Sons & Daughters of Magic 3

continued ....
== Blood ==
Date: 11 May 1998
The ache spreads from his bones into his muscles and Ken shivers in his too-bare skin.
Whimpers, nearby.
Ken crawls closer to the sound—muffled, stupid ears not working right—finds something squirmy, wraps it close with his forelegs.
The pup mewls.
Ken curls tighter around him.
He clutches pawsful of Ken's clothes and skin and whines.
Ken nuzzles reddish head-fur.
The pup sobs and hiccups and coughs.
Ken blinks away tears, holds him to his chest.
""/Finite,"" says Misterfairbairn.
Wean cries louder.
Huge hands reach—
Kris screams.
Ken bares his teeth and growls.
—retreat.
""Leave 'em be a tad longer. Takes a moment to find the way back.""
Kris whines.
Ken strokes his back.
Murron coos, ""Yer awrite, yer safe, yer safe.""
A big, sorta-familiar voice wavers, ""They ... they're still wolves?""
""Still more wolf-y mentally, at least.""
""A thought the potion fixed that?""
""The potion that can untie the body, brain, and mind hasnae been thought up yet."" A soft sound. ""Too tangled up together, they are.""
Liquid burbles, flows; blackberry smell fills the air.
Murron, very close, hums her family's "foggy stars" song.
""How much did Dona tell ye?""
""A tad. Nae enough."" 
Ken forces his eyes open, sits up as smoothly as he can, still cradling Kris.
"Ye want me to ...?" offers Mister Reid.
Ken nods, eases—
Kris clings.
—rasps, "'s'awrite. Ye c-can let go. 's yer da."
Kris peeks from Ken's arms, hesitates, releases his grip.
Mister Reid gathers him up, makes it across the room to the sofa in one step, settles them down with Kris in his lap.
Ken drags his eyes away, startles.
Murron smiles—/happy-relieved—from right beside him.
"H-hi?"
"Hello~!" She takes his shaky hands, folds his fingers around a warm mug.
"Th-thanks." Ken holds it close, gulps indigo liquid.
Kris guzzles the same from a sippy.
Ken swallows another mouthful, then wobbles the cup to the rug.
Murron presses her side to his; he sighs.
"So ...," ventures Mister Reid, "does that stuff taste as sweet as it smells?"
Ken eyeballs the half-empty mug. "Sweeter, I th-think. 's like honey with a little blackberry juice."
"No wonder Kris likes it so well."
Kris slurps.
"Yea, he takes it better than the Wo-wolfsbane, but that stuff's dead nasty."
"Why can't they make something tastes decent?"
"Not enough call, I guess, and the ingredients're expensive to muck around with." Ken shrugs-sorta. "My parents can't afford it; I only get it 'cos the School gives it to me."
Mister Reid frowns, glances at Mister Fairbairn.
He raises an eyebrow.
"Why /are they so expensive? There must be enough demand for someone to make a profit growing and selling them bulk."
"'cos the wizards with the Galleons for it don't give a toss about werewolves," grumbles Ken.
Mister Reid frowns harder, declares, "That needs to change." To Mister Fairbairn: "I have some money set aside and Kris has a little from his parents, so I could invest—"
"There's no need for that! I've already identified a revenue stream for the dispensary, so—"
"The wha' now?"
"Drink your potion, Mister Gorman."
Ken sighs, takes another swig.
Kris yawns around the sippy.
"As I was saying, I've already arranged funding, it's only a matter of waiting for things to grow."
"Waiting for /what to grow?" prompts Murron.
"Miss MacDonald, would you please get Mister Gorman more Soothing Syrup?"
Murron eeps, skitters away. 
"And Mister Reid, may I recommend you take the crockery away from young Master Reid before he loses his grip on it and consciousness?"
Mister Reid peers over Kris, croaks, nabs the empty sippy as it falls from Kris' fingers. 
Kris, meanwhile, snuffles in his sleep.
Murron swaps Ken's mug with a full one, places the empty on the coffee table.
"Thank you, Miss MacDonald."
"You're welcome~!" She plunks back down beside Ken. 
He yawns enormously behind his cup.
"You must be tired," says Mister Reid.
