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Still Life	By : Pat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2375 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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See Part I for Summary and Disclaimers~
The inside of the Inn was dark and smoky as Neville and Hengist entered. There was a huge fireplace that took up most of the front room where what smelled like a stew of some kind was being slowly cooked.
There were several long tables with benches for the patrons in search of a meal. The set up was much the same as it was in the The Great Hall of Hogwarts. Hengist slid into the bench of the table nearest the fireplace, where four other people were also seated. Neville followed suit and took the outside position to Hengist.
"Elsbeth!" called out Hengist.
A smallish girl with a stained frock came over to them. She looked all of about twelve years of age.
"This is Elsbeth, the Innkeeper's daughter," said Hengist by way of introduction.
Elsbeth, looked curiously at the handsome young stranger. He was well dressed and was stocky and robust in looks. She noted curiously that his hands were white and soft; a sure mark of the upper classes. She wondered what such a high personage was doing in the village. She'd be sure to ask Hengist later.
Neville felt the girl's eyes on him and shifted a bit uncomfortably on the bench. Did he still stink? The dirty robe was beside him on the bench and he gave a surreptitious sniff in its direction. He had only his jumper and woollen pants to wear if he couldn't get them clean.
Hengist noticed Neville's concern over his robes and called out to a woman stirring the stew pot in the fireplace.
"Mistress Anne, can this young gentleman's robes be washed for him? My hens have been laying well and I can give you a few fresh eggs in exchange," Hengist bargained.
The older woman tending the stew looked up and wiped her face with her apron. She was red-faced and sweating from the large amount of heat thrown off from the open pit.
"Of course, just hand it over to Elsbeth, I'll have it done by her before the day is out. You can leave the eggs with the kitchen boy," she said and then turned back to dishing out the stew to the patrons.
Elsbeth shyly accepted the messy robes from Hengist and sketched a quick curtsey to both Hengist and Neville before departing.
Hengist got up from the bench and went over to pick up two steaming bowls of stew from the Innkeeper's wife. He sorted through some utensils by her and brought back two wooden bowls as well as two large wooden spoons. He plunked them both down on the t and and sat back down.
Neville vaguely looked around for some kind of napkin but saw none. The delicious smell wafted right up to his nostrils and his stomach complained loudly.
Hengist looked up from his meal curiously. The boy was obviously hungry, so why wasn't he eating?
"Eat boy, while it's hot," he said.
Neville nodded and cautiously dipped his spoon into the mixture. It seemed to be some kind of meat mixed in with various vegetables. He didn't see anything recognizable with the exception of the carrots.
Neville blew on the hot mixture to cool it before eating. Hengist looked expectantly at the boy. His behaviour and manners seemed to indicate a man of breeding. He was a healthy specimen who'd obviously missed few meals, and his clothing and wand indicated that he'd studied under a master wizard. He was certainly no hedge-wizard, posing ing a wand like that. In fact, he was probably the only wizard that Hengist had seen in two years so close to his own level.
Hengist had been studying under a master in London by the name of Guy De Marchant up until two years ago. An ugly incident with a young muggle woman had turned to tragedy and De Marchant had been blamed--wrongly, as it turned out--for her death.
The young woman had come to De Marchant for an abortion potion that was safe only in the first trimester of pregnancy. The woman was facing losing her prospective husband if he found out she'd not only been sexually active but was pregnant as well.
She had begged De Marchant and swore that she was in her first trimester. Tragically, she had been lying and her recovery from the loss of the child was compromised. She developed a fever and a major infection followed. To complicate matters she refused to be treated by a healer lest her secret get out. She ended up taking her secret to her grave.
Later, her lady's maid tearfully explained that she'd gotten some sort of potion from the wizard. Her family was furious and their hearts filled with notions of revenge. De Marchant was stabbed to death on his doorstep one evening and nothing could be done to save him. He bled out before a wizard healer could be contacted.
Hengist had been both furious and troubled by his master's murder. It was true he was at apprentice level but he'd lost both a good friend and mentor that he couldn't replace. Hengist grew both suspicious and angry and vowed never to trust muggles again. He packed up his master's belongings and called his servants to join him in a move far away from any muggle settlements. He now believed firmly that muggles and wizards should live separately from one another.
The house servants--most with small, untrained magical gifts themselves--decided to pull up stakes and follow their master's apprentice. They had no livelihood without him and little chance of being taken into another wizard's household.
