Work Text:
When Harry arrived at Bothal Manor, he found himself enchanted by the field of poppies surrounding the quaint estate. Brilliant deep red flowers on hairy green stems intently swayed, hypnotising the viewer into a sense of calm. Transfixed by the scene ahead of him, he found himself pulled into what appeared to be darker red staining the center of each petal. Out of the recesses of his mind, he flashed to a moment in time, seeing blood streaming across the lawn. Harry felt a shock, not wanting his thoughts disturbed by unhappy memories.
“Just an illusion,” he shook off the feeling of dread that was building up inside him, choosing to focus again on the scene before him. Harry had never seen so many Field Poppies together in all his existence. The delicate flowers were preening in the sunshine of the clear summer's day, seeming at ease in taking over the entirety of the estate, blending into the pasture land and small garden.
Harry continued walking on the garden path, overrun with thistles and dandelions. The property seemed to be in satisfactory condition, as magic began to hum around him. The calm crackle in the air gave the impression of a place not lived in for some time, a minute expanse of existence stuck in a moment of time. He approached the small gate, feeling the wards surrounding and accepting him.
Harry had inherited Bothal Manor from a distant relative. Believing that he had no other living family in the wizarding community, it had come as a revelation. When his solicitor, Percy Weasley, notified him of the estate inheritance, he was in shock. His hope of connecting to a new branch of relatives was quickly shattered, finding out that the relative in question had passed away some time ago and left no living descendants. Harry thought about the possibility of just selling the property, but Percy encouraged him to survey the estate first. His visit was meant only to take note of the condition of the homestead and determine for required repairs before bringing in an assessor for value.
Harry had lived an active life, recently retiring as Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons. Lately, he’d been feeling the brevity of his life and purpose was at a standstill. He was a solitary man, by choice, with little in the way of friendships. Those from his past have moved on with their own lives, starting their own families, well ahead of the game. He felt a twinge of regret, knowing that he played a large part in his own isolation.
As he continued up the path, he observed the darkening of the landscape as dense clouds moved across the azure sky. It provided a sense of light and dark, as if good and evil were fighting for the attention of the abandoned home. The flowers seemed to tilt towards him, looking sentient and sinister when surrounded by the shade, and Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shape moving. He spun around, his eyes tracking back over the field, but no one was there. He gripped his wand tight in his hand, realizing he might not be alone.
Refocusing back on his purpose, evaluating the structure before him, he found himself admiring the architecture. The documents he’d received on Bothal Manor indicated it was built during the medieval era. A pleasant pathway meandered up to the main entrance. The front door was rounded at the top, with dark wood paneling and a big copper doorknob. There were two stories with large windows, small details of intricate stonework and ivy ran all over the expansive facade. The roof had red tiles and the bare walls looked weathered but intact. Harry turned, as if sensing someone there with him, but found he was still standing alone. An uneasiness settled over him.
He approached, ready to enter the manor, confident the wards would allow him entry. He felt a connection here he had never felt anywhere else before. An embrace of who he is now and not who he has been. He originally had wanted to sell, but after feeling a sense of belonging in this place, more than anywhere he’d known before, he wasn't so sure that was the case any longer. What if he had a place to call his own? It might not be the worst way to explore the next phase of his life. Harry knew the property was lacking any modern updates and would require a bit of work. But he didn’t mind hard work, and he could make this his home.
He could feel the strength of his magic connecting to the wards, intermingling and harmonizing with each other. Crossing the threshold into the manor, he felt the wards snap into place behind him. It was like coming home, knowing generations of his ancestors had lived here before him. An inexplicable yearning to be comforted settled around him, desiring kinship.
Everything appeared to be swept and dusted, with little in the way of furnishings. The neatness only accentuated the loneliness of the rooms, emphasising the impression of a frozen moment in time. As he was walking through the rooms, he could feel abandonment emanating in the stale air. He might call it haunted, but even a ghost would find this place intolerably empty, a place not worth the energy of a haunt.