"Yea." Ken sags against Murron. "Usually sleep most of the day after."
"Then he wakes up and tries to eat us out of business," needles Mister Fairbairn.
"How can you tell he's not just being a teenager?"
"He's even hungrier than that."
"I best start saving up for this one's future, then," laughs Mister Reid. "There's a whole lot of full moons in his future."
"Or not," Ken mutters to his mug.
Murron digs her elbow into his side.
"What was that?"
"We—me 'n Kris—might not live long. Oldest werewolf anybody knows only made it to fifty-something."
Mister Reid pales. "That's it?"
"The stress of the transformations and keeping them hidden makes the difference," explains Mister Fairbairn. "However, /since you two are living in a supportive, open environment, you'll probably have a lifespan more like that of Murron's people."
Murron winces.
"You're a shapeshifter?" asks Mister Reid.
"I was," she whispers, eyes focused on the carpet.
Ken squeezes her hand.
She squeezes back, but doesn't look up.
"'Were'?"
Murron nods.
"That's a tale for another time, I think," says Mister Fairbairn, voice gentle.
Murron sniffles, nods again.
Ken laces his fingers through hers.
"Thank you," she croaks.
"'welcome. We're family now, yea? You an' me an' Lessie."
Murron lifts her head, offers a smile to Ken—
He smiles back.
—says, "You shouldn't worry about Kris needing to hide, Mister Reid. We'll be his family, too. All of us."
Mister Reid grins wide and bright. "He's a lucky lad to have such a big family!"
"Yes!"
"Complete with a second blood-brother," smiles Mister Fairbairn, "since he and Ken share a bit of the stuff."
Ken blinks.
"How's that?"
"The same werewolf Turned them both."
Ken blinks.
"Really?"
"On my life," assures Mister Fairbairn.
"What a small world," murmurs Mister Reid.
"It's a tiny planet, after all, in the grand sweep of the universe."
Mister Reid snorts a bit of a laugh. "Where is he now? Prison?"
"She's passed on. Casualty of the war."
"On the other side."
"Aye."
"I didn't know that," breathes Ken. "Any of that."
Murron squeezes his hand.
He squeezes back, hopes his heart will start beating again soon.
Silence, aside from breathing. 
"Finish your medicine, Mister Gorman." 
Ken startles, quickly drains the last of the potion, sets the mug aside.
Mister Reid clears his throat. "If it's not too much to ask, son, how long have you ...?"
Ken shakes his head clearer. "'s'awrite. Two years come October."
"Halloween?"
"Did my celebratin' in hospital." 
"Your parents?"
"They're—" Ken yawns. "They're fine. Was me and a mate got attacked."
"Is he ...?"
"He didn't make it."
Murron strokes Ken's hair and whisper-sings her sad, eerie song.
He yawns again, wider.
"I'm sorry for ...." Mister Reid takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry about what happened, but I'm happy you're here."
Ken shrugs, then yawns so hard his jaw pops.
"I believe that means it's your bedtime, Mister Gorman."
Ken grunts agreement, gets his arms and legs arranged.
Murron offers a hand, leans against his pull.
He flails upright, trips—
"Oof!"
—stumbles away—"S-sorry!"—tangles his feet, and sits down hard the floor. "Think I should stay here another minute."
"Good idea, lad," says Mister Reid.
Floor goes a bit sideways—
Murron tucks up against his side, threads her fingers into his hair.
Ken slumps against her, head on her shoulder. "Yea, def'nitely a good idea."
.
=== Impressed ===
Ken walks between Lessie and Don along the sunken lane from the apparition point toward the cottage.
"A feckin' hate poofin' about," grumps Don.
"Why d'ye winge so? Ye've done it hundreds 'a times," grumbles Lessie.
"'Doin' isnae the same as 'likin'."
Ken woofles.
Don snorts. "See, Amnae alone in that."
"Why're /ye our minder t'night, anyway?"
"'cos ye need charm tae talk yer way outta trouble and Am the most charmin' man yekno."
"A could use a memory hex," mutters Lessie.
"Well, aye, ye could, but my way's more fun."
