Chapter 10: A place to stay

Countless inquisitive gazes latched themselves upon Herne's lithe figure, though they did not carry even the slightest hint of malice towards the clearly impaired boy. In fact, it was quite the opposite, despite they themselves being heavily debilitated. Many wished to ask the boy what was wrong though such a desire was quickly shut down with one stern look from Rowena that, although having no words attached to it, carried with it a power such a form of communication couldn't channel.

Herne didn't know how long he had been seated before Rowena eventually returned. To him, it felt like seconds though it very easily could have been minutes, maybe even hours; it mattered not to the swaying child who looked just as drunk, if not more so than any of the establishment's patrons.

The tall beauty lingered by his side, Herne could hear something emanate from her form, but he couldn't decipher her words. The only sound that fell upon his ears was a blurred jumble of nothingness. Like a foreigner exposed to a strange language, he simply couldn't grasp what was going on, nor who she was talking to, for from the corner of his tunnel-visioned gaze, he managed to spy one other figure, the man from earlier who guarded the countless leaking barrels.

He, too, stared at the child with kind eyes. He felt pity for the boy though such emotion wouldn't be able to penetrate Herne's all but unconscious mind. Spare few words landed upon the child's deft ears, though he managed to hear something.

" re…k….room…here…foo…d?" Herne couldn't understand the tone in which the man asked his question, nor what his query even entailed but judging by Rowena's fervent nod of agreement it must have been something benefiting him, well it mattered not if Herne could decipher the riddles in which everyone spoke for Rowena would grace him with an action that could speak infinitely louder than words.

She grabbed the boy by his frail arm and pulled him gently up off the bench upon which he once lay, his pelt trousers peeled off the sticky structure. If he were conscious of the sensation, Herne might have gagged or even felt sickly upon witnessing the grotesque sight, for it was not just alcohol that attempted to adhere him to the stained brown bench but saliva and bile, his saliva to be exact, unaware to the child his mouth had been left permanently open the entire time, to spill its endless contents upon both himself and his surroundings, Herne was well and truly out of it.

"...Clea…p," The man stated, brandishing what appeared to be a pitch-black wand. He gave it a gentle swing, and within seconds, the pool of froth that Herne had so carelessly left in his wake was gone. Rowena stayed for a second to voice something to the man who so easily dismissed her kind words with little more than a carefree smile and a shrug before she eventually began to move to the back of the rambunctious den with Herne in tow.

The couple quickly bypassed the many attractions the Three Broomsticks possessed, meandering through the crowds of drunkards who appeared to create a path for the delicate child to tread through until, eventually, they vanished from sight, moving into a slight dark alcove that was barely illuminated by a singular candle, the flame of which danced furiously in retaliation to the couple's abrupt appearance in its usually secluded domain. But the pair did not intrude upon this domain to be embraced by the darkness; instead, Rowena was here for something else, a gap in the wall that stretched ever upwards, a flight of hard stone stairs.

'Will he be ok heading up here by himself?' Rowena inwardly questioned, her right hand casually drifting to her acacia wand in apparent deliberation as to if she might need to assist the boy through the use of mystical means. 'No, he should be fine as long as I help him,' The mother quickly concluded, taking the boy's arm in hers and leading him up the frightfully steep stairwell.

The stairway, if it had to be described in one word, was cold. The stone steps felt icy against Herne's exposed feet, though it was not just their apparent texture that would lead one to such a conclusion. No, everything about the place lacked warmth, from the dingy monotonous colour that was grey that filled every inch of one's sight to the chilling enclosed walls that gave off an aura of claustrophobia and dread.

The place did not appear welcoming in the slightest to the dazed child who could barely place one foot in front of another. He could hardly see, for the sparse light of the singular candle did not embrace the entire stairwell with its radiant glow. No, Rowena had to guide him up the gloomy flight. Eventually, her steps came to a stop on what appeared to be a landing. Herne had reached solid ground. There was no more incline for him to struggle against.

