It was raining when the sun rose, and its light was drowned behind the mist and grey clouds that clung to the small island's shores and the dark water of the lake. Tynan drew his large leather jacket tighter around himself, the overlarge hood shielding his face from the drizzle as he carefully continued his chore. He sat next to a small fire pit he'd dug, a pile of gutted fish on one side of him and a half-gutted fish on one knee. A pile of fresh trout sat on the other side of him.

His campsite was small and modest, tucked away by the shore on a tiny, rocky island on the lough. Shrouded from eyes by craggy rocks and overhanging trees, it was a pleasant little place, accessible seemingly only by air or by walking along the limestone beach. His tent, at first glance, as an old tattered A-frame, tied up to the trees and rocks; but when the flap blew slightly in the breeze, the interior was visible for a moment and revealed a quite warm and comfortable sleeping space that was obviously larger than the tent could possibly hold. The tent's insides were still small and quaint by wizarding standards - little more than a small room with a wooden floor and a warm, blanket-covered bed - but it had proved a very nice place to sleep and definitely was better than the ground. It was also packed with all of Tynan's things; clothes, his fiddle, and a few books. He'd run out of the food he'd packed. The fish were a good alternative; unfortunately he'd run out of food a few days before finding this lake, and so a muggle farmer was down a chicken. Tynan, unsure what the proper compensation was, had left a single galleon on the top of the coop. The chicken had provided for a few days.

So far this plan - could one really call it that? - was...going worse than he'd hoped, though better than it could have. His summer certainly wasn't fun, exactly, though if pressed he would happily admit he was finding this travelling rather enjoyable in its own way. Maybe he'd do it next summer - provided his mum din't skin him alive, which was the most likely outcome of this.

He'd gone to get on the train on the 12th and been stopped by the Herbology professor, Blair - his relative. He'd spent most of the second half of the year trying toget his grades up, at his mother's behest, and he'd succeeded at her original goalpost - he'd passed all of his classes. But he hadn't passed well enough, and so at the last minute, his mum tried to have him shipped off to the Blairs to spend the summer studying instead of letting him go home to Minglay, the one place he'd missed more than anything all year.

Frankly, Tynan was having none of that. With the Blairs planning on a vacation - one he wasn't going to be going on - he'd begun to plan too. He'd found their old worn down tent and squirreled food in it in a dark corner of the barn. He'd packed clothes, found maps, stolen money and slowly moved all of his things into the tent and gotten packed. And the night after the Blairs left - before the elder Bliars arrived to care for him the next day - he'd stolen Luthas's racing broom, strapped his packs to his back, strapped on some goggles and taken to the air in the dead of night.

His goal - the only one he could think of to make this summer interesting - was to find Mairead. And the only clue he had to her location was...Ireland, in the town of Ballin...something.

As he'd found out, there were a lot of Ballinsomethings in Ireland.

His journey had been going on for three weeks now. He'd been careful; he carried his wand but had never used it, he'd stuck to the clouds and he'd carefully stuck to his maps.

Up until he'd lost them, anyway. Six days ago he'd had to dive to avoid some sort of horrible roaring metal thing in the sky and had let go of his map in the process. Now all he knew was he was in Ireland, there was a Ballinrobe nearby, and this loch - or was it lough - had provided a good place to stop and find food and sleep while he tried to figure out what to do next. He could go for help but there was no way he was doing that until he had to. He'd come this far - he'd see it through.

And the island was restful, which was good while he tried to get over this cough, which was getting worse rather than better. The constant damp in the clouds and the chill of flying only at night had finally taken their toll, and he'd stop chopping fish every few minutes to have a hacking fit and sniff. He'd been finding it hard to focus at times; he had a fever, and so far ignoring it wasn't helping.

Tynan had tried going to the nearby muggles, but much to his confusion that had not helped. They were either weird or shooed him off when he mentioned the Pavee, as if wanting to find them wasn't a good thing. Most of them asked where his parents were, and a few had just gotten rude, asking if he was a Pavee. Muggles were strange creatures, he concluded.