Lessie huffs, stops at a high gate in the wall of the lane. "We're here."
Ken sits, scopes the door, turns to Lessie and Don, projects 'Please?' around the Fish as clearly as he can.
"A strappin' lad like ye cannae manage it on yer own?" laughs Don.
Ken projects harder.
"All give ye a lift, then."
"/A can—"
Don grabs—
Ken squeaks.
—him by the scruff, tosses him over.
Ken lands with a /thump, shakes his coat back into place, trots up the path to the front door.
""Showoff,"" mutters Lessie.
""Aw, admit it: yer impressed.""
.
== Poor Company ==
Date: 05 June 1998
Ken, one hand on his fancy coffee, stares out the window of [cafe name]'s back room.
Bright sunlight glints off the river.
Mister Fairbairn, relaxed in his chair, sips something lemony and full of ice—a Yeti?
Trees sway in a breeze.
Paper rustles as Da and Mum read through his progress report.
Ken sighs against his palm.
Mister Fairbairn says, "Drink—"
Ken jumps, sloshing lukewarm liquid over his hand.
"—your Mermaid or else Miss Enid will begin The Interrogation." He lowers his eyebrows, though his eyes laugh.
Ken swigs a mouthful of foam and caramel, them mops up the spillage.
"That's better."
Da collects the last sheets from Mum, neatens the stack against the table, sits back, and says, "He's not improving, then?"
Ken cringes into his tall mug.
"His marks on theory and in non-magical subjects are among the highest in his year," points out Mister Fairbairn.
"And when there's magic involved?"
"He struggles."
"Is there anything we can ...? Tutoring?"
"Mum, they /have been tutoring me. It doesn't help." He takes a deep breath. "'m not much of a wizard."
"Now, sweetheart ...," says Mum.
He leans away from her pat.
"We're bringing in a specialist to work with him next term, but your son's greatest talents lie outside our curriculum, it's true. At a mundane institution, he'd be on track for Highers, without a doubt." Mister Fairbairn pushes aside his drink, folds his hands. "It /may be wise to investigate a possible transfer to a public school, rather than put him through the stress of sitting the OWLs, at least the applied magic ones."
"You want him to give up on magic," growls Da.
"I want to put Ken in a position to take best advantage of his abilities."
"What about Hogwarts?"
Mister Fairbairn raises an eyebrow. "Their curriculum is largely the same, but their attitude toward lycanthropy is /very different."
Mum blurts, "So he'd do even worse?"
Ken winces.
"He'd face additional challenges, not least of which would be trying to study while surrounded by poor company."
"I would've thought Hogwarts—"
"With their love of tradition? And the House devoted to pure-bloodedness?" Mister Fairbairn shakes his head. "Any werewolves to study there have done so in secret. As far as anyone I know knows, Ken is the first lycanthrope to openly attend a wizarding academy."
Ken blinks.
"You should be very proud of your son, Mister and Missus Gorman. He's a trailblazer."
Da side-eyes him.
Ken looks away, rubs his neck.
"He's also done a marvelous job mentoring our newest werewolf."
"They Turned another student?"
"Not quite. The young master isn't quite three."
Mum hides a gasp with her hand.
"A baby? They attacked a /baby?" Da blinks rapidly. "And Ken's helping with him?"
"Yes, and very well. Ken's taken him under his wing, so to speak." Mister Fairbairn sprawls. "It's all gone /so much smoother this time: less rushing about in a panic to make things ready."
"Huh." Da blinks some more.
Mum stares at Ken, open-mouthed.
He ducks his head.
"Your lad is quite adept at handling younger children, regardless of his—or their—shape. He'll probably make a very fine teacher, if his interests lead him down that path."
Ken risks a peek.
Da preens ...?
Mum sparkles ...?
Ken ....
Mister Fairbairn continues, "Needless to say, a transfer would be a painful loss for us, but it may be in Ken's best interest."
"We-we'll have to think it over and talk about it," says Da.
"Of course, of course. OWLs are still quite far off."
"Right, right."
"Do you have any questions for me?"
"No ...."
"Not just now."
"You know how to reach me if anything comes up later."
"'course." Da pushes to his feet. 
Mum stands, too.