The ground underneath did not feel chilling to the touch. He did not step upon a cold stone that wished to rebel against his presence. Instead, he was embraced by the soft texture of what appeared to be a fur carpet. What greeted Herne's pinhole gaze was no longer the monotonous sight of grey but instead a corridor of brown that remained illuminated by the faint glimmer of a candelabra that hung loosely on a wall in the background. Burly planks of lacquered wood encased the corridor, the odd colour exuding a feeling of warmth similar to that of the tavern below.

Four doors jotted the strange expanse, two on either side, though one door appeared run down, with wood so rotten that Herne could see maggots and other such insects squirm upon its surface. If he were sound of mind, the child might have questioned how such a door was able to exist alongside the other pristine examples of cleanliness. However, Herne wasn't, so he simply ignored the odd structure, much like Rowena, who, without even eying the decaying frame, continued to move.

Herne trudged past the other two doors, one on either side, before eventually both he and Rowena came to a stop by the sole aperture painted at the furthest point away from the dank stairwell.

The door frame was massive, easily towering over the odd pair. It possessed a height that took up more than half the gargantuan wall with its towering ceilings. A rusted iron handle protruded defiantly from the hulking structure as though to prove itself different from the mass of brown. It imitated the vibrant orange colour that stemmed from the nearby candelabra with lacklustre results, for it reflected not a perfect gold with its glamorous sheen but rather a dull brown, for the handle appeared rusted, uncleaned and unused.

Pulling out her wand, Rowena muttered something in a low tone. She then twisted the handle, which did not jar nor show any sign of refusal to the beautiful mother but instead released a soft grunt of annoyance before slowly sliding open. *grrr* The door's hinges grated against one another in a visible groggy sign of protest, the sound of which reverberated in Herne's ailing mind with an infuriating level of clarity.

The door's soft screech echoed in his mind for seconds before it finally faded from his consciousness leaving in its place a pounding headache the likes of which the boy had never experienced. Merely thinking left him worn out beyond relief, let alone forming a cohesive retelling of the world around him. Herne didn't know what was wrong with him…but Rowena did, and what Herne was currently enduring was a plague she never believed a child befitting his talent to suffer.

'He just needs to rest, I'm sure of it. He'll be better by tomorrow. He probably exhausted all his mana through his prior uses of accidental magic. Yes, that has to be it. After all, no child could possess a mana pool so small, so underdeveloped that merely producing sparks would leave them drained and on the verge of collapse.' Rowena inwardly commented, concluding that what Herne was currently experiencing was not a bout of anaemia but rather mana sickness.

He had drained himself of all his potential resources, a feat many children his age proved incapable of replicating, for once a child reached the age of ten, their mana pool would undergo an exponential rate of growth, any other youth in Herne's position could go an entire day casting feeble sparks and be completely unbothered it was only when they had to perform more advanced and complicated feats of magic that they began to feel fatigued.

*Greea-bam* The door that once swung displeasingly on its hinges finally collided with the wall that stood dominantly to its side, though despite the apparent ferocity of the collision, no indent nor scratch was left upon the wooden walls. The entrance to the room was now revealed. However, Herne could see nothing, for the locale was shrouded by a veil of ebony. No light flickered in the thick hue of darkness, at least none in the colour Herne was accustomed to.

A window in the distance managed to procure a slight bit of light. Nonetheless, it was not the dying wisps of dusk that seeped through the dusty object but rather the pale luminous glimmer of the moon.

It was night now, enough time had passed for the sun to fall below the horizon and the moon to take its place amongst the umbral canvas of night. No stars glimmered in the background. In fact, from what Herne could spy from a distance, nothing did, for occupying the sky above appeared a cloud, so dark, so hazy one wouldn't be wrong for mistaking it as a miasma. It fought the moon in a seemingly desperate attempt to ward off its holy light, a battle it no doubt was losing in as, with time, more and more of the floating orb's biblical glow broke through the ethereal blockade.

However, though the darkness obscured Herne's vision, it did not bother Rowena in the slightest, for with a gentle motion of her acacia wand, light spewed forth from its tip in the form of a pale white orb. At first, it appeared joined to the wooden object, though, with another motion, it soon took flight and drifted to the centre of the dreary room, whereupon its contents were highlighted in a ghostly white light.