So, two years ago, Hengist had led a little band into the wilds of Scotland to form a village that consisted entirely of magic users. A village that would be hidden from muggle eyes using a variety of charms and spells that De Marchant had taught him. Hengist, as the only trained wizard in the village, bore the primary responsibility of protecting the village. The 'petite' wizards as De Marchant had referred to them mostly used their magics in day to day living---creating fires, repelling insects that would eat their gardens, curing the minor ills of the livestock. Each villager was expected, in their own fashion, to promote the health and welfare of the entire community.
Hengist was most gifted in transfiguration but could do minor work in both potions and charms. Most young wizards with any degree of talent sought out a mentor whose strength was in the area they were most gifted in.
Hengist and his family had lived just outside of London and were millers as well as magic users. Hengist's father had recognized his son's special talents at an early age but had been unable to finance the education that would be needed first and foremost to be able to offer his services and study with a master wizard. Reading and writing were the minimal requirements for any degree of serious study under a wizarding master.
When Hengist turned eleven a major piece of luck came his way and changed his life forever. A local merchant had heard about Hengist's plight and agreed to educate him at a local monastery in exchange for later "favours" once Hengist was through with his apprenticeship. The merchant foresaw many uses for an indebted wizard. Edward Villier became Hengist's sponsor, but he and his family died in a cholera epidemic shortly before Hengist was due to leave for London, thus ending the contract.
It had been providential to Hengist's chances that De Marchant's apprentice had also perished in a cholera outbreak shortly before his arrival in the city. Even among wizard populations, the virulent outbreaks of diseases that muggles carried could devastate them and most wizarding masters preferred to work outside of the large cities and towns to avoid the problem.
De Marchant had recognized Hengist's talent immediately and agreed to take him in for tutoring. Hengist would receive five years of training under his master and then must serve two years in payment. Hengist was in his second year of payment when the muggle mob had killed his master.
Hengist shook off the sadness that gripped him whenever he thought about his former master. He'd been much more than that tm. Hm. He'd been both a father figure and mentor. The loss was incalculable in his life.
"So, Neville, who is your master?" Hengist asked, probing for Neville's specialty.
"Master? I don't have a master...if you mean Professors then I have quite a few," Neville said, a little confusion showing in his eyes.
"Professors? What do you mean? Do you come from France then?" said Hengist with a perplexed frown. The only organized wizarding school he'd heard of was in Paris.
"No, I've never left Great Britain," said Neville. "I'm from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...but you must know about it. It's across the lake from here," said Neville, starting to get a little worried.
Hengist glared at Neville.
"There is no school there. It is only in the planning stages. I have met with the wizards who are trying to build it. But Salazar Slytherin tells me it will take at least ten years to complete. Why are you lying to me?" said Hengist, reaching carefully for his wand.
Neville paled. No Hogwarts? That was impossible.
"But I was there. I was in my sixth year," he stammered. "I was studying Potions, Charms, History of Magic, Transfiguration, Herbology and..." said Neville trailing off with a distinct wobble in his voice.
Neville's stomach clenched painfully as belatedly realized the import of the information Hengist had given him. Neville had somehow time travelled...back, far back, before Hogwarts had even been built. The blood seemed to rush from his head and he felt faint.
Hengist studied the distressed young man in front of him. Something very strange was going on here.
"Show me!" he said curtly, pointing to his tankard of ale.
"Pardon?" said Neville, confused.
"Show me what you've learned in transfiguration," Hengist said, reaching for Neville's wand. He carefully handed it back to Neville while keeping a hold on his own.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Neville, eyeing the angry man nervously.
"Turn it into a living creature," he ordered sharply. "Transform it into a bird." Hengist was aware that converting inanimate objects to animate was one of the highest levels of transfiguration. And that, if the boy could do that, well, then he might reconsider the boy's wild story.
"But we've just started doing that with Professor McGonagall," he wailed. Neville was shaking with nervousness. He didn't want to end up locked in a root cellar if he failed.
Hengist continued to look at him with a stony expression on his face. Neville blushed.
"I'm just so much better at Herbology. That's my favourite class and I'm rather good at it." Neville said proudly.
Hengist grabbed Neville by the neck. Neville gasped.
"Then you lied to me," Hengist said in a savage voice.
"No," Neville squeaked. "I didn't. Let go, you're hurting me."
Hengist removed his hand from the back on Neville's neck.
