Chapter 4
A week into his new job, Harry was feeling pretty darn good.
Harry exited the house for work, dressed in cargo shorts and his Han Shot First t-shirt: one great thing about this job was the freedom to wear his geekiest clothes. His lunch packed in his backpack, his wand in his pocket, he crossed the yard.
It was going to be another hot day, the sun brilliant on the rooftops and palm trees. A slight movement caught Harry’s eye at the base of the tall sycamore in the yard: a flex of muscles, the shine of scales.
Harry glanced back at the house, but Severus hadn’t lingered after running Harry through his leaving-the-house catechism. Harry knelt down to whisper, “Be careful. There’s a hawk that likes to sit in this tree.”
“Thanks,” replied the harmless little grass snake.
Harry watched it disappear into the fallen leaves. Unlike humans, snakes were not great conversationalists, and did not hang around for unnecessary chitchat.
With another glance back at the house, Harry got back to his feet and continued on. Even though Harry’s gift with Parseltongue was less obvious than his waving a wand around, Severus still did not like him using it in public—as he had proven in the incident with Jose Ruiz.
Harry refused to dwell on the memory. Though, really, he reflected as he headed down Mesquite Drive, Severus didn’t much approve of Harry being a Parselmouth altogether. This was rather surprising, for Severus generally took an unflinching view of even the Darkest of magic. But when Harry had first started talking to snakes as a child, Severus had been most alarmed and forbade him to try again. When Harry had asked why, Severus had said talking to snakes was a most uncommon gift, even for wizards, and certain to bring unwanted attention.
This was just more paranoia on Severus’s part, in Harry’s opinion. After all, what made Parseltongue so much stranger or more dangerous than the other magic he and Severus performed? But he was careful not speak to snakes while Severus was looking. Or anyone else, for that matter—though he did sometimes wonder how the inhabitants of San Benito would react if they knew just how many rattlesnakes lived within town limits.
Still musing upon snakes and Parseltongue, Harry threaded out of the residential neighborhood to the shopping district. There, on the corner of Roosevelt and Ocean View, he stepped into Shadowed Planet Comics Store in a wash of air conditioning.
Miguel, in the middle of hoisting a large box onto the counter, looked up with a grin. “Hey, Harry. Close the door, you’re letting the cold air out.” He reached over to scratch the ears of Felicita, his tortoiseshell cat, curled up in her box. Felicita half-closed her eyes, purring.
“It’s not that hot yet,” said Harry even as he closed the door. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“Get the shelves straightened out while I get the window display set up. Then you’re behind the register.”
“When do I get to set up the display?” Harry asked as he went to stow his backpack behind the counter.
“When you are a Grand Master,” smirked Miguel. “Get to work, peon!”
Half-grinning, Harry went to straighten all the objects on the shelves before the store opened for the day: it had been Game Night last night at Shadowed Planet, and Mike, who presided over the ceremonies, never had time to clean up completely. Shadowed Planet was dominated by aisles of shelves, crammed with comic books, graphic novels, boardgames, gaming cards, t-shirts, collectable figurines and toys. There were several tables in the center of the store, where gamers gathered every Game Night to continue various campaigns, and a few comfortable armchairs scattered about. On the walls hung various posters and fantasy paintings (that never failed to elicit a narrow-eyed sneer from Severus whenever he was confronted with them).
Miguel was climbing awkwardly in the window, arranging the various books, games and geek paraphernalia. He tutted. “This Thor cutout is looking ratty,” he muttered. “Felicita, mi corazon, can you go in back and check if we have another?”
Felicita stood, yawned, stretched and hopped down to saunter into the backroom. Harry watched her go. He’d always found Miguel’s relationship with his cat a little odd. Felicita always seemed to understand exactly what Miguel said, and usually obeyed his commands, but never acted that way with any other human. Miguel seemed to have almost the same rapport with cats that Harry did with snakes, so much so that Harry had once asked Severus if Miguel was a wizard who could talk to cats.
“Quite the opposite,” Severus had replied in dry tones, and then refused to explain further.
“So, Harry,” said Miguel now, still maneuvering around in the window. “Got any plans for later in the day?”
“Actually, I was kind of hoping I could go surfing with To—” At that exact moment, his phone buzzed.
It was Severus. Be sure to come home straight after work, his text read. It’s Friday.
Will do, Harry texted back. “Scratch that,” he said to Miguel. “Looks like Stephen wants me home.”
“What for?” Miguel spoke absently, positioning the Captain America cutout to its best angle.
“You know how he gets…” Harry left it deliberately vague. In truth, he knew exactly why Severus wanted him home. Wednesday and Friday afternoons were reserved for dueling practice during the summer.
Miguel gave a wry sort of grin. “Yeah, I do know,” he muttered. “Think he’ll be coming to Comic Con with us this year?”
“He will if I do. And I definitely am.” It had taken Harry years to convince Severus to let him attend the San Diego Comic Con with Maya and Los Dos, but it had been so worth it. He’d first attended when he was twelve, and loved every minute of it—even with Severus trailing behind like a particularly snappish guard dog, sighing and sneering and muttering about how he couldn’t believe they’d wasted so much time and money on this unspeakable spectacle of undiluted idiocy.