Turning around to continue his investigation of the desolate space, he wondered if it was family wards that had kept the home from deteriorating. Magic was a wonderful marvel. Even with that, he could tell there had been no activity and no living being here for some time.
As he rounded the corner to walk down a corridor, he startled. There, standing by a window, was a man with broad shoulders and dark blonde hair. The gentleman was facing away, observing the grounds. He was wearing a coat jacket the color of the earth, dark and dusty. His trousers were well worn and his boots appeared to be caked with mud, an indication that he might have just been outside.
“Oh, excuse me.” Harry exclaimed. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” Harry saw the man tense and turn around, looking at him with piercing amber eyes, a small furrow in his brow. He did not say anything, looking at Harry with a puzzled expression.
Harry felt a sudden chill creep up his spine as he continued to survey the man. His breath caught as he beheld the gentleman's pleasant face, accentuated by strong cheekbones and a well-trimmed beard. He was also quite tall. Harry realized he had allowed his mind to wander again. Trying to pull himself back to reality, Harry wondered if the man had not heard and attempted a different approach. “Who are you, sir?”
The man himself looked startled, as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. “I am Neville Longbottom. The caretaker of these grounds, sir. I did not know I would be having company at the manor today. Lord Bothal has been away for some time.”
“Ah, yes. I know that, Mr. Longbottom. I have been bequeathed the estate in his will. He was a distant relative of mine, it appears.”
Mr. Longbottom did not choose to continue the conversation, just keeping his eyes pierced into Harry’s.
“I presume that the property allowed me entrance due to my inheritance and family connection. I would have sent an owl ahead, had I known there was still staff to notify. My understanding was that there would be no one here.”
Harry paused for effect, waiting for Mr. Longbottom to respond. As the silence settled between them, he found himself wanting to fill the air, the tension palpable.
“Mr. Longbottom? Did you hear what I said?”
“Sir, yes. I was made aware that Lord Bothal was no longer with us. I assumed they would just break down the property and sell the land.”
Again, Harry found himself wanting more from the gentleman, but not getting it. Curiosity continued to build up inside of him and he didn’t know quite what to make of Mr. Longbottom. He was simultaneously intrigued and nervous.
“Yes, well… I plan to sell the land, but wanted to survey it before making a final decision. It is a beautiful location, and the building is quite spectacular. Do you think the condition is worth the effort to modernize?”
“I would not know about that, sir. I am only here to take care of the fields and make sure the manor is not in any major disrepair. Do you need me to show you the rooms?”
Harry considered the offer, but decided against it. He was a bit uneasy, both yearning for the attention of this stranger while determined to continue his observation unescorted. His mind drew all sorts of scenarios at once, not knowing if this stranger should even be here.
“No, thank you, sir. I am able to show myself around. I would not want to impede you in your work, and I am perfectly capable of touring the rest of the property on my own.”
With only a short nod, the caretaker moved away from Harry, heading down the corridor. The appearance of light from the windows and the darkness of the corridor created a strange contrast across the expanse of his person. Harry was tempted to follow, but uncertainty about the quiet man remained, warring within him. Mr. Longbottom was definitely handsome, in a gruff and rugged sort of way, but strapping good looks were not enough to convince Harry that he wanted to stay in the man’s company any longer. A sense of familiarity tugged at recesses of his mind, but he couldn’t fathom why. Had he met the gentleman before?
Abandoning his plans to find the kitchen, Harry moved back to the front parlor and pulled out his wand. With a flick, he opened the windows, allowing the summer air to help alleviate the oppressive fixations thrumming inside him. He immediately felt a cool breeze pull at his messy hair, causing his fringe to cover his eyes. As he swept his hair back into place, a small dizziness crept up on him, and a faint acrid smell hit his nostrils. It passed quickly. Shaking it off, Harry decided to pay it no further attention, assuming it was the result of the excitement of the day.
He strolled through all the remaining rooms of the ground floor, continuing to open up windows in an attempt to bring life back in. He made note of the fact that there were no rats, spider webs or even decay, impressed at the way the home had kept itself in flawless condition all these years.