The space was ample, though whether such a sense of size was artificial or not remained to be proved, for much of the room's added area came from just how barren it indeed was. Few pieces of furniture varnished the dusty space, possessing little more than a rickety old table and chair, the legs of which looked like they would snap under even the lightest of weights.

The room exuded a musty odour, the likes of which scalded one's oesophagus with every breath. However, it was not an aroma produced by bodily waste but rather the overwhelming amount of dust and mould that lingered amidst the deserted land. Mushroom's sprouted in the most bizarre of places, from behind the door frame, upon the damp window cill, and amongst the hangings up above. No area was freed from the fungi's grasp.

Stockpiled water slowly dripped from the window and onto the already sodden wood flooring that lay underneath. Every step in the room was dangerous, for the floorboards creaked and bent in protest of human life. Some even threatened to give way and simply drop the pair to their inevitable death. While others, mainly the boards that hadn't been too damaged by the abundant amount of water, remained safe to tread upon, though spotting such planks from the myriad of thawed ones was a feat Herne proved incapable of in his current state.

A single dilapidated bed poked from the corner of the room, its mattress made of hay exuded the same musty aroma the room possessed in bulk while its sheets looked as though thrown onto the object without even the slightest semblance of care. Its wooden backboard appeared crooked. No, it wasn't just the backboard that was bent. The entire bed swayed to an odd angle, for one of its four legs had given way, and all that remained in its place was a pile of splintered wood.

A weird lump lay upon the hay mattress, its colour too dark to reflect in the spectral light that hovered above. Still, when Rowena caught sight of the weird mass, she released a soft smile. "So they did make sure to drop off the items I asked…good," Rowena softly whispered, her words no longer a jumbled mess to the frightfully pale child.

It was only then that both Rowena and Herne spotted one other object that lay destitute in the impoverished room, an item that lingered with little to no presence upon the rickety table.

A candle, its once pure white colouring, had gone an off-yellow after god knows how long without use. Melted wax pressed against the table solidified to the degree that it was more comparable to rock than the soft, supple texture of unused wax. Its wick stood boldly atop the melted nightmare, without even a trace of scorch marks to give meaning to its existence, for the candle had never once been lit. Instead, it had been weathered by the scorching days of summer and the freezing nights of winter.

"Let's get some natural light in here, shall we," Rowena half-heartedly commented, her words acting more as an attempt to anchor the slowly fainting Herne to the physical world of here and now as opposed to an actual jab at conversation. She waved her wand, and fire blossomed from the candle's wick. It danced, it swayed, clearly happy to have finally been subjected to the masochistic abuse it craved.

At any other time, Herne would have been entranced by the energetic light, but right now, he could barely keep his eyes open and his mind active. He wanted to sleep, to give in to the desperate urge that riddled his being, yet for some reason, he fought this instinct. He would only rest once told. That was the resolution Herne decided upon. Whether he had to wait hours or even minutes, he would stay awake until Rowena finally decided to give him her blessing.

However, Rowena wasn't a woman so cruel as to keep a clearly debilitated child from rest. She wished to lay Herne to bed this very instant, but before doing so, she had a spare few crucial details to impart. One of which involved the shapeless mass that wrested like a rock upon what would be Herne's place of rest.

The mother strutted across the room, leaving the still swaying child in her wake, she headed to the bed, whereupon she grasped the void-like object that seemed to ripple with her touch before hoisting it in front of her for the boy to see.

The object did not retain its form upon receiving Rowena's brash movements; instead, it folded out, for it was not a rock nor a shapeless mass, but a piece of clothing, a cloak to be exact, one the shade of the very midnight sky Herne had yet to witness. It was small when compared to the fully grown woman's body, barely stretching from her chest to the tip of her knee caps but when placed atop Herne, it would surely fit him perfectly, for this was a gift solely meant for him, a piece of clothing that made him part of their school, part of their world.

Grey stitching lined the cloak, from the two oversized pockets at the front designed to holster and protect whatever the student wished to place within to the hood that could easily cover Herne's head of shabby brown hair with room to spare. An embroidered gold crest lay dormant in the space over top where would be Herne's heart, bearing the letter H and four distinct creatures the boy had yet to hear tell of. All the beasts possessed a distinct colour, from red to blue, green, and finally yellow. It was a flawless design that unknown Herne would dissipate the moment he found himself sorted.