"Then get on with it," rasped Hengist.
Shakily, Neville grasped his wand and pointed it at the metal cup. Oh Merlin, he hoped he wouldn't bullock this up.
Neville concentrated; he could do a bird. Yes. A bird.
The cup made a popping sound and then became...a rat.
Neville groaned. Why didn't things ever work out for him?
Hengist's eyes popped open wide. Although Neville hadn't produced the requested bird he'd showed sufficient talent to place him among the top level of apprentices. If Neville were indeed telling the truth then some magical force had placed him here and now for a specific reason.
"I'm so sorry," babbled Neville. "I told you this wasn't my best subject..."
Hengist grabbed Neville's hand, which was flailing about in distress.
"Hold still! Do you want to send your magic spilling all about us?" Hengist hissed.
"Err...no. But do you see now? I am a student at Hogwarts. Well, Hogwarts in the future, at least. I'm not sure how I got here, but could you please help me get back?" said Neville, starting to hyperventilate a bit.
Hengist kept a grip on the young man's hand while he considered the situation. His master had taught him that with magic anything was possible. It would seem to be true, as he had the living proof in hand; a semi-trained, powerful wizard had been sent to him just when his needs were at their greatest.
Hogsmeade, Hengist's dream, was slowly coming to fruition after several years of very hard work. He'd managed to interest several dozen wizarding folk in coming to live here in addition to the dozen or so he'd started with two years ago. He was now starting to collect craftsmen to fill the village's bill of needs, and he'd been extremely pleased that they'd just acquired an apprentice blacksmith.
Further, he had secured a deal with Salazar Slytherin and the three other wizards who were going to build the school across the lake that assured business opportunities in the future for the villagers. The craftsmen of Hogsmeade would provide all the goods and services that the upcoming school would need. They would work hand in hand with the school to provide a protective environment for the children that were housed there. Salazar Slytherin was thrilled at the idea that the village would exclusively be a wizarding community.
Yes, in the long term the prospects looked good as long as the village survived its short-term needs. Most of the wizarding folk here were hedge wizards at best with small gifts that weren't entirely dependable. Hengist couldn't accomplish all the magical tasks that needed to be done by himself. Last winter had been particularly harsh because the crops hadn't been good. They were also in dire need of a healer for the village. Even simple injuries like cuts to the hands could infect quickly and become fatal if not addressed early enough. And, to date, Hengist had been unable to complete the muggle repellent charms that were necessary for the village and its people to remain hidden from muggle eyes.
Neville's hand was quickly getting numb from the strong grip that Hengist had on him. He appeared to forget that he even held Neville's hand, he was so lost in thought. Neville tugged gently and then a little harder.
"Could you please let go? My arm is starting to feel numb," he said quietly.
Hengist snapped out of his reverie.
"Yes, I will help you," he said calmly.
Neville sat up straighter after he released a long sigh of relief.
"But only once your term of service to me is over," Hengist continued, his blue eyes boring into Neville.
"Service? What service?" Neville said, his voice rising.
"Payment, of course. You ask for no small thing. It will take study, maybe months or even years before I am able to break whatever magic sent you to us. I have other things to do and very little time. If I do this thing for you then you must repay in kind. A year's service to me in exchange for my help," said Hengist, hoping that Neville would agree.
"A year! So long?" Neville asked.
"Yes. Take it or leave it," said Hengist firmly. "I will feed, clothe and house you at my home for the year. You will be in my service during that time. I will uphold my end of the bargain and try to find a way to send you back to where you belong. Fair enough?" asked Hengist.
Neville chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten here since his memory was still very foggy but he knew that he was in dreadful trouble. If what Hengist said was true, then Hogwarts didn't even exist yet, which would put the time period about 1007 A.D. The powerful wizards of the day were few and far between and not likely to be readily available to someone living in medieval Hogsmeade. There were the founders, who were apparently just about to start building Hogwarts but the intermediary with the townsfolk was Salazar Slytherin and Neville had absolutely no intention of asking a dark wizard for aid.
Hengist sat silently as Neville's feelings flew by on his expressive face. Fear, contemplation, resignation.
"Alright, I'll do it," said Neville a little nervously.
"Good, finish your meal and I'll draw up a magical contract when we get back to my house. My quills, ink and parchment are there," said Hengist with great satisfaction.
Neville tucked into his meal and hoped that he hadn't made a mistake.
tbc
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Still Life