Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Dennis came close to loathing the Scottish northern islands. Cold wind, some might say frigid, blew constantly across the dots of land inconveniently located in the outer fringe of the North Sea. Salt and sea spray harried everything, and it felt as though dampness became the prerequisite. The tough ponies and sheep that made the island of Stronsay their home seemed the only creatures to enjoy the environment. Even the native born locals did not seem all to happy with their location, but none would say a bad word about the island. For reasons he could not fully articulate, Dennis found it a perfect place to foment a Druid malcontent.
“Seven bleeding months to find one person,” he grumbled as he headed west from the dangling spit of land on the southeastern shore of the island, and it looked like an appendix in his opinion.
Auskerry Sound vomited water at him via the rough waves battering the shores near Lamb Head Broch. The place thrummed with ancient magic. The more pleasant summer months, and Dennis doubted those existed on the island, got lost as he bounced from Briton to Ireland to Scotland and round and round trying to locate any person who could help him find the kind of Druids he needed. Everyone seemed to know about them, but not exactly where they hid themselves. It took Dennis four months to realize the Druids, like a majority of other witches and wizards the world over, hid in plain sight. He could not begin to think of how many Druids he actually talked to who feigned total ignorance, a bald face lie in his opinion, regarding the whereabouts of the famed magic users.
“Oh, go find the Druids, but don’t pester them during the Moot,” Dennis complained to himself as he turned his back on the waves only to confront the perpetual stiff wind blowing in from the northwest.
Dennis purposefully avoided going to the Druid Moot, the annual conclave of Druids wherein they settled disputes – personal, political, and social – through very intense magical duels. The Druids claimed it as a form of clan unity since it resolved issues in a time-honored tradition that stretched back perhaps ten thousand years. Druid annals, including the famed pictographs located in various locations in the Orkney Islands, spoke of the region in ways few could imagine. Muggles thought Skara Brae as the oldest settlement on the island, but Druid memory ranged back at least five thousand years before Skara Brae got founded. They drew pictures of mammoths and the giant short-faced bear. In the intervening millennia, the Moot got conducted almost yearly, bi-yearly at the very least, and became something of a summer carnival to the magical community in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Attendance got limited over time, and one needed to plan in advance to get tickets.
“Why do I listen to living people?”
Dennis paused, pulled a book from an over-sized jacket pocket, and glanced at his atlas. The page detailing the northern islands glistened as a line designating his path to a specific location continually refreshed itself. He adopted a spell from a magical tourist book to the atlas, and it helped him on his travels. The tourist book got filled with too many adverts for destinations, places to lodge, restaurants, site-seeing, and all types of points of interest a tourist might enjoy. It even showed caravan parks, although most magi enjoyed tents they magicked to ridiculous degrees. Camping to some magi included an indoor, heated, Olympic-sized swimming pool within the confines of the tent. Thoughts of what most magi got away with that Ministry never punished still rankled the young man. He found himself depending less and less on magic as a result. Dennis felt he could out-survive most magi in hostile environments.
The address the wizard sought lay on the lobe of land almost directly due west of where he stood. As the atlas did not provide enough detail to make translocating via disapparation a viable alternative, he studied the contours of Stronsay Island and decided on a path to follow: Dennis would trek around the perimeter of the island. He placed one foot in front of the other. At the same time he damned the fact magi tended to live in the most inaccessible locations they could find. Once again he cast at curse at the wizarding secrecy statute. It seemed to dog his existence.
The Burn of Millgrip hid the interconnected series of streams forming a boggy area that often took on a deep burgundy hue. Regardless of every effort to keep his legs dry, Dennis’s feet routinely poked through soggy surfaces or he stumbled into small water pots rendered nearly invisible by the swampy coverage. He made for the far western shore and a cabin located on a dry hummock of land just north of an open pond of water. He stunk like a swamp as he ambled up to the field stone house with a thin stream of smoke coming from the field stone chimney. It looked quaint to Dennis for all that he wanted to push the house into the sea after his trip to reach it.
“What?” A voice bellowed at him when the door final flew open. “Ye been pounding away fer ten minutes and don’t quite seem smart ‘nough to realize nobody is answerin’?”
“You answered, didn’t you?” Dennis snapped right back at a man situated comfortably in his middle to late fifties. Hair the color of field straw got laced with a healthy amount of white.