He had a moment of delight as he entered the study room, taking in a chair covered in canvas to protect it and a glass-fronted case with leather-backed books inside. He might not be as studious as some of his childhood friends, but he did enjoy a quiet moment reading every once in a while. Harry’s fondness grew, imagining a life he could live on the meager estate– sitting in a comfortable leather chair by the fireplace, feet up, with a good whisky in hand. A flash of companionship, a hand on his shoulders. He might find the peace here he so desperately desired.
The top floor came next, where Harry found himself in a long gallery with windows all down the one side. Deep box seats of dark wood accompanied each window, which were not shuttered, streaming bright, honey colored light into the room. He could be caught up in that sight for hours. Turning around, he was greeted by another marvel; an expansive, faded mural. The scene depicted a Chimera and another beast in the midst of a battle, with trees, lakes, and other magical creatures represented. A piano sat in a corner, reminding Harry of another forgotten part of his life. He had a flash of dark blond hair, strong hands moving across black and white keys, delving deeper into his personal misery.
Not fully aware of how he got there, Harry found himself in the back of the house, which was divided into two oversized bedrooms. Each room was occupied by a large canopy bed with sparse bedding. Curtains of thick wool hung from the paned windows, adding a slight warmth to the otherwise cold spaces. Harry selected one of the rooms at random for the evening, moving his luggage from his front pocket and enlarging them. He set them aside to wait for his attention when he had concluded his inspection.
He opened a window and peered down across the back lawn, seeing a combination of topiaries, wild flowers, and poppies, connected to an expanse of what he assumed was meant to be a lawn, but currently overrun with tall green and brown grasses. It appeared to have been neglected for some time. He assumed Mr. Longbottom focused on areas that required immediate attention, rather than cutting grasses for an unoccupied home.
Basking in the sunlight, a feeling of familiarity settled on him, as the outside air spilled into what had been once long forgotten. Harry thought he could detect a scent in the air, smelling slightly of decayed forest and something… known. Inhaling deeper, he couldn’t place where the aroma was coming from, since the room had been left closed for some time. Most likely it was something outside, the smell carried in on the light summer breeze.
Coming back to the present, he spoke out loud to the empty room. “Why should I not stay here for a while? I have no other responsibilities and no one waiting for me to return.” As he closed his eyes, a calm settled, and it felt as if someone exhaled over his shoulder. He was convinced he heard, “no one” floating on the end of the breath. He spun around to find himself alone, as expected. Goosebumps littered the flesh of his arms, and he shivered, sensing a warm body standing next to him where there wasn’t.
Harry glanced around the room again, just to be sure, confirming he was without company. A moment of melancholy overcame him, a memory of a volatile childhood and a yearning for something beyond this life. He was a lonely boy and now has found himself a lonely man. He wondered if he had remembered to pack some of his dreamless sleep potions, knowing he would not be able to rest without one.
“Why not stay?” he said out loud again, wanting the presence he felt to hear his inner thoughts. Busying himself with unpacking a few meager possessions, he decided a short nap to clear his mind was in order. As he laid down to rest, he could see a figure just out of the corner of his eyes. Observant and still.
☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙
Unidentifiable whispers floated on the cool evening air, a gust of wind billowing the heavy drapes.
Harry woke with a start, momentarily confused, as he surveyed the room he was in. He could have sworn he felt a warm hand touch his arm just a moment ago, but emptiness and shadows were his only companion. As his heart rate slowed to a steady pace, he heard a sound coming from outside.
Swish, swish, pause.
Curious, he got up from what was meant to be a short afternoon nap, to notice the setting sun over the expanse of trees at the edge of the property. Warm orange and blushing pink light splattered across the horizon.
The sound continued as his eyes tracked back to the lawn. A lonely shadow hunched over as he moved a scythe to cut down the long grass. Harry was enthralled by the motion, watching as the quick work was performed with seamless progression. Mr. Longbottom had on a button up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms. Laboring hard, he was not aware his new landlord was observing from above. He could still make out faint traces of an acrid, sharp smell emanating across the space he occupied. He still couldn’t quite make out the location of the source. His mind wandered to thoughts of a graveyard, misty and full of drooping flowers.