An ambiguous shade of grey lined the inside of the cloak, another piece of the item that would surely change in the future though for now, it didn't look half bad. Herne found himself enraptured by the gift. He had received so much in such a short span of time he didn't know what to do with himself.

He wished to take the cloak in his hands, to drape it atop his fur pelt, yet, the moment he took a step towards such a goal, he faltered, for his head that previously felt like it possessed all the weight in the world now felt light, too light, the sudden change threw the child off his course and with one shoddy step…he toppled over.

*Bam* Herne's figure collided with the rickety floorboards underneath, which groaned under the sudden collision. The fall would have hurt anyone, yet, Herne strangely didn't feel a thing. His mind was too far-gone to be tied down by the concept of pain anymore. He was on the verge of consciousness, and yet, he still pushed himself up, an action that proved fruitless, for every time he forced his weight against his sodden palms, his arms began to tremble and shake, they couldn't bear his load, and before Herne knew it, he collapsed once more.

Seeing such a scene, even the most stone-hearted of men would feel pity for the poor child, let alone a mother who wouldn't dare dream of such a situation being thrust upon her daughter. Herne must have truly lived a hellish life for him to push himself so far just to receive a gift that everyone who had vowed to attend Hogwarts had received, it pained Rowena's heart to just imagine the torment that swirled beneath his hollow brown eyes, and the pain he would have to endure in the near future.

"Come on," Rowena stated, extending a hand to the struggling child and pulling him up to his feet. His legs wobbled, barely capable of supporting his weight even with the added assistance of Rowena. For all intents and purposes, Herne should have long since fainted. His mind could barely keep up with the infinite exhaustion that riddled his being, and yet he stood, defiant to the very end. 'I need to hurry this explanation up,'.

"This cloak will be part of your new school uniform, along with the rest of the clothes that remain atop your bed, as for when school starts…it's tomorrow; I've asked the innkeeper to wake you up at the crack of dawn to allow you time to get ready and adjusted to your uniform, he'll also take you to the border of Hogsmeade where you, along with the other children from this town will meet a teacher to coll-" Rowena's words came to an abrupt halt, for when she finally reached the bed, she came to discover one harsh fact, and that was that the boy who she guided towards such a destination had finally fallen to the charms of the night.

Herne's eyes were fixed shut, his mouth hung agape, spilling saliva without a care in the world, while his breaths that were one laboured now came easily, in long, deep exhales and sharp inhales. He was asleep, with his arms still clutching both the robe and his oakwood wand. A dazzling smile was stretched upon his lips while a boundless aura of childish glee exuded from his every motion. At such a sight, a small smile crept up upon Rowena's otherwise stunned face, for Herne, despite having every reason to hate the world and those that shunned him, chose to smile.

Even unconscious, he was happy, ignorant to the imminent despair that would try and rob him of such a fleeting emotion.

Rowena softly placed the child upon his hay mattress, though not before giving it a thorough clean through the use of magic. Herne did not resist the sudden drop his body experienced as he went from standing to lying upon his back, nor did his grasp of those two items change. In fact, his grip only tightened to the point where one could see the whites of his knuckles as flesh pressed against bone. He didn't want to lose them, the two things that reaffirmed his place in the world, the two items that gave him value.

"Goodnight, Herne," Rowena solemnly stated as she extinguished the spectral ball of light that hovered aimlessly in the space above, leaving only the singular candle to protect the sleeping child. *Creak* The door slowly turned on its rusted hinges, giving way for the mother to take her leave, an act she did with a sense of great reluctance but even, so she soon dissipated out of both sight and mind, leaving the lone child isolated once again.

It was only after Rowena had vanished from the dingy room that something odd began to take place, for the radiant light of the moon that could so easily cleave through the darkness filling one with both a sense of solemn solidarity and enamourment began to move from its path heading away from the table where once it lay and towards the boy. The beautiful silver light streaked across the room before eventually landing upon the child's figure, at which point it illuminated the boy with a curious glow.