“Ye’re not wanted here. Now be gone with ye!”
Dennis whipped out his wand and pointed at the man’s face.
“I swear to Merlin I’ll hex your face if you try to give me the shove off!”
The man, seeming as solid as the foundation rock of the island, eyed him. Dressed in a flannel shirt and what looked to be blue canvas pants that saw considerable use, he did not flinch or look away from the wand in the wizard’s hand. His right arm slowly extended. Seconds later a small staff tipped with a semi-translucent purple stone flew into his hand. He lifted it.
“We gonna go ‘bout it that way, huh?” The man rejoined in a calm manner.
“I don’t want to, but I will. I just want to have a fucking chat with at least one of you!” Dennis said through barely controlled anger.
“We being who?”
“A Druid!”
“No such thing. Head off down to one of them henges those addle-headed fools like to gather at,” the man said, and his staff remained steady as if anchored in the ground.
“You’re Drust Kerr, and I know it. None to popular with the Druid Council from what I hear… and that’s why I need to talk to you,” the English wizard replied.
The man raised his staff even higher and gripped it with both hands. He never shook and never quavered. Light seemed to glint inside the stone wedged into the wood and lashed tight with a strip of leather. Dennis pondered the degree of error he made when he brandished his wand. He barely understood the basic concepts of Druid magic, and, thus, did not entirely know how to protect himself from an attack. He and the man managed a stalemate.
“Drust! Lower that stick, ye old codge!” A woman’s voice yelled from somewhere behind the door. “Ye’ve no way with guests!”
“He raised his wand first, Alice!” He yelled in return.
“He… wand?” The light tenor voice warbled.
The face of a woman who clearly spent most of her life out of doors peaked around edge of the door. Dark eyes flicked back and forth as she surveyed the scene. Then she stepped out from the bound planks serving as a door. A dress made from wool of an indistinct tartan pattern hung down to her thighs where jeans and boots then took over. She bore of the roundness a woman who bore children, but she did not look soft. The woman squinted.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” Dennis said in the most cordial manner he could muster.
“Why ye be pointing yer stick at my Drust?” She asked him.
“He never said hello,” the young wizard intoned as though it deeply insulted him.
The woman slapped at the man’s right arm and said: “How many times I’ve told ye a ‘ello saves ye a grudge?”
“He never gave a name,” the man growled.
The woman glanced at and then gazed at Dennis.
“My name is Dennis Creevey… from St. Albans north of London, and I really, really need to speak to a Druid,” he introduced himself a stated his name.
“What fer?”
“Old Roman magic. Magic they stole once upon a time.”
The staff suddenly zoomed right into Dennis’ face. The stone glowed, and the yellow light it cast seemed threatening. Moreover, the woman also produced a staff with what appeared to be an enormous pearl tied to the end. Wisps of light came off the end of it. She aimed her staff at Dennis as well. Dennis attempted to put on a brave face.
“I have… a Druid made… object the Romans forced them to make,” he carefully stated even as his voice trembled. “It’s said to bring misery to anyone who uses it.”
“Have ye used it?” The man, and now Dennis more than presumed him to be Drust Kerr, inquired in a near-deadly whisper.
“No… and I don’t want anyone else to, either. I’m looking for a way to… get rid of it… permanent, and someone said Drust Kerr might be able to help.
“Ye Ministry sent?” The woman asked on the heels of Dennis’ reply.
“What? No! I hate them bastards!”
The man turned his head to the side and eyed the woman. The woman shrugged and stared at the end of her wand. Dennis waited.
“He’s speaking true, least that’s what the water believes,” she said after a short pause.
“Listen here, wizard, and listen good. Ye’ve got one shot at telling me what’s this about, or I’ll turn ye into a bit of bituminous and sink ye in the bog,” the man rounded on Dennis and did not seem to be joking.
Dennis swallowed hard and began to regret he took this approach. However, he could not backtrack, and he did get their attention. Perhaps he got it in a manner he did not like, but the young wizard got it nonetheless.
“Heptagon,” he calmly spoke the single word.
It took five frightening seconds before the staves lowered. The older couple eyed him. Dennis figured it best if he waited until they spoke.
