Chapter Text
Nestled at the base of a tall, formidable peak in one of the wildest places of the Scottish Highlands was the village of Hogsmeade. It was a small settlement, founded over a thousand years ago, and largely unchanged since then. The people were of hearty stock; gruff, and highly distrustful of strangers. It had all the trappings of any other village: a butcher shop, a small greengrocer, a bookshop, and even an inn whimsically called “The Three Broomsticks.” It would be a completely unremarkable place if it weren’t for one strange thing:
The village of Hogsmeade has not seen a summer for over five hundred years.
Fields once tilled and filled with crops stood barren and icy. Snow swirled and drifted deep around buildings. The bare skeletons of oak and alder and birch dotted the landscape, their limbs broken and ravaged by cold and time. Even the sheep, which were hardy enough to withstand the cold, had to be lead far out of the shadow of the mountain to graze in the next valley over, where spring still came. The only hint of color which remained were the pines, frozen in time, eternally green but no longer growing.
The cause of the mysterious meteorological phenomenon around Hogsmeade village was the subject of much debate among scientists—which is to say it was the subject of debate among the only two scientists who were actually interested in studying the place. Lily and James Potter, Professional Climatologists, Amateur Storm-Chasers, and all-around Weather Enthusiasts, had made the decision to pack up their family and move to Hogsmeade in search of answers.
After the school term ended for the summer holidays, the Potters made arrangements for the move. They had been allowed a three-year grant from the Natural Environment Research Council which would cover expenses while they studied the strange climate of Hogsmeade.
Their eighteen-year-old son Harry, their fifteen-year-old daughter Daisy, and thirteen-year-old daughter Lucy, who had been uprooted from their school and all their friends, were considerably less excited about it.
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad! Think of all the new people you’ll meet!” Harry’s godfather, Sirius, had told him the previous afternoon.
Harry’s other godfather, Remus, had been more sympathetic, saying, “It won’t be forever, you’ll be going to uni soon.”
Sirius and Remus had stood with them as they watched the moving van trundle away with almost all of their family’s worldly possessions. That evening, the seven of them had what Dad insisted on calling a “fun camp-out” but what Harry privately thought of as “a depressing and uncomfortable night” in a living room completely devoid of furniture.
~*~*~*~
12 August, 1998.
Harry shifted irritably in the back of the family car. He was not particularly tall, but it was still a bit of a squeeze for an eighteen year old boy. There was a cramp in his leg and his back was stiff from laying on the floor with only a sleeping bag and pillow the night previous. His mood was not made any better by Mum and Dad periodically pointing out cloud formations and expecting their kids to be interested.
He stared glumly at the countryside moving by in a swift grey-green blur, bearing him ever-further from his past life, where he had friends and hobbies, to a new, unknown village full of strangers, and probably no football team.
He glanced over to his sisters. Daisy, who often got carsick, was sat in the middle, dozing with her head tilted back against the seat after taking motion sickness pills. Lucy, on the far end by the other window, was playing a game on her hand-held. Harry may not get carsick, but he couldn’t sleep in a car and neither could he read or play games without feeling ill.
It made for an exceptionally boring few hours.
He let out a sigh. Hogsmeade, Scotland. Even the name sounded dull.
A place where it was never summer, supposedly. That probably DID mean there was no football team, since it was rather hard to kick a ball in the snow. He let out another sigh.
“Only about another half an hour before we arrive!” Mum said, looking into the rear-view mirror to catch Harry’s eye and smiling. Harry managed a weak smile in return.
“Oh! Look at those lovely Stratocumulus Undulatus!” Mum exclaimed, her attention caught by the clouds again. The car swerved alarmingly to the right, almost into the (thankfully empty) oncoming traffic lane.
“Eyes on the road, Lils,” Dad said with a nervous laugh. “I know it’s exciting but we don’t want to crash!”
“James, who was it that drove us safely through that ice storm in Östersund?” Mum retorted.
“You were paying attention to the road, then,” Dad replied.
“Of course I was! There was ice everywhere, I was sure we’d crash!” but Mum said it like she was remembering a fond memory, rather than a terrifying one.
Harry rolled his eyes. Mum and Dad were entirely too excited about weather, a passion none of their children shared.
He let his head thunk against the window. Only half an hour and they’d be at their new home. One that was perpetually covered in snow, even now, in the middle of August. At least they’d never have to worry about heat stroke.
He passed the remaining time by mentally composing an email to Hermione. Or perhaps he’d have to send a letter, since he didn’t know if there would even be internet in Hogsmeade (he rather suspected there wouldn’t be).
