Barters and Baskets
One might think that one Harry Potter would have either been located, due to his lack of attendance at the local primary school, or that he might have passed away, be it from exposure or the like. Both of these suppositions would have, in fact, been false. The first might have been true if the authorities had found Harry in the forest where the Dursleys had gone camping, however, Harry had long departed from that particular woodland. The second would be false due to the simple fact that he had great ease singing a fire into being when needed, so simple a tune it possessed.
Now, he might have passed on rather soon after his departure from the Dursleys if he had run out of food, as the supply in his ill-gotten satchel was rather limited. However, such would not be the case, for there existed a Treasure.
As he was wandering a forest that was rather more expansive than he had thought, he stumbled upon a hill. Deciding to do as he now pleased, he climbed the mound, reaching its crest with ease. Looking across, he noticed a small, abandoned-looking cottage settled in the center of a small valley behind the hill. Descending down the mound, into the valley under the hill, he approached the stone building, shivering as he stepped into the valley proper, feeling as though he had walked through a spiderweb.
Wandering through the valley at a leisurely pace, Harry listened to the rhythms and songs surrounding him, noticing a difference. Trees, you see, held the wind chimes of all plant matter, but they most notably held a steady, slow-moving tune, its beats sounding reminiscent of a pulse. These trees, however, had a faster tempo, in addition to a humming, one that Harry could just barely hear, one that sounded familiar, as though it were a song he had heard and forgotten.
Similarly, the stones of the cottage sounded… different. It had the unlayered drumbeats of granite, but there was a barely audible chiming, much like the sharp metallic ringing of a triangle. Knocking on the cottage door just in case someone was still living in the cottage, Harry waited. Receiving no response, he entered the building and was confronted with three things.
The woven basket that seemed rather purposefully placed, the journal in front of the basket, and the humming noise that seemed to be overpowering the tunes of everything else. Oddly, the humming seemed to be coming from the basket. Stepping forward, Harry picked up the journal.
Dearest Confidante,
I have found it! One of the Treasures of Britain is in mine hands! ‘Tis the Hamper of Gwyddno Garanhir that I have discovered. I chanced upon it as I journeyed through the crumbling remains of a forgotten hillfort, the location being recorded in a scroll I discovered when pursuing a whispering heard within a fellow scholar’s library…
…
Dearest Confidante,
The legends speak true! A simple test, in truth. I merely placed an apple within, closing the hamper’s top, and reopening it a second later. Oh, how I wish to have seen my face upon seeing the hundredfold increase! Most astonishingly, the enchantments woven into the hamper seem to care not for the magical laws discovered by Amadeus, in maintaining the substance! I must test further…
…
Dearest Confidante,
I bring most regrettable news. The latest of my tests has shown that there is but a single enchantment that can be replicated if placed upon the food. However, it is a most fortuitous enchantment. Eleanora’s Everlasting Aura. A devilishly simple, but long-lasting stasis charm, allowing the food to last much longer than natural (see the following pages for spell instructions)…
Looking back up at the basket, the Hamper, Harry corrected himself, Harry looked at it in a new light. Pulling a loaf of bread from his satchel, Harry placed it into the open Hamper, closing the open cover, and opening the closed one, looking on in amazement when he saw the amount of food in it. Sitting down and chewing on one of the loaves, he thought about another portion of the journal.
The fact that it seemed to be written by another magician and, if it was to be believed, there were other magicians who were colleagues with whoever had written the journal. Though, he thought morosely, they were probably dead, if the state of the cottage was any indication. Swallowing the last of the loaf he had been eating, Harry put the journal in his satchel and dug out the second belt he had remade when at the Dursleys, using it to tie the Hamper to his satchel.
Walking back over the hill, he was glad food wouldn’t be a problem he’d have to deal with.
-{╣ ҉ ╠}-
Not long after he had acquired the Hamper, a thought struck Harry. More specifically, a thought regarding music. He knew that he was rather limited by using humming, whistling, and his singing. So naturally, he decided he wanted to get an instrument. A string instrument, more specifically. He had always preferred them when he was taking music classes at school. Rather handily, he had stumbled across a village in his wanderings. It took a few days for him to spot an adventurous child playing near the woods he was standing in, but when one strayed his way, he began to sing a folk song he had read about, layering it into a charm.
“You sing pretty. Also, your clothes are weird.” The child said, having wandered over to find out who was singing.
“Well, how else would someone meet me if not my song?” Harry replied from the low-hanging branch he was sitting on, having decided to play the part of a fairy. “And are my clothes weird, or are they weird for a human?”
“You look like a human…” The child replied, sounding slightly unsure.
“But I’m not.” Harry stated. “I’m a fairy.”
“Really? My mum said that fairies aren’t real.”
“Perhaps this is enough proof.” Harry said whistling a jaunty-sounding tune. “Look at your hair.”
Pulling a lock of hair in front of his face, the child gasped in astonishment, seeing a lurid blue where it had been a dusty blonde.
“It’s not permanent.” Harry said, amusement leaking through his tone. “It’ll wear off in about an hour. I could offer you something more permanent though. Perhaps a trade? A charm for whatever you wish, within reason, in return for a string instrument?”
“Anything?” The boy asked, skepticism coloring his question.
“Perhaps something to make you more popular?” Harry asked.
“Well…” The boy said, clearly hesitating. “Grandpappy has a lyre? If that would be okay?”
Hopping off of the branch, Harry shook the boy’s hand and agreed to meet at the same spot the next day at the same time. As he watched the boy run back to the village Harry got to work. In truth, he hadn’t tested this beforehand but had been meaning to. Finding a piece of rock that held traces of the rhythms of quartz, Harry slowly harmonized the stone into a solid piece of quartz, reshaping it as he went, turning it into a circle. Reforming some bark into thin, strips of fabric Harry quickly braided them into an appropriate necklace.
Quickly affixing the quartz to the thread, he began slowly layering an imitation of the rhythm that popular children at his primary school had had. Throughout the entire process, he had no idea if it be successful, but as he finished the rhythm, and sat in silence, he could hear the tone embedded in the crystal.
In the end, Harry had acquired quite the handsome lyre, made of oak and birch, with vine carvings surrounding the center, and hunting motifs taking up the rest of it. As he walked away from the village, strumming an upbeat, staccato rhythm he looked around, watching as new plants sprouted around him as he went. A good trade, in his mind.