Soul Beneficiary

Harry is hailing a cab the following day.

Not your brightest idea, he reminds himself as the cab pulls up and rolls down its window. The driver is a friendly seeming older man with greying hair, wrinkles around his eyes, and something of a villainous-looking moustache. 

He leans over and throws an arm around the head of the passenger seat as he gives Harry a small smile and asks, "Where're you headed?"

Harry's nervous because he knows it's a long way and a tough ask. "Little Hangleton," he says and tacks on an extra, "If possible, please."

"Hangleton?" And if the man's tone alone isn't a bad enough sign, he rubs his chin apprehensive, "I can get you to Great Hangleton. It's about six miles from that little village, but you'd need to do the rest on a horse."

Harry's brows furrow. "That's alright, I guess." Very unusual. He's only got a vague sense of the area in question, but he can't imagine 6 more miles will be any more trouble than the considerable distance he's already taking to get there. "Can I ask why?"

The driver looks troubled before he nods and unlocks the door with a reach of his arm. "You may, lad. Get on in, and I'll explain it on our way over." 

The drive is long, but the company is surprisingly pleasant. The trek to Great Hangleton doesn't involve any big cities or motorways, instead consisting of sprawling long back roads with plenty of vast fields and dense woods. Their little cab travels alongside very few other vehicles and eventually none at all. Great Hangleton must not be a popular destination. 

They've been chanting for a while, but Harry is still wondering about the last leg of his trip. He asks again after a break in their last topic, something about football, "So why do I need to do the last six miles on a horse?"

Mr Dennis, Harry came to learn, frowns. He can just catch the pull of his mouth in the rearview mirror. "Little Hangleton doesn't like visitors. They're more known for their unwelcoming and cold moods towards newcomers. A couple of my mates, all great cabbies like myself, have had terrible things happen to their cabs when they've tried to bring anyone too close."

"That's awful," Harry mutters. It's also not great news, considering he's visiting the village for a debatably ridiculous reason. He hopes he won't get run out the first moment he arrives.

"Hmm," Dennis hums. "There's no police station in the village either, lad. I'd watch my back and try to stay safe if I was you."

Fantastic . They don't like newcomers, can't tolerate visitors, run off cabbies, and are a lawless locale that can only be reached on horseback. Harry's feeling really confident now. 

"Not exactly a raving review, then," he tries to joke. 

It falls flat. Dennis looks a little too grave for something this lighthearted. "There are no good rumours about that place. They say even the air there feels different. Wrong. Not normal." 

Harry frowns. It can't be that bad . 

"'Nough of this negative talk!" Dennis slaps the steering wheel and looks in the rearview at Harry, "We'll be there in an hour. Get some rest, and I'll get you up when we arrive."

With a sigh, Harry doubts he'll be able to get any rest at all. Maybe nightmares. His head falls to the window of the cab door, and he tries to let the soft bobbing of its tires coasting down smooth roads and the gentle noise of a classical song on the radio coming to life pull down his eyelids. Relaxing is nearly the same as sleeping, he figures.

-

It's more the vibration that wakes Harry than the sound.

The slam of the cab door rattles just enough to shake his head from a nap, and it's with a jolt that Harry realises he had actually fallen asleep. Looking outside, he spots Dennis pacing, starting to light up a cigarette and having some trouble with the wind. Have we arrived?

Harry scrambles to undo his seat belt. He won't lie - all that talk about the village has made him beyond curious. There wasn't any sense of rush earlier; it's his day off and he has the time, but now the weight of the letter in his back pocket threatens to tug him to the manor on foot , forget the horse.

It's all a mystery, and Harry loves a mystery. Even if this mystery ends in a fake address and no manor, he's at least getting the chance to explore an uncommon village. It all has him buzzing.

He opens the cab door and steps out. Dennis greets him in a smokey haze. "Good rest, lad?" They're parked off a somewhat bustling street for a town this size, a small strip of shops lining both sides. It's only a little after 12, if Harry has to guess, and the lunch rush seems to just be picking up.

"Great rest," Harry says, surprised to find he means it. "Did something happen? Are we there?"

Dennis laughs, "Welcome to Great Hangleton. We've made it in one piece, not a worry." 

Harry rubs the back of his neck, suddenly shy, "Sorry. I didn't mean to imply we wouldn't," and takes in their surroundings with new eyes. Great Hangleton didn't seem any different than any other town. The few people he makes eye contact with smile politely or nods, and it's hard to imagine that a smaller town partly of its namesake could be so bad. Maybe there's an old Hangleton rivalry of some kind?

Dennis shakes his head and brushes the comment off. "After the stories I've told you, I'd be surprised if you'd felt any other way." He puts out his cigarette on the top of the cab. "I'd try the station first; they're used to folks needing a ride over. And you shouldn't have to worry - it's still early enough in the day. But any later, they'd have you wait till tomorrow so I wouldn't dally."