“Oh! Would you look at that!” Mum exclaimed.
Something in her tone made Harry sat up straighter, and even Lucy looked up from her game.
They had cleared the top of the last hill and before them spread a valley. Unlike every other valley they’d passed through which had been lush with greenery, this one glittered pale with ice. Rearing up at the far end of it was an ominous mountain entirely encased in snow.
Harry’s gaze was caught by the mountain, the peak of which was stained bloody-gold by the setting sun. Mum and Dad were excitedly theorizing about microclimates or something, Harry wasn’t really listening, his attention focused as it was on the far mountain. As they descended into the frozen valley that they would soon call home, Harry couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.
An hour later, they were parked in the drive of their new home. Well, “new” was a relative term, as this house looked like it was at least a couple of centuries old. And it was less a house and more a cottage. It even had what looked like straw (dad said it was called “thatch”) on the roof. What could be seen of the roof beneath a blanket of snow, that is.
The moving van had beaten them there, and all their stuff was haphazardly crammed into the foyer of the house, as if the movers had not wanted to linger. Harry scuffed his shoe against the snow and rubbed his hands over his bare arms. There were at least a couple of inches of snow everywhere. The whole village looked like a Christmas card. It was hard to believe it was August, and that an hour ago they had been driving through lush green hills.
Harry’s gaze was once again drawn to the mountain which loomed large over the village. It had almost a magnetic pull to it, which Harry found very unnerving.
Mum and Dad chivvied a still-groggy Daisy and a rather sullen Lucy into the house. They had, in their excitement, forgotten that a perpetually winter-bound village would be cold and none of them had dressed accordingly.
Harry shivered, and with one last fleeting glance towards the mountain, he followed the rest of his family into their new home.
~*~*~*~
Unpacking would have to wait until tomorrow, as they were all exhausted from the drive. After a rather meagre dinner of a packet of crisps and a banana each, they settled down in front of the huge fireplace. Dad pulled some newspaper from one of the boxes and used it as kindling for a fire.
Harry spread out his sleeping bag on the floor. He was near the window, and though it was too dark to make out any detail, he could practically feel the mountain looming over him. The house was solid and well-made (if Harry were any judge of such things): all dark wooden beams and white-washed plaster. While it wasn’t exactly freezing in the house, there was certainly a chill in the air that the fire did nothing to dispel.
Daisy and Lucy were situated closer to the fire, between Harry and where Mum and Dad were. Daisy was fast asleep in moments, probably still feeling the lingering effects of the Dramamine she’d taken before the trip. The faint light of a hand-held emanating from the opening of Lucy’s sleeping bag was evidence that she was still awake, but she’d turned the sound off, thankfully. Mum and Dad were both lightly snoring. Harry lay still, listening to the quiet sounds of his family. Soon, the light from Lucy’s sleeping bag shut off, and she too was asleep.
Harry couldn’t seem to get comfortable, no matter how he shifted, and he was cold. More so than he should have been, wrapped in multiple layers and cocooned in a sleeping bag as he was. He hoped having a real bed tomorrow would help, but there was something about this village that set him on edge. He had an uncomfortable feeling of being watched.
Harry shifted to his side, gazing into the dying embers of the fire. He thought he must be getting sleepy at last, because as his eyes unfocused, he could’ve sworn he saw a face in the flames. A man’s face, with eyes that glowed red. Harry blinked a couple of times and the vision was gone, and then the fire went out completely, leaving complete darkness in its wake. A chill crept up Harry’s spine that had nothing to do with the drafty window or the sudden drop in temperature.
~*~*~*~
Morning came at last, and with it, a grouchy Mum, two grouchy sisters, and an overly-cheerful Dad. Harry rubbed at his gritty eyes, still feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. Dad was in the kitchen, and the smell of sizzling sausages filled the air. Harry’s stomach rumbled in response.
“The first thing we’re doing today is setting up the beds, honestly.” Harry heard Mum mutter to herself.
“Bit chilly in here, isn’t it?” Mum said, this time for everyone’s benefit. She busied herself by trying to start the fire again.
Harry sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair. He fumbled for where he’d left his glasses on the floor next to his sleeping bag and crammed them on his face. He was on the verge of warning Mum about the face in the fireplace, but he stopped himself. He was sure he must’ve imagined a face, since he didn’t even have his glasses on when he saw it.
Instead, he climbed out of his warm nest of blankets and made his way into the kitchen.