“Do ye know what ye’re saying, lad?” Drust Kerr inquired in a somewhat worried voice.
Dennis nodded his head.
“Ye’d not be fooling with us on this one, would ye?” His apparent wife asked.
“One person already tried to kill me over it. The Ministry made my life hell because I won’t tell them what’s in my vault, and I think they suspect I’ve got it,” he answered with a clipped version of his personal history. “It scares the shit out of me thinking what it can do. I aim to destroy it.”
The two people looked openly astounded when he finished speaking. Then they turned to each other. A rapid conversation took place between them, and Dennis thought he recognized ancient Pictish. He could not understand the words, but power seemed to flow around the couple as they talked. Dennis felt convinced he found the right person. He stood and watched them as the wind pounded on his back.
“And ye’d be carting this ‘round wherever ye go?” The older man asked when he completed the discourse with his presumed wife.
“I’m not that stupid,” Dennis half-yelled at him. “I’d be dead and buried some place where nobody would find my body. I’d be some lonely haunt in a faraway place. No, I left it in my vault. The goblins don’t know what I’ve got, and I don’t think they care much as long as it doesn’t feel magical.”
“Meanin’?” The woman questioned him next.
“Meaning it doesn’t feel magical when you touch. It just feels like a solid little seven-cornered silver box. Doesn’t appear special in any way. Can’t even hardly see the seams on the top.”
“Drust?” His wife questioned with his name.
“Sounds like it,” Drust seemed to confirm something she did not say. “How’d ye get this?”
“That’s a longer story. I’m freezing my ass end off out here. Either you can help me or you can’t. If you can, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. If not, I’d best be moving along. I got a couple of other leads,” Dennis flatly stated.
The couple turned to face one another a second time. Another fast chat in Pictish ensued. The man pulled at his orangish-gray short beard as the did. The woman appeared either angry or concerned. They seemed unable to reach a consensus.
“Look. I’m sorry I bothered you, and sorry I pulled my wand. This doesn’t seem like anything that interests you, and I’ve still got a long way to go before I can lay down for the night,” he interrupted him.
The missus spun around first and asked: “Told many ‘bout this little thing ye’ve got?”
“No. Only three others besides you, and I’d trust them with my life.”
“Why us?” The man pressed.
“’Cause for the past four months or so I kept hearing the name Drust Kerr. Seems you get on the nerves of the Druid Council when you don’t agree with them. Sounds like you know you’re history… the deep history. Took me ages to find anyone who had any idea where you lived. You’ve made yourself unmappable and untargetable,” Dennis informed the man.
“Damn right I have!”
The woman elbowed him and grunted: “Don’t get started on it, Drust. Ye’re havering is all!”
“Started on what? This lad shows up from nowhere we know ‘bout, starts yapping all what should be left quiet, and ye go thinking I’m the one havering! Who knows what sleekit cur we’re staring down here!” Drust gruffly answered.
The woman nudged the man with her shoulder and huffed: “Wheest! Ye’re a right pile of troubled leaves on the windy side is what ye are.”
Dennis got a fast lesson on a long topic when it came to Scottish idioms. He began to lose track of the subject. He pocketed his wand, and then raised the empty hand in farewell.
“I truly didn’t mean to bother you and raise a fuss,” he contritely told them.
“Lad, ‘fore ye go off on a hoof trot, ye’ve got to know one of them… things nae been seen in a couple of centuries. Somebody been havin’ one on ye,” Alice quickly stated.
“I got it from the last holder,” Dennis said and withheld elaboration.
“Oh, and who’d that be?” Drust pounced on the question.
“The 9th Earl of Nottingham, Lord Thomas North.”
“9th… he’d been deid…” the woman began to sputter.
“For around two-hundred and fifty years. I know. He’s a ghost a Hogwarts. He got banished to there by the person who killed him. Thomas also happens to be my friend, along with his daughter. She’s taken up residence right next to him at the school until we can figure out a way to break the spell holding him,” Dennis recited what he thought as common knowledge.
“Drust! We read ‘bout that one… and ye’d be knowing who his mam was!”
“Alice, we di nae know nothin’ ‘bout this boy!”
The woman, Alice, slapped her husband on the arm and yelled: “Not him, ye goat! The ghost… the old Lord! The line of Dunaidh hisself!”