“Who knows?” said Miguel. “Maybe this year he’ll actually let you go on your own.”
“Ha!” Harry barked a laugh, straightening a row of Baby Yoda dolls. “That’s not happening. Anyway, I think he sort of enjoys it, in a masochistic kind of way.” And Severus did seem to enjoy the Comic Con in just such a manner, though he would certainly never admit it. He seldom got many opportunities to pour so much scorn, after all. And, whatever Severus might think of Muggle costumes, Harry knew he secretly loved the opportunity to wear his old wizard’s robes in public.
“Well, you’re growing up, Harry.” Miguel extricated himself from the window. “Even Stephen will have to admit that, sooner or later.”
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Harry said. “He’s let me take a summer job here. We probably shouldn’t push it again too soon.
“Mm, something in that.” Miguel went to flip the door sign from Closed to Open. “But make sure you take some time to hang out with Maya this Sunday. She’s been missing you. Tomas too. Friends are always worth the effort.”
“Miguel wants to know if you’re coming to Comic Con this year,” Harry said to Severus later.
“That revolting carnival?” Severus looked affronted. “Is that happening again? Expelliarmus!”
Protego! Harry cast the non-verbal spell so well that it even deflected Severus’s second, non-verbal spell: instead of flying out from under him, Harry’s legs merely jerked a little.
“Not bad,” said Severus. They dueled on.
They were in the shed in the backyard, the shed that looked very derelict and ordinary on the outside but on the inside was magically expanded to a large, light-filled room, lined with soft mats, with various equipment leaning against the walls. It was here that Severus had taught Harry defensive magic since the age of eleven. Indeed, defense was one of the core principles of Harry’s magical education, the other being potion-making (and, of course, the housework spells that kept their water bill so low).
“When you encounter an enemy,” Severus had said so many times Harry had it memorized, “you have one job: to survive. If you can hide and avoid their notice altogether, you have done your job. If you can defend yourself and run away with your life, you have done your job. If you can defeat them in battle, you have also done your job. When you have not done your job is when you engage in pointless heroics such as confronting an enemy needlessly or duel with them in an effort to impress someone. You are not trying to impress anyone with defensive magic, Harry. You are trying to survive.”
So far Harry had not encountered a single magical enemy, but he still dueled with Severus twice a week, and had learned to Apparate within this shed too. Severus was sparing with compliments at the best of times, but Harry liked to think he was more than proficient. (At everything except Occlumency, of course. Severus had tried to teach Harry to block his mind from telepathic attacks, but Harry was beyond hopeless. Severus had stuck at it doggedly for almost a year before finally conceding defeat, much to both their relief.)
“It does happen every year, you know,” Harry said, returning to the subject of the Comic Con and neatly dodging another curse. “Right around my birthday too.”
“It is a grotesque farce and I do not understand why you like it so well.” Severus shielded himself from Harry’s non-verbal attack.
Harry thought of what Miguel had said. “Well, you don’t have to come, you know. I’m going to be seventeen this year. I could just go on my own, with Maya and Los Dos.”
Severus’s eyes flashed and Harry collapsed to the ground under the Jelly Legs Jinx.
“I think not,” said Severus. “You know the danger. There are wizards who live in that city.”
“You’ve got to let me grow up sometime, Severus.” Harry wondered why he was still arguing. Hadn’t he told Miguel they shouldn’t push it? But his mouth just kept going. “I can’t just let you take care of me forever. The Con would just be for a few days. And besides—”
Severus swore as his arms were suddenly plastered to his sides, his wand clattering to the floor. Harry grinned. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
Severus’s mouth twitched. “Very clever, Harry.” He relaxed, shaking out his arms, as Harry’s jinx wore off, and Harry cast the counter-jinx to the Jelly Legs, climbing back to his feet.
“Let’s see your Patronus,” said Severus, as he did at the end of every lesson.
Harry waved his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”
The glowing white stag leapt out of his wand, darting and bounding around the dueling shed. Severus watched it, face unreadable. “Very well,” he said at last.
Harry let his Patronus fade, with the usual uneasy sense that Severus was somehow displeased with it. Severus never said anything, and the one time Harry had asked about it, he’d said, “Your Patronus is more than acceptable,” followed by a lecture on situations in which a Patronus was a useful spell. But still, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Severus wasn’t telling him.
They bowed to one another, signaling the end of the duel, and headed for the door. “You’re talented at defensive magic, I’ll give you that,” said Severus. “But dueling your teacher and dueling an enemy are two very different things.” He glanced at his watch and let out an exasperated breath. “Damn. We went on longer than I thought.”
Harry blinked at the mellow light and long shadows in the yard. “You’re right. It is getting late, isn’t it?”
“And I’ve got that Mole Remover Potion to watch…damn it. Harry, I just remembered. We’re almost out of fairy dust. You’ll have to take the car and get us more beach fairies.”
“What, tonight?”
“Yes, immediately after dinner. You know they’re best captured at dusk. And it’s low tide tonight. Take the attractant jars and get us a few dozen. Go to that beach you and your friends are always going to: there should be plenty.”
