Chapter 11: Ready

The moon's stray beam would remain ever fixed upon the child in a weird show of obstinacy from the temporal effect, even when the source from which it came moved, gradually falling through the painted black canvas that was the night the luna glow would always find its way back onto the child's leisurely breathing figure.

It illuminated his skin, giving live feedback on Herne's gradual recovery as it went from its sickly, disgusting snow-white hue to its natural tone over the course of a few hours. His figure did not squirm under the thin sheets stained a vile yellow courtesy of the time it had gone without use, but instead, the boy remained perfectly placid in his place, his hands still wrapped around his two gifts while a gentle smile remained permanently affixed to his otherwise average face.

Herne would remain this way, ever unchanging in his nocturnal happiness until the moon's eventual fall. The celestial body had lost its battle with the new morning sun, or rather it simply allowed the star to take its place amidst the infinite sky. The canvas that was once painted a bleak black now shone in a warm orange.

Stray columns of light passed through the dust-ridden window that once barred Herne from the chilling summer night, protecting him from the harshness of nature when he was at his weakest. The biblical glow dyed the dreary land he languished in with its holy radiance, illuminating all that went unseen under the umbral guise of dusk.

The faulty floor boards could now be seen wet and dyed a darker shade compared to the rest. Ants trailed upon the surface of such dilapidated flooring, festering in the sponge-like objects that they called home with little care for the intruder who lay atop a throne of hay.

The candle that once stood tall, almost defiantly against the ebony curtain that was night, was now little more than a puddle of melted wax that dripped endlessly from its place atop the rickety table. Its wick that formerly crackled with masochistic delight had exhausted its voice and now lay a shadow of its former self absorbed by the mass of thawed wax. The orange heat it once partnered with can no longer be found, with little more than a few scorch marks that rested upon the table's surface to prove its existence.

Fresh morning dew leaked through a crack at the bottom of the window. Like a waterfall, it ran down the wall's surface before eventually pooling at the base, where it would again attempt to destroy all it interacted with. The scene was chaotic, the pure epitome of discord and decay, and yet, with Herne resting atop his bed of hay, it all seemed oddly peaceful.

However, this peace was only temporary as, within seconds, the loud thumping of footsteps started to echo outside the otherwise undamaged door.

With every passing second, the sound would only prove to grow in both volume and ferocity, at first there was a delay between the step and when the sound would echo in the spacious room, but with time such a feature dissipated, and the actions that formerly proved to exist in both the past and the now solely took hold of the present.

Still, no matter how ferocious the footsteps sounded, they still proved inefficient in waking up the slothful child. In fact, they couldn't even make him release an involuntary groan nor disturb him in the slightest, Herne was out like a light, and he would likely remain that way if not for the actions that took place in the coming moments, for the footsteps soon came to a grinding stop just outside his door.

Seconds passed in eerie silence as the visitor that formerly left traces of their existence fell still. Their movements were indecipherable to all those that hid behind the undamaged door. Their intent was unclear.

Was it an intruder, someone that had taken to invading the rooms of those that took temporary residence in the Three Broomsticks, a robber perhaps, someone that exploited the inn for what it was, a home of sin, and prayed upon the drunk who were too debilitated by all the alcohol flowing in their blood to fight back? Herne had no idea, nor was he even aware of the human that loomed by the entrance to his makeshift domain.

A sense of creeping dread and foreshadowing would surely ensue in the child's heart if he had been conscious, though since he wasn't, Herne experienced no such plight as the door handle that should have remained bolted shut began to twist. Soon the door turned on its rusted hinges, sparing little more than a shrill cry as a warning to the unconscious child, and the figure began to move.

Veiled by the shadows, its human form slinked into the room with all the grace of a trained hunter. Their steps possessed no sound, while even their breathing fell still. The land was tranquil yet horrifying. The figure moved ever closer to the resting child, their form a hulking mass capable of easily overpowering the boy if it came to a fight, and yet, when the human visage neared Herne's bed frame, he did not leap into battle but instead brandished a wand, one that possessed a shade likened to the void, a pitch black colouring that gave one feelings of death and despair.

The figure brandished the item with all the finesse of a skilled duelist. He pointed it at the child and then, ever so slowly, moved it away. His target was not Herne but rather the object he balanced upon his other hand, a disk-like creation that exuded a warmth upon his palm. Steam bellowed from the top while a delectable smell filled the room, stemming from the centre of the veiled item.

The figure made a motion with his wand, and within seconds the slab that once rested delicately against his open hand began to float. It cut through the air like a hot knife through butter, its destination unclear though it soon found its place atop the grimy table that now oddly possessed no stains whatsoever, even the candle wax that had once seeped into every orifice the structure treasured was nowhere to be found, it was clean, and not just the table, the entire room appeared spotless.