As if to deliver Harry from his trance, a movement caught his attention, pulling him back to observe his surroundings. The hair on the back of his neck raised painfully, as he continued to feel a phantom presence around him. “Losing my mind,” he muttered, reaching for his wand. He cast lumos, basking the room in light once more. Shadows receded to reveal unoccupied corners.
It took only moments for Harry to decide that it was time to go see the back of the property, before the light was completely diminished. It would be another opportunity to speak with the caretaker, who admittedly had caught his attention. He was still baffled by the fact that the property documents hadn’t included information on employed staff, no indication that the vault connected to the estate was paying any wages. He was intrigued to find out more about this mysterious man, drawn into figuring out this riddle.
His attention was so wrapped up, it took him a moment to realize Mr. Longbottom had stopped his work. Harry could still see him clearly through the window, the outline of his body shadowed, his back straight and his head tilted back. Harry instinctively shifted into the shadows when he noticed the man turned his head towards the building. His movement pushed Harry to complete his objective; getting outside and to engage this intriguing gentleman in another conversation.
As he opened the French doors that led to the back garden, he was determined to solve this small quandary. Harry strode to the edge of the garden, where the grass connected, but could find no trace of where Mr. Longbottom had gone. When Harry had observed him moments ago, his weary stance indicated he was done with his chores for the evening. It had been mere minutes, so the striking man could not have gone far. Harry found himself wandering the length of the property, trying to see if he could find a cottage or lodge that would house a groundskeeper. He moved with purpose, yet completely at a loss to where he was going as daylight faded quickly, even for a warm summer night.
Through his exploration, Harry discovered a small path moving towards the forest. Although he was apprehensive about wandering alone beyond the tree line, he was compelled to keep looking. He cast a lumos again as he followed the path through the thick forest, checking every few steps to make sure no creatures were closing in.
His heart was racing, worried that he could be putting himself in quite a dangerous spot, venturing out while not knowing the lay of the land. “I should turn back and return tomorrow. There is no good reason to be walking alone in the dark,” he muttered out loud. He knew he was trying to convince himself. Even though his curiosity would not settle, he decided to return to the manor. As he was turning to go, he noticed a break in the trees. A small building sat atop a sloping hill. He sprinted forward, feeling a sweet release from the tension that had built up inside him. Breathing deeply in relief, he began rubbing his chest, delivering a calming pressure he so desperately needed.
The path diverted in a few different directions, with the wider one moving through a small creek up the hill to what appeared to be an old church. Harry had not seen one in ages. They were scarce within the wizarding communities. As he crested the hilltop, a bit out of breath, he was surrounded by a small graveyard. Stones littered across the uneven ground, which was overrun with grass and weeds. Moss and dirt covered most of the gravestones, making it difficult to decipher the words. He moved towards a larger stone, compelled to sweep across the facade, as he tried to make out a name or date.
“Ah, I see you have found our humble churchyard.”
“Merlin’s beard,” Harry explained, beyond startled by the clear voice. Moving his hand to clutch at his chest, his heart racing again, he whipped around. An older man stood there, a book in his hand, head slightly tilted as he studied Harry’s face. Familiarity again found purchase in his mind, trying to place where he had seen this gentleman before. “You must be Mr. Potter. I heard you would be coming to Bothal Manor. How do you find the property, sir?”
Harry was still reeling from the way the man appeared to have come from nowhere. He had the distinct feeling that everyone in this area had some sort of vanishing magic that he was not aware of. His own invisibility cloak was at his London flat, collecting dust.
“I am.” Forgetting to answer the rest of the older gentleman’s question.
The man wore a black wizard cloak, reminding him of his Potions Professor. The face peering from behind small square glasses didn’t match the memory he had conjured. Rather, it made him think of a slightly younger version of his old headmaster.