A very strange look crossed the man’s face. Dennis understood only a little of what they said, but he knew it centered on Thomas’ mother and her family. However, he never once heard the name Alice mentioned. The young wizard could not recall if Lord North ever mentioned the actual maiden surname of his mother.
“Lad, ye’re turning blue out there. Get in here, and we’ll get ye a nice cuppa. I think we’ve got some talking to get done with,” the woman said and made an inviting gesture with her hand.
“Alice!” Drust bugled her name.
“Shut it, Drust. Just shut it! Yer aff yer heid thinkin’ this boy nae who he says he is and what he’s ‘bout. So, just shut it!” Alice said with such threat in her voice Dennis considered running away. However, she turned a kindly eye to him. “In with ye, lad ‘fore there’s a bog burial.”
Drust Kerr all but growled at him when he stepped inside and past him. He entered a home that looked as old as the land. The furniture, made of thick wood, looked as if it could withstand a full siege. The cushions seemed threadbare, but more comfortable than the slabs upon which they sat. Sashays of flowers and plants hung from the stone and whitewashed plaster walls. The low ceiling made Dennis feel he should stoop, but his head never hit one of the overhead beams. It did not take long for him to see the proliferation of rocks placed on the hearth mantle, shelves, windowsills, and table tops. Next to most sat a small container of water. It felt distinctly magical in a different manner than what Dennis normally saw.
Alice led him to arm chair and bade him to sit. Dennis sat. Apparently she gave up her own personal chair. Drust landed on his seat with a heavy thud and a puff of dust, and only a small, cluttered table separated the older from younger man. Dennis stared at Drust.
“Wha?” The man snarled.
“Hewer or shaper?” Dennis asked.
Drust’s eyes went wide.
“I’ve had a while to study Druid magic,” he replied to the look. “Can’t tell if it’s a purple garnet or tourmaline at the end of your staff. That’s a dead giveaway you’re a rock Druid.”
“Just a bit of common iolite,” Drust intoned, “but it focuses well.”
Dennis nodded as if he understood the distinction Drust Kerr made about the stone in question. The man indirectly confirmed his status and specialty. It put him in the same cast as Peeves who bore a trace of Druid rock magic and what made him a useful member of the team that built the original Hogwarts castle. From what the poltergeist told him, people sometimes feared rock druids because very powerful ones could crack open the earth right under the feet of others. It seemed reasonable to conclude the man would not unleash his power in a home built primarily of stone. They settled into a tense silence.
“Here we go,” Alice said as she returned to the principle entertaining and living space.
On a tray the woman carried sat three China teacups on saucers. None matched. The teapot looked as if it came from China or Japan. A small decanter of milk and sugar cubes in a bowl resided alongside the cups. Spoons sat in a small heap. Dennis did not see any lemon slices.
“Just a sec now,” the woman said as she set the tray down on the overcrowded table between the chairs.
Alice placed her hands around the teapot. Her eyes drooped as she concentrated. Dennis saw the blue glint of a clear stone in the ring on her right hand. Half a minute later steam began to issue from the stem of the teapot. The lid rattled as the water inside apparently boiled. It impressed Dennis to no end since she did not use a word or incant a spell. The nuances of Druid magic captivated him. He knew the woman to be a water Druid.
“That was some fine magic,” he said and nodded to the bubbling pot of boiling water.
“What? This? Nae, just a regular bit of whatnot. It’s me being so close to the sea giving my power something extra,” she said and plopped teabags into each of the cups. Then steaming water shot out of the spout with a small wave of her hand. The three cups filled almost to the brim. “See?”
Dennis blinked in amazement at her control.
“Ooh, di nae make too much of it… what’s yer name ‘gin?” Alice began to demure.
“Dennis. Dennis Creevey,” he said and stood a little.
“Well, pleasure is ours Dennis Creevey.”
“No, it’s mine. You’re the first Druids who would even talk to me.”
“After hearin’ what ye’d said, no wonder, is it?” Drust harrumphed.
“Keep a civil tongue, Drust!” Alice griped at the man. “You’re showing interest, so be polite.”
Drust took his tea and sat back. He grumbled to himself. It reminded Dennis of his grandfather on his father’s side. The man could invent a foul mood for no good reason.