The floorboards that once squelched and bent under even the slightest amount of pressure now appeared utterly normal, as though all the water that had once festered within their sponge-like body had been drained. The ants that had formerly made it their job to run rampant across the once desolate room were now no longer anywhere to be found, having been consumed by the flooring they once called home.

The musty air that scorched one's oesophagus now smelt like a heavenly meal, while Herne's sheets, which had been a disgusting yellow in colour, now shone in a pure white light. Families of mushrooms that once filled the air with their abhorrent spores had withered away under the figure's will, now little more than a decayed pile of death that would soon turn to dust under even the gentlest of winds.

"It's time to wake up, little man," From the shadows came a voice. It was gruff in both tone and elegance, the man who was speaking clearly was not from a well-off family like Rowena, and yet, it carried with it a sincerity the woman would likely have difficulty matching.

Still, his words held no power over the dormant Herne, who finally displayed signs of life. Though not in the form the man wished he'd take that being a fluttering of eyelids and a chipper smile but rather, Herne released little more than a dull groan as his body writhed against the hay mattress in a desperate attempt to bury himself like a worm amidst its comforting texture. This was the child's first time ever experiencing such comfort, and his body, whether subconsciously or not, did not want to leave it.

However, no matter how much the boy protested the man's call, he had a job to do, a request he had to fulfil, so, with an indifferent heart and eyes that couldn't care less for Herne's subconscious refusal, he walked over to the child's bedside…and simply picked him up. "Now, are you gonna wake up or do I have to douse some water on you?" The man eagerly questioned, for Herne, despite being weightless and airborne, still did not move. In fact, neither his ears nor brain registered the gruff man's call, instead opting to delve further into the land of delusions that were his dreams.

"Alright then, so be it." The man stated, placing Herne atop the rickety wooden chair where his body quickly collapsed upon the table that stood placidly before him. The plate that rested atop the structure gave a worrying shake in retaliation to the boy's sudden movements as the contents atop it threatened to spill. However, its threat was ultimately empty and went unfulfilled.

Still, the man did not even falter upon seeing the worrying display of almost wasted food, for the moment he rested Herne atop the table, he pointed his wand at the boy, not with malice but rather annoyance in his heart and mind. 'I can't be letting him waste the food I spent so long making,' The man inwardly grumbled, as, with a slight motion and a gentle whisper of "Aguamenti", A flash of blue light erupted from the tip of his wand, and accompanying such a light was a torrent of water thick enough to be called a jet.

It rushed towards the sleeping child with a speed he wouldn't have been able to avoid even if he was conscious, and with one loud *crack* it collided with his frail body. The force of the impact was significant enough to rock Herne backwards upon the chair, his arms flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to grab hold of something solid, something he could cling to annul the horrific sense of dread and weightlessness that plagued his entire being. Yet no matter how much Herne searched for something to grasp, his hands met nought but air.

His centre of gravity was off. Herne could barely think due to the sudden and rather abusive wake-up call. He couldn't fathom his situation nor comprehend why he was so cold when just moments earlier, he had been experiencing the most homely warmth he believed possible. So many thoughts rushed through the child's mind that it became overwhelming, and then within seconds, he thought nothing at all, for his chair had finally surrendered to the forces of gravity, and he began to fall backwards.

Herne's eyes tensed in a futile yet instinctual attempt to deny the reality before him, as though simply remaining oblivious to the impending doom that would all but surely befall the back of his skull would make it not happen, and yet oddly, such a childish way of thinking worked. For what followed next was not the sound of Herne's average body ricocheting off the once sodden floor but rather the comforting sound of his chair's four legs plastering themselves to the ground.

His body affixed itself to an abrupt upright position, albeit with a bit of needless momentum, which brought a rather severe collision between the boy's gut and the too-close-for-comfort table. However, it did little more than wind the already surprised child. This had been the second day in a row in which he had been woken up surrounded by water, and Herne wasn't too fond of the experience.

"Goodmorning," The man heartily stated, a slight smile pressed upon his otherwise stern face. His appearance seemed familiar to the freshly woken boy, with a scraggy auburn beard streaked with grey and eyes that, despite seeming predatory, almost abusive, carried deep within them an overwhelming amount of care and compassion. Though Herne couldn't recall where he had seen the man before, his memory of the last few hours before his rest was, at best, inconsistent and, at worst, non-existent.

"Goodmorning!" Herne excitedly exclaimed, unfazed by his abrupt awakening. The child couldn't have cared less for the abuse he had suffered at the man's hand, for the moment his consciousness was rallied, all his attention was drawn to the two objects that remained firmly plastered within his grasp.