Daisy was sat at the table already, wrapped in a thick blanket and visibly shivering. Her messy black hair was still loose —usually she had it tamed into a braid by now.
Lucy was poking around in various boxes.
"Dad, where are the batteries? My game is dead," Lucy said, tucking a bit of red hair behind her ear.
"Er. I'm not sure," Dad replied. "I think your mum packed them."
Lucy paused. "MUM!" she yelled.
"What?" Mum yelled back from the living room, still evidently trying to start a fire.
"Where're the batteries!?" Lucy shouted, still poking at the boxes labeled "Kitchen Things."
"In one of the boxes!"
"Which box!?"
"I don't know! One of them probably!"
Lucy made a sound of utter disgust and stormed off into the foyer where the rest of the boxes were.
Harry sat himself down at the table by Daisy. He was still a bit cold, but he had decided not to do as she was doing and wear a blanket. He rather felt he had too much dignity for that.
"James, I think we need to get that fireplace looked at," Mum said, coming into the kitchen.
Dad grunted distractedly, still preparing breakfast.
"It worked fine last night, but it's not letting me light a fire this morning," Mum continued.
"Mmhmm," Dad said, cracking an egg into the pan.
"James, are you even listening—where did you get all that?" Mum asked, gesturing at the frying pan with its sausages, bacon, tomatoes, and mushrooms. There were gently-steaming fried potatoes piled on a paper plate to the side already. Dad cracked another egg into the pan.
"One of the neighbors came over with all of it, and lent us the use of her frying pan," Dad replied.
Harry, who hadn't even been paying attention to how Dad could be making breakfast when they hadn't packed any food with them, looked up in interest. Memories of a face with red eyes flitted through his mind for a brief moment.
"One of the neighbors?" Daisy asked, her voice still rough from sleep. She was not a morning person at the best of times and after a long car ride dosed with Dramamine she still sounded groggy. She blinked owlishly behind her glasses.
"Yeah," Dad said with a laugh. "Apparently they don't get many people moving here, so anyone who does is given a warm welcome. She said that we should come down to the Three Broomsticks and introduce ourselves tonight."
"What's her name?" Mum asked curiously.
"Er. Something McGonagall, I think?" Dad said.
"Huh," Mum said.
"It's breakfast!" Dad announced, wrapping the handle of the pan in a towel and taking it over to where Harry and Daisy were sitting. Harry noticed there was a stack of paper plates and plastic cutlery already on the table. He pulled a plate from the stack and grabbed a fork and knife. Daisy did the same.
"LUCY! BREAKFAST!" Mum shouted.
"FINE," Lucy shouted back. She came stomping into the kitchen, face like a thundercloud.
"Would you be a dear and bring the potatoes?" Dad asked.
Lucy didn't respond with anything other than an eye roll, but she did grab the plate of potatoes and brought it with her.
"Lu, we'll find the batteries later," Dad said. "I'm sure we packed some. We wouldn't dream of letting you go a whole day without blowing up an alien on your game. Now eat." And with that, Dad tipped several sausages, some bacon, and eggs onto a plate in front of the youngest Potter daughter.
"Where's the toast?" Lucy asked, stuffing half a sausage into her mouth.
"Do you see a toaster in here?" Dad replied.
Daisy snickered, scooping up egg and mushroom with her fork. "Do we have anything to drink?" she asked.
Dad and Mum exchanged a look.
"I knew I was forgetting something," Dad said.
Mum was about to say something when a knock at the door interrupted her.
"Harry, would you get that?" Mum asked.
Harry, who had been shoveling food into his mouth as quickly as humanly possible, set down his fork and got up.
He made his way to the entry, threading through a maze of boxes, a feeling of apprehension gathering in his belly. But when he opened the heavy wooden door, there was no one there. Harry stared out into the wintry morning in confusion, before looking down.
There was a glass bottle of milk sitting in the snow on the doorstep.
Harry looked around once more, but there was no one. Only a couple of sets of footsteps, one very fresh (from whomever delivered the milk) and one a bit older and filled in with snow, presumably the mysterious "McGonagall" who'd delivered their breakfast.
The milkman, Harry thought. That would make sense. He picked up the bottle and carried it to the kitchen.
"That's convenient," Dad said as Harry set the bottle down with a glass thunk on the table.
There was a pause where no one said anything.
"All our cups are still packed away..." Mum said, breaking the silence.
In the end, they shared the milk by taking turns drinking directly from the bottle, with mum swearing that while the beds would be the first thing set up, the very next thing would be to find the cups and the teakettle.
