Spells in Silence

Chapter 8: The Field

"Was the fortune teller quoting Trelawney?": Maybe. Or maybe not. It depends on if you think I would have Hazel talk to a Muggleborn witch and then leave without realizing here was somebody who could answer so many of her questions.

"Shouldn't have Hazel asked Madam Enigma about magic in general?": Keep in mind the assumptions Hazel has made. She thinks magic has all but died out. Fortune tellers are people even the Dursleys know about. Ergo, fortune tellers aren't the same as the witches and druids she is searching for.

"Are the fae going to play a role in the story?": I honestly don't know. I only have definite plans through July 1991, and after that I still have plenty of room for inspiration to strike. That's why I deliberately leave plot hooks like this lying around. Maybe the fae will come into play. Maybe it's just a shocking discovery. Only time and my muse will tell.
___________________________

The soft creak of a squeaky hinge drifted through the room. The sound, quiet as it was, was still enough for Hazel's eyes to pop open. By the time the man in the yellow apron had stepped fully into the room, she was surrounded by grey smoke and watching him rummage through boxes of pots and pans and blankets. Only once he grabbed whatever he was looking for and closed the door again behind him did she let the spell fall.

She had never been the deepest sleeper, not living in the cupboard under the stairs as she had, but living on her own and wandering from place to place had only sharpened her sleeping ears. Waking up to any nearby sound meant she would never be caught when she was at her most vulnerable. The last thing she needed was for a well-meaning meddler to stumble upon her and start making arrangements that she had nothing to do with.

This was not the first time she had woken up when somebody decided to do something in her sleeping space without knowing she was there, and she was sure it would not be the last.

With a sigh, she picked herself up from the corner she had chosen early in the morning as her place of rest and peered out through the window. The sun was sinking fast, which meant it was time to move on. Upper Milton was the last town for a while, because next she had to make her way through the Mendip Hills. She had been tempted to wait until the daylight to start her trek, if only because she had never been to a national Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty before, but that was also the reason she decided to stick to her nighttime schedule. It was far easier to avoid anyone who might ask awkward questions when there was no one else awake and walking around.

She quickly changed her clothes, but unlike before Glastonbury she did not shove her dirty clothes into the backpack. Now she could send waves of blue magic running over them to get rid of every speck of dirt before they took their places next to clothes that were similarly clean with a wide smile on her face. Of all the spells she knew, this was rapidly becoming one of her favorites. It was not as incredible as her jumping or her healing, but it was just so very useful in her day to day life.

Casting her eyes around, it was relatively easy to find the puffball that was her friend sitting on one of the metal shelves a few feet away. Come on, Morgan. Wake up. The feathers ruffled slightly at the sound of her mental voice, and after several seconds her bird pulled his head out from under his wing. He blinked at her a few times before tucking his head back out of sight.

Morgan, she told him more sternly this time, one hand propped on her hip. Let's go. We have to get moving.

His head came into view again, and he blinked blearily at her. It was clear what he would be telling her if she could speak bird.

Yes, I know it's night and you're a daytime bird. Once we get to Bristol, we can do daylight traveling, but not while we'd be noticeable. He only looked at her for a moment, and she sighed. I promise we'll go back to doing daylight stuff, okay? Promise. We just need to get there first.