His oak wood wand dripped with the perspiration of excess water. It trailed from the completely bland hilt to the very precipice of the object, at which point droplets formed and endlessly fell. There appeared to be no stopping the infinite waterfall that cascaded down Herne's wand. No matter how much the boy tried to put a halt to it, he rubbed the wand, wiped it upon his fur pelt that, unfortunately, too, was drenched in the bone-chilling water.

Herne's body shook, his hands trembled while both his eyes and mind appeared dead set upon wiping away the man's wrongdoings, and it was only then when Herne's gaze was fixed upon his stained, dingy black clothes that he caught sight of the other object that lay sodden within his grasp.

His cloak, the sole thing he had a perfect memory of from the night before, had been wet through, its weight pressed against his frail arm in a desperate attempt to free itself, to sit like a sponge and absorb more water from the flooring underneath, a wish that Herne fervently rebuked for the child cradled the cloth in his hands in a desperate attempt to dry it up with his own freezing body.

His heart ached. He didn't like this, his gifts had been ruined, and yet, the boy couldn't force himself to be mad at the man who eyed the situation with apparent pity in his heart.

"Oh…" The middle-aged man silently muttered, guilt lacing his tone. He had been too rash when he opted to douse the child in water, he hadn't inspected what lay in Herne's grasp properly, or rather he had seen the two items but instead deemed them unfit for separation. After all, he knew of no magical child who'd react in such a way to the odd stimuli.

They would have merely laughed the situation off while reaching for their wand, and yet, Herne simply sat their wand in hand but not in motion. "Sorry bout that, didn't mean ta, y'know…sorry" The man mumbled, his hand outstretched towards the frantic child, who stared at the gesture in apparent curiosity. "Just gimme ya cloak, and I'll dry it real quick,"

Upon hearing the middle-aged man's offer, Herne eyed his cloak with obvious attachment. He didn't wish to hand it over to this stranger, to this man who was the sole cause behind its abrupt damage, and yet, he knew better than to keep it by his side, for Herne knew he possessed no ability to dry such an object.

The boy deliberated on the gesture for what seemed like minutes, despite knowing the answer he would eventually respond with. Reluctance controlled a significant portion of Herne's mind. Still, with one shaky hand, Herne reached out towards the man and placed the weighty object upon his outstretched arm, which didn't even buckle under the added weight.

"Right then, gimme a second, and I'll have this all cleaned up. Feel free to have your fill while you wait, though. I made this breakfast 'specially for you." The man stated, gesturing with one broad sweep towards the plate that lay smoking upon the table's top.

Herne hadn't noticed the dish prior to the man's gesture, but upon seeing it, he'd find it difficult to forget, from the pungent aroma of sizzled eggs and meat that made his mouth water to the fresh texture of bread that he tore into with one vicious bite the meal was truly divine. Though it didn't appear fancy in plating, in fact, it looked like the man had just thrown all the items upon the wooden dish all willy-nilly.

Slices of pork taken from a suckling pig rested atop half-lopsided eggs, their yolks split, and pooling underneath while random plumes of fluffy bread littered any exposed piece of wooden plate, a bed of porridge existed to the side all be it drenched with the eggs overwhelming yolk. The meal was indeed a mishmash of courses, with items that would best be served at the precipice of nightfall conjoined with one's people tended to associate with the rising sun. However, such a strange amalgamation of food didn't lead to a chaotic flavour like one would expect but rather an explosive burst of taste that Herne couldn't refute.

The child immediately pushed his hand into the plate. Ignorant to the use of cutlery, he ravaged all he could press his grubby hands on. And who could blame the child? After all, this was his first meal since he had gained consciousness in the forest. His stomach rumbled in agreement as it spurred the child on to consume more and more until, eventually, the contents of the plate ran dry and all that remained as proof of its existence were the stray stains that littered the boy's mouth and one wide-eyed man who couldn't even breathe a murmur of astonishment.

"....I guess you were pretty hungry," The man mumbled, his voice threatening to catch amid his throat with every syllable he forced out. He was stunned by the child's ravenous appetite, for it had taken the boy little more than a minute to consume the goods that he had spent the better portion of an hour to prepare.

However, his words fell upon deaf ears for the moment Herne finished consummating his relationship with the delectable meal. He quickly turned his gaze towards his still-drenched cloak that the man held unfurled and dripping water before him. Herne wanted it back, just being separated from his gift for longer than a minute had left his heart empty and his mind devoid of joy. He took no pleasure in devouring the meal that would otherwise rack his brain with euphoria, his world had gone monochrome, and it would likely stay that way until the man finished drying his garb, an act he hadn't even been able to start due in part to Herne's ferocious gluttony.

"Who are you?" It was only then that Herne finally began to question the man who stood before him, for the child knew not his name nor his purpose in the room aside from bearing delectable goods.

