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Strangers at Drakeshaugh | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB, Post-DH/PM Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama, Fluff, General, Romance Warnings: Mild Language Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 849 Summary: The locals in a sleepy corner of the Cheviot Hills are surprised to discover that they have new neighbours. Who are the strangers at Drakeshaugh? Hitcount: Story Total: 252201; Chapter Total: 2823 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Thanks to Kellie for her beta work. |
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Seeing Ghosts I’m one of those people who wake quickly and, when I wake, I like to be doing. I’ve never been one to lounge lazily in bed, not even when I’m feeling unwell. That Sunday morning, for the first time since Annie was born, I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. I couldn’t. I can’t claim that I was suffering from the hangover to end all hangovers, as in my limited experience, they all are. My mouth was parched, my head was throbbing, and my bladder was ready to burst. The desperate urgency of the latter outweighed everything else. Although I didn’t want to move, I had no choice. Forcing my eyes open, I tried to focus on my surroundings. The walls seemed to be swaying. Sitting up in bed was a struggle, and the pain in my head was exacerbated by an encounter with a laser beam of daylight burning through the gap in the curtains. As daylight swept across my face, it lit a fuse. Fireworks flashed behind my eyes, and explosions echoed in my skull. Despite my disorientation, I forced myself to my feet, and staggered towards our en suite. In order to lessen the pyrotechnics in my head, I kept my eyes closed and hoped that familiarity with my surroundings would be enough to get me to my destination. It almost worked. As I staggered blindly towards the bathroom, I stumbled over my slippers and overbalanced. Forced to open my eyes, I managed to remain on my feet. Three loudly echoing footfalls and a steadying hand on the door jamb were enough to keep me upright. Although I hadn’t fallen, the sudden burst of light combined with the thump of my heavy-footed recovery to exacerbate my pain. The first two steps were on bedroom carpet, the last on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. I spent a moment recovering, then three more steps took me to my destination. As I sat, I closed my eyes and tried to remember the events of the previous evening. My brain wasn’t working properly. Jumbled memories of a ghost, flashing blue lights, noisy children, concerned friends, and Harry sprinting into the woods only made things worse. I simply couldn’t remember. The dazzling display going on inside my skull seemed to have passed its peak, and my body was becoming better able to differentiate between vertical and horizontal. Unfortunately, reorganising the jigsaw pieces of recollection into a coherent image remained impossible. A vague sense of danger made me desperate to know that everyone was okay. I decided on a simple plan. Flush, wash hands, go downstairs, ask Mike. I managed the first two. When I opened the bathroom door, someone was sitting on the bed waiting for me. I looked at the amorphous, Mike-sized blob on the bed and forced my bleary eyes to focus. My husband’s half-smile was, I thought, one of sympathy. ‘I’ve brought you breakfast in bed,’ he said. I think he was trying to be quiet, but my hangover was telling me otherwise. Concentrating carefully, I successfully identified the items on the small tray he was offering. A fizzing glass of something white, probably Andrews Liver Salts, and two paracetamols. ‘Kettle’s on, if you want a cuppa,’ he added quietly. ‘I’ll put some toast on for you, too, if you think you’re up to eating. It’s been a very long time since I’ve provided you with the toast and marmite cure. It’s always worked for you.’ ‘That’s…’ I stopped. The hoarse croak that had issued from my mouth belonged to someone else. Mike silently handed me the glass. I gulped down half of the liquid and stretched out my hand to take the tablets. Mike lifted the tray. Taking the paracetamol, I used the rest of the drink to wash them down. ‘Better?’ he asked. I shook my head. That was another mistake. As it rattled around my skull my brain told me in no uncertain terms that it didn’t want to be shaken, or stirred. I groaned. ‘Obviously not,’ Mike told me cheerfully. Annoyance surged to the fore. This was all his fault. He’d let me drink an entire bottle of wine. He’d been driving, he’d been sober, he wasn’t hungover, he should have stopped me! The urge to scold him was strong, but common sense prevailed. I knew raising my voice–if I actually had a voice to raise–would hurt me more than it would hurt him. Handing him the glass, I rubbed my face in my hands, and realised that I hadn’t removed my makeup before going to bed. It shouldn’t have surprised me, as I couldn’t remember going to bed. I couldn’t remember much after our arrival at Drakeshaugh. ‘The kids!’ I croaked. That was the most urgent question. ‘They’re fine,’ he said. ‘They’re sitting in front of the telly. Everyone’s fine, although that poor lost hiker apparently took quite a tumble.’ Unable to make any sense of Mike’s last sentence, I decided not to press him. I needed a few more minutes to wake properly. ‘Shower,’ I told him. ‘Then tea and toast.’ ‘Okey-dokey, wacky-Jacqui.’ He told me. His jovial response garnered a glare from me. Its spectacular lack of effect on him was further proof that I definitely needed more time to recover. ‘Indigestion?’ His question showed how pathetic my glare had been. ‘Annoyance,’ I said. ‘Yeah, well. You haven’t had a skinful since we went to Kos, and that’s six years ago. That was your “never-again”, remember?’ ‘Mmm, hmm’ I sighed in agreement. Nodding was too dangerous. ‘Took me a blooming age to find the liver salts,’ he continued cheerfully. ‘Can’t remember the last time we used them. They don’t go off, do they?’ ‘Mmm-mm,’ almost the same noise, but opposite meaning. He understood. It’s all in the pitch. ‘At least I know where the tea, bread, and marmite are. Wholemeal toast, I know, but English breakfast, Assam, or Darjeeling?’ ‘Breakfast,’ I ordered, waving him away. It was almost half an hour later when I finally got downstairs. Henry and Annie were out in the garden, playing on the swing. When I walked into the kitchen, Mike was pouring me a cup of tea. There were three thick slices of wholemeal toast on the table, and they were carefully covered in a thin layer of Marmite. He’d cut the toast in half diagonally and arranged them in an artfully overlapping flower pattern on the plate. Seeing them made me smile. He’d gone to a lot of trouble, and not simply with the arrangement. Mike was firmly of the opinion that diagonal cuts were pretentious. In his view, loaves were baked rectangular and should never be made triangular. It was one of our sillier disagreements. ‘I love you so much I’m even prepared to cut toast the wrong way. Just this once, and only because you’re rather fragile,’ he said. ‘It might be a bit cold, sorry. I put it on when I heard you turn off the shower. Took you longer than I expected to get downstairs.’ ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. Picking up a slice, I took a big bite. The toast was barely lukewarm, but the Marmite worked its magic. ‘It’ll do.’ I said as my taste buds fired up, and kickstarted my body and brain. ‘You look better,’ Mike told me as I chewed. ‘Still not good, but a few notches above bloody awful.’ He gave me a cheeky wink. ‘Thanks a bunch,’ I grumbled, taking a big slurp of tea. ‘Tell me what I missed last night.’ ‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ he asked. ‘I saw…’ I stared into his face, trying to warn him not to tease me. ‘I saw the ghost of Polly Protheroe. She said, “He’s here!” I can hear her words clear as day. Then I heard a gunshot. At least, I think I heard a gunshot. Was it a gunshot? It might have been nothing more than one of the kids–Al, I think–shouting bang.’ ‘It was Al, shouting,’ Mike told me. ‘It did sound weird, almost real. It must’ve been the way it echoed through the trees. You don’t remember anything else? You don’t remember anything about being in Drakeshaugh?’ I closed my eyes. ‘You helped me out to the car,’ I recalled. ‘So, logically, I must’ve been inside.’ ‘I carried you in,’ said Mike. ‘After Al shouted, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went haring off to check on the kids. Ginny wanted to go with them, but Harry told her she was too drunk. She listened to him. Just as well, because she wasn’t in any state to go with them. I wanted to go too, but I was holding onto you, and you were a dead weight, and the others had gone off like sprinters.’ Mike paused and lowered his head. The kids had needed him, and he’d been stuck holding onto his drunk wife. I knew he was lost in the what ifs. ‘Did you see her?’ I asked. ‘Yeah,’ Mike nodded. ‘After the alarms had been turned off, she arrived at the house with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the kids.’ Seeing the surprise in my face, he shook his head. ‘Irritated dolphins,’ he said. ‘You’re asking me about Polly Protheroe’s ghost, aren’t you? I’m talking about Camilia the Teenage Vampire. I didn’t see any ghosts.’ It’s quite a leap from cross-purposes to irritated dolphins, but I’m used to Mike’s moronic wordplay and that’s one he uses whenever he can. He’s the only person who thinks it’s funny, although I suspect that Ron would, too. ‘Camelia’s a bit odd,’ I mumbled, starting on my third piece of toast. ‘But cold hands don’t make her a vampire.’ ‘Says the woman who thinks she saw a ghost!’ Mike was pulling an apologetic face almost before he’d finished that sentence. ‘Sorry, Jacqui,’ he continued quietly. ‘I know you believe that you saw, and heard, a ghost, I can see that in your face. But I was right next to you, and I didn’t see anything. All I heard was the alarm, and the kids. I don’t think anyone else saw her, either. I didn’t ask them, but I’m sure they’d have reacted to a ghost.’ ‘You took me into Drakeshaugh,’ I said as memories began to return. ‘And you put me down on a sofa. D’you know what was going on outside? What were those lights and alarms? What happened to the kids. There was a countdown, wasn’t there?’ Mike reached over the table and squeezed my hand. ‘The Marmite’s working its magic. You’re remembering stuff and asking the questions I expected you to ask. Sit back, eat your toast, and I’ll tell you everything I know.’ I took another drink of tea and topped up my half-empty mug from the pot. ‘Once upon a time,’ Mike began. ‘Properly,’ I ordered. ‘Fine.’ He stuck out his bottom lip. You were sitting on the gravel, pretty much out of it, when all hell broke loose. Like you said, Harry’s phone was counting down, and when it reached zero, a load of blue lights went off in the trees. They were apparently a feature of his security system. Harry and the others ran off, and I picked you up and carried you into Drakeshaugh. Ginny held the doors for me. We went into that other room off the hall, Ginny’s study, because there’s a sofa in there. I laid you on the sofa, you curled up into a ball, and…’ Another memory returned with embarrassing clarity. I put my head in my hands. ‘Oh God, no,’ I mumbled. ‘Please tell me I didn’t puke…’ ‘I wish I could,’ he said. ‘Most of it went onto the floor!’ ‘Most!’ I hung my head in shame. ‘Ginny dashed off into the kitchen; I stayed with you. That study’s an odd room. There’s a couple of old oil paintings in there. One’s apparently of Harry’s grandparents, the other one was just an empty chair. The desk was ancient. There was even an inkpot on it. While I was looking after you, there was another announcement. Countdown lady–I’m not talking Carol Vorderman–said “suspect in custody, all clear, stand down.” You opened your eyes for a moment, then closed them again. ‘Hmm,’ I said. I had a vague recollection about that announcement, too. ‘You were groaning and pretty much out of it. Ginny came back with a bucket and a mop. The emergency, and the announcement, seemed to have sobered her up and calmed her down–I wonder why sobering is up, but calming is down? Anyway, Ginny took charge. She told me that everyone was okay and heading back to the house, and then virtually pushed me out of the study while she cleaned you, and her floor, up.’ ‘Oh, God,’ I groaned again. Mike gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze and continued his tale. ‘She’s a lot like you, you know. “Leave this to me, Mike. Kettle’s on. If you want to make yourself useful, go and make a pot of tea.” Despite appearances, I’m no fool, I know when to obey a woman’s orders. I was putting teabags in the pot when Camelia the Teen…’ I glared at him, and this time it worked. ‘When Camelia walked in. I asked her if she wanted tea, she said “I vant to dreenk your blood”–sorry, just can’t help myself sometimes.’ ‘No more of your nonsense!’ I ordered. ‘That won’t be easy,’ he replied, putting on his posh and serious voice. ‘Camelia politely declined my offer of refreshment, and then everyone else arrived. Well, almost everyone. The kids came hurtling in, and they told me that they’d caught the bad man. They said Al had “shotted” him.’ Mike paused. ‘This is where things get complicated. Bear with me. If this was a film–are we really living in a film these days? Sorry. I’ll keep going. It’s time for a flashback. Scene: the children’s indoor play area in a local public house. Seven children are squeezed inside a plastic cube. They are not plotting world domination but one, our son, is distributing weapons.’ ‘What?’ I squawked. ‘Your dad gave Henry seven spent cartridges, remember?’ I nodded, instantly knowing where Mike was going. After four slices of toast and Marmite, my brain accepted the head movement without protest. ‘He now has one. As do each of the other kids.’ ‘Even Annie?’ I asked. ‘Even Annie,’ Mike confirmed. ‘This may be a first. He’s usually taking things from her, not giving them to her unasked. I think we can end the cut scene there, and fast forward to the final battle. This, as I understand it, is the kids version of events.’ He paused dramatically, and I watched him gathering his thoughts. ‘Seven brave adventurers ran off into Drakeshaugh Wood; they were having a night time game of tig-tag-tug–they seem to have renamed the game. Having scattered, they were hiding from Rosie, who was “it”, when a lady said something about co-blue, and Trudi–at least that’s what Henry and James heard her say. Trudi is a big girl in Henry and James school, and they don’t like her. That’s probably not important. Then the lady started counting–backwards–Rosie was particularly impressed by that. That’s apparently when “the bad man” grabbed Rosie. She screamed, and the others got to her very quickly. According to Henry, “the bad man” had tight hold of Rosie, and he was going to hit her with a stick. According to James, it was a magic wand, and he was going to cast a spell on them all. That lad’s got quite an imagination! Anyway, they could all hear the countdown, and “the bad man” was shouting at them, so Al pulled the spent cartridge from his pocket.’ Mike paused expectantly. ‘And?’ I asked. ‘This is the weird bit. They were all remarkably consistent about what happened next. Al pointed the spent cartridge at the bad man, and shouted “Bang!”, because that’s the noise guns make. The man flew backwards, hit a tree, and fell over. Then Al started to cry, because he thought he’d killed “the bad man”, and Rosie and Annie hugged him, and James and Henry went to see if the bad man had been “deaded”, and the grownups arrived, and that’s it, except…’ He again stopped. ‘Tell me,’ I demanded. ‘I’d forgotten…’ said Mike thoughtfully. ‘I went over the story with the kids in the car, when I was bringing you all home. You were snoring, and Annie was almost asleep, but she said “that floaty see-froo lady” got there before any of the other grown-ups. Henry said she was bonkers, that the first people there were Camel and Cloud–he meant Camelia and a guy called McLeod–who I never saw. Apparently, this McLeod guy took the hiker off to hospital. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The bottom line is, so far as the kids are concerned, a bad man snuck into Drakeshaugh and grabbed Rosie, but Al shot him and saved the day. As you’d expect, Camelia’s version of events is rather different. Do you want to hear the adult version now? I should warn you, it’s not nearly as exciting.’ After my shower, I’d put on the bloodstone necklace, the family heirloom Mum had given me when I was thirteen. I wore it so often that I usually forgot it was there, but that morning it seemed to be heavier than usual. I held up a hand. Before Mike continued, I wanted to process the possibility that, like me, Annie had seen the ghost of Polly Protheroe. When she’d handed me the necklace, Mum had told me that there was witch-blood in the family and that, if I ever had premonitions, or saw ghosts or other strange things from the corner of my eye, I shouldn’t worry. She also warned me that broadcasting that information was a bad idea. It could only ever cause problems. It seemed to me that Annie was too young to worry about ghosts, so I decided to say nothing. That discussion could wait until she was older, until it was time for me to hand the necklace on to my daughter. ‘Go on,’ I asked as I lowered my hand and grabbed the last piece of toast. ‘Are you okay? Want any more toast?’ Mike asked. ‘Fine, and no, thanks.’ I shook my head. ‘So, the grownup version,’ Mike announced. ‘Harry was worried, by the fact that whatshername–Little Red Riding Hood–had found his address.’ ‘Frances Sidebotham,’ I interjected. She had been waving a stick, too, I recalled. As I caressed the bloodstone between my thumb and first two fingers, I filed that thought away. Something told me that speculating about magic wands was a step too far. ‘Right. Because of Frances, he set up an alarm system and arranged for a couple of his staff to keep an eye on the place–Camelia and this McLeod guy were on duty last night. Seemed sensible to me. If I was working with the cops to find a killer, and there was the slightest chance the killer knew where I lived, I’d want to make certain that my family was safe.’ ‘Oh,’ Mike interrupted his story. ‘That reminds me. The police have arrested the actual killer, this Pelias Hume guy whose picture has been all over the news. As we were getting ready to leave Drakeshaugh, Harry got a message from Sheffield confirming the arrest. The police received an anonymous tip off and they picked him up some time before nine. It’s true; I watched BBC Breakfast this morning, “Werewolf Killer Captured” was their headline story. It looks like it happened not long after the kids encountered the hiker. I bet they’ll think they were the ones who really caught him.’ He paused for breath. ‘Where was I? Oh yes, the grownup version! Harry had the place alarmed, lights, speakers, and a couple of his people as security. Not sure how much use Camelia would be in a fight, she looks like a strong wind would blow her over, but…’ He sighed. ‘I’m distracting myself again, sorry. Um… Oh, yeah. It appears that some young hiker managed to get himself lost on Cold Law. Seems unlikely to me, but he walked into Drakeshaugh Wood and set off Harry’s alarms. That made him panic. He ran for it but, in the darkness, he bumped into Rosie. Camelia reckons that he’d just picked Rosie up when the rest of the kids arrived. They thought he was attacking her, so Al pulled out his cartridge and shouted bang. Camelia thinks that–when he saw all the kids–the hiker took a step back, tripped over a root, and cracked his head off a tree. ‘Camelia told us that Henry and James were watching the guy when she and McLeod arrived. He was unconscious, bleeding from a head wound, and slumped against the tree. They were worried about concussion, so Camelia looked after the kids while Harry and Ron helped McLeod carry the guy back to Drakeshaugh. Harry told me that he didn’t look good, so McLeod took him off to A&E. Camelia and Hermione calmed Al down, dusted off Rosie, and reassured the others. A series of unfortunate incidents, and some poor soul hospitalised, but nothing as exciting as the kids’ version.’ ‘Just as well,’ I observed. ‘The kids had an adventure, and I’d rather they think they caught a bad man than gave an innocent man a concussion.’ I smiled at my husband. ‘I was looking through my old kids’ books while I was getting dried this morning. I thought I might start reading one of Mum’s old “Lone Pine” books to Henry, but I don’t want to give him ideas.’ ‘What’s he going to do, set up a secret club with the others?’ Mike asked. ‘Even if he did, where’s the harm in that? Kids need to be able to play, to express themselves.’ ‘You’re probably right,’ I admitted. Topping up my mug for a second time, I gulped down the well-stewed, lukewarm liquid and stared at my husband. ‘Where was I when Camelia and Harry were telling you this marginally more believable tale?’ ‘It is a bit of a wacky story, isn’t it? Life with the Potters really is a lot more exciting,’ Mike observed. ‘You missed out on the tale because you were semi-conscious on the sofa in the study. Hermione was keeping an eye on you.’ He smiled. ‘I’d forgotten what a quiet drunk you are. Some people get loud, some get mellow, and some get violent; you just curl up and go to sleep.’ ‘After puking on Ginny’s furniture and her floor!’ I put my head in my hands. ‘Mostly on the floor, and Ginny was fine about it. Don’t be embarrassed,’ he told me. ‘If you do get drunk, then being quiet is a lot less likely to lead to embarrassment. I know I’ve said and done some very stupid things when drunk.’ ‘Like “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and I’m going to marry you!”’ I suggested. He laughed, stood, walked around the table, and kissed my forehead. ‘That wasn’t stupid! My lovely Jacqui is feeling better, her sark is returning.’ He threw his arm around my shoulder and hugged me. ‘I’ve said some very honest things when I’m drunk, and sometimes there’s nothing more embarrassing than total honesty. Especially when you’re convinced that the girl in question is way out of your league.’ ‘Sometimes, you’re too nice to me,’ I said quietly, slipping an arm around his waist. ‘Thank you, I try,’ he said seriously. I looked up at him, but he was staring out of the window. ‘Annie’s seen me. Let’s go outside and play with our kids; they’d like to see you. When I drove home last night, you were the first one to fall asleep in the car. They were both worried about you.’ ‘I should phone Ginny and apologise.’ ‘Yes, you should,’ Mike agreed. ‘But you don’t have to do it right now.’ Playing in the garden with the kids worked wonders for me. The fresh air did a good job of blowing the last alcohol from my head. I was sitting on the swing, resting after a strenuous game of chasey and Annie was trying to push me. Mike was sitting on the lawn, a little dizzy, having spun both of the kids around by their arms. Henry had decided he wasn’t dizzy enough, so was spinning on the spot. In the midst of this, Mike and I were trying to discuss what we’d have for dinner. Confident that there were pork medallions in the freezer, and certain we had a couple of Bramley apples in the vegetable rack, I was working on Mike. There’s a pork and caramelised apple dish he does really well. While we were talking, Annie began to imitate the phone’s ringtone. It was only then that I realised the phone was ringing. I dashed inside. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Hello, Jacqui, how are you feeling?’ Ginny asked me. ‘Very embarrassed,’ I admitted. ‘I puked on your floor! I’m so, so sorry.’ ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Ginny assured me. ‘I’d almost forgotten about it. Probably because I don’t remember much about last night, either. I think I must have been functioning on automatic.’ ‘Well done you, I wasn’t functioning at all,’ I said. I could sense her smile. ‘How are you?’ Ginny asked. ‘Hangovers can be a bugger, can’t they?’ ‘They can, but I’m a lot better than I was when I first woke up,’ I assured her. ‘What about you?’ ‘Not too bad now, thanks. We were led astray by an enjoyable afternoon, and an imbecile. I’ve told Ron that the next time he buys us a second bottle of wine unasked, I’ll shove it so far up his… Hello, Al. Mummy’s talking to Aunt Jacqui, why not go and jump on Uncle Ron. He’s snoozing on the sofa, but he won’t mind. He loves it when you do that. Sorry, Jacqui, as I was saying…’ ‘I get it,’ I told her, laughing. ‘Any news on your dangerous intruder?’ ‘Dangerous?’ Ginny asked. ‘Who said he was dangerous?’ ‘Mike told me the kids version of events, and Henry and Annie confirmed it. They’re convinced they helped catch the bad man, bless them.’ ‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ Ginny laughed. ‘It would be a bit much if Al had really captured a mass-murderer, wouldn’t it? Did Mike tell you that the police in Sheffield caught Hume. So much for Harry’s time off work! He’s on his way to Sheffield now. It seems Hume is prepared to enter a guilty plea.’ ‘That’s unusual in a murder case,’ I observed. ‘What about the hiker.’ ‘The hiker?’ ‘The guy the kids saw.’ ‘Oh, him! So far as we know, he’s fine. A fright, and a nasty bump on the head, that’s all. I think Harry overdid the security. Those blue lights and verbal warnings were a bit over the top, weren’t they?’ ‘Definitely,’ I agreed. ‘Is Harry sure the police have the right man?’ ‘Positive,’ Ginny assured me. ‘Like I said, he’s gone off to sort everything out, but he’s promised me that this will be the last Sunday he works–I know that only means it’s the last one until the next emergency. But the good news is that with Hume incarcerated, he can take tomorrow off. That’s the other reason I’m ringing. Would you like to go out for lunch with me tomorrow? Harry can babysit Annie and our two.’ ‘Lunch would be great, if you’re sure Harry can cope,’ I said. ‘My treat, and no arguments. I need to make up for last night.’ ‘Fine,’ said Ginny reluctantly. ‘Where d’you want to go?’ I asked. ‘Surprise me,’ Ginny suggested. ‘You know this part of the country better than me. I only know the road from here to the pool. Oh, and I’ll drive.’ ‘Have you passed your test?’ I asked, surprised. ‘You know I have, but not for a car,’ she said. ‘Do you have a helmet?’ I squealed. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ she told me. ‘See you at the school gates tomorrow. You can park your car at Drakeshaugh, and then we’ll head off.’ |
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