“Now, Creevey? Scottish? Any relation to Griogarach or Mac a' Chriathrair? Hmm?” The woman inquired.
“I honestly don’t know. Fairly certain we’re Scottish somewhere along the line. I do know the family had a sheep farm at one time three or four hundred years ago, but it went bad for some reason. My ancestors traveled south into England. There’s no record of why, ‘cept we landed north of London and stayed put. St. Albans is a pretty… I guess you could say stoic place,” he told her what little he knew himself.
Dennis understood sharing his family history, no matter how scant, would build a sense of trust between him and Kerrs. The Scots placed a lot of faith in clan and family ties. That he could claim some Scottish ancestry would also put him in a better stead. Unfortunately, Alice Kerr remained the only person who ever asked about his lineage. All others simply said they did not know any Druids and promptly ignored him. Dennis looked at the water in his cup while it turned brown.
“So, what it is ye do, Dennis?” She asked when the topic of family appeared exhausted.
“Rubbish hauler. Magic rubbish, that is,” Dennis replied.
“No, lad, yer magic.”
“Oh!” He said and felt his cheeks turn red. “Um… mostly charms. I like to make useful magic. Working in the rubbish business lets me get in all sorts of practice… and try new stuff. But… well, I also help the ghosts and portraits at Hogwarts quite a bit. Like I said, it’s how I ended up with the Heptagon.”
Dennis took note when both Alice and Drust flinched a small amount. It seemed a good bet he found two people who knew exactly what landed in his vault when he inherited from Lord North. Even though Thomas eventually came clean and told him what he knew of the Heptagon, Dennis sensed more lay behind the story. It served as part of the reason he went in search of Druids.
“And what is it ye ‘xactly do fer ‘em?” Drust muttered while blowing on his cup.
“Locate oddments they lost here or that before they died. Find out ‘bout family or loved ones. Basically helping put their minds at ease. Some ghost vanish after I help them,” he explained and watched their reaction. “You’ve heard about the whole unfinished business situation with them? Well, let me be the first to say it’s absolutely true. Kind of amazing what the feeling of incompleteness can do to a person.”
Alice’s face brightened a little and she said: “Sounds lovely, Dennis, what yer doing for them who are stuck.”
“That’s what my mom says. My dad… thinks I’m wasting my time and getting into too much trouble over it. I think the Ministry wants me to stop. The whole… to-do with Lord North put a doxie in their cap.”
“If ye don’t mind the askin’, how do ghosts and them sort pay ye for yer services?” Drust asked with a bit more animation.
“They already paid me when I was in school. They were some of the best friends to me when things got rough.” Dennis responded as his eyebrows drew together. He took a sip of the scalding hot tea without removing the teabag. His association with Gam Mergin gave him a taste for strong tea. “But I’ve earned more than enough galleons through them ‘cause of things they want me to have for helping or from stashes of money they hid from others. Sometimes it’s the families of the ghosts who give me a little something for clearing up old family mysteries. But I don’t do it for the money. My rubbish job pays me more than enough.”
“Least ye’re getting something for yer troubles,” the older man said.
“Are ye nae listening to the boy?” Alice rounded on her husband.
“To what?” Drust barked at her.
“He already said he was giving back to ‘em for their kindness to him.”
The older couple proceeded to glare at one another, but it felt very familiar to Dennis. He could see his parents acting in the same manner in another twenty years when they knew each other so well it became habit to chase the same arguments over and over. Dennis believed he only provided a convenient excuse to rehash some point from the past.
“And what kindness was it that old earl showed him in passing off that thing to him? Hmm? Cursed him is what happened,” the rock Druid made his pronouncement on the matter.
“You’re not right about that, but you’re not entirely wrong, either,” Dennis jumped into the developing verbal fray. “True, Thomas didn’t tell me right away what it was he wanted me to keep safe in my vault, but he also told me I could never sell it and needed to keep it a secret from everyone. Wasn’t ‘til someone tried to kill me over it, and all that shit with Ministry, that he told me what it is and what it can do. Truth is, I don’t think he fully understands it. I can’t find any decent records on it.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Alice quietly said.