Not wanting to put this off another whole day and well aware of his work schedule, Harry quickly thanks and pays Dennis for the trip. He suspects he was let off easy - the fare doesn't add up quite right - but Harry won't look kindness in the mouth or whatever. He gives Dennis a large enough tip to make up for it, he hopes, and shakes his head in dismay at the already rising costs of this small adventure. 

If it is a scam, Harry may go broke just trying to prove it. 

-

The walk to the station doesn't take long at all, thanks to the help of a tiny lady and her tinier pet terrier. There's no fuss or fight over Harry's request for some help getting to Little Hangleton, but he doesn't miss the exchanged worried looks. 

The blonde policewoman tasked to take Harry there on her gorgeous chestnut brown horse introduces herself as Sarah and the horse as Willy. Harry's never ridden a horse, but as she pats the side of Willy's neck like they're old friends and they all get acquainted, it quickly puts him right at ease. 

But, regardless of Sarah's best efforts, Harry learns the hard way how awkward it is to have an entire conversation with someone when you're sitting chest-to-back behind them. At least she seems used to it, and Willy certainly doesn't seem to mind.

A bit under two hours and a fair amount of unsubtle pointed remarks revolving around Harry and how he should really reconsider his trip later, they finally arrive. And immediately, Harry can't help but notice one thing.

Little Hangleton is a ghost town. An eerily beautiful ghost town.

He doesn't notice it until he's carefully dismounted Willy and standing on the street, but the air does seem different here than in Great Hangleton. Though, it's not how Dennis described it at all. 

It's heavy, yes, but not in an oppressive way. Harry doesn't feel weighed down by an evil force or like it's hard to breathe; he feels a weight on his shoulders not unlike a winter coat, and with the cooling temperatures, it's more than pleasant. 

Sarah clears her throat, pulling Harry out of his awed appreciation. "Mr Potter, I do hope you have reconsidered now that you've seen the village. There isn't much waiting for you here - we can head on back together now, and it won't even be dark."

Harry shakes his head before she's even finished, "No, thank you. I appreciate all your help, but I've got to check something before I go."

She looks at him curiously, then quickly looks away to check the sun's position in the sky, then back. "What are you looking for?" She hesitates, "Maybe I can help?"

Harry feels bad keeping her any longer, but if she knows anything... "Actually, are you familiar with Riddle Manor?" He asks.

She stares at him in slight befuddlement. "Riddle Manor? I'm not too sure. The only manor in Little Hangleton is the large estate overlooking it on the hills. Is that what that dreadful place is called?"

"I'm not sure," Harry shrugs, and Willy huffs at his face, making him lean back. "I've got an address to visit for a manor in this village, though. So if that's the only one, I'll try there first."

"I wouldn't," she rushes out, "it's dangerous! The place is practically falling apart, with tiles missing from the roof, windows boarded up, and ivy spreading over the whole house. It was abandoned years, if not decades ago!"

Willy steps in place, suddenly anxious. Sarah shushes him gently, "Easy there." Her mouth twists into something horrible but contemplative, and whatever it is she's chewing over seems to win out when she sighs, "They say people have died there."

And, well. Harry wants to throw a tantrum. Just a small one. Just for a few moments.

Of course it's a bloody murder house! Of course it is. What else would it be?

Harry rubs at his face and eyes, displacing his glasses. They sit crooked on his nose when his shoulders and hands drop, defeated. "I've come all this way. Even if it's a murder house, I'm going to go see it," he says it to Sarah... but mostly to himself. 

She looks at him with something remarkably like pity, so Harry turns his head to avoid it. He thinks she nods before she says, "Alright, Mr Potter. Good luck, then. And do keep in mind we're the only way you can get back to Great Hangleton, and it'll take us at least two hours to get here. When you call, make sure you give yourself enough time."

Harry thanks her again, and Sarah makes to leave, but she gasps and catches his eyes before she turns to trot away, "And don't forget we can't come to get you at night! The path here is too dangerous even on horseback - once the fog picks up, it's nearly impossible to breach. By the time I make it back to Great Hangleton, it'll already be too late. Do you have somewhere you intend to stay the night?"

Stay the night? No. No, Harry didn't even know returning during the night was a problem. He figured Dennis just meant they wouldn't take him after a specific time, not that he couldn't leave.

"Uhh," Harry panics. He thinks she might drag him back with her kicking and screaming or tied by a rope to Willy's saddle if he says no. So, "Yeah. 'Course I do," slips right out of his mouth.

I am an idiot. He astounds himself.

She looks overly relieved to hear that, so Harry definitely won't tell her that he absolutely plans to stay in the abandoned murder manor. He's slept in worse places, after all.

Then it's just him on the dead grass of a ghost town, waving a little limply as he watches his getaway horse and its rider trot off. Fallen leaves, burnt red and fading brown, chase after them in twirling, swirling patterns.

He doesn't even have anything on him. Just the clothes on his back and — he quickly reaches into his back pocket, ensuring it's still there. It is, he notes with relief — the letter. 

What can go wrong?