The Theory of Magic (Book 1)

5 // Firewhisky & Banged Shins

In the interim months of spring and summer that lay between Fi's interview and her relocation to Hogwarts, the hedge witch wandered the country. She loved Grigor, but the austere lifestyle of the nocturnal creature didn't mesh well with her needs, and she began to see the Masked Ones—as she called them—pacing the length of Knockturn alley with uncomfortable frequency. Each wizard or witch had the same menacing air to them, the same sharpness to their hunting gaze, like falcons circling a field waiting for a mouse to make a wrong move.

So Fi gathered her bag, her bird, and her talking skull and ventured on. She sought out those who owed her small debts, collecting coin or favor to keep her housed or to prepare her for the approaching school year. McGonagall had provided Fi with a list of items she should consider for her move and, when Fi had asked, had also recommended several stores for her selection of texts and basic wizarding needs. The latter had been given with a confused slant to the brow that Fi ignored.

As the days warmed and the snows fled, Fi walked the long paths of England, Wales, and Scotland, visiting Muggle and Wizarding settlements alike, retiring in the parlors of friends and associates to write her lesson plan and to puzzle through Muggle texts on proper teaching methods. All the while she kept a keen eye to her surroundings and too often spotted a shadow or two sniffing about the peripheries, closing in upon her.

In June, she stayed with a werewolf by the name of Calvin Butterman who suggested Fi capture and Imperio one of her lurkers into leading her back to his master. Fi was not as squeamish at the mention of Unforgivables as most witches, but she rather didn't like the idea of stumbling blindly into whatever den of snakes was breeding the Masked Ones. She discussed the idea with Ever over two fingers of Ogden's Old Firewhisky, and the dead witch had stated Fi "should have more sense than to pull the wool over her eyes and whack sleeping dragons."

The general consensus was Fi should avoid her followers and instead keep to herself until interest in her peculiarities faded. If there was anything Delphinia Dullahan had in abundance it was time and patience, so the hedge witch kept herself moving until the day arrived for her to return to Hogwarts.

Fi arrived in Hogsmeade much the way she had the first time, Apparating to one of the cozy lanes near the borders—though this time she came with bird and luggage in tow, a heavy trunk clattering to the cobblestones behind her while the hat box under her arm grumbled.

"Terrible form," Ever said, voice muffled by the box's cushioning. Fi had felt poorly about carting her mentor's skull about without proper care, so she'd procured the box to keep Ever secure and safe from curious eyes or sticky hands. "Sloppy, sloppy work."

"I'm distracted," Fi told her, looking about the summer-clad village with interest. It was much homier than it had been in the winter, warm and welcoming, and the lovely homes reminded Fi of her little house in the highlands. She missed her cottage desperately and hadn't been back since fleeing it earlier in the year. She imagined the Masked Ones had trashed the place by now.

Sighing, Fi retrieved her second-hand wand from her robes and held the instrument in her fist, frowning but pleased it hadn't vomited fire or more toadstools. "Alright, you."

She gave her trunk a deliberate prod and enunciated, "Locomotor."

The trunk lurched—then slammed into her legs.

"Bugger!"

"Watch your language, Delphinia."

Rubbing sore shins, Fi stuffed her wand into her robes. With a furtive glance about the empty lane, she willed her magic into being and flicked her hand, levitating the trunk off the street. Fi set the hat box on the trunk's lid with a satisfied huff. Puck clicked his beak.