Drust nodded his head before he said: “I know it combines spells without reducing what any of them can do, but they sort of become… hinky. I can deconstruct charms, augment parts, and make ‘em work better, but there’s always a trade off somewhere along the line. Either the range is affected, maybe the duration, or the effectiveness isn’t quite what it was. But Thomas told me FiendFyre came out of the Heptagon, so I know it can create horrible spells. Anyone who has half a brain… quarter of a brain knows not to play with that one.”
“Well, least ways he’d didn’t leave ye in the total dark,” Drust quipped. “This isn’t a toy for child, lad.”
“I know that. I know it can create… evil spells that shouldn’t even exist.”
“What would ye know ‘bout evil.”
“I survived at Hogwarts when Voldemort’s people controlled it,” Dennis said with out any inflection. “I don’t want to bring this up, but my brother got killed in The Battle of Hogwarts. He was just sixteen. Who the hell kills a bunch of kids ‘cause he wants to live forever?”
Not only did the Kerrs wince when the heard Voldemort’s name, but they looked horrified at the report of his brother’s demise. Even after five years it still hurt Dennis to think about Colin’s death. What the Ministry did to Cameron Vall reignited his father’s dislike of magic and reminded all of his family magic could take just as easily as it gave. The thoughts forced the next words out of his mouth.
“But I know it’s not the fault of magic: it’s the fault of the person who wields it. The Heptagon isn’t good or bad on it’s own. It just comes down to who’s using it. Maybe the people who thought up the idea were bad or evil, and they were wrong in forcing the Druids to make the devices. It’s always the people who make something good or evil,” he concluded so he could hear himself say it once more.
“So, ye do know, but what ye don’t know is the Heptagons can’t be destroyed,” Alice stated.
“Thomas said they could. Said his family knew about it for a couple of centuries. I think he was working on a way to get rid of the one his family got… and maybe that’s why he got killed. Someone wanted it for themselves, so they got him out of the way. Except they didn’t know he hid it so well.”
“Lad, listen,” Drust said and slid to the end of the cushion on his chair. He leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees. His brights eyes fixed on the young wizard. “What we do ken is it took some of the most powerful Druids of the time to make those… things. Took their combined powers and what they know of stone, earth, fire, air, and water. It’ll take just as many to undo them.”
“Ever read the Lord of the Rings?” Dennis inquired.
“Silly piffle,” Alice said through a smirk. “One ring to bind them. Pah!”
The younger man tilted his head backward while he thought and spoke: “Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky. Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone. Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die. One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne."
“Tolkien wasn’t magic, but he knew some,” Drust admitted.
“But why seven for the dwarf lords… in their halls of stone?”
Alice and Drust eyed him.
“Don’t Druids claim to the be ancestors of the ancient dwarfs?” He add another connecting question.
“Son, ye can’t go readin’ too much in them books…” Alice began to say.
“’Cept he has the right of it, Love,” Drust mumbled. “None ever said Tolkien wrote hisself a real or true history, but he borrowed more ‘an enough to make some nervous. Mony a mickle maks a muckle and all that.”
“And what about Mount Doom being able to destroy the ring?” Dennis pressed his line of thinking.
“This here is where the airy tales go amiss, Dennis,” Alice said. “What is Druid made needs Druids to undo it. Just tossing it into a fire, no matter how hot ‘les the sun is comin’ undone, is powerful ‘nough to unmake one. Ye’d still need Druids to pull the powers back from it. It’s the way of the strongest of our magics. Ye ken?”
A new and unsettled quiet took hold in the sitting room. The elderly couple stared at the young man. He stared off into the recesses of space. A year of searching for one person who could help simply placed Dennis back at square one. He shook his head.
“It doesn’t make sense. If something can be made, it can be broken,” Dennis muttered to no one in particular.
“Oy, true enough on that score,” Drust agreed.
“But what it might take to do it might be too much to do it right. Ye ever try to unmake a thing?” Alice stated and asked.
“No. Well, maybe indirectly when we get a knotty mess made by some witch or wizard. Had to kill a bird once after village tried to turn it into a phoenix. Just took finding the weak spot. Turned out to be depriving it of oxygen was the key. I had to pull apart a bubble spell and remake it to do the trick, and it did end that poor bird’s life.”
“What sort of facking horror show ye got goin’ on in the south isle?” Drust quailed. Then he sat up. “What ye need is some learnin’, lad. Maybe there is a way to end the boxes, but none I ken. Not sure where’d ye begin, but….”