“It is a late hour to be wandering beyond your wards, Mr. Potter. What draws you here?”
“I was looking for the caretaker lodge and happened upon a path that led me this way, Mr…” Since the man had not provided an introduction, he made it clear he was waiting for one.
“Pardon, sir. I must have left my manners at home. I am Mr. Blackthorne. As for your question about a caretaker lodge, there is one attached to the greenhouse on your property. Why do you ask, Mr. Potter?”
“I was looking to speak with Mr. Longbottom. I must have wandered in the wrong direction… greenhouse, you say?” Harry mused, trying to remember if he noticed a greenhouse while walking, when his thoughts were interrupted again.
“I wonder, sir. I am not one to pry in other’s business, but I had an understanding that no one was currently occupying the property, not even a… Mr. Longbottom, I believe you said. Are you sure that is who you are looking for?”
“Yes, yes. I met him this morning,” finding himself annoyed at the indication that he would be unsure of his own encounter. “I had just arrived and frankly he wasn’t much for conversation. Now that I have had some time to rest and reflect, I wanted to understand what went into the upkeep of the property. I won’t bore you further on what my intentions are, sir. You must be a busy man and it is late.”
As Harry looked back to find his return path, his eyes were drawn to a large oak tree, solitary, barren, dead. A strange site this time of year. He found curiosity nagging again.
“Why would that tree still be standing, if it is no longer living?” He turned back to Mr. Blackthorne, who stood contemplatively looking over Harry’s shoulder at the tree.
“Well, sir. It is a story from a long time ago, but one I am happy to share if you would like to know.” Mr. Blackthorne moved towards the forest, gesturing for Harry to follow. The path was obscured with roots and large rocks, making it difficult to approach the large decaying tree without a bit of fuss. Harry wanted to light his way, but noticed that the old man was having no issues moving across the path. The full moon provided some reprieve, its glow peaking through the layers of tree branches.
Feeling a heaviness settle in his gut, Harry’s mind wandered back to his childhood, remembering a time of immeasurable pain. A strange thought to have at the moment, while he was also surrounded by death’s comforting silence. The church, tombstones, stone walls and oak tree felt like a conjuring from his own mind. A vague sense of his soul lifting out of his body, as his darkest memories pushed through to be released, or even revealed.
He arrived to stand next to Mr. Blackthorne and noticed a solitary stone slab in the ground, almost covered completely by moss and grime. There was no name listed that he could make out.
“Why is this grave separated from the rest, Mr. Blackthorne?” Harry squatted down to take a closer look, placing a hand on the stone, as if giving comfort to what was once alive. A series of faded runes ran around the edges, not a subject Harry was personally familiar with enough to decipher.
“There lies one of your own ancestors, Mr. Potter. One, James Matthew Bothal. He was an inquisitive man, from the tales I have heard. This grave is here for reasons that are mostly rumors and such, usually not for discussions in polite society.”
Harry scoffed and peered up, attempting to tamp down the heat that was rising throughout his body. His blood boiled to think his family had a secret that someone would want to hide. “Speak plainly, sir. You do not need to hide family affairs from me. I hardly knew I had any relatives.” Harry looked back at the stone slab and felt a sense of dread as exhaustion thrummed through his veins.
Mr. Blackthorne hummed in agreement. “I know little and assume plenty, as simple country men do. From what I understand, he lived here about a hundred years ago, with interest in the occult and supernatural.”
A sudden jolt of pain struck Harry deep in his chest, reminding him of a time past that was best left unremembered. He stood up quickly, feeling dizzy and swinging his arms to prevent himself from falling. He felt a hand reach towards him, and he braced himself against it.
“Oh, here. Let me help you. Steady there.” Mr. Blackthorne kept an eye on him, not letting go until he was certain that Harry was able to stand without issue. “I apologize if I said something to upset you.”
Harry shook him off gently, moving his head from side to side and clearing his throat. “You did not upset me, I didn’t even know the man. Can you tell me anything more? An interest in the occult makes sense from the runes I see across his grave.”