~*~*~*~
The rest of the day was spent unpacking. Lucy was being especially and uncharacteristically helpful, but Harry suspected it was her search for batteries that spurred her on. Mum and Dad would occasionally pause to look out the window and exclaim at the falling snow.
Harry thought it wasn't all that interesting. It was just normal snow, and aside from the fact it was happening in August, there wasn't anything special about it. But Mum and Dad carried on about it as if it were sparkly pink angel feathers falling from heaven.
He was just putting a photo of Ron, Hermione, and himself up on his dresser when he heard the familiar sounds of Daisy and Lucy getting into a screaming match in the next room. The cottage wasn't very big, and only had three bedrooms, which meant Daisy and Lucy would have to share. Which meant screaming matches. Harry reached over with his foot and shut his bedroom door. It didn’t do much to muffle the noise.
Harry sighed, and flopped onto his newly-made bed, which was tucked beneath the window. The ceiling sloped at a sharp angle, and he hoped he wouldn’t smack his head on it when he woke up in the morning, but there really was no other place for the bed to go in the small room.
He briefly thought about finding all his posters and tacking them up, trying to make his room look more personalized. More his. But he couldn’t seem to summon the energy for it.
The house was situated just at the edge of town, and his bedroom faced the mountain. It was only fair that he get the smallest bedroom, as he was the only one who didn’t have to share with someone.
Harry lay and watched the weak sunlight stream in and light up the wall opposite. Dad had said he could paint his room any color he wanted, but the aged white-washed plaster was fine with him, really. He’d be going to Uni in a year, anyway, so he didn’t really see the point. Lucy would probably move in the moment he was gone.
He rolled onto his back and gazed out the window. From this angle, only the top-most part of the mountain could be seen... but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He mentally made a note to get mum to buy him a blind for his window. The light dimmed so slowly he barely noticed it, until the first fat flakes of snow began drifting gently beyond the window, and everything turned a dull grey. Harry’s eyelids slid closed of their own volition.
~*~*~*~
A cold wind cut bitter and sharp through his thin cloak like a knife. Harry could hardly feel his fingers or toes. When he looked at his hand, it was blue. There was a part of him that felt he should be alarmed at this, but nothing seemed to cut through the fog of apathy.
“Harry...”
A voice on the wind. A dark tenor, low and seductive. It surrounded him on all sides, but he could not see the speaker.
He was so, so cold.
The wind picked up even harder and caused the snow to dance around him. The snowflakes that had been soft and gentle suddenly turned to daggers of ice and slashed at his skin, leaving him screaming and bloody.
But the blood
that dripped from his wounds
was not red
but blue.
He couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
“Harry.”
That voice. Haunting.
Red eyes in a white face.
~*~*~*~
Harry woke with a start. It was dark outside his window, though he had no idea what time it was. His digital alarm clock was still packed away, along with most of the rest of his things. All the boxes with “Harry’s” scrawled across them in sharpie were now piled in his room. How he’d slept through that, he had no idea.
He scrambled out of bed, still wearing his clothes, though not his shoes or glasses, the latter of which were folded upon the bedside table. He was covered in a blanket. Mum or Dad must’ve done that. He felt a stab of guilt—he was supposed to have been helping unpack, not napping.
Despite his jeans and jumper and the duvet, he was shivering. And starving, since he surely slept through dinner. Dragging a hand through his hair he snatched up his glasses. Moonlight streamed in through the window, dripping down the wall and puddling on the floor, almost unnaturally bright. He’d been so used to the light pollution of the suburbs that now, in a little village, the light of the moon seemed too much. It reflected blindingly off the icy side of the mountain, and the sky was spangled with stars that couldn’t be seen from their old home.
Harry crept across the floor, every creak of the old wood cracking like a gunshot in the stillness.
His stomach rumbled with hunger—he hoped Mum or Dad had bought some food, or at the very least had gotten takeaway and left him some. He made his way as quietly as possible down the stairs and to the kitchen, hoping to not wake anyone.
Moonlight flooded across the floor in the parlor, bright enough so Harry could wind his way through remaining boxes in the foyer and dining room without turning on a light.
He managed to get to the kitchen without tripping over too many things. There were still odds and ends waiting to be put in permanent spots but the kitchen was mostly done. Harry felt another stab of guilt at falling asleep like that.
In the fridge, there were the remains of what looked to be spag bol. In fact, there was even a plastic-wrapped plate with what would've been Harry's portion on it. He considered microwaving it, but when his stomach gave a particularly loud rumble he decided to just eat it cold.