“You won’t let me go to the San Diego Comic Con alone but you’re sending me to hunt fairies after dark?” Harry joked.
Severus gave him a look. “Fairies are harmless. Wizards are not. And you did say you were growing up. So be a grownup and get us some fairies.”
Harry’s headlights swept through the gathering dusk as he pulled to the side of the road and parked. He was some distance away from the parking lot he and Tomas and Maya usually used. He was planning to work his way up the beach and then back again, chasing fairies.
The ocean’s voice roared over him when he opened the car door. He took a moment to breathe deep of the salty air, enjoying the deep blue twilight laid in the warm evening air, the darkening ocean, the first few stars already peeking out. Then he hoisted out the bag of clanking jars and set off, half-sliding down the loose sand onto the beach.
Severus was right: beach fairies were most active at dawn and dusk, and best hunted at low tide, when they flitted along the water’s edge, pursuing beach flies and tiny crabs. Harry could see a few blue-green lights already, flying erratically over the wet sand. He smiled to see them, the magical lights, the buzzing wings. One of the nice things about being a wizard was the ability to see creatures like fairies.
Moving slowly down the beach, Harry opened the first of the jars. He and Severus had smeared the inside of each jar with an attractant potion. As long as Harry made no sudden moves or sounds to scare the fairies off, they would soon become interested.
Sure enough, the glowing winged people paused in their dance, looking curiously over at Harry with their ink-drop eyes. A few flitted over, cautious and hesitant. Closer, closer. Harry held still as the first fairy—a little male—danced over his bare arm, tiny feet tickling, the fairy investigating that enticing jar…
There! Harry clapped the lid over the jar, imprisoning the fairy. The tiny prisoner leapt about, banging his fists against the glass, fairy dust spilling around him in a glittering green tide. “Sorry about this,” Harry murmured, stowing the jar away. “We’ll let you go in a few days.” This was true. He and Severus would keep their collection of fairies prisoner a few days, until they had an adequate supply of fairy dust to use in their potions. Then they would let the captives go at the ocean’s edge again.
Harry put the first fairy away, tucking the jar into his bad, and continued on. It was no use lingering near this spot: the other fairies saw what had happened to their comrade, and none of them would go near him now. Further up the beach, though, were other swarms.
Hunting was good, and Harry had five fairies captive in his bag by the time he reached the lifeguard station below the unused rental house. By now darkness had fallen almost completely, except for a green glow on the western horizon. Harry wondered if he should turn back now. Five fairies was not a bad haul, and Severus would be worried if he stayed out much longer—
That was when it happened.
A sudden yammer of shouting, a whirl of motion up the bluff—Harry threw himself down instinctively, jar-bag clanking at his side, hiding behind the lifeguard station. Up above the beach, the group of people who had suddenly materialized all got to their feet, stretching and moaning.
“Oh, God,” said a young man’s voice. It sounded—Harry couldn’t believe it—British. “I hate Portkeys.”
“Well, it was the only way to get us all here, Ron,” said an older man’s voice. He threw aside—of all things—a bright orange traffic cone. “Since Molly wouldn’t let us take the plane. Lumos!”
Harry’s heart nearly stopped as the older man lit his wand. His wand. There was a man up there holding a lighted wand. A wizard. And he wasn’t alone.
“I think Mrs. Weasley’s right,” said a girl about Harry’s age, with bushy brown hair. “A plane would have taken forever. Is this the beach house?”
“Yep,” said another man, older than the first but younger than the second. From what Harry could make out, he had long red hair and was dressed like he was on his way to a rock concert—aside from the backpack he was carrying and the lighted wand in his hand. “Lucky that goblin owes me a favor. It’s all ours for the next two months!”
“You are so clever, Bill,” said a young woman in a French accent, a blonde woman so beautiful that Harry blinked. She kissed Bill on the cheek, and Harry felt a twinge of jealousy, even through his fear and astonishment.
“Come on, dears,” said another woman, an older woman with a kindly face. “Let’s all go inside. Ginny, have you got your things?”
“What? Oh, sorry, Mum.” Another young woman, slight and red of hair, tore her gaze from the darkening ocean. “I was just admiring the view. It’s gorgeous here!”
“It is, isn’t it?” said Bill, as proudly as though he owned the State of California. “I knew you’d like it. Let’s go in. If Asgrim wasn’t lying to me, the kitchen should be fully stocked…”
Chattering and hauling their suitcases and rucksacks, the group of witches and wizards made their way to the rental house, the light of their wands casting a white glow around them. Their voices faded to an indistinct mutter as they moved away. There was a brief pause at the door to the rental, and then they disappeared inside, taking the light with them.
For what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Harry could not move. He could only lie in the sand, under the cold night wind, and feel his own heart try to burst out of his chest. Other wizards. There were other wizards in San Benito!
Harry leapt to his feet. He tore down the beach, gripping his bag with the clanking jars, trying to run as quietly and quickly as possible, throwing terrified glances over his shoulder. But no one came to pursue him, no spells were cast, nothing stopped him from reaching the car, swearing as he scrabbled with the keys, and finally got inside, peeling off down the road back into town, as fast as he could.