He wasn't even sure anyone was looking for him. He hadn't encountered a single other wizard - of course, the fact he was avoiding people helped - and after a tense first few days, he hadn't felt concerned about pursuit. Maybe no one was looking for him and they'd assumed he'd drowned in the storm he'd encountered as he crossed the sea.

The mist over the water was clearing when he carefully chopped the head off the last fish with his knife and finished gutting them, setting them up to cook. His stomach was upset; he hadn't eaten since the previous day and his cold was making him queasy. But with the sun coming out and the drizzle clearing he had other things to do - namely, laundry. Fish guts weren't a pleasant smell.

With the smoke from the fire drifting gently into the sky, he set to work, his washing in the lake punctuated by his hacking coughs.

To the young Gryffindor, the smell of fish guts might have been an unpleasant one.  But, to the not-so-young lurcher[1], the scent was quite intriguing.  The shaggy black dog moved lightly through the trees and underbrush, content in the knowledge that his master was somewhere behind him and having a bit more difficulty in working his way through the foliage. 

His head down and ears back, Bergin stepped lightly out from the tree line and slinked up towards the edge of the ring of light.  Standing just at the edge of the fire circle, he reached a nose out towards the fish that had been set up to cook a short time before.  Bergin was a natural hunter but he could be just as lazy as the next dog.  Food left out unattended by a fire was much easier to catch that a flighty, springy, screamy rabbit.  And, the cook had foolishly left both the food and fire unattended and was a short distance away down by the water. 

The fire was, not surprisingly, hot and the hound was finding it difficult to get his nose close enough to the fish before the heat prickled painfully at his whiskers.  But, the deerhound mix was no stranger to stealing food from fires.  By the third try, he was able to make his snatch before the heat got unbearable.  The prize in mouth, Bergin trotted over and settled on the lad's backpack, the half-cooked fish under his paws as he stroked the salty, fishy skin with a sloppy tongue. 

1.

Bergin

The splashing of his laundry-doing was distracting, both due to being something to do and in masking the shuffling of the dog. It was only when he turned to look at the fire to check on his food  that he saw the dog, settling on his pack with the fish. He might have been able to see it from the corner of his eye, had he had more than the one - and the dog been on the proper side...

Not that he was contemplating that, currently. Tynan cursed loudly, jumping to his feet and slipping on the slick rocks, falling into the cold, shallow water. His legs instantly hurt, but the chill numbing the pain. Wet and even more chilled than before, he scrambled back to his feet and darted towards the dog, leaving his shirt in the water. Unattended, it started to drift away.

"Gerrof!" he said, his words almost gibberish in his haste. He reached the dog and made a grab for the fish, which failed. "That's mine! Git yer own!" he told the dog gruffly, now on his hands and knees as he tried to snatch back his catch.

The lurcher didn't need to understand the lad's words - the tone was telling enough.  Bergin was on his feet at the boy's first curse and bolting down the first mostly raw fish with gusto as the boy darted up from the water's edge.  The boy made a grab for the second fish but, when his first attempt failed, Bergin made a quick grab for the prize and turned on his heels, darting into the treeline. 

Several minutes passed before the relaxed and altogether innocent-looking deerhound came trotting back towards the fireside, a grizzled man in a wool hat in tow.  Deaglan paused at the treeline, surveying the young man and the scene by the lake.  There was no question who the young man was.  He'd read of the boy's disappearance in the Daily Prophet and, assuming young ó Fearghail's description hadn't been an exaggeration, this Tynan lad would be quite distinctive. By all accounts, for once, young Mairead hadn't been exaggerating. 

"Missing a dinner?"  Deaglan asked as he approached the fire and, rather creakily, lowered himself to sit on a large, flat river stone.  He pulled a small paper wrapped bundle from his pocket and held out the wrapped half of a chicken and slice of brown bread towards the young man.  "'Magine it's a step up from fish, anyhow."

