Harry Potter and the Blind Seer of Durmstrang

Chapter 27

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace into a room. Two sensations struck him immediately: the smell of the sea, and the sensation of the room being quite full and cluttered. He supposed this was Mack's house; from the name "Mackerel's Landing" and the briny smell, it seemed to be quite close to the sea.

Mack stepped out of the fireplace and smacked into Harry, shoving him a step forward, where he crashed into a low table. "Sorry," said Mack, as Harry reached down to rub his bruised shin.

Harry decided he'd be safer finding a seat, so he followed the table edge to where a sofa crowded next to it. He had to remove a pair of gum boots, a newspaper and a bowl in order to sit on it. Mack didn't appear to be the tidy type. As he sat, he heard claws on the wooden floor, and his face was swiped from chin to forehead with a long, wet tongue, while the air fanned from a wagging tail lifted the hair on Harry's forehead.

"Boots!" said Mack in a commanding voice, and the dog left off licking Harry to dance his way over to his master in a rapturous greeting. "My house, such as it is," said Mack to Harry. "You can kip there and we'll talk in the morning."

Harry could not have heard more welcome words. He eased his stiff shoes off sore feet, and sank back into the sagging sofa. Mack dumped a folded quilt next to him, and without another word headed off with the dog into another part of the house. There was no sign of a little girl, but Harry hardly expected to meet her in the middle of the night. He pulled the quilt over his weary body and fell asleep.

Harry awakened slowly, every muscle in his body stiff and sore. He lay half-sitting, half-sprawled on a collapsing lump of a sofa, surrounded by the smell of the sea and the distant conversation of the surf. Cries of gulls floated into a nearby open window, along with the salty warmth of a temperate winter sun.

Reaching up to rub his eyes, Harry discovered to his surprise that he still wore his glasses. It hadn't crossed his mind to take them off, and he'd been too busy and distracted to remember they were there. A little jolt of grief rippled through him. He no longer needed them. Maybe he would someday, but he doubted it. A curse like the one Voldemort had used on him had no cure. That much Durmstrang had taught him. His Dark Arts class may not have been as good as Lupin's lessons had been, but at least he knew more of the maiming curses and their antidotes. And the ones that had no antidote.

Frowning, he folded his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. Then, he stood and stretched, turning toward the open window and the fresh sea breeze that wafted in it. Gingerly, slowly, he slid his stockinged feet along between the coffee table and the sofa toward the window. Encountering a chair, he circled it, stepping over a pile of magazines and a dog bone. Crossing the short space to the window, he discovered it was actually a door, flung open to a deck overlooking the endless expanse of water. Harry closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath, enjoying the empty sound of open space in front of him. Although he'd never noticed it before, the aural view before him took his breath away just as the view of the ocean used to when he could see it.

Footsteps approached from behind, along with the telltale toenail clicks, and Harry had just enough time to brace himself before Boots plowed through the door next to him, tail whipping against Harry's knees. He grinned and reached down to the smooth head, running his hand along the wavy fur of the dog's back. Golden Retriever, he decided, and got an enthusiastic lick in return for the pets.

"Friendly one, Boots," said Mack, by way of greeting. "Sleep well?"

"I did," said Harry, thinking how the warmth of the sun and feeling rested made everything less frightening, even Mack.

Mack slid through the door behind Harry and leaned against the frame.

"We need to get you back to wherever it is you came from," he said. Harry reflected that Mack certainly wasn't one for small talk.