's snakes, and others edging back. Maurius didn't look too worried as he squinted down at Streak and Shade.

"So give us a look, Harry. They're a little small, aren't they?"

Harry blinked. "They do get bigger," he said, thinking to the den in Mirkwood. Those snakes had been as thick as his arm, and Radagast did say the den was a young one. Streak and Shade would probably only curl around his wrist for a little while longer. And then...? Harry hadn't given the Tacrine's size much thought. If they continued to grow, it might become troublesome to keep them with him. He didn't want to leave them behind, either.

"And they are tamed?"

Harry let the Tacrines move from one hand to the other. Tame? He wasn't sure about that. They hadn't even learned to speak yet, and Harry had no way of knowing if he was being heard when he spoke to them. "Not yet. They're not quite old enough." He paused. "Although I do have a third snake who's a better listener."

He reached in to his left sleeve, rubbed Green-tuft's nose and urged for her to come out. She didn't budge, though she wasn't turned to stone either. Just stubborn.

"A third?" Maurius said. "How many do you have? To think none of us realised. Why, you could be covered in snakes and no one would know. And then comes the big reveal, and the start of the performance! Let's see it then!"

Harry tried again to ease Green-tuft out from his sleeve. If anything, she coiled tighter around his wrist. "You told me to stay still, speaker," came an annoyed hiss. "I'm staying still, aren't I?"

Harry pressed his lips together in a thin smile. "She's a little shy," he said to Maurius. "There's a lot of people here."

Maurius raised his eyebrows. "Shy? Well, your snake had better get used to crowds. We'll arrive in Headstead in ten days, a small enough town to get you started." Maurius grinned. "And if you do well, we'll have to update all our fliers. Make new ones, even. Oh, this is so exciting. And you'll have to get a new name, of course, and a stage costume. Oh, and perhaps I should put the word out and acquire some more snakes for you. Three is not nearly enough, oh no."

Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry, but I don't-"

"Nonsense. Selene! Draft up the usual contract, would you? We've a new performer on board!"

"Wait, but-"

"An offer you can't refuse. Twenty percent of your segment's earnings, plus an equal share of the totals. And we include food and board as well, plus injury and death compensation sent to... well, I suppose you wouldn't have any relatives. Never mind that! You'll love it here, Harry, I guarantee it!"

"Yes, that's very reasonable but-"

"We travel the world, meet new and interesting people, earn their money, and do it all over again, It's all due to talent like you, Harry. These lovely companions are who make it all happen. We're a big, loving-"

Randel spat.

"-family! And we sure do love to grow out numbers. Oh yes. Grow our numbers and grow our profits."

"Excuse me!" Harry shouted, banging his walking staff on the ground. Maurius paused, suspended in a ridiculous position, his arms arched over his head as he mimed profits growing. "Excuse me," Harry said at a more reasonable volume. "But I don't yet know where you are going. I'd be happy to join, but only if the Travelling Wonders are travelling north."

Maurius raised his eyebrows and lowered his arms. "Well, yes, we're heading north at the moment. Towards Headstead, then Paleberry, then over to the west and on to Jadans Buff, and so on and so forth. We do eventually turn down, though. We're a yearly tour, you know."

Harry nodded. Sure, joining a troupe was a little different from his initial plan, but he couldn't complain. They had wagons! And horses! And men with swords who would hopefully point them away from Harry after he joined. If what Tally said was true and Gandalf did spend more time in the northern towns, then Harry was making progress in his search.

A grin grew on Harry's face. He'd still have to track down the exact location of the wizard, and he'd still have to take care not to reveal his magic, and the Travelling Wonders would still have to cross the mountain ranges, but he was making progress. Anything and everything was better than being trapped in Radagast's cottage.

Harry reached out a hand. "In that case, hand me the contract. I accept."

&&&chapterend&&&

AN: We have names for the two Tacrines! And some accidental but timely petrification! And what do you guys think about Harry being a 'snake charmer?' Hahahaha I thought the idea was hilarious for LotR. He's not going to be one forever, but while he is, he's going to get a stage name. Leave a comment if you've got an idea or I'll be hitting the random name generators. Seriously, I don't want to come up with something lame.

Anyway, more magic in the next ch, and more interaction with the circus folk. Thanks for everyone who's reviewed, I'll see you guys next time.