Tynan unleashed a string of cursing that would have likely gotten him smacked, had his mother overheard. Even in his flash of anger, though, he was still smart enough to stop himself as he grasped for his wand. A dog stealing some fish was not going to get him found. He'd never live that down if it did. If indeed he survived being found at all.

The dog returned as Tynan was wading back ashore, wet shirt in tow. He froze in the water when the man emerged, grey eye narrowed in uncertainty. If it was a muggle....he wasn't sure what to do, in that case. Muggles were strange and tended to freak out over nothing. If it was a wizard, he was in a lot of trouble...so perhaps a muggle was best.

Bugger. He really hoped the man didn't notice the tent, then.

Still, the man hardly seemed threatening, and Tynan made his way ashore just as the man started to speak. Shirt left on one of the rocks (but out of the reach of the lake's waves) he approached the fire, cautiously.

"Yer dog is'a quiet little bugger," he said with a scowl, as if that explained everything. He looked at the bundle, its contents calling to his empty stomach like a siren song. He finally took it, hunger overcoming nervousness, and sat down, his wet pants towards the fire.

"Who're you?" he asked, a few moments too late for it to pack any directness. The fact he was in the middle of eating the chicken didn't help on that account, either.

Deaglan sat patiently by the fire, humming quietly to himself[1] as he stoked the fire with a stick.  Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware the young man was hesitating at the water's edge until the promise of food drew the lad back towards the fire. 

The older man chuckled and nodded his head.  "Aye.  That he can be."  Deaglan glanced towards the lurcher.  The hound didn't lift his head but his eyes shifted between his master and the boy, aware he'd become the object of the conversation.  "Yers isn't the first meal I've had to replace." 

Bergin whined quietly when the lad finally tucked into the chicken.  Deaglan returned to the song in his head, singing a few lines quietly while the young man tended to his hunger.

"Name's McDonough.  Deaglan McDonough.  And, yer uninvited dinner guest goes by Bergin.  Yerself?"  Deaglan was pretty certain this was the MacFusty lad but he didn't want to startle the lad into bolting.  Just as many of the logical questions the situation might warrant such as the whereabouts of the lad's parents.  If he was right about the boy's identity, he already knew the answers to the other questions.

"Got some tea back on me own fire if yer cold.  And some chocolate potato cake." 

1.	The Blacksmith - Andy Irvine

Tynan munched on the chicken and watched the old man with as much obvious scrutiny as a one-eyed child could. His long and unruly hair wasn't helping, of course, and he had to brush his bangs out of his eye, which kind of ruined it. But the old man seemed oddly non-plussed, and Tynan couldn't help but relax a bit. It was hard to be cautious around a person offering him food.

McDonough? That sounded incredibly familiar. Tynan's stare renewed itself, but now took on a kind of belligerent confusion. Very familiar. But he couldn't place it, no matter how he tried. Was it a wizard? Had it been something Keegan or Mairead said? With the headache, the stuffy nose and the urge to sleep for three days it was hard enough to think as it was.

Of course, being asked his own name wasn't that reassuring, either, but...Tynan was a terrible liar. If the old man decided to turn him in, he'd...well. Cooperate and run for it, he figured. That was his best bet. But Dealgan somehow was utterly non-threatening. Maybe it was the vague feeling of understanding coming from the man; he'd yet to ask where his parents were, how Tynan was moving all this camping equipment, why he had a broom...

"Tynan," he said, after a long silence. That chocolate cake was tempting, too. He wasn't going too hungry, but he'd never packed any sort of sweet or dessert foods. Or bread, really - he'd eaten that a few days in. It'd been meat the whole way. Despite his thoughts on food, his built-in politeness remained, and he automatically added, "Nice t'meet you."

