What kind of excavator was this, exactly?
Its speed was practically on par with Apparition.
Still refusing to believe it, Iain crawled into the tunnel. It was not very wide, and the walls were smooth, as if something had carefully sanded them down. He kept crawling downward for more than thirty feet.
Since it sloped, getting back out would not be a problem. The real issue was that after only those thirty-some feet, Iain slammed headfirst into something solid.
"????"
Blocking his way was packed earth. Real dirt. Dense, firm, and unmistakably solid. He dug at it with both hands for a moment and confirmed the awful truth. There was probably no passage beyond this point.
"So it digs as it goes and fills the tunnel back in behind it? That environmentally conscious?!" Covered in dirt, Iain crawled back out into the little cottage.
The tireless little skeleton, still not even breathing hard after burrowing that far, was currently inspecting its new nest. The moment it saw the little wizard emerge, it hurried over.
"Those claws of yours have got to be hiding something!"
Iain grabbed both of the little skeleton's bony hands and studied them closely. Anyone walking in on this would probably assume he had a corpse fetish.
The hunger in his eyes was all about research.
The skeleton's hands bore no magical runes, just pale bone and fine seams where the joints connected.
There was absolutely nothing visibly special about them.
"So you're like me. You look like you're just absurdly handsome, but really you're absurdly handsome in a way that's totally different from everyone else. Interesting."
After staring for a long while and learning absolutely nothing, Iain still ended up crooked-smiling like he'd uncovered a mystery.
"?"
The little skeleton tilted its head. Its jaw clicked softly.
"Still, the important thing is that you didn't run off and abandon me. That's really good." Iain patted its skull with satisfaction. "I was this close to thinking up Punishment Plan Number 9,876 for what I'd do to you if I caught you. But since you came back, I'll continue being a generous little wizard."
That was not a threat. It was honesty.
The little skeleton's jaw clicked again, a slightly longer sound this time, as if it were offering a perfectly ordinary response.
"And when you ran, you brought all of our family assets with you. Very smart. You take after me."
Iain chose not to dwell on the skeleton's lukewarm attitude. Instead, his eyes shifted to the luggage.
"A lot of what's in here may not be expensive, but it's all the work of my own hands."
Muttering to himself, he began taking things out of the suitcase one by one and checking them.
His textbooks were all there.
Every Gold Galleon was accounted for.
The wire, springs, copper sheets, tiny hinges, screwdrivers, pliers, solder, and rosin were all intact.
Two packs of C4, a multipurpose combat knife, an anti-tank mine, fragmentation grenades, cyanide, phosphorus compounds, mercury salts, and the hydrofluoric acid he had specially prepared to fight Voldemort were all still present too.
And, most important of all, the little box of uranium he had smuggled out in his pants to fool Dumbledore was also safe.
At that, the little wizard finally let out a massive sigh of relief.
"That's the key to solving world hunger one day."
Enduring for the sake of his little brother had not been selfish. Iain had an incredibly noble dream.
He intended to use the wonders of magic to break through the limits of Transfiguration, so that even while obeying conservation of energy, transformed matter could still be turned into food.
After all, if Transfiguration lasted long enough, long enough for transformed matter to fully replace the original substance, then the idea was not impossible.
One gram of uranium-235 undergoing full fission released energy equivalent to roughly twenty to twenty-five million kilocalories. What part of the world would still suffer famine then?
Everyone would live well.
"As Supreme Commander of the Western Hemisphere, I have obligations."
Iain looked toward his King's Sword, and the convictions in his heart grew firmer once again.
"A good part of that glory will belong to you too, magic skeleton. I won't enjoy it alone."
He pulled the final item from the bottom of the case and held it up to inspect it. Satisfied, he nodded, then turned to the quietly waiting little skeleton.
"But right now, I think I'm hungry. I'm counting on you."
The little wizard had hands and feet. What he lacked was culinary ability. It was not that he was some dark-cuisine warlord, just that when he cooked, the result usually only barely qualified as edible.
Once in a blue moon, inspiration struck and he made something delicious.
Those moments were rare.
"Clack-clack-clack."
The little skeleton tilted its head. Then it turned and took little steps, bones clicking softly as it headed into the kitchen.
Iain heard the faucet turn on. He heard pots and pans clatter together. He heard the fridge open and shut. Then he heard a shrill scream.
Not a cat.
Not a dog.
A phoenix.
"Hm?"
Iain shot upright and rushed into the kitchen. The little skeleton was standing in front of the stove, one hand gripping Fawkes by the neck while the other poured water into a pot.
Clang-clang-clang-bang-bang!
Fawkes's wings were pinned under the skeleton's arm. His tail feathers dragged across the floor, their golden sheen dulled under the kitchen light.
His beak was open, shrieking again and again, but the little skeleton remained unmoved. Its fingers were fixed around Fawkes's neck with perfect control, tight enough that he could not escape, but not so tight that he would die.
And the pot was already heating.
Tiny bubbles were beginning to form at the bottom.
The little skeleton was preparing to pluck him with boiling water.
It actually had some cooking sense, apparently. It knew wild fowl were easiest to clean after a quick scald.
"Knock it off! That's our business partner!"
Iain lunged forward and snatched Fawkes out of the little skeleton's hands. He knew a phoenix would not die from boiling water, but he was afraid Fawkes might get angry and smash his loyal henchman to pieces.
Fortunately, the phoenix had a wonderful temperament. He made no attempt at revenge and instead immediately burrowed into Iain's clothes, shivering against his bare stomach.
His feathers were damp, cool, and ticklish. Since the little skeleton had already yanked quite a few loose, Iain ended up gathering the fallen ones for safekeeping.
When Fawkes grew up, he would return them.
"You want to eat phoenix now? Couldn't you just go catch some wild phoenixes outside?" Iain was obviously making things difficult for the skeleton on purpose.
No wizard could catch a phoenix, so there was no way a magic skeleton was going to find one either.
"Clack-clack-clack."
The little skeleton tilted its head thoughtfully.
"Obviously, if you can't catch one, that's fine. Let's just make something else for now."
Iain really was starving.
At that, the little skeleton turned and looked at the handsome tabby.
"That one can't be eaten."
Iain rejected that idea at once. Ever since the skeleton had made soup out of its own large thigh bone, he had realized that if no ingredients were available, it would simply invent ingredients.
That was not a healthy habit. Nature had provided plenty already.
"Dumbledore forgot to feed me."
Iain sat in the kitchen doorway, hugging Fawkes while the little skeleton stood blankly in the corner. His stomach growled again, and he looked out toward the wilderness.
"Still, I've got a great idea."
There were plenty of woods around Hogsmeade, rich with natural bounty. A place that fertile would never starve a little wizard who knew how to think.
He dressed the little skeleton in clothes, put a monster mask on it, and the two of them marched out together, diving into the forest on a supply-gathering expedition.
Fifty minutes later, after processing their finds with all the creativity he possessed, Iain lay spread-eagle on the floor of the cottage, Fawkes in his left arm and the handsome tabby in his right.
His eyes stared straight at the ceiling.
"Magic skeleton, look. There's a whole flock of fairy girls spinning in circles on the ceiling. They froze that monkey in place with some kind of binding spell, and all they're doing is dancing around it!"
"Even though that monkey's carrying two golden cudgels! And each one looks more useful than the last!"
The little mushroom-picker boy sighed in drunken awe. The smell of mushroom soup still lingered in the air, and the world in his eyes had become sharper than ever before.
Gaudy.
Strange.
Beautiful.