The side of the mountain could be seen outside the kitchen window, and almost against his will, Harry was drawn to it. He shoveled cold spaghetti into his mouth with a plastic fork (not having bothered to look where the silverware was kept) and wandered over to the window.
The mountain loomed large and close. Harry forced himself to take a good look at it. It was just an ordinary mountain. Nothing to be frightened of. The moonlight reflected off the glittering snow. It was strange, Harry thought, knowing that it was nearly mid-August and when outside it looked like January.
A flash of light across the sky drew his attention. A shooting star. He still didn't know what time it was.
He finished his food and set the plate in the sink.
Harry was about to go back up to his room when he felt.. almost a calling. Compelled to look out the window one last time.
There, beneath the corpse of a tree that had long ago lost its leaves and most of its branches to ice and snow, was a figure. A figure darker still than the shadows around it. Harry would almost have missed it, hidden away as it was and utterly still. It could've been a trick of the light, were it not for the fact that it looked to be wearing a cloak of darkness which rippled slightly in the cold breeze.
Harry was caught, frozen, unable to look away. His breathing quickened and his heart galloped in his chest at the sight. It was watching him. He couldn't see a face but he knew, deep down to his marrow, that it was watching him. And has been since the moment he arrived in Hogsmeade.
He blinked and the figure seemed to be closer. It definitely wasn't in the same spot. Harry felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. A whisper of hissing sounded in the back of Harry's mind, a cold sound, like wind across a desolate arctic plain. Harry couldn't move, only stand and watch helplessly as the figure came ever nearer.
A loud crash and a soft "Oh dear!" sounded from the parlor, breaking the spell on Harry. He whipped around towards the direction of the noise instinctively, heart in his throat. He was able to move again.
Daisy was in the parlor with her telescope, and had evidently tripped over a box.
"What are you doing up?" Harry asked, helping her to her feet.
"I'm observing the Perseids! Tonight's the night they're at their peak," Daisy said, sliding her glasses back up her nose with a finger.
"The what?" Harry asked.
"The Perseid meteor shower! I've never been anywhere with such a clear night sky! I just had to watch them tonight!"
Meteor showers. Of course. Daisy was just as mad for space as their parents were for weather. Harry remembered the shooting star he'd seen. That made sense.
"Why are you set up down here? Wouldn't it be a better view from your room?" Harry asked.
Daisy sighed and ran a hand through her untidy black hair. "Because my window has a big mountain covering a third of the sky, and Lucy threw a fit when I asked to put my telescope up at hers."
"So that's what your row was over, huh?" Harry said.
"Lucy is being so unreasonable! She says I'm not allowed on her half of the room, which is an absolute mess by the way, I wouldn't normally want to try and wade through all that rubbish, but her window has the better view!"
Harry didn't have anything to say to that, so he just nodded.
"What are you doing up?" Daisy asked.
"I was hungry... I must've slept through dinner? When did we get real food?" Harry asked.
"Mum sent Dad to the market in the next village over to get groceries," Daisy lowered her voice conspiratorially, "But I think Mum only wanted him out of the house while she put stuff away."
"That sounds like something she'd do," Harry said, and then remembered something, "Weren't we supposed to go to that broomstick pub and introduce ourselves tonight... er. Last night?"
"Oh, well..." Daisy looked a bit guilty at that. "We were all tired after unpacking, and you were asleep, so Mum decided we should do it another night? I'm sure the people of the village will understand..." She trailed off, looking a bit fretful.
She had a tendency to overthink things.
"I'm sure they do," Harry said.
They were both quiet for a minute.
"Do you want to watch the Perseids with me?" Daisy offered. "I'll let you use my telescope."
"Nah, I'm alright, I think I'll just go back to bed," Harry told her.
"Oh. Well, suit yourself," Daisy said, shrugging.
Harry left her to her meteors and he climbed the stairs back to his room. He was cold again. A chill he couldn't shake since seeing that... thing.
He climbed onto his bed and pulled the covers around himself. He was still wearing his clothes but couldn't be bothered to try and find pajamas now. Nervously, he peered out of his window, trying to see if he could spot the shadowy figure again. But whatever it had been was gone now. Maybe he'd imagined it?
He curled up in bed beneath the duvet and shivered. A face in the fireplace with burning red eyes, and now a figure watching him from the shadows. A village where it was perpetually winter.
Something very strange was going on in Hogsmeade.