He didn't respond to that offer yet, though. "What-" His cautious tone was rather undercut by the coughing fit that hit when he started speaking. He rubbed his throat before continuing, his voice scratchy as he spoke. "What're ye doin' out here? And you..." He paused, having not intended to say this, "You make something, don't ye?"

Deaglan's eyes widened slightly at the offered name and he glanced, curiously, at the lad.  "Tynan," he repeated with an intonation that hinted at recognition.  "Aye.  There's a parish and village named after ye a short bit north of here.  Charming little town.  Especially now that the unrest has settles some." 

If the recognition went any further than just the name, Deaglan didn't show it.  With his brief reminiscing of a village in County Armagh behind him, Deaglan turned his attention back to the fire. 

But, the offered name had confirmed that this young man was, undoubtedly, the MacFusty lad the Ministry was trying to track down.  Unfortunately, it was probably the easiest question to answer.  Given his obvious hesitation, any other questions were liable to spook the kid.  But, Deaglan was saved the need of finding a way to cautiously ask the lad what he was doing when Tynan opened the floor up, himself, to that very question. 

"I live out here," Deaglan answered, simply nodding back through the trees.  "At least for the next few days.  Then, I imagine, I'll be heading south towards Athlone to meet up with some friends.  I'm a bit of a nomad - never in one place for too long."  Slowly, Deaglan nodded his head, carefully considering the next question.  Unless Deaglan remained completely vague about his trade, Tynan would soon discover Deaglan was a wizard and either bolt or seek help. 

"Aye."  He finally confirmed.  "I make a variety of things - mostly out of wood.  Salad forks, chess sets, other wooden implements.  Whatever little nicknacks tourists will buy." 

Tynan chewed as Deaglan spoke, deciding to take his word for it when it came to the towns. He hadn't seen it on his maps, but considering muggles drew lakes oddly, he wouldn't be surprised they'd forgotten a whole town. They missed all the side roads, too. Just because sheep used 'em...

There were a few moment's silence, the awkward filled with the crackle of the fire and the soft sound of Tynan working his way through the chicken. Tynan wasn't as cautious about the pause as he might have been, though; Deaglan looked older than his grandmum, and she took forever to answer simple questions too.

Still, the nomadic thing was a hope - one he wasn't the least bit hesitant to hop on, even if his tone wasn't as perky and hopeful as he was technically being. "Ye wander?" he asked, though the question was more a confirmation of the fact. "Then...do ye know the Pavee? They were...are...supposed to be at Ballingsomething." He paused, realizing how that sounded, and muttered, "Ireland's got a lot of Ballingsomethings." His tone was going back to defensive. After all, anyone could forget the actual town's name, right?

Of course, the fact he was now expecting Deaglan to stand up and give him a speech about thieves was part of the defensiveness, too.

"Indeed," Deaglan confirmed.  "Wander all about the British Isles.  Rain or snow or sun." 

At the young man's question, Deaglan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and gave him a moment's consideration before turning looking back at the fire.  The MacFusty lad had run away to find the Travellers?  Whatever for?  Of course, there was no shortage of stories about people running away from their normal, every day lives to join the Gypsies but most of those were folkloric tales from a bygone era.  It wasn't really something that happened in the modern age - especially amongst wizards. 

"Aye.  I know many Pavee.  I'm Pavee myself.  But, we can be found all over.  These days, there's more Pavee over in England and Scotland than here in Ireland.  Is there a particular group you're trying to find?  Or just any old Pavee?"

"Balling-  Ballymaloe?"  Deaglan asked, ignoring the lad's defensiveness.  "Ballycastle?  Aye.  Baile is Irish for town so I'm afraid you do encounter it in a lot of town names.  Do you remember anything about the town?  Or, who you're looking for?" 

Tynan was beginning to see the appeal of Deaglan's lifestyle, he had to admit; when he wasn't sick and hungry, travelling was fun. Oh, and when he wasn't completely bloody lost.

