The Marauders: Year Seven Part Two

It's Starting

Frek sat quiet in the corner of a small pub, his eyes roving the room on high alert, meeting the gaze of every man or woman who looked his way. One hand held onto his stein of ale, the other was tucked into the pocket of his jacket, holding onto the small bulk of the pocket watch as tight as his curled fingers could do. His wand lay upon the table, where he could easily snatch it up the moment he needed to. The hand holding his ale shook. 

Garm Tyr had died, begging Ned Veigler to tell Frek to switch the watches. Frek had spent the months since Garm's death to retrace where the watch lay hidden - so well so that Frek had even struggled with retrieving it. Deep in the woods, in the heart of a pitch black forest, there had stood a door to a secret hiding place that Garm Tyr had constructed. Entirely invisible, incredibly secret, the door opened to stairs that led downward into darkness, into a tunnel deep below the earth...

He had fetched the watch, just as Garm Tyr had requested.

It was the second part that he wouldn't do.

The door of the pub opened, and a rush of swirling cold air and snow rushed through. Outside the air was howling. The chair opposite Frek was pulled out, and it creaked as weight was put upon it. The man who had set opposite Frek patted snow from his gloves and laid them on the table before himself, stomping his boots against the hewn stone floor. He nodded to the woman behind the counter at the bar, and, being a usual, she brought him a stein of his usual, favorite drink. Frek studied the man for a long time.

"Did you bring it?" the man asked, nodding a thank you to the barmaid that had served him his drink, and then taking a long swig from the stein, the ale's froth catching on his beard and mustache.

"I broughts it," Frek answered. "Of course I broughts it, yeh thinkin' I'm an idiot or summat?"

The man held out his hand.

Frek hesitated, then withdrew the watch from his pocket, placing it into the man's palm. It ticked innocuously against the man's skin as he stared down at it. Frek didn't know what he'd half expected to happen upon giving up the precious watch, but certainly something more than the singular pit of emptiness that he felt in his stomach when the chain left his fist.

He watched as long fingers, with hair-covered knuckles closed around the watch.

"Thank you, Mr. Frek," the man said, nodding. He looked the pocket-watch over. "All this fuss over so small a thing..." he shook his head.

"Sum the smallerst things be most powerful, ain't it true?" Frek said.

"Mm, wise words," the man's nodding continued.

Frek took another mouthful of his ale as the man downed the remainder of his own stein in one go. He stood, pocketing the watch in the inner breast pocket of his long coat. Frek looked up in surprise, "Yer leaving already, Messer Veeger?"

"I have some business to attend to. Thank you, good night Mr. Frek," and the man turned, leaving the pub and stepping back out into the cold, dark night. 

Frek sat, wondering whether he'd done the right thing... if he'd done what Garm Tyr would have done, if he'd survived. He finished his ale, stewing on that question, and finally left the pub, stepping into the cold winter night. He was walking down the street of the village, under bowing trees that lined the street, patting himself warm against the cold. He was some way from the village when he stopped short in walking, a funny feeling coming over him. Unease filled his every nerve, and he stood, casting his eyes about the line of trees.

"Who'zat?" he asked, seeing a shadow passing through moonlight among the branches. Frek drew his wand, his wrist shaking as he attempted to follow the movement of the shadows...