"Me…I'm the owner of this place. Name's Hengist," The man mumbled, brandishing his wand and giving it a quick flurry of shakes to dispel any lingering droplets of water that may have congregated upon its tip courtesy of his last incantation. "The lady you were with last night told me to make sure you woke up on time, even gave me extra to bring your food up to you and make sure you make it to the meeting place," Hengist monologued, his each and every word carrying with it a fresh torrent of information for the boy to digest.

Herne could do little more than dazedly stare at the man as a gale of hot air exuded from the summit of his wand. He had so many questions he needed to ask, a fact Hengist quickly picked up on without the need for the child to voice his discontent with his current lack of knowledge.

"You know you're starting school today, right? You're gonna be going to that Hogwarts place, along with pretty much all the kids in the village," Hengist stated, much to Herne's surprise, for indeed, the boy did not know that he was starting school today. In fact, he hadn't even the faintest idea.

"No, I didn't know….thank you," Herne smiled as the stream of blazing air that exuded from Hengist's wand came to an abrupt halt. Herne's robe no longer possessed an unnatural darkened hue, nor did it weigh and resist the air that supported it; its fabric was no longer sodden nor waterlogged. It had been cleaned.

"Here ya go, this'll be part of your uniform, I assume, same with the rest of the cloth that's on ya bed. Get changed into that, and then I'll take you to the meeting spot," Hengist grumbled, not accepting the boy's praise. "I'll take my leave then, meet me downstairs when ya ready," He continued backing away from the curious child before vanishing behind the door, which he closed with one swift movement.

Herne eyed the garb in his hand for but a second. He found comfort in its sweltering heat, its featherweight wrapped around his entire arm with all the strength of a sloth. It felt good to be reunited with his present, even if he had only lost it for a matter of minutes. Though he had to move, his eyes and, more importantly, his body wandered to the bed where once he lay, he had been told that more gifts awaited him here, and sure enough, he spotted yet another pile of clothes, a mound of delight for the young child whose heart felt warm at the gesture.

Stacked atop the pile was a shirt or, instead, something closer to a tunic, possessing long sleeves and an opaque white colouring. Two buttons, both of which remained undone, lined the collar of such a fabric. Upon seeing the item, Herne quickly disrobed himself of the upper half of his current garb, revealing his pale, almost sickly white chest to the world for a mere instant before he hurriedly forced the dress upon himself.

To say the tunic fit the boy would be an overstatement. It fell loosely against both his chest and thighs with little tightness to be heard of. It rippled with each movement the boy performed, chafing against his slowly reddening skin with no reserve nor remorse. If it remained this way, Herne might have considered swapping back to his former wolf pelt attire even if it meant breaking a few rules though what lay underneath the tunic proved to sway such a decision.

A belt, no, it wasn't a belt, more so as it was a long strip of leather. An item the boy intuitively assumed to press against his baggy shirt in a perfect precaution against chafing, though it was also more than that, for the piece possessed many uses. In the centre of the thick leather strap sat a metallic buckle, though not one for tightening the object, but instead to display the Hogwarts crest, inscribed with the unique symbol and colours of the four houses; it glimmered proudly amidst the new morning sun.

A leather bound and metallic enforced sheath one designed for what looked like a sword appeared to coexist along with the Hogwarts buckle, though when draped around the body, it would linger by one's left hand as opposed to the buckle's right shoulder, for this "Belt" did not wrap around the user's waist but instead diagonally across the length of their body. Herne quickly wrapped the item around his body, letting it sit atop his shoulder blade while the sheath lingered by his waist. It was tight, tight enough to leave him initially struggling for breath though he quickly adapted to the odd sensation.

The final pieces of clothing that remained destitute atop the hay mattress were a pants and trousers combo, though both items proved to be unremarkable possessing little more than a grey colouring as their sole defining characteristic, though it mattered not what the cloth looked like for the child wore it nonetheless, leaving one final item to complete the attire. His cloak.

Herne looked at the fabric in his hand with firm intrigue. This was the moment he had been waiting for, seeking the opportunity to finally wear such a garb, and when such a convenience arose, he did not falter nor think twice before placing his arms into the cloak's long sleeves.

He felt its warm embrace wrap around his body, from the very tip of his head to the precipice of his ankles that they gently brushed against. The boy did not fasten the ends to the cloak shut, taking the opportunity to avoid obscuring the drapes he wore underneath. Herne marvelled at himself for a brief minute taking in the sense of becoming that suddenly filled his being while he spun around his wand in mock practice for the spellwork he would surely be doing. At this moment, he finally both felt and looked the part of a wizard, though whether such an appearance was merely an illusion or based in reality remained to be seen as he turned to the door of his room.

"I'm ready."