"Thanks for looking after Ken so well."
"It's our pleasure, Mister Gorman," replies Mister Fairbairn, getting up.
Da shakes Mister Fairbairn's extended hand. "We really appreciate it."
Mister Fairbairn gestures, breaking the Bubble of Silence.
Ken drags himself out of his chair, follows the Mum and Da around the screen and across the room to the hearth.
"Hello, Mister Gorman, Missus Gorman!" chirps Murron, curled up on a sofa with Dreamboy half in her lap.
Dreamboy /whuffs at Ken. 
"'ey, boy." To Murron, he says, "When did you get here?"
"Miss Effie sent me and Dreamboy to get some Dragon Cocoa Mix and said I should wait to come back with you."
"Oh. Uh, cool."
"Hello, Murron-sweetheart," says Mum. "You're looking lovely and—"
Dreamboy thumps his tail against the cushions, sending his tags jingling.
"Thank you~!"
"—who's your friend?"
Murron hugs the dog around the neck. "This's Dreamboy."
"He's Mister Fairbairn's," explains Ken.
Mister Fairbairn, sauntering past for the front room, adds, "He's my pride and joy."
"He's a big lad," says Da, rubbing Dreamboy's ears.
Dreamboy pants happily, thumps harder.
"He's a /deerhound," Murron laughs. "He'll be almost as big as Ken soon!"
"Oh my! What a dog!"
The clock on the mantel chimes.
Mum eeps. "We'll be late to work!"
"Thank goodness for the Floo," sighs Da. He grabs and hugs Ken tight. "We'll see you after exams."
"Keep working hard," adds Mum.
"I will."
Mum and Da smile, step into the green flames of the fireplace, wink out.
Ken lets his shoulders slump, blows out a lungful of air.
"Are you okay?"
"'m fine. Just ... /tired."
Murron looks away, chews her lip.
"Are /you okay?"
"I ... I don't want you to leave."
Ken takes a shaky breath, flops beside her. "I don't want to go, either, but—"
"Turnover, Miss MacDonald?" asks Mister Fairbairn, strolling in. "They're—"
"Apple!" she squees, gingerly accepts the steaming, napkin-wrapped pastry, nibbles a corner.
"Mister Gorman?"
Ken takes one. "Thanks."
Mister Fairbairn drops into a stuffed chair across from them, puffs on the turnover in his hand.
Dreamboy scrambles off Murron and across the rug, sits at Mister Fairbairn's feet.
"It's too hot for you, lad."
Dreamboy whines hopefully.
"No. /Mine."
Ken snorts, manages a mouthful of pastry without singeing his tongue.
Murron hums, half of her treat already gone.
"Miss MacDonald, would you be so kind as to carry a message to Miss MacCailín for me?"
She nods.
"Please let her know that Miss Greenshields is reviewing her Head Girl application and the odds are very good she'll receive the position."
"Really?"
"Why Lessie?"
Mister Fairbairn raises an eyebrow. "Besides her grades, mentoring experience, and school spirit?"
"Uh, yea?"
"Her attitude!"
Ken and Murron blink over mouthfuls of turnover.
"If we're to change the general opinion on werewolves and magical races, we'll need to lead by example, and who better to set that example than our Head Girl and Boy!"
"She'll be perfect!"
Ken swallows. "Yeaaaa ... perfect."
"Miss Greenshields tends to agree with you."
Everyone eats more turnover.
Dreamboy lies down.
Ken remembers! "/Now can you tell me who this 'specialist' tutor I'm getting is?"
"Yes, Mister Gorman, I can." Mister Fairbairn bites into his pastry, chews.
"Well?"
"'Well' what?"
Ken rolls his eyes, "Well, who is it?"
"Verity Hughes."
His heart sinks. "Missus Hughes? From the /crèche?"
"Happily for your apparently injured pride, herding bairns is not her only talent."
Ken grumps.
"You're not going to ask /what training she'll be giving you?"
"Doesn't matter. I'll just fail." Ken shrugs.
"I sincerely doubt that'll be the case, Mister Gorman."
"If it's magical, I'll find a way. It's my superpower."