The man stopped talking. Dennis glanced at Alice, and she simply shrugged her shoulders. They both looked to Drust.
“Them lords and kings of England stole more than just land and lives from the Scots and Irish,” Drust continued when they stared at him long enough. “Might be somewhere a book is hid what can tell you, but my eyes ne’er once saw the like. And if I ain’t never seen one, will bet my staff Alice hasn’t either.”
“I’ve spied a few of the old water books in my days, but don’t recall readin’ ‘bout them things. Not common knowledge, see? The magic what got used to make ‘em is old, Dennis. Very old.”
“Old!” Dennis half-shouted the word and almost upset the tea service. He offered an apologetic expression to the startled couple. “I know an old Druid… of sorts. He might… but he would’ve teased me about it by now.”
“Listen, boy, we’re sayin’ old beyond any of our reckoning,” the old man stated.
“What if this Druid is a thousand years old?”
“Oh, well, if ye be knowing where one is, then maybe that’s yer start,” Drust said in a completely sarcastic manner.
Dennis grinned at the man, and Alice appeared worried. She set down her tea cup. The woman gave him an appraising look.
“Just so happens I’m on good terms with someone who helped build a castle… and he was a rock Druid… ah!”
The Unbreakable Vow squeezed his brain and what felt like his entire head. Dennis winced. While it did not proceed to make him begin hiccuping, the spell let him know he cut the edge of what would be considered acceptable in regard to the knowledge he possessed about Peeves. He rubbed his temples to ease the sudden, sharp, stabbing pain.
“Ye okay, Dennis? Ye’ve gone paler more ‘an what ye already are,” Alice asked in a concerned tone.
“Long story, but I came close to breaking a promise. I just got a reminder,” he informed her.
“Hate to know what kind of reminder that was!” Drust exclaimed.
“A magical one. Like I said, it’s a long story, but you did give me a place to start. I’m sort of kicking myself for not thinking about it ages ago.”
“Sounds like something is doin’ the kickin for ye, and right in the noggin.”
“Drust, lay off the boy. There’s somethin’ more at work here. The water is sloshin’ in a funny way,” the man’s wife rounded on him and pointed to her cup.
Dennis got reminded of a famous dinosaur movie he saw wherein the tremors caused by the heavy footfalls of tyrannosaurus rex caused ripples in a puddle. The tea in Alice Kerr’s cup moved back and forth, and it looked like waves on the ocean seen from high above.
“Wait sec!” Dennis burbled. “Did you use a truth spell on me?”
Drust frowned, but Alice winced a little while she said: “Not on ye direct like, but more like around ye. And it’s not listening for just the truth. It can sense if ye’d be pulling us along wisp’s trail.”
Dennis felt somewhat abused on an intellectual level. While the Unbreakable Vow stopped him from saying anything about Peeves, at least in a meaningful manner, he did not approach the Kerrs with any intention to deceive. He needed answers, and lying only meant he got lies in return as his parent often warned him.
“So, what’d those ripples mean?” He grumbled his question.
“Hard to say, but… see, the way it’s all rumpled? Not by ye, see, but by this whole talk. Tells me ye’re into something deep, lad, and maybe too deep for one person.”
“Deeper the hole, the greater the rock fall,” Drust mumbled, and Alice nodded her head.
A palpable sense of worry filled the air. Dennis did not detect a malicious intent in their actions. He knew Drust Kerr raised the ire of many in the Druid community because he refused to let matters lie. In that regard, the wizard and the Druids in the house shared a similar quality. He sat back and stared at them with questions in his eyes he hesitated to say aloud.
“Dennis, ye’ve seen a fair bit at a tender age, and I can tell ye’ve likely seen more than ye wanted, but I can’t sort out why ye’d go chasing after something so dangerous. It’s bad ‘nough ye got one of them boxes to hide, but what ye’re seekin’ to do’ll upset many a-folk ye’d rather have on yer side,” Alice advised him.
“And when I die? What then?” He countered. “Who knows who’ll end up with it. I’d need to leave it with someone without much explanation, and how much danger would they be in? Hmm? From what I’ve gathered, these things should’ve never been created. The Druids got forced to make them. Wouldn’t it be better if one got taken out of the picture?”