“Pity the grave is so deteriorated. I heard of one other being buried there, but they have been lost to history. It is said she was a great beauty of her time, a mistress Lord Bothal kept for when he entertained the local gentleman who shared similar interests. The rumors were he found her dead one morning in his bedroom. Some believed he might have taken a night of revelry too far, but he was obsessed with finding a way to bring her back to life.” Mr. Blackthorne paused, a look of unease settling on his features. “I heard he attempted to raise her from the dead, a failed ritual by all accounts.”
Harry balked at the insinuation of another attempted rebirth. Flashes of memory pulled him into a time of immeasurable anguish, witnessing the resurrection of another. “I would assume so. Raising the dead is not common practice and no common spell work I am aware of would accomplish it.”
“I don’t know, sir. I do assume by taking these actions, he purposefully invited Death to his door, to share his home. Not long after, he was found dead himself. Reasons unknown.” Pausing for effect, the old man brushed his hands across his chin. “The lore is that he was murdered by his scorned lover after he brought her back, with no way to return to her own grave for the rest she so desperately desired.”
“Bollocks.” Harry had enough and felt the fatigue creeping into his bones. “So death is what awaits me in my new home. How garish. I feel as if you meant to frighten me away with a simple ghost story. It is late and I have heard enough, Mr. Blackthorne. I find myself needing rest. This tale exhausts me.”
“You are welcome to believe it or not. It is up to your own discretion how you handle your own family affairs. Good evening then, Mr. Potter. Please watch your path home. The forest is kind to its neighbors, but you never know what lurks about.”
“Goodnight,” Harry said curtly, without trying to be polite. He didn’t know any of these people. He was getting more confused about his mental state based on the abnormal experiences he’s had in less than twenty four hours.
Moving towards the pathway, he felt weariness all the way from the tips of his toes to the sparks of magic emanating from his fingers. As he moved across the path, he uncovered another stone carved in a similar fashion, bearing his own name– Harry James Potter. What a dreadful image, uncertainty pulling at his core. He must be hallucinating from lack of proper sleep. He wanted to ask his new acquaintance if the stone was real, but found the churchyard empty once more.
Harry felt like he might have dreamed this entire encounter. Fog pulled at his mind, driving him to consider his experiences and wanting to place them into tangible reality. Was he actually here, or still asleep in his new home? He looked again at the church, finding it to be insignificant and vague. He clearly remembered arriving at the manor, meeting Mr. Longbottom, taking a tour of the property, and then… He must have taken that dreamless sleep he was thinking about. If that is the case, this cannot be a dream.
Was he going mad?
☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙ ☙☙☙
Drifting back towards the manor, he could not shake an uneasy feeling that everything has not been what it seems. Something wanted to be revealed, but what that was– Harry was not sure.
Silver light accentuated the fields, delivering direction. Memories fading in and out, a figure smiling down at him, love and adoration just out of grasp. Summer evenings pulling in autumn leaves. Winter snowdrifts, driven out by spring rain. Time had meaning here. Life was slipping away, leaning into tales of a lover lost and a secret kept.
Harry passed the poppy field. The lawns were still overrun with tall grass, no signs of any work being done to manage the growth. Entering back into the cool embrace of a home forgotten, he cast light to guide his way. As he reached his room, the air of expectancy had disappeared, as if his arrival was all it was waiting for. His senses were overrun with the sounds and scents of the day, finding a stronger presence of earthly decay permeating the space. It had become comforting, familiar, natural.
As he settled on the bed, he saw a shadowy figure in the corner, assessing him with curiosity. Dirt streaks marked the lovely man’s sun kissed face, tears drifting down the slope of his cheeks. Ethereal. Dark blond curls flopped over a forehead, resting above soft, amber eyes, and a natural blush accentuated heart shaped lips. The call of the darkness, pulling Harry to rest his weary soul and meet his heart's desire.
Harry cast a wandless nox, laying down on his warm bed, and the arms of eternal rest found him at last.