Mister Fairbairn sighs. "I said your greatest talents aren't covered by our curriculum, aye?"
"Yeaaaa ...?"
"You and Missus Hughes share a rare natural aptitude and she'll help you polish it."
Ken crosses his arms. "What's this aptitude I supposedly have, then?"
"Oh, you're the most powerful—"
Ken scratches a spot behind his ear.
"—weatherwizard I've ever seen."
Murron gasps.
"Wha—? I am?"
"No, Mister Gorman, you're not. I was lying." He grins. "But you knew that."
"I don't un—what?"
Mister Fairbairn hops to his feet. "You will, Mister Gorman." To Dreamboy, "Let's go for our run, lad."
The dog /woofs, pads out at Mister Fairbairn's heels.
Murron and Ken watch them go, listen to their footfalls fade.
"I hate it when he goes all mysterious like that," grumps Ken.
Murron shrugs helplessly, eyes Ken's turnover.
"Here. I've had enough."
She squeals, grabs it, takes a huge bite.
Ken smiles, heart fluttering.
.
=== Tracker ===
Ken presses his nose to the boards, follows the odd, fluffy whiff along the third floor hallway.
"Feckin' rabbits," grumbles Don.
Lessie says, "That /is what they're famous for, yea?"
Ken tracks to the other side of the hall.
"Tell another 'joke' that poor an' All leave ye tae do this alone."
"Like A need ye anyway."
"Right. Enjoy yer rabbit hunt." Don stalks away.
"Sorehead."
The smell disappears through a cat flap.
Ken turns, whines.
"In here?"
‘>Yea!’
"Yer sure?"
Ken gives her a Look.
Lessie sighs, knocks.
Missfernandez opens the door, eyebrow up.
"Sorry, tae bother ye, but we think the exchange student's snuck intae yer flat."
"A /thought A heard somethin' odd. C'min." Missfernandez swings open the door.
Ken heads in, nose to the floor, tracks toward the telly in the corner.
A flash—
Ken snaps out a foreleg, pins the squirmy ball of fur to the rug.
"Ye get 'im? /Already?"
Ken preens.
"Quality job." Lessie scruffs the rabbit, gathers him close to her chest. "Ye, though, are a very naughty wee bunny, Petey, runnin' off like that."
Petey Bunny sulks against Lessie, beady little eyes defiant.
"None'a that now or All give ye tae Ken tae carry."
Ken gives Petey a good view of his teeth, wags his tail.
Petey cowers, dead still.
"Let's get ye back tae yer parents, laddie. Sorry aboot this again, Jenny."
"Nae worries. Glad ye caught him 'fore he got intae mischief."
"Me, too. C'mon, Ken. Let's go."
Ken whuffs, leads her out at a prance.
.
== Start to End ==
Date: 12 June 1998
On a rare cloudless day, Ken, Murron, and Lessie sit on a picnic blanket spread over a patch of lochshore.
Ken frowns at the checkerboard and the pitifully small number of red circles left.
Across the board, Murron lounges on her front, humming in her odd scale and studying the game with her chin cradled in her hands.
Ken shoves a disc forward.
Murron cackles, quickly hops one of her black markers deep into Ken's territory.
He sighs into his palm.
"Are you losing again, Ken?" says Lessie from behind her copy of /The Quibbler.
"'s what I do," grumps Ken. "Lose. Mess up. Fail."
Murron growls quietly.
He sighs again.
Lessie huffs, sets her fish wrapper aside. "It was only Charms."
"Don't bother trying to cheer me up."
"I know better than that. You're /impossible when you're down."
"But you knew you were going to fail Charms?"
Ken covers a cringe by muttering, "That's not why I'm low."
Murron cocks her head, squints at him. "Is it your hand?"
"Wha?"
"Where Missus MacIver's baby dragon nipped you?"
Ken looks at the shiny pink skin of his palm. "Uh, no. Miss Greenshields already healed that for me." Huffs, "Shoulda warned me they bite."
"They're /dragons. Everyone /knows they bite," says Lessie.
"But these were so /tiny!"
"/And she said they'd been hand-fed since their Mum'd abandoned the nest."
"Still dragons."
"Still not why I'm off, anyway."