The Kerrs eyed another after he spoke. Dennis witnessed the internal conflict in each. He saw he asked much of them even in sharing simple knowledge. They feared the Heptagons, as any right-thinking magic user should, but the fear encapsulated more than he understood at the moment. Dennis asked them to work against Druid magic by helping him find a way to destroy the box. After a minute of almost oppressive silence, they glanced back at him.
“Sort of an academical thing, isn’t it?” Drust rhetorically asked while frowned. “We’ve no record on how them things got made, so we can’t go and say what it’d take to… unmake them as ye said. Even ye’re old Druid friend mightn’t know what to do. There’s nothin’ else we can tell ye.”
The old man spoke the truth, as the tea remaining in his cup seemed to support what he said. Dennis bobbed his head a few times. On the surface it felt as though he gained nothing from the visit, but his gut told him he learned quite a bit. The elderly couple gave him clues and hints, albeit nothing exactly substantive, he could investigate. He picked up the tea cup and drank down the last of the cold liquid.
“But maybe you told me enough,” he spoke his thinking out loud. “Not sure what it all means or where to begin, but I’ve got some ideas.”
“Go cautious, lad,” Drust warned him again.
Dennis stood and said: “You’re right, and I’m listening. Thank you for even opening the door let alone talking to me for so long.”
“Dennis, ye do know you’ve seen something we never have? Ye’ve touched what we only say is legend. If the water didn’t tell me ye’re honest and true in what ye’ve said, I’d got to bed quaking in fear of what ye’d do,” the elderly woman intoned.
“If I thought ye meant to use it, I’d kill ye were ye stood and give yer body to the waves,” Drust flatly told him.
“Can’t say as I’d blame you,” Dennis rejoined and managed to disguise the actual fear he felt since he knew of no way to defend against Druid magic. “Thank you, honestly, for your hospitality after I… didn’t present myself very well.”
“In all my years I’ve only talked about theses boxes four times, and never with someone who wasn’t a Druid. And none of those I talked with ever saw or even knew if these damnable things really existed,” Drust continued as he rose to his feet.
Alice stood as well. They seemed to sense the conversation came to an end. Dennis instinctively understood he would get nothing further except annoyance and frustration, perhaps even hostility, from the couple if he tried to mine for more information. He held out his hand. Drust accepted it. The man nearly crushed his hand. Dennis compared the grip to that of Mariusz Odpadki, and he winced. Drust eased on the amount of strength he applied after two seconds. Then, the released the shake. He extended his throbbing hand to Alice.
“I don’t sense anythin’ ill in ye, Dennis,” she said while taking his hand, and also exerting tremendous strength on her grip. “But I do worry ye may be headin’ into serious trouble. Give a care where ye set yer feet. Make sure the path is true.”
“I will,” Dennis agreed and wondered if all Druid women could beat the living daylights out of him. He felt his male ego whimper at the thought. “But… I can’t not follow this through. Everything in me says the Heptagon in my vault needs to be destroyed or take out of commission.
“Best of luck with that, lad,” Drust said in a less than confident manner while his wife released the wizard’s now seriously sore hand. “Iarr fàbhar… got a favor to ask ye, if ye don’t mind.”
“You already did one… maybe a couple for me, so ask away,” the wizard granted.
“If ye do find a way to do this, let us know. We Druids lost so much, and we need some of it back.”
“You have my word, Mister Kerr. This is one of those… pieces of information I don’t want staying in my head alone. Got too much of that going on already,” Dennis promised.
Alice raised an eyebrow in question, but Dennis did not respond. The name of the spell used to end Lord North’s life continued to plague his memory. He hated even just knowing the name of something so evil and vile. Despite his pleas to get Professor Flitwick to remove it from his memories, his friend and mentor refused since they as yet needed to find a way to isolate the name from all the other memories whereby he learned it.
“I, um, have one last favor to ask either of you,” the wizard haltingly inquired. He got uplifted chins as a sign of approval. “Can you tell me the shortest, easiest way to get to an inn or someplace I can find a room for the night? I’m tired of almost drowning in bog water pots.”
Alice and Drust Kerr snickered at the request. As they led him to the door through which he entered the house, they explained the best and least wet path to find the closest main road. They also made suggestions of where he could lay his head for the night and also places to find a decent meal.