He did noticeably perk up when Deaglan explained his own heritage, though, a smile flashing across his face for a moment before he remembered he wasn't really trusting of this man. "Yer Pavee?" he asked, unable to keep the glad tone from his voice; that meant he probably wasn't going to get lectured about what terrible thieving bastards they were or some other muggle catswhollop.

He paused, though, trying to think of how to phrase it. "I'm lookin' for a particular group," he admitted. "S'a friend of mine's." He wished he knew if they had a group name, and what it was. "ó Fearghail's her name," He added, after a pause. "Dinnae where they are, though." He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, ever the proper gentleman.

"She said they met up there for a horse faire," he said. "Figured I could backtrack from there..."

"Aye!" Deaglan declared with enough good natured revelation to, hopefully, convince the lad he was delightedly surprised by the explanation.  Rather than completely unsurprised.  So the lad had set off on his own to find the young Maisie?  He was sure there was a good explanation for that decision.  Deaglan was pretty sure, though, it wasn't quite time to ask. 

"The ó Fearghails and the Quinns.  Last I heard, they were down by Galway.  I was going to meet up with them in about a week down in Athlone but Galway's a pretty short bit from here.  We could be there by morning."  The sooner he got the lad under someone's guardianship, the better. 

Then they could talk to the young man about the whys and hows and what-to-do-nexts. 

Deaglan chuckled and nodded.  "Yer thinking of Ballinasloe.  They do go there every year but I'm afraid that's always in October.  Ye'd have a long way to backtrack."  It'd probably be faster to hunker down there and wait for them to come back.  "How about that tea," Deaglan reminded the lad of the hot beverage and cake waiting back at the wagon.  He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his seat. 

"Shall we?"

Tynan's sullen exterior was falling away, mostly due to Deaglan's persistent good-naturedness. The man's admittance he knew where Mairead was was the best news Tynan had heard all bloody summer!

It overshadowed his embarrassment over Ballinasloe; that had been stupid. How lucky of him, then, to have rn into this man, who just happened to know Mairead's group, and -

A niggling little suspicion became to make itself known in the back of Tynan's mind. He, equally quietly, ignored it as hard as he could.

But - he could be there by morning! That wasn't even that long! And then he wouldn't have to camp as hard and hey'd have food. Really food, not just fish. And they'd have tea. Tynan could very much do with some hot tea, he felt; not just from the scratchiness of his throat and the dizzyness of his fever, but the flavor if it...

"Aye," he said finally, getting to his feet and pulling his overlarge leather jacket around himself. "Ye known Mairead long?" He asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

The older man drew a long, thin, warm yellow-hued wand from an inside pocket of his grey woolen coat and held it deftly by the darker handle.  He doused the young man's fire with a stream of water, sending large puffs of steam into the darkened sky.  As the lad gathered his jacket, Deaglan picked up the boy's broom and started leading the way through the trees to his vardo. 

"'Bout a year," Deaglan answered as he walked, stepping aside as Bergin trotted on ahead of the group.  "So, not very long.  But, I knew of her group.  An older fellow woodworker travels with them - though he almost exclusively crafts instruments - musical instruments - now.  Ye'd be hard pressed to find a sweeter sounding handmade fiddle.  Being fellow tradesmen, our paths have crossed." 

A few paces further along, he reached a clearing where a stout bay mare and a young bay and white colt lingered alongside a wooden, curved topped wagon.  Bergin had already let himself inside and had made himself comfortable on one of the cushioned benches next to the slow burning wood stove. 

"Young Maisie's family sought me out a year ago to supply the lass with a wand.  I'm a wandmaker as well as a wood carver.  Ollivander's wasn't willing to barter with them but - a Murphy fiddle for a wand?  That's more than a fair trade."  He ushered the young man into the wagon and propped the broom up in a corner before pouring a cup of tea from a kettle on the stove.  "There's some cake in a basket in the cupboard there." 

"What has ye out here looking for her?  Am I right to assume she's not expecting ye?"