"Ah ... you're upset about the yearbook," smugs Lessie.
"Stupid idea."
"It was a good idea!" protests Murron.
"Yea, I needed to be busier. I /definitely won't have /enough problems next year, between lessons with Missus Hughes—whatever they're gonna be about, trying not to be transferred, full moons, Kris ...."
"You done?"
"Yea, sure. Why not?"
"Good." Lessie snaps open her paper.
Ken gazes skyward. "What was I even /thinking?"
Lessie rolls her eyes.
"It's a /stupid idea! No one in their right mind'd put a werewolf in charge of anything!"
""What about—""
Ken jumps, twists around.
"—people in their /wrong minds?" calls Mister Fairbairn as he saunters over along the shore.
Dreamboy /whuffs and wags.
"Crazy people aren't in charge of anything. Or they shouldn't be, at least," says Lessie.
"Ah! But who defines 'crazy'?" He stops at the edge of the blanket. "May I join you?"
Dreamboy disappears into the grass.
"Of course!" cheers Murron, scooting over.
"Thank you!" Mister Fairbairn drops himself to the blanket next to her, hollers after Dreamboy, "Don't get into trouble!"
"/woof!"
"Now, Miss MacCailín, who do you think defines 'crazy'?"
She looks thoughtful. "You just /know when someone's off."
"How?"
"Because they don't act right?"
"And who defines 'right'?"
"Most people agree on what's right and normal."
"It's a function of general agreement, then?"
Something nags at Ken's brain.
"Yea ... I guess it is."
Mister Fairbairn beams. "So 'crazy' is nothing more than a social construct. If enough people change their minds about the definition—"
"Or if folks with power do," butts in Ken.
"—or that, of course, supposedly sane people can become crazy overnight and without any change on their part."
"Okaaay ... so ...." Ken frowns. "What were we talking about?"
"How only crazy people would join a group lead by a werewolf," prompts Mister Fairbairn.
"Right. Uh, what did all of that stuff about social constructs have to do with my stupid idea?"
"Only that I have it on /very good authority that the 'folks with power' around here are about to be shaken up." He grins mischievously. "/Very shaken up."
Something tightens around Ken's heart.
"Shaken up enough to change the definition of 'crazy'?" asks Lessie, eyebrow raised.
"I believe so." 
Ken scratches an itch behind his ear.
"Enough that they'll put Ken on the yearbook committee?" asks Murron.
Mister Fairbairn's grin grows epic. "Oh, I think they have something much more /exciting in mind for Mister Gorman."
Murron makes a happy sound.
Ken crosses his arms, stuffs as much doubt into his voice as he can. "Who's this 'good authority' anyway?"
"The new headmaster himself."
Lessie sits straighter. "There's a new headmaster?"
"Well, there /will be at the start of the term. Mister Kinnaird has decided to flee into well-deserved retirement and the governors—/and our esteemed Founder—'ve already selected his replacement."
"Who is ...?"
"Someone with the experience, skill, and gravitas necessary for such an important position."
They look blankly.
Mister Fairbairn huffs. "They've selected—" Preens. "—me."
Ken's jaw drops.
Murron squeals.
"You big liar!" yelps Lessie.
"Where's the lie? I'm a good authority, aren't I?"
Lessie scolds, "You should've told us straight away! Not messed about!"
"/Lessie!"
"Where's the fun in /that?" Mister Fairbairn laughs. 
Lessie glowers.
Mister Fairbairn actually /bats /his /eyelashes.
She covers a giggle with a huff.
Mister Fairbairn clears his throat. "Now then, I've used that good authority to encourage a change to our admissions policy. 'course, I had some help from Mister Gorman."
"Wha?"
"You've demonstrated to the governors that lycanthropy is no obstacle to student success."
"/Success?!" squeak Ken and Lessie.
"Indeed! Your marks before and after your infection are identical!"
Ken rubs his neck.
"What's the policy change?" prompts Lessie.
"We'll recruit werewolves to study with us starting with the next term."
"Really?" breathes Murron.
"Indeed! We're counting on Mister Gorman—and young Master Reid as much as he's able—to set a good example for the newcomers." He beams at Ken. "That's more important than the yearbook committee, wouldn't you say?"
Ken's heart stops.
Murron wraps him up in a hug. "He'll be a /wonderful big brother to everyone!"
"I'm sure he will." Mister Fairbairn smiles, glides to his feet, looks to Lessie. "Miss MacCailín, I have a problem to which I believe you may be the solution. Would you accompany me to the docks?"
"Sure." Lessie stands, dusts off her trousers.
"Then let's be on our way! C'mon, Boy!"
Off in the distance, Dreamboy /woofs.
"Thank you for your time and the pleasant conversation Miss MacDonald, Mister Gorman." Mister Fairbairn bows deeply, straightens, links his arm with Lessie's, and strolls them off.
Ken watches them go, heart gradually slowing to something like normal.
Murron shakes her head, blinks at him.
"Is it just me or does he show up at the weirdest times and places?"
Murron looks down the path after Mister Fairbairn and Lessie. "He /does always seem to know where we are ...."
"And when something's about to happen."
"Yea ... but we're probably worrying about it too much."
"Yea, probably. It's just ... /weird, ye know?"
Murron nods, then, "I'm happy, though. Our family's getting bigger!"
"Yeaaa ...." Ken picks at the hem of his jumper.
"You're not happy?"
"I'm ...." He takes a deep breath. "I can barely keep /myself going the right way, so how'm I supposed play mentor to a whole /pack of wolves?"
"You're /amazing with Kris. Just be yourself with the new ones."
Ken sighs, picks among the grass, lifts out a flat stone.
"You worry too much."
"I'm not sure. I'm mean—" Ken snaps his wrist, sends the stone skip-skip-ski—
A kelpie—
"/No!"
/THUD.
—turns, tossing its head, expression absolutely livid— >i can't quite picture how a kelpie would rub its head; conflated the HP merpeople with kelpies there. DX<
"S-s-sorry! I didn't—"
—and /charges.
Murron sits rooted.
Ken yanks her up by the arm, tosses her inland. "Run, would ye?!"
She scrambles.
Ken glances—
The kelpie's nearly on them.
—hollers, "Tree!"
Murron floats into the branches of the nearest big oak.
Ken stumbles to the trunk, hauls himself up hand-over-hand, perches next to Murron, and risks a peek down.
The kelpie circles the tree, stamping its hooves—
Murron pants.
—snapping jaws with /very pointy, unponylike teeth.
Ken shudders, wheezes, "I'm a 'good example' my ar—"
"Your shoe!"
He looks at his shoe grass-stained sock. "Aw ... shite."
Murron eeps, claps her hands over her mouth.
"What's ...?"
She points.
Ken tracks—"You! Give that back!"
The kelpie laughs evilly around Ken's trainer, then whirls, flicks its tail, and prances into the water. With a splash, it—and Ken's shoe—disappear beneath the surface.
Murron leans against him, giggles into her hands.
"Stupid kelpies," sighs Ken.
.
=== Treats ===
Ken climbs the two steps to the bungalow's front door, pushes his head through the cat flap—
Two huge, glowing eyes peer back.
He freezes.
The creature chitters at him in a creaky voice and what might be Gaelic—
He doesn't breathe.
—smacks him across the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.
He bites down a yelp, drops the Fish.
The Brownie peers at the paper, eyes tracing the name written there. It looks up, blinks.
Ken blinks back.
Everything about the Brownie goes apologetic and it babbles some more, pats Ken between the ears—
/pop!
No Brownie.
Ken—
/pop!
—jumps, whacks his head on the door, stifles a whine.
The Brownie burbles, offers—
Ken's mouth waters.
—a plate of sausages.
Ken snorpfs them up.
The Brownie beams, tucks the plate under its arm, hugs Ken's head.
Ken freezes.
Brownie keeps with the hugging.
Ken licks the side of its bald skull.
Brownie coos, kisses him between the eyes, picks up the envelope, and skips off deeper into the house.
Ken backs himself to sitting the stoop, shakes himself back to center, then retraces his steps back to Lessie beyond the garden wall.
.
==Navigation==
Sons & Daughters of Magic